The art of sailing on

Foreword

It is believed that the title of the first address in this volume may with some fair degree of propriety stand as the title of the volume itself. For the spirit engendered in the hearts of those who consort closely with the Gospel of our Lord is ever a spirit of patience, perseverance, and the quiet winning of victory through grace. Quick and eager imagination, the gift of hopeful prophecy, the power of heroic endeavor and forward enterprise, together with a solid fixedness of the heart in the never-abrogated promises of God — these are the structural qualities that will make what Bushnell called " Building Eras " in the Kingdom of our Lord. The Master waits ever upon the eagerness and enterprise of his people, to " see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied."

The Christian task grows with every hour. It is no day for a narrowed vision or a vanishing hope. If difficulties multiply, they are made to be conquered. If obstacles increase, the dynamic of the Gospel is not weak. The showbread of the Tabernacle is the " continual bread " of the Pres-

6 Foreword

ence. God is with us. Our Lord is more masterful than the storm; he can still the tumult of the people. Let all mariners then on the high seas of life rejoice in that they sail not without chart and compass, and rejoice most of all in the presence of the Master-Mariner, whose voice brought calm to stormy Galilee. Let them practise then " The Art of Sailing On," and on, and ever on, until the kindly hour of grace shall fully dawn, and the good ship shall enter the harbor of the country for which they look !

New York, March, igi2.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Art of Sailing On ... 9

II. The Urgency of Christ ... 29

II

There is a tone of great urgency in the ministry of Jesus Christ, like one who stands at a door knocking, knocking, knocking. The eagerness of the world's Saviour is very evident. There is no mark of indifference upon his work. He is insistent, almost intrusive. There is a certain imperative about his appeal that fairly startles us. He is seemingly conscious of an unusual authority and power. We observe no hesitation, no wavering in his sense of mastery, no lack of pressure, no lack of passion, in his work.

It is this note of urgency that makes men's work efficient everywhere. If there is no imperative about what you are doing, how can you hope to win the interest of men to your task? If ten men fail through lack of ability, a hundred men fail through lack of urgency. Indifference wins no victories. Lack of urgency ties the hands and hobbles the feet. It is not required that a man play always 31 on the loud pedal: the soft pedal has many uses. In either case let there be no uncertain sound.

We often miss the tone of urgency in the work that men are doing. You will sometimes go away from a store feeling that there was no urgency about the salesman, no passion of interest and desire. You will sometimes have this impres?ion about people whom you meet. They may be never so punctilious in their greetings, never so formal in their outward seeming. But all the while you are conscious of lack of heart, lack of urgency, lack of insistence. The " apathy of anaesthesia " is upon them. There is no imperative anywhere.

It is a great thing to say about one's work, " I know," and it is a great thing to say, " I will," and it is also a great thing to say, " I do." But it is a greater thing than all to say, " I feel." We demand that men shall take their work seriously, and themselves feel its weight and its power.

" A ruddy drop of moving blood The surging sea outweighs."

Is there motive power in the work you are doing? Do you feel it for yourself? Has it gripped your soul and become part of your life? No matter what your work may be, is there urgency about it? Is it fraught with importance? Have you any passion for it? Does it grip your own heart, command your faculties, inspire your forces? Does it sing in your blood with a divine imperative that will not be denied? The best work that the world knows has always this mark of urgency upon it.

Shall we meditate together upon the degree of urgency and imperative in the work which Jesus Christ is doing for men? There is a profound impressiveness about it — the fact that Jesus Christ has ever such an urgent way with men, such a masterful way. It was so when he was here, engaged in his earthly ministry, and it is still the same in that perpetual ministry which he carries on among men through the Holy Spirit. It is the perpetual, urgent ministry of Jesus that profoundly interests us. At times it fairly startles us. It is just this fact of our Lord's being so deeply interested in his work for men as to keep it constantly before them that wins victories for his Gospel. To him his own work is so very urgent that he would make it so with men. He would not let any man feel that he, the Master Workman, is indifferent or ever can be. He would give his work such pressure, such insistence, such imperative, that no man in his right mind can possibly feel that it is a small matter whether he shall give it attention or not.

