The Whole Armour of God — A Reader’s Guide

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In Category - Theology

Authors: Jowett, John Henry, 1864-1923 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2011 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Sermons, English Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

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Words 52,497

Reading time 229 min

Text sections 6

For The Whole Armour of God — A Reader’s Guide, the stored edition analysis reports 52,497 words, 3 hr 49 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 19.0 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Sermons, English,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #36692

John Henry Jowett's 1916 sermons on Ephesians 6:10-20 use military metaphor to address spiritual vigilance during World War I, blending vivid imagery of armor with calls for moral wakefulness and hope.

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File: pg36692

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There was something else in Ephesus for which these Christians needed the girdle of truth. Ephesus was a vast city, and these Christians were only a tiny and obscure fellowship. And even this small fellowship had to be broken up during the hours of labour, and in those hours each believer had to stand alone. One of them was perhaps a slave, and there was no fellow-believer in the house. Or perhaps one was a soldier, and there wasn't another believer in his regiment, and he had to face it all alone. We have been reading that one reason for the massed solidity of the German advance is that the individual German soldier craves the mystic strength of fellowship, and desires even the physical touch of a comrade-in-arms. I can understand it. And so could the Ephesian Christians have understood it. They felt strong when they touched their fellow-believers, and they felt weakened when the visible communion was broken.

What, then, shall they do when alone? They must let their loins be girt about with truth. But what truth? What did the apostle Paul wear in such isolation? He took this girdle and wrapped it round his loins: "He loved me, and gave Himself for me." And that girdle gives a man a sense of glorious fellowship along the emptiest and loneliest road. Put that girdle on, lonely soul! "He loves me, and gave Himself for me!" Wear it ever, night and day. And wear it consciously! Say it; sing it--"He loved me, and gave Himself for me." "Let your loins be girt about with that truth."

And so have we seen these Ephesian soldiers putting on the girdle. In the presence of threat and persecution they wore this girdle, "We are more than conquerors through Him that loved us." When their circumstances were a medley and a confusion, full of ups and downs, of strange comings and goings, of mingled joy and sorrow, foul and fair, they wore this girdle: "All things work together for good to them that love God." And thus they were braced for all the changes of the ever-changing day.

So do I urge my fellow-soldiers in this later day to wear the belt. "Let your loins be girt about with truth." Let us pray the good Lord to help us even now to put it on. Is the girdle we need this--"He loved me and gave Himself for me?" Well, put it on. Or is it this--"We have forgiveness through His blood?" Put it on. Or is it this--"I will come again and receive you unto myself?" Put it on. Or is it this--"In My Father's house are many mansions?" Put it on. Or is it this--"I will never leave thee nor forsake thee?" Put it on. Or is it this great girdle--"When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee, and through the rivers, they shall not overthrow thee, when thou walkest through the fire thou shalt not be burned, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee?" Put on the girdle, wear it ever, night and day, and thou shalt find that in the strength of gospel truth thou are competent to meet all circumstances, and triumphantly perfect thy Saviour's will.

THE BREASTPLATE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS

_Almighty God, our Father, it is by Thy grace that we attain unto holiness, and it is by Thy light that we find wisdom. We humbly pray that Thy grace and light may be given unto us so that we may come into the liberty of purity and truth. Wilt Thou graciously exalt our spirits and enable us to live in heavenly places in Christ Jesus. Impart unto us a deep dissatisfaction with everything that is low, and mean, and unclean, and create within us such pure desire that we may appreciate the things which Thou hast prepared for them that love Thee. Wilt Thou receive us as guests of Thy table. Give us the glorious sense of Thy presence, and the precious privilege of intimate communion. Feed us with the bread of life; nourish all our spiritual powers; help us to find our delight in such things as please Thee. Give us strength to fight the good fight of faith. Give us holy courage, that we may not be daunted by any fear, or turn aside from our appointed task. Make us calm when we have to tread an unfamiliar road, and may Thy presence give us companionship divine. Amen._

THE BREASTPLATE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS

"Having on the breastplate of righteousness." Ephesians 6:14.

