The Hottest Part of Life's Furnace

 "Jesus suffered without the gate. Let us go forth therefore unto Him without the camp, bearing His reproach." Hebrews 13: 12, 13.

       There are two kinds of sorrow in this world. There is a sorrow which is incurred in the path of duty - a sorrow within the gate, within the camp. It consists in a soldier's fatigues, in a soldier's wounds. But there is a sorrow which seems to debar from the path of duty - which comes to us outside the gate, outside the camp. It consists in a soldier being stricken by sickness ere the campaign opens, held back from the service of his country. When this latter happens to any of us we are very perplexed in mind; we seem to have been thwarted by heaven. We feel as if our fellow-men were reproaching us for being cast upon their hands, blaming us for being a burden to the world. The sorrow in the path of duty could be tolerated; but it is hard to bear that sense of reproach which comes from the sorrow outside the camp.
       My afflicted brother, the writer of this passage has a great comfort for you. He says that Christ's case was one like yours. He bids you in such moments of depression to come into the Garden of Gethsemane. There you will see a sufferer whose sorrow was outside the camp. He bore no visible wound, no mark of shot or shell. He carried no scar that told of battle won. It seemed to those around Him that He had never joined the battle. He bore the reproach of being a burden on the world, of doing nothing to win the kingdom for humanity, of leading a life useless to man. Yet, my brother, no service was ever like the service of that sick-bed. In His seeming uselessness He was doing gigantic work, herculean work, world work. When I want to measure His work I go to the Garden - the place of seeming uselessness. I do not go to His crowded moments - to the multitude that thronged His breaking of bread, to the concourse that swelled His audience on the Hill. No; I go down to His lonely hour - I and the world together. I and the world magnify that moment when men said He was laid aside, shunted, left behind. We find it the brightest day of all His golden year. We crown Him with the flowers of His Gethsemane; we load Him with the wreaths of His Calvary; we keep as His natal day the night on which He was betrayed. Ye who are suffering outside the camp, rest with Him in the Garden awhile.

A Groundless Fear Of God

 "Edom refused to give Israel passage through his border." Numbers 20:21.

       The world has all along been refusing to let Christ through. It has never had room for Him within the inn; it has relegated Him to the manger. It wants Him to be kept apart. It is willing to visit Him occasionally in the manger - even, at times, to bring a little gold and frankincense. But it does not wish Him to become a force in its own affairs. Why so; what is it afraid of? The same thing which Edom feared. Edom was afraid that the hordes of Israel would tear up her cultivated fields and destroy her national produce. The world fears that Christ will tear up human instincts and make men unnatural. The world is wrong; we are never so natural as when we are Christians. What kills naturalness is self-consciousness; it makes us either too confident or too shy. When I am too confident I am thinking about myself; when I am too shy I am equally thinking about myself. In both cases the mirror of myself is the prominent thing. What will break the mirror? A larger environment. Why are traveled people so nice? It is because they are so natural. And why are they so natural? It is because their eyes have rested on a wider sphere. They have forgot their own greatness; they have forgot their own humility; they have forgot to think about themselves at all - they have smashed their mirror.
       So shall it be with thee, my soul, if thou wilt let Christ in. Thou shalt become for the first time perfectly natural. Thou shalt be a traveled man - the most traveled of all men. Before thee shall stretch the general assembly of the firstborn - the biggest scene in the universe. The things around thee shall lose their importance either as a cross or as a crown. Thou shalt forget to be proud, thou shalt forget to be humble. There shall come to thee a larger love, which shall destroy both vaunting and shrinking. Perfect health neither says '' I am sick "nor" I am well; " it is unconsciousness of its own breathing. So shall it be with thee when Christ shall enter in. Thou shalt become spontaneous, natural, free. Thine shall be the singing of the brook, the warbling of the bird, the kindling of the flower. There shall be no pausing for effect, no posing for attitudes, no angling for favor, no trying to seem. No more shalt thou study the right thing to say; it shall be given thee in the moment - love's moment. Thy goodness shall be grace - something native to thy life. Thy kindness shall be instinctive - born in thy blood. Thy sacrifice shall be unconscious - part of thy being. Thy service shall be easy - an expression of thine own heart. It is sin that has made thee unnatural; thou shalt be a child of nature again when thou hast let Christ in.

