Chapter I: Part 1

The Life of Duty

A YEAR'S PLAIN SERMONS

ON THE

GOSPELS OR EPISTLES.

VOL. II.

TRINITY TO ADVENT.

BY

H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A.,

VICAR OF S. GILES-IN-THE-WOOD, N. DEVON.

AUTHOR OF
"SUNDAY SERMONETTES FOR A YEAR."
"MISSION SERMONS."
"THE LIFE WORTH LIVING AND OTHER PLAIN SERMONS."
"THE CHILDREN'S BREAD A SERIES OF SHORT SERMONS FOR CHILDREN."
"THE LORD'S SONG SERMONS ON HYMNS," ETC.

Sixth Edition.

London:

SKEFFINGTON & SON, PICCADILLY, W.,

PUBLISHERS TO H.M. THE QUEEN AND TO H.R.H. THE PRINCE OF WALES.

1898.

TO

MY DEAR MOTHER,

MY EARLIEST
AND
BEST TEACHER AND GUIDE,
THESE SERMONS
ARE
DEDICATED.

Contents.

THE OPEN DOOR (_Trinity Sunday_)
REV. iv. 1.
"A door was opened in Heaven."

THE CONTRAST (_First Sunday after Trinity_)
S. LUKE xvi. 19, 20.
"There was a certain rich man, . . . and there was a certain
beggar named Lazarus."

THE WAY OF LIFE (_Second Sunday after Trinity_)
1 JOHN iii. 14.
"We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we
love the brethren."

MAN'S LIFE HIS MONUMENT (_Third Sunday after Trinity_)
1 S. PETER v. 10.
"The God of all grace . . . make you perfect, stablish,
strengthen, settle you."

THE BLESSING OF MERCY (_Fourth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. LUKE vi. 36.
"Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful."

THE WORDS OF OUR LIPS (_Fifth Sunday after Trinity_)
1 S. PETER iii. 10.
"For he that will love life, and see good days,
let him refrain his tongue from evil, and his lips
that they speak no guile."

ALIVE UNTO GOD (_Sixth Sunday after Trinity_)
ROMANS vi. 11.
"Likewise reckon ye also yourselves to be dead
indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus
Christ our Lord."

SERVANTS OF SIN (_Seventh Sunday after Trinity_)
ROMANS vi. 20.
"The servants of sin."

KNOWN BY THEIR FRUITS (_Eighth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. MATT. vii. 16.
"Ye shall know them by their fruits."

RENDERING OUR ACCOUNT (_Ninth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. LUKE xvi. 2.
"Give an account of thy stewardship."

THE TEARS OF CHRIST (_Tenth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. LUKE xix. 41.
"He beheld the city, and wept over it."

THE GRACE OF GOD (_Eleventh Sunday after Trinity_)
1 Cor. xv. 10.
"By the Grace of God I am what I am."

DEAF EARS AND STAMMERING TONGUES (_Twelfth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. MARK vii. 37.
"He hath done all things well. He maketh both the deaf
to hear, and the dumb to speak."

THE GOOD SAMARITAN (_Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. LUKE x. 30.
"A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell
among thieves."

WALKING WITH GOD (_Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
GALATIANS v. 16.
"Walk in the Spirit."

THE PREACHING OF NATURE (_Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. MATT. vi. 28.
"Consider the lilies of the field."

PAST KNOWLEDGE (_Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
EPHESIANS iii. 19.
"To know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge."

THE PRISON-HOUSE (_Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity_)
EPHESIANS iv. 1.
"The prisoner of the Lord."

FIRM TO THE END (_Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
1 COR. i. 8.
"Who also shall confirm you unto the end."

SCHOLARS OF CHRIST (_Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
EPHESIANS iv. 20.
"Ye have not so learned Christ."

WARY WALKING (_Twentieth Sunday after Trinity_)
EPHESIANS v. 15.
"See then that ye walk circumspectly."

STRONG CHRISTIANS (_Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity_)
EPHESIANS vi. 10.
"My brethren, be strong in the Lord."

THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS (_Twenty-second Sunday after Trinity_)
S. MATTHEW xviii. 28.
"Pay me that thou owest."

THE FREEDOM OF THE CITY (_Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity_)
PHIL. iii. 20.
"Our conversation is in Heaven."

THANKFUL SERVICE (_Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity_)
COL. i. 12.
"Giving thanks."

GATHERING THE FRAGMENTS (_Twenty-fifth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. JOHN vi. 12.
"Gather up the fragments that remain."

WHAT THE FLOWERS SAY (_Children's Flower Service_)
PSALM ciii. 15.
"As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth."

DAILY BREAD (_Harvest Thanksgiving_)
PSALM lxv. 9.
"Thou preparest them corn."

GOD'S JEWELS (_Schools_)
MALACHI iii. 17.
"They shall be Mine, saith the Lord of Hosts,
in that day when I make up My jewels."

