Chapter VIII: Part 8

It is here that our text sets in--one of the most pathetic incidents in sacred story. To understand it properly, we go back in spirit to that scene in the high priest's palace when Peter, the bold and courageous, whose impulsiveness had caused him to promise great things, had shamefully and cowardly denied his Master in the hour of distress. Thrice had he averred that he knew not the man of whom they spoke, and aggravated his offense by denunciations and an oath. It was a grievous, a most terrible fall for the apostle, one that virtually excluded him from the circle of his fellow-disciples and from his holy office; and whilst it is true that he had wept in sorrowing repentance when the eye of his Master had met his insignificant look, yet the occurrence was such as to demand a personal heart-to-heart interview and setting aright. This interview took place on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, after the miraculous draught of fish. Everything tended to prepare the apostle for the holy scene. It was just three years before, at the same sea, after a similar miracle, that the Lord had established him in his ministerial office. The early hour reminded him of the morning watch, that fire of coals answered to that fire of coals in the palace of Caiaphas,--all of this must have touched Peter's heart to the quick, made him exquisitively sensitive to the scene that followed. The particulars of that scene we shall now ponder, regarding, _I. The examination_, _II. the charge_.

When they had finished their meal, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?" Each designation is touchingly significant. "Simon, son of Jonas." Why not "Peter," the name He had Himself once bestowed? Because he had proved himself anything but a Peter, a rock man. It was not as Peter, as a rock, but as Simon, son of flesh and blood, that he had acted in denying his Lord. "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou _me_?" Remembering what had occurred, how divine, how unspeakably tender a word! "Lovest thou _me_?" even Him whom thou didst say and confirm with an oath, "I know not the man," and more than these, as thou didst boastfully claim: "Although all should be offended because of Thee, yet will I never be offended." Truly, a rigid examination if accompanied by the same look that once brought tears to his eyes, calculated to cut down deep into his innermost soul. Moreover, the Lord repeats the inquiry three times, evidently as a reminder of the thrice shameful denial.

And what does the disciple reply? Sad almost unto death, he would prefer to turn aside and give vent to his feelings in silent tears. But the Lord has put a question to him, and speak he must, and so he responds with great tact and deep emotion, "Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee." And the last time, with additional force, "Lord, Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee," as though he said: "Others may misjudge me, these brethren and apostles, those servants in the high priest's palace, but Thou, Lord, the Omniscient, knowest that I love Thee." And we may believe that it was so. On the day of Pentecost, when boldly confessing his Master in the face of thousands, until the day when, pinned to the cross in Rome, he at last made good his promise, "Though I should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee,"--in all this we have the evidence of that love thrice avowed. And has that original scene on the shore of the Sea of Galilee and that question no concern and no application whatever for us? No superfluous or unprofitable inquiry, my dear hearers.

If the Lord were to appear personally in our midst this morning, look straight into your eyes, and, addressing you by your name, say, as He did to Simon, son of Jonas: "Lovest thou me?" could you answer as promptly, as heartily as the Apostle did, "Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee"? Or are there no tests by which to find out? It was written by a pious man, but it is poor, unchristian theology:

'Tis a point I long to know,
Oft it causes anxious thought,
Do I love the Lord or no?
Am I His, or am I not?

We need only settle down to a faithful and impartial scrutiny with ourselves to find out, "Lovest thou me more than these?" What "these"?

Love, according to its object, has been variously classified. There is social affection, or love of friends. In spite of much that has been said about the fickleness of friends and friendships, there is no darker lot and no gloomier epitaph could be inscribed upon the monument of any man than that: "He lived and died without a friend." History gives us many noble testimonies of its strength and beauty. We think of the Bible account of David and Jonathan. Again, more beautiful and binding is the affection which subsists in the family circle. The bond that ties together husband and wife, that unites together brothers and sisters, brought up around the same domestic hearths, sharing in common joys and sorrows, how strong and enduring it ought to be, and especially that which exists between parents and the child. The recollection of a noble parent, of a devoted mother, time nor place nor change can ever uproot the affection from the heart. But, asks the voice of our text: "Lovest thou me more than these?"

There is One toward whom we sustain a still nearer and holier relation, One whose care surpasses that of an earthly parent, and whose love is more deep and sublime and unfailing than a mother's, even He who has created you, redeemed you, and who crowns not only your life, but your whole eternity with His goodness. It matters not what, and hence you may embrace in that riches, honor, property, possessions, fame and name, or even self,--there is One who requires that all these should be held in subordination to a still higher, all-sustaining affection. "Lovest thou me"--is the question, "more than these," and where is the evidence?

If you love a person, you will delight in the fellowship and company of that person. Love finds its greatest happiness in the presence of the beloved. The thought of a long absence is painful, or hopeless separation, intolerable. It is so with Him who asks "Lovest thou me?" Every opportunity of communion with Him the believer values as a privilege. The Word in which He speaks to him, the place in which He meets with him, the table which He spreads for him, these are his greatest delight, his favorite and fondest resort.

