Part 12 (2/2)

But now-a-days men say--”The cedars of Lebanon are not G.o.d's trees, nor are any other trees. They belong to nature.” Now I believe in nature no more than I do in Baal. Nature is merely things--a great many things it is true, but only things--and when I add them all up together, and call them nature, as if they were one thing, I make an abstraction of them.

There is no harm in that: but if I treat that abstraction as if it really existed, and did anything, then I make of it an idol, the which I have no mind to do. I believe, I say, in nature no more than I do in Baal. Both words were at first symbols; and both have become in due course of time mere idols. But those who wors.h.i.+p nature and not G.o.d, say now--G.o.d did not make trees; they were made by the laws of nature and nothing else.

Well: I believe that the so-called philosophers who say that, will be proved at last to be no more right, and no more rational, than those heathen workmen of Tyre. But meanwhile, what the Psalmist says, and what the Bible says, is--Those trees belong to G.o.d. He made them, He made all things; the sap--the mysterious life in them, by which each grows and seeds according to its kind--is His gift. Their growth is ordered by Him; and so are all things in earth and heaven.

Then why speak of them especially as trees of G.o.d? Because, my friends, we can only find out that something is true of many things, by finding out that it is true of one thing; and that we usually find out by some striking instance; some case about which there can be no mistake. And these cedars of Lebanon were, and are still, such a striking instance, which there was no mistaking. Upon the slopes of the great snow-mountain of Lebanon stood those gigantic cedar-trees--whole forests of them then--now only one or two small groups, but awful, travellers tell us, even in their decay. Whence did they come? There are no trees like them for hundreds, I had almost said for thousands, of miles. There are but two other patches of them left now on the whole earth, one in the Atlas, one in the Himalaya. The Jews certainly knew of no trees like them; and no trees either of their size. There were trees among them then, probably, two and three hundred feet in height; trees whose tops were as those minster towers; whose shafts were like yonder pillars; and their branches like yonder vaults. No king, however mighty, could have planted them up there upon the lofty mountain slopes. The Jew, when he entered beneath the awful darkness of these cedars; the cedars with a shadowy shroud--as the Scripture says--the cedars high and lifted up, whose tops were among the thick boughs, and their height exalted above all the trees of the field; fair in their greatness; their boughs multiplied, and their branches long--for it is in such words of awe and admiration that the Bible talks always of the cedars--then the Jew said, ”G.o.d has planted these, and G.o.d alone.” And when he thought, not merely of their grandeur and their beauty, but of their use; of their fragrant and incorruptible timber, fit to build the palaces of kings, and the temples of G.o.ds; he said--and what could he say better?--”These are trees of G.o.d;” wonderful and glorious works of a wonderful and a glorious Creator. If he had not, he would have had less reason in him, and less knowledge of G.o.d, than the Hindoos of old; who when they saw the other variety of the cedar growing, in like grandeur, on the slopes of the Himalaya, called them the Deodara--which means, in the old Sanscrit tongue, neither more nor less than ”the timber of G.o.d,” ”the lance of G.o.d”--and what better could they have said?

My friends, I speak on this matter from the fulness of my heart. It has happened to me--through the bounty of G.o.d, for which I shall be ever grateful--to have spent days in primeval forests, as grand, and far stranger and far richer than that of Lebanon and its cedars; amid trees beside which the hugest tree in Britain would be but as a sapling; gorgeous too with flowers, rich with fruits, timbers, precious gums, and all the yet unknown wealth of a tropic wilderness. And as I looked up, awestruck and bewildered, at those minsters not made by hands, I found the words of Scripture rising again and again unawares to my lips, and said--Yes: the Bible words are the best words, the only words for such a sight as this. These too are trees of G.o.d which are full of sap. These, too, are trees, which G.o.d, not man, has planted. Mind, I do not say that I should have said so, if I had not learnt to say so from the Bible.

