Unspoken Sermons

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'Ah,' you answer, 'but I had no such miracle wrought for me! Ah, if I
had such a miracle wrought for me, you should see then!'

'You mean that if your husband, your son, your father, your brother,
your lover, had been taken from you once and given to you again, you
would not, when the time came that he must go once more, dream of
calling him a second time from the good heaven? You would not be cruel
enough for that! You would not bemoan or lament! You would not make the
heart of the Lord sad with your hopeless tears! Ah, how little you know
yourself! Do you not see that, so far as truth and reason are
concerned, you are now in precisely the position supposed--the position
of those sisters after Lazarus was taken from them the second time? You
know now all they knew then. They had no more of a revelation by the
recall of Lazarus than you have. For you profess to believe the story,
though you make that doubtful enough by your disregard of the very soul
of it. Is it possible that, so far as you are concerned, Lazarus might
as well not have risen? What difference is there between your position
now and theirs? Lazarus was with God, and they knew he had gone, come
back, and gone again. You know that he went, came, and went again. Your
friend is gone as Lazarus went twice, and you behave as if you knew
nothing of Lazarus. You make a lamentable ado, vexing Jesus that you
will not be reasonable and trust his father! When Martha and Mary
behaved as you are doing, they had not had Lazarus raised; you have had
Lazarus raised, yet you go on as they did then!

'You give too good reason to think that, if the same thing were done
for you, you would say he was only in a cataleptic fit, and in truth
was never raised from the dead. Or is there another way of
understanding your behaviour: you do not believe that God is
unchangeable, but think he acts one way one time and another way
another time just from caprice? He might give back a brother to sisters
who were favourites with him, but no such gift is to be counted upon?
Why then, I ask, do you worship such a God?'

'But you know he does _not_ do it! That was a mere exceptional case.'

'If it was, it is worthless indeed--as worthless as your behaviour
would make it. But you are dull of heart, as were Martha and Mary. Do
you not see that he is as continually restoring as taking away--that
every bereavement is a restoration--that when you are weeping with void
arms, others, who love as well as you, are clasping in ecstasy of
reunion?'

'Alas, we know nothing about that!'

'If you have learned no more I must leave you, having no ground in you
upon which my words may fall. You deceived me; you called yourself a
Christian. You cannot have been doing the will of the Father, or you
would not be as you are.'

'Ah, you little know my loss!'

'Indeed it is great! it seems to include God! If you knew what he knows
about death you would clap your listless hands. But why should I seek
in vain to comfort you? You must be made miserable, that you may wake
from your sleep to know that you need God. If you do not find him,
endless life with the living whom you bemoan would become and remain to
you unendurable. The knowledge of your own heart will teach you this--
not the knowledge you have, but the knowledge that is on its way to you
through suffering. Then you will feel that existence itself is the
prime of evils, without _the righteousness which is of God by faith_.'

RIGHTEOUSNESS.

--_that I may win Christ, and be found in him, not having mine own
righteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith
of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith_.--Ep. to the
Philippians iii. 8, 9.

What does the apostle mean by the righteousness that is of God by
faith? He means the same righteousness Christ had by his faith in God,
the same righteousness God himself has.

In his second epistle to the Corinthians he says, 'He hath made him to
be sin for us who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness
of God in him;'--'He gave him to be treated like a sinner, killed and
cast out of his own vineyard by his husbandmen, that we might in him be
made righteous like God.' As the antithesis stands it is rhetorically
correct. But if the former half means, 'he made him to be treated as if
he were a sinner,' then the latter half should, in logical precision,
mean, 'that we might be treated as if we were righteous.'

'That is just what Paul does mean,' insist not a few. 'He means that
Jesus was treated by God as if he were a sinner, our sins being imputed
to him, in order that we might be treated as if we were righteous, his
righteousness being imputed to us.'

That is, that, by a sort of legal fiction, Jesus was treated as what he
was not, in order that we might be treated as what we are not. This is
the best device, according to the prevailing theology, that the God of
truth, the God of mercy, whose glory is that he is just to men by
forgiving their sins, could fall upon for saving his creatures!

