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Review and Herald, Vol. 20, No. 13.

Christ Knocking at the Door

Review and Herald

Aug 26, 1862

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Michigan · Aug 26, 1862

Christ Knocking at the Door.

By H. Cowles

"BEHOLD I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him, and sup with him, and he with me." Rev. iii, 20.
Proposing only a short discourse from these words, I shall not attempt to exhaust the subject which they present, but shall be content with remarks upon a few only, of the many topics which it suggests.
It is quite obvious that our text is, not a doctrine to be proved, but rather, a promise to be illustrated and applied. It states a fact under a figure: "Behold I stand at the door and knock;" it gives us a promise based upon a condition, the condition being, "If any man hear my voice and open the door," and the promise, "I will come in to him, and sup with him, and he with me."
This passage will richly reward our study and our meditations, if we adhere closely to it and examine it in view of its relations and significance as originally written. Following, therefore, only those lines of thought which these words as they stand in the Holy Scriptures suggest, let us inquire,
1. To what class are they specially addressed?
2. What is the real sense of the promise here made?
3. We will note how greatly this proposal is commended and enforced by the source whence it comes.

1. The class addressed.

Perhaps it does not occur to all the readers of this passage that it was written to Christian people. If we mistake not, we have heard many sermons on this text, in which this fact seems to have been altogether ignored—the whole drift of the discourse assuming that our Lord spake these words specially to ungodly men making no profession of piety. But a careful notice of the place they occupy will show this to be a mistake.
They occur in epistles, dictated by Jesus Christ, and sent through his servant John expressly to the seven churches of Asia. Let any man read over these seven epistles carefully, and he will see in every sentiment and every allusion that professed Christians were specially addressed. Jesus Christ had them in his eye, and spake to them through his servant John.
Now here we have no particular occasion to raise the question how far a promise given to professed Christians, may, by parity of reasoning, be applied to all mankind. Undoubtedly our Lord would have us assume that he loves to have all sinners become Christians; and that when they do, he makes this promise of special communion and fellowship to them as honestly and as heartily as to the church of Laodicea, or to any other of the seven.
But waiving that question of application by inference, it is of no small consequence toward the proper understanding of the text, to keep in mind its original and intended application. For, if it had been addressed originally to men regarded as unbelievers and impenitent, it might be understood (though not very naturally) as simply promising pardon and Christ's general favor. But if it is spoken to those who are assumed to be already converted, then the stress of its significance must lie in those higher manifestations of communion, fellowship, and love which pertain to the more advanced stages of the Christian life. To make this yet more plain, by the help of our Lord's own figure, let us remember that, in any social community, you may fix your mind on a thoroughly good man, and you will find that while he bears a general good will and friendship for hundreds, perhaps for almost all, yet his special friends are but few. Those at whose table he is quite at home—at whose door he can scarcely be said to knock any longer, since practically the door stands, as to him, always open, and where, made ever welcome, he comes in and sups with them and they with him—these are only the congenial spirits, the favored few. Among the families whom Jesus loved when on earth in human flesh, there was only one that had in it Mary, Martha, and Lazarus.
If it is said that, according to our text, Jesus said, "If any man hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him," and therefore the number thus favored might now be indefinitely large, it is readily granted, nay, strongly maintained, only let the conditions be honestly and faithfully met. But this does not at all modify the doctrine we maintain, to wit: that this is a promise to professed Christians, and one that looks toward high and blessed communion of heart and soul with the Heavenly Guest.
2. We have already made good progress toward the answer to our second main inquiry, to wit:

What is the real sense of the promise here made?

