_Yes, God can die._ Three years ago after the Sunday morning service I received a telegram saying, "Mother died this morning at six-thirty. Come!" Now, what did my sisters mean by this information; did they intend to convey the idea that our mother had become extinct? Not at all, they only meant that she had lost the dear old instrument that we had known for so many years in this earthly home. Death never signifies more than this to the Christian. Though we said she was dead, we believed our mother to be more alive than ever. If death is simply the loss of our instrument, the body, then God too can die, for He may lose His body. God died on the cross with His child, because the Father-spirit, no less than the child-spirit, lost His beautiful instrument in which He had walked by the shores of Galilee, teaching and comforting the people. If Jesus would not forsake the Father in the agony of the Garden, we may be sure that the Father did not forsake His child on the cross. As they were united in life they were undivided in death. To think that Jesus any more than the Father was conscious of the pain, is to make Jesus greater than God. The God who creates the body, moment by moment, must know the thrill of every nerve, since they are His own nerves which He shares with His child. Yet it is not the pain nor the indignity heaped upon the Father and His Holy Child that we are here emphasizing, but the fact that He lost the instrument by means of which He had been a living person among men. The disciples scattered in sorrow and bewilderment, when God and His Child Jesus died on the cross. The Father had no form left on earth through which He could continue to speak _unerring_ words of wisdom and love. One year before my mother died she enfolded me once more in her arms and blessed me, saying, "My son, I shall never see you again on earth." Hastening home at the summons of my sisters I looked again on the dear old instrument, but the hand of welcome was not extended, and the lips did not speak. In like manner when the limp body of Jesus was taken from the cross, the lips no longer said, "I and the Father are one, He that hath seen me hath seen the Father." Those lifeless hands were no longer outstretched, and pleading, "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest." Yes, God can die; He can lose His human instruments on earth. He can likewise die to society by being _robbed_ of His highest instruments. If no man, woman, or child in my city would let God come to articulate speech or deed through his body, God would be stone dead in Bridgeport; He would be as dead as the spirits whose bodies lie in our cemeteries. As already indicated, I do not mean, even in that sad event, that God would not still be in Bridgeport as the power of the all-pervading atmosphere, or as the mighty force of the waves that lash our shores. His energy would still be scintillating in the lamps of the