a higher plane...

The "grand object of preaching" according to William Phillips Tilden in his "The Work of the Ministry"...

"Perhaps you may think that, with our broad view of religion, we should not speak of the object, but the objects of preaching, since they are so many. 'Tis true, indeed, that the proper themes of the pulpit are many and ever increasing. The earnest search after truth, and the application of it when found to all life, outward and inward, the history of the Church, the geography of the Holy Land, which to Renan was "a fifth Gospel," the origin and history of sects, creeds, church ceremonies, church schisms and healings, church days, their observance, their significance, the great religions of the world with their Bibles and the various views held of their inspiration, the conflict or harmony between science and faith, the sympathy of religions, and, above all, the application of eternal verities to all the wrongs, oppressions, and sins of the world,— how, it may be asked, with all these subjects, and many more that might be named, so legitimate, so inviting, so needful, if one would keep abreast of the times, and see that his people are informed concerning all the latest and freshest thought on all these themes,— how can one speak of the object of preaching as if there were but one? Is not every one of these subjects germane to the pulpit? Every one, I should say, and still more pastime may reveal their nature. And yet I think we may speak of the object of preaching. For, while the proper and legitimate subjects of the pulpit are beyond count, the grand object of preaching is ever the same,— to lift man to a higher plane of thought and life, to quicken and stimulate his religious nature, to wake up and wisely direct his moral and spiritual powers, to lift him out of the animal into the spiritual life, out of selfindulgence into self-sacrifice, out of hate into love, out of sin into righteousness, out of irreligion and the blighted life that goes with it into a God-trusting faith and a pure and noble life. No matter how various the themes of the pulpit, no matter how wide the range of topics, no matter how rich the stores of knowledge, how vast the reading or fine the culture brought to it, if only the great object of preaching be kept steadily in view."

Blessings

a holy enthusiasm...

Some time ago I began excerpting William Phillip Tilden's "Work of the Ministry." Brother Tilden is a true guiding spirit of Boston Unitarian and this work on ministry is a gem. Given as a series of lectures to Divinity Students at Meadville Theological School in 1889, the book is a passionate call that should resonate with all church workers. This from the lecture "Object of Preaching"

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, the composition and delivery of sermons come under your regular study of Homiletics, and of this I have nothing to say. But I wish this morning to speak of the object of preaching.

The obvious drift of thought among us is very plainly towards a deeper religiousness, a larger and profounder conception of the divine life. It is seen not only among ministers, but laymen as well. It is not limited to either wing of thought among us, right or left. Both wings are lifted by an impulse to rise. Whether the emphasis be laid on ethics or worship, on church extension or church life at home, on organized charities or the charities that lie too close to us to be organized, on philanthropies that reach out or spiritualities that reach in, on external doing or internal being, there is a manifest desire for reality, for life, to pass through the letter into the spirit, to rise out of routine, whether of worship or of work, into consecrated service for God and man.

I have been greatly cheered by the tokens of this spirit among our young ministers. Soon they will be our middle-aged ministers, our leaders in thought and work. The fathers are going. Young men are coming. And when we see them touched with a holy enthusiasm for their work,— an enthusiasm for making the future better than the past or present,— we may well thank God all along the line, front and rear, and take courage in the bright promise it gives of a "new heaven and a new earth," not separated as of old, but united,— a new heaven on earth, and a new earth made heavenly by a heavenly spirit."

Blessings

the mistaken charm of immaturity...

