Sermon – Thanksgiving – 1864

Thanksgiving for Victories
Discourse
By: Rev. R. D. Hitchcock, D.D.
 

“Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.”—Psalm 144:1
You can not have failed to notice how small a part of the peculiar rhetoric of war has ever come from the great makers and masters of war. The contending heroes of the Iliad simply go out to meet each other under the walls of Troy. It is left for the poet to tell us how they rushed together like thunder-clouds in a summer sky. The nine campaigns of Cæsar in Gaul turned out very much to his mind, but his own account of them in the Commentaries is probably not very much like the reports which would have been sent by the Roman Russell to the Roman Times, had Rome at that time either enjoyed or endured either a Russell or Times. We have a General who threatens nothing more than to “move upon the works” of the enemy. For the “tornado” and “lightning” of the movement we are indebted to the sprightly correspondents, special or regular, who take no part in it only to see it. There is nothing strange in this, and nothing to be sneered at. Battles may be grand when looked at from afar, and grander still in their results; but to those who are in them they are hideous, and those who know the most about them are inclined to say the least. Louis Napoleon is said to have had his stomach turned, and his dreams badly haunted ever since, by the slaughter he witnessed at Solferino.

The author of the sentence chosen for our text today was at once a great poet and a great conqueror. When he received his kingdom, it was only a small fraction even of Palestine. And at last, after seven years, with all the Hebrews under him, it reached only to the roots of Lebanon on the north, touched the Arabian desert on the south, and went but little beyond the Jordan on the east. But before he died, the Red Sea and the Euphrates were his boundaries, and there was no potentate anywhere in Western Asia who did not tremble at the name of the shepherd’s son of Bethlehem.

Now what had this man to say of war? Many things in many places, as he who runs may read, but in our text two things: First virtually, that war is sometimes a good thing; and, secondly, that success in it is of God. “Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.”

Today at the suggestion of the President–the President of these nearly forty United States of North America–we have thanked and are thanking God, thanking him in speech and in feeling deeper than speech, for two most signal and present victories: the one at Mobile on our Southern Gulf, where Army and Navy, planting the feet of our national power, the one upon the land, the other upon the sea, have had a united triumph; the other at Atlanta in Georgia, where after four months of incessant marching and fighting, a shell has been lodged at last in the very bowels of this monstrous Confederacy. These are great victories, there can be no doubt of it; as great as any in history. They do not end the rebellion, to be sure; but they begin the ending of it. A few more such blows, and the work is substantially accomplished. And so we bless God today, in this temple of peace, for these achievements of war, gratefully remembering the dead, tenderly mindful of the wounded and the bereaved, and, above all, humbly supplicating the Power above us for what further victories are needed to bring this great and sore struggle to a righteous consummation, disband our brave and patient but wearied armies, and set in motion again the arrested currents of our ordinary life.

You can not regret more deeply than I that our own spiritual teacher is not here now to lead your devotions, and expound the lessons of the hour. And yet I will not distrust you charity, nor permit myself to be troubled by the fear that you may be yearning for something better than you will get. I am sure you will not be impatient with me for not doing better than I can, snatching time as I do for this discourse from the grasp of other duties and other cares.

I. Let me first speak to you about war in general.

The Bible speaks of it in many, many places as one of the direst of calamities. Those who employ of the Litany of the English Church pray every Sunday: “From lightning and tempest; from plague, pestilence, and famine; from battle and murder, and from sudden death, Good Lord deliver us.” And such is the common feeling of civilized and cultured, to say nothing of regenerated and Christian, men. War, as I have said already, is a hideous thing. Our instincts are against it. As rational beings we resent this appeal from reason to the sword, from brain to muscle, as an atrocious indignity to reason itself. It makes us ashamed of men to see them hunting each other, as the sportsman hunts a tiger in the jungle; to see them tear each other to pieces as tiger tears tiger when both are famished, and are both unwilling to divide their spoil. Swords, and pistols, and muskets, and cannon, and bullets, and balls, and forts, and iron-plated ships, with all the other inventions which mean death to man, are more hateful than any human abhorrence has ever painted them. War, in and of itself in its last analysis, is simply butchery; the butchery, not of soulless animals like sheep and oxen, but of reasoning and immortal men. Shame on it all. And the greater the war, the greater the shame. In great, long wars, the waste of life is frightful. Five millions of me, it is estimated, perished in the Crusades. An equal number of French men fell victims to the military genius of the First Napoleon. Farmers, mechanics, merchants, scholars, are torn away from their beneficent pursuits to fatten corn-fields, as at Waterloo; perhaps to be of less use even than that. And the gaps thus made in society are not filled for a generation. And then there are multitudes on crutches, or maimed and limping, till nature has had time to put them all under the sod. And then there are delicate women, dressed in black, in our sight for years, pensioned, it may be, meagerly, or it may be painfully living by the needle, making shirts at five cents apiece for men who had made fortunes out of the war which cost them their husbands. And then there are little children to grow up, weeping every night when they are put to bed as they are told of their fathers, who had their lives shot or stabbed out of them on some far off battle-field, and whose bodies are not asleep at home in the village graveyard. And then there is the absolute annihilation of property; charcoal, niter, sulfur in the powder that is burnt; lead and iron in the bullets and balls; and a hundred other things, which get planted in every battle, not to grow, but to rot. Harvest fields are trampled to mud, houses and barns are consumed, railways torn up, engines and cars demolished, ships sunk or set fire to with their cargos, light-houses blown up, and harbors obstructed or destroyed. And then, too, there is great peril of serious damage to the moral character. There is the life in camp, away from all domestic endearments and restraints; and raids through hostile territory, sweeping property like whirlwinds; and the fury of battle, so liable to kindle a thirst for blood, or at least to cheapen the value of human life. Such are some of the fruits and tokens of war. War means death and destruction: death, violent and sudden; destruction, utter and irreparable. In this aspect of it, it is hard to imagine any worse thing which could possibly happen. Satanic and hellish some men have called it. But Milton thinks otherwise, and worse, of it:

“O shame to men! Devil with devil damned
Firm concord holds, men only disagree
Of creatures rational.”
But bad as war is, some other things are worse, immeasurably worse. And when war and any one of these other worse things is the only and enforced alternative, then is war a right and good thing; with all its abominations it is right, with all it horrors it is good. War, we have said, is death and destruction; but the death only of the body, the destruction only of property. Even at this, however, the loss is not so great as may at first appear. Death will come sooner or later to us all. The man who falls in battle only dies a little sooner than he expected. Property likewise is perishable. War only sweeps it away more swiftly. But rated at their highest value, neither life nor property should be thought inalienable. Life is sweet and property is good, but life and property may be too dearly ransomed. “What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” And souls may be lost without being sent to perdition beyond the grave; reaching that perdition doubtless at last, but lost some time before.

With respect to the Christian martyrdoms, I believe there is nowhere any debate. No man dares to say, if any man is mean enough to think, that those uncompromising saints who preferred death to apostasy, died foolishly. That one early martyr at the stake in Smyrna, the aged Polycarp, states the case for them all. On his way to the flames, Herod, an official with his father Nicetes, met him in their chariot. Lifting the venerable Bishop into the chariot, they say: “What harm is there in it to say, Lord Caesar, and sacrifice, and so be safe?” Afterward the proconsul urged him: “Swear, and I will set thee at liberty; reproach Christ.” But his answer was: “Eighty and six years have I now served Christ, and he has never done me the least wrong; how, then can I blaspheme my King and my Savior?” And so he lost a life which a single sentence would have saved. But so he won everlasting bliss in heaven, and on earth everlasting renown; here the laurel and there the palm.

But it may be said that the difference is wide between yielding up one’s own life and taking the life of another; between martyrdom and war. The commandment is, “Thou shalt not kill;” and war, we are told, is murder. But if mere killing be murder, my reply is, then it is murder to hang a murderer; as some, indeed are quite ready to affirm, denouncing scaffold and battle-field as alike unchristian. This is logical, but false; a right conclusion from a wrong premise. “Thou shalt not kill” does not mean, “Thou shalt not take away life.” But, as expounded by our Lord himself, its meaning is “Thou shalt do no murder.” Murder is more than killing. Killing is sometimes not merely a right, but a duty, even for individuals, as when one anticipates by a quick of his own, the blow of an assassin. And if an individual may take life in self-defense, much more may it be done by the body politic, with its formalities of arrest and trial. In the face of murder, treason, or any other capital offence, the commandment is, “Thou shalt kill.” Magistracy is nothing without its sword. That sword may not always be reddened justly; but justly reddened, it does the will of God, who complacently permits no magistrate to bear the sword in vain. Occasions arise when organized society must either kill or be killed itself; and organized society must not consent to die.

Now war is nothing more nor less than capital punishment on a large scale: sometimes outside, between nation and nation, when we call it foreign war; sometimes inside, when we call it civil. The chief difference is, that on the scaffold there is but one executioner, while on the battle-field the executioners are many. In either case, it is the organized society that strikes, on the scaffold with its single band of civil justice, on the field with its many mailed hands of war. But sheriff or soldier, it matters not, they are equally legitimate. War, then with all its evils, is not itself wrong. In particular instances it may be wrong, or it may be right; but each instance must be judged of by itself. Our proper rule of judgment would appear to be, that war, to be righteous must be always defensive war. Defensive, I mean, in spirit; for it is
obvious that a war may be offensive in form, which is strictly defensive in spirit, as in the case of Charlemagne, who repeatedly attacked and crippled the Barbarians, who were preparing to attack, and might have crippled him. The alternative before him was not that of peace or war, but of war today or war tomorrow; and the choice he made was of war today. Offences have not yet ceased between nation and nation, any more than they have ceased between man and man; nor will they cease for some time to come. Nation still insults and injures nation. The insulted and injured nation may exercise a long forbearance, protesting against its wrongs; but there is a limit beyond which forbearance is not a virtue, but a crime. That limit overstepped, of which the Christian conscience of the nation must calmly judge, then the blade must leave its scabbard, and the God of battles must be invoked to arbitrate the conflict. International offenses, no longer endurable, must be punished. For some offenses, the lighter punishment of commercial non-intercourse may suffice. But other offenses of graver character cry aloud for the crowning punishment of war. And war for a nation’s rights, when those rights are at once vital and jeopardized, is always a war of self-defense; in its essence that, whatever may be its form. Such war, we declare, is right. It is more than right; it is a duty. And the nation which shirks this duty deserves its inevitable doom; I say, its inevitable doom, for whatever nation is afraid to fight, and is known to be afraid to fight, forfeits the respect of other nations and is near its end. The vultures will soon be screaming over it.

But if a nation may defend itself on the outside against foreign assailants, much more may a nation defend itself on the inside against domestic traitors and rebels. Civil war, as all the world knows, is worse than foreign war; as much worse as a wolf in the fold is worse than a wolf at the door. It is more ferocious and bitter in its spirit, more desolating in its effects. It furrows the land with a hotter plowshare, and plants it with larger armies of the slain. Its havoc, as in the last days of the Roman Republic, as in the last days of the French Republic, is often arrested only by the iron hand of a despot, enforcing order at the expense of ancient liberties and rights. There are great miseries, and great risks. But when a wanton rebellion, long brooded over, is at length hatched, when constitutional and peaceful methods of redress for alleged grievances are haughtily spurned, when the national flag is insulted, and the national authority defied, then civil war must come; has, indeed, already come. It is the national life that is threatened: and if that life is worth having, it is worth defending. If there be fire in the nation’s heart, that fire must burst and burn. If there be nerve in the nation’s arm, that arm must strike. It is no longer a question of parties, which shall rule, whether this or that, but the supreme and final question of life or death to the State itself. Unresisted assassination is virtual suicide. A great nation has no right to die; and the greater the nation, the greater the wrong of allowing itself be made to die. Lost wealth me be shortly recovered, slaughtered millions of men may by and by be replaced; but the splendid living organism of a high-hearted, prosperous, puissant nationality, with all its array of arts and industries, of laws and institutions, of grand historic memories and of still grander aspirations, which challenge the coming centuries, the dust of heroes in its soil, accomplished work of man, but a slow growth of reluctant time, a wondrous miracle of Providence, which may not be witnessed again on the same spot for ages. It must not be suffered to perish. By all that is sacred in heaven, by all that is brave, sweet, and precious on earth, by the sleeping ashes of the fathers, by the cradles of the children, by all the examples of the past, by all the prowess of the present, by all the prophetic visions of the future, it must not be suffered to perish.

But war, in such emergencies as we have now considered, has also another aspect than this of tragic and terrible necessity. It has its compensations, greatest always in the greatest and grandest conflicts, which go far to make us bless even the bitterness of the bud for the sweetness of the flower. If war, by withdrawing largely the muscle of a country from productive pursuits to a pursuit whose very genius is destruction, deranges business, choking up the old channels of trade, it, on the other hand, opens new channels of its own. Armies must be clothed, and sheltered, and nourished; navies must be launched; and iron throats on the land and on the sea must be fed with powder, and lead, and iron. And, above all, if men are mowed down by regiments, and sorrow carried to innumerable homes, yet heroes are made for history, and the life of the nation is enriched by the lives of its champions. If some weak statesmen are broken down by the burden, others are found to bear it. If frogs croak, and wise owls hoot, in the night of disaster, birds of promise come singing in the morning. If some moral interests are imperiled, others and greater ones are promoted. What would England have been today without her righteous wars, domestic and foreign? England, or any other of the first nations of Europe? What but “a nation of shopkeepers;” a swarm of bees, hiving their honey; a herd of cattle, chewing their cuds? That is a great day for a man, when he puts his life in peril for a principle. That is a great day for a people, when they stand up for their rights. As men now are, and as the world now goes with them, a long peace, such as the merchant prays for, is more dangerous to the soul than battles are to the body. Peace is a hot summer, teeming with life, and hurrying its crops to ripeness, but drying up the brooks, wrapping the land in smoke, and robbing the air of its tonics. War is lightning. And lightning is good. It may kill a horse or two in the pasture, or burn a barn, or prostrate a man standing in his doorway, or, striking a church, may turn, for some months, a Christian congregation quite out of doors; but its clears the air, and without it we should none of us have long to live.

War, then, with all the losses and horrors that attend it, with all the sorrows that follow it, is not always to be denounced, is not always to be shunned. King David was no stranger to war, making verses about it from afar. The nations round about him would not let him alone in Palestine. His own sons stirred up rebellions against him. And so he became a warrior, fighting for his kingdom and his crown; warrior, as well as lyrist, singing as he returned from victory: “Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.”

II. Let me next speak to you about the secret success in war.

Napoleon is commonly reported to have said that Providence is always on the side of the heaviest battalions. I am slow to believe he ever said it. He must have known better, for he was not ignorant of history. The fact is, rather, that the heaviest battalions are always on the side of Providence; not, I admit, in all the preliminary or incidental skirmishes, not in all the smaller battles eve, but certainly in all the greater, decisive battles which have settled anything worth settling. Many a time have little armies beaten large armies; as at Marathon and Plataea, the Greeks the Persians, who outnumbered them as ten to one. Who knows, or can know, which are the heaviest battalions, till it be found out which did the crushing, and which were crushed? David, though a stripling, was taller than Saul, and weighed more than Goliath. But his stature was not in inches by the rule, nor his weight in ounces by the scales. The Kearsarge and Alabama were more nearly matched than is often the case in naval engagements of that sort. As they steamed towards each other, with sanded decks and shotted guns, it would have been difficult to determine which it would have been difficult to determine which was the better ship, or which was the better equipped, officered, and manned. As hour later it was all plain enough. No intelligent man in Christendom now needs to be told which ship went down, nor why. Patriotism commanded and worked the one; piracy commanded and worked the other.

One of the finest sayings of modern literature is that of Schiller: “The world’s history is the world’s judgment.” It condenses into a proverb the whole philosophy of history and yet nearly three thousand years before, another poet had written: “I said unto the fools, deal not foolishly: and to the wicked, Lift not up the horn: lift not up your horn on high: speak not with a stiff neck. For promotion cometh neither from the east, nor the west, nor from the south. But God is the judge: he putteth down one, and setteth up another.” For us, as individuals there is a great day of judgment to come, with trumpet or archangel, and banner of flame, and book of God’s memory and ours. But for races and nations, the day of judgment, like Elias to the Hebrews hundreds of years ago, is come already. It has come, and stays. It is now, and always. From the moment a nation is born, from that moment it begins to be judged. Nations indeed are free, liking what they will, and doing what they like. Hence, as human nature is always doing the same, human events are always repeating themselves. There is nothing new under the sun; but ever the same old circuit of growth and decay, of conquest and defeat. So at first it seems, and so in part, but only in part, it is. Besides the movement round, there is another movement onward, making the circuits spiral. And that spiral movement is of God, impelling the nations onward, while they go spinning round and round. The goal we know: it is the final triumph here on earth of truth and right over lies and wrong. Towards that goal the revolving nations have always pointed their fingers, and have always moved. I am not addressing atheists, and therefore I shall not now undertake to prove the law of history is not revolution only, but also progress. Suffice it here to say, that the vindication of our Christian philosophy of history is the whole substance of history itself, its woof and its warp. Since the fall of man, which had its organic culmination in the godless civilization of Adam’s eldest son, as far back as we can see through the eyes of Herodotus, as far back as we can see through the eyes of Moses, the world has not revolved only, but also advanced. Not always from age to age, from great epoch to great epoch, has there been one steady march. Any school-boy will recite you the names and the dates. Egypt, Chaldea, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, Macedon, and Rome, those names of the old empires, all witnesses to progress, all witnesses for God, that he has led amongst the nations, and compelled them, in the working out of their own ambitious purposes, also to work out his purposes of justice and grace Amidst those older empires Palestine stood central. For hundreds of years five millions of Hebrews determined the course of history. It was to train, to try, and finally to punish them, that those empires came and went. And now it is the son o a Hebrew mother, who is also the Son of God, around whom the nations revolve, and whose purposes they execute, whether they will or no. His kingdom, set up eighteen hundred years ago, has been steadily growing ever since. It is stronger today than ever it was before. It will be stronger tomorrow than it is today. Greece helped it in her decrepitude, and died only when she could help it no longer. And so of all the nations since: the empire of Charlemagne, the medieval kingdoms of Europe, the empires of the two Napoleons, and all the rest. Each has had its own inspiration, each its own aims, but of God all have had only one and the same errand, and all have either bowed or been broken, will bow or will be broken, beneath the weight of Christ’s arm. By the eternal covenant of redemption, this world is Christ’s. He died for it, and he will have it. The past guarantees the future. Since those tongues of flame at Pentecost till now, not a single important event has happened which has not done something towards bringing in the promised millennium. Every national birth and every national death, every revolution and every reform, every discovery and every conquest, every invention and every battle, every science and every art, has had its Christian errand, and has done it. The Roman Empire built roads for the feet of the apostles and early evangelists, and kept order in their assemblies. Charlemagne repeated in northern Europe the southern empire of the Caesars. Priests and schoolmen redeemed the Middle Ages from utter barbarism. Then out of the feudal chaos sprang the modern centuries, have been elaborating the Christian civilization that now rules the world. Study closely this chart of history, tracing the career of every nation and of every great ruler of every problem of their fortunes. The race has not been to the swift nor the battle to the strong. But the blood of Christ has been beating in the arteries of the world. Truth, right, law, liberty–these have been the light and the life of men, making the foolish wise and the weak strong, so that one has been able to chase a thousand, and two have put ten thousand to flight.

And of all the methods employed to bring the world right, there is none, perhaps, more effective, surely none so imposing, as this war. It is, indeed, a rough method, the delight of the savage, the dread of the civilized, and yet the appointment of Providence as the indispensable condition of human progress. The onward movement of the race has been always, not a journey, but a march. The new territories have had to be conquered. Wiser laws, humane institutions, liberties enlarged and chartered, order assured–these all have been the crimsoned trophies of war. Even peace itself has had to be purchased with blood and tears. And so it is that the great military campaigns of history are its great way marks. The great battles are but synonyms of great ideas realized. It is no new thing for bayonets to think; they have always thought, thinking better and better from age to age. It is the brains behind the bayonets that are thinking now. The devil rages, but God reigns; and what is best for man is sure to win in the long run. “He always wins who sides with God.” In the great crises of history, when the clock of the universe is about to strike a new hour, it matters now what splendor or genius in leadership, what weight of massed columns, what prodigality of preparation, what prestige of previous achievement, may be set in array against the right; unseen squadrons are in the air above, unseen chariots in the mountains round about, and the battle is the Lord’s–both the battle and the victory. Napoleon could never understand why his army was routed at Waterloo. By all military precedent, the rout should have been upon the other side. Napoleon was never surer of victory than then. But besides the army against him on the ground, there was the army against him on the ground, there was another army against him in the air. The stars in their courses fought against him, and he was vanquished. A bad cause may be successful at the start. Inspired from beneath, and not from above, its fire is fierce and withering; but it fights too fast and wildly. The good cause is stunned and staggered by the first onset; but by and by it rallies, warming as it works, and striking harder and harder till the field is won.

How it comes to pass that the good cause at last carries the day, every good man knows, or ought to know. This secret of the Lord is with them that fear him. Every soldier in the field has an ally in every Christian closet; and he knows it. Every tent-fire blazes with the light of remembered hearth-stones. Every peal of the bugle is tremulous with the voices of wives and children. Every battle has its benediction from every altar of worship. And ever triumph shall have its anthems from generation to generation. Good men thus armed are invincible. We need not await the bulletins; the end is sure.

III. And now let me say a few words about our own war.

We are tired of hearing it called gigantic, that word has been used so much. And yet the fact remains of a great war; the greatest perhaps, in history. I need not tell you how great it is: great in the length and breadth of its theater; great in its host of armed men upon the land, great in its fleets upon the sea, great in its cost of treasure, great in its cost of blood. So great is it, that had its dimension been foreseen, the heart of the nation would have failed it. So great is it, that the hearts of many men have failed them as it is. So great is it, that only the most vivid sense of the still greater issues at stake in it will suffice to bear us through.

Cries of peace are on the wind. We heard them at the start. We have heard them all along. We hear them now louder than ever. But cries of peace from whom, and to whom? Some are the prayers of all the saints ascending since the war began, that God will be pleased, in his own good time, to send us peace by righteousness, that so it may be a lasting peace. But no cry is heard as yet from the rebels in arms, who might have peace tomorrow, by simply throwing down their weapons and striking their flag. No cry as yet from our own brave boys, their blue jackets fragrant with the smell of victories. No cry from the bloody graves of fallen heroes, who would as gladly fight and die again for the old flag. No cry even from widows and orphans, who have lost all they had to lose, and now only pray it may not have been in vain. Nowhere any cry do we hear, but from the lips of rebels not in arms, or who, if not rebels, are the dupes and the tools of rebels, doing the work of rebels, and doing it better now and here than though they had followed their hearts down over the lines these are the men who now cry for peace at any price, peace on the instant by the grounding of our arms, when they know, some of them better even than we–for they have learned it from Richmond–that the rebellion is on the verge of grounding its arms. Peace, they cry, as over a drawn battle, when they know the battle is nearly finished in victory. Peace, they cry, when they know that peace now, without another blow, would be substantially the triumph of our foes. Some of these men who cry for peace are bold, bad man; as bold and bad as Catiline. Others are only the rank and file of old political organizations, who know no other voice than that of their old shepherds. Taking them all together, their name is legion. They are found in all portions of the loyal states, and in numbers are probably about as strong, relatively, as the Tories of the Revolution; perhaps a little stronger. They are now, by the confession of the rebels themselves, the forlorn hope of their Confederacy. Foreign intervention was abandoned long ago as an idle dream. The rebellion is standing literally on its last legs; it ahs conscripted everything it could lay its hands on that could be of any use to it between the cradle and the grave. The recruiting drumbeat would not be more out of place in the churchyards than in the streets of most of the Southern towns. A few thousands of men more on our side, and the thing is ended. Peace would then come, not by an armistice, which would lead to no peace that could last, but by victories so overwhelming and conclusive that no man anywhere would dare to challenge the result. So says the Lieutenant-general of our armies, God bless him for his sublime tenacity of purpose, for his steadfast faith, for his man victories. So say all our best generals. So say all our best soldiers. And the rebels know it to be true. Only one hope now sustains them, and that is their hope of seeing yet, at the eleventh hour, a divided and palsied North.

Shall they see it? Tell me, Christian friends and neighbors, tell me, my fellow-countrymen, shall they see it? This is now the grand question before us. And it is the only question. The question of slavery, in its relations to our politics, our industry, our religion even, is just now supremely impertinent: impertinent, I say, not because slavery can be cleared of the guilt of this rebellion, or can be thought compatible with the revived prosperity and permanent peace of the republic, or can be looked upon with moral indifference by moral men; but simply because, by its own act, it now lies at the mercy of events which must have their course. Of the four millions of southern bondmen at the beginning of this rebellion, more than one million–Mr. Davis has said nearly two millions–have been freed already. Others yet will snatch their freedom as our armies advance. And they would have snatched it all the same had there been no Proclamation of 1863. That military edict is, therefore, but a poor apology for turning against the Government now. Beyond all controversy, it has weakened the rebellion, and strengthened the Government; weakened the rebellion by making emancipation, not merely a military incident, but a well advised and avowed purpose, in order to the quicker an surer triumph of our arms; strengthened the Government by all the thousands of colored troops now in its service, by arraying on our side the sympathies of the best men in Europe, and securing for ourselves the inspiration, not of patriotism alone, but also of philanthropy and the fear of God. To re-enslave these freedmen would be not merely infamous, it would be insane. These, then, are wholly out of the problem. The eagles are uncaged, and gone. What shall be done with such as may not have been actually liberated along the paths of our armies, what shall be done with the institution of slavery itself–these are questions of the future, questions to be taken up and disposed of after the war is ended, and the Union, which, according to the loyal theory of the war, has never been dissolved, shall have been in fact restored. For the future, the immediate future, to which they belong, they are questions of the gravest moment. Perhaps we shall all soon feel them to be the crucial questions of our destiny. Perhaps the hour is nearer than some of us suppose, when the whole nations shall be standing in awe of Him whose office it is to say, Inasmuch as ye have done it, or have not done it, , unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it, or have not done it, unto me. But just at this most critical conjuncture of our affairs–just emerging, as we are, from the lowest depths of our despondency, the national brain oppressed, the natural pulse feverish, and these questions are not in time. The only question now, if we are wise, is the question of war or armistice. This is the question offered us. Let us accept it, and hold its apostles to it and hold ourselves to it, and hold ourselves to it, and hold each other to it, and hold the nation to it. If Ajax fails of victory for want of light, be it no fault of ours.

