The effort of our mind, in these contemplations, must be rather directed to the Manhood, than to the Divinity, of Christ. It is not absorbed in its awful fellowship. It is distinct and integral, while it is ineffably but one with that to which it is conjoined. True it is that it is written: "Wherefore henceforth know we no man after the flesh: yea, though we have known Christ after the flesh, yet now henceforth know we him no more." But this is simply the disclaimer of nationalism. Men had rested every thing upon the distinction of Jew and Gentile. The Christian Jew boasted that Christ was one of that people, a son of Abraham, of the seed of David. He mingled a patriotic feeling with his faith. He regarded all nations as inferior to his own. But the gospel justified no such partial and exclusive interests. It would know no man after the flesh,-no matter what his descent, it knew him only as the sinner. It would not know Christ after the flesh,—no matter what his genealogy, it knew him only as the Saviour. But as come in the flesh, and as exalted in the flesh, Christ is ever to be known. "He that descended is the same also that ascended."

How often

Like the

We

And yet how often do we distrust this identity! we deplore the departure of the Redeemer from us! children of the Bride-chamber we, in these days, mourn. repine that He is not here. We forget that it is expedient that he should go away. Heaven alone provides scope for his undertakings and channel for his influences. There must he abide until the restitution of all things. But nothing of his sympathy or his grace do we forego!

We are tempted to suppose that, were the Messiah now a sojourner upon our globe, he could bend more easily to our circumstances and more tenderly enter into them. We could let down the paralytic in his presence. We could bear our young child to him. We could draw him into the death-chamber of our little daughter. We could supplicate him for our servant lying sick. Earthly proximity seems to secure success. "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." Ah, "slow of heart to believe!" Has he forgotten to be gracious? Does he refuse to hear? Has he forsaken the earth? Nothing will he

now forbear to do which he would not forbear, if still he "dwelt among us."

We are tempted to suppose that, did the Saviour yet tread this earth, the contrite sinner would find more ready access and receive more immediate pity. Then, burdened with our guilt and misery, how easy would it be when the cry was made, Jesus of Nazareth is passing by,-to press through the multitude, to throw ourselves in his path, to touch the hem of his garment, to wash his feet with our tears, to hold fast those feet until that he had pronounced us forgiven. But when He spake, during his terrestrial visitation, of men coming to him, did he mean their bodily approach? Was it not their spirit's contact in faith, and penitence, and prayer? Is that now debarred? "Wherefore he

is able to save to the uttermost them that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them."

state.

And He shall come again! He shall appear once more in that glorified Humanity, in that manifested Godhead! A second time he "descends!" How unlike his first advent! Then, he had no form nor comeliness for men to desire. His was no kingly He made himself of no reputation. He bent his way to "the lower parts of the earth.” It was a mysterious eclipse. He hid himself. He sought not glory. But now, shall He burst forth in uncreated splendours! Every eye shall see him! He shall judge the world! "He shall be glorified in his saints and admired of all them that believe!" The vision may tarry, -our faith may be tried,-ages may intervene,-"This SAME JESUS, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven!"

SERMON XIV.

THE IMMEDIATE BLESSEDNESS OF DEPARTED SAINTS.

HEB. xii. 23.

"AND YE ARE COME TO THE SPIRITS OF JUST MEN MADE PERFECT."

WHAT an announcement! What a gratulation! For the manner in which this passage is introduced sufficiently shows that it is designed to impart encouragement and solace, to awaken spiritual-mindedness and hope. The spectral dead are not invoked, the state of disembodied souls is not unfolded, to startle and alarm, but to relieve and soothe. It is a spectacle presented in contrast to another insupportably terrific. From Sinai,-its stern array, its horrible tempest, its fiery law, its thundertrump, its voice of words,-from "that mount Sinai," beneath whose frowning precipice, at whose rocking base, we exceedingly tremble and quake,—we are invited to approach mount Sion, the heavenly Jerusalem, with its holy, happy, concourse,-its innumerable company of angels, its general assembly and church of the firstborn,-its ever-accumulating throng of spirits made perfect. Such contemplation, though solemn and almost dread, must be intended to yield our ruffled minds repose, to still each impatient feeling, to heal the lacerations and breaches of the heart. Lost in this contemplation, time dwindles to a point, earth attenuates to a shadow, the tears of grief brighten into those of rapture, heaven bursts in upon us and fills up the whole field of our vision !

