The Life of Duty Part 5

Lastly, I think that walking in the Spirit means _walking in hope_. If we trust G.o.d and do our best, we cannot despair. We shall find the road hard and stony at times, but let us hope and go steadily forward.

We shall fall sometimes, we shall make mistakes, we shall suffer defeats, we shall be cast down, and weary. Still let us hope, and go steadily forward.

"Hope on, hope ever, tho' dead leaves be lying In mournful cl.u.s.ters 'neath your journeying feet, Tho' wintry winds through naked boughs are sighing, The flowers are dead, yet is their memory sweet Of summer winds and countless roses glowing 'Neath the warm kisses of the generous sun.

Hope on, hope ever, why should tears be flowing?

In every season is some victory won."

SERMON L.

THE PREACHING OF NATURE.

(Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity.)

S. MATT. vi. 28.

"Consider the lilies of the field."

This world is G.o.d's great Temple, and the voices of Nature are His preachers. The Holy Spirit speaks to us through these preachers like the wind breathing through the pipes of a great organ. To those who have ears to hear, the roar of the ocean, or the sound of the mighty rus.h.i.+ng wind, are as an anthem of praise. The song of birds, the hum of insects, every voice in the world of Nature combine to take part in a hymn of thanksgiving, a great _Benedicite_, and to sing, "O all ye works of the Lord bless ye the Lord, praise Him, and magnify Him for ever." And yet, my brothers, there are many of us too blind and too deaf to see and hear these things. To one man this world is only a gigantic farm, to be divided, and ploughed, and tilled, that it may bring forth more fruit. To another the world is merely a great market, a warehouse filled with all kinds of goods, which may be bought and sold. To some the world is like a chess-board, where each man plays a selfish game, and tries to overreach his neighbour. To others the world is a mere play-ground, where they pa.s.s a frivolous, useless existence, sitting down to eat and drink, and rising up to play. To the selfish man the world is a vast slave plantation, where unhappy slaves are forced to toil and labour to supply the needs of cruel taskmasters. To the faithless man the world is nothing better than a graveyard, where lie buried dead friends, dead hopes, dead joys, without any promise of a resurrection. But to the Christian this world is a great and solemn Temple, where he can wors.h.i.+p the Creator, and where ten thousand voices teach him to "look through Nature up to Nature's G.o.d." When he stands in the meadow gra.s.s, or under the shadows of the pine-wood, he can feel that surely G.o.d is in this place, and that the place wherever he stands is holy ground.

"Oh, to what uses shall we put the wildweed flower that simply blows?

And is there any moral shut within the bosom of the rose?

But any man that walks the mead, in bud, or blade, or bloom, may find, According as his humours lead, a meaning suited to his mind."

Let us listen to-day to the preaching of Nature, and learn a lesson from the gra.s.s which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven.

Let us consider the lilies, and make them our teachers. The first lesson which these silent preachers would have us learn is the unfailing care of G.o.d for His creatures. He never neglects to clothe the ground with gra.s.s, or to nourish the lilies, which neither toil nor spin. Yet we who both toil and spin, and haste to rise up early, and so late take rest, are often distrustful and full of doubt. Brethren, let us work our work, but not put our trust in it. It is G.o.d's right Hand and His mighty Arm which must help us. Let us strive to do our best, and leave the result to G.o.d. Let us dwell in the land, and be doing good, and verily we shall be fed. And next, we learn from the gra.s.s and the flowers how short our time is. Every meadow, every gra.s.sy hillock in the churchyard, seems to say to us, "as for man, his days are as gra.s.s; as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind pa.s.seth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more. All flesh is gra.s.s, and all the goodness thereof as the flower of the field: the gra.s.s withereth, the flower fadeth; because the Spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it; surely the people is gra.s.s." Yes, surely this thought should be a check to our pride, and our schemes, and our worldliness, that we must one day lay them all aside, like a worn-out garment, and that the pleasant gra.s.s, which our careless foot is pressing, shall grow green upon our grave. Let us hearken to the warning of a quaint old epitaph which I have seen in a Yorks.h.i.+re Churchyard:--

"Earth walketh on the earth, Glittering like gold; Earth goeth to the earth Sooner than it would.

Earth buildeth on the earth Palaces and towers, Earth sayeth to the earth-- All shall be ours."

