The Life of Duty Part 1
The Life of Duty.
by H. J. Wilmot-Buxton.
SERMON x.x.xV.
THE OPEN DOOR.
(Trinity Sunday.)
REV. iv. 1.
"A door was opened in Heaven."
When Dante had written his immortal poems on h.e.l.l and Purgatory, the people of Italy used to shrink back from him with awe, and whisper, "see the man who has looked upon h.e.l.l." To-day we can in fancy look on the face of the beloved Apostle, who saw Heaven opened, and the things which shall be hereafter. We have summed up the great story of the Gospel, and have trodden the path of salvation from Bethlehem to Calvary. We have seen Jesus, the only Son of G.o.d, dying for our sins, and rising again for our justification, and ascending into Heaven to plead for us as our eternal great High Priest. We have heard of the coming of G.o.d the Holy Ghost, the gift of the Father, sent in the name of the Son. To-day, the Festival of the Blessed Trinity, Three Persons, yet one G.o.d, we are permitted to gaze for a moment through the open door, on the Home of G.o.d, yes, and the Home of G.o.d's people, who are redeemed with the Precious Blood of Christ.
Now, there are many people who never think of Heaven at all, and many who think of it in a wrong way. When we were baptised, the door was opened for us in Heaven, and Jesus said to us, "Behold, I set before you an open door." From that day we were permitted to look with the eye of faith upon those good things which pa.s.s man's understanding.
But some of us would not look up. We were like travellers going along a muddy road on a starlight night, and who look down on the foul, dirty path, and never upwards to the bright sky above. My brother, turn your eyes from this world's dirty ways, look away from your selfish work, and your selfish pleasure, look up from the things which are seen and are temporal, from the fashion of this world which pa.s.seth away, and gaze through the open door of Revelation at the things which shall be hereafter. I said that many people never think of Heaven at all.
These are they who love this world too well to think of the world to come, they are of the earth, earthy. "As is the earthy, such are they that are earthy, and as is the Heavenly, such also are they that are Heavenly."
I said, too, that many think of Heaven in a wrong way, as did the lady of fashion, who fancied Heaven would be like the London season, only better, as there would be no disagreeable people. Now, if we are to think rightly of Heaven, we must do as S. John did. He heard a voice saying, "Come up hither, and I will show the things which shall be hereafter. And immediately he was in the Spirit." We must ask for the Holy Spirit to lift our hearts and minds to Heaven; we must try to go up higher in our thoughts, words, and works; we must try to get above the world, above ourselves, so shall we be able to look, though with bowed head and shaded eyes, through the open door. Let us reverently do so now, and see what we can learn of the things which shall be hereafter. First, I think we learn that Heaven and earth are not, as some people fancy, two very different places, very far apart. The Church of Christ is one family, bound together by _one_ faith, _one_ Baptism, _one_ hope, acknowledging one G.o.d and Father of us all. This family has one Home; here in earth it dwells in a lower chamber, after death it pa.s.ses into a higher room of G.o.d's great House. The Apostle, speaking of the Church, says, "Ye _are_ come, (not ye _will_ come,) unto Mount Sion, and unto the city of the living G.o.d, the Heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general a.s.sembly and Church of the firstborn which are written in Heaven, and to G.o.d the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the Mediator of the New Covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel."
In a word, our Heavenly life should commence when we are baptised, day by day ought we to grow in grace, and when we have grown sufficiently, G.o.d takes us to the upper Room above. It is this mistake of separating Heaven and earth which makes people careless of their lives. If you want to dwell with G.o.d through all eternity, you must walk humbly with G.o.d all the days of your earthly life. Look again through the open door, and learn that in Heaven G.o.d is the central figure. So, if we are living here as Christ's people, G.o.d will be the central figure in _our_ life, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end of all our work, our wish, our plan. My brothers, if you feel that with you _self_ is the chief object in your existence, be sure that you are not living the Heavenly life. You have put yourself in the place of G.o.d.
