THE genius of the gospel is the “free Spirit” of the Lord. The Lord Jesus has not multiplied precepts and ordinances as to his worship, as though we were still under the law; he has preferred to leave his people to the motions of the Holy Ghost within them. It does not appear to us that there is any positive command as to the time for the observance of the Lord’sSupper, so that believers are bound to attend the table once in eachmonth, or upon every Lord’s-day. Yet, if we regard apostolic prece-dent, it seems clear that the sacred feast was observed often, and thatit was usual to meet to break bread on the first day of the week.We prefer, therefore, without judging our brethren, to keep to theapostolic practice. Law or no law, what was found good for early saintswill, we feel sure, be good for us. Away upon the Continent, we use on the Sabbath morning suchmeans of grace as we can find: sometimes these are admirable, fre-quently they are all but intolerable. Be these as they may, our wont isto meet with three or four, or twelve, or twenty, as the case may be,and to remember our Lord’s death, showing it forth in his own pre-scribed manner. There is no need to prepare a sermon, the bread andwine are text and discourse all ready to hand. Simple prayer, andsuitable song, with the reading of the word, make up a complete ser-vice, requiring no laborious study, always preserving its freshness, andevermore bringing before the mind the most weighty of all themes. Our audience in our sitting-room at the hotel has varied from twelve to twenty, but there has been no variation in the faithfulness of our Lord to his promise to be with his waiting people. The seasons have been exceedingly sweet and profitable, and we have praised the great Father’s care who has spread for us such a table in the wilderness. After the
breaking of bread we have usually had a meditation, and we have been glad to take our turn as spokesman with a brother minister, whose sojourn in the same hotel has been the means of much comfort to us. As several of the
guests at the table were invalids, as in fact the sojourn of each one at Mentone had in almost every case a connection with personal or relative affliction, the meditations were usually of a consolatory character, and touched upon the special trial of sickness. It was thought well to preserve a brief memorial of one of these choice seasons, and a ready scribe was found who made notes of the good word which was spoken on January 18th, 1880, by our brother Mr. G. Buchanan Ryley, pastor of the church meeting in Hanover Chapel, Peckham, which church was once presided over by the well-known Dr. Collyer. Supper being ended, Mr. Ryley selected for his text John 11:15 — “I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe.” He said from the latter part of the chapter we gather that four days elapsed between the actual death of Lazarus and the time when the Lord stood by his burial-place, and that afternoon the preacher’s desire would be to explain the reason why Jesus permitted his dear friend to die. There was evidently a deliberate intent on the part of Christ to let Lazarus die; his words could have no other
meaning than that he kept away from Bethany in order that Lazarus might pass for awhile into the unseen world. This gives to the faithful heart a strong standing ground in any time of trouble and care: the trouble, the care, the sickness, or the death that might almost break our hearts becomes in a measure illuminated when once we can re-cognise that it is of the Lord’s allowing, the Lord’s willing, and even at times of the Lord’s doing.
This abstention of Jesus from going to Lazarus is built on some such truth as this — that the presence of Jesus with his friends somehow or other wards off death. We do not affirm that no one could die in the presence of Christ, though it is clearly stated in the gospels that, whenever he came in contact with death, death ceased to be; and even when he himself was on the cross the two malefactors did not die so long as there hung between them the breathing Son of God. Spiritually the Lord’s presence has already robbed death of its old meaning, and practically destroyed it. He that believeth in him shall never die. But some one may say “Do you not
profess that the Lord Jesus is with his people at all times and in everything?
Did he not himself say, ‘ Lo, I am with you to the end of the ages? ‘ Why, then, these troubles and cares, these pains and agonies. these losses and crosses? What is the difference between the believer and the worldling?” In answering these questions by the expressions found in the text the preacher laid down two propositions — first, that faith in Jesus is a greater good than sorrow and death are evils; and, second, that sometimes faith in Jesus is wrought out by the sufferings and sorrows of Christ’s people. Lazarus is
dead; that is sad and weary for Mary and Martha, and Jesus himself when he stood by the grave “groaned in spirit,” and “wept.” Yet he says, “I am glad that I was not there.” Sad as the death was, the disciples’ faith was of more importance, and for their sakes the Lord permitted the sorrow to come. The Savior’s rejoicing did not arise from any lack of sensitiveness to sorrow and trouble; never did any one feel for men and women in grief and pain as he did; but he knew that spiritual life is a far greater good than bodily suffering and death are evils, and therefore he was glad that he was not at Bethany to save Lazarus from dying, for that death was to infuse new life into the faith of his followers. Better that Lazarus should die, better that Mary and Martha should know a little of the heart-break than that eleven apostles should lack one degree of intense faith in him who is the resurrection and the life. Better, too, that the people of God should suffer than that the world should miss the opportunity of our thereby witnessing to the power of divine grace in the hour of trouble. Better, too, that the Lord Jesus himself should suffer the infinite agonies of Calvary than that his people should lose the blessings of redemption, and be outcasts for ever. This truth sheds a wondrous light upon Christian suffering, and shows how we may even have fellowship with Christ in his sufferings. Does not Paul speak of filling up that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ in his flesh for his body’s sake, which is the church?
