has power over inorganic matter and over vegetable life, for He blasts the fig-tree by a syllable, and five loaves and two fishes swell up at His command into a royal banquet for five thousand men. He has power over ferocious passion, for at His word-at His look, indeed-the soldiery lose their malignity, and the foul demoniac is comely as a child. He has power over sickness, for the numbed limbs of the paralytic quicken as He steps into the strength of manhood, and the leprosy scales off from its victim and he is ready for the fellowships of men. He has power indeed, over death, for by Him the maiden rises from her shroud, and the young man greets his mother on the way to burial, and weeping sisters grasp their ransomed brother, a four days' dweller in the tomb. And you ask me to believe that all this can have been accomplished by a mere man like ourselves! "Oh," but they say, “He was a good Man we acknowledge, a model Man, a great Teacher, a representative Man, the highest Man. In some sense, indeed, He may be said to have had an inferior and derived divinity. No wonder, therefore, that He should thus exert influence and thus extend a dominion." No, pardon me, but this only deepens the mystery, for this model Man who held no compromise with evil, who frowned away dissimulation from His presence, of whose inimitable morals Rousseau, no friend of His, said that if the life and death of Socrates were those of an angel, the life and death of Jesus were those of a God; this model Man professed all His life to be divine, received divine honors without rebuking the offerers, insisted upon His profession of divinity so strongly that the Jews stoned Him for blasphemy, never failed to say that He was one with the Father, and that He should, by and by, come again in the clouds of heaven. Oh, Jesus Christ cannot simply be a good and a benevolent Man. There are only two alternatives possible: He is an impostor or a God.

Now, unbeliever, you who scout the mystery of our faith, you who dismiss it as the figment of fancy or the dream of fanaticism, solve this mystery of your own. Pass through life disowning all the truths and doctrines in which we glory, but shut up-shut up as I shut you up to-night-to this far deeper mystery, either on the one hand of a good man who has spoken falsehood, or, on the other hand, of an impostor who cheated a world, while we, from the lowest dust into which gratitude can sink, will lift up our hearts and our voices, and say, "Without controversy great is the mystery of godliness: God was manifest in the flesh."

That is the first thought-that it is a condescending incarnation.

Well, then, following upon that in the second place, the assumption of humanity was voluntary. This, indeed, follows

inevitably from the foregone conclusion of His divinity. Being God, of course, He was under the pressure of no external obligation. To accommodate theological language to human infirmity, God is sometimes represented as influenced by outward things; but really every divine act is self-contained and self-originating. Christ, therefore, could be under the pressure of no possible obligation. Law was Himself in spoken precept. Justice was Himself engraven on the universe. Mercy was Himself—the radiation from the light of His own beneficent countenance upon the creatures that He had made. Every administration of physical government was His own, either in independent action or in the harmonious union of the divine Trinity. It is manifest, therefore, that, so far as the divine nature was concerned His assumption of our humanity was disinterested and voluntary. In fact, there was nothing prompting Him to it but the upwelling of His own strong tenderness toward the hapless and fallen creatures that He had made. This spontaneity of the offering is necessary; and I will tell you why I dwell upon it-because it rescues the Father from the suspicion of injustice which from the other side of infidelity is very often cast upon Him. But it seems as though our Saviour, knowing that some blasphemers would rise up in later times to throw a slur upon His Father's tenderness, defends Him by anticipation, and He says, "Therefore doth my Father love Me, because I lay down My life for the sheep. No man taketh My life from Me"-as if the thought had just struck Him that there might be those who would accuse His Father of injustice-"No man taketh My life from Me, but I lay it down of Myself. I have power to lay it down and I have power to take it again."

And beside this spotaneity, which at once redeems the act from the suspicion of injustice, remember also that it was a stoop of condescension undertaken with the object of a commensurate reward. That may seem strange to some, but the apostle understands it. "Who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God." A world ransomed from the destroyer-a mediatorial kingdom erected upon the ruins of earth's falling thrones-a name that is above every name, honored in heaven by prostrate obedience and undying song, honored on earth by every confessing lip and every bending knee-this was the joy set before Him, and for this He endured-bore bravely-the cross, and depised-looked down with infinite contempt upon-mysterious and inconceivable shame.

And, besides, that an enforced submission could not be practically or judicially available, there is that in the voluntariness of the suffering which at once exalts our confidence and en

We

hances our affection for our surety and for our friend. judge of the excellence of virtue in our small way by the willinghood with which it is practised, and although, as we are all under the bonds of a common obligation to obedience, we can hardly enter into a comparison, yet, unquestionably, the willingness-the infinite willingness-with which the Saviour threw Himself into the breach and rescued the world that was perishing is a claim upon our gratitude and devotion in no ordinary degree. Oh, let.sinners, like ourselves, think of it, how, when the destinies of the world trembled in the balance, when the issue was so great, so fearful, so tremendous, that there was silence in heaven, the silence was sweetly broken by the voice from the throne, "Here am I, send me. Lo, I come, in the volume of the book, it is written of me, to do thy will, O God;" and in another passage, “I delight to do thy will, O my God." Now, think of what the will of God in this instance comprehended-the veiling of essential glory, the enduring the contradiction of sinners, the pangs of desertion and treachery, the bloody death upon the cross, the mysterious and terrible abandonment, for the moment, by the Father, sorrow's crown, a sorrow a thousand-fold intenser and more terrible than any other suffering. And it was through thisfor your sake and mine-that the Saviour intelligently volunteered to pass, that He might rescue a dying world. Oh, as we, sinners like ourselves, see Him as He enters upon His work, and as He prosecutes His work without difficulty and without hindrance, or rather with difficulty and with hindrance, but with difficulty mastered and hindrance overcome, surely there is enough to excite our deepest gratitude and our loftiest praise. When He came into the world-when, actually incarnate, He entered upon His brief ministry-it was with no reluctant step; it was in no hireling spirit. No; what said He? 66 My meat is to do the will;" and you remember what the will was. It comprehended all that I have said. "My meat," as necessary and as pleasant to Him as His daily sustenance- 66 My meat is to do the will of Him that sent me, and to finish His work." Nay, he seems on one occasion to be altogether like a bird dashing itself against the bars of its cage for freedom, simply because the purpose of His mission tarried in its fulfillment. "I have a baptism to be baptized with, and how am I straitened"-it was a baptism of blood, remember--" how am I straitened till it be accomplished." Thus did He think of and publish the great end of His coming. Now, look at Him, dear friends; look at Him to-night. would bring Him down before you. See Him in His sorrowful pilgrimage. Mark Him as, one wave after another wave, the proud waters go over His soul, and then He dashes the spray and the surge away from Him, and breasts them all like

