Sermons
Caird, John, 1820-1898
■ ' <v<■v''v/v/\'^<\''^«A/\<v'>r'<('i,r^/^/■v/J^^v^v''vi^v*■• .'\f\f<(yf'\r'y*yfS^fK.fsf'Kf<f\f\fkr- ■ ^^\f\f<f'^f\f\>- .f\/'Kf'sfy^yf'K<\f\f\^yf'srkf\: ,'■ ■''^ ^-H/v/Uv/lf"'- f' 'Kf\.fKf<ryfyf.f's,f\/'iyf'sf\f\f^- ■'-.fKf'sfkf-: ■ ■'■^fyfy«'\f\(\f\f'\f\/yf\f\r\f\fyfKf')^rA^f'x^Af\rl,/yf. • f\*yf'\fyf\fyf\fsf\f'\f\f'\f\,r - /si^^VUl/.s^i^ '-f\.f\f,'K*\f^-y'\f'.f ,7-.. 4^ •*• THIS BOOK IS FROM THE LIBRARY OF Rev. James Leach SERMONS Digitized by tine Internet Arcinive in 2010 witin funding from University of Toronto http://www.archive.org/details/sermonscairOOcair SERMONS BY THE EEV. JOHN OAIED, D.D. PROFESSOR OF DIVINITY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW AND ONE OF HER MAJESTY'S CHAPLAINS FOR SCOTLAND FO URTEENTII THO USA X D WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MDCCCLXXIII NOV 1 0 1967 &s/ry OF TO^ CONTENTS. SERMON I. PAGE THE SELF-EVIDESCING NATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH, 1 "By manifestation of the truth commending ourselves to every man's conscience in the sight of God." — 2 Corinthians, iv. 2, SERMON II. SELF-IGNORANCE, 33 ' ' Who can understand his errors ? Cleanse thou me from secret faults." — Psalm xix. 12. SERMON III. SPIRITUAL INFLUENCE, 54 "Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be bom again. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit." — John, in. 7,8. SERMON IV. PART FIRST. TEE INVISIBLE GOD, "No man hatli seen God at any time; the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Fatlicr, He hath declared Him. " —John, i. IS. VI CONTENTS. SERMON IV. PART SECOXD. rAGK TEE MAXIFESTATIOX OF THE INVISIBLE GOD, 100 "No man hath seen God at any time; the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Father, He hath declared Eim." —John, i. 18. SERMON Y. THE SOLITARIXESS OF CURISTS SUFFERINGS, 111 " I have trodden the wine-press alone." — Isaiah, Ixiii. 3. SERMON YI. PARTICIPATION IN THE SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST, US " Rejoice inasmuch as ye are partakers of the suffering of Christ." —1 PeUr, iv. 13. SERMON YII. SPIRITUAL REST, 150 " Retoi-u unto thy rest, O my soul !" — Psalm cxvi 7. SERMON YII I. SPIRITUAL PROSPERITY, " Beloved, I wish above all things that tlion mayest prosper and be in health, even as thy soul prospereth." — 3 John, 2. SERMON IX. THE CHRISTIAN'S HERITAGE, .... 205 " All things are yours ; whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or tliiugs present, or things to come ; all ai-e yours ; and ye are Christ's ; and Cluist is God's." —1 Coiinthians, iii. "21, 22, 23. CONTENTS. Vll SERMON X. PACK THE SIMPLICITY OF CHRISTIAN RITUAL, 226 " Then verily the first covenant had also ordinances of divine sex- vice."— Hebrews, ix. L SERMON XI. THE COMPARATIVE INFLUENCE OF CHARACTER AND DOCTRINE, .... . . . 250 " Take heed unto thyself, and unto the doctrine ; continue in them : for in doing this thou shalt both save thyself, and them that hear thee."— 1 Timothy, iv. 16. SERMON XII. RELIGION IN COMMON LIFE, .273 "Not slothful in business; fervent in spirit; serving the Lord." — Romans, xii. 11. SERMON I. THE SELF-EVIDENCING NATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH. " By manifestation of the truth commending ourselves to every man's con- science in the sight of God." — 2 Corinthians^ iv. 2. The truth we receive from the lips of another may either derive its authority from the teacher, or reflect oa him the authority it contains. As the receiver of money may argue, either that the money is good be- cause it is an honest man who pays it, or that the man is honest because he pays good money ; so in the com- munication and reception of truth, it may be a vahd inference, either that the doctrine is true because it is a trustworthy man who teaches it, or that the man who teaches is veracious or trustworthy because his doctrine is true. It is the latter mode of inference which is employed in the text. The apostle appeals to the doctrine he taught as in itself a sufficient attesta- tion of his character and credibility. The message he had spoken was so completely in accordance with reason and conscience — it so reflected the profoundest convictions of the human intellect, and responded to A 2 SEmroN I. the deepest longings of the human heart, that he needed no other credentials in proclaiming it : it be- came at once its own witness and his. The fragrance of the heavenly deposit clung to the garments of him to Avhom it was intrusted, and rendered him "a sweet savour of life unto them " who received it. The lamp of truth was not only seen by its own light, but shed back its brightness on the face of him who bore it. By the simple "manifestation of the truth, he com- mended himself to every man's conscience in the sight of God." That there is an order of truth, such as that to which the apostle refers, every thoughtful mind must be aware. As there are some truths which we reach inferentially, by a process, longer or shorter, of argu- ment, deduction, demonstration ; so there are other truths which are perceived immediately and intuitively whenever the mind is brought into contact with them. All science is based on truths which constitute their own evidence. At the root of all knowledge there are first principles which are independent of proof, which to state is to prove to every mind that