ul method of instruction; it makes every other method
seem trite and wearisome. Its effect is to make the Gospels a series
of tableaux, which dwell in the memory as things actually seen. The
groups upon the stage perpetually shift and rearrange themselves; each
represents some phase of life, some problem, some combination of
circumstance more or less common in the experience of men, something
that is typical, for Jesus chooses only the typical and essential
things of life for these occasions. The lesser things of life He
passes over; it is the great and crucial matters which attract Him.

But what are the great things of life?

They all fall into one category, they all present problems in human
relationship. No problems are so difficult. They are not speculative,
but practical. A man who may be wise as the world counts wisdom, and
able to pierce with acute analysis to the depth of the abstrusest
philosophic problem, may nevertheless find himself hopelessly baffled
by some quite common fact of life, such as how to treat a wayward son,
or a sinful woman. I am not likely to lose a night's rest because I am
unable to define the Trinity but with what sore travail of heart do I
toss through midnight hours when I have to settle some course of action
towards the friend who has betrayed me, the brother who has brought me
shame, the child who scoffs at my restraint, and hears the call of the
far country in every swift pulsation of his passionate heart! And why
cannot I settle my course of action? Because my mind is confused by
something which I call justice, to which custom has given authority and
consecration. Justice prescribes one course of action, affection
another. The convention of the world insists that wrong-doing should
be punished, which is manifestly right; but when it insists that I
should be the punisher, I suspect something wrong. The more closely I
study conventional justice the more I am conscious of something in
myself that distrusts and revolts from it. The more I incline to the
voice of affection the more I fear it, lest I should be guilty of
weakness which would merit my own contempt. The struggle is one
between convention and instinct, and I know not which side to take.
But one thing I do know; it is that I have no certain clue to guide me,
no clear determining principle that divides the darkness with a sword
of light, no voice within myself that is authoritative.

Now the wonderful thing in J