The figure used, drawn from the common scenes of social life, is of the plainest sort, could not well be made plainer. "I stand at the door and knock;" I seek admission to your house, to your friendship, and to your hospitality. "If any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and sup with him and he with me." I shall be most happy to become his guest—to express my regard for him and receive the expressions of his regard for me, by supping with him, and giving him the privilege of supping with me.
Now, while this seems to us very plain, yet it deserves to be noted that the rights of hospitality have a deeper and broader significance in oriental society than in occidental. Among all the people of the East, there is more in eating at the same table than there is in our western world. There it means true heart communion, eternal friendship, and mutual protection, though at the hazard of life. When an Arab receives a guest at his table, he adds one more to his list of special friends, and the bonds of no secret society, pledging mutual protection, and inviolable friendship, can be more sacred than these.
A story is told of a traveler in the East, who, being in most imminent peril from a very hostile Arab tribe, was able to turn to good personal account his familiarity with this sacred usage of that people. He found himself suddenly in the midst of these hostile freebooters. He knew that they had one chief whose word was law, and whose protection, if he could only gain it, would save him. Nothing else could. He therefore secreted himself near this head-chief's tent, until his dining hour arrived; then dashing past the guards at the door, he rushed into the dining apartment where the chief sat at his dinner, sprung to a vacant place, and pitched his hand into the salt dish and began to eat. The chief was fairly taken by surprise, but said, "My friend, you have eaten salt at my table. You are safe. We had made all arrangements to have your life and your money before sundown. But you are now our friend, and our life for yours, no harm shall come near you."
Now, in all that relates to the significance of its social usages, the Bible is thoroughly oriental. Hence we must give the strong, rich sense to the fact of eating together. It can mean nothing less than true heart-communion, eternal friendship, solemnly vowed protection. When Jesus Christ proposes to come in and sup with us and we with him, it means that he gives us his hand and his heart in most intimate, endearing friendship. It means that he will take up his abode with us. It covers all we can ever need in the line of protection, even though the cost may be, his life for ours.
Furthermore, it implies that he will make us know his friendship and his love. He will so fully manifest it as to leave in our minds no reason for a doubt.
He means to have us understand that this is a blessed state. He enjoys it himself; he intends that we too shall enjoy it.Suppose the figure were to become a constant fact. Jesus, as once in mortal flesh, comes daily to our door and knocks. We know his voice, and spring to set the door wide open, and welcome to our home and to our heart, so good and so glorious a Guest. He often eats at our table. And then his presence breathes such an atmosphere of love and purity—it carries in it such a blending of infinite nobility with unutterably tender and loving condescension, that we say with the once favored three—"Lord, it is good for us to be here; let us make three tabernacles, one for thee"—and let this blessed communion last forever! If in our commonest, and also our least common scenes of life, we might always be sure of the presence and sympathy of such a Friend, should we not say, "Verily, O my Jesus, thy love is more than all the universe to me! With it I am so blest that nothing else can add another element, to be named, after this.
If this offered boon of a divine Saviour for a guest in our house and in our heart be so precious, it becomes of the first importance that we well understand the conditions on our part.
"If any man hear my voice and open the door." He does not force the door open—does not break it down nor wrench off the lock or break the bars. He only knocks, and then waits our hearing and opening. In this point of the figure, there must be some vital significance. What is it?
It cannot mean less than that Jesus asks of us our real, hearty consent and concurrence. He waits to be truly invited in. And it must be further noted that he must know that this invitation is for himself, and not for any possible stranger that may happen at our door. "If any man hear my voice, and open the door" for me. Jesus would by all means know whether we are to receive and to welcome him. And this implies that we receive him for what he is, and not for something else which he is not. If we were to open the door for him to come in and take a place on our footstool, it would not meet the conditions. If we want him near us only to be our very humble servant—say, for instance, to give us heaven after we have served our lusts all our days, this would altogether fail of meeting the conditions.
If we were to invite him in only to show before his very face how little confidence we have in his love and in his power to save—perpetually disclosing our unbelief, and grieving his heart—this, manifestly, would make his stay (if he were to stay) very uncomfortable. If we were to call him in and should propose to divide the honor and merit of our salvation between his atoning death for us and our various works of righteousness, it would be vain to expect any cordiality of friendship. Or, if we were to profess to open our door, yet deny to him the honor and homage due to the Son of God and to one truly divine, the Creator and Lord of all, we should only insult the Majesty of the universe!
Nothing therefore can be more plain than the point we now urge—that in hearing Christ's voice and opening the door, we must hear that voice as his own, and must open the door for him, to receive him as he is, and for what he is—to dwell with us as we are, estimating ourselves at no more and no better than we are. That is, we as guilty and needy sinners, penitent indeed, and fully set against all sin, ask him to come and live in our hearts, to be there, a perpetual presence and power to help us against ever sinning more, and to gird us unto a holy life.
It could not be well to ask him, and then withdraw and deny him our society. It could not please him to see that really we care more for some other company than for his. And taking a hint from the family which, when among men, Jesus seems to have loved and lived with most, we would remember that Jesus more loved the Mary who sat at his feet and heard his words, than the Martha who cumbered herself with much serving. Both probably sought to entertain and to please their distinguished guest; Mary touched the cords more exquisitely than her sister. It was more pleasure to Jesus to pour blessed truth into a hungry soul than to eat the best prepared supper. It were a blessed truth to remember that Jesus, coming in to dwell with us, loves to reveal himself, and hence takes very special delight in the reception which a docile, humble spirit gives him. He rejoices to fill the cravings of hunger and thirst for the bread and the water of life.
Need it be further said that, whoever would honestly invite Jesus Christ to his own house and table, must first expel Christ's enemies? We could not ask Jesus to come in and sit in the same company with selfish lusts, with ungodly ambition, or with unsanctified greed. There is room on the throne of our heart for no other but Jesus. If we would give it to him, we must needs reject all other pretenders and intruders.
All these various aspects of the one most significant figure used by Christ in our text, teach us this one great comprehensive truth—that the condition precedent to having Jesus Christ a present guest in our heart, is that we altogether renounce sin and fully consecrate our heart and life to his service and pleasure. So doing, we shall love his presence, and thirst for soul-communion and fellowship with him.

