A. J. Gossip

But, you object, a heart like mine can offer Christ so little -- at best, so poor and pinched and read more

But, you object, a heart like mine can offer Christ so little -- at best, so poor and pinched and stingey a hospitality and such meagre fare; for I have nothing worthy of Him to set before Him, only a kind of affection, real enough at times, but which, at others, can and does so easily forget; only a will, quite unreliable, deplorably unstable; only a faith that is the merest shadow of what His real friends mean when they speak about faith, I know. But, there was once a garret up under the roof, a poor, bare place enough. There was a table in it, and there were some benches, and a water-pot; a towel, and a basin in behind the door, but not much else -- a bare, unhomelike room. But the Lord Christ entered into it. And, from that moment, it became the holiest of all, where souls innumerable ever since have met the Lord God, in High glory, face to face. And, if you give Him entrance to that very ordinary heart of yours, it too He will transform and sanctify and touch with a splendour of glory.

Feast of Thomas More, Scholar & Martyr, & John Fisher, Bishop & Martyr, 1535 The redeemed in Heaven crying read more

Feast of Thomas More, Scholar & Martyr, & John Fisher, Bishop & Martyr, 1535 The redeemed in Heaven crying continually, "Unto Him that loved us and washed us from our sins in His own blood," give, say the scriptures, an adoration which, in depth and fullness, no angel of them all can ever equal. Yet even then, we have not reached the centre. For when we worship, we are in God's presence, and it is what He says and does to us that is the all-important thing, not what we say and do toward Him. Since He is here and speaking to us, face to face, it is for us, in a hush of spirit, to listen for and to His voice, reproving counseling, encouraging, revealing His most blessed will for us; and, with diligence, to set about immediate obedience. This and this, upon which He has laid His hand, must go; and this and this to which He calls us must be at once begun. And here and now I start to it. That is the heart of worship, its very core and essence.

Maundy Thursday Perhaps we feel that we do not see much to encourage us. "I do not envy those read more

Maundy Thursday Perhaps we feel that we do not see much to encourage us. "I do not envy those who have to fight the battle of Christianity in the twentieth century," wrote Marcus Dods. "Yes, perhaps I do; but it will be a stiff fight." Of course, he did, and anybody with his valiant spirit would. There was a day when our Lord passed through cheering streets wildly enthusiastic; and another day when He watched the crowds deserting Him, till even the disciples themselves seemed to be withering, and He looked at them sadly. "Will you also go away?" He said. And Peter strode across the sudden empty spaces widening around Him, and put his back to Christ's. "No", he cried; "there are two of us, at least", and faced the world, Christ's poor minority of one. I would rather have been Peter than one of the shouting mob. And today, perhaps, we may get our chance of that.

Feast of James the Apostle We have all been inoculated with Christianity, and are never likely to take read more

Feast of James the Apostle We have all been inoculated with Christianity, and are never likely to take it seriously now! You put some of the virus of some dreadful illness into a man's arm, and there is a little itchiness, some scratchiness, a slight discomfort--disagreeable, no doubt, but not the fever of the real disease, the turning and the tossing, and the ebbing strength. And we have all been inoculated with Christianity, more or less. We are on Christ's side, we wish him well, we hope that He will win, and we are even prepared to do something for Him, provided, of course, that He is reasonable, and does not make too much of an upset among our cozy comforts and our customary ways. But there is not the passion of zeal, and the burning enthusiasm, and the eagerness of self-sacrifice, of the real faith that changes character and wins the world.

At the very moment when the pulpit has fallen strangely silent about sin, fiction can talk of little except evil, read more

At the very moment when the pulpit has fallen strangely silent about sin, fiction can talk of little except evil, not indeed viewed as sin, but apparently as the invariable ways of a peculiarly repulsive insect, which it can't help, poor thing; and there is no manner of use expecting anything from it, except the nastiness natural to it.