Again, as we look through the open door, we see the intense _beauty_ of the Heavenly life. We see gates of pearl, and a throne on which sits one like a jasper and a sardine stone, and the rainbow round about the throne is in sight like unto an emerald. In all ages precious stones have been objects of the greatest value. We are told that Julius Caesar paid a hundred and twenty-five thousand crowns for one pearl, and monarchs have boasted of possessing a diamond of priceless value.
You remember that G.o.d says of His redeemed ones, "they shall be Mine in that day that I make up My jewels." Well, I think we hear so much of precious stones in the description of Heaven, that we may learn that its great glory and beauty consists in the holiness of those who dwell there. _They_ are the pure and precious pearls which build up the foundation, and they get their brightness from G.o.d, who sits enthroned among them, and who is to look upon as a jasper and a sardine stone.
And these precious stones are of different colours, as they reflect the light from a different point. So is it with the people of G.o.d, they reflect the light from the face of G.o.d in various ways, and so have various virtues. One shines with fiery zeal, like the red ruby.
Another glitters with the soft beauty of a humble spirit, like the pearl, whilst yet another sparkles with many graces, like the parti-coloured flashes of the diamond. Some lives which here are obscure and neglected, like the precious gem at the bottom of the ocean, shall one day glitter in Heaven, and be among the jewels of the Master.
Ah! my brothers, are _our_ lives such that we can ever hope to adore G.o.d's jewel-house above? Can these poor dull characters of ours ever shine as the stars for ever and ever? Think, what makes a gem flash and sparkle? Light. Well, then, let us walk as the children of light, let us look up, and catch the radiance from the face of Jesus, and reflect it in our lives; then will our light shine here before men, and one day shine yet brighter as we draw nearer to the source of all light. And think again that often the brightest and fairest forms come from the least likely materials. Of the same mould are the black coal, and the glittering diamond. The unsightly slag which is thrown away from the iron furnace forms beautiful crystals, and the very mud under foot can, as men of science tell us, be turned into gleaming metal, and sparkling gem. The fair colours which dye our clothing can be formed from defiling pitch, and some of the most exquisite perfumes are distilled from the foulest substances. My brother, the same G.o.d who brings beauty out of ugliness, and fair purity from corruption, can so change our vile nature, and our vile body, that they may be made like unto Him. The work of the Blessed Trinity, of the Creator, the Saviour, the Sanctifier, is day by day operating on the children of G.o.d, and making all things new in them. And remember that work is gradual. A man can make a sham diamond in a very short time, a real gem must lie for ages buried in the earth. So, if we are really and truly G.o.d's people, we must grow gradually, and bear all the cutting and polishing which G.o.d sees right, before we are fit for the royal treasury.
The same Divine Hand which changed Mary Magdalene to a loving penitent, and the dying thief to a trusting disciple, and lifted Augustine from the foul grave of l.u.s.t to be a pillar of the Church, can likewise change us, and make us to shine with the light of a stone most precious. Once again, as we gaze through the open door, we hear of music in Heaven. Those who have wrong ideas of the life to come seem to imagine that the Heavenly existence consists in minstrelsy and nothing else. Surely the song of the redeemed, and the music of the golden harps, are a type of the perfect _harmony_ of Heaven. This life is often full of discords, the life to come is perfectly in tune. Here on earth our lives are very like musical instruments. One plays nothing but dirges of sorrow and discontent. Another life is made up of frivolous dance music; another is hideous with the discord of "sweet bells jangled, out of tune, and harsh." The life to come is one of perfect harmony, for each servant will be in complete accord with the Master's will and pleasure. And I think the vision of those who play upon their harps, and sing their song before the throne, show us that the life to come is one of _occupation_. There will be, doubtless, growth, progress, experience, work in Heaven. But there we shall be able to do what we so seldom do here--all to the glory of G.o.d. Here we work so selfishly, there all work is worship. Here we struggle for the crown that we may wear it, there they cast down their crowns before the Throne of G.o.d. When we speak of resting from our labours after death, and being at peace, we cannot mean, we dare not hope, that we shall be idle. When a famous man of science died, his friends said one to another, "how busy he will be!" We are bidden to be workers together with G.o.d, and we may believe that He has new and higher tasks for us all, when we shall have pa.s.sed through that door in Heaven which Jesus has opened for all believers.