MUTUAL HELP (_Female Friendly Society)_
S. MARK iii. 35.
"Whosoever shall do the Will of God, the same
is My brother, and My sister, and My Mother."

SERMON XXXV.

THE OPEN DOOR.

(Trinity Sunday.)

REV. iv. 1.

"A door was opened in Heaven."

When Dante had written his immortal poems on Hell and Purgatory, the people of Italy used to shrink back from him with awe, and whisper, "see the man who has looked upon Hell." To-day we can in fancy look on the face of the beloved Apostle, who saw Heaven opened, and the things which shall be hereafter. We have summed up the great story of the Gospel, and have trodden the path of salvation from Bethlehem to Calvary. We have seen Jesus, the only Son of God, dying for our sins, and rising again for our justification, and ascending into Heaven to plead for us as our eternal great High Priest. We have heard of the coming of God the Holy Ghost, the gift of the Father, sent in the name of the Son. To-day, the Festival of the Blessed Trinity, Three Persons, yet one God, we are permitted to gaze for a moment through the open door, on the Home of God, yes, and the Home of God's people, who are redeemed with the Precious Blood of Christ.

Now, there are many people who never think of Heaven at all, and many who think of it in a wrong way. When we were baptised, the door was opened for us in Heaven, and Jesus said to us, "Behold, I set before you an open door." From that day we were permitted to look with the eye of faith upon those good things which pass man's understanding. But some of us would not look up. We were like travellers going along a muddy road on a starlight night, and who look down on the foul, dirty path, and never upwards to the bright sky above. My brother, turn your eyes from this world's dirty ways, look away from your selfish work, and your selfish pleasure, look up from the things which are seen and are temporal, from the fashion of this world which passeth away, and gaze through the open door of Revelation at the things which shall be hereafter. I said that many people never think of Heaven at all. These are they who love this world too well to think of the world to come, they are of the earth, earthy. "As is the earthy, such are they that are earthy, and as is the Heavenly, such also are they that are Heavenly."

I said, too, that many think of Heaven in a wrong way, as did the lady of fashion, who fancied Heaven would be like the London season, only better, as there would be no disagreeable people. Now, if we are to think rightly of Heaven, we must do as S. John did. He heard a voice saying, "Come up hither, and I will show the things which shall be hereafter. And immediately he was in the Spirit." We must ask for the Holy Spirit to lift our hearts and minds to Heaven; we must try to go up higher in our thoughts, words, and works; we must try to get above the world, above ourselves, so shall we be able to look, though with bowed head and shaded eyes, through the open door. Let us reverently do so now, and see what we can learn of the things which shall be hereafter. First, I think we learn that Heaven and earth are not, as some people fancy, two very different places, very far apart. The Church of Christ is one family, bound together by _one_ faith, _one_ Baptism, _one_ hope, acknowledging one God and Father of us all. This family has one Home; here in earth it dwells in a lower chamber, after death it passes into a higher room of God's great House. The Apostle, speaking of the Church, says, "Ye _are_ come, (not ye _will_ come,) unto Mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the Heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and Church of the firstborn which are written in Heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the Mediator of the New Covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel."

In a word, our Heavenly life should commence when we are baptised, day by day ought we to grow in grace, and when we have grown sufficiently, God takes us to the upper Room above. It is this mistake of separating Heaven and earth which makes people careless of their lives. If you want to dwell with God through all eternity, you must walk humbly with God all the days of your earthly life. Look again through the open door, and learn that in Heaven God is the central figure. So, if we are living here as Christ's people, God will be the central figure in _our_ life, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end of all our work, our wish, our plan. My brothers, if you feel that with you _self_ is the chief object in your existence, be sure that you are not living the Heavenly life. You have put yourself in the place of God.

Again, as we look through the open door, we see the intense _beauty_ of the Heavenly life. We see gates of pearl, and a throne on which sits one like a jasper and a sardine stone, and the rainbow round about the throne is in sight like unto an emerald. In all ages precious stones have been objects of the greatest value. We are told that Julius Caesar paid a hundred and twenty-five thousand crowns for one pearl, and monarchs have boasted of possessing a diamond of priceless value. You remember that God says of His redeemed ones, "they shall be Mine in that day that I make up My jewels." Well, I think we hear so much of precious stones in the description of Heaven, that we may learn that its great glory and beauty consists in the holiness of those who dwell there. _They_ are the pure and precious pearls which build up the foundation, and they get their brightness from God, who sits enthroned among them, and who is to look upon as a jasper and a sardine stone. And these precious stones are of different colours, as they reflect the light from a different point. So is it with the people of God, they reflect the light from the face of God in various ways, and so have various virtues. One shines with fiery zeal, like the red ruby. Another glitters with the soft beauty of a humble spirit, like the pearl, whilst yet another sparkles with many graces, like the parti-coloured flashes of the diamond. Some lives which here are obscure and neglected, like the precious gem at the bottom of the ocean, shall one day glitter in Heaven, and be among the jewels of the Master.

