Chapter V: Part 5

First among these dangers we may place the _restless spirit_ of the age. This is the result of various causes. The spread of education is one cause. Men are taught to cultivate their heads at the price of their hearts. Children are sent to schools where God is almost shut out. Many people get that "little learning" which "is a dangerous thing," and which makes them doubtful and uncertain in the faith. The growth of cheap literature is another cause. The printing press which gives us a cheap Bible and Prayer Book, and a vast amount of pure, useful reading, also sends out much that is dangerous, and positively wicked. The most holy mysteries of the Christian faith are held up to mockery and ridicule, and treated as old wives' tales; and the restless spirit of the age leads people to read these things, and to have their faith shaken and their ideas confused. Thus we find nowadays people arguing and doubting about doctrines which at one time were taken for granted. One says, _perhaps_ we shall rise again after death; another _wonders_ if there be such a place as Hell. One _thinks_ that God answers prayer, another is doubtful about it. Now we do not find S. Paul and the other Apostles talking in this way. We do not find the early Church talking in this way. They could say, "I know in whom I have believed. I believe, therefore will I speak." The fact is, some of us in these days are getting too clever. We have got a few drops of learning, and we fancy that we can pour the whole great ocean of knowledge into our poor little bottle. Education is a great and glorious blessing, but, like every other blessing, it may be put to a wrong use. And when we find shallow young men and women, who have just mastered enough subjects to be able to pass an examination, sneering at the Bible, and calling religion superstition and folly, we can only wish that they had drunk deeper, or not tasted, of the water of knowledge. True education makes us humble, because it shows us our ignorance. My brothers, what are the doubters and the unbelievers going to give you in exchange for what they rob you of? They can perhaps rob you of your faith in Jesus Christ as a Saviour. But what then, they cannot make you forget that you are a sinner. You know better, your own heart tells you the truth. They can take away the Saviour, and only leave you your sins. The doubter may scoff you out of believing in the resurrection. But can he laugh you out of believing in death? When your little child dies, and you look at the loving eyes closing for the last time, what comfort has your doubting friend to give you? Not a word. He leaves you alone with your dead, and he has robbed you of the only hope which makes death bearable--the resurrection unto eternal life. You come to your own dying bed; is there one of these doubting, scoffing faith-destroying friends who can bring peace or calm to your last hours? Will it be any comfort to you to hear them say that "there is nothing new, nothing true, and that it does not signify?" They tell you one fact, which you know already, that you are dying. But beyond that they know nothing, hope nothing, believe nothing.

My brothers, do not let these people, with their shallow talk and shallow books, rob you of your peace, cheat you out of your birthright. Look at the lives of these doubters, and then look at the lives of Jesus and His saints. See which example is the purer, the more noble. Which is better, to imitate the life of self-sacrifice which Jesus led, to copy the dauntless faith of S. Paul, the loving gentleness of S. John, the humble penitence of Augustine, the fearless courage of Savonarola, or to sit at the feet of those who spend a selfish life in trying to describe a world in which there is no God?

Another of the dangers of the day is a constant desire for _something new_, and, if possible, sensational. There are some who would have their religion as full of novelties as their newspaper, or their amusement. The old paths which God has given us to walk in have become too commonplace for such as these; and they run eagerly into any new way, however fantastic. And, above all, these people want a religion which is made easy for them. They have no objection to being saved provided that the process is quick, easy, and costs them nothing. They turn away from the thought of self-denial, of keeping under the body, of fasting and prayer, of watchfulness and self-examination. They must be made good all at once, and be admitted into the front rank of saints, without having fought and suffered in a lower place. My brethren, beware of this mushroom religion, which grows up suddenly, and as suddenly vanishes away. The best fruit is not that which ripens most quickly, and the best Christian certainly does not come to maturity all in a moment.

There is a fable of the Persians which tells us how a gourd wound itself round a lofty palm-tree, and in a few weeks climbed to its very top. The quick-growing gourd asked the palm-tree its age, and the tree answered, "an hundred years." Then the gourd answered boastingly that it had grown as tall as the palm in fewer days than the tree could count years. "True," answered the palm-tree, "every summer has a gourd climbed round me, as proud as thou art, and as short-lived as thou wilt be."