SERMON x.x.xVI.
THE CONTRAST.
(First Sunday after Trinity.)
S. LUKE xvi. 19, 20.
"There was a certain rich man, . . . and there was a certain beggar named Lazarus."
What was the rich man's sin? We are not told that he had committed any crime. He is not described as an extortioner or unjust. There is no word about his having been an adulterer, or a thief, or an unbeliever, or a Sabbath breaker. Surely there was no sin in his being rich, or wearing costly clothes if he could afford it. Certainly not: it is not _money_, but the _love_ of money, which is the root of all evil. The sin of Dives is the sin of hundreds to-day. He lived for himself alone, and he lived only for this world. He had sunk all his capital in his gold and silver, and purple and fine linen. He had no treasure laid up in Heaven. So when the moth and rust had done their work, and death had broken through like a thief and stolen all his earthly goods, he had nothing left. This parable is full of sharp contrasts. First, there is the contrast in the life of these two men. The one rich, the other a beggar. The one clothed in purple and fine linen, the other almost naked, and covered with sores. The one fared sumptuously every day, the other lay at the gate starving, and longing for the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table. The one had friends and acquaintances who ate of his meat and drank of his cup, the other was "a pauper whom n.o.body owns," and the dogs were his only earthly comforters. The rich man had great possessions, yet one thing he lacked, and that was the one thing needful. He had the good things of this life, yet he had not chosen the good part which could not be taken away from him. He had gold and silver, purple and fine linen, but he was without G.o.d in the world. Lazarus, the beggar, was after all the truly rich man, "as having nothing, and yet possessing all things."
Next, there is a contrast in the death of these two men. One expired in a luxurious bed. No doubt there were learned physicians beside him, and perhaps friends and relatives, though, as a rule, selfish people have few true friends. The other died we know not where, perhaps in the hot dusty road at the rich man's gate. There were no doctors to minister to his wants, no kindly hands to sooth his burning brow, to moisten his parched lips, to close his glazing eyes. But the angels of G.o.d were about his bed, and about his path, and in their hands they bore him up, whom no man on earth had loved or cared for. And there is a contrast in the after time for these two men. The rich man was buried, doubtless, with great pomp. Some of us have seen such funerals. What extravagance and display take the place of reverent resignation and quiet grief! Of the beggar's burial place we know nothing. But the sharpest contrast of all is in the world beyond, from which for a moment Jesus draws back the veil. He who had pampered his body and neglected his soul is now in torment; he who never listened to the whisper of his conscience, is forced to hearken to its reproaches now; he who had great possessions is worse off than a beggar--he had gained the whole world and lost his own soul. And worst of all, he sees Paradise afar off, and Lazarus resting there, where he may never come. That beggar whom he had despised and neglected, to whose wants he had never ministered, is comforted now, and the rich man is tormented.
Oh! awful contrast! Dives in his misery of despair looks up, and for a moment sees--
"The Heavenly City, Built of bright and burnished gold, Lying in transcendent beauty, Stored with treasures all untold.
There he saw the meadows dewy Spread with lilies wondrous fair-- Thousand thousand were the colours Of the waving flowers there.
There were forests ever blooming, Like our orchards here in May; There were gardens never fading, Which eternally are gay."
Saddest of all fates indeed must it be to gaze on Heaven and to live in h.e.l.l. Then Dives remembers his brethren in the world, who are living the old life which he lived in the flesh, spending his money perhaps; and, still selfish after death as before, he asks that the beggar may be sent from his rest and peace to warn them. The answer comes that they, like Dives himself, have Moses and the Prophets to teach them, if they neglect them nothing can avail them. And so the curtain drops over this dreadful scene. Let us, brethren, hearken to some of the lessons which come to us with a solemn sound from the world beyond the grave. In the first place, let us learn that being respectable is not a pa.s.sport to Heaven. No doubt the rich man of the parable was very respectable. If he had lived in these days, and there are many of his family with us now, he would have worn glossy broadcloth instead of purple, and have held a responsible position in his town and parish.