3. We are now prepared to note how greatly this proposal of our Lord is commended to us and enforced, by the same source whence it comes.

Whoever has carefully read these epistles of Christ to the seven churches, will readily notice some strong points of character in their author. Everywhere he speaks as one having authority. "Remember, therefore, from whence thou art fallen, and repent!" "Repent, or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will fight against them with the sword of my mouth."
He speaks as one clothed with all power. "He that overcometh and keepeth my works unto the end, to him will I give power over the nations, and he shall rule them with a rod of iron." "To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with my Father on his throne."
Nor can we fail to notice that he assumes to have all knowledge. In each one of these seven epistles we read the solemn declaration, "I know thy works!" This one truth seems to stand in the foreground—the first to be announced—the one never to be omitted. Jesus is he who searches the reins and heart. Upon all his churches and upon every individual soul of his professed people, his eyes are like a flaming fire, and no concealment can hide from his eye any thought, purpose, or affection of our heart, or any deed of our life.
Do we ask who is he whose voice we hear in our text? Who is this personage that stands at our door and knocks, and who will, if invited, come in and sup with us and we with him?
We have the answer from this same account given by John. He tells us how he saw him on this very occasion when these sweet words were spoken. John was an exile in the lone island of Patmos, banished there for his fidelity to the word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ. He says, "I heard behind me a great voice as of a trumpet. . . . . I turned to see, and saw one like unto the Son of man; his head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; his eyes were as a flame of fire; his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters. He had in his right hand seven stars, and out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword; and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength."
Need we wonder that John should say, "When I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead?" But this personage of such unearthly majesty and glory is altogether loving and tender, and would not crush even a bruised reed. Says the narrator, "He laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not, I am the first and the last; I am he that liveth and was dead, and behold I am alive forevermore, amen, and have the keys of hell and of death." Now John saw in him that same honored, loved One, on whose bosom he had so often leaned at supper, and his strength returns again.
If we would get some aid from and through our senses toward a worthy conception of surpassing majesty and glory, we have it here in this unparalleled description. We stand in solemn awe before it and say—Such, then, is the Monarch of the universe! This is a feeble presentation to our feeble senses (for all such aids of sense are at best but feeble), of the greatness and excellent glory of Him who was once born in a manger, who once died on a cross, but who now liveth and reigneth forevermore.
Yes, this is He who says, "Behold I stand at the door and knock. If any man will hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to him and sup with him, and he with me." It is as if Queen Victoria were to send a similar message to the lowly cottage of some of her peasants; and yet it is also not like this, for this majesty and glory tower so high above all that is earthly that it comes alike to Victoria's Palace and to the lowliest hut in her realm, knowing no difference in the comparison with His supreme and most excellent glory.
So that the practical question for us comes to be this: Who will open his heart to welcome the King of the universe to come in as a kind and loving friend? Who values the friendship and favor of the Lord of all lords, and the King of all kings? Who is not too proud to rise and humbly, gratefully welcome in, this personage whom all heaven adores? Who is there not too much enamored with miserably low things of earth, who has a place in his heart for the love and the fitting entertainment of such a guest as this? Who is there of us to cherish a noble thirst for communion and fellowship with one so noble and so good? These are really the practical questions to which our text brings us.
And let it be carefully observed, they come to our heart and conscience in a form that admits of no evasion. They must be answered! For whether we will or no, Jesus stands at the door, and he knocks for admittance. If it should happen in the case of any of us that the call seems unreasonable, or for any reason unwelcome, yet it is a call, and somehow, for better or for worse, you must meet it!
Will you go to the side-window and shout, No? Will you look to the lock to see that all is safe against intrusion? Will you say, I am indeed very much engaged, and will it not be equally convenient for thee to call at another time?
So it is, there are more possible ways than one to dispose of this Heavenly Guest! It is possible to your free responsible agency to say, No! You can indicate to Him who knocks at your door that you have no place for him in your heart. It is a fearful power you have of choosing against your eternal welfare, but you have it, and you may be beside yourself enough to use it?
"Say, will you to Mount Zion go? Say, will you have this Christ or no?" —H. Cowles.