Ah! my brothers, are _our_ lives such that we can ever hope to adore God's jewel-house above? Can these poor dull characters of ours ever shine as the stars for ever and ever? Think, what makes a gem flash and sparkle? Light. Well, then, let us walk as the children of light, let us look up, and catch the radiance from the face of Jesus, and reflect it in our lives; then will our light shine here before men, and one day shine yet brighter as we draw nearer to the source of all light. And think again that often the brightest and fairest forms come from the least likely materials. Of the same mould are the black coal, and the glittering diamond. The unsightly slag which is thrown away from the iron furnace forms beautiful crystals, and the very mud under foot can, as men of science tell us, be turned into gleaming metal, and sparkling gem. The fair colours which dye our clothing can be formed from defiling pitch, and some of the most exquisite perfumes are distilled from the foulest substances. My brother, the same God who brings beauty out of ugliness, and fair purity from corruption, can so change our vile nature, and our vile body, that they may be made like unto Him. The work of the Blessed Trinity, of the Creator, the Saviour, the Sanctifier, is day by day operating on the children of God, and making all things new in them. And remember that work is gradual. A man can make a sham diamond in a very short time, a real gem must lie for ages buried in the earth. So, if we are really and truly God's people, we must grow gradually, and bear all the cutting and polishing which God sees right, before we are fit for the royal treasury.

The same Divine Hand which changed Mary Magdalene to a loving penitent, and the dying thief to a trusting disciple, and lifted Augustine from the foul grave of lust to be a pillar of the Church, can likewise change us, and make us to shine with the light of a stone most precious. Once again, as we gaze through the open door, we hear of music in Heaven. Those who have wrong ideas of the life to come seem to imagine that the Heavenly existence consists in minstrelsy and nothing else. Surely the song of the redeemed, and the music of the golden harps, are a type of the perfect _harmony_ of Heaven. This life is often full of discords, the life to come is perfectly in tune. Here on earth our lives are very like musical instruments. One plays nothing but dirges of sorrow and discontent. Another life is made up of frivolous dance music; another is hideous with the discord of "sweet bells jangled, out of tune, and harsh." The life to come is one of perfect harmony, for each servant will be in complete accord with the Master's will and pleasure. And I think the vision of those who play upon their harps, and sing their song before the throne, show us that the life to come is one of _occupation_. There will be, doubtless, growth, progress, experience, work in Heaven. But there we shall be able to do what we so seldom do here--all to the glory of God. Here we work so selfishly, there all work is worship. Here we struggle for the crown that we may wear it, there they cast down their crowns before the Throne of God. When we speak of resting from our labours after death, and being at peace, we cannot mean, we dare not hope, that we shall be idle. When a famous man of science died, his friends said one to another, "how busy he will be!" We are bidden to be workers together with God, and we may believe that He has new and higher tasks for us all, when we shall have passed through that door in Heaven which Jesus has opened for all believers.

SERMON XXXVI.

THE CONTRAST.

(First Sunday after Trinity.)

S. LUKE xvi. 19, 20.

"There was a certain rich man, . . . and there was a certain beggar named Lazarus."

What was the rich man's sin? We are not told that he had committed any crime. He is not described as an extortioner or unjust. There is no word about his having been an adulterer, or a thief, or an unbeliever, or a Sabbath breaker. Surely there was no sin in his being rich, or wearing costly clothes if he could afford it. Certainly not: it is not _money_, but the _love_ of money, which is the root of all evil. The sin of Dives is the sin of hundreds to-day. He lived for himself alone, and he lived only for this world. He had sunk all his capital in his gold and silver, and purple and fine linen. He had no treasure laid up in Heaven. So when the moth and rust had done their work, and death had broken through like a thief and stolen all his earthly goods, he had nothing left. This parable is full of sharp contrasts. First, there is the contrast in the life of these two men. The one rich, the other a beggar. The one clothed in purple and fine linen, the other almost naked, and covered with sores. The one fared sumptuously every day, the other lay at the gate starving, and longing for the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table. The one had friends and acquaintances who ate of his meat and drank of his cup, the other was "a pauper whom nobody owns," and the dogs were his only earthly comforters. The rich man had great possessions, yet one thing he lacked, and that was the one thing needful. He had the good things of this life, yet he had not chosen the good part which could not be taken away from him. He had gold and silver, purple and fine linen, but he was without God in the world. Lazarus, the beggar, was after all the truly rich man, "as having nothing, and yet possessing all things." Next, there is a contrast in the death of these two men. One expired in a luxurious bed. No doubt there were learned physicians beside him, and perhaps friends and relatives, though, as a rule, selfish people have few true friends. The other died we know not where, perhaps in the hot dusty road at the rich man's gate. There were no doctors to minister to his wants, no kindly hands to sooth his burning brow, to moisten his parched lips, to close his glazing eyes. But the angels of God were about his bed, and about his path, and in their hands they bore him up, whom no man on earth had loved or cared for. And there is a contrast in the after time for these two men. The rich man was buried, doubtless, with great pomp. Some of us have seen such funerals. What extravagance and display take the place of reverent resignation and quiet grief! Of the beggar's burial place we know nothing. But the sharpest contrast of all is in the world beyond, from which for a moment Jesus draws back the veil. He who had pampered his body and neglected his soul is now in torment; he who never listened to the whisper of his conscience, is forced to hearken to its reproaches now; he who had great possessions is worse off than a beggar--he had gained the whole world and lost his own soul. And worst of all, he sees Paradise afar off, and Lazarus resting there, where he may never come. That beggar whom he had despised and neglected, to whose wants he had never ministered, is comforted now, and the rich man is tormented.