appre- hends them. Follow the hnks in every chain of reasoning far enough back, and you will come to a first reason which hangs on no other, but is self-existent and self-sufficient. Examine the contents of your knowledge, and sooner or later you will penetrate to the primary strata, which, unsupported, support all besides. Of innumerable objects of thought you may be able to say why you conceive them to be true, or right, or beautiful ; but there are some with respect to SELF-EVIDEXCISG SATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH. 3 whicli you can give no such reason, of which you can only say, I believe them to be true, or good, or fair, because I believe them to be true, or good, or fair ; my mind is so constituted that I cannot otherwise regard them ; they commend themselves at once to my consciousness in the sight of God. Xow to this class belong many of the truths of reve- lation. Of much that is contained in Scripture the mind of man is so constituted, as, immediately and intuitively, when brought face to face with it, to re- cognise the truthfulness or reality. As it needs no outward attestation to prove to the tasteful eye the beauty of fair scenes, as sweet sounds need no authen- tication of their harmony to the sensitive ear ; so, between the spirit of man, and that infinite world of moral beauty and harmony which revelation discloses, there is a correspondence so deep and real that the inner eye and ear, if undiseased, discern at once in di- vine things their own best w^itness and authority. In the original structure of the soul, there is an unwritten revelation which accords with the external revelation of Scripture. Within the depths of the heart there is a silent oracle, which needs only to be rightly ques- tioned to elicit from it a response in accordance with that voice which issues from the lively oracles of God. In one word, the appeal of Scripture to the unbiassed conscience or consciousness of man is, in great part, direct, immediate, irresistible. It is this doctrine which I now propose to explain and illustrate. As, however, it is a doctrine which, if unguardedly stated, is ex- tremely liable to misconstruction, I shall endeavour to 4 SERMON I. show, in the first place, what is 72ot, before going on, secondl}', to explain what isj its true import. I. By the statement that the truths of revelation commend themselves to the conscience or consciousness of man, it is not implied, that man, hy the unaided exercise of his consciousness, could have discovered them. In claiming for man's spirit a power of recognising and responding to the truth of God, we do not arrogate for it a capacity, of itself, to originate that truth. If there be an internal revelation already imprinted on the human spirit, what need, it might be asked, for any other? If the traths of Scripture be so congenial to man's mind, in such exact correspondence with the principles of reason and conscience, might not reason and conscience work out those truths independently of any external aid? What necessity for an outward authority to announce to me that which, by the funda- mental laws of my being, I cannot help believing ? If the doctrines of religion accord with man's conscience as the principles of arithmetic or geometry accord with man's reason, Avhat need for an oracle to reveal the former any more than the latter 1 In asserting that divine revelation is self-evidencing, do we not virtually assert that it is uncalled-for or superfluous % JSTow, to all such questions the obvious answer is, that the power to recognise truth, when presented to us, does not by any means imply the power to find out or originate the same truth. The range of intellect which enables a man to perceive and appreciate thought, falls far short of that which is necessary to excogitate SELF-EVIDEXCING NATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH. 5 or create thought. AVe may apprehend what we could not invent. To discover, for instance, some great law of nature, to evolve some grand principle of science, implies in the discoverer the possession of mental powers of the very rarest order ; but when that law or principle has once been pointed out, multitudes who could never have discovered it for themselves may be quite able to verify it. The law of gravitation was unknown to man for ages, till one great mind arose, of grasp sufficient to penetrate into the arcana of nature, and bring to light this great secret of her order ; but, now that the discovery has been achieved, all men of ordinary intellectual capacity can apprehend its evi- dence, and satisfy themselves of its truth. gives expression to their own indistinct and unuttered thoughts and feelings — to thoughts and feelings which, though none but men of rarest genius could articulate them, the common heart and soul of humanity recog- nises as its own ] Millions can perceive and appreciate the power, the reality, the trueness to nature, of the great writer's productions, who could never themselves have produced them. There are multitudes of " mute inglorious Miltons," though there never hved hut one who could write the 'Paradise Lost.' Dim, indistinct, nebulous, the thoughts of beauty and truth lurk in many a mind, but it is only the creative voice of genius from without that condenses and shapes them into visible beauty — gives to them local habitation