It reminds us that the very notion of humanity, and of the brotherhood of man, is purely Christian.  A world-embracing society, held together by love, was not dreamt of before the Gospel came; and since the Gospel came it is more than a dream.  If you wrench away the idea from its foundation, as people do who talk about fraternity, and seek to bring it to pass without Christ, it is a mere piece of Utopian sentiment—­a fine dream.  But in Christianity it worked.  It works imperfectly enough, God knows.  Still there is some reality in it, and some power.  The Gospel first of all produced the thing and the practice, and then the theory came afterwards.  The Church did not talk much about the brotherhood of man, or the unity of the race; but simply ignored all distinctions, and gathered into the fold the slave and his master, the Roman and his subject, fair-haired Goths and swarthy Arabians, the worshippers of Odin and of Zeus, the Jew and the Gentile.  That actual unity, utterly irrespective of all distinctions, which came naturally in the train of the Gospel, was the first attempt to realise the oneness of the race, and first taught the world that all men were brethren.

And before this simple word of greeting could have been sent, and the unknown man in Corinth felt love to a company of unknown men in Rome, some profound new impulse must have been given to the world; something altogether unlike any of the forces hitherto in existence.  What was that?  What should it be but the story of One who gave Himself for the whole world, who binds men into a unity because of His common relation to them all, and through whom the great proclamation can be made:  ’There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female, for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.’  Brother Quartus’ message, like some tiny flower above-ground which tells of a spreading root beneath, is a modest witness to that mighty revolution, and presupposes the preaching of a Saviour in whom he and his unseen friends in Rome are one.

So let us learn not to confine our sympathy and the play of our Christian affection within the limits of our personal knowledge.  We must go further a-field than that.  Like this man, let us sometimes send our thoughts across mountains and seas.  He knew nobody in the Roman Church, and nobody knew him, but he wished to stretch out his hand to them, and to feel, as it were, the pressure of their fingers in his palm.  That is a pattern for us.

Let me suggest another thing.  Quartus was a Corinthian.  The Corinthian Church was remarkable for its quarrellings and dissensions.  One said, ’I am of Paul, and another, I of Apollos, and I of Cephas, and I of Christ.’  I wonder if our friend Quartus belonged to any of these parties?  There is nothing more likely than that he had a much warmer glow of Christian love to the brethren over there in Rome than to those who sat on the same bench with him in the upper room at Corinth.  For you know that