that fire amongst us, in our own hearts and in our collective
temperature as Christian Churches?

There is no religion worth calling so which has not warmth in it. We
hear a great deal from people against whom I do not wish to say a word,
about the danger of an 'emotional Christianity.' Agreed, if by that they
mean a Christianity which has no foundation for its emotion in principle
and intelligence; but not agreed if they mean to recommend a
Christianity which professes to accept truths that might kindle a soul
beneath the ribs of death and make the dumb sing, and yet is never moved
one hair's-breadth from its quiet phlegmaticism. There is no religion
without emotion. Of course it must be intelligent emotion, built upon
the acceptance of divine truth, and regulated and guided by that, and so
consolidated into principle, and it must be emotion which works for its
living, and impels to Christian conduct. These two provisoes being
attended to, then we can safely say that warmth is the test of life, and
the readings of the thermometer, which measure the fervour, measure also
the reality of our religion. A cold Christian is a contradiction in
terms. If the adjective is certainly applicable, I am afraid the
applicability of the noun is extremely doubtful. If there is no fire,
what is there? Cold is death.

We want no flimsy, transitory, noisy, ignorant, hysterical agitation.
Smoke is not fire. If the temperature were higher, and the fire more
wisely fed, there would not be any. But we do want a more obvious and
powerful effect of their solemn, glorious, and heart-melting beliefs on
the affections and emotions of professing Christians, and that they may
be more mightily moved by love, to all heroisms and service and
enthusiasms and to consecration which shall in some measure answer to
the glowing heart of that fire of God which flames in Zion.