SELECTED BY THE REV. J. H. VINCENT, D.D.

[October 5.]

The Strange Bargain.—In a well known city there lived two merchants—one of them a skillful arithmetician, and generally an able man; the other, inexperienced in figures, and by no means a match for the former in talent. They made the following bargain: The first sold a horse to the second; but instead of fixing a definite sum of money as the price, they agreed that it should be regulated by the thirty-two nails with which the four shoes were fastened to the animal’s hoofs, and should be paid in millet, one grain being given for the first nail, two for the second, four for the third, eight for the fourth, and so on; that is, doubling the number at every nail. The buyer was at first delighted at purchasing a fine charger for what he fancied a very moderate price; but, when the account came to be settled, he found that the quantity of grain which, by the terms of the agreement, he was required to pay, was enormous. In fact, he would have been reduced to beggary, if some sensible friends had not interposed and procured a dissolution of the bargain. Gotthold, who heard the story, observed: “Well does it exemplify the wiles of Satan. By promising merry hours and temporal gain, he persuades and seduces man at first into what he calls venial faults, and labors to keep them in these until they have grown into a habit. Afterwards he advances by geometrical progression. Sin grows from sin, and one transgression follows another, the new being always the double of the old; and so the increase proceeds, until at last the base pleasure which has been bought, can be paid for only with that which is above all price, namely, the immortal soul; unless, indeed, God mercifully interpose in time with his holy spirit, opening the sinner’s eyes, convincing him of the deception, and inducing him to revoke the bargain, and implore help and deliverance from his Savior, Jesus Christ. It is therefore best to keep one’s self aloof in every way from Satan and his concerns, and to regard no sin as venial and small. How can it be that, when it is committed in opposition to the holy will of the Most High God?”

My God! teach me to reckon every sin great, so long as I live; but oh, let me look upon the very greatest sins as little, when I die!

The Lock.—A lock was shown to Gotthold, constructed of rings, which were severally inscribed with certain letters, and could be turned round until the letters represented the name Jesus. It was only when the rings were disposed in this manner that the lock could be opened. The invention pleased him beyond measure, and he exclaimed: Oh that I could put such a lock as this upon my heart! Our hearts are already locked, no doubt, but generally with a lock of quite another kind. Many need only to hear the words Gain, Honor, Pleasure, Riches, Revenge, and their heart opens in a moment, whereas, to the Savior and to his holy name it continues shut. Lord Jesus, engrave thou thy name with thine own finger upon my heart, that it may remain closed to worldly joy and to worldly pleasure, self-interest, fading honor and low revenge, and open only to thee!

The Fruitful Tree.—Passing a garden, Gotthold observed a pear tree whose branches were bending to the ground, as if they would break with the weight of the fruit. On asking a friend, who was with him, “What do you think it is which this tree needs?” he was answered: “A prop or two to support the overloaded boughs.” “No,” rejoined Gotthold, “but hands to pluck, and baskets to contain the fruit. It presents to us a beautiful emblem of the Lord Jesus, our beloved Savior. He needs me, and I him; and so we suit each other, nor think it strange when I say that the Lord Jesus needs me, I mean that he needs me as this tree does baskets, or as the widow’s cruse, which God had blessed, needed empty vessels to contain the oil.… Love constrains the Lord to seek me, as my wants do me to seek him. He possesses all things—heaven, earth, and all which they contain; but these he does not need. What he needs is souls and hearts to replenish with his grace and spirit, and bless with his salvation. O mighty love, tender compassion, and mercy of our Savior! He, who needs nothing else, can not do without sinful and wretched man.”

The Child at Play.—A little boy was running about in an apartment, amusing himself as children are accustomed to do. His money was potsherds, his house bits of wood, his horse a stick, and his child a doll. In the same apartment sat his father, at a table, occupied with important matters of business, which he noted and arranged for the future benefit of his young companion. The child frequently ran to him, asked many foolish questions, and begged one thing after another as necessary for his diversion. The father answered briefly, did not intermit his work, but all the time kept a watchful eye over the child to save him from any serious fall or injury. Gotthold was a spectator of the scene, and thought with himself: “How beautiful an adumbration of the fatherly care of God! We, too, who are old children, course about in the world, and often play at games which are much more foolish than those of our little ones; we collect and scatter, build and demolish, plant and pluck up, ride and drive, eat and drink, sing and play, and fancy that we are performing great exploits, well worthy of God’s special attention. Meanwhile, however, the Omniscient is sitting by, and writing our days in his book. He orders and executes all that is to befall us, overruling it for our best interests in time and in eternity; and yet his eye never ceases to watch over us, and the childish sports in which we are engaged, that we may meet with no deadly mischief.”