Again, if you love some one, you will constantly aim to please that person. You will be considerate of his feelings, you will refrain from any conduct that might be displeasing, and strive in every possible way to be of service and help to his interests. It is none else with Christ. Consideration for Him and obedience to Him, and that as a pleasure and privilege, is a criterion of our love to Him; and this alone you will find where there is true attachment. The maiden that loves will think nothing of leaving a pleasant home to cast her lot with the man of her devotion. The mother will spend herself, unselfishly sacrifice her comfort, strength, and even life itself, for the objects of her affection, and this rule applies to the Christian sphere.--No man ever possessed true love for Christ who was not willing to lay down in sacrifice what he cherished highly. Here, then, are a few criterions, and now, with all sincerity, repeat the question once more, "Lovest thou me?" Lovest thou my Word, my house, my sacraments? Is my service thy delight? What sacrifice art thou bringing? Shall the Savior say unto thee as Delilah said unto Samson: "How canst thou say, I love thee, when thy heart is not with me?" Or are you able to say with the Apostle, "Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee"? May we all be brought to love and adore, with our whole, undivided heart, Him who loved us and gave Himself for us, and who is the Model and Source of all pure and ennobling lives.

But there is yet another consideration for us to weigh in the text. Peter, making threefold confession of His attachment, is three times, after each answer, commanded, "Feed my lambs," "Feed my sheep." A desperate cause, in this passage as in a few others, wants to find a proof of Peter's supremacy. There is a certain pontiff who wears a triple crown--the tiara--upon his head, styles himself Peter's successor, and seals his briefs and documents with the "Fisherman's Ring," and he affects to rule all Christendom in virtue of the right conferred on that Apostle by Christ. But in vain do we seek the scripture for any such reference, and surely no such sense is implied here. That scene on the shores of the Sea of Galilee can by no means be interpreted to mean that Peter was being exalted above his fellow-apostles. Neither could we regard it as a reproof and abasement. None other had so sorrowfully forfeited his charge as Peter had, and it was not necessary to reinstate them. Where, then, is the exaltation? Nor is there any such a sense implied in the words themselves. "Feed my lambs," is Christ's direction. Romanism, you will observe, exalts the ruling; you can see that in such words as pope, cardinal, primate, bishop, prelate, diocesan, throne, and so forth. Protestantism emphasizes the "feeding." Protestantism makes much of preaching, Rome but little. Rome exalts the clergy, Protestantism gives prominence to the congregation.

It is easy enough to decree and lord it over, it is not so easy to feed. And food is what a flock explicitly needs. It can live without edicts, it cannot live without food. Observe, also, the pronoun "my" sheep. The flock was not Peter's, it was the flock of Peter's Lord. The flock does not belong to the under-shepherd; it belongs to the chief shepherd. And did not Peter himself--and that is one reason why his letters are never read in the Romish Church--very strongly denounce the very things which it is asserted that Christ had invested him with: lordship over the Church, a separate hierarchical priesthood, and refuse such honors as are freely given to his successor? As Luther has well said: "Popery never drew its doctrine from the Bible, but uses it as a means to thrust upon the world an audacious system which has its origin somewhere else."

Nor can we leave entirely unnoticed the difference the Lord makes between His people,--"Feed my lambs," and again, "Feed my sheep." Some of Christ's flock are lambs, lambs in years. Perhaps there are more lambs than sheep, more true members of Christ in the nursery and in the Sunday-school and in the Christian day-school than in the assembly of the adults, and these we are to feed, and it becomes those who are invested with the sacred office, and those who are supporting the sacred office, to dispense to them wholesome and health-sustaining spiritual food. Our responsibilities in this respect are great, and all the greater because the more secular knowledge would crowd out religious, the many things that are now regarded needful, and set aside "the one thing needful." "Feed my lambs," and, "Feed my sheep," says the Chief Shepherd. See that they get the proper food and get it in proper proportion.

And "My sheep;" we are not always to remain lambs. Christian life is a growth. First the blade, then the ear, and then the full corn in the ear. First babes, and then we need milk; afterwards adults, and then we need meat. Alas! that, like the writer of the letter to the Hebrews, we are sometimes constrained to complain "that many of you who ought by this time be teachers, are yet needing again that one teach them the first rudiments of the oracles of God, having become such as have need of milk and not of solid food."

This was a crisis in Peter's life. Hitherto he had been tended as a sheep, henceforth he was to tend as a shepherd. Having been converted, that is to say, having been turned again to his Master, he is henceforth to strengthen his brethren. What hinders us from doing likewise, pastors and teachers, educating, tending, and feeding the flock of God? This is the privilege of the laity, not less than of the ministry. When the laity really do their work, they, too, are really a ministry, true shepherds. But let us evermore keep in mind--which was the first part of our sermon--that the essential qualification, the principle of such service, as it is the only thing that will render your work delightful and carry you through all difficulties, is love to Christ, "Lovest thou me more than these?--Feed my sheep." Amen.

THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.

Neither do men, light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but
on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the
house. Let your light so shine before men that they may see your
good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.--_Matt.
5, 15. 16._

The religion of Jesus Christ is the religion of everyday life. He touched the common things, and, like a magic wand, they changed into the finest gold. He went into the kitchen for a text, and transfigured the meal, the dough in the bread wrought into a parable of God's working grace. He went into the garden or the woods, and found a lesson in the springing seed and the flowers which carpeted the ground. "Consider the lilies," He said in His Sermon on the Mount. He went on board the fishing boat, and the nets become a picture of the kingdom of heaven. Here, in this immediate verse, our Lord steps into an Eastern or Oriental house for a text and speaks under the illustration of an article which is to be found in every home, of a candle, or rather, a lamp.

The Apostle Peter, who was present at the original preaching, must have carefully noted the comparison, for he speaks in to-day's Epistle-lesson in nearly the same language as His Master when he admonishes his hearers to let people see their good works and thus glorify God. May we do likewise as we shall now regard, under God's blessing, the Christian's duty to let his light shine before men, observing, _I. How this is done_; _II. why it ought to be done_.

Be it noted, my beloved, at the outset, that man, in and of himself, is not a light; he is darkness. Says the Apostle, writing to the Ephesians, "Ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye a light in the Lord." How did they get light? Not by worldly science and learning. Many are very learned and literate, and yet their souls are enwrapped in thick darkness and without hope in the world. And there are those who are illiterate, incompetent to read and write, who rejoice in this light as the star of their hope. In the eighth chapter of John the Lord says: "I am the Light of the world; he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life." Jesus Christ, then, and He alone, is the one true Light. To have light, light unto eternal life, you must seek, embrace Him as your Savior, your Righteousness, the Propitiation and Reconciliation for your sins. You must recognize in Him the wisdom of God and the way to God. Here you have in what sense Christians are lights, _viz._, by Jesus Christ. The sun shines by its own inherent light, the moon by borrowed light. In itself a dark body the moon shines only because the light of the sun falls upon it and is reflected from it. Christ is the Sun of Righteousness, resplendent in His own glory, which He had before ever the world was. We have our light from Christ, the true Light, which lights every man, says the Bible, that cometh into the world.

And what dispensation is made of this light? "Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick, and it giveth light unto all that are in the house." A candle or lamp under a bushel would be of no advantage to any one. A light locked up in a cupboard would leave the house in darkness. Correspondingly, we Christians are meant to be lights that can be seen. A man cannot be a Christian in secret. It is a delusion if a person thinks he might be a Christian privately for himself, that he need not associate with, join the church, or make a public confession of his faith.

In the days of Christ many of the chief rulers believed on Him, but because of the Pharisees they did not confess Him, lest they should be put out of the synagogues. It is said of them that they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God, and had their reward. We, my brethren, as Christ's people, must not keep our religion locked up or hidden; we must not be ashamed of it, and we must not be selfish about it. If you believe in the truth of the Gospel; if you hold the doctrine of the Church; if you reverence the Bible; if you are given to prayer,--hang out the light, let others know it, put that precious lamp where others may share it. What use is there to tell us that such and such a person is a burning and shining light in the religious world, unless we can see his light shining before men? They are no more helps as guides than a lighthouse whose lantern is gone out; no one is the better for it.

And this light is twofold; it is a light of warning, and it is a light of holy example.--A light of warning. If you look at a great railway station at night, you will see numbers of lamps, some showing a red, some a green, some a white light. These are all warnings to the many trains leaving or entering the station, and upon them depends the safety of hundreds of lives. If the signal man fails to show the red light when there is danger, wholesale destruction follows. Dear hearers, there are times when we are called upon to show the danger signal. If we see a relative or friend deliberately going into danger, taking a course which means ruin to his character, ruin to his soul, what is our duty? Are we to say, I am very sorry, and thus hide our light under a bushel? No, we must try to stop a brother from destruction; we must say a word of warning, kindly, tactfully, but firmly; we must say, For God's sake, stop! If you see an acquaintance imbibing too freely, frequenting the place at the corner, show him the danger, hang out the red light. If you see young people neglecting religious duties, slinking about after dark in bad company, going with those who bet and gamble,--let them go? No; try to turn them on a safe road; hang out the red light, the danger signal.

I once read of a man who was engaged as a laborer on a railway. One stormy night, when he returned to his cabin, he found that a sudden landslide had occurred, and that part of the track was blocked where the express would pass in a few moments. Would he remain quiet and let the accident happen? What could he do to show the danger signal? He had in his cabin an old lantern lighted by a piece of candle, but that would not show the red light. Then, when the roar of the advancing train was audible in the distance, he seized a glass flask and with the broken neck cut into the veins of his wrist he let the blood color the lantern, and the candle shone through it with a dim red light, and this, scarcely able to stand, he held up on high, just in time to stop the express at the edge of destruction. Take that illustration for what it is worth, just so it impresses you with the importance of showing the red danger signal unto others.

