BBHBtl
maaa
m
WORKS
OF THE LATR
JAMES HAMILTON, D.D. F.L.S.
IN SIX VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
JAMES NISBET & CO., BERNEES STREET.
1869.
917
EDINBURGH : T. CONSTABLE,
PRINTER TO THE QUEEN, AND TO THE UNIVERSITY.
CONTENTS.
THE ROYAL PREACHER.
LECTUKES ON ECCLESIASTES.
PAGE
I.— THE PREACHER, . ... 13
II.— THE SERMON, . ... 19
III.— A GREATER THAN SOLOMON, 39
IV.— THE VESTIBULE OP VANITY, ..... 51
V.— THE MUSEUM, ... .... 64
VI.— THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PALACE 85
VII.— THE MONUMENT, 92
VIII.— THE CLOCK OP DESTINY, 100
IX.— THE DUNGEON, . . . . . . .115
X.— THE SANCTUARY 127
XI.— THE EXCHANGE 137
XII.— BORROWED LIGHTS FOR A DARK LANDING, . . .146
XIII.-PRECIOUS PERFUME, 158
XIV. -DEAD FLIES, 164
XV.— BLUNT AXES, .175
XVL— BREAD ON THE WATERS, . . ... 190
XVII.— BRIGHT MOMENTS ON THE WING, . . .199
XVIII.— ALMOND BLOSSOMS, .... 207
XIX.— THE WICKET-GATE 220
XX.— GREEN PASTURES, . . 231
iv CONTENTS.
LESSONS FROM THE GREAT BIOGRAPHY.
EARLY INCIDENTS.
PAGE
I.— PRE-EXISTENCE ' 249
II.— APPEARANCES BEFORE THE ADVENT, . . .264
III.— THE ADVENT, . 274
IV.— BETHLEHEM, AND THE FIRST VISIT TO JERUSALEM, . 288
V.— THE WILDERNESS, . . 304
MIRACLES.
I— C ANA: THE WEDDING FEAST, . ... 325
II.— BETHESDA : A REMARKABLE RECOVERY, . . 337
III.— NAIN : THE INTERRUPTED FUNERAL, '. • . «. . 346
IV.— GADARA : THE DEMONS EXPELLED, . . . .358
V.— THE DESERT NEAR BETHSAIDA: THE MULTITUDE FED, . 369
VI.— THE SEA OF GALILEE : THE TEMPEST STILLED, . . 376
VII.— THE FAME OF JESUS : SUCCESSFUL INTERCESSION, . . 388
DISCOURSES.
I.— MESSIAH'S MANIFESTO. THE KINGDOM 403
II.— A SAVIOUR'S FAREWELL. THE FATHER'S HOUSE, . . 415
INTERVIE WS.
I.— A NOCTURNAL VISITOR, . .... 435
II.— THE BANQUET HALL, . . 447
IIL— A YOUNG MAN WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL, . 457
IV.— ANOTHER YOUNG MAN WHO LEFT ALL, AND FOLLOWED
JESUS, .... .481
FINAL GLIMPSES.
THE RISEN REDEEMER, ....... 495
THE ROYAL PREACHER
LECTURES ON ECCLESIASTES.
VOL. III.
PREFACE.
IN the form of translations, expositions, and literary
parallels, there is now connected with each book of the
Bible a very extensive authorship ; and we might fill a
little volume with a historical review of the illustrations
of Ecclesiastes, from the Commentary of Jerome to the
illuminated edition of Owen Jones.
Jerome tells us that his work originated in an effort to
bring over to the monastic life a young Eoman lady,
Blesilla. This object gives an ascetic tone to every
chapter, and many of his interpretations are so fanciful
that alongside of them any modern Cocceius would be
deemed sober and literal. For instance, applying to the
Saviour the language of the second chapter, the " slaves,"
or men-servants there mentioned, he thinks are Christians
afflicted with the spirit of bondage.; the " great and small
cattle," are the simpletons and drudges of the Church —
its " sheep and oxen," who, without exerting their reason
or studying the Scriptures, do as they are bidden, but are
not entitled to rank as men, etc. His own reason the
learned Father freely exercised in his scriptural studies ;
and he takes care to apprise his readers that his version
4 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
is the result of his independent research.1 For this he
has been curiously rewarded. The Council of Trent has
declared his version " authentic," and has virtually de
creed that henceforth Jerome's private judgment must be
the judgment of Christendom. The most painful thing in
his writings is the tone of litigious infelicity by which they
are pervaded. It is a sort of formic acid which flows from
the finger-points, not of our good Father alone, but of a
whole class of divines; and, like the red marks left by
the feet of ants on litmus paper, it discolours all his pages.
But although we cannot subscribe to every rendering of
the Latin Vulgate, and must demur to its author's prin
ciples of interpretation as well as his spirit, the zeal and
industry of Jerome, and the curious information which he
has transmitted, must always secure for his name a pro
minent place in the history of Biblical literature.
To the monk of Bethlehem, we have a curious contrast
in Martin Luther. " Fathers and doctors have grievously
erred in supposing that in this book Solomon taught con
tempt of the world, as they call it, meaning thereby con
tempt of things ordained and created. The creatures are
good enough, but it is man and man's notions which
Solomon pronounces vanity. But his expounders, for
sooth ! make it out that the creatures are the vanity, and
that they themselves and their dreams are the only soli
dity ! And thus from the Divine gold of our author they
have forged their own abominable idols." And then, in
that spirit of genial life-enjoyment with which the " Table
1 " Nullius autoritatem secutus sum ; " " nee contra couscientiam meam,
foute veritatis omisso, opinionum rivulos consectarer."
PREFACE. 5
Talk" and Merle D'Aubigne's History have made us so
familiar, he states it as the true scope of Ecclesiastes :
" Solomon wishes to make us tranquil in the ordinary on
goings and accidents of this existence, neither afraid of
future days nor covetous of remote possessions j1 as St.
Paul says, ' careful for nothing.'" And then in a strain
very different from that which sought to decoy Blesilla
into a convent, and like the uncaged captive, which he
really was, the Saxon swan2 goes on to celebrate the joys
of Christian liberty.
Since that period, versions and commentaries have
appeared, sufficient to store a little library. In one thing
they all agree. They all allow that Ecclesiastes contains
many things hard to be understood. " Mea sententia
inter omnia sacra scripta liber longe obscurissimus," says
Mercer, the learned Hebrew professor in Paris University ;
" Le plus difficile de tous les livres de 1'Ecriture," re-echoes
his still more learned countryman, Calmet. " Of all the
Hebrew writings, none present greater obstacles to the
expositor," is the preliminary remark of one of the most
intelligent English translators, G. Holden ; and even
German clairvoyance acknowledges " Finsterniss " and
" Dunkelheit." " Zwar hat das Licht der neuern Exegese
die dunkle Wolke zertheilt, aber sie doch noch nicht in
vb'llige Klarheit aufgelost," was the confession of Umbreit
thirty years ago, and it is still repeated by most of his
critical successors.
1 " Sine cura et cupiditate futurorum."
2 Luther's crest was a swan, as those will remember who recall the narra
tive of Huss's martyrdom.
6 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
Not to enumerate the older works of DesVoeux (1760),
L. Holden (1764), and Hodgson (1790), and the well-
arranged and scholar-like publication of G. Holden (1822),
two very good English translations of Ecclesiastes have
lately appeared. Of these the most elaborate is by the
Eev. T. Preston, of Cambridge, and is accompanied by the
ingenious Commentary of Eabbi Mendlessohn (1845).
The other, by Dr. Noyes of Boston, U.S. (1846), with less
show of erudition, is clear and straightforward ; but, like
Mendlessohn, the American professor gives to the book an
air of theological tenuity and mere worldly wisdom, which
carries neither our conviction nor our sympathy.
In the Presbyterian Review (Edinburgh) for October
1846, there was inserted a brief but interesting paper on
this book, ascribed, we believe correctly, to our friend,
the Eev. A. A. Bonar. Full of fine fancy and delicate in
sight, its only fault is its shortness ; and although we
have taken another view of the book's purport and
ground- plan, we could wish that its text were illus
trated by a mind so rich in Eastern lore and Christian
experience.
Our own labours were nearly ended before there came
into our hands the Biblical Repository (New York) for
April 1850, containing a lecture by Professor Stowe of
Cincinnati. The plan of Ecclesiastes, as given by this
ingenious expositor, is so nearly akin to that which will
be found in the subsequent pages, that we feel bound to
transcribe it : — " The method of the writer is the most
vivid and effective that can be conceived. Instead of
describing the various processes of thought and feeling
PREFACE. 7
through which Solomon passed in the course of his
eventful life, the whole heart of the king is taken out and
held up before our eyes, with everything it contains, both
good and bad. The secret chambers of his soul are
thrown open, and we see every thought and feeling as it
arises in the mind, and in the exact shape in which it
first presents itself, without any of those modifications
by which men soften down the harder features of their
first thoughts before they give them utterance to their
fellow-men." " Solomon, . . . seeking happiness in the
things of earth, ... is disappointed and disgusted ; and
instead of repenting of his errors, he becomes dissatisfied
with the arrangements of Providence, misanthropic, and
sceptical. His conscience, however, is not entirely asleep,
but occasionally interposes to check his murmurings and
reprove him for his follies. In this state of mind he is
introduced, and in the character of Koheleth gives full
and strong utterance to all his feelings. Hence, incon
sistent statements and wrong sentiments are to be ex
pected in the progress of the discourse ; and it is not till
the close of the book that all his errors are corrected, and
he comes to ' the conclusion of the whole matter,' a
humbled, penitent, believing, religious man."
Of those older commentators who are hortatory rather
than explanatory, Reynolds is by far the best. The
Homilies of Thomas Cartwright, and the Expositions of
Granger (1621), Cotton (1654), and Nisbet (1694), contain
many pious and useful reflections ; but they are not likely
to find many modern readers. In our own day Dr. Ward-
law has published two volumes of Lectures, which are
8 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
distinguished by richly scriptural illustration and faithfu
enforcement of truth on the conscience, conveyed in
language remarkable for its perspicuity and elegance,
and which, we hope, are destined long to contribute to
the instruction and comfort of the Christian Church.
Two poetical paraphrases of Ecclesiastes have been
written by authors whose opposite fortunes are striking
illustrations of their theme. One is entitled, " The Design
of part of the Book of Ecclesiastes : or, the Unreasonable
ness of Men's Eestless Contentions for the Present Enjoy
ments, represented in an English Poem."1 It was the
maiden effort of William Wollaston, afterwards suffi
ciently known through The Religion of Nature Delineated.
He published it in all the gaiety of his spirits, when, from
being an ill-paid schoolmaster, he found himself suddenly
the heir of a rich kinsman, and when, with his newly-
married wife, also an heiress, he had settled in a handsome
house, and surrounded himself with a splendid library in
Charter House Square. The other is " Choheleth : or,
the Eoyal Preacher. A Poetical Paraphrase of the Boo1
of Ecclesiastes. Printed for J. Wallis, at Yorick's Hea
Ludgate Street, 1768." It was probably written withi,
a few yards of Wollaston's former mansion ; for its author
1 London, 1691. It is anonymous; but the Preface is signed "W. W."
It is now very rare. The author afterwards wished to suppress it. — See
Biogr. Brit. 4304.
Amongst other bibliographical curiosities connected with this portion of
Scripture may be mentioned, " King Solomon his Solace. Containing
(among many thinges of right worthy request) King Solomon his Politic, his
true Repentance, and finally his Salvation. [By John Carpenter.] London,
1606." It is a dialogue between Zadoc and Solomon's chief lords, filling a
black-letter quarto. It is quaint and ingenious ; but owing to its tedious-
ness, its rarity is neither to be wondered at nor regretted.
PREFACE. 9
led a pensioner in the Charter House, January 1795,
iged eighty- eight years. " He was at the time of the
earthquake a considerable merchant at Lisbon, and nar
rowly escaped with his life, after seeing all his property
swallowed up. Some time after his arrival in England
he lost his eyesight, when her Majesty was pleased to
give him her warrant for the comfortable asylum he
enjoyed till his death. He was well versed in different
languages, and was the author of several detached pub
lications."1 What an example of the "time to get and
the time to lose !" The fagged schoolmaster transformed
in a few months into the full-blown gentleman, and
admitted to courtly circles with his beautiful heiress ;
and the prosperous merchant seeing his wealth in a
moment engulfed by the earth whence it came, and then
losing the eyes that beheld it, and thankful for a home in
a public hospital ! Brodick's Paraphrase indicates con
siderable poetical talent, and is so good an expansion of
the original that the Commentary of the learned Dr.
A.dam Clarke, in a great measure, consists of extracts
.nom it. On the score of neither versification nor fidelity
& Wollaston's poem entitled to equal praise; and by
treating Solomon as a satirist he has evidently misappre
hended his character; but as the book is now seldom
seen, we may give a short sample of the opening
chapter : —
1 From a MS. note appended to our copy of "Choheleth." We have not
been able to find any notice of Brodick in print. His paraphrase was
reprinted at Whitchurch, Salop (1824), "with Supplementary Notes, by
Nathaniel Higgins ;" but the editor does not appear to have known even the
name of his author.
10 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
" Here Mocher bustles in a thronged shop,
That swallows all his hours to feed his hope ;
And pants, by business elbow'd every way,
Within the narrow limits of the day.
There sails a Tyrian by some distant star,
Bolder than fits of men in deep despair :
While Iccar keeps within his native sphere,
Always at home, yet too a traveller :
For daily tramping o'er his spacious fields,
He views their state, and what each of them yields ;
O'erlooks his flocks, o'erlooks his men, that plough,
Or (his own emblem) corn and fodder now ;
While sweat, the curse, that vanquish'd all our race,
In pearly drops does triumph on his face.
But oh, that here the catalogue might close !
For still worse ends men to themselves propose ;
And still worse roads to reach then- goals they choose.
Methinks I see the crafty Gilonite,
Broke from the cords of duty and of right,
Within his study (forge of treasons) sit,
And scratching prompt his head, and stir his wit ;
Seeking through policy and state essays
Himself, though by his master's fall, to raise.
While Absalom (what pity't should be he !)
The fairest youth e'er blotted family,
A more compendious rebel strives to be ;
Through David's and his father's breast would bore
A purple passage to the sovereign power."
An effort of a much higher order than either of the
above is Prior's " Solomon." However, being neither a
paraphrase nor an independent poem, but a monologue
composed of materials which Ecclesiastes supplies, wit,
learning, and melodious verse fail to sustain the interest
of the huge soliloquy through its three successive books.1
1 Perhaps the best metrical version of the hook is the one contained in the
Divine Poems of George Sandys (1638), better, known as one of our early
Eastern travellers.
PREFACE. 11
And we are inclined to think that the spirit of our author
has been as happily caught and his design as successfully
carried out by sundry productions which neither profess
to translate nor to imitate him. Among these literary
parallels we would name Johnson's Vanity of Human
Wishes; Hannah More's Search after Happiness; and
Tennyson's Two Voices; and above all, Rasselas.1 May
we not add the sadly beautiful Consolatio Philosophies, in
which the last of the Eomans has given us everything
except the grand conclusion ?
Having gone over two books of the New Testament,
the author selected Ecclesiastes as the subject of a con
gregational exposition. He chose it because it is a book
of the Old Testament, and because it is peculiarly adapted
to the present wistful and restless times. He also hoped
that its illustration might promote, especially among the
younger members of his flock, the intelligent and ex
pectant study of the sacred Scriptures. With a similar
hope he now publishes a portion of those Lectures.2 The
space which it would occupy has compelled him to forego
any attempt at a continuous commentary, and he has felt
constrained to omit many important texts ; but he trusts
that the friendly reader may be able to glean a few of the
Eoyal Preacher's lessons from the following fragments;
and he is sure that in gratitude for brevity every reader
1 " The first sentence of Rasselas would serve equally well as an introduc
tion to Ecclesiastes : — ' Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy,
and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope ; who expect that age will
perform the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day
will be supplied by the morrow, attend,'" etc. — PROF. STOWE.
2 The series extended to forty discourses, of which the half are not pub
lished, most of them somewhat condensed.
12 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
will forgive an occasional abruptness. And although he
cannot claim the attention of the theologian, yet he trusts
that the following hints may assist some readers, who,
revering the Word of God, regret that they peruse it with
languid interest or imperfect understanding.
In order to economize space, the passages on which the
following discourses are founded are not printed in full :
but, before beginning any lecture, the reader is earnestly
requested to give a careful perusal to the entire text, as
he will find it in the Bible.
In a former Edition, the first of the following Lectures
was omitted : it has again been inserted in deference to
the request of several friends, who expressed a wish for its
restoration. Something of the sort is, perhaps, required
by way of introduction ; but, on reading it again, the
author cannot help feeling that the style is too figurative,
and, could he have brought his mind to the irksome task
of re-writing, he would gladly have substituted another
discourse more in unison with the rest of the series.
I.
THE PREACHER.
" I the Preacher was King over Israel in Jerusalem. " — ECCLES. I. 12.
THERE is no season of the year so exquisite as the first
full burst of Summer : when east winds lose their venom,
and the firmament its April fickleness ; when the trees are
thick with foliage, and under them the turf is tender ;
when, before going to sleep, the blackbird wakes the
nightingale, and night itself is only a softer day ; when
the dog- star has not withered a single flower, nor the
mower's scythe touched one ; but all is youth and fresh
ness, novelty and hope — as if our very earth had become
a bud, of which only another Eden could be the blossom
— as if, on wings of blossom, through an atmosphere of
balm, existence itself were floating onward to some bright
Sabbatic haven on the shores of Immortality.
With the Hebrew commonwealth, it was such a season.
Over all the Holy Land there rested a blissful serenity —
the calm which follows when successful war is crowned
with conquest — a calm which was only stirred by the proud
joy of possession, and then hallowed and intensified again
by the sense of Jehovah's favour. And amidst this calm
the monarch was enshrined, at once its source and its
13
14 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
symbol. In the morning he held his leve"e in his splendid
Basilica — a pillared hall a hundred cubits long.1 As he
sat aloft on his lion-sculptured throne, he received peti
tions and heard appeals, and astonished his subjects by
astute decisions and weighty apophthegms, till every case
was disposed of, and the toils of kingcraft ended. Mean
while, his chariot was waiting in the square ; and with
disdainful hoofs, the light coursers pawed the pavement,
impatient for their master ; whilst, drawn up on either
side, purple squadrons held the ground, and their champ
ing chargers tossed from their flowing manes a dust of
gold.2 And now, a stir in the crowd — the straining of
necks and the jingle of horse-gear announce the acme of
expectation ; and, preceded by the tall panoply of the com-
mander-in-chief, and followed by a dazzling retinue, there
emerges from the palace, and there ascends the chariot, a
noble form, arrayed in white and in silver, and crowned
with a golden coronet ; and the welkin rings, " God save
the King !" for this is Solomon in all his glory. And, as
through the Bethlehem gate, and adown the level cause
way, the bickering chariot speeds, the vines on either side
of the valley " give a good smell," 3 and it is a noble sight
to look back to yonder marble fane and princely mansions
which rear their snowy cliffs over the capital's new ram
parts. It is a noble sight, this rural comfort and that
civic opulence — for they evince the abundance of peace
and the abundance of righteousness. And when, through
1 See 1 Kings vii. ; Josephus' Antiq. Bk. viii. chap. 5-7 ; and Fergusson's
Palaces of Nineveh Restored (1851), pp. 225-232.
2 Josephus' Antiq. Bk. viii. chap. 7- s Song of Solomon ii. 13.
THE PREACHER. 15
orchards and corn-fields, the progress ends, the shouting
concourse of the capital is exchanged for the delights of an
elysian hermitage. After visiting his far- come favourites
— the " apes and the peacocks" — the bright birds and
curious quadrupeds which share his retirement; after
wandering along the terraces, where under the ripening
pomegranates roses of Sharon blossom, and watching the
ponds where fishes bask amid the water-lilies — we can
imagine him retiring from the sunshine into that grotto
which fed these reservoirs from its " fountain sealed ;" or
in the spacious parlour, whose fluttering lattice cooled,
and whose cedar wainscot perfumed the flowing summer,
sitting down to indite a poem, in which celestial love
should overmaster and replace the earthly passion which
supplied its imagery. With colours rich as the rainbow,
and with materials furnished by his own felicity, this
Prince of Peace consigned to the self-illuminated page,
that Song of Songs which is Solomon's.
It was June in Hebrew history — the top-tide of a
nation's happiness. Sitting, like an empress, between the
Eastern and Western oceans, the navies of three continents
poured their treasures at her feet ; and, awed by her com
manding name, the dromedaries of Midian and Ephah
brought spontaneous tributes of spice, and silver, and
precious stones. To build her palaces, the shaggy brows
of Lebanon had been scalped of their cedars, and Ophir
had bled its richest gold. At the magical voice of the
Sovereign, fountains, native to distant hills, rippled down
the slopes of Zion ; and miraculous cities, like Palmyra,
started up from the sandy waste. And whilst peace,
16 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
and commerce, and the law's protection, made gold like
brass, and silver shekels like stones of the street, Pales
tine was a halcyon-nest suspended betwixt the calm
wave and the warm sky ; Jerusalem was a royal infant,
whose silken cradle soft winds rock high up on a castle
tower : all was serene magnificence and opulent secu
rity.
You have seen a blight in summer. The sky is over
cast, and yet there are no clouds ; nothing but a dry and
stifling obscuration — as if the mouth of some pestilent
volcano had opened, or as if sulphur mingled with the sun
beams. " The beasts groan ; the cattle are oppressed."
From the trees the embryo fruits and the remaining
blossoms fall in an unnoticed shower, and the foliage
curls and crumples. And whilst creation looks disconso
late, in the hedgerows the heavy moths begin to flutter,
and ominous owlets cry from the ruin. Such a blight
came over the Hebrew summer. By every calculation it
ought to have been high noon ; but the sun no longer
smiled on Israel's dial. There was a dark discomfort in
the air. The people murmured. The monarch wheeled
along with greater pomp than ever ; but the popular prince
had soured into the despot, and the crown sat defiant on
his moody brow ; and stiff were the obeisances, heartless
the hosannas, which hailed him as he passed. The ways
of Zion mourned ; and whilst grass was sprouting in the
temple-courts, mysterious groves and impious shrines were
rising everywhere ; and whilst lust defiled the palace,
Chemosh and Ashtaroth, and other Gentile abominations,
defiled the Holy Land. And in the disastrous eclipse
THE PREACHER. 17
beasts of the forest crept abroad. From his lurking-place
in Egypt Hadad ventured out, and became a life-long tor
ment to the God-forsaken monarch. And Eezin pounced
on Damascus, and made Syria his own. And from the
pagan palaces of Thebes and Memphis harsh cries were
heard ever and anon, Pharaoh and Jeroboam taking counsel
together, screeching forth their threatenings, and hooting
insults, at which Solomon could laugh no longer. For
amidst all the gloom and misery a message comes from
God : the kingdom is rent ; and whilst Solomon's succes
sor will only have a fag-end and a fragment, by right
Divine ten tribes are handed over to a rebel and a run
away.
What led to Solomon's apostasy ? And what, again,
was the ulterior effect of that apostasy on himself ? As
to the origin of his apostasy the Word of God is explicit.
He did not obey his own maxim. He ceased to rejoice
with the wife of his youth ; and loving many strangers,
they drew his heart away from God. Luxury and sinful
attachments made him an idolater, and idolatry made him
yet more licentious; until, in the lazy enervation and
languid day-dreaming of the Sybarite, he lost the perspi
cacity of the sage, and the prowess of the sovereign ; and
when he woke up from the tipsy swoon, and out of the
kennel picked his tarnished diadem, he woke to find his
faculties, once so clear and limpid, all perturbed, his
strenuous reason paralysed, and his healthful fancy
poisoned. He woke to find the world grown hollow, and
himself grown old. He woke to see the sun bedarkened
in Israel's sky, and a special gloom encompassing himself.
VOL. III. B
18 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
He woke to recognise all round a sadder sight than
winter — a blasted summer. Like a deluded Samson start
ing from his slumber, he sought to recall that noted
wisdom which had signalized his Nazarite days ; but its
locks were shorn ; and, cross and self- disgusted, wretched
and guilty, he woke up to the discovery which awaits the
sated sensualist : he found that when the beast gets the
better of the man, the man is abandoned by his God.
Like one who falls asleep amidst the lights and music of
an orchestra, and who awakes amidst empty benches and
tattered programmes — like a man who falls asleep in a
flower-garden, and who opens his eyes on a bald and
locust-blackened wilderness, — the life, the loveliness, was
vanished, and all the remaining spirit of the mighty
Solomon yawned forth that verdict of the tired volup
tuary : " Vanity of vanities ! vanity of vanities ! all is
vanity !"
II.
THE SERMON.
"The words of the Preacher, the son of David, King of Jerusalem.
Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities ; all is vanity." — •
ECCLES. i. 1, 2.
THERE are some books of the Bible which can only be
read with thorough profit when once you have found the
key. Luther somewhere tells us, that he used to be
greatly damped by an expression in the outset of the
Epistle to the Eomans. The apostle says, " I am not
ashamed of the Gospel ; for therein is the righteousness
of God revealed." By " righteousness," Luther understood
the justice of God — His attribute of moral rectitude ; and
so understanding it, he could scarcely see the superiority
of the Gospel over the Law, and, at all events, his troubled
conscience could find no comfort in it. But when at last
it was revealed to him that the term here alludes not to
an attribute of God, but to the atonement of Immanuel —
that it means not justice, but God's justifying righteous
ness — the righteousness which God incarnate wrought
out, and which is imputed to the sinner believing — the
whole epistle was lit up with a joyful illumination ; and
19
20 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
the context and many other passages which used to look
so dark and hostile, at once " leaped up and fondled" him
with friendly recognition ; and to Luther ever after the
Gospel was glorious as the revelation and the vehicle to
the sinner of a righteousness Divine. To take another
instance : many read the Book of Job as if every verse
were equally the utterance of Jehovah ; and they quote
the sayings of Bildad and Zophar as the mind of the Most
High ; entirely forgetting the avowed structure of the
book — forgetting that through five-and-thirty chapters
the several collocutors are permitted to reason and wrangle,
and " darken counsel by words without knowledge," in
order to make the contrast more striking, when at last
Jehovah breaks silence and vindicates His own procedure.
But when you advert to its real structure — when you
group the different elements of its poetic painting — when,
under the canopy of a dark cloud, you see the patriarch
cowering, and his three friends assailing him with calum
nious explanations of his sore affliction ; but above that
cloud you see Jehovah listening to His loyal servant, and
to his pious, but narrow-minded neighbours — listening
with a look of fatherly fondness, and from heaven's
cornucopia1 ready to shower on His servant's head the
most overwhelming of vindications — the blessings twice
repeated, which Satan snatched away ; when you see this,
and when you know that Jehovah is to be the last speaker,
instead of nervously striving to torture into truths the
mistakes of Bildad and Zophar, and of Job himself, you
feel that their mistakes are as natural and as needful to
1 Job xlii. 14, Keren-happuch ; i.e., Horn of Plenty.
THE SERMON. 21
the plan of the book, as are all the cross-purposes and
contradictory colloquies of a well- constructed drama. And
when so understood, you feel that, all the rather because
of the misconceptions of the human speakers, the book
is eloquent with Divine vindication, and teaches what
Cowper sings so touchingly : —
"Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take !
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain ;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain."
Perhaps no portion of Holy Writ more needs a key than
the subject of our lecture. On the one hand, Ecclesiastes
has always been a favourite book with Infidels. It was a
manual with that coarse scoffer, Frederick the Great of
Prussia ; and both Volney and Voltaire appeal to it in
support of their sceptical philosophy. Nor can it be
denied that it contains many sentiments at seeming
variance with the general purport of the Word of God.
" Be not righteous overmuch ; why shouldst thou destroy
thyself?" "All things come alike to all: there is one
event to the righteous and to the wicked; to him that
sacrificeth, and to him that sacrificeth not." " There is a
time for everything. What profit hath he that worketh
in that wherein he laboureth ?" " As the beast dieth, so
dieth man. Do not both go to one place ?" "A man
hath no better thing than to eat and drink and be merry."
These texts, and many like them, are quoted by the
22 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
moralists of expediency ; by the fatalist, the materialist,
the Pyrrhonist, the epicure.
On the other hand, many able commentators have
laboured hard to harmonize such passages with the say
ings of Scripture ; I may add, they have laboured hard to
harmonize them with other sayings of Solomon, and other
passages of this selfsame book. But I cannot help think
ing they have laboured in vain. For the moment, and
when reading or listening to some eloquent exposition,
you may persuade yourself that such texts are, after all,
only peculiar and paradoxical ways of putting important
truths ; but when Procrustes has withdrawn his pressure,
and the reluctant sentence has escaped from the screw and
lever, it bounds up elastic, and looks as strange and un
gainly as ever. Accordingly, others have met the diffi
culty by suggesting that, like Canticles, Ecclesiastes is a
dialogue ; and into the mouth of an imaginary objector,
they put every sentiment which they deem unsuitable to
an inspired penman. For such interpellations, however,
there is no foundation in the context, where nothing is
more obvious than the continuous identity of the speaker ;
and, like another exegetical stratagem which would invert
the meaning of such passages by turning them into inter
rogatories, you feel that it is a clever evasion rather than
a conclusive solution.1 You would prefer a straightforward
1 As specimens of the interrogatory subterfuge, the reader may compare
with the original or with the authorized version the following : — " Shall
there then be no remembrance of past or future events ? Shall there be no
memorial of them among those who shall come after us?" — i. 11. "For
cannot that which is crooked be made straight ? Cannot that which is want
ing be supplied?" — i. 15. "Shall I therefore hate life, because anything
wrought under the sun becomes a grievance unto me ? Shall I hate all my
THE SERMON. 23
exposition which would maintain the unity of the book
and the analogy of Scripture, whilst taking the words as
they stand.
This is the sentence with which Ecclesiastes closes :
" Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter : Fear
God, and keep his commandments : for this is the whole
of man. For God shall bring every work into judgment,
with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it
be evil." This is the conclusion of the matter, and a
wise and wholesome conclusion, worthy of Him who said,
" Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness,
and all these things shall be added unto you." But what
is the " matter" of which this is the " conclusion" ? To
ascertain this we must go back to the beginning. There
you read, " I the preacher was king in Jerusalem, and I
gave my heart to search out by wisdom concerning all
things that are done under heaven. Then I said in my
heart, Go to now, I will prove thee with mirth : therefore
enjoy pleasure," etc. In other words, you find that this
" matter" was a long experiment, which the narrator made
in search of the Supreme Felicity, and of which Eccle
siastes records the successive stages. But how does it
record them ? By virtually repeating them. In the exer
cise of his poetic power the historian conveys himself and
his reader back into those days of vanity, and feels anew
all that he felt then ; so that, in the course of his rapid
monologue, he stands before us, by turns the man of
science and the man of pleasure, the fatalist, the material-
labour which I take under the sun, because I must sometime leave it to the
man who shall succeed me?" — ii. 17, 18. — (Barham's Corrected Translation.)
Surely the sense is too feeble to justify such a forced construction.
24 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
1st, the sceptic, the epicurean, and the stoic, with a few
earnest and enlightened interludes ; till, in the conclusion
of the whole matter, he sloughs the last of all these " lying
vanities," and emerges to our view, a man in his right
mind — a believer and a penitent.
This we regard as the true idea of the book. We would
describe it as a dramatic biography, in which Solomon not
only records but re-enacts the successive scenes of his
search after happiness ; a descriptive memoir, in which
he not only recites his past experience, but in his impro
vising fervour becomes the various phases of his former
self once more. He is a restored backslider, and for the
benefit of his son and his subjects, and — under the guidance
of God's Spirit — for the benefit of the Church, he writes
this prodigal's progress. He is a returned pilgrim from
the land of Nod, and as he opens the portfolio of sketches
which he took before his eyes were turned away from
viewing vanity, he accompanies them with lively and
realizing repetitions of what he felt and thought during
those wild and joyless days. Our great Edmund Burke
once said that his own life might be best divided into
"fyttes" or "manias:" that his life began with a fit
poetical, followed by a fit metaphysical, and that again by
a fit rhetorical ; that he once had a mania for statesman
ship, and that this again had subsided into the mania of
philosophical seclusion. And so in his days of apostasy,
the soul intense of Solomon launched out into a fit of
study, succeeded by a fit of luxury. He had fits of gross-
ness and refinement, a mania of conviviality, a mania of
misanthropy. He had a fit of building, a fit of science, a
THE SERMON. 25
fit of book-making ; and they all passed off in collapses of
disappointment and paroxysms of downright misery. And
here, as he exhibits these successive tableaux, these fac
similes of his former self, like a modern bard on St.
Cecilia's Day, he runs the diapason of departed passion,
and in the successive strophes and antistrophes, he feels
his former frenzies over again, in order that, by the very
vividness of the representation, we may be all the better
" admonished."1
"The preacher was king over Israel, and, because he
was wise, he taught the people knowledge. He sought to
find out acceptable words, and that which was written
was upright,"2 a true story, a real statement of the case.
" And by these, my son, be admonished." ' Do you, my
son, accept this father's legacy ; and do you, my people,
receive at your monarch's hand this " Basilicon Doron,"
this autobiography of your penitent prince. These chap
ters are " words of truth : " revivals of my former self —
reproductions of my reasonings and regrets — my fantastic
hopes and blank failures, during that sad voyage round
the coasts of vanity. " By these be admonished." With
out repeating the guilty experiment, learn the painful
result — listen to the moans of a melancholy worldling ;
for I shall sing again some of those doleful ditties for
which I exchanged the songs of Zion. Look at these por
traits — they are not fancy sketches — they are my former
self, or, rather, my former selves : that lay figure in the
royal robes, surmounted first by the lantern -jaws of the
book- worm, now exchanged for the jolly visage of the gay
1 Chap. xii. 12. 3 Chap. i. 12 ; xii. 9, 10.
26 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
gourmand, and presently refining into the glossy locks and
languid smile of the Hebrew exquisite : now chuckling
with the merriment of the laughing philosopher, curling
anon into the bitter sneer of the cynic, and each in suc
cession exploding in smoke ; not a masque, not a mum
mery, not a series of make-believes, but each a genuine
evolution of the various Solomon — look at these pictures,
ye worldlings, and as in water face answers to face, so in
one or other of these recognise your present likeness and
foresee your destiny.'
" All Scripture is given by inspiration of God," and it
is not the less "profitable" because some of it is the
inspired record of human infirmity. The seventy-third
Psalm is a lesser Ecclesiastes. There Asaph tells us the
workings of his mind when he saw the prosperity of the
wicked. " Behold, these are the ungodly who prosper
in the world. Verily, I have cleansed my heart in vain,
and washed my hands in innocency." And he was so
full of resentment and envy that his " feet were almost
gone." He had " well nigh slipped" into utter apo
stasy : when a timely visit to the sanctuary intercepted
his fall There two forgotten verities flashed upon his
mind : — the coming retribution, and the all -sufficiency
of the believer's portion. " Nevertheless, I am con
tinually with thee : thou hast holden me by my right
hand. Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and after
ward receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven
but thee ? and there is none upon earth that I desire
beside thee. My flesh and my heart faileth : but God
is the strength of my heart and my portion for ever.
THE SERMON. 27
For lo, they that are far from thee shall perish : thou hast
destroyed all them that go a- whoring from thee. But it
is good for me to draw near to God : I have put my trust
in the Lord God, that I may declare all thy works." And
just as Asaph's heart for a time was " grieved," — " So
foolish was I, and ignorant : I was as a beast before thee,"
— so Solomon's feet actually slipped, and in this book he
gives us his various reasonings whilst still a backslider.
And just as Asaph's "conclusion of the whole matter"
was the blessedness of piety and the certainty of righteous
retribution, — " It is good for me to draw near to God :
they that are far from thee shall perish," — so Solomon's
conclusion is identical : " Fear God, and keep his com
mandments : for this is the whole of man. For God shall
bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing,
whether it be good, or whether it be evil." It need,
therefore, in no wise surprise us if we find in these chap
ters many strange questionings and startling opinions,
before we arrive at the final conclusion. Intermingled
with much that is noble and holy, these " doubtful dis
putations" are not the dialogue of a believer and an
infidel, but the soliloquy of a "divided heart" — the de
bate of a truant will with an upbraiding conscience. As
we listen to the inward colloquy we could sometimes
fancy that we hear a worldling and a sceptic contending
with an Abdiel. But, after all, it is only the fitful medi
tation of one who once knew better, and who, by bitter
discipline, is learning anew the lesson of his youth. We
know not to what better to compare it than a labyrinth
ine journey underground. Impatient of the daylight—
28 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
quitting those pastures green and paths of righteousness
in which he had walked with his saintly sire — tired of
religion and its simple pleasures, he dives into a subter
ranean avenue which is to end in a Goshen of central
light — a poet's paradise with emerald turf and flam
ing flowers. And the first portion of his fantastic path
is lighted by radiance from the entrance — the recol
lected knowledge of his wiser days. But that dim
twilight fades, and the explorer quickly finds that even
Solomon is not phosphorescent, and, stumbling on, he
souses into a fetid quag. Struggling through the slough
of sensuality, he reaches a brilliant cave, where pendant
crystals glorify the beams transmitted through the fissured
roof, and where the very stones are musical ; and, for a
season, the royal pilgrim expatiates in a temple sacred to
architecture and each fine art. But, wearied with its
splendour, shivering at its frosty elegance, he presses on
again ; and, except when now and then a shaft overhead
lets down some light into the dreary tunnel, all benighted,
— as on the rugged roof he strikes his brow, or on the
flinty splinters wounds his feet, — we can overhear the
muffled voice which execrates the vexation and vanity.
And when, at last, with sullied robes and grisled locks he
emerges to the spot from which he started, he grudges so
long a journey, and a route so painful, back to his better
self ; and resuming his old position, though scarcely re
gaining his original cheerfulness, he advises us to be
content with his experiment and to begin with his " con
clusion." If, therefore, we remember the real structure
of the book, and as a lamp to its dim passages take the
THE SERMON. 29
light from its final landing-place, much of its obscurity
will flee away ; and we may listen without disquiet to
the darkest queries and most desperate declarations of
Solomon benighted, when in Solomon recovered we ex
pect the answer and the antidote.
There is little difference in men's bodily stature. A
fathom, or thereabouts — a little more or a little less — is
the ordinary elevation of the human family. Should a
man add a cubit to this stature, he is followed along the
streets as a prodigy ; should he fall very far short of it,
people pay money for a sight of him, as a great curiosity.
But were there any exact measurement of mental statures,
we should be struck by an amazing diversity. We should
find pigmy intellects too frequent to be curiosities. "We
should find fragile understandings to which the grass
hopper is a burden, and dwarfish capacities unable to
grapple with the easiest problems : whilst, on the other
hand, we should encounter a few colossal minds, of which
the altitude must be taken, not in feet, but in furlongs —
tall, culminating minds, which command the entire tract
of existing knowledge — minds whose horizon is their
coeval hemisphere ; or, loftier still, prophetic minds, on
which is already shining the unrisen sun of some future
century.
Such a mind was Solomon's. His information was vast.
He was the encyclopaedia of that early age. He was an
adept in the natural sciences : — " He spake of trees, from
the cedar to the hyssop ; he spake also of beasts, and of fowl,
and of creeping things, and of fishes," as the sacred historian
30 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
simply words it ; or, in modern terminology, he was a
botanist, and acquainted with all departments of zoology,
from the annelid a up to the higher vertebrata. His wis
dom excelled the wisdom of all the children of the East
country, and all the children of Egypt. And then his
originality was equal to his information. He was a
poet : his " Songs " were upwards of a thousand. And a
moralist : his proverbs were three thousand. He was a
sagacious politician ; and as the chief magistrate of his
own empire, he was famous for the equity and acuteness
of his decisions. He had a splendid taste in architec
ture and landscape-gardening ; and his enormous wealth
enabled him to conjure into palpable realities the visions
of his gorgeous imagination ; whilst, to crown the whole
— unlike Moses and many others, men of stately intellect,
but stammering speech— the wisdom of Solomon found
utterance in language like itself ; and whilst the eloquence
still lived of which the Bible has preserved some exam
ples, crowned students and royal disciples came from the
utmost parts of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon.
Now, this man, so mightily endowed — if you add to his
intellectual elevation the pedestal of his rare good fortune,
mounting the genius of the sage on the throne of the
sovereign — this peerless man, this prime specimen of
humanity — it would appear that Providence raised up,
or this, among other purposes. From the day when
Adam fell it had been the great inquiry among men,
Where and how to find the true felicity ? And though
the most High assured them that they could only find it
where they had formerly enjoyed it — in unison with
THE SERMON. 31
Himself, and in His conscious friendship — of this they
were quite incredulous. It was still the problem, Apart
from Infinite Excellence, how shall we be happy ?
Though blessedness was not far from any one of them,
in delirious search of it, men burrowed in gold mines, and
turned over every mound of rubbish, drilled deep into the
rock, and dived deep into the sea. And though none
succeeded, few despaired. There was always an apology
for failure. They had sought in the right direction, but
with inadequate appliances. They were not rich enough ;
they were not strong enough ; they were not clever
enough. Had they been only a little wealthier ; had
they been better educated ; had they possessed more
leisure, talent, power — they were just about to touch the
talisman : they would have brought to light the philo
sopher's stone. And as it is part of man's ungodliness
to believe his fellow-sinner more than his Creator, the
Most High provided an unimpeachable testimony. He
raised up Solomon. He made him healthy and hand
some — wise and brilliant. He poured wealth into his
lap, till it ran over : He made him absolute monarch of
the finest kingdom which the world at that time offered ;
and, instead of savages and Pagans, gave him for his sub
jects a civilized and a religious people. And that he
might not be distracted by wars and rumours of wars,
He put into his hand a peaceful sceptre, and saved him
from the hardships of the field and the perils of the fight.
Thus endowed and thus favoured, Solomon commenced
the search after happiness. Everything except godly, he
devoted himself to the art of enjoyment. And in carry-
32 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
ing on his own experiment lie unwittingly, but effectually
became God's demonstration. Into the crucible he cast
rank and beauty, wealth and learning ; and, as a flux, he
added youth and genius ; and then, with all the ardour
of his vehement nature, he urged the furnace to its
whitest glow. But when the grand projection took place,
from all the costly ingredients the entire residuum was,
Vanity of vanities ! And ere he left the laboratory, he
made ink of the ashes ; and in the confessions of a con
verted worldling, he was constrained to write one of the
saddest books in all the Bible.
His first recourse was knowledge. Communing with
his own heart, he said, " Lo, I am come to great estate,
and have gotten more wisdom than all they that have
been before me in Jerusalem : yea, my heart had great
experience of wisdom and knowledge. And I gave my
heart to know (more) wisdom, and to know madness and
folly (that is, mirth and satire) : I perceived that this also
is vexation of spirit. For in much wisdom is much grief :
and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow."
And, as he adds elsewhere, " Of making many books
there is no end ; and much study is a weariness to the
flesh."
No, no. Carpe horam. Life is short, and learning
slow. Quit that dingy study, and out into the laughing
world. .Make a bonfire of these books, and fill your reed-
quiver with bird-bolts. Exchange the man of letters for
the man of pleasure. And so he did. " I gave myself to
wine, I made me great works, I builded me houses, I
planted me vineyards." But here, too, he was destined to
THE SERMON. 33
isappointment. For the coarse pleasures of the carouse
',nd the wine-cup his cultivated mind had little affinity ;
ind when day- spring revealed the faded chaplets, the
goblets capsized, and the red wine-pools on the floor of
the banquet-hall ; when the merry-making of yesternight
only lived in the misery of the morning, he exclaimed,
" Such laughter is mad; and such mirth, what doeth it?"
Even so, of the more elegant pastimes — the palace, the
fish-pond, the flower-garden, the menagerie — the enjoy
ment ended when the plan was executed ; and as soon as
the collection was completed, the pleasure of the collector
ceased. " Then I looked on all the works that my hands
had wrought, and on the labour that I had laboured to
do : and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit,
and there was no profit under the sun."
But there still remained one solace. There must be
something very sweet in absolute power. Though the
battle has been going on for six thousand years, and the
odds are overwhelming — a million resisting one — yet still
the love of power is so tremendous, — to say to one, Go,
and he goeth ; and to another, Do this, and he doeth it —
the right to say this is so delicious, that sooner or later,
the million lose the battle, and find the one their master.
Now, this ascendency over others Solomon possessed to a
rare degree. " The Preacher was king in Jerusalem."
He was absolute monarch there. And to flatter his
instinct of government still more, surrounding states and
sovereigns all did homage at Jerusalem. But no sooner
did he find his power thus supreme and unchallenged,
VOL. m. c
34 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
than lie began to be visited with misgivings as to his
successor — misgivings for which the sequel showed that
there was too good reason. " Yea, I hated all the labour
which I had taken under the sun, because I should leave
it unto the man that shall be after me. And who
knoweth whether he shall be a wise man or a fool ?
Yet shall he have rule over all my labour wherein I have
laboured, and wherein I have showed myself wise under
the sun. This is also vanity."
I need not say how the experience of most worldlings
has been Solomon's sorrow repeated, with the variations
incident to altered circumstances, and the diminished in
tensity to be expected in feebler men — vanity and vexa
tion of spirit all over again. And as we are sometimes
more impressed by modern instances than by Bible ex
amples, we could call into court nearly as many witnesses
as there have been hunters of happiness — mighty Nimrods
in the chase of Pleasure, and Fame, and Power. We
might ask the statesman, and, as we wished him a happy
new year, Lord Dundas would answer, " It had need to
be happier than the last, for I never knew one happy day
in it." We might ask the successful lawyer, and the
wariest, luckiest, most self-complacent of them all would
answer, as Lord Eldon was privately recording when the
whole Bar envied the Chancellor, — "A few weeks will
send me to dear Encombe, as a short resting-place between
vexation and the grave." We might ask the golden mil
lionaire, " You must be a happy man, Mr. Eothschild ? "
" Happy ! — me happy ! What ! happy, when just as you
THE SERMON. 35
are going to dine you have a letter placed in your hand,
saying, ' If you do not send me £500, I will blow your
brains out ?' Happy ! when you have to sleep with
pistols at your pillow?" We might ask the clever artist,
and our gifted countryman would answer, of whose latter
days a brother writes, " In the studio, all the pictures
seemed to stand up like enemies to receive me. This joy
in labour, this desire for fame, what have they done for
him ? The walls of this gaunt sounding place, the frames,
even some of the canvasses, are furred with damp. In the
little library where he painted last, was the word ' Nepen
the ?' written interrogatingly with white chalk on the
wall."1 We might ask the world-famed warrior, and get
for answer the "Miserere" of the Emperor- monk,2 or the
sigh of a broken heart from St. Helena. We might ask
the brilliant courtier, and Lord Chesterfield would tell us,
" I have enjoyed all the pleasures of the world, and I do
not regret their loss. I have been behind the scenes. I
have seen all the coarse pulleys and dirty ropes which
move the gaudy machines ; and I have seen and smelt the
tallow-candles which illuminate the whole decorations, to
the astonishment of an ignorant audience." We might
ask the dazzling wit, and, faint with a glut of glory, yet
disgusted with the creatures who adored him, Voltaire
would condense the essence of his existence into one word,
"Ennui" And we might ask the world's poet, and we
would be answered with an imprecation by that splendid
genius,3 who
1 Memoir of David Scott, RS.A. 2 Charles v. 3 Byron.
36 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
" Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump
Of fame ; drank early, deeply drank ; drank draughts
That common millions might have quenched — then died
Of thirst, because there was no more to drink."
But without going so far as these historic instances, I
make my appeal to all the candour and self-knowledge
here present, and I ask, Who is there that, apart from
God's favour, has ever tasted solid joy and satisfaction of
spirit? You have perhaps tried learning. You have
wearied your flesh acquiring some branch of knowledge, or
mastering the arcana of some science ; and you promised
yourself that, when once you were an adept, it would in
troduce you to a circle of transcendental friends, or would
drown you in a flood of golden fame. You won the friends,
and, apart from this special accomplishment, you found
them so full of petty feuds and jealousies, so cold-hearted
or so coarse-minded, that you inwardly abjured them, and
vowed that you must follow learning for its own rewards ;
or you won the fame — you secured the prize — you caught
the coveted distinction, and like the senior wrangler,1 you
found that you had " grasped a shadow." Or you tried
some course of gaiety. You said, " Go to now — I will
prove thee with mirth ; therefore enjoy pleasure." You
dressed— you took pains with your appearance ; you
studied the art of pleasing. But even self-love could not
disguise that some rival was more dazzling, more graceful
and self-possessed, and had made a more brilliant impres
sion : and you came home mortified at your own sheep-
ishness and rustic blundering; or if content to mingle
1 Henry Martyn.
THE SERMON. 37
passively in others' merriment, tattling with the talkers,
and drifting along the tide of drollery, was there no pen
sive reflection as, late at night, you sought your dwelling ?
— did you not say of laughter, " It is mad ? and of mirth,
What doeth it?" Or, perhaps, at some pleasant time of
year, you made up a famous ploy. And the excursion
went off, but the promised enjoyment never came up.
Mountain breezes did not blow away your vexing memo
ries, nor did the soft sea- wind heal your wounded spirit.
In the rapid train you darted swiftly, but at the journey's
end you were mortified to find that your evil temper had
travelled by the same conveyance. And though it was
a classic or a sacred stream into which you looked, not
even Arethusa nor Siloah could smooth from off your
countenance the furrows of anxiety, or the frown of cross
ness which cast its shadow there. The truth is, all will
be vanity to the heart which is vile, and all will be vexa
tion to the spirit which the peace of God is not possessing.
When you remember how vast is the soul of man, and
also what a mighty virus of depravity pervades it, you
might as well ask, How many showers will it need to make
the salt ocean fresh ? as ask, How many mercies will it
need to make a murmuring spirit thankful and happy ?
You might as soon ask, How many buckets of water must
you pour down the crater of Etna before you convert the
volcano into a cool and crystal jet d'eau ? as ask, How
many bounties must Providence pour into a worldling's
spirit before that spirit will cease to evaporate them into
vanity, or send them fuming back in complaint and vexa
tion ?—
38 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
" Attempt how vain —
With things of earthly sort, with aught but God,
With aught but moral excellence, truth, and love-
To satisfy and fill the immortal soul !
To satisfy the ocean with a drop ;
To marry immortality to death ;
And with the unsubstantial shade of time
To fill the embrace of all eternity ! " 1
1 Pollok's Course of Time, Book iv.
June 30, 1850.
III.
A GREATER THAN SOLOMON.
"The Queen of the South .... came from the uttermost parts of the
earth, to hear the wisdom of Solomon ; and, behold, a greater than Solomon
is here."— MATT. xii. 42.
IT was autumn with the Hebrew commonwealth. Like
withered leaves from the sapless tree, the Jews easily
parted from the parent Palestine, and were blown about,
adventurers in every land ; and like that fungous vegeta
tion which rushes up when nobler plants have faded,
formalism and infidelity were rankly springing every
where ; and it was only a berry on the topmost bough —
some mellow Simeon or Zacharias — that reminded you of
the rich old piety. The sceptre had not quite departed
from Judah, but he who held it was a puppet in the
Gentiles' hand; and with shipless harbours, and silent
oracles, with Roman sentinels on every public building,
and Roman tax-gatherers in every town, patriotism felt
too surely, that from the land of Joshua and Samuel, of
Elijah and Isaiah, of David and Solomon, the glory was at
last departing. The sky was lead, the air a winding-
sheet ; and every token told that a long winter was setting
39
40 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
in. It was even then, amid the short days and sombre
sunsets of the waning dynasty, that music filled the firma
ment, and in the city of David a mighty Prince was born.
He grew in stature, and in due time was manifested to
Israel. And what was the appearance of this " greater
than Solomon" ? What were His royal robes ? The attire
of a common Nazarene. What were His palaces ? A
carpenter's cottage, which He sometimes exchanged for a
fisherman's hut. Who were His ministers and His court
attendants ? Twelve peasants. And what was His state
chariot ? None could He afford ; but in one special pro
cession He rode on a borrowed ass. Ah ! said we so ?
His royal robe was the light inaccessible, whenever He
chose to let it shine through ; and Solomon, in all his
glory, was never arrayed like Jesus on Tabor. His palace
was the Heaven of Heavens ; and when a voluntary exile
from it, little did it matter whether his occasional lodging
were a rustic hovel, or Herod's halls. If fishermen were
His friends, angels were His servants ; and if the bor
rowed colt was His triumphal charger, the sea was proud
when, from crest to crest of its foaming billows, it felt
His majestic footsteps moving ; and when the time had
arrived for returning to His Father and His God, the
clouds lent the chariot, and obsequious airs upbore Him
in their reverent hands. Solomon's pulpit was a throne,
and he had an audience of kings and queens. The
Saviour's synagogue was a mountain- side — His pulpit was
a grassy knoll or a fishing-boat — His audience were the
boors of Galilee ; and yet, in point of intrinsic greatness,
Solomon did not more excel the children playing in the
A GREATER THAN SOLOMON. 41
market-place, than He who preached the Sermon on the
Mount excelled King Solomon.
Looking at Solomon as a Teacher, the first thing that
strikes us is, that he was a great querist. Next to the
man who can answer a question thoroughly, is the man
who can ask it clearly. Our world is full of obscure
misery — dark wants and dim desiderata : like a man in a
low fever, its whole head is sick, and its whole heart
faint ; but it can neither fix exactly on the focus of dis
ease, nor give an intelligent account of its sensations. But
in this respect Solomon was the mouthpiece of humanity.
Speaking for himself, he has so described the symptoms,
that a whole ward — an entire world of fellow- sufferers —
may take him for their spokesman. " These are exactly
my feelings. I have experienced all that he describes. I
am just such another fitful anomaly — just such a constant
self-contradiction. One day I wish time to fly faster;
another I am appalled to find that so little remains. One
day I believe that I shall die like the brutes ; and, frantic
in thinking that a spirit so capacious is to perish so soon,
I chafe around my cage, and beat those bars of flesh which
enclose a captive so godlike ; I try to burst that cell which
is ere long to be a sepulchre : anon I am content, and I
say, ' Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow you die :'
and no sooner is the carnival over than I start up, con
scious of my crime — descrying the forgotten judgment-
seat, and aghast at my own impiety in embruting an heir
of immortality. One day I deny myself, and save up a
fortune for my son and successor ; another, it strikes me
he may prove a prodigal, and I fling the hoard away.
42 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
Now it seizes me that I must be famous ; and then I grow
disgusted with the praise of fools. What will cure a broken
heart ? What will fill an abysmal gulf ? What will make
a crooked nature upright ? What will restore his Creator
unto man, and man unto himself?"
And Jesus answers : " Believe in God and believe in
me, and your heart will cease to be troubled. Hunger
after righteousness, and your craving spirit will be filled.
The words that I speak unto you are spirit and life :
imbibe them, ponder them, delight in them, and they will
satisfy the vastest desires of the most eager soul. What
will make the crooked upright ? Be born again. What
will restore the Creator to revolted man ? God so loved
the world, that He gave His only -begotten Son, that
whosoever believeth in Him should have eternal life."
And thus, one by one, the great Evangelist answers the
queries of the great Ecclesiastes. And if the sage has
done a service, who, in articulate words, describes the
symptoms of the great disease, how incomparably greater
is the service done by the Saviour, who prescribes the
remedy ! After all, Solomon is only an eloquent patient ;
Jesus is the Divine Physician.
Again : Solomon's teaching is mainly negative. Five
centuries later, it was the business of the wisest Greek to
teach his brethren knowledge of their ignorance. And so
dexterously did he manage his oblique mirrors — so many
of his countrymen did he surprise with side-views and
back- views of themselves ; so much fancied knowledge
did he confute, and so many Athenians did he put out of
conceit with themselves, that at last the Athenians lost
A GREATER THAN SOLOMON. 43
conceit of him, and killed the mortifying missionary.
And, like Socrates, Solomon is an apostle of sincerity.
His pen is the point of a diamond ; and as it touches
many of this world's boasted jewels, it shows that they
are only coloured crystal His sceptre is a rod of iron,
and as it enabled him to command all pleasures, so it
enables him to prove their nullity ; and before his indig
nant stroke they crash like potsherds, and dissipate in dust.
But more sincere than Socrates. His tests, his probes,
his solar lamp, the Greek employed for his neighbour's
benefit; such an awful earnestness had God's Spirit en
kindled in the Hebrew sage, that his grand struggle was
against self-deception : and the illusions on which he
spends his hottest fury are the phantoms which have
befooled himself. Socrates gossips; Solomon communes
with his own heart. Socrates gets his comrade to con
fess ; Solomon makes his own confession. And so terrible
in his intensity, that if it be well for our modern idoloclasts
and showers-up of shams that there is no Socrates now- a-
days to show them to themselves, it will be well for us all
if we take a pattern from Solomon's noble fidelity, and if
we strive after his stern self-knowledge. And yet the
result was mainly negative. He had dived deep enough
into his nature to find that there was no genuine goodness
there ; and from the heights of his stately intellect he
swept a wide horizon, and reported that within his field
of view there was perceptible no genuine happiness. If
he was taller than other men, he was sorry to announce
that, far as he could see, no fountain of joy now sprang in
this desert : no tree of life grew hereaway. If he was
44 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
stronger than other men, he had bad news for them : he
had tried the gate of Eden, and shoved it and shaken it :
but he feared no mortal shoulders could move it on
its hinges, nor any human contrivance force it from its
fastenings.
But if Solomon in his teaching was mainly negative,
Jesus was as mainly positive. Solomon shook his head
and told what happiness is not : Jesus opened his lips,
and enunciated what it is. Solomon said, " Knowledge is
vanity. Power is vanity. Mirth is vanity. Man and all
man's pursuits are perfect vanity." Jesus said, " Humi
lity is blessedness. Meekness is blessedness. Purity of
heart is blessedness. God is blessed for evermore, and
most blessed is the creature that is likest God. Holiness
is happiness." " We labour and find no rest," said Solo
mon. Jesus answered, " Come unto me, all ye that labour,
and I will give you rest." "All is vanity," sighed the
Preacher. " In the world ye shall have tribulation, but
in me ye shall have peace," replied the Saviour. " What
is truth ? " asks Ecclesiastes. " I am the truth," returns
the Divine Evangelist. Solomon was tall enough to scan
half the globe and see an expanse of sorrow ; the Son of
Man knew all that is in heaven, and could tell of a Com
forter who fills with peace unspeakable the soul immersed
in outward misery. Solomon could tell that the gate of
bliss is closed against human effort. Jesus has the key of
David, and opens what Adam shut ; and into the Father's
propitious presence He undertakes to usher all who come
through Him. Solomon composed Earth's epitaph, and
on the tomb of the species wrote, All is Vanity. Look-
A GREATER THAN SOLOMON. 45
ing forward to eternity, Jesus was content to ask for
His disciples no meaner destiny than a share in those
pleasures which would make Himself most blessed for
evermore. l
Nay, so positive was the Saviour's teaching, that, in
order to understand Him rightly, we must remember that
He was not only the Prophet, but the doctrine ; not only
the Oracle uttering God's truth, but his very self that
Truth. Other prophets could tell what God's mind is :
Jesus was that mind. " The law" — a portion of God's
will — " was given by Moses ; but grace and truth" — the
gracious reality, the truthful plenitude of the Divine per
fections, " came by Jesus Christ." He was the express
image of the Father. He was the Word Incarnate. And
to many a query of man's wistful spirit, He was the em
bodied answer. Is there any immortality to this soul ?
Is there any second life to this body ? " In my Father's
house are many mansions. I go to prepare a place for
you, and I will come again and receive you to myself."
" I am the Eesurrection and the Life : he that believeth
in me shall never die : I will raise him up at the last day."
Is there any mediation betwixt man and his Maker ? — is
there any forgiveness of sin ? "I am the way." " What
soever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he will give
it you." " Go in peace : thy sins are forgiven thee." Is
there any model of excellence exempt from all infirmity ?
any pattern in which the Most High has perfect compla
cency ? " He was holy and harmless, separate from
i Matt. v. 3-12 ; xi. 28-30 ; John xvi. 33 ; xiv. 6, 16, 17 ; Rev. iii. 7 ; John
x. 9 ; vi. 37 ; xiv. 2 ; xvii. 26.
46 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
sinners." " This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well
pleased: hear ye him." Solomon was wise; but Jesus
was Wisdom. Solomon had more understanding than all
the ancients ; but Jesus was that eternal Wisdom of which
Solomon's genius was a mere borrowed spark — of which
the deep flood of Solomon's information was only an
emitted rill.
To which we may add the contrast in their tone. Each
had a certain grandeur. Solomon's speech was regal. It
had both the imperial amplitude and the autocratic em
phasis — stately, decisive, peremptory. But the Saviour's
was Divine. There was no pomp of diction, but there
was a God-like depth of meaning ; and such was its
spontaneous majesty, that the hearer felt, How easily he
could speak a miracle ! And miracles He often spake ;
but so naturally did they emerge from His discourse, and
so noiselessly did they again subside into its current, that
we as frequently read of men astonished at His doctrine,
as of men amazed at His doings. But though both spake
with authority — the one with authority as a king of men,
the other with authority as the Son of God — there is a
wonderful difference in point of the pervasive feeling.
Like a Prometheus chained to the rock of his own re
morse, the Preacher pours forth his mighty woes in soli
tude, and, truly human, is mainly piteous of himself.
Consequently, his enthroned misery — his self-absorbed
and stately sorrow, moves you to wonder, rather than to
weep ; and, as when you look at a gladiator dying in
marble, in your compassion there is not much of tender
ness. But though greater in His sorrows, the Saviour was
A GREATER THAN SOLOMON. 47
also greater in His sympathies ; and though silent about
His personal anguish, there is that in His mild aspect
which tells each who meets it, If His grief be great, His
love is greater. And whilst Solomon is so king-like that
he does not ask you to be his friend, the Saviour is so God
like that He solicits your affection, and so brotherly that
He wins it. Indeed, here is the mystery of godliness —
God manifest in flesh, in order that flesh may see how
God is love, and that through the loveliness of Jesus we
may be attracted and entranced into the love of God. 0
melancholy monarch ! how funereal is thy tread, as thou
pacest up and down thy echoing galleries, and disappearest
in the valley of Death-shadow, ever-sounding — Vanity of
vanities ! 0 Teacher blessed ! how beautiful are Thy feet
on the mountains, publishing peace ! How benign Thy
outstretched hand, which, to the sinner weeping over it,
proves God's golden sceptre of forgiveness, and which then
clasps that sinner's hand and guides him to glory ! 0
Thou greater than Solomon, " let me see Thy counte
nance, let me hear Thy voice ; for sweet is Thy voice, and
Thy countenance is comely !"
A greater than Solomon. The cedar palace has long
since yielded to the torch of the spoiler ; but the home
which Jesus has prepared for His disciples is a house not
made with hands, eternal in the heavens. Thorns and
thistles choke the garden of Engedi, and the moon is no
longer mirrored in the fish-ponds of Heshbon ; but no
brier grows in the paradise above, and nothing will ever
choke or narrow that fountain whence life leaps in fulness,
or stagnate that still expanse where the Good Shepherd
48 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
leads His flock at glory's noon. And Solomon — the
wonder of the world — his grave is with us at this day ;
his flesh has seen corruption ; and he, too, must hear the
voice of the Son of Man, and come forth to the great
account : but Jesus saw no corruption. Him hath God
raised up, and made a Prince and a Saviour ; and hath
given Him authority to execute judgment, because He is
the Son of Man. And, to notice only one other contrast :
Solomon effloresced from his country's golden age ; a
greater than Solomon appeared when miry clay was
mixing with its age of iron. Solomon was, so to speak,
an effusion of his age, as well as its brightest ornament :
the Son of Mary was an advent and an alien — a star come
down to sojourn in a cavern — a root of Deity from our
earth's dry ground. But though it was the Hebrew
winter when He came, He did not fail nor was discouraged.
He taught, He lived, He fulfilled all righteousness — He
loved, He died. It was winter wheat ; but the corn fell
into the ground ungrudgingly ; for as He sowed His seeds
of truth, the Saviour knew that He was sowing the
summer of our world. And as, one by one, these seeds
spring up, they fetch with them a glow more genial ; for
every saved soul is not only a sheaf for God's garner, but
a benefaction to mankind. Already of that handful of
corn which this greater Solomon scattered on the moun
tain-tops of Galilee, the first-fruits are springing ; and by
and by the fruit shall shake like Lebanon, and the Church's
citizens shall be abundant as grass of the earth. On the
wings of prophecy it is hastening towards us ; and every
prayer and every mission speeds it on — our world's latter
A GREATER THAN SOLOMON. 49
summer-burst, our earth's perennial June — when the
name of Jesus shall endure for ever, and be continued as
long as the sun ; when men shall be blessed in Him, and
all nations shall call Him blessed.
So great is this Prince of prophets, that the least in
His kingdom is greater than Solomon. The saint is
greater than the sage, and discipleship to Jesus is the
pinnacle of human dignity. In Him are hid all the
treasures of wisdom, and all the germs of undeveloped
goodness. He is the true theology, the perfect ethics, the
supreme philosophy ; and no words can limit the mental
ascendency and moral beauty to which that young man
may aspire, who, in all the susceptibility of an adoring
affection, consecrates himself to the service and society of
the Son of God. My brothers ! is it a presumptuous hope
that, even whilst I speak, some of you feel stirring within
you the desire to join yourselves to blessedness by joining
yourselves to Jesus ? Is it too much to hope that some
of you, who are Christian young men already, are wishing
and praying that God would make your characters less
commonplace, and render your influences in your day
more abundant and benign ? Is it too much to hope that,
even from this rapid survey, some shall retire with a happy
consciousness — Blessed be God ! I belong to a kingdom
which cannot be moved, and am embarked in a cause
which cannot be defeated ? Is it too much to hope that
some one who has found, in regard to godless enjoyment,
" All is vanity," may now be led to exclaim, " Lord, I have
viewed this world over, in which Thou hast set me ; I
have tried how this and that thing will fit my spirit and
VOL. III. D
50 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
the design of my creation, and can find nothing on which
to rest, for nothing here doth itself rest ; but such things
as please me for a while in some degree, vanish and
flee as shadows from before me. Lo ! I come to Thee
— the Eternal Being — the Spring of Life — the Centre
of Rest- — the Stay of the Creation — the Fulness of all
things. I join myself to Thee ; with Thee I will lead my
life and spend my days, with whom I aim to dwell for
ever, expecting, when my little time is over, to be • taken
up into Thine own eternity." ]
1 Quoted, in a deeply interesting account of Arthur H. Hallam, in the
North British Review, vol. xiv., from " The Vanity of Man as mortal," by
John Howe.
July 7, 1850.
IV.
THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY.
READ ECCLES. i. 2, 13.
" Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities ; all is vanity."
ECCLESIASTES is Solomon the Prodigal, re-exhibited by
Solomon the Preacher. The wisest of worldlings here opens
a window in his bosom, and shows us all those fluctuating
emotions and conflicting passions which whirl and eddy
in every heart whose currents run opposite ways.
In this separate enclosure, so unlike the surrounding
Scripture, such a contrast to the joyous parterre which
blossoms beside it,1 the traveller has planted the worm
wood and the rue, all the bitter herbs and the lurid which
he gathered in his grand tour of Vanity ; and he has left
them — at once a memorial and a medicine — a record of
his own painful experience, and a corrective to curious
speculation and sensual indulgence.
The right way to understand Ecclesiastes is to read it
alongside of the other Scriptures. Obscure in itself, we
must take the daylight at the end as a lamp, to guide us
as we go ; and, for its duskier recesses, we may borrow the
1 The Song of Solomon.
61
52 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
bright lantern of prophets and evangelists. We shall thus
not only find its perusal safe and profitable ; but, as its
dark sayings flash into significance, and its negations are
filled up by counterpart verities, in its very sternness we
shall recognise another feature of Eevelation's symmetry.
Solomon will tell us the vanity of doubt ; the rest of the
Bible will tell us the blessedness of a firm belief. Solo
mon will tell us the misery of the selfist, who seeks to be
his own all in all ; the evangelists will tell us the blessed
ness of a true benevolence. Solomon will tell us the vanity
of the creature ; the rest of the Bible reveals the suffi
ciency of the great Creator. Solomon will tell us how he
amassed unprecedented riches, but found no comfort in
them : his shepherd sire will answer by anticipation,
" My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall
follow me all the days of my life ; and I shall dwell in
the house of the Lord for ever." Solomon will tell us how,
in a palace and a crown, and in imperial fame, he found
nothing but chagrin : Jesus will answer, " In the world
ye shall have tribulation ; but in me ye shall have peace."
Solomon the sage will tell us, " Vanity of vanities ; all is
vanity." Solomon the saint will answer, " 0 Saviour,
Thy love is better than wine. Draw me, and I will run
after Thee. Tarry with me until the day break and the
shadows flee away."
This passage is the preamble to the book. And it is
an appropriate preface. Like sentinels of cypress, cold
and glaucous, at a winter-garden's gate ; like sphinxes of
solemn stone flanking the entrance of the Silent Land,
this prologue is a fit introduction to the mournful story we
THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY. 53
are about to read, and ushers us at once into its realms of
dreariness.
As much as if he said, " It is all a weary go-round.
This system of things is a perpetual self- repetition — quite
sickening. One generation goes, another comes. The sun
rises, and the sun goes down. That was what the sun did
yesterday, and what I expect it will do to-morrow. The
wind blows north, and the wind blows south ; and this is
all it has been doing for these thousand years. The rivers
run into the sea, and it would be some relief to find that
sea growing fuller ; to perceive the clear waters wetting
the dry shingle, and brimming up to the green fields, and
floating the boats and fishes up into the forest : but even
that inconvenient novelty is denied us ; for though the
Nile and many a river have been tumbling a world of
water into it, this tide will not overstep its margin ; the
flood still bulges, but still refuses to cross its bounds.
Words1 themselves are weariness, and it would tire you to
enumerate those everlasting mutations and busy unifor
mities which make up this endless screw of existence.
There are no novelties, no wonders, no discoveries. This
universe does not yield an eye-full, an arm-full, to its
occupant. The present only repeats the past, the future
will repeat them both. The inventions of to-day are the
forgotten arts of yesterday, and our children will forget
our wisdom, only to have the pleasure of fishing up, as
new prodigies, our obsolete truisms. There is no new
thing under the sun, yet no repose. Perpetual functions
and transient objects — permanent combinations, yet shift-
so rendered by Knobel aiid others.
54 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
ing atoms — sameness, yet incessant change, make up the
monotonous medley. Woe's me for this weary world !"
In such feelings I think it possible that a few of my
hearers may sympathize. To you it is very painful this
fugacity of time — this flight of years and ages — this coming
and going of the generations. And to you it is very
oppressive — this monotony of life — this constant recur
rence of the same small pleasures — and this total absence
of any magnificent enjoyment. You want something of
which you may say, " See, this is new," and withal some
thing of which you may feel, " Now this is good — this is
noble : here is something which will never pass away :
a joy that will be my comrade through eternity — for
neither it nor I shall ever die." From such vexing
thoughts might you not escape by taking refuge in one
permanence and one variety to which the royal Preacher
does not here advert ? I mean the soul's immortality, and
the renewed soul's perpetual juvenescence ; that attribute
of mind which makes it the survivor of all changes, and
that faculty of regenerate humanity which renders all
things new, and suffuses with perpetual freshness things
the most familiar.
It is true that, compared with many visible objects,
man is ephemeral. Compared with the sun that shines
over him — the air which fans him — the ocean on which
he floats, his " duration is a swift decay." And there is
much pensiveness in the thought of his own frailty. To
look out, as we were last week looking, on the plenitude
of summer, — to view the exuberance of verdure in the
woods, and the soft warmth upon the waters — to inhale
THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY. 55
the fragrance of roses, mingling with earth's ripeness, and
think how soon our eyes must shut for ever on that land
scape — how soon aromatic breezes and blushing flowers
shall stir no animation in our tombs, — to think that there
will be as much of ecstasy in the season, but in that
ecstasy we shall be no sharers ; or, as the poet has ex
pressed it in his " Farewell to the Brook," —
" Mow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver ;
No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever, and for ever.
But here will sigh thine alder tree,
And here thine aspen shiver ;
And here by thee will hum the bee,
For ever, and for ever.
A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver ;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever, and for ever." '
In such contemplations there is a deep pathos, and to
surrender the spirit to their habitual mastery would be to
live a life of constant melancholy.
But, whatever may be the sensations of worldlings,
these ought not to be the feelings of Christians. Jesus
Christ hath brought immortality to light through the
Gospel. He has taught us that amidst all sublunary
mutations, there is perpetuity in the soul of man. He
has assured us that the man who believes in Himself shall
never die, and that of all things which ever tenanted this
planet, the most enduring are Himself and those whom
faith and affection make one with Himself; the great
1 Tennyson.
56 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
Alpha and Omega, and all the redeemed existence in
cluded in His own.
But more than that, have you thought, my friends, on
the immortalizing faculty of your own immortal minds?
The soul of man is not only earth's true amaranth, but
earth's only antiseptic. It is only in that soul that this
visible creation will by and by exist at all. It is only in
your deathless memory that its fair scenes and curious
objects will, ere long, survive ; but there they can never
die. Already the face of things has entirely changed
since the days of Solomon. No limner has preserved the
aspect of Palestine as his poetic father viewed it. But
there are memories in which it lives. The well of Beth
lehem — its streets, its houses, and its stables, as they
stood a thousand years before the Saviour of the world
was born in one of them; the copse where the young
shepherd cut his crook, and the bazaar where he bought
his harp ; the slopes tufted with hyssop and elastic with
thyme, where his broad-tailed flocks cropped the herbage,
and the trees where they rested at noon ; the muster of
the Philistines on one side of the torrent, and Israel's
tents on the other — all these have vanished from under
the sun, but all these are still vivid in the spectator's
strengthened memory. And there, too, are still depicted
portraits which the artists of earth can only imagine ; —
Jesse's manly port as, with yeoman pride, he stalked out
and in among his thriving herds and soldier sons, —
Samuel's reverend visage as he poured the anointing oil,
— Goliath's mighty bulk as he fell over on the quaking
turf, — Jonathan's tearful smile as he bade farewell when
THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY. 57
settiug out for that fatal Gilboa. And even so, if you be
the children of God, this earth is your unfading heritage.
Its best things will subsist as long as you care to preserve
them. And, even after that earth and all its works, all
its present features and all its present productions, have
disappeared, there will be as many records of creation as
there are holy recollections in heaven. When the aspen
and the alder, when the bee in the fox-glove, and the
roses round the bower, are extinct species, or are only
enshrined in the amber of celestial reminiscence, you
will still remember how earth's sanctuaries looked, and
how its summers shone. . Or should even sun and moon
grow pale, their image will endure so long as you remem
ber the happy hour when you gave yourself to God : so
long as you remember the mossy bank where first, in the
Saviour's invitations, you read your title to a mansion in
the skies : so long as you remember the bright winter -
night returning from the country communion, when the
peace of God was a full tide in your bosom, and in the
melting admiration of redeeming love, you looked up into
the heavens and said, " What is man, that Thou art mind
ful of him ? " Ah ! yes ; the immortality of material forms
is the immortality of the soul of man.
And of these material forms it is the highest function, —
so to speak, it is their greatest privilege, to tell on man's
immortality ; to get so blended with man's being as to
survive the wreck of matter, and share that existence
which alone is undissolving. And though this suggests
some painful thoughts ; though it is sad to think how
objects of cupidity and avarice, and how the incentives
58 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
to unholy passion may survive only in that self-accusing
conscience which they helped to make a child of hell,
boasting no monument beyond such miscreant memory :
still there is a fitness, and one feels happy in the thought
that God's good works shall be eternally embalmed in
those immortal natures which they have helped to make
good and beautiful, and shall never die so long as those
spirits live to whose growth in grace they once gave
aliment. Generations shall cease to come and go. The
earth in its present arrangements, shall not " abide for
ever." It shall soon be burned up, along with all its
works. Its present races shall be annihilated, or only
recognised as dim fossils in the calcined strata ; and the
very books which have been engraven and painted to
represent their forms, shall perish in the mighty con
flagration. But even then there will be tablets of Nature
numerous as the spirits of the just made perfect ; and
what museums have failed to keep shall be still secure in
the fire-proof cabinets of saintly recollection. No eagle
shall then poise in the vacant firmament, but its restful
gyrations, its sunward aspiring, will still be present to
that mind which used to associate with it the self-
renovating efforts of prayer : " They that wait upon the
Lord shall renew their strength : they shall mount up on
wings as eagles." And from another planet the pilgrim
coming would vainly search for Syria's far-famed lily;
but its image still shall linger both in the memory and
the character of that modest disciple to whom Jesus said
not in vain, "Consider the lilies, and be clothed like
them." There shall then be no Jacob's well ; but its deep
THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY. 59
shaft and shady canopy will still be pictured in her
memory, who, one summer afternoon, found resting there
a stranger, and obtained from Him water of everlasting
life. And there shall be no Patmos then, but its creeks
and caverns will all be mapped in his affectionate fancy,
who found it the open gate of the New Jerusalem ; and
who will recall the lizards on its cliffs and the little
fishes in its pools, with Apocalyptic light and Sabbath
joy around them.
There is another sense in which these material agencies
are working a moral progress, and so promoting the
scheme of God. • Looking up at the weather- cock, says
the sage of vanity, " Woe 's me for this weary wind !
There, it was south this morning, and now it is north !
How many ways it blows, and never long the same !
What's the use of all this whirling?" And if it were
only to make the vane spin round, the air might as well
stagnate : there were no need of such wasted power. But
whilst the valetudinarian is looking at the vane, the wind
is careering over a continent, and doing the Creator's
work in a hundred lands. It has called at yonder city,
fetid with miasma and groaning with pestilence ; and,
with its besom of brisk pinions, it has swept the plague
away. It has looked into yonder haven, and found a
forest of laden ships sleeping over their freights, and it
has chased them all to sea. And finding the harvest
arrested in a broad and fertile realm — the earth chapped,
and the crops withering — it is now hurrying with that
black armament of clouds to drench it in lifesome irriga
tion. To narrow observation or to selfishness that wind
60 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
is an annoyance : to faith it is God's angel,1 forwarding
the mighty plan. Tis a boisterous night, and Pictish
savages curse the noisy blast which shakes their peat-
hovels round their ears ; but that noisy blast has landed
the Gospel on St. Andrews' shore. It blows a fearful
tempest, and it sets some rheumatic joints an-aching;
but the morrow shows dashed in pieces the awful Armada
which was fetching the Spanish Inquisition to our British
Isle. The wind blows east, and detains James's ships at
Harwich : but it guides King William to Torbay. Yes,
" the wind blows south and the wind blows north ; it
whirleth about continually, and returneth again according
to its circuits." But in the course of these circuits the
wind has blown to our little speck of sea-girt Happiness,
the Gospel, and Protestantism, and civil and religious
Liberty. And so, not of our islet only, but of our globe
entire, and its continuous population. So far as the
individual is concerned, so far as it affects the weather-
index in the wind, there may be little seeming progress ;
nay, so far as concerns any plan which society proposes
to itself, the favouring gale may shift and shift again, and
the story of a nation be little better than the register
of a stationary vane pirouetting on its windy pivot ; but
so far as affects the scheme of God, there is an aura in
the universe which always drives one way. Predestina
tion is a vane which never vibrates, and Providence a
wind which never whirls about. The breath of God's
Spirit and the strength of God's purpose are steadily
wafting our world and all the worlds in one mighty
; a Psalm civ. 3, 4.
THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY. 61
convoy towards God's appointed haven in the distant
future. So cheer up, Solomon, and all ye sighing sages ;
cheer up, you that complain of the sameness and in
sipidity of mundane affairs. Cheer up, you that pine for
some grand disclosure, and long for something that shall
fill your eye and satisfy your ear. When in the harbour
of God's finished mystery, the sails of history lie furled,
and the eternal anchor is dropped — when the last genera
tion falls in and the last holy intelligence comes home,
you who have so often asked, Is there anything whereof
it may be said, See, this is new ? you will see " all things
made new ;" you, whose eye has never been satisfied with
seeing, will be satisfied when you see Him as He is ; and
you, whose ear was never satisfied with hearing, will long
for nothing fuller when responsive to the overture which
morning- stars sang so long ago, the grand finale shall
burst from Immensity exclaiming, " Blessing, and honour,
and glory, and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the
throne, and to the Lamb, for ever and ever."
If, as we have said, the immortality of material forms
is only that which they achieve through the immortality
of the human soul ; and if the true glorification of matter
is its sanctifying influence on regenerate mind, we may
learn two lessons from our argument :
First, that there is no harm in a vivid susceptibility of
those material appearances and influences with which God
has replenished the universe. Some religionists would
make contempt of the creation a test of piety ; but they
greatly err. It was of the material universe that six
62 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
times over God said that it was " good." And it was in
that material universe that the Son of God Incarnate
evidently sought refreshment for His eyes, when weary
with viewing vanity. Yes, Jesus Himself has taken to
heaven some of its relics of Eden :
" Oh, Saviour, gone to God's right hand,
Yet the same Saviour still ;
Graved on Thy heart is this lovely strand
And every fragrant hill."1
But, secondly, that susceptibility is good for nothing if
it be not sanctifying. There is an idolatry of nature.
There are some whose God is the visible creation, and not
the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. And there
is a voluptuousness in the enjoyment of nature. There
are some to whom the landscape and its ingredients are
neither the recreation fitting them for more active duties,
nor the ladder of easy steps leading them up to adoring
and loving thoughts of God ; but, like the epicure over his
viands, they sit down to the banquet as if they cared for
no higher paradise. At this moment, when so many are
panting for a purer air, and preparing to migrate to other
scenes in search of it, it may be a word in season. Go,
you that have worked hard for it — go and enjoy your
holiday. But whithersoever you go, let all your religion
go with you. If you go among foreigners, instead of
gruftness and hauteur, take with you Christian com
plaisance, and do justice at once to the good feeling of
England and the courtesy of real religion. And whether
among compatriots or foreigners, take with you the Sab-
1 M'Cheyne's " Sea of Galilee."
THE VESTIBULE OF VANITY. 63
bath-day. Keep its hours as sacred in the hired lodging
or the inn, as you keep them in your own well-ordered
home. Pray for the places where you sojourn, and as
seeds for the eternal harvest, it were well if you could
drop some good words or arresting tracts as you pass
along. And then, when bursts of beauty or surprises of
grandeur come in upon your soul, let the thought also
come in of your " Father," who " made them all." And
thus associated with the profitable books you read, or the
Christian intercourse you enjoyed, or the efforts at use
fulness you there put forth, — places which to the vacant
mind recall no memories, and to the profligate are only
identified with dissipation and riot, — will to you be
fraught with pleasant recollections; and, thus beautified
and sanctified, the resorts and recreations of earth will be
worthy of a mental pilgrimage even from the bowers of
Paradise Eestored.
July 14, 1850.
V.
THE MUSEUM.
READ ECCLESIASTES r. 12-18.
" In much wisdom is much grief ; and he that increaseth knowledge
increaseth sorrow."
