the Soul (A Kempis), 71. Mother's Knee (M. J. Tilsley), 72. So Happy, 72. The Leading Homily. THE FATHERHOOD OF GOD, AND THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN. "OUR FATHER WHICH ART IN HEAVEN."-Matthew vi. 9. N my last sermon before the University, I spoke of the reasons which are at present deterring some men from taking orders, and I endeavoured to show that some of these reasons were founded on misconceptions. To-day I intend to endeavour to interpret to you the great religious impulse which is so full of hope, and is so profoundly affecting this generation, both in Cambridge and throughout the country, and which is making men feel that those reasons are irrelevant, or inadequate, or, if not these, that they must be removed. The stream is too full to flow in its old channel. I say, endeavour to interpret, because the real meaning and origin of such a religious impulse is not always recognised at the time. We can look back at the period of Wesley, or the Reformation, and from this distance we can discriminate the ideas that were coming into distinctness at these or similar periods. But in the ages themselves this was difficult. It was a confused struggle in which even the chief actors scarcely understood the significance of their own actions. A It may, however, surprise some persons to hear it said, that there is a religious impulse so profoundly affecting us. They would appeal to prevailing unbeliefs, and deny the existence of any such religious movement at all. No, I would say confidently: faith has but changed its form; the unbeliefs are mainly irrelevant or superficial. There is a deep, almost voiceless current of faith below, far deeper than the unbelief, which shows itself by many signs. It would take too long to speak of the signs of this religious impulse in the country at large, but I may very briefly remind you of the indications of it, in the changes that have lately come over Cambridge. During the last 15 years, the Church, we are told, has lost her hold on the Universities; and we hear men deploring in the country, that the colleges are godless-as if the new statutes of a college could drive out God. And yet it is certain that here and now, there is more religious life, and more active church work, and far truer and keener religious interests than when I was an undergraduate 25 years ago. What, then, is the nature of the religious impulse that is at work? "They are very good young men now-a-days," said an old lady to me, "but I am sure I don't know why. They don't seem to me to believe anything." That is the problem I want to consider. It is certain that the old motives are, to a large extent dissipated or powerless. They survive in books, but not in living hearts; not in the hearts of the young and sensitive, who are the index of the future. It is not fear of punishment. It may be doubted indeed whether that ever kept men from sin, or impelled them to good. It is not, in our class at any rate, the hope of saving our individual souls. For some reason we cannot make this motive touch us. It may be a magnet, but we are not magnetised. We listen, we read about it, we don't deny it, nay, we cherish the hope, but we don't move to it. There is no "atrophy of our religious sense." Our sense is vivid enough, but irresponsive to this motive. It is no philosophy of utility, no consideration of the greatest good of the greatest number. This is sometimes a useful criterion of conduct, but is never a force. "Why am I to seek the greatest happiness of the greatest number?" That is a question that this philosophy leaves unanswered, and a motive it leaves unsupplied. It is not a vivid and defined faith, as taught by the authority of the Church, that moves men now. We listen to the eloquent claims of priests, Roman or Anglican, as they dogmatize on the undefinable, and overawe us with mysteries and solemnities; and then we go out into the fresh air and sunlight, and throw it all aside, and go on under a deeper guidance. It is not the authority of doctrines founded on biblical texts. They are demonstrated irrefutably; we listen to a system and its formulas and phrases. But they have somehow lost touch with many of us; we tolerate them, as we still tolerate the Athanasian creed, read in some churches this morning, but they do not affect us. They pass by us; they have no fruit in action. We know instinctively that they are survivals, that the truth is larger than the dogma; and we turn to the ever fresh and simple words of Christ with a sense of unspeakable relief. In them there is life and power. Yet though it is not any of such old religious motives which impel us, there is a force somewhere; a force which carries us all on, the great non-religious and semi-religious world, as well as the so-called religious world,-in spite of all retarding and destructive agencies. Differing and rival sects, Church Unions, and Church Associations, and all that they imply, are unable to ruin the cause of true religion. The tide carries them with it in its mighty rush, like bubbles and froth on the surface. We do our work in some form or other, because we must, under some heavenly attraction. A conviction deeper than words is within our souls. Can we attempt to give it form or name? Can we for an instant see the "buried life" of this generationthe conviction below its beliefs? The hidden force which impels us is the conviction, the feeling, the instinct, the consciousness, the Revelation, call it what we will, of the Fatherhood of God, and of the brotherhood of mana brotherhood bound up in some unspeakable relation to Christ. In a certain sense we are familiar enough with these words; but they are true in a sense far deeper than our familiarity extends; deeper than any thoughts or words will reach. This Fatherhood of God, and brotherhood of man, this unity of Nature in relation |