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THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
GIFT OF
Professor Ma lb one W, Graham
SERMONS
SERMONS
RICHARD CORDLEY, D.D.
FOR THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS PASTOR OF
PLYMOUTH CHURCH, LAWRENCE. KANSAS
Published by the Church, 1912
THE PILGRIM PRESS
BOSTON NEW TORK CmCAQO
Copyright, 191 2,
By Luther H. Gary
THE RUMFORD PRESS
CONCORD • N • H • USA-
V^5
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
Introduction: Richard Cordley, An Appreciation . . vii
I. " When Jesus Was Born in Bethlehem." Matt.
2:1 I
II. "Come Unto Me." Matt. 11 :28 13
Lawrence, 1899,
III. " Which of You by Taking Thought Can Add
One Cubit to his Stature ? " Matt. 6:27 27
Lawrence, 1 893.
IV. "It Doth Not Yet Appear What We Shall Be."
I John 3:2 41
Lawrence, 1867.
Emporia, 1 880.
V. "The Mutual F.aith of You and Me." Rom.
I : 12 56
Lawrence, 1902.
VI. "He Steadfastly Set His Face to Go to
Jerusalem." Luke 9 151 71
Lawrence, 1904.
VII. "Hold Fast the Profession of Your Faith."
Hebrews 10 : 23 83
VIII. "The Days of Our Ye.uis." Ps. 90 : to ... 97
Lawrence, New Year, 1903.
"I Will Remember all the Way." Deut. 8:2 106
Lawrence, Memorial Day, 1904.
Nuggets 119
9063S0
AN APPRECIATION
BY WM. L. BURDICK
OF THE UNIVERSITY OF KANSAS
TN THE summer of 1856, when the nation
■*■ could already see the coming flames of
civil war, and when the struggle of patriots
to make Kansas free was at its height, four
devoted young men, Sylvester Storrs, Groves-
nor Morse, Rosewell Parker, and Richard
Cordley, students at Andover Theological
Seminary, consecrated themselves to their
country's cause. They were dubbed "The
Kansas Band," and the crusaders of old fol-
lowed the banner of the cross with no greater
loyalty, fervency, and zeal, and in no deeper
spirit of self-sacrifice, than did these young
men, when putting behind them the promise
of more lucrative pastorates in the East,
they gladly pledged themselves to the work of
the churches in Kansas. They asked for no
desirable or congenial locations, for no fixed
compensation, but only for an opportunity to
serve. Upon graduation they entered with
enthusiasm upon their work, and their influence
in the upbuilding of the new state can never
AN APPRECIATION
be estimated. It is to the glory of Congrega-
tionalism that her churches were the first to
enter the disputed territory, and that the edu-
cational institutions of the state were, in their
early history, fostered by "The Kansas Band
of Andover."
Of the four original members of this band,
Sylvester Storrs became the Home Missionary
Supt. in Kansas, and gave heroic service dur-
ing the hard pioneer years. Grovesnor Morse
located at Emporia, and literally gave his life
to the labor of establishing the State Normal
School there. Rosewell Parker went to Man-
hattan, and materially aided in building up
the State Agricultural College in that com-
munity. Richard Cordley, the subject of this
sketch, began his work at Lawrence, taking
charge of Plymouth Church, the first church
building erected in the state, and for forty-four
years (thirty-eight of which were spent in
Lawrence, and an interval of six years at
Emporia) he served the people of Kansas with
such love and devotion that his memory will
ever remain to them a benediction.
The incidents of his early life were typical
of the sons of sturdy western pioneers. He was
of English birth, being born in Nottingham,
Sept. 6, 1829, but his parents emigrated to
America when he was only four years old.
AN APPRECIATION Ix
The family located about fifteen miles south-
west from Ann Arbor, Michigan, and there in
the wilderness, three miles from his nearest
neighbor, the father of Richard Cordley built
his log-cabin. There were no roads, and they
found their way only by means of blazed trees.
The early years were marked with hard strug-
gles, and the wolf was often at the door. He
was nine years old before he saw the inside of
a school-house, yet like so many boys who have
risen from youthful hardship to influential
manhood, he was blessed with a mother of
rare intelligence and devotion. She carefully
taught her children, and her gentle Christian
character was an inspiration to them.
When nine years old he attended his first
school which was kept in a log-house built
by the efforts of his father. A few years later
he was enabled to attend school in Ann Arbor
every winter, and, finally, after the overcom-
ing of many difficulties, he entered the Uni-
versity of Michigan. He mostly made his
own way through college, working every spare
hour and also during vacations. He graduated,
with honors, in 1854, and three years later he
graduated from the theological school at
Andover. At the seminary, the vacation
periods were, even as at college, only opportuni-
ties for work, and during the vacations at
AN APPRECIATION
Andover, he was, at different times in the serv-
ice of the American Sunday School Union in
Pennsylvania; in charge of the mission station
of the church at South Danvers, now Peabody;
and in the employ of the City Missionary
Society of Hartford. When he graduated from
Andover, in 1857, he had "never," to use his
own words, "had a real vacation" in his life.
He went to Lawrence that same year. He
had received a call to the church at Ann Arbor,
the location of his alma mater, but true to his
purpose to give his all to the cause of Kansas,
he declined a salary two or three times as much
as the little home-missionary church at Law-
rence paid, and gladly threw in his lot with
his chosen people. After a year in Lawrence,
he returned to his Michigan home for the pur-
pose of bringing back with him his bride.
Mrs. Cordley's patient, faithful, loyal sym-
pathy and intelligent cooperation were ever a
tower of strength to her husband, and for her
unselfish devotion during the years of the early
troublous times, and for her services of love
to all people, the city of Lawrence and Ply-
mouth Church owe lasting gratitude.
From the beginning of his pastorate, Richard
Cordley attracted all classes by the originality
and sympathetic quality of his sermons. He
was peculiarly fitted for his work. Himself
AN APPRECIATION xi
the son of a pioneer, he understood his people
and his training and experience enabled him
to enter into the life of all, the mechanic, the
farmer, the student, the university professor.
Throughout his long ministry he never, as a
rule, preached doctrinal sermons, but he
preached the great, loving fatherhood of God,
and the Christian democracy of all His chil-
dren. He was a man of great spirituality,
and because he was spiritual he saw the depths
of familiar texts, and the child and the sage
were alike profited by his sermons. He was
called by many the "Nugget Preacher," by
reason of the thoughts of pure gold with which
his discourses abounded.
During the years of the war, Lawrence was
practically an armed camp. It was at this
period that his sermons rang with vigorous
patriotism, and that he was known as the
"Abolition Preacher." He held services in
camp, visited the sick in the hospitals, and even
took his turn standing guard at the block-house.
It was eminently fitting that after the close of
the war the local Grand Army Post made him
its permanent chaplain, and that his grave is
now annually decorated on Memorial Day as
that of a comrade.
On the terrible day of Friday, Aug. 21, 1863,
known as the day of Quantrill's raid, he was
xii AN APPRECIATION
one of those whose life was particularly sought,
owing to his pronounced stand for the cause of
the Union and for the freedom of the slave.
No pen can adequately portray the horrors of
that morning. Like a tornado, a band of
cowardly assassins, mostly Missouri guerillas,
led by a fiend in human-shape, the despicable
Quantrill, burst upon the doomed town, and
without warning began their awful work of
pillage, arson, robbery, and murder. They
shot down in cold blood the unarmed citizens,
set fire to the homes and places of business,
and plundered the shops and dwelling-houses.
They robbed the dead, and tore wedding-rings
from women's hands. The mangled forms of
their dead and dying victims they hurled into
the blazing flames of the dwellings. Never
was there a more horrid butchery of human
beings in the history of civilization, character-
ized as it was with all the shocking and revolt-
ing brutality of blood-thirsty savages. They
stayed not the bullet and the torch in their
cowardly and barbarous slaughter till they
had out-shamed an Indian massacre. It was
the culmination of the border-ruffianism of the
war, and the defenseless and innocent citizens
of Lawrence were sacrificed to the cause of
liberty merely because they were the represen-
tatives of the advocates of human freedom.
AN APPRECIATION
Richard Cordley escaped death by fleeing
across the river, but his little white cottage
was burned to the ground. One of the great
regrets of Quantrill and his fellow-murderers
on that day was their failure to kill the "aboli-
tion preacher."
The services of Richard Cordley to education
were state-wide. He was one of the founders
of Washburn College, at Topeka, and was one
of its trustees as long as he lived. He gave
liberally of his time and of his money to its
cause. In 1871, he was elected its president,
but he yielded to the entreaties of Plymouth
Church and remained in Lawrence. To the
State University he was always a devoted
friend. The first degree bestowed by the uni-
versity was that of Doctor of Divinity upon
Richard Cordley.
His work as a historian was also of high
character. His books upon "Pioneer Days in
Kansas," and "A History of Lawrence, Kan-
sas," are valuable contributions to the history
of the middle-west. The modesty which al-
ways marked his gentle spirit is noticeable in
his writings. He wrote with self-effacement,
seldom speaking of himself.
The greatest thing in Richard Cordley was
himself. The beauty of his character was re-
flected everywhere. The test of preaching is
xiv AN APPRECIATION
not scholarship, not eloquence, but helpfulness.
Richard Cordley helped all who ever heard
him speak because he spoke from the heart.
He was simplicity itself, but was always intel-
ligently progressive and in touch with modern
scholarship. In young manhood he freed him-
self from the shackles of ancient creeds, and
under the influence of his preaching, Plymouth
Church adopted a broad, tolerant covenant as
the test of admission to its membership rather
than a subscription to a dogmatic creed. He
believed in men and loved them, always see-
ing some good in everyone. His influence has
left its mark upon the spiritual and intellec-
tual life not only of his city and of his state,
but also, in view of his work in the pioneer
days, he is justly entitled to national fame in
Congregationalism.
He died July ii, 1904, aged seventy-five
years, the last survivor of the "Andover
Band."
SERMONS
I
"when JESUS WAS BORN IN BETHLEHEM*'
Matt. 2: I
V\ T^HEN Jesus was born in Bethlehem, it
' ' seemed a very ordinary event. Very
few people knew about it, and very few people
cared about it. The town of his birth was an
obscure village apart from all the centers of
interest. It had been the birthplace of kings,
but it was not a kingly place. The family
from which he sprung was also obscure and
unknown. It was of royal lineage, but the
lineage involved no heirship. So little did
his coming impress men that even the time
of his birth was not noted. We do not know
the day of the month, nor the month of the
year, nor even the year in the century. We
may even go farther than this and say, we do
not know the century. The village of Beth-
lehem itself did not know of his birth. For
when Herod sought him that he might destroy
him, he could not find him. The neighbors
in that little village could not tell of the king
SERMONS
who had been born among them. The world
lay ignorant of its Redeemer, and unconscious
of its redemption. The great world went on as
before while he who was to transform it was
an obscure child, in an obscure home, in an
obscure town.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," there
were but few who knew of it. The rulers knew
nothing of it. Herod and his officers knew noth-
ing of it. The priests and elders knew nothing
of it. Weeks after they could only tell of
the prophecy concerning it. But some sim-
ple shepherds, watching the stars, and watch-
ing their flocks by night, heard the story
and heard the song. To them the heavens
were full of messengers, and the air was full of
music. A multitude of the heavenly host ap-
peared, confirming the word of the angel, and
joining in the song of the night; "Glory to God
in the Highest — Peace on Earth — Good will
to men." It is significant that when Jesus was
born in Bethlehem, the news was first told to
laboring men. It was not to the owners of the
sheep, nor to the proprietors of the soil. But
the message came to poor shepherds whose toil
took them from their homes, men whose life
and whose living was to watch their flocks by
night. In their simple life, close to Nature's
heart, they heard the voice of Nature's King.
SERMONS
They had no opinions to set aside, no inter-
ests to subserve, no pride to overcome. They
listened simply to the story, and received and
reported it just as it came to them.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," there
were others waiting for the news in the Holy
City itself. It was not the High Priest. He
was expecting, as the Prophets had foretold.
But he was looking towards ambitions and pre-
ferments and power. It was not the Jewish
council. They, too, were counting the days of
prophetic promise, but looking in the line of
national glory and personal promotion. But
there were devout souls who had purer instincts
and clearer insight. There was Simeon who
had read the prophets in the light of his own
spiritual life and had been assured that he
should see the Lord's Christ. He had come
to realize that the fulness of time had come.
When he saw the child, he took him in his arms
and blessed God, and said, "Now let thy serv-
ant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen
thy salvation." There was Anna also, the
prophetess, a good soul, who dwelt with God,
and who had come to feel the impulse of God
upon her. These devout souls knew the signs
of the times, as one sometimes feels the signs
of morning before the morning light appears.
She felt the currents of Providence, and knew
SERMONS
the movements of God, as if a voice had spoken
to her.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," there
were still others looking for the coming of the
King. Far away, over the eastern mountains,
were men who had caught the world's expecta-
tion. They had heard of the prophecies, and
they were studying the signs. As the shep-
herds watched their flocks, they watched the
stars. As was customary among the sages of
those eastern lands, they spent their nights
under the open heavens, and watched them as
they rose and set. Never since perhaps, have
the stars been so carefully observed, as by the
astronomers of those early ages. We know
more of the philosophy of the stars, but they
knew more of the stars. Every variation was
marked. Every new phase was watched and
its meaning sought. These men of patient
contemplation had heard of the Star of Jacob —
the Star of Israel. At this time some new star,
or new phase appeared in the sky. In the
limited range of their knowledge, there was no
analogy and no comparison. It seemed to
them a new light with no antecedent. Pos-
sibly our modern methods might have traced it
out, but they had nothing but what they could
see. When they sought to interpret it, they
thought of the world's expectation — the com-
SERMONS
ing of the King. So they began their long
journey towards the setting sun. After months
of weary travel, they came in sight of the great
Western Sea, and turned their steps towards
Jerusalem, the City of the Great King. There
they were more minutely instructed, and were
led to where the young child was. While the
nation to which he came was unconscious of
his presence; while the keen search of the
Roman police failed to discover him; while
his very neighbors were unaware of his prox-
imity, these sages from far away had made
their long journey to the little town of Beth-
lehem, and the very house where he lay. And
when they came into the house, "they saw
the young child with Mary his mother and
fell down and worshipped him. And when they
had opened their treasures, they presented
unto him gifts, gold, frankincense and myrrh."
Thus "when Jesus was born in Bethlehem,"
men of widely different localities, and widely
different conditions, knew of his coming, and
recognized his presence. First the shepherds
in their nightly watch over their sheep found
him in the manger, as the angel had said.
Then a little later, a few devout souls in Jeru-
salem knew him as he was brought into the
temple. And a few months later still, the
sages from the far east found him and knew
SERMONS
him as they were guided by the Star. All
these men were about their common occupa-
tions when the news, or the impression, came
to them. The shepherds were keeping watch
over their flocks by night. Simeon and Anna
were attending to the service of the temple as
was their wont. The sages were studying the
stars after the manner of their class. Others
were looking for him, but each for a human pur-
pose. The chief priests were watching for
him as a medium of power and promotion;
Herod was soon seeking for him that he might
destroy him. But these men were about their
regular occupations. They were doing the
work which belonged to their lot. As they
faithfully wrought in the line of their calling,
this larger thing was revealed to them. Many
wise men in Judea studied hard that they might
know what manner of person the Messiah
should be and yet they did not know him when
they saw him. Men of influence and power
in the Jewish state, and in the Jewish Church,
watched diligently for his appearance, but they
saw not the star and knew not the King. But
shepherds about their nightly work; devout
souls about their daily service; sages engaged
in their usual study, became aware of the com-
ing of a new Era — the coming of a new light.
Away from the selfish world; away from the
SERMONS
maddening crowd, they became conscious of
a new force, and a new condition among men.
Somehow the heavens brightened; somehow
the earth glowed ; somehow hope began to dawn.
These children of nature saw and felt the in-
coming of a new day, and recognized the day-
star and the dawn. The vision came to toilers
by night, to devotion by day, to students afar.
The new order was made known to the labor,
to the devotion, to the intelligence of men.
The shepherds might represent the work, Sim-
eon the worship, and the sages the intelli-
gence of mankind.
The message of Jesus has always been com-
ing to men apart from their condition. The
poor heard him gladly from the very start.
Publicans and sinners flocked to him, while
Pharisees mocked and scribes derided. In all
the years since, the toiling millions have rested
their cause with him. Every struggle for jus-
tice wins by an appeal to him. Every strug-
gle for better conditions finds its justification
in him. All life is glorified, and all toil is
honored by the word of him whose life was with
the lowly, and whose lot was with the poor.
It was a wonderful illustration of the impar-
tiality of God that he should leave the city to
slumber, while he sent his message to shepherds
who kept watch over their flocks by night.
SERMONS
He dignified toil and toilers for all time by that
wonderful display. Toil may exult, and pov-
erty lift its head, for the King of Glory was
born a peasant, and to peasants the first an-
nouncement was made. The Providence of
God has always taught the same lesson. The
children of toil have often been the instru-
ments of his Providence, and the poor have
often stood in the line of light. The call of
God has come to men of low estate, and the
honors of God have rested on men of humble
condition.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," pov-
erty ceased to degrade and toil ceased to dis-
qualify. The highest honors of Heaven came
to the lowliest tribes of earth. Jesus was poor.
There could be none poorer than he. His
father was a carpenter, his mother a peasant
girl of Galilee. He had not where to lay his
head. Often they had no bread as they wan-
dered over the hills of Judea. But this de-
tracted not one whit from the dignity of his
person, or the manliness of his presence. He
taught with the same authority; he bore him-
self with the same assurance; he awed men with
the same signs of power. And yet with all
this were the tokens and the signs of tender-
ness and sympathy.
Jesus was poor, yet made many rich. He
SERMONS
had nothing, and yet was heir of all things.
He received nothing, yet gave gifts to men.
The heritage he won for himself, he won for all
men.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," devo-
tion received a new sanction. Then, as ever
since, devout hearts knew him. They who seek
God are always drawn to Jesus. They who
trust God believe in Him. Simeon only saw
him and he knew him. Devout hearts needed
only to see him. Put Jesus before them and
they recognize the features. He is what they
are looking for. He presents to them what
they are struggling to attain. You have often
had the hazy image of an idea in your mind,
but could not give it form. Some one else has
expressed the thought, and your own mind
was clarified. The hazy shadow takes form
in our thought when another gives utterance.