SOLOMON'S first recourse was philosophy. He was a
king, and he could pursue his researches on a splendid
scale. We know that he collected natural curiosities
from distant countries, and it is likely that he attracted
to his court the learned of many lands. Nor is it impro
bable that he attained an insight into natural phenomena,
possessed by none of his contemporaries. To the present
day Eastern magicians invoke his name as if he were a
controller of the elements; a circumstance from which
some have very gratuitously inferred that he must have
been a magician himself. But the fact is interesting. It
looks as if tradition still preserved a recollection of cer
tain prodigies which science enabled him to perform, and
it would suggest that he was an experimenter as well as
an observer.
But it was not only apes and peacocks, cedars and
hyssop, which he studied, and the elements on which he
THE MUSEUM. 65
experimented ; he studied man. He looked at man's
position in this world. He examined his story in time
past. " He sought and searched out by wisdom concern -
ing all things that are done under heaven ;" " he saw all
the works that are done under the sun." And he did not
confine himself to grave generalities ; he did not read
solely the stately history of kings. " He gave his heart
to know madness and folly," as well as " wisdom ;" nor
was he so pedantic as not to gather instruction from the
frivolous and fantastic as well as from the august in
human nature. His appetite for knowledge was omnivor
ous, and whilst hungering for the harvest he was thankful
for crumbs.
The result was, satiety without satisfaction ; or rather,
it was the sober certainty of " sorrow." " All the works
done under the sun are vanity and vexation of spirit."
Look at this Mesech of mortality ! What a hot and noisy
hive it is, and how each insect hums out and in on his
consequential errands, till some night Death, the grim
owner, comes and stifles all, and takes the honey. " I
have seen all the works under the sun;" I know their
object, I know their result. It is comfort, soul- content
for which the millions moil and bustle. For this the
clodpole delves in the stiff clay, and the pearl-fisher dives
in the deep lagoon. From his fragrant woods the herbalist
of Gilead would fain distil it, and from his royal dainties
the Asherite strives to confect it. With its rich cargoes
the ships of Tarshish and the dromedaries of Midian have
many a time been laden ; but when the time came to
open the bales, nothing was found save ocean-brine or
VOL. III. E
66 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
desert sand. All was transmuted into vanity and vexa
tion of spirit. " This sore travail hath God given to the
sons of men." The very pursuit of knowledge is penal.
The search after happiness is itself a sore punishment.
Here, like a gin-horse, has the world been for ages tramp
ing round and round, hoping to fetch up the golden
bucket from the deep shaft of thought and effort ; but
alas ! sin has cut the rope, and there is now no golden
bucket at the end. Still, however, the blind gin -horse
limps and wheezes on, and jades himself to death with
this sore travail. I see the misery; I see not how to
mend it. "That which is crooked cannot be made
straight." There is a twist in man's destiny, a bias in
man's will, a crook in man's constitution which science
cannot rectify. " And that which is wanting cannot be
numbered." I have a list of those ingredients which con
stitute well-being, and which I am told that man once
possessed, e.g., peace of conscience, elasticity of temper,
health, contentment, exemption from death, faith in the
future ; and I have made a survey of humanity and come
back with an inventory of mere desiderata. These joys
have vanished. The spoiler has been here. The regalia
are rifled, and the onyx of Havilah has been torn from the
crown which Adam wore in Paradise. And as the upshot
of all I say, " Much wisdom is much grief, and he that
increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." Happier that
beggar child who can fancy his reed a sceptre, than that
grey-haired monarch who knows that a sceptre is only
gilded copper. Happier the fisher boy who, with his
kettle, hopes to bail the sinking boat, than his wiser
THE MUSEUM. 67
father, who, through the widening leak, already sees their
watery grave. Happier the peasant who fancies the
magazine inexhaustible, than the governor who knows
that it will be all consumed months before the harvest.
In a world like this much science is much sorrow ; for it
is the knowledge of our penury — the statistics of starva
tion — the assurance that our case is desperate. Therefore,
I break up my encyclopaedic elysium, and on my temple
of art inscribe, " Vanity and vexation of spirit :" —
" Where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise."1
Unless it include the knowledge of the Living God,
there is sorrow in much science ; that is, the more a man
knows, unless he also knows the Saviour, the sadder may
we expect him to become. Of this we have an instance
in a late philosopher, who, like Solomon, united to ardour
of physical research a thoughtful and musing spirit, and
who, in his Last Days of a Philosopher, has bequeathed to
the world a manual of mournful " Consolations." It was
not from any drawback in his outward lot, nor from any
disappointment of his hopes, that Sir Humphry Davy
took leave of life so gloomily. Of the sons of science few
have been so favoured. In his grand discovery of the
metallic bases, and in his more popular invention of the
safety -lamp ; in the command of a laboratory which
1 As Lord Byron has expressed it, with his usual mixture of force and
flippancy : " The lapse of ages changes all things : time, language, the earth,
the bounds of the sea, the stars of the sky, and everything ' about, around,
and underneath ' man, except man himself, who has always been, and will
always be, an unlucky rascal. The infinite variety of lives conduct but to
death, and the infinity of wishes lead but to disappointment. All the dis
coveries which have yet been made have multiplied little but existence."
68 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
opened a royal road to chemistry, and in the splendid
crowds who thronged to his lectures ; from the moment
that he found a generous patron till he became a Baronet
of the United Kingdom, and President of the Royal
Society, his whole career was a series of rare felicities.
Nor was he the anchoret of science, a lonely and smoke-
dried alchemist. He was a man of fashion, and, like
Solomon, mingled "madness and folly" with graver pur
suits. Yet with all his versatile powers — orator, philo
sopher, poet ; and with all his distinctions glittering
around him, his heart still felt hollow, and in his later
journals the expressive entry was, "Very miserable."
What was it that he wanted ? He himself has told us :
" I envy no quality of mind or intellect in others — not
genius, power, wit, or fancy ; but if I could choose what
would be most delightful, and I believe most useful to
me, I should prefer a firm religious belief to every other
blessing ; for it makes life a discipline of goodness, creates
new hopes when all earthly hopes vanish, and throws over
the decay, the destruction of existence, the most gorgeous
of all lights, calling up the most delightful visions, where
the sensualist and sceptic view only gloom, decay, and
annihilation."
Whilst the philosopher has here truly said that nothing
can fill the central gulf in man's spirit, except a sound
religious belief, he speaks of its attainment despondingly ;
and probably he felt, what many have expressed, that it
is not easy for a man of science to " receive the kingdom
of God as a little child." It is possible that some one now
present may be in the same predicament. You wish to
THE MUSEUM. 69
believe, and are sorry to doubt : but you find that it is not
easy to be at once the votary of science and the hearty
disciple of Jesus Christ. When examining the evidence,
or when reading the Bible itself, you are convinced that it
is the Book of God. You recognise on its pages the same
autograph with which you have long been familiar in the
volume of creation, the same inimitable style of majesty,
wisdom, goodness, and power ; and you own that to refuse
its authenticating credentials would be to set at defiance
all the laws of evidence. You believe the Bible as long
as you are in its own society ; you love it as long as you
commune with it. Looking into its face you perceive the
halo, and tarrying in its precincts you are conscious of the
Divinity indwelling. But passing away from it, and no
longer warmed by its immediate inspiration ; mingling
with the cold materialisms which it is your province to
explore ; handling the dry preparations, or the gritty fossils,
or the fuming retort — the joy and the fragrance and the vital
influence of that Bible fade, and your devotion expires.
Or when you bore into the strata, and find yourself descend
ing through cycles of unimagined time ; or when you look
up into the starry vault, and find yourself transported into
a measureless abyss, and its unnumbered worlds — then all
sorts of doubts and queries seem to rise like dragons from
the deep, or they come trooping home like spectres from
the dark immensity. You begin to feel yourself an atom
in creation, and this world a mere mote in the universe,
and you cannot help thinking revelation too great a boon
for such an atom, and the Advent too great a wonder for
such a world. You catch yourself saying, not in adora-
70 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
tion, but in doubt, " What is man, that Thou art mindful
of him ? or what the son of man, that Thou shouldest
visit him ?"
Now, we shall not stop to suggest the cure for all these
cavils. "We might say that the best cure for nervous
spectres or nightmare horrors, is to get a light, or look at
something familiar and real ; and the best cure for sceptic
doubts is to look at the Bible itself. And we might
further say, that the mind is soundest and best constructed
which receives all truth on its own evidence, and which
does not suffer every wandering chimera to disturb a truth
thus ascertained. But as it is a difficulty embarrassing to
some thoughtful minds, we may just glance a little at the
religious doubts occasioned by the extent of the universe.
Twenty years ago some English voyagers were standing
on a flat beach within the Arctic Seas. From the excite
ment of their looks, the avidity with which they gazed
into the ground, and the enthusiasm with which they
looked around them, it was evident that they deemed it
a spot of signal interest. But anything outwardly less
interesting you could hardly imagine. On the one side,
the coast retreated in low and wintry ridges, and on the
other a pale ocean bore its icy freight beneath a watery
sky, whilst under the travellers' feet lay neither bars of
gold nor a gravel of gems, but blocks of unsightly lime
stone. Yet it was the centre of one of nature's greatest
mysteries. It was the reward of years of adventure and
hardship ; it was the answer to the long aspirations and
efforts of science ; it was the Magnetic Pole. The travel
lers grudged that a place so important should appear so
THE MUSEUM. 71
tame. They would have liked that it had been marked
by some natural monument, a lofty peak or a singular
rock. They were almost disappointed at not finding an
iron needle as high as Cleopatra's own, or a loadstone as
big as Mont Blanc.1
One day, a few summers since, sailing up the Ehine on
a dull and windy afternoon, with little to look at but the
sedgy banks and the storks exploring for reptiles among
them — the vessel halted over against an old German town.
We were looking languidly at its distant spires, and care
lessly asked some one what town it was ? " Worms."
Worms ! The battle-field of the Eeformation ; the little
Armageddon where light and darkness, truth and error,
liberty and despotism, the Son of God and the Prince of
Darkness fought with one another not so long ago ! Sud
denly it seemed to swarm with Imperial troops and bluff
old burghers ; and had we been near enough we should
have glanced up to the tiles on the house-tops, and in the
streets looked out for Luther ; but though it was the very
spot where Protestantism gained its decisive victory, the
spot where modern Europe threw off the cerements of the
middle age and emerged to life, to enterprise, and freedom,
there was no outward sign to tell it : — a dreary German
town on a swampy plain — that was all.
Thus is it usually with memorable places. There is
nothing external to arrest the eye : no gigantic landmark
1 " We could have wished that a place so important had possessed more of
mark or note. I could even have pardoned any one among us who had been
so romantic or absurd as to expect that the magnetic pole was an object as
conspicuous and mysterious as the fabled mountain of Sindbad," etc. — Ross
Second Voyage.
72 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
nor natural sign to serve for a Siste, viator : and the more
refined and reflective do not grudge this. They feel that
morally there is nothing so sublime as simplicity, and
that it is God's way to work great wonders, not only by
means of the things which are despised, but in despicable
localities. Man is a materialist, and he tries to give a
material magnitude to memorable places ; but God chooses
any common spot for the cradle of a mighty incident, or
the home of a mighty spirit. Elbowing through Bread
Street, amid trucks and drays and Cheapside tumult, who
would fancy that here was the bower where the bard of
Paradise was born ? or looking up to that small window
in the Canongate, who would guess that from these narrow
precincts the spirit which new-created Scotland passed
away ? Or, sailing along the deep, what is there to tell
you that this rock was the cage of the captured eagle, the
basaltic prison where he chafed and pined and died ; and
yon, the willow-tree, under which he quietly slept, the
Magor-Missabib of modern history ? Or, floating on the
soft ^Egean, and looking up to the marble cliffs, where the
aconite grows and the halcyon slumbers in the sun, what
trace is there to tell that heaven's windows once opened
here ; that here the last thrill of inspiration was felt, and
here the last glimpse of a glorified Redeemer vouchsafed ?
To the passing glance or the uninstructed eye, they are
mean and inconspicuous places — so mean, that ascertain
ing the wonders connected with them, the vulgar world
declares them unworthy of such distinction till otherwise
distinguished, and exclaims, " Let us build a monument,
a mausoleum, or a church." But to spirits truly great
THE MUSEUM. 73
every place is great which mind or moral glory has
aggrandized. Patmos could not be improved though it
were expanded into a continent : nor the house where a
poet was born, or a reformer died, though it were en
shrined beneath a national monument.
There is another remark which we may make regarding
memorable places. They are usually more interesting to
strangers than to the regular residents. Had the Esquimaux
seen Captain Eoss and his party, they would have marvelled
what brought a band of Englishmen from their comfort
able homes to that bleak and barren shore. And, far from
sympathizing in their errand, they could hardly have been
taught to understand it. Food, not information, being
their chief motive to exertion, they would gladly have
sold the magnetic pole for a few pounds of blubber or a
few pints of oil. It was interesting enough to British
science to bring many at the peril of their lives ; but to
the poor benighted natives it never had occurred that
there was anything more important in that particular spot
than in any other bend of their frozen beach. And so of
historic scenes. You know more about Luther's bold ap
pearance at the Imperial Diet than do most of the people
who now reside at Worms. The spot where a great battle
was fought, or where a hero breathed his last, is often
interesting to its inhabitants only as a source of gain ;
and unless they be men of congenial taste and strong
emotion, people will hurry daily past the places conse
crated by departed greatness, without rinding their step
detained or their spirit stirred. It is reserved for the
far-come traveller to stand still and wonder where the
71 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
incurious native trudges on, or only marvels what it is
that the stranger is gazing at.
Our earth is a little world. In bulk it is little as
compared with some of its neighbours. Even the same
planetary system contains one world a hundred times,
and another three hundred times as large ; whilst, if suns
be peopled worlds, there are suns hundreds of thousands
of times as large. And there are races of intelligence and
capacity far beyond our own — races both fallen and un-
fallen, to which our highest genius may seem a curious
simplicity, and our vastest information an interesting
ignorance, even as we may smile at the wit and know
ledge of the Esquimaux. But this is the little world,
and ours the lowly race, which God selected as the scene
and the subject of the most amazing interposition. Like
its own Bethlehem Ephratah, little among thousands of
worlds; like its own Patmos, a point in the ocean of
existence, our earth already stands alone in the universe,
and will stand forth in the annals of eternity, illustrious
for its fact without a parallel. It is the world on which
the mystery of redemption was transacted : it is the world
into which Christ came. And though lower than the
angels, ours is the race which Jehovah has crowned with
one peerless glory, one unequalled honour. It is the race
which God has visited. Ours is the flesh which Incarnate
Deity wore, and ours is the race for whose sinners the Son
of God poured forth a ransom in His blood. This is the
event which over our small planet sheds a solemn interest,
and draws toward it the wondering gaze of other worlds.
And just as in traversing the deep, when there rises on
THE MUSEUM. 75
the view some spot of awful interest or affecting memory,
you slack the sail, and passengers strain the eye, and look
on in silent reverence ; so, in their journeys through im
mensity, the flight of highest intelligences falters into
wonder and delay as they near this little globe. There is
something in it which makes them feel like Moses at
Horeb, " Let me draw near and see this great sight," — a
marvel and a mystery here which angels desire to look
into. It is a little world, but it is the world where God
was manifest in flesh. And though there may be spots
round which the interest gathers in most touching in
tensity ; though it may be possible to visit the very land
whose acres were trod by " those blessed feet which our
offences nailed to the accursed tree ; " though you might
like to look on David's town where the advent took place,
and on the hills of Galilee where Christ's sermons were
preached, and on the limpid Gennesareth which once
kissed His buoyant sandals, and on that Jerusalem which
He loved and pitied, and where He died, and that Olivet
from whose gentle slope He ascended, I own that with me
it is not so much Jerusalem or Palestine as Earth, Earth
herself. Since it received the visit of the Son of God, in
the eye of the universe the entire globe is a Holy Land ;
and such let it ever be to me. So wicked and sin-tainted
that it must pass through the fire ere all be ended, it is
withal so consecrated and so dear to heaven that it must
not be destroyed ; but a new earth with righteousness
dwelling in it shall perpetuate to distant ages its own
amazing story. And though an illustrious author wrote,
" I have long lost all attachment to this world as a
76 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
locality/' l I do not wish to share the feeling. I like it
for its very littleness. I like to stand on its lonely re
moteness, and look aloft to vaster and brighter orbs ; and
when I consider the heavens, the moon and the stars, then
say I, " What is man that thou shouldest visit him ?"
And, as in the voyage of the spheres, I sail away in this,
the little bark of man, it comes over me with melting
surprise and adoring astonishment that mine is the very
world into which the Saviour came; and as I further
recall who that Saviour was, — that for Him to become the
highest seraph would have been an infinite descent, or to
inhabit the hugest globe a strange captivity, — instead of
seeking to inflate this tiny ball into the mightiest sphere,
or stilt up this feeble race to angelic stature, I see many
a reason why, if an Incarnation were at all to be, a little
world should be the theatre and a little race the object.
It would indeed give melancholy force to the saying,
" Much wisdom is much grief," if much wisdom were fatal
to the Christian faith, and if he who increased his general
knowledge must forfeit his religious hopes. But whilst
science is fatal to superstition — whilst fatal to lying
wonders and monkish legends,' it is fortification to a
scriptural faith. The Bible is the bravest of books.
Coming from God, and conscious of nothing but God's
truth, it awaits the progress of knowledge with calm
security. It watches the antiquary ransacking among
classic ruins, and rejoices in every medal he discovers,
and every inscription he deciphers ; for from that rusty
1 John Foster.
THE MUSEUM. 77
coin or corroded marble it expects nothing but confirma
tions of its own veracity. In the unlocking of an Egyp
tian hieroglyphic, or the unearthing of some ancient im
plement, it hails the resurrection of so many witnesses ;
and with sparkling elation it follows the botanist as he
scales Mount Lebanon, or the zoologist as he makes ac
quaintance with the beasts of the Syrian desert, or the
traveller as he stumbles on a long-lost Petra, or Nineveh,
or Babylon ; for in regions like these every stroke of the
hammer and every crack of the rifle awakens friendly
echoes, and every production and every relic brings home
a friendly evidence. And from the march of time it fears
no evil, but calmly abides the fulfilment of those pro
phecies and the forthcoming of those events with whose
predicted story Inspiration has already inscribed its page.
It is not light but darkness which the Bible deprecates ;
and if men of piety were also men of science, and if men
of science would "search the Scriptures," there would be
more faith in the earth, and also more philosophy.
Few minds are sufficiently catholic. The psychologist
is apt to despise the material sciences, and few mathe
maticians are good historians. But although there may
be mutual indifference or rivalry amongst their votaries,
there is no antagonism between the truths themselves.
There exists a mind as well as a material universe, and
there are laws of thought as well as laws of motion ; and
although it cannot be proved by algebra, yet it is pretty
certain that Julius Caesar invaded Britain, and that George
Washington achieved the independence of America. All
truths are friendly and mutually consistent, and he is the
78 THE ROYAL PREACHER
wisest man who, if he cannot be an adept in all know
ledge, dreads none and despises none ; the Baconian in
telligence to which the Word and the works of the
Most High are alike a revelation, and to which both
alike are faithful witnesses, though both are not alike
articulate.
Be sages then, not sciolists. In the world of know
ledge be cosmopolite, and be not the pedants of one
department. Be historians as well as mathematicians.
Eeceive every truth on its appropriate evidence, and there
is nothing to prevent your faith in the Gospel from being
equally strong with your faith in the course of nature.
And although the Cyclops of science may have an eye for
only one half of truth's horizon; although the bigot of
demonstration may jeer at testimony ; although the sec
tary of physics may repudiate history ; if your knowledge
be really "general:" if it be sufficiently comprehensive
and catholic, and correct withal — the more you grow in
knowledge the more will you be confirmed in that most
excellent of all knowledge — a positive and historical
Christianity.1
But you say, the natural sciences are all certain ; theo
logy is all conflict and confusion. Let us understand one
another. If you say that the phenomena of nature are
1 Of how much scepticism has Bacon given the rationale in his noted sen
tence, "A little philosophy incliueth man's mind to Atheism ; but depth in
philosophy bringeth men's minds about to religion." — Essays, 16. And of
how many freethinkers might the foolish boasting be silenced in the words
which Newton retorted on the infidel Halley, " I have studied these things,
and you have not." There are various sources of unbelief : but next to the
" evil heart," the most fruitful is ignorance. It is easy for a sciolist to be a
sceptic ; but it is not easy for a well-informed historian to reject the records
of the faith.
THE MUSEUM. 79
all patent and explicit, we reply, And so are the sayings
of Scripture. If candour and ingenuousness can interpret
the one, they may equally expound the other. But if you
say that, unlike the Word of God, His works have never
been misunderstood, you surely forget that the " History
of the Inductive Sciences" is just a history of erroneous
interpretations replaced by interpretations less erroneous,
and destined to be succeeded by interpretations still more
exhaustive and true. If you smile at the Hutchisonian
or Cocceian systems of exegesis ; if you quote the hostile
theories which still linger in the field of polemics, we ask,
Is this peculiar to theology ? Have you forgotten how
the abhorrers of a vacuum abhorred Torricelli and Pascal ?
Have you forgotten how the old physiologists were vexed
at Harvey for discovering the circulation of the blood?
Do you not remember how the Stahlian chemists, like a
burnt- out family, long lingered round the ashes of phlo -
giston, and denounced the wilful fire-raising of Lavoisier
and oxygen ? In early youth have you never seen a dis
ciple of Werner, and pitied the affectionate tenacity with
which he clung to the last plank of the fair Neptunian
theory ? Or would every world-maker forgive Lord
Rosse's telescope if it swept from the firmament all trace
of the nebular hypothesis ? Or, because there is still an
emissionary as well as an undulatory theory of light, must
we deny that optics is a science, and must we hold that
the laws of refraction and reflexion are mere matters of
opinion ? Nature is no liar, although her " minister and
interpreter" has often mistaken her meaning; and, not
withstanding the errors which have received a temporary
80 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
sanction from the learned, there is, after all, nothing but
truth in the material universe; and, so far as man has
sagacity or sincerity to collect that truth, he has got a
true science, a true astronomy, a true chemistry, a true
physiology, as the case may be. And even so, whatsoever
vagaries particular persons may indulge, or whatsoever
false systems may receive a transient support, there is,
after all, nothing but truth in the Bible, and so far as we
have sincerity or sagacity to collect that Bible-truth, we
have got a true religion. Nay, the most important facts
and statements in that Word speak for themselves, and
require no theory. And just as the mariner might safely
avail himself of Jupiter's satellites, though Copernicus had
never existed; just as the gunner must allow for the
earth's attraction, whatever becomes of the Newtonian
philosophy ; just as the apothecary would continue to mix
his salts and acids in definite proportions, even although
some mishap befell the atomic theory; just as we our
selves do not close our eyes and dispense with light, until
the partisans of rays shall have made it up with the advo
cates of ether — so the Scriptures abound in statements and
facts on which we may safely proceed, whatever becomes
of human theories. "God so loved the world that He
gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in
Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." " This
is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that
Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners." " Be
lieve on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved."
" If any man be in Christ Jesus, he is a new creature : " so
far as it is founded on such sayings as these, religion is
THE MUSEUM. 81
.
not only the simplest, but, being immediately from God,
it is the most secure of all the sciences.
However, we must add one remark. In the region of
revealed truth, increasing knowledge will not always be
increasing conviction, unless that knowledge be progres
sively reduced to practice. If knowledge be merely specu
lative, in extending it a man may only " increase sorrow ;"
for it is " with the heart that man believeth unto right
eousness," and it is to the "doers" of His Father's will
that the Saviour promises an assuring knowledge of His
own " doctrine."1 The mind needs tonics. For the body,
next to wholesome food, the best toning is vigorous exer
cise ; and if long cradled in a luxurious repose, the penalty
is paid at last in so many imaginary ills as constitute a
real one. And just as the child of sloth is haunted by
visionary fears ; as he dreads that his pulse will stop or
the firmament fall in : so the man who arrests his moral
activities and lets his fancy wander at its will ; the man
who is doing no service to God and no good in the world
will soon become an intellectual hypochondriac. Musing,
day-dreaming, marvelling, he will soon believe the phan
toms of his own creating, and will not be able to believe
the fact of God's revealing. And as the meet recompense
of his indolence and uselessness, if he be not given up to
believe a lie, his relaxed and pithless grasp will not be
able to hold fast a single truth : like an interesting
scholar, whose life we lately read, and who during years
of speculative inactivity dwindled down from a devout
and laborious clergyman to a languid and etiolated free-
1 Horn. x. 10 ; John vii. 17. t
VOL. III. F
82 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
thinker, l and like those voluptuous theologians of
Germany who mope away their lives in selfish medi
tation, and who, never letting their brethren taste the
fruits of their practical beneficence, are never them
selves permitted to taste the blessing of a sure belief.
The true remedy for this spiritual moodiness is a holy
and abundant activity. So deemed the apostle Paul.
In the midst of a glowing argument, and when refuting
certain cavils against the Eesurrection which had arisen
in the Church of Corinth, he ejaculates all at once, " Be
not deceived ; evil communications corrupt good manners.
Awake to righteousness and sin not, for some have not
the knowledge of God." 2 Like a sagacious physician who
finds his patient haunted by fantastic fears, and who
orders him out into the open air, and compels him to dig,
or row, or wrestle ; and after a few days of this rough
regimen the crystal arm grows flesh and blood; and he
who was afraid that the sky might fall and smother him,
begins to have faith in the firmament — so the apostle
sounds a reveillez in the ear of these drowsy reasoners.
" Awake to righteousness ! These doubts and difficulties
are the fruits of sloth. They are the hypochondriac
fancies which lazy loungers nurse in one another. Evil
communications corrupt good manners. Eouse you ! —
Awake to righteousness ! Bestir you in the business of
practical Christianity, and these shadows will flee away !"
And so to any haunted or unhappy mind here present, we
give the same advice. Do you admit the Bible to be the
1 See the remarks at the close of Archdeacon Hare's Life of Sterling.
2 1 Cor. xv. 33-35.
THE MUSEUM. 83
Word of God, and yet are you haunted with speculative
doubts and evil surinisings as to any of its particular
doctrines ? Then, awake to righteousness ! Your doubts
are ridiculous, your fears are unfounded, and each idle
hypothesis might be easily refuted. But the real remedy
is, not reasoning, but righteousness ; not the arguments
of others, but your own practical piety. Awake, then,
to righteousness. Embody in your conduct your present
limited stock of conviction. Try to pray more, or praise
more ; try to cure the bad temper or the unholy passion ;
,ry to do some good to your neighbours : and that very
jffort will be the cure of some cavils. It will teach you,
'or one thing, that the heart is desperately wicked, and
Jiat if God do not change it, nothing else can. And
ihat discovery will force you to prayer, and that prayer
will procure an answer, and that answer will deepen your
;rust in God ; and thus item by item your faith will grow
ixceedingly. Thus, by the corrective of wholesome dis-
ipline, and by being confronted with realities, your
foolish doubts will dissipate ; and the doctrine which was
incredible to a lazy and dyspeptic intellect, will soon be
absorbed and assimilated by a sound understanding, and
become the joy and rejoicing of a sanctified soul.
Alas ! for the knowledge which knows no Saviour.
Alas ! for the science which includes no Gospel. The
most erudite of lawyers was Selden. Some days before
his death he sent for Archbishop Ussher, and said, " I
have surveyed most of the learning that is among the
sons of men, and my study is filled with books and
manuscripts on various subjects ; yet at this moment I
84 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
can recollect nothing in them all on which I can rest my
soul, save one from the sacred Scriptures, which lies
much on my spirit. It is this : ' The grace of God that
bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men, teaching us,
that denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should
live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world ;
looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing
of the great God and our Saviour, Jesus Christ ; who
gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all
iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people,
zealous of good works.'" Nor is it only at the close of
the pilgrimage that the hope full of immortality is a
pearl of great price. Without it, life is so transient that
every invention is a melancholy plaything, and the vastest
acquirements are a laborious futility. But the student
who toils for immortality need never want a motive in
his work; and, however sad some of his discoveries may
be, the sage who knows the Saviour will always have in
his knowledge an overplus of joy.
July 21, 1850.
VI.
THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PALACE.
BEAD ECCLES. n. 1-11.
rGo to now, I will prove thee with mirth." ... "I said of laughter,
it is mad." . . . "I gave myself to wine, yet acquainting myself with
wisdom." . . . " I made me great works." . . . "Then I looked on all the
works that my hands had wrought : and, behold, all was vanity and vexation
of spirit."
THIS passage describes a mental fever. The writer
ells how, by quitting the wholesome climes of piety, his
spirit caught a deadly chill, and how, in the morbid
xcitement which followed, he tossed to and fro, and
;ried every change, — burning in the breeze, and shiver
ing in the sun, — distracted till he gained his wish, and
disgusted to find that what he wished was not the thing
tie needed. First mad after wisdom, then came a surfeit
of learning — a glut of information, and he denounced
much wisdom as much grief. He would try frivolity.
He would take things easily, and, as far as might be,
heerily. " Go to now, I will prove thee with mirth :
therefore enjoy pleasure." He would skim the surface of
things, and snatch the joys which divert the mind, but
which do not fatigue the brain : he would be a wit, a
85
86 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
man of humour, a merry monarch. And he was. But
his own mirth soon made him melancholy. Like phos
phorus on a dead man's face, he felt that it was a trick,
a lie ; and, like the laugh of a hyaena among the tombs,
he found that the worldling's frolic can never reanimate
the joys which guilt has slain and buried. "I said of
laughter, It is mad; and of mirth, What doeth it?" So,
after a moody interval, he bethought him how to blend
the two. Philosophy by itself had failed, and folly by
itself had also failed. But how would it do to combine
them,— the sprightly with the grave, the material luxury
and the mental vivacity, the wisdom and the wine ? Yes,
into his ivy- wreath he would twine the laurel, and the
flat potions of philosophy he would enliven with social
effervescence. " I sought in mine heart to give myself
unto wine (yet acquainting mine heart with wisdom),
and to lay hold on folly, till I might see what was that
good for the sons of men which they should do under the
heaven all the days of their life." But this also proved
a failure. " Wine, wisdom, wit," became a mutually
destructive mixture, and the experimenter abjured them,
in order to try the pleasures of taste. Sculpture and
painting were scarcely known to the Hebrews ; but in
gardening, music, and architecture, they were good pro
ficients, and to these the sovereign now directed his
sumptuous ingenuity. Like a petrified dream, the palace
stood forth in all the freshness of virgin marble, and in
all the pride of its airy pinnacles. In the wilderness
waters brake forth ; and, spreading their molten coolness
over the dust of yesterday, artificial lakes surrounded
THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PALACE. 87
artificial isles ; whilst from the fragrant thickets of the
terraced gardens, the dulcet sounds of foreign minstrelsy
descended where the royal barge lay floating, or through
the lattice wafted into the banquet-hall their hints of
superhuman glory, — till the vessels of gold and silver
sparkled like a galaxy, and the repast was enchanted
into a Divine refection ; and in proud apotheosis the
monarch smiled upon his guests from a godlike throne.
" I builded me houses, I planted me vineyards, I made
me pools of water to water the groves of trees. I gat
me men-singers and women-singers, and musical instru
ments of every sort. And whatsoever mine eyes desired
I kept not from them ; I withheld not my heart from any
joy. Then I looked on all the works that I had wrought,
and on the labour that I had laboured to do ; and, behold,
all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no
profit under the sun."
Solomon tried mirth and abjured it. And, perhaps, the
most melancholy life is that of the professed merrymaker.
Y ou remember the answer of the wobegone stranger, when
the physician advised him to go and hear the great come
dian of the day, — " You should go and hear Matthews."
" Alas ! sir, I am Matthews !" Akin to which is the
account of one who for many years manufactured mirth
for the great metropolis, the writer of diverting stories, and
the soul of every festive party which was able to secure
his presence.1 But even when keeping all the company
in a blaze of hilarity, his own heart was broken ; and at
one of these boisterous scenes, glimpsing his own pale
1 Theodore Hook.
88 THE ROYAL PREACHER
visage in the glass, lie exclaimed, " Ah ! I see how it is.
I look just as I am — done up in mind, in body, and purse,"
— and went home to sicken and die. And who can read
this passage without recalling one who was, sixty years
ago, the most dazzling speaker in our British Parliament,
whose bow had as many strings as life has pleasures, — the
wit, the orator, the dramatist, the statesman, the boon-
companion and the confidant of princes ?J But when
"wine" had quenched the "wisdom;" when riot had
bloated the countenance, and debt had dispersed the friends
of the man of pleasure ; when in splendid rows his books
stood on the shelves of the brokers, and the very portrait
of his wife had disappeared, — on a wretched pallet, trem
bling for fear of a prison, the gloomy, forsaken worldling
closed his eyes on a scene which he was loath to quit, but
which showed no wish to detain him — leaving " no profit
under the sun," and without any prospect beyond it.
Nor can we promise a satisfaction more solid to the god
less virtuoso. Each alternate year the public is startled
with some grand explosion. A great tower of Babel comes
toppling down. There is a tinkle in the belfry — a premo
nitory jangling of the crazy chimes — a crackling of the
timbers, a thunderous down-pouring of bricks and beams
and tiles and plaster, and through the dust and smoke the
groans of the crushed inmates are heard, stifled and soon
stilled : and then come the excavators — the collectors
who carry off the curiosities to decorate other toy-shops,
and the builders who buy the bricks, in order to construct
new Babels elsewhere.
1 Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PALACE. 89
Not long ago a wealthy compatriot erected such a palace
for his pride, and reared it with such impatience that
the workmen plied their labours night and day. When
finished, " a wall, nearly twenty miles in circumference,
surrounded it. Within this circle scarcely any visitors
were allowed to pass. In sullen grandeur the owner dwelt
alone, shunning converse with the world around. Majesty
itself was desirous of visiting this wonderful domain, but
was refused admittance. ... Its interior was fitted with
all the splendour which art and wealth could create.
Gold and silver cups and vases were so numerous that
they dazzled the eye ; and looking round at the cabinets
and candelabra and ornaments which decorated the apart
ment, was like standing in the treasury of an Eastern
prince." * But a hundred thousand pounds a year failed
to support this magnificence, and the gates which " refused
admittance to a monarch were thrust open by a sheriffs
officer ; " and whilst its architect pined in unpitied soli
tude, the gorgeous structure was pulled down by its new
owner. More frequently, however, it is the structure
which stands, and it is the architect who becomes the ruin.
Many of you have visited Versailles. As you stood upon
its terraces, or surveyed its pictures furlong after furlong,
or wandered among its enchanted fountains, did it strike
you, How fresh and splendid is Versailles ; how insignifi
cant is now its author ! Or did you think of that gloomy
day when in one of its chambers lay dying the monarch
who has identified Versailles with his royal revelries, and
near the silken couch a throng of courtiers lingered,
1 The Mirage of Life, an excellent publication of the Tract Society.
90 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
not in tears — not anxious to detain his spirit — not sedu
lous to soothe the last moments of mortal anguish ; but
wearying till their old master would make an end of it and
die, that they might rush away and congratulate his suc
cessor?1 And did you think that thus it is with every
one who layeth up treasure for himself, and who is not
rich towards God ? Did you think of him who said to
his soul, when he had built his larger barns, " Soul, thou
hast goods laid up for many years ; take thine ease, eat,
drink, and be merry;" and to whom God said, "Thou
fool, this night shall thy soul be required of thee : then
whose shall these things be ?"
What is it then ? Shall we denounce learning, genius,
wit ? Shall we proscribe architecture and all the arts ?
For this some have contended, and under pretence of
piety they have sought to become barbarians. But, 0
man, who hath required this at thy hands ? It is the
work of God's Spirit to sanctify taste and consecrate
talent ; and that alone is excessive which is not given to
God. In " walking about Zion," we must ever admire the
noble " bulwarks" reared by Lardner and Butler, and the
other defenders of the common faith, as well as the
"towers" of orthodoxy erected by the learned labours of
Owen, and Haldane, and Magee, and other mighty engi
neers ; nor less the " palaces " which at once adorn the
city and commemorate the genius of Watts, and Howe,
and Chalmers, and Vinet. Nor is there any reason why
wit should always be " mad." Keligion may be sprightly,
1 See the death-scene of Louis XV. at the opening of Carlyle's French
Revolution.
THE PLAYHOUSE AND THE PALACE. 91
and dulness may be undevout. A Home or a Cowper
may be permitted to answer a fool according to his folly ;
and when, with the tender precision of a Tell, the polished
shafts of Wilberforce split in twain an opponent's argu
ment, but never "hurt his head,"1 you could not wish
fanaticism to destroy a weapon which religion guides so
wisely. Though pride may be the busiest architect, let us
not forget that piety and philanthropy have been great
builders also. And though sensuality may abuse the arts,
let us not forget how often to its youthful inmates music
has helped to endear the earthly home, and how much
devotion is indebted to " the service of song in the house
of the Lord." Let us not forget that almighty Artist who
every spring paints new landscapes on the earth, and
every evening new ones in the sky — whose sculptures are
the snowy clouds and everlasting hills — and whose harp
of countless strings includes each note, from a harebell's
tinkle to the "organic swell" of ocean's thunder.
What is it then ? The " instrument of righteousness,"
when not " yielded to God," becomes an idol ; and every
idol is at once a curse and a crime.
1 Ps. cxli. 5. See the sketch of Wilberforce, in Sir James Stephen's His
torical Essays, and in Lord Brougham's Statesmen, first series.
July 28, 1850.
VII.
THE MONUMENT.
READ ECCLES. n. 12-23.
" There is no perpetual remembrance of the wise more than of the fool.
Who knoweth whether his successor shall be a wise man or a fool ? "
THE noblest renown is posthumous fame ; and the most
refined ambition is the desire of such fame. A vulgar
mind may thirst for immediate popularity; and very
moderate talent, dexterously managed, may win for the
moment the hosannahs of the million. But it is a Horace
or a Milton, a Socrates or a Sidney, who can listen with
out bitterness to plaudits heaped on feebler rivals, and
calmly anticipate the day when posterity will do justice
to the powers or the achievements of which he is already
conscious. And of this more exalted ambition it would
appear that Solomon had felt the stirrings. When he
looked on the temple and the cedar palace, and still more
when he thought of his literary exploits, his songs and
his proverbs, and his lectures in science, the Non omnis
moriar was a thought as natural as it was pleasing, and
from the sense of flagging powers and the sight of a fail-
02
THE MONUMENT. 93
ing body lie gladly took refuge in the promise of post
humous immortality. But even that cold comfort was
entirely frozen in the thought which followed. From the
lofty pinnacle to which, as a philosophic historian, he had
ascended, Solomon could look down and see not only the
fallibility of his coevals, but the forgetfulness of the
generations following. He knew that there had often
been great men in the world ; but he could not hide it
from himself, how little these great men had grown
already, and how infinitesimal the greatest would become,
if the world should only last a few centuries longer. And
so far, Solomon was right. Few things would be more
pathetic than if we had some micrometer for measuring
great men's memories, — some means for ascertaining the
decimal of a second which those great names subtend in
our historic firmament, who filled their living age with
lustre. Even Solomon's own, — intellectually the brightest
of a bygone dispensation, and with all the advantage of
the Bible telescope to bring it near, — how little it enters
into the actual thought of this modern world ! What a
tiny spark it twinkles through the foggy atmosphere of
this material time ! Had a life in the hearts of future
men been all his immortality, how little worth the pur
chase ! and how much wiser than their philosophic
monarch were those " fools" in Jerusalem who took no
thought to add this cubit to their age !
So, brethren, it is natural to wish to be remembered
when gone ; and as a substitute for the highest motive, or
a succour to other motives, it is well to think of the gene
ration following. But, as it usually flatters worldly men,
94 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
this posthumous fame is a fallacy.1 " A living dog is
better than a dead lion." Amidst the importunate solici
tations of daily business, many of us must accuse our
selves of unfaithfulness to the dead; and when tranquil
moments call up their familiar images, we marvel how we
can deal so treacherously with the great and good departed.
Vanished from our view, expunged from our correspon
dence, dropped from our very prayers, no longer expected
as visitors in our homes, — it is marvellous how faint and
intermitting their memory has grown ; and we upbraid
our ungrateful fancy that it preserves so little space for
old benefactors, and the once-cherished friends of our
bosom. But the same fate awaits ourselves ; we, too, are
going hence, and when we are gone,
" A few will weep a little while,
Then bless our memory with a smile."
One or two may cling to it with tender fondness, while
existence lasts ; but even with friends affectionate and
true, tenderness will soon soften into resignation, and
resignation will subside into contentment, and content
ment will dull away into sheer forgetfulness ; and it will
only be on some rare occasion, — some wakeful night,
when memory is holding a vigil of All- Souls, or when a
torn letter, or an inscription in a book, or a name carved
1 " Are not all things born to be forgotten? In truth, it was a sore vexa
tion to me when I saw, as the wise man saw of old, that whatever I could
hope to perform must necessarily be of very temporary duration : and if so,
why do it ? Let me see ! What have I done already ? I have ]earnt Welsh,
and have translated the songs of Ab Gwilym ; I have also rendered the old
book of Danish ballads into English metre. Good ! Have I done enough to
secure myself a reputation of a thousand years ? Well, but what's a thousand
years after all, or twice a thousand years ? Woe is me ! I may just as well
sit still."— LAVENGRO.
THE MONUMENT. 95
on the beechen tree conjures up the past, " and a spirit
stands before you," — that the fountain of early love will
flow anew, and you will pay the tribute of the long-
suspended tear. But even that will end. A race will
arise that knows not Joseph, and to which Joseph's friends
will not be able to transfer their attachment ; and when a
fourth or a fifth generation comes upon the stage, so dim
will be the name, and so diluted will be the interest in it,
that the youth will be more concerned for the loss of a
favourite hound than for the extinction of his grandsire's
memory.
But if this be the phantom for which the worldling
toils and sighs, there is a posthumous fame which is no
illusion. If there be no eternal remembrance of the
world's wise men any more than of its fools, it is other
wise with the wise ones of the heavenly kingdom. God
has so arranged it that " the righteous shall be held in
everlasting remembrance." " They that," in His sight,
" are wise, shall shine as the firmament, and they that
turn many to righteousness, as the stars for ever and
ever." Great men may covet admiration, but good men
crave affection. Admiration is the state-room, formal and
rarely used ; but to be admitted into the affections is to
be domiciled in the heart's own home, — to live where
lives the soul itself. And into this inmost shrine of good
men's souls God admits all the holy ; nay, with reverence
speaking it, He admits them into His own. The love of
Jehovah is a sanctuary where every holy being has a
home. But not content with giving to the just made
perfect, the immortality of His own unchanging love, a
96 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
gracious God secures them the attachment of congenial
minds ; and at this instant there is not in all the universe
a holy being but God has found for it a resting-place in
the love of other holy beings, and that not temporarily,
but for all eternity. The only posthumous fame that is
truly permanent is the memory of God; and the only
deathless names are theirs for whose living persons He
has found a place in His own love, and in the love of
holy beings like-minded with Himself. Many a casket
has been broken, and the gems of fine fancy have been
scattered on the world, and the name of the self- immolating
genius is now forgotten ; but that box of ointment which
the weeping penitent crushed over the feet of Jesus, will
pour its fragrance through all time ; for wherever there is
a Gospel the Lord Jesus has secured that there shall be
spread the story. And so — war, wisdom, wit, — these
three have all made deep indentations on the mind of
man ; and some deeds have been so brave, and some in
ventions so beautiful, and some sayings so brilliant, that
people vowed they never would be forgotten. But, alas !
it was the fragile imagination of sinful man, and it has
long ago disintegrated. It was the soft and viscid memory
of selfish man, and new interests and new objects have
since flowed in and filled up the oozy record. But although
we dare not say that any thought of earth is so sublime
as to merit a record in heaven, on the highest authority
we know that no act of faith is so insignificant but it
secures a registration there. And although, fearful of
posthumous flattery, the dying Howards of our species
may direct, " Place a sun-dial on my grave, and let me be
THE MONUMENT. 97
forgotten," — they cannot expunge their labours of love
from the book of remembrance, and they will never be
forgotten by God.
But even beyond posthumous fame, most men would
like to be perpetuated in well-doing and affectionate
children. And here again, a gloomy foreboding darkened
the mind of Solomon. He had greatly extended his
hereditary kingdom; he had amassed an unprecedented
fortune ; he had. built such palaces as only Eastern extra
vagance had dared to dream ; he had covered his name
with glory as a statesman, and a lawgiver, and a sage;
and all this glory, — these palaces, — yon piles of treasure,
— that splendid empire, — the whole was such a prize that
if he felt sadness in leaving it, he also felt anxiety about
transmitting it. He had a son ; but, from expressions
here escaping, it would almost seem as if Eehoboam
already betrayed the senselessness and arrogance which
were afterwards to make him the detestation of his sub
jects, and the butt of his neighbours. The heathen mar
riages and the on-goings of the father, at once unkingly
and ungodly, were destined to yield their bitter fruits in
the son ; and it is possible that the backslider already
felt punished in foreseeing all the mischief coming on the
kingdom through the pride and the blunders of this way
ward youth. " Yea, I hated all my labour which I had
taken under the sun ; because I should leave it unto the
man that shall be after me. And who knoweth whether he
shall be a wise man or a fool ? Yet shall he have rule over
all my labour wherein I have laboured, and wherein I have
showed myself wise under the sun. This also is vanity."
VOL. m. G
98 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
Let those be very thankful who feel that they are better
off than Solomon. You have not a sceptre, a title, a vast
income to bequeath ; but you have well-doing children.
By their industry and mutual affection, above all, by
promising appearances of personal piety, you are en
couraged to hope that those who come after you will be
an honour to your name. What a mercy ! Solomon
would have given his sceptre in exchange for your son.
But why should not this mercy be yet more frequent ? It
is true that " grace does not run in the blood, though sin
does." But it is also true that God makes His grace more
gracious by often causing it to run in the channel of the
natural affections. " The promise is unto you and to your
children." And where there is a pious affection, the best
gifts will be those we shall covet most earnestly for its
objects. Where parental affection is also devout, it will
prompt the prayer which David offered at once for him
self and for Solomon: "Give the king thy judgments,
0 God, and thy righteousness unto the king's son." And
in that pious affection the Lord sympathizes, and such
parental intercessions He delights to hear.
And although, when we think what sort of life Solomon
for a long period led; when we reflect that Eehoboam's
boyhood and youth were spent in the lap of luxury, and
amid scenes of the most extravagant revelry ; when we
consider that a polygamist like Solomon can never have a
home, and a child like Eehoboam can have no such play
mates as are found in an undivided family ; when we
recall the idolatry and impiety to which his early years
had been inured, and remember how bad was the example
THE MONUMENT. 99
which his own father set him, — we can scarcely wonder
that the son of Solomon proved a heartbreak to his father
and a stigma on his line ; still we are not the less per
suaded, that where there is faithfulness to God as well as
affection to one's children ; where there are earnest prayer
and a corresponding pattern ; and, especially, where both
parents are of one mind, and agreed as touching this
thing, God will do it for them, and the promise still hold
true, " to you and to your seed after you." The " entail of
the covenant" is largely borne out by religious biography,
and our Churches are mainly composed of the pious chil
dren of Christian parents. Happy they who, instead of a
tablet in the churchyard wall, are thus commemorated by
polished stones in the living temple ! l
1 Isaiah liv. 11-13.
September 22, 1850.
VIII.
THE CLOCK OF DESTINY.
BEAD ECCLES. in. 1-15.
" To everything there is a season In the heart of everything
God hath set its era." l
ACCORDING to the mood of the spectator the same
phenomena will exert a depressing or a reviving influ
ence ; and according to the bias of the reasoner the same
facts will be adduced for purposes the most opposite. If
we were sure that in this passage Solomon was giving the
matured opinion of his latest and penitent life, the text
would be a lesson of resignation derived from the absolute
sovereignty and all-controlling providence of God : but
if, as we have all along held, Solomon writes these verses
somewhat in sympathy with his former self; if he be
recalling for wise purposes the reasonings and surmisings
of the days of his vanity, we should be prepared to find
intermingled with the sublime theology of this section
a tincture of fatalism. Accordingly, in the ninth and
tenth verses we read, " What profit hath he that worketh
in that wherein he laboureth ? I have seen the travail
1 Verse 11, n^lB eternity, duration, etc. : LXX. aliav.
100
THE CLOCK OF DESTINY. 101
which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised
in it." ' This universe is moving in a groove of adamant.
Man's activity is a make-believe — an imposition on him
self ; for the wheel spins round equally fast whether the
blue-bottle push it forward or backward. What profit is
there in human industry ? It is the unproductive travail
to which the offended Creator has doomed His sinful
creature ; — the ploughing of the sand, the weaving of the
air, the manufacture of elaborate nonentities.' And yet,
so true are the facts which this section notes, and so
solemn the inferences from them which forced themselves
on the mind of the royal reasoiier, that few texts contain
the germs of a grander theology. Passing over the im
potence and helplessness of the creature, he saw how
glorious was that Omnipotence which held in hand the
guiding reins of ponderous orbs and mighty incidents,
and at the predestined moment would bring the chariot
of His sovereignty to its triumphal goal in the far-off
eternity. He saw how vast is that Wisdom which from
the beginning had planned the great year of existence,
and planned it so complete that nothing needed to be
supplemented nor superseded, but through its cycle in
conceivable the universe moved on from the moment of
its starting, ever waxing, ever waning, and through its
summer and winter of uncounted ages circling round to
its successive springs. " He hath made everything
beautiful in his time, and in the heart of everything he
hath set an eternity : so that no man can find out from
beginning to end any work that God maketh— any pro
cess that God conducteth. I know that whatsoever God
102 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
doeth, it shall be for ever. Nothing can be put to it, nor
anything taken from it. That which hath been is now ;
and that which is to be hath already been : and God
brings back the past."
" To everything there is a season, and a time to every
purpose under the heaven." As if he had said, Mortality
is a huge timepiece wound up by the Almighty Maker ;
and after he has set it agoing nothing can stop it till the
angel swears that time shall be no longer. But here it
ever vibrates and ever advances — ticking one child of
Adam into existence, and ticking another out. Now it
gives the whirr of warning, and the world may look out
for some great event ; and presently it fulfils its warning,
and rings in a noisy revolution. But there ! as its index
travels on so resolute and tranquil, what tears and rap
tures attend its progress ! It was only another wag of'
the sleepless pendulum : but it was fraught with destiny,
and a fortune was made — a heart was broken — an empire
fell. We cannot read the writing on the mystic cogs as
they are coming slowly up ; but each of them is coming
on God's errand, and carries in its graven brass a Divine
decree. Now, however — now, that the moment is past,
we know; and in the fulfilment we can read the fiat.
This instant was to say to Solomon, " Be born ! " this
other was to say to Solomon in all his glory, "Die!"
That instant was to " plant " Israel in Palestine ; that
other was to " pluck him up." And thus inevitable,
inexorable, the great clock of human destiny moves on,
till a mighty hand shall grasp its heart and hush for ever
its pulse of iron.
THE CLOCK OF DESTINY. 103
See how fixed, how fated is each vicissitude ! how
independent of human control ! There is " a time to be
born," and however much a man may dislike the era on
which his existence is cast, he cannot help himself : that
time is his, and he must make the most of it. Milton
need not complain that his lot is fallen on evil days ; for
these are his days, and he can have no other. Eoger
Bacon and Galileo need not grudge their precocious being,
that they have been prematurely launched into the age
of inquisitors and knowledge- quenching monks — for this
age was made to make them. And so with the time to
die. Voltaire need not offer half his fortune to buy six
weeks' reprieve ; for if the appointed moment has arrived,
it cannot pass into eternity without taking the sceptic
with it. And even good Hezekiah — his tears and prayers
would not have turned the shadow backward, had that
moment of threatened death been the moment of God's
intention. Yes, there is a time to die ; and though we
speak of an untimely end, no one ever died a moment
sooner than God designed, nor lived a moment longer.
And so there is " a time to plant." The impulse comes
on the man of fortune, and he lays out his spacious lawn,
and studs it with massive trees ; and he plans his garden,
and in the sod embeds the rarest and richest flowers, or
he piles up little mounts of blossomed shrubbery, till the
place is dazzled with bright tints and dizzy with perfume.
And that impulse fades away, and in the fickleness of
sated opulence the whole is rooted up, and converted into
wilderness again. Or by his own or a successor's fall,
the region is doomed to destruction ; and when strangling
104 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
nettles have choked the geraniums and the lilies, and,
crowded into atrophy, the lean plantations grow tall and
branchless, the axe of an enterprising purchaser clears
away the dank thickets, and his ploughshare turns up the
weedy parterre. There is a time when to interfere with
disease is to destroy ; when to touch the patient is to take
his life : and there is a time when the simplest medicine
will effect a marvellous cure. There is a time when the
invader is too happy to dismantle the fortress which so
long held him in check ; but by and by, when he needs
it as a bulwark to his own frontiers, with all his might
he builds it up again. Nor can any one fix a date and
say, I shall spend that day merrily, or I must spend it
mournfully. The day fixed for the wedding may prove
the day for the funeral ; and the ship which was to bring
back the absent brother, may only bring his coffin. On
the other hand, the day we had destined for mourning,
God may turn to dancing, and may gird it with irresistible
gladness. Nor are earth's monuments perpetual. The
statue reared one day will be thrown into the river
another, and the trophy commenced by one conqueror
shall owe its completion to his rival and supplanter.
" There is a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from
embracing." " There is a time when the fondness of
friendship bestows its caresses, and receives them in
return with reciprocal sincerity and delight : and a time
when the ardour cools ; when professions fail ; when the
friend of our bosom's love proves false and hollow-
hearted, and the sight of him produces only the sigh and
tear of bitter recollection. We refrain from embracing,
THE CLOCK OF DESTINY. 105
because our embrace is not returned." l " There is a time
to get, and a time to lose." There is a time when every
enterprise succeeds ; when, as if he were a Midas, what
soever the prosperous merchant touches, is instantly gold ;
then comes a time when all is adverse — when flotillas
sink, when ports are closed, and each fine opening only
proves another and a tantalizing failure. And so there is
" a time to keep, and a time to cast away." There is a time
when in the cutting blast the traveller is fain to wrap his
cloak more closely around him : a time when in the torrid
beam he is thankful to be rid of it. There is a time
when we cannot keep too carefully the scrip or satchel
which contains the provision for our journey : a time
when, to outrun the pursuing assassin, or to bribe the
red- armed robber, we fling it down without a scruple.
It was a time to keep when the sea was smooth, and
Eome's ready market was waiting for the corn of Egypt ;
but it was a time to cast the wheat into the sea, when the
angry ocean clamoured for the lives of thrice a hundred
passengers.2 There is "a time to rend, and a time to
sew :" a time when calamity threatens or grief has come,
and we feel constrained to rend our apparel and betoken
our inward woe ; a time when the peril has withdrawn,
or the fast is succeeded by a festival, when it is equally
congruous to remove the symbols of sorrow. There is
"a time to keep silence" — a time when we see that our
neighbour's grief is great, and we will not sing songs to
a heavy heart ; — a time when, in the abatement of
anguish, a word of sympathy may prove a word in
1 Wardlaw in loco. * Acts xxvii. 38.
106 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
season ; — a time when to remonstrate with the trans
gressor, would be to reprove a madman, or, like the
pouring of vinegar on nitre, would be to excite a fiery
explosion against ourselves ; but a time will come when,
in the dawn of repentance or the sobering down of
passion, he will feel that faithful are the wounds of a
friend. "There is a time to love, and a time to hate."
There is a period when, from identity of pursuit, or from
the spell of some peculiar attraction, a friend is our all in
all, and our idolatrous spirits live and move and have
their being in him ; but with riper years or changing
character, the spell dissolves, and we marvel at ourselves,
that we could ever find zest in insipidity or fascination in
vulgarity. And just as individuals cannot control their
hatred and their love ; as the soul must go forth to what
is amiable, and revolt from what is odious — so nations
cannot regulate their pacifications and their conflicts.
But just at the moment when they are pledging a per
petual alliance, an apple of discord is thrown in, and to
avenge an insulted flag, or settle a disputed boundary, or
maintain the tottering balance of power, wager of battle
is forthwith joined ; and where early summer saw the
mingled tribes tilting in the tournay, or masquerading on
the fields of cloth of gold, autumn sets on unreaped
harvests, and blackened forests, and silent villages. And
conversely : when the clouds of battle frown on one
another, and there is no prospect but long and sanguinary
campaigns, a magazine explodes, an heir- apparent dies,
or two daring spirits of the opposing hosts transfer the
issue to the point of their single swords; and with the
THE CLOCK OF DESTINY. 107
a,\vful incubus so suddenly thrown off, the knit brows of
either nation relax into an expansive smile, and the year
destined for mutual extermination is spent in blended
jubilee.
Such is the fact. Such are the unquestionable alterna
tions in human affairs ; and thus accurately do occasions
and events fit into one another. So much of mechanism
does there appear to be in the ongoings of mortality, and
thus helpless seems man as the maker of his own destiny.
But lifting our eyes from the mundane side of it, what
shall we say concerning Him who is the Contriver and
Controller of it all ?
And should it not be enough to say that God has so
arranged it ? To Him are owing all this variety and vicis
situde, and yet all this order and uniformity. And is not
it enough that He so wills it ? " Shall the thing formed
say to him who made it, Why hast thou made me thus ?"
But not only has God made everything ; there is a
beauty in this arrangement where all is fortuitous to us,
but all is fixed by Him. " He hath made everything
beautiful in its time ;" and that season must be beautiful
which to infinite Love and Wisdom seems the best.
Amongst modern processes one of the most beautiful
is the art of taking sun-pictures. Instead of the artist
copying the object, he lets the object copy itself ; and if
the light were profuse enough, and properly adjusted, the
picture would be as true as noon, and as minute as the
original. Now, would not it be a curious thing if, from a
station high enough, one could take a vast sun- picture of
this city — this island — this hemisphere ? — showing pre-
108 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
cisely how, at the selfsame instant, all its inhabitants are
occupied ? — where every one of them is this moment
posted, and what each one of them is doing ? And would
it not be very curious, if along with this there were pre
served a similar picture of the selfsame people and their
employments, at a given instant ten or twenty years ago ?
But most curious of all would it not be, if some one could
show a photographic panorama of how it will appear ten
or twenty years hereafter? — projecting every person in
his proper place ? — exhibiting the groups which have
meanwhile gathered round him or melted from his side ?
— the changes which have passed over himself, or which
he has been the means of inducing over others ? But, my
friends, there is one repository where such pictures are
preserved — far more exact and vivid than the finest sun-
painting ever drawn; there is not a day in our world's
past history but its minutest image lives in the memory
of God, and more than that, there is not a day in all the
coming history of our world but its portrait, precise and
clear, is already present to the Divine foreknowledge.
" Known unto God are all his works from the beginning
of the creation;" and, so to speak, each day that dawns,
though its dawning include an earthquake, a battle, or a
deluge — each day that dawns, however many it surprises,
is no surprise to Him who sees the end from the beginning,
and who, in each evolving incident, sees but the fulfilment
of " His determinate counsel," — the translation into fact
of one other omniscient picture of the future.
And which is best ? " A mighty maze and all without a
plan ?" — a world whose progress takes even Providence by
THE CLOCK OF DESTINY. 109
surprise, and whose future stands before even the Infinite
Mind in no clearer outline than those dim guesses and
dusky foreshadovvings to which even shrewd mortals
attain ? — or a world of which the successive epochs shall
only be the outworking of a purpose so wise and good
from the first that it cannot be changed for the better ? —
the realization in persons and actions and results of that
series of prescient maps or plans whose aggregate will
constitute the optimism of the universe ? — as we read in
verse 11, " God hath set its destined duration in the heart
of everything." To every incident and event He has not
only given its immediate effect, but also its remoter errand
afar in the future. Each such incident or event may be
regarded as a mechanism wound up to travel so far or
accomplish so much, so that, till its course is finished —
till the beginning comes round to the end — no man can
say positively what was God's first purpose in it. When
the young German grew earnest, you would have said
there was some hope that he might next be enlightened ;
but when the earnest youth became a monk, you would
have said, Farewell, light ! farewell, all hope of the gospel !
And yet Luther's entombment in the Erfurth convent was
to be the resurrection of apostolical religion. In the heart
of that little incident God had set the Eeformation. When
a king arose in Egypt who knew not Joseph, and who
hated and tormented the Hebrews, you would have said,
There 's an end of the old promise. This order to exter
minate the Hebrew children will soon annihilate Abraham's
family. And any Jew who had been gathered to his
fathers at the time they were slaying all the male children,
110 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
would have been apt to die despairing of his nation's
prospects. And yet that murderous edict was to be the
deliverance of Israel. In the heart of that despot's decree
God had set the exodus. And to the sublime theology of
Solomon the only addition we would make is that evan
gelic supplement : " All things work together for good to
them that love God ; to them which are the called accord
ing to his purpose." Their path is thickly strewn with
incidents. Of these, some are for the present not joyous
but grievous ; nevertheless, in their heart God hath set
the peaceful fruits of righteousness. They are seeds with
a thorny husk, and they hurt the pilgrim's naked feet ;
but when next he passes that way, or when Christiana
with her children follows him, they have germinated into
bright flowers or cool overshadowing trees. And they
will not perish. The incidents along the believer's path
are seeds of influence, scattered by the hand of God. And
sanctification of some sort is the germ which He has set
in the heart of every one of them. Nor can they die till
they have thus developed. They cannot perish and pass
away till the Christian has set in his heart the lesson
which God has set in theirs.
The works of God are distinguished by opportuneness of
development and precision of purpose. There is a season
for each of them, and each comes in its season. All of
them have a function to fulfil, and they fulfil it. To
which (verse 14) the Preacher adds, that they are all of
their kind consummate — so perfect that no improvement
can be made, and, left to themselves, they will be per
petual. "I know that whatsoever God doeth, it shall be
THE CLOCK OF DESTINY. Ill
for ever ; nothing can be put to it, nor anything taken from
it." How true is this regarding God's greatest work, Re
demption ! What more could He have done to make it a
great salvation than what He has already done ? or what
feature of the glorious plan could we afford to want ?
And now that He has Himself pronounced it a "finished"
work, what is there that man can put to it ? — what is
there he dare take from it ? And in doing it He has done
it "for ever." The merits of Immanuel are as mighty
this evening as they were on the day of Pentecost. Jesus
is as able to save us if we come unto God by Him now, as
He was to save Zaccheus, and " Legion," and Mary Mag
dalene. It is into the same bright heaven that these
merits and that mercy will take us as that into which
the white-robed company has already gone ; and by a
process as swift as that which translated the dying thief,
these merits could transport any sinner amongst us from
the verge of perdition to paradise.
Of these theological conclusions the 15th verse is the
last. " That which hath been is now, and that which is
to be hath already been, and God requireth — God resus
citates and repeats — the past." There is a uniformity in
the Divine procedure. True to itself, amidst all the diver
sity of incidents which chequer an individual's history,
there are certain great principles from which Infinite
Wisdom never deviates. In the natural world there is
always a summer and a winter, a seed-time and a harvest,
a day succeeded by the night. And in the moral world
sin will always be sorrow ; principle will, in the long-run,
always prove the highest expediency; the sinner will
1 1 2 THE ROYAL PREA CHER.
always, sooner or later, be filled with the fruit of his own
devices ; and sooner or later there will always be a reward
to the righteous. And amidst all the diversities of national
character, and all the vicissitudes of civil history, there is
an essential identity, — variety enough to spread romantic
fascination over the page of Thucydides or Robertson, but
such identity that the fifteenth Psalm, or a single section
of this book, is the abridgement of all history. Nor will
there be any material change till the story is ended.
Hundreds of millions may yet be born, but they will all
repeat the past. A few may be more clever and a few
may be more virtuous than any that have heretofore been;
and, alas ! a few may be more abandoned, more desperately
wicked. But whether for good or evil, they will all be
human — human in their goodness, human in their guilt.
There will not be a Gabriel among them all, nor will there
be a Lucifer; and in dealing with that humanity the
principles of the Divine procedure will be as uniform as
the material itself. With the reprobate it will be calls
and refusals, warnings and resistings, startling providences
and sullen stupor, momentary alarms, followed by deeper
slumber ; and then, " he who being often reproved, har-
deneth his neck, shall suddenly be cut off, and that with
out remedy." And then, on the other side, the converse
process. " Whom he did foreknow he also did predes
tinate. Moreover, whom he did predestinate, them he
also called, and whom he called, them he also justified,
and whom he justified, them he also glorified."1 And
thus, through all the operations of nature, providence, and
1 Rom. viii. 29, 30.
THE CLOCK OF DESTINY. 113
grace, " that which hath been is now, and that which is
to be hath already been, and God repeateth that which is
past."
One final reflection from the whole passage. Some of
you, my hearers, may read the description of mortality
here recorded ; and you may give a vehement assent to
its truth. " Yes, it is all a masquerade of the same ever
lasting events wearing new visors ; it is all mutation
without novelty, and change without real variety. The
world itself is a gourd whose root the worm is already
gnawing — a palace whose quicksand basis the flood is
already sapping."
" What is this passing scene ?
A peevish April day !
A little sun, a little rain,
And then night sweeps along the plain,
And all things fade away."1
So be it. But if so, how should it endear that state where
all is perfection, and all is permanence ! To everything
under heaven " there is a fixed but a fleeting season ; but
those who are in heaven the moments are not thus
Tecarious, nor the seasons thus short. Still better : there
,re many of the things for which there is a " time " on
arth for which there is no time there. To those who are
orn into that better country there is no time to " die."
lJ'Those that are "planted" in God's house on high, shall
ever be " plucked up," but shall flourish there for ever,
here, there is nothing to hurt nor to destroy, but per-
tual " health," and lasting as eternity. There, the walls
1 Kirke White.
VOL. III. H
114 THE ROYAL PREACHER
of strong salvation shall never be " broken down." There,
there is no " time to weep ;" for sorrow and sighing are
for ever fled away : — no "time to mourn ;" for when they
left this vale of tears the days of their mourning ended.
There, it is all a time of " peace," and all a " time to love."
There, monuments are never defaced nor overthrown ; for
those who are pillars in the temple above, with the new
name written on them, shall go out no more. There, in
the sanctity of the all-superseding relationship, there will
be no severance; but those friends of earth, who have
been joined again in the bonds of angelhood, will never
need to give the parting embrace ; for they shall be ever
with one another, and ever with the Lord.
September 29, 1850.
IX.
THE DUNGEON.
READ ECCLES. in. 16-22 ; iv. 1-3.
" Behold ! the tears of the oppressed ! "
WHEN composing himself for a contented life, a shriek
of anguish reached the monarch's ear and startled his
repose. It was a cry from the victims of tyranny and
oppression, and as he listened it grew more articulate,
and it filled him at once with sympathy for others, and
solicitude for himself. "I saw the place of judgment,
that wickedness was there ; and the place of righteous
ness, that iniquity was there. I considered all the
oppressions that are done under the sun : and behold, the
tears of such as were oppressed, and they had no com
forter; and on the side of their oppressors there was
power ; but they had no comforter." How is it possible
for a prince to " eat and drink, and enjoy the fruit of his
labour," whilst the wail of evicted peasants and houseless
orphans is louder than all the music of his orchestra ?
jFor a moment he felt relief in recalling the future judg
ment. "I said in mine heart, God will judge the
righteous and the wicked." But what care they for the
116 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
judgment ? What fear of God is before their eyes ? So
brutish are they that they neither look forward nor look
up ; but are content with their daily ravin. Yes, beasts,
I half believe you. Your grossness almost converts me
to your own materialism. I wish that God would mani
fest you to yourselves, and show you how brutish you
are living, and how brute-like you will die. Yes, tyrants
and oppressors, you have a power at present ; but you j
will fall like the beasts that perish. You and they will 1
all go to one place/ — will all resolve into promiscuous i;
clay : for " all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again." j
And as for your very soul, so unfeeling, so undevout as I
you have been, what is there to mark your spirit more \
aspiring, more empyrean, than the downward and dis-1
solving spirit of the beast ? No : there are sharks in the
ocean, and wolves in the forest, and eagles in the air ;
and there are tyrants on thrones, and there are tormen
tors in many a cottage. It is painful to know the
misery they are daily inflicting, and, perhaps, I myself
may yet become their prey. But they must not spoil
this transient life-luxury ; they shall not fill me with
vain compassion or fantastic fears. After all, there is
nothing better than to " rejoice in one's own works," and
be, as long as one can, oblivious of surrounding misery,-
regulating his own movements and rejoicing in his own
resources. " For that is his present portion ; and who
can reveal the future ? " Said I so ? Ah ! vain resolu
tion and unavailing vow ! That cry of tortured innocence
is in my ear again. I hear the groans of the victim, and
I see the tears of the oppressed. And my heart grows
THE DUNGEON. 117
sick, and I wish that I were dead, or rather that I had
never been born into a world where all proceeds so sadly.
Very ghastly is the picture which our world presents
when we look at it as the scene of injustice and cruelty ;
and very painful is the view it gives us of our arbitrary
and oppressive human nature. Could we only see what
God is daily seeing, and hear what God is daily hearing,
we would be apt to join with Solomon in praising the
dead who are already dead, and who are past our pain or
danger. For, even now, in this noon of the nineteenth
century, which, in the ear Eternal, is the loudest of earth's
voices ? — which is the loudest in the ear of History ? Is
it the psalm of thanksgiving ? Is it the harvest -hymn of
ripe fruition and cheerful prospects ? Is it the new song
of redeemed and regenerate adoration ? What is the
speech which day utters unto day, — the watchword which
one terrestrial night passes on to another ? Alas ! it is
lamentation and mourning. It is the music of breaking
hearts ; it is the noise of the oppressor's millstone, whose
grinding never waxes low. It is the sighing of the
prisoner whom the despot has doomed ; the groaning of
the captive whom lucre has enslaved, or whom supersti
tion means to immolate. That heavy plunge far out on the
moon -lit Bosporus is the close of one household tragedy;
in that sudden shriek and weltering fall on the Venetian
pavement ends another. These cries of horror announce
the funeral of some Ashanti prince, and the wholesale
slaughter which soaks his tomb ; whilst from Austrian
dungeons and Ural mines, the groans of patriots confess
the power of tyrants. And even if the modern surface
118 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
were silent, history cannot be deaf to the voices under
neath. For, wheresoever she sets her foot, there is a
stifled sob, — that cry which nothing can deaden or keep
down, — the quenchless cry of blood,— blood like Abel's,
blood like Stephen's, blood like the Saviour's own ; and
as if the turf were all one altar, and every pore a several
tongue, she hears the slain of centuries invoking Heaven's
pity, — Bethlehem's innocents, Boman martyrs, Bartholo
mew victims ; and the ground begins to quake as the
muffled chorus waxes louder : " How long, 0 Lord, holy
and true, dost thou not avenge our blood on them that
dwell on the earth?"1
There are few deeds of kindness which are not suffi
ciently notorious, — few acts of munificence or mercy which
the world's right hand has not hinted to its left. But
when History begins her sterner survey, — when from
Popedoms and dynasties, and republics even, she lifts the
gilt and purple canopy, — what sights of paltry vengeance
or ingenious cruelty offend the reluctant gaze! What
secrets of the prison-house do Bastiles and Inquisitions,
San Angelos, and London Towers disclose, as the daylight
of inquiry breaks in, and the earthen floor gives up its
slain, and the stone wall gives out its skeletons ! There
are depths of the ocean to which the plummet of the
mariner, and the dredge of the naturalist, and the explor
ing foot of the diver, have never travelled down ; but
even there, as she takes her telescope, History sees the
bones thick strewn of the hapless men whom the bucca
neer, and the pirate, and the flying slaver, have flung
i Rev. vi. 9-12.
THE DUNGEON. 119
quick into the deep; and there are dim recesses of old
story from which no gleams of humanity or tenderness
beam forth ; but even thence, by the light of Egyptian
brick-kilns, and Druid bale-fires, and Assyrian conflag
rations, we are reminded that the anguish of his fellow
has always been an amusement to the warrior and a
solace to the priest. So that, morally regarded, and tak
ing in the continuous survey of all places and all times,
green may be the colour of the globe, but red is the livery
of man. Babel may have split the dialects of earth into
a thousand tongues ; but, amidst them all, the old verna
cular of anguish still survives. And in the music of the
spheres its Maker may have given to our world its proper
note ; but it is a minor tune which is ever sung by its in
habitants, by neighbour nations, and by the several classes
of society, evermore to one another, crying, Woe, woe, woe !
Such oppressions Solomon beheld, and more especially
judicial oppressions, — cruelty in the cloak of law (ill 16)
— and from the contemplation his mind sought refuge in
the Supreme Tribunal. " I said in mine heart, God shall
judge the righteous and the wicked." And though, in the
agitated state of his spirit, the recollection did not long
abide, the fact is true and the consolation lasting.
The Lord has a bottle, and into that bottle He puts His
people's tears, and the tears of all who are oppressed.
When Joseph wept at Dothan, and the Jews at Babylon,
it was not the sand of the desert nor the stream of Euph
rates which intercepted the tear ; but God's bottle. When
the poor man works hard, and, coming for his wages, gets
only rough words or coarse ridicule ; when, from the hap-
120 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
less negro his wife and children are torn by some vindic
tive master, and sold into a distant State ; when, in her
new mourning, the bewildered mother goes to claim the
scanty provision for her babes, and finds that a cunning
quirk has left her not only a widow, but a pauper, — man
may mock the misery, but God regards the crime. And
whether it be the scalding tear of the Southern slave, or
that which freezes in the Siberian exile's eye, God's bottle
has received them all ; and when the measure is full, the
tears of the oppressed burst in vials of vengeance on the
head of the oppressor.
So true is this, that, whenever it foretells retribution,
poetry becomes prophetic : —
" Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken hearts ;
Ye dungeons, and ye cages of despair,
That monarchs have supplied from age to age
With music, such as suits their ears, —
The sighs and groans of miserable men !
There 's not an English heart that would not leap
To hear that ye were fallen."
So sang the bard of Olney in the hey-day of the Bour
bons; and a few years later the heart of England did
leap, for the Bastile was fallen. And two centuries have
passed since, like a Hebrew seer, our Milton prayed : —
" Avenge, 0 Lord, Thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold ; "
and there is not a succeeding age which has not seen an
instalment of the vengeance : and our own is witnessing
that fulfilment which " the triple tyrant" most abhors, —
the resurrection of their ashes in Roman Protestants and
Italian friends of freedom.
THE DUNGEON. 121
This is a great principle, and not to be lost sight of—
the weakness of oppression, the terrible strength of the
oppressed. I do not allude to the elasticity of the human
heart, though that is very great, and is apt, sooner or
later, to heave off despotisms and every sort of incubus.
I do not so much allude to that — for elastic though it is,
it sometimes has been crushed. But I allude to that all-
inspecting and all-adjusting Power which controls the
affairs of men. And though Solomon felt so perturbed by
the prosperous cruelty he witnessed ; though he " beheld
the tears of such as were oppressed, and they had no com
forter; for on the side of their oppressors there was
power ;" — had he bent his eye a little longer in the direc
tion where it eventually rested, he would have found a
Comforter for the oppressed, and would have seen the
impotence of the oppressor. For " God shall judge the
righteous and the wicked " (iii. 1 7) ; or, as the close of the
book more amply declares it, " God shall bring every work
into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good,
or whether it be evil." And with two worlds in which to
outwork the retribution, and with a whole eternity to
overtake the arrears of time, oh ! how tyrants should fear
for God's judgments ; and that match which themselves
have kindled, and which is slowly creeping round to
explode their own subjacent mine, in what floods of
repentance, if wise, would they drench it ! Had they
been wise enough to remember that " on the side of the
oppressed" there is always infinite "Power," Pharaoh
would have dreaded the Hebrew infants more than the
Hebrew soldiery, and Herod would have been more
122 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
frightened for the babes of Bethlehem than for the legions
of Eome. To David the most dreadful of foes would have
been the murdered Uriah, and to Ahab the hosts of Syria,
compared with the corpse of Naboth, need have given no
uneasiness. More than all the might of Britain had
Napoleon cause to dread the blood of Enghien, and, be
yond all foreign enemies, should modern nations tremble
for their slaves : FOR ON THE SIDE OF THE OPPRESSED is
OMNIPOTENCE, AND THE MOST DEATHLESS OF FOES is A
VICTIM !
My friends, the Gospel is the law of liberty. Such an
antagonist is it to all that is unfair and arbitrary and
oppressive, that it is only where there is a reign of dark
ness that there can be a reign of despotism. Even as it
is, every Christian is a freeman. His loyalty to God is
liberty. It is freedom from tyrannical lusts and task
master passions. It is the bond of iniquity broken. It is
emancipation from the thraldom of Satan. And if there
were two countries, one of which the Son of God had
made free,1 and the other of which had freed itself; in
one of which Christians were ruled by an absolute but
God-fearing Dictator, and in the other of which the slaves
of Satan ruled themselves — we know very well where we
should find the greater freedom. But still, the tendency
of the Gospel is to do away the pride and imperiousness
and unfairness which are here called "oppression;" and
if there were any land where these two truths were prac
tically realized, " God is Light," and " God is Love " — that
land would be a land of liberty.
1 John viii. 32, 36.
THE DUNGEON. 123
Still, liberty, or exemption from man's oppression, is a
priceless blessing. And it may be worth while to ask,
What can Christians do for its culture and diffusion ?
And, first of all, yourselves be free. Seek freedom from
fierce passions and dark prejudices. If you are led captive
by the devil at his will, you are sure to become an
oppressor. In the greed of gain you will be apt to defraud
the hireling of his wages ; and that is oppression. In the
fury of affronted pride, you will be apt to wreak dispro
portionate wrath on the offender ; and that also is oppres
sion. In the narrowness of sectarianism you will be
ready to punish men for their convictions ; and such per
secution is oppression. He who governs his family by
fear, is an oppressor. He who tries to accomplish by force
what can be effected by reason, is an oppressor. And if
he would only look, such a man might see the tears of
those whom he oppresses. He might see the tears of the
broken-hearted suppliant who, with case unheard and
with a rude rebuff, has been driven from his door. He
might see the tears of the conscientious labourer who has
been deprived of bread and bereft of a maintenance for his
family by refusing to work on Sunday. He might see
the tears of his dependant who, for attendance on some
interdicted place of worship, or for adherence to a sect
proscribed, has received his warning. And though a tear
be a little mirror, did he but behold it for one calm
moment, it might reveal the oppressor to himself, and save
a multitude of sorrows.
Beware of confounding liberty with license. One of
the greatest blessings in a State, or in a Christian Church,
124 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
is good government ; but from mistaken notions of inde
pendence, it is the delight of some to " speak evil of dig
nities." They carp and cavil at every law, and they set
at defiance every regulation of the powers that be, and
one would almost fancy that in their esteem rulers were
ordained as a target for public rancour, or a safety-valve
for national spleen. On the other hand, an enlightened
Christian and patriot will always remember that a con
stitutional Government — a Government where himself and
the rulers have given mutual guarantees — is too great a
mercy to be lightly imperilled : and he will also remember
that where obedience is order, anarchy is pretty sure to
end in oppression. It was a noble sentiment, not only for
a soldier but for a subject, " I like to be at my post, doing
my duty ; indifferent whether one set or another govern,
provided they govern well." * And, like the hero who
originally uttered it, the man who is thus magnanimous
in obeying is likely to be mighty in command.
And, finally, cultivate a humane and gentle spirit.
Every master, every parent, every public functionary,
must, from tune to time, pronounce decisions or give com
mands which cross some one's wishes or derange some
one's plans. But it will go far to propitiate compliance
when it is seen that it is not in recklessness, but for good
reason, or, perhaps, from a regretted necessity, that the
unwelcome order is given : or where there is tenderness,
there never can be tyranny. On the other hand, where-
ever there is thoughtlessness, there will be tyranny ; and
wherever there is a hard or cruel nature, it only needs
1 Life of General Sir John Moore, vol. ii. p. 14.
THE DUNGEON. 125
that power be added in order to bring to light another
Nero.
Here it is that the mollifying religion of Jesus comes in
as the great promoter of freedom and the great opponent
of oppression. By infusing a benevolent spirit into the
bosom of the Christian, it makes him the natural guardian
of weakness and the natural friend of innocence. And
whether it be the savage sportsman who gloats over the
tears and dying shudders of the harmless forest-ranger, or
who, shooting the parent-bird on her way to her eyrie,
leaves the callow nestlings to pine away with slow hunger ;
— or the kidnapper who carries off the struggling boy from
his mother's arms, or stows away in separate ships bound
for far- sundered shores, the young chieftain and his bride ;
— or the Moslem conqueror who hews his way from land
to land through fields of quivering slain ; — or the
" Cowl'd demons of the inquisitorial cell,
The worse than common fiends from heaven that fell,
The baser, ranker sprung, Autochthones of hell : >n
— whichever be the form of oppression which nightmares
our sympathies, or the form of cruelty which lacerates our
feelings, we foresee an end of it in the final triumph of the
Cross. We foresee an end of it when the Saviour asserts
His rightful supremacy, and subdues all things under
Him. " For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth
for the manifestation of the sons of God ;" and till then,
in every groan of the creature we must recognise a pledge
and a prayer that the Son of God will be manifest once
more, and that the disciples of Jesus will yet be numerous
1 Coleridge.
1 2 6 THE ROYAL PREA CHER.
enough to secure a reign of peace and justice in this sin-
cursed world. And as we listen to these inarticulate
groans of the burdened creation, we, who are nature's
interpreters and the world's intercessors, must translate
them into the petition, " Thy kingdom come : Thy will
be done on earth as it is in heaven." " Even so, come,
Lord Jesus."
October 6, 1850.
X.
THE SANCTUARY.
BEAD ECCLES. v. 1-7.
" Keep thy foot -when thou goest to the house of God."
VANITY of vanities : human occupation, human exist
ence, is all fantastic and foolish. Verily, each man walketh
in a vain show ; surely they are disquieted in vain. Like
the fly-plague in Egypt, every scene of mortal life is
infested by frivolity and falsehood ; and it is hard to tell
which is the sorest vexation — the buzz and bewilderment
of vanities still living, or the noisesomeness of those that
are dead. The cottage and the palace, the student's
chamber and the prince's banquet-room, all teem with
them, and there is no secure retreat from those vanities
which on the wing are a weariness, and in the cup of enjoy
ment are the poison of pleasure. " Nay, we have not tried
that temple — we have not yet gone to the house of God.
There, perhaps, we shall find a tranquil asylum. There,
if anywhere, we should find a heaven on earth — a refuge
from the insincerity and unsatisfactoriness which else
where abound." Ah, no : the temple itself is full of vacant
worship. It resounds with rash vows and babbling voices.
127
128 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
It is the house of God, but man has made it a nest of
triflers, a fair of vanity, a den of thieves. Some come to
it as reckless and irreverent as if they were stepping into
a neighbour's house. Some come to it and feel as if they
laid the Most High under obligation because they bring a
sheaf of corn or a pair of pigeons ; whilst they never listen
to the lessons of God's Word, nor strive after that obedi
ence which is better than sacrifice. Some come and rattle
over empty forms of devotion, as if they would be heard
because of their much speaking. And some come, and in
a fit of fervour utter vows which they forget to pay ; and
when reminded of their promise by the " angel" of the
church — the priest or his messenger — they protest that
there must be some mistake ; they repudiate the vow, and
say " it was an error."