I wish that we might see this eager, urgent side of Christ's dealing with men: his own anxiety to go as far as he can with them, his eagerness to meet conditions, to go the full length of any man's needs, and more than this, his readiness to break down closed doors even, for the sake of coming into the midst and living with men in their lives. Is not this what his declaration means: " Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me "?

We can scarcely escape this impression whensoever we sit down to consider the mission of Christ to the world. His cause is nothing if not urgent. There is something startling in the New Testament. There is a thrill of passion about it: there is a call of something strong. The philosopher Kant spoke of the categorical imperative — the something imperious in a man's reasoning that beats upon his soul and will not be gainsaid. The New Testament has its categorical imperative — the something imperious and spiritual that presses close upon a man's heart. How can a man read this little Book without feeling the knocking at his heart? The thrill of passion is in the ministry of Jesus Christ.

Recall the urgent tone he used with his parents when they came seeking him in the Temple. " I must be about my Father's business." Remember, too, how he called his disciples when he found them at their fishing or at the receipt of custom. It was simply this: " Follow me." But a sense of compulsion swept over the hearts of men with the words. Not stopping to reason or to argue, they left all and followed him.

Outside the circle of his followers men felt the urgency of his presence. When the conspirator Catiline entered the Roman Senate his fellowsenators shrank away from the bench on which he sat. The presence of Jesus Christ drew men by a real imperative. Nicodemus must have felt it, for he was drawn to him even in the nighttime. The rich young man must have felt it, for he came running unto Jesus. When he went into the country of the Gadarenes a demoniac rushed out of the tombs under an apparent pressure, crying, " What have I to do with thee ! " When the band came out to the Garden on the fateful night seeking him, and he came boldly forth and said " I am he," we learn that " they went backward and fell upon the ground." There is a strange compulsion about Jesus which men often confess in irresistible ways. The centurion at the crucifixion exclaimed, " Certainly this was a righteous man! " The disciples shut the doors for fear of the Jews, but they could not shut out Jesus. It is such a wonderful truth — this truth of Christ's being willing to insist, even to break in — that we must dwell upon it: " Behold, I stand at the door and knock."

Think of what it means that our Lord is so much in earnest about his work that he cannot but be urgent ! His work is of such worth to him that he cannot do it lightly, cannot do it at all without putting a strain of compulsion into it always. A famous actor criticised a preacher severely: " If I had as little earnestness in presenting the fiction of the stage as you have in presenting the truth of the Gospel I should lose my audience at once." And often the world finds no compulsion in our Gospel. Men come into our churches and find everything fine and beautiful and stately, but they miss the note of the urgent, the irresistible. Too much the imperative mood has gone out of preaching and the subjunctive mood has come in. Preaching is soothing, it is apologetic, it is entertaining, but it is not often enough imperative. Men do not find the urgent Christ because they find so little urgency in his disciples.

No man could say this about the preaching of Jesus. Be it fisherman, scribe, ruler, nobleman, Sadducee, or Pharisee, they were all alike impressed with his earnestness. They said, " Never man spake like this man!" They said, "He speaks with authority, and not as the scribes." Whatever any of us may think or do about Christ, we have to say that his earnestness is beyond all doubt. His words ring true. Urgency comes with all his messages which stirs a man often in his very being. " Behold, I stand at the door and knock! "

It is a very wonderful thing indeed, more wonderful than any truth of science or philosophy, that Jesus Christ is here in the world, content in a hundred quiet ways to urge his cause.

It is Christ himself — the very fact of Christ — it is himself that is urgent. There are personalities that leave no impression upon us, or at least only a negative impression. They originate no feeling, they create no compulsion within us. We note them casually, and then we pass on our way to forget them. It is not so with Jesus Christ. His is not a casual personality. He dares to say with very pronounced emphasis, " Behold, I stand at the door and knock." He is different from all others. It is impossible to see him and then go one's way forgetful. It is impossible to know about Christ and not receive some impression. The impression he leaves is not negative, it is positive. There is somewhat that is urgent about the fact of Christ.

You cannot think him away. He is there: "Behold, I stand." You cannot evade the person of Jesus Christ. It is a fact, it is an argument, it is a force. It is impressive, persuasive, urgent, insistent.