These, then, are some of the special dangers of the time--an unfixed, unsettled faith, leading men to question, and argue, and doubt, when they should believe; and next, a restless desire for something new and exciting in religion. And, besides these, there are special dangers peculiar to ourselves, arising from our position, or temperament. This is a specially _busy_ age, when men must work if they would eat bread. Every walk of life is crowded, and the competition in every calling and business is most keen. Now there is great danger in all this to a man's spiritual life, if he has not _God with him in his work_. He will become selfish, unscrupulous, and determined to gain a place, and make money at any cost. He will think only of himself, and God is not in all his thoughts. There are some who would have us believe that religion is one thing and business another, and that the two must be kept distinctly apart. Never believe that false doctrine, my brothers. A Christian man may not take part in any work on which the name of God may not be written. Whatever business he may engage in, a Christian must always remember that he must be about his Heavenly Father's business. The great merchants of old times used to begin their ledger and business books at the new year by writing "_Praise be to God_" on the top of the first page. I would that all men of business could honestly do the same now. Consecrate your work to God, so that you need not be ashamed to pray about it, to study the Bible about it, to write _Praise be to God_ on all your business transactions. And last of all, a word as to the means by which Christ will confirm or strengthen you unto the end. I can tell you nothing new about this, I would not if I could. The old wine of the Gospel is better than all the new inventions with which some men would poison the cup of religion. God confirms you by the gift of the Holy Ghost, given by His Word, and Sacraments, and means of grace. Let no one laugh you out of believing in the Bible; let no one argue you out of trusting in that Book which has been the guide, the teacher, the comforter of tens of thousands. The followers of new creeds would like you to exchange your Bible for their books. They will offer you the gospel of selfishness, the gospel of pride, the gospel of hopelessness, the gospel of money-making; turn away from them, and hold fast to the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. Hold fast to the Sacraments of the Church. Let the scoffer sneer, let the proud man refuse to bend before the Altar of his Lord; but let nothing drive you from the Blessed Sacrament of Christ's love. Hold fast to prayer. Let no crowd of difficulties, or worries, or troubles keep you back from Jesus. Press through the crowd like that woman of old, and touch the hem of Christ's garment, in prayer. Only hold fast to your Bible, to your Altar, to your prayers, and "the Lord Jesus shall confirm you unto the end, that you may be blameless in the day of the Lord Jesus Christ."

SERMON LIV.

SCHOLARS OF CHRIST.

(Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity.)

EPHESIANS x. 20.

"Ye have not so learned Christ."

Education is a very prominent feature in the England of to-day. Schools are among the most conspicuous of our public buildings, and competitive examinations are thronged by eager crowds; and, seeing all this, it seems almost impossible that a few years ago most of our poorer brethren could neither read or write. I am not going to speak to you now about the blessings and the evils of the present state of education; I want you to think of another school, and another kind of lessons, which are far more important than all else in the world. The time comes when the schoolboy can lay his books by, and when the young man quits college, they have finished their education. But it is never so in Christ's school, about which I am going to speak. As long as we are here in the world we must go to school. And when we come to die, our education is not finished, but we go to a higher class, as it were, to learn such lessons as we never could master on earth.

In the school of Jesus Christ it is not always the oldest or the cleverest who are the best scholars. There are white-haired old men who are only just learning the alphabet of Christ's religion, in the lowest place; and there are little children, so pure and white-souled, that they have already mastered some of the hardest lessons. In other schools the scholar must be naturally clever, or, at least, most industrious, if he is to gain a high place, and win a prize. In Christ's school there is a place, and a prize, for the dullest, and he will succeed very well if only _he wants to learn_. I have known many people who, as they said, "were no scholars," and yet they were not very far from the kingdom of Heaven. Brethren, some of us have never yet been to Christ's school. We have been playing truant, or altogether taken up with the lessons of that great, selfish, public-school--the world. I want you all to come to Christ's school to-day, old and young, clever and dull, and to hear some of the lessons which that school teaches. I think that if we examine ourselves honestly in these lessons, we shall find how little we really know, and we shall begin with shame to take the lowest place. And we must remember this, that in Christ's school we shall have to _unlearn_ a great deal which the world's school has taught us. The world will have instructed us to take care of ourselves, at the expense of others. One of the favourite mottoes in the great world school-room is--"every man for himself." The world will have taught us that to make money, and to be successful, are the highest aims possible. And there are many similar lessons which are being daily learnt in the world school. Now, when we become scholars of Christ, we have to unlearn a great deal of this. Instead of finding the text, "every man for himself," placed conspicuously before us, we see another, and quite opposite command--"No man liveth unto himself, and no man dieth unto himself." We were taught in that other school outside that to make money and to succeed were the greatest good. Here we are instructed differently. "Lay not up for yourselves treasure on the earth, where rust and moth doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal." One of the chief things which we learnt in the world's lesson-book was to mistrust our fellow men, and to be ready to resent an injury when discovered. In Christ's school the lesson is quite different, we are told to love our neighbour as ourself, and more than this, to love our enemies. There are some here to-day, perhaps, who are very old scholars of the world's school. They have got all its lessons by heart, they can repeat its selfish maxims, and practise its hard teachings. My brothers, God grant that you may find out how greatly your education has been neglected! God grant that you may learn, before it is too late, how little you know about the things which concern your peace. You, who have grown grey in the great world school, learning its sordid, selfish lessons, grinding away at its daily tasks, adding up your sums of addition, and interest, scanning the money table with eager eyes, practising your skill in profit and loss, and daily writing as your one copy--_make money, and be rich_--to you, I say, come into Christ's school to-day, and see whose teaching is the better: that of the world, or that of the Son of God. There comes to every school a day of breaking up, when the scholars go home. One day a man is missed in the great world school. His place is vacant. The shutters are up at the shop, or office, the servants at the place of business speak in smothered whispers. They miss the sound of the master's voice, the echo of his step upon the stair. He has learnt his last lesson in worldliness, and his schooling is over. The world has broken up, as far as he is concerned, and he has gone home. But where? He knew nothing beyond the world's lessons, he never provided for another home. "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?"

