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it not omits a plain duty, and therefore is perpetually guilty of a known intelligible sin.

Nothing can be plainer. Our Lord might have laid down the precept in a long sentence and many words; and length and multiplicity might have given room for doubt and misconstruction to those who were unwilling to see the truth, but the command is short and simple. Two words contain it, and language might look in vain for clearer words. " Do this." He does an act before them which they see with their eyes. He takes bread; He blesses it; He breaks it before them; He gives it to them to eat, saying, "This is My Body." He takes wine, and blesses it, and gives it to them to drink, saying, "This is My Blood." And as He gives them each of these He tells them, "This do." "Do this which ye have seen me do. As ye have seen Me break bread and give it you, and then take wine and give you that also, so do ye the same. This that I have done you must do.' A plainer, simpler, more precise command could scarcely have been given. It is contained in two words, and those as short as th y are clear. It is impossible to mistake their meaning or our own duty. "Do this."

And to know this is to know enough. When God commands there is an end to doubt or argument. A man has nothing to do but to act on it at once and obey. There may sometimes be a doubt whether this or that be really God's will and God's law, and so long as there is room for doubt there is excuse for hesitation; but when doubt ends obedience must at once begin. To hesitate and ask the reasons for a plain duty is manifest sin. At the same time I may say this.

There is a good

but our

reason for everything which our Lord commands. The reasons may or may not be plain to us; Lord is not an arbitrary master who orders for the sake of ordering, like men who love to exercise their power. A man may act by caprice; that is, because something strikes his fancy, and he chooses for no reason to command its being done. But the will of God is always wise and always reasonable. Commonly, He hides the reasons until the duty which He prescribes is done; because a man cannot know the doctrine until he has done the will. It is a truth, having reference not to religion only but to all spheres of action, that rules are not intelligible by those who begin to keep them, and that the only way to learn the reason is to keep the rule. And whether the reason be known or not, we may be quite sure that whatever God commands is well commanded. When a recruit is being taught his drill he does not ask to know the reasons for the movements in which he is so carefully and regularly exercised, and if he did ask, the only answer that could be given him would be that he must do his duty, and that time and action would explain all. If he obeys first he will understand afterwards. And it is just the same with the commands of God. God gives orders but not reasons, and He shows the reasons when the orders have been obeyed. The way to learn is to obey. The relation in which we stand to God is that of soldiers to their general. When a trusted general commands his soldiers, they do not ask to see his plan, and know the aim of his manœuvres. His presence and his voice suffice to give them confidence. It is his to speak and to prescribe, and it is theirs to execute. The reasons will be known when the object is accomplished and the work is done.

Obedience is the secret of discipline and the pledge of victory. And we in like manner must trust the wisdom and the love of God, asking no questions, but keeping his laws. If God is good, there are good reasons for whatever He commands us. Enough for us that He has spoken plainly, saying, "Do this." II. But our Lord adds the reason. He might have said, "Do this," and said no more; but He is pleased to give a reason, or perhaps I should say the reason for it. The reason is, In remembrance of Me.

Our Lord Jesus Christ is the true Lamb of the Passover; and as the Passover was instituted by. God to be a lasting memorial of deliverance from Egypt, and a perpetual thanksgiving for the mercy which the Israelites then received, so now the Christian sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving is an unceasing witness to the love of Him who died for us, and a constant proclamation of that great salvation which He purchased for us by His atoning Blood. The holy sacrament is a memorial of our Lord's death. Our Lord is present at His table after a sacramental way. There is an exhibition, a representation, and a commemoration of that great offering which was made on Calvary for the world's sins, and that absent Person whose death is represented in it is present by His Spirit, and in a spiritual and mysterious way. I mean not that our Lord is put to death again, for He died once for all, and "having offered one sacrifice for sin for ever, sat down on the right hand of God," in that place of glory from which He will not move until He comes again to be our Judge. But there is to use His own expression-a showing forth, that is, a publication, a proclamation, an announcement by outward and visible signs, that He

died once, and that this Death, and the Resurrection and Ascension which followed after it and from it, are the great centre on which our hopes revolve, and on which our religion turns as its cardinal principle. The Church on earth exhibits the sacrifice which was offered long ago on Calvary, and pleads its efficacy here, as it is pleaded by our great High Priest before the throne of God in Heaven. And further, there is an application of all that He did to every partaker. For not only is bread broken and wine poured out, but the broken bread is eaten and the wine is drunk, that we may verily eat His Body and drink His Blood; that what He did for us may be made over to us and done in us; that what He did for all men may be done for and in each, and so that every Christian may be not only a rememberer but a remembrancer,—a living witness of what our Lord by His death has done for him, and a memorial to every beholder that a true Christian is "crucified with Christ," and that the life which he lives is a renewal of the life of Christ who lives within him.

It is true, of course, that we know already that Christ has died for us upon the Cross, and unless we had this knowledge we should not celebrate this rite; but the rite does more than declare our knowledge. It reminds us of that which we know. It commemorates the wonderful and sad event. It revives the scene enacted long ago on Calvary. It draws for us again and again upon the tablets of memory, which is so apt to sleep unless it be aroused continually, a living picture of that dark and solemn spectacle. It calls in the aid of sense to assist, and fix, and deepen the spiritual impression which faith receives. And it tells not only the mind which believes, but even

the eyes which see the elements and the ears which listen to the words of consecration, and the mouth which receives the bread and wine, that the Cross of Christ is our redemption, and that we must be ever coming to that Cross for life, and to the sacrament of the Cross that all the merits of Christ may be made over to us, and that eating the symbols and memorials of His sacrifice, we may partake of the sacrifice, and live of the altar, and be joined to Him who is our life for ever.

But for some such ordinance as this the very knowledge of Christ and His death would have perished. Its founder, who knew mankind as no other man has known them, was well aware that knowledge alone is not enough to keep up remembrance. An event may be known by a nation, or even by the whole world, and the generation whose hearts it has thrilled may tell it to their children and their children's children; but, like an echo which grows feebler the oftener the sound is repeated till at last it dies out and is heard no more; the most moving circumstance, if trusted only to tradition, grows weak in its influence as it is handed on from man to man, impressing less and less as time elapses. The son hears what his father felt, but he does not feel it. The grandson hears a less distinct report, and feels it still less. And thus, little by little, the memory wears out; till at last a distant generation has only a faint traditionary legend of a fact which moved their forefathers, as an earthquake shakes the earth and sea. Memory needs assistance. The intellect is a cold faculty, and cannot long retain knowledge, unless feeling aids it, or sense soften, and melt the

comes in to warm, and heart. Memory alone is

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