It is all so wonderful and so beautiful — this mysterious power of personality that emanates from Jesus Christ. It is even wonderful among mere men to observe the power of personality. The English people paid a fond tribute to the personal force of their noble statesman John Bright. They were wont to say that when he had spoken all others were silent. So of Gladstone. Enemies attacked him, revolutions of political feeling surged about him, nevertheless England acknowledged his power. John Morley, his biographer, declares that when William E. Gladstone slipped into his seat in the House of Commons the entire House felt the thrill of his presence.

Men of our day often try to imagine the effect of the personal presence of Jesus Christ. A few years ago books were written and sermons preached on such topics as these: " If Christ came to the City," " If Christ came to Church," " If Christ came into Business Circles, into Society, into Politics." In a company of authors one day the conversation turned upon the great men of the past.

If they should come again, any of them, and mingle among modern men, what would our feeling be? Charles Lamb spoke forth in his sudden and eccentric way: " If Shakespeare came into this room," he said, " each of us would stand upon his feet to honor him. But if Jesus Christ came, we should kneel in his presence."

That is the difference. The personalities of great men call forth honor. The personality of Christ is urgent and compulsive in a deeper way. It calls forth reverence and worship. Is it not true that Christ is knocking at the door, in view of what he is in himself, in his personality? What think ye of Christ? Men who have not settled the question of who and what Jesus Christ is — how urgent is the knocking at the door with such as these! For Christ does not go away from our thinking. He does not shrink beneath the shadows: he does not drop below the horizon. " Behold, I stand at the door and knock."

The call of Christ is urgent: " If any man hear my voice!" "If any man hear my voice!" There are many voices heard in the world, the voice of the orator, the voice of the pleader, the voice of the philosopher, the voice of the poet. Among them all the voice of Jesus is the most urgent, the most insistent. " Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice." The voice of Christ is speaking at the door. This is no fancy of pietistic minds. There is an intense spiritual realism about it. The call of Christ is active to-day, as much so as when he found men at their fishing on the Sea of Galilee, or at the receipt of custom in Capernaum, and bade them to follow him. It is wonderful, this truth; one cannot adequately express it. Only let us make it clear that the voice of Christ is urgent. It is not a casual voice, speaking in indifferent or careless tones, neither is it a strident voice. It is a clear, true, straightforward voice, speaking directly to the soul — to the feeling, to the hope, to the desire, to the conscience, to the will that are in the soul. It is ever an imperative voice.

" If any man hear my voice! " The voice of Christ has carrying power. It is not loud; often it is a very quiet voice. We do not think of Jesus Christ as shouting his call to men ! " He shall not strive nor cry aloud, neither shall any one hear his voice in the streets." The voice of Christ is very quiet, very gentle, but oh, it is very intense, very penetrative, very far-reaching ! It is the Holy Spirit who makes the voice of Christ so strong in the heart. He takes of the things of Jesus. When the voice of Christ is heard in this spiritual way it carries quite into the inner precincts of the soul and makes itself heard.

It is very wonderful how men are often made to hear the voice of Christ, even when they are not listening for it. They are going on their way, like Saul of Tarsus on the way to Damascus, and suddenly the arrest of a Heavenly Voice comes to them. There is a certain musical value, as it were; about the voice of Jesus Christ: it has awakening power, the power to create response. If a room were full of musical instruments, and some one gifted with a true voice should come and speak a pure tone in the midst of these instruments, they would respond in silence — pianos, organs, violins, harps, they would every one respond to a pure tone. That is a wonderful truth of musical values. A pure tone has a certain urgency, a certain compulsion about it, that produces response.

Now the voice of Jesus Christ is not unlike this : it is a pure tone and it has the power to awaken response. Suppose our Lord were to enter our room and speak his own Gospel in our presence, surely we should know the urgency of his voice. The strings of our hearts, like the strings of pianos or harps, would respond in quiet music in answer to his call.

Something of this we know by experience.

What voice has ever spoken to us like the voice of our Lord? Christ's teaching! — what a response it has stirred in the human heart. What he said about God, when he bade men to pray " Our Father"; what he said about the restlessness of sin, when he said, " Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest " ; what he said about immortality and heaven, when he declared, " In my Father's house are many mansions " — this is the pure tone of the Gospel. It has the urgency and force of truth about it. It speaks away down into the human heart. It has carrying power, it has power to awaken response, musical response, if you please, spiritual response, down deep in the soul. That is the wonder about Jesus Christ — that his voice is thus urgent, urgent in all the deep places of the soul, urgent in the real needs of human life, urgent in the profound hopes of the soul, urgent in the judgment and conscience of the spirit.