Briefly, then, let us look at some of the chief lessons which we must learn in the school of Jesus Christ.

First, we must learn to hate our old sins. Like David, like S. Peter, like every penitent, when we think of the past we abhor ourselves, and sit down among the ashes of humiliation. Like the Prodigal, we cry, "I am no more worthy to be called Thy son." If you find yourself taking pleasure in the thought of former sin, boasting of your evil deeds, be sure you are yet in your ignorance, you have never learnt the alphabet of Christ's lesson.

Next, we must learn to know our own weakness, and our need of a Saviour. The world will not give us that lesson. The world will tell us to make our own way, to trust to ourselves, to our cleverness, and sharpness. In Christ's school we shall be taught our weakness, and shall learn to say, "Lord, save me, I perish."

Another of the lessons we must learn is to _conquer ourselves_. The world gives a great many instructions about conquering difficulties, beating down obstacles, overcoming enemies; but it is Christ's school alone which can show us how to conquer _ourselves_. You have probably noticed the change in a young country lad after he has enlisted for a soldier, and gone through his drill. Whereas he was a high-shouldered, slouching, ungainly figure, now he has learnt to carry himself like a soldier, he has conquered the old bad habits which he acquired by lounging in the lanes, or plodding along the furrow. My brethren, we have all got our bad habits, our ugly tempers, our sharp tongues, our discontented feelings, and it is only the drill of Christ's soldiers, and the teachings in Christ's school, which will make us get the better of them. Christ's school will make a radical change in us. Jesus--our Master--says, "behold I make all things new," and we know that they who are in Christ are become new creatures, old things are passed away. We may be quite sure that if we are Christ's scholars we shall be changed people. S. Paul tells us, as he told the Ephesians, some of the marks of this change. We shall learn to speak, and act, the truth. "Putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour." We shall learn to control our temper,--"be ye angry, and sin not. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." We shall learn to work, and to work honestly,--"let him that stole steal no more; but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good." We shall learn to control our tongue,--"let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying." We shall learn to be kind and gentle to our neighbours,--"let all bitterness and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil-speaking, be put away from you, with all malice." The great world school will teach us to practise these things, but not the school of Jesus. There we shall learn "to be kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ's sake hath forgiven us."

And we shall learn in Christ's school to be brave. The world school can teach us a certain kind of courage, but not the highest, nor the best. The world can teach us how to resent an injury, not how to forgive one. It is in Christ's school only that true heroes are made. The world can make such soldiers as Caesar, or Napoleon, but the school of Christ alone can make a Havelock or a Gordon. I have read of a poor boy who came to school with a patch on his clothes. One of his schoolmates singled him out for ridicule and insult; and the boy answered--"do you suppose I am ashamed of my patch? I am thankful to a good mother for keeping me out of rags, and I honour my patch for her sake."

All the noble army of martyrs, of every rank and kind, learnt the secret of their courage in the school of Christ, and have left us an example to follow.

"By all the martyrs, and the dear dead Christ;
By the long bright roll of those whom joy enticed
With her myriad blandishments, but could not win,
Who would fight for victory, but would not sin;
By these our elder brothers, who have gone before
And have left their trail of light upon our shore,
We can see the glory of a seeming shame,
We can feel the fulness of an empty name."

My brothers, it may be there are some here now who have not so learned Christ. Who have been in the world's school from the beginning, and have grown weary of its selfishness, and its hollow maxims. If it be so, pray now that Jesus, the Great Teacher, may give you a new heart, and a new mind, bow the proud head, and bend the unwilling knee, say to the Lord--"Lord Jesu, make me as a little child, let me come to school to-night."

SERMON LV.

WARY WALKING.

(Twentieth Sunday after Trinity.)

EPHESIANS v. 15.

"See then that ye walk circumspectly."

