our spiritual experience; nor as we look attentively into this glass shall we find it hard to discern the main outlines of experience which it reflects. 1. The disciples were constrained into the ship-into the path of obedience. They were reluctant to give up their wills to the will of Christ; they gave them up only under the gracious compulsions of His authority and persuasion. And are not we slow of heart? reluctant to obey? indisposed to subordinate our wills to the Supreme Will— the Will whose expressions are perfect wisdom, and whose motive perfect love? Before we set out on the path of duty and take the course which Christ has appointed for us, do we not constrain Him to constrain us? Should we ever take it save for the gentle yet strong compulsions of His grace? The disciples followed Jesus whithersoever He went. They sat at His feet and learned of Him. When they were alone He explained all things to them. Yet they held a different view of Him and His work to that which He held-a different and an inferior view. They wanted to make Him a king; they would have helped the multitude to make Him a king. They were very reluctant to yield their view to His view; to learn that higher wisdom which He sought to teach them. And are not we slow to learn as well as to obey? Jesus speaks with us, and by His Spirit explains all things to us, even the deep things of God. But we also have our own busy superficial, or our deep-seated selfish views, and do not care to give them up. If Christ speaks to us the words of a larger wisdom than our own, we are often angry with the messengers who bring us His words. If He speaks to us of self-government and self-denial, and bid us take up a cross, how reluctant we are to listen to any word which breaks up our ease, impairs our comfort, or disturbs the complacent self-satisfaction which never dreams that it can be in the wrong! How many of us would have risen above the rudest conceptions of truth, had we not been all but forced to listen to a teaching which at first we did not like, or had we not been con strained, by sorrowful experiences, to learn that the vain repetitions of a conventional theology could not satisfy the deeper needs of the soul? The disciples of Christ were reluctant to leave His presence even to do His will. They were fain to stay and listen to His voice rather than to go and obey His commands. And do not we, even in what we fondly think our best moments, when our hearts are lifted up to heaven in worship-do we not shrink from returning to the common duties and cares and dangers of life, just as the disciples shrank from going down into the familiar ship and facing the wonted perils of the lake? It is good for us, we think, to stand on the mount of communion, beholding and meditating displays of our Master's power and grace; and we are reluctant to leave the mountain, where the air is so bracing and the water so sweet, and the bread multiplies at His touch, for the stormy lake with its perils, or the busy city with its contradiction of sinners and the weary conflict with evil. How often do we need to be taught the lesson and constrained to learn it, that "to do justice" and to show mercy "is more acceptable to the Lord than sacrifice?" 2. Christ is alone upon the mountain; the disciples are alone upon the sea. They are in danger-spent with toil and suspense and fear, tossed on rough waves, beaten back by contrary winds. The dark night hides the Saviour from them. Even if it were day they would only see Him afar off, praying on the distant mountain, giving no sign that He thinks of them. The night has four watches; and it is not till the fourth watch"-the last-that He moves to their help. They fear meantime that He has forgotten them and His promise to come to them." They do not see the merciful intent of His delay; that He would teach them how helpless they are without Him, and that He is with them in spirit even when absent in the flesh. And does it not often seem to us that Christ has forgotten us and His promise to us? We are tossed on anxious waves of suspense and misgiving; the wind is contrary to us. The storm takes its 66 course; we are left to toil through it as best we can. No merciful Heaven interposes for our relief. The laws that govern the world move on with a terrible monotony, a terrible cruelty, taking no heed of our cries, showing no deference to our grief. And often we lose heart. We do not see that Christ delays to help us in order that we may renounce our selftrust, and trust only in Him; or that He is teaching us to trust in Him even when we cannot see Him or the mercy of His ways. It is not until after many and manifold experiences of His grace that we learn how He stands always on the steadfast eternal mountain, watching over us, and interceding with the Father for the weak fearful hearts which are tossed on the shifting seas of time, toiling against "great" winds and "contrary." 