Godhead; from
the page of history, indented with the print of God's footprints; from
type and ceremony and temple, though instituted by God Himself; even
from the unrivalled beauty of our Saviour's earthly life--these men
turned unsatisfied, unfilled, and said, "We are not yet content, but if
Thou wouldest show us the Father, we should be."

And would it not suffice _us_?--Would it not be sufficient to give new
zest and reality to _prayer_, if we could realize that it might be as
familiar as the talk of home, or like the petitioning of a little
child? Would it not suffice to make the most irksome _work_ pleasant,
if we could look up and discern the Father's good pleasure and smile of
approval? Would it not suffice to rob _pain_ of its sting, if we could
detect the Father's hands adjusting the heat of the furnace? Would it
not suffice to shed a light across the dark mystery of _death_, if we
felt that the Father was waiting to lead us through the shadows to
Himself? How often the cry rises from sad and almost despairing
hearts, "Show us the Father, and it sufficeth us."

_But surely this request was based on a mistake._--Philip wanted a
visible theophany, like that which Moses beheld, when the majestic
procession swept down the mountain pass; or as the elders saw, when
they beheld the paved sapphire work; or after the fashion of the
visions vouchsafed to Elijah, Isaiah, or Ezekiel. He wanted to see the
Father. But how can you make wisdom, or love, or purity visible, save
in a human life?

Yet this is the mistake we are all liable to make. We feel that there
must be an experience, a vision, a burst of light, a sensible
manifestation, before we can know the Father. We strain after some
unique and extraordinary presentation of the Deity, especially in the
aspect of Fatherhood, before we can be completely satisfied, and thus
we miss the lesson of the present hour. Philip was so absorbed in his
quest for the transcendent and sublime, that he missed the revelations
of the Father which for three years had been passing under his eyes.
God had been manifesting His tenderest and most characteristic
attributes by the beauty of the Master's life, but Philip had failed to
discern them; till now the Master bids him go back on the photographs
of those years, as fixed in his memory, to see in a thousand tiny
illustrations how truly the Father dwelt in Him, and lived through His
every word and work.

Are you straining afte