A thoughtless resorting to the sanctuary ; inattention
and indevotion there : and precipitancy in religious vows
and promises, are still as common as in the days of
Solomon. And for these evils the only remedy is that
which he prescribes, — a heartfelt and abiding reverence.
"Fear thou God;" " God is in heaven, and thou upon
earth ;" " Keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of
God."
1. There is a preparation for the sanctuary. Not only
should there be prayer beforehand for God's blessing there,
but a studious effort to concentrate on its services all our
faculties. In the spirit of that significant Oriental usage
which drops its sandals at the palace door, the devout
worshipper will put off his travel-tarnished shoes, — will
try to divest himself of secular anxieties and worldly pro-
THE SANCTUARY. 129
jects, — when the place where he stands is converted into
holy ground by the words, " Let us worship God."
Be " ready to hear" We freely grant that dull hearing
is often produced by dull speaking. We allow that there
is a great contrast when the sameness of sermons is set
over against the variety and vivacity of Scripture. And
so often is the text injured by its treatment, that we
have many a time wished that some power could give it
back in its original pungency, and divested of its drowsy
associations. That passage of the Word was a burning
lamp, till the obscuring interpretation conveyed it under
a bushel. It was a fire, till a non-conducting intellect
encased it, and made it like a furnace in felt. It was the
finest of the wheat, till a husky understanding buried it
in chaff. It was " a dropping from the honeycomb," till
tedious insipidity diffused it and drowned it in its deluge
of commonplace. And we allow that much of the im
patience and inattention of hearers may be owing to the
prolixity of preachers. But still, admitting that on the
one side there is often the fault of commonplace as well
as " the sin of excessive length," x and conceding to every
hearer the same right to exert his tasteful and intellectual
faculties when listening to a sermon as when perusing
a printed book ; you will not deny that on the other side
there are often a languor and lukewarmness, of which the
cure must be sought, not so much in the greater power of
the preacher, as in the growing piety of the hearer. There
are two sorts of instruction to which if we do not hearken
we are utterly without excuse. One is the direct instruc-
1 Bishop Shirley.
VOL. III. I
130 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
tion of God's Word; the other is truth and earnestness
embodied in a Christian teacher. But how often are
the lively oracles read in public worship, and a relief
experienced when the lesson is ended ! and how often
does some fervent evangelist pour forth appeals full of
that rarest originality, — the pathos of a yearning spirit, —
and find no response save stolid apathy, or a patronizing
compliment to his energy !
Half the power of preaching lies in the mutual pre
paration. The minister must not serve God with that
which cost him nothing ; but it is not the minister alone
who should "give attendance to reading, to exhortation,
to doctrine." There is a reciprocal duty on the part of
the hearer. He should come with a purpose, and he
should come with prayer. He should come hopeful of
benefit, and bestirring all his faculties, that he may miss
nothing which is " profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for
correction, for instruction in righteousness." He should
come with a benevolent prepossession towards his pastor
and with a friendly solicitude for his fellow-hearers.
And thus, as iron sharpens iron, so his intelligent coun
tenance would animate the speaker ; and, like a Hur 01
an Aaron, his silent petitions would contribute to the
success of the sermon.
Nor can aught be more fatal than a habit of indolent
hearing. Like one who glances into a mirror, and sees
disorder in his attire, or dust on his face, and says, "I
must attend to this," but forthwith forgets it, and hurries
out on his journey; or who, in the time of plague, sees
the livid marks on his countenance, and says, "I must
THE SANCTUARY. 131
take advice for this," and thinks no more about it till he
drops death-stricken on the pavement : so there are
languid or luxurious listeners to the Word of God. At
the moment they say, Very true, or, Very good, and they
resolve to take some action : but just as the mirror is not
medicine, — as even the glassy pool does not remove from
the countenance the specks which it reveals, if merely
looked into, so a self -survey in the clearest sermon will
neither erase the blemishes from your character, nor
expel the sin-plague from your soul. "Wherefore, my
beloved brethren, let eveiy man be swift to hear. And,
laying apart all filthiness and superfluity of naughtiness,
receive with meekness the engrafted word, which is able
to save your souls. But be ye doers of the word, and not
hearers only, deceiving your own selves. For if any be a
hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like unto a man
beholding his natural face in a glass : for he beholdeth
himself, and goeth his way, and straightway forgetteth
what manner of man he was. But whoso looketh into
the perfect law of liberty, and continueth therein," — like
a man who seeing his be-dusted visage in the mirror of
that polished flood, loses not a moment, but makes a laver
of his looking-glass, — "he being not a forgetful hearer,
but a doer of the work, this man shall be blessed in his
deed :"x he shall be saved by his promptitude ; or, if
saved already, he shall become a more beautiful character
by his strenuous self-application.
2. In devotional exercises be intent and deliberate
(verses 2, 3). Like a dream which is a medley from the
1 James i. 19-25.
132 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
waking day, — which into its own warp of delirium weaves
a shred from all the day's engagements, so, could a fool's
prayer be exactly reproduced, it would be a tissue of
trifles intermingled with vain repetitions. In all the
multitude of words it might be found that there was not
a single sincere confession, not one heart-felt and heaven-
arresting supplication.
For such vain repetitions the remedy still is reverence.
" Be not rash," but remember at whose throne you are
kneeling ; and be not verbose, but let your words be few
and emphatic, as of one who is favoured with an audience
from Heaven's King. It is right to have stated seasons of
worship ; but it were also well if with our acts of devotion
we could combine some special errand ; and it might go
far to give precision and urgency to our morning or even
ing prayer, if for a few moments beforehand we considered
whether there were any sin to confess, any duty or diffi
culty demanding special grace, any friend or any object
for which we ought to intercede. And when the emer
gencies of life — some perplexity or sorrow, some deliver
ance or mercy, — at an unwonted season sends us to tht
Lord, without any lengthened preamble we should give t<
this originating occasion the fulness of our feelings and
the foremost place in our petitions.
3. In like manner, be not rash with vows and religious
promises (verses 4-7). In the old Levitical economy there
was large provision made for spontaneous vows and votive
offerings ; and in our own Christian time there are occa
sions for vows virtual or implied. It is a vow or a solemr
THE SANCTUARY. 133
promise which a pastor makes when he assumes an office
in the Christian Church ; and it is a virtual vow which
every disciple makes when he becomes a member of that
Church : equivalent to the oath of fidelity which a citizen
takes when he becomes a soldier, or a servant of the
Crown. And occasionally, for the carrying out of some
great enterprise, it may be expedient that like-minded
men should join together and covenant to stand by one
another till the reform or the philanthropic object is
effected But if Christians make voluntary vows at all,
it should be with clear warrant from the Word, for pur
poses obviously attainable, and for limited periods of time.
The man who vows to offer a certain prayer at a given
hour for all his remaining life, may find it perfectly con
venient for the next six months, but not for the next six
years. The man who vows to pious uses half the income
of the year may be safe ; whereas, the Jephthah who
rashly devotes contingencies over which he has no control
may pierce himself through with many sorrows. And
whilst every believer feels it his reasonable service to
present himself to God a living sacrifice, those who wish
to walk in the liberty of sonship will seek to make their
dedication, as a child is devoted to his parents, not so
much in the stringent precision of a legal document, as in
the daily forthgoings of a filial mind.
The glory of Gospel worship consists in its freedom,
its simplicity, and its spirituality. We have boldness to
enter into the holiest, by the blood of Jesus ; and we are
encouraged to draw near with a true heart in full assur-
134 THE ROYAL PREACHER
ance of faith. We are not come to a burning mount,
nor to the sound of a trumpet and a voice of terror ; but
we are come " to Jesus, the Mediator of the new covenant,
and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things
than that of Abel." The Father seeks true worshippers,
such as will worship Him in spirit and in truth : and now
that sacrifice and offering have ceased, — now that burden
some observances have vanished away, praise and prayer
and almsgiving are the ordinary oblations of the Christian
Church. But surely the freedom of our worship should
not abate from its fervour ; and because it is simple, there
is the more scope for sincerity, and the more need that it
should be the worship of the heart and soul. But do we
sufficiently realize our privileged but solemn position as
worshippers of Him, to whom Seraphim continually do
cry, " Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts ; the whole
earth is full of his glory?" Do we sufficiently realize
our blessedness as fellow- worshippers with those who sing
on high, " Worthy is the Lamb that was slain ?" In the
house of prayer, do we make worship our study, and devo
tion our business ? Do we " labour mightily in prayer,"
and do we " wake up our glory to sing and give praise ?"
Or are not many of us content to be lookers-on at the
prayers, and listeners to the psalmody ? and instead of
" a golden vial full of odours," is not many a devotional
act a vain oblation, a vapid form ; a tedium to ourselves,
and an offence to the Most High ?
Beloved, let us bestir ourselves in worship. Let us
" make a joyful noise unto the Lord ;" let us " serve him
THE SANCTUARY. 135
with gladness." Let us sing His praises " with grave
sweet melody," and " with grace in our hearts." And let
us concentrate our thoughts, and join zealously in the
confessions, the thanksgivings, and the supplications of
the public prayers. And thus, like the restful activity of
•the temple above, we shall find moments pass swiftly
which may now be a weariness ; and refreshed by the
sacred exertion which enlisted our faculties, and which
enlivened our feelings, we shall retire sweetly conscious
that it was " good to be there."
Finally, my friends, amidst the assurance and gladness
of Gospel worship, let us take care that we lose nothing
of our veneration and godly fear. " God is greatly to be
feared in the assembly of the saints, and to be had in
reverence of all them that are about him." " Thou hast
a mighty arm ; strong is thy hand, and high is thy right
hand. Justice and judgment are the habitation of thy
throne ; mercy and truth shall go before thy face." It is
a poor religion in which reverence is not a conspicuous
element; and, like Moses in the mount, if a man has
really communed with God, there will be something awful
in the shining of his face. And just as in a far inferior
matter, — our relations to one another, — just as you never
respect the man who does not respect the noble spirits
and exalted intellects among his fellows ; whilst you
always feel that wherever there is admiration of the great
and good there is the germ of principle, the possibility of
eminent excellence : — so, be it the homely peasant or the
village patriarch; be it the philosopher1 always pausing
1 Boyle.
136 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
before he uttered the Name Supreme, or Israel's destined
lawgiver putting his shoes from off his feet on Horeb's
holy ground — you always feel that to realize Heaven's
majesty is itself majestic, and that there is nothing in
itself more venerable than habitual veneration.
November 10, 1850.
XL
THE EXCHANGE.
READ ECCLES. v. 9-20 ; VL 1-9.
"He that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver."
THIS passage describes the vanity of riches. With the
enjoyments of frugal industry it contrasts the woes of
wealth. Looking up from that condition on which Solo
mon looked down, it may help to reconcile us to our lot,
if we remember how the most opulent of princes envied a
lowly station.
1. In all grades of society human subsistence is very
much the same. " The profit of the earth is for all ; the
king himself is served by the field." " What had the wise
more than the fool?" Even princes are not fed with
ambrosia, nor do poets subsist on asphodel. Bread and
water, the produce of the flocks and the herds, and a few
homely vegetables, form the staple of his food who can
lay the globe under tribute ; and these essentials of health
ful existence are within the attainment of ordinary indus
try. " The profit of the earth is for all."
2. When a man begins to amass money, he begins to
feed an appetite which nothing can appease, and which its
proper food will only render fiercer. " He that loveth
137
138 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
silver shall not be satisfied with silver. To greed there
may be " increase," but no increase can ever be " abun
dance." For, could you change all the pebbles on the
beach into minted money, or conjure into bank-notes all
the leaves of the forest; nay, could you transmute the
solid earth into a single lump of gold, and drop it into the
gaping mouth of Mammon, it would only be a crumb of
transient comfort, a restorative enabling him to cry a little
louder, Give, give. Therefore, happy they who have never
got enough to awaken the accumulating passion, and who,
feeling that food and raiment are the utmost to which
they can aspire, are therewith content.
3. It is another consideration which should reconcile us
to the want of wealth : that, as abundance grows, so grow
the consumers, and of riches less perishable, the proprietor
enjoys no more than the mere spectator. " When goods
increase, they are increased that eat them : and what good
is there to the owners thereof, saving the beholding of
them with their eyes?" It is so far well that rank
involves a retinue, and that no man can be so selfishly
sumptuous but that his luxury gives employment and
subsistence to others. On the other hand, it is also well
that riches cannot retain in exclusive monopoly the plea
sures they procure. A rich man buys a picture or a
statue, and he is proud to think that his mansion is
adorned with such a famous masterpiece. But a poor
man comes and looks at it, and, because he has the
aesthetic insight, in a few minutes he is conscious of more
astonishment and pleasure than the dull proprietor has
experienced in half a century. Or, a rich man lays out a
THE EXCHANGE. 139
park or a garden, and, except the diversion of planning
and remodelling, he has derived from it little enjoyment ;
but some bright morning a holiday student or a town-pent
tourist comes, and when he leaves he carries with him a
freight of life-long recollections. The porter at the gates
should have orders to intercept such appropriating sight
seers ; for though they leave the canvas on the walls, and
the marble in the gallery — though they leave the flowers
in the vases, and the trees in the forest, they have carried
off the glory and the gladness ; their bibulous eyes have
drunk a delectation, and all their senses have absorbed a
joy for which the owner vainly pays his heavy yearly
ransom.
4. Amongst the pleasures of obscurity, or rather of
occupation, the next noticed is sound slumber. " The
sleep of a labouring man is sweet, whether he eat little or
much ; but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him
to sleep." Sometimes the wealthy would be the better
for a taste of poverty ; it would reveal to them their pri
vileges. But if the poor could get a taste of opulence
it would reveal to them strange luxuries in lowliness.
Fevered with late hours and false excitement, or scared by
visions, the righteous recompense of gluttonous excess, or
with breath suppressed and palpitating heart listing the
fancied footsteps of the robber, grandeur often pays a
nightly penance for the triumph of the day. As a king
expresses it, who could sympathize with Solomon : —
" How many thousands of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep ! — Sleep, gentle sleep !
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
HO THE ROYAL PREACHER.
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness !
Why rather, Sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush'd with buz/ing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody ?
Then, happy, lowly clown !
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." l
5. Wealth is often the ruin of its possessor. It is " kept
for the owner to his hurt." Like that King of Cyprus
who made himself so rich that he became a tempting
spoil, and who, rather than lose his treasures, embarked
them in perforated ships ; but, wanting courage to draw the
plugs, ventured back to land and lost both his money and
his life !2 so a fortune is a great perplexity to its owner,
and is no defence in times of danger. And very often, by
enabling him to procure all that heart can wish, it pierces
him through with many sorrows. Ministering to the lust
of the eye, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life, mis
directed opulence has ruined many both in soul and body.
6. Nor is it a small vexation to have accumulated a
fortune, and, when expecting to transmit it to some
favourite child, to find it suddenly swept away. (Yers.
14-16.) There is now the son, but where is the sump
tuous mansion ? Here is the heir, but where is the
vaunted heritage ?
7. Last of all come the infirmity and fretfulness which
1 Henry IV., Second Part.
a Procul dubio hie non possedit divitias, sed a divitiis possessus est ; titulo
rex insulse. animo pecunise miserabile mancipiuru. — Valerius Maximus,
lib. ix. cap. 4.
THE EXCHANGE. 141
are the frequent companions of wealth. "All his days
also he eats in darkness, and suffers anxiety and peevish
ness along with sickness." You pass a stately mansion,
and as the powdered menials are closing the shutters of
the brilliant room, and you see the sumptuous table spread
and the fire-light flashing on vessels of gold and vessels
of silver, perhaps no pang of envy pricks your bosom, but
a glow of gratulation for a moment fills it : Happy people
who tread carpets so soft, and who swim through halls so
splendid ! But, some future day, when the candles are
lighted and the curtains drawn in that selfsame apart
ment, it is your lot to be within ; and as the invalid
owner is wheeled to his place at the table, and as dainties
are handed round of which he dares not taste, and as the
guests interchange cold courtesy, and all is stiff magni
ficence and conventional inanity — your fancy cannot help
flying off to some humbler spot with which you are more
familiar, and " where quiet with contentment makes her
home." Nay, how curious the contrast could the thoughts
be read which sometimes cross one another ! That ragged
urchin who opened the common-gate, and let the silvery
chariot through — oh, " what a phantom of delight" the lady
looked as in clouds of cushions and on a firmament of
ultramarine she floated away ! What a golden house she
must have come from, and what a happy thing to be
borne about from place to place in such a carriage, as
easy as a bird and as brilliant as a queen ! But, little
boy, that lady looked at you. As she passed she noticed
your ruddy cheeks, and she envied you. That glittering
chariot was carrying what you do not know — a broken
142 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
heart ; and, death- stricken and world-weary, as she looked
at you she thought, How pleasant to have lived amongst
the blossomed May-trees on this common's edge, and
never known the falsehoods of fashion and the evil ways
of the world !
We have glanced at the sorrows of the rich ; some will
expect that we should now descant on the sinfulness of
riches. And a certain class of religionists, misunderstanding
the Saviour's precept, " Lay not up for yourselves treasures
on earth," have spoken of money as if it were a malignant
principle, and have canonized poverty as a Christian grace.
Fully carried out, this theory would prohibit the flagon
of oil and the barrel of meal, and would reduce us all to
the widow's cruse and handful ; for it makes little differ
ence whether the hoard be in kind, or packed up in the
portable form of money. It would justify the life of the
anchoret, who has no funded property except the roots in
the ground and the nuts on the trees ; and it would suit
very well such a state of society as Israel spent in the
desert, when no skill could secure a week's manna before
hand, and when the same pair of shoes lasted forty years.
But as it was not for a world of anchorets or ascetics —
as it was not for a society on which the clouds should
rain miraculous supplies that the Saviour was legislating
— His words must have another meaning. And what is
that ? Live by faith. Look forward : look upward. Let
nothing temporal be your treasure. Whether your abode
be a hut or a castle, think only of the Father's house as
your enduring mansion. Whether your friends be high
THE EXCHANGE. 143
or low, coarse or refined, think only of just men made
perfect as your permanent associates. And whether your
possessions be great or small, think only of the joys at
God's right hand as your eternal treasure. Lead a life
disentangled and expedite — setting your affections on
things above, and never so clinging to the things tem
poral as to lose the things eternal.
Translated into its equivalent, money just means food
and clothing, and a salubrious dwelling. It means instruc
tive books, and rational recreation. It means freedom
from anxiety, and leisure for personal improvement. It
means the education of one's children, and the power of
doing good to others. And to inveigh against it, as if it
were intrinsically sinful, is as fanatical as it would be to
inveigh against the bread and the raiment, the books and
the Bibles, which the money procures. It would be to
stultify all those precepts which tell us to provide things
honest in the sight of all men ; to do good and to com
municate ; to help forward destitute saints after a godly
sort ; to make friends of the unrighteous mammon.
And as there is nothing in the Bible to prohibit the
acquirement of wealth, there is much to guide us in its
right bestowment. Using but not abusing God's bounties,
the Christian avoids both the wasteful and the penurious
extremes, and is neither a miser nor a spendthrift. With
that most elastic and enlightened disciple, who knew so
well how to be abased and how to abound, the believer
can say, " I have learned in whatsoever state I am, there
with to be content. Everywhere and in all things, I am
instructed, both to be full and to be hungry, both to
144 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through
Christ who strengtheneth me."
It was a sultry day, and an avaricious old man, who
had hoarded a large amount, was toiling away and wast
ing his little remaining strength, when a heavenly appa
rition stood before him. " I am Solomon," it said, with
a friendly voice; "what are you doing?" "If you are
Solomon," answered the old man, " how can you ask ?
When I was young you sent me to the ant, and told me
to consider her ways ; and from her I learned to be indus
trious and gather stores." " You have only half learned
your lesson," replied the spirit; "go once more to the
ant, and learn to rest the winter of your years and enjoy
your collected treasures." * And this lesson of moderate
but cheerful spending, nothing teaches so effectually as
the Gospel. Eeminding the believer that the life is more
than meat, and the body more than raiment, it also sug
gests to him that meat and raiment are more than money ;
and by saving him from the idolatry of wealth, it embold
ens him to use it : so that far from feeling impoverished
when it is converted into some worthy equivalent, he can
use with thankfulness the gifts which his Heavenly Father
sends him. Within the bounds of temperance and fore
thought, he subscribes to the sentiment of our text, " It
is good and comely to eat and to drink, and to enjoy the
good of one's labour ; for the power to eat thereof and to
take his portion is itself the gift of God."
But Christianity teaches a lesson higher still " Eemem-
bering the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is
^ l Lessing's Fables.
THE EXCHANGE. 145
more blessed to give than to receive," the true disciple
will value wealth chiefly as he can spend it on objects
dear to his dear Lord. To him money is a talent and a
trust ; and he will feel it a fine thing to have a fortune,
because it enables him to do something notable for some
noble end. And whether, like Granville Sharp, he spends
it in pleading the cause of the oppressed and the friend
less ; or, like Howard, devotes it to reclaim the most
depraved and degraded ; or, like Simeon, purchases ad-
vowsons in order to appoint faithful pastors ; or, like
Thomas Wilson, multiplies places of worship in a crowded
metropolis ; there is no fortune which brings to its pos
sessor such a return of solid satisfaction as that which
is converted into Christian philanthropy. Our houses
tumble down; our monuments decay; our equipages
grow frail and shabby. But it is a fine thing to have a
- [fortune, and so be able to give a grand impulse to some
(; {important cause. It is a happy thing to have wealth
nough to set fairly afloat an emancipation movement or
prison reform. It is a noble thing to be rich enough to
provide Gospel ordinances for ten thousand people in a
fast and world-wielding capital. It is a blessed thing to
oe " a man to whom God has not only given riches and
wealth," but so large a heart — so beneficent, so brotherly,
hat his fruition of his fortune is as wide as the thou-
ds who share it, and the reversion as secure as the
eaven in which it is treasured.
f-
til| December 1, 1850.
VOL. III. K
XII.
BOKKOWED LIGHTS FOR A DARK LANDING.
" That which, hath been is named already, and it is known what man is :
neither may he contend with him that is mightier than he. Seeing there be
many things that increase vanity, what is man the better? For who knoweth
what is good for man in this life, all the days of his vain life which he
spendeth as a shadow ? for who can tell a man what shall be after him under
the sun?"— ECCLES. vi. 10-12.
You have ascended a staircase which, inside the solid
rock, wound up from the sands of the sea-shore to green
fields and beautiful gardens. Somewhat of this sort isi
the structure of Ecclesiastes. And now we have reached
the half-way landing-place, the dimmest and coldest
station in the entire ascent ; and very mournful is the-
strain in which our moralist reviews his progress. " Fatec
is fixed, and man is feeble ; joy is but a phantom, and life
a vapour, and darkness veils the future." Truly, we have |
need to borrow lamps and suspend them in this dari
place. We must send for some brighter minstrel ; for oui
hearts will break if we only listen to the bard of vanity.
I. Fate is fixed. " That which hath been or which is
to be, hath been named already ; neither may man con
tend with him that is mightier than he." All the past
was the result of a previous destiny, and so shall be al]
146
BORROWED LIGHTS. 147
the future. Everything is fate. Such is the sentiment
of the third chapter, and such appears to be the import
of this passage. " Since fate bears sway, and everything
must be as it is, why dost thou strive against it?"1
Brethren, is there never such a feeling in your minds ?
Do you never feel as if you were the subjects of a stern
ordination ? Do you never say, " I must obey my destiny.
It is of no use contending with fate. Mine is an unlucky
star, and I can change neither my nature nor my nativity ;
so I must bide my time and take my doom ?" Do you
never feel as if you were driven along a path over which
you have no control, and as if the power propelling you
were a blind and inexorable necessity ?
Partly imbibed from the old classics, and partly from
a sound theology sullenly spoken ; and partly indigenous
to the human heart, which even when it does not believe
in God and in Jesus, cannot believe in chance, the feeling
now expressed is far from rare ; and just as it seems to
have visited Solomon in the thoughtful interludes of his
vanity, so the more pensive and musing spirits are likely
to feel it most. As it contains a certain admixture of
truth, on a principle which we have frequently adopted
in these Lectures, we shall go to a greater than Solomon
in order to get that partial truth corrected and completed.
In the outset, it must be conceded that the Saviour
assumed a pre-ordination in all events. He was con
stantly using such language as this : " The hour is come ;"
" The hairs of your head are all numbered ;" " Your
names are written in heaven;" " Many be called, but few
1 Marcus Antoninus, xii. 13.
148 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
chosen;" "No man can come to me, except the Father
draw him ;" " For the elect's sake, whom he hath chosen,
God hath shortened the days;" "To my sheep I give
eternal life." But then, what sort of pre-ordination was
it which the Saviour recognised ? Was it mechanical, or
moral? Was it blind destiny, or a wise decree? Was
it the evolution of a dark necessity, or " the determinate
counsel and foreknowledge of God ? " Was it the fiat of
an abstract law, or the will of a living Person ? In one
word, was it FATE, or was it PEOVIDENCE ?
Most comforting is it to study this doctrine with the
great Prophet for our tutor, and so to see the propitious
aspect which it bears when rightly understood. As
interpreted by " the only-begotten Son from the bosom of
the Father," that pre- arrangement of events which the
theologian calls Predestination, and which the philosopher
calls Necessity, and which old heathenism called Fate, is
nothing more than the will of the Father, — the good
pleasure of that blessed and only Potentate whose omni
science foresaw all possibilities, and from out of all these
possibilities whose benevolent wisdom selected the best
and gave it being. And he alone can understand elec
tion, or exult in Providence, who in right of the Surety
can look up to God as his Father, and so take the same
views of the Father's purposes as the Saviour took,
equally revering the majestic fixity of the firm decree,
equally rejoicing in its wise foresight and paternal kind
ness. " Fear not, little flock, it is your Fathers GOOD
PLEASUEE to give you the kingdom." " I thank thee, 01
Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid
BORROWED LIGHTS. 149
these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed
them unto babes. Even so, Father ; for so it seemed
good in thy sight." " The hour is come, that the Son of
man should be glorified. Father, glorify thy name."
And just as you might imagine some poor wandered
child waking up amidst the din and tumult of a factory,
and cowering half- delinquent, half- stupefied, into his
dusky corner, — afraid lest this thunderous enginery rush
in on him and rend him to pieces, and still more para
lysed when he perceives in its movements the indications
of an awful order, — the whole spinning and whirling,
clashing and clanking, in obedience to a mysterious and
invisible power. But whilst he is watching from his
hiding-place, another child comes in, of an age about his
own ; and this other walks fearlessly forward, for his
father leads him by the hand, and shows him the beauti
ful fabrics which are flowing forth from all the noisy
mechanism; or if there be some point in their progress
where there is risk to his child from the flashing wheels,
he speaks a word and that portion stands still ; for
his father is owner of it all. So to the poor waif of
mortality, outcast child of apostate Adam, — to the god
less spirit waking up in this world of rapid revolution
and tumultuous resonance, there is an awful aspect of
fatality on the one side, and a crushing sense of im
potence on the other. So selfish is man, and so cruel is
the world ; so strange are life's reverses, and so irresistible
is the progress of events, that he momentarily expects to
be annihilated by the strong and remorseless mechanism ;
— when, in the midst of all the turmoil he perceives one
150 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
of like passions with himself walking calmly up and
down, and fearing no evil, for his Father is with him, and
that Father is contriver and controller of the whole. So,
my friends, it depends on our point of view whether the
fixed succession of events shall appear as a sublime
arrangement or a dire necessity. It depends on whether
we recognise ourselves as foundlings in the universe, or
the children of God by faith in Jesus Christ, — it depends
on this, whether in the mighty maze we discern the
decrees of fate, or the presiding wisdom of our Heavenly
Father. It depends on whether we are still skulking in
the obscure corner, aliens, intruders, outlaws ; or walking
at liberty, with filial spirit and filial security, — whether
we shall be more panic-stricken by the power of the
mechanism, or more enchanted with its beautiful pro
ducts. It depends on whether we are spectators or sons,
whether our emotion towards the Divine foreknowledge
and sovereignty be, " 0 fate, I fear thee," or, " 0 Father,
I thank Thee."
II. Man is feeble. " It is known what man is : neither
may he contend with him that is mightier than he." And
Christless humanity is a very feeble thing. His bodily
frame is feeble. A punctured nerve or a particle of sand
will sometimes occasion it exquisite anguish ; a grape-seed
or an insect's sting has been known to consign it to disso
lution. And man's intellect is feeble ; or, rather, it is a
strange mixture of strength and weakness : —
" Go, wondrous creature ! mount where science guides ;
Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides ;
Instruct the planets in what orbs to run,
Correct old Time, and regulate the sun ;
BORROWED LIGHTS. 151
Go, soar with Plato to the empyreal sphere,
To the first good, first perfect, and first fair ;
Go, teach Eternal Wisdom how to rule —
Then drop into thyself, and be a fool ! "l
Nevertheless, redeemed and regenerate humanity is only
a little lower than the angels. Its materialism was worn
by the Son of God Incarnate, and as He wore it, it was
found a shrine in which perfect goodness could exist, and
one from which not a few of its endearing rays could
emanate ; and, celestialized, that corporeity will find a
place in the new heavens and new earth where righteous
ness dwelleth. And, sublimed and sanctified, man's in
tellect is fit for the noblest themes in the loftiest society.
Not to speak of Moses' meek sagacity, and David's lyric
raptures, and Solomon's startling intuitions : there are sons
of Adam who, here, on earth, possessed no knowledge
beyond simple apprehension or idiot ignorance, and who
are now the immediate pupils of the Bright and Morning
Star, and fellow- students with the seraphim. And though
it be madness in man to contend with his Maker, it is
man's prerogative that his very weakness is a purchase on
Omnipotence. Insane when contending with One that is
mightier, he is irresistible when in faith and coincidence
of holy affection he fights the battles of the Most High,
and when by prayer and uplooking affiance, he imports
into his own imbecility the might of Jehovah. It is known
what man is, and what mere man can do. A Samson can
rend the ravening lion, and return to find his bleached
ribs a hive of honey. A Goliath can hold at bay the
embattled host, and with his beam-like lance beat back a
1 Pope's Essay on Man, Ep. ii.
152 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
charging company. David's three champions can hew
their way through the host of the Philistines, and from the
well of Bethlehem bear triumphant to the camp their
costly flask of water. And thus, the potsherds of the earth
can strive with the potsherds of the earth, and a strong
one destroy the weaker. But it is hardly known yet what
man can do when his Maker contends for him and fights
through him ; although the temptations which Joseph
and Daniel have vanquished, and found their demolished
strength replaced by sweetness ; the terror of God which
a solitary Elijah or John Baptist has stricken into an
idolatrous or hypocritical generation ; the water of life
which Paul and Silas and Timothy have carried into the
midst of a dying world through pain and peril, through
bitter mocking and daily deaths, — although these moral
triumphs and religious trophies are earnests and examples
of what may be done by man when, through Christ
strengthening, man is rendered superhuman.
III. Every joy is futile. Enjoyment is only fresh food
for the life-wasting vanity ; more fat kine for the lean
ones to devour and convert into tenuity ; additional must,
poured into the working vat in order to acidify and
augment the brewage of vexation. " Seeing there be many
things that increase vanity, what is man the better?"
What the better is man of that reputation which only
makes him more envied ? What the better is he of that
wealth which only makes him more obnoxious to plots and
dangers ? What the better of that philosophy which,
like a taper on the face of a midnight cliff, only shows
how beetling is the brow above him, and how profound
BORROWED LIGHTS. 153
the gulf below, whilst he himself is crawling a wingless
reptile on the ever-narrowing ledge ? What the better
is acquirement, when, after all, man's intellect, man's
conscience, man's affections must remain a vast and un
appeasable vacuity ?
Here it is that the other Eoyal Preacher comes forward,
and, instead of echoing, answers the demand of Solomon.
Jesus says, " I am the bread of life : he that cometh to
me shall never hunger, and he that believeth on me shall
never thirst." Jesus is God manifest, and, therefore,
Jesus known is satisfaction to the famished intellect. He
is God reconciled, and, therefore, Jesus trusted is comfort
to the aching conscience. He is God communicated, and,
therefore, Jesus loved is a continual feast to the hungry
affections. Incarnate, atoning, interceding, Immanuel is
the bread of life, — the only sustenance and satisfaction of
the immortal soul. And, 0 my hearers, if any of you are
hungry, make trial of this food. If your conscience
hungers, feed on some faithful saying till you find it as
sweet as it is solid, as refreshing as 'tis true. " God
loved the world and gave his Son." " Christ Jesus came
into the world to save sinners." "His blood cleanseth
from all sin." " Him that cometh unto me, I will in no
wise cast out." " Behold the Lamb of God ! " Dwell on
such sayings till they have sunk into your spirit's core,
and spread through your consenting nature in realizations
glad and blissful. Does your understanding hunger? Do
you pine for some knowledge absolute, conclusive, posi
tive ? Then no man knoweth the Father save the Son,
and he to whom the Son shall reveal him. Look to Jesus.
154 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
Study the Word made flesh. In Him dwells all the ful
ness of the Godhead bodily. In Him, the express image
of the Father, behold at once your Teacher and your task ;
for Jesus is the true Theology. Sit at the Saviour's feet,
and listen to His words ; for God is all which Jesus says.
Look into His countenance ; for God is all which Jesus is.
And do your affections hunger? From the festivals of
earth — from its feast of friendship even, do you sometimes
retire mortified and almost misanthropic ? or, like the
reveller glancing up at the thread-suspended sword, or
gazing at the fulgorous finger as it flames along the wall,
have you misgivings in the unhallowed mercies which you
enjoy aloof from God, or in the place of God, or beneath
the wrath of God ? Then, through the Mediator be recon
ciled to God. In Christ accept Him as your Friend and
Father. Enter into His peace, and learn to delight in His
perfections; and thus, while sinful pleasures lose their
relish, lawful joys will acquire a flavour of sacredness, and
the zest of a sweet security. Or should the cistern break
and the creature fail, the infinite joy is Jehovah, and the
soul cannot wither whose roots are replenished from that
fountain unfailing.
IV. Life is fleeting. It is a " vain life," and all its
days a "shadow." A shadow is the nearest thing to a
nullity. It is seldom noticed. Even " a vapour " in the
firmament — a cloud may catch the eye, and in watching
its changing hues or figure you may find the amusement
of a moment ; and if that cloud condense into a shower,
a few fields may thank it for its timely refreshment. But
a shadow — the shadow of a vapour ! who notes it ? who
BORROWED LIGHTS. 155
records it ? As it sails along the mountain side, with
morning bright behind it and summer noon before it, the
daisy does not care to wink, nor does the hare-bell droop,
nor does the bee suspend its labours; and at eve, the
shepherd-boy cross-questioned cannot tell if any cloud
there were. And the case is rare where some panting
traveller sighs, " Eeturn, 0 shadow ! Kind vapour, I
wish you would not vanish !"
But Jesus Christ hath brought immortality to light.
This fleeting life He has rendered important as " a shadow
from the rock eternity." " I am the Resurrection and the
Life : whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never
die." In His own teaching, and in the teaching of His
apostles, the present existence acquires a fearful conse
quence as the germ, or rather as the outset of one which
is never-ending. To their view, this existence is both
everything and nothing. As the commencement of eter
nity, and as giving its complexion to all the changeless
future, it is everything ; as the competitor of that eternity
or the counterpoise to its joys and sorrows, it is nothing.
" What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole
world, and lose his own soul?" "Fear not them who
kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul : but
rather fear him who is able to destroy both soul and
body in hell." " Our light affliction, which is but for a
moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal
weight of glory ; while we look not at the things which
are seen, but at the things which are not seen : for
the things which are seen are temporal ; but the things
which are not seen are eternal." " How vain, then,
156 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
are men, who, seeing life so short, endeavour to live
long and not to live well ! "* How vain are men who,
pronouncing the present life a shadow, neglect to secure
the everlasting substance !
V. The future is a dark enigma. " Who can tell a man
what shall be after him under the sun ? "
Says Dr. Stewart of Moulin, " I remember an old,
pious, very recluse minister, whom I used to meet once
a year. He scarcely ever looked at a newspaper. When
others were talking about the French Eevolution, he
showed no concern or curiosity about it. He said he
knew from the Bible how it would all end, better than
the most sagacious politician — that the Lord reigns — that
the earth shall be filled with His glory — that the Gospel
shall be preached to all nations — and that all subordinate
events are working out these great ends. This was enough
for him, and he gave himself no concern about the news
or events of the day, only saying, It shall be well with
the righteous." 2 And although no man can tell the con
queror how it shall be with the dynasty he has founded,
nor the poet how it shall be with the epic he has pub
lished, nor the capitalist how it shall be with the fortune
he has accumulated, it is easy to tell the philanthropist
and the Christian how it shall be, not only with himself,
but with the cause he is so eagerly promoting. And with
out quenching curiosity, it may quiet all anxiety to know
that when he himself is gone to be for ever with the Lord,
Christ's kingdom shall be spreading in the world. " Then
1 Jeremy Taylor's Works, vol. iii. p. 418.
2 Memoirs of Dr. Stewart, p. 336.
BORROWED LIGHTS. 157
said I, 0 my Lord, what shall be the end of these things ?
And he said, Go thy way, Daniel ; for the words are
closed up and sealed. Go thou thy way till the end be,
for thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at the end of the
days."
December 8, 1850.
XIII.
PRECIOUS PERFUME.
" A good name is better than precious ointment." — ECCLES. vii. 1.
AT this point we come out into a purer atmosphere ;
we emerge upon a higher platform ; and, if we have not
day-spring, we have the harbingers of dawn.
Hitherto the book has chiefly contained the diagnosis
of the great disease. Repeating the successive symptoms
as they developed in himself, the royal patient has passed
before us in every variety of mood, from the sleepy col
lapse of one who has eaten the fabled lotus, up to the
frantic consciousness of a Hercules tearing his limbs as
he tries to rend off his robe of fiery poison. He now
comes to the cure. He enumerates the prescriptions
which he tried, and mentions their results. Most of
them afforded some relief. They made him "better."
But they were only palliatives. There was something
which always impaired their efficacy ; and it is only at
the very end that he announces the great panacea, and
gives us what is better than a thousand palliatives — an
unfailing specific.
The recipes contained in this and the subsequent
158
PRECIOUS PERFUME. 159
chapters availed to mitigate Solomon's vexation, but
they failed to cure it. They mitigated it, because each
of them was one ingredient of the great specific ; they
failed to cure it, because they were only isolated ingre
dients. Each maxim of virtue is conducive to happy
living ; but the love of God is the vitality of all virtue ;
and, in order to secure its full practical value, we must
supply to each separate maxim the great animating motive.
A rule of conduct which is " dead, so long as it abideth
alone," may be very helpful when quickened, and when
occupying its appropriate place in a system of evangelical
ethics.
Solomon's first beatitude is an honourable reputation.
He knew what it had been to possess it ; and he knew
what it was to lose it. And here he says, Happy is the
possessor of an untarnished character ! so happy that he
cannot die too soon ! " A good name is better than pre
cious ointment ; and (to its owner) the day of death is
better than the day of birth."
A name truly good is the aroma from virtuous char
acter. It is a spontaneous emanation from genuine
excellence. It is a reputation for whatsoever things are
honest, lovely, and of good report. It is such a name
as is not only remembered on earth, but written in
heaven. The names of Abel and Enoch and Noah are
good names, and so are all which have been transmitted
in that " little book of martyrs," the eleventh of Hebrews :
those " elders" who not only obtained the Church's good
report, through faith, but who had this testimony, " that
they pleased God." But in order to a good name
160 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
something else is needed besides a good nature. Flowers
have bloomed in the desert which were only viewed
by God and the angels ; and there have been solitary
saints whose holiness was only recognised by Him
who created it, and by just men made perfect. And so
wicked is this world that much excellence may have
vanished from its surface unknown and unsuspected. The
Inquisition has, no doubt, extinguished many an Antipas,
and in the Sodoms of our earth many a Lot has vexed his
soul, and died with no Pentateuch to preserve his memory.
To secure a reputation there must not only be the genuine
excellence, but the genial atmosphere. There must be
some good men to observe and appreciate the goodness
while it lived, and others to foster its memory when gone.
But should both combine, — the worth and the apprecia
tion of worth, — the resulting good name is better than
precious ointment. Earer and more costly, it is also one
of the most salutary influences that can penetrate society.
For, just as a box of spikenard is not only valuable to its
possessor, but pre-eminently precious in its diffusion ; so,
when a name is really good, it is of unspeakable service
to all who are capable of feeling its exquisite inspiration.
And should the Spirit of God so replenish a man with
His gifts and graces, as to render his name thus whole
some, better than the day of his birth will be the day of
his death ; for at death the box is broken, and the sweet
savour spreads abroad. There is an end of the envy and
sectarianism and jealousy, the detraction and the calumny,
which often environ goodness when living ; and now that
the stopper of prejudice is removed, the world fills with
PRECIOUS PERFUME. 161
the odour of the ointment, and thousands grow stronger
and more lifesome for the good name of one. Better in
this respect, better than their birth-day was the dying-
day of Henry Martyn and Eobert M'Cheyne; for the
secret of their hidden life was then revealed, and, mingled
as it is with the name of Jesus, the Church will never
Lose the perfume. And in this respect better than their
birth-day was the dying-day of Dr. Arnold and Sir Fowell
Buxton ; for men could then forget the offence of contro
versy and the irritation of party politics, and could sur
render to the undiluted charm of healthy piety and heroic
Christianity. And better, thus regarded, was the dying-
day of Stephen and James and Paul ; for every disciple
could then forget the infirmities by which some had been
annoyed, and the faithfulness by which others had been
offended, and could treasure up that best of a good man's
relics, the memory of a devoted life, — the sweet odour of
an unquestioned sanctity.
Do not despise a good name. There is no better herit
age that a father can bequeath to his children, and there
are few influences on society more wholesome than the
fame of its worthies. The names of Luther and Knox,
of Hampden and Washington, of Schwartz and Eliot, are
still doing good in the world. Nor is there in a family
any richer heirloom than the memory of a noble ancestor.
Without a good name you can possess little ascendency
over others; and if it has not pioneered your way and
won a prepossession for yourself, your patriotic or bene
volent intentions are almost sure to be defeated.
And yet it will never do to seek a good name as a
VOL. in. L
162 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
primary object. Like trying to be graceful, the effort to
be popular will make you contemptible. Take care of
your spirit and conduct, and your reputation will take
care of itself. It is by " blamelessness and good be
haviour," that not only bishops, but individual believers,
are to gain " a good report of them who are without."
The utmost that you are called to do as the custodier of
your own reputation, is to remove injurious aspersions.
Let not your good be evil spoken of, and follow the
highest examples in mild and explicit self-vindication.
Still, no reputation can be permanent which does not
spring from principle ; and he who would maintain a
good character should be mainly solicitous to maintain a
conscience void of offence towards God and towards men.
Where others are concerned the case is different. To
our high-principled and deserving brethren, we owe a
frank commendation and a fraternal testimony. " To
rejoice in their good name ; to cover their infirmities ;
freely to acknowledge their gifts and graces; readily to
receive a good report, and unwillingly to admit an evil
report concerning them ; to discourage tale-bearers and
slanderers,"1 are duties which we owe to our neighbours ;
and good names are not so numerous but that the utmost
care should be taken of them. When Dr. M'Crie pub
lished the Life of our Reformer, it was very noble in
Dugald Stewart to seek out the young author in his
humble dwelling, and cheer him with his earnest eulogy.
And when a deed of atrocious cruelty was ascribed to one
of the Reformation heroes, it was fine to see their advocate
1 Westminster Larger Catechism.
PRECIO US PERFUME. 1 63
rummaging amongst the archives of the Public Library,
till the discrepant date enabled him to exclaim, " Thank
God ! our friend was by that time safe in Abraham's
bosom !" It was a happy thing for Paul to have so good
a name among the Gentile Churches, that his mere re
quest was enough to bring large contributions to the poor
saints at Jerusalem ; but if so, what a happy thought to
Barnabas to know that when Paul himself was an object
of suspicion to the Church at Jerusalem,1 his own good
name had been the new convert's passport.
1 Acts ix. 26, 27.
December 15, 1850.
XIV.
DEAD FLIES.
" Dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking
savour : so doth a little folly him that is in reputation for wisdom and
honour." — ECCLES. x. 1.
THE people of Palestine dealt largely in aromatic oils,
and it was a chief business of their apothecaries to prepare
them. A little thing was enough to spoil them. Although
the vase were alabaster, and although the most exquisite
perfumes were dissolved in the limpid olive, a dead fly
could change the whole into a pestilent odour.
And so, says the Eoyal Moralist, a character may be
carefully confected. You may attend to all the rules
of wisdom and self-government which I have now laid
down; but if you retain a single infirmity it will ruin the
whole. Like the decomposing influence of that dead fly,
it will injure all the rest and destroy the reputation which
you otherwise merit.
The principle is especially applicable to a Christian
profession; and the best use we can make of it is to
exemplify it in some of those flaws and failings which
destroy the attraction and impressiveness of men truly
devout and God-fearing. Our instances must be taken
164
DEAD FLIES. 165
almost at random : for, like their Egyptian prototypes,
these flies are too many to be counted.
Rudeness. — Some good men are blunt in their feelings,
and rough in their manners ; and they apologize for their
coarseness by calling it honesty, downrightness, plainness
of speech. They quote in self-defence the sharp words
and shaggy mien of Elijah and John the Baptist, and, as
affectation, they sneer at the soft address and mild man
ners of gentler men. Now, it is very true that there is a
certain strength of character, an impetuousness of feeling,
and a sturdy vehemence of principle, to which it is more
difficult to prescribe the rules of Christian courtesy, than
to more meek and pliant natures. It is very possible that
Latimer in his bluntness, and Knox in his erect and iron
severity, and Luther in the magnificent explosions of his
far-resounding indignation, may have been nobler natures,
and fuller of the grace of God than the supple courtiers
whose sensibilities they so rudely shattered. But it does
not follow that men who have not got their warfare to
wage are entitled to use their weapons. Nor does it even
follow that their warfare would have been less successful
had they wielded no such weapons. The question, how
ever, is not between two rival graces, — between integrity
on the one side and affability on the other ; but the ques
tion is, Are these two graces compatible ? Can they co
exist ? Is it possible for a man to be explicit, and open,
and honest, and, withal, courteous and considerate of the
feelings of others ? Is it possible to add to fervour and
fidelity, suavity and urbanity and brotherly kindness ?
The question has already been answered, for the actual
166 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
union of these things has already been exhibited. With
out referring to Nathan's interview with David, where
truth and tenderness triumph together, or Paul's remon
strances to his brethren, in which a melting heart is the
vehicle of each needful reproof, we need only refer to the
great example itself. In the epistles to the Asiatic
Churches, each begins with commendation, wherever there
was anything that could be commended. With the mag
nanimity which remembers past services in the midst of
present injury, and which would rather notice good
than complain of evil, each message, so far as there was
material for it, is ushered in by a word of eulogy, and
weight is added to the subsequent admonition by this
preface of kindness.1 And it was the same while the
Lord Jesus was on earth. His tender tone was the keen
edge of His reproofs, and His unquestionable love infused
solemnity into every warning. There never was one more
faithful than the Son of God, but there never was one
more considerate. And just as rudeness is not essential
to honesty, so neither is roughness to strength of character.
The Christian should have a strong character ; he should
be a man of remarkable decision; he should start back
from temptation as from a bursting bomb. And he should
be a man of inflexible purpose. When once he knows
his Lord's will, he should go through with it, ay, through
fire and water with it. But this he may do without re
nouncing the meekness and gentleness which were in
Christ. He may have zeal without pugnacity, determina
tion without obstinacy. He should distinguish between
1 Fuller on the Apocalypse, p. 16.
DEAD FLIES. 167
the ferocity of the animal and the courage of the Chris
tian. And whether he makes the distinction or not, the
world will make it. The world looks for the serene bene
volence of conscious strength in a follower of the Lamb
of God ; and, however rude its own conduct, it expects
that the Christian himself will be courteous.
Irritability. — One of the most obvious and impressive
features in the Saviour's character was His meekness. In
a patience which ingenious or sudden provocation could
not upset; in a magnanimity which insult could not
ruffle ; in a gentleness from which no folly could extract
an unadvised word, men saw what they could scarcely
understand, but that which made them marvel. Though
disciples were strangely dull, He never lost temper with
them ; though Judas was very dishonest, He did not bring
any railing accusation against him ; though Philip had
been so long time with Him, and had not understood
Him, He did not dismiss him from His company. When
Peter denied Him, it was not a frown that withered him,
but a glance of affection that melted him. And so with
His enemies ; it was not by lightning from heaven, but by
love from His pierced heart, that He subdued them. But
many Christians lack this beauty of their Master's holi
ness ; they are afflicted with evil tempers, they cannot
rule their spirits, or rather they do not try. Some indulge
occasional fits of anger ; and others are haunted by habi
tual, daily, life-long fretfulness. The one sort is generally
calm and pellucid as an Alpine lake, but on some special
provocation, is tossed up into a magnificent tempest ; the
other is like the Bosporus, in a continual stir, and even
1G8 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
when not a breath is moving, by the contrariety of its in
ternal currents vexing itself into a ceaseless whirl and
eddy. The one is Hecla — for long intervals silent as a
granite peak, and suffering the snow-flakes to fall on its
cold crater, till you forget that it is a burning mountain ;
and then on some sudden and unlooked-for disturbance,
hurling the hollow truce into the clouds, and pouring forth
in one noisy night the stifled mischief of many a year.
The other is Stromboli, a perpetual volcano, seldom indulg
ing in any disastrous eruption; but muttering and quaking,
steaming and hissing night and day, in a way which makes
strangers nervous ; and ever and anon spinning through
the air a red-hot rock, or a spirt of molten metal, to remind
the heedless natives of their angry neighbour. But either
form, the paroxysmal fury, or the perennial fretfulness,
is inconsistent with the wisdom from above, which is
peaceable, gentle, easy to be entreated. "Worldly men can
perceive the inconsistency, but instead of ascribing it to
its proper causes, they are more likely to attribute it to
the insincerity of Christians, or the insufficiency of the
Gospel ; and even the more willing sort of worldlings,
those who have some predisposition in favour of the
truth, are very apt to be shocked and driven off by the
unhallowed ebullitions of religious men. Suppose such
an individual, with his attention newly awakened to the
great salvation — with his mind impressed by some scrip
tural delineation of regenerate character ; his ear, it may
be, still charmed with a glowing description of the Gospel's
magic power, making wolfish men so lamb-like, and teach
ing the weaned child to play on the cockatrice den : sup-
DEAD FLIES. 169
pose such a man in the way of business, or kindness, or
spiritual inquiry, to approach a stranger of Christian
renown, and accosting him in full persuasion of his Chris
tian character, prepared for a cordial welcome, a patient
hearing at the least, — but, alas ! coming in at some un-
propitious moment, he is greeted with a shout of im
patience, or annihilated by a flash from his lowering
countenance — why, it is like putting your hand into the
nest of the turtle-dove, and drawing it out with a long
slimy serpent, dangling in warty folds, and holding on by
its fiery fangs. There is horror in the disappointment, as
well as anguish in the bite ; and the frightful association
cannot easily be forgotten.
Akin to these infirmities of temper, are some other in
consistencies as inconvenient to their Christian brethren
as they are likely to stumble a scoffing world. Some
professors are so whimsical and impracticable, that it needs
continual stratagem to enlist them in any labour of use
fulness, and after they are once fairly engaged in it, nothing
but perpetual watchfulness and the most tender manage
ment can keep them in it. In all your dealings with
them, like a man walking over a galvanic pavement, you
tread uneasily, wondering when the next shock is to come
off, and every moment expecting some paradox to spring
under your feet. In the Christian societies of which they
are members, they constitute non-conformable materials
of which it is difficult to dispose. They are irregular
solids for which it is not easy to find a place in rearing
the temple. They are the polyhedrons of the Church,
each punctilio of their own forming a several face, and
170 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
making it a hard problem to fix them where they will
not mar the structure. Apostolical magnanimity they
deem subserviency or sinful connivance ; and simulta
neous movements or Christian co-operation they deem
lawful only when all conform to themselves. Like an in
dividual armed with a non-conductor, and who can stop
an electric circuit after it has travelled through a mile of
other men, sectarian professors are so positively charged
with their own peculiarities, that the influence which has
been transmitted through consenting myriads, stops short
as soon as it reaches them.
Selfishness. — The world expects self-denial in the Chris
tian ; and with reason, for of all men he can best afford it,
and by his profession he is committed to it. You are on
a journey, and because you have been distributing tracts
or reading the Bible, or have made some pious observa
tions, your fellow-travellers set you down for a Christian.
By and by one of your companions makes a civil remark,
but not being in a mood for talking, you turn him off
with a short answer. A delicate passenger would like
your side of the carriage, but you wish to see the country
or prefer the cooler side ; so you make no movement, but
allow your neighbour to change places with the invalid.
And at last an accident occurs which will detain you an
hour beyond the usual time ; so you lose all patience,
and fret, and scold, and talk of hiring post-chaises, —
while some good-humoured or philosophic wayfarer sits
quiet in the corner, or gets out, and looks leisurely on
till the misfortune is mended, and then resumes his
journey, having lost nothing but his time, whilst you
DEAD FLIES. 171
have lost both your time and your temper. In such a
case it would be better that you had left the tracts and the
Bible at home, for your inconsistency is likely to do more
evil than your direct efforts are likely to do good. As a
worldly man, you would have been entitled to indulge
your own indolence, your own convenience, or your own
impatience as much as you please : but if you really are
a disciple of Christ, you owed it to Him to "deny yourself."
The subject is uninviting, and time would fail did we
speak of the parsimony, the indolence, the egotism, the
want of intelligence, the want of taste, by which many
excellent characters are marred, and by which the glory
of the Gospel is often compromised. We would not be
accusers of the brethren. We would rather suggest a
subject for self-examination, and we indicate an object
to which the Church's energy might be advantageously
directed. We fear that we have failed to cultivate suffi
ciently the things honest, lovely, and of good report, and
that we have sometimes allowed ourselves to be excelled
by worldly men in those beauties of character which,
although subordinate, are not insignificant. Attention
to the wants of others, care for their welfare, and con
sideration for their feelings, are scriptural graces for
which all Christians ought to be conspicuous. Christi
anity allows us to forget our own wants, but it does not
permit us to forget the necessities of our brethren. It
requires us to be careless of our own ease, but it forbids
us to overlook the comfort and convenience of other
people. Of this the Lord Jesus was Himself the pattern.
He was sometimes an- hungered, but in that case He
172 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
wrought no miracle. But when the multitude had long
fasted, He created bread to supply them, rather than send
them away fainting. And though His great errand was
to save His people from their sins, none ever saved so
many from their sorrows. And in this disciples should
resemble Him. Although they know that the soul is
better worth than the body, and the interests of eternity
more precious than those of time, they also know that
it is after these things that the Gentiles seek ; and, there
fore, if they would win the Gentiles, they must attend
to their personal wants and temporal comforts. Nay,
more, as a system of universal amelioration, Christianity
demands our efforts for the outward weal of our worldly
neighbours, and our delicate attention to the minutest
comfort of our Christian brethren. It was on this principle
that, seeking the salvation of his peasant-parishioners,
Oberlin felt that he was not going out of his way as
an evangelist, when he opened a school for children, wild
as their own rock-goats ; when he taught the older people
many humble but useful arts hitherto unknown in the
Ban-de-la-Eoche ; when he set them to the planting of
trees and clearing of roads ; when he established an agri
cultural society, and published a calendar, divested of
the astrological falsehoods with which their almanacs
were wont to abound. Oberlin's Christianity would have
prompted these humane and beneficent actions, even
though no ulterior good had accrued from them ; but first
in the love of these villagers, and then in their conver
sion to God, he had his abundant reward. And it was on
the same principle that the apostolic Williams, brimful
DEAD FLIES. 173
)f sense and kindness, startling his South Sea Islanders
with the prodigies of civilisation, and enriching them
with its inventions, at once conveyed an idea of the boun-
iful spirit of the Gospel, and conciliated their affection
;o its messenger. And it was on the same principle that
;he benignant "Wilberforce — himself the best "practical
dew of Christianity" — was so studious of the feelings,
and so accommodating to the wishes of his worldly
riends, — so abounded in those considerate attentions to
)he humblest acquaintance, which only a delicate mind
could imagine, and a dexterous skill could execute, —
and would subject himself to all sorts of inconvenience
n order to " carry a ray of gladness from the social circle
iito the sick man's cottage," or to temper with his own
diffusive gladness the bitter cup of some humble believer,
disciple can resemble his Lord, who does not main-
;ain this benignant bearing to all around him. Grace
was infused into the lips of Jesus. None in the guise
of humanity was ever conscious of such power within ;
none ever gave outlet to inherent power in milder corus
cations. His gentleness made him great ; and so engag
ing was His aspect, so compassionate His mien, that frail
mortality could lay its head securely on His bosom, though
a Shekinah slept within. Believers should in this resem
ble Jesus. They should be mild and accessible, and like
the Sun of Eighteousness, they should carry such healing
in their wings, as to make their very presence the har
binger of joy. It was said of Charles of Bala, that it was
a good sermon to look at him. And so much of the
Master's mind should reside in each disciple as to make
174 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
that true of him which the old elegy says of one of
England's finest worthies : —
" A sweet attractive kind of grace,
A full assurance given by looks,
Continual comfort in a face
The lineament jof Gospel-books ;
For sure that count'nance cannot lie,
Whose thoughts are written in the eye."
February 16, 1851.
XV.
BLUNT AXES : OK, SCIENCE AND GOOD SENSE.
READ ECCLES. ix. 13-18 ; x. 1-15.
' If the iron be blunt, and he do not whet the edge, then must he put to
more strength ; but wisdom is profitable to direct."
LORD BACON said, " Knowledge is power," and during
he last hundred years no aphorism has been so often
[uoted, nor has any been so largely illustrated. In this
ittle island, and during the present week, machinery will
)e in motion doing the work of five hundred millions of
nen ; that is to say, the machines of England and Scot-
and will this week weave as much cloth and prepare as
nuch food, and supply the world's inhabitants with as
nany commodities, as could be made by hand if all the
[ip-grown natives of the globe were exerting all their
ndustry. Could you convert into artificers and labourers
very man and woman in either hemisphere, and from the
affres at the Cape to the Peers in our Parliament, did all
igree to toil their utmost, and had they no implements
jesides those which primitive man possessed, — with all
he expenditure of their vital powers, with all the sweat,
md waste of fibre, and straining of eyesight, at the wreek's
175
176 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
end it would be found that they had not done the same
amount of work, nor done that work so well as a few
engines peacefully revolving under the impulse of some
hogsheads of water, or so many tons of coal.
In the barbaric civilisation of the old Mexicans, it was
thought a wonderful exploit to transmit intelligence at the
rate of 200 miles in four-and-twenty hours. As they had
neither horses nor dromedaries, in order to accomplish
this feat, posts were established at intervals of three or
four miles ; and snatching the despatch from one reeking
messenger, the courier burst away with it and flew over
hill and valley till he reached the next station, and thrust
it into the hand of another express, who, in his turn,
bolted off and conveyed it further inland, till at last it
reached the Emperor. How amazed one of these old
Aztecs might be could he revive from the slumber of
three centuries, and see the whole accomplished without
fatigue to a single human being ! How amazed, did he
know, that without shortening the breath or moistening
the brow of a single messenger, communications could
come and go betwixt a king and his commander- in- chief,
a hundred leagues asunder, fifty times in a single day !
We see that " knowledge is power," and we constantly
repeat the saying as if Bacon had been the first who re
marked the strength of skill. But six-and-twenty centuries
before the days of Lord Verulam, King Solomon had said,
"A wise man is strong." " Wisdom is better than strength."
" Wisdom is better than weapons of war." Perhaps it is
owing to the imperfect sympathies which exist between
theologians and philosophers, that such scriptural sayings,
BLUNT AXES. 177
and many others fraught with great principles, have
received so little justice. And hence it has come to pass,
;hat many a maxim has got a fresh circulation, and has
made a little fortune of renown for its author, which is,
after all, a medal fresh minted from Bible money : the gold
of Moses or Solomon used up again, with the image and
superscription of Bacon, or Pascal, or Benjamin Franklin.
The particular example which Solomon here gives, will
bring to your remembrance many parallels, from the time
when Archimedes with his engines on the wall sank the
ships of ^Marcellus in the port of Syracuse, down to the
gallant and successful defence of Antwerp conducted by
the old mathematician, Carnot.1 " There was a little city
and few men within it; and there came a great king
against it, and besieged it, and built great bulwarks
against it. Now there was found in it a poor wise man,
and he by his wisdom delivered the city." And surely
science is never more sublime than when thus she wins
and wears the civic crown. Or even should there be no
invader at the gates, when a beneficent ingenuity is
exerted to enhance the pleasures of peace ; when dis
covery, chemical or dynamical, floods our streets with
midnight radiance, and bids clear water spring up in the
poorest attic ; when it mitigates disease, or multiplies the
loaves of bread ; when, by making them nearer neighbours,
it forces nations to be better friends, and by diminishing
life's interruptions, lengthens our span of probation and
our power of usefulness; surely the "poor man" whose
" wisdom" thus enriches the species, deserves to sit among
1 Livy, lib. xxiv. cap. 34. Alison's Europe, chap. Ixxviii.
VOL. III. M
178 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
the princes of the people ; and whilst religion should
render praise to that Wonderful Counsellor who teacheth
man such knowledge, patriotism and philanthropy must
enrol the discoverers among the benefactors of mankind.
" Wisdom is better than strength," and the more that
wisdom spreads, the more human strength is saved, and-
the more is comfort enhanced. The bird that is about to
build her nest next month, will toil as long and work as
hard as the sparrows and swallows that frequented the
temple in the time of Solomon, and the building will be
no improvement on the nests of three thousand years ago.
But if Solomon's own palace were to be builded anew,
modern skill could rear it much faster than Hiram's
masonry ; and there are few houses in London which doi
not contain luxuries and accommodations which werer
lacking in "the house of the forest of Lebanon." It ia\
the kindness of the Creator to the inferior animal that He
gives it instinct, and puts it from the outset on a plan
sufficiently good for its purpose. But the prerogative oft
man is progress. His instincts are faint and few ; whilst
to reason and faith, the vistas are boundless. And be4i
twixt that "wisdom" which God has directly revealed,
and those expedients which are constantly occurring to
painstaking intelligence, it is so arranged that the older
humanity waxes, the lighter grow its toils and the more
copious become the alleviations of its lot. Already a
pound of coals and a pint of water will do the day's work
of a sturdy man ; and with a week's wages, a mechanic
may now procure a library more comprehensive and more
edifying than that which adorned the Tusculan villa, —
BLUNT AXES. 179
nay, such a store of books as the wealth of Solomon
could not command.
These statements meet a certain misgiving of some
truly Christian minds. They love the Bible because it is
God's book. To some degree they love the landscape and
the seasons, because they are God's handiwork. They
can take pleasure in watching the proceedings of the
lower animals, because in the dike-building of that
beaver, or the nest-building of that bird, they can mark
evolutions of the all-pervading Mind. But when they
come to the operations of the artisan or the architect,
;hey are conscious of an abrupt transition, and with the
poet they exclaim,
" God made the country, but man made the town."
Here, however, there is a fallacy. So far as sinful pur
poses may be designed or subserved in their construction,
the town and its contents are the work of man ; but the
materials and the skill which moulds them are the good
and perfect gifts of God. It is true that He has not
;aught man to make palaces and railways instinctively,
as He has taught ants to build hillocks and construct
covered galleries ; but He has furnished the human mind
with those faculties and tendencies which, under favour
ing circumstances, develop in railways and palaces, as
surely as beaver-mind develops in moles and embank
ments, or as bee-mind develops in combs and hexagons
A.nd although it may be very true that the artificer is
often undevout, — perhaps a libertine or an atheist; and
although the curious contrivance or exquisite elaboration
nay be designed for any end but a holy one ; when you
180 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
separate the moral from the mechanical, — the sin which
is man's from the skill which is Jehovah's, — in every fair
product, and more especially in every contribution to
human comfort, you ought to recognise the wisdom and
goodness of God as their ultimate origin, no less than if
you read on every object, " Holiness to the Lord," and in
each artificer discerned another Aholiab or Bezaleel. The
arts are the gift of God ; their abuse is from man and
from the DeviL And just as an enlightened disciple
looks forth on the landscape, and in its beautiful features
as well as its curious ingredients, beholds mementoes of!
his Master : so, surveying a beautiful city, its museums]
and its monuments, its statues and fountains ; or saunter
ing through a gallery of arts and useful inventions, — in
all the symmetry of proportions and splendour of colour
ing, in every ingenious device and every powerful engine,
he may discern the manifestations of that Mind which is
wonderful in counsel and excellent in working ; and so
far as skill and adaptation and elegance are involved
piety will hail the Great Architect himself as the maker
of the town.1
So Christian is art, — so truly a good gift of the Father
of lights, that, wherever the Gospel proceeds, this com
panion should go with it. When the missionary, Van
der Kemp, was setting out for Africa, passing one of the
brick-fields of London, he thought it would be such a
boon to the Hottentots if he could improve their dwell
ings, that he offered himself as a servant to the brick-
1 Those who are interested in such topics will find them fully discussed in
The Useful Arts ; their Birth and Development, edited by the Rev. S. Martin
BLUNT AXES. 181
maker, and spent some weeks in learning the business.
And lie was right. It is not easy to live godly and
righteously amidst filth and darkness ; and although the
Gospel will not refuse to enter a Hottentot hut or an
Irish cabin, when once it is admitted its tendency is to
improve that cabin or hut into a cottage with tiles on the
floor and glass in the windows. And to the honour of
Christian missionaries, it should be remembered that
wherever they have gone they have carried those useful
arts which render godliness profitable to all things. "In
the schools of Sierra Leone, the girls are taught to spin
and the boys to weave." In the South Sea Islands the
missionaries have taught the people smith's work and
wright's work ; they have taught them to build ships and
boil sugar ; to print books and plant gardens. And even
that race, once so besotted that its claim to the common
humanity was disputed, — the Hottentots are now ex
cellent farmers and artificers, and, in the words of one of
themselves, "they can make everything except a watch
and a coach."1
In concluding this part of the subject, we would only
remark that the more things which a Christian is able to
do the better. " If the iron be blunt, and he do not whet
the edge, then must he put to more strength." A little
skill expended in sharpening the edge, will save a great
deal of strength in wielding the hatchet. But, just as the
unskilful labourer who cannot handle the whetstone must
1 Harris's Great Commission, pp. 196, 197. The industrial is admirably
combined with the evangelistic in the French-Canadian Mission, and in the
Home Mission of the Presbyterian Church in Ireland.
182 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
belabour the tree with a blunt instrument, and after
inflaming his palms and racking his sinews, achieves less
result than his neighbour whose knowledge and whose
knack avail instead of brute force : so the servant who
does not know the right way to do his work, after all his
fatigue and fluster, will give less satisfaction than one
who has learned the best and easiest methods ; the young
emigrant who has no versatility must forego many com
forts which more accomplished comrades enjoy ; and the
householder who knows nothing of the mechanic arts, or
who knows not what to do when sickness and emergencies
occur, must compensate by the depth of his purse, or by j
the strength of his arm, for the defects of his skill. A i
blunt axe implies heavy blows and an aching arm ; coarse
work with a blistered hand. But " wisdom is profitable
to direct." Intelligence is as good as strength, and a |
little skill will save both time and materials, money and
temper.
Important, however, as is mechanic skill, there is a !
wisdom still more profitable, — a wisdom which can turn
to its own account the mechanic skill of others. The
clever engineer who saved the little city was a poor man,
and so little understanding had his fellow- citizens, that it
was with difficulty he obtained a hearing for his project,
and so little gratitude had they, that, when the danger
was past, " no one remembered the poor man." And it is
sad when people have neither the skill to help themselves,
nor the sense to accept the services of others. It is sad
when men have neither the sagacity to devise the measures
which the emergency demands, nor can so far rule their
BLUNT AXES. 183
spirits as to keep "quiet" and listen to what "wise men"
say. And next to him who can offer good counsel, is the
wisdom of him who can take it.
" A wise man's heart is at his right hand," never off its
guard.1 He is calm and collected, and is not easily taken
by surprise. Whereas, a fool's wits are at his left hand.
His presence of mind is posthumous. He sees what he
should have done when the mischief can no longer be
undone. He hits on the very repartee he ought to have
uttered when his assailant is already out of hearing. He
suggests what would have saved the ship, when they are
already raising the wreck. But, not only is it in ready
resources that the fool is deficient ; there is a transparent
shallowness in his vacant gaze or self-conceited simper,
and instead of that " sustained sense and gravity,"1 which
marks the man of mind, his garrulous egotism and con
fidential childishness are constantly betraying the secret
of his silliness. Eeserve is none of his failings. He is as
frank as he is foolish ; and when " he walketh by the
way, his wisdom faileth him, and he saith to every one
that he is a fool."
One rare manifestation of good sense is magnanimity.
" If the spirit of the ruler rise up against thee, leave not
thy place ; for yielding pacifieth great offences." If,
acting as the king's adviser, you incur his displeasure ;
if, in obedience to conscience, or in concern for your
country, you are constrained to urge unpalatable counsel,
and if your faithfulness proves offensive, instead of retir
ing into some other land, be patriotic, and keep your
1 G. Holden. 2 Dr. Chalmers.
184 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
post. Instead of obeying your offended dignity and return
ing spleen for spleen, await the propitious season. For
a soft answer turneth away wrath, and self-control will
conquer your sovereign. Nor is it only from the ministers
of despots that such a sacrifice may be demanded. It
extends to every official person. If you are a representa
tive of the people, and if you are sometimes vexed and
worried with unreasonable demands or ungracious remon
strances : — if you occupy some municipal station, and are
brought into conflict with foul tongues and coarse natures :
— if you are a member of any court, civil or ecclesiastical,
where you are frequently out-voted, and measures are
often carried which you utterly abhor, — the impulse is to
abdicate. Why should you serve heads so thick, and
hearts so thankless ? Why should you be mixed up with
such a rabble, and submit day by day to have your good
name kicked along the kennel? And rather than be
always making motions which are lost, and protests which
are laughed at, would it not be better to retire into private
life, and spend your influence on those who may both take
your advice and spare your feelings ? True, if it were the
love of praise or the love of power which put you in that
post, now that popularity is waning and influence lost, by
all means relinquish it. But if it were a higher motive,
let the motive which took you keep you there. If it was
the love of your country, or the zeal of the Gospel which
drew you into office, let neither reproaches nor rough
usage drive you out. Though the spirit of the populace
rise up against you, — though the majority for the time
overrule you, leave not your place. Calmness in the
BLUNT AXES. 185
midst of contumely, equanimity under defeat, will pacify
great offences ; and if you do not live to carry your point,
when a subsequent age sees your principles triumph, you
will be commemorated among the proto-martyrs, who,
when the cause was forlorn, laboured, and never fainted.
Then, after a parenthetical reference to certain infatua
tions of princes, having already described the patience of
wisdom, he next specifies its promptitude. " If the ser
pent bite before enchantment, what advantage has the
charmer ? " In the East, there have always been persons
who, by means of music and legerdemain, exert great
influence over some species of serpents ; so that whilst
under their spell, the deadly cobra may be handled as if
he were utterly harmless. But if the charmer tread on
the snake unawares, or be bitten when off his guard, he
will be poisoned like another man. And to certain minds
there has been given an ascendency over other minds, like
the influence of the serpent-charmer. Sagacious and elo
quent, they are able to soothe the fury of fierce tempers,
and mould rancorous natures to their will. Like David's
transforming harp, as the strain advances, it looks as if a
new possession had entered the exorcised frame, and a
seraph smiled out at those windows where a demon was
frowning before. But alas for the harper, if Saul should
snatch the javelin before David has time to touch the
strings ! Alas for the wise charmer, and also for the good
cause, if the tyrant's passion towers up, or the decree of
the despot goes forth before a friendly counsellor has time
to interpose !
" The words of a wise man's mouth are gracious." It
186 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
is a pleasure to hear him, and so enriching is his discourse,
that to listen is to be wiser and better. " But the lips of
a fool will swallow up himself." He is the sepulchre of
his own reputation ; for as long as he was silent, you were
willing to give him credit for the usual share of intelli
gence, but no sooner does he blurt out some astounding
blunder — no sooner does he begin to prattle forth his
egotism and vanity, than your respect is exchanged for
contempt or compassion. Nay, it is not only himself that
his lips swallow up : for all unlike the " gracious" dis
course of the wise man, the gossip of the fool is heartless
or malignant, and often ends in " mischievous madness."
From recklessness, or from finding that a tale of slander
will secure an audience even for a fool, he is constantly
retailing calumny, and damaging other people's reputa
tion. The rest of his talk is mere word-rubbish. " A
man cannot tell what shall be ;" and, " what shall be after
him, who can tell?" — such trite and irksome truisms is
he retailing all the day, to the sore vexation of some hapless
hearer. He is consistent. He is no wiser in deed than
in word : but even the road to the market — so patent and
so frequented, he contrives to miss ; and in the evening
he and his ass return to the farm with their unsold pro
duce, because he had forgotten " the way to the city,"
and would not follow his wiser companion.
It is very important that Christians should be men of
high accomplishment. Crowded as is the world, it has
still abundant room for first-rate men ; and whosoever
would insure a welcome from society, has only to unite
BLUNT AXES. 187
to good principle eminent skill in his own calling. But
the day for stone hatchets and blunt axes is past, and
from the humblest craft to the most intellectual profession,
in order to succeed, it is requisite to be clever and active
and well-informed. Doubtless, sickness and other calami
ties may interpose ; but assuredly, no one has a right to
quarrel with the world if it refuses to pay for misshapen
garments and unreadable poems. Therefore we would say
to our younger hearers, Make diligence in business a part
of your religion. Add to virtue knowledge. Whatever
you intend to do, pray, and study, and labour till no one
can do that thing better than yourself; and then when
you enter on active life, you will find that you are really
wanted. And, much as you have heard of glutted markets
and a redundant population, you will find that there is
yet no surplus of tradesmen, or servants, or scholars,
who with exalted piety combine professional excellence.
Large as is the accumulation of people who through mis
conduct have broken down, or who through indolent
mediocrity never can get on, you will find no glut of
talented goodness, or of intelligence in union with prin
ciple. In short, you will find that there is room enough
for all who are able and willing to serve their generation.
It is especially important that those who are trying to
benefit others should possess the wisdom which is profit
able to direct. Much good has been defeated by the want
of skill or practical wisdom in Christian professors. Many
children have grown up with gloomy notions of religion
from the mismanagement of parents who so enforced its
authority as to obscure its attractions. Many amiable
188 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
persons have been repelled from the Gospel by the long
lectures of friends who were faithful enough to reprove
them, but not wise enough to win them. Many a prejudice
has been created by a single imprudence, which long-
sustained exertions have failed to countervail. And many
a noble enterprise, when almost safe in port, has at last
been shipwrecked by well-meaning wilfulness, or througli
that infirmity of vision which, mistaking a street-lamp
for a lighthouse, has steered by a denominational crotchet
in the belief that it was a Christian principle.
Nor is the cultivation of sound sense unimportant with
a view to personal piety.
"That thou mayest injure no man, dove-like be,
And serpent-like that none may injure thee." *
In a world like this, and not least in a capital like this,
there is frequent need for such Christian sagacity ; and,
wherever he lives, a conscientious man must often en
counter problems in conduct which tax not only all his
principle but all his prudence. For such exigencies there
is provided a great and precious promise : " If any of you
lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all
liberally, and upbraideth not ; and it shall be given him."
But, like all the gifts of God, this talent grows by trading ;
and he who prayerfully exerts his understanding in order
to maintain the right- forward path of duty, will soon be
fit to guide and counsel others. For, if " religion, placed
in a soul of exquisite knowledge and abilities, as in a
castle, finds not only habitation but defence," 2 it is by
1 Matt. x. 16, paraphrased by Cowper. a South.
BLUNT AXES. 189
devout self-culture, and by " behaving wisely" in his
more personal affairs, that the judicious and high-minded
Christian becomes at last a tower of strength to his
friends, and a defence to the Gospel itself.
March 23, 1851.
XVI.
BKEAD ON THE WATERS.
" Cast thy bread upon the waters ; for thou shalt find it after many days." —
ECCLES. XI. 1.
WERE you going at the right season to Mysore or
China, you would see thousands of people planting the
corn of those countries. They sow it in the mud or on
the dry soil, and then immediately they turn on a flood
of water, so that the whole field becomes a shallow pond.
You would think the seed was drowned. But wait a few
weeks, and then go and view one of these artificial lakes,
and from all its surface you will see green points rising,
and day by day that grass shoots taller, till at last the
water is no more seen, and till eventually the standing
pool has ripened into a field of rich and rustling grain.
So that in its literal sense the farmers of these lands are
every year fulfilling the maxim of the text. For should
the spring come on them, and find their supply of rice-
corn scanty, instead of devouring it all, they will rather
stint themselves. They will rather go hungry for weeks
together, and live on a pinched supply : for the bread
which they cast on the waters this spring, creates the
190
BREAD ON THE WATERS. 191
crop on which they are to subsist next autumn and
winter ; and they are content to cast it on the waters
now, for they are sure to find it after many days.
Or suppose that you are in the South Sea Isles, where
the bread-fruit grows,1 and that by chance or on purpose,
you scatter some of its precious bunches on the sea. At
the moment you may feel that they are lost : but should
the winds and waters waft them to one of those reef
islands with which such seas are thickly studded, the
wandering seeds may get washed ashore, and beneath
those brilliant suns may quickly grow to a bread-fruit
forest. And should some disaster long years after wreck
you on that reef, when these trees are grown and their
clusters ripe, you may owe your sustenance to the bread
which you cast on the waters long ago.
Such is God's husbandry. Do the right deed. Do it
in faith, and in prayer commend it to the care of God.
And though the waves of circumstance may soon waft it
beyond your ken, they only carry it to the place prepared
by Him. And whether on an earthly or a heavenly shore,
the result will be found, and the reaper will rejoice that
he once was a sower.
Dr. Dwight of America tells how, when the country
near Albany was newly settled, an Indian came to the
inn at Litchfield, and asked for a night's shelter — at the
same time confessing that from failure in hunting he had
nothing to pay. The hostess drove him away with re
proachful epithets, and as the Indian was retiring sorrow
fully — there being no other inn for many a weary mile —
1 The cultivated sort, however, has seldom any seeds.
192 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
a man who was sitting by directed the hostess to supply
his wants and promised to pay her. As soon as his supper
was ended, the Indian thanked his benefactor, and said
he would some day repay him. Several years thereafter
the settler was taken a prisoner by a hostile tribe, and
carried off to Canada. However, his life was spared,
though he himself was detained in slavery. But one day
an Indian came to him, and giving him a musket, bade
the white man follow him. The Indian never told where
they were going, nor what was his object ; but day after
day the captive followed his mysterious guide, till one
afternoon they came suddenly on a beautiful expanse of
cultivated fields, with many houses rising amongst them.
"Do you know that place?" asked the Indian. "Ah,
yes — it is Litchfield ;" and whilst the astonished exile
had not recovered from his first start of amazement, the
Indian exclaimed, " And I am the starving Indian on -I
whom at this very place you took pity. And now that I
have paid for my supper, I pray you go home."
And it is to such humanities that the text has primary
reference ; for the context runs, " Give a portion to seven
and also to eight ; for thou knowest not what evil shall be
upon the earth." That is, miss no opportunity of perform
ing kind actions. Though you should have bestowed
your bounty on seven — on a number which you might
deem sufficient — should an eighth present himself, do
something for him also ; for you know not what evil shall
be upon earth. You know not in this world of mutation
how soon you may be the pensioner instead of the
almoner. You know not how soon you may be glad of a
BREAD ON THE WATERS. 193
crust from those who are at present thankful for your
crumbs. Beneficence is the best insurance.
When Jonathan was young he was the heir-apparent
of the throne ; and in those days his favourite friend was
a young Bethlehemite, whom they had brought to the
palace to amuse the monarch with his minstrelsy. The
young Bethlehemite was brave and high-hearted, and
Jonathan loved him for his genius and his lofty piety,
till he and the Prince Royal were fast and firm as any
brothers. At length one morning Jonathan embraced a
merry boy some five years old, and donning corslet and
casque he followed his own sire to the battle. Next
morning the corses of sire and son lay stiff on the heights
of Gilboa, and the young minstrel was monarch of Israel.
Years passed on, and the new sovereign found himself in
Saul's old palace ; and whichsoever way he looked there
rose upon his spirit touching memories. Here was the
very throne before which he had often kneeled, harp in
hand, and watched the grim tyrant's features ; and there
was the wainscot in which his furious javelin had hung
and quivered. And now he trode again the terraces where
he and Jonathan had paced together, and sworn eternal
friendship as they dreamed of a radiant future. He
visited again the field in which they had set up their
target and contended in friendly rivalry. He visited again
the bower in which they took sweet counsel, and where
they sang " The Lord is my Shepherd," and " Make a
joyful noise," whilst yet these psalms were new. And
everything brought back that pure and noble friend so
tenderly, that the whole soul of the sovereign yearned for
VOL. m. N
194 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
some living relict on whom to lavish his regretful fond
ness. "And is there none?" No, none; except this
feeble, limping youth, the little boy that was, and who
dates his lameness from his father's funeral. Yes, but
fetch him ! Fetch Mephibosheth. He is all of Jonathan
which now survives on earth ; and for his dear father's
sake, he shall possess again his patrimony, and, if he must
not be the King, he shall never eat bread at meaner board
than mine. And as he looked on the countenance so sug
gestive of one yet dearer ; and as he rejoiced to see the
poor youth reinstated in that home of which he was the
natural heir ; and as he eyed Mephibosheth filling in the
banquet-hall the place which Jonathan had filled, whilst
as yet himself was but a menial, David could sing with
much significance, " I have been young and now am old ;
yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed
begging bread. He is ever merciful and lendeth, and his
seed is blessed." And David's own son, when he saw that
sight — when he saw Jonathan's old kindness requited in
this princely provision for his child — Solomon might say,
as here he says, " Cast thy bread on the waters, and thou
shalt find it after many days."
Although so often exemplified in cases of common
humanity and kind-heartedness, the maxim of our text
is especially applicable to the efforts of Christian philan
thropy. These are pre-eminently amaranthine. There
are seeds which, after being borne on the current for a
few days or weeks, lose their vitality ; t]iey rot and sink
and disappear. So is it with much of human effort. So
is it with many a worldly scheme, many a plausible sug-
•
BREAD ON THE WATERS. 195
gestion, many a patriotic enterprise. It finds little favour
in its day : it cannot get deposited in a sufficient number
of appropriate minds ; and thus, ere long, it becomes old
and obsolete ; the thought perishes, the seed dissolves and
vanishes. But not so with pious effort. It is more than
the lucky thought of fallible and short-sighted man ; it is
more than the well-meaning purpose of a feeble and sinful
•worm. It is a thought suggested by God's own Spirit ; it
is a purpose sustained and animated by One whose wisdom
is infinite and who is alive for evermore. And though the
mind in which that wish or effort first originated may
long since have passed from these scenes of mortality ; —
though forgetful of its cunning, the hand which first
launched on the tide of human thought that project or
that principle, may long since be crumbling in the clay ;
-a heavenly life is at its core, and, as it journeys on its
buoyant path, a covenant-keeping God will preserve its
little ark till it reach the predestined creek, and after
many days be drawn forth from the waters — a Moses of
the mind.