I quite like this from Eliza Thayer Clapp found this morning in her essay "Unitarianism"

"It is the inspiration in humanity of a life which abolishes all pride, merit, and distinction, revealing its own glory through man. The redemption into this divine life is, in this sphere of our consciousness, the object of faith and hope, not of fruition. This life is hidden in God, and by faith in it, and hope of it, we live'the natural life out to its end, whereever in space and time that end may be.
Consequently upon the exclusive belief in the natural order of thought and experience, which is the belief of the most prominent thinkers of the present age, are our views concerning the treatment and education of childhood.
Believers in the divineness of natural goodness, and looking upon children as morally innocent, we have exaggerated their innocence into sanctity, and have mistaken the charm of their immaturity for the beauty of holiness.
Our loving-kindness to them is cruelty. Instead of being instructed and subjected, childhood is consulted as authority, and respected as example. It is so entirely trusted that it is left unguarded, — so revered that it languishes unguided. For the same reason and under the same social surroundings, age is pushed aside as effete and useless. Youth despises it, because it has no future, — disregards its wisdom as obsolete — and in its broader and advancing generalizations, includes, as Dr. Holmes says, its own father.
For result we have childhood and youth, keen to perceive and eager to act, but neither self-distrustful, deferent, nor dependent. Age, dismantled of the glory and mystery of a new birth and nascent destiny, grasps backward at the fast receding merits of the natural order, as it finds itself without dignity or authority in a world where no longer is held sacred the crown of thorns, but of value only is the jubilant step and incisive will.
Childhood is overestimated and age is undervalued. Thus the increase in society of childish characteristics, superficiality, unreason, and love of pleasure."

blessings

to the gentle and good...

I came across this from the fascinating Eliza Thayer Clapp, teacher and poet and Transcendentalist. Her book "Studies in Religion" was, to Frederic Henry Hedge, "a revelation." This a poem from that volume...

" I saw, and behold, a white horse."
[John the Divine.]
I Saw in the midst of a sunny green plain,
A beautiful horse, without spur, bit, or rein;
And his delicate limbs were white as the snow
"When it shines fresh and smooth, in the morning's new
glow;
And his eyes were as bright as bright jewels are,
But soft in their light, as the light of a star:
And his feet were as fleet as the wing of a bird,
When it soars o'er the clouds to sing there unheard;
And you heard not the sound of his step, as it pass'd,
For he went like the wind, as silent and fast.

And the beautiful horse was gentle and mild,
And he that bestrode was a young, tender child:
But the mien of the boy was lofty and high,
And courage and cheer glanced out from his eye;
And he shouted aloud and sang in his glee,
"Huzza ! who will ride the white courser with mel "
And the words and the shout on the waiting air fell,
And rang in the ear like the ring of a bell.

Oh, tell us, thou child of the quick, daring eye,
That shines like the sun in the blue of the sky,
On whose forehead is gentleness blended with force,—
Who shall mount like to thee the snowy white horse?
Then came there a voice, as a mother's low song,
Blent with boyhood's rough shout, so sweet, yet so strong;
Forever, and more, to the faithful and true,
To the gentle and good, the race is to you !
But the low and the selfish, and sullen, we scorn,
None such on the neck of the courser are borne,
But lowly he bows to the truthful and free,
And bears them aloft, unto victory!"

blessings

upon the living soul...

Its been a long winter and the body hasn't come out well. I rode the bike to church yesterday and am suffering today. Maybe, with Jones Very, I should just stay home and work on my soul...



HEALTH OF BODY DEPENDENT ON THE SOUL
Not from the earth, or skies,
Or seasons as they roll,
Come health and vigor to the frame,
But from the living soul.

Is this alive to God,
And not the slave to sin?
Then will the body, too, receive
Health from the soul within.

But if disease has touched
The spirit's inmost part,
In vain we seek from outward things
To heal the deadly smart.

The mind, the heart unchanged,
Which clouded e'en our home,
Will make the outward world the same
Where'er our feet may roam.

The fairest scenes on earth,
The mildest, purest sky,
Will bring no vigor to the step,
No lustre to the eye.

For He who formed our frame
Made man a perfect whole,
And made the body's health depend
Upon the living soul.

There we stand with vague distress...

Another by Christopher Pearse Cranch. this "The Ocean"

"In a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
That brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore"--
         Wordsworth

Tell me, brother, what are we?
Spirit bathing in the sea
  Of Deity!
Half afloat, and half on land,
Wishing much to leave the strand,
Standing, gazing with devotion,
Yet afraid to trust the ocean--
  Such are we.

