Part 5

It behoves us to have right conceptions of the great spiritual realities which affect our life here and our destiny hereafter. Above all must we learn aright Him Who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Gradually, from our earliest childhood, the idea of Christ has been forming, developing, taking definite shape in our minds. May-be it is stereotyped by this time. It is all-imperative for us that the Christ we have so conceived should be the true Christ--“the Christ, the Son of the Living God”. _Tout sort des idées._ Our idea of Him will not affect Himself or alter our fundamental relations with Him, but it will affect the whole moulding of our spiritual life, our whole character, our every thought, word and deed here, and our whole eternity hereafter. Surely, then, we must examine our impression of Christ, and should we find that the influence of early education, of a false creed, of unwholesome reading or association, or the trend of our character has distorted in our minds the true Christ as reflected in the Gospels, we must at all costs correct that impression. If it has become stereotyped we must break up our mould and start our work afresh.

Meditation upon the Gospels; the quiet, steady gaze of the inward eye on Christ; the study of Him day after day under all circumstances and amid ever shifting scenes, and not of His outward bearing, His words and actions only, but of the Heart from which these spring--thus it was that the saints built up His image in their souls, a true living image which transformed them into the likeness of itself, and became a power within them, drawing all things to Him Who was to them all in all.

_You have not so learned Christ._ If Christ our Lord has not as yet drawn _me_ wholly to Himself, it is because my conception of Him is faulty. Whether this is the result of simple carelessness which has allowed His image in my mind to take shape anyhow, or of Jansenistic habits of thought that have fashioned for me a Lord stern, exacting, repellent, a very caricature of the Christ of the Gospels, Christ our Lord; or whether it is my own character, timorous, suspicious, selfish, unsympathising, that has inspired my present idea of Him--from whatever source the misconception has come, it must be set right, or its results will be simply fatal--fatal to the growth of anything like personal love and familiar friendship with Him; fatal to His influence on my life, my actions, my work for Him in the souls of others.

Not any Christ, the creature of my own distorted fancy, but Him Whom the Father has sent, I am to fall down and worship. He alone has power as He alone has right to occupy and absorb my whole interest, my whole affection, my whole self. He alone can be a living influence radiating from my own life to the lives of others.

* * * * *

O Christ my Lord, give me so to know You that my knowledge may be glory to You, and life to my own soul and the souls of others. “This is eternal life: that they may know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, Whom Thou hast sent.”[84] Be Yourself my Master in this one thing necessary. And let me go to the source to draw--learning You from the scenes of Your life. Let me stand by the well of Samaria, and the pool of Bethsaida, and the bier at Nain--and watch and listen. Let the charm of Your divine Person subdue and win me, and the sound of Your voice be familiar to me. Let the knowledge of Your ways with the sinner, the sufferer, the little children, grave such a picture of You in my heart that not even its perversity can bring before me when I say “Jesus” any other form than that of the most beautiful, the most tender, the most compassionate of men.

Veronica wiped Your sacred suffering Face, and received as the greatest of rewards, stamped on her veil, and still more upon her heart, that _vera icon_--that true image of Christ which was thenceforth to be inseparable from her memory, the very name by which all ages were to know her.

Stamp on my heart, dear Lord, _the true likeness_ of Yourself. And as this likeness must be ever growing, let me come often to the altar rails to learn You more and more. The tabernacle is the Gospel history continued. Time has not dimmed Your fairness, O beautiful One, nor dulled the sympathy of Your human Heart. All that You were to Your own in this world, all that You are to them this hour in heaven, is here within the tabernacle, is here _for me_. Here then let me come to study You--patient, tender, obedient still, meek and humble of heart, Jesus, yesterday, to-day and for ever!

[84] John xvii.

XXVII.

OUR FATHER.

O clap your hands, all ye nations; shout unto God with the voice of joy.--_Psa._ xlvi. 1.

