LITERATURE. Arnold (T.), Sermons, iv. 228. Bonner (H.), Sermons and Lectures, 193. Book (W. H.), Columbus Tabernacle Sermons, 183. Calthrop (G.), Pulpit Recollections, 207. Clementson (C.), These Holy Mysteries, 107. Cunningham (W.), Sermons, 335. Davies (D.), Talks with Men, Women and Children, ii. 52. Jerdan (C.), For the Lord's Table, 306, 379. Keble (J.), Sermons for the Christian Year: Advent to Christmas, 469. Lawlor (H. J.), Thoughts on Belief and Life, 71. Lewis (F. W.), The Work of Christ, 181. Maclaren (A.), Christ's Musts, 87. Matheson (G.), The Spiritual Development of St. Paul, 269. Maurice (F. D.), Lincoln's Inn Sermons, iv. 97. Moule (H. C. G.), The Pledges of His Love, 14. 99 99 Thoughts for the Sundays of the Year, 170. Pope (W. B.), Discourses on the Lordship of the Incarnate Redeemer, 311. Punshon (W. M.), Lectures and Sermons, 345. Randolph (B. W.), The Threshold of the Sanctuary, 129. Smith (D.), Christian Counsel, 37. Spurgeon (C. H.), Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit, 1. (1904) No. 2872; li. (1905) No. 2942; lv. (1909) No. 3151. Walpole (G. H. S.), in Sermons for the People, New Ser., iii. 222. Watson (F.), The Christian Life: Here and Hereafter, 90. Watt (L. M.), The Communion Table, 23. Webster (F. S.), In Remembrance of Me, 69. Whiton (J. M.), Reconsiderations and Reinforcements, 113. Churchman's Pulpit: General Advent Season: i. 179 (Keble), 183 (Woodford). Holy Week: vi. 497 (Furse), 500 (West), 503 (Owen). Clergyman's Magazine, i. 283 (Richardson); New Ser., viii. 367 (Youard). PROCLAIMINg the Lord's Death. For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink the cup, ye proclaim the Lord's death till he come.-1 Cor. xi. 26. 1. THE Apostle Paul sustained to the Corinthian Church the relation of a father to his child. By him the Gospel had been first preached in the rich and sensual city; by his instrumentality the first converts had been won to Christ; and with all a father's yearning did he watch over their welfare, counsel them in their ever-recurring perplexities, and guide the heedless footsteps which were too prone to go astray. To his fatherly care for their interests we owe the circumstantial account which he has given us in this chapter of the institution of the Lord's Supper, in the celebration of which, among the Corinthians, certain abuses had crept in. His account of it, here recorded, is a valuable and welcome revelation. He was not present in the Upper Room. He was not among the awe-stricken company who were thrilled with horror by the announcement that amongst them was a foul betrayer, and who, scarce recovered from the shock of such sad tidings, were invited to join in the tender and prophetic feast; and yet he had not been left to the hazard of a traditional knowledge, nor had he received his impression of the scene from the glowing descriptions of another. He distinctly repudiates the thought that he had either received it or been taught it of man, and expressly states that "he had received it directly of the Lord." So distinguishing was the honour put upon the Apostle of the Gentiles, and so important the institution itself, that there was given to him a new revelation-that its Divine paternity might be placed beyond all cavil, and that it might be authenticated by yet weightier evidence, and more firmly homed in the hearts of believers, in the perpetuity of its obligation to the end of time. I COR.-21 2. The words of the text are, "As often as ye eat this bread, and drink the cup, ye proclaim the Lord's death till he come." The eating and drinking are a proclamation. It is surprising that, notwithstanding these words, this aspect of the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper receives so little emphasis. We give the Sacrament names. We call it "the Eucharist," drawing attention to the element of thanksgiving; or "the Communion," in order to recognize in it that fellowship which it offers with Christ Himself and with one another; or simply "the Lord's Supper." But here, after repeating the words of the institution, St. Paul does not speak of the giving of thanks or the fellowship as the great purpose of the institution, but says that that purpose is fulfilled when we proclaim the Lord's death till He come. [ "As often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew." I cannot tell why our translators preferred this verb to "proclaim" or "announce," which would have seemed the more obvious one. But should we have expected either word? Are we not speaking of a Communion, of a participation in something? Can an ordinance which possesses that character be described as showing, announcing, declaring? It is safer to let the Apostle explain himself than to insist that he shall follow a course which we have prescribed for him. I believe he will tell us hereafter more about communion and participation than we should ever find out for ourselves; but I doubt whether we shall profit by his teaching, if we stumble at this phrase and wish to get rid of it. Do you think that any ordinance of Christ can have reference merely to the advantage or enjoyment of those who submit to it? Did He come from heaven to enjoy or to suffer; to be ministered unto or to minister? If the eating of the bread and the drinking