Without the Bible I should have been, I presume, either an idolater or an atheist. And mind, also, that I do not say that the Psalmist learnt to call the cedars trees of G.o.d by his own una.s.sisted reason. I believe the very opposite. I believe that no man can see the truth of a thing unless G.o.d shews it him; that no man can find out G.o.d, in earth or heaven, unless G.o.d condescends to reveal Himself to that man. But I believe that G.o.d did reveal Himself to the Psalmist; did enlighten his reason by the inspiration of His Holy Spirit; did teach him, as we teach a child, what to call those cedars; and, as it were, whispered to him, though with no audible voice: ”Thou wishest to know what name is most worthy whereby to call those mighty trees: then call them trees of G.o.d. Know that there is but one G.o.d, of whom are all things; and that they are His trees; and that He planted them, to shew forth His wisdom, His power, and His good will to man.”

And do you fancy that because the Jew called the great cedars trees of G.o.d, that therefore he thought that the lentiscs and oleanders, by the brook outside, were not G.o.d's shrubs; or the lilies and anemones upon the down below were not G.o.d's flowers? Some folk have fancied so.--It seems to me most unreasonably. I should have thought that here the rule stood true; that that which is greater contains the less; that if the Psalmist knew G.o.d to be mighty enough to make and plant the cedars, he would think Him also mighty enough to make and plant the smallest flower at his feet.

I think so. For I know it was so with me. My feeling that those enormous trees over my head were G.o.d's trees, did not take away in the least from my feeling of G.o.d's wisdom and power in the tiniest herb at their feet. Nay rather, it increased my feeling that G.o.d was filling all things with life and beauty; till the whole forest,--if I may so speak in all humility, but in all honesty--from the highest to the lowest, from the hugest to the smallest, and every leaf and bud therein, seemed full of the glory of G.o.d. And if I could feel that,--being the thing I am--how much more must the inspired Psalmist have felt it? You see by this very psalm that he did feel it. The gra.s.s for the use of cattle, and the green herb for men, and the corn and the wine and the oil, he says, are just as much G.o.d's making, and G.o.d's gift. The earth is ”filled,” he says, ”with the fruit of G.o.d's works.” Filled: not dotted over here and there with a few grand and wonderful things which G.o.d cares for, while He cares for nothing else: but filled. Let us take the words of Scripture honestly in their whole strength; and believe that if the Psalmist saw G.o.d's work in the great cedars, he saw it everywhere else likewise.

Nay, more: I will say this. That I believe it was such teaching as that of this very 104th Psalm--teaching which runs, my friends, throughout the Old Testament, especially through the Psalmists and the Prophets--which enabled the Jews to understand our Lord's homely parables about the flowers of the field and the birds of the air. Those of them at least who were Israelites indeed; those who did understand, and had treasured up in their hearts, the old revelation of Moses, and the Psalmists, and the Prophets; those who did still believe that the cedars were the trees of G.o.d, and that G.o.d brought forth gra.s.s for the cattle, and green herb for the service of men; and who could see G.o.d's hand, G.o.d's laws, G.o.d's love, working in them--those men and women, be sure, were the very ones who understood our Lord, when He said, ”Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. They toil not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not compared unto one of these.”

And why should it not be so with you, townsfolk though you are? Every Londoner has now, in the public parks and gardens, the privilege of looking on plants and flowers, more rich, more curious, more varied than meet the eye of any average countryman. Then when you next avail yourselves of that real boon of our modern civilization, let me beg you not to forget the lesson which I have been trying to teach you.

You may feel--you ought to feel--that those strange and stately semitropic forms are indeed plants of G.o.d; the work of a creative Spirit who delights to employ His Almighty power in producing ever fresh shapes of beauty--seemingly unnecessary, seemingly superfluous, seemingly created for the sake of their beauty alone--in order that the Lord may delight Himself in His works. Let that sight make you admire and reverence more, not less, the meanest weed beneath your feet. Remember that the very weeds in your own garden are actually more highly organized; have cost--if I may so say, with all reverence, but I can only speak of the infinite in clumsy terms of the finite--the Creator more thought, more pains, than the giant cedars of Lebanon, and the giant cypresses of California. Remember that the smallest moss or lichen which clings upon the wall, is full of wonders and beauties, as inexplicable as unexpected; and that of every flower on your own window-sill the words of Christ stand literally true--that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as one of these: and bow your hearts and souls before the magnificent prodigality, the exquisite perfection of His work, who can be, as often as He will, greatest in that which is least, because to His infinity nothing is great, and nothing small; who hath created all things, and for His pleasure they are, and were created; who rejoices for ever in His own works, because He beholds for ever all that He makes, and it is very good.

