Dorothy Canfield - "Hillsboro People"

John S. C. Abbott - "Christopher Carson"

Marion Foster Washburne - "Study of Child Life"

Leroy Scott - "No. 13 Washington Square"

Love the One You're With - by Emily Giffin
Moreover Technologies - Premier purveyor of real-time news and RSS feeds from across the Web

The Nanny Diaries - by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus
Ad -

Book Review: The Dream by Gurbaksh Chahal
by Emily Giffin A novel about life, love, the choices we make, the choices we didn't make, and the 'what if?' At the age of 33, Ellen Graham seems to have it all. Her husband, Andy, is a handsome, successful lawyer and the brother of her best friend,

A / B / C / D / E / F / G / H / I / J / K / L / M / N / O / P / R / S / T / U / V / W / Y / Z

The Christian Life written by Thomas Arnold

T >> Thomas Arnold >> The Christian Life







LECTURE XXVIII.

* * * * *

EXODUS iii. 6.

_And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look upon God_.


LUKE xxiii. 30.

_Then shall they begin to say to the mountains. Fall on us; and to the
hills, Cover us_.


These two passages occur, the one in the first lesson of this morning's
service, the other in the second. One or other of them must have been,
or must be, the case of you, of me, of every soul of man that lives or
has lived since the world began. There must be a time in the existence
of every human being when he will fear God. But the great, the infinite
difference is, whether we fear him at the beginning of our relations to
him, or at the end.

The fear of Moses was felt at the beginning of his knowledge of God.
When God revealed himself to him at the bush, it was, so far as we are
told, the first time that Moses learnt to know him. The fear of those
who say to the mountains, "Fall on us," is felt at the very end of their
knowledge of God; for to those who are punished with everlasting
destruction from the presence of the Lord, God is not. So that the two
cases in the text are exact instances of the difference of which I
spoke, in the most extreme degree. Moses, the greatest of the prophets,
fears God at first; those who are cast into hell, fear him at last.

The appearance of God, as described in this passage of Scripture, is an
image also of his dealings with us at the beginning of our course, when
we fear him with a saving fear. "The bush burned with fire, but the bush
was not consumed." God shows his terrors, but he does not, as yet,
destroy with them. It is the very opposite to this at last, for then he
is expressly said to be a consuming fire.

Moses turned aside to see this great sight, why the bush was not burnt.
That sight is the very same which the world has been offering for so
many hundreds of years: God's terrors are around it, but, as yet, it is
not consumed, because he wills that we should fear him before it is
too late.

There is, indeed, this great difference;--that the signs of God's
presence do not now force themselves upon our eyes; so that we may, if
we choose, walk on our own way, without turning aside to see and observe
them. And thus we do not see God, and do not, therefore, hide our faces
for fear of him, but go on, and feel no fear, till the time when we
cannot help seeing him. And it may be, that this time will never come
till our life, and with it our space of trial, is gone for ever.

Here, then, is our state, that God will manifest himself no more to us
in such a way as that we cannot help seeing him. The burning bush will
be no more given us as a sign; Christ will no more manifest himself unto
the world. And yet, unless we do see him, unless we learn to fear him
while he is yet an unconsuming fire, unless we know that he is near, and
that the place whereon we stand is holy ground, we shall most certainly
see him when he will be a consuming fire, and when we shall join in
crying to the mountains, to fall on us, and to the hills, to cover us.

Every person who thinks at all, must, I am sure, be satisfied, that our
great want, the great need of our condition, is this one thing--to
realize to ourselves the presence of God. It is a want not at all
peculiar to the young. Thoughtfulness, in one sense, is indeed likely to
come with advancing years: we are more apt to think at forty than at
fifteen; but it by no means follows that we are more apt to think about
God. In this matter we are nearly at a level at all times of our life:
it is with all of us our one great want, to bring the idea of God, with
a living and abiding power, home to our minds.

