1 Corinthians 12:1

SPIRITUAL GIFTS

‘Now concerning spiritual gifts, brethren, I would not have you ignorant.’

1 Corinthians 12:1

St. Paul is setting forth to the Corinthians in this letter which he addresses to them a particular aspect of spiritual things.

I. There are spiritual gifts which are bestowed upon a man to his own sanctification.

II. There are spiritual gifts which are bestowed upon him for the edification of others, for the benefit of the whole body. ‘The manifestation of the Spirit is given to every man to profit withal’—to do good with; and so we read the list which he puts before them—wisdom, knowledge, faith, the power of miracles, prophecy or preaching, the speaking with tongues, and the interpretation of tongues. We cannot allow for one moment that prayer and religious exercises are waste of time, withdrawing a man from the more solid activities and offices of life. We claim for spiritual research a power as great or greater than that which belongs to physical or intellectual research. Look at St. John Baptist, withdrawn from the activities and instruction of the world to the very edge of the desert, where, with his back turned to the prizes and distinctions of men, he gazed out upon God, and turned round to give the message to publican and Pharisee, to the soldier and the simple man, which should best meet his needs and aspirations. Who shall say that his magnificent protest to Herod against his sin has yet spent itself in force? Would to God we had more like him, with that irresistible force of spiritual conviction which is at once a reforming and a constructive power. It was a spiritual force, again, which enabled the fishermen to overthrow their enemies and convert the Empire.

III. We are taking men too much at their own valuation, and already we are beginning to find out our mistake. Every one can see for himself, who has eyes to see, that goodness, simple goodness, is still the greatest power in the world—that a man of sincere piety, who abhors compromise, and is not afraid of his principles, will carry all before him, and appeal to hearts which mere cleverness cannot reach or mere tact conciliate. Surely it is one of the most cheering symptoms of the day that we are still able to appreciate goodness; that although we are complacently spending money on a system of education in which religion has to fight its way to a scanty and grudged recognition, still, the type of man whom we admire is the good and the religious; not merely the morally uncorrupt, but the religiously true and pure.

IV. The duty laid upon us, not merely as men but as citizens, is tremendous.—We owe to God our perfection, we owe to ourselves our salvation, but we owe to the world around us our sanctification. The man who neglects his prayers and his church, who starves the Spirit within him, is depriving the world of a spiritual contribution to its welfare. He is as one who refuses to pay spiritual rates. For this the State looks in the elections which send men to her Parliament, not for clever men merely, but for good men. We look for men, once more, who, like a great statesman departed, go ‘from communion with God to the great affairs of State.’ We want good men, and not merely clever men, to fill our places of business, to write our books, and to minister to the future and completeness of our life. But why look wider? We each in the circle of our own life owe this contribution to the age in which we live, to the place which we fill. As far as we are concerned, let us be as those who concerning spiritual gifts are not ignorant, and who know that God has given them the spiritual powers which He bestows upon them, that they may profit withal.

—Rev. Canon Newbolt.

Illustration

‘In the West Country, amidst the green fields and running streams, under the softly rounded hills of North Somerset, the tourist turns aside to see the remains of a Cistercian abbey, which still retains moulded in its buildings much of the domestic side of the religious life so suddenly arrested in the sixteenth century. Refectory, dormitory, cloister, common-room still remain, but the chapel has been razed to the ground, not one stone left upon another, save a few foundations to indicate its length and breadth, and a stone cross sunk in the ground to mark the site of the high altar, round which the religious life of that little community centred, where standing the traveller may still say, “Adorabo in loco quo steterunt Pedes Eius”—“I will adore in the place where stood His Feet.” This abbey is a type of many a living temple of God at this day. The devil has snatched at it, the world has coveted it, the flesh has desecrated it. The outward semblance remains diverted from its purpose, body and soul still serve the uses of some alien master, some lay impropriator, but the consecrated shrine of God’s Majesty is gone, the spirit no longer seeks God’s presence nor welcomes His approach.’