“My God! such knowledge is too wonderful for me. It is high, and I can not attain unto it; but I shall thank and praise thee for it. O, my Father! withhold not from me thy care and inspection, and, above all, at those times when, perhaps, like this little one, I am playing the fool!”—From Gotthold’s “Emblems.”

[October 12.]

Thus all history is swallowed up in boundless sorrow and remorse for that he is still laden with his boundless infirmity. But he hath delight and joy in that he seeth that the goodness of God is as great as his necessities, so that his life may well be called a dying life, by reason of such his griefs and joys, which are conformable and like unto the life of our Lord Jesus Christ, which from beginning to end was always made up of mingled grief and joy. Grief in that he left his heavenly throne and came down into this world; joy in that he was not severed from the glory and honor of the Father. Grief in that he was the son of man; joy in that he nevertheless was and remained the Son of God. Grief, because he took upon him the form of a servant; joy in that he was nevertheless a great Lord. Grief, because in human nature he was mortal, and died upon the cross; joy, because he was immortal, according to his godhead. Grief in his birth, in that he was once born of his mother; joy, in that he is the only begotten of God’s heart from everlasting to everlasting. Grief, because he became in time subject to time; joy, because he was eternal before all time, and shall be so forever. Grief, in that the word was born into the flesh, and hath dwelt in us; joy, in that the word was in the beginning with God, and God himself was the word. Grief, in that it behooved him to be baptized, like any human sinner, by St. John the Baptist, in the Jordan; joy, in that the voice of his heavenly Father said of him: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” Grief, in that, like others, sinners, he was tempted of the enemy; joy, in that the angels came and ministered unto him. Grief, in that he ofttimes endured hunger and thirst; joy, because he is himself the food of men and angels. Grief, in that he was often wearied with his labors; joy, because he is the rest of all loving hearts and blessed spirits. Grief, forasmuch as his holy life and sufferings should remain in vain for so many human beings; joy, because he should thereby save his friends. Grief, in that he must needs ask to drink water of the heathen woman at the well; joy, in that he gave to that same woman to drink of living water, so that she should never thirst again. Grief, in that he was wont to sail in ships over the sea; joy, because he was wont to walk dry shod upon the waves. Grief, in that he wept with Martha and Mary, over Lazarus; joy, in that he raised their brother Lazarus from the dead. Grief, in that he was nailed to the cross with nails; joy, in that he promised paradise to the thief by his side. Grief, in that he thirsted when hanging on the cross; joy, in that he should thereby redeem his elect from eternal thirst. Grief, when he said, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me;” joy, in that he would, with these words, comfort all sad hearts. Grief, in that his soul was parted from his body, and he died and was buried; joy, because on the third day he rose again from the dead, with a glorified body.

Thus was all his life, from the manger to the cross, a mingled web of grief and joy. Which life he hath left as a sacred testament to his followers in this present time, who are converted unto his dying life, that they may remember him when they drink of his cup, and walk as he hath walked! May God help us so to do! Amen.—From Tauler.

[October 19.]

I count it the most grievous offense which the honor of Christianity has to sustain, that some of its ostentatious disciples confine their piety to the Sabbath and its ordinances, and banish God from the week-day employment of ordinary business. Whence that disgusting censoriousness which spreads the tincture of gall over so many a religious conversation? Whence that low tone of honesty and truth, which … is so often found to accompany the uniform appearance, and I believe, too, the occasional reality, of zeal in matters of religion? Whence, in fact, that separation of religious from social duty we so often meet with, not merely in their conception, but in their example and practice?… Alas! against them, too, we can prefer the charge of not “doing all things,” and we can substantiate it. With the mark of godliness upon their forehead, their conduct for the great majority of their time says: “We will not have God to rule over us.” He is only their occasional God. The easy offering of their prayers in the family, or of their attendance in the church and at the table, is ever in readiness. But the living sacrifice of the whole body, soul, and spirit, is withheld from him. He is deposed from his right and sovereignty over every minute of their existence; and instead of his law reaching to all their concerns, and bringing the whole man under its obedience, we see that in the vast majority of their doings they cast him off, and are as much the slaves of their own temper, and inclination, and interest, as if God had not a will for them at all times to obey, and as if Christ had never set an example before them to study and to imitate.

