======================================================================== WRITINGS OF ARCHIBALD BROWN by Archibald Brown ======================================================================== A collection of theological writings, sermons, and essays by Archibald Brown, compiled for study and devotional reading. Chapters: 67 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TABLE OF CONTENTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1. 00.00. Title/Contenr 2. S. A Blaze of Diamonds! 3. S. A Mighty Arm! 4. S. A National Church is Unscriptural 5. S. A New Year's Sermon! 6. S. A Pardoning God! 7. S. A Rough Night at Sandown 8. S. A Sermon to Debtors! 9. S. A Song About Redemption! 10. S. A Sweet Echo! 11. S. A Wise Work! 12. S. Amen, O Lord! 13. S. An Emerald Rainbow! 14. S. Better Than All! 15. S. Better than a Mother! 16. S. Birth-day of Blessing! 17. S. Christ's Own Joy, is Our Joy! 18. S. Christ's love for His Redeemed People 19. S. Church Unity 20. S. Conversion of Children 21. S. David's Malady and Medicine! 22. S. Deep Things of God 23. S. Devil's Mission of Amusement 24. S. Do Not Sin Against the Child! 25. S. Eternity! 26. S. Gloating Foe Rebuked 27. S. God Thinks Upon Me 28. S. God's Pool and Man's Porches 29. S. God-given Quietness 30. S. Grace and Glory! 31. S. Growing Faith 32. S. HIGGAION! 33. S. Hard Work and Bad Pay! 34. S. He is Precious! 35. S. Heart's Cry after God! 36. S. His Great Love! 37. S. How Long? 38. S. How Lovely Is Your Sanctuary! 39. S. In Memoriam 40. S. Is There a Hell? 41. S. Jannes and Jambres 42. S. My Banner! 43. S. Noah's Telescope! 44. S. Old Landmarks 45. S. Past Finding Out! 46. S. Peace Versus War! 47. S. Pity the Poor Blind 48. S. Royal Procession! 49. S. Scriptural Doctrine of Hell 50. S. Songs in the Night! 51. S. Sweet Sleep 52. S. Sympathy of Jesus! 53. S. This God is Our God 54. S. Ungodly and Their End 55. S. Unto Him Be Glory 56. S. Way of Cain! 57. S. What Christ Has Done for Me! 58. S. What Do I Still Lack? 59. S. What Our Churches Need! 60. S. What Shall I Give Him? 61. S. Who is a Pardoning God Like Thee? 62. S. Why Go to Hell? 63. S. Will He Come to the Feast? 64. S. With Christ! 65. S. Without Christ! 66. S. Worship 67. S. Year of Jubilee! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 1: 00.00. TITLE/CONTENR ======================================================================== Brown, Archibald - Library S. A Blaze of Diamonds! S. A Mighty Arm! S. A National Church is Unscriptural S A New Year’s Sermon! S. A Pardoning God! S. A Rough Night at Sandown S. A Sermon to Debtors! S. A Song About Redemption! S. A Sweet Echo! S. A Wise Work! S. Amen, O Lord! S. An Emerald Rainbow! S. Better Than All! S. Better than a Mother! S. Birth-day of Blessing! S. Christ’s Own Joy, is Our Joy! S. Christ’s love for His Redeemed People S. Church Unity S. Conversion of Children S. David’s Malady and Medicine! S. Deep Things of God S. Devil’s Mission of Amusement S. Do Not Sin Against the Child! S.Eternity! S. Gloating Foe Rebuked S. God Thinks Upon Me S. God’s Pool and Man’s Porches S. God-given Quietness S. Grace and Glory! S. Growing Faith S. HIGGAION! S. Hard Work and Bad Pay! S. He is Precious! S. Heart’s Cry after God! S. His Great Love! S. How Long? S. How Lovely Is Your Sanctuary! S. In Memoriam S. Is There a Hell? S. Jannes and Jambres S. My Banner! S. Noah’s Telescope! S. Old Landmarks S. Past Finding Out! S. Peace Versus War! S. Pity the Poor Blind S. Royal Procession! S. Scriptural Doctrine of Hell S. Songs in the Night! S. Sweet Sleep S. Sympathy of Jesus! S. This God is Our God S. Ungodly and Their End S. Unto Him Be Glory S. Way of Cain! S. What Christ Has Done for Me! S. What Do I Still Lack? S What Our Churches Need! S What Shall I Give Him? S. Who is a Pardoning God Like Thee? S. Why Go to Hell? S. Will He Come to the Feast? S. With Christ! S. Without Christ! S. Worship S. Year of Jubilee! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 2: S. A BLAZE OF DIAMONDS! ======================================================================== A Blaze of Diamonds! Archibald Brown, East London Tabernacle "But may the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while — will Himself perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you. To Him be the glory and the dominion forever and ever. Amen." 1 Peter 5:10-11 Our first experience in reading this verse is amazement that borders on bewilderment. The whole is a perfect blaze of diamonds, and the very brightness serves to shroud the glory. There is such a combination of splendors here that the mental eye is almost dazed at the first reading, so that one cannot immediately distinguish the actual teaching. You have such marvelous words coming one upon another, each word so full, so bright, so splendid — that you are well near lost in the whirl. Keep your eyes upon the verse, and see what words we have: ’God’, ’all grace’, ’called’, ’eternal glory’, ’Christ Jesus’, ’dominion forever’. And, as if these were not enough, we find also perfection thrown in as well: ’make you perfect’. And these marvelous words, each bright with all the splendor of deity, daze us all the more because of their contrast to that which has gone before in the previous verses; for, read a few lines back, and what are the words that meet you in 1 Peter 5:7-9? ’Your adversary, the devil’, ’a roaring lion’, ’seeking whom he may devour’, ’whom resist’. And then we find ’sufferings’ added. Put the two groupings of words side by side. Can you imagine anything more startling in the way of contrast? ’The devil’, ’a roaring lion’, ’suffering’, ’adversary’ — ’God’, ’grace’, ’eternal glory’, ’perfection’. Yes, it is on black velvet, that this diamond pendant hangs, and the diamonds flash all the more brightly because of the exceeding darkness of the background. But now, having taken a glance at it, our eyes are more accustomed to the brilliance, so we will try to place the words. Up to this moment, perhaps, this text has been to some of you, as it was to me in studying it — a perfect shower of meteors — a cluster of bright flashing words. Now we will seek to put the words in order, and link them together. And observe here that, though this text reads as a prayer — it is really a promise, and so it appears in the Revised Version. Instead of the first word being ’but’, it should be ’and’. ’And may the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while’ — now read — ’shall himself perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you.’ It is not something that Peter asks for, but which, perhaps, may be denied — but it is the solemn promise of the Holy Spirit given through Peter that, though I have to meet the roaring devil, though I have daily to combat the power of Hell that would devour and swallow me up — yet the God of all grace shall himself perfect, strengthen, and establish me. In the previous verses the Holy Spirit has been telling us what we have to do. Now he tells us what God has promised to do, and, oh, brothers and sisters, what a marvelous difference this makes! We must never separate the things that God has joined together. If God says in one line, ’Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling’, he says in the next, ’for it is God who works in you’. And so, if here I am told that I am to be sober and vigilant, and that I am to stand foot to foot with the adversary and resist a roaring devil. And I say, ’How can it be? It is more than I can do’. He who bids me do it tells me what he will do: ’And he himself shall perfect, strengthen, and establish you.’ The words, you see, are beginning to fall into order. We are now getting the outline of this diamond pendant. But there is one important point which I question whether many of you have seen, because in nine cases out of ten that sentence, ’after you have suffered a while’, is linked with the last clause of the verse, whereas it belongs to the first; and if you look you will see what a difference it makes. People generally pause at the word ’Christ Jesus’, and then they read, ’after you have suffered a while make you perfect, establish, strengthen you’. Indeed, then that last clause tells us, does it, of Heaven’s work, that after my sufferings are over, the Lord is going to perfect me, and that it is in Heaven that he is going to establish and strengthen me. But, the moment that you put that little middle clause, ’after that you have suffered a while’, in its right place, the diamond pendant is seen clearly in all its exquisite symmetry and beauty. It is this: the God of all grace who has called us, after that we have suffered a while, to his eternal glory, will himself, while we are suffering — during this little interval that lies between the grace and the glory — so sanctify the suffering, that it shall perfect, establish, strengthen, settle us. The sufferings come between the grace and the glory. One hardly likes to use such a homely illustration — but I might almost call it ’Heaven’s sandwich’. There is grace — then there is a thin slice of suffering — then there is glory on the top of it. The God of all grace has called us to eternal glory — but between the call and the eternal glory there is just a little while of suffering; but during that little while of suffering the saint is not to be a loser, for the God of all grace shall perfect, establish, strengthen, settle him. Though, when we commenced, we were almost blinded by the brilliancy of the text, I think that now we can make out clearly its outline and its setting. Let us go into the subject a little. First of all we have to meditate on the God of grace. And, when we have done that, we must go a step further, and observe that he is a God who calls unto his eternal glory. And, when we have reached that point, we shall have to note, in conclusion, that this God of grace allows a little interval of suffering before the glory, and that this little interval, though full of painfulness, is also full of blessedness — for it leads to perfecting, establishing, and strengthening. I. Who shall rise to the height of this first expression, ’The God of All Grace’? What is intended by it? Something far more than a gracious God. It does not mean that God is gracious in his tendency, or simply gracious by his nature — but that he himself is the reservoir, the home, the source, the supply — of grace in all its manifestations. ’All grace’; that is all the grace that I need between these two points, the point where God finds me steeped in sin and dead in iniquity — and that point of eternal glory that he has sworn by himself he will bring me to. How much grace I need between these two! He is the God of all the grace that I need, from Hell’s mouth up to Heaven’s throne! The streams of grace are many: the fountain-head is one. He is ’the God of all grace’. Every sparkling rivulet, every flowing tributary, of grace — springs from him. Need I recapitulate them to you? Divine election with all its inscrutable mysteries. Redemption accomplished at Calvary’s hill on a blood-stained cross by a dying Christ. Justification also in all its wondrous harmony between mercy and perfect justice. And regeneration too with its heaven-born purity, and its new-created tendencies within the soul. All these are covered by the word ’grace’. These things are only different manifestations of one and the same sublime attribute. But, when I mention these, I have only just touched the spray of the wave. There are deeps that lie beneath in this expression, ’the God of all grace’, for it contains all the graces which the soul must possess before it can enter eternal glory. I think that any child here could mention most of those graces that are absolutely requisite for entrance into the eternal glory. Most certainly there must be the grace of repentance. How can a man who truly repents, not be saved? But God is the God of all grace. My sob for Christ comes from God himself. The very tear for sin, is not an earth-born thing. It is Heaven’s own pearl that is strung upon the human eyelash. The cry of ’God be merciful to me’ is a cry that comes down from Heaven before ever it can break from my lip. ’The God of all grace.’ But repentance must ever be followed by faith. I do not weep myself to Christ. I appropriate Christ by faith. But whence this grace of faith? It is the gift of God. Then there are other graces yet to be manifested. ’Faith works by love.’ But love is born of God, for God is love, and if I love him — it is because he first loved me. He is the God of all my graces. But no man can see the Lord apart from holiness. Without holiness shall no man enter into the glory. How am I to be holy? How can this poor, sin-stained, sin-ingrained man become holy? And the answer is that it is the Spirit of the Lord that works holiness; and so, while he is the God of all manifestations of grace — he is the God of all the graces that I possess. But I have hardly begun yet with this enumeration. This text covers much more, for it includes all the supplies of grace that are needed along the road. It is a weary road — I need refreshing grace. It is a sorrowing path, because it is a sinful one — I need comforting grace. As a wandering sheep prone to go astray — I need restoring grace. Being weak as a babe — I need upholding grace. What do I not need? And yet, precious thought, everything that I, as a saint, can need from the moment of my new birth to that ecstatic instant when I stand before his eternal glory, without spot or wrinkle — lies centered in God. He is ’the God of all grace’. Do you not see, therefore, that God does not send his people unarmed into the battle? The word of command is not ’Go and fight the roaring devil, and get on as best you can.’ If God tells me to fight the devil, he says, ’I will find all grace for you to do it.’ If he says to me, ’Go meet an adversary that could devour you in a moment, and would’, he also says, ’But I am able to perfect you, strengthen you, establish you. I am the God of all grace.’ II. I think that we may now leave this first point, although we have only just skimmed its surface. This God of all grace calls us to Eternal Glory. Let us read the sentence slowly, that we may understand it: ’Who has called us’ — (it should be ’who has called you’) — ’unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus’, or, as it should be rendered, ’in Christ’. Let us begin at the beginning. He has called you. Need I say that the call here is not the call that is ringing from this platform this morning? It is not intended to describe the call that comes from any preacher’s lips. It is not the call of God’s world-wide mercy to a fallen race. The call that is intended here is, as Robert Leighton beautifully puts it, that call which goes deeper than the ear, touches the heart within, throws open the door, and effectually draws to Christ! And consequently you will find that the word ’called’ becomes the title of the true Christian. Look at the references on this subject at your leisure. If you turn to the 1st chapter of Romans, you will find the saints there described as ’called of Christ Jesus’. In Romans 8:28, we read, ’All things work together for good to those who love God.’ Who are they? ’The called according to his purpose.’ Called is a Scripture name for the saint. A man of God is one who has been called. But how is he called? It is ’unto his eternal glory in Christ’; not simply, mark you, for Christ’s sake. That is true — but it is not the truth here taught. He has called us to eternal glory in Christ. He called Christ into glory, and, when he called Christ into glory, he called me, because I am in Christ. The call that I receive is a call that sounds in the Son’s ear. It is a call ’to his glory’. Jesus looked up and said, ’Father, I will that those whom you have given me be with me where I am, that they may behold my glory.’ Where God calls the head, he calls all the members. And the call to eternal glory is the call that comes to us by virtue of our oneness with the Lord Jesus Christ. We share his blessedness. For a moment pause here. Do you see what this teaches? There is no getting to eternal glory apart from Christ. God does not call anyone to eternal glory except ’in Christ’. If any of you are hoping to enter into eternal glory by virtue of the ’universal fatherhood of God’, you will find that it will drop you into perdition. The only call unto eternal glory, is in Christ. It is as a member of his body that I share his glory. Heaven is his. I have no merits — but he deserves all. He deserves everything that the eternal Father can give him. And so Christ says, ’I will that my redeemed share with me that glory which is mine.’ It is ’the called in Christ Jesus’. And what is the call TO? To glory! I must confess that I looked at that word until I could not see it for the tears that came into my eyes. ’Called unto glory.’ Glory? What have I to do with glory? I seem altogether out of court for glory. Glory? Glory for me? You might as well speak about putting a king’s crown on a chimney-sweep’s head. What connection can there be between me and glory? But, my brethren, because it seems too good for us to receive we must not think that it is too good for God to give. The call is to glory, and to nothing short of it. I know not whether I am speaking this morning to some dear Arminian friends who rather delight in the thought that you may start on the road to glory, and then be left in the middle of it to perish. Do you see that this call is not a call merely to start for glory? It is a call to glory. It is not a call to two-thirds of the road. It is a call to eternal glory. Thirty odd years ago I heard the call of God, and, oh, it called me into such sorrow for sin; but I found that the call did not end there, for when I had reached conviction of sin, I found that God was still calling me. The call came from further away, and I went on, until I came to ’a place called Calvary’, and I thought, ’Surely, the call has come from here.’ But after I had looked and gazed upon Christ and entered into peace with God, I found that the call still sounded far ahead. It had brought me to Calvary — but it came from beyond there. It came from the throne in the glory. And then I found that when God called me as a sinner he did not call me simply to repent or to believe. He called me unto his eternal glory, and that is the purpose of his call. Are you downcast this morning? Are you depressed in spirit? Why, God is calling you unto his eternal glory. Shame on us that we are ever anything else than rejoicing. We have a call to eternal glory, and nothing less. Yes — but hitherto we have only been fluttering round this word ’glory’. What do you understand by it? Does he say, ’He has called us unto glory’? No, it does not say that. It says, ’He has called us unto HIS glory.’ What is his glory? Moses said, ’Show me your glory’, and Jehovah said, ’I will cause my goodness to pass before you.’ Then, do you not see, God’s glory is his holiness; and if I am called unto his glory I am — amazing thought — called unto infinite and perfect holiness. Oh, Heaven would not be Heaven, if there were a stain of sin upon one of the golden pavements! Heaven would not be Heaven, if there were a thought of sin passing through one mind. Heaven would not be Heaven, if there were a moment of defilement there. He has called us unto HIS glory, the glory of his perfect holiness, that glory which overwhelms archangels as they sing, ’Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty.’ But God’s glory is himself. There is nothing more glorious about his glory, than himself. The only way in which God can glorify himself, is to reveal himself. He is his own glory, and when the Shekinah light burned of old in the tabernacle, the glory of the Lord appeared. It was the out-flashing of God. And so, when God calls you to his glory — he calls you to himself. He says, ’Come up, poor weary blood-washed sinner. Come up into my embrace; come and live in my bosom. Let the everlasting burnings of Jehovah be your couch. Come cleanse your spirit in the eternal blaze of deity. Come, be at home with me.’ It is a call unto his glory. It is a call to dwell in his immediate presence. It is a call to pass into his light, for God is light. But can you tell me all that the word ’glory’ covers? In the ordinary acceptance of the word you say of a departed saint, ’Ah, he has gone to glory’, and what does ’glory’ mean? That one word ’glory’ includes all the angels, cherubim and seraphim; it includes all the harps of Heaven; it covers all joy, all blessing, all bliss. God has called us unto his eternal glory. But this is only the beginning of the theme. We have left untouched one infinite word. He says that he has called us unto his eternal glory. You have to put the word eternal into the scale. It is not a call for an age or for a millennium. It is his eternal glory. Oh, fools that we are, to weep our eyes out over earth’s sorrows, and to grumble our spirits into wretchedness, because of a passing moment of care! It is eternal glory. The spirit sinks before the very word. When myriads upon myriads of ages have passed, we shall be only in the infancy of glory then; and when a myriad myriad ages more have gone, we shall be no further advanced. It is simply endless. This is what God means to do for you. He means to bring you into his own eternal glory. III. And now our third point is that he allows A LITTLE INTERVAL OF SUFFERING which is itself full of blessing. Ah, we too often want to leave that bit out, ’after that you have suffered a while’. The call comes — but the glory does not come immediately after the call. I remember that, when I found peace with God some thirty odd years ago, I wished that the Lord would take me to glory then and there. Yes, the birds of Paradise all want to fly off at once into their nests. But God says, ’No, I have called you unto my eternal glory.’ The glory is quite safe. You shall have it — but it shall come to you ’after that you have suffered a while’. Then, brothers and sisters, carry away this thought, that the suffering is part of the call, as well as the glory. The suffering is not a haphazard thing that comes in. It is all part of the plan. When God calls you to glory, he calls you to come to glory through a little while of suffering. How this takes away all the bitterness and acidity of one’s sorrows! Does it not? I know that some of you are weighted with care. Humanly speaking it would be far easier to weep than to sing; but how this transforms all grief. It is no chance work. Suffering is part of the road to the eternal glory. It is just as much included in the plan as all the rest. And then, you see, it says that it is only a little while. ’After that you have suffered a little.’ So it is in the Revised Version. Really the word ’while’ is not there. It is ’after you have suffered a little’; and you can choose, if you like, whether it means degree or duration. ’After you have suffered a little.’ Why, the heaviest sorrow is but little, if you compare it with the weight of glory. Or, if you take it to mean duration, what a little while the suffering lasts — if you put it alongside of his eternal glory! You say, ’But why can I not go to Heaven at once? Why should there be this interlude of suffering between the grace and the glory?’ The answer is found in the last line of our text. ’He himself will make you perfect, establish, strengthen, settle you’. He will do it through this little interval of suffering. He will perfect you. Now, do not run away with the idea that I am preaching ’perfection’; and yet I am. But what sort of perfection? You have to understand the word. People often take a word and run away with it, just as a trout catches hold of a fly and gets hooked, and is not very much advantaged thereby. You may snap hold of this word ’perfect’, and run away, and say, ’Ah, then I may expect to be perfect while I am on earth.’ Of course you may; only the word here translated ’perfect’ means ’to repair’. It is precisely the same word that you find when you read that the disciples were mending their nets, and it means to finish, or to put into repair. You will find that when Paul writes to the Thessalonians he says, ’That I may perfect that which is lacking in your faith.’ There is a little bit of a rent in it and I just want to come and mend that little hole. Ah, there is nothing about us that is not imperfect. There are many little rents in us, and the Lord allows us to go through this little while of suffering so that he may repair the imperfections. As bad as you are, brother, you would be worse if you had less trouble. There is not here, today, a child of God who is not the richer and the holier for the little while of suffering. God passes his children through the interlude of suffering to repair the imperfect. The next word is ’establish’, and that implies fixity. Oh, we are very prone to fluctuation. I know that some of you shift like a weathercock from one doctrine to another. There are some of you here who have at present so little stability that you come and hear the Word of God expounded here in the morning, and then run away to hear something quite the opposite in the evening — and manage somehow to enjoy them both! Well, God loves his children a great deal too well, to allow them always to remain shifty and unstable; and so he passes them through this little while of suffering, and they gradually get more and more established and fixed in faith and holy resolve. Trouble weights men in a very blessed sense. I know that it grievously weights the heart. But sometimes nothing but a heavy heart will give weight to a character, and so God says, ’I cannot let that vain and frivolous child remain like a piece of thistledown floating at the dictation of every breath of air. I must pass him through a little while of suffering.’ That is establishing. The word ’settle’ does not appear in the Revised. The last word there is ’strengthen’, and the meaning of the word is ’made powerful to resist attack’. There is the devil. He is roaring. More than that: he has mighty paws and terrible claws. And who among us can enter into the fray against him? You fight the devil, man? Do not ever make a joke about the devil. The man that jokes about the devil, has the devil nearer to him than he imagines. Do you think you can resist the great adversary? Never! But the Lord steps in, and says, ’If I bid you meet the roaring lion, I will pass you through a little season of suffering which shall repair and establish you, and put spiritual thews and sinews into you, so that in my strength you may overcome.’ Brethren, what then is left for us to do other than to say with Peter, ’To him be glory and dominion forever!’ Where else can we place the glory? It is cut completely from under our feet, for God is the God of all the grace that we possess. He calls us to his own eternal glory. Then if I am saved from sin and called to eternal bliss — all that I can do during ’the little while’ is to look up and say, ’Unto him be all the praise and dominion, age upon age, throughout all eternity. Amen and amen!’ ======================================================================== CHAPTER 3: S. A MIGHTY ARM! ======================================================================== A Mighty Arm! Archibald Brown, East London Tabernacle "You have a mighty arm! Strong is Your hand, and Your right hand is exalted. Righteousness and justice are the foundation of Your throne. Mercy and truth go before Your face!" Psalms 89:13-14 Psalms 89:1-52 is a magnificent poem to the praise of the covenant of God — the covenant made with David, and, through David, made with David’s greater Son, for all his heirs unto all generations. Without doubt the psalm was penned by a man who was in deep sorrow of heart. Ethan, whoever he may have been — and many suppose that he lived about the time of the Babylonian captivity — looked round about him and saw that the glory of the house of David had waned, and the throne of David, so far from being established, was seemingly tottering. Filled with sore trouble and dismay, Ethan seeks to comfort his soul by remembering what God had promised to his chosen servant. Ah, there is nothing like God’s covenant for a troubled heart. You, who have never known the meaning of soul anguish and dark depression — you, whose craft has always glided along in smooth waters, may afford to have a religion which has very little of covenant grace in it. But those who are called to do business in great waters, when all frames and feelings worth having are gone, and the storm king is abroad in his fury — know what a sense of unspeakable relief it brings to fall back upon a covenant that is ’ordered in all things and sure’. It is delightful to get out of the realm of ifs and perhapses, and just rest upon the wills and the shalls of a God who cannot lie. Thus Ethan before he makes his complaint, calls to remembrance all that Jehovah had pledged by his word to David. You will find the word ’faithfulness’ in Psalms 89:1-2, Psalms 89:5, Psalms 89:8. It sparkles all the way through the psalm. Ethan continually reminds his soul, ’God is faithful; God is faithful.’ This is the sheet anchor of his heart; and, to encourage himself yet more, he calls to remembrance four attributes of God. You have them in the verses which I have selected as our text. ’You have a mighty arm.’ Here is God’s might. ’Justice’, or as it is rendered in the Revised Version, ’righteousness’, ’is the basis of your throne.’ Here is right. And ’Mercy and truth shall go before your face.’ Our God is a God of might, and a God of right, and a God of mercy, and a God of truth. On these four attributes, as on four massive blocks of granite, does the soul venture safely to build her eternal hopes. Let us for a short time look at these four attributes, and then observe, in closing, that these attributes are glorified in God’s covenant of salvation, for that is the teaching of the whole psalm. First, it may encourage our hearts to remember that our God has a mighty arm — He is OMNIPOTENT. There is nothing weak about Jehovah. You see that even his left hand is strong. The psalm tells us this: ’Strong is your hand, and your right hand is exalted.’ The first hand that is mentioned here must be his left, and even that is clothed with might, while his right hand is exalted on high. Brethren and sisters, our God is not a weak being who can make promises — but has no power to perform them. Our God is not some merely well-disposed being who has the heart to do good to his people — but finds himself unable to carry out all the wishes of his heart. His heart is large to devise — and his hand is equally powerful to execute. Our God has all power. ’Once have I heard this, yes, twice, that power belongs unto God.’ This is one of the articles of our creed. God grant that we may never lose sight of it. Now, the power of our God is not a derived power. I think it is Charnock, in his wonderful work on the attributes of God, who brings out the thought that God’s power is an essential force — essential to his very being. All the power that man has is derived. Look at yonder piece of machinery. It is in motion. It works mightily. There is power in every cog of that wheel as it revolves, and yet there is not an atom of essential might. The real power lies beneath, in the engine that drives the whole. There is only power in the cogs, as that power is conveyed by straps and bands. So it is with man. But the power which God has is derived from none. From no source does he gather it. It dwells within himself. He is the Almighty. His power is infinite. No language can set this forth, for language is finite, and the finite must break down when it attempts the infinite. Conceive, if you can, of an aggregate of all power, and when your imagination has done its best, you will not have begun, for there is no limit to Jehovah’s might. Oh, my soul, as these lips speak, fall back upon a power that knows no bounds, and let your heart rejoice itself in a God who has a mighty arm, whose left hand is strong, and whose right hand is highly exalted. If you look into the psalm you will see that the author celebrates the power of God, first, in its destructive work. Look at the tenth verse: ’You have broken Rahab.’ I need hardly tell you that Rahab here means Egypt. To the Jew, Egypt was the very embodiment of might; but Ethan, taught of the Spirit, sings this song, ’You have broken Rahab in pieces as one that is slain.’ There is the enemy lying dead on the battlefield, and the war chariot comes tearing along, and thunders over the corpses, and its wheels grind the dead, and turn them into the mire of the field; and, says Ethan, Egypt has no more ability to resist the power of our God, than has the dead man on the battlefield to stop the career of the chariot of war that rolls over him. ’You scatter Your enemies with Your strong arm.’ This is a very unpopular view of God just now. God has been stripped of almost all his attributes but love and mercy. But turn back, and look at the records of the Book, and you shall see that your God is not one to be trifled with. When he turns out to fight the battle of his people, none can stand against him, for even Rahab is broken in pieces. The next verses introduce a further manifestation of the might of God’s arm, namely, creation. Listen: ’The heavens are yours; the earth also is yours. As for the world and the fullness thereof, you have founded them.’ Creation sings my text, ’You have a mighty arm.’ Give man material to work upon, and I grant you that with wondrous skill he can produce that which delights the eye — but he must have something to begin with. But our God has a mightier arm, for he brings forth wonders from the womb of nothingness. When he took creation work in hand, there was nothing for him to begin with. He said, ’Let there be’ — and matter was. Ethan had not a dash of infidelity about him. Looking up at the heavens and out upon the earth, he exclaimed, ’My God has a mighty arm. How strong is the hand that has reared the pillars of the earth, and stretched the heavens like a curtain!’ And then in that beautiful sentence that follows, he goes on to say that God’s power is seen in the upholding of all that he has made. ’Tabor and Hermon shall rejoice in your name.’ There is not a blade of grass that springs at their feet, or a tree that grows upon their flanks, or a sheep that climbs their summit — which does not testify of the sustaining might of Jehovah’s hand. As we read in the Hebrews, ’He upholds all things by the word of his power.’ Dear brethren, do you know what it is to get into the great deeps of depression? Some of us know what it is to get ’down’ in the fullest and most doleful sense of the word. Let me recommend to such the cordial of Psalms 89:13, ’You have a mighty arm.’ Oh, child of God, your Father is not such an one as you have taken him to be. Do you say, ’Oh — but I have got to the end of my resources’? I reply, It did not take you long to get there, did it? But have you got to the end of your God’s resources? Do you say, ’I am so depressed that I really do not know what to do’? True — but do you not think that God can see what is best to be done for you? Do you say, ’I have done my last stroke to help myself’? Then fall back upon your God. Your arm is weak — but never mind that. Behold, his arm is mighty. Oh, to know how to find a sincere pleasure in being weak, a real joy in being in difficulties, a delight in being hedged up all round — just because it gives one a better opportunity for saying, ’Now, Lord, step in; I trust alone in you. My weakness clings to your unfailing might.’ Now look for a moment at the next point. In Psalms 89:14 you have the attribute of RIGHTEOUSNESS. ’Righteousness and justice are the foundation of Your throne.’ In the East the thrones were often supported by pillars. Do you see how striking is the picture? God has a throne. What does it rest on? God’s throne rests on two mighty columns: righteousness and justice. They are really one. I love that word ’righteousness’. Let me contract it. ’Righteousness’ is ’rightness’. Oh, what a mercy that this comes after Psalms 89:13. Can you conceive a more fearful picture than illimitable power without any sense of right? Is it not one which would defy the genius of a Dante to set it forth? My spirit shrinks from so awful a conception. It outdoes the devil a myriad times. The devil has no righteousness — but, thank God, the devil is not possessed of infinite power. Infinite power without infinite right is something which the mind cannot bear to dwell on. But now let me put the two attributes side by side, and will they not inspire fresh courage in your heart? With infinite might, there is associated infinite right; and the rightness of God is an essential of his nature. He is righteousness itself. All that he does is right. It is not for me to put down my standard of right, and say whether God comes up to that. God is himself the standard. I have only to know what God has done, to find out what is right. God cannot do that which is not right. He must undeify himself before he can do wrong; for, as the fountain, so the stream. He is right; and all his actions are based on righteousness, and are themselves infinitely right. But I pass on to the next attributes, those of MERCY and TRUTH. See how these are mentioned: ’Mercy and truth go before your face.’ Here is an almighty monarch, and he is on his throne, and that throne is based on righteousness. Now the monarch is going forth, and as he goes, he has two trumpeters marching before him, and these are mercy and truth. Each trumpeter gives a blast, to let us know that the King is coming, and the king never comes out without these two, for ’All the ways of the Lord are mercy and truth.’ How do they go before his face? They do so in the way of warning. When the Almighty King rises to do his strange work of judgment, mercy sounds the alarm. The King is coming. Beware! Flee! God never strikes anybody, without giving him fair warning. For a hundred and twenty years mercy blew her trumpet through the lips of Noah, and warned the world of a coming deluge. But, mark it, mercy is not alone. Mercy gives the warning, and truth fulfills it — for the flood did come. Mercy, you see, will give a fair warning; but be not deluded, and say not that, because God gives a warning, therefore the threat shall not be fulfilled. Mercy says, ’Be warned’, and, if the sinner neglects the warning of mercy, truth comes and fulfills the threat. But, on the other hand, mercy proclaims the promise — and then truth comes and performs it. Oh, it is beautiful to see these two walking together. Proud sinner, are you here tonight? Remember that, though mercy is warning, mercy does not stand alone. Every threat which God has uttered — truth shall fulfill. Oh, poor anxious soul, you think that the promise of mercy is almost too good to be true. You need have no such alarm, for side by side with mercy promising is truth performing. Do you see the beautiful picture? We have might and right, mercy and truth — a heavenly quartette. Now, for a minute or two, I will ask for very careful attention, more especially on the part of those of you who are not saved and know that you are not, and those who are not quite sure whether you are saved or not. Oh, to have a clear and intelligent comprehension of God’s way of salvation. I have prayed much before coming here that God would make this part of our sermon the means of bringing some into perfect rest, and I think that he will; but, at least, will you give me your ears, and let me have your attention on this point. All these four attributes of might, right, mercy, and truth are glorified in God’s plan of salvation. To begin with, you will find all four meeting in Christ — all four meeting in the person of the Lord Jesus. In Psalms 85:1-13 you have two or three very remarkable verses, which I think cannot be looked into carefully without at once revealing the person of the Lord Jesus. You read, ’Surely his salvation is near those who fear him, who glory may dwell in our land. Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other. Truth shall spring out of the earth, and righteousness shall look down from Heaven. Righteousness shall go before him.’ Oh, it is a person, then, that is spoken of. ’Righteousness shall go before him, and shall set us in the way of his steps.’ These attributes are all meeting. Here is mercy kissing truth. Here is righteousness embracing peace. Where do we find all these attributes, seemingly at variance one with the other, thus harmonizing and blending? The answer is, ’In an incarnate God.’ Mercy and truth kiss each other in him. Truth springs out of the ground, and righteousness looks down from Heaven. All the attributes of God meet in him, not to wrangle or to war — but to sweetly blend. Bear with me while I remind you that Jesus Christ himself is the mighty arm. ’You have a mighty arm.’ I believe that Jesus Christ himself is intended here. Christ is the mighty arm of Jehovah. He is ’the arm of the Lord’. As such he works out salvation, a salvation that is characterized by these three things — righteousness, mercy, and truth. Righteousness, for, in Isaiah 42:21, you have these words: ’The Lord is well pleased for his righteousness’ sake. He will magnify the law, and make it honorable.’ The salvation of God is not at the expense of law. God has not simply overlooked sin. He says not to the sinner, ’Well, I will overlook it all. We will not say anything more about it. I feel drawn out in sympathy to you. I will close my eyes to your sin.’ No, for his righteousness’ sake, the Lord has magnified the law and made it honorable. In whom? In the person of his Son. If you want to know what the righteousness of God is like — look at the suffering, bleeding Son of God. Behold in him how much God values righteousness. His throne of mercy has righteousness and justice for its basis. In Romans 3:25, you read concerning Christ, ’whom God has set forth to be a atoning sacrifice through faith in his blood’. Now note — ’to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God; to declare, I say, his righteousness, that he might be just and the justifier of him that believes in Jesus.’ God’s salvation is based upon his righteousness. If you had gone into the Holy Place of the tabernacle of old, you would have seen there an oblong box, on the top of which there was a golden slab, and over the golden slab were two cherubim; and if you had asked Aaron, ’What is that golden slab?’ he would have told you, ’That is the mercy-seat where God meets with us.’ True but supposing that you were to ask another question, ’On what does the mercy-seat rest?’ Aaron, had he been allowed to do so, would have lifted up the golden lid, and said, ’Look in’; and you would have found the two tables of stone with the law of God engraved upon them. Mercy rested on an honored law. God met man at the mercy-seat — but the mercy-seat had for its basis righteousness and justice. I need not tell you how mercy and truth come into God’s salvation. You all know that. Mercy runs and seeks the sinner; mercy brings him home; mercy kisses him; mercy clothes him; mercy takes him into her house and feeds him; mercy puts him among her children; and mercy sets the bells of Heaven ringing because he is saved. Yes — but truth has her part. God has kept his word in every part of this salvation. God said that sin could only bring the penalty of death. Has God kept his word? Yes. God never relinquished the penalty. Behold Jesus lying cold and still in the tomb, and then deny it if you can. God has kept his word. Even when the substitute is his own Son, the penalty is not relaxed. I praise God tonight for a salvation that rests on righteousness, honors truth, and sends mercy singing for joy around the world. Perhaps some of you have on your bookshelves at home Ralph Erskine’s sermons. If so I would advise you to take them down and begin to read them tonight. See whether you have that well-known sermon on Psalms 85:10 : ’Mercy and truth have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.’ I know that if you begin to read it you will have to read it right through, for there is a strange charm about it. He works out the idea that all the attributes of God kept meeting in the life of Jesus. He pictures how they all met in the manger. They look at the young babe, and they begin to shake hands. They are all reconciled in him. They met together in Gethsemane, and Ralph Erskine puts it thus (if my memory serves me rightly), that righteousness and mercy and peace so wanted to kiss each other, that they pressed Christ between them until great drops of blood fell to the ground. Righteousness and peace did kiss each other in the breaking heart of Jesus. Their lips met there. And as he hangs upon the tree, righteousness looks up and says, ’I am satisfied!’ And peace, mercy, and truth all group themselves round about that dying one, and embrace each other as they sing, ’We all meet in him!’ Dear sinner, the salvation which I offer you tonight in my Master’s name is not one which rests upon some frames and feelings of your own: ’Blessed are the people that know the joyful sound. In your name shall they rejoice all the day, and in your righteousness shall they be exalted.’ Does some soul say, ’Oh, sir, tell me how I can be saved’? I will tell you. Put your faith where God has placed your salvation. You will find that in Psalms 89:19, God says, ’I have laid help on one that is mighty.’ God has put all the help that poor sinners need upon his own mighty One. Go and rest your faith just where God has placed your help. Go, poor, helpless, and weak as you are, and say, ’O my God, where you have put my help I now put my trust; and on Christ’s mighty arm do I now put my hand!’ A guilty, weak, and helpless worm On Your kind arms I fall. Be Thou my strength, my righteousness, My Jesus, and my all. May God bring you to this trust! Trust him, trust him, and you shall go out of this building singing, ’You have a mighty arm — it has rescued me! Strong is your left hand, for it has grasped me. Highly exalted is your right hand, for it has lifted me up from the pit!’ Go, trust the salvation that is based on righteousness — buttressed by truth, and crowned with mercy. The Lord grant that it may be so, for his name’s sake! Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 4: S. A NATIONAL CHURCH IS UNSCRIPTURAL ======================================================================== A National Church is Unscriptural Archibald G. Brown, October 10th, 1869, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Jesus answered: My kingdom is not of this world. If My kingdom were of this world, then My servants would be fighting so that I would not be handed over to the Jews; but as it is, My kingdom is not of this realm." John 18:36 "Jesus answered." Whom did he answer? Why, that miserable, vacillating, time-serving Pilate, who, prompted by men with shrewder intellects than his own, had asked our Master the cunning question, "Are you King of the Jews?" A question better adapted to the ends of the prosecution can hardly be imagined; its answer, whether in the negative or affirmative, was equally surrounded by difficulties. In the manner which Pilate meant, the answer would be ’No;’ but in a sense which never entered the head of the governor of Judea, the answer was ’Yes.’ To have given therefore an unqualified negative or an unexplained affirmative, would have led to misunderstanding on the part of friends and foes alike. To have answered the question with a bare ’No’ would have appeared at first blush to be giving the lie to many of his previous statements in which he had claimed regal power. And to have simply answered ’Yes,’ would have seemed to give grounds for the accusation that he was a competitor for Caesar’s throne. Christ therefore, who in the language of Paul, witnessed "good confession before Pontius Pilate," 1 Timothy 6:13 gave an answer glittering with the wisdom of divinity. He accepts the title of king, with the explanation that his kingdom is "not of this world," and therefore he cannot possibly be a rival one to Rome. He repudiates the idea of his kingdom being one of earthly state and pomp, or having anything to do with earthly governments. It was established by no imperial legions, nor buttressed up by sword and spear. Its throne was not in some proud, wealthy capital — but in the hearts of all his subjects. Its laws were not the acts of some imperial worldly parliament — but the loving utterances of his own lips. This declaration of the spirituality of Christ’s kingdom is as true in the nineteenth century as when it first fell from the Master’s lips, and the necessity for it is greater. For then, the very thought of union between the Christian church and state had never been entertained by the subjects of his realm; while now, unhappily, it is an accomplished fact. There never was greater necessity than in the present day for declaring in the most unmistakable language, the spirituality of Christ’s church. There is a need to bring it, with all its outward pomp and show, face to face with the words spoken by the Savior in Pilate’s Hall, "My kingdom is not of this world." If this evening should give utterance to things that appear stern, and lacking in the spirit of charity towards other brethren in Christ, believe me, they are so in appearance only. It is quite possible to love the men — while you hate and denounce the system with which they are connected. And I for one cannot but love and honor many in the Established Church (the Church of England); nor can I ever forget that the man who was the means of leading me to Jesus was then, and is still, in her communion. Besides which, much of what I want to say will apply with equal force to many who term themselves dissenters, and who yet seem to forget that "nonconformity" is something more than a mere distinguishing title. Many of our churches are pandering too much to the standards and whims of the world, losing their power for testimony, by trying to become all things to all men, if by any means they may please all. I feel I will need much help from on high in treading upon what some would term dangerous ground — help that I may not needlessly wound the feelings of any, and help that I may be able fearlessly to proclaim what with all my heart I believe to be the truth, though that proclamation may condemn the system and practice of many. I will endeavor first and very briefly to try and explain what Christ here means by his kingdom. And secondly, direct your attention to what is said about the kingdom, namely, that it is "not of this world." 1. What does Christ mean by the term "My Kingdom?" I will be as brief as possible in trying to explain this definition, as I am anxious to devote most of my time and strength to the second division. It means, the empire Christ came to found on earth, or in other words the Church which he purchased with his blood. Although our Lord came on earth as man, and a poor, sorrowful, despised one at that — yet he came commissioned from Heaven to found an empire which would outlast and outlive all powers and dominions then existing. His deepest humiliation laid the deepest foundation for his future glory. Every step he took downward, only added power and stability to the massive foundation of the kingdom he came to found. He laid the foundation in agony, and cemented it with his blood. Upon that immovable foundation, he reared his heavenly temple, composed of living stones, and which is destined to grow until the last elect person will have been gathered in — the last stone raised upon the walls, with shoutings of "Grace! Grace!" The empire of Christ, consists of those who own allegiance to him. It was once far otherwise with them; with the weapons of the rebel grasped tightly in their hands, and with hearts burning with Hell’s hatred, they blasphemously shouted "We will not have this man to reign over us!" They spurned his easy yoke; they scorned his gentle laws; and they cast off from them his loving cords. They were of the world, and therefore they hated the kingdom that condemned it. But now all has changed. When the hour of the "day of his power" struck, omnipotent grace came forth to war. With a single stroke the day was won. Overpowered by the might of love, the rebels threw down their arms at the foot of Calvary, and tearfully cried for mercy. They found it full and free; and then with gratitude that knew no bounds, they offered themselves as loyal subjects to the one they once despised. Lovingly their Lord received them and enrolled them as the members of his kingdom. And now listen to the shout that rises from all quarters of his wide domain. "All hail! All hail! King Jesus! We acknowledge you to be the Lord. We bow before your scepter. We worship at your throne. Bring forth the royal diadem and crown him Lord of all!" The empire of Jesus consists of those in whose hearts he reigns. In every human breast there is by nature some hideous hateful Dagon — some proud usurper of the Savior’s throne. But in the hearts of those who are included in the kingdom, this Dagon has been hurled with ignominy to the ground. The ark of the Lord has entered, and before, it the hideous idol has fallen. Christ has come with kingly tread, ascended the steps, and taken his rightful position. The heart’s affections bow to him, and the whole man is under his control, while his daily language is, "Nothing save Jesus would I know; My friend and my companion, Thou! Lord, seize my heart, assert Your right, And put all other loves to flight." The kingdom of Jesus is, as we have already said, his church. And what is the Church? Strange that such a question should need to be asked or answered! Yet it is not more strange than true; for no word is more wretchedly misunderstood than this simple one of Church. If you ask some what they understand by the word Church, they will point to some big building with spire or tower, ornamented with a glittering cross or a less pretentious weather rooster, and say "that is the Church." God forbid that it should be, for it is most certainly of this world. The glorious word "Church," is never more degraded or ill-used than when applied to a heap of bricks and mortar! It may be a parish building — but a parish church never. And here I would utter my protest against the fashionable error that is fast gaining ground in some of our dissenting communities. The age is too respectable for old fashioned "Meeting Houses," but on every hand we have Congregational churches and Baptist churches springing up, prostituting a name belonging only to a blood-bought throng, to the work of the bricklayer. The building is no more the Church, than the house is the family; and it is nonsense if not blasphemy to call it so. Nor is the Church a mere society. To hear some talk of "forming a church," one would imagine that it was a kind of religious building society that only needed its manager in the shape of the minister, and its directors by the name of deacons. The moment we place the Church on the level of a society, we do it foul dishonor. The Church moreover does not consist of a visible union of believers. A Church may — but the Church does not. There are many who are in membership with our churches, who are not in Christ’s church; there are many whose names are to be found in the church books in the vestry — but are not to be found anywhere in God’s great Church Book of Life. What is the Church then? The Church is a chosen, redeemed, blood-bought, blood-washed multitude, confined to no country, race or climate; to be found in all lands, among all nations, speaking all languages; to be found in connection with all classes, and in all denominations, and many in no denomination at all. The Church consists of all who love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity, and are, as sinners, trusting alone in him for salvation. Perhaps no better definition of the Church can be found, than in the following lines of an unknown poet: "A band of faithful men Met for God’s worship in some humble room, Or, screened from foes by midnight’s star-lit gloom, On hill side or lone glen, To hear the counsels of his holy word, Pledged to each other and their common Lord. These, few as they may be, Compose a Church, such as in pristine age Defied the tyrant’s steel, the bigot’s rage; For when but two or three, Whatever the place in faith’s communion meet, There, with Christ present, is a Church, complete." Yes, friends, the place has nothing to do with the Church. It does not matter whether it meets beneath the stupendous dome of a cathedral — or in the dim transepts of the abbey; the gothic building — or unfurnished barn; in the dark catacombs beneath the city — or under the spreading boughs of the forest tree. In all places it is equally "the Church," the kingdom of our Lord. One thought more, and I will close this first division of our subject. The kingdom of Christ shall last forever. Will you turn to the second chapter of Daniel and read with me the forty-fourth verse. You will there find a glorious prophecy concerning the kingdom. "And in the days of these kings the God of Heaven shall set up a kingdom which shall never be destroyed; and the kingdom shall not be left to other people — but it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, and it shall stand forever." Unlike other empires, age shall never decay its strength, nor shall time cause it to become defunct. The glory of other empires has faded into insignificance. Where is the martial pomp and prowess of Rome, before whose eagle banner the world trembled? Where is the magnificence of vast Babylon, or the brilliant influence of Greece? Gone! But the kingdom set up by God abides still, with undiminished glory and ever-increasing influence. Its sun has not gone down nor reached its meridian height. It has stood unshaken amidst the crash of empires and the fall of dynasties. And should the day ever dawn when, according to an eloquent writer, some New Zealander shall sit upon the broken arch of London Bridge and view the silent ruins of this myriad-peopled city — then shall the kingdom of Christ have upon it the dew of its youth. And when this world, with all its proud domains shall have been consumed in the final conflagration, then transplanted into Heaven, shall this kingdom shine, the only one that has outlived the general wreck of time. II. Let us now consider what is said concerning this Kingdom. It is "not of this world" — that is, it is not worldly. 1. Christ’s Kingdom is not worldly in its CONSTITUTION or RELATIONSHIPS. It is purely spiritual, and intended to be entirely separate from the world, and devoid of all that pomp and grandeur which is usually associated with kingdoms. Let us look at this great truth in detail. The first question arising from the idea of a kingdom is, who is its king? Our answer is — one not of this world. In our text, the Savior claims the kingdom as his own, and thereby teaches the truth that He, and He alone is its king. For anyone else to assume imperial power, or in any way whatever hold the reins of the government of this kingdom in his hands, is to commit an act of high treason against "the King immortal and invisible!" 1 Timothy 1:17. The moment an earthly monarch puts his hand on the ark of the Lord — we declare he is exceeding his jurisdiction, and touching that over which he has no control whatever. As subjects of the realm of Christ, we acknowledge HIS Headship, and HIS only. "One army of the living God, To His command we bow," and we bow to no one else. As soldiers of his army, we will bend to him the knee, until the plumes of our helmets mingle with the dust; but to others, be they King or Queen, we may not, must not, will not bow in anything pertaining to this kingdom. Let us be zealous friends, of the glory of Christ in this particular, and acknowledge no other Head than Him, and recognize no other jurisdiction than His. The lack of this, is the crying evil in the so-called Church of England. Worse than any other of its errors — for it is the foundation of them all — is its union with, or rather subjection to the state. The reigning monarch of England, whether good, bad, or indifferent — is in truth its head and ruler. The bishop appoints the incumbent, the premier appoints the bishop, and the throne appoints the premier — and then incumbent and bishop declare that Christ’s kingdom "is not of this world!" Treason to the kingship of Christ, is stamped upon the brow of "Church and State." But let us go a step further. Not only is the King himself not of this world — but when he came, he came in a manner not of this world. He was born in no stately palace — but in a lowly manger — for there was no room even in an inn for the Monarch of this empire; common swaddling clothes were his royal robes. To humble shepherds, his heralds announced his coming. His courtiers were rough fishermen. The only triumphant entrance he ever made into Jerusalem, was made sitting "meek and lowly" upon the foal of an donkey, while the children shouted his praises. He only wore a crown once — and then it was one of thorns! His hands but once grasped a scepter — and then it was a reed given to him in derision! The only exaltation the world ever gave him — was upon the cross, and his grave was the gift of charity. Let then the Church be like its head, and learn from him to forego the emoluments, the pomp, and distinctions of the world. The King was not of this world; then shame to the subjects who accept what he refused. 2. The INSTITUTION of Christ’s Kingdom was not of this world. The church has no cause to tip its hat to anyone. It is under no debt of obligation to any mortal man. It is the child of God — not the offspring of earthly royalty or wisdom. Its existence it owes alone to him mentioned in the verse we just read, "the God of Heaven shall set up a kingdom." He set it up, and did that without the help of man. Monarchs did not found it. Princes did not form it, nor is it the creation of a state. Neither the world nor the world’s potentates gave birth to it. In origin, it is most emphatically "not of this world." So far is the world from aiding its institution, that it has been set up in spite of the world’s most bitter opposition. Had it been of the world, then the world would have loved its own — but as it came from above, the world hated it. Had the world been able to have its own way, it would long before this have stamped the church out with the iron heel of persecution, dripping with the blood of the innocents. In all ages, the church has been the bush burning with fire, and the only reason for the fact that it has never been consumed is that God is in the bush. Do you want to know what the world has done for the church? I reply, "It has done its best to exterminate it!" Let the amphitheater of Rome, with its sand clotted with the blood of martyrs, tell how much the church owes its existence to the world’s kind forbearance and help. Let those silent Alpine peaks find tongue, and tell how their eternal snows were stained to a gory red with the heart’s-blood of the brave Waldenses. Let the hideous walls of the Catholic Inquisition confess how they have rung and re-echoed with the shrieks of racked and tortured Christians. Let old Smithfield itself recount the tale of those human bonfires, kindled by the world’s malice. The united testimony of all is this: that Christ’s kingdom in its origin is "not of this world!" 3. The SUBJECTS of Christ’s Kingdom are not worldly. Of every single man, woman, or child, who is truly a subject of Christ and a member of Christ’s spiritual kingdom, it may be said, "He or she is not of this world." All the members of Christ’s church have been "born again, not of corruptible seed — but of incorruptible, by the word of God, which lives and abides forever." 1 Peter 1:23. No man is born by nature, as a child of Christ’s spiritual kingdom; if it were so, the kingdom would at once be of this world, which it is not. To be a subject of an earthly empire requires only one birth; but to be a subject of Christ’s kingdom requires two. Every child of God has in him that which all the world could never give. He is an unearthly man, and it is his mission to make it day by day more evident that he and the world are opposed to each other in spirit and practice. He is the "salt of the earth;" that is, to counteract its putridity, not to blend with it. He is a "light in the world" — to illumine its darkness, not to be lost in it. Moreover it is not in the power of man to introduce a subject into this kingdom; for, if it were so, then again, the kingdom would be of this world, which it is not. The national church may declare in its service that the child is by baptism made an inheritor of the kingdom, and some dissenters may imagine their baptism in riper years has enrolled them among its subjects; but they are both miserably mistaken — as they will find out to their cost, if they are not born again, and thus brought into the kingdom by a way that is not of this world. Search Christ’s realm, I mean His Church from end to end, and you will fail to discover a single unconverted man. Written over the portals in indelible characters is, "Unless you are converted, and become as little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of Heaven!" To keep the visible church pure, is an imperative duty; and although terribly painful, it is far better to exercise discipline — than to have as a recognized member, a character known to be of the world. But what can be said of a church which, like the national one, embraces profligates and saints alike, and has in her communion men whose utter unfitness for church fellowship, is beyond a shadow of a doubt! Only one thing can be said, and that is, that such a church is in direct contradiction to the teaching of this text! 4. The DEFENSE and SUPPORT of Christ’s Kingdom is not worldly. Just as the church owes nothing to kings and parliament for its origin — so it is equally independent of them for its defense and support. It requires no imperial legislation to maintain its existence, nor armies to subdue its foes. It thrives best when left alone, and grows the fastest when unaided by the world. As sure as ever the shield of the state is held over it, it languishes and pines. The church has never thrived and flourished through the world’s assistance — but against it. The influence of the world has never been an atmosphere in which the church has grown a healthy life. In fact, it was when she carried her life in her hand, that she flourished the most. It was the blood of the martyrs, not the smiles of government, that was her seed. The church that nestles under the wing of any state is only smothered — not strengthened by the warmth. A church pioneered by the sword and buttressed by a government — is the weakest church on earth, and one that is doomed to die. Cast your eye but across the channel and see in poor Ireland’s experience, how utter a failure is that church which depends for its existence on the money and patronage of a state. Well may the church exclaim, "Save me from my friends — I can deliver myself from my enemies." If the world were to withdraw tomorrow all its patronage from the Church of England, it would be none the worse — but so much the better for the loss, for the kingdom "is not of this world." 5. The LAWS of Christ’s Kingdom are not worldly. On this point I need not dwell, as I have already said as much when I tried to prove its King was not. The laws which are binding on the church are only those which have been framed in Heaven, and are transcribed into God’s statute book, the Bible; and we laugh all others to scorn. I can hardly imagine a more humiliating sight than a state parliament, discussing and debating and deciding the affairs of a church, as if it were merely some railway company. Christ’s kingdom is so entirely spiritual, and so absolutely separate from the world, that to attempt to govern it by worldly laws is as impossible as it is wicked. "My kingdom is not of this world!" therefore the world has no ability to meddle with its government. 6. The COMMERCE of Christ’s Kingdom is not worldly. No kingdom on the face of the whole earth has such a commerce, or rejoices in such a trade, as the kingdom of our Lord. It traffics in the costliest and choicest things, and all its merchants are merchant princes. Its ships are never wrecked. Its bank, for it has but one, possesses wealth that is infinite, and therefore can never break. None who have ever engaged in her commerce have been known to fail. Her trade is nearly all imports, and that is on an enormous scale. Morning, noon and night, indeed, every hour of the day, her ships are returning to her ports laden to the water’s edge with untold wealth. True, she only trades with one port — but that one is sufficient to supply the needs of the whole kingdom, and make the fortune of every subject. To drop the metaphor, or rather to explain it — the church’s commerce is "not of this world." The port with which she trades is the port of Heaven. Her vessels are her prayers, some larger and some smaller, yet all equally insured against shipwreck; the faintest sigh as well as the most eloquent petition reaches the ear of God. All come back laden with blessing, for never was praying breath spent in vain. The costly, precious wares she is constantly receiving, consist of treasures such as pardon — peace — joy — contentment — and holiness — all of which are "precious things of Heaven." Deuteronomy 33:13. Her exports consists of thanksgiving — gratitude — love — devotion. But O, did I not say very rightly that her trade is nearly all import? What poor returns we make for the mercies that are literally heaped upon us. How lightly laden are our ships of praise, how poor and weak are our highest love and deepest gratitude! "I cannot serve Him as I ought; No works have I to boast; Yet would I glory in the thought, That I should owe Him most!" Now you will see, dear friends, that the commerce we have just described is not of this world, nor does it deal with the sordid things of earth. Far different is the commerce in which the Established Church, which is of this world, is engaged — I mean the hateful trade in "livings." One has now but to look into the columns of a church newspaper, to see "living" after "living" advertised as mere business speculations; while sometimes the beauty of the scenery and the smallness of the parish are mentioned as enhancing the value of the property. Such merchandising is a crying shame to England, and a blot on her name. It is impossible to use language too strong and scathing in the denunciation of so infamous a trade. There is not a member of the established church present who (if his heart is right with God) will not join me in the prayer, that this great disgrace may be swept from off the land. The church is not to engage in such commerce as this, which is nothing else than a "trade in souls." Let her remember that our Lord said, "My kingdom is not of this world." 7. The PRECEPTS of Christ’s Kingdom are not worldly. The church’s un-worldliness shines transcendently in this. "Do unto others — as they do unto you" is the maxim of the world. "Do unto others — as you would have them do unto you" is the precept of Christ’s kingdom. "Pay him back in his own coin" is the precept of the world. "Pay him back in Heaven’s coinage" is the maxim of the church, and that coinage is as follows, "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he thirsts, give him drink. Do not be overcome by evil — but overcome evil with good." "One good turn deserves another" is the proverb of the world." "One bad turn deserves a good one" is the teaching of the kingdom. "Resist and retaliate" are the mottos of the world. "If he strikes you on the one cheek, turn to him the other also" is the command of our King. "Every man for himself," says the world. "Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others!" says the word. Surely we do not need to give other illustrations to prove that the precepts of Christ’s kingdom go directly "against the grain" of the human heart. They declare in a voice too clear to be mistaken, that the kingdom and its subjects are "not of this world." 8. The POMP and SPLENDOR of Christ’s Kingdom is not worldly. We do not say that it has none, for it has. It is a kingdom of kings, and a nation of priests. Every subject is arrayed in royal robes, and the poorest is an "uncrowned monarch!" Aaron, as he entered the holiest of all, was not more magnificently arrayed in priestly robes, than the weakest and most unknown believer. They are a "royal priesthood" 1 Peter 2:9. But their glory is not a glory that can be seen with human eye. Their splendor is not of this world. You may pass them in the street, and only see the outward signs of poverty and want — and yet they are "heirs" to an eternal throne! They are to be recognized by no outward pomp, nor distinguished by loud-sounding titles. The kingdom which is of this world may deck its priests in finest millinery, and call them by the pompous titles of Reverend — Very Reverend — Lord Bishop — and I know not what besides; but by doing so, it only condemns itself, and shows what little union it has with the kingdom which is spiritual, not worldly. The kingdom which is from above is content with the glory that Heaven gives it, and not seek to array itself with the importance and grandeur of a world which it professes to renounce. 9. The WEAPONS of Christ’s Kingdom are not worldly. The verse seems to teach this fact most clearly, for our Lord says, "if my kingdom were of this world, then my servants would fight, that I would not be delivered to the Jews." We are not allowed to pioneer the way for our religion by the spear, nor enforce its truths by the sword, as Mohammed did his lies. The rack and stake are not to be our arguments as they were Roman Catholicism’s. The power we have to bring to bear upon the masses is a moral, not a physical one. The weapons placed in our hands to wield are spiritual, not carnal — and their very spirituality is their power. "The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ!" 2 Corinthians 10:4-5. I would to God that his subjects would be content to take their weapons from his armory, and not attempt to fight the Devil with his own weapons. The Gospel in its simplicity is the ram’s horn before which the walls of this world’s Jericho will fall. We have no time to dwell in detail upon the worldly instrumentality too often employed by the church. But the truth still remains that the weapons destined by God to pull down sin’s strongholds are spiritual, not carnal. And now to CLOSE, let me say in two or three sentences only, that this subject has a personal bearing upon all present. If Christ’s kingdom is a spiritual one — then am I a subject of it? Have I ever known that inward spiritual change which alone gives entrance to it? Mere obedience to the outward routine and forms of religion will never save. The world can give that. Mere union with a visible portion of the church, is no proof that you are a member of the church. Christ’s kingdom is spiritual, not visible, and it requires a spiritual union. Let the prayer of all our hearts be this: "Lord Jesus be our King. Enroll us among your subjects; and may we all at last be found in that glorious kingdom of yours which is "not of this world." God grant it may be so, for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 5: S. A NEW YEAR'S SERMON! ======================================================================== A New Year’s Sermon! 1871 and 1872 Archibald G. Brown, Sunday, December 31st, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "The believers from there, when they heard of us, came as far as the Forum of Appius and Three Taverns to meet us. On seeing them, Paul thanked God and took courage." Acts 28:15 Through the infinite mercy of God, our eyes this morning behold the light of the closing day of another year. Eighteen hundred and seventy-one will have run its course in a few hours, and if God spares us, we hope to greet with song "another year." There is something wonderfully solemn in thus passing these milestones on the road of life. They compel thought in the most careless of us, and the whole world seems hushed as with measured step it draws near the boundary line — crosses it — then leaves it in the rear. It is in these seasons that we realize the power and pace of time. How resistless its course is, never for a moment halting or slackening in its forward march. Whether we wake or sleep, work or rest, live or die — time moves on the same. For the one to whom it brings liberty, it does not hasten its step — nor does it become tardy for the wretch that is condemned to die. Ignoring all respect of persons — time deals alike with prince and pauper. All are hurried on by its waveless tide at equal rate. It makes no exception. Like the God who gave it birth, and shall decree its death, "None can stay its hand or say: What are you doing?" Willing or unwilling, with brightening hope or deepening gloom, all are swept along the stream of time. Remarkable as its might — is its speed; and it is not more remarkable than it is deceptive. Marked by its shorter courses, time appears to be slow of step. How long often, is the minute of suspense! How never-ending seem the sleepless hours of the night! How slow it creeps to the watchers of the sick and dying! But do not take time by the minute or the hour — but by the day, and how accelerated its speed becomes. We seem always rising, or retiring to our rest. Measure it by the week, and it is quicker still. How short the interval between the days of worship. Reckon it by the month, and we find that it runs. Note it by the year, and we find that it flies. Bear me witness, friends, that it seems but the other day when we watched the past year gently die, and hailed with holy hymn the birth of this one. As we stood upon the threshold of the present year, far away in the distance seemed its close. But lo! it has arrived, and the months of work and anxiety, joy and grief, are at an end — and we now reckon its life by the hour. With what feelings shall we close one year and anticipate another? "Mixed!" will be the answer of all of us. Self-reproach will blend with adoring gratitude, and joy will contend with sorrow. Our experience will depend on the view we take. If we look at it as God’s year — then praise, and only praise, will be our employment. If we regard it as our own year — then shame, and only shame, can be the result. The latter view is perhaps best taken in moments of private meditation. There are many matters for humiliation that are best for secret confession and repentance, and would ill suit public worship. Let us alone review our own year — but together commemorate God’s year with us. The text I have selected, expresses I think in the happiest terms, the feelings with which we should look back upon 1871, and look forward to 1872. With thankfulness and courage. The words were uttered under the following circumstances: Paul was being taken to Rome as a prisoner. The journey was made by sea as far as Puteoli, where on landing he was greeted by many of the brethren; and through the courtesy of Julius the centurion, he was allowed to remain a few days. From there they continued the journey on foot. The news of Paul’s approach preceded him, and the church of Christ at Rome determined to send a deputation to meet and welcome him. Part met him at Appii Forum, and part at the Three Taverns, both of these being towns that lay in the Appian Way to Rome. This act of kindness greatly cheered the apostle, so he thanked God and took courage, for the future that yet was shrouded in darkness, except that he knew that "bonds and imprisonment awaited him." Let us now, by God’s help, make the apostle’s words our own; and first, 1. Let us thank God for 1871. Here a difficulty meets us at the very outset; a difficulty not arising from lack of matter — but from a superabundance of material. Thank God for the past year? Where shall we begin, and where shall we leave off? If the mercies of one day exceed our thought and imagination — then how then shall we include a year in our grateful remembrance? To sing a worthy song (even if we were able) upon every kind of blessing received, would require all our time, indeed, eternity itself. We will therefore be able only to touch each string in the great harp, and trust that it will quiver and vibrate with melody long after this morning’s service is concluded. Should we not thank God that our lives have been preserved another year? I fear that the mercy of spared life is much overlooked. So continuously are the moments given, that we grow prone to look at ourselves more as freeholders than tenants at will. All men expect to live — but few expect to die. We form our plans for weeks and months ahead, as if no sudden stoppage of the machinery of life was within the range of possibility. But let us pause and think. During the year so nearly closed, tens of thousands have fought the last battle and been laid in the dust. They entered upon it with as little expectation of it being their dying year, as we did. To them, the months spread out as full of expectation, as they do to us. But all was shadowed in a moment. With scarcely a warning, the King of Terrors stood before them. Not life but death, was their portion. Before his glittering axe they fell, and with them a thousand hopes and plans for future happiness. We are spared, and on the last day of the year we are enabled to review its months. O, matchless mercy and long suffering grace!! Throughout another year the pendulum of life has given its noiseless beats. Throughout another year the pulse has throbbed without a pause. Throughout another year the silver cord has borne the strain, and the sleep of night has ended in the light of day. Is this no mercy? Shall God have no praise — and shall we accept it without a song? Surely not. "Strange that a harp of a thousand strings} Should keep in tune so long!" During the present year every ticking second has been the last on earth to someone! Yet out of the well-near countless number who have fallen, we have been exempted. Brethren and Sisters, for hearts that beat and eyes that see this day — let us thank God. But here many of us may add a note, and lift the strain yet higher. Not only has life been spared — but health has been enjoyed. To multitudes, this year has been a living death; yes, death itself has often been desired as a friend. To them it has been appointed to have days of pain and nights of weariness. Slowly the months have dragged along, only noticed and remembered by varying intensity of suffering. Life to such people has been robbed of its charm. Whether the freshness of Spring — the glory of Summer — or the changing tints of Autumn time — it is all one to them. One room has contained all the views they have seen this year, and their only "change" has been to turn on the bed. I could mention some, even of our own number who, commencing this year in sickness, are still found on its closing day as prostrate as they were at first. They are still at morning saying, "I wish it were evening," and at evening sighing, "I wish it were morning." It has not been so with us. Passing pains and transient sickness may have fallen to our share — but most of them are now forgotten. They were only noticed through their contrast with our general days. How few Sabbaths have many of us lost through sickness — not half as many as we have lost by our soul’s worldliness. Thank God then, that not only has the life current flowed — but it has flowed strongly. Joyously and free from pain has the complex mechanism of this wondrous frame performed its work yet another year. Bless God for health — it is His choicest earthly gift. Another note will blend in harmony here, namely, prosperity granted. Not only has there been the strength to work — but there has been the work to employ the strength. Perhaps the year was entered with many a dark foreboding thought. Dismal scenes were conjured up in the mind, that had well-near the power of reality in their depressing influence. You saw the shop closed, the business ruined — and yourself and family face to face with poverty or with eating the unsavory bread of charity. Difficulties seemed to be closing in around you, and you prophesied that this year the storm must burst. Well, how is it now? Far better than your brightest hopes — and a very contrast to your darkest fears. God has been Jehovah-Jireh to you. Though often in straits, you have been helped through them all; and though no great luxuries have crowned your table — yet has it never lacked the meal at the appointed hour. Though far from wealthy, you find you can spare something for the poorer brethren, and give your little to the work of God. Let us seek, dear friends, to have quick eyes in discerning the Lord’s hand in our so-called "every day mercies." The smallest comfort grows great in value, when viewed as our Father’s gift. The next string I will touch has sweet music of its own, and it should call forth the deepest "thank God" from every breast. It is home mercy. Home! Home!! Surely, among all the gifts of Heaven, there is none more beautiful, or more worthy of our grateful praise — than a home where kindness, love, and cheerfulness abide. It has been well said that to Adam, Paradise was home — and to the holy among his descendants, home is Paradise. He who has a happy home can never be poor, or lack a theme for grateful song. "Better than gold is a peaceful home, Where all the fireside charities come; The shrine of love and the Heaven of life, Hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife. However humble the home may be, Or tried with sorrow by Heaven’s decree, The blessings that never were bought or sold, And center there, are better than gold." And how has it been in the home during the present year? "Thank God" many of you can reply, "it has been well." The same faces that smiled upon you on New Year’s day — smiled upon you with as fresh a smile this morning. No gap has been made in the happy circle. The same number gathered round the hearth on Christmas eve, as on the year before. And better even than preserved life — is preserved love and unity, and this you have. The joy of the home has not diminished nor has its charm grown weaker. Dear friends, if it is so, then I charge you to "thank God." You have such a possession as many would give their all to call their own. There are this morning homes still wrapped in gloom, and a gloom that is deepened by the very season of the year. The little chair that is empty, and the little toys that are treasured, tell their own story. In other homes, a deeper shade than bereavement ever casts, hangs heavily; for if the home is not the source of purest of joys — it is the source of deepest misery! Think of your home with all its mercies, and "thank God" again and again. As subjects of the realm, we also add to the list national blessings. Only a few weeks ago all England was watching with feverish anxiety at the bed-side of her Prince. Intense was the interest and painful the suspense, as death seemed to be winning in the fight. The sorrow of the palace spread far and wide, until there was national fellowship in grief. Countless were the prayers breathed, that the threatened calamity might be spared the Royal family and the people. These prayers have been heard, and the year closes with a joy at one time almost despaired of. Let us "thank God." Yes, there is enough in the providential dealings of our God with all, to give a thankful heart. True, we have all had our sorrows and our disappointments during this year of 1871. Every heart has at some time known its own bitterness; and doubtless, there is scarcely a cheek down which no tear has rolled. But what has been the number of our trials — compared with the multitude of our mercies? And contrasted with our deserts — how light the heaviest trial will become! Join then, every heart, in thanking God. Do not let one soul refuse its tribute of adoring praise. Come all then, even the child of greatest sorrow, and see if there is not hidden in the rough oyster shell of tribulation, a pearl of mercy so exceeding precious, that it reconciles you to its casket. Thus far you will see we have only been dealing with the gifts of God’s LEFT hand. His temporal loving-kindnesses. Let us now view the blessings of His RIGHT hand, and thank Him for His mercies to the soul. Certainly of these we must place first upon the list — kept from falling. If during the present year we have been saved from bringing any great blot upon your Christian profession, it is all of grace and calls for highest praise. Let none arrogate to himself any of the glory. And can we say, "We have been kept?" I do not mean by this that there has been no coldness, no deadness of heart, no prayerlessness. Far from it. As long as we are in the flesh, and know anything of ourselves, our continued confession must be, "Prone to wander, Lord I feel it, Prone to leave the God I love!" But have we been kept from outward and open backsliding? Has there been during the past year a continued if quiet testimony for God? If so, then thank Him. Think, child of God — what if you had fallen? What if the name of Christian had been dragged into the mire by your life? The very thought is agony. O, what anguish of soul would have been yours today; what a Hell would be within the breast. How dark everything would appear; and when restored, for what a time this year would be remembered by you as the "black" year of your life. Surely any Christian might rather wish himself in the grave than live to fall. But, beloved, thank God, it is not so with you. With no feeling of pride — but only grateful love, you may exclaim, "Having obtained help from God I continue to this day." Our thankfulness may well be intensified by the sad remembrance that some have fallen during the year, and lost their power for testimony. While we mourn for them, we rejoice for ourselves with trembling, for we have been like men carrying gunpowder and working in a forge where sparks are flying on every hand. With a nature like ours, so dangerously quick to sin, and living amid a very shower of fiery temptations — how great the grace that has preserved us thus far. "Thank God." Along with being kept from falling, we trust most of us can link our spiritual life that has been maintained and increased. The two things do not always go together. It is possible to be free from any great and open fall — and yet have the painful consciousness that inwardly there has been a declension. Great then is the cause for thankfulness, if humbly and in the sight of God, we can express the hope that the inward experience has corresponded with the outward appearance. And can you not venture to say it, dear friend? While blushing for very shame, that you are not a holier or happier Christian than you are, can you nevertheless add, "I never loved my Savior more than now, or yearned for fellowship with Him with a greater longing." In our catalogue of spiritual mercies demanding thankfulness, we must also write down hallowed seasons. What times of refreshing from the presence of the Lord we have often had in secret during the past months. They have been days of Heaven upon earth, rich with a joy unspeakable and full of glory. Have there not been seasons with us all when a more than usual light has shone upon the pages of the open Word? Seasons when prayer became so sweet that we could do nothing but pray! Feasts on the road of heavenly fare that have given us strength for many days; sips of the brook gushing from the throne of God that have enabled us to lift up our heads with joy! Surely we have all had such times. We only mourn that, like angels visits, they are few and far between. Nevertheless the remembrance of them lingers with us still, like the perfume of spices and the fragrance of the cedar. These holy moments are Heaven’s gifts. We have received them. Let us "thank God." Last — but chief of all in the list of spiritual blessings, some of you have been converted during year! 1871 found you far from God, an alien from the commonwealth of Israel, without God and without hope in the world. At the commencement of this year "You were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient. All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our sinful nature and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath!" Ephesians 2:1-3. But now, blessed be His name, "old things have passed away, all things have become new." 2 Corinthians 5:17. No longer an alien from God, you are like "a child at home," and into your spirit has been poured the Spirit of Adoption. Instead of being "without God" — He is now your salvation and your song. Far from being "without Christ" you are now exclaiming "My Beloved is mine and I am His," Song of Solomon 6:3, and your highest joy flows from the thought of shortly being with Him. O what a transformation scene has taken place in you since last New Year’s day. A change that has filled all Heaven with joy, and inspired fresh songs from angel lips. Dear friend, whoever else may be silent, you must not. The stones of this building might well cry out in judgment if, above all other voices, yours is not heard, crowning the year with "Thank God, Thank God!" Yet once more and with this group of blessings, I close the review of the year. We have church mercies to thank God for. For five years we have enjoyed, as a church, more than ordinary spiritual prosperity and blessing; and to His praise we say it, this year has not been less full of tokens for good than the four preceding ones. No indeed, we might even say that the last year has been the best. For a fresh work among the unsaved has filled our cup of joy to overflowing, and we have been permitted to have "a feast of ingathering" Exodus 23:16, during this closing month. As a church we must thank God that the spirit of hearing the Word is still maintained, and that He yet gives testimony to the fact that the simplest gospel is the most powerful instrument in attracting as well as converting the masses. We thank God that love for prayer not only continues but seems to increase in our midst. During this year there have been prayer-meetings as remarkable for their spirit as their numbers. Most devoutly we thank God for them. They are the certain harbingers of greater blessings yet. During the present year, the work of conversion has been carried on by the Holy Spirit in a large measure, and the number of anxious souls at the present time is greater than at any period during the year. Why do we mention these facts? For the sake of vain-glorying? No! God is our witness; but simply because, to omit them when counting up the mercies of the year, would be unthankful and unjust to Zion’s King. O, members of this church, by every soul won within these walls — by every backsliding saint restored — by every blessing you have yourselves received — I charge you on this dying day of another year, "Thank God." May he accept our praises, and further assist us, as we, II. Look forward with courage towards 1872. Standing this morning upon the thin boundary line that divides year from year, we have looked back, and lo, the whole history of the past is radiant with the glow of God’s tender mercies. While looking, we have thanked God. We now turn our eyes to the time to come. How different the view. Then everything stood out in bold and clear relief. Sharply defined were all the particulars making up the one landscape. Now a thick veil of mist shrouds all in impenetrable gloom. In vain we strain our eyes to pierce the dark curtain. We enter on the year by faith, and not by sight. Imagination may stretch her wings and circle in the mist, transforming its wreaths into fairy land or scenes of terror, as the bias of the mind may prompt; but knowledge of the hidden treasure, we have none. The hand of mercy only clears the darkness as step by step we enter into it! 1872 is yet an uninhabited and unknown land. Every moment brings us nearer to the misty veil. With what feelings shall we enter through? Let our text give the answer. Having thanked God for the past — let us now "take courage" for the future. With the Psalmist, let us sing, "because you have been our help, we will therefore trust under the shadow of your wing." Psalms 36:7. Doubtless, there are many present who are anticipating the coming year with a dread they would find it difficult to account for, if asked the reason. Although ignorant of the particular forms their troubles may assume, they reckon rightly that they are sure to meet troubles of some sort or another, and the very indefiniteness of them serves to magnify their greatness. Probable bereavement, sickness, or death — and possible loss, disappointment, and grief — cast their shadow on the spirit. They did on Paul. Yet he took courage. I will therefore mention, and only mention, a few thoughts calculated to inspire courage. Remember, friends, we shall have the same GOD with us in 1872 that we have had in 1871. The change of year, brings no change in Him who is our rock and our defense. The heart touched with the feelings of our infirmities during this year, will be as full of sympathy during next — not one drop will have departed from that bottomless and shoreless ocean. The eye that has been so quick to discern our needs, and like the fiery pillar, has guided us to the close of another period of time — shall not become dim, nor lose its guiding brightness. The arm of power that has at the same time been under and around us — does not lose one atom of its might. The muscles of omnipotence do not grow weary — nor does their natural force abate. "Our God, our help in ages past" may well be "our hope for years to come." Whatever you have found your God to be in days gone past — you shall find Him the same in days to come. With Him there is no variableness or shadow of turning. Away then with every doubt or fear. March on triumphantly. You do not walk into the unknown alone. You have the companionship of Him whose faithfulness you have proved a thousand times. This is a blessed thought, pregnant with undying song: in every year and every age the saint can say, "The Lord Almighty is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge!" Psalms 46:7. "Lift the strain higher" you blood-bought, blood-washed multitude; so long as breath can utter words, declare "this God is our God forever and ever; He will be our guide, even until death!" Psalms 48:14 Remember also, that the same PROMISES that have been your support in 1871 go with you into 1872. Round about you, like the mountains around Jerusalem, or the chariots of fire around the prophet, are the same "precious promises," that have glittered like stars in your darkest night. "As your days — so shall your strength be!" includes next year also in its wide embrace. "My grace is, sufficient for you!" is limited to no time this side glory. "Ask and you shall receive. Seek and you shall find. Knock and it shall be opened to you!" stand good for any year. Time would fail to tell of all the glittering host of promises that march with you. Look over their serried ranks and "take courage." Do not forget also, that the same hope which has cheered you this year, accompanies you into the next. Do you say, "What hope?" I reply, the hope of either your going to Jesus — or Jesus coming to you! Come what may, it hastens the time when you will be "forever with the Lord." Beyond care, beyond grief, beyond sickness, beyond death — there shines Heaven. May the Lord bring us all there for Christ’s sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 6: S. A PARDONING GOD! ======================================================================== A Pardoning God! Archibald G. Brown, May 28, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives the transgression of the remnant of his inheritance? You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy!" Micah 7:18 "No God like Israel’s God!" — this was the joyous boast of patriarch, psalmist, and all the prophets. Not only was it rung into the ears of the chosen people, that the ’Lord your God is One Lord’ — but that their God was incomparable in himself and all his actions. With what triumphant joy does Moses utter his song and extol his God before the assembled congregation of Israel. How defiant does the song become, as glorying in his Rock, he challenges all others to show its equal, and exclaims ’their rock is not as our Rock, even our enemies themselves being judges’. Well did Elijah, that prophet of fire, maintain the same when on Carmel’s mount he dared all the prophets of Baal to the test; when before an assembled host he vindicated the honor of his God, and made the conscience-stricken crowd declare, ’The Lord, he is the God — the Lord, he is the God.’ The psalmist bids his harp sound forth the same bold strain, as he sings, ’Why should the heathen say, where is now their God?’ And then lashing their idols with bitter sarcasm, continues, ’But their idols are silver and gold, made by the hands of men. They have mouths, but cannot speak; eyes, but they cannot see; they have ears, but cannot hear; noses, but they cannot smell; they have hands, but cannot feel; feet, but they cannot walk; nor can they utter a sound with their throats. Those who make them will be like them, and so will all who trust in them!’ Psalms 115:4-8 Grandly does Jehovah throw down the gauntlet through his servant Isaiah, and challenge all comparison. ’To whom then will you liken me, or shall I be equal? says the Holy One.’ ’This is what the LORD says — Israel’s King and Redeemer, the LORD Almighty: I am the first and I am the last; apart from me there is no God. Who then is like me? Is there any God besides me? No, there is no other Rock; I know not one! All who make idols are nothing, and the things they treasure are worthless. Those who would speak up for them are blind; they are ignorant, to their own shame!’ Isaiah 44:6-9 God laughs to scorn all rivals. Idols, the work of men’s hands, he spurns. Jehovah shares not his glories with another. Alone he is God, and incomparable are all his actions. It is happy work to boast in the Lord. Good is it for the soul to get out of itself its petty cares and trials, and revel in what its God is. This holy boasting is an atmosphere that strengthens while it rests — it prepares the heart to endure suffering with patience, and makes it bold for any enterprise. He who has a little God will always be a small saint. In proportion as we understand the grandeur of our God, will our spiritual manhood grow strong. Everything about our God is great and worthy of himself. Every attribute is that attribute in fullest perfection. Everything our God does is done in a God-like manner. All he is — all he has — all he does, is beyond compare. Is he wise? Yes, he is the ’only wise God’. Is he potent? Yes, something more, for ’the Lord God omnipotent reigns.’ Is he holy? Yes, the Holy One — him before whom the angels veil their faces and cry, ’Holy — Holy — HOLY.’ Thrice must the word be repeated to set forth the holiness of him they praise. When his mercy is the theme, the holy writers seem as if they felt all language far too poor to describe its matchless worth, and so they heap words upon words, and thus in every verse of a whole psalm it is declared that ’His mercy endures forever.’ He is the God, ’merciful’ — or full of mercy, and all his mercies are ’tender mercies’; and his kindnesses ’loving kindnesses’. But most transcendent is he in his pardons. Here indeed the incomparable God shines forth in glory all his own. His pardons, like himself, are infinite, and know no bounds or limit. Well may we sing in triumph Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Or who has grace so rich and free? My purpose this evening is, by the Lord’s help to set forth before you the all-excelling nature of our God’s forgiveness. This we shall try and do by asking six questions, each question like our text, challenging comparison. I. Who pardons at SUCH A COST? Earthly pardons are cheap luxuries. Although often hard to get and difficult to give — yet most cost but the sacrifice of a little personal feeling. Let that go, and it is easy to forgive. I can easily imagine there are two here this evening who have long been severed in their friendship. Both feel a reconciliation ought to have taken place before this, ’But’, they say, if spoken to on the subject, ’it is impossible.’ Why? The simple reason is that neither is prepared to pay his share of the cost of a pardon, and that amounts to the sacrifice of a little personal pique, and a good deal of foolish pride. Neither likes to be the first to offer his hand. Both are waiting for each other, and so a miserable estrangement is carried on through weary months and years, because neither will exchange pride for pardon. O ’tis a thousand pities that when pardons are so cheap, they yet remain so scarce! Turn now to the pardon of our God and see if it is not an incomparable one for cost. Before God could forgive a sinner in accordance with his infinite holiness and perfect justice, think what had to be done, sacrificed, and suffered. Measure God’s desire to pardon by the obstacles his pardoning love overcame, and then you can form some idea of its intensity. No little sacrifice of feeling — no small surrender of pride would have availed here; something infinitely greater must be surrendered, and the sacrifice must be that of a Son. God has fathomed his love and pity in one text, ’God SO loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish — but have everlasting life.’ That little word ’so’ contains more than Heaven or earth can describe. In it is the heart of God — in it is the depth of pardoning love. O think for a minute what that pardon cost that now makes your soul to sing for joy. You received it freely enough because another paid the price; but what was that price? It cost the Father the gift of his beloved Son — he who from eternity had dwelt in his bosom, must be surrendered and become incarnate. It cost the Son a price no lip can tell — and no heart can conceive. Do you see him tied to yonder pillar — mark that awful scourge as it falls again and again upon his quivering flesh; do you note how deep the thongs cut, drawing blood at every stroke? Your pardon cost that! ’By his stripes we are healed.’ Follow him in that weary walk to Calvary — linger by him as fever courses through his veins, while head and hands and feet all drip with gore. Stay by him until his sacred head falls upon the breast, and his great heart breaks with anguish, and then looking up into that white countenance, say, ’My pardon cost Jesus that!’ Yes, no pardon could ever have come to guilty man had not an atonement been made that satisfied justice, honored the law, and magnified the holiness of God. Sweet work is it to trace the silver stream of forgiving love; and mark how it would flow on until it reached the sinner — yes, even though it flowed along the channel of a Savior’s wounds. Contrast, beloved, this evening the poor cheap pardons of man, often withheld because he will not sacrifice his foolish feelings or his paltry pride — with the rich costly pardons of our God, given at the price of his own Son — given through the agonies of Gethsemane and Golgotha. Contrast them until you sing with tearful joy. Truly the poet is right when he says that the tenderest hearts have limits to their mercy. The most loving may have his compassion put to a test that shall prove the best of human love, is but human love at best. With the generality however, the limit of forgiveness is soon reached. Many are the crimes marked down by men as ’unpardonable’. All Europe seems to agree in putting the wretched assassins and incendiaries of Paris beyond the pale of mercy or hope for pardon. Their hands are too red with blood — their outrages too gross and vile. But behold God, and wonder at his pardoning love!! Man has revolted against him — murdered his servants — lighted his church with the fires of martyrdom — laughed to scorn and derided his Book, and even crucified his own Son — and yet he says to such red-handed rebels, ’Come now and let us reason together; though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall be as wool.’ No sinner has ever yet been lost because his sins were too great for pardon. God’s power and willingness to forgive, go beyond — yes, infinitely beyond — the greatest lengths of sin into which any desperate sinner has dared to run. Go bring me the vilest wretch that breathes God’s air — out of depravity bring me the most depraved — one on whose head is accumulated the guilt of every sin, and every sin in its most aggravated and malignant form — one who has vice written in every line of his sin-stamped countenance, and Hell’s hatred embossed in his heart; and I venture to say to such a one: ’There is mercy sufficient for you, and God’s pardoning love reaches a deeper depth than your iniquity!’ Men are not damned because their sins surpass God’s mercy — but because they refuse to accept it when offered. God’s pardoning mercy is like the waters of the Red Sea when it rolled upon the Egyptian army; the captains and the charioteers were as much overwhelmed as the common footmen. The impetuous tide knew no distinction, it drowned Pharaoh with as much ease as the horses in his chariot; it swept in triumph over all alike. The great sins and the mighty sins are as easily drowned in the blood of Jesus, as those, which in our ignorance, we call but ’failings’. The depths of pardon cover them; they sink into the bottom as a stone; the sea covers them, they sink as lead in its mighty waters. O blessed deluge of forgiving mercy, surely this second question has stirred our hearts to highest gratitude, and put on every lip the adoring challenge — Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Or who has grace so rich and free? II. Who pardons so WILLINGLY? It is almost difficult to decide which calls for loudest praise, the pardon — or the way in which the pardon is bestowed. Not only is God incomparable in the forgivenesses he has — but also in the way he gives them. Human pardons are generally spoiled in the mode of bestowal. The bloom of their beauty is lost by the hot hand that holds them so long before it parts with them. Too often man’s pardon is only the result of long pleading. It never gushed forth towards the guilty one with holy alacrity — but was wrung out by many an argument and plea; then when it came, how ungracious was it in its language. Who, among us, has not known what it is to be forgiven in such a way that we felt more miserable after the pardon than before, and inwardly resolved we would never ask another pardon from the man? Henry Ward Beecher has well said: ’There is an ugly kind of forgiveness in this world — a kind of hedgehog forgiveness, shot out like quills. Men take one who has offended them and set him down before the blow-pipe of their indignation, and scorch him, and burn his fault into him, and when they have kneaded him with their fiery fists — then they forgive him.’ How different the manner of our God — how infinitely higher in this matter are his ways than our ways. I will show you an illustration or two of how the Lord forgives. Our Savior is sitting at table in the house of Simon the Pharisee, when a woman comes timidly to the door. The woman is too well known, her shame has been her living. She is a sinner — a disgraceful woman of the town. Respectable morality will Make a wide sweep, Lest she wander too near. She is fallen, and sanctimonious Phariseeism would lose its caste if it was weak enough to pity. Something tells this poor creature that Jesus may be ventured near; perhaps she has marked a look of deep compassion on his face as she has passed him in the streets, and that look has broken her heart. At all events she comes to where he is, and bending over his feet upon the couch, big tears begin to fall. The bold look of the past has gone; she can but sob as she remembers it. Her tears wet those blessed feet she has come to anoint with ointment; so stooping down, she uses her long tresses to wipe them. The host at the head of the table looks on with scorn. He seems to have known the woman well, and says within himself, ’If he were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who touches him.’ Jesus perceives his thoughts, rebukes him, and then turning to the weeping sinner, says, ’Your sins are forgiven; go in peace.’ O the exquisite tenderness of our Lord in giving that guilty soul its pardon. Yet again. The scribes and Pharisees bring unto him one day a woman taken in adultery. Here is, if anything, a greater sinner than the last. They demand that she should be stoned to death and ask his approval of the sentence. Appearing to be occupied in writing on the ground, he only for a moment looks up to say, ’He who is without sin, let him first cast a stone at her.’ Convicted in their own consciences, they leave one by one, until only the woman remains. Jesus looks up again from the ground, and says to that guilty wife, ’Has no one condemned you?’ And she said, ’No one, Lord.’ ’Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.’ Could anything be more delicately done? Could reproof and pardon be more sweetly blended? Would you yet know, dear friends, how God forgives? Then take his own picture in the parable of the prodigal son, and there in every line you will behold the beauty of his pardon. In the father who sees the prodigal ’afar off’, who ’has compassion’, who ’runs’, who ’kisses’, who interrupts even the confession of guilt, and puts the best robe on him at once. In all these things I behold my God who is ’ready to forgive,’ and am compelled to sing Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Or who has grace so rich and free? III. Who pardons so FREQUENTLY? On this point there can be no question. No difference of opinion. The stock of man’s pardons is very soon exhausted. I have no doubt Peter thought he displayed marvelous magnanimity when he said to the Lord, ’How oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him; until seven times?’ Seven times seemed to him a great many — but how few and small they looked after the Savior’s answer. ’I say not unto you until seven times; but until seventy times seven.’ How much greater was the divine idea of pardon than the human. Peter and Christ both consulted their own hearts — but how different the response. But he who tells us to forgive our brother seventy times seven, forgives his brethren seventy million times seven, and more than that! Never is there a minute when our God is not forgiving us. His pardoning love runs parallel with our erring life. I marvel not that Newton said, ’I am downright staggered at the exceeding riches of his grace. How Christ can go on pardoning day after day, hour after hour!!! Sometimes I feel almost afraid to ask for a fresh pardon for very shame!’ Who has not felt the same? The very multitude of God’s pardons overwhelms. It would tire out any angel to write down all the pardons that God bestows on one of his children. Dear friend, if indeed you are a Christian, then rejoice in the thought that you are always pardoned. True is it, even unto you, ’The blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from all sin.’ O, how precious is that present tense — ’cleanses’ — keeps on cleansing, never ceasing in its purifying work. Being reconciled unto God, the friendship is ever maintained — sins are forgiven as soon as they are committed — wrongs are pardoned every moment — guilt is purged by precious blood every moment. O bear me witness, saints of God, that his willingness to forgive has often amazed you — over and over again have you returned unto him after seasons of backsliding, until you felt ashamed to go again — you felt he could never forgive you any more, it was almost presumption on your part to ask for it; but at last you were obliged to seek his face, you could stay away no longer. With many a tear you told him how again you had fallen into the very sin that had been forgiven a thousand times, and how you felt you were no more worthy to be called his son. How did he receive you? Never can you forget how he ran to meet you and, as if this was the first offence, hastened to give the kiss of forgiveness lest your heart should break with sorrow. Then did you indeed sing: Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Or who has grace so rich and free? IV. Who pardons so COMPLETELY? There is much that goes by the name of forgiveness, which is no true pardon at all. The tongue may declare that all is forgiven and forgotten — but let some fresh little difference arise, and all the past has a resurrection — old wrongs that have been buried for years, rise from their graves, all the more hideous for their partial burial. Forgiving love had never made clean work of it. The remembrance of the past wrongs still rankled in the breast, it required but a touch to remove the outer skin and reveal the festering wound beneath! Or, to use another illustration, wrath’s fire had never been put quite out, it had just smouldered for years, and a new wrong stirred the slumbering embers and made the old flames break out again. Not so is it with the pardon of our God. It is as real in its nature, as comprehensive in its embrace — it is as true as oft repeated. God never brings old scores up again, or taunts with the past while he forgives the present. When he says ’forgiven’, we are forgiven, and the sins he buries in the grave of pardoning love never live or are seen again. The grave is too deep for Hell to find them. Have you ever, beloved, noticed the different terms employed in Scripture to set forth the forgiveness of our God? They are well worthy of study. Words and illustrations more expressive of completeness could not be found. I will mention one or two. Not only are they declared to be ’covered’ — but ’washed’ away. ’He has washed us from our sins in his own blood.’ However perfectly anything may be covered, it yet exists, therefore the more expressive term of washing is employed. When a stain has been removed by purging, it is something more than hidden — it is clean gone, so entirely that the same can never be restored. A fresh sin may take its place — but the old sin is no more. Our previous question showed that the fresh sin shares the fate of the old. As if ’washing’ were not sufficiently forcible, a stronger word is also used: ’As for our transgressions, you shall purge them away’, and again, ’When he had by himself purged our sins, he sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high.’ Washing and purging imply thorough work. Another beautiful emblem is that of ’blotting’ them out. Just as the sun not only shines through the cloud but dissipates it — blots it out of existence and leaves nothing but the blue firmament over head, so says God, ’I have blotted out as a thick cloud your transgressions, and as a cloud your sins.’ ’I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and will not remember your sins.’ Our sins when pardoned are as the cloud that melts in the air — gone. They are also declared to be ’removed’, and that to an infinite distance: ’As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.’ Who shall say where the east commences or where the west terminates? The distance is boundless. Yet as far as the furthest east is from the remotest west — so far has pardoning love taken our sins from us. They are not near you, believer, they have been carried by your scape-goat into an uninhabited land; so far that even the eye of God perceives them not. Yet one more illustration and I think the loveliest of them all. You will find it in the chapter from which the text is taken and Micah 7:19. ’You will cast all their sins into the depths of the sea!’ Notice here two beauties. First the number of sins that God takes away, ’ALL their sins.’ Not one is left to tell the tale. Observe, secondly, where all the sins are cast: ’In the depths of the sea.’ Not in any river lest like Kishon it should run dry and reveal the hidden crime. Not in the foam of the waves that break along the beach, lest when the tide went down they should be left high dry upon the shore. But ’in the depths’; far out to sea, where the waters cover the face of the deep. There God drops his people’s sins! They are out of sight — eternally hidden — not only forgiven but forgotten — wondrous love! Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Or who has grace so rich and free? 5. Whose pardon is so FULL OF GRACE? Only a word or so on this division. However sweet human pardon may be, there is nothing gracious in it. There is not one reason why we should not forgive — there are millions why we should. Needing forgiveness ourselves of man, ’tis but our duty to forgive. But why should God forgive us? What reasons can there be but those found in his own gracious purposes why he should pardon fallen man. The roots of pardoning love are in his own heart — and therefore the fruits appear on us. One says, ’It is a remarkable fact that the words in all European languages which express forgiveness or pardon, all imply free gift.’ Here indeed our God stands forth incomparable, for ’Who has grace so rich and free?’ 6. Whose pardon but his SUBDUES THE SIN? Most beautiful is the teaching of that sentence in the following verse to our text. He who pardons our iniquities, subdues them as well. The fond parent may forgive his child over and over again, and yet die of a broken heart through seeing that the more frequently he forgives, the more reckless does his son become. He has the love to pardon the sin — but not the power to subdue the sin. Blessed be God, he has both. While he forgives the result — he heals the cause. God subdues our iniquities, by forgiving them. It is a great mistake to imagine that a consciousness of pardon will lead to an indifference about sin. Love is a mightier motive-power than fear; and gratitude for forgiveness will make the soul hate sin far more than a dread of lacking pardon. It is when we enjoy in the fullest measure the sweets of pardon felt — that we abhor our sins with deepest detestation. Is it not, dear child of God, a joyful thought, that while infinite love keeps on pardoning our ever recurring sins, infinite power is at the same time bringing our wayward hearts more and more under control? God is gradually putting our iniquities beneath his feet — and still pardoning them as they rise. I will now conclude with a sentence or so of application. Believer, rejoice! rejoice!! rejoice!!! You are a traitor if you do not sing. The past is forgiven — the present is being forgiven — the future will be forgiven. You are surrounded by pardons, and they line the road to Heaven’s gate. O triumph in your God tonight — let your soul make her boast in the Lord, and sing of pardon bought with blood. Lost sinner, has this verse no word of hope to you? It has. It is all hope. While it stands part of inspired Writ, you never need despair. You say, ’But there is no sinner as bad as me!’ Granted, and there is no God like our pardoning God. Let an incomparable sinner and an incomparable Savior meet tonight. You shall find his pardons are even greater and more numerous than your crimes. I have read of a most hardened criminal who was condemned to death in the town of Ayr. It pleased the Lord, however, to save his soul while in prison, and so full was his assurance of pardoning mercy, that when he came to the place of execution, he could not help crying out to the people, ’Oh, he is a great forgiver! He is a great forgiver!’ The Lord have mercy on you, my hearer, and then with us you will exclaim — Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Or who has grace so rich and free? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 7: S. A ROUGH NIGHT AT SANDOWN ======================================================================== A Rough Night at Sandown Archibald G. Brown, November 6, 1892, East London Tabernacle "Hitherto shall you come but no further — and here shall your proud waves be stayed!" Job 38:11 The night was a wild one on the southern shore of the Isle of Wight. Throughout the day the wind had been blowing with increasing strength; and, as evening came on, the sea rose mightily, so that when the darkness settled down there was a fair storm blowing. The moon struggled through the tattered clouds, for the lightning-flash was flying fast, and looked, with all its ragged edges, as if it had been suddenly torn from the black canopy of Heaven by the giant hand of the storm. The fitful moonbeams fell upon a wild, tumbling, roaring, waste of waters. It was near high tide. We came out in front of our house and stood in the balcony watching the seething mass of water. It was a fine sight. The waves curled and broke upon the sea wall. Hurled back, they only returned to meet the next advancing wave, and then in a wild embrace the two together thundered on, and so over and over again. Far away were to be seen, in the moonlight, line after line of advancing billows. They looked like chargers rushing on against that wall, and each one seemed to hiss to its fellow, ’I will back you up!’ Endless reinforcements seemed to be coming towards the shore. There was but a roadway between us and the deep, and it sounded almost like presumption to say, ’Well, it is time to go to bed now.’ What? Go to rest with destruction so near? Talk about calmly sleeping when, within a few yards, there is power enough to sweep everything away? Yet we said, ’Better go to rest now’, for, taking out our watch and looking at the hour, we saw that it was high tide. ’It will not come any further’, we remarked. No sooner had we uttered these words, than they started this train of thought: What perfect faith in the law of nature does this sentence set forth. I dare to stand within a few yards of a roaring sea like this, and calmly suggest that it is time to go to rest, because it has reached its highest point and there will be nothing more to see. What faith in the law of the tide! Yes, behind those crested waves there was a power mightier than the storm, unseen — but wondrously real. Driven by those winds, the waves, like mad chargers, may leap and rush — but there is an unseen hand holding them, and saying, ’Thus far. No further. It is high tide. It is time to go back.’ The sea cannot go beyond the line of decree. The Lord has said, ’Here shall your proud waves be stayed.’ No sooner had we said, ’It cannot come any further; it is time for the tide to turn’, than it flashed through our mind, ’But suppose that it should forget to turn. It is all very well to talk like this and be so calm — but suppose that it should not turn, and that for the next six hours, instead of receding, it should still advance. Where would you be, and where your abode, and where all your loved ones?’ But then we remembered, ’But this law is as certain in its action, as the rising and setting of the sun.’ The others went to rest — but I remained for some time gazing out upon that wild surging sea. I know not how long I stood — but, as I gazed upon it, it preached to me; and, as I looked at it, it seemed to assume different forms. I want it now to preach to you, as I tell you as far as I can what I saw in that raging sea trying to get beyond the barrier that God had set, and yet finding that the eternal word is true, ’Thus far, no further!’ God has a ’Here’ at which the wildest waves must stop. As I looked I saw, first, Hell’s forces restrained. Then the scene changed, and I beheld temptations limited. And then a cough upstairs reminded our heart of sorrows measured. And then, lastly, as I looked out, I saw apostasy arrested. Let me try to give you these different lessons of a stormy night. I. First, we have HELL’S FORCES RESTRAINED. Now, I know that Satan in his personality, Satan in his craft, Satan in his power, Satan in his wrath — is very far from being a reality even to a great many professing Christians. I know that the spirit-world is all too little thought of, and the world that we can see, is to us ten thousand times more real than the world which we cannot see; though, in my heart of hearts, I believe that there is a spirit-world, not thousands of miles away — but all round about us, and as real as the world of men and women which we see. We pass in and out among spirits, good and bad. They are round about us on every hand. But that foaming sea spoke to me, not of the gentle ministry of the unfallen angels — but of the awful, damning ministry of Satan and his followers. I said just now that Satan is all too little of a reality with most of us, and yet, mark you, if the Bible is true, Satan is the most dreadful reality conceivable! I ask you to listen for a moment to words in which this truth is better put than I can express it on the spur of the moment: ’The question of Satan’s personality is one relating to the credibility of the Scriptures. The existence of the devil is so clearly taught in the Bible, so necessary a part of the revealed word, so legible on its very face, and so thoroughly interwoven with all its utterances — that to doubt it is to doubt the authenticity of the Bible itself. The entire system of revelation stands or falls with the personality of Satan, not that he is essential to truth — but that the very verity of the record concerning him is essential to God’s honor and our hope. This fact has worked itself out in history.’ Let me say for a moment, in parenthesis, mark and see whether this next sentence is not true of today: ’In all ages of the church, unbelief in this doctrine has been marked by a corresponding unbelief in the Scriptures. The man who can reject a doctrine so fully revealed as this, will find no difficulty in rejecting all if it ever suits him to do so.’ So long as we accept this Bible as a revelation from God, we are bound to accept this solemn, mysterious truth — ’that there is a being of fearful might and power who is wicked, always wicked, totally wicked, incurably wicked; a being who is an absolute stranger to all love, all pity, all goodness; a being who is the embodiment of all malignity, the concentration of all wrong, the essence of all vice; a being who has no one bright spot in his black character; a being who, if he could, would quench every sun that shines, extinguish every star that twinkles, blight every flower that blooms, and turn every song that rises from consecrated lips into a lewd lascivious song; a being who, if he could, would turn Heaven itself into Hell. He is one whose heart is hate, whose mind is revenge, and whose life is an eternal damnation.’ And this bizarre, inscrutable awful being, we are told, is the master of uncounted legions who serve their captain with an unswerving fidelity such as an earthly monarch never knows. At his beck and call are spirits that are lying, seducing, unclean, and murderous; and these forces of Hell never cease to surge and roll on God’s fair earth. Without pause or hindrance, Hell seeks to swamp, damage, and damn the works of God. I say not that the storm is always equally high. It is not so. I believe that there are times when Hell’s power is greater than at others. Beyond all question it was so when the Son of Man walked this earth. Oh, how the ocean boiled then! It seemed as if the word had gone forth through all the hosts of perdition, ’Fight neither with small nor great but with the King only.’ None of us can ever tell what Christ passed through in personal combat with Satan. Now, mark, if you are going to make a semi-joke of the devil, if you are going to speak of Satan as simply a name for something that is impersonal, you are doing an awful wrong to your Lord. If you can only prove your point, you prove too much, for you prove that Christ himself was a dupe. I find the Savior, when he stood foot to foot in the wilderness, saying distinctly, ’Get you hence, Satan.’ I never find our Lord explaining away demoniacal possession as it is fashionable to do now. Jesus came to reveal truth. Jesus came to clear the world of superstition. If the poor creatures whom he healed simply had epilepsy or fits, our Lord knew it; and yet he never uttered a word to clear away the common superstition. Indeed, he endorsed the superstition of the day, for he said, ’Come out of him, you unclean spirit.’ We say with all reverence that in such a case our Lord added the weight of his personal testimony to a popular fallacy. But he knew, and he saw demon power working on every hand. When he is arrested in the garden, what does he say? Not only, ’The hour is come’ — but he adds, ’and the power of darkness.’ The tide of Hell reached its highest point at Calvary; and, as I gazed from the balcony upon the boiling waters beneath, I seemed to see the scene. Behold Jesus there upon that tree. How do the billows beat upon that breast! How do they roar upon him! He is enveloped. He is drenched with the spray. We hear in the darkness, ’My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’ and my heart asks, ’Will the tide never turn?’ and I think I hear a voice saying, ’The tide has reached its highest point. It can go no further now.’ He lies there dead in the tomb. But look you. On the third morning he comes forth in resurrection beauty. Ah, Satan, how are you defeated! God said by that tomb, ’Thus far, no further.’ He said at that tomb, ’Here shall your proud waves be stayed.’ Having no personal Christ on earth to contend with, Satan now devotes all his power to Christ’s people, and he is seeking ever to swamp the church. Christ said, ’Upon this rock will I build my church, and the gates of Hell shall not prevail against it.’ Jesus knew very well that the gates of Hell would ever be belching forth their animosity and power against the church. At your leisure read the 6th chapter of the Ephesians. The Holy Spirit there says that we wrestle not against flesh and blood — but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world of rulers of this darkness, and against wicked spirits in high places. O brethren and sisters, round about each one of us there is a roaring tide of hellish hatred. There is enough to make each one ask, ’Can I ever be kept? Must I not be swept away by this irresistible flood?’ Thank God that there is a ’Thus far’, for, listen: Christ said to Peter, ’Satan has desired to have you that he may sift you as wheat — but I have prayed for you.’ O you blessed living Christ, we look to you. Fling back the advancing tide, and, by your power, the very weakest saint shall be more than a match for Hell. Come, dear soul, though you may be belted with Hell’s power, there is a ’Thus far and no further.’ A mightier power than the mighty one, holds back the tide of Hell. ’Here shall your proud waves be stayed!’ II. The scene changed, and, as I looked out on the sea, I beheld TEMPTATIONS LIMITED. This is a branch of our previous head, and yet it is quite distinct from it. The first is the objective fact — and this is the subjective experience. Satan may set the waves rolling — but there would be very little weight in them apart from the aid of my own sinful nature. If there were only an outside Hell, there would be but little danger. There is, alas! an inside nature that is corrupt. I daresay that I shall be speaking to some who will not understand much of what I am saying. For years there may be little more than the ordinary swellings of temptation. I think that, generally speaking, the young convert knows but little of the wild scene which I want to portray. He knows something of being tried by the ordinary temptations of daily life — but nothing else. But there will come the day when the wind blows from the right quarter to make a heavy sea. Everything depends upon the quarter from which the gale comes. The wind may be blowing ever so strongly from the west — but you will have it calm in the bay of Sandown. That which sends the thundering billows on the shore at Black Gang will raise no sea at Sandown. So every one of us has his right — or rather wrong — quarter; and here may be the reason why some have never yet known any awful temptation; that which fills a brother’s soul with a boiling ocean of spiritual agony, does not affect you. But wait. There will be a time when the wind will be dead on shore for you. Some particular temptation will awake you to the fact that you have within you a capacity for sinning of which you never dreamed. I think that it was Martin Luther who said that no man could be a good preacher without having had much temptation. Oh, what degrees of temptation there are! I can say before God, that I think I have known more temptation this one year than I have known in any five that have gone by. Did you ever know, man, what it is not only for the wind to be in the right quarter — but to have a high spring tide at the same time? What a sea runs then! You can look out and see not only one billow — but another billow behind it, and another behind that, and another behind that — temptations physical, temptations mental, temptations social — one rolling after another. And then, when, in the power of God, you have hurled away the first one, it only goes back to meet the next, and the two together leap upon you. You know then what it is to be in the condition which John Bunyan described when he said that he knew not which was his own voice and which was the voice of the tempter. You are only conscious of a roar of temptation in your ears; and you sometimes ask the question (I am sure that I have asked it often), ’Can I stand? Must not the sea wall give way? Can it forever fling back these surges?’ And then faith pulls out her watch and says, ’It is high tide now. It cannot come any further.’ You tempted ones, turn with me to a passage or two. You will find them sweet to your soul. Read 1 Corinthians 10:13. It is God’s ’Thus far.’ ’There has no temptation taken you but such as is common to man; but God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted above that you are able — but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that you may be able to bear it.’ It is ’Thus far and no further.’ The God of decrees has his high-water mark for temptation. He says, ’Here shall your proud waves be stayed.’ I think that I see one of you (ah, there you are) just marking that verse down, and you say, ’I will have a look at that again when I get home. What, is that true — that God is faithful, and will not allow me to be tempted above what I am able? Come on, then, you black billows, and in the name of God I defy you all.’ But do you want something else to help you? Then turn to Hebrews 2:18. There is a sea wall. ’For in that he himself has suffered being tempted, he is able to support those who are tempted.’ Then Hebrews 4:15 : ’We have not a high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities — but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. Let us, therefore, come boldly to the throne of grace that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.’ Does unbelief say, ’But oh! if the tide should forget to turn?’ God is faithful. The tide has never forgotten to turn yet in the channel; and never yet was God less faithful in the working out of spiritual law than of natural. You may look therefore upon Hell’s waters surging within your own soul, and, while you deplore them, yet say, ’The God of the storm has said, Thus far and no further!’ III. Perhaps I may come nearer to some of you in the next point. As I looked, the scene changed again, and those wild waters were neither Hell nor temptation — but they were sorrows; and I saw in them SORROWS MEASURED. Have you had long continued trouble? It is not a mere day of trouble that tries you so much; it is not even a week. But I am speaking to some of you who are able to look back long, long months, and there has been nothing but trouble, trouble, trouble! The constant washing of water will wear away even a stone, and perhaps some of you are beginning to think, ’I cannot stand it, and, as far as I can see, I perceive that there are other troubles coming.’ At Sandown I not only saw the waves that curled over in the moonlight on the shore — but I could see out in the Channel those big hills of water that were coming in. And you, looking out into the future, can say, ’Why, I can see other troubles advancing. There are troubles in the family, troubles financial, troubles physical, each one following to join its fellow! No sooner does one trouble roll back from me, than it joins another rolling towards me.’ You have come into this Tabernacle this morning about as down and depressed as mortal man can be. The spray of life’s troubles has been washing over life’s parade. You are drenched right through with it; and unbelief says, ’Everything will go at last.’ Wait a moment. Do you know that you are not the first man who has said so? Read that story of Job again. See how the billows came upon him one after another. I am not surprised that Job was ready to curse the very day that he was born, and yet, when I come to the last chapter, I find that he was made a better man than ever he was before. ’And the Lord turned the captivity of Job.’ It was, ’Thus far and no further.’ Remember David, again, when he said, in Psalms 42:1-11, ’All your waves and your billows are gone over me.’ But what does David say afterwards? ’For the Lord will command his loving-kindness in the day-time, and in the night his song shall be with me.’ But I think that the most exquisitely beautiful illustration is in Psalms 22:1-31. You know it well, do you not? Read right away from Psalms 22:1-21. ’My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ That is the key-note. It is the outcry of an agonized heart; but when you come to Psalms 22:25, what a change. The one who said, ’Why have you forsaken me?’ — says, ’My praise shall be of you in the great congregation.’ Jesus Christ found that there is a high-water mark in sorrow. It is, ’Thus far — but no further.’ Behind the billows there is God. Behind the storm that I saw, there was a tide; and, thank God, behind our troubles there is an eternal decree, and at the back of our sorrows there is eternal love. Only trust him. God says, ’Here shall your proud waves be stayed.’ I want to emphasize that word ’here’. Where? In the matter of trouble I think it is just where faith has been perfectly tried. There will the waves be stayed. God is glorified in the trial of our faith. You have talked a good deal about believing. Now God is going to make you show to other people what a reality there is in it. ’Here shall your proud waves be stayed.’ That is, just where you have learned the lesson which you need to learn. You have naturally a proud spirit and a nasty temper. God means to keep you in the school of sorrow until you have learned there to be humble and gentle and forbearing and tender. Then when you have learned those lessons God will say, ’Here shall the proud waves of your sorrow be stayed.’ ’Here’, where we have learned to trust God solely; ’here’, where we learn to bow with delight before the uncontrolled and uncontrollable will of God. Look up, brother. It may be that the lesson is nearly learned. It may be that already the angel-watch is saying, ’It is just high tide with that man. The water will rise no further.’ IV. Lastly, I looked out, and in that scene I saw APOSTASY ARRESTED. The sight that presents itself to the eyes of spiritually taught men today is something appalling. Look abroad which way you will, there is a surging sea of infidelity; the wind has been blowing very strongly from Germany for some years. Oh, what mighty blasts of scepticism have come across, and what a sea is now rolling! How the waters thunder! As I looked I seemed to see billow after billow of ’higher criticism’ sweeping in. Oh, how they broke upon this sea wall, the Bible! And I noted how the men who ought to have been preachers of the truth, were themselves its critics; and the men who ought to be leading their congregations into faith in God, were busy making infidels. And I heard the shout, ’Genesis is rocking. It will soon be down. Exodus is reeling. Leviticus is giving way. Deuteronomy is all but swept away. David and Goliath are but a parable. The story of Jonah is ridiculous, and condemned by reason.’ I listened, and I heard the scoffers say, ’We will clear all the Old Testament off before long.’ I noticed that the billows, though they were flung back, returned in strength; and I thought, ’O God, if that Old Testament goes, I am done for. If your Book is swept away, I have not a foothold of hope for time or eternity.’ But a voice said, ’You can go to rest. There is no real danger whatever. It is just about high tide now. The waters cannot come any further, for the Son of God is going to be revealed soon in flaming fire, taking vengeance upon those who believe not the gospel of God.’ Oh, when he shall come, then will the Lord rebuke the apostasy of the day. Then shall men see in the returning Christ, that every jot and every tittle of this Book is God’s. It has stood the storm, and it will, for God’s decree is sure. Faith hears the voice of God saying to all the infidel criticism of the day, ’Thus far. Your higher criticism has gone as far as I can allow it to go. Here shall its proud waves be stayed.’ I know not which part of the subject will suit you best — but whether you have regard to Hell’s forces, or inbred temptations, or earth’s sorrows, or Christendom’s apostasy — you may say, ’It is about high tide. It cannot go further.’ These are the thoughts that flitted through my mind as, in the moonlight, I looked out upon a raging sea that could not pass God’s decree. May God bless them to us all for his name’s sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 8: S. A SERMON TO DEBTORS! ======================================================================== A Sermon to Debtors! Archibald G. Brown, January 15th, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Therefore, brethren, we are debtors." Romans 8:12 No sin is more hateful to God or hideous in man, than pride. It is against this sin that some of the strongest invectives of Scripture are hurled; and the saint of God, although finding it still lurking within himself, knows no language too severe to employ in its condemnation. "The LORD detests all the proud of heart. Be sure of this: They will not go unpunished!" Proverbs 16:5 And it is against the man of pride that God places himself in battle array; for "God resists the proud — but gives grace to the humble." 1 Peter 5:5. Pride is a daring sin that disputes the very sovereignty of Jehovah, and ventures to rob Him of the glory which is His due. It hardens the sinner in his sin, and ensures his doom by making him spurn the only salvation that saves. Pride dries up and withers the strength of the saint, and places an insurmountable barrier in the way of his usefulness for his God. Pride is the pioneer of disaster and destruction, and it heralds the way to eternal misery and ruin. The direst judgments of God recorded in the Word are those that came on pride. Other sins have slain their thousands — but pride has slain its tens of thousands! What solitary word can be said in its excuse? I know that all sin is without excuse, and that it is not for us to attempt the palliation of any sin; yet at the same time, there are degrees in guilt. Some sins lead more to pity and sorrow than anything else; but pity is wasted when bestowed on pride. Rightly viewed, pride can only produce burning indignation and deep loathing. It is a sin that can plead no possible cause for existence. It is founded on a lie and supported by ignorance. Pride!! — it is a sin without foundation; for what has man to be proud about? The natural man being nothing but a mass of guilt and unforgiven sin, has only cause for shame; and the saint being only what he is by the grace of God, is equally destitute of ground for boasting. Pride is the first-born child of its mother, ignorance; it can only thrive in darkness, and it expires in the light. Have you not observed in daily life that the most ignorant and untaught — the men whose minds are most cramped — the men who can only be described as "little" — are always the men most crammed full of conceit. They know so little that they do not know the smallness of their knowledge, and consequently they pride themselves on knowing everything. Let but a little light stream into their minds, and the first thing they perceive is that they know next to nothing. So it is spiritually. A soul unenlightened from on high remains content with itself; and from its dusty darkness, pride is bred. Ignorant as a post, it talks proud nonsense like the Pharisee, and it thanks God that it is not like the man whom He justifies. But when the Holy Spirit shines into the man — the dark chambers of his heart are lit up, the unrevealed filth is manifested — and in a moment the building in which he has so gloried, tumbles down about his ears! Confounded by the sudden revelations made, his pride collapses; and taking the position of the publican he once despised, he borrows his prayer and cries, "God be merciful to me, a sinner!" But alas! pride has many lives, and dies hard. Although in the hour of conversion it receives a death-blow, it is still far from dead, and its dying struggles are all too strong for native strength; it lingers with the saint a lifetime, and only dies when he himself is dead. Shall we excuse the sin because it lingers with us to the last? God forbid. Of all pride, saint-pride is the very worst; it is unaccountable — unthankful — hateful, and if this evening’s service does nothing else than cut its plumes and cast it to the ground, we shall not have gathered here in vain. "Brethren, we are debtors!" This assertion is well calculated to bring us to our senses and stop our mouth from boasting. The verse is a sharp and glittering axe. May the spirit now place His hand on ours, and direct the blow at the very root of the sin. I purpose dividing the subject into three parts, as follows: First, I will ask you to have a look at the debtor himself in order to find out who he is. Secondly, I will try and go through his accounts in order to see how he stands. Lastly, I will try and give a little advice as to what he had better do. I. Let us have a look at the debtor himself. Who is the debtor, and what is his name? These are the questions that naturally arise and we will try and briefly answer them. I notice first that there are many of them. The text is in the plural; "we" are debtors. A long line of them appears, innumerable for multitude. Looking along them, the features of the apostle Paul arrest the attention, and I now find that it is he who says to his companions the words that this evening fall upon our ears, "Brethren, we are debtors." Surely there is something strange here, at first glance almost irreconcilable with previous words that have fallen from his lips. Paul — a debtor? Why, I thought he was the one who spoke of being Christ’s free man, and not under the law but grace. Paul — a debtor? Was it not he who said "Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us"? Has Paul become legal in his doctrines? After speaking so plainly to the Galatians about their becoming entangled with the works of the law, has he himself fallen into the same error? Was it not Paul who loved to declare in glowing language that Christ had fulfilled the law, paid all its requirements, and completely exonerated all His people from every liability? Surely it was. And yet here we have him declaring himself to be a debtor, and not only himself — but a great company with him. Who are those he links with himself? Are they a number of unconverted sinners — and as such, is he simply speaking on their behalf? No, far from it. The mystery is not to be explained in that way. Those to whom he is writing are those who are "in Christ," and concerning them he declares most emphatically in the first verse of this chapter, that "there is no condemnation." This seems a strange contradiction, "no condemnation" — and yet debtors. Acquitted from all charges made against them — and yet debtors. All debts paid in full — and yet debtors still. This demands investigation and careful study, for evidently the debtors mentioned here are debtor saints, not debtor sinners. God’s children are God’s debtors — but in a very differed sense to what they were before. It is no longer a burden that crushes them in the dust, heavy with condemnation — but a sweet obligation from which they do not wish their freedom. The debtors Paul speaks of, and among whom he places himself, had been debtors of a different kind in previous days. They had all known what it was to pass wearisome years in the great debtor’s prison, within whose walls all mankind are by nature born. They had owed an infinite debt to the justice of God, and to the demands of His broken law. They could never have paid it themselves. Had they been delivered over to the tormentors until the uttermost farthing was returned — they would have been in the hands of avenging justice even now, with their debt not even diminished, far less removed! The creditor required that; they had lost all power to pay. But divine mercy intervened between the debtors and their doom. Christ took upon Himself their liabilities — he became their surety, and consented to be held responsible for them. What tongue can describe the reckoning that he made? No gold or silver paid that debt — but blood — the precious blood of Jesus! Staggering under its crushing weight, he fell upon His face in Gethsemane, while from His body every pore dropped blood. He carried the load to Calvary’s cross, and there in unknown agonies, he paid the debtors’ debts in full! Yes, though the load broke His heart, He did not die until Heaven and earth had heard Him cry, "It is finished!" Down into the grave He carried his people’s debts, and then rising on the third day, he left them there forever. The surety being acquitted — all for whom He stood, must now go free. No debtors’ prison can hold them now. They can look into the face of infinite and inflexible justice itself, and say, "I owe you nothing; you have received my debt in full from Jesus’ hands." How then can these people be said to be in debt? This is the question that yet remains to be answered. It is easily done, for every Christian’s heart supplies the answer. It is the debt of obligation — gratitude and love we owed to Him, by whom we are what we are. Not having paid our own debts — we are indebted to Him who paid them for us. We no longer owe anything to a broken law and divine justice — but we owe all to a loving Savior. Blessed debt that requires no payment but love. Just in a word or two let me, by an illustration, make more clear the indebtedness I mean. There is a poor wretched forlorn creature, who has lost his all. One thing after another has gone, until now he is penniless, besides which he owes more than he will ever be able to repay. What few sticks of furniture he once possessed are now no longer his — the broker is in his room, and he is just about to be cast on the street with his weeping wife and starving child. In the moment of his supreme agony, there enters one whom he has always hated and treated cruelly. Without one word of reproach, this man pays the rent, and tells the broker he may leave — he calls in every account the man has ever owed, and pays them all. He provides the best food, beautiful garments, and a lovely home — and besides clearing off all past debts, he makes ample provision for every future need. Now that man is out of debt, is he not? Go and ask him, and he will tell you, weeping tears of joy, "Yes, I am; and no, I am not; for if I owe my former creditors nothing, I owe my all to my former enemy." Brethren, in this sense we are debtors. II. Let us now go through the Debtor’s Accounts. Up to the present we have only spoken of the saint being a debtor in general terms. But as doubtless there are some present who, although acknowledging themselves debtors — yet remain in a certain measure ignorant of the amount to which they are indebted, I purpose going more into detail. I mean, God helping me, to turn accountant and inspect your books, asking you to follow me carefully and mark the result. There are several books of yours I will want you to fetch down, and together we will add up the columns of "received" and "paid," and then try and strike the balance. Unless greatly mistaken, I think we will find that in every item we have received far more than we have paid for — and that in the sum total, we are tremendous debtors. Let us first inspect the SPIRITUAL account book. I can see at a glance that in the left-hand column of "Received" there is a long list of benefits, and that the right-hand column of "Paid" presents a very barren appearance. Let us, however come more closely to the work and take it line by line, for general appearances will never do in making up accounts. Standing at the head of the list, I read, "Received mercy." Yes, blessed be God, many of us present can speak of mercy, not as what we entertain a faint hope of possessing some day — but as what we now have to the joy and rejoicing of our hearts. There was a time when mercy was our one desire and daily cry. To obtain that, we felt we would sacrifice all besides, and the lack of it spread a gloom over our life that nothing could enlighten. Hundreds of times we went as near the mercy-seat as we dared, and that was "afar off;" and with downcast eyes that streamed with tears, we struck upon our breast and cried, "O God be merciful to me!" Well, thank God, those days are now over. There came a time when, as we were weeping and praying, mercy flew to us and said, "Your prayers are heard; you have obtained the desire of your heart. I am yours!" O, with what joyful haste we recorded the fact, how our tears — but not tears of grief — stained the page as we wrote, "I have obtained mercy!" No longer did we half despairingly cry for it — but in a song that vied in joy with those of the heavenly hosts we sang, "God has been merciful to me!" Many days have passed since then — but the memories of that moment linger with us still, undiminished in their sweetness. Surely of all we have received from God, mercy is not the least. In the book of Hosea, Hosea 2:1, there is a most precious salutation that was to be given by one godly Israelite to another. It is as follows, "Say to your brethren, Ammi, and to your sisters, Ruhamah." This translated means, say to your brethren, "My people," and to your sisters, "Having obtained mercy." What a sweet salutation this is, and sweeter still to think that it can be addressed to some hundreds present. My brother, in spirit I grasp you by the hand and cry, Ruhamah! Ruhamah! We have obtained mercy! My sister, our joy is yours also; to many of you I say, Ruhamah! Ruhamah! For you too have obtained mercy. Truly this is a glorious item heading the list. Let us look at the corresponding line in the other column, and see what we paid for so great a blessing. I look in vain for anything; but wait, there is a memorandum there; let us read it. "So then it is not of him that wills, nor of him that runs — but of God that shows mercy." Romans 9:16. What, was mercy received for nothing? Yes, for mercy to be mercy — it must be perfectly free. It came to us unsought, most undeserved, unasked. Unasked! Did we not pray for it? Yes — but it was mercy that made us pray for mercy. Sweet mercy, how free you are! As free as the sunbeams that enter the hut and the palace alike! As free as the raindrops that fell this afternoon. Brethren, we are debtors, for we have obtained mercy and paid nothing for it. Another most important item now appears on the list of receipts. It reads, "Received a perfect righteousness." Something more than pardon for transgression past, is needed for the soul to enter Heaven. There must be possessed a perfect righteousness without a flaw — a righteousness not comparative in its merits — but superlative. It must be a righteousness that will satisfy God himself — a righteousness that could not possibly be increased — one that will defy the brightness of the great white throne to detect an imperfection. Where is sinful man to obtain it? How can he, who has broken every commandment of the law — yet appear as one who has honored it in every particular, and given to it a never-failing obedience? The answer to this question could never come from man — for how can a clean thing come out of an unclean? When the leopard changes his spots — then man may hope to make himself anything else than a sinner. But thank God, the answer has come not from us — but from our Savior. He who was our sin-bearer also becomes our righteousness. While by His blood and death He made an atonement for our guilt, and cleanses us from all our sins, He also — by His perfect obedience to the law, worked out a righteousness, which He imputes to all, the moment they by grace believe. O, blessed fact beloved, we are as righteous in the sight of God as Jesus Christ Himself. It is on His righteousness that our God looks when He bends His eye on us. This righteousness can never be impaired, and can never be removed. It will abide the test of death, and only shine more brightly when the light of the judgment day arises. What, dear friends, did we give for this justifying robe? I find in the other column no mentioned price — but simply a text recorded, "and this is His name, whereby he shall be called ’The Lord Our Righteousness.’ Jeremiah 23:6. Brethren, we are debtors. I can only mention the other remaining blessings that I find recorded as being received. There is Peace. Perfect peace, sweet peace, increasing peace . . . peace with God, peace in our souls, peace in relation to the future, peace that will culminate in Heaven. Blessed portion, who can measure its preciousness? But did we purchase it? Far from it. It was our effort to purchase it that kept us so long from obtaining it. He, yes, He who is our righteousness, is also "our peace" with God; and it is he also who gives sweet peace within. "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you." John 14:27. Brethren, under this head, we are debtors. We have, moreover, received very great and precious promises. Each one more precious than a thousand diamonds! But they are no purchased promises. With all we have already mentioned, they are all "yes, and in Him, Amen." 2 Corinthians 1:20. For innumerable promises, we are, brethren — but debtors. Last — but far from least, indeed, greatest of them all, there stands recorded, a promised Heaven. A promised Heaven? Yes, not a purchased one. Listen to the songs of those who have already entered into full possession of their bright inheritance. The song does not speak of any price paid by the songsters — but it is full of praise to Him who, having purchased their bliss by His agonies, presents it to them free. "To Him who loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood, and has made us kings and priests to His God and Father, to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever — Amen." Revelation 1:5-6. My brethren, from Hell’s gate to Heaven’s throne, and for every step between the two, we are debtors to sovereign grace! All that we are, and all we ever hope to be, we owe to Him alone. Let us now take down another account book of the saint, and see if this one in any measure reverses the decision we have been obliged to come through the former. It is his PROVIDENTIAL account book. I notice, first, that he has received health. This is a mercy, the value of which is never known until it is removed. To some present, illness is a thing almost unknown, and pain is a comparative stranger. You can hardly remember the time when sickness kept you a prisoner at home, and made God’s house a strange place to you. The doctor is the least frequent visitor you have, and his bills have never proved any drawback to your prosperity. Well, friend, you are quite blessed. You have received a great mercy. But are you not a debtor for it? Assuredly you are. There are multitudes who love Jesus with a love as warm, perhaps more fervent than yours — who hardly ever know what it is to feel the joy of buoyant health. Days of pain and nights of weariness are appointed to them. Their most healthy days are what you would term your days of sickness. They have as ardent a desire to spend and be spent in His service, as ever you possess — and yet their devotion to their Savior can only show itself in patient suffering. Together with pain of body they often have perplexity of mind, for all their little savings are swallowed up by sickness. To find many of the holiest saints on earth this evening, you would have to go, not to the crowded sanctuary — but to the silent bedroom. Why so? Only because health is God’s gift, and you are His debtor for it. Many of us also have a happy home to be reckoned in our mercies. Wherever else we may have trial, we live free from it at home. And he who is happy at home, can well bear much abroad. Of all the providential gifts of God, a home of peace and joy stands first. Is this mercy ours because of any superior goodness belonging to us? Surely not! For some of the holiest find their troubles in their home. Doubtless, there are many here who know only too well the truth of what I state. The return home from the sanctuary is almost dreaded, as it is sure to lead to an experience the very reverse of what they enjoy in the Lord’s house. They know that persecution and unkindness await them, and the Savior’s words are true in their case, "A man’s foes shall be those of his own household." Matthew 10:36. Brethren, for that bright happy little spot we call home, and for all the charms we find within it, we are God’s debtors. In the book also of many present, there will be found recorded "many comforts denied to others." True, you are not wealthy, or surrounded by luxuries — but you are free from poverty, and have a sufficiency of all that is truly needful. Many of the comforts as well as the necessities of life, are yours. In the whole of your course, you have never known what it is to be more than occasionally "pinched" in circumstances. To what do you owe this fact? Only to the sovereign mercy of God. Many of His children as prayerful, perhaps more so, than yourself, find life is one long struggle. What you complain of — they would consider prosperity; and your "trying circumstances" — they would look upon as next door to an Eden. Many a brother and sister in Christ are often, as James expresses it, "destitute of daily food." I wish that we could see God’s hand more in all our temporal mercies, and acknowledge by our willingness to help the poorer of Christ’s flock, that we know and feel ourselves to be debtors for everything we have, as well as for everything we are. There is one other book I want to examine, and as it closely concerns us as a church and people, I ask your careful attention. It is the account book of our church mercies. The page of "Received" is crowded from top to bottom. God has most marvelously blessed us. Standing at the head of the list, I read . . . "many conversions," "restoration of many backsliders." "Joy, peace, and prayerfulness in our midst." While many churches have had to deplore barrenness and few converts — we have had cause to say, "Where do these come from that flock as doves to the windows?" Many have been our church blessings. But what have we paid for them? I find nothing on the other side of the page recorded. The blessing given has been the result of free and sovereign grace. There is not one of us that can say, "It has been through me." No, the more we see of ourselves, the greater becomes the wonder that God can bless us in any measure. Beloved friends, let us, as a church, walk humbly; and while we rejoice in the prosperity given, remember that we are debtors. Having now gone through some of the debtor’s books, what CONCLUSION are we forced to come to? Why only that he is over head and ears in debt. Never was there such a debtor before, and there never can in future ages be a greater. He owes for all he is. He owes for all he has. He owes for all he hopes to be. His debts are beyond all calculation, and his power to pay any portion of them is simply nil. "Over head in debt" did I say? Yes, and something more than that; he is over heart in debt. Remember, moreover, that every minute adds to the amount. Each ticking moment is an extra debt. While I have been preaching and you listening, our indebtedness to God has been silently augmented. O, how can we overtake a debt that grows with every second? We never can, and until our last hour, and in the very moment of our death, we must still exclaim, "Brethren, we are debtors." III. Let us see what is best to be done. Time warns us that on this division we must be brief indeed; so I will do little else than just mention a few suggestions. Let us frankly acknowledge our debts. Let us shun all boasting either in the heart or conversation. If ever we are called to speak of what we are or what we have — then let us always take care to let it be known that it is by the grace of God that we are what we are, and that it is by the mercy of God that we have what we have. Let us never boast at our God’s expense — but delight to say, "We owe Him for all." Secondly, let us walk humbly because of our debts. Debtors should not lift their heads too high. If they do, they forfeit all claim to sympathy. If I see some poor fellow who has been fairly crushed by adverse circumstances, if I mark him walking with downcast eyes and seeming to shun all observation, there is something within me that says, "Go and take him by the hand, his burden is heavy enough without your adding to it by lack of sympathy." I see the man feels his lowly position, and that is enough to command pity from any heart that is not less than human. But if on the contrary, the man grows proud on his poverty, and laughs at his debts, and goes ahead more than ever — my heart is steeled against him. Brethren, let us walk humbly with our God, and with all our joy for pardoned sin; let there be an abiding sense of the fact that we are still debtors and nothing else. Thirdly, let us deal leniently with others. I will tell you an incident and leave you to draw the moral. There was once a servant who owed his lord ten thousand talents, and as he had nothing to pay it with, his lord was about to sell him, his wife, his children, and all he had. Falling on his knees, the servant entreated for mercy. Moved by compassion, his lord forgave him that great debt. Going forth as a forgiven debtor, he happened to meet a fellow servant who owed him the paltry sum of a hundred pence. Taking him by the throat he demanded him to pay the debt; and refusing to listen to his cries for mercy, he cast his fellow servant into prison. Do you wonder that upon his lord hearing of it, he was angry with the servant, and sued him for his great debt? Brethren, we are debtors — let us forgive those who are indebted to us. Lastly, let us make a willing surrender of all the Lord asks for. It is the very least return that we can make. Owing Him for everything — we can grudge Him nothing. At least we should not. Bought with blood divine, we are no longer our own, but His. Having nothing but what we have received from His hands, there should be nothing that we would not give up with joy into His hands again. Brethren, we are debtors. Let us show it by our lives. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 9: S. A SONG ABOUT REDEMPTION! ======================================================================== A Song About Redemption! Archibald G. Brown, October 11th, 1868, at Stepney Green Tabernacle "Sing, O heavens, for the LORD has done this wondrous thing. Shout for joy, O depths of the earth! Break into song, O mountains and forests and every tree! For the LORD has redeemed Jacob and is glorified in Israel." Isaiah 44:23 What is redemption, and what is there in it that particularly calls for a song? This is our subject for this evening’s meditation. Deliverance by redemption is not a deliverance obtained by mere pardoning mercy, as in the case of the debtor, set free at his earnest entreaties; nor is it a deliverance accomplished by rescue, obtained by the exertion of force only; but it is a deliverance gained by the payment of a price — the full discharge given on receipt of the full amount due. When our Lord hung in "unknown agonies" upon Calvary’s tree, he made Salvation certain for his own elect, by then and there paying down, not in gold or silver but in precious blood-drops, the redemption price demanded by an inflexible justice: "From Bethlehem’s inn to Calvary’s cross, Affliction marked his road; And many a weary step he took To bring us back to God. But darker far the awful hour When on the cross he cried, ’Tis finished,’ the full ransom’s paid, Then bowed his head and died." Yes, beloved, we have been bought by Christ; we no longer belong either to Satan, self, or the world — but to Him who has purchased his church with his blood, "In whom we have redemption." The text which I have selected for this evening is a magnificent call to Heaven and earth to join in singing the glories of redemption — to preach from it in any measure as it should be preached from, the preacher ought to be in possession of a heart burning with gratitude through a more than usual consciousness of his saving interest in that redemption. How can he rise to the sublimity of the text, unless it is but the echo of his own soul’s experience? May the Lord graciously aid and send "help from on high" while we endeavor to show: first — In what particulars redemption call for a song, and then — Who those are who should sing the song. 1. In what particulars does redemption call for a song? My difficulty here will only be one of choice, for every particular of redemption is worthy of a sonnet. The whole is a golden harp, and every string has only to be touched in order to give the sweetest melody. 1. Certainly redemption calls for a song when we remember, first, ITS AUTHOR. Our text seems to teach this in its very wording, "Sing O heavens!" Why? "For the LORD has done this wondrous thing. Shout for joy, O depths of the earth! Break into song, O mountains and forests and every tree!" Why? "For the Lord has redeemed Jacob." In this is indeed a marvel of grace, demanding the highest anthems ransomed lips can raise. What could man have been to Him? What shadow of obligation was there on God’s part to put forth the slightest effort to save a single rebellious sinner? Had the whole human race like a roaring torrent been turned to Hell and left to roll its awful course until the end of time, who could have dared to impugn the justice of the doom? What could it have been to God whether man was saved or damned? He would have been glorified in either case, and still remained "The blessed (happy) God." But sweet thought! It was much to him; his sovereign unaccountable love said, "Deliver him from going down to the pit — I have found a ransom!" The Lord has done it, and done it alone. With whom did he take counsel in this matter? Who paid part-price with him? Redemption is no work of the many; it is God’s own in plan and execution; he came forth to the work "in the greatness of his strength," "mighty to save." It is through the person of the Redeemer, that redemption gains its infinite value. He threw the weight of Deity in the scale. It was the altar of his Godhead, that made his atonement of boundless price; sufficient to make a just substitute for a myriad host of fallen men. Let me try and more clearly explain my meaning by an anecdote. There was once a lady who undertook the task of instructing a deaf and dumb lad in the things of God; of course she could only speak to him by signs and pictures. She drew upon a paper a picture of a great crowd of people, old and young, standing near a wide and deep pit, out of which smoke and flames were issuing — on a corner of the paper she drew the figure of One coming down from Heaven on purpose to save them. She explained on her fingers to the boy that when this person came, he asked God not to throw the people into the pit, if he himself agreed to be nailed to a cross for them; and how sacrificed Himself upon the cross, and the pit was shut up! The deaf and dumb boy made signs that the person who died was only one, and the people saved many. How could God take one for so many? The lady taking off a gold ring, put it beside a heap of withered leaves, and asked the boy which was the best, "the one gold ring — or the many dry leaves?" The boy clapped his hands, and spelled "the one! the one! the one!" The Lord Jesus is the one gold ring whose atonement is sufficient for the many dry leaves. Think of redemption’s author, and then "Sing, O heavens, for the LORD has done this wondrous thing. Shout for joy, O depths of the earth! Break into song, O mountains and forests and every tree! For the LORD has redeemed Jacob and is glorified in Israel." 2. Another particular in redemption that specially calls for a song is ITS COST. Well may the believer stand aghast at the infinite price his soul’s redemption cost. What that price was Peter tells us, 1 Peter 1:18-19 : "Not with corruptible things as silver and gold; but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot." And well also may he stand astonished at that incomparable love that paid the price demanded. "This was compassion like a God, That when the Savior knew The price of pardon was his blood, His pity never withdrew!" The value of any article is in proportion to its cost to procure. The pearl that gleams on the brow of yonder bride is immensely precious, because of its rescue from the great deep at the risk of the pearl-diver’s life as he was dragged into the boat, half-dead, with the blood gushing from his nostrils. Estimating redemption by this test, who can reckon its worth? The heavenly pearl-diver beheld us deep-sunken in the sea of depravity and sin; he not only saw — but he coveted the jewel, that it might forever flash in his imperial diadem. Stripping himself of the robes of Heaven, and laying aside the purple of royalty, he stood upon the battlements of Heaven, and sprang into the deepest part of the black ocean! Down, down he went — the floods roared over his head; "all your waves and your billows went over me!" He reached the holiest depth, for "he became obedient to the death, even the death of the cross;" and at the lowest depth he grasped the jewel and bore it triumphantly above! O ineffable love! Gethsemane’s bloody sweat; the bloodier scourging in Pilate’s hall; and the ignominious death at Golgotha — were all part of the price he paid to ransom fallen man. Behold, O saint, redemption’s cost, and then, "Sing, O heavens, for the LORD has done this wondrous thing. Shout for joy, O depths of the earth! Break into song, O mountains and forests and every tree! For the LORD has redeemed Jacob and is glorified in Israel." 3. Thirdly, I would try and strengthen the reasons for song by reminding you of ITS COMPLETENESS. Christ has so gloriously completed the work of redemption, that nothing can possibly be added to it, "the Lord has done it!" Isaiah 44:23 Unlike the atonement made by the Aaronic priesthood — Christ’s atonement lasts forever. In their sacrifices, there was a continual remembrance made of sin. Year after year the high-priest entered into the holiest of all; every entrance witnessing that the previous atonement made was but of limited efficacy. Paul, in his own masterly style, draws the vivid contrast between the two, in his Epistle to the Hebrews, "Neither by the blood of goats and calves — but by his own blood he entered in once into the holy place, having obtained eternal redemption for us." "Nor that he should offer himself often, as the high-priest enters into the holy place every year with blood of others; for then must he often have suffered since the foundation of the world. But now once in the end of the world, he has appeared to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself," Hebrews 9:12; Hebrews 9:25-26. And once more, "Every priest stands daily ministering and offering often the same sacrifices, which can never take away sins: but this man, after he had offered one sacrifice for sins forever, sat down on the right hand of God." Hebrews 10:11-12. Yes, the atonement of Christ is so infinite, that nothing more can or will be demanded by God throughout all ages. Never more shall the "Son of God" become the "man of sorrows;" Isaiah 53:3 never more shall Calvary’s hill run red with a Redeemer’s blood. If you are not saved by the atonement made, you must be most certainly damned — it is your only hope, "The Lord has done it," and will never repeat it. View, believer, redemption’s completeness, and then exclaim, "Sing, O heavens, for the LORD has done this wondrous thing. Shout for joy, O depths of the earth! Break into song, O mountains and forests and every tree! For the LORD has redeemed Jacob and is glorified in Israel." 4. I would have you observe as a fresh incentive to song, ITS COMPREHENSIVENESS. Redemption has a giant’s span. To dwell on all we are redeemed FROM, and redeemed TO — would take a week of preaching; and still we would then be no nearer the conclusion of the matter. It will take eternity to reveal all. Let me therefore only mention a few of the most prominent evils from which we are redeemed. Beloved, if we are Christ’s, then we have been redeemed from bondage to Satan. By sin, man has sold himself to the devil, "you have sold yourself for nothing!" The devil can claim his own; but those for whom Christ died are not his, for "they have been redeemed without money," Isaiah 52:3. Therefore his power over them is usurped. Hands off! Hands off that man in the gallery! He is not yours, O Satan — but Christ’s. Hands off that trembling sister in the aisle! She has been redeemed; washed in blood! Behold the Lord’s mark on her forehead. Claim your own swine — but leave Christ’s sheep alone. Yes, blessed be God, Christ has "delivered the lawful captive" Isaiah 49:24 from him that was too strong for him. Are we not also redeemed from the guilt of sin? The black cloud that hung over us has been blotted out; as the verse previous to our text says, "I have blotted out as a thick cloud your transgressions, and as a cloud your sins; return to me, for I have redeemed you;" Isaiah 44:22. Our guilt has been removed so clean away that even God’s holy eyes behold "no spot or wrinkle or any such thing." Ephesians 5:27. With the guilt, away goes the power of sin. We are no longer galley slaves to our own lusts — but Christ’s free men to follow after holiness. If we are redeemed from the guilt and power of sin — then we are also redeemed from the consequences of sin. "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." Romans 8:1. In relation to the saint, redeeming blood has put Hell’s fire out. What Hell is — a redeemed soul never has and shall never know. He has also redeemed us from the power of death. In Hosea 13:14, we read, "I will ransom you from the power of the grave; I will redeem them from death. O death, I will be your plagues; O grave, I will be your destruction." There is no death for the child of God — he has only to walk through "the valley of the shadow of death." Death left its sting in Christ; the only sting death ever had was sin, and that is gone! "It is not death to die, To leave this weary road; And ’midst the brotherhood on high, To be at home with God. O Jesus, prince of life! Your chosen cannot die; Like You they conquer in the strife, To reign with You on high." And to close this point, Christ has redeemed the bodies of his saints for the glories of the resurrection morn. "Even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, namely, the redemption of our body." Romans 8:23. The sleeping dust of God’s departed host is included in the Redeemer’s purchase; and when the archangel’s trumpet sounds to announce the dawning of the resurrection day, then from marble sepulchers, forgotten graves, and the deep ocean — that dust shall arise in glorified bodies to proclaim the comprehensiveness of God’s Redemption! Then "Sing, O heavens, for the LORD has done this wondrous thing. Shout for joy, O depths of the earth! Break into song, O mountains and forests and every tree! For the LORD has redeemed Jacob and is glorified in Israel." 5. Fifthly and lastly, the highest cause for song is redemption, being that in which God has been pleased to glorify himself the most. "The Lord has glorified himself in Israel." All the attributes of God are most gloriously seen in Christ’s work of redemption! JUSTICE stands forth in magnificent grandeur right through the whole of the Old Testament — it was displayed in awful splendor . . . when the rebel angels were hurled from thrones in Heaven — to beds in Hell; when the old world was destroyed by a watery deluge; and when Sodom and Gomorrah were turned to ashes with a rain of fire. But Jesus hanging on the cross between two thieves until death terminated His agony — is the most amazing evidence of God’s stern justice that ever has or ever shall be given throughout time or eternity! Never was justice so glorified, as when the cry rang through Heaven, "Awake, O sword, against My Shepherd, against the Man who is close to me! Strike the Shepherd!" declares the LORD Almighty!" Zechariah 13:7 Think, moreover, of the glory that accrues to the infinite WISDOM of God through redemption. "All worlds His glorious power confess, His wisdom all His works express." But amid all the varied works of God, none so loudly proclaim "the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God — as that of redemption. Pause for a moment, and consider the demands made upon that wisdom. A plan of salvation was required which would . . . show the greatest hatred for sin — and at the same, the greatest love for the sinner; leave justice unimpaired, truth unviolated — and yet allow mercy to triumph; at one and the same time fulfill all the threats against sin — and all the promises and types of a Savior; satisfactorily and forever answer the question "How then can man be justified with God?" This is a problem, which if all the angels had met in solemn conclave for ten thousand years to solve, would still have been infinitely beyond them. But divine wisdom triumphed, it found the answer that led to the solution, and in redemption, "Mercy and truth have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other." Psalms 85:10 God is glorified, sinners are saved, and Satan is confounded! That the POWER of God is magnified, I need only refer you to one passage — Ephesians 1:19-20. "The eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that you may know... what is the exceeding greatness of His power toward us who believe, according to the working of His mighty power, which He wrought in Christ when He raised Him from the dead, and set Him at His own right hand in the heavenly places." The last attribute I will mention which received exceeding glory through redemption, is MERCY. "In this the love of God was manifested towards us, because God sent His only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through Him." 1 John 4:9 Would you know what God’s love and mercy is? Then you must stand before the bleeding Savior on Calvary’s tree, and read it there drawn out in crimson characters! In Christ, behold mercy incarnated — love embodied! It has pleased God to make redemption His chosen panorama of mercy. An old divine has well said: "May not a Christian turn Psalms 136:1-26 into gospel-language and say, "O give thanks to our Redeemer; for His mercy endures forever. To Him who said ’Lo, I come!’ — for His mercy endures forever. To Him who was born in a stable — for His mercy endures forever. To Him who fulfilled the law for us — for His mercy endures forever. To Him who expired upon a cross — for His mercy endures forever. To Him who rose again from the dead, and ascended into Heaven to manage our affairs — for His mercy endures forever!" Now, believer, rejoice, for your Lord is superlatively glorified in redemption. Make the language of the text your own, "Sing, O heavens, for the LORD has done this wondrous thing. Shout for joy, O depths of the earth! Break into song, O mountains and forests and every tree! For the LORD has redeemed Jacob and is glorified in Israel." II. Who those are, who should sing this Song. I have dwelt so much longer on the first division than I intended, that but very little time is left for describing who the songsters ought to be. I will therefore only briefly mention them, and leave you to supply the deficiency in your private meditations. 1. The first called on in the text is, Heaven! "Sing, O heavens," and well you may, for redemption has shed fresh luster on your glories. The highest joy the angels can have, is that which arises from seeing their King glorified. I have already endeavored to show that a glory beyond all glories flows to Christ through the channel of redemption. Therefore I am in no wonderment at the marked interest displayed by the angelic world in every step of that redemption. It was indeed the true Jacob’s ladder, linking Heaven and earth, and therefore on every rung an angel stood. Sweetly they broke the still silence of that first Christmas morn, with such a carol as the world had never heard before. A shepherd band was "abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night," when, "lo, an angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them," and then the angel said, "Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people." No sooner had this sweet gospel song died away into the previous stillness of the night, than a very constellation of angels shone round the astonished band, and sang as never mortal ear had heard before, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men!" Luke 2:10; Luke 2:14. Those who are "ministering spirits" to the saints, were also constant attendants on our Lord in his thirty years of sojourn here — this we know, that when our Savior was in Gethsemane weeping, all bathed in bloody sweat, there appeared "an angel strengthening him." Luke 22:43 In wondrous awe they must have grouped themselves, unseen to mortal eye, around the cross, and marveled at the love that would not call them to the rescue! With what ecstatic joy that angel (on the third morning’s dawn) rolled back the stone. In what a delirium of rejoicing was Heaven thrown when the conqueror ascended, "With scars of honor in his flesh, And triumph in his eyes!" How the very walls of Heaven shook when all the assembled host shouted, "Lift up your heads, O you gates, and be lifted up you everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in!" Psalms 24:7 Sing, O you heavens! The answer comes rolling back, We do — we do! Behold also the redeemed in Heaven!! Listen to their song, sweeter even than an angel’s, "To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood, and has made us to be a kingdom and priests to serve his God and Father — to him be glory and power forever and ever! Amen!" Do you tell them to sing? They answer back, We do — we do — and ever will. All Heaven unites in this redemption song. Sing, O heavens, for the LORD has done this wondrous thing. Shout for joy, O depths of the earth! Break into song, O mountains and forests and every tree! For the LORD has redeemed Jacob and is glorified in Israel 2. Let the Ransomed on earth take their part. "Shout for joy, O depths of the earth!" Whoever else may be silent, you must not. O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his mercy endures forever, let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he has redeemed from the hand of the enemy." Psalms 107:1-2. Behold . . . your serfdom gone, your bonds broken, your chains snapped, your sins forgiven, your Heaven secured — and then sing! Oh shame on us that we sing so seldom, and when we do, so faintly. Where is our harp tonight? Hanging on yonder willow? Let us get it down, and "Loud to the praise of love divine, Bid every string awake!" Believer, you are the lamb taken out of the lion’s jaw, and delivered from the paw of the bear. Then sing your David’s praise. Do not let the stars of Heaven make the stars of the Lord blush. They sing their Maker’s praise — so you shout your Redeemer’s praise! 3. Surely those who have loved ones that have been redeemed should join us in the song. Parents, do you not remember how you used to pray and weep, and then weep and pray, over that son of yours? Do you not remember how you almost despaired of his conversion? And do you not, above all, remember that day when those prayers were answered, that day when for the first time you beheld him seeking Jesus? Did he not, last Lord’s-day evening, sit with you at the table of his Savior and yours? Oh sing, for the Lord has done it! Are there not many of us who can think of parents — sisters — brothers — husbands — wives — that have been brought in by grace, and made truly one with us in the very closest of bonds, and should we not to be among the singers? We should indeed. Lord, help us tonight to sing that You have "done it." 4. Let me close by saying the trembling sinner has good cause indeed to join his voice with ours. Ah, anxious penitent, is tonight’s text not a gleam of sunshine in your darkness? "The Lord has done it!" If done, then there can be no necessity for any addition of yours. "Nothing either great or small, Nothing, sinner, no; Jesus did it, did it all, Long, long, ago!" Was blood required for your cleansing? It has been shed. Was a righteousness necessary for your acceptance? It has been worked out. All that the salvation of your soul demands, has been done. Cease then from trying to add to a perfect work. Go in your emptiness to the Redeemer’s fullness. Venture your soul on him. Stake all your eternal interests on the complete atonement he has made; God help you to do that now, and then before you leave this tabernacle, you will say with a heart overflowing with gratitude, "Sing, O heavens, for the LORD has done this wondrous thing. Shout for joy, O depths of the earth! Break into song, O mountains and forests and every tree! For the LORD has redeemed Jacob and is glorified in Israel." God grant that this may be the blessed result, for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 10: S. A SWEET ECHO! ======================================================================== A Sweet Echo! Archibald G. Brown, January 2nd, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle When You said, "Seek My face!" my heart said to You, "Your face, LORD, I will seek!" Psalms 27:8 I feel dear friends that I have this morning to perform one of the most difficult tasks possible; namely, to preach when there is no preaching power in me. I am at the present moment in intense pain, which, though chiefly concentrated in the head, seems to dart along every nerve of the body. It is with some degree of difficulty that I can even distinguish your faces as everything is at present in a wild whirl around me. What few thoughts I had collected together upon this lovely text, have broken away from my grasp, and like wild horses on a plain, seem to challenge capture. I therefore cast myself upon your generous sympathy and indulgence, and trust you will accept the words spoken in weakness, and the thoughts gathered together with difficulty, in the same spirit that led our Lord to make his kindly allowance for the unwatchful disciples, "the spirit indeed is willing — but the flesh is weak." Matthew 26:41. Let us then get to the work. One of the sweetest marvels of nature is "the echo" — one that, to the soul touched in any degree with poetic fire, must give birth to a thousand thoughts and reveries. An echo! It is nature’s poetry that charms and captivates the mind, yet almost fills with fear. Well do I remember standing some years back upon a lone mountain-side — on every hand were giant peaks that towered up above, and seemed to frown on all beneath. Some were awful in their barrenness — their swelling lines unbroken by shrub or bush or tree — while others had their sloping sides mantled with a thousand pines. I was alone, and the solitude oppressed me — in vain I listened for sound of human footstep, singing bird, or bleating sheep. The silence was so intense, I thought I heard it. It seemed as if those monarch mountains had awed everything into the stillness of death. I tried to think of the ages they had reared their bald heads and darkening brows in one perpetual silence — save when the storm-cloud wreathed their shoulders and the thunder rolled amidst their crags — the thought oppressed me more than ever. For almost countless centuries these grand monuments of Divine Omnipotence had cast their dark shadow upon the narrow rocky ravine that lay below. I felt as if the very silence would crush me, and under an irresistible impulse, rising from a fallen boulder on which I had been resting, I gave a shout. There was a moment’s pause, and then those silent mountains found tongue. From side to side a very artillery was maintained. Echo awoke echo, and a second only gave birth to a third. The very pine trees seemed to nod their heads as they flung the echo back again. The change was complete. I stood as one who had awakened a spirit he had no power to restrain. I felt as if my very presence there was an intrusion, and that the sleeping giants who had been awakened by my call, were challenging my right to their domains. From that moment to the present, I have held the echo to be one of the most glorious phenomena of nature. But there is another echo, ungiven by nature, and unheard in mountain glen, which far more delights my soul — I mean the echo of the heart. The soul’s response to the call of God — the grateful loving echo which the renewed heart gives to the call of its Lord. Far superior is the echo of grace to that of nature, for while nature repeats the words, grace answers them. We have such an echo in this morning’s text. The soul of the sweet singer of Israel had been dwelling in silence; when all at once the solitude is broken by a voice from Heaven. "Seek My face," rings into every nook and cleft of the psalmist’s heart, and awakes his sleeping powers. There is but a moment’s pause, and the echo is given back in tones that have reached right down the ages to the present time, "Your face, Lord, will I seek." I think you will now have caught the thought we desire this morning to meditate upon, and may our Lord grant that while together musing upon it, there may be heard within the quiet of our breasts the still small voice of the Spirit calling us to seek a Father’s face; and from this morning’s gathering, may there resound a thousand echoes gathering volume as they roll. Perhaps some may be led to ask, ’Why has this text been selected for a New Year’s morning subject? Is there anything in it peculiarly suited to the occasion?’ Yes, I think there is, and it is this: Throughout the year God will be calling us all by different voices to seek his face; every hour the call will be heard, and the happiness of the year will depend on the echo that the heart gives back. He who in answer to every call, whether by mercy or trial, seeks at once his Father’s face, will have a happy year even in trouble; while he whose heart remains in sullen silence and heeds no calls of mercy, will dwell in gloom amid a year of plenty. The subject divides itself naturally into two divisions, namely, First, The Call. Secondly, The Echo. First then, The CALL. It is God’s reminder to a soul absorbed in the business, care, and pleasures of this life, to seek God’s face and favor amidst them all. And here let us make a frank confession which, unless I am greatly mistaken, will be the confession of every heart that knows anything of itself. ’It is a call that we often find difficult to hear.’ The illustration I employed in the introduction of the sermon when describing the text as an echo, fails altogether to describe the surroundings of the saint; for him there is no still quiet that renders the hearing of the faintest sound a certainty — but on the contrary, a very Babel of confused noises dins his ears. A thousand voices clamor for his attention, and it is often only by straining the ear that the still voice calling "upward" can be distinguished. Business man present, do you not find it to be so? Has not the whirr of commerce often deafened you to everything else, and has its roar not drowned all softer but sweeter sounds? You have struggled to be "in the Spirit" during your hours of toil — but how hard a work you have found it to be. You have sighed to hear the voice that would raise you far above the maddening whirl of commercial life — but the sigh was one of disappointment, for the hoarse shouts of suicidal competition alone poured upon the ear. You were like a man in a vast machinery room, surrounded by a thousand revolving wheels and creaking straps, trying in vain to catch the words he knew his bosom friend was speaking. It is one thing to hear the voice in the sanctuary — though that is not always easy — and another to hear it on the mart — in the exchange — behind the counter — at the desk — or in the docks. The world of business is no lone mountainside on which the faintest sound that floats upon the breeze not only may, but must be heard. It is the battlefield of life on which, to multitudes, rages a life-long fight with many a confused noise. It is one thing to be "calm in the closet’s solitude," but it is quite another to be "calm in the bustling street." Man of business, we recognize the difficulties of your position, and our sympathy is yours. But remember that the acknowledgment of the difficulty to hear the voice, in no way says it is impossible. Far from it. The ear rightly tuned will hear it clear as a silver bell ringing out its note above the surrounding Babel. Do not give way to despair and do let not your heart lose hope. Although difficult, it is possible, even in and over the clamor of business life to hear the call and give the echo. But beside the noise of business life, there is that noise of many cares. This difficulty will be understood by many to whom the previous was unknown. All are not called to business — but all are called to care. The speaker confesses to often finding it hard to distinguish the voice of Heaven amid the many conflicting calls of care. He has found it is possible to be so engaged, even in the work of the Lord and His church, as to become over-absorbed, and permit its cares to break into the quiet of the soul. There are others also here this morning who find it as difficult as any, at times to hear this call. I refer to the Mothers. Do you not find, dear friends, that domestic cares and duties often perplex and harass and so occupy your time, that you feel as if it were next to impossible for you to have the quiet of soul necessary to hear the voice of your Father inviting you to seek his face? "Yes," I think I hear you say, "it is too true; the little world of my own home so distracts me with its many calls, that I often fail to hear the call and give the echo." In a word, beloved, every position and station of life has its difficulties; and the greatest difficulty in this noisy, busy, feverish world, is to always be listening to the voice, "seek my face." But alas, there are some who have never yet heard it. How sad the thought that in this Sabbath morning’s congregation, there are men and women whose hearts have never heard what to so many of us is sweeter melody than all earth’s music. Ah, friend, you do not know what you lose. Your mercies, received with scarcely a thought or gratitude, would have a tenfold greater sweetness if you were to see them as calls from a Father to seek his face. Your trials, which now seem to you like crushing loads, and under which you repine and fret, would lose half their weight and bitterness, if you could but read them as so many invites to turn from earth, and seek a closer intimacy with God. Poor soul, deafened to all heavenly music by the noise and strife of life, my heart yearns over you, and my deepest thought concerning you is "would that this morning the still small voice might find its way within your breast, and awaken new and as yet unheard echoes." This Call is one that is heard by God’s saints in different degrees. All spiritual hearing is not equally acute. There are some who sit and sing, "Oh, this is life! Oh, this is joy, My God, to find You so; Your face to see, your voice to hear, And all your love to know." While others by their side can distinguish nothing but the roar of an outside world. There are some naturally calm and contemplative spirits that "dwell with Mary at the Master’s feet," and who seem enabled to detect in every providence a call to a higher life; while there are others just as anxious to hear their shepherd’s voice, and yet are ever troubled about much service, and the very clatter of whose preparations fills their ear to the exclusion of their Savior’s word. The most spiritual mind is that which is most prepared to hear at all times the sweet call of the text. And he is the most spiritually-minded Christian present, who most hears and sees in all and everything an invite to a closer fellowship. Let us now look at a few different instrumentalities by which our Lord calls us to seek His face. 1. He calls us by HIS WORD. Let us turn to memory, and see if we have not often found it so. Have there not been times with us all when the world upon which we have professed to turn our backs, has gained an extra power over us. Its glitter attracted us — its wealth allured us — and for a moment we were almost tempted to think we had made a hard bargain in giving it up. We needed something to recall us to ourselves and to our Lord; and we found that something in the Word. How that text, "What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul," tore off the tinsel and stripped the world of its charms, and made us seek his face to find our joys. How often when we have been dragged downwards with thoughts of mammon and covetous desires, the word has come to our rescue and said with a voice that commanded attention, "Do not lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal — but lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven" — and at that voice we were led to seek his face as our highest good. Yes, the Bible is God’s reminder to our naturally earthly souls, and in every chapter from Genesis to Revelation, there sounds the call to seek a Father’s face. It is only as we read the Word as God’s Word to us, that we obtain the sweetness it has to bestow. It is recorded about that man of God — M’Cheyne — that to the very end of his life his family devotions were full of life and marvelous unction chiefly for this reason: that in his very manner of reading the chapter he reminded you of a man poring into the sands for pieces of fine gold, and from time to time holding up to you with delight what he had found. "One gem," he used to say, "from this ocean, is worth all the pebbles from earthly streams." 2. The call to seek His face is heard in the MEANS OF GRACE he has provided. The calm and quiet of the Sabbath day is a call heavenward. There is something about it that casts over the soul an unseen but felt influence as "Composed and softened by the day All things another aspect wear." Who among us has not known the sweet experience of having all turbulent feelings hushed into serenity by the magic wand of the holy day. Often before coming into this great city to labor, I strolled out of the country town on a Sabbath afternoon, and under some spreading tree sat down to revel in the thoughts that spring from the associations of the day. The quiet rustle of the leaves overhead — the soothing sigh of the passing breeze as it glided through the boughs and kissed the cheek — the merry chirp of the bird as it flitted from the hedge row — and the bleat of the sheep scattered over the adjoining meadow — all these rural sounds seemed to me to blend in one sweet chorus of "seek my face!" And the very daisies, as they turned their sweet white faces to the sky; and the butter-cups, as they laughed in the golden light, seemed to write the same loving invite upon the velvet sward. And even in this vast metropolis, bereft as it is of nature’s voices, is there not something in the very cessation of its commercial toil, that quotes the text? Blessed Sabbath! God’s gift to toiling man! In your quiet hours I hear my Savior’s voice calling me to "Come and rest awhile!" But above all, we are most loudly called by the voice of the "Mercy Seat." Ah, friends, who can rightly estimate the value of the privilege of prayer — a throne of grace that is always free! The glorious liberty of coming at all times, with a certainty of finding it a time when "You may be found." In times of sorrow — in hours of bereavement — in seasons of darkness and dismay — and in the confused noise of every day’s life battle — there sounds forth from the "blood-stained mercy seat," the call to seek a face that is ever radiant with the smiles of unutterable love. 3. The call is heard in MANIFEST MERCIES. God’s acts of loving-kindness towards us, are not to be received by us with scarcely a thought and buried in the deep grave of base ingratitude, without our learning from them any lesson, or hearing from them any voice. His mercies are his most loving reminders of himself. They are golden fingers beckoning us to nearer fellowship with Heaven. A happy home — a loving wife — a frame buoyant with health — the comforts of life denied to multitudes of others; all these and a thousand other mercies enjoyed by many of us, call to us loudly to "seek the face" of him who freely bestows them all. Believe me, friends, our mercies are often removed through our loving them too well, through our accepting their comfort — but refusing to obey their voice. 4. The call is often given by TRIALS. This point may, perhaps, come home more to the majority present than any of the previous ones. We are too prone to look upon our sorrows as tokens of Divine anger, instead of our Father’s voice to us. There is just as much love (if we would always realize it) in God’s rod as in His kisses. The troubles of life give the same identical call as what we term its mercies. I say, "what we term," because if it were not for our short-sightedness, we would see that our very bitterest sorrows ought to be placed in the catalogue of "Mercies." Have you, friend, during the past year been called to pass through the cold waters of bereavement, loss and disappointment? They were but your God’s voice saying to a soul he saw making earth too much its home, "Seek my face!" It may be so again with you this year. With all my heart I wish you a "happy year," yet I cannot dare to hope that it will be one free from all dark days. But this I do hope and pray, that with all of us every trial may be heard as a call "upward." God often deals with us as a farmer did with a sheep that would not follow in the way he wanted. He took its little lamb away, and placing it on his shoulders, he walked along the road. It was quite sufficient; the bleat of the lamb drew as with unseen cords the mother after it. Our dearest loves and comforts are often taken by the "great shepherd" to lead us in His footsteps. 