‘Take heed unto thyself, and unto the
doctrine; continue in them: for in doing this thou shalt both
save thyself and them that hear thee.’—1 Tim.
iv. 16.
Our thoughts turn naturally to-day
to the subject of the Christian ministry; and especially to that
high office in it to which our brother in Christ is about to be
admitted.
Scripture perhaps contains no exact model of the Episcopal
office as it now exists. It is not identical with the
Apostolate. [5] Neither again can it be
satisfactorily proved to be precisely identical with the office
held by Timothy at Ephesus, and by Titus at Crete. St.
Paul’s language implies that the position which they held
was temporary; they formed, as it were, the link between the
Apostle whose superintendence was occasional, and the bishop
whose rule was permanent.
We must
rather seek some central idea if we would grasp the highest aim
of the Episcopate: and we find that idea not in the outward
framework of the Church, but in the truth which it enshrines: not
in Apostolic order, however valuable, but in Apostolic doctrine:
not in a succession of form, but in a succession of faith,
‘the faith once for all delivered to the
saints.’ (Jude, 3.)
And this leads us to the text: in which the Apostle touches
upon the official life, the personal life, the
consecrated life of one who was called upon to discharge
for a while Episcopal functions: ‘Take heed unto the
doctrine:’ ‘Take heed unto thyself:’
‘Continue in them:’ enforcing his exhortation by the
promise, ‘for in doing this, thou shalt both save
thyself and them that hear thee.’
The Official Life.
‘Take heed unto the doctrine.’
As believers in the Divine origin of Christianity, we assume
that there was revealed to the Apostles a body of religious
truth, definite, complete, unchangeable.
In the pastoral Epistles this distinctive body of truth is
frequently referred to, as ‘the pattern of sound
words’ (2 Tim. i. 13), ‘the sound (healthful)
doctrine’ (1 Tim. i. 10; 2 Tim. iv. 3; Tit ii. 1),
‘the doctrine which is according to godliness’ (1
Tim. vi. 3), ‘the gospel of the glory of the blessed
God’ (1 Tim. i. 11), ‘the good deposit’ (1 Tim. vi.
20; 2 Tim. i. 14); ἡ πίστις,
τὸ χήρυγμα,
according to the gloss of Chrysostom; Catholicæ fidei
talentum.
Of this body of truth, Divine in its origin, and invested with
Divine authority, two things may be predicated; first, that it is
unchanged and unchangeable; secondly, that it is embodied in the
Articles and Formularies of the Church of England.
It may be allowed that in all ages change has been the law of
human affairs. But it is a mistake to associate this law of
change with the central truths of Christianity; and for this
reason, that Christianity is founded upon facts, upon events that
have actually taken place; and if these facts are incapable of
change, then are the doctrines which are founded upon them
incapable of change also. Men may seek to sweep away the
objective reality of Christianity; but, failing as they do in
this, then inasmuch as the facts upon which Christianity reposes
have been already wrought, and cannot be undone, the Gospel which
we preach partakes of the immutability of those facts, and is
alike unchangeable.
Equally certain is it, that the great Christian truths which
were held in apostolic and primitive days, are identical with
those which are embodied in the teaching of the Church of
England.
True indeed we are liable to attack. We are met on the
one side by the champions of scientific scepticism, and on the other, by the
adherents of modern Rome; the one seeking to destroy the
historical basis of our faith, the other to press upon us
conclusions for which we find no warrant in God’s written
word.
It would seem, however, that as the science of attack
developes itself, the science of defence receives from unexpected
quarters fresh accessions of strength.
If modern research tends to show that some portions of the
outworks of Christianity are less strong than had been supposed,
it proves with rigorous precision that the fortress itself is
impregnable. Every ruin that is uncovered, every site that
is identified, every inscription that is deciphered, confirms the
historical veracity of the sacred writers. The Bible is
made an object of ridicule, and the very stones cry out in
condemnation; the statements of inspiration are denied, and
witness after witness rises up to prove them; the voices of eager
sceptics proclaim the overthrow of revelation, and there come to
us from across those Eastern plains such voices from the buried
past as prove their boast to be vain.
Nor is it only when arguing with the sceptic that we claim the
testimony of modern research; we call the same witness to our aid
when dealing with the errors of Rome and her imitators.
