We must then associate with Christ, and we must set ourselves squarely; we must. be absolutely true in our entire and absolute devotion.  Surely no man thinks that this is a hardship; that his nature and life will be restricted by giving himself wholly to Christ?  It is only, as every Christian will tell you—­it is only when you give yourself entirely to Christ that you know what freedom means; that you know what it is to live in this world afraid of nothing.  Superior to things that before you were afraid of and anxious about, you at length learn what it is to be a child of God.  Let no man think that he lames his nature and makes his life poorer by becoming entirely the possession of Christ.

But, thirdly, we must set Christ before us and live before Him with unveiled face.  “We all with unveiled face reflecting as a mirror.”  Throw a napkin over a mirror, and it reflects nothing.  Perfect beauty may stand before it, but the mirror gives no sign.  And this is why in a dispensation like ours, the Christian dispensation, with everything contrived to reflect Christ, to exhibit Christ, the whole thing set a-going for this purpose of exhibiting Christ, we so little see Him.  How is it that two men can sit at a Communion table together, and the one be lifted to the seventh heaven and see the King in His beauty, while the other only envies his neighbour his vision?  Why is it that in the same household two persons will pass through identically the same domestic circumstances, the same events, from year to year, and the one see Christ everywhere, while the other grows sullen, sour, indifferent?  Why is it?  Because the one wears a veil that prevents him from seeing Christ; the other lives with unveiled face.  How was it that the Psalmist, in the changes of the seasons even, in the mountain, in the sea, in everything that he had to do, found God?  How was it that he knew that even though he made his bed in hell he would find God?  Because he had an unveiled face; he was prepared to find God.  How is it that many of us can come into church and be much more taken up with the presence of some friend than with the presence of Christ?  The same reason still:  we wear a veil; we do not come with unveiled face prepared to see Him.

And When we ask ourselves, “What, in point of fact, is the veil that I wear?  What is it that has kept me from responding to the perfect beauty of Christ’s character?  I know that that character is perfect; I know that I ought to respond to it; I know that I ought to go out eagerly towards Christ and strive to become like Him; why do I not do it?” we find that the veil that keeps us from responding thus to Christ and reflecting Him is not like the mere dimness on a mirror which the bright and warm presence of Christ Himself would dry off; it is like an incrustation that has been growing out from our hearts all our life long, and that now is impervious, so far as we can see, to the image of Christ.  How can hearts steeped in worldliness