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SERMON XII.  PRESENCE IN ABSENCE

Eversley, third Sunday after Easter. 1862.

St John xvi. 16.  “A little while, and ye shall not see me: and again, a little while, and ye shall see me, because I go to the Father.”

Divines differ, and, perhaps, have always differed, about the meaning of these words.  Some think that our Lord speaks in them of His death and resurrection.  Others that He speaks of His ascension and coming again in glory.  I cannot decide which is right.  I dare not decide.  It is a very solemn thing—too solemn for me—to say of any words of our Lord’s they mean exactly this or that, and no more.  For if wise men’s words have (as they often have) more meanings than one, and yet all true, then surely the words of Jesus, the Son of God, who spake as never man spake—His words, I say, may have many meanings; yea, meanings without end, meanings which we shall never fully understand, perhaps even in heaven, and yet all alike true.

But I think it is certain that most of the early Christians understood these words of our Lord’s ascension and coming again in glory.  They believed that He was coming again in a very little while during their own life-time, in a few months or years, to make an end of the world and to judge the quick and the dead.  And as they waited for His coming, one generation after another, and yet He did not come, a sadness fell upon them.  Christ seemed to have left the world.  The little while that He had promised to be away seemed to have become a very long while.  Hundreds of years passed, and yet Christ did not come in glory.  And, as I said, a sadness fell on all the Church.  Surely, they said, this is the time of which Christ said we were to weep and lament till we saw Him again—this is the time of which He said that the bridegroom should be taken from us, and we should fast in those days.  And they did fast, and weep, and lament; and their religion became a very sad and melancholy one—most sad in those who were most holy, and loved their Lord best, and longed most for His coming in glory.

What happened after that again I could tell you, but we have nothing to do with it to-day.  We will rather go back, and see what the Lord’s disciples thought He meant when He said,—“A little while, and ye shall not see me; and again, a little while, and ye shall see me, because I go to the Father.”  One would think, surely, that they must have taken those words to mean His death and resurrection.  They heard Him speak them on the very night that He was betrayed.  They saw Him taken from them that very night.  In horror and agony they saw Him mocked and scourged, crucified, dead, and buried, as they thought for ever, and the world around rejoicing over His death.  Surely they wept and lamented then.  Surely they thought that He had gone away and left them then.

And the third day, beyond all hope or expectation, they beheld Him alive again, unchanged, perfect, and glorious—as near them and as faithful to them as ever.  Surely that was seeing Him again after a little while.  Surely then their sorrow was turned to joy.  Surely then a man, the man of all men, was born into the world a second time, and in them was fulfilled our Lord’s most exquisite parable—most human and yet most divine—of the mother remembering no more her anguish for joy that a man is born into the world.

I think, too, that we may see, by the disciples’ conduct, that they took these words of the text to speak of Christ’s death and resurrection.  For when He ascended to heaven out of their sight, did they consider that was seeing Him no more?  Did they think that He had gone away and left them?  Did they, therefore, as would have been natural, weep and lament?  On the contrary, we are told expressly by St Luke that they “returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and were continually in the temple,” not weeping and lamenting, but praising and blessing God.  Plainly they did not consider that Christ was parted from them when He ascended into heaven.  He had been training them during the forty days between Easter Day and Ascension Day to think of Him as continually near them, whether they saw Him or not.  Suddenly He came and went again.  Mysteriously He appeared and disappeared.  He showed them that though they saw not Him, He saw them, heard their words, knew the thoughts and intents of their hearts.  He was always near them they felt; with them to the end of the world, whether in sight or out of sight.  And when they saw Him ascend into heaven, it seemed to them no separation, no calamity, no change in His relation to them.  He was gone to heaven.  Surely He had been in heaven during those forty days, whenever they had not seen Him.  He had gone to the Father.  Might He not have been with the Father during those forty days, whenever they had not seen Him?  Nay; was He not always in heaven?  Was not heaven very near them?  Did not Christ bring heaven with Him whithersoever He went?  Was He not always with the Father, the Father who fills all things, in whom all created things live, and move, and have their being?  How could they have thought otherwise about our Lord, when almost His last words to them were not, Lo, I leave you alone, but, “Lo, I am with you alway, even to the end of the world.”

