There is that in the Gospel with which no one is allowed to argue. All we can do is believe read more

There is that in the Gospel with which no one is allowed to argue. All we can do is believe or disbelieve; to give it in our life the place of the final reality to which everything else must give way, or to refuse it that place. Many people ... would like to talk the Word of God over. It raises in their minds various questions they would willingly discuss. It has aspects of interest and of difficulty which call for consideration; and so on. Perhaps there are some that confusedly shield themselves against the responsibilities of faith and unbelief by such thoughts. All that such thoughts prove, however, is that those who cherish them have never yet realized that what we are dealing with in the Gospel is GOD. When God speaks in Christ, He reveals His gracious will without qualification. And without qualification, we have to believe in it, or refuse to believe, and so decide the controversy between ourselves and Him. God has not come into the world in Christ ... to be talked about, but to become the supreme reality on the life of men, or to be excluded from that place.

Commemoration of Albrecht Dürer, artist, 1528, and Michelangelo Buonarrotti, artist, spiritual writer, 1564 We think of the early sacrifices read more

Commemoration of Albrecht Dürer, artist, 1528, and Michelangelo Buonarrotti, artist, spiritual writer, 1564 We think of the early sacrifices of those early Christians; but what struck them was the immensity of their inheritance in Christ. Take that one phrase (surely the most daring that the mind of man ever conceived), "We are the heirs of God." That is what they felt about it, that not God Himself could have a fuller life than theirs, and that even He would share all that He had with them! Tremendous words that stagger through their sheer audacity! And yet, here we are, whispering about the steepness of the way, the soreness of the self-denial, the heaviness of the cross, whining and puling, giving to those outside the utterly grotesque impression that religion is a gloomy kind of thing, a dim, monastic twilight where we sit and shiver miserably, out of the sunshine that God made for us, and meant us to enjoy -- that it is all a doing that nobody would naturally choose, and refraining from what everyone would naturally take: a species of insurance money grudgingly doled out lest some worse thing come upon us.

Feast of Chad, Abbot of Lastingham, Bishop of Lichfield, Missionary, 672 God is always present and always working towards read more

Feast of Chad, Abbot of Lastingham, Bishop of Lichfield, Missionary, 672 God is always present and always working towards the life of the soul and its deliverance from captivity under flesh and blood. But this inward work of God, though never ceasing or altering, is yet always and only hindered by the activity of our own nature and faculties, by bad men through their obedience to earthly passions and by good men through their striving to be good in their own way, by their natural strength and a multiplicity of holy labours and contrivances. Both these sorts of people obstruct the work of God upon their souls. For we can cooperate with God no other way than by submitting to the work of God, and seeking, and leaving ourselves to it.

In all the sins of men, God principally regards the principle -- that is, the heart.

In all the sins of men, God principally regards the principle -- that is, the heart.

EPIPHANY Do you think you love your children better than He who made them? Is not your love what read more

EPIPHANY Do you think you love your children better than He who made them? Is not your love what it is because He put it into your heart first? Have you not often been cross with them? Sometimes unjust to them? Whence came the returning love that rose from unknown depths in your being, and swept away the anger and the injustice? You did not create that love. Probably you were not good enough to send for it by prayer. But it came. God sent it. He makes you love your children.

God is not a deceiver, that he should offer to support us, and then, when we lean upon Him, should read more

God is not a deceiver, that he should offer to support us, and then, when we lean upon Him, should slip away from us.

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.

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 At morn I plucked a rose and give it Thee, A rose of joy read more

Feast of Christina Rossetti, Poet, 1894 At morn I plucked a rose and give it Thee, A rose of joy and happy love and peace, A rose with scarce a thorn: But in the chillness of a second morn My rose bush drooped, and all its gay increase Was but one thorn that wounded me. I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee, And for my thorn Thou gavest love and peace, Not joy this mortal morn: If Thou hast given much treasure for a thorn, Wilt Thou not give me for my rose increase Of gladness, and all sweets to me? My thorny rose, my love and pain, to Thee I offer, and I set my heart in peace, And rest upon my thorn: For verily I think to-morrow morn Shall bring me Paradise, my gift's increase, Yea, give Thy very Self to me.

Like summer seas that lave with silent tides a lonely shore, like whispering winds that stir the tops of forest read more

Like summer seas that lave with silent tides a lonely shore, like whispering winds that stir the tops of forest trees, like a still, small voice that calls us in the watches of the night, like a child's hand that feels about a fast-closed door; gentle, unnoticed, and oft in vain: so is Thy coming unto us, O God. Like ships storm-driven into port, like starving souls that seek the bread they once despised, like wanderers begging refuge from the whelming night, like prodigals that seek the father's home when all is spent; yet welcomed at the open door, arms outstretched and kisses for our shame; so is our coming unto Thee, 0 God. Like flowers uplifted to the sun, like trees that bend before the storm, like sleeping seas that mirror cloudless skies, like a harp to the hand, like an echo to a cry, like a song to the heart; for all our stubbornness, our failure, and our sin: so would we have been to Thee, O God.