Armistice is the watch-word. But what is armistice? Not peace; only hostility suspended. But hostility suspended in order to peace, they tell us. Be not deceived, my countrymen. Peace will never come this way. The rebellion is still, engineered and dominated by able and desperate men, who have sworn with an oath as stern as that of the famous Delenda est Carthago, that the old Union shall never be reestablished. This explains the remark of Mr. Davis, that they “are not fighting for slavery, and care very little about it.” He did not mean that they are sick of the institution, and ready to give it up. He only meant, although of course too shrewd to own up to it, that, with their independence established, and an open sea between themselves and the dusky continent, they will know how to make good the losses of the war. They are inflexibly resolved upon an independent Confederacy; and if, with their armies so well in hand, they can hold the Southern masses to that program today, with those armies refreshed and resupplied, they will be able to hold these same masses to that same program tomorrow. The armistice will end, as it began, in an unqualified and stubborn demand for independence. They say they want nothing else and will think of nothing else. If their demand be refused–as refused it must be, for I have read in a recent document that “ the Union must be preserved at all hazards”–then it will be war again, only worse, and less likely by a thousand fold to end propitiously than now. If the demand be conceded, there may, indeed, be peace for a time, but war again after a season, and war for ever, till either our descendants learn the wisdom now offered to us, or the continent is black with ruins. What man in his senses can imagine for a moment the possibility of permanent amity, or anything like it, between two such governments as would take the place of the one government now battling for its life? What man that wishes to plant, or spin, or trade, or study, would be willing to stay amidst such uncertainties as would then be chronic?

Sermon – Thanksgiving – 1863

A Willing Reunion Not Impossible
Thanksgiving Sermon Preached at
St. Paul’s, Brookline, November 26, 1863,
By
Rev. Francis Wharton
“In the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.” —Ps. lxiii. 7.
It is the usage of the divine Word to speak of God’s mystery as the believer’s peace. Concealment, we are told, is a part of the glory of God; and the very darkness, therefore, in which our path may be enfolded, leads us to trust in God, who is in the cloud. “Thou canst not see my face,” said God to Moses, “for there shall no man see me and live.” “And it shall come to pass, while my glory passeth by, that I will put thee in a cleft of the rock, and will cover thee with my hand as I pass by,”—hiding thus from the creature the movement of the Creator, even when the Creator is most near. So the apostle cries,—“Oh the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out! For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things; to whom be glory forever. Amen.” And in the same strain of praise for this, the hiddenness of the providence of God, the Psalmist exclaims, in the words of the text,—“In the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.”

I think, dear friends, in the first place that this must be the believer’s cry in reference to the shadows that hung over him during former parts of his pilgrimage, but which are now passed. Few of us but must recall moments when we seemed placed in the cleft of the rock; and, like one pent in between the rugged walls and the beetling roof of some dark sea-side cave whose mouth the waves wash, could then see no path of escape. Yet, as we now view these moments of depression or affliction, what is our present cry? Do we not feel that even for these we can praise God? Do we not see that he whose paths are on the sea, and whose footsteps are not known, led us forth by a way of which we knew nothing? “Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now have I kept thy word.” We now see that our plans, which we so much cherished, were very different from God’s plans, which we did not understand; and that our plans would have led to ruin, but God’s have led to peace. We see that, whenever, in our own presumptuous wisdom, we chose our own path, against his obvious leadings, it led to sorrow, if not to sin; and that God’s discipline, which tore us, bleeding as it were, from ties in which we had thus wrapped ourselves, was the way of right and of love. We see that even God’s providence of affliction, in removing from us beloved and believing friends, was a providence of mercy,—completing the number of the elect, adding to the glory of heaven, weaning us from earth. We see how even our own sicknesses and disappointments have been blessings, warning us, as we grew older, not to attach ourselves to the transitory things of earth, but to place our affections on heaven. In the shadows of the past we can, therefore, rejoice in the light of experience; and so Faith teaches us to rejoice in the shadow of the present, grievous as may be the affliction or sore the trial. For the shadow is the covering of God’s wing.

But if such be the case with personal troubles, how much more strongly must it be so in reference to those which strike, not merely individuals, but nations,— nations whose destiny involves, not only that of multitudes of individual souls, but, in a large measure, those of Christ’s militant church. It is true, that, in our own case, as our country stands on this Thanksgiving Day, the shadow over us is not unbroken. We look back, as we close this beautiful autumn, upon a harvest of singular fullness. In no time has wealth poured itself so abundantly upon our great marts; at no former period has the giant growth of our giant country been so marked in this, the favored region in which we live. And we see this growth and this flush not only in our business, but in our educational and ecclesiastical interests. Our schools were never so full, our religious contributions never so large, the mental activity of the country never so great, as now. And yet, as we view all this, we turn with a sigh to the one great and overwhelming grief that overshadows us: a country divided into two hostile camps, and divided by a chasm into which not merely wealth, but life, is swallowed up in the costliest libations; a people, only a few years since united in affection and peace, now apparently separated by an enmity even unto death. In this, the shadow of God’s wing on our land, what reason have we to rejoice? By these, the waters of Babylon,—in this, the strange land of discord in which we now find ourselves,—how can we, as a nation raise the voice of praise? This question let me now attempt to consider.

And first, in these, our national trials, we are led to contemplate heaven as the sole country which cannot be disturbed, and God as the sole ruler whose supremacy cannot be touched. Each form of human government has been successively shaken to its centre. The military despot, the constitutional king, the little community in which each man has an equal share of power, the vast centralization, where the aristocrat acts and speaks for;—each, in turn, has yielded to that law which stamps imperfection on all the institutions of man. And now, our own system, of all others the most perfect,—of all others, that which best unites individual liberty with governmental power,—speaks the same lesson. The genius of constitutional liberty stands by the camp, and tells us that not even the best of human governments is able, without force, to control human passion; that there is but one government that cannot be shocked,—that of heaven; but one power in whose protection we can find peaceful refuge,—the power of God. In God, then, let our supreme dependence be placed.

But, secondly, these national trials cannot be studied without seeing in them important political as well as religious compensations. I have never, from the beginning of this melancholy struggle, been able to conceive of the great country included between the lakes and the Gulf, and the Atlantic and Pacific, otherwise than as one. All the analogies of other countries forbid its division, unless division be followed by war which would last until the one part or the other is politically cancelled. In no case in Europe do we meet with two contiguous powers, unseparated by natural boundaries, maintaining their independence and their integrity untouched. Between France and Spain the Pyrenees erect an almost impassable natural barrier, and, in addition to this, there is that moral severance arising from difference of tongue; yet France has, more than once, overrun Spain, and Spain has now sunk to a second-class power, virtually the dependent of France. In a still more active process of absorption, the principalities of Burgundy, of Navarre, of Normandy, were gradually so worked up into the body of the kingdom of France, by the mere energy of homogeneousness of language and contiguity of soil, that now even the old boundaries are lost. Through the same process Wales and Scotland were united to England, Norway to Sweden, Bohemia to Austria, Silesia to Prussia, and, in the very few last years, Naples, Parma, Modena, and Tuscany, to the new kingdom of Italy. If, in some of these cases, the fusion was produced immediately by war, the principle is the same; for the only alternative to a peaceable union, when nature or art has erected no positive boundary, is, war to be continued unto one party or the other gives way; and it is only by such boundaries, or by the joint guaranties of Europe’s leading powers, that the smaller states of the continent are kept from immediate absorption in their more powerful neighbors. I do not say that this is right; but I do say that it is in obedience to one of those instincts of human society which it is as impossible to control as it would be to overrule that law by which the smaller particle gravitates to the greater, or the stronger force attains a supremacy over the weak. And peculiarly does this law seem to apply to this country, where there is not only no natural boundary, where there is not only no natural boundary dividing North and South; not only no dissimilarity in language, in religion, in historical antecedents, in general policy of government,—but where the two sections are united by reciprocity of staples, where the Mississippi couples the lakes and the Gulf by one main commercial avenue, and where the Alleghany and Rocky hills divide the country into valleys running north and south. There could be no permanent peace, were an artificial boundary cut through interests which would thus have such interminable causes of conflict; there could be no peace, without political death, when peace involved a severing of the great arteries of national life: there can be no alternative, as I conceive, between a federal union of some sort, and a series of exhausting wars, which must continue until the one side or the other obtain an ascendency which is final and complete.

Nor do I see any answer to this, in the fact that such is now the antagonism between North and South, that a willing reunion under the same general government is impossible. Antagonisms no less bitter,—antagonisms often strengthened by difference of language, and of political antecedents, as well as by natural boundaries, which do not obtain among us, existed in all the cases of absorption I have mentioned; and yet, the great law of populations prevailed, and the contiguous lands were united. No execration of our own time could be more bitter than that with which the Welsh bards, as the prophets of Welsh patriotism, visited the English Invaders:

“Ruin seize thee, ruthless king,
Confusion on thy banner wait,”—

So they have been paraphrased by the poet Gray; yet Wales soon began to exchange institutions with England, and, under a common government, to be fed by, and to feed, its wealth. No wail could be sadder than that of the Scotch minstrel, singing, as it seemed to him, the dirge of Scotch glory:—

“Old times are passed, old manners gone,
A stranger fills the Stuart’s throne;
And I, neglected and oppressed,
Long to be with them, and at rest.”

Yet soon, not only Highland hate and Lowland suspicion died out, but the poet’s melancholy at the loss of Scotch royalty, gave way to as proud a loyalty to the new empire as ever was felt to the old.

If, five hundred years back, we should stand with Wycliffe in one of the cloisters of Baliol, we might hear him lamenting, as the chief obstacle to British union against papal usurpation, not merely the feuds between York and Lancaster, but the territorial division of the land among distinct powers. “Here,” he might say, “to the west, protected by dense forests, and shut off by a barbarous language, lift up the Welsh princes a defiant brow. Between us and Scotland rise the Teviot hills; but more impassable than there are the barriers of tongue, of habit, of bitter, relentless hate. It seems impossible,” so he may reason, “that these barriers, so fatal to the true independence of this isle should be removed; and yet, while they stand, how can the great cause of truth prosper?” So argued the wisest and most hopeful of Wycliffe’s day, and of many a day following; yet the time came when these barriers sank away, and these warring populations fused, under that invisible process of assimilation which territorial contiguity involves.

Or let us, as illustrating the fugitiveness of the passions of civil, as distinguished from international, war, go to the battle-field of Newbury, at the beginning of the great military contest between Charles I. and his parliament. Let us there listen to Lord Falkland, the purest and most unprejudiced patriot of the day; the one who most faithfully sought to preserve harmony by reconciling the two contending factions, and who now, in utter despair of that country he so much loved, and of that peace for which he so much longed, is about to throw away his life on the spot where the carnage is threatened. “He lives too long who has survived his country,” so we can hear him cry. “I see England finally and definitely divided into two hostile clans. I see the torch of civil war handed down from generation to generation; hatred has dug a pit between brother and brother which they cannot cross; hatred is to be the perpetual boundary-line which is to divide this people into two hostile camps; each element has in it much that is true; each is essential to England’s prosperity: yet now, as it stands, I see only war until one or the other is extinguished, and unchecked despotism, or unchecked anarchy, rules supreme.” Yet Lord Falkland’s own sons might well have lived to see peace restored without either of these essential elements being extinguished; to see Puritanism and Anglicanism, Royalism, and Parliamentism, each surviving the contest, to continue, by their own alternations and interchanges, to build up English prosperity; and to witness a final settlement, in which each element, divested of the fiercer passions with which it was once mixed, would vie with the other in loyalty to a constitutional king.

Nor, should we transport ourselves back to one of our New York or New England towns, at a period but a few years later, do we find political or social antagonisms less marked. New York acknowledged the supremacy of the Dutch crown, New England acknowledged that of England; and England and Holland were then at war. New York held to aristocratic, New England to democratic, institutions; and besides these political and social differences, the two countries were inflamed by the fiercest commercial jealousy. Perhaps nowhere, even in that hard age of dissension, could be found two contiguous populations more utterly unlike, and more heartily disliking each other, as well as politically more thoroughly antagonistic, than those then existing in New England and New York. They were separated by far greater dissimilarities than now are North and South; and by equally bitter antipathies; but the Revolution gave New York and New England one government and almost one heart.

I see nothing, therefore in the immediate animosities of any two contiguous populations to prevent the operation of the great law of which I speak; and least of all, can I assign this effect to an animosity so sudden and recent as that now dividing North and South. We cannot forget that we are substantially one stock. There is scarcely a family which can go back three generations without coming to a common parent whose descendants are scattered north, south, and west; and, underneath this surface antagonism, which is none the less bitter from the very nearness of those whom it now inflames, I do believe that there is in the American people a base of mutual affection and respect which will remain long after this strife is forgotten. In union were formed the impressions of our country’s youth. The old man, whom you watch, retains his childhood’s memories the most vividly; the old friendships, the old scenes, the old sacrifices, are what gave his character its final mould–And the old country will retain, I believe, its old memories, when the transient fever of the present is long past. It will look back to that infancy when its two sections interchanged their sons; when Southern soldiers rallied under a New England captain, to reclaim their soil form the invader, and when Washington’s majestic presence first made a New England army feel the grandeur and the strength of a united land. This consciousness of community of blood, of community of history, of community of religion, of community, it must needs be, of destiny, lies at the foundation of the American life; and, fearful as is the present struggle, and resolute as should be our determination to maintain to the last the cause of authority and law, I see nothing in these, the divisions of the moment, that shows that, as to us, the great laws of population are reversed, and that it is God’s will that we should dwell apart. Once, it is true, in the world’s history, God stretched a sea between two nations whom it was his will to separate; and at his command the path he had opened through the waters was closed, and the waves lifted themselves up to execute his omnipotent decree. But he has laid down no boundary line between the North and South of this American race, but, on the contrary, in the councils of omnipotence, has knit together its rivers, its mountains, its history, its lineage, its religion, in one. When, therefore, we read this decree of reunion on nature’s face, and in the country’s real heart, and the page of the divine economy for the Christian future, we may even now, in these shadows of war, see God’s wing, and rejoice in the hope that we will soon again, though with temper chastened, and energies refined, and institutions ameliorated, possess a united land.

One or two practical points I will mention in conclusion. And the first is, that, as long as reconciliation is scorned, and a war for separation insisted on by those at arms against our government; and as long, therefore, as war is necessary for our own defense, and for that of our country and homes, we are advised, by every principle of humanity and policy, that the war, on our part, should receive our united and unreserved support. “A great country,” it was said by a master of statesmanship, “cannot wage a little war.” Our own imperial attitude; the desire to spare unnecessary bloodshed and cost; the determination to avoid that border vindictiveness which marks a protracted and feeble contest, and the determination, also, if we must have war, to have war disconnected with personal hate,—to have, in other words, battle, not assassination; the determination to close, as soon as possible, the terrible suspense by which we are now overhung;—all these motives combine to urge us to collect our whole strength, and, in perfect union, so far as this immediate object is concerned, to stake everything on the result.

And this brings me to a second point,—the wrong of giving way to feelings or expressions of personal bitterness towards those against whom we are thus arrayed. In the last publication I have seen one of whom I shall never cease to love and venerate, but who believing, as I think wrongly, at the beginning of the war, that the union was finally divided, took his stand on the soil to which he belonged,—in the last publication of the late Bishop Meade, of Virginia, he quoted an old proverb, that we should treat our friends as if they might someday become enemies; and our enemies, as if someday the might become our friends; and he added, that while all our Christian life required us to reject the first part of this maxim, the same Christianity required us to accept the second. And I would add to this, that not only Christian feeling, but national magnanimity; not only national magnanimity, but public policy;—all these motives combine in teaching us to treat as those soon to become friends, those now marshaled against us as enemies. We should avoid, I think, not merely the language, but the temper, of recrimination, as prejudicial to our own success,—as forbidden by the first principles of the gospel we believe.

One other topic I cannot persuade myself to overlook. In addition to that care over our sick, wounded, and imprisoned soldiers to which the associations of this day so impressively call us, there is a special work of cardinal importance to be performed to that large body of the African race now thrown upon us for support. The question is not one of theory, but of fact. By the necessities of war, if not by our own voluntary political choice, vast numbers of this docile and amiable but unhappy people have been detached from their old homes and are now dependent on us, not merely for their daily bread, but for that practical education which will enable them to sustain themselves in their new condition. It well becomes us, on this Thanksgiving Day, to consider what is due from us to this people, thus so solemnly consecrated to our care. And I do not hesitate to say, that this most delicate trust is one which we must make up our minds faithfully and religiously to discharge. We have now accepted the tutelage of this people,—a people whose capacities, great as the far past shows them to be, are to be recalled from the sluggishness into which they have fallen in the bondage of centuries; and we have accepted this tutelage, as one of the elements of restoration of our own political power. We have invited them to aid us: their men have fought for us on the battlefield, leaving their women and children to our care: both men and women are ignorant of the art of self-support, as well as destitute of its means; and may God help us to do to them the right! And, among the elements of this right, let me mention, not merely temporary aid, but the determination to remove that prejudice which in the North, and particularly at the North-West, refuses to receive the negro as part of the industrial energies of the land. If, in the present state of the country,—if, in view of the liberty we are giving to so large a part of the negro race, and the military debt we are accumulating to them, we do not remove this prejudice; if we do not receive the Africans to a free home, and to the full rights of labor in this our land, or, if that be impracticable, give them adequate homesteads elsewhere,—we shall, I think, be eternally branded as a nation dead to generous impulses, and unfaithful to the most sacred trusts. The question is not the political one of emancipating these particular slaves, for that is already done; but of saving those whom, for our own purposes, we have already emancipated from moral and physical ruin. To this work the intelligence and humanity of the country are most solemnly pledged.

And now, as we separate, I recur once more to the comforting thought which the text brings. As our difficulties multiply; as problems, apparently insoluble,—such as that which concerns the destiny of this unhappy people, to whom I have just directed your thoughts,—as problems, apparently insoluble, start up in our path, we fall back on this great truth: that God, who interposes the cloud, will, if we trust in him, open the way. The future will bring its solutions, if the present only bring its faith. The very incomprehensible about us is a proof that it is God who is near, and who leads. It was a cloud that went, in the day, before Israel, as he marched from the land of bondage; but this very cloud, in the night, when Israel would otherwise have died, became lit with flame, and led him in the path of right. On Sinai, God spoke his law from a thick cloud, in the midst of thunders and lightning, and to the voice of a trumpet exceeding loud: just as in the darkness and tumult of war by which we are now beset, he speaks to us. And even divine redemption is hid in the same shadow; and, in the moment when the Lord is transfigured before his disciples, “a bright cloud overshadows them,” and from this cloud the Father speaks, “This is my beloved Son.” Be this comfort, then, ours,—the comfort that God rules, and God redeems; and let this comfort give us a tranquil faith in God, and a resolute determination to perform those practical duties which in this emergency he prescribes. If so, it will be with no mere flutter of languid dependence, but in the courage of a determined and active heart, that, even in the clouds of this Thanksgiving day,—clouds which though sunlit by yesterday’s victory are still dark,—we lift up our voice in triumph, and cry, “In the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.”

Sermon – Communism in Churches – c. 1960


Bishop Gerald Kennedy (1908-1980) was a pastor and instructor in various colleges and churches in Connecticut, California, and Nebraska. He was the head of the United Methodist Church in southern California for 20 years (1952-1972). In the following sermon, Bishop Kennedy addresses the evils of Communism and how the Bible relates to this issue.


sermon-communism-in-churches-c-1960-1

Communism in the Churches
By
Bishop Gerald Kennedy
[c. 1960]
“For the Lord spoke thus to me with his strong hand upon me, and warned me not to walk in the way of people saying, “ Do not call conspiracy all that this people call conspiracy, and do not fear what they fear, nor be in dread”.”

Isaiah 8:11-12

There has been a good deal of talk in these days about communist infiltration into the churches. I never paid much attention to it because I know the churches and it is obvious that they are the real bulwarks against this evil system. Besides, you will discover this talk has two main sources. First, it comes from religious racketeers who like all racketeers, prey on legitimate enterprises. Second, it comes from men who fear judgment and change and who believe it is 1860 instead of 1960. So I never paid it much mind.

It came to me that a more careful examination should be made and I am sorry to report that there are unmistakable signs of communist doctrines having captured the minds of some churchmen. It is much more subtle and dangerous than we have recognized and I feel it is my duty to speak a warning. For the people who have been making all the fuss about this issue, have missed the point. A friend of mine once remarked about a speech of mine: “The bishop hit the nail right on the head, but it was the wrong nail.” This is the perfect description of the activities of most of the brethren attacking churches.

In the eighth century B.C., Isaiah wrote a good word for us. There were those conspiring against Ahaz the King and there were others urging a conspiracy with Assyria. But, says God, these are not the conspiracies to worry about. He would say that same thing to us and we need to face the real dangers.

In the first place, we have been invaded by the communist doctrine that

Religion Is An Opiate.
Karl Marx in his Introduction to Critique of…Hegel wrote: “Religion…is the opium of the people” and that doctrine became one of the assumptions of the communist creed. It must be confessed that religion as they observed in Russia, gave some reason for this definition.

One of the things that impresses the visitor to Russia, is the number of churches. They are everywhere so that one gets the impression that here is a very religious people. Yet in the days of the revolutionary movement, the church was usually on the side of privilege and power. It raised no clear voice against injustice and poverty and in the minds of many people it was a sedative protecting the status quo.

Now this doctrine has invaded our own life. What is the message of the church in America? Very often it is a message of adjustment. We are supposed to use our religion merely as a technique of getting along with other people and accepting the conditions of our existence without protest. We do not talk very much about being converted to a new life, but rather we urge our people to learn contentment in the midst of boredom. Ours is the psychological path which leads to acceptance rather then rebellion. From many a pulpit the voice of the preacher has become a lullaby accompanied by violins. The sound of the trumpet is strangely silent.

What shall we say about our examples as Christians? Well, we probably hold to a higher moral code on the average, than some others. But nothing much happens because of the great increase in church membership and a man would be hard put to define any sharp, observable differences between Christians and non-Christians. For us as well as for them, Carl Sandburg’s eleventh commandment seems to prevail: Do whatever you want to do to be comfortable.

The goal of our striving seems to be quietness. That this is a part of our Christian witness is true. Contentiousness is not listed as Christian virtue. Paul’s words are: “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” (Romans 12:18) But this is no doctrine of peace at any price and the Apostle’s own example is a stormy one. He was in his own time, and this is a hard word for us to hear, a controversial figure.

The Christian message when it is not contaminated with this communist poison is prophetic and often fierce. The words of the Prophets were strong and bitter as they denounced evil in all the world and in their own societies. The Christian word is to repent and be saved. It is a demand to bring life in harmony with God’s austere demands. It is a word of judgment as well as righteousness. The Christian message is heroic and frightening in its expectations.

Our examples are the apostles and the martyrs rather than well meaning, harmless people whose good intentions have all the toughness of a marshmallow. Negro young people have grown weary of waiting for us to give them the ordinary courtesies of our social life. Repudiating those who council only endurance and waiting, they move gently but unhesitatingly toward claiming the right of service in restaurants. They make it a religious movement and they shame a Christianity which stands by unwilling to give a witness to the simple dignity of all men.

The goal of the church is justice, not ease. If this means stirring us up, then of course that is our duty. It is a sad time when any disinherited member of a society cannot be sure of a champion in the Christian Church. This passion for justice is something we have inherited from the Old Testament. It is lost only when we accept the doctrine that Christians are merely dispensers of an opiate.

There is a story out of South Africa indicating what this communistic doctrine can do for a church. A Negro Zulu was stopped by an official at the door of a church in Capetown. “Don’t you know that this church is for whites only,” he was asked. “I am only going in to sweep the church, sir,” the Negro replied. “Well, all right”, the churchman, said, “But don’t let me catch you praying in there.” I am sure that the South African church would be shocked to learn that this kind of practice is pleasing to communism. It strengthens their thesis and makes it possible for them to proclaim to the world: I told you so.

Another Communist belief is that

Religion Is An Extra.
 

That is to say it is not part of the essential curriculum of life, but one of those courses offered for people who have extra time or a special interest.

I have a friend who teaches at a girls’ college. Because of the modern strenuous life, they have a course called Rest. For an hour twice a week, a girl can get a small credit for simply taking a nap under supervision, and for those who think they might enjoy it, perhaps it should be allowed.

I was looking at the great Volga dam outside Stalingrad one day, and listened to a young man describe its wonders. It is a magnificent sight and will produce tremendous electrical power. He was proud of it and his eyes shown. “Look at it,” he said. “Why do we need God?”

Now that same spirit has entered into us. We put great emphasis on the beauty of our cathedrals and the beauty of our services. We talk about worship as if it were only relaxation and aesthetic enjoyment. Our appeal is often made on the basis of the value of a change of a pace and the satisfaction of sitting in a restful environment for an hour. Indeed, not too long ago, a man wrote a book recommending church attendance primarily because it was good to do something that took a little effort.

There are some issues a man must be concerned with if he is to survive. He must learn to read, he must learn to write, he must learn elementary arithmetic. But there are so-called “enrichment” courses which he is free to take or leave. Communists believe that religion is not vital for modern men because it is a hang over from a superstitious and ignorant past. If the Pope has no battalions, Stalin said he is not to be taken seriously. Since Christ has not armor, communistic materialism says he can be ignored. You simply do not bring religion into the practical, important concerns of living in Russia and this has invaded the churches of America.

Now this is the subversion of our faith. One of those dedicated, passionate atheists was arguing with a minister one time, who, growing weary of the man’s intensity, said, “If God does not exist, it cannot be as important as you are making it.” And the atheist answered him fiercely, “Can’t you see it is terribly important! There is nothing more important.” In that word we have a judgment on our yielding to communism’s propaganda that religion is just an extra.

Can we not see that if God does not exist it is of ultimate significance? But if God does exist, I must forget all else and come to terms with that truth. The committed atheist is more religious than the uncommitted Christian. For it is blasphemy to say that I believe in God and than behave as if God does not matter. There is no affirmation I can make that compared with the shattering importance of saying, “I believe in God the Father Almighty.”

If God is, than His law is of the utmost consequence to me and to every man. I need to know how He operates and what He demands. I had better learn of the framework within which I must live my life. What is more important than coming to terms with the way things are? Whatever I may want to say about God and His laws, let me not be so foolish as to say they are extras in the business of living.

All of this is of the utmost concern for any man facing the real questions of his existence. If my life has meaning, it depends on religious assumptions. If I am an eternal creature, every immediate situation is affected. Whether or not I get a raise next year is not so important a question as what God is. Whether I fail or succeed in my ambition will not affect me nearly as much as what I decide about God. Let us have done with this communist doctrine that God is something we can take or leave. Let the churches recover the seriousness of their message and give no more comfort to the enemy by assuming that they are merely teachers of another philosophy.

Florence Nightingale was a strong-minded young woman of good family. Not content to live uselessly, she became a nurse. When the Crimean War broke out, she learned that more men were dying in the hospitals than on the battlefield. At the request of Sidney Herbert, secretary at war, she went to Scutari with thirty-eight nurses and began the organization of the hospital service. Sometimes she became impatient and critical, even of God, and she wrote one time, “I must remember that God is not my private secretary.” God is not our employee nor is He the creature of our convenience.

Another sign of communistic infiltration is an assumption that

Propaganda Is More Important Than Truth.
 

That this is communist doctrine I need not argue. It has been stated in their official documents that anything is good that puts their cause forward and anything is bad that holds it back. If the lie will help the cause, than tell the lie and since there is no divine la to worry about, the communists are committed to the doctrine that the end justified the means. We have watched Russia march forward over broken promises and disregarded treaties. At the root of much of our trouble is the distrust which springs out of disillusioning experiences with men who make propaganda more important than truth.

