its equivalent in working English. It suggests
at first a radiance of some kind, something dazzling
or glittering, some halo such as the old masters loved
to paint round the head of their Ecce Homos.
But that is paint, mere matter, the visible symbol
of some unseen thing. What is that unseen thing?
It is that of all unseen things the most radiant,
the most beautiful, the most Divine, and that is
Character.
On earth, in Heaven, there is nothing so great, so
glorious as this. The word has many meanings;
in ethics it can have but one. Glory is character,
and nothing less, and it can be nothing more.
The earth is “full of the glory of the Lord,”
because it is full of His character. The “Beauty
of the Lord” is character. “The effulgence
of His Glory” is character. “The Glory
of the Only Begotten” is character, the character
which is “fullness of grace and truth.”
And when God told His people
His name, He simply
gave them His character, His character which was Himself:
“And the Lord proclaimed the name of the Lord
... the Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious,
long-suffering and abundant in goodness and truth.”
Glory then is not something intangible, or ghostly,
or transcendental. If it were this, how could
Paul ask men to reflect it? Stripped of its physical
enswathement it is Beauty, moral and spiritual Beauty,
Beauty infinitely real, infinitely exalted, yet infinitely
near and infinitely communicable.
With this explanation read over the sentence once
more in paraphrase: We all reflecting as a mirror
the character of Christ are transformed into the same
Image from character to character—from a
poor character to a better one, from a better one
to a little better still, from that to one still more
complete, until by slow degrees the Perfect Image is
attained. Here
THE
SOLUTION OF THE PROBLEM OF SANCTIFICATION
is compressed into a sentence: Reflect the character
of Christ, and you will become like Christ. You
will be changed, in spite of yourself and unknown
to yourself, into the same image from character to
character.
(1). All men are reflectors—that is
THE
FIRST LAW
on which this formula is based. One of the aptest
descriptions of a human being is that he is a mirror.
As we sat at table to-night the world in which each
of us lived and moved throughout this day was focused
in the room. What we saw when we looked at one
another was not one another, but one another’s
world. We were an arrangement of mirrors.
The scenes we saw were all reproduced; the people we
met walked to and fro; they spoke, they bowed, they
passed us by, did everything over again as if it had
been real. When we talked, we were but looking
at our own mirror and describing what flitted across
it; our listening was not hearing, but seeing—we
but looked on our neighbor’s mirror.