Plain Sermons, preached at Archbishop Tenison's Chapel, Regent Street. Second SeriesCowan, James Galloway
Religion
Plain Sermons, preached at Archbishop Tenison's Chapel, Regent Street. Second Series
Cowan, James Galloway
Church of England -- Sermons -- 19th century; Sermons, English
DOES our LORD mean to say that there was no blessedness in the sight
which he then presented?—that it was not a precious privilege actually to
see Him, to hear Him, to be perceptibly with Him? Would He, too,
withdraw and reverse the blessing He had formerly pronounced—“Blessed are
the eyes which see the things that ye see”? Would He tell us that the
kings and prophets, who saw the promises only afar off, who fancied and
conjectured, and died in hope, were more blessed than the hearers of the
Sermon of the Mount, the spectators of the Transfiguration, the
companions of that three years’ ministry, the guests at Emmaus, the
disciple that reclined on His bosom? No, surely! The blessedness of the
Apostles, in certainly seeing, and being with CHRIST in the flesh, is, in
its peace and joy, a blessedness which stands pre-eminent and alone, and
must do till again He is seen in Heaven. But peace and joy are not the
greatest blessings. That which calms, that which gladdens, is nothing in
comparison with that which sanctifies and elevates; and there is a
blessedness which does this; and which, therefore, is greater. It is the
blessedness which faith produces. “Blessed (_i.e._, more blessed) are
they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” Belief, faith—what is
it? It may be described as the assent of the understanding, to that
which is not proved to any of our senses, but which appears credible
because of the testimony given to it. We all have this faith, in human
affairs. We all of us accept as true—are convinced of their truth, and
act upon the conviction—things which are not proved to us, but are
supported by reliable statement. If you serve for wages, or sell goods
on credit, or become surety for another, or go out to seek a new home in
a distant land, you do it in faith. You cannot see into the heart, and
be sure of the honesty of your employer, your customer, your friend; but
what appears, from what you are told by others of him, you rely on him.
And so again, you do not actually know that there is such a land as you
propose to seek, but you believe it, because of all that travellers have
said of it, of the goods you have seen, the letters you have read, which
are stated to have come from it. Of course, as the testimony varies in
its credibility, this faith is of different degrees. You have such faith
in your well-tried friend, in his integrity and his wisdom, that you
know, you say, that he will not deceive you, and that he cannot be
deceived himself. Others, of whom you know less, you believe more
slowly. Some, you think, are not qualified to give testimony; they have
the thing second-hand, or they were not competent to judge of what they
saw, and heard, and felt; or they are not truthful, and may wilfully
misrepresent: and even, in the best cases, faith is sometimes misplaced.
Therefore, your faith in human things, has always, perhaps (and should
have) a trace of doubt in it—sometimes is weak, sometimes fails
altogether.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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