And then refresh your hearts as well as your brains--tired it may be, too often, with the drudgery of some mechanical, or merely calculating, occupation--refresh your hearts, I say, by lifting them up unto the Lord, in truly spiritual, truly heavenly thoughts; which bring n.o.bleness, and trust, and peace, to the humblest and the most hardworked man.

For you can say in your hearts--All the things which I see, are G.o.d's things. They are thoughts of G.o.d. G.o.d gives them law, and life, and use. My heavenly Father made them. My Saviour redeemed them with His most precious blood, and rules and orders them for ever. The Holy Spirit of G.o.d, which was given me at my baptism, gives them life and power to grow and breed after their kinds. The divine, miraculous, and supernatural power of G.o.d Himself is working on them, and for them, perpetually: and how much more on me, and for me, and all my children, and fellow-creatures for whom Christ died. Without my Father in heaven not a sparrow falls to the ground: and am I not of more value than many sparrows? G.o.d feeds the birds: and will He not feed me? G.o.d clothes the lilies of the field: and will He not clothe me? Ah, me of little faith, who forget daily that in G.o.d I live, and move, and have my being, and am, in spite of all my sins, the child of G.o.d. Him I can trust in prosperous times, and in disastrous times; in good harvests and in bad harvests; in life and in death, in time and in eternity. For He has given all things a law which cannot be broken. And they continue this day as at the beginning, serving Him. And if I serve Him likewise, then shall I be in harmony with G.o.d, and with G.o.d's laws, and with G.o.d's creatures, great and small. The whole powers of nature as well as of spirit will be arrayed on my side in the struggle for existence; and all things will work together for good to those who love G.o.d.

SERMON XVII. LIFE.

PSALM CIV. 24, 28-30.

O Lord, how manifold are Thy works! in wisdom hast Thou made them all: the earth is full of Thy riches.

That Thou givest them they gather. Thou openest Thine hand, they are filled with good. Thou hidest Thy face, they are troubled. Thou takest away their breath, they die, and return to their dust. Thou sendest forth Thy Spirit, they are created: and Thou renewest the face of the earth.

What is the most important thing to you, and me, and every man?

I suppose that most, if they answered honestly, would say--Life. I will give anything I have for my life.

And if some among you answered--as I doubt not some would--No: not life: but honour and duty. There is many a thing which I would rather die than do--then you would answer like valiant and righteous folk; and may G.o.d give you grace to keep in the same mind, and to hold your good resolution to the last. But you, too, will agree that, except doing your duty, life is the most important thing you have. The mother, when she sacrifices her life to save her child, shews thereby how valuable she holds the child's life to be; so valuable that she will give up even her own to save it.

But did you never consider, again--and a very solemn and awful thought it is--that this so important thing called life is the thing, above all other earthly things, of which we know least--ay, of which we know nothing?

We do not know what death is. We send a shot through a bird, and it falls dead--that is, lies still, and after a while decays again into the dust of the earth, and the gases of the air. But what has happened to it? How does it die? How does it decay? What is this life which is gone out of it? No man knows. Men of science, by dissecting and making experiments, which they do with a skill and patience which deserve not only our belief, but our admiration, will describe to us the phenomena, or outward appearances, which accompany death, and follow death. But death itself--for want of what the animal has died--what has gone out of it--they cannot tell. No man can tell; for that is invisible, and not to be discovered by the senses. They are therefore forced to explain death by theories, which may be true, or false: but which are after all not death itself, but their own thoughts about death put into their own words. Death no man can see: but only the phenomena and effects of death; and still more, life no man can see: but only the phenomena and effects of life.

For if we cannot tell what death is, still more we cannot tell what life is. How life begins; how it organizes each living thing according to its kind; and makes it grow; how it gives it the power of feeding on other things, and keeping up its own body thereby: of this all experiments tell us as yet nothing. Experiment gives us, here again, the phenomena--the visible effects. But the causes it sees not, and cannot see.

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