This is illustrated by a wish ascribed to a great and good man--Johnson,
and which has been noticed with a sneer by unbelievers, a wish that he
might see a spirit from the other world, to testify to him of the truth
of the resurrection. This has been sneered at, as if it were a
confession of the unsatisfactory nature of the evidence which we
actually possess: but, in truth, it is a confession only of the weakness
which clings to us all, that things unseen, which our reason only
assures us to be real, are continually overpowered by things affecting
our senses; and, therefore, it was a natural wish that sight might, in a
manner, come to the aid of reason; that the eye might see, and the ear
might hear, a form and words which belonged to another world. And this
wish might arise (I do not say wisely, or that his deliberate judgment
would sanction it, but it might arise) in the breast of a good man, and
one who would be willing to lay down his life in proof of his belief in
Christ's promises. It might arise, not because he felt any doubt, when
his mind turned calmly to the subject; not because he was hesitating
what should be the main principle of his life; but because his
experience had told him, that there are many times in the life of man
when the mind does not fully exert itself; when habit and impressions
rule us, in a manner, in its stead. And when so many of our impressions
must be earthly, and as our impressions colour our habits, is it not
natural (I do not say wise, but is it not natural) to desire some one
forcible unearthly impression, which might, on the other side, colour
our habits, and so influence us at those times when the mind, almost by
the necessity of our condition, cannot directly interpose its own
deliberate decision as our authority?

No doubt the wish to which I have been alluding is not one which our
reason would sanction; but it expresses in a very lively and striking
manner a want which is most true and real, although it proposes an
impossible remedy. But the question cannot but occur to us, Can it be
that our heavenly Father, who knows whereof we are made, should have
intended us to live wholly by faith in this world? That is, Can it have
been his will that all visible signs of himself should be withdrawn from
us; and that we should be left only with the record and the evidence of
his mighty works done in our behalf in past times; and with that other
evidence of his wisdom and power which is afforded by the wonders of
his creation?

We look into the Scriptures and we learn that such was not his will. We
were to live by faith, indeed, with, respect to the unseen world, there
the sign given was to be for ever only the sign of Christ's
resurrection. But yet it was not designed that the evidence of Christ's
having redeemed us should be sought for only in the records of the past;
he purposed that there should be a living record, a record that might
speak to our senses as well as to our reason; that should continually
present us with impressions of the reality of Christ's salvation; and so
might work upon the habits of our life, as insensibly as the air we
breathe. This living witness, which should last till Christ came again,
was to be no other than his own body instinct with his own Spirit--his
people, the temple of the Holy Ghost, his holy universal Church.

If we consider for a moment, this would entirely meet the want of which
I have been speaking. It is possible, certainly, to look upon the face
of nature without being reminded of God; yet it is surely true, that in
the outward creation, in the order of the seasons, the laws of the
heavenly bodies, the wonderful wisdom and goodness displayed in the
constitution of every living thing in its order, there is a tendency at
least to impress us with, the thought of God, if nothing else obstructed
it. But there is a constant obstruction in the state of man. Looking at
men, hearing them, considering them, it is not only possible not to be
reminded of God; but their very tendency is to exclude him from our
minds, because the moral workmanship which is so predominant in them has
assuredly not had God for its author. We all in our dealings with one
another, lead each other away from God. We present to each other's view
what seems to be a complete world of our own, in which God is not. We
see a beginning, a middle, and an end; we see faculties for acquiring
knowledge, and for receiving enjoyment; and earth furnishes knowledge to
the one and enjoyment to the other. We see desires, and we see the
objects to which they are limited; we see that death removes men from
all these objects, and consistently with this, we observe, that death is
generally regarded as the greatest of all evils. Man's witness, then, as
far as it goes, is against the reality of God and of eternity. His life,
his language, his desires, his understanding appear, when we look over
the world, to refer to no being higher than himself, to no other state
of things than that of which sight testifies.