of the wine imports any communion with Him, any sympathy with Him, can this point of communion and sympathy be wanting? Did He not come to show forth or declare a truth to men into which only some would enter? If we are not willing in all our acts and services to make this a primary object; if we are thinking of some selfish end as above this; can we be like Him? Let us grasp this thought steadfastly. If this feast does not show forth or declare something to the world; if we seek in it only for some benefit to ourselves; it cannot be a communion in the body or in the mind of Jesus Christ.1 Let us see, then, what this proclamation consists of, and (in 1 F. D. Maurice, Lincoln's Inn Sermons, iv. 99. conclusion) how it may be made. It will be found on consideration to consist of three things: I. A Remembrance of the Past. A REMEMBRANCE OF THE PAST. "Ye proclaim the Lord's death." 1. St. Paul's words give prominence to the truth that the Sacrament was intended primarily as a memorial or remembrance of the Saviour. Nothing could be simpler or more human than our Lord's appointment of this Sacrament. Lifting the material of the Supper before Him, He bids His disciples make the simple act of eating and drinking the occasion of remembering Him. As the friend who is setting out on a long absence or is passing for ever from earth puts into our hands his portrait or something he has used or worn or prized, and is pleased to think that we shall treasure it for his sake, so did Christ on the eve of His death secure this one thing, that His disciples should have a memento by which to remember Him. And as the dying gift of a friend becomes sacred to us as his own person, and we cannot bear to see it handed about by unsympathetic hands and remarked upon by those who have not the same loving reverence as ourselves, and as when we gaze at his portrait, or when we use the very pen or pencil worn smooth by his fingers, we recall the many happy times we spent together and the bright and inspiring words that fell from his lips, so does this Sacrament seem sacred to us as Christ's own Person, and by means of it grateful memories of all He was and did throng into the mind. It is no uncommon thing in the history of nations to commemorate events of national importance by expressive symbolism. Medals are struck to celebrate a victory or to perpetuate the prowess of a hero. The statues of the wise and of the valiant are niched in their country's temples-columns rear their tall heads on the mounds of world-famed battlefields, or on some holy place of liberty-processions and pageants of high and solemn festivity transmit from generation to generation the memory of notable days and deeds. And it is right that it should be so. These things are expressions of something great and true, and by how much they are invested with imposing grandeur, by so much is the likelihood that they will be fastened upon the memory and the heart. There is hope of a nation when its gratitude lives, though the exhibitions of that gratitude may be extravagant and unseemly. If we come from the national to the individual, how memory clings round some relic of sanctity bestowed on us by some faroff friend, some dear gage of affection; the gift, perhaps in the latest hour, of the precious and sainted dead. As we gaze upon them-mute but eloquent reminders of a past that has fled for ever-how closely they seem linked with our every conception of the giver, and in what an uncounted value we hold them for the giver's sake.1 In the Highlands of Scotland, in a wild region, there is a spring at which Prince Albert once stopped to quench his thirst. The owner of the spring fenced it in and built a tasteful monument, making the waters flow into a basin of hewn stone, on which he placed an inscription. Every passing stranger stopping to drink at this fountain reads the inscription and recalls the memory of the noble prince whom it honours. Thus the spring is both a memorial and a blessing; it keeps in mind the great man, and it gives drink to the weary and the thirsty. The Lord's Supper is a memorial to Christ, but it is food and drink to every one who rightly receives it.2 Jesus Christ could not bear the thought of being forgotten by His people. God and man long to be remembered. This is one point of fellow-feeling at which the Divine heart touches the human. One of the greatest calamities in the sight of God which can befall the wicked is that "his memory shall be cut off." I know of nothing within the covers of this Book more touching than the way in which the prophets represent God and His people-the One truthfully, and the other untruthfully-as bringing the charge of forgetfulness against each other. "Zion said, The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten (Isa. xlix. 14). In these words we find the awful charge of unfaithfulness and forgetfulness brought against God Himself by the people of His choice. This suspicion must vanish, or the relationship must cease. On the other hand, there comes from the fatherly and infinitely tender heart of God a broken sigh which has the undertone of desolation in it, "My people have forgotten me days without number" (Jer. ii. 32); and the answer 1 W. M. Punshon. 2 S. Marriott, On Playing the Game, 190. |