[The Christian Register]

The modern minister in a large parish cannot be what the old parson was to a small group. We must respect that sturdy ideal which has disappeared, though we have rejected many of his doctrines and are unconvinced by his logic. In our mind's eye we can see him in the plenitude of his power, thundering from the pulpit with a voice of authority that is now seldom heard in our modern churches. Then the church was the great binding influence of the community; now it is only one of the many enticements and interests and opportunities life presents, and oftentimes the weakest. The sermon that once was the great motive power is now only onw of the attractions that cause people to enter the door of the sanctuary.

A great tenderness has grown up toward the listener and the pewholder. He must never be bored by long, dull discourses, but always considered and pampered, whereas in the old days he was made to endure hardness to the point of suffering. He often sat for hours in a cold meeting-house, and if perchance he fell into a gentle doze, he was rudely awakened by the beadle. Non-church attendance was severely punished in the early days, even to the point of imprisonment and fine. When we consider our luxurious modern churches, so perfectly warmed and lighted, and the difficulty there often is in inducing people to enter them in large numbers, we can appreciate what the church really meant to the devout souls of early colonial times.

[The Universalist Leader]

The great trouble with the age is that it does not understand its own values. It does not know what is worth while. It inflates the prices of cheap goods, thinking thereby to make the goods good! We are making mighty appeals for certain things of the earth, thinking when we get them we shall have all; but there must be an entire readjustment of values before we can know what we as immortal souls are worth. Dr. Jowett has touched upon this in one of his studies of the deeper things of human life, and considers the question in the concrete when he says: "When a man has drunk the blood of the Lord Jesus, what cares he for the blood of caste? When he has become akin to 'the Lion of the tribe of Judah,' what cares he for 'the tribe of Benjamin'? When he has 'received access into grace,' and 'sits in heavenly places in Jesus Christ,' what cares he for the status of lofty social class and distinction? When he is endowed with 'the unsearchable riches of Christ,' what cares he for the station granted to wealth? What cares he for coveted places and powers when he has received 'the power of the Holy Ghost'? 'What things were gain to me, these have I counted loss for Christ.' Now when a man has made the great find, 'the pearl of great price,' all his old price-lists will be torn into shreds. He accepts the Master's valuation of things, and he will put the price upon them as appointed by the Lord. And we may be perfectly sure that mighty changes will take place in the contour of his life. 'Every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill shall be made low.'"

[The Congregationalist and Christian World]

Christ would not emphasize any single method of administering his church. He evidently expected it to be an abiding power among men, but he said little about its framework and constitution. He left such matters to the common sense of his disciples, believing that they would be wise and skilful enough, as the centuries went on, to adapt the outward form to the immediate situation. The world will never be saved by ecclesiastical machinery. We doubt if Christ would lay much emphasis on formulations of truth. He expects his disciples to think fearlessly and patiently on the great things of God and to state their conclusions in positive, definite language, always to keep their minds open to the new light that shall break forth from God's Word, never to deride the foundations upon which other generations have built. But Christ knows that men are not clamoring for a new statement of faith

The world will never be saved and its problems solved by a creed. Nor would any single practical issue comprise the substance of our Lord's message to us today. He is interested in them all,—rural evangelism, religious education, city missions, rural problems, the boy scouts, Christian unity, and all the rest. But it is not by exalting one device or pushing one of the many "movements" that the church can fulfil its obligations to mankind. The world will not be saved by any single propaganda.

What, then, would Christ say? What does he by his spirit in our hearts say? He puts cardinal emphais on his own person and the contents of his gospel. He summons all his followers of every denominational name to renew their loyalty to him and to the great ideals for which he lived and died. He yearns to see his spirit actuating them in their homes, their business, and all their relationships. The world will be saved and its problems solved through multiplying Christlike lives.

[Rev. R. J. Campbell, M.A., in The Christian Commonwealth]

If there was one thing upon which our Master laid stress more than another during his earthly ministry, it was the insufficiency of intellect to attain to the highest knowledge. "I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes." He insisted that there was a higher wisdom than the wisdom of this world, and a higher type of man than the merely rational man, and he assured his followers that to seek to become what they had seen in himself was to find the way to that wisdom, that knowledge, which was eternal life. "The time cometh, when I shall no more speak unto you in proverbs, but I shall show you plainly of the Father." The New Testament is full of this thought. Thus the apostle Paul says: "We speak the wisdom of God in a mystery, even the hidden wisdom, which God ordained before the world unto our glory." And again: "Now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known." Instead of groping about in the darkness of materiality, as a blind man gropes his way about the world he lives in and does not really know, and shall open our eyes in God's marvelous light, see as He sees, know as He knows, and become partakers in our Saviour's everlasting glory.

[Rev. J. H. Jowett in The Christian World]

Suppose every word we spoke were to become incarnate and move about in our midst, a visible presence reflecting its own nature! With what kind of beings should we be populating the world, angelic or flendish, gracious or repellent? Should we care to see our words if they were suddenly to visualize themselves in their appropriate flesh? Words do not become incarnate in this way; nevertheless they are mighty unseen ministers, ever at work, weaving nets of wickedness or robes of righteousness. There is a very striking phrase in the book of Isaiah: "The fruit of the lips." The figure suggests that everything in life finds its supreme expression at the lips; as a tree culminates in the fruit, so life and character culminate in our speech.