lves there would be little
strong Christian life in us. It seems to me that that continual
remembrance which Paul carried with him of what he had been, and of
Christ's marvellous love in drawing him to Himself, was the very spring
of all that was noble and conspicuously Christian in his career. And I
venture to say, in two or three words, what I think you and I will never
have unless we have this lowly self-estimate.

Without it there will be no intensity of cleaving to Jesus Christ. If
you do not know that you are ill, you will not take the medicine. If you
do not believe that the house is on fire, you will not mind the escape.
The life-buoy lies unnoticed on the shelf above the berth as long as the
sea is calm and everything goes well. Unless you have been down into the
depths of your own heart, and seen the evil that is there, you will not
care for the redeeming Christ, nor will you grasp Him as a man does who
knows that there is nothing between him and ruin except that strong
hand. We must be driven to the Saviour as well as drawn to Him if there
is to be any reality or tightness in the clutch with which we hold Him.
And if you do not hold Him with a firm clutch you do not hold Him at
all.

Further, without this lowly estimate there will be no fervour of
grateful love. That is the reason why so much both of orthodox and
heterodox religion amongst us to-day is such a tepid thing as it is. It
is because men have never felt either that they need a Redeemer, or that
Jesus Christ has redeemed them. I believe that there is only one power
that will strike the rock of a human heart, and make the water of
grateful devotion flow out, and that is the belief in Jesus Christ as
the Redeemer of mankind, and as my Saviour. Unless that be your faith,
which it will not be except you have this conviction of my text in its
spirit and essence, there will not be in your hearts the love which will
glow there, an all-transforming power.

And is there anything in the world more obnoxious, more insipid, than
lukewarm religion? If, with marks of quotation, I might use the coarse,
strong expression of John Milton--'It gives a vomit to God Himself.'
'Because thou art neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my
mouth.'

And without it there will be little pity of, and love for, our fellows.
Unless we feel the common evil, and estimate by the intensity of its
working in ourselves how sad are its ravages in others, our charity to
men wi