Satan's Choice of A Locality

"Tempted of Satan in the wilderness." Mark 1:13.

       We are apt to think that Satan is most powerful in crowded thoroughfares. It is a mistake. I believe the temptations of life are always most dangerous in the wilderness. I have been struck with that fact in Bible history. It is not in their most public moments that the great men of the past have fallen; it has been in their quiet hours. Moses never stumbled when he stood before Pharaoh, or while he was flying from Pharaoh; it was when he got into the desert that his patience began to fail. David never stumbled while he was fighting his way through opposing armies; it was when the fight was over, when he was resting quietly under his own vine, that he put forth his hand to steal. The sorest temptations are not those spoken, but those echoed. It is easier to lay aside your besetting sin amid a cloud of witnesses than in the solitude of your own room. The sin that besets you is never so beseeching as when you are alone. You may say kind things in public to the man you hate; but you make up for it in the wilderness. It is our thoughts that hurt us; and we think most in solitude. Many a man who resists the temptation to drunkenness at the dinner-table is conquered at the secret hour. Paul says that the Christian armor is most needed after we have vanquished the outward foe, "that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and, having done all, to stand."

       O Thou, who alone hast control over my thoughts, help me in the wilderness. Others can help me in the market-place. Others can advise me at the festive hour. Others can restrain me at the meeting of the multitude. But Thou alone canst help my wilderness. And it is there that I need Thy keeping, O Lord. I speak often of retiring from the vanities of life; yet it is in retirement that the vanities of life most come to me. My vain world is in my soul; the artist that paints it is my own heart. It is not when I go to the marriage feast of Cana that I have most need of Thee; it is when I hear the music and the dancing, and, through envy of my brother, refuse to go in. This is my moment of worldliness because this is my desert moment - my separation from human sympathy. Meet me in my desert, O Christ, for it is my world of vanity. Meet me in my hour of separation from human interests. Meet me when I have lost the voices of the crowd. Meet me when I walk in the wilderness and strive to forget the cities of men. Meet me when I despair of the outer world, when I malign its streets and gates, when I despise its courts and palaces. The contact with my brother man will break the worldliness of the wilderness; dispel that wilderness, O Lord. Matheson.

God's Place For Adversity

 "What profit is it that we have walked mournfully before the Lord of hosts?" Malachi 3:14.

      There is no profit in walking mournfully. All the profit a man ever gets is from his joy. The advantage of the fires of sorrow does not lie in the things which they consume, but in the things which they cannot consume. The sweetest of all the uses of adversity is to show me the joy which it cannot take away. There is a substance which fire will not destroy; it is like the bush Moses saw in the wilderness. I could never have its quality proved except Thy fire. Yet the blessing is not the fire, but the unconsumedness. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego passed through the furnace and got no hurt. What was to them the benefit of the furnace? Precisely the limit of its power - what it could not do. Doubtless in things not vital there was damage done. The men were cast in bound and they came out loose; there was destruction to the environment. But it was not this that made the furnace beneficial. It was the untouched thing, the unsinged thing, the unharmed thing. The glory of the furnace was its failure. The glory of all sorrow, where it has glory, is its failure. I could not praise the setting of the sun if it did not bring out the beauty of the evening star.