Forgotten Blessings.

Where are the stars—the stars that shone All through the summer night? Where are they and their pale queen gone, As if they feared to be looked upon By the gaze of the bold daylight?
Gone they are not! In the fair blue skies Their silent ranks they keep; Unseen by our sun-dazzled eyes, They wait till the breath of the night-wind sighs, Then come and watch our sleep.
Though oft it is—the lights that cheer The night of our distress, When brighter, gladder hours appear, Forgotten with our grief and fear, Wake not our thankfulness.
Yet still, unmindful though we be, Those lamps of love remain; And when life's shadows close, and we Look up, some ray of hope to see, Shall glad our hearts again.

Popular Infidelity of the Day.

By John Charles Ryle

It is not Atheism I fear so much in the present time as Pantheism. It is not the system which says nothing is true, so much as the system which says everything is true. It is not the system which says there is no Saviour, so much as the system that says there are many saviours, and many ways to peace. It is the system which is so liberal, that it dares not say anything is false. It is the system which is so charitable, that it will allow everything to be true. It is the system which seems ready to honor other religions as well as that of our Lord Jesus Christ; to class them all together, and hope well of all those who profess them. It is the system which will smile complacently on all creeds and systems of religion—the Bible and the Koran—the Hindoo Vedas and the Persian Zendavesta—the old wives' fables of Rabbinical writers and the rubbish of Patristic traditions—the Racovian Catechism and the Thirty-nine articles—the revelations of Emanuel Swedenborg and the Book of Mormon or Joseph Smith: all are to be listened to; none are to be denounced as lies. It is the system which is so scrupulous about the feelings of others, that we are never to say they are wrong. It is the system which is so liberal, that it calls a man a bigot if he dares to say, "I know my views are right."
This is the system which I desire emphatically to testify against and denounce. What is it but a sacrificing of truth upon the altar of a caricature of charity? Beware of it, if you believe the Bible. Has the Lord God spoken to us in the Bible, or has he not? Has he shown us the way of salvation plainly in that Bible, or has he not? Has he declared to us the dangerous state of all out of that way, or has he not?
Gird up the loins of your mind and look the questions fairly in the face, and give them an honest answer. Tell us that there is some other inspired book besides the Bible, and then we shall know what you mean. Tell us that the whole Bible is not inspired, and then we shall know where to meet you. But grant for a moment that the Bible, the whole Bible, and nothing but the Bible, is God's truth, and then I know not in what way you can escape the conclusion that sincerity alone will not save your soul. From the liberality which says everybody is right—from the charity which forbids you to say anybody is wrong—from the peace which is bought at the expense of truth, may the good Lord deliver you!—Rev. J. C. Ryle.