Wanting love and holiness,
To enjoy the wave's caress;
Wanting faith and heavenly hope,
Buyantly to bear us up;
Yet impatient in our dwelling,
When we hear the ocean swelling,
And in every wave that rolls
We behold the happy souls
Peacefully, triumphantly
Swiming on the smiling sea,
Then we linger round the shore,
Lovers of the earth no more.

Once--'t was in our infancy,
We were drifted by this sea
To the coast of human birth,
To this body and this earth:
Gentle were the hands that bore
Our young spirits to the shore;
Gentle lips that bade us look
Outward from our cradle-nook
To the spirit-bearing ocean
With such wonder and devotion,
As, each stilly sabbath day,
We were led a little way,
Where we saw the waters swell
Far away from inland dell,
And received with grave delight
Symbols of the Infinite--
Then our home was near the sea;
"Heaven was round our infancy"--
Night and day we heard the waves
Murmuring by us to their caves--
Floated in unconscious life
With no later doubts at strife,
Trustful of the Upholding Power,
Who sustained us hour by hour.
Now we've wandered from theshore,
Dwellers by the sea no more;
Yet at times there comes a tone
Telling of the visions flown,
Sounding from the distant sea
Where we left our purity:
Distance glimpses of the surge
Lure us down to ocean's verge;
There we stand with vague distress,
Yearning for the measureless,
By half-wakened instincts driven,
Half loving earth, half loving heaven,
Fearing to put off and swim,
Yet impelled to turn to Him,
In whose life we live and move,
And whose very name is Love.

Grant me, courage, Holy One,
To become indeed thy son,
And in thee, thou Parent-Sea,
Live and love eternally."

blessings

the language celestial...

The cruelest month dawns white and windy on Boston's South Shore after a snowstorm that brought slippery roads causing two separate accidents in front of our house last night (both drivers unhurt-not so much their pickups.) Some Transcendentalism is in order. This from Christopher Pearse Cranch...

Correspondences

"All things in Nature are beautiful types to the soul that will read them;
  Nothing exists upon earth, but for unspeakable ends.
Every object that speaks to the senses was meant for the spirit:
  Nature is but a scroll--God's hand-writing thereon.
Ages ago, when man was pure, ere the flood overwhlmed him,
  While in the image of God every soul yet lived,
Everything stood as a letter or word of a language familiar,
  Telling of truths which now only the angels can read.
Lost to man was the key of those sacred hieroglyphics--
  Stolen away by sin--till with Jesus restored.
Now with infinite pains we here and there spell out a letter;
  Now and then will the sense feebly shine through the dark.
When we perceive the light which breaks through the visible symbol,
  What exultation is ours! we the discovery have made!
Yet is the meaning the same as when Adam lived sinless in Eden,
  Only long-hidden it slept and now again is restored.
Man unconsciously uses figures of speech every moment,
  Little dreaing the cause why to such terms he is prone--
Little dreaming that everything has its own correspondence
  Folded within it of old, as in the body the soul.
Gleams of the mystery fall on us still, though much is forgotten,
  And through our commonest speech illumines the path of our thoughts.
Thus does the lordly sun shine out a type of the Godhead;
  Wisdom and Love the beams that stream on a darkened world.
Thus do the sparkling waters flow, giving joy to the desert,
  And the great Fountain of Life opens itself to the thirst.
Thus does the word of God distil like the rain and the dew-drops,
  Thus does the warm wind breathe like to the Spirit of God,
And the green grass and the flowers are signs of the regeneration.

  O thou Spirit of Truth; visit our minds once more!
Give us to read, in letters of light, the language celestial,
  Written all over the earth--written all over the sky:
Thus may we bring our hearts at length to know our Creator,
  Seeing in all things around types of the Infinite Mind."

Blessings