And so it is also with the signal light that is clear and white, the signal of holy example. Let that also shine. As we look carefully at our text, it would seem as if the Master had two spheres in mind when He spoke these words. We are told that when the lamp or candle is put in its proper place and doing its proper work, it gives light to _all_ in the house. There is nothing like household religion. Sometimes professing Christians are very bright and shining lights in public, and quite dark in private, in the home and family circle. The right sort of Christianity shows a pure, clear light amid the troubles, worries, and anxieties of home. It will not do for the wife to be a shining light in society or at the public meeting, and at home be fretful and unkind to her husband, a constant scold and a scare to her children, perpetually complaining and quarreling. It will not do for men to make brilliant speeches on the blessings and benefits of Christianity, if they show no example of it by the fireside. Take care of the home light; let it shine clear there, if anywhere. But not only there!

A lady who was once asked to unite with a society of the church, no circumstances or other considerations preventing, declined, replying that she had a society to look after with which none compared. Which is that? "That society is my family." There was truth in that; the family is the chief society. Parents are to exercise a Christian example in the home. Christian discipleship, like charity, begins there. But it does not end there, nor is it restricted there. "No man liveth unto himself, neither alone unto his family." He belongs to his country, to his church, to the world, to mankind at large, and has duties toward them. "Ye are the light of the world," is the language of the Savior. What will men not do to gain followers for a party in politics and otherwise! And in matters of salvation, Church, Gospel, eternal life, we should be timid, silent, diffident, shy, reluctant to open our mouths and assert our convictions, stand aside, and place our convictions under a bushel? Surely, that's not letting the light shine. So much as to the nature and mission of this spiritual light.

In conclusion, a word as to the blessedness that attends it. This blessedness, in part, affects ourselves. Blessing others, we are blessed. Gaining others, we gain. I think here, by way of illustration, of the two travelers who, plodding along through snow and bitter cold, discovered a man lying by the roadside frozen and numbed. Said the one, "I cannot stay here to attend to this fellow, I must take care of my own life." The other, like the good Samaritan of old, remarked, "I cannot pass on without having made some attempt to restore him," whereupon he set about to rub him with all his might. His efforts were rewarded; after a little while the unfortunate man opened his eyes, and, arising, went with his rescuer. What surprise was theirs when, passing along, they saw the man who had selfishly and heartlessly continued his way, lying frozen to death. The good Samaritan, by his labor of love, had stirred his blood into intense circulation, and thereby saved his own life. Spiritually it is just that way. Seeking to win others for eternal life, we win eternal life for ourselves. Our faith is strengthened, charity increased, we are blessed in our deed.

And this is the second consideration,--our Father in heaven is glorified. That is the great thing we must aim at in everything we do in religion. In this center the lives of all our actions must meet. We must not only endeavor to glorify God ourselves, but must do all we can to bring others to glorify Him.

We have considered a grand spiritual truth, our exalted position and calling. Conscious of it, may we shed forth the beams of illumination for the lightening and the brightening of a dark and gloomy world, receiving supply from the true and only Light, Christ Jesus, until we shall dwell in the world where God Himself is the Light and where we shall shine as the stars for ever and ever. Amen.

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.

Teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and
spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the
Lord.--_Col. 3, 16._

We read in the 28th chapter of Genesis that when Jacob, the patriarch, was fleeing from the wrath of his brother Esau into the land of Mesopotamia, while resting at night upon a stone for his pillow, he had a wonderful dream. A ladder extended from heaven to earth, angels ascending and descending upon it, and God, standing at the top, spoke to the heartsore traveler beneath. That vision was highly typical. The ladder was a symbol of the intimate connection that existed between him and the God of his fathers, Abraham and Isaac; the angels ascending and descending, were a symbol that his prayers and sighs had come up before the heavenly throne, whilst the words of the Almighty were a guarantee that his journey would take a prosperous end, and cheerfully, we are told, did the patriarch take up his pilgrim staff and resume his route in the morrow. Now as it is with all things we find written in the Old Testament, so with this also. We have the reality of what Jacob experienced in dream only. The ladder which now extends between heaven and earth, connecting us pilgrims or strangers with our heavenly home, that ladder is Jesus Christ, man's Mediator, who declares, "I am the Way; no man cometh unto the Father but by me."--The word of the Almighty, then spoken, we have, greatly amplified, in this divine revelation, this holy volume before us; nor are the angels, these celestial messengers, missing to carry on communication and intercourse between God and sinful man. Figuratively and symbolically speaking, these angels stand for all those agencies, exercises, and accompaniments by which the soul is lifted up to heaven and God, and by which we are spiritually helped and edified, and it is one such holy agency and accompaniment of sacred truth that we wish to consider in these moments of devotion.