Meekness and Permanent Peace

Meekness of soul is the forerunner of permanent peace.

Come to Jesus.

COME IN FAITH.

In the New Testament we read very much about faith. We are said to be "justified by faith," and "saved by faith," and are told to "believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, that we may be saved." Faith is confidence, reliance. If I am hungry, and a kind friend offers me something and says it is bread, but it is dark, and I cannot see, yet if I begin at once to eat it, this is faith. I trust in his word. If I am sick, and medicine is given me which I am told will do me good, and I drink it, this is faith. I believe or have confidence in the doctor's skill. Jesus came into the world to die for sinners. He says, "Believe in me. I have purchased a full pardon for you, and you may go free. It cost my own blood to obtain it, but you are freely welcome to it. If you will obey my words, and trust in my protection, I will engage to save you from death and hell: I am quite able to do this. Here is bread to eat, which will make you live for ever if you eat it: here is a medicine which will so cure your soul's sickness that you shall never die. Come unto me—believe in me, and you shall be saved." Faith is just trusting to what Jesus says. Faith is simply coming to Jesus. He has died for thee. Believe it and take the benefit of his dying. He has opened the prison-door for thee. Believe it, and make thine escape. He is willing to bear thy burden for thee. Believe it, and cast thy sins upon him. He has paid all thy debts. Rejoice. He brings salvation to thee, and says, "It shall be thine, if thou art willing." Stretch forth thy hand, and take it with a grateful heart. Like the prodigal in the parable, thou hast wandered far from home; but Jesus has obtained for thee permission to return. Thy Father, for his sake, is willing to welcome thee back. Believe it, and say, "I will arise, and go to my Father." You desire to be trusted by your husband, or wife, or children; you would feel hurt by their doubting your word. So Jesus wishes to be believed when he says, "Poor sinner, I am able and willing to save thee. Come unto me." Do not grieve him by distrusting his word. If you do not come, because you think you are too great a sinner, you say, in effect, that he is not able to save you, though he tells us "he is able to save to the uttermost All who come." You make him a liar. Believe that he really will do what he promises. Go to him at once. Say to him, "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief. Thou art able to save to the uttermost—save me."

COME AS A SINNER—JUST AS YOU ARE.

Perhaps you say, "How can I, who am so vile a sinner, venture to come near the holy Jesus? Will he permit such a wretch to approach him? Must I not wait till I am more fit?" Fellow-sinner, what you think to be a hindrance is your best encouragement; for "Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners," and therefore to save such as you. "I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance." Not that there are any who are absolutely righteous, but there are many who think themselves so, and such persons will never be received by Christ. We must come to him in our true character, if we come at all. We are great sinners. We have broken God's laws. We have indulged in wickedness in our hearts, as well as in open conduct; we have quenched the Spirit, and despised the love of Jesus. Every thing we do is full of imperfection. We cannot make ourselves pure. And if we come to Jesus pretending we are righteous, we only mock him. Instead of thinking we are "rich, and increased in goods, and have need of nothing," we must come as those who are poor, miserable, blind, and naked. Thus we must come to Jesus, and confess our unworthiness. In one of his parables he spoke of a self-righteous man, who thanked God that he was better than others; and of a broken-hearted penitent, who did not venture to raise his eyes to heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" It was the latter who went home pardoned and saved. And if we would be accepted by Jesus, we must go to him in the same spirit, saying, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" And we must not wait, thinking that we shall ever be more worthy. No, our souls are stained through and through with sin, and all our washing will never get rid of one dark spot. The blood of Christ alone can make us clean. We can never make ourselves better. We must come to Jesus to make us better; and till then nothing is done. Our very first duty is to come to Jesus. Come then, poor sinner. Wait not another moment, foolishly thinking you will be more fit by and by. You will never be more fit, and never more welcome, than at this moment. Jesus knows, far better than even you do, how sinful and vile you are; yet he does not say, "Wait," but, "Come." Come then, with all your sins and weakness, and hardness of heart, come to Jesus. Come as a sinner, and come just as you are.

Strong Characters.

By Rev. F. W. Robertson.