In their light we see light.
When we see Jesus it seems as if we had
always known him. We had been struggling
for such a conception, but never seized it.
But looking at him our shadowy images take
form, and our fragmentary thoughts find a
content. He is the substance of our best
hopes, the reality of our best ideals. To all
sincere seekers, Jesus is his own witness. He
bears his own credentials in voice and step. If
10 SERMONS
the historic testimony should be lost, and
Jesus should stand, without date or location
or historic environment, he would still approve
himself to men for all he claims to be. Devout
souls would still receive him. As he came into
the temple of their lives, though they knew
not whence, nor by whom, they could bless
God for the sight. Not every one can trace
the line of historic connection. But all can
understand him as he stands before them.
No matter when — no matter whence — no mat-
ter how — he is his own best evidence, and his
own best exposition. Simeon knew not who
he was, nor whence he came, and yet he knew
him as he entered the temple. The whence,
and the when and the where may be mysteries,
but the personality may be plain.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," the
sages were aware of his coming. Jesus ap-
pealed to the learning of the world, as well as
to its devotion. He has ever satisfied the intel-
ligence of men. Other faiths have faded in
the dawn of intelligence. The religion of
Jesus is intelligible to the simple, and yet sat-
isfies the intelligent. The larger the light,
the brighter it shines. No intensity of light
has shown defects in Jesus. He seems the
more perfect the more clearly we see him.
Advancing civilization does not pass beyond
SERMONS II
him. Enlarging knowledge does not outgrow
him. Progressive study does not leave him
behind. He is always abreast of the best
thought. The highest ideal of personal duty
will find itself foreshadowed by him. The
highest conception of social order will still
look to him for its model.
Thus the coming of Jesus appealed to these
three classes: the shepherds and the prophets
and the sages. It appealed to the poor, the
pious and the intelligent; to them that toiled,
to them that prayed, to them that thought.
It has come down the centuries with the same
appeal. These may represent the three classes
of men. In all the centuries Christ has ful-
filled the intimation of his childhood.
He appeals to us in the same way. He ap-
peals first to our intelligence. He himself is
beyond question. Cut him adrift from all
historic connection, and he justifies himself
to the intelligence of men. Your study of the
stars, and your study of the earth, and your
study of men, lead you to him. Every human
condition needs him; every human problem
calls for him. Your thinking will be without
a center if you think without him. Human
society will be "a muddle" if God be not
in the center. And your devout instincts
need him. For you have devout instincts even
12 SERMONS
if you are not devout. There is a prophet in
your soul whether you let him speak or not.
There is a prophet in every man's soul. The
prophet within you will know Jesus when he
comes into the temple of your thought. When
your intelligence finds him, the prophet within
you will know him.
When your intelligence finds him, and your
soul shall receive him, then your hands shall
serve him. Intelligence and devotion and labor
serve him. Intelligence and devotion and
labor shall join in serving him who came from
God. The three classes which recognized
Jesus when he was born in Bethlehem, — the
sages with their wisdom, the Simeons with
their devotion, and the shepherds with their
labor — shall find a parallel in your life. Intel-
ligence shall find the Lord, devotion shall ac-
cept him and labor shall serve him. The
day when Jesus was born in Bethlehem shall
be eclipsed by the day when Jesus is born in
your life. For the scene in Bethlehem is
nothing to you till you have made it your own.
The world's Christmas was when Jesus was
born in Bethlehem, but your Christmas will
be when Jesus shall come into your life. Then
you with the sages shall find him; with the
prophets you shall receive him, and with the
shepherds you shall serve him.
II
"come unto me"
Matt. 2:28
OOME one has said that these three words
^^ more nearly express the attitude of Jesus
to mankind than any words that could be
chosen. It is the attitude of invitation — which
is the permanent attitude of Jesus. He knew
he had something to give men, and wanted
them to come and get it. He knew he could do
something for men, and he wanted them to
come and receive it. He could not look upon
a multitude but he was moved with compas-
sion. He could never see people about him
but he felt impelled to teach them. He could
never see people in want or in trouble but he
was impelled to help them. Thus he bore
himself through all his earthly life.
But Jesus came from God. He was the
Word, which was with God in the beginning.
He expressed God to men. He was in time
what he was in Eternity. God's eternal
thought was vocalized in the life of Jesus
Christ. God makes himself known in a great
many ways. He makes known his power and
wisdom in his works. He makes known his
13
14 SERMONS
law in the human conscience. He makes
known his sovereignty and providence in
history and Hfe. But Jesus Christ is the final
and full expression. "Here the whole Deity
is known. We see God in the face of Jesus
Christ."
And Jesus spoke for all the ages. It is quite
remarkable that so few of the teachings of Jesus
are local and temporary. The truths he taught
are of universal application. What Jesus said
of God is forever and everywhere true. God
is now and forever what he seems in Jesus
Christ. The attitude of Jesus is the attitude
of the eternal throne. Whenever a man comes
to God he can expect to be met in the spirit of
Jesus Christ.
"The homage that we render thee
Is still our Father's own;
No jealous claim or rivalry
Divides the Cross and Throne."
God's attitude is forever the inviting atti-
tude; and God's voice is forever saying, "Come
unto me."
And God calls us because he wants us; he
wants our lives; he wants our love; he wants
our service.
First of all: Christ wants us ourselves. There
are some things to which a man gives a spec-
ified service, and there are other things to
SERMONS 15
which he gives himself. A man gives his em-
ployer a specified number of hours. He gives
his teacher a fair knowledge of certain les-
sons. He owes his friends certain social obli-
gations. In many directions he has limited
responsibilities. But to his home he gives
himself. He does not give sections of himself
to the things he loves. If his child be sick he
will sit by its bedside day and night, and his
last dollar and the last dollar he can get is at
its service. It is not, "I will give two hours
a day, or so much a week," but, "all I have,
and all I can do." All he is and all he has are
on demand that his child may be restored.
There is no measure and no limit, except the
measure and limit of ability. This is what it
means to give one's self. This is the measure
of all the highest obligations. And this is the
spirit of all the best service, of all service that
is trust-worthy and reliable. In some such
sense Christ wants you. It is not a section
of your personality, or of your time, or of your
means, but he wants you yourself, with all
which that implies.
And as Paul says, "This is your reasonable
service." It is reasonable you should give
yourself to your home, for your life is wrapped
up in your home. It is reasonable you should
give yourself to your country, for your country
i6 SERMONS
has in its keeping all that you have and are.
And it is reasonable you should give yourself
to God, for God is the giver of all you have and
the foundation of all you hope for. This con-
secration does not determine what you shall
do, but it determines the spirit of whatever
you may do. You may serve your home in
any one of a thousand different employments,
but you are at its call for anything it may need.
You may serve your country by being a good
citizen, and attending steadily to the work you
are engaged in, but you are at her call for spe-
cial service whenever she may need you. You
may be called upon to serve on the jury, to
serve as special police in case of disturbance,
or to go abroad as a soldier in case she is
threatened by foreign foes. You may serve
God in your home and in your daily calling,
but you are at the call of God to serve him in
whatever line his providence may lead you.
His claims are higher than the claims of coun-
try, for he made your country all it is. His
claims are higher than the claims of home.
God's gifts and God's care have made home
possible to you. He wants you with all you
have and all you are. He wants you with your
country, that you may serve your country in
his name. He wants you with your home, that
your home may itself belong to God and be a
SERMONS
I
"when JESUS WAS BORN IN BETHLEHEM"
Matt. 2: I
A^T'HEN Jesus was born In Bethlehem, it
' ' seemed a very ordinary event. Very
few people knew about it, and very few people
cared about it. The town of his birth was an
obscure village apart from all the centers of
interest. It had been the birthplace of kings,
but it was not a kingly place. The family
from which he sprung was also obscure and
unknown. It was of royal lineage, but the
lineage involved no heirship. So little did
his coming impress men that even the time
of his birth was not noted. We do not know
the day of the month, nor the month of the
year, nor even the year in the century. We
may even go farther than this and say, we do
not know the century. The village of Beth-
lehem itself did not know of his birth. For
when Herod sought him that he might destroy
him, he could not find him. The neighbors
in that little village could not tell of the king
SERMONS
who had been born among them. The world
lay ignorant of its Redeemer, and unconscious
of its redemption. The great world went on as
before while he who was to transform it was
an obscure child, in an obscure home, in an
obscure town.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," there
were but few who knew of it. The rulers knew
nothing of it. Herod and his officers knew noth-
ing of it. The priests and elders knew nothing
of it. Weeks after they could only tell of
the prophecy concerning it. But some sim-
ple shepherds, watching the stars, and watch-
ing their flocks by night, heard the story
and heard the song. To them the heavens
were full of messengers, and the air was full of
music. A multitude of the heavenly host ap-
peared, confirming the word of the angel, and
joining in the song of the night; "Glory to God
in the Highest — Peace on Earth — Good will
to men." It is significant that when Jesus was
born in Bethlehem, the news was first told to
laboring men. It was not to the owners of the
sheep, nor to the proprietors of the soil. But
the message came to poor shepherds whose toil
took them from their homes, men whose life
and whose living was to watch their flocks by
night. In their simple life, close to Nature's
heart, they heard the voice of Nature's King.
SERMONS
They had no opinions to set aside, no inter-
ests to subserve, no pride to overcome. They
listened simply to the story, and received and
reported it just as it came to them.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," there
were others waiting for the news in the Holy
City itself. It was not the High Priest. He
was expecting, as the Prophets had foretold.
But he was looking towards ambitions and pre-
ferments and power. It was not the Jewish
council. They, too, were counting the days of
prophetic promise, but looking in the line of
national glory and personal promotion. But
there were devout souls who had purer instincts
and clearer insight. There was Simeon who
had read the prophets in the light of his own
spiritual life and had been assured that he
should see the Lord's Christ. He had come
to realize that the fulness of time had come.
When he saw the child, he took him in his arms
and blessed God, and said, "Now let thy serv-
ant depart In peace, for mine eyes have seen
thy salvation." There was Anna also, the
prophetess, a good soul, who dwelt with God,
and who had come to feel the impulse of God
upon her. These devout souls knew the signs
of the times, as one sometimes feels the signs
of morning before the morning light appears.
She felt the currents of Providence, and knew
SERMONS
the movements of God, as if a voice had spoken
to her.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," there
were still others looking for the coming of the
King. Far away, over the eastern mountains,
were men who had caught the world's expecta-
tion. They had heard of the prophecies, and
they were studying the signs. As the shep-
herds watched their flocks, they watched the
stars. As was customary among the sages of
those eastern lands, they spent their nights
under the open heavens, and watched them as
they rose and set. Never since perhaps, have
the stars been so carefully observed, as by the
astronomers of those early ages. We know
more of the philosophy of the stars, but they
knew more of the stars. Every variation was
marked. Every new phase was watched and
its meaning sought. These men of patient
contemplation had heard of the Star of Jacob —
the Star of Israel. At this time some new star,
or new phase appeared in the sky. In the
limited range of their knowledge, there was no
analogy and no comparison. It seemed to
them a new light with no antecedent. Pos-
sibly our modern methods might have traced it
out, but they had nothing but what they could
see. When they sought to interpret it, they
thought of the world's expectation — the com-
SERMONS
ing of the King. So they began their long
journey towards the setting sun. After months
of weary travel, they came in sight of the great
Western Sea, and turned their steps towards
Jerusalem, the City of the Great King. There
they were more minutely instructed, and were
led to where the young child was. While the
nation to which he came was unconscious of
his presence; while the keen search of the
Roman police failed to discover him; while
his very neighbors were unaware of his prox-
imity, these sages from far away had made
their long journey to the little town of Beth-
lehem, and the very house where he lay. And
when they came into the house, "they saw
the young child with Mary his mother and
fell down and worshipped him. And when they
had opened their treasures, they presented
unto him gifts, gold, frankincense and myrrh."
Thus "when Jesus was born in Bethlehem,"
men of widely different localities, and widely
different conditions, knew of his coming, and
recognized his presence. First the shepherds
in their nightly watch over their sheep found
him in the manger, as the angel had said.
Then a little later, a few devout souls in Jeru-
salem knew him as he was brought into the
temple. And a few months later still, the
sages from the far east found him and knew
SERMONS
him as they were guided by the Star. All
these men were about their common occupa-
tions when the news, or the impression, came
to them. The shepherds were keeping watch
over their flocks by night. Simeon and Anna
were attending to the service of the temple as
was their wont. The sages were studying the
stars after the manner of their class. Others
were looking for him, but each for a human pur-
pose. The chief priests were watching for
him as a medium of power and promotion;
Herod was soon seeking for him that he might
destroy him. But these men were about their
regular occupations. They were doing the
work which belonged to their lot. As they
faithfully wrought in the line of their calling,
this larger thing was revealed to them. Many
wise men in Judea studied hard that they might
know what manner of person the Messiah
should be and yet they did not know him when
they saw him. Men of influence and power
in the Jewish state, and in the Jewish Church,
watched diligently for his appearance, but they
saw not the star and knew not the King. But
shepherds about their nightly work; devout
souls about their daily service; sages engaged
in their usual study, became aware of the com-
ing of a new Era — the coming of a new light.
Away from the selfish world; away from the
SERMONS
maddening crowd, they became conscious of
a new force, and a new condition among men.
Somehow the heavens brightened; somehow
the earth glowed ; somehow hope began to dawn.
These children of nature saw and felt the in-
coming of a new day, and recognized the day-
star and the dawn. The vision came to toilers
by night, to devotion by day, to students afar.
The new order was made known to the labor,
to the devotion, to the intelligence of men.
The shepherds might represent the work, Sim-
eon the worship, and the sages the intelli-
gence of mankind.
The message of Jesus has always been com-
ing to men apart from their condition. The
poor heard him gladly from the very start.
Publicans and sinners flocked to him, while
Pharisees mocked and scribes derided. In all
the years since, the toiling millions have rested
their cause with him. Every struggle for jus-
tice wins by an appeal to him. Every strug-
gle for better conditions finds its justification
in him. All life is glorified, and all toil is
honored by the word of him whose life was with
the lowly, and whose lot was with the poor.
It was a wonderful illustration of the impar-
tiality of God that he should leave the city to
slumber, while he sent his message to shepherds
who kept watch over their flocks by night.
8 SERMONS
He dignified toil and toilers for all time by that
wonderful display. Toil may exult, and pov-
erty lift its head, for the King of Glory was
born a peasant, and to peasants the first an-
nouncement was made. The Providence of
God has always taught the same lesson. The
children of toil have often been the instru-
ments of his Providence, and the poor have
often stood in the line of light. The call of
God has come to men of low estate, and the
honors of God have rested on men of humble
condition.
''When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," pov-
erty ceased to degrade and toil ceased to dis-
qualify. The highest honors of Heaven came
to the lowliest tribes of earth. Jesus was poor.
There could be none poorer than he. His
father was a carpenter, his mother a peasant
girl of Galilee. He had not where to lay his
head. Often they had no bread as they wan-
dered over the hills of Judea. But this de-
tracted not one whit from the dignity of his
person, or the manliness of his presence. He
taught with the same authority; he bore him-
self with the same assurance ; he awed men with
the same signs of power. And yet with all
this were the tokens and the signs oC tender-
ness and sympathy.
Jesus was poor, yet made many rich. He
SERMONS
had nothing, and yet was heir of all things.
He received nothing, yet gave gifts to men.
The heritage he won for himself, he won for all
men.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," devo-
tion received a new sanction. Then, as ever
since, devout hearts knew him. They who seek
God are always drawn to Jesus. They who
trust God believe in Him. Simeon only saw
him and he knew him. Devout hearts needed
only to see him. Put Jesus before them and
they recognize the features. He is what they
are looking for. He presents to them what
they are struggling to attain. You have often
had the hazy image of an idea in your mind,
but could not give it form. Some one else has
expressed the thought, and your own mind
was clarified. The hazy shadow takes form
in our thought when another gives utterance.
In their light we see light.
When we see Jesus it seems as if we had
always known him. We had been struggling
for such a conception, but never seized it.
But looking at him our shadowy images take
form, and our fragmentary thoughts find a
content. He is the substance of our best
hopes, the reality of our best ideals. To all
sincere seekers, Jesus is his own witness. He
bears his own credentials in voice and step. If
10 SERMONS
the historic testimony should be lost, and
Jesus should stand, without date or location
or historic environment, he would still approve
himself to men for all he claims to be. Devout
souls would still receive him. As he came into
the temple of their lives, though they knew
not whence, nor by whom, they could bless
God for the sight. Not every one can trace
the line of historic connection. But all can
understand him as he stands before them.
No matter when — no matter whence — no mat-
ter how — he is his own best evidence, and his
own best exposition. Simeon knew not who
he was, nor whence he came, and yet he knew
him as he entered the temple. The whence,
and the when and the where may be mysteries,
but the personality may be plain.
"When Jesus was born in Bethlehem," the
sages were aware of his coming. Jesus ap-
pealed to the learning of the world, as well as
to its devotion. He has ever satisfied the intel-
ligence of men. Other faiths have faded in
the dawn of intelligence. The religion of
Jesus is intelligible to the simple, and yet sat-
isfies the intelligent. The larger the light,
the brighter it shines. No intensity of light
has shown defects in Jesus. He seems the
more perfect the more clearly we see him.
Advancing civilization does not pass beyond
SERMONS II
him. Enlarging knowledge does not outgrow
him. Progressive study does not leave him
behind. He is always abreast of the best
thought. The highest ideal of personal duty
will find itself foreshadowed by him. The
highest conception of social order will still
look to him for its model.
Thus the coming of Jesus appealed to these
three classes: the shepherds and the prophets
and the sages. It appealed to the poor, the
pious and the intelligent; to them that toiled,
to them that prayed, to them that thought.
It has come down the centuries with the same
appeal. These may represent the three classes
of men. In all the centuries Christ has ful-
filled the intimation of his childhood.
He appeals to us in the same way. He ap-
peals first to our intelligence. He himself is
beyond question. Cut him adrift from all
historic connection, and he justifies himself
to the intelligence of men. Your study of the
stars, and your study of the earth, and your
study of men, lead you to him. Every human
condition needs him; every human problem
calls for him. Your thinking will be without
a center if you think without him. Human
society will be "a. muddle" if God be not
in the center. And your devout instincts
need him. For you have devout instincts even
12 SERMONS
if you are not devout. There Is a prophet in
your soul whether you let him speak or not.