St. Paul speaks in our immediate text of "teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs." Let us regard these words, and may ours be the same confession as Jacob's at Bethel: "How venerable is this place! This is none other but the house of God and this is the gate of heaven."

"O sing unto the Lord a new song, for He hath done marvelous things." "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, sing forth the honor of His name, with the harp, with trumpets and the sound of cornet. Praise ye the Lord." These are the words of the 98th Psalm of David, and it was with this Psalm that the service began, in the ancient Church, on the fourth Sunday after Easter. The name of the Sunday is Cantate, which means "Singing Sunday," and probably there is no time in the course of the civil church-year more appropriate to raise one's voice in rejoicing and heart-felt song. In nature a new era of revival and tender growth has gone forth; the earth is clothed with loveliness, refreshed with energy, and from birds and blades, from flowering buds and a tender branch goes up a joyful melody and proclamation to their Creator; and when we come into His sanctuary, the house of His Word and His worship, and reflect on the blessed Easter scene from which we are just coming, we have reason to tune our voices in strains of loudest and loveliest anthems, and an appropriate and beautiful thing it certainly is to bring this noblest of human arts to the aid of the soul in its communication with God. Since time immemorial has the power of music been acknowledged over the heart of man. "Let me make the songs of the people," said a celebrated statesman, "and I care not who makes the laws." An illustrious Greek philosopher was not far wrong when he stated that the human soul was closely allied to rhythm and harmony, and we know that the Court of Rome feared the sacred hymns of Luther as much, if not more, than his publications and fiery eloquence.

Turning to the Holy Scriptures, we observe a constant recognition of music in the Old Testament and in the New. Standing on the shores of the Red Sea, Moses, the man of God, chants forth the gratitude of his people after their safe deliverance from Egypt's bondage in song, whilst Miriam, his sister, responds with timbrel and dance. David, the anointed shepherd boy, takes his harp and charms into tranquillity the ferocious spirit of Saul. Elisha, when he would prophesy, calls for a minstrel, and under his playing the prophet's heart grows warm and his lips eloquent with a message from God. And where do we hear of more magnificent renderings than in the temple at Jerusalem, thousands of voices organized in costly choir to chant with accompaniment of complete orchestra, the psalms written by their monarch, David, called the sweet singer of Israel. Cherubim and Seraphim are incessantly praising God in thrice "Holy to the God of Sabaoth," and angels' choirs filled the midnight stillness of Bethlehem's plains. Add to this Zacharias' _Benedictus_ and Mary's _Magnificat_, which have lent their hallowed inspiration to ages since in the Christian Church, and if there is one scene which impresses every reader of his Bible, and to which he looks forward with pure delight, it is the worship of the Lamb in Revelation, the joining of the celestial choir in hymns of endless melody. Desiring to bear our part in that tuneful service, can our lips be silent on earth? Nay, music is one of God's good and perfect gifts, of which to-day's Epistle speaks as coming down from above. True, like all other good gifts to man, it has been seized upon and perverted for evil purpose by the enemy. Satan it is who has levied upon music and made sad havoc in the line of song. But shall we abandon to him the territory? Shall we not make reprisal upon the enemy, consecrate to the divine Giver His first-fruits? And unquestionably, in the worship of our Lutheran Church, hymnology has a larger and a more correct province than in any other body of Christians. I have listened to various music, I have heard entranced the melting tones of the _Miserere_ in early mass at the Catholic Cathedral, the sweetly attuned antiphons of a vested Episcopal choir. I have listened to solos and quartets, accomplished tunes, composed by masters; but what do all these solos, superbly rendered, amount to when in God's worship the congregation itself sits mute in its pews, deprived of every response, as in the Catholic Church, or too indolent to respond, as in many others? Is it Christian, is it churchly, is it consistent with our text or the spirit of true worship, that ninety-nine tongues of a hundred be silent in the house of the Lord? When the minister turns to the people and says, "The Lord be with you," is he supposed to address only four singers and an organist? No, my dear hearers, praise is the duty and privilege of all the people, and to deny or stint them in a share in it is to wrong their souls and insult their Maker. A well-tuned solo is good, the chorus of the choir is better, but best of all is the response and song of the entire congregation, sending up its confession and praise to the God of heaven. There is nothing more solemn and pleasing to the Lord of Sabaoth than a singing congregation, and nothing more dull and spiritless than singing wailed forth in melody calculated to freeze the last spark of holy fire upon the altar of the heart.

Having emphasized which is the best form of songful worship, that by the congregation, let us regard it a little more closely. The singing of a congregation of worshipers is, as it were, the preaching of the congregation, is the confession which it renders on its part and in behalf of its faith, is the Amen which it places upon the words and utterances of the preacher. The most important place, it must ever be maintained, in a truly evangelical service, is the exposition, the setting forth of God's Word. A worship consisting exclusively of singing, commonly called a Song Service, is an innovation in Lutheran church life, and a very questionable one at that. The object of our attendance at church is not to hear "sweet music,"--this can be better answered at the concert or the oratorio,--honest Christian people come to hear God's Word, to build up their souls in divine truth. The sweetest tune sung by the lips of angels or of man cannot replace the least passage of the Bible, for it alone is the power of God unto salvation. Christianity is not rapturous ecstasy, super-induced by fine melody, not emotional feeling; Christianity means repentance and faith.