Christ’s sufferings are in a class by themselves when we consider the vicarious character of them, but our afflictions are lifted up to something of the level of those of Jesus when they are made the means of blessing to others, even as the Father made his Son’s sufferings the means of blessing, strengthening, vivifying, and faith-reviving to his covenanted people. The Lord Jesus Christ rejoices even in our suffering when it promotes faith in himself. He not only wanted his disciples to be perfected in faith, but he was glad when by another’s sufferings their faith was strengthened and raised to a higher level. When suffering is thus received as the chosen means for the sanctification of souls, it is no longer a cause of grief, it is no more to be looked on as a misfortune, but is rather to be welcomed as God’s chosen way of working for the edification of his church, the promotion of his kingdom, and the glorifying of his Son. What is the explanation of those wonderful words of Isaiah, “It pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief”? It is not that the Father had delight in the sufferings of his Son in themselves, but it pleased him to put him to grief that thereby his prodigal ones might be brought home. In like manner the same Lord who rejoiced that he was not there wept as he stood by the
grave-side. It is that blessed union of the divine and human that makes us fall on our knees and adore him, and at the same time makes us take him to our heart of hearts as the brother born for adversity. Notice, said the preacher, that the Savior’s joy is more on our account than on his own. He was glad for his own sake, yet he was unselfish in his very joys, just as he was in his sorrows. He said to the daughters of Jerusalem, “Weep not for me “; so here he rejoices, not for his own sake, but for the sake of his disciples. He knew, as we have never known, what the value of faith in him as the resurrection and the life really is; and therefore he rejoiced that he was absent when Lazarus was sick, because the end of that sickness and death was the strengthening of the faith of his disciples, and so for the advancement of the glory of God. This gladness of Jesus is a grand plea with Christians. What higher, better, sweeter, intenser motive can we urge than that of pleasing Jesus, gladdening his heart, and giving him joy? And this, over which he rejoices, has been made to run side by side with our spirit’s perfecting. He rejoices over the faith that makes us meet for the inheritance of the saints in light. This will give a new meaning to our being by-and-by welcomed into the joy of our Lord. If we accept suffering as the Father’s way of liking us into closer union with himself, and as the Savior’s appointed means of making us adorn his doctrine, and glorify himself, we shall not only minister comfort to our own hearts, and to those dear to us, but we shall gladden the heart of Jesus. In pleading with sinners nothing is more mighty than such an argument as this, — believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and you will gladden him whose heart we broke on Calvary; you can compensate him for his sufferings; you can make him glad that ever he died. To such work are we called. May God help us to respond. Amen.
Our engraving represents Mentone a few years back. Since it was drawn a breakwater has been carried out and a harbour has been formed, so that vessels lie in the corner near the old tower. The old town, however, with the Corniche road running along below it, remains the same as ever, and the rocks, which look like gigantic frogs or crocodiles, are as they were in those days when Mentone was a mere village. The wood-block gives a very fair idea of our winter’s shelter. John angell james and the hundred and third psalm THE value and beauty of family worship in the time of bereavement are illustrated by an incident in the life of the Rev. J. A.
James, which has almost a touch of the sublime. It was his custom to read at family prayer on Saturday evening the hundred and third psalm. On the Saturday of the week in which Mrs. James died, he hesitated, with the open Bible in his hand, before he began to read; but, after a moment’s silence, he
looked up and said, “Notwithstanding what has happened this week, I see no reason for departing from our usual custom of reading the hundred and third psalm, — ‘ Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name.’“ What must be the effect upon a household of such a scene! What a picture is thus presented of holy resignation and
thankfulness! The greatest sufferer recognising, as the head of the family, the hand that has smitten his home and made it desolate, and in the depth of his sorrow blessing the name of the Lord! — From “Christian Home Life.” your soul.” That remark haunted the man, and he longed for Sunday to come, so that he might attend the service, and hear something about the needs of his soul, and the provision made for their satisfaction. He went, and after the sermon went into the vestry for further advice. “Oh, I was expecting you,” said the pastor. “How did you know me? who told you anything about meg” asked the enquirer. “I don’t know your name, but I knew you would come,” was the reply. “I’ve been watching you in the congregation, and will venture to say you have never been a member of a Christian church.” How could any one know all this about a stranger? It was explained by a reference to the sympathy which exists between preacher and hearers. The convert had his hymn-book in his hand, turned down at “Just as I am,” etc, the first hymn he had ever tried to sing. This man is also going to join the church. These are representative cases which we need not multiply. They one and all prove that no mission agency is so effective as a working church. It has been proved by Mr. Cuff, just as it has been proved for nearly twenty years by Mr. W. J. Orsman, in Golden Lane.
We must not close without a passing reference to the neat little mission station which Mr. Cuff and his friends have just fitted up in Brick Lane.