Oh! awful contrast! Dives in his misery of despair looks up, and for a moment sees--

"The Heavenly City,
Built of bright and burnished gold,
Lying in transcendent beauty,
Stored with treasures all untold.

There he saw the meadows dewy
Spread with lilies wondrous fair--
Thousand thousand were the colours
Of the waving flowers there.

There were forests ever blooming,
Like our orchards here in May;
There were gardens never fading,
Which eternally are gay."

Saddest of all fates indeed must it be to gaze on Heaven and to live in Hell. Then Dives remembers his brethren in the world, who are living the old life which he lived in the flesh, spending his money perhaps; and, still selfish after death as before, he asks that the beggar may be sent from his rest and peace to warn them. The answer comes that they, like Dives himself, have Moses and the Prophets to teach them, if they neglect them nothing can avail them. And so the curtain drops over this dreadful scene. Let us, brethren, hearken to some of the lessons which come to us with a solemn sound from the world beyond the grave. In the first place, let us learn that being respectable is not a passport to Heaven. No doubt the rich man of the parable was very respectable. If he had lived in these days, and there are many of his family with us now, he would have worn glossy broadcloth instead of purple, and have held a responsible position in his town and parish. He would have gone to church sometimes, and have been very severe with the outcasts of the gutter and the back slums. And yet we find that all this outward respectability, these salutations in the market place, were no passport to Heaven. The man lived for himself--he was a lover of himself. He had no love for his brother whom he had seen, ay, every day, lying at his gate; and so he could have no love for God whom he had not seen. The sin of Dives, remember, was not that he was rich, it was that he was utterly selfish and worldly. A poor man may be just as sinful. The man who makes a god of his body and its pleasures, the man who makes a god of his work or his science, or of anything save the Lord God Almighty, the man who lives for himself and does nothing for the good of others, be he rich or poor, is in the same class with Dives in the parable. Next, there comes a thought of comfort from the story of the beggar Lazarus. There was no virtue in his being poor--but he loved his God, and he bore his sorrows patiently, and verily he had his reward. Jesus tells us that blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted; that all who have borne hunger and thirst, and persecution, or loss of friends for His sake, shall hereafter have a great reward. You, my brethren, who are any ways afflicted or distressed, who have to bear sickness or poverty, who have few friends and few prospects in this world, and yet are patient, and trustful, and believing, look beyond the veil, and be sure that there, if not here, you shall have your good things--such good things as pass man's understanding.

Again, we learn that death does not deprive us of memory. One of old said wisely that they who cross the sea change their sky, but not their mind, and that no exile ever yet fled from himself; and even after we have exchanged this world for the unseen world to come, we do not escape ourselves, our thoughts and memories are with us. The rich man was bidden to remember his past life. It must have been a terrible picture as seen in the clear understanding of the spirit world. Once his life had appeared pleasant enough, harmless enough; now Dives saw it in its true colour, and understood the selfishness, the worldliness, the godlessness which had ruined his soul. He saw all the mistakes which he had made, and felt the terrible conviction that it was too late to repair them. "Four things," says the Eastern sage, "come not back again: the spoken word, the sped arrow, the past life, and the neglected opportunity."

My brothers, what fate can be more awful than that of having to look back upon a wasted life through all eternity? God has committed to you a precious trust in the life you have. Your position, your wealth, or poverty are nothing, whatever your life is it must be consecrated to God. You must live for Him, and by Him, and walk in the way of His commandments, if you are to be with Him through eternity. You can make your own choice: God or mammon, this world, or the world to come are before you, but both you cannot have. If you make your Heaven out of the world's materials, you cannot expect to find it again beyond the grave. Lastly, let us learn that the means of grace which we have are sufficient for our salvation. The brothers of the rich man had Moses and the Prophets, and further help was denied them. We have in God's Church, and Sacraments, in God's Word, and in Prayer, the means of drawing near to our Saviour, and saving our soul alive. We must not ask for some new revelation, some fresh Gospel, some sign or miracle. If we use not the means given us, neither shall we be persuaded though one rose from the dead. It is sometimes the fashion in these days to sneer at the preacher, or to listen with a polite contempt. God grant that those "who come to scoff, may remain to pray."

SERMON XXXVII.

THE WAY OF LIFE.

(Second Sunday after Trinity.)

1 JOHN iii. 14.

"We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren."