My God, what would have become of us had You shown Yourself to us as the All-just instead of the All-loving One You are? Had You been more mindful of Your Majesty than of our need? We know so little how to comport ourselves in Your presence, that it might have seemed more fitting You should remain in the recesses of Your Godhead, manifest Yourself but dimly and rarely, and restrict our worship of You to the most distant homage. It would have been but the manifestation of another attribute in place of that sweet mercy which has shaped the whole course, not of redemption’s plan only, but of the inner life of each one of us.

My God, it might have been so--and what then would have become of us? Where would praise have been, and trust, and loving return to Your arms after a fall? Blessed be Your name that You willed to show Yourself our Father, willed that with the younger race, Your human family, mercy should ever be in the ascendant.

“Blessed be You for ever, my God, my Mercy,”[85] for having shown Yourself to our weak sight in this softened light, the light that begets love--as One easily appeased, as One constraining trust, as One with arms widespread to Your timid children--the All-forgiving, All-tender, All-compassionate--_our Father Who art in heaven_.

[85] _Cf._ Psa. lviii.

XXVIII.

HEREAFTER.

Thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter.--_John_ xiii. 7.

I look forward into the eternal years and see myself at last in my rest on the bosom of God. All over! Life, and uncertainty, and death, and judgment, and purgatory. And with my head on the Heart of Him Who has loved me to the end, I look back. How clear everything is from this height, in this unclouded light and this untroubled peace! All mists swept away; all doubts dispelled; all questions set at rest; all cravings satisfied.

_Thou shalt know hereafter._ Why that persistent prayer remained unanswered; why evil prospered and good was overcome; why in spite of every effort those difficulties remained difficulties to the last--how plain it all is now! I see now the everlasting results of the thoughts, and words, and acts that sped so quickly by. I see the distinct work of each in shaping my eternity. I see the relation of grace to glory; why I enjoy the blessed vision of God thus far and no farther. Where I guided my steps by the light of faith, clung to God in the darkness, “joined myself to Him and endured”--what fruit of joy for eternity! Where there was cowardice, self-seeking, above all, mistrust of God--what loss that can never, never be repaired! Oh, why did I not realise that I was meant to live by faith during my little life down there, in order to enjoy the fruits of faith in this real life of eternity!

_Thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter._ But I _may_ know now if I pray for light and strength. I may know now the things that are for my peace. I may have now the spiritual insight, the _lumen cordium_ which the Holy Spirit gives to all who ask.

Lord Jesus, here really present, make me see now by the light of faith what I shall see almost directly in the light of eternity; when I look back on life, and grace, and sacraments, and opportunities, on worldly aims and worldly honours--from my place in heaven. By the tears You shed over Jerusalem that knew not the day of her visitation, grant that I, that all I love, that all men may know in this our day the things that are for our peace.

Dawn now--the hours of earth’s expectancy, From the grey heaven enough of light to guide The wary feet--no more; enough to trace Against the sky in outline faint and blurred Fair forms, their fairness shrouded for the nonce: In every line of grace and symmetry And tender hue to be revealed, when day This hazy scene shall flood with living light, Bathing all things in beauty. Now we know In part, the noontide comes and _we shall see_.

O restless heart! resenting mystery, Angry with night, that by Divine decree Divides with day the task of perfecting God’s world of souls--fret not against the gloom That, baffling, humbles thee. Why this reverse, This wrong defeating right, brave effort crowned By failure, good with itself at variance, Thou know’st not now; _now_ the strong trial of faith, The clinging, blind with tears, unto thy God In patient trust--_hereafter thou shalt see_.

XXIX.

MY VINEYARD.

Let us see if the vineyard flourish.--_Cant._ vii. 12.

The vivid lightnings of the East that reveal in all the brightness of day what lay hidden in darkness, have their parallel in the flood of light flashed at times upon the soul. Without warning, without apparent cause, it comes--a momentary brightness, but lasting in its effects. Imagination, mind, heart, all have been steeped in it; henceforth the truth it has lit up becomes a force to influence our life here and our eternity hereafter.