He would have gone to church sometimes, and have been very severe with the outcasts of the gutter and the back slums. And yet we find that all this outward respectability, these salutations in the market place, were no pa.s.sport to Heaven. The man lived for himself--he was a lover of himself. He had no love for his brother whom he had seen, ay, every day, lying at his gate; and so he could have no love for G.o.d whom he had not seen. The sin of Dives, remember, was not that he was rich, it was that he was utterly selfish and worldly. A poor man may be just as sinful. The man who makes a G.o.d of his body and its pleasures, the man who makes a G.o.d of his work or his science, or of anything save the Lord G.o.d Almighty, the man who lives for himself and does nothing for the good of others, be he rich or poor, is in the same cla.s.s with Dives in the parable. Next, there comes a thought of comfort from the story of the beggar Lazarus. There was no virtue in his being poor--but he loved his G.o.d, and he bore his sorrows patiently, and verily he had his reward. Jesus tells us that blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted; that all who have borne hunger and thirst, and persecution, or loss of friends for His sake, shall hereafter have a great reward. You, my brethren, who are any ways afflicted or distressed, who have to bear sickness or poverty, who have few friends and few prospects in this world, and yet are patient, and trustful, and believing, look beyond the veil, and be sure that there, if not here, you shall have your good things--such good things as pa.s.s man's understanding.
Again, we learn that death does not deprive us of memory. One of old said wisely that they who cross the sea change their sky, but not their mind, and that no exile ever yet fled from himself; and even after we have exchanged this world for the unseen world to come, we do not escape ourselves, our thoughts and memories are with us. The rich man was bidden to remember his past life. It must have been a terrible picture as seen in the clear understanding of the spirit world. Once his life had appeared pleasant enough, harmless enough; now Dives saw it in its true colour, and understood the selfishness, the worldliness, the G.o.dlessness which had ruined his soul. He saw all the mistakes which he had made, and felt the terrible conviction that it was too late to repair them. "Four things," says the Eastern sage, "come not back again: the spoken word, the sped arrow, the past life, and the neglected opportunity."
My brothers, what fate can be more awful than that of having to look back upon a wasted life through all eternity? G.o.d has committed to you a precious trust in the life you have. Your position, your wealth, or poverty are nothing, whatever your life is it must be consecrated to G.o.d. You must live for Him, and by Him, and walk in the way of His commandments, if you are to be with Him through eternity. You can make your own choice: G.o.d or mammon, this world, or the world to come are before you, but both you cannot have. If you make your Heaven out of the world's materials, you cannot expect to find it again beyond the grave. Lastly, let us learn that the means of grace which we have are sufficient for our salvation. The brothers of the rich man had Moses and the Prophets, and further help was denied them. We have in G.o.d's Church, and Sacraments, in G.o.d's Word, and in Prayer, the means of drawing near to our Saviour, and saving our soul alive. We must not ask for some new revelation, some fresh Gospel, some sign or miracle.
If we use not the means given us, neither shall we be persuaded though one rose from the dead. It is sometimes the fashion in these days to sneer at the preacher, or to listen with a polite contempt. G.o.d grant that those "who come to scoff, may remain to pray."
SERMON x.x.xVII.
THE WAY OF LIFE.
(Second Sunday after Trinity.)
1 JOHN iii. 14.
"We know that we have pa.s.sed from death unto life, because we love the brethren."
The writings of S. John the Evangelist breathe forth love as a flower garden does sweetness. Here lies the secret of S. John's t.i.tle, "the disciple whom Jesus loved." Love begets love, and the disciple was so near to the heart of his Master because he loved much. When the text was written he was a very old man, and Bishop of Ephesus. It was in that fair and famous city that men worshipped the G.o.ddess Diana, of the Ephesians, in a temple which was ranked among the seven wonders of the world. In the olden days there had been another temple to the G.o.ddess, which was burnt on the night when Alexander the Great was born. Two hundred and twenty years was the new temple in building, and each of its columns was the gift of a prince. All that the art of Greece could give was lavished upon the building. The hand of Praxiteles carved the altar, the magic pencil of Apelles adorned its walls with a picture of Alexander. Ephesus was also famous for its magic arts; and when the people had been turned to Christ by the preaching of S. Paul, they brought their books of conjuring and curious arts and burned them before him. Now the gra.s.s grows rank among the broken columns and few stones which mark the ruins of what was Ephesus.