Now, Christ's Church, the living temple of the Holy Ghost, puts in the
place of this natural and corrupt man, whose witness is against God,
another sort of man, redeemed and regenerate, whose whole being breathes
a perpetual witness of God. Consider, again, what we should see in such
a Church. We should see a beginning, a middle, but the end is not yet
visible; we should see, besides the faculties for knowledge and
enjoyment which were receiving their gratification daily, other
faculties of both kinds, whose gratification was as yet withheld; we
should see desires not limited to any object now visible or attainable.
We should see death looked to as the gate by which these hitherto
unobtained objects were to be sought for; and we should hear it spoken
of, not as the greatest of evils, but as an event solemn, indeed, and
painful to nature, but full of blessing and of happiness. We should see
love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness,
temperance; a constitution of nature as manifestly proclaiming its
author to be the God of all holiness and loving-kindness, as the
wonderful structure of our eyes or hands declares them to be the work of
the God of all wisdom and power. We should thus see in all our
fellow-men, not only as much, but far more than in the constitution of
the lower animals, or of the plants, or of the heavenly bodies, a
witness of God and of eternity. Their whole lives would be a witness;
their whole conversation would be a witness; their outward and more
peculiar acts of worship would then bear their part in harmony with all
the rest. Every day would the voices of the Church be heard in its
services of prayer and thanksgiving; every day would its members renew
their pledges of faithfulness to Christ, and to one another, upon
partaking together the memorials of his sacrifice.

What could we desire more than such a living witness as this? What sign
in the sky, what momentary appearance of a spirit from the unseen world,
could so impress us with the reality of God, as this daily worshipping
in his living temple; this daily sight, of more than the Shechinah of
old, even of his most Holy Spirit, diffusing on every side light and
blessing? And what is now become of this witness? can names, and forms,
and ordinances, supply its place? can our unfrequent worship, our most
seldom communion, impress on us an image of men living altogether in the
presence of God, and in communion with Christ? But before we dwell on
this, we may, while considering the design of the true Church of Christ,
well understand how such excellent things should be spoken of it, and
how it should have been introduced into the Creed itself, following
immediately after the mention of the Holy Ghost. That holy universal
Church was to be the abiding witness of Christ's love and of Christ's
promises; not in its outward forms only, for they by themselves are not
a living witness; they cannot meet our want--to have God and heavenly
things made real to us; but in its whole spirit, by which renewed man
was to bear as visibly the image of God, as corrupted man had lost it.
This was the sure sign that Christ had appointed to abide until his
coming again; this sign, as striking as the burning bush, would compel
us to observe; would make us sure that the place whereon we stand is
holy ground.

Then follows the question: With this sign lost in its most essential
points, how can we supply its place? and how can we best avail ourselves
of those parts of it which still remain? and how can we each endeavour
to build up a partial and most imperfect imitation of it, which may
yet, in some sort, serve to supply our great want, and remind us daily
of God? This opens a wide field for thought, to those who are willing to
follow it; but much of it belongs to other occasions rather than this:
the practical part of it,--the means of most imperfectly supplying the
want of God's own appointed sign, a true and living universal Church,
shall be the subject of my next Lecture.




LECTURE XXIX.

* * * * *

PSALM cxxxvii. 4.

_How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land_?


This was said by the exiles of Jerusalem, when they were in the land of
their captivity in Babylon. There is no reason to suppose that their
condition was one of bondage, as it had been in Egypt: the nations
removed by conquest, under the Persian kings, from their own country to
another land, were no otherwise ill-treated; they had new homes given
them in which they lived unmolested; only they were torn away from their
own land, and were as sojourners in a land of strangers. But the
peculiar evil of this state was, that they were torn away from the
proper seat of their worship. The Jew in Babylon might have his own
home, and his own land to cultivate, as he had in Judaea; but nothing
could replace to him the loss of the temple at Jerusalem: there alone
could the morning and evening sacrifices be offered; there alone could
the sin-offering for the people be duly made. Banished from the temple,
therefore, he was deprived also of the most solemn part of his religion;
he was, as it were, exiled from God; and the worship of God, as it was
now left to him,--that is, the offering up of prayers and praises,--was
almost painful to him, as it reminded him so forcibly of his changed
condition.

Such also, in some respects, was to be the state of the Christian
Church after our Lord's ascension. The only acceptable sacrifice was now
that of their great High Priest interceding for them in the presence of
the Father: heaven was their temple, and they were far removed from it
upon earth: they, too, like the Jews in Babylon, were a little society
by themselves living in the midst of strangers. "Our citizenship," says
St. Paul to the Philippians, "is in heaven:" here they were not
citizens, but sojourners. Why, then, should not the early Christians
have joined altogether in the feeling of the Jews at Babylon? why should
not they, too, have felt and said, "How can we sing the Lord's song in a
strange land?"