There is a prophet in every man's soul. The
prophet within you will know Jesus when he
comes into the temple of your thought. When
your intelligence finds him, the prophet within
you will know him.
When your intelligence finds him, and your
soul shall receive him, then your hands shall
serve him. Intelligence and devotion and labor
serve him. Intelligence and devotion and
labor shall join in serving him who came from
God. The three classes which recognized
Jesus when he was born in Bethlehem, — the
sages with their wisdom, the Simeons with
their devotion, and the shepherds with their
labor — shall find a parallel in your life. Intel-
ligence shall find the Lord, devotion shall ac-
cept him and labor shall serve him. The
day when Jesus was born in Bethlehem shall
be eclipsed by the day when Jesus is born in
your life. For the scene in Bethlehem is
nothing to you till you have made it your own.
The world's Christmas was when Jesus was
born in Bethlehem, but your Christmas will
be when Jesus shall come into your life. Then
you with the sages shall find him; with the
prophets you shall receive him, and with the
shepherds you shall serve him.
II
"come unto me"
Matt. 2: 28
OOME one has said that these three words
^^ more nearly express the attitude of Jesus
to mankind than any words that could be
chosen. It is the attitude of invitation — which
is the permanent attitude of Jesus. He knew
he had something to give men, and wanted
them to come and get it. He knew he could do
something for men, and he wanted them to
come and receive it. He could not look upon
a multitude but he was moved with compas-
sion. He could never see people about him
but he felt impelled to teach them. He could
never see people in want or in trouble but he
was impelled to help them. Thus he bore
himself through all his earthly life.
But Jesus came from God. He was the
Word, which was with God in the beginning.
He expressed God to men. He was in time
what he was in Eternity. God's eternal
thought was vocalized in the life of Jesus
Christ. God makes himself known in a great
many ways. He makes known his power and
wisdom in his works. He makes known his
13
14 SERMONS
law in the human conscience. He makes
known his sovereignty and providence in
history and life. But Jesus Christ is the final
and full expression. "Here the whole Deity
is known. We see God in the face of Jesus
Christ."
And Jesus spoke for all the ages. It is quite
remarkable that so few of the teachings of Jesus
are local and temporary. The truths he taught
are of universal application. What Jesus said
of God is forever and everywhere true. God
is now and forever what he seems in Jesus
Christ. The attitude of Jesus is the attitude
of the eternal throne. Whenever a man comes
to God he can expect to be met in the spirit of
Jesus Christ.
"The homage that we render thee
Is still our Father's own;
No jealous claim or rivalry
Divides the Cross and Throne."
God's attitude is forever the inviting atti-
tude; and God's voice is forever saying, "Come
unto me."
And God calls us because he wants us; he
wants our lives; he wants our love; he wants
our service.
First of all: Christ wants us ourselves. There
are some things to which a man gives a spec-
ified service, and there are other things to
SERMONS 15
which he gives himself. A man gives his em-
ployer a specified number of hours. He gives
his teacher a fair knowledge of certain les-
sons. He owes his friends certain social obli-
gations. In many directions he has limited
responsibilities. But to his home he gives
himself. He does not give sections of himself
to the things he loves. If his child be sick he
will sit by its bedside day and night, and his
last dollar and the last dollar he can get is at
its service. It is not, "I will give two hours
a day, or so much a week," but, "all I have,
and all I can do." All he is and all he has are
on demand that his child may be restored.
There is no measure and no limit, except the
measure and limit of ability. This is what it
means to give one's self. This is the measure
of all the highest obligations. And this is the
spirit of all the best service, of all service that
is trust- worthy and reliable. In some such
sense Christ wants you. It is not a section
of your personality, or of your time, or of your
means, but he wants you yourself, with all
which that implies.
And as Paul says, "This is your reasonable
service." It is reasonable you should give
yourself to your home, for your life is wrapped
up in your home. It is reasonable you should
give yourself to your country, for your country
1 6 SERMONS
has in its keeping all that you have and are.
And it is reasonable you should give yourself
to God, for God is the giver of all you have and
the foundation of all you hope for. This con-
secration does not determine what you shall
do, but it determines the spirit of whatever
you may do. You may serve your home in
any one of a thousand different employments,
but you are at its call for anything it may need.
You may serve your country by being a good
citizen, and attending steadily to the work you
are engaged in, but you are at her call for spe-
cial service whenever she may need you. You
may be called upon to serve on the jury, to
serve as special police in case of disturbance,
or to go abroad as a soldier in case she is
threatened by foreign foes. You may serve
God in your home and in your daily calling,
but you are at the call of God to serve him in
whatever line his providence may lead you.
His claims are higher than the claims of coun-
try, for he made your country all it is. His
claims are higher than the claims of home.
God's gifts and God's care have made home
possible to you. He wants you with all you
have and all you are. He wants you with your
country, that you may serve your country in
his name. He wants you with your home, that
your home may itself belong to God and be a
SERMONS 17
Christian home. And if God calls you to any
special service you will have but one answer:
"Here I am, Lord. Send me." There is evi-
dence that Christ called the apostles to dis-
cipleship before he called them to apostleship.
He called them into his kingdom before he
sent them out into his service. He wanted
them first, and then he wanted whatever service
they might be able to do. He called them to
salvation, and he then appointed them to apos-
tleship. He would first win a man to the truth,
and then make him a messenger of the truth.
Whatever Christ would have a man do, he
wants the man himself first of all. Loyalty
to Christ is the preliminary of all service. And
loyalty to Christ makes all service acceptable
and honorable. Personal loyalty consecrates
all that a man puts his hands to. If I am
Christ's, then all I have is his possession, and
all I do is a part of his service.
Second: Christ wants all we can make of
ourselves. The Christian life is not a repres-
sion but an inspiration. It is a new force in a
man's life. Jesus kept his disciples with him
three years, and never did three years so enlarge
and transform men. That was a rare school
those men attended the three years he remained
on earth. It transformed the clumsy, un-
taught fishermen of Galilee into the able and
SERMONS
dignified advocates of the Gospel before whom
the people trembled at Pentecost. The men
who seemed so helpless and dependent when
he took them, became the competent and fear-
less leaders of the Christian hosts when he left
them. Never was there such a difference be-
tween the entrance and the graduation. He
knew the men he chose, the material of which
they were made. And he knew how to draw
out the best that was in them and to make the
most of all the gifts they had received. As he
called them in their simplicity, they served him
with their enlarged powers. He first of all
called them, and then he claimed all he had
made of them. In like manner he wants you,
and he wants all you can make of yourselves.
The man who brought his talent, and returned
it to his lord and said : " Lo! here is thy talent;
take that is thine," received no commendation.
All the gifts of God are a trust, and God expects
them to be increased as well as used. We must
improve them as well as employ them. In fact
we improve them when we employ them. And
they never improve so fast as when they are
most employed. Every man is to use his
gifts for service, and also for increase.
And this does not apply simply to what is
technically considered the season of growth.
It applies no more to school than to home; no
SERMONS 19
more to college than to business. For a man's
growth is not all made in youth and his educa-
tion is not all acquired in school. The soldier
does not get all his military training in the
academy; the lawyer does not gain all his
acumen in the law school; and the minister
does not get all his theology in the theological
seminary. There have been good soldiers who
never saw West Point. And there have been
scholarly and effective men who never saw a
university. And this is not said to the dis-
credit of West Point or of the university. But
it is simply to show that there are other roads
to manhood besides the beaten track. A man
has more schoolmasters than he knows, and
he has more lessons than he recognizes, and he
pays more tuition bills than he thinks. Every
one we have anything to do with is a teacher
to us, everything that happens to us has a
lesson in it. Everything that happens to us
helps to make us. How it makes us, depends on
how w^e hold ourselves to it, just as other schools
depend on the attention more than on their own
efficiency. They are effective as we make them
so, and they mold us as we hold ourselves to
them.
"We are building every day,
In a good or evil way;
And the structure as it grows
Will our inmost selves disclose.
20 SERMONS
"Till in every arch and line
All our faults and failings shine;
It may grow a castle grand,
Or a wreck upon the sand.
"Build it well, whate'er you do;
Build it straight and strong and true,
Build it clean and high and broad;
Build it for the eye of God."
The bee does not gather all her honey from
the walled garden, nor from the field sown for
her, but she finds many a flower with choicest
sweet in the wild wood, and in the open field.
"She gathers honey, all the day
From every opening flower."
We find many delightful people who have
not had what people call the best advantages,
either of school or of society. They just drank
in the sunshine as they came along, and gath-
ered the sweets from every flower on their way.
It is not the fault of the schools, but biggest
dunces often come from the best schools; it is
not the fault of the social order, but the most
ill-mannered men you find will be those who
know the customs and rules of the best society,
and who scrupulously observe them, too. No
man can be so cuttingly insolent as he who
knows how to polish the shaft he shoots, A
man's learning is not in proportion to his
schools, nor is his politeness in proportion to
SERMONS 21
his social advantages. Our schools are the
glory of our age, and the hope of our future.
But there are limitations to what they can do,
and there are things they need never attempt
to do. A college diploma is not a guaranty
of scholarship, any more than a church letter
is a guaranty of sainthood. A college diploma
often covers a lazy record, and a limping course.
Often they come to us in sheep's-skin clothing,
but inwardly they are simpering fools. It is
not the fault of the schools, but it shows their
limitations. There are no schools to the best
things. We have schools of art which do
grand work; but no school of art has ever had
the temerity to advertise that it turned out
artists. They turn out copyists and critics
and teachers of art, but not artists. There
are schools of elocution, but they do not even
pretend to turn out orators. That is as much
above their might as Burns found certain
things above the might of kings.
"A king can mak' a belted Knight,
A Marquis, Duke and a' that;
An honest man's above his might,
A man's a man for a' that."
So it is true of artists and orators, as it is of
poets, "They are born and not made." And
when God makes one he will open a door for
him somewhere. They say there are no poets
22 SERMONS
now as there were a generation ago. But the
same was said in the days of Tennyson and
Longfellow. We used to see the statement
quite frequently, that, "We have no such
poets now as Burns and Byron." Then they
would name Tennyson and Longfellow as our
best. Of course there are no such poets now
as in a former age; but there may be poets just
as good, but of a different type. The genius
of one age will not express itself in the terms of
another. The poets of one age will not be
like the poets of another. Homer's Iliad could
not have been written in the Christian Era.
Milton's Paradise Lost could not have been
written in the nineteenth century. But if
God should send a genius like Homer to this
generation, he would express himself in such
different speech and in such different form from
the blind Homer of three thousand years ago
that we might never think to compare them,
so diverse would they be. If God should send
another Milton to the twentieth century, he
would speak in the tongue of the twentieth
century, and men might never think of Milton
when they were reading him. They might
still go on murmuring: "There are no Miltons
in this matter of fact generation, in this twen-
tieth century, as there were in the seven-
teenth." But if God ever sends the world a
SERMONS 23
poet, the poet will find the door to the world's
heart, and he will find the key to the world's
speech.
But I have been drawn away from my
thought, and yet perhaps not so far away as it
seems. I was saying: God wants all a man is,
and all he can make of himself. And what he
can make of himself does nor depend on his
opportunities so much as on his use of them.
All that happens to him helps to make him.
Every event in his life is a lesson if he will
only learn it. Every friend is a teacher though
he hold no certificate. Every enemy is a
teacher, too, if the man be only wise enough to
learn. Good fortune may teach a man, and
ill fortune none the less. Joy is a teacher, and
so is sorrow; we learn from laughter, and not
the less from tears. Everything speaks to
him who has ears to hear; everything sings to
him who has music in his soul; everything
teaches him who has the spirit of a scholar.
The whole world is a book to him who can
turn its pages. Humanity is a library to him
who knows how to draw its volumes. Or a
man may go away empty from the grandest
lessons that are ever given. One of the dullest
men I ever spent an evening with had travelled
round the world under the best guides that
could be given him. And I have been charmed
24 SERMONS
many a time by men who had seen little
beyond their own neighborhood. It is true
now as in the days of Jesus: "Men see with
their eyes, and hear with their ears; and under-
stand with their heart." It is not the sights
or the sounds, or the truth ; it is the eye and the
ear and the heart. The heart that is on the
alert "Finds tongues in trees, books in the
running brooks; sermons in stones and good
in everything."
Christ wants you, and he wants all you are.
He wants you, and he wants all you can make
of yourself. He called his disciples for what
they were; he kept them with him until he
made them what he wanted them to be. He
calls us all as we are, and then if we follow
where he leads, he will make us what he wants
us to be. Jesus called his disciples one by one,
and calls all men into his service. It was,
"Matthew, follow me"; or it was, "John,
James, Peter, follow me." He spoke to them,
one by one. He also said, "Come unto me all
ye that labor." "If any man thirst, let him
come to me and drink." In the prophetic
forecast it was said, "Ho ! every one that thirst-
eth." It is the same today. God's universal
call may be heard of any man who will listen.
Every man knows God has a right to him.
Every man knows God wants him. Every
SERMONS 25
man knows God needs him. This general
call is not audible, but it is as plain as if it were.
It speaks in conscience, in Providence, and in
the gentler influences of divine grace.
But the call of God is personal as well as
general. God speaks to men one by one now
as he did of old. You all know the general
truth that God has a right to you, that he
needs you, and that he wants you. This is
the substance of his general call. And you
have all felt at times a more personal sense
of God's claim. The general sense of truth
has become a personal conviction. It has
taken a personal form, and you have said in
your own heart, "I ought to give myself to
God, and yield myself to his service." The
general call of God became focussed in your
own heart.
Christ now calls for you — for all you are — for
all you can make of yourself. He calls for you
— not for a tribute from your estate — not for a
portion of your time — not for a fragment of
your strength. But he wants you yourself.
He does not want the fag-ends of your life, or
what there is left when you have served your-
self; but he wants your life itself, with all its
vigor and force, with all its purpose and power.
Every man had his own call, and ever}^ man
is called in his own way; but when God does
26 SERMONS
call a man he calls him for the man himself, and
when the man responds to God he brings his
life with him.
And God does not call all men to the same
work any more than he calls all men in the
same way. He calls one man to go across the
seas to preach Jesus, and he calls another man
to stay at home and live Jesus. And it often
happens that he who stays at home has the
harder mission. It is sometimes harder to live
Jesus than it is to preach him. And the most
effective way of presenting Jesus is to embody
him in our life. And each man must hear his
own call, and each man must obey his own
orders. One man cannot hear for another,
and one man cannot answer for another. One
man cannot fill another's place, and one man
cannot do another's work. God wants of each
man the service for which he made him, and
the service to which he calls him.
First of all then, God wants you that he
may do something for you. He can enlarge
and inspire your life. He wants you also that
you may do something for him. First he calls
you for salvation, and then he calls you to
service. First come and receive a blessing,
then go forth and be a blessing.
Ill
WHICH OF YOU, BY TAKING THOUGHT, CAN
ADD ONE CUBIT TO HIS STATURE?"
Matt. 6: 27
T KNEW a man years ago, who was a loyal
''■ supporter of his church and a firm behever
in its doctrines, but who never would become
a member of the church. He was a regular
attendant and a loyal supporter. He believed
in the church, and believed in the work it
was doing. He was a well-educated man,
well-informed by large reading and wide travel.
In talking with him of the matter one day, I
asked him why he was not a member of the
church he believed in so heartily, and sup-
ported so loyally. He believed in God, he
believed in the church and he believed in all
the Christian doctrines. Why did he not do
as he believed? He replied, that it was be-
cause he believed the doctrines of his church
that he was not a church member, and did not
claim to be a Christian. According to the
doctrine of his church, the matter of his con-
version and salvation was entirely in the hands
of God. "God made me, and God put me
here. I am just what he made me, and just
27
28 SERMONS
where he put me. If God intends to save me
he will do so; if he don't, he won't. That is
all there is to it, and that is the end of it."
He was thoroughly fortified in his position,
and seemed thoroughly satisfied with it. I
do not know how much of blufif there was in
it, but he seemed sincere. At all events it
was impossible to move him from it. It was
the baldest putting of the case I ever heard.
I had heard Arminians in Methodist pulpits
try to reduce Calvinism to an absurdity in
some such fashion as this, but never heard one
who believed in the scheme who would con-
sent to such a conclusion.
The thologlcal world has been coming nearer
together than they were in those days. The
man who exalts the sovereignty of God, and
calls himself a Calvinist, and the man who
exalts the freedom of man and calls himself an
Arminian, can fully agree the one with the
other. As they have come to understand each
other, they have found that they both believe
in the sovereignty of God, and they both be-
lieve in the freedom of man. The two truths
have been so conceived and so stated that they
are seen to run parallel with each other, and
not across each other. Some make one line
heavier and some the other. But as the best
SERMONS 29
thinkers conceive them in this later day, the
two lines of thought do not conflict.
The exaggerated idea of these doctrines,
which this old gentleman has referred to, has
left the church and taken refuge in the schools
of philosophy. It has fled the lecture-room of
the theological seminary, and taken refuge in
the lecture-room of material science. It is
known by a different name, and it is defined
in difi'erent terms, but in these material spec-
ulations it appears in a harder and more relent-
less form than it ever took on in theological
discussion. Native Depravity and Original
Sin in the church have been supplanted by
Heredity in the schools, and the Federal Head-
ship of Adam in the church has been supplanted
by the Solidarity of the Race in the schools.
The discarded fatalism of the religious world
has been taken up by the apostles of modern
speculation. In the scheme of these specu-
lations, the same wheels which grind out the
physical events of the earth, grind out also the
history of nations, and the conduct and des-
tinies of men. They teach that, "Mental and
moral traits depend on ancestry, and sentiment
and character depend on climate and food.
Heredity determines a man's powers, and en-
vironment determines his conditions, and the
two together determine his character, and
30 SERMONS
shape his life and destiny." And there is in
this scheme no such relief as the older Cal-
vinism gave. There are no Doctrines of Grace,
no great multitude of the elect to be redeemed
by the power and Spirit of God. All men are
like Esau, they find no place for repentance
though they seek it carefully with tears
There is truth in all these forms of doctrine
and speculation. The trouble is they are too
narrow to cover the whole ground. There is a
great deal of truth in the doctrine of heredity,
but it is not all there is. There are other
truths just as well authenticated with which
it must be made to harmonize. There is a
deal of truth in the doctrine of environment,
but it is not all there is. There is a very close
relation between matter and thought, but
matter does not account for thought. There
is a very close relation between heredity and
character, but character is not inherited.