It was in such a city, then in its full pride and beauty, that S. John, the aged, spent the last days of his long life. S. Jerome tells us how the old Bishop was almost too feeble to be carried into the church, where now was worshipped the true G.o.d; and how his trembling lips could only fashion the same words over and over again: "My little children, love one another." His hearers growing weary of this one text, asked S. John why he was ever repeating it, and the old man answered, "Because it is the teaching of the Lord; and if this alone be observed, it is sufficient." To be as little children, and to love one another, such is the whole duty of man. S. John had lived a long life, and had seen men and cities, and the one lesson which he had learnt above all others is that which he teaches above all others--love. I think, brothers, we can picture the old white-haired Bishop of Ephesus, borne day after day upon a litter into his church, and ever saying the same tender words, "little children, love one another." What a retrospect there was for S. John to look back along that stretch of years! What memories must have filled the old man's heart of those days when he was a sunny-haired stripling, working with his brothers in the fishing boat, and casting net, and pulling oar over the bright waters of Gennesareth. What memories must have come of that Gracious Presence which one day appeared among the fisher folks, and opened a new world and a new life to S. John and his companions. How every word and act of Him, who spake as never man spake, and went about doing good, must have been engraved on the memory of the beloved disciple! He had doubtless heard words spoken which no other ear had heard; he who was nearest to the heart of Jesus, must have listened to mysteries which the rest could not hear. Day by day as the old Bishop lies in the dim religious light of the minster, he looks back and sees, as in a vision, the story of the vanished years. What sees he? He looks in memory upon a marriage feast, far away in Cana of Galilee. He sees the giver of the feast anxious and troubled. The wine is exhausted. He hears the Master give the answer to the Virgin Mother's request, and His command to the servants. He recalls the astonishment of all present when "the conscious water saw its G.o.d, and blushed;" and he learns from that first miracle of the Master a lesson of love. Many another loving act of mercy comes back to his memory. He seems to see once more the impotent man, lying sadly at the pool of Bethesda. Again he looks on the mult.i.tude thronging the mountain by the Lake of Galilee; and in the broken bread which feeds the crowd, S. John sees a lesson of love.
Once more he looks upon the trembling, sinful, sorrowful woman, whom the Jewish rulers drag to condemnation. Once more he sees the Master's hand-writing upon the ground, and hears this gentle sentence, "Go, and sin no more." Once more he hears the wondrous lessons of the Light of the World, and the True Vine, and the Good Shepherd, which his own hand had written from the Master's mouth. Once more he seems to stand beside the grave of dead Lazarus, and as he sees the dead alive again, he learns another lesson of love, and whispers, "We know that we have pa.s.sed from death unto life, because we love the brethren." After all that lapse of ages, the old man seems to see the sparkle of Mary's tears, and to smell the perfume of her precious gift.
Then, too, there comes the memory of Palm Sunday, with its glad procession, its waving branches, its joyful shouts, in which S. John, then young and vigorous, had delighted to take part. Then the beginning of sorrow, the days of wonder, and of terror, and of gloom, begin to darken round the old man's sight. The night comes back to him when the dear Hands of Jesus washed his feet, and when, at that sad and solemn parting feast, he had lain close to the loving Heart of the Master. Once more he sees Judas go forth on his dark errand; once more he sees the gloomy shadows of Gethsemane, and hears the clash of arms as the soldiers enter, Then all the confusion and horror of that dreadful night come back to him. He hears S. Peter's denial, and marks his bitter tears. Presently he seems to stand again beneath the Cross, amid the awful gloom of Calvary, and anon he is leading the Virgin Mother tenderly to his own home. She has been buried long since in that very city of Ephesus, but the old days come back to him. He is running once more, young, and lithe, and active, to the garden sepulchre, and outrunning the older S. Peter. And in all these visions of the past, S. John sees one lesson--love, the love of Jesus teaching men to love each other. Still the beloved Apostle looks back along the ages, and thinks of that scene on the Mount, when Jesus ascended up, and appeared for the last time to nearly all eyes but his. He was to see the Master again, though in a very different place, and under widely different circ.u.mstances. Now his thoughts fly to the lonely, rock-bound isle of Patmos, whither the Roman tyrant had banished him.