Some people tell us that salvation is the easiest thing in the world. We have only to _feel_ that we believe in Jesus Christ, and all is done. Now neither Jesus Christ Himself, nor the Apostles whom He sent to teach, tell us anything of the kind. On the contrary, our Saviour, whilst He dwells on the fulness and freedom of salvation, offered to all without money, and without price, tells us that many are called, but few chosen. He warns us in to-day's Gospel that when the King makes His Great Wedding Feast of salvation numbers make light of it, and go their way to their farm, and their merchandise. He shows us how, when the Bridegroom cometh suddenly. He finds half of the virgins in darkness, their lamps gone out, and He commands us to watch, because we know not the day nor the hour of the Lord's coming. He tells us also that the way of life eternal is a narrow way, and the gate of salvation a strait gate, whilst the road to eternal ruin is broad, and easy. Our Lord bids us _strive_ to enter in at the narrow gate, and assures us that few there be who find it. Now all this does not put the Christian life before us as a life of idleness, and inaction; nor does it describe salvation as a very easy thing. Both Jesus and His holy Apostles tell us that we must strive, climb, fight, run the race patiently, walk circumspectly, watch, pray, arm ourselves, have on a wedding garment; a very different doctrine this from that dangerous, do-nothing creed, which some would have us accept. I think S. Paul had the narrow way and the strait gate in his mind, when he told his followers to walk circumspectly, looking around them, minding their steps, proceeding with care and caution. It used to be said of old that all roads led to Rome, because she was the capital of the world. And nowadays, in the most remote country place in England, you will find a road which leads to London. But all roads do not lead to Heaven. Some foolish people like to believe that they can travel anyway they please, and yet reach Heaven at last. They love to imagine that they can hold to any doctrine, however false and extravagant, and set up a gospel of their own, and yet find the way to Heaven. There are some who choose to walk in a way which seems right in their eyes, a way of selfishness, and pride, and obstinacy; they will have _their own way_, they tell us. Yes, but it is not God's way, and it does not lead to Heaven. There are just two roads from this life to the life to come, no more. The narrow way of God's commandments, ending in the strait gate which opens on Heaven; and the broad road of sin, terminating in the wide gate of Hell.

Let us think of some of the rules by which we must walk in the narrow way. We must walk _humbly_. It is a narrow way remember, and if we walk with our heads lifted up by pride, we shall miss our footing, and slip from the path. The gate, too, is strait, or narrow. It is like one of those low-pitched, narrow entrances which you may still see in old buildings, and which were common once in all our ancient towns. A traveller could not get through these gates unless he bent his head, and bowed his shoulders. So, my brothers, if we wish to enter into the gate of life eternal we must do so with bowed head, and with an humble, lowly, penitent, and obedient heart. Pride cast Satan out of Heaven, pride locks the door of life against many a man now. An unbeliever once asked, with a sneer, who made the devil. And he was answered that God made him what he _was_, and that he had made himself what he _is_. So is it with us all. God makes us His children, heirs of Heaven, and we too often, by our foolish pride, make ourselves into devils. Believe me, the gate of life eternal is far too narrow to admit us with the great swelling garment of pride puffed out on all sides of us.

Next, if we walk along the narrow way _we must not overload ourselves_. There are some burdens which we _must_ bear, but the dear Lord, who laid them upon us, will give us strength to carry them. It is the burden of the world's making which will hinder us. We see a man who wants to walk in the right way, who hopes to pass through the narrow gate, who has so loaded himself with worldly things that he goes staggering along, till at length he slips off on to the broad road to destruction. He is like one escaping from a shipwreck, who tries to swim ashore with all his money bags, and is sunk to the bottom by their weight. Sometimes people, coming home from abroad, bring with them a quantity of smuggled goods, and their clothes are all padded with laces, and other ill-gotten gear. What happens? They are stopped at a narrow gate, and stripped of all their load before they are permitted to return home. So, my brothers, if you would pass the gate which leads _home_, to the rest which remaineth for the people of God, you must not overload yourselves with this world's gear. You must not fill up your thoughts with your business, and drag that burden with you to the very edge of the Churchyard mould. You are just blocking up the way to eternal life with your bales of goods, your manufactures, your business books. Some of you are blocking God's highway with the waggons of worldly commerce, others with the gay chariot of frivolous pleasure. Here is a woman trying to walk in the narrow way. She has a crowd of children hanging upon her skirts. She has tried to be a good mother, but she has let the cares and plans for her children draw her away from God, and we see her dragged from the narrow way by those whom she ought to have helped along it. Believe me, it is not open, notorious evil-doers who form the majority on the broad road to destruction. It is not the murderer, the thief, the drunkard, the adulterer, the unbeliever, who crowd that down-hill road. They are there with the rest, but they are outnumbered by those whom the world calls very respectable. Amid that crowd of all ages and ranks, there are those who have attended our Church Services, and knelt at our Altars, some of them do so still. They have no vulgar vices, they never swear, or exceed moderation in food and drink, they have wives and families, and they pay their way like respectable householders. And yet,--Oh! the pity of it--they are travelling on the broad road. It is not open; disgraceful sin which has placed them there, but just _worldliness_. The dust of the world has filled up every corner of their life, and they have no room for God. The windows of their soul are so begrimed with the dust and cobwebs of this life that the sunshine of God's Holy Spirit cannot shine through them. One is so taken up with his farm that his heart and soul seemed buried in the soil of it. The Gospel message rings in his ear, but he makes light of it. Another is so occupied with his merchandise, with making, and getting, that he has no time to see how it stands with his soul, no time to think of the account to be rendered to God when all earthly accounts are closed for ever. One is so eager to obtain a good position for himself, or his children, in the world, that he utterly neglects to fit himself, or them, for a place in the world to come. With some the idol is work, with others pleasure, but in either case they worship an idol, and not God. There are women whose minds are so taken up with the latest fashion, and the newest dress, that they have neglected the white garment of holiness, and forgotten the old, old fashion--death. My brothers, my sisters, take heed. It is not so much the coarse vices of the brutal and ignorant which ruin souls, as the selfish worldliness of those who ought to know better. If you are living for self, for work, for pleasure, for society, for anything but God, then, in spite of your respectable name, and your outward forms of religion, you have slipped from the narrow way which leads to life eternal. If you are determined to make this world your Heaven, you must not be astonished if you are shut out of Heaven in the world to come.