       My soul, why deemest thou that thy grief is pleasing to thy Father! There is nothing pleasing to thy Father but thy joy. What He searches for in thy heart is not the pain, but the pearl. He longs to see the tenacity of thy joy - its inability to be extinguished. Why was Jesus His well-beloved? Because He was the man of sorrows? Nay; but because all His sorrows could not quench His joy. Hast thou not read that under the shadow of the cross He cried ''my peace I give unto you"? That peace, not the pain, was the Father's pearl. It was not the cloud of Jesus, but the bow in His cloud, that made His Father glad. So it is with thee, O my soul. Why does thy Father send thee the cloud? To test the immortality of thy joy, to prove whether the bow can abide in the flood, to see if the dove can live on the waters. Why bring Him the willow when He craves for the rose? Why send Him the cypress when He seeks for the laurel? Why offer Him the dirge when He asks for the song? He shades thy sun, not to see thy night, but to see thy candle - thy innermost source of joy. He appreciates thy bearing of grief because it is joy alone can bear. Thy fires to Him never become cleansing till He sees the gleam and glitter of the golden chain.

Spiritual Preservation

 " Who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time," 1 Peter 1:5.

       I understand St. Peter to mean "we are kept from going wrong by the power of looking forward - by faith in the nearness of a coming revelation." Nothing hinders the sustaining of goodness like monotony - the want of a prospect. It is easier to be good at the beginning than in the middle. Why? Not because the middle has more dangers, but because it has less freshness, '' while the bridegroom tarried they all slumbered and slept." Peter himself is the finest example of this. He was always courting danger. Why? Because he felt that a monotonous life would lead him into temptation. A monotonous life does not mean a want of something to do, but a want of something to think of. I do not agree with Dr. Watts' lines: - " Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do."

       It is not the idle hands, but the idle minds, that are in danger. I should say the dreams of youth are times of idle hands; but I should not regard them as special seasons of temptation. The mind is then full. There is a vision of glory everywhere. Faith is singing in every meadow; hope is budding in every flower; love is shouting over the withered autumn leaves ''O death, where is thy sting; O grave, where is thy victory!"

       Let me dream again, O Christ; revive for me the vision of the morning. It may have been a time of idle hands; but it was Elijah's chariot to me - it held me aloft, it kept me pure. Canst Thou give me back my vanished youth? Yes; what is Thy Life Eternal but vanished youth restored! The thing which kept me pure in the morning was always the vision of the evening - the golden sky that should come with ripest years. Renew that vision, O Christ. Why should my nature droop because I recede from the morning? Was not my glory always in the west; did not I ever say ''at evening time there shall be light"? It was always to "the last time" that I looked for my revelation of glory. Let me look again. It was always the west that made the east so charming; my morning was lighted by the evening star. Light me still by that star, O Lord. Lift me out of the mid-day by the vision of the climax. Give me something to look forward to. Break the monotony of the stream. Renew the rainbow in the waters. Draw aside the curtains of the golden west, and let faith look through. My feet shall be kept from the mire when I see the good time coming.

The Revelation That Rewarded

 "And the Lord appeared unto Isaac the same night." Genesis 26: 24.

       "Appeared the same night " - the night on which he went up to Beersheba. Do you think this revelation was an accident? Do you think the time of it was an accident? Do you think it could have happened on any other night as well as this? If so, you are grievously mistaken. Why did it come to Isaac in the night on which he reached Beersheba? Because that was the night on which he reached rest. In his old locality he had been tormented. There had been a whole series of petty quarrels about the possession of paltry wells. There are no worries like little worries, particularly if there is an accumulation of them. Isaac felt this. Even after the strife was past, the place retained a disagreeable association. He determined to leave. He sought change of scene - a spot where there would be nothing to remind him of the old troubles. He pitched his tent away from the place of former strife. That very night the revelation came. God spoke when there was no inward storm. He could not speak when the mind was fretted; His voice demands the silence of the soul. Only in the hush of the spirit could Isaac hear the garments of his God sweep by. His still night was his starry night.

