The Ministration of the Physical to Faith

‘‘ Beautiful for situation is Mount Zion.” — Psa. xlviii. 2

DO not know in the whole Bible a passage

exactly like this. It is the only passage within my memory in which the Bible makes a direct appeal to the sense of physical beauty for its own sake. Generally, Nature is viewed only as the vehicle of God; here, it stands for itself and is accorded an independent place as a religious educator. At first, indeed, such words in Scripture sound like an anti-climax. Mount Zion was full of the holiest associations — of memories that were sacramental, of influences that inspired the breath of heaven. Does it not seem a strange thing that amid these sacred qualifications there should be introduced a fact so earthly, so mundane, so

physical. “Beautiful for situation.” Fancy a preacher inviting one to worship in a particular house of God for such a reason as that! And yet the psalmist is right. The presence of physical beauty helps worship. All emotion is quickened by environment. Even creative imagination is. The poet may construct a new world; but he will do it better under the stars of heaven than under the roof of a garret. It is easier to be good in a garden than in a hovel. It is easier to love God on the mountain peak than amid the dens of human poverty. It is easier to think of heaven where myriad voices roll their music than where the sounds of wrangling greet the ear. Why do you bring a flower to the hospital? If you want to teach resignation to an invalid, would not the text or the tract be a better medium than the painted garniture that meets the eye? No; for you can only teach resignation by entering the mind at a side door — by directing the thought to something else. A man accepts his pain, not by reflecting on it, but by reflecting on other things. The tract bids me be patient; the fiower bids me forget. The tract suggests lying down; the flower prophesies springing up. The tract reminds me of my impotence; the flower reveals the glory of lesser things than I. The tract speaks of God’s supernatural will; the flower tells of God’s supernatural love. The tract says, “Look into your heart and be humble”; the flower cries, “Look out on the fields and be glad.”

Lord, I have often asked myself, Why didst Thou lead the multitude up to the top of a mountain before preaching to them Thy wondrous sermon? Was it not a waste of time to postpone the teaching till the hill was climbed? It would have been if the hill-top had not been a helper of the teaching. But Thou, who knewest our frame, knewest the power of physical beauty. It was not for nothing Thou didst first cause them to climb. The summit was beautiful in situation; it was gladdening to the eye. And because it was gladdening to the eye, it was sought by Thee as the first educator. Thou wouldst not begin with a sermon even from Thine own lips. To Thee the earliest thing was that the multitude should be cheered. Ere ever they received advice Thou wouldst have them to receive joy. I doubt not that before they climbed they were a sorrowing multitude. I doubt not that they were struggling for survival — that they understood what it was to be poor, to be mourning, to be hungry. They were the men of life’s infirmary, and as such Thou didst address them. But Thy first address was the pointing to a flower. Ere ever Thy lips were opened Thou didst lead them to the summit of the hill and allow them to gaze on the glory. Nature was called by Thee to be the ally of grace. On that mountain of Thine the secular and the sacred met together and taught together. In that hour I learned that Thou wert no foe to physical beauty. Thy Divine hand was not ashamed to hold the flower of an earthly field. Thy Divine heart was not afraid to wake a natural minstrelsy to co-operate with redeeming love. Thou wert not jealous of my soul’s old yearning. Thy heavenly garden was stocked with this world’s roses; I thank Thee, O Lord, for the moral of Thy sermon on the hill.