The writings of S. John the Evangelist breathe forth love as a flower garden does sweetness. Here lies the secret of S. John's title, "the disciple whom Jesus loved." Love begets love, and the disciple was so near to the heart of his Master because he loved much. When the text was written he was a very old man, and Bishop of Ephesus. It was in that fair and famous city that men worshipped the goddess Diana, of the Ephesians, in a temple which was ranked among the seven wonders of the world. In the olden days there had been another temple to the goddess, which was burnt on the night when Alexander the Great was born. Two hundred and twenty years was the new temple in building, and each of its columns was the gift of a prince. All that the art of Greece could give was lavished upon the building. The hand of Praxiteles carved the altar, the magic pencil of Apelles adorned its walls with a picture of Alexander. Ephesus was also famous for its magic arts; and when the people had been turned to Christ by the preaching of S. Paul, they brought their books of conjuring and curious arts and burned them before him. Now the grass grows rank among the broken columns and few stones which mark the ruins of what was Ephesus.

It was in such a city, then in its full pride and beauty, that S. John, the aged, spent the last days of his long life. S. Jerome tells us how the old Bishop was almost too feeble to be carried into the church, where now was worshipped the true God; and how his trembling lips could only fashion the same words over and over again: "My little children, love one another." His hearers growing weary of this one text, asked S. John why he was ever repeating it, and the old man answered, "Because it is the teaching of the Lord; and if this alone be observed, it is sufficient." To be as little children, and to love one another, such is the whole duty of man. S. John had lived a long life, and had seen men and cities, and the one lesson which he had learnt above all others is that which he teaches above all others--love. I think, brothers, we can picture the old white-haired Bishop of Ephesus, borne day after day upon a litter into his church, and ever saying the same tender words, "little children, love one another." What a retrospect there was for S. John to look back along that stretch of years! What memories must have filled the old man's heart of those days when he was a sunny-haired stripling, working with his brothers in the fishing boat, and casting net, and pulling oar over the bright waters of Gennesareth. What memories must have come of that Gracious Presence which one day appeared among the fisher folks, and opened a new world and a new life to S. John and his companions. How every word and act of Him, who spake as never man spake, and went about doing good, must have been engraved on the memory of the beloved disciple! He had doubtless heard words spoken which no other ear had heard; he who was nearest to the heart of Jesus, must have listened to mysteries which the rest could not hear. Day by day as the old Bishop lies in the dim religious light of the minster, he looks back and sees, as in a vision, the story of the vanished years. What sees he? He looks in memory upon a marriage feast, far away in Cana of Galilee. He sees the giver of the feast anxious and troubled. The wine is exhausted. He hears the Master give the answer to the Virgin Mother's request, and His command to the servants. He recalls the astonishment of all present when "the conscious water saw its God, and blushed;" and he learns from that first miracle of the Master a lesson of love. Many another loving act of mercy comes back to his memory. He seems to see once more the impotent man, lying sadly at the pool of Bethesda. Again he looks on the multitude thronging the mountain by the Lake of Galilee; and in the broken bread which feeds the crowd, S. John sees a lesson of love. Once more he looks upon the trembling, sinful, sorrowful woman, whom the Jewish rulers drag to condemnation. Once more he sees the Master's hand-writing upon the ground, and hears this gentle sentence, "Go, and sin no more." Once more he hears the wondrous lessons of the Light of the World, and the True Vine, and the Good Shepherd, which his own hand had written from the Master's mouth. Once more he seems to stand beside the grave of dead Lazarus, and as he sees the dead alive again, he learns another lesson of love, and whispers, "We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren." After all that lapse of ages, the old man seems to see the sparkle of Mary's tears, and to smell the perfume of her precious gift.

