That is a sweet, simple, easily intelligible, and yet lofty way of
putting the notion which we bring into a more abstract and less
impressive shape when we talk about communion with God. Two men
travelling along a road keep each other company. 'How can two walk
together except they be agreed?' The companion is at our side all
the same, though the mists may have come down and we cannot see Him.
We can hear His voice, we can grasp His hand, we can catch the
echoes of His steps. We know He is there, and that is enough. Enoch
and God walked together, by the simple exercise of the faith that
fills the Invisible with one great, loving Face. By a continuous,
definite effort, as we are going through the bustle of daily life,
and amid all the pettiness and perplexities and monotonies that make
up our often weary and always heavy days, we can realise to
ourselves that He is of a truth at our sides, and by purity of life
and heart we can bring Him nearer, and can make ourselves more
conscious of His nearness. For, brethren, the one thing that parts a
man from God, and makes it impossible for a heart to expatiate in
the thought of His presence, is the contrariety to His will in our
conduct. The slightest invisible film of mist that comes across the
blue abyss of the mighty sky will blot out the brightest of the
stars, and we may sometimes not be able to see the mist, and only
know that it is there because we do not see the planet. So
unconscious sin may steal in between us and God, and we shall no
longer be able to say, 'I walk with Him.'

The Roman Catholics talk, in their mechanical way, of bringing down
all the spiritual into the material and formal, about the 'practice
of the presence of God.' It is an ugly phrase, but it means a great
thing, that Christian people ought, very much more than they do, to
aim, day by day, and amidst their daily duties, at realising that