Our Lord said a wonderful, a startling thing, a thing to make us all pause and consider: " All that the Father giveth me shall come unto me." Men have turned this saying almost into a theological puzzle. It has marked a dividing line between one school of theologians and another. But how full of meaning it is, and how clear in the light of this truth about responding to the Gospel: as if Jesus had said, " I have come into the world among men, among all these harps and violins and organs of humanity, I have come to speak, the pure tone of the Gospel, and every man who detects the pure tone will answer and will respond. All such the Father giveth unto me, and they will come unto me, for I have power to draw all such unto myself."

The sentence in this reading may lose something of its theological form, nevertheless it remains a startling statement. If we have lived on in the world with Christ standing at the door, and his voice speaking in his Gospel, through his Spirit, and have not responded in our deepest being to him, have never been awakened to our need of him, have never opened the door — that is a tragedy. It is like the musical tragedy that transpires when a pure voice speaks and all the musical instruments respond, only there is one that has something lying upon the strings so that it does not respond to the pure tone. Take your own hands off the strings of the harp! Open the door! Open the door! Let the voice of Christ be heard far down in the deep, dark, mysterious recesses of the soul.

It is the voice of a Friend. How urgent his friendship is! how much we need his fellowship, his companionship ! He is the great Companion. " If any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." Does any man feel the need of divine companionship? That is the urgency of Jesus Christ; his appeal is to every deep need of the soul.

It is the voice of a Saviour, one whose call is powerful with the appeal of sacrifice. How urgent is the cross ! Jesus Christ and him crucified ! The Apostle Paul thought it was sufficient to preach this message. It is such an One who is standing at the door. That is his final call, that is his greatest urgency, the urgency of love, the urgency of his sacrifice on the cross.

There is a hymn, you remember, that runs like this:

" O Love that wilt not let me go."

That is Christ's urgency, his compulsory way with men. And you remember how the hymn closes :

" O Cross that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from thee! "

That is the last article in the logic of God with men, the cross of Jesus Christ. That is the knocking of the Gospel at the door. That is the urgency of love and sacrifice.

In the annals of the State of Tennessee there is a story of an early Indian raid. In one home a family were all killed except a little child, who was carried into captivity, and the mother, who was absent from home. The child grew to manhood among the Indians, an Indian in appearance, in language, in customs. Years went by, and Daniel Boone with others led an attack against the hostile red men. It was the same tribe. Among the Indians captured was the one who had been carried away captive. The mother, grown old, was called to see the captive. She set herself to stir the memories of her long-lost child. She used many devices, but there was no response. The Indian remained in stolid indifference. At length the old mother said, " I will try one thing more." She began to sing one of the crooning songs of his childhood. Something in the mother's voice, the pure tone of love, of motherhood, reached the heart of her child. It awakened, it answered the call. Wherever there is a closed heart, Christ is knocking, Christ is calling at the door. His call is the call of love.

" Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me."

" And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before Jehovah. And, behold, Jehovah passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before Jehovah; but Jehovah was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but Jehovah was not in the earthquake : and after the earthquake a fire; but Jehovah was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entrance of the cave."

Ill

Earthquakes do not as a rule convert men. " A great and strong wind " is not of necessity a valuable aid to the Kingdom; nor can a fire, however great, be depended upon always to warm the heart to God. These forces of nature are powerful and spectacular enough, but they are not winsome. Physical phenomena are not rich in spiritual effect. Niagara creates wonder in the mind, but Niagara has few conversions to its credit. Vesuvius is an awesome place, but one does not hear that volcanoes add to the piety of men.

