s a bit strange that we don't get this more. One
historic Church has Him fastened to a cross, never freed from the old
fastenings. Another has Him set in picture frame, behind glass. And the
multitudes prostrate themselves and reverently kiss the glass.

In widely differing Churches He seems quite covered up out of sight by
classical ritual, beautiful music, and impressive stately service. The
crowds gather and listen and bow low in hushed stillness. But,
apparently, _Him they see not_, else how different their conduct as they
come out, and their lives.

And yet as I have mingled with the worshippers in Catholic Churches in
the south of Europe, in Greek Churches in Russia, and in congregations
of the Church of England classed as "high," I have been caught by faces
here and there in the crowd that clearly were reaching out hungrily for
_Him_, and were having some sort, some real sort, of touch with Him,
too. Yet it seemed to be in spite of surroundings. The insistence of
their hunger pierces through these to Him. He seems hidden from the
crowd by them.

Scholarly orthodox theologians talk learnedly about Him, but Himself as
He walked among us and as He is now, Him it would seem that they see
not, at least not enough to burn through and burn out and burn up and
send men out aflame with the Jesus-passion. Philosophies about Him that
are classed as "liberal" and put attractively, yet have nothing of the
burn in them that reveals Himself.

The more modern Church of the more western world seems to have gotten a
new lease of aggressiveness in service, a new intensity in activities so
numerous as to be a bit bewildering sometimes. The wheels whir busily
and noisily. You feel them. But Him, the unseen presence that makes you
reverently wrap your face up out of sight, and stand with awed heart to
listen, _Him_ we seem not to see.

The wondrous quiet Voice that makes your heart burn within you with a
burning that cleanses and mellows and melts down, _that_ we seem to hear
only by getting away from the noise of the whirring wheels into some
quiet corner.

There are in every Church and nation those who seem to have the close
personal touch with Himself. Their faces and daily lives show the marks.
Their lips may not say so much, for they who see most can say least of
what they see. But the marks in the life are unmistakable.

Yet even here the sight of Christ emphasizes chiefly the personal side,
what He is personally to them