So was it with the first Eeformers. Searching in their
Bibles they found truths of God which had vanished from
the memories of men — great truths and glorious, no longer
current in the vernacular of Christendom. But after their
own understandings and hearts had been filled and ex
panded by them, they gave them utterance. That it is
through the justified Surety that a sinner is just with
God; that betwixt that sinner and that Surety nothing
mediates nor intervenes, neither Mary in heaven nor
mother Church on earth, neither the sainted mediator of
196 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
the Calendar nor the sacerdotal mediator of the Confes
sional ; but that to his great High Priest, the God-Man,
Immanuel, the sinner may come boldly and may come
direct ; that in order to receive the atonement and rejoice
in Christ Jesus no preliminaries of penance, or pilgrim
ages, are requisite, but that for this great salvation con
scious sin is sufficient fitness, and the Word and will of
God sufficient warrant : these and other golden truths,
fresh gleaned from the Bible, they published, — some
preaching them from pulpits, some proclaiming with
their pens. And the hosts of darkness took alarm.
Wickliffe went to the dungeon : Huss and Jerome to the
flaming pile. But, though the witnesses perished, the
Word of God could not be bound : the truth of God was
neither burned nor buried : but over the troubled deep of
a dark and stormy century this bread of life, these seeds
of saving knowledge, floated on, till God the Spirit landed
them and planted them in minds prepared, and from these
rescued waifs there sprang the glorious Eeformation.
It were only to tell the same tale a little varied to
rehearse how, once upon a time, every enterprise of Chris
tian charity was once a project in some solitary and
prayerful mind ; and how, when cast forth on the waters
of thought and opinion, it first halted and hovered, and
looked as if it would never get to sea : and how, after
touching at one point after another, and finding momen
tary favour only to be rebuffed again, some great gulf-
current swept it clean away, and its author hoped to see
it no more. And away it went ; and it was bandied on
the billows, and it was battered on the rocks, and it waa
BREAD ON THE WATERS. 197
frozen in the iceberg, and it was roasted in the tropic, till
at last the Eye that watched it and the Hand that steered
it from above, conducted it to its sunny haven, and, safely
landed on an honest soil, it burst and bourgeoned and
waxed a mighty tree.
So understood, the principle admits of boundless appli
cation; and it should be very cheering to all who are
engaged in labours of Christian love. For instance, if you
are engaged in teaching your own children, or the children
of other people, and your great anxiety is to see some good
thing towards the Lord — some dawn of pious feeling, some
development of personal earnestness ; but notwithstanding
all the endearment which you throw into your words, and
all the prayer with which you follow up your instructions,
you dare hardly say that you perceive any hopeful sign :
—be not discouraged. It is God's own truth, and if all
your heart be in it, it is living truth, and will blossom up
some day. It may be, in that soul's salvation out and out.
It may be, in restraining it from much sin, or in urging it
to duties which it would otherwise have never thought of
doing. And it may be after many days. It may be after
your own day altogether. It may be on the shores of
another continent. It may be on the shores of another
world. But still, God's Word shall not go forth a living
power, and come back a vacant nullity. That Word shall
never go forth without returning, and when it returns it
shall never be void. " In the morning, then, sow thy seed,
and in the evening withhold not thy hand : for thou
knowest not which shall prosper, this or that, or whether
both shall be alike good." Sow thy seed. Sow tracts
198 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
and Bibles, and good books. Sow friendly hints and
words in season. Sow cordial looks and substantial
services. And sow beside all waters. Cast thy bread
not only on Jordan's flood but on the streams of Babylon.
Cast it on the Thames and the Ganges. And, whilst re
membering that " the field is the world," forget not thine
own family.
March 30, 1851.
XVII.
BRIGHT MOMENTS ON THE WING.
READ ECCLES. n. 24-26 ; m. 12, 13, 22 ; v. 18-20 ; vm. 15 ; ix. 7-10.
" I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do
good in his life. And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy
the good of all his labour : it is the gift of God."
EVERY moment brings its mercy ; why should not
mercies bring content ? To the man who finds favour in
His sight, God gives " wisdom and knowledge." He is
conscious of his comforts, and he has sense to use them.
But to the sinner God gives " travail" He has the toil
of acquirement without the power of enjoyment. " There
is nothing better for a man than that he should eat and
drink, and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his
labour."
Throughout the whole of the book language like this is
constantly recurring. And, without pausing to enter a
caveat against Epicurean perversions of *the sentiment, we
may at once proceed to its legitimate applications. Of all
philosophies the most eclectic is evangelical Christianity ;
and many a sentiment which, isolated, would be an error,
is not only innocent but useful, when acting as a tributary
to this master principle.
199
200 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
Even in the days of his vanity, Solomon " saw" that
there would be more happiness if there were less hanker
ing. He saw it in mankind ; he suspected it in himself.
Like the November bee, with its forehead smeared in the
honey of the hive, and which, smelling that deceitful lure,
fancies that it is the nectar of far-off flowers, and which,
still scenting somewhere ahead a land of honey, flies
further and further afield, till the evening mist enshrouds
it and congeals upon its wings, and it drops, benumbed
and dying, on the frozen furrow: so Solomon had often
seen his neighbours flying far into the winter in search of
that honey which they had left at home ; and he said, It
would have been better that they had " eaten and drunken"
from the produce of their previous toil ; it would have
been better if, instead of always labouring after more,
they could have halted, and enjoyed " the good of their
former labour."
And surely this principle is of extensive application.
Without disparaging the pleasures of hope, or seeking to
quell the zeal of progress, are the cases not numberless
where, for all purposes of enjoyment, labour is lost, be
cause coupled with the constant lust of further acquire
ment ? or because of a strange oblivion of his own felicity
on the part of the favoured possessor ?
Behold us here in Britain, in the heart of the nineteenth
century, surrounded with the broadest zone of peace and
material comfort to be found in all the map of history.
Looking at our temporal lot, we of this generation and
this country stand on the very pinnacle of outward
advantage; in all our lives never once affrighted by
BRIGHT MOMENTS ON THE WING. 201
the rumour of invasion ; exempt from all the horrors of
impressment and conscription ; ignorant of martyrdoms
religious and political ; — free, self-governed, independent.
Who knows it ? Who remembers it ? Who in these
matters adverts to his own happiness ? As she presses to
her bosom her little boy, or parts on his open brow the
darkening hair, amidst all her maternal pride, where is
the mother who praises God for her young Briton's privi
lege?- How many hearts remember to swell with the
joyful recollection, Thank God, he may leave me if he
pleases; but he can never be dragged from me against
his will ! He may become a More among lawyers, a
Latimer among preachers, a Ealeigh among statesmen,
and need dread neither stake nor scaffold. He may be
come the victim of false accusation and malignant perse
cution ; but he will not languish, without trial, slow years
in the dungeon, nor by the rack be frenzied into a false
witness against himself. He may turn out unwise, he
may turn out unhappy ; but, thank God, the son of
British sire can never feel the tyrant's torture in his limb,
nor the brand of slavery on his brow !
Behold that home of yours ! What an Eden a thankful
heart might make it ! What a concentration of joys it
will appear, as soon as the Spirit the Comforter has
revealed its brightness, or as soon as its little groups and
its daily scenes can only be viewed in the pictures of
gold and ebony which furnish the mourner's memory !
And yet, how often does your own peevishness embitter
all its joy ; and how often, with foolish hankering, do
you quit its hoarded pleasures, and fly away to clubs and
202 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
crowded rooms, to theatres, or lonely travel, in search of
the honey you have left at home !
Behold your position as a candidate for immortality !
What could you desire which the God of grace has not
done for you already? A salvation more complete — a
Bible more plain — a revelation more abundant ? And yet,
instead of sitting down contentedly and thankfully to this
" feast of fat things," and abandoning yourself to all the
blessedness which is so freely given you, do you not
usually find a barrier of dilatoriness or distrust rising up
betwixt you and the costly provision ? With that Gospel
spreading blandly before you, there is nothing better for
you than to eat and drink of its mercies, and enjoy the
good which it brings you. Oh, study to realize your
amazing position, as one whom Jehovah all-sufficient is
daily inviting into His friendship, and whom the Wearer
of a sinless humanity is willing to call His brother. Fear
not to think it, that to you, poor tenant of the dust, a
white robe and a golden harp are offered. Fear not to
think it, all sin-laden and sin-pervaded as you are, that
to the fellowship of angels and His own society, the Holy
One invites you. Fear not to think it, that as a believer
in Jesus, and so a member of His great ransomed body,
you yourself are soon to be an inhabitant of that world
where there is neither sin nor sorrow, and a burgess of
that city whose streets are gold, and whose gates are
pearl. Fear not to think such things ; but fear to forget
them. Fear not to believe such things ; but fear to credit
them in a cold and vacant manner. Fear to get into that
habit which engulfs any amount of God's mercies as the
BRIGHT MOMENTS ON THE WING. 203
ocean engulfs the argosy, without feeling richer or fuller,
or giving any revenue back.
One great source of our prevailing joylessness is our
inadvertency. Living in Rome, a famous antiquarian and
artist1 tells us that he gave himself half an hour every
day to meditate on his Italian happiness. There was
wisdom in the rule. Thousands have lived in Rome,
with the same pure sky smiling over them and the same
articulate antiquity on every side accosting them, and
never been aware of their felicity ; just as there are
thousands who growl and grumble through long years of
English life, and never bless God for the greater mercy
of being born in Britain. Few of us need to be better
off — we all need to know how well off we are. We need
to meditate on our human happiness. We might have
been lost angels, of whose race no Redeemer took hold.
We might have been cut off in our sins long ago, and now
been in the place where God forgetteth to be gracious.
We might have been born in dark or despotic lands,
where faith is a miracle, and where piety is martyrdom.
We might have laboured under those prejudices of educa
tion which make belief in the faithful saying as hard as it
is for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. Then,
absolutely, there is for our meditation, daily, hourly, life
long, God's chief mercy — that largess of unprecedented
love which is not the envied distinction of some far-off
world, but is God's gift unspeakable to you, to me. Oh,
let us for once dwell on our peerless prerogative, till we
become a wonder to ourselves — till, but for our faith in
1 Winkelman.
'204 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
God, we should not be able to believe our own dis
tinguished blessedness. " This is the record, that God
hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his Son."
"' He that hath the Son hath life." " He that spared not
Ids own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall
lie not with him freely give us all things?" "Who is
lie that condemneth ? It is Christ that died, yea, rather
that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God,
"who also maketh intercession for us." " Bless the Lord,
O. rny soul, and all that is within me bless his holy
name : who forgiveth all thine iniquities, who healeth
all thy diseases, who redeemeth thy life from destruc
tion, who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender
mercies."
Another source of depression is distrustfulness. Am
I wrong, my friends? Are not some of you in this
predicament ? You have no particular evil to record
against the past, and yet you have great fears for the
future. If you be a Christian, on the whole your life has
been a happy one ; and yet, with all that past happiness,
you are afraid that you cannot be so happy hereafter.
You are afraid that grief is coming — all the more afraid
that grief is coming because so much joy is past. But
this is wrong. This is perverse reasoning. If a child of
God, your greatest happiness is coming yet. You are going
up into a future where mightier than the mightiest trial —
a grief-transforming, cloud- dispelling Friend awaits you.
If God be your chiefest good, and conformity to God be
your great desire, the future contains no real evil for you.
In that future there may await you some painful in-
BRIGHT MOMENTS ON THE WING. 205
cidents. The loss of this and that other loved one may
await you there — the loss of your substance — the loss of
your health may await you, and they may not ; " sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof." But whatever else is in
store for you, if you go piously and prayerfully forward
into that future, you will find that many sweet mercies
are there awaiting you, many blessings at this moment un-
surmised and unsuspected — blessings, some of them, which
the mourner only knows ; and you will find that in that
future God awaits you, as present, as powerful, and as
kind as He has been in the most favoured past. So,
summon up courage and go cheerfully forward. " Hope
in the Lord ; for with the Lord there is mercy." What
ever else you limit, set no limits to the loving-kindness
of the Lord, nor to the largeness of those petitions by
which the needy suppliant honours the liberal Giver.
Many indulge a complaining spirit who scarcely reflect
how wicked it is, and how provoking to the Most High.
They take up the Bible, and they read the murmurings of
Israel on the march to Canaan, and they pity poor Moses,
and they do not wonder that, wearied with their petulance
and peevishness, the Lord smote those rebels, so that all
their carcases fell in the wilderness. And when they
have read the narrative, they close the book ; and the
first member of the family that comes in their wray, they
have ready a long lecture of rough reprimanding and per
verse fault-finding ; or the first visitor that arrives, they
inflict on him the story of their grievances ; they tell how
good and meritorious they have been, but how severely
the Lord has frowned upon their wishes, and how cruelly
206 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
the Lord has baffled all their plans. Yes, brethren, we
marvel at old Israel, because we are ignorant of ourselves.
If, just as Canaan was the prize of meekness, and a single
murmur was enough to forfeit it — if the Lord suspended
any blessing on the same condition — if those only were
to find next year prosperous who never grumbled this
one, and those only were to get to heaven who never
murmured by the way — which of us, who of all the two
millions of London, would be the modern Joshua and
Caleb ? And yet, as it is, who would not try ? Who is
there that would not court the panegyric which God pro
nounced on the sons of Nun and Jephunneh ? Who is
there that would not wish the perpetual feast of a con
tented spirit, and the perpetual ornament of a praising
one ? Let us, brethren, combat our natural fault-finding,
and our no less natural foreboding. Let us rejoice in the
present, and let us trust for the future. Let us pray and
strive till our frame of mind is more in unison with the
Lord's kindness ; and in the fulfilment of any wish, and
the disappointment of any fear — in the kindness of any
friend, and in the answer to any prayer — in every gracious
providence, and in every spiritual mercy bestowed on our
selves or others dear to us — in all these let us recognise
the merciful kindness of the Lord, and let us acknowledge
what we recognise. " It is a good thing to give thanks
unto the Lord, and to sing praises unto thy name, 0 Most
High : to show forth thy loving-kindness in the morning,
and thy faithfulness every night : for thou, Lord, hast
made me glad through thy work : I will triumph in the
works of thy hands."
XVIIL
ALMOND BLOSSOMS.
BEAD ECCLES. xu. 1-7.
" Kemember thy Creator, . . . while the evil days come not, nor the years
draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them. "
A DISSIPATED youth is sure to be followed by a cross
and joyless old age. During the years of his ungodliness,
Solomon had been a fast liver, and, most likely, he now
felt creeping over him the jejune and dreary feelings
which foretell a premature decline. No dew of youth
survived to create a green old age, and having forestalled
the reserve of strength and spirits, he had failed withal
to lay up against this time a good foundation of faithful
friends and pleasant memories. The portrait is general ;
but an old worldling seems to have supplied the original.
Of his last years this old man says, " I have no pleasure
in them." Once on a time existence was a gladness, and
the exuberant spirits overflowed in shouts and songs and
hilarious ditties. So abundant was the joy of life, that,
like the sunbeams in a tropic clime, it was needful to
shade it, and with a Venetian lattice of imagined sorrows
and tragic tales, the young man assuaged the over- fervid
beams of his own felicity.
207
208 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
" In youth lie loved the darksome lawn,
Brushed by the owlet's wing ;
Then twilight was preferred to dawn,
And autumn to the spring.
Sad fancies did he then affect,
In luxury of disrespect
To his own prodigal excess
Of too familiar happiness. " l
Now there is no need of such artificial abatements. It is
not easy for the old man to get a nook so warm that it
will thaw the winter in his veins. To say nothing of a
song, it is not easy for him to muster up a smile ; and as
he listens with languid interest to the news of the day,
and, in subtile sympathy with his own failing faculties, as
he disparages this modern time and its dwindled men, it
is plain that, as for the world, its avocations and amuse
ments, its interests and its inhabitants, he has little plea
sure in them.
It adds to the evil of such days that the pleasures of
expectation are constantly lessening. Old age is a Tierra
del Fuego, — a region where the weather never clears.
Once, when a trivial ailment came, the hardy youth could
outbrave it, and still go on with his daily duties. But
now, every ailment is important, and they are never like
to end. The cough is cured only to be succeeded by an
asthma, and when the tender eyes have ceased to trickle,
the ears begin to tingle. Once upon a time a few drops
might fall into the brightest day, like a settling shower
in June ; and there were apt to be hurricanes, equinoctial
gales, great calamities, drenching and devastating sorrows.
1 Wordsworth.
ALMOND BLOSSOMS. 209
But now, the day is all one drizzle, and life itself the
chief calamity, and there is little space for hope where
the weather is all either clouds or rain.
Then, in the third and three following verses, there is
given an allegorical sketch of the infirmities of age. " The
keepers of the house tremble." Those arms once so
brawny wither. The Priam who could have cleft a brazen
panoply, can now fling a spear with scarce an infant's
force, — and the David who could hurl his pebble straight
into the centre of Goliath's brow, can scarcely carry to his
own lips a cup of water. In either arm the sturdy cham
pion used to feel that he had two stout defenders, — two
trusty keepers of the castle ; but now that he is old, any
one can bind them and carry him whither he would not.
"And the strong men bow themselves." Those active
limbs can do no more. The pedestrian tells how once on
a time he walked his hundred miles in four-and-twenty
hours, and then, as he gets up to give a specimen, he
stumbles on the carpet. That other disciple who outran
Peter can no longer creep from his couch to the sanc
tuary, but is fain to be carried in his chair. Be thankful,
Asahel, that you die so soon, or none would believe that
your feet were once swifter than a roe. Be thankful,
Samson, that you perish in your prime, or it would not be
easy to believe that those bending legs of yours once bore
the gates of Gaza. "The strong men bow themselves,
and the grinders cease because they are few." The daily
meal is itself a drudgery ; for the teeth have fallen out,
and the masticating process is a fatigue and a trouble.
And, still sorer privation, the eyes are dim : " Those that
VOL. III. 0
210 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
look out of the windows are darkened." The landscape
is a blot, — the very world is misty. The writer's inkhorn
is allowed to dry, — and the virtuous woman who clothed
all her household with scarlet, now lets her needles rust in
the unopened case. Whatever may have been the pleasure
derived from works of information or of fancy, that plea
sure has faded ; for, except in the brief winter's noon, the
eye can no longer decipher the wavering lines, and even
though, by reading aloud, friendship endeavours to supply
their failure, the effort is defeated by the dulness of the ear.
" The doors are shut in the street." Soft sounds no longer
get in ; and though, by bawling lustily, a son or a daughter
may ask or answer some occasional question, — poor sub
stitute, these volleyed and intermitting utterances, — poor
substitute for the whispers of affection, and the sweet
accents of familiar voices, and that calm, effortless parti
cipation in all the passing converse which were the privi
lege of happier days. But not only is the door of audience
closed, the door of utterance is also shut. " The grinders
have ceased," and with lips collapsed and organs all im
paired, it is an effort to talk ; and bending silently in on
his own solitude, the veteran dozes in his elbow-chair the
long summer hours when younger folks are busy. But, if
he dozes in the day, he does not sleep at night. At the voice
of the bird, at the crowing of the cock, although he does
not hear it, he can keep his couch no longer. He rises,
but not because he has any work to do, or any pleasure to
enjoy. " He is afraid of that which is high, and fears are
in the way." He has neither enterprise nor courage.
Once it was a treat to press up the mountain side and
ALMOND BLOSSOMS. 211
enjoy the majestic prospect. Now, there is no high place
which is not formidable ; and even to the temple, it is a
sad drawback that it stands on Zion, and that it is needful
to " go up." " The almond-tree flourishes, and the grass
hopper is burdensome." Tease him not with your idle
affairs. In that load of infirmities he has encumbrance
enough to carry, and though it be not the weight of a
feather, do not augment his burden, who totters under the
load of many years. For " desire has failed." You can
grapple with heavy tasks, — you can submit to severe toil
and protracted self-denial, for you have a purpose to serve
— you have an end in view, — you have an inducement
which countervails toil and cheats the self-denial. But
with him there is no inducement, for there is no ulterior.
" Desire has failed." " Barzillai, come and live with me
at the palace," says David. And, answers Barzillai, " I
am this day fourscore years old ; can I discern between
good and evil ? Can thy servant taste what I eat or what
I drink ? Can I hear any more the voice of singing men
and singing women ? Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn
back, that I may die in mine own city, and be buried in
the grave of my father and of my mother." Yes, that is
all of "desire" that now remains, — the desire to die at
home, and be buried in the family grave. And it is pre
sently fulfilled. For now the old man goes to his long
home, and his funeral walks the streets. The other morn
ing his children came and found nothing but the ruin.
The silver cord by which it was suspended had worn out
at last, and the lamp of life had fallen to the ground, —
the lights extinguished, and the golden bowl which fed
212 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
them broken.1 The pitcher was shattered beside the foun
tain, and the cistern-wheel demolished. The eye was
glass. The heart was still. And now dust goes back to
dust, — for the soul has already gone to the God who
gave it.
This description gives great emphasis to the exhortation
of the outset. Eemember thy Creator in youth — for if you
do not remember Him then, your next leisure will be old
age, and now you see what sort of leisure that is. How
foolish to calculate on a time which not one youth in ten
ever sees ! How fatal to calculate on a time which, were
it really come, you could turn to no account ! Suppose
that by an interposition of Omnipotence, you were lifted
over the interval of years. Suppose that you, who are this
day fifteen, were to awake to-morrow and find yourself
fourscore. You know what it is to be very sleepy, and how
tiresome it is to have people talking to you when you can
scarcely keep your eyes open. You know what it is to be
very sad, and when your heart is breaking you know how
painful it is to be obliged to go about your daily tasks, and
how little progress you make in this disconsolate diligence.
You know what it is to be very sick ; and if, when you
cannot lift your head from the pillow, your little sister
were bringing in lilies of the valley or new wall-flowers of
the spring, you would look languidly at them, and soon
put them away ; or if they asked you to rise and take a
ride, you would feel that they were mocking you. So is it
with old age. It is drowsy, and sad, and full of infirmity ;
and to go to an old man who has never minded religion in
1 Noyes.
ALMOND BLOSSOMS. 213
his youth — to go to him and ask him to mind it now,
would be like singing songs to a heavy heart ; it would be
like telling stories to a sleepy man ; it would be like show
ing pictures or presenting nosegays to a tortured invalid.
Were you now waking up to a sudden old age, you would
find all over you a strange stupor ; the windows darkened,
and the street-doors closed. And you would find yourself
very dull. These are days when you would say, " I have
no pleasure in them." And like a man constantly in a
dim disease, you would feel as if you never were hale
enough to throw all your heart into the subject. And
when pious friends pressed you and entreated you to think
of your soul, you would say to them, " I cannot attend.
Everything fatigues me now. The grasshopper is a burden.
I know that the subject is awfully important. So much
the worse for me — for I cannot take interest in anything.
Desire has failed. My heart is weary — my soul is dim.
Oh, leave me, leave me to repose !" Dear young friends,
give the Saviour your heart whilst you have a heart to give.
Listen to His voice whilst your feelings still are fresh,
and give Him your affections before your natures grow dry
and arid.
For this is our next lesson : The Creator remembers in
their old age, those who in youth remember Him. This
is a woful picture, but some of the features would scarcely
be recognised in an old disciple. At least it cannot be
truly said by an aged Christian, " I have no pleasure ;"
and though there may be " clouds," he has also long and
sunny intervals, and beyond this cloudy region he has
blessed prospects. The peace which the Saviour gives to
2 1 4 THE RO YAL PEE A CHER.
His people, is a well of water springing up unto everlast
ing life ; and there is nothing which keeps the feelings so
fresh and youthful as a perennial piety. " Even the youths
shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly
fall." The young men of this world must grow old ; and
a few years hence the young man rejoicing in his youth
shall be leaning on his staff for very feebleness. " But they
that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength." And
if you want to know the difference between animal and
spiritual youth, just compare that young spendthrift who
bows his head like a bulrush, because he is conscious of
debt and dishonesty and the disrespect of all around;
compare him with that old, but frugal and contented saint,
who carries his head erect as the palm-tree ; and who,
like the palm-tree, has constant sunshine. Compare that
young profligate, who, after a night of riot, is now dragging
his reluctant steps to his hated post, and with bleared eyes
and throbbing temples, is yawning forth his vacancy, or
ejaculating his chagrin ; compare him with yonder serene
and cheerful Christian, who, now that life's working-day
is over, is resting from his labours for a little before he
passes to his reward, and whose evening is so bright that
the youngest are glad to come forth and bask in its beams.
Compare that young sceptic, who has half persuaded himself
into the disbelief of God and hereafter, and whose forced
unbelief is often interrupted by intrusions of unwelcome
conviction, — compare him with " Paul the aged " in prison,
writing, " I know whom I have believed. I am now ready
to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand ; I
have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have
ALMOND BLOSSOMS. 215
kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown
of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge,
shall give me at that day."
It is not very long ago since the biographies of two
veterans appeared so simultaneously as almost to compel
the contrast. Their declining days were somewhat similar.
When getting old and feeling frail, they lost some of their
dearest friends, and each lost his fortune. In these circum
stances Sir Walter writes, " I used to think that a slight
illness was a luxurious thing. ... It is different in the
latter stages — the old post-chaise gets more shattered at
every turn ; windows will not pull up, doors refuse to open,
or, being open, will not shut again. There is some new
subject of complaint every moment — your sicknesses come
thicker and thicker ; your sympathizing friends fewer and
fewer. The recollection of youth, health, and uninter
rupted powers of activity, neither improved nor enjoyed,
is a poor strain of comfort. . . . Death has closed the long
dark avenue upon loves and friendships ; and I look at
them as through the grated door of a burial-place filled
with monuments of those who were once dear to me, with
no insincere wish that it may open for me at no distant
period, provided such be the will of God. I shall never
see the threescore- and-ten, and shall be summed up at a
discount. No help for it, and no matter either."1 Eecover-
ing from a similar slight illness, Mr. Wilberforce remarked,
" I can scarce understand why my life is spared so long,
except it be to show that a man can be as happy without
a fortune as with one." And then, soon after, when his
1 Scott's Life, Second Edition, vol. ix. pp. 60, 61.
216 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
only surviving daughter died, he writes, "I have often
heard that sailors on a voyage will drink, ' Friends astern,'
till they are half way over, then ' Friends ahead.' With
me it has been ' friends ahead' this long time."1
Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His
saints ; and God's kindness to His aged servants is often
displayed in their gentle dismissal In view of advancing
years it has been sweetly sung by an English poetess :2 — -
" Life ! we Ve been long together,
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather.
"Tis hard to part when friends are dear,
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear.
Then steal away, give little warning,
Choose thine own time ;
Say not good-night, but in some happier clime,
Bid me good-morning."
And the boon has oft been vouchsafed to the mature and
Simeon-like disciple. Many of you remember " Father"
Wilkinson, who preached the Golden Lecture so many
years in London. One evening he told his daughter that
he had long dreaded dying in his sleep, and that he had
nightly prayed that it might not be so : " But this night,"
he added, " I have withdrawn that petition, and will
leave this and all my matters in God's hands." It was
the last link of bondage broken ; the last fibre of self-will
uprooted ; and having thus completed his meetness, the
Lord surprised His servant into blessedness that self- same
night. Last week, in an old book we read a similar
instance of a veteran's gentle home-going. In the days
of Gallican persecution, Pastor Faber sat at the table of
1 Wilberforce's Life, vol. v. pp. 326, 328. 2 Mrs. Barbauld.
ALMOND BLOSSOMS. 217
the Queen of Navarre one afternoon, when some other
Protestant refugees were present. He was looking sad,
and when they asked the reason, he replied with tears,
" I am now a hundred years old, and when many young
men are sealing their testimony with their blood, here
have I, the craven, saved myself by flight." The Queen
and her friends assured him that in consulting his own
safety he had only fulfilled his Lord's command ; and by
and by he brightened up, and said, " Then nothing remains
but that I go back to God ; for I perceive that He calls
me. But, first, if you please, I shall make my will." Then
turning his eyes on the Queen he said, " I constitute you
my executrix and residuary legatee. My books I bequeath
to M. Gerard, the Preacher. My clothes and whatever
else I have I give to the poor. The rest I commit to God."
At which the Queen, smiling, asked, " Yes, but, Mr. James,
what will revert to your residuary legatee ? " " The charge
of dispensing to the poor," he answered. " And I," ex
claimed her Majesty, " accept it, and I vow that it is
to me a more grateful heritage than if my royal brother
had bequeathed to me the kingdom of France." There
upon the old man, saying that he wanted rest, bade the
guests a cheerful " good-night," and retired into an adjoin
ing chamber. They thought that he was sleeping, and so
he was. He had fallen asleep in a palace, and he awoke
in heaven.1
My young friends, let me claim your kindness for the
old. They are well entitled to your sympathy. Through
this bright world they move mistily, and though they rise
1 Witsii Miscellanea Sacra, torn. ii. p. 184.
218 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
as soon as the birds begin to sing, they cannot hear the
music. Their limbs are stiff, their senses dull, and that
body which was once their beautiful abode and their
willing servant, has become a cage and a heavy clog.
And they have outlived most of those dear companions
with whom they once took sweet counsel.
" One world deceased, another born,
Like Noah they behold,
O'er whose white hairs and furrow'd brows
Too many suns have roll'd." 1
Make it up to them as well as you can. Be eyes to the
blind, and feet to the lame. On their way to the sanctuary
be their supporting staff, and though it may need an extra
effort to convey your words into their blunted ear, make
that effort ; — for youth is never so beautiful as when it
acts as a guardian angel, or a ministering spirit to old age.
And should extreme infirmity or occasional fretfulness
try your patience, remember that to all intents you were
once the same, and may be the same again ; — in second
childhood, as in first, the debtor to others' patience and
tenderness and magnanimity.
And, my aged friends, let me commend you to the
sympathy of the Saviour. The merciful High Priest
knows your frame. The dull ear and the dim eye are no
obstacles to intercourse with Him ; and the frequent in
firmities prayer can convert into pleas for His compassion.
"What are you doing?" said a minister, as he one day
visited a feeble old man, who dwelt in a windy hovel.
"What are you doing?" as he saw him sitting beneath
1 Young.
ALMOND BLOSSOMS. 219
the dripping rafters in his smoky chamber, with his Bible
open on his knee. " Oh, sir ! I am sitting under His
shadow with great delight, and His fruit is sweet to my
taste !" That is dainty food, which even Barzillai might
discern. Feed upon the promises ; draw water from the
wells of salvation. And when one sight after another
fades away from your darkening eyes, look more and more
to Jesus ; — for if He be your joy, your hope, your life, the
faster you are clothed with the snows of eld, the sooner
will you renew your youth in the realms of immortality.
" In age and feebleness extreme,
Who shall a helpless worm redeem ?
Jesus, my only hope Thou art,
Strength of my failing flesh and heart ;
Oh, could I catch a smile from Thee,
And drop into eternity ! "
April 6, 1851.
XIX.
THE WICKET-GATE.
" Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter : Fear God, and keep his
commandments : for this is the whole of man." — ECCLES. xn. 13.
GOD is Almighty. Some beings concentrate in them
selves a large amount of power. Some of our fellow-
mortals have possessed so much vital energy, — minds so
inventive and vigorous, as to leave their impress on a
realm or on a continent ; and when you ask, Who en
gineered this road ? who devised that law ? who erected
yonder monument ? you are amazed to find everywhere
the trace of one imperial intellect. But ascend into
Heaven or plunge into Hades, — take the wings of the
morning and visit the furthest isles of Immensity, and
there is one Presence which will still invest you, and one
great footstep which still you must fail to measure. Who
made this worm which grovels in the clay ? who made
yonder seraph who hovers round the Light of lights ?
Who lit the glow-worm's taper ? who filled with bright
millenniums the sphery lamp of yonder sun ? Who
gives this dancing atom its afternoon of life ? Who is
it that has kindled immortality in the soul of man ?
Who is it that fills that hive with industry, that home
220
THE WICKET-GATE. 221
with peaceful joy, that heaven with adoring ecstasy ?
The Alpha and Omega, the first and the last, who is, and
was, and is to come, the Almighty.
God is all-wise. When as yet nothing existed except
the Great I AM, to His infinite understanding all com
binations of existence were present. They stood forth so
many beautiful and Divine ideas, and from this panop
ticon of all the possible, His holy wisdom chose the best,
and willed that universe which is. And now that along
side of all the past His boundless comprehension includes
the furthest future, each evolving incident owes its being
to that Providence which is particular because it is uni
versal ; and nothing comes into existence which is a
surprise to Omniscience, or which does not instantly
find its place prepared in the glorious whole : so that
from the falling sparrow to the dying martyr, and from
the fortunes of some poor human family to the events of
an Incarnation, all history is an anthem ascribing " to the
King eternal, immortal, invisible, THE ONLY WISE GOD,"
" honour and glory for ever and ever."
God is all-holy. He is the infinite Excellence. That
river of pleasures which makes glad the celestial city, is
just so much of His goodness as God is pleased to reveal ;
but the full fountain remains in Jehovah Himself, — an
ocean which Gabriel's line cannot fathom, and athwart
which the archangel's wing cannot traverse, — an abyss
of brightness of which immensity is only the margin,
and of which each holy intelligence is but a sparkling
drop. Yet, little as our searching can find out God,
we know that His name is just the highest name for good-
222 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
ness and blessedness. We know that His is the mind to
which evil is the supreme impossibility. We know that
He is the God of truth, and without iniquity : just and
right is He. Amidst the multitude of promises which
His munificence has prompted Him to make, we know
that not one good word hath failed, but every Yea hath
found its Amen. Amidst the multitude of creatures over
which His sovereignty extends, we know that there exists
no instance of unkindness, or neglect, or oppression. And
amidst the multitude of thoughts and emotions which make
up the joys of Deity, we know that there is not one male
volent affection ; but all is condescension to His creatures,
care for their well-being, and delectation in their joy.
But if God be the only good and the all-inclusive joy,
a creature's blessedness must consist in a right relation,
and a right affection towards Him. To be separated from
the supreme felicity, must itself be misery ; and to enter-
tain unkind or hostile feelings towards infinite Excellence,
must itself be the deepest depravity.
What, then, is a right relation to God? It is that
coincidence with His good pleasure, and that compliance
with His revealed will, which Solomon calls "keeping
His commandments." He is our Creator, and whether
we will or will not, we must be His creatures. But He
is also the King of the universe, and we ought to be His
loyal subjects. And in Christ Jesus He is prepared to
become our Father, and we should reciprocate the matchless
condescension, and with wonder and astonishment exclaim
ing, " Our Father which art in Heaven," we should become
the sons and daughters of the Lord God Almighty.
THE WICKET-GATE. 223
And what is the right feeling towards God ? Almighty
and all-wise, we should devoutly adore Him. Our
righteous Kuler, we should with cheerful submission
acquiesce in His disposal, and with strenuous activity
should fulfil His commands. Our kind and merciful
Father, we should give Him unhesitating love and con
fidence without reserve. And altogether, did we realize
His perfections and our own position, it would become
our " chief end to glorify God and to enjoy Him for ever."
Many, however, will feel that the great difficulty lies in
getting into this right relation. Allowing it to be the
creature's highest end to glorify and enjoy the Creator,
how shall a sinful creature begin to taste this blessed
ness-? How shall I assure myself that the Most High
is no longer offended with me ? And how shall I bring
myself to that state in which my Creator shall be able to
regard me with habitual complacency? Is the process
very arduous and very long ? Must I relinquish my pre
sent calling, and give myself wholly to the business of
working out my peace with God ? Had I not better
retire into a desert or a hermitage ? And how long will
the ordeal last ? In how many months or years may I
begin to hope that God is propitious, and that heaven
will be mine ?
Some people once lived in a Happy Isle, but for their
misdeeds they had been banished. Their place of exile
was a cheerless coast ; but it lay within distant sight of
their former home. Soon after their expulsion a message
had come from their injured Sovereign, offering to all that
pleased an amnesty. Few minded it. They had grown
224 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
sour and sullen, and they tried to persuade themselves
that the earth-holes in which they burrowed were more
comfortable than the mansions of his land, and that the
mallows among their bushes were more nutritious than
all the fruits of his gardens. One man, however, was of
a different mind. He was a musing, thoughtful person.
Often might you have seen him pacing the beach when
the rays of evening shone on the Happy Isle, and whilst
the sea-bird wailed over his head and the wrack crackled
under his feet, from his own dreary prison he wistfully
eyed the forests on its coast, and the mountains of purple
streaked with silver which sat enthroned in its interior ;
and as he fancied that he could sometimes hear faint
murmurs of its joy, he wished that he were there. One
morning when he awoke it struck him that the opposite
shore was unusually nigh, and so low was the tide that
he fancied he might easily ford it, or swim across. And
so he hastened forth. First over the dry shingle, then
over the sad and solid sand, from which, with scarce a
ripple, the sea had smoothly folded down, he hurried on
till he reached the damper strand, where streams of
laggard water still were trickling, and then he was
astonished at his own delusion ; for it was still a mighty
gulf, and even whilst he gazed the tide was rising. But
another tune he tried another plan. To the right of his
dwelling the line of coast stretched away in a succession
of cliffs and headlands, till the view was bounded by a
lofty promontory which seemed to touch the further side.
To this promontory he resolved to make a pilgrimage, in
the hope that it would transport him to the long-sought
THE WICKET GATE. 225
realm. The road was often a steep clamber, and for
many an hour the headland seemed only to flee away.
But after surmounting many a slope and swell, at last he
reached it. With eager steps he ran along the ridge, half-
hoping that it was the isthmus which would bear him to
the Blessed Isle. Ah, no ! He reached its extremest
verge, and here is that inexorable ocean still weltering
at its base. Baffled in this last hope, and faint with his
ineffectual toil, he flung himself on the stones and wept.
But, by and by, he noticed off the shore a little boat, with
whose appearance he was quite familiar. It used to ride
at anchor opposite his own abode, and had done so for
ever so long ; but, like his neighbours, he had got so used
to it that it never drew his notice. Now, however, seeing
it there, he looked at it, and as he looked it neared him.
It came close up to the rocks where he was seated. It
was a beautiful boat, with snowy sail and golden prow,
and a red cross was its waving pennon. There was one
on board, and only one. His raiment was white and
glistening, and his features betokened whence he came.
" Son of man," he said, " why weepest thou ?" " Because
I cannot reach the Blessed Isle." " Canst thou trust
thyself with me ?" the stranger asked. The poor wayfarer
looked at the little skiff leaping lightly on the waves, and
he wondered, till he looked again at the Pilot's kind and
assuring countenance, and then he said, "I can." And
no sooner had he stepped on board, than swift as a sun
beam, it bore him to the land of light ; and, with many
a welcome from the Pilot's friends, he found himself
among its happy citizens, clothed in their bright raiment,
VOL. in. p
226 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
and free to all their privileges, as now a subject of their
King.
The happy isle is peace with God, — that position which
man occupied whilst innocent. The dreary land is that
state of alienation and misery into which fallen man is
banished. The little skiff denotes the only means by
which the sinner may pass from nature's alienation over
into the peace of God. It is a means not of the sinner's
devising, but of God's providing. It is the ATONEMENT,
and He who so kindly invites sinners to avail themselves
of it is the Lord Jesus himself.
I may suppose the case of a hearer who longs for accept
ance with God. At present you feel like an exile looking
to a distant Eden with a gulf between. You feel that
between you and God's favour there rolls a tide of tres
passes and sins which all your efforts cannot get over.
Sometimes, like the poor outcast on that bright morning,
you have flattered yourself that the separating interval
had narrowed, and if all went favourably you did not
despair of finding yourself ere long in the climes of ascer
tained salvation. But even then, like a broad and power
ful tide, the current of worldliness set in again, and the
interval betwixt God and your own soul again grew vast
as ever ; or the dark stream of guilt began once more to
roar and deepen. Therefore, ceasing to hope that your
soul's salvation would come about spontaneously, you set
to work on purpose to achieve it. Like one who would
bridge across the mighty channel ; or rather, like one who
sets out on a pilgrimage to yonder inviting promontory, —
you go about to establish a righteousness of your own.
THE WICKET-GATE. 227
You resolve to read so many chapters and to pray so many
times a day. You determine that you will henceforth
never more be angry, nor deceitful, nor neglectful of your
trust. You try to think holy thoughts and make your
own mind spiritual. And in this way you hope to go on
"by degrees till you are really good, — so good that you
may be at last forgiven. But how far must the traveller
march around the coast of Europe before he arrives in
Britain ? And how many things must the sinner do in
a state of nature, before he finds himself in a state of
grace ? They that are in the flesh cannot please God, and
instead of being good in order to be forgiven, you had
need to be forgiven as the first movement towards becom
ing good. The separating gulf is too deep for the tallest
specimen of virtue to ford, and too wide for the sincerest
repentance or the most faultless morality to bridge over :
and were you confronting the realities of the case, you
would find that Christless painstaking is only a pilgrim
age along a sea-girt promontory. Peace with God is not
a boon which it requires good deeds to purchase or prayers
to insure ; but peace with God is a gift from. God, already
come from heaven and awaiting your acceptance. And,
just as the vexed wanderer lifted up his eyes, and in the
boat, with its benignant pilot, recognised the little skiff
which had so long hovered unheeded near his own abode ;
so, were the Spirit of God to make you earnest now, —
were he convincing you of sin or of the futility of your
own exertions, you would see your salvation in some
thrice-told tale — some text with which you have been
familiar long ago. " Eternal life is the gift of God."
228 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
" God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his
Son." " To as many as received him Jesus gave power
to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on
his name." "The Son of man must be lifted up, that
whosoever believeth in him may not perish, but have
eternal life." " Look unto me and be ye saved, all the
ends of the earth." Like some dim object anchored near
your dwelling, texts like these are associated with your
earliest memory. These texts are gospels. Any one of
them is such " a faithful saying," that fully realized and
implicitly credited it would carry your soul to heaven.
Any one of them is an ark of salvation, with none less
than the Friend of sinners in it ; and you have only to
be persuaded of its good-will and its trustworthiness, so
as to transfer your immortal interests to the Saviour's
keeping, and you will soon discover that TEUST IN CHRIST
IS PEACE WITH GOD.
A justifying righteousness is not a privilege which you
buy, but a present which you receive. It is not a result
which you accomplish, nor a reward which you earn, but
it is a gratuity which you accept. It is the " gift of
righteousness," — a gift promiscuous to sinners of our race,
— a gift as wide as the human " whosoever ; " a gift out
standing, which was within the reach of your earliest in
telligence had you been so disposed, and which is not yet
withdrawn, — a gift which it needs neither prayer to bring
nearer, nor a price before or after to make surer, but which
it only needs your open hand, your open heart to make
your personal possession; — not a bargain, but a boon;
not an achievement, but an acquiescence ; the gift of right-
THE WICKET-GATE. 229
eousness ; — the righteousness of God which demands,
not that we deserve it, but that we " submit" to it. Being
justified freely by His grace through the redemption that
is in Christ, God's righteousness is declared through the
remission of sins that are past. And being justified by
faith we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus
Christ. Thanks be to God for His unspeakable gift !
Thus it is that the right relation between God and the
sinner is established; a relation which borrows all its
security and blessedness from the sinner's substitute,
God's own Son. Our redemption is in Christ, and it is
in the Beloved that we are accepted. Our safety is
entirely in the Saviour whom we trust. He is our peace.
Immanuel is the door. It is by Him that we enter into
the fold and become the sheep of His Father.
And when once the right relation is brought about, the
right affection must follow. It could not come before. It
did not come whilst the portion of goods held out, and
amidst his riotous living the prodigal wa.s jeering at the
decorum and dulness of his father's house. And it did
not come when the penniless outcast was envying the
swine, and yet was too proud to go home. And it did
not come when crushed and crest-fallen the runaway bent
his steps towards the forsaken threshold, and all his
thought was how to propitiate an angry father, and how
if he could only get a hearing, he might get leave to labour
for his food, and so, from an out-door menial, gradually
work his way back to the hearth and the family board.
But when, instead of an angry and upbraiding stranger, he
found a yearning parent; and, instead of the menial's
230 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
garb, saw himself invested in the honoured guest's best
robe ; and instead of the meanest hireling's place, was
installed at a sumptuous festival : when he saw those eyes
suffused with all the love of delighted fatherhood, and
remembered how that father's tears had fallen, — then it
came — the filial affection came ; the long-dormant instinct
of sonship revived, and the love of a fervent gratitude
mingled, — so that in all the Holy Land the fullest heart
that night was the restored and forgiven prodigal.
And even so, that filial emotion which here and through
out the Old Testament is often called "fear ;" that blended
emotion of reverence, trust, and affection, can only arise
where the spirit of sonship reciprocates God's revealed
aspect of compassionate and forthgoing fatherliness. It
matters little whether we call the affection fear, or, with
the first and great commandment, call it love. In that
fear which realizes God's fatherliness, there cannot be
terror ; and in the love which recollects that its Father is
GOD, there cannot be petulant boldness.
Fear God, therefore, for this is the great duty of man.
To love Him with all the heart, and soul, and strength,
and mind, is the first and great commandment ; and till 1
once Jehovah is supreme, an orderly and respectable life
is only rebellion without violence, and even benevolence
without godliness is only a beautiful impiety.
April 13, 1851.
XX.
GREEN PASTURES.
" Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter : Fear God, and keep his
commandments : for this is the whole of man." — ECCLES. xn. 13.
" THIS is life eternal, to know thee, the only true God,
and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent." To get this know
ledge is to enter into blessedness. Reconciliation to God
is like entering the gate of a beautiful avenue, which con
ducts to a splendid mansion. But that avenue is long,
and in some places it skirts the edge of dangerous cliffs ;
and therefore, to save the traveller from falling over where
he would be dashed to pieces, it is fenced all the way by
a quickset hedge. That hedge is the commandments.
They are planted there that we may do ourselves no harm.
But, like a fence of the fragrant brier, they regale the pil
grim who keeps the path, and they only hurt him when
he tries to break through. Temperance, justice, truth
fulness; purity of speech and behaviour; obedience to
parents ; mutual affection ; sanctification of the Sabbath ;
the reverent worship of God ; — all these are righteous
requirements, and in keeping them there is a great
reward. Happy he who only knows the precept in the
perfume which it sheds, and who, never having kicked
231
232 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
against the pricks, lias never proved the sharpness of its
thorns !
In its happy influence, religion, or a filial compliance
with the will of God, includes " the whole of man." It is
self-contained felicity.
A new heart itself is happiness. The rain as it falls
from the firmament is never poisonous ; but by the time
it filters through strata filled with lead or copper, it may
become so pernicious that whosoever drinks of the water
dies. The juice of the grape, as it flows from the ferment
ing vat, is generous wine; but if the wine-skin which
receives it is old and musty, or if it be poured into a jar
of acidulous pottery, it soon grows sour and vapid. Gifts
as they come from God are always good and perfect ; but
by the time that they have distilled through our murmur
ing spirits, they assume another character. From the way
he speaks of them, you would fancy that the worldling's
joy had all been drawn from Marah; or that, however
carefully he had covered over his own cistern, the star
Wormwood had dropped into it, and changed the whole
into a deadly bitter. The truth is, his mind is its own
Marah, and his morose and murmuring nature is the
Wormwood which renders acrid to the taste the mercies
sent from God. But Christianity is a new creation. The
Gospel renovates the soul ; and, putting a right spirit in
the man, it makes him a blessed being by making him a
EIGHT RECIPIENT. When the water is as clear as was the
well of Bethlehem ; or when the wine flows as rich as the
vintage of Lebanon, — all that is needful is a pitcher of
crystal or a goblet of silver, which, by infusing no new
GREEN PASTURES, 233
element, will preserve its freshness and purity. And when
gifts are so good as the Gospel and the promises ; — so good
as our kindred and friends ; — so good as the flowers of the
field and the breath of new summer, — it only needs an
honest heart which takes them as they come, and which
tastes unaltered the goodness of God that is in them.
This is what the worldling wants ; this new heart is what
the God and Father of our Lord Jesus offers to you — to
me.
The very faculty of joy is the gift of the Holy Ghost.
There is a canker in the heart of man which hinders
happiness even when the materials are most abundant ;
and it is mournful to observe how little gladness is felt
even when corn and wine most abound. In the midst
of affluence still anxious, the munificence of the Creator
cannot give contentment to worldlings and worldly pro
fessors ; but whilst the green pastures re-echo their
grumblings, they may see their peevish faces reflected
in those still waters to which their kind Shepherd has
led them. It needs more than good and perfect gifts to
awaken melody and praise : and unless the Spirit of God
make it a thankful heart, the providence of God cannot
make it a happy existence. But when the Comforter is
come, He gives a new heart and creates a right spirit.
He heals the canker of the churl and sweetens the bitter
ness of the misanthrope ; and, by imparting the faculty
of joy, He has often exalted life into a jubilee, and made
a very humble dwelling ring with hallelujahs. Ever
since it was broken at the Fall, the heart of man is a
cracked pitcher from which happiness runs out with
231 THE ROYAL PREACHER
amazing rapidity; — and the finer the fluid — the more
subtle the element of joy, — the faster does it trickle
through ; and often it is not till the last drop is oozing,
— it is not till the latest film is regretfully vanishing,
that the soul knows it ought to have been happy, and
is sorry for not knowing it sooner.1 Far otherwise is it
with the Christian's pleasures. He who has made him
a new creature, has given .him a new capacity of receiv
ing and retaining joy. The new heart does not leak ; at
least, there is one gladness there which will abide to all
eternity, and which, even when it has for a season disap
peared, needs nothing but the jolts of sorrow to shake it
up again in all its sparkling zest and fragrant exhilara
tion. The soul into which God has put the gladness can
never be empty of all joy; for the "joy of salvation"
heals the broken heart, and so long as itself remains it
makes it possible for other joys to stay.
A devout disposition is happiness. It is happiness,
whether outward things go well or ill. A comfortable
home, fond kindred, health, a successful calling, are sweet
mercies when you accept them direct from God, — thus
rendering dearer to yourself, at once the Giver and the
gifts. But these mercies may, one by one, withdraw.
Lover and friend may be put far from you, and your
acquaintance may vanish into secret ; your house may
dilapidate ; your industrious efforts may be defeated;
1 " The sweetness that pleasure has in it
Is always so slow to come forth,
That seldom, alas ! till the minute
It dies, do we know half its worth."
— Moore's Melodies.
GREEN PASTURES. 235
and your prosperous state may be exchanged for penury.
But "although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither
shall fruit be in the vines ; the labour of the olive shall
fail, and the fields shall yield no meat ; the flock shall
be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in
the stalls ; yet you will rejoice in the Lord, and will joy
in the God of your salvation." With shattered constitu
tion you may find yourself confined to your couch or your
chamber, and in pain and depression you may miss that
presence which would have been a " sunshine in this shady
place." But, lonely and languid, you can say, " Whom
have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none upon
earth that I desire beside thee. My flesh and my heart
faileth ; but God is the strength of my heart, and my
portion for ever." Public affairs may take a sombre turn,
and in the growth of pauperism, or in the wider gulf
which sunders the classes, there may be prognostics of
uproar and anarchy ; or in one of those fits of infatuation
which occasionally seize society, you may stand aghast
at educated men flinging away their human rights and
their reason, and surrendering to a grim superstition
which puts out their eyes and binds them in the fetters
of Babylon ; l or under the spurning hoof of some colossal
despotism, you may hear human hearts crushing, as the
seaweed crackles under the schoolboy's wanton heel, and
in vain sympathy you may burst your own ; or, when
in volcanic reaction pent-up indignation explodes, and
thrones and altars are hurled through mid-heaven, whilst,
like grass under lava, civilisation is overwhelmed beneath
1 2 Kings xxv. 7.
236 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
the fiery tide, and, as it spirts into the air, the gory geyser
tells where the earth has opened her mouth, and swal
lowed alive a weltering multitude ; — in moments like
these, when the most hopeful philanthropy is paralysed,
and "men's hearts fail them for fear," the believer can
sing, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present
help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the
earth be removed, and the mountains be carried into the
midst of the sea : " and beyond all the crash and the tur
moil, his purer ear can catch the cadence of heavenly
harpers, and through all the smoke of burning mountains
quenched in boiling seas, his penetrating eye can glimpse
the tokens of a bright Epiphany ; and from the reeling
soil, he lifts up his head, knowing that redemption draweth
nigh. Oh, brethren ! in those solemn conjunctures which
prefigure final judgment ; in those awful conflicts where
man appears not so much the combatant as the arena ;
in those Armageddons where man cannot look to man,
for the contending powers are Jehovah and Apollyon —
how blessed to have a friend in Omnipotence, and a
citadel within the tabernacle of the Most High !
A benevolent disposition is happiness. The first and
great commandment is, " Thou shalt love the Lord thy
God with all thy soul : and the second is like unto it,
Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." To keep
these two commandments is the whole of man. The two
feelings are very different. It is with an adoring com
placency that you love the ever-blessed God, desiring that
His glory should be advanced, and that His will should be
the mind of the universe. It is with an affectionate
GREEN PASTURES. 237
good-will that you love your fellow-creatures, desiring
that they should be happy in loyalty to God. The one
love is simply outgoing ; the other ascends. The one is
kindness ; the other is full of worship. The one is filial
devotion ; the other is fraternal fondness.
When a rose-bud is formed, if the soil is soft and the
sky is genial, it is not long before it bursts ; for the life
within is so abundant that it can no longer contain it
all — but in blossomed brightness and swimming fragrance
it must needs let forth its joy, and gladden all the air.
And if, when thus ripe, it refused to expand, it would
quickly rot at heart, and die. And Christian charity is
just piety with its petals fully spread — developing itself,
and making it a happier world. The religion which
fancies that it loves God, when it never evinces love to
its brother, is not piety, but a poor mildewed theology —
a dogma with a worm in its heart.
Benevolence is blessedness. It is God's life in the
soul, diffusing in kind emotions, and good offices, and
friendly intercessions ; but, unlike other expenditures,
the more it is diffused, the more that life increases of
which it is the sign ; and to abound in love one towards
another, is to abound in hope towards God.
This was Solomon's calamity. In his auspicious outset
he lived for others. To make Jehovah's temple exceed
ingly magnificent, and to see his people prosperous, were
the great desires of his forthgoing patriotism and piety.
But in a mysterious moment he was forsaken by God's
Spirit. To his introverted egotism his own interest
became more urgent than all the universe, and the saint
238 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
and the patriot became a selfist. The lily crept back into
its bulb. It said, I am myself the summer. Yonder sun
shines, because I am to be seen. This air is balm,
because it encircles me. I will go down into myself, and
what a self-sufficing Eden it will be when all my glory-
is reserved for Solomon ! And down it went ; but
though its disappearance left less of summer in the world,
nothing but winter was found below. And it was not till
he took another thought, and resolved once more to keep
these two commands, that aught of his old glory came
again.
Benevolence is blessedness ; and if the present age is
happier than some that have gone before it, a chief reason
is because its heart is kinder. Doubtless, the amount of
material comfort is amazingly increased ; but this is not
enough. Man is not a dormouse ; and however warmly
he lines his nest, and however snug the pose of orbicular
self-complacency into which he rolls himself, he cannot
become his own all-in-all. Material comforts multiply ;
but these alone have not made it a happier age. It is
happier because it is kinder. We would rather convert
the Turks than kill them. We would rather see France
virtuous and God-fearing, than see it subject to Britain.
We would rather teach the Jews the Gospel, than torture
from them their money hoards. This is the age which
wishes well to the slave, and has paid a great price for
his freedom. This is the age which wishes well to the
heathen, and is paying, if not a great price, yet a greater
than was ever paid before, for his Christian civilisation.
This is the age which wishes well to the poor and the
GREEN PASTURES. 239
outcast, and which is taking great pains to enlighten his
mind and exalt his condition. God forbid that we should
boast. Man's evil tendencies are the same as ever ; but
if the Father of mercies has somewhat softened the spirit
of this age, let us not forget to bless His holy name. We
think He has. We think on the whole that the world is
happier, because of late the Lord has made it somewhat
kinder. And its happiness will advance in proportion as
it learns to realize that object of the Advent, — " On earth
peace ; good-will towards men."
Malevolence is misery. It is the mind of Satan. He
is the great " enemy," — an outcast from all joy, and an
opponent of all goodness and all blessedness. His mind
is enmity against God ; enmity against angels fallen and
unfallen ; enmity against man both redeemed and repro
bate ; and, because thus hateful and hating, utterly un
happy. And the carnal mind is so far Satanic because
it is enmity against God ; just as the misanthrope is so
far Satanic because he is enmity against his fellows. On
the other hand, benevolence is happiness. It is the mind
of God, whose tender mercies are over all His works, and
who joys in the joy of His creation. And hence it comes
to pass that some who have never tasted the full blessed
ness of piety, have enjoyed many sweet satisfactions in
.the exercise of benevolence. " Oh, world," says the
Emperor Antoninus, " all things are suitable to me which
are suitable to thee. Nothing is too early or too late for
me which is seasonable for thee. All is fruit to me which
thy seasons bring forth. Shall any man say, 0 beloved
city of Cecrops ! and wilt not thou say, 0 beloved city of
240 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
God!" "And you, my brothers," exclaimed the German
Kichter, after he had spent some years in severely satirizing
men and manners — seized with a sudden compunction, or
rather yielding to a genial visitation, — "And you, my
brothers, I will love you more. T will create for you
more joy. I will no longer turn my comic powers to
torment you ; but fantasy and wit shall be united to find
consolation and cheerfulness for the most limited of life's
relations."1 He kept his word. Moroseness and moodi-
ness fled away, and from that period onward there are
few lives not saintly, on which care's shadow has lain so
lightly. But if there be such a solace in mere bene
volence ; if there be such a Divine delightsomeness in
drying tears and diffusing happiness ; if some have passed
a very pleasant life who were only kind-hearted without
being Christian ; —how incomparably more blessed are
those who unite the two, — whose brotherly kindness is
the fruit of faith, and whose charity is a devout bene
volence ! the John who, basking in the rays of uncreated
love, returns into the midst of our mortality with a glow
which ever since has raised the temperature of time ! the
Paul who, catching the spirit of his Master, is the daily
medium through which Heaven's kindness finds its way
to the heart of our humanity, and whose very soul, like a
libation on a sacrifice, goes up a sweet savour to God, and
leaves on earth a grateful memory !
Such is true Eeligion. The Gospel is grace abounding,
and vital Christianity is that Gospel met by an abundant
gratitude. It is that truth discovered which converts
1 Richter's Autobiography, vol. ii. p. 196.
GREEN PASTURES. 241
into a lover of his Creator and his brethren, the man who
was an unholy and unthankful self-seeker. That wan
derer who, along vistas of vanity, was ever arriving at
blanker vexation, it transfers into the way of peace ; and
turning his face Godward, it sets him on the path which
shines more and more unto the perfect day.
Seek then, my brethren, loving thoughts of God. Pray
for them. Cherish them. Strive to realize His true
character. Look not at the distortions drawn by the lurid
fancy of superstition ; look not at the dark pictures
sketched by your own guilty conscience. But look at
the Bible revelation. Look at Immanuel. Behold the
brightness of the Father's glory — behold the Word incar
nate, full of grace and truth. Surrender to the manifes
tation. Let your aspect towards Jehovah be the recipro
cal of His aspect towards you. Look towards Jesus, and
with the pleasant countenance wherewith He views His
beloved Son, He will behold you, 0 looking transgressor !
I should rather say, O justified believer ! And by praise,
and bright obedience, and cheerful trust, seek to augment
your love to your heavenly Father. When happy thoughts
come into your mind, let the thought of God come with
them ; and when you go into beautiful or attractive
scenes, let the reconciled Presence go with you; till at
last earth is suffused with heaven, and, with the immortal
morning spread upon the mountains, death is done away
and the dark valley superseded.
And seek, as a fruit of the Spirit, love. As a Christian
principle, cultivate a broad benevolence, and by and by
you will come to feel it as a delightful and spontaneous
VOL. III. Q
242 THE ROYAL PREACHER.
instinct. Having, in virtue of your redeemed relation,
" a covenant with the beasts of the field and with the
creeping things of the ground," you will come to share
the creature- ward complacency of that kind Creator whose
tender mercies are over all His works, and perhaps may
realize the description with which you have sometimes
been charmed : —
" In the silence of his face I read
His overflowing spirit. Birds and beasts,
And the mute fish that glances in the stream,
A"nd harmless reptile coiling in the sun,
And gorgeous insect moving in the air,
The fowl domestic, and the household dog —
In his capacious mind he loved them all.
Rich in love
And sweet humanity, he was, himself,
To the degree that he desired, beloved." '
But even this creature-ward kindliness will profit you
little unless it be combined with that sublime love towards
your immortal fellows which constitutes Christian charity.
Love man as man. Fallen and sinful, he is still your
brother. Pity the sinner even whilst you abhor the sin :
and, in order to deepen and purify your compassion, let it
assume a practical form. Ask yourself, What am I doing
to make it a holier and so a happier world ? And if you
find that you are doing nothing in this Divine direction,
be not surprised that there is still a crook in your lot
and a discomfort in your spirit. Existence will only run
smooth when you learn to be a fellow-worker with God.
And love the believing brethren. Eejoice in their in
crease. Rejoice in their prosperity. Glorify the grace of
1 Wordsworth's Excursion, Book ii.
GREEN PASTURES.
243
God in them, and be so heartily solicitous for their pro
gress and improvement as really to help them forward.
Thus loving without dissimulation, you will soon find
yourself the centre of much affection in return, and what
ever joy you diffuse you will find it all returning with
increase into your own bosom.
April 20, 1851.
LESSONS FROM THE GREAT BIOGRAPHY.
PREFACE.
AT one time it was the purpose of the writer to connect
together the leading incidents recorded by the four Evan
gelists, translating them, as it were, into modern language,
and supplying a few of those historical and topographical
details for which we are indebted to recent research. If
executed with reverence and judgment, the author believes
that such Memoirs of the Saviour's Ministry would be to
many a welcome and useful work. For the present, how
ever, he is deterred from an attempt which, like every
labour of love, craves a large amount of leisure. But
having given to his own congregation a few specimens
of the Gospel Story thus rendered, he now ventures to
publish them, retaining the practical reflections with
which they were accompanied, and in the hope that
such friends as are kind enough to look into the volume
will excuse its fragmentary character, its important
omissions, and its occasional disregard of chronological
sequence.
/
LONBON, May 1, 1857.
EAELY INCIDENTS.
I. PRE-EXISTENCE.
IN ordinary biographies, a birth is the beginning. It
was in the year 1483 that the mind to which we owe the
Reformation commenced its existence ; for it was then
that Martin Luther was born. It was in London that the
career began to which England is indebted for its great
epic poem, and that other from which science received its
mightiest modern impulse ; for it was there that Milton
and Bacon first saw the light of life. Having told us this,
the biographer feels that he has begun at the beginning ;
and with this statement coincides the consciousness of
the individual himself. For, whatever the old philosophy
may have dreamed about the pre-existence of spirit and
the transmigration of souls, no man could ever seriously
say that he had led another life before he was born. No
man could ever tell incidents and experiences which had
occurred to him in a state of existence anterior to the pre
sent. With us, to all intents, our birth is our beginning.
In the whole history of our species there has been only
one exception. That exception occurred in the Holy
Land eighteen hundred years ago. There was a Prophet
249
250 EARLY INCIDENTS.
in Galilee remarkable for the profusion and splendour of
His miracles, and yet more remarkable for the beautiful
innocence and majestic elevation of His entire career;
and among the other peculiarities of a character unique
and outstanding this was one : He was constantly and
familiarly speaking of a life which He had led elsewhere ;
and though He had been born at Bethlehem in the reign
of Augustus, it was evident that He never regarded that
birth as His beginning. Speaking always of God as His
Father, on the eve of His expected martyrdom He con
cluded a solemn address to His chosen frievds in these
unusual words — " The Father himself loveth you, because
ye have loved me, and have believed that I came out from
God. I came from the Father and am come into the
world : again, I leave the world and go to the Father."
And so far back did that existence extend which He had
spent elsewhere, that His words once leading the Jews to
think that He claimed an age anterior to ancient Abraham,
He not only allowed it, but in words of deep significance
answered, " Before Abraham was, I AM." Nay, so remote
was that anterior existence of His, that He speaks of it
as older than creation itself; and in the freest and most
unreserved forth-pouring of His soul which the record has
preserved — in that prayer which wound up the work given
Him to do, and amidst whose closing accents He passed
to the final conflict — in the explicitness of a high con
juncture, and in the fervour of filial confidence, His lan
guage is all aglow with recollections of that blissful
association with His Divine Father which He had enjoyed
in the depths of a dateless eternity. " And now, 0 Father,
FEE-EXISTENCE. 251
glorify them me with thine own self, with the glory which
I had with thee before the world was. Unto the men
whom thou gavest me I have given the words which
thou gavest me ; and they have received them, and
have known surely that I came out from thee, and they
have believed that thou didst send me." " Father, I will
that they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me
where I am ; that they may behold my glory which thou
hast given me : for thou lovedst me before the foundation
of the world."
In harmony with which consciousness of His own is the
style of His inspired biographers. True, they relate His
birth ; but with them His birth is not His beginning. It
is His arrival from another sphere ; it is His inauguration
in human nature. It is an advent, an incarnation ; it is
not a new being called forth from the regions of nonentity.
It is our world receiving a pre-existent visitor ; it is our
humanity enshrining a celestial occupant ; and when they
chronicle the fact, Evangelists use language which at once
lifts our eyes from the cradle, and sends our imaginations
mckwards far beyond the reign of the Caesars. In the
prophetic description of His birthplace, Matthew quotes
:he words of Micah, of which the full context is, " But
;hou, Bethlehem Ephratah, though thou be little among
;he thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall he come
forth unto me that is to be ruler in Israel ; whose goings
forth have been from of old, from everlasting." And he
does not scruple to apply to the infant born there the
words of Isaiah, " Behold, a virgin shall bring forth a son,
and they shall call his name Immanuel; which, being
252 EARLY INCIDENTS.
interpreted, is, God with us." And in his allusion to the
same great incident, John tells us, " IN THE BEGINNING
WAS THE WORD, AND THE WORD WAS GOD ; AND THE WORD
WAS MADE FLESH."
As we purpose to review some of the incidents in the
earthly life of Jesus Christ, it is right at the outset to
avow our belief that His life on earth was a mere incident
in an existence which had no beginning. We deeply feel
that "great is the mystery of godliness;" at the same
time we feel that revelation leaves us no alternative. If
we accept the New Testament as a truthful record, we
must receive the Lord Jesus as " God manifest in the
flesh." The proofs of this lie scattered over all the
Scriptures, and they have frequently been collected and
arranged with admirable distinctness and irresistible
cogency. At present, we must be content to indicate a
few of those considerations which, we apprehend, will be
deemed by candid minds conclusive.
1. And our first appeal is to Christ's own language.
There are some subjects to which He seldom adverted,
apparently reserving it for another teacher to unfold them.
For example, He seldom spoke of His office. Scarcely
ever do we find Him in words express avowing His
Messiahship ; and it is only now and then, when the
avowal was to answer some important purpose, or when to
withhold it would have been disingenuous and misleading,
that " he confessed and denied not," " I am the Christ."
For instance, when the inquirer at Jacob's Well, impressed
with His prophetic insight, and just as they were about to
be interrupted by the return of the disciples from the
PRE-EXISTENCE. 253
village, — when she said, "When Messias cometh, he will
tell us all things," at such a moment, and after such a
hint, to remain silent would have been to leave a soul in
darkness ; and so Jesus answered, " I that speak unto thee
am he." In the same way, when Peter made his memor
able acknowledgment-—" Thou art the Christ, the Son of
the living God ;" and when the high priest, in his judi-
cial capacity, demanded, " I adjure thee by the living God,
that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of
God," to have kept silence would have been to perplex
His disciples and bewilder the world ; and accordingly
He gave an answer which left no doubt as to His
Messianic character.
And yet, although seldom in words express claiming to
be the Christ, He was constantly assuming it. Most of
the miracles He wrought pointed this way, and were ever
and anon suggesting to spectators the question, " When
Messias cometh, will he do more miracles than this man
doeth ? " and of His public sermons, as well as of His con
fidential addresses to His disciples, the drift was all in
this direction — issuing invitations to the one, and giving
instructions as to their future work to the other, which in
the case of any besides the promised Saviour, would have
been irrelevant and meaningless. And as in regard to His
office, so in regard to His person. As He seldom proclaimed
His errand, so He did not often enunciate His intrinsic
greatness : but as He was content to fulfil His mission, so
He allowed His glory to reveal itself; and it was only
when the interests of truth and goodness called for the
confession, that the language of tacit assumption was
254 EARLY INCIDENTS.
exchanged for an articulate and audible avowal But
just as before the hostile high priest He confessed His
office, so before the hostile populace He once and again
confessed His celestial origin, " I and the Father are one ;"
" Before Abraham was, I am ;" and the Jews, who well
understood the language, took up stones to stone him as
a blasphemer ; " because he who was a man made himself
equal with God." And just as to Peter in the presence of
the twelve, He admitted His Messiahship, so to Philip in
the presence of the rest He said, " He that hath seen me
hath seen the Father. Believest thou not that I am in the
Father and the Father in me ? " And just as to confirm
the faith of the Samaritan inquirer, He said, " I that speak
unto thee am Messias," so when to the faltering Thomas
He gave the overwhelming token which transformed his
incredulity into adoration, to his exclamation, " My Lord,
and my God!" Jesus answered, "Thomas, because thou
hast seen, thou hast believed," and accepted the God-con
fessing epithet. When we advert to the entire character
of Jesus — when we remember how He " emptied himself
and became of no reputation" — when we remember that
it was His way not so much to lift up His voice as to let
His light shine, so that His deeds rather than His words
bewrayed His intrinsic majesty — when we remember how
truthful and ingenuous, and how jealous of God's glory
He ever was, these repeated avowals acquire a vastly
greater significance ; and taken in unison with the entire
style of the Saviour's deportment, which was nothing less
than a continuous response to the voice from the excel
lent glory, " This is my beloved Son," we are shut up to
PRE-EXISTENCE. 255
the conclusion that in His own consciousness Jesus was
God.
The opposite assumption, if fatal to the Saviour's
divinity, would also appear fatal to His simplicity and
godly sincerity. It would imply that in a season the most
solemn of all His history, when a disciple prayed his
departing Master, " Shew us the Father," instead of
answering the prayer and showing what was truly equiva
lent to the Father, He had appeased the anxiety of Philip
with a play of words or a paradox. It would imply that
" the Light of the World" — the reformer who was so pos
sessed with the zeal of God's house that He drove all
intruders 'from the temple courts — was so little averse to
usurp the Divine prerogative, that when again and again
the Jews understood Him as asserting His equality with
God, rather than undeceive them, He allowed them to take
up stones to stone Him. It would imply that He who
quoted to the tempter that Scripture, " Thou shalt worship
the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve," in
accepting Himself the worship of Peter and Thomas and
others, was after all less scrupulous than the angel who
started back from John's adoration, " See thou do it not ;
for I also am of thy fellow -servants the prophets : WORSHIP
GOD."
2. The consciousness of the Saviour is amply borne out
by the language of the sacred writers. " God hath in these
last days spoken unto us by his Son — the brightness of his
glory, and the express image of his person." " Great is
the mystery of godliness ; God was manifest in the flesh,
believed on in the world, received up into glory." " Let
256 EARLY INCIDENTS.
this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus : who,
being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be
equal with God ; but made himself of no reputation, and
took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the
likeness of men." " For in him (Christ) dwelleth all the
fulness of the Godhead bodily." " Whose are the fathers,
and of whom, as concerning the flesh, Christ came, who is
over all, God blessed for ever. Amen."1 Expressions like
these, direct and indirect, constantly occurring, show that
to the habitual thoughts of primitive discipleship, the
Saviour was nothing less than Divine. Nor is it only in
didactic discourse that such assertions are continually
repeated, but the whole apostolic history goes on the
assumption of the Saviour's omnipotence and omnipre
sence ; and it is impossible to read the Book of Acts
without perceiving that every disciple of that early age
was in daily life, as well as in extreme conjunctures, ex
pecting the fulfilment of his Master's promise — a promise
which only a Divine Person could fulfil — " Lo, I am with
you alway, even unto the end of the world."
3. There are Scripture proofs of another class which we
think carry with them a peculiar charm and conclusive-
ness : we mean those passages in the Old Testament
which are undoubtedly applied to the Most High, but
which in the New Testament are as distinctly transferred
to Jesus Christ. In the forty-fifth Psalrn we read, " Thy
throne, 0 God, is for ever and ever : the sceptre of thy
kingdom is a right sceptre." But in the first chapter of
Hebrews we are told that these words are spoken by the
1 Heb. i. 2 ; 1 Tim. iii. 16 ; Phil. ii. 5-7 ; Col. ii. 9 ; Eom. ix. 5.
PRE-EXISTENCE. 257
Father to the Son. In the sixth chapter of Isaiah we
have a magnificent description of God's glory, — Jehovah
sitting on " a throne high and lifted up," and " his train
filling the temple," whilst seraphs veil their faces with
their wings, and make the temple vibrate with their
hymns of rapture. But in the Gospel of John we are told
that the spectacle which was on this occasion vouchsafed
to Isaiah was a vision of Christ's glory.
Amongst geographers there have sometimes been dis
putes as to the identity of a river. They have debated,
for instance, whether the Quorra were the same as the
Niger ; but when a boat launched on the Niger, after a
few weeks made its appearance floating on the Quorra,
there was an end of the argument : the names might be
two, but the streams were demonstrably the one the con
tinuation of the other. And sometimes a critic, indignant
at an anonymous author, has shown how much better a
well-known writer would have handled the self-same
subject — when it turns out that the nameless and the
well-known personages are in this instance identical In
the 102d Psalm, eternity and unchangeableness are as
cribed to the Great Creator ; and there is no opponent of
the Saviour's divinity who would not sing that psalm as
a fitting ascription to the Most High God : when behold !
the Epistle to the Hebrews informs us that it is a hymn
of praise to Jesus Christ ! To hail any creature, and say,
" Holy, holy, Lord of hosts ; the whole earth is full of thy
glory," we shall be told, by those who view Christ as a
creature, is blasphemy. Arid yet when we push our
inquiry up the stream of time, and go back to the period
VOL. in. K
258 EARLY INCIDENTS.
to which John the Evangelist sends us — seven centuries
before the advent — we find this identical anthem sung to
Jesus Christ by no meaner worshippers than the heavenly
seraphim ! *
Perhaps there is no doctrine on which the oracle has
pronounced so plainly and so positively ; and when to t
direct and absolute deliverance of Scripture, you add all
its incidental confirmations, the proof becomes not only
irresistible, but almost redundant and oppressive. For
instance, if Jesus be not a partaker of the Divine nature,
how strange and unaccountable the solemnity which en
circles His person whenever He is introduced in the Word
of God ! " How comes it to be such a crime to trample
on His blood ; and why is the man who loves Him not
' an anathema' ? Wherefore is it represented as such a
stretch of Divine munificence, that God so loved the
world that He gave His only begotten Son, if that Son
were a mere man or a mere archangel ? And when
Howard and other men have impoverished themselves for
their fellow-men, why should it be deemed such peerless
generosity, ' Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,
that though he was rich, for your sakes he became poor ;
that ye, through his poverty, might be rich' ? And if
the mind of the Saviour were finite, how should it need a
special prayer ' that Christ may dwell in your hearts by
faith ; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may
be able to comprehend, with all saints, what is the
breadth, and length, and depth, and height ; and to know
1 Compare Ps. xlv. 6 with Heb. i. 8 j Ps. cii. 25-27 with Heb. i. 10-14 ;
Tsa. vi. 1-4, 9, with John xii. 39-41.
PRE-EXISTENCE. 259
the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge' ?"* If
Christ were a creature, how could He promise to numer
ous disciples, " Lo, I am with you alway, even to the end
of the world" ? And how should He associate His name
with the Name supreme in such a symbol as the baptismal
dedication, " Go and make disciples, baptizing them in the
name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Ghost"?
Is there an attribute or an act of the Most High which
is not ascribed to Jesus Christ ? For example, does Jeho
vah claim eternal existence as His prerogative ? " Thus
saith Jehovah, I ani the first, and I am the last, and be
sides me there is no God." But in the Apocalypse Jesus
says again and again, " I am Alpha and Omega, the
aeginning and the end, the first and the last." Does
Jehovah claim as a Divine distinction an all-pervading
and all-perceiving presence? Does He promise to the
Church of old Israel, " In all places where I record my
name, I will come unto thee, and I will bless thee" ?
And does He say, " The heart is deceitful above all things,
who can know it ? I Jehovah search the hearts ; I try
bhe reins" ? But has not Jesus promised to the Christian
Church, " Where two or three are gathered together in my
name, there am I in the midst of them ;" " Then shall all
the churches know that I (Jesus) am he that searcheth
the reins and the hearts" ? Is creation the work of Omni
potence, and must " the gods who have not made the
heavens perish from the earth" ? But " all things were
made by the Word, and without him was not anything
1 Wardlaw on the Socinian Controversy, pp. 46-43.
260 EARLY INCIDENTS.
made that was made." "By him," that is, by God's
" dear Son," " were all things created that are in heaven,
and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they
be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers : all
things were created by him, and for him : and he is before
all things, and by him all things consist."
So thoroughly intermingled with the whole texture of
New Testament Scripture is the Godhead of the Saviour,
that no criticism which does not destroy the book can
altogether extinguish its testimony. We have seen a copy
of the Gospels and Epistles which was warranted free
from all trace of the Trinity, but it was not the Testament
of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. We beheld it, and
we received instruction. It did not want beauty ; for the
Parables, and the Sermon on the Mount, and many a touch
ing passage, still were there. But neither would a garden
want beauty if the grass plats and green bushes still
remained, though you had carefully culled out every blos
soming flower. The humanity of Jesus still is beautiful,
even when the Godhead is forgotten or denied. Or rather
it looked like a coronation tapestry, with all the golden
threads torn out ; or an exquisite mosaic from which some
unscrupulous finger had abstracted the gems and only left
the common stones : you not only missed the glory of the
whole, but in the fractures of the piece and the coarse
plaster with which the gaps were supplied, you saw how
rude was the process by which its jewels had been wrenched
away. It was a casket without the pearl. It was a shrine
without the Shekinah. And yet, after all, it was not suffi
ciently expurgated ; for, after reading it, the thought would
PRE -EXISTENCE. 261
recur, How much easier to fabricate a Gnostic Testament
exempt from all trace of our Lord's humanity, than a
Unitarian Testament ignoring His divinity !
Nor is the subject we have now been handling a barren
speculation — a mere dogma in divinity. It lies at the very
foundation of the sinner's hopes — it is full of strong con
solation to those whose awakened consciences crave a
mighty Eedeemer. The demerit of sin is enormous. Con
sidering the Majesty which sin insults and the law which
sin violates, it is scarcely possible to exaggerate its turpi
tude, and it is impossible to see how a creature can exhaust
its penalty. But Jesus is divine. The Surety is all-
sufficient. The victim is God's own Son. " Christ with
his own blood hath entered into the holy place, having
obtained the eternal redemption for us." " Ye were not
redeemed with corruptible things, as silver and gold, but
with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without
blemish and without spot." When we remember that God's
servant was in this case God's Son, we can understand how
by His obedience " God's righteous servant shall justify
many." And when we recollect that He who poured forth
His soul an offering for sin was the Creator of the ends of
the earth, who fainteth not, neither is weary — when we
remember that to all the sufferings of the Surety this value
was given that they were the sufferings of innocence, this
virtue was given that they were the sufferings of one who
thought it no robbery to be equal with God — when we
remember that on the cross of Calvary it was " God who
did sacrifice to God," we can see at once how precious is
the blood then shed, and how it cleanseth from all sin. No
262 EARLY INCIDENTS.
wonder that in Him was life, and the life was the light of
men. For His people Immanuel has gained the privilege
of being their second Adam — their new and nobler head —
restoring that life which their first father forfeited ; and
the safest existence in the universe is the life which is
" hid with Christ in God."
"Which leads us to remark, in conclusion, How secure
are the friends of the Saviour ! Our souls are lost, and
were they this night saved and given back into our own
keeping, we should soon lose them again. And were the
best and holiest man we ever knew standing surety for
their salvation, we should still have cause to tremble ; for
after the case of David and Peter, we see what dire dis
asters may befall the fairest and stateliest goodness of this
world. Nay, were an angel from heaven undertaking to
keep these souls, we might still have cause to hesitate ;
for there have been even angels who kept not their first
estate, and. how shall the kindest angel answer for my sin ?
But, reader, he who asks the keeping of your soul is Jesus,
the Son of God — that Saviour who has at His command
infinite merit to atone for its sin, and the might of omni
potence to guard it from danger — that Saviour who is one
with the Father, and who can say, "To my sheep I give
eternal life ; neither can any pluck them out of my Father's
hand." Ah, brother, an immortal soul is a pearl of great
price, and that soul alone is safe whose Eedeemer is mighty.
But were it possible to take your soul in your hand, and
transfer it as completely away to Him as you might open
a casket and give away the gem, so that for years and ages
you should see it no more, it were a wise and safe con-
PRE-EXISTENCE. 263
signment. But how is it that Jesus does ? The soul thus
surrendered He takes, and puts His own royal mark upon
it, and, though left in the casket of clay for a time, it is as
safe as any jewel in His crown. But He does not forget
it. He confides it to the care of that Heavenly Artist who
polishes its rough surfaces and grinds away its disfiguring
flaws ; and by the pains taken with it — by the old things
passing away and the new things appearing — the believer
knows that Jesus has accepted this deposit, and will claim
it in the day when He makes up His jewels. And when
guilt upbraids him, or Satan sifts him, or the King of
Terrors puts all his courage to the test, that joyful believer
can exclaim, " I know whom I have believed, and I am
persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have com
mitted unto him against that day."
II.
APPEARANCES BEFOEE THE ADVENT.
MOST of the time which Abraham spent in the Land of
Promise, he sojourned at Mamre. With its airy uplands
— its hill- sides sprinkled with olives, vines, and cherry-
trees — its turf dappled with daisies and the star-of-Beth-
lehem — it was a charming retreat ; and what made it still
more delightful was a thicket of evergreen trees, under
which he had formed his encampment. Here, in the heat
of the day, Abraham would often sit at the entrance of
his patriarchal pavilion; and as the bees murmured in
the dark foliage overhead, and soft winds passed into the
tent, it was pleasant to look through half-shut lids and
espy the herdsmen and their flocks huddled together in
the shadow of the distant copse ; and amidst the sunshine,
with its sleepy oppression, it was pleasant to close these
lids and muse on the wonderful past till slumber suc
ceeded, and life's morning in Ur, the appearance of the
God of glory, and the more wonderful future, floated and
flickered through the noon-day vision.
