January 16

"I know the thoughts that I think towards you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end." Jeremiah 29:11.

WHAT can the people of God desire more? They are here assured by himself, that he thinks of them—that he knows his thoughts towards them—that they are kind in their nature—thoughts of peace, and not of evil—and that they regard an end allowing and requiring expectation—to bring them to an expected end.

He designed and procured the Jews good in Babylon; but the ransomed of the Lord were to return and come to Zion. "After seventy years be accomplished at Babylon, I will visit you, and perform my good word toward you, in causing you to return to this place." Here we see what was their expected end. And what did it prefigure, but "the end of our faith, even the salvation of our souls"—"the end, everlasting life?" The Christian is now on the sea, encountering many a wind, and feeling many a fear; but the voyage will end, and he will be brought into the desired haven. He is now on a journey, and he is often discouraged because of the way; but it will end in a better country, and at his Father's house. He is now in a warfare, and though it be a good one, it is trying and painful; but the strife will soon end, and the head exchange the helmet for the "crown of glory that fadeth not away."

But what characterizes the posture of the believer's mind with regard to this end? Expectation. He is looking for that blessed hope. He is waiting for the Saviour from heaven. For he is now saved by hope. Every thing now leads him forward. Creatures, ordinances, his connections, his experience, every thing in his painful, every thing in his pleasing feelings—all, all says, "Arise, and depart hence, for this is not your rest." Human expectation is seldom justified by the event. If the votary do not miss his aim, he is disappointed in his object, and his heart sighs in the midst of his success. But let the Christian's expectation be as great as even the Scripture can make it, the blessedness itself will be much greater, and the fruition will induce the acknowledgment, "The half was not told me."

Yet the expectation is very distinguishable from the confidence of the presumptuous. Natural men find it a very easy thing to hope, because they hope without any proper sense of their unworthiness and guilt; they hope without examination, without evidence; they hope uninformed and unauthorized. It is one of the first works of the Spirit of God to break up this state of mind; and then the man can say, with Paul, "I was alive without the law once; but when the commandment came, sin revived, and I died." Yet, while he for ever shuts this door of hope, he opens another; he turns him from the law to the gospel, from self to the Saviour, from going about to establish his own righteousness, to embrace the righteousness which is of God. Hence arises what the apostle calls "a good hope through grace;" and the goodness consists not so much in the strength of the confidence, as in the solidity of the foundation, and the clearness and fulness of the warrant.

Our Lord speaks of two builders: the one he calls a fool, the other a wise man. But the difference between them was not so much in the edifices themselves, as in the groundwork. Both structures looked fair enough to the passenger; but the house of the former was built upon the sand, and the storm carried it away; while that of the latter stood every assault, for it was founded on a rock. What a sandy base has the hope of many! How certainly and easily will it be overthrown—the expectation of the sinner, the worldling, the hypocrite, and the Pharisee! But the Christian's hope maketh not ashamed; it rests on the foundation laid in Zion, and the possessor cannot be confounded, unless God can become a liar, and be chargeable with perjury; for he has not only promised, but sworn, and, "because he could swear by no greater, he swore by himself."

Keep much alive this expectation. Let nothing shake its confidence. Let nothing obscure the object, or the ground of it. It can do wonders, and will produce a thousand advantages in proportion as it is realized.

I repair to the believer who is fully exemplifying it, and I find him dead to the world, and "all that earth calls good and great." And what is the cause? "An expected end." He has looked within the veil, and seen the glory that excelleth. The sun has rendered invisible the glowworms, and the stars too.

I find him satisfied with an inferior condition in life, and though denied many indulgences with which the children of this generation abound. And what is the reason? "An expected end." They are at home, says he; but I am not. I am a stranger and a pilgrim. I am at an inn; it yields me but few entertainments, or even accommodations—so much the better. It might otherwise tempt and detain me. It now urges me on.

And what makes him so cheerful in his trials? "An expected end." This hope, says he, I have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast; and "I reckon that the sufferings of the present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed." This expected end, also, says he, animates me in all the difficulties attending a course of obedience. If hope actuates to such exertions, hardships, and sacrifices, the sons of learning, fame, and wealth; should I ever be cold or discouraged, with the certainty before me of an eternity, an infinity of all good? This too, says he, composes me in the prospect, and reconciles me to the approach of death. In itself it is far from being pleasant; but it is the right way to a city of habitation, a departure to be with Christ, which is far better. He also can make the exit as gentle as the issue is glorious. However this may be,

"T is there for ever I shall dwell, With Jesus in the realms of day; When I shall bid these fears farewell, And he will wipe my tears away.

Jesus, on thee our hope depends, To lead us on to thine abode; Assured our home will make amends For all our toil upon the road."