There is a very close relation between environ-
ment and destiny. But environment does not
control destiny.
We can all readily see that material condi-
tions have a great deal to do with mental
traits, and with moral results. But they do
not explain mental action, nor account for
the facts of conscience and character. We can
all see that heredity has a great deal to do
SERMONS 31
with conduct; but it does not altogether ex-
plain conduct, or conscience, or conviction.
A man's surroundings have a great deal to do
with what he is; but they do not explain what
he is, nor why he became such. There are
things in a man's life and character which
heredity and environment do not explain.
We must look for something else as a factor
in the common result.
There are three elements which enter into
the forming of character and the shaping of
life. Modern speculators admit two of them;
heredity, environment; I would add perso?t-
ality. Heredity is a mighty factor in the
shaping of every man's life. He can not be
any more than he is, nor essentially different
from what he is. As the text says he cannot
add one cubit to his stature. He cannot
change five feet six to six feet five. He may
develop his powers but it must be essentially
in the lines and within the limits of his natural
inheritence. A man with small, feeble body
may strengthen and enlarge himself somewhat,
but he can hardly hope to become a man of
massive and robust frame. A man may im-
prove his mental gifts, but if he be wise he
will seek to improve those he has rather than
to create those he has not. " Poeta nascitur,
non fit" the old Latin used to say. A poet
32 SERMONS
is born — not made. Not everybody can be
a poet or a painter or a singer. Not every-
body can be a superior mechanic or a great
inventor. There is a vast difference in the
amount of inherited skill. So there is in-
herited some of the framework of character.
Some are quick and passionate. Some are
calm and patient. They may intensify or curb
these tendencies but they exist and must be
recognized. Each man has his own problem
in the shaping of his character. There is
doubtless a difference in the purely moral ten-
dencies of men. In some natures conscience
seems almost left out; while in others it is
very strong. It is almost morbidly sensitive
in some natures. Some are naturally avari-
cious and stingy. Some seem to be born
liars; their respect for truth is so feeble that
they begin lying very early and keep it up
very late. Then there are kleptomaniacs or
born theives. This is heredity, and you can
easily see how mighty a factor it is in men's
lives.
Another element to be considered in the
building of character is what modern specula-
tion calls environment. Literally this is what
lies round a man; his surroundings; his circum-
stances. Heredity and environment include
what is born in a man, and what lies about a
SERMONS 33
man; the elements of his nature, and the set-
ting of his Hfe. The setting of a man's Hfe
has a wonderful influence in the shaping of
his character. It is not strange that to many
it seems to be the controlling element. To say,
one is born in the heart of Christendom or in
the heart of heathendom, in a Christian home
or in the slums, would almost seem to settle
the whole question as to what a man shall be.
And it is the same with heredity. When you
consider how differently men are constituted
it seems as if that settles the whole question
of their career. When you consider how dif-
ferently they are circumstanced it seems as if
that settled the whole question of their career.
Put the two together and many men say we
have all the elements of the problem of life
in these two things.
But we have only to look a little closer to
see that neither of these covers the case, nor
do both of them cover the case. They do not
explain all the facts. They do not explain
what every man knows of himself, and they do
not explain what every man sees about him.
They leave no place for conscience, and no
room for responsibility. If a man's nature
and setting control his life then conscience is
a baseless dream, and obligation is an airy
fancy. A sense of injustice is itself unjust,
3
34 SERMONS
and a sense of guilt for one's own conduct is
absurd, and to blame another for a wrong is
itself wrong. Yet these are common experi-
ences in every heart, and no logic can banish
them and no philosophy can explain them away.
We blame others for the wrongs they do us ; we
blame ourselves for the wrongs we do them.
The pressure of obligation is on every life,
and every one claims of others the treatment
he counts due himself. These are fixed points
which cannot be put away, and they have a
significance which cannot be misread.
We come, therefore, to the third element in
the forming of character and the shaping of
life, which we call personality, the man him-
self as a point of power. Heredity explains
a great deal; environment explains a great
deal; but there will be a great many chasms
to leap if we do not take into account the per-
sonality— the man himself, handling his powers
and shaping his circumstances. A man was
born on the shores of the Aegean Sea with the
gifts and instincts of an orator. But a stam-
mering tongue threatened to nullify his gifts
and smother his instincts. But by the force
of his tremendous will he held himself to the
task of overcoming this great obstacle, and
the name of Demosthenes has been the syno-
nym of eloquence for over two thousand years.
SERMONS 35
A boy in school was ridiculed by his teacher
for his dulness. The reproaches stung him
to the quick, and he determined to falsify the
sneering predictions the teacher had uttered.
The history and life and work of Sir Isaac
Newton were the result of that changed pur-
pose. The gifts were there, the environment
was there, and now the personality asserted
itself. He could not have been what he was
but for the gifts he inherited. He could not
have done what he did but for the opportunity
afforded him in his surroundings and environ-
ment. But he would not have been what he
was nor could he have done what he did, had
he not marshalled his gifts and seized the oc-
casion and turned it to account by the aid of
his personality. It was heredity and environ-
ment in the hands of personality directed to a
purpose and guided to a result. A man can only
do what the gifts of his nature enable him to do,
but he can frustrate the gifts or he can enlarge
and quicken them. A man can seize the op-
portunity offered to him, or he can let it pass
him. He can enter the open door, or he can
loiter till it be closed. If no doors open he
cannot enter, but no matter how many doors
open, if he will not enter. And doors will
always open to a man if he only wait and watch.
It is quite common for men to adopt a
36 SERMONS
conclusion broader than their premise. When
a man has shown you how potent heredity is
in shaping character and life, he often assumes
that he has settled the whole question. When
he has shown that a criminal inherited his
evil drift from his ancestors, he assumes that
that ends all controversy. It is all charge-
able to heredity. The man must not be
blamed for what his father was, nor for what
his father did. It is a misfortune and not a
crime, he tells you. We may readily concede
that the man is not to blame for the drift he
inherited from his father. But the drift he
inherited was not the crime he committed.
It was yielding to the drift which constituted
the crime. It did not become a crime till
personality took hold of the inherited drift
and gave it effect in deed.
When the Keely Cure was at its height of
popularity, one of our newspapers said: "If
this cure prove all that is claimed for it, it
will change the whole aspect of the temperance
question. If it should be shown that intemper-
ance is not a crime but a disease, then the
preacher must go out and the doctor must
come in. The temperance lecturer and the
temperance paper must be set aside, and med-
ical treatment must take their place. Instead
SERMONS 37
of giving the drunkard temperance tracts, you
will give him Chloride of Gold."
All this sounds very plausible, but is very
narrow. It only sees one side of the truth,
and makes that stand for the whole. It is
no new thing that drunkenness is a disease.
Temperance lecturers have long made this one
of the chief indictments against the liquor
habit. Its great peril was that it did create
a disease which was beyond a man's control.
They have always insisted that alcohol pro-
duced a diseased condition of the system,
which craved indulgence, and made escape
from the habit more and more difficult. But
the craving did not indulge itself. Sometimes
a man inherits the condition from his drunken
father. But he does not get drunk on the
whiskey his father drank. He may crave
whiskey because his father drank w^hiskey.
But he need not drink it unless he choose.
And it will be true of him, as has often been
said of others, "Whiskey will not hurt you,
if you let it alone." The craving is a mis-
fortune; the yielding to it is the crime. Being
a disease does not prevent its being a crime.
It may be all the more a crime because it is a
disease. If alcohol produces a disease, then it
is a very seirous crime to indulge in its use.
When we are asked: "Is intemperance a dis-
38 SERMONS
ease or a crime?" We answer, "Both." So
far as the inflamed condition of the system
is concerned, it is a disease; so far as it is a
man's assent to this craving, it is a crime. It
is a crime for a man to indulge in that which
produces a diseased condition, and tends to
fasten itself upon a man's life.
In a sense all sin is disease. The disease
is the evil tendency which prompts to evil.
The sin is obeying this evil tendency in evil
conduct. The evil tendencies may be born
in us — some stronger — some weaker. It is
when one listens to the promptings of evil
that he becomes guilty of sin. It is the con-
sent of the personality that constitutes the
sin. The battle of our life is to overcome the
evil promptings of our nature, and the evil
allurements of our environment. "Let no
man say when he is tempted, I am tempted
of God. For God cannot be tempted of evil,
neither tempteth he any man. But every
man is tempted when he is drawn away of
his own lusts and enticed. Then lust when it
is conceived, bringeth forth sin, and sin when
it is finished, bringeth forth death." It is no
holiday contest, this contest of the soul for
its own deliverance. But it is a contest in
which every man must engage, and in which
every man may win. Here are the powers and
SERMONS 39
faculties God has given you as your inheritance.
Here are the opportunities and openings he has
placed before you. What is to come of it all
is the question your personality has to settle.
In the problem of life, personality is the lead-
ing factor. It cannot change the inheritance
of nature, but it can turn that inheritance to
account. It cannot add one cubit to your
stature, or one inch to your height. But it
can make you every inch a man, and every
inch a Christian. It cannot choose the environ-
ments of your life, but it can enter openings
that appear, and it can make the most of the
opportunities that offer.
Personality has done wonders with both
heredity and environment. It has made mod-
erate gifts accomplish marvelous things. Men
have taken their moderate gifts, and by per-
sistent and faithful application, have put to
shame the splendidly equipped, who have in-
dolently frittered away their patrimony. Out
of the most untoward surroundings it has often
found its way to the grandest attainments.
The boy from the log cabin has beaten the
boy from the palace. The barefooted boy
has outstripped the boy of pampered indul-
gence. The plodder has outstripped the genius.
The tortoise has passed the hare. Whether
a man be largely endowed, or moderately
40 SERMONS
endowed, his success will depend on the use
he makes of what God has given him.
And a man never works alone. To every
soul struggling for the mastery there is prom-
ised, and there is given, the all-conquering
grace of God. God is forever on the side of
struggling souls. Against whatever odds of
inheritance or of surroundings a man may con-
tend, the grace of God is the assurance of vic-
tory. "Who shall deliver me from the body
of this death?" said the apostle, as he reviewed
the long and varying struggle. " I thank God,
through Jesus Christ our Lord." Through
him I shall gain the victory; through him I
shall win the crown. To every soul there
may come the same assurance. Whatever
the odds against you, his grace is sufficient
for you. You need not count the odds against
you when God is on your side. It is all alike
with him, and you shall, "Come off conqueror,
and more than conqueror, through him that
hath loved you."
IV
IT DOTH NOT YET APPEAR WHAT WE SHALL BE,
BUT WHEN HE SHALL APPEAR WE SHALL
BE LIKE him"
I John 3: 2
^X^HE Apostle here gives a result and a reason
■*- for it. He confesses himself unable to
describe the future form and character of the
sons of God. It was beyond the reach even of
his comprehension. He attempts no descrip-
tion of what could not be described. There are
things which human language cannot express,
which human thought cannot compass, which
human imagination even cannot portray. There
are scenes in nature which no painter can ade-
quately represent or canvas contain. There
are ideas revealed to human thought and ex-
periences revealed in human life, which no man
can fully portray in words. Those words best
represent them which only point to them and
leave them in their indefiniteness for the imagi-
nation to fill out. The power of Milton lies
in the undefined greatness of the wondrous
images he calls up. His grandest conceptions
he never describes, but just says enough to
turn your thought in the direction of the images
41
42 SERMONS
his own imagination sees and which he wishes
to reveal to you. You doubtless have seen
his Paradise Lost represented in panorama. If
so, you could not fail to notice the difference
between the poet's image and the painter's
copy. Compare, for instance, the scene where
the Messiah is represented as coming in his
awful chariot, with his terrible right hand
hurling thunderbolts into the ranks of his
discomfited foes, and driving them howling
over the walls of Heaven into the boundless
darkness beyond and below. Compare this
picture of the poet where description fades
away in indefinite vastness, with the same scene
as the painter gives it on the panorama. Here
you have a very ordinary looking man driving,
rather fast, in a gaudy carriage, and forcing out
a few streaks of light from something which he
holds in his right hand. These streaks of light
represent the thunderbolts of the poet. Take
again his description of Satan, "Stretching
rood on rood o'er the burning lake," and when
he spoke the vast caverns of the deep did
groan. Compare this with the picture of Satan
which the painter gives. The poet's power
consists in the indefinite greatness of the images
he suggests but does not describe, leaving our
minds to follow and fill out.
This is the favorite style of the Bible in
SERMONS 43
speaking of eternal things, and it is a great deal
more impressive and really reveals a great
deal more, and reveals it more accurately than
any attempt at description could possibly do.
We are far more impressed with the majesty
of God when he says, " I am that I am," or " I
am, because I am," than if the Word had gone
on to define God and give an analysis of his
being and attributes. We see more of Heaven
in the simple expression, "Eye hath not seen,
nor ear heard, nor heart conceived," then we
ever could see in the most glowing description
language could compass.
The text is a very fine illustration of the
propriety and power of this mode of teaching.
It is not a description, but one of those poetic
hints at the destiny of the Sons of God which
set in motion our own thoughts. "We know
not what we shall be." Modern theologians
would hardly confess this. The omniscient
authors of our theological story books would
hardly confess this. But he who had communed
with Jesus and had leaned upon his breast, to
whom afterwards the heavens opened and its
voices spoke, he confesses "We know not what
we shall be." Our future destiny is not only
a mystery, hid away among events and scenes
not yet revealed to us, but it is so vast we could
not comprehend it if it were revealed. We
44 SERMONS
not only cannot know it, but we could not
grasp it if we could know it. Even if our
thought could get the right range, we should
be lost in the attempt to follow it out.
The Apostle here does not attempt to com-
pass the destiny of the Sons of God. He
simply gives a hint that may point in the direc-
tion in which that destiny lies. "We shall be
like Christ" was the most he could say and all
he needed to say. No other words could ex-
press so much. And they are words that grow
with our Christian growth as we know more
of Christ. All there is in Christ is wrapped in
those words. And as we learn more and more
of him, the vastness of our future glory expands
our thought. "We shall be like him for we
shall see him as he is." Destined to be like
him, his presence shall complete the image.
One thought that this figure suggests very
vividly is, that the blessedness of the future
will consist in being like Christ and not simply
being with him. To be with Christ is a blessed
thing for those who are like him, or who are
growing into his likeness and have learned to
love it. But it is the likeness of Christ in us
that makes his actual presence a blessing to
us. His presence will be a congenial place to
those who are growing into the same image. A
great mistake is often made here. A great
SERMONS 45
many lay more stress on being received into
the presence of Christian glory than on having
that glory found within them. Thousands of
people think that if by any chance they can
only open the door where the sons of God are to
dwell, the end of their Christian hope is at-
tained. We see the same mistake in regard to
earthly things. Men will strive to their utmost
to attain some station for which they in no
wise are fitted, and where all their life must be
unnatural and irksome. They lose sight of
the fact that they will rise naturally to the
place for which they fit themselves. They do
not see how foolish it is to struggle for a posi-
tion to which they would rise of themselves, if
they worked as hard to prepare for the place
as they do to gain it. Scholars in school or
college often work harder to make a false
appearance and to secure a false mark and
false grade than they would need to do to
deserve and secure a true mark and grade.
They forget that after all is done they do not
really belong to the grade which the school
record indicates. The studies to which they
are introduced will not be intelligible or satis-
factory or profitable. But if they had pre-
pared themselves, they would be on a level
with that grade, whether the record put them
there or not. So it is not so important that a
46 SERMONS
man should enter the kingdom of Christ as that
that kingdom should enter his life. The sur-
roundings of the kingdom are adapted to the
disciple of that kingdom. Any other would be
as manifestly out of place as an ignorant man
in the highest grade of classical school. Those
unlike Christ in purpose and character and life
would feel oppressed in his presence by the
dissimilarity. It would be an intolerable con-
straint. Men seek their associates from those
like themselves. Robbers and thieves do not
choose honest men for their permanent com-
panions and chosen friends. The keepers of
dramshops are not inclined to spend their
evenings in temperance societies. The frivo-
lous devotees of fashion and folly do not enjoy
themselves in the society of whole-souled men.
Men seek their own class. They sink to its
level by moral gravitation. They may lift
themselves above it for a time, by some tem-
porary spasm, but they will sink back again
when the spasm ceases. They will not abide
permanently with those whose purposes and
tastes cross their own. They may wish to be
reckoned with those better than themselves,
but they will go to their own place the moment
their inclinations are allowed free play and they
cease to act a constrained part.
So those in no wise like Christ not only can
SERMONS 47
not be with him, but would not wish to be.
The presence of Christ would be a perpetual
rebuke to every thought their hearts ever
cherished and would repress every purpose to
which they had given their lives. To a man
who had nothing of Christ in him, who was in
no wise like him in his moral temper, the atmos-
phere of Heaven would be stifling. So the
chief element of Heaven is likeness to Christ.
This is the great central feature of its joys.
All the rest is but the framework. This is the
picture. It will depend more on the likeness
of Christ formed in us than on the presence of
Christ before us; more on what we are than on
where we are.
A second thought suggested by the text is,
that the completed likeness of the future is the
natural outgrowth of the present. Christianity
in the soul is more than a wish. Many men
have wished to be better and still continued to
grow worse. A wish to rise may not ever check
the rapidity with which a man is sinking. A
man who has stepped off from a precipice may
wish he might step back again, but the wish
will not take him back. Many a man has
looked with longing eyes from the abyss of
dissipated degradation and wished with frantic
earnestness that he were back at the starting
point of his descent. But his wishes do not
48 SERMONS
lift him out nor return the promise of former
days which had been once despised and re-
jected. Christianity in the soul is more than
this. It is a life implanted. It is the likeness
of Christ begun. Fellowship with Christ is
no mere charm that opens the treasures of his
Kingdom. It is the beginning of a new life
"It is Christ formed within us." Very dimly
formed, perhaps, but yet really there. The
image may be very faint but it will grow more
and more distinct till it covers or obliterates
every other image and we become "like him."
Ours may be but the first fruits of the Spirit.
But it is a specimen of the coming harvest
whose approach it suggests and proves. The
grain of mustard seed is very small, but it has
in it the promise of a great tree. The morning
twilight may be very dim, but it gives promise
of growing brighter and brighter, of shining
more and more unto the perfect day. The
Christian looks forward, therefore, to no
strange transformation. He will experience
the completion of what was begun here and
what he has longed and labored for on earth.