There is nothing, no symphonies and oratorios, no strains, that can bring peace and rest to a sinner's heart, but only and solely the simple words of the Lord received and believed. The sermon, then, occupies the central position of the worship, just as the sun is the center of the solar system, and, in turn, determines the true place of the song and music. It is the noble handmaiden, preceding and accompanying the preaching of the Word, the sweet odors which carry our devotion and sacrifice upward to heaven, in harmony with the utterance of the speaker. It is thus we value our hymns as the finest ornament of our evangelical worship, and nothing is more significant than to find in your homes the Christian hymn-book lying upon God's Book. And what does a careful survey of that hymn-book reveal to us? We would not from any feeling of denominational pride detract any from the grandeur of hymns originated in dissenting bodies, many of which are embodied in our hymnal, but if there is one church whose voice swells out loudly among the hymnody of Christendom, that can look with satisfaction on its collection of sacred songs, it is our beloved Lutheran Zion with its stately and majestic chorals, its incomparable anthems. There is about our hymns a spirit of divine power; they are the expressions of our Christian faith, church-hymns in the fullest and best sense, not only inspiring and devotional, but educating and instructive, designed to lead us in our way to salvation and heaven. Take, for instance, the various seasons of the church-year: Advent, expectant and exultant over the coming of the Savior of man; Christmas, what hymns will compare with those of our church in childlike simplicity and depth of feeling? Passion-tide, with its solemn lines: "O Bleeding Head and Wounded," "O Lamb of God Most Holy;" Easter-tide, with its stirring hallelujahs. How doctrinally sound are our hymns of faith, how cheering our hymns of praise, how touching the melodies of penitence and death! Referring to our text, we find the first requisite for a correct church-hymn is this: to bring God's Word closer to us. The Apostle says: "Teaching." Our hymns will stand the test of this standard. In the days of the Reformation they were one of the most beneficial means of winning hearts and conquering lands for Bible truth and Bible Church. Many a priest, history records, was sung down from the pulpit and out of the church by the congregation joining in a Lutheran hymn, and later, in the dreary days of Rationalism, when man's folly was put in the place of God's wisdom, it was these church-hymns which still afforded spiritual food to the children of God, and till this day, wherever those tried and heavenly true hymns resound, we can cheerfully be persuaded that they assert their influence in making men wise unto salvation.

Nor are they merely calculated to instruct, but also to cheer and inspire. There is scarcely another power that will ease the heart, strengthen and sustain the lagging and downcast spirit, as will a heartfelt "Commit whate'er may grieve thee," and kindred hymns. In the darkest moments of his life, David tuned his harp and bade sorrow and grief flee. In Philippi's dungeon, at the hour of midnight, Paul and Silas raised their voices in melody of praise. After days of bitter conflict and labor the Reformer would produce his lute, and sing unto the Lord a pleasant song, to the joy of the angels and the chagrin of the devil. Gustavus Adolphus, Sweden's valiant hero of the faith, who fought and died for religious liberty, never entered a battle without prostrating himself with his army before the Lord of heaven and singing, "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God," "Fear Not, O Little Flock, the Foe." Sacred story tells us of Saul, that whenever the evil spirit came over him, the king would send for David, and under his tune find relief from his torments.

Nor has the spiritual song lost any of this soothing element. "The singing of songs and hymns purifieth our thoughts," says a church-father, "represses sensuality, stirs the heart to pure emotions, awakens a love and a longing for the beauty of holiness, moves to holy contrition and godly sobriety." No wonder that Luther ranked music next to theology of pure religion, effectual as it is in warding off Satan's suggestions, and aiding us in becoming better and more noble, and hence, in harmony with this Sunday, Cantate, we are justified in bringing this topic to your consideration, especially in our times, which are replete with so much vain and shoddy music, senseless and overwrought travesties, often set to tunes that are a perfect scandal and shame upon all divine worship, and better suited for the opera than for the house of God. Let us rejoice in this good gift God has bestowed upon us, and diligently use it in our churches and homes until it shall be our happy lot to join the multitudes of those who shall raise their voices to pour forth their everlasting song, and cause the city of God to ring with anthems of perpetual worship. Amen.

FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.

Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit,
and watching thereunto with all perseverance.--_Eph. 6, 18._

Among the things that people believed in olden times was a certain stone, called a touchstone. By means of this stone it was claimed one could determine whether a gem or a precious piece of jewelry was genuine or not. The sham diamond might glitter ever so brightly, the sham gold externally deceive the eye, let the touchstone be applied, and its real character would at once appear. Spiritually, in religion, there is such a touchstone by which those who profess to serve God can discover whether they are genuine Christians or not, whether their religion is pure gold or inferior metal, whether their faith is a gem of great price or only worthless imitation, useless dross. That touchstone of true spiritual life is prayer, communion with his God, for as a man communeth with his God, so he is. How, then, does this touchstone apply to you? Are you a man, or woman, of prayer? What sort of Christian are you?