I read the other day that lately a workman, employed in some excavations at Rome, found a funeral urn containing the ashes of one of the Caesars. The workman knew nothing of the matter, but seeing that the ashes were very white, he sent them to his wife to bleach linen with. And this was all that remained of that body which had worn the imperial purple! "To what base uses we may return!" But the gra.s.s, and the flowers of the field, not only tell us of the shortness of life, and the certainty of death, they speak to us also of the resurrection. Looking at the world in the autumn and winter time we see nothing but death and decay. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," is the mournful text of every falling leaf, and faded flower. But G.o.d who lays nature in her grave, will, in the spring time, roll away the stone from the sepulchre. Who can look on Nature, touched by the warm breath of May, and doubt the resurrection?

"Each tree she kindles by her touch bursts into leafy flames, And, like the sacred desert bush, G.o.d's presence there proclaims.

The chestnuts spread their leafy palms in blessing on the air, And from their minarets of bloom call all the trees to share.

With bridal blossoms, pure and sweet, the blus.h.i.+ng orchards glow, And on the hawthorn hedges lie soft wreathes of scented snow.

G.o.d reigneth, and the earth is glad! His large, self-conscious heart A glowing tide of life and joy pours through each quickened part.

The very stones Hosannas cry; the forests clap their hands, And in the benison of Heaven each lifted face expands."

Can we doubt, my brothers, that the same Jesus who rose from the dead, and also makes all Nature rise from the dead each spring time, will in like manner raise us up, and give us a body like unto His glorious Body, in that fair Kingdom where He maketh all things new? If we have seen our dear ones cut down like the gra.s.s, and withered like the flowers of the field, let us remember that the gra.s.s will spring again, and the flowers will once more appear on the earth; and that our loved ones will also come again, clothed in resurrection beauty by Him who clotheth the lilies of the field.

"Oh, rainy days! Oh, days of sun!

What are ye all when the year is done?

Who shall remember snow or rain?

Oh, years of loss! Oh, joyful years!

What are ye all when Heaven appears?

Who shall look back for joy or pain?"

And again, the flowers teach us a lesson of usefulness. They are sent to make G.o.d's earth beautiful and sweet, and to gladden the heart of man. Surely we are sent for the same purpose. Most of us are destined to occupy a lowly place in life. Our position is like that of the humble violet, not of the towering forest tree. But, my brothers, the sweetest spot is where the violet blooms, and it is better to be sweet than to be grand. Never suppose that you can do nothing because G.o.d has placed you in a quiet corner of the world. G.o.d put you there as He puts a violet in a lonely nook, that you might make your corner _sweet_. If we could only remember this we should not have so many p.r.i.c.kly tempers, and black looks, and cruel words spoiling our home life, and making the world a desert. Life would be what G.o.d would have it to be, if each of us would try by gentleness, by good temper, by unselfish love to make his corner sweet. Make up your minds now; say to yourselves--I cannot do any great work for G.o.d or my fellow man, but I will try by purity, by cheerfulness, by thought for others, to make my home sweet. And once more, the flowers teach us to be a comfort to our neighbours. When the earth is wrapped in snow, and the skies are grey and cold, and no leaf hangs on the tree, the snowdrop puts forth its fair, pure blossom to cheer and comfort us. The sight of that living flower when all the world seems dead, is like a message from the other world, whispering of coming spring and the resurrection. Well, there are times when it is winter weather in our heart. When sorrow and loss have made life desolate as a December day, and blessed, thrice blessed, are they who come to comfort us, and to whisper of brighter days in store.

In the highest part of the Peak of Teneriffe, far above the clouds, and in a dry and burning waste, there grows a plant which, in the spring time, fills the air with delicious fragrance. There are some of us who may be condemned to live in a barren and dry land of hard work, and lonely trouble. But loving natures, and gentle words, can make that desert blossom as the rose. The beauty of holiness, the sweetness of sympathy, will make the poorest home lovely and fragrant. May Jesus, the Rose of Sharon, teach us to learn the lesson of the lilies, and to make our lives sweet with purity and love.

SERMON LI.

PAST KNOWLEDGE.

(Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity.)

EPHESIANS iii. 19.

"To know the love of Christ which pa.s.seth knowledge."