The most important of recent discoveries in the domain of early
Christian literature is that made by the Greek Bishop Briennios
in the library of the Holy Sepulchre in Constantinople.
The lost fragment of the Epistle of Clement is thus recovered,
and with the aid of a recently discovered version of the name
Epistle, learned men can now restore almost in its entirety the
most venerable of uninspired Christian writings. [9]
Read that Epistle, and you find that it teaches plainly the
doctrines of the Trinity, the Atonement, Justification by faith,
and other distinctive doctrines of our Church. It is
important for what it teaches; but it is almost equally important
for what it does not teach. Silence is sometimes more
eloquent than words; and certainly the fact that the Epistle of
Clement is absolutely silent upon the prominent doctrines of
modern Rome proves that those doctrines were unknown at the close
of the first century. Is it possible that the doctrines of
papal infallibility, transubstantiation, the sacrifice of the
mass, the worship of the Virgin, and the like, could have existed
in the days of Clement, and yet have been passed over by him in
absolute silence? Whilst as regards those questions which
agitate our own Church, the teaching of the epistle upon
sacrifice, its freedom from sacerdotalism, the absence in it of
all reference to priestly mediation and the confessional,
strongly confirms the Protestant view of Christian faith and
practice.
A
sacred deposit of Christian truth existed then in the days of the
apostles.
Timothy is solemnly charged to ‘preach’ it (2 Tim.
iv. 1, 2); to ‘keep’ it (2 Tim. i. 14); to
‘hold it fast’ (v. 13); to guard it jealously against
those who would tamper with its integrity, or substitute in its
place the inventions of men. (1 Tim. i. 3; vi. 20.) Nor is
he only to watch over it himself, he is to commit the teaching of
it to trusty guardians: ‘The things which thou hast heard
of me . . . the same commit thou to faithful men, who shall be
able to teach others also.’ (2 Tim. ii. 2.)
If, then, the Christian bishop possesses a glorious heritage
of Divine truth, a privilege indeed which he shares with the
humblest believer, he assumes also a special
responsibility. As ‘the steward of God,’ he is
pledged in the fullest sense of the term to ‘give heed unto
the doctrine.’
The principle thus set forth is a plain one; but the
application of the principle in these modern times is attended
with no common difficulties. Perhaps we may find some clue
to their solution if we draw a distinction between a
bishop’s own personal beliefs and acts, and the beliefs and
acts of others; between the toleration which he extends to
others, and the toleration which he metes out to himself.
Certainly in three of the chief functions of the episcopal
office, in teaching, in ordaining, in
promoting, the bishop may adhere, nay, he must adhere with
the utmost
rigour to what he believes to be the truth of God.
In his charges, in his sermons, in all his public and private
utterances, he will speak with faithfulness and courage: he will
give no needless offence; he will respect the conscientious
opinions of those who differ from him; he will fully recognise
the somewhat elastic boundaries of our national Church; but as
far as he himself is concerned, he will keep back nothing that is
profitable.
Never surely was it of greater importance that our bishops
should speak out plainly and boldly, than it is at this
moment. The public mind is anxious. The air is
charged with the subtle electricity of rumour. Of rumour,
do I say? Nay, do not unhealthy facts stare us in
the face? Facts which tell of the active forces of
infidelity on the one hand, and on the other, of the existence
within our own borders of a strong anti-Protestant spirit, and an
evident sympathy with the doctrines and practices of Rome.
Brethren, this country is a Protestant country, and it means
to remain so. The Church of England is a Protestant church,
and we of this generation, God willing, mean her to remain
so. We respect the opinions of others; but we are not
ashamed of our own; we would do violence to no man’s faith,
but we protest against the action of those who, holding positions
of authority within our reformed church, are seeking to undermine the
citadel, if not to hand it over to the enemy at the gate.
There is need of vigilance, wisdom, fidelity, courage in our
spiritual rulers: but they lead a willing people. Never, I
believe, were the laity of our Church more ready to hearken to
the clear, incisive proclamation of distinctive truth: never more
willing to welcome the doctrine of a free, full present
salvation: never more anxious to stand by their bishops, if their
bishops stand by the pure truth of God.