and name — and so, by interpreting ourselves to ourselves, com- mends its utterances to every man's consciousness in the sight of God. iSTow, to apply this principle to the case before us : — It is obvious that the appeal of Scripture to man's reason and conscience does not by any means imply in man's reason and conscience a capacity to discover divine truth by their own unaided exercise. Here, too, is a case in which it is possible for the human mind to recognise and identify that which, of itself, it could not have found out. There may be, and we shall in the sequel attempt to show that there are, in the soul, latent beliefs, dim inarticulate yearnings, unexplained hopes and aspirations, which are to itself unrealised and unintelhgible, till the outward shining of divine truth pours light and meaning upon them. There may be, and we maintain that there are, inscribed SELF-EVlDEyCISG XATURE OF DIVINE TRUTU. J on the mind and conscience of man, the characters of an unknown language, to which revelation alone supplies the key, and which, read hy its aid, become the truest verification of that which interprets them. Bring " one that beheveth not, or one unlearned," face to face with him who speaks the Word of inspiration, and, as he listens, there will be roused within him a something that claims in that Word a strange affinity with itself; " he will be convinced of all, he will be judged of all ; the secrets of his heart will be made manifest, and so he will worship God, and report that God is here of a truth." In that world of eternal and invisible realities to which, as spiritual beings, we belong, there are heights too vast for human soaring, mysteries too pro- found for fallen humanity, of itself, to penetrate. But though by no unaided "searching" could we "find out God;" though, again, the conception of a pure and hoty moral law, or yet again, the vision of a glorious immortality, be unattainable by any spontaneous effort of human reason, yet there is WTought into the very structure of man's nature so much of a divine element, there is a moral standard so ineffaceably inscribed on the conscience, there slumbers in the universal heart a desire and yearning after immortality so deep and strong, that that Bible, which contains in it the revela- tion of God and Holiness and Heaven, finds in the awakened soul, an instant response and authentication of its teachings. Divine truth, therefore, undiscover- able by human reason, is yet so in harmony with it ; inaccessible to the human mind, yet so accords with all its half-acknowledged principles and aspirations ; 8 SER310X I. inexpressible by human lip, yet so expresses for man things which he thought but could not utter for him- self,— that it ** commends itself to every man's con- sciousness in the sight of God/' 2. Again, in averring that the truths of revelation commend themselves to the consciousness of man, not only do we not ascribe to the consciousness a power to discover tbose truths, but we do not even imply that the consciousness in its unreneiced and imperfect state is qualified fully to recognise and verify them ichen dis- covered to it. It might be admitted that the mind of man, in its unimpaired and perfect state, is so in harmony with the mind of God, as at once to echo and respond to the utterance of that mind in His revealed Word. But the mind of man is not perfect and unimpaired. The moral reason has become dimmed and distorted, so that, instead of affording a perfect, unerring reflection, it breaks and refracts the light of truth into a thousand unreal forms and phantasms. It might be possible for the inner eye and ear, if endowed with all the sound- ness and delicate susce2)tibihty of health, at once to recognise the beauty and harmony of divine things ; but the vision of the soul is blurred, the spiritual ear has lost its sensitiveness to heaven's music. How then any longer can the soul be regarded as the cri- terion of truth — how can it be asserted that the truth commends itself to every man's consciousness ? Is not such a statement at variance with that other doctrine of Scripture, that " the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, neither can he know them. SELF-EVIDESCIXG NATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH. 9 because they are spiritually discerned V And if, in answer to this, it be said that there is a restorative operation of the Spirit of God on the minds of those who receive the truth, still it may be rejoined, that it is by the truth, apprehended and believed, that the Holy Spirit works in restoring or renew^ing the mind, and that therefore the apprehension or recognition of the truth must be, in some sort, prior to the restoration of the mind to purity and goodness. How then, again, may it be asked, can the truth be said to commend itseK to an impaired, imperfect conscience ? How can light be perceived by blind eyes, harmony by dull or deaf ears ] The solution of this difficulty will perhaps be found in the consideration that divine truth exerts on the mind of man at once a restorative and a self-manifest- ing power. It creates in the mind the capacity by which it is discerned. As light opens the close-shut flower-bud to receive light, or as the sunbeam, playing on a sleeper's eyes, by its gentle irritation opens them to see its own brightness ; so the truth of