There are some things which no earthly school can teach us, no earthly science explain. Science can do very much, it has done marvellous things, and will do still more. Men can work now with ease such wonders as would have sent them to the fire as wizards three hundred years ago.

Science can calculate the exact time of an eclipse ages before the time, science can connect two worlds with the electric wire, science can make the powers of earth, and air, and fire, and water its slaves; but science cannot teach us the love of Christ which pa.s.seth knowledge, or show us how to find the peace of G.o.d which pa.s.seth all understanding. No, we must go to the school of Jesus Christ to learn these things; and in that school the learned, and the ignorant, the powerful, and the lowly, are just on a level. The man of science may be there, like Sir Isaac Newton, of whom some one said that he had the _whitest soul_ of any man he had ever known. But it was not the power of the telescope which had brought the love of Jesus to his sight. The poor, ignorant cottager, who cannot even read, may be there. He is no scholar, but he has learnt what some scholars are ignorant of, to trust G.o.d and love his neighbour as himself.

Yes, brethren, if we would learn to know the love of Christ, we must go to His school, we must kneel at His Feet, we must hold close communion with Him, we must daily endeavour ourselves to follow the steps of His most holy life. Grey-haired old man, tender little child, anxious mother, busy worker, Jesus calls you to learn the lesson of His love, saying, "Come, and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart." But S. Paul says that the love of Christ pa.s.seth knowledge. And indeed we poor, sinful, selfish creatures can never hope, at least here, to understand all the wideness, the depth, the power, of that love. When the astronomer looks up at the starry sky above him, he does not think so much of what he knows about that s.h.i.+ning world as about what he does _not_ know. He thinks of the mysteries which those calm skies hold, and of the countless stars which no telescope has ever yet brought within the range of human eye. So the more we learn of the love of Christ the more marvellous it appears. There are some among us who know absolutely nothing of the love of Christ. They are as ignorant of it as a blind man is of the beauties of Nature. To them Jesus is a character in history who did certain things, who suffered for them and for others, and with that they are quite content. But they know nothing of the love of Christ, and care nothing about it because they do not love Him themselves. Such people either neglect the duties of religion altogether, or perform them as an idle schoolboy does his task, unwillingly, grudgingly. There is no love in their service, and therefore it is worthless. There are many, I trust, who hear me now who have learned something of the love of Christ; others who would willingly learn. To them I say, come into Christ's school to-day. A willing scholar can always learn, if you _want_ to love Jesus you have begun already to do so.

First, let us think of some things in the love of Christ which make it wonderful, past knowledge. The love of Christ is wonderful because it is _impartial_. "He maketh His sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." Look at the suns.h.i.+ne pouring down over a great city, and think on what different characters the light falls. The same sun s.h.i.+nes on the Church and its faithful wors.h.i.+ppers, and on the house of shame and infamy. The same light gilds the dying bed of the Christian, and the couch of the infidel and blasphemer. The same beam glitters on the blessed Altar of the faithful, and on the cell of the impenitent murderer. Look at the suns.h.i.+ne and the shower in the country. The fields of the earnest, prayerful man, and those of the unbelieving, prayerless scoffer lie golden under the same sunlight, are watered by the same showers. And why is this so? Surely it is a type of the love of Christ which pa.s.seth knowledge. Surely it teaches us the wondrous height, and depth, and breadth of divine love.

It warns us not to be kind and loving only to the good and gentle, but to love our enemies, to do good to those who persecute us and speak evil of us, to try to give all a chance to amend, even as G.o.d, in His long-suffering mercy, makes His sun to rise on the evil and on the good.

We shall get to know more of the love of Christ if we learn to be more _impartial_ in our love for our fellow men. I know a little island where the society, small enough already, is divided into certain cla.s.ses, and it is considered a want of breeding for one cla.s.s to unite with another.

You can imagine the angry feelings, and petty jealousies, which such a system excites. But even in the greater world we are too much inclined to surround ourselves with a circle of friends and acquaintances, and to leave the rest of the world unknown and uncared for. The love of Christ teaches us to see in every man a brother, a neighbour, whom we must help if we can. The love of Christ would have us look on ourselves and others as one great family, joined together by one common Faith, one Holy Baptism; or as one consecrated building, where high and low, rich and poor, are all built into their appointed place, "Jesus Christ being the head corner-stone." My brothers, try to be more wide, more liberal, more impartial in your love for others, if you would learn the love of Christ which is wider than the ocean, impartial as the suns.h.i.+ne--pa.s.sing knowledge.