My friends, these may seem deep words to some—doubtless they are, for they are the words of the Bible—so deep that plain, unlearned people can make no use of them, and draw no lesson from them.  I do not think so.  I think it is of endless use and endless importance to you how you think about Christ; and, therefore, how you think about these forty days between our Lord’s resurrection and ascension.  You may think of our Lord in two ways.  You may think of Him as having gone very far away, millions of millions of miles into the sky, and not to return till the last day,—and then, I do not say that you will weep and lament.  There are not many who have that notion about our Lord, and yet love Him enough to weep and lament at the thought of His having gone away.  But your religion, when it wakes up in you, will be a melancholy and terrifying one.  I say, when it wakes up in you—for you will be tempted continually to let it go to sleep.  There will come over you the feeling—God forgive us, does it not come over us all but too often?—Christ is far away.  Does He see me?  Does He hear me?  Will He find me out?  Does it matter very much what I say and do now, provided I make my peace with Him before I die?  And so will come over you not merely a carelessness about religious duties, about prayer, reading, church-going, but worse still, a carelessness about right and wrong.  You will be in danger of caring little about controlling your passions, about speaking the truth, about being just and merciful to your fellow-men.  And then, when your conscience wakes you up at times, and cries, Prepare to meet thy God! you will be terrified and anxious at the thought of judgment, and shrink from the thought of Christ’s seeing you.  My friends, that is a fearful state, though a very common one.  What is it but a foretaste of that dreadful terror in which those who would not see in Christ their Lord and Saviour will call on the mountains to fall on them, and the hills to cover them, from Him that sitteth on the throne, and from the anger of the Lamb?

But, again: you may think of Christ as His truest servants, though they might have been long in darkness, in all ages and countries have thought of Him, sooner or later.  And they thought of Him, as the disciples did; as of One who was about their path and about their bed, and spying out all their ways; as One who was in heaven, but who, for that very reason, was bringing heaven down to earth continually in the gracious inspirations of His Holy Spirit; as One who brought heaven down to them as often as He visited their hearts and comforted them with sweet assurance of His love, His faithfulness, His power—as God grant that He may comfort those of you who need comfort.  And that thought, that Christ was always with them, even to the end of the world, sobered and steadied them, and yet refreshed and comforted them.  It sobered them.  What else could it do?  Does it not sober us to see even a picture of Christ crucified?  How must it have sobered them to carry, as good St Ignatius used to say of himself, Christ crucified in his heart.  A man to whom Christ, as it were, showed perpetually His most blessed wounds, and said, Behold what I have endured—how dare he give way to his passion?  How dare he be covetous, ambitious, revengeful, false?  And yet it cheered and comforted them.  How could it do otherwise, to know all day long that He who was wounded for their iniquities, and by whose stripes they were healed, was near them day and night, watching over them as a father over his child, saying to them,—“Fear not, I am He that was dead, and am alive for evermore, and I hold the keys of death and hell.  Though thou walkest through the fires, I will be with thee.  I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.”  Yes, my friends, if you wish your life—and therefore your religion, which ought to be the very life of your life—to be at once sober and cheerful, full of earnestness and full of hope, believe our Lord’s words which He spoke during these very forty days,—“Lo, I am with you alway, even to the end of the world.”  Believe that heaven has not taken Him away from you, but brought Him nearer to you; and that He has ascended up on high, not that He, in whom alone is life, might empty this earth of His presence, but that He might fill all things, not this earth only, but all worlds, past, present, and to come.  Believe that wherever two or three are gathered together in Christ’s name, there He is in the midst of them; that the holy communion is the sign of His perpetual presence; and that when you kneel to receive the bread and wine, Christ is as near you—spiritually, indeed, and invisibly, but really and truly—as near you as those who are kneeling by your side.

And if it be so with Christ, then it is so with those who are Christ’s, with those whom we love.  It is the Christ in them which we love; and that Christ in them is their hope of glory; and that glory is the glory of Christ.  They are partakers of His death, therefore they are partakers of His resurrection.  Let us believe that blessed news in all its fulness, and be at peace.  A little while and we see them; and again a little while and we do not see them.  But why?  Because they are gone to the Father, to the source and fount of all life and power, all light and love, that they may gain life from His life, power from His power, light from His light, love from His love—and surely not for nought?

Surely not for nought, my friends.  For if they were like Christ on earth, and did not use their powers for themselves alone, if they are to be like Christ when they shall see Him as He is, then, more surely, will they not use their powers for themselves, but, as Christ uses His, for those they love.