If these poor worldly folk could only see the end, could only understand now how hollow and worthless, and disappointing, the things of this world are at the last, they would cast aside every weight, and strive to regain the narrow way of God's commandments. History is full of instances of those who found, some too late, that the pleasures of the world are worthless. How melancholy is the declaration of one who says, "I have dragged on to thirty-three. What have all those years left to me? Nothing except three and thirty." Diocletian the Emperor tells us that he is happier planting cabbages at Salona, than ruling the world at Byzantium. Another Emperor, Severus, declares that he has held every position in life from the lowest to the highest, and found no good in any. Look into the history of France, and see what the world gave to Madame de Pompadour at the last. She had sacrificed virtue and honour for the glitter of the court of Louis XV. And now in the latter days she tells us that she has no inclination for the things which once pleased her. Her magnificent house in Paris was refurnished in the most lavish style, and it only pleased her for two days! Her country residence was charming, and she alone could not endure it. They told her all the gossip of the gay world, and she scarcely understood their meaning. "My life," she says, "is a continual death." At last the end came. And as they carried her to her burial, the king, who had once professed to love her, said with utter unconcern--"The Countess will have a fine day." This is what the world gave to Madame de Pompadour.

My brethren, I have been striking the old notes to-day, and re-telling an oft-told story. But sin and sorrow are ever the same, and the one great concern of your life and mine is the same as when Jesus died for us on Calvary. Let us take heed to our ways, and see on which road we are journeying. If we have gone out of the way Jesus will bring us back, _if we want to come back_. Ask Him, brothers, ask Him now. Pray as perhaps you never prayed before.

"True prayer is not the imposing sound
Which clamorous lips repeat;
But the deep silence of a soul
That clasps Jehovah's feet."

"Strive to enter in at the strait gate. For wide is the gate, and broad is the way, which leadeth to destruction, and many there be who go in thereat."

SERMON LVI.

STRONG CHRISTIANS.

(Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity.)

EPHESIANS vi. 10.

"My brethren, be strong in the Lord,"

A weak and cowardly soldier is a pitiful object, but a weak-kneed, cowardly Christian is still more so. S. Paul told the Ephesian Christians to be _strong_ in the Lord, and in these days especially we need strong Christians, strong Churchmen. I do not mean that we want men to presume on their strength, to repeat the sin of the Pharisee of old, and talk of their righteousness, or condemn their neighbours. I do not mean that we must be noisy and violent, and quarrelsome in our religion. None of these things are a proof of strength. A giant of power is ever the gentlest, having the hand of steel in the glove of silk. So the stronger a Christian is the more humbly he bears himself. A writer of the day says very truly, "if the world wants iron dukes, and iron men, God wants iron saints." Much of the unbelief and indifference of these days is caused by the weakness of professing Christians. When a man can point to a soldier of Christ who has deserted his post, and fled from the battle, it is no wonder that he hesitates to join an army which has such weak and cowardly warriors. When the enemies of the Church can show us unprincipled Churchmen, who have no firm faith in the doctrines which they profess, who have drifted away from their moorings, and, like ships without ballast, are blown about by every wind, it is not surprising if these enemies still remain outside the Church. Can we marvel that some should sneer at Holy Baptism, when they can name those who have tried to wash out the sign of the Cross with every kind of sin? Can we marvel that they make light of Confirmation, when we have so many who have been confirmed going back from holiness, forsaking their Church, and joining the world, the flesh, and the devil? Or need we wonder that they neglect the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar, and try to keep others from it, if they lay their finger on the Communicant whose life is bad? My brothers, we need to set our own house in order, we of the Church are as a city on a hill, men look at us, and woe unto us if the light within us be darkness. What we want are strong Christians to set a strong example. Teaching, argument, may do much with a careless world, but the example of a consistent, holy, life will do far more.