God, sliin- ing on the soul, quickens and stirs into activity the faculty by which that very truth is perceived. It matters Uttle which of the two operations, in logical or in natural order, be first ; practically they may be re- garded as simultaneous. The perception rouses the faculty, and yet the faculty is implied in the percep- tion. The truth awakens the mind, and yet the mind must be in activity ere the truth can reach it. And the same twofold process is carried on in the whoU. subsequent progress of the soul. Light and the Organ 10 SERMON I. of Vision, Knowledge and the Understanding, Divine Truth and the Spiritual Eeason, grow and expand together. They act and react. They are reciprocally helpful. They are, each by turn, cause and effect. It is in this case as in secular studies and contemplations, each advance in knowledge disciplines the knowing faculty, and the discipline of the faculty renders it capable of still further advances in knowledge. With each new problem mastered, each difficult step in science or philosophy overcome, the powers of observa- tion, comparison, analysis, are invigorated, the mental habits of attention and application are strengthened, and thus a wider range of knowledge, a larger, clearer, more comprehensive view of truth, becomes possible to the mind. So, again, the observation of [Nature both presupposes and cultivates the sense of beauty. The sight of her material glory rouses the dormant imagina- tion into action ; but it needs long familiarity with her presence, long and reverent study and contempla- tion of her manifold forms and aspects, till her full splendour breaks upon the chastened eye. In the very act of contemplation, the contemplative powers are expanded, the perceptions quickened, the elements of feeling and of thought purilied and enriched ; and so the whole mind and spirit of the observer of [Nature becomes qualified for the more perfect apprehension of her loveliness. In like manner the powers of spiritual discernment, incapable at first of recognising tlie full glory and beauty of divine truth, become, by daily converse with it, more and more qualified to know it. In each act of earnest study of God's word a reflex SELF-EVIDENCIKG NATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH. H process of refinement is going on ; something of the mind's dulness and insensibihty is thrown off, and some new touch of spiritual acuteness communicated. The spiritual appetite, growing by what it feeds upon, hecomes capable of assimilating more and more of its divine nutriment. The inner eye and ear acquire by exercise a more and more delicate acuteness and ac- curacy of perception ; until at last, as the result of its long converse with truth, the soul learns to recognise it with an almost instinctive sureness, and with a sen- sitiveness on which not the slightest shade of its beauty, not the most evanescent tone of its heavenly harmony, is lost. Thus, impaired and defective though our nature be, inasmuch as the truth restores and refines the very powers by which it is recognised, it may still be maintained that it " commends itself to our consciousness in the sight of God." II. Such, then, being some of the limitations under which the doctrine of the text is to be understood, I now proceed more directly to explain its true import. In what way may we conceive of divine truth as com- mending itself to the consciousness of man ] It does so, I answer, first, hy revealing to man the Lost Ideal of his Nature. The Gospel is, in one view of it, the disclosure to man of the true ideal of humanity, the discovery of the perfect type of our being, lost by sin, and yet recover- able in Christ. And whilst man, fallen and degraded as his nature has become, could never have found out that ideal for himself, yet when it is presented to him 12 SERMON I. , in Scripture, there is that within him which is capable of recognising it as his own. For the recognition of a lost ideal is a mental act, the possibility of which, to a moral and spiritual being, it is not difficult to conceive. The degenerate plant has no consciousness of its own degradation, nor could it, when reduced to the char- acter of a weed or a w41d-flower, recognise in the fair and delicate garden-plant the type of its former self. The tamed and domesticated animal, stunted in size, and subjugated in spirit, could not feel any sense of humiliation when confronted with its wild brother of the desert, fierce, strong, and free, as if discerning in that spectacle the noble type from which itself had fallen. But it is different with a conscious, moral being. Eeduce such an one ever so low, yet you can- not obliterate in his inner nature the consciousness of falling beneath himself; you cannot blot out from his mind the latent reminiscence of a nobler and better self which he might have been, and which to have lost is guilt and wretchedness. So that, should there ever be brought before a fallen moral nature, in outward form and reality, a Being the noble realisation of its own lost spiritual excellence — the full, perfect, beauti- ful reproduction in actual existence of that splendour of moral loveliness which once was its own — it is con- ceivable that the latent instincts of the soul w'ould be roused to recognise and identify therein its lost original. Confront the fallen moral intelligence with its own perfect type, and in the instinctive shame and humili- ation that would arise within it, as at the spectacle of a glory it had lost, a native nobleness from which it SELF-EVIDEXCIXG NATURE OF DIVIXE TRUTH. 