STRENGTH of character consists of two things—power of will, and power of self-restraint. It requires two things, therefore, for its existence—strong feelings and strong command over them. Now it is here we make a great mistake; we mistake strong feelings for strong character. A man who bears all before him, before whose frown domestics tremble, and whose bursts of fury make the children of the household quake—because he has his will obeyed, and his own way in all things, we call him a strong man. The truth is, that is the weak man; it is his passions that are strong; he, mastered by them, is weak. You must measure the strength of a man by the power of the feelings he subdues, not by the power of those which subdue him. And hence composure is very often the highest result of strength. Did we never see a man receive a flagrant insult, and only grow a little pale, and then reply quietly? That is a man spiritually strong. Or did we never see a man in anguish stand, as if carved out of solid rock, mastering himself? Or one bearing a hopeless daily trial remain silent, and never tell the world what cantered his home peace? That is strength. He who, with strong passions, remains chaste; he who, keenly sensitive, with manly powers of indignation in him, can be provoked, and yet restrain himself, and forgive—these are the strong men, the spiritual heroes.—Rev. F. W. Robertson.

The Dying Nobleman.

A CERTAIN nobleman, as the story goes, had a rude wit in his employ, called a fool. Amused with a remark of his one day, the nobleman gave him his walking-cane, with this injunction: "Take this walking-cane, and keep it until you meet with a greater fool than yourself, and then give it to him." The man kept the walking-cane for a length of time, not meeting with any one whom he deemed a greater fool than himself. In process of time, however, his lordship was laid upon a dying-bed, and sending for the rude wit, addressed him thus: "Farewell!" "Where is your lordship going?" said the man. "I am going to my long home," replied the nobleman. "Your long home! How long is your lordship going to stay there?" "Oh!" said the dying nobleman, "I am never to return!" "Never to return!" exclaimed the man, "Never to return!" "No," said the nobleman, "I am going to eternity, and am never to return." "Has your lordship made any preparation for that long home?" "No," said he, "I have not." "Then," replied the man, "your lordship will please to take the walking-cane; you are certainly a greater fool than I am—please to take the walking-cane."
If this be deemed a quaint illustration, sure I am it is forcible, and much to the point.—Sel.

Faith not Opposed to Reason.

By Fenelon

We should be careful, in stating the doctrine of faith, not to place it in opposition to reason. On the contrary, we only say what is sustained both by St. Paul and St. Augustine, when we assert, that it is a very reasonable thing to believe. Faith is a different thing from mere physical and emotive impulse: and it would be no small mistake, to confound those who walk by faith in the true sense of the term, with thoughtless and impulsive persons.
Faith is necessarily based upon antecedent acts of intelligence. By the use of those powers of perception and reasoning which God has given us, we have the knowledge of the existence of God. It is by their use also that we know that God has spoken to us in his revealed word.
I illustrate the subject in this way: I suppose myself to be in a strange country. There is a wide forest before me, with which I am totally unacquainted, although I must pass through it. I accordingly select a guide, whom I suppose to be able to conduct me through these ways never before trodden by me. In following this guide, I obviously go by faith; but as I know the character of my guide, and as my intelligence or reason tells me that I ought to exercise such faith, it is clear that my faith in him is not in opposition to reason, but in accordance with it.—Fénelon, translated by Upham.

Meditation.

By Washington Irving

Go to the grave of buried love and meditate. There settle the account with thy conscience for every past benefit unrequited—every past endearment unregarded, of that departed being who can never—never—never return to be soothed by thy contrition! If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate parent; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that centered its whole happiness in thy arms to doubt one moment of thy kindness or truth; if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that generously confided in thee; if thou art a lover, and hast ever given one unmerited pang to that true heart which now lies cold beneath thy feet—then be sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul—then be sure that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear—more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing—Washington Irving.

The Pope's Troubles.