3. When Christ comes to His disciples, working a miracle that He might come, they do not recognize Him. He approaches the storm-tossed ship, and now they fear not only the storm but also the Lord. They had been looking for His appearing all night-looking for it and craving it; and when He comes they cry, "It is an apparition!" He makes as though He would them. pass They cannot see that His seeming to pass them is a reason for entreating His help; and so, when the help is at hand, they cry out for fear. It is not till He speaks to them, and interprets Himself to them, that they can believe the danger overpast. And so, in our dark times, we often mistake Christ, the Friend and Helper, for a foe. He comes to us charged with blessing, and we cry out for very fear. We long for His help, and yet do not recognize it when it is at hand. The darkness in which we labour may be bred of our sins; it commonly is. The only way out of it is to repent and amend. Christ comes to us in the guise of an affliction, bringing some humbling purifying cross. Were we patiently to accept the affliction and to welcome Christ to our hearts, a new day would break upon us; the contrary wind would cease; the rough turbulent waves would sink into a calm; and we should be at the desired haven. But because Christ has come to us in an unaccustomed form we do not recognize Him. The affliction, the suf fering of repentance, the sad beating of a broken heart, the cross to be laid on our passions in order that we may amend these affright us. So far from seeing that Christ is waiting to help us, we think He is angry with us-why else should He afflict us?—and that He is receding to a greater distance from us. We have not learned that when the Cross is near, Christ is not far off; that He who was made perfect through sufferings" makes us partake His sufferings that He may bring us to glory. He must speak to us, interpret Himself to us, before we can recognize and rejoice in Him, whatever the form He assumes. Only His "Be of good cheer; It is I; Be not afraid," can give us peace. "Son, go work to-day in my vineyard."-Matt. xxi. 28. THE parable from which these words are taken is striking and instructive, Although it had reference primarily to the priests and other ecclesiastical leaders of the Jewish nation, it is not without its deep significance to many in the present day. There are not a few who, though outwardly moral and reputable, exclude themselves from those spiritual blessings which the very outcasts of society are induced to seek and obtain. To the parable as a whole, however, we do not now ask attention, but to that well-known extract before us : "Son, go work to-day in my vineyard." That is God's urgent and solemn call to His church. Three things connected with it merit our attention; namely, what we are to do; when we are to do ; why we are to do it. I. What we are to do. We are to work in God's vineyard. 1. This work is spiritual. Where is God's vineyard? What is God's vineyard? What is working in God's vineyard? There is a sense in which it is perfectly true to say that all the world is God's vineyard. It is everywhere. Doing good of any kind is working in God's vineyard. The statesman who seeks to make wise, humane, just, patriotic laws; the discoverer or inventor who tries to lessen the hardships and increase the comforts of public and private life; the reformer who lays the axe to the root of old and corrupt practices; and the preacher who endeavours to dissipate the darkness of ignorance by diffusing the light of knowledge-all these may be said, with entire accuracy, to be working in God's vineyard. But is this what our Saviour meant when He gave utterance to the text? We think not. A careful and impartial glance at the context will show this. The Church was generally compared by inspired writers to a vineyard. Isaiah and Jeremiah speak of it thus. Our Lord also says clearly enough, "I am the vine, ye are the branches," and in other of His parables the vineyard stands as representative of the Church. While, then, doing good of all kinds is working in God's vineyard, we are to regard the command before us as referring to spiritual work. "Go and do spiritual good. Go and bless men's souls. Go and promote the eternal welfare of your fellows. Seek to make the bad good; try to make the good better. Some nigh you are pleasing, trusting, obeying me; go and strengthen them. Others are ignorant of me, rebel against me, love me not; go and try to bring them to me.' Such we take to be the meaning of the words. Have we not reason very plainly and emphatically to set forth this fact, that our main work is a spiritual one? Surely we have. There is a certain species of philanthropy in the present day that ignores it. Some who try, very diligently, to do good, seem entirely forgetful of the fact that, after all, the highest, noblest method of doing good is that to which the motto under consideration adverts. Here, for example, is a man who is the determined foe of slavery, giving all the time and energy that he can to extend the cause of emancipation. But you never know from anything that he says that moral bondage is worse than political; you would never be led to feel from anything he does that it is "the truth" that makes really "free." There is another whose aim it is to promote peace in the stead of war, and put the green olive branch in the place of the cruel sword. But he never tries to bring men into the enjoyment of that higher boon-peace with God. Yonder is a third who enters upon a resolute crusade against intemperance, and spares no pains to deliver the slaves of Bacchus from their false and foolish allegiance to that tyrant. But while he practically reiterates the apostolic precept, "Be not filled with wine wherein is excess," he pauses there and fails to add, "Be filled with the Spirit." A fourth labours hard to diminish ignorance and bless his fellows with the advantages of mental culture. But he does not urge them to "acquaint now themselves with their Divine Father, and to be found "increasing in the knowledge of God." Such being the case, let the old truth be repeated, and repeated, too, with uncompromising firmness, that the truest benevolence is that which has to do with the spiritual nature of man, and that while we seek the physical, mental, and social good of the world, our prime work is that which finds the scene of its operations in God's "vineyard." 