Surely, like Christ, they may come and go, even now, unseen.  Like Christ, they may breathe upon our restless hearts and say, Peace be unto you—and not in vain.  For what they did for us when they were on earth they can more fully do now that they are in heaven.  They may seem to have left us, and we, like the disciples, may weep and lament.  But the day will come when the veil shall be taken from our eyes, and we shall see them as they are, with Christ, and in Christ for ever; and remember no more our anguish for joy that a man is born into the world, that another human being has entered that one true, real, and eternal world, wherein is neither disease, disorder, change, decay, nor death, for it is none other than the Bosom of the Father.

SERMON XIII.  ASCENSION DAY

Eversley.  Chester Cathedral. 1872.

St John viii. 58.  “Before Abraham was, I am.”

Let us consider these words awhile.  They are most fit for our thoughts on this glorious day, on which the Lord Jesus ascended to His Father, and to our Father, to His God, and to our God, that He might be glorified with the glory which He had with the Father before the making of the world.  For it is clear that we shall better understand Ascension Day, just as we shall better understand Christmas or Eastertide, the better we understand Who it was who was born at Christmas, suffered and rose at Eastertide, and, as on this day, ascended into heaven.  Who, then, was He whose ascent we celebrate?  What was that glory which, as far as we can judge of divine things, He resumed as on this day?

Let us think a few minutes, with all humility, not rashly intruding ourselves into the things we have not seen, or meddling with divine matters which are too hard for us, but taking our Lord’s words simply as they stand, and where we do not understand them, believing them nevertheless.

Now it is clear that the book of Exodus and our Lord’s words speak of the same person.  The Old Testament tells of a personage who appeared to Moses in the wilderness, and who called Himself “the Lord God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.”  But this personage also calls Himself “I AM.”  “I AM THAT I AM:” “and He said, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I AM hath sent me unto you.”

In the New Testament we read of a personage who calls Himself the Son of God, is continually called the Lord, and who tells His disciples to call Him by that name without reproving them, though they and He knew well what it meant—that it meant no less than this, that He, Jesus of Nazareth, poor mortal man as He seemed, was still the Lord, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.  I do not say that the disciples saw that at first, clearly or fully, till after our Lord’s resurrection.  But there was one moment shortly before His death, when they could have had no doubt who He assumed Himself to be.  For the unbelieving Jews had no doubt, and considered Him a blasphemer; and these were His awful and wonderful words,—I do not pretend to understand them—I take them simply as I find them, and believe and adore.  “Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day, and he saw it, and was glad.  Then said the Jews unto Him, Thou art not yet fifty years old, and hast Thou seen Abraham?”  One cannot blame them for asking that question, for Abraham had been dead then nearly two thousand years.  But what is our Lord’s solemn answer?  “Verily, verily, I say unto you, before Abraham was, I am.”

“I Am.”  The same name by which our Lord God had revealed Himself to Moses in the wilderness, some sixteen hundred years before.  If these words were true,—and the Lord prefaces them with Verily, verily, Amen, Amen, which was as solemn an asseveration as any oath could be—then the Lord Jesus Christ is none other than the God of Abraham, the God of Moses, the God of the Jews, the God of the whole universe, past, present, and to come.

Let us think awhile over this wonder of all wonders.  The more we think over it, we shall find it not only the wonder of all wonders, but the good news of all good news.

The deepest and soundest philosophers will tell us that there must be an “I Am.”  That is, as they would say, a self-existent Being; neither made nor created, but who has made and created all things; who is without parts and passions, and is incomprehensible, that is cannot be comprehended, limited, made smaller or weaker, or acted on in any way by any of the things that He has made.  So that this self-existing Being whom we call God, would be exactly what He is now, if the whole universe, sun, moon, and stars, were destroyed this moment; and would be exactly what He is now, if there had never been any universe at all, or any thing or being except His own perfect and self-existent Self.  For He lives and moves and has His being in nothing.  But all things live and move and have their being in Him.  He was before all things, and by Him all things consist.  And this is the Catholic Faith; and not only that, this is according to sound and right reason.  But more: the soundest philosophers will tell you that God must be not merely a self-existent Being, but the “I Am:” that if God is a Spirit, and not merely a name for some powers and laws of brute nature and matter, He must be able to say to Himself, “I Am:” that He must know Himself, that He must be conscious of Himself, of who and what He is, as you and I are conscious of ourselves, and more or less of who and what we are.  And this, also, I believe to be true, and rational, and necessary to the Catholic Faith.