The spirit which here struggled for the mastery
of the corruptions of the flesh and the wiles of
Satan, will there be complete in its triumph and
victory and control.
I notice in the third place that the process
SERMONS 49
of growth in the future is the same as the
process of growth in the present. Acquaint-
ance with Christ develops the germ here; the
sight of Christ is to complete the growth there.
We grow slowly into his likeness here as we
dimly read his character; we shall open in to
his full likeness there as we stand before him
and see him face to face. There is nothing
unnatural in this. We grow like that we look
upon and dwell with. The chameleon is not
the only example of colors changing with
surrounding objects. It is a well-known pi'in-
ciple of human life. The painter looks at his
favorite models for hours, not that he may copy
them or even imitate them, but that he may
catch their spirit and acquire a similar style
of taste. The musician studies the works
of the best masters and listens to their strains,
not merely to analyze them, but that his own
taste may insensibly be elevated and purified
by the communion. By long study of an
author a man's style of expression gradually
grows to resemble his, not by any mimicry but
by natural power of association and contact.
When two men associate together they each
partake of the other. The resemblance in
families between brothers and sisters is not
all inherited. It is partly the transformation
of one by another. A man is known by the
50 SERMONS
company he keeps, not simply because he would
naturally associate with those like him, but
because he would naturally become like those
with whom he associates. The characters we
live with and love have an untold influence
upon us. This law is not changed when we
pass into the region of faith. Beings whom
"unseen we love" have their influence in
shaping us as well as those we see. Famil-
iarity with the mere thought of Christ would
influence us. Still more influential is the
personal communion of those who believe
in his name. The more close the sympathy,
the more intimate the communion, the more
mighty the influence. We never grow weary
of the acquaintance of Christ. We never can
fathom the depths of his character. It is one
of those things that grow vaster the more we
know of them. Some things bear acquaint-
ance, we know; others seem to be exhausted
at the first glance and after that they weary
us. Some paintings look beautiful at first
sight, and after that seem common and mean-
ingless. Others attract no special attenton
when we first see them, but grow full of expres-
sion and depth of beauty as we gaze at them
and study them. Some tunes only bear hear-
ing once or twice. A large share of the popular
music of the day is of this kind. Others sound
SERMONS 51
the sweeter the oftener they are repeated.
Some buildings attract our attention as we pass
them. But when we become familiar with
them they are seen to be irregular and without
any controlling idea or design. Others make
no impression on us at first, but as we study
them we are more and more impressed with
their beauty and proportion. It is said that
on first entering St. Peter's at Rome a man is
not much impressed with its great size. But
as he remains and compares magnitudes, as he
sees men in different parts and up towards the
dome, dwindling down to little images, he
begins by degrees to gain a conception of the
vastness and grandeur of the building. Its
proportions begin to steal upon him and the
longer he stays the greater and the grander the
immense proportions seem to him. The first
feeling of most persons at Niagara is that of
disappointment. We must stay with it and
cultivate its acquaintance if we would go away
with any suitable and true impression of its
greatness and power. This quality marks the
difference between real greatness and preten-
sion; between surface beauty and deep gen-
uine merit. It marks the difference between
natural scenery and imitation, between the
artist and the dauber, between the genuine
musician and the jingler of rhymes.
52 SERMONS
We have but little recorded of the life of
Christ. But few events are recorded and those
only briefly and very simply. We know but
few things that he did. We know but few
things that he said. Those few things are
stated with great brevity and simplicity. We
have learned very little about Christ if we
have only learned the things he said and did.
It is only a short series of scattered events giv-
ing no connected history of his life, but only
letting us have a glimpse here and there. But
these glimpses show Christ himself, just as a
painter, by a few touches of his brush, will
enable you to gain a conception of the ideal
that lies in his own mind and to which he is
working. The more we read these scattered
records, the more we dwell on his wonderful
words, the more we come to see him who was
the subject of those records and the author of
those words. And the character grows fuller
and richer and more marvelous every time we
study it, until we come almost to hush our
breath as we appear before it. Then when we
know that this growing, glowing character is
not a picture, but only a faint shadowing forth
of him who was touched with the feeling of
our infirmity, and who ever liveth to make
intercession for us, our reverent admiration
changes into a loving faith. To those who
SERMONS 53
have seen only the incidents and words of the
record, and who have never seen Christ him-
self through them, he is as the prophet said
he would be, "A root out of dry ground, with-
out form or comeliness, with no beauty that
they should desire him," The richest music,
the finest works of art, the grandest buildings
are not appreciated by those who do not bring
their spirit into sympathy with them. The
symphonies of Beethoven are meaningless to
one who only catches the succession of sounds
and movements, and fails to see through these
the underlying idea that inspired them. So
one who only sees the facts of Christ's life and
has never seen him through those facts, can-
not understand the loving reverence of those
who have seen Jesus himself as he shone through
the deeds and words recorded of him. We
seem like one who is telling a dream when we
speak of the wonders we see in the gem of gems.
They read his life only as so many pages of
print, then pass over what is said of him as so
many incidents and miracles and so many
parables and discourses. A man might as well
count the faces and figures in a painting and
think by this he could understand it. The
faces and figures mean nothing by themselves.
The meaning lurks in their grouping and shad-
ing and in a certain undefinable quality which
54 SERMONS
guides and characterizes the touch of genius.
We read of Christ that we may know him, and
the image that rises before us is vastly larger
and deeper and more significant than all the
separate parts of which it is composed. So we
come to know him, and knowing him we come
to love him, and loving him we come to long
to be like him. But we only "know in part,"
we only "see through a glass darkly"; and we
wait for the day when we shall see face to
face and for the hour when we shall know as we
are known.
Though we cannot know what we shall be,
we are satisfied to know we shall be like Christ.
We do not yet fully comprehend what that
means, but we are learning day by day and the
meaning enlarges as our knowledge expands.
What perfects the likeness in Heaven may
increase it here on earth. When we see him
as he is, we shall be like him. As here we see
him more and more, more and more shall we
resemble him. The more we know of him,
the more shall we grow like him. And the
more we become like him, the more shall the
joy and blessedness of the everlasting life
dwell with us here on earth. As we rise in
knowledge and faith and love, shall we ap-
proach the likeness of the Sons of God. But
approach as we will, it will still remain true
SERMONS 55
that we know not what we shall be. For how-
ever much we receive, still there is more to
come.
"Oh, the grace the Father shows;
Still there's more to follow.
Freely he his grace bestows;
Still there's more to follow.
More and more, more and more,
Still there's more to follow.
Oh, his matchless, boundless love;
Still there's more to follow."
V
"the mutual faith of you and me"
Rom. i: 12
PAUL wished to go to Rome to preach
Jesus Christ. He wished to do some-
thing to estabHsh the church in that great
capital of the world. But he was not the first
to carry the Glad Tidings to Rome. Some one
had been there before him, and there was al-
ready a beginning. He would recognize what
had been done, and he would use it as the
basis for further success. He would have them
understand that he was not coming to start
a new movement, but to strengthen and enlarge
what was already there. He wished to concil-
iate them in advance that he might have their
cooperation when he came. This is what I
think he means by "the mutual faith of you
and me." He was not coming as a lone man
to proclaim a new religion in the streets of
Rome, where they were accustomed to receive
a new religion about twice a month; but he
was coming to cooperate with them in what
they had already undertaken. "You know
Rome, and I do not. You are known there,
and I am not. You know the people, and
56
SERMONS 57
you know how to approach them. I shall
depend on your acquaintance, your influence,
and your judgment, in laying my plans and
doing my work. We have the same Master,
the same faith, the same aims and the same
purposes. I wish to honor Christ and so do
you. I wish to win men to the truth and so
do you. I shall depend on your sympathy,
your knowledge of the people, to gain access
and to win a hearing. It shall be by the mutual
faith of you and me that Rome shall be won
to Christ." The members of the church at
Rome were to open the way for the Great
Apostle and multiply his effectiveness by their
own cooperation.
This was Paul's policy everywhere, as far as
it could be applied. He everywhere sought
for some local way of access. If he did not
find it at once he waited till he did find it.
He entered Philippi a stranger, knowing no
one, and known of none. He did not go into
the market place, and ring a bell and swing
his arms and shout and tell the people who he
was and what he had come for. He came to
the town as any other stranger might have
come, and quietly waited his opportunity.
On Sabbath morning a company of Jewish
women were accustomed to meet by the river-
side to worship God after their own fashion.
58 SERMONS
Paul was a Jew and had a right to join with
them in their service. He told them of Jesus as
the natural expectation of the Jewish people
and as the natural outcome of the Jewish faith.
Lyddia, the leading character in the company,
accepted his teaching, and offered her services
to the new faith. Thus in a perfectly natural
way Paul found a local opening in this strange
city. Through this little group of converts
by the riverside Paul gained access to Philippi
and all that followed was in natural consequence
of the simple method he adopted. He first
found a few sympathetic souls, and through
them found his way to the ear of the com-
munity. He might have said to that river-
side group of disciples, as he said to the church
at Rome: " By the mutual faith of you and me
we will win our way to the heart of this great
city." And the Church that was at Philippi,
the most faithful of all the churches Paul
gathered about the Aegean Sea, stood for ages
as the fruit of his wise method of approach.
The company at the riverside were not of
his faith, but they were the nearest akin to
him in their spirit of anything he would find
in the city. There was a common ground of
sympathy and cooperation, and Paul was wise
enough to take advantage of it. We see from
the epistle to the Romans that the church at
SERMONS 59
Rome was not just such as he would like to
have it. But it afforded a common ground of
approach and influence, and he was wise enough
to use what he could find. By the mutual
faith of them both they could join hands in
the work they wished to see done.
Paul's method of leadership is the most
effective of any in the world. He who can
find the elements of strength is stronger than
he who possesses strength himself. He who
can win the assent of men is stronger than he
who can compel that assent. The merging
of men by a common thought makes a vastly
stronger combination than the merging of
them by authority and force. It is said that
Xerxes had five millions of men when he under-
took the conquest of Greece. His authority
over them was absolute. His power was so
absolute that his conceit knew no bounds.
He went so far, they say, as to order the Hel-
lespont flogged because it tore up his pontoons.
But when he came to Greece he met a small
army of freemen. There was not one Greek
to ten Persians. They were indifferently led,
and were not agreed in their own counsels.
But every man was a Greek, and all had one
thought, that the Persians must not desecrate
the sacred soil of their country. When the
great hosts of the East came sweeping on,
6o SERMONS
the little band met them with an onset so
furious, that they were thrown into confusion
and became an unwieldy and helpless mass.
The Persians obeyed orders; the Greeks obeyed
their impulse. Sometime in the fifties, dur-
ing the discussion which followed the passage
of the fugitive slave law, Jefferson Davis in
the United States Senate, I think it was,
urged the necessity of a larger regular army
to enforce the laws. The fugitive slave law
was everywhere resisted and the local author-
ities and the local military could not be relied
upon to enforce it. They fell in with the local
anti-slavery sentiment, and refused to obey
their superiors against their convictions. To
meet this emergency Davis urged the need of
a larger regular army, which would not be
influenced by local sentiment. They would
obey orders without regard to opinion. To
enforce the law he insisted we need "These
unimpassioned instruments of war." He
would have an army which would move as it
was ordered, and do as it was bid, asking no
questions and making no reply.
"Theirs not to make reply;
Their's not to reason why;
Their's but to do, and die."
There Is power in an army like that. It is
the common European idea of an army. They
SERMONS 6i
would not tolerate any other. They have al-
ways made sport of our volunteer service, where
private soldiers have opinions and sympathies.
They have insisted that such troops as ours
could never stand before their "unimpassioned
instruments of war," but of late the opinion
has changed in this matter. In the Spanish
war our soldiers showed a quality which their
soldiers lack. Our soldiers may not obey so
promptly and they may not move so steadily
but they display what the correspondents call,
"the initiative," which stolid veterans lack.
Every man has a part in the contest and
watches his opportunity to strike most effec-
tively. The man without convictions may
make the best machine, but the man with con-
victions will make the best soldier. At the
battle of Trafalgar Lord Nelson displayed at
the masthead of his flagship an ensign with the
inscription, "England expects every man to do
his duty." Every man in the fleet, as he saw
that motto, was inspired to do his utmost to
meet the expectation of his country. Some
author has said that "Instantly every man in
that fleet became as four men, every gun be-
came as four guns, and every ship became as
four ships." At Santiago, Roosevelt led his
rough riders in the face of a galling fire. But
he did not lead one whit more eagerly than
62 SERMONS
they all followed. Roosevelt led and inspired,
but every man in the command was as good as
himself. He commanded only because he
spoke the thought that was in every one of
their hearts, and he led them because they all
wished to go the way he was going. Crom-
well's army was invincible because every man
in it was inspired with a common purpose.
The men of the revolution could never be con-
quered because every man in the colonies had
sworn that the country should be free. The
army was almost annihilated several times,
but new armies came up as from the ground.
The soldiers received pay as long as money
could be obtained, and then they fought with-
out pay. They were fed from the public
store as long as the stores lasted, and then they
provided for themselves, but no one thought
of submission. A British officer went with a
message to a small American camp in South
Carolina. He was cordially received, and was
asked to dine with the officers. As dinner time
drew near he saw no sign of dinner. But at
the proper time a negro servant came in and
laid the cloth, and then drew out a lot of sweet
potatoes from ashes on the hearth, and these
constituted their dinner. When he returned
to his own company he said, "A people who
will fight and live on roots can never be con-
SERMONS 63
quered." Defeat might crush the armies, but
could not crush the people.
I have wondered why some of our economic
leaders do not apply this method to the labor
situation. The interests of master and men
are identical. They are mutually dependent
the one on the other. Is there not some one
of our great leaders wise enough to make this
appear and apply it? They can manage steel
and mold it to their will. By long study and
long patience they have overcome every dif-
ficulty, and produced the product they desired.
Would not the same skill and patience be
equally successful if applied to men? The
man who can manage a railroad and keep a
hundred trains from colliding, ought to be
able to manage the men who move these
trains, and keep them harmonious and con-
tented. They work steel according to the laws
of steel; they work wool according to the laws
of wool; they apply steam according to the
laws of steam. They must learn to manage
men according to the laws of human nature.
This is the next great problem. A man is not
competent to manage a railroad unless he can
comprehend track and train, switch and engine.
The time is coming when he must add to this
the power to manage the men who turn the
switch and move the engine, who load the cars
64 SERMONS
and care for the road. He will not manage
them by compulsion as once was possible,
but he must manage them by securing their
own free assent. They must be made to see
that they have an interest in the road, in the
mill, in the foundry, in the mine with which
they work. Somehow they must be made to
share the profits in a way that shall show that
master and men are one in the great establish-
ment they jointly carry on. The great anth-
racite strike was an unspeakable calamity to
both parties. The miners lost millions in
wages, while the mine-owners lost millions in
profits. Is there not somebody great enough
to put his hand on both parties and show them
that their interests are one, and that any
settlement is better than controversy? The
operators and the men are alike interested in
those great coal measures. The miners have
their living there, and the operators have
their fortune there. And they are dependent
on each other. They can neither of them move
without the other. The operators cannot
move a pound of coal without the workmen,
and the workmen cannot open a mine without
the money. They can either of them balk
the other, and either of them can make their
common property of no value to either of
them. It is to the interest of both that they
SERMONS 65
work in harmony. If the mine-owners should
find some physical obstruction they would soon
overcome it. If it were water, they would
pump it out; if it were gas, they would drive
it away; if the rock were obstinate, they would
find a way to reduce it. But the men are more
important than physical conditions. All con-
ditions are without avail if the men will not
work. Cannot some one make them all see that
they have common interests at stake? Men
are more reasonable than rocks and waters
and noxious gases. They could be made to
share the prosperity of the mines in such a
way that they would feel that they were work-
ing for their own when they were working for
the common good. It will require some skill;
it will require some patience; it will cost some
money, perhaps. But improved machinery
costs money; improved methods cost money;
better means of transportation cost money.
But in the end they more than pay it back.
The men are more than all these. A little
kindness, a little thoughtfulness, a little justice,
would make all run smoothly and keep the
mines open and keep the trains running, and
keep the furnaces burning. And this is what
they must come to. The old conditions are
not coming back. The day was when the
employer would sneer at the idea of his men
5
66 SERMONS
making terms. The master was everything
and the men were nothing. He must order,
and they must mind. But that day has gone.
The men have rights and know them, and the
master must respect them and he knows that.
They have rights as well as duties, and he has
duties as well as rights. He must consult
his men, and conciliate them, and consider
them in all his operations. What a power a
great industrial plant would be if all connected
with it were interested in it, from the girl
who tied the threads for a few shillings a week,
to the designer who drew the patterns for many
thousands a year! The men who manage
these great plants ought to be great enough to
compass a result like this. And the time is
coming when nothing less than this will answer.
The man who would manage a railroad must
not only be able to run its hundreds of trains
smoothly, but he must be able to get along
smoothly with its thousands of men. And
this is not an unreasonable demand. Men are
less hard to manage than steel rails and steam
engines and electric batteries. You would
never put a man in charge of a telegraph office
who could not manage a battery. This con-
dition must come. Self-interest demands it
as well as philanthropy. In fact it is coming to
be realized that self-interest and philanthropy
SERMONS 67
run on the same track. When the mutual
interests of men come to be understood, the
mutual faith of men will be manifest. Men
will see eye to eye when the mists have blown
away. Men are mutually dependent on each
other, and interest and philanthropy walk
hand in hand. In business and social life we
come to see this very plainly. The business
man and his customer; the professional man
and his client; the master and his men, are
mutually dependent on each other. A busi-
ness man's customers can clog his business;
a professional man's clients can destroy his
practise; the manufacturer's workmen can stop
his mills. In social life he who would be a
friend must find a friend, and he who would
have a friend must be a friend. It is mutual
interest and mutual faith which bind the world
together in all its manifold and complicated
relationships. The mutual faith of you and
me makes us friends and makes us associates,
and enables us to cooperate in our plans of
service for men.
I did not intend to let this thought run away
with me to this extent when I took it up. I
have spent so much time in developing my prin-
ciple I fear I shall not have time to apply it.