       My soul, hast thou pondered these words, ''Be still, and know"! In the hour of perturbation thou canst not hear the answer to thy prayers. How often has the answer seemed to come long after! The heart got no response in the moment of its crying - in its thunder, its earthquake, and its fire. But when the crying ceased, when the stillness fell, when thy hand desisted from knocking on the iron gate, when the interest of other lives broke the tragedy of thine own, then appeared the long delayed reply. Why so long delayed? Because it is only in the cool of the day that the voice of the Lord God is heard walking in the garden. Would'st thou hear that voice, O my soul? Get thee up to Beersheba - up to the land of rest. Did not thy Lord before distributing the loaves "command the multitude to sit down''! Thou too must sit down ere thou canst be fed. Thou must rest if thou wouldst have thy heart's desire. It comes not to the heart on the wing. Cease thy migrations. Pause in thy flight. Arrest thy wanderings. Still the beating of thy pulse of personal care. Hide thy tempest of individual trouble behind the altar of a common tribulation. And, that same night, the Lord shall appear to thee. Heaven shall open to the dove-like spirit. The rainbow shall span the place of the subsiding flood; and in thy stillness thou shalt hear the everlasting music.

The Revelation That Retarded

 "And the Lord appeared unto Isaac and said, Go not down into Egypt." Genesis 26:2.

       We are in the habit of thinking that every revelation of God must expand our vision. It is a mistake. God sometimes reveals Himself by contracting our view. It was so here. He appeared to Isaac in the form of a stone wall. Isaac wanted to branch out - to go into Egypt. Going to Egypt was like going to Paris; it was a seeing of the world. God said "stay where you are; I will not let you go." It was not the sort of thing a young man would expect from a Divine apparition. If he were told God was about to appear to him, he would say in his heart, "I shall now be directed to a wider field of enterprise." What would be his astonishment if the revelation said, ''Go back to your primitive field, your childhood's field!" That is just what happened to Isaac. He had planned the making of his fortune. He was on the road to the land of his dreams - the land of Egypt; doubtless he said to himself, ''Providence leads me." Suddenly Providence appeared and shut the door. God said, ''Keep where you are - in this humble sphere where there are no trappings of wealth, no flights of promotion, no rapid openings into glory; I have decreed for you a village life."
       My brother, never let the obscurity of thy lot tempt thee to say "my way is hid from the Lord." I have heard thee lamenting the gates that were closed to thee. Hast thou lost an appointment? Our disappointments are often God's appointments. Art thou stretched upon a bed of pain while the world sweeps by to take your place, to gather your prizes? So was it with Jacob on the night of Bethel long ago. Doubtless he fretted and fumed, and arraigned the Eternal Justice; doubtless he cursed the pillow that robbed him of his chance in the race. Poor, short-sighted soul! that invalid couch was the birth of thy glory. The night that shut thee in secured thine immortality. The weariness that prostrated thee lifted thee into fame. The sleep that overwhelmed thee redeemed thee from oblivion. Thy silent hour was thy most crowded hour. Men said, '' he is buried underground; " so is the railway train when it makes leaps in its journey. Thine underground moments have been thine accelerated moments. Not by thy days of earthly splendor shall the world remember thee. Not by thy triumphs in the chase, not by thy tradings in the market-place, not even by thy patriarchal birthright, shall men preserve the memory of thy name. Thou shalt be known by that invalid couch, where, in the midst of thy proud career, thy Father's message barred thine onward way. Matheson

The First Recognition of Christ

 "He came unto His own, and His own received Him not. But as many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name." John 1:10- 12

"But to all who did receive him, who 
believed in his name, he gave the 
right to become children of God..."
John 1:12

       The earliest requirement of Jesus was "faith in His name." ''Faith in His name" meant originally ''faith that He would make His name." That is ever the earliest need of the great - that some one shall foresee their future glory. The man of letters needs it from his publisher, the artist from his academy. And those most hard to convince are always ''one's own." They are too near, too familiar. Have they not seen you walking about the streets of Nazareth! Do they not know your parents! Are they not passing every day your scene of human toil! How can one so very accessible be anything great! Our relatives may be the most kind to us; but it is outsiders who first discern our promise. Who first detected that your little girl was a musical genius? A stranger. Her voice was too familiar to you to excite wonder. She was so much a child of Nazareth, she was so "subject to her parents," that the foreign element escaped you. Your eye had been so long fixed on the casket that you forgot to study the gem. But the eye of the stranger caught it. He said: "Do you know the treasure which you have? Are you aware that this voice will be heard of, talked of? Have you realized the pride, the privilege of your possession? Are you conscious that you are hiding in your dwelling a pearl of great price, that, if the world knew, it would gather round your door in hundreds, in thousands? Why did you not tell me that this was a land of gold!"