I do not think any of us are so naïve as not to know that our government uses espionage. But the inept and bungling way the U-2 incident was handled, fills some of us with despair. What a defense we made! We confessed that maybe we do spy, but so do they. Maybe we did lie, but so do they! And the world looks on and sees very little to choose between two powerful goliaths. When we lose our moral leadership, we lose our most effective weapon. If we cannot say to the world that we do hold higher moral standards than Russia, we are in a bad way. People need to believe that America speaks truth.

Walter Lippmann wrote:

“In a situation like ours the damage to our prestige would be irreparable if we all rallied around the President and pretend to think that there was nothing seriously wrong. For that would prove to the world that the blunders will not be corrected but will be continued and that our whole people are satisfied with bad government. It is the dissenters and the critics and the opposition who can restore the world’s respect for American competence.” (May 19 Column)

Is truth something to use when convenient? It is a pity that Jeremiah could not have adopted that philosophy, for it would have saved him bitter criticism and deep suffering. But the religious man who believes in God, knows that truth is either an absolute which has to be respected at all times, or there is no use in telling the truth at any time. We must tell the truth about our enemies always or nobody will believe us if only on occasion we state the facts. A Christian stands for truth even when it hurts the most, for only then does he have any authority or any lasting influence.

The church is not always guiltless. A church conference can try to justify its reluctance to right a wrong by placing its action under the cloak of God’s will. I herd a delegate say the he had a vision from God which made it clear that segregation, at least for the present, was all right. And nothing did more to sicken honest Christian than such errant nonsense and hypocrisy.

A man died in Los Angeles a little while ago, who according to his lights, was a pretty decent fellow. He was a bartender and helped many a friend wit a small loan and even fed men who were hungry. As a result, they started calling him Honest Joe but Joe Sims objected. He said this put too much strain on him and he did not want to be under the necessity of living up to the name. He said he was only fairly honest, and they give him the name of Fairly Honest Joe.

When a man is only fairly honest, he is not honest at all. Who knows when the honest runs out? Shall we be called “fairly honest America?” Are we satisfied to be “fairly honest Christians?” We must destroy this communist doctrine that propaganda is above the truth and that to be fairly honest will be enough. As George Washington said at the conclusion of the Constitutional Convention, we must raise a standard to which wise and honest man can repair. “The event is in the hands of God.”

Finally, there has crept into our thinking the evil doctrine that

The Church Should Mind Its Own Business.
 

To see this idea in action is one of the most distressing sights in Russia for an American. The churches are often full of people and there are many churches. But the religious concerns have to be limited to the other-worldly, and nothing very sharp dares to be said about that subject. It is a religion that is irrelevant to this present world and must “mind its own business.” Strangely enough, this shocks Americans who are not churchmen, for freedom of religion is an accepted part of our life. Its loss changes the very nature of a society.

Now there are always those who want a church kept under close surveillance by some self-appointed guardian or organization. But today there has been a number of especially loud voices insisting that the church has no business in great areas of life. They speak about the church being religious or spiritual and they express shock that religion should go beyond such boundaries. It is the line direct from Moscow and it is a point of view entirely in harmony with the Kremlin.

The National Council of Churches is attacked because it dares study issues connected with the international and economic orders. Some of the critics are heads of large American corporations and they would be upset to learn that this kind of talk is communistic. But it is! In nearly every church there is at least one layman who protests when the church says anything that has to do with the world and the men in it. The old refrain is heard so often that we have grown insensitive to is subversive nature. Nothing pleases atheism more and nothing so undermines the Christian foundations of the nation.

Let us take a clear look at the nature of life. Can you divide it into compartments and be Christian in one but not in others? You might as well say that if a man is sick in one organ only, there is no need to worry about it. What nonsense! The body is either sick or healthy. When a man has a sick finger, he is sick all over. No man is so foolish as to limit healing to one part of the body. Life is a whole and the Gospel either speaks to all of it or it has no significant word for any of it.

If a plague should break out in East Los Angeles, the people in Beverly Hills might say it is none of their business. They might say it if they were crazy. We know that sick neighborhood is a threat to all of the city and it is everybody’s business to make sure that everybody is healthy.

The Gospel deals with all of life, because it comes to heal the whole man. The Bible knows nothing about partial religion or a church that is supposed to mind its own business. It brings all the orders of life together under the rule of God and its goal is a kingdom which includes all men in all their conditions. Let us root out this communistic doctrine that religion is limited to one day or one part of life. Let the church be allowed – no let it be commanded, to bring the witness of its Lord and the judgment of its prophets into each man’s heart and world.

A few years ago I was in Wiesbaden, Germany on a preaching mission for he Air Force and I called on Martin Niemoeller. It was a great hour for me as I remembered this man’s heroic witness. He was a U-Boat commander in the First World War and after the war he became pastor of a great church in Berlin. Finally unable to keep silent in the face of Nazi evil, he spoke out and was put in a concentration camp. Martin’s father was speaking to a friend about the experience, and said:

“When you go back to America, do not let anyone pity the father and mother of Martin Niemoeller. Only pity any follower of Christ who does not know the joy that is set before those who endure the cross despising the shame. Yes, it is a terrible thing to have a son in a concentration camp. Paula her and I know that. But there would be something more terrible for us: if God had needed a faithful martyr, and our Martin had been unwilling.”

Today the Christian Church faces a crucial and terrifying moment in history. It may have to suffer and show a courage that has not been characteristic of it in past years. But if God calls on us for a witness, and we are not willing, that is our final failure. We must root out thee subversive doctrines – that religion is an opiate, that religion is an extra, that propaganda is more important than truth, that religion must mind it sown business. It is time for the church to purify itself and proclaim the Gospel.

Sermon – Memorial Day

John W. Sayers served as the chaplain for Camp Geary at Gettysburg in 1883 and delivered sermons as the Pennsylvania “post” chaplain of the Grand Army of the Republic (an organization of Union veterans) from 1894-1899. He also was the pastor of the Trinity Methodist Episcopal Church in Chester, PA from 1902-1910. The following is one of his many Memorial Day sermons, published in the book The More Excellent Sacrifice: Memorial Day Sermons by John W. Sayers (Cincinnati: Jennings & Graham, 1905).


Honorable Scars.

“I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.” – Galatians VI, 17.

This is the language of a wholly consecrated man – one who had devoted his life to the service of his Master and who glorified in the evidences that he had suffered for his Master’s sake. Forms and ceremonies, outward professions, and meaningless rites were no part of the apostle’s religion. His Master had established a religious creed broad enough for all, capable of universal application. It was simple; it was effective. It commended itself to enlightened men and was fully adapted to human needs. Christ summed it up in a few words, “Thou shall love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself.” To this Master, Paul had bound himself; and to His religion he had consecrated his life. It needed no outward demonstration to convince the Master of the fidelity of His servant. The figure in the text doubtless refers to the ancient custom of branding slaves, not only that their subjection might be recognized by the multitude but that their ownership might be proved by a glance at the stigmata or mark of servitude that had been pricked or burned upon the body.

Slavery always meant subjection but did not always indicate degradation. Under the ancient system, prisoners of war were sold into slavery. Many of them were of refined, educated, and high born families. Aesop, whose fables have for ages charmed and instructed the race, was a slave. Epictetus, whose pure system of practical morality so largely influenced the philosophy of his time, was a slave. And others who have rendered great service to the world were once bondsmen to masters who had acquired ownership through the exigencies [demands] of war. Paul was not a slave in any sense of that word. He was a servant, it is true, but his servitude consisted of spiritual subjection to the will of the living God. By natural endowment he was one of nature’s noblemen: by birth a Jew, by adoption a Roman citizen, by religious faith a Pharisee. Tarsus, his native city, was celebrated for its learning and it was probably here that he became versed in Greek literature and imbued with the faith of the Pharisees. The Jews were largely divided into two principal religious sects, the Sadducees and the Pharisees, differing widely in their doctrines. The Sadducees followed a negative and speculative faith. They accepted the books of Moses but denied the traditions; they believed in God but denied the resurrection of the body and the existence of a future state. They believed in loving obedience to God but taught that man had been endowed with absolute control over his own actions. They were a sect of religious aristocrats, gathering around their altars the wealthy, the indolent, and the easygoing timeservers of the Hebrew faith.

The Pharisees, upon the other hand, were spiritual aristocrats, arrogating to themselves the only true worship. They were remarkable for their zealous support of the traditions of the elders. They believed in the resurrection of the dead, in spirits and angels, and in a future state of rewards and punishments. They called to their communion the more humble classes and through the adaptation of their faith to the common thought, they easily led the popular belief. Politically they were intensely patriotic, respecting authority, upholding the law, and loyally believing in Jewish infallibility. The foundation of their religion (as well as their national creed) was derived from the words of the Talmud [a commentary by leading Rabbis on Jewish law, ethics, customs and history], “The good Pharisee is he who obeys the law because he loves the Lord.” God was with them, as with us – the “All Father.” Between them and their brethren of the faith, the great equity of living was, “Do unto others as you would be done by.” They were essentially the representatives of all that was good in the Hebrew faith. Christ called them hypocrites [Matthew 15:7, Matthew 22:18, Matthew 23:13] not because of what they believed but because their practices were so greatly at variance with their teachings. They were acknowledged interpreters of the law, and though not forming a separate political party, were among the most powerful civil leaders of their times.

It was to this latter sect that Paul belonged. He styled himself, “a Pharisee, son of a Pharisee” [Acts 23:6]. Paul studied law at Jerusalem, under the preceptorship of Gamaliel, a learned jurist and eminent Jewish rabbi. From the High Priest he obtained a commission, and thus armed with an acquaintance with the law and with authority from the civil powers, he went forth to detect and punish the disciples of the new faith.

The importance of his mission, his prominence as a rising man, the authority with which he was clothed, made him widely known and feared throughout the land. In all this, God was preparing him for his great mission to the Gentile world and was laying, through him, the foundation for a faith that for eighteen centuries was to march triumphantly to the conquest of men’s hearts – a faith that should grow stronger through fiery opposition, appeal more effectively to men’s lives through its wounds and scars, and eventually carry its triumphant banner to the uttermost parts of the earth, for

“Jesus shall reign where’er the sun Does his successive journeys run.”

[Quoting from Isaac Watts’ famous hymn “Jesus Shall Reign,” published in The Psalms of David (1719).]

Paul unconsciously received his first lesson upon the living and surviving power of honorable wounds – typical, indeed, of the marks which were to speak from his own body – when the clothes of Stephen were laid at his feet while he witnessed the cruel mob with stones inflict the death wounds – wounds which to the present hour throw a halo around all martyrdom for the truth’s sake. Paul could not see behind the shadow of the future, but God was there “keeping watch above His own” [quoting from James Russell Lowell’s The Present Crisis (1844)] Stephen’s life was in His keeping, and God was holding it for the instruction of future generations. “He being dead, yet speaketh” [Hebrews 11:4]. Honorable wounds – glorious scars – indelible marks which tell the story of devotion and heroism as no written history can tell it. Surrounded by danger and persecution, facing an excited and threatening multitude, defiant before the maddened onslaught of hatred and wickedness, the heroic disciple raised the standard of eternal truth and stood ready to die for the Master’s sake and sealed that devotion with his blood – with every opening wound speaking eloquently for the future triumphs of the Gospel, with his life blood gushing in crimson streams which tinged the cloudlets of the closing day with their reflected brightness, giving earnest for a brighter dawning on the morrow, he passed to his reward, crying with his expiring breath, “Lord, lay not this sin to their charge” [Acts 7:60].

Centuries have come and gone, but those marks of the Lord Jesus are not forgotten, and many a victim of persecution has passed through the fire, gathering strength and courage from the wounds and blood of the first martyr. The standard, which was not lowered with the fall of its bearer, still floats aloft with millions of brave hands ever ready to hold it up.

I am speaking to men today who can appreciate this beautiful figure – men who have followed their country’s flag upon the march and who, in the midst of privation and discouragement, have been cheered and animated by its emblematic beauty as it waved its graceful folds under the skies about the camp ground – men who have followed that banner into the battlefield and have rallied round it at many a point in the midst of the fight where Death was swinging his scythe with awful carnage, and who have defiantly flaunted it in the enemy’s face, turning back the impetuous charge and carrying signal defeat into their overconfident ranks. Many an armless sleeve – many a missing leg – many a sightless eye – many a crutch – and many a scar attest your love for that old flag and your devotion to your country’s cause. You are here today upon this peaceful camping ground because you were here when the tumult of war wakened the echoes and shook the earth in that terrible strife [Sayers is here referring to the Civil War and is speaking to veterans of that conflict] which laid low the sleeping thousands in these peaceful graves: because you were upon other battlefields which drove back the tide of rebellion against a righteous government – because you stood upon the blue field of constitutional fidelity, under the brightest stars of heaven’s glorious promise of liberty, in defense of the emblematic stripes of Union, against inauspicious stars of evil omen and symbolic bars of human bondage – because through your loyalty, that liberty which was once proclaimed throughout all the land still survived.

From brave and loyal men whose bodies bear such honorable scars, I am sure that it is not too much to ask that you rally round the banner of the cross of Christ as loyally as you have rallied around the glorious banner of you country. During the war, the state military agent at Nashville, passing by the Post Hospital, stopped to hear a voice from within singing the familiar words,

“Rally round the flag, boys.”

[From George F. Root’s Battle Cry of Freedom (1862).]

The agent remarked to a nurse standing in the doorway, “That patient is quite merry. He must be recovering.” “You are mistaken, sir,” was the reply, “he is dying. I am his nurse and the scene so affected me that I was obliged to leave the room.” Stepping into the ward, he found the singer just struggling with death. As his voice grew more feeble, he poured forth from his patriotic soul the words that had so often cheered him on the march and in the fight, “rally once again” and, as he sank back into his death slumber, his last words, which came incoherently were, “The flag, boys.” As he passed with his colors into the ranks upon the other side of the river, a score of voices from his sick and wounded comrades joined in that grand old hymn,

“Am I a soldier of the cross?”

[Quoting from Isaac Watts’ famous hymn “Am I a Soldier of the Cross?” (1721).]

The harmony of the singing was mingled with sympathetic sobs and tears from a hundred bystanders who never forgot the loyal singer or his wounds. Over that death scene, loyalty to the Union was again and again pledged and strengthened. Paul was loyal to his religion, as, in his interpretation, it became to him the will of his Master. His conversion was unexpected by him and was as remarkable as it was sudden. Convinced of the miraculous power which laid him prostrate upon the earth, and realizing that God had spoken in the voice that came to him, he once inquired the Divine will and turned obediently to do as God had directed. Henceforth worldly honor was to be cast behind him. His learning, his religious zeal, his natural force of character, his great genius, were all passports for him to the highest social and political positions among his countrymen. His birth and citizenship, his profession as a lawyer, entitled him to privileges with which but few of his people were favored. Now the world had suddenly changed to him – another field, in which the harvest was plenteous but the laborers few [Matthew 9:37, Luke 10:2], a mission of much work but of little worldly profit. In place of honor, he was to find contempt. Instead of reward, he was to receive persecution and stripes. In lieu of a master, he was to be a servant. In place of being an influential lawyer, he was to be the advocate of an unpopular cause. His life was to be of little value to himself, but it was to be of immense importance to others. His servitude was not of dishonor. The marks of that servitude – the scars of his scourging, the wounds of his maltreatment – were to become a record from which the world was to compile the most remarkable of all its cherished histories, a record from which was to be taught the great object lesson of the centuries through which men were to be lifted nearer to God. Henceforth, faith was to have a deeper significance. Fidelity and loyalty were to receive a higher meaning. The foundation principles of human justice, “Do unto others as you would have them do to you” [Matthew 7:12], was to have a Divine rather than an human interpretation. It was to be equitable; it was to be reciprocal; and it was to be fraternal and Godlike.

The path of duty once clearly opened before him, Paul was never to turn back. No matter what barrier were raised against him by his personal enemies or the foes of his cause, he was to be steadfast and immovable. He had given himself to Christ without reserve and his powers were consecrated to the cross of the Redeemer. The language of the text is that of a glorious retrospect of one who gloried in the honorable marks of an important and successful campaign – one who had fought a good fight and for whom the reward was already prepared. Paul, from the experience of his former antipathies, had doubtless anticipated some suffering for his Master’s cause but its fearful extent had not been revealed to him. He had been converted and entered upon his warfare like one who had had not only raised his colors but had nailed them to the mast – one with whom the issue must be victory or death. “I live for Christ; if need be I die for Him.”

The mark which the master branded upon the slave was ineffaceable. It must be carried with him to the end of life as a badge of servitude. Paul had entered the Divine service and at once clearly displayed the willingness of his submission in his speech and upon his character and in his daily walk, but thenceforth he was to bear the marks of that submission upon his body. He carried his colors into the face of danger but he was not to escape from the conflict without scars. Once he was ambitious of worldly distinction. He had doubtless looked up from his seat at the feet of Gamaliel in proud anticipation of the honors of an exalted professional life. He possibly imagined a future where he should command and others should obey – when everywhere he would be welcomed as among the great ones of the earth. In these flattering dreams, so common to early manhood, he had not fancied the real future through which he was destined to journey. He could not foresee that at Iconium he would be persecuted [Acts 14:1-5], or that at Lystra the fickle crowd would offer him Divine honors and afterward stone him nearly to death [Acts 14:8-19], that at Philippi they would beat him [Acts 16:22], or that at Melita he should be shipwrecked [Acts 27:42- 28:1], and that at Rome he should be imprisoned, and perhaps martyred [Acts 28:17-20].

In God’s plan for reclaiming of the world this had all been written, and although hidden from Paul, was being gradually fulfilled. After many of these things had been realized in Paul’s experience – when wounded and scarred – he had become a prisoner at Rome, and when some of the Churches for which he had faithfully labored had forgotten his teachings and become recreant [unfaithful] to their trust, he calls them to account for their unfaithfulness. To the Galatians, he writes a reproachful letter because they had departed from the Gospel doctrine of justification by faith in Christ – a doctrine for which he had fought and suffered for his Master and for which he now “bore in his body the marks of the Lord Jesus” [Galatians 6:17].

Let us turn for a few moments to this question of suffering. We cannot comprehend its import; we suffer and we complain and murmur. The wisdom of it is not always manifest to us. Its distress and painfulness are abundantly realized by us, but its utility is clouded with uncertainty. The problem of evil and the mystery of suffering have always been puzzling to human faith. Their attempted solution has sometimes led to distrust and doubt. We are told that suffering is the result of sin – sin against God’s laws, sin against natural laws, sin against our own bodies and spirits. We do not easily understand why sin of any kind is permitted to abound and flourish, even against the strenuous efforts of good men to exterminate it. We cannot comprehend why the just should suffer because of the sins of the unjust.

I am not here to answer these eager questionings of the human heart. They appear to be a part of God’s great plan for wise and holy purposes. “God moves in a mysterious way” [from William Cowper’s (1731-1800), God Moves in Mysterious Ways] and our times are in His hands. The way to glory seems to be through suffering, even as the Captain of our salvation was made perfect through suffering [Hebrews 2:10]. The whole creation groaneth, waiting its deliverance from the bondage sin [Romans 8:18-22]. The very earth on which we live has been rendered habitable for man by terrible convulsions, and by centuries of slow processes – by tearing apart and bringing together under new conditions. Disintegration and restoration; ground up, and consolidated, and ground up again. The rocky crust of the earth has been bruised and broken until its surface became a fitting place for vegetation, over which seed time, when the elements shall again melt with fervent heat. Look up those hillsides and down these valleys. Go to the Western Sierras, whose tall peaks reach the heavens. Go to our great Northern and Southern plateaus, those thousands of square miles of land which have lifted bodily hundreds of feet above the old surface; and wherever the eye wanders, the scars of the old earth, in its conflict with the early elemental forces, are everywhere visible. How they tell the story of creation, just as the finger of the Creator has written it! How they exalt our minds and draw our lives closer to Him whose fiat, “Let there be light” [Genesis 1:3], revealed all this grandeur to us! When the Creator saw that His work was good, He crowned it with man, and said to him, “Subdue the earth and have dominion over it” [Genesis 1:28].

Man stood in Eden in sinless simplicity and grandeur. He was a monarch in a realm as pure and holy as the heavens prepared for the future abode of the righteous. The beasts of the earth, the fowls of the air, were given him as a heritage. His abode was paradise – a place so beautiful and lovely as to be typical of heaven. In the midst of the garden stood a tree that was good to look upon, its fruit was good for food. Ah, it was more. God had said of it, “But of the tree of knowledge of good and evil thou shalt not eat” [Genesis 2:17]. Why not? Here was a test of man’s fidelity. “In the day thou eatest therof thou shalt surely die” [Genesis 2:17]. But what is death? It had not come into the world. Here was the problem. It was a tree to be desired to make one wise. The tempter came and said, “Ye shall not surely die; eat. Your eyes shall be opened; ye shall be as God, knowing good from evil” [Genesis 3:4-5]. The tempter triumphed and man fell. Man sought to obtain by disobedience what by obedience might freely have been his own. He received a curse in place of a blessing. In consequence of his sin he must now struggle for his bread and eat it in sorrow all the days of his life. Thorns and thistles came forth to wound his hands as he tilled the earth. He began to bear not the honorable wounds of righteous warfare, but the marks of ingratitude and disobedience.

Paul’s marks were the scars of an honorable conflict. He could exhibit them without shame. He could refer to them with pride; he could contemplate them with satisfaction. They were the marks that the Master would recognize when he came to call together His own.

Let us not forget this lesson in our individual lives. There are marks of honor and marks of dishonor – scars that will commend us and scars that will condemn. We battle for the right and our scars are our glory. We contend for the wrong and its marks become our disgrace. In all the mythologies and theologies of the world, this problem of evil has been prominent. Night has struggled against the day; darkness has opposed the light; evil has sought to vanquish the good. Satan has contended against the Almighty. We have fallen from a high state. How low we have fallen we cannot, in our present condition, fully realize. The descent was easy and rapid. How shall he ascend again? Not so easily as he fell. He must toil up the ascent. He must fight his way back. He must suffer. He must receive wounds and scars. The marks of the fire are upon him, but he shall come from the furnace purified from the dross of baser self and more perfect.

We rise also by mental suffering. Losses over which we sometimes grieve often strengthen our determination and courage and broaden our sympathies for the distress of others. Sorrows that so often multiply about us soften our lives and bring us into comforting fellowship with others. Human life is exalted and men are made better and rise higher through their afflictions. When analyzed under the searching test of Gospel chemistry, sufferings are not unmixed evils. They may sometimes leave upon our bodies the undesirable marks of our folly, yet in all essentials which advance men toward God they unify the race. Human government, the child of aggressive and advancing civilization, has come to its present condition through conflict and sufferings. Enlightened men of all ages have ever seen brighter light ahead. But the governments grow slowly. Society advances by painful steps and against fearful opposition from the powers of darkness. Men must fight if they would be free. The wounds and scars received in such a warfare are the highest insignia of honor. No sacrifice is too great for man to make his fellows as he lifts the world toward truth.

“He is a free man whom the truth makes free” [from William Cowper’s The Task (1785), Book V, “The Winter Morning Walk.”], and that which exalts truth is an undoubted instrument of God. The soul that bears the marks of suffering for truth’s sake is accepted of God. Such marks were Paul’s passports to glory…

The history of our own country is replete with incidents. Every one of these periods has been marked with blood from the earliest Colonial strife down to the great war which forever settled the perplexing question under our Constitution – a war that not only broke the cords of human bondage but which gave true manhood to the slave. These times of strife and blood have each accomplished a higher and more permanent purpose than could have been reached by any other means. They have all commenced new periods of more rapid advancement. The actors in the last great struggle alone survive. Other generations have died and passed away. History records what they did. We know the wounds they received. History exhibits what they did. We know the wounds they received. History exhibits to us the scars and the body politic retains the marks as honorable exhibits for our instruction and profit. We know by these marks what they did for us.

I have not attempted to solve the problem of evil or to explain the mystery of suffering; I refer to these historical incidents and facts to show you that in the order of God’s providence, they exist for good and wise purposes which, in His own time, He will make known to us. He is using theses scourgings for our benefit and through them He is lifting us up toward Him. They are the lights upon our earthy path which show us the way to higher attainments. Do you want a better proof of these facts than your own agency in the preservation and perpetuation of our own government and the strengthening of its principles and broadening of its policy? Your own lives have marked an epoch in history such as the world has never experienced within the same limit of years. Prior to the war in which you were actors, the Union was in danger – the country was in a state of transition. The most perplexing question under our Constitution was to be definitely settled, and that settlement was to be definitely settled, and that settlement meant either a Union dissolved or a Union strengthened. Long years of discussion had not settled it. Legislation, wise and unwise, only aggravated it. Compromise scarcely afforded temporary quiet. Slavery and liberty were opposites that would never coalesce. Blood only could wipe out the natural stain. From Sumter to Appomattox, how the whole land groaned! How the earth drank the blood of loved ones from ten thousand peaceful homes! How bravely young and old offered their lives in defense of that Union, symbolized by the old flag which so peacefully floats today! The sacrifice was terrible but the object was beyond price. It was life for life; it was life for freedom; it was life for one inseparable union of States; it was life for one flag and one country. The thunders of the battles which rent the air during those years of conflict shook the nations, and thrones and kingdoms trembled under the reverberations. Human government the world over learned a lesson and gained an experience in those four years that no century of events had ever imparted before. Look today at our working millions, paying homage to the Stars and Stripes and saying to the nations with whom we have entered into honest rivalry with our industries, “There is not strife between us. We have neither jealousies nor envies. Come under our flag, and its stripes shall represent the union that dwells among us.”

See again the visiting thousands who come from afar as they mingle with our people and observe their prosperity today. Follow them as they return to their homes, carrying with them new impressions of our country and of our people – a clearer knowledge of the extent and greatness of our country and of our people – a profound admiration for the peaceful, well furnished and comfortable Christian homes of our working classes. Listen to their report of what a free and united government can do for the masses who created the governing power, and you will say that this year will be America’s benediction to the world. The blessings which are ours today have not come through a long reign of peace, for you, my comrades, bear in your bodies today the marks of the strife which preserved this nation in its integrity and unity. They are honorable marks of a glorious warfare for the right. Napoleon honored his brave soldiers with badges of distinction. England bestowed medals upon those who contributed to her victories, and these were proudly worn as evidences that in the day of trial they were not found wanting.

You wear the badge of an honored brotherhood whose organization was the most remarkable victory of peace in all history. But that badge is more. It is an evidence that you served your country under patriotic enlistment and an honorable discharge at the termination of your service. It is a mark of distinction that your country not only honors but loves. But to some who wear the badge are added honors in the wounds they bear, in the speaking scars that tell of conflict, of loyalty, of glorious victory – glorious and honorable marks and scars.

