Tracts for the Christian Seasons. SECOND SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS. Christ's Presence in Public Worship. PROPER LESSONS: Morning, Isaiah xli.; Evening, Isaiah xliii. CHRISTIAN reader, have you ever looked, thoughtfully and reverently, at a picture of that glad event, of which our hearts have been for days past so full, the birth of Christ? I doubt not that you have; for it is a subject which the greatest painters have delighted to represent; and I cannot think that a Christian could ever look upon such a solemn scene thoughtlessly or irreverently. If then you have, I desire to learn from you what impression such contemplation made upon you. Very much, of course, would depend on what would be called the treatment of the subject, and the thoughts with which the painter's mind were filled; and these must be very various. But yet all the great masters of the art of painting have drunk in their inspiration, more or less directly, from the same fountain, even God's Blessed Book, and though in lesser matters there may be variety, still on the whole, I think, there is always a striking resemblance between them all. Now to help you in answering my question, let me try to describe or to paint in words and sentences the idea that my own mind has gathered from those pictures with which I myself have been most familiar. I think then my own memory will furnish some such scene as this. It is the stable of a village inn, in an Eastern land; yet not, as is usual amongst ourselves, a building raised by man, but a cave hollowed out of the solid rock, the walls rugged and roughly hewn, as though at the smallest exercise of toil. Gloomy and dark it is, so that we can scarcely at first discern who its tenants are, save where a bright beam of light streams through an opening from above, upon a group which occupies the central space. And yet the very darkness all around makes the brightness that falls here the more conspicuous, so that our thoughts are chained to that which is here presented to them. To the left on a low stone seat rests an aged man, whose features bear the marks of wonder, now passing away into the calm of settled awe. Beside him but a few steps off stands one, who we should say at once was a young mother bending with the tenderness and love which such alone can feel, over her firstborn child; did not that gentle face tell of other thoughts within, of which we know not how they could have place at such a time. There is not the buoyant gladness which rejoices that a man is born into the world, but deep and anxious thought; we had almost said resignation, as though what was seen by the outward eye revealed not all, as there was some secret mystery behind which forbids all excess of even present joy. But full on the new-born Infant streams the light of heaven. The dark shadows fall on the old man's figure and the mother's too; but very brightly is lit up the Babe that lies on yon bed of hay. No other pillow has He. His cradle is a manger; behind which stand, meekly waiting, the ox and the ass whom such an unwonted Visitor has driven from their accustomed feeding-place. We look again and again at the Holy Child, for we discern in Him marks of something not of this world; love, wisdom, and goodness, such as a mere child of Adam never shewed. But I have not yet made the whole group perfect. Before the Infant's bed of stone kneel with their faces to the ground in silent adoration, men of mean outward estate, whom, from their dress and bearing, we guess to be shepherds of the neighbouring plains. One is bowed down very low, while another lifts up his head for a moment as though to gaze on Him, whom all are so humbly worshipping; one and all have given up their hearts to adore the great mystery they behold. And still again, it may be, above where lies the Divine Child, seen by us through the painter's skill, but unseen by those who are present there, we behold a part of that multitude of the heavenly host, who first made the glad tidings known, and who now themselves are contemplating what they have brought the shepherds to adore. Somewhat such as this has been, I will suppose, the picture of that holy scene, the nativity of our Lord and Saviour. I ask you then, Christian reader, what feelings have been called forth in your heart as you have looked upon some such representation of this great event as I have tried to describe. I will tell you, or at least give utterance to thoughts, which I believe must have place within you. You praise God, I doubt not, for the great mystery of godliness, for the boundless love which spared not an only Son; you are humbled within yourself at man's sinfulness which no less a sacrifice than this could suffice to do away, you truly feel this, and more: but the absorbing desire of your heart is to adore Him, who lies in seeming helplessness before you : you worship Him, whom you know to be "God. manifest in the flesh :" you rejoice with awe at His presence, thus pictured to you, and you almost envy those to whom it was permitted to see in reality what you see only in representation you take the shepherds' feelings to yourself, long to give them expression by word and gesture as could they. Now, if you will have patience with me, I will ask you another question before I go on to that which, strictly speaking, I mean to be the subject of the present Tract. I have tried to make you realize the feelings that would be naturally suggested by a holy and reverent picture of the birth of Christ. Let me follow the same train of enquiry, and put such a question as before, not this time with reference to a representation of our Lord's birth, but of another solemn event which the Church soon brings before us. I mean, Christ's Epiphany, that is, His shewing to the Gentiles, when, as you know, rich and learned kings were brought by the leading of a star from their homes in a distant land, perhaps to the same mean stable at Bethlehem, to worship the |