I

a strong swimmer, and goes through unto the end, trampling upon the breakers of God's anger, and treads the wine-press of His wrath alone; and then think of all your ingratitude, frailty, rebelliousness, pride; and, while you humble yourselves in the dust, come gather yourselves up to-night into a fresher conse

cration.

"O Lamb of God, was ever pain,

Was ever love like thine ?" "Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands the soul, the life, the all."

This is the second thought.

Now, you have heard that the incarnation of Christ-His assumption of humanity-was condescending and was voluntary. Now, I want you to look at it as complete. It was no mock assumption of humanity. The entire nature was taken He had a human body with all its infirmities. He had a human soul with its completeness of faculty, and with its capability of endurance-with its every capacity and with its every affection.

on.

There were three reasons which made this complete assump

tion of the nature necessary. It was necessary, first, because

the human was the nature which had sinned, and the human, therefore, must bear the brand of the divine displeasure. It was necessary, in the second place, that the world might have the best possible embodied manifestation of God-that in the minds of men, too gross, too carnal, to comprehend ideas that were purely spiritual, there might be the vision of the incarnate Son as the highest embodied possibility of being. And then it was necessary, in the third place, that the great want of the nations in all the ages of history might be met and complied with-of perfect pureness allied to perfect sympathy -the arm omnipotent to deliver, and behind it the heart tender and brave and sympathizing to feel. These were the three reasons that made it necessary that Christ should take our nature completely upon Himself. And the real humanity of Christ is attested by abundant authentications. In every sense of the word-I am bold to declare it-in every sense of the word He was a man with men. He was born helpless as others are born. Through His early years He dwelt in obscurity at Nazareth in the house of His reputed father, and worked at His handicraft for bread. He grew as other children grow, in successive developments into maturity, and through the processes of the years developed the maturity of manhood. When in the exercise of His ministry He went out among His fellows, He sustained, as they did, the relations of mutual dependence and help. He was no breaker of existing states of things. He was no iconoclast of even that which was faulty in the government that surrounded Him. He was a loyal subject. He paid the tribute-money without murmuring, and He submitted to

every ordinance of men. He was no dark ascetic-no saintly anchorite-no recluse that dwelt apart like a star. If men asked Him to go to their houses, He went; and He blest the frugal board, and He poured His blessing upon the marriage festival; and He sorrowed with them when the homes of their love were invaded and the light of some loved one had been suddenly quenched in their sight. His filial affection shone conspicuously throughout the whole of His history and gleamed out, brilliant as a star, in the moment of His mysterious passion. His care for those who followed Him ceased not with His own life. " Having loved His own which were in the world, He loved them to the end." He was a man-thoroughly a man-with men. Does human nature hunger? He hungered in the plain where the delusive fig-tree grew. Does human nature thirst? He felt the pang sharply upon the cross. Is human nature wearied with excessive journeying or toil? "He sat thus on the well." Does human nature shrink and fear and quail under the pressure of apprehended trouble? Listen, as He has at once told us what to do and told us how to do it: "O my Father, if it be possible." Is not that human? "O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will but as thou wilt.' Does human nature get possessed of a great terror? "He was heard in that He feared." Does human nature weep unbidden tears? Pity wrung them from Him as He gazed upon the fated Jerusalem with sorrow. Real and genuine human sorrow wrung them from Him at the tomb where Lazarus lay. Yes, he was a man with men. In all affection, sensibility, sympathy and everything but sin, He was a man with men. Look at Him as He sustains every grace and is disfigured by no blemish of humanity-banishing sorrow from the homes, and sin from the hearts of men, with not an act which men can trace up to selfishness, and not a word which they can brand as insincere-His whole life one kindness, and then His death an atonement. Behold the divine man! The divine man! The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, the skill to make canvas speak or marble breathe, or to play upon men's hearts as upon a harp of many tunes, the glory of chivalry or of that baser chivalry that climbs to notoriety up the slopes where the trampled lie, and where the red rain drops from many a heart-what are their claims to His? Behold the divine man! Be silent, ye competitors for greatness, and let Him speak alone. Érase all meaner names from thy tablets, thou applauding world, and carve this name instead. Shrine it in your loving hearts, ye who have learnt to believe in Him, and who trust in His atonement for light and life beyond the grave. Let it be there deeper than all other memory of home or friend-the man--the divine man! Christ Jesus. "Forasmuch, then, as children are par