But they will tell you again—and this, too, is surely true—that I Am must be the very name of God, because God alone can say perfectly, “I Am,” and no more.  You and I dare not, if we think accurately, say of ourselves, “I am.”  We may say, I am this or that; I am a man; I am an Englishman; but we must not say, “I am;” that is, “I exist of myself.”  We must say—not I am; but I become, or have become; I was made; I was created; I am growing, changing; I depend for my very existence on God and God’s will, and if He willed, I should be nothing and nowhere in a moment.  God alone can say, I Am, and there is none beside Me, and never has, nor can be.  I exist, absolutely, and simply; because I choose to exist, and get life from nothing; for I Am the Life, and give life to all things.  But you may say, What is all this to us?  It is very difficult to understand, and dreary, and even awful.  Why should we care for it, even if it be true?  Yes, my friends; philosophy may be true, and yet be dreary, and awful, and have no gospel and good news in it at all.  I believe it never can have; that only in Revelation, and in the Revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ, can poor human beings find any gospel and good news at all.  And sure I am, that that is an awful thought, a dreary thought, a crushing thought, which makes a man feel as small, and worthless, and helpless, and hopeless, as a grain of dust, or a mote in the sunbeam—that thought of God for ever contained in Himself, and saying for ever to Himself, “I Am, and there is none beside Me.”

But the Gospel, the good news of the Old Testament, the Gospel, the good news of the New Testament, is the Revelation of God and God’s ways, which began on Christmas Day, and finished on Ascension Day: and what is that?  What but this?  That God does not merely say to Himself in Majesty, “I Am;” but that He goes out of Himself in Love, and says to men, “I Am.”  That He is a God who has spoken to poor human beings, and told them who He was; and that He, the I Am, the self-existent One, the Cause of life, of all things, even the Maker and Ruler of the Universe, can stoop to man—and not merely to perfect men, righteous men, holy men, wise men, but to the enslaved, the sinful, the brutish—that He may deliver them, and teach them, and raise them from the death of sin, to His own life of righteousness.

Do you not see the difference, the infinite difference, and the good news in that?  Do you not see a whole heaven of new hope and new duty is opened to mankind in that one fact—God has spoken to man.  He, the I Am, the Self-Existent, who needs no one, and no thing, has turned aside, as it were, and stooped from the throne of heaven, again and again, during thousands of years, to say to you, and me, and millions of mankind, I Am your God.  How do you prosper?—what do you need?—what are you doing?—for if you are doing justice to yourself and your fellow-men, then fear not that I shall be just to you.

And more.  When that I Am, the self-existent God, could not set sinful men right by saying this, then did He stoop once more from the throne of the heavens to do that infinite deed of love, of which it is written, that He who called Himself “I Am,” the God of Abraham, was conceived of the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, crucified under Pontius Pilate, rose again the third day, and ascended into heaven,—that He might send down the Spirit of the “I Am,” the Holy Spirit who proceedeth from the Father and the Son, upon all who ask Him; that they may be holy as God is holy, and perfect as God is perfect.  Yes, my dear friends, remember that, and live in the light of that; the gospel of good news of the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, very God of very God begotten.  Know that God has spoken to you as He spoke to Abraham, and said,—I am the Almighty God, walk before Me, and be thou perfect.  Know that He has spoken to you as He spoke to Moses, saying,—I am the Lord thy God, who have brought you, and your fathers before you, out of the spiritual Egypt of heathendom, and ignorance, sin, and wickedness, into the knowledge of the one, true, and righteous God.  But know more, that He has spoken to you by the mouth of Jesus Christ, saying,—I am He that died in the form of mortal man upon the cross for you.  And, behold, I am alive for evermore; and to me all power is given in heaven and earth.

Yes, my friends, let us lay to heart, even upon this joyful day, the awful warnings of the Epistle to the Hebrews,—God, the I Am, has spoken to us; God, the I Am, is speaking to us now.  See that you refuse not Him that speaketh; for if they escaped not who refused Moses that spake on earth, much more shall not we escape if we turn away from Him that speaketh from heaven; wherefore follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord, and have grace, whereby we may serve God acceptably, with reverence and godly fear.  For our God is a consuming fire.  To those who disobey Him, eternal wrath; to those who love Him, eternal love.

Yes, my friends.  Let us believe that, and live in the light of that, with reverence and godly fear, all the year round.  But let us specially to-day, as far as our dull feelings and poor imaginations will allow us; let us, I say, adore the ascended Saviour, who rules for ever, a Man in the midst of the throne of the universe, and that Man—oh, wonder of wonders!—slain for us; and let us say with St Paul of old, with all our hearts and minds and souls:—Now to the King of the Ages, immortal, invisible, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, be honour and glory, for ever and ever.  Amen!