Discipline and Other Sermons Part 9

Again. Our own forefathers were afraid of the night and its terrors, and looked on night as on an ugly time: but for very different reasons from those for which St. Paul warned his disciples of night and the works of darkness. Though they lived in the country, they did not rejoice in G.o.d's heaven, or in the moon and stars which he had ordained. They fancied that the night was the time in which all ghastly and ugly phantoms began to move; that it was peopled with ghosts, skeletons, demons, witches, who held revels on the hill-tops, or stole into houses to suck the life out of sleeping men. The cry of the wild fowl, and the howling of the wind, were to them the yells of evil spirits. They dared not pa.s.s a graveyard by night for fear of seeing things of which we will not talk. They fancied that the forests, the fens, the caves, were full of spiteful and ugly spirits, who tempted men to danger and to death; and when they prayed to be delivered from the perils and dangers of the night, they prayed not only against those real dangers of fire, of robbers, of sudden sickness, and so forth, against which we all must pray, but against a thousand horrible creatures which the good G.o.d never created, but which their own fancy had invented.

Now in the Bible, from beginning to end, you will find no teaching of this kind. That there are angels, and that there are also evil spirits, the Bible says distinctly; and that they can sometimes appear to men. But it is most worthy of remark how little the Bible says about them, not how much; how it keeps them, as it were, in the background, instead of bringing them forward; while our forefathers seem continually talking of them, continually bringing them forward-- I had almost said they thought of nothing else. If you compare the Holy Bible with the works which were most popular among our forefathers, especially among the lower cla.s.s, till within the last 200 years, you will see at once what I mean,--how ghosts, apparitions, demons, witchcraft, are perpetually spoken of in them; how seldom they are spoken of in the Bible; lest, I suppose, men should think of them rather than of G.o.d, as our forefathers seem to have been but too much given to do.

And so with this Psalm. It takes for granted that men will have terrors by night; that they will be at times afraid of what may come to them in the darkness. But it tells them not to be afraid, for that as long as they say to G.o.d, 'Thou art my hope and my stronghold; in thee will I trust,' so long they will not be afraid for any terror by night.

It was because our forefathers did not say that, that they were afraid, and the terror by night grew on them; till at times it made them half mad with fear of ghosts, witches, demons, and such-like; and with the madness of fear came the madness of cruelty; and they committed, again and again, such atrocities as I will not speak of here; crimes for which we must trust that G.o.d has forgiven them, for they knew not what they did.

But, though we happily no longer believe in the terror by night which comes from witches, demons, or ghosts, there is another kind of terror by night in which we must believe, for it comes to us from G.o.d, and should be listened to as the voice of G.o.d: even that terror about our own sinfulness, folly, weakness which comes to us in dreams or in sleepless nights. Some will say, 'These painful dreams, these painful waking thoughts, are merely bodily, and can be explained by bodily causes, known to physicians.' Whether they can or not, matters very little to you and me. Things may be bodily, and yet teach us spiritual lessons. A book--the very Bible itself--is a bodily thing: bodily leaves of paper, printed with bodily ink; and yet out of it we may learn lessons for our souls of the most awful and eternal importance. And so with these night fancies and night thoughts. We may learn from them. We are forced often to learn from them, whether we will or not. They are often G.o.d's message to us, calling us to repentance and amendment of life. They are often G.o.d's book of judgment, wherein our sins are written, which G.o.d is setting before us, and showing us the things which we have done.

Who that has come to middle age does not know how dreams sometimes remind him painfully of what he once was, of what he would be still, without G.o.d's grace? How in his dreams he finds himself tempted by the old sins; giving way to the old meannesses, weaknesses, follies?

How dreams remind him, awfully enough, that though his circ.u.mstances have changed,--his opinions, his whole manner of life, have changed-- yet he is still the same person that he was ten, twenty, thirty, forty years ago, and will be for ever? Nothing bears witness to the abiding, enduring, immortal oneness of the soul like dreams when they prove to a man, in a way which cannot be mistaken--that is, by making him do the deed over again in fancy--that he is the same person who told that lie, felt that hatred, many a year ago; and who would do the same again, if G.o.d's grace left him to that weak and sinful nature, which is his master in sleep, and runs riot in his dreams.

Whether G.o.d sends to men in these days dreams which enable them to look forward, and to foretell things to come, I cannot say. But this I can say, that G.o.d sends dreams to men which enable them to look back, and recollect things past, which they had forgotten only too easily; and that these humbling and penitential dreams are G.o.d's warning that (as the Article says) the infection of nature doth remain, even in those who are regenerate; that nothing but the continual help of G.o.d's Spirit will keep us from falling back, or falling away.

Again: those sad thoughts which weigh on the mind when lying awake at night, when all things look black to a man; when he is more ashamed of himself, more angry with himself, more ready to take the darkest view of his own character and of his own prospects of life, than he ever is by day,--do not these thoughts, too, come from G.o.d?