The answer is contained in what I said last Sunday; because Christ had
not left them comfortless or forsaken, but was come again to them by his
Holy Spirit; because God was dwelling in the midst of them; because they
were not exiles from the temple of God, but were themselves become God's
temple; because through the virtue of the one offering for sin once
made, but for ever presented before God by their High Priest in heaven,
they, in God's temple on earth, were presenting also their daily and
acceptable sacrifice, the sacrifice of themselves; because also, though
as yet they were a small society in a land of strangers, yet the stone
formed without hands was to become a mighty mountain, and cover the
whole earth: what was now the land of strangers was to become theirs;
the whole earth should be full of the knowledge of the Lord; the
kingdoms of the world were to become his kingdom; and thus earth,
redeemed from the curse of sin, was again to be so blessed that God's
servants living upon it should find it no place of exile.

But if this, in its reality, does not now exist; if, although God's
temple be on earth, the appointed sacrifice in it is not offered, the
living sacrifice of ourselves; if the society has, by spreading, become
weak, and the kingdoms of the earth are Christ's kingdoms in name alone;
are we, then, come back once more to the condition of the Jews in
Babylon? are we exiles from God, living amongst strangers? and must we,
too, say, with the prophet, "How can we sing the Lord's song in a
strange land?"

This was the question which I proposed to answer: What can we do to make
our condition unlike that of exiles from God: to restore that true sign
of his presence amongst us, the living fire of his Holy Spirit pervading
every part of his temple? I mean, what can we do as individuals? for the
question in any other sense is not to be asked or answered here. But we,
each of us, must have felt, at some time or other, our distance from
God. Put the idea in what form or what words we will, we must--every one
of us who has ever thought seriously at all--we must regret that there
is not a stronger and more abiding influence over us, to keep us from
evil, and to turn us to good.

Now, the vestiges of Christ's church left among us are chiefly these:
our prayers together, whether in our families or in this place; our
reading of the Scriptures together; our communion, rare as it is, in the
memorials of the body and blood of Christ our Saviour. These are the
vestiges of that which was designed to be with us always, and in every
part of our lives, the holy temple of God, his living church; but which
now presents itself to us only at particular times, and places, and
actions; in our worship and in our joint reading of the Scriptures, and
in our communion.

It will be understood at once why I have not spoken here of prayer and
reading the Scriptures by ourselves alone. Most necessary as these are
to us, yet they do not belong to the helps ministered to us by the
church; they belong to us each as individuals, and in these respects we
must be in the same state everywhere: these were enjoyed by the Jews
even in their exile in Babylon. But the church acts upon us through one
another, and therefore the vestiges of the church can only be sought for
in what we do, not alone, but together. I, therefore, noticed only that
prayer, and that reading of the Scriptures, in which many of us took
part in common.

Such common prayer takes place amongst us every morning and evening, as
well as on Sundays within these walls. Whenever we meet on those
occasions, we meet as Christ's church. Now, conceive how the effect of
such meeting depends on the conduct of each of us. It is not necessary
to notice behaviour openly profane and disorderly: this does not occur
amongst us. We see, however, that if it did occur in any meeting for the
purposes of religious worship, such a meeting would do us harm rather
than good: its witness to us would not be in favour of God, but against
him. But take another case: when we are assembled for prayers, suppose
our behaviour, without being disorderly, was yet so manifestly
indifferent as to be really indecent; that is, suppose every countenance
showed such manifest signs of weariness, and impatience, and want of
interest in what was going forward, that it was evident there was no
general sympathy with any feeling of devotion. Would not the effect here
also be injurious? would not such a meeting also shock and check our
approaches towards God? would it not rather convince us that God was
really far distant from us, instead of showing that he was in the
midst of us?

Ascend one step higher. Our behaviour is neither disorderly, nor
manifestly indifferent: it is decent, serious, respectful. What is the
effect in this case? Not absolutely unfavourable certainly; but yet far
from being much help towards good. We bear our witness that we are
engaged in a matter that should be treated with reverence: this is very
right; but do we more than this? Do we show that we are engaged in a
matter that commands our interest also, as well as our respect? If not,
our witness is not the witness of Christ's church: it does not go to
declare that God is in us of a truth.