       Jesus, I bless those who trusted Thee before Thou hadst made Thy name - who had faith in Thy name; the greatest Book in the world would never have been published but for them. It is easy to praise Thy name now; that is knowledge, not faith. The world has gone after Thee; all men have bowed down before Thee. But then Thou wert a tender plant and a root out of dry ground. I bless those who had sight enough to see Thee. I bless Nicodemus who took Thee up when dead. I bless Joseph of Arimathea who hoped over Thy grave. I bless Magdalene who brought spices to Thy lifeless form. I bless the penitent thief who saw Thy kingdom on Thy Cross. It was only genius that could see Thee at such an hour. Doubtless, had I been there, I should have echoed Pilate's laugh, "Art thou a king!" I began to worship when the world began to praise. But the men of the night, the men who recognized Thee in the shadows - these have the glory. Crown them, for they have crowned me. Exalt their memory, for they have exalted me. Keep green their wreath of fame, for they saw amid the night the gift that enriches me. 

The Conguity Between Prayer and It's Answer

"What man is there of you whom, if his son ask bread, he will give him a stone?" Matthew 7: 9.

       My brother, did you never ask bread in the hope of getting a stone? Did you never say ''It is a very profitable thing to pray for the grace of Christ; it brings worldly riches"? And then, when in answer to your prayer for bread the stone has not come, have you never said something like this: "What is the use of being a Christian? Where is the profit of my prayers? I have never ceased morning nor evening to ask for the Spirit of Christ. In darkness and at dawn I have not forgotten to bend the knee. From the burden of each day I have ever stolen some stray moments for my Father. What have I gained by it? Nothing. My neighbor across the street never prays; and year by year he is adding to his earthly store. But I have no increase in the golden stream. The purple and the fine linen come not, spite of my prayers for grace. The ships are not more laden with my merchandise. The orders are not more frequent at my counting-house. The visitors are not more fashionable at my dwelling. I might as well be a Pagan for all that I have gained. 'I have washed my hands in innocency, and cleansed my heart in vain.' "

       Be still, my soul; thou hast searched the wrong casket for thy gem. Didst thou think that thy Father was going to mock thee - to send thee a trinket instead of a jewel! Didst thou not ask a ring - an adoption ring - the right to say "my Father"! Would it be an answer to that prayer if He should start a charitable subscription for thee! Wouldst thou be fed by charity when thou art a king's son! Thou hast asked admission into His audience chamber; murmurest thou that He brings thee not into the servants' hall! Thou has asked communion with Himself; complainest thou that He sends not His vassals to bear His message! Thou hast asked to see Him face to face; weepest thou that He has refused to thee a veil! I have read that Mary came to seek the dead body of Jesus, and found instead a living Lord; and I can understand her glad surprise. But wouldst thou, my soul, reverse the picture; wouldst thou supplicate for a living Lord, and mourn because there came not a lifeless body! Men say thy sin is pride; nay, it is humility. Thou art not ambitious enough, not soaring enough. Thine expectation is less than thine asking. Thy hope is too modest; thine aim is too low. Thou art made for the ladder of angels, and thou art content with the pillow of stone; lift up thine eyes, O my soul! Matheson

The Strength Of The Heart

 "God is the strength of my heart." Psalm 73:26

       Why is God the strength of the heart? Because God is love. The strength of the heart is not its steeling, but its softening. How am I too bear the spectacle of human sorrow? I am often called to go into such scenes, and it tries all my courage. What shall be the ground of my courage; where shall lie my strength for meeting the scene? Shall I harden my heart? It is quite possible to do so. But remember, too harden the heart is to weaken the heart. You may purchase immunity from the pain of the spectacle; but it is by the administration of chloroform. But I will show you a more excellent way - the way, not of the heart's weakness, but of its strength. There is no power which strengthens the heart like the fullness of its own love. There is nothing which can bear scenes of misery like love itself. Why is this? It is because all love has hope in it. An inferior feeling would be less fit to bear. Pity could not bear like love. Pity does not mean hope; it sees only the dark side, and so it often prompts to flight. But love has no despair in it. There is ever a light in its valley. It is always accompanied by its two sisters - faith and hope; that is why it is the strength of the heart.