13 had degenerated, there would be elicited an involuntary recognition of the truthfulness of the portraiture. !N"ow, such is the response which the spirit of man, in the hour of contrition, renders to the perfect type of moral excellence which the Gospel brings before it. Tor it is to be considered that the sorrow and self- abasement which the ''manifestation of the truth" calls forth in the awakened and penitent heart, derive their peculiar poignancy from the fact, that it is a sor- row not so much of discovery as of reminiscence. In the contemplation' of God's holy law, and especially of that perfect reflection of it which is presented in the person and life of Jesus, the attitude of the penitent mind is that, not simply of observation, but of painful and humiliating recollection. The mental process that takes place may be described as analogous to one with which we are all familiar — that in which the mind goes in search of some word, or name, or thought, which we cannot at once recall, yet of which we have the cer- tainty that once we knew it ; so that, when at last, after laborious groping, it flashes on the memory, we recognise it not as a new word or thought, but as one the familiar form and aspect of which at once commend it to our consciousness. Or the recognition of the truth as it is in Jesus by the awakened soul, may be repre- sented as still more closely parallel to the feeling of one who revisits, in reverse of fortune, and after long years of absence, a spot with which, in other and happier days, he was familiar. It is conceivable that such an one might move for a wliile amidst old scenes and objects, unconscious of any past and personal con- 14 SERMON I. nection witli tliem ; until at last something occurs to touch the spring of association, when instantly, with a rush of recollection, old sights, impressions, incidents, come thick and crowding on the spirit, and the outward scene becomes clothed with a new vividness, and is perceived with a new sense of identity. The contem- plation is no longer sight but recognition; and as every object which the eye surveys recalls to the sad- dened spectator a bright and better past — brings up, in contrast with what he now is, the joyous, healthy happy being which once he was — it is a keener and deeper anguish far, a sorrow sharpened by the whet of reminiscence, which now^ pierces his soul. Now, ana- logous to this is the process which is involved in the manifestation of the truth to the awakened mind. In the Scripture ideal of holiness, and in that sublime embodiment of it which is presented in the character and history of Jesus Christ, the soul w^hen brought face to face with it recognises a something which comes home to its inner consciousness with all the painful reality of a lost and abandoned good. If the life of Christ were an ideal of excellence altogether foreign to us, the shame of the convicted conscience would lose half its bitterness. Did we perceive in it only a vague grandeur, which, out of the sphere of our consciousness, could be only half understood by it, we should feel no more shame in falling short of that ideal than the worm in that it cannot cope with the eagle's flight, or the stammering child in that he possesses not the wis- dom and eloquence of the sage. But the latent element that lends sharpness to the slings of self-accusation in SELF-EVIDENCIXG NATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH. 15 the mind aroused by the manifestation of the truth, is the involuntary recognition in Christ of a dignity we have lost, an inheritance we have wasted, a perfection for which the spirit of man was formed, but which it has basely disowned. Eepentance is the recognition by the fallen self of its true self in Christ. struggling, that standard to wlncli my dim sense of a Eight I was abusing, a Purity I was sullying, a home of my spirit's peace and innocence I was forsaking, ever unconsciously pointed. And in this my vague and shadowy Ideal now become the Eeal, in this which gives to the fantasy of my weak and wavering imagina- tion correctness, condensation, reality — in this truth of life in Christ Jesus there is that which 'commends itself to my conscience in the sight of God.' " 2. Again; the truth as it is in Jesus commends itself to our consciousness, not only in revealing to man the Lost Ideal of his nature, but also in discover- ing to him the mode of regaining it The Scriptures appeal to man's nature for a verification of their account, not only of the ruin that affects it, but also of the mode of recovery ; they claim from the conscience not only a response to their description of the disease, but also a recognition of the suitability and sufficiency of the remedy they prescribe. The Gospel awakens in man's breast an echo to its teaching, first, in the mourn- ful acknowledgment, " this is the purity and peace I have lost," and then in the joyful recognition, " this, and none but this, is the mode of regaining it." No state of mind can be conceived more distressing than that of the man who, voluntarily or involuntarily, is falling below his own ideal. To have within me the conception of a high and noble standard with which my own performances are in miserable contrast, the vision of a beauty and excellence which I admire and honour, but which, in all that I am, and all that 1 do, 1 practically disown ; this is a condition the painful- SELF-EVIDEyClNG SATURE OF DIVISE TRUTU. 