December 9

"And entering into the sepulchre, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, clothed in a long white garment."—Mark 16:5.

I LOVE to think of him. He is a sign of the life which comes through Christ crucified and risen.

Though he had ages behind him, he was young; "the oldest angels," Swedenborg says, "are the youngest." And Jesus gives me continuous youth—youth with its buoyant vitality, with its hopeful outlook, with its hundred activities.

But, most, I am fascinated by his stainless dress.

Is not white the colour of victory—the conqueror's colour? And my Saviour brings me the mood of triumph. In Him I vanquish my past guilt, and my present temptation, and my future alarms. His dear might enables me to overcome.

Is not white the colour of purity—the priest's colour? And my Lord makes me clean and bright. His Cross does it, and His Word, and His Spirit. He answers for me the Moslem's prayer, "Give me a death in which there is no life, and then a life in which there is no death"—a death to sin, a life to God.

Is not white the colour of joy—the bride's colour and the little child's? And Jesus means me to have gladness, tranquillity, the confidence that all is well. I have a new song in my mouth, a new rapture in my soul, a new home to which my face is set.

White light of day, white summit of the Alp, white brilliance of the diamond, white petals of the flower, white flakes of untrodden snow, the white throne of judgment, the white radiance of eternity, the white robes of the angel—they are so many symbols of Christ's good gifts to me.