given Him innumerable angels. Then at the breaking of the day of triumph, by a single touch (as it were) Christ was revealed, and He whom men had seemed to prevail with in the flesh, was victorious over sin and death.

AGAIN, let us mark how one touch may reveal God.

Who his antagonist was, Jacob did not know, when he felt himself gripped, as in a vice, by Jabbok. In that moment his mind was full of Esau; he thought of the treachery of long ago—might not this be some treacherous move on Esau's part? for as we sow, so also shall we reap. Not a word was uttered in the first fierce onset, the sky was as pitch, the camp-fires were all out. Probably, in the thrill and tumult of that moment, Jacob noted a thousand small details-he heard the brook, and the cry of the folded cattle, in the intense silence of that fight for life. So the hours passed, and he knew not who opposed him; then came the first faint streaks of returning day; and it was then, by a single touch upon the thigh, that Jacob was taught that his antagonist was divine. He had not learned it through the long night's wrestling; he did not learn it by the morning light; it is not likely that the combatant had wings, as in the exquisite picture of the scene by Doré-one touch revealed more to him than all the struggle did. How often has this proved true in human history! We wrestle bravely and the night is dark, but we know not how near God is to us in the gloom. But the finger touches us, or those whom we love; and like Jacob we are maimed, or disabled, or bereaved; and immediately there flashes on us the assurance that nigh to us is a power more than human, and a will that we cannot gainsay, for it is God's. It is no accident that this should have happened to Jacob when the sky was showing the magic of the dawn. When we are touched of God, however sore it be, it is always the hour of sunrise to the soul.

THEN, lastly, let us note that there are defeats which are victories. When the morning broke, Jacob was defeated. He was incapable of wrestling any more. His thigh was shrunk; he could not grip and press; he could only cling as a desperate man might do. Yet his clinging was more victorious than his wrestling; it was then he became a Prince and had prevailed; he had been defeated after all his struggle, but in his defeat was his true victory. Let us all remember that it is often so. There are some victories that are terrible defeats. When we silence conscience, when we trample on conviction, when we refuse to open the door of our own heart, we win the day only to lose the prize. But on the other hand, when our cleverness avails not, when our schemes fail, and our plans miscarry, when our self-dependence is shattered, and our pride is broken, and we are brought down, humbled, to simple trust in God-in that hour we seem to be defeated, as Jacob seemed that night at Peniel; but for us, as for him, there is a new name-Israel— and a voice from heaven that says we have prevailed.

FOURTEENTH SUNDAY

Evening

JESUS WALKING ON THE SEA

Passage to be read: Matt. xiv. 22-33.

T had been a day of trial and stress for Jesus, and

when the sun set, the danger was not over. There were terrible risks in that enthusiastic crowd that surged and swayed upon the mountain-side. The miracle (vs. 13-21) had made a powerful impression. It had struck deep into these fickle hearts. And if the cry once rang along the hillside' Jesus is King!' who knew

where the echoes of that cry might end? Christ recognised the peril of the hour. He felt the supreme necessity of prayer. It was a moment in the Master's life when the master-passion was to be alone with God. Full of that quiet authority that moved the crowd as wonderfully as it calmed the sea, Jesus constrained the disciples to depart, and sent the throng away. How they would talk as they travelled homeward! How gladly, as the first gusts of storm swept down on them, would they descry the gleaming of their cottage windows! I see the children plucking their mothers' robes, and crying, 'Mother, where is the Teacher now? we left Him on the hill-has He no home?' Perhaps some of them would learn in after days that it was home and heaven and life for Jesus to be alone with God.

MEANTIME the storm had broken.

The clouds

swept out the stars, the wind came whistling through the glens and corries, the sea ran high. And out in the midst of it toiled the disciples, masterless, shelterless, helpless. It was a wild night after a weary day. It was a strange fulfilment of their promised rest (Mark vi. 31). And yet I question if any holiday among the hills could have taught them as much as did that unmanageable boat. That very evening they had been ordering their Master (v. 15). They had been giving Him advice about five thousand men. They had been eager to manage that great crowd for Jesus-and now they cannot manage their little craft! It was a very blessed and very humbling storm. It brought the disciples to their place again. It printed upon their hearts, as in a picture, that the secret of Christian power is dependence.

AND so the night wore on, and every wave that dashed into the boat deepened their need of Jesus. The crowds were home now, the children were asleep, and every light by the lake-side was out. Then with the

dawn came Christ. They spied a form, moving along the ridges of the sea, now lost for a moment in the trough of the waves, now dimmed by the showers of spray. And though they had longed for Jesus, and prayed for Jesus, and this was Jesus, they did not know Him, and cried out for fear. Sometimes we get the very thing we ask, and we do not recognise it when it comes. Sometimes we win the very help we need, and we are just as troubled as before. They cried, It is a spirit! The demon of the tempest was abroad, and Jesuswhere was He? Who can describe their joy when the familiar voice rang over the white crests, 'Be of good cheer; it is I, be not afraid!'

NOW there are times when a man's character is re

vealed, and one of these times is often that of storm. When we find Jesus sleeping in the tempest, it teaches us His perfect trust in God. When we rehearse Paul's conduct in the shipwreck, it opens a window into that noble heart. So here, from all the disciples, one stands out; and amid the spray, and in the driving wind of that wild morning, there falls a shaft of light on Simon Peter. It is Peter who cries across the storm, 'Lord, if it be Thou, bid me come to Thee.' It is Peter who flings himself upon the waves to get to Christ. And it is Peter who begins to sink, and would have gone to the depths but for the hand of Jesus. There is the strength and there is the weakness of that hero. There is the story of his life writ small. When the wind ceased, and the ship's company knelt down to worship Jesus, none felt so deeply as Peter that this was the Son of God.

AMONG the many lessons of this miracle we shall

note three. And first remark the long delays of heaven. The night must have seemed endless to the twelve. Hour after hour dragged on, and hour after hour brought no word of Jesus. And it was not till the

Roman guard in Cæsarea had changed for the fourth watch, that the beloved voice was heard over the waves. Had they lost heart and hope? Did they suspect that Jesus had forgotten them? We are always ready to think ill of God, because of God's great method of delay. But of this be sure that when our need is greatest, God is nighest. He may delay, He will not disappoint. We must be schooled out of our impatience somehow. We must be trained in waiting and in trusting. It was not only for a night of prayer that Jesus lingered. It was to teach His own that patience of hope which was to win such triumphs for the Church.

I SEE, too, that Christ comes by unexpected roads. That night the twelve were longing for their Master, but they never dreamed that He would come that way. If any sail went beating up the loch, their hopes rose, for Jesus might be there. But even Peter, most sanguine of them all, had never guessed that the waves would be His street. Yet by that unexpected avenue the King approached, and on unlikeliest highways He is coming still. By what strange roads Christ enters human hearts! By what strange ways He comes into our homes! A word, a visit of a stranger perhaps, a sickness or a death -and He is here. And it is all so different from what we looked for, that we do not recognise it is the Lord. There are ten thousand thoroughfares for Jesus. His ways of ingress into human souls are endless. Let me not bind Him. Let me not limit Him either to my preconceptions or my prayers. He puts to shame my wellworn offers of salvation, and comes to men by unexpected roads.

AND lastly, this meets me in the story: we sink when we see nothing but the storm. When Peter looked to Jesus he was safe. But perhaps a wave came and towered like a wall before him, and for the moment he