Is it not G.o.d who is holding the man's eyes waking? Is it not G.o.d who is making him search out his own heart, and commune with his spirit? I believe that so it is. If any one says, 'It is all caused by the darkness and silence. You have nothing to distract your attention as you have by day, and therefore the mind becomes unwholesomely excited, and feeds upon itself,' I answer, then they are good things, now and then, this darkness and this silence, if they do prevent the mind from being distracted, as it is all day long, by business and pleasure; if they leave a man's soul alone with itself, to look itself in the face, and be thoroughly ashamed of what it sees. In the noise and glare of the day, we are all too apt to fancy that all is right with us, and say, 'I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing;' and the night does us a kindly office if it helps us to find out that we knew not that we were poor, and miserable, and blind, and naked--not only in the sight of G.o.d, but in our own sight, when we look honestly at ourselves.

The wise man says:-

'Oh, would some power the gift but give us, To see ourselves as others see us!'

and those painful thoughts make us do that. For if we see some faults in ourselves, be sure our neighbours see them likewise, and perhaps many more beside.

But more: these sad thoughts make us see ourselves as G.o.d sees us.

For if we see faults in ourselves, we may be sure that the pure and holy G.o.d, in whose sight the very heavens are not clean, and who charges his angels with folly, sees our faults with infinitely greater clearness, and in infinitely greater number. So let us face those sad night thoughts, however painful, however humiliating they may be; for by them G.o.d is calling us to repentance, and forcing us to keep Lent in spirit and in truth, whether we keep it outwardly or not.

'What,' some may say, 'you would have us, then, afraid of the terror by night?' My dear friends, that is exactly what I would not have.

I would teach you from Holy Scripture how to profit by the terror, how to thank G.o.d for the terror, instead of being afraid of it, as you otherwise certainly will be. For these ugly dreams, these sad thoughts do come, whether you choose or not. Whether you choose or not, you all have, or will have seasons of depression, of anxiety, of melancholy. Shall they teach you, or merely terrify you? Shall they only bring remorse, or shall they bring repentance?

Remorse. In that is nothing but pain. A man may see all the wrong and folly he has done; he may fret over it, torment himself with it, curse himself for it, and yet be the worse, and not the better, for what he sees. If he be a strong-minded man, he may escape from remorse in the bustle of business or pleasure. If he be a weak- minded man, he may escape from it in drunkenness, as hundreds do; or he may fall into melancholy, superst.i.tion, despair, suicide.

But if his sadness breeds, not remorse, but repentance--that is, in one word, if instead of keeping his sins to himself, he takes his sins to G.o.d--then all will be well. Then he will not be afraid of the terror, but thankful for it, when he knows that it is what St.

Paul calls, the terror of the Lord.

This is why the old Psalmists were not afraid of the terror by night; because they knew that their anxiety had come from G.o.d, and therefore went to G.o.d for forgiveness, for help, for comfort. Therefore it is that one says, 'I am weary of groaning. Every night wash I my bed, and water my couch with my tears,' and yet says the next moment, 'Away from me, all ye that work vanity. The Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping. The Lord will receive my prayer.'

Therefore it is that another says, 'While I held my sins my bones waxed old through my daily complaining;' and the next moment--'I said I will confess my sins unto the Lord, and so thou forgavest the wickedness of my sin.'

Therefore it is that again another says, 'Thou holdest mine eyes waking. I am so feeble that I cannot speak. I call to remembrance my sin, and in the night season I commune with my heart, and search out my spirit. Will the Lord absent himself for ever, and will he be no more entreated? Is his mercy clean gone for ever, and his promise come utterly to an end for evermore? And I said, It is mine own infirmity; but I will remember the years of the right hand of the most Highest. I will remember the works of the Lord, and call to mind the wonders of old.'

And another, 'Why art thou so heavy, O my soul, and why art thou so disquieted within me? O put thy trust in G.o.d, for I shall yet give him thanks, who is the help of my countenance, and my G.o.d.'

And therefore it is, that our Lord Jesus Christ, in order that he might taste sorrow for every man, and be made in all things like to his brethren, endured, once and for all, in the garden of Gethsemane, the terror which cometh by night, as none ever endured it before or since; the agony of dread, the agony of helplessness, in which he prayed yet more earnestly, and his sweat was as great drops of blood falling down to the ground. And there appeared an angel from heaven strengthening him; because he stood not on his own strength, but cast himself on his Father and our Father, on his G.o.d and our G.o.d. So says St. Paul, who tells us how our Lord, in the days of his flesh, when he had offered up prayers and supplications, with strong crying and tears, unto him that was able to save him from death, and was heard in that he feared--though he were a son, yet learned he obedience by the things which he suffered; and being made perfect, he became the Author of everlasting salvation unto all them that obey him.