There are two spacious rooms, one above the other, and while the lower will be available for regular Sabbath and other services, the upper will serve as a coffee and reading-room, where artisans will be able to pass their leisure hours free from the dangerous allurements of the public-house. The field is wide, and a great harvest is being gathered into the garner of the church. be a whole man at everything JOHN JOSEPH GURNEY wrote to his son, “Be a whole man at everything. At Latin, be a whole man to Latin; at geometry or history, be a whole man to geometry or history; at play, be a whole man to play; at washing and dressing, be a whole man to washing and dressing; above all, at meeting, be a whole man to worship.” We would earnestly enforce the good Quaker’s advice. Whatever is worth doing is worth doing well. God deserves to be served with our very best.
When we put forth all our powers we shall do none too well; therefore,
whatsoever we do let us do it heartily. Be a whole man in praying,
preaching, teaching, giving, hearing, or praising. It is a silly thing to make two bites of a cherry, and our whole manhood is really so small a thing in the service of God that to divide it is absurd. On Being in Time.
PUNCTUALITY is one of the minor moralities, but it is one which every young man should carefully cultivate. The very smallness of the virtue makes its opposite vice the less excusable. It is as easy to be in time as it is to be five minutes late when you once acquire the habit. Let it be acquired by all means, and never lost again. Upon that five minutes will depend a world of comfort to others, and every Christian should consider this to be a very weighty argument. We have no right to cause worry and aggravation to others, when a little thoughtfulness on our part would prevent it. If the engagement be for twelve o’clock, we have no authority to make it 12.5, and by doing so we shall promote nobody’s happiness. That odd five minutes may create discomfort for ourselves throughout the entire day, and this perhaps may touch the sluggard a little more keenly than any less selfish consideration. He who begins a little late in the morning will have to drive fast, will be constantly in a fever, and will scarcely overtake his business at night; whereas he who rises in proper time can enjoy the luxury of pursuing his calling with regularity, ending his work in fit season, and gaining a little portion of leisure. Late in the morning may mean puffing and blowing all the day long, whereas an early hour will make the pace an easy one. This is worth a man’s considering. Much evil comes of hurry, and hurry is the child of un-punctuality. The waste of other people’s time ought to touch the late man’s conscience. A gentleman, who was a member of a committee, rushed in fifteen minutes behind the appointed hour, and scarcely apologized, for to him the time seemed near enough; but a Quaker, who happened also to be on the committee, and had been compelled to wait, because a quorum could not be made up to proceed with the business, remarked to him, “Friend, thou hast wasted a fall hour.
It is not only thy quarter of an hour which thou hast lost, but the quarter of an hour of each of the other three; and hours are not so plentiful that we can afford to throw them away.” We once knew a brother whom we named “the late Mr.”because he never came in time. A certain tart gentleman, who had been irritated by this brother’s unpunctu-ality, said that the sooner that name was literally true the better for the temper of those who had to wait for him. Many a man would much rather be fined than be kept waiting. If a man must injure me, let him rather plunder me of my cash than of my time. To keep a busy man waiting is an act of impudent
robbery, and is also a constructive insult. It may not be so intended, but certainly if a man has proper respect for his friend, he will know the value of his time, and will not cause him to waste it. There is a cool contempt in unpunctu-ality, for it as good as says, “Let the fellow wait; who is he that I should keep my appointment with him?” In this world matters are so linked together that you cannot disarrange one without throwing others out of gear; if one business is put out of time, another is delayed by the same means. The other day we were travelling to the Riviera, and the train after leaving Paris was detained for an hoar and a half. This was bad enough, but theresult was worse, for when we reached Marseilles the connecting train had gone, and we were not only detained for a considerable time, but were forced to proceed by a slow train, and so reached our destination six hours later than we ought to have done. All the subsequent delay was caused through the first stoppage. A merchant once said to us, “A. B. is a good fellow in many respects, but he is so frightfully slow that we cannot retain him in our office, because, as all the clerks work into each other’s hands, his delays are multiplied enormously, and cause intolerable inconvenience.
He is a hindrance to the whole system, and he had better go where he can work alone.” The worst of it is that we cannot send unpunctual people where they can work alone. To whom or whither should they go? We cannot rig out a hermitage for each one, or that would be a great deliverance. If they prepared their own dinners, it would not matter that they dropped in after every dish had become cold. If they preached
sermons to themselves, and had no other audience, it would not signify that they began consistently seven minutes behind the published hour. If they were their own scholars, and taught themselves, it would be of no
consequence if the pupil sat waiting for his teacher for twenty minutes. As it is, we in this world cannot get away from the unpunctual, nor get them away from us, and therefore we are obliged to put up with them; but we should like them to know that they are a gross nuisance, and a frequent cause of sin, through irritating the tempers of those who cannot afford to squander time as they do. If this should meet the eye of any gentleman who has almost forgotten the meaning of the word “punctuality,” we earnestly advise him to try and be henceforth five minutes too soon for every
appointment, and then perhaps he will gradually subside into the little great virtue which we here recommend. Could not some good genius get up a Punctuality Association, every member to wear a chronometer, set to Greenwich time, and to keep appointments by the minute hand? Pledges should be issued, to be signed by all sluggish persons who can summon up