Brethren, be ye strong, first of all, in _Faith_. Be quite sure that you _do_ believe; be quite clear _what_ you believe, and then show your faith _strongly_. Our faith is not built on sand, but on a rock. It is not founded on such words as--perhaps, I suppose, I hope. No, the Creed of the Church says, _I believe_. There are crowds of people outside who will all tell you what they do _not_ believe. There is the infidel who says he does not believe in God. There is the man who says he believes in God, but not in the Blessed Trinity. There is one who tells you that he believes in Jesus Christ, but not as God, only as Man. Then comes another and declares that he does not believe in eternal punishment. One says that he does not believe we are born again in Holy Baptism, another will not believe in the Baptism of infants. Some will not believe in Bishops, and others refuse to credit any sect but their own. But the Church says plainly and boldly, I _believe_. The Faith once delivered to the saints, the Faith which Jesus taught to the first Apostles, the Faith which S. Paul preached, and for which he died, is ours. Let us hold fast to it in unity of spirit, in the bond of peace, and in righteousness of life. Be ready to give a reason for the faith that is in you. There are mysteries which none of us can understand, but, thank God, we can believe. And we must show this faith of ours not only by believing in the doctrines of the Church, but by putting our full trust and confidence in the mercies of God. Where is the use of talking about our faith if we are poor, fearful, unhappy people? If our faith is not strong enough to let us trust God for to-morrow it is not worth having. It is the melancholy, over-anxious, troubled about many things Christian, who is always anticipating misfortunes, who does so much harm. Brethren, trust God all in all, be strong in the Lord, be strong in your faith.

Next, brethren, be ye strong in _your language_. Now, do not misunderstand me. I do not mean that you are to copy those who, in pulpit and on platform, declare their favourite views and theories in words of the most violent and intemperate kind. But I _do_ mean that when the time comes to speak out, you should speak boldly and plainly. Let the world know that you _do_ believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and the doctrines of His Church, and that you are not ashamed to own it. Never be afraid to show your colours, or to declare the name of your Leader. When Lord Nelson was going into his last battle, they wished him to cover, or lay aside, the glittering orders of victory which adorned his breast. But the hero refused, and perhaps his refusal cost him his life. Well, let us never hide the marks of our profession as Christian soldiers, even if we have to suffer, let men know that we bear about in our bodies the marks of the Lord Jesus Christ. Oh! we want these strong Christians in shop, and factory, in omnibus, and railway carriage, in soldiers' barrack-room, in schoolboys' dormitory, in servants' bed-chamber,--Christians who speak out strongly for Jesus.

Again, brethren, be strong in _self-sacrifice for Jesus_. We must not forget our cross. The surest mark of a Christian is a willingness to deny ourselves for the sake of others. Let me tell you the stories of two simple servant maids who, under very different circumstances, gave up their life for the life of little children. The scene of the first story was in America, nearly five and twenty years ago; that of the second story was in London, only a few weeks since. A young English girl had taken service in a family going to America, and her special duty was the charge of the three motherless children of her widowed master. One cold day in December they all embarked in a great Mississippi steamboat bound for the far North West. Day after day they steamed through the swollen river, where pieces of ice were already showing, past dark and gloomy shores, lined with lonely forest. One night, near the end of their voyage, the girl had seen her charges, two girls and a boy, safely asleep, and now, when all the other passengers had retired, she was reading in the saloon. Suddenly the silence was broken by a terrible cry, which told the frightened passengers that the steamboat was on fire. The captain instantly ran the vessel for the shore, and ordered the people to escape as best they could, without waiting to dress. The faithful servant had called her master, and then carried the children from their beds to the crowded deck. Quickly the blazing vessel touched the muddy bank, and the father placed the shivering children and the servant on one of the huge branches which overhung the river. A few other passengers, fifteen in all, reached other branches, the rest went down with the burning steamer. But what hope could there be for the children, just snatched from their warm beds, and now exposed unclad to the bitter December night? Their father had no clothing to cover them, and, as he spoke of another steamer which would pass by in the morning, he had little hope of his children holding out. Then the servant maid declared that if possible she would keep the little ones alive. Clinging in the darkness to the icy branches, she stripped off her own clothing, all but the thin garment next her body, and wrapped up the shivering children. Thus they passed the long, dark hours of that terrible night. I know not what prayers were spoken, but I know that Jesus, who suffered cold and hunger for our sakes, made that servant girl strong to sacrifice herself. During the night one of the children died, but in the morning, when the first light came, the little girls were still alive. Then, when her work was done, the freezing limbs of the brave girl relaxed their hold, a deadly sleep fell on her, and she dropped silently into the rushing river below. Presently a steamer came in sight, and the two children, for whom she had died, were safe.