Hold, ye hypocrites! who talk of this as the season that is given to the love of Christ and to the memorial of his atonement! Did not Christ order away a disciple from his altar?—and upon what errand? Upon what you, it seems, would call the very worldly and unsuitable employment of making up a quarrel with a neighbor? Did not Christ say, “If ye love me, keep my commandments?” And yet the minister who expounds these commandments, and presses their observance upon you, is looked upon as preaching another gospel than what Christ left behind him. Oh! when will men cease to put asunder what God hath joined; and taking their lesson from the Bible, as little children, submit to it without a murmur, in all its parts, and in all its varieties!

But let the minister of God be gentle with all men, and humble under the feeling of his own infirmities. Let him, however zealous for the truth as it is in Jesus, learn that there is nothing in the purity of his own practice to justify a tone of indignant superiority to others. It is easy to see and to approve that which is excellent; but how shall we compass the doing of it? It is easy to expatiate on the frailties and the delusions of men; but how shall he manage for himself, when told by his own melancholy experience that he shares in them? It is easy to acknowledge the right and the sovereignty of God in all things, and to press his earnest assurances upon you, that you are wrong, if you suffer not the word of exhortation urging you to the daily walk and duties of the Christian; but to what refuge can he fly, when he finds that he is himself a defaulter, and that after having warmed his heart at the inconsistency of others, and penned his sentences against it, he mingles in the business of his work and his family, and forgetting that the eye of his God follows him there, falls a helpless victim to the imbecilities of our ruined nature?—From Dr. Chalmers.

[October 26.]

The Christian minister needs often to be reminded of this great end of his office, the perfection of the human character. He is too apt to rest in low attainments himself, and to be satisfied with low attainments in others. He ought never to forget the great distinction and glory of the gospel—that it is designed to perfect human nature. All the precepts of this divine system are marked by a sublime character. It demands that our piety be fervent, our benevolence unbounded, and our thirst for righteousness strong and insatiable. It enjoins a virtue which does not stop at what is positively prescribed, but which is prodigal of service to God and to mankind. The gospel enjoins inflexible integrity, fearless sincerity, fortitude which despises pain and tramples pleasure under foot in the pursuit of duty, and an independence of spirit which no scorn can deter and no example seduce from asserting truth and adhering to the cause which conscience approves. With this spirit of martyrs, this hardness and intrepidity of soldiers of the cross, the gospel calls us to unite the mildest and weakest virtues; a sympathy which melts over others’ woes; a disinterestedness which finds pleasure in toil, and labors for others’ good; a humility which loves to bless unseen, and forgets itself in the performance of the noblest deeds. To this perfection of social duty, the gospel commands us to join a piety which refers every event to the providence of God, and every action to his will; a love which counts no service hard, and a penitence which esteems no judgment severe; a gratitude which offers praise even in adversity; a holy trust unbroken by protracted suffering, and a hope triumphant over death. In one word, it enjoins that, living and confiding in Jesus Christ, we make his spotless character, his heavenly life, the model of our own. Such is the sublimity of character which the gospel demands, and such the end to which our preaching should ever be directed.

… We need to feel more deeply that we are entrusted with a religion which is designed to ennoble human nature; which recognizes in man the capacities of all that is great, good and excellent, and which offers every encouragement and aid to the pursuit of perfection. The Christian minister should often recollect that man, through prepense to evil, has yet power and faculties which may be exalted and refined to angelic glory; that he is called by the gospel to prepare for the community of angels; that he is formed for unlimited progress in intellectual and moral excellence and felicity. He should often recollect that in Jesus Christ our nature has been intimately united with the divine, and that in Jesus it is already enthroned in heaven. Familiarized to these generous conceptions, the Christian preacher, whilst he faithfully unfolds to men their guilt and danger, should also unfold their capacities for greatness; should reveal the splendor of that destiny to which they are called by Christ; should labor to awaken within them aspirations after a nobler character and a higher existence, and to inflame them with the love of all the graces and virtues with which Jesus came to enrich and adorn the human soul. In this way he will prove that he understands the true and great design of the gospel and the ministry—which is nothing less than the perfection of the human character.—From Channing.