like as we are.' To every sorrowing soul, to all men burdened with
heavy tasks, unwelcome duties, pains and sorrows of the imagination,
or of the heart, or of memory, or of physical life, or of
circumstances--to all there comes the thought, 'Every ill that flesh
is heir to' He knows by experience, and in the Man Jesus we find not
only the pity of a God, but the sympathy of a Brother.

When one of our princes goes for an afternoon into the slums in East
London, everybody says, and says deservedly, 'right!' and 'princely!'
_This_ prince has learned pity in 'the huts where poor men lie,' and
knows by experience all their squalor and misery. The Man Jesus is
the sympathetic Priest. The Rabbis, who did not usually see very far
into the depth of things, yet caught a wonderful glimpse when they
said: 'Messias will be found sitting outside the gate of the city
_amongst the lepers_.' That _is_ where He sits; and the perfectness
of His sympathy, and the completeness of His identification of
Himself with all our tears and our sorrows, are taught us when we
read that our High Priest is not merely Christ the Official, but
Jesus the Man.

And then we find such words as these: 'If we believe that _Jesus_
died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God
bring with Him': I think any one that reads with sympathy must feel
how very much closer to our hearts that consolation comes, 'Jesus
rose again,' than even the mighty word which the Apostle uses on
another occasion, 'Christ is risen from the dead.' The one tells us
of the risen Redeemer, the other tells us of the risen Brother. And
wherever there are sorrowing souls, enduring loss and following their
dear ones into the darkness with yearning hearts, they are comforted
when they feel that the beloved dead lie down beside their Brother,