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John Henry Jowett's The Whole Armour of God opens with a prayer that sets a tone of intimate urgency: 'may no distraction draw us away from our communion with Thee.' This collection of fifteen sermons, preached during the First World War, takes its framework from Ephesians 6:10-20, but Jowett's voice is less that of a systematic theologian than a pastor attuned to the emotional and spiritual strains of his congregation. The sermons move between stark warnings about 'invisible antagonisms' and tender encouragements to 'watch for the morning,' a rhythm that mirrors the oscillation between dread and hope in wartime. Jowett's prose is direct and sensory—he speaks of 'garments stained' and 'fields of heavy battle'—yet he consistently redirects attention from external conflict to interior discipline.

The Rhetoric of Vigilance

Jowett's central exhortation, drawn from the apostle Paul's command to 'watch ye,' is developed through a series of escalating questions that reveal his homiletic method. He asks whether the real enemy is militarism, racial animosity, or 'a faithless church, muttering many shibboleths.' Each query is met with the refrain 'Then Watch ye!'—a device that builds rhetorical momentum while narrowing the field of moral concern. The sermons do not offer abstract theology; they press for concrete self-examination. Jowett insists that wakefulness is not passive but an act of will: 'Bring the stream of vital thought to bear upon the field. Exercise the imagination. Nourish the sympathies.' This language of effort and discipline pervades the collection, treating spiritual life as a form of strenuous attention.

The Soldier's Double Vision

Jowett complicates the martial metaphor by insisting that the Christian soldier must watch not only for enemies but also for 'all the bright and wonderful things of the hour.' He criticizes a sentinel who 'could not distinguish between enemy and friend,' and lists signs of hope: growing seriousness in the world, 'unsealing of multitudinous springs of human sympathy,' and 'magnificent courage' purging families of indolence. This dual focus—on both threat and promise—gives the sermons a distinctive tension. Jowett compares the watchman to a Moslem priest who appears on the tower 'half an hour before sunrise,' looking for 'fair jewels of hope' on 'the dark robe of the night.' The imagery is deliberately poetic, softening the militaristic frame with a pastoral insistence on discernment.

Pace and the Shape of Exhortation

The sermons vary in pace from rapid, almost breathless lists of dangers to slower, meditative passages. In the excerpt on vigilance, Jowett uses short imperative sentences—'Keep awake!' 'Watch ye!'—that create a staccato urgency. But he then shifts to longer, more lyrical sentences when describing hopeful signs: 'Watch ye, and behold the growing seriousness of the world; frivolity has almost begun to apologize for itself.' This alternation between command and reflection structures the reader's experience, moving from alarm to reassurance. Jowett also employs rhetorical questions to engage the congregation directly, as when he asks, 'What are the real enemies behind all the appalling desolation and sorrow of our time?' The effect is to make the sermon feel like a conversation, albeit one with a clear pastoral authority.

Readers approaching The Whole Armour of God will find a work that is both historically situated—its references to 'the horrors and agonies of our day' point unmistakably to 1914-1918—and deliberately inward. Jowett rarely mentions specific battles or political figures; his concern is the state of the soul under pressure. The sermons reward attention to their structural rhythms: the way Jowett builds tension through repetition, then releases it with images of dawn and renewal. For those interested in early twentieth-century homiletics or the spiritual literature of the Great War, this collection offers a concentrated example of how one preacher tried to make ancient texts speak to immediate crisis.

This Sunday, my grandfather’s old Bible fell open to Ephesians, and I thought of Jowett’s wartime call for moral armor—how the weight of that imagery settles differently now. It reminded me suddenly of a fragile sermon on a boy’s death, where The Glory of Grace Effected by Weak Means Being the Substance of a Sermon, Preached on the Death of Samuel Church, Aged Twelve Years. On Sunday Evening, April 14, 1822 — Themes and Context whispered that even a child’s brief life could be God’s shield. Both books asked me to find strength in what seems insufficient.