That there is truth in such comfortable and affable preaching is obvious; that there is not much truth in it is obvious, too.  To what extent, and in what ways, nature, red with tooth and claw, indifferent, ruthless, whimsical, can be called the expression of the Christian God, is not usually specifically stated.  In what way man, just emerging from the horror, the shame, the futility of his last and greatest debauch of bloody self-destruction, can be called the chief medium of truth, holiness and beauty, the matrix of divinity, is not entirely manifest.  But the fatal defect of such preaching is not that there is not, of course, a real identity between the world and its Maker, the soul and its Creator, but that the aspect of reality which this truth expresses is the one which has least religious value, is least distinctive in the spiritual experience.  The religious nature is satisfied, and the springs of moral action are refreshed by dwelling on the “specialness” of God; men are brought back to themselves, not among their fellows and by identifying them with their fellows, but by lifting them to the secret place of the Most High.  They need religiously not thousand-tongued nature, but to be kept secretly in His pavilion from the strife of tongues.  It is the difference between God and men which makes men who know themselves trust Him.  It is the “otherness,” not the sameness, which makes Him desirable and potent in the daily round of life.  A purely ethical interest in God ceases to be ethical and becomes complacent; when we rule out the supraphenomenal we have shut the door on the chief strength of the higher life.

Second:  modern preaching, under this same influence and to a yet greater degree, emphasizes the principle of identity, where we need that of difference, in its preaching about Jesus.  He is still the most moving theme for the popular presentation of religion.  But that is because He offers the most intelligible approach to that very “otherness” in the person of the godhead.  His healing and reconciling influence over the heart of man—­the way the human spirit expands and blossoms in His presence—­is moving beyond expression to any observer, religious or irreligious.  Each new crusade in the long strife for human betterment looks in sublime confidence to Him as its forerunner and defense.  To what planes of common service, faith, magnanimous solicitude could He not lift the embittered, worldlyized men and women of this torn and distracted age, which is so desperately seeking its own life and thereby so inexorably losing it!  But why is the heart subdued, the mind elevated, the will made tractable by Him?  Why, because He is enough like us so that we know that He understands, has utter comprehension; and He is enough different from us so that we are willing to trust Him.  In what lies the essence of the leadership of Jesus?  He is not like us:  therefore, we are willing to relinquish ourselves into His hands.