"None of these things move me."—Acts xx. 24.

A Sermon Preached before the Queen by the Very Rev. the Dean of Windsor

As he speaks the words, we are at once placed in the presence of that life which is one of the great treasures of the Church of Christ—that life, the record of which has animated tens of thousands of the soldiers of Christ, and has encouraged myriads of sufferers in their times of need, and has, over and over again, made men heroes and martyrs. Delicate health, unceasing toil, bodily suffering, constant privations, long journeys by sea and land, long imprisonments, cruel scourgings, vexations and disappointments, and the ever-present danger of death—such were the experiences of that life. We, as we read the record, wonder at the steadfastness and endurance which made such a life possible. And while we admire the set purpose and the unflinching courage of the man, we pity him for the things which made up the experiences of his life. But he does not for a moment pity himself. On the contrary, he says of it all, "None of these things move me."

What did St. Paul really mean by saying that the sufferings of his life did not move him?

Is he speaking the language of mere bravado? Have we before us a man who is merely giving utterance to great swelling words? Is this some proud and foolish boaster who does not mean what he says? Men of this sort are not by any means uncommon. We have not to go far to come across those who, to judge by their fine words and their swaggering boastfulness, are brave and good, and superior to others, but who are, in reality, cowardly and mean and contemptible. Such men are to be met with in all departments of human life—in the family circle, in society, in politics, in the church. But no one that ever lived on this earth has been farther from the character of an empty boaster than the Apostle Paul. There were two reasons why it was impossible that he could ever have been a mere boaster. One reason is that he was absolutely true to his very heart's core. The other reason is that all his thoughts of himself were thoughts of the very deepest humility. The man who could feel himself to be the "chief of sinners," and whose whole life was manifestly sincere and true, was quite incapable of a windy boast. It is plain that mere bravado could have had nothing whatever to do with the words "None of these things move me."

Then, are his words those of a Stoic? Are we listening to the language of one whose philosophy has taught him that human virtue could have no more conspicuous triumph than to be able to suppress every emotion of the soul, and to petrify into a marble death that warm, living thing which God has given to every man, and which we call his "heart"? There were those in St. Paul's days who were philosophers after this sort. They were the men who succeeded in killing all feeling. They practised their philosophy so well, and were so obedient to its principles, that they were never conscious of a real transport of joy, and refused to acknowledge any pangs of sorrow. They turned themselves from men into marble statues. A Stoic could move about the world with a cold, contemptuous smile upon his lips; and as he passed through scenes of joy and happiness, as he listened to the happy laughter of an innocent maiden, or watched the bounding joyousness of a young man in the heyday of his youth, as he looked upon the agonies of bodily suffering, or witnessed the bitter tears of some bereaved one, or stood in the presence of the terrible realities of death, he could say—and say it with truth—"None of these things move me."

Is it with this stoical indifference that St. Paul speaks? We might as well imagine that the sun could become cold and dark, as that the warm, tender heart of the apostle could become stoical. A very cursory glance at that life, so full of love and tenderness, is enough to tell us that there could have been nothing of the Stoic about the apostle. A single moment's recollection will bring to our memories words that he spoke or wrote, which could only have come from a nature that was sensitive, tender, and emotional. St. Paul was one who loved strongly and felt deeply. He was easily lifted up with joy, and cut to the quick by pain and suffering. His love and sympathy flowed out to all around him. He welcomed the love and sympathy of others. The warm heart that was in him spoke to and influenced the hearts of others; for, as Goethe says,

Assuredly he was far from being anything approaching to a Stoic. On the contrary, he was a man who daily grew more and more into the likeness of Him Who suffered, and felt, and loved more than any other man, Who, in his wonderful tenderness and boundless sympathy, is the Great Model for us to copy.

When, therefore, St. Paul said, "None of these things move me," he could not possibly have said it out of the cold, passionless heart of a Stoic.

What, then, did he really mean by what he said? He himself has made plain to us what he meant. He says that he must finish his course with joy, and the ministry, which he has received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God. Nothing must interfere with the fulfilment of his ministry. That ministry was his life's work, to which he had been specially called. There could be no possibility of mistake about it. From the time of his conversion no shadow of a misgiving or doubt concerning it had ever for a moment crossed his mind. He was absolutely certain that he was commissioned by God to testify the gospel of His grace. His mission was to go whithersoever the providence of God might lead him—over land or sea, in sunshine or in storm—in order that he might proclaim the great message of the love of God. The thought of that mission so entirely possessed him, so penetrated his whole being, that nothing in the world could turn him aside from it, even for a moment. And the steadfast purpose of his heart to fulfil his ministry at all costs is breathed out in his words, "None of these things move me." He meant that nothing, however vexatious or disappointing or painful, could hold him back from his great work. The Holy Ghost had witnessed to him that bonds and imprisonment awaited him. It made no difference. Nothing could move him. He had received his charge to preach the gospel, and preach it he must.

We cannot but admire this courageous steadfastness of purpose, this unswerving faithfulness. But behind it all, and inspiring it all, there was the clear, bright, living faith—the open eye of his soul—which looked full on the great reality of the love of God. His faith was absolutely convinced of the love of God to him and to all mankind. The great certainty lighted up an answering love in his heart towards God and towards all men; and therefore, come what might, he must preach Christ. No doubt steadfastness and courage lie in the words, "None of these things move me." Yet even more are they the words of faith. He who speaks them is one who knows in Whom he has believed.

Why is it that we are not able to do greater things for God? Why do we so easily lose heart? Why does our energy so quickly flag? Why are our sacrifices so poor and small? Why does our courage so soon ebb away? Why do we so cry out when we are hurt? Why is our endurance so short-lived? Surely the reason is plain. If we had the strong faith of St. Paul, instead of a faith that is so often feeble and halting and irresolute, we should be better able to pass through the varied experiences of human life and say, "None of these things move me. Nothing can move me from my trust in God and from the work which He has given me to do."

But there is a further meaning in the apostle's words. They express the living faith which inspired the steadfastness of purpose with which he clung to his life's work. Yet they express more than this. As he speaks there is a scene before his eyes which, no doubt, he had often witnessed. He sees the runners in a race striving together for victory. He sees the one who, when the race is run, receives the prize. He sees the joy of victory that beams in his eyes as the chaplet is placed on his brow.

It is a picture of himself. He is running in a race. He is still in the midst of the course. And he expects to finish his course with the joy of victory. That is the hope set before him, and from that hope nothing could move him. It is out of the assuredness of that hope, which he knew would not be disappointed, that he can say of all his troubles and anxieties, "None of these things move me." He meant that nothing could shake his hope of finishing his course with joy. For was not that hope founded upon the promises of God? Was it not bound up with the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead? Had he not received ten thousand tokens of the faithfulness of God? His hope was no delusion—no baseless fabric of a dream. It was a certainty of which nothing could rob him.

It is a joy to us to remember that what was St. Paul's hope is ours also. For it is the hope of the Christian. It is the hope of glory set before all the followers of Christ. Let our faith only grasp the love of God, and win our lives from sin to the service to God, and then this blessed hope will become the golden treasure of the lives that have been renewed.

We live in a strange and sad world. Dark clouds of mystery are around us on every side. Vexation, disappointment, suffering, pain, death, confront us, and we cannot escape them. We are, more or less, sufferers all and mourners all. Oh, that we might be able to say, not with the boastfulness of fools, nor yet with the icy indifference of Stoics, but with humble faith and ever-brightening hope, "None of these things move me"! Blessed is the steadfastness which nothing can move either from the conviction of the love of God which the cross of Christ reveals, or from the path of duty which lies before us, or from the Christian hope of the life to come.