fitful sort of languid way, interestedly, to the most glorious and
most solemn words that come from a preacher's lips, and never dream
that what he has been saying has any bearing upon themselves! And the
one thing that is most of all needed with people like some of you,
who have been listening to the truth all your days, is that it should
be sharpened to a point, and the conviction driven into you, that
_you_ have some personal concern in this great message. 'Ye are the
branches' is the one side of that sharpening and making definite of
the truth in its personal application, and the other side is, 'Thou
art the man.' All preaching and religious teaching is toothless
generality, utterly useless, unless we can manage somehow or other to
force it through the wall of indifference and vague assent to a
general proposition, with which 'Gospel-hardened hearers' surround
themselves, and make them feel that the thing has got a point, and
that the point is touching their own consciousness. '_Ye_ are the
branches.'

Note next the great promise of fruitfulness. 'He that abideth in Me,
and I in Him, the same bringeth forth much fruit.'

I need not repeat what I have said in former sermons as to the plain,
practical duties which are included in that abiding in Christ, and
Christ's consequent abiding in us. It means, on the part of
professedly Christian people, a temper and tone of mind very far
remote from the noisy, bustling distractions too common in our
present Christianity. We want quiet, patient waiting within the veil.
We want stillness of heart, brought about by our own distinct effort
to put away from ourselves the strife of tongues and the pride of
life. We want activity, no doubt, but we want a wise passiveness as
its foundation.