o
have stirred up ours thereby. And yet all they say is,--'And they
crucified him.' They feel that is enough. The deed is too dark to
talk about. Let it tell its own story to all human hearts.

So with this account of the Lord's transfiguration. 'And he took
Peter, and James, and John, his brother, up into a high mountain,
apart, and was transfigured before them; and his face did shine as
the sun; and his raiment was white as the light; . . . and while he
yet spake a bright cloud overshadowed them; and, behold, a voice out
of the cloud, which said: This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well
pleased. Hear ye him.'

How soberly, simply, modestly, they tell this strange story. How
differently they might have told it. A man might write whole poems,
whole books of philosophy, about that transfiguration, and yet never
reach the full depth of its beauty and of its meaning. But the
evangelists do not even try to do that. As with the crucifixion, as
with all the most wonderful passages of our Lord's life, they simply
say what happened, and let the story bring its own message home to
our hearts.

What may we suppose is the reason of this great stillness and
soberness of the gospels? I believe that it may be explained thus.
The men who wrote them were too much _awed_ by our Lord, to make
more words about him than they absolutely needed.

Our Lord was too utterly _beyond_ them. They felt that they could
not understand him; could not give a worthy picture of him. He was
too noble, too awful, in spite of all his tenderness, for any words
of theirs, however fine. We all know that the holiest things, the
deepest feelings, the most beautiful sights, are those about which
we talk least, and least like to hear others talk. Putting them
into words seems impertinent, profane. No one needs to gild gold,
or paint the lily. When we see a glorious sunset; when we hear the
rolling of the thunder-storm; we do not _talk_ about them; we do not
begin to cry, How awful, how magnificent; we admire them in silence,
and let them tell their own story. Who that ever truly loved his
wife talked about his love to her? Who that ever came to Holy
Communion in spirit and in truth, tried to put into words what he
felt as he knelt before Christ's altar? When God speaks, man had
best keep silence.

So it was, I suppose, with the writers of the gospels. They had
been in too grand company for them to speak freely of what they felt
there