But the bishop ordains as well as teaches.
The limits of the Church of England are confessedly
wide:—it is well that they should be so. Even her
limits, perhaps, are narrower than those of the apostolic church;
the spirit of exclusion has prevailed over that of
comprehension. Still she is at this moment, to her
discredit some would hold, to her honour many believe, the most
comprehensive church in Christendom. Limits however do
exist. It may be difficult precisely to define them.
Yet surely the denial of the fundamental verities of our creeds,
or the persistent teaching of the peculiar doctrines of Rome are
not consistent with honest English churchmanship; and if those
who exercise their ministry in the Church of England are found in
either of these extremes, the question will be asked, how did
they gain entrance to that ministry? No doubt opinions may
change, and often do change after ordination; but it should
surely be the aim of him who ‘gives heed unto the doctrine,’
to detect the latent seeds of evil, as well as to note them when
they reach maturity. And thus to guard the avenue to the
ministerial office with a firm though tolerant hand.
But once more, the modern bishop is the dispenser of
patronage; and directly and indirectly he influences a large
number of appointments in his diocese.
Now if, as a trustee of public property, he thinks last, not
first, of private ends and personal interests; if, as a bishop of
the whole diocese, not of any section of it, he ignores mere
party claims and seeks out the best men from all schools of
thought, he will yet surely give prominence to these three
qualifications: first, that a man by holy living gives evidence
of a truly converted heart; secondly, that his teaching
faithfully reflects the leading truths of the Gospel, as received
by our reformed Church; and lastly, that he has proved by hard
work that be will not spare himself in his ministry.
In the discharge of these important functions the faithful
bishop will ‘give heed unto the doctrine.’
But besides a bishop’s own personal beliefs and actions,
he has to deal as a ruler in the Church with the beliefs and
actions of others. And here, no doubt, his path is often an
anxious one. As long as his clergy keep within the limits
of law, of law interpreted not with the rigour of a criminal
court but in the tolerant spirit of Christian charity, his duties in
this department will be light. But if the law through
negligence or through self-will be distinctly broken, the bishop
is surely bound, so far as the law arms him with power, to
vindicate its authority.
Perhaps indeed it is well in the interests of truth that the
controversies which have been vexing our Church have somewhat
shifted their ground; and that the question now is not so much
concerning the colour of a vestment, or the precise position of
the clergyman, as of the sacredness of family life, and the free
access of the penitent to his God.
The public mind of this country is slow to recognise the
importance of abstract doctrine, and is somewhat scornfully
indifferent to the extravagancies of mediæval ritual.
But when the working of a system is shown in practices which
introduce the priest into the place of the Saviour—aye, and
which threaten the very foundations of morality—public
opinion raises its indignant protest, and demands that the evil
shall be cast forth from our Church. Let all forbearance be
shown to the honest perplexities of thought; but let not a
church, which is Protestant to the core, ally herself with the
enemies of the Reformation, or cherish within her bosom practices
which are Scripturally indefensible, and morally wrong.
I venture, however, to think, that in cases which touch no
moral ground, the wisdom of a sound expediency, as well as
the spirit of the Gospel, suggest the anxious employment of every
weapon of persuasion, of every influence which love can devise,
before recourse be had to the harsh and repellent forms of
law. Truth must ever be the great weapon of
persuasion. Strife is an element alien to the Gospel.
‘The servant of the Lord must not strive, but be gentle
unto all men . . . in meekness instructing those that oppose
themselves.’ (2 Tim. ii. 24, 25.)
I pass on from the official to—
The Personal Life of the
bishop.
Very close is the connexion between the two lives.
‘Holding faith and a good conscience, which some having
thrust away made shipwreck concerning the faith.’ (1 Tim.
i. 19.)
‘Holding the mystery of the faith in a pure
conscience.’ (1 Tim. iii. 9.)
‘Take heed unto thyself.’
It is a condensed enforcement of the counsels of verse 12,
‘Be thou an example of the believers in word, in conduct,
in love, in faith, in purity.’