During the war a soldier lay upon his cot in one of our hospitals, just reviving from the sleep of chloroform which and been administered to remove his right arm. He missed it, and lifting the blood stained sheet, requested that the missing member be show him. His request was granted and reaching out his left hand he grasped the cold hand of the right and shaking it cordially, said, “Good-bye, old arm. We have been a long time together, but we must part now. You will never again write a letter to mother or sister, never fire another carbine, nor swing another saber for the government, but I don’t begrudge you. You have been torn from my body that not a single state should be torn from our Union.” Glorious marks:

“They tell of courage never quelled, Of duty noble done, Of that dark, awful, lonely death, Of everlasting glory won, And dearer still, a nation’s love.”

[From William Ross Wallace’s, “In Memory of the Heroic Captain Herndon,” in The United States Democratic Review, (New York: Conrad Swackhamer, 1857), Vol. XI, p. 458.]

Paul gloried in the marks of his devotion to the cause of Christ. No sacrifice was too great for him to make. He had formerly persecuted the followers of his present Master under devotion to the old faith, which, from the days of Abraham, had descended along the Hebrew line, with many changes and through many conflicts, down to the days of the Messiah. Christ came to introduce a reign of peace – to lay the foundation of a faith which, when universally adopted, would solve the problems of suffering and evil. He came not to destroy but to fulfill [Matthew 5:17] and bring men back to their true relationship with their Maker. That faith was sealed with Christ’s blood. The faith was for you. Under it, for nearly nineteen hundred years, the world has been growing better. Mankind has been growing more fraternal, government more humane, and faith more pure. Paul bore in his body the marks of this faith for his Maker’s sake. It was because of this faith that you made the sacrifice which bears testimony to your loyalty – for it you bear honored marks today. He says, “As you have been true to your country, so be true to Me. You are Mine. I have bought you with a price. [1 Corinthians 6:20] That price as My blood. I was wounded for your transgressions and by My stripes ye are healed” [Isaiah 53:5].

I appeal to you as brave men whose courage none can doubt – men who answered their country’s first trumpet call to battle, and throughout fire and smoke and danger fought till the war was over and victory won.

Another trumpet calls – another banner waves, blood stained and glorious with victory. An army gathers under it and gives true allegiance to the great Captain – the Lord Jesus. As you answered your country’s call and fought for her safety, answer now the call of the Lord Jesus, and under her banner, following His leadership, fight and win and save your souls. Find for sin and death an Appomattox that will open the gates of the New Jerusalem through which you will pass to a reward greater and grander than any yet won on earthly field and where the heroes and martyrs of all the ages and all the fields of honor will give glad welcome to him, who having fought the fight and kept the faith, shall bear in his body the marks of the Lord Jesus.

Sermon – People Responsible for Character of Rulers – 1895


Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933) graduated from Princeton with a B.A (1873) and an M.A. (1876), and was a student in Germany (1877-1878). He become an ordained minister in 1879 and was pastor of the United Congregational Church in Newport, RI (1879-1882) and of the Brick Presbyterian Church in New York City (1883-1901). He was a professor of English literature at Princeton (1900-1908; 1919-1923), and a visiting lecturer at the University of Paris (1908). He also served as minister to the Netherlands and Luxembourg, being appointed by friend and former classmate Woodrow Wilson in 1913. Van Dyke joined the U.S. Naval Reserve chaplain’s corps (1918) after retiring from his diplomatic post. He was the author of several books and poems – including the hymn “Joyful, Joyful We Adore Thee.” The sermon below was preached in New York in 1895 by Rev. Van Dyke.


sermon-people-responsible-for-character-of-rulers-1895-1

 

The People Responsible

For The

Character Of Their Rulers

A Sermon Delivered By The

Rev. Henry Van Dyke, D.D.

Before The

Society

Of

Sons of the Revolution

In The

State of New York

February 24th, 1895

 

“Now therefore behold the king whom ye have chosen, and whom ye have desired! and behold, the Lord hath set a king over you.” -I. Sam. xxii. 13,

The Sons of the Revolution are honored and hereditary guests in the Brick Presbyterian Church. Many of the fathers of the Revolution worshipped here in olden time. For this is a church of that Presbyterian order, which was rightly judged to be so favorable to liberty that a Tory wrote of it, a hundred and twenty-five years ago, “The Presbyterians must not be allowed to grow too great; they are all of republican principles.” The first Bishop of this church, the Rev. Dr. John Rodgers, was a chaplain in the Revolutionary Army, and its first edifice, at the corner of Beekman and Nassau Streets, had the distinction of being confiscated and turned into a hospital and military prison by the enemies of our country. Its walls, which once echoed to the groans of those who were imprisoned for the cause of freedom, have crumbled into dust; but its ministers and its people hold fast to the faith of their forefathers, and this church has still a welcome, and a message from the Word of God for the Sons of the Revolution.

You will find a truth appropriate for our consideration at this service commemorative of Washington’s Birthday in the declaration of Samuel to the Hebrew people at the coronation of their first king: “Now therefore behold the king whom ye have chosen and whom ye have desired! and behold, the Lord hath set a king over you.” – I. Sam. xii. 13.

Saul in Israel, and Nebuchadnezzar in Babylon, and Nero in Rome, and William the Silent in Holland, and Philip II in Spain, and George III in Great Britain, and George Washington in America, – all the powers that be, or have been, were ordained of God. And yet in every case the forces that have created them, and the causes that have exalted them, are to be sought in the character of the nations over which they have ruled. God ordains the power but He ordains it to fit the people. A bandit-chief for a tribe of brigands, a tyrant for slaves, an inquisitor for bigots, a sovereign tax-collector for a nation of shop-keepers, and a liberator for a race of freemen. The ruler is but the exponent of the inmost thoughts, desires, and ambitions of the ruled; sometimes their punishment and sometimes their reward.

Therefore we advance (subject to those limitations and exceptions that are always understood among intelligent people when the speak in broad terms) the general law which is the theme of this sermon: The people are responsible for the character of their rulers.

There are some complications which obscure the operations of this law in monarchy, an empire or an oligarchy. A hereditary crown, a sword transformed into a scepter, a transmitted title, gives an opportunity to usurp or extend unrighteous power. And yet even here, a keen, clear eye can discern the people in the sovereign. Napoleon raised his empire of conquest cemented with blood, on a prepared foundation in the heart of France filled with the lust of military glory. George III obtained the power to nominate his own ministers of incompetent arrogance to carry out his policy of colonial oppression from a national conscience dulled by commercial rapacity and a fat-witted spirit of Toryism fallen into a contemptuous indifference for the rights of others. But in a republic the truth emerges distinct and vivid, so that a child can read it. The rulers are chosen from the people by the people. The causes which produce the men and raise them to office, and clothe them with authority, are in the heart of the people. Therefore in the long run, the people must be judged by, and answer for, the kind of men who rule over them.

When we apply this law to the beginning of our history it gives us ground for gratitude and noble pride of birth. George Washington is the incarnation of the Spirit of ’76, and the conclusive answer to all calumniators of the Revolution. No wild fanatic, no reckless socialist or anarchist, but a simple, sober, sand God-fearing, liberty-loving gentleman, who prized uprightness as the highest honor, and law as the bulwark of freedom, and peace as the greatest blessing, and was willing to live and die to defend them, – this is the typical American. He had his enemies who accused him of being an aristocrat, a conservative, a friend of the very England he was fighting and who would have defamed and cast him sown if they could. But the men of the Revolution held him up, because he was in their hearts, their hope and their ideal. God ordained him as a power, and because the people chose him as their leader. And when we honor his memory, we honor theirs. “We praise famous men and our fathers that begat us.”

But shall our children and our children’s children have the same cause to thank and esteem us? Shall they say of us, as we say of our fathers, “They were true patriots, who loved their country with a loyal, steadfast love and desired it to be ruled by the best men”?

That depends on one thing, my brethren, and on one thing only and unalterable. Not on the chance of war, the necessity of revolution, the coming of a national crisis. The obligation of patriotism is perennial and its occasion comes with every year. In peace or war, in prosperity or in adversity, the true patriot is he who maintains the highest ideal of honor, purity, and justice for his country’s laws and rulers and actions. The true patriot is he who as willing to sacrifice his time and strength and prosperity to remove political shame and reform political corruption, as he would be ready to answer the bugle-call to battle against a foreign foe. The true patriot is he who works and votes, with the same courage that he would fight, in order that the noblest aspirations of a noble people may be embodied in the noblest rulers. For, after all, when history completes the record and posterity pronounces the verdict, it is by the moral quality of their leaders and representatives that a people’s patriotism must be judges.

It is true that the sharp crisis of war flashes light upon this judgment. In the crisis of liberty we see Washington has the proof that the revolution was for justice, not for selfishness; for order, not for anarchy. In the crisis of equality we see Lincoln as the proof that the heart of the American nation was not like the King of Dahomey [an African kingdom that existed from 1600-1900], who desired that the slave-trade should be suppressed everywhere else and tolerated in his dominion, and that the war of the Union was not a war of conquest over the South, but a war to deliver the captive and let the oppressed go free. Those two men were the central figures in the crises; but the causes which produced them, and supported them in the focus of light, while men of violence raged, and partisans imagined a vain thing, were hidden in the secret of the people’s life and working in secret through years of peace and preparation.

And when the third crisis comes, – the crisis of fraternity, in which it shall be determined whether a vast people of all sorts and conditions of men can live together in liberty and brotherhood, without standing armies or bloody revolts, without unjust laws which discriminate between the rich and the poor, and crush the vital force of individuality, and divide classes, in the liberty and fraternity, I say, with the least possible government and the greatest possible security of life and property and freedom of action, – when the imminent crisis comes in which this great hope of our forefathers must be destroyed or fulfilled, the leaders who shall wreck or rescue it and the ultimate result of that mighty conflict will simply represent the moral character and ideals of the American people.

Now the causes which control the development of national character are threefold: domestic political and religious: the home, the state, and the church.

The home comes first because it is the seed-plot and nursery of virtue. A noble nation of ignoble households is impossible. Our greatest peril today is in the decline of domestic morality, discipline, and piety. The degradation of the poor by overcrowding in great tenements and the enervation of the rich by seclusions in luxurious palaces, threaten the purity and vigor of old-fashioned American family life. If it vanishes nothing can take its place. Show me a home where the tone of life is selfish, disorderly, or trivial, jaundiced by avarice, frivolized by fashion, or poisoned by moral skepticism; where success is worshipped and righteousness ignored; where there are two consciences, one for the private and one for public use; where the boys are permitted to believe that religion has nothing to do with citizenship and that their object must be to get as much as possible from the State and to do as little as possible for it; where the girls are suffered to think that because they have as yet no votes they have therefore no duties to the commonwealth, and that the crowning glory of an American woman’s life is to marry a foreigner with a title – show me such a home, and I will show you a breeding-place of enemies of the Republic.

It has not hitherto, e4ven in this favored land, seemed fit to that Almighty Being who rules over the universe to entrust the responsibility of suffrage to the hands of women. But (it may be to test and qualify them for its use, or it may be to more than compensate them for its absence), he has given to the daughters of the Revolution the far higher trust of training great men for their country’s service. A great general like Napoleon may be produced in a military school. A great diplomatist like Metternich may be developed in a court. A great philosopher like Hegel may be evolved in a university. But a great Man like Washington can only come from a Christian home. The greatness, indeed, parental love cannot bestow; but the manliness is often a mother’s gift. Teach your sons to respect themselves without asserting themselves. Teach them to think sound and wholesome thoughts free from prejudice and passion. Teach them to speak the truth, even about their own party, and to pay their debts in the same money in which they were contracted and to prefer poverty to dishonor. Teach them to worship God by doing some useful work, to live honestly and cheerfully in such a station as they are fit to fill, and to love their country with an unselfish and uplifting love. Then they may not all be Washingtons, but to be their ruler and leader in

“The path of duty and the way to glory.”

And in the coming conflict between corporate capital and organized labor, if come it must, they will stand fast as the soldiers, not of labor nor of capital, but of that which is infinitely above them both, the commonwealth of law and order and freedom. They will be men of the spirit of that latest Hero of the Sons of the Revolution the young captain in the 12th Regiment of the National Guard of the State of New York, who marched out the other day with hundreds of the best youth of this city – not gilded youth, but golden youth – to defend the peace and liberties of a demoralized sister-city, and lost his life through exposure and exhaustion on the field of duty: Capt. Frank Roosevelt, – as true a martyr-patriot as though he had fallen at Bunker Hill or Gettysburg.

But the character of the people is not only molded by the tone of domestic and social life, it is also expressed and influenced by the tone of political life, by the ideals and standards which prevail in the conduct of public affairs. And here, it must be confessed, our country discloses grave causes for anxiety. Our political standards have undoubtedly shifted from that foundation on which Washington placed them in his first inaugural , “the principles of private morality.” Take for example the appearance of Governors of sovereign states who excuse and defend the destruction of life and property which would be called murder and arson if it were the work of individuals because it is committed by great labor-unions which control public sentiment and votes. Take for example the unblushing audacity of legislators who propose that the Government shall pay a debt of a dollar with forty-six cents. Take for the great example the system of distributing public office as party spoils.

Let me concentrate here, and speak plain words. I say without hesitation that the Spoils System is an organized treason against the Republic and transgression against the moral law. It is a gross and sordid iniquity. Its emblem should not be the eagle, but the pelican, because it has the largest pouch. It shamelessly defies three of the Ten Commandments. It lies, when it calls a public office a spoil. It covets, when it desires to control that office for the benefit of party. It steals, when it converts that office from the service of the commonwealth, into a gift to “reward” a partisan, or a sacrifice to “placate” a faction. And for how many indirect violations of the other commandments, in Sabbath-breaking, blasphemy, adultery and murder, the Spoils System is indirectly responsible, let the private history of the “rings” and “halls” which it has created, answer.

But it is an idle amusement for clever cynics in the newspapers, and amiable citizens in their clubs, to vituperate the Ring and the Boss, while we approve, sanction, or even tolerate the vicious principle “To the victors belong the spoils.” This principle is the root of the evils which afflict us. There can be no real cure except one which is radical. Police investigations and periodical attempts to “drive the rascals out” do not go deep enough. We must see and say and feel that the whole Spoils System from top to bottom is a flagrant immorality and a fertile mother of vices. The ring does not form itself out of the air; it is bred in the system. A Boss is simply a boil, an evidence of bad blood in the body politic. Let it out and he will subside.

Sons of The Revolution kindle their indignation by contemplating the arrogance of the Tea-Tax and the Stamp-Act which tyranny attempted to impose on freemen. I will tell you of two more arrogant iniquities nearer home. The people of the largest state in the Union not long ago made a law that their civil service should be taken out of the domain of spoils and controlled by merit and efficiency. A committee appointed last year to investigate the working of the law, reported that it had been systematically disregarded, evaded and violated, by the very Governor elected and commissioners appointed to carry it into execution, so that the number of offices distributed as spoils had steadily increased, and the proportion of appointments for ascertained merits and fitness had decreased twenty-five per cent. in a year and a half. That is the first instance. And the second is like unto it. The people of the largest city in the Union, regardless of party, joined hands last fall in successful effort to drive out a corrupt and oppressive organization which had long fastened on the spoils of municipal office. They elected a chief magistrate pledged to administer the affairs of the city on a business basis, with a single eye to the welfare of the city, and without regard to partisan influence. To this chief magistrate now appears that man from the rural districts, like Banquo’s ghost [from William Shakespeare’s Macbeth], but without crown and with plenty of “speculation in his eyes,” demanding that his counsel shall be taken, and his followers rewarded, and his faction “placated,” in the distribution of the offices of this great city of which he is not even a citizen. I say that is as impudent an iniquity as George III and his ministers ever proposed towards their American colonies.

But who is responsible for it? I will tell you. The corporations from whom the Boss gets his gains in payment for his protection. The office-seekers, high or low, who go to the Boss for a place for themselves of for others. And the citizens who, by voting or not voting, have year after year filled our legislative chambers with men who were willing to do the Bosses’ bidding, for a consideration. “Ah” but you say, “this year it is not going to work. This year we have found

“The still strong man in a blatant land’

who is going to give us a clean city government.” I thank God it looks as if that were true. but if the cleansing is to be radical and permanent, if it is to pervade the entire fabric of government in state and nation, it can only be by breaking up and eradicating the whole system of irresponsible and haphazard appointment to office (which has gone far towards killing our best men like Cleveland and Harrison, and which has gone still father in corrupting our worst men), and by substituting for it the system of appointment for merit and fitness, under wise and just rules which throw the whole civil service of nation, state, and city open, on equal terms, to every citizen who can prove that he is qualified to serve.

Think for a moment of what we have gained and what we have still to gain in this direction. There are 200,000 places in the Civil Service of the United States. (In Washington’s day they were counted by hundreds; and yet he groaned under the burden of filling them, and declared that he would make, “when the pretensions of every candidate are brought to view, so far as my judgment shall direct me, justice and the public good the sole objects of my pursuit.”) Of these places 47,975 have been classified under the rules. Since March 46th, 1893, 8164 have been added to the classified list. There are still 154,848 places which are outside of the classified service. It should be the desire and object to remove these places as rapidly and as completely as possible from all chance of occupation or use by the Spoils System. Burn the nests, and the rats will evacuate. Clean the sewers, and the malaria will abate. Let it be understood that our chief elective officers are no longer to be sent into the fields to feed place-hunters, and it will no longer be difficult to get the most conscientious men to serve. Let the people once thoroughly repudiate and disown the “spoils system,” and then the spoilsman and the boss, the ring and the hall,

“Shall fold their tents like the Arabs
And as silently steal away.”

But what has all this to do with religion and the Church? Just this: a free church in a free state must exercise a direct and dominant moral influence upon the tone of domestic and political life. If not, then may God have mercy upon such dumb, impotent, and useless parody on Christianity. The Church is set as a light in the world. Let it not be change into a dark lantern and turned backwards upon the Scribes and Pharisees. Set it on a candle stick that it may give light unto all that are in the house. Let the Church shed the light of warning and reproof upon the immoral citizen who enjoys the benefits of citizenship and evades its responsibilities; the dishonest merchant who uses part of his gains to purchase political protection and his good reputation to cover the transaction; the recreant preacher who denounces the corruptions of government “down in Judee” and ignores the same corruptions in the United States; the lawyers who study the laws in order to defend their clients in evading them; and the officials who profess to serve the State then add, “The State – that’s me.” Above all let the Church shed the light of honor and glory upon the true heroes of the republic, the brave soldiers, the loyal citizens, the pure statesmen, that all men may know that the Church recognizes these men as servants of the most high God because they were in deed and in truth the servants of the people.

Let us not forget how the American Church Bore her part in the Revolution inspiring, purifying and blessing the struggle for justice and liberty. Let us not forget that she has a duty, no less sacred, in the conflicts of these latter days; to encourage men in the maintenance of that liberty which has been achieved and in the reform of all evils which threaten the purity of private and public life; to proclaim that our prosperity does not depend upon the false maxims of what is called “practical politics,” but as Washington said, upon “Religion and morality, those great pillars of human happiness, those firmest props of the duties of men and citizens.” When the church evades or neglects this office of public prophecy, When she gives her strength to theological subtlety, and ecclesiastical rivalry, and clerical millinery, and stands silent in the presence of corruption and indifferent to the progress of reform, her own bells will toll the death knell of her influence, her sermons will be the funeral discourses of her power, and her music will be a processional to the grave of her own honor. But when she proclaims to all people, without fear or favor, the necessity of a thorough-going conscience and regenerating Gospel in every sphere of human life, the reverence of men and the favor of God will crown the walls of Zion with perpetual and living light.

As the servant of a Church which has been loyal to this ideal in the past, I deliver her message in the present to the Sons of the Revolution.

Be not the Sons of the Revolution after the flesh only but also after the spirit. Be true to the principles of you forefathers, and to the responsibilities of the citizenship which they bought with their blood. Hold fast to the great quadrilateral of their patriotic faith: the greatest possible liberty for the individual; the equality of taxation and representation; the purity and simplicity of republican government; and adherence to God’s moral law as the only basis of national security. And remember, brethren, as we judge and honor of our fathers by their choice of Washington to be their commander, even so will our children measure and esteem us by the character of the men whom we desire and choose to be our rulers in this free republic.

Sermon – Church and Country – 1891


This address was given by a Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church, William Stevens Perry (1832-1898), on May 19, 1891.


sermon-church-and-country-1891-1

THE CHURCH AND THE COUNTRY.

FROM THE ADDRESS TO THE CONVENTION OF THE DIOCESE OF IOWA,
MAY 19, 1891, BY WILLIAM STEVENS PERRY, BISHOP.

Most gratifying to me and most encouraging are the evidences apparent on every side that the clergy generally are seeking in every legitimate way to make the influence of the Church felt on every side. The historic position of the clergyman of the Church is indicated in the old-time word applied to him as the “parson”—the “person” of the community where he dwells; the one interested in each one’s welfare; the one, above all other men, laboring for everybody’s temporal and spiritual good. One and another may voluntarily withdraw themselves from the direct influence of the Priest of God, but he is still the person to minister in spiritual things to all who do not thus refuse his kindly offices—his ministrations of grace. This conception of priestly position, privilege, and duty will make the priest of our smallest mission the ever-widening centre of spiritual usefulness for good to all men. The highways and byways are certainly open to us, and they will be found to contain numbers who will gladly respond to our efforts for their spiritual good. I like that homely old English word, “parson,” and that grander, nobler word—the connecting link of the two dispensations—priest. Let the priest by broad sympathies, by active labor, by caring for more than the little circle of avowed parishioners, and by striving to reach every soul within his reach, acquaint all within his influence of his purpose and his place, and the Church will redeem John Wesley’s watchword. “The world is my parish,” and that part of the world in and about one’s parish will become the theatre of an aggressive work for Christ which God will own and men will recognize and bless. It is a pitiful idea of the priestly vocation and the priestly commission that leads one to confine his ministrations solely to those who contribute to his support. By the terms of his ordination he is not only “to feed and provide for the Lord’s family,” but also “to seek for Christ’s sheep that are dispersed abroad, and for His children who are in the midst of this naughty world, that they may be saved through Christ forever.”

As a Bishop of a Church whose history runs parallel with that of our country; whose priests, first of all ministers of religion, held the services and administered the sacraments of Holy Church in the tongue of our English fathers on the Atlantic and Pacific coasts; whose Bishops, clergy and members were foremost in the work of colonization; whose “missioners” numbered among their most noted names those of Francis Fletcher, the first priest officiating on the soil of California, Richard Seymour the first priest of New England, Robert Hunt the first priest of Virginia; and later those of Whitefield the great evangelist, the Wesley’s, John and Charles, the preacher and poet of Methodism, each laboring for Christ and His Church in Georgia; and Thomas Thompson of New Jersey the first missionary from this country to Africa; and countless others like minded; whose also was the first convert to Christ in Holy Baptism of the aborigines in Raleigh’s ill-starred colony at Roanoke in 1587; whose cross-topped Church built at Fort St. George in 1607, was the first place of Christian worship erected on the coast stretching from Maine to Georgia, thirteen years before the Puritans landed at Plymouth; whose member and ministers founded the first American University, that of Henrico, Virginia, and the first free school, at Charles City in the same colony; whose baptized members furnished two-thirds of the signers of the Declaration of Independence and a majority of the framers of the federal Constitution; which gave us our Washington and the most distinguished of the patriots who, in the halls of Congress or on the battle-field, won for us our independence;–I cannot fail to call the attention of clergy and laity to the importance of inculcating at fitting times and under suitable circumstances the Christian duty of patriotism. We at the present juncture of national affairs, need to be reminded that, as citizens of the United States of America, we owe our country’s first discovery and settlement—our very nationality—not to Columbus and Spain and Rome, but to Cabot and England and to England’s Church. The close connection of the Church of England with our colonization and development is now established as an historic fact. The strife for the possession of the empire of the Western World was waged from the start between the Anglican and the Roman communions. Through the papal bull meted out the New World to Spain to hold as a fief of the Roman See, the Church, the Crown, the Commonwealth of England recognized no peace with Spain beyond the line—the line of demarcation beyond which Spain was to have absolute and undisputed rule. The rival communions, Anglican and Roman, were each successful in securing a moiety of the New World, but the territory we as a nation occupy was claimed and planted by England, and not by Spain or France. We may thank God that our nationality was thus based on Magna Charta, on the English Constitution, on the English common law, on the English Bible, and on the English Book of Common Prayer. Mexico and the Latin republics of the South American states may date their origin and their faith from Spain and Rome. We are the sons of Anglo-Saxon sires. Our fathers at the Revolution fought for their rights as free-born Englishmen—rights which would not have been ours by inheritance or possession had not the mother land of England successfully resisted the Spanish attempts to monopolize the Western World, and the mother Church of England sent the priest with her people and supplied the word of God and the Church’s prayers wherever her baptized children went. True as it is that in a land such as ours no state establishment of religion is either practicable or desirable, but still the fact that our communion alone is spoken of as the American Church; and that we alone, by reason of our occupancy of all sections of our beloved country; by our historic connection with the Nation’s past; by the close similarity of our general ecclesiastical constitution with that which our fathers—Churchmen as well as patriots—established for the land; and by our recognition, in prayers and offices from the very first, of “the powers that be” as “ordained of God,” shows that we are each day growing more and more worthy of our claim to be called the American Church, and to be in truth the American Catholic Church. In view of the duty so specially ours of recognizing the authority under which we live, I would urge upon my reverend brethren of the clergy, and upon the laity as well, the duty of seeking to be in touch with everything national and patriotic. Gladly would I see over every Church in Iowa, under the cross, the flag of the republic floating from spire or tower, telling of our love for country as the cross uplifted tells of our grateful recognition of the emblem of our salvation. We should not as Churchmen be a whit behind any in our patriotism; teaching its lessons in our Sunday Schools, from our pulpits, in our every-day speech. The American idea should dispossess all other ideas so far as true politics, the common weal of the commonwealth, are concerned. The love of country will, if awakened, encouraged, and developed, dominate partisanship and make us better citizens and men. We need and we should countenance in this land no organizations of Englishmen, of Scotchmen, Welshman, Irishmen, Scandinavians, Germans, French, or Italians associated for the furtherance of un-American purposes or ideas. Much less should we consent to the growth amongst us of secret tribunals with their crimes and assassinations, or the organization of men of foreign birth and sympathies trained to the use of arms. We must recognize no flag but the Stars and Stripes. Our liberties are endangered, even before we are aware, by this banding together of foreigners, who seek an asylum and a support in our free land that they may the better carry on their schemes of interference with other nations. For God and native land may well be our motto! If we are true to our country’s needs, if true to our Christian faith, we may make this land of ours “God’s noblest offspring,” even though it be the last.

Sermon – Christianity & Infidelity – 1880


This sermon was preached by E. P. Goodwin in 1880 in Chicago.


sermon-christianity-infidelity-1880-1

Christianity and Infidelity

TESTED BY THEIR FRUITS.

A SERMON

Preached in reply to Mr. Ingersoll’s Eulogy on Thomas Paine.

BY

REV. E. P. GOODWIN, D.D.,
Pastor of the First Congregational Church, Chicago.

