have holes, and the birds of the air nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head"-oh, then we are made to feel the blessedness of voluntary poverty; we cherish and embrace our Teacher, who, when he was rich, became poor for our sake. When we hear him say, "He that exalteth himself shall be humbled, and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted," we admire the virtue of humility. But when we see him at the Last Supper laying aside his upper garments, girding himself with a towel, pouring water into a basin, and washing the feet of his disciples, then that virtue assumes for us special attractions. When we hear him say, "Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy," we are delighted with his doctrine. But we are more profoundly moved when we witness his compassion for the hungering multitude in the desert, and his mercy shown to the erring Magdalen. When he says, "If you will not forgive men, neither will your Father forgive you," he is clothing an old commandment in new words. But when he prays from the cross for his executioners, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," he gives a sublime lesson of forgiveness never before exhibited by sage or prophet.

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When we listen to these words: "Blessed are they that suffer persecution for justice's sake for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye when they shall revile you, and persecute you, and speak all that is evil against you, untruly, for my sake," we are in admiration at his doctrine. But when we behold the innocent Lamb himself accused of being a blasphemer, a seditious man, and a disturber of the public peace, we are consoled in our trials, and calumny loses its sting.

Beautiful above the sons of men was Jesus in his glorious transfiguration; but far more beautiful is he to us when suspended from the Cross. The crown of thorns is more comforting to us than the halo that encircles his brow on Mount Tabor.

FROM RABBI GUSTAV GOTTHEIL, D.D. Of the Temple Emanuel-El (Jewish), New York City I have never seen a picture of the being called Saviour of the world in which strength was a marked feature, or even indicated. Naturally so, because the

being was not a man of flesh and blood but the creation of theological fancy and dogmatic construction. He achieved his triumph, not by bravely facing his foes, meeting force with force, but by yielding and surrendering himself to them. Logically considered (which, in so many cases, is the opposite to theologically), his enemies triumphed over him.

He is worshiped as the "gentle Jesus, the man of sorrows, the lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world, the suffering Messiah," and so forth; and with such a being strength of will and forcefulness of character are incompatible, although we all know that no evil in this evil world, worth dying for, has ever been destroyed by mere bearing it meekly. Yet it was on this kind of victory alone that the Church has built her dogma.

In so far she was right, as not a single act of what we understand by manly strength and bravery is recorded of Jesus in the Gospels. Miracles are the easiest possible method of meeting opponents successfully-provided you can work

them.

Ary Scheffer's famous picture of the Temptation expresses tremendous strength on the evil side, ideal weakness on the good. Such, I am sure, was not the man who could say to Satan, Get thee behind me! That moment (although, of course, merely symbolic) offers a situation in which a great depth of force might be reflected from forehead, eye, mouth, and figure. I am not familiar enough with all the masterpieces of the brush to say whether or not it has been attempted. But, to be true, it must of necessity be the portrait of a Jew with his racial characteristics deeply sunk in his face; and would not this be a shock to Christian sensibilities?

I shall probably be hooted at for my impudence in saying what I am going to say; I will say it nevertheless this, namely, that Raffaello's world-worshiped Madonna always appears to me as the highest type of idealized "unnaturalness;" and that is not divine.

It looks to me (pardon the rudeness) like a mother exhibiting her baby. Their eyes are turned away from themselves; the two are not each and all to one another, as mother and child should be, and as highest types of this relation ever were in Judea: they exist for other plans and

purposes. The strangest thing, however, is that this baby's face is the only one of Jesus that I have seen in which something like force and dominion break from the eyeballs; and there they are out of placeso, at least, it appears to my poor judgment.

FROM THE REV. PERCY S. GRANT

Of the Church of the Ascension (P. E.), New York City The traditional face of Christ in art does not seem to me to be a strong face. It is not the face of a man capable of successful struggle with other men. It has not the power of blood and iron-of a Bismarck. It is not the face of one who has had to wrestle with temptation of a St. Paul. It does not denote patient endurance and sufering in a great cause nobly contended for-that is to say, it is not the face of a Lincoln. Nor do we find in the traditional face of Jesus a moral superiority so great that it could dominate material and physical forcescalm a tempest, heal the sick, raise from the dead.

The kind of strength of char

strong according to our common definition. Neither did his character unfold through temptation-that is to say, as the average man understands temptation. The temptations in the wilderness were either typical or they were local. Jesus's life was not spent in resisting evil, but in realizing the good. His character developed, therefore, more as a woman's character develops -in innocence, sweetness, and love. We are not, therefore, to expect the Christ face to exhibit moral struggle. Nor can we look for that sadness which creeps into the eyes of great men who die without

accomplishing

was cut off and thwarted in his earthly career, but he could see the accomplishment of his purpose in its apparent defeat. The joy that was set before him must have robbed his face of melancholy, of weary endurance, and of hopelessness.

The Christ of the New Testament had spiritual power that was as elemental as the power of God, flowing in

acter that we are most familiar with is that which is developed by the force of a competitive civilization. Among college athletes, among soldiers, young business men, and even city roughs we find this typical modern strong face. It is resolute, determined, firm. In middle life such faces are apt to become stern. In old age they are fierce, as Gladstone's was called, or they are hard.

But Jesus took no part in the competitive life of his time, and he lived when competition was not as strenuous as to-day. He fulfilled Isaiah's prophecy, "He did not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street." We should not expect, then, the face of Jesus to be

FROM THE REV. E. M. HARDCASTLE, JR. Assistant Rector Grace Church (P. E.), New York City

The strength of the Christ face as portrayed in the Scriptures would lie, it seems, in the union of the elements that characterize his two natures. The divine strength would reside in holiness, while the human would be evidenced by an association of the strong elements of justice and truth with the gentler qualities of tenderness, loving-kindness, and patience. These have not been combined in due proportion in