parching thirst, the long-protracted death, that made the bitterness of Christ's passion. Even when He had regained composure, and in perfect calm was going forth to meet His death, we find Him declaring that Satan had asked for one of his Apostles "to sift him as wheat," and implying that all His prayers were needed that the faith of the tempted disciple should not "fail." But in Gethsemane the battle for the souls of men was still pending. There was an Enemy who was pulling down His heart, striving hard to make Him despair of sinful mankind, perhaps to despair of we know not what more beyond; forcing Him in the extremity of that sore conflict to cry that He was "exceeding sorrowful even unto death," and afterwards, on the Cross, to utter those terrible words, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" All this is full of profound meaning, if there was indeed an Enemy. But if there was no Enemy, what becomes of the conflict? What meaning is left to the Crucifixion, except as the record of mere physical sufferings, the like of which have been endured, before and after, by thousands of ordinary men and women?
This belief in the existence of Satan appears to me to be confirmed by daily present experience as well as by the life of Christ. It "works." It enables us, as no other belief does, to go to the poor, the sick, the suffering, and the sinful, and to preach Christ's Gospel of the fatherhood of God. All simple, straightforward people who are acquainted with the troubles of life must naturally crave this doctrine. If you ascribe to Providence the work of Satan, they will consciously or unconsciously identify Providence with the author of evil, and look to One above to rescue them from Providence. Instead of attempting to console people for all their evils by laying them on the Author of Goodness, we ought to lay them in part upon themselves, in part on the author of evil.