With an Appendix on

Mr. Ingersoll’s Attitude toward the Bible,
BY
PROF. S. I. CURTISS,
Of the Chicago Theologial Seminary.

 

CHRISTIANITY AND INFIDELITY TESTED BY
THEIR FRUITS.

Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them.—Matt. vii: 20.

Teachers of men are like trees. We can no more trust the words and theorizing of the one, than the leaves and blossoms of the other. But when fruiting time has come we shall have tests that never fail. Grapes do not come of thorns, nor figs of thistles. Every good tree will have infallible witness in good fruit, and every evil tree in evil fruit. Just so of men who set up for prophets. When their doctrines have come to fruitage, there will be in the quality of that fruit, according as it is good or evil, the infallible test of the quality of what has been taught.

This is our Lord’s canon of proving things. And he bids us stand in the ways and challenge whatever claims authority over our hearts and lives. We are not to accept a teacher, because he has the look of an apostle. We are not to accept his doctrine, because it charms the ear and gives great promise of blessing. We are to demand as prime conditions of our acceptance a showing of fruits; results wrought, whereby the doctrine which appeals to us is unequivocally demonstrated to be that which exalts God and blesses men.

Of course Christ and his teachings must take the same test that is applied to other teachers and other doctrines. No question is a fairer one with which to meet the claims of Christianity, than, What fruits has it to show? Have its teachings made men better or worse? Have they tended to emphasize and exalt truth, purity, justice, benevolence, to secure the well-being of individuals, communities, nations, or have they tended to beget untruth, impurity, injustice, selfishness, cruelty, tyranny, and thus heap upon men increasing mischiefs and woes? And this is the question between Mr. Ingersoll and the ministers and churches he assails so bitterly in his glorification of Thomas Paine. We of the ministry and the churches stand upon the Bible as the divinely-inspired and hence divinely authoritative word of God. We affirm that this book sets forth the true character of God, the aims and methods of his moral government, the scheme of his devising, whereby shall be secured his own highest honor, and the highest well-being of his creatures. We affirm that upon men’s believing upon the crucified Son of God therein set forth as the Savior of men, depends their salvation. We affirm that only as men accept the doctrines of this book, and order their lives thereby, can they attain individually to the largest measures of intellectual and moral development; or as associated together, enjoy the highest social security, prosperity, and happiness; or as a nation make sure of real greatness and lasting glory.

CHARGES AGAINST CHRISTIANITY.

Mr. Ingersoll denies all this. He declares that Christianity is a “superstition,” a bundle of “ancient lies.” That the doctrine of salvation by faith is “infamous.” That the church is “ignorant, bloody, relentless.” That it “confiscates property,” “tortures,” “burns,” “dooms to perdition” all who are outside of its pale, and does it with supreme delight. That religion “puts fetters” on man’s intellect. That it is “destructive of happiness,”—a “hydra-headed monster, thrusting its thousand fangs into the bleeding, quivering hearts of men.” That it “fills the earth with mourning, heaven with hatred, the present with fear, the future with fire and despair.” And over against this Mr. Ingersoll sets as the true religion, the grand panacea of all human ills, the scheme of infidelity. “Infidelity,” he says, “is liberty.” It is this which “frees men from prison; this which civilizes; this that lights the fires on the altars of reason, that fills the world with light; this that opens dull eyes, brings music into the soul, wipes tears from furrowed cheeks, destroys from the earth the dogmas of ignorance, prejudice, and power, and dries from this beautiful face of the earth the fiend of fear.”

This is a clear, sharp issue. Mr. Ingersoll stands before our text and says, “Christianity cannot take its own test. It claims to yield grapes, but when the truth is told, it has only tearing, torturing thorns to show. It claims to be a gentle, innocent sheep, but is nothing other than a ravenous, blood-thirsty wolf in disguise. The only genuine grape-vine, the only true sheep, is the doctrine which I teach, which I learned of my master, the one great unequaled teacher of the ages, the apostle of liberty, the light and hope of the world—Thomas Paine.” 1

THE VERDICT OF HISTORY CHALLENGED.
What I propose is to apply this test of the text to both these schemes; to set Christianity and its fruits side by side with infidelity and its fruits, and see whether Mr. Ingersoll has told us the truth. It does not concern my purpose to speak particularly of Thomas Paine, and I shall not stop, therefore, to consider at length Mr. Ingersoll’s apotheosis of him. He is entitled to his opinion, and so are we to ours. But I must confess to have read his oration with amazement. I had always supposed hitherto that there were some other unselfish, pure-minded, liberty-loving men in those old times, who had something to do with originating and carrying to success the scheme of American independence. But it seems we have all been mistaken, and history has been mistaken, and so for a hundred years the country has gone on heaping eulogies upon men that never deserved them. Somehow, this terrible despot and fiend of Christianity has contrived to falsify the records, blind the people, and keep hid away in its awful dungeons of disgrace and infamy the one purest hero, the one pre-eminent magnate of that glorious epoch. It does not exactly appear how this was done. It does not appear that any other patriot-infidel was doomed to like dishonor. Nevertheless, it has come to pass, that as to this man, the “first to perceive the destiny of the new world,” “the man that did more than any other to cause the declaration of Independence,” the very Achilles of the revolution, without whose voice and sword, apparently, everything would have come to naught—the whole nation has for a century been reading and re-reading its history, and hardly made mention of his name! What strange, what base ingratitude is this! For statesmen, historians, orators, poets, to keep sounding for decade after decade the praises of Washington and Jefferson, and Franklin, and the Adamses, and ever so many more, and yet never to have lifted one acclaim for the hero that overtopped them all! Evidently Mr. Ingersoll’s spectacles should have come into use long years ago.

Listening to this arraignment of history, one cannot feel sure that any of its so-called verdicts are to be trusted. How do we know that, as a nation, we have not been guilty of like injustice and tyranny in the judgments that have been passed on Jefferson Davis and Benedict Arnold? And who shall be quite sure that not only they may yet be rescued from the infamy that now envelops them, but even Judas Iscariot may prove to have been calumniated by this relentless tyranny of a misnamed gospel, and take his place alongside of Arnold and Paine among the stars. Here, at least, is a new field in which Mr. Ingersoll may acquire laurels.

PAINE AND AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE.

As to the claims put forward in behalf of Mr. Paine’s leadership in securing our national independence, I cannot refrain from a passing word. There is no proof whatever that any injustice has ever been done Mr. Paine in the estimate of his services by our historians. Mr. Ingersoll has not added a single fact to those well known before. No doubt Mr. Paine rendered valuable service, especially with his pen, in the interests of freedom; no doubt he deserved all the encomiums and substantial rewards he received at the hands of State Legislatures and of Congress. So far as I know, no one has ever disputed this. But when Mr. Ingersoll attempts to go beyond this, and hold Mr. Paine up as the “great apostle of liberty,” the “first to perceive the destiny of the new world,” as “doing more to cause the declaration of Independence than any other man,” and declares his pamphlet, entitled “Common Sense” the “first argument for separation” of the colonies for the mother country—he goes vastly beyond the facts. He may believe Mr. Paine entitled to all the credit he claims, but he certainly can not prove it. The truth of history is not to be overborne by a lawyer’s specious plea, nor is its voice to be drowned beyond the passing moment, by the applause evoked by the wit and eloquence of a gifted orator.

The first significant fact is, that there is no proof whatever that Paine came to this country with any political purpose. He lost his place as exciseman, obtained an introduction to Benjamin Franklin, then U. S. Minister in England, who had received so many applications that he had written a tract giving information about America—and from him secured a note of introduction to Franklin’s son-in-law, Bache, commending him as needing employment, and so far as he could judge, worthy of confidence. He reached this country in December, 1774, and through Mr. Bache’s influence obtained employment as the editor of a magazine. And this is all there is of his coming. So far as appears, it was purely a matter of getting daily bread. 2

On Jan., 1776, when he had been in the country barely a year, he published his pamphlet. Mr. Bancroft says he did it at the suggestion of Mr. Franklin, who had then returned from England, hopeless of securing any peaceable adjustment of the difficulties between the colonies and the home government. The pamphlet was timely. It was written in a clear, vigorous, and telling style, took ground boldly in favor of independence, and was without doubt greatly effective in urging forward the cause which it championed. But this is all that can be claimed for it. 3

Franklin had long cherished and uttered the same views, and so had Patrick Henry, James Otis, both the Adamses, and many others. Indeed, ever since the passage of the Stamp Act there had been a growing conviction among nearly all the patriotic men of that day, that the separation of the colonies and the establishment of an independent government was inevitable—a mere question of time. 4 And at the date when this pamphlet appeared, this conviction was the dominant one among a vast majority of the people, and with reason. Boston port-bill was a fact, and had stirred the blood of all the colonists. Franklin had been insulted before the king’s privy council, and that made the red heat white. More than all, Lexington, and Concord, and Bunker Hill had been fought, and the smell of powder was everywhere in the air. The king had refused to listen to the second remonstrance of the colonies against taxation without representation, and had issued his proclamation for the suppression of rebellion. John Adams’ wife, Abigail, hearing that proclamation, stopped her spinning-wheel, and wrote to her husband:

“This intelligence will make a plain path for you, though a dangerous one. I could not join today in the petitions of our worthy pastor for a reconciliation between our no longer parent but tyrant State, and these colonies. Let us separate! They are unworthy to be our brethren. Let us renounce them! And let us beseech the Almighty to blast their counsels, and bring to naught all their devices.” 5

And Mr. Bancroft says of Mrs. Adam’s appeal, “Her voice was the voice of New England.”

James Warren, speaker of the Massachusetts legislature, writing to Samuel Adams, had said, “movements worthy of your Honorable body are to be expected; a declaration of independence, and treaties with foreign powers.” 6

Jefferson had said, speaking of the Stamp Act and kindred legislation, “I will cease to exist before I will submit to a connection with Great Britain on such terms as the British Parliament propose; and in this I speak the sentiment of America.” 7

And still beyond this, Franklin had introduced into the Continental Congress his plan for a confederation of the colonies. 8

This was the state of things when Mr. Paine’s utterances were put forth. They were opportune and helpful. But chiefly as inciting to an earlier inauguration of the conflict that was sure to come.

Washington was at the head of the army—Boston invested with 10,000 men—Norfolk had been burned—the whole country was ready to burst into a flame.

Doubtless to Mr. Paine belongs in part the honor shared by many of helping to strike the match which kindled the fires of the Revolution. But he no more merits all that honor than Joseph Warren or Crispus Attucks. The Continent was heaving and the eruption was sure to come. Mr. Paine simply helped to break the thin crust, and precipitate the outbreak of the long-pent fires of the volcano.

PAINE AND LOUIS XVI.

Mr. Ingersoll’s statement respecting Mr. Paine’s part in the assembly of the French Republic, deserves a passing word. His statement is, that “Thomas Paine had the courage, the goodness, the justice, to vote against the death of Louis XVI., when all were demanding the death of the king,” and hence when “so to vote was to vote against his own life.” This would make it appear that Mr. Paine stood almost, if not quite, alone in that assembly; took upon himself even the peril of martyrdom for his clemency. But read Lamartine’s history of the Girondists, and see how differently a Frenchman loving democracy, and hating kingship as ardently as Mr. Paine, puts the matter. M. Lamartine says, Mr. Paine having received from the king 6,000,000 francs for his country, had “neither the memory nor the dignity befitting his station,” but by his paper read before the convention, “ignoble in its language as cruel in its intentions,” heaped a long series of insults upon a man whose generous assistance he had formerly solicited, and to whom he owed the preservation of his own country.” And when the question of the death of the king was at last, after a full month of debate, brought to a vote—there were 721 voices uttered from the tribune. Of these 387 were for death, and 334 for exile or imprisonment. So that, whatever the “courage, the goodness, the justice, the sublimity of devotion to principle, the peril of life,” involved in Mr. Paine’s vote, he had 333 sharers of his heroism and his glory. 9

CHARACTER OF CHRIST.

But to come now to the purpose in hand and consider his arraignment of Christianity? It is possible to apply this test-principle of the text, so that we may know to a certainty what the relative claims of the two systems asking our acceptance are. For they have both been long enough before the world to produce ample results, results whose quality is ascertainable beyond all doubt. Let us take first, then, the character of the founder of Christianity, and test that, and then the character of the teachers of infidelity and test them. We shall be sure to be on the right track in such inquiry. For while it does not greatly matter what the character of a man may be who gives us a new theory of electricity, or light, or sewerage—his discovery being of equal value whether he be honest or dishonest, temperate or intemperate, moral or immoral—it does matter what the personal character of a teacher of a new scheme of morals is. He comes claiming our acceptance of certain doctrines which, he says, are vital to our welfare. He declares that only as we accept his dogmas can we lead lives of highest happiness and usefulness. That everything, in short, that can be called good, is bound up in his teachings. Naturally, therefore, and of right, we look to him for an illustration of what he teaches. If he wants us to be truthful, honest, moral, he must be. The moment we fail to find in the teacher the exemplification of the thing taught, that moment the power of his teaching is broken. I am speaking, of course, of one who has a system which he claims to be superior to others, and which he insists that men must receive or suffer great loss. It is only folly for a known deceiver to try to enforce truthfulness, for a known thief to teach honesty, or a libertine virtue. We say instinctively and scornfully to such—“Physician, heal thyself.”

We have hence the best of rights to test this great teacher of Christianity, and to test him rigidly. We have the right to put his life to proof everywhere, and see whether it show a quality accordant with his speech. For he claims for his teaching not only supreme authority, but the authority of truth that does not rest content till it has taken possession of a man in the very roots of his being, penetrated him through and through, and made him so entirely a lover of truth that he will tolerate no fellowship with anything else. More than this, his standards of morals deal not so much with words, and deeds, as with their underlying motives. With him covetousness, is not so much looking upon the things of others with the eyes of the body, as with the eyes of the soul. To lust after a woman is as truly adultery, as the open violation of the seventh commandment. It is murder, as truly, to have the thoughts dabbled in blood as the hands.

Furthermore, they who accept this teacher’s doctrine must stand ready to surrender everything on the call of their master; to leave home and its treasures; to take oppositions, persecutions, sufferings, death even, and to do this without murmuring. And only they, who covet to have their wills merged in their teacher’s, who carry in their souls the ideal of a perfection as high as God, and who consciously and absorbingly desire and seek the good of men,–can be counted true disciples.

Here now is opportunity indeed for tests. And this founder of the new scheme, which he insists on having men receive, must demonstrate in himself the spirit of his own doctrines, must illustrate unequivocally their fruits, or be rejected. What, now are the facts? Why, clearly this, that he stands there on the track of history the exact embodiment of every truth he uttered. The keenest and most relentless criticism has had his life as in the focus of its blazing examination for centuries, has searched that life back and forth through every phase of it, from his childhood to the last agony on the cross, and yet is compelled to confess that nowhere is there a day or an hour, a deed or a word or a thought, that does not exactly mirror the teachings of his lips.

More than that, he stands there, the one only character of all the ages absolutely without a spot or blemish, and this, as I have said, not as the verdict of partial admirers, but of those who would, many of them, be only too glad to prove him a hypocrite or a cheat.

WITNESS OF INFIDELS.

Theodore Parker, and he is no enthusiastic devotee of Christianity, is compelled to say of him, that “he unites in himself the sublimest precepts, and divinest practices; that he rises free from all the prejudices of his age, nation or sect, pours out a doctrine beautiful as the light, sublime as heaven, true as God.” 10

Mr. Chubb, a noted English infidel, admits in his “True Gospel,” “that we hae in Christ an example of one who was just, honest, upright, sincere, who did no wrong, no injury, to any man, and whose mouth was no guile.” 11

Rousseau says: “What sweetness, what purity, in his manner; what sublimity in his maxims! What profoundness in his discourses! Where is the man, where the philosopher, who could so love, and so die, without weakness and without ostentation!

If the life and death of Socrates were those of a sage, the life and death of Jesus Christ were those of a God.” 12

And Thomas Paine himself is careful to testify in his Age of Reason, that “nothing that is here said,” in his holding up of Christianity to ridicule, “can apply, even with the most distant disrespect, to the real character of Jesus Christ. He was a virtuous and an amiable man. The morality that he preached and practiced was of the most benevolent kind.” 13

Such confessions as these from the lips of infidels are most amazing. They demonstrate that Jesus Christ made good his astounding pretensions, that he was literally without sin, and had the best of rights to call himself “the light of the world.” But the significance of these confessions goes beyond than this. For this stainless, perfect character is an absolute impossibility if the claims of infidelity are true.

CHRIST REPRESENTS CHRISTIANITY.

Where shall we look for the exemplification of a system of morals but to its founder? We look to Brigham Young, as the prophet and head of Mormonism, and we find exactly what we should expect from the teachings of that faith: a polygamist, and a despiser of all doctrines outside of the book of Mormon.

We look to Mohammed, and find him exactly what we should expect from the Koran, a man who believes in sensuality and in bloodshed to secure his ends.

So in the gods of the Romans, and Greeks, and Hindoos, and Egyptians, we find exactly such gods as we should look for from the religions to which they belong—gods stamped with deceit, cruelty, blood-thirstiness, lust.

So it should be here. If Christianity is what Mr. Ingersoll declares it to be, unloving, tyrannous, bloody, delighting in nothing so much as deceits and woes, then Jesus Christ should be of a piece with it. Nay, in him all these foul things should be headed up. The stream can not rise higher nor be purer than its source. If lying, and rapine, and lust, and violence are the law or the practice, then infallibly sure re we that some Henry VIII., or Philip II., or Caesar Borgia, or Nero, either makes the laws, or wields the scepter. If Christianity is a bundle of lies, a code of cruelty, then he that originated it stands proved either the prince of impostors or the worst of fiends. Whereas, upon the testimony of infidels themselves, he is the one in whose speech and life there is more of purity, goodness, heaven, than in any other character the world has ever seen. He is, in short, the one confessed God-man of all history.

Mr. John Stuart Mill, who is an avowed atheist, and, of course, denies the divine character and authority of Christianity, declares “that” it is of no use to say that Christ as exhibited in the gospels, is “not historical.” And he asks, “Who among his disciples, or among their proselytes, was capable of inventing the sayings ascribed to Jesus, or of imagining the life and character revealed in the gospels? Certainly not the fishermen of Galilee: still less the early Christian writers.” 14 And Mr. Lecky, who agrees with Mr. Mill in rejecting the divineness of Christianity, agrees also with him in conceding the historical claims of both Christ and his reputed doctrines. His language is, “It was reserved for Christianity to present to the world an ideal character, which through all the changes of eighteen centuries has filled the hearts of men with an impassioned love, and has shown itself capable of acting on all ages, nations, temperaments, conditions; has not only been the highest pattern of virtue, but the highest incentive to its practice. . . Amid all the sins and failings, amid all the priestcraft, the persecution and fanaticism which has defaced the church, it has preserved in the character and example of its founder an enduring principle of regeneration.” 15

Such language from such men is decisive. It demonstrates that Christ and Christianity stand or fall together. That they are as inseparable as a stream and its fountain; as essentially one in character as the light and the sun.

THE CHARACTER AND TEACHINGS OF INFIDELS.

But what now has infidelity to set over against all this? If it is, as is claimed by Mr. Ingersoll, the sublime and blessed truth which is to banish all evil, and fill the world with purity and heaven, it will have, of course, some grand examples of its superiority to show. There must needs be some among the apostles of this highest and divinest form of truth, before whom the founder of this Christian scheme of lies, cruelty, blood, will pale, as the stars before the sun. Who, then, are these grand luminaries who are to light our way to this millennium of freedom, purity, peace? There is no lack of apostles. Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, Hume, Hobbes, Lord Herbert, Bolingbroke, Gibbon, Paine,–these are representative names, the highest and best that infidelity has to offer. Gibbon is one of the fairest as he is one of the ablest of them all; and he has given us a biographical account of himself, wherein, amid all the polish and splendor of the rhetoric of which he is such a master, “there is not a line or a word that suggests reverence for God; not a word of regard for the welfare of the human race. Nothing but the most heartless, sordid selfishness, vain-glory, desire for admiration, adulation of the great and wealthy, contempt for the poor, and supreme devotedness to his own gratification.” 16

Adam Smith calls Hume a “model man,” a man “as nearly perfect as the nature of human frailty will permit.” But David Hume maintained that our own pleasure or advantage is the test of what is moral; that “the lack of honesty is of a piece with the lack of strength of body”; that “suicide is lawful and commendable”; that female infidelity when known is a small thing, when unknown, nothing”; that “adultery must be practiced, if men would obtain all the advantages of this life; that if generally practiced, it would, in time, cease to e scandalous, and if practiced frequently and secretly would come to be thought no rime at all.” 17

Lord Herbert taught that the indulgence of lust and anger is no more to be blamed than thirst or drowsiness.” 18

Mr. Hobbes declared that civil law is the only foundation of right and wrong; that where there is no law, every man’s judgment is the only standard of morals; that every man has a right to all things, and may lawfully get them, if he can.” 19

Lord Bolingbroke held that self-love is the only standard of morality; that “the lust of power, avarice, sensuality, may be lawfully gratified if they can be safely gratified; that modesty is inspired by mere prejudice, polygamy is a law of nature, adultery no violation of morals, and that the chief end of man is to gratify the appetites of the flesh.’ 20 And he kept faith with his teachings, and led the life of a shameless libertine.

Voltaire advocated the unlimited gratification of the sensual appetites, and was a sensualist of the grossest type. He was likewise a blasphemer, a calumniator, a liar and a hypocrite; a man who all his life taught and wrought “all uncleanness with greediness,” and nevertheless had the amazing good sense to wish that he had never been born. 21

Rousseau was, by his own confessions, a habitual liar, and thief, and debauchee: a man so utterly vile that he took advantage of the hospitality of friends, to plot their domestic ruin a man so destitute of natural affection that he committed his base-born children to the charity of the public that he might be pared the trouble and cost of caring for them. To use his own language, “Guilty without remorse, he soon became so without measure.” 22

As to Thomas Paine, the verdict of history is too well settled to be reversed by Mr. Ingersoll’s wit, or ridicule, or denials. After all allowance that can be made for misrepresentation, this remains unquestionably true, on the authority of those who claimed to be his friends and knew him best, that in his last years he was addicted to intemperance, given to violence and abusiveness, had disreputable associates, lived with a woman who was not his wife, and left to her whatever remnant of fortune he had.

THE CONTRAST.

These, now, are the representative names of infidelity, the most saintly apostles it has to offer: men, the very best of whom are characterized either by vanity, or selfishness, or pride, or envy; while some are given to deceit, blasphemy, drunkenness, sensuality. Yet these are held up as the examples and illustrators of this new and better gospel that is to banish from the world the “dogmas of ignorance, prejudice and powe,” “the poisoned fables of superstition,” and in their stead guarantee to us “freedom, truth, goodness, heaven.” What say you friends? Here they are—the representatives of Christianity, the advocates of the ignorance, bigotry, despotism, which is declared to so blight this world,–Wesley, Whitefield, Luther, Calvin, Anselm, Augustine, John, Paul, Jesus Christ; and here over against them, are the representatives of infidelity, the advocates of the doctrines that are to bring back to the world the lost Paradise,–Bolingbroke, Hobbes, Hume, Voltaire, Rousseau, Thomas Paine. With which shall we make surest of truth, virtue, happiness? With which will our wives and little one be in the safest keeping? With which the purity of the community, the security of the State, the glory of the nation be most surely guarantied? Such questions answer themselves. No amount of sophistry with even Mr. Ingersoll’s brilliant rhetoric to help it, could make us mistake the night for the day. But as well attempt that as try to make us put infidelity in the place of Christianity as the light and hope of the world.

THE FRUITS OF CHRISTIANITY.

But let us advance the thought, and ask what are the fruits of the teaching of Christ as contrasted with those of the apostles of infidelity. In looking for these fruits, this remarkable fact appears, that Christ stands everywhere as the ideal character which those who accept his doctrine are pledged to realize so far as lies within their power. This is a peculiarity of Christianity. To study Aristotle, or Plato, or Bacon, and accept what they teach, implies nothing of this. I may receive all they have to offer, and yet come into no sort of personal relations to either of them. I may accept such teachings as truth and yet know nothing about their personal character. But not so as to Christ. I cannot take what he says about God and sin, or obedience, or prayer, and set about carrying out such truths, realizing the ends for which they were set forth, and yet sustain no personal relations to him, have no desire to become like him. That is an impossibility. He and his Word are indissolubly wedded, are inseparably one. To hear that Word, from whosesoever lips, is the same as hearing him; to receive it, is to receive him, and to reject it is to reject him. The only possible way of accepting his truth, is to accept him. The whole object of his teaching may be summed up in the simple idea of bringing men to be like him; not to have the spirit of Christ is to be none of his. Not to covet to be conformed to his image, not to set that clearly before the mind as a constant aim of life, is to be proved not a true disciple. This is a fundamental principle or law of Christianity.

Hence, the power of Christianity as it relates to men’s lives. In the nature of the case, in just so far as it gets control of men’s hearts, it must produce disciples stamped by the spirit of its founder. They who receive the truth of Christ will inevitably reveal the likeness of Christ. Paul’s eager coveting, whereby he “counted all things but loss that he might win Christ and be found in him,” and his constant exhortations to believers to “put on Christ,” to be “conformed to him,” are the spirit which all true disciples feel. In other words, Jesus Christ is the one, universal model held steadily before the hearts of all who receive his truth. And there results just what we should expect,–a spiritual transformation wrought in every heart, whereby it takes on more and more of the likeness of Christ. Take Peter, for example,–a rough, hard, very likely profane fisherman, vehement and impetuous to the point of rashness, and yet cowardly even to falsehood and blasphemy, to escape being reckoned a friend of his manacled Master.

But when this gospel of Christ has gotten thorough possession of him, and the power of it comes to be felt, this same man is all inflamed with zeal; reveals a courage that does not flinch before thousands of his spiteful countrymen; takes up a life full of ridicule, insults, scourges, prisons; and goes steadily on to the sure death that waits, only eager to be more and more like him, the unseen, yet inspiring Lord, in whom his faith is anchored. So Paul, a scholar, but full of the scholar’s scorn of the friend of publicans; a Pharisee of the straitest sect, and hence stirred with intensest hate toward all who forsook the faith of their fathers; so aflame with wrath that he stooped to fill, the place of an executioner, and breathing forth threatenings and slaughter went out even as some fierce inquisitor of Torquemada, glad to redden his hands in the blood of men, women, and children, holding the despised gospel.

But this gospel by and by gets hold of him, and what a change! The lion becomes the lamb; the hate, ferocity, bloodthirstiness is not only all gone, but a baptism of heavenly gentleness and love has come instead. He casts aside all his high opportunities, burns his back on the sure prospects of affluence and renown, and taking to his heart the very doctrines he despised, puts himself on the level of the publicans and harlots who have received the new truth, and goes forth to face an experience that for thirty-five years is one perpetual succession of indignities, and sufferings, which it is next to impossible to conceive. And he does it with a sublime patience, nay, rejoices in his tribulations, and glories in his infirmities, because he thereby realizes more fellowship with the Christ of his hope, more power to commend him unto men.

