Holy Saturday All night had shouts of men and cry Of woeful women filled His way; Until that noon of sombre sky On Friday, clamour and display Smote Him; no solitude had He. No silence, since Gethsemane. Public was death; but power, but might, But life again, but victory, Were hushed within the dead of night, The shuttered dark, the secrecy. And all alone, alone, alone He rose again behind the stone.
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Nothing could have saved the infant Church from melting away into one of those vague and ineffective schools of philosophic read more
Nothing could have saved the infant Church from melting away into one of those vague and ineffective schools of philosophic ethics except the stern and strict rule that is laid down here [Rev. 2:15, 16] by St. John. An easy-going Christianity could never have survived; only the most convinced, resolute, almost bigoted adherence to the most uncompromising interepretation of its own principles could have given the Christians the courage and self-reliance that were needed. For them to hesitate or to doubt was to be lost.
The problem is not that the churches are filled with empty pews, but that the pews are filled with empty read more
The problem is not that the churches are filled with empty pews, but that the pews are filled with empty people.
Religion is not ours till we live by it, till it is the Religion of our thoughts, words, and actions, read more
Religion is not ours till we live by it, till it is the Religion of our thoughts, words, and actions, till it goes with us into every place, sits uppermost on every occasion, and forms and governs our hopes and fears, our cares and pleasures.
Commemoration of John & Henry Venn, Priests, Evangelical Divines, 1813, 1873 When I trouble myself over a trifle, read more
Commemoration of John & Henry Venn, Priests, Evangelical Divines, 1813, 1873 When I trouble myself over a trifle, even a trifle confessed -- the loss of some little article, say -- spurring my memory, and hunting the house, not from immediate need, but from dislike of loss; when a book has been borrowed of me and is not returned, and I have forgotten the borrower; and fret over the missing volume, ... is it not time that I lost a few things, when I care for them so unreasonably? This losing of things is the mercy of God: it comes to teach us to let them go. Or have I forgotten a thought that came to me, which seemed of the truth? I keep trying and trying to call it back, feeling a poor man until that thought be recovered -- to be far more lost, perhaps, in a notebook into which I shall never look again to find it! I forget that it is live things that God cares about.
Commemoration of Petroc, Abbot of Padstow, 6th century Pentecost From his baptism until his return to Galilee, Jesus read more
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C. S. Lewis Centennial Holding [the Way of Affirmation], we see that every created thing is, in its degree, read more
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I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.
I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.
Commemoration of Richard Meux Benson, Founder of the Society of St John the Evangelist, 1915 In the long read more
Commemoration of Richard Meux Benson, Founder of the Society of St John the Evangelist, 1915 In the long run, the answer to all those who object to the doctrine of hell is... a question: "What are you asking God to do?" To wipe out their past sins and, at all costs, to give them a fresh start, smoothing every difficulty and offering every miraculous help? But He has done so, on Calvary. To forgive them? They will not be forgiven. To leave them alone? Alas, I am afraid that that is what He does.
The Augustinian doctrine of the damnation of unbaptized infants
and the Calvinistic doctrine of reprobation . . . surpass read more
The Augustinian doctrine of the damnation of unbaptized infants
and the Calvinistic doctrine of reprobation . . . surpass in
atrocity any tenets that have ever been admitted into any pagan
creed.