Has our responsibility to others been ever thrust upon us in one of these bursts of light? Have we realised, as it were for the first time, the influence which in God’s inscrutable designs we have over the destiny of others; the dread power which wittingly or unwittingly, for good or for evil, we are ever exercising over those around us; the account which will be demanded of such a trust?

O God, You have given “to every one of us commandment concerning our neighbour”.[86] What kind of influence has mine been thus far? At the sixth, the ninth, the eleventh hour it was said to me: “Go you into My vineyard”.[87] What has been the result of that call and of that mission? There has been a corner of that vineyard marked out for me to tend. Am I labouring in it with earnestness, with self-sacrifice, with the purity of intention that overcomes difficulties, and survives disappointment, and is undisturbed by failure, because it looks to You alone, works not for self but for Your glory? Or am I slumbering at my post? With what feelings do I hear You say to me: “Let us see if the vineyard flourish, if the flowers be ready to bring forth fruits”![88] Is it of me You say: “I passed by the field of the slothful man, and by the vineyard of the foolish man. And behold it was all filled with nettles, and thorns had covered the face thereof, and the stone-wall was broken down”?[89] Must I own in my shame, “My vineyard I have not kept”?[90]

O Lord of the vineyard, Whose love and trust are shown in this, that You have called me to labour for what is dearer to You than Your very life--how have I justified Your trust? Do not punish my slothfulness by making over to another’s more earnest toil what has been given into my care. But rather stand by and help me to work according to Your will, that nothing may perish or suffer loss through fault of mine. Help me to watch vigilantly the little plot committed to me; to cast out carefully all noxious weeds; to dig, to prune, to bind up and strengthen what is weak; “in solicitude not slothful, in spirit fervent serving the Lord”.[91] Then shall my vineyard flourish and bring forth fruit to Your glory in due season.

[86] Ecclus. xvii.

[87] Matt. xx.

[88] Cant. vii.

[89] Prov. xxiv.

[90] Cant. i.

[91] Rom. xii.

XXX.

WHERE WE ARE TRUE.

Thou sayest, I am rich, and made wealthy, and have need of nothing: and knowest not, that thou art wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked.--_Apoc._ iii. 17.

It seems to me, dear Lord, that You can hardly reproach me with this. I know but too well how deficient I am in humility; how I fire up at even a hint implying blame, suspicion, mistrust; how reluctantly I own to those about me that I am in the wrong.

But alone with You, my inward witness, it is otherwise. There is no difficulty, no reluctance here. Once in the Presence Chamber, the curtain dropped behind me, the gaze of creatures turned aside, I am myself, _and true_, without disguise, feint, tricking out of any sort. I do not trim my speech, or tone down my “Peccavi,” “to make excuses in sins”.[92] I conceal neither my failings nor my needs. With the privilege of the creature in presence of the Creator, I lie on my face before You just as I am, for Your eye to see, Your ear to hearken to, Your Heart to pity and to bless.

How could there be pretence with You or affectation? I know and feel that “Thy eyes are upon me,”[93] “beholding the good and the evil”;[94] that “God Who seeth all”[95] “is the weigher of spirits”.[96] Before that all-seeing Eye self-delusion, conceit, untruthfulness in every shape must melt away.

I cannot indeed know my nothingness and sinfulness as they are known to You. I do not fathom one of the thousand motives I have for self-abasement in Your sight. But I think my self-knowledge as far as it goes is true. I am ready to see with You that I am wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked. I know and feel with the most intimate conviction that in my soul are the seeds of every evil passion; that they will choke the good seed and ruin me unless Your power represses them; that unless Your Almighty hand checks the weight of temptation, my enemy must prevail over me; that it is owing to Your goodness I have not been tempted as others; that of myself I am nothing but weakness and misery and sin.

How it comes to pass that my self-knowledge does not bear better fruit; that when occasion requires I am not more ready to own to what I am thus conscious of, am not more indulgent and compassionate in my judgment of others--I know not. But I thank You for what You have given; and ask earnestly for more and stronger light to bring about conformity between my interior conviction and my exterior words and actions.