On one such occasion the patriarch received a remark
able visit. He observed three men approaching, and,
with the impulse of the olden hospitality, he hasted forth
264
APPEARANCES BEFORE THE ADVENT. 2G5
to meet them. As soon as he was near enough, in one of
them he perceived something so pre-eminent and prince-
like, — we could almost fancy something which so brought
to mind the days of Ur and " the God of glory," — that
with a lowly prostration he exclaimed, " My Lord, if now
I have found favour in thy sight, pass not away, I pray
thee, from thy servant ; " and then, extending his welcome
to all the three, he added, " Let a little water, I pray you,
be fetched, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under
the tree ; and I will fetch a morsel of bread, and comfort
ye your hearts." They accepted the invitation. They sat
down in the leafy shade ; and when Sarah's cakes, and the
calf from the herd, with milk and butter, were placed on
the board, they partook of the friendly cheer ; and when
they had ended their repast, and when the principal guest
had rewarded the kindness of his host by announcing that
the time at length was come, and that the son of promise
should now be born, Sarah's incredulous laughter was
rebuked by the significant challenge, " Is anything too
hard for Jehovah?"
But if any doubt as to the heavenly character of the
speaker remained, that doubt was speedily dispelled.
When the meal was ended and the day was growing cool,
the travellers resumed their journey. They set their faces
eastward, and Abraham accompanied them. They soon
reached an eminence from which they beheld a glorious
prospect. Embosomed amongst the mountains stretched
a little paradise. Fringed with palms, luxuriant with
tropic verdure, and reflecting the purple cliffs from the
tranquil bends of its glistening river, it almost looked as
266 EARLY INCIDENTS.
if a fragment of old Eden had drifted down the stream and
stranded among these silent hills ; and as the spectator
gazed on the mighty orchard, and heard the hum ascend
ing from the smokeless villages, he might be pardoned if
he envied the inhabitants of such a happy valley. But
Abraham's companions looked grave, and as the two sub
ordinates went down the steep, Abraham and the other
were left alone. That other now stood forth in Deity
confessed. He told Abraham that this lovely scene was
about to become the theatre of a fearful visitation. " The
place is fair, but the people are vile. Their sin is very
grievous. As here we stand, there comes up the lowing
of the herds, the carol of the evening bird ; but that which
reaches the ear of God is the cry of abominable iniquities
— the loose jest, the ribald song, the voice of lust and
violence. And although the landscape is beautiful, on
account of its horrible inhabitants Heaven cannot look
at it. It is time to pour over it the flaming annihilation,
and blot it out of being." And Abraham's face grew pale.
The doomed region contained those whom he dearly loved ;
and falling at the feet of the celestial speaker, he exclaimed,
" Oh, let not the Lord be angry," and with an affable and
yielding arbiter he urged his suit till he hoped that he
had won a reprieve for the guilty cities. Then " THE LORD
went his way as soon as he had left communing with
Abraham."
No one can doubt that the patriarch's Visitor was a
Divine Person ; and any one who considers the entire facts
of the case and the fitness of things, can have as little
doubt that this Divine Person was He who afterwards said
APPEARANCES BEFORE THE ADVENT. 267
of Himself, " Before Abraham was, I am," and who enun
ciated the great truth, " No man hath seen God at any
time ; the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of
the Father, he hath declared him." He it was who said,
" Shall I hide from Abraham that thing which I do ?" and
it was He who, when the two angels passed on and entered
Sodom, remained alone with the patriarch, and confided to
him the secret of the coming overthrow. It was He who,
so exorable and so ready to pardon, gave in six times over
to His servant's intercession, and said, " For the sake of
ten righteous, I will not destroy it;" and who, when a
fearful necessity inverted the vials of vengeance, " remem
bered Abraham," and rescued the kindred of His friend.
A century and a half passed on — a century and a half
of those ample and deliberate days, when incidents were
few and impressions lasted long. Abraham slept by
Sarah's side in the cave of Machpelah, but God was mind
ful of His covenant, and in the sunny world outside the
sepulchre He was making that covenant to grow. Isaac's
son and Abraham's grandson was returning from a foreign
sojourn, and was bringing with him eleven sons of his own,
and a mighty retinue. And he was nearing the Promised
Land, but still on the further side of Jordan. Word had
reached him that an angry brother was on the way to meet
him with an overwhelming company ; and, after making
the best arrangements to propitiate Esau, he was now left
alone in darkness and in solitude. To-morrow would
decide his destiny, and whilst others slumbered in the
tents, Jacob, anxious and wakeful, wandered down to
the sides of Jabbok, and cried in his extremity to the
268 EARLY INCIDENTS.
God of Bethel But instead of heaven opening, instead of
some friendly sign from the excellent glory, the patriarch
found himself suddenly assaulted. It might he Esau
himself, or it might be some supernatural opponent ; but
it seemed as if a man were wrestling with him, bearing
him backward, twisting, thrusting, and straining, and
striving to hurl him to the ground. It was a strange,
mysterious conflict, with no spectators except the stars,
and in a silence only broken by the babbling of the
brook; yet, silent and insuperable as he was, Jacob
began to feel that his opponent was not an enemy. He
was not an enemy, and yet he withstood the pilgrim's
prayer ; and though Jacob " wept and made supplication,"
as well as struggled in his earnest agony, he could not
extort his request, till the day-spring closed the strife,
and with a touch that left him lame for life, and with a
blessing that made him illustrious to all eternity, the
angel vanished. "And Jacob called the name of the
place Peniel ; for I have seen God face to face, and my
life is preserved." Jacob gave the place a new name,
and God gave a new name to the patriarch. " Thy name
shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel ; for as a prince
hast thou power with God and with man, and hast pre
vailed." The supplanter had come out in a new charac
ter, and earned a new title. By this valiant constancy
as man with man, he had evinced himself a hero and a
king of men; by this fervid importunity as a creature
with his Creator, he had come out a prince of believers, a
favourite with Heaven, the conqueror of condescending
Omnipotence, a pattern of perseverance in prayer.
APPEARANCES BEFORE THE ADVENT. 269
Two centuries and a half passed on — four hundred
years since the flames of Sodom were quenched in the
Dead Sea, and its ashes buried in that sullen sepulchre.
The descendants of Abraham and Israel were now bonds
men in Egypt ; and in the grim solitudes of Sinai, one of
the proscribed race, a man who had been reared in a
palace, but who was now reduced to do the work of a
herdsman, was watching the flock, but was revolving
higher themes, when he was suddenly startled by a
strange phenomenon. A blaze of light drew his eyes in
the direction of a certain shrub or tree, which for a
moment he might have fancied had caught fire ; but
although with its brilliant pyramid it outshone the moon,
he quickly noticed that it was not really burning. It
was transfigured, and its leaves and branches shone as
through a tent of flame ; but instead of curling and
crackling in the heat, it continued unconsumed, and from
its excellent glory a voice hailed the astonished exile :
" Draw not nigh, but put off thy shoes from off thy feet ;
for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground."
Had this been all, Moses might have imagined that " the
angel of the Lord" who appeared to him in the bush, and
whose voice he now heard, was a mere ministering spirit,
one of the many members of the heavenly host ; but the
speaker, " angel" as he was, went on to add, " I am the
God of thy father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac,
and the God of Jacob." Then Moses hid his face, and
from between the leafy cherubim and from within the
flaming canopy the voice proceeded : " I have surely seen
the affliction of my people in Egypt, and I have heard
270 EARLY INCIDENTS.
their cry : and I am come down to deliver them, and to
bring them unto a good land and a large, a land flowing
with milk and honey. Come now, therefore, and I will
send thee unto Pharaoh, that thou mayest bring forth my
people, the children of Israel, out of Egypt." And when
the timid Hebrew trembled at the task, when he shrank
from the prospect of appearing before Pharaoh, in order
to disarm his fears the speaker added, " Certainly I will
be with thee." Accordingly, from the New Testament
we gather that the Son of God, the Saviour, accompanied
that exodus ; that it was His voice which shook Mount
Sinai ; that it was He whom the murmurers tempted at
Massah, when so many were destroyed of serpents ; and
that He was the spiritual rock of whom the believers
among them drank as oft as they resorted to their Divine
conductor and unfailing companion.1
The significance of these passages is considerably im
paired, owing to a certain vagueness which attends the
use of the word " angel." That word we are apt to
associate with celestial beings, higher than ourselves,
but inferior to the Creator. And doubtless the whole
heavenly host are angels ; but there is nothing to prevent
a Divine Person, or a human person either, from acting
as an angel. An "angel" means a "messenger" or
"missionary," an "envoy," "one who is sent;" and just
as early evangelists were angels or messengers of the
Church, so the Son of God was the messenger or angel
1 Heb. xii. 26 ; 1 Cor. x. 9, 4. The evidence on this subject is arranged
with consummate ability and clearness in Principal Hill's Lectures on
Divinity, book iii.
APPEARANCES BEFORE THE ADVENT. 271
of the Father. And the only way to educe a consistent
meaning from the passages now quoted, is to merge for a
moment the ambiguous intermediate word, the "angel,"
and fix our regards on the two extremes — the " Man" and
"the Mighty God"— in one word, Messiah, the Divine
Missionary, the Messenger of the Covenant, God mani
fest in flesh, the Angel-Jehovah.
With this clue how readily all the dispensations run
into one another, and how real is the identity of all
believers ! Yes, the Divine Friend, with whom Enoch
walked, is the same as He who on the road to Emmaus
made the heart of Cleopas and his comrade burn within
them ; and that Alpha and Omega of all his affections
who well-nigh detached from the imprisoning rock and
the encumbering clay the exile of Patmos, is the same
Jesus who by another name talked with our sinless pro
genitors in the fragrant bowers of Paradise. He who
said to Moses going up to a fierce tyrant, " Certainly I will
be with thee," is the same Saviour, so sympathetic and
so mighty, who said to apostles going out into a frowning
world, " And lo ! I am with you alway !" and He whom
the eastern monarch saw walking in the midst of the
burning pile with the three unscathed martyrs, is the
same "Son of Man" whom through the opened heaven
Stephen saw at the right hand of God, and to whom, with
latest breath, he cried, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit."
Nay, that Almighty Friend who was the sole companion
of the Hebrew Lawgiver's dying hour, and who took all
the charge of Moses' funeral, is the same who said of
Himself, "I am the Eesurrection and the Life," and
272 EARLY INCIDENTS.
whose own lifeless form at last was laid in Joseph's
sepulchre.
And do we err when we fancy a resemblance between
these earlier visits and certain incidents which happened
after the eventual Incarnation ? Is there nothing in the
burning bush which transports our thoughts to Tabor ? and
in the awful attraction which made Moses "draw near," and
the overwhelming glory which next instant bore him to
the dust, was there nothing akin to that consciousness of
encircling heaven which made the spectators at once bury
their faces and yet cry from the midst of their amazement,
" Master, it is good to be here " ? At the ford of Jabbok
is there nothing which sends us away to the coasts of
Tyre and Sidon, and, as a twin-picture to the father
wrestling for all his family, exhibits a poor, weak woman
importuning for her only child, till He who said to the
one, " Thy name shall be called Israel, for as a prince
thou hast prevailed with God," amazed at a faith such as
He had found, " no, not in Israel," at length yielded to a
tenacity which silence, and rebuffs, and seeming reluctance
could not shake off, exclaiming, " 0 woman, great is thy
faith : be it unto thee even as thou wilt " ? And in that
God-like form which looked down so sadly on the doomed
and lovely cities of the plain, and which, for the sake of a
redeeming few, would so willingly have saved, is there no
resemblance to One who, two thousand years thereafter,
stood upon a neighbouring height, and, looking down on an
other doomed but lovely city, burst into tears, and cried, "If
thou hadst known in this thy day the things that belong
to thy peace ! — but now they are hid from thine eyes."
APPEARANCES BEFORE THE ADVENT. 273
The attire may alter, but the wearer does not change.
The missionary may talk one language in England and
another in India; but his mind is in either land the
same. The attire, the mode of manifestation, the expres
sive actions, the style of language vary, as they fit into
the several ages, from the primitive archaic time down to
the days of the Gospel story : but throughout we can
recognise ever reappearing the self-same Eevealer of the
Father, the self- same Prophet of the Church — that very
Son of God who saved the first sinner, who saved the
worst, and who seeks to save ourselves — " Jesus Christ,
the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever." And, on the
other hand, as far as the fundamental ideas are concerned,
the Church of God on earth has all along been one. It
has always been on the ground of an atonement, whether
anticipated or accomplished, that the sinner has found
pardon and acceptance. It has always been through the
Mediator — through the Manifester of the Father and the
Saviour of men — that the believer has held communion
with God. And in this sense, — as sinners who pleaded
the Great Sacrifice; as believers who communed with
palpable and articulate Deity, who worshipped the Angel-
Jehovah, who adored God manifest in the flesh, — all alike
have been Christians. Malachi was a Christian, and
Zechariah, and Isaiah. The sweet singer of Israel was a
Christian, and there was no truer Christian in this sense
than Moses himself. The father of the faithful was a
[Christian, and so was Noah, and so was Enoch, and so,
e would fain hope, was the father of mankind — the
it Adam himself.
VOL. III. S
III.
THE ADVENT.
AUGUSTUS was Emperor.
From the Atlantic to the Euphrates — from where the
legions were arrested by the snows of Sarmatia north
ward, and the sands of Libya southward, the world was a
Eoman farm ; and with all its lovely islands and fruitful
shores, the Mediterranean was a Eoman lake. Mauritania
and Numidia, Egypt, Palestine, Syria — the countries now
known as Turkey, Germany, Spain, France, Belgium, Hol
land, Britain — all received their laws from the Italian
capital, and all sent it their tribute. With its hundred
and twenty millions of subjects, this region included the
whole of the old world's intelligence, and nearly all its
wealth ; and though many of the conquered nations were
fierce and strong, they had been effectually subdued, and
were now overawed by an army of 300,000 men. With
its beak of brass and its talons of steel the great eagle
had grappled and overcome the human race, and the
whole earth trembled when from his seven-hilled eyrie
he flapped his wings of thunder.
There was nearly universal peace. By the courage anc
consummate generalship of Julius Caesar, the most for-
274
THE ADVENT. 275
midable nations had already been vanquished ; and since
the death of Pompey, and the conclusion of the civil war,
the Empire, undivided and undisputed, was swayed by a
single autocrat.
The pagan culture had culminated. The exquisite
temples of Greece had begun to go to ruin, and in that
land of sages there arose no new Pythagoras — no second
Socrates. But the genius of Rome had scarcely passed
the zenith. Seneca was born in the same year with John
Baptist. Thousands still lived in whose ears the musical
wisdom of Cicero lingered, and who had read, when newly
published, the sublime speculations of Lucretius. It was
but the other day that the sweet voice of Virgil had fallen
mute, and only eight years since the tomb of Maecenas
had opened to admit the urn of Horace. Under its sump
tuous ruler Rome was rapidly becomiDg a mountain-pile
of marble palaces — baths, temples, theatres — the proudest
on which sunbeams ever sparkled ; and, with his enorm
ous wealth and all-commanding absolutism, the Roman
citizen was the lordliest mortal whom luxury ever pam
pered — the most supercilious demi-god who ever exacted
i the adulation of his fellows.1
Yet, amidst all this civilisation, it was a time of fearful
I depravity. In regions so remote as Britain and Germany
It is worthy of remark, that the victory of Arminius, which gave the first
I ominous check to the world's conqueror, did not take place till A.D. 9. (See
Decisive Battles.) Of Roman wealth, some idea may be formed from
I the fact that in one triumph Julius Caesar brought home to the public trea
sury twelve and a half millions sterling, and in four years the private fortune
I of Seneca the philosopher was augmented by more than two millions of our
I money. The reader of Horace and Juvenal will not need to be reminded of
[the vanity of the imperial Roman, nor of that gross flattery on which it
(subsisted.
276 EARLY INCIDENTS.
it was scarcely surprising that dark superstitions should
prevail, and that hecatombs of little children should be
immolated by the fiends of the forest. But in Rome
itself, under all the outward refinement, coarse tastes and
fierce passions reigned ; and the same patrician who at a
false note in music would writhe with graceful agony,
could preside imperturbable over the tortures of a slave or
a prisoner : and to see him overnight shedding tears at one
of Ovid's Epistles, you would not guess that he had all
the morning been gloating on the convulsions of dying
gladiators. Busts of Cato adorned the vestibule, but bru
tality and excess ran riot through the halls ; and it was
hard to say which was the most abandoned — the multi
tude who still adored divinities the patrons of every crime,
or the scholars who laughed at superstition and perpetrated
crimes worthy of a Mars or Jupiter.
This was the time which the Most High selected for the
greatest event in human history. On the one hand, it was
a time of tranquillity. The wars of long centuries had
ceased. Men's minds were not absorbed in the contests
of dynasties, nor agitated by the burning of their capitals
and the desolation of their homes. And a lull like this
was favourable for the commencement of a moral move
ment which concerned the whole of Adam's family. On
the other hand, the world was old enough. For four thou
sand years the great experiment had been going on, and
man had been permitted to do his best to retrieve the ruin
of the Fall. It seemed, however, as if every struggle were
only a deeper plunge ; and betwixt the exploded nostrums
of philosophy, and the corruption of the times, the world
THE ADVENT. 277
was grown weary of itself. A dry rot had got into the
ancient faith, and idolatry and hero-worship tottered on
their crumbling pillars. Satiety or disgust was the pre
vailing mood of the wealthy; revenge and despair gnawed
the heart of the down-trampled millions. For tribes which
had lost their nationality, and for citizens who had sold
their hereditary freedom, there was no spell in the past ;
and amongst a people who had lost faith in one another,
there remained nothing which could inspire the fervour
of patriotism. It was felt that if extrication ever came,
it must come from above ; and even in heathen lands,
hints gathered from the Hebrew Scriptures, or prophetic
particles floated down on the muddy tide of pagan my
thology, began to be carefully collected and exhibited in
settings of the richest poetry, till the bard of Mantua
sang of a virgin, and an unprecedented offspring descended
from high Heaven, who should efface the traces of our
crimes, and free from its perpetual fears the world — in
whose days the lion would be no terror to the ox, and the
deadly serpent should die. Betwixt the general peace
which prevailed, the hopeless wickedness, and the general
wearying for a change, " the road was ready, and the path
made straight." "The fulness of time was come, and
GOD SENT FORTH HlS SON."
As the time was fulfilled, so the place was prepared.
Two thousand years before, the Most High had marked
off the land of Canaan, and had separated from the rest
of mankind the family of Abraham, and, by a series of
remarkable interpositions, had provided and preserved a
cradle for the comins incarnation. For the first two thoti-
278 EARLY INCIDENTS.
sand years, the promise was public and promiscuous. The
world's Redeemer might be born anywhere, and might
spring from any family. There was nothing to prevent
His advent at Ararat or Olympus — nothing to preclude
His descent from Japheth or from Ham. The only thing
certain was, that He was coming, and that he was to
descend from Eve the mother of us all. But five centuries
after the flood a restricting process began, and by a series
of limitations the promise was rendered more and more
precise. First of all, God chose a certain Chaldee family,
and Abraham was pronounced the chosen progenitor of
Messiah. Then a further restriction was made, and of
Abraham's two sons the younger was taken. By and by
the choice was still more narrowed, and of Isaac's twelve
grandsons the dying Jacob predicted that in Judah's line
must Shiloh come. And in this latitude the promise con
tinued for many centuries, till to one of Judah's descend
ants it was revealed that amongst his posterity should
be that mighty Prince, " whose name shall endure for
ever, and whom all nations shall call blessed." The same
exhaustive process which at last left David's family the
favoured and eventful line, made Palestine, then Judah,
and finally the little town of Bethlehem, the predestined
and distinguished locality. So that when Malachi laid
down the pen, and for the four centuries following, during
which heaven opened no more, and the voice of inspira
tion was hushed, the decree was gone forth, and both the
place and the pedigree were conclusively fixed. Not of
Greek or Trojan ancestry, not in the hoary line of the
Seleucidse nor in the haughty house of Csesar, but beyond
THE ADVENT. 279
all dispute, and all rivalry aside, in the lineage of David
would Messiah appear ; and neither Memphis nor Babylon,
.neither Athens nor Rome, no, nor even the holy city, no,
not even Jerusalem, but of all places in the world, though
so little among the thousands of Judah, should Bethlehem-
Ephratah be the spot for ever eminent, " out of which
should that Ruler appear, whose goings forth have been
from of old, from everlasting."
Over the family and the region thus selected a special
Providence watched, and the world's history supplies no
parallel to the fortunes of the peculiar people who were
to be Messiah's progenitors. All along and divinely pre
destined as the receptacle of incarnate Deity, the land
was in the occupancy of gigantic idolaters when Jehovah
presented it to Abraham; but if the Canaanites could
have entertained any fear of the old and childless pilgrim,
their fears must have vanished when they saw his great-
grandsons saddle their asses anol creep away down into
Egypt, a hungry and poverty-stricken company. Ages
passed on, and in all the promised land there were no
tidings of its preposterous claimants, except that they
were now the thralls of Pharaoh, and never likely to quit
the brick-fields and burning kilns of On. But at last a
rumour ran that the slaves had escaped ; and if they ever
got disentangled from the Arabian desert, they might
possibly revisit their ancient seats, and renew their an
cestral claim. But to the tall Anakim, to the Jebusites
perched aloft on their rocky fortresses, and to the Canaan
ites scouring the plain in their chariots of iron, there was
only a theme of derision in the approach of the motley
280 EARLY INCIDENTS.
multitude. At last, however, with its mysterious pre
cursor — with its cloudy ensign moving before — that multi
tude began to darken the eastern bank of the Jordan, and
the men of Jericho could see them, phalanx by phalanx,
condensing just over against their city. But deep and
wild the river ran between, and the wanderers had neither
boat nor pontoon : and high and strong the ramparts rose,
and the wanderers had neither scaling-ladder nor batter
ing-ram. Yet on, still on, the strangers pressed ; and oh,
wonderful ! the river started back, and curbed its waters
till the whole had passed. On, still on, the strangers
strode, and round and round the rocky citadel they stalked
in mystic marches, till a harsh and horrid blare had seven
times sounded, and, like a mud- hovel in the jaws of an
earthquake, the castle walls crashed in and poured their
dusty ruin far and near. On, still on, that invading billow
spread and poured — a charmed host unused to soldiership,
and with scarce a sword among them ; and from the
frown of their guiding Pillar, and from the flash of their
oracular TJrim, the embattled squadrons of Philistia melted
and disappeared, till from Judah's milky pastures, all^
across Jezreel's golden granary, on to the wine -purpled
skirts of Lebanon and the honey-dropping cliffs of Carmel,
the land swarmed with the chosen race, and fulfilled
Heaven's oath to faithful Abraham.
Nor less surprising was that Providence which herme
tically sealed the favoured region, and which, segregating
from all the peoples of the earth the people of Israel, and
infusing its distinctive element into the national mind,
kept Hebrew nature from ever again mingling and getting
THE ADVENT. 281
merged in the common human nature. How wonderful
the wisdom which, like naphtha in a fountain or like
amber in the sea, ever floating, never melting, amidst
every dispersion, in Egypt and in Babylon, kept the race
distinct ! How determinate the counsel and foreknowledge
of God which fixed on the all-important portion of the
Hebrew family, and, letting go as of no account ten tribes,
protected and preserved the wonder- freighted Judah ! How
evident the mind of God in that home-instinct which,
when other deported tribes settled down in inglorious
quiescence — like those sea-creatures which, riven from
the rock, still cling to it with their long tentacula, gave
Judah feelers long enough to stretch across seventy years
of exile, and which, beside the waters of Babylon, still
kept him clasped to Jerusalem, and painfully quivering
till once he returned ; and how all-seeing that Eye, which,
amidst the few thousands of rescued captives, made sure
of Zerubbabel, and amidst the ransomed who returned to
Zion saw safely on his way David's descendant and Mary's
grandsire ! And oh, how wonderful that counsel and ex
cellent that working which brought about the fulness of
the time — which deferred the advent till the world was
at its worst, and the race to be redeemed was in its sorest
need — and which yet, in a general peace, secured an
audience and an entrance for the forthcoming Gospel, and
which in universal empire, in the great arterial roads and
ubiquitous presence of the Eoman conqueror, prepared for
its glad tidings the swiftest transmission ; which, planting
Messiah's cradle on the summit of the hollowed mine,
took care that He should be born before that mighty
282 EARLY INCIDENTS.
explosion burst which was to tear in shreds each Hebrew
pedigree, and leave not a Jew within fifty miles of Beth
lehem; and as soon as that advent was over came the
blaze of the great catastrophe, dispersing the Jewish
people over all the world, confusing all their families,
consuming all their genealogies, and making it utterly
impossible that another Son of David should be born in
David's town !
The prophetic and providential preparation being thus
complete, " The Word was made flesh."
" It was in the time of great Augustus' tax,
And then He comes
That pays all sums,
Even the whole price of lost humanity,
And sets us free
From the ungodly empery
Of sin, and Satan, and of death." l
With God there is no forgetfulness. With Him there
is nothing formidable. With Him a thousand years are
as one day.
It was exactly a thousand years since a promise had
been made to David, that a son of his should possess
universal sovereignty. " He shall have dominion from
sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth.
All kings shall fall down before him ; all nations shall
serve him, and shall call him blessed. In his days shall
the righteous flourish, and abundance of peace so long as
the moon endureth." And it looked almost possible that
this promise might be fulfilled in the sumptuous Solomon.
His dominions were vast, his reign was pacific ; and whilst
1 Jeremy Taylor.
; THE ADVENT. 283
with, the omnipotence of wealth he had piled up on the
heights of Zion whole quarries of marble and forests of
cedar, he had filled the world with the fame of his wisdom.
But neither Solomon nor Solomon's son fulfilled the
prophecy ; and ever since that day the Hebrew monarchy
had been dwindling more and more, till now the sceptre
of Judah had grown a truncheon, short and shabby, and
was wielded by a usurper's foul and servile hand.
Meanwhile, the descendants of David — where were
they ? You see this grassy dingle, rimmed round with its
fifteen hills, and a village on the slope of one of them — a
beautiful spot, abounding in birds and flowers, corn-fields
and gardens, and with a fine fresh air often stirring the
oaks and the mulberries, and sweeping a powdery cloud
up the dusty streets. That village is Nazareth — a charm
ing seclusion, but its inhabitants are not a gainly people.
They are coarse, lawless, uncivil, and with their broad
patois and sulky independence, they are no favourites
with their neighbours. But among them is at least one
good man, a widower of the name of Joseph. All through
the week he labours diligently in that shed of his, with
James and his other sons around him, making ploughs
for the farmers, bowls and kneading -troughs for the
matrons, spears and arrows for the hunters. But on the
afternoon of the sixth day the finished implements are
sent home, and the scene of industry is swept and
garnished. The saw and the hammer are hung from the
rafters, and, fragrant with cedar-dust and chips of pine,
the shop is left to silence and solitude, whilst, released
from his toils, the weary artisan enters his cottage to
284 EARLY INCIDENTS.
light the Sabbath-lamp, and then ascends the brow of the
hill where stands the synagogue. To that same synagogue
repairs the carpenter's youthful kinswoman and affiance4
bride. Meek, single-hearted, devout, she listens reverently
whilst the Law and the Prophets are read, and as the
songs of Zion are chanted to David's own tunes, her soul
ascends on the wings of psalmody. That lily among
thorns, that maid of Nazareth, and that toil-worn crafts
man, Joseph the carpenter, are the descendants of the
imperial Solomon, the representatives of the old Hebrew
royalty.
Five hundred years before this, a Hebrew prophet lay on
the banks of a Babylonian river in an agony of patriot
ism and prayer, and the burden of each petition was the
return of the captivity and the rebuilding of Jerusalem.
At the close of the intercession a celestial courier appeared,
and told him more than he had asked to know. Not only
did he foretell the building of Jerusalem, but he an
nounced matters far more momentous. He told the time
of Christ's coming, and how, " after seventy weeks," re
conciliation should be made for iniquity, and an everlast
ing righteousness should be brought in, causing sacrifice
t
and oblation to cease.
And now that the period had arrived, and this great
promise was about to be fulfilled, the same heavenly envoy
was despatched to the scene of the evolving mystery.
Desirous to look into these things, angels watched his
flight. But it was on no lordly mansion that Gabriel
descended. Not even in that Holy Land did Tiberias,
with its shadowy bowers and rosy terraces, attract his
THE ADVENT. 285
feet ; nor Cesarea, with its princely villas, laved by luxu
rious seas ; nor Jerusalem, with its ancient palaces ; and
what seemed stranger still, not even David's city, the
favoured and predicted Bethlehem. But speeding straight
towards this outlandish upland village, out of which no
good thing had ever come, and which had never once
been named in the whole Old Testament story, he dis
charged his great commission, and announced to the meek
and lowly virgin that of all Abraham's daughters it was
herself who was destined to be the mother of Messiah.
She should have a son, JESUS by name, and " he shall be
great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest ; and
the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father
David; and he shall reign over the house of Jacob for
ever ; and of his kingdom there shall be no end."
Tidings of great joy, when shut up in our feeble minds,
grow terrible. The distinction which had come to Mary
was one that had for ages lent a dignity and sacredness
to the entire Hebrew sisterhood; and now that Mary
found it concentrated in herself, the realization was over
whelming, and the promise which faith did not stagger to
receive, it seemed as if reason must stumble to carry.
There was no one in that Nasareth to whom she could
impart the amazing announcement, and therefore it was
a relief to remember that the angel had mentioned her
own cousin Elisabeth as the subject of a like interposi
tion; and far away as was the hill country of Judah,
Mary made up her mind to the journey, and resolved to
seek out her venerable relatives in their highland home.
A certain parity of years is usually essential to frank
286 EARLY INCIDENTS.
communion, and to the sympathy which springs from a
thorough mutual understanding. But when the heart is
sore troubled, we are apt to look a little upward. "We
want something superior to ourselves to which to cling —
something older, wiser, or better. Had it been any ordi
nary news or any worldly project, it would have been
natural to talk it over to some village companion. But
an event so sacred and solemn — an event which had
suddenly linked Mary's humble history to the whole of
human destiny, and which, if " highly favoured," had
also made her feel herself fearfully distinguished — such
an event she had no heart to confide to any Nazarene
neighbour. But in that distant parsonage there dwelt a
godly pair — kind, considerate, strong in the sagacity of
the single eye, and bright with the benevolence of an
alluring piety. Perhaps Elisabeth might be able to throw
some light on the angel's message; at all events, Mary
would find soothing and support in that calm and prayer
ful dwelling.
How she journeyed we do not know ; but as she neared
the house of Zacharias, many thoughts would arise in her
mind. Now would be decided whether what the angel
had told about her cousin Elisabeth were true, or whether
the whole were not a strange delusion — a wild waking
vision. But how astonished they would be to see her I
and how was she to explain her errand ? As she neared
the spot difficulties started up which she had not thought
of in her impetuous outset, and the house of the Levite
looked more formidable at the journey's end than when
viewed from the cottage in Nazareth. There was no one
THE ADVENT. 287
stirring out of doors, and no one noticed her approach.
She ventured in, and so softly did she steal into the quiet
chamber that its only occupant, a matron advanced in
years, did not observe her entrance. " Cousin Elisabeth,
all hail !" trembled from a gentle child-like voice, and
instantly springing up and turning round, with a look
such as Mary had never seen in her kinswoman before —
such a look of awe and ecstasy — the older exclaimed to
the younger, " Blessed art thou among women, and blessed
is the Son thou shalt bear ! And how is it that the mother
of my Lord should come to me?" Eeassured by a salu
tation so akin to the antecedent miracle, the soul of Mary
rushed forth in the rapid and tuneful inspiration of that
" Magnificat" which is repeated in the audience of millions
day by day : —
1 My soul doth magnify the Lord,
And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.
For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden :
For, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.
For he that is mighty hath done to me great things ;
And holy is his name ;
And his mercy is on them that fear him,
From generation to generation.
He hath shewed strength with his arm ;
He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He hath put down the mighty from their seats,
And exalted them of low degree.
He hath filled the hungry with good things,
And the rich he hath sent empty away.
He hath holpen his servant Israel,
In remembrance of his mercy ;
As he spake to our fathers,
To Abraham,
And to his seed for ever."
IV.
BETHLEHEM, AND THE FIRST VISIT TO JERUSALEM.
MARY remained in the hill-country of Judea three
months, and it was doubtless a profitable season which
she spent in that peaceful seclusion. True, the venerable
Levite was dumb. As a reproof for his incredulity he had
been domoed to a temporary silence ; but in the dwellings
of the righteous there is an atmosphere of re- assuring tran
quillity even when the voice of rejoicing is hushed, and
when familiar footfalls are heard no longer. Perhaps, too,
Zacharias prayed the more when cut off from wonted
converse ; and the circumstances attending his bereave
ment added another sign to the many wonders of this
eventful season : whilst the soul of her youthful visitor
imbibed new faith from the cheerful converse and experi
enced piety of the " blameless" Elisabeth.
Returning to Nazareth, and, in consequence of a Divine
admonition, recognised by Joseph as his affianced bride,
" the handmaid of the Lord" was soon called to under
take another pilgrimage. An ancient prophecy, possibly
overlooked or obscurely known by Mary, had fixed on
Bethlehem in Judah as the birthplace of Messiah. But
to that town Mary had no errand ; when, in the determi-
288
BETHLEHEM. 289
nate counsel and foreknowledge of God an incident fell
out which sent her thither. It occurred to Csesar Augus
tus to take up a census of Palestine ; and in order that
the enumeration might be systematically conducted, all
the inhabitants were ordered to rendezvous at the head
quarters of their respective families ; and, as descendants
of the royal family, Joseph and his wife set out for David's
city.
Bethlehem was a long village, straggling on the ridge of
a grey limestone hill, a few miles south from Jerusalem.
Its inhabitants prided themselves on their great fellow-
citizen, who had founded the Hebrew monarchy. They
could show the stranger the fields where he had herded
his sheep — where he had practised his sling on the kites
and the eagles — where he had fought the bear and the
lion. They could show the well at the gate which he had
drunk of so often, and the field to which his grandmother
came a timid young gleaner ; and from the airy crest of
the town they could point out the purple heights far away
where Euth spent her childhood — the mysterious strange-
languaged mountains of Moab.
That evening when Joseph and Mary arrived, Bethlehem
looked beautiful : for we have reason to believe that it was
the sweet season of spring. It was pleasant to get away
from the bustle and crowd of Jerusalem — out to the open
air — out to the freshness of the country. It was pleasant
to tread among daisies, anemones, and stars of Bethlehem ;
and very sweet was the breath of the budding vine, very
eet was the odour crushed from the herbage by the tread
of the pilgrims. It was pleasant to hear from yonder fig-
VOL. in. T
290 EARLY INCIDENTS.
tree shade the voice of the turtle, and more pleasant still
the merry shouts of boys and girls playing in the hamlets '
as they passed — and most pleasant of all was the voice of
mutual endearment with which the travellers beguiled the
last stage of their journey.
And now, as they reached the village entrance, and went
in through the sounding gateway, the loungers gazed at
the North- country carpenter and his beautiful wife ; but
little did any one guess that in the arrival of these lowly
visitors a prophecy was fulfilled, and Bethlehem ennobled
beyond all the thousands of Judah. There was an unusual
bustle in the streets. The same decree which had brought
one party from Nazareth had summoned many families
from other corners of the Holy Land. The village over
flowed ; and as when people come together, released from
wonted avocations and doomed to necessary idleness, there
was much wandering to and fro — much talk and buzz —
perhaps some foolish merriment. Eagerly did the Gali
lean strangers seek the inn. It was impossible. There was
no room. Others had been refused already. Nor was
there any private house or friendly lodging that would take
them in ; and weak and weary as she was, Joseph was
thankful when he found for his partner a resting-place in
the stable.
The night soon gathered. The shouts of the revellers
fell silent in the khan, and stillness enfolded Bethlehem.
It was that soft season when Eastern shepherds lodge in
the fields all night, and a party of these humble peasants
kept their bivouac on the adjacent hills. They were David's
hills, and as they sat around their watch-fire, and listened
BETHLEHEM. 291
to the wolf's " long howl " from yon dark valley, perhaps
they sang, " The Lord's my shepherd : " —
" Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale,
Yet will I fear none ill :
For thou art with ine ; and thy rod
And staff me comfort still ! "
As the mild stars glittered, and among them that strange
new one which had lately lit up their firmament ; as the
thyme gave out its fragrance to the dew, and nothing stirred
except where some wakeful lamb was nibbling the cool
grass, most likely the weary men were sleeping. But
something brilliant burst into their slumber, and, starting
up, they found a mysterious daylight round them, and a
shining form before them. They were terrified, for they
knew that it was an angel. But he said, " Fear not : for
I bring you good tidings : —
" To you, in David's town, this day
Is born, of David's line,
The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord ;
And this shall be the sign :
The heav'nly Babe you there shall find
To human view display'd,
All meanly wrapt in swaddling-bands,
And in a manger laid."
Hardly had the angel ceased, when the sky brightened
with sudden splendour, and melted into music : —
" Glory to God in the highest,
On earth peace,
Good- will toward men."
Oh, it was exquisite that burst of seraphic melody ! and
as it lapped the listeners round and round, it seemed to
sever from all sin : it brought God so near, and filled the
292 EARLY INCIDENTS.
spirit with such peace, that the soul could easily have
been beguiled out of the body — and as its liquid whisper
brought them back and laid them on the earth again,
they held their breath in hope that the chorus might
burst again. But the guard of honour was going home.
The light, the music gathered up itself, and as the pearly
portals closed, the air fell dark and dead.
Yes, the angels were gone home again to heaven. But
the shepherds said to one another, " Let us go to Bethlehem,
and see this thing which has come to pass, which the Lord
has made known to us." Entering the village, and hasten
ing towards the khan, they saw a lamp burning in the
stable, and entering in, there assuredly was the new-born
babe, wrapped in swaddling-clothes, and lying in a man
ger. And that is Christ the Lord ! That infant is the
Saviour! Heaven's gift and earth's benediction ! Oh, what
a waking will evolve from the soft slumber ! Glory to
God and peace to the world are calmly sleeping in that
cradle !
They told Joseph and Mary what it was that brought
them; and as they described the angel's visit, and the
aerial orchestra, and repeated all that they had heard, a
holy gladness filled the mind of the virgin mother, and
the joy of the Lord was strength to her. The shepherds,
too, forgetful of all that must happen before that infant
could be a man, but feeling as if it were all fulfilled already,
went their way, praising God ; and for long they trod their
hills with recollected step, as favoured men should tread
on holy ground ; and in the night would sometimes awake
and listen, fancying that angelic harps had floated by.
BETHLEHEM. 293
Eight days passed on, and, with the old Hebrew rite,
the babe was named. How He should be called, there
was no dispute ; for the angel had fixed His name before
hand. And so His name was called JESUS.
A month passed on, and according to another appointed
usage, His parents went up to Jerusalem. On this auspi
cious occasion, had they been rich, they would have taken
a lamb and a dove as their offering ; and had it been a
royal churching, there would have swept into the temple
courts a splendid cortege, rustling in silks, and blazing
with jewels, and the highest functionaries of the temple
would have awaited in gorgeous attire the princely pro
cession. But when a poor woman entered, with a babe
on one arm, and a little basket with two young pigeons
on the other, the whole thing was so common, that the
officials were glad to hurry through the ceremony as fast
as possible : and although the Lord, whom they pretended
to seek, was " suddenly come to His temple," His arrival
would have arrested no notice, if it had not been for the
keener susceptibility of two veteran devotees. To one of
these, Simeon, it had been specially revealed, that he
should not die till he had seen the Messiah ; and just as
Joseph and Mary were slowly ascending the steps of
Moriah, the Holy Spirit revealed to him, " He is come !
He is come !" If, for a moment, Simeon expected an
imperial presence — a crowned head, and a sceptred hand
— his agile faith was not taken aback, and he betrayed
no disappointment at the lowly babe : but instantly clasp
ing Him in his arms, he cried, —
294 EARLY INCIDENTS.
" Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,
According to thy word :
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,
Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people ;
A light to lighten the Gentiles,
And the glory of thy people Israel."
And as the parents marvelled at the old man's rapture,
and as he handed back to Mary the heavenly child, he
added, " This child is set for the fall, and for the restora
tion of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be
spoken against, that the thoughts of many hearts may be
revealed ; yea, and a sword shall pierce through thine
own soul also." And whilst he spoke, the group was
joined by an ancient prophetess, a well-known frequenter
of the temple precincts, where she lingered all day, and
near which she lodged by night. Anna came up, and,
sharing Simeon's expectant spirit, she also shared in
Simeon's ecstasy. " Coming in that instant, she like
wise gave thanks to the Lord, and spake of him to all
them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem."
The words of Simeon, including his hymn of praise,
and his address to the mother of our Lord, derive a charm
not only from their piety and the peculiar circumstances
in which they were uttered, but they are striking as the
last of the Messianic prophecies. In this final and con
centrated prediction, we have in brief compass a sketch
of Christ's character and office, and are foretold the for
tunes of His gospel in the world. Like the large-hearted
and far- stretching seers of old, but quite unlike the "rude
mass" of his modern compatriots,1 Simeon exults in the
1 Olshausen.
FIRST VISIT TO JERUSALEM. 295
catholicity and comprehensiveness of the great salvation.
Perhaps with Isaiah's cadence in his ear, " In this moun
tain shall the Lord of hosts make unto all people a feast
of fat things, a feast of wines on the lees ; of fat things
full of marrow, of wines on the lees well refined,"1 he
describes this great salvation as " prepared before the face
of all people ;" and whilst as a patriot he celebrates "the
glory of Israel," as a prophet he hails " the Light of the
Gentiles." Yes, it is not Abraham, nor David ; it is not
Moses, nor Solomon; but it is Jesus who is to be the
glory of Israel ; and other nations may boast of having
yielded sages and saints, but it is Israel's boast to have
yielded to the world its Saviour. To the world, for Israel's
glory is the Light of the Gentiles. When the Egyptian
princess gazed on the bulrush ark, she did not think that
the babe there weeping was to be a mightier man than
any Pharaoh of them all, and should leave a name to out
last the Pyramids. But when Simeon gazed on the virgin's
child, he knew its mighty destinies, and his heart beat
thick to think how soon from these swaddling-bands
would unfold, not Israel's second Lawgiver, but the Light-
giver to mankind. Yes, this spark of immortality, this
soft and cloud-like innocence, is yet to flame forth the
Sun of Eighteousness, and, all unlike the giant of the
firmament, who can only lighten a single hemisphere
with his world- embracing beams, Jesus shall lighten
every land ; and although exhalations from the abyss
may for a season intercept His beams, whatever spot
admits them — Waldensian valley or Bohemian forest,
1 Isaiah xxv. 6.
296 EARLY INCIDENTS.
Lapland hut or English palace, that spot, deriving light
direct from heaven, will be a Goshen amid surrounding
gloom.
Peculiar privileges are accorded to eminent piety. It
is possible that Simeon and Anna may not have been
altogether alike ; but they were both of them remarkably
good. The one was "just and devout;" a man of up
rightness and probity, as well as of religious profession ;
an old cedar, sound at the core, and with his branches
green ; by the godly loved for his heavenly-mindedness,
and by all men revered for his virtues. And Anna —
there was one thing which she desired of the Lord, and
sought after, that she might dwell in the house of the
Lord all the days of her life, to behold His beauty, and
to inquire in His temple. Since her own dwelling had
darkened, and she left, mayhap on Asher's sounding
shore, the husband of her youth, she had sought no other
home than God's own house. Her Maker was her hus-^
band, and she knew no dearer joy than to serve Him
with prayers and fastings night and day. At early dawn,
when the crimson east was reflected from the temple-
gates, and before the silver trumpets had sent their
warbling summons to royalty asleep in yonder palace, and
to the population dreaming on yon smokeless house-tops,
Anna often was waiting and ready to enter as soon as the
guards had flung open the ponderous doors. And at
night, when the Levites had refreshed with new fuel the
golden altar, and the lamps burned clear in the holy
shrine ; when the outer court was hushed — for traders
FIRST VISIT TO JERUSALEM, 297
and worshippers were mostly gone — and lights began to
flicker from the cloister windows, with nothing to lure
her back to mortal dwellings, and with God himself, her
sun and shield, to retain her where she was, Anna was
among the last to withdraw. But in whatever they re
sembled or differed, Simeon and Anna were alike in their
piety. They were both of them loyal to the God of their
fathers. They were both of them saintly survivors of the
simple faith of an earlier time. And they were both of
them expectant believers, who had Christ in their hearts
long before they found Him in their arms. They looked
for redemption ; they longed for the consolation of Israel
And He who gives grace for grace surprised His servants
with a rare and remarkable blessing. For one thing, he
endowed them with the spirit of prophecy. Since Malachi,
inspiration had vanished from the Holy Land ; and it was
at once a sign of the Advent, and a distinction conferred
on these two eminent worshippers, that in them, amongst
the first, the silence broke, and the lost gift was revived.
Anna the prophetess was the successor of Miriam and
Deborah ; and Simeon summed up that long series of
Messianic prophecies to which David and Isaiah had been
the largest contributors. The secret of the Lord is with
them that fear Him. And it was in virtue of this prophetic
power that they were enabled to detect their own felicity ;
for the same Holy Spirit who awakened in them the
longing for Christ's day, told them when Christ was come.
By making them pure in heart, He fitted them for seeing
God; and by making them prophets, He assured them
that it was God whom now they saw. The Angel of the
298 EARLY INCIDENTS.
Covenant was paying His first visit to the temple, but the
numerous danglers at its gates saw nothing but an infant
carried in. The worshippers in the courts knelt, and kept
repeating, " Speedily, speedily ; Lord, come to thy temple
speedily;" and little dreamed that the answer to their
prayer was actually arrived. The hirelings at the altar
saw a poor couple approach, and contemptuously eyed the
scanty offer. And even the priest presiding little sur
mised his high prerogative ; he little thought that his
mitred predecessor, who at that same altar had awaited
the Queen of Solomon, was less distinguished, and that, in
days to come, no prelate at an emperor's christening would
receive into his arms so august an infancy. But what was
hid from worldly sagacity, and from sacerdotal formalism ;
what was hid from the wise and prudent, was revealed to
the meek faith and penetrating eye of these Heaven-
taught worthies ; and however long or short they tarried
after this, Simeon and Anna trod the streets of Jerusalem
with a consciousness which its proudest citizen might
envy. They had seen the great salvation. They had seen
the Christ of God. They had received into their hands,
and pressed to their adoring bosoms the promised seed, the
woman's Son, the Man Jehovah. To them it was no
longer faith, but sight. Their new economy had dawned :
their New Testament existence was begun. They had
found their Gospel in yonder temple, and whenever they
departed from this world they would leave Immanuel in it.
This incident also shows us that before leaving the
world, God's people are made willing to go. Up to that
moment, Simeon would have been loath to depart ; but the
FIRST VISIT TO JERUSALEM. 299
instant he saw this great salvation, he was in haste to be
gone. Sometimes, in pacing the shore of that great ocean
which you are soon to cross, solemn thoughts have arisen :
" Why this clinging to mortality ? Why this love of life,
this fear of dying ? Can I belong to Christ, and yet so
deprecate departing to be with Him ?" But if you are
really His, He will arrange it all most excellently. The
wicked may be driven away in their sins, or they may be
dragged to a dreaded tribunal ; but the believer will tarry
till he can say, " Now, Lord, lettest thou thy servant
depart in peace." And this the Lord usually effects by
loosening that chain which held him to this life, or by
presenting such a strong attraction that the chain is
broken unawares. The summer before good old Professor
Wodrow died, " Principal Stirling's lady came in to see
him," as his son, the historian, tells us ; " and he said to
her, ' Mrs. Stirling, do you know the place in the new
kirkyard that is to be my grave V She answered she did.
Then,' says he, ' the day is good, and I'll go through the
Principal's garden into it, and take a look of it.' Accord
ingly they went, and when they came to the place, as
near as she could guess, she pointed it out to him, next
to Principal Dunlop and her own son and only child.
He looked at it, and lay down upon the grass, and
stretched himself most cheerfully on the place, and said,
' Oh, how satisfying it would be to me to lay down this
carcass of mine in this place, and be delivered from my
prison ; but it will come in the Lord's tune.' " 1 But
1 Life of James Wodrow, A.M., Professor of Divinity in the University of
I Glasgow, p. 180.
300 EARLY INCIDENTS.
although, for more than forty years this cheerful Christian
had never one day doubted his heavenly Father's love, it
was not till his own dear children had gone before, and
till manifold infirmities made the flesh a burden, that he
felt thus eager to put off the tabernacle. That was the
weaning process. Nevertheless, the Lord has other ways.
Were you prematurely rending the calyx which contains
the coming rose or lily, perhaps it would refuse to blow
at all, or at best you would only get a crumpled stunted
flower. God's way is better. With gushing summer He
fills the bud within ; with sap and strength He makes it
glad at heart, till the withering cerement bursts, and the
ripened fragrance floats through all the air of June. The
soul must be ripe within, and then it easily puts off this
tabernacle. And nothing matures it faster for that im
mortal expansion than an abundant joy. And just as,
after a continuance of cold and gloomy days, you have
seen one balmy sun-burst let loose whole fleets of waiting
blossoms — so a single bright incident, one smile from
Jehovah's countenance, will be the propitious moment
when the soul would gladly quit the body of sin, andi
breathe the better air for ever. From the hour he was
shown that gory vesture, and realized his Joseph torn to '
pieces, Jacob had nothing to desire in life, and knew no
attraction greater than the grave. And yet he had not*
heart to die. It was not till that amazing hour when he
found weeping on his neck the child so long lamented,
and saw, in stalwart strength and regal grandeur, the!
very form which he had so often pictured in the lion's
crunching jaws, that Israel said to Joseph, " Now let me
FIRST VISIT TO JERUSALEM. 301
die, since I have seen thy face, because thou art yet alive."
" I am happy. I have nothing more to wish. This glad
ness gives me strength to go." And so with many of
God's servants. Like Simeon — though perhaps without
Simeon's promise — they are waiting for something. They
could die happy if they were only more assured of their
interest in Christ, or if they only saw the good work
begun in some soul very dear to them. They would
gladly depart if they might first witness some great salva-
;ion — if they might only behold the destruction of Anti
christ, or the triumph of the Gospel in the world. Perhaps
in His great indulgence the Lord grants the very blessing ;
3ut at all events He knows how to put such gladness in
"he heart that glory shall surround the soul before it has
leisure to surmise that the body is dissolved.
Of all these antidotes to death, there is none like Jesus
in the arms. Of all those attractions which charm the
spirit into everlasting life, there is none like the desire to
depart and be with Christ. That we may understand it,
let us pray for the Holy Spirit, who made Simeon's eye
BO perspicacious, and Simeon's heart so warm. Let us
seek to see in Jesus what Simeon saw, and then we, too,
may feel what Simeon felt.
Is Jesus our salvation ? God has prepared a feast of fat
things before the face of all people ; — have we found satis
faction in the heavenly provision ? or, like the rich ones
of earth — the self-righteous, the voluptuous, and the ration
alists — are we passing empty away ? In the atonement
wrought out by God's dear Son, do our faint and sin-hurt
souls welcome a cordial like reviving wine ; and have the
302 EARLY INCIDENTS.
Saviour's words of grace come to our spirits like cold water
in the desert to a thirsty soul? Have we ever felt the
hunger after righteousness ? and, listening to Christ's holy
words, have we ever perceived in them a Divine delicious-
ness ? and feeling as if our souls began to live by them,
have we been ready to exclaim, " Lord, evermore give us
this bread"? Are we satisfied with the Lord's Christ,
and with his sin- cleansing, soul-renovating salvation ?
We are Gentiles : Is Jesus our " light" ? Is Jesus our
Sun ? Has He shone upon our path, and do we now see
the way to immortality? Has He revealed to us the
Father, and we who once sat in darkness, do we now see
God as holy, yet forgiving ; as righteous, and yet recon
ciled ? Is Jesus our Loadstar ? Do we love Him ? Do
we eye Him ? On the deep, do we steer by Him ? In
the desert, do we direct our steps by Him? Are His
wishes law to us ? Is His pattern our incentive ? His
"Well done" our ample recompense? And has Jesus
made us luminous ? Are we radiant with grace and truth
received from His fulness ? Does His spirit shine in us ?
Do those that know our meekness, and charity, and zeal,
and courage, take knowledge of us that we have been with
Jesus ?
The last sand from Time's hour-glass
Shall soon disappear ;
And like vapour shall vanish
This old-rolling sphere.
Off the floor, like the chaff-stream
In the dark windy day,
From the fan of destruction
Shall suns drift away ;
FIRST VISIT TO JERUSALEM.
303
And the meteors of glory
Which 'wilder the wise,
Only gleam till we open
In true worlds our eyes.
But aloft in God's heaven
There blazes a Star,
And I live whilst I 'm watching
Its light from afar.
From its lustre immortal
My soul caught the spark,
Which shall beam on undying
When the sunshine is dark.
So transforming its radiance,
In strength so benign,
The dull clay burns a ruby
And man grows divine.
To the zenith ascended
From Joseph's dark tomb,
Star of Jesse ! so rivet
My gaze 'midst the gloom ;
That thy beauty imbibing
My dross may refine,
And in splendour reflected
I burn and I shine.
V.
THE WILDERNESS.
BEAUTIFUL were the bowers where man woke up to
existence, and nothing could be lovelier than the scene
destined to prove the decisive battle-field of human his
tory. The representatives of our race had great advan
tages. They were strong in spirit. To one another they
were bound by fondest affection, and their Creator was '
their companion and friend. They had not the least cloud
on their conscience, nor the slightest infirmity in their
frame. They were healthy, and holy, and happy. The
stake was immense, and the interests involved were enor
mous. The stake was two worlds, and the depending in
terests were a hundred generations. But though all was
so favourable ; though every motive was so urgent, and ;
the means of resistance so great, no defeat could be more
dire and disastrous. Heaven was forfeited, and earth was
enslaved. The vanquished combatants became the prey
of the victor, and all their descendants were thencefor
ward the captives of Satan, given over to the bondage of
corruption. — An overthrow which was mainly owing to
the tremendous power of the adversary. Originally one
of the mightiest of created beings, he had fallen from his
304
THE WILDERNESS. 305
high estate, and, retaining most of his strength and intel
ligence, he had become the enemy of God and all good
ness. For the ends of Infinite Wisdom, along with his
[associate angels, allowed a temporary range, he was devot-
[ing the interval to the perpetration of all the evil which
malice could suggest or craft could carry through; and
in the progenitors of a new and noble family he found a
target on which he resolved to spare no arrows — a speci
men of the Creator's handiwork, which he hoped and
rowed to demolish. His plans were skilfully laid ; and,
partly by a cunning ambush, and partly by a stroke of
istounding audacity, he conquered, first the one and then
;he other ; and, as he retreated from the scene, a momen-
,ary exultation swelled his fiendish breast ; for snakes
hissing and beasts of prey were roaring ; there was
ison in the streams, and sulphur in the air ; there was
ildew on the flowers, and a creeping death through all
e garden ; whilst — rarest joy to his devil's heart ! — the
mt-partners of Paradise were upbraiding one another,
d as, in anger, and shame, and terror, they skulked into
|he shade, those to whom their Maker had so lately been
eir chiefest joy, were wishing that there were no God
tall.
" For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that
e might destroy the works of the deviL" To spoil the
oiler, to destroy destruction, and to lead captive capti-
ity, was His godlike enterprise ; and we are now come
the first of those conflicts which are to end in over-
•ning the empire of Apollyon. Adam was a champion,
d so was Christ. Each represented a race. Adam
VOL. in. u
306 EARLY INCIDENTS.
represented mankind ; Christ represented His Church, or
humanity redeemed. And just as in the old heroic times,
it was not unusual for the leaders of opposing hosts to
challenge one another, and fight out the quarrel in single
combat, whilst either army looked on ; so now, in the
history of redemption, we are arrived at another of these
single-handed encounters, which makes the opening of the
Gospels as solemn and eventful as the outset of the Bible.
No sooner was Jesus baptized than the Spirit bore Him
away to the desert, and on very purpose that He should
engage in this combat. " Then was Jesus led up of the
Spirit into the wilderness, to be tempted of the devil."
For this the time was the fittest, when He was newly
designated to His high office, and before He had entered
on its manifold engagements ; and, we may add, no time
of spiritual preparation could be fitter, than when the
voice of complacent Deity still lingered in His ear, and
His soul was still rejoicing in that oil of gladness with
which He had been anointed above all His fellows.
Wherever the desert was, it must have been a very
lonely place ; for Mark tells us, " He was with the wild
beasts." What a contrast to the lot of the first Adam
does this single coincidence suggest ! Here are the wild
beasts, and here is one in God's own image — and these
dumb creatures know Him. It is the lion's den and the
mountain of leopards, but night by night the pilgrim lays
Him down and takes His quiet sleep fearing no evil : and
in the day-time, assured by His mild aspect, the conies oi
the cliff gambol at His feet, and the rock-pigeon circles i
fond gyrations round that attractive gentleness on whom
THE WILDERNESS. 307
the celestial dove so lately rested. But except this hom
age of the mute creation, there is nothing that looks like
Eden ; no fragrant alcove, no woodland songsters, no
murmuring rills, no ripe clusters dropping into earth's
green lap : but the dry ravines, and the staring precipices,
and the burning sand, pinnacles blasted by the sirocco and
glazed by the lightning — the haunt of the satyr and the
nest of the vulture — arid, calcined, hot — the embers of a
world in ruin, the skeleton from which the paradise has
been torn off and hurled away.
But here, amidst the silence, Jesus found a sacred occu
pation for the six successive weeks. Eeleased from the
toils of Nazareth, and from its interruptions, He had con
tinuous leisure to meditate on the work given Him to do,
and the Son of Man became familiar with those high
thoughts which had ever been habitual to the Son of God.
Doubtless, prophetic Scripture extended its panorama to
His eye, and one by one He pondered those things con
cerning Himself which must now have an end ; and for
the work given Him to do He fortified His willing soul
by every consideration which the joy set before Him —
the glory of God and the salvation of man — could supply.
Without intruding too far into the seclusion of this long
Sabbath, we believe the tuneful theologian has not greatly
erred in saying : —
" Through that unfathomable treasury
Of sacred thoughts, and counsels, and decrees,
Built in the palace of eternity,
And safely locked with three massy keys,
Whereof Himself by proper right keeps one,
With intellectual lightness now He ran.
308 EARLY INCIDENTS.
And there He to His human soul unveil'd
The flaming wonders of Divinity ;
A sea through which no seraph's eye e'er sail'd,
So vast, so high, so deep those secrets be.
(God's nearest friend the soul of Jesus is,
Whom He admits to all His privacies.)
There in an adamantine table, by
The hand of goodness fairly writ,
He saw his Incarnation's Mystery,
The reasons, wonders, and the ways of it :
Then freely ranged His contemplation, from
His scorned cradle to His guarded tomb." *
For most of the period, the absorption of His mind
made Him independent of the body ; but " when he had
fasted forty days and forty nights, he was afterward an
hungered." He found Himself weak and exhausted, and
had there been a field of standing corn, or a fig-tree — nay,
had there been the Baptist's locusts and honey — He would
doubtless have taken food and sustained His fainting soul.
And just at this instant there joined Him a stranger — the
first He had seen in this desolate spot — and made a sug
gestion. Not improbably in the guise of a holy hermit,
possibly assuming to be one of John's disciples, who, in
the eagerness of his devotion, had followed the Messiah
into His retirement, and was at last rejoiced to overtake
Him ; he pitied His emaciation, and said, " If thou be the
Son of God, command that these stones be made bread."
It was the devil in disguise. He had his doubts whether
Jesus were indeed the Son of God, and the fiery dart was
barbed at either end. If Jesus were not the Son of God,
He would be very apt to try ; and failing to make loaves
1 Beaumont's Psyche (1702), canto ix. 145-7.
THE WILDERNESS. 309
from the stones, Satan's anxiety would be ended; the
Prince of Darkness still might keep his goods in peace.
On the other hand, if Jesus were indeed God's Son, what
could be a simpler expedient? Surely His heavenly
Father had forgotten Him. No manna had fallen from
the sky ; no raven had brought Him bread and flesh ; —
no, never once all these forty evenings. If not speedily
relieved, He must sink and die; and then what would
become of all His projects ? If He was to be the Saviour
of others, it was His first duty to preserve His own life, and
how could He do this in a way more innocent or more
worthy of His own exalted origin ? See these stony frag
ments — these petrified cakes of bread ; they invite you to
transform them ; you have but to say the word, and,
lo ! you have instantly spread for yourself a table in the
wilderness.
Nothing could have been easier ; but that simple thing
would have stopped the world's salvation. It would have
been the tragedy of Eden re-enacted — the story of the
Forbidden Fruit repeated. Nothing could have been
easier ; and He who a few days after made water into
wine, could have given the command, and nectar would
have foamed from the crag, and a board laden with the
rarest viands would have risen from the ground. But, in
that case, the bread which came down from heaven would
have been recalled, and this world of empty hungry souls
must have been left to pine and perish. In doing it, in
using for His own relief those miraculous powers which
he held for a specific purpose, He would have renounced
the form of a servant, and would have violated a great law,
310 EARLY INCIDENTS.
on which the whole of His incarnate history proceeded.
That law left all the circumstances of His outward lot to
be determined by His Father's good pleasure ; and just as
He never used for His own comfort those resources which
were the constant enrichment of others — as in subsequent
days He never bade fountains gush for the assuagement
of His thirst, nor over- canopied with a miraculous shelter
His own houseless head — as He did not, when surrounded
by priestly myrmidons, give the signal to angelic legions,
nor startle the mocking crowd by descending from the
cross — so now He would neither astonish the tempter, nor
outrun the course of God's Providence by summoning a
repast from the dust of the desert. Eecallingthat passage
where Moses tells Israel how, in regions where corn never
grew and flock never fed, the Most High had regaled them
with feasts from the firmament, He reminded His specious
adviser that the fiat of Jehovah is sustenance as sure as
the produce of the fields. Like the dexterous and scarcely
perceptible movement of the skilful swordsman, the text
at once transfixed the temptation, and the adversary reeled
back when reminded, " Man shall not live by bread alone,
but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of
God."
Such was the first temptation, and such was its success
— a success very different from that subtle insinuation
which opened the fatal parley under the Tree of Know
ledge, " Yea, and hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every
tree ?" Here, there was no surprise, no hesitation, no
encouragement to follow up the hinted doubt by a bold
denial ; but like a flaming missile which drops into a
THE WILDERNESS. 311
vacuum, and instantly expires, that fiery dart found
nothing in the holy soul of Jesus ; and before it had time
to smoulder into a wrong desire, or the smallest spark of
sin, the fire was out, the dart was dead — the temptation
never tempted.
This first incident may teach us the subtlety of Satan.
There can be little doubt, we think, that in the first in
stance the tempter came, if not as an absolute angel of
light, at least in some harmless form, and with friendly
professions. Whether " the aged man, in rural weeds,"
whom our great bard has pictured — or the " old man his
devotions singing," whom an earlier poet1 represents as
" lowting low with prone obeisance and curtsey kind " —
'or, as we have ventured to suggest, some modest and
ingenuous-looking inquirer — there was assuredly nothing
in his aspect to alarm suspicion, or draw from the horrified
beholder, a " Satan, avaunt !" And if his mien was
plausible, his speech was smooth. Along with his desire
to identify the Saviour, he wished still more to stagger His
faith ; and such is the audacity of him, who, if possible,
would deceive the very elect, that on this occasion he
sought to make the very Christ an infidel. " If thou be
the Son of God ! " " If that was a true testimony which
you received at Jordan — if you believe that voice which
you so lately heard from heaven, though present appear
ances, methinks, belie it — if you really believe yourself to
be the beloved Son of God, command these stones to be
made bread." And yet, though the blasphemy was so bold
that you would fancy it must have affrighted its author,
1 Giles Fletcher.
312 EARLY INCIDENTS.
it did not disturb his composure, nor did it agitate his
mind so as to interfere with his cunning. And although
to the Prince of Darkness it was a critical moment, and
not impossibly might hurl him into an instantaneous and
deeper perdition, such self-control had long practice in
all atrocities given him, that he was able to enter on the
awful experiment without any visible tremor, and could
put forth his suggestion with all the nasiveti of innocence,
and all the kindness of anxious compassion.
And not to say that the villany is worst which is the
most graceful and accomplished, the temptation is, to a
religious or respectable man, the most dangerous, which
solicits him to the doing of some little thing. Dr. A.
Clarke had a very attentive hearer, who was often much
affected by the Word, but who never could find peace in
believing. At last he turned ill, and after many inter
views, Dr. Clarke said, " Sir, it is not often that God deals
thus with a soul so deeply humbled as yours, and so
earnestly seeking redemption through the blood of His
Son. There must be a cause for this." The gentleman
raised himself in bed, and fixing his eyes on the minister,
told how, years ago, taking his voyage to England, he saw
some merchants of the place give the captain a bag of
dollars to carry to a correspondent. He marked the
captain's carelessness in leaving it rolling on the locker
day after day, and, for the purpose of frightening him, he
hid it. No inquiry was made, and on arriving at their
destination, the merchant still retained it, till it should
be missed. At last the parties to whom it was consigned
inquired for it, and an angry correspondence commenced ;
THE WILDERNESS. 313
hearing of which the gentleman got frightened, and re
solved to keep his secret. The captain was thrown into
prison, and died. " Guilt," added the dying man, " had
by this time hardened my mind. I strove to be happy
by stifling my conscience with the cares and amusements
of the world — but in vain. I at last heard you preach ;
and then it was that the voice of God broke in on my
conscience, and reasoned with me of righteousness and of
judgment to come. Hell got hold upon my spirit : I
have prayed ; I have deplored ; I have agonized at the
throne of mercy, for the sake of Christ, for pardon ; but
God is deaf to my prayer, and casts out my petition :
there is no mercy for me ; I must go down into the grave
unpardoned, unsaved." The captain's widow was still
alive, and to her and her children Dr. Clarke was the
medium of paying over the sum, with compound interest,
obtaining an acknowledgment, which he kept till his
dying day ; and soon after, the conscience-stricken peni
tent died in peace, having obtained the hope of pardon.
But the incident illustrates the subtlety of Satan. The
man was respectable, and had it been put to him, " Are
you capable of stealing ? Do you think you could commit
a murder? Are you one that could allow an innocent
man to languish in prison for your crime, and go down to
the grave covered with infamy, for a fault which, not he,
but you committed ?" " Is thy servant a dog ?" would
have been the indignant reply to the revolting suggestion.
But for fine-grained timber, for oaks and cedars, the devil
has sharp wedges, as well as coarser instruments for
ignoble natures ; and here the edge was very fine ; a
314 EARLY INCIDENTS.
trick — a practical jest— a frolic — but a frolic which, like
many fools' firebrands, ended in a sad conflagration ; in
theft and murder, in orphanage and widowhood, in the
ruin of a reputation, and in the misery and remorse of
the perpetrator.
As a set-off, we may mention a simple incident in the
life of a pious servant. She was in a family where next
to nothing was given for religious or charitable objects ;
and one morning, in arranging one of the rooms, she
found a bag containing a number of guineas. The temp
tation instantly occurred, " Should not I take two of these
gold pieces ? I could get silver for them, and I know
several poor people who stand in great need of some
assistance. But if I do not give it to them, I am sure
that not one farthing of the money will ever go that way."
It was a plausible suggestion — for her object was benevo
lent ; and as she went on with her work she still thought
of the gold pieces and the shivering poor, till she made up
her mind that to take them was perfectly right. With
this view she was returning to the bag, when these words
of God rushed into her memory, "I hate robbery for
burnt- o ffering ;" and, scared away by this opportune
scripture, the temptation fled, and the poor servant
escaped as a bird from the snare of the fowler.1 She had
the advantage of being not only respectable but religious,
and He who on this occasion rescued her from the snare
of the devil, kept her by His mighty power to an honoured
old age, and a joyful departure. For her escape this
humble disciple was indebted to the self- same weapon
1 Jean Smith. By the Rev. J. Morison, Port-Glasgow.
THE WILDERNESS. 315
which the Captain of her salvation wielded in the wilder
ness — that sword of the Spirit which is the Word of God.
Jesus greatly needed bread, but the tempter dared not
hint to Him to procure it by means of fraud or violence.
The utmost he could hope was that, wearied out with
long waiting, He might be induced to help Himself, and,
instead of trying to live any longer on the Father's mere
promise, that He might adopt a suggestion which would
appease His hunger and injure no one. And as it is this
" bread" which forms our great necessity, so it is to un
believing and unchristian ways of procuring it that we are
mainly tempted. The devil does not say to us, " Drill a
hole in yonder jeweller's shutter: forge a bank-note:
knock down a passenger and steal his purse ;" but he
says, " You must live, and in order to live you must have
bread. You have tried every way, but God has done
nothing for you. This waiting won't do — you must see
to yourself. Suppose you take a ticket in the lottery, or
try your luck at cards or billiards ? Or what would you
say to open a public-house, or take shares in a Sunday
tavern ? You have a fine voice ; you might sing in the
choir of a Popish chapel. You have a turn for recitation ;
I have seen many a worse actor on the stage." And in
this way, by making the bread that perisheth the prime
necessity, and the soul a thing quite secondary, many
have been tempted to gamble, to borrow from their em
ployer's till, to open shop on Sunday, to use the balances
of deceit, to forge, to purloin, to peculate — till at last, en
tangled by snare upon snare, they sank down reprobate
and reckless, disgusted with this world, and despairing of
316 EARLY INCIDENTS.
the next one, scarcely caring, and never hoping to burst
that bond of iniquity in which the devil leads them
captive at his will.
PART II.
FOILED in one stratagem, the tempter instantly tried
another; and that other was not only necessitated but
was most likely suggested by the failure of the first. In
his dealings with mankind, the devil had so often found
virtues leaning to frailty's side — he had reaped so many
of his greatest successes by pressing good points to an
inordinate extreme, that he hoped to extract some sin
from the excessive faith of Jesus. It would appear the
greatest delight of the incarnate Son to depend on the love
and power of His heavenly Father ; might He not be in
duced to carry that dependence too far, and so render it
not devout but presumptuous ? Was there no fine stroke
which would convert this faith into fanaticism ? Accord
ingly, the scene was changed ; and no longer in the waste
and howling wilderness, they found themselves in the
Holy City and on the battlements of the Temple. Look
ing down from the dizzy elevation, they had a full view
of all the worshippers ; and His assiduous attendant at
once suggested to the Saviour that He should cast Him
self down into their midst. " You are the Son of God ?
You are about to begin your ministry ? "Where more fitly
can you commence it, than here in God's own house?
THE WILDERNESS. 317
And in what manner more striking can you make your
first manifestation to Israel, than just by floating down,
from the clouds, as it would look, into the centre of that
throng? The Messenger of the Covenant would then,
indeed, be suddenly come to His temple, and instant
acclamations would welcome the Heaven-descended Mes
siah." Further, having in the previous encounter not
only detected Jesus' faith in God, but His fondness for
Scripture, with wonderful adroitness the tempter turns it
to his purpose — not merely assailing what he suspected
to be the weak point, but plying that point with what he
deemed the most effective weapon. " Your trust in God
is wonderful Such is your confidence in His promises
that you would not help yourself to food, for fear of show
ing doubt or impatience. You spoke as if you could
subsist on these promises. If they will do for food, they
will surely do for wings. Here is an opportunity of show
ing your sincerity. / say to you, cast Thyself down ; and
God says He shall give His angels charge concerning Thee,
and in their hands they shall bear Thee up. There is no
escape. If you be the Son of God, you must give me this
sign. The promise is buoyant. The air teems with angels;
and upborne in their hands you will not hurt your foot
on the pavement."
Need we say how alien from the entire genius of Christ's
procedure such a demonstration would have been? Radiant
with Divine energy as He was, He veiled His glory, and
reserved His resources ; and even when in after days a
wonder was wrought, the most wonderful thing was the
simplicity with which it transpired. So little was done
318 EARLY INCIDENTS.
for effect, so little of scenic glare or intentional display
was there in the miracles of Jesus, that His familiar
attendants saw Him constantly opening blind eyes, heal
ing incurables, and raising the dead without feeling as if
aught very strange were taking place. Not only had they
come to regard Him as one from whom such things pro
ceeded spontaneously, and very much as things of course,
but He had a way of doing them which, although it added
to their eventual sublimity, lessened their tfclat at the
moment. Like Himself and His kingdom, Christ's miracles
came without observation. There was nothing dramatic
or explosive about them. No trumpet sounded before
hand — no flush of exultation followed ; but whilst the
lame man was yet leaping, and the crowd was still gazing,
Jesus went on His way. His mighty deeds were not the
rare efforts of a borrowed power, but the forth-letting of
a familiar and redundant omnipotence ; and being wrought
by a Divine Personage in a holy disguise, He had rather
to restrain than exhibit His resources. Convincing and
endearing, they did not dazzle nor excite ; and, in short,
like the fiat of the Creator, which might any moment add
a new lily to the field, or a new lamp to the firmament,
the mighty deeds of Jesus were neither noisy portents nor
ostentatious prodigies, but miracles — the stately emana
tions of that mighty Will which does nothing for display,
and to which the hosannahs of a crowded temple, or the
shouts of Morning Stars, would be alike a poor requital.
To introduce Himself to the Jewish people by a flight
from on high, would have been to commence on a key
note entirely out of unison with His lowly ministry ; and,
THE WILDERNESS. 319
besides, it would have pandered to that taste for the mar
vellous, which prefers to a Godlike miracle a vulgar pro
digy. Satan knew this, and so knew the Saviour. But
instead of arguing the question, the Captain of salvation
fell back on, " Thus it is written." Scripture is the inter
preter of Scripture ; and just as one Divine perfection may
set limits -to another — as God's wisdom may be the limit
of His power — as His truth or holiness may be the limit
of His benevolence — so, in Scripture, one truth may be
the limit of another ; or, as in the case before us, a precept
may be the limit of a promise. It is true God gives to
His angels a charge concerning His saints, but then He
gives His saints a charge concerning themselves ; and if
the angels are not to forget the saints, neither are the
saints to tempt the Lord their God. Observe the con
dition, and the result is infallible. Fulfil you the precept,
and God will fulfil the promise. But to leap from this
pinnacle when there is no end to be answered — to spring
into the air when it is not God, but Satan, who gives the
command— this is to tempt Jehovah ; and God's will must
be done, even although the doing of it should look so
pusillanimous as to provoke a sneer from the devil.
A most instructive incident, teaching us the importance
of comparing Scripture with Scripture. A text may be
wrested — witness the tempter's quotation ; but the Scrip
tures cannot be broken — witness the Saviour's retort.
Some people split the Bible. They set aside all the pre
cepts, and appropriate all the promises ; they cull out all
the doctrines, and do away with all the duties ; and in
this one-sided fashion they never become the blessed and
320 EARLY INCIDENTS.
beautiful characters which that Bible could make them.
Like those quadrumanous mimics of mankind whose hand
lacks an opposable finger, their thumbless theology goes
on all-fours, and it bears the same relation to revealed re
ligion as the ape or the satyr bears to humanity. Others,
again, select from the Bible a series of ethical maxims ;
and, ignoring all which it reveals of sin and the Saviour,
they treat it as a manual of excellent morality. Their
model has all the form and features which go to constitute
ethical symmetry or ideal perfection ; and like the strings
or clock-work which bends the limbs and opens and shuts
the eyes of such a figure, it may not be without impulses
and motives of its own ; but, as long as it lacks a soul,
after all it is only an automaton. That character is alone
complete where life develops in symmetry — where love
to God inspires the heart, and His revealed will decides
the conduct.
An instructive incident, further, as showing the differ
ence between faith and fanaticism. Faith listens to God's
voice, and follows where Scripture leads it by the hand.
Fanaticism has inward lights, and mystic voices, and new
revelations, and scorns the sober ways, the good old paths
of the written record. Faith compares Scripture with
Scripture, and with docile patience gathers from its sun
dry places the entire mind of the Spirit. Fanaticism,
when it deigns to consult the Word at all, is proud and
precipitate, and pouncing on the text which serves its
turn, has no tolerance for any other which would restrict
or expand its meaning. Faith has a creed of many arti
cles, and its decalogue has ten commands. Fanaticism
THE WILDERNESS. 321
resolves morality into a solitary virtue, and its orthodoxy
is summed up in a single tenet. Such a fanatic, had he
heard on the temple-roof a whisper in his ear, " Cast thy
self down hence," would scarcely have waited to ascertain
whether the voice came from a good spirit or a demon ;
or had he paused for a moment, and then been reminded
of the promise, " For he shall give his angels charge con
cerning thee," he would have felt it a crime to hesitate.
But he that believeth will not make such haste ; and
after hearing both the suggestion and the Scripture proof,
that great Believer to whom it was addressed held up to
the proposal the torch of truth, and declared it presump
tuous and Heaven-provoking.
Eeader, try the spirits. Error is often plausible, and
the most ensnaring errors are those which have an obvious
resemblance to truth. Even though the outside coating
is not brass but real gold, the leaden coin is none the less
a counterfeit ; and, like the devil's temptation, wrapped
up in a Scripture saying, many false doctrines come now-
a-days with a sacred or a spiritual glamour round them
— quoting texts and uttering Bible phrases. But the
question is not, Who has got a text on his side ? but,
Who has got the Bible ? — not, Who can produce certain
sentences torn from their connexion, and reft of the pur
port which that connexion gives them ? but, Looking at
Scripture in its integrity — having regard to its general
drift, as well as to the bearing of these special passages —
who is it that makes the fairest appeal to the statute-
book of Heaven ?
A second time baffled, there remained another bolt in
VOL. III. X
322 EARLY INCIDENTS.
the grim archer's quiver. The Son-like confidence of
Jesus had never faltered ; and neither to the left hand of
distrust, nor to the right hand of presumption, had the
fiercest shocks been able to bend His columnar constancy.
The tactics were, therefore, changed. Sudden surprise
had failed, stratagem had failed, and plausible hypocritical
suggestion had failed. If the devil himself had doubted
the Sonship of the Saviour, these doubts were at an end
— for there is no conditional "If thou be" in the last
temptation ; and if he had hoped to make the Saviour for
a moment question His own paternity, that hope was over
— for he now leaves the point in abeyance. But Lucifer
remembered the temptation which had prevailed with
himself, when "he fell from service to a throne;" and
surmising that the nobler the nature the more likely it
was to feel the attractions of glory, he thought he knew
what would deflect from His orbit the Sun of Kighteous-
ness himself. Borne away to some lofty hill, a magic
prospect rose up. They saw the river which bears
the wealth of mysterious mountains to Egypt's green
valley, and on whose banks the Pharaohs sleep grandly
in their sphinx-guarded sepulchres. They saw the bright
isles of Greece, on whose summits white temples sparkled,
and on whose strand the bounding billows clapped their
musical cymbals. They saw the Seven Hills, and the
proud Capitol, like an Atlas, bending under its moun
tain of marble. They saw the pearls still deep in the
ocean, and the diamonds not yet dug from the mine.
They saw the Indian pagoda rainbowed with gems, and
the Peruvian sun-temple with its mirrors of flashing
THE WILDERNESS. 323
gold. And a mist of music came floating up from the
glory ; and as its murmur waxed clearer and resolved into
a thousand tones, along with the note of the nightingale
came pulses of the lyre from fragrant Italy ; from yonder
Attic groves a flow of silvery sweetness, and from that
swarming Forum words of sharp and ringing energy :
whilst wafted from those red Parthian fields, and louder
than far-off Niagara, rent the air a long loud shout of
Roman victory. " All that is mine ; and one obeisance
will make it yours," cried the tempter ; and as he spake,
a diadem flamed on his brow, and he stood forth every
inch a king. The costliest bait ever flung at the feet of
Innocence — the Man of Nazareth looked at it with an
eye that did not sparkle, and a heart that did not flutter :
then turning to the princely tempter, He exclaimed, " Get
thee behind me, Satan : for it is written, Thou shalt
worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou
serve." Oh, what a smile from the heart of the Father
burst in at these words on the soul of the beloved Son ;
and what a sob of triumph relieved the suspended breath
of spectator angels ! It was the first great victory of the
Second Adam. It was the turning of the tide in the
history of our defeated and enslaved humanity. It was a
triumph where the gain was all on the side of goodness ;
and from which the azure banner of the Eternal Law
came back without one speck on its lustre, or a moment's
recession of its planted sign. It was the great enslaver
and tyrant defeated, and the earnest of paradise regained.
>" Get thee behind me, Satan. I hope to see these king
doms and all their glory my own : but I shall earn them
324 EARLY INCIDENTS.
not by doing homage to the usurper, but by obedience to
my Father — by worshipping the Lord my God."
It was a glorious victory, and, reader, it was ours. It
was the victory of our Head and Representative. It was
the Second Adam doing what the first should have done,
and so far undoing the evil which he did. It was the
scene in the garden reversed ; it was the crime of another
Fall escaped, and the curse of Eden read backwards. It
was the embodiment of all evil encountered and overcome
by the Church's great Champion : encountered in those
successive forms of temptation which had so often proved
fatal ; as the sympathizing visitor with a friendly sugges
tion — as the scoffing spectator with a taunting challenge
— as the gross and open seducer with the most splendid
lure ever offered to ambition ; and overcome, not by the
mere might of Omnipotence, but by those weapons which
all along had lain ready for such exigencies in the Church's
armoury.
Blessed Jesus, we thank Thee ! We could not have
done it. But Thou hast broken the snare of the fowler,
and along with Thee our silly souls are escaped. 0 Lion
of the tribe of Judah, our adversary still goeth about
seeking whom he may devour. Make us aware of his
devices. Bruise him under our feet. Succour us when
tempted. Touched with a feeling of our infirmities, Thou
who wast in all points tempted like as we are, yet with
out sin, let us fight beneath Thy buckler, and teacli us
how to wield Thy sword — that sword of the Spirit which
is the Word of God. Lead us not into temptation, but
deliver us from evil. Amen.
MIRACLES.
I. — CANA : THE WEDDING FEAST.
BY the modern system of chapter-divisions, which has
in some instances been arbitrarily or unskilfully carried
out, it is to be regretted that the story of Cana is cut in
sunder. In other words, it is to be regretted that the
beginning of the second chapter of St. John's Gospel is
so seldom read in immediate connexion with the close of
the chapter preceding.
Nathanael, the " Israelite indeed," was a native or
inhabitant of Cana, He was convinced of the Messiah-
ship of Jesus by the tokens of omniscience which the
words of Jesus conveyed, and, pleased with the frankness
of his faith, Jesus said, " Because I said unto thee, I saw
thee under the fig-tree, believest thou? thou shalt see
greater things than these. Verily, verily, I say unto you,
Hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and the angels of
God ascending and descending upon the Son of man."
Because I have read your thoughts, and revealed your
secret resting-place beneath the fig-tree, you believe that
I am the Son of God, the King of Israel, for whom you
and your compatriots are now looking. But soon shall
325
326 MIRACLES.
you witness incidents more surprising. Heaven is about
to open, and its angels will attend My bidding. A career
of wonders is about to begin, which will show you that
the powers of a higher world surround My person, and
that not only all knowledge but all might belongs to the
Son of man.
