new faith that the stone was rolled away. We need a new baptism of the conviction of Thomas, when, clasping these risen feet, he cried, 'My Lord and my God.'

FIRST note, then, that the character of Thomas gives tremendous weight to his conviction. Do we not sometimes wonder at the Master's choice of disciples? Do we not feel that some of the twelve must have been very uncongenial company for Jesus? Why did He choose them, then? I can understand how a St. John would serve the world. But what service could a man of the character of Thomas render? I think the chief service of Thomas to the world was his magnificent witness to the resurrection. Peter was passionate, impulsive, rash, springing to his conclusions just as he sprang that morning on the waves: but when a great miracle is in the balance, I want the witness of another character than that. And John?-John loved so splendidly, that a loveless world has ruled him out of court. But the world cannot rule Thomas out of court; his character gives tremendous weight to his conviction. For Thomas was a very stubborn man. There was a grim tenacity about him, that almost made him dour. Some men have only to see a thing in print to credit it: they would believe anything on the joint testimony of ten friends. But the ten disciples came hurrying to Thomas; and Peter and James and John were crying 'We have seen the Lord,' and Thomas knew what truthful men they were, yet Thomas stubbornly refused to be convinced. There was something very dour in thatand it was wrong, as stubbornness generally is-but in the measurements of history it was superb. If that man is convinced, I am convinced. If the man who snaps his fingers at Peter and John comes round, I yield. And the next Sunday Thomas is on his face, crying 'My Lord, my God.' Then, too, Thomas was a despondent man; brave but despondent, a commoner combination than we think.

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Do you remember how when Christ was summoned to the grave of Lazarus, it was such a hazardous thing for Him to venture near Jerusalem, that His disciples tried to dissuade Him from the journey? 'What, goest Thou thither again?' said one. 'Lord, if Lazarus sleep he shall do well,' parleyed another. But Thomas said, 'Let us also go, that we may die with him.' It was the word of a brave but a desponding man; a man who naturally saw the darker side-and we can thank God there was such a melancholy heart among the twelve. It is easy to persuade a merry heart. When I am full of hope, I shall credit the sunshine, though all the sky be cloud. But a melancholy man is hard to turn; and when a melancholy heart like Thomas's turns in an hour, passes from death to life, accepts the joyfullest fact in the world's history, and worships, I bow the head before the infinite wisdom that set such a man among the twelve.

So the character of Thomas gives tremendous weight

to his conviction. Now mark, in the second place, that this conviction was reached by the dark road of doubt. I wonder if we could classify this doubt of Thomas? Well, there are some who doubt because their will is biased. That doubt runs down to life and character, and is a dishonest, miserable thing. 'Ah, if I only believed what you believe,' said one to Pascal, 'I should very soon be a better man.' 'Begin by being a better man,' Pascal replied, 'and you will very soon believe what I believe.' There are those who will tell you they doubt this or that, and give you a score of reasons for their doubts; and at the bottom it is a moral question. There is some habit that would have to go; there is some doubtful practice that must cease; there is some little reputation that would vanish, and the cloak of doubt is used to dally with sin. But no man would charge Thomas with that; whatever he had, he had a clean heart. He was a despondent, but not a dishonest

doubter. Then there are others whose doubt is intellectual, and this is the prevalent doubting of to-day. But I do not think that is the doubt of Thomas. I cannot think that a man who had seen Lazarus's resurrection could be intellectually sceptical of the resurrection of Lazarus's Lord. His doubt sprang from another source than that. He doubted because he felt so deeply, and that perhaps is the sorest doubt of all. You post a score of letters in a week, and you never doubt about their safe arrival. One day, you post a precious manuscript, and instantly the possibilities of some mischance are wakened, and you cannot rest, you doubt its safety so. It is because you feel so strongly, that you doubt. And Thomas felt so strongly that he doubted too. For the rising of Jesus meant everything to him. His heart was agonised lest it were false. Perhaps there would be more of Thomas's doubt to-day, if there were more of Thomas's love.

LASTLY, these doubts were dispelled by the gentleness of Christ. Thomas set up one test. 'Comrades,' he said, 'I love you; but it is all too wonderful, and I cannot believe you. But hark, when I see with these eyes the gashes of the nails, and put this hand into the wound which the spear made, I shall believe our Lord is risen. Then the next Sunday evening Jesus is in their midst, transfigured, beautiful; and He is saying, 'Thomas, reach forth thine hand, and touch, and be convinced-it is thy test.' And do we ever read that Thomas did it? Never. And do you dream he peered into the gashes? Here was his little test, and he forgot his test. The little particular was swept aside, in the overwhelming argument of love. It was the look, it was the tone, it was the love and gentleness of Christ that won the day. Thomas was at His feet crying, My God!

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FORTIETH SUNDAY

Morning

THE SWORD AND THE TROWEL

Passage to be read: Neh. iv. 1-23.

EHEMIAH has been cup-bearer to the King of Persia; he has been fasting and praying over Jerusalem and over all the ruin that had befallen that city. Now he is living and working in Jerusalem, inspiring his brethren, marshalling them for work, and more than once he ascribes that change of circumstances to the fact that 'the good hand of God was on him.' Does not that show what a great soul he was? He had left an easy life, and every comfort, and an honourable post, and the deference of a city-he had left all that for a life of incredible toil, and sleepless watching, and ridicule and weariness. Yet so far was Nehemiah from complaining that he took up his cross as if it were his crown. Does that not recall a greater than Nehemiah? Was there not Another, who, though He was rich, yet for our sakes became poor? Christ dwelt in the glory of the King of Kings, amid a beauty far surpassing that of Susa; yet in the fulness of the time He left the palace, and came unto His own though they received Him not, and toiled and prayed and suffered and died, amid the taunts and obloquy of men, that our ruined humanity might be restored.

Now

OW this great chapter is a record of work. I wish then to gather some working lessons from it. And first, all true work calls for whole-heartedness. We read

in the Arabian Nights and other stories of walls that rose in a single night by magic. But the only magic in this work of wall-building was the magic we read of in verse six-the people had a mind to work. They were wholehearted, enthusiastic, eager. God gave to all of them the gift of concentration. And there is no magic, in any Arabian story, that helps on work so mightily as that. I heard of a gentleman who was talking to another about a mutual friend who had failed in business. And he said, 'No wonder that he failed, he starved his work, he did not even put himself into it.' And we may be sure nothing will ever be built unless the builders put themselves into it. Is not God in creation a whole-hearted worker? The tiniest weed that flowers among the stones is as finely perfect as the greatest cedar. Was not Christ in Galilee a whole-hearted worker? He never dealt carelessly with any comer. Whole-heartedness is one mark of all heaven's working. It distinguished these toilers at Jerusalem. And none of us will ever come to anything, or find life growing rich and deep and beautiful, unless we begin by having a mind to work.

THEN 'HEN all true work is done in the teeth of difficulties. Let us read this chapter to ourselves if we would know the difficulties that fronted Nehemiah. Men mocked him; everywhere were enemies; he was charged with rebellion; even the stoutest grew weary. The mere toil of clearing away the rubbish might well have exhausted the power of the strongest. Yet in the teeth of all these obstacles, slowly but surely the great work advanced. And the best work is always done that way. It was in little sailing-vessels, of some 160 tons, that the first explorers into the Antarctic braved the perils of the storm and ice. The boys may have read in school that beautiful poem 'Lycidas,' which seems like the easy creation of a day. Yet we know now how Milton revised and altered and fought with difficulties and overcame