17 ness of whicL. no mind can long endure. For a man's own comfort, lie must either forget his ideal, or strive to realise it ; banish from his mind the thought of his lost purity and happiness, or set himseK to regain it. Or take the poor member of some rude and savage race, and permit him to reside in a civilised countr}^ till his mind has become in some measure receptive of the ideas, and accustomed to the amenities, of civilisation, and then send him back to his former haunts and companionships. T\"ould not the result of such a discipline, in all probability, be that which has sometimes been witnessed in the contact of bar- barism with civilisation — profound melancholy in the remembrance of a lost social elevation, or recklessness in the attempt to forget if? But such illustrations fall far short of the misery of a mind on which has dawned the true conception of the nobleness of human life, the lofty ideal of moral greatness in Christ Jesus, whilst yet its own life is one of selfishness and sin. To such a mind there are but two ways in which it can attempt to regain its lost tranquillity — viz., either the miserable and ineffectual way of reckless self-forgetful- ness, or the true and Christian way of earnest aspira- B 18 SEmroN L tion and endeavour to reack its own ideal, and become that which it admires. Now, the gospel not only brings before man the true representation of his lost perfection and glory in Christ Jesus, but it so meets and adapts itself to the soul which is in the attitude of aspiration after that perfec- tion, that the whole conscious nature recognises and responds to the provision that is made for its wants and exigencies. The great obstacles to the soul's recovery of its lost ideal are obviously these two — the sense of Guilt and the consciousness of Moral Weakness ; and the two great needs, therefore, of every awakened mind, are the need of Forgiveness, and the need of Moral Strength. And it is in meeting and supplying these wants that the truth as it is in Jesus commends itself most profoundly to the consciousness of man. (1.) The soul aspiring after holiness craves, — to take the former of these, — deliverance from Guilt ; and to that deep-felt want the gospel responds in the revela- tion of God in Christ Jesus. Consider how it is that the sense of guilt represses aspiration and energy in the awakened mind, and what, consequently, is the precise nature of that deliverance from guilt after which it longs. In some respects the analogous case of the debtor's embarrassments may help us to conceive of the needs of the guilty soul. When a man becomes deeply and inextricably involved in debt, we know that his condition is often one of deplorable incapacity and weakness. Debt acts as a dead- weight on a man's energies. He who rises day by day to the conscious- SELF-Ey^IDEXCISG yATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH. 19 ness of obKgations which he cannot meet, who sees no possibility of extrication from pecuniary difficulties, not seldom loses all elasticity of mind — becomes spirit- less, languid, enervated. He has no heart to enter on any new work or enterprise so long as the past, with its hateful involvements, is ever confronting him. Do what he may, he feels that no effort of his can do more than clear off a mere fraction of the burden that oppres- ses him, and so the main stimulus to exertion is gone. Unable to retrieve the past, he perhaps resigns himself with a dull hopelessness and inactivity to his lot ; or, feeling that he cannot make matters better, becomes careless how he makes them worse. "What this man wants in order to rouse him to effort, is to cut off his connection with the past, to sweep away its accumulated and insoluble obligations, and let him have a fair start in life again. Or, again, it may aid us in conceiving of the needs of a soul conscious of guilt, if we reflect on the depressing influence often produced by loss of character and reputation in the world. A man who has lost caste in society, has lost with it one of the most powerful incentives to effort. The atmosphere of mistrust and suspicion which past misdemeanours create around the erring, has a notorious tendency to crush hope and energy within him. The incitements of sympathy, honour, public opinion, no longer act upon him. The impossibility of regaining his lost place in the respect and estimation of society, quells hope and ambition in his breast ; and, aware how bad is the opinion which is entertained of him, he perhaps becomes careless how much he deserves it. If he 20 SERMON I. could begin life anew — if the hateful Past, with its indelible memories, could be annihilated — it might be different with him ; but that dreadful Past haunts his thoughts, is reflected from tho looks of his fellow-men, disturbs and oppresses him wherever he goes. Do what he may, men will not think well of him, and he perhaps abandons himself to the wretched contentment of despair. Xow, such analogies as these may aid our conceptions of that obstacle which guilt presents to the soul that is