I had thought that this most contemptible of false doctrines had nigh
ceased to be presented, though I knew it must be long before it ceased
to exercise baneful influence; but, to my astonishment, I came upon it
lately in quite a modern commentary which I happened to look into in a
friend's house. I say, to my astonishment, for the commentary was the
work of one of the most liberal and lovely of Christians, a dignitary
high in the church of England, a man whom I knew and love, and hope ere
long to meet where there are no churches. In the comment that came
under my eye, he refers to the doctrine of imputed righteousness as the
possible explanation of a certain passage--refers to it as to a
doctrine concerning whose truth was no question.

It seems to me that, seeing much duplicity exists in the body of
Christ, every honest member of it should protest against any word
tending to imply the existence of falsehood in the indwelling spirit of
that body. I now protest against this so-called _doctrine_, counting it
the rightful prey of the foolishest wind in the limbo of vanities,
whither I would gladly do my best to send it. It is a mean, nauseous
invention, false, and productive of falsehood. Say it is a figure, I
answer it is not only a false figure but an embodiment of untruth; say
it expresses a reality, and I say it teaches the worst of lies; say
there is a shadow of truth in it, and I answer it may be so, but there
is no truth touched in it that could not be taught infinitely better
without it. It is the meagre misshapen offspring of the legalism of a
poverty-stricken mechanical fancy, unlighted by a gleam of divine
imagination. No one who knows his New Testament will dare to say that
the figure is once used in it.

I have dealt already with the source of it. They say first, God must
punish the sinner, for justice requires it; then they say he does not
punish the sinner, but punishes a perfectly righteous man instead,
attributes his righteousness to the sinner, and so continues just. Was
there ever such a confusion, such an inversion of right and wrong!
Justice _could not_ treat a righteous man as an unrighteous; neither,
if justice required the punishment of sin, _could_ justice let the
sinner go unpunished. To lay the pain upon the righteous in the name of
justice is simply monstrous. No wonder unbelief is rampant. Believe in
Moloch if you will, but call him Moloch, not Justice. Be sure that the
thing that God gives, the righteousness that is of God, is a real
thing, and not a contemptible legalism. Pray God I have no
righteousness imputed to me. Let me be regarded as the sinner I am; for
nothing will serve my need but to be made a righteous man, one that
will no more sin.

We have the word _imputed_ just once in the New Testament. Whether the
evil doctrine may have sprung from any possible misunderstanding of the
passage where it occurs, I hardly care to inquire. The word as Paul
uses it, and the whole of the thought whence his use of it springs,
appeals to my sense of right and justice as much as the common use of
it arouses my abhorrence. The apostle says that a certain thing was
imputed to Abraham for righteousness; or, as the revised version has
it, 'reckoned unto him:' what was it that was thus imputed to Abraham?
The righteousness of another? God forbid! It was his own faith. The
faith of Abraham is reckoned to him for righteousness. To impute the
righteousness of one to another, is simply to act a falsehood; to call
the faith of a man his righteousness is simply to speak the truth. Was
it not righteous in Abraham to obey God? The Jews placed righteousness
in keeping all the particulars of the law of Moses: Paul says faith in
God was counted righteousness before Moses was born. You may answer,
Abraham was unjust in many things, and by no means a righteous man.
True; he was not a righteous man in any complete sense; his
righteousness would never have satisfied Paul; neither, you may be
sure, did it satisfy Abraham; but his faith was nevertheless
righteousness, and if it had not been counted to him for righteousness,
there would have been falsehood somewhere, for such faith as Abraham's
_is righteousness_. It was no mere intellectual recognition of the
existence of a God, which is consistent with the deepest atheism; it
was that faith which is one with action: 'He went out, not knowing
whither he went.' The very act of believing in God after such fashion
that, when the time of action comes, the man will obey God, is the
highest act, the deepest, loftiest righteousness of which man is
capable, is at the root of all other righteousness, and the spirit of
it will work till the man is perfect. If you define righteousness in
the common-sense, that is, in the divine fashion--for religion is
nothing if it be not the deepest common-sense--as a giving to everyone
his due, then certainly the first due is to him who makes us capable of
owing, that is, makes us responsible creatures. You may say this is not
one's first feeling of duty. True; but the first in reality is seldom
the first perceived. The first duty is too high and too deep to come
first into consciousness. If any one were born perfect, which I count
an eternal impossibility, then the highest duty would come first into
the consciousness. As we are born, it is the doing of, or at least the
honest trying to do many another duty, that will at length lead a man
to see that his duty to God is the first and deepest and highest of
all, including and requiring the performance of all other duties
whatever. A man might live a thousand years in neglect of duty, and
never come to see that any obligation was upon him to put faith in God
and do what he told him--never have a glimpse of the fact that he owed
him something. I will allow that if God were what he thinks him he
would indeed owe him little; but he thinks him such in consequence of
not doing what he knows he ought to do. He has not come to the light.
He has deadened, dulled, hardened his nature. He has not been a man
without guile, has not been true and fair.