Then, too, there comes the memory of Palm Sunday, with its glad procession, its waving branches, its joyful shouts, in which S. John, then young and vigorous, had delighted to take part. Then the beginning of sorrow, the days of wonder, and of terror, and of gloom, begin to darken round the old man's sight. The night comes back to him when the dear Hands of Jesus washed his feet, and when, at that sad and solemn parting feast, he had lain close to the loving Heart of the Master. Once more he sees Judas go forth on his dark errand; once more he sees the gloomy shadows of Gethsemane, and hears the clash of arms as the soldiers enter, Then all the confusion and horror of that dreadful night come back to him. He hears S. Peter's denial, and marks his bitter tears. Presently he seems to stand again beneath the Cross, amid the awful gloom of Calvary, and anon he is leading the Virgin Mother tenderly to his own home. She has been buried long since in that very city of Ephesus, but the old days come back to him. He is running once more, young, and lithe, and active, to the garden sepulchre, and outrunning the older S. Peter. And in all these visions of the past, S. John sees one lesson--love, the love of Jesus teaching men to love each other. Still the beloved Apostle looks back along the ages, and thinks of that scene on the Mount, when Jesus ascended up, and appeared for the last time to nearly all eyes but his. He was to see the Master again, though in a very different place, and under widely different circumstances. Now his thoughts fly to the lonely, rock-bound isle of Patmos, whither the Roman tyrant had banished him. How often he had watched the sun rise and set in the purple sea; how often in his cavern cell he had pondered over the Master's teaching, and the lesson of love. And one day he saw a light brighter than the sun, and a door was opened in Heaven. S. John seemed to be no longer in lonely Patmos, but amid a great multitude which no man can number, with whom he was treading the shining streets of the Heavenly city. His eyes looked on the gates of pearl, and the sea of glass, he listened to the song of the elders and the angels, and he beheld the things which shall be hereafter. Once more he looked upon the Master's Face, and beheld the King in His beauty. And remembering these things, the old man murmurs to the crowd, "Little children, love one another. We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren." From death unto life! It is a strange expression! We all know of the passage from life unto death. We have all seen the loosening of the silver cord, and the breaking of the golden bowl. We have all marked the fading cheek, the shrinking limbs, the glazing eye, which mark the passage from life unto death. But that other change from death unto life cannot be seen, it is the invisible work of the Holy Spirit. Yet S. John says, we know that we have passed from death unto life. How? By our fruits. If the love of God is in our hearts, if we have passed from the death of sin unto the life of righteousness, if we are risen with Christ, if, in a word, we are truly Christian people, we shall show it by our love for our brethren. If we are selfish in our religion, trying to get all good things for ourselves, and caring nothing for others; if we pray only for ourselves, if we work only for ourselves, if we live only for ourselves, if we see others in want, yet shut up our compassion, how dwelleth the love of God in us? Away with such self-deception, my brothers, if any one of us seems to be religious, and yet stretches out no helping hand to his brother, that man's religion is vain. When we see a fellow man fallen among thieves, and lying by the wayside of life, what do we do? Do we pass by on the other side, without a thought or care, like the Priest? Or do we look on our fallen brother with curiosity, and leave him to his fate, like the Levite? Or do we give him a helping hand, pouring in the wine and oil of kind words, and gentle ministry, binding up the hurts which a cruel world has given him?

My brethren, how many Good Samaritans are there among us? Our brothers lie wounded along life's highway in crowds. There are feeble folk who were never strong enough for the hard life battle; there are brave men who have fought, and failed; there are some crushed down by hard times, others who have "fallen on evil days and evil tongues;" some who were wounded by the stoning of harsh judgment and cruel sneers. Some have lost their health, others their money; some their faith, and others their friends. Sirs, we be brethren, shall we run from our neighbour because he is in trouble, as rats run from a falling house? Shall we turn away from a brother because the world speaks hardly of him? Shall we be ashamed of a man because he is unfortunate? Oh! if you would ever rest where S. John rested, on the bosom of Jesus, learn his lessons of love. Look around you and see if there is no Lazarus laid at your gate whom you may feed; no struggling toiler in the back street whom you may help to work; no sick sufferer whose couch you may make more easy; no broken heart which you may comfort. "Dwell in the land, and be doing good."

"If time be heavy on your hands,
Are there no beggars at your gate,
Nor any poor about your lands?
Oh! teach the orphan boy to read
Or teach the orphan girl to sew."

And you who are busy and cumbered with much serving, may find a thousand ways, in the midst of your active work, of showing your love to your brethren. Be unselfish, be gentle, be courteous, be pitiful. Never say a word which may wound another; never turn away when you can help a neighbour; never ask with the sneer of Cain, "Am I my brother's keeper?" "We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren."

SERMON XXXVIII.

MAN'S LIFE HIS MONUMENT.

(Third Sunday after Trinity.)

1 S. PETER v. 10.

"The God of all grace . . . make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you."

Among the many monuments and epitaphs in S. Paul's Cathedral, there is a simple tablet to the memory of him who built it, and on the stone are engraved the words in Latin, "if you seek his monument, look around you!" And as you gaze upon the grandeur and beauty of the vast Cathedral, you feel that indeed the work of the architect is his best monument. He needs no sculptured tomb, no gorgeous trappings, no fulsome epitaph, to keep his memory green. The cunning hand has mouldered away this many a year, and the busy brain is still, as far as this world is concerned, but the work remains, and the builder cannot be forgotten. Now, this world is full of monuments raised by good and bad, some monuments of glory, others of shame. There have been monuments of human pride, like the tower of Babel, and the great city of Nebuchadnezzar, and God who resisteth the proud, has laid them even with the dust. There have been monuments of human wickedness, like Sodom, and like Pompeii, and God, who hateth sin, has buried them beneath the fiery tempest of His wrath. There have been monuments of human obstinacy and impenitence, like the deserted Temple of the Jews, where once God delighted to put His Name, and to receive worship. And again, the world is full of the monuments of the great, the gifted, and the good. We need not go farther than our own chief city, and its Churches. There we see carved in stone and marble the glories of Poet and Painter, King and Priest, Statesman and Warrior. But after all, my brothers, these are not the true monuments of these men. The stately Abbey may one day fall to ruin, the hand of violence may break and scatter those costly tombs, but the _memory_ of those who sleep there cannot die, their lives are their true monuments. Shakespeare's tomb may perish, but _Hamlet_ will live for ever. And men will honour Nelson by the memory of Trafalgar, and Wellington by the thought of Waterloo, though they may not recall one stone upon their sepulchres.