Accordingly, three days after, at Cana of Galilee, Jesus
made a commencement of His miracles, letting out His
latent power ; and in that first flush of opening heaven —
in that manifestation of their Master's glory — the faith of
His disciples was confirmed (John ii. 11). Of these dis
ciples, Nathan ael was one ; and even if he had not gone
to the marriage as one of the four or five disciples already
attached to Jesus — and even if we do not suppose that it
was Nathanael's own wedding, for the sake of which
Jesus and His disciples had consented to tarry these three
days in Cana — there can be little doubt that the good
Israelite was present on an occasion sure to assemble all
the notabilities of his native village, and that in the pro
digy which astonished all the guests he saw the first
instalment of the "greater things" which Christ had
promised.1
Amongst the Jews a wedding was a joyous celebration,
of which the festivities extended over many days, and,
besides friends and acquaintances, the whole neighbour
hood often came together. Whether on this occasion
there was a greater concourse than their hosts had ex-
1 As there can be little doubt that Nathanael was present at this com
mencement of miracles, so we are expressly told that he was present at the
miracle in which the mighty works of the Saviour were concluded (John xxi.
2). So amply was the promise fulfilled, " Thou shalt see greater things."
THE WEDDING FEAST. 327
pected, at all events, as the feast proceeded, the mother
of Jesus came to Him, and said, " They have no wine."
The very fact of her resorting to Him shows that Mary
had not forgotten the sayings which long ago she pondered
in her heart, and that she felt no emergency could be so
great but that means of extrication were in the power of
her wonderful Son. Still His answer appeared rather a
repulse than a compliance — "Woman, what is that to
thee and Me?" "We are not responsible for the supply
of the banquet. Besides, ' mine hour is not yet come.'
You know that I have not yet commenced that course of
miracles, one of which you now wish me to perform."
There would, however, seem to have been something more
encouraging in His aspect than in His words ; for, as
if thoroughly confident that He was about to interpose,
Mary said to the attendants, " Whatever he desires, be
sure you do it," And He did interpose. At that period
the Jews had carried to a finical extreme the ablutions of
the Levitical law ; and before they would sit down to a
meal, for fear they might have contracted some casual
impurity, they had water poured over their hands. To
provide a supply for such purposes there were on this
occasion, placed either in the banquet-room, or somewhere
near hand, six great amphorae or water-jars, and these
Jesus bade the servants fill with water up to the brim.
And as soon as they told Him that the vessels were filled,
He bade them pour out a specimen, and carry it to the
master of the ceremonies. As soon as he tasted this fresh
supply, and perceived its exquisite aroma, he said to the
bridegroom in whose house the banquet was given, " The
328 MIRACLES.
usual way is to begin with good wine, and then come to
the inferior quality ; but thou hast kept the good wine
until now." But the miracle thus graciously wrought to
relieve the embarrassment of their hospitable entertainers,
not only filled the wedding guests with amazement, but,
in. conjunction with the Baptist's testimony, and the
impressions of their own brief intercourse, was a mighty
confirmation to the faith of Christ's disciples. In the
power which willed water into wine they recognised a
creative energy, and they saw that to the intuitions of
the omniscient Heart- Searcher, their Master added the
resistless volition which speaks and it is done.
It was a simple commencement — the simple commence
ment of a stupendous history. It was not such a com
mencement as human ostentation would have chosen :
a rural hamlet, a village wedding, a house where the
owners were too poor to provide for the guests. A few
weeks previously there had been offered to Him a nobler
theatre — a theatre the grandest which the god of this
world could select. He had stood on a pinnacle of the
temple, in the very focus of the faithful, in the midst of
Jerusalem, in the heart of the Holy Land ; and as the
worshippers poured into the populous courts, and as far
beneath His feet He eyed spectators, who were themselves
a spectacle — the men of mark, the priests and scribes, the
scholars and the sages of the day, and that multitude who
were daily expecting the advent of Messiah ; it was sug
gested to Him, Cast thyself down hence, for His angels
will upbear thee. Surely that would have been a worthy
commencement, a fit beginning of miracles, — from yonder
THE WEDDING FEAST. 329
dizzy turret to glide down on no other pinions than His
own sustaining will, and astonish the assembled throng
as if by a descent from the firmament. But dazzling as
the demonstration would have been, the Saviour declined
it ; and the career which was to end in rending the rocks
and raising the dead, in eclipsing the sun and in be-
darkening a guilty land — that career commenced in the
supernatural supply of a little wine to a few peasants at
a village festival
So truly Divine is simplicity. And like the King of
heaven, all that is truly kingly, all that is heavenly,
" conies not with observation." That prodigy awoke no
plaudits throughout Palestine ; but it attracted august
spectators. "Heaven" was "open," and in doing it, Im-
manuel was "seen of angels." It astonished no philo
sopher, no emperor ; it only confirmed the faith of a few
fishermen who had become disciples already : and yet
it was the first in that series of which the Eedeemer's
resurrection and ascension were the last, and on whose
firm foundation Christianity stands — the vast and ever-
during fabric.
It. is enough for the disciple to be as his Master. Up
to that hour His time was not yet come; our time is
always ready. There is not a career of wonders before
us ; but there is a career of well-doing. Jesus calls us to
glory and virtue. He bids us receive and employ the
grace of the Comforter. In His own name, and in the
strength of His Spirit, as sinners forgiven, and as affec
tionate followers of the forgiving Saviour, He summons
us to His own high calling of God-glorifying, world-
330 MIRACLES.
bettering beneficence. And, reader, for your outset seek
no far-off nor arduous starting-point. You need ascend
no pinnacle. You need go up to no Jerusalem. Let
your Sabbath-class or your servants be your Cana; let
your fireside or your tea-table, this evening, be like that
banquet-room in Galilee, the beginning of your self-
conquests, the commencement of a franker and truer
Christianity, a mightier and more assiduous manifestation
of your Master's glory. Thus, too, will the water turn to
wine. Thus will common life, brightening beneath the
Saviour's eye, begin to glow with a sacramental richness
and a heavenly radiance, and ordinary incidents and en
gagements will acquire a sacred relish, reminding you of
the great Transformer. And better still : this beginning
of discipleship will be the first step in a progressive piety
— a Cana which will be followed by its own Gadara, and
Bethany, and Olivet; and as you yourself see greater
things than these — as your own faith confirms, and your
own devotion deepens — and as you find in the growing con
solations of the Holy Spirit, that the Bridegroom keeps His
best to the last — the disciples whom your early fervour
impressed, and whom your later faith confirmed, will feel
that where the glory is Immanuel's, there are no bounds
to the manifestation, and that where the water of ordinary
life pours out the new wine of the kingdom, there is no
risk that either goodness or comfort will ever run dry.
The miracles of Jesus have all a spiritual or ethical
import. They were not isolated portents, unmeaning
though surprising prodigies. They were " signs "-
miracles wrought with a purpose, and revealing the mind
THE WEDDING FEAST. 331
of their Author. For example, in the case before us,
which primarily illustrates the power of Jesus, and which
is a striking attestation of His divine commission — when
we look at the circumstances in which it is imbedded —
when we inquire, What glimpses of Christ's heart, what
intimations of Christ's plans and wishes does it yield ? we
think that we perceive a certain light which it throws
on the nature of Christ's kingdom, as a kingdom neither
austere nor ascetic, and a further light which it throws on
Christ's disposition, as full of delicate considerateness and
Divine munificence.
John the Baptist came neither eating nor drinking.
Most likely, the forerunner was never at such a feast ; and
with his matted locks and sun-burnt visage ; with his
leather belt and his hairy hyke ; with his dish of locusts
and his cup of cold water — to say nothing of stern, seques
tered looks and unsocial habits — the second Elias, by his
very presence, would have petrified the banquet into a
stiff and silent ceremony. But Jesus of Nazareth was a
man of another make and mien. Whilst in Himself inde
pendent of all created joy, and whilst to the Lord of angels
and to the Entertainer of worlds it was a deep condescen
sion to become the guest of man ; yet as the founder of the
Christian system He fulfilled all righteousness, and He has
left us an example that we should follow His steps. And
as there was a danger lest in subsequent times men should
misunderstand — as even then there were Essenes who held
that perfection consists in abstaining from all the enjoy
ments of sense, " Touch not, taste not, handle not those
things which perish in the using;" and as the Saviour
332 MIRACLES.
foresaw that within His own Church men would arise for
bidding to marry and commanding to abstain from meats
which God has created to be received with thanksgiving —
the Son of man came eating and drinking. He made His
entry on public life at a friendly festival, and pronounced
" marriage honourable in all," by working His first miracle
to promote the enjoyment of a wedding company. And
all through His public ministry He went on the same
principle. Himself so holy and separate from sin, He
cheerfully accepted the hospitalities to which He was in
vited ; and not only as the guest of the pious Lazarus and
the rigid Simeon, but by taking His disciples to dine with
Levi and Zaccheus, to the great scandal of the Pharisees
— He taught us, that separateness from sin is one thing,
and separation from society another ; that the pure reli
gion which keeps us unspotted from the world is not the
sanctimoniousness which, with a view to self-preservation,
secludes itself, but the sanctity which still more effectu
ally preserves itself in seeking its own diffusion.
The Saviour sought to make His disciples not non-
human, but holy. He came not to alter human nature, but
to restore it. He came to repair the devil's destruction of
man's primitive constitution. By becoming flesh of our
flesh, the Son of God became the Second Adam, and now
the Head of every redeemed man is Christ. And, whilst
the object of corrupted Christianity is to make us imperfect
angels, the object of the Eedeemer was to make us perfect
men. There was nothing ascetic, nothing monastic, in all
His precepts or practice ; and of all His natural goodness, of
all the cures He wrought, and all the miraculous supplies
THE WEDDING FEAST. 333
He provided, as well as of all the innocent festivities
which, by His presence, He sanctified, the great lesson was,
that He had come not to destroy the flesh, but " to destroy
sin in the flesh ; " not to make His disciples fasters and
flagellants, hermits and recluses, monks and nuns, but —
what is far more difficult, and needs an exertion more
Divine — to make them holy men and holy women, pious
householders and God-fearing guests, good servants and
good citizens — such sons and daughters of the Lord
Almighty as were our first parents before they fell.
Far more difficult than the anchorite's separation from
the world is the Christian's sojourn in it ; and, though rare,
it is beautiful to see those b elievers in whose behalf their
Lord's intercession has evidently been heard, and who,
before they are taken finally out of the world, are " kept
from the evil" in it; those men of single purpose who,
" whether they eat, or drink, or whatsoever they do, do all
to the glory of God." And as social intercourse is so great
a portion of most men's existence, as the time which is not
absorbed in business is more of it spent in seeing one
another than in reading books or in meditation and prayer,
surely the art of profitable intercourse is worth some study .
And, without too much straitening that simplicity, and
unreserve, and excursiveness, which are the great charm of
the social circle — without converting every meeting of
friends into a theological congress or a scientific reunion
— might not a great deal be done to render our incidental
gatherings feasts of reason, and feasts of religion too ?
Might not recreation be secured without altogether losing
sight of intellectual and spiritual improvement ? Must wit
334 MIRACLES.
prove fatal to wisdom, and is it necessary that sense should
cease where recreation begins ? And should we not often
return with a much happier sensation from the evening's
intercourse, if conscious that we ourselves had contributed
or induced others to contribute, what was fitted to expand
the intellect, or purify the taste, or hallow the affections
of those with whom we came in contact ?
More particularly by the occasion on which He wrought
this miracle, Christ gave His sanction to the primeval
ordinance of marriage. We must remember that we are
now at the gate of Paradise re- opened. The Saviour is
undoing the works of the Devil, and is recovering for His
people the forfeited Eden. The serpent has been bruised,
the tempter has been foiled, and the path to the tree of
life is again to be thrown open. And if there is to be
any change, now is the time for announcing it. In the
early Paradise it was not good for man to be alone ; but
if in the Christian Church it is good, now is the time for
the Church's Founder to declare it. But by that begin
ning of miracles the Son of God declared that He had not
come to destroy domestic life, but to undo the devil's de
secration of it, by restoring its sanctity and its happiness.
Lightly as it is often gone about, and joyless as it
sometimes proves, like the Sabbath itself, this primitive
institution still survives, a small but precious salvage
from the world's great shipwreck, and, like the Sabbath,
showing how much the Creator's institutions can do to
promote the creature's blessedness. Even where the
knowledge of the true God was lost, this boon of His
has in many cases lingered, and the wives of Pa?tus and
THE WEDDING FEAST. 335
Pliny, and the mother of the Gracchi, are witnesses how
the sublimest and loveliest ingredients of our nature have
been elicited, even among the heathen, by the right
observance of a single relation. As coming nearer our
own time, as neither withdrawn into the remoteness of
antiquity, nor elevated into the rare and heroic grandeur
of those who, like the wife of Grotius and Madame De
Lavalette, were the means of rescuing their husbands
from captivity ; or that more heroic instance still of a
Livonian maid, whose betrothed was sentenced to banish
ment, but who married him in his prison that she might
share his exile in Siberia : — as modern instances, and as
good every-day illustrations of the last chapter of Pro
verbs, and all the better as coming from a range of illus
tration external to Christian biography, we may quote
the words of two distinguished lawyers and statesmen,
who ascribed their eminence to helps meet for them.
The first is Sir James Mackintosh, who thus writes of
his : — « By the tender management of my weaknesses,
she cured the worst of them. She became prudent from
affection ; and though of the most generous nature, she
was taught economy and frugality by her love for me.
She gently reclaimed me from dissipation ; she propped
my weak and irresolute nature ; she urged my indolence
to all the exertions that have been useful or creditable to
me ; and she was perpetually at hand to admonish my
heedlessness and improvidence. To her I owe whatever
I am ; to her, whatever I shall be." And in a beautiful
passage in one of his journals, Sir Samuel Komilly, taking
a retrospect of twenty years which had been inspired by
336 MIRACLES.
the society of " a most intelligent mind, a cheerful dis
position, a noble and generous way of thinking, an eleva
tion and heroism of character, and a warm and tender
affection, such as are very rare," ascribes to that source
mainly, not only the many and exquisite enjoyments of
his life, but his extraordinary success in his profession.
To a relation so sacred, and which has developed some
of the finest features of humanity, the Head of the
Church has given His immediate approval and sanction ;
and happy are the contracting parties who invite to the
marriage that Divine Guest who graced the wedding in
Galilee. Happy the wives whose lovely piety — not
lecturing, not reprimanding or reproving — but whose
meek and quiet spirit — whose silent persuasion — wins
those husbands whom " the word" has failed to win.
Happy the husbands who — loving their wives as Jesus
loved the Church, with a benevolent and self-sacrificing
affection, in order to sanctify it, in order to present it to
Himself a glorious and spotless Church — convey along
with their affection ennobling sentiments and lofty
aspirations, and who impart the robustness of principle
to that goodness which has softened their sternness, and
around their sturdier virtues shed the charm of its own
endearing gentleness. Happy those partners who, like
Aquila and Priscilla, are united in the Lord, and who
think and consult and labour together in the service of
the same Saviour. Happy those who, like Zacharias and
Elisabeth, walk in all the statutes and ordinances blame
less, and who walk all the longer and all the better
because they walk arm-in-arm.
II.
BETHESDA : A KEMAEKABLE EECOVEEY.
NEAK the Sheep- gate at Jerusalem was a pool which
the Most High had endowed with a miraculous virtue.
At certain intervals — the evangelist does not say how
often, whether it was daily, or weekly, or once a year, nor
does he say how long the pool had possessed this virtue,
but at certain intervals — " an angel went down and
troubled the waters ; and after the water began to be
agitated, whosoever was the first to step in was cured of
his disease, whatever it might be." There was mercy in
the miracle, and Bethesda was one of the blessings, as
well as one of the wonders of the Holy City. But the
boon was restricted. It corresponded to that limited
economy under which " salvation was of the Jews," and
when there were few indeed that were saved. The oppor
tunity was of rare recurrence — perhaps confined to the
Passover and other sacred festivals — and the sufferers
who could benefit were only a few, and these not always
the most urgent cases. The paralysed, the lame, and the
impotent were apt to be forestalled by sturdier patients,
and the very persons whose case was the most deplorable
were often unable to reach the pool till the virtue had
VOL. in. Y
338 MIRACLES.
vanished. In Bethesda God taught the Jews what He is
daily teaching ourselves — that, in order to carry out His
beneficent arrangements, human sympathy must second
the Divine generosity. God sent the angel, and made
Bethesda therapeutic ; but unless the sound and the
healthy assisted the halt and the powerless, Bethesda
was troubled in vain. There is goodness enough in
Creation and Providence to make all the men of Eng
land comfortable, contented, and happy; but unless the
virtuous and well- conditioned put forth a helping hand,
and assist their abject and ignorant neighbours, millions
may perish on the brink of Bethesda. And there is life
enough in the gospel, a vitalizing virtue sufficient to
heal all nations ; and, blessed be God ! that gospel is a
fountain whose angel is never absent — whose virtue never
fails ; but unless there be kind Christian hands to lift the
lethargic dreamers who bestrew the brink, and to help
forward the frail and tottering steps which can hardly
find the way, a multitude of impotent folk, halt, and
withered, may die amidst the means of salvation.
Eound Bethesda five porticoes or piazzas had been
erected, most likely to shelter from the weather the wait
ing invalids. In one of these porticoes, as He passed on
a certain Sabbath, Jesus saw a poor patient lying. He
was advanced in years, and it turned out that he had
laboured under his malady to the full extent of an ordi
nary human life — no less than eight-and-thirty years.
As there he lay on his mat, with his pain- worn features,
he moved the pity of the Man of Mercies. In answer to
Christ's inquiry, " Wilt thou be made whole ?" it appeared
A REMARKABLE RECOVERY. 339
that it was from no want of anxiety or exertion on his
own part that he continued a sufferer so long. He had
tried it often ; but he was too poor to pay for an attend
ant, and when the propitious moment arrived, before he
could crawl to the verge, some sturdier expectant vaulted
in and carried off the cure. Knowing the story to be
true, Jesus eyed him with that mingled look of power
and compassion which created faith wherever it alighted,
and said, " Eise, take up thy bed, and walk." Never
doubting, never remonstrating, asking no question, and
interposing no difficulty, the man instantly arose, and
rolling up the mat, laid it on his shoulder, and walked
away. " What ! carrying a burden on the Sabbath-day !"
exclaimed the infuriated spectators ; and to appease their
outraged zeal, the poor man pleaded the command of his
merciful Eestorer. But fanaticism would not be content
with such an apology. " Where is the man" — not, Where
is the man who has so wonderfully cured you? but —
" Where is the man who said unto thee, Take up thy bed
and walk?" But Jesus was no longer there ; and it was
not till a later hour that the convalescent was able to
point out his Benefactor. Jesus found him in the temple,
and, whilst his heart was still soft with recent obligation,
said, " Go, and sin no more, lest a worse thing befall thee."
Feeling it needful to his own vindication, and hoping,
perhaps, that the hostility of the Pharisees would be dis
armed when they knew who had wrought the wonder, the
man told them it was Jesus. " Therefore did the Jews
persecute Jesus, and sought to slay him, because he had
done these things on the Sabbath-day."
340 MIRACLES,
" An infirmity thirty and eight years !" How the soul
of the sufferer would have sunk could any one have fore
told, when his disease was only commencing, how long it
was to last ! Young man, you have sinned, and this evil
has befallen you. And it will not soon go away. The
physician is not yet born into the world who can cure
you. You say, The pain is terrible to bear ; but you
must bear it eight-and-thirty years. The present genera
tion will be gone, and your own head will be grey, before
you know again what it is to have an hour of health and
soundness. But this fearful foreknowledge was mercifully
withheld, and scope was left for that happy instinct which
is a relic of the innocent era in the history of our race,
and closely connected with man's instinct of immortality.
The sufferer had room for hope. He felt it worth while
to try the remedies. Morning by morning he could creep
to Bethesda ; and though so often tantalized and disap
pointed, he could trust that the next turn would be more
propitious ; and how could he tell but that this day was
the set time for favour, and after being so often baulked
and baffled, what if this were the blessed day which
should end his misery, and send him back to his fellows
a restored and joyful convalescent !
Better, however, than the most sanguine expectation of
a cure, is the sanctified use of sickness. God has different
ways of making His children holy ; but with many it is
His plan to make them perfect through sufferings. Says
Baxter, in his note on this passage, " How great a mercy
was it to live thirty-eight years under God's wholesome
discipline ! 0 my God, I thank Thee for the like discip-
A REMARKABLE RECOVERY. 341
line of fifty- eight years ; how safe is this in comparison
of full prosperity and pleasure."1 And in a similar spirit
has it been sung by one who was an invalid as many years
as this poor man was impotent : —
" Had but the prison walls been strong,
And firm without a flaw,
In darkness faith had dwelt too long,
And less of glory saw.
But now the everlasting hills
Through every chink appear,
And something of the joy she feels,
While yet a pris'ner here !
The shines of heaven rush sweetly in
At all the gaping flaws,
Visions of endless bliss are seen,
And native air she draws."2
To the praise of the glory of His grace who perfects
strength in weakness, be it known that there is no ailment
so protracted, nor any paroxysm so overwhelming, but
that even as the suffering abounds the consolation can
also abound. As one expressed it, who was subject to
manifold tribulations, "The promise, 'As thy days, so
shall thy strength be,' has been so fulfilled that I could
feel strength given my soul each moment to bear up
against the exhaustion of my body."3 And another, who
for thirty-seven years was " gold tried in the fire," " I
experience so much of the Saviour's love in supporting
me under pain, that I cannot fear its increase." 4 And
we often recall what was once told us by a sainted friend
whose parish was the Grassmarket of Edinburgh — that
1 Quoted by Blunt, vol. i. p. 96. 3 Memorials of Two Sisters, p. 220.
2 Watts' Lyrics. * Harriet Stoneman, p. 149.
342 MIRACLES.
when wearied and sickened with the scenes of depravity
which he constantly encountered, before returning home
for the day he often went to refresh his spirit in a garret
where a poor woman was slowly dying of a cancer. But
so much of Heaven had come down to that little chamber,
that just as in the peace of God the sufferer triumphed
over nature's agony, so in sharing her wonderful happi
ness the man of God forgot the wickedness with which
his soul had been vexed all day, as he also forgot the
deplorable misery of the tenement in which this beatified
spirit still lingered. Glad and glorious infirmity which
secures the Saviour's presence, and is sustained in the
Saviour's power !
When this poor man was restored, he went to the temple ;
and it was there that Jesus next found him. Perhaps it
was long since he had been there before ; and at all events
it was a good sign that he found his way thither so soon.
Doubtless, he went in the fulness of his heart, as well as
in the first use of his renovated members ; and most likely
he had taken his thank-offering with him.
Meanwhile, let those of us who are able to frequent the
house of God not forget " the assembling of ourselves
together." Eeader, the day must shortly arrive — to some
perhaps it has arrived already — when you shall have
worshipped your last in the great congregation. And
when that Sabbath comes on which you can go thither
no longer — when in their Sunday's attire the rest of the
household have quitted you, and the bells have fallen
silent, and from some neighbouring sanctuary the organic
swell or voice of psalms has announced the commence-
A REMARKABLE RECOVERY. 343
ment of the worship, and you know that all the Christi
anity of the kingdom is now assembled for social prayer
and praise — may you not wish that in days of vigour you
had been a more attentive listener and a more earnest
worshipper ? May you not wish that so long as you had
a sound and painless head you had thrown more fervour
into the public prayer — and whilst your voice was firm
and clear, that you had contributed a part more cordial
and inspiring to the psalmody ? May you not wish that
when your faculties were fresh, and before the grasshopper
grew burdensome, you had hearkened more alertly to the
words of life, and taken home more personally and prac
tically the truth as it is in Jesus ? And amidst all the
motives to strenuous devotion and earnest hearing, would
it not be well to bear in mind such days of darkness, and
now be laying up a good foundation against the time to
come ? Would it not be well in imagination to change
places sometimes with the mournful prisoner whose pew
is this day vacant, or with the joyful convalescent who
regards it as the crowning mercy in his restoration that
once more it is said, " Go into the house of the Lord " ?
The Son of man is Lord of the Sabbath, and as the
great Legislator, and Governor of the Church, Jesus inter
preted the law of the Sabbath. Under the old economy,
the main stress had been laid on the negative or prohi
bitory side of the Sabbatic command : " Thou shalt do
no manner of work : Thou shalt bear no burden on the
Sabbath-day ;" and with the stricter Jews, he was the
best Sabbath-observer who not only abstained from his
ordinary employments, but who maintained the largest
344 MIRACLES.
amount of general inaction. But the Lord Jesus " ful
filled" the command. By not merely attending the
synagogue, but by curing diseases, by caring for the
comfort of those around him, by speaking words in season,
by filling up the hours with profitable discourse and
benevolent deeds — He showed that the Sabbath was not
intended to be a day of grim looks, sealed lips, and folded
hands, but a day of " delight " — a day of active beneficence
as well as cheerful devotion. He took from it that merely
negative or prohibitory aspect with which Judaism had
clothed it, and restored the Paradisaic institution in all
its kindness of design and with its fulness of blessing.
Sabbath-keeping, according to the Jews, consisted in
doing nothing ; according to Jesus, it consisted in " doing
good." And as it was on a Sabbath-day that He first
encountered this poor invalid, on the great principle that
mercy is the best form of sacrifice, the Lord Jesus healed
him at once ; and on the same principle He bade him
fold up his couch and carry it home. A Pharisee would
rather that he had lain a night without a bed, or that he
had left it behind at the risk of having it stolen : just as
that Pharisee would have thought it a duty to leave the
sufferer in pain till the morrow. And whilst the very
genius of the institution requires the suspension of secular
employ, and whilst we are far from undervaluing the
bodily repose and mental renovation which the Sabbath
brings, we believe that the man spends his Sabbaths best,
and best commemorates the Lord of the Christian Sab
bath, who is busiest in doing good. Nor are there many
better ways of filling up the hours which are not employed
A REMARKABLE RECOVERY. 345
in worship, public or private, than with those works of
mercy and ministrations to the sick and afflicted of which
the Saviour set examples so significant. Not only is
there the Bethesda — the hospital into whose focus disease
and misery are collected — but there is many a solitary
sufferer, many a bereaved or destitute family, to which,
with the Bible in his hand and the love of the Saviour in
his heart, the benevolent Christian might pay a friendly
visit ; and whilst his own spirit is quickened by all the
influences of the hallowed season, and whilst theirs is
solemnized by the events of Providence, not only may it
be his happiness to introduce the Great Physician and the
Mourner's Friend, but over the remainder of the day will
spread a softer light and an intenser sacredness. Not the
less " the holy of the Lord and honourable " for being
bestowed on labours of love : there is no day so delightful
as the day that is useful ; and no week is likely to pass
so serenely as the week whose first day was doubly hal
lowed by devotion and beneficence.
III.
NAIN: THE INTERRUPTED FUNERAL.
IT was a summer day, and it was a lovely region. Along
with his newly appointed attendants, the twelve Apostles,
Christ had accomplished a considerable journey from
Capernaum. They had reached the edge of that noble
corn-field, the golden plain of Jezreel ; and above them
towered the copsy pyramid of Tabor — the leafiest hill in
all the Holy Land. Jesus was well acquainted with the
neighbourhood ; for Nazareth was only a few miles dis
tant, and perhaps He was even now renewing acquaint
ance with spots where, in the obscure bygone days, He
had held blessed intercourse with His Father in heaven.
The travellers had nearly reached a little hamlet, and
were just making for the entrance, when they heard bit
ter cries, and knew at once that a funeral was approaching.
Forthwith it issued from the gate. There was no coffin ;
but, wrapped in a linen shroud, all except the face, lay
the body, and two bearers were carrying it along on a
bier. The face was uncovered. It was the smooth fore
head and sun-burnt countenance of a young man. The
whole village came after. Some had torn their clothes, as
a sign of their sorrow, and many were raising from time
346
THE INTERRUPTED FUNERAL. 347
to time a melancholy wail : but by far the most affecting
sight was the chief mourner. She was the dead man's
mother : and she was all alone in her sorrow. She had
neither son, nor daughter, nor husband with her : for in
yonder sepulchre she had already laid her husband, and
on this bier now lay her only child. A pang of tender
ness at once went through the Saviour's bosom — a pro
phetic pang — for perhaps He thought of another widow
who would feel like anguish at another funeral, when
they would be burying " the only son" of His own mother.
" When the Lord saw her he had compassion on her, and
said unto her, Weep not." And putting His hand on the
bier, there was something in His aspect so majestic that
the bearers instantly placed it on the ground ; and as the
procession was. arrested and the shrieks of the mourners
were suspended in astonishment, Jesus said — "Young man,
I say unto thee, Arise." The word was as awakening as
the archangel's trumpet ; for instantly he that was dead
sat up : and like a man roused from a deep sleep, and
whose apartment has filled with visitors during his slum
ber, opening his eyes he began to ask where he was.
But — as if to show that the acknowledgment which He
sought was a life of filial devotedness — Jesus delivered
him to his mother ; and, amazed at the miracle, the re
tinue of the Saviour and the villagers, no longer mourners,
joined in exclaiming, " God hath visited his people : a
great prophet is risen."
1. Death is the great destroyer of happiness. It may
have chanced to you to be visiting some beautiful domain,
348 MIRACLES.
and when you had viewed the garden with its porticoes
and terraces, and had lain for a while watching the antlered
deer as they browsed beneath the oaks of the far- stretch
ing park, you could almost have envied the possessor of
this paradise — when there broke on your ear the solitary
toll of a church bell, and then another and another : and
looking up you saw issuing from the mansion and wend
ing down the avenue a plumed and sable pomp, and you
learned that the lord of the manor was carrying to the
ancestral vault the coffin of his son and heir. Yes : it is
all as beautiful as ever. You can see no cloud blot the
sky. You perceive that the fountains still play, and the
flowers still blossom, and the stag still crops the herbage :
but if that chief mourner should notice them at all they
have lost all their lifesomeness and loveliness to him.
He himself still lives, and he is still the lord of this
domain : but to him the landscape has died — the glory has
departed. There is crape upon the lawn : a sepulchral
odour is wafted from the geraniums and roses ; the knell
from the steeple is repeated by the lark in the firmament
and the cicada in the sod ; the sunshine is cruel, and the
sweet season is a mockery : and he hates those steeds so .
jet and glossy, which pace along so proudly, and carry in
the nodding hearse the hope of an ancient house, and the
joy of the rich senator's old age. So with this Hebrew
matron. There was hardly a sweeter hamlet in all the
Holy Land. There was no spot where the crops grew
ranker or richer — none where more of peace and plenty
smiled. And she fancied that she had once enjoyed it all ;
and what enjoyment she had was more than doubled by
THE INTERRUPTED FUNERAL. 349
the society of another, whose kind word was ample com
pensation for many an hour's hard toil — whose faintest
smile would have made fair weather in the wildest winter
day. But he had died, and he was buried : and what all
besides was buried in his grave it is impossible to tell —
so many pleasant schemes, so many fond domestic pro
jects ; yes, the fairest part of existence was buried there,
for there was buried all the future. But something still
was left ; and coming back to her cottage she did not weep
alone, for her boy, in his own childish way, would lay his
head on her bosom and cry, because his father would
come back no more. As she rose in the sleepless night,
and in the moonlight bent over his cot, many a time she
blessed God for her treasure, and prayed that he might
live for ever. And then as he roughened into sturdier life,
at his deeper tones she sometimes started as if at the return
of a dear voice ; and at his wayward speeches and wilful
doings she was not utterly displeased, for they reminded
her of his father's ways. But that was all over now.
There was no one to protect her from the people who
devour widows' houses — no one to say to the desolate
mourner, " Weep not." And so the cottage might be as
comfortable as ever — the village might to-morrow put on
its bright and busy face again — the balmy summer might
float from the cool lake of Galilee to the ripe acres of
Jezreel ; but there was one heart which was likely to pass
through the midst of it as dark as night, as dead as the
sea-side stone.
And so to all of us death is the great damper. From many
he has taken away the desire of their eyes, and though the
350 MIRACLES.
world is still full of interesting objects, they feel as if they
could never be enthusiastic any more. And others he fills
with continual forebodings. When they are cheerful, and
just beginning to be happy, they fetch a deep sigh and re
lapse into pensiveness ; for they remember that pleasant as
this present is, by reason of death it cannot continue. And
always suspecting a snake in the grass, poison in the cup ;
always, with bated breath and beating heart, listening to
the rustle of the curtain, and expecting the assassin's foot
step on the floor, this king of terrors contrives to hold them
in bondage all their days. And you are ready to regret
the long measure meted to the old-world fathers. You
say, If I may not live always, I wish I might live as long,
as Adam or Methuselah. I wish we had a thousand years
to come and go upon. To have all our active, zestful,
enjoyable existence condensed into twenty or thirty years ;
in less than that time to be left a widower or a widow ;
to follow to the grave the child who should have long sur
vived us ; to be scarcely ever out of mourning ; and, what
is even a pain more exquisite, to be hardly ever that you
are not solicitous for some beloved object — tremulously
watching the ebb and flow of strength, the flushing and
the fading of the countenance ; — what matters it that this
little islet of existence has many a pleasant nook, when
such a flood of sorrow on every side flows round it ?
2. But if Death be the great destroyer of happiness,
Jesus is the destroyer of Death. At His majestic move
ment the bearers instinctively stood still; but it was not
in that procession only that a mysterious Power and
Presence were recognised ; the voice which said, " Young
THE INTERRUPTED FUNERAL. 351
man, Arise," was heard as clearly in the invisible world
as it was amidst that funeral company ; and it was be
cause a disembodied spirit heard that voice, and at once
obeyed it, that where a dead corpse lay last moment
there now leaped up a living man. To human observa
tion it was only a common traveller who had arrived
along the dusty road ; but that traveller was "the Kesur-
rection and the Life," carrying at his girdle the keys of
Death and Hades ; and to Him it was as easy to recall to
its forsaken tenement the departed soul, as it would have
been to expel from that frame a disease or a demon.
Obedient to His omnipotent behest, the spirit came again ;
the deep sob, the heaving chest, the expanding features,
the disparting lips, the flashing eye, proclaimed the pre
sence of the Prince of Life ; and a transported mother and
an awe-struck multitude announced the miracle complete.
How the dead will rise, and with what bodies they will
come, we cannot tell ; but this we know, that of all the
souls which have passed away from their mortal shrines
to the world of spirits, there is not one extinct, but that
all in their own places are awaiting the hour when the
voice of Jesus will again unite them to a materialism
which each shall recognise as his corporeal companion,
the former inlet of all his knowledge, and the familiar
instrument of all his doings, good or evil. " All that are
in their graves shall hear the voice of the Son of God,
and shall come forth ; they that have done good, to the
resurrection of life ; and they that have done evil, to
the resurrection of damnation."
And in the meanwhile, there is a resurrection which
352 MIRACLES.
Jesus is effecting every day. Constantly does it happen
that some soul dead in trespasses is quickened into a life
of holy blessedness. There is a young man whose soul is
dead. There is not in him one spark of the life of God.
Like the young Galilean carried out by his sorrowing
companions, he is " past feeling," and incapable of all
vital action. Like the sweet landscape which was utterly
lost on those sealed senses, all the precious promises, the.
beauties of holiness, the bright prospects of heaven, the
fragrant name of Jesus, spread on every side ; but this
dead soul inhales nothing — this dead soul sees nothing.
Like the grave-clothes that bound him, like the tomb
with its stone portal which was soon to imprison him,
this dead soul is tied and bound with the chain of sin,
and is buried in the grave of its ungodliness ; but it
neither rebels at the fetters nor resents the weight of the
tomb-stone. And like the unconscious clay which felt no
sympathy with the weeping mother — which little sur
mised what sorrow its own deadness caused — and which
needed to live again before it knew how much it was
regretted, and how dearly it was loved — the soul dead in
trespasses never dreams of that Father of spirits who
bends over him a pitying eye, and who, were he now
resuscitated, would exclaim, " Kejoice, for this my son
was dead, and is alive again !" But the Saviour speaks
the word. By some startling utterance or arresting Pro
vidence He stops the march of death — He interrupts the
sad journey to the gulf of souls. " Young man, I say unto
thee, Arise." Yes, Jesus says it — Young man, rise. The
soul is quickened. Sensation comes. Sin is felt. Its
THE INTERRUPTED FUNERAL. 353
bond is burst. Perception comes. Holiness is seen to
be beautiful exceedingly, and the character of God most
majestic and most lovely. Vital action comes. Behold,
he prays. Behold, he looks to Jesus. Hark, " he begins
to speak ! " He is confessing Christ before men. He is
telling these young scholars about their Saviour and their
souls. He is trying to prepossess for the gospel his com
panions and his kindred. He is ready to forsake his
home, or to return and gladden it, precisely as Christ
would have him do.
Where the soul is thus made living, death is effectually
destroyed ; for he who thus believes in Jesus shall never
die. Like the primitive Church, who called the martyr's
first day in heaven his birth-day, and always celebrated
its return in bright apparel — if there were a family or a
community, every member of which could show his title
to a mansion in the skies" — how altered would be
death's aspect ! — how softened the pang of parting ! —
bow lightened the gloom of the funeral day ! Then, in
stead of feeling ourselves like so many captives carried off
by the inexorable corsair, and sent all apart to dissevered
and far-distant shores, we should feel like exiles going
home — like emigrants returning to their father-land ; and
though not permitted to return all in the same ship, yet
well assured that, bound for the same port, we shall, ere
long, meet in the same Father's house.
3. Observe how Jesus disposed of the resuscitated youth.
It would have been natural to say, " Follow thou me." It
would have been fit and proper that Jesus should have
carried in His retinue this trophy of His power ; and that
VOL. III. Z
354 MIRACLES.
wherever He had gone He should have been attended by
this living miracle. Nor could either the young man or
his mother have grudged to their Benefactor such a sacri
fice. But it was pity which prompted the interposition
at first, and a generosity as graceful as it was gracious
consummated this deed of mercy. " Moved with compas
sion," Jesus had said, "Young man, Arise;" and now that
he who was dead had returned to life, Jesus " delivered
him to his mother." We can little doubt that both
mother and son were henceforth grateful disciples ; but
the form in which the Saviour desired that the young
man should exhibit his gratitude was dutiful devotedness
to a widowed parent. And if he had been — as we may
hope — an exemplary son before, surely now when he
recalled the ministrations of his own last illness ; when
he recollected who it was that tended him so carefully,
and prepared each cordial so thoughtfully ; when he
remembered who it was that wiped his damp brow, and
fanned the hot air, and kissed his parched lips so fondly,
and, stifling her emotion, only let out the wildness of her
grief when she fancied that it could no longer disturb his
sealed senses ; and when he thought of that recognition
so resurrection-like, and of the Saviour's virtual charge,
" Woman, behold thy son : Man, behold thy mother ;"
surely there would be a tenderness of attachment, and a
minuteness of forethought, and a self-denial and self-sacri
fice, in the home-life of that son, worthy of his wonderful
history ; and the man who, instead of preaching the gospel,
received it as a charge from his Saviour to cherish his
mother, would surely be a paragon of filial piety.
THE INTERRUPTED FUNERAL. 355
There is no one in this world who has stronger claims
on all that is holy in sympathy, and all that is delicate
in kindness, than one who is "a widow indeed;" and
from the very fact, that till now she has had all the
heavier cares carried, and all the rougher work done for
her by another, she is often more helpless and forlorn
than those who have fought life's battle single-handed.
And as the time when the stroke of God has fallen
heaviest on the home — as that is the time which brings
the vultures together — as it is the time when accounts
already discharged are sent in to be paid a second time,
when sleeping law- suits are revived, when demands the
most exorbitant are made on one whose broken heart can
offer no resistance, and whose very tears invite them to
take all: oh! it is a noble sight when, foregoing the
frivolities of youth, and exhibiting a wisdom and energy
beyond his years, the boy becomes the man of business,
and the father's son steps forth as the mother's champion,
and drives off the ghouls who threatened to devour the
widow's house. Happy omen for the subsequent career
of such high-hearted sons of youth, and for the comfort
and honour of their own subsequent relations ! Happy
earnest that He who has annexed the first promise to the
fifth command, and who, at Sarepta and at Nain, restored
to life a widow's only son, will not forget this work of
filial love ! Happy household where, as with " the mother
of the Gracchi," the family history includes a tale of filial
heroism and maternal recompense !
Perhaps there may fall on these pages the eye of some
youthful reader who has lately learned to love the Saviour;
356 MIRACLES.
and you are asking, What shall I render ? What is there
I can do to show my gratitude to Him who gave Himself
for me ? And possibly you have thought of some great
or arduous thing — the ministry, a mission, the visitation
of a district, the inauguration of a ragged school. Per
haps it may be His will that you should eventually embark
in this ; but, in the meanwhile, whether as a preparation
for ulterior work, or as your life's entire bestowment, it is
His will that you " show piety at home." You love your
parents ; let them know it. Give them your confidence ;
give them your society. Think occasionally of these
two things— of what they have already done for you, and
of what you now may do for them. You sometimes make
them little presents. Good ; but remember what the gift
is for which a parent's soul most yearns : " My son, give
me thine heart." However much you may be taken up
with more youthful associates, let them feel that every
day, as your understanding expands, and your character
confirms, you love them more and more. And should
the showing of that love involve some self-denial ; should
depression of spirits, should peculiarities of temper, should
dim sight or dull hearing, should manifold infirmities or
protracted feebleness impart a task-like complexion to
the labour of love — behold in this a gauge of principle,
a test of loyalty to your Lord in heaven. Here is your
present mission ; here is your immediate ministry ; here
is the best preparation for ulterior service, should such
await you; nor need regrets surround the closing hour
though life should end without a higher calling.
THE INTERRUPTED FUNERAL. 357
Dead, dead ! that arm which steer'd the skiff
Through Galilee's white surf ;
Lead, lead ! that foot which chased the deer
O'er Tabor's bounding turf.
Beneath the rock the shepherd sings,
The turtle 's in the tree ;
But neither song nor summer greets
The silent land and thee.
March, march ! the pale procession swings,
With measured tramp and tread ;
Woe, woe ! yon gaping sepulchre
Is calling for the dead.
And bitter is the wail that weeps
The widow's only joy,
And vows to lean her broken heart
Beside her gallant boy.
Halt, halt ! a hand is on the bier,
And life stirs in the shroud ;
Rise, rise ! and view the Man Divine
Who wakes thee 'midst the crowd.
And as the mother clasps her son
In awe-struck ecstasy,
Turn thou thine eyes to Him whose word
Is immortality.
Home, home ! to make that mother glad,
And recompense her tears ;
Home, home ! to give that Saviour-Ood
This second lease of years.
And when amidst a greater crowd
Thou hear'st that voice again,
May rising saints see Jesus in
The widow's son of Nain.
IV.
GADARA : THE DEMONS EXPELLED.
EASTWARD of the Lake of Galilee lies the country that
was allotted to Keuben, Gad, and the half tribe of Manasseh.
In the days of our Saviour it was inhabited by people still
more degenerate, less religious, and less respectable than
the Galileans themselves. From Tiberias, and the other
towns on the western margin of the lake, its hills and vil
lages looked very near; but Jesus had never visited them.
However, as one region where lost sheep of the house
of Israel might be looked for, it was fit that the Good
Shepherd should go to this unattractive country. Accord
ingly, at the close of a day, when He had spoken many
parables, He said to His disciples, " Let us pass over unto
the other side." With no further preparation, they loosed
from the shore and launched out into the deep. Fatigued
with His laborious day, the Lord Jesus fell asleep. Amidst
the darkness there came whirling down the opposite
ravines a violent gust of wind, and as it swept the white
spray before it, it smote the little craft so fiercely as almost
to capsize it. But although the vessel plunged so wildly,
and although the waves were dashing in, the Divine Pas
senger slept on. It almost seemed as if " the prince of
358
THE DEMONS EXPELLED. 359
the power of the air " was seeking to beat back from his
coast a dreaded invader; and in sublime security the
Heavenly Voyager disdained to be disturbed. But though
the war of elements has no power to disturb the Son of
God, the cry of extremity, the wail of anguish instantly
arouses Him. " Master, carest thou not that we perish ?"
And although ignorance and unbelief mingled with that
cry, there was generosity sufficient in Jesus to attend on
the instant, and before He reproved the disciples He
rebuked the wind, " Peace, be still ;" and instantly the
drenched boatmen were skimming over a glassy sea to a
near- hand landing-place.
Yet, storms in the atmosphere are only material symbols
of the wilder tempests in the mind of man. Up among
the cliffs that overhang the lake, and in one of the cave-
like tombs into which they are hollowed, two demoniacs
had been sleeping. The loud wind awoke them, and hie
ing forth into the blast, they capered and shouted in chorus
with the hurricane ; and as the grey morning showed a
vessel making for the shore, the impulse of mischief bore
them off to meet it. One of them was so much more
remarkable than the other, that Mark and Luke notice him
only. He was a strong and muscular man, of whom the
other was only the shadowy satellite. Though he had been
frequently caught and confined with fetters, such a fury
would sometimes inspire him, that he would pull the staple
from the wall, or snap the chain in sunder, and beating
down the door, with wild laughter would he burst through
the streets, and bound off to the wilderness again. So
notorious were his strength and ferocity, that, to avoid his
360 MIRACLES.
haunts, passengers were fain to make a long detour, and it
was only by banding together that the swineherds felt safe
in his neighbourhood. And now, as in the doubtful day-
spring, he came careering along, followed by his obscurer
companion, huzzaing, and howling, and clanking on the •
rocks his broken fetters, the sight was very terrible ; and
from his blood-stained arms and flashing eyes, the disciples
would gladly have retreated into the shelter of their ship.
But Jesus went forward to meet him ; and as soon as He
was near enough, the demoniac fell prostrate, and ex
claimed, " What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son
of the most high God ? I conjure thee that thou torment
me not." At a distance, the hope of mischief had urged
the demons to the shore ; but nearer hand they recognised
more than a mortal man, and knowing now who the
Stranger was, they besought the Son of God to let them
alone. Pitying their victim, Jesus asked his name ; and
the answer was, half maniac, half demoniac, " Legion :
for we are many." And perceiving the Saviour's purpose,
the demons begged that He would not send them out of
that country, or order them back into their own abyss.
" If thou cast us out, send us into these swine." And
instantly the whole herd ran violently over a precipice,
and, being drowned in the lake, we may infer that the
demons were cast out of that country, and sent back to
the dreaded " deep," whence they came.
But the villagers, whom the tidings soon collected,
were filled with a twofold emotion. They were greatly
amazed at the change on the hapless demoniac. There
he was, full of gratitude, sitting at the feet of his Deli-
THE DEMONS EXPELLED. 361
verer, decently attired, and calm reason looking forth from
those eyes which so long had glared with frenzy. He
whom the brawniest wight among them would not have
dared to face in single combat, and so savage that his
name was a bugbear to all the district — so mild and
gentle now that yonder mother would not fear to place
her infant in his arms. How marvellous ! how delightful !
If they could only persuade this mighty Benefactor to
tarry ! If He would only take a liking for their country,
or divide the year betwixt themselves and Galilee, there
was no mansion in all Perea which should not be at the
disposal of such an illustrious guest, and theirs would be
a happy land that boasted the powerful Presence which
winds and seas obey, and which " devils fear and fly."
But the swine ! the two thousand swine ! half the wealth
of Gadara ! True, they ought not to have had them.
They were renegades in feeding them. They felt that
they could not upbraid this prophet for destroying them,
and the manner of their destruction was a significant
intimation that the devil at last will claim his own, and
that wealth borrowed from below will sooner or later
return to the abyss. " Still, property is property, and why
should old Mosaic laws obstruct the trade of Gadara ?
Doubtless, to us it is forbidden food ; but why should not
Gadarenes feed swine, and accept in exchange silver ses
terces from Eoman soldiers ?" And just in the same way
as many a one would receive the Lord Jesus as a simple
Pardoner, but takes alarm the moment he finds this
Pardoner is also a Saviour ; as many a one would make
the Lord Jesus welcome, if He would only say, " Thy
362 MIRACLES.
sins "be forgiven thee ;" but looks blank when he hears it
added, " Go, and sin no more, lest a worse thing befall
thee ; " as many a one at this moment would feel it his
impulse to receive Christ under his roof, but would
change his mind the instant he found that on the arrival
of this guest, all money made by gambling, or betting, or
smuggling, took wing, and every article purchased from
unpaid creditors walked away ; as many a one who would
have accepted the gospel alongside of one favourite iniquity,
when it comes to the alternative, keeps the sin, and sends
away the Saviour : so these Gadarenes were so grieved at
the loss of the swine, that, even although it should risk
the return of the demons, they besought the Lord Jesus
to depart out of their coasts.
It is impossible to read this narrative without deep
compassion for the wretched sufferer, and without feeling
thankful that Sa.tan is so bound that he and his angels
can thus afflict mankind no more. Much has been writ
ten on the pathology, or perhaps we should rather say on
the psychology, of these demoniacal possessions — to which
we have nothing to add, and which it would take too long
to expound. We shall, therefore, conclude with the moral
lesson deducible from the case of this unhappy man : for
we think that such a lesson it was fitted and intended to
convey.
Amongst this peculiar people — a people whose educa
tion was mainly carried on by types and symbols — among
this people there existed a disease so singular that you
are apt to fancy it must have been created mainly for
•
THE DEMONS EXPELLED.
363
the sake of its symbolic instruction. Than leprosy, as it
existed among the Jews — and among them it would seem
to have been in many respects different from any disease
now known — than this dire malady there could be no more
expressive emblem of sin in all its loathsomeness and
contagiousness and deadliness. And whether creating it
on purpose or rinding it already in existence, the Divine
Lawgiver adopted this malady as the basis of a solemn
and significant instruction, and in the Law of the Leper
Jehovah wrote, most fully and most fearfully, the Natural
History of Sin.
And though there is no code or commandment on the
subject of demoniacs, is it a fancy altogether gratuitous or
groundless to suppose that this remarkable visitation had
also its religious lesson — its spiritual significance ? With
out insinuating that the sufferers were sinners above all
that dwelt in the Holy Land, was not the infliction at
once and inevitably suggestive of sin ? And without say
ing that other ailments, corporeal and mental, were not
often associated with it, could there be any calamity in
itself more dismal and appalling ? Was it not a solemn
warning that the man who by sin makes himself Satan's
vassal may soon be his victim, and that he who plays
with the tempter may soon be possessed by the devil ?
Above all, if the disease already mentioned were an image
of sin's loathsomeness and contagiousness, what could be
imagined more striking than the case before us as a pic -
ture of sin's madness and misery ?
For what was this man's case ? He had an identity — a
personality, quite distinct from the demon who possessed
364 MIRACLES.
him. He had a will, and the demon had a will ; but the
stronger will overbore the weaker one, and he was some
times led along a helpless but not utterly unconscious
captive. At other times we may suppose that the fury
with which he was hurried along drove him distracted,
and left him a mere blind tool in the hand of his demon
master.
What an emblem of a sinful passion ! A man has
learned to gamble. By betting at the races, or by play
ing games of chance, he won a few pounds like magic ;
and though he lost them again, he learned to love the
excitement and the luck, and ere ever he was aware, he
had become an inveterate gamester. But debt and the
danger of disgrace sobered him. He saw that he was
playing the fool, and he resolved to stop. It was very
hard, but still he was so far master of himself that he
succeeded. For months he never earned an idle penny,
and he never lost one. But on a bright day of May he
was enticed away to Epsom, and he was tempted by the
enormous odds. Or he wandered into the billiard-room,
and they played so badly — he could do it so much better
— he took up the stick and he laid down his money, and
he was growing rich as a banker, when the caprice of an
ivory ball left him a beggar. Or a man has learned to
tipple. Drink is his demon. He knows it : he laments
it : he condemns it : he curses it : but he cannot get rid
of it. Like the stag on whose shoulders the lurking
leopard has dropped from the tree, he is bestrid by a rider
who is lapping his life's blood, and whose clutch will not
relax whether his victim seek the field or the forest. And
THE DEMONS EXPELLED. 365
though, when he adverts to his flagging strength and his
faltering hand — though when he looks at his wife and
children, and thinks what he is doing, he execrates his
frenzy, yet still he dearly loves his foe : and next pay-
night he feels a sudden thirst — the contest of a weaker
and a stronger will — the desire to be sober and a deter
mination to drink— the wish to be temperate and the
passion to tipple : till yielding to the stronger than he,
he loses self-mastery, and conies home a howling demo
niac, exceeding fierce, and a terror to all that come in
his way.
And do we not see a further emblem of sin in this
man's shocking abode and shameless habits ? The cloth
ing that was given him he tore to tatters, and rather
than remain in his own comfortable home, he chose to
dwell amidst the corruption and putrid effluvia of the
sepulchre. And although the cases are not so common
where, with Byronic effrontery, men glory in their shame,
where they boast how bad they are, and repeat with tri
umph their exploits of infamy ; yet in the case of almost
all possessed with the devil there is the same predilection
for the charnel-house — the same propensity for corrupt
and corrupting society. "Why is it that he loves such low
company ? Why is it that instead of the excellent of the
earth he seeks out coarse and sottish acquaintances — men
with the very sight of whom you feel disgusted ? Why
should he prefer that crew of villains to the pure affec
tions and home-stead delights which invite him to his
fire-side ? For the same reason that to his own cottage
the demoniac preferred a tomb. He is not himself. He
366:, MIRACLES.
is the slave of some lust or passion, and is led captive
by it at its will. That tyrant lust, that master- passion,
cannot live in a holy atmosphere ; and therefore it hurries
its victim away to the foul scenes and rank atmosphere
which constitute its vital air.
We may believe, however, that it was with this man
as with many in the like condition. Indeed, some cir
cumstances would indicate as much ; namely, that now
and then he caught a glimpse of his actual state, and his
darkened mind was visited by glimmerings of remorse and
regret. As he sat in his cave, beneath the moonlight, and
watched the great bats fluttering out and in, or heard the
hyaena sniffing and cranching among the bones of the
dead ; as he viewed the furniture of his strange abode —
the torn shrouds and the orbless skulls piled here and
there — he marvelled what had brought him to that Gol j
gotha. " I will arise, and go unto mine house ; " and for
a while he almost thanked the friendly force which man
acled his hands and reft him of the power of mischief.
Yet even there he was not at home. The house was
swept and garnished, but the demoniac's mind was empty.
No good angel had taken up his residence, and seven
devils entering in hurried him off to his old scenes, and
made his latter end worse than the first. And any one
who is the victim of a sinful passion, can easily recall
visitations of horror and fits of reform. You were dis
gusted at yourself. You felt more foolish — more brutish
than any man ; you were a beast — a madman in your own
eyes — and you vowed that at any hazard you would begin
a better life ; you would have even thanked, as a welcome
THE DEMONS EXPELLED. 367
violence, any one who would have bound you with chains,
so as to keep you back from your besetting sin. And you
laid bands on yourself. You made promises and resolu
tions. You told the entire case to some friend and begged
that he would help you, that he would watch you and
warn you ; and yet again you fell. You played the fool
as formerly. You were mad at yourself. Like Legion
cutting himself with stones, you could almost kill your
self. You punished yourself by all sorts of penances.
You would eat no pleasant bread. You almost envied
the austerities, the privations, and the prisons of the
Papist. But the unclean spirit had regained possession ;
you were presently as besotted as ever ; and the Bac
chanalian ditty or the demoniac laugh, startling the
peaceful night, announced that Legion was gone back to
the tombs.
Yes, hapless man, these sinful passions are exceeding
fierce. But though no man can bind them ; nay, though
ofttimes bound with chains, they will break the fetters ;
though no man can bind them, Jesus can expel them.
Entreat His pity. Cast yourself under His protection.
Not only do the storms and winds obey Him, but the
very devils are subject to Him. Eling yourself at His
feet, and implore His compassion. Not only will He cast
forth the unclean spirit, but He will effectually preclude
its return. He will put His Holy Spirit within you, and
that Divine Occupant will make you so happy at home,
that you will not need to wander through dry places,
seeking rest and finding none. The sweetness of new
and holy tastes will take the zest from old and evil
368 MIRACLES.
habits; and, not only clothed and in your right mind,
not only reformed and respectable, but renewed and
made spiritual, like Legion now passing his forsaken
dwelling amidst the tombs, far from being tempted to
return, you will only view your former companions with
pity, your former haunts with amazement and horror.
Like this ragged scholar at the feet of Jesus, — like this
reclaimed demoniac in the society of the Saviour, — you
will find that your Divine Teacher is well able to fit you
for the fellowship of the saints, and that He is One who
will never suffer you to depart from Him till you are
ready to be taken home to His own abode of peace, and
love, and purity.
THE DESERT NEAR BETHSAIDA : THE MULTITUDE FED.
ACTING on the instructions of their Lord, the twelve had
completed a perambulation of the Galilean villages, and
had now returned from preaching the gospel of the king
dom, and healing many of their diseases — a sort of trial-
trip or experimental tour by which their Master, whilst
yet with them, sought to train them for that work which
was soon to be the business of their lives. But now that
they had returned to the rendezvous, it was just that
season when the whole population was streaming along
the thoroughfares — journeying up to the feast at Jeru
salem ; and as repose was impossible in the midst of so
many visitors, Jesus said to His travel- worn companions,
" Let us go into a desert place and rest awhile."
But there was another reason. Tidings had arrived of
the death of John the Baptist; and, in the present haunted
state of the tetrarch's conscience — ready to scare at every
spectre, and rendered unscrupulous by his desperate guilt
— the least commotion in Galilee might be followed by
fearful severities ; whilst the recoil of popular feeling from
a tyrant so sanguinary might precipitate a step which was
altogether to be deprecated, and lead them to proclaim
VOL. in. 2 A
370 MIRACLES.
Jesus their king. And, as His time was not yet come,
Jesus retreated from this risk of commotion, and withdrew
into a distant solitude.
But why should we scruple to add as another possible
element in the Saviour's retirement, the solemn musings
awakened by the death of the Baptist? John was the
kinsman of Jesus. He had spent his life in the service
of Messiah ; and now he had fallen the first of His
martyrs. And although, so far as John was concerned,
there could only be joy at his entrance into the heavenly
blessedness, his cruel fate was but an earnest of what
awaited Christ's faithful witnesses in this evil world.
With such a prospect, was it right to go on with the
gospel ? Was it worthy of the mild and merciful Jesus
to persist in a plan which was thus unsheathing a new
sword in the world, which was evidently kindling a new
fire in the earth ? For it really amounted to this. If
Jesus carried through His enterprise, He could even then
foresee the fearful amount of human suffering it involved
— the thousands — nay, myriads — whom it should consign
to dungeons and galleys — the multitudes who should be
tortured to death by agonies too fearful to contemplate—
the millions whom attachment to Himself should subject
to privation and exile, to poverty and pain. And in the
survey of all that mournful multitude — the mighty army
of martyrs, crucified, impaled, beheaded, sawn in sunder,
hurled over the cliffs of Piedmont, drowned in the frozen
lakes of Holland, roasted in the fires of Spain, shot on the
moors of Scotland, buried alive in Italian prisons — in
surveying all that host of secondary martyrs, their out-
THE MULTITUDE FED. 371
lawed orphans and broken-hearted widows, was it humane,
was it right in the Prophet of Nazareth to persist with a
system so fraught with sorrow ? Instead of retiring to
the desert, would it not be better to return to that heaven
whence He came, and leave the world to its own tranquil
tenor ?
But to leave the world to its tranquil tenor would have
been to leave it to perdition. It would have been to
leave it, not a world of mingled good and evil, but a
world of triumphant wickedness. It would have been to
leave it, not a world of righteous sufferers and unrighteous
oppressors, but a world of warring fiends ; a world where,
like Indian savages torturing one another, both the mar
tyrs and their murderers would have been alike brutal
and unlovely. To make it a better world, it was needful
that some should suffer ; to make it a world more true,
more holy, more devout, it was essential that some should
be so holy, so truthful, so devout, that the rest could not
tolerate them : in other words, bad as men now are, the
I only cure is that some Abels should be so good that the
I Cains cannot endure them. And if the martyr's pains are
sharp, they are also short; and his momentary cross is
followed by an everlasting crown. And whilst for hirn-
Iself he wins the snowy robe and the immortal palm, for
[the world he earns its true tranquillity. The sufferer for
|a great principle is a saviour of society ; and the sufferer
for the gospel is a benefactor to mankind. And, there
fore, foreseeing all the " great fight of afflictions " that
iwaited His affectionate followers ; beholding in this dark
leed of Herod the first of a long series of atrocities ; but
372 MIRACLES.
also foreseeing how, from the ashes of every pile would
spring hundreds of happy converts, and thousands of
Christian homes ; across the Eed Sea of martyrdom,
descrying the only path to the world's Land of Promise ;
and with His own mind made up to be Himself the next
who should ford its gulf of sorrow — the Saviour did not
retrace His steps : but now that the herald was slain, and
with His thoughts constantly travelling to that ensan
guined dungeon where John had finished his testimony,
the Prince of Peace Himself took up the topic, and dis
coursed to eager listeners "concerning the kingdom of
God."1
For, betwixt the fame of His wonders, and the avidity
to hear His words, it was not long till the solitary place
became a vast conventicle. And as from the eminence
where they sate Jesus looked down and saw the streams
of pilgrims flowing in from every northern path, adverting
to the unpeopled character of that upland region, He
said to Philip, who was a native of the place,2 " Whence
shall we buy bread, that they may eat?" and Philip's
answer indicated that, even if the shops of Bethsaida
could furnish a sufficient supply, it would cost all the
money they had amongst them to feed such a multitude,
" Knowing what he would do," and touched with the case
of a people who had neither a good prince to rule them
nor kind pastors to teach them, Jesus neither resented
the invasion of his retirement, nor sought a more secluded
resting-place, but devoted the day to these " sheep without
a shepherd." Such of them as needed healing, He curec
1 Luke ix. 11. 2 John vi. 5.
THE MULTITUDE FED. 373
of their diseases; and to all of them He discoursed at
length on the things of the kingdom. But at last the
apostles grew uneasy. The shadows were lengthening,
and night would soon enclose them. So they went up to
their Master, and said, "This is a desert place, and now
the day is far passed ; send them away, that they may go
into the country round about, and into the villages, and
buy themselves bread : for they have nothing to eat."
Jesus said, " They need not depart ; give ye them to eat."
Like Philip, thinking how a single meal to such a com
pany would exhaust their capital, the two hundred pence
which was probably the sum then in their common purse,
they answered, " Shall we go and buy two hundred penny
worth of bread, and give them to eat ?" He replied, " How
many loaves have ye? go and see." Andrew reported,
" There is a lad here who hath five barley loaves and two
little fishes; but what are these among so many?" But
just as if it were ample provision, Jesus bade them bring
it; and in the meanwhile, He directed the disciples to
arrange the crowd, seating them fifty in a row, and facing
one another, so that the entire concourse was disposed in
some fifty groups of a hundred each. And when all were
ready, Jesus took the loaves and fishes, and lifting up His
eyes to heaven, He thanked the Giver of all good. How
strange to see Him standing with these barley cakes in
one hand, and these two small fishes in the other, whilst
the hungry multitude were waiting for a meal ! And yet
how like the position of Israel's tented million, when there
was not a handful of corn in all the camp, but heaven was
about to rain the bread of angels at every door ! And
374 MIRACLES.
now, breaking up the loaves, He handed them to the
disciples ; and passing down the several ranges, the dis
ciples distributed to all the five thousand guests, and
repeated the same process with the fishes, till " they did
all eat, and were filled." Then, when the hunger of each
was satisfied, Jesus said to the disciples, " Gather up the
fragments that remain, that nothing be lost ;" and making
another tour of the company, each disciple filled his bas
ket, so that not only was the bread so multiplied that the
small loaves, which could scarcely have sufficed one little
family, feasted several thousands ; but the manifold won
der was crowned when the broken pieces so far exceeded
the original supply.
This is one of a few miracles which benefited a large
multitude at once. A solitary paralytic — " a few sick
folk" — two demoniacs— ten lepers — it was usually on
single sufferers or little groups that the beneficence of
the Saviour was expended. But here, as on a similar
occasion subsequently, not units but thousands came in
for a share in His great liberality. And though the grati
tude of a multitude is seldom so intense as the gratitude
of an individual or a family ; though even in the case of
the ten lepers the sense of obligation was so diluted that
only one of the ten felt constrained to thank his bene
factor; or, to take the highest of all illustrations— that
mercy which extends to millions — though few feel so
grateful for that widely- shared blessing, salvation, as to
say, "Thanks be to God for His unspeakable gift :" yet
still, wide reaching blessings are the way of the Most
High, and gifts which gladden thousands are godlike.
THE MULTITUDE FED. 375
And although it may be true that the bosoms in which
the mercy of Jesus lingered most tenderly were such as
blind Bartimeus and the widow of Nain, Simon's wife's
mother and the sisters of Lazarus, still it was fitting that
some signs and wonders should be scattered more broad
cast, and that a palpable proof should be given, that if
any distress still lingered among the millions of mankind,
it was not because there was not present a Power able to
heal them. Accordingly, such as had need of healing He
cured of their diseases, and, along with all the rest, regaled
them with a banquet, the product of immediate and mani
fest omnipotence.
VI.
THE SEA OF GALILEE : THE TEMPEST STILLED.
CHRIST had fed five thousand with five loaves and two
fishes. The miracle, in connexion with His discourses,
at once suggested to the multitude that lawgiver who fed
the fathers with manna in the desert, and they began to
whisper their surmise to one another, till the rumour ran,
" Verily, this is THAT PROPHET who is to come into the
world." Like unto Moses, like the great lawgiver in his
prodigies, and like him in his peerless revelations of the
mind of God, and coming at the predicted conjuncture,
why should they defer any longer ? Instead of the be
sotted and imbecile Herod, and as a deliverer from the
modern Pharaoh, the taskmaster Eoman, why should they
not obey the indications of Providence, and install at once
as their monarch a Prophet whose hand was a horn of
plenty, and His lips a lively oracle ?
Jesus knew their thoughts, and He deprecated such
procedure. To be king of the Jews was to Him no ambi
tion ; and a popular rising, a tumultuary proclamation of
a rival prince, would only bring misery on His kindred,
the obscure descendants of David, and furnish a pretext
to His priestly enemies. Christ's kingdom was not of
376
THE TEMPEST STILLED. 377
this world ; and up to the last week of his mortal life —
up to the time of that procession from Jericho to Jeru
salem, when the pent-up enthusiasm of years burst forth
in " hosannas to the Son of David" — He never permitted
any demonstration which might either alarm the rulers
or compromise His apostles. And as He could see the
movement in the concourse, and as He knew that the
populace would have abettors, all too eager, in His own
disciples — in the men who panted for high places in the
coming kingdom — "he constrained his disciples to get
into a ship," and go before Him to Bethsaida; whilst,
relieved of their presence, He himself undertook to dismiss
the multitude.
Soon was the encampment broken up, and, with thank
ful acknowledgments on the one side, and kind and gentle
parting counsels on the other, the crowd melted away.
The last stragglers had rounded the shoulder of the hill ;
and yonder pinnace on the lake would be the boat with
the twelve. All was growing silent and cool ; and as Jesus
sat in the solitude and gazed on the flattened grass, where
His guests had lately dined, and where the birds of the
air now came for their banquet, the curtain of darkness
spread over the scene. But He himself did not with
draw. In order to find the society He wished, there was
no need that He should go to Bethsaida. Already in that
solitary place His Father was present, and Jesus designed
to spend the night-watches in communion and converse
with Him. But whilst from that river of pleasures He
was regaling His weary spirit, and fortifying His soul for
further toils and trials, already the night wind sighed in
378 MIRACLES.
the mountain glen, and loud gusts roaring down the
gorge announced what a wild time the voyagers would
be finding on the water. But it was not till long after
midnight that Jesus went to join them. Bending on their
oars, and exerting all their strength, they had made only
three or four miles against the blast, when their practised
eye espied an object approaching from the shore. No
ship, no osprey skimming with outspread wings, — now
hid behind a lofty billow, now poising on its cresi — it
must surely be a spirit, the guardian angel of the lake,
or some phantom from the unseen world ; and as they
dropped their oars, a cry of consternation reached the
mysterious pilgrim, now plainly a human figure, and who
looked as if he were passing by.1 Instantly, however, and
not desiring to practise on their fears, Jesus exclaimed,
" Be of good cheer : it is I ; be not afraid." In the near
ness, and in the lull of the tempest, Peter was sure it was
the Master ; and starting up, he called out, " Lord, If it
be thou, command me to come to thee on the water."
Whilst, doubtless, designed as a tribute to his Master's
might, possibly a certain measure of curiosity and vanity
might mingle with the offer, and Peter might feel, " I, too,
would like to do as much : I wonder if I, too, could tread
the sea." And as Jesus bade him " come," he vaulted
from the vessel's edge; but possibly just then a squall
struck up, and as in a moment Peter realized his predica
ment — the black gulf below, and the angry waves all
round — he rued his rashness ; a panic seized him ; the
liquid pavement yielded, and in the cold abyss he would
1 Mark vi. 48 ; Matt. xiv. 22, 23.
THE TEMPEST STILLED. 379
have settled down, had not an outstretched hand forth
with met his cry of terror, and raised him to the surface,
and borne him up the vessel's side. That instant the
wind ceased; and the grateful voyagers came and wor
shipped Jesus, saying, "Of a truth thou art the Son of
God:" and just as yester evening the miraculous feast
had made them believers, but in the interval the storm
had anew made them infidels, so once more they yielded
to their amazement, and felt as if their faith could never
fail them again.
An incident which shows the fugacity of our convic
tions : how faint and fleeting are our strongest impressions.
Perhaps the disciples were a little mortified at being sent
on shipboard, when they expected in a few minutes to
hear their Master proclaimed King of Israel ; but whatever
might be their feeling, they had come away direct from a
wonderful scene — a scene quite as wonderful as if their
Master had bidden the firmament open and rain loaves on
the multitude. They could hardly help feeling, what even
the strangers felt, that this was " the Prophet," in very
deed the Son of God, as they themselves had often hailed
Him. But the wind fell contrary. They had to haul down
the yard, and fold away the sail ; and, weary as they were,
they must needs get out the oars and take to rowing. This
made them cross and sullen, and haply, in some hearts,
the thought was rising, Could not this man who gave these
strangers such a feast, have given his own servants fair
weather ? At all events, they were not so favoured as on
a former voyage. There was no Jesus asleep in the hinder
part of the ship, whom they could go and awaken, with
360 MIRACLES.
the demand, " Master, carest thou not that we perish ?"
That of itself was perplexing. Their previous perils He
had always shared, and out of them all delivered them ;
but this time there was no hope from that quarter, for in
quitting the solitary place, they had taken the only vessel
with them : and now they felt very disheartened and for
lorn, and thought it quite possible they might perish, and
their Master far away.
A fluctuation of feeling which happens constantly.
Reading some work of Christian evidence, you felt so cer
tain that the saying is faithful, " Christ Jesus came into
the world to save sinners," that you said to yourself, That
point is settled : that fact is history : by that conclusion
I abide for ever. But by and by, in some cold sophistical
society, among cavilling acquaintances, your mind was un
hinged or your soul was frost-bitten ; there was no longer
the same point and precision in the proof ; or you exem
plified, what we so often see, the difference between the
fact that is firm and the heart that is fixed. Or, when in
distress about your soul, you took up the Bible, and you
were directed to some gospel with Heaven's sunshine
beaming over it, and you said, " Bless the Lord, 0 my soul,
who forgiveth all thine iniquities, who healeth all thy
diseases ; " and you resolved that, whatever you might
hereafter forget, you would never forget the good- will of
God and the merits of Immanuel— that, whatever else you
might doubt, you would never question the amplitude of
the atonement and the security of the sinner who pleads
it. You had found a pearl of great price, and silent tears
or outspoken thanks proclaimed your happiness. But you
THE TEMPEST STILLED. 381
fell asleep on some enchanted ground, and woke up to find
that your treasure was gone : you came in from life's
coarse avocations and found that the gem in your signet
had dropped out whilst you dredged in the ditch or moiled
in the quarry. In the softness of an idle life, or the secu-
larity of a busy one ; more likely still, through some sin
ful step or guilty connivance, you lost the blessedness you
spake of ; and when sober or anxious moments came again,
you could neither see the gospel so true, nor the Saviour
so gracious, as you had seen them heretofore. Or in some
auspicious season you were so moved and melted by the
goodness of the Lord — you stood so astonished at some
singular interposition, some miraculous feast or opportune
mercy — that you felt you could never be diffident or
desponding any more. But anon the barrel of meal was
failing ; difficulties were thickening around you : a tempest
was rising, and like the disciples sent into the midst of a
storm when they hoped to see a coronation — like them
you consider not the miracle of the loaves, for your heart
is hardened. You are so mortified and so miserable that
you begin to ask, Hath God forgotten to be gracious ? Hath
He in anger shut up His tender mercies ? And it is per
haps more than you can do to keep from calumniating the
ways of Providence, and charging God foolishly.
The truth is, there is in us no feeling permanently good
except what is piit there and kept there by God Himself.
To a sinless being, the thing unnatural is to doubt the
goodness and the truth of God : to a sinful being, it is hard
to believe in the benevolence toward himself of a holy God
— it is hard to believe in God at all. And though strength
382 MIRACLES.
of evidence — though stress of argument may sometimes
make us fancy that we are thoroughly convinced — though
a brilliant presentation of the truth, or a striking Provi
dence may intensify our indolent assent into a transient
assurance or fervid emotion, in order to sustain the right
feeling, nothing less will suffice than a constant interpo
sition of God's own Spirit, who alone can conquer into a
habitual dependence on God our carnal enmity.
For the presence of that Comforter — for the calm and
continuous convictions which He imparts — let us ever
pray ; and whilst the men whom Moses, and the prophets,
and a Saviour risen from the dead, cannot convince —
whilst they keep ever repeating, " Eabbi, shew us another
sign" — be ours the apostles' wiser petition, " Lord, in
crease our faith." Whilst the morbid appetite for marvels
keeps ever crying, " Give, give," let us, as we gaze on the
marvels, covet earnestly that best gift, a sincere and docile
spirit — a purged and open eye. Equally remote from that
scepticism which forgets what a few hours ago its own
hands were handling, and that superstition which descries
a phantom more readily than a living Saviour, let us pray
for that faith which, lulling the storm in the mariner, will
leave us no longer so many Eeubens, " unstable as water,"
and who can never " prevail." Let us pray for that faith
which, stilling the fears and fancies that tumultuate
through our own soul, will leave a great calm, in the
midst of which we may fall down and worship the Son
of God.
Again : The experience of Peter shows us the distinc
tion betwixt faith and physical courage — the difference,
THE TEMPEST STILLED. 383
some would say, betwixt faith and forwardness. There
was no occasion for Peter to adventure on the deep. In
a few moments the Master would have been on board.
But the apostle felt an impulse — the same generous sort
of impulse which, after his Lord's resurrection, espying
Jesus on the shore, would not wait till the vessel was
worked to land, but bounded over the side and swam.
He felt an impulse, and betwixt his eagerness and his
wish to walk on the water, he volunteered to come to
Jesus. But no sooner did he feel the cold waves swinging
beneath the soles of his feet, and perceive the breakers
curling on every side, than his courage froze, and he gave
himself up for a drowning man. Perhaps there were in
the same ship men of less courage but more faith. Had
Jesus said to John, " Come to me on the water," most
likely John would have obeyed, and scarce been conscious
of the warring elements. Nay, we could conceive a dis
ciple there, so timid, so nervous and fearful, that he could
only envy Peter's valour: and yet had Jesus called to
him, we could imagine that shaking reed complying, and
achieving in safety the feat which proved too hard for
Simon.
Yet we are very apt to confound with Christian faith
the forwardness of a precipitate spirit, or the fervour of a
bold one. But, without disparaging firm nerves, and
without deprecating the frankness which is affectionate
and not officious, there is a great difference betwixt a
brisk spirit or a brave animal on the one side, and a
devout believer on the other. The advantage is all with
the latter. And if, in looking to the future, you some-
384 MIRACLES.
times fear, " I do not know how I shall ever surmount
that trial : I tremble at the prospect of that ordeal : it is
like passing through fire and through water : I do not
think I can bear that pain. How I envy such a one's
hardy frame, or such another's heroic temper : but as for
me I am a worm, and no man : " if that consciousness of
weakness shut you up to all-sufficiency, you will be more
than conqueror. The temptation will be fully vanquished
when the Saviour fights the battle for you. The affliction
will be light when the everlasting arms are carrying at
once the burden and the burden-bearer. The pain will
be easily borne when Jesus lends you His own strength
to bear it in. Faith is modest. It is not rash and.
ultroneous. It does not volunteer a promenade on the
flood, or a flight through the firmament ; but there is
might in its modesty, and when the occasion arrives, it '
knows that the feet of the petrel or the wings of the eagle
shall not be wanting. It knows that Christ honours the
faith which honours Himself; and if it be from Himself
that the invitation is issued, it will not scruple to ex
change at His command the firm deck for the liquid wave,
or even to tread the sea of death in the stormiest night, if
thus alone it may arrive in His presence.
Then, again, the whole incident lets out much of the
mind and manner of our Lord. The multitudes He sent
away, and in a little while they would be fast asleep, and
dreaming of a golden age, with its wonderful banquets
and royal feastings, and the Son of David reigning over
them. But for neither Himself nor His apostles was any
-sleep designed that night. He spent it praying : and
THE TEMPEST STILLED.
385
without 'intruding into that retirement, from which even
James and John were sent away — without venturing to
say what were the topics of the Mediator's intercessions
on that and similar nights — we need not hesitate to say
that the world is indebted to them till this hour, and will
be more indebted by and by. Like the obedience which
He was daily rendering, and like the sacrifice which He
was soon to offer, these prayers of the Son of God were
piacular and grace-procuring. Like precious pledges left
in a distant territory, they are a sign that the place will
be revisited, and that God has not done with a race whose
Divine Eepresentative endured and asked so much. These
prayers of the Saviour, so full of loyalty to God and of
benevolence towards His human brethren, are cords of
love which link the planet to the throne of God, and are
earnests of a day when the heathen shall be Christ's
heritage, and the utmost parts of the earth His posses
sion ; and notwithstanding all the fearful amount of sin
which cries to heaven for vengeance, so long as one of
these prayers offered on the hills of Galilee remains un
answered, the world is indestructible. " Destroy it not,
for a blessing is in it." The whole of these mercy-germs
must spring up and ripen, before the great harvest of the
earth is reaped.
But whilst the Saviour was praying, His apostles were
[toiling in rowing. Whilst He was holding congenial
converse with His Father in heaven, they were main
taining a deadly struggle with the wind and the waves.
And does it not seem somewhat hard that the friends of
I Jesus should share neither the slumbers of the multitude
VOL. III. 2 B
386 MIRACLES.
nor the devotions of their Master ? Is it not hard that,
whilst the five thousand are in their beds, and whilst
their Lord is in the Mount, they should be sent alone
into the heart of the storm and the dangers of the deep ?
So, standing on the summit of an Alpine cliff, and look
ing down to the rocky table where for weeks the eaglets
have been regaled with food fetched from the valley, it'
seems harsh and hardly parental when the eagle shoves
her fledgelings over the face of the cliff, and, with ineffec
tual fluttering, they plunge down through the dizzy air,
and would be dashed to pieces did not a lightning wing
intercept their descent, and bear them back again to the
eyrie.1 The Saviour was training His apostles. He was
educating them for a life in which cold and hunger,
weariness and watching, and the perils of the deep, should
be no small ingredient, but where faith in Himself, where
the assurance of His . perpetual presence and unchanging
love, should be their constant recourse. And see by what
beautiful gradations He taught them the lesson. See by
what progressive steps He inured them to that life
calmness in peril and joy in distress. First of all, He
embarks with them, but so far secludes Himself froi
their approach. He lays His weary head on a pillow,
and when the squall bursts on the lake He still continues
to sleep, and they scarcely like to arouse Him. But as
1 " He will not have them to be clinging only to the sense of his bodily
presence,— as ivy, needing always an outward support,— but as hardy forest
trees which can brave a blast ; and this time he puts them forth into the
danger alone, even as some loving mother-bird thrusts her fledgelings from
the nest, that they may find their own wings and learn to use them."— Trench
on the Parables.
THE TEMPEST STILLED. 387
wave after wave dashes over the deck, and already the
craft rolls in the water, they exclaim, " Master, carest them
not that we perish?" and, mildly arising, He looks out
on the tempest, and says, "Peace, be still;" and, as
the petulant billows hide their heads, with magic speed
across the willing lake the vessel glides into her haven.
But this time He secludes Himself from their approach
more effectually. Instead of shutting Himself up in
slumber, He shuts Himself out of the ship altogether,
and sends them to sea alone. They felt it hard. They
feared they were forgotten. And it was not till He
stepped into the ship, and the wind ceased, that they
felt how unjust were their murmurings, and knew that,
though miles lay between, every stroke of the oar,
and every strain of the timbers, and every stress of the
tempest, was marked by their Master far away. And
thus were they gradually prepared for such scenes as the
close of the apostolic history so vividly describes — scenes
where Christ's realized presence gave the sublimity of a
commander, and, had He chosen, would have secured the
honours of a demigod to a captive disciple — scenes where,
no small tempest lying on it, and the water-logged vessel
drifting, not on an inland lake, but over the wild Medi
terranean, secure in his Master's presence, the Hebrew
prisoner paced the deck, the only cheerful passenger, and
soldiers and sailors, centurion and captain, were fain to
take their orders from one whom faith in an unseen
11 Saviour had suddenly revealed as a king of men.
VII.
THE FAME OF JESUS : SUCCESSFUL INTERCESSION.
IN the old time and in the Holy Land, on the shores of
a beautiful lake, stood a straggling village. Some of its
houses belonged to farmers and shepherds, and some of
them were fishermen's huts. But tall above the rest rose a
nobleman's mansion. Its owner was a friend of the king,1
and often went to the palace. He had one son whom he
tenderly loved, and who, we dare say, he hoped would
grow up to be a favourite at court, as well as the heir oft
his own wealth and titles. Like the other boys of Caper
naum, no doubt the little noble had often sailed his mimic
boat on the edge of G-ennesaret, and explored the haunts
of the conies and rock-pigeons up among the hills. But
he was struck by a mortal sickness. His limbs shook
and burned in the fever, and he could hardly lift his head
from the pillow. His father got the best advice, but the
doctors could do him no good. The great house was
already beginning to wear that awe-struck aspect which
a house puts on when it expects a visit from the king of
terrors ; and when neighbours inquired for the little lord,
1 From the term in the original it would appear that the nobleman held
some office at court.
388
THE FAME OF JESUS. 389
it was always the same answer, " He is not any better."
The father saw him getting worse. Every time that he
stole into the dim chamber and stood over the young
sufferer, it was a more languid smile which returned his
greeting — it was a weaker and hotter little hand he
grasped in his. Even the sanguine father ceased to hope,
and, as he paced the hushed apartments, the bow and
quiver and other neglected toys of the poor patient began
to look like relics. Their owner would never handle them
any more.