longing to regain its lost moral glory. Like debt, conscious guilt hangs upon the awakened spirit, and clogs its energies. Of what avail any new effort to be good, so long as that record of neglected duties and responsibilities confronts it 1 The utmost exertion is insufficient even to meet the demands of daily duty, much less can it serve to wipe off the old score of guilt. Each day but adds to the undischarged and ever-growing debt ; and the burden on the conscience, do what the man w^ill, becomes heavier and heavier. If he could but begin life anew — if the past could be lived over again — if the troubled soul could be made to feel as if the past had not been, and all its accumu- lated obligations were swept away — if the conscience were left free to enter, with all the elasticity of inno- cence, on a new life of duty — then there might be hope for the future. But no earthly power can effect such a discharge. Nothing can dissever the soul from its terrible responsibility for the debt of sin. So, again, like the ban of social condemnation, guilt, reflecting in the conscience the divine disapproval, incapacitates SELF-EVIDEXCrSG NATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH. 21 the soul for effort. But all such, analogies are but partial and inadequate representations of the moral hindrance of guilt. For debt, however heavy, is not, in the nature of things, insoluble or untransferable ; but guilt is. There is at- least the possibihty that the insolvent man may, by redoubled exertions, or by some unexpected access of fortune, or by the interven- tion of a friend, be freed from the depressing respon- sibility for the past. But in sin the aroused conscience feels that there is a certain strange indelibleness. Sin, once committed, cannot be unsinned. Xo conceivable earthly resources can ever pa}^ off the debt which a guilty deed involves, and there is no possibility of transferring the obligation to another. The man, again, who has compromised himself with human society, may, by lapse of time or removal from the scene of his misdeeds, escape from the depressing inliuence of social suspicion and mistrust. But from the ban of Omniscience there is no such escape. In- finite Justice is independent of space and time. It knows no locality, no lapse of ages can wear out its hostility to a sin. ISTay, even if it could be conceived capable of such leniency, it would be in vain. If God, by a simple act of oblivion, could pass over the awakened sinner's guilt, his own conscience would not suffer him to forget it. He would be " the Avrath of God unto himself" The aroused conscience does not want a mere act of amnesty. It craves for the con- demnation of its sin, in the very agony of the desire to be freed from it. mency, no slight or easy pardon — nothing will satisfy it, unless the sin be branded with the mark of the law's offended majesty — be exposed to the righteous wrath of that awful and absolute Purity it has offended, — unless the culprit sin be, as it were, led out to exe- cution, and slain before it. ISTow, it is this deep necessity of the awakened spirit which, in the revelation of God in Christ, the gospel meets — a revelation in the person, life, and death of Jesus, which includes at once the most complete con- demnation of sin, and th^e most ample forgiveness of the sinner. For here, for one thing, we have set be- fore us, in the Person of Christ, Infinite Purity taking the very nature of the guilty into most intimate union with itself ; and surely this, to the troubled conscience, is no slight indication of divine forgiveness. It were no light thing for some poor outcast from society, if, while brooding over its misery and despair, some good and holy man should, setting all false dignity at de- fiance, come to the home of infamy, and offer to that poor child of sin and shame his love, his friendship, his affiance. Abandoned of society, lost to others' respect and to its own, yet yearning for one ray of hope or comfort, what cheering, what hopefulness, Avhat new life, would reanimate that saddened spirit when it discovered itself not so utterly lost as that a gentle, pure, and good man could not love and care for it ! But here, in this revelation of God in Christ, is the assurance that that Holy One, in whose presence angelic purity grows dim, stoops to take the very nature of the guilty, and blend it in mysterious affiance SELF-EVIDEXCiyG NATURE OF DIVIXE TRUTH. 23 "vvitli His own. Surely the trembling heart may cease to despair of itself, or regard the past with hopeless despondency, when that very Being, in whom all law and right are centred, who is Himself essential Holi- ness, identified in His very being w^ith absolute Good, condescends to wed the nature of man, guilty and fallen though he be, into closest affinity with Himself. But more than this : the gospel brings relief to the self- condemned spirit by exhibiting Infinite Purity, not only condescending to assume the nature of the guilty, but also in that nature passing through a history which brings it into ceaseless contact w^ith sin in all its undisguised hatefulness and hostility to God. of Christ as one who, in conveying pardon to guilt, instead of relaxing the strictness, or bringing slight on the unbending rectitude of God's law, offers up the grandest possible tribute to its majesty and the most awful