Oh, may we all, in the hour of shame and sadness, in the hour of darkness and confusion, and, above all, in the hour of death and the day of judgment, take refuge with him in whom alone is help, and comfort, and salvation for this life and the life to come--even Jesus Christ, who died for us on the cross.

SERMON XVII.--THE SON OF THUNDER

ST. JOHN i. 1.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with G.o.d, and the Word was G.o.d.

We read this morning the first chapter of the Gospel according to St.

John.

Some of you, I am sure, must have felt, as you heard it, how grand was the very sound of the words. Some one once compared the sound of St. John's Gospel to a great church bell: simple, slow, and awful; and awful just because it is so simple and slow. The words are very short,--most of them of one syllable,--so that even a child may understand them if he will: but every word is full of meaning.

'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with G.o.d, and the Word was G.o.d. The same was in the beginning with G.o.d. All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light s.h.i.+neth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.'

Those, I hold, are perhaps the deepest words ever written by man.

Whole books have been written, and whole books more might be written upon them, and on the words which come after them. 'That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of G.o.d, even to them that believe on his name: which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of G.o.d. And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only-begotten of the Father), full of grace and truth.' They go down to the mystery of all mysteries,--to the mystery of the unfathomable One G.o.d, who dwells alone in the light which none can approach unto, self-sustained and self-sufficing for ever. And then they go on to the other great mystery--how that G.o.d comes forth out of himself to give life and light to all things which he has made; and what is the bond between the Abysmal Father in heaven, and us his human children, and the world in which we live:- even Jesus Christ, G.o.d of the substance of his Father, begotten before the worlds, and man of the substance of his mother, born in the world.

Yes. The root and ground of all true philosophy lies in this chapter. Its words are so deep that the wisest man might spend his life over them without finding out all that they mean. And yet they are so simple that any child can understand enough of their meaning to know its duty, and to do it.

Remark, again, how short the sentences are. Each is made up of a very few words, and followed by a full stop, that our minds may come to a full stop likewise, and think over what we have heard before St.

John goes on to tell us more.

Yes. St. John does not hurry either himself or us. He takes his time; and he wishes us to take our time likewise. His message will keep; for it is eternal. It is not a story of yesterday, or to-day, or to-morrow. It is the story of eternity,--of what is, and was, and always will be.

Always has the Word been with G.o.d, and always will he be G.o.d.

Always has the Word been making all things, and always will he be making.

Always has the Spirit been proceeding, and always will the Spirit be proceeding, from the Word and from the Father of the Word, giving their light and their life to men.

St. John's message will last for ever; and therefore he tells it slowly and deliberately, knowing that no time can change what he has to say; for it is the good news of the Word, Jesus Christ, who is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever, because he is G.o.d of very G.o.d, eternally in the bosom of the Father.

Now St. John, who writes thus simply and quietly, was no weak or soft person. He was one of the two whom the Lord surnamed Boanerges, the Son of Thunder--the man of the loud and awful voice. Painters have liked to draw St. John as young, soft, and feminine, because he was the Apostle of Love. I beg you to put that sentimental notion out of your minds, and to remember that the only hint which Holy Scripture gives us about St. John's person is, that he was 'a Son of Thunder;'

that his very voice, when he chose, was awful; that he, and his brother James, before they were converted, were not of a soft, but of a terrible temper; that it was James and John, the Sons of Thunder, who wanted to call down thunder and lightning from heaven on all the villages who would not receive the Lord.

A Son of Thunder. Think over that name, and think over it carefully, remembering that it was our Lord himself who gave St. John the name; and that it therefore has, surely, some deep meaning.

Do not fancy that it means merely a loud and noisy person. I have known too many, carelessly looking only at the outsides and shows of things, and not at their inside and reality, fancy that that was what it meant. I have known them fancy that they themselves were sons of thunder when they raved and shouted, and used violent language, in preaching, or in public speaking. And I have heard foolish people honour such men the more, and think them the more in earnest, the more noise they made, and say of him; 'He is a true Boanerges--a Son of Thunder, like St. John.'

Like St. John? The only sermon of St. John's which we have on record is that which they say he used to preach over and over again when he was carried as an old man into his church at Ephesus. And that was no more than these few words over and over again, Sunday after Sunday, 'Little children, love one another.'

That was the way in which St. John, the Son of Thunder, spoke when age and long obedience to the Spirit of G.o.d had taught him how to use his strength wisely and well.

Like St. John? Is there anywhere, in St. John's Gospel or Epistles, one violent expression? One sentence of great swelling words? Are not the words of the Son of Thunder, as I have been telling you, peculiarly calm, slow, simple, gentle? Can those whose mouths are full of noisy and violent talk, be true Sons of Thunder, if St. John was one?

No. And if you will think for yourselves, you will see that there is a deeper meaning in our Lord's name for St. John than merely that he was a loud and violent man.

You hear the roar of the thunder, but you know surely that it is not the thunder itself; that it is only its echo rolling on from cloud to cloud and hill from hill.