Twenty-Five Village Sermons. Charles Kingsley

He gives us daily more than we can ever get by working for it!—if we would but seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, all other things would be added to us; and we should find that he who loses his life should save it.  And this way of looking at God’s earth would not make us idle; it would not tempt us to sit with folded hands for God’s blessings to drop into our mouths.  No! I believe it would make men far more industrious than ever mere self-interest can make them; they would say, ‘God is our Father, He gave us His own Son, He gives us all things freely, we owe Him not slavish service, but a boundless debt of cheerful gratitude.  Therefore we must do His will, and we are sure His will must be our happiness and comfort—therefore we must do His will, and His will is that we should work, and therefore we must work.  He has bidden us labour on this earth—He has bidden us dress it and keep it, conquer it and fill it for Him.  We are His stewards here on earth, and therefore it is a glory and an honour to be allowed to work here in God’s own land—in our loving Father’s own garden.  We do not know why He wishes us to labour and till the ground, for He could have fed us with manna from heaven if He liked, as He fed the Jews of old, without our working at all.  But His will is that we should work; and work we will, not for our own sakes merely, but for His sake, because we know He likes it, and for the sake of our brothers, our countrymen, for whom Christ died.’

      Oh, my friends, why is it that so many till the ground industriously, and yet grow poorer and poorer for all their drudging and working?  It is their own fault.  They till the ground for their own sakes, and not for God’s sake and for their countrymen’s sake; and so, as the Prophet says, they sow much and bring in little, and he who earns wages earns them to put in a bag full of holes.  Suppose you try the opposite plan.  Suppose you say to yourself, ‘I will work henceforward because God wishes me to work.  I will work henceforward for my country’s sake, because I feel that God has given me a noble and a holy calling when He set me to grow food for His children, the people of England.  As for my wages and my profit, God will take care of them if they are just; and if they are unjust, He will take care of them too.  He, at all events, makes the garden and the field grow, and not I.  My land is filled, not with the fruit of my work, but with the fruit of His work.  He will see that I lose nothing by my labour.  If I till the soil for God and for God’s children, I may trust God to pay me my wages.’  Oh, my friends, He who feeds the young birds when they call upon Him; and far, far more, He who gave you His only-begotten Son, will He not with Him freely give you all things?  For, after all done, He must give to you, or you will not get.  You may fret and stint, and scrape and puzzle; one man may sow, and another man may water; but, after all, who can give the increase but God?  Can you make a load of hay, unless He has first grown it for you, and then dried it for you?  If you would but think a little more about Him, if you would believe that your crops were His gifts, and in your hearts offer them up to Him as thank-offerings, see if He would not help you to sell your crops as well as to house them.  He would put you in the way of an honest profit for your labour, just as surely as He only put you in the way of labouring at all.  “Trust in the Lord, and be doing good; dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed;” for “without me,” says our Lord, “you can do nothing.”  No: these are His own words—nothing.  To Him all power is given in heaven and earth; He knows every root and every leaf, and feeds it.  Will He not much more feed you, oh ye of little faith?  Do you think that He has made His world so ill that a man cannot get on in it unless he is a rogue?  No.  Cast all your care on Him, and see if you do not find out ere long that He cares for you, and has cared for you from all eternity.

      SERMON III

      LIFE AND DEATH

Psalm civ. 24, 28–30

      “O Lord, how manifold are Thy works! in wisdom hast Thou made them all: the earth is full of Thy riches.  That Thou givest them they gather: Thou openest Thine hand, they are filled with good.  Thou hidest Thy face, they are troubled: Thou takest away their breath, they die, and return to their dust.  Thou sendest forth Thy spirit, they are created: and Thou renewest the face of the earth.”

      I had intended to go through this psalm with you in regular order; but things have happened this parish, awful and sad, during the last week, which I was bound not to let slip without trying to bring them home to your hearts, if by any means I could persuade the thoughtless ones among you to be wise and consider your latter end:—I mean the sad deaths of various of our acquaintances.  The death-bell has been tolled in this parish three times, I believe, in one day—a thing which has seldom happened before, and which God grant may never happen again.  Within two miles of this church there are now five lying dead.  Five human beings, young as well as old, to whom the awful words of the text have been fulfilled: “Thou takest away their breath, they die, and return to their dust.”  And the very day on which three of these deaths happened was Ascension-day—the day on which Jesus, the Lord of life, the Conqueror of death, ascended upon high, having led captivity captive, and became the first-fruits of the grave, to send down from the heaven of eternal life the Spirit who is the Giver of life.  That was a strange mixture, death seemingly triumphant over Christ’s people on the very day on which life triumphed in Jesus Christ Himself.  Let us see, though, whether death has not something to do with Ascension-day.  Let us see whether a sermon about death is not a fit sermon for the Sunday after Ascension-day.  Let us see whether the text has not a message about life and death too—a message which may make us feel that in the midst of life we are in death, and that yet in the midst of death we are in life; that however things may seem, yet death has not conquered life, but life has conquered and will conquer death, and conquer it most completely at the very moment that we die, and our bodies return to their dust.

      Do I speak riddles?  I think the text will explain my riddles, for it tells us how life comes, how death comes.  Life comes from God: He sends forth His spirit, and things are made, and He renews the face of the earth.  We read in the very two verses of the book of Genesis how the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters the creation, and woke all things into life.  Therefore the Creed well calls the Holy Ghost, the Spirit of God, that is—the Lord and Giver of life.  And the text tells us that He gives life, not only to us who have immortal souls, but to every thing on the face of the earth; for the psalm has been talking all through, not only of men, but of beasts, fishes, trees, and rivers, and rocks, sun and moon.  Now, all these things have a life in them.  Not a life like ours; but still you speak rightly and wisely when you say, ‘That tree is alive, and, That tree is dead.  That running water is live water—it is sweet and fresh, but if it is kept standing it begins to putrefy, its life is gone from it, and a sort of death comes over it, and makes it foul, and unwholesome, and unfit to drink.’  This is a deep matter, this, how there is a sort of life in every thing, even to the stones under our feet.  I do not mean, of course, that stones can think as our life makes us do, or feel as the beasts’ life makes them do, or even grow as the trees’ life makes them do; but I mean that their life keeps them as they are, without changing or decaying.  You hear miners and quarrymen talk very truly of the live rock.  That stone, they say, was cut out of the live rock, meaning the rock as it is under ground, sound and hard—as it would be, for aught we know, to the end of time, unless it was taken out of the ground, out of the place where God’s Spirit meant it to be, and brought up to the open air and the rain, in which it is not its nature to be.  And then you will see that the life of the stone begins to pass from it bit by bit, that it crumbles and peels away, and, in short, decays and is turned again to its dust.  Its organisation, as it is called, or life, ends, and then—what? does the stone lie for ever useless?  No!  And there is the great blessed mystery of how God’s Spirit is always bringing life out of death.  When the stone is decayed and crumbled down to dust and clay, it makes soil—this very soil here, which you plough, is the decayed ruins of ancient hills; the clay which you dig up in the fields was once part of some slate or granite mountains, which were worn away by weather and water, that they might become fruitful earth.  Wonderful! but any one who has studied these things can tell you they are true.  Any one who has ever lived in mountainous countries ought to have seen the thing happen, ought to know that the land in the mountain valleys is made at first, and kept rich year by year, by the washings from the hills above; and this is the reason why land left dry by rivers and by the sea is generally so rich.  Then what becomes of the soil?  It begins a new life.