       Thou Christ of love, none could bear scenes of sorrow like Thee. Thy disciples had less love; therefore they were more easily overcome. "Send her away, for she crieth after us" was their plaint to Thee concerning the suppliant woman. They had only the pain of pity. Their nerves were irritated by the cry. They wanted to shut their ears. Thou hadst a deeper pain - love's pain - the pain that carries promise in its bosom. They could not cast out the sorrow by reason of their unbelief - unbelief in the possibility of the cure. But Thou hadst so much love that Thou couldst believe all things. Why has the Lord "laid on Thee the iniquities of us all"? Because Thou hadst more hardness than others? Nay; because Thou hadst more love. The strength of Thy heart was Thy tenderness; it was its ''gentleness that made Thee great." All the generations pressed upon the bridge, and the bridge was not broken. Why? Not because it was made of iron, but because it was made of velvet. Thy love could bear all things because it could believe all things. It could go before us into Galilee - into all the Galilees of human pain. It could outstrip us on the road to succor earthly need, for it was, it is, the very strength of God. Matteson

The Ground of Human Hope

 "A promise being left us of entering into His rest." Hebrews 4:1

       What is my promise of entering into rest? It is not my possessions, but my wants. When you ask men the ground of their immortal hope they often point you to the powers of the human soul - proud reason, lofty imagination, clear judgment, far memory. That is a vain boast. To the inhabitant of another star these might seem but the movement of a midge's wing. My brother, you have mistaken the secret of your true dignity. It is not the sense of what you have, but the sense of what you have not, that makes you a man, that divides you from the beast of the field. What do you mean by a ''boy of promise"? Not a boy who has reached great knowledge, but a boy who wants more knowledge than he can yet get; we call such "a promising lad." Your heavenly Father has a like estimate - whether for boys or girls, for men or women. He measures your promise by your wants. Not he that is content with the treasures within his door is the Father's promising son. It is he that batters on the door and cries " Let me out, let me out; it is too narrow here, too dull, too lonely." The boy is above his environment. He is beyond his playthings, but not yet ready for his prizes. He is in the desert between Egypt and Canaan. Egypt is past; Canaan is not yet come; yet his cry is not to get back, but to get forward. The land of the Pyramids would not please him now. He has no rest in all the yesterdays; he wants something from to-morrow.

       My Father, I understand now why it is to the ''poor in spirit" that Christ promises the kingdom. The proof of my royalty is my unsatisfied soul. The promise of my rest is my unrest. My claim to Thee is my longing for Thee. I could not long for Thee if Thou wert not in me; my want is the shadow of Thy sunshine. I am the only creature on earth that is not content with its environment. The bird carols all the day, and asks not larger wing. The fish swims upon the wave, and desires no friendlier bosom. The cattle browse in the meadow, and find the meadow ample room. But neither the air nor the water nor the land has been a rest to me. I have refused to sing where the lark sings - outside the gates of heaven. I have beat against the bars; I have demanded to get in. The gate that bars me from Thee has spoiled my song. My want of Thee is my prophecy of Thee. Why do I refuse to sing on the outside of the heavenly gate? Because within the gate is my Father's house, with its warm fires of welcome, with its many mansions of gold. My thirst for Thee is the cry for "home, sweet home;" and the cry is itself the promise that I shall enter into Thy rest. Matheson

Return Unto Thy Rest.