But while faith in God is the first duty, and may therefore well be
called righteousness in the man in whom it is operative, even though it
be imperfect, there is more reason than this why it should be counted
to a man for righteousness. It is the one spiritual act which brings
the man into contact with the original creative power, able to help him
in every endeavour after righteousness, and ensure his progress to
perfection. The man who exercises it may therefore also well be called
a righteous man, however far from complete in righteousness. We may
call a woman beautiful who is not perfect in beauty; in the Bible men
are constantly recognized as righteous men who are far from perfectly
righteous. The Bible never deals with impossibilities, never demands of
any man at any given moment a righteousness of which at that moment he
is incapable; neither does it lay upon any man any other law than that
of perfect righteousness. It demands of him righteousness; when he
yields that righteousness of which he is capable, content for the
moment, it goes on to demand more: the common-sense of the Bible is
lovely.

To the man who has no faith in God, faith in God cannot look like
righteousness; neither can he know that it is creative of all other
righteousness toward equal and inferior lives: he cannot know that it
is not merely the beginning of righteousness, but the germ of life, the
active potency whence life-righteousness grows. It is not like some
single separate act of righteousness; it is the action of the whole
man, turning to good from evil--turning his back on all that is opposed
to righteousness, and starting on a road on which he cannot stop, in
which he must go on growing more and more righteous, discovering more
and more what righteousness is, and more and more what is unrighteous
in himself. In the one act of believing in God--that is, of giving
himself to do what he tells him--he abjures evil, both what he knows
and what he does not yet know in himself. A man may indeed have turned
to obey God, and yet be capable of many an injustice to his neighbour
which he has not yet discovered to be an injustice; but as he goes on
obeying, he will go on discovering. Not only will he grow more and more
determined to be just, but he will grow more and more sensitive to the
idea of injustice--I do not mean in others, but in himself. A man who
continues capable of a known injustice to his neighbour, cannot be
believed to have turned to God. At all events, a man cannot be near
God, so as to be learning what is just toward God, and not be near his
neighbour, so as to be learning what is unfair to him; for his will,
which is the man, lays hold of righteousness, chooses to be righteous.
If a man is to be blamed for not choosing righteousness, for not
turning to the light, for not coming out of the darkness, then the man
who does choose and turn and come out, is to be justified in his deed,
and declared to be righteous. He is not yet thoroughly righteous, but
is growing in and toward righteousness. He needs creative God, and time
for will and effort. Not yet quite righteous, he cannot yet act quite
righteously, for only the man in whom the image of God is perfected can
live perfectly. Born into the world without righteousness, he cannot
see, he cannot know, he is not in touch with perfect righteousness, and
it would be the deepest injustice to demand of him, with a penalty, at
any given moment, more than he knows how to yield; but it is the
highest lore constantly to demand of him perfect righteousness as what
he must attain to. With what life and possibility is in him, he must
keep turning to righteousness and abjuring iniquity, ever aiming at the
perfection of God. Such an obedient faith is most justly and fairly,
being all that God himself can require of the man, called by God
righteousness in the man. It would not be enough for the righteousness
of God, or Jesus, or any perfected saint, because they are capable of
perfect righteousness, and, knowing what is perfect righteousness,
choose to be perfectly righteous; but, in virtue of the life and growth
in it, it is enough at a given moment for the disciple of the Perfect.
The righteousness of Abraham was not to compare with the righteousness
of Paul. He did not fight with himself for righteousness, as did
Paul--not because he was better than Paul and therefore did not need to
fight, but because his idea of what was required of him was not within
sight of that of Paul; yet was he righteous in the same way as Paul was
righteous: he had begun to be righteous, and God called his
righteousness righteousness, for faith is righteousness. His faith was
an act recognizing God as his law, and that is not a partial act, but
an all-embracing and all-determining action. A single righteous deed
toward one's fellow could hardly be imputed to a man as righteousness.
A man who is not trying after righteousness may yet do many a righteous
act: they will not be forgotten to him, neither will they be imputed to
him as righteousness. Abraham's action of obedient faith was
righteousness none the less that his righteousness was far behind
Paul's. Abraham started at the beginning of the long, slow,
disappointing preparation of the Jewish people; Paul started at its
close, with the story of Jesus behind him. Both believed, obeying God,
and therefore both were righteous. They were righteous because they
gave themselves up to God to make them righteous; and not to call such
men righteous, not to impute their faith to them for righteousness,
would be unjust. But God is utterly just, and nowise resembles a
legal-minded Roman emperor, or a bad pope formulating the doctrine of
vicarious sacrifice.