Veni, Pater pauperum, Veni, Dator munerum, Veni, Lumen cordium.

[92] Psa. cxl.

[93] Job vii.

[94] Prov. xv.

[95] Ecclus. vii.

[96] Prov. xvi.

XXXI.

IN SILENCE AND IN HOPE.

--_Isa._ xxx. 15.

She came with her crushing memories, She came with her secret fears, She brought Him her hidden misery And her bitter burning tears.

And all alone at that cheerless board Prepared Him her own sweet feast, Offering her heart with her spikenard And the kiss that “never ceased”.

She marvelled when He upbraided The cruel thoughts of men, And tears fell fast as He lauded her-- Her, Mary Magdalen.

As she marked how His Heart no token Of her contrite love had missed, The love that had given of its best, Anointed, and washed, and kissed;

And tendered a heart with penitence Filled to the very brim, And braved the scorn of a carping crowd To stake its all on Him.

Absorbed in her loving ministries She knelt at His Feet apart, The scandal of every eye save one That soundeth the secret heart.

She knew that her unforgiven past Lay open to His ken, Yet no word of supplication Spake Mary Magdalen.

Love taught a sublimer pleading, Elected a better part-- Calm trust in Him Who spurneth not The humble contrite heart.

From out the fulness of His own Came plenary release: “Her many sins are pardoned her: Arise and go in peace”.

O Christ, Who that poor sinner’s love So gloriously hast crowned, That through all time her name with Thine Shall through the world resound;

Who waitest here the penitent, All-pitying now as then, Give me the brave, unfaltering trust Of Thy dear Magdalen.

XXXII.

GOD’S WORK.

To the Lord was His own work known from the beginning of the world.--_Acts_ xv. 18.

Were Your work known to us, my God, as it is to You, how well ordered our minds and hearts, our views, affections, lives would be! How all things would fall into their proper places--events public and private, every detail of Your Providence affecting ourselves and others! Our desires especially, how tranquil, how subordinated they would be! Or, rather, would there be any desire save for the furtherance of Your work by the fulfilment of Your will?

But may not this be our disposition now by means of faith? May we not see in all that happens the action or the permission of God, to Whom His own work is known?

A child in the midst of a crowd is conscious of nothing but its immediate surroundings. Crushed and stifled, it can see and feel only the objects actually touching it. But let the father take it up in his arms and hold it aloft--what a difference the elevation will make!

I am in a crowd; in the dark, with the narrowest views and interests; knowing but dimly for what we are come together; finding no meaning often in what is stirring around me. But should God deign to raise me to His point of view, what a change would come over me! How differently I should look on all things! In all that happens I should see the good pleasure or the permission of His Providence: “reaching from end to end mightily, and ordering all things sweetly”.[97] This would not dull my susceptibilities, nor cramp my desires. Far from it! With the widened prospect interests would multiply on every side. But all things would be seen in their true light. In all I should recognise the Divine will unfolding itself in the course of events, and guiding all things, undeterred by the action of man’s free will, to its own predetermined ends. In a deadly contest involving my country’s honour and welfare, my patriotism would run high. But too violent regrets at the reverses of our arms, too vehement anxiety as to the issue, would be held in check by my ignorance of God’s designs. Once known by the issue, His will would be accepted loyally, simply because it was His will. “Thanks be to God, Who hath given us the victory.”[98] Or--in spite of human feeling and repugnance--“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord”.[99]

So in family trials, the hidden sorrows of the heart, the vicissitudes of the spiritual life--there would be the habit of looking up into my Father’s Face to see His meaning in it all; and where I could not see, learning to bow my head and kiss His hand. “Yea, Father; for so hath it seemed good in Thy sight.”[100]

Does the Creator ask too much of His little creature when He bids it submit itself thus to Him? Or is it not rather a marvellous condescension on His part to invite the fusion of our will with the Divine, thus associating us with Himself in the work known to Him from the beginning?