Only quite lately there was a great fire in London. In the burning house were a husband and wife, their children, and a servant maid. The parents perished in the flames, but the servant appeared to the sight of the crowd below, framed, as it were, in fire, at a blazing window. Loudly shouted the excited crowd, bidding the girl to save herself. But she was thinking of others. Throwing a bed from the window, she signalled to those below to stretch it out. Then, darting into the burning room, she brought one of the children of her employers, and dropped it safely on to the bed. Fiercer grew the flames, but again this humble heroine faced the fire, and saved the other children. Then the spectators, loudly cheering, begged her to save herself. But her strength was exhausted, she faltered in her jump, and was so injured that death soon came to her. My brothers, no one will raise a grand monument to Emma Willoughby, and Alice Ayres, who passed, the one through water, the other through fire, for Christ's dear sake. But surely in God's great Home of many mansions their names are written in letters of gold.

Lastly, brethren, be strong in _fighting the battle_. You know that life is a great battle-field. And you know, too, that as Christians yours is the _good_ fight. Put on, then, the whole armour of God. Do not trust to any newly-invented weapons. Take the same armour in which S. Paul, and many another veteran soldier of Christ, fought and conquered. "We wrestle not against flesh and blood." No, our battle is with Satan and his hosts. One of old says that we must strip if we would wrestle with the devil. We must cast aside every weight, strip us of all the hinderances, and worldly cares, which weigh us down; and be clad in the spiritual armour of God. Hold fast to the old armour, the shield of faith, the breastplate of righteousness, the sword of the Spirit. Be strong in the strength of the Holy Ghost, for your strength shall be made perfect in weakness. Stand, as Christ's soldiers, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, with your faces to the foe. When Napoleon retreated from Moscow, and the main body had passed by, the mounted Cossacks hovered around the stragglers, who, overcome by cold and fatigue, could only force their way slowly through the snow. Many a weary Frenchman thus fell beneath the Cossack lances. Presently a band of these fierce horsemen saw a dark object on the snowy plain, and dashed towards it. They were face to face with a small body of French who had formed into a square to resist them, their bayonets at the charge. The Cossacks rode round and round, seeking for a weak place for attack, and finding none. At length they charged the square, and found it formed of frozen corpses. The Frenchmen had died whilst waiting for the foe. Brothers, may death find us fighting the good fight. "Be strong in the Lord."

SERMON LVII.

THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS.

(Twenty-second Sunday after Trinity.)

S. MATTHEW xviii. 28,

"Pay me that thou owest."

The Gospel shows us in a parable a picture of a king who called his servants to a reckoning. That King is the Lord God Almighty. We are His servants, and He calls us to account every day. All we possess we owe as a debt to God. Day by day He gives us our food, and supplies our wants by His good Providence. On every hour of our existence is written, Jehovah-Jireh--The Lord will provide. Day by day God takes care of us, and shields us from danger. He provides for our souls as well as for our bodies, and gives us the ministry of His Church, the grace of His Sacraments, the teaching of His Bible, the blessing of prayer. And all these blessings are a debt which we owe to God, and He is ever saying to us. "Pay Me that thou owest." And how can we pay? By doing what God bids us. By using our gifts in His service. We can give Him _worship_, not only worship in Church, but in all our everyday life and work, "doing all unto the glory of God." We can show forth His praise not only with our lips but in our lives. God has given us hands and brains to work with; and He says, "Pay Me that thou owest." That means that we must do good work, honest work, unselfish work, because we owe our power to labour as a debt to God. He has given us a voice, and He says, "Pay Me that thou owest." That means that we must use our voice to sing God's praise, to maintain His honour, to spread the truth of His Gospel, to comfort His people. We must devote our voice to speaking good words, and never defile it with vile language in the devil's service, because it is a debt which we owe to God. So with our health, our strength, our time, for all these God reckons with His servants. If we are misusing these things, wasting our time, devoting our strength to mere selfish, worldly pursuits, neglecting our opportunities, terrible will be the final day of reckoning when God will say for the last time, "Pay Me that thou owest."