So always. The spirit which animated Pater and Paul animates all his disciples. It is the spirit of Christ, his pity for men, his love, his desire to do them good, his longing to clear their hearts and lies of everything false, corrupt, mischievous, and thus ennoble and bless them, reproducing itself in all who receive his truth. Augustine, John Newton, John Bunyan, and thousands of others, rise up all through the centuries to witness what fruits of character transformation this gospel everywhere insures. No matter of what race, or clime, of what condition in life, of what temperament or idiosyncrasies or habits, the one fact that inevitably marks the reception of this scheme of Christianity is, that its disciples take on the image of their Lord and Master. And if it could only have its way, and men would everywhere receive it into good and honest hearts, make it the law of their choosing, loving, doing, it would fill the world with the likenesses of Jesus the Christ. And that I take it, would end all debate.

For our city, filled with men, women, children, all bearing his image, all filled and led of his spirit, all using his speech, repeating his life, would be what a city of love and purity and heavenliness! And the world so filled would be, how plainly, that old prophetic word come true—the wolf dwelling with the lamb, the leopard with the kid, the swords beaten into plough-shares, the spears into pruning hooks, the tears wiped from off all faces, sorrow and sighing forever fled away, the light of everlasting peace on all faces, the joy of everlasting blessedness in all hearts.

And when to this there is added all the mighty influence over men that comes from such conceptions of God as Christianity unfolds, and requires men to accept; conceptions of God, as infinitely good, and holy, and just, and suffering men to set up and to live by no standards but his own; conceptions, hence, which send men out to daily duty as under the conscious flash of omniscience, and in the conscious fellowship of perfect purity, unselfishness and love; conceptions, further, of God as administering a moral government, pledged, with omnipotence behind it, to secure the triumph of holiness and the retribution of sin, sin of act, or speech, or thought; when, I repeat, all these considerations are brought to bear upon men’s hearts and lives as constant forces, as by the scheme of Christianity they are, who can doubt what the quality of their fruitage in human conduct will be. As well might we doubt whether the sun will scatter darkness where it shines, or evoke life and beauty from the seeds embosomed by its warmth.

But what has infidelity to set over against these forces? What are the potent influences by which it is to surpass in efficiency for good, the example and teaching of Christ, and his apostles, the law of God and its standards, and thus renovate society and clear the earth of evil, and fill it with blessing? Why, that there is no absolute standard of morals, that every man is to be his own judge of what is right, and seek what will minister to his happiness or profit. That we may gratify our appetites at pleasure. That modesty is a mere prejudice. That to secure the highest good, we must lie and steal, and practice adultery! That there is, probably, no God, and if there be, he is above taking cognizance of the petty matters of this life. That there is no hereafter, or if there be, there is no punishment for sin. That God, if there be a God, wants men to despise all creeds, all teachings, all authorities that cross their preferences, give themselves to seeking happiness, and with utter contempt of pulpits and preachers of hell-fire, live while they lie, and let the future take care of itself.

These are the two systems which are the claimants for our acceptance. Which shall we take for the vine, and which the thornbush; Which is the sheep, and which the wolf? Looking at the two classes of teachers as now put in contrast, and the spirit and tendency of their teachings, can there be any difficulty in making answer? As little as between a royal palm on the one hand, its branches filled with singing birds, groups of parents and children gathered underneath rejoicing in the grateful shade, the bubbling fountains, the fragrant flowers, and the luscious fruit; and on the other a baleful upas-tree, not a bird in its branches, nor a fountain, nor a flower, nor a living thing beneath, but far and near the bones of its victims thickly strewn, and the poison of death tainting all the air.

And just as little doubt can there be, when we apply this same test of the text to the ages, and ask for the fruits of these respective systems of belief. I commend the inquiry to you to examine it at your leisure.

CHRISTIANITY NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ITS DISCIPLES’ ERRORS.

Mr. Ingersoll prefers fearful charges against Christianity. Wherever he finds a witch hung, a philosopher put into prison, or an unbeliever put to death by those who wear the Christian name, there he raises the cry of tyranny and bloodthirstiness, and accuses Christianity of pulling the rope, turning the key, kindling the fire. I have no defense to make for such things. They are sad facts in church history, and I condemn them as earnestly as does Mr. Ingersoll.

But, admitting all such facts that can be hunted out in the sweep of eighteen centuries, the genius of the gospel, the spirit of Christianity, is in no respect proved to be cruel and tyrannous thereby. As well say that Peter’s lifting his sword and smiting off the ear of the high-priest’s servant, or the desire of James and John to call down fire from heaven on the unfriendly Samaritans, was the spirit of Christ and his gospel.

These things are not the product of Christianity. They are in no sense the legitimate fruit of its teachings, and in no sense do they truly represent its spirit. They are the product of human nature sometimes falsely interpreting, sometimes boldly overriding, the Word of God.

Good men may be led astray, may be blinded, hurried on by passion, and do things which in cooler blood and under better light they would be the first to condemn. Christianity has never taught, has never approved, such things. The Roman-Catholic Church may have done so, and John Calvin, and Cotton Mather, but the Bible never. And while we condemn the misdirected zeal of these good men, we ought not to forget, as Mr. Ingersoll is at pains to, the extenuations to which they are justly entitled; the fact, for example , that the highest authority in English law, Sir Matthew Hale, held Cotton Mather’s view about witches, and sentenced them to death: and the fact, also, that the sentence of Servetus was not the act of John Calvin, but of the Swiss magistrates, and their decision to burn him adhered to in spite of Calvin’s earnest appeal that he should be otherwise executed. Nor, making the most and worst of such mistakes, or cruelties, if any choose to term them so, ought we to be blinded thereby to the splendid services in behalf of truth, justice, liberty, rendered by these very men. There are spots even on the sun, but we forget about them in the wealth and blessings of its life-giving effulgence.

But whatever may be true of the conduct of particular disciples of Christianity, they never constitute the standards by which its teachings are to be tested. Such conduct throws us back upon the question, is this what the Bible teaches? That is our statute-book, and its express doctrines, not men’s interpretations of them, are what settles its spirit. If good men anywhere in our State, angered by the depredations of a gang of horse-thieves or burglars, organize into a vigilance committee, lay hands upon a suspected person, take him from bed or from prison, and hang him to a limb of the nearest tree, we do not arraign the laws of Illinois, nor the people of Illinois, for the act. We charge the violence, the lawlessness, upon the particular wrong-doers engaged.

So here. The Bible nowhere teaches cruelty or tyranny; nowhere encourages putting men to death because of their beliefs, or even their shamelessness in sin. God did, indeed, in given instances, take the administration of human government into his own hands, and sweep the face of the earth clean of its vile inhabitants by the deluge, and blot out Sodom and Gomorrah, and the cities of the plain with a fiery storm of retributive wrath. So he likewise gave orders for the purging of the land of promise of the hordes of Canaanitish idolaters whose cup of abominations was overfull. And for these things God stands ready to make answer to all who arraign him.

THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTIANITY ILLUSTRATED.

But he has laid on men no injunctions requiring them to take his place and pas upon their fellows in judgment. Throughout his book one spirit runs. On the authority of the one great expounder of it, the sum of all its commands is supreme love for God, unselfish love for man. And this is the spirit which Christianity has always taught and always exemplified in its true disciples. Look at the proof before us to-day. Consider these thousands of churches, their pulpits all aiming to exalt this Bible with its law of love, to magnify this Christ with his life of devotion to the welfare of men. And this is the spirit which Christianity has always taught and always exemplified in its true disciples. Look at the proof before us to-day. Consider these thousands of churches, their pulpits all aiming to exalt this Bible with its law of love, to magnify this Christ with his life of devotion to the welfare of men. Consider the millions of worshipers, all seeking to know God, all accepting his standards of character, all seeking to possess the spirit and wear the likeness of his Son. Consider the countless multitudes of children in Sunday-schools, filling the air with the praises of Jesus Christ, and all taught, if nothing else, that he is the one model they are to imitate, and his teachings to be the law of their deeds, their words, their thoughts. Consider these innumerable Christian newspapers filling the land with the same doctrines and using their prodigious influence to make them the supreme faith of the nations. Consider the hundreds of Christian colleges and Seminaries training young men and young women for lives of beneficence and usefulness. Consider the scores and hundreds of publishing societies all animated with one purpose and sending forth their mighty streams of tracts, books, Bibles, to fill the earth with the story of Christ and with the spirit of his life. Consider the countless institutions established by Christianity to relieve distress, to provide for the unfortunate, to administer the gospel of practical beneficence. Consider the manifold organizations aimed at spreading the gospel among all the debased races of the earth; at making the victims of superstition with its nameless terrors know the glad tidings of a salvation that puts an end to bloodshed, cruelties and woes, fills all hearts with love, all homes with peace, all lives with blessing. Consider how this spirit of Christianity illustrated in all these diverse lines of effort, everywhere carries on its banner the doctrine of the universal brotherhood of man, recognizes no distinction between the negro, the Indian, the Chinaman, the Hottentot, the cannibal, but seeks to make them all one in the fellowship and liberty of Jesus Christ. And consider yet again, that it requires, as one of its fundamental principles, as a condition in fact of all true discipleship, that all who receive its truths shall pledge themselves, to give, and pray, and toil without ceasing, till this gospel has penetrated every jungle, climbed every mountain fastness hunted out every cavern, every kraal, every wigwam, every snow hut, and sounded its invitations and promises in the ears of all mankind.

Whether all this signifies anything as a power for good in the world, judge ye. Mr. Ingersoll seems to think it goes for nothing. But against his opinion I put that of Mr. Lecky, who in his history of European morals, speaking of the contrast between the influence of Christianity and paganism, says, “It was reserved for Christianity to present to the world an ideal character which through all the changes of eighteen centuries has been not only the highest pattern of virtue, but the strongest incentive to its practice, and has exercised so deep an influence that it may be truly said to have done more to regenerate and to soften mankind than all the disquisitions of philosophers and all the exhortations of moralists.” 23

THE SPIRIT OF INFIDELITY ILLUSTRATED.

But when was ever infidelity so engaged? Where are the organizations it has instituted, the missionaries it has sent forth, to fill the world with the blessings of faith, freedom, virtue? But I forget. Infidelity has such a record of organized endeavor to regenerate mankind. Turn to the history of the French Revolution and read it there. The leaders of that revolution, as you know, were the very class whom Mr. Ingersoll glorifies: the disciples of Diderot, Voltaire, Rousseau. They were avowed atheists or infidels, and Thomas Paine was one of the number, sat in their midst, participated in their discussions, aided in drawing up the constitution they enacted. What that convention said and did, the world knows, and will never forget.

They did what Mr. Ingersoll would be glad to have the Congress of the United States do. They abolished Christianity by vote. They declared there was no God, and forbade the public instructors to utter his name to the children. They struck the Sabbath out of the calendar and made the week consist of ten days instead of seven. They wrote over the gates of the cemeteries, “Death is an eternal sleep.” They tore down the bells from the church spires and cast them into cannon. They stripped the churches of everything used in worship, and made bonfires in the streets, and then instituted the rights of the old pagan religions where the altars had stood. Not content with this, Chaumette, one of the leaders of the convention, appeared one day before that body, leading a noted courtesan with a troop of her associates. Advancing to the president, he raised her vail, and exclaimed:

“Mortals! Recognize no other divinity than Reason, of which I present to you the loveliest and purest Personification.”

Whereupon the president and the members of the convention bowed and professed to render devout adoration. And a few days later the same scene was re-enacted in the cathedral of Notre Dame, with increased profanations and more outrageous orgies, and was declared to be the public inauguration of the new religion of the commune. And like desecrations and blasphemies throughout all France took the place of the old worship.

Worse than this, all distinctions of right and wrong were confounded. The grossest debauchery was inaugurated, the wildest excesses prevailed and were gloried in. Contempt for religion and for decency became the test of attachment to the government. The grosser the infractions of morals, the greater the so-called victory over prejudice, the higher the proof of loyalty to the State. To accuse one’s father was the best proof of citizenship; to neglect it was denounced as a crime, and was punishable with death. Wives were bayoneted for the faith of their husbands, and husbands for that of their wives.

One of the chief tools of the commune, Carrier, ruling at Nantes, declared that the “intention of the Convention was to depopulate and burn the country,” and he was as good as his word.

He gathered those suspected of disloyalty in flocks. He shut up 1500 women and children in one prison without beds, without straw, without fire or covering, kept them for two days without food, and then caused them to be shot. The only escape was, for men to surrender their fortunes, for women their virtue.

He contrived ships with slides in their hulls below the waterline, loaded these with his prisoners under pretext of transporting them elsewhere, and when the vessels were in the middle of the Loire, ordered the valves opened and the victims plunged into the water, while he, surrounded by a troop of prostitutes looked on and gloated over the scene.

And this is only a type of what occurred elsewhere. Proscription followed proscription, tragedy followed tragedy, till the whole country was one huge field of rapine and of blood. 24

Mr. Ingersoll admits that 17,000 perished in the city of Paris during this combined reign of infidelity and terror; but he forgets to add that throughout France not less than 3,000,000 lives were the costly price of establishing the new religion.

There is no disputing these facts, nor the reasons that under-lay them. This whole terrific record—and history knows none that is darker or more damning—was the direct and legitim ate fruit of the doctrines which Mr. Ingersoll lauds as the sublime truth “that is to fill the world with peace.”!

The men who originated and carried out this combined scheme of government and religion, were the men with whom Thomas Paine sat, and voted, and was in every way identified. His faith was their faith. And at his door equally with theirs does this series of the most fiendish outrages that ever disgraced a people pretending to be civilized, cry for vengeance.

INFIDELITY WOULD REPEAT ITS RECORD.

What infidelity was then, it is now. What it did then, so far as its assaults upon religion were concerned, and its overturning of civil order, it would do to-day, if it had the power.

If Mr. Ingersoll could have his way, he would abolish God, and the church, and the Christian Sabbath, and the Bible, and everything pertaining thereto. He would banish Christian newspapers and colleges, and benevolent societies; proscribe all oaths in courts of justice; expunge the name of God from all statute books, the name of Christ from all calendars and text books; annihilate all moral standards; would, in a word, not only quench all prayer, and praise, and honoring of God, but sweep the world clear of everything that bears the name, or shows the spirit of Christianity.

And what would he give us for all this? For our Bible, the Age of Reason. For the Sabbath, the beer garden and the theater. For worship, the rites of paganism or the adoration of an apotheosized courtesan. For the standards of God’s law, that which should seem right in every man’s eyes. For the law-making power, the blasphemous horde of the French commune. For security, the guillotine dripping with blood at every street-corner. For truth, candor, love, temperance, purity—deceit, treachery, hate, drunkenness, sensuality, with all their crimes and shames. In a word, for this is the outcome of all such teaching, if the infidelity that Mr. Ingersoll glorifies could have its way, it would strike the sun from the sky of our Christian civilization, and give us instead the lurid night of the reign of terror, only it would make it a night with no Napoleon or Chateaubriand to break the gloom—a night of tears, and blood, and woe without an end!

Shall we open our arms to welcome this new gospel? Are we eager to substitute vultures for doves, wolves for sheep? During this frightful period of French history alluded to, one of the five Directors in whose hands the government was lodged, asked Tallyrand what he thought of Theophilanthropism, the name given to the religion. “I have but a single observation to make,” was his reply. “Jesus Christ, to found his religion, suffered himself to be crucified, and he rose again. You should try and do as much.” 25

Friends, when this new gospel of infidelity shall furnish us such proofs of its right to claim our acceptance, it will be entitled to a hearing. Until then, let us cling to the teachings of him whose words and deeds alike attest him the Light and the Life of the world.

MR. INGERSOLL’S ATTITUDE TOWARD THE BIBLE.

BY PROF. S. I. CURTISS, OF THE CHICAGO THEOLOG. CAL SEMINARY.

Mr. Ingersoll, in his lecture on the Mistakes of Moses, and elsewhere, denies the Divine origin and authority of the Bible, although not in so many words, substantially for the following reasons:

1. Because of its false science.

2. By reason of its unhistorical character.

3. On account of its immoral tendency.

4. On the ground of its barbarism and cruelty.

Before examining these charges, which are involved in some of his lectures, in detail, let us inquire whether Mr. Ingersoll is prepared to treat the question with candor. Probably no living orator has greater power with the masses, but it must be remembered that eloquence is not always enlisted on the side of truth and soberness, and that facility in making telling points and bringing down the house, is perhaps unfavorable to patient research and careful statement.

There is abundant evidence of the following facts which ought to unfit him in the mind of every intelligent person for being a leader of public opinion:

1. He indulges in the grossest errors and misstatements. 26

NO BLADE OF GRASS IN THE DESERT OF SINAI.

In his Mistakes of Moses he affirms that there was “no blade of grass” in the Desert of Sinai, and that Sahara, compared to it, is a garden. This assertion, however, is utterly false, since “at the present time, under the most unfavorable conditions, it affords some facilities for pasturage and gardening.” 27

THE HOLY LAND A FRIGHFUL COUNTRY.

He speaks of the Holy Land as a frightful country, covered with rocks and desolation, and says that there never was a land agent in the city of Chicago, that would not have blushed with shame to have described that land as flowing with milk and honey, and this in spite of the fact that Tacitus, Josephus, and other writers, both ancient and modern, mention its fertility. 28

THE JEWS NEVER AGREED AS TO WHAT BOOKS OF THE BIBLE WERE INSPIRED.

In speaking of the Bible he declares that “the Jews themselves never agreed as to what books were inspired,” although Josephus boasts that the Jews have a definite number of books in the Old Testament, and the Talmud asserts that the man who reads apochryphal books forfeits eternal life. 29

OUR INDEBTEDNESS TO MURDERERS FOR OUR BIBLES AND CREEDS.

One of his strangest assertions is that we are indebted to murderers for our Bibles and Creeds. He mentions Constantine, Henry VIII., and Elizabeth, in confirmation of this statement. The remark, however, is due to an utter perversion and misrepresentation of history. 30

NO CONTEMPORANEOUS LITERATURE.

He moreover affirms that there was no contemporaneous literature when the Bible was composed. He evidently knows nothing of the papyrus rolls which date back even earlier than the time of Moses. 31

But such erroneous statements are not the only things which should make us distrustful of Mr. Ingersoll’s method for

2. He manifests a deadly enmity against the Bible.

HIS SPECIAL PLEAS AGAINST THE BIBLE AND CHRISTIANITY. 32

This is evident from his uniform treatment of the Scriptures. He is so mad against them, that they do not even appeal to him as containing some of the finest compositions from a purely literary standpoint. Nor does he seek to ascertain the doctrines of Scripture from a critical point of view. He looks only for blemishes, hence he is incapable of treating the subject fairly. His lectures are special pleas against the Bible and Christianity. His methods are worthy of those famous attorneys described by Mr. Dickens, in the Pickwick papers.

But some one may say, admitting all that, does it substantially change the aspects of the question? Has not Mr. Ingersoll after all, given utterance to objections which are none the less unanswerable, although presented by him?

Let us now turn to some of the reasons on account of which Mr. Ingersoll denies the Divine origin and authority of the Bible. He does so substantially, on account of the following assumptions. 33

I. Because of its false science.

THE BIBLE NOT A SCIENTIFIC BOOK.

It must be evident to any one on a little reflection, that the Bible is not a scientific book, nor could it be such. Scientific language would have been misunderstood by the mass of men, and would have seemed false to every age except the one which shall arrive at certainty. Moreover, only so much was revealed in regard to creation as was necessary to imprint the truth upon the minds of men that God made the universe. The Bible is just as unscientific as the best scientists are, when they speak of the sun as rising and setting, and it is no more an impeachment of the Divine wisdom, that we find phenomenal language in the Scriptures, than such expressions are of the knowledge of the astronomer respecting the true relation of the planets.

Now when we remember that it was not in God’s plan to reveal how the world was made, but rather that he created it, and that this revelation was not given through scientific men, nor for them, it still remains to be proved that there is any real contradiction between the artless account in Genesis, and what shall finally appear to be the true science in regard to the origin of the world.

THE BIBLE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR MISINTERPRETATIONS.

The Bible is not responsible for the misinterpretations which have been placed upon its statements from the standpoint of false science. There is not a difficulty, not even that of the sun’s standing still, which may not be explained, when we remember that much of the language of the Old Testament relating to nature is phenomenal. How, then, could the author of the Book of Joshua have accounted for what seemed to him to be the lengthening of the day in any other way than by saying: “So the sun stood still in the midst of heaven, and hasted not to go down about a whole day.” We must remember that the Old Testament, while it contains much valuable instruction for us, especially in the light of the New, was immediately designed for those who knew nothing of the true nature of astronomy, and who could never have understood this great deliverance if it had been described in scientific terminology.

THE HARE.

So the prohibition regarding the hare, because it chews the cud (Lev. Xi: 6,) was designed for practical use. It would have been absurd for the lawgiver to have added a note in regard to the true-state of the case, so as to prevent the cavils of critics in the nineteenth century. The hare fell under the class of unclean animals. One of his peculiarities was that he seemed to chew the cud. Moses therefore describes him in such a way as that he would be recognized by every one, while a zoological description of the animal would have entirely befogged the minds of the Israelite4s for whom the statute was solely intended.

ISRAELITISH SKEPTICS.

The Old Testament was subject to the criticism of the skeptics (Prov. xiv: 6; xix: 25,) of Solomon’s time, who would just as certainly have deemed scientific statements as unreasonable and inaccurate; as modern critics do the simple, phenomenal language, which for conveying religious truth is alone adapted to the infancy of the race as well as to its prime.

DIVINE WISDOM IN THE UNSCIENTIFIC CHARACTER OF THE BIBLE.

Instead, therefore, of finding in the unscientific character of the Bible a reason for distrusting its Divine origin and authority, we find therein the proof of God’s wisdom, since he has thus made those parts of Scripture intelligible to the mass of mankind, and has impressed the great lesson which he designed to teach, that he was the Creator of the universe.

Some, however, who may be inclined to admit this point, may say: Has not Mr. Ingersoll greater reason for rejecting the Bible?

II. Because of its unhistorical character.

MYTHICAL ELEMENTS.

This assumption is based on two grounds. It is affirmed that the accounts of every nation are at first unhistorical. The first chapters of the older Grecian and Roman histories are mythical, hence for the same reason it follows, as Mr. Ingersoll thinks, that the entire Pentateuch, so far as it claims to be historical, is really mythical. This view is confirmed in many minds by such incredible occurrences as the flood.

ATHEISTIC AND DEISTIC PRE-SUPPOSITIONS.

It must not be forgotten, however, that this view of the Scriptures proceeds either upon the deistic supposition that God has left the race to take care of itself, 34 or upon the atheistic delusion that there is no God. If we grant that God created the earth and man, and that he is a Holy Being, just such accounts as we have in Genesis are reasonable. Those which relate to the early history of the race before their dispersion are confirmed by traditions which have evidently been derived from the ancestral house.

LENORMANT ON THE DELUGE.

A famous French Semitic scholar 35 says, respecting the deluge: “The result then, of this long review, authorizes us to affirm the story of the Deluge to be a universal tradition among all branches of the human race, with one exception, however, of the black. Now a recollection thus precise and concordant, cannot be a myth voluntarily invented. * * * It must arise from the reminiscence of a real and terrible event, so powerfully impressing the imagination of the first ancestors of our race, as never to have been forgotten by their descendants.”

OBJECTIONS MAY BE SATISFACTORILY ANSWERED.

Indeed all the common objections to the historical character of the Old Testament, such as the wonderful increase of the Israelites in Egypt, the number of their first-born children, when the primal census was taken, their sustenance in the wilderness, and the gradual extinction of the Canaanitish nations, admit of explanations which are deemed by excellent scholars to be sufficient. 36

TESTIMONY FROM CONTEMPORARY SOURCES.

From the nature of the case, but little support could be expected from the scanty memorials of ancient nations for the historical accuracy of the Old Testament, and yet there are not wanting on ancient monuments, and in the excavated libraries of Assyria, testimonies not only to the faithfulness of the delineations, 37 but also confirmations of historical facts as related in the Bible.

Indeed it is difficult to see how any work of such antiquity could, on the whole, have greater corroboration from internal and external evidence, with reference to its historical character, than the Old Testament.

It is however too much to expect that such a bitter enemy of the Bible as Mr. Ingersoll, should admit the historical character of the Scriptures on such grounds as I have mentioned. Prejudice blinds his mind to every argument in their favor. He even rejects them.

III. On account of their immoral tendency.

The evidence which he adduces is, that the Bible teaches polygamy, and because of some of the statutes respecting captive maidens, as well as on account of certain pages which he characterizes as “too obscene, beastly, and vulgar to be read in the presence of men and women.”

POLYGAMY.

It is certain that the Bible does not teach polygamy. Proof of that has been produced elsewhere. 38 God is represented as creating man in a holy state. In that state he gave him but one wife, although the earth might have been peopled faster if he had furnished him with more. Lamech, a descendant of a murderer, and as is generally supposed, himself a murderer, was the inventor of polygamy. Pictures of domestic bliss are only connected in the Old Testament with monogamy, 39 while the bickering which are portrayed in the families of Abraham and Jacob are anything but a recommendation of polygamy.

CAPTIVE MAIDENS.

The law respecting captive maidens was, as has been shown in another place, 40 a merciful provision. It was far in advance of the barbarous practices characterizing every nation, which has not been permeated with a Christian civilization, where booty and beauty have fallen a prey to the brutal conqueror.

THE ALLEGED OBSCENITY OF THE BIBLE.

The Bible cannot, except under the eyes of prejudice, be called “obscene, beastly, and vulgar.” It contains laws which condemn certain practices, and which we would not read before a mixed company any more than we would certain legal statutes, or certain sections from medical books. Where it records lust as in the story of Lot’s daughters, Joseph’s temptation, David’s adultery, and in the warnings against her whose steps take hold on hell, there is no indelicacy of expression. Those whose imaginations gloat over certain paragraphs in our public prints, would find these narratives insufferably tame. There are many things which might offend public delicacy, which are profitable for private reading and admonition. It would be a happy thing if every youth could always remember such passages as Prov. ii: 10-20; v: 3-14; vi: 20-32; vii: 1-23.

Even Solomon’s Song cannot be reckoned as impure except by those to whom nothing is pure. Prof. Oort, who rejects a large portion of the Old Testament as mythical, is candid enough to say of it: “A people who loved such songs, celebrating an invincible love, passionate indeed, to the last degree, but perfectly innocent, such a people cannot have been a prey to moral corruption.”

THE PURITY OF THE BIBLE.

The Bible, considering the age in which it arose, the character of the people for which it was originally designed, and the delicate subjects of which it treats, is a singularly pure book. There are works in English literature which have won the highest commendation of refined scholars, whose pages are defiled with descriptions which would excite lustful imaginations in the purest minds. There is nothing of that kind in the Bible. Compared with the finest works which the bloom of Grecian philosophy produced, it is infinitely superior. While Plato contemplates an ideal state, from which conjugal affection is banished, 41 God sets the race in families, and according to his law there is no dissolution of the marriage tie except through death or infidelity. When we take the teaching of the Bible as a whole, we find that in its requirements of purity of thought (Matt. v. 28) and action, it is infinitely in advance of our statute law, and of the depraved standards of the natural heart, hence we conclude that the system of morals which it inculcates, must be of Divine origin.