The Postponement Of The Beatific Vision

 "They drank of that spiritual rock which followed them." 1 Corinthians 10:4

       It is ever so. The blessing of our good deeds does not accompany them; it follows them. It often seems at the time as if they were done in vain. Our good actions appear for the present to have a death in the desert. You give a coin to a beggar who seems to be starving. He thanks you profusely. You watch his receding form, and see him vanish into the first gin-shop. You say ''my charity has all gone for nothing." No; it is only your money that has. Do not identify your money with your charity. The one, through the force of long habit, may be spent in an ale-house within five minutes; the other may be laid up in the heart for years, and bear rich interest after many days. I have seen a kind advice bring forth at the time only a storm of temper; but on the morrow it was weighed and accepted. "Light is sown for the righteous" is a beautiful phrase. It tells me that I must expect my good deeds to lie underground a while. Like the disciples, I must begin the journey to Emmaus ere I have heard of the risen flower. Yet my Christ shall overtake me on the way, and at evening, when the day is far spent, the fruits of the morning shall abide with me.

       Lord, if Thou wilt go before me, I shall be content that Thy goodness and mercy follow me. I should not like to postpone obedience to Thy command till I can see the good of it. There are times when to me, as to Abraham, there comes the mandate, "Get thee out of thy country into a land which thou knowest not." At such times I cry, like Moses, ''I beseech Thee, show me Thy glory; let me see the gain of Thy command before I go." But Thou sayest: ''No, my child, I go before; the gain follows. I know there are things in the journey to appal thee. I have pointed thee to the red heights of Moriah; I have spread for thee the stone pillow of Bethel; I have prepared for thee the lonely peak of Nebo. What then? Wilt thou insist beforehand on seeing the ram in the thicket? Wilt thou insist on beholding in advance the ladder from heaven? Wilt thou insist on having a previous view of the Promised Land? Nay, let my voice to thee precede my light. Plunge into the sea, and thy Christ will follow. Dive into the night, and the morning will follow. Stride into the desert, and the world will follow. Thy glory shall come after thee. Thy buried Christ shall meet thee in the evening. Thou shalt drink at twilight of that fountain which was sealed to thee at dawn.'' Matheson.

The Attractiveness Of Christ

 ''Sir, thou hast nothing to draw with." John 4:11

       The woman of Samaria has struck the marvel in the life of Jesus; He had nothing to draw with. The most attractive figure in the fields of time had no outward cause for His attractiveness. He says so Himself, ''I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me." His drawing will be proportionate to His withdrawing, to His shrinking within Himself, to His sacrifice. The greatest compliment you can pay to man or woman is to say that they attract without adornment. There are some who would reveal their birth in any garb‚ in the meanest, in the poorest. You might clothe them in rags; you might lodge them in hovels; you might surround them with the humblest furniture; but their speech would betray them to be "not of Galilee." They have nothing to draw with, but they themselves draw. They may stand before the judgment-seat of a Pilate; but their attitude says "I am a king."
       So is it with Thee, Thou Son of the Highest. Thou hast nothing to attract but Thine own beauty. Thou hast put off the best robe of the Father; Thou hast assumed the dress of the prodigal son. It is in a soiled garment that Thou hast solicited my love. Thou hast come to me footsore and weary - a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. Thou hast offered me no gifts of material glory. Thou hast asked me to share Thy poverty. Thou hast said: ''Wilt thou come with me to the place where the thorns are rifest, to the land where the roses are most rare? Wilt thou follow me down the deep shadows of Gethsemane, up the steep heights of Calvary? Wilt thou go with me where the hungry cry for bread, where the sick implore for health, where the weary weep for rest? Wilt thou accompany me where pain dwells, where danger lurks, where death lies? Wilt thou walk with me through the lanes and alleys where the poor meet and struggle and die? Wilt thou live with me where the world passes by in scorn, where fashion pauses not to rest, where even disciples have often forsaken me and fled? Then is thy love complete, my triumph perfected. Then have I reached the summit of human glory; for thou hast chosen me for myself alone, and without the aid of earth I have drawn thy heart to heaven." Matheson