Down the dark future, through long generations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace." Peace! No longer from its brazen portals The blast of war's great organ shakes the skies, But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise." Such we know will be the end, and such alone are the means by which it can be accomplished. Here then was a soldier, and yet a Christian; and if God has pronounced him clean, shall we pronounce him unclean? In the Gospel by St. Luke it is stated that the soldiers came to John. I am stating this to show you, not that war is beautiful, but that being a soldier is not sinful: it may seem supererogation, and yet it is not so, to prove this in the present day. The soldiers came to John, and "likewise demanded of him, saying, What shall we do?" Did he say, "Your very profession is a crime, abjure it?" No. "He said unto them, Do violence to no man, neither accuse any falsely; and be content with your wages." Can I suppose that to be a soldier is thereby and therefore to be a sinner, or, in other words, that war is lawful in no circumstances, when John thus spake to the soldiers, and gave them his command and guidance? This Christian soldier came to Jesus, and asked him to interfere in behalf of his sick slave. He was a brave man, for such a Roman soldier must be; he was a humble man, for such a Christian always is; and he was a kind, an affectionate, and a loving man—such the choicest of humanity is; and he felt an interest in the health and happiness of his poor sick slave. There were no servants in ancient times in the sense in which servants are regarded now; they were bought and sold in the market; they were treated by the heathens with a consummate disregard of every instinct and feeling of humanity. This soldier, feeling such a deep interest in the well-being of his slave, is on the one hand a beautiful trait, and creditable to him, and on the other hand it is significant of that great lesson that Christianity teaches, that the servant and the master, in the sight of God, stand upon the same platform, and must be tried at the same tribunal. When he drew near to our Lord, he expressed his unworthiness to approach him. His profession as a soldier served him with arguments as a Christian. He said, "I am a man under authority." At first sight this seems a strange expression: one would have thought that he would have said, "I am a man having authority." But no, he argues from the lesser to the greater: "I am a subaltern, and there is over me a commanding officer (as if he had said, 'I am a lieutenant'); and if I who am but a subaltern, an under-officer, have such power, that I can say to this soldier, 'Take up that position,' and to that soldier, 'Be sentinel there,' and to my servant, Do this,' and he doeth it, much more, surely, thou, who art the commander of all the armies of the skies, and the ruler of all the inhabitants of the earth, hast but to speak the word, and my servant then will be instantly healed.” His idea of the sovereignty of Christ was beautiful and grand. The leading idea in the soldier's mind was his profession, and that profession supplied him with a conception of the grandeur of him who is the Autocrat of heaven and earth, the true Imperator, of whose authority Cæsar was but an imperfect and poor shadow. The soldier argues, "If I then, as a subaltern, have so much power that every man is subject to my authority,—that, in virtue of the discipline that prevails in the Roman army, instant obedience is rendered to every command, then, Lord Jesus, great Saviour, great King, speak to this disease, and it will instantly obey thee; breathe a word to my sick slave, and he will rise and come unto thee; thou who art the Lord of all power and might, thou hast but to say the word, and angels will come and execute thy will; or wind, and wave, and water, and earth, and sky, will meet together and conspire to do thy behests." We are thus taught how one's profession may often be made serviceable to one's Christianity; and how lessons may be gathered from all the sequestered nooks and by-paths of domestic, private, and professional life, which will cast new lustre on the truths, and inspire with new force the precepts, of the everlasting gospel. Jesus, we are told, admired the confidence and faith of the centurion, and said he had not seen 66 so great faith, no, not in Israel." What does this teach us? That Christ is pleased the most when we put the most confidence in him. We are not guilty of presumption on the one hand, or of rash and daring intrusion on the other, when we lay much upon the shoulder of Christ for him to bear and endure for us. The more we trust him, the more he feels he is honoured by Ask that trust. Christ is not angry with you because you have asked too much of him, but he is grieved and vexed that you should have such diffidence in his love, such distrust of his omnipotence, that you ask too little of him. great things, and he will give you great things. He does exceeding abundantly above all that you can ask or think. We have evidence here that such asking is not presumption, in the simple fact, that the deepest humility and the greatest faith were combined in this Roman soldier of whom I am now speaking. We read that our blessed Lord heard his request, put forth his power, healed his slave, and restored him to his master; and he was SO charmed and smitten with this specimen of piety, like a wild flower gathered from the desert, not a garden-flower nursed in the vineyard of Israel, that he said, "Verily I say unto you, many shall come from the east and the west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of God." In other words, he teaches us that there are Christians where we suspect not, in circumstances, in cities, in countries, and in shapes where the natural eye cannot see them. There are more Christians in the |