It is needless to dwell upon the truth that a holy life is the
best recommendation of holy doctrine, and that what gives force
to the utterances of the Christian minister is the hidden fire of
the spiritual life which burns within. And if this be true
of the humblest of God’s servants, it is pre-eminently true
of those
who occupy high stations in the Church. If in one sense a
bishop’s life is a protected life, a life guarded and
shielded from many forms of temptation, it probably has its
special and peculiar trials; and it only becomes a safe life,
when it is lived as in the very presence of God.
And this brings us to the last of the three counsels of the
text.
The Consecrated Life.
‘Continue in them.’
The words sound like an echo of those in the preceding verse:
‘Meditate upon these things; give thyself wholly to
them’ (ver. 15). They are the ‘things’ of
the official and personal life, the ministry of the word, and the
cultivation of the life within. ‘In them
continue;’ in them be wholly occupied and absorbed.
‘The longer I live,’ writes a layman, who did good
service in his day, ‘the more I am certain that the great
difference between men, between the feeble and the powerful, the
great and the insignificant, is energy, invincible determination
of purpose once fixed, and then death or victory.’
(Sir T. Fowell Buxton.)
And here I would claim for the clergy some consideration at
the hands of others—some time for thought, for study, for
meditation, for prayer.
When the Apostles declared with an emphasis, which after a
lapse of eighteen centuries preserves all its freshness,
‘We will give ourselves continually to prayer, and to the
ministry of the word’ (Acts, vi 4), they revealed to us the
secret of their success.
But how hard is it to follow their steps. Living as we
do in the midst of an advanced civilisation, surrounded by a
network of activities which touches us on every side, it is
difficult to resist the pressure of secular duties, and to
vindicate the spiritual claims of the office which we hold.
But whilst it is easy to protest against the secularisation of
the Christian ministry, it is not so easy to point out the
remedy. Each one must work out a deliverance for
himself. Each one must map out his own life, and pursue his
purpose stedfastly to the end.
Our leading journal, writing of the increase of the
episcopate, observes that the ‘danger will be that bishops
should allow themselves to be absorbed in the mere business and
bustle of their work, and should neglect the more solid and
silent part of their duties. The bishop must find time for
constant intercourse with his books, for thought, and for mature
preaching. He must make himself everywhere felt; but he
must also reserve himself, and should be at least as conspicuous
for judgment as for learning, and for moderation as for
activity.’ (Times, June 13, 1877.) [17]
It is
well that the public should recognise the sacredness, the
spirituality of the episcopal office. No man, however able,
can think, and study, and pray, if he is to live in a state of
ceaseless location. Laity and clergy alike should remember
that their bishops must have time for preparation, if their
public utterances are to be worthy of the occasion; that nothing
is so subtle as the processes of thought; nothing so laborious as
the creative work of composition; and that one needless
interruption may bring about a mental chaos, and throw into
hopeless disorder the delicate machinery of the mind.
Note, lastly, THE ANIMATING
PROMISE by which the threefold exhortation is
enforced:—
‘For in doing this thou shalt save both thyself and them
that hear thee.’
‘Thou salt save thyself.’ A selfish motive
some will argue. Nay, not more selfish than it is to
exist. It is selfish to pursue our own advantage at the
expense of others. It is not selfish to wish our own
highest goal:—the wish is bound up in our existence.
And again, the Christian’s wish is not for himself
alone; it is not lonely, solitary affection. He longs for
immortality for himself; he longs for it also on behalf of and
in company with others. ‘It is not a selfish
instinct,’ writes one of our deepest Christian thinkers,
‘it is not a neutral one, it is a moral and a generous one,
. . . Christianity knows nothing of a hope of immortality
for the individual alone, but only of a glorious hope for the
individual . . . in the eternal society of the Church
triumphant. (Mozley’s University Sermons, p.
71.)
Such, then, is the promise held out to the faithful
minister. He ensures his own salvation; he helps forward
the salvation of others. He aims at nothing short of this;
and he knows that his ‘labour is not in vain in the
Lord.’ (1 Cor. xv. 58.)
To the work thus briefly sketched our brother in Christ is now
to be sent forth.
This much would I only add, that having wrought side by side
with him in this great London for years now not a few, I can
testify from no superficial knowledge, as with no common warmth
of affection, to what I cannot but feel to be his special fitness
for the work which lies before him.
