horror, and life in the region of death. That is the race as pleasure-seeker; that is our generation on the excursion of selfishness; that is your life and mine on the current of unsanctified desire. The word from behind is simply the experience of the race put to our service. Its warning is plain. Never yet did falsehood issue in profit, or treachery in inward peace, or selfishness in the sense of high achievement, or inhumanity in the consciousness of good. Never yet did the intemperate, the immoral, the dishonest, the indifferent life rest in joy. Never yet did ingratitude to God and to man bless the soul. Never did the loveless heart prove other than its own curse. The spirit that harbors evil thoughts makes for itself a nest of vipers. All time proves that. The life that puts slight or hurt upon other lives, that breathes forth an atmosphere of disdain and scorn is like the volcanic mountain; it blasts the life about it; it has its recompense in the burning and thundering pandemonium of its own heart. The pleasure that is sought in anything that means injury or contempt for another is suicidal. It finds itself, like the scorpion in the fable, girt by a ring of fire, and thereupon drives its fang into its own brain. Nothing is more impressive or grand than this judgment of history upon inhumanity. Turn and hear the word from behind; you hear the voice of the mighty angel standing upon the land and upon the sea, commanding the entire world, and declaring that the whole testimony of time is against the godless life. "This is the way, walk ye in it." The way is the way of justice and mercy and trust in the just and merciful God. The way is the way of great-hearted service, of thankful love, of patient kindness, of reverence in the presence of life, of chastity of soul, of unfailing sympathy, of enduring devotion, of everlasting hopefulness and faith. Jesus is the way. He went about doing good; He said it is more blessed to give than to receive. He came not to be ministered unto, but to minister and to give his life for the world. He went to perfection by the path of suffering; He went home to God by the way of the cross. He is the way and the truth and the life. All history, all time, the whole majesty of the word from behind, attests the everlasting validity of the saying that the way of the cross is the way of light. XIX THE IDEAL AS THE MEANING OF LIFE "And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us (and we beheld his glory, glory as of the only begotten of the Father), full of grace and truth." John 1, 14. WE Come to the greater meanings of life with pathetic slowness. After the sun has gone, we see for the first time thrown back upon the evening sky the glorious heart of the light that has been with us all the day. Is it not strange that only after sunset are we able to say how great and wonderful is the heart of light? Is it not pathetic that only after the unfailing and perfect lover has left the home are we able to see the infinite beauty of a mother's soul? We cannot recall the day when we did not take pride in a father's strength. He was our hero; he could do everything. As we recall our feeling toward him, we can readily sympathize with the poor bewildered Negro who was unable to distinguish between the Almighty and Abraham Lincoln. Moses was to his people in the place of God. So is the great and noble father to his happy and admiring children. And yet we never knew what fatherhood meant till the great bereavement came, till we could think it over, see its struggle, note its silent suffering, dwell upon its heroism, and enter into its soul of tenderness and strength. We can best measure the great tree when it has fallen; we can seldom take in the magnitude of noble fatherhood till we stand beside its grave. The same is true of friendship. Love our friends as we may, we are unable to do justice to them till death has purified our vision. David doubtless thought that he knew his friend Jonathan; but not till he learned that his friend lay dead on the battle-field of Gilboa did he awake to the glory of his soul. Then came the great lamentation: "Jonathan is slain upon thy high places, I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: And the weapons of war perished." This is the truth about Jesus Christ. We do not find the adequate meaning of his life in the confession of devout Jews like Simeon, in the wonder of the shepherds, in the homage of the wise men from the East, or in the song of the angel which the faith of that time heard. These are beautiful dramatic incidents, but they do not go to the soul of our Lord. The disciples themselves were slow of heart to believe. The walk to Emmaus is symbolic of the mind and mood 3 of all the disciples. They were children of sense and time; they were overwhelmed by untoward events, scattered in the storm of death like sheep without a shepherd. They had walked with Jesus, they had heard Him speak, their hearts had burned under his message, and they had felt the greatness of fellowship with Him. Yet were they slow to gain genuine insight into the essential meaning of his career. Only after He had vanished from their sight, and time, circumstance, opportunity, task, and crisis had forced the majesty of his teaching and character upon them did they awaken to the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. The first three Gospels have behind them a history of maturing judgment and deepening insight. They record one great achievement of the apostolic age, the maturing, the greatening appreciation of Jesus. This is true of the Fourth Gospel. It was the last to be written. The Church has believed that it was written by the Apostle John; we believe that it was written by him or by another of equal depth of being. He had lost his Master while he was yet a young man. Into his receptive and retentive nature had gone the message of Jesus, his wonderful ministry, and the image of his soul. This unwritten Gospel, this unexpressed life of Jesus in the mind and heart of John is his treasure. He has gone over it a thousand times. The |