5. The call is heard by the influences of the Spirit. I feel that here I have a great difficulty in describing what I mean. The sweet working of the Holy Spirit in the hearts of believers is something too delicate to be portrayed in words. Let me, therefore, set forth the experience I mean by calling memory to do its work. Can we not all remember how after some long season of spiritual drought, when the heavens above us have been as brass, there has come into our soul a fresh spring time. Previous to that we had found no blessing in anything. The Bible seemed to us a closed book, its verses and chapters yielded us no joy. Prayer itself had become almost a weariness, as time after time we rose from our knees as unrefreshed as when we bowed them, and even the very services of the sanctuary had lost their charm. When all at once, a something crept over our spirits that defies description. That something melted the heart that had so long been frost-bound. Tears began to flow — but more through joy than grief. The dead weight was slowly raised from our heart. We opened the word that had appeared so barren of comfort; and lo! every verse sparkled with heavenly dew. We knelt to pray, and instead of a stern unrefreshing duty, we found it to be bliss. We poured out our confessions and desires, and rose from the "Mercy Seat" new men. What had worked to change so rapidly yet so completely? We could hardly say, except that in the quiet of the soul, amidst its gloom and spiritual desolation — there had sounded the voice "seek my face," and that voice had turned our winter into summer gladness. II. The ECHO. Having listened to the many calls of God to seek his face, we will now lend an ear to the saint’s response. What echo does his voice awaken? What returning cry does it give birth to? Listen!! "Your face, O Lord, will I seek." The first thing we will notice about the echo is that it is one of the heart. "My heart said to You," etc. There are many who say it with the lip, who never mean it in the heart; and there are multitudes who say it by their actions, who never breathe it from their souls. A mere verbal echo — a parrot cry — is not what is described here. In such an echo there is no melody that God delights in. The truest formalist, whose soul and spirit are as dry as parchment, can utter the words though he is as ignorant as a post, of the experience he professes. It is also quite possible to give an exceedingly loud echo by our actions, while the heart remains as silent as death. You may read the Word — utter the prayer — keep the Sabbath — attend the means of grace — and yet be a stranger to the Psalmist’s feeling. Like a waxwork figure moved by machinery, you may nod, and smile, and lift up your hands, and yet not possess one iota more of life. Let us here put the searching question to ourselves, "Does my heart say, "Your face, Lord, will I seek." All worship (so-called) in which the heart is lacking, is nothing less than a solemn mockery of God — a hideous sham, devoid of all profit to the performer — I dare not say worshiper — and it is an insult to the God before whom it is performed. God grant that throughout the weeks and months of this year, the silence of our hearts may be broken by this oft-repeated response to our Father’s call. How has it been with us during the past year? When the Word has called us, what answer have we given? Have we often gone to that blessed book to hear its voice — or is it a neglected volume, in the very dust of which that rests on its cover, our own shame might be written? Have the ten thousand mercies we have received led us to closer communion, and called us to deeper consecration — or have their voices been lost in the caverns of an ungrateful heart? Have our trials been purifying fires making the gold of our graces brighter reflectors of the refiner’s face, or have we just ’put up’ with them in stolid indifference, or murmured under them with a hardening heart? These are important questions, for trials and mercies never leave us as they find us — but either mar or make our Christian life. What answer have we given to the call sounding from the means of grace? Has the response been heard in the sanctuary and prayer meeting — or do both testify against us and exclaim, "We called — but you refused?" What obedience have we given to the sweet admonitions of the Spirit? Have we been quick to yield ourselves to their inspirations — or have we done our best to strangle them in their birth? Has the Holy Spirit been invited, or grieved? Courted or quenched? If one may speak in this matter for the many, there is cause for deepest humiliation on the part of all. The call has been ringing clear and often given — while this echo at best has been but faint and indistinct, and too often, alas, unheard! I will now conclude this sermon by two or three words of practical advice, and the first is this: Be ever listening to hear the voice. We often lose its melody by inattention and spiritual drowsiness. We permit the world to occupy so much of our attention, that in its conflicting cries we miss the voice which alone could make our heart rejoice. While engaged in life’s busy world — enjoying daily mercies — bearing our appointed burdens — or taking part in the service of God’s house — let us ever be straining the ear to catch, amid other sounds, the still small voice of love inviting us to seek His face. Happy is that man who is ever found thus striving to detect the call of Heaven in the providences of life. He shall hear whispers of love never heard by the unwatchful saint, and shall possess secret joys unknown to the inattentive soul. The next word of loving advice is this: When you hear the call, give the echo at once. Do not delay one moment. Do not stay a minute; for in so doing you may lose a blessing. The echo delayed, may never be given. The sweet influences of the Spirit, trifled with, may die away. Does something say to you, "seek my face in my Word," then take down the book and reply, "Your face, Lord, will I seek"? For perhaps, if resisting the desire, you say, "there will be time for that a few hours from now," when that time comes, the desire may have departed; the book will appear "sealed;" and a season of refreshing will have been lost. Does the same voice within your soul say "pray," then pray at once. If you can, get away somewhere alone, and while the voice calls to prayer, pray. If unable to obtain solitude, then lift up the heart in quiet, for your God can read the desire of the heart. But any way, do not delay to give the echo. The moment the sighing of the breeze is heard — set the sails; for if not, it may pass away and leave your soul like "a painted ship on a painted ocean." God alone knows what seasons of fellowship and happiness we lose by refraining from obeying the first impulses of the Spirit. It will indeed be a happy year, and one of spiritual growth, if in all our hearts, before the call has died away in silence, the echoes are awakened on every side. Let us close with this cheering thought. The seeker shall never be disappointed. Listen to our Father’s declaration, "I have never said to the seeking seed of Jacob: Seek my face in vain." Isaiah 45:19. Earnest seeker, you shall assuredly be a happy finder; and though at present your heart’s echo seems to have awakened no other, yet persevere, and soon you shall hear the voice, "Behold my face!" God grant that the call and the echo and the result may abundantly be ours throughout this year of 1870. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 11: S. A WISE WORK! ======================================================================== A Wise Work! Archibald G. Brown, Stepney Green Tabernacle "He who wins souls is wise." Proverbs 11:30 The book of Proverbs may well be compared to a basket of pearls; to a collection of glittering gems cast together in richest profusion, without any connecting links between them. Search in any part of this silver casket, and you are sure to be repaid by finding some pearl of great price, some jewel which flashes with the light of Heaven’s inspiration. The other books of scripture may more properly be compared to necklaces of pearl or priceless jewelry, in which verse is linked to verse with bands of gold, and compose not so much a rare collection of various precious stones as one brilliant whole, the beauty of every gem being enhanced by its relative position to the rest. The beauty and preciousness of many verses lie more in their union with those that precede them, and in their bearing on those that follow them, than in their own isolated interpretation. The whole chapter, and often the whole of the epistle, needs to be perused in order to dive into the depths, rise to the heights, or view the true splendor of anyone particular verse. It is not so with the book of Proverbs. Every verse in it contains some truth (and often truths) of intrinsic value, that needs no other light than the light it gives itself. Each verse in itself is complete; the truth contained within it, is of independent worth. Without any commentary therefore on the surroundings of the text, we will take it as it were, out of the casket, and meditate on its own beauty. No one verse in the whole of this book is better known, better loved, more often quoted — and less often acted upon. It forms a matter for almost every prayer for minister or teacher — but it is too little reduced to daily practice by most Christians. Yet to every child of God present, it must present a theme of deepest interest; for who, if he has never won a soul, does not want to? Who has relatives or dearly loved friends who are yet without Christ, that does not desire the wisdom spoken of in the text, in order that they may win them for the Savior? To those who have been the means of winning any, and to those who pant to win some — the subject must be all overflowing with interest and importance. I will divide the subject very simply, and as follows: Wisdom is seen in the attempt to win souls; wisdom is required in the work of winning souls; and conclude by giving some hints on the best way to win souls. I. Wisdom is seen in the ATTEMPT to win souls. He who endeavors to win souls to Christ, is a wise man. The very effort itself is a proof of true wisdom. 1. The SOUL’S DREADFUL POSITION proves it. There is a man yonder in the water. The stream is bearing him away with impetuous haste. He has sunk twice already, and with out-stretched hands, he is about to go down for the last time. There are two men on the bank angrily discussing the question as to how he got into the water. One thinks he fell in, and the other that he was thrown in. His certain death is forgotten in heat of argument. I then see a plain country-man, who from his aspect never could enter into an argument except to be beaten, rush deep into the flood, fling the drowning wretch a rope and drag him high and dry onto the shore. Now I ask you "who was the wise man?" The one who debated — or the one who acted; the one who speculated how the man got into the water — or the man who drew him out of it? Why the latter of course. Or to change the illustration. In a street near to us there is a house wrapped in flames, and in the front room upstairs I can discern the figure of a man. A group of wiseacres are busily employed in trying to discover whether the fire broke out in the basement or first floor, in the front or back of the house — when their learned disquisitions are disturbed by the hoarse shout of the fireman, "clear the way, clear the way!" He knocks some of them over in his haste as he struggles through them, throws the ladder up and mounts it. I see the red glare reflected on his helmet which seems to glow in the blaze; the sparks fall round him like a shower of fire drops; he does not heed them; with mailed hand he dashes in the window, and is lost to view as he leaps into the smoke-vomiting room. A moment’s pause, and a ringing cheer breaks forth from the assembled crowd; for here he comes with the half-suffocated man in his herculean grip. A hundred hands are stretched out to grasp his, while a thousand lips shout, "Well done, brave action!" Who was the wise man? The rough but heroic member of the fire brigade — or the moonstruck wondering dotards we have noted? It is an impertinence to common sense to ask. And yet, friends, how many there are who are playing an equally fool’s part in the matter of souls. Men who are always trying to find out the origin of sin, to solve the problem of why God permitted it in his universe, and to answer the old question of "why didn’t God kill the Devil?" Far wiser is he who argues "I do not know the why and the wherefore of sin’s existence; but this I do know — that it exists, and that souls are being damned daily through it; and therefore I will try by all means to save some. I do not know where the first spark of sin came from — but this I do know: that human nature is in a blaze, and if it is possible by God’s help, I will pluck some firebrand from the burning." All honor to the men who, taking the world as they find it, do not waste precious moments in unavailing speculation — but with all their might strive to save some out of the general wreck. Just a little while back, a fearful storm raged on the north-east coast; the cliffs were crowded with thousands of pale-faced anxious relatives. One question was on every lip — but the answer to it on none. The question was, "Do you think they will ever get back?" Who get back? Why the fleet of fishing boats which were all out plying their trade, and had been caught in an unexpected hurricane. It was a sickening sight to see the anxious faces of wives, sisters, and friends. At last one brave heart could stand it no longer, and shouted out in tones that could be heard above the roaring of the wind. "Are there twelve of God’s children here that don’t mind going to the bottom in the effort to save some?" May it be spoken to their honor, a dozen came forward as volunteers in the desperate enterprise. Together they kneeled down upon the deck of a tug steamer and commended themselves to God; and then telling their friends that if they saw them no more, they might know they were in glory, they steamed out of the harbor. Through blinding spray, over mountain waves, through walls of water they fought their way — watched with breathless interest by the mourning crowd. For six long hours they battled with the storm; at last they were seen returning and flying before the furious gale like an arrow from the bow. Straight they made for the harbor mouth. But why that joyous shout? Why? Because, towing behind them were six vessels they had saved, with their crews rescued from the jaws of death. Does your heart beat quicker, Christian, and does your pulse bound at the recital of such noble and godly daring? I tell you there is a far fiercer storm just outside your dwelling than ever raged upon the north-east coast; not ships but souls are being wrecked, not merely going to the bottom of the ocean — but to the bottom of Hell! Oh! Do not stand in amazement and wonder how it is that so fierce a storm is thus allowed to blow — but "man" the gospel life-boat, and commending yourself to God, face the wild waste of furious water, and see if you cannot rescue some perishing soul, and draw it into the haven of perfect calm. The soul’s position, which is a perishing one, declares that "he who wins souls is wise." 2. Soul winning is a NOBLE work. What is winning gold in untold amounts, or fame in almost boundless degree — in comparison to winning a soul? Suppose it were possible for you to acquire the whole wealth of the universe, and have it in one glittering pile at your feet — yet the humble Sunday-school teacher who has been the means of winning one child’s heart to Jesus — has won, at a single stroke, more than you have, with all your wealth, amassed by years of slavish toil. Is it counted an honor to be an ambassador for any country in a foreign climate, and above all to be the means of making peace between two hostile nations? To cause the din of war to cease, and "garments rolled in blood" to become things of the past? To cause the happy song of peace to be heard in place of the shouts of battle and groans of the dying? Greater honor by far is it to be an ambassador for Christ — to beseech men in his stead to be reconciled to God. Oh! the honor of being a herald of peace to any anxious soul; of being the means of bringing a heart at war with God to throw down its weapons; of running up the white flag of peace in any breast!! A soul-winner need envy no one; his work surpasses all in true nobility; the greatest honor God can put on man, has been placed on him. 3. Soul winning is a LASTING work, and therefore he who attempts it is wise. Where will you find a work of earth that is really lasting? "I paint for eternity," said an artist. But is the artist’s work a lasting one? Let him with the skill of a genius and the colors of a rainbow, make the dull canvas instinct with life and a "thing of beauty," but it will be no "joy forever." Father time will rob the colors of their brightness, and centuries from now men will wonder what they once portrayed, while the very canvas hangs in rags from a moldering frame. The sculptor laughs at the painter and says, "Away with the thought of your painting for eternity, mine is the work that will outlive time!" and with the chisel he models the rough marble into a veritable Venus for beauty, or Hercules for strength. Proudly he gazes upon his masterpiece, and indulges the flattering thought that there is something which will defy the influence of ages. But look at the now crumbling stone, trace the once clearly cut features — if you can. Scornfully the builder views the effort of the previous two, and vaunts "mine is the work that lasts." Is it? Where is Nineveh? Where is Babylon, with her hanging gardens? Where are most of the grand cities that used to rule the world? Let broken walls, and heaps of rubbish, the accumulation of long years, give the answer — and also give the lie to the proud boast. But suppose it was possible for man to paint or carve or build that which, if the world were to last another million years, would still endure — it must still go when the world does. In the final wreck and conflagration of the world, all will be destroyed. No eternal work can be performed on a passing world, which every moment draws nearer to its end. But he who wins a soul is the means of doing a work which will last as long as God lives. Teacher in our Sunday school last week — you were the instrument of leading a soul to Christ, of winning a heart for Jesus. When the trumpet of the archangel declares that time shall be no more, the effect of that work shall still remain. It shall survive the "wreck of matter and the crash of worlds!" It shall endure the pomp of the Judgment day — and long after suns and stars have been quenched forever, it shall shine with yourself as a sun in the firmament. Eternity itself can never diminish, only increase the grandeur of the work. He must be the wise man who engages in the only work that lasts forever. 4. It is a soul PROFITING work. In the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth verses of this chapter you read, "There is one that scatters — and yet increases; and there is one that withholds more than is right — but it tends to poverty. The generous soul shall be made fat; and he who waters shall also be watered himself." These words are as true in relation to spiritual work as financial generosity. The man who imparts a blessing — by the very act receives one. It is well-known that the best way to be happy yourself, is to make someone else happy; and the way to be a joyful Christian, is to be a working one — more especially so if the work engaged in is that of winning souls. How many Christians there are who always complain about their lack of happiness, and wonder why they lack what others seem to possess. They keep a kind of spiritual thermometer within them which they always study intently; the slightest rise or fall of joy is invariably noticed and registered by them. "Ah," says one of this large family, "I am not as happy today as I was yesterday, and I was not quite as happy yesterday as I was the day before. Tuesday’s experience falls far short of what I had on Sunday;" and so this poor soul is everlastingly employed in anatomizing his joy — which is the quickest way to kill it altogether. He tries today to live on the remembrance of yesterday’s happiness, and to feed on experiences that are past. It is all in vain. Experience keeps no better than manna. That which was sweet yesterday, if kept today, will "breed worms and smell." Exodus 16:20. It must be fresh morning by morning. But how is this miserable state of things to be altered? How are we to be kept from being suicides to our own bliss? Why by work. "Oh," says the active Christian in answer to the question whether he is as happy today as yesterday. "I am sure I hardly know, for I have not had time to think; but now that you remind me of it, I can say — yes I am, and I think rather more so!" We are never so happy as when we are so absorbed in the cause of our joy, as to forget the joy itself. Work for Christ is a sovereign remedy against frozen experiences. The stagnant pond is coated with ice the first night of autumn hoar frost; but the leaping mountain stream defies the embrace of winter frost, though it comes clothed in black. It is too quick for Jack Frost — it has no time to freeze. It is your do-nothing Christian that is always shivering with the cold, and it serves him right — he is just the one that ought to shiver. The exertion of doing work for Christ, keeps the blood dancing through the veins, and keeps the whole man in a healthy glow. If I were to come in contact with a man who was always complaining that he never "felt better, although he was continually taking medicine," and who in the course of conversation let out "that he had never been outside the room in which I found him for five years" — I would say, "My dear fellow, you don’t need the doctor’s stuff — throw it all out the window! Come and take a walk; climb over a hill or two; breathe God’s fresh air; take a spade and dig in the garden; in fact, do anything — but get out of the close atmosphere of this room and you will be all right at once!" You smile, friends — but that is just what some of you need. You have been living in the little room of your own heart, doctoring yourself with one prescription after another. Now try this one — go out and work. Take a class in the school, the infant one would perhaps be the most beneficial; take a district and go round with tracts. Go anywhere — but do come out of the little room; its close air will stifle you and strangle every joyful feeling in its birth. For your own sake as well as others, try and be a blessing — and you yourself will be blessed. Try and water some thirsty plant — and your own garden will be moistened while you do it. Try and warm some cold heart — and your own numbness of spirit will depart. Because of the good derived in the effort, "he who wins souls is wise," 5. Winning souls is a work that COUNTS IN ETERNITY. Other works may revolutionize time — but they leave eternity untouched. They may influence governments and social life to the last moment of time — but there the influence stops, and no power of man can force it forward. But he who wins a soul to Christ is the means of performing a work which, unlike the breaking of a wave upon the shore, flows like the incoming tide over the bar of time, and sends its widening influences far into eternity itself. You were the means of causing the sinner to utter the subdued cry for saving mercy — it finds its way beyond the little room where in prayer it first found birth, beyond the sanctuary where it was unheard to all human ears. It finds its way through boundless expanses of space, until at last, in a melody that makes the angels sing and God rejoice — it breaks upon the ear of infinite mercy in the plaintive cry of "God be merciful to me, a sinner." Luke 18:13. How precious is the thought, beloved, that we may give a fresh impetus to the songs of Heaven, and aid in that satisfaction which Christ feels when he sees the travail of his soul. 6. Sixthly and lastly on this point, winning souls is a work which will influence you in Heaven. I think I can hear some of you saying, "Take care, Sir, what you are saying, for you are treading on dangerous ground." I know it dear friends — but I repeat the assertion. Do not think for a moment that I hold the God-dishonoring lie that heavenly bliss rests on human merit, or that it is proportioned according to human deserts. It would go hard with us all, if it were. I know salvation is all of grace; and it is so entirely so, that not a single foot of ground is left on which pride can stand and boast. I am also certain that every soul in Heaven is perfectly happy and could not be more so; its bliss is full to overflowing. Yet I hold that some will have more capacity for joy than others, and therefore have the most joy, though none could have more than they possess. I think it was McCheyne, though I will not be sure as to the authorship, who thus illustrates this truth. Suppose there a number of jars are standing in a row, of various sizes, from one of great capacity to one of very small, let them all be filled to the brim with water so that not one could contain a drop more. They are all perfectly full; the smallest could not hold another drop without running over; and the largest is full; and neither of them can be more full; but for all that, the largest has the most in it. The difference is not in the filling up — but in the capacity to hold. Just so, in Heaven all will be perfectly happy; the water of joy will be to the brim in every experience; but there will be a difference in degrees of capacity, and certainly he will have the greatest capacity who has won most souls to Christ. It must increase the joy of the glorified one, to see those he brought to Jesus reveling in the same sea of bliss as himself. Surely next to seeing our Savior, we will love to see those who are our "crown of rejoicing." 1 Thessalonians 2:19. I will never forget the language of a dear old woman who was among the first I had the joy of bringing to the Savior. Her ideas of Heaven were as simple and as ardent as her faith. She said. "Oh, Mr. Brown, it won’t be long before I am there (pointing upwards); and when I have seen my Savior and cast my crown at his feet, I will come and stand upon the edge of Heaven and look down to watch for you coming up." For the reasons then I have mentioned, and there are many, many others, he who wins or attempts to win souls is wise. Not only is wisdom seen in the attempt to win souls — and this leads us to our second division on which we will be very brief, II. Wisdom is REQUIRED in the work. 1. The nature of the work as suggested in the text shows it. The word translated "wins" has at least three references. It refers to the snaring of birds, to the catching of fish, and to the taking of a city. Now in the accomplishment of all these wisdom is required. It is not any fool who can catch a bird, for as the Psalmist says, "in vain is the snare set in sight of the bird." In catching fish it is requisite to know the right bait to use, the right place to go to, and the right time in which to try. No city will be taken by merely looking at it; there must be effort and strategy. Leaving the first two illustrations alone, let us for a minute or two dwell upon this last. Every soul by nature is like Jericho, "tightly shut up" against Joshua or Jesus; Joshua 6:1. But unlike Jericho, its walls will never fall by merely making a noise. It is a hard place to carry by assault. It has its deep moat of depravity, its frowning portcullis of prejudice, and its high walls of unbelief defended by all the powers of Hell. In order to capture it, there must be holy art employed. Our blessed Savior, who is in all things our example, is wonderfully so in the way of winning souls. Did you ever carefully study the matchless way in which Christ won the heart of that poor woman of Samaria? When she drew near to him, he did not say to her as so many would, "Well, you are an outrageous sinner; I wonder that you are not ashamed of yourself!" If he had, in all probability she would have returned to the city with her waterpot, either in fear or anger, and never have said, "Come see a man who told me all the things I ever did — is not this the Christ?" No! His dealing with her was far otherwise. He first wins her sympathy by asking a favor. He excites her womanly curiosity by saying, "if you knew," and he then leads her gently step by step until finally she is prepared for the announcement, "I who speak to you am he." Blessed Jesus, you who spoke "as never man spoke," we would learn from you how to win reluctant hearts. 2. The variety of disposition seen in souls requires it. What is just the very right thing for one, may be the very wrong thing for another. He would be a strange kind of doctor who only had one medicine, and no matter what was the nature of the patient’s disease, always gave them all a dose from the same bottle. If he ever did effect a cure, it would be by mistake! There are as many (indeed, more) varieties of soul disease than bodily disease; and will we treat the higher part of man in a way that we would not dare treat the inferior part? Has the painter only one brush with which he puts in the dark background, and depicts in gentle colors the rainbow on it? Has the sculptor only one chisel with which to strike off the rough edges of the untouched marble block, and also put the last delicate line upon the countenance? Certainly not! Nor must we, in our far higher work. Experiments which would never be made on unfeeling marble, must not be tried on delicate and sensitive souls. When we remember also how long and terribly a soul may suffer through unwise dealing with it — what years, perhaps a lifetime of unhappiness it may endure through our mistake — what need there is to pray. "Lord teach me what to say, how to say it, and when to say it. Help me to be kind but firm — truthful yet gentle — stern yet loving; let no soul be the worse for my tampering with it — but O! make me wise to win it." And now in the third and last place I will, III. Try and give some HINTS as to how to set about winning souls. 1. In order to win souls, they must first be ALARMED. By this I mean they must be made conscious of the danger of their lost position. The absolute necessity for conversion in order to be saved, must be forced home. The truth that they are either . . . saved — or lost; forgiven all their sins — or not forgiven any; on the road to Heaven — or on a journey to Hell — must be brought before them with startling clearness. To talk to a sinner about conversion as if it was some little addenda to life — something that is at least desirable; but not as the grand necessity for salvation — is to act the traitor to God and the soul. We must not mind the feelings of the friend receiving somewhat of a shock; it will do them no harm, and far better to be awoke from a pleasing dream now, than by the icy hand of death, when it is too late! He will never win many souls who keeps in the background all that is calculated to alarm them. The first step towards being saved is when the sinner feels himself lost; and it is when he feels himself within a step of Hell — that he is just putting his foot on the road to Heaven. The water will never be valued — until the thirst is felt. The pardon will be unsought — so long as its need is unthought of. The beauties of the Savior will only he seen — when that which he saves us from has been in some measure understood by the soul. The sinner’s danger must be shown to him! 2. They must be ALLURED. Faithfulness alone will not be sufficient; there must also be love. Souls may be alarmed from indifference — but they must be drawn to Jesus. The peace and joy that there is in him must be told to them, as it is felt by ourselves. The sweet music of the gospel must be sung until some note awakens an echo in their heart. It is for us to hold before their eyes the joys and bliss of pardon; friendship with Christ; and Heaven at last, and so "Allure to brighter worlds and lead the way." 3. They must be LED BY THE HAND. They must be made to feel that you do indeed take an interest in their safety; that it is no mere officialism on your part. In one sense, the manner of speech often has more power in it than the matter. The eye that glistens with the tear, is sometimes the most effective part of all appeal. If you would win, you must not stand at a distance; you must come down from the pedestal of your dignity, and follow in the footsteps of your Lord, of whom it was said "this man receives sinners, and eats with them." 4. Those who would win others, must show that they are won themselves. A life that gives rise to doubts whether you are a Christian or not, will prove a fatal barrier to winning others. Light as snow flakes, and as soon trodden in the mire, are words that have no corresponding life to back them up. Let there be cause for a doubt as to your own conversion, and you may rest assured that not many will ever be won by you. There are some here to whom the subject does not apply, for they themselves are not yet saved. Friend, would you be? Is there the faintest desire in your heart after the Savior? If so, thank God for it, for the Spirit has commenced his blessed work within your heart. And now, cast yourself at once upon the finished work of Christ; accept him as your only Savior. Stake all your eternal interests upon his atoning death. From this day forth, let Christ’s blood and righteousness be your only trust, and you shall be saved. The Lord grant it for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 12: S. AMEN, O LORD! ======================================================================== Amen, O Lord! Archibald G. Brown, December 2, 1894, East London Tabernacle "Then answered I and said: Amen, O Lord. [Or, So be it, O Lord]" Jeremiah 11:5 Few, if any, of the characters in Holy Scripture are grander than that of Jeremiah. He was a man among a thousand — indeed, among ten thousand. But, singularly enough, no man has been more misunderstood. The popular idea seems to be that he was on the whole rather a weak character, slightly sentimental, very much addicted to weeping, and sensitive to a degree, if not to a fault; one who took a very gloomy view of affairs; a man who must have suffered more or less from depression, and one who knew very little of strong, holy, boldness — but was chiefly characterized by that which is plaintive. So far is this from being the case, that Jeremiah stands all but unequaled as a single-handed hero. He was no cowardly, retiring prophet, shrinking from delivering his testimony, apologizing for his existence, and speaking with bated breath when in the presence of the Lord’s foes. God declared that he should be as an iron column and as a brazen wall — and such the Lord made him. We know more of Jeremiah than we do of any of the other prophets, for there is such a strong personal element in his book. Isaiah is all but unknown as a person. Once or twice we get a glimpse of him in his prophecy, as in the 6th chapter — but our conception of Isaiah is really the conception of his writings. But the man Jeremiah is always appearing. The whole book is full of personal incidents, and we are able to look right into his character. He was wonderfully observant, and he seemed to keenly note his own passing thoughts, and he jots down in beautiful simplicity the expressions which fall from his own lips. If ever there was a bold warrior, it was Jeremiah. It is a grand mistake to suppose that in order to be a hero, it is necessary to have a hide like a rhinoceros. You will generally find that the most heroic men are the most sensitive. The men who have done the grandest work for God, and borne the most fearless testimony, have not been of hard, unfeeling natures — but men who have worn their nerves outside, and who have known what it is to tremble often with heart agony. Jeremiah was faithful among the faithless. He lived during the very darkest days of Jewish history. Apostasy was all but universal. The people had forsaken God by the wholesale. But there was one man who stood and faced a mad populace and angry kings for forty years. Never do you find him yielding. In an essentially selfish age, he was whole-souled. Amidst utter worldliness, he was consecrated. To the end of the age, Jeremiah will stand forth as one of the most splendid men that God ever raised up or used in carrying out his work. And what would poor, erring humanity become, if it were not that God is pleased to raise up these elect souls who interpret to others the will of God, and then become in themselves sublime illustrations of whole-souled faith and obedience? While it is true that God works by his word, it is just as true that he does so through human instrumentality. And, if you take the history of Christ’s church, you will find it to be the consecutive histories of master-men, choice souls who differed from the common herd; men who were called and equipped by God to bear some peculiar testimony. Oh, may God raise up a race of them today, for I am sure that we badly need them! Such men serve as moral breakwater, and, when the storm and the tempest and the cyclone of doubt and immorality and skepticism go sweeping over a nation — the waves break on them, and they stand like a Plymouth breakwater flinging off the surges amid clouds of blinding spray. They seem almost hidden and half-drowned themselves; but under their lee what a number of little ships find shelter! What a multitude of weaker souls find the force of the tempest broken by them! God grant that now, while such a hurricane of doubt, suspicion, ’higher criticism’, and all other kinds of devilry, are abroad — there may be still found some who, although they may have to pay an awful price for the honor, may, in some measure, be breakwaters behind which weaker souls shall drop their anchor and ride out the storm. Jeremiah was all this. He was one of the reminders of God. We see in the 106th Psalm that human nature is quick to forget that there is a God; and I believe that human nature would forget it altogether, if there were not some men to whom God is such a gigantic reality that they make others feel it. As Jeremiah walked up and down in the land, he practically kept saying, ’God is: God is’ — and God could not be forgotten while there was a Jeremiah ringing out this note. He was just a God-raised witness for despised truth. While he thus interpreted the will of God, he illustrated it in himself. And you cannot interpret the will of God unless you are willing to illustrate it. The mightiest sermon is never the sermon that you preach: it is the sermon that you live; and, while Jeremiah kept foretelling and expounding the will of God, he was in himself a magnificent illustration of . . . unbounded consecration, unswerving fidelity, and unrepining obedience. Do you say, ’Why this introduction?’ It is because, as you will see now, it is the explanation of the words of my text. If you read a few verses back, you will see that the Lord is reminding Jeremiah of the covenant that he had made with the people as to their possession of the holy land, and he is reminding Jeremiah how they had broken that covenant, and how practically they had brought themselves under the curse; for you read in the 3rd verse that the Lord said to Jeremiah, ’Cursed is the man that obeys not the words of this covenant, which I commanded your fathers in the day that I brought them forth out of the land of Egypt, from the iron furnace, saying, Obey my voice, and do them, according to that which I command you. So shall you be my people, and I will be your God, that I may perform the oath which I have sworn unto your fathers, to give them a land flowing with milk and honey, as it is this day.’ It is very terrible language to hear. God says, ’Remember what I said. I said, "Cursed is the man that obeys not" — and this people have not obeyed the covenant, and I must turn them out from this land, and give it unto others.’ And what do you read? ’Then I answered and said: Amen, O Lord.’ If you would come across a grander text than this, I think you will have to look a long while to find it. Jeremiah hears the thunder of the curse ringing in his ear. He knows that his beloved people have broken this commandment of God, that they have forfeited all claim upon him for the land, and yet I do not find him quibbling with God. I find him acquiescing. I do not find him protesting against the seeming severity of the word. He simply bows his head and says, ’Amen, O Lord’; that is, ’So be it.’ I. Here you have the one response which a man of God must ever make to the words of God. When God says anything to him, there is nothing left for him but to bow the head and say, ’Amen, Lord,’ and perhaps we shall find out before the sermon is over, whether we have been doing this or not in our past career, and it may be that the secret of many a contention which is going on between God and some of you will be made clear. God has spoken to you — but thus far there has not been Jeremiah’s response of ’Amen, O Lord.’ I think that you will see that this response is the only one that suits a creature’s lip. When God speaks, there is nothing left for man but to hear. When God decrees, there is nothing for man to do but acquiesce. When Jehovah gives a command, what is there left for his creature to do but obey? Any other word than ’Amen’ springs from rebellion. Any other response to the word of Jehovah, simply tells of a heart that wars with God. It is not for men to judge God’s words, far less to amend them. If it pleases Jehovah to say anything, no matter how stern, how terrible, how searching — there is only one position for man: that is to bow his head and say, ’Amen.’ ’Oh’, says one, in the proud spirit of our times, ’you are making a bold bid for your God this morning.’ I am. The sovereignty of God needs to be brought to the front. There has been too much trifling with Jehovah. Man needs to have the peacock’s feathers plucked out of his cap, and be taught that he is a poor little nothing, and that for God to speak to him at all is infinite condescension, and that for him to say anything else than ’Amen’ is boundless impudence. If God condescends to utter a command, am I to go and judge whether the Lord has a right to say it? Shall I take the word of Jehovah my Maker and weigh it in my scales, and bring up his thoughts to the paltry bar of my fallen reason, and virtually enter my protest unless I can see a good reason for God speaking as he does? When God promulgates a decree, He does not send it to man to be revised. According to the pride our times, the only Bible that is worth reading is one that has been amended by its readers. God has not come down to this yet — and He never will. His claim is this, ’I am Jehovah. I, the Lord, speak that which is right, and let man say, "Amen, O Lord."’ We are living in the days of the deification of humanity. One gets sick even of the very word ’humanity’. We hear so much about ’the enthusiasm of humanity’, and ’the glory of humanity’, and ’the triumphs of humanity’, that God has become little better than a very inferior deity who runs after man and tips His cap to him. This is not the picture which God’s Book gives. God’s claim is this, ’I am the Lord, and you are but the creatures of my hand. The brightest of my angels are but sparks struck off from the anvil of my creative omnipotence. When I speak, let men and angels be silent; or, if they must speak, let them say, "Amen, O Lord."’ This is the only the response that suits a creature’s lip. Let me take you but one step further. This response is the only one that can be given if you remember the character of God. Here my poor little skiff is launched on a boundless ocean. The character of God! Can you tell me all that lies in those three letters, G-o-d, the most wonderful word that was ever spelled? If you appeal to this platform the answer is: I cannot tell you. I do not know what God is. I cannot conceive what God is. No man has dreamed what God is — except as God has been pleased to reveal himself. Now, what has he revealed himself as? As a God whose wisdom is infinite; and methinks the scientist will grant that, for after all, what are the triumphs of science but the discovery of those wondrous laws of nature that tell of an infinitely wise law-giver and law-maker? If you can conceive of a being who is . . . infinitely wise, all powerful, infinitely righteous, absolutely holy, inflexibly just, and all gathered up into boundless love — that is God. If such a One speaks, what is there left for me but to say, ’Amen’? I am stark, raving mad, if I dare question the utterance of Infinite Wisdom. I am unutterably vile, if I can dare to criticize the utterance of Absolute Love. Idiocy must have taken hold of my brain and, alas! of my heart, if I would amend anything which His infinite holiness has declared. The very nature and character of God declare that the only response for man when God speaks, is ’Amen, O Lord.’ And yet I must not leave this point until I touch one other aspect of it, and that is that this response must be universal in its nature. I am not to give a vociferous ’Amen, O Lord’, to one thing, and then keep a total silence when the Lord says another. I am to say ’Amen’ all round. You will see that in this particular instance Jeremiah had to say ’Amen’ to what was not pleasant. The first word is ’cursed’. Oh, let the dilettante gentlemen of the present century, who have such fine ideas of universal fatherhood of God and I know not what — those gentlemen who spend their time in blowing bubbles which are not more remarkable for beauty than for the way in which they burst — hear this word ’cursed!’ But you say, ’That is not kind. It must be a mistake. The dear Father could never utter such a terrible word as that.’ Jeremiah heard the word ’cursed’, and he said, ’Amen, O Lord.’ Oh, brethren and sisters, it is not for us to be picking and choosing! It is so easy, is it not, to turn to a nice sweet invitation, such as ’Come unto me, all you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest’, and say, ’Amen, O Lord’? Or we turn to some precious promise, ’My grace is sufficient for you’, and we say, ’Amen, O Lord.’ But when God denounces sin, and your sin, and your besetting sin, and when God tells of righteous judgment for apostasy and unbelief, we are to say, ’Amen, O Lord!’ to that, and say it as deeply from the heart as when he says, ’Come unto me, all you that labor and are heavy laden.’ Oh, for that grand attitude of resignation and submission to God, that bows before every word of God, whether it be a silver note of mercy from Heaven, or a thunder-clap of denunciation! We want that spirit which covers its head before God, and says, ’Amen’, even to the lightning flash which threatens to blast us. ’Amen, O Lord’, is the only response which a saint of God can give to the words of God. II. I will mention some lips from which we would gladly hear the response. Thus far I have only dealt with the matter in general, and I trust that God has in some measure showed you that it is the only response to be given to any word of his. Now let me try to point out some of the lips from which we long to hear the word ’Amen.’ First, the lips of the lost sinner in reference to God’s method of salvation. You will see how the context will help us. God reminds Jeremiah that entrance into the promised land was contingent upon Israel falling in with and accepting God’s methods. Now, sinner, would you be saved? Have you any desire to enter into that more blessed land, the heavenly Canaan? Then it behooves you to find out what God’s covenant is, and to see how God is going to admit you into that land; and it is for you to say, ’Amen, O Lord’, to all the conditions of the new covenant. You will have to fall in with all that God says, as to his way of salvation. Let us see how this will work out. I wonder how many of you will say ’Amen’ all the way through. May our prayers for souls being ingathered be answered even now. To begin with, there will have to be on your part an acquiescence of the sinful position which God gives you. What position is that? Ruined by the fall of your first father, Adam; perverted through a fallen nature that you received from your own parents with a bias toward evil in you, accompanied by deliberate sin on your part — you have been brought into a condition of being depraved and guilty before God. And God, pointing to the sinner, says, ’Sinner, you are lost, you are guilty, you are under judgment, you are under a curse. Do you take the position assigned to you?’ The proud sinner says, ’No, Lord, I object to it’; but the humble sinner says, ’Amen, O Lord.’ That is the first step. Until you acquiesce in the depraved position which God gives you as a poor, lost, ruined, helpless sinner, there can be no salvation for you. Have not some of you quarreled with God long enough over that point? When are you going to bow the head and say ’Amen’, to it? What is the next step? The sweeping away of all supposed human ability. God says to the sinner, ’You never can save yourself. You have nothing in you that ever can be evolved into salvation. Your holiest things are all defiled, and, if you could work a decent holiness, that would not save you, because my plan is not of works, lest any man should boast.’ And the hand of God comes and sweeps the table. ’Not of works’; and away fly, as a ground of salvation, chapel-going, church-going, baptism, the Lord’s supper, Bible-reading, praying, almsgiving. ’Not of works.’ The proud soul runs and tries to save the works which have been swept off the table. The humble soul says, ’Amen, O God.’ He sees all his supposed good works being swept into the dust-bin, and he simply says, ’Amen’, and he lets them go. The third step is this: God says, ’Sinner, in my covenant of salvation I have put the whole of your salvation in the person of my Son Jesus Christ. I do not trust you with it at all. I have laid it all up in Him. His merits, not yours. His righteousness, not yours. Any acceptance can only be an acceptance in him. Any completeness on your part can only be a completeness in him. It pleases my sovereign will to entrust the whole of your salvation in the person of my Son.’ And would to God that with a lowly heart you might respond, ’Amen, O Lord. So be it.’ And then the Lord will take you one step further, and say, ’The simple acceptance of my Son is the one condition on which I save you. All the merits which are treasured up in him shall be put down to your account, the moment you trust him.’ I wonder whether any man or woman will bow before that word, and say, ’Amen.’ If so, you are a saved man. This is a saving ’Amen’. Paul’s expression in Romans 10:1-21 is most remarkable, ’the obedience of faith’ ; and that defines just what faith is. It is being brought into obedience. God designs to save you in one way, and you want to be saved in another; but God will never give in to you. Then you had better submit to God’s method. Drop all your false pride and dignity, and bow and say, ’Amen, O Lord. No more, my God, I boast, no more, Of all the duties I have done; I leave the hopes I held before, To trust the merits of Your Son.’ Only a moment more. Should we not hear it from the lips of the saint concerning God’s instructions as to daily life? God says, ’Be separate from the world’, and the response should be, ’Amen, O Lord.’ Only you want to go to a ball, do you not? ’Amen, O Lord--with the exception of that card party.’ ’Amen, O Lord--only please let me go to the theater next Tuesday.’ Nay, if you are a real loyal soul — then all the diamond dust of God’s commands will be infinitely precious to you; and when he says to you, ’Be separate’, you will say, ’Amen, O Lord.’ And when he tells you to think more of him than of your business, you will say, ’Amen, O Lord.’ And instead of worshiping that business as you have been doing lately, you will only toil in trade in order to have the wherewithal to give to glorify him. The idea of amassing wealth for wealth’s own sake, will be abandoned. You will have heard his word, ’Seek first the kingdom of God’, and you will say, ’Amen, O Lord.’ You will hear him say, ’Be not unequally yoked with unbelievers’, and you will break off that engagement with that ungodly young man and you will say, ’Amen, O Lord.’ Why is it that there is so much friction and misery and wretchedness abroad? Is it not in great measure because those of us who profess to be the Lord’s are so slow to say ’Amen’, concerning all that God says as to ordinary every-day life? But I hasten on to the last point, and I want to put it right down into the very center of your soul. It is this: these words ought to be heard from the lips of the people of God in reference to providential dealings. God does not only speak from the pages of his word; God speaks from providence. Oh, how tough a work it often is to say ’Amen!’ Is it not so? ’And the Lord said unto Abraham, Take now your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go into a mountain which I will show you, and offer him as a sacrifice.’ I think I see the muscles of Abraham’s brow knotted with an unutterable agony. And yet he says, ’Amen, O Lord.’ The next thing I read is that early in the morning he starts with his son. Now then, sir, the God of Abraham lives still, and he is trying and testing his saints today, as he did then, and he waits for the response of your heart, ’Amen, O Lord.’ God has wonderfully prospered you in business. Suppose the Lord just turns the tide altogether aside, and your business ebbs away from you. Do you think you can say, ’Amen, O Lord’? God has wonderfully blessed your home. There is health, there is rest, there is love, there is joy, there is peace. With what light steps will you go from this tabernacle back to your home! You have everything there to praise God for. But suppose the angel of death should spread his wings, and the brightest, fairest, and loveliest of that home should be removed. What if your young wife should be laid low? What if your stalwart young husband should be taken? What will you say then? May God help you just to answer with Jeremiah, ’Amen, O Lord.’ Oh, it is this that God is waiting for, and it is to this that he is educating us by losses, by sicknesses, by trials, by deaths — to learn to say ’Amen.’ I was so charmed the other day in reading the story of those three Hebrew youths in the book of Daniel. There is the furnace burning. I hear its roar. It has been heated seven times, and Nebuchadnezzar is giving the sign that they are to be cast in. And what do those three Hebrew youths say? "O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king!" And then come three grand words: "But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up!" That is what I call grace. Oh, it is so easy to say, ’O Lord, we will worship you if you help us. We will be true to you, if you bless us. Only keep us out of the furnace, and we will sing to you.’ But the spirit of Jeremiah is a spirit that says, ’But if not, we will be true to our God still. If he puts his sword to our throat, we will say, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him"; and, as the life-blood gurgles from the wound which his own sword has made, my last struggling breath shall say, Amen, O Lord!’ Fellow workers for God, we ought to be foremost in saying it. I find that Elijah never hesitated. The word of the Lord came to Elijah, and said, ’Arise’ — and so he got up and went. The word of the Lord said, ’Go to Kishon’s brook’ — and he went. The word of the Lord said, ’Go to the widow who is picking up sticks, and ask for bread’ — and he went. ’Amen, O Lord’ ought to be the characteristic of the Christian worker. Where are you to labor? Well, where would you like to labor? Perhaps you say, ’Oh, I have labored so long in this sphere that I feel as if my roots had got intertwined with a thousand others, and it would be half death to me to be plucked up.’ But if the Lord says, ’Be removed’ — O worker, there is only one thing left to you to do, and that is to say, ’Amen, O Lord.’ If he tells you to step out of the pulpit and teach an infant class, say, ’Amen, O Lord.’ If he tells you to give up preaching to that congregation and go and spend your time in the with the aged, say, ’Amen, O Lord.’ You see that this covers the whole ground. The most perfect example of this is Christ. The clever men, the wise men, and the rich men — all ignore him; and the few that gather round about him are of low caste and ignorant. But is Jesus wounded and hurt? Listen, ’I thank you, O heavenly Father, that it has pleased you to hide these things from the wise and prudent, and that you have revealed them unto babes.’ Did he murmur? ’Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in your sight.’ There is God’s perfect servant saying, ’Amen, O Lord.’ But the last great prophecy remains, and the church of God is to add her ’Amen’ to it. He who died for sinners and who for sinners was buried, and he who rose from the tomb and ascended up on high as the true Melchizedek, the combination of high priest and royal king, has left this word, ’Surely I come quickly.’ The hope of the church is the return of her Lord. Let the church bow her head, and say, ’Amen, O Lord. Even so come, Lord Jesus.’ The theme is inexhaustible. Whether God is speaking to you by his word, or speaking to you by his providence, or speaking to you through this morning’s sermon — bow before the Almighty Sovereign. Let no word of rebellion rise to your lip. Doff your helmet until its plumes trail in the dust, and say with Jeremiah, ’Amen, O Lord.’ God help us to add that ’Amen’, for his own name’s sake. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 13: S. AN EMERALD RAINBOW! ======================================================================== An Emerald Rainbow! Archibald G. Brown, April 16th, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "After this I looked, and there before me was a door standing open in Heaven. And the voice I had first heard speaking to me like a trumpet said: ’Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this!’ At once I was in the Spirit, and there before me was a throne in Heaven with One sitting on it. And the One who sat there had the appearance of jasper and carnelian. A rainbow, resembling an emerald, encircled the throne!" Revelation 4:1-3 The apostle John had just received a glorious revelation as recorded in the previous chapters, when he had tokens given to him to expect fuller manifestations yet of things to come. It happened thus. One day as he was gazing upwards from his rocky, sea-girt home of exile, he beheld a portion of the blue canopy roll back, and lo! "A door was opened in Heaven." Astonished, he watches this strange phenomenon, and awaits the result. He is not left long in doubt. A voice clear and sonorous, resembling the blast of a trumpet, calls him, and commands "Come up here!" and promises him a sight of things yet veiled in futurity. With the command also came the power — for immediately the apostle was in the Spirit; and borne aloft by celestial wings, he entered through the gate into the city. The first object that met his enraptured sight was a throne all-glorious in itself, the glory of which was in a moment forgotten by the view of Him who sat on it. Notice how particular John is in declaring it was no vacant throne on which he gazed, "Before me was a throne in Heaven with One sitting on it!" True to the experience of all believers, he thinks far more of a risen Savior, than all the grandeur of that Savior’s palace. It was not the throne — but Him who occupied it that riveted his attention and his thoughts. There are vacant thrones in Heaven — but this one is never among them. The vacant thrones are those reserved for saints on earth who, unnoticed by the world, and often steeped in poverty, are yet uncrowned monarchs — and but await the moment of death to enter onto their public regal state. But this throne was no throne for a redeemed one — but the throne of the Redeemer himself. It was Christ’s throne of grace which the translated exile then beheld. The same Person who in the tabernacle of old was sometimes filled with the shining glory of His presence. Transferred from earth to Heaven, the glory never departs; the manifested presence never becomes dim; for Jehovah-Jesus, after he had offered one sacrifice for sins, forever sat down at the right hand of God; from then on waiting until his enemies would be made his footstool. Hebrews 10:13. After mentioning the throne, and declaring that one sat upon it, the apostle goes on to describe the royal occupant. "And the One who sat there had the appearance of jasper and carnelian." What was it that gave this flashing, glowing beauty to Him who sat upon the throne? Was it the brightness of those gems which as high priest he wore upon his breast, the dazzling beauty of which rendered it impossible for human eye to detect all the different hues? Perhaps so. Suffice it for us, the aspect of the whole exalted Savior was such as John could only compare to the united glory of the two gemstones, jasper and the carnelian. The jasper was a stone of brilliant white — the carnelian one of blood-red glow. "White and ruddy" was our Beloved, as beheld by the apostle. It is not our purpose this morning to expatiate upon the meaning hidden in these blended colors. We will simply say that they have been thought to teach the two-fold relationships of Christ, namely, to His people and to His enemies. To the former, the light of His countenance is as jasper — clear as crystal — to the latter His frown is as the angry color of the fiery carnelian. While he occupies the throne to ever intercede for His chosen ones, He also waits for his foes to be beneath his feet. The mercy and majesty — the love and justice of our Savior blended — alone set forth the completeness of His glory. The third thing that demanded the apostle’s notice was a rainbow remarkable for many things. No ordinary bow was this — no common semicircle of blended hues. It was a complete rainbow, not broken in half — but encircling the throne. It was a circle of beauty. Not only was its form exceptional — but its color also. It was, we read, "like an emerald." The gentle hue of emerald green predominated over all the fiercer colors. It was soothing to the sight. In this emerald rainbow, I detect infinite mercy. Surely it would have been all but an impossibility for John to have endured the insufferable light of the jasper and the carnelian, had not their effulgence been mellowed and softened by the emerald rainbow through which he then beheld them. Let us for a few minutes this morning get within the gentle light of this rainbow, and try to discover its heavenly teaching. We will have but two divisions, and those are very simple ones, First, the rainbow; secondly, its position, "encircling the throne." I. The Rainbow. This was a sign and symbol intended to teach some truth. What? I think there can be little question, if any, that this emerald rainbow is a lovely figure of the covenant of grace. No other idea has ever been linked with the rainbow, than that of being a token of the covenant. Let me remind you of the earliest record we have of the rainbow in the cloud. Noah and his family have for many weary weeks been living in the ark that floated over a drowned world. At last, as we read at the commencement of this service, God remembered Noah and caused the waters to abate from off the face of the earth. The ark rests upon the mountains of Ararat, and when the earth has become dried, the God who has shut them in, opens the door and bids them go forth into what was virtually a new world. Filled with boundless gratitude for his salvation, the first thing Noah does is to build an altar to the Lord and offer burnt offerings. The smoke ascends to Heaven as a sweet savor, and God blesses the worshiper. And now, lest Noah should live in perpetual dread of a second flood, Jehovah enters into a covenant with him that no more shall a flood destroy the whole earth. And to keep this covenant in remembrance, he adds a token: "I set my rainbow in the cloud, and I will look upon it that I may remember the everlasting covenant I have made." From that moment, the rainbow became a pledge of safety — a sign of the covenant. It was so looked upon by God when His Spirit spoke through Isaiah, and said, "for this is like the waters of Noah to me; for as I have sworn that the waters of Noah should no more go over the earth; so have I sworn that I would not be angry with you, nor rebuke you; for the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed — but my kindness shall not depart from you, nor shall the covenant of my peace be removed, says the Lord that has mercy on you." Surely John would, in a moment, catch the blessed meaning of that emerald rainbow. It was that the covenant of grace encircles the throne of Heaven. Let us now see in what respects the rainbow serves as an illustration of the covenant: First, the rainbow is the child of the cloud and the sun. There can be no rainbow without the black rain cloud — it is necessary for the background. Yet on the other hand, the dark cloud of itself is utterly powerless to give birth to the smiling arch of light. The bright rays of the sun are requisite to paint its glowing colors. It is the junction of the two, that results in mercy’s pledge. If I may so express it, it is only when the sun with its rosy lips kisses the dark face of the storm cloud — that it becomes wreathed with beauty. Is this not a picture of the covenant of grace? There can be no grace where there is no unworthiness. The very word grace implies complete lack of merit. It is only to a fallen creature, that grace can offer itself. The black cloud of our depravity and sinfulness has, by the infinite wisdom of God, been made subservient to the exhibition of His mercy and His grace. But just as the cloud alone can make no rainbow glitter on its breast, so sin left to itself can never relieve its gloom — the sun must shine. Here O my soul, rejoice and sing, and tell the matchless triumph of your Lord. Had no gleam of mercy shone — had no sun of righteousness arisen — then mankind must forever have lived in the outer darkness of despair. But lo! the remedy was provided before the disease broke out; the restoration was secured before the fall took place. From all eternity, Jesus was the lamb slain, and before we stood in Adam, our human head, we stood in Christ, our divine representative. No sooner did man fall, and consequently the cloud gather, than the light which had been shining from before all time, flew apace and darting through the gloom, kissed with its golden rays the threatening cloud. In a moment there was a heavenly transformation — a belt of light encircled the cloud in the shape of that sweet promise given to our parents: "The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent’s head." Mercy met misery — and the result was the covenant grace. But although it is owing to the cloud that the rainbow is seen — yet it is equally true that the rainbow does not rest upon the cloud; it is suspended by the hand of God. Man’s depravity forms the dark background that throws up in glorious contrast the brightness of God’s grace. But the covenant of grace, blessed be His name, rests on other foundations. It is founded on the purposes of God; and although its sweet engagements are for man, they do not rest on man; it is a covenant of "I will" and "you shall." If it rested on anything less fixed, its arch of hope would have been broken ten thousand times. Let us pass on to another resemblance. The rainbow is beautiful for its variety. True, in this rainbow which John saw, the color green so predominated, that it appeared as a whole like emerald. I purpose to speak of this shortly; but now I am running the parallel between the covenant of grace and rainbows in general, and I need not tell you of the charming variety ever seen in them. We have all beheld the orange and the green and the red, so melting into one another that it has been difficult to say where one ended and the other commenced. In all God’s works, from the moss on the wall, to the clouds in the air; from the daisy of the lawn, to the stars in skies, variety abounds — but nowhere is this more beautifully manifested than in the rainbow that follows the storm. Wait, I correct myself! There is something in which more colors blend and harmonize: it is the covenant of grace. All the covenant, like the rainbow, is but one; and yet what a multitude of different blessings are found within its range. All I am and all I have, and all I hope to be when Jesus comes — the covenant includes. What is the first step in a sinner’s salvation? I mean, what is the first step taken on earth? Why certainly, it is God’s effectual call to salvation. That call which carries with it power, draws the sinner from the world and makes him willing to be saved God’s way. Where does this willingness come from? Why has his old stubbornness departed? The answer is, it is secured in the covenant, "Your people shall be willing in the day of your power." Psalms 110:3. You would never have come to Jesus if the spirit had not called you; and the spirit called you in accordance with the gracious covenant. Sweet color in the heavenly rainbow, well may I sing, "Why was I made to hear your voice, And enter while there’s room, When thousands make a wretched choice, And rather starve than come? ’Twas the same love that spread the feast, That sweetly forced me in; Else I had still refused to taste, And perished in my sin!" But when called and convinced by the Spirit — what repentance was ours!! What bitter tears we shed; how we upbraided our wicked hearts for holding out so long!! Where did this repentance and joyful grief come from? Did it spring from self? Was it our hand that opened the fountains of the great deep of our soul? No, repentance is a gift from Heaven, and one of the blessings of the covenant; for I read concerning Jesus, "God has exalted Him with His right hand to be a Prince and a Savior, to give repentance." Acts 5:31. Being now called and convinced, the sinner exercises faith, and reposes his soul upon the finished work and all-glorious atonement of Jesus. O, marvelous act, whereby a sinner becomes a saint; an heir of wrath becomes a child of God. May not the soul say concerning faith, "This at least, is my work"? No, it is but another color in the varied covenant; He who gives effectual calling, gives faith also. "By grace are you saved through faith; and that not of yourselves — it is the gift of God." Immediately after faith comes an intense yearning after holiness, and with the yearning, there will be a gradual growing up into the likeness of Christ. The beauty of holiness will begin to be apparent; and as days and years pass by, it will shine more and more unto the perfect day. Has the covenant anything to do with this, or is it merely an addendum to the work of the covenant, the result of the soul’s own unaided efforts? The answer is at once given by scripture, "He has chosen us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame before Him in love;" Ephesians 1:4. "For those whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son." Romans 8:29. Holiness, which is the road to Heaven, is as much provided for in the covenant as that we should be saved at all. "From Me," says the Lord, "is your fruit found." Hosea 14:8. How sweet also is the exercise of prayer; it is as natural for a child of grace to pray, as for a child of nature to cry. The Christian must pray. Does this come from himself, or is it like all that we have mentioned, a gift of God included in the covenant of grace? The answer to this question is just as readily given in scripture as to the former. "Likewise the Spirit also helps our infirmities, for we do not know what we should pray for as we should; but the spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered." Romans 8:26. No prayer ever yet ascended up to God, except what first came down from God. Our happiest seasons of communion are but one of the hues of the many-colored rainbow of grace. Living in the world of sin and grief, subject to daily trials and burdens, we need a strength sufficient for our day. Native strength at its strongest, is but native weakness. We feel we need a power that can always be equal to the uncertain demands that may be made upon it. Beloved, we have it. There is one radiant streak of glory in the covenant, I cannot dare pass by in silence. If I say but little on it, I must just point you to it, and let it speak for itself. Meeting our daily requirements and including the most extraordinary circumstances that can possibly fall to our lot, it says, "Your shoes shall be iron and brass. As your days are — so shall your strength be." Deuteronomy 33:25. O say believer, was I not right when I said that no rainbow earthly eye has ever seen possessed such varied charms, such countless colors, as the rainbow of our God’s covenant with us? Another thought occurs to me connected with this portion of our subject. It is in the rainbow that we see the component parts of the one color of light; that color appears to us as white — but in the rainbow we behold it broken up and distributed into its different shades. So it is in the covenant of grace; it is in that covenant, that the varied beauties of our God are best discerned. "God is light," and as such His very brightness dazzles — His glory becomes a darkening veil. Where is it that we can with unblinded eyes, behold the beauty of our God? If we turn to nature, we only find a manifestation of His eternal power and Godhead, a manifestation which, like the sun in the meridian, tells of streaming light. It is to the covenant of His grace that we must turn, and there at once we discover the different colors which, united, make the light. It is there that we see the red of His justice, blending with the violet of his mercy; the orange of his truthfulness, kissing the emerald green of his compassion. God, to be seen with delight, must be viewed as a God in covenant. Again, the rainbow is an emblem of reconciliation and security; it was so to Noah. It told him that wrath was over, and that mercy reigned; and it softly whispered that never more need he tremble for fear of another coming worldwide deluge. It was God’s pledge to him of future safety. If fear ever took possession of his breast when a more than ordinarily dark cloud gathered upon the horizon, he only had to behold the smiling arch in order to have his fears scattered, and believe that it was only "big with mercy, and would break in blessings on his head." Is it not so with the covenant? Does it not gleam with mercy, and sing of reconciliation? As John beheld it, it appeared "like an emerald." The softest and most refreshing color to the eye, was the one that predominated and mellowed all the rest. Mercy is triumphant in the covenant, and rightly has our God called it "the covenant of my peace." Even the fiery red of the carnelian stone, may be beheld with joy through the softening medium of the emerald. Well might we sing as we did just now. "Your covenant the last accent claims, Of this poor faltering tongue; And that shall the first notes employ, Of my celestial song." Child of God, get your assurance and confidence from the conditions of the covenant. The reason why many live devoid of all abiding peace, is because they seek it in the wrong place. They look within, they watch their changing experiences, they analyze their frames and feelings — and then wonder that they are a prey to doubts and fears. I would wonder if they were not. The one place and the only place where full assurance flourishes, is just under the radiant rainbow of God’s gracious covenant. Never mind what you feel, or what unbelief mutters in your ears. The thing is, what has God said about Christ in the covenant? Find that out and live upon it, and you will reach an atmosphere where no clouds or storms can rise. God has said "I will look upon the rainbow;" well then, you look upon it too, for in that covenant rainbow you are reconciled to Him with a reconciliation that He has declared shall never be broken. The rainbow was God’s handiwork. "I set my rainbow in the cloud." Jehovah fashioned the light and bent this rainbow; He set it also in the heavens. Noah might look at it — but he could never have made it. Its very value as a pledge of security, arose from the fact that it was God’s, not man’s. Just so with the everlasting covenant of grace, from first to last it is God’s. It is His in conception. It was the mind of infinite wisdom that first drew a plan whereby the guilty might be saved — whereby God might be just — and yet the justifier of him that believes. It bears on its very surface the impress of Him whose thoughts are not as our thoughts, nor His ways as our ways. It is His in provision. All that was necessary for its accomplishment has been provided by the same One who sketched the marvelous plan. The sacrifice — the blood — the power, are all found apart from man. Man’s finger has never been raised to supply one requisite! It is also His in execution. This I have already attempted to demonstrate. The power that convinces, the grace that draws, the faith that accepts, the peace that follows, the security that abides — are all, all of God. Lastly on this division, on which I have dwelt for longer than I intended, this rainbow never melts away. The one on which Noah gazed soon lost its brilliance; fainter and fainter still it grew, until like a colored haze, it just quivered in the air and then faded from his sight. Ten thousand rainbows since then have arched this earth, and then melted away in the clouds — but this heavenly rainbow ever abides. It shone with undiminished brilliance when John beheld it encircling the throne, and from eternity it had been there. It gleams in Heaven this morning with hues as fresh as ever; and when time has run its course, and given way to eternity, it shall remain forever the subject of the ceaseless song of spirits glorified in Heaven. II. The POSITION of the Rainbow. This rainbow encircled the throne. As I have remarked previously, this rainbow was an exceptional one in its form, being a complete circle, and as such, going completely encircling the throne. Surely there are some truths hidden here that will, if found, well repay our research. I will but mention a few ideas that have been suggested to myself and others by this position. First then, may not the fact of the rainbow being all around the throne, teach that God in all his persons is included in the covenant of grace? It is a blessed truth that it is so. The covenant embraces the whole Trinity; not one of the persons is omitted. The rainbow encircles the whole throne. Father, Son and Holy Spirit all have their glorious part in the salvation of man by grace: The FATHER chooses and gives over the subjects of His choice into the hands of the Son. The SON receives them, fallen as they are, and covenants to make the provisions necessary for their eternal safety. These provisions are an atonement to satisfy the righteous demands of a justice they have outraged; blood to cleanse their souls, steeped in blackest sin; and righteousness to justify and give them title to everlasting bliss. The SPIRIT’S blessed work is equally as necessary, and must never be forgotten in our praises. He covenants to convince the sinner of the necessity for a Savior; to make him feel his sins are a grievous load; to break the hard heart and set it seeking after mercy; to heal it when broken; to lead to Christ’s atoning blood and give it peace. The Spirit takes from the things of Jesus, and reveals them to blind eyes. As it was in the first creation of man, so it is in the second. The whole Trinity works in the formation of man. God said, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness." And in the restoration of man to God’s image, it is still, "Let us do it." The rainbow is round about the throne, including God in all His three glorious persons. "Give to the Father praise, Give glory to the Son, And to the Spirit of His grace Be equal honor done." Being encircling the throne, it was always in view. I speak with reverence — but it was impossible for Him who sat upon the throne not to behold the rainbow; it was around Him on every side; its emerald hue would be ever attracting attention. John only saw Him who was like jasper through the rainbow, and He only looked upon John through the same hallowed medium. Believer, do you catch the blessed truth that my soul is anxious to convey? It is this — God only looks upon His people as they are in covenant relationship with Himself. Whenever He sees them, He beholds the glory of the emerald rainbow abiding upon them. It would indeed be a sad, sad thing for us if our God looked upon us as we are in ourselves. But heart-rejoicing fact, He never beholds us apart from Christ, our covenant head. He does not look upon our sinful sin-stained persons — but on the perfect righteousness of His Son, which covers us as with a garment of righteousness. So we are ever in His sight, "without spot or wrinkle or any such thing." We sometimes forget the covenant — but He never does. Depressed by sinfulness and deluded by unbelief — we often forget the emerald rainbow around the throne, and only think with fear of Him who shines like the jasper and glows like the carnelian. He never forgets it. Around Him on every hand, it ever remains in sight. Being encircling the throne, it follows that no matter in what way God comes out to His people, He ever comes forth in the way of covenant, that is, through the rainbow. Doubtless there are many of us here this morning rejoicing in the loving-kindness of our God; mercy of all sorts has been scattered upon our path; we have health, strength, happy homes and ten thousand comforts that are denied to others; the sun of prosperity is shining upon our life, making all things bright and gladsome; care is almost unknown, and sorrow is a comparative stranger. Well, let us rejoice in so happy a lot; but at the same time let us not forget we have none of these happinesses on the ground of our merits. It is all of grace — all of covenant mercy. Let this thought save us from indulging pride or vain glory. But there are many here who have an experience the very reverse of this. Care is a constant companion, and sorrow is never absent. The body is sick — the home is sad — many a comfort is lacking — bereavement has torn the heart, and difficulties distract the mind. No sun of temporal prosperity shines — but the whole sky is black with clouds of adversity. Well, dear friend, are you to suppose from this that God has forgotten you and ceased to be gracious? Let the thought be far from you. Different though God’s dealings with you are compared to others — they are just as much in covenant. He has come through the same rainbow to chasten you, as He did to prosper others. While in the former case we remembered this to save us from vain glorying — we ask you to remember it to keep you from dark despair. Afflictions are no proof of lack of love or of covenant relationship, for "whom the Lord loves — He chastens, and scourges every son whom he receives." Hebrews 12:2. Let providences be bright or black, pleasing or painful — they are equally in the way of covenant. Lastly, and for a moment only. As the rainbow was all encircling the throne, it follows that there is no coming to God except through it. Sinner, would you be saved? Then you must be saved by grace. There is no coming to God by merit. Cast away all dependence upon your own works and rest for salvation upon the grace of God in Christ. Are you afraid and trembling because of the blood-red glow of the carnelian? Behold the emerald rainbow nearer to you than the fiery stone; and encouraged by its gentle smile, approach and trust. May the Lord bring us all to Heaven, and throughout eternity will we sing the praises of that rainbow which is like "an emerald." Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 14: S. BETTER THAN ALL! ======================================================================== Better Than All! Archibald G. Brown, May 1st, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle "What is your beloved more than another beloved, O fairest among women?" Song of Solomon 5:9 O, how willing is our Jesus to hear the prayers of his people, and respond to their call. His delight is to fulfill their desires, and satisfy their longings. It is no weariness to Him to listen to their sorrows, and give ear to their requests. Indeed, his ear is more ready to drink in our words, than are our lips are to utter them. He places no restrictions on our approaches to His throne, nor does He utter a syllable to dampen our ardor or chill us in our fellowship. On the contrary, He is lavish in His invites, and endearing in His encouragements, and does His very utmost to draw out our hearts’ deepest secret. His language to fearing souls who tremble to draw near, is "let me see your face, let me hear your voice; for sweet is your voice and your face is lovely." Song of Solomon 2:14. How swift is He, moreover, not only to hear but to answer — He waits to be gracious. In our Jesus we have no Baal, who being on a journey, is unable to hear the frantic cries of his worshipers, though they cry from early morning until dewy eve. In Him we have no Diana, who according to ancient mythology, was unable to prevent the burning of her temple, owing to the necessity of her being at the birth of one of this world’s great ones. Jesus is always near His own, and ever ready to support them in seasons of distress. There are no times when we may not draw near to Him. Every day, every hour of the day, and every minute of every hour, is "a time when you may be found." Psalms 32:6. The ancients used to represent their heathen god, Jupiter, as looking at certain seasons through the chinks of Heaven’s floor; whoever then happened to address his prayers might hope for an audience — but not otherwise. But our God — Jehovah Jesus — is ever viewing his people, and straining his ear of love to catch their faintest whispers. We have a very beautiful illustration of our Savior’s readiness to answer the request of his chosen ones, in the commencement of the chapter from which I have selected this evening’s text. The church has just given utterance to the fervent desire that her beloved should come and walk in His garden, and eat of His pleasant fruits — or in other words, favor her with His company and bless her with communion — when no sooner have the words escaped her lips, than the voice of the heavenly bridegroom replies, "I have come into my garden, my sister, my spouse." Song of Solomon 5:1. Rapid was the response to the invite — but not more rapid than the change that had taken place in the church’s experience. In order to understand the full meaning of the words of our text, let us recount the history. After the church had given her Lord the invitation to communion — a spirit of drowsiness settles down upon her, and, alas, who among us has not often found so sad and sudden a transition of experience to be his own. She asks for her Beloved to come — but when He does, how cold is the reception He meets: "I sleep — but my heart wakes." She has laid herself down on the couch of carnal sloth, and is unprepared to receive her invited guest. Drowsy though she is, she is not in the sleep of spiritual death, for she is sufficiently awake to know the voice that calls her. It is, she says, "the voice of my beloved," but she is too slothful to arise and let the heavenly bridegroom in. Full of infinite tenderness and boundless compassion, the slighted guest does not turn away in indignant wrath, as he might so justly and righteously have done; but behold, He knocks at the closed door, and in a voice of mingled love and grief, he urges his claim for admittance in the plaintive language of the second verse, "Open to me, my sister, my love, for my head is filled with dew and my locks with the drops of night." O, lovely picture! Do you see it, beloved? There on the couch is the slumbering church — wretched in her drowsiness. There is the closed door. Outside, knocking and quietly waiting stands One with a countenance, beautiful beyond all description, in love and grief. A heavy mist wreaths everything around with a silvery mantle, and causes those flowing locks, which are black and bushy as a raven, to drip with the night dew. All is cold, damp, and cheerless, and there are but few who have not sought the shelter of their homes, and those few are hastening there. He knocks again! Ah! Listen to the answer that follows that quiet knock. "I have taken off my coat; how can I put it on again? I have washed my feet; how can I dirty them?" Surely she must be acting on the old adage, "that a bad excuse is better than none at all." Poorer excuses for keeping her Lord in the night damps can hardly be imagined. Suppose you have put off your coat, is it an impossibility to put it on again O, sleepy soul? Though you have washed your feet, will not an embrace from the Beloved more than make amends for their defilement? As with her, so it is with us. When the soul is in a lethargic state, a straw, a pebble, a cobweb, a mere nothing will seem an inseparable barrier to communion with Jesus. When at other times, an Alpine mountain will appear but a hillock over which the happy spirit skips. With a love unabated by these rebuffs, the bridegroom puts his hand in by the hole of the door, and at the same moment lifts the latch of her heart. It is enough. The drowsiness departs. Old desires awaken. A dying love becomes inflamed. She springs from her bed to the door. The coat is forgotten and the washed feet unthought of. With nervous haste, she opens wide the door, when, O, horror — nothing but the gloom of night is seen. Her beloved has withdrawn Himself. Our Savior chastens us for our coldness to Him when He invites us, by hiding Himself, when with repentant hearts we seek Him. Such base ingratitude will ever bring its own punishment. Seeing how little we prize His company, He withdraws Himself for a season to endear to us His companionship. We never know how much we need a Savior’s presence — until we lack it. This absence does indeed make the heart grow fond. Overwhelmed with dismay, her soul fainted and through her sorrow she swooned. With what bitter self-reproaching she now loads herself. With what wringing anguish she thinks of Him standing in the falling dew, while she was framing her miserable excuses. And now He has gone, and she cannot even tell Him how vehemently she hates her sloth. She feels she has grieved Him. Him who has ever been so kind. Him for whose company she asked. What can she do? What will she do? Retire to rest again? No, that would now be an impossibility. Find Him she must. Cast herself at His feet she must, if it is only to sob out her broken hearted confessions of sin. I think I see her, as with wild distracting grief she hurries from her house into the deserted streets. In an agony, she cries out and calls, "My Beloved, my Beloved!" But receiving no answer except the empty echo, she runs from street to street, up this one and down that one, in the hope that she may meet her Lord. She did not meet Him — but I read that she met the watchmen who went about the city, who struck her and wounded her. Who these watchmen represent is not agreed upon. Some think they are the ministers of the Gospel — Zion’s watchmen; and others that they represent false teachers in the church. I am inclined to go with the first interpretation, and then I think the teaching is very clear. Mourning an absent Lord, the soul goes to the sanctuary in the hope that there it may find Him; but instead of doing so, the preacher is led to utter such truths, that the sorrow of soul is only increased. He reminds the soul of its previous slothfulness. He shows it the sin in darker colors than ever. He dwells upon the unkindness of the past. Word after word strikes home, and almost every sentence wounds. This is only necessary discipline, and the preacher may have been as much under the guidance of the Master as when his whole sermon was a "Comfort, Comfort." But now what is the poor, desponding, weeping soul to do? She has traversed every street, and her voice is hoarse with calling, while every limb aches with the blows that the watchmen gave her. A happy thought occurs to her. If she cannot find the Lord — perhaps others may. If He hides his face from her — He may reveal it to others who are "daughters of Jerusalem;" then she will ask them to tell her Lord how she longs for His presence, and how she repents her previous sloth. "I charge you, O, daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, tell him that I am sick from love." Song of Solomon 5:8. She acted in the same way that Joseph did when in prison, saying to the chief butler, who was shortly to be restored to his former high position, "think of me when it is well with you." Genesis 40:14. Ah, dear friends, it is a blessed privilege to be allowed to remember others in our prayers; and when we are full of joy, resting in the love of our Jesus, it is incumbent on us to speak to Him on behalf of those who are going here and there in search of Him. How little we can tell the amount of obligation we are under to others — perhaps humble Christians — for their prayers. I do not have an atom of faith in the so-called intercession of saints in Heaven; but I have faith in the prayers of God’s children on earth. My heart is often made glad in seasons of despondency and gloom, by the thought that there are many of you, who I know bear me up constantly in your prayers. God alone knows how large a proportion of the great blessing we have now received for so long a time, is in answer to the fervent cries of some of the humblest members of this church. Beloved, I still crave the blessing of your prayers. When you are near to your Savior, remember me. When you have found Him after a season of loneliness, tell Him that I and hundreds more of his saints are longing and panting for more of his presence; yes, that we are love-sick through our very love of Him. Desirous of hearing from the spouse’s own lips what she thought and felt towards her Beloved, they ask her the question of our text, "What is your beloved more than another beloved, O fairest among women? What is your beloved more than another beloved, that you so charge us?" Or in other words, "What is there so preeminently lovely in the one you seek, that you give us so solemn a charge?" The question stirs her heart to its deepest depth, and in the rhetoric of love she pours forth the glowing description of her Savior, which forms the closing portion of this chapter. My subject this evening, you will perceive, is the incomparable excellence of Christ over every other beloved. May our Lord make it to each and all of us a sweet preparation for sitting around His table. We will in the first place, for a few moments, observe that all have some beloved, and then secondly, that Christ surpasses all beloveds. I. First then and very briefly — all people have some beloved. By a beloved, I mean any person or anything that more than any other occupies the thoughts — entwines about itself the affections, and constitutes the mainspring of the person’s actions. That is a beloved on which the thoughts dwell with pleasure — and without any effort — in which our love centers with a force that affects and regulates the whole life, and which, in a word, is our life’s end and our life’s joy. For a man to be utterly devoid of such an experience, is an impossibility. His taste may be a depraved, vitiated, senseless one; but there it is, a hideous idol, at whose shrine he offers himself. We have no time or inclination this evening to dwell on the multitude of beloveds found in the hearts of men. We can only just mention them and pass on; and we only mention them in order to make them a dark background on which to display the beauty and glory of Him who is, we trust, to many hundreds present, their souls’ best love. The beloved of many is MONEY. Their thoughts can only run on golden rails. No matter what subject of meditation may be started, it is sure at last to end in money. They look through its medium — they reckon by its value — they live under its influence. Whatever affection they ever possessed, has been stolen by this cursed idol! It has eaten as a canker into all that was ever warm or generous in their hearts, and now it lives upon itself, creating an ever-increasing gnawing and craving. Money is at the bottom of almost all their actions, and for them to live is cash. Such alas! is the chosen beloved of many. But there are others of lighter, gayer dispositions who laugh to scorn the miser’s treasure, and cast their offerings at the feet of PLEASURE. For it they live — in it they revel. If life is short — it will at least be merry. All stern realities are put aside with a laugh, and such gloomy subjects as sickness or death are prohibited matters of conversation. The world and the things of the world, constitute their beloved, and they pursue it with a blind devotion. Fame — learning — position in society — self — family — friends — all these and countless others are each the beloved of thousands. Do not think we have any desire to condemn all the "things beloved" we have mentioned; far from it. For while some are base, groveling and downright sinful — there are others that adorn as jewels the character of the Christian, and without which his very Christianity might well be called in question. No, my desire is to show and feel, and make you feel that Jesus is infinitely more than any other, and that no other beloved can possibly be compared to Him. His excellence is such, that the anguish of losing His presence, and the anxiety to find it again — will make the believing soul a marked person, and will often lead to the question, "What is your beloved more than another beloved?" Let us then get to the sweet work of answering the question, and singing our beloved’s praise. II. Christ surpasses all other beloveds. No question is more easily answered by the Christian, than the one in the text. The most ignorant and simple-minded children of God can grow eloquent on this theme. Whatever points of theology they may know little about, they know there is no one like Christ. Their beloved is beyond all others, and they are ready at any moment to prove it. Get them on this subject, and their tongue becomes like "the pen of a ready writer," though on any other subject, they are little better than tongue-tied. Let me then try and show you HOW Christ surpasses all beloveds. He does so first, in BEAUTY. How magnificent is the description that flows from the lips of the spouse, when she is challenged to show the superiority of her beloved. Her love lacks no rhetoric — true love very seldom does. Her whole soul is now on fire, and the flame burns all the more intensely for the remembrance of her past coldness. But now she has an opportunity of saying what she really thinks about her Lord, and without a moment’s hesitation she pours forth a glowing eulogy on his beauty. We can only pick out two or three of her rapturous descriptions this evening, and ask you to peruse them all at your leisure. "My beloved" she exclaims, "is white and ruddy, the chief among ten thousand!" Song of Solomon 5:10. Here you have the perfection of loveliness — not merely ruddy, nor only white, though there may be beauty in both — but white and ruddy — the rose and the lily united, the fairest contrasts meeting in the same person. O, is it not so with our Beloved? Is there any beauty to be compared to His? Cannot even we, like the spouse in the Canticles, exhaust the fairest metaphors to tell his attractiveness? Her beloved is our beloved, and the same language describes both. Was hers white and ruddy — so is ours. Was hers the chief among ten thousand — so is ours. White and ruddy! Ah, here believer, see your Lord, for who is so white and ruddy as He? Who is so lovely in these blended colors as He? View Him in Gethsemane’s shade, trodden in the winepress of Jehovah’s wrath. Mark his wan and saddened countenance, pale as driven snow. Your beloved is white. But see at every pore there gathers a ruby drop — a drop of blood; and now he is robed in a garment of His gore Your beloved is ruddy. Glance at Him again as He stands in Pilate’s hall, bound with cords to yonder column. See how white and ruddy is your beloved now, as at every furious blow the crimson tide afresh pours down his back. Linger by His feet at Calvary — look into that face the eyes of which are well-near blinded by the bloody shower falling from His thorn-crowned brow — see the mingled stream of blood and water gushing from His riven side. Your beloved is white and ruddy now. True — but it only adds another charm to His loveliness. Like the spouse we glory in it, "Beauteous Savior, your blood drops are your charm." And now the repentant sleeper dwells with delight upon every detail of her beloved’s loveliness. She thinks of those eyes into which she has so often gazed, and which have so often returned a look of love unutterable; and at the remembrance she exclaims, "His eyes are like the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set." Song of Solomon 5:12. Can we not also speak of the eyes of our beloved. Was not that look of His that broke our hearts? And when with bleeding soul we ventured near Him and feebly cried for mercy, was it not that look of divine compassion and welcome pardon that sent sweet peace flowing into our soul like a river? And when like Peter we have denied Him before a scoffing world, have we not also like Peter been restored by just one look at those eyes, soft and loving as a dove’s. Ah, yes, there are no eyes like our Beloved’s. And now having described his cheeks and locks, she pauses to think what else she can say in praise of His beauty. There is but a moment’s pause, and then love’s rhetoric takes its highest flight and places the crown on all previous praises in the exclamation — "Yes, He is altogether lovely!" Song of Solomon 5:16 Our beloved is more than others in that He reciprocates my love. That must be an inferior beloved, that allows all the love to be on one side; and yet how often is it so with the beloveds chosen by many. Can gold return the love that is lavished upon it? Can it make any return for the affection shown? No, not a whit. It receives all — but gives none. View the man who for years has chosen wealth as the recipient of his heart’s love. View him in the hour of sorrow and bereavement when all other comforts fail. Does he find his wealth a solace? Does it bind up the heart that is broken? Does it become the good Samaritan pouring in oil and wine? Never! If you doubt it, ask the men who have tried. When friends prove false, and bosom friends grow cold, does gold whisper into the ear of the embittered soul, "be comforted, I love you, and will never, never forsake you." No, it has no power to love. When the devotee of gold has to die, can his beloved stand by him then? Can it speak to the ears that are deaf to every other voice? Can the dying wretch say concerning it, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for you are with me, your rod and your staff they comfort me?" Psalms 23:4. He cannot. He has wasted his heart and life’s best love on that which fails him at his greatest need. His beloved is a dumb idol, when he most needs a voice. It is unconcerned and indifferent in the moment of his greatest agony. O cold-hearted wealth, you who have never yet returned love for love, I marvel at the number of your lovers. My beloved is more than you. For every drop of love I have towards Him — there is in His heart an ocean full for me. He is more than any other beloved also, because He is never a cause of sorrow. Can you point me to any other love that never gives a pang or brings a tear? God knows that as parents, our CHILDREN are our beloved. But are not children sometimes the sharpest dagger that ever sheaths itself within the breast? In this concourse of tonight, are there none who find their children to be their greatest trial? The greater the love the greater the grief, is too often found true in the family. Have any of us ever had a FRIEND who has never given us one moment’s anxiety or sorrow? I think not. Earthly honey is always mixed with gall — and this world’s fairest rose is ever accompanied with thorns. But Jesus is a beloved who is all joy. His friendship is sweeter than honey, and the rose of Sharon has no thorns. I challenge my soul and yours, O child of God, to remember a solitary moment in our Christian life, when the heart was made sad by lack of faithfulness on His part, or coldness in His love. No, no, our sorrows are our own — and all our joys are His. It is confiding too little in Him, not too much — which gives us days of darkness. We have never had, and we will never have anything to fear, on His part. He is always true, ever loving — never fickle and never false. O, what beloved then can be compared to Him? Other beloveds may be loved too much — but Jesus never. Love to Him can never become a snare — love to Him need not and should never have any restraint. Love Him to a passion — and you will not love Him half enough. Let your love be what the world will call fanatical, and lead you to do things that it will account as madness — and it will then be but a poor dying love, unworthy of its object. O open the flood-gates of your souls, and let an unpent torrent of affection flow out that will carry all before it. Cut every cord that would bind your love, cast aside every impediment in its course. Do not rest until your love to Jesus has risen like a heavenly deluge flowing over every mountain top of earth — and then pray to love him more. He is a beloved beyond all others, and love to Him can never be extreme! Our beloved is more than others in that death does not rob us of Him. Death carries a sharp knife, that severs the closest bonds of earth. The dying miser may breathe his last with the gold still in his death-grasp — but he must leave it — yes, every penny! The mother may hug her darling to her breast with all the strength of parental love — but death releases her hold, and takes her from her treasure. "For the present only" is written upon the brow of all earthly loves. It is far different with our Beloved. The cold black wave that washes us away from everything on earth, only washes us high upon the heavenly shore and leaves us landed in His arms. In Him we have a treasure we take with us through the flood — or rather, in Him we have a treasure that takes us through the stream. O, child of God, rejoice! For however poor you may appear, you have that which will make you rich to all the intents of bliss — when death has stripped every worldling bare, and laid in the dust every beloved he once possessed. Blessed Jesus, who can help but extol You and exclaim, "There is no beloved to be compared to You!" No other beloved DIED for me — but Jesus did. Great and wonderful are the sacrifices that have been made through love. Selfish though human nature is, there have yet been deeds of affection worthy of an angel. But how few friends have died for friends, or have even reached that point of love that would make them willing to. But I think I hear some of you say, "Where is the superiority of your beloved over others? Have you not just granted that some friends have died for friends? Yes, friends for friends. But did you ever hear of one willingly dying for His enemies? Remember our Beloved loved us to the death, not because we loved Him — but because He would love us, though we were ungodly enemies against Him. So you will perceive that we have here a love beyond that ever shown by friend to friend, being displayed to enemies. Yes, blessed Jesus, you have written your love to us in letters drawn with blood. You stand before us this evening with scars still visible, and pointing to them, you say, "Did any other beloved suffer such for you?" No, Lord! No, Lord! You are peerless in your love. Like yourself, it is infinite and defies all measurement in its height and depth, in its length and breadth. Concerning You alone, can I say, "He loved me, and gave Himself for me." And now, lastly, our Beloved is more than any other beloved in our estimation. Whatever others may think of Him, to me He is the chief among ten thousand — the altogether lovely one! Notice how the spouse concludes her address to the daughters of Jerusalem, in the last verse of the chapter, "this is my beloved, and this is my friend." Song of Solomon 5:16. It is only those who do not have Christ, who see no beauty in him. It is only the mere professor who places the Lord on an equality with other beloveds. The true saint — the one who can say "this is my beloved!" will allow no comparison. A holy jealousy fills his heart, and he counts the dearest thing that would usurp his Lord’s position in his heart, as an accursed idol. The sad reason why so many of you present are unable to understand the rapturous love of the saint to his Savior, is because you are unable to say "He is my Beloved." Once you learn to say that with truth, you will no longer marvel — but join us in our song of praise. I will now conclude with just these few PRACTICAL WORDS. If Jesus is all that he is described in this sweet chapter — and we know that He is — let us give Him a love that in some small measure is worthy of his excellence. Let us hang down our heads with shame, as we remember how cold and formal we have been with such a beloved. And while we do so, let there be a fresh dedication on the part of us all, to Him who is so peerless in His love and beauty. Is there a child of God here, who through past slothfulness is now mourning an absent Christ? Oh go dear friend into the streets of Jerusalem and cry after Him. Yes, that is what I know you are doing now. Then cheer up. He is not far from you. He only hides Himself behind your wall. He sees your tears — He hears your sobs — He knows you are love-sick — and soon will He come and take you into his banqueting house under his flowing banner of love. Poor lost sinner, I want you to fall in love with Jesus, I desire to make a marriage between your soul and Him — to woo you into his arms. What are your present beloveds compared to Him? What satisfaction have you found in them? How long can you keep them? O turn your back upon them — and look into the face of Jesus and say, "O Savior, from this evening I receive You as my beauteous Savior. I take You as you so freely offer yourself. You are and ever shall be, my Beloved." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 15: S. BETTER THAN A MOTHER! ======================================================================== Better than a Mother! Archibald G. Brown, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you!" Isaiah 49:15 The almost infinite variety of Scripture is one cause for its ever-varying charm. Every experience, and every shade of every experience, finds its representation in this blessed Book. There is something for all — and something to suit all. There is some sweet portion that is certain to dovetail into the most singular experiences of God’s most peculiar people. The desires and emotions of the heart, too great for utterance, find their expression here; and the most anxious questionings of the soul find their answers in its pages. We can turn to it and hear said for us what we wanted to say — but could not describe in our own language; and hear what we desired to hear — but which could not be heard elsewhere. Is the soul full to overflowing with joy? Does divine mercy seem so great that the spirit in vain tries language to express its bliss? Does it have to say, with good old John Berridge: "Then my tongue would gladly express All Christ’s love and loveliness; But I lisp and falter forth, Broken words not half His worth." Then turning to the pages of this Book, the soul finds its song already written and set to sweetest melody, and it sings, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name! Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits." On the other hand, is the experience the very reverse of this happy one? Does depression and sorrow unnerve the man, and does he with tears try and think of some strong cordial for his fainting soul? He finds his experience photographed, and the cordial mentioned in the inspiring words of the same psalmist, "Why are you cast down, O my soul? Hope in God! For I shall yet praise him who is the health of my countenance, and my God!" Psalms 42:5 The same is true if his experience is one of care. Restless he walks, trying in vain to escape the burden that breaks at the same time his spirit and his back — he finds he may as well run from his own shadow. Now he stops in his restless efforts after self-release, and begins to sink into the idleness of despair. Yet is there no relief. His face may appear with a deceptive calm — but eating into his very vitals, and hurrying him to an early grave, is that cancer of concealed care. As a last hope — and it should have been his first — he turns to the Book of God, to see if there is anything there that can meet so desperate a case as his. With what a revulsion of his former feeling he reads, "Cast your burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain you," Psalms 55:22. Or "Casting all your care on Him, for He cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7. More precious than ever the book becomes; it was his dove with the olive branch amid the deluge of his griefs. But I can imagine one of you saying, "My trouble is not from things without — but from a dark and hideous thought within. The thought is this: My Lord has forsaken me, and my Lord has forgotten me. His former mercies appear brightest by their contrast to my present gloom. His loving-kindness seems to have departed from me, and I fear I am like a dead man, forgotten and out of sight. Is there a passage that will suit my case, and re-assure me of his love and kind remembrance?" There is! You will find it in this morning’s text, and if it but comes home to your heart as it has to the speaker’s, you will bless God for it, and find a solace and a joy unutterable. The verse breathes divine sympathy and it beams with unchanging love. In it we have stretching out before us a green pasture of richest food, through which there flows the sweetest water of quietness. May Jehovah-Jesus, the great shepherd of his sheep, now place himself at our head, and lead us to the spots where the sweetest pastures grow, and deepest waters flow. May he now make his flock to rest at noon, and with his presence shadow the weakest of his sheep. The text itself is all that can be desired. There is music in every word, and a heavenly fragrance in every sentence. It is an alabaster box full of the most precious ointment for wounded spirits. May the Holy Spirit break it open, and fill this house this morning with its refreshing fragrance. There are in the verse two things that will form our divisions. First you have almost an impossibility for a mother to forget her child. Secondly you have an utter impossibility for the Lord to forget his people. Our subject is, you will perceive, the superiority of an "utter" impossibility, over an "almost" impossibility. Let us get then to the subject. I. Almost an Impossibility. "Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne?" If it is not an impossibility for a woman to forget her nursing child — it is certainly next door to one. The Lord could not have obtained any higher earthly illustration of his tenderness and love. In order to show it, you will see the Lord has pressed into his service a variety of words, all serving to increase the beauty of the simile. There are many little touches in the description that call for our special notice as they all give an extra intensity to God’s own picture of his tenderness. We will commence at the first word "mother." What thoughtfulness is displayed here, and what condescension. God who made the heart of woman as well as man, knows that there is a tenderness in her disposition exceeding that of man’s; and therefore he chooses the highest type to illustrate His sympathy. If for a moment or two we dwell upon the tender pity that characterizes woman — it is but to open up more fully the beauty of the comparison. We would reveal the height of the type, in order that the full significance of the God-chosen illustration may be beheld. That there is in woman a tenderness of heart and a susceptibility to others’ sorrows exceeding that found in man, none of us who have wives can doubt. Some unknown stranger perhaps comes to our house (with some of us this takes place nearly every day) and pours into our ears a long, long, tale of misery, poverty, and wretchedness — sick children, pawned clothes, and back rent. We hear the tale respectfully — but without any great emotion, for the simple reason that we have been ’taken in’ so many times before, and have so strong an impression that this is but a similar imposture — that the heart is hardened. We are about to utter the final denial to all his requests, when the wife comes in; she hears with tears the tale that left our heart unmoved. The sick children awaken all the woman’s sympathies, and the stranger leaves rejoicing in the fortune that gave him a woman’s ear into which to plead his cause. Very likely she was deceived, and you tell her so; but with a smile she answers, "Let it be so; better give to nine bad cases, and one good one — than let the one suffer for the sake of the nine. Besides, think of those little ones. Can we let them starve, when our own have everything?" What can you say to such logic? Why nothing. You may remain unconvinced — but you would not have her womanly tenderness of heart abated for the world. I have been much surprised with the manifestation of this dominant feeling of womanhood in conversation about the horrible war now raging. Listen to a number of men as in some railway carriage they try and pass the time with talk. What is the staple subject? They discuss the comparative merits of the generals, and the superiority or otherwise of the various weapons of destruction. The strategic positions are explained; the bloody conflicts of the day are discussed with gusto, if with horror. Strong expressions are employed, and stern measures described. The pomps and pageantry of war seem in a measure to veil its sorrows. Now listen to a number of ladies conversing about the same war. What is the chief theme? You hear but little of the generals, weapons or strategy; their subject is the widows and orphans left, the homes made desolate and the hearts broken; the wounded in the hospitals, and the best way to care for them, or send support to them. The woman’s heart instinctively dwells upon the sorrowing and suffering side of the picture, rather than on the military glory. So it should be; the sphere of pain and grief is the sphere in which she shines the most. The abodes of sorrow and the wards of a hospital, are where her powers know no rival. Hers is the hand to smooth the pillow, give the medicine, and gently change the bandages — while at the same time, with words as delicate as her touch, she strives to heal the wounded spirit. Works of mercy are her mission, and in their performance the whole attributes of her character are seen delighting themselves in their natural element. Behold then the beauty of the simile. God, longing to convey to His people’s doubting heart some faint idea of His own matchless tenderness, selects as His illustration the compassionate heart of a woman. What a lesson this reads to some. What a rebuke it gives to those who seem to imagine that the one thing they have to veil as a thing of shame, is a soft place in the heart. Have we not all met some who seemed to imagine that the only way to be manly, was to be harsh; and the only proof of manhood, was an utter lack of tenderness of character? Men who consider sympathy a proof of "softness," and delicacy of feeling a weakness of the head — men who sneeringly term anything that displays a heart less hard than a stone wall, "womanish." It would be a good thing for many men if they were more womanish than they are — if to be womanish means to have a heart open to the cares and sorrows of others, and a disposition that finds its joys in efforts to lighten the burden. If there are such "manly men" present, let them blush as they hear the God of Heaven and earth describing His own affections by the heart of a woman. But the illustration goes higher. It is not merely the tenderness of the woman — but the tenderness of the woman who is a mother. God not only employs the highest type — but the highest specimen of that type. Mother! Mother! Mother! What associations of loving tenderness are in the very name, Mother! The word touches a secret spring in the heart, and conjures back scenes of the past. It brings to view in the dim distance, a sweet face that used to bend over our little cot at eventide, and impress a kiss upon our brow. It reminds us of one who used to smile when we were happy — and weep when obliged to correct us. It calls to remembrance one who always seemed interested in our little tales of adventure, and never laughed at our little sorrows that seemed so large to us. Mother! It was her face we gazed last upon, when we went away to school. And it was into her arms that we first rushed, when the holidays brought us home. Mother! It was the thought of her that held us back with unseen silken cords, from sin. And when those dark locks of hers became silvered with advancing age, we only thought an extra charm had crowned her brow. With many present that mother has long since fallen asleep in her Savior’s arms — but you did not forget the love that was as strong as death, and escaped from her dying lips in words you treasure to this day. Forget? No! Her name still has a magic power, and the tears I see rolling down so many cheeks this morning are eloquent in their language. They declare that at least one word has neither lost its music or its charm, and that one word is mother. I think I cannot better show the hold the memory has of a mother upon a man, than by quoting the words of Archibald Thompson. He says, "Mother!! How many delightful associations cluster around that word. When my heart aches at the world’s wickedness, and my limbs are weary, and my feet bloody, traveling the thorny path of life--I am accustomed to sit down on some mossy stone, and closing my eyes on real scenes, to send my thoughts back to the days of early life--and in all these reminiscences, my mother arises. If I seat myself upon my cushion, it is at her side; if I sing, it is to her ears; if I walk the meadows, my little hand is in my mother’s, and my little feet keep company with hers; if I stand and listen to the piano, it is because my mother’s fingers touch the keys; if I survey the wonders of creation, it is my mother who points out the object of my admiring attention. There is . . . no velvet so soft as a mother’s lap, no rose so lovely as her smile, no path so flowery as that imprinted with her footsteps." Thus he wrote testifying to the unbroken spell of a mother’s affection. Thousands could bear the same testimony, though perhaps in less graceful language. It was but the other evening I read in one of the daily papers a touching anecdote bearing upon our subject. After one of the recent battles, a German soldier was seen supporting himself by grasping the top of a stone wall. The poor fellow had been shot through the body, and his life blood was pouring from him fast. A fellow soldier coming to him said, "Well comrade, is there anything I can do for you." "Yes," answered the dying man, "write to this address." "Willingly," said the friend, "but what shall I say." "Say, ’Dear mother’" — but while he uttered that last word, his hand relaxed its hold, and he sank, a corpse, into a pool of gore! A short letter that was — but how full of pathos. Amid death and dying, with life fast ebbing, the thought that lingered longest with the soldier was his mother. There is one feature in a mother’s love that must be mentioned, as it constitutes, I think, the chief beauty of the type. Her love is not a love drawn forth by prosperity, or dispelled by adversity. She loves her son not because of what he has — but because of what he is. He is her boy, and in that statement, you have the secret of her love. Many present either have or have had butterfly friends. When successful, they are so numerous it is difficult to count them. But when adversity sets in, it is even more difficult to reckon them, only from a different cause — they have all vanished. But amidst changing scenes, and consequently changing friends, who is it that has remained the same, or rather who is it whose tenderness has seemed to increase with your trials? Why, your mother! Your prosperity never had anything to do with her affection, so its loss cannot alter her feelings towards you. To whom would any of us go to tell our troubles, when through adverse circumstances we had been pushed back and back and back, until we were driven right against the wall? Why, to our mother. We need not fear to tell her the very worst. All she will think of is that the one against the wall is her own boy, and to desert him in his trial will never once enter her thoughts. O matchless, unselfish, undying love — love uninfluenced by any circumstance! Where can we find your equal? Nowhere but in Him who has stooped to make this love the illustration of His own. Thus you will see God uses the sympathy of the woman, and that woman a mother, to reassure His people of His own unalterable affection. There is yet one other delicate touch in the picture which gives to it the perfection of beauty. The tenderness described is not only that of a woman, or even that of a mother — but of a mother towards her nursing child. This crowns the description, and should drive away the last remnant of unbelief. Think for a moment of the conclusiveness of the argument. I can imagine a mother sometimes forgetting her grownup son, who has long since attained the age of manhood, and is himself the head of a family. I can believe that the daughter married into some other family and well provided for — is not always in the thoughts of her mother. But it is almost impossible to conceive the nursing child is forgotten for a moment. Its very life is dependent on the mother’s thoughtfulness, and its utter helplessness becomes its security. Yes, she could not forget it even if she desired; nature itself would become a sharp reminder, and her own pain would plead her infant’s cause. Forget a nursing child? The cries of the little one would be sufficient to awaken the sleeping memory. Behold, dear friends, how God has strengthened his illustration by every possible means. Not a circumstance that could give force to the argument has been omitted. Beginning high with the tenderness of a woman, he ascends step by step to the climax of a mother’s love for her infant at the breast. Then comes the question "Can she forget?" There is a moment’s pause, and the answer is heard, "she may." Yes, improbable though it is, it is not impossible — although almost an impossibility, it still fails to reach an utter impossibility. Mothers may forget their nursing children. They can do so in two ways, either literally, or by acting as if they had. Let us take the last mentioned way first. Sometimes as if to afford an awful illustration of the complete depravity of the human race, there comes a revelation that shocks society — such a one as just took place at Brixton. We read of infants sold like lambs; and while we read, we find ourselves mistaking the word mother, and reading it monster. The workhouses can bear the same testimony. The little foundlings picked up by the watchmen off the steps, cry in their piteous tones, "They may forget!" It is a sad truth — but still a truth, that exceptions are found even in maternal love. Note this dark side of the picture, "They may forget," and do that literally. In yonder room there lies a mother, burnt up and parched with fever. For a season her mind wanders, and in her delirium she talks the wildest nonsense; her children’s voices are heard by others in the adjoining room — but she does not notice them. Though the tenderest and most thoughtful of mothers in health, she has now forgotten all, and the cry of the infant fails to arrest her attention. Thus you see in the golden chain of a mother’s memory there may be a false link that will snap in the strain. In the almost universal beauty of the mother’s love there are dark blots and black exceptions. The almost impossibility breaks down in the trial. Sin and sickness both declare the woman can forget her nursing child, and fail to have compassion on the son of her womb. Thus much for the first point, on which I have dwelt longer than I at first intended. Let us turn to the second, and behold — II. An Utter Impossibility. The true magnitude of an object can only be understood by comparison, and it is by contrast that the mind grasps the reality. It is only in this way, that the grand proportions of the mountain range can be perceived. Their very hugeness serves but to deceive the eye, and diminish in appearance their stupendous height. In order to realize the altitude of that topmost peak, you must view the successive tiers of hill-tops that it overlooks. The first of these would make the highest building but a molehill in comparison — but look, there are three, four, yes five other summits rising like giant steps, and still towering far aloft. And looking down upon the highest of them in disdain, the snow-crowned peak erects its head. It is only now the dizzy height is understood. Just so it is in our text. We have been directing your attention to the different ranges of a woman’s and a mother’s love, in order that in some measure you might understand the height of God’s love. As we stood at the foot of the hill and gazed upon the summit of a mother’s tenderness towards her nursing child, we were ready to exclaim, "can anything overtop this?" Yes, for look yonder — rising like an Alpine — or rather like a peak of the Himalayas, and dwarfing into insignificance every other hill and mountain top — there stands the eternal love of Jehovah to His people, the apex of which is high as Heaven’s eternal throne. These lower ranges may be scaled and measured — but this never! "God only knows the love of God." Its height and depth, its length and breadth, defy all measurement! "They may forget, YET," and it is this word yet that shoots aloft beyond all human sight, "I will not forget you." I will now give just a few reasons that make forgetfulness on the part of God an utter impossibility. I will give them to you in outline, and leave filling in the detail to private meditation. 1. His NATURE forbids it. We have already shown you that the secret of a mother’s love, is her being a mother. A mother’s nature must love — but her nature, like the nature of all, is depraved; and the best of human love is but human love at best. However high her love may reach, it can never reach perfection because her nature lacks perfection — the stream can never flow higher than the fountain. But with God it is the reverse. In Him you have infinite perfection — and the stream rises to the fountain. "God is love!" Who can fathom that declaration? Who can understand it in all its fullness? God is not only ’loving’ — poor mortals can be loving; but God is love! — love itself. Now if imperfect love renders the forgetfulness of the child almost an impossibility, then how complete the impossibility must be when that love is the love of one who is love. 2. His PROMISES forbid it. There is one thing that even God cannot do — He cannot lie. Now if He were to forget a child of His, some of the most precious promises of the Word would be violated and become mere waste. Listen but to some of them: "The mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed — but my kindness shall not depart from you, nor shall the covenant of my peace be removed, says the Lord that has mercy on you." Isaiah 54:10. "I will betroth you to me forever; yes, I will betroth you to me in righteousness, and in judgment, and in loving kindness; and in mercies." Hosea 2:19 "The Lord will not cast off his people, nor will he forsake his inheritance." "Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world." Matthew 28:20 These and a hundred other like precious promises all declare it is impossible for God to forget His people. 3. The TRAVAIL OF THE REDEEMER’S SOUL is alone a sufficient argument, that those for whom it was endured — shall be remembered. Men do not forget that which cost them much; but what was ever procured at so dreadful a price as "the church which he has purchased with His blood"? Acts 20:28 Gethsemane’s horror of darkness and cup of agony, Pilate’s hall and bloody scourging, Calvary’s cross and shameful death — these all have too deeply engraved upon His heart and memory, the names of those for whom he suffered, to allow them to ever become forgotten. 4. His HONOR renders it an utter impossibility. If a man is worthy of the name, there is something that he values more than wealth, position or anything beside; something before losing which, he would rather part with all. I mean his honor. Shall man be careful to his honor — and God indifferent to His honor? Never! For our God is "a jealous God!" The rolls of the chosen and the glorified must agree. If one redeemed soul, through its Redeemer’s forgetfulness, were to find its way to Hell, the infernal region would have its laugh at Heaven’s expense! That shall never be. "His honor is engaged to save The poorest of His sheep; All that His heavenly Father gave, His hands securely keep. Nor death nor Hell shall e’er remove His favorites from his breast; In the dear bosom of His love, They must forever rest!" Cheer up then, every poor disconsolate heart. God remembers you. Listen yet again to His words: "Can a mother forget her nursing child? Can she feel no love for the child she has borne? But even if that were possible, I would not forget you!" Isaiah 49:15 ======================================================================== CHAPTER 16: S. BIRTH-DAY OF BLESSING! ======================================================================== The Birth-day of Blessing! Archibald G. Brown, August 7th, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle "From this day I will bless you." Haggai 2:19 The affairs of the Jewish church had a remarkable turn given to them, both in history and prophecy, by the captivity in Babylon. Nine out of twelve of the prophets that are known to us as "the minor," lived and prophesied before the captivity, and often the "burden of the Lord" was denunciations of the people’s sins, and stern threatenings of the punishment in store for them. With sad heart and in solemn language they foretold the doom that hung over the heads of the guilty nation. The three remaining minor prophets commenced their work sometime after the return of the captivity — Haggai and Zechariah about eighteen years after. The building of the temple was at this time being greatly neglected, not only through the opposition of the enemy — but far more through the lack of spirit on the part of Israel. Both of these prophets sought by strong and stirring words to arouse the energy of the people in the prosecution of so good, as well as so national a work. Haggai began his exhortations some two months prior to Zechariah — but the latter continued them about two years longer. In Haggai 2:1-23 from which I have selected my text, you will find three distinct sermons for the encouragement of those who, under the influence of the words recorded in the previous chapter, had at last commenced the work in right down earnest. 1. From the first to the ninth verse he cheers the builders by the declaration that the house they were now rearing would far exceed in spiritual glory, though not in outward splendor, the one that bore the name of Solomon. It was in this temple that the Desire of All Nations, Haggai 2:7 the "greater than Solomon," Matthew 12:42, would walk and speak. 2. From Matthew 12:10-19 he comforts them with the assurance that though their own prosperity had been blasted through their previous slothfulness in the matter — yet from the time of their revival in the work, a renewed blessing would be given them. Surely we may learn from this in passing, that neglect of God’s work is often, to say the least, bad policy for our own success. They are short-sighted people indeed, yes, blind as bats, who imagine that by stinginess in the work of God, they will gain personal advantage. I venture to assert that the cause of much ill-success in life is often to be found in the lack of zeal for God’s house. With the knife of their so-called economy, they cut their own fingers, and prune away their own fruitfulness. As they put their own affairs before God, He permits them to have but little to put. The best investment is consecration to the Lord and His work; and often the quickest way to fill our own barns is by emptying them into His lap. You look after God’s cause — and He will look after yours. Doubtless many of these Jews, like those of the present day, thought they could ill afford the time or expense of looking after a work not connected with their own private advancement; but they had to learn by experience the folly of their calculations, for God struck the produce of their selfish labors with mildew and with blasting. 3. In the third and last sermon, the prophet assures Zerubbabel, the governor of Judah, and the foremost in the work, that he would have the high honor of being one of the ancestry of the Messiah. It is from the closing sentence of the second sermon I would speak to you this evening, "From this day I will bless you." I think you will at once perceive the drift of my sermon when I remind you that the temple was a type of that church of which every individual believer is a living stone. From the day when the foundation of that temple is laid, the promise is ours. When is the foundation day from which the blessing dates? This question may be answered in more than one way. 1. In one sense it is from everlasting, for God’s people are in purpose part of the building from before all time. That day when sovereign love chose me, and enrolled my name in the list of the elect, was a day from which God says, "I will bless you" — that day when Jehovah chose me in the rubbish of the fall, to be a stone later quarried out and planted in the walls of his mystic temple. Every child of God will be able to trace back the blessing that has culminated in glory to the fountainhead of divine and imperial decree. 2. In a second sense, the foundation day may be dated as the day on which the atoning sacrifice was made. That day constitutes an epoch in the history and genealogy of blessing. It was the wondrous method of carrying out the gracious purposes of eternity. It was there that the rough material was bought at an dreadful cost. It was then gushed forth with the blood and water from the Savior’s side, the silver stream of blessing, the praises of which we desire this night to sense. Every trembling penitent and humble saint can read o’er Calvary’s cross, "From this day I will bless you!" 3. But the day whose blessing I want to tell, is the day when the result of the two previous ones mentioned, actually becomes ours. Not the day in which the rough material is chosen, nor the day on which the purchase price is paid — but rather the day in which the elected, blood-bought stone is raised from the dark quarry, and with shouts of "grace, grace to it," it is triumphantly placed on the rising walls. In other words, the day of conversion — the day in which is laid, as far as our experience is concerned, the foundation of our salvation — the day of which we often sing, "Oh, happy day, that fixed my choice, On You, my Savior and my God; Well may this glowing heart rejoice, And tell its raptures all abroad. Happy day! Happy day! When Jesus washed my sins away!" Let us then look at the subject in this light. And to do so, we will divide our subject into two divisions, both found in the text. First we have a specified day; and secondly we have a declared blessing commencing from that day. I. A Specified Day. This blessed day of conversion goes by different names in Scripture. It is too glorious to be described by any one name alone. I will mention only three. 1. The day of conversion is termed the "day of espousals" in Song of Solomon 3:11. It is the day in which Jesus, our Heavenly Bridegroom, wins the heart of His bride. He . . . reveals to her His love, shows her His beauties, tells her of His sufferings for her sake. He woos her by His sighs and tears and agonies, and lays siege to her heart on every side — while His lips drop honey-words of loving affection. Unable to resist such heavenly importunity, she finds her prejudices melting fast away; one barrier after another is broken down, and at last, allured by the magnetic power of His love, she gives herself to Him, and with tears of joy exclaims, "My Beloved is mine — and I am His!" Oh, happy day, when the soul is espoused to Christ. All Heaven looks on and rings a marriage peal, while the sweetest music fills the new-born heart! 2. The day of conversion, is also spoken of as the "day of power." Psalms 110:3. This gives us a different view of the same transaction. It is a mighty act to convert a sinner — infinitely beyond the power of man, and glorifying even to the omnipotence of God. The sinner has been a rebel in arms, defying his God to the battle. There has been, if I may so express it, many a skirmish, in which the Lord has withheld His great strength. He has struck only lightly, and the sinner has been astonished and dismayed — but now in this day of conversion, He comes forth to certain victory. The strong man armed, may fight with all the fury of despair but ’tis a hopeless conflict, for the one "stronger than he" has taken the field against him, and taken it to win. Rampart after rampart is taken — stronghold after stronghold is carried. Before His mighty blows, doors of adamant give way, and bars of brass and steel are shivered to pieces. And now that the combatants have met, one sweep of the God’s sword breaks down the uplifted shield and cleaves the boasted helmet. It is the day of the Lord’s power, and conquered at His feet the rebel cries, "Lord, what will you have me to do?" "God be merciful to me, a sinner!" Behold, mercy triumphs in the triumph. The same hand that struck the rebel down — now raises him from the dust! The arm that fetched the blow — now brings the balm! He who killed — now makes alive, and the repentant singer sings for his defeat "Your mercy is more than a match for my heart, Which wonders to feel its own hardness depart; Dissolved by Your goodness, I fall to the ground, And weep to the praise of the mercy I’ve found!" 3. The day of conversion, is moreover spoken of as "the day of salvation." Isaiah 49:8. There is no need for me to spend much time on this. The name describes itself. It is the day of salvation. It is the day in which the man is saved. It is the day in which the purposes and plan of salvation receive in him, their fulfillment. It is a glorious day, by whatever name it is called. I would to God that everyone in this great company had seen it. We will now endeavor to speak a little about this day in detail, and first I would remark: 1. This day often has a CLOUDY MORNING. As in the creation of nature — so in the commencement of grace — the evening and the morning constitute the first day. The day of grace begins before there is actual light. The evening of the conviction of sin must be reckoned among the hours of the day. And how dark often is this night, and with what lowering clouds the dawn at last appears. The old adage says "it is always darkest just before dawn." Whether it is so in nature or not, I am not prepared to say — but I am sure of this, that it holds true to the breaking of this blessed day. Just before the light breaks in — the power of darkness makes its most desperate resistance. Just prior to the gladsome entrance of hope — the soul is often nearest to despair. And when standing closest to the frontier of salvation — it feels, it trembles, nearest Hell. Let those who like, make little of conviction of sin — we dare not. It is the evening that forms the early hours of the day. We venture to declare that only those are pardoned — who have seen themselves condemned. Only those are saved — who have known themselves as lost! Amid the number of the white-robed saints in Heaven, there are none but those who have worn the sackcloth of repentance. There are also many who are quite unable to call to remembrance the experience we have described. Their change has been so gradual, that no clear line is visible between the darkness and the light. But that does not alter the fact. The evening may have melted very slowly into day — and if you ask them now, they will with tears plead guilty to every sin, and say they were but Hell-deserving wretches when the grace of God first appeared to them — though when the grace of God appeared in all its fullness, they cannot now determine. There are many here this evening now experiencing the darkness prior to the dawn. Legal terrors frighten them. Past sins appall them, and doubts and fears rend their hearts with anguish. They see their need of a Savior — but not the Savior whom they need. They behold a Hell that yawns to engulf them — but not the road that leads from the wrath to come. Their sins stare them in the face, and dazzle them by their scarlet hue — but at present they cannot perceive the atoning blood that washes white as snow. All the lightnings of Sinai flash before them, and its deep thunder they hear rolling over head — but as yet they have been unable to leave Sinai for Calvary, or hear the sound "that mercy utters from the cross." With them, it is a season of gloom and struggle. Night and Day are doing battle in their breast, and it is no wonder if their soul is torn asunder between such mighty combatants. Satan, seeing he is about to lose them, makes one final horrid effort to retain them. Their case becomes the same as that lad possessed with the devil, who as he was still coming to Jesus, was hurled to the ground, and torn by the demon within. The most crushing falls and the most dreadful tearings are those the sinner has as he comes. Few, if any, find that the blessed day of our text commences as a "morning without clouds." 2 Samuel 23:4. Now, dear friends, and I speak to those of you who are anxious — is there not something here to comfort you and cheer your hearts? Your sorrow of soul is only the dawn — your tears are only the harbingers of morning. There was a time when you felt none of these things; when you lived in a deathly calm. Would you like to return to it? "Ah no," I hear you reply, "painful though it is, it is better than that. I would sooner spend years of anguish seeking Him, than be dead to all desire." True, dear friend; but believe me, the time of your rejoicing is at hand. The very darkness of your night tells me the dawn is near. Does your heart cry out as one of old from Seir, "Watchman, what of the night? Watchman, what of the night?" Listen then to the answer, "The watchman said, The morning comes." Isaiah 21:11-12. You will yet thank God for your griefs, and praise Him for your sorrows. Do not think, dear friend, that there is no "blessed day" for you — there is! The hour of dawn is just about to chime, for this, the brightest of days, usually has the darkest of dawnings. 2. This day often has a SECRET DAWNING. I now desire to say a few words of encouragement to an exceedingly large class of Christians — a class I have already alluded to — those who cannot say exactly how or when they were converted. Every minister of the gospel is sure to have many come to him in anxiety, because they lack the clear remembrance many possess of the day of their espousals. Foolishly they fear that they can never have been converted at all, as they are unable to say it exactly when it was. Am I speaking to such now? My dear friend, there is no cause why this should trouble you. If you know it is daylight with you now, then what does it matter as to what precise moment the dawn first broke? Indeed, I doubt if there are any of God’s saints who do know the precise moment. They know the time when they were first conscious of the light; but before that, there had been the breaking of the day. Can you tell me the exact moment when this morning commenced? Where there are two consecutive minutes in which you could say "now it is night" — and "now it is day"? No! Imperceptibly the darkness melted into dawn. Undetected by your eye, the night began to ebb and the light began to flow. Will you say on this account there is no day? You cannot; there are a thousand things that prove it. You see its light — you feel its warmth — you have done its work. So it is with your spiritual life. You are not what you were — your loves and fears and hopes are the very reverse of what they used to be. You see things you once did not — you feel things you once did not — you delight to do things you once did not. "Old things have passed away, all things have become new." 2 Corinthians 5:17. Rejoice in the light, dear friend and be glad in the day, for it is not one whit the less real, because its dawning is too secret for you to detect. Sometimes this day has an early dawn — and sometimes a long delayed dawn. God has no fixed age at which to convert. I grant that the vast majority are brought to the Lord in the days of youth and early manhood; but at the same time, there is no restriction to that age. The sun does not rise at the same hour all year round. Sometimes the early hours witness his glory, and at another season, those hours are dark as night; and it is left to later ones to see his light. So it is in grace. Now it is the child in whose heart the dawn breaks — and now the aged white-haired sinner. I would remark here that sometimes the sun rises very early in the soul; far earlier I believe than many think. There is, we know, a certain class of Christians — a class that we hope is lessening daily — which makes it a point to sneer at the idea of children Christians. "Pack of stuff!" they say "what can they know about these things; they don’t know their own minds yet." And when the little ones are received into the Church, these wiseacres shake their silly heads, and say, "it will be the ruin of the Church." For a soul not to have been permitted by God to wallow in sin before conversion, seems to them rather a pity and a drawback. I think those who know the most about Churches will bear me out in saying that it is not these little ones who generally bring disgrace upon their profession — but the contrary. At all events, it is summer when the sun rises early, and winter when it rises late; and who would not rather have the long bright day than the short cold day? We have known Christians of seven years of age, whose piety it would be atrocious to doubt, and whose devotion and consecration would make many of riper years blush. Yes, thank God, in childhood’s day the blessed day may have its dawn. But it can rise late. Long may anxious friends have cried, "Watchman, what of the night?" Long may the answer have been, "Tis dark, ’tis dark, ’tis murky dark!" And yet, just when despair was about to set in, and hope flee, the joyful sound has been heard in the aged sinner’s heart, "the morning comes!" 3. This day, like all others, has a SILENT DAWN. It is seen, but not heard. "Wait," says one, "is that correct? Can I not hear the rooster crowing and the tramp of the laborers going to their work? Is that not the dawn?" No, it is the result of the dawn — but not the dawn itself. If I may so express it, when she comes to open the gates of light, and unbar the doors of day — she comes with a tread so light, that it does not shake the dew from the blade of grass; and she draws on so silently, the keenest power of hearing finds the silence still unbroken. As silently as the snow melts upon the hillside, revealing by slow degrees the verdure that it covered — the darkness of night departs. The work of grace within the heart can be perceived by its results — but not heard in its working. One yonder sighs, and says, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" Give thanks for it; it is the music of the dawn; but before that cry was heard, the dawn had come. "Lord save me, or I perish," prays another. It is a precious prayer; the dawn has given it birth — but not it the dawn. Perhaps the very one, who is now sitting by your side, has within his heart the breaking of day — but do you hear it? Like the dawn, grace comes with noiseless step. 4. The dawning of the day, like the dawning of all other days, is IRRESISTIBLE. Who can say to the advancing morn, "thus far but no further"? Suppose all the parliaments of the world were to decree that the dawn of the following day should fail. What effect would it have? Why, while they were resolving, the rosy light would come, and gliding through the windows of "the house," they would gently laugh in the faces of the senators, and bid them see their folly. If all the armies of the earth were to gather themselves together to war with the advancing dawn, it would but shine upon their weapons, and tell them they had no arms to combat her. So it is with grace in the heart. No power of earth or Hell, or both combined, can delay the day of God’s power for one moment. Scoffing shop-mates may say of the newly converted hand, "we will soon laugh religion out of him," but they will find their boast is vain. If the work is of God, it must stand. O, persecutors and opponents of the convert, your opposition is miserably futile. Go place a bit and bridle on the dawn, and hold it back — before you talk of arresting the onward march of this blessed day in the weakest saint. 5. The dawn is but the COMMENCEMENT of the day. There is a vast difference between the misty beauty of the early morning — and the magnificent glory of the noon tide. Yet they are but one day. The morning is the noon in childhood — and the noon is but the dawn fully developed. There is yet a greater difference between the trembling sinner as he casts himself in half despair upon the atonement — and the same soul as he stands in white before the throne; and yet the two things are but the result of the same grace. When he sought the Lord with tears — it was grace in the bud. And when he stands arrayed in glory — it is the same grace in full bloom. The one leads to the other, as surely as the dawn ripens into day. And now, before we pass into the second part of our subject, for which only a few minutes remain, I want to ask my soul and yours one question of supreme importance: Have we ever known this day in our own experience? Has this red letter day — this never-to-be-forgotten day — dawned upon us? May the Lord help us now to answer this question as in His sight. And if we are obliged out of truthfulness to say, "No," then let the prayer now arise, "O, you, who said in creation’s morn, ’Let it be light,’ speak that word to me; and concerning my benighted heart, may rejoicing angels cry: Behold the dawn!" II. A Declared Blessing. I will only be able to give you the outlines of this part of the sermon, and leave it to you, in quiet meditation, to fill up the details. "I will bless you." A sermon might be preached from every word. "I" — Behold here the person who blessed — The God of Heaven. "Will" — Behold here the certainty. "Bless" — Behold here the promise. What does this word not include? "You" — Behold here the condescension. We will, however, take it as a whole, and try, in a few words, to show what the blessing is. 1. It includes, first — all SPIRITUAL blessings. Is PARDON a blessing? It comes with the dawn of this day, for in its hours the soul hears with joy, "your sins, which are many, are all forgiven!" Is PEACE with God a blessing? It is on this day that Jesus walks upon the troubled waters of the soul, as He did on the waves of the lake of Tiberias, and says, "Peace, be still!" — and at his word there comes a great calm. It is a blessing to be ADOPTED into God’s family. From this day the sinner can look up and say with truth, "My Father, who is in Heaven." Time would fail to tell of all the spiritual blessings with which we are blessed in Christ Jesus. The rosy hand of morn as it unbars the gates of light, throws open at the same time the treasury of God, and says to the new illumined one, "Take whatever you will." "Take whatever you will." 2. But this blessing is not confined to only mercies for the soul. It rests on all our temporal affairs. Do you ask, "How?" I answer, "It makes our little much, and our much a great deal more. The dry crust with His blessing — satisfies far more than the banquet without it. All comforts with His blessing, are multiplied a thousand-fold. Doubtless you have often had in your hand the ripe fruit and admired its beauty. But was it not "the bloom" upon the fruit that gave it, in your eyes, its special loveliness? Yes — God’s blessing is the bloom that rests upon His gifts. This blessing, moreover . . . sanctifies our troubles, removes the sting from our trials, and takes away the bitterness of our grief. God’s blessing . . . abides on our persons, dwells in our homes, and descends on our experiences. 3. Lastly, God’s blessing extends to all future things. I can imagine one of you saying, "If it commences from this day — then how far does it reach?" Let us take a few steps and see. The first step is to the SICK BED. All of us must come to that. Does the blessing extend to here? Listen! "You will make all his bed in his sickness," or as it may be translated, "you will turn his bed," even as the considerate nurse does. The blessing reaches here. Let us take the next step. It is to the DEATH BED. Can you ask if His blessing abides here? The triumphant happy departure of a host that no man can number declares it to be so. "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints." Psalms 116:15 Shall we take another step? It is to the GRAVE. Lo! Here we find the blessing, for the grave has no longer any victory, and it is now but the quiet resting place of dust that is dear to God, and which He will raise again at the resurrection morning. One step more, and it is the last. HEAVEN! Here is the blessing that dates from the conversion day — now crowned! I read that there is no curse there. Blessing, and nothing but blessing, fills the heavenly courts. Oh! What a happy thought it is that in the day of conversion, a seed of blessing is sown that shall bloom with increasing splendor throughout the ages of eternity! Poor sinner, attracted by this thought, cry out this evening, "Lord, give the dawn — Lord, give the dawn, even to this dark heart, for Jesus’ sake!" Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 17: S. CHRIST'S OWN JOY, IS OUR JOY! ======================================================================== Christ’s Own Joy, is Our Joy! Archibald G. Brown, June 9th, 1872, East London Tabernacle "I am coming to You now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of My joy within them!" John 17:13 The precious words of this prayer, and of the three previous chapters, become invested with a sad but additional charm when read in the light of the first verse of the following chapter, "When Jesus had spoken these words, He went forth with His disciples over the brook Kidron where there was a garden into which He entered, and His disciples." John 18:1. The shadow of Gethsemane was falling across His spirit when His lips uttered that beautiful discourse commencing, "Let not your hearts be troubled" and concluding with the words, "I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world." John 16:33. The cup of exceeding bitterness was already being held out to Him as He prayed, not for Himself — but for His disciples. What an exquisite view we have here of our Savior’s CHARACTER. How grandly the unselfishness of love shines forth! How completely His own approaching sorrow fails to make Him unmindful of the woes of others. With most of us, our grief gives rise to a half pardonable selfishness. It absorbs our every thought. With Him it was the very reverse. The nearer His own heart-breaking approached — the more concerned He seemed to comfort the hearts of others. His own Gethsemane only intensified His desire for His people’s joy. "Let not your hearts be troubled." Ah Jesus, do you think of the little griefs of your disciples now? In such a moment as this, can you pause to pour drops of comfort into wounded spirits? With the Atlantic waves of the travail of your soul so near to You — do you have the time or heart to think of the minor griefs of others? "Let not your hearts be troubled!!" Why, Savior, your heart is about to break. "Be of good cheer!!" O my Lord, in a few hours you will be crying as one forsaken on the cross. "I know it," He seems to say, "and it is because I know it, that I would make my last discourse to commence and end with words of peace for them. If I have sorrow — I wish them joy." The same lovely trait of a perfect character gleams forth in the prayer from which I have selected the text. How few are the petitions He offers for Himself, compared with those He breathes for others. To read this seventeenth chapter of John, one would never think the bloody sweat was to immediately follow. Love toward His followers, completely triumphs over personal suffering. It is worthy of notice how much stress Christ puts on his disciples having a present joy — and that joy is His joy. In John 15:11 you read, "These things I have spoken to you, that My joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full." In the sixteenth chapter and twenty-fourth verse, "Ask and you shall receive, that your joy may be full," and in the words of our text, "That they may have the full measure of My joy within them!" What does Christ mean when He wishes His joy to be in His disciples? This will be our subject this morning. There are one or two interpretations. I will but mention them, and then go on to what I believe to be the true teaching of the words. Many think that the joy mentioned here is the joy of which Jesus is the author, subject, and medium. The joy that comes through receiving Him — His joy because He gives it. All these are true — but I do not think they are the truths taught by this verse. I believe that Jesus by the words "my joy" meant the joy that He Himself experienced. The joy that He had in His soul while fulfilling His mission on earth. Directly after expressing this wish, you will find that He commences drawing a comparison between His disciples and Himself. First in their nature, "They are not of the world even as I am not of the world." Secondly in their mission, "As you have sent Me into the world, even so I have sent them into the world." What more suitable prayer could He then have possibly uttered than this, that as they were to go forth for Him, even as He went forth for the Father, so they might have the same joy to sustain and cheer them as He had? Like Him in the persecuting treatment they were to receive from the world — He desired they should be like Him in their inward joy. Our theme then is Christ’s own joy, as the portion of Christ’s own people. Let us find out the nature of our Savior’s joy — and we will find out the joy which we may, which we ought, and which Christ wishes us to possess. Let us then first notice the nature of Christ’s joy, and secondly, the measure in which He wishes His saints to have it. I. The Nature of Christ’s Joy. I would draw a distinction between the joy of Christ, and what often goes by that name. Joy is something different from mere merriment and hilarity, although the word is often used to describe them. I cannot imagine either of these dwelling in the heart of Him who was "the man of sorrows" — but I can imagine joy. I willingly grant that often merriment is the outward and visible sign of an inward joy of heart — but it is not always or necessarily so. It may be the lovely flower of a plant that has its roots deep within the soul, or it may have no more connection with the heart than the flowers have with the coffin lid on which they have been cast. Often where there is most laughter — there is most grief; and frequently, where there are most tears — there is deepest joy. The joy of Jesus then was not what every eye could see. It certainly was not the mirthfulness that plays over the countenance. To look into His face would not have been to see joy mirrored there. It was more marred than that of the sons of men, and the furrows that care had ploughed, were deep. Christ became — if I may use the expression — prematurely old. When only a little over thirty years of age, he was thought by his looks to be near fifty, for the Jews said to him, "You are not yet fifty years old, and you have seen Abraham?" It was a joy that was not strongly expressed in the countenance. It was also a joy not easily detected by His conversation. In his recorded discourses we have no sparkling coruscations of mirthfulness, investing them with brilliance — but rather a spirit of calm sadness. Only once (I think I am correct in saying) is Jesus said to have rejoiced, and I will speak of that shortly. I distinguish then between joy — and merriment. Perhaps I can better explain my meaning by an illustration. Very often when traveling in our own lovely Lake District and on the Continent last year, I have made my way to some secluded glen. In front of me there have been rocks piled on rocks, and jutting out from between them, pine trees that hung their heads over the abyss. Far up, tumbling over the topmost crag, was a mountain torrent. In its fall it laughed with silvery voice, and sprang upward from the rock on which it fell, in a thousand glittering drops of spray, and then descended on the quivering ferns that beat their heads as if in gratitude. It eddied at my feet, whirled round and round in the deep pool, and then rushed away over the brow of another precipice, and was lost to sight. There you have a picture of merriment. Often very beautiful — seldom very deep — never the same for long together. Let but three weeks or a month of drought set in, and where will the stream be? Dry would be the rocks, empty the pool, unpicturesque its channel; while the ferns, withered and prostrate, would seem as if they mourned their trust in so fickle a friend. But joy is the river that is still and deep. It does not make the noise — it lacks perhaps much of the attractiveness — but on its breast it bears the commerce of a nation, while quietly it says, "I flow on forever." Observe also that the joy of Jesus was not one extracted from surrounding circumstances. With too many of us, our joy is distilled from our circumstances — and consequently if those circumstances are adverse, we are destitute of happiness. Our joy, like honey, is gathered "from every opening flower." We flit like the bee from one bloom of earth to another, and are dependent on what they may contain. Now view the circumstances that surrounded our Lord, and see if in any of them you can discover the secret source of that joy which He declared He had. What were His surroundings? The answer is soon given. Poverty — reproach — betrayal — anticipated death. Are these the flowers that yield the honey of joy? Many of you know what poverty means — can you coin joy out of it? You know what reproach is — do you find it a fount of sweetness, or bitterness? You have been betrayed — do you like it? With us, death is in a great measure an unknown thing, and the time of it is uncertain; but remember that with Jesus every pain was foreknown, and all the agony and shame was fore-felt — and yet He had so deep a joy that He prayed that His joy might fill His disciples. Assuredly then, it was not the joy gleaned from his surroundings. What was it? It was a joy that had its fount deep within the soul. A joy that, having nothing to do with outside circumstances in its birth, was uninfluenced by them — distinct altogether from them. It was not a joy that flowed into the soul through the channel of the senses. The tide flowed the other way. It flowed out from the soul. Here is one of the great differences between the joy of the Christian, and the joy of the worldling. The latter drinks in nearly all his joy through the senses. The child, lovely and beloved, sends joy into the heart through the channel of the sight. Music comes stealing through the corridors of the ear — joy comes with it. The scent of the rose awakens pleasure, and taste and touch alike become the instruments of happiness. The Christian, like his Master, has all these — but the joy of his heart is the joy that rises there independently of all outside things. The joy which, like himself, is born from above. This joy is not confined to any one place. I cannot leave it, it cannot leave me; being in me, it journeys with me anywhere. If my bliss is derived from certain surroundings, then leave those surroundings, and I leave my joy. But if my bliss is unconnected with anything without, then it goes with me. lt becomes my traveling companion. My soul sings, "I hold by nothing here below; Appoint my journey, and I go; Though pierced by scorn, oppressed by pride, I feel the good — feel nothing beside." Being an inward joy, it may be had under any and every circumstance. Indeed, it is a joy that will thrive where any other joy would perish. It is the Ibex of the Alps, that leaps where others cannot walk, and finds its food where most would starve. The only difficulty would be to say where joy cannot grow. It has sprung up between the stone slabs of the dungeon floor, and made the prison a palace. It has flourished in poverty until the inhabitant of the castle has envied it. It has lived in the flames of martyrdom, and made the tongue sing when almost all beside was charred and blackened. It is a joy that lives in the fountains of the great deep of the soul. So much for the joy of Christ being an INWARD one. Let us now go more into particulars, and see what the nature of this inward joy was, or the different channels in which it flowed. I observe, first, that it was the joy of communion with God. Our Savior ever had an abiding sense of His Father’s nearness, and deep, beyond all description, must have been the fellowship between them. You find Him taking comfort in this thought in the next to last verse of the previous chapter. He says, "Behold the hour comes, yes, it has now come, that you will be scattered every man to his own, and will leave Me alone; and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me." John 16:32. Here is one of the fountains of His joy. O, who can tell what that communion was, that He held during all the hours of the night upon the mountainside. What tongue could venture to describe those meetings of the Father and Son? Imagination shrinks back. The place is too holy for human thought to venture near. What words of perfect intimacy and restful love must have floated on the night air, while, I think, at a distance the angels circled that praying one, silent in presence of a fellowship surpassing theirs, as far as He who prayed was more excellent than they. It was in these seasons, when all the world was steeped in sleep, that the man of sorrows had His joy. It was while the dew fell thick upon His locks — that joyful refreshment came into His soul. He was with His Father. This was His joy. And everywhere He went, unseen to mortal eye, the eternal Father was by His side. His ears heard words the world knew nothing of — it was to His Father’s words that He listened. "He has a devil!" shouts the angry mob. "My beloved son" whispers the Father’s voice. Joy was His. "Away with Him, He is not fit to live!" roars a brutal populace. "In whom I am well pleased" says a voice from Heaven. The inward joy was deep. Then from that heart went forth returning words of love, and so, "They talked together by the way." Child of God, this joy of Christ’s may be our joy also. We may drink from the same fountain, and find joyful refreshment through the same means. The Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, is our Father also; and just as He communed with our Elder Brother — so He will commune with His younger brethren. We may have the same joy — the same in nature if not in degree — as He had whom we love. He who prayed on mountainside, and in night solitude, has told us, "Enter into your closet, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret shall reward you openly." Matthew 6:6. He who found His joy in prayer and fellowship has said, "Ask, and you shall receive, that your joy may be full." John 16:24. O, beloved, I believe there is a joy in holding fellowship with the Father, of which we know but little yet. There is such a thing as carrying about in one’s breast, a holy of holies. There is such a thing, even in this noisy busy world, as listening to a heavenly voice — sweet contrast to the din around us — telling us of divine love and tenderness. Listen to it, and Christ’s joy will be fulfilled in you. Christ’s joy was also the joy of realized and returned love. Although somewhat near akin to the joy of communion, there is yet — at least to my mind — a shade of difference, which warrants me in placing it by itself. Communion with God is an act — but this is an experience. Christ felt his Father’s love; this he declares: "The Father loves the Son." Christ loved the Father; this He also declared, "I love the Father." Now a realized and returned love can only result in joy. While meditating on this, a lovely scene I beheld some time back came to remembrance. It will illustrate my meaning. I was standing on a tongue of land, or rather rocks, with a river on either side of me. Both rivers could be traced for some way back. They came from almost opposite directions. Both of them came leaping and roaring along channels filled with great boulder-stones. Both of them were beautiful to a degree. I turned from one to another with equal delight. They were both born from the clouds, both bright and sparkling, both alike were refreshing — but they came from different mountain tops. For many a mile they had each run their lovely course, gradually nearing, until at last their streams met at the foot of the rock on which I stood. The place was called "the meeting of the waters," and the "water’s music" was marvelous. The two streams embraced, and seemed for a moment or two to dance for very glee, and then blending, they ran off, no longer separate but one. So I thought I have in this division of my subject, the meeting of the waters. The one stream is called "the Father loves me." The other stream is called "I love the Father." Both are exquisitely lovely. Both are born from above. One flows from the mountain of the Father’s house on high. The other from Jesus, the Rock of Ages. They meet in our subject this morning, and the music of the meeting of the waters, is joy. A heart beloved, and a heart loving, must be a heart of joy. This joy was Christ’s. This joy may be, should be, must be, ours. The same stream of love that flowed from the Father to the Son, flows from the Father to us. Do you doubt it? Does it seem too great and good to be true? Turn to the twenty-third verse of this chapter, and let the words of Christ assure you of its truth, "You have loved them, even as You have loved Me!" There you have the one stream full to overflowing. You, child of God, can say equally with your Savior, "the Father loves me!" Yes, blessed truth, "So dear, so very dear to God, More dear I cannot be, The love with which He loves the Son, Such is His love to me!" Now do you not love Him? Can you not also say, "I love the Father"? Assuredly you can. Then here is the other stream. Both are from above, for your love to God — is from God. "We love Him — because He first loved us."1 John 4:19. Then when the waters meet, their music must be joy. O, how often we have felt it so. The love of God has been poured into our heart, perhaps at a prayer meeting. It has flooded our soul. Then it has swollen the stream of our affection, and like an impetuous torrent, we have sung, "If ever I loved You my Jesus, ’tis now." Were we not happy then? Of course we were. There was the meeting of the waters in our breast — and Christ’s own joy became our joy. It was also the joy of complete surrender. Here let me ask your very careful attention, for I am persuaded that this is a matter marvelously overlooked by most Christians. It is too often it is considered unrealistic, visionary and impossible. Whatever may be thought of it now — most assuredly Christ possessed it, and He desired that His joy might be fulfilled in us. He had no will contrary to the Father’s will, and His obedience to that will was no mere acquiescence — but a positive delight and refreshment. He is sitting at the side of a well in Samaria, having just revealed Himself to the woman as the Messiah, when His disciples return from their journey to procure food. "Master, eat" they say, knowing He must be weary and faint through long abstinence. Mark His answer, "I have food to eat that you know nothing of." Then the disciples said to one another, "Has anyone brought Him anything to eat?" Jesus said to them, "My food is to do the will of Him who sent me, and to finish His work."John 4:31-34. What food is to our bodies — that is what obedience was to Christ’s soul. No, more. It was His luxury. You will remember that in the earlier part of this discourse, I said I would have cause to refer you to the one occasion when it is recorded that Jesus rejoiced. If you will, turn with me to Luke, the tenth chapter and twenty-first verse. You will find these words, "In that hour Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank You Father, Lord of Heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and prudent, and have revealed them to babes, even so Father; for so it seemed good in your sight." Luke 10:21 Now observe, dear friends, what an abnegation of self there was in this joy. He joyed because the wise and prudent turned their backs on Him — and the poor and simple received Him. Most will court the smile of the great; and if the great man and the wise had espoused the Savior’s cause, He would have been considered a successful preacher by the world; and instead of the cross, it would have bestowed the crown. But what would have been a source of sorrow to most, casts a bright gleam of sunshine into the heart of the Man of Sorrows. How is it so? By what process does He extract matter for joy from a seeming lack of success — a bitter cup to the lips of most? You have the answer in His own words, "Even so Father." Yes, this was enough for the soul perfectly surrendered. It was the Father’s will that it should be so, and therefore it being so, was the Son’s joy. O, beloved, I wish that we knew more of the joy of perfect and complete surrender to God. It is our will clashing with our Father’s will, which makes us fretful. If only our will were one with His, it would be utterly impossible for us to ever be anything else than serene, calm and happy. Within our soul would dwell a deep of calm contentedness. Having no choice of our own, the soul would find equal joy in all. The "Nevertheless, not My will, but Yours, be done" would prove perpetual music in the heart. A soul thus surrendered, could make no choice if it were offered. If the Lord were to say, "My child, which will you have: health or sickness; a long life — or one snapped in two like a broken column; wealth — or poverty?" The soul would answer, "Father, I cannot say, because I do not know Your will; tell me Your will, and I will tell You my choice, for my soul is Yours, as well as all else. I refer the case back again to You, my Father, and cry: "I dare not choose my lot, I would not, if I might! But You choose for me, O my God, So shall I walk aright." I know that this is a high standard to attain, and as I speak, I feel I am condemning myself in every other word. But shall we ignore a thing because it is above us? No, let us aim high, even if we do not reach the mark, for though our arrow falls short of the target, it will fly higher than if aimed at a lower object. It was the joy of one who could look back upon a life work finished. In the fourth verse of this chapter our Savior says, "I have finished the work which you gave me to do." He had given His testimony, preached His sermons, comforted the sorrowing, and healed the sick. His life work was finished, though the greatest work, His death work — yet remained. Now just as He had been sent on His mission by the Father, He is about to send His disciples on their mission work, and He prays that they may have with Him the joy of looking back upon a mission fulfilled and a life work finished. Do not think for a moment that I would hint that this is possible with us, in the same degree as with Him. Far, infinitely far, from it. But in the same relation as our being sent by Him, stands to His being sent by the Father, so our joy of a life work finished may stand to His; and the comparison of the two missions is Christ’s, not mine. "As you have sent me, even so I have sent them." O, friends, it is a high honor to be, in any measure, the means of carrying out the eternal will of Jehovah. When our time of death draws near, may we in some humble degree, be able to look back on a life not spent in vain, and say — giving all the glory to His name, "I have finished the work You gave me to do!" Yet, once more. It was the joy of approaching glory. How clearly this shines out in the first few words of our text, "And now I come to You." "I come to You!!" Ah, here is joy indeed. In a few brief hours the Sun of Righteousness, which was about to set in blood, would rise to set no more. The joy which had been before Him for years, and which had nerved Him to endure the cross and despise the shame — was now at hand. "I come to You." Heaven is compressed in those four words, and our loving Lord, ever mindful of his disciples, prays that they may have the same joyful anticipation of nearing glory. Thank God, we may have it, and we do. Christ’s own joy is indeed ours in this respect. His Heaven is our Heaven — His home our home. Like Him, we may stand on the threshold, and breathe into the Father’s ears the same sweet words, "I come to You!" And now but for a moment or two, as our time has gone, let us notice II. The measure in which Christ desires his Saints to possess this Joy. "That they may have the full measure of My joy within them!" What an expressive word have we here. Full measure — that means filled. Full to the overflow — filled to the utmost capacity. This is the measure of joy Christ wishes for His disciples. They already possessed it in some degree — but He wished them to have it in a far larger degree. So He does with us. Jesus would have every disciple of His filled the full measure His own joy. He would have it rise like a sacred flood until it overflows all banks, and eddies into every nook and cranny of the soul. How are we to obtain this inward bliss? Our text tells us. "These things I speak, that they might have My joy." It is the Word of Jesus that gives this joy. No looking into our own hearts, or inspecting our own feelings, will avail. That will but empty us. It is reading the thoughts of God towards us, in the words of Jesus, that sweetly fills us to the full. And O how necessary it is that we should be filled. A very simple illustration will show the necessity. Take a bottle only half full of water, and placing your hand over its mouth, shake it. See how the water rushes from end to end as you move it? There is a turmoil within at the slightest motion. Why? Because it is only half full. Now fill it until you cannot add another drop. Shake it — all is still within. Turn it upside down — all is quiet. Why is this? Because it is quite full, and therefore no outside motion affects it. Child of God, if you and I have only a half measure of this joy — then every changing circumstance will affect us. Let us but be full of it, and filled with it, and all positions and all circumstances will be alike. Our joy will remain within us. Blessed Jesus, fill us all full of Your own joy this morning! Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 18: S. CHRIST'S LOVE FOR HIS REDEEMED PEOPLE ======================================================================== Christ’s love for His Redeemed People "As" and "So" Archibald G. Brown, March 12th, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "AS the Father has loved Me — SO have I loved you; continue in My love." John 15:9 The reason for my selecting this portion for meditation can best be explained by a simple illustration, which will be understood by all present who are in any way acquainted with rural life. You will often have observed, while walking along some footpath that winds its way amid the fields, a flock of sheep quietly feeding within an enclosure made by portable fences. Instead of roaming the whole field over, they are located on one small spot, until the shepherd shifting the simple fence, makes the furthest boundary the commencement of another plot of feeding ground — and so on, until every portion of the field has, in its turn, yielded food and sweetness to the flock. The different changes made are not from one pasture land to another — but from one portion to an adjoining plot of the same great field. As under-shepherd of this flock, I desire this morning to do the same — to lead you to the green pastures, commencing from where we terminated last Lord’s-day. The field is still the same, namely, the fifteenth chapter of John — but the portion of that field is a different one — yet adjacent to it. Last week our souls found sweet refreshment in the thought of . . . our union in Christ, our communion with Christ, and our fruitfulness through Christ. We beheld ourselves as the branches of the vine — indeed, part of the vine itself, drawing all our life from the sap flowing through the parent stem. We heard our Savior’s voice telling us to abide in the vine — to have His life continually circulating in us. We saw that all the fruit the branch might ever bear, was simply the result of the vine’s life abiding in it, and not the result of any separate life possessed by the branch apart from its union with the stem. We then closed by observing that according to the statement of Jesus, it is not the fruit — but the abundance of it, that glorifies the Father. Grapes on a vine attract no particular notice; they are justly expected. It is the number and size of the bunches that attract the attention of the stranger. So it is with Christians. Every ordinary saint will bear some fruit — but it is much fruit that glorifies the Father by our fruitfulness. These thoughts brought us down to the eighth verse of this chapter. And I felt last week, when looking for a text, that having found the food so sweet, it would only be wise to lead the flock of God to the adjoining verse, and not altogether leave the pasture for another. But here the illustration with which I commenced this discourse breaks down and fails, as must all earthly illustrations of heavenly truths. The shepherd moves his flock because the spot is eaten bare, and it fails to continue to give food. Not so with us. The pastures of the Word can never fail. Their fullness is never exhausted. Their supply never ceases to be equal to demand. The more they are made the subject of the feast, the more their fullness and their freshness grows. No spot in the entire meadowland of Scripture is one degree less clothed with verdure through the entertainments it has given to the flock of God. Always rich — always sweet — always wet with the dew of Heaven, are the green pastures into which the great Shepherd leads His sheep. The subject for this morning’s contemplation is pre-eminently a blessed one. It tells of a Savior’s love, and it explains that love by the most marvelous type that Christ Himself could use. The whole verse revolves around the axis comprised in the two little words "as" and "so." "AS the Father has loved me — SO have I loved you." Christ’s love to us, is described as being identical with the Father’s love to Him. Fathom the "as" — and you will have sounded the "so." Measure the former — and you will then have learned the dimensions of the latter. Grasp, if you can, what that love is that dwells in the heart of the Father toward the Son — and then, and not until then, will you know what is the love in the heart of Jesus toward you. You will see at once, dear friends, that we have a subject vast and boundless. May the Holy Spirit direct the preacher into all truth, and put upon his lips such words as shall bring the divine comparison instituted in the text, home to every heart with power. There are two things found in the verse which shall serve us as divisions: 1. We have an amazing comparison, "As the Father has loved me — so have I loved you." 2. We have a loving admonition, "continue in my love." I. First then, let us meditate on an Amazing Comparison. "AS the Father has loved Me — SO have I loved you." I have already said, that if we are able to understand the love of the Father to Christ — then we shall then be able to understand the love of Christ to us. Here is an "if" indeed. How can the finite measure that which, in itself, is infinite? The difficulty is increased also by the matter of contemplation. It is love — Divine love. The love of Him who is love. The love of God to Christ. I find it easier to form in some measure, a conception of His power than I do of His love. True, both are infinite. But then one is a matter of His arm — while the other concerns His heart. On every hand I can perceive His might: the sun marching in its course by day, and the stars gliding along their paths by night. Both alike declare a power that is infinite, for it is He who has set "a tabernacle for the sun," and as for the stars, "He calls them all by name; by the greatness of His might, and being strong in power, not one fails." Isaiah 40:26. Moreover, power, wisdom and glory seem things that one may venture to speak about; but a peculiar sacredness, almost commanding silence, surrounds the deep love of God’s heart. That heart, the heart of God and the object of that love, is His Son. As we approach the subject with a feeling akin to awe, we almost imagine that we can hear with Moses, the voice of God, saying, "Take off your shoes from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground." Exodus 3:5. The love of God to Christ — here is the "AS." While pondering this mighty "as" in the quiet of my study, the scene around me changed. Familiar objects seemed to fade away, and in imagination, I stood upon a shore. Stretching out before me was an ocean. Far as the eye could reach there was water everywhere. As I stood contemplating this vast expanse, I thought I heard a voice saying to me, "The ocean on which you are gazing has no other shore. Before you — to the right — to the left — it has no bound, no limit — form an idea of its extent." My mind was staggered, and I answered, "How can I measure what has no boundary, knows no end?" The voice again said, "The ocean on which you look has no bottom — fathom it." Overwhelmed, I replied, "How can I sound that which is all depth?" This ocean awed me by its calm. No wave, no ripple broke or murmured on the shore on which I stood. I felt as if it was too vast to heave, too deep to know disquiet. It was the ocean of the Father’s love to Christ. Again, the scene changed, and I found myself standing at the foot of a giant mountain. Beside it all other mountain ranges were dwarfed to mole hills. Astonished, I looked upwards to the towering peaks only to find there were higher still. Sight failed and the spirit quailed, while the same voice I had heard before said, "This mountain has no top — climb it." Ah! how? Who can gain a summit when there is none? It was the love of God to Christ which in its height and depth, and length and breadth, is measureless. Behold, beloved, the boundlessness of the "AS" — to fathom it — to encircle it — to scale it — are but impossibilities. All we can hope to do is just mention some of its leading features, and then try and show you that the leading features of the "as," are also the leading features of the "so." First then, the love of the Father to the Son was a SUPREME love. It is . . . higher than the highest, deeper than the deepest, longer than the longest, broader than the broadest. It was love beyond all love — the greatest love with which the God of love could love. It was a love into which the whole divine power of loving was thrown. It would be the foulest blasphemy to imagine it is possible for Christ to be loved with a greater love. Here is the "AS." Now turn to the "SO." "So have I loved you." Christ loves His people with an affection that is incapable of increase. It is no comparative love — but a superlative love. The whole heart of Christ loves every saint to its utmost power. I know this is hard to realize. Painfully conscious of our own utter unworthiness, and of our ten-thousand inconsistencies — we often feel that if Jesus will show us just bare mercy and pity — it is all we can dare to ask. But, dear friend, this is wrong. It is judging our Lord’s love by our own — it is bringing Him down to our own low level. We have nothing to do with what we feel — but what he has said — and he has declared that His love to us is the same as His Father’s love to Him. You dare not doubt the latter — then do not doubt the former. The only true way of judging love, is by what love will do. O, try the love of Jesus by this test. See if it is possible for Him to give higher or deeper proofs than those he has given. The greatest exhibition of love is for a man to lay down his life for his friends — but Jesus far exceeded this proof. He gave His life for His enemies. He endured Gethsemane and stooped to Calvary, for His foes. "And griefs and torments numberless, And sweat of agony, Yes, death itself and all for me, Who was your enemy!" And now, although exalted high, "his love is still as great." Poor trembling down-cast saint, take this thought into your heart this morning, and let it be a solace to you: Jesus loves you with a love as infinite as the Father’s love to Him! The love of the Father to the Son was also an ETERNAL love. If you will turn with me to the seventeenth chapter of this Gospel, and the twenty-fourth verse, you will read, "For you loved me before the foundation of the world." Here we are brought face to face with one of those truths that can never be grasped by the mind — but only believed in the heart. Who can form a conception of what eternity is? Who can explain in language, the meaning of the word "everlasting?" There is something transcendent in the depth of a past eternity. Go back as far as the mind can imagine — it is always infinitely before that. What ages have rolled their courses since the solid foundations of the world were laid — how far remote is that time when "in the beginning, God created the Heaven and the earth." But the Father loved the Son before the foundation of the world. If we go back in thought to the time when no world existed, when space did not know a star; yes, further back than that, when an angel did not exist, when not a single "son of the morning" had ever raised his voice — we find that the Father loved the Son. From all eternity, when God alone was everywhere, and everything was nowhere — the Son dwelt in the bosom of the Father. There never was a moment when Christ was not the well-beloved. Here, dear friends, you have the "as," and that was an eternal one. Now turn to the "SO." "So have I loved you." As eternal as the Father’s love to the Son — is the Son’s love to His people. Child of God, the love of Jesus to you is no love of yesterday. Listen to His word: "I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore, with loving-kindness I have drawn you." Jeremiah 31:3. Before the foundation of the world, He had thoughts of love to you — for even then He was in purpose "the Lamb slain." In the council chamber of eternity, His heart yearned over you, and made Him cry, "Save from going down into the pit, for I have found a ransom." Job 33:24. The "so" has ever run parallel with the "as." There never was a time when Jesus did not love you. O, what infinite value does this thought give to "the love of Christ to me!" I would abide under its influence. I would revel in its sweetness. The love I know and feel He has to me this morning, dates back with the love the Father ever had to Him! "His love, from eternity fixed upon you, Broke forth, and discovered its flame, When each with the cords of His kindness He drew, And brought you to love His great name." The Father’s love to the Son was also an UNFLUCTUATING love. Our Savior says, concerning it, "I always abide in His love." John 15:10. It is impossible to imagine a momentary alteration in the divine love of the Father. It is a deep, deep ocean, that knows no flow or ebb. It is love that rests in infinite delight in Christ. It is always at the fullest. There you have the "as," now listen to the "so." "So have I loved you." I frankly confess, dear friends, that it is this view of Christ’s love that I find most difficult to realize in my own soul. I can far easier imagine a love that has no end — than a love that knows no variation in degree of intensity. When one looks within, and watches the changing experience of the heart — when one finds it today burning with a returning love, and tomorrow frozen up and coated with the ice of indifference — it is indeed hard to realize that the love of Jesus has known no corresponding alterations. It is so natural to measure our Savior’s love to us — by ours to Him; and think that because we feel more of His love, therefore there is more. But blessed be God, although we cannot always grasp the fact — yet the fact remains. "His is an unchanging love, Higher than the heights above; Deeper than the depths beneath, Free and faithful, strong as death!" "What," I think I can hear one of you saying, "Do you mean to say that Jesus loves me just as much when I am depressed, and deep down in the dark valley — as when I am full of sunshine, and standing on the mount of God?" Yes, I do, dear friend, quite as much. His love was never begotten by anything he saw in you — and can therefore never be changed by anything about you. The roots of love are deep within His own heart — and therefore the fruits are never increased or diminished by anything in you. Surely, of all thoughts one can possibly have of the love of Jesus, it would be impossible to find one more full of refreshment and joy to the sorrowing saint, than the thought of its unchangeableness. Jesus finds His joy in loving His people! Is it bliss to me to be beloved by Him? It is also a cause for song on His part to love me. He finds satisfaction in His love. He rests in it. "The Lord your God, in the midst of you, is mighty; He will save, he will rejoice over you with joy; He will rest in His love, He will rejoice over you with singing." Zephaniah 3:17. Yes, child of God, your Savior’s love, unlike your own, is a resting love. It rests on the person, never leaving him. It rests in degree, never varying in itself. Until the Father’s love to the Son fluctuates, and not until then — you need not fear the love of Christ ever altering in its intensity towards you. The Father’s love, moreover, was one of DELIGHT. This is the highest kind of love — far beyond the love of compassion or the love of pity. It is a love full of pleasure and satisfaction in the person loved. "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." These words give us an insight into the nature of the Father’s love. It is love unmingled with sorrow or disappointment. It is love reposing — love rejoicing — love singing. Now turn to its counterpart. "So have I loved you." The love of Jesus is something far more than compassionate love. Let me illustrate what I mean by compassionate love. Walking through the streets, I may perchance come across some little lost boy, crying enough to break its heart. The big tears roll down the little dirty cheeks in quick succession. Something makes me stop and ask the little fellow the cause for all this grief. Broken by many a sob, he tells me he has lost his way, and wants to find his mother. I cannot leave him in his piteous distress. Compassionate love says, "Wipe his eyes, take his little grimy hand in yours; never mind if you do look odd with such a companion; don’t leave him until you find his home, and return him to his half-distraught mother." Now perhaps this work may occupy many an hour, and overthrow a dozen plans I have drawn out for the day. Never mind! It cannot be helped. The child must be looked after. Now this is the love of compassion — but not delight; for all during the time there is no sweet fellowship between us. I may not even be pleased with the child. It was his state, not himself, that was the object and the care of love. This is far different from the walk of bosom friends, who find mutual delight in each other’s company. That is the love of delight. Dear friend, Jesus finds His delight in you, if you are His redeemed child. True, His love commenced as the love of compassion. He "found us wandering;" but now that love has mellowed into one of infinite satisfaction. He not only refreshes — but he is refreshed by communion with His people. Not only does He make and keep His church as His garden — but walking in that garden, He is himself refreshed. This truth is most beautifully and poetically taught in the Canticles. "Where has your beloved gone, that we may seek Him?" is the question asked of the spouse. Mark the answer, "My beloved has gone down into His garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather bliss. I am my Beloved’s, and my Beloved is mine; he feeds among the lilies." Song of Solomon 6:1-3 Believer in Jesus, try and grasp this thought, it will be a source of unbounded joy to you. Your Savior rests in His love, and reposes in His affection towards you. He delights in you, as much as you ever delight in Him. He says concerning you, as the Father said concerning Him, "In whom I am well pleased." It was also a love manifested in the time of HUMILIATION. Not only is love precious — but also the time and way in which love declares itself. The deeper our state of trial and humiliation — the more valued will the manifestation of an unaltered affection become. When was it that the Father first gave from Heaven the glorious declaration of His love of delight in Jesus? I answer, at Christ’s baptism. It was at the moment of our Lord’s condescending obedience that the Father broke silence, and declared, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." The Father’s love remained unaltered by the Son’s humiliation. The same love that had rested on Christ during an eternity of glory, followed Him through the shame of earth, and refused to leave him at the cross. Here is the "as," now turn to the "so." "So have I loved you." Christ’s love to His people is never withdrawn on account of any humiliation or suffering they may be called to bear. You may be called to pass through a very baptism of fiery trial, the heat of which will scorch almost all the professed friendship now made; but hovering over you like a dove, it will still remain the love of Jesus. Like the Hebrew youths, there may be in store for you a furnace seven times heated; but you will find, when cast into its flaming mouth, that there is one "like the Son of God," who will walk the furnace with you. The deeper the trial, the nearer the Savior. When most needed, the Savior’s love is always most felt. Fear not, tried child of God, that Jesus will ever be afraid to own you for His friend, for as the Father loved Him in His deepest abasement — so He will ever manifest His love to you in your times of greatest grief. Once more, and lastly, upon this amazing comparison. The Father’s love only found its CULMINATION IN GLORY. He raised up Christ on the third day, and shortly after, our Savior ascended to enter into His mediatorial glory. O! who can describe that triumphal entry, when the everlasting gates lift up their heads to let the King of glory in? Who can tell the honors paid to the Son when he ascended the throne, and took His place at the Father’s right hand? His prayer is answered, "Glorify me with yourself, with the glory which I had with You before the world was." John 17:5. The "as" is one that reaches Heaven. The "so" meets it there. Christ so loves us that He will have us by His side. As He shares the glory of the Father — so He will have us share His glory. Listen to the wondrous yearning of His heart for his peoples’ company. "Father, I will that they also, whom you have given me, be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory which you have given me; for you loved me before the foundation of the world." John 17:24. Here you have the Father’s love to Christ linked with Christ’s prayer for our glory. O, blessed love of Jesus!! "Love, which will not let Him rest, Until His chosen all are blessed; Until they all for whom he died Live rejoicing by His side!" Thus much for our first division, on which we have dwelt longer than we anticipated — but too shortly to satisfy our desire. Christ’s love to us, like the Father’s love to Him, is . . . supreme, eternal, unfluctuating, full of delight, manifested in time of humiliation, and culminating in glory! II. A Loving Admonition. "Continue in my love." I can well imagine one of you saying, "Whatever does that mean? Have you not just been telling us that the love of Jesus knows no variation, and never ceases to encircle the saint? Why then are we told to continue in that love? I will try and explain what I think our Lord meant by these words. Although His love abides always upon us — yet we are not always consciously living in it. Our Savior having just described to his disciples what His love was, now gently admonishes them to live in its influence. Our appreciation of, and joy in, His love — is a very different thing to the love itself. The latter never changes, the former hardly ever remains the same. Yet it is only in proportion, as we live in the love of Jesus, that we can live a happy and useful life. It is a sad, sad fact, that many seem almost ignorant of such a life. There are most Christians — and there are some Christians who live under the influence of the love of Jesus. Have we not all come across many whom we could not dare to unchristianize — and yet who seem ignorant of the fact that there is such a thing as living, walking, and working under the influence of a realized Savior’s love! To live under this influence is to live within a charmed circle of light. O, do not be content to dwell outside this happy sphere. To be saved — but only just saved. To enter Heaven at last — but never to know what it is to have Heaven in your own soul on earth. If up to the present you have been a Christian living in an atmosphere other than that of Christ’s love — do not be content to remain in it any longer. Listen to the gentle admonition of Jesus this morning, "Continue in my love." Do you ask, "What is the secret of doing so?" I answer, or rather your Savior does, obedience. Kindly turn with me to the tenth verse of this chapter, and there you will read, "If you keep my commandments — then you shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love." Turn also to the previous chapter, the twenty-first verse, and onwards, "He who has my commandments and keeps them — is the one that loves me; and he who loves me shall be loved by my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him." One said to Him, "Lord, how is it that you will manifest yourself to us, and not to the world?" Now mark the answer. "Jesus answered, and said to him, if a man loves me, he will keep my word; and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our abode with him." The disobedient child will never have the sweet manifestations of a Savior’s love that the one will have who keeps the words of Jesus. If my life is not in harmony with the Savior’s commandments, it is foolish to expect the Father and the Son to come and make their abode with me. A disobedient walk will ever prove a barrier to my entering and dwelling within the bright region of a Savior’s realized love. Grieving the Spirit of God, and resisting His gentle drawings to a higher life, will render my continuing in Christ’s love an impossibility. Beloved friends, permit me to plead with you and my own heart to no longer be strangers to this heavenly experience. If we are, we are strangers to a joy that is unutterable in its fullness. It was Christ’s love to his disciples, and His desire for their joy that made him admonish them this way, for he says, in the eleventh verse, "These things I have spoken to you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full." May God, in His mercy, give to us a daily increase of this fullness of joy which comes from abiding in that amazing love, concerning which our dear Redeemer says, "As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you." Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 19: S. CHURCH UNITY ======================================================================== Church Unity Archibald G. Brown, June 11th, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Behold! How good and pleasant it is for brethren to live together in unity! It is like precious anointing oil poured on the head, running down on the beard, running down on Aaron’s beard, down upon the collar of his robes. It is as if the dew of Hermon were falling on Mount Zion. For there the LORD commanded his blessing, even life forevermore!" Psalms 133:1-3 Short though this psalm is, it would be difficult to find a sweeter one. Every sentence breathes peace, and the whole is fragrant with love. It is as precious as the anointing oil of which it speaks, and as refreshing as the dew on Hermon’s hill. To take any one part away from the whole is an impossibility. The charm of every portion is heightened by its relationship to the remainder. It is immaterial to us this morning when or why this psalm was written. That it is written, is a blessed fact. May its blessing be ours. It may well be applied to any community, family or church that is found abiding in peace. The divine imagery of its verses receives additional beauty by being looked at as the representation of spiritual unity in the church. Heavenly love is the oil of gladness and the dew of Hermon, which, being poured upon the head of Jesus without measure, flows down from Him upon his followers, who are but the skirts of His garment. May the Lord graciously throw a flood of light upon this psalm, as together we muse upon its verses. We will have three divisions under which I think the whole will be included. First, the grace — that is unity. Secondly, its illustrations — the oil and the dew. Thirdly, its benefit — "there the Lord commanded the blessing." I. The Grace of unity. What is meant here by "brethren dwelling together in unity?" This is the question that is doubtless being asked by many hearts. Before giving the direct and positive answer, I will give you the negative, and show you what it is not. This is necessary in order to address some general mistakes. 1. Notice then, first, that unity is no mere absence of quarreling. Something far higher is intended. The two are not in any way identical, although sometimes they are confounded. Living in unity, will truly prevent the quarrel; but the mere absence of the quarrel, in no way proves the presence of true unity. The former includes the latter — but the latter does not necessarily imply the former. Let me show you more clearly what I mean, by an illustration. In yonder graveyard all classes of society are buried. During life they held the most opposite views, and the party strifes that raged were bitter. There are represented there all the shades of political opinion, and all kinds of religious and irreligious belief. Men who are by nature, education, and circumstances, the very contrasts to each other, lie side by side — but I hear no words of strife. The Tory reposes next the Liberal without any denunciation against his neighbor. The Churchman lies next the subscriber to the Liberation Society — and yet expresses no horror at the company he is in. Men too, who all their lives had fought over some lawsuit, and managed to beggar each other — now rest in contiguous graves without a word of angry reproach. Stand in that graveyard all day and night, and you will hear no discordant sound, no words of strife. The birds sing in the branches and the owl among the tombstones when the evening comes — but there is no quarreling among its inhabitants. True! — But there is likewise no dwelling together in unity. The quiet is the quiet of death — not the love and affection of life. Yet again, as you ascend the Great St. Bernard Mountain, you come to the convent founded in the year 968. It is situated in the snow region; and every afternoon from November to May, some of the monks go forth with their trusty dogs to search for any travelers that may have lost their way in the trackless wastes. Many a life has thus been saved; but sometimes the support comes too late, and only a frozen corpse rewards them for their toil. This corpse is placed in the dead house attached to the hospice. There are many in it. Frozen stiff and hard, they stand upon their feet against the wall; their bodies are shrouded in drapery — but their faces are visible. Some of them have been there for years, awaiting some friend to recognize and claim them. Enter that dead house as the pale moonbeams gleam through the grated window, and fall on the sheeted dead. There is no discord there. Never has an angry word fallen from the lip of any of those ghastly figures since the monks placed them in position. There are no quarrels in the dead house on St. Bernard. Quite true; and it is equally so that there is no dwelling together in unity. They are too frozen and dead to quarrel. It is the cold, not Christ — that keeps the silence. So it is with many churches. There are no particular discords — no angry meetings — no violent quarrels — and yet there is no unity. They are too frozen up by their respectability to show temper. Politeness, not godliness, keeps them from contentions. Besides which, as no one knows anybody else, it is rather difficult to have a difference. The church consists of so many distinct and frozen people — where one pewful knows nothing of those before or behind, and does not wish to increase its knowledge. Now grant that in such a church there has been no quarrel known for years: can we apply this psalm to them and say, "Behold, how good and how pleasant a thing it is for brethren to dwell together in unity"? It would be irony to do so. We might if the text spoke of the blessedness of being frozen together. No! The quiet is the quiet of indifference — the calm is that of the icy region — the absence of quarreling, is simply the result of the presence of spiritual death. The text means something more than this. 2. Secondly, unity is not dwelling apart in order to have peace. Living asunder is sometimes the only expedient in order to avoid a collision. As early as the days of Abraham, it was resorted to. His herdsmen and Lot’s, being unable to agree, he proposed that one should journey one way, and one the other, and so avoid all strife. This is better than contention — but it is something infinitely below dwelling together in unity. It is peace at the cost of dwelling together — not dwelling together in peace. It is peace at the sacrifice of union — if such a thing is possible. Of all modes of obtaining peace, this is certainly the most humiliating. It is a confession that dwelling together in unity is an impossibility. The chemist has in his possession two explosive compounds: kept apart, they are comparatively harmless; brought together they would annihilate the premises. How carefully they are secured in different receptacles. The plan answers the danger, and for years their destructive powers lie dormant. But you cannot say, concerning them, "how good it is to see them thus dwelling together in unity." The peace and safety arises from the fact that they are not together. O, do not dear friends, run away with the idea that because you never speak or associate with this or that person for fear of a difference between you, that therefore you come under the blessing of this psalm. The grace spoken of here is dwelling together in unity — not apart. 