atonement for the sins that infringed it. Here, therefore, in this gospel of Christ is the most ample provision made for the guilty spirit's needs. Though my sin cannot be literally unsinned, though the past is irrevocable, though no moral act once done can ever be annulled, yet surely in this my trembling heart may find the rest for which it craves — the assurance that the past may be forgotten, and that sin is blotted out by an act in which its guilt is most fearfully con- demned and expiated — when I behold the very God who is Law, Eighteousness, Absolute Justice, in human form offering Himself up to the death to save me. (2.) The other great obstacle to the re-attainment of the lost perfection of our nature is, as I have said, Moral Weakness, — the conscious inertness and impo- tence of the soul in its endeavours after holiness ; and it is in providing for this need of man's spirit also that the gospel commends itself to the consciousness. It is in the attempt to reach its Lost Ideal that the soul becomes aware of its own moral weakness. It is not when the sick man lies prostrated by disease that he feels most his own feebleness, but when he begins to rally, and attempts to rise and walk, — it is then that, by the trembling step and tottering limb, he becomes aware how his strength has been wasted. When despotism has so quelled a nation's spirit that it cares not to put forth the feeblest resistance to its SELF-EVIDEXCIXG NATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH. 25 thraldom, it is not then that it is in a condition to discover the hopelessness of its bondage ; but Avhen, the spirit of insurrection roused, the attempt has been made to throw off the hateful yoke, and made in vain, — it is then that, in the strife and pain and mortifi- cation of discomfited rebellion, it learns by bitter ex- perience the terribleness of that power which keeps it down. So it is not when sin holds undisturbed dominion in the soul, but when the new ideal of holi- ness dawns upon its vision, when the first faint rally- ing efforts after God and duty begin to be made, — it is then that, in the feebleness of its resolutions, and the miserable ineffectiveness of its attempts to be good, there is forced upon it the painful conviction of its own moral weakness. And then, too, rises the intense longing for spiritual help. " Of what avail," — is the unconscious utterance of its hopelessness and its aspira- tion— " Of what avail my knowledge of this glorious moral beauty in Christ ; of what use my perception of the noble thing humanity might become, when this only serves to mock my misery by the spectacle of unattainable good ! Tell me not of the beauty of goodness, the hatefulness of sin, the blessedness of a holy life. I know it — I admit it ; but aU this is but to talk of health's joyous activity to the paralytic, to point out to the poor slave the freedom for which he sighs in vain. Help me. Show me how to reach the ideal of good that is before me. Oh for some gift of power, some heaven-sent strength to nerve my en- feebled energies and arm resolution with ability to fulfil its aims ! " 26 SER3WN I. Isow, the gospel commends itself to the couscious- ness by responding to this deep want of the spirit also. For it reveals to the soul Christ as not only outwardly the Ideal, but inwardly the Hope and Strength of humanity. It would go no little way towards meeting the needs of a soul conscious of lofty desires and low attainments — of high aims and miser- able performances — if, in its loneliness and its weak- ness, there should be granted to it the perpetual pre- sence and guardianship of some lofty angelic nature. Imagine what it would be, if, amidst all your conscious moral weakness, some bright and loving spirit from the heavens should assume the task of watching over you. Think what aid it would afford you in your religious life — weak, wavering, perplexed as you often are — to have a guardian spirit, strong with heaven's strength, and pure with heaven's purity, ever near you. Think how all your better nature would be stimulated, your evil self repressed, the whole moral tone of life elevated and ennobled, if, wherever you went, the sweet, bright, hallowing sense of that loving spirit's presence hung around you like an atmosphere. Conceive of him accompanying you into all scenes of temptation, and whispering, in the moment of irresolution, the prompt- ing word of counsel, warning, or remonstrance ; in all perplexities imagine your spirit-friend ever at hand to solve your difficulties, and point out the path of duty : in the world a presence that gave dignity to life's humblest, coarsest cares ; and in your lonely or medi- tative hours still beside you, breathing the air of heaven into your solitude, and by his converse elevat- SELF-EVIDENCING NATURE OF DIVINE TRUTH. 27 ing thought, enkindling devotion, and causing the Avhole soul to swell with high resolves and holy aspira- tions. What a boon were this to weak and Avavering man ! How would each poor self- distrustful spirit leap forth to welcome such ennobling companionship ! Or would it not be still better — a blessing still more adequate to your needs — if not an angelic visitant, but Jesus Christ, your divine Lord Himself, should return in visible form, and in like manner as of old He frequented earthly homes, so come and abide in yours. 