The pope is somewhat sensible that he is in a critical situation, but like a timid boy going past a graveyard in a dark night, he tries to keep up good courage; while, at the same time, he startles at every new sight or sound. The 17th of last June was the anniversary of his election to the Pontificate. On that day there was an important gathering of Archbishops, Bishops, and Prelates, at the Sixtine Chapel, in Rome. The Catholic, when speaking of the meeting, says:—
“The Holy Father, in returning thanks, alluded to the difficulties and dangers which had surrounded and threatened the Papacy from the commencement of his reign; and said, with emotion, that the past obstacles and perils were as nothing in comparison with those which would soon have to be encountered.”
We think the dark hour for the Papacy is not far in the future, and that the Pope expressed the truth when he said, “The past obstacles and perils were as nothing in comparison with those which would soon have to be encountered.”—His is no enviable position.
The Catholic Mirror says:—
“The holy and beneficent high-priest of the Catholic Church has apparently all the powers of the earth against him; he is ruthlessly robbed of his possessions, and the world applauds the robberies; what remains of his temporal power is held apparently by a thread, which the Fates may cut at any moment. The powers of darkness rejoice; the gates of hell expect a speedy triumph. Open enemies without, and secret traitors within, the citadel, conspire to make the successor of Peter bite the dust.”
Truly, “his temporal power” hangs by a brittle thread, which must soon be broken for ever. The Mirror goes on to say—
“The enemies of the Holy Father have encompassed, and surrounded him with snares, while they keep him 'in his day of tribulation, menaced with overthrow, and half broken hearted.'”
It is evident that the “woman” on the seven hills must soon drink her “cup” “of sorrow.” Yet she tries to believe a brighter day will come, because she has arisen from former trials. She does not see that she has had her last triumph, and is protected by her last husband, who will soon leave her to the mercy of her enemies. Yet she still boasts.—“I sit a queen, and am no widow.”—Crisis.

Sabbaton.

In the Review of Jan. 28, in a reply to an inquiry by T. K. Henry, Bro. Smith remarks that the passage referred to in Matt. xxviii must be read: "As it began to dawn toward the first day of the week," because μίαν must agree with ἡμέραν understood, and τῶν σαββάτων must mean week. In Acts xvi, 13, we have the expression ἡμέρα τῶν σαββάτων, which according toour brother's argument must be translated, "on the day of the week."
Such a translation would not only be unmeaning, but at the same time it would break down a strong argument in favor of the observance of the Sabbath by the apostles. I agree with Bro. Smith as regards the translation of Matt. xxviii, 1, but at the same time I think that this argument of his does not help to sustain the translation, while it exposes a breach in our walls to the attack of the enemy, who is ever ready to take advantage of any weak point in our arguments and endeavors, to live in obedience to the commandments of God. Will our brother please reply through the Review, and oblige his brother?
J. F. L.
Providence, R. I.
REPLY. I am equally aware with my friend, that the enemy is ever ready to discover any breach in our walls of defense, and to take advantage of any weak point in our arguments. This being one of his characteristics, it becomes a significant fact that since the promulgation of the article above referred to, in January last, he has made no attack upon this point. The fact is, the enemy has not yet discovered the breach; and I would fain do what I can to allay any fears that may have been aroused, by pledging myself, whenever he does discover it, and make his attack, to stand "in the gap," and see that he gains no entrance into the citadel of our strength.
But I think we shall find upon further examination, not only that no breach has been made, but that our walls were never more impregnable. It is objected that according to my argument, the passage in Acts xvi, 13, must be read "on the day of the week." Not at all; for I have never denied that the primary and usual definition to be attached to sabbaton is Sabbath, meaning the seventh day of the week. I have only claimed that in certain instances it means the whole week; and the context will decide where it must have this signification. The expression in Acts xvi, 13, is simply "the day of the Sabbath," or the Sabbath-day. But how do we know but that sabbaton here means week? Ans. There is nothing in the context requiring it. Well, what is there to require that it should be translated week in Matt. xxviii, 1, &c? Ans. The numeral adjective mian. In every instance where sabbaton follows a numeral adjective, it signifies the whole week, and the adjective agrees with day understood, and denotes the number of the day of the week; as, first, second, third, &c., (day) of the sabbath (week.) So says Robinson in his Greek Lexicon of the New Testament. And in every instance in which the expression first day of the week occurs in the N. T., it comes from this construction of the Greek: a numeral adjective denoting the day of the week, followed by sabbaton meaning, week. These facts are sustained by Liddell and Scott, Robinson, Parkhurst and Greenfield.
U. S.
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