May I not hope that the principle is clear
enough to apply itself? I want to come back
68 SERMONS
to the thought of the beginning, to Paul's
dehcate suggestion to his Roman brethren, "I
am coming to Rome to preach Christ. I am
a stranger, but you are not strangers. I come
to join hands with you in the work we both
wish to see done. By the mutual faith of you
and me we shall gain the end we seek." We
are a band of Christian people. We have
each our own life to live, and our own work to
do, our own living to earn, and our own inter-
ests to look after. But we all call ourselves
Christians. We all have something in com-
mon. This common thought is our bond of
union, and in this union we call ourselves
Plymouth Church. We have promised each
other certain things we desire each should do
for the other. We have promised each other
some mutual care and mutual sympathy. We
owe to each other what we have promised
each other to do. We are not to wait for one
another, but each to do his part. It is not a
matter of barter and exchange. You are not
to do your part because your brother does his
part. You are to do your part whether he
does his or not. You are to do your part be-
cause you promised God you would do it.
The primal Christian idea is duty. Not what
will I get, but what can I do? Not what good
will come to me, but of what use can I be to
SERMONS 69
my friends? Not, what will he do for me, but
what can I do for him?
The members of Plymouth Church owe
something to each other. And we owe some-
thing to the community we Hve in, the people
we live among, the people we deal with, and
the people we mingle with. We represent
Christ among them, and we must hold up
Christ before them. The pastor is not the
church; the officers are not the church; the
social and missionary societies are not the
church. These are parts of the church. But
the church is the whole membership. They all
share its benefits, and they all share its respon-
sibilities. You are, each of you, a part of the
life of the church ; a part of its possible force.
There was a time when the master com-
manded and the men obeyed. He spake and
it was done. But now one man leads others
only as he can speak the word which is common
to them all. There was a time when the min-
ister stood for the church. He conducted
the worship and did most of the Christian
work. His opinion settled controversies, and
his word was a law of the church. Now the
minister's opinions are worth just what the
reasons for them are worth, and he leads his
church only as he can speak the word which
is common to them all. He leads the church
70 SERMONS
because they wish to go the way he is going.
But this is the best leading in the world — not
for honor, but for efficiency. There is nothing
so resistless as a company of men moving with
a common impulse. And there is no impulse
so strong as a Christian impulse. The accumu-
lated Christian force of five hundred people is
something to thank God for. I am not much.
I am but one. But if I can speak the word
which finds an echo in all your hearts, there is
a power which no man can measure. Every
member adds to the moral momentum. Every
member touches somebody he might influence
and help. Altogether you touch a large circle.
It is not me, but the mutual faith of you and
me. Let every one take his share, and we may
see wonders wrought in the name of the Lord.
The pastor is not much if he stand alone, but
a whole church thus minded is a blessed fel-
lowship. The promise of the year is with you.
It is the mutual faith of you and me which
is to bring what we all seek.
VI
"he steadfastly set his face to go to
jerusalem"
Luke 9: 51
T^HE equivalent of this expression appears
•*• several times in various connections.
This was several months before his final ascent.
It was an earlier journey, to make some private
arrangements for that more important and
more public visit. It says that as the time
drew near when he was to be taken up, he set
his face as if he would go to Jerusalem. Yet
this was soon after the transfiguration, and
several months before the "time when he was
to be taken up." But already his face was
steadfastly set as if he would go up to Jerusa-
lem. From this on, that was his prominent
thought and steadfast purpose. The people
about him did not take to his going. Hereto-
fore Galilee had been the scene of his ministry.
The people of Capernaum had come to think
that their city w^ould become the center of the
new faith. They did not like the idea of his
work and influence being transferred to Judea
and Jerusalem. And the people of Samaria
did not take kindly to the idea of his going to
71
72 SERMONS
Jerusalem. Since his interview with the woman
at Jacob's Well, they had felt that he was as
much for them as for the Jews, and that they
would have equal part at least, in the adminis-
tration of his Kingdom. As he seemed to want
to go south therefore they would not assist him,
nor aid his journey. But with his disciples
indifferent, the people of Galilee disapproving,
and the people of Samaria opposing, he still
set his face as if he would go to Jerusalem.
From this thought he could not be diverted nor
restrained. He was mingling with the people,
he was healing the sick, he was teaching all who
came to him. He was not at all indifferent to
the calls on all sides of him, but all the while
"his face was set" towards Jerusalem. What-
ever he was doing, this was his ultimate
thought. At another time from this, he had
been talking of what was to come to him, and
he walked before the disciples with a bearing
so majestic that they followed him with awe.
As he carried out his purpose he was often
delayed and hindered. But he went right on
when the delay was over. He sent a few of
his disciples first to prepare for him, and then
he sent the seventy on something of the same
errand. "His face was set as if he would go up
to Jerusalem."
By this time I think you have a shadow
SERMONS 73
of my thought. In all these months Jesus is
very busy. Crowds follow him, and crowds
throng him everywhere. He neglects nothing
as he moves along. He listens to every call,
he responds to every need. He is keenly sen-
sitive to every condition. His instincts seem
to lead him where sorrow is, and he never
avoids or evades a claim. He is never in a
hurry, and never seems anxious to get away.
But all this while there is another call and
another claim. His mind is on another thought.
He hears every call of the hour, and meets
every claim of the place, but all the while a
supreme claim overshadows all these local and
passing calls. His face is set towards Jerusa-
lem. He is looking towards the final consum-
mation. The purpose for which he came is the
end to which he continually moves. Over the
diversions of his daily life there hangs the
shadow of his great sacrifice. To look at him
you would think he lived for those he lived
with. But listen to his silent thought and
you find he is looking to the far-off shadow
of destiny and service. Without seeming in
haste, or passing any claim or call, he all the
while has this high call and higher claim in his
ear and on his heart. Without neglecting the
one, he does not lose sight of the other. He is
in no haste to leave the widow of Nain until
74 SERMONS
her son is restored, and her sorrow completely
assuaged. But next day we find him farther
on. The disputes of the disciples are as care-
fully adjusted as if he and they were to con-
tinue in the relation they now find them-
selves. But he immediately passes on from
them to new scenes which require new adjust-
ments. He does thoroughly the work of
today, but ever has in mind the larger work
of tomorrow. As he comes again among his
old friends in Judea, social attentions are
pressed upon him. He accepts them cheer-
fully and heartily, but after dinner goes the
way he was facing. He entered the house of
Zacchaeus on the special mission he had in
mind. He accomplished his mission, and left
Zacchaeus a happy man in a happy home. He
does not wait to find others who might profit
by similar attentions, but rejoins the crowds
of pilgrims and continues on towards Jerusa-
lem and destiny. As they go out of Jericho
he hears the cry of two blind men, "Jesus,
thou Son of David, have mercy on us, that we
may receive our sight." They are near Jeru-
salem now, and the crowds are eager to press
on. The disciples are impatient, and try to
suppress these disturbers of their journey. But
Jesus is in no hurry. No time to loiter, but
always time to help the needy. But when he
SERMONS 75
has healed them and sent them away, then he
and the multitude move on again.
Soon after he came to Bethany, the home of
Mary and Martha. Here was Lazarus whom
he had raised from the dead. Here was Mary
who listened, and Martha who served. Here
he might remain and rest as one would at home.
Here a reception was arranged for him and a
supper. Here was an anointing with costly
oil, as if he had been a prince. Here were all
the love, and honor and attention he could
ask for. He might have stayed here for weeks,
and postponed the day of darkness and sacri-
fice. Here he might steady his nerves and
recruit his strength.
He accepted their attentions thankfully; he
enjoyed their supper and social converse; he
told them this would be remembered to their
honor as long as his gospel should be pro-
claimed on the earth. He was not indifferent,
he was not in haste. Plenty of time for hos-
pitality. But the old thought was not sup-
pressed. His face was still set as if he would
go up to Jerusalem. The next morning he
moved with the moving crowds, as they has-
tened along the sides of the Mount of Olives,
towards the Holy City. Now there appeared
a new diversion, and a new temptation. His
company got the idea somehow that he was
76 SERMONS
going to the temple to be crowned King of the
Jews. The children were especially eager in
their loyalty and demonstration. He might
have joined the demonstration and intensified
enthusiasm. He might have made a marked
occasion and a serious crisis. But he treated
it discreetly. He neither rejected it nor joined
it. He received it as an expression of genuine
friendship and loyal enthusiasm. He did not
make the mistake of accepting popular excite-
ment for popular support, nor treating the
love of his friends as a trifling matter. In a
higher sense than Caesar, he was already a
King, and yet he did not come in competition
with Caesar or Pilate. In an hour the incident
had passed and Jesus was where his thought
had been all these months while his face had
been set towards Jerusalem. Steadily as the
months had passed he had pressed on to his
purpose.
He is like a great river which rolls on to the
great sea. It does not stay in its course, and
yet its banks are not neglected. There is
not a garden left unwatered; there is not a
tree left unfed. Every field is filtered; every
flowery nook is found. Everything doth live
wheresoever the river cometh. It never loi-
ters beyond its time. It stays not for head-
land or rock, for sand-bar or dyke. Having
SERMONS 77
enriched the whole country from the fountain
to the mouth, it comes at last to the sea, bearing
the wealth it has carried on its bosom. So
Jesus never failed to bless the life he touched
today, and never failed to reach the point he
set for tomorrow. And here he is now wind-
ing his way around Olivet, and coming to
his destination amid palm branches and the
songs of children.
He never forgot the thing he was aiming at.
The need he was interested in did not detain
him; the cry to which he listened did not divert
him. He had that remarkable poise which could
enjoy the journey and yet keep the destination
continually in mind. He never neglected the
present nor forgot the future. The duties of
today never obscured the destiny of tomorrow.
Now he is among the shouts and palms of
Olivet. We call it Palm Sunday and think of
it as something final. But it is only one of the
way-marks, like the dinner with Zacchaeus, —
the shoutings at Jericho — the supper at Beth-
any. He enjoyed them as he passed them,
but he came on to what he had planned. He
verified the words of the poet:
"Not enjoyment, and not sorrow
Is our destined end and way,
But to live that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today."
78 SERMONS
He was not as the ambitious youth who
pressed on to the highest point and achieved
an empty triumph; who, bearing his flag with
its strange device, "Excelsior," stopped not
for home nor friendship, and Hstened not to
the cry of child, or call of service; who turned
away from the comforts of home and friend
till he planted his banner on the cheerless sum-
mit. Jesus took in the life as he came along,
and came to the end on which his face was set
when he had reached his destination.
A great deal is said in the Bible about fixed
epochs. God has his set times. Providence
moves forward to the beat of the centuries.
There is a sort of schedule for the progress of
history, and the orderly movements of the
Kingdom. Parallel lines of history are timed
to each other. The poets have a fancy that the
Star of Bethlehem was a regular conjunction
of planets, and that the history of Jesus was
timed to that of the stars. Thus the three
Wise-men met as by appointment and came
together to Bethlehem. This is a poetic fancy,
but back of it there is historic reality as sur-
prising as this. When Jesus came there was
apparently a feeling of expectancy, as if some
new order was about to be introduced. The
Magi were watching for it; Simeon and Anna
were waiting their time in the temple; Herod
SERMONS 79
even was disturbed by a rumor. In line with
all this, we read of the fullness of time. The
material kingdom, the order of history, the
expectations of men, were all set to the same
hour. Jesus came as the stars come, as the
sunrise returns at its appointed time, as history
moves to its proper pulsation. It was the
time of which the morning sang at creation's
dawn; of which the holy prophets spake; of
which the providence of God made note.
Of the chosen saints the poet sings:
"At the time appointed,
He sends his angel down,
To bear his own anointed
Up to their throne and crown."
Into this order Jesus came and lived his won-
derful life. He touched every living interest;
he heard every cry of need; he gave time to
every sorrow on his way. Yet when the full-
ness of time was come he was at his place.
During all this gentle and timely service, his
face was set to the final consummation.
And now he has come to the Mount of
Olives. He is passing up its sides. They
think the day of coronation has come, and they
cut down palm branches, and spread garments
in the way as they would for the crown prince;
they shout "Hosanna! Hosanna!" To him
it was a passing incident. He was on his way
8o SERMONS
to where his face had been set. He appeared
in the temple and began his work. It did not
take long to develop the enemy. As he met
the questions, and solved their plots, the con-
spiracy grew stronger, and the garden and the
Judgment Hall and the cross followed close.
Towards this consummation of sacrifice and
sorrow his face had been set these many
months, and to it he had steadily moved
from Galilee to the Jordan, from the Jordan
to Jerusalem, from Jerusalem to Calvary.
Through all the gentle scenes, through all
the timely teaching, through the kindly deeds
he has come without divergence, he has come
to this final scene, and can now say, "I have
finished the work thou gavest me to do. And
now I come to thee."
"From Heaven he came; of Heaven he
spake, to Heaven he led his followers!" He
taught in Capernaum and they listened; he
called the fishers of Galilee and they followed ;
he rested in Bethany, and his friends gathered
about him; he hastened up Olivet and they
followed him with palms and songs. The
strong thought that was on his heart all these
months made him a leader of men wherever
he went. Whatever at the moment he was
doing, his eye was on the distant goal that all
the while he had respect to. He was going
SERMONS 8i
to the cross and the cross was the way to the
crown. He was on his way to death but death
was the gateway of Hfe. He each day did the
work he came to and each day's work led to
the next. And this brought him at last to
the consummation on which he had all the
while set his face. Every day's service was
like a day's march. Day after day brought him
along to Jordan and Jericho, to Bethany and
Olivet. All the way along he had taught
the people; all the way along he had healed
the sick ; all the way along he had proclaimed the
Kingdom of God. And now he was amid the
palms and Hosannas. The priests and elders
frowned; the disciples murmured; but the
children shouted. And he rode on in calm
consciousness and said to those who protested,
"If these should hold their peace, the very
rocks would cry out." A worthy occasion
which demands expression will always find
a tongue.
Jesus never lost sight of the end, and never
failed in the duty of the hour. He never
neglected a crying child because he was think-
ing of how the children would shout at Olivet.
He never left a sick man by the wayside
because the feast at Bethany was to be tomor-
row night. He met the need of today and
82 SERMONS
thereby reached the appointed place for tomor-
row's service. So it may be to us.
We may "Each day pitch our moving tent,
A day's march nearer home." You will all
come to the end you keep in view. You will
come to that towards which your face is set.
You may not come rapidly, but you will come
surely. Each day will bring you nearer. It
is the steady race which wins the crown. It
is the one who endures to the end. It is he
who runs so as to obtain. It is to him that
overcomes to whom God giveth a crown.
VII
"hold fast the profession of your faith"
Hebrews lo: 23
T T would make this passage clearer to render
"*■ it, "Hold fast the faith you have pro-
fessed." The author is writing to the Chris-
tian disciples who are scattered abroad. They
have suffered persecutions and losses on account
of their faith. They were often well-nigh dis-
couraged, and almost ready to abandon their
faith. It cost something to be a Christian in
that age. It cut a man off from worldly ad-
vantages and exposed him to great annoyances.
It shut him out from all his old associations;
it excluded him from all profitable employ-
ments, and it cut him off from all social recog-
nition and political preferment. If he had
property, it would be injured and perhaps
broken up. At this particular time the Chris-
tians were suffering even severer trials, for they
were being driven from their houses, perse-
cuted and tortured, and some of them had
suffered death.
This epistle was written to keep these perse-
cuted disciples in heart, and to encourage
them to fidelity and perseverance. "Hold
83
84 SERMONS
fast the profession of your faith." Hold fast
the faith you have professed. They had pro-
fessed Jesus and had taken him as their por-
tion. The epistle opens by showing whom it
was they had believed. It was Jesus, the
express image of God, the maker of the world.
He was above the angels, for the angels must
worship him. He was before Moses, for Moses
was a servant, while he was a Son. He was
before Aaron, for Aaron's priesthood was tem-
porary while His priesthood was perpetual.
Then the writer goes on to give examples of
enduring faith from among the Jewish people,
and he gives us that wonderful eleventh chap-
ter which has been denominated the roll-call
of the Bible saints. It is a rapid survey of the
men and women in Jewish history who had
stood in their places moving the world and ad-
vancing the Kingdom. These all suffered
losses and met disappointments, encount-
ered obstacles, and carried burdens. They all
worked for that they did not see, and strove
for that they did not attain. But though they
did not attain, they hastened the time when it
should be attained. The good time coming
never came to them, but it came nearer and
it came sooner than it could have come with-
out them. They helped to bring it on.
Now the writer applies this thought to their
SERMONS 85
condition. Looking at these principles of
truth, looking at these examples of fidelity —
this cloud of witnesses — keep right on in your
course, and run with patience the race set
before you, looking unto Jesus, the Author and
Finisher of your faith. Hold fast the faith
you have professed. If you must give up
everything for your faith, see to it that you do
not let your faith slip too. Cling to that, for
it is worth all the rest. Think of all there is
in it of promise and inspiration and hope, and
take the full comfort of it. Trust in it, for
it is sure. Rejoice in it, for it is full of promise.
Be satisfied with it, for it is sufficient.
We have professed our faith in God as re-
vealed in Jesus Christ. God is the foundation
of all. Real faith in God supersedes every-
thing else. If we trust really in God, our trust
will never waver because our surroundings
waver, any more than the house on the rock
will shake when the floods dash about it. It
rests on a deeper foundation than the circum-
stances of our life. It keeps us steady when
circumstances change. Its value is greater
when other things give way. It would not be
worth much if it failed us when other things
fail. We do not doubt the sun when it goes
behind a cloud, or sinks beneath the horizon
at night. It would be a dreadful world to live
86 SERMONS
in if we did. We rest quietly at night because
we know the sun is coming back in the morn-
ing. Friendship was made for the dark day,
and you would not value a friend who failed
you when trouble came. Faith is of special
worth when we cannot see, and when we can-
not see is the time of all others that we should
cling to our faith. You would not count him
a very wise man who should abandon his spar
because the waves were so high and land so
far. That is the very time he needs his spar.