There is only one other point which is to be answered here. Mr. Ingersoll rejects the Bible.

IV. On the alleged ground of its barbarism and cruelty.

SLAVERY.

He finds in it a justification of slavery which almost all now regard as a relic of barbarism. But he overlooks the condition of the people. God allowed slavery as a kind of necessity of ancient society, but under limitations which tended greatly to alleviate the condition of servants. I have already shown elsewhere 42 that the servants of Israelites were treated with immeasurably greater kindness than those of the Romans, who were subject to the most dreadful tortures. The Roman matron might stab the unprotected arms and bosom of her maid-servant with a long needle, which she kept for the purpose, as many times as she pleased, 43 but if the Jewish master knocked out one of his slave’s teeth he must grant him his freedom. (Ex. Xxi: 27.) While the Old Testament recognizes slavery in the statutes which it enacts for its alleviation, it is certain that the spirit of the New Testament is antagonistic to this institution.

CAPTIVES.

Much is said with reference to the cruelty manifested in the extinction of captives taken in war, but it is forgotten that the existence of these foreign elements in the Israelitish body politic, would have been a constant menace against its life, on account of the ancient custom of avenging the blood of relatives not to speak of the danger of Israelites being led into idolatry by the conquered races.

CONCLUSION.

Now when we carefully examine all such allegations against the Bible, which are now so prevalent, and mark the absence of sober argument, the malignant spirit with which they are urged we cannot but feel that we have to do with “the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience,” who can transform himself into an angel of light, and be erudite with the learned, or superficial and brilliant with the masses, and who speaks “great swelling words of vanity.

“For still our ancient foe,
“Doth seek to work his woe:
“His craft and power are great,
“And armed with cruel hate,
“On earth is not his equal.”

 


Endnotes

1. The Chicago Times, Friday, Jan. 30, 1880.

2. Bancroft’s History, Vol. VIII, p. 236. Paton’s Life of Franklin, Vol. II, pp. 21-22.

3. Bancroft. Vol. VIII, pp. 140, 236-242.

4. Ib. Vol.. VI, VII, VIII, generally.

5. Bancroft, Vol. VIII. Pp. 135, 136.

6. Ib. p. 136.

7. Ib. p. 143.

8. Ib. pp. 53, 54.

9. Lamartine’s Girondists, Bohn’s Ed., Vol. II. pp. 285, 286-341.

10. Bushnell’s Nature and the Supernatural, p. 326.

11. McIlvaine’s Evidences of Christianity, p. 307.

12. McIlvaine’s Evidences of Christianity, p. 307.

13. Age of Reason, p. 5. Paris, 1794.

14. Three Essays on Religion, p. 254.

15. History of European Morals, Vol. II, p. 9. Comparo also pp. 46, 65, 107, 163.

16. McIIvaine’s Evidences of Christianity, p. 335. Horne’s Introduction, N.Y. 1860. Vol. I. P. 25, Lecky Hist. European Morals, Vol., I., p. 51 , note.

17. McIlvaine’s Evidences of Christianity, p. 335. Horne’s Introduction, N.Y. 1860. Vol. I. p. 25, Lecky Hist. European mOrals, Vol., I., p. 51, note.

18. McIlvaine’s Evidences, pp. 333-341. Horne’s Introd., Vol. I, p. 25.

19. McIlvaine’s Evidences, pp. 333-341. Horne’s Introd. Vol. I, p. 25.

20. McIlvaine’s Evidences, pp. 333-341. Horne’s Introd. Vol. 1, p. 25.

21. McIlvaine’s Evidences, pp. 333-341. Horne’s Introd. Vol. I, p. 25.

22. McIlvaine’s Evidences, pp. 333-341. Horne’s Introd. Vol. I, p. 25.

23. Lecky’s History European Morals, Vol. I., p. 9.

24. Lamartine’s Girondists, Bohn’s Ed., Vol. III. Pp. 287-317. Carlyle’s French Revolution, Tauchnitz Ed., Vol. II. Bk. 5, Chap. 3. Morris’ French Revolution, pp. 97-125. Horne’s Introd., Vol. I., pp. 25-26.

25. Guizot’s Meditations, second series, p. 13.

26. Mr. Ingersoll more than six months after the delivery of his lecture in Chicago, on the Mistakes of Moses, and after the report of that lecture had been circulated by thousands in the streets of the city and on the trains, seeks refuge from the well-deserved castigation of his own ignorant blunders by hiding himself behind the skirts of the reporters. He says, “The lecture was never written, and consequently never delivered twice the same. On several occasions it was reported and published without revision. All these publications were grossly and glaringly incorrect.” This may account for mistakes in words and sentences. But it is impossible that all the city reporters, among whom are some of the finest stenographers in the country, should have misunderstood the drift of Mr. Ingersoll’s statements. Such a supposition is simply ridiculous. The fact that Mr. Ingersoll has quietly suppressed some of his errors and tamed down others in what he terms “the only correct edition of some of the Mistakes of Moses,” is simply due to the unspraring criticisms of some of those clergymen whom he affects to despise. Notwithstanding the above excuse, Mr. Ingersoll must father his lecture as given to the public in Haverly’s Theatre, March 23, 1879.

27. See appendix E., Ingersoll and Moses, Jansen, McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1880, p. 101.

28. Ingersoll and Moses, p. 107.

29. The same, pp. 70-77.

30. The same, pp. 78-80.

31. The same. p. 82.

32. He says, in Some Mistakes of Moses: “The real oppressor, enslaver and corrupter of the people is the Bible. That book is the chain that binds, the dungeon that holds the clergy. That book spreads the pall of superstition over the colleges and schools. That book puts out the eyes of science, and makes honest investigation a crime. That book unmans the politician and degrades the people. That book fills the world with bigotry, hypocrisy and fear.”

33. For a reply in detail to Mr. Ingersoll’s lecture on the Mistakes of Moses, delivered March 23d, 1879, the reader is referred to my book entitled, Ingersoll and Moses, Jansen, McClurg & Co., Chicago.

34. Mr. Ingersoll seems to be a deist, He says: “There may be, for aught I know, somewhere in the unknown shoreless vast, some being whose dreams are constellations and within whose thoughts the infinite exists.”

35. Lenormant, The Contemporary Review, London, November, 1879, p. 500; Compare Ingersoll and Moses, Chicago, 1880, p. 95.

36. Ingersoll and Moses, p. 42, etc.

37. See Ebers, Aegypten und Die Buecher Mose’s, Leipzig, 1868, pp. 261-360.

38. Ingersoll and Moses, pp. 63, 113.

39. Prof. Oort, who belongs to the rationalistic school of interpreters, but who is t least a man of too much scholarship to be blinded by narrow prejudices, remarks: “The touching story told to David by Nathan proves beyond all doubt that the Israelites well knew how deep the love of a man for his one wife may be. That single ewe lamb that the poor man had bought and loved so tenderly, that grew up with him and his children, ate of his bread, drank from his cup, and slept on his breast at night, represents Uriah’s one and only wife, so truly loved by her husband. So, too, in the Proverbs, the praise of a good wife is sung again and again; ‘A capable wife is the crown of her lord:’ ‘A prudent wife is a gift of Yahweh.’ Evidently, then, domestic virtue and domestic bliss were held in high esteem.”

40. Ingersoll and Moses, pp. 65, etc.

41. Compare Grote’s Plato, London, 1875, vol. III., p. 205.

42. Ingersoll and Moses, pp. 68-72; 112-113.

43. The Same, p. 113.

Sermon – Life & Character of Joseph Smith – 1877


This sermon was preached by William Henry Brooks in Boston in 1877.


sermon-life-character-of-joseph-smith-1877-1

THE STRONG STAFF AND THE BEAUTIFUL
ROD BROKEN

A SERMON

COMMEMORATIVE OF THE LIFE AND CHARACTER

OF

JOSEPH SMITH

LATE REAR-ADMIRAL IN THE NAVY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

PREACHED ON

SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY, JAN. 28, A.D. 1877

IN

ST. ANDREW’S CHURCH, HANOVER

DIOCESE OF MASSACHUSETTS

BY THE REVEREND
WILLIAM HENRY BROOKS, S.T.D.
MINISTER OF THE PARISH

 

JEREMIAH XLVIII. 17.

“All ye that are about him, bemoan him; and all ye that know his name, say, How is the strong staff broken, and the beautiful rod!”

“A power has passed from the earth.”

A “strong staff” of greatness and a “beautiful rod” of goodness, joined together more closely and more inseparably than if “with hoops of steel,” has been broken.

All that were “about him,” whether as kindred, friends, companions in arms, or compatriots, “bemoan” his departure hence. “All that knew his name,” as that of one of the ablest, bravest, and purest defenders of their country, can truly say that “a prince and a great man is fallen.”

“Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends!
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good great man? Three treasures,—love and light,
And calm thoughts, regular as infant’s breath;
And three firm friends, more sure than day and night,—
Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.”

On the 17th of January, in the year of our Lord 1877, “very early in the morning,” “when it was yet dark,” at the capital of our nation,—just one day after the completion of sixty-eight years he had been in the service of his country,—it pleased Almighty God, in His wise providence, to take out of this world the soul of Joseph Smith, Rear-Admiral in the Navy of the United States, the oldest officer in that branch of the public defence.

Had he lived in this world until the 30th of the coming March, he would have attained the goodly age of eighty-seven years.

“The mere worldling,” obedient to the powers of the Devil, “is torn from the world which is the only sphere of delight which he knows, as the fabled mandrake was torn from the earth shrieking and with bleeding roots.

“He is like the ship which by some fierce wind is dragged from its moorings, and driven furiously to perish on the rocks;” but this servant of God, obedient to the powers of the world to come, was “as a ship, which has been long waiting in harbor, and joyfully, when the signal is given, lifts its anchor, and makes sail for the harbor of eternity.”

When his spirit returned unto God who gave it, there was no long and bitter struggle, so painful to witness; but,—

“Like a shadow thrown
Softly and lightly from a passing cloud,
Death fell upon him;”

And, in the valley of that death-shade,—

“There calm at length he breath’d his soul away.”

The quiet and composure of his departure from earth to Paradise—unbroken even by a solitary sigh—reminds us how “the Jewish doctors taught that the angel Gabriel drew gently out with a kiss, the souls of the righteous from their mouths; to something of which kind, the phrase so often used to express the peaceful departure of the saints, In osculo Domini obdormivit, must allude.”

The secretary of the Navy (the Hon. George M. Robeson) in a Special Order, remarkable for its simplicity, directness, and beauty, with deep regret announced the death of Rear-Admiral Smith, as that of the oldest officer in the naval service; spoke of this gallant officer as having risen rapidly in his profession, and honorably distinguished himself in every grade; and, after expressing the opinion that his death would be universally lamented by the service and the country, ordered that the customary honors belonging to his rank be paid to his memory at all the navy-yards and naval stations of the United States, and on the flag-ships of the several squadrons of the navy of the same.

On January the 20th, the Friday following his death, his body was borne on the shoulders of eight seamen—eight distinguished officers of the army and navy acting as pall-bearers—into St. John’s Church, Washington,—in the presence of a large congregation, very many of which were officers of the navy,—where he had so long worshipped, and of which he had so long been a useful member.

Here the first part of the Burial Office—the sentences, the psalms, and the lesson—was said.

The second part of the Burial Office—the meditations, the solemn interment, and the prayers—was said in the chapel at Oak Hill Cemetery, Georgetown, D.C., after which his precious dust was placed in the family vault in the family vault in that “Acre of our God.”

At his own request, all the services and all the honors on this occasion were of the simplest character, compatible with Christian and naval propriety.

Joseph Smith—the son of the Hon. Albert Smith and Anne Lenthall Eells, his wife—was the second of nine children, and was born in Hanover, Mass., on the 30th of March, A.D. 1790.

At the time when he, an innocent, happy little boy, was playing in the green fields of Hanover, the country, of which he was to be a brilliant ornament and gallant defender, did not possess even a single ship of war. But such was the rapidity of change in this particular, that, ere threescore years and ten had winged their flight, he saw his beloved country in the number and power of her ships of war almost, and in the skill and efficiency with which they were served quite, the peer of any nation of the world.

From the merchant-service, he entered the Navy of the United States, as Midshipman, on the 16th of January, 1809.

He was appointed Lieutenant on the 24th of July, 1813. Having entered the service but three years before the last war between our own and the mother country, he was soon called upon to give evidence of his willingness and ability to “be a safeguard unto the United States of America, and a security for such as pass on the seas upon their lawful occasions.”

In the time of testing, he was not found wanting. In will and in deed, he was fully abreast with the occasion.

Being one of the officers in the gallant squadron on Lake Champlain, under the charge of the able and dauntless Commodore Thomas McDonough; serving as First Lieutenant of “The Eagle,” commanded by Capt. Henley,—of whose competency and bravery he ever cherished a very high opinion,—in the hard-fought battle of Plattsburg Bay, which occurred on the 11th of September, 1814, he was entrusted with responsible duties, which for one so young—he being then in this twenty-fifth year only—were discharged with wonderful zeal, fidelity, and skill. In the efforts resulting in the happy victory gained by our countrymen in that fierce and bloody contest with superior number, we are quite safe in ascribing to him, under the guidance and blessing of the Almighty, “who is the only Giver of victory,” and instrumentality of the very first importance.

During the battle “The Eagle” was exposed to a destructive and almost constant storm of iron hail; and, as “the booming shots” in rapid succession reached their intended destination, it was readily seen with almost “brave despair” that the furious cannonade would soon disable the ship.

The time came when the entire armament of one side of the vessel, through the well-served guns of its foes, was rendered useless; and it seemed as if “The Eagle” of the water, which, like the eagle of the sky after which it was named, had been—

“Proudly careering her course of joy:
Firm, on her own mountain vigor relying,
Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying,”—

was now, wounded, lacerated, the life-blood ebbing away, about to fall a prey into the hands of her enemies.

In this exigency Lieut. Smith obtained permission from his superior officer to send out a small boat, with an anchor, which, when cast into the water sufficiently distant from the ship, enabled it, through the cable attached to the anchor, so to be shifted as to bring the uninjured armament on its other side to bear, with its missiles of defence and destruction, on the wooden walls of its surprised assailants.

Having delivered its fire, he would have the vessel shifted, so as to present to the enemy its useless side,—thus securing comparative protection while preparing for another broadside,—and, when the guns were ready for action, would have the vessel hauled into position, when it would again pour upon the enemy its storm of shot and shell.

While this simple expedient of changing the side of the vessel next to the foe—consuming, perhaps, not more than fifteen minutes each time—prevented the vessel from becoming a prey to captors, it also had no small influence in contributing to the general victory obtained by the brave defenders of our country in that famous naval contest.

In appreciation of his gallantry on this occasion, the Congress of the United States bestowed upon him a medal.

During this battle, by the compression of the air resulting from the passage of one of the balls from the enemy’s cannon very near to him, his coat was very much torn, and himself was thrown senseless upon the deck.

He was taken up for dead; but, by the blessing of God upon the use of proper remedies, he was soon restored to consciousness, “and felt no harm.”

An incident in connection with the manning of “The Eagle” will serve to show his quickness and fertility of resource in availing himself of aid, when, perhaps, to almost any other person, none would have seemed attainable.

Six weeks before the launching of “The Eagle,” the timber of which it was constructed was quietly growing in its native home in the adjacent forests.

When launched, it was found that to be properly and efficiently manned, one hundred men would be required, while there were but about thirty available for this work. Receiving from Commodore McDonough a requisition on Gen. Macomb, who was in command of the land forces at Plattsburg, for a detail of soldiers for completing the crew of “The Eagle,” he presented it in person, and was told in reply by the General that he was expecting the enemy in superior numbers—fourteen thousand—under Gen. Prevost, the Governor-General of Canada, to come at any time, and that as his own force—about two thousand—was so much inferior numerically, he could not furnish him with the sorely needed men. The Lieutenant, after thinking a few moments, asked the General if he had not some men under discipline for military offences.

He replied that he had, and that he would gladly part with them.

The Lieutenant, having received the proper warrant, proceeded to a spot where the men, under a guard, were at work in a red clay soil, throwing up breastworks.

With but very scanty clothing, matted hair, and smeared with the unsightly clay, these poor fellows presented a pitiable sight.

They were well content to exchange the scene of their labor and punishment for a place on “The Eagle,” whither they were speedily carried in small boats.

Arrived on board, the Lieutenant saw that they were provided with the means for bathing, procured for them all the clothing that could be obtained, had the cook prepare for them a supper of the best the vessel afforded, and furnished them with blankets, that they might enjoy a comfortable and refreshing sleep.

This was ingenious—more than that, this was humane—most of all, this was Christian.

These very men, who were not only no help to Gen. Macomb, but, on the contrary, were a source of weakness, as the guard necessary for their oversight and detention detracted from the total sum of his efficient soldiers, were converted into useful helpers, and did good, loyal service in the day of battle.

It pleased God so to order it, that he should be the last of those naval officers who, in the second war with Great Britain, distinguished themselves.

Would it be unjust to them, and untrue of him, if it should be said,—

“This was the noblest Roman of them all.

* * *

His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix’d in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world, This was a man.”

In the following year, 1815, he was in the Mediterranean squadron, under the gallant Commodore Decatur; and in the war with the Dey of Algiers,—occasioned by his plundering, capturing, and condemning American vessels, and selling their crews into slavery,—at the capture on the 18th of June, OF THE Algerine vessels (a frigate of forty-four guns, and a brig), he rendered great assistance, and behaved with extraordinary courage, favorable mention of which was appreciatively made in the official report.

On the 3d of March, 1827, he was commissioned as Commander; being at that time attached to the Navy Yard in Charlestown, Mass.

In 1834 he became Commandant of that extensive and very important yard.

On the 9th of February, 1837, he was commissioned as Captain.

In 1840 he was Commander of the Receiving-Ship “Ohio,” at least one of the noblest ships, if not the noblest ship of the line, over which a flag ever floated.

In 1845 he had the command of the Mediterranean Squadron.

Amiable, considerate, exemplary in word and deed, it is not surprising that he should have had great influence with the crew of his ship.

A single instance will abundantly illustrate this point. Many years ago, when the crew were entitled by law to a daily ration of grog,—a mixture of spirit and water, not sweetened,—they were allowed, if so disposed, to commute it for a sum of money equal to its value.

Through his influence, every one of the crew, with a single exception, commuted.

This solitary sailor declined to commute, and insisted on the enjoyment of his legal right in this regard.

Accordingly, each morning, at the proper time, the grog-tub was brought forth, the usual call of summons was made, and the officer having this duty in charge dealt out to the solitary recipient his legal quantity of stimulant.

Finding that this insister on his regulation rights was determined to persevere in the course he had entered upon, he was subsequently transferred to another ship; thus rendering the entire crew, in this particular, one in sentiment and one in action.

On the 25th of May, 1846, he was appointed Chief of the Bureau of Yards and Docks, the duties of which office he discharged with great ability and faithfulness until the spring of 1869, when bodily infirmity constrained him to resign.

On the 16th of July, 1862, he was commissioned as Rear-Admiral.

He went on the Retired List, but rendered valuable service to the country in the performance of special duty at the Navy Department, in Washington.

In 1871 he withdrew entirely from active service, and

“In sober state,
Through the sequester’d vale of “private” life,
The venerable patriarch guileless held
The tenor of his way.”

In these days, when instances of corruption, bribery, and theft, on the part of those holding positions of trust, are far from being rare exceptions to a general rule; when good citizens, grieved and discouraged at the manifestations of “conceiving and uttering from he heart words of falsehood,” are tempted to say, “Judgment is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off: for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter. Yea, truth faileth,” it is not only refreshing but salutary to look upon the example of a man who, placed in a position where he had the opportunity, if so disposed, to amass vast wealth by the prostitution of his office to his own personal advantage, and who, if he had availed himself of the opportunity, could have concealed his conduct from the knowledge of all save a few interested ones, and the all-seeing eye of the Almighty, so conducted himself in office with—

“That chastity of honor which felt a stain like a wound,”—

that no one, who understood his character, would have dared to suggest, either for or without reward, the deviation on his part of a hair’s-breadth from the line of strict integrity.

If the prophet, in the capital of our country, had proclaimed the opening words of the First Lesson of this morning, “Run ye to and fro through the streets, . . . and see now and know, and seek in the broad places thereof, if ye can find a man, if there be any that executeth judgment, that seeketh the truth,” this incorrupt and incorruptible servant of his country could have said—if his shrinking modesty could have been sufficiently overcome to allow him to speak words affirming the integrity of his public life, both in purpose and execution—what Samuel said to all Israel: “Whose ox have I taken? Or whose ass have I taken? Or whom have I defrauded? Whom have I oppressed? Or of whose hand have I received any bribe to blind mine eyes therewith? And I will restore it you.”

And, in such an event, what would his fellow-countrymen have replied, but in the words of all Israel in answer to the testifying by Samuel to his own integrity?—“Thou hast not defrauded us, nor oppressed us; neither hast thou taken ought of any man’s hand.”

Whatever of worldly substance he accumulated, was the result of honest industry. To that substance may be truly applied the words spoken by John Randolph, concerning a temporal estate gathered by a man of rigid integrity: “Sir, there is not a dirty shilling in it.”

When such an one, whose example in public life has been “without spot, and blameless,” passes from the life that now is, how can we refrain from the prayer of the heart, if we do from that of the lips?—“Help, Lord; for the godly man ceaseth; for the faithful fail from among the children of men.”

He was a “man that had seen affliction,” grievous to be borne, time and time again repeated.

He recognized it as God’s visitation, perhaps to try his patience for the example of others, or perhaps that this faith might be found, in the day of the Lord, laudable, glorious, and honorable, to the increase of glory and endless felicity; and so, when “woe succeeded a woe as wave a wave,” he, through the help of the Holy Ghost, never cast away his confidence in the Father of mercies, nor placed it anywhere but in Him, making the sentiment of the words, and the words themselves, of the patriarch Job, his own: “Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.”

His wife, “the desire of his eyes,”—previously Harriet Bryant, of Maine,—a faithful, devoted, and Christian companion, “an help meet for him,” was taken from him by “a stroke” of a peculiarly painful character; dying from the effects of a fearful railroad accident, a very few days after its occurrence.

A son,—Joseph Barker,—“a creature of heroic blood,” while in command of the fine frigate “Congress,” of eighteen hundred and sixty-seven tons burden, during her engagement, on Saturday, the 9th of March, 1862, in the James River, with the mailed monster “Merrimac,” was killed by a shell from the enemy.

“The ‘Merrimac,’ choosing her position distant from the frigate about a hundred yards only, discharged broadside after broadside of her hundred pound shot and shell, raking the frigate from stem to stern.

“The carnage was awful.

“The decks were in an instant covered with dismounted guns, and mangled limbs, and gory blood.

“She was set on fire in three separate places.

“The fresh breeze fanned the flames, which timbers and planks, dry as tinder, fed. The fiery billows burst forth as from a volcano.

“The wounded could not escape, and were exposed to the horrible doom of being slowly burned alive.

“This sight could not be endured by the surviving officers and crew.

“With tears and anguish, the flag was drawn down.”

When the depressing tidings, that “The Congress” had struck her flag, came to the ears of the father of her intrepid commander, without knowing “that the chieftain lay unconscious of his” noble parent, he said, “Then Joe is dead.”

These words—the expression of well-founded faith in the inflexible purpose of his son, never to yield victory to the foe—we “should not willingly let die.”

Another son,—Albert Nathaniel,—who commanded a vessel in the squadron under Commodore Farragut, at the capture of New Orleans, on the 25th of April, 1862, acquitted himself on that occasion with that wisdom and bravery which were his, both in his own right, and by virtue of descent from his illustrious sire.

This son, well accomplished in the science and practice of naval warfare, subsequently became Chief of the Bureau of Equipment and Recruiting.

He died of disease contracted in the service of his country; to which he had ever been loyal and true.

In these afflicting dispensations from the Father’s hand, that religion in which he implicitly believed supplied him with all needed support and consolation, since—

“’Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower
Of Faith, and round the Sufferer’s temples bind
Wreaths that endure affliction’s heaviest shower,
And do not shrink from sorrow’s keenest wind.”

He did not submit to the will of God.

To do this is not Christian; for it is to yield to another because on the side of that other there is power, and to do otherwise would be worse than useless.

It is enforced resignation, and consequently is but little worth, because it is not the making of God’s will the will of His creature. He did more and better than this:—he acquiesced in God’s will; by the help of Divine grace, substituting that holy, wise, and unerring will for that which by nature was his.

Thus, through Divine power, did he “glory in tribulations: knowing that tribulation worketh patience, and patience, experience, and experience, hope, and hope maketh not ashamed,” “which hope he had as an anchor of the soul, unfailing and steadfast, and reaching, as it were, by a cable laid out of the Ship,—the vessel of the Church,—and not descending downward to an earthly bottom beneath the troubled waters of this world, but, what no earthly anchor can do, extending upward above the pure abysses of the liquid se of bright ether, and stretching by a heavenward cable even into the calm depths and solid moorings of the waveless harbor of Heaven; whither our Forerunner Jesus has entered, and to Whom the Church clings with the tenacious grasp of Faith: as a vessel is moored by a cable or an anchor firmly grounded in the steadfast soil at the bottom of the sea.”

All alone, he received the manifold gifts of grace in Confirmation, or laying-on of hands, from Bishop Eastburn; and, by the reception of that Apostolic rite, ratified and confirmed the solemn obligations entered into on his behalf, in his tender age, at the time when in Holy Baptism he was grafted into the body of Christ’s Church.

At his confirmation, he wore the full uniform of his high rank,—the highest attainable in the navy in those days; not that he might thereby deepen the impression of his eminent position on those then present,—for vanity and ostentation, in all their forms, were foreign to his nature,—but that he might declare that, in this repeating of his oath of fidelity to “the Sovereign Commander of all the world,” it was not merely as a private disciple, but also as an officer in that branch of the nation’s service which “hath ever been its greatest defence and ornament;. . . its ancient and natural strength,—the floating bulwark of our” country.

It is not often that the eye rests upon a sight so touching and suggestive as that which, in the closing years of his life, was presented by his attendance upon and the reception of the Holy Communion in St. John’s Church, Washington, at an hour so early in the morning of the Lord’s Day, that very many of the inhabitants of the capital of our country had not even awaked.

To behold his reverent deportment, to look upon his sweet and peaceful face, to witness his infirm steps as he slowly approached the chancel-rail, to see him in meek devotion “fall low on his knees before the footstool” of the Great King,—knees stiffened with age, the bending of which must have caused him pain,—while partaking of the blessed Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ,—was a sight which, on those who were privileged to see it, would be indelibly impressed.

At the time of his death, he was, as he had been for twenty-one years, the senior Church-Warden of St. John’s Church, Washington. Such was the esteem in which he was held by his fellow-parishioners, that when, owing to his physical inability, he could no longer discharge the duties of that high and important office, and he desired to give place to another, they declined to accede to his desire, and continued him in office; and, in thus honoring him, highly honored themselves.