At this time, however, a wondrous rumour spread rapidly
through all the Holy Land. A prophet had appeared, so
mighty and so good that many thought him Messiah.
Some of the nobleman's neighbours had lately seen Him
at Jerusalem, and they could tell what prodigies He had
wrought, and what heavenly words He had spoken. A
thought crossed the anxious parent's mind. Perhaps, like
another Elisha, this great prophet could heal his dying
child. But, to so great a prophet would it be sufficiently
respectful to send a mere messenger ? And what if that
messenger should linger by the way, or should somehow
mismanage the business ? Yes, he would go himself. He
would take another glimpse of the dear child, and then
set out for Cana.
As he posted the thirty miles, through budding vine
yards and green fields, many a thought rose in his bosom :
a wonder whether this great prophet were indeed the
Christ — a wonder if he were still at Cana — a wonder if
he could be persuaded to undertake such a distant expe
dition — a wonder if even this would avail Still, he felt
390 MIRACLES.
as if he were carrying in his arms his dying boy, and the
burden at his heart gave speed and perseverance to his
feet. Noon was just past, and the villagers were reposing
after their mid-day meal, when the pilgrim espied in the
valley the peaceful hamlet, the goal of his anxious journey.
Its wonderful guest had not yet departed, and, without
any introduction, the agitated father at once accosted
him : " Sir, come down, and heal my son ; for he is at the
point of death." Already, with their morbid appetite for
the marvellous, some of the Galileans had gathered around
him ; for Jesus answered, " Except ye see signs and won
ders, ye will not believe." The suppliant did not argue
the point. Doubtless, he felt the reproof was well-merited;
but, with the urgency of agonized affection, he only repeated
his prayer, " Sir, come down, ere my son die." There is
One who giveth liberally and upbraideth not; and the
Man of Sorrows was not the man who would upbraid a
breaking heart. With the look of one who wills and it
is done, and in a tone of tender assurance, Jesus instantly
answered, " Go thy way ; thy son liveth." In that sym
pathizing look the father recognised omnipotence ; in that
gentle voice he owned the Almighty fiat : and, convinced
that all was well, the pilgrim resumed the road to Caper
naum. The voice of the turtle was heard in the land,
and on his homeward way his singing heart re-echoed the
music of spring. To the eye of his faith, his son was again
in health and gleesome vigour ; to the same eye, Jesus of
Nazareth was the Christ of God : and, earnest of the new
life in his dwelling, he felt a new life in his soul. Nor
did he need to wait till next day restored him to his man-
THE FAME OF JESUS. 391
sion; for here, along the road, come the joyful servants
to tell the news already known so well. " Thy son liveth."
" Yesterday, at one in the afternoon, the fever left him."
Yes, at one in the afternoon, and when the anguish-stricken
father had been a day's march distant, interceding with
Jesus, the fever vanished. It was not that the patient
revived; it was not that his ebbing strength had rallied ; it
was not that the disease had taken a turn ; but it had abso
lutely gone away. The fever left him, and the lad was
well. Oh, happy father ! oh, kind and mighty Jesus !
The servants told their master about his son, and now
he told them about the Saviour. They had heard much
concerning Jesus already, and now in their gladness they
believed it all. As Messiah, and as all which He claimed
to be, they hailed their wondrous benefactor. It was a
believing family. The father believed, and so did his
recovered son, and so did these kind-hearted servants.
Sickness left the house, 'and salvation came to it. And,
although usually they were "the common people" who
heard Him most gladly, among the first-fruits of the
Saviour's ministry were a Hebrew noble and his family.
Two years passed on, and this beneficent career was
near its ending. The same sweet season had returned,
when new leaves are on the tree and twittering broods are
in the nest, and all the Holy Land was moving towards
Jerusalem. But from the stream of pilgrims Jesus and
His disciples fell aside. To escape the double danger of
priestly intrigues, and a tumultuary coronation on the
part of the people, the Saviour retired to the furthest
392 MIRACLES.
limit of the country, and spent a little while on the border
of Tyre and Sidon.
Thither the fame of His wonders had already penetrated
from the neighbouring Galilee. In the general mind it
had only awakened surprise or curiosity ; but there was
one poor woman who heard it with intensest interest.
She was not one of the favoured people. She was not
by descent a daughter of Abraham. She belonged to that
brisk and busy nation whose bold argosies used to fetch
tin from our own Albion, and whose pushing traders had
colonized Tyre, Carthage, Corinth, Syracuse, and nearly all
the mighty marts of the Mediterranean. But the Phoeni
cians were pagans. They worshipped marble statues of
Jupiter and Mars, and other old heroes, and to the Jews
they were peculiarly obnoxious as the descendants of
Canaan, the worst progeny of Ham. Happily for herself,
however, this Syrophcenician lived on the confines of the
Holy Land, and she heard the fame of Jesus. She knew
the Hebrew expectation of Messiah, and there were cir
cumstances which quickened her acuteness, and which
enabled her to identify the Son of David sooner than
many of His own compatriots.
She had a young daughter. No doubt she had set great
store on the little girl, and had been cheered through all
her wakeful nights and toiling days by the hope of what
she was yet to be. But the hope was blasted. How it
came about we do not know ; but an evil spirit, or demon,
had entered into her child. There could hardly be a more
terrible trial. Just when the fond mother was anticipat
ing a companion and a helper in the growing strength and
THE FAME OF JESUS. 393
intelligence of her daughter, to have her loved one torn
away in the grasp of a fiend — her reason frustrated, her
better will overborne, her conscience in vain reclaiming —
it was a fearful affliction, a daily sword in that poor
mother's soul, and to any physician or exorcist who could
have given her again her child she would not have grudged
her house full of silver.
Just then, however, she heard of one who was able. For
two years in the adjacent Galilee Jesus had been healing
" all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and
torments, and those who were possessed with devils," and
" his fame went throughout all Syria." * It had reached
the abode of this disconsolate mother, and now that a
kind Providence had brought the Great Physician into her
immediate neighbourhood, she hastened to consult him.
There is in faith a sound logic, just as in earnestness
there is a deep divination. From the " fame" of Jesus
the Canaanite mother drew her own conclusions. She
inferred that to one endowed with such virtue there must
be great delight in exercising it, and that even her case as
an alien would not put her beyond its reach ; and accord
ingly her mind was made up to throw herself on His
mercy, and take no refusal. And just as her conclusion
was sound, so her alertness was eager and her penetration
was keen. The Saviour's sojourn was short. He had
come into that region incognito. He courted retirement,
and instead of preaching in the villages He " entered into
a house and would have no man know it." But there is
no ear so sensitive as maternal solicitude, and although
1 Matt. iv. 24.
394 MIRACLES.
few in that countryside were conscious of the presence
which now ennobled their borders, this grief-worn mother
caught the sound of His feet, and made prophetic music
of their beautiful goings. Through some friendly informant
apprised of His coming, she soon learned His retreat, and
rushed to His presence. It did not matter that every
thing looked unpropitious — that disciples dissuaded her
entering — that they represented that for the time being
there was a pause in His miracles, and that she must not
trouble the Master. Nor did it matter that the Saviour
sat silent, and seemed almost to reprove her intrusion.
Her heart was sharper than the eye of apostles, and whilst
they interpreted the cold look of their Master as a hint to
send her away, under that cold look the Spirit of God
somehow assured her she would yet find a welcome.
" Have mercy on me, 0 Lord, thou Son of David ! my
daughter is grievously vexed with a deviL" Such was her
vehement adjuration, as, with clasped hands and on bended
knees, she lay at His feet ; but those that watched His
countenance saw in it none of the accustomed compassion ;
and as, without answering her a single word, He slowly
rose and moved forth into the open air, and resumed the
road towards Galilee,1 there seemed an end of hope, and
the disciples fancied that, like themselves, their Lord
regarded her as a heathen dog, on whom the cliildren's
bread must not be wasted. Callous and case-hardened
1 Such is the impression left on our minds by the narrative. From Mark
(vii. 24, 25) we gather that He was in the house and wishing to be " hid,"
when the woman first fell at His feet. From Matthew (xv. 23-29) He appears
to have been on the road, and " departing thence," when He spoke the
wished-for word.
SUCCESSFUL INTERCESSION. 395
with that worldliness in which the best of men are more
or less incrusted, they did not mind her tears, and they
did not permit themselves to realize the misery condensed
into the bitter cry, " My daughter is grievously vexed with
a devil." No ; to them she was not a mother praying for
her child, but only a troublesome petitioner — a foreigner
-a heathen— an accursed Canaanite. But though they
had no sympathy with the suppliant, they were tired of
her importunity, and they wished to put an end to the
"scene." Heartlessly enough they said to their Lord,
" Send her away, for she keeps crying after us." And,
speaking out their thoughts, He first said to them, " I am
not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel,"
and to her, " It is not fit to take the children's bread, and
cast it unto dogs." " Truth, Lord," she answered, looking
up from the ground, on which she had again prostrated
herself — "truth, Lord," as much as to say, "Yes, call us
dogs. Ignorant, outcast, impure, we idolaters deserve no
better name." " Yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall
from their master's table." " An atom of that gracious power
— a mere morsel of that mercy which has made so many
blessed homes in Palestine, would make of me a happy
mother ; and thou art too generons to grudge that crumb."
The point was reached at which the Saviour had all along
been aiming. By this striking instance, as in the case of
the Centurion, He had showed the apostles how God can
create in Gentile minds a firmer faith than Israel's, and
had thus prepared them for that day not distant when it
would be their vocation to take Heaven's bread and dis
tribute it to heathen " dogs." The point was reached,
396 MIRACLES.
and no sooner was this answer uttered than, like the mask
falling from the face of Joseph, the " strangeness" fled
from the face of Jesus, and the loving-kindness, long sup
pressed, burst through. " 0 woman, great is thy faith !
For this saying, go thy way ; the devil is gone out of thy
daughter." The suppliant had all her desire ; the disciples
received a lesson ; the blessed Jesus tasted once more His
own joy- creating luxury, — the delight of doing good.
Hasting to her home, the thankful mother felt none of
those shadows thickening round her which of late had so
often saddened her approach. No haggard figure darted
from the door, and rushed off towards the forest. No \
young fury met her steps in rage and frenzy, uttering wild
invectives. But, as she lifted the latch and looked in,
there lay on the couch a slight and peaceful form, — her
little daughter as of yore, in calm and holy slumber. The
devil was gone out, and though the rage of his departure
had left the poor young patient spent and weary, he would
come back no more ; and as soon as those pale eyelids
opened, " the light of other days " beamed forth on the
enraptured mother. The Son of David had shown mercy.
From that very hour the damsel was made whole, and
doubtless, if they lived so long, amongst those who " were
first called Christians" in the neighbouring Antioch would
be herself and her fond mother.
Miracles of this kind we do not expect at present.^
Their purpose has been served. They authenticated at
the time the Heavenly Messenger. They roused tbf I
stupid multitude. But the course of things is resumfi
SUCCESSFUL INTERCESSION. 397
once more ; and as the exigencies of this probationary
disciplinary state require that we should have always
with us the sick and the suffering, as well as the poor
and the needy, so we do not feel entitled to expect a
repetition of those gracious interpositions which so often
startled an incredulous neighbourhood, and which pre
possessed towards the Great Evangelist the pensioners of
the Great Almoner and the patients of the Great Physi
cian. It would disorganize society, and would go far to
put an end to industry, humanity, and forethought, if
hunger could always reckon on miraculous loaves, and if
disease and pain could always count on a supernatural
cure. But although, from the necessities of the case, the
prodigies have ceased, the Man of Mercies lives, and that
" gospel of the kingdom" for which He bespoke a welcome
by " healing all manner of sickness and all manner of
disease among the people" — for that gospel He is as
solicitous to gain each heart amongst ourselves as He was
to gain the ear of Palestine.
Let us covet earnestly the best gifts— better gifts than
bodily cures and temporal boons. Let us covet those gifts
which Jesus is ascended a Prince and a Saviour to bestow.
Let us covet those gifts for contempt of which the Holy
Land was, in the long-run, so little the better of that
Divine Visitant with whose fame for a season it resounded.
Let us covet the remission of our sins and the sweet sense
of reconciliation with God. Let us covet a meek, lowly,
and obedient mind, a contrite spirit, and a tender con-
y?cience. Let us covet a holy disposition, and a soul
heavenwards. Let us covet that great gift, the
398 MIRACLES.
Holy Ghost the Comforter. These are the blessings
included in the gospel of the kingdom; and in seeking
them for ourselves and for others, let us see what light
the incidents now reviewed cast on the mind of the
Saviour.
1. We see the honour which He puts upon Faith. It
was their faith which brought both the nobleman and the
Syrophenician to the Saviour, and it was their faith which
carried back the blessing. So is it still. Christ honours
the faith which honours Himself and His Father. And if
any one asks, " How is it that I don't get on ? I have no
assurance of God's love. I have no comfort in my religion.
I gain no ground against my besetting sin. I have little
enjoyment in prayer, in ordinances, in the "Word of God :"
the answer is, " You don't get on because you don't go to
Jesus. You have more faith in disciples than you have
in the Master ; nay, you have more faith in yourself than
you have in the Saviour." But it is only the Lord Jesus
who can really do you good. You cannot save, and you
cannot sanctify yourself. Christian friends cannot give
you assurance. Ministers cannot say, " Be it unto thee
even as thou wilt." But Jesus can. He has all power in
heaven and on earth. Believe this, and act as if you
believed it. Go to Him ; and even if at first He should
seem not to regard — though He should answer you not a
word — though the first answer should be discouraging,
" I am not sent but to the lost sheep of the house of
Israel" — though it should be suggested, " You are none of
the elect, you are none of Christ's sheep, you are
of God's children, you are a dog" — be not discouragec
SUCCESSFUL INTERCESSION. 399
Think of whom you are addressing. Think how much
more love there is in the heart of the Saviour than in the
best of His disciples ; and as sure as you persevere, and
as sure as there is mercy in the Son of David, at last He
will say, " Be it unto thee even as thou wilt."
2. We see the honour which Christ puts upon natural
affection. Many of the sick whom Jesus healed could
not come to Him. He went to them, or friends brought
them to Him. But in the two instances now considered,
it would seem that even this was impracticable. The
dying youth could not be moved; the demoniac would
probably have offered every resistance. And yet, in a
certain sense, they were brought to Jesus. In the arms
of faith and affection their parents brought them ; and,
although casual observation noticed nothing, the all-seeing
Saviour saw the burden with which they were heavy
laden. As the nobleman entered, Jesus saw next his
heart a dying son ; as the Canaanite entered and sank to
the ground, He saw that it was her afflicted child who
dragged the poor mother to the dust ; and although in the
one case He let it forth at once, and in the other concealed
it for a season, in either case He was instantly moved
with compassion. The father's love, the mother's yearn
ing, in conjunction with their great faith, at once took
hold of Immanuel's sympathy, and, as effectually as if the
sufferers had come themselves, brought to His lips the
word of healing.
We can no more shut grief from our dwelling than from
our world ; and the dearer the relation the sorer is the
pang. It is very sad to see the roses wither, to feel the
400 MIRACLES.
thin palm so hot and dry, and mark the life's slow ebbing.
And it is sad when the nursing and the watching are
ended — when the cheerful gleams and the patient endur
ance alike are over — when there is no more wheeling out
into the mellow autumn afternoon — no more carrying up
and down stairs — no more favourite chapters read — no
more hymns repeated — no more tender, solemn talk of
Jesus and the New Jerusalem ; — it is sad to see the little
daughter in the coffin. But far sadder was the case of
this poor mother. She had still beside her the self-same
form. Yes, indeed, this was the very babe that once she
dandled — the little one whose first lispings were such a
wonder and delight— the little Syrian maid who felt so
proud to pace beside her mother, hand in hand, to the
village well, and then, in all the importance of infant
womanhood, so gravely guarded the cradle of a lesser one.
But, oh, how changed ! So rebellious and intractable —
so malignant and mischievous — so fearfully possessed by
the devil. Happy neighbour, who have laid your little
damsel in the grave. And yet far happier both the mother
of the dead and the mother of the demoniac than the
mother of the reprobate. Happy those in whose cup if
there is bitter sorrow there is not also burning shame, and
who, in the day of their sore calamity, are spared the
agony of crime. The body may be in the grave, and the
spirit be in paradise — the soul may be the haunt of an
unwelcome demon, and at last, emancipated from the irk
some thraldom, may be a bright and exulting angel before
the throne. But for depravity — for lost innocence — for
guilt — for this grief of griefs, is there any balm in Gilead ?
SUCCESSFUL INTERCESSION. 401
For this sorrow, surpassing death, can the Physician there
prescribe ?
He can. And these incidents teach us that the best
thing which affection can do for its objects is to carry
their case to the Saviour. You have a child or dear rela
tion who is like to bring your grey hairs with sorrow
to the grave. And what are you to do ? It seems as if
nothing could stop him in his wild career. He seems as
if he could not stop himself. He really looks as if he
were possessed with the deviL You have got good people
to talk to him, and you have talked to him yourself.
But it was of no use. He did not stop his ears ; but as
for giving you any hold on his heart, his will, you might
as well have been a thousand miles away — as for giving
you any admission into his real self, it would have been
all the same if he had been at the antipodes. And now
you have entirely lost sight of him. You know not where
he is ; and what are you to do ? Why, this : You have
heard " the fame " of Jesus. Go to him, and take your
child, your husband, your lost friend with you. Take
him, that is, as the nobleman and the woman took their
child. Take him in the arms of believing and importu
nate intercession. " Thou Son of David, have mercy on
me ; for my beloved one is grievously vexed with a devil.
He is the enemy of God, and of his own soul. He is the
slave of divers lusts and passions. Thou knowest our
frame. Thou knowest the affection I feel for him. Thou
knowest the faith I have in thee. 0 that Ishmael may
live before Thee ! 0 that this wanderer may be restored
—this madman brought to his right mind ! I know not
VOL. in. 2 c
402 MIRACLES.
where he is : at this very moment Thou compassest his
path, and art acquainted with all his ways. And although
he were here, he could effectually exclude me from his
soul's sanctuary — from that mysterious shrine where sits
alone and inaccessible the hidden man of the heart : but
even at this moment, Thou who hast the key of David
canst open for Thyself that door ; even now his heart is
in Thy hand. Oh, speak the word, and add a heaven to
my heaven — a jewel to Thy crown !"
DISCOURSES.
i. MESSIAH'S MANIFESTO.
IT was still early in the Saviour's ministry. Only a
few months had elapsed since He commenced His miracles
at Caua — since He changed the water into wine, and re
stored to health the ruler's son. It was only a short time
since He had preached the gospel to Nicodemus and to
the woman of Samaria ; but although He had held many
interviews with friends and inquirers, and had spoken in
[many synagogues, He had not yet given any general or
>ublic exposition of His object and design. If He were
" the Prophet," He had not unfolded His message. If He
rere Messiah, He had not yet explained the nature of
that kingdom which He had come to set up.
The occasion had now arrived. He had completed an
extensive circuit of Galilee, during which He had come in
;ontact with great numbers of people, and had healed all
|;he sick who were brought to Him. His fame spread
throughout Syria," and, now that He had returned to
|;he shores of Gennesaret, He found Himself surrounded
py an expectant multitude. From the edge of the lake,
403
404 DISCOURSES.
with its fresh clear water and its pebbly margin, He
moved towards a neighbouring eminence. The crowd
followed, and on reaching the top of a little hill Jesus
sat down. James and John, Peter and Andrew, and other
disciples drew near Him, and the general audience covered
the platform beyond.
We can picture the scene : The little hill with its two
terminal knolls or low horn-like hummocks, and the level
space between. At the base of one of these knolls, the
wonderful Teacher — the possible Messiah — about to openj
His commission — His countenance almost youthful ; not
yet " marred" by the career of hardship and sorrow on
which He had entered, and in the eyes of many among
His hearers still radiant with the beauty of beneficence— I
that lustre it wore when He restored health to themselves,
or reason to their friends. Most of the audience are
Galileans — boatmen from the lake, little traders from th
towns, rustics from the fields and vineyards — but mingle
with them a few of the wilder boors from the other sid
a few of the carefully attired and more vivacious citizen
from Jerusalem. Straight before them, in silvery fulness
spreads the Sea of Galilee — its nearer margin fringe
with palms, its waters only ruffled by the creaking oai
or splashed up for a moment by the swooping pelicar
Southward soars into the horizon Tabor, with its cops;
dome ; and, though most of the hamlets are hid in dell
and valleys, yonder is a white village which has climbec
the steep, and which arrests the spectator's eye — " a citj
set on a hill." It is autumn. Perhaps already ligh
clouds fleck the firmament, harbingers of the early rain
MESSIAH'S MANIFESTO. 405
and from their rocky retreats in the adjacent ravine
flights of doves have come forth to seek that food which
careworn man must gather into barns. And now that
all is leisure and silence — from no elevation except the
eight of His own intrinsic majesty, and with no barrier
ound Him except His own secluding sanctity — the
>peaker opens His mouth and begins. He begins, and
tie music of His voice and the glow of His countenance,
s well as the first word He pronounces, are each an
iterance of the " blessedness" within, which He would
ain transfuse through all that listening throng.
" Blessed are the poor in spirit : for theirs is the king-
om of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn : for they
hall be comforted. Blessed are the meek : for they shall
nherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and
hirst after righteousness : for they shall be filled. Blessed
are the merciful : for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed
ire the pure in heart : for they shall see God. Blessed
are the peace-makers : for they shall be called the chil-
Iren of God. Blessed are they which are persecuted for
righteousness' sake : for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
To many in that audience each beatitude was a paradox.
Happy is that rich man who holds his head so high,"
ould be the thought of many ; but Jesus says, " Happy
is that self-conscious man who knows himself a spiritual
pauper. He will welcome the true riches, and on his
owly down- drooped head, as God's Prophet, I pour the
:onsecrating oil, and anoint him as a king." And others
think, " Happy are those joyous spirits. Happy is that
festive party. Happy are those merry-makers, who have
406 DISCOURSES.
always summer in their blood and sunshine in their looks,
and who are able to forget both past and future." Bufc
Jesus says, " Happy are the serious. Happy those whose
conscience is tender, and who have found in sin a source
of sincere and profound affliction. Soon will the last tear
be wiped from their faces." Many envy the hero. Fain
would you set your foot on the neck of the Eoman, and
once more claim this goodly land as your own. " But,"
says Jesus, " the meek man is the hero. His foot is ODJ
the neck of vindictiveness, envy, and those terrible pas
sions which are tyrants worse than the Eomans. As my
disciple, become your own master, and at once your empire
is larger than Caesar's. Be meek, be patient, be contented,
be a child of God, and God's world is your estate, the
earth is your inheritance." Not that you are to have ndj
aspirations, no ambition ; but " covet earnestly the best
gifts." Hunger after righteousness.
But it is not easy to paint the rainbow : it is a vain
attempt to analyse the breath of June. Of these bene
dictions, as of the discourse which follows, so deep is the
meaning, and so Divine the charm, that it is only the
Holy Spirit, taking the things of Jesus, who can convey
them fully into a mortal mind. No wonder that their
perusal has been the means of prepossessing for the gospel
numbers of both Jews and heathen ; and no wonder that
the fairest and best informed of modern philosophers has
said, " Of their transcendent excellence, I can find no
words to express my admiration and reverence. At the
close, the Divine speaker rises to the summit of moral
sublimity. ' Blessed are they who are persecuted for
MESSIAH'S MANIFESTO. 407
righteousness' sake.' For a moment, 0 Teacher blessed,
I taste the unspeakable delight of feeling myself to be
better. I feel, as in the days of my youth, that hunger
and thirst after righteousness, which long habits of in
firmity and the low concerns of the world have contributed
to extinguish." 1
They are the preamble to a discourse, in many respects
the most remarkable which even revelation has preserved.
That discourse is the manifesto of Messiah. It is a pro
clamation of the sort of empire which He had come to set
up in this evil world. It is a description of that kingdom
of God which consists in " righteousness, and peace, and
joy in the Holy Ghost," and which Jesus sought to esta
blish in the souls of men. It is not the gospel ; but it is
a survey of that territory to which the gospel is the gate.
It is not "Believe and live;" but it is a description of
that existence which believers ought to live. And to a
thoughtful man who is beginning to tire of viewing vanity,
who is sickened at the world's heartlessness, or who is
revolting from the husks which the swine do eat, we can
imagine nothing more opportune or more arousing than
the blessedness of a true piety as here depicted ; nothing
more fitted to make him ask, How shall I ascend this
hill of God? How may I get up to the pure air and
bright prospects of this Mount of Blessing ? How may I
acquire that character which Heavenly Wisdom has here
signalized by such great and precious benedictions ?
As has been already stated, this discourse was delivered
early in the Saviour's ministry. It was uttered just when
1 Life of Sir James Mackintosh, vol. ii. p. 125.
408 DISCOURSES.
it was desirable to give both His first followers and the
Jews in general an accurate idea of His object and mission ;
so that the former might know what their Master expected
from them, and that the latter might know what they
should expect from Messiah. And this twofold purpose
was admirably answered by the mode in which the address
was adapted to the audience. That audience consisted of
an inner and an outer circle. Close around their Master
were collected the disciples ; beyond them, but still within
hearing, was a promiscuous congregation. It was to the
disciples that Jesus directed His speech ; but it was to
disciples in the audience of the multitude. And, there
fore, whilst the whole of the sermon is primarily spoken
to His personal friends, nearly the whole of it bears
obliquely on the bystanders. Every beatitude is not only
a congratulation to the Christian, but a warning, a sort of
sorrowful and reluctant woe, to the self- excluded worldling.
Every exhortation to disciples, " Be not as the hypocrites,"
was not only a direction how to pray, and fast, and give
alms aright; but it was fitted to startle those who felt-
in their conscience that in describing the hypocrite the
Speaker was describing themselves. And then at the
close, when He proceeded to point out the wide gate and
the narrow, and described the foolish builder and the
wise one, we can imagine Him raising His eyes towards
the remoter rows of listeners, and leaving on their especial
ear the solemn and emphatic conclusion.
Assuming that it was the twofold object of this dis
course to teach the disciples what their Master expected
in them, and to teach the Jews what they ought to expect
MESSIAH'S MANIFESTO. 409
from Messiah, it is most instructive to observe the Divine
skill with which both ends are accomplished, or rather
with which the one is accomplished by means of the other.
After His benign and beautiful introduction, the Speaker
enunciates what may be deemed the text or main topic,
— " Ye are the salt of the earth : ye are the light of
the world :" and then describing the sort of light which
Christians should shed and the sort of influence which
Christians should exert, He sketches both negatively and
positively the great features of the New Testament king
dom. It was no part of His plan to supersede the Moral
Law, or to proclaim a saturnalia, during which every one
should do that which was good in his own eyes. He had
come not to cancel the Law and the Prophets, but to fulfil
the precepts of the one, even as He fulfilled the predic
tions of the other. Nay, so far was He from lowering the
Divine requirements or loosening moral obligation, that
He goes on to instance two great standards of ethics which
in His kingdom would be utterly worthless, — the one, the
teaching of the Scribes; the other, the practice of the
Pharisees. To His immediate hearers nothing could be
more startling. "If only two men shall be saved," was
their proverb, " the one must be a Scribe, and the other
a Pharisee." But to constitute a worthy member of
Messiah's kingdom, Jesus shows that their obedience must
be more broad than the one, and their motive more pure
than the other. To restrict the sixth command to actual
murder, and allow all malice in the heart, is no morality ;
and to give money to the poor and say prayers to God, for
the sake of man's applause, is no religion. Then, after
410 DISCOURSES.
contrasting the spontaneous and heart-sprung ethics of
the Christian with the stinted and external compliance of
the rubricist and rule-monger, as well as with the osten
tatious exploits of the formalist, He reverts to the main
topic again, and shows that it is by laying up treasure in
heaven — by maintaining a single eye to God's glory — by
casting off all carking anxiety, and trusting to Him who
feeds the raven and clothes the lily — by cultivating strict
ness of judgment each towards himself, and charity to
wards others — by making known all their desires to God,
as to a Father wise and loving — and by doing to others as
they would that men should do to them — that they are
to evince themselves Christ's disciples, and pour a saving
light upon the world, a sanctifying influence on society.
Such is a brief outline of this wonderful discourse.
Eegarded merely as an effusion of didactic eloquence, it
is unsurpassed. No passage inspired or uninspired can
equal for brevity and fulness the affectionate breathings
of its exhaustless prayer ; and it would be better never to
have been born than to be able to read its opening beati
tudes without impulse or emotion. Where shall we find
words so plain and yet so touching as these, " Behold the
fowls of the air : for they sow not, neither do they reap,
nor gather into barns ; yet your heavenly Father feedeth
them ? Are ye not much better than they ? . Which of
you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature?
And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the
lilies of the field, how they grow ; they toil not, neither
do they spin : and yet I say unto you, That even Solomon
in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Where-
MESSIAH'S MANIFESTO. 411
fore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day
is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much
more clothe you, 0 ye of little faith ?" And when did a
sermon ever end with a peroration so natural yet so noble,
— an image so obvious yet so stately and impressive ?
" Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and
doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which
built his house upon a rock ; and the rain descended, and
the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that
house ; and it fell not : for it was founded upon a rock.
And every one that heareth these sayings of mine, and
doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man,
which built his house upon the sand : and the rain de
scended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and
beat upon that house ; and it fell : and great was the fall
of it."
The Speaker came with no pompous equipage. He did
not alight from a splendid chariot, nor was He attended
to His place by the £lite of Palestine or any train of learned
or brilliant supporters. Neither coronet nor mitre glit
tered on His brow, nor halo shone from His head. The
sky did not mutter, the mountain did not quake; no
trumpet was sounded ; no note of preparation was heard.
But the great Teacher sat down ; and as the audience
clustered round — like pearls from a horn of plenty — like
the musical pulses of morning on the great harp of Memnon
—blessing followed blessing, till He swept the whole
diapason of goodness. Then, after this exquisite prelude,
He passed on to unfold His heavenly ethics, in terms so
simple that the boor of Naphthali wondered at his own
412 DISCOURSES.
intelligence, and yet so saintly, so celestial, that the dullest
ear was awed, and the vilest for a moment felt the charm
of virtue. And what made the wonder all the greater,
was the ancient and familiar source from which those
lessons so new and beautiful were taken. The discourse
was avowedly based on an older law, and was designed
to expound precepts given long ago, and yet the world
contains no contribution to ethics so novel and unique.
Like so many dingy nodules which from time immemorial
have lain about on the village green, disregarded by the
ignorant or heedless inhabitants, till at last a lapidary
comes and splits them open, and in the heart of each
reveals a nest of radiant gems, — the ten commandments
had been preserved among the Hebrews as something
precious, but rather as palladiums or charms than as
wealth available for their several homes, till, one by one,
Jesus took them, and with His " I say unto you" laid
open each separate precept, and showed how rich it was
in hidden jewels, and how, turned to right account, it
might have introduced into their own abodes much of
the wealth of heaven. Like the seeds and bulbs which
travellers sometimes carry home, in the wilderness of
Sinai the Israelites had gathered up and conveyed to
their own land many right statutes and good judgments ;
but, like the dry germs in the traveller's cupboard, the
law slumbered a dead letter in the ark of the synagogue,
till — "lo ! I come" — Jesus came and hid it in His heart.
Watered by the Holy Spirit, given without measure to
the second Adam, these seeds of goodness quickened in
this congenial soil, and after thirty years of fostering in
MESSIAH'S MANIFESTO. 413
Nazareth, were in full blossom planted out on the Mount
of Beatitudes ; and when the murmur of admiration rose,
"Whence hath this man this doctrine?" He told them
that He had found it in the decalogue. The germs of all
these graces were the dry seeds which they themselves
had fetched home from the barren crags of Horeb. He
had hid them in His heart, and now preached their right -
eousness in the great congregation.
It was a marvellous sermon ; and as in the induction
of the Speaker's sanctity the listeners felt for the instant
weaned from sin — as in the example of the Speaker Him
self they saw how august and lovely true devotion is — as
under the momentary spell they could fancy themselves
ennobled and uplifted, and already ushered on that better
life in whose majestic panorama they were moving — they
were loath to end the delicious trance, and grieved when
the glorious lesson ended. Like bees hovering round the
honeycomb, " when he came down from the mountain
great multitudes followed him" — and just as the shep
herds felt when the heavens closed and the angels fell
silent, when Jesus ended, the people were astonished.
The doctrine and the tone were new. It was not the
hearsay of the elders, nor the quibble of the scribes — it
was the voice of the oracle, it was the deliverance of a
teacher come from God. No winder that they marvelled;
for on that hill-side they had heard a sermon the like of
which their fathers even did not hear at Sinai. They had
heard a sermon which was to be the text of a new dispen
sation, and whose fulness of meaning no sage of this world,
no seraph of the other, shall ever be able to exhaust. They
414
DISCOURSES.
had heard a lecture on ethics, the symmetry and eleva
tion of which were only surpassed by the Speaker's living
example. They had heard a lesson as to God's fatherliness
and fond interest in His children's affairs, such as no one
could speak with authority save the only-begotten Son,
who is in the bosom of the Father, and who on this occa
sion declared Him.
II.
A SAVIOUR'S FAREWELL.
OF the recorded discourses of our Lord, the two longest
are the Sermon on the Mount, and His Address to the
Disciples in the guest-chamber on that night when He
was betrayed into the hands of sinners.
Between these discourses two years and a half had
intervened1 — years filled up as never was any similar
term of human history. During that interval the Lord
Jesus had been the source of countless benefits to the
land of His sojourn. Betwixt the lost senses which He
had restored to many, and the many whom He had cured
of direful diseases; betwixt the demons whom He had
expelled, and the dead whom He had raised to life, there
was not a single mourner or sufferer on whose behalf the
interposition of the Man of Mercies had been sought by
Himself or His friends, who had not reason to remember
Him with affectionate gratitude. But there were others
who were His debtors still more deeply. There were
many whose spiritual diseases He had healed, many
whom He had raised from the grave of sensuality, and
given them the life of God in their souls. And if there
1 The Sermon on the Mount, Mr. Greswell assigns to September, A. D. 27 ;
the Farewell Discourse to April 4, A.D. 30.
415
416 DISCOURSES.
be greater wonders, there is no mercy greater than this.
To a soul sunk in corruption — apathetic as a clod, ignorant
of God, destitute of all pure and holy aspirations, a mere
assemblage of divers lusts and passions — to such a soul
to impart acute moral sensitiveness, an adoring loyalty to
the Most High, an avidity for truth and goodness, and
thus to fit it for a glorious immortality, is a greater boon
than a resurrection to natural life a thousand times
repeated. But that boon the Saviour was conferring on
some one almost every day ; and, rendering its cheating
publicans honest and humane, its hollow Pharisees genuine
and devout, its flagitious transgressors pure in heart and
blameless in all holy conversation, He was leaving in that
Holy Land numbers who, when He came to it, were so
foul as to be only fit for destruction, but who, through
His own benignant treatment and the Holy Spirit's trans
forming, have long since gone to be the companions o:
angels. And, over and above, not a day elapsed through
out these thirty months when He was not living that life,
uttering those words, radiating that influence, and achiev
ing that work, of which we reap the priceless results to
day — of which the Divine perfections then revealed and
vindicated shall reap the honour through eternity.
And now it was all but ended. To-night He would say
" Farewell" to His friends ; to-morrow, to His work He
would say, " It is finished."
That mountain of Galilee and this guest-chamber in
Jerusalem mark two important eras in the history of
discipleship. Until Jesus opened His mouth and said,
" Blessed are the poor in spirit : for theirs is the kingdom
i
A SAVIOURS FAREWELL. 417
of heaven," it is likely the apostles hoped that the king
dom would consist in wealth and victory, in crowns and
posts of honour : but the announcement of that hour went
far to dissipate the delusion : for it was then plainly and
.authoritatively proclaimed, that God's empire is spiritual;
that the king among men is the man who by the com-
pletest subjection to God has obtained the greatest mastery
over himself; and that his is the blessed life, not who has
the most gold in his coffers, but the most good feelings in
his heart — not who has the greatest number of retainers
to whom he says, " Do this," and " Go thither," but the
greatest number of neighbours and acquaintances whom
he blesses by his gracious deeds and benevolent prayers —
not who has a palace for his abode, but who, having God
for his Father, enjoys constant access to the King of kings.
Never did warrior or statesman more distinctly explain
his object than the Captain of Salvation then unfolded His
mission. And, although the means by which it was to
be attained were not yet so fully made known, there need
have been no doubt from that day forward as to the Saviour's
aim. A victory for righteousness — the expulsion from this
world of all that is false, cruel, diabolic — the enthrone
ment of the living God in the heart of every living man —
| the founding of a kingdom of truth, peace, and devotion,
! which should at last be universal — the empire of God upon
(earth, — a mark no less sublime than this was pointed at
on the Mount of Beatitudes when the Heavenly King
(unfurled His standard and invited all comers to gather
I round it.
At first scarce able to realize this, in the delightful
VOL. III. 2 D
418 , DISCOURSES.
society of their Master the disciples were beginning to
recover from the dislocation of old ideas and the unhinge
ment of old hopes, when they were staggered by a new
disclosure. Hard as it was to give up " the kingdom for
Israel " and their own promotion, so blessed is it to be
continually doing good, and so inspiring was the com
panionship of Jesus, that we may easily concede that a
little longer and they would have been joyfully follow
ing their Leader in His world-bettering, sin- vanquishing
campaign. But here was a new and stunning surprise.
Their Leader was about to leave them : their Master was
about to die ! And if to earthly aspirations there were a
check and a bitter disappointment on the Mount of Beati
tudes, to their holiest affections and dearest hopes there
was a sickening shock in the consummation which they
could now conceal from themselves no longer. The former
bend in their journey up the hill of discipleship hac
brought them out on a prospect sufficiently blank and dis-
spiriting ; and as they saw the crowns and sceptres vanish
over the verge and disappear, and turning their eyes,
He had lately turned His own, from the kingdoms of this
world and all their glory, as their Master bade them mount
higher they felt a pang, and for long kept up an inwarc
protest. But now, this second bend — this higher landing-
place — what is this which it discloses ? Oh, horror of al
horrors ! A gallows-tree ! a death of infamy ! a cross, and
their Master on it ! large as life, and close at hand, theii
Master's cross, and in the misty background crosses for
themselves ! Truly it was with bitter herbs that on the
eve of such a blood-stained morrow they ate their pass-
A SAVIOUR'S FAREWELL 419
over ; and although they knew that it was of no use now
to say, " Master, spare thyself," no wonder that, as with
cold and tremulous fingers they passed round the broken
bread and raised to their pallid lips the prophetic cup,
their Master could interpret the silence and the anxious
looks of His already bereaved and orphan family.
He saw, and He sympathized, arid, as was His wont,
postponing His own more urgent case, He proceeded to
comfort them.
ut that discourse, who can expound ? This adieu, as
Divine as it is tender— this " farewell gleam of the Sun of
Righteousness, tearfully smiling ere He plunged into the
dark thunder-clouds waiting to receive Him "l — these
parting counsels of a Saviour beneath the cross — how is it
possible to translate into our weak words, or transfer to
our coarse canvas ? From the opening utterance, " Let
not your heart be troubled ; believe in God, believe also
in me," down to that unprecedented prayer in which the
Great High Priest allowed disciples for once to overhear
such intercession as He still offers within the veil, the
whole is fitter to be pondered in the still seclusion of a
communion eve, or read over in the house of mourning, or
whispered in the ear of the pilgrim on the banks of Jor-
|dan, than made the subject of our hard analytic handling.
The essence of the gospel is God's love. The incarna
tion was God's love coming forth from the viewless, and
ibernacling palpably in the midst of men. The atone-
lent was God's love providing a satisfaction to God's
justice, and making it as consistent with His rectitude as
1 Brown Patterson.
420 DISCOURSES.
it is delightful to His benevolence to pardon the sin and
restore and renew the sinner. The New Testament dis
pensation is God's love, so to speak, organized and acting
.through various institutions and ordinances — gently visit
ing us in Sabbaths with their hallowed calm, their tran
quillizing repose, their touching remembrances — more
emphatically appealing in sacraments, with their solemn
messages and Divine sanctions and pledges — articulate in
the written Word and its great and precious promises —
diffused around us in Christian society and its softening
influences — penetrating our very souls in the solicitations
of the blessed Spirit, who, as God's great heart of love,
keeps moving, throbbing, yearning in every faithful saying
to which we listen, and in every earnest prayer to which
the feeblest saint gives utterance in the name of Jesus,
and in communion with God. And this farewell address
is, so to speak, a final effort of Incarnate Love to drown
the remaining coldness and felt sinfulness and faint
heartedness of disciples in that confidence Godwards
which, of all things, is the most sanctifying and sin-sub
duing, the most fortifying against hardships, the most
animating to deeds of endurance and valour.
From His baptism at Jordan to this verge of Gethse-
mane, Jesus had lived in the uninterrupted smile of His
Father. From the moment that heaven opened, and there
came from the excellent glory a voice, " This is my beloved
Son," down to this moment, when His soul was soon to be
sorrowful, even unto death — He had never once forgotten
that God was His Father, and that He was the Father's
dear Son ; but His whole career was over-canopied and
A SAVIOURS FAREWELL. 421
brightened by tins soul-gladdening assurance. Travelling
in the greatness of His strength, or rather, we may say, in
the loftiness of His stature, the sod was often cold and
wintry to His feet, He trod on many a thorn, and again
and again felt the envenomed serpent at His heeL But
above time's clouds and earth's harsh weather the heavens
were open, and God was love ; and although His steps
were often through rugged paths and painful, it was in a
pavilion of constant peace and brightness overhead that
He ever looked forth and moved onward. And now He
said to disciples, " Peace I leave with you, my peace I
give unto you." " If a man love me, he will keep my
words : and my Father will love him, and we will come
unto him, and make our abode with him." " Come up into
my own pavilion. Submit to have your weak souls carried
in a Saviour's strong arms. In the world ye shall have
tribulation. That world hates me — it will hate you. It
has hurt me all it could — it will hurt you more. But
where I am, all is serenity, sunshine, peace. Keep near
me, believe what I say, and the love with which the Father
loved Me will include and environ you ; and as I am about
to take my last step out of the world, so be of good cheer,
your tribulation will soon be ended also : your last step
erelong will be taken, your Father's house will be gained."
Delightful as it would be to dwell on that great legacy
of peace, and that great promise of the Comforter which
this memorable sermon included, we must pass away from
it, leaving most of its topics untouched. But as " life and
immortality" are so special a distinction of the gospel
revelation, we may be permitted to meditate a little on
422 DISCOURSES.
that suggestive name which the Saviour here gives to the
future residence of His people — " My Father's House."
THE FATHER'S HOUSE.
" In my Father's house are many mansions : ... I go to prepare a place
for you."
THE present state is a state of discipline, and part of that
discipline consists in the limits of our knowledge. Some
knowledge we have lost, and some we never had the means
of gaining. And among other subjects of inquiry none
can be more interesting than the future abode of our im
mortal selves, and the mode in which we are to reach it,
For instance, many would have felt it a satisfaction had
the Saviour told iis the precise region of the universe
which is to be the residence of His ransomed, so that look
ing out on the starry firmament, we might have been able
to fix on the moon or some planet, and say, " Yonder it is.
Yonder is the world to which the spirits of my fathers
have already gone, and to which erelong I myself am
going." And many would have liked to know more pre
cisely the manner in which the transit is effected. Is it
an angel guard which convoys the spirit home ? Or does
the Lord Jesus receive it direct ? And how does that dis
embodied spirit hold intercourse with its glorified com
panions ? and, in the absence of all material organization,
how does it perform the acts ascribed to it in the glimpses
of the better country which the Bible gives ? And on all
THE FA TREE'S HO USE. 423
these points it would have been a great enjoyment to
possess clear and assuring information. But on these
points the only book which could have solved our queries
is silent. Thomas did say to Jesus, " How can we know
the way ? " and Jesus answered, " I am the Way." Instead
of telling how the transit is effected from the clay taber
nacle to the house eternal, the Saviour virtually said,
" Leave it to me. I shall see to it, that where I myself
am, there my disciples shall also be. See you to it that
your souls are safe in my keeping now, and when the time
arrives I shall see to it that they are safely brought home
to my presence." And in the same way in regard to the
place. Christ could have told. He had come from it, and
was soon going back. He knew all regarding it, and could
have superseded a world of speculation by simply naming
it. " Is it a planet of our system ? Is it the sun's own
orb? Is it some fixed star? or some region so remote
that no twinkle of its glory can reach these outskirts of
immensity ? Or is it here ? Is it within our world's own
confines ? Coincident with our old and evil earth — as it
were, simultaneous and superimposed upon it, like the
atmosphere of vapour which fills our atmosphere of air,
and the atmosphere of electricity which fills them both,
impalpable to our gross senses — are there a new heaven
and a new earth already here ? On the site of some busy
Babel, where all is smoke and din and vanity, has there
already come down the New Jerusalem, bright and happy
as a bride adorned for her husband ? And in the very
scenes where we plod through leafless forests, and gaze on
torrents brown with winter and its decomposing vegeta-
424 DISCOURSES.
tion, do happier beings gather fruit from the tree of life,
and wander along the banks of the crystal river? Are
heaven and earth so near that, although ten or twenty
years have severed me from a sainted sire or a believing
sister, there is not a league of space between us? — so
near that, to bring the soul and the Saviour together, it I
only needs the breaking down of a dark partition, and,
absent from the body, I am present with the Lord ?"
On all these matters the Saviour was silent; but just
as all curious questionings as to the transit were dis
missed by His own sufficient assurance, " I am the
Way," so all surmisings as to the place are superseded
by His telling us that it is the Father's house, the
Saviour's home.
" I adore the fulness of Scripture," said Luther ; and
the devout student has reason to add, " I adore its re
serve." Every saying is significant ; but there is also
significance in its silence. On the subjects now hinted
it could have been copious; it has chosen to say little.
And that silence, what does it say ? Leave secret things
to the Lord, but attend you to those that are patent and
practical. Make you salvation sure, and that salvation
will make you sure of heaven. Be you a child of God,
and the Father will take you in due time to the Father's
house.
The expression, as we ponder it, suggests —
1. Home Education. We are apt to fancy that on the
glorified spirit knowledge is at once to burst in its fullest
flood, and inundate the soul with immediate and boundless
information. But this is not the analogy of God's pro-
THE FATHERS HOUSE. 425
cedure. Doubtless, from the moment of entering the
world of light, the soul will be raised above the clouds
of error — above prejudice and ignorant prepossession ; but
it will be the work of a whole eternity to go forward along
the vistas of ever- widening inquiry, and come forth into
landing-places of ever larger and ever wealthier revela
tion. And just as betwixt the vastest finite understanding
and Omniscience there exists the interval of a whole in
finitude, so we can easily perceive how to the soaring
celestial there is room for boundless aspirings, as stage
by stage and platform by platform he mounts, and still
finds that it is but the lowest step to the all-surveying
throne — the Alpha of that science where no created mind
can reach the Omega. But just as a kind father takes
care that under his eye his children learn what is likely
to do them most good, so it will at once be the instinct of
these heavenly alumni and the care of their Father, that
they learn the most excellent knowledge. Much of the
knowledge for whose poor grains we tug and strain with
.ant-like industry in our present state, is of little intrinsic
value. As one confesses who had amassed an enormous
library, and gleaned a huge amount of rare and curious
information : " After all, knowledge is not the first thing
needful. Provided we can get contentedly through the
world and to heaven at last, the sum of knowledge we
may collect on the way is more infinitely insignificant
than I like to acknowledge in my own heart." l But of
the knowledge which we acquire under the tuition of the
Comforter, and of that knowledge where God Himself is
1 Southey's Life, vi. 192.
426 DISCOURSES.
the subject, it is impossible to possess too much. And
such is the knowledge of the glorified. God Himself is
known. Not comprehended — but apprehended : — much
of His procedure understood, none of His perfections mis
understood. The plan of redemption is made plain, and
the grace of Immanuel is made so manifest, that it will
be almost a regret of the glorified that it was not sooner
realized — that they did not trust His tenderness more,
and resort to His atonement more habitually and more
joyfully. And the mystery of Providence is made plain :
and, like one who has been conducted through a tangled
forest by some skilful guide, and who is often tempted to
strike out near paths or smooth paths for himself, but
who at last, emerging from the thicket and looking down
from some lofty eminence on the leafy wilderness, con
cedes his conductor's skill ; so, escaped from the thicket
of this world's toils and trials, and looking down from the
hills of immortality on the way by which the Lord has
led us — that road which we often thought so round-about,
and often felt so rugged — how affecting and surprising to
see that it was the only right way — the only way that
would have brought us thither ! " That tempting avenue
past which I was so roughly hurried, had I entered on it
I must have been bemired in worldly lusts, and might
have been plunged into perdition. That grassy opening,
which I so preferred to the path through pricking thorns,
would have led me to the lion's den. And that near-cut,
as I deemed it, would have given me the whole journey
to retrace. The rough way turns out to be the only right
way." And so, extending to all the events of mortal life,
THE FA THERS HO USE. 427
the story of nations as well as men, there will be no end
to the wise counsel and wonderful working of Jehovah, as
recorded by the historians of the skies. And then
" How great to mingle amities
With all the sons of reason, wherever born,
Howe'er endow'd ! to live free citizens
Of universal nature !
To call heaven's rich unfathomable mines
Our own ! to rise in science as in bliss,
Initiate in the secrets of the skies !
To read creation — read its mighty plan
In open vision of the Deity !
To see all cloud, all shadow, blown remote,
And know no mystery, but that of love Divine ! "
" Now we see through a glass, darkly ; but then face to
face : now we know in part ; but then shall we know
even as also we are known."
2. The Father's house suggests Holiness. A person
may be constrained to live in a bad neighbourhood ; but
he will not let bad neighbours live in his house. David
lived in a time of great depravity, and Palestine was full
of deceitful, dishonest, and violent men : but, setting up
house for himself, the monarch said, " I will suffer no
wicked thing before mine eyes. He that worketh deceit
shall not dwell within my house : he that telleth lies
shall not tarry in my sight. Mine eyes shall be upon
the faithful of the land, that they may dwell with me :
he that walketh in a perfect way, he shall serve me."
And so, in filling up His great house on high, our
heavenly Father has laid down that rule, Holiness
becometh my house for ever, and without holiness no
man shall see the Lord. And He has perfect power to
428 DISCOURSES.
enforce that ordinance. Nothing that defileth or worketh
abomination shall ever cross His palace gates ; or, in
Eutherford's homely words, " No unclean dog shall ever
set foot in the fair streets of the New Jerusalem." And,
what is more wonderful still, if ourselves are admitted,
even when we go in no sin shall enter. Washed and
made white and purified, redeeming blood and the renew
ing Spirit will secure that heaven shall be holy whosoever
he be that enters there. This makes it so good to be there.
This should make us so thankful when we have reason
to hope that friends of our own are there. Like Jesus,
" they have gone into the holy place." Sometimes, when
you send a child away from home, you have fears and
misgivings. He is gone to be with good people ; but
even there you cannot be sure what company he may
sometimes encounter. But gone to the Father's house,
you are sure he is safe. There, there is nothing to hurt
or destroy ; and there he will have no company but what
will do him good. And, looking forward to the place, if
you have got that new nature to which sin is the sorest
burden and sanctity the sweetest luxury, how pleasant
the thought, that in a little while you shall be done with
evil ! Yet a little while, and I shall have sinned my
last sin. Yet a little while, and I shall have prayed
my last wandering prayer, and kept my last cold com
munion. Yet a little while, and even from me the Ever-
Blessed shall receive praise without murmuring, and love
without alloy. Yet a little while, and temptation cannot
touch me, and even if Satan could come he would find
nothing in me. Yet a little while, and I shall be in the
THE FA TREE'S HO USE. 429
climes of purity, in the home of goodness — in that native
land of excellence to which, if not all the talent and all
the learning, at least all the piety and all the virtue, of
the universe are tending, — as every particle of vital air
returns to the atmosphere, as every drop of rain will
again be found in the ocean.
3. The Father's house suggests the Father's presence.
This world is not the Father's house ; but it is the school
in which He has some of His children training for glory.
A severe school to many of them, where they have often
bread of affliction and tears in great measure — a severe
school, where some of the tutors appointed by the great
Teacher are stern masters, and where the lessons are hard
to learn. And what makes the Gymnasium of Meshech
so dreary is, not only the bad companions, but the rare
ness of the Father's visits. God is a stranger in this
world, and it is not often that even His own children
are cheered by His conscious presence.
" But there they see His face,
And never, never sin ;
And from the rivers of His grace
Drink endless pleasures in."
Here believers often complain that they cannot get access
to their God. They try to pray, but feel as if He did not
regard. They cry in the night season, but He heareth
not. But there, there is no withdrawment of His pre
sence, no hiding of His face, no frown, no forsaking : but
all is perennial peace— for they are made exceeding glad
with the light of His countenance for evermore.
4. The Father's house suggests the Family ; — not only
430 DISCOURSES.
the filial but the fraternal affection — not only love to God
but love to one another. In that better country God will
be better loved, because better known ; and our believing
brethren will be better loved, because they are become
more lovely and we ourselves more loving. There are
many good men whom here on earth it is arduous to love.
They are whimsical ; they are taciturn ; they are opinion-
ative and dogmatical ; they are imperious and self-indul
gent ; they are severe and satirical ; they are beset with
strong prejudices or evil tempers ; and their excellence is
as inaccessible as the fragrance of a thorny rose or the
nectar inside an adamant shell. But in that genial
region the spirits of the just are perfect. Jacob is not
wily, Thomas is not obstinate, Peter is not precipitate ;
but, like those plants which grow tall enough to leave
all their youthful spines behind them — like those wines
which grow old enough to outlive their original austerity,
the flaws, the failures of earthly piety all have vanished
in that perfect world. But apart from the growing gain-
liness of the celestial citizens, the grace of love has also
grown. Freed from the false fire which so oft. inter
mingled with it in former days, it becomes a pure and
God-like affection, going forth to all that is holy, and
acquiring fresh force constantly from the exhaustless
aliment of heaven. And whilst capable of specific attach
ments and congenial communings, it has all the confidence
of the widest good-will ; no shyness to the new-come
denizen — no stiffness, no mien of strangerhood, to the
redeemed of other countries ; — but assuring looks and
words of welcome to all who, from east and west and
THE FATHERS HOUSE. 431
north and south, arrive and sit down with Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of God.
5. May we not add, that the many mansions suggest
the many occupations ? The earthly temple Jesus some
times called his Father's house ; and within the precincts
of that temple there were many chambers where priests
and Levites and singers lodged, and perhaps such devout
worshippers as Simeon and Anna, who departed not from
the temple night and day, serving God.1 And so says
the Saviour : — " As all around this earthly fane there are
many residences, so in the heavenly temple there is ac
commodation not for one or two — not for myself alone,
its great High Priest, who am now departing thither ;
but there are many mansions — there is space for a mul
titude which no man can number ; room enough, I assure
you, for all of you, and for all who shall believe through
your word. And as, amidst your love to myself and my
Father, you may be conscious of different tastes and apti
tudes, so there shall still be scope for these. You shall
all dwell in my Father's house ; but just as among the
occupants of these temple-chambers, there are some whose
special business it is to offer sacrifice, whilst others lead
the psalmody — there are some who read the law, and
others who trim the lamps and deck the tables : so in
my Father's house are many mansions, for there are many
ministers : a several office for each, and room for all."
God has given to each his talent and his temperament,
and in the Church below He has made this diversity of
gifts not a discord but a symphony — a source not of con-
'.l Dr. John Brown, Discourses of our Lord, vol. iii. p. 27.
432 DISCOURSES.
fusion and disorder, but of beauty and stable symmetry.
And so, doubtless, will it continue on high. The lily,
when you rescue it from among the thorns, or when from
the windy storm and the tempest you take it into the
sunny shelter, does not become a palm or a cedar, but
only a fairer, sweeter lily than before. And a topaz or a
sapphire of earth, if taken to build the walls of the New
Jerusalem, does not become an emerald or an amethyst,
but remains a topaz or a sapphire still. And, translated
from the tarnish and attrition of time, it is easy to under
stand how each glorified nature will retain in a higher
sphere its original fitness and inherent affinities ; and
how for the many mansions there will not only be many
occupants, but every occupant may have his own office
even there. It is easy to imagine that Isaac still will
meditate, and that the sweet singer of Israel shall neither
be at a loss for a golden harp, nor good matter in a song.
It is easy to imagine that Paul will find some outlet for
his eloquence, and Peter for his energy ; and not easy to
conceive that John the divine will be the same as Philip
or Matthew, or Martha the busy housekeeper the same as
Mary the adoring listener. To every precious stone there
remains its several tint ; to every star its own glory ; to
every denizen of the Church above his own office ; and to
every member of the heavenly family his own mansion.
Our meditation has been of the Father's house ; and
the great concern with each of us should be, Am I going
thither ? Heaven is the Father's house — but the Father's
house is the children's house. Am I a child of God ?
THE FATHERS HOUSE. 433
Can I say, Abba, Father ? Have I that love to God, that
where He is it would be my wish and joy to be ? It is
the holy place. Would a holy place please me ? Do I
delight in holy employments now? Do- 1 love the Sab
bath-day ? Do I love the house of God below ? Do I
love my brothers and sisters — those meek and humble
ones with whom God's great house is filling ? And am I
on the way ? or, rather, am I in the way ? Jesus is the
way to Heaven. Am I in Christ ? Is He to me " the
hope of glory"? Do I seek to be found in Him, not
having my own righteousness, but His ?
If through grace you have good hope of this — if you
believe in God and in Jesus — then cherish home-like
feelings towards the Father's house. Like an ocean
pilgrim who espies a speck of dimness, a wedge of vapour,
rising from the deep, and in the cold evening he scarcely
cares to be told that it is land — chill and sleepy, he sees
no comfort for him in a little heap of distant haze — but,
after a night's sound slumber, springing to the deck, the
hazy hummock has spread out into a green and glittering
shore, with the stir and floating streamers of a holiday
I in its villages, and with early summer in the gale which
morning fetches from off its meadow flowers : so many a
believer, even, has far-off and frosty sensations towards
the Better Land ; and it is not till refreshed from time's
[tumult — till waking up in some happy Sabbath's spiritual-
|mindedness, or skirting the celestial coast in the proxi-
lity of sickness and decline — that the dim speck projects
[into a solid shore, bright with blessed life, and fragrant
rith empyreal air.
VOL. in. 2 E
434 DISCOURSES.
" Thou city of my God, r
Home of my heart, how near,
At times, to faith's foreseeing eye,
Thy pearly gates appear !
Oh, then my spirit pants
To reach the land I love,
The fair inheritance of saints,
Jerusalem above."
And as with its remoteness, so with its attractions.
You might imagine a man who had come far across the
seas to visit a father whom he had not seen for many
years, and in a house which he had never seen at all
Andj coming to that part of the country, he espies a
mansion with which he is nowise prepossessed, so huge
and heavy does it look : hut he is told that this is the
dwelling, and a gruff ungainly porter opens for him the
grand avenue gate ; — and no sooner does he find himseli
in the vestibule than a home-glow tells him he is right
and his elder brother hastens out to meet him, and con
ducts him to his chamber, and soon ushers him into the
presence of friends whom he is amazed and overjoyed to
meet. So, in the thought that we must put off these
tabernacles and pass away we know not whither, there is
something from which nature secretly recoils, and which
gives to the earthward side of the Father's house a blank
and heavy look ; and at the avenue gate Death, the grim
porter, none of us can like. But still it is the Father's
house ; and by preparing an apartment for us, and deco
rating it with His own hands, and by introducing us tc
dear kindred already there, our Elder Brother will do all
He can to make it Home.
INTERVIEWS.
I. A NOCTURNAL VISITOR.
THE Jewish Sanhedrim was a sort of parliament, a
supreme national council, possessing also the powers of
a court of justice. Disputes as to the interpretation of
the law were referred to its decision, and in cases of
heresy and blasphemy it exercised the right of punishing
offenders, sometimes even putting them to death. Of this
high court there were seventy members. Some of them
were ecclesiastics, and some were laymen. Besides the
primate, or high priest, who was the official president,
! and at whose entrance all the members arose, and con
tinued standing till he requested them to be seated, there
was a number of other sacerdotal personages, called chief
[priests, probably the heads of the different divisions, or
courses" into which this class was distributed. And
[besides some elders of the people, corresponding to our
[Saxon aldermen, or our modern knights of the shire, this
[council contained some of those scribes, or lay students
the law, who were distinguished for their knowledge of
3ripture and tradition. Altogether, it was a grave and
lugust assembly, including within itself priests, elders,
435
436 INTERVIEWS.
and scribes, the leading churchmen and the most cele
brated scholars throughout the land, with the flower of
the Hebrew aristocracy ; and, all the rather because the
number was so limited, it was an object of great ambition
to be a member of Sanhedrim, and known throughout the
country as a " ruler of the Jews."
This was the rank of Mcodemus : he was what we may
call a peer of the Hebrew parliament, and in his religious
profession he was a Pharisee. He was evidently a man
of thought and seriousness, and he had been greatly struck
by the incidents attending Christ's first public visit to
Jerusalem. The cleansing of the temple, the miracles
which Jesus had wrought, the excitement awakened in
the mind of the community, together with the general
expectation of Messiah's speedy appearance, had produced
a deep impression on Mcodemus. It was evident that
Jesus was a prophet, — it was not impossible that He
might be that great Prophet promised to the fathers. If
He were Messiah, there was no time to lose ; if He were
only an ordinary teacher come from God, He might still ,
throw light on questions which occasioned anxiety to this
" master in Israel." As yet the followers of Jesus were
only peasants and poor people. " This," Nicodemus might
inwardly argue, " will render a visit from a ruler all the
more flattering, and on the mere ground of my rank I
may hope for a cordial reception." At the same time,
the circumstance that Jesus had no adherents of wealth
or distinction made Nicodemus afraid to compromise him
self. He therefore resolved on a course which he hoped
would at once solve his doubts and save his dignity.
A NOCTURNAL VISITOR. 437
It was April — in Palestine soft as an English summer
— and the remainder of a Passover moon, which was light
ing the pilgrims to their far-away homes, silvered over
the temple, and flecked with deep shadows its white
marble porticos. And as he steals down the silent streets,
whither is the statesman hieing? for what clandestine
errand has Nicodemus muffled himself in his mantle,
and waited for the covert of the night ? It is a humble
lodging at which he pauses, and as he enters it is a plain
man whom he accosts. But though the visitor has a great
signet-ring on his finger and a towering turban on his
head — all the insignia of wealth and high station — it is
with marked deference — perhaps we should say it is not
without a certain awkward air of embarrassment — that he
salutes the Galilean stranger. " Eabbi, we know1 that
thou art a teacher come from God : for no man can do
these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him."
As shortly beforehand in the case of Nathanael, so now
with Mcodemus, Jesus confirms the inquirer's impression,
and justifies His claim to be called a prophet, by giving a
specimen of His prophetic intuition. Without waiting to
hear the ruler's question, by anticipation He answers it.
" Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a man be born
again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." "You are
here to inquire about Messiah's kingdom. Become a new
3reature, and then you will be a member of it." " How
ian it be ?" rejoins the ruler. As if he said, " We Jews
are sufficiently regenerate. We have Abraham to our
Father, and the kingdom of God belongs to us. You might
1 " We know /—that was the lofty word of the learned."— STIER.
438 INTERVIEWS.
as soon say that a man needs to be twice born into this
world, as that a Jew needs to be twice born into God's
kingdom. We are in it already." Then, in words fitted
to remind Mcodemus of John's baptism, Jesus replies,
" Verily, verily, I say unto thee'* — not to the Jews gene
rally, but to thee, Nicodemus — " Except a man be born
of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the king
dom of God." " It is common among you Jews to say
that a Gentile needs to become a new creature in order
to get the benefits of the Hebrew commonwealth — the
privileges of the peculiar people ; and when you accept
him as a proselyte he is baptized, and by that symbol of'
washing shows that he is cleansed from his old heathenism
and adopted into God's family. But a few months ago
not the heathens but • the Hebrews — all Jerusalem and
all Judea — went out to John and were baptized of him in
Jordan, confessing their sins, and professing to repent, for
the kingdom of heaven was at hand. Perhaps you have
been born of that water. Perhaps you have passed under
John's baptismal washing. And in so doing you have
confessed your need, Jew as you are — your need to be
born again, in order to be fit for Messiah's kingdom ; and
unless you have really repented, as you then professed to
do— unless you have been born of the Spirit, as well as
of that water — you cannot enter the kingdom of God.
It is true your descent from Abraham entitles you to
certain privileges : but it does not entitle you to heaven.
From Abraham you can only derive a depraved and cor
rupt nature. From the Spirit of God you need to receive
a new and spiritual mind. ' That which is born of the flesh
A NOCTURNAL VISITOR. 439
is flesh ; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.'
'Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.'
True, it is a mystery — but how many things are mys
teries ! Hark to that sighing breeze. Your eye cannot
catch it. You see not where the current of air commenced,
nor, now that it is passed on its viewless path, can you tell
whither it has gone. Yet you hear its sound, you feel its
force : in the waving branches and the flying clouds you
perceive its effects. And so it is not by perceiving the
Spirit in His progress, or watching His proceedings, but
by marking the results, that you know when a man is
born from above." Still, to the inquirer, it was a dark
enigma. " How can these things be ?" " Are you a
public instructor, a student and authorized expounder
of Scripture, and yet do you not know these things?
Do you not know that God is holy and requires a
holy nature in the subjects of His kingdom ? You
stumble at the saying ; yet we speak that which we
do know, and testify that which we have seen. And,
indeed, this doctrine of Eegeneration may be called an
earthly thing : an earthly man might almost concede it :
for even an earthly man might be persuaded that he would
need to become something else than he now is before he
is fit to see and enjoy God. But if this earthly thing per
plexes you — a truth scarcely beyond the reach of reason
—how shall you believe if I tell you of heavenly things ?
This necessity of a spiritual renovation is so obvious that
it scarcely needed a teacher come from God to tell it : one
might have expected that your own conscience would have
at once assented, and that on the very score of the fitness
440 INTERVIEWS.
of things you would have granted that, before he enters a
Spiritual community, the candidate must become a spiritual
man. Yet if you hesitate when I assert a truth so obvious
and so open to your own cognisance, how will you believe
if I proceed to answer your question, and to tell you
heavenly things — things where your own experience can
not help you, and where you must proceed entirely on the
testimony of the only person now on earth who ever was
in heaven."
Nevertheless, in His condescension, and looking forward
to a time when the invisible ink would darken, and when
lessons now lost would freshen on the listener's memory,
Jesus went on to state a few of these heavenly things.
In other words, He at once explained the means by which
a soul dead in trespasses is made alive to God, or born'
again ; and in the same utterance He corrected the
srroneous preconceptions regarding God's kingdom which
filled the mind of His visitor. " You fancy that Messiah
is to be exalted on the throne of David his father ; and
whilst, like a potter's vessel, He dashes in pieces the
pagans, you expect that in His exaltation Israel is to rise
to be supreme among the nations. But that is incorrect.
For first, it is not on a throne, and as a conqueror, that
the Son of Man is to be exalted, but more as Moses raised
the serpent in the wilderness, and like that serpent, not a
sight of terror, but a spectacle of healing. And secondly,
it is not for the destruction of the heathen, but for the
salvation of the world, that Messiah is come.1 ' For God
so loved,' not the Hebrew people, but mankind, ' that he
1 Dr. John Brown, Discourses of our Lord, vol. i. p. 18.
A NOCTURNAL VISITOR 441
gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in
him [whether Gentile or Jew] should not perish but have
everlasting life. For [at present] God has not sent his
Son into the world to condemn the world ; but that the
world through him might be saved.' And thirdly, Mes
siah's coming is no exaltation of the Jews at the cost of
the Gentiles ; for he that believeth on Him, even the
Gentile who receives Messiah in the capacity in which
God sends Him, is not condemned ; but he that believeth
not, even although he be a Jew, is condemned already,
because he has rejected God's Messenger, and refused as
a Saviour God's only Son. Nicodemus, do you depart ?
Are you only half convinced ? It is not for want of
evidence if you are not fully persuaded. Light has now
come into the world. That Light is here. I am the
Light of the World ; but you fear to let the truth shine
fully upon you, for you cannot afford the consequences."
Such, as we apprehend it, is the purport of what tran
spired in this remarkable interview — the first of our Lord's
fully-recorded conversations. He taught Nicodemus some
"earthly things;" some things which had been already
revealed to mankind in the Scriptures, and which, as a
teacher in Israel, Nicodemus ought to have known;
things which might commend themselves to unsophisti
cated reason, and to which the conscience of Nicodemus
ought at once to have responded. He taught that Mes
siah's kingdom was God's realm — a community of holy
men; and that, in order to be admitted, it was not
enough to be descended from Abraham — a man would
need to be born of God — he would need to get again
442 INTERVIEWS.
those tastes and affections which that son of God, unfallen
Adam, once possessed. He reminded Nicodemus of those
lustrations which Gentile proselytes underwent when they
were " born" into the Hebrew commonwealth, and which,
possibly, Nicodemus had undergone at the hands of the
Baptist as an acknowledgment of sin and as a preparation
for Messiah's expected advent ; but He taught him that
except a man experience an inward purification corre
sponding to the outward sign — unless he be born of the
Spirit as well as of water — " he cannot enter into the
kingdom of God." These were earthly things. They were
things already revealed, and which belonged to Mcodemus
and all his brethren. And they were things which,
approving themselves to a sound understanding, it should
not have required a teacher come from God to repeat and
inculcate. Then Jesus taught this ruler some heavenly
things. He taught some things which were not yet
plainly promulgated, and which were only known to the
Son of man who is in heaven. He told how, in some
mysterious manner corresponding to the elevation of the
serpent in the wilderness, He Himself was to become the
means of a new existence — the author of a spiritual and
everlasting life to depraved and dying men. He taught
that Messiah's errand is not local or national, but that He
is God's gift of love to all mankind. And He taught that
in order for even a Jew and a convert of John the
Baptist to be saved, it was needful to believe on the Son
of God ; it was needful to recognise Him in the character
in which God revealed Him, and to receive Him in the
capacity in which God sent Him,
A NOCTURNAL VISITOR. 443
Thus much was taught. How much was comprehended
or believed at the moment we cannot tell. We only know
that Nicodemus did not then, nor for a great while after,
" come to the light." Next morning, no one knew where
he had been ; and perhaps if he had met his instructor in
the temple courts on the following day, he would have
passed Him without recognition. Still, the conversation
was not lost. It lingered in his memory. He mused on
both its earthly things and its heavenly things ; and,
feeling more than ever that Jesus was a teacher come
from God, doubtless he had many a secret wish to be
come, like John and Andrew, one of His disciples. But
they were all poor Galileans, and Nicodemus was one of
the most distinguished residents in Jerusalem. Besides,
it is a hard thing for the preceptor to become a pupil : it
is a sore descent for the public instructor to acknowledge
his ignorance, and come down from the chair of the
teacher to the bench of the learner.
Two years passed on, and Nicodemus was not sus
pected. It was the last Feast of Tabernacles which Jesus
attended, and so great was the popular excitement regard
ing Him, that a meeting of the Sanhedrim was called, and
the priests sent officers to arrest Him. The Sanhedrim
met, and Nicodemus attended. You wonder what were
his thoughts. Doubtless he deemed it safer to take his
place in the court, than occasion remark by his absence.
And possibly he hoped that an opportunity might arise
of befriending the teacher come from God : he might do
something to demonstrate His excellence, or to mitigate
the malice of His enemies. Oh ! what a perilous part to
444 INTERVIEWS.
sustain is the part of a secret disciple ! And well was it
for Nicodemus — perhaps it saved him from forestalling the
cowardly compliances of Pilate or the suicidal treachery
of Judas — that no trial took place that day. The court
was in conclave. The officers had been a good time
absent; but as it was notorious where Jesus could be
found, no doubt was felt but that they would soon arrive
with their prisoner. And here they come at last; but
instead of the rush and uproar of a mob scrambling for
admittance, as when an important prisoner is led in, the
Pharisees are aghast, for nobody enters except those fool
ish-looking officials. "Why have ye not brought Him ?"
shouts an ecclesiastic. " Never man spake like this man,"
stammers one of the apparitors. I can quite believe you,
thinks one of the judges, for I have heard Him myself.
However, that was a silent rejoinder; and one of his
colleagues sneered at the poor bailiffs, "Are you also
deluded? Has any ruler or Pharisee believed in Him?"
And he cursed the lower orders for not understanding
the law. " The law ?" interposed a calmer voice : it was
Mcodemus catching up his neighbour's execration of the
people who do not know the law : " doth our law judge
any man before it hear him, and know what he doeth ?"
At which the angry spokesman turned on him, "Art
thou also of Galilee ? Search and look, for out of Galilee
ariseth no prophet." Nicodemus did not answer; the
council broke up ; every man went to his own house ;
and " he who came to Jesus by night" still went about
wearing his disguise.
Other six months passed on, and Nicodemus had not
A NOCTURNAL VISITOR. 445
lost his prepossession for this " teacher come from God."
Doubtless he often mused on that first and memorable in
terview, and possibly some of its sayings began to brighten
'on his mind. Most likely he was was now convinced of
the earthly things, and in his own timidity and time- serv
ing found another reason why a man must be born again
before he can enter God's kingdom. But was Jesus really
the Son of God ? As such to receive or reject Him — is
this actually the alternative of everlasting life or death —
the hinge of heaven or hell ? And what is meant by the
Son of man being set on high, as Moses set on high the
serpent in the wilderness ? These queries, as he revolved
them in his mind, deepened his thoughtfulness and inten -
sified his interest in the Prophet of Galilee ; but although
Nicodemus was the confidant of a fuller gospel, though
Jesus had communicated to him some particulars of which
no other was yet in possession, still he kept aloof ; and
the very converse of Nathanael the guileless Israelite, he
waited till the last of his difficulties should dispel, and his
cautious mind be carried captive by some conclusive and
resistless token. Amidst these meditations the rumour
ran that Jesus was at last in the hands of His enemies ;
and that incident, which shocked and scattered the open
disciples, was a spell which drew this secret disciple to
Calvary. There it was — "As Moses lifted up the ser
pent, so the Son of man was at last lifted up." He was
lifted up, and He drew Nicodemus to Him. His own
mysterious prophecy is now fulfilled ; and this " Son of
man" is withal the " Son of God." The heathen centurion
has just exclaimed as much, and Nicodemus feels it true.
446 INTERVIEWS.
His death, is a miracle eclipsing all the marvels of His
life, and " truly this is the Son of God." To Nicodenms
what a commentary was now visible on the words of that
eventful evening, " For God so loved the world, that he
gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in
him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Nico-
demus now believed ; and by the same incidents which
stumbled others, and made all men forsake Him and flee
— by the same signs, convinced and converted, the ruler
tore off the mask, and pressed forward to honour the life
less remains of the uplifted Messiah. But, lo ! the same
moment has uplifted the visor of another secret disciple.
A brother ruler also believes. For already Joseph of
Arimathea, being a disciple of Jesus, but secretly for fear
of the Jews, has besought Pilate that he might take away
the body of Jesus ; and thus He who in life had nowhere
to lay His head "makes his grave with the rich,"1 and
the obsequies of the crucified Nazarene are conducted by
two of the chief men of Jerusalem.
1 Isaiah liii. 9.
II.
THE BANQUET HALL.
JESUS was surrounded by a crowd, of people, when two
disciples of John the Baptist arrived with a message from
their master : " Art thou he that should come ? or look we
for another ?" The motive of that message we need not
now discuss. The Saviour did not instantly reply. He
first preached the gospel, and He cured many of their
diseases, and then He added, " Tell John what things ye
have seen and heard ; how that the blind see, the lame
.walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are
raised, .to the poor the gospel is preached : and blessed
is he whosoever shall not be offended in me." That is,
Messiah is come, for the prophecies concerning Him are
fulfilled.1 Messiah is come, for " the lame man leaps as
a hart, and the tongue of the dumb sings." Messiah is
come, for instead of the old monopoly by which the rich
and the reputable restricted salvation to themselves, the
kingdom of heaven throws open its gates to the outcast
and ignorant, — to those whom the priesthood despises
because they have nothing to pay, to those whom the
learned despise because they know not the law, — nay, to
1 Isaiah Ixi. 1-3 ; xxxv. 5, 6.
447
448 INTERVIEWS.
those who are in their own eyes small and despised, for
as regards all moral worth they know that they are bank
rupts and paupers. To the poor the gospel is preached.
John's messengers departed, and when they were gone,
still dwelling on this merciful aspect of His mission, Jesus
rejoiced in spirit, and spoke aloud the thought which had
lighted up his countenance : " I thank thee, 0 Father,
Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these
things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them
unto babes." And. then, addressing the audience, He
added, " All things are delivered unto me of my Father :
and no man knoweth the Son but the Father, and he to
whomsoever the Son will reveal him. Come unto me, all
ye that labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest." That is, "I am the Father's plenipotentiary. I
know His very mind, and I am invested with all His
authority. Churchmen can prescribe penances, but I can
give pardon. Scribes can lay on heavy burdens, and bid
you labour for eternal life, but I can give you rest. Your
own hearts can teach you that sin has made you outlaws
from God, but I can make you again His children and
friends. Become you my disciples." "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."
Of the crowd then gathered round the Saviour, two
members now become prominent. One of them was a
gentleman, respectable and religiously inclined. Like
Mcodemus, he was not quite a convert to the new
Teacher's doctrine ; and yet he was impressed by His
THE, BANQ UET HA LL. 449
elevation and 'earnestness. His miracles were amazing.
He had just restored to life Simon's young neighbour, the
son of the widow at Nam, and that very morning He had
by His astonishing cures conferred unspeakable obliga
tions on the district of which Simon was a principal
inhabitant. Perhaps, too, the day might come when
Jesus should be more distinguished ; and if He really
rose to be king of Israel — if He should actually turn out
the successor of David and Solomon — it %vould always be
something to recall, " Oh yes ! He was once in this house,
and dined at this very table." But Jesus was still de
spised by Simon's own class. None of the rulers believed
on Him. His attendants were fishermen, .and all His
antecedents were obscure, — Bethlehem, Nazareth, the car
penter's cottage, — and in his lowly guise Simon received
Him patronizingly. Had He been a man of his own
rank, or one whom he delighted to honour, he would
have met Him in the door- way with a cordial embrace,
and conducting Him into the banquet-room, the attend
ants would have taken off His sandals, and would have
laved His feet and hands with fragrant waters, whilst the,
host himself would have poured upon His locks the shin
ing oil. But Simon was a Pharisee — accustomed to judge
after the outward appearance — and to his view Jesus was
quite as much the poor man as the good man. He felt
that it was condescension to receive such a visitor, and by
the compromising way in which he managed the matter,
he showed quite as much anxiety for his own reputation
as gratitude or reverence towards his guest.
Simon was blind to the real character of Jesus : for he
VOL. in. 2 F
450 INTERVIEWS.
was blind to his own condition. Eegular in his formal
devotions, correct in his conduct, — always sitting down to
his meals with washen hands, and thanking God that he
was not as other men, " extortioners, unjust, or even as
this publican," to him a revelation of mercy was as super
fluous and irrelevant as a pardon would seem useless to
a favourite basking in the smiles of his sovereign. Not
being " poor," the gospel was preached to him in vain ;
and when the great Teacher expanded His arms, and said,
" Come to me, all ye that are heavy laden : take my yoke
upon you, and learn of me" — it never occurred to him to
step forward and say, " Yes, blessed Teacher ! lay that
yoke on me. Thou only knowest the Father : reveal
Him to me. Eid me of my heavy load, and make me
Thy disciple :" for to Simon sin was no sensible burden,
and there was little which any teacher could tell which
he did not think that he knew already ; aud for the lowly,
loving, son-like piety of Jesus, Simon's proud and self-
sufficient spirit had no affinity.
So, dear reader, is there in your own mind none of this
arrogant self-complacency ? Looking at the sinful multi
tude, are you not apt to say, " God, I thank thee that I
am not as other men" ? And are you not apt to patronize
the Saviour ? You give Him a civil invitation to come
under your roof. You have prayers with the family.
You say grace before meat. You go as far as you can go
genteelly. And yet were the Saviour accepting your
somewhat stiff request : were He coming under your roof
in answer to your prayer, might it not be said that He
had gone into the house of a second Simon ? Just look
THE BANQUET HALL. 451
at this banquet board. See what a contrast ! Jesus and
a Pharisee ! " On the one side the living spirit : on the
other the letter that killeth. On the one side simplicity
and godly sincerity : on the other outward appearance.
On the one side the self-forgetfulness which seeks God's
glory : on the other the pride which seeks its own honour.
On the one side the tender compassion which saves the
lost : on the other the unsympathizing selfishness which
despises them." l
But, as was already hinted, in the crowd which had
been listening to Jesus in the open air, there appears to
have been another individual note-worthy. She was a
poor outcast, and as she stood hidden in the throng, she
felt herself the vilest there. Her sins were crimson, and
in comparison with herself she envied as a holy man the
hardest worldling in all the company. But as she looked
on the Divine Speaker, and listened to His heavenly
words, there began to spring up strange sensations in her
soul. It seemed as if there were passing over her spirit
a fresh, pure gale from the days of her childhood, and as
if she were inhaling the bliss of innocence again : and
just as her past life grew loathsome, — just as in the con
tact of a goodness so new and so inspiring, she almost
felt as if sin could never be pleasant any more, — those
kind and cheering words of Jesus fell upon her ear, —
" Come unto me, all ye that are heavy laden," — and they
nearly broke her heart. Was it so indeed ? Might she
really hope for mercy ? Was that the Son of God declar
ing the Father's mind concerning sinners ? — and was He
1 Het Evangelic, by Doedes.
452 . INTERVIEWS.
really so "meek and lowly" as to say to such as she,
" Take my yoke upon you" ? Oh ! if she might only hope
it : — if that sinless One would only teach her how to be
rid of sin : — if He would only help her to throw off that
heavy load, a long memory of crime, — her own debased
and ruined self ! Surely He was kind enough to do it, —
and the Father's mighty Son was able. But with these
charming words the address was ended ; the congregation
dispersed ; and along with a few others the Divine
Speaker entered the house of Simon. Wistfully did the
poor outcast look after them : for in that Holy One were
centred all her hopes : from Himself, if from any in the
universe, must come her salvation. But at that moment
she might not follow Him. Yes, — He had spoken kindly
to sinners in the mass ; and she believed He would
speak as kindly to the chief of sinners if she appeared
alone : but she would like to hear it from His own lips —
at least she would like to listen to that wonder-working
voice again. So she hasted away, and got the most
precious thing she possessed, — a box of costly essence, —
and availing herself of that right of free entrance which
still prevails in these regions, she found her way into
Simon's banquet-hall. Stealing up to the spot where the
Saviour reclined, she stood behind the guests, and the
couch on which Jesus lay. The exact thought that arose
in her mind we cannot tell : but likely it was just the
contrast between them : — " Here am I so vile — and Thou
so holy. All pollution I, and Thou all sanctity. A hell-
brand I, enkindled from the infernal fire and destroying
all I touch : piire goodness Thou, Heaven's kindness all
THE. BANQ UET HALL. 453
incarnate, saving all who come to Thee." And as she
gazed on those blessed feet which went about continually
doing good, and perceived them still dusty with the
travel of the day, a tear fell, and, as with the tresses of
her hair she brushed it off, it was her impulse to open
the alabaster box and suffuse those sacred feet with the
aromatic oil which she durst not pour upon His head.