You would not count him wise who should wear
his life-preserver on deck on a sunny after-
noon, and then leave it below when the storm
came and he must take to the deep sea. Yet
that is just the way many Christians regard
their faith. They make much of it when all
is prosperous, and let go their hold when adver-
sity comes. If you trust God only while He
is prospering you, your faith does not mean
much and it is not worth much. An anchor
is not worth much to a ship if the cable breaks
when the strain comes. An anchor is not in-
tended to prevent a storm or calm the waves,
but it is intended to hold the ship. It is not
a charm to still the seas, but a cable to hold the
ship when a storm is on the sea. A life-pre-
server is not intended to keep a man out of
the water, but to keep him afloat when he is
SERMONS 87
in the water. The purpose of faith is not to
prevent trials, but to enable a man to bear
them, A great many people assume that the
object of religion is to give a man an easy time —
to prosper him in his affairs — to resolve his
perplexities — and ward off his trials. We hear
the remark often that a certain man's religion
does not do him much good. He does not pros-
per any better than his godless neighbors, and he
has as many losses and disappointments and
sorrows as his unbelieving friends. Sometimes
it even seems as if a good man is singled out
for tribulation and disaster. David himself
once felt this way. "These are the ungodly
who prosper in the land. They increase in
riches." Did you ever hear a remark like
that in this late day?
But mistakes show the real significance of
faith. The primal object of faith is to make
a man strong. It is not to give a man an easy
time, but to enable him to bear a rough time.
It is not primarily to give a man prosperity,
but to enable him to bear any fortune and profit
by it. It is not to keep a man out of the con-
flict, but to enable him to "bear hardness as
a good soldier." The question is not as to
a man's trials, but as to the result of them.
The vital question is, how does he come out of
them? It is not a point with the gold ore how
SERMONS
hot the furnace may be, but how does it come
out of the furnace? Does it come out purified
or blackened? Has it been enriched or has it
been ruined?
When we recount a man's experiences, the
vital question is, how did he bear them? How
did they affect him? How does he come out
of them? What sort of man did they leave
him?
We cannot interpret our lives any more than
we can forecast them. If we could always
know what they mean, and where they are
coming to, there would not be so great a call
for faith. But the larger portion of our life
we must receive on trust. We can see goodness
in it only as we know God is good. We pass
under clouds through which no light shines,
except there be light from above. The glory
of our faith is that it can trust where it cannot
see. It is not art to trust when we can see,
and of no great benefit, either. Ingersoll says
it is a strange thing that Jesus would cry out
when on the Cross: "My God, My God, why
hast thou forsaken me?" But I have often
blessed God that he has left that word on record.
It shows that Jesus our Saviour went down to
the depths of human experience, as we must
go. For every man has known something of
what these words express. Have you not
SERMONS 89
yourselves been where that thought was in
your heart, even if those words did not come
to your Hps? Has there not been a time when
it seemed as if your last desire had been
denied — your last request refused? The cup
you prayed might pass has been forced to your
lips; the heavens have seemed brass above you,
and the earth has seemed a desert beneath you.
You have gone out into a night that had no
stars, and you waited for a morning that
brought no sun. In such an hour, the heart
cried out, "though the lips moved not:" "My
God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
At such a time it has been an unspeakable
relief to remember that he whom God surely
loved went down into the same depths and
uttered the same cry. It is not a sign that
God has forsaken us because the last extremity
is permitted to come. What seems the extrem-
ity to us is not so to God.
Many years ago we were reading out of the
Gospels in the course of our morning worship.
We had come to the account of the Cruci-
fixion. As we read, the story seemed unsually
vivid. We read how Jesus went in silence
from Pilate's judgment hall to Calvary, bear-
ing his cross till he could bear it no longer and
then another must bear it for him. We read
how the soldiers took him and nailed him to
90 SERMONS
the cruel cross, casting lots for his clothes; how
the multitude gathered about him as he hung
on the cross, and mocked him. One said:
"Let the King of Israel come down from the
cross, and we will believe him. Thou that de-
stroyest the temple and in three days buildest
it again, save thyself." Another replied: "He
saved others, himself he cannot save." And
another said: "He trusted in God, let God
deliver him now, if he wants him." Another,
more bold still, shouted to the sufferer: "If
thou be the Son of God, come down from the
cross." Just before me sat our daughter, then
a child, following the story with intense inter-
est and growing indignation. I could see she
was mightily moved. As I came to these
words, "If thou be the Son of God, come down
from the cross," she could contain herself no
longer, and spoke out in her impulsive way,
"Why didn't he come down?" Yes, why didn't
he come down? I presume we have all asked
that question many and many a time. Why
didn't he come down and confront His foes
then and there? Why didn't he come down
and end all controversy as to his divine au-
thority and power? Why didn't he come down?
No answer. Christ never comes down from
the cross, either in his own person or in the
person of his disciples. They are all made to
SERMONS 91
bear until "It is finished." They see not the
promise though they witness a good report.
"Not accepting deliverance" is the testimony
of them all, and it is the testimony of common
life as well. Again and again there is no light-
ening of the lot, no lifting of the load, no turn-
ing away of the blow. The blow comes —
and comes hard, too. "Made perfect through
suffering" was not the truth alone of the Cap-
tain of our Salvation. It is true of his followers
as well. His people bear about in their own
bodies the dying of the Lord. How the noblest
men have suffered the tide, and been submerged
at the last! How the gentlest spirits have
felt the grinding of a hard life and never known
a respite! How the most beautiful characters
have shown out of the darkest experience!
How the loveliest have borne the longest, and
not at eventide could there be said, "There
was light."
Some years ago I ran across a verse which
very vividly expresses this idea. It was
credited to some unknown English poet. I
used the verse in an article which was quite
extensively copied. Shortly after, I received
a letter from Samuel Hoyt, of Amesbury,
Massachusetts, a life-long friend of Whittier,
Parton, and other well known poets. He said
the verse was by Helen Hunt Jackson. He
92 SERMONS
had it in his scrap-book and would send me a
copy of the entire poem, which I have never
seen anywhere else. Only that one verse,
however, illustrates my thought.
"Is it true, O Christ in Heaven,
That the purest suffer most?
And the strongest wander farthest
And most helplessly are lost?
Is the mark of rank in nature
But capacity for pain?
Does the anguish of the singer
Make the sweetness of the strain?"
When a good man is in trouble, we often
turn upon him and ask, "What good does his
faith do him now^? " The foes of David caught
this thought and taunted him with it. "As
with a sword in my bones mine enemies re-
proach me while they say daily unto me,
'Where is now thy God?'" It was easy to
talk of God in prosperous times — where is he
now you are in trouble? It was well enough to
boast of God when everything went right.
But where is he now everything is in confusion,
and all things seem to turn against you? It
was easy enough to meditate upon his watch-
fulness and care when your flocks were safely
feeding in the green pastures of Judea, or ly-
ing down by the still waters of Bethlehem.
But where was he when the lion and the bear
came down upon the sheep? It was all very
SERMONS 93
well to talk of God when you stood upon the
heights, safely viewing the movements of the
hostile armies as they met in battle. But
how was it when the giant came striding
towards you over the plains with his spear like
a weaver's beam? It was very sweet and
pretty to hear you talk of faith in God when
you came from the victory and the maidens
met you singing, "Saul has slain his thousands
and David his ten thousands." But how was
it when Saul's jealousy drove you from his
house? It was very beautiful to sing Jeho-
vah's praises when you were playing upon
your loved harp and charming your monarch
and his court in the palace of the king. But
how was it when the king's countenance was
changed towards you and you were driven to
the mountains to hide in caves and thickets,
when a price was set upon your head and you
were hunted like a wild beast in the woods?
Where now is thy God? What is he doing
for you now? David himself is almost puzzled
for an answer. "Like a sword in my bones
was their reproach." "My feet had well-nigh
slipped." Not till he came into the sanctuary
of God, into the Divine center of vision, did
he see how it was. Then it was all plain. The
Lord did not protect him from the inroad of
the lion and the bear, but he nerved his arm
94 SERMONS
to beat them back. He did not shelter him
in some secluded valley where the giant could
not find him, but he steadied his hand as he
slung the stone and brought the giant down
and saved the armies of Israel and the land
of his fathers. He did not hide him in the cleft
of some rock and feed him till Saul had ceased
his persecution, but he led him through an
experience which quickened his perceptions
and developed his ingenuity, and so prepared
him for leadership in the after years. How
much of David's wonderful success in war, in
diplomacy and in statesmanship, was the result
of the wit quickened by the straits and emer-
gencies of his early life, we may never know.
But we may be sure of this much at least;
David would never have been the man he was
and never the king he was, had it not been
for the discipline of those early years, which
at the time so severely tried him. He after-
wards saw something of what God had done
for him. When again they asked him, "Where
is now thy God?" he could say: "Surely good-
ness and mercy have followed me all the days
of my life and I will dwell in the house of the
Lord (or, under the care of the Lord) forever."
The ship sails out proudly from port and
runs delightfully for many days. At last a
storm comes up and sun and stars are not seen.
SERMONS 95
The sails are torn from the masts ; the bulwarks
are swept away; and the waves roll over the
deck. Everybody is drenched and dreary and
cold, and hope is almost gone. With all that
helm and sail can do the ship can only lie to
and drift like a water-soaked log. Now they
taunt the captain who has boasted so much
of his ship. They ask, in derision, "What do
you say for your ship now?" As confident as
ever, he replies, "She was built for a time like
this.^ Other ships may outdo her in the calm,
or outsail her before a fair breeze, but she was
built strong and wisely planned, so that when
all else fails and nothing more can be done, she
can lie to and drift and wait till the storm is
past. Then she can bring her crew and pas-
sengers home to their desired haven. She
was not made to escape the tempest, but to en-
dure it and live through it."
Our faith should be for the time that tests
it. However wild the storm, we trust the God
who rules the storm. No matter how dark
and long the night, we trust the God of the
morning. As we stand in the middle of the
night, it may not add a single star to the sky,
or throw a single ray of light on our path, but
we endure the darkness, and wait with vastly
greater patience and courage when we know
that the sun will rise again at six o'clock in the
96 SERMONS
morning. As we stand in the middle of the
winter and the air is full of frost, and the ground
is buried in snow, and the waters of lake and
river are locked in ice, it may not put a single
leaf on the tree, or a single blade of grass on
the plain, or a single flower on the hillside but
it makes the winter vastly more endurable and
our lives vastly more cheerful to know that on
the 2 1 St of March the sun will return to this
northern hemisphere and begin to warm the
earth for another season. "Roses will -come
again," and "It will be summer by-and-by."
Faith may not banish our difficulties, but it
gives meaning to the conflict by which we over-
come them. It does not lift our loads for us,
but we are made strong to carry them. It
does not restore our losses, or fill our loneliness,
or dry our tears; but losses and loneliness and
tears become less desolate when we know that
"Though weeping may endure for a night, joy
cometh in the morning." And that "He that
goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed,
shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bear-
ing his sheaves with him." It may not steady
the earth when it quakes, but it steadies our
souls amid the rocking when we know that
there are things which cannot be shaken, and
that we receive a kingdom which cannot be
moved.
VIII
"the days of our years"
Psalm 90 : 10
rr^HE ending of the year is always an epoch
^ in our lives. No matter how lightly
we regard it, we cannot pass it without some-
thing of a start. It is a milestone on the road
which we have never passed before and shall
never pass again. We carry with us what we
have gathered, and what we have left is beyond
our reach. The days of our years may be
ever so full and yet we may go on empty ; they
may be ever so rich, and yet we go from them
poor. But empty or poor though we may be,
we cannot go back to gather what we have
left behind. It was ours once but it is ours
no more. If we redeem the time it will enrich
us, if we neglect our opportunity we go on
with pauperized lives. When the door is
open, no man may shut it against us; when the
door is shut, no man may open it for us.
The "Days of Our Years" have passed very
gently. They made no sound as they went
by. But they changed the face of all the
things they touched. They fell like snow-
flakes, silent and soft, but like the snowflakes
7 97
98 SERMONS
they change the face of all the earth. Every
year gives another touch, and before we note
what is going on, the whole scene is changed.
Time moves on without a sound, building up
the limbs of childhood, strengthening the
arms of manhood, and fulfilling the counsels
of manhood. So quietly have they borne us
along that we were hardly aware of the mov-
ing, yet here we are looking back over the long
line of our journey. As we note the shifting
scene it seems almost like a dream. Like
the woman in the nursery rhyme, we are
inclined to cry, "Surely it is not I." Others
may see no romance in our lives. But there
is no romance like that of a man's experience.
In fact there is no other romance. The heart
feels its own as none else can feel it. "The
heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a
stranger intermeddleth not with its joy." We
are amused at the glow with which men tell of
the commonplace incidents of their lives. But
we do not realize the personal touch which
makes commonplace things seem vital. The
average talker is dreary, because he does not
realize that what has stirred him may be a
matter of indifference to another. A mother
telling of the words and doings of her child,
seems dismal, if not amusing to us. But it
is all alive to her. There is nothing really
SERMONS 99
commonplace to a man which touches his
own Hfe.
"A commonplace life, we say and we sigh,
But why do we sigh as we say?
A commonplace sun in a commonplace sky
Maketh the commonplace day;
The moon and the stars are commonplace things;
And the flowers that bloom, and the birds that sing;
But dark were the world, and sad our lot,
If the flowers failed, and the sun shone not.
But God who studies each separate soul.
Out of commonplace things makes the beautiful whole."
What seems commonplace to us may be
romance to those who are in it. We stand
mute sometimes beside an open grave. A
grief has touched another which we do not
feel. But when we stand there with a grief
of our own, we know what the romance of
human life can mean. The shadows refuse
to rise, and the wounds refuse to heal. One
of my earliest recollections is that of standing
by the grave of a little brother. I was too
young to realize the import of the scene, and
my most vivid remembrance is of wondering
why my mother wept and sobbed so. Thus
we often look on a sorrow whose point we do
not feel. We do not see what sharpens the
thorn for another's flesh.
It is the days of our years which slip away
from us so easily. W'e should be more choice
100 SERMONS
of the years. But the days slip away unnoticed
and the days carry the years with them. A
lost day seems a trifle, but a few days lost, and
the year is gone.
"Why do we heap huge mounds of years
Before us and behind;
And scorn the little days that pass,
Like angels on the wind?
Each turning round a small, sweet face
As beautiful, as near;
Because it is so small a face
We do not see it clear.
And so it turns from us and goes
Away in sad disdain;
Though we would give our lives for it,
It never comes again."
So each day goes — used or unused — well
spent or ill spent — redeemed or wasted — but
however they are spent they go into the irrepar-
able past.
"The days of our years" have been busy
years. They have moved very quietly, but
they have wrought wonders in their noiseless
flight. As they passed we paid little heed, but
as we look back how changed the prospect
is. One character at a time passed off and one
character at a time came on. But how a few
years have changed the grouping around us.
Few as the days of our years have been, what
marvelous transformations they have wrought.
SERMONS loi
They seemed trifles to those who looked on,
but they meant everything to those involved.
We have seen homes gathered and homes
broken; we have seen joyful hearts made sad
and sad hearts made joyful; we have seen the
solitary set in families, and happy homes made
desolate. We have seen fortunes made and
fortunes lost. The poor boy of our youth is
the millionaire of today, and the millionaire
of years ago is today wondering where his
dinner is to come from. We have seen the
lowly lifted and the mighty cast down; we
have seen the unknown come into prominence,
and the well-known pass from sight. We have
seen obscure names rise like a star in the heav-
ens, and we have seen bright names clouded
as in midnight gloom. Thus they have come
and thus they have gone, and thus they have
been coming and going since time began.
The year just passing has been like the rest.
With some it has left no special mark, with
others it has burned its story into their souls
as with letters of fire. With some it will be
distinguished for its brightness which will
gild all the years ahead; with others it will
carry gloom which will darken the days to
come. The voice they loved most to hear is
no longer heard, and the name which sounded
sweetest is now spoken but in whispers and
102 SERMONS
in tears. But behind every cloud there is a
light, and none need sing the song of despair.
" My soul from out that shadow shall be lifted Nevermore."
" For taking the years together there is no more night than
day."
From every shadow the soul may be lifted
into the light, for a hope lost may be a new
hope born.
"And the glad life music, now heard no longer here,
Shall come again to greet us — as we are drawing near."
The days of our years have flitted by like
shadows on the hillside. Joy and sorrow,
light and darkness, have chased each other
across our sky. We have had reason "To
bless the favoring gale" when we have sailed
through unruffled seas; and we have waited
for light " In the midnight of the soul."
Yet the days of our years have left some-
thing with us as they flitted by. They passed
"Like snowflakes on the river,
A moment white, then gone forever."
But even the snowflakes increase the volume
of the stream. The days of our years are
gone before we realize they are here, but they
add to the volume of our life. They leave with
us what our souls absorb, and we shall be in
the coming days what our past has made us.
We may accumulate wisdom and knowledge
SERMONS 103
and character, and be enriched in life or we may
let it all flow by us while we remain paupers in
our spirits. A light purse is as nothing com-
pared with an impoverished soul. For sunny
memories warm the life, as the noonday sun
warms the night, or the midsummer is remem-
bered by the storms of midwinter.
Everything is the richer for what it has
passed through. Even a song means more
every time it is sung. It brings to us memo-
ries as well as music, and it strikes other chords
besides those on the staff. Words grow rich
as they grow old, and they gather force as they
pass from lip to lip. They carry something
of the voice and tone and sentiment.
How the old haunts and the old paths keep
their tales for us. No panorama can compare
with the pictures which an old familiar path
can show us in a walk through a well remem-
bered wood. All along we see faces and scenes
and hear voices and songs which made the
years of long ago so full of fresh delight. A
company invisible to the rest passes before
our eyes, and voices none else can hear fill the
air for us. There is an old oak tree near my
father's house which is a well filled story-book
to me. There we boys used to sit and plan
for the future. When we were last together,
coming from all over the land we sat under that
104 SERMONS
old tree all afternoon, and arranged for the old
homestead when we should be scattered again.
That tree seems to have kept a diary of all that
passed beneath its shade. No phonograph
could retain the faces and the stories and the
songs as the branches of that old oak retain
and repeat them to those who have the key.
"The meadow has a tale for us, the lane its storied hour,
Companions in each hedge we hail, a friend in every flower;
Thus half forgotten as we stand, amid the haunts of youth.
The golden past asserts for us, its strength of love and truth. ''
No one need be lonely whose past has en-
riched him. If companions are lacking, the
friends of other days will crowd about him, and
the memories of other days will flood his
thoughts and brighten the hours.
And gloom remains as well as brightness.
How a malicious man must dread to be alone.
How he must strive to shut out the dark and
dismal past. Under his present there ever
flows a dark tide, like a river under ground, —
never seen, but ever flowing, and ever heard.
"There is a river drear and lone,
That flows in noiseless undertone,
Through caverns dark and gulfs profound,
A silent river under ground.