If experience gathered in the past is any pledge for the
future; if work well done during years of patient toil is any
assurance that work shall be well done in years which may yet
remain; if thoughtful, careful preaching of the word of life, and
the successful administration of the largest metropolitan
parishes is any warrant for expecting the continuation of such
ministry in a wider field of labour; then will no
common hopes gather round this now Episcopate. Nor has
there been wanting that highest of all training, the training of
personal affliction. If we are taught to-day in the
martyrdom of St. James, that the law of self-surrender is the law
of ministerial success; if the voiceless tomb of the one Apostle
and the silent dungeon of the other were the forerunners of the
Church’s most rapid growth, when ‘the word of God
grew and multiplied’ (Acts, xii. 24); the ministry of one,
who has been taught in the same school, will issue, we may humbly
hope, in a like result.
Our Church claims to have inherited Apostolic doctrine, an
Apostolic framework, and a history which dates from the Apostolic
age. The ninety-eighth occupant of the See of Rochester can
boast of a long and distinguished spiritual ancestry.
Founded in 604, some ten years after the landing of Augustine,
the See is, with the single exception of that of Canterbury, the
most ancient in the kingdom; and has numbered amongst its Bishops
such eminent men as Paulinus the apostle of Northumberland;
Gundulph, the greatest of Norman architects; Cardinal Fisher,
beheaded by Henry VIII.: Ridley, the martyr; Turner, the
non-juror; Atterbury, the high-churchman; and Samuel Horsley, the
mathematician, the orator, and the divine. The See of
Rochester carries with it therefore, the prestige of a venerable
antiquity; but its interest to-day lies not so much in
the records of the past, as in the living wants of the
present.
Across the river which divides our city, lies a vast and dense
population, soon to form part of this ancient diocese.
Faithful men have been labouring there for years. The new
Bishop goes forth amongst them, to guide, to stimulate, to
encourage, and to strengthen.
He will remember, as having enjoyed the liberty himself, that
in the words of one whose name is warmly cherished in this place,
‘the independent and quasi episcopal position of the
rector is one of the most blessed safeguards of the Church of
England’ (Kingsley’s Life, ii. 80): but he
will also remember that a wise and tolerant rule is quite
consistent with personal and official fidelity.
He will remember too, aye, he will never be ashamed of
confessing those great evangelical doctrines which have ever been
the joy and strength of his ministry.
It is the fashion with some to sneer at those doctrines, as
belonging to a byegone age, as the fossil remains of an era, when
light was scanty and intelligence rare.
Brethren, there were giants in those days. Are we quite
sure that there are any giants now?
If it be indeed a mark of narrow-mindedness to aim in all our
teaching at the exaltation of the Saviour; if it be a mark of
narrow-mindedness to preach the universality of human
corruption, the absolute perfection of the redemptive work of
Christ, and the regenerating power of the Holy Ghost; then must
we plead guilty to the charge.
But may not the caution addressed by Bishop Horsley to his
clergy upon the subject of Calvinism be applicable with slight
change in these modern days? ‘Take care before you
aim your shafts at’ Evangelical Churchmanship, ‘that
you know what it is, and what it is not . . . lest when you mean
only to fall foul of a human system, you should unwarily attack
something more sacred and of higher origin.’
(Horsley’s Charges, p. 226.)
We think we find our doctrines in the formularies of the
Church of England; we think we find them in the writings of our
Reformers; we think we find them in the records of primitive
antiquity; we think we find them in the Word of God. We lay
no claim to infallibility, but we claim a right to be true to our
convictions. We have tasted the old; we have examined the
new; and we say from the very bottom of our hearts, ‘The
old in better.’
It in on behalf of such a ministry that we ask your
prayers.
In these difficult days, when questions of the most perplexing
kind are springing up on every side, and when the demands made
upon a bishop’s energies are of a most exhaustive
character, the bravest might well shrink from entering upon so great a
charge. But we serve a loving and considerate Master.
The burden may indeed be heavy to bear, but He who lays it upon
His servant will assuredly give him strength to bear it; and bear
it we believe he will, untiring, unresting in his work, until the
dying echoes of this day’s service give place to the
blessed, joyous welcome. ‘Well done, good and
faithful servant, . . . enter thou into the joy of thy
Lord.’