And yet in these words there is something which seems to mock us, something which may excite onr consternation, something which may depress our zeal.

"Ye are come to the spirits of just men made perfect." Is not this to mock us? Know we not otherwise? Is it not the actual contradiction and reverse of all we know and feel? It is they who have gone. We have them no more with us. They are not. We see them not, we hold them not, they enter not our threshold nor cross our path,—they accompany not our walk nor sit at our board. “Lover and friend are put far from us, and our acquaintance into darkness." What approximation can we make towards them? What access can we command? The link, between ourselves and those whom we loved, is broken. Wide is the interval between us. Their land is far off from this.

They could not retain their spirit. We could not stay their flight. Does it not seem to trifle with us, when we are "bereaved indeed," to tell us that we are come to them from whom we are so hopelessly and irreparably torn?

"Ye are come to the spirits of just men made perfect." Our natural apprehensiveness is thus excited by the appeal. Creatures of flesh and blood, nothing seems so strongly to fasten upon our instinctive fear as spiritual contact and communication. We recoil from such phantom-visitation: we chill and shudder at its mere description. We have the appalling recital. "In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, fear came upon me and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face; and the hair of my flesh stood up: it stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof an image was before mine eyes, there was silence, and I heard a voice."* As we read this harrowing description, our blood freezes, and we hear the beatings of our heart. There is vivid truth in it. It is a startling reality. When the disciples. from their tempest-driven ship saw Jesus walking on the waves of the sea, "they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit, and they cried out for fear." When, after his resurrection, he suddenly appeared among them as they were gathered together with closed door, "they were terrified and affrighted and supposed that they had seen a spirit." Who would wish to behold the dearest friend whom he had ever loved, returning a spirit from the region

Job iv. 13-16.

of spirits, with their manner and mien and mystery? What nerve could encounter the interview? What fondest heart could endure the shadowy embrace? And do we not shrink when we are bidden to approach this ghostly band?

"Ye are come to the spirits of just men made perfect.” Our ardour is depressed. Our sympathy is checked. Our imitation is debarred. It is too common to feel pleasure in the limitation of excellence, in the detection of infirmity, among others, because it reduces them to a closer level with ourselves. Yet we can do honour to high examples. They awaken kindred enthusiasm. They fire us with emulation. Only they must not be set on an inaccessible height. Then our ambition is quelled, our effort is disconcerted. But if these spirits be exhibited to us as our patterns, they seem to possess nothing in common with our present lot. They are withdrawn from all our weaknesses and temptations. They have quitted the fight. They have ceased the pilgrimage. How shall we follow the perfect? Little fellowship can we claim with their refined essences, their unalloyed purity and bliss: they subsist beyond the range of our ideas and susceptibilities.

But the purpose of the Holy Ghost in these words must stand: that purpose can only be tender, consolatory, assuring. And is it not most kind and cheering to inform and certify us, that they, who are thus departed, are not lost? That, rescued from the burden of this flesh and delivered from the hazard of this world, they expatiate in the freedom of a nature ethereal and incorruptible? That every sorrow and every defilement have passed away from them, though they felt the pain and struggle of both in their earthly condition? And is it not animating and triumphant for us to perceive, in their release, the pledge and model of our exaltation, when those to whom we are still united, notwithstanding our apparent severance, shall welcome us and "receive us for ever," when our spirits shall throw off their oppressions, and shall attain to yonder state of immaterial being?

Come then, Dear Christians, to these spirits,-endeavour to conceive of them, to catch their fervours, to reciprocate their joys, to respond their strains!