Nor can it be said that we need no instruction on this subject. We must be taught to pray just as we must be taught how to write and talk correctly. Let us, then, in all simplicity, with plainness of speech and practicalness of purpose, consider. _I. When, II. where, and III. how we should pray_: and may God's Holy Spirit, the Lord of Prayer, attend with His blessing our meditation.

There are many passages in Holy Scripture which seem to command impossibilities, and we tacitly pass them by as not intended for us. This cannot be a wise or safe thing to do, for God does not command impossibilities. So with the text, "Praying always." In other places we read, "Pray without ceasing," "Continue constant in prayer." Our first thought may be, That's beyond us. How, in this busy life of ours, shall we ever be able to give ourselves over to never-ceasing prayer? A few minutes a day, a special prayer occasionally at special seasons or special emergencies, that's about all we can afford. That is a mistaken notion of these texts of prayer. It is a familiar expression: "Prayer is the Christian's vital breath," the Christian's native air. We are always breathing. Ceasing to breathe means death. So with the spiritual life. For a person not to pray means spiritual death. Every one who is a Christian prays; not to pray stamps him as a non-Christian.

And yet, as in the bodily sphere a distinction exists between breathing and using that breath for speaking, so we must draw a distinction between "prayer" and "saying prayers." A Christian, as he is always breathing naturally, so he is always breathing spiritually. He lives a life of prayer; he is always in such a state of faith and heart and spirit that he can lift up his heart in prayer. Even when we are silent, we breathe; even when a Christian is not "saying prayers," engaged in forms of worship, he is in a spiritual frame of mind, and is living a life of prayer. To pray always is to live as in God's presence, to be constantly conscious of Him.

And still, true as it is that a Christian is always living a life of prayer, there must be times for prayer--times when we engage in "saying prayers." There is more in this matter of habit than many persons think. It means regularity, and makes it both easy and pleasant. There is no absolute rule on this subject, no technical limit. Each one must determine himself how often he ought to pray daily. David, in the Psalm, says, "Evening and morning and at noon will I pray." Daniel was accustomed to kneel upon his knees three times a day. There is, if we may so speak, a natural propriety in thus thrice addressing the throne of grace. Three times a day we are accustomed to feed our bodies, and this very act may suggest to us that our souls need similar attention. "Men shall not live by bread alone." We have our blessed Lord's example for it. The holiest and most fruitful Christian lives have been lived by men and women who thus prayed not less than three times a day. The early Christians were exemplary in the discharge of this duty. What Christian, arising from his bed in the morning, can neglect his prayer? Everything seems to invite him to lift up his heart unto God. When we arise from our beds, it is like a resurrection from the dead, and it seems almost impossible for a pious mind not to view it in that divine light, thanking God for his waking; and as he sallies forth from his home, not knowing what a day may bring forth, and feeling his weakness and frailty and danger, the temptation to which he is every moment exposed, how can he do it without first raising his eyes and thoughts on high, committing himself to the faithful Creator, and invoking His protection and strength? Moreover, knowing that everything is resting upon His blessing, he should invoke it upon the occupation of his mind and hands.

Direct, control, suggest this day,
All I may deign, or do, or say,
That all my powers, with all their might,
In Thy sole glory may unite.

When we thus go forth into the world, it is with an atmosphere of devotion around us.

And then again at night-time, when we have given all our strength to the work of our calling, tired and exhausted from the toil of the day, and our couches invite us to repose, who can look back on the blessings of the day without being moved to gratitude to Him who kept us safely through it? There was this and that of the day's transaction that deserves a calm retrospect in the sight of the Lord, confession of one's discrepancy and wrong-doing. And who can resign himself to sleep, the emblem of death, and to his bed, the type of his grave, without saying a few words of Christian committal? And who, during the day, cannot find a few moments to lift up his thoughts on high? Nor, beloved fellow-Christians and church-members, neglect to speak grace at your table; there are blessings, direct and indirect, which connect with that pious and time-honored custom which no household can afford to forego. Frequently the only time when the family meets during the day, it forms a link of spirituality between its members. It is no little means of keeping the devil out and bringing the dove of peace back. Permit not this grand old and well-tried custom to lapse into disuse; hold fast to it as a sacred heirloom transmitted from your godly parents. Thus have your fixed, established season of prayer.