Let us go on one step more. We meet together to pray: we are orderly, we
are quiet, we are serious; but the countenance shows that we are
something more than these. There is on it the expression, never to be
mistaken, of real interest. Remember I am speaking of meetings for
prayer, where the words are perfectly familiar to us, and where the
interest therefore cannot be the mere interest of novelty. Say, then,
that our countenances express interest: I do not mean strong and excited
feeling; but interest, which may be very real yet very quiet also. We
look as if we thought of what we were engaged in, of what we are
ourselves, and of what God is to us. We are joined in one common feeling
of thankfulness to him for mercies past, of wishing for his help and
love for the time to come. Now, think what would be the effect of such a
meeting. Would it not be, clearly, positively good! Would not every
individual's earnestness be confirmed by the manifest earnestness of
others? Would not his own sense of God's reality be rendered stronger,
by seeing that others felt it just as he did? Then, here would be the
church of God rendering her appointed witness: she would be giving her
sure sign that God is not far from any one of us.

Now, then, observe what we may lose or gain by our different behaviour,
whenever we meet together in prayer; what we lose, nay, what positive
mischief we do, by any visible impatience or indifference; what we
should gain by really joining in our hearts in the meaning of what was
uttered. It is a solemn thing for the consciences of us all; but surely
it must be true, that, whenever we are careless or indifferent in our
public prayers, we are actually injuring our neighbours, and are, so far
as in us lies, destroying the witness which the church of Christ should
render to the truth of God her Saviour.

I do not know that there is anything more impressive than the sight of a
congregation evidently in earnest in the service in which they are
engaged. We then feel how different is our own lonely prayer from the
united voice of many hearts; each cheering, strengthening, enkindling
the other. We then consider one another to provoke unto love and good
works. How different are the feelings with which we regard a number of
persons met for any common purpose, and the same persons engaged
together in serious prayer or praise! Then Christ seems to appear to us
in each of them; we are all one in him. How little do all earthly
unkindnesses, dislikes, prejudices, become in our eyes, when the real
bond of our common faith is discerned clearly! There is indeed neither
Greek nor Jew, circumcision nor uncircumcision, Barbarian, Scythian,
bond nor free, but Christ is all, and in all. And to look at our
brethren, once or twice in every day, with these Christian eyes, would
it not also, by degrees, impress us at other times, and begin to form
something of our habitual temper and regard towards them?

Thus much of our meetings for prayer. One word only on those in which we
meet to read the Scriptures. Here I know, that difference of age, and
our peculiar relations to each other, make us very apt to lose the
religious character of our readings of the Scriptures, and to regard
them merely as lessons. No doubt, the object here is instruction; it is
not so much in itself a religious exercise, as a means to enable you to
perform religious exercises with understanding and sincerity. Still
there is a peculiar character attached even to lessons, when they are
taken out of the Scriptures: and the duty of attention and interest in
the work becomes even stronger than under other circumstances. But with
those of a more advanced age, I think there is more than this; I think
it must be our own fault, if, whilst engaged together in reading the
Scriptures, which we only read because we are Christians, we do not feel
that there also we are employed on a duty belonging to the Church
of Christ.

Lastly, there is our joint communion in the bread, and in the cup, of
the Lord's Supper. Here there is seriousness; here there is always, I
trust and believe, something of real interest; and, therefore, we never,
I think, meet together at the Lord's table, without feeling a true
effect of Christ's gifts to and in his Church; we are strengthened and
brought nearer to one another, and to him. But this most precious pledge
of Christ's Church we too often forfeit for ourselves. That we have lost
so much of the help which the Church was designed to give, is not our
fault individually; but it is our fault that we neglect this means of
strength, so great in bearing witness to Christ, and in kindling love
towards one another. What can be said of us, if, with so many helps
lost, we throw away that which still remains? if, of the great treasure
which the Church yet keeps, we are wilfully ignorant? How much good
might we do, both to ourselves and to each other, by joining in that
communion! How surely should we be strengthened in all that is good, and
have a help from each other, through his Spirit working in us all, to
struggle against our evil!