Indignant and disgusted, Simon observed it all, and
thought with himself, This man is no prophet. He little
knows what an infamous creature that woman is. But
Jesus said, " Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee."
"Master, say on." "There was a certain creditor who
had two debtors. The one owed five hundred pence, the
other fifty. But both were bankrupt. They had nothing
to pay, and so he frankly forgave them both. Tell me
which will be most grateful." — That is, We shall suppose
that this woman is a sinner tenfold worse than you — ten
times deeper in God's debt. But you have nothing any
more than she. In that respect you are alike. Neither
has any effects — any goodness — any merit — aught to meet
the claims of law and justice : Suppose I were frankly
forgiving both : who is likely to feel the deepest obliga
tion ? — And Simon answered, " I suppose the one who
has the largest amount forgiven." And Jesus answered,
" Thou hast rightly judged. Seest thou this woman ? I
entered into thine house. Thou gavest me no water for
my feet ; but she hath washed them with tears, and wiped
them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no
kiss ; but this woman since the time I came in hath not
ceased to kiss my feet. My head thou didst not anoint
454 . INTERVIEWS.
with oil ; but this woman hath anointed my feet with
ointment. Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins which are
many are forgiven : for she loved much : but to whom
little is forgiven, the same loveth little." As much as if
He had said, Were one forgiven who thinks himself so
little of a sinner as you think yourself, he would feel
little thankfulness : but God is glorified in the forgiveness
of a sinner like this, — for great is her gratitude. And
thoroughly to assure her agitated spirit, He added, " Thy
sins are forgiven," — and when they raised the question,
" Who is this that even forgiveth sins ?" with kingly
majesty He ignored their cavil, and only repeated, " Thy
faith hath saved thee : go in peace."
Yes, Simon was confounded at this woman's presump
tion. His own impulse would have been to hurl her out
of doors, and he could not comprehend why his guest
allowed her to come near Him. " If this man were a
prophet, He would have known who and what manner of
woman this is that toucheth Him : for she is a sinner."
But Jesus knew. He knew her case, and He understood
her feeling. He knew that this was a pardoned sinner,
who would sin no more. He knew that this was His own
beatitude : " Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall
be comforted." He knew that in all that apartment
there was not one to whom sin looked so horrible : nor
one with a conscience so tender as that poor sobbing out
cast. He knew that it was a relief for her to weep : that
she would fain pour forth her very soul in this burst of
delicious sorrow : and it was good for her to weep. A
joy mingled with these tears ; and that blessed Spirit who
THE BANQ UET HALL. 455
had opened their fountain was meanwhile filling her soul
with His own transfusive sanctity and with aspirations
after new obedience. And where Simon saw only the
" sinner," Jesus saw the pardoned penitent : and far from
finding contamination in her presence or pollution in her
touch, this brand plucked from the burning was to Him
the dearest of trophies. To the Saviour no music could
be sweeter than those sobs of heartfelt contrition, no balm
from the broken alabaster so welcome as this penitent's
tears.
From this incident we see what it is which produces
true repentance. If you were going out into the open
air on a frosty day, and were you taking a lump of ice,
you might pound it with a pestle, but it would still con
tinue ice. You might break it into ten thousand atoms,
but, so long as you continue in that wintry atmosphere,
every fragment, however small, will still be frozen. But
come within. Bring in the ice beside your own bright
and blazing fire, and soon in that genial glow " the
waters flow." A man may try to make himself con
trite. He may search out his sins and set them before
him, and dwell on all their enormity, and still feel
no true repentance. Though pounded with penances
in the mortar of fasts and macerations, his heart con
tinues hard and icy still. And as long as you keep in
that legal atmosphere it cannot thaw. There may be
elaborate confession, a got-up sort of penitence, a volun
tary humility, but there is no godly sorrow. But come
to Jesus with His words of grace and truth. From the
cold winter night of the ascetic come into the summer of
456 INTERVIEWS.
the Great Evangelist. Let that flinty frozen spirit bask a
little in the beams of the Sun of Eighteousness. Listen
for a little to those words which melted this sinner into a
penitent — which broke her alabaster box and brimmed
over in tears of ecstatic sorrow and self-condemning de
votion : for, finding that you too have much forgiven, you
also will love much. The soul which only grew more
estranged from God in the effort to conquer its own
enmity will become a joyful captive in the arms of
fatherly forgiveness; and taking up the easy yoke of
that Eedeemer who has taken off your heavy burden, you
will find rest for your soul in the service of that Saviour
who freely and fully pardons all your sins.
III.
MAN, the child of God, was happy once, and he was
happy because God was in His proper place ; the Father
was in the heart of His child. There could be no doubt
about it; the living God was man's dearest friend and
chiefest joy, and his blessedness was great, for the source
whence it came was exhaustless. He who is the Treasure
of Heaven — the King of its angels — the wealth of all
worlds, was the Father of man.
So truly was this the case, that earthly sonship was
only an image of the closer relation which bound man
to his truest and most peculiar Parent. Had innocence
lasted long enough, a sinless Cain or Abel might in pro
cess of time have outgrown the dependent and up-looking
feelings which bound him to his earthly sire ; and remote
ness of scene might have interrupted the intercourse. But
no change of place could have created distance from God,
or suspended the communion with heaven ; and advancing
years would only have made him feel more profoundly
the tender and numberless ties which bound him to the
Father of his spirit — his celestial Sire — his Parent proper
and supreme.
457
458 INTERVIEWS.— A YOUNG MAN
God was man's Father, and the heavenly Father com
muned with His earthly child. He not only gave him
food, which built up his body, but He gave him thoughts,
feelings, affections which nourished his immortal nature —
sights to look at, things to think of, which kept up the
eternal life in his mind. And how did that life evolve ?
how was God's life in man's soul expressed and exhibited ?
For one thing, in worship. He could never say sufficiently
how grateful he was, nor how beautiful, how kind, how
adorable his heavenly Father appeared. And, for another
thing, that Divine life developed in beneficence. The
conscious love of Infinite Goodness made him exceeding
glad, and gladness coming from such a source made him
gracious, communicative, kindly affectioned. Brimming
over with blessedness, he was the fellow- worker with
God; and, although it had only been to fetch a cup of
cold water to a companion, or restore to the nest some
callow fledgling that had fallen over, the smile of com
placent Deity in the soul must have found an outlet in
some deed of tender mercy; and, although it had only
been in training a rose or grouping the flowers of a border,
to carry forward the Father's plan, and finish the Father's
work, was the meat and drink of Paradise.
A blessed state, which was quickly ended. Man sinned.
God forsook His place in the heart of His guilty and
fallen child ; and, alas ! as He retired, the heart closed its
doors against Him. It was still a heart — still a great,
greedy, affectionate, craving thing, which needs for its
satisfaction an infinite and all-worthy object. But the
one object was gone ; and ever since man lost his " trea-
v
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 459
sure in heaven" — ever since he lost that God who is the
gold of angels and who was the riches of Paradise1 — his
great effort has been to find a substitute. Instead of
opening the heart's door and readmitting the original and
rightful occupant, he fills the space as best he can with
idols. Of these the favourite and most frequent is the
world or mammon. In that shrine which once flamed
and glowed with indwelling Deity, and where the love
of God sustained perpetual summer, there now burns, to
make the darkness visible, a little night-light of earthly
friendship or creature -fondness ; and on that throne,
where once presided the great I AM, now sits, in mockery
at once of the living God and of the fatuous worshipper,
a golden pagod, or mayhap some foul desire or sinful pas
sion — a something which holds in its hand the strings
that move the man : whilst, after all, his noblest faculties,
like so much obsolete lumber, lie unnoticed and unused,
and crumbling to decay.
The Lord Jesus understood, even as He pitied, the case
of lapsed humanity. His errand was to restore man's
blessedness by restoring God's supremacy. He came to
set up anew God's kingdom in the soul of man. On the
one side, as the great Priest- Victim He expiated the sac
rilege of which man had been guilty in profaning God's
temple and in placing obscene usurpers on Jehovah's
throne ; and His own most precious blood He puts at the
1 " Have money -worshippers really considered it, that the living God is
not dead metal, and yet that He is, strictly speaking, the only human gold ?
Rich men are the men who carry God in their souls, and these are the only
men who have the true human gold to give. The receiver of this gold re
ceives an unmingled blessing ; and the giver becomes richer by giving." —
Pulsford's Quiet Hours, p. 31.
460 INTERVIEWS.— A YOUNG MAN
disposal of every penitent who seeks to cleanse his heart
from idols. On the other hand, as God's Prophet and
man's King, He seeks to make the sinner desirous of
God's return to the forsaken shrine. He seeks to make
the sinner feel how guilty he was when he said to the
living God, " Depart," and He seeks to make the sinner
feel how truly poor and wretched he is with coin in his
chest but no God in his heart ; with loving but dying
children around him who call him father, whilst the Im
mortal Father owns him as no child. Perhaps even now
that great Apostle of our profession speaks to some one ;
for Christ's mission did not end at Olivet — the voice
which spake on earth still speaks from heaven. Perhaps
even now the Lord Jesus has knocked at your heart-door,
and the hollow sound that echoes back tells him and you,
that it is vacant, or filled with ostentatious emptiness.
Your chief end is to glorify self and enjoy the present
world for ever ; or at the very best, your chief end is to
glorify and gladden that expanded self, your nearest friends
and dearest kindred ; and it misgives you that, beautiful
as the idol is, it is not the living God, and that you would
need to get something more before you can be sure of
" treasure in heaven."
The evangelists tell us that on one of His journeys the
Lord Jesus was met by a young ruler, who came to Him
running, in his anxiety to ask Him a question. He was
a young man of excellent character and engaging manners
— so prepossessing that, as the interview proceeded, Mark
says, " Jesus loved him." His first exclamation was,
" Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 461
life?" Eeminding him that "none is truly good but
God," — Jesus answered by. repeating the second table of
the law. Half-pleased, half-mortified, glad to think that
he had fulfilled this requirement already, but sorry that
the great Teacher had no more specific prescription, he
replied, " All these have I observed from my youth." By
no means surprised at the answer — knowing it to be sin
cere though sadly erroneous — the Lord Jesus made the
prescription more specific, and put the test another way.
That second table may be summed up in one sentence,
" Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." Accordingly
Jesus said, " Sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the
poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven ; and come,
take up thy cross, and follow me." This rejoinder in
stantly rent open the refuge of lies, and disclosed to the
youth his reigning worldly-mindedness. After all, he did
not love his neighbour as himself. After all, he was not
so desirous of heavenly treasure that, in order to gain it,
he could part with a few acres of land. After all, he was
not so alive to God, nor so intent on His favour, as to
descry in the " good Master " any Divine lineaments, or
even to care to follow further One whom to know is ever
lasting life. " He went away sorrowful, for he had great
possessions."
There were interesting features in this young man's
character, and for these the Lord Jesus loved him. Some
who are of a sterner mould would not have felt so kindly.
They would have scowled on all the amenities and attrac
tions of this youth as mere natural goodness, mere carnal
virtue, dead morality. But such as they were, they pos-
462 INTERVIEWS.— A YOUNG MAN
sessed a certain charin in the eyes of Jesus Christ. He
saw in them the hand of God. Even in these outward
accomplishments and in this general correctness of con
duct He recognised restraining grace. And in the mind
of the Saviour, at the sight of this youth, so ingenuous, so
sincere, and so outwardly correct, although still outside of
the kingdom, there was awakened a sentiment very differ
ent from that which He felt towards false and cunning
Pharisees, profane and jeering Sadducees, and such open
reprobates and ruffians as He sometimes encountered in
Nazareth and Samaria. But with all these feelings of
interest and affection, the Lord Jesus did not speak to
him premature peace or dangerous comfort. He saw that
this young inquirer was still in the bond of iniquity ; He
saw that he had yet to discover the plague of his own
heart ; He saw that he was one of those who fancy that
they are whole and need not a physician ; and He knew
that any answer which did not reveal to him his true
character, would be to deceive his soul and speed him on
to perdition with a lie in his right hand. And with that
holy fidelity which triumphs over natural feeling, Jesus
gave the unwelcome reply ; the answer which sent away
dejected and gloomy one who had run up to Him radiant
with hope and eager to exhibit his reverential regard :
teaching us that our love to our friends should never
make us flatter their mistakes, nor deal falsely by their
immortal interests.
Let us look for a little —
1. At those features in this young ruler's character
which, as the Son of man, the Lord Jesus loved.
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 463
2. Those defects in this young man's character which,
as the Son of God, the Lord Jesus detected and disclosed.
I. 1. He was sound in his creed. At that period the
fashionable religion in Palestine was a sort of Materialism.
Owing to their intercourse with Gentile nations, and
partly a reaction from the hollow truisms and puerile
inanities of the rabbis, a Hellenistic rage was at this
time overspreading the refined circles in the Holy Land,
and much useless trouble was taken to deck the truths of
Eevelation in the new costume. The consequence was,
that many became ashamed of their old Hebrew book.
The Bible was not sufficiently classical; and in certain
coteries people began to talk about myths and Mosaic
fables, and doubted if there were such a thing as an
angel, or a soul distinct from the material frame, or any
resurrection of the body. And amongst the young and
the rich and the thoughtless, these opinions had amazing
currency. They were new, and this recommended them
to bold and dashing spirits. They put God and a future
judgment out of the way, and that endeared them to the
voluptuous and vicious, — to the jovial spirits, who shouted,
"Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds and drench our
garlands in wine ; let us eat and drink and be merry :
for to-morrow we die, and all is done." And they had a
show of wisdom. Leaving out of sight the sacred books,
these Gentile writers were incomparably more clever,
more profound, and more brilliant, than any who took
the side of the ancient faith : and, as if to provoke every
powerful understanding and every cultivated mind into
this Sadducean free-thinking, the theologians and re-
464 INTERVIEWS.— A YOUNG MAN
ligious teachers of the day rushed into the opposite ex
treme ; and, to avoid the suspicion of Gentilism, dulness
became the badge of orthodoxy and triteness the test of
truth.
Now, from the first exclamation of this young man,
any spectator might have gathered that he had not left
the faith of his fathers : " What shall I do that I may in
herit eternal life ?" Contrary to the prevailing scepticism,
he believed in the soul's immortality, and was anxious
about his own destiny in the world to come. And that
single utterance was a powerful prepossession in his
favour. Knowing all the temptations to which he was
exposed ; knowing how often he must have run the-
gauntlet of derision and contempt ; knowing how fre
quently he must have been bantered by his friends for.
his antiquated notions, and haw many hints he must
have had as to their mental weakness or moral cowardice
who still frequented synagogues and said their prayers ;
knowing how at the tables of the gay and the genteel
he must have been many times rallied for following the
faith of some mother Eunice, or some "grandmother"
Lois ; knowing all the temptations to infidelity which
encompassed a young man of his distinction, and hear
ing from his lips this confession of his faith, Jesus loved
him for his orthodoxy.
And our youthful reader is to be congratulated if, like
this ruler, he believes the Bible. Our times are not
wholly dissimilar. The world just now is full of vigorous
thinkers : but few of these are firm believers. The press
is teeming with fresh and wonderful books ; books written,
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 465
in new styles, and either exhibiting new truths or draw
ing new and startling conclusions from familiar facts.
And every man is sanguine as to the powers of his
prescription — the success of his panacea : he is sure
that his proposal is to carry the world's convictions and
new-create society. But whilst the literature of the day
is lifesome and bold and leonine ; whilst, full of energy
and self-reliance, it practises and prospers, — religion is
too often tame and timid. It is not always that the pious
books of the present day have the freshness and power of
its secular publications. They look as if they only half
believed the Bible ; they are terrified to translate it ;
they dare not put new words on familiar truths ; they
are too often trite and commonplace ; the echoes of an
echo ; the shadows of a shade. And in such times, when
genius is so sceptical and faith so dull, there are strong
temptations to a young and vigorous understanding to
fall in with popular forms of unbelief. Few are so
earnest that they will read a good book for the sake of
its goodness, however tame the thought and however
flat the style. And few can read brilliant books, from
which religion is banished, or in which it is openly
reviled, without carrying away the contagious damage.
And, therefore, in such times, and surrounded by such
influences, we specially congratulate youthful and accom
plished minds, if they have escaped the Sadducean
pestilence. If you have learned to distinguish betwixt
clear facts and clever fancies ; if along with the senti
ment which admires the gorgeous colours of the evening
sky, you possess the common sense which to a castle up
VOL. ill. 2 G
466 INTERVIEWS.— A YOUNG MAN
among these clouds prefers a cottage on the plain; if,
amidst the ever-changing ideal you keep a steady grasp
of the unchanging historical; if, when the fashionable
philosophy is springing up like the grass in summer, or
picturesque theories are blossoming like the flowers of
the season, — you still remember, "The grass withereth
and the flower fadeth ; but the word of the Lord endureth
for ever," we congratulate you on the wisdom of your
conclusion and the security of your position. And still
more would we wish you joy, if these convictions are so
strong that you do not scruple to declare them ; if,
amidst thoughtless companions or open scoffers, you do
not disguise nor disavow your persuasion ; if the scorner's
laugh do not deter you from the sanctuary, nor make
you ashamed of pious parents and a praying home ; if
you have never felt it brave to be a blasphemer, nor
dastardly to fear the Lord. Such convictions and such
conquests over unbelief are the gift of God; blessings
for which, so far as they go, you should be very grateful,
and beauties of character such as, embodied in this young
ruler, the Saviour loved.
2. But more than this, he was a moral man. Jesus
repeated to him the commandments, "Do not commit
adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false wit
ness," etc., and he could answer, " All these have I kept
from my infancy up." Doubtless, that answer showed
that he had still to learn the purity and heart-pervasive
ness of God's law ; but it showed how much decorum and
decency had marked his outward conduct. His conscience i
did not reproach him with any great and outstanding
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 467
transgression; he had never embezzled money intrusted
to his keeping ; he had never enriched himself by defraud
ing others ; he had never, to his knowledge, told a lie ; he
had never slandered nor falsely accused a companion ; and
there was no dark day in his history to which reluctant
memory was ever and anon reverting, — no gloomy day,
in which some guilty secret lay entombed, and from which
he dreaded it might spring in sudden and ghastly resur
rection. But over his general and world-ward conduct
his eye could glide with prevailing satisfaction ; and so
far as society went, he moved about a fearless and un
embarrassed man, grasping every proffered hand sincerely,
looking trustfully into every cordial countenance, with no
dread of stumbling into pits which himself had digged, or
startling the ghosts of buried crimes ; regarding the Cities
of Eefuge as humane asylums for his less fortunate fellows,
and the trespass-offerings as a gracious provision for the
sinful multitude ; nor perhaps altogether without a mix
ture of that self-complacency which says, " God, I thank
thee that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust,
adulterers, or even as this publican."
Eeader, can you say as much ? Have you this young
man's outward morality and freedom from common sins ?
Or are you one of those, who, hoping to "do" some good
thing, so as to inherit eternal life, " fall short of one, who,
after all, fell short of heaven ?"
3. But the young ruler was more than correct. There
was something very captivating in his character. Some
persons are blameless, but they have about them nothing
beautiful. You cannot point out their faults, but you are
408 INTERVIEWS.— A YOUNG MAN
conscious of no fascination in them. But with this young
man it was entirely different ; and with that suggestive
profusion which marks the pencil of these evangelist-
artists, we can detect even in this rapid sketch much that
is graceful and gainly. You see him frank, courageous,
and unaffected. Jesus is passing on his way, and fearful
of missing his opportunity, and absorbed by his own
earnestness, he thinks nothing of posting along the road
and running quickly up, forgetful of the solemn gait which
befits exalted station. And with the same inadvertency
to appearances, — with the same free and manly expres
sion of his respectful and reverential feelings, you see
him kneeling down as he accosts the Saviour; and you
cannot fail to notice the cordiality as well as courtesy of
his address, — his confidence in Christ's wisdom and bene
volence as he hails Him, " Kind Teacher, Good Master."
And the whole interview leaves on your mind an impres
sion of urbanity, politeness, just sentiment, and natural
feeling, open-hearted gentleness, and engaging suavity ;
all confirmed when we read that Jesus, when He looked
on him, loved him.
And so may there be those amongst us, who are ex
tremely amiable, but yet who lack the one thing. You
are mild in your temper, and gentle in your movements.
You like to do obliging things, and make those around
you happy. And people love you. They cannot help
admiring your faultless conduct, and feeling grateful for
your kind attentions. And everything you do is dutiful;
you are so correct and obedient, so diligent and self-deny
ing, and so exemplary, that even pious friends might be
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 469
ready to ask, What does he lack ? But were you kneeling
before the heart -searching Saviour, like this interesting
youth, — are you sure that He would see no lack ? Would
He not see a heart quite cold to God? heedless about
Him or absolutely hating Him ? Would he not see a
heart quite filled with other things, and not even a corner
kept for Himself? Would He not see a heart set upon
people's praise or people's love, but never caring for the
praise and the love of God ? As Boston says, " Many are
the devil's lions, filling the place where they live with the
noise of their revels and riotings ; but this young man
was one of the devil's lambs, going to hell without letting
the world hear the sound of his feet."
4. He was a religious inquirer. He was in earnest about
his soul. He had evidently been turning the subject over
in his mind. He was not entirely satisfied with himself.
Notwithstanding his morality, he felt that there was
something wanting. He did not feel as if he were yet
inheriting eternal life. His religion did not satisfy him
self. And in the hope that the missing secret might be
revealed, and the painful want supplied, he determined
on consulting Jesus. And he carried his intention ex
plicitly out. He did not steal an interview, nor come,
like Nicodemus, disguised and through the dark : but on
the patent road and in the public day, in the presence of
others, and most likely with the knowledge of some of
his neighbours, he hasted to the feet of Jesus, and put his
momentous question openly.
Have you ever inquired ? Have you ever taken a
thought about your soul and its everlasting salvation?
470 INTERVIEWS.— A YOUNG MAN
Have you ever said to yourself, " Well, it is a very serious
matter this, to have a soul which must soon be in heaven
or hell for ever. True, I am young, and summer days are
bright, and I am fond of pastime, and I have some important
work on hand. But my soul? How can I find balm in
the breath of June — how can I find cheerfulness in my
work or pleasure in my play, so long as my soul is perish
ing? And, let me see, my Bible says, 'Except ye be
converted — except ye be born again, ye cannot enter the
kingdom of heaven.' But I doubt if I am converted. I
am sure that I am not born again. How am I to come
at it ? How shall I find salvation ? How shall I ever get
to heaven ?"
We have now seen what there was interesting and
attractive about this young ruler. He was sound in his
creed. At a time when throughout Palestine most of
the refined and fashionable people were freethinkers and
Sadducees, he was a believer in revelation, and firm in
the only faith. And he was correct in his conduct.
Free from flagrant crimes, he had outwardly fulfilled the
various commands, and could answer to each in succes
sion, All these have I kept. And there was in his char
acter and disposition much that was captivating and pre
possessing. Frank, affable, and courteous, it was fine to
see a ruler so humble, and a young man so thoughtful.
For this gave additional charm to all his other features,
— he was a religious inquirer, and really in earnest about
his soul's salvation.
And as there you see the noble youth kneeling at
Messiah's feet, you are ready to exclaim, " 0 blessed
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 471
Jesus, deal gently with the lad ! Deal gently with him
for his own sake and for Thine ! He is young and amiable,
and the world still smiles on him : do not scare him away
with that formidable cross. Look at him, and confess if
Thou dost not love him ? Is he not engaging ? and would
he not prove to Thyself a companion more congenial, and
an associate more intelligent, than these rude fishermen ?
And is he not a ruler ? Would there not be a sanction in
his support, and an asylum in his friendship ? and would
it not annihilate the taunt, Have any of the rulers be
lieved on Him ? And is he not rich ? With such a disciple
in Thy retinue, Thou needest never say again, ' The foxes
have holes/ for every mansion in Jewry would be open
to Thee then? And is he not refined? and might not
men of rank — might not many rulers and rich men, be
brought to believe through the influence of such a
minister ? "
No ; there is only one path to the kingdom. There is
not one salvation for the rich and another for the poor ;
there is not one cross for the noble and another for the
fisherman. Nothing but a new heart will enter heaven ;
and in this affecting instance the Saviour has taught us
that whether encased in the most repulsive depravity, or
encircled with all the charms of a well-spent youth, a
carnal mind cannot enter the kingdom.
II. In a moment, and by His Divine intuition, the
Lord Jesus saw how it stood with this inquirer. He knew
far better than the man himself the state of his inmost
soul And though the youth imagined that his desire
of salvation was supreme, Jesus saw that it was only
472 INTERVIEWS.— A YOUNG MAN
secondary, and brought clearly out these two things —
1. That he had no right knowledge of sin; and 2. No
sufficient desire for the favour and enjoyment of God.
1. First of all, the Saviour went over the leading
commands, and to these the • young man unhesitatingly
answered that he had kept them all He did not mean to
deceive, and Jesus loved him none the less for his honest
but erroneous answer. It was true according to his own
understanding of these precepts, but that he should under
stand them in such a meagre sense was a proof how
callous was his conscience, and how defective his spiritual
apprehension. Had that apprehension been more correct,
and that conscience more tender, he would have known
that the thought of wickedness is sin ; and he would have
felt that the imagination of his heart had been only evil
continually ; and that life on which he plumed himself as
a succession of virtues would have darkened into a sad
series of sins. He would have been in the situation which
the apostle Paul afterwards so graphically described as
his own. Like a man in a pestilent season who is told
that the plague-spot has appeared on his countenance,
and he feels so well that he will not believe it. However,
being told to look into the glass, for a moment he glances
into a dim mirror, or a mirror in a dusky chamber, and
protests that he can see nothing wrong. But his in
formant comes in, and pulls open a shutter, and lets in a
clearer light, or brushes the dust from the face of the
mirror ; and lo ! large and livid on his darkening brow
the sentence of approaching death. Saul the moralist
once would not believe that there was aught amiss in his
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 473
character. He felt alive and well, and trusted that he
was good enough to be going to heaven. He looked into
the law, and, like this young man, declared sincerely,
" All these have I kept." But whilst he was still gazing
into the dusty glass, and saying to himself, " I am whole
and need no physician," of a sudden the Spirit of God let
in a flood of light, and at the same moment the tenth
commandment brushed the film from the face of the
mirror, and showed him swarms of evil thoughts and
unholy wishes ; and oh ! what an altered man he saw
himself. What a leprous and plague-stricken soul he saw
his own to be ! What a doomed and death -stricken spirit
he felt it ! And how when that one commandment came,
sin was vivified ; his real character was revealed, and the
self -justifying legalist " died" !
But when the Saviour sent this youth to the mirror
the dust was on it, and the room was dark. With per
fect sincerity, but sadly mistaking, he reported, " All
these have I kept." And this fatal error frustrated all
the rest. Feeling no need of an atoning sacrifice, or a
Divine forgiveness, there was no reason why he should
take up the cross and follow Jesus. He was not, to his
own sensations at least, one of those lost ones, whom the
Friend of sinners came to seek and to save.
And doubtless, it still is this which makes many stop
short of the Saviour. They see no sin in themselves ; or,
at all events, no sin that is damnable. They allow that
they are infirm and imperfect, and that like all other
people, they have their faults and their short- comings.
But anything so atrocious as to merit the Divine dis-
474 INTERVIEWS.— A YOUNG MAN
pleasure, they deprecate aiid disown, for, honestly, they
cannot discover it.
The young man was aware of no short-coming, no
transgression ; and, although the first table of the law
had next been held up. he could have viewed himself in
it with equal complacency. Such is the deceitfulness
of sin, and such is the deadness of conscience till
quickened by the Spirit of God ! But, suppose that at
this point it had flashed on his conviction, " All these
have I misunderstood and mismanaged from my youth.
I have kept them not to God, but to myself. My good
deeds have been put together like so many dead and dis
jointed sticks to make rounds in a ladder that would
reach up to heaven ; they have not grown like green
branches spontaneous and beautiful from a living tree,
the root of which was love to God and my neighbour. I
have been a mere selfist, living for men's praise, living
for my own interest or indulgence ; and if God has been
sometimes in my thoughts He has been seldom in my
heart : He has been to me the hard task-master instead
of the dear Father and the gracious Sovereign ; and,
whilst He has been shut out from my heart, I have tried
to propitiate Him by a quit-rent handed forth from the
window, by a few good words spoken in prayer, a few
coins given away in alms or cast into the treasury. 0
Master, canst thou replace the living God in a worldling's
soul ? Is there any pardon for my long impiety ? Canst
thou teach me to love the Lord God with all my heart
and mind ? " Suppose that this had been the bitter cry
awakened by his conscious emptiness, he was now in the
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 475
presence of one who could abundantly comfort. He had
come to consult one who could not only pardon the past,
but in whose society he might soon have recovered the
lost secret of Paradise, and learned to delight in the
living God as a Father and a Friend. Nay, little as he
surmised it, that " good Master " was Himself the " good
God ; " and in following Jesus, frequenting His society,
listening to His words, imbibing His dispositions, he
would have been daily more and more weaned from
self-seeking and self-dependence, and would have been
trained and educated back again into that filial spirit
which was the spirit of unfallen Adam, and which is
eternal life already begun in the soul.
2. Having failed by His question to reveal to His
visitor the plague of his own heart, the Saviour told him
to do a thing which would show him the strength of his
besetting sin. The Saviour first held up the mirror of
the commands that he might see himself guilty ; He now
touched the chain of his peculiar carnality, that he might
perceive himself a slave and a prisoner. Amidst all his
amiability and engaging attributes the Lord Jesus knew
that he was worldly-minded. He had his treasure on earth.
He was not so intent on God's friendship that he would
give up all things for it ; but he had so much thoughtful-
ness and foresight, that along with an earthly present, he
desired a heavenly future ; he would like the pleasures
of sense now, and the joys of glory in reversion. And he
hoped that perhaps the Great Teacher might put him on
a plan for combining both. But aware of his propensity
Jesus said at once, " One thing thou lackest : go thy way,
476 INTERVIEWS.- -A YOUNG MAN
sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou
shalt have treasure in heaven ; and come, take up the
cross and follow me." " You want to inherit eternal life.
Well, the way to inherit it is to begin it here. Make God
your highest good and chiefest joy, and your eternal life
is begun already. But you are not doing that. Your
treasure is not in heaven, but here ; your treasure is your
farm and your fine estate. God is saying to you, My
son, give me thine heart ; but you give that heart to your
property. These great possessions are your god. You
live and move for them, and your being is bound up in
them. Can you part with them, and take God for your
portion ? Can you live by faith ? Canst thou sell all
that thou hast, and, like myself and my followers, live
on the daily providence of God ?" " Sell whatsoever thou
hast !" The thing was not to be thought of. Treasure in
heaven was good, but treasure on earth was indispensable.
So, grieved at the sentence, sorry that the terms were so
severe, sorry that the response of Jesus was so plain and
so absolute ; sorry to have all the hopes of the past and
the plans of that morning dashed by one hard saying, he
slowly turned him round and " went away."
Went away ! He came running. His steps were light
and eager then ; for he almost hoped that he was about
to find the pearl of great price, and that that very day he
might carry salvation back to his house. But all that
was over now ; and sure we are he was not running when
he went away. The woman at Jacob's well ran when
she hasted to tell her neighbours that she had found the
Christ ; but the neighbours who saw the ruler wending
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 477
back to his abode, might see that he had lost something.
Yes ! he had lost his day of grace. He had lost his golden
opportunity for obtaining eternal life. If he had known
the gift of God, and who it was that said to him, " Sell
what thou hast," he would have done it on the spot, and
on the spot Jesus would have given him treasure in
heaven. But that opportunity was gone. Jesus returned
to that region no more. He was going to Jerusalem.
He was travelling to the Cross. His earthly journeys
were well-nigh ended, and that particular road He should
traverse no more. Ah, no ! amiable but misguided young
man ! The moment is passed. Jesus has gone one way,
and thou hast gone another ; and ere noon the Friend of
sinners will be far from these domains. But surely thou
never canst forget the interview of this morning. When
thou art grown old and miserly, when thou hast lost the
simplicity and warmth which for the present redeem thy
worldliness, and when no friends are near thee except
on-hangers scrambling for thy great possessions, perhaps
thou mayest recall this morning, and sigh to think that
a Friend in heaven and treasure there were once within
thine offer ! And sure enough thou wilt remember it
one day. There were no prints in His hands and feet
with whom thou didst part this morning, nor was there
any crown upon His brow. But there will be when thou
seest Him again. That Jesus who passed near thy house
this morning will be the crucified, the glorified, when
next He meets thine eyes; and He who this morning
loved thee as the Son of Man, will that day judge thee as
the Son of God. By that time thou shalt be where great
478 INTERVIEWS.— A YOUNG MAN
possessions cannot profit, but where the bargains of time
cannot be recalled. The man Christ Jesus looked at thee
lovingly this morning ; but how will Jehovah the Judge
look at thee then ? at the man who had salvation in his
offer, but refused it? at the man who preferred a few
acres of earth to treasure in heaven? at the man who
chose to have all his good things below ? at the man
who, when the Saviour said, " Follow me," went away ?
1. From this affecting history we see how far people
may go, and yet fall short of heaven. This youth was
orthodox, moral, and engaging ; but he lacked one thing :
he lacked the new heart ; he lacked that lowly mind
which sees its guilt and vileness ; that trustful ^mind
which is ready to forsake all and follow Jesus ; that
renovated mind to which righteousness is meat and drink,
and the sense of God's favour the chiefest joy.
And perhaps our young reader may have gone as far.
You are correct and well conducted ; you pray, and read
the Bible. Your friends see your sweetness of disposition
and the mildness of your manners ; but do you love the
Lord Jesus? Have you intrusted to Him your soul's
salvation ? Are you ready to part with anything which
He bids you renounce ? And are you so devoted to His
service, that you are not ashamed to be known as His
disciple, as a member of His Church, and as a separatist
from a sinful world? Are you willing to take up the
cross and follow Christ ?
2. And you see how wise it is to abandon at once any
thing which hinders your salvation. There may be money
in the purse, and yet no idolatry of money in the heart.
WHO WENT AWAY SORROWFUL. 470
Abraham, and David, and Daniel had " great possessions,"
and yet they got to heaven ; and, after this, Cornelius and
the Ethiopian treasurer, and Gaius, arid Joseph of Arima-
thea, in " entering the kingdom," took their riches along
with them, and used them profitably in the service of their
Saviour and their brethren. But the Lord Jesus saw that
the plague of this ruler's heart was avarice, or the worship
of wealth. He saw that he was in the bond of the same
iniquity which made Demas go back to the world, and
which turned Lot's wife into a pillar of salt. And, not
because there is anything sinful in property, but because
to this avaricious youth his property would prove a per
petual snare — because, in his case, to part with it would
be the surest sign of his present sincerity and the greatest
help to his future consistency, the Lord Jesus insisted on
its entire and instant surrender.
In like manner, whatever stands in the way of your
salvation, be it something positively sinful, or something
lawful idolized, that is the thing which the Lord Jesus
bids you abandon. There is nothing sinful in music ;
but we have read of instances where music was a mania ;
where, like a possession, it carried its victims to all com
pany, however unsuitable, and detained them at all hours,
however unseasonable ; and when they became supremely
anxious about the " one thing," they found it needful to
enforce a rigid abstinence from their favourite enjoyment.
There is nothing sinful in a little wine, but if that little
create a wish for more, and the man finds that his growing
love for strong drink will stand betwixt him and the hope
of salvation, he would be a wise man never to taste it
480 INTERVIEWS.
again so long as the world standeth. And whatever it be
which you find the great obstacle to Christian decision, —
play-going, novel-reading, frivolous company, the race
course, the ball-room, the card-table, — we shall not now
dispute about its abstract lawfulness ; we only ask, Is
that habit so powerful, that even for Christ and for heaven
you cannot give it up ? Is that propensity so strong, that
this day, when the Saviour says, " Arise, and follow me,"
you cannot comply, because something else has a stronger
hold upon you, and compels you to go away exceeding
sorrowful ?
IV.
A YOUNG MAN WHO LEFT ALL AND FOLLOWED JESUS.
ON the western side of the Lake of Galilee there was a
cluster of thriving little villages ; and although the in
habitants did not depend entirely on the lake for their
subsistence, yet most of them were at least occasionally
fishermen. Amongst the rest there was a good man who
was better off than some of his fellow-townsmen ; for he
not only had a craft of his own, but could hire servants
to man it ; and we afterwards find that members of his
family were acquainted with the best society in Jeru
salem. In his substantial and comfortable abode this
worthy citizen had a pious wife called Salome, and two
sons whose names were James and John. It is a short
sketch of the younger which we here purpose to give.
We know little of his early days, but they would doubt
less resemble the early days of neighbour-children. He
would launch his tiny skiff on the waters of the lake, and
would deem it grand promotion when allowed to go out
with the men in the pinnace. In all the pride of con
scious usefulness, he would bail out the water, and bait
the hooks, and the first time that his own line quivered
with a scaly captive, he would hurry it up hand over
VOL. in. 2 H
482 INTERVIEWS.
hand, and flush with elation as it jumped and floundered
in the hold — the fairest and most precious of fishes. And
by and by he felt it romantic to spend the whole night on
the water, furling the sail on that eerie eastern shore ;
and as he lay watching the buoys in the moonlight, he
would sometimes hear the howl of the wolf, or the laugh
of the hysena up among the tombs, or would see capering
along the coast the frantic demoniac. But the Sabbath
came, and not a sail was stirring on all those peaceful
waters. It was the day which God had made, and it was
given to devotion. With his father, and mother, and
brother, John went to the synagogue, and listened to some
rabbi expounding the Law, and was sometimes promoted
to read a long passage himself to the village assembly.
And when that service was ended, he came home, and
either under the fig-tree or in the alcove on the top of
the house, gazing away over the green acres on towards
the snowy peaks of Hermon, he allowed his imagination to
wander at will And though we do not know what led to
it, we know that the youth began to think about his soul.
Perhaps it was the conversation of his pious mother,
whose spirit was intent on the consolation of Israel ; per
haps it was the striking scenes he witnessed in his first
journey to Jerusalem — the scape-goat, the paschal lamb,
and the daily sacrifice, and all that great dramatic sermon
on the subject of sin and atonement which in the Holy
City Jehovah preached to His peculiar people. But, at all
events, the youth grew thoughtful. He had committed
no gross or open crime, and yet he felt himself none the
less a sinner. And hearing that a great preacher had
A YOUNG MAN WHO LEFT ALL. 483
appeared in the south country, John set out to attend his
ministry.
When he came to the spot he found a great concourse.
Indeed, with its long-robed lawyers and its steel-clad
soldiers ; with its silken ladies and its swarthy boors ;
with its tents, and its hucksters, and its sumpter- asses,
the place looked like a great civic encampment, or a town
turned out on the meadows. As he crossed the ferry, and
pushing up through the oleanders and sedges joined the
crowd beside the river, the young pilgrim was arrested by
a conspicuous figure, — a meagre weather-beaten man, with
head uncovered, and with a mantle of coarse camel's hair.
The throng hung enchained on his thrilling tones, and
stood revealed to his bright flashing eye. He was pro
claiming the near approach of Messiah, and was putting
it to his audience if they were really prepared for the
arrival of one so holy and so divine — one who would only
gather wheat into His garner, and from the flap of whose
winnowing-fan hypocrisy would fly away like chaff from
the tempest. And as he marshalled up the ten commands,
each stepped forth as a' stern accuser, and shook its head
so ominously that self-complacency sunk back into itself,
and the gayest trifler was fain to cry, " 0 God, be merciful
to me a sinner !" Prodigious is the force of earnest words.
Hardly yet .had the Holy Ghost been given ; but such
was the mastery over men imparted to the Baptist by
loyalty to God and outspoken fearlessness, that frivolity
grew serious and pride crest-fallen. And, as a confession
of the polluted past and a promise of a holier future,
there was hardly one who did not pass through the
484 INTERVIEWS.
cleansing ordeal, and entering by the door of water-
baptism, assume an expectant attitude towards the ap
proaching kingdom.
To understand the sequel, we may assume that John
even now possessed those attributes of character which he
afterwards abundantly exhibited — a contemplative turn,
candour, and acquaintance with Scripture. There is a
certain delicacy of scriptural allusion, a certain dexterity
in quoting it, which, just like the choice idioms and
elegant felicities of a man speaking his native tongue
rather than one acquired late in life, betoken a deep and
early acquaintance with the books of the Bible ; and in
such profound quotations and recondite allusions John's
writings abound, giving us reason to believe that in his
Galilean home he had studied betimes Moses and the
prophets.1 And what he perused he pondered. He was
a man of meditation — a man to whom thought was an
enjoyment — reflection and reasoning the repose of his
spirit. But though a thinker, he was not constitutionally
a sceptic. Without prejudice, and without precipitation,
he had a mind prepared to yield to evidence — that frank
and limpid nature, through which, as through the clear
fountain or the crystal window, the rays of truth find
ready transit.
With this Bible knowledge, this thoughtfulness, this
candour, it was hardly possible for John to hearken to
the Baptist without being deeply convinced of his lost"
estate, and without listening eagerly to what the speaker
1 See The Four Witnesses of Da Costa (a most profound and aesthetic
analysis of the characteristics of the four Evangelists), pp. 265-7.
A YOUNG MAN WHO LEFT ALL. 485
added about that Greater than himself, who was coming
to take away the sin of the world. On a Gentile, or an
ignorant Jew, the words might have fallen pointless ; but
in the alert spirit of John they touched a hundred chords,
and awakened countless echoes; and his whole nature
was in that stir of expectation which precedes a moral
revolution, when one day, wistfully gazing at a stranger
who seemed to be passing by, the Baptist exclaimed,
" Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of
the world !" and, impelled by some Divine attraction, the
young Galilean and his companion followed, and joyfully
embracing the invitation which Jesus gave them, tarried
all night beneath the roof where He at that time so
journed.
"We love to recall our first interview with a great bene
factor, or with the friend who has formed a chief ingre
dient in our earthly happiness ; but no such date can
be so memorable as a man's first acquaintance with his
Saviour. And yet it is characteristic of this apostle's
retiring disposition and sensitive nature, that of all which
transpired on that memorable evening, he has not re
corded one syllable. A little later, he tells us what passed
in a similar interview with Nicodemus ; and as far as
relates to God's love to the world, and the lifting up of
the Son of Man, it is likely that what was said to John
and his companion was substantially the same. And
though we confess to disappointed curiosity, though it
would have been not a little instructive to know what
were the words which first satisfied an intellect so
superior, and which first arrested a heart so loving, we
486 INTERVIEWS.
must be satisfied with the result which was next morning
announced to their friends in words so few but emphatic,
" We have found the Messias."
And here we cannot forbear a parenthetic observation.
Some natures are effusive and outspoken. When they
find the lost sheep, or the lost shekel, they call on their
friends and neighbours to share the joy, and they cannot
rest till they have relieved their grateful emotion by
crying, " All ye that love the Lord, come and I will
declare what He hath done for my soul" Like John
Newton, they cannot forbear, but they must tell to every
hearer what miracles of mercy they are, and they write a
book to record how they were snatched from the fearful
pit and the miry clay ; whilst others, no less affected by
God's goodness, feel with Cowper —
" Nor were it wise, nor should I choose
Such secrets to declare :
Like precious wines, their taste they lose
Exposed to open air."
Like John, they shrink from publicity ; and it is not by
telling to the Church, or even to their friends, the story
of their conversion, but it is by the way they speak and
act for Christ, that the world is apprised of their great dis
covery, and the consequent revolution in their characters.
And this, we believe, is all which even the Church is
entitled to demand. For whilst, on the one hand, there
may be an explicitness which is aught but egotism —
whilst to a frank and exuberant spirit it may feel like
coldness or cowardice to conceal the doing of the Lord,
another may revolt from any recital of his own experience
A YOUNG MAN WHO LEFT ALL. 487
as verging on vain-glory, or as a self-exhibition at once
unseemly and distasteful. And if we are thankful to
Paul, who repeats again and again the incidents of his
conversion, the example of John may teach us that we
are not entitled to constitute ourselves fathers-confessors,
and force into a full and particular statement of their
experience those who would rather " keep the matter in
their heart."
John went back to Bethsaida. He went back to
Zebedee and the fishing-boat — to his old friends and his
former avocation ; and had Christ not summoned him to
a higher calling, he would have done well to abide as he
was to the end of his days. And, with the consciousness
which he now possessed, John might have led on that
lake of Galilee an existence happier and more sublime
than Seneca was then spending in his cedar library, or
Tiberius in his glittering palace. " The mind is its own
place;" and just as shabby notions and mean projects
may nestle beneath a coronet, so heaven's heir-apparent
is sometimes attired in coarsest raiment, and is holding
fellowship with God even when it is a sorry employment
in which his fingers are engaged. And should the reader
be one whose outward lot is little in unison with his
intellectual or moral aspirations — like John after that
night with Jesus at Bethabara, should you be obliged to
return to a companionship as contracted and to a calling as
irksome as awaited the young disciple on Gennesareth : —
remember that John and a few friends like-minded have
thrown around the once obscure lake of Galilee and the
humble craft of the fisherman associations almost amount-
488 INTERVIEWS.
ing to sacredness : and if your vocation is too lowly to
elevate you, be you yourself so conscientious, so pure and
noble-hearted, so full of Christ, as to leave that calling
the more dignified because it is the one which you once
occupied.
But John was not destined to tarry many months
amongst his old neighbours and their work. Although
it is well for us that there is One who foresees all our
future and who knows the way which we take, it is well
for us that we do not know it ourselves : and so, by short
and gentle stages, with seldom more than one trial in any
single vista, and usually with many sweet beguilements
by the way, we are lured along till our generation is
served and the work which God has given us is done. At
the moment when Jesus called himself and his brother,
could it have been revealed to John, " He is calling you
to sixty years of wandering and exile : Bethsaida will
never more be your home. He is calling you to poverty
and reproach : you will never be able to add another
mite to your patrimony, and you will often be treated as
an impostor or a fool. If you quit this boat and follow
that man, you will land in a prison and on a rock of lonely
banishment : I will not say but you may find yourself at
last in the tyrant's grip, flung into the seething caldron,
or shut up in the lions' den :" — we dare not say that he
would have been so daunted as to refuse to go, but he
would have gone with a very different feeling from that
which now bore him over the vessel's side, and placed him
a recruit instant and joyful in Messiah's little retinue. No
— those days beside the Jordan and that night in Christ's
A YOUNG MAN WHO LEFT ALL. 489
own dwelling, were still vivid to his memory, and the
hope of others like them was a spell before which home-
ties dissolved and danger disappeared : and, in the kind
wisdom of the Master, fresh excitements and new requitals
so succeeded one another ; and in the disclosures of a more
intimate communion, the great original motive — love to
Christ — so deepened, that John was never tempted for
a moment to regret that day's decision. He heard the
Sermon on the Mount. He saw Jairus's daughter raised
to life, and the widow's son at Nain. He helped to feed
with the miraculous loaves the famished multitude. He
shared, in some degree, the love and gratitude which
gathered round his Master as the Healer of diseases and
the Forgiver of sins. He was with Jesus on the Holy
Mount. He was with Him in the guest- chamber. He
was with Him in Gethsemane. He was with Him in the
hall of the palace of his friend the high priest. He was
with Him upon Calvary : in the upper room : on Olivet.
And after the Saviour had gone hence, the mother of
Jesus was still with John. And then, though persecution
came, Pentecost was also come; and though Jesus was
gone, the Holy Ghost was given. And though sorrow
came after sorrow — though James was slain with the
sword, and though Jerusalem, with all its endearments,
had to be left behind, yet success followed success, and
Ephesus, and Smyrna, and Thyatira, " Gains, mine host,"
and Demetrius, were antidotes to overmuch sorrow, and
incentives to renewed exertion ; — even as it will be with
ourselves, when God calls us to any great or good under
taking. Could we realize beforehand the opposition, the
490 INTERVIEWS.
obloquy, the fatigue, the misconstruction, the wakeful
nights, the weary, jaded days — were the real difficulties
present to our mind in all their force, we should be very
apt to linger in the boat and continue mending our nets,
even after Jesus had said, " Arise, follow me." But these
trials are, in great mercy, hidden at the moment when the
one mighty motive is working ; and when they do arise,
they so alternate with gracious encouragements — when
one friend gives way, another is so opportunely raised up ;
when the home-scene is dark, such good news comes from
elsewhere ; when some effort proves abortive on which
prodigious pains were expended, such unaccountable
success crowns another, that, like the soldier who in the
morning's victory forgets the rainy bivouac of last night,
and all his projects of returning, the chivalrous believer
resumes the fight, and, like John in his long campaign of
seventy years, is always committing himself to new labours
of love, " faint, yet pursuing ;" and when he drops at last,
his attitude is onward, and the position where he falls is
in advance of the ground where he rested yesterday.
When Noah lifted the hatch, and looked out at the
window of his ark, he saw quite another world from that
which he had looked upon when God shut the door and
closed him in. It was a world where he would meet none
of his old neighbours — where the old subjects of engross
ing speculation would have ceased to interest — where the
old scenes would wear a new aspect — where old things
were passed away, and all things were become new.
Noah had seen an old world die, and a new world born.
When John took his last look from the craggy heights
A YOUNG MAN WHO LEFT ALL 491
of Patmos, he was a patriarch gazing from the summit of
a moral Ararat. It was not that outward nature had
made a change ; for the evening sun wheeled gloriously
down on the far western waves, and the mighty Mediter
ranean still swept his azure billows along the bleak ribs
of Patmos, or went to sleep on the snowy sands of its
sheltered bay. With its garland of glossy green, the
Christmas rose still crowned the rocks where the sea-gull
nestled, as it had crowned them centuries ago ; and the
ships of Tarshish were seen glancing and tacking in the
far offing, as they had done when Jonah was the passen
ger, and Hiram was the sailor king. All these things
continued as they were when the fathers fell asleep ; but
other things were changed. Had the apostle's eye been
keen enough to penetrate so far, from the top of the rock
he might have seen Jerusalem a desolate heap — those
streets which, when first he trod them, stirred and buzzed
with countless myriads, abandoned to the vulture, and the
beautiful temple a pile of smashed pillars and scorched
timbers, rendering the old ritual of Solomon and Moses a
desperate impossibility. Northward he might have looked,
and his own seven churches would have risen to his view ;
and westward Corinth with its Christian congregations,
and Eome with its saints in Caesar's household. With
scarce a land that did not contain its Christian worship
pers, with scarce a tongue in which the name of Jesus had
not been proclaimed, with that old dispensation departed,
and with the idols of heathendom trembling in every
shrine — in that destruction of guilty and doomed Jeru
salem, in that infeoffment already taken in His purchased
492 INTERVIEWS.
heritage, the heathen — John felt that, if this were not all
the coming of his Master which he had reason to expect,
it was all for which the disciple could patiently wait ; and,
with old associations revived by these apocalyptic visions,
and old affections burning afresh, he wished that his dear
Lord would come and take him to Himself. " Even so,
come, Lord Jesus ; come quickly."
We do not know the particulars of John's dying hours.
Early church history tells us that it was a peaceful death.
He did not die a martyr, as his own brother did. No
Herod spilled his blood. We do not know the place.
Like Moses' grave, no man knows for certain where he is
buried to this day. Nor are we told who surrounded
his dying bed. There is only one Friend who we know
for certain was there. And, reader, if you be a disciple,
Jesus will be at your bedside when you come to die. It
may be in a Patmos — a land of distance or exile ; or an
Ephesus — a place where Christian friends will come to see
you, and where the congregation in which you were wont
to worship will remember you when it meets to pray. It
may be in a quiet chamber, where loving relatives stand
by ; or in a lonely unplenished room, where a kind
neighbour looks in now and then to see if you are want
ing anything. Salome and James may have gone before ;
your mother and your brethren may no longer be with
you : but, whoever dies, the Lord Jesus lives ; and if you
be His disciple, you will not depart in solitude. Jesus
will be with you. And once you have fallen asleep, your
very dust will not be neglected nor forgotten. The Saviour
will watch over it till that bright morrow when He shall
A YOUNG MAN WHO LEFT ALL. 493
draw the blue curtain of these skies, and, revealing a
sun which never sets, shall arouse you all recruited for
the sleepless services of eternity.
There were many fishermen on the Lake of Galilee, and
many young men in the village of Bethsaida, who never
became Christ's disciples. And there was once a time
when nothing was further from the thoughts of John.
When Salome dandled him on her knee ; when, with his
older brother and the neighbour children, he played up
and down the steep street of Bethsaida; when, in the
winter months, he left the village to look at the swellings
of Jordan, as, in volumes of foaming ochre, it rolled and
tumbled into the flooded lake ; and when, a limber lad, he
shoved afloat the boat of Zebedee, grating along the gravel,
and then leaped in and dealt out the net, and laid him
down to be rocked asleep on the swinging waves ; —
amongst all his dreams he never dreamed of a day which
would see him a fisher of men, and one of the dearest
friends of Messiah. But that same Saviour who said to
John, " Arise, follow me," invites you, dear young reader,
to become His disciple. Be you as ingenuous, as obedient,
as prompt, and as loving, and you too will become as
lovely, as beloved. It is a wonderful invitation, but it
is real. It comes from the Saviour who is "the same
yesterday, to-day, and for ever;" and it is an invitation
which is echoed in the last words of this happy Evangelist,
who closes the canon of Scripture entreating all to come
and share the blessedness which he had never wholly
lacked since the day when he first beheld " the Lamb of
God." The Saviour invites you to arise and follow Him ;
494 INTERVIEWS.
and, amidst all the possibilities opened to you in that
high calling, do you pray and aspire to become " a beloved
disciple." Like John, who, amidst the confidential com-
munings of the guest-chamber, the affectionate homage
of the seven churches, the transporting revelations of
Patmos, could remember the day when the scaly planks
of a fishing-boat were his bed, and a coil of dripping
ropes was his pillow, and when he had few hopes or aspi
rations beyond his native village, — you know not what
great things you are yet to see. But of all spectacles the
greatest is Jesus himself. That sight, dwelt upon by
John's adoring and absorbing eyes, filled his mind for the
rest of life with a beatific vision of " God manifest," and
it came out again in a character so elevated and beautiful,
that the whole Church is now of the same mind with the
Master; it loves the disciple whom Jesus loved, and
recognises as the most Christlike of all Christ's friends,
John the Divine.
FINAL GLIMPSES.
THE EISEN REDEEMER.
THE great sacrifice had been offered. The Son of God
had exclaimed, "It is finished," and had given up the
ghost. Availing themselves of Pilate's permission, Joseph
and Nicodemus had taken down the body of Jesus, and
had deposited it in a tomb lately hewn out of the rock in
Joseph's garden. It was the eve of the Sabbath, and the
stars would soon be shining, after which no work could
be done. Their arrangements were therefore hasty ; but
they took time to wrap round the precious remains a
hundred pounds of spices, and then rolled a great stone
to the door. The Jewish rulers suggested to Pilate, that
perhaps the disciples might come and carry off the body ;
and to obviate this danger the stone was fastened with
seals, and a Koman guard set over it.
That night passed on, and nothing transpired. The
next day was hushed and holy — the most sacred of Israel's
Sabbaths ; and within and around the sepulchre all con
tinued as calm and silent as the smokeless city. The
Sabbath-day passed over, and soon after six at night
certain women purchased some spices, and agreed to meet
495
496 FINAL GLIMPSES.
at the sepulchre early on the following morning. Joanna
and some others were to prepare the perfumes ; but before
Joanna and her companions arrived, Mary the mother of
James, and Mary Magdalene, and Salome, set out to
explore the sepulchre. Probably they knew nothing of
the guard, but they wished to know whether it were
practicable to remove the great stone. But before they
could arrive, there had been a mighty movement at the
sepulchre. " There was a great earthquake ; for the angel
of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled
back the stone from the door, and sat upon it. His coun
tenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow,
and for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as
dead men." As soon as they recovered from their con
sternation, the guard ran to the rulers ; and in the mean
while the female disciples drew near to the garden. As
soon as they entered it, and whilst they were speculating
how the stone might be moved away, to their consterna
tion they perceived that it was already displaced, and
the sepulchre was open. Instantly conjecturing that His
enemies had removed the body, perhaps to insult and
maltreat it, Mary Magdalene hasted off to give the alarm
to Peter and John. Meanwhile, Mary the mother of
James, and Salome, went forward and saw an angel in-
the form of a young man, sitting on the right side of the
tomb, who said to them, " Be not affrighted. Ye seek
Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He is risen. He
is not here. Behold the place where they laid him."
" And go quickly and tell his disciples that he is risen
from the dead, and that he goeth before you into Galilee."
THE RISEN REDEEMER. 497
On hearing Magdalene's report, John and Peter in
stantly set out, and Magdalene along with them : but
owing to their different routes they did not meet Salome
and her companion returning. John outran Peter, and
first reached the sepulchre : but whilst he was looking in
Peter came up, and, with characteristic impetuosity, sprang
in at once. There lay the napkin carefully folded, and the
shroud disposed by itself ; and it did not at all appear as
if either friends or foes had hastily borne away the body.
Peter and John went back to their own home, and Mary
Magdalene was left alone in the garden. And thus left
alone, she drew near, and with tears in her eyes looked
into the sepulchre. There two angels were sitting — the
one at the head, the other at the feet — where the body of
Jesus had lain. She took them for two young men, and
when they asked, " Woman, why weepest thou ?" she
answered, " Because they have taken away my Lord, and
I know not where they have laid him." Just then, turn
ing round, a figure stood before her. Her eyes dim with
weeping, she supposed it was the gardener, and encouraged
by the kind way he asked, " Why weepest thou ? whom
seekest thou?" she said, "Sir, if thou have borne him
hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take
him away." But instantly, in tones which belonged to
one voice only, the Stranger answered, "Mary!" and as
she sank at His feet, He added, " Touch me not ; for I am
not yet ascended to my Father : but go to my brethren
and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father and your
Father, and to my God and your God." And before more
words could pass, He disappeared and met Salome and
VOL. in. 2 i
498 FINAL GLIMPSES.
the other Mary, and accosted them, " All hail !" and clasp
ing His feet they worshipped Him, whilst He renewed
the message of the angels, " Be not afraid : Go tell my
brethren that they go into Galilee : there shall they see
me."
That same morning He appeared to Peter, and in the
afternoon, when two disciples — not apostles — were jour
neying to a town eight miles from Jerusalem, Jesus
joined them. They were talking together, and as it was
plain that their theme was a sad one, the Stranger asked
what it was. They told Him that they had counted on
Jesus of Nazareth as the Redeemer of Israel, — but that
He had been slain three days ago : moreover, that to-day
they had been greatly perplexed by a rumour that His
tomb was empty, and that no one was there except
angels, who said that He was alive again. A long dis
course ensued, during which the Stranger demonstrated
out of the prophets that all this was the plan of God, and
that these were precisely the sufferings through which
Messiah should pass before He entered His glory. Whether
it were that His attire or His aspect was somewhat dif
ferent from what it used to be ; or whether the melan
choly absorption of their thoughts prevented them from
sufficiently noticing their new companion ; or whether —
as seems hinted in the narrative — Jesus purposely held
their eyes from recognising Him : — still they journeyed
mile after mile, conscious only of their fellow-traveller's
sanctity and marvellous insight into Scripture, till they
reached their dwelling, and as He blessed their meal and
broke the bread, their eyes were opened, and they knew
THE RISEN REDEEMER. 499
Him : but before they could follow up the transporting
discovery, He had "ceased to be seen of them"1 — He had
vanished out of their sight. With news so surprising
they sped all the sixty furlongs back to Jerusalem, and
told the Eleven, " The Lord is risen indeed, and hath
appeared unto Simon, and to us." That evening, as the
Eleven were assembled in an upper room, with the doors
securely fastened for fear of the Jews, Jesus stood in the
midst and said, " Peace be unto you : " — but they shrieked
out and held up their hands, as if in the presence of an
apparition. But Jesus said, " Why are ye troubled ? Be
hold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Handle
me and see, for a spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see
me have." And while they yet believed not for joy, He
asked, "Have ye here any meat?" and when they gave
Him a piece of a broiled fish, and of a honeycomb, He
took it and did eat before them. He then reminded them
— as He truly might — how often He had foretold His
sufferings Himself, and how Messiah's temporary death
had been predicted in the Prophets and the Psalms :
" Thus it behoved Messiah to suffer, and to rise from the
dead on the third day."
A week passed on before He was seen again. On the
last occasion one apostle was absent; and though his
brethren told him what a long and ample interview
they had enjoyed with their risen Master, he sturdily
refused to believe them. After all, it must have been an
apparition, and " except I shall see in his hands the
prints of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the
1 aujtavTOs iyivfTO ar' avT<av> Luke xxiv. 31.
500 FINAL GLIMPSES.
nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe."
Next Sunday the apostles were met as before, with bolted
doors, and this time Thomas was with them. Again Jesus
stood in the midst, and after the salutation, " Peace be
unto you !" turning to Thomas, He said, " Eeach hither
thy finger, and behold my hands ; and reach hither thy
hand, and thrust it into my side : and be not faithless,
but believing." But yielding to the irresistible evidence,
and overwhelmed with this token of his heart-searching
Master's omniscience, Thomas could only exclaim, " My
Lord, and my God !"
Most likely it was that same week that the apostles
went into Galilee, as they had been directed to do ; and
here they probably had repeated interviews with their
Master, and learned from His own lips many things con
cerning His kingdom. But only two of these Galilean
interviews are recorded. The first was by the Lake of
Gennesareth, early on a morning of that wonderful spring.
Peter, and Thomas, and James, and John, and Nathanael
the guileless, and two other disciples, were in a fishing
craft. They had been very unsuccessful — for they had
toiled all night and taken nothing. They were now
nearing the shore, when they saw some one standing on
the beach. He hailed them, and asked if they had any
food. They answered, None. He bade them cast the
net on the right side of the ship; which they had no
sooner done, than they found it so full that they could
not hoist it on board. With his own sure instinct, John
said to Peter, "It is the Lord;" and no sooner was the
truth suggested, than Peter plunged over the vessel's side,
THE RISEN REDEEMER. 501
and swam the two hundred cubits to the shore. There
they found a repast prepared, and there, as they had often
done of old, on the margin of that same lake, these seven
listened to the Master's words, as they brake their bread
together. The other appearance in Galilee was on a
mountain, perhaps Tabor, perhaps the Mount of Beati
tudes ; at all events, a mountain where He had appointed
to meet the eleven, and where, taking advantage of the
appointment, five hundred brethren came together to see
Him, of whom the greater part survived full twenty
years, and were living when Paul wrote his first letter to
the Church of Corinth. In that interview — most likely
in private, and apart from the multitude — Jesus told His
apostles that all power was given to Him in heaven and
earth, and He bade them go and teach all nations what
soever things He had commanded them, baptizing them
in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Ghost, and He added, " Lo, I am with you alway,
even unto the end of the world."
From Galilee the apostles were directed to return to
Jerusalem. There, forty days after His resurrection,
Jesus joined them, and led them out a favourite and
familiar walk over the shoulder of Olivet as far as to
Bethany. They crossed the brook Kedron; for the last
time together they passed near Gethsemane ; they came
in sight of the house where Lazarus dwelt with his
sisters Martha and Mary. But to all the incidents of
that touching past Jesus made no allusion. His dis
course was of such great themes as the coming of the
Holy Spirit and the extension of God's kingdom in the
502 FINAL GLIMPSES.
earth. An inquiry, as to whether He meant now to
restore the Jewish monarchy, He discouraged ; but bade
the disciples preach repentance and remission of sins to
all nations. And as they, doubtless, felt their deplorable
incompetency, He bade them tarry at Jerusalem till they
received the promise of the Father ; for " not many days
hence ye shall be baptized with the Holy Ghost." And
then — a last look of love, and a final blessing, and He
was ascending from their midst; and anon, when the
cloud had received Him, and the angels told them that
no gaze of fondness could make Him visible again, they
poured forth their adoration in an act of worship; and,
slowly wending back to Jerusalem, and to that dear
upper chamber, they began the life of faith, and sought
to realize the promise, " Lo, I am with you alway."
On the wonderful sequel we cannot dwell. We must
not now stay to relate how a few weeks converted into
heroes and orators the ignorant boors and aimless fisher
men of Galilee ; and how, from the dim, cold cavern of
Jewish sectarianism, they suddenly issued on the world
the most original reformers, the most expansive philan
thropists, the most fervent evangelists, which that world
has ever seen; how, in the very streets where their
Master had been slain not two months previously, they
proclaimed His resurrection and His Messiahship ; and
the rulers beat them, and threatened them, but could
not contradict their testimony, nor ventured to bring
forward the Roman guards to confute them ; how they
confirmed their avowal of Christ's resurrection, by sub
mitting to tortures, and imprisonments, and fearful forms
THE RISEN REDEEMER. 503
of death ; and how God also confirmed their testimony ;
how, when they invoked the name of Jesus of Nazareth,
lame men leaped up, and sick folk were healed ; and
how, in their great business of preaching a risen Christ,
the Holy Spirit helped them, so that, whilst all the
languages of earth became easy as their own vernacular,
their thoughts glowed like lightning, and their words
thawed like fire ; how the first time they announced
their great news, "Him whom with wicked hands ye
crucified and slew, God hath raised up, and hath made
Him Lord and Christ," the incidents all were recent,
the immediate scene was only a few hundred paces
distant, and their hearers had many of them been
spectators of the crucifixion, but three thousand at once
became the converts of the Crucified ; and all throughout
till, on the road to Damascus, Jesus arrested His greatest
persecutor, and changed him into His most ardent
devotee, how all the intervening incidents proclaimed a
risen and enthroned Eedeemer, we must not at present
detail more fully ; but shall conclude by indicating some
of the results which follow from Christ's Resurrection.
1. It was as our Surety that Jesus died and was
buried ; and it was as our Surety that Jesus rose. His
resurrection proves that His atoning work had served
its purpose, and that the great Eedemption was com
plete. The wages of sin was death. On behalf of His
people, Jesus had tasted death ; and now, as there was
nothing more to pay, the prison was opened and the
Surety was released. " God raised Him from the dead,"
and in thus raising to life the Substitute of the elect,
504 FINAL GLIMPSES.
God openly acknowledged that their debt was dis
charged — their penalty exhausted — their expiation com
plete. It might have been otherwise. We speak of
things that are strong : There is nothing stronger than
justice. We speak of things that are heavy : There is
nothing heavier than guilt. And had Jesus been a
human Saviour, He would have been crushed by the
responsibilities He assumed, and must have perished in
His benevolent undertaking. The sins of any one of us
would have been a gravestone too heavy for Him to heave
off: the claims of Jehovah's justice would have been
bands of death too strong for even Him to burst. But
before He descended to the tomb Messiah had finished
transgression and made an end of sin. There was nothing
to take Him thither, except the Scripture which must
be fulfilled, and the last enemy which must be destroyed ;
and except the great stone and the pontifical seals, there
was nothing to keep Him there. Vainly did the King
of Terrors watch over his strange captive, and vainly did
the Grave boast of its mysterious and mighty inmate.
He opened His eyes and Death was abolished : He stood
up, and the Grave had lost its victory ; and yielding to
the touch of Heaven's herald, the seals and the great
stone gave way, and Jesus was " declared the Son of God
with power in His resurrection from the dead." Delivered
for our offences, He was raised again for our justification :
and along with Him rose all His ransomed — that glorious
Church of countless members which left the grave of
Jesus acquitted, accepted, legally justified, virtually saved.
" Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect ?
THE RISEN REDEEMER. 505
It is God that justifieth. Who is he that condemneth ?
It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who
is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh inter
cession for us."
2. Christ rose as a precursor or earnest. Christ is risen
the first-fruits of them that sleep. All shall rise. " All
that are in their graves shall hear the voice of the Son of
God, and shall come forth ; they that have done good unto
the resurrection of life, and they that have done evil unto
the resurrection of damnation." But whilst all the dead
are the subjects of the Mediator's authority, and all are
destined to hear His voice, there is a special relation
betwixt Himself and His believing people which identi
fies their lot with their risen Redeemer. Because He
lives, they shall live also. Nay, believing in Him they
never die. From, the great life-fountain, the Mediator's
person, their souls have imbibed immortality, and their
union with Christ secures them an eventual share in
Christ's own - resurrection. All that are in their graves
shall hear Christ's voice ; but Christians in the grave are
not dead, but only sleeping : and whether in the grave or
going to it, they are not only hearers of Christ's voice, but
sharers of Christ's vitality.
Of this implication of all His people in Christ's resur
rection, the apostle Paul gives a twofold illustration. He
calls the rising Eedeemer " the first-fruits of them that
sleep" — and he calls Him "a quickening spirit." The
first-fruits were the handful of corn which first ripened in
the field, or the first cluster which ripened on the tree,
and which was not only often the richest in itself, but
506 FINAL GLIMPSES.
peculiarly welcome as announcing that the rest is coming.
Arid so of that corn which has fallen into the ground and
died, the handful first ripe has already gone home to God's
garner, and tells that the rest will follow ; and though
the remainder does not mature with the same miraculous
rapidity, not a grain shall be lost. Time's winter and the
tears of separation have fallen over it like a dew upon
herbs, and still it dwells in dust ; but these heavens shall
open, and earth's atmosphere shall thrill with issuing
immortality, and conscious of the quickening presence,
the dwellers in the dust shall awake and sing, — together
with Christ's dead body shall they come — together with
His dead body, and made blissfully like to His glorious
body, — and in that instantaneous maturing the first-fruits
are repeated over all the golden field, and the harvest of
the earth is reaped. Again, as in Adam all the Adamic
die, so in Christ all the Christian live. Those who have
the blood of Adam in their veins have the mortality
of Adam in their systems : those who have the spirit of
Jesus in their souls, bear about with them the germ of
a better resurrection. Each Adam is a representative ;
each is a public person ; each is a covenant head ; each
has his own posterity. In Adam all die. His first sin
brought death on himself and all his descendants ; and
though there were nothing else to cause it, such is sin's
malignity, that Adam's first transgression would be suffi
cient to account for all the deaths that have ever been.
But " as through the offence of one many died, so much
more they who receive abundance of grace and of the gift
of righteousness, shall reign in life by one, Jesus Christ."
THE RISEN REDEEMER. 507
And as that first transgression shall not have outwrought
its full effects nor developed all its malignity till the last
of our doomed species has gasped in mortal agony, and
wrestled out the great death-struggle — till the last grave
has been closed, and the last orphan has put the weeds
of mourning on — so the riches of Christ's righteousness
and the extent of Christ's resurrection shall not be de
monstrated till every grave is open, and the sea has given
up its dead ; and pointing to a multitude whom no man
can number, out of every kindred and nation — sons from
the east and the west, from Africa and either Indies, from
the snowy Alp and from the burning zone, with every
feature merged in resemblance to His own glorious body
— the Second Adam exclaims to the Father, " Here am I
and the children whom Thou hast given me."
3. Christ rose a specimen of what His risen people
shall be.
It would be interesting to know what man was like in
the primeval paradise : what he was like when still sinless
and unfallen. But for this we have few data ; and with
this we have not much to do. It is more important for
us to know what man shall be like in his glorified body,
and in the paradise restored ; and for our conjectures here
we have surer ground and more abundant materials. As
regards the mode of His existence, an attentive reader
may perceive a striking difference between Jesus not yet
crucified, and the same Jesus risen. For many years He
had been found in fashion as a man, and except on a few
rare emergencies — as when He walked on the sea, and
extricated Himself from the mob at Nazareth — He did
508 FINAL GLIMPSES.
nothing to evince Him aught else than " bone of our
bone, and flesh of our flesh." He hungered, He thirsted,
He ate, He drank, He sought the refreshment of sleep,
and when He exchanged one place for another, He footed
all the intermediate space, and was sometimes weary with
the journey. But after His resurrection there was a
wonderful change. To show disciples that it was still a
true body which He wore, we find Him twice partaking
of ordinary food ; but of His place of abode, of His lodging
or resting anywhere, we have not the slightest hint ; and
all unlike those previous years, when every movement
was minutely known, and every day's employments could
be exactly recorded, the usual avocations of these forty
days were utterly unknown. In what earthly home He
sojourned, no disciple guessed, and how He was occupied,
none presumed to ask. Except the walk to Emmaus,
there were no more journeys with the Master in the midst ;
and though He was in Galilee and Jerusalem by turns,
no one saw Him traversing the distance between. In the
garden He accosts Mary Magdalene, and anon He inter
cepts her companions still hasting towards the city. At
Emmaus, the two disciples recognise Him, but before they
can follow up their delightful discovery, He again has
vanished from their view ; and that same evening the ten
are assembled, and the door is firmly fastened : there is
no footfall on the stair : the latch is not lifted : the bolt
does not fly back, but Jesus is in the midst, saying,
" Peace be unto you." The truth is, our earth was no
longer " His local residence. He had become the inhabi
tant of another region, from which He occasionally came
THE RISEN REDEEMER.
509
to visit His disciples, till at last He took a visible depar
ture, in order that they might cease to expect Him till
the restitution of all things." * The body which had been
sown in dishonour was now raised in glory. It had been
sown a natural body, but was now raised a spiritual body.
It was amaranthine — immortal — a body which, once dead,
could die no more — a materialism which no longer shrouded
so closely the indwelling Godhead : a body which had
already been within the veil, and which shed around it
the calm and sanctity imported from the holy place — a
body which made the upper chamber a Tabor, and the
forty days a perpetual Transfiguration — a body which
stone walls could not exclude, and which the earth's
gravitation could not detain — a body which could easily
elude their observation ; which was at once so identical
that it could be infallibly recognised as that same Jesus,
and withal so much fairer than the sons of men, that at
first some of the five hundred doubted if it were really
Himself. Without any studious reserve on His side, no
wonder that there was now a felt remoteness on the side
of disciples ; and with its texture so fine and so emissive
of the glory within, when the Wearer of this glorious
humanity presented Himself on the Hill of Galilee, or
beside the Lake of Tiberias, or in the upper room of the
city, or finally left them on the skirts of Olivet, no wonder
that the impulse was always the same, and that those who
in other days were free to talk with the Master, now felt
constrained to fall at His feet, and worship their God.
1 For the full discussion of this interesting subject, see Horsley's remark
able Sermons on Our Lord's Resurrection.
510 FINAL GLIMPSES.
Something like this shall the risen Christian be. He
knows not what he shall be, but he knows that when
Christ appears, he shall be like Him. He looks for the
Saviour, who shall change his vile body, that it may be
fashioned like unto Christ's glorious body. And as he has
borne the image of the earthly Adam, he expects to bear
the image of the heavenly. Without being able to go into
every detail, he has obtained glimpses enough of a risen
Eedeemer during these forty days, to know that the
corporeity he shall hereafter wear will have many forms
and many exemptions at present unknown. It will be
able to exchange one place for another with vast rapidity
and without fatigue. It will be able to frequent scenes
and enter places from which it is at present debarred.
Like Jesus in the Upper Room, who perhaps had long
been present before He was perceived, and who did not
necessarily withdraw the instant He ceased to be seen, it
may require a miracle to make itself palpable to flesh and
blood ; but its ordinary avocations and its familiar asso
ciates must be such as it hath not entered into the heart
of man to conceive. And like Christ's glorified body, it
will hunger no more, neither thirst any more, and in the
land where it dwells, the inhabitant " shall no more say,
I am sick."
4. Christ rose as a conqueror to commence a new domi
nion. " He must reign till he hath put all enemies under
his feet. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death."
Nor will the end come till He has conquered back the
empire of the universe to the Godhead. " Then cometh
THE RISEN REDEEMER. 511
the end, when he shall have delivered up the kingdom
to God, even the Father ; when He shall have put down
all rule and all authority and power." That reign is
begun. That conquest is now proceeding. The Mediator
is on the throne. He has received all power in Heaven
and on Earth. His people are as safe as the subjects can
be of One whose dominion ruleth over all. Nor will this
mighty One put up His sword or stay His career of victory
till all the universe is loyal, or all that is disloyal is dis
armed ; till moral evil has disappeared from the sight of
a holy creation, banished to its own place ; and having
put down all opposing authority and power, Messiah can
hand back to the Father His completed commission — as
the Son and the Sent of the Father doing homage to abso
lute Deity, " that God may be all in all."1
A Saviour's resurrection is too seldom the subject of
our thoughts. Even those who are " often at Geth-
semane" too seldom go out as far as unto Bethany, and
gaze up into Heaven along the track of an ascending
Eedeemer. Even those who sometimes look forth to
Christ on the Cross, too seldom look up to Christ on the
Throne. But if Jesus was delivered for our offences, He
was raised again for our justification : and if we would
lead an elastic, hopeful, and improving life, we must
remember our Saviour as risen and reigning, and destined
to come again.
To one great sorrow, especially, is Christ's resurrection
the surest antidote. " 0 death, where is thy sting ? 0
1 1 Cor. xv.
512 FINAL GLIMPSES.
grave, where is thy victory ?" Death has a sting. It is
a very dreadful eviL It is dismal to endure, and scarcely
less dismal to anticipate. To lie down in pain, perhaps
in racking agony : to count the slow-creeping minutes,
and wish for evening dusk or morning dawn, which does
arrive, but brings no balm of sleep, no sense of betterness :
to grow confused, but still conscious of misery : to have
wishes that cannot be understood, and words we cannot
utter : to see dear ones fading into the distance, and to
be able to exchange no more love's wonted tokens, not
even a twinkle of the eye nor a murmur of the voice : to
feel the breath stifling and the heart-strings breaking, and
to be left alone in the midst of this cold and dreary mys
tery : — what can be more awful, unless it be his case who
is the helpless looker-on; who watches pangs which he
cannot assuage, and imploring looks which he cannot
interpret ; who plies cordials at which the King of Terrors
mocks, and who importunes science for miracles which
it cannot work ; who in frantic desperation would detain
the spirit which has already burst its earthly fetters,
and, more frantic still, refuses to believe that the gulf is
already crossed, and that the form which he enclasps is
no longer a father or a mother, but only senseless clay ;
who must see these dear familiar features grow so ghastly,
and then learn to love them in this new and mournful
phasis, only to endure another woe when the coffin-lid
is closed, and the funeral pomp sets forth, and from the
macerating leaves and plashy turf of the churchyard the
survivor comes back to the forsaken dwelling, and up-
THE RISEN REDEEMER. 513
braids himself that he should sit under the bright lamp,
and before the blazing fire, while, beneath the bleak
November night, that dear form is left to silence and to
solitude. Death has a sting. There is often a pang in
its very prospect. You are well and happy; but the
thought crosses you, " I must soon work my last day's
work, or play out my last holiday. Soon must I take
my last look of summer, and spend my last evening with
my friends. Soon must I be done with these pleasant
books, and put the marker in where it will never again
be moved. Soon must I vanish from these dear haunts,
and this most beautiful world ; and soon must I go down
to the house of silence, and say to the worm, ' Thou art
my sister.' And yet, soon as that may be, still sooner
may precious ones be taken, and force me to say, 'I
would not live always.' " Whether in the actual endur
ance or in the awful anticipation, death is very dreadful,
and it used to have a sting which not only slew the victim,
but extinguished the survivor's hope. Thanks be to God
for Jesus Christ. Thanks that there is one tomb which
has already lost its tenant, and thanks for the news of
how that happened. Thanks that the old penalty is now
exhausted in the sinner's Substitute, and that whatever
great stone be placed on our sepulchre, there need be no
gravestone of guilt on the immortal soul. Thanks, 0
Father, for Thy gift unspeakable ; thanks, 0 Saviour, for
Thy love unfathomable. Thanks for tasting death for every
man. Thanks for Thy glorious resurrection and bene
ficent reign. Thanks for Thy gracious promise to destroy
VOL. m. 2 K
514 FINAL GLIMPSES.
the last enemy ; and thanks, 0 Holy Spirit, the Com
forter, for those to whom Thou hast given such union to
Jesus that they feel as if they could never die — nay, that
to depart and be with Christ is far better. " 0 Death,
where is thy sting ? 0 grave, where is thy victory ? The
sting of death is sin ; and the strength of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory, through
our Lord Jesus Christ."
To get the full benefit of these assurances, the reader is
earnestly exhorted to keep in memory his high calling
and the Author of his better life. " Who is he that con-
demneth ? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen
again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also
maketh intercession for us." Prize and use for its proper
purposes the Lord's day. As sacred but far more touch
ing than the world's primeval Sabbath, let its chiming
minstrelsy ever remind you, " Christ is risen," and seek
to catch the suggestions of things not seen as yet which
it wafts from the hills of Immortality. And sorrow not
as those who have no hope concerning friends who sleep
in Jesus. Considering that we "believe in the Kesur-
rection of the dead, and the Life Everlasting," there is
reason to apprehend that our whole feeling in this country
regarding our departed friends is too funereal ; and on
behalf of England we have sometimes envied the brighter
hope — the look of Easter morning, which seems to linger
still in Luther's land. With its emblems suggestive of
Eesurrection and Heaven, its churchyard is not a Pagan
burial-ground, but the place where believers sleep, — a true
THE RISEN REDEEMER. 515
cemetery, to which friendship can find it pleasant to repair
and meditate. At the obsequies of Christian brethren it
is not a funeral knell which strikes slowly and sternly ;
but from the village steeple there sheds a soft and almost
cheerful requiem : and though there may be many wet
eyes in the procession, there are not many of the artificial
insignia of woe, as the whole parish convoys the departed
to his " bed of peaceful rest." Once in the Black Forest
we accompanied to the " Place of Peace" an old man's
funeral, and there still dwells in our ear the quaint and
kindly melody which the parishioners sang along the
road ; and we have sometimes wished that we could hear
the like in our own land, with its sombre and silent
obsequies.
Neighbour, accept our parting song ;
The road is short, the rest is long :
The Lord brought here, the Lord takes hence, —
This is no house of permanence.
On bread of mirth and bread of tears
The pilgrim fed these chequer'd years ;
Now, landlord world, shut to the door,
Thy guest is gone for evermore.
— Gone to a realm of sweet repose,
His comrades bless him as he goes :
Of toil and moil the day was full,
A good sleep now, — the night is cool.
Ye village bells, ring, softly ring,
And in the blessed Sabbath bring,
Which from this weary work-day tryst
Awaits God's folk through Jesus Christ.
And open wide, thou Gate of Peace,
And let this other journey cease,
Nor grudge a narrow couch, dear neighbours,
For slumbers won by life-long labours.
516 FINAL GLIMPSES.
Beneath these sods how close ye lie !
But many a mansion 's in yon sky ;
Ev'n now, beneath the sapphire throne,
Is his prepared through God's dear Son.
" I quickly come," that Saviour cries ;
Yea, quickly come, this churchyard sighs
Come, Jesus, come, we wait for thee, —
Thine now and ever let us be.
EDINBURGH : T. CONSTABLE,
PRINTER TO THE QUEEN, AND TO THE UNIVERSITY.
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