What, then, is the righteousness which is of God by faith? It is simply
the thing that God wants every man to be, wrought out in him by
constant obedient contact with God himself. It is not an attribute
either of God or man, but a fact of character in God and in man. It is
God's righteousness wrought out in us, so that as he is righteous we
too are righteous. It does not consist in obeying this or that law; not
even the keeping of every law, so that no hair's-breadth did we run
counter to one of them, would be righteousness. To be righteous is to
be such a heart, soul, mind, and will, as, without regard to law, would
recoil with horror from the lightest possible breach of any law. It is
to be so in love with what is fair and right as to make it impossible
for a man to do anything that is less than absolutely righteous. It is
not the love of righteousness in the abstract that makes anyone
righteous, but such a love of fairplay toward everyone with whom we
come into contact, that anything less than the fulfilling, with a clear
joy, of our divine relation to him or her, is impossible. For the
righteousness of God goes far beyond mere deeds, and requires of us
love and helping mercy as our highest obligation and justice to our
fellow men--those of them too who have done nothing for us, those even
who have done us wrong. Our relations with others, God first and then
our neighbour in order and degree, must one day become, as in true
nature they are, the gladness of our being; and nothing then will ever
appear good for us, that is not in harmony with those blessed
relations. Every thought will not merely be just, but will be just
because it is something more, because it is live and true. What heart
in the kingdom of heaven would ever dream of constructing a
metaphysical system of what we owed to God and why we owed it? The
light of our life, our sole, eternal, and infinite joy, is simply
God--God--God--nothing but God, and all his creatures in him. He is all
and in all, and the children of the kingdom know it. He includes all
things; not to be true to anything he has made is to be untrue to him.
God is truth, is life; to be in God is to know him and need no law.
Existence will be eternal Godness.

You would not like that way of it? There is, there can be, no other;
but before you can judge of it, you must know at least a little of God
as he is, not as you imagine him. I say _as you imagine him_, because
it cannot be that any creature should know him as he is and not desire
him. In proportion as we know him we must desire him, until at length
we live in and for him with all our conscious heart. That is why the
Jews did not like the Lord: he cared so simply for his father's will,
and not for anything they called his will.