That branch of the Church Catholic in which, by the reception of the Seal of the Lord in Confirmation, he was strengthened with the Holy Ghost the Comforter, and assumed the vows of Christian discipleship, found in this upright and God-fearing man one intelligently and firmly attached to its principles, which are those of Christianity “as understood by the Primitive Church, grounded upon Holy Scripture, as interpreted by universal primitive consent and practice,” and one abundantly satisfied with its provisions for the nourishing and developing of the life of God in the soul of man.

Under the tutelage of the gentle and bountiful Church,—“the Mother of us all,” descended from the Apostles of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, through the Church of England,—fed with “the sincere milk of the word,” he grew in grace; nourished with that ‘strong meat” which “belongeth to them that are full age,” he developed into a full-grown man in Christ Jesus; and through her Sacraments, sacramental ordinances, and other means of grace, in

“An old age serene and bright,
And lovely as a Lapland night,”

matured for glory.

Tenderly and lovingly did she hold him in her patient and unwearied arms, until she humbly commended his soul into the hands of the Almighty, the faithful Creator, and most merciful Saviour, most humbly beseeching Him that it might be precious in His sight, having been washed in the blood of that immaculate Lamb, that was slain to take away the sins of the world.

Never did she cease her labor, her care and diligence, to bring him unto that agreement in the faith and knowledge of God, and to that ripeness and perfectness of age in Christ, that there might be no place left either for error in religion, or for viciousness in life, until he was received, out of her strong and comforting arms, into those heavenly habitations where the souls of those who sleep in the Lord Jesus enjoy perpetual joy and felicity.

We have thus endeavored to show that, in the character of this distinguished citizen of our country, the two elements that so largely and strongly influence the world in which we live—greatness and goodness—were powerfully and beautifully combined.

In the words of the First Lesson of this evening, “Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him: but weep sore,” that our beloved country can no longer lean upon the “staff” of his lofty, symmetrical, and robust greatness, and can no longer carry with her, in the various walks of the public service, the “rod” of his earnest, unvarying, and whole-hearted goodness.

Well may we feel that while, by the taking-out of the world of the soul of our deceased brother, Paradise is the richer, the present world is the poorer.

We sorrow, but not as others without hope, for him who now sleeps in Jesus.

While we mourn for our loss of him, as a true-hearted friend, a patriotic citizen, a faithful servant of the Republic, we should especially and chiefly mourn for our loss of him as a Christian, for the all-sufficient reason that

“A Christian is the highest style of man.”

May God the Holy Ghost, the Sanctifier of the faithful, daily increase His manifold gifts of grace in this congregation who knew and loved him, and who, in this consecrated house of prayer, have with him worshipped the Triune God, that they like him, having been received into the ark of Christ’s Church, and being steadfast in faith, joyful through hope, and rooted in charity, may so pass the waves of this troublesome world, that, finally, they may come in safety to the haven where he now is, and where they would be,—the land of everlasting life!

“He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.

“Then are they glad because they be quiet: so He bringeth them unto their desired haven.”

Election Sermon

At the time of the Founders, it was a common practice for ministers to preach “Election Sermons,” and it was very common for a clergyman to be invited to give a sermon before the newly-elected government officials. This 1790 election sermon by Rev. Daniel Foster was given before the Massachusetts Governor (John Hancock), Lieutenant-Governor (Samuel Adams), and both houses of Legislature. Rev. Foster admonished these elected officials using Proverbs 8:16 (By Me princes rule, and nobles, even all the judges of the earth), and encouraged them to govern according to God’s ways. (For the full text of Foster’s Election Sermon click here.)

election-sermon-1

This is the text on the cover of the Election Sermon:


A
S E R M O N

PREACHED BEFORE

His Excellency JOHN HANCOCK, Esq.
GOVERNOUR;

His Honor SAMUEL ADAMS, Esq.
LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOUR;

The Honourable The

COUNCIL, SENATE, and HOUSE of

REPRESENTATIVES,

Of The

C O M M O N W E A L T H
of

M A S S A C H U S E T T S

MAY 26, 1790.

BEING THE DAY OF

GENERAL ELECTION


By DANIEL FOSTER, A.M.
PASTOR of the CHURCH in NEW BRAINTREE


BOSTON, Massachusetts:

PRINTED BY THOMAS ADAMS,
PRINTER to the HONOURABLE, the GENERAL COURT


M,DCC,XC


John Hancock (1737-93) was a soldier, public official and Harvard graduate(1754). He served several terms as a Selectman of Boston; member of the Provincial Legislature (1766-72); member of the Continental Congress (1774-78) where he was the first signer of the Declaration of Independence (1776) and President of Congress (1774-77); He was a Senior Major-General of the Massachusetts Militia (1778); a delegate to the State constitutional convention (1779); and Governor of Massachusetts (1780-85, 1787-93).

Samuel Adams (1722-1803) was a leader in the opposition to the acts by British Parliament which precipitated the American Revolution (1765-76); formed Boston’s Committee of Correspondence (1772); was a member of the Continental Congress (1774-81) where he signed the Declaration of Independence (1776); and helped draft the Articles of Confederation (1777); He served as president of the Massachusetts senate (1781); Lieutenant-Governor of Massachusetts (1789-94); and Governor of Massachusetts (1794-97). He is called both the “Firebrand of the Revolution” and “The Father of the American Revolution” for his important leadership in the cause of American independence.

Sermon – Easter – 1910


Paul Dwight Moody (1849-1947) was the son of famous evangelist Dwight L. Moody, who had first initiated the urban renewal movement and preached revivals across the world. His son served as pastor at South Congregational Church in St. Johnsbury, Vermont from 1912 to 1917. He also served as the 10th president of Middlebury College from 1921 until 1943. This is a transcript of Paul Moody’s Easter Sermon preached in 1910.


 

sermon-easter-1910-1

THE FIRST EASTER SERMON

AN ADDRESS

BY

PAUL DWIGHT MOODY

 

“I have seen the Lord.” – John 20:18, Revised Version.

“I have seen the Lord.” In these words we have the first Easter sermon ever preached. For nineteen centuries since then countless preachers in all the different sects of Christendom have yearly preached their Easter sermons, but the honor of preaching the first Easter sermons belongs to a woman. This was, moreover, in a day when woman held a low place in the estimate of man, and in no corner of the world was she thought much less of than in this very land of Syria. And this woman, Mary of Magdala, was one who had been looked upon with aversion certainly, and possibly with pity, for she had been afflicted with a complaint, the nature of which was so awful whatever it may have been, that she was said to possess seven devils. There was not a single follower of our Lord whom the disciples would not sooner have named as a candidate for the high honor which was ultimately hers, for by all the canons by which they – and we like them – passed judgment she was probably neither spiritual nor even good. According to the Jewish view that suffering was the result of and punishment for sin, Mary was a great sinner or passed for such in their eyes.

How came it then that this woman, despised and neglected until the Master came, should have been ordained the first preacher of the resurrection, and so, in a measure, the first Christian preacher? If we trace the story perhaps we shall see the reason for this.

TRACING THE STORYUpon that first morning of the week, early, when it was yet dark – and dark in more than one sense of the word, for the darkness without was light as compared to the gloom in the hearts of Jesus’ friends – came Mary Magdalene to the tomb. To come she had to conquer all her womanly fears of the darkness, her superstitions – so rank in a Jewish breast – her natural terror in the lonely presence of a tomb. But love had aided her to do this, and she had come through the darkness to Joseph’s tomb to do what little remained of service to the body of her Friend – the One who had brought healing and comfort and happiness into her troubled life. Although now she could make no return for His goodness, show Him no gratitude or sign of devotion, she found relief in being near His grave.

It was the grave of Israel’s hopes. In her confused mind she had taken in but little of His words, but must have shared with His disciples the confident hope that ere long He would restore the kingdom of Israel – He, another David, but undefiled by sin; another Maccabeaus, but tasting no defeat. And now He was resting in a dishonored grave, having drawn no sword, having won no victory and no crown!

It is to her credit that she came at this time when all else had fled, and when He could no longer bring her happiness.

Through the darkness she describes that the stone has been rolled back from the mouth of the tomb. It is not hope which leads her to see this, but despair: and in despair she runs to tell those who have a right to know – the disciples. John and Peter set out for the tomb, and John, the younger perhaps, seems to have outstripped Peter. But at the tomb he pauses, detained perhaps by reverence, perhaps by fear, till Peter, ever impulsive, comes and leaps in. John follows and they find the tomb empty. John, writing his narrative long after, tells us that he “saw and believed.”

Saw and believed what? That Jesus was risen?

Hardly, we think. Two things disprove it: the express statement, “For as yet they knew not the Scripture that He must rise again from the dead,” and then the fact that they went to their homes. Had they believed in anything more than the emptiness of the tomb they could never have returned quietly to their homes.

An empty tomb is an important feature of the resurrection, but it is a small part. That is not the dynamic which sends men and women to the uttermost part of the earth. Christ’s resurrection was to mean infinitely more than an empty tomb. Men to the present day who hunger for certain proof of immortality submit this story to the most microscopic examination by all the canons of historical criticism, and the evidence will always yield one fact – that the tomb was empty; yes, and that its occupant had risen, leaving it of His own volition. But the resurrection is more than this.

Though grief and curiosity carry them to the tomb on the run, they return to their homes puzzled and alarmed when they find the tomb empty. But Mary remains. What caused her to do this is as uncertain as the object of her coming to the grave, unless it was what we may call the unreasonableness of love. She had not followed them into the tomb, nor even now did she enter. But she waited, for here at this spot, barren of all hope and consolation as it seemed, the body of her Lord had last been seen. And her waiting was rewarded, for as she stooped to look through the meager light of the dawning day into the shadowy recesses of the tomb she saw the angel messengers – saw them through the haze of her tears. John and Peter had seen nothing at all. Their curious eyes – even though they entered the tomb – saw nothing but its emptiness and the linen clothes; but the weeping eyes of Mary saw.

Many of us are slow to realize that in the realm of spiritual things there are some truths visible only through the lens of tears. We darken or smoke glass when we desire to look at the brilliance of the sun. In like manner, through our tears we sometimes see things hidden generally from the sight of men. Tears are often telescopes, if you will, bringing near to our sight things otherwise far off; often microscopes, revealing hidden beauty and design in little things which the world calls ugly and coarse and purposeless. The Christian on his knees, we are told, sees further than the philosopher on his housetop. Yes, and the Christian through his tears often sees truths invisible to the keenest sight.

The angels have surprise for Mary’s grief, but they offer her no comfort, for behind her in the background they see One standing, waiting. When His children weep, he Master is always near by. He may be unheeded, but He is not far off.

Never a sigh of passion or of pity,
Never a wail for weakness or for wrong,
Has not its archive in the angels’ city,
Finds not its echo in the endless song.

Not as one blind and deaf to our beseeching,
Neither forgetful that we are but dust,
Not as from heaven too high for our up reaching,
Coldly sublime, intolerably just;

Nay, but Thou knowest us, Lord Christ,
Thou knowest!
Well Thou remeberest our feeble frame!
Thou canst conceive our highest and our lowest
Pulses of nobleness and aches of shame.

 

[The above quotation is from Frederick Myers, St. Paul (London: Macmillan & Co, 1892), p. 15.]

Mary turns at last, thinking the presence of which she is conscious is the gardener’s; so often is He near us that we think it something less. She does not know Him until He speaks her name. But at this sound, sorrow and sighing flee away as clouds before the sun, and in an instant the gloom and darkness of her night of despair are changed into the sunshine of that first glorious Easter morning. And Mary receives her commission – the commission and message which is the certain sign of every true vision or sight of the Lord – and returns to the city which in the darkness she had left with greater darkness in her heart, returns thought the morning sunshine with a great light flooding and warming in her heart. And then in the city, in those glad tidings of the resurrection, she becomes the first preacher of an Easter message.

Let us see, if we can, the meaning of this Easter message of Mary’s. In the first flush of the joy that was hers, Mary little realized all the content and extent of her words. She could not estimate the full significance of what it all meant. Mary’s heart was busier than her brain, and tears of joy doubtless interfered with the process of computing the full importance of the news she carried. Aye, and after nineteen centuries (though from our childhood we have known the story), our hearts give a great bound when we read again these words: “I have seen the Lord,” and realize, however faintly, all that they mean.

Her message meant for one thing that at last Death had found an equal and superior, and had been conquered.

This same Galilean had stood by the grave, and by the power which God had given Him called forth its prey; but now for the first time from within, not by miracle from without, Death had been overcome. For our sakes the sinless Son of God had suffered the defilement of the touch of Death, but suffered only the touch. We naturally, for we owe too much to it, shrink back from imaging how for hours, all unseen, in the desolate shades of the underworld, a struggle has gone on in which all the powers of Hell were taxed to their utmost to keep in the place they had appointed for Him this one quiet Man who alone had resisted their hitherto limitless tyranny. But at the hour set, He passed from their grasp victorious by His own pure sinlessness – passed from the loathsome grip of Death – passed through the great iron doors of Death, leaving them open, forever open, making a broad pathway to life which all who follow Him may tread, leaving His enemies vanquished, prostrate and bound and becoming Himself the first fruits of them that slept, indicating that all the rest of the vast harvest of the sleeping dead belong not to the Evil One but to God. Of this weird and awful struggle He bore no scars (save the nail prints in His hands and the deep wound in His heart) whereby we may recognize Him as our Lord and Master when we see Him. Made perfect through suffering, He has become the Captain of our salvation, and at His shout we will all respond, for He has Himself already for us won the battle.

Again, the resurrection set the seal of God’s approval on the work of Jesus.

Mary doubtless did not realize this in all its fullness, but to us (as in our day we consider all that the resurrection means) it is not the least that it is the earnest of God’s acceptance of the finished work of Jesus. We might not know with the certainty which can be ours that this was the Son of God were it not for the resurrection. We do not derive our belief in Christ’s deity alone from this, but the sure evidence that He rose from the dead places beyond dispute that which our hearts already recognize – that there is a difference between Him and all others. Others have died in behalf of their cause. Others have believed in their mission and found an even readier acceptance of their teaching among the men of their own day, as Mahomet did. Other have, for the time being, seemed just as real to the eyes of their infatuated followers as Jesus did. But Death has put an end to all their claims and pretenses alike. Yet Death, when it touched Him, but recognized its Lord, for He overthrew it.

Great and wonderful as these things are, the resurrection of which Mary was first herald has yet another meaning. It is over this we pause. While the fact that Christ was victorious over the grave may comfort us in sorrow, and the truth that the resurrection is the sign of God’s approval may cheer and strengthen us if distressed by problems in theology, there is yet a more practical aspect to the meaning of the resurrection. For though now and again God causes His children to go through the affliction of bereavement, that which is only of use as comfort at such a time is of limited value as compared with all the resurrection means. The simple statement of Mary: “I have seen the Lord,” meant – though she could hardly have measured all its significance in the first rush of joy – that the historical Jesus of Nazareth had become the Savior of universal experience, and that the matchless Man of the first generation of the Christian era had become Christ of all time. Death had not destroyed Him or taken Him away but had rather freed Him from the shackles of time and place so that He Who in His body could be in but one place, could now be with all men everywhere.

No longer need men travel to find Him, for He is very nigh unto all of them. When Nicodemus came to Jesus that night in Jerusalem, he alone of all that crowded city could enjoy the Master by Himself. Now in palace or in hovel, on the throne or in the dungeon, by day or by night, wherever the heart truly seeks Him, there He may be found. Jesus traveled to the afflicted home of Lazarus for days that to the waiting and sorrowing household seemed endless. Now He stands instantly by the side of the dying and mourner alike. Time and space no longer bind Him. Stone walls are powerless to hold Him, nor can armed guards keep or drive us from His presence. No long and dreary and costly journeys to bring us to His presence in distant Palestine, for “closer is He than breathing, nearer than hands and feet.” Those who have learned the message of Mary by their own experience know the unspeakable preciousness of this very truth – that Jesus lives as much today as ever.

Loud mockers in the roaring street
Say Christ is crucified again;
Twice pierced His Gospel-bearing feet,
Twice broken His great heart in vain.

I hear, and to myself I smile,
For Christ talks with me all the while.

No angle now to roll the stone
From off His unwaking sleep;
In vain shall Mary watch alone,
In vain the soldiers vigil keep.

Yet while they dream my Lord is dead
My eyes are on His shining head.

Ah, never more shall Mary hear
That voice exceeding sweet and low
Within the garden calling clear;
Her Lord is gone, and she must go!

Yet all the while my Lord I meet
In every London lane and street.

Poor Lazarus shall wait in vain,
And Bartimaeus still go blind;
The hearing hem shall ne’er again
Be touched by suffering humankind.

Yet all the while I see them rest,
The poor and outcast, on His breast.

No more unto the stubborn heart
With gentle knocking shall He plead;
No more the mystic pity start,
For Christ twice died is dead indeed.

So in the street I hear men say,
Yet Christ is with me all the day.

 

[Quoted from Robert La Gallienne, The Second Crucifixion]

We will not try to contrast the value of these different meanings of the resurrection, but surely this is not the least of them, that Christ is risen and still walks the earth.

No fable old, no mythic lore,
No dream of bard or seers,
No dead fact stranded on the shore
Of the oblivious years;

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet
A present help is He,
And faith has yet its Olivet,
And love its Galilee.

 

[Quoted from John Greenleaf Whittier, The Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co, 1886), p. 320, “Our Master.”]

The form of Mary’s sermon interests us. All we know of it is that it was the statement of a fact of personal experience: “I have seen the Lord.” It may have included more, but we doubt it. There is no indication of argument, explanation, or citation of circumstances which might be considered analogous. There are no quotations of Scripture. Nor is there any elaboration of her credibility as a witness. There is only the plain statement of the fact: “I have seen the Lord.”

This is the ideal form of a sermon and is what every sermon shall be – the declaration of a fact – the heralding of the Gospel which is good news. Men are asking, when dead in earnest, for no metaphysical arguments on the possibility of the great facts of our faith, and they are but superficially interested in learned disquisitions on the credibility of the sources of our knowledge, but they do demand a statement of the great facts. The church has had enough, and more than enough, of the lawyer with his pleas and the judge with his decisions, and needs and cries for the witness with his plain declaration. There is a place for discussions of credibility, perhaps, and for psychological arguments and investigations, and the lawyer and the judge have their places in the great temple of Christian truth. But the herald has no call to defend, only to announce; and the ideal sermon is neither apologetic nor a philippic for a decision, but a declaration and invitation – a declaration of the Father’s love and an invitation to the marriage supper of the Lamb.

ALL CHRISTIANSshould be preachers of the resurrection, for it is at the very core of our faith. If Christ rose not, then preaching and faith are alike vain, and of all men are we the most miserable. And though we may not be called upon to herald it in great cathedrals or crowded churches, still by life and word we are to declare that the Lord has risen. Every man or woman who takes upon himself the name of Christ honestly, subscribes to the belief that He rose from the grave and thereby witnesses to that belief. And this we must preach. And if the resurrection is real to us, we will. We must declare that the Lord is risen – that we have seen the Lord. And if we have, we will; for every true vision contains in it that which makes its beholder an evangelist. For the person fresh from contact with the living Lord there is only one thing to do: tell about it. Tell about it he will; the very light on his face would reveal that he had seen the Lord if his lips were dumb.

But inevitable as it is that one who has seen the Lord shall tell about it, it is as impossible for one who has never seen Him to preach this. Many have given intellectual assent to the position that Christ rose, for it can be proven, they feel, by many a process. The resurrection is a fact, but they cannot say: “I have seen the Lord,” and their testimony is powerless. Or it may have been that whereas once they saw Him, it was so long ago that the vision has faded – lost in the clouds and mists that always rise from the lowlands of selfish, useless life. They no longer feel the reality of it. The fact has passed from the forefront to the background of their consciousness.

Yet it is even more than the declaration of a fact from deep conviction. The objective side is here, but the subjective is also here in this great message of Mary’s. “I,” said Mary, “have seen the Lord.”

It is not the statement that the Lord has risen, great that would be; nor is it the declaration, however earnest, that others have seen Him. It is no second-hand information that Mary brings. Her own personality is enwrapped in the message.

It is a great and blessed thing to declare our conviction of certain truths which we have never, perhaps, ourselves experienced, but such declarations carry but small weights compared with the message linked to our personality. It may do some good to others to say that he, or she, or someone else has had a vision of the Lord, but if we would make Him real to others – would prove to others that He yet walks the earth and may be known to men – we must say:

“I have seen the Lord.”

If we take our stand, unashamed, by our experience, then our experience becomes real to the world about us. Let us but be untrue to a vision, and the world will doubt the truth and reality of that vision. This is worthy of emphasis, for the one thing this world hungers for is certain conviction that that which it hopes for is really so. Over and over again the question is asked:

“Do you believe what you are saying when you declare sublime truths? Are you sure? Have you seen the Lord?”

Tell a needy and a dying world that the Lord of love is not dead but here in our midst; and that you yourself know of His presence not because of a father’s, or mother’s, or a pastor’s conviction of this point, but because you yourself have come into living contact with Him – have seen Him – and hope will kindle in despairing hearts and men will rise up to serve God and be new men, saved by reason of your vision.

Why was it that of the generation which is passing, few men every preached so meaningly and so powerfully as one who always called himself “an old bum”? He had but one message. His was no efficiency gained in college or seminary. Sometimes he was tempted to imitate other men a little, and to preach conventionally, but at such times he was always ill at ease until he threw over such attempts and made his way back to the old facts he was familiar with, and told again how the Lord came to him as he sat ding on a beer keg in a saloon, how He came to him and saved him. Sam Hadley had seen the Lord, and said so; and though we might hear that story again and again it never failed to touch the heart and make Christ real, as many an able discourse or learned exposition was powerless to do. [Sam Hadley became a famous missionary to the down and out in New York. In 1870, he had been fired from his job and became an alcoholic. Later when in jail, he reported that he saw demons telling him to kill himself, but he also heard Jesus saying, “pray.” Pray he did, asking for Jesus to have mercy on him. When Sam was released from jail, he went to his brother’s house and attended church with him. At that service in 1882, he committed his life to Christ, and four years later he became the Superintendent of the Water Street Mission, where he had earlier committed his own life to Christ. Sam held that post until his death in 1906.]

This is what the world needs – men and women to whom the great fact is that they have seen the Lord. This is what we must tell the world. We need not theorize or argue. The world cares little for our theories and less for our arguments, but it is hungry for a knowledge of Him and for the certain assurance that He is knowable.

HOW MANY GAINED THIS VISION.It is important and helpful for us to see how Mary gained this vision, and thus won the high honor of being the first Easter preacher. Whenever a man or a woman has preeminently been gained through some experience or another which we may hold in part accountable for the message. Great heights are never gained without a struggle, and when a man or woman sees further than those about him, or sees more deeply or clearly, it is because of something added which is the others did not have.

What accounts for Mary’s keeper sight?

Her saintliness?

Whatever we make of the expression “seven devils,” we know that it was an affliction which must have led in those days, when all suffering was felt to be the result of sin, to her ostracism. Some would have us think it has a mental significance and that Mary, till she met our lord, was afflicted with epilepsy, or was insane, or a mental degenerate. Others, that it has a moral significance and that Mary was a moral degenerate and without the pale of society; hence has come the meaning of “Magdalene” which properly means merely an inhabitant of the village of Magdala. Whatever the meaning of the expression, however, whether Mary was a mental or moral degenerate, she was probably the last person the twelve would have chosen, or even thought of, for this high honor. The scribes and Pharisees would have shunned her as a leper, and the priests would have drawn aside their white robes as they passed her lest they should be defiled by the accursed thing.

So it could not have been her social position or her influence which secured her this honor. The little village of Magdala from which she came lives in our recollection only as Domremy [the village where Joan the Arc was much later born, around 1412], for instance, for the daughter to whom it gave birth.

It could hardly have been brilliance of intellect. This simple peasant woman doubtless could not read or write, and it is improbably that she knew anything of the law or the prophets. She was, in short, of all women the most unlikely for this position it would seem.

But she had one claim, and that the best. She loved. Love for this Man who could no longer do aught for her had brought her to the tomb when the disciples and all others had gone to their homes. Maternal love is strong, but the Virgin had left the lonely tomb. The love of a strong man for his friend will bear much, but the loving John and the devoted Peter had gone back to the city. Mary stayed on. We have said it was unreasonable; and in a worldly sense it was. But, reason or folly, love bound her to the spot where last she had seen the body of her Lord. No hope had dawned in her breast. Faith, too, in all but His goodness would seem to have disappeared. A greater than she was later to write that faith and hope are two of the very great things, but that love is greater than either of these. And love has outlasted faith and hope, and here, as so often, proved itself the greatest and most enduring.

Aye and when prophecy her tale hath finished,
Knowledge hath withered from the trembling tongue,
Love shall survive, and love be undiminished,
Love be imperishable, love be young.

Love was believing, and the best is truest;
Love would hope ever, and the trust was gain;
Love that endured shall learn that Thou renewest;
Love, even Thine, O Master, with Thy pain!

 

[Quoting from Frederick Myers, St. Paul (London: Macmillan & Co, 1892), pp. 29-30.]

There are some who will not listen to this sermon of Mary’s. For them indeed He is dead.

For hence he lies
In the lorn Syrian town,
And on his grave with shining eyes
The Syrian stars look down.

 

[Quoting from Matthew Arnold, New Poems (London: Macmillan, 1867), “Obermann Once More”.]

For such, death is and ever must be the inscrutable mystery. Easter brings to such no uplift and no joy. For them we must have the profoundest pity.

There are others for whom the resurrection is real, who admit it as a fact and know that in it they find the proof of their own resurrection and the credential of the efficacy of the work of Jesus. Yet, nevertheless, in their hearts there is no sermon like Mary’s. They must say: “The Lord has risen,” or “Such an one has seen Him,” but they have not seen Him; they cannot say: “I have seen.”

We know very well that we are gifted and trained beyond Mary, that we are endowed with more insight, that we have all the right to preach that she had; yet upon our lips the words have a hollow ring when we declare this truth. We affirm that we have seen Him; yet we have no such message as Mary’s which may send us out with speedy feet to share with others the glad news. The reason for it is that we have not seen Him through the eyes of love. We have not loved enough. It was love that first unlocked the fact of the resurrection. It was love which was the force that spurred Mary on and which was her commission.

Surely this is a glorious and a comforting doctrine. We are not gifted, perhaps, and may have no talents, or certainly no great ones. Birth and circumstance may have forever closed to us certain avenues of service. We are cut off from any hope of being of service to God along certain lines. We are not even good by our own weak standards, to say nothing of the higher standard of God of which we hardly dare to think. Yet, as followers of Christ and believers in the resurrection, we are called upon to be preachers of it. The one supreme qualification which we may have is love. Through love we will discover those things which the Spirit reveals to those who love Him, and not only will we gain our message through love but by love will we be empowered to preach it. Love was the sum substance of the first great Easter sermon, and since that day it has always been the first qualification of the preacher, and the essential part of every Easter message.