* * * * *

What You want, my God, You shall have, and as cheerfully as I can give it. To give without cost or pain is not always in my power. You do not ask this: nay, You accept the cost and pain as proving greater love. You value above all things the faith that gives in the dark, not seeing Your open hand, nor the smile which would be its instant reward; not understanding as yet the joy our fidelity is to Him Who deigns to realise His eternal designs through the instrumentality of our free will.

O God, let not mine be wanting! Take all I have, take it at any cost. I make You welcome to all. My reward shall be to kneel at Your feet one day, and follow Your finger, showing how, here in brightness, here in shade, Your work was entrusted to me, and--my God, what joy! I have not disappointed You.

[97] Wisd. viii.

[98] 1 Cor. xv.

[99] Job i.

[100] Matt. xi.

XXXIII.

A STRONG CRY.

They rebuked him, that he should hold his peace. But he cried out much more: “Son of David, have mercy on me”.--_Luke_ xviii. 39.

There are moments when we fling ourselves before the Tabernacle with a desire too vehement for words. These translate our thoughts and needs up to a certain point. Beyond that, we must betake ourselves to the cry of the heart.

What a relief to know that that cry passes instantly into the presence of Him Who made us, and is welcomed there. Nay, it has not even a presence-chamber to seek, for “He is not far from any one of us”.[101] “His ear lies ever on our lips.” And this is yet too far. As the sponge in mid-ocean so are we borne up, environed, penetrated, saturated with Him. “In Him we live and move and have our being.”[102] This is He to Whom we cry. Nor need we even cry. For “all things are naked and open to the eyes of Him to Whom our speech is”.[103] Our God is nigh unto us; He is within us; more present to us than we are to ourselves. He knows the need that casts us on our face before Him. He saw our trouble before it took shape in our soul. He knows each thrill of pain, and the agony of helplessness, and the fear that holds us as in a vice. All this He knows. And He is not displeased with the passionate earnestness of our cry for help. Job was blameless before God when his misery forced from him bold words of expostulation. Jacob was blessed for being strong against God. Our Almighty Father loves to be overcome by His children. He is willing to have His gifts wrested from Him by the intensity of prayer. Nor will He have such prayer to be disconcerted or turned aside by the evidence of its untimeliness. No, not even when He ignores or denies it. He loves the trust that catches up the rebuff and flings it back, a passionate plea for mercy:--

“It is not good to take the children’s bread and to cast it to the dogs.”[104]

“Yea, Lord; for the whelps also eat of the crumbs that fall from the table of their masters.”

Oh, that I had this strength of purpose, this trust that sweeps all before it! Here on the altar I have my model in prayer--Him “Who in the days of His flesh with a strong cry offered up prayers and supplications[105]: Abba, Father, all things are possible to Thee, remove this chalice from me, but not what I will, but what Thou wilt.”[106] “And being in an agony, He prayed the longer.”[107] “And He prayed the third time, saying the self same word.”[108]

* * * * *

Our prayer can never be too urgent, too persistent, if only we kneel by Your side and follow Your lead, O Lord. We may return again and again upon the same plea: _Abba, Pater, omnia Tibi possibilia sunt._ All things, all things are possible to Thee; take this chalice from me. Yet--for Thou knowest best, and I am shortsighted and self-seeking, and know not the things that are for my peace--_not my will, but Thine be done_. Let that will be done which in a little while, when I look down upon this trial from the unclouded brightness of my place in heaven, I shall joyfully own to have been for the best, better a thousand times than anything I could have devised. “Father, if Thou wilt, remove this chalice from me. But if this chalice may not pass away, but I must drink it, Thy will be done.”

[101] Acts xvii.

[102] Acts xvii.

[103] Heb. iv.

[104] Mark vii.

[105] Heb. v.

[106] Mark xiv.

[107] Luke xxii.

[108] Matt. xxvi.

XXXIV.

“BE READY!”

(_A visit for the First Friday of the month._)

“_Be ready!_” Your word of warning, Lord, and my one desire. And so I come to You to get ready.