Startlingly enough this moulding of society, this overturning of old conditions--this bringing in of the radically new, so that their enemies said of them they had "turned the world upside down"; this repudiation of brutality and the exaltation of unselfishness; this building up of a condition in which a community now judged itself by the standards of chastity, righteousness and neighborly kindness; this renovation of whole centres of life till the erstwhile deserts wherein not a flower of gentleness had bloomed, now blossomed as gardens of delight, watered with never-ceasing streams of brotherly love--were produced, not by an appeal to society itself, not by denunciation of laws and customs, however bad, but by laying hold of a human soul, estimating it in value by the weight of a whole world, and changing the individual life. This was the triumph of original and primitive Christianity. In view of such a triumph and the unqualified failure of the modern drift which claims the name of Christianity, it should seem a perfectly legitimate and altogether pertinent question to ask, "What is Christianity?" The answer is given by the apostle Paul in his second letter to Timothy, his son in the faith, the preacher of his own ordination. He says: "Our Saviour Jesus Christ . . . has abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the Gospel." (2 Timothy 1:10.) According to this declaration, the Gospel is the good news that our Lord Jesus Christ came into the world to accomplish three things-- abolish death, bring in a new life and reveal immortality. As the Gospel is the heart beat of Christianity, then the three things which proclaim its constituent and objective characteristic are: The abolition of death. The gift of a new life. Immortality. First--The abolition of death. Death is a black fact. It is the shadow the sun never penetrates, the robber who steals the treasure more precious than gold, the guest who never waits to be invited, the intruder who feels at home whether in palace or in cot, has no respect of persons, and lays his hand with equal familiarity on the king upon his throne, or the tramp by the wayside, saying "come" to the sick, "tarry not" to the well, is sure of the old, and revels like a reaper in the harvest of the young. It breaks the plans and disorganizes the relations of life; and then, like a coarse comedian or a heartless satirist, compels those who survive to turn away from the memory of their dead, reorganize their lives and live on as though those who once lived with them and formed an intimate part of their daily experience had never existed. Unless God himself shall intervene, death is the certain end of the longest life. Side by side with the certainty of death are two things which give it emphasis: the brevity of life and its uncertainty.