The truth is that these forces and events of nature are not of necessity moralizing. If it were so, we ought to find those persons who live and work amid the wonders and shocks of the world in the front ranks of piety. If the shocks and perils of the world have power to soothe and refine the spirits of men, then danger were an adjunct and an ally of the Kingdom. Coal-miners ought therefore to develop a special type of piety, a little better than that of men who live and work in the safety of the open air. Sailors also ought to be more reverent and more spiritual than other men. Have they not often experienced the converting and cleansing power of high seas and terrifying storms ? To take a modern example, the airmen — they who enjoy such vivid and spectacular views of the glory and power of the world, who swing like birds above plain and mountain, ride upon the storm, and are caught betimes in the grip of mighty forces that send them crashing to earth — surely these men of peril and calamity ought to be the most spiritual men now living !

If earthquakes could make men moral, the best thing to happen in some of our modern cities would be for them to be caught in the grip of nature's forces and shaken from center to circumference. One would like to recommend an earthquake or more for present-day politics as practised in some of our illy-governed cities. Or one would like to suggest a series of daily windstorms for a full month. If windstorms could relieve us of graft and other deformities and dishonesties; if fire could burn away our social impurities and our public injustices; if earthquakes could frighten us into moral living and shock us into religious faith and practice, the reform of modern society would be a simple matter. For each storm that blew up out of the sea, crashing windows and doors and piling debris in the streets, would after all be a civilizing force.

Other phenomena of nature might be expected to prove spiritually helpful. Zero weather might improve our tempers, so that a man would speak more gently to his wife. The Aurora Borealis of the northern sky might fill the prayer-meeting rooms with eager worshippers. Clouds scudding across the sky might cause men to fall upon their knees, and downfalls of rain or snow might promote church-going. If the wonders of nature and the calamities of the world are needed to make men do their duty, surely this ought to be a very dutiful world.

But it is not earthquakes and windstorms that men need to deepen their spiritual life and sharpen their sense of duty. Earthquakes are strong, but they have a dull edge. They do not reach, between bone and marrow, into the soul. The soul requires softer agencies, which at the same time work deeper effects. God's appeal is quiet, but it is like thunder in the soul; it draws a man out of his hiding-place to stand " in the entrance of the cave." Not the crash of world-forces, not dead men's fears, not exhibitions of power — none of these are the main method of God.

Hence our Lord once and again bade his disciples not to bruit abroad the story of his miracles; hence also he added his sequel to the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, wherein Abraham's reply is so conclusive : " If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if one rise from the dead." The omnipotent God could cause some absent member of each home to rise from the dead for the purpose of converting the entire household — if that would do it! He could lay hold upon those Christians who are living along in an easy-going, lackadaisical, indifferent way, making religion a game of battledore and shuttlecock, holding duty at arm's length, and starving the Kingdom of the strength and help they ought to give to it — he could come to such of his people with a blinding sun or a ravaging fire, and turn them again to the first works, to the doing of the loving tasks of the Kingdom. That would be well enough — if it would accomplish the desired end! But men do not grow spiritually in this way: they require an inner voice that reaches the soul, that tells them of the Presence of God, and woos them by his love and pardon.

All this is the lesson that the prophet must learn in Mount Horeb. We cannot much blame him: he had been under immense strain. When men are under great strain they do not always reason well. It is amazing that God dealt so patiently with his overwrought prophet. Think of where he had been and what he had been doing — the withering drought of three years' duration, the flights by day and the vigils by night against royal hatred, the doubt and disbelief of the people, the mighty nerve-straining contest on Mount Carmel, and the cruel threat of the wicked Jezebel. These were enough, but there was more — there were the doubts and fears of his own soul and the despair that overtook him at the sign of the juniper-tree. Oh, if Jehovah, his Jehovah whose power was without limit, would but come crashing down upon the world, and convince the people, and put his enemies to rout by some exhibition of power!

Then he slept — under the juniper-tree. Blessed be sleep ! When we are troubled, may God give us the power to lie down and sleep! " So he giveth unto his beloved sleep." How often in the morning the light breaks after refreshing sleep. " And, behold, an angel touched him, and said unto him, Arise and eat. And he looked, and, behold, there was at his head a cake baken on the coals, and a cruse of water." Then he slept again. Blessed be the second sleep of a tired man ! And the angel touched him again and said, " Arise and eat, because the journey is too great for thee." Oh, that wonderful care of God for his overwrought prophet! If Elijah had lived to-day, some physician of the body would have sent him to a sanitarium for nervous prostration. God rested him under the juniper-tree and then called him up to the mountains, to whisper a great secret to his heart.