The righteousness which is of God by faith in the source, the prime of
that righteousness, is then just the same kind of thing as God's
righteousness, differing only as the created differs from the creating.
The righteousness of him who does the will of his father in heaven, is
the righteousness of Jesus Christ, is God's own righteousness. The
righteousness which is of God by faith in God, is God's righteousness.
The man who has this righteousness, thinks about things as God thinks
about them, loves the things that God loves, cares for nothing that God
does not care about. Even while this righteousness is being born in
him, the man will say to himself, 'Why should I be troubled about this
thing or that? Does God care about it? No. Then why should I care? I
must not care. I will not care! 'If he does not know whether God cares
about it or not, he will say, 'If God cares I should have my desire, he
will give it me; if he does not care I should have it, neither will I
care. In the meantime I will do my work.' The man with God's
righteousness does not love a thing merely because it is right, but
loves the very rightness in it. He not only loves a thought, but he
loves the man in his thinking that thought; he loves the thought alive
in the man. He does not take his joy from himself. He feels joy in
himself, but it comes to him from others, not from himself--from God
first, and from somebody, anybody, everybody next. He would rather, in
the fulness of his content, pass out of being, rather himself cease to
exist, than that another should. He could do without knowing himself,
but he could not know himself and spare one of the brothers or sisters
God had given him. The man who really knows God, is, and always will
be, content with what God, who is the very self of his self, shall
choose for him; he is entirely God's, and not at all his own. His
consciousness of himself is the reflex from those about him, not the
result of his own turning in of his regard upon himself. It is not the
contemplation of what God has made him, it is the being what God has
made him, and the contemplation of what God himself is, and what he has
made his fellows, that gives him his joy. He wants nothing, and feels
that he has all things, for he is in the bosom of his father, and the
thoughts of his father come to him. He knows that if he needs anything,
it is his before he asks it; for his father has willed him, in the
might and truth of his fatherhood, to be one with himself.

This then, or something like this, for words are poor to tell the best
things, is the righteousness which is of God by faith--so far from
being a thing built on the rubbish heap of legal fiction called
vicarious sacrifice, or its shadow called imputed righteousness, that
only the child with the child-heart, so far ahead of and so different
from the wise and prudent, can understand it. The wise and prudent
interprets God by himself, and does not understand him; the child
interprets God by himself, and does understand him. The wise and
prudent must make a system and arrange things to his mind before he can
say, _I believe_. The child sees, believes, obeys--and knows he must be
perfect as his father in heaven is perfect. If an angel, seeming to
come from heaven, told him that God had let him off, that he did not
require so much of him as that, but would be content with less; that he
could not indeed allow him to be wicked, but would pass by a great
deal, modifying his demands because it was so hard for him to be quite
good, and he loved him so dearly, the child of God would at once
recognize, woven with the angel's starry brilliancy, the flicker of the
flames of hell, and would say to the shining one, 'Get thee behind me,
Satan.' Nor would there be the slightest wonder or merit in his doing
so, for at the words of the deceiver, if but for briefest moment
imagined true, the shadow of a rising hell would gloom over the face of
creation; hope would vanish; the eternal would be as the carcase of a
dead man; the glory would die out of the face of God--until the groan
of a thunderous _no_ burst from the caverns of the universe, and the
truth, flashing on his child's soul from the heart of the Eternal,
Immortal, Invisible, withered up the lie of the messenger of darkness.

'But how can God bring this about in me?'

Let him do it, and perhaps you will know; if you never know, yet there
it will be. Help him to do it, or he cannot do it. He originates the
possibility of your being his son, his daughter; he makes you able to
will it, but you must will it. If he is not doing it in you--that is,
if you have as yet prevented him from beginning, why should I tell you,
even if I knew the process, how he would do what you will not let him
do? Why should you know? What claim have you to know? But indeed how
should you be able to know? For it must deal with deeper and higher
things than you _can_ know anything of till the work is at least begun.
Perhaps if you approved of the plans of the glad creator, you would
allow him to make of you something divine! To teach your intellect what
has to be learned by your whole being, what cannot be understood
without the whole being, what it would do you no good to understand
save you understood it in your whole being--if this be the province of
any man, it is not mine. Let the dead bury their dead, and the dead
teach their dead; for me, I will try to wake them. To those who are
awake, I cry, 'For the sake of your father and the first-born among
many brethren to whom we belong, for the sake of those he has given us
to love the most dearly, let patience have her perfect work. Statue
under the chisel of the sculptor, stand steady to the blows of his
mallet. Clay on the wheel, let the fingers of the divine potter model
you at their will. Obey the Father's lightest word; hear the Brother
who knows you, and died for you; beat down your sin, and trample it to
death.

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