And it is good not only to have stated times, but also stated places for prayers. This is our second consideration: Where? You can pray anywhere. You can hold audience with God at your own option. The place is not essential to prayer. Peter prayed on the housetop, Paul in prison, Daniel in the lions' den, Jonah in the fish's belly. The Lord is everywhere, and His ears are always open to the cries of His people. But the law of association is the friend of religion. As you speed to your labors in the morning, as you sit for recuperation in the shade of one of our beautiful parks, as you are busy with your duties in kitchen and workshop, your heart can go out to God in devotion. And so it is well to have a little nook somewhere, a spot especially suggestive to us of prayer. There is help in this. Daniel had his spot, where, when he came in from the excitement of the court, he could kneel down and pray to his God. His window opened towards Jerusalem, not accidentally, but by special arrangement, and his eyes swept over the western hills until vision was lost in the distance; his imagination swept onward till he stood in the courts of the Lord's house on Zion's hill, heard its holy songs, and inhaled the incense that arose from its sacred altars. There is something dear to us in such a spot. Our Lord, in His direction on prayer, enjoins: "Enter into thy closet and pray." It was the custom of the Jews to have certain private rooms on the flat top of their homes which they especially reserved for devotional purposes. One such place you certainly ought to have.

God in His Word calls our churches "houses of prayer." It is a significant title. Not only preaching ought to employ us in the holy place, for what profit is there in preaching, the best of preaching, if there is no outgoing of the heart to God? No singing, no music that has not in it the element of devotion can make melody in His ear. Prayer is an essential part of our service, at the altar and in the pulpit; and it ought to be in the pew. It is here at least, in God's temple, that the Christian soul ought to find a spot, and regularly, where, amid the distressing scenes of earth, it can come to itself, where it can feel and commune in the ear of God, where, lifting itself above the sordidness and the perversity of this earth, it can bathe in the invigorating atmosphere of a nobler world, and draw inspiration for the affairs of life, in a few moments of communion with a Higher Power. Let, I beseech you, this house be to you a house of prayer, and have a similar place in your own home. There's wisdom and great help in that.

Having answered the _when_ and _where_, let us now note the _how_. By this we do not mean the posture in prayer, whether we ought to pray standing or kneeling; neither do we mean whether we ought to use a fixed prayer, committed to memory, or pray extempore, out of the heart, finding our own words. I do not think it is wise to use no form as a rule. Extempore prayers are apt to lack both orderly arrangement and fullness, and when weary or dull, or our thoughts are wandering, we cannot make prayers for ourselves,--we want to have a form of devout words put into our mouths. Those simple, yet stately prayers of our Catechism and hymn-book have been, and are still, the inspiration of thousands of the most devout of God's children. And yet, there is one danger. Using a regular form of prayer statedly may lead to listlessness and lifelessness. It is not only the Romanist who, counting his beads and making his crossings and prostrations, nor the Mohammedan, who at the priest's call from the mosque falls upon his knees, who does not pray, but the Protestant may say or read his addresses to God, and yet not pray. There is a difference between saying prayer and praying. Prayer, to be right, must be offered up in the spirit of prayer, and by the spirit of prayer is meant a devotional tone and temper of the mind and the heart. Reads our text: "Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit." It is the heart that prays, not the knees, nor the hands, nor the lips. To hasten over the words heedlessly, anxious to be done as quickly as possible, to do it because it's a custom, and perhaps with a superstitious fear that if we do not do it, something might befall us, is making a mockery of prayer. We ought to pray, but we must pray in earnest, with faith, reverence, sincerity, as if we meant it. As it has been expressed: God does not look at the arithmetic of our prayers, how many there may be; nor does He look at the logic of our prayers, how methodical and nicely arranged they may be; nor at the rhetoric, how beautiful they may be. What He looks at is the sincerity of our prayers, how earnest they are. And lose not the Spirit in your prayers; that is the one direction of to-day's text. And the other is, "Praying always with all perseverance," _i. e._, prayer must be constant, unceasing. The Apostle knew the defects of earth-born man, and, knowing, bids them to beware of being tardy in their prayer. There is a good reason why. Prayer is spiritual breath, we said. If a man's breathing is bad, if it is hurried, fitful, some mortal mischief is at work. Even so spiritually. If our prayers are hurried, if they are irregular, if we regard them as disagreeable duties, if they are not the natural and necessary consequences of our spiritual life, natural and necessary as breathing is to every living man, then that life is sadly weak and diseased. Why are we so weak in Christian faith? why so wayward and sluggish in our Christian life? Why have sinful habits such power over us? It is because we breathe, _i. e._, pray, so badly. How is it possible to work for God, or fight for Him, if we are tardy in holding communion with Him?

Think it over, my dear fellow-Christian, and may it aid you in making you a man, a woman, of prayer! For what is a man of prayer? See yonder mountain. Below is its gigantic base; then your eye runs up the mountain side, and you see--what? That the peak is lost in the clouds. So is the man of prayer. His feet stand upon the earth, his heart is in the clouds; there is a something that keeps him in constant communion with God. There lies his strength. We call it "prayer." Amen.

ASCENSION.

So, then, after the Lord had spoken unto them, He was received
up into heaven, and sat on the right hand of God.--_Mark 16, 19._