that strange bond which ties you and me to the Saviour, and the
paradox of the Apostle remains a unique fact in the experience of
humanity: 'Jesus Christ, whom, having not seen, ye love.' We stretch
out our hands across the waste, silent centuries, and there, amidst
the mists of oblivion, thickening round all other figures in the
past, we touch the warm, throhbing heart of our Friend, who lives for
ever, and for ever is near us. We here, nearly two millenniums after
the words fell on the nightly air on the road to Gethsemane, have
them coming direct to our hearts. A perpetual bond unites men with
Christ to-day; and for us, as really as in that long-past Paschal
night, is it true, 'Ye are My friends.'

There are no limitations in that friendship, no misconstructions in
that heart, no alienation possible, no change to be feared. There is
absolute rest for us there. Why should I be solitary if Jesus Christ
is my Friend? Why should I fear if He walks by my side? Why should
anything be burdensome if He lays it upon me and helps me to bear it?
What is there in life that cannot be faced and borne--aye, and
conquered,--if we have Him, as we all may have Him, for the Friend
and the Home of our hearts?

But notice the condition, 'If ye do what I command you.' Note the
singular blending of friendship and command, involving on our parts
the cultivation of the two things which are not incompatible,
absolute submission and closest friendship. He commands though He is
Friend; though He commands He is Friend. The conditions that He lays
down are the same which have already occupied our attention in former
sermons of this series, and so may be touched very lightly. 'Ye are
My friends if ye do the things which I command you,' may either
correspond with His former saying, 'If a Man love Me he will keep My