We read in the parable of to-day's Gospel that one of the king's servants owed him ten thousand talents. This was so vast a sum that no man could possibly pay it. In that servant we see ourselves. We owe a debt to God which we cannot pay. The wages of sin is death, and as sinners we are like the servant, we owe a vast debt, and we have not wherewithal to pay. Nothing that we can do will put away our sin, or excuse us from the penalty. That servant in the parable prayed his lord to have patience, saying that he would pay all. We may think foolishly that we can pay the debt of old sins by leading good lives now. But it may not be. If a man owes money he is not excused the debt because now he pays his way. Our sins are the great debt of ten thousand talents. God's law is written in the ten commandments, and we have broken them a thousand times. We cannot pay. The king in his mercy forgave the servant. So God forgives us through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ. He paid the debt which we cannot pay, He bore our sins, the sin of Adam born with us, and the actual sins of our lives, on the Cross of Calvary. His Blood was the price which paid the debt. When we are baptised we are baptised into His Death, and the sin of Adam is forgiven. When we repent truly of a sin of our own committing, we are made partakers in the benefits of His Passion. When we come devoutly to Holy Communion our sinful bodies are made clean by Christ's Body, and our souls washed in His most Precious Blood, and our sins are forgiven us. But the parable not only teaches us our need of pardon, and the fulness of God's mercy, but the necessity of forgiving each other. The servant who owed the vast debt was pardoned. Yet he would not forgive his fellow servant who owed him a trifling sum. The story of the unmerciful servant is being repeated everywhere around us. We see men crying to God for mercy--poor, sinful, debtors, bankrupts, who have not wherewithal to pay. Every day we are obliged to confess that we owe a debt to God, and cannot pay it. And every day the Lord of mercy and love forgives us our debt. Yes, but only on certain conditions. God has Himself taught us to say, Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. If we are unmerciful servants, refusing to our fellow men what God gives us, He will treat us as He treated the servant of the parable. He had forgiven him all, but now He withdraws His pardon, and delivers him to the tormentors. A man with an unforgiving spirit, who nourishes hatred and revenge against a neighbour, is already possessed by a devil, and his future must be spent in the society of devils.

And now bring the matter home to your own individual cases. Are you nourishing bitter, unforgiving feelings against anyone who has injured you? Is there anyone whose success annoys you, and whose misfortune would give you pleasure? Are you thinking of some wrong done to you, some hard word spoken about you, some unjust judgment passed on you; and are you hoping that a day may come when the person who has so acted, or spoken, may suffer for it? My brothers, if so, you are just so many unmerciful servants, going through the world, and seizing your brother-sinners by the throat, and saying--"Pay me that thou owest." Give up calling yourselves Christians, give up asking God to pardon you, unless you can freely and fully forgive your brethren the little debts of this little world. A certain king of France said that nothing smelt so sweet as the dead body of an enemy. And there are people among us now who tell us that revenge is sweet. But it is false. To forgive is sweet, is blessed, to hate brings only the remorse of devils. But you tell me it is so hard to forgive sometimes. So it is, but the greater the pardon given the greater the blessing. And remember that forgiveness must not be measured, and stinted, but free, and full. We must not say, "I will forgive him this once, but never more." S. Peter asked Jesus how often he should pardon a brother's sin, and suggested seven times. The Jewish teachers said that after three faults men need not forgive. S. Peter was in advance of them, but the Lord's answer must have astonished him,--"until seventy times seven," that meant _always_, without stint, or measure. And remember also, that forgiveness must be real and true. We may not forgive with our lips, and bear malice in our hearts. Such sham forgiveness is only too common. A man was lying on his sick bed, and the clergyman by his side was urging him to be reconciled to some one who had injured him. After much persuasion the man said, "If I die I will forgive him, but if I live he had better keep out of my way." And again, our forgiveness must be willing, not forced from us. As says our greatest poet--

"the quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from Heaven,
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes:
Tis mightiest in the mightiest."

A boy, nearly broken-hearted with grief, stood by his mother's coffin. "Oh! let me see my dear mother once more, only once more," he pleaded. A man who was about to screw down the coffin-lid thrust him aside with brutal violence, and even struck the orphan child. Years afterwards that man stood in the dock, to be tried for his life as a murderer. He had no counsel to defend him, but just as the case commenced a young barrister rose in court, and offered his services to the prisoner. His speech for the defence was so eloquent, and so convincing, that the prisoner was acquitted. Outside the court he turned to thank his preserver. The stranger looked at him steadily, and said, "Do you remember years ago, driving a poor, broken-hearted boy from his mother's coffin with a curse and a blow? I was that boy." The man was overwhelmed with shame and confusion. "Why have you given me my life?" he asked. "To show you," answered the other, "that I can forgive."

Oh! my brothers, if we would find pardon for our many sins, let us ask Him who prayed for His murderers to teach us how to forgive.

"Walk with care 'mid human spirits,
Walk for blessing, not for ban;
'Twere better never to have lived,
Than lived to curse a deathless man.

SERMON LVIII.

THE FREEDOM OF THE CITY.

(Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity.)

PHIL. iii. 20.

"Our conversation is in Heaven."