With sudden impulse my voice rang out in the cadences of the great organ as I raised their thoughts to the cross over the altar where hung the One who was rejected and despised of men. I painted the poverty and neglect and scorn of the life of the Man of Sorrows. They wept as I bent their thoughts to the weary mission of this lofty spirit amongst men, and His despair as He saw them turn in contempt from Him. The death of torture that marked the close of His sojourn here was as nothing to the crucifixion of the spirit that He bore each day from the cold neglect or the supercilious sneer with which His message was met. None but lowly fishermen would accept His divine teachings. And never a murmur issued from His lips. Heart-broken and martyred in soul, the crown of thorns was a fit close to His career. I seemed to hold the great assemblage in the hollow of my hand. The sound of weeping rose, while with love and adoration they gazed on the crowned agony as it hung on the cross. Then I blessed the people and left the pulpit, my heart hard and dry within me, when an alien sound broke upon my ear from the farther end of the great aisle. A commotion arose, and before many minutes the whole mass of worshippers had joined in the passionate discord. There was a conflict about some centre that was moving upwards from the door. Before I could regain the pulpit, a bruised and bleeding body had been raised above the sea of heads upon a cross against one of the huge pillars. A cry of execration rose from the whole church. It was useless to attempt interference, for my voice could not be heard in the tumult. In a few minutes the insults and buffetings had accomplished their work; the wounded, bleeding head sank upon the breast of the figure on the cross; his spirit had fled. It was a preaching reformer of the town, who was accounted a madman for his enthusiasm. He had fallen into some controversy and had shown his opponents the gross and material nature of their worship, insulting to a Deity who was pure spirit; he had prophesied the downfall of all their gorgeous churches and ceremonials, and the substitution of silent reverence within the temple of the heart. They had taken his prophesy as an insult to the Christ and His church. Fleeing to the sanctuary to be safe from the furious attack of the crowd, they had followed him and with a few hurried words had enlisted the worshippers within against the blasphemer. And this had been the result. As I looked at the blood-stained features, there seemed to gather round the head a halo of light as of a crown of thorns. I was struck with a strange resemblance and glancing back at the altar, saw the faces were the same. This passionate devotion to a dead Christ had found Him in living form and had crucified Him again.