My brothers, when we die no one will raise a grand memorial over us; they will not carve our story upon marble tombs. And yet, I tell you, we shall have our monument, we have it now, and we are building it ourselves each day we live.

Yes, our life and our works are our monument, and it lasts for eternity. The good life stands like a fair carved memorial of white marble. The evil life stands too, like Lot's wife turned to a pillar of salt, a monument of sin and disobedience.

"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness."

And this is specially true of the beauty of holiness. The palace of Caesar, the ivory house of Ahab, the gorgeous home of Pilate, have perished, but the loving tenderness of Ruth, the sweet ministry of Mary, and the holy affection of S. John, stand as monuments before God which shall never perish or decay. Never mind, my brothers, what sort of tomb they give us, never mind what epitaph they write upon it, _they_ cannot know the truth. But let us try so to live near to Christ that our life may be a monument of His love and pardoning grace, and of our poor endeavour to do right. If we want to make our life a _good_ monument, we must ask God to help us in raising it. "Unless the Lord build the house their labour is but lost that build it." Each one of us needs the prayer of S. Peter in my text, "The God of all grace make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you." Yes, we must be _stablished_ and _settled_, that is, we must have a good foundation to build on. We must raise our monument on the foundation of a firm, trusting, humble faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. On that basis we must strive each day to build the _life of duty_, by just doing what God puts before us with all our might. It matters not what our rank in life may be, whether we are princes or farm labourers, merchants or petty traders, artizans or cabinet ministers, officers in high command, or soldiers of the rank and file, one thing has to be done by all--_our duty_, in that state of life where God has placed us. Every piece of earnest work well done adds a something to our monument. No matter whether it be the building of a cathedral or a log hut, whether it be the making of a poem, or the making of a pair of boots, work well done leaves its mark, and builds our monument.

My brothers, we must not expect to find the life of duty always easy, or the narrow way strewn with roses. But it is not for us to ask whether a thing is pleasant, it is enough for us to know that it is right. The Duke of Wellington once sent this message to his troops, "Cindad Rodrigo must be taken to-night." And the answer of those troops was not to ask of the danger, or the difficulty of the task, but simply to say, "then we will do it." So when God puts our duty before us, we must not stay to ask if we like the work or no, but simply make answer, "then, by God's grace, we will do it." Come what may, let us do our duty. When the battle of the Alma was being fought, a message was brought to a general that the guards were falling fast before the enemy's fire, and suggesting that they should retire under shelter. And the general answered that it would be better that every man of the brigade of guards should fall, rather than that they should retire from the enemy.

Whatever hardship, sorrow, loss or trial it may please God to send us, let nothing turn us back from the path of duty. Remember, by our actions we are raising a monument which will last for ever, when every memorial of brass or marble has crumbled into dust. Every act of _brave self-sacrifice_ adds a something to our monument. Some time ago a ship was wrecked upon the rocks within sight of shore. The captain ordered the crew to save themselves, whilst he kept his place on the deck. When all the men had gone, there crept forth trembling from his hiding-place a boy, a waif and stray of the streets, who had concealed himself on board as a stowaway. The boy begged the captain to save him. Looking across the wild water that lay between him and the shore, the captain muttered, "I can swim as far as that," and then unfastening the life-belt which he wore, he fixed it on the stowaway. Both sailor and child entered the waves, and the stowaway was kept afloat by the life-belt, and safely carried ashore. But the brave man who had saved him never reached land alive. Well says the writer of this true story, "words would be wasted in saying more of the perfect humanity, and noble self-forgetfulness of a man, who gave up his best chance of life without hesitation, 'for one of the least of these little ones' who stood helpless by his side, when man and boy were in the immediate presence of death. That captain unlashing his life-belt, with two miles of white water between himself and the shore, to tie it upon the little boy who had stolen a passage with him, is a figure which tells us with new and noble force, that manhood is stronger than storm, and love mightier than death." And it is not only such sublime acts of self-sacrifice as this which are acceptable to God. To live for others is sometimes as hard as to die for them. The patient nurse, the gentle sister of mercy, the humble priest, unknown outside his own parish, these, and thank God there are many such, have a place and a monument in God's great House of many mansions. It has been said that "the world knows nothing of its greatest men," and some of the best, and purest, and most unselfish souls live unknown, and die neglected, but they have their reward. The world gave them no monument, but God looks on the fair memorial of an unselfish life. Let this thought be ever before us, we are building, raising our monument, for eternity. The Turks carefully collect every scrap of paper which they find, because the Name of God may be written upon it. We ought to use every scrap of time to good purpose because it belongs to God, and we have to employ it for eternity. I have said that every honest work well done leaves its mark, and builds our monument. Never then be ashamed of your work, my brothers, however humble, if it be done well and rightly. If your calling be lowly, try to raise it and ennoble it by being strictly honest and faithful in following it. Never be ashamed of the source from which you spring, only be ashamed of doing wrong. If you were to visit the old city of Mayence, you would notice that for its coat of arms the city bears a white cartwheel. For many a century it has borne these arms, and their origin is this. Long ago, an Archbishop of Mayence was chosen for his piety and learning, but many remembered him as the wheelwright's son, who had once worked at his father's trade. As the Archbishop passed in stately procession to the Cathedral, some jeered him, and one jester had chalked white cartwheels on all the walls on either side of the procession. When the Archbishop was enthroned in the Cathedral, he saw, hanging above his head, a shield which was to bear his arms. The Archbishop was told that he might choose what blazonry he liked, and he at once ordered a painter to decorate the shield with a white cartwheel, that amid the great and noble people around him, he might never forget whence he sprang. After his death, the people of Mayence adopted his arms as those of the city, in memory of the wise and holy rule of the wheelwright's son.