Again, the love of Christ is wonderful in its effects. It makes the brave still more heroic; it makes the timid courageous, the sad joyful, the hardened tender. It was the love of Christ which made S. Stephen brave in the hour of his martyrdom, and taught him to pray for his murderers. In all the long roll of heroes there are none so great as those who fought under the banner of Christ's love. Feeble old men, little children, weak women, were transformed by that marvellous power; they could do all things through Christ who strengthened them. They suffered and died, but their death gave life to the faith of Christ. Did you ever read, brethren, how the last fight of gladiators in the Colosseum ended? It was when Rome had become Christian, but still the cruel sports of the people had not been entirely given up. After a famous victory, the Emperor, a feeble boy, and all the great men of Rome, went to the crowded theatre to witness the amus.e.m.e.nts given in honour of the triumph. After the harmless sports were over some gladiators entered the arena armed with sharp swords. The people shouted with delight because the old savage amus.e.m.e.nts of their heathen days were restored to them. Suddenly an old man, dressed in the habit of a hermit, and unknown to all, sprang into the arena, and declared that as Christian people they must not suffer men to slay each other thus. An angry cry rose from the eager crowd. The gladiators, disappointed of their gain, menaced the hermit fiercely, crying, "back, old man, for thy life." But the stranger stood fearless before that angry mob, he heeded not the swords of the gladiators, nor the yells of the people, but solemnly protested against the deed of blood. In another moment he lay dead on the red sand, pierced by a dozen wounds. He died, but his words lived. When the people saw the fearless courage of a weak old man, shame filled their hearts; the sports were stopped, and never again did the gladiators fight in the Colosseum. My brothers, if we are learning the love of Christ, we shall be brave to do the right, come what may.

Again, the love of Christ is wonderful in its effect on our _work_. It is a common saying that such and such a work is a labour of love; and, believe me, that is the best done of all which is done for love. Did you ever watch a young mother making the clothes for her first child? Never before has she bestowed such care, such thought, such patience, on her sewing, every st.i.tch is prompted by love.

Long ago, there was an old Cathedral somewhere abroad, I cannot tell you where. On one of the arches was sculptured a face of exceeding beauty.

It was long hidden, but one day a ray of suns.h.i.+ne lighted up the matchless work, and from that time, on the days when the light shone on the face, crowds came to look at its loveliness. The history of that sculpture is a strange one. When the Cathedral was being built, an old man, worn with years and care, came to the architect, and begged to be allowed to work there. Fearing his age and failing sight might cause the old man to injure the carving, the master set him to work in a dark part of the roof. One day they found the stranger lying dead, with the tools of his craft around him, and his still face turned up towards that other face which he had carved. It was a work of surpa.s.sing beauty, and without doubt was the face of one whom the artist had long since loved and lost. When the craftsmen looked upon it, they all agreed--"this is the grandest work of all, it is the work of love."

We, my brothers, are all set to do some work here in the temple of our lives, and the best, the most beautiful, the most enduring, will be that which we do because the love of Christ constraineth us.

And yet once more, the love of Christ is wonderful in its _power of pardon_. Have you ever known what it is to have sinned grievously, and to have repented truly? Have you felt the shame, the sorrow, the misery of knowing your sin, and the exquisite sense of relief when you knew that you were pardoned? Have you known the power of Christ's absolving word?

Have you felt that He has given the prodigal the kiss of pardon, that He has carried the lost sheep home once more, that He has said to _you_--"I will, be thou clean, depart in peace?" To know this is to know the love of Christ. Are there no prodigals here now who have not yet arisen and gone to their Father? Are there no weak, tempted women straying into danger, like the lost sheep? Are there none here who are carrying about some secret sin which poisons all their life? If there are such, I say, come and make trial of Christ's love _to-day_. "Come, drink of the water of life freely." Come with your sin, your sorrow, your trial, your temptation, to the feet of Jesus, and you shall learn "the love of Christ which pa.s.seth knowledge."

SERMON LII.

THE PRISON-HOUSE.