How often he had watched the sun rise and set in the purple sea; how often in his cavern cell he had pondered over the Master's teaching, and the lesson of love. And one day he saw a light brighter than the sun, and a door was opened in Heaven. S. John seemed to be no longer in lonely Patmos, but amid a great mult.i.tude which no man can number, with whom he was treading the shining streets of the Heavenly city.
His eyes looked on the gates of pearl, and the sea of gla.s.s, he listened to the song of the elders and the angels, and he beheld the things which shall be hereafter. Once more he looked upon the Master's Face, and beheld the King in His beauty. And remembering these things, the old man murmurs to the crowd, "Little children, love one another.
We know that we have pa.s.sed from death unto life, because we love the brethren." From death unto life! It is a strange expression! We all know of the pa.s.sage from life unto death. We have all seen the loosening of the silver cord, and the breaking of the golden bowl. We have all marked the fading cheek, the shrinking limbs, the glazing eye, which mark the pa.s.sage from life unto death. But that other change from death unto life cannot be seen, it is the invisible work of the Holy Spirit. Yet S. John says, we know that we have pa.s.sed from death unto life. How? By our fruits. If the love of G.o.d is in our hearts, if we have pa.s.sed from the death of sin unto the life of righteousness, if we are risen with Christ, if, in a word, we are truly Christian people, we shall show it by our love for our brethren. If we are selfish in our religion, trying to get all good things for ourselves, and caring nothing for others; if we pray only for ourselves, if we work only for ourselves, if we live only for ourselves, if we see others in want, yet shut up our compa.s.sion, how dwelleth the love of G.o.d in us? Away with such self-deception, my brothers, if any one of us seems to be religious, and yet stretches out no helping hand to his brother, that man's religion is vain. When we see a fellow man fallen among thieves, and lying by the wayside of life, what do we do? Do we pa.s.s by on the other side, without a thought or care, like the Priest?
Or do we look on our fallen brother with curiosity, and leave him to his fate, like the Levite? Or do we give him a helping hand, pouring in the wine and oil of kind words, and gentle ministry, binding up the hurts which a cruel world has given him?
My brethren, how many Good Samaritans are there among us? Our brothers lie wounded along life's highway in crowds. There are feeble folk who were never strong enough for the hard life battle; there are brave men who have fought, and failed; there are some crushed down by hard times, others who have "fallen on evil days and evil tongues;" some who were wounded by the stoning of harsh judgment and cruel sneers. Some have lost their health, others their money; some their faith, and others their friends. Sirs, we be brethren, shall we run from our neighbour because he is in trouble, as rats run from a falling house? Shall we turn away from a brother because the world speaks hardly of him? Shall we be ashamed of a man because he is unfortunate? Oh! if you would ever rest where S. John rested, on the bosom of Jesus, learn his lessons of love. Look around you and see if there is no Lazarus laid at your gate whom you may feed; no struggling toiler in the back street whom you may help to work; no sick sufferer whose couch you may make more easy; no broken heart which you may comfort. "Dwell in the land, and be doing good."
"If time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate, Nor any poor about your lands?
Oh! teach the orphan boy to read Or teach the orphan girl to sew."
And you who are busy and c.u.mbered with much serving, may find a thousand ways, in the midst of your active work, of showing your love to your brethren. Be unselfish, be gentle, be courteous, be pitiful.
Never say a word which may wound another; never turn away when you can help a neighbour; never ask with the sneer of Cain, "Am I my brother's keeper?" "We know that we have pa.s.sed from death unto life, because we love the brethren."