"The ghostly boatmen on it glide.
The ripples lap against the side.
The oars dip in, but still no sound,
This silent river under ground."
SERMONS 105
And results remain as well as memories.
"My days are like a weaver's shuttle," said
Job. Like a weaver's shuttle every day car-
ries a thread which becomes a part of the
fabric, and a part of the pattern. Once woven
no man may unravel the threads, or change
the pattern. But God puts our broken threads
together, and completes our unfinished web.
"Others shall sing the songs,
Others shall right the wrong,
Finish what we begin;
What matters, we or they;
Ours or another's day:
So the right word be said,
And life the sweeter made."
IX
"l WILL REMEMBER ALL THE WAY"
Deut. 8:2
WE all carry a picture gallery in our hearts.
It is filled with pictures of the scenes
we have passed. Pleasant and painful, sunny
and shady, peaceful and wild, they alternate
all along the course of our lives. Again and
again, in a dreamy mood, we "remember all
the way." Often the earliest are the choicest,
as some old picture of centuries ago is often
the prized of all the treasures of art.
What I may call my first recollection is as
distinct as anything in my thought. After
months of travel out of the dim mysteries of
childhood, our people went into the Michigan
woods, and set themselves down on a beautiful
knoll overlooking lakes and meadows, woods
and plains, — a lovely spot, but with no neigh-
bors for miles. A shanty roofed with hay
served for shelter while the log-cabin was being
built, and we cooked our meals beside a great
white-oak log outside. It was autumn, and
father and the older boys worked every day
in the woods to get our cabin ready before
106
SERMONS 107
winter set in. I was six, and I had a brother,
Willie, of four years. We were constant com-
panions. To the rest we might seem lonely,
but for Willie and me every bush had a tongue,
and the birds sang but for us all day long,
while the whippoorwill kept singing into the
night. As it was with Tom Hood,
"Morn never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day."
We were together, and everywhere together.
He was bright and full of life, chasing butter-
flies and hunting flowers all day. He was so
fond of flowers that he would bring his arms
full of goldenrod every night to mother. He
was quaint and witty and bright, and kept
us laughing all the time. The autumn sped
apace, and we were compelled to go into the
cabin before it was quite completed. It was
all the great fireplace could do to keep the air
warm which came in at the many openings.
Willie and I were now shut in by the winter
storms. He was the same as ever. However
dark the day, he was a bit of sunshine within.
The weeks went by slowly, and March came.
It had been a hard, long winter, and Willie
was growing less lively. One morning he did
not get up to breakfast. I could not under-
stand why he did not come, but Mother went
io8 SERMONS
often to his bedside. When I went to him, he
did not know me, and when I touched him,
he only said, "You mustn't; hurts." About
the fourth day some neighbors came in, and
the minister, and they sang and prayed. Then
Mother took me by the hand, and we walked
over to a beautiful spot across the field and
put Willie in the grave. I looked up at Mother
and saw tears trickling down her cheeks. She
seldom cried, and I wondered what it all
meant. In all the years after, Mother had a
little flower garden where the mound had been,
and I often found her there on Sunday after-
noon, sitting and reading her Bible.
But Willie did not walk with me any more.
The other boys were older than I, and I was
left alone to people the woods with soldiers
and knights, with forts and castles, with moats
and drawbridges, and all the wondrous things
which filled a boy's imagination. I have
often wondered what I lost from my life by
Willie going from me so early.
This is one of the first pictures in my mem-
ory, and yet it is as vivid as if it were yester-
day,— that lovely autumn in the woods, that
dreary winter in the cabin, and that myste-
rious, wierd walk with Mother to that point by
the hillside. It was a shadow over my life,
"and my soul from out that shadow . . .
SERMONS 109
shall be lifted nevermore." This is a personal
picture, but perhaps you have one near enough
like it to understand it.
A more public event gives a more public
recognition. The first great steamboat dis-
aster is as vividly in my mind as if it had been
a personal matter. I had never seen a steam-
boat, but heard one morning that the Buffalo
boat had been burned to the water's edge, and
most of the crew and passengers had perished
in the flames. Among the passengers were
many friends and neighbors from Ann Arbor,
and gloom spread over the whole community.
Long as it is ago, that hangs over that point
in my memory as the black smoke might hang
for hours over the spot where a burning steamer
went down.
A national picture will bring us more near
the occasion which brings us here this morning.
The annexation of Texas was one of the chief
issues in the campaigns of 1840 and 1844.
In 1844 Polk was elected as the friend of annex-
ation. General Taylor had been in Western
Texas with a small army of observation, as
they called it. As soon as it was decided to
hold the boundary of the Rio Grande, General
Taylor crossed the river into Mexico and won
victories at Matamoras and Monterey. Then,
instead of waiting for new volunteer troops,
1 10 SERMONS
he pushed on into Mexico with his Httle army
of 5,000 men. We heard of him, but we all
felt anxious for his fate. Then came the ugly
rumors that Santa Anna, the Mexican presi-
dent and warrior, was coming upon him with
20,000 men. We were all in a ferment of fear
and indignation. We thought Taylor had been
betrayed by his political enemies, who were
jealous of the prestige he was gaining by his
victories. There was great difference of opin-
ion as to the wisdom of the war, but all parties
felt alike as to the duty of sustaining Taylor.
The heart of the whole country beat as the
heart of one man in patriotic sympathy with the
brave men who were imperilled among the
Mexican mountains. But in a few days the
news came that Taylor had engaged Santa
Anna and scattered his great army to the four
winds. Then was our fear turned into laugh-
ter, and we were "as they that dream." And
this picture has hung on the walls of our mem-
ory as clear and distinct as it was when it first
took its place. The heat of our great interest
fastened the colors as the heated oven fastens
the colors in the decorating of the choicest
china.
As we come down, our pictures will interest
a wider circle. In the spring of '6i, we came
from our home in Michigan to our home in
SERMONS III
Kansas. We crossed Missouri by Hannibal
Railroad in April. The whole country was in
a fever of excitement and men's hearts were
failing them for fear of what was coming upon
the earth. The next morning the Confedera-
tion fired on Sumter, and what men feared
began to come. Missouri was in arms, her
river blockaded, her railroads torn up, and
travel impossible anywhere. The whole land
was instantly divided into two hostile camps,
and men flew at each other like the meeting
of opposing tides at sea. The farmer left his
plough; the herdsman left his flock; the lawyer
left his client; and the doctor left his patient;
and all rushed to save the country. A com-
pany gathered just back of our house. Many
of them were old friends, and they were as a
part of our household. They came in as they
would for change or rest, and some of them
often sat with us at our evening meal. One
morning our special friend came bounding in
and cried, "We are ordered off. Good-bye!"
And they went as happy as if to a feast. A
few days after was the deadly battle of Wil-
son's Creek, and some of the boys who went a
few days before never came again. You may
be sure that picture hangs in our memorial
gallery.
Two years later, the outlook seemed very
112 . SERMONS
dark. The sides were nearly matched so that
the issue seemed very doubtful. But the
Fourth of July it lightened all around the sky,
and there were victories at Gettysburg, Vicks-
burg and Port Huron. They were so decisive
that Lincoln saw they foreshadowed the end.
He ordered that August 6th should be observed
as a day of thanksgiving. I was supplying
our new mission on Main Street for three weeks,
using the principal hall. The churches of
Kansas were indifferent to the President's
proclamation, or worse. They all ignored the
day. I determined there should be one loyal
service in Kansas City. It was a curious
conglomeration. There were our own people,
there were soldiers and officers from the camps,
and there were strangers who proved to be
members of Quantrill's guerilla band. The
service seemed the proper thing for the occa-
sion, and all went away glad that day had not
been passed over in Kansas City.
After my time expired, we returned to our
home in Lawrence. We enjoyed it just one
day. At daybreak, August 21st, Quantrill's
band pounced upon us, destroyed the town,
murdered one hundred and fifty of our citi-
zens, and left all without homes, with the task
of burying the dead. The funeral season was
SERMONS 113
protracted and various, but the services were
many and brief.
"Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spake not a word of sorrow,
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And bitterly thought of the morrow."
You may be sure we also hung this picture in
its order in our collection, and it has lost noth-
ing of its colors or its distinctness in the pass-
ing years.
There are many other pictures just as dis-
tinct as these, but to note them all would be to
obscure them all. One more only of this
series can be pointed out.
After two years more of strenuous struggle
came Lee's surrender and the return of peace.
All were rejoiced. The Union had been pre-
served, the national authority had been main-
tained; slavery had been destroyed, and all
that we fought for had been secured. Even
the South was satisfied that she could go home
and rest. But right in the midst of our re-
joicing came the darkest day of all, the "winter
of our discontent."
Lee had surrendered; Lincoln had been to
Richmond, and the terms of peace had been
agreed upon; the armies were going, and the
country was rejoicing. Then five days after
Lee's surrender, April 14th, our beloved Presi-
114 SERMONS
dent Lincoln, who had led us through the War
and met all the tremendous issues as they arose
in such a wonderful manner, was foully mur-
dered. No one knew whence it came, or what
it meant. It occurred Friday evening, and
we heard of it Saturday morning. Arrange-
ments were made at once for memorial services
the next day in the old stone church. Skilful
hands draped the church in graceful folds of
black; while folded flags still more expressed
the common thought. The choir prepared
appropriate music, and I prepared a sermon in
line with the occasion. The fears of what might
come soon subsided, but the sorrow for what
had come hung like a dark cloud for many
days. The sentiment of that memorial serv-
ice was fresh in our minds long after the scenes
had passed by. We did not forget to hang
this picture in our memorial hall, and we just
touch upon it today as we "remember all the
way." Peace remained and prosperity came
apace, but we did not forget the days of sorrow
and of gloom. They hung over us still, just
as the clouds do after the storm has passed on.
May I draw the slide once more, and show
a scene far down the line, as I "remember all
the way?" There have been great changes,
great prosperity and great expansion. The
world does not recognize the change, and we
SERMONS 115
do not realize our strength. Somehow we
have drifted into a war for the deliverance of
Cuba. Again there is an eager rush to the
country's defense.
We draw the slide again right here in Ply-
mouth. It is early morning and the church
is crowded with an eager throng. It is all
flags and flowers, and music and shouts. A
company of our own boys came in, just as the
boys came in forty years ago. They were
right from our homes, our church, and our
boys' brigade. The officers of the boys' bri-
gade are the officers. They are from our homes,
and Sunday school, and friends. As they go
away the multitude shouts, and the boys
bravely respond. And we sing as they go,
" Brave boys are they,
Gone at their country's call;
And yet, and yet, we cannot forget
How many brave boys must fall."
We soon began to hear of their soldierly quali-
ties and soldierly conduct in far Manila Bay.
Their bravery and bearing won for them a
high place among their new comrades, and the
Twentieth Kansas became the pride of our
state, and Company "H" became the pride of
Lawrence.
In February the Philippinos made a vicious
attack on our lines at night. Our boys were
ii6 SERMONS
ordered out to the firing-line. They had never
been under fire before, but they stood their
ground Hke veterans. But as they were push-
ing the enemy steadily back, a bullet struck
our own Fred, and he was the first of our Kan-
sas boys to fall. A few months later we had
another scene in Plymouth Church. Again it
was adorned with flags, and again the crowd
packed the house. But this time it was the
emblems of mourning, and the service of sorrow
and consolation. We sang as they went away,
" Brave boys are they,
Gone at their country's call;
And yet, and yet, we cannot forget
How many brave boys must fall."
Then we rejoiced as they went to their duty;
now we sorrowed over those who had fallen
in doing their country the service they owed
and pledged her.
These are but a few of many which I might
show as I "remember all the way." You
can bring out many scenes which will be more
distinct then I can make these. They will be
personal, domestic and public. The loved
who blessed your home, the companion that
cheered your life, the hero that stirred your
blood. Out of the past you will bring them
today, as you "remember all the way." As
you recall them, you will crown them. This
SERMONS 117
day is the crowning for the friends who have
passed on.
As you recall the old friends, put the chaplet
on. Bring flowers as fresh as the love they
bespeak. It may be the simplest, and be all
it need be. A violet laid upon its mother's
grave by a loving child means more than a
bunch of costly roses sent by the hand of a
servant. Send the flowers you love, and the
flowers they love. They shall stand for the
love that still is fresh, and they shall stand for
the faith that never fails.
This is Memorial Day. There has been
enough in any of our lives to show the signifi-
cance of such a day. All that has impressed
us as we came along has left its impress here.
As we "remember all the way," they will pass
before us. The old scenes and the old faces
will come to us once more. What impressed
you as you passed it will come distinctly before
you as you review it. The vivid scenes of your
life will be the vivid pictures of your Memo-
rial Gallery. You will not forget what so
distinctly left its mark. The old soldier will
not forget the war of the Rebellion. He
will not forget the day of his enlistment, and
he will not forget the first smoke of battle. He
will not forget the night march in the storm,
nor the camp in the snow. He will not forget
Ii8 SERMONS
his mess-mates, nor the men who marched with
him, nor the comrade who fell by his side in the
fight. If he should live a thousand years, the
four in the army would furnish more material
for thought than all the rest.
Bring flowers and crown the heroes you have
left behind. Let it be flowers and flags —
flags to mark the spot, and flowers to crown
the heroes. Bring the flowers you love, and
the flowers they loved. Bring roses with their
affection. Bring the carnation with its blush.
Bring the simplest as well as the rare.
Bring your flowers and crown the friends
whose faces come. Live over again the scenes
which once stirred you. Revive the old friend-
ships as you "remember all the way."
NUGGETS
It is not how far we have walked but which way we are
walking.
God measures not by the size of the gift but by the strength
of the giver; not by what the gift is worth, but by what it
costs him that brings it; not by the weight of the load, but by
the strength of him who carries it.
A man will do according to what he is.
A man may fail of fortune but need not fail himself.
A man is a fool not to be what he can be because he can't
be what he would be.
A man grows towards what he thinks upon and loves. He
that looks up has begun to rise. He that looks to God has
begun the journey toward God.
Every advance opens the way for advance; if a man be satis-
fied with the past he will have no future.
The true disciple never feels that he has attained. The
points gained are but steps towards the point sought. The
road traveled is only on the way to the destination.
The needs of today are not satisfied with the supplies of
yesterday, and the duties of today are not done by the fidelity
of yesterday.
The Kingdom of God is the reign of God in the hearts of
men. It is Christ formed within, molding the spirit and the
conduct to himself. It is a living thing in a living heart
repeating itself in other hearts. It is life touching life. It
is life transforming life. Thus the Kingdom grows and thus
the truth extends.
Men influence each other according to what they are, and
not according to what they seem to be, or say they are. It is
the Christ in men's lives which wins men to Christ.
You need all the sails you have, and you may fling them all
to the breeze. But unless you have a rudder, the more sails,
119
120 NUGGETS
the more peril. Fill your life as full of joy as you can, but
bring it all under the pressure of divine obligation.
The teacher may excuse from the lesson, but that is a dif-
ferent thing from learning the lesson. God may spare you
the cross but that will not win you the crown. You may
keep the metal from the fire, but that will not refine it.
The men who have given the world its best things have never
stopped to ask what the price might be.
Responsibility is not a burden but a privilege. A grand
service is not a hardship but a favor.
Faith in Christ is self-convincing. It is its own best proof.
Some travellers were encamped on the shore of a beautiful
lake whose waters at times were disturbed as if moved by
an unseen force. Exploration revealed the fact that the lake
was connected with the great ocean and so felt the heave and
swell of its mighty bosom. Even so it is our privilege to be
in touch with the great heart of God and respond in some
measure to impulses which have their source in him.
A wasted summer is a pauper's winter, a neglected school is
a dunce's life. An unimproved life opens to an empty
eternity.
A man's wants are within him. They are not in the things
that satisfy him. A man's wants are the measure of himself.
The more he wants the more there is of him. A new want
means a new capacity. He grows larger as his wants increase.
Cultivate the field you are in, and you will find enough to
do. You need not go to the slums to found a social settle-
ment. Make a social settlement of the community in which
you live. If you would serve the Master, get near to some-
body. Go near enough to the life to know what is needed
and how you can be of the most service.
The best part of many things is the desire for them. That a
man should desire them is an enrichment. You can have all
the best things. The wish for them opens the door for them.
If you hunger and thirst after righteousness you will be
filled.
To them who hunger for righteousness it comes as the air
comes in the evening, as the waters find their way to the sea.
NUGGETS 121
The breath of God is Hke the breath of life. We need but
breathe to be filled.
God never treats a prayer with indifference.
That is always most manly which is most natural: that is
always most brave which is most true. It is not manly to be
insensible, it is not manly to be indifferent.
Knowledge is a measure of being. A man grows as he learns
and learns as he grows.
Any man's service will be acceptable who stays where Christ
found him and does what Christ bids him. So long as he is
doing what Christ left for him to do, he need not sigh for higher
work nor for a better place. The work at hand is always the
work to be done and the work to be done will always be recog-
nized and rewarded.
You can judge a man by what he likes best. His taste will
define him. If his tastes are low, he will easily drop to their
level.
When a man takes religion into his home, it is not something
he can put away on the shelf, like a new piece of statuary,
or in the front parlor, like a new piano. But it is like letting
light into his home or fresh air into his room.
God may give a man the opportunity of great things, but
only that is his which he takes into his own life. God may
give a man the means of Grace, but only those graces ornament
his spirit which are taken into the fiber of his soul.
It is not what a man has but what he will do with it, which
determines his value as a member of society.
Persons on opposite sides of the street may walk as they
please, but it is always wise to keep step with the companion
at your elbow. A close touch demands the unselfish spirit
which religion implants.
The hero who meets his Gethsemane before the conflict
never faints when the conflict is on.
The primary purpose of prayer is to mold events. The
secondary purpose is to mold us. If events cannot be recon-
ciled to our plans, the same result may be attained if our plans
can be reconciled to events.
There are two ways to lighten a burden, one is to take it
122 NUGGETS
from our shoulders, the other is to strengthen our shoulders
to bear It.
A life that can bear its burden is richer than a life which
has no burden.
Strength to do is better than release from service. Courage
to dare is better than to escape the conflict.
There are Gethsemanes in all our lives. We all pass through
the garden in the midst of the night. In most lives the Geth-
semane is harder than the cross. The mental anguish exceeds
the physical pain.
Because the thing we ask for is not given is no sign that our
prayer is not heard. God has some better thing for us.
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