And there are other monuments which are built up in the home circle, and by the fireside. The good wife and mother, be she high or low, who fills the home with the sweet-smelling savour of holiness and love, precious in the Lord's sight as Mary's ointment; who leads her children in the right way, by the gentle ministry of a good example; who is alike cheerful and resigned in bright days and dark, "making a sunshine in a shady place," such an one has a monument fair and stately, on which God's own finger writes, "She hath done what she could."

SERMON XXXIX.

THE BLESSING OF MERCY,

(Fourth Sunday after Trinity.)

S. LUKE vi. 36.

"Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful."

"Mercy" is the one great cry of human nature. We dare not ask for justice, we can only plead for mercy. David, after his great sins, could utter nothing but the mournful cry, the model for all penitent sinners, "Have mercy upon me, O God, after Thy great goodness." The publican standing afar off, and looking at his faults, and not at his virtues, offers the pattern prayer for all men, "Lord, be merciful to me a sinner." The blind man by the wayside, the leper filled with loathsome disease, speak in the same strain, "Jesus, Thou Son of David, have mercy upon us." And so now from ten thousand altars, from bedsides wet with tears, from stately mansion and humble cottage, there rises one cry to Heaven, "O Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us." And we know to our comfort that "to the Lord our God belong mercies and forgivenesses, though we have rebelled against Him."

But there is something more to think of beside our need of mercy. We, who want so much mercy from God, must learn to show mercy to our fellow men. We are bidden to be merciful, even as our Father is merciful. We are all ready enough to talk of the mercies and lovingkindnesses of God to us and to all men, but what mercy, what lovingkindness, do _we_ show to our brethren here in the world? And yet an exceeding bitter cry is being heard amongst us. The poor cry to the rich, the starving to the well fed, the sorrowful to the prosperous, the weak to the strong. All along life's highway lie those who have fallen among thieves, who are wounded and stripped, who are friendless and fallen, and they cry not only to God, but to man for mercy. Think, my brothers, you who have this world's good, how often have you answered the cry? Have you ever stayed by the fallen traveller when others passed by; have you ever poured in the wine of help, and the soothing oil of sympathy; have you ever tried to bind up the wounds of one injured by the cruel tongues of this hard world? Or did you pass by with the crowd on the other side, saying how sad a sight it was, but still no affair of yours?

O brethren, for whom Christ died, for whose sake He went about with sad eyes, and weary feet, seeking to save the lost, how can we look to Him for mercy if we never show mercy, how can we ask forgiveness unless we forgive? The earthly life of Jesus is, in every respect, the model for our life. He came to seek and to save, to search for the lost sheep, to call home the prodigals, to bind up the broken-hearted, to visit the fatherless and the widows in their affliction, to assist the weary and heavy-laden to find rest. As Christ's disciples, we are bidden in a humbler way to go and do likewise. This world is full of sorrow and sickness, doubt and anxiety. All around us there are brethren with broken fortunes, or breaking hearts; there are those whose house is left unto them desolate, and over whose threshold has fallen the shadow of death. There are prodigals who only need a kind word to bring them home, wandering sheep who only want a loving hand to turn them back to the fold. And God bids us do what we can to help these our brethren, saying that inasmuch as we have done it unto the least of them, we have done it unto Him. We are all fellow-pilgrims through this world, and we _must_ help one another. We are all dwelling in a world of sorrow and sin, and we _must_ strengthen each other to bear their troubles. "We know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now." Even "the dumb, driven cattle" have their share of suffering, and look at us with beseeching eyes, asking for mercy. And if we refuse mercy to them, our humbler brethren, or if we refuse it to our fellow men, how dare we look for mercy on the day of Christ's appearing? We are distinctly told that as we do unto others, so shall it be done unto us. "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Judge not, and ye shall not be judged. Condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned. Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven. Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal, it shall be measured unto you again."