2. This work is delightful. There are some occupations which, while very useful, are not pleasant. Look, for instance, at that of the miner. He goes beneath the surface of the earth to procure that valuable mineral which gives our firesides their attraction. But his work is dirty and dusty; it necessitates unnatural postures, which frequently end in deformity, and thus his labour is not remarkably agreeable. Nor is that of the diver when he seeks to bring pearls from the bottom of the ocean or rescue treasures from the sunken ship. Dreary and lonesome must be the life of a lighthousekeeper; isolated from society for whole weeks, and seeing nothing but the restless green waves. But while these and other employments are such as to involve obvious hardships, it is not so with the one adverted to in the parable of our Lord. Work in a vineyard is pleasant work. They who labour there are surrounded by scenes and sounds far more agreeable than those connected with the pursuits of thousands. With the bright warm sun shining on them, inhaling a pure and genial atmosphere, the blue cloudless sky overhead, the rich ripe clusters of purple grapes around them, they must find their labour pleasanter than that of not a few. Not Now mark the idea which this suggests. God sends you and me, Christian brethren, to work. Where? Not in a desert. Not in a wilderness. in a dreary, desolate place, but in a vineyard. Our work is a delightful one. Unquestionably it has stern trials, great difficulties, manifold temptations; albeit it is blissful. 66 It is delightful because it is divine. Whether a certain work is pleasant to us or not, depends greatly upon the character of him for whom we do it. It is a pleasure to do anything for some men; a pleasure to do nothing for others. When Dr. Arnold was head master of Rugby School he could always command reverence and obedience. Why? Because he was so noble in character. All the boys felt that it was a pleasure to do anything for Arnold, " because he was so generous, sincere, altogether manly and Christian. What, too, would not the soldiers of the great Cæsar do for him? To please him they would journey anywhere, fight anywhere, suffer anywhere. A number of them being taken captive were offered their lives on condition that they would take arms against their beloved commander. Precious as life is, however, only a few accepted the offer. Cæsar's character was such as to render Cæsar's service a delight. Just so with us. The bare fact that it is God who tells us to "go work to-day" is enough to render that work glorious and blissful. Think what He is. Remember His perfections. Call to mind all His dealings with you and your fellows. Recollect that He is love without admixture of selfishness, purity without the least approach to evil, wisdom without the slightest shadow of folly; recollect that His nature is so great and His character so good that "it passeth knowledge," and who then will not feel that to do anything, yes, anything, for such a Being is an honour and a joy ? It is delightful because satisfying. What does a man feel in view of any sinful gratification? Pleasure. What does he feel during its indulgence? Pleasure. What does he feel when it is over? Pain. The retrospect is repulsive; the memory of it is misery. Now it is exactly the reverse with the discharge of duty. The prospect of it may be such as to awaken fear, the actual performance of it may be exceedingly trying, but the recollection of it is a very foretaste of heavenly bliss! The poet Keats has said : 66 "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams and health, and quiet breathing." 66 No doubt of it. But how grandly, gloriously true is all this of spiritual beauty!" Work for man's good and God's honour is the real" beauty" of the universe, and it is indeed, and of a truth, a joy for ever." You never strive to strengthen a follower of Jesus; you never seek to comfort a downcast brother or sister; you never beckon a lost and wandering fellowcreature to the loving Saviour and His cross, without laying up for yourself a deep, pure, and profound satisfaction which the world can never give nor take. It is delightful because successful. It is a pleasant thing to prosper in any undertaking. Failure may be a salutary discipline, but it is hard to bear. Success is joy. We all like to be on what we call "the winning side." Well, the Christian worker always is on the winning side. He never utterly failsnever. Let every labourer in the "vineyard" lay this fact as the very cornerstone in his belief-that earnest effort is always successful. Yes; we never attempt good without doing it. It may not be done where and when we expect, but done it is. The God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob has plainly said so. By the mouth of His servant He has declared “in due season ye shall reap." The spring that gushes up amid fern and moss and grass on the side of yonder mountain must flow. Dam it up on one side, it makes a new channel on the other. Stop it here, it runs there. Prevent it meandering outside the ground and it will run inside. So with the blessed stream of usefulness. Flow it must and will; it cannot but go somewhere. Happy, then, the Christian worker, for he is ever successful. His labour is pleasant-it is work in "a vineyard." 3. This work is important. To us, in our northern clime, the vineyard is not very strikingly suggestive of important labour. The corn-field is. As we look at the acres of ripe grain ready to fall beneath the scythe, that bloodless sword wielded by a rustic army guiltless of murder, we feel how dependent all classes are upon the produce on which we gaze. It is the very "staff of life." Albeit, in more southern and eastern regions the vineyard is a scene of very important labour. Villages and even provinces depend upon it for their |