3. Yet once again, the unity spoken of here is something more than being members of the same church, or being engaged in the same work. We have already attempted to show that unity does not consist in frequenting the same sanctuary. We now have to add with sorrow that neither does it necessarily exist among fellow church-members. The names may appear side by side in the church book — while the hearts of those two are far apart. If fellow-membership always meant dwelling together in unity, then "church meetings" would be far happier gatherings than some unfortunate pastors find them. There may be unity in doctrine — and yet little in spirit. But closer even than fellow-membership, is fellow-work; and yet this does not always mean what the first verse of this psalm describes. You may be one of a band of Sunday school teachers — one of a number of tract distributors — and yet not dwell in unity with the teacher who takes the next class, or the brother who visits the other side of the same street. No merely external relationship can guarantee the blessed unity described by the oil and the dew. What is it then? It is for any number to be as if one soul actuated them all. The very wording of the verse shows it is for the plural to dwell in the singular — the many to make but one. A better illustration of this cannot be found than that which suggested itself, or rather was suggested, to the mind of Paul. The human body composed of many members — yet constituting but one man. One soul in many members — one life, the life of all. Every muscle obeying one will. The hand — the foot — the eye — all living by the same life current — all giving willing obedience to the same soul. This is dwelling together in unity. O happy, happy church, where . . . one motive inspires all, and that is the glory of Jesus, every member is knit to every other by loving life and living love, however numerous the fellowship may be, only one heart — a great heart — beats and sends the warm life-stream leaping through every artery to every member. To dwell together in unity, is to serve the Lord with one consent. In the previous division we were speaking of the unity of life. In this we have the outward manifestation of that life — unity in work. When the church of God goes forth to war as one — when in every regiment it walks shoulder to shoulder, O how glorious a sight it is to see the church militant thus sweep past to the battlefield. What music is equal to that ’left — right, left — right,’ that makes the ground tremble underfoot. How grand the spectacle, when under one banner and shouting the name of one leader, Jehovah-Jesus — the church marches on. No laggard — no craven-hearted one — no traitors. It would be worth forfeiting five years of life, to see such a sight as this. Once more. Unity includes serving each other in love. This is distinct from the other two. The first was the life of unity; the second was its manifestation in work; this is its manifestation in sympathy to each other. While fighting the foe with one hand, unity is helping our comrade with the other hand — in the long marches, giving our arm to the one who is ready to sink with weariness — carrying the knapsack of the tired soldier, and so fulfilling the law of Christ — raising him who has fallen, tripped up by some stone in the path — after battle, giving drink and support to the wounded on the field. Yes, dwelling together in unity includes all these and many other things we have no time to mention. It gleams forth in the eye; it is seen in the hand; and it makes itself evident in ten-thousand little acts of kindness. This unity will have to be continually cemented by forgiveness. While we are mortal and only partially sanctified, offences will come — but they need not remain. Yes, just as some cements make the broken place stronger than before, so forgiveness increases, not deteriorates, the strength of unity. "Be kind one to another, tender-hearted" — there is the unity. "Forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ’s sake, has forgiven you" — there you have the cement to bind it together again when broken. Let us now consider the high praise passed upon this grace by the psalmist — it is good and pleasant. This he introduces by a "Behold!" The language seems to imply that it is impossible to say "how" good or pleasant it is — but it is so good and pleasant that wherever it exists — that it deserves and calls for special notice. There are but few things about which both of these words can be employed. The two rarely go together. Many things are good — which are not pleasant. Many things are very pleasant — but a long way off from being good. Behold then how worthy an object of admiration it must be, that it is as good as it is pleasant, and not more pleasant than it is good. Both words are equally truthful in the description of unity. First, unity is GOOD. That this is so, may be proved by many an argument. We will only select three or four. 1. It is good because it is in accordance with the will and nature of God. God is love — there you have His nature. We should be conformed to His image — there you have His will. Now whatever brings my spirit and life into harmony with my God’s, must of necessity be good. An unloving heart — is opposed to all that is revealed of God. A heart that knows but little compassion, and lives in selfish isolation — can never be in harmony with Him "who so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son." The sower of strife — can never live in sympathy with Him whose whole gospel is one of "reconciliation." But this blessed unity about which we have been speaking, breathes forth an atmosphere of compassion — and it knows nothing of isolation. It never sows strife — but seeks to uproot that hateful weed wherever it is found. It must be good, for it is of God, and it is like God, and it brings us into fellowship with God, for "God is love, and he who dwells in love dwells in God, and God in him." 1 John 4:16 2. It is good, for it is obedience to the new command of Christ. The natural man knows but ten commandments — the spiritual man knows eleven, and that last extra one embraces all the rest. "A new commandment I give to you," says our Lord, "that you love one another." O how good must that be which Jesus makes the subject of such a commandment! Unity and love among His disciples seemed ever the great desire of our Master’s heart; it formed the chief petition of that which is most truly "The Lord’s prayer" John 17:20-21 : "Nor do I pray for these alone — but for those also who shall believe on me through their word — that they may all be one; as you Father are in me and I in you — that they also may be one in us." Unity among brethren has been stamped by our Savior as "very good." Its goodness is also seen in the fact of it being one of the chief evidences of discipleship. In proportion, as anything is of value — so the proofs of our possession increase in value. Nothing can compete in worth with being one of the Lord’s disciples; how good therefore must that be which sets beyond a doubt the fact of our discipleship. Let me refer you now to one passage of scripture that explains the argument. You will find it in 1 John 3:14 : "We know that we have passed from death to life — because we love the brethren." Here is the grand proof of the possession of spiritual life. It is not that we preach, or teach, or give — but that we love. A man may be sound as Calvin, and as eloquent as a Whitefield — and yet lack the one thing that proves him to be a child of God. "He who does not love — does not know God," whatever his profession or pretensions may be. Good indeed must be that sweet unity that stamps professions as "genuine." 3. Lastly, that must be good which makes the communion of saints good and edifying. It is dwelling in love with the saint, as well as the Savior, that qualifies the soul to enjoy the sweets of fellowship. If you are indeed a child of God, then I defy you to find any real enjoyment at the Lord’s table while you are living at variance with a brother in Jesus. The dew of refreshing will not rest upon an angry spirit; it is too hot and dries up the heavenly moisture. Services, prayer meetings, reading of the Word — all these lose their sweetness and charm when unity is lacking. If it does not give the blessing, it gives a preparedness of soul to receive it. By precious enjoyments when we have had it, and by bitter memories when we lacked it — our own experience adds, "it is good for the brethren to dwell together in unity." Secondly, unity is PLEASANT. We will not dwell on this point as time forbids it. Suffice it to say, it is pleasant . . . to God, to Christ, to angels, to saints, to pastors, to the world. On this last point I must just say, that from the deepest depths of my heart, I pity the man who is pastor of any church where unity is lacking. Dreary and heart-breaking must be the work of laboring among a divided people. He can preach the Word with but little expectation of any blessing? No wonder if his hands hang down and his heart bleeds. But how pleasant, beyond expression, the joy of laboring for souls amidst a church whose life is a living commentary on this psalm. Heaven and earth, Christ and His people, together sing "Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!" II. The illustrations of unity. The psalmist having made the statement upon which we have thus far been meditating, now enforces it by two of the most beautiful illustrations that can be imagined. They are so full of true poetry — that I almost fear that anything I can say upon them will but mar their beauty and weaken their force. They commend themselves at once to the mind. One feels their suitability as emblems the moment read. For two or three minutes let us dwell upon the first illustration employed. 1. Unity among brethren is like the anointing oil upon Aaron’s head. "Precious anointing oil poured on the head, running down on the beard, running down on Aaron’s beard, down upon the collar of his robes." In order to fully understand the allusion, I must ask you to refer to Scripture, "Take the best spices: of liquid myrrh 500 shekels, of sweet-scented cinnamon half as much, 250 shekels, of fragrant calamus 250 shekels. And of cassia 500 shekels, in terms of the sanctuary shekel, and of olive oil a hin. And you shall make of these a holy anointing oil, a perfume compounded after the art of the perfumer; it shall be a sacred anointing oil." Exodus 30:23-25 You will see from this, that the anointing oil was made up of several different compounds, all precious in themselves. Myrrh, cinnamon, cassia, olive oil — all these lend their own sweetness to make the one fragrance of the anointing oil. Just so, the sweet blessing of unity consists not in anyone ingredient — but in the blending together of many. Various are the spices, all "principal" in themselves, that make the anointing oil of unity. There must be the myrrh of love. This takes the precedence. Full measure of this must be found. Whatever other spice may be given by the 250 shekels — of this there must be 500 shekels. The shekels must not be of this world, which are always light — but of the sanctuary. Without love the anointing oil can never be made; it is the principal of all "the principal spices." With this there must also be . . . the sweet cinnamon of gentleness, the sweet calamus of meekness, the cassia of longsuffering, and the olive oil of forgiveness. These all mixed in their respective quantities — a good measure of each — will make an anointing oil more precious even than that which flowed down Aaron’s beard! The anointing oil was also most fragrant. How could it be otherwise? When so many fragrances blend, the whole must be very aromatic. There was no need to be told that Aaron’s head was anointed. The anointing oil made its own presence known. So it is with unity. There is cause to suspect its absence, when it is greatly advertised. Unity is so fragrant that it can never keep its secret. Not only is it sweet itself — but it perfumes all it touches. Things most distasteful in themselves become fragrant through its influence. Rebukes and reproofs lose all their harshness, when anointed with this oil — yes, they even became pleasant and refreshing! David thought so when he said "let the righteous strike me — it will be a kindness; and let him reprove me — it will be an excellent oil which will not break my head." Yet again, Aaron was not qualified to minister, until he had been anointed with this anointing oil. You will read in Exodus 30:30, "And you shall anoint Aaron and his sons, and consecrate them, that they may minister to me in the priest’s office." Whatever other qualifications he might possess, the lack of this precious and fragrant anointing oil, would be an insuperable barrier in the way of his ministrations. So it is with us. No soul lacking the anointing oil of love is fit for the Master’s use. No eloquence, no ability can take its place. "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing!" 1 Corinthians 13:1-3 WHERE is the blessed unction to be obtained? Only from Christ. We, who are but as the skirts of His garments, can only receive as it flows down from Him who is our Head. 2. Secondly, unity is compared to the dew of Hermon. "It is as if the dew of Hermon were falling on Mount Zion." It is my purpose on this point only to indicate in general one or two resemblances, and leave to your own meditations the filling in of detail. The dew of Hermon comes from above. Fogs and mists come from the earth; we always speak of them as "rising." Concerning the dew, we say "it falls." Evil passions and all that obscures, comes up from the evil of our own hearts — they rise. "For from within, out of a person’s heart, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, wickedness, deceit, lustful desires, envy, slander, pride, and foolishness. All these vile things come from within; they are what defile you!" Mark 7:21-23 The heavenly spirit of love — the soul’s dew — descends from God. James in his epistle, very beautifully distinguishes between the two. He says, "If you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such "wisdom" does not come down from Heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, of the devil. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from Heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere." James 3:14-17 Dew cools the air and makes fruitfulness abound. Just so, the spirit of loving unity calms the heated passions and gives birth to fruit, as James beautifully adds to the verse just quoted: "And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace." Dew does not wait for men. Micah speaks of it in his prophecies as the "dew from the Lord, that does not tarry for man, nor wait for the sons of men." Dew comes without being asked for. That is a poor kind of love that needs much pleading to bring it forth. The highest kind is that which will fall, and nothing will hinder — coming like the dew upon the unkind and thankless. O marvelous grace that requires two such matchless illustrations to describe unity’s beauty and its worth. III. The Benefit of unity. "There the Lord commanded the blessing." Much might be said under this division of the psalm — but time forbids. How precious is that word "commanded"! How full of comfort! Not for us is it to command a blessing — we can but beg for it. "Let the blessing come" is our cry. "The Lord commands the blessing" is Heaven’s answer. But where is the happy spot on which a commanded blessing rests like dew? I answer, the spot where unity abounds. Alas, how many a church has had all its prosperity blasted by internal strife and envy! Splits and divisions and anger have turned many gardens of the Lord into howling wildernesses! But where love reigns — where the holy oil anoints pastor and people alike; where dew sweeter than Hermon’s falls — there in spite of every opposition, the blessing comes, because it is "commanded." May the Lord who has so graciously given it to us as a church and a people, long continue it. May the oil never cease to flow; and may this Hermon never lack its dew. O may the day soon come when enmity shall cease everywhere, and love reign universally — when all God’s children of every tribe shall be bound together in one bond of sacred and eternal love. Beloved, the day breaks apace, when all the shadows of the church shall flee away, and when saints and angels shall sing together this lovely psalm in glory land! May God grant that we all may be there to swell the song! Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 20: S. CONVERSION OF CHILDREN ======================================================================== Conversion of Children Archibald G. Brown, April 30th, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out: Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is suffering terribly from demon-possession!" Matthew 15:22 "It is not fitting to take the children’s bread and throw it to dogs." Matthew 15:26 Our Lord had but recently left the land of Gennesaret and come into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, when he uttered the words we have selected as our text for this evening’s discourse. The incident that gave rise to them is well known — but not better known than loved; there are such sweet touches of nature and grace in it that the charm of the narrative never suffers by often repeating it — but it seems rather to unfold fresh beauties every time. In a humble home on the coast of that region there was "a skeleton." Alas! where will we find the home that has none? Is there one represented here this evening that does not have its own secret sorrow and subject of constant grief? "The skeleton" of this abode was a daughter possessed with a demon. She whose birth was hailed with joy, and whose companionship in years to come, was anticipated by the mother with delight — now proves to be the sorrow of the home. Maddened by the demon, the child was the anguish, not the solace, of her mother’s heart. One day the news reached the darkened home that Jesus was wending his way towards that region. Hope for the first time shot a gleam of light through the thick gloom. The fame of Jesus had gone before Him, and His power to cast out demons had often been the theme of wondering gossip. The mother perhaps argued to herself, "if He is able to cast out demons, why not my daughter’s?" The thought was quite enough to wing her feet with speed. At once she sets off, and journeys to meet the Savior. O, who can fathom the deeps of her heart’s desire, as coming near Him, she breaks out in that piteous cry, "Have mercy on me, O Lord, son of David!" Mark how the mother in her manifests itself in that brief prayer. She makes it a personal matter, "have mercy on me." Tell her, "poor woman, you have made a mistake; it is not you — but your daughter who needs the mercy," and she will answer "we are one, we are one; if mercy comes to her, it comes to me." Again and again that mother, as she followed in the track of Jesus, repeats her simple prayer with ever growing earnestness. Jesus was her only hope. If she did not succeed with Him, she must return to the darkness of her home, only made deeper by the transient ray of hope. "Mercy — mercy — mercy!" she cries in tones that tell of concentrated agony. The disciples, who were not the most tender-hearted, were able to resist the pathos of the appeal. And Jesus, the ever loving, did not answer a word. Strange silence!! What can be its meaning? Christ reminds them that the object of His mission was the house of Israel, not the gentile world to which the woman belonged. This answer is a worse rebuff than His previous silence. It seems to shut the door in the face of all hope. What effect does it have on the suppliant mother? The very reverse of what we would have anticipated. "Then" — on hearing this answer, "she came and worshiped Him, saying, Lord help me!" The apparent denial her request only increases her boldness; she comes nearer to Him than she had ever ventured before, and still pleads her case. Wondrous importunity!! But her faith is now to receive a severer trial than any preceding one. The answer of our Savior was sufficient to have dashed the hopes and stayed the pleadings of any less resolute and believing soul. "It is not fitting to take the children’s bread and throw it to dogs." "Dog," she might well have said. "He called me a dog — then farewell to hope." But no! Rising, or rather stooping to the exigency of the case, she turns the rebuke into an argument. "In truth Lord, I accept the description and claim the dog’s privilege, for even they eat the crumbs which fall from their master’s table." It was enough. The grand faith that the Savior saw she had, was demonstrated. Now comes her reward. "O, woman, great is your faith — let it be to you as you will. And her daughter was made whole from that very hour." I have thus tried very briefly to show the surroundings of our text. I desire now to take it apart from its connection. There can be no doubt that children’s bread should not be thrown to the dogs, and in all probability the Lord quoted a well known proverb. It was evidently understood and acquiesced in by the woman. Leaving aside the beautiful settings of the text, and taking it as a truth by itself — I shall try and plead the children’s cause. And first I will show that in spreading the table, the children are not to be forgotten; and secondly that care must be taken that what is placed upon the table is suitable for children, or in other words, "children’s bread." I. In spreading the table, children are not to be forgotten. By bread is unquestionably meant the means of grace. "These," says our Savior, "were specially provided for the house of Israel" rather than the gentile world. Taking the word in this sense, you will at once see the duty I am anxious about pressing home this evening. It is making special preparation or employing every means for the conversion of children. While the adult masses have brought to bear upon them all the means the church can command, the children are not to be forgotten — but are also to have their share. This, I venture to say, is dreadfully overlooked; comparatively little is done for the conversion of children as such. How is this? What is the cause for this strange omission, an omission which can hardly be denied by any careful observer? I think it is to be found in the fact that the church of God has a strange unbelief in the possibility of children being converted in their early days. The period when saving grace may be expected to work upon the soul, is postponed by too many until the attainment of adult years. It is inwardly believed, if not outwardly expressed, that the plastic nature of childhood must become hardened like a nether millstone, and that fair innocent life must be dragged through the muck and mire of adult sins, before it becomes a fit subject for the Holy Spirit to work upon. This error is, I believe, far more widely spread than most imagine. That children’s conversion is not much expected, I will attempt to prove by three things: First, it is discoverable in the kind of teaching they too often receive. Children are generally brought beneath the flashing lightning of Sinai, instead of the milder beams of Calvary. Their salvation one might often imagine was one of works rather than grace. While the sinner of riper years is pointed to the gloriously finished work of Christ, and told that no righteousness of his own can be of any avail, the child is told "he must be good — obey his teachers — love his parents; in fact, fulfill the law and virtually attempt to work out a righteousness of his own." He is believed to be capable of understanding moral precepts — but not yet qualified for receiving spiritual truth. What is the qualification needed? Is it to wait until the world and sin have armed the soul with a coat of mail — until it has become initiated in the grosser sins of youth — until the naturally trustful disposition of the child has changed into the skepticism of manhood? Strange preparation!!! I am convinced that no missionary-society for the heathen would receive the support of the Christian public for one year, if their agents taught heathendom, as childhood is often instructed in our schools. The conversion of a heathen is more believed in, and therefore more directly sought, than the conversion of a child of a thousand prayers. Secondly, another argument to prove my case is found in the subject being so ignored at our public Sunday-school meetings. What forms the staple subject of half the addresses you hear at these gatherings? Almost everything except the conversion of the children. That which generally takes the precedence of all else is the average attendance of children and teachers in the morning and afternoon. This average is usually carried out to a fractional or decimal nicety. We are told so many children and part of a child, so many teachers and fraction of a teacher — have been found in their places during the year. David numbering the people was never half so minute in his calculations! After this, you are almost certain to hear an oration about "the pernicious influence of the literature of the present day," or "the effect of the educational act on our Sunday schools," or "the necessity of improved ventilation in our schoolrooms." When these subjects have been duly elaborated, then, if there is time, the last ten minutes when everybody is moving, are devoted to "the importance of seeking the early conversion of children." This is, I am certain, no exaggerated picture of many a Sabbath school meeting. At one meeting at which I was present, over one hour and a half was devoted to these subjects. During the whole of this time, the subject of conversion was never once mentioned. Many of our public meetings, if they proclaim anything, proclaim that conversion is looked at as one of the "extras" of Sunday school instruction. May God hasten the time when in this respect, "the first shall be last, and the last first." Thirdly, another argument to prove my point is found in the amount of suspicion in which young candidates for church fellowship are held. There are many dear old saints of God who seem to have a wonderful horror of any church receiving a large number of young people. It is not, they imagine, a "solid" increase, whatever that may mean. Whenever they speak of them, it is always with a devout hope that they may turn out to be genuine. On the ground of their childhood, they are examined and cross-examined as few adults would endure. Test after test is applied, as if the conversion of the child was so strange a phenomenon, that it could only be admitted after evidence of more than ordinary worth. The child must be sound as a bell in doctrine, have all the five points at the end of its little fingers, and start in its life as a church member with an experience as rich and deep as a Christian’s of half a century’s standing. I am certain I am not going beyond the bounds of truth when I assert that a higher morality and consistency is demanded from the youthful candidate for church fellowship, than is to be found in the lives of many of the adult members. Instead of being ever on the lookout to welcome with joy the children professors, there are many who seem to think it their special duty to put as many barriers in their way as possible, and then only receive them under protest, or with an apology. If some hoary-headed old drunkard comes forward and declared himself on the Lord’s side, his conversion is more believed in, and he is more readily received into communion, than the little child who from its birth, has been the subject of thousands of earnest prayers. It is a sad but indisputable fact, that many churches are almost looked down upon and sneered at, because they consist, as these wise ones say, "of only a lot of young people." Many of our churches have yet to learn that, like their Master, it is for them to say with open arms, "allow the little children to come to me." Having thus noticed this strange unbelief in the conversion of children, I will try and show its wickedness and folly. And in order to do so, I would remark first, that there is nothing in the word of God calculated to foster the error. In our ignorance, we often point the child to the man, and make the latter the model for the former — in scripture it is the very reverse. I never read of Jesus taking an adult and placing him in the midst of a group of children, saying "there my dear children, when you grow up to his size and become like him, you may hope to enter into my kingdom." No, I neither read that nor anything like it; but I think I have read that once our Savior gathered his disciples together, after they had been quarreling with all the wisdom of adult saints as to who among them should be the greatest, and putting the little child in the middle of the jealous group, he said, "unless you are converted, and become as little children, you shall not enter the kingdom of Heaven. Whoever therefore will humble himself as this little child, is the greatest in the kingdom of Heaven." Matthew 18:3-4 In the present day, we point the child to the man — but in the days of our Lord, He pointed the man to the child. We want to have the children more like men. Our Savior wanted to have the men more like children. If the Book teaches anything clearly, it teaches that children treated Jesus far better than adults did. The only triumphant procession our Lord ever had was chiefly through the little ones. As He rides meek and lowly upon an donkey, the Scribes and Pharisees scowl and frown at Him. The intellect and manhood of the gathering sneered at the Nazarene and refused Him homage. But in spite of all, our Savior had His ovation. From whom? Why, from the children! They were better than their fathers, and wiser than their teachers. They lined the road; they followed His course, making all the hills ring again with their joyous shouts. They press after Him into the temple; and that place — changed by adults into a den of thieves — never echoed with notes of truer worship, than when their childish voices shouted "Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna, to the son of David!" Matthew 21:15 Of course, the sanctimonious hypocrites were greatly shocked and sorely displeased; so turning to the Master, they said "do you hear what these children are saying?" Yes, of course He did. His ears had been drinking in with pleasure their simple praises, and He means that they shall know it too. Listen to His answer to the children despisers, "Yes; have you never read: From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise?" Matthew 21:16 Standing out in bright relief to the general contempt with which our Savior was treated, is His reception by the children. Remember also that there is nothing whatever in the nature of conversion to make a child’s conversion improbable, or to sanction incredulity about its genuineness. The general objection is that "they are not old enough to make up their minds yet." This is a strange objection, and one which shows that the one who raises it knows but very little about what conversion is. I never knew an adult yet who was old enough to make up his mind to come to Christ. If conversion is the result of maturity of thought, then the objection may hold good; but if it is the direct work of the Holy Spirit upon the heart — the objection falls to the ground at once. Why not a child’s heart, as well as a man’s? Conversion is no mere intellectual triumph, no result of a strong mental effort. It is a complete change in affections, mind, and life; and this change is by regeneration through the Holy Spirit. So far from "old enough to make up your mind" being any help in conversion, it is very often the greatest difficulty in the way of obtaining peace. The scripture says "With the heart, man believes unto righteousness;" and it is the head that more often perplexes the heart than helps it. Have we not all during our Christian life come across keen, sharp, clever men, groping their way in spiritual things — but failing to find immediate peace because they were too proud of their intellectual wealth to drop reason, and believe with a child’s faith? Certainly we have. The world by its own wisdom never has and never will find God. The most highly cultured person is as dependent upon the revealings of the Spirit, as the most unlettered and ignorant person. Do you see, dear friends, the bearing of this fact upon our subject? If conversion is no triumph of the head — but a simple change of the heart, then childhood can prove no obstacle. Indeed, if anything, it is a help rather than a hindrance. If there is no more to be done in a child than in an adult, there is less to be undone. In both cases, a new building has to be reared from its foundation; but there is less rubbish to be removed in the one instance than in the other. The child’s heart is clear of the sophistries which an unsanctified intellect has woven about the man’s. So long as conversion consists in becoming "as a little child," there can be nothing in its nature to militate against the conversion of children. It rather places them on a vantage ground. Bear in mind, moreover, that whatever is the nature of conversion, it is entirely of the Holy Spirit. I have already rather anticipated myself in the previous argument — but there is a difference between the two: that there was nothing in conversion itself that childhood might not have. This goes further. It touches the author of that conversion. I think there are not likely to be found here any who deny that regeneration is the work of the Holy Spirit, and His work alone. If there are, we have nothing to do with them this evening. We are speaking to those who hold that the blessed work of the third person of the Trinity is as necessary as the work of the Father or the Son. Now granting that all conversion is of the Spirit, why should children not be converted? May not He who works in such a diversity of ways, also choose to work on a diversity of ages? Once you lift conversion out of the realm of man’s work, into that of God’s work — all difficulties disappear. None can be too old for Him, and none too young. The same Spirit that uproots with awful might the gnarled old oak tree of half a century’s growth, can bend for His purposes the tenderest shoot that buds in spring. Let us be encouraged, then, to work for children’s souls, seeing that there is nothing either in conversion’s nature or in conversion’s author, to exclude the little ones from being saved. Lastly on this point, there is nothing in the lives of professedly Christian children to warrant unbelief in childhood’s conversion. If you want specimens of coldness, prayerlessness, worldliness and selfishness, you must not go to a youthful band of Christians to find them. They seem to be the unhappy distinctions of adult years. Being fearless of contradiction, I assert that those who have ever had much to do with work among children, have found a piety in the little ones that makes many of us who are older blush. Their devotion and love to the Savior is as marked as it is beautiful. The young tree often has the most fruit on its boughs. I wish that many of our members could keep their youthful piety, for it was far brighter than what they now have. Like Israel, they have declined, and there is a need to "I remember how eager you were to please me as a young bride long ago, how you loved me and followed me even through the barren wilderness." Jeremiah 2:2. This truth receives sad confirmation from the many prayers we hear for "the return of our first love." Children’s piety is no inferior kind — but will bear comparison with any. Too often it is higher in its infancy than in its manhood. "But Christian children are children still." True, and so too, Christian men are men still. It is no more inconsistent for Christian children to play, than it is for Christian men to work. The one is as natural and proper for childhood as the other is for manhood. It would be absurd to unchristianize a man because he works hard all week; and it is just as absurd to call into question a child’s piety because he plays. Suppose he does still love to play his childish games — is that a crime? I wish that no greater crime were ever done. Suppose that skipping rope still possesses a charm. Is that opposed to Christianity? No, let the children play. Grace can shine as much in a child’s game as in a man’s toil. Conversion sanctifies, it does not eradicate the child’s childish nature. There is one proof of the genuineness of child conversion that must be stated, and I hope those who are so fearful of their coming into church-fellowship will remember it. Children are not the ones who bring sorrow to the Church. In nine cases out of ten, church discipline is not upon children members — but adults. It has been so with us here; and most remarkable is the testimony given by the pastor of the largest church in the world. Mr. Spurgeon said some years ago, "I have, during the past year, baptized as many as forty or fifty children. And of all those with whom I talked on the subject of their conversion, I never proposed anyone for church fellowship with greater satisfaction than I have these little ones. Among those whom I had to exclude from church fellowship at any time, out of a church of two thousand seven hundred members, I never had to exclude one who was received into the church, while still a child." Away then, with the idea that a converted child is a kind of "rare bird" only to be met with once or twice in a life time. Children can be converted as children, and this fact should lead the church to make direct and special efforts on their behalf. Do not let child’s bread be forgotten, or thrown to the dogs as if of little value. I have only a moment or two left for my second point. I can only give you the outline and leave to your own meditation the filling up of details. II. Care must be taken that what is placed on the table is children’s bread. There must be suitability in food provided for children. There must be the same suitability in the means of grace employed on their behalf. It would be ridiculous to take a little one to a Mansion House banquet. In all probability the child would be overlooked and have nothing handed to it. And if bold enough to help itself, most likely the result would be illness. The strong foods and delicacies were not intended for childhood. It is equally foolish to have but one service for adults and children. I rejoice that the old plan of packing the poor little things up in the darkest part of the gallery during the service time is fast passing away, and that the church begins to see the necessity for providing a special service for the children. While in the sanctuary, there should be a banquet of "fat things full of marrow;" at the same time, there should also be in the school room, a simple spread of "children’s bread." "Children’s bread." Yes — not a loaf. What they have given them should be ready cut and broken up. It would be simple cruelty to put a loaf before a child and tell him to cut it for himself — most likely he would cut himself instead. So it is equally foolish and wrong to give little ones God’s truth in the loaf, and leave it to them to divide it. They are not to be expected to "divide rightly," and no wonder if in their efforts to do so, they suffer some harm, the scar of which may be carried for years. "Children’s bread" — not crust. It is certain that the softest part of bread was intended by the Lord. It was bread that would break up in crumbs. In Mark’s accounts of this same narrative, the woman is represented as pleading her right to the children’s crumbs. It was bread so soft that their little fingers could crumble it up. See to it, you workers among children, that what you give them is soft and easy for the mouth. Don’t let them break their little teeth now over what in years to come will be a delight. Forcing it upon them too soon, may create a prejudice that would never otherwise have existed. And now to conclude — O, fathers — mothers — teachers — friends — up, and to the work of winning children’s souls! Believe that as children they may become converted, and aim at nothing lower in your teaching. Do not go to the work without the expectation of seeing present results. Do not think that weary years must pass before you are privileged to reap a sheaf. Do not scatter the seed with faint hope, that it will be seen only after many days. Sow with one hand — and expect to reap with the other hand. Children can be converted — children can live in Christ — and children can die in Christ, with as sweet an assurance and as complete a triumph as the most aged saint of God. Labor then for these precious little souls. Employ every means to bring them to the arms of Jesus. Do not despise the humblest instrumentality, nor throw to the dogs a single child’s crumb. Work while their hearts are tender. Plead with them while they are young. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 21: S. DAVID'S MALADY AND MEDICINE! ======================================================================== David’s Malady and Medicine! Archibald G. Brown, January 21st, 1872, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God." Psalms 42:11 The psalm, from which I have selected our text, has a beauty all its own. While many others express the same experience — yet none do so in the same style. It has a language peculiar to itself, and the peculiarity is its charm. The beauty of the forty-second psalm is the beauty of an April morning — full of contrasts and surprises. Now everything looks black and lowering — dark clouds heavy with storm come riding on the breeze — they cast a gloom on every side, and then pour down a sweeping torrent. But in a few moments their fury is spent. Then rifts of light widen overhead, the sun breaks through the watery canopy, and every flower of spring glitters with ten thousand brilliants. The light appears more bright through contrast with the black masses still rolling on before the wind. But sunshine does not keep its victory long. Another and a heavier storm gathers on the horizon, sweeps all before it, and in its turn gives way to smiling light. But never did April weather change so fast as the experiences of the psalmist’s heart. Extremes meet in a single verse, and are repeated over and over again, brief though the psalm is. Its beauty is the beauty of light and shade. It resembles a meadow over which the shadows of the clouds are ever gliding. For a moment all seems bright — but now with the speed of a racehorse, the shadow comes; and a second after, its black edge appears fringed with the glory of a meridian sun. There is never a time when the field is either all bright or all black. There is always a bright spot in some part that at one time was dark, and a dark place in another part that at one time was bright. This psalm is a combination of sighing — and singing; weeping — and smiling through the tears. The sob rises to the song — and the song terminates in another sob. If the psalm is one melody, it has many variations in which the most plaintive minor blends with the most exulting major. As with the psalm, so must it be with the sermon: "Cast down" must be joined to "hope in God;" "disquieted" with "I shall yet praise him;" "tears have been my food" with "the health of my countenance;" "where is your God?" with "the God of my life." May the Lord very graciously help us as we meditate upon our text. I cannot doubt that there are many here to whom the subject will be suitable, for out of so large a number, it cannot be supposed that there are none suffering from David’s malady. Depressed souls are to be found in every congregation — sorrowful saints in every assembly. Most earnestly I pray that those of you who are suffering from the psalmist’s malady, may be led from tonight to take the psalmist’s medicine, "hope in God." I purpose dividing the subject as follows: 1. I will ask you to examine the patient. 2. I will request you to carefully analyze the medicine prescribed. I. Let us Examine the Patient. There can be no doubt that he is far from well. The whole tenor of his language implies disease, and so distinctly are the symptoms described that we need not be at any loss to find out what is actually the matter. The man is suffering from depression. This is a disease more easily understood, and more readily prescribed for — when anybody other than ourselves is the sufferer. The very presence of the disease seems to take away the power of grappling with it. We have, however, in this psalm so full a description, that it may help us to understand ourselves. 1. Notice first that it is an internal disease. This fact may be learned from the oft-repeated word "soul." "Why are you cast down, O my soul? Why are you disquieted in me?" "O, my God, my soul is cast down within me." It was no mere superficial malady that the psalmist had — no skin disease where all is apparent and easily reached. The roots of the evil were in the core of his heart. The enemy had not merely carried the outworks and stormed the forts — but lodged himself within the very citadel of the town of Man-soul. Now of all diseases, internal ones are the worst — and doubly so when of a spiritual nature. Outward trouble will do a man but little harm, so long as it keeps without. It is marvelous what a man can bear so long as he has a good heart within. It is not work that injures — but worry; not outward circumstances — but inward care. A man may lose business, friends, and even physical health — and yet be a stranger to David’s malady. This trouble is not the trouble of the sailor when the green waves with crested heads curl over and dash against the sides of the vessel, shaking it from stem to stern; or rising in their wrath, leap upon the deck, and with wild glee pour off again through the portholes. No, his trouble was not that. Bad though that may be, a vessel tight and strong will weather through it. But his trouble is that of the sailor when from one to another the whisper passes through the ship "we have sprung a huge leak!" The water within the boat, is more dreaded than all the ocean without. Such was the case with David. He could say "the waters have come into my soul." Here then you have the first particular of this disease. Its seat was deep within. 2. But notice next that although inward in its nature, its effects are to be seen in the countenance. In our text we read that God is the health of our countenance; therefore when the manifest presence of God is lacking — the health of the countenance suffers. No inward sorrow can long be hidden. It is sure to betray itself in the countenance; there are a score of tell-tales to reveal the secret. Let a man have however much of the stoic in his nature, and an immense amount of self-command, and all his efforts to hide his depression must at last break down and prove futile. It will come out. Though consumption (now known as tuberculosis) — that scourge of England — is entirely a hidden disease — yet its shadow can be seen in the face, and its presence heard in the cough. Those pale features with the hectic flush — those thin hands with the blue veins so clearly marked — that cough that sounds like the echo of a grave-vault — all tell their own tale of the inward malady of consumption. So is it with inward care. A ploughed heart leaves a furrow on the brow — and a heavy soul puts its stamp upon the countenance. It is seldom necessary to make many minute inquiries as to the state of the soul with a Christian. Look into his face, and read the index there. When deep within there is spiritual depression, the brightness of the eye is dimmed, and the smile of the lip — if there is one — is forced. I am inclined to take "the health of my countenance" in its most literal interpretation, for I truly believe that physical health is more influenced by inward experience than many imagine. The only doctor that some Christians need is their God, and the only medicine they require is hope. 3. There are several symptoms of this disease mentioned in the psalm, and in examining the patient, we must not overlook them. One is great prostration. 1. How expressive is that word "down." "O, my God, my soul is cast down within me." "Down." Yes, no word could better describe the state or feeling. The disease of depression unstrings the whole man. Doubtless many of us have known what it is to feel, after some sickness, such an intense prostration of the system — such an tedium — I use the word for lack of a better — that the smallest things became a burden, and a great effort was required to do the easiest work. There was a strong temptation to sit in listless idleness. Precisely the same is the result of spiritual depression. The soul becomes so ’down’ that every little burden weighs like a mountain, and the smallest duty requires an effort almost greater than we are capable of making. I will mention a few things by way of illustration. More than anything else, the depressed soul needs prayer. Not only does he need it — but he knows that he needs it, and knowing it, he wants to pray. But O how difficult it is! To kneel down seems almost more than he can do, and as for throwing any fervor into his cry, he is too ’down’ for that. What vexes him is this: knowing that if ever he ought to pray, it is now, he feels destitute of the power to pray, or even to make an effort. If there are those present to whom this experience is unknown, happy are they; but if the majority of Christians with us this evening are like the speaker, they have often known what it is to weep because they could not weep — and mourn because they could not pray when they wanted to the most. 2. This prostration affects all work for God. O the effort to go and teach a class of children in the Sunday School — when suffering from David’s malady! What weariness there is in the work, and how welcome the sound of the bell announcing school time is over. Let one suffering this way be called to visit a sick or dying case. What torture it is to go! How you wish something might happen to prevent you, so that conscience and inclination might agree. And when at last you do set out, what slow steps you walk with, and how you hesitate to knock at the door, feeling that of all people, you are most unfitted to administer any consolation. What about preaching when you have this disease? Ah, the speaker knows something of that. Surely of all misery, there is none greater than having to appear before a number of people and preach — when the heart is like a lump of lead! What an effort it requires! How unable one feels to make it. Instead of riding the subject in, as if in a chariot — you are yoked to it, and have to drag it after you for a weary hour. To be too weary and enervated for prayer or work, is one sad sign of this disease. 3. Another symptom is that of burning thirst. You get that in the first and second verses, "As the deer longs for streams of water, so I long for you, O God. I thirst for God, the living God. When can I go and stand before him?" The illustration used here is very striking and significant. A timid deer has been chased by the hounds — mile after mile it has flown like the wind. Its flanks are wreathed with sweat, and it blows the froth like snowflakes from its nostrils. It has outdistanced the dogs — but a new danger meets it. Burning thirst agonizes it, and gives an unnatural fire to the eye. Do you see how, pausing in its flight, it turns the head in every direction and sniffs the breeze in hope of scenting water. Do you hear the cry of anguish that comes from the dumb brute (for the word used here denotes the cry of the deer when in distress for water) as it turns and turns again in vain? That is the picture of the soul when it is full of spiritual depression. It pants for God; it remembers the time when it used to rest beside the waters of quietness, and drink to its full, of communion. But now all has changed. It has been driven by the dogs of depression into a wilderness where there is no water. With agony it turns to the right hand and to the left, and cries "I thirst! I thirst!" It is not a creed, not a doctrine, not a service that it is panting for — but God. Indeed, it is not merely God — but the living God. Precious though an absent Christ is, the soul yearns after a living Savior. He wants the one with whom he may walk and talk and commune as he used to do in days gone past. Depression of the soul, like fever in the veins, torments with a fiery thirst. 4. Another symptom of the disease is loss of appetite. The psalmist says "My tears have been my food day and night." He felt too bad to enjoy his food; grief satisfied more than food. Now although this appears a contradictory symptom to the preceding one — yet are they both frequently found together in the soul’s experience. With an intense desire for God — there may yet be a great loss of appetite for the means of grace. Have you never known what it is to thirst for God — and yet find no joy in reading His book? Has it never seemed to you in seasons of depression as if all the chapters were alike, and all were equally devoid of comfort to the soul? Surely you have. Have you not also known times when the sanctuary not only lost its charm — but almost became dreaded? You had no appetite for singing hymns or listening to sermons. That which at other times was considered a feast, then palled upon the taste. This loss of relish for the ordinances of the Lord’s house is one of the surest and saddest signs of the inward disease. 5. The disease of depression is also accompanied with acute pain in the bones. David speaks of feeling as if he had a sword in his bones; and in Psalms 51:1-19 — also penned amidst much soul-trouble — he describes his experience by broken bones. "Make me hear joy and gladness that the bones which you have broken may rejoice." Now this is a description of no ordinary agony. It is not the thrust of the sword through the flesh of the arm which might give sharp but short pain — but the blade finding its way into the very marrow. A sword working its way within the bone is suggestive of excruciating anguish, sufficient to make every nerve in the frame vibrate with pain. The metaphor is not too strong. Let those who have never suffered from it make light of depression; they will change their note once its roots have struck into their soul. Those of us who have been laid low by it, know it is not child’s play to bear it — but stern work. It is all very easy to pour out platitudes into the ear of the sufferer, and tell him he should think about something else and not give way; but it is quite a different thing to act upon them. Anyone can say "Begone dull care" — but dull care does not go just by being told to. As to the advice of "not thinking about it," we can only say that none but those perfectly ignorant of what they talk about, would utter such nonsense. Not think about it? Tell that to the man who has the sword point in his bones, and he will be ready to curse you for your folly. "Think about something else?" Imagine giving that counsel to a poor wretch with a crushed arm! Why he would answer, "How can I? Every movement makes the bones grate together and extorts a shriek." Just so, spiritual depression makes itself felt, and never allows the sufferer to forget its presence. More than any torture of the frame, is the anguish of a soul broken on this wheel. 6. Shivering fits also accompany this disease. David speaks as one who ’had been drenched’ to the skin by the floods and billows that flowed over him. Just as the drenched man shivers ’from head to foot’ — so the depressed soul trembles exceedingly. Like the man described by Bunyan in the house of the Interpreter, he shakes all over. A look at the past will bring on one of these fits in a moment. "Ah," he says, "I fear those sins are too great to obtain pardon. I have been no ordinary sinner; indeed, how do I know that the sin against the Holy Spirit is not mine?" Past scenes rise up like horrid corpses from their graves, and he trembles much, not having the assurance of their full forgiveness. Turning from the past he views the future, and now he shakes all the more. "I shall one day fall by the hand of my enemy!" he sobs. "I can never hold out, and the name I bear will be dragged through the mire." Death has all its old terrors back, and the grave has its gloom. He cannot "stand still," but tremblingly waits to "see the salvation of God." He shivers too much to sing, or if he attempts it — it is difficult to recognize the tune. 7. Another result of the malady, is that it affects both seeing and hearing. Poor David was half blinded by his tears, and deafened by "the noise of the waterfalls." When the tears get into the eyes it is hard to read, and a depressed soul often finds it more than he can manage to make out clearly his title to the heavenly inheritance. This is sad work, for it cuts off the only consolation left, and does that when it is most needed. Again and again the soul tries to decipher what it has often read with ease before — but the tears prevent it, and at last he cries: "’Tis a point I long to know, Oft it causes anxious thought, Do I love the Lord or no? Am I His or am I not?" Just as bad is his hearing. There was a time when the still small voice of the Spirit was ever heard making music in the heart, bearing witness that he was a son of God. Now he listens for it all in vain. He hears only the hoarse call of deep to deep and the thunder of the waterfalls. This disease may arise from many DIFFERENT CAUSES. We have no time to spare, so I will only point out three of the most general. 1. The first is a revelation of our own heart. The saint turning his eye away from Christ for a moment, begins to search the chambers of his soul. What a sight meets his eye! He beholds foul lusts creeping and crawling like lizards. Lusts that perhaps he imagined long since dead. He sees . . . love for the world still unsubdued, pride yet predominant, accursed selfishness still rampant, and unbelief yet abounding. The spectacle saddens him. The tempter watching his opportunity mutters in his ear, "What is the use of your trying to be holy? You can never succeed!" Dismay sets in and depression paralyzes him. 2. In other cases the malady can be traced to outside causes. Trouble after trouble has come upon the man until all the buoyancy of hope has become well-near crushed out. Every effort to retrieve the day has only ended in failure, and greater reverses. From without the waters of affliction force their way within, and he wrongly concludes that he is forsaken by God. 3. There are doubtless others of us present who often sink into depression through the condition of the professing church at the present time. On every hand we can see conformity to the world taking the place of non-conformity; the spirit of worldliness is increasing — and the spirit of consecration is decreasing. Half and half Christians are abounding and the love of many is waxing cold. We behold the evil affecting the pulpit. Mere morality is taking the place of regeneration, and the atonement by blood is a slighted subject. Instead of beseeching men to be reconciled to God, we find ministers wasting their time in giving Sunday evening lectures about all kinds of subjects. Rome is burning and Nero is playing his fiddle! Souls are perishing and ministers are amusing them. There is enough in the professing church of Christ to make any saint cry, "O God, my soul is cast down within me." 4. One thought more, and we leave the patient to look at his medicine. It is that, although his malady is very painful, it is not in any way dangerous. Thank God the disease of depression never endangers the life of the soul. That is quite beyond its reach, being hidden with Christ in God. O beloved, if our safety depended upon our experience — who among us would be safe for two hours together? But uninfluenced either by our circumstances, imaginations, or feelings, it abides ever the same. We are "accepted in the Beloved." We are "complete in Him." "What?" I think I can hear someone exclaim, "Do you mean to say that I am as safe when miserable, as when happy?" Yes, quite. God only beholds you as you are in Jesus, and that is ever "without spot." Depressed soul, let this thought cheer you: "This sickness is not unto death!" It may be bad to bear, full of pain, and exceedingly distressing — but it does not come near the vital parts. No soul ever died of it, nor ever will! "Your life is hid with Christ in God Beyond the reach of harm!" II. Let us now carefully analyze THE MEDICINE PRESCRIBED. 1. The first thought that suggests itself to our mind is, that the medicine is not to be obtained from any herbs that grow on earth. The world has no true hope, and therefore cannot give it. "Without hope" is Paul’s description of the man of the world. True, it has its counterfeit; but it is as delusive as the will o’ the wisp that dances over the swamps at night, and as unreal as the mirage that mocks the traveler in the desert by the day. It knows nothing of true hope, "the dearest medicine of the soul." A young prodigal begins life with plenty of money — and consequently plenty of friends, falsely so called. It is not long before his account is drained of the last farthing, and with that goes his last friend. Bankrupt in resources and friends, he turns to the world for help — it has none to give. Even the swine are not in need of a keeper. One hope remains: he still has his health, and perhaps with that he may retrieve the day. False mirage!! Debauchery has undermined his strength; and stretched upon the bed of death, he turns from the past to the future, and from the future back again to the past, seeking one thing to give him a ray of light and hope; he seeks in vain. Let us not trace him further — but pull the curtains round the bed, and turn from the dread sight of a desperate hopeless man taking the last step from earth. No, the elixir of hope can be distilled from nothing found below. The language of the psalmist teaches this. Speaking to his depressed soul, he says "hope in God." Turn from all within, and all without — and find your hope on high! Rise from your tears and look to Him, in whom alone there is anything to give you confidence. Do not hope in your throne, your crown, or your armies — but in your God, who amidst all your fears, abides ever the same. 2. This medicine is beautiful in appearance and sweet in taste. To look at, it is clear as the crystal stream that gushes from the throne of God; and no wonder, for it flows from the same fountainhead. While clear as crystal, it sparkles with the light of Heaven. To the taste it is most sweet, causing even "the lips of those asleep to speak." Song of Solomon 7:9. No language can describe its flavor. To be known, it must be tried. That which is first taken as a medicine, soon becomes the most prized delicacy. It suits all constitutions and gets to the root of the disease. No matter how peculiar the spiritual constitution of the man — hope in God is sure to agree with him well. No sooner is it taken, than it finds its way to the inmost recesses of the heart, and strikes in a moment at the roots of the disease. From there its blessed influences extend. A new light flashes in the eye; the health of the countenance returns fresher than before; the thirst is satisfied; the appetite revives, and the plainest food is eaten with a relish; the sword is taken from the bones, and pain gives way to pleasure; prostration departs and activity becomes a joy; it wipes the eye and makes the heavenly title-deed quite easy to read; it hushes into silence the noises of the waterfalls, and it makes the Spirit’s voice clear as a silver bell. O blessed medicine that works such marvels with such speed and ease! 3. It is equally efficacious whatever the cause of the disease may be. Is it sin? Hope in God, for "there is forgiveness with Him." Is it trouble? Hope in God, for He will deliver you out of six trials and in the seventh will not leave you. Is it the state of the church? Hope in God, for He loves Zion much, and is more jealous of her glory than you can be. He has all power at hand and He can purge her pulpits and refine her people. 4. This medicine should be taken whenever required. Because you do not know when a fit of depression may overtake you, never be without it. Carry it around your person in a scripture-vial. God has given you many that are specially adapted for the purpose. Let me point you to one or two: Here is one: "My grace is sufficient for you." Here is another: "Lo I am with you always." Here is another: "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Here is another, and a large one: "And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose." But take your choice, for there are multitudes. Place one in your bosom; and when David’s malady comes upon you, resort at once to David’s medicine. May God help you to, for Jesus’ sake — Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 22: S. DEEP THINGS OF GOD ======================================================================== The Deep Things of God Archibald brown, December 17, 1899, Chatsworth Road Chapel, London "For the Spirit searches all things, yes, the deep things of God." 1 Corinthians 2:10 This text is vitally united, you will see, to the verse which precedes it, because this verse begins with ’but,’ and that rivets it to the prior verse — it is the outcome of it — and that prior verse has, I suppose, suffered more from misquotation and misapplication than any other verse in inspired writ. You know it well: ’Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for them that love him.’ That text is always handed over to Heaven, and it is read as if it taught that Heaven is such a beautiful, such a glorious place, that really we know nothing whatever about it; that no eye has ever seen, no ear has ever heard, and no heart can imagine, all the beautiful things that are stored up in an at present unseen Heaven. I need hardly say that Heaven was not in the apostle’s mind when he penned the words. You will see that so far from teaching that these things are not to be seen or cannot be known, the apostle goes on to say, in the language of our text, which is never quoted, ’But God has revealed them.’ What a pity it is to cry halt and pull up at the end of the ninth verse, and say, ’Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things that God has prepared for them that love him,’ and not to go on to the next verse, ’But God has revealed them.’ The simple teaching of the passage is this: that mere worldly wisdom can never understand spiritual teaching; that there must be a revelation made by God, and that the work of the Holy Spirit is to make clear to men what they never could learn, either through the eye, through the ear, or by the imagination. God has revealed these glories to us, because there is no other way in which we could acquire a knowledge of them but by revelation. Mental perception, however keen, is not enough; you cannot fathom eternal realities. God has to draw the veil over these beauties, and reveal the facts in Scripture — and then the Holy Spirit reveals the Scripture again to us. There is thus a double revelation — God revealing his truth in the Word, and then the Holy Spirit revealing the Word unto us. Is it not true that the eye does not see these things? Millions of eyes can see God’s work — but they never see the Artificer; millions of ears can hear the voice of God — but they never recognize that which is spoken. God must be revealed to be known. That brings us right up to this declaration, that the Spirit searches all things; those things which the eye cannot see or the ear hear or the heart imagine — God has revealed unto us by his Spirit, ’for the Spirit searches all things, yes, the deep things of God.’ What do you understand by ’the deep things of God’? Everything that has to do with God is deep; God has no shallows — but God himself is the greatest depth. In Job 11:7-8 you have this remarkable utterance: ’Can you by searching find out God? Can you find out the Almighty unto perfection? It is as high as Heaven; what can you do? deeper than Sheol; what can you know?’ I know that we also speak of God’s attributes. That is a very easy way of trying to get out of a greater difficulty — but when we have uttered the word ’attribute,’ what do we mean by it? We speak of God’s omnipotence, his omniscience, his omnipresence; but the dear orphan children can utter all these words, and perhaps know them better than some others here. When you have uttered them, what have you done? You have only, after all, uttered that which you yourself cannot comprehend. Every word in the list of Divine Attributes is an ocean which has neither a bottom nor shore! These are the depths of Godhead — but that is not what is intended in the text; it is not the depths of Godhead, but the deep things of God that are told to us. From 1 Corinthians 2:9-16 you have the word ’things’ over and over again — I think eleven times — and if you have your Bibles with you, will you just for a moment cast your eyes down this portion; it has been called ’the chapter of things.’ Look at 1 Corinthians 2:9 : ’The things which God has prepared.’ 1 Corinthians 2:10 : ’The Spirit searches all things, yes, the deep things of God.’ 1 Corinthians 2:11 : ’For what man knows the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him? Even so the things of God knows no man — but the Spirit of God.’ 1 Corinthians 2:12 : ’Now we have received not the spirit of the world — but the spirit which is of God; that we might know the things that are freely given to us of God.’ 1 Corinthians 2:13 : ’Which things also we speak, not in the words which man’s wisdom teaches — but which the Holy Spirit teaches; comparing spiritual things with spiritual.’ 1 Corinthians 2:14 : ’But the natural man receives not the things of God.’ 1 Corinthians 2:15 : ’But he who is spiritual discerns all things — yet he himself is discerned of no man.’ So that when you come to this portion you are not dealing with an isolated passage; the deep things are referred to all the way through these verses, and things are a short way of saying ’thinkings.’ People say things — but when they say things, they are really saying thinkings, because everything was first a thought. This world before it became a thing was a thought in the Creator’s mind. Every cathedral that has ever been built was a thought in the mind of the architect before it became a thing in the hands of the builder. Every book of poems was first of all a thought in the poet’s mind — it is etherealized thought. The things here spoken of are God’s thinkings, God’s thoughts — but God’s thoughts are realities; they are no mere myths, they are things! God’s children are not a number of poor deluded fools that dream of unsubstantial ideas. There are in the gospel wondrous realities, and the work of the Holy Spirit is to search, bring out, and teach us these things that are freely given to us — these things that are mentioned in our text as deep things. Let me mention these things that the Holy Spirit wants you to have and wishes you to enjoy. At the head of the list we put God’s deep LOVE. ’God so loved.’ No plummet has ever yet been found capable of sounding the depths of that ’so’ — ’God so loved.’ You cannot learn God’s love from nature. I know people often say that they do not go to church or chapel or to the Tabernacle — but they go to worship God out in the fields, in nature. Can you see God’s love revealed in nature? I can see God’s goodness and God’s beauty and God’s wisdom — but when I want to see God’s love I find that is one of the deep things. Some people may say that the Holy Spirit reveals God’s love by the incarnation of Christ. ’God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son.’ It is true, that in the birth of the Lord Jesus I do see God’s love — but I don’t see its depths in the incarnation. Look at 1 John 4:9-10, and there you will see its depth: ’In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him. Herein is love, not that we loved God — but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins.’ When the Holy Spirit wants us to know the great depth of God’s love, he points us to Calvary, and standing at the foot of that tree and gazing at that Sufferer, you learn the deep love of God as it can be learned in no other spot. Then you will have noticed in the reading of Ephesians 3:1-21 that there is another deep thing that the Holy Spirit has revealed, and that is this, God’s deep WISDOM in the church. That is a startling idea of Paul’s, the angels studying their God in a redeemed church; those angels that were in existence millions of years before man was made; those beings of purity and light that may have seen countless millenniums, are shown as gazing on redeemed sinners, studying them — WHY? That they might know the multifaceted wisdom of their God; the love that prompted such a salvation, the amazing wisdom that devised such a scheme of salvation, just to God and yet kind to man. I often wish that our services were not so formal, and that pew and platform could talk together. If so, I would like to ask some of you what other things you would name. We have seen that the text means that there are deep things that God wishes us to know; we have deep love, deep wisdom, and I would like to add next, deep MERCY. In Psalms 36:5, we read, ’Your mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens,’ and yet it comes down to me. How wonderfully deep it is! Mercy came down from Heaven — and picked up a poor vile sinner lying at the gate of Hell. He who knows anything about himself can only stand amazed that the mercy that has her home up there in the heavens — should stoop down so deep to the earth. But Psalms 36:1-12 suggests another deep, not only deep mercy — but deep RIGHTEOUSNESS. That is what people do not like to hear about at the present day. ’Your mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens; and your faithfulness reaches unto the clouds. Your righteousness is like the great mountains; your judgments are a great deep.’ The great deeps of Divine righteousness are revealed in the gospel. There is nothing in the Old Testament half so dreadful, as what you can find in the New. Do you want to know the righteousness of God and his hatred of sin? You say, look at the deluge — that proved it. Look at those blazing cities in the plain! Ask the Holy Spirit, and he will say, look away from the deluge; look away from Sodom and Gomorrah. Where? At the Cross. There you will see the deep abhorrence of a holy God to sin! There you see the deeps of Divine righteousness and Divine judgment, when he who knew no sin was made sin for us and became a curse — that we might have the blessing. People seem to forget in this present semi-infidel age, that the gospel is not only the witness of the deep mercy of God — but that it is the most dreadful witness of the deep abhorrence that God has to sin to be found anywhere! What would you put next? I would put next, deep RECONCILIATION, because that is the outcome of the deep mercy and the deep righteousness. Human reconciliation is not a very thorough thing. They say, ’Scratch a Russian, and you find a Tartar’ — but when God reconciled me unto himself, it was a deep reconciliation. He took away the underlying nature, that which caused the enmity, sin. Christ has taken the sin, and has borne it in his own body on the tree, and now the reconciliation between God and the sinner is perfect. This reconciliation is one of the deep things. If there is deep reconciliation, you will almost anticipate the next point. Is not that accompanied by deep PARDON? When God forgives sin, he buries it — and there is no future resurrection of sin. In Micah 7:19, you have God’s own picture of how he forgives. He says, ’I have cast their sins into the depths of the sea!’ God does not throw our sins into the shallows, or on the margin, where an ebbing tide would expose them: they are sunk into the great depths of the ocean of his forgiving love! As a consequence you and I have deep BLESSINGS. There is a deep peace for the believer that flows like a river; a peace that the devil cannot break up, peace that abides when everything else is in turmoil. Some of you will be thinking today what a lot of motion there is on the sea; on the surface the waves are very high — but you only have to go down deep enough to find that the waters that are deep down are never moved; there is perfect stillness down there. If God’s children have deep peace they also have deep JOY, a joy unspeakable; and, to crown all they are told by the Spirit that there are for them deep purposes of FUTURE GLORY. Jesus says, ’Father, I will that they also, whom you have given me, be with me where I am, that they may behold my glory which you have given me!’ So you see all these deep things of God coming in beautiful succession; and the work of the Spirit is that I might know these things which are ’freely given to me of God.’ God does not sell one of them, he freely gives them all, and anyone of us may have all these deep things. I conclude with this solemn statement of the apostle concerning these things. They are not received by the natural man; he does not understand them. Look at the 14th verse: ’But the natural man receives not the things of the Spirit of God.’ True, they are revealed in the Word — but the natural man — Calvin puts ’the animal man’ — he hears the preacher talking about the deep things — but the words do not convey anything to him; he may perhaps read the chapter right through, and he does not see anything in it, because deep things are spiritually discerned. And so what the eye of the natural man cannot see, and what his ear may not hear — we yet know and know beyond a doubt. The Spirit of God, who is our Guide, he has touched the soul within, and he says, ’Deep things of God here.’ Then go and pick them up! Pick them up and make them your own. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 23: S. DEVIL'S MISSION OF AMUSEMENT ======================================================================== Devil’s Mission of Amusement The Church’s Task—Entertainment or Evangelization? By Archibald Brown (Archibald Brown was a student of Charles Spurgeon. Under Brown’s ministry, scores were saved and instructed.) Different days demand their own special testimony. The watchman who would be faithful to his Lord and the city of his God, has need to carefully note the signs of the times and emphasize his witness accordingly. Concerning the testimony needed now, there can be little, if any, doubt. An evil is in the professed camp of the Lord, so gross, so brazen in its impudence, that the most shortsighted of spiritual men can hardly fail to notice it. During the past few years it has developed at an abnormal rate, ever for evil. It has worked like leaven until now the whole lump ferments. Look which way you may, its presence makes itself manifest. There is little if anything to choose between Church, Chapel, or Mission Hall. However they may differ in some respects, they bear a striking likeness in the posters which disfigure their notice boards. Amusement for the people is the leading article advertised by each. If any of my readers doubt my statement, or think my utterance too sweeping, let them take a tour of inspection and study "the announcements for the week" at the doors of the sanctuaries of the neighborhood; or let them read the religious advertisements in their local papers. I have done this again and again, until the hideous fact has been proved up to the hilt, that "amusement" is ousting "the preaching of the Gospel" as the great attraction. "Concerts," "Entertainments," "Dramatic Performances," are the words honoured with biggest type and most startling colors. The Concert is fast becoming as much a recognized part of church life as the Prayer Meeting, and is already, in most places, far better attended. "Providing recreation for the people" will soon be looked upon as a necessary part of Christian work, and as binding upon the Church of God, as though it were a Divine command, unless some strong voice be raised which will make themselves heard. I do not presume to possess such a voice, but I do entertain the hope that I may awaken some louder echoes. Anyway, the burden of the Lord is upon me in this matter, and I leave it with Him to give my testimony ringing tone, or to let it die away in silence. I shall have delivered my soul in either case. Yet the conviction fills my mind that in all parts of the country there are faithful men and women who see the danger and deplore it and will endorse my witness and my warning. It is only during the past few years that "amusement" has become a recognized weapon of our warfare, and developed into a mission. There has been a steady "down grade" in this respect. From "speaking out," as the Puritans did, the Church has gradually toned down her testimony; then winked at and excused the frivolities of the day. Then she has tolerated them in her borders, and now she has adopted them and provided a home for them—under the plea of "reaching the masses and getting the ear of the people." The devil has seldom done a cleverer thing—than hinting to the Church that part of her mission is to provide entertainment for the people with a view to winning them into her ranks. The evil nature which lies in every heart, has risen to catch the bait. Here, now, is an opportunity of gratifying the flesh—and yet retaining a comfortable conscience. We can now please ourselves, in order to do good to others. The rough old cross can be exchanged for a "costume," and the exchange can be made with the benevolent purpose of elevating the people. All this is terribly sad, and the more so because truly gracious souls are being led away by the specious pretext, that amusements are a form of Christian work. They forget that a seemingly beautiful angel—may be the devil himself, "for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light" (2 Corinthians 11:14). Church amusements are not supported by Scripture My first contention is—that providing amusement for the people is nowhere spoken of in Holy Scripture as one of the functions of the church. What her duties are, will come under our notice later on. At present it is the negative side of the question that we are dealing with. Now, surely, it our Lord had intended His church to be the caterer of entertainment, and so counteract the god of this world—He would hardly have left so important a branch of service unmentioned. If it is Christian work, why did not Christ at least hint it? "Go into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature," is clear enough. So would it have been, if He had added, "and provide amusement for those who do not relish the Gospel." No such addendum, however, is to be found, nor even an equivalent for such, in any one of our Lords utterances. This style of work did not seem to occur to His mind. Then again, Christ, as an ascended Lord, gives to His Church specially qualified men for the carrying on of His work, but no mention of any gift for this branch of service occurs in the list. "He gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers—for the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ," Where do the "public entertainers" come in? The Holy Spirit is silent concerning them, and his silence is eloquence. If "providing recreation" be a part of the Church’s work, surely we may look for some promise to encourage her in the toilsome task. Where is it? There is a promise that, "My Word shall not return unto Me void." There is the heart-rejoicing declaration concerning the Gospel, "it is the power of God unto salvation." There is the sweet assurance for the preacher of Christ that, whether he is successful or not as the world judges success—that he is "sweet savor unto God." There is the glorious benediction for those whose testimony, so far from amusing the world, rouses its wrath: "Blessed are you when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for My sake. Rejoice, and be exceedingly glad—for great is your reward in heaven! For so persecuted they the prophets who were before you." Were the prophets persecuted because they amused the people—or because they refused to? The Gospel of amusement has no martyr roll. In vain does one look for a promise from God—for providing recreation for a godless world. That which has no authority from Christ, no provision made for it by the Spirit, no promise attached to it by God—can only be a lying deceit, when it lays claim to be "a branch of the work of the Lord". Church amusements are not taught by the Savior But again, providing amusement for the people—is in direct antagonism to the teaching and life of Christ and all his apostles. What is to be the attitude of the Church towards the world according to our Lord’s teaching? Strict separation and uncompromising hostility. While no hint ever passed His lips of winning the world by pleasing it, or accommodating methods to its taste—His demand for unworldliness was constant and emphatic. He sets forth in one short sentence, what He would have His disciples to be: "You are the salt of the earth." Yes, the salt—not the sugar-candy! Something the world will be more inclined to spit out—than swallow with a smile. Something more calculated to bring water to the eye—than laughter to the lip. Short and sharp is the utterance, "Let the dead bury their dead: but you go and preach the kingdom of God." "If you were of the world—the world would love its own; but because you are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hates you." "In the world you shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer; for I have overcome the world." "I have given them Your Word, and the world has hated them, because they are not of the world, even as I am not of the world." "My kingdom is not of this world." These passages are hard to reconcile with the modern idea of the Church providing recreation for those who have no taste for more serious things—in other words, of pleasing the world. If they teach anything at all, it is that fidelity to Christ will bring down the world’s wrath—and that Christ intended His disciples to share with Him, the world’s scorn and rejection. How did Jesus act? What were the methods of the only perfectly "faithful witness" the Father has ever had? As none will question that He is to be the worker’s model, let us gaze upon Him. How significant the introductory account given by Mark, "Now, after John was put in prison, Jesus came into Galilee preaching the Gospel of the kingdom of God, and saying, The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand. Repent! and believe the Gospel." And again, in the same chapter, I find Him saying, in answer to the announcement of His disciples, that all men were seeking for Him, "Let us go into the next towns that I may preach there also, for therefore came I forth." Matthew tells us, "And it came to pass when Jesus had made an end of commanding His twelve disciples, He departed thence to teach and preach in their cities." In answer to John’s question, "Are You the one who is to come?" He replies, "Go and show John those things which you do hear and see . . . and the poor have the Gospel preached to them." There is no item in the catalogue for providing amusement, such as: "And provide the people with innocent recreation." We are not left in doubt as to the matter of His preaching, for "when many were gathered together, insomuch that there was no room to receive them, no, not so much as about the door, He preached the Word unto them." There was no change of method adopted by the Lord during His course of ministry. His first word of command to His evangelists was, "As you go, preach!" His last command was, "Preach the Gospel to every creature." None of the gospels suggests that at any time during His ministry, He turned aside from preaching—to entertain, and so attract the people. He was in solemn earnestness, and his ministry was as earnest as Himself. Had He been less uncompromising, and introduced more of the "bright and pleasant" element into His ministry, He would have been more popular. Yet, when many of His disciples turned away, because of the searching nature of His preaching, I do not find there was any attempt to increase a diminished congregation, by resorting to something more pleasant to the flesh. I do not hear Him saying, "We must keep up the gatherings at any cost! So run after those people, Peter, and tell them we will have a different style of service tomorrow! Something very short and attractive, with little, if any, preaching. Today was a service for God, but tomorrow we will have a pleasant evening for the people. Tell them they will be sure to enjoy it, and have a pleasant time. Be quick, Peter! We must get the people somehow; if not by Gospel, then by entertainment!" No, this was not how He argued. Gazing in sorrow on those who would not hear the Word, He simply turns to the twelve, and asks, "Will you go away also?" Jesus pitied sinners, pleaded with them, sighed over them, warned them, and wept over them; but He never sought to amuse them! When the evening shadows of His consecrated life were deepening into the night of death, He reviewed His holy ministry, and found comfort and sweet solace in the thought, "I have given them Your Word." As with the Master, so with His apostles- their teaching is the echo of His. In vain will the epistles be searched to discover any trace of a gospel of amusement. The same call for separation from the world rings in everyone, "But not conformed to this world, but be you transformed," is the word of command in the Romans. "Come out from among them. and be you separate and touch not the unclean thing." It is the trumpet call in the Corinthians. Ln other words it is come out - keep out - keep clean out - for "what communion has light with darkness, and what concord has Christ with Belial?" "God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom the world is crucified unto me and J unto the world." Here is the true relationship between the Church and the world according to the Epistle to the Galatians. "Do not be partakers with them. Have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them," is the attitude enjoined in Ephesians. "That you may be blameless and pure, children of God who are faultless in a crooked and perverted generation, among whom you shine like stars in the world. Hold firmly the message of life," is the word in Philippians. "Dead with Christ from the rudiments of the world," says the Epistle to the Colossians, "Abstain from all appearance of evil" is the demand in Thessalonians. "If anyone purifies himself from these things, he will be a special instrument, set apart, useful to the Master, prepared for every good work," is the word to Timothy. "Let us then go to Him outside the camp, bearing His disgrace," is the heroic summons of the Hebrews. James, with holy severity, declares that "Friendship with the world is enmity with God; whoever, therefore, will be a friend of the world is the enemy of God." Peter writes: "As obedient children, do not be conformed to the desires of your former ignorance but, as the One who called you is holy, you also are to be holy in all your conduct; for it is written—Be holy, because I am holy." John writes a whole epistle, the gist of which is, "Do not love the world or the things that belong to the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in him. For everything that belongs to the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride in one’s lifestyle—is not from the Father, but is from the world. And the world with its lust is passing away, but the one who does God’s will remains forever." Here are the teachings of the apostles concerning the relationship of the Church and the world. And yet, in the face of them, what do we see and hear? A friendly compromise between the two—and an insane effort to please and amuse the world. God help us, and dispel the strong delusion. How did the apostles carry on their mission work? Was it in harmony with their teaching? Let the Acts of the Apostles give the answer. Anything approaching the worldly amusements of today, is conspicuous by its absence. The early evangelists had boundless confidence in the power of the Gospel, and employed no other weapon. Pentecost followed plain preaching. When Peter and John had been locked up for the night for preaching—the early Church had a prayer meeting. Directly they returned, and the petition offered for the two was, "And now, Lord, grant unto Your servants, that with all boldness they may speak Your word." They had no thought of praying, "Grant unto Your servants more wisdom, that by a wise and discriminating use of innocent recreation, they may avoid the offence of the cross, and sweetly show the unsaved, how happy and merry a lot we are." The charge brought against the apostles was, "You have filled Jerusalem with your doctrine." Not much chance of this charge being brought against modern methods! The description of their work is, "And daily in the temple, and in every house, they ceased not to teach and preach Jesus Christ." Then, it they "ceased not" from this, they had no time for arranging for entertainments! They gave themselves continually to the ministry of the Word. Scattered by persecution, the early disciples "Went everywhere, preaching the Word." When Philip went to Samaria, and was the means of bringing "great joy to that city," the only recorded method is, "He preached Christ unto them." When the apostles went to visit the scene of his labors, it is stated, "And they, when they had testified and preached the Word of the Lord, returned to Jerusalem, and preached the Gospel in many villages of the Samaritans." When they had finished their preaching, it is evident they did not think it was their mission to stay and organize some "pleasant evenings of entertainment" for those people who did not believe. The congregations in those days did not expect anything but the Word of the Lord, for Cornelius says to Peter, "We are all here in the presence of God—to listen to everything the Lord has commanded you to tell us." The message given was, "Words whereby you and all your house shall be saved." Cause and effect are closely linked in the statement, "Some of them went to Antioch and began to speak to Greeks also, preaching the good news about the Lord Jesus. The Lord’s hand was with them, and a great number of people believed and turned to the Lord." Here you have their method—they preached. Their matter—the good news about the Lord Jesus. Their power—the hand of the Lord was with them. Their success—a great number of people believed and turned to the Lord. What more does the Church of God require today? When Paul and Barnabas worked together, the record is, "The Lord gave testimony unto the Word of His grace," When Paul, in a vision, hears a man of Macedonia saying, "Come over and help us," he assuredly understands that the Lord had called him to preach the Gospel unto them. Why so? How did he know, but that the help needed was the brightening of their lives by a little amusement, or the refining of their manners by a collection of paintings? He never thought of such things! "Come and help us!" meant to him, "Preach the Gospel." "As his custom was, Paul went into the synagogue, and on three Sabbath days he reasoned with them from the Scriptures, explaining and proving that the Christ had to suffer and rise from the dead." That was the "custom" of evangelistic work in those days, and it seems to have been wonderfully powerful; for the verdict of the people is, "These who have turned the world upside down—have come here also!" Just now, the world is turning the Church upside down; that is the only difference. When God told Paul that He had many people in Corinth, I read, "And he continued there a year and six months, teaching the Word of God among them." Evidently then, he judged that the only way to save them, was by the Word. A year and a half—and only one method adopted. Wonderful! Our modern preachers would have had a dozen methods in that time! But then Paul never reckoned that providing something pleasant for the ungodly, was part of his ministry; for, on his way to Jerusalem and martyrdom, he says, "But I count my life of no value to myself, so that I may finish my course and the ministry I received from the Lord Jesus—to testify to the gospel of God’s grace." This was all the ministry he knew. The last description we have of the methods of this prince of evangelists, is consistent with all that has gone before, "For two whole years Paul stayed there in his own rented house and welcomed all who came to see him. Boldly and without hindrance he preached the kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ." What a contrast to all the rot and nonsense now being perpetrated in the holy name of Christ! May the Lord clear the Church of all the rubbish that the devil has imposed upon her, and bring us back again to apostolic methods! Church amusements are not spiritually fruitful Lastly, the mission of amusement utterly falls to effect the desired end among the unsaved; but it works havoc among the young converts. Were it a success, it would be none the less wrong. Success belongs to God. Faithfulness to His instructions is my only responsibility Nonetheless, providing amusements for the people is a contemptible failure. Let us see the converts who have been won by amusement. Let the harlots and the drunkards, to whom a dramatic entertainment has been God’s first link in the chain of their conversion stand forth. Let the careless and the scoffers who have cause to thank God that the Church has relaxed her spirit of separation and met them half-way in their worldliness, speak and testify. Let the husbands, wives, and children, who have been saved by church amusements, tell out their joy. Let the weary, heavy-laden souls who have found peace through a pleasing concert, no longer keep silence. Let the men and women who have found Christ through the reversal of apostolic methods declare the same, and show the greatness of Paul’s blunder when he said, "I determined not to know anything among you—but Jesus Christ, and Him crucified." There is neither voice nor any to answer. The failure is on a par with the folly—and as huge as the sin! Out of thousands with whom I have personally conversed, the mission of amusement has claimed no convert! Now let the appeal be made to those who, repudiating every other method, have staked everything on the preaching of the Gospel. Let them be challenged to produce results. There is no need. Blazing sacrifices on every hand attest the answer. Ten thousand times ten thousand voices are ready to declare that the plain preaching of the Word was, first and last—the cause of their salvation! But how about the other side of this matter—what are baneful effects of providing entertainment? Are they innocent? I will here solemnly as before the Lord, give my personal testimony. Though I have never seen a sinner saved by amusements, I have seen any number of backsliders manufactured by this new departure from the Scripture. Over and over again have they come to me in tears, and asked what they were to do, as they had lost all their peace and fallen into evil. Over and over again has the confession been made, "I began to go wrong by attending worldly amusements that Christians patronized." It is not very long since that a young man, in an agony of soul, said to me, "I never thought of going to the theater—until my minister put it into my heart by preaching that there was no harm in it. I went, and it has led me from bad to worse—and now I am a miserable backslider; and he is responsible for it." When professors begin to forsake the gatherings for prayer, and grow worldly, I almost always find that worldly Christianity is responsible for the first downward step. The mission of amusements is the devil’s half-way house to the world! It is because of what I have seen that I feel deeply, and would sincerely write strongly. This thing is working rottenness in the Church of God, and blasting her service for the King. In the guise of Christianity, it is accomplishing the devil’s own work! Under the pretense of going out to reach the world—it is carrying our sons and daughters into the world, With the plea of "Do not alienate the masses with your strictness," it is seducing the young disciples from the simplicity and the purity of the Gospel. Professing to win the world, it is turning the garden of the Lord into a public recreation ground! To fill the church with those who see no beauty in Christ—a grinning Dragon is put over the doorway! It will be no wonder if the Holy Spirit, grieved and insulted, withdraws His presence; for "What harmony can there be between Christ and the Devil?" "Come out!" is the call for today! Sanctify yourselves! Put away the evil from among you. Cast down the world’s altars and cut down her groves. Spurn her offered assistance. Decline her help, as your Master did the testimony of devils, for "He did not allow them to speak, because they knew Him." Renounce all the worldly policy of the age. Trample upon Saul’s armor. Grasp the Book of God. Trust the Spirit who wrote its pages. Fight with this weapon—only and always. Cease to amuse—and seek to arouse with the preaching of the Word. Shun the clap of a delighted audience, and listen for the sobs of a convicted one. Give up trying to "please" men who have only the thickness of the ribs between their souls and hell! Warn, and plead, and entreat—as those who see the fires of eternity about to devour the lost! Let the Church again confront the world—testify against it—and meet it only behind the cross! And, like her Lord, she shall overcome, and with Him share the victory! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 24: S. DO NOT SIN AGAINST THE CHILD! ======================================================================== Do Not Sin Against the Child! Archibald G. Brown, April 10th, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Do not sin against the child!" Genesis 42:22 Moses proclaimed a great truth in the ears of the Israelites, when he warned them to be sure their sin would find them out. However long the period after the committal of the crime — the hour is sure at last to come when the sinner and his sin will be brought face to face. Days, weeks, months, yes, even years, may glide by, until the sin itself almost becomes forgotten — when lo, some unlooked for and unforeseen circumstance calls up the crime from the oblivion of the past, and makes the guilty sinner tremble in its presence. We have an illustration of this truth in the chapter from which I have selected my text. Full twenty years had passed since the lad Joseph was sold by his cruel brothers to the passing Ishmaelites. During those years the stingings of conscience which at first followed the unnatural deed had doubtless grown less and less, until by oft repetition of the lie, they had almost become persuaded it was true that "one of them was not." His death was taken for granted, and considered a certainty, and the whole matter had for a long time ceased to occupy their thoughts. But now that the twenty years have passed away, there comes a grievous famine in the land of Canaan. In utter despair, "they look one upon another" as men bereft of all energy, and without the heart to put forth any fresh efforts for help. Just at this juncture, the news reaches them that there is "grain in Egypt." At the earnest request of their aged father, they lose no time in journeying there, only too glad of having a chance to exchange some of the patriarch’s wealth for the golden grain. Entering into an Egyptian palace, they are introduced to Joseph, the governor. Humbly they prostrate themselves before him, and give him deepest homage. Their overtures are received in an apparently ungracious manner, and rough words are all they receive. Charged with being spies, they are all placed in prison for three days, and then only permitted to depart by leaving one of their number as a hostage. This stern discipline is beneficial to them, and awakens their sleeping consciences to the crime long since committed. There rises up into their view a poor, pale youthful face, convulsed with the agony of fear as it descends into the darkness of the pit. Again there rings in their ears the childish cry of terror as the boy, after a short but desperate struggle, is dragged off by the ferocious-visaged slave dealers. The whole scene passes before them like a panorama, and with the vividness of a yesterday’s transaction. Their sin has found them out, and trembling with self-condemnation, they confess, "we are truly guilty concerning our brother in that we saw the anguish of his soul when he begged us, and we would not hear; therefore this distress has come upon us." Genesis 42:21. Their sense of guilt is now increased by Reuben reminding them that they had sinned, in spite of his entreaty and warning, "Did I not speak to you," saying, ’Do not sin against the child!’ and you would not hear? Therefore, behold, his blood also is required." Perhaps there are some of you now thinking, "What has this subject to do with our Sunday School Anniversary?" I answer, much, and for this reason. There are many ways of sinning against a child, besides letting him down into a pit, or selling him to passing Ishmaelites. My desire is not so much to speak this morning to the dear little ones in the galleries (they will have their turn in the afternoon) as to those of you who are parents and teachers, or have any influence whatever over children. To such the text should come home with power, "Do not sin against the child!" We will try and look at this subject in two ways, namely: Several ways in which we may sin against a child, and secondly — Special reasons why we should not. I. HOW may we sin against a child? We may sin against a child first of all by spoiling him. This great mistake is to be as much dreaded as over-severity, for it would, I think, be a difficult matter to determine which of the two evils has produced the greatest amount of sorrowful fruit — foolish indulgence, or excessive severity. Certainly the former sin is the one most easily fallen into. All the instincts of a father’s and mother’s heart give a bias toward it. It is so natural to see nothing wrong in our own children — so easy to be lenient to our own flesh and blood. For the sin we so readily condemn in the children of others — we make a thousand excuses when beheld in our own. Nothing is harder than to say, "No," to the request of the little lips that press our own, or to reprove and restrict the darling who has entwined round about his little form, our tenderest heart-strings. To continually clip the tree is doubtless a bad thing for its full development. But to leave it untouched, and allow it to straggle any and every way in wild luxuriance, is just as great if not a greater evil. I will use another illustration that I think many of our little friends in the gallery will understand. If the peach trees and plum trees that are nailed to the garden walls by a hundred little pieces of cloth could but think and speak, they might very likely say to the gardener so busily at work with the hammer, "Why fasten us up like this, and forbid our beautiful branches from running on the ground or playing in the breeze? How unkind it is to put so many restraints upon us — and leave us so little liberty; let us just for this season run over the wall, along by the wall, or away from the wall, or any way we please." But the gardener with a smile would reply, "It is out of kindness that I do it, not from mere caprice. Wait until the spring has glided into summer, and all your branches are decked with snowy bloom. Wait until the summer has mellowed into autumn; and then when your boughs are laden with fruit, which they could never have borne except for these restrictions — then you will see that all has been done for your good, and to make your fruit the richer." Just so, beloved parents, out of very kindness to the child you must sometimes say, "No," and place restrictions on him. The child untrained in its springtime, will bear but little fruit in the autumn of its life. It is no true love to allow its autumn to be blasted, in order to satisfy the whims of its foolish spring. Multitudes of children who might have grown up to be solaces to the heart of their mother and the joy of their father, have been utterly sacrificed at the altar of this sentimental idol. Scripture abounds with examples of this sin against the child. Look at Eli, the kindhearted high priest. Who would dare to question his piety or doubt the genuineness of his love to his children? He loved them, if not too well — yet too foolishly, for "he did not restrain his sons." 1 Samuel 3:13. What was the consequence? The priesthood was forever wrested from his family — his sons met with an untimely death, and the fond parent with broken heart fell down and broke his neck! Behold another sorrowful example in David, the "man after God’s own heart." 1 Kings 11:4. He who in his youthful days could meet a Goliath with unfearing heart — who all his lifetime was a man of war, and ruled a turbulent nation with masterly hand — was yet unable to rule his own family. The indulgent King allowed his children to run as wild as the flowing locks of his favorite son, and the result was as fatal. View him as with staggering steps he ascends that turret staircase, crying out in the bitterness of his heart. "O Absalom, my son, my son Absalom, would to God I had died for you, O Absalom, my son, my son." 2 Samuel 18:33. That anguish of the monarch’s heart may all be traced back to the fact that in foolish indulgence he had sinned against the child. Truer words were never uttered than those of Solomon’s: "A child left to himself brings his mother to shame." Proverbs 29:15 There is a second way in which you may sin against a child, the very reverse of that just mentioned, and it is by harshness. There is no need to say to some parents "do not spoil the child," if you mean by the word "spoil" over-indulgence. Over-indulge a child! Not they, for they never indulge him at all. Spoil him through excessive liberty! No chance of that, for the poor little thing has never learned what liberty means. Its only idea of a parent is that of a walking iceberg — a being who never opens its lips except to assert its authority or maintain its dignity — a being whose sole powers of oratory consist in saying with a harsh grating voice that sets the heart of the little one on edge. "He means to be master in his own house." If such a deluded specimen of parental love is here this morning, I would say to him, "My friend, you may sin just as much against your child by your wicked harshness — as the other by his foolish indulgence. And there is this to be said about his sin which cannot he said of yours: it is a natural one." There are many of childhood’s ways which though troublesome to us, are not sinful in them. The very buoyancy of health and spirits is often the only crime, and it does seem hard to condemn the little one for that. Who among us does not now have rising into view some chubby-faced, rosy-cheeked, laughing-eyed youngster, who always seems to choose the moment of our greatest depression for his most riotous exhibition of fun — the little one who in reckless glee will force his way into our study or private room, turn somersaults over our books, kick our well assorted papers to the four points of the compass, and then turn special pleader, and defend his case, and like an April day, take turns to smile and cry? Why we have all seen some such happy, troublesome little creature — and many of us have him. How are we to treat his wild escapades? Are we to lecture him and frown at him as if he had broken all ten commandments in ten minutes? Yes, if we wish to sin against the child — but not otherwise. God never meant little children to walk demurely about in straight-jackets. You may perhaps succeed in placing on very young shoulders, a very old and a very silly head — but in so doing, you will in all probability give the child a heart disease for life. Let their young spirits alone, so long as there is no actual sin involved. You may break a child’s spirit — but there is one thing you can never do, and that is mend it! You may by over harshness crush the bounding heart; but believe me, the day will come when you would be willing to give anything to restore the elasticity of soul that once annoyed you so. Guide the sparkling foaming torrent if you will, and turn it in a right direction; but if you have any love for your child, do not dam it up. Never mind if their noise does "go through your head;" it will come out the other side. And if it remains there — that is better than to have your frown abide in their heart. A third way of sinning against a child is by bad example. The ancient Romans had a custom which I think in many respects was a good one. They placed the busts of their distinguished ancestors in the vestibules of their houses in the hope that their children, by often gazing at them, might have an ambition fired in their breast to follow the virtues for which they were celebrated. We do not have the marble busts of departed ones in our halls — but we have what is far more potent over children — the characters of the parents are carefully watched and imitated by their children. One remarks that "any fault in a parent, any inconsistency, any disproportion between profession and practice, or precept and practice — falls upon the child’s eye with the force and precision of sunbeams on a photograph!" On what other ground can you account for the awful proficiency in sin which you find in many a little one? Have you never had your heart made to ache as you walked some of our streets and heard "little tots" bring out a curse as big as themselves? Where did they learn it? Is it natural to a child to swear? The answer is, they learn the vile art in their own homes. They are only the tiny echoes of their father’s voice — and he has sinned against the child. We need not only to repent of our own sins — but also of those committed by others through our example. Good Thomas Fuller often used to utter the following quaint but admirable prayer, "Lord, I trust You have pardoned the bad examples I have set before others; be pleased also to pardon me the sins which they have committed by my bad examples. If You have forgiven my own sins, the children of my corrupt nature forgive me, and my grandchildren also. Do not let the transcripts remain, since you have blotted out the original." You profess, dear friend, to be a Christian, and your child knows you are a member of this church. He has seen you partake of the Lord’s supper — and then, when you have gone home, he has in a moment detected the discrepancy between your behavior at church — and your daily life of the home. The angry temper — the selfish spirit — the worldly conversation — all these have been so many sins against the child! Oh, how dreadful the thought, that by our own hypocritical lives we may be sinning against the little darlings we often feel we could die for. God forbid, that at the last great day, any of our children should turn to us with blanched cheek and say, "Father and mother, if I am damned — it is by copying the example you placed before me!" There is a fourth way of sinning against a child, which I do not for a moment suppose is followed by any present. But as this discourse will in all probability reach a far larger congregation than the one assembled here, I will just indicate it. It is by selling a child for gain. Would that my Master might enable me to express in language strong enough, the indignant thoughts that burn within my breast concerning this miserable traffic in children’s souls. Joseph is not the only child that has been sold for a few pieces of silver. In free and freedom loving England, children are as relentlessly knocked down to the highest bidder as ever they were in the slave states of America. Do you ask me what I mean and to what I refer? I answer, to the thoughtless wicked practice of setting the child to any kind of work, and placing him amidst any kind of companionship — so as to have the benefit of the few pence he may earn. Better starve without it — than live by it, for it is nothing less than blood money. Have you never seen the child that is scarcely more than an infant trotted up and down our streets to gather a few pennies by singing some sweet hymn of Heaven? Have you ever marked the sanctimonious face of the parent as every few minutes he pockets the coppers brought him by the little one? A pretty school indeed for a young heart. No wonder if in years to come he makes hypocrisy his trade — he was apprenticed to it. He has been as deliberately sold as ever Joseph was. But there are more polite ways of doing the same thing. It is a crying sin against a child to place him in some hotbed of temptation in order to "get him off our hands." It is a cruel act to allow the little one to dwell from morning to night in an atmosphere that reeks with vice, in order to pocket the paltry pittance earned by its tiny fingers. Do not let the money tempt you; your child’s innocence is worth more than that. Rather go without the crust, than purchase it at the cost of your child’s soul! Our next point is one that will, I do not doubt, include many present. You may sin against the child by neglecting the means of its salvation. Do you PRAY for the conversion of your children with the same intensity of desire as when you ask for their temporal well-being? When last summer your little one was laid low with fever, and you feared that only the icy hand of death would ever cool its burning brow — how you prayed then — why the drops stood on your face like beads through the anguish of your soul. Have you ever prayed like that for its salvation, or do you have to confess before the Lord, that the eternal interests of your children find but a small space in your prayers? O do not sin so against the child — he is worth praying for. What are you DOING to try and bring them to Jesus? Do you ever, with the tear in your eye, tell them of the love of Jesus, or do you think they are too young for that? Have you ever tried to show them their need of a Savior, and pointed them to Him who said, "Let the little children to come to me?" These are solemn questions, for I say to you dear parents in all love and from the very depths of my heart, "If you neglect the means for bringing your little ones to Christ, you are sinning against the child — and his blood will be required of you!" O friends, it is a crying shame, that in our prayer meetings there are to be found men who pray as if they were dying to see the world converted — and yet never pray for their own children! It is a sad, sad fact that there are many who seem wondrously in earnest about the conversion of strangers — who yet let their own children go to Hell without a warning or entreaty! "But," one replies, (and it is a very general answer) "I mean to teach my children when they have attained to years of discretion." That is what a lady once said in self-defense to Rev. Sharpe. "Madam," replied the shrewd prelate. "If you do not teach them — the devil will." The devil begins at dawn of day to sow his tares; do not be behind him in scattering the seed of the kingdom. Try all means, at all times, in all ways, for their conversion, lest by neglect, you sin against the child. There are many other ways of sinning against a child beside those we have already mentioned — but we forbear mentioning them as time warns us. So let us go to the second point. II. There are many REASONS why we should not sin against the child. Do not sin against him, because he is a child. If you must sin against someone, sin against one of your own size and strength; but it is a dastardly thing, and cowardly, to sin against a child. The little thing’s weakness should prove its protection. If white locks call for reverence — then little ringlets also demand respect; and you will generally find that by all great minds it is willingly given. Nearly four hundred years ago there lived in Germany a worthy schoolmaster whose name was John Trebonius; he was rather an eccentric character, and he had, among other eccentricities, the strange custom of always raising his hat when he entered the school room, and teaching the boys bare-headed for, he said, "Who can tell what may yet rise up from amid these youths. There may be among them in the bud, future learned doctors, sage philosophers, indeed, even princes of the empire." Far-seeing teacher he was! And high was the honor that God placed on him; for among the lads there was one named Martin Luther, who in later years was known as "the solitary monk that shook the world." Because you do not know what the child may become, let his very childhood say to you, "do not sin against him." Do not sin against the child, because by so doing so you may blast his whole life. We have but one life here in this present world, and it is a melancholy thing for that to be a blasted one. Who of us that are parents can dare to contemplate the lives of any of our children being useless and withered? As much as we love them, we would rather follow them in their infancy to the open grave. And yet such a thing is possible. By some evil example seen by them in early life, an impression may be made upon their souls, the effects of which will remain to their dying day — and beyond! You may with your foot so alter the course of that tiny little mountain rivulet, that instead of flowing gently down and widening as it goes until it glides through the smiling valley refreshing thirsty man and beast, it leaps from rock to rock, from crag to crag, falling at last with a hideous roar down some black precipice. Oh, the fatal result of turning its course so near the spring. Let us remember beloved that a look, a word, an action may have the same effect on any of the little streamlets beneath our roofs. Let us indeed beware lest in any way we sin against a child. May the Lord bless this discourse to all parents, teachers, and friends of children, for his name’s sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 25: S. ETERNITY! ======================================================================== Eternity! A Sermon to Young Men Archibald G. Brown, March 24th, 1872, The East London Tabernacle "Eternity!" Isaiah 57:15 I have to preach to young men this evening, and here they are in their hundreds. Grand is the opportunity — glorious the privilege — and most solemn the responsibility. Grand the opportunity — for I may never again have so vast a company of young men at one time within sound of my voice. Glorious the privilege — for I have a gospel to proclaim suited to every case, and worthy of the acceptance of all. Solemn the responsibility — for souls are in the balance, eternity is the theme, and the Lord demands faithfulness towards you, with the threat that if it is lacking, he will require the blood of the slain at my hands. It is this thought that has weighed on my spirit with a pressure no words can exaggerate or fully describe. At one moment it has so overawed that, terror-stricken, I have shrunk from the service and almost guiltily wished I had never given my word to preach the sermon; the next moment it has filled me with impatient longings for the time to come. The fire has burned within, and it has roared restlessly to leap forth in words of flame. Woe has been to me if I do not preach! And now the hour has come, and I must address myself to the work. May He "who inhabits eternity" and "whose name is Holy" clothe me with the Spirit as with a garment, make me speak as a dying man to a dying multitude, and compel you to listen as if His own voice was rolling through the place. And what shall I speak to you about? I can imagine that there would be a variety of answers to this question. If I had asked some, the response would have been, "let your subject be some of the great political and social problems of the day! Handle some of the difficult questions that are shaking society to its center, and threatening to revolutionize old and long-revered opinions." If I had asked others, the advice would have been "preach the necessity of manly morality, lash vice of every kind, and extol the beauty and happiness of a virtuous life. Brand with infamy — all licentiousness, immorality, drunkenness, baseness and selfishness — and exhibit the grandeur and loveliness of purity, chasteness, moderation, and generosity. Lift up a high standard of home and mercantile life, and urge all to attain it." Perhaps a third might have suggested as a topic, "the benefit of mental culture and intellectual improvement with a dissertation upon those temptations that particularly assail young men." These might have been, and probably would have been some of the answers, if I had asked the question of man. But higher and more tremendous is my theme, for I asked the question of my God. Yes, I cried to him with tears, "Lord, what shall I preach about to the young men?" The answer that came back thrilled my soul, it was, ETERNITY! Yes, young men, God commands you tonight to listen to eternity — as for eternity! There is something so majestic in the very word, that it needs no apology for being introduced, and it drowns all opposition. Eternity!! Before that word let all minor subjects bow, and but for a season disappear. Eternity! Let its never-ending cycles absorb our every thought and banish things of time! But how shall I speak to you on such a subject? Where shall I begin? It has no commencement. Where shall I leave off? It has no end. How shall I encircle it in language? It has no frontiers. Eternity!! It is a mountain that has neither base nor summit. It is a chain that has no ends! Eternity!! Launched upon this subject, I feel like someone in a tiny skiff without a sail, an oar, a rudder-floating upon an ocean that has no shore, no bottom, no wave, and no tide. Vast though the subject is, its importance is vaster by far. Let the solitary note of this warning-bell arrest intense attention. What is Eternity? Perhaps the best definition or description is given by the mighty puritan, Charnock, in his work on the attributes of God: "Eternity" he says "is a perpetual duration which has neither beginning nor end. Time has both. Those things we say are in time, that have beginning, grow up by degrees, have succession of moments. Eternity is contrary to time, and it is therefore a permanent and immutable state, without any variation. It comprehends in itself all years, all ages, all periods of ages. It never begins! It endures after every duration of time, and never ceases! It as much outruns time, as if it went before its beginning. Time supposes something before it — but there can be nothing before eternity; it would not then be eternity. Time has a continual succession; the former time passes away, and another succeeds it; the last year is not this year, nor is this year the next. We must conceive of eternity contrary to the notion of time. Just as the nature of time consists in the succession of moments, so the nature of eternity is an infinite immutable duration. Eternity and time differ as the sea and rivers differ; the sea never changes place — but the rivers glide along, and are swallowed up in the sea; so time is swallowed up by eternity." A simpler — but perhaps more striking definition was that given by one of the pupils of the Deaf and Dumb institution at Paris who, in answer to the question, "What is eternity?" replied, "The lifetime of the Almighty." This is the gauge and measure of our text, "The One who inhabits eternity." O, stupendous thought, that eternity is vast enough for God to live in! Like Him, it ever was, is, and ever shall be. In trying to define and realize our one word of tonight . . . the mind reels, imagination travels hopelessly with weary wing, all comparisons fall infinitely short, and all illustrations break down upon the threshold. Heap metaphor upon metaphor, and you find yourself still within time, and eternity is untouched. I have said enough on that which must ever remain incomprehensible and ungrasped after all is said. Let us rather seek to bring the power of this boundless word to bear upon hearts and lives. It is a strange but sad fact, that no subject is less thought about and more ignored, than the boundless one of eternity. This is the case not only in the world — but in the church likewise. The powers of the world to come, exercise their full influence over few. To many, eternity is still more the dream than the reality. This may be accounted for by the fact that the things of time surround us — press upon us — trouble us — and force themselves in a thousand ways upon our notice; while the things of eternity, though not less real, have fewer earthly reminders, and more quietly wait for our recognition. It is only great grace that can make the future as real to man as the present. A small thing that is near, appears larger than a great thing at a remote distance. A shilling held close to the eye is sufficient to more than cover the circumference of the sun. But although we may thus account for the existence of the fact — its marvel is in no way diminished. There seem to be ten thousand reasons why (to the saint at least, if to no one else) the life eternal should be uppermost in the thoughts. It was for eternity, not for the little span of time on earth we call life, that the Lord became incarnate, a man of sorrow, grief’s recipient, and at last a sacrifice on the cross. Every incident in that life of suffering, and death of ignominy, is eloquent on the theme of eternity; and it is strange that we can read the story as often as we do — and yet remain earth-bound and time-ensnared. The sighs, tears, and bloody sweat of Gethsemane’s winepress are too solemn to find their explanation in anything this side of the moment when the angel declares that "time shall be no more." The darkened sky, the bloody cross, the broken-hearted victim, the rent veil, and the opening graves, tell of an atonement too grand to have its blessings limited to the few years we spend on earth — and of a punishment due to sin too great to be compressed into anything less than an eternity. The wounds of Jesus cry to the saint with crimson lips, "The life to come! The life to come!" The very end, moreover, of conversion is found in eternity. The day in which our hearts were broken and bound up — the day in which a Savior was revealed and accepted — was a day on which like a pivot, eternity was hung. Then was the mightiest change effected that even God knows. A change that filled Heaven with joy, and struck fresh notes from a myriad golden harps. Then, as far as we were concerned, the bottomless pit was closed and its fires quenched — then Heaven’s gate was flung open before our eyes and our entrance there secured. Surely from that moment even reason seems to say that eternity became the one grand object of our thoughts and aspirations. All we can say is that we marvel it is not more so. Yet one more thought makes the mystery all the greater. All those things which are the peculiar privileges of the saint, and which distinguish him from the rest of mankind — are either in eternity or point to it. There is not much on earth to show the benefit of being a Christian. Poverty, sickness, bereavement, trial — these are as much the heritage of the saint as the lost sinner. Yes, we will go further and say that besides the ordinary sufferings which are common to all, the Christian has extras which are special. The earthly badge of saintship is often reproach — coldness — sarcasm — persecution. With thousands, it has been death. Well might the apostle say, "If only in this life we have hope, we are of all men most miserable." 1 Corinthians 15:9. Christ’s service on earth is far from an attractive hue. He keeps the exaltation and reward of his followers for hereafter; that is, after we are done with being here on earth. Is it much, then, to suppose that the Christian will be a man who, while sojourning here, lives in spirit in his hereafter? Certainly not. A poverty-stricken man who is yet heir to an inheritance could hardly do other than anticipate his future wealth in thought. So much for what should be. Let us now ask ourselves, "What is the actual case? Does eternity rule with imperial sway within our hearts?" We blush at the answer we have to give. O beloved, if it did, would there be the petty selfishness that we so often exhibit? Would there be the unChristianlike craving for position, and hankering after this world’s honor? Would there be the base and despicable motives that so often influence our actions? Would there be the repining and murmuring under small trials that there is? Should we be such creatures of circumstances as we are — elated or depressed with every changing scene in the panorama of life? Surely not! A man under the power of the world to come would be as much above these things as the stars are above earth’s battlefields, and as little influenced by them as an angel in Heaven is influenced by a snowstorm on earth. No, let us be honest with ourselves and frankly confess that we have never yet yielded ourselves to the power of the word, ETERNITY! Not only is this lack apparent in our inward experiences — but it is visible in our dealings with the unsaved. Imagine for a moment, dear Christian friends, that you and I grasped, in some measure, the meaning of the word of eternity; that we never looked at a soul, except in the light of that word. Would our actions not be the very contrast of what they often are? How, in eternity, we shall despise the timidity, and fear of ridicule — which tied our tongues on earth. O young men, if the inspiration of that word but fell on me, I would preach a different sermon to what I am. If I could but see you as so many candidates for Heaven or Hell — then what solemn earnestness would be mine. Surely, these eyes would be blinded with tears, and forgetting all the false decorum of service, I would entreat you, as if pleading for my own life, "to be reconciled to God." O, Eternity, Eternity, preach to the preacher! But would it not be equally so with you? Think, young man, of your grey-haired father who is yet unsaved. Think of him in relation to that word eternity — and your reserve will melt, and with all filial reverence, and with filial love of the highest kind, you will plead with him about the future of his soul. Remember that mother so indulgent and so kind — and yet unconverted. You almost dread to speak faithfully to her lest you wound so gentle a spirit. Is that true kindness? Link with your mother’s name, the word eternity. Think of her, if you can, as a lost soul; and weeping on her neck, your true love will warn her of the wrath to come! Young Christian in the work-shop, yours is no easy task I grant. At the very thought of personally speaking to the godless gang, you see the look of indignant scorn, and the sneer of pity for your being so soft a fool. "Canting hypocrite!" "Brownite!" — these are some of the mildest terms which will greet you, along with others we dare not mention in public. Speak for Christ, and you know you will become the butt of everyone’s ridicule — the lapstone for every man in the place on which to sharpen his sarcastic powers. You dread the ordeal, and so you hesitate to bring such scorn on your head. Friend, I have a word to say to you: it is "Eternity!" Yes, let that thunder through your soul, and you will be a giant in your testimony. The poor ignorant scoffing crew of fellow-workmen do not know what they are doing. They will repent of it on earth if converted, and they will remember it with horror in Hell, if lost. Speak to them, I charge you, by the powers of eternity. What is a temporary shock to your pride, compared to a lost eternity? McCheyne writes in his diary:, "M. G. lies sore upon my conscience. I do no good to that woman. Speak boldly. What do the slight awkwardnesses of time matter in eternity?" But if eternity is too slighted by the saint — then what shall I say about its treatment by the world? By the masses it is a tabooed subject, and polite society refrains from mentioning it. It is as harsh and discordant a note to them as Jonah’s cry must have been to the mirthful revelers who were making merry that night: "Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be destroyed!" Jonah 3:4 It accorded badly with the clatter of their goblets, and it was a jarring note in their songs. Eternity! — Shut the door in its face. It makes a bad match with music and dancers and ball dresses. If we only had time, we could give you a hundred pictures of how the world ostracizes ETERNITY. See the man in his office, intent on making money. When he was a youth, he always said he would die rich, and he makes a fair bid to keep his word. For years he has never allowed feelings to cross his path, and now they seldom trouble him at all. Money, wealth, riches — has been the sordid trinity he worshiped for half a lifetime — and such worship soon makes the soul as cold and hard as the coin he handles. The world calls him a good businessman — a few widows term him "next to a robber," and a score of orphans curse his name. But what does that matter to him? The law was on his side, even if justice was on the other. Go into that office, put your hand on his shoulder, and if you dare, say "Friend, I have come to speak to you about ETERNITY." Slam goes the ledger — the office door is thrown open, and he tells to you take eternity to another market, for he has enough to do to think about time. This is no over-drawn picture. The original is to be found in plenty of houses of business in this great city. Do you see that merry looking young man? He abhors with all his heart, the close-fisted, hard-hearted character I have described. His character is the very reverse. "Gaiety, gaiety!" is his God. "The world was made for enjoyment!" is his creed. Go to him, as he stands laughing under the lights of that music hall. Just whisper in his ear "ETERNITY!" Ah! how he startles, as if an adder had stung hi!. Eternity! Away with it. It makes the music sound dreary, and the lamps seem to burn less brightly. For a moment, under the magic power of that word, the dancers seem to be dancing "the dance of death" on the edge of Hell. "Eternity," he says, "What could have put that nightmare into my head? It is all nonsense;" and he turns on his heel, and drowns the thought in deeper dissipation. But without multiplying the proofs of that, which needs but little proof, I will appeal to the honesty of many present whether I am right. Friend, would you have come here this evening, if you had known ETERNITY was to have been the theme? While I have been speaking, has there not been a struggle going on within you — a desperate effort to escape from the majesty of the word, or to bid it defiance? In your heart of hearts you grant it, and I ask for nothing more to prove that eternity is the most distasteful subject to the natural man. Let us now notice further, that whether it is ignored or not — its importance remains the same. You and I must deal with it, whether we will or not. After all caviling and shirking, the stupendous fact remains the same: there is an eternity, and we have to live it! Oh if banishing it from the thoughts removed it as a fact, there might be some wisdom in the world’s action — but what words can describe the worse-than-Bedlam madness it is to ignore that which only quietly waits to prove itself. I think I see a young man dying who all his life has "left eternity to look after itself," as he used to say. Time with him is ebbing fast. Death stands by the hour-glass with outstretched hand, watching the few last grains of sand as they run away. The last comes, it falls through, and with it goes the soul. Time is over for him; it is a simple thing of the past to be remembered. Eternity silently receives his soul. Hark! Did you hear that cry? "O eternity release me, I never believed in you, never thought of you, banished you from all my reckonings and conversation. Let me go this once and all will be changed!" Then from the vast dismal abyss comes the answer, "You should have thought of this before; now it is too late — you are mine!" O friends, of all fools, he is the greatest who ignores a fact that he must at last acknowledge. Laugh at eternity — but you cannot laugh away its reality. Turn your face from it, and it will only leap upon your back. Say it is an unpleasant subject to think about; it will be more unpleasant to endure. Let this thought be branded on the minds of all: We must meet eternity! In eternity there will be some marvelous revelations. Hidden things will be disclosed there — and secret things made known. This thought has a very bright side to it and may well cheer the weary child of God. You do not know yet, dear friend, what good you may have been the means of doing. The seed you have scattered has apparently all been carried away by the passing birds, and no golden harvest has ever greeted your eye. Wait, and in eternity you will know what you do not know now. There are some bright revelations for you that will double your Heaven. Pastors who died with broken hearts discouraged because they saw no fruit, will find sheaves of golden grain many and great. Those who thought their lives had been barren, will be greeted by their children in the Lord, and astonished cry, "Who has begotten me these? I thought I had been desolate." Teachers will find there were more conversions through their words than they ever dared to imagine. Tract distributors will discover that out of the highways, some have been compelled to come in. Little acts of kindness long forgotten will be found to be remembered. Cups of cold water will receive their reward, and visits to the sick will be acknowledged as visits to Christ. O workers for Jesus, there are some bright surprises for you in eternity! But to the ungodly, how terrifying the thought. Ah, sirs, there shall be some revelations made that will burn like molten brass! What will the smooth-tongued religionist do when the secrets of his true life are disclosed? Where will he hide his head as before the open scoffers, it is proved that he was as vile as they, and only veneered over with a profession of godliness? Eternity will soon rip the veneer off, and "You have become like one of us!" will ring in his ears. What revelations will be in store for the licentious debauchee, as those crowd around him who, although unknown to him on earth, were ruined by his example, and curse him for it in eternity! What will be the feelings of the merry libertine as he meets those who were started on a path of shame and sin through his seduction — and who hiss in his ear that they trace their damnation to the threshold of his house. The theme is too sad to be pursued. All I can say, and God knows I say it from the heart, "May the Lord in his mercy spare all present from such revelations of eternity!" Time presses, so I pass on to the next thought, and I entreat your attention, for it is all-important. The nature of your eternity will be decided at the cross. It is not the number or heinousness of your sins, which will condemn you to Hell. Nor is the strictness of your morality, that which will bring you to Heaven. Eternity will be decided by your relationship to a crucified Jesus. Reject Him, and you are lost — even though your morality is ever so elevated. Receive Him, and you are saved — even though your sins are as heinous as perdition itself! One day as Christ was walking, two men met him from the country of the Gergesenes; they were both possessed with devils. Wild were their looks, fierce were their actions. For years they had been the terror of all who were obliged to pass near the graveyard, among the tombs of which they roamed and shrieked. The moment they beheld our Lord, the devils within them made them shout, "What have we to do with you, Jesus?" Matthew 8:28-29 Ah, poor maniacs, they had more to do with him than they ever imagined. He was their only hope, although they did not know it. The language of the sinner is ever the same. "What have I to do with a crucified Christ?" he boldly asks. I answer, "everything." Eternity depends on your relationship with Christ: Eternal Heaven if you trust him — Hell forever if you die rejecting him. Oh what tremendous importance this gives to the story of the cross. Mark the man as he listens to it; alas, how unmoved he appears! I would to God that he could but see the interest displayed by others who know the solemn issues at stake. Heaven watches him with anxious eye. If but a tear rolled down his cheek — if the publican’s prayer but broke forth from his lips — if his heart but whispered, "Blessed Jesus, I take you as my substitute, my Savior" — all these angelic hosts would be jubilant with song, for they would know that, to that soul, eternity would be bright. Hell watches him also; it prompts pride, unbelief, and scorn. See, he turns on his heel, and he mutters, "What have we to do with you, Jesus?" Ah listen to that shout of fiendish joy, as Hell prepares itself to receive the soul. "Lost! Lost! Lost!" resounds through the pit! Friends, just as it is a solemn fact that your eternity will be decided by your reception or your rejection of Calvary’s atonement — I ask you, which shall it be? I fear tonight will decide the eternity of some. From this evening there will be separations at the cross, and divergent paths. The history of the two dying thieves will be repeated. Some of you, who like them, have been encouraging companions in sin, have like them been brought near to a crucified Christ this evening. There they separated, and there you will be separated. Some of you will, I believe "look and live!" and the trembling scales will be turned to eternal life. Others I fear, like the companion thief, will damn themselves with an "if." "If you are the Son of God." They went as far as the cross together. One was one side of it, the other on the other side. They never came nearer — they never met again — they never will. O young men, if you forget every other word I have spoken, if you make the sermon as a whole the subject of your ridicule and laughter, remember this: you are playing with your eternity, when you trifle with the cross! And now my time is gone and I must leave you; yet I feel reluctant to do so. Eternity still weighs upon my spirit and says, "Have you no more arguments to plead, no more invitations and entreaties? Try once more, and for the sake of my never-ending ages, do not let them go just yet." But what can I say? If Eternity does not arouse you, how can I hope to say anything about it that can arrest you? Yet wait! I have one more arrow left in the quiver — may God guide its flight. What would the lost not give if they had your opportunity? If it is not too bold a flight of imagination, conceive for a moment of one more opportunity of hearing the gospel being granted to the lost in Hell. The bolts of the prison-house are drawn, and swiftly they fly to hear the message. The place is crowded in every part — pews, galleries, aisles, platform — everywhere the strange congregation swirls. What eagerness there is to catch every word, what solemn silence as I speak of the one hope left to them, the one opportunity granted. No listlessness, no inattention there. I need not speak about eternity. They have already begun to know its meaning. The hope of salvation is what, with an anxiety intensified by a knowledge of Hell, they long to hear. But this can never be! The lost have heard the last invitation and warning they ever will. Opportunities of grace are forever over. But young men, remember this: What is forever denied to the damned, is yours tonight. The invitation is yours — the warning is yours — the opportunity is yours. What will you do with it, despise it? Then may God have mercy on you, for sure one drop of gall in the cup of perdition will be the remembrance of this evening’s service. I can say nothing more. O Eternity! Eternity! Eternity! You palace of the saved — you prison-house of the lost. I have spoken about you to this company, now preach to them yourself. Let your voice be heard after mine is silenced. When this congregation disperses and melts away to a thousand different homes, follow every unit that has made the whole, and utter in his ear your own solemn name. When night falls and sleep steels over the eyelids of the sinner, even then speak to him in his dreams. Wake him with a startle, and in the midnight hour, make him hear your solemn voice. Preach to every heart until ticking clock and chiming hour will only seem to say Eternity — Eternity! Toll, toll your solemn bell until each hearer of tonight has fled to Christ and found salvation there. I am done. May God begin. Eternity is never done! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 26: S. GLOATING FOE REBUKED ======================================================================== Gloating Foe Rebuked Archibald G. Brown, October 22nd, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise! Though I sit in darkness, the LORD will be my light!" Micah 7:8 Few if any present are unacquainted with the glorious dream of the Bedfordshire tinker, John Bunyan. With most, the book has not only been read in the past — but is read still with an ever-increasing relish and delight. Its characters are household names, and its scenes as familiar as our own homes. This being the case I shall not be speaking in any unknown tongue when I use one of the incidents of the book as an introduction to this morning’s sermon. You will remember that in the course of his journey, the pilgrim came to a palace named Beautiful, built by the Lord of the hill for the relief and security of all such who had their faces Zionwards. Here he entered and remained for a few days, delighting himself in the wonders and beauties of the place. His sleeping chamber was a large upper room whose window opened towards the rising sun. The name of the room was Peace. Anxious to continue his journey, however, he bids his kind entertainers farewell. They refuse to let him go until he has been to the armory, where they showed him all manner of furnishings which their Lord had provided for pilgrims, such as sword, shield, helmet, breastplate and shoes that would not wear out. There they harnessed him from head to foot with armor. Being thus armored, he walked out of the gate with his friends and commenced going down into the Valley of Humiliation. At the bottom of the hill his companions left him, giving him a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine and a cluster of raisins. His valor and armor were soon to be put to the test, for before he had gone any distance, he espied a foul fiend coming over the field to meet him. His name was Apollyon. Now Christian was in a strait. To go back was impossible. His heart and vows prohibited the idea; besides which he had no armor for his back; therefore to turn would give his foe the greater advantage. To stand and fight was his only hope. Now, says Bunyan, the monster was hideous to behold. He was clothed with scales like a fish (and they are his pride); he had wings like a dragon, feet like a bear, and out of his belly came fire and smoke, and his mouth was like the mouth of a lion. When he came to Christian he challenged him in scornful language, and claimed him as one of his run-away subjects. Christian answered, "I was indeed born in your dominions — but your service was hard, and your wages were such as a man could not live on. I have now sworn myself to another, even to the King of princes. I have given Him my faith, and sworn my allegiance to Him. Traitor to Him, I dare not be. Beware, therefore, what you do, for I am in the King’s highway!" Then Apollyon straddled over the whole breadth of the way, and said "Prepare to die, for I swear by my infernal den that you shall go no further; here I will spill your soul!" With that, he hurled a flaming dart at Christian which would have stopped him forever, had he not caught it on his shield. Thicker came the darts, and in spite of all his carefulness Christian was wounded in his head, his hand, and his foot. This sore combat lasted over half the day; and no man can imagine what a hideous roaring Apollyon made all the time of the fight, and what sighs and groans burst from Christian’s heart. And now Apollyon, watching for his opportunity, gathered up close to Christian. Hurling him to the ground, he gave him a dreadful fall; and with that, Christian’s sword flew out of his hand. "Now I am sure of you!" said Apollyon; and with that, he almost pressed him to death, so that Christian began to despair of life. But as God would have it — O mark those words, dear friends, for they are full of sweetest doctrine — while the enemy was fetching his last blow to make an end of this good man, Christian nimbly stretching out his hand caught his sword again, and exclaimed, "Do not gloat against me, O my enemy; when I fall I shall arise!" And with that, he gave Apollyon a deadly thrust which made him get back. Christian perceiving this, made at him again, shouting, "In all these things we are more than conquerors!" Then Apollyon spreading his dragon wings sped away, and Christian saw him no more. John Bunyan was perfectly warranted in putting the words of our text in the mouth of Christian during his combat with the devil; for although perhaps they mean literally the Chaldeans or Edomites gloating at the destruction of Jerusalem — yet spiritually they are true of all the foes that the church has to encounter on earth, notably among them, "the great adversary." It is with this interpretation that we purpose meditating on them this morning. There are two things in the text which will serve us for divisions: First, the gloating foe. Secondly, the gloating foe rebuked. I. The gloating foe. At the moment of conversion, the soul enters into a conflict which continues until his dying day. The bugle that calls him to peace with God — also calls him to a battle, the sternness of which only those who are engaged in it can understand. Every part of the heavenly armor is found necessary, and every weapon of the divine armory is required. The combat, unlike Christian’s, lasts not over a half a day — but over the whole life. To hoary hairs, and to the dying room — the fierce struggle is continued. The verse with which so many trembling penitents first come to Christ, remains the truthful exponent of their experience ever after: Just as I am — though tossed about With many a conflict, many a doubt, Fightings within, and fears without. O Lamb of God, I come." Over and above the conflicts arising from his own evil heart and the temptations of a godless world — the saint has in Satan a sworn foe. The hatred of Satan toward the saint arises from Satan’s hatred toward the Savior. Vain was the attempt to undermine the eternal throne and overthrow omnipotence. With all his compeers, Satan was hurled with the speed of lightning flash from Heaven’s bliss to Hell’s horror. Raging, he seeks revenge. Where shall he find it? The author of his overthrow is far beyond his reach. Enthroned upon the heights of Heaven, the eternal Son is far above his power. No flaming dart of Hell can cross the immeasurable space that lies between. No power beneath can shake the immoveable throne above. But one door is open for revenge — it is to wreak his wrath upon Jehovah’s handiwork. It is, being damned himself, to drag a multitude with him to the woe, and harass those on earth whom he has no power to destroy in Hell. For a season God has in His inscrutable wisdom lengthened the chain that binds this foe. He is still the prince of this world, and knowing that "his time is short," he rages with a fury increasing as his doom comes nearer! Let me beseech you, child of God, to remember that in Satan you have a personal, living foe. I know that in this so-called philosophic and advanced age, even the very devil is called into question with everything else. According to some, the existence of such a spirit is laughed at as one of the exploded ideas of less scientific and educated periods. It is too unfashionable and repulsive a doctrine to suit the latent atheism of the elite of modern theologians. The being of the devil is diluted into mere unembodied evil. Choosing, however, to accept the positive declarations of scripture before the day-dreams of modern teachers — we believe in the language of Arthur Butler, that "It is a living spirit with whom we have to contend, just as it is a living God whom we have to aid us. It is no abstract law or ideal conception of evil, as some have dared to theorize — but a being who is personal and conscious, and as distinctively active as ourselves, though with faculties immeasurably beyond us; a being who is profound in purpose, subtle in arrangement, bold in enterprise, undaunted in execution; a being who knows us far better than we know ourselves, and who hates us more intensely than even his worst inspirations have instigated us to hate one another." In order to form some idea of the foe we have to fight, let us look at a few of the names given him by the Holy Spirit in scripture. These best reveal his character. Out of many names we will select but a few. 1. Kindly turn with me to the book of Revelation, the ninth chapter, and eleventh verse. There you read "and they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon — but in the Greek tongue has his name Apollyon," that is to say Destroyer. How faithfully the word describes what he has ever been. We have but to turn to earth, or man, or soul, or any home — to see the hoof-prints of the destroyer. Destruction dogs his steps. EDEN was fair beyond description before his accursed foot trod its virgin soil. But under the baneful influence of the sin he brought, thorns and briars sprang up in tangled thickets; and to this day "the whole creation groans." Before the destroyer came, the leopard used to lie down with the lamb, and the lion with the ox. It was the lion of the pit that breathed into brute creation the lust for blood, and made the strong oppress and tear the weak. His mark is also seen on man. Perfect was the BODY, pure and clear the mind of man, as he came from his Maker’s hand — God’s masterpiece! But how changed he was by the destroyer’s power. Sickness, pain, agony and the seeds of death — these are the things that shatter the beauty of the soul’s temple. And the MIND, once pure as crystal or mountain lake, is now defiled, and often totters to its fall. A myriad homes this morning are filled with wrath, and bitterness, and strife — a mockery of the very name of home — declare in heartbreaking accents that the devil is a destroyer. More dreadful still is the destruction of the SOUL, alienated from its God. 2. Another name given him in scripture is Satan or Accuser. In the twelfth chapter of Revelation, and the tenth verse, you read "Now has come salvation and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of His Christ; for the accuser of our brethren is cast down, who accused them before our God day and night." In this title, the Holy Spirit gives us another side of our adversary’s character. He commenced his attack on our first parents by accusing God before them, and representing Him as one harsh and unnecessarily severe in His threatenings of wrath against their disobedience. Having led man into sin, he then turns round and becomes his accuser before God! He is a double-dyed accuser; equally accusing God to man — and man to God. It was he who, mingling with the sons of God, laughed to scorn the integrity of Job in those bitter words, "Does Job fear God for nothing? Put forth your hand now and touch all that he has, and he will curse You to your face." It was he who stood accusing Joshua, the high priest, and to whom the Lord said "The Lord rebuke you, O Satan; even the Lord that has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you: is this not a brand plucked out of the fire?" But perhaps the intensity of his hatred is most seen in the fact that he accused man of the very sins he has dragged him into. This is only vile enough for the devil. Having led the miserable wretch from vice to vice, and allured him on to every sin — he then holds those very sins before his eyes, and seeks with them to lash him into deepest and darkest despair. 3. He has yet one other name, and that is a name given to him by our Lord. The most dreadful name of all — Murderer. You will find it in the gospel of St. John, John 8:44. "You are of your father, the devil, and the lusts of your father you will do. He was a murderer from the beginning." Murderer! The very word seems to have a red glow of blood about it. It was he who goaded guilty Cain on to the crime. He it was who reveled in that horrid sight of brother slain by brother. From that time down unto the present, scenes of murder and of bloodshed have turned this world into a slaughter-house! "Where did wars come from"? "From your lusts," is the answer. "Where did these lusts come from?" "The devil!" is the answer. Yes, all the wars that have desolated countries, made wives into widows and children into orphans — have come from him who was a murderer from the beginning. Of all Hellish sights, a battlefield has the most of Hell. There, above all other places, the Murderer gloats in triumph. A field reeking with gore, and covered thick with maimed and ghastly corpses, while a stench like that of Hell ascends to Heaven — is the devil’s masterpiece on earth! Now this foe, who is at once destroyer, accuser, and murderer — is the one who "goes about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour." Not satisfied with the world that still lies in his arms, he lusts after the sheep of Christ’s fold. His infernal appetite is ever craving fresh victims. Unable to do all he would against the saint — he still seeks to do all he can. As nothing is too huge for his wrath — so nothing is too small for his spite. If he cannot damn — he will fill with doubts and despair. If he cannot destroy — he will seek to worry. If not keep out of Heaven — he will make the road as difficult as possible. If he dare not bite — he will never cease to bark. So bold is he who even when the lion of Judah was with His chosen ones, he dared approach and seek a prize. Blessed be our Keeper who never slumbers. He saw the foe and gave the warning, "Simon, Satan has desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat; but I have prayed for you that your faith not fail." Dogging the steps of every saint is this implacable foe, seeking to blast his character, destroy his peace, and gag the mouth of his testimony. Let us not despise him, for alas, he often succeeds in hurling the Christian to the ground. Sometimes unawares — in an unexpected moment, when the path seems the clearest from all ambushes, and the Christian is walking in unwatchful security — then the foe springs upon his back, and before he has time to turn, or cry, or fight, or fly — he finds himself on the ground. From the most unsuspected quarter, and at the most unlikely time — the temptation has come! Like a storm that breaks without a moment’s warning, it has taken him all unawares, and for years he may repent the fall of a moment. "Let him that thinks he stands take heed lest he fall," for the serpent of Hell sounds no rattle before he crushes his victims within his coils! Not only does he come unawares — but he always assaults our weakest part. No Christian is equally strong in every part; all have some besetting sin that requires but little temptation to call it forth. No one knows this better than the devil. He has studied our character as we have never studied it ourselves. Every flaw in our armor is seen by his keen eye, and on that weakest part he brings all his power to bear. Be certain of this, Christian, that whatever temptation you are most likely to succumb under — is the very one he will employ in its most attractive form. Then when he has succeeded in making the Christian bite the dust, his gloating is great. Satan knows full well that the fall of one professor does more harm to the cause of Christ, than all the opposition of its open foes. The wound received by Christ in the house of his friends is the worst wound of all. The enemy is most jubilant if the fallen one should be a minister of the Lord. Here is a triumph indeed. The standard bearer is down, and dismay fills the ranks of the host. It is a fall that attracts more attention and does more injury than the fall of a dozen less known men. "Howl, fir tree — for the cedar has fallen." Zechariah 11:2. Mourn, church of God, for Hell is making merry over your prostrate warrior. Assuredly, those who stand in the high places of the field need the prayers of all, for the attacks of the devil will be in proportion to the influence of their fall. But known or unknown, noted or unnoticed — a Christian in the dust is ever a gleeful sight to the adversary. As it is with the "prince of the world," so it is with his followers. A disgraced professor is one of the world’s greatest luxuries. Let but a Christian be discovered in some inconsistency, and at once it is the "news of the day." With what laughter and malicious glee it is bandied about. How it is knocked around from mouth to ear like a shuttle-cock. What a fine joke it makes at the club or evening party. How it is used to barb every shaft of sarcasm, and spice the conversation that would otherwise be dull. "Aha, Aha, so would we have it!" they cry, "Another professor gone to the dogs — another of your Christians has turned out a counterfeit!" Perhaps the sins of the brother were not one tenth as bad as the sins of his merciless critics. Never mind — he was a professor, and that is quite enough; and if the sin was not very great at the commencement, it is sure to grow to the required dimensions as it flies from eager teller to willing listener. A more piteous sight can hardly be imagined than a godless world gloating with Satanic satisfaction over a Christian’s sin. So much then for our first point, on which we have dwelt longer than we intended. Let us now turn to a more pleasing theme. II. The gloating foe rebuked. We have nothing to do with those professors who turn the grace of God into a license for sin — except wash our hands of them, and confess they are "spots" in our feast. We also condemn those who, if not denying the fact of their fall — yet seek to palliate and excuse it by a thousand different reasons, all equally false and dishonorable. No! The true Christian acknowledges the fall as fully as the world charges him with it. As to making any excuse, he could not if he tried. He knows that his fall is a triumph for Satan. He confesses with tears that it is a dishonor to Christ. His mourning is as great, yes greater than the foe’s gloating. O, believe me when I say there is no need to deal very harshly with a backsliding saint. He says harder things about himself than you can possibly utter. He flogs himself with a worse scourge than your hands can grasp. Be hard on him? There is no need; he is harder on himself. God only knows the anguish of the heart that mourns a fall into sin. A red-hot ploughshare is driving its furrows across his soul; and if you could see him in private, as with wringing hands and scalding tears he confesses over and over again his guilt, you would learn the truth of the text, "The backslider in heart shall be filled with his own ways!" Proverbs 14:14. Backsliding brings its own punishment, and becomes its own tormentor. "Brethren, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently. But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted. Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." Galatians 6:1-2. From where, then, does the fallen Christian obtain his comfort, if it is not in ignoring the past? The text gives the answer to the question. He rejoices in the thought of restoration. The future is his reservoir of gladness. "I am down," he says, "and I mourn the fact; but O, enemy of my Lord and myself, I shall arise. You have cast me to the ground, I know — but it is beyond your power to keep me there. Your hold shall be released. My hand shall again wield the sword, and your dragon wings shall yet flap in flight. My present darkness will give way to dawn, for ’the Lord shall be a light to me.’ I shall arise a wiser man. I have learned more of your subtleness, enemy, and more of my own weakness — I have learned more of the value of the joy of God’s salvation, and more of the bitterness of sin — than I ever knew before! I have learned the necessity of prayerfulness as I would never have learned it in any school but yours. Once through this furnace — and my gold shall glitter, purged from its previous dross. I shall arise a more watchful man. I shall look for your approach as I have never looked before. I shall be ’all eyes’ for you, and no longer walk in the fool’s paradise of careless security. O, enemy, I shall arise and have you at an advantage, no longer being ignorant of your subtle devices. I shall arise a humbler man. No longer resting on my own unaided strength, I shall fight you under the wing of Jehovah. The plume of my pride being cut, I will see better for its loss!" These are the thoughts that make the prostrate warrior pluck up fresh heart and hurl a new defiance at his foe. It is indeed, beloved, a glorious thought that though God’s children may and do fall — yet they shall be restored. That verse is ever true, "I give My sheep eternal life, and they shall never perish; nor shall any pluck them out of my hand!" John 10:28. "But" I can imagine someone saying, "what is to be said of those professors who, turning back to the world, die in that state, without any sign of restoration?" My answer is, their end proves the falseness of their profession. They have gone back to their wallowing in the mire, having never had within them the new nature born of the Holy Spirit. God’s true saints shall be raised up from the ground, however hard their fall. Moses fell when in anger he said, "You rebels. Shall we fetch water for you?" He had his punishment in never entering into the promised land. He had his restoration also. Though dying for his sin on Nebo’s height, God buries his favorite servant with His own hand. David fell when Satan hurled him to the ground as he walked upon his palace roof. Never was there a greater fall. But with broken bones the psalmist pens that fifty-first psalm — the prayer of a penitent backslider in all ages since — and the Lord sent to him and said, "I have put away your sin." 2 Samuel 12:13. He dies "the man after God’s own heart." Acts 13:22 Peter fell when he denied his Lord with oaths and curses; but Peter arose by grace and became the boldest of the bold in future testimony. Cranmer fell when he signed the article of recantation; but he arose when in the flames he held his right hand motionless until the sinews cracked, exclaiming so long as his voice would allow him, "This unworthy right hand!" Are there not many here this morning who can look back upon a time of darkness with deepest grief — and yet amidst their grief rejoice, because though fallen, they have by grace arisen, and once again rejoice in pardoning love. Next to the salvation of the lost sinner, the recovery of the saint brings glory to our Lord. Lift up then the hands that hang down. Bid unbelief and black despair depart. Though like Bunyan’s pilgrim, you lie bruised and panting with your fall — yet like him stretch forth your hand, grasp the sword, fly at the foe once more, and shout, "Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise! Though I sit in darkness, the LORD will be my light!" May God bless the word for Christ’s sake, Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 27: S. GOD THINKS UPON ME ======================================================================== God Thinks Upon Me Archibald Brown, September 13, 1908, Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington, London "I am poor and needy; yet the Lord thinks upon me!" Psalms 40:17 I am not going to dwell at all upon the grace of the text — but upon its mystery. ’I am poor and needy.’ Well, we all know that, and I trust we feel it; but the sentence that riveted me, and I pray God it may rivet you, is this, ’Yet the Lord thinks upon me.’ Then God thinks!! Have you ever allowed this, not only to simmer in your mind — but to go right down into your soul as a fact? God thinks!!! Then God is a thoughtful Being. Surely here is an argument for the personality of our God. To think is an attribute of personality. A mere influence, a subtle force, that which is only part and parcel of created matter, cannot think. It may be moved by laws it has no power whatever to resist; but to think — here we have Jehovah brought before us as a Being, as a person, and as One who thinks. The most astonishing thing you ever do is to think, and when you think, you do that which you cannot explain, and which cannot be explained by anyone else. What is thought? All scientists are agreed on this, that thought can never be the product of matter. It is not my brain that thinks — though I may think through my brain — but, as one scientist well says, it is a wrong statement altogether to say that thoughts lie in the brain: thoughts no more lie in the brain than Mendelssohn’s oratorio lies in the organ or in the piano. By no cerebral convolution, no movement that is muscular, can any thought be generated. Then what is thought? Echo answers — What? We know this, that God himself is the origin of all thought; and when you have said, ’God thinks’, you have said one of the most wonderful things concerning God himself that the lip can utter, except when you have to add, as the Psalmist does, ’He thinks upon me.’ Now before we go right into our subject, I can imagine some here saying, ’Oh, I wish, Mr Brown, you would give us something more practical. We want "things", never mind about thoughts, let us have realities.’ And are things more real than thoughts? ’Things’ are not the original entity: thoughts are. Thoughts do not come from things — but all things come from thoughts. There never yet was anything that you can see with your eye that was not first seen in some mind; all ’things’ are only materialized thoughts. You point me, maybe, to a Cologne Cathedral, a masterpiece of architecture — the only building that has ever made tears come to our eyes — and you say, ’What a perfect conception! What a magnificent building!’ True — but before ever Cologne Cathedral stood in that square it was in the mind of the architect. It is only a magnificent thought that has become materialized in stone and marble. It was a conception before it was a building. The picture you gaze on was in the artist’s mind before any color was put upon the canvas; the picture is only the materialized thought of the artist. And music — which appeals to some of us even more than the painting — take such an oratorio as I have just mentioned, in our judgment unrivaled, that masterpiece of Mendelssohn — all those matchless airs, those melodies, those dramatic clashes and pauses, were in his mind before ever there was a minim or a quaver put upon paper. And so, lying at the back of everything is a think. There is only the difference of one letter — substitute k for g and you come nearer the truth than perhaps you imagine. The thing is, after all, only the think; all things are the product of thought. Now, here in our text we have Jehovah spoken of as thinking, and the text, as it gripped me, made me take this form of study: What Does the Scripture Say about God’s Thoughts? Perhaps some say, ’Is not this rather a dry subject?’ I hope it will not prove to be so; but if you come to worship on a Sunday morning, I take it you do not come for a little anecdote, or something that may create a smile: we meet for the study of the word, and a profounder subject than this morning’s could hardly be discovered. But I think you will see, the moment we turn to a few passages, that in the light of Scripture we have a most marvelous vision of a thinking God. What does Scripture say concerning God’s thoughts? Let us look at the fifth verse of this Fortieth Psalm, ’Many, O Lord my God, are your wonderful works which you have done and your thoughts which are to us.’ God’s works and God’s thoughts march together. He has done wonderful works — Why? — because he has had wonderful thoughts; and the wonder of the thought is this, they are thoughts ’to us’. When we think of God upon the throne, the center of the universe, controlling and governing all, oh the profound mystery and wonder of it — that there are thoughts from that throne to us. I can understand them going out toward archangel or seraphim; but the psalmist says, ’You have done wonderful works’ — Why? — ’because you have had wonderful thoughts and thoughts about us.’ All God’s works are God’s thoughts carried out, and his thoughts have been and are to us. God’s thoughts imply a purpose, for in the fourteenth chapter of Isaiah, at the twenty-fourth verse, you read, ’The Lord Almighty has sworn saying, surely as I have thought, so shall it come to pass; and as I have purposed, so shall it stand.’ There is a divine purpose in all God does, and we are not living in a world where haphazard reigns, we are not living in a world where there is a thoughtless, careless Power above. All God’s thoughts are his purposes, and before God does anything — I say it with reverence — he thinks it out. Oh the thought there was before there was creation: he weighed the mountains in scales, and the hills in the balance, and he so balanced star against star, and world against world, that all the different pullings of gravitation act and react so that everything keeps its place. From the suns in the firmament to the daisies in the field — you can see God’s thoughts. And are not his thoughts seen in the realm of PROVIDENCE? I do not think there are many here who have been more troubled with skeptical thoughts than the preacher, especially in relation to God’s providential dealings. It is so difficult when you see the deck swept of all you love, and it looks as if providence were playing havoc with all your plans — still to realize that everything is being calmly, thoughtfully and lovingly arranged with a view to ultimate good; but the thought that arranged the position of the mountains, the thought that located the worlds in space, that same thought is arranging all things in God’s providential realm. Stepping into the brighter and more blessed realm of REDEMPTION, I find it is all thought out there: as we read in the Epistle to the Ephesians, it is ’that, by the church might be known’ — What? — ’the manifold wisdom of God’. Angels and archangels look down and intently study a redeemed church, because there they see the highest and deepest and brightest manifestation of God’s thought. So much for the first reference. Now if you will turn to the Ninety-second psalm, fifth verse, you will find another Scripture ray of light thrown upon a thinking God. ’O Lord, how great are your works! and your thoughts are very deep.’ God’s thoughts are very deep. Again, do you see how the Holy Spirit has linked the works with the thoughts. Your works are very great — Why? — because your thoughts are very deep; and there must be harmony between the work and the thought, because every true work is an incarnated thought. But oh, Jehovah’s thoughts are very deep! Try and conceive, if you can, of the difference which may be found in the mental powers of men on earth. I was thinking after this style: In yonder house, up in the nursery, is a little child playing. God bless him! I am so glad he has never had any big thoughts yet in that little head, and hope that many years will pass before that little forehead aches through big thoughts that surge. The toy occupies it now. But come into this outer room, that is built from the house, in order that there may be quiet, and here we find the father; he is an astronomer, and I will tell you what he is doing. He has noticed, as he has watched the heavens, that there is a deviation in the course of a planet, and he has argued that the deviation in the course of that planet proves there is another world, which he has never yet discovered, pulling at it, and he is working out a profound mathematical problem; he is going to prove the demonstration of a world he cannot see, by the deviation of a world he can see. Is there any comparison between the thoughts of the father and those of the little one up there in the nursery? If that child were to speak it would say, ’Oh, father’s thoughts are so deep!’ Yes, too deep for your little head, darling. But remember that Jehovah is the origin of all mind, and the difference between the child’s thoughts and the astronomer’s is nothing compared with the difference that must ever lie between the profoundest thought of a created being, and the thought of him who created the mental power. God thinks; and when God thinks I expect him to think something that I cannot always understand. I could not believe that he were God if he did not! A God who never overwhelms my intellect, is a God that shall never have the reverence of my heart. I expect that when God thinks I shall have to stand amazed and say, ’I have no fathoming line for this.’ Your thoughts are deep. Now side by side with the passages I have just given you, remember a verse in the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah, and how beautifully does it come in: ’For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.’ Oh, it would be almost laughable, were it not so unutterably sad, when you see men in the pride of their so-called reason criticizing Jehovah, trying to measure up Infinity. Jehovah’s thoughts must be deep. What is the third passage which throws another fresh and beautiful light upon our subject? Jeremiah 29:11 : ’I know the thoughts that I think towards you, says the Lord.’ One could very easily get out of one’s depth here, because there is not only thinking — there is knowing that I am thinking; here is God not only having a thought — but he knows he has the thought. ’I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.’ The latter clause should be rendered, ’to give you hope’. What is the previous verse? ’Thus says the Lord, 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.’ ’I am going to bring you out of your captivity, says the Lord.’ — Why? — ’for I know the thoughts that I think toward you — they are thoughts of peace to give you hope.’ I know not — but if there should be some dear child of God here unutterably depressed, almost in despair, Brother, let me throw this passage to you as a life-belt; put it round you, and rest on it. ’I know the thoughts that I think concerning you.’ You were saying, ’but Lord, I cannot understand them.’ ’No’, says the Lord, ’very likely not — but I know the thoughts.’ You are in your captivity, you are in your Babylon, and you see no deliverance, and you say, ’How can I ever be brought out of this trouble?’ The Lord says, ’You shall, for I know the thoughts that I have concerning you — not thoughts of evil — but thoughts of peace to give you hope at the end.’ It may not be apparent — but God’s thoughts do not stop half-way, like ours. My thoughts generally stop before they have gone a few yards into the future; but Jehovah’s thoughts travel to the very end; and his thought to us-ward is this, at the end to give us hope. It is alright, Brother, it is alright; at the end you will praise God. Give God time. His thoughts will justify his love. For a moment, on the fourth passage. It is in Psalms 139:1-24, the paraphrase of which we sang just now. Psalms 139:17 : ’How precious also are your thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them.’ Before you close your Bibles, read the second verse of this Psalm: ’You know my down sitting and my uprising, you understand my thought afar off.’ In this Psalm you have my thought, and then you have his thought — but the psalmist does not say, ’How precious unto me are my thoughts’: it is, ’How precious are your thoughts unto me.’ The reason why we are not happier Christians is this, we so brood over and contemplate our own thoughts, and we shall never get any good out of them. The true attitude is for my thought, like a bee, to find out the flower of God’s thought, and then dive down into the flower and get the honey there. Oh, poor self-introspective man, you who are always looking in your own heart, thinking about your own thoughts and analyzing them. Yet the object for meditation and contemplation, according to Scripture, is this, Jehovah’s thoughts. ’How precious are your thoughts unto me. My thoughts nestle down in your thought. I will think about what you have thought of me. I will take your thoughts as expressed in the Scripture, and my thoughts shall cluster round them.’ The last passage is the one we have selected for our text, this last verse of the Fortieth Psalm. ’I am poor and needy — yet the Lord thinks upon me.’ Thinks upon me — How? I believe that Jesus is in this Psalm, not only in the few verses we pointed out in the reading — but very constantly; and this utterance may fall, and I believe does fall, as much from the lip of the Lord Jesus as from David. Jesus could say, ’I am poor.’ Yes, he was, ’The foxes have holes, and the birds their nests — but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.’ ’I am poor and needy — yet my Father thinks upon me.’ If you read the whole of our dear Lord’s life, you will see that it was a life of absolute trust in the loving thought of his Father. But let David be the speaker — and without a doubt his own feelings are intermingled — he is speaking of himself not simply by prophecy but by experience, and he finds there are a good many round about who give him trouble. There are some saying, ’Aha! Aha!’ Have you ever had people say that to you? There is the scoffer laughing, maybe, at your simple confidence in God, and he boldly says, ’Aha! Aha!’ Poor David says, ’Let such as love your salvation say continually, The Lord be magnified.’ But listen how they deride and say, ’Aha, Aha.’ And then this thought comes to him, ’I am poor and needy, and there are some who despise me — but the Lord thinks upon me; I have got a place in his thoughts, and he is thinking of my deliverance and my emancipation, so I will send up this prayer: "Make no tarrying, O my God." Do what you are thinking about; you have a thought for me, let it become the "thing"; you are thinking of my sorrow, deliver me from it.’ Perhaps some will say, ’But, preacher, have you dealt fairly with us? All the passages you have given are out of the Old Testament; are not we New Testament saints? Give us something from the New Testament about God thinking.’ The beauty is that you do not find the expression there. I will tell you why. In the New Testament we have God’s thoughts incarnated in the person of the Lord Jesus. I am so glad that when I pass from the Old Testament, which tells me so much about God’s thoughts, and come into the New Testament, I do not find this word ’thought’. I find another word — ’In the beginning was the Word.’ What is a word? A word is the incarnation of a thought. I know the thoughts that I have. Yes — but how is anyone else to know them? The thoughts that course through my brain at this moment must be concealed from you until they are expressed in language; then the word becomes the thought manifested. Jesus is the thought of God. I do not need a passage to tell me about God’s thoughts. Here are God’s thoughts, for listen: ’God, who at sundry times and in divers manners spoke in time past unto the fathers by the prophets, has in these last days spoken unto us by his Son’, or, as it should be rendered, ’in his Son’. Look at Jesus, and there you have God’s thoughts. I know God’s thoughts about sin, I know his thoughts concerning the sinner, his thoughts of mercy, his thoughts of salvation: they are all gathered up in Christ Jesus; he is God’s thought, and the thought which is to us. God’s eternal thought came to us, and then the manifestation of that thought was Jesus Christ coming to us. ’Lo I come, because the Father’s thought has come. I delight to do your will, O my God.’ Is there some poor lonely one here who says, ’I do not think anybody in London thinks of me. I should be so glad if I could only be sure there is some friend thinking about me.’ Perhaps you feel as Alexander Selkirk makes that one in the desert island, the true Robinson Crusoe, to feel. Do you remember the passage? — My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? Oh, tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. Does your heart sigh, ’Is there anyone who sends a wish or a thought after me?’ You need not say it any more; alter Alexander Selkirk’s little verse, and write it thus: My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? Oh tell me I yet have the Friend, And the Friend I am ever to see! "The Lord thinks on me!" ======================================================================== CHAPTER 28: S. GOD'S POOL AND MAN'S PORCHES ======================================================================== God’s Pool and Man’s Porches Archibald G. Brown, August 18th, 1872, East London Tabernacle "Inside the city of Jerusalem, near the Sheep Gate, was the pool of Bethesda, with five covered porches. Within these lay a large number of the sick — blind, lame, and paralyzed — waiting for the moving of the water, because an angel would go down into the pool from time to time and stir up the water. Then the first one who got in after the water was stirred up recovered from whatever ailment he had. One of the men lying there had been sick for thirty-eight years." John 5:1-47 I am sure you will readily believe me when I say that my presence here this evening is the result of a strong, and I might also add, painful effort. There have been many things during the past few days calculated to make me shrink from the work of preaching tonight. When the heart receives a heavy blow, there is a natural tendency to shun the public gaze, and a strong desire to court quietude. In addition to this heart-reason, there has also been a mental difficulty, for I have found it no easy matter to gather my thoughts together in any small measure, or center them for any length of time on any one topic. No matter what text I selected, the moment I sought to concentrate my mind on it, I found my thoughts flying off at a tangent, into a home that is darkened, to a mother who is widowed, and to a family that has been bereaved of its father. To break the fetters and get free to think of anything save the anxious watchings and heavier bereavement of the past week has taxed all my powers. Besides which (it may be a sign of weakness — but I confess it) there has been a thought something like this crossing my mind: There certainly will be found some to say, "If Mr. Brown felt the death of his father very much, he would not be able to preach." And we all know that there is such an inclination to give way to that tyrant called "the proper thing," and to sacrifice our conscience to its claims, that there was even on this account a strong temptation to leave to other lips the joy of pleading for the sick — lest for a moment, my love to my departed father would be called into question, and my filial affection doubted. But that which has decided me at all hazards to attempt the work, is the special object calling us together this evening. I thought I heard a voice saying "Don’t be selfish in your sorrow, and God forbid because you have been bereaved, that the sick, and the sorrowing, and the poor should lose your advocacy." And I am sure that if those lips which have so often spoken in this place — if those lips now sealed in death, were but able to speak — they would be the first to cry, "Do not let the hospital suffer because of my departure — but rather let the fact of my having been cut down, serve as an extra argument when you plead on behalf of those who are following me through the valley of the shadow of death, not merely having the pain of sickness — but the additional sorrow of poverty and privation." Under these circumstances I throw myself upon your generous sympathy; and if my thoughts seem to run every one away from his fellow rather than together, and if there is a lack of consecutiveness and order in the sermon — please excuse it, and believe that the difficulty has not been to preach well — but to preach at all. This verse you will see states that by the Sheep Gate of Jerusalem, there was a pool called Bethesda, signifying "the house of mercy," and that at certain seasons of the year, an angel came down and stirred the waters. Whoever then first stepped in after the stirring of the water, was made whole — no matter what the disease might be under which he was suffering, or how long the period he had been so afflicted. This evening we are not going to enter into the vexed question about the angel stirring the water — whether it was mythical or whether it was real — whether it merely symbolizes the medicinal and healing powers of the water, or whether an angel actually came down that could be seen by the sufferers surrounding the pool. I need hardly say that for myself I prefer the latter interpretation. John states it was an angel, and I see no reason why we should accept anybody’s supposition as preferable to his direct statement. If the angel merely represents medicinal power, I do not see how that clears away the difficulty, as it was only the first one who stepped in that was made whole. To believe in a momentary medicinal virtue capable of healing any and every sickness — to our mind, requires greater faith than to believe it was purely miraculous. We hold therefore that at certain times a direct power came from Heaven, making that porch-surrounded pool a veritable "house of mercy." All the healing work of the pool was God’s work, and His alone; but in our text we have man’s work side by side with God’s work. There were five porches. In all probability, these porches were built by some charitable people in the city of Jerusalem who had argued something like this, "We have no power to heal the sick — but we can at all events build a shelter for them when they come seeking a cure. It is not in us to move the water into an all-healing pool — but we can build a place so near the water, that when the sufferers come after many a weary mile, they will be able to rest there, secured from the sun, and sheltered from the tempest, and wait in comfort until the angel of mercy stirs it with his wing." Thus I think you will see we have in our text the union of God’s work and human agency. God digs the pool — and man builds the porches. Our subject then tonight is God’s pool and man’s porches — or the union of Divine mercy and human charity. First of all we will look at Bethesda as an illustration of God’s work and man’s agency in the healing of sick souls. It is a high honor, beloved, to be a co-worker with God, no matter in how humble a capacity. To have anything at all to do with Jehovah’s work, is an honor compared with which all the honors of this world are paltry and worthless. No star or medal the world ever put upon the breast of any man is so high an honor as that which he has who in some humble way works hand in hand with God. The Creator, and the creature, the Father, and the adopted child, the Redeemer, and the redeemed, both engaged together in some work — the result of which is the triumph of mercy and compassion; this is a peerless dignity indeed, an incomparable honor. But lest, dear friends, you and I should get too exalted in mind at the idea of being fellow-laborers with God, let us call to mind a truth well-calculated to keep pride at a distance, or to put it in the dust if present. God can do without us. The pool could do without the porches, and do as well without them. It had none of its healing qualities from them. No poor sufferer was ever eased of his pain because of the influence of the porches on the pool. It was the pool alone that did the work and had all the glory of the cure. If some ruthless hand had laid all the porches low, and left nothing but ruins in their place, the pool would have been as powerful to heal as if they had never existed. So let us remember, in order to be kept free from any pride of soul that God may use us — that if we were dead tomorrow, God could do as well without us. The pool can do without the porch — but the porch is a worthless thing without the pool; and therefore, child of God, if you have had the high honor put on you of doing anything for your God, you must cast the glory at his feet, and say, "Lord, you have used me — but I know you could have used anybody else! You have blessed me — but you could have blessed anyone else as much! You have employed instrumentality — but you could have done away with it all. You have honored the porch — but all the healing has come from the pool. From first to last, all is of You. You are the Alpha, and You are the Omega." But remember, on the other hand, that God so ordered it that the porches should be built by man. Although not dependent on human agency, it yet seems to be God’s "mode of operation" never to do for man what man can do for himself. Man could not make a pool of Bethesda, so God made it for him. But man could build five porches — so God left man to do it. You will find throughout scripture history, that our God acts ever after this plan. He warns Noah of a coming deluge, gives him all the directions as to how to build the ark, and by a miracle, He constrains two of every kind to enter the ark when built. Man could not do that. However, He leaves it to man to drive all the nails and shape the timber. That was something that man could do. So it is right through the history of all his saints. Take for example Israel in the wilderness. To cause bread to fall from Heaven was beyond the power of any man. God does that; but when the bread had fallen, they could go outside their tent doors and gather it; and therefore the Lord did not rain the bread into their mouths — but onto the ground; and if they would not take the trouble to go and fetch what God had given them — they would starve, and it would serve them right. "What you give — they gather," Psalms 104:28, is not only true of the beasts of the forest — but of the children of His love. The gathering makes them prize the gift the more. God digging the pool, does not exonerate man from building the porches. Let us for a moment look and see how this may be APPLIED in many ways. This blessed Book is all from God. No human hand dug its deep well of truth. From Genesis to Revelations it makes one glorious Bethesda. It is a house of mercy, and in its chapters and verses there is latent healing power, that needs but the moving of the Spirit to heal anyone. To write this book, and make it a power of healing for souls, is God’s work, and His work alone. But you and I can place this book into the hands of different people, and that is our work. God writes the book — but it is for us to print it, and distribute it on every hand. He makes this pool of Bethesda; but you and I, perhaps through the agency of a Bible Society, have to help build the five porches. "Faith comes by hearing," and God’s most frequent method of salvation is to save men through the preaching of His cross in His sanctuaries. Now that is God’s work. Man can neither give himself nor anyone else faith; but man can build the sanctuaries for the gospel to be preached in. Therefore God does not build any chapels by miracles. If men want to have houses to worship in, God says, "that is your work — you must toil, and you must collect, and you must give, and you must pay for it. You can build the brick porch — but it is for Me to make it a Bethesda, a house of mercy to thousands." No one has power to give peace to an anxious soul, or touch and heal the heart that has been wounded. There is no earthly house of mercy that we possess — no man devised Bethesda — that can give rest to the sin-convinced and self-condemned soul. This is God’s work. But we can throw open an enquirer’s class as a porch to help the sinner to the house of mercy; and therefore we say that no church is truly complete unless it has the porch of an enquirer’s class to shelter the trembling penitents and point them to the pool. To restore a backslider is as much God’s work as to convert a sinner. We have no power to bring back again the soul that has wandered; but we can build a porch to encourage his return — we can look after him in his wanderings — we can take him by the hand, and speak the kindly word of warning and entreaty. Thus you see, God and His saints work together in happy union. God doing all that man cannot possibly do — and at the same time leaving to him all that can be accomplished by human means. God, in other words, looks after the pool, and says to His saints, "Now you look after the porches." It has occurred to me that in many ways Bethesda makes a very beautiful illustration of what a Christian church ought to be. I will briefly notice one or two points. The first thing we observe is — that those porches were only built for the sake of the pool. You cannot imagine any gentleman in Jerusalem having built them merely for the sake of an architectural display. Most certainly they were not built for lounges, and it is equally certain they were not built for people to sleep in. They were simply built to help men to get to the water that could heal them. Every sanctuary that is built aright, is built from the same motive. It is built simply to lead men to Christ. I fear that it is not a very uncharitable thing to say that if we were to go deeply into the history of many sanctuaries, we should find that a multitude of motives very different from this, helped in their erection. Too often they are built without a thought of their becoming houses of mercy. Many of them have for their foundation stones a previous split in some other place of worship; while many others have arisen more through the pride of some great man — or the bickering of some ill-tempered man, than anything else. But observe, secondly, that the porches were only of value as they led to the pool. Yonder is a man who has been a paralytic for years. He has heard about the marvelous power of this water, and he says, "I will go and try it." Suppose that when he gets as far as the porch, he sits down and says, "Well, now I have gotten to just where I desire;" and he begins to look around the porch and says, "What a comfortable place this is! How kind of those gentlemen in Jerusalem to ever have built it." And suppose he were to wait month after month, and year after year in that porch. I ask you how much better would he be for it? That porch might just as well be his sepulcher. It has no power to heal him. The man is as diseased as ever, and as far as he is concerned, that porch is simply worthless. In other words, the porch was no good to any man unless he went beyond it. Do you observe too that those who filled the porches were just the very ones we want to see filling our sanctuaries? You find the congregation described in the third verse, "now in these porches lay a great multitude of disabled folk, of blind, crippled, withered, waiting for the moving of the waters." Here we have the kind of gathering we want to see filling all the spiritual porches of the land. First of all, there were sick ones. Here is a poor paralyzed man, and there a disabled one. Yonder is one shaking all over with the fever, and there is another fearing instant death through heart disease. All kinds of disease are represented. Oh, I would that all the sanctuaries of England were full of sick souls! all kinds, no matter how bad — and the worse, the more welcome. Let us see to it, dear friends, that we never seek to be such a very highly respectable congregation, that the presence of any heinous sinners would shock our sensibilities. May the Lord bring in here the most monstrous sinners of East London, and make this Tabernacle a great porch for desperately bad cases! Whoever else is shut out, room must be made for them. A sanctuary unfrequented by "the atrocious sinners" of the neighborhood, is of little service to God, and no annoyance to the devil. They were not only sick ones in those porches; they were something better. They were those who knew they were sick. They came there with a special purpose, and that purpose was to be healed. That preacher has delightful work who preaches to a congregation drawn by the same desire. That sermon will most assuredly bear fruit, that is preached to a company of lost sinners who feel their sinnership and have come in the hope of obtaining mercy. Friend, let me ask you — Have you come here tonight in the hope of being healed? As you wended your way along the road, did you feel like one of those desperate men going to the porch saying, "Oh I wish that God might just stir the water tonight! Oh that there might be a power from Heaven which would give the sermon some magic influence with this heart of mine!" Oh my friend, we hold out the hand and greet you. We are right glad to see you here. This porch was built for just such souls as you — and before long, if not tonight, you will find Bethesda through it. And then observe that that they were poor people that were there, people that could not in any way afford to have a doctor. The beggars and the riff-raff of Jerusalem were there — men who did not have a penny to give to anyone to help them into the water when it was stirred. If you had asked one of the Pharisees that Christ speaks about in the sixth chapter of Matthew, to walk into the porch, in all probability he would have gathered round about him the long flowing garments of his respectability lest they touch such creatures, and hold his breath as he walked, lest he get contaminated by coming among such a wretched rabble crew! I wish that we could see more of the poor and penniless helping to fill our sanctuaries. Members of the church, I beseech you to listen to this word — whoever else may be overlooked or unnoticed, mind that a poor person is not — and whoever else may be left to stand during the service, let it not be such a one. Rather let it be yourself. And whenever you see a man who has unmistakable marks of more than ordinary poverty about him, let him be the one who has the first grasp of your hand. We want this porch to be filled, like Bethesda, not merely with the sick — but with the sick poor. And observe, lastly here, that there were plenty of them. It is said, "In these porches lay a great multitude." There is nothing easier than to sneer at numbers when they come to hear the preaching of the word, though I never hear them despised when the meeting is of a political or secular nature. I willingly grant that numbers, of themselves, are not worth much; but at the same time let it be remembered that, if there are no fish in the pond, you cannot catch any — and if there is only a handful of people in a chapel, hundreds cannot be saved there. The Holy Spirit cannot turn a pew into a saint; but if there are half-a-dozen lost sinners in the pew — He can change them into six saints who will sing eternal praises to their God. Therefore it is mere false humility to say that one does not rejoice when multitudes flock to hear. May God make every porch in this great east end of London, too narrow for the throngs of the poor and the sick and the spiritually diseased that will crowd into them. We close then, by observing that wherever we find God placing a pool — we are to build a porch; and where we see Him at work, we are to seek to have a hand in that work — to be fellow-laborers with Him. Where the Lord in his mercy digs a Bethesda — let us as a church add the five porches! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 29: S. GOD-GIVEN QUIETNESS ======================================================================== God-given Quietness Archibald G. Brown, 1896, East London Tabernacle "When He gives quietness, who then can make trouble? And when He hides His face, who then can see Him, whether it is against a nation or a man alone?" Job 34:29 Last Thursday was a day of sore trouble to some of us, and sorrow seemed to reach its climax. When the train steamed out of Liverpool-street, carrying with it my own bright, blessed daughter, it seemed for a few moments as if it had left me on the platform with an empty body. Heart and everything else seemed to have gone out with that train. I came straight home, and, on entering my study, I found that, during my absence, some thoughtful friend had put upon my table, just in front of where I always sit, a beautifully illuminated card. The words that greeted my eyes were these, ’He gives quietness’, and underneath was this text, ’When he gives quietness, who then can make trouble?’ Whoever it was that deposited that sweet truth upon my table showed much of heart experience, and of the word of God. I read the verse, not once or twice only. It came to me as the very voice of God, and I thought that I could hardly do better than follow my usual practice of passing on to you everything that proves of profit to myself. I dare say that, in this morning’s gathering, there are hearts that are as sore as mine was on Thursday. Doubtless, there are not a few here who are as much perplexed, and who know the meaning of ’turmoil’ without going to a dictionary. I gladly would do for this gathering what that friend did for me. I would put before your eyes these words, ’He gives quietness, and, when he gives quietness, who then can make trouble?’ Let us look for a few moments at the passage as it stands related to the whole verse. You will see that it enunciates a great and wide-spreading principle — a principle that is applicable not to a man only — but also to a nation. And the principle is the absolute dependence of individuals, communities, and nations upon God — for quietness, prosperity, and peace. According to this text, God is the great factor in history, and I want you to concentrate your thoughts for a few minutes upon the words, ’whether it be done against a nation’. The principle has no limit. It is as true of the millioned nation as of the solitary man; and yet how completely is this ignored. The gigantic blunders of all past ages, and the huge blunders of today, may all be traced to the fact that nations are trying to do without God in history. They are leaving out the prime factor. God is left out, and consequently there is a perpetual entanglement, and bewildered minds say, ’Everything is wrong. What can be done?’ Stupefaction comes over some of the clearest brains, and despondency says, ’There is no solution for the difficulties and the troubles of the day.’ God is left out. Is not this true of this nation? If you have plenty of time to waste, you will in all probability read through the Parliamentary reports in the daily papers, and wade through all the clever speeches that are made; but, if you are a child of God, you will be forced to the conclusion, ’God is not taken into the reckoning here; the Divine Factor is left out.’ Given such an Act, granted such a transaction, and it is supposed that there will be peace and prosperity in the land, and the sun will shine on everyone — but, where is God? This text comes in like a clarion note, and says, ’National prosperity and peace are from God. When he gives quietness, who then can make trouble unto a nation? But when he hides his face from a nation, who then can behold him?’ Would to God that the day may soon come when our politicians will learn that national prosperity is only a synonym for divine blessing. Look at all the social problems that are distracting minds today. How is it that they remain so insoluble, and that, after all the panaceas that are put forward, have been tried — our hearts still feel that failure stamps them all? What is the reason of it? The reason is that God has been left out. God is ignored. History proves it. As an illustration of this part of our text, look at the history of Israel. Oh, if they had only kept true to God, if only they had been faithful to him, if they had but recognized him in their history, what a different history it would have been! Read Deuteronomy 32:7-52. It is a weird story. God tells them how he brought them up out of Egypt, how he nursed them as a child, how he bore them as upon eagle wings, how he fed them from the skies, how he quenched their thirst from the rock, and how he brought oil out of the flinty rock. One man could put a thousand to flight in those days, for God was with his people. Now go on, and see what happens. Jeshurun (the nation) waxed fat, and kicked, and rebelled against God, and the Lord said, ’I will hide my face from them; I will see what their end will be; for they are a very froward generation, children in whom is no faith.’ And when God hid his face from Jeshurun, prosperity departed, and the nation was powerless to restore it. Now, what was true of Israel, will be true of England, unless she takes warning. There are dark clouds gathering over Britain, and she would do well to have a time of national humiliation and confession. Were this nation to act with true political wisdom and true social economy, she would cast herself down before God, and acknowledge, ’We have sinned; we have ignored you; we have departed from your counsel; we have not honored your word or kept your Sabbaths. You are beginning to hide your face from us. Lord, turn us again that we may be saved, and let the trust of the nation be in you; for when God gives quietness — then who then can make trouble? And when he hides his face — then who then can behold him, whether it be done against a nation or against a man only?’ Now, taking the text apart from its setting, there is one unspeakably sweet truth taught, and I want to take you all round about it and into it, and then may the Spirit of God take it into you. The thought is this, that God-given quietness is indestructible. ’When he gives quietness — who then can make trouble?’ Was there ever a lovelier word than ’quietness’? Linger for a moment on it, and repeat it over. It is more musical than a silver bell. ’Quietness’ — the very word is eloquent of its own meaning. There is a ripple as of a peaceful brook about it. ’Quietness’ — it is the world’s great need; it is what everyone is dying for lack of; it is what all hearts sigh for; it is what weary brains crave; it is what the world hunts after; but it is what few find. And yet, if you look outside the circle of poor, fallen man, and take the wider circle of nature, you will see that there is not only the demand for quietness — but there is the provision for it; and there is not only the provision — but there is the acceptance of the provision. Walk with me for a few minutes along a delightful path of thought. God, knowing the need that all nature has for quietness, has very graciously provided it, for his tender mercies are over all his works. God has ordered that, during part of every twenty-four hours, a weary, tired world shall, for a season, be steeped in the quietness of sleep. It is love that drops the veil over the sun, and darkens for a while the earth; while unnumbered flowers, as if tired through blooming during the day, shut up their lovely cups for the night, and go to sleep. God’s songsters, that have been chirruping and singing all the day in the branches, need some rest for their little throttles, and God provides it. The birdies, wiser than man, understand God’s signal in the sky, and they put their heads beneath their wings, and they sleep when God steeps nature in the quietness of night. And God has also arranged that, every seventh day, a weary world should have a break in the dreadful monotony of labor. Infinite love says, ’Once a week will I bathe a tired world in the bath of Sabbath rest, so shall she come forth fresh for her work on the morrow.’ But God seems to argue that these rests that I have mentioned are only little siestas, and that nature needs a longer sleep; and so, when autumn comes, God begins to put the tired, and therefore fractious, child to rest. All the summertime nature has been in high glee. She has been laughing and playing until she has grown tired; so God says to her, ’It is time to go to rest now.’ And how long she is, often, in dropping to sleep. Autumn comes and throws its coverlet over the child — but sometimes she flings it off, and there are two or three days of spasmodic summer. But God will have his way, and he hushes weary nature, until, at last, there is the deep sound sleep of the winter, in which nature rests in quietness until she awakes with the snowdrops and crocuses. Nature must have quietness, and God has provided it for her. But how is it with us? Man alone has broken God’s law and so I find that sin, that arch-thief, has robbed us of quietness. This thief never took a more precious jewel, than when he stole quietness from the world. Look abroad if you question whether I am correct or not. Where is quietness? Sin has so vitiated the taste of man, that he does not even enjoy quietness, though he is wasting through lack of it. Night is turned into day, and society begins its life when all sane people go to bed. So completely has sin revolutionized everything, that God’s season of quiet is turned into man’s season of revelry. I find man growing sick of the quietness of the Sabbath, and denouncing it as ’horridly dull’. Oh, sir, have you no taste for quietness? Can you find no enjoyment in stillness? Have you become one of those that must hunt here and there, and run after this, and race after that, and have your whole life on a tension? Believe me, you are only giving a melancholy example of how sin vitiates the taste. The world is unable to rest because it is the world. The Hebrew word which is here translated ’quietness’ is the word that is used by Isaiah where he says that the wicked cannot rest. The world is like the sea, never constant but in its restlessness. Look abroad on every hand, and where is there quietness? Do you find it in commercial life? You business men can answer that best. The only quiet is a quietness of trade that disquiets you. Is there quietness in the intellectual world? Where is the restfulness of the religious world? If I go into the social world, I find the very earth quaking beneath the feet. Revolution is in its throes. There is enough dynamite in society to rend it to pieces. Quietness? How few find it! Few find God — and it is he who gives quietness. Let me take you along another line of thought. If this text be true of a nation and of a man, it must also be true of that which lies between these two points, and therefore it will be true of a community. I desire gratefully to bear witness to God’s praise that, as a church, we have experienced wonderfully the meaning of this text. ’He gives quietness’ might be engraved over the doorways of this tabernacle. When I look back for twenty-seven years, and think of all the characters, the temperaments, the dispositions, that have been brought together — I can see that there has been enough in our midst to rend us to pieces a hundred times over; but it is marvelous how God has kept this great host in peace and love. Never did a church give a more marvelous exhibition of this than was given in this place last Monday week. The perfect unanimity, the marvelous love, and the manifestation of abounding peace — were all too eloquent for words. How is it that, as a great company, we have thus been kept? Oh, look not to platform or to pew. The explanation of it is this, ’He gives quietness.’ ’When he gives quietness, who then can make trouble? And when he hides his face who then can behold him, whether it be done against a nation or against a man only?’ And this is not only true in the history of nations and in the history of communities — but it is true in the history of the heart. This is a history very little read. I do not think that many schoolmasters or schoolmistresses teach their children this — yet there is no history more thrilling or more wondrous. When God gives quietness to a heart — then nothing can give that heart trouble. Students of the word are aware that this verse is capable of a very remarkable rendering; and it is given in the Revised Version. ’When he gives quietness, who then can condemn?’ It is really the 8th of the Romans anticipated: ’It is God that justifies. Who is he who condemns?’ The wonderful teaching of this verse is, when God gives quietness to a heart, who is going to condemn that man? When God gives peace to the contrite sinner, who is going to break that holy rest? ’Who, then, shall make trouble?’ Shall the law? The law may thunder out its denunciations; but, if God has given my heart his quietness, it is a quietness that is based on law, and therefore is not afraid of law. Do you say, ’Conscience can make trouble’? Stay, if the peace which I have in my heart is the peace which God gives, then my conscience has been pacified by the blood of Jesus Christ. O conscience, you can make a Hell within a human breast — but, if the blood of Jesus be sprinkled on you, your tones cannot affright. God has met the requirements of the law, and has pacified conscience, and the peace remains perfect. On the plain of Waterloo is a huge bronze lion, erected to commemorate the great victory. That bronze lion has an open mouth, and huge and awful are its fangs, and it seems to be snarling and growling over the battlefield and challenging anyone to come near. A friend of mine said that, when last he was there, he was very interested to observe that a bird had built its nest in the open mouth of the lion, and that it had twined the little twigs and the soft downy stuff of which the nest was composed in and out of the great bronze teeth of the lion. They made a splendid foundation for the nest. There, in the open mouth, was a nest with the little fledglings in it, and he heard the chirp of the bird coming from the jaws of the lion. I thought, ’Ah, even so is it. I am not saved at the expense of the law. I am saved in accordance with the law, and I build my nest in the lion’s mouth.’ Afraid of God’s law? Blessed be God, the law that terrified me as a lost sinner, now gives me assurance as a saint. I build my nest in the lion’s mouth, and I have the confidence of righteous justification. Now, if you have that, who is going to take it from you? If you have the peace of righteous justification, who is going to make trouble? I do not wonder if those of you who live on milk-and-water theology — no, there is no such thing: milk-and-water neology — I do not wonder if you find trouble; but the soul that knows what it is to be justified by the grace of God, through the finished work of Christ which perfectly honors the law — has its nest built in the lion’s mouth, and sings for very joy, ’When he gives quietness, who then can make trouble?’ But, if I am a believer, I have not only that quietness — but I have the quietness of the Spirit’s calmness. The Holy Spirit smooths out the wrinkles of the soul. The Holy Spirit fills the spirit of man and gives a strange unearthly calm. You may dissipate the quiet of insensibility — but, oh, you cannot dissipate the quiet which is born of the Spirit. When he says, ’Peace be still’, who is going to make the billows roll? And there is also the quietness and rest of satisfaction. Every person would know quietness, if he had all that he wanted. If only a man is perfectly satisfied, what room is there for disquiet? Now, the saint has perfect satisfaction. Jesus Christ so perfectly satisfies him that, no matter what may happen, he is quiet. He has the rest of fullness. I have here in my hand a bottle of water. If I move it the water shakes and washes from right to left. Why? Because it is not full. If I fill the bottle right up, so that it will not hold another drop, and cork it, I may turn the bottle which way I will — but the water will not wash about. It is quiet because the bottle is full. God fills up his people. ’That my joy may be fulfilled in you.’ ’When he gives quietness, who then can make trouble?’ Is it not true of the believer that all the way through life God gives quietness of heart? I do not say quietness of circumstances. The Lord Jesus did not say, ’Let not your homes be troubled.’ He said, ’Let not your heart be troubled.’ It is not, ’Let not your circumstances be moved’ — but ’Let not your hearts be agitated.’ And I do with my soul believe that God is able to keep a man in perfect quietness of mind, although there is nothing but tribulation round about. He makes himself to become the great breakwater. At a distance you would say, ’Dear me! that man must be swamped with trouble.’ You see the billows rolling; you see the clouds of spray shooting up, and you say, ’He must be drowned.’ Oh, no; what you see is the wave breaking on the breakwater. The man himself is in a quiet harbor, where there is perfect stillness. The breakwater meets all the force of the storm. So says Christ, ’In the world you shall have tribulation. Crested wave after crested wave like ocean’s race-horses, shall rush upon you. But in me you shall have peace.’ Elizabeth Cotton said that she noticed a guard on the Great Western Railway who had seven people speaking to him at once — a very uncomfortable experience. They were all pestering him with questions, and they all expected to be answered at once, and she was surprised at the calm way in which the guard answered each questioner. He did not lose his temper, and did not get flurried, and Elizabeth, after it was over, said to him, ’Guard, however did you keep so calm and so quiet with all those people pestering you as they were?’ The guard, not knowing to whom he was speaking said, ’Ah madam, the peace of God which passes all understanding keeps the heart and mind.’ That guard on the Great Western Railway had discovered a secret that a good many of us have yet to learn. He had learned the meaning of that passage in Php 4:1-23, where we are told that if by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving we make known our requests unto the Lord, the result shall be that the peace of God which passes all understanding shall keep our hearts and minds. There shall be a quietness which none can break. ’Ah, dear Mr. Brown’, says somebody, ’it is all very well for you to talk like this; but you do not know how much I have lost this year. I am almost afraid to go through my books. As for my banking account, I am not sure that the bank will allow it to stand there much longer. I have been losing, losing, losing.’ Well, sir, and suppose that you do have a broken fortune all round about you, this text shall still be true, ’When he gives quietness, who then shall make trouble?’ But says another, ’Ah, pastor, it is all very well but, do you know, I used to live without an ache or a pain, in the very buoyancy of health — and now it seems to me that my heart is not only undermined but likely soon to be shattered.’ ’He gives quietness. Who then shall make trouble?’ I tell you that there are sick ones in the hospital today who know more about the quietness of God in their pain, than some of us know in our health. Another says, ’But my home is desolated, its brightness has gone.’ True, man, and yet does this text abide, ’When he gives quietness, who then can make trouble?’ God can put a lamp into a dark room, and God can furnish an empty house, and God can put music into an otherwise silent abode. When he gives peace, none can break it. No slander, however cruel, no persecution, however fierce, no temptation, however searching can break it. Do you say, ’Why is this quietness unbreakable?’ I will tell you. It is because this quietness comes through faith. Faith rests upon the word of God, and Jesus said, ’The scripture cannot be broken.’ Let us work upwards. If the scripture cannot be broken, and my faith rests upon the scripture, and my quietness is the result of my so doing — then my quietness cannot be broken. Did I entertain one doubt about this Book being the word of God from beginning to end, I would not have an atom of quietness in my heart this morning; but when he who knows, and who was an expert in the matter of scripture, says that not a jot nor a tittle can fail, and that this word cannot be broken — I rest on that, and peace comes with the resting. God’s love cannot be broken; his purposes cannot be broken; his covenant cannot be broken; and, while his covenant with Christ stands, quietness may be my portion. Now, dear brother, do you possess this quietness that I have been talking about? Will you give the answer as before God? Is it in your heart? Remember that, if you have it not — you can neither grow, nor be fresh, nor make advance as a disciple, nor be of use as a servant. If you plant a geranium today, and move it tomorrow, and then shift it the day after, and then put it somewhere else the following week, I do not think that that geranium will be likely to grow. And I am certain that, unless I know the quietness which God gives, there will not be any growth. A restless, ever-moving spirit cannot develop in the things of God. How can I be made fresh? I am not going to apologize for the illustration that I am about to give, though perhaps it may seem rather simple. I have sometimes met God’s saints that have reminded me of people who have been up all night. They have an ’up-all-night’ look. People who have been up all night have a particular look of their own. They look more than sleepy. Their eyes are red, and they have a haggard appearance. All the moisture seems to have been squeezed out of them, and there is no freshness whatever. They are like a dusty rag. I will tell you what they need. Not the doctor’s medicine — but God’s gift. What they need is to go into a room, pull the blind down, lie on the bed, and receive God’s gift of sleep for some eight hours. Then look at them! All the bloodshot is out of their eyes, and the feverish look has gone. They are ’as fresh as a daisy’. Now, there is such a thing in spiritual life as getting an up-all-night, worn, and fagged feeling. If you try to talk for God, there is no unction about your speech; there is no power. But the quietness of my text is the balmy sleep that keeps the soul as fresh as the morning, and makes it a perpetual refreshment to others. How are we to get it? Look at my text: ’When he gives quietness.’ Take it; it is God’s gift; it is not your effort. You must tell all to God, though it nearly breaks your heart to make the confession. You will never have quietness so long as you keep a secret from God. Go and tell him all; tell him what a poor, wretched, selfish man you have been; tell him what a poor, hasty, bad-tempered woman you have been. Go and tell him what a failure you have been; and, when you have told him all, believe all that he says, and then take all that he offers — and you will find that he keeps his word, and that the peace which passes all understanding does keep your heart and mind. We cannot understand why this is best; We tightly clasp His hand, and leave the rest. When He who knows all sends grief and woe, We can but trust, and say, ’He wills it so.’ His love is mightier far than we can guess: His thoughts toward us are all tenderness. Then, though our hearts are sad, we still can pray, And He will make us glad in His own day. ’When he gives quietness, who then can make trouble?’ God give every beloved brother and sister here this morning his own quietness, for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 30: S. GRACE AND GLORY! ======================================================================== Grace and Glory! Archibald G. Brown, January 7, 1906, Chatsworth Road Chapel, West Norwood, London "For the LORD God is a sun and shield; the LORD will give grace and glory; no good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless. O LORD Almighty, blessed is the man who trusts in you!" Psalms 84:11-12 We were very wishful, on this our last season of worship with you for a little while, to have something to pass on to you that should be so full and so sweet, that the savor of it should abide even until our return from those holy fields of Palestine: and in prayer we sought such a theme, and it seemed to us that these words came in answer — ’grace and glory’. We were somewhat startled at the answer to our prayer: we asked for something full — and can you imagine anything that is not included in this little sentence ’grace and glory’? We asked for something that might be sweet — I know not which of the two words after all is the sweetest; there is all the delicacy of the honeycomb in both ’grace’ and ’glory’. We asked for something that should abide — I know not how this verse can ever be forgotten, because every hour of every day I shall need the grace — and every hour of every day I ought to be longing for the glory — ’grace and glory’. But we found what we have so often discovered before: that however beautiful a passage may seem to be isolated, it always gains when you take it in connection with its context, and if for a few moments you look at the setting of this verse you will see that it becomes more wonderful still. Psalms 84:1-12 is in itself a marvel, it is unique. Dr Cumming in his work on this Psalm says that there is no other record in Scripture to compare with it as a record of holy sentiment; it is what a heart feels; from Psalms 84:1-12 in a most beautiful sense it is sentimental, it is the soul’s deep feeling towards God; the man from Psalms 84:1 to the close really struggles to find words in which to express all that God is to him. This wonderful song is divided by two ’Selahs’ — they are musical pauses, and they are intended to make us mark the words immediately preceding them. You get the first in Psalms 84:4 : ’Blessed are those who dwell in your house, they will be still praising you. Selah’ — pause here, and think of the abiding continuing joy of the one who dwells in Jehovah’s presence. You get the second dividing Selah after Psalms 84:8 : ’Oh Lord God Almighty, hear my prayer; give ear, O God of Jacob. Selah.’ Ah! that is beautiful — Jacob, not Israel; not the God of the heavens — not the God of the archangels — not the God of seraphim and cherubim — but the God of Jacob — a very imperfect character, a poor weak man, faulty almost at every step. And yet God allows himself to be known by us as the God of Jacob. When I read of him as the God of Abraham I am not always sure that I can claim him, for I lack faith; but the God of Jacob I feel can be the God of your pastor. The God of a poor weak Jacob who so often fell — I do not wonder that the Holy Spirit puts a musical pause after that statement. Then you will see that with the two ’Selahs’ there are three blessings pronounced in this wonderful Psalm. In Psalms 84:4 : ’Blessed are those who dwell in your house.’ In Psalms 84:5 : ’Blessed is the man whose strength is in you.’ And in Psalms 84:12 : ’O Lord Almighty, blessed is the man who trusts in you.’ Now, in the verse which we have selected, you have a constellation of words beginning with the letter ’G’, and I want you to note these very specially. As I read the 11th verse I find that ’God gives grace and glory, and no good thing will be withheld.’ ’GOD,’ ’GIVING’, ’GRACE’, ’GLORY’, ’GOOD’. Here is an infinite fullness, and if by simple faith I am only able to lay my hand upon all this and appropriate it, how rich I shall be! Let us look into this wonderful passage for a few moments. You have, you will see, 1. The DONOR, 2. Then the DONATION, and 3. Then the MAGNIFICENT EXTRA. You have the donor — ’the Lord God our sun and shield’; you then have his donation — ’the Lord will give grace and glory’, then you have the magnificent extra — ’no good thing will he withhold’. If you can conceive of anything that is not included in the two terms ’grace’ and ’glory’, and if it is good for you — then you may be certain you will have that. He guarantees the grace, he promises the glory, and then he throws in as an extra every good thing. 1. Let us try and gaze upon the Donor, and oh what a task lies before us. Have you ever noticed how through this Psalm the sweet singer takes title after title to set forth the glory of God? In Psalms 84:1 it is ’Lord Almighty’, it is ’living God’ in Psalms 84:2, it is ’my King’ in Psalms 84:3, it is Elohim — ’God’, in Psalms 84:7, it is ’Lord God Almighty’ in Psalms 84:8, it is ’God our shield’ in Psalms 84:9, it is ’my God’ in Psalms 84:10, and it is ’Lord Almighty’, in Psalms 84:12. So that you have a most extraordinary combination of God’s sweetest and grandest titles. But the one in our verse, how amazing! ’The Lord God is a SUN.’ I wonder when David used that illustration for the first time — for it has never been used in Scripture before. God has never been directly termed ’Sun’ before — did even David dream what an illustration he was using! I imagine not. The Holy Spirit allowed him to use a metaphor which the Spirit knew ages afterwards would mean infinitely more than David could conceive. A sun — why, this is a blazing text, ’The Lord God is a sun.’ Have you ever tried to look at it? — you become half blinded as you look. If it means anything it means this, that God is an infinity of blessing — an infinity of blessing! Let me try for a moment to illustrate this. No one can say what are the sun’s secret supplies, and what the measurement of the heat and warmth and light pouring out of that sun and have been pouring out all these ages — and as far as we know without any sign of diminution whatever. But an American astronomer has in a very original and suggestive way given us some faint conception; he says, ’In our State of Pennsylvania we have the richest coal-fields in the world. Underlying the whole State of Pennsylvania there is coal — enough coal to supply every fire in the whole of the United States of America for over one thousand years.’ That is the supply of the coal-fields at Pennsylvania alone. ’Now’, says the astronomer, ’imagine for a moment, that the solar heat of the sun ceases, and there is to be an equivalent for it, imagine that it were possible to transport the coal of Pennsylvania into that great furnace up there. How long would it last in order that the sun, that great furnace, might give the same heat that it is giving out now day by day?’ And the astronomer puts it in the form of a query; he says, ’Would it last a year? Would it last a month — all the coal-fields of Pennsylvania, would it last a month? No. Would it last a week? No. Would it last a day? No. Would it last an hour? No, Would it last a minute? No. It would not last the one-thousandth part of a second! Were all the coal-fields of Pennsylvania hurled into that great furnace, in one-thousandth part of a second all would be consumed!’ And yet this wondrous sun pours out its rays with undiminished heat. Oh, the mystery of it! Beneath the corona of the sun there is what is called the chromosphere, and for lack of a better term I will call it ’an ocean of fire’, and that ocean of fire is between six and nine thousand miles deep — twice as deep, that ocean of fire, as the Atlantic is broad; and from that ocean of fire there leaps up what, for lack of a better term we describe as flames, at the rate of one hundred and fifty miles a second; these flames leap up to the height of one hundred thousand miles, hang over the Sun perhaps for a few hours or a few days, and then drop in fiery sparks back again into the furnace. One such eruption as that would be enough in one hour to render the whole of this earth, what Pompeii is today under an eruption of Mount Vesuvius. Were this world to fall into the sun it would simply be annihilated and evaporate before it even touched its flames — like a snow-flake falling on a red hot iron-bar! All that lies in this text — God is a sun. And there is more than that. Everything on earth that lives, moves, circulates — is a child of the sun. There is not a flower that is not born of the sun. You could not live without the sun. The very color on your cheek tonight you may thank the sun for. The sun blows in the wind, the sun flows in the river; it is the sun’s mighty hands that lift the ocean up, and puts it in the form of snow and glacier upon the tops of the Alps. Were the sun’s rays withheld for three weeks, the whole of this earth would be death and desolation! And, led of the Holy Spirit, David, who knew not these wondrous things, says: ’The Lord God is a sun.’ That is, he is to the believing soul; he is to a redeemed church everything that the sun is to the solar system — the center, the light, the holding power, the living power, the all in all. ’The Lord God is a sun’, and then he adds, ’and SHIELD’. One writer beautifully says: ’This is a counterbalance blessing.’ We could not bear the first blessing, if we had not the second. The very fact that God is the sun, necessitates that he should also be a shield. How could I live in that uncreated light — may I say it with reverence — I need God to shield me from God! I need God to be my Shield, in order that I may dare to know him as my Sun. And how beautiful it is to observe that in this shield, we have Jesus in the Psalm. It does not say that God will hold a shield over me — but that he himself will be the shield. In Psalms 84:9 David says, ’Behold, O God our shield’, and yet in the text he says, ’the Lord God is a shield’. What is the explanation of that? Why, that Jesus Christ, who is God, is my shield, and that I am in him; and it is only as I am in him that I can dwell before those eternal burnings! Hidden away in Christ — he is in both sun and shield. So much for the glorious Donor. 2. The DONATION. Now what does he give? ’The Lord God will give grace and glory.’ I think GRACE is about the grandest word in Scripture: omitting the name of our adorable Master — where will you find one word to equal grace? When dear Mr Moody was converted in America, he began to study the Scriptures — all converted people do — and he came across this word grace, and when first that word laid hold of him — I had it from his own lips — he said he was so amazed, so captured by it, that for three days he thought of nothing else, and talked of nothing else. He went from house to house to his different friends, and said: ’Have you heard of the grace of God? Have you ever heard of the grace of God?’ We get so used to these things that we do not realize the marvel. What is grace? You say ’Love’. No, it is more than that. It is love to the unlovely — it is love to the unlovable. It is love that has no reason whatever but in itself for being where it is. It is that which has its springs in God’s own heart, and so the fruit appears on us. He gives grace — undeserved love. And observe the order: the grace comes first; it is not, ’He gives glory and grace.’ Ah, that is how some of you would like it. I will guarantee that even this wet night, there are people here who would like to have the glory, only they do not care about having the grace first. Oh, if they could only just get to Heaven without any grace, it would be delightful to them. But God won’t give glory, until grace has been received. He gives grace and glory; and a moment’s thought will show you how absolutely imperative it is that this order should be kept. How can I receive glory, if I have not first received grace? I would not be fit for it. Can you imagine a glorified sinner — I mean a man who has not been saved from his sins and yet is glorified? A glorified drunkard reeling in Heaven! A glorified sensualist there! Why, the angels would shrink back from him in horror, and the man himself, though in Heaven, would have a Hell within his own soul. He must be renewed in nature — or else how could he enjoy the glory. Do you enjoy spiritual things? When you hear it announced that there is going to be a gathering for prayer and praise, do you feel that it is such an attraction that you must be there — or would you rather go to some silly sing-song; which do you like best? Supposing God were to take you to Heaven as you are now — you would feel that you were a fish out of water; there would be nothing in harmony between yourself and your surroundings. If I do not love the sanctuary on earth, then I am sure I shall not love the sanctuary in Heaven; if I do not find joy in worship down here, it would be an eternal perdition to have eternal worship up there. Man’s nature must be renewed, and grace must do its work — before glory can come. It is first the grace — and then the glory. And what is the meaning of that GLORY? I do not know — I cannot imagine — I could tell better after I had been a few months in Heaven. We read these words, and we become so accustomed to them that perhaps we hardly pause to ask what do they really mean? There was a poor member of this Church, a dear girl that we lost sight of for two years; we had news of her only the week before last; she died in a poor laborer’s cottage, down in Essex; and as she died, she spoke of Jesus, and her face was radiant with the light of coming glory. The laborer was so poor that he has to collect five shillings to put a little plate upon the girl’s coffin. But were that poor girl to come back to earth and stand on this platform — she would be able to tell you more of the meaning of the glory than all the theologians and all the preachers and all the writers on the earth today! You have to be there, to know the meaning. We may talk of its brightness and sing of its music — but what must it be to be there? Glory; it means something for the spirit, something for the mind, something for the body. It is something for the spirit — for there is absolute freedom from all sin. I cannot conceive of it; I have been a sinner ever since I was born, and sin seems ingrained in me — but I can just get a glimmering of this — that if I were perfectly free from sin I would step into a Heaven at once. There is something for the mind — all our mental limitations will be dropped, as now we only know in part. Didn’t you feel, as we were talking a little while ago about the wonders of the sun, how little we know? All our knowledge is only a modified form of ignorance. But then I shall know even as also I am known. Oh, God has wonderful treats for us mentally. And then glory means more than rest; it means more than happiness; the idea of the word glory is this — exultation, joy, triumph! Do you see that General as he comes home in triumph from a successful campaign; the waving of banners, the blare of trumpets, the shouts of the multitude, the waving of handkerchiefs — there is exaltation, there is triumph and ecstasy. And all that lies in this word, glory. There will be the palm branches, there will be harps; these things symbolize something. Oh, it is hard to keep patient with some people who say, ’Do you believe that there will be a literal harp and a literal palm branch?’ I do not care whether there is or not. But they stand for something: the harp means something, the palm branch means something, the shout of triumph means something, and in Heaven it will be the glory of victory! Satan under our feet; sickness, death, temptation — all these forever gone — there will be glory in the air. There is something for the spirit, something for the mind, and there is something for the body, for I read in the 1 Corinthians 15:1-58, and 1 Corinthians 15:43 — and it is true of your body if you are a believer, and mine — ’it is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory’. I know not how — but by the wonderful working of him who feeds the furnace of the sun, he is going to turn this body even into the perfect image of Christ’s body in the glory! It is ’grace and glory’ — there is the order. Only please do not leave out the conjunction. It is ’grace and glory’. How often at a railway station you have seen something like this — there is a railway porter down on the lines standing by the side of a carriage and you see him pick up that big iron chain, there is another part of the train being backed on, and as it comes you see him put the link over and then fasten those two chains on either side: one carriage cannot go without the other now, they are linked into oneness. That is what the word ’and’ is; it is a CONJUNCTION ’grace and glory’, and all Hell’s powers cannot separate these two! There is no glory, mark you, without grace — and I thank God the reverse is true. Where there is grace — there must be glory. Grace is glory in the bud — but glory is this — grace in full bloom! You can not have the glory, man, without the grace — but if you have received the grace, then thank God you are coupled to glory, and no power that Hell knows can snap that coupling! All this is given. It is ’the Lord will GIVE grace and glory’, not barter it — not exchange it — not sell it. He gives it: he bestows salvation as a free gift from beginning to end. 3. The MAGNIFICENT EXTRA. And then here is the climax — the finale, ’And no good thing will he withhold from those who walk uprightly.’ That is, if you can conceive of anything that is really good for you which is not covered by the two words ’grace and glory’ — God will give you that. Then says someone, ’Why am I not a richer Christian? How is it that I am not a happier, stronger, more buoyant, more contented Christian?’ I will tell you why: you have not noticed the word ’withhold’. It does not say, He will GIVE every good thing: it says, He will not WITHHOLD. Have you gone to take it? I know he will give grace and glory — but there are ten thousand other little extras that I want in order to make my life here happy, peaceful, useful, and a blessing to others, and God says, ’For these extras you are to come and ask me. I will not withhold them — but you must ask me.’ Why are you poor spiritually? Because you are not applying for the extra, you ’do not ask, you do not seek.’ God has pledged his word that he will not withhold anything good — but only he will decide what that is. The BLESSING that is pronounced then is ’Blessed is the man who trusts in you.’ I would think he is blessed. The man who can look up and say ’Jehovah is my sun, I live in his light! Jehovah Jesus is my shield. I live in him, he is round about me, the Lord God gives me grace, and he has coupled that on to glory, and he has pledged his word that every good thing I need I have only to ask for and he will not withhold it’ — that man can only pronounce one verdict, and it comes from the depth of his soul, it is, ’Blessed is the man that trusts this glorious God!’ ======================================================================== CHAPTER 31: S. GROWING FAITH ======================================================================== Growing Faith Archibald G. Brown, May 9th, 1869, At Stepney Green Tabernacle "We are bound to thank God always for you brethren, as it is fitting, because your faith grows exceedingly." 2 Thessalonians 1:3 Selfishness is prone to mingle not only with our prayers — but with our praises also. Just as in prayer we are liable to ask from our Lord only those things which touch and concern ourselves more especially, and to overlook the necessities of others; so in our praises we are apt to sing only about those mercies which we have ourselves received, "Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name," is most often our song at the dictation of gratitude, for mercies which have fallen at our own door. But the child of God in his higher moments of communion will cheerfully acknowledge the obligation to render praise for mercies bestowed on others. He will sing not only for what his Lord has made him — but also for what grace has accomplished in the hearts of his fellows. Now we venture to say that a more unselfish spirit than the apostle Paul’s was never found on earth, an example of which is found in this morning’s text. Here we have him rejoicing exceedingly, and using the strongest language to express that joy, not because of any particular mercy received by himself — but because the Lord had been pleased to bless the members of the church in Thessalonica in their own souls. Paul’s joy in this respect can be easily understood. That infant church at Thessalonica had been planted by his instrumentality, and the large majority of its members had been won to Christ through his ministry. He could look upon those young converts and say, "I have begotten you again unto the Lord; you are my joy and crown of rejoicing." The sympathy and love that exist between the soul winner and the soul won, between the instrument of conversion and the one converted — are so close and dear that they can never be described by the lip — but only realized in the heart. The love of a father toward his children is not deeper than the love which a spiritual parent will ever feel toward those whom the Lord has given him; and a father’s interest in his children’s growth and prosperity is not greater than the longing solicitude felt, on the part of him who has been the means of leading souls to Christ; and on the part of the minister towards the seals of his ministry. The spiritual growth of Paul’s young converts in the church of Thessalonica was such that when he marked their course, joy overflowed his soul, and in the language of the text, he felt bound by an impulse which it was impossible to resist, to give thanks to God on their behalf. Chief among the causes of his gratitude was this: that he perceived the grace of faith to be growing exceedingly in them. There are four prominent truths taught in the text. May the Holy Spirit help us in our meditation upon them. The first is this — that it is the divine will that faith should grow. Secondly — that growth of faith is God’s work. Thirdly — that growth of faith is cause for rejoicing. Fourthly — that faith should not only grow — but grow exceedingly. I. It is the divine will that faith should grow. Growth is one of the characteristics of God’s work. From the moment when in the morning of creation he caused, obedient to his command, all things to spring into mature existence, from then down to the present time, successive stages of growth have marked his handiwork. Every tree in the garden of Eden was created bearing "fruit after their kind, with seed in them." Genesis 1:11. And thus for ages seeds have been dropping in the earth, swelling, taking root, growing up, and gradually taking the place of the forests that fall before the woodsman, "Time." The oak that brooks the storm, and fights in savage fury with the gale — the oak, that lives in the hurricane, and strikes its rugged roots deep downward through the soil, until at last it grips the rock with the clutch of a Samson — is after all only the outgrowth of the acorn, once carried in a child’s pocket, and thrown with childish glee down the ravine. The eagle, that looks with unblinking eye upon the sun — that steers his course in the teeth of the storm — that laughs at intervening mountains, as with its broad wings it sails majestically over them — was once the tiny eaglet in the nest, who feared to spread the wing. The God of Nature and the God of Grace are one. As in two paintings drawn by the same hand — although the faces depicted may be dissimilar in almost every feature — yet you detect that the same pencil sketched both countenances; so when we look on the realms of Nature and of Grace, ’tis evident that the same God reigns in both. Beloved, God’s trees, the trees of his right hand planting, do not attain their full proportion in a moment. It is true, in the kingdom of Grace, that old heads are not found on young shoulders. The aged silver-haired veteran saint, matured, and ripened by years of long experience, is only the outgrowth of the once almost despairing sinner. Yonder man of God, so mighty in his faith, who Elijah-like, seems almost able to open or shut Heaven with his prayers, is simply the outgrowth of the trembling seeker, who once cried "Lord I believe, help my unbelief." Mark 9:24 God’s saints, who now mount upward as with eagle wing, could not always look unblinkingly at the sun. God’s eagles cannot from the first moment rise upon the hurricane, nor sport themselves in the storm. They were once the tiny, trembling, little eaglets in the nest, whose downy feathers quivered with every summer zephyr. However much, believer, you may have grown, and however high your spiritual attainments may now be, do not forget your early weakness. It will lead to personal humility in your own soul and teach you tenderness towards others. And to those of you present who have not long known the Lord, those of you "who are our crown of rejoicing," we would say to you — do not be too cast down by failures. Do not think that because you have not yet attained the faith and joy of so-and-so, that there has been no work of genuine grace in your heart. He who has commenced the work, will perfect it all by successive stages, for growth is our Lord’s method of working. Perhaps some will ask the question, "Why?" To such a caviler we answer, it should be sufficient reason that it is his will, and in the language of Paul’s retort, "O man, who are you to reply against God?" Romans 9:20. But though we ourselves are perfectly satisfied with this answer — we venture to suggest that the growth of a believer is part of God’s joy. There is a pleasure in watching growth. I appeal to those of you who are parents if it is not so. Is it not your greatest joy to mark the tender growth of the body, and the gradual development of the mind, of the little light of the home? Shall he who implanted that parental joy, lack it himself? Surely it is not too much to say that our Heavenly Father takes an infinite interest, and finds an infinite joy in the growth of His redeemed children. In Solomon’s Song, that holy of holies, in scripture, we find Christ walking in His garden, to see how the myrrh, aloes, and spices grew, and to eat his pleasant fruits. Moreover, it is by this process of gradual growth, that we best learn our Lord. Were we to attain maturity at once, we would lose many a sweet experience; we would have but little knowledge of his loving kindness, and know but little of his long-suffering tenderness. It is better, therefore, for our own hearts and for his glory, that sanctification should be marked by growth. Let us now notice in the second place, II. That growth in faith is God’s work. This we gather from the form of expression used in our text, "we are bound to thank God." Paul recognized the growth of faith in the Church at Thessalonica, as God’s doing. That it is so — I think we can show you in a single sentence: growth after all is but the development of life, and life is the breath of God. Man has never yet been able to place that secret thing into any of his works which will cause them to grow. The sculptor may chisel the marble block into a form of loveliness until it almost seems to breathe, but it has no inherent power of development — a century of time will find it, as his hand left it. The artist may fashion in wax, flowers that deceive the sight — but to impart that power which will cause the bud to open into a flower is beyond his skill. Just so, the prerogative to cause growth is God’s alone, and that growth is as much his work, as the first implanting of the principle of life. Is it not the deepest desire of every believer to grow in conformity to his Lord? And yet has he not learned by painful experience, his own inability to do so? He knows that it is his God who must work within him, to will and to do his good pleasure. "Faith; ’tis a precious grace Whenever it is bestowed, It boasts of a celestial birth, And is the gift of God. Lord, ’tis your work alone, And that divinely free; Send down the Spirit of your Son To work this faith in me." And here let me give utterance to a thought, I pray you may be enabled to carry it to your homes and carry it out in your future life. Sanctification comes by the same means as justification — with the same faith you find trusted Christ to save you. You must trust to him to make you holy, the language of your heart must be, "Lord Jesus, I trust to you to subdue my sins, I trust to you to fashion me to your image, I trust to you to breathe your Spirit within me." The tree does not grow by violent efforts of its own — but simply by living in the sunshine. Just so, God’s children do not grow by their own vows and resolves — but by dwelling in the light of his countenance, who is the "Sun of Righteousness." It is the Sun that mellows, both the fruit of nature and of grace. Do you ask how he makes our faith to grow? I answer in three ways. First, by placing in faith itself, a principle that compels its growth. As in the infant, so in faith there is that which naturally develops itself, a still-born faith such as a devil may have can never grow. But a living faith, living because it’s God-given, must grow. Perhaps some will object. "If that is true, how do you reconcile it with your previous statement that growth in faith is God’s work alone?" This is a very old objection. Every infidel has harped upon this string, and declared that everything is governed by eternal laws — but who made the laws, and who gave faith the principle to grow? This principle of growth in faith forbids faith remaining the same. But growth requires nourishment — and by nourishment God increases faith. The child grows by food; and the tree grows not unless it draws its nourishment from earth and sun; and the author of our faith, has provided that faith has a continual banquet. I mean the promises. Am I addressing one this morning with weak and timid faith? Then let it feast on such a promise as this: "My grace is sufficient for you." 2 Corinthians 12:9. Is there one here in distress about the future looking forward with apprehension to coming days? Then let your faith strengthen itself on this promise, "As your days, so shall your strength be." Deuteronomy 33:25. Right throughout the whole of his blessed Book, the Lord has provided that on which our faith may and must grow stronger. Faith lives in the atmosphere of the promises. Now a child will not grow by nourishment alone; it needs exercise. Growth in bulk is not always growth in strength. The very exertion that brings weariness and makes the little one long for rest, brings with it also strength. It is not sitting at the dinner table — but running outdoors in healthy exercise that makes the child grow. The tree grows not alone through sunshine and soft summer breezes — but by the wintry gales. It is the storm that gives it stability, and it sucks its strength from the breast of the tempest. A week’s campaign in the battlefield will make a better soldier, than a year of classes. Just so, God makes his children’s faith grow strong, by exercise. To Abraham’s, faith he gives a Mount Moriah; to Jacob’s faith, the loss of a Benjamin. To Daniel’s faith, a den of lions; and to Job’s faith, a succession of messengers of evil. And do not think, believer present, that you will be an exception. Your faith will have to grow by being strained and tried. Your arm of faith like the blacksmith’s, will have its muscles strong, by wielding many a hammer. Thus we have tried to show that faith grows by . . . an inward principle, appropriate nourishment, and daily exercise. III. This verse teaches us that growth in faith is a cause for rejoicing. "We are bound to thank God, brethren, because your faith grows exceedingly." Why do you think the Apostle Paul rejoiced in the growth of their faith? I think mainly for two reasons. First, because he knew that in proportion as their faith grew — so also would their happiness. Faith and happiness always walk hand in hand. Little faith is of just the same nature as great faith, and saves as certainly; but little faith is always crying and wiping its eyes — while great faith occupies the livelong day in singing. Little faith says, "I am sure I don’t know after all whether I am his; I hope I am." And if it manages to get over this difficulty, it only tumbles into another and says, "I very much question whether I will stay his." When it gets into the stream of trouble it begins to cry out "I feel no bottom, all your waves and your billows go over me!" Psalms 42:7. But strong faith is gloriously conscious of its saving interest in Christ, with cheerful voice it says, "I know in whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed to him until that day." When in mid-stream its head is above water, and it sees dry land ahead, while it hears in anticipation the Savior’s welcome, "Come in, you who are blessed of the Lord." Matthew 25:34. Both walk the same road, and will assuredly reach the same place — but their experiences in the journey are widely different. I need not dwell at any length on this point, for your heart tells you that when your faith is strongest, your joy is greatest. I think also Paul rejoiced because he knew that in proportion as their faith increased, so would their capacity for labor. A great work is too much for the hands of weak faith — and a heavy burden would break its back. Weak faith walks in the rear of the army — strong faith walks in the vanguard. We do not say there is no work that weak faith can accomplish; it can give the cooling draught of water to the wounded on the field, and do a thousand little acts of kindness to its fellow soldiers. But it is only strong faith that can make one in the forlorn hope, to carry by assault the strongholds of Hell, tearing down the black flag from the frowning battlement, and planting in its stead the blood-red banner of its captain. Little faith can do a useful work in hoeing and raking and watering the plants of the garden; but only strong faith is qualified to go out as a pioneer into the backwoods of sin, and with lusty blows clear the forest. The sword of the spirit is too heavy for weak faith to wield with much effect; but put that same sword into the hands of strong faith, and see how it makes it swing with lightning speed, leaving gaps in the foeman’s ranks at every stroke. Yes, friends, workers for God must have strong faith, or they will soon have their hearts broken, and be ready twenty times a day to throw down their weapons and cry "I give up." IV. Faith should not only grow — but grow exceedingly. I do not think the Apostle Paul so much thanks God in this text for the growth of faith in the Church at Thessalonica, as for the fact that it grew exceedingly. It was not a small increase of faith which he saw in them. Alas! with what small increase we are satisfied; and if sometimes we do manage to trust our God a little more than usual, how prone we are to grow self-righteous about it! I fear the race of giants in faith has degenerated. There was once a generation of men who seemed as if they could trust their God for anything and everything. In their muster-roll we find the names of Abraham, Daniel, David, Luther, Knox, and others. God’s Church has lost its faith, more than anything else. Would that it were revived. Zion wants a faith that walks unshackled by probabilities, and does not depend on circumstances. Bonaparte once said, "Other men are made by circumstances. I make circumstances." What he said boastfully — faith can say truthfully. We want faith that will make us do what the world will term outrageous things. Faith that will shock the nerves of prudent unbelief. Faith that only takes into consideration that its God is "the same yesterday, today, and forever," Hebrews 13:8 and that all his promises are "Yes, and Amen in Christ Jesus." 2 Corinthians 1:20. Do not be content with a mere canoe faith, only meant for fine weather, and swamped through a capful of wind; but pray for a leviathan faith that sports itself in the deep when lashed in wildest fury. Pant for an Elijah-like faith, with hand strong enough to turn the lock of Heaven and bring the showers down. And now, poor seeker, a word to you — it is, "let your faith grow." You believe that Christ is able to save you. Go a step further, and believe that he is willing. You are saying this morning, "Lord, I almost think I can trust you for my salvation," go further and say, "Lord, I do trust you." Take him as your only hope, with the hand of faith lay hold of him, and resolve, "sink or swim, win or lose, from this moment I trust you." And then when you have heard his loving voice say to you "your faith has saved you," then pray that that faith may daily grow. The Lord grant that it may be said concerning all his children in this tabernacle this morning "Your faith grows exceedingly!" Lord, increase our faith, for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 32: S. HIGGAION! ======================================================================== HIGGAION! Archibald G. Brown, August 17, 1873, East London Tabernacle "The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes; the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands. Higgaion. Selah." [Margin, ’Meditation’.] Psalms 9:16 You who worship here regularly will, I know, bear me witness that my general theme is the love of God — his compassion towards the fallen, and his willingness to save the vilest. The themes we love to dwell on are the all-glorious sufficiency of the atonement, and the unutterable love of that heart that broke with anguish on Calvary’s cross. We most frequently have the flute of mercy’s invitation to our lips, and most love to make our harp strings vibrate, as we sweep our hands across them — with the melody of redeeming love. But there are seasons for all things, and there are times for everything; and sometimes the day dawns when the preacher would be false to himself and false to his people, if he did not declare to them the other side of the subject. Yes, I know not how he could answer for it at the last day, or how his garments could be clear of the blood of souls — if he never put down mercy’s invitation, and lifted up the war trumpet to his lips, trusting to God to awaken a thousand echoes of alarm in as many hearts. If he would be true to himself, to his people, and to his God — he must sometimes make the strings of his harp tremulously vibrate to the mournful notes of a judgment to come. It behooves him sometimes to declare that the Lord is known not only by his matchless mercy — but by the holy judgment which he executes; and if it is right for him to say ’Come’ it is as right for him to thunder ’Higgaion’ — ’Meditate on the threatened judgments of an offended Jehovah.’ In our experience we have found that God uses all kinds of instrumentality for the ingathering of souls. While there are numbers allured by mercy’s music — there are almost as many driven into the arms of Heaven by the alarm bells of wrath to come. As there is a diversity in the operations of the Spirit, so is there a diversity of instrumentality, and we are bound to employ all means, yes, to ’become all things to all men, if by any means we may save some’. The burden of our heart is the unsaved portion of this night’s congregation, and that which makes the burden the heavier is the remembrance that ’The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes’ — that ’the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands.’ O sinner, I pray you have a ’Higgaion’ this evening. If you have never been serious before, be serious now, if but for forty minutes. If you never think of Heaven or Hell again, give me for a short time not only your ears, but your attention as I say to you ’Higgaion’; meditate — dare to look the fact in the face that Jehovah has said he is known by the judgment which he executes. I shall want then, first of all, to speak to you about the truth that is here stated, and then, secondly to cry ’Higgaion’ concerning it. First of all then, let me try and state THE TRUTH OF THE TEXT. The truth is, that the Lord makes himself known by his judgments; that is, that not only is the character of God discernible in the gentle mercy that he showers down on every hand — but that the same character is as distinctly set forth in his sterner actions. There is a fashion in theology as well as in everything else, and the fashionable thing at the present day seems to be to depreciate entirely divine justice and pooh pooh the idea of God possessing such a prerogative as vengeance. The fashionable thing now is to let all the sterner lines of Jehovah’s character evaporate, until nothing is left but a dreamy misty thing called ’the universal fatherhood of God’; and I suppose a more treacherous dangerous falsehood than this has never been launched by the father of all lies. It is just because this thing is so abroad and finding its way everywhere, that we want to clear our souls in your case and to say ’the Lord is known by the judgments which he executes’. Let us then look at what God’s thoughts in relation to sin are as demonstrated in his judgments, and I am inclined to think that we shall find there are far sterner traits in Jehovah’s character, than these prophets of sentimental theology imagine — we shall see that although his love to the sinner is wonderful indeed, there is dire wrath for him that refuses to accept the mercy offered through the atoning sacrifice of Christ. Let us then have a look at God as he has made himself known by his judgments. What ages have passed since first man fell. What centuries have rolled by since God first pronounced the threatened judgment on sin. Now, if God’s hatred to sin were anything less then intense, there would surely have been a mitigation of the sentence before this. If I can show you that although ages have rolled by since man fell, yet God’s threatened punishments are as real and tremendous now as ever — I think I shall have shown you that God’s hatred to sin is something terrible beyond all description. One judgment was that the earth should bring forth briars and thorns to scourge the laborer after food. Now surely if there were unmixed mercy on the part of God — if there were this universal commiseration at the expense of his own justice and truthfulness — such a light and additional part of the curse must have been altered before this. But what is the state of the case? The earth tonight brings forth her briars and her tangled thickets. To this day the earth suffers for sin’s sake, and ’the whole creation groans and travails in pain together until now’. There was also a solemn judgment pronounced in the ears of Eve, the first mother. Has that become obsolete? ’In sorrow shall you bring forth children.’ You may say that had we refined taste, we should not even refer to so delicate a subject. But we answer that we have to prove our point — not conciliate hyper-critical hearers. Has there been any mitigation of this? Are mothers’ sorrows less than they were? Even in the common sorrow of motherhood, I see a tremendous proof that God will not lessen one atom of the threat he pronounced. ’In the day that you eat thereof you shall surely die.’ Has death become a thing of the past? Is not this world fast becoming a huge cemetery? Has the scythe of the mower become less sharp? Has he put his sickle away? Are not men dying now as regularly as when Cain and his children died? They are; and the cemeteries on every hand, and the funeral bells that toll, tell me that God is known by the judgment which he executes. He must be besotted, indeed, who, having eyes and using them, can see anything else than fearful proofs on every hand that while God is love he is also inflexible in his justice. But let us take up this book, and see what God’s character is, as revealed by his judgments here in this world — and I think I shall be able to show that there is something in the character of God very different to that which is so universally represented now. Let us proceed to review the days of Noah. The world had become exceedingly sinful, its crimes cried to Heaven — then did the great fountains of the deep break up. Do you see how the black clouds gather? Do you hear the piteous pelting of the storm as it comes down? Do you mark the waters, how they rise? The hills are covered. Do you see the mad fight, the desperate struggle for the highest part of the mountain-peak? Can your eye see those corpses floating far and wide on every hand? Think of the time when a billow swept round and round the world without a mountain crag to break on. From the awful silence of a drowning world, there breaks upon mine ear, ’The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes!’ And in that judgment I see something far sterner and more dreadful and terrible than universal fatherhood. Those cold billows say to me that it is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of an angry God; and a drowned world tells me that he who dares to war against God, wars against one who has a thousand weapons in his hand, and says ’Vengeance is mine, I will repay!’ Come later on. There are cities full of iniquity. They burn with unnatural lust — so God decrees that they shall burn with unnatural fire. Do you see the sulphurous torrent as it pours down on those cities of the plain? Do you hear the crackling of the timbers, and the shrieks of the men, and the women and the children? Do you remember that woeful sentence, ’He looked down toward Sodom and Gomorrah, toward all the land of the plain, and he saw dense smoke rising from the land, like smoke from a furnace’? I see no universal fatherhood of God there. ’The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes’, and the sea of death (Dead Sea) in the Holy Land still bears its testimony to the fact that God abhors the sin, and has judgments for sinners. ’The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes.’ Israel, not satisfied with the bread that comes from Heaven, lust after the food of Egypt, and, forgetting all previous mercies, insult their God by murmuring and longing after Egypt; they cry for meat and they have it — but while it is still between their teeth, the wrath comes down upon them, and a great plague sweeps through the camp; graves are dug by hundreds and the rebels flung into them, and the place is called Kibroth-hattaavah, that is, the graves of lust. Go walk among those numerous graves, and remember that in every one there lies a sinner smitten down by the hand of God in the very midst of his iniquity, and then talk to me, if you can, about a God that is weakly merciful and will in no wise punish any. ’The Lord is known by the judgments which he executes’, and let every man woman and child in this Tabernacle tonight say ’Higgaion’, and meditate on the tremendous truth. Korah, Dathan and Abiram insult God through his servant Moses. ’Stand back, stand back’, cries a warning voice, ’back every one of you’, and all Israel stands grouped at a distance around those tents. Mark the wives and the children of Korah, Dathan and Abiram are there and their household goods and their cattle, besides. Do you see the earth yawn as down its horrid throat households, wives, children, tents, cattle, furniture, all are swallowed as in a living grave — while Israel terrified flees at their cry? The Lord is known by the judgments which he executes. Therefore let all the world give ear, and take to heart. But after all, these instances are only in the retail; there is a wholesale judgment I must call to mind. Do you remember how it is said concerning the people of Israel that out of the entire multitude that went out of Egypt only two entered the Holy Land — Caleb the son of Jephunneh, and Joshua the son of Nun? Where are the hosts of people that came out of Egypt? Where are the people that Moses and Aaron numbered in the wilderness of Sinai? Their carcasses are lying in the wilderness as the Lord threatened, and I stand aghast at this stupendous judgment. Here is a people brought out of Egypt with a mighty hand, and God smites all the chivalry of Egypt for their sakes — and yet as the fruits of rebellion only two out of the hundreds of thousands enter the Holy Land. Let the carcasses in the wilderness declare, ’The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes’, and let every heart here give the echo — ’Higgaion’, pause, meditate. And yet I feel that up to the present I have only been showing you God’s hatred of sin as it gleams. I have yet to show you the lurid light of its glare. I have only given you the milder specimens of God’s wrath — not the most terrible. Oh, would that the Holy Spirit might give power to our lips for a few moments to tell you how God has once in boundless degree shown his abhorrence of sin!! If you desire to see the most dreadful specimen of God’s wrath, I ask you to come with me now, to a place called Calvary. I want you to gather together on that little spot just outside the city, and see such a sight as Moses never saw when he beheld the bush burning. I want you to see on Calvary, the Lord making Himself known by the judgment which He executes. Who is that upon the tree in agonies and blood? The answer is, Jehovah’s Son! What, His one beloved Son? Yes, His beloved and only Son. But mark His agony. Do you see that ashen face, furrowed deep, turned up to Heaven? Do you hear that anguished cry that seems to pierce the clouds, ’My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?’ When the Lord looked at the adorable Jesus, He saw in Him not only His own Son — but the sinner’s substitute. He saw on Him my accursed sins — He saw yours also! And oh, awful truth, although the Substitute was His own Son, He would not, He could not spare the blow! That heaving breast of His beloved Son, was made the sheath of the sword of His inflexible justice! God must undeify himself, before He can wink at sin or fail in the execution of His threatened wrath against iniquity. He must cease to be the Holy One, before mercy can ride rough-shod over justice and truth. But righteousness and mercy, truth and peace all meet in the atoning sacrifice. ’The Lord is known by His judgment which He executes.’ Above all, by His judgment of sin at Calvary. Oh, am I speaking to any who imagine sin to be a trifle? I beg you to measure sin by the woes of Christ! If you think that iniquity is but a small thing, understand that iniquity can only be understood as it is measured by the agonies of a dying God. Probe those wounds — and fathom that depth of anguish if you can. Tell me how hot the fire burned within that loving heart; and when you have told me that — you have told me how much God hates sin! While Calvary is the most matchless exhibition of mercy — it is also the most dreadful exhibition of holy wrath. In one and the same person, and at one and the same time — there is illimitable love to the sinner and there is illimitable hatred to his sin. Go to Calvary, not to Sinai, to learn how much God abhors this accursed thing, sin! Ah; but I think I can hear one of you saying, ’We agree with you thus far; but have there been any such declarations of hatred to sin since that time? Remember, we are living in the New Testament days — in another dispensation. Does God make himself known by his judgments now?’ Well, let us come to a later time than the death of Christ. Behold Herod taking to himself praise that he has no right to, and insulting Heaven by allowing himself to be called a God. There he lies, eaten up with worms, smitten and blasted in a moment! That putrid mass of corruption, from which the courtiers shrink with horror, says, ’The Lord is known by the judgments which he executes! Higgaion. Meditate.’ ’Ah’, you say, ’that is an exceptional case. Herod was a king, so God noticed him more than if he had been a private individual.’ Indeed! Then listen. Ananias tells a lie — he falls a corpse. Sapphira, his wife, endorses the lie, and the young men returning from carrying him out — are just in time to bear away her body. What do you think of that? ’The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes. Higgaion.’ Do you still doubt the existence of any present judgment whereby the Lord is known? Then have one other tremendous proof — THERE IS A HELL TONIGHT. Its fires have not gone out nor burned down. Oh, will you doubt God’s vengeance against sin, when there is a Hell burning at this moment? Will you call in question Jehovah’s wrath, when at the very moment I am warning you there are souls suffering it? Ah, you may turn away in scorn and say, ’That is the antiquated subject when preachers are hard-up and know not what to talk about.’ Say what you like — God knows the thought is an agony to me — but there the fact remains. There is a Hell somewhere tonight, and that Hell ought to say to every soul in this Tabernacle, ’Higgaion’, ’meditate’ — ’The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes.’ Observe, too, that these judgments are wonderfully just, for the text says, ’The wicked is snared in the work of his own hands.’ The sinner after all, ruins himself, and the vile man becomes his own executioner. This is even true on earth. The drunkard burns his entrails and maddens his brains. The prodigal beggars himself until he envies the swine he feeds. As for the wicked, we won’t talk of the dire judgments they bring on themselves; but if in this company there are found licentious young men, or an abandoned sisterhood, I say to you, ’The wicked is snared in the work of his own hands.’ ’Higgaion’, both of you! No one can break through any of God’s hedges, but that an adder is sure to sting him! And he who hurls his sins against God, shall find them come down on his own head like a thunderbolt! But oh, beloved, how awfully true is it that the sinner is snared in the work of his own hands in eternity! There is one place where the justice of God in punishment is never called in question. There is a place where no whisper has ever yet been heard against the righteousness of divine anger, and that place is Hell. God’s inflexible justice is believed in Hell. The rich man may lift up his eyes in torment, but I do not find that he calls in question the justice of his doom. Every sinner damns himself; and in Hell men and women acknowledge the they are reaping the righteous fruits of their own sinful sowing! ’Higgaion! Meditate!’ This brings us, you see, to the close of this subject. I have tried to state the truth of the text. If it is unpalatable to any of you, remember it that it is not my truth; it is God’s. If it seems dreadfully strong to some of you, bear in mind it is the Holy Spirit that has put it there, not the preacher. Therefore ’Higgaion.’ II. We have now, in our second and closing place, simply to CRY OUT ONE WORD, AND THAT WORD ’HIGGAION!’ When the psalmist wrote this verse, and reached the words ’The wicked shall be snared in the work of his own hands’, he seemed to be overpowered at the terror of the thought, and so put a full stop and wrote in the word ’Higgaion!’ As much as to say, ’O my soul, meditate on the tremendous truth my hand has penned, and let all who read the same meditate.’ And then after ’Higgaion’ he puts ’Selah’. He would have there to be a solemn pause. Oh, I would that there could be just one moment’s solemn pause in our meeting tonight. Would that there could be a Selah, a Higgaion! Friends, shall there be? I put it to you. ’The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes; and the wicked shall be snared in the work of his own hands!’ Now let us just for a moment meditate on that. Let there be a solemn Higgaion, and let every heart ask itself the question, ’How do I stand in reference to this tremendous truth?’ I shall now for a minute or two call out Higgaion to a few different people. And the first I shall call it out to is the true believer. O saint of God, Higgaion! It is for you to meditate on this solemn fact — the threatened judgment of God against sin. First of all, let the minister have his Higgaion. Oh, what a grand thing it would be for this land of ours if every minister went into his pulpit under the power of a text like this! Higgaion! Yes, let the preacher remember that nicely turned sentences are, after all, poor things for perishing souls. Higgaion! Yes, let the minister understand that his congregation must be either damned or saved, and that the Lord is known by the judgment which he executes. Do not think I am speaking to others, and not to myself. God knows that I am condemning myself wholesale tonight. If I realized this truth more, do you think I should be preaching with a dry eye, as I am tonight? If I said ’Higgaion’ to my soul, as I ought, do you think I could look upon you without anguish? God is my witness, I have my Higgaion sometimes, and when I meditate on these pews full and these aisles full, I am ready to exclaim, ’O Lord, it is more than heart can bear!’ I tell you, sirs, I have had my Higgaion, and I have meditated on your doom; and the idea of this Tabernacle being a mere channel to Hell to any of you, has wrung tonight’s sermon from my inmost soul. O that this text had more power over me, and that I might be clear of the blood of every one of you. And Sunday school teachers, let the Higgaion come to your soul. You are entrusted with those young immortals. Do you believe the truth that God’s wrath is out against sin? Oh, if you do, you will not be content with going through a mere formal routine of lessons. You will travail in birth that these little ones may be saved. But to come nearer home. Parents, I want you to have a Higgaion tonight. Do you ever meditate on the possibility of a child of yours being damned? Have you ever really dared to entertain such contemplation? Then I ask you in the name of God, ’What are you doing for the conversion of your children?’ Brother, what are you doing for that unsaved sister? Sister, are you seeking the salvation of that brother? Higgaion, all of you, meditate on the truth that ’God is known by the judgment which he executes.’ May the Higgaion come with power upon the heart of every saint, until we each know what it is to plead with souls, as if we saw the waves of eternal wrath coming nearer every moment to the objects of our love! But, perhaps, there may be in this throng, a bitter scoffer. I know not — but likely enough there are some here who glory in their hatred of all that belongs to Christ. Ah, sir, you give your godly wife a hard time of it, and you are not ashamed to boast of your deeds!! Bitter are the scoffs that come from your lips, and cruel the words that cut her soul. Higgaion!!! There is a time coming when all your scoffing will be taken out of you. There is a day yet to dawn when even your brazen face shall turn ashen white. There is a moment yet to tick, when you will tremble before an insulted God. I know you will laugh at all we have said tonight, and make merry at our expense. I have no doubt you will crack your jokes over the sermon at your supper table. But even in your laughter, may the awful word ’Higgaion’ rise like a spirit from the deep, and stand before you! O, meditate, sinner, and remember that there is a God in Heaven, and he is known by the judgment that he executes! Poor thoughtless pleasure-seekers — and I know we have plenty of you here — I want to give you also this word. I see you putting the cup of sparkling dissipation to your lips — but before you drink it, I wish to drop something in — it is only one word — ’Higgaion!’ Let that fall into your cup of pleasure, and I think it will spoil its taste. If you can be merry, remembering the judgments of God — then you are a strange being. O, poor sinner, you who are leading a butterfly life, and entirely thoughtless about eternity, won’t you listen, as I say ’Higgaion’? Will you meditate just for a moment, and work out this problem? Is it worth while being damned for a little frothy pleasure on earth? Are the frivolities of time worth the woes of Hell? Some of you will be off to the theater tomorrow; well, I pray that amidst the glare and the glitter of that soul-trap, a word may ring right round the place and in your ears, and that word be ’Higgaion!’ Some of you will be off next Tuesday to your Festival, and you will be swept along on the tide of your wild mirth — Higgaion!! Remember this, amidst all your boisterous laughter, that the truth remains untouched, ’The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes!’ But, alas, there are some who are just stupidly indifferent, and I suppose we have as many of those here as of any sort — people who do not seem ever to trouble themselves about eternity at all. They are not pleasure-seekers or God-seekers either — they are content just to jog on without a thought either way. It struck me that this word might serve as a kind of bombshell to drop down under your window, and I wish it would explode and wake you up out of your stupid lethargy! You indifferent one, HIGGAION!! Will not the thought of the judgment to come rouse you from your slumber; or are you so dead asleep that even the roar of perdition shall fail to awake you? Sleeper, awake! Higgaion!! And you, money-maker, who have got every atom of your heart and soul in your business, look at your money and see if there is not a word tonight stamped on them, and that word ’Higgaion!’ How many of them will you take with you when you die? How many of your bank notes are you going to cram into your coffin with you? ’What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and lose his own soul?’ Do you think you can cash a check in Hell, or buy your freedom from perdition by your gold? Your money will perish with you! ’Higgaion!’ And, lastly, I would speak to some of you here who have been somewhat impressed by what they have heard. I know you have. I have seen the tear in your eye, and I have marked the way you have listened. Well, dear friend, remember that impression is not conversion; and the mere shedding of a tear is not coming to Christ; nor is the feeling uncomfortable under a sermon, a change of heart. To the most impressed I say, ’Higgaion!’ Now may you hear the sound of the flood of condemnation, as it comes running after you with race-horse speed, gaining ground every moment. O God, come and arouse the lethargic tonight! Come and wake the sleepers now, and let there be a Higgaion in every heart! Do you say ’WHEN shall we meditate? When shall we look these facts in the face?’ I have but one answer to give. Now! Now! Tomorrow may be too late! There are many having their Higgaion in Hell. They meditate over invitations that they refused, and warnings that they scoffed — but now it is too late! Ah friends, I am afraid there are some of you who will meditate upon this sermon in Hell! God forbid it. Oh, that you would meditate now! Now while mercy holds out her golden scepter! Now while divine patience keeps back the thunder-bolt! Now while God says ’Come!’ Now before Hell embraces you! Now while the bosom of Christ is open to welcome you! Now while God’s children pray for you. HIGGAION! When? Oh, this moment! The rush of time says ’Now!’ And the song of the angels says ’Now!’ And every ransomed heart that is here tonight says ’Now!’ Methinks even Jehovah, looking from his eternal throne, says ’Now!’ And, deep hollow-toned, there comes from the bottomless pit the word ’Now!’ Oh, may God either draw you or drive you; but if you forget every word we have uttered, let the text be engraved as in brass upon your soul — ’The Lord is known by the judgment which he executes. The wicked is snared in the work of his own hands.’ May God give the Higgaion, for his name’s sake. AMEN. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 33: S. HARD WORK AND BAD PAY! ======================================================================== Hard Work and Bad Pay! Archibald G. Brown, November 8th, 1868, at Stepney Green Tabernacle "For the wages of sin is death — but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." Romans 6:23 At the commencement of this morning’s service, when preaching from Psalms 103:11-13, I stated that the sermon would be almost entirely for the saints of God; that the fare would mainly be such as could only be enjoyed by those who had already tasted that the "Lord was gracious." But now this evening it is my aim to go after the lost sinner, and by the Spirit’s aid speak such words as will . . . arrest the attention, arouse the conscience, convince the soul, and cause it to fly from the wrath to come. It is indeed unquestionably sweet as fellow-pilgrims on the road to the celestial city, to becharm the journey by converse concerning its glories, and the mercy of its king. The fellowship of saints often causes many a piece of road which would otherwise be steep and rough, to become easy and pleasant. But let us not be so enamored with our own prospects, as to forget there are thousands yet dwelling in the city of destruction, nor be so occupied with mutual edification as to forget to cry out to the besotted inhabitants, "Escape for your life!" This morning with grateful hearts we viewed the mercy that had saved us from eternal shipwreck, and placed our feet firmly on the Rock of Ages, high up above the reach of the angry waves that had so nearly engulfed us. This evening, while still rejoicing in our own security, we desire to throw some planks and spars to those who are yet struggling in the dark waters, and fast sinking to rise no more. The text I have chosen with this view, is the solemn summing up of the argument in the previous part of the chapter. Paul had, in his own masterly style, clearly demonstrated that it was impossible for those who had been renewed by grace still to remain the servants of sin: at the very thought of such blasphemy, he breaks forth into the exclamation, "God forbid! How can we that are dead to sin, live in it any longer?" Romans 6:2. He thanks God that those to whom he is writing are no longer the blinded slaves to sin they once were — but have now "become servants to God," having their "fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life: for the wages of sin is death — but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." Doubtless, dear friends, in your own private reading, you have often noticed the striking contrasts set forth in the words employed by the apostle. You have . . . "sin" in contrast with "God," "death" in contrast with "life," and most suggestively, "wages" in contrast with "gift." The thoughts begotten by the last-mentioned contrast will constitute our theme for this evening. The first portion will be dark enough — terribly dark — we wish it to be. May God help us to make it so, not that we have any pleasure in so preaching; far from it — but only that it may serve as a black background to set forth more transcendently the glory of the latter. The darker the night — the more brilliant the daylight appears. The text divides itself naturally into two divisions: 1. Hard work, and bad pay. 2. No work, and rich reward. I. Hard Work — and Bad Pay. By way of opening up the subject, let us notice, 1. Who are the SERVANTS who receive the bad pay? All people, by nature. There is not a single one born of woman who is not born into this dread service. It is the heirloom left to all mankind by our first sire Adam. When he, our representative and head, yielded to the subtle tempter and partook of the forbidden fruit, he by that act not only made himself the servant to whom he obeyed — but entailed the accursed service on all who should hereafter spring from his loins. We are slaves born upon the estate of sin. The garb of servitude is upon us from our very birth. But let us remember that if we are servants by nature, so are we by voluntary choice. Shame to that man who is mean, base, and blasphemous enough to lay his guilt at Adam’s door, and so try to shift off from his own shoulders the responsibility of his guilt. There is not a sinner that has not willingly, and with the full consent of his heart, chosen sin. Nor has Satan a servant who has not of his own free will entered his service, glories in it, calls it liberty, and views all else as bondage. The language of every lost sinner concerning Christ is, "We will not have this man to reign over us!" Luke 19:14. And throwing to one side with scorn the gentle yoke of Jesus — he hires himself out to the Devil, and his service becomes his delight; his chains he views as bracelets; the noxious flowers of this world’s pleasures entwined around them, hide from his sight the rusty iron; and the clatter of his fetters, he mistakes for music. Offer him freedom, and he will laugh you to scorn, and tell you he has it. He looks upon the saint with pity, and, dancing in his chains like a maniac, calls him a fool to endure such bondage. Satan has no mere eye-service menials in his employment — they are all those who entered his service cheerfully, and will cheerfully remain there to the last, doing his bidding — unless sovereign grace prevents it. The servants of Satan are many. I noticed the other day in the reported speech of a candidate for parliamentary honors, that one of the chief reasons he had to bring forward why he should have a seat in St. Stephen’s was that he employed more men than any of the other candidates; if this is a valid reason or good argument, then most certainly a place must be found in the House for Satan — for who employs so many hands as he? His workshop is the world. Go where you please, at home or abroad, you find his willing servants, those who are in constant receipt of his wages. Unlike other employers, he never diminishes the number of his servants, for if any are persuaded by grace to leave his service, it goes much against his grain. It matters not to him whether trade is slack or otherwise, he can always find employment for all; such a thing as his ever firing a man the was never known. Out of the vast number of his servants then, there are sure to be many here tonight. How solemn the thought that along these galleries, down those aisles, on the platform beneath me, and on this upper rostrum around me — there are souls whom the Devil claims as his own; souls who are in the employment of perdition; souls who are only waiting for the wages of Hell. Oh mourn, you saints of God, that in spite of all the accessions to Zion, despite all the means the church puts forth — Satan’s band of slaves yet remains a myriad host. Let me further say that his servants belong to all ages. It is heartbreaking to behold at what an early age the badge of his service is worn. Children not in their teens, and lads not out of them, are every day, through the medium of our police courts — astonishing even a sinful world with their proficiency in guilt. And side by side with them, stands the hoary-headed criminal, whose strength has been withered, and whose locks have grown white in the service of the same relentless diabolical master. None are disqualified through age; none too young to be received; none too old to be retired. His servants belong to both sexes. Yes, sister, you who shudder when hearing the brutal oath; you who tremble on meeting the reeling drunkard — you who have been brought up amid every comfort, and nurtured in the home of piety — you also, unless converted by the grace of God, are among the number of those whom Satan reckons as his own! His servants also belong to all grades of society. None can boast exemption on the ground of social standing. "Ah," says the fashionable wealthy denizen of the west, "it is indeed shocking to think of the awful depravity which shows itself along the back streets. It is really quite painful to contemplate it." Then don’t. Look nearer home; for we imagine that in the sight of God, there is not much to choose between the outcast criminal and yourselves. The only difference is that, in your neighborhood, the Devil clothes his servants in more attractive garb; the repulsiveness of sin is hidden — but sin itself is just as rampant. A handsome coat may conceal quite as leprous a body, as filthy tattered rags leave bare. High and low, rich and poor, it is all the same. Yonder despot glories in his power; boasts that a single word of his can make the nations quake, proudly asserts that at his word a million men would march into the field for bloody war; and while he vaunts, the Devil laughs, and well he may, for the tyrant is his tool. Kings, princes, emperors, statesmen, and paupers are all equally his servants. Let us now view, 2. The WORK they have to perform. To be Satan’s servant is no easy job. He finds employment for all. His work is both hard and constant. To one he says, "Get RICH;" and at the word of command the poor wretch at once begins to toil, and laborious toil it is. He works, driven on by an unseen lash, as no slave ever could or would. All his thoughts are tinged with gold. All the kind impulses he ever had are dried up and withered away by the burning fever of avarice; his health fails, his spirit loses all its elasticity — but still on and on he is obliged to toil; he is maddened with a golden thirst; and the more he has, the more intolerable the craving grows. He is like the shipwrecked seaman who, after drifting for many a day in the open boat beneath a tropical sun, without a drop of cooling water, at last in his desperation drinks the briny sea, and in horror finds his agonies increased a thousandfold; but having once commenced, he feels compelled to take draught after draught, until at last he dies deliriously. His home soon loses all its sweetness; its comforts are hidden from his eyes by the veil of gold. The young and loving wife soon grows to be a broken-hearted one; she sees her rightful position in his heart, usurped by a hideous golden idol. This is no mere sentimental picture — but the recital of stern facts. Better far, for many, if the wealth had never come, for when wealth came in at the door — then love flew out at the window. Happier a hundredfold were those times when, with but little income, and often put to many a strait, they still felt that they had their all in each other’s love. And do you think the poor slave has any satisfaction in his gainings? No! not a whit; he is ready to curse the very gold he is obliged to scrape together. Find me a miser — and you find me a lump of incarnate misery. Satan is too hard a master to allow his servants even the small gratification of having some pleasure in the success of their work. Never does the Devil set a man to harder work than when he says, "Servant get rich!" And thousands of such poor wretched slaves there are in this great city, perhaps some here tonight, cringing to, and worshiping the world’s trinity of millions, thousands, hundreds. To another he gives an order, summed up in the word DRINK, and is not obedience to that command hard work? Do you think there is any real pleasure to the drunkard? Ask him. Let him tell you about the inward gnawings, the parched lip, the head that seems like a blacksmith’s shop with all the hammers at work; and the thousand and one pains beside, that rack the body after a night’s debauch, not to speak of all the mental torture he undergoes. Hard work! Yes, there is no slavedom more killing, both to body and soul than slavedom to the drink! Do I have here any drunkard listening to me tonight? If so, I know your own conscience bears testimony to the truth of what I have stated. Hear the poor slave of alcohol sing, "Britons never shall be slaves." Does it not seem a horrible mockery when the very one who sings it, is fettered hand and foot himself with the accursed sin; and who, although knowing he is destroying body, home, and soul, still confesses that he has no power to snap the cords. He who dies a drunkard’s death, and enters a drunkard’s grave — has worked hard for the result. Satan sets another to be a votary of PLEASURE. And here I think I can hear one of you saying, "What do you mean to say, Mr. Brown, that pleasure is work?" Yes, I do, and uncommonly hard work too. Who does not know by experience that a day’s pleasuring is more tiring than an equal number of hours’ work? The child of God will find his sweetest joys at home. The religion of Jesus endears the man’s own fireside to him. The rest in his family is welcome. Not so with the devotee of pleasure. Possessed with the evil spirit, he goes here and there seeking rest — and finding none. The quiet of the home he terms boredom; so he launches forth into a whirlpool of dissipation, and singing, "Begone, dull care," he tries to persuade himself he is happy. Delusive thought!! He knows and feels his misery, and finds that though he may have excitement, he is an utter stranger to satisfaction. The pleasure that once enchanted him, by frequent indulgence becomes insipid. Something stronger, more wicked is needed to stimulate his jaded spirits. He goes from bad to worse, until at last every sinful pleasure has in its turn been tried, and in its turn, grown tame. His hateful and hating master still goads him on, and he works like a slave at a mill, grinding on at pleasures which have long since failed to yield him any. Of all the miserable sights on earth — that of an aged profligate is the most miserable, unable to find a whit of pleasure in the things that once delighted him, yet hankering after them with an unabated longing. Satan sets a fourth to act the HYPOCRITE, and for this service he pays the highest wages, and right he should, for the work must be tremendous. How great a strain, to always have to remember the part he has to act. Never to dare to be natural; ever dreading exposure; always being something in appearance, directly opposed to what he is in reality; to have to sham the externals of a religion, without any of its inward comfortings; to be obliged to renounce the pleasures of time, without the hope of any in eternity! Surely the wages of the hypocrite are hard-earned! But whatever the work may be to which the sinner is set, it is work without a pause. Satan has no old pensioners permitted to end their days in peaceful idleness — they must keep on working to the last. Before that great blot of slavery was wiped away from the southern states of America, many of us doubtless read with tears and burning indignation of the weary, jaded, trembling band, driven out to the field in early morn, and kept unceasingly to the work by the blows of the whip, until some dropped among the cotton trees, and at last found rest in death. Feelings welled up from the bosom, too big for utterance. Behold, saints of God, a sadder sight still, and may kindred emotions be felt. Look at the vast mass of your fellow creatures, slaves to a greater tyrant than ever breathed "down south." Look at them driven on with blows and curses to endless perdition. Behold how fast they fall upon the field; and in that fall they find no rest, but only enter on far deeper woe — the payment of their wages. There are such here tonight; lift up your hearts and pray. "Slaves to Satan heretofore, Let them now be slaves no more, Lord, we turn our eyes to Thee, Let the captive sinner free!" Trusting we have made our second point clear, namely, that Satan’s servants have to work hard — let us now turn to, 3. The WAGES paid them. "The wages of sin is death." What! is the reward for all that hard toil — death? Yes, simply death! Oh, extraordinary wages — but more extraordinary still, that any should be found to work for them! The death of the body, is but the result of sin. If sin had not found its way into God’s fair earth, death also would have been forever a stranger. Death is the dark shadow that sin casts. For six thousand years men have been receiving the wages of death. Death has passed upon all men, for all have sinned. Think of the aggregate of sorrow that has come on this fallen world through death, the fruit of sin. Could all the groans that have burst from broken-hearted mourners since our first parents wept over their murdered son, be gathered into one — what a deep thunder-peal of anguish it would be! Were all the tears collected that death has caused to flow — what a briny ocean they would constitute! Let those call sin a trifle who dare — but to us ’tis clear that what could bring on man so awful a curse as death, must in itself be something unutterably horrible! And yet death, mere physical death, is the least that is meant here. If this was all the Lord meant, if men when they die, die like dogs — there would be no occasion for the agony of soul we often have. But alas! alas! the death referred to here is a death that never dies! It is placed in contrast to "eternal life." It means eternal death; in another word, Hell. Here, poor sinner, are your wages — here is the result of a life’s toil for Satan! Let me say moreover, sin pays some of its wages now; it gives sometimes an installment of Hell on earth. The wretched debauchee we attempted to describe often finds it so. Mark his haggard countenance, his trembling gait; follow him to the hospital — no don’t — let his end remain secret; terrible are the wages he receives! Look at the drunkard; he is paid for his sin in his home, until not a single stick remains to tell of a place that once was bright and happy. Have you ever seen a drunkard in delirium tremens? If so, you will never doubt about the wages he receives on account; hearken to his shrieking; listen to his raving as he imagines he is being dragged to Hell by ten thousand fiery snakes! This is all included in the wages "death;" and yet after all, this is nothing. If the only wages for sin were those received in a lifetime, we could be calmer. But oh, Eternity, Eternity is sin’s long pay-day; and the wages paid is Hell! I will close this dark division of my subject by an illustration, which I have read somewhere, used by a minister when preaching on this same text: Suppose a person were to go to a blacksmith and say to him ’I want you to make me a long and heavy chain; have it done by such a time and I will pay you cash for it.’ The blacksmith, though pressed with other work, for the sake of the money, commences it; and after toiling hard for some time, finishes it. The person calls, and says on looking at it, ’Yes, it is a good chain — but not long enough; work on it another week, I will then call and pay you for it.’ Encouraged by the promise of full reward, the blacksmith toils on, adding link to link. When his employer calls again, he praises him as before — but still insists that ’the chain is too short.’ ’But,’ says the blacksmith, ’I can do no more; my iron is all gone, and my strength too.’ ’Oh then, just add a few more links, the chain will then answer my purpose, and you shall be well paid.’ The blacksmith, with his remaining strength, and last few scraps of iron, adds the last link he can. ’The chain will now do,’ says the man, ’you have worked hard and long; I will now pay you your wages.’ And taking the chain, he suddenly bound the laborer hand and foot, and cast him into a furnace of fire! ’Such’ said the preacher, ’are the wages of sin." It promises much — but its reward is damnation. Present servants of sin and Satan, behold your future doom — be honest, and confess that your service is hard work and bad pay. May the Lord make you feel it so, then you will be more willing to close in with the sweet offer contained in the latter clause of the verse. II. No Work — and Rich Reward. I have already so far exceeded the time I had intended to devote to the first portion of the subject that I will be compelled to be exceedingly brief in that which yet remains. I will only be able to give you a meager outline, and leave to yourselves the filling up of details. In this clause of the text you have nothing about work or wages. The pivot word of the whole is "gift." God absolutely refuses to sell salvation. He will give to any — but barter with none. His terms are "without money and without price." Behold then how lovely a contrast we have in the text. On one side is hard, unceasing, slave driving work — with its wages of misery and eternal death! On the other side, confronting it like an angel of light, you have the full, free, loving gift of eternal life. But is it not strange that the very freeness of salvation is the great stumbling block in the way of its acceptance? Not more strange than true. Human pride revolts against it; to receive as a pauper that for which all payment is refused, is too humbling. If eternal life was for sale, the vast majority would be buyers. But how comforting would this word "gift" be to those present who feel they have nothing to pay; to those who are conscious of spiritual bankruptcy. Here is a salvation that meets your case exactly. Nothing required from those who have nothing. Oh, close in with so blessed an offer. Make (as holy Rutherford calls it) this bargain with the Lord, to receive all, and for nothing. Believing is nothing less than freely accepting with the heart, that which God freely offers through our Lord Jesus Christ. Notice, moreover, the blessing specified. "Eternal life!" This the Lord permits his children to enjoy on earth; for just as part of the wages of sin is paid on account, in this life — so even in this life, foretastes of the gift of God are enjoyed by the saints. Dr. Watts beautifully expresses it: "The men of grace have found Glory begun below; Celestial limits on earthly ground From faith and hope may grow. The hill of Zion yields A thousand sacred sweets; Before we reach the heavenly fields, Or walk the golden streets." Contentment, conscious peace with God, inward peace of soul, quiet trustfulness as to the future, beside a thousand other joys, are some of the clusters of the grapes of Eschol which refresh the wearied one on his journey to the land where the vine grows. And how about the end, when the gift is received in full? What does not "eternal life" include? An entrance through the pearly gates into the city — a position before the throne — the company of angels — the never-ceasing song of the redeemed — the entire absence of all shade of sorrow; these and bliss unutterable are all included in "eternal life;" and all this is "through Jesus Christ our Lord." In your joy, believer, do not forget the channel through whom it flows; it is a gift to you — because your Lord paid all. Our peace, is through his chastisement, our joy, is through his sorrow, our songs, are through his sighs, our cleansing, is through his blood, our acceptance, is through his righteousness, our crown, is through his cross. Sinner, do you desire to be saved? Are you tired and sick of your present service? Behold then the way of escape; accept as a sinner, the free salvation of God offered to you in the person of Jesus. Trust him, trust him only; throw overboard all other hopes; take him as your Savior; cease from your works and trust to his; let it no longer be what you have done, or what you may hope to do — but what Jesus has done. Do not spurn the free gift of God tonight, nor in your madness, still work for deadly wages. Something tells me tonight — and the thought oppresses me — that this sermon will be the deciding cast in the history of some; the scales are on the balance — but they will turn tonight. Which way? Eternity hangs on the answer. Let me try in conclusion to drive this thought home by an illustration. It is stated that the Missouri and Columbia rivers have their sources within a few yards of each other upon the summit of the rocky mountains. A breath of wind either from east or west will decide into which stream the rain drops fall. But once they have commenced their downward course upon the mountain side — then what power on earth can arrest their progress? They mingle with other streams; they dash and foam over precipices, and roll with irresistible power towards the ocean. Those upon the west side are borne out into the calm bosom of the Pacific — while those upon the east roll into the stormy billows of the Atlantic. Sinner, you stand upon the top of the mountain. On the one side of you far distant lies the ocean of God’s love — boundless, stormless and peaceful, with which the river of life is connected. On the other side a muddy, inky stream rushes from your very feet into the roaring Atlantic of God’s wrath. Perhaps this evening’s sermon is the breeze which will decide into which stream you are carried. Which will it be? May the Lord save you. God forbid that in this concourse of people, there should be a single one who will ever learn by bitter, eternal experience that "the wages of sin is death." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 34: S. HE IS PRECIOUS! ======================================================================== He is Precious! Archibald G. Brown, January 3rd, 1869, Stepney Green Tabernacle "To you therefore who believe, He is precious!" 1 Peter 2:7 Through the sparing mercy of God, I have commenced this day, the third year of my ministry in this place. It is impossible to look back on the two years gone by without the profoundest gratitude, for great indeed have been the blessings received; far more than we could ever have ventured to expect. God has been pleased to show by the clearest proofs, that the work in this place is His, and we would give to Him the full sheaf of glory. "Not to us, O Lord, not to us — but to your name give glory, for your mercy, and for your truth’s sake." During the two years, what changes have taken place in our midst. Faces once familiar, are now seen no more; many voices that once joined with ours in sacred praise, have been stilled in death; beloved ones who bowed with us in prayer, are this evening bowing before the eternal throne in lowliest homage. The two years have not passed over this congregation without writing the word "change" upon its brow. Nor has the change been confined to the congregation as a whole; we have each and all personally come under its power. Not a single soul present is precisely what it was when first I came into your number, and, in the experience of a great many — how blessed has been the change effected even during the past year. Some of you commenced 1868 "without Christ" and "without hope" — when it dawned it found you in "gross darkness!" But before it closed, God had "called you out of darkness into his marvelous light," and Christ who was to you "a root out of a dry ground," has now become the "chief among ten thousand and the altogether lovely One!" The past year will ever be to you the best year of your life, for in its months, the Lord changed . . . your heart from stone to flesh, your affections from self to Christ, your eternal destiny from Hell to Heaven! This is a blessed change indeed, which only sovereign grace could make! But there has been something that even Father Time itself has failed to alter — something that has defied all the powers of the great transformer. I refer to the believer’s estimate of Christ. In degree — it increases; in its nature — it is the same. Borne along by the stream of time, we glide from one year into another — but with us we carry the preciousness of Jesus. Time may . . . furrow the brow, silver the hair, weaken the memory, and eat away the strength — but the love which every saint has to his Savior defies its power to lessen it. If Christ was precious to you in 1868, he will be just as precious to you in 1869. Year by year (however your opinion and estimate of others may alter) the declaration of your heart will be the same, "He is precious!" Therefore, instead of commencing this year’s pastorate with any review of the past, or any account of the Lord’s work during the last twelve months, I purpose to devote this, my first sermon of the present year, to the preciousness of Christ. To those who love him, the subject will ever be fresh; and for those of you who do not, we earnestly pray that the Holy Spirit may this evening withdraw the veil that hides him from your eyes; may he give to you spiritual vision, that Christ’s beauties may shine forth before you until, with melting heart you cry, "O Savior, you are precious!" I will first, by God’s help, try and Employ the text as a test; then secondly, View it as the sweet experience of the saint; and lastly — Mention some seasons when Christ is more than ever precious. I. First then — I will try and employ this evening’s text as a TEST. It is a touchstone whereby we may discover whether we are in the faith or not. To whom is he precious? Why, only to those who believe, and believe with the heart. For there are many who believe in the same sense that the Devils do; but like them, their faith has never worked love; and faith which works no love, works no salvation either. But to all who have believed unto salvation, Christ has become precious; therefore if he is precious to me, that preciousness is a sweet evidence that I have been saved through faith. But if, on the other hand, I have to confess that I know nothing of the experience of this text; that the preciousness of Christ is still a thing unknown; that simple love to him is an emotion unfelt — then whatever else I may possess, I lack the one thing necessary to warrant me in believing I am saved. 1. How SIMPLE a test it is. There are many who seem to take a delight in speaking of the difficulty of knowing our own salvation and of the liability there is, in spite of all our self examinations of being self-deceived; I for one do not believe a single word of it. I grant that there are many self-deceived ones — but I deny that they are so, after careful self-testing, The men who are deceived are those who never take the trouble to put themselves through the sieve, who truly always "take it for granted" that they are all-right, and who, if a searching sermon is preached, see its applicability to everybody else except themselves. Men who are so certain of the soundness of their vessel that they never try the pumps: these are the men who go to the bottom. But it is sheer nonsense to say it is impossible to find out whether we are in the faith or not. Does conversion make such an imperceptible difference that only God can see it? Is it impossible for me to tell whether I am floundering about in miry clay in a horrible pit; or whether I am standing on a rock with sunlight all around. Are the two so much alike? There might be some excuse for the theory, if the tests to be applied were so abstruse and difficult that none could be certainly sure whether he had applied them rightly or not; but in this evening’s text we have an infallible test; one that can never possibly fail, and yet so simple that a child can understand it, and the most ignorant can use it as well as the most erudite. Is Christ precious to you? Yes or no. If he is, you are saved, if he is not, you are still unsaved. Many of the old puritans have written hundreds of pages of "spiritual refinings" as they call them; test after test is used; touchstone after touchstone applied; the whole man is dissected; and yet after all, this simple God-given test includes them all. Shame to us then, if with so simple a test, within the reach of all, any of us should be deceived, or remain so if we are. "To you who believe, he is precious." 2. But this test is not only a simple one — but, secondly, an exceedingly SEARCHING one. Many who can bear almost any other, flinch from this. It passes beyond mere externals, and touches the inward life. It appeals, not to the head, not to the actions — but to the heart’s affection. There are many who know all about the things of God; they have all the doctrines at their finger ends; they will tell you in a moment whether a sermon was orthodox or not, whether it had the right ring or not; they are veritable "Bodies of Divinity" incarnate; and examined by the test of biblical knowledge, they would come off with flying colors. But test them by this evening’s text, and their apparent godliness turns out a sham — they prove to be only dead bodies in the garments of the living. They could have stood an examination by all the doctors of divinity triumphantly; but before this simple test they fall, because it does not examine their Bible knowledge — but their love for Jesus. Their outward life is almost without reproach — truthful to a syllable; honest as the day; strict even in their morality. Test them by their life, and they need never have any fear as to the result; but test them by their love for Jesus, test them by the preciousness of Christ to them — and they prove miserable defaulters. Beloved, can you bear the test? Are you willing to have it applied to your heart? Can you say — "Do not I love Thee, O my Lord? Behold my heart and see; And turn each cursed idol out, That dares to rival Thee. Thou know’st I love Thee, dearest Lord, But O, I long to soar Far from the sphere of mortal joys, And learn to love Thee more!" If you can, then are you happy. But if it were possible for you to possess every other evidence of faith, and yet lack this, you are still without any saving knowledge of Christ. Look at that dead body being galvanized: it moves its arms, its eyes open, it shows signs of life. Yes it does — but it only shows them; it still lacks one thing, and that is the vital spark within; and that one thing lacking, leaves it a corpse. So with the mere professor: the one thing he lacks is love to Christ; and if that one thing is lacking, he is still dead in trespasses and sins. Oh, lay your heart open to the knife — do not flinch from it, keen though its blade may be. "To you who believe, he is precious;" then do you believe? 3. Thirdly, this test is a very COMFORTING one, and not one whit less so, than simple or searching. How many there are who fly to it as their one evidence that they are Christ’s. Poor, trembling, timid souls, who know but very little of doctrine, who look up with awe to those I have just described, and wish they knew one tenth as much — but who cling with the tenacity of a drowning man to this text. "Lord," they say "you had it written that to those who believe, he is precious. I don’t know much, Lord — but this I do know, and you know it also, that Christ is very precious to my soul. Then Lord, may I not hope that I have believed on you?" Has this not been the language of many present, and are there not many here who look at this test, which many dread, as their chief joy, and say "Yes, he is precious to me!" I have heard somewhere of a poor girl who was being examined by a number of local dignitaries in order to obtain some job. She appeared to them very stupid and ignorant; question after question she could not answer; and getting more and more excited, she only floundered on all the worse. At last one of the clergymen in astonishment said, My dear girl, what do you know? The poor thing, with the color mounting up to her brow, stammered out "I — I know that I love Christ, and could die for him!" Oh blessed knowledge worth more than all other! Cheer up, poor desponding heart, wipe away the tear from the eye; for as God’s ambassador I declare that if you can say "Jesus is precious!" then you have the brightest and best evidence that you are his — and he is yours. Let us now in the second place, II. View the Text as the Sweet Experience of the Saint. Who is precious? Why Jesus is. To the child of God, a personal living Christ is most dear. He is not satisfied with a mere love for . . . Christ’s doctrines, Christ’s promises, or Christ’s gifts. His affections entwine themselves round about Christ’s person. Jesus is to him his brother, friend, companion, the one with whom he walks and talks. True growth in grace consists of a personal Savior growing increasingly precious. How sad it is that so many fall short of this experience; their religion is entered more in a code of rules and collections of doctrines — than in the person of the dear Redeemer. Yes, to you who believe, He Himself is precious! Not only His house — for it is quite possible to like a person’s house exceedingly, and yet have no particular love for the owner of that house. Not only His book — for there are many books you may enjoy reading, and yet have neither knowledge of, nor affection for, the author. Not only His gifts — for how many there are who value a man’s gifts, while they despise him in their heart. But He Himself, apart from all that He gives, will be your heart’s dearest love. "My God, I love You; not because I hope for Heaven thereby. Nor because those who love You not, Must burn eternally. Not with the hope of gaining anything, Not seeking a reward; But as Yourself have loved me, O ever-loving Lord." Then if Christ is precious to you, everything about him becomes precious. His name becomes the sweetest music of the soul. It is impossible to love anyone intensely without having their name endeared to you, not because of the name itself — but because of its associations; the name has become inseparably linked with the person, and its mention causes every heart-string to vibrate. Jesus, Jesus — was ever music as full of melody? Soft and sweet as "music stealing over the rippling waves" of some moon-lit lake. Do not ten thousand sweet emotions arise at its call — Jesus! Could we not repeat that word over and over again, and every time find a fuller harmony in it, until under its magic power the eyes begin to swim with tears of grateful love; the heart feels too big for the breast, and the lips are constrained to sing, "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds In a believer’s ear! It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, And drives away his fear." How about "Emmanuel?" Is not that name precious to those of us who believe? "God with us." Surely, "Sweeter sounds than music knows, Charm me in Emmanuel’s name." Time would fail, even to run over the glorious list of names whereby he is called — but concerning every one, we should say "that name is precious!" We read in Genesis that Pharaoh placed on the hand of Joseph his own signet ring, and that gave to him a sovereign power. Beloved, the name of Jesus is our signet ring, and ever has been to saints of all ages. What was the power of the Apostles? The name of Jesus. What is the power of this blessed Gospel? It is the signet ring of the name of Jesus that makes it "the power of God unto salvation." Romans 1:16. Why do our prayers, so cold and feeble in themselves, find acceptance and bring down into our souls innumerable blessings? Only because they bear the signet ring of the name of Jesus, and that all we ask is "for his sake." Yes, blessed Jesus, your name is precious to your believing ones. So, moreover, is his person. On this I have already briefly touched — but only as a whole. Let me go more into particulars. His person is precious, wherever, or in whatever condition, we behold it. Let us join company with the Magi and follow yonder glittering star. It stops over this manger, let us enter. Behold the young child — nestled in its mother’s arms. It is our Savior. It is "the ancient of days." Daniel 7:22. Oh, "holy child," we prostrate ourselves before you and with the wise men worship, for in your dawn, O Sun of Righteousness, you are precious; and in your opening bud, O "Rose of Sharon," you are sweet. Do we view him during his thirty years of sojourn here, still he is precious. Precious, when being weary, he sleeps in the hind part of the vessel. Precious, when at the grave of Lazarus he weeps. Precious, when at the well side, he woos and wins the heart of the poor adulterous woman of Samaria. Ah! how infinitely precious He is in His sufferings and death! O, come with me into Gethsemane. How dark the shade of the olive grove — how cold the night air blows. Let us pass that sleeping group — a stone’s throw further still. Hark! What sound is that? It is not the sighing of the breeze in the branches we hear. Come nearer. Ah! now we can catch the words. "Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me." Do you see Him? Look! He falls upon the ground. What drops are those that fall? Do the trees weep dew? No, they are drops of blood, forced from His sacred body by agony of soul, as they fall to the ground. Savior! clothed in the garment of your blood, and crushed with anguish — You are precious! But follow Him further. He is tied to yonder pillar, His back is bared — the cruel Roman scourge descends, and ploughs it with deep furrows. Is He less precious to you now, believer? Ah, no! The more His misery deepens — so much the more does your love! Listen to the ringing sound of those hammers! Hear the brutal laugh!! They crucify Him!!! He who clothed the earth with flowers — hangs without a rag to hide His nakedness. Fever courses in His veins. Thirst torments Him. His wounds gape wide. Will you turn away from Him now believer? Are His charms gone? No, no, no, for in His shame and dying agonies, He is more than ever precious! And now his head droops. Human spite has done its worst. Jesus is dead. But precious is that lifeless form. Oh! Joseph of Arimathea, I envy you the honor of paying the last tokens of affection to Him who is so precious. Never was a sepulcher so honored, as that of yours "in which no man was ever lain before." John 19:41 And now, believer, I want you once more to view your Lord and bear your testimony to his preciousness. Where will we find him? The sepulcher is empty; the guards like dead men fall down before the rising one; angels have declared, "He is not here — but risen." Matthew 28:6. He has appeared often to his disciples, and on the last memorable visit he has "led them out as far as Bethany, and lifted up his hands and blessed them; and it came to pass, while he blessed them, that he was parted from them, and carried up into Heaven." Luke 24:50-51. It is there we would now behold him. Hymned by a myriad host, he has passed through the uplifted gates of the city. "King of Kings and Lord of Lords!" Revelation 19:16 is the overwhelming chorus that reverberates along Heaven’s arches. Through all the angelic serried ranks he passes; right up to the eternal throne he walks; and as he takes the sovereign position, the universal acclamation is "You are worthy!" Revelation 4:11. Before his Father he pleads his people’s cause as the Advocate for all his ransomed people — the "High priest of our profession." Hebrews 3:1. Now believer, what is your estimate of him? What is he to you there? I know the answer of your heart is, "He is precious," and "Whom have I in Heaven but You? I desire you more than anything on earth!" Psalms 73:25. Not all the shining streets; nor all the cherubic band; nor even the company of loved ones gone before, would constitute a Heaven to you. No. He Himself is Heaven — and Heaven is to be with him. "Not all the harps above Can make a heavenly place, If God his residence remove Or but conceal his face." So then we may say, that whether in his infancy; passion; death or glory — his person is precious to the saint. His love moreover is precious. I need not dwell on this, for to the saint it is the nectar of his life. To know and feel that "Jesus loves me" is the branch which, if put into any waters of Marah, takes all their bitterness away. His love . . . his manifested love, his never-changing love, his love that flows to us in ten thousand different channels — is infinitely precious! Time fails me to tell of the preciousness of his love visits; suffice it to say that to the saint, no guest is so welcome, so desired as Jesus. No knock at the door is so well known, or so well loved — when he comes to sup with us and we with him. The word "precious" has a stronger meaning than appears on its surface; it is really "to you who believe, He is preciousness," or all-precious. Christ is . . . a sun which ever shines; a garden which is always full of flowers and fruits; a hive ever full of honey; a fountain which is always full; a brook which never dries; a rose that always blooms; an ocean of sweetness without a drop of gall. Christ Jesus is the Heaven of heavens My Christ what shall I call? Christ is the first, Christ is the last, And Christ is all in all. The question now arises, How will this preciousness of Christ to the believer manifest itself? I answer first, Christ will be constantly in his thoughts. A person beloved will ever be carried in remembrance. Why, mother, although you left your little one sleeping in the cot at home, you have nevertheless brought it here — it is enshrined within your heart; it is the center of your thoughts. So the believer thinks of Jesus, and his thoughts of him are frequent and pleasant. "My meditation of him shall be sweet. How precious are your thoughts to me, O God, how great is the sum of them: when I awake I am still with you." Psalms 139:17-18 Christ will also constantly employ his tongue. When Peter and John were ordered by the council to speak no more in the name of Jesus, they replied, "We cannot but speak the things which we have heard and seen." Acts 4:20. If the heart is full to the brim with love for the Savior — the least thing will cause it to run over the lip. If a house is on fire within, the flames will soon show themselves out of the window. Just so, if the heart is all ablaze with fervent affection, words of burning love will soon find their way out of the mouth. It will also declare itself by willingness to make sacrifices for him. "For whom I have suffered the loss of all things," says Paul. Php 3:8. How willingly the noble army of martyrs walked through blood and fire to him, outside the camp. For his sake the believer will endure the sneers of neighbors, the frowns of friends, the threats of superiors. For his sake, they spurn the world — they laugh at its pretended pleasures. For his sake, sins as dear as a right hand or right eye, are abandoned. Yes the preciousness of Christ makes self-denial for his sake a veritable luxury. What sacrifices have you ever made, constrained by the preciousness of Christ? III. Some Seasons When Christ is More than Ever Precious. In the day of conversion. Can we ever forget that day; the day of Heaven on earth to us; the day when the great change came; well may we sing — "Oh, happy day, that fixed my choice On You, my Savior, and my God!" Ah! how precious was Christ to us then; often do we go back in remembrance to that moment, and wish we could always feel the transport of joy that was ours then. When is bread most precious? Why most certainly when the man is most famished for lack of it. When does water taste the sweetest? Surely when it flows over lips that are dried and cracked through the lack of it. To see Jesus for the first time as our Savior, is to see the ocean opening a way from the Egypt of bondage, to the shore of freedom! It is to see the water gushing from the desert rock! It is to see the brazen serpent uplifted over a dying camp! It is to see the life-boat coming through the surges, when our ship is bumping on the rocks. To see Jesus is to see the pardon — when the rope is round the neck! The loveliest sight the eye of faith can behold, is Jesus coming to our soul with . . . forgiveness on his lip; pity in his eye; and a glittering crown in his hand! If ever He is indeed precious, it is in the time of conversion! So also is he in the day of trouble. The preciousness of Christ is learned best in the university of trial. O bear me witness, you saints of God, that you never fully knew the preciousness of your Redeemer, until you were stretched upon that bed of pain; until you spent your weeks in the wards of the hospital; until bereavement snatched the loved one from your side and drew a pall of gloom over all your earthly bliss; until friends began to fail you, and you were driven into closer communion with that friend "who sticks closer than a brother." Proverbs 18:24 And, lastly, let me say, such also is the dying day. It is only Jesus who, "Can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are." Would you know the preciousness of Christ? Then go and ask that aged, silver-haired saint who is just passing through the valley. He is dead to everything around him. Relations and friends are unnoticed; the most familiar names whispered in his ear fail to awaken any response. But stoop down and ask gently, "Friend, is Jesus precious to you now?" Oh, see that smile that plays upon the aged lips — they open! He is about to speak! Listen! "Yes, he is precious, more precious than ever he was; precious, precious, precious Jesus!" — and he falls asleep in his Savior’s arms, with that smile which Christ’s preciousness gave birth to, still upon the lip. "Jesus! the vision of your face Has overpowering charms; Scarce shall I feel death’s cold embrace, If Christ is in my arms. Then while you hear my heart-strings break, How sweet the moments roll; A mortal paleness on my cheek, But glory on my soul!" "To you therefore who believe, he is precious." Is he precious to you? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 35: S. HEART'S CRY AFTER GOD! ======================================================================== Heart’s Cry after God! Archibald Brown, March 30, 1879, East London Tabernacle "My heart and my flesh cry out for the living God!" Psalms 84:2 It is a matter of very little consequence who penned this psalm, or at what exact date it was written. It is enough for us that it is a psalm which has set forth the desires of God’s people in all ages. But, with regards to the writer, we may remark that although no name is given, yet the psalm is so Davidic (to coin a word) that you feel David must have been the penman. There is a peculiar ring about the composition which betrays the authorship of the sweet singer of Israel; and, as a well-known commentator on the Psalms has said, ’It smells of the mountain heather, and the lonely places of the wilderness where King David must have often lodged during his many wars.’ One can feel that it is written by a man of God who has not seen the inside of the sanctuary for some little while. Through stress of circumstances he has been a fugitive from his home — perhaps from his native land; and as he rests on mountain side, or sits in quiet glen, he begins to think of the time when he went up with the multitude that kept holy day, until he breaks out in the fervent exclamation, ’How lovely are your tabernacles, O Lord Almighty!’ It is not a question asked; it is an exclamation made. ’How lovely!’ — beyond all description — outside the poet’s power to tell. The sanctuary is just one of the many mercies the worth of which is never known until they are lost. I suppose there is nothing which you or I have on earth, which is fully prized until taken away for a season. Then our eyes are opened to see how large a portion of our life it occupied, and how great an amount of our happiness was yielded by it. There are worshiping with us this morning some who now find the sanctuary a dearer place than they ever imagined possible. During the weeks you were laid aside, sir; during those weary days when you thought of the company going up to the Lord’s house, and sighed because you were not able to join them — did you not come to the conclusion that, after all, there was a charm about public worship, a delight in the songs of the multitude, and an exquisite pleasure in the gathering together of the hosts of the Lord’s ransomed company — beyond what you had ever previously imagined? The whole of this psalm is the uttered desire of a soul for public worship, and, as the psalmist muses upon the matter, his language burns, and he goes as far as it is possible for man to go, for he begins to envy the very sparrows their privilege. I think I see the royal writer. There he is, an exile from home, for a while camping out, and he thinks, ’I wish I were a bird! Here am I, governor of the land, and yet I cannot go up to the tabernacle; but lo, there is not a sparrow but can fly into the holy place.’ And then he remembers how he has even seen the swallows make their nests under the eaves of the altar, and he covets their quiet and holy abode. ’Oh, blessed are those who dwell in your house! Blessed are those who keep the doors, yes, the menials who sweep out the sacred courts, and those who light the candles of the sanctuary!’ If you look into the psalm, you will see that it would be impossible for him to use stronger language than he does to express his desire, for in the second verse, from which we have selected our text, he says, ’My soul longs’. The word in the original is stronger than that. The literal translation would, perhaps, be more after this sort: ’My soul has grown pale. It is ready to faint away for the courts of the Lord.’ Just as intense desire will eat into the strength of our manhood, and put a premature paleness upon the cheek, and earlier furrows on the brow — ’so’, says the psalmist, ’my soul is literally pining away to be found once more with the Lord’s people’. As if that were not enough, he adds, ’Yes, even faints’; and the idea there is ’consumed’ with desire. And then he goes one step further, ’My heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.’ They can contain their desires no longer, and so my tongue makes this wilderness to echo with my call. I cry until these rugged mountains send back the sorrowful notes of my voice. ’My heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.’ You will see that, after all, the psalmist reaches the climax of desire, not when he speaks of the sanctuary — but of God himself. ’My heart and my flesh cry out’ — not for the tabernacle — not for the services of the priesthood there — not for the multitudinous sacrifices and burnt offerings — but for God — the living God. He only rightly prizes the sanctuary who prizes it in proportion as a living God is found within its walls. Let us this morning dwell for a short time on the desire of the heart and flesh, as expressed by the psalmist. We will note first, the nature of this desire: ’the living God’. Then we will ask you to observe, the strength of this desire: ’my heart and my flesh cry out for God’. And then, if we have time, we will note, lastly, the comfortable assurance that this desire may give us. If you and I can say, ’My heart and my flesh cry out to God’, it shows that we belong to David’s tribe. There must be something of the grace of God in us, or we should never know such longing. I. Let us observe then, first, the desire of heart and flesh — the living God. It is old Master Sibbes, one of the sweetest of the Puritan writers, who well observes that the desires of the heart are the best proofs of salvation; and if a man wishes to know whether he is really saved or not, he can very soon find out by putting his finger upon the pulse of his desires, for those are things that never can be counterfeit. You may counterfeit words; you may counterfeit actions; but you cannot counterfeit desires. You cannot always tell a Christian by his actions; for sometimes true Christians act in a very ugly style, and sometimes those who are not Christians act in a very beautiful way, and hypocrites often act the best. The whole of a hypocrite’s life may be a simple counterfeit. Nor are our words always a true test. Of course, a hypocrite will lie in his throat; and often the most beautiful experience, as far as language goes, is the experience that falls from the lips of a man whose heart knows nothing about the grace of God. And, even with no hypocrisy in us, our language is not a very safe test. It is possible to mix with God’s children until you pick up a sort of Christian dialect, and talk of others’ experiences as though they were your own. Just as a man sojourning in a foreign country will learn a good deal of the language of its inhabitants by simply hearing it talked — so it is possible to dwell among Christians until their language is in great measure acquired. Talking a language does not constitute a nationality. But there is one thing which cannot be picked up or counterfeited, and that is a desire. Let me know my desire — then do I know myself; for I can no more counterfeit a desire than I can counterfeit fire. I think it is the same old Puritan who says, ’Do you want to know what you are? Go ask your desires, and they will tell you. Do you wish to know where you are? See where your desires tend.’ A good action may be done without any love to that action. And, on the other hand, an evil action may be avoided — not from any hatred to that evil. The good action may be done from an impure motive; the evil may be avoided simply from a selfish motive. But the desire of the soul — that is the immediate issue of the heart, and let me find my desire, then do I find myself. A caged bird cannot fly — does it therefore cease to be a bird? No; that it does not fly is because it is in a cage. Open the door — see, now, how quickly it darts through the opening, and flies, skimming through the air, heavenward. It has the bird’s nature. It had the desire for flight even when the cruel wires kept it in. And so is it with the child of God. Often does he get caged, and if you were to judge simply by appearances, you would say, ’Surely he has not the nature of the Christian within.’ Only open the door. Only give him a chance of flight; you will see then that, after all, the desire of his soul has been towards God, for, in the language of my text, he says, ’My heart and my flesh cry out for the living God!’ Having noted, then, that the desire of a man is the best proof of his saintship, let us go a step further, and observe that the desire of the true Christian is after God himself. ’My heart and my flesh cry out for — for God.’ Oh, here is a marvel of grace! Surely it is unnecessary to go farther than this in order to prove that, when a man is converted, he receives altogether a new nature! He must be a new creature in Christ Jesus! Imagine! — the desire of a man’s heart finding expression in the words — ’for God’. Scripture tells me that poor human nature wishes anything rather than God, for ’there is none that seeks after God’; and, so far from desiring God, the natural heart would like to do away with him; and as he cannot do away with the throne of God in Heaven, he seeks to abolish the throne of God from his mind, and, therefore, tries to forget God. If the natural man can banish God from his thoughts and from his reckonings — he will. And, therefore, if I can honestly say before the Lord this morning, ’My desire is for God’, I need no other proof — no other magnificent demonstration — that there is a something wrought in me which is not of the world. It is this which puts the line of demarcation between the real saint and the counterfeit. A man who is born of God, can not do without God. Now, I want you to note that this desire swallows up all others. Supposing, as in all probability is the case, that David is the penman of this psalm; see how beautifully this thought comes out. The desire for God drowns all others. I can imagine that when he penned this psalm he was out on one of the many wars that occupied him, or else, maybe, a fugitive before his own son Absalom. At any rate, we know he was away from the courts of the sanctuary, and yet I do not find him saying, ’My heart and my flesh cry out for my home.’ Yet David was essentially a home man, for he always returned, when he could, to bless his household. He was certainly a man with plenty of patriotism in his heart — but I do not hear him saying, ’My heart and my flesh cry out for Jerusalem.’ No, nor even for the sanctuary itself. His soul longed for it; but it was not the edifice. It was not the costly service. It was not the priesthood. It was not the reared altar. It was not the sacrifice. It was God himself for whom his soul cried out. Methinks there is a lesson here to many who are devotees either to a building or to a style of worship. My dear friend, if you really have the grace of God in your heart, all that will concern you is to have God in the service. You may, of course, have your likes and dislikes; you prefer one style of building to another; but it will be to you a matter of supreme indifference whether you worship in a place with a steeple or without. Much as some of us may object to steeple-houses, we would sooner far worship in a steeple-house, and have God, than in this tabernacle if we had not a sense of his presence. But who, on the other hand, would not rather worship in the plainest building that could be put up, with bare whitewashed walls, and have the Lord, than worship in the grandest cathedral that the art of man or the wealth of a nation ever produced — and yet lack the presence of a living God? All these mere externals, beloved, are of very, very little worth. Choose your building if you like; but after you have reared it, think but little of it. It is the God in the building, who must be the object of the soul’s delight. And as for the order of service, I care not. Only give me a service which has plenty of God in it. If hymns are sung that praise him, I mind not whether they be long, short, or common metre, exquisite in composition, or homely rhymes. If a sermon only brings me up to God, I mind not whether it be preached with polished words — or in rough, rugged sentences. If the service only leads me nearer to a living God, you may begin with the sermon and leave off with a hymn, or begin with a hymn and leave off with the sermon. All these mere etceteras are nothing. It is ’My heart and my flesh cry out for God’, for nothing less than God can satisfy the craving of a believer’s soul. There is a hunger in the heart of the saint which only God himself can satisfy. You may fill his mouth with everything you can think of, and it will yet hunger and cry out for ’God! God! God!’ If you are really a saved man — the world cannot make you content, let it try its utmost. If all the wealth of the universe were yours, and all the honors that society can give were lying at your feet — if everything a natural heart can wish for were in your possession — you would be as wretched as Hell with it all, if you had not the living God. If, on the other hand, you are a child of God, and walking in the light of his countenance, though trade may be bad — though children may be sick — though sorrows may come like Atlantic billows one after another, in ceaseless roll — you will yet be able to say, ’My soul rejoices in God.’ He who has the divine presence, and nothing else — knows he is rich to all the intents of bliss. He who has all things else — but lacks the realized presence of his God, feels unutterably poor. All the experiences of the Christian resolve themselves into this: ’My heart and my flesh cry out for God.’ There may be someone who says, ’How do you account for this?’ Well, I think there are three things quite sufficient in themselves to account for this desire God-ward; and the first and chief is that every saint has within his breast that which is actually born of God, and therefore it cries out after its own Father. It is no figure of speech — no symbol — no type — when we read in the Gospel of John that we are ’born of God’. It is a positive fact. There never was a more actual or real birth in any home, than there is within the bosom when the Spirit of God comes to a man in regenerating power. There is a new nature begotten of God by the incorruptible seed of the word. There is something within the believer’s bosom which nature never put there — which self did not put there — which the world did not put there. It comes directly from God, and has a divine parentage. Do you marvel, then, that this holy thing which is born of God is always tending towards its original? It must. You cannot show me anything in nature, but what tends to its original. Water will always try to rise to the level of its spring. Fire will ever flash upwards, because, in the first instance, it came from on high. The sun’s rays long buried in those submerged forests, and imprisoned in coal, will leap upward to their source in tongues of fire the moment their dungeon door is opened. And child of God, you and I have that within our heart which is restless until it reaches its original. Born of God, I must fly to God. The new nature God has begotten can never rest short of him, and so heart and flesh cry out for God. This accounts for the misery of a backslider. I have often been astonished when such have asked me so simple a question as ’How is it, sir, I am so miserable? I feel as if I were being torn in two.’ Of course you do. The new nature never dies out when once it is within a man, however much it may be slighted and neglected. There it is in the heart, crying, ’God! God! God! God!’ and there is the old nature shouting with loud voice, ’The world! the world! the world! the world!’ and the unhappy man is dragged between the two — the new nature struggling God-ward — the old nature earthward, until he cries out in his pain and anguish. Poor soul have you wandered, and lost your joys? Thank God for your misery, while you deplore your wanderings, for it is one of the best proofs that, after all, the birth of the divine nature has taken place within you. Then another reason is that every believer has the Spirit of God dwelling within him, and if he has the Spirit of God dwelling within him, it is only natural that he should desire God. I hope and believe that, in preaching to you this morning, I am speaking to those who believe that it was no mere figure of speech on our Lord’s part when he said, ’And we will come and take up our abode within him’; or on the apostle’s part when he said, ’Know you not that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit?’ Within the breast of every believer there dwells the third person of the Trinity, the ever blessed Spirit. The moment you remember this, you can understand the desire of my text. What is the one great work of the Spirit which I tried to show you the other Sunday morning? Is it not to glorify Christ? Surely it is, and the great work of Christ was to glorify the Father. Therefore, if I have the Spirit within my breast, He will always be leading me up to God through Christ. Long as ever the Spirit of God dwells within the breast, all His motions, all His teachings, all His tendencies are to the eternal Father through Jesus. Therefore, ’My heart and my flesh cry out for God.’ But once more, and I will leave this point. Do not you think this desire after God becomes intensified by your earthly experience? I ask you to mark the words I employ — ’becomes intensified by your earthly experience’. It is not that your earthly experience makes you long for God — but I believe your earthly experience often makes you long more for God. After you have discovered the hollowness, the emptiness, the disappointing nature of the world — after you have had a little experience of the amount of sham there is abroad when, perhaps, over and over again, you have been most bitterly disappointed in the one you trusted most — when all things, too, begin to fail you and you feel that troubles huge are coming on apace — then it is that the soul cries out more earnestly than ever for God. Oh for something real in a world of unreality — for something true in a world so false! Oh for something abiding in a world which is so fleeting! And so your earthly experience inflames the soul’s desires after God. As I was listening to a brother praying at a recent prayer meeting here, I remarked to a friend of his, ’I never heard him pray like that before.’ ’No’, was the answer, ’he never had so much trouble before.’ I could tell, all the way through that prayer, that there were cries and groanings after God, which, though begotten by the Spirit, had been intensified by earth’s bitter experiences. Perhaps if the psalmist had not been out on the mountain side, away from the courts of the Lord’s house, there would not have been so deep an emphasis on this cry — ’Oh for God!’ II. Now, only for two or three minutes, I want you to observe the intensity of this desire. ’My heart and my flesh cry out.’ Do you see, heart and flesh being both mentioned, we are taught that it is the desire of the whole man. Every faculty of the mind and every affection of the heart cry out. Now, this word ’cry out’ — what does it mean? In the original it means the cry of a company of soldiers as they attack the foe. When the word of command is given for the battle to commence, a wild cry rises up from the ranks — the cry of the men as they dash forward. There is expectation, eagerness, desire, all concentrated in its note. For a moment look at it in this light. This desire after God has intensity. All the soul, the heart, the flesh, join in the cry. A man never knows how he can cry to God — until he cries after God. You may put that down as certain. No man knows how intense prayer can become — until the subject of the prayer is God himself. Then he is startled by his own eagerness — almost afraid at his own earnestness. The idea of our text is also a cry of distress — such a cry as I should imagine would break from the lips of one who had been wandering late in the afternoon along a seacoast, and become caught by the advancing tide. He is not acquainted with the shore, and does not know that the tide runs round inside the bank on which he is walking. As he wends his way, the shadows of the evening come down, and he can see in the distance the lights of the spot where his temporary home is. But the tide has come in between him and the shore. He climbs from rock to rock. The waters rise. He can go no further. Nothing but a boat can save him. How he wishes that the evening were not advanced! It is no use waving his handkerchief now. He cannot be seen. But lights are moving about on shore. Now listen to him. There is anguish in the cry which he sends across the waste of waters. ’Help! HELP! HELP!’ ’My heart and my flesh cry out for God’ — nothing but God can meet the exigencies of the case. It is an intensity that drowns all other desires — ’cries out for God’. I passed a little boy the other day being led by the hand by a kind-faced policeman; and as the little thing walked by his side, I could hear him, amidst its sobs, continually crying, ’Father! father! father! father!’ Yes, in this great city — full of people, the only face the child wanted to see was the face of its father. He knew he had lost a father’s hand, for he had wandered from a father’s side, and he wanted father back again. ’My heart and my flesh cry out for God.’ Just as a lost child cares not for a million faces it may meet along the road — it wants to look at its father’s face — so the true born child of God can rest satisfied with nothing short of a sight of his God. ’My heart and my flesh cry out for God.’ Once more, it is an intensity of desire that creates pain. The language of our text is the language of a soul which can bear its anguish no longer in silence. It is a cry extorted by inward pangs. We will not dwell on our last points — (as our time is gone) — but only say there are some very comforting assurances to be gained from this subject. Have you been able to say, step by step, ’Yes, I know this — I have borne that — I have gone right through that — the pastor has just been describing my experience this morning’? Then let me say here, lift up the hands which hang down, and let the feeble knees be confirmed, and the sad heart be glad. You say, ’Be glad because I am so miserable’? Yes, be glad because you are wretched without God. That longing after God is a more infallible proof you are God’s, than your longest prayers, your most zealous services, or the very best of your actions. These might be counterfeit: this longing after God cannot be. And if there is within your soul an aching void that nothing but a living God can fill, write it down, ’I am born of God’; for none but those who are born of God know anything of this sweet pain. Oh what must Heaven be! If all the desires of a saint are concentrated in this one for God — then what must the satisfaction of Heaven be when it is all God — God on the throne, God before me, God leading me, God delighting my eyes, God in my songs — the world, its cares, its sorrows, its worries, all gone — a heavenly atmosphere of God all around! How unutterably deep the satisfaction! My heart and my flesh will no longer cry out for God — but will eternally rejoice in him. Do not I love thee, O my lord? Behold my heart, and see, And chase each idol far away, That dares to rival thee! Thou know’st I love thee, dearest Lord, But, oh! I long to soar Above the sphere of mortal joys, And learn to love thee more! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 36: S. HIS GREAT LOVE! ======================================================================== His Great Love! Archibald G. Brown, October 29, 1894, East London Tabernacle "But God, who is rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ!" Ephesians 2:4-5 His great love is our great theme this morning — but, oh, how infinitely does the greatness of the theme transcend the slender abilities of the preacher. But this thought encourages him, that, let the preacher be whoever he may, all are on one level here — all alike are powerless to rise to the height of the argument of the amazing theme: ’His great love!’ No mere wealth of intellectual grasp avails here. Nay, nor does any Holy Spirit teaching or spiritual initiation fully avail, for, after the most profoundly taught man of God has dwelt upon ’His great love’, he will be the very first to acknowledge that the subject lies infinitely beyond all that he has said, even though he may have been mightily helped by the Spirit of God. ’His great love.’ Here is a greatness which so overawes and overwhelms, that it diminishes everything else, and yet the desire of our soul is in some measure to reach even to its dizzy height. May that which cannot possibly be fully expressed be yet, by the help of the Holy Spirit, so set forth that every one here shall leave with a truer conception of the greatness of God’s love than he had when he entered the building. ’His great love.’ This, you will see, is the fountainhead of the river of salvation. It is declared to be so here. In these words you have the eternal spring that supplies the whole of that river of salvation that makes glad the city of our God. How full, how deep, how clear — is its tide. And yet the whole of that river, with all its endless silvery branches, is supplied from the mighty gushing spring of ’his great love’. If it is the fountainhead of all supply, you will see also from the context, that it is the one mighty motive for all. ’But God who is rich in mercy’: there is the supply. But why is he rich in mercy? He is rich in mercy ’for his great love’. It is the great love which begets the rich mercy. The mighty motive that gives birth to all is infinite love. Come with me in thought, and gaze upon all the wondrous wheels that revolve in the great work of redemption, and then, as you gaze upon them, remember that the mighty motive power that moves all is this — ’his great love’. There is no other argument for God saving us. There can be no other argument. Go back into the primary cause of all, and you will come to this, ’his great love’; and if presumptuously you ask, ’But what is the reason of that love? If his love be the original of all — then what is the origin of the original? What gives birth to the great love?’ My answer is that God loves us because he will; and I can give you no other explanation. God’s love is sovereign love. The roots are in himself; therefore do the fruits abound toward us. Why does God save us? He saves us in order to satisfy his love. He loves us to satisfy his nature. ’God is love.’ It is his love that craves for, plans, and works out, our eternal salvation. Love in itself is an invisible thing. It is simply an emotion of the heart; and an emotion is not that which can be beheld by itself. It can be seen only as it manifests itself. You cannot see love; you cannot handle love. Only as love reveals itself in action, can you perceive it. And, as regards the love of God, you cannot even form an idea of its nature by a contemplation of your own emotions of love. Perhaps someone here is already searching his own heart with the hope of attaining to such an idea; but, when he has explored its depths, he will have a very poor standard by which to judge the great love of God. My poor, weak, imperfect, faulty emotion, which I call love, can never be the revelation of the great love of God. We are just shut up to the fact that we are absolutely dependent upon God’s revelation for knowing what God’s love is. Only as it has pleased him to reveal it to us, can we possibly know it. This morning I shall want you to look mainly at four points, and each point will have a separate text. We shall turn the flashlight of four or five passages upon our text, and from them show you: first, God’s great love manifested; next, his great love commended; thirdly, his great love measured; and lastly, his great love magnified. You see our line of thought. It is that love, being an invisible emotion, can only be understood as it is revealed. I. First of all, note that God’s Great Love Is Manifested in the Incarnation. You will find this in 1 John 4:9 : ’In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world.’ Note this word well, ’In this was manifested the love of God.’ The invisible emotion of love was manifested, in that God sent his only begotten Son. To understand this passage we must understand the meaning of ’manifest’. I thought that I would refer to the best dictionaries of the English language in order to see the definition of that word. ’Manifest’ means to make evident, to make palpable, so that it can be taken hold of by the hand. Or ’manifest’ means to disclose, to display, to put beyond all doubt. Now read the passage thus: ’In this was displayed, in this was put beyond all doubt, in this was made palpable, the love of God — in that he sent his only begotten Son into the world.’ You will get, I think, a very striking light upon the word ’manifest’ by turning to Acts 4:16, for, in the original, the same word is used. Peter and John had performed that marvel on the impotent man, and in Acts 4:16 we read that the members of the council said, ’What shall we do to these men, for that indeed a notable miracle has been done by them is manifest to all them that dwell in Jerusalem, and we cannot deny it.’ The miracle was so manifest that they said, ’It is of no use to try to deny it.’ You cannot deny that which is manifest. Now read the passage again. ’In this was manifest’ — (that is, so displayed that it cannot be denied) — ’the love of God.’ Once again. Let us throw another scripture light on the words, ’In this was manifested the love of God.’ It is the very same word as that which is applied to our Lord’s incarnation, for in 1 John 1:1-2, we read, ’That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled, of the word of life, for the life was manifested.’ Now, John, I can understand how it is that you have been able to see it, and hear it, and handle it, for the life has been manifested. So displayed was God in Christ that the invisible God was seen, heard, handled. Now, as God was manifested in Christ, so is the love of God manifested in the person of Christ. Christ says, ’He who has seen me has seen the Father.’ Likewise also could he have said, ’He who has seen me, has seen the great love of God.’ Oh, that the Spirit of the Lord would help us just now to rise to the great height of this declaration. Do you catch the thought? God’s great love has visited the earth, and sojourned and lived on it. God’s great love has been seen, heard, handled. It has been made so palpable that even human hands have been able to touch and feel the great love of God, while human eyes have gazed upon it, and human ears listened to its voice. There is the love of God sleeping in the person of that tiny infant that is pressed to the virgin mother’s breast. Look again. There is the great love of God toiling as an artisan in the carpenter’s shop. That one wiping the sweat from his brow, and with the shavings clinging to his shirt, is the incarnation of God’s great love. Look a third time, and you see the love of God preaching — the love of God as a God-sent prophet, declaring the truth, and exclaiming to the weary, ’Come unto me.’ And now, bending over Jerusalem, with big tear-drops running down his cheeks, the love of God is weeping. Oh, have you ever looked at Christ really in this light as a perfect manifestation of the love of God? Should we be spared for a few months we shall say that spring has come. What do we mean by spring? We have never seen the spirit of the spring. Spring itself is an invisible thing. How can I see the spring? I can only see it as it is manifested in buds that swell and burst, in the flowers that peep and open, in the rustle of the green leaves, and in the quickening of nature everywhere. In this I see and hear the spirit of the spring. In the very chatter of the birds I hear a testimony to this hidden force. I have not seen the spring itself, but I have seen the spring manifested. So the love of God is in itself an invisible emotion — but I behold it in the tears of Christ, I hear it in the words of Christ, I see it in the person of Christ. In this was manifested God’s great love, even that he sent his Son. Can you not see now, in a moment, the utter folly of those people who preach the love of God apart from Jesus Christ? Such preaching is worthless. I cannot know anything of the love of God, save as he manifests it; and he has been pleased to manifest his love in that he sent Jesus Christ. Subtract Jesus Christ, and you wipe away the manifestation, and ask the people to behold the invisible. All the present talk about the love of the eternal Father, irrespective altogether of its manifestation in Jesus Christ, is a snare and a delusion, and not a gospel. God has said, ’Would you see my love? Look there. It is manifested in the person of my Son.’ II. Now I have to flash a second light upon my text. You saw by my first text that God’s great love is manifested in the incarnation. My second text shows that His Great Love is Commended by the Death of Christ. You will find the words in Romans 5:8 : ’But God commends his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’ The meaning of the word ’commend’, literally translated, is to ’cause to stand together’; hence to confirm, to establish. God has confirmed his love to us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. God’s love is manifested in the person of Christ, and then established by his death. Read Romans 5:7, and you will see how striking is the argument which it contains. ’For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet perhaps for the good man someone would even dare to die’ (RV). ’It is difficult to imagine it — but still’, says the apostle, ’although for a righteous man — that is, an upright, honorable — but unloving man — no one would die, yet it is just within the range of possibility that perhaps for some dear, good, loving man, someone would die.’ That is as high as human nature can get. To die for another is the greatest manifestation of love that can be given — but it is gravely questionable whether even for the best of men anyone could be found willing to give this supreme manifestation. ’But God commends his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners’ — that is, neither righteous nor good — ’Christ died for us.’ The supreme act of love is reached for the most unworthy. Poor human nature can scarcely find one willing to die for the best of men; but God has commended his love in that he has reached the highest act of love in the laying down of his life, and he has done this for the very worst of men. That is how God commends his love. But the very nature of the death enhances the love, for what says my text? ’God commends his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’ It was not simply a beautiful, painless, curseless death. It was a substitutionary, sacrificial death, which had the curse of Jehovah accompanying it; a death which made Christ cry, ’My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?’; a death not on softest bed, with every alleviation which love can suggest — but on a rough timber cross; a death in which every agony possible was compressed, and that death was all for us. Love, as we have been reminding you, is an invisible emotion — but it is manifested in the person of Jesus, and commended, confirmed, and gloriously established, by his atoning death for us upon the accursed tree. The manifestation reached its commendation there. The whole of Christ’s life is a mountain range showing forth God’s great love; but, when we come to Calvary, there shoots up from that mountain range a snow-capped peak so dazzling white, so majestic in its height, that all the rest of the range seems dwarfed by comparison. Therefore let us learn the lesson that we cannot preach the love of God, if we leave out the sacrifice of Christ. Oh, that it were possible to make one’s words echo beyond this tabernacle into ten thousand deluded ears. Then would I cry aloud, ’You cannot preach the love of God, if you leave out the substitutionary sacrifice. Your talk goes for nothing, for you leave the love of God without its commendation.’ God’s commendation of his love is this — and he can give no higher — that, while we were yet sinners, God, in the person of Christ, gave himself as a sacrifice for the lost. III. Our third point is His Great Love Measured. How can we measure this love? You get the answer in John 17:23 : ’I in them, and they in me, that they may be made perfect in one, and that the world may know that you have sent me, and have loved them as you have loved me.’ Behold there the measure of God’s love. God has loved us — as he loved Christ! I can imagine some thoughtful hearer saying, ’But what is the good of giving us that measure? The measure itself is immeasurable.’ That is just what I wanted to bring you to. We have an immeasurable standard given to us. What is God’s love to us? It is just the same as God’s love to Christ. But what is God’s love to Christ? Immeasurable. Then what is God’s love to us? Immeasurable. When we come to measure the city of love that lies four square, an infinite measuring-rod is put into our hands. It is ’As you have loved me.’ God’s love to Christ was perfect; then God’s love to me must be a perfect love. I hardly like to suggest the question — but can you conceive of the love of the Father to the Son being capable of augmentation? Can you conceive of the Father loving Christ a little more at one time than at another? It is almost blasphemy even to suggest the thought. Can you venture to think of there being any diminution in the love which the Father has to the Son? You shrink back with horror, and say, ’God forbid!’ Then Jesus tells us that God’s love to us is something that cannot be augmented — and something that cannot be diminished. Or, again, can you conceive of the Father’s love to Christ ever being alienated? Oh, it were blasphemy to talk of it. ’As you have loved me’, says Christ, ’so, Father, you have loved them.’ There is the measure of ’his great love’. It is the same love as that which he has unto his Son. So dear, so very dear, to God, More dear I cannot be, For in the person of His Son I am as dear as He! IV. We have seen that God’s great love . . . is manifested in the incarnation, is commended in the death of Christ, and it can be measured only by his love to his Son. Observe, lastly, that His Great Love is Magnified in What He Has Done for Us. This is found in 1 John 3:1. ’Behold’ — here is something to be looked at — ’Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God.’ And then there ought to be added the words found in the Revised Version, ’and such we are.’ The word ’manner’ which occurs here is a very beautiful one. It might be translated ’style’. ’Behold what style of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called the sons of God.’ We have found that we are unable to measure God’s great love, because the only measuring-rod by which it can be gauged is itself immeasurable; but we are able to judge somewhat of the style of his love by what it has done for us. God is not content with simply forgiving me. It does not satisfy his love just to cleanse me. God does not rest in merely justifying me. His heart prompts him to do something more for me than all this. Then in what further way does his love show itself? Behold, it is God-like in its style. He not only forgives and cleanses; he not only snatches from perdition — but he puts us right into his own family! That is what he does for us. Behold what style of love is here! You may look until your eyes grow dim with age — but the more you look, the more you will be amazed at this style of his great love. Not only does he save me as a rebel — but he brings me into the King’s house! And not only does he bring me into the King’s house — but he makes me the King’s son, and he says, ’Come, my child, and live with me!’ That beautiful parable of the prodigal son, so often made to teach error because it is wrenched from its context, is intended to set forth the reception which God gives to the soul when it comes to him. The Shepherd, as Redeemer, has done his work in the first parable. The Spirit, with the light and the broom, has done his work as set forth in the second parable. The soul has been found and saved by the Shepherd, and discovered by the Spirit, and now that soul goes to the Father, in the third parable. What sort of reception is given? There is the young prodigal straight from the swine-trough — a stench, it may be, in the nostrils of decency. But the Father does not say, ’Let him go and take his dinner out in the kitchen among the servants.’ Not at all. It is not, ’Rummage over the old clothes, and see whether you can find a worn-out coat, for the shabbiest will be good enough for him.’ No, it is ’Bring forth the best robe and put it on him. Get a ring, and put it on the very finger that has been in the pigs’ mash. And go and kill the fatted calf, and call all the household in; and let us eat, drink, and be merry.’ And the old farm-house rang with melody, and the windows flashed with light, and the rooms shook with the dancing — because the prodigal had been welcomed home. That is Christ’s own picture of how the love of God treats the rescued sinner. Here, methinks, I can in some measure understand his great love: Manifested in Christ, commended in the atonement, measured by his love to the Son, it is magnified in myself. One thought, and I close. In the 5th chapter of Romans, and the 5th verse, we find what God does with that love. ’The love of God is shed abroad in our heart by the Holy Spirit.’ We have seen its manifestation, its commendation, its measurement, and its magnification; and now we behold the Communication of This Wonderful Love to our hearts. The love here mentioned is not my love to God; but God’s love to me. And by what medium is this love shed abroad? By the only possible one — the Holy Spirit. It has been pointed out that the word translated ’shed abroad’ literally signifies ’to be poured out of’. The meaning, then, is that the love of God is poured out of God’s heart into our heart by the Holy Spirit. Only the blessed Spirit who searches and sounds the depths of God knows what the love of God is, and he reveals the same by imparting himself. By filling the heart with himself, he floods it with the love of God. Dear brother, is the great love of God shed abroad in your heart? Is the aroma of that love filling every chamber of your being? Blessed be his name, ’We have known and believed the love that God has toward us.’ Then my prayer for you and for myself is, ’May the Lord direct our hearts into the love of God’; ’his great love’, manifested and commended, measured and magnified, and poured out into our hearts by the Holy Spirit. There are who sigh that no fond heart is theirs: None love them best. Oh, vain and selfish sigh! Out of the bosom of His love He spares: The Father spares the Son, for you to die. For you He died; for you He lives again; O’er you He watches in His boundless reign. You are as much His care as if beside Nor man nor angel lived in Heaven or earth; Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide To light up worlds, or wake an insect’s mirth: They shine and shine with unexhausted store; You are your Savior’s darling — seek no more. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 37: S. HOW LONG? ======================================================================== How Long? Archibald G. Brown, December 6th, 1868, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Lord, how long will you look on?" Psalms 35:17 This psalm, as I endeavored to show while reading it at the commencement of the service, is not only as it is entitled "A psalm of David," but also a "A psalm of the Messiah." A greater than David is here. The sweet singer of Israel doubtless expresses in its verses his own experience and his personal longings — but while doing so, he also prophetically sets forth what would be the griefs, sorrows, and prayers of him who, while David’s Lord, was in his humanity the "Son of David." There is a striking resemblance in Psalms 35:1-28 to Psalms 22:1-31, in which the prophet personalizes the Messiah in his state of humiliation and suffering. In both, felt weakness is expressed. In both, cruel persecutors are described. In both, integrity is maintained. And in both, the lack of comfortings from on high is portrayed as the bitterest drop in the cup. The same one who in the twenty-second psalm exclaims, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, and from the words of my groaning?" Psalms 22:1 also gives utterance to the bitter cry of our text, "Lord how long will you look on? Rescue my soul from their destructions, my darling from the lions." Psalms 35:17 But as in the exposition I dwelt almost entirely upon the Messianic view of the psalm, I desire now to take the words as David’s own (and most assuredly they are) as setting forth the sorrow of soul that he himself endured. The troubles of his heart were many and large. He was surrounded by implacable foes, by whom no weapon that could inflict a wound was neglected. His character was maligned; his motives misinterpreted; his times of trouble and adversity made the times of their fiercest onset, "in my adversity they rejoiced, and gathered themselves together." Psalms 35:15. His faith in God was derided; and his returns of kindness to them were scorned. Overwhelmed with difficulty, and seeing no way whereby he could extricate himself, he looks up to his God, and with an intensity of earnestness he prays, "Plead my cause, O Lord, with those who strive with me — fight against those who fight against me. Take hold of shield and buckler, and stand up for my help. Say to my soul, I am your salvation." Psalms 35:1-3. But here a fresh trial and unexpected disappointment meets him. The Lord seems deaf to his cry. Not only does man persecute him — but the very God in whom is all his trust, seems to have forgotten him. Earth is ready to swallow him up, and Heaven seems like brass above him. Now is his misery crowned, now has his cup of sorrow received the bitterest drop of gall: the last weight his wounded spirit can bear has been placed upon it, and in an agony he cries, "Lord, how long will you look on?" Let his position at this moment be our theme for meditation this morning. We will notice: first, a trying experience; secondly, a cry of anguish; and in the third place we will try and give some comforting answers. I. First then — we have A Trying Experience. I will try and explain its nature. Notice, dear friends, that it was not that he doubted whether the Lord saw his trouble. Far from it; for in the twenty-second verse he says (in reference to his persecution) "This you have seen, O Lord." Psalms 35:22. David was far too deeply taught concerning the omniscience of God to entertain for a moment the thought that God was in ignorance of his situation. This sin of unbelief which Israel fell into when it said, "My way is hid from the Lord: my judgment is passed over from my God." No! this was not David’s trouble; his trial was that God ONLY seemed to see, and nothing more. He felt as if the Lord was only a spectator of his difficulty, not the deliverer from it. His eye saw — but his right hand remained unlifted. Let me try and make my meaning plainer by an illustration. David was fighting in a valley. His foes were legion — their weapons deadly. He felt it to be awful odds. Long had the fight continued, and bravely had he kept his ground. Not a foe had seen his back! He declares they never shall. Grasping the sword with both hands, he swings it like a giant would swing a reed, and at every blow an enemy sinks down to rise no more. Brave blow!! Well struck!! Manfully fought!! we cry, as we gaze upon the conflict. But now numbers begin to tell — they roll upon him like a flood, and though fighting like a lion, he is gradually beaten back; step by step. Everything begins to swim around him; his hand feels as if it were grown into the sword hilt, and his blows begin to lose their fury. Anxiously he looks to yonder hill-top, where in a halo of glory stands his Lord; all day long he has been there, and all day long David has waited to hear the shout, "To the Rescue!" It was this expectation that nerved his arm with might, and filled his heart with courage. Hour after hour had passed, and still the Lord looks on; and now he feels it must be all over in a few moments; the enemy’s steel gleams in his face, their weapons clash by his ear. Now or never! and a cry rings over the battlefield, "Lord, how long will you look on?" Or to describe the experience by another illustration which may be more expressive of the feelings of some present. David was being swept away in a swollen river. He is out in mid-stream. The black waters are singing a death-song in his ears, sometimes for a moment they gurgle in his throat. He strikes out strongly for the shore — but despite all his efforts, he is hurried at a race-horse speed towards a yawning gulf ahead, down which the waters roar. He has been sucked down by the eddies many a time, and as often risen again, to see his Lord upon the bank, beholding his peril. And now the thunder of the cataract can be heard each moment more distinctly. The waters seem to laugh as they hurl him along. He can bear the agony no longer, and the shriek is heard above the flood, "Lord, how long will you look on?" This trying experience, when the Lord seems to be only a spectator of our misery, is not David’s alone — but also that of most (if not of all) saints during some part of their Christian life. Have we not sometimes passed through it ourselves; and do we not find its best illustration in the book of our own memory, or perhaps in the feelings of our heart this morning? 1. It is often the experience of the saint in his struggles with SIN. Old nature seems to have gained fresh strength. Old sins we imagined long since slain — revive. Rebel lusts we thought we had long ago nailed to the cross — appear arrayed against us. The waters of iniquity we supposed securely dammed up — break out afresh, and we tremble lest we should be swept away before their power! A fresh revelation is made to us of the depravity of our own hearts. We hate the sins, and war against them. We abominate the iniquity of our hearts, and struggle against the tide; yet, despite all, we sometimes feel we are losing ground in the fight, and are being carried on by the overwhelming stream. Horror-struck, and dreading the very thought of a fall, we cry, "Plead my cause, O Lord!" "Almighty King of saints, These tyrant lusts subdue. Drive the old serpent from his seat, And all my powers renew." And yet for the time our prayers seem unanswered; our corrupt nature seems no weaker — and the new man appears no stronger. We dare not leave off fighting. Hoping for a rescue, we still continue struggling on, until at last, palsied with fear and failing in strength, we exclaim, "Lord, how long will you look on?" How trying an experience this is, only those know who have passed through it, or who perhaps are passing through it now; who have waited, and are waiting still for their Lord to put their foes beneath their feet. 2. It is frequently the experience of the saint in relation to his TROUBLES. The religion of Jesus brings no exemption from trial; indeed, often on the contrary — the holiest seem the most tried. Have we not all known some whose piety could never be doubted, and yet who always seemed to be walking under the deep shadow of some cloud. Or to come nearer home, are there not some in this Tabernacle now, who love the Lord with all their hearts, and are yet pressed almost beyond measure? Your experience has been a second to Job’s. You have scarcely realized one calamity, before another has overtaken you. You hardly escaped from one wave and just feeling the shore, before a larger billow has swept over your head. Losses, crosses, and bereavements, have followed one another, thick and fast. If the trial has not been in the body, it has been in the family. If not in the family, it has been in the business. If not in the business in something else. You (as we pictured David) have been sucked down by the strong eddies of life over and over again, always struggling to get on firm ground, yet always in the mid-stream of trouble. It is with a heavy heart you have come up to the house of God this morning, and that which perplexes you the most is, that God only seems to "look on." You have been expecting a rescue from on high, for months and years. You have told many that "you are certain you will be helped out of all." You have encouraged your own heart many a time, in your efforts to encourage them — but the deliverance has not come yet. Things, if not worse with you, are quite as bad as ever. "Hope deferred makes the heart sick." Proverbs 13:12. You have found it to be so, and with fainting spirit you are this morning crying out, "Lord, how long will you look on?" 3. It is perhaps most often the experience of the saint in relation to his PRAYERS. It is difficult to believe that delays are not denials. One came to me only the other day in great trouble about this very thing; she had herself been recently converted in this place, and had become, as was most natural, exceedingly anxious about her husband; he was at the time abroad, being a sailor. Full of the joy that faith in Jesus gives, she wrote and told him of the blessed change she had experienced, and begged him to seek the same. She never for a moment doubted that the prayers accompanying the letter would be answered. Anxiously she waited for the return letter which was to confirm her hopes — and bitter was her disappointment when it arrived; it had never entered her thoughts that God might try her faith by keeping her waiting for a season before the answer came; so she came to me to know "what was she to do?" "What," I said, "has your faith failed because your first attempt has not been crowned with success; why there will be scores in the Tabernacle next Sunday whose faith has not only received one rebuff — but hundreds, who are still waiting and praying, praying and waiting." And is it not so? Are there not some here now, who have prayed and prayed, again and again, and yet "the heavens seem like brass" above them? Even the cloud "no bigger than a man’s hand" has not yet risen. Over and over again, when you have felt more than ordinary power at the mercy-seat, you have arisen from your knees and said "now I think I have it!" and yet in a few days you have answered "no;" and this has now lasted not only for months — but years. There are parents who pleaded for their children’s conversion when they were but infants, and although the infants have grown to be men and women, the answer to those prayers is still in abeyance. Faith begins to stagger. Hope’s beams grow pale, and an element of almost despair mingles in the oft-repeated cry. "Why doesn’t he answer?" is the question asked a thousand times, each time with a deeper anguish. Trying indeed is the experience of the saint, who while praying with indomitable perseverance, still feels as if his Lord only looked on; and often the heart expresses its sorrow in the language of David, "Lord, how long?" 4. Lastly on this point. It is often the experience of the FAITHFUL SERVANT of Christ. Most humbly, and with deep gratitude to God from whom alone the blessing has come, this morning I have to acknowledge that such has not been my experience, while laboring in your midst. This is now the last month in my second year’s pastorate, and I cannot but look back through the two years so nearly gone, with wonder and thankfulness that defy language. God has been pleased to give us as a church such prosperity as is given to few; he has permitted us to reap with one hand, while we have sown with the other. The converts are not numbered by tens only, but by hundreds. In no spirit of pride do we say this; for what have we that we have not received? It is his work and his only, and at his feet we delight to cast all the glory. But while rejoicing in manifest success, we cannot help but remember that there are hosts of God’s faithful servants, far holier and far more able, who have been called to toil and labor on with but little encouragement. How many there are whose studies have echoed with their sobs and prayers, whose voices have trembled with earnestness while imploring men "to be reconciled with God" 2 Corinthians 5:20 and who have yet done scarcely anything else than drive the plough and scatter the seed — without the joy of singing any great "Harvest Home." They are preparing the soil for others, and perhaps long after they have gone to their reward, someone else will "enter into their labors" John 4:38 and reap the grain which they scattered and watered with many a bitter tear. Such labor as this requires much grace. It is comparatively easy to work when the reward is given almost daily, when the tears are those of grateful joy, not of bitter disappointment. But to labor on and on and on, amid a thousand discouragements and but little to cheer, is terribly hard. All honor to the men who do so; for of all the trials God’s ministers are called to bear (and they are many) the greatest is to feel as if his Master were only a spectator of his labors, and only an onlooker upon his toil. Thus I have tried to show that David is not alone in this trial; but that it is shared and will be shared by saints in all ages. Let us now, and far more briefly, notice in the second place, II. The CRY OF ANGUISH. "Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks" — and poor David could no longer restrain the cry, "Lord, how long?" The soul feels it can no longer bear in silence the wearying suspense, its agony finds vent in the exclamation, "How long?" Now this cry is either right or wrong in accordance with the spirit in which it is uttered. It is unquestionably SINFUL when it is: A. The language of bitterness, when the soul has become soured instead of sanctified by the affliction; when hard thoughts concerning God arise in the heart; when the soul ceases to say with Job, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust him." Job 13:15 When the real interpretation of the cry is "Have not I waited long enough? What is the use of my waiting any longer? Might I not just as well give up fighting, praying, or working altogether?" This is the language of a rebel, not of a child. And yet, are there any present who would dare to say that such thoughts have never for a moment either entered or been harbored in the heart? Alas! Lord, yes! sometimes in the bitterness of our souls we have cried, "how long?" B. It is also wrong when it is the language of deep despondency. In this case the soul does not murmur against the dealings of God; it feels too acutely its utter unworthiness to receive the slightest tokens of his favor. It knows that were all its desires denied, it would be nothing more than it deserves. It feels that as Hell was its rightful desert, anything less than Hell must be a mercy, yet, at the same time, it longs for the blessing, the language of its heart is, "Lord, I hear of showers of blessing You are scattering full and free; Showers the thirsty land refreshing, Let some droppings fall on me, even me." And when this blessing is delayed for some time, and the Lord only seems to "look on," its trembling faith is almost put to the rout. The frail flower droops its head, and the trembling heart exclaims, "Lord, how long will you look on? I begin to fear that you will never come, and that I shall die while you are looking on." But it is a RIGHT CRY when it is the language of intense desire, when it means "Lord, I have waited long, and I am waiting still — and I will wait your time, however long it is. No harsh thoughts, Lord, have I toward you; I know you are "Too wise to err — and too good to be unkind." "I believe you will come to my rescue; I have no doubt of that. But oh, if it pleases you, come now, even when my foes say, ’there is no help for him in God.’ Lord, prove that there is. Make my enemies and yours, liars before you. Ride royally to my help. "O God, arise, and let all these fears of mine be scattered. Your servant waits, he prays, he fights, he works, and by your help will still do so; but come, Lord, come, and show that I am your servant — let it be seen that you are at my right hand! Oh, vindicate your honor, and declare that You are a God who hears prayer. So shall my heart be made glad. Lord, hear this cry, ’how long will you look on?’ Make haste to rescue me." III. Thirdly, I will try and give some COMFORTING ANSWERS. "Lord, how long will you look on?" 1. Long enough, child, to TRY YOUR FAITH. The Lord loves to strengthen the faith of his people — and faith gains strength by being put to a strain. The furious wind that threatens to uproot the young sapling — only makes it strike its roots deeper in the earth. The strong winter wind is as necessary for its stability as the summer’s fierce heat is for its growth. Our faith was never intended to be a hot house plant — but a giant tree bidding defiance to the storm. Anything, therefore, that puts our faith to the test is a blessing. To prove this, I will quote a text well known — but generally misunderstood, "The trial of your faith being much more precious than gold." 1 Peter 1:7. Now, how often is this text quoted to prove only the preciousness of faith, whereas it teaches much more; namely, that not only is faith precious — but faith’s trial also; that the very fact of having our faith tested, is no matter for sorrow — but rejoicing. Now the Lord looks on until he sees that the faith of his child has been sufficiently tried, and that the trial has sufficiently strengthened that faith. Then he works out a deliverance. May not this give the clue to the mystery of some present, why the Lord has not helped before? He is "looking on" for the strengthening of your faith. "Lord, how long will you look on?" 2. Long enough to TEACH YOU YOUR OWN WEAKNESS. There is still an immense amount of self-ignorance in us all; particularly of our own weakness — and that weakness is only learned in the painful school of experience. We think we can do this, and do that, and do the other, and nothing will persuade us of our mistake. So the Lord lets us try our own resources, and find out experientially, that of ourselves we can do nothing; he watches our vain-glorious endeavors, and withholds his help, until beaten at every point, and our pride thoroughly humbled — we learn the truth of the text "without me you can do nothing;" John 15:5. Then the lesson being taught, God no longer looks on — but rescues. "Lord, how long will you look on?" 3. Long enough to make you VALUE THE DELIVERANCE. That which is easily obtained, is little valued. The longer the water is waited for, the sweeter it tastes. The greater the hunger, the greater the gratitude for food. The Lord "waits to be gracious" in order to make us put a higher price upon his mercy. Long-tried soul, you will value your Lord’s deliverance when it comes, all the more for having so often cried "how long?" "Lord, how long will you look on?" 4. Until the RIGHT MOMENT. Not a moment too soon for his own glory — and not a moment too late for your good. Our clock is always too fast, we call upon the Lord and say, "Lord, now is the time, the hour to deliver has struck!" But no answer comes, because he does not keep his time by ours; and his clock still lacks some minutes to the hour. But when that has struck, swift as the lightning flash . . . he is at our side; the tide of battle turns; the foemen melt away like mist before the rising sun; we are snatched in a moment from midstream; our feet are placed upon a rock; our goings are firmly established; and a new song is put upon our lips! Trust him then, believer, and even while you cry "Lord, how long?" obey the prophet’s words, "Though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come." Habakkuk 2:3 May the Lord add his blessing to this word, for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 38: S. HOW LOVELY IS YOUR SANCTUARY! ======================================================================== How Lovely Is Your Sanctuary! Archibald G. Brown, August 13th, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "How lovely is your sanctuary, O LORD Almighty!" Psalms 84:1 Although David’s name does not appear in the heading of this psalm, there is but little if any doubt that it was from his pen that the sweet verses flowed. We can feel him near as we read. His spirit breathes through the whole, and the wording has the peculiar ring that we have learned to love so well. The voice of the sweet singer of Israel is not easily mistaken. His notes have been so often heard, and always make themselves so well remembered, that whatever may be their theme, they are sure to be detected. It is not always necessary to have the name of the visitor who has just called, announced. The voice we heard asking "if we were at home" tells us without any assistance from others, who the friend is that asks for us. So it is with this psalm. The first verse assures us that David is speaking, and we are as certain of the fact as if his name occurred in every other line. The sentiments are not more entirely his, than the manner in which they are uttered. We have but to turn to a psalm that bears his name to be convinced the same man is author of both. Turn with me to Psalms 63:1-11, the heading of which states that it was written by David when he was in the wilderness of Judah. Read the first and second verses, "O God, you are my God; early will I seek you. My soul thirsts for you, my flesh longs for you in a dry and thirsty land, where there is no water; so I have seen you in the sanctuary, to see your power and your glory." Contrast Psalms 63:1 with Psalms 63:2, and you will see they are almost identical. "My soul longs, yes even faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God." Surely the same heart speaks in both verses. It is generally supposed that it was written during the psalmist’s exile through his son Absalom’s revolt. This however matters but little. It is enough for us to know that when through some circumstances, he was shut out from the privileges of the tabernacle, his heart yearned after them. The beauty of worship was enhanced in his eyes by his forced absence, and he felt envious of the very sparrows and swallows that made their nests in the tabernacle, and flitted round its altars. At last, out of the abundance of his heart, his lips were obliged to speak, and his feelings found vent in the exclamation, "How lovely is your sanctuary, O Lord Almighty!" It is no drawback that no name appears as author. It is the psalm of every child of God. Spiritual life, and love for the sanctuary, always run parallel. Where the latter is lacking, there is good ground for suspecting the existence — certainly the health — of the former. If my professed Christianity has not endeared the house of God to my soul, it has not done very much for me, for it is one of the very first-fruits of a renewed nature. Let us then this morning join in spirit with the psalmist; let us unite our voices with his in singing the beauties of worship, and the charms of the sanctuary. I am free to confess that there has perhaps been something of selfishness in my choice of this text. Most assuredly it is the echo of my own heart. After having been surrounded for five weeks with all the pomp and show and superstition of the Church of Rome — I find God’s tabernacles most lovely. After having spent weary Lord’s days when the only choice was to hear blasphemy or nothing — I rejoice with a joy more than I can well describe, to find myself again surrounded with the associations of an English Sabbath — to find myself once more among the multitude that keeps holy-day; and above all, to be in this sanctuary, endeared by so many happy remembrances, and among you with whom I have so often enjoyed sweetest fellowship. My heart exclaims — may yours also, "How lovely is your sanctuary, O Lord Almighty!" I will try and speak to you on this text under four divisions. First — wherein lies the beauty of the house of God. Secondly — when this beauty is most seen. Thirdly — the extent to which it is appreciated, "How." Fourthly — The only man who is able to discern it. May the Lord help us in our meditations that this tabernacle may this morning become most lovely. I. Wherein lies the BEAUTY of the House of God? When David expressed his admiration of the tabernacle — what was it that suggested the exclamation? Certainly not the outside. Whatever beauty there was in the building, was not to be beheld from outside. Brilliant were the hues of the inside curtain that covered the structure. Simpler was the ram’s skin dyed red that was placed over it, and the outward covering of badgers’ skins was a rough material devoid of all attractiveness. No one gazing at the tabernacle as an art critic would have seen anything to prompt the cry, "How lovely is your sanctuary, O Lord Almighty." It had no inviting look, no flashing colors, no wealthy glitter. It was plain almost to ugliness — unpretentious to a degree. Yet this badger-skin-covered place outshone in David’s eyes, the silken luxury of ten thousand tents. While absent from it, he never ceased to picture its outline in his mind, and the remembrance stirred his heart to its lowest depths. The lack of it made the most fertile land as a dry and thirsty wilderness, and beyond his city or his throne, he longed to tread its courts. In a few minutes I will show you what was the charm — but at present I am only pointing out what the charm certainly was not. May we not learn from this, dear friends, that no mere outward loveliness of a church building can ever satisfy the spiritual soul? To such, the exterior is a matter of comparative indifference. I know that I will be looked at by some almost in the light of a fossil for venturing such an assertion. Perhaps I am in this respect — but I am still certain I am correct. In proportion, as one learns to worship God in the spirit — he becomes unconcerned about the particular architecture of the building. As a piece of workmanship, he may admire it as much as any; but as a place of worship, it possesses no more charm than the country barn devoted on the Lord’s-day to the preaching of the gospel. I fear that in the present day, reverence for mere bricks and mortar is becoming a very fashionable error. Beauty of design in the church structure is thought more of, than beauty of holiness in sanctuary worship. This is the result of a religion that goes no deeper than the eye can see. But to the man educated of God, mere external symmetry will be powerless to evoke the psalmist’s exclamation of "How lovely is your sanctuary!" He wants something more, something that touches the inner springs of the soul. During the past five weeks it has been my privilege to see some of the great masterpieces of religious architecture. I have gazed upon the Cathedral of Cologne with exquisite pleasure, and marveled at the skill that could rear a building so vast — and yet so exquisite that it appeared more like lacework than solid stone. I have wandered round about the majestic Cathedral of Milan, built of white marble, and glittering in the sun like a snowdrift. I have roamed through the peerless churches of Venice, the queen of the seas, and been captivated with their exquisite mosaics, altars of boundless worth and pictures beyond price! But not in any one of these has such a feeling been excited as induced David to utter the words of our text. I left them as I entered, or perhaps more truthfully speaking, with a sickening desire for something that spoke to the heart as well as captivated the eyes. It is easy to imagine that in any one of these, the great architect could spend a day or week with growing pleasure. All around him would speak to the genius within. He could feast his eyes upon the tapering spires without, and the rich wood and stone carvings within. Every monument would be a study, and every shrine a fountain of delight. The gifted painter might linger here with ecstasy among the incarnations of a Rubens’ genius. But if either the architect or painter were a child of God, his soul would be as unmoved, as his mind was delighted. These things serve the intellectual taste — but they leave the spiritual unsatisfied. No brick, no wood, no stone, no marble, however lavish the skill expended on them, can ever constitute the beauty of the sanctuary in the eyes of the saint. It does not consist in the outward. Where is it then? I answer, in the worship within. When David longed for the tabernacle, and thought of its beauty, he went in imagination within the covering. Yes, it was not the place itself that in any way filled his heart — but the worship of God within it. How significant is the second verse, and how clearly it shows what it was that he wanted. "My soul longs, yes, even faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God." Yes, it was the living God, not lifeless stones or silver, that he valued. He remembered that it was in the tabernacle that the sacrifices were slain, and there that the typical blood dyed the altars red. It was there that the incense rose in clouds — a sweet-smelling savor unto God. It was there that the united songs of the Levites ascended. It was there that his heart had met with its God, and the thousand hallowed recollections of communion draped the place in loveliness. Beloved, is it not so with us? Though our worship is far plainer and simpler — these things of outward ritual having been done away with by our Lord — the same charm still remains. Granted that we have no sacrifices and flowing blood — yet we have "Christ crucified" set forth in the preaching of the word as the one great and all-sufficient sacrifice for sin! If no incense floats in clouds above our heads — yet we have the joy of united prayer, when prayer blends with prayer, together rising more fragrant to our God than the perfume of Aaron’s censer. If no band of Levites with trained voices chants His praise — yet we have the united song of grateful hearts. The worship of the new covenant is greater in holy joy, if less in outward grandeur, than the old covenant. We still have the living God in our midst. That makes any place a sanctuary. What would the Jewish tabernacle have been without the divinely-appointed worship within? Nothing; only a collection of meaningless and worthless curtains, skins, pillars and ropes. Just the same value has any place of worship, apart from the worship of the place. I know there are some to be found who have a silly, superstitious reverence for the building, who almost imagine that some kind of sanctity lingers in the bricks and mortar. Let us do away with such folly. No building is one iota holier than another. Where God is worshiped in the spirit, whether a room, a barn, or in the open air, while the worship lasts, there is a house of God. A house of God without worship is a fiction and a lie. But here I must meet an objection that has doubtless risen in the minds of some. It shapes itself something after this form: "All you have said may be very true — but does it not apply equally to private worship? Can we not commune with Christ, sing His praises, and engage in prayer as much when alone as with His people? And if so, where is the peculiar beauty of sanctuary worship?" God forbid that these lips should ever utter a word in disparagement of secret worship. Only those who know what it is by experience, know its sweetness. He who loves public worship the most, will also most prize private fellowship the most. Yet I venture to say that higher joys and greater blessings may be expected from public worship than from private worship, and therefore it is worship of a higher kind. I will try and prove this point in four ways. First, clearer manifestations of God may be expected in public worship more than in private. It would be impious to imagine that he who uttered the words of our text was not a man who enjoyed much secret communion with his God. Doubtless David knew far more of it than any of us. He could say, "I cry to You all the day." Psalms 86:3. In the night watches he had his songs, and in the morning his thoughts were with his God. Yet this same man often speaks as if it was only in the sanctuary that he obtained his grandest views of God, and he longs for public worship so that he may obtain what he seems unable to obtain in private. Turn with me to the twenty-seventh psalm, fourth verse, and you will read, "One thing I have desired of the Lord, that I will seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life." Why? Mark the reason, "To behold the beauty of the Lord." Psalms 27:4. This certainly seems to imply that David found he could obtain a grander view of the beauty of his Lord in the sanctuary than in the palace. All the manifestations of God’s power and glory that he beheld in solitude, left his soul still longing for the more magnificent views of the sanctuary. So it is with us. To see our God in all His royal robes, and view Him in His regal splendor — we must enter the courts of His house. It is there that we exclaim, "We have seen the goings of our God and king!" There are some snow-crowned mountains in Switzerland that can only be fully seen from the summit of a lower hill top. Looking at them from the valley, half their glittering peaks are hidden. Just so, to see Him who is our high mountain in all His magnificence, it is necessary to ascend the hill of Zion. For this reason if for no other, public worship excels private. Again, public worship has a greater power to help the soul than private worship. Every person is to a great extent a creature of circumstances, and all are greatly influenced by surroundings. I willingly grant that when the soul is in a serene and happy frame, there are gentle joys in secret fellowship that cannot be surpassed by anything in the sanctuary — but this frame of soul is unfortunately more the exception than the rule, in the experience of most. Now in an unprepared state of heart there is a yearning for outward help, a longing for something that will make its power felt. The soul wants something that will, with happy force, carry it along when it feels too weak itself to press its way. Just this something is found in the united worship of the Lord’s people. The very atmosphere is congenial to spiritual progress. Every surrounding speaks of God, and prompts his worship. There may be some, and I believe there are, who live so habitually near their Lord that they become in a great measure independent of outward helps. Wherever they are, they make a sanctuary, because they carry one in their own breasts. But such Christians as these are few indeed. I question if we have one in our number this morning. Most of us feel that, instead of living above our circumstances, we are as sensitive to them as the mercury of the barometer is to the atmosphere that surrounds it. To such, how precious is the influence of God’s house. There is something sweetly contagious in worship. The grand song of praise rising from hundreds of grateful lips lifts our soul up with it before we are aware. In the stream of united prayer our soul finds itself swept up to the mercy-seat. There is a stimulus in seeing others in the spirit that quickens our flagging powers. God who has provided these means of grace, alone knows how dependent we are upon their use. We only discover that, when we are deprived of their help. Another reason also gives the sanctuary an additional beauty in the eye of the saint, namely, that there the Lord still performs His greatest works. We are told that the age of miracles is passed, and only fools expect them. I am not prepared to say so myself. I know the age for expecting them seems past, and that is perhaps the reason so few are seen. But whatever may be the case in the outside world, they still take place in the sanctuary. If in our streets, no blind are made to see, no lame to leap, no deaf to hear, no dead to live — yet in our sanctuaries these things are common occurrences! Far higher than the miracle which heals the body — is the miracle that saves the soul. Every conversion is a miracle of grace! Who can tell what marvels are done during one service? Yonder is a sinner who came into the place stone blind as far as any spiritual sights are concerned. Lo! he leaves exclaiming, "One thing I know, whereas I was blind, now I see!" John 9:25. Upon those sightless orbs, the Lord has laid His hands, and night is turned into day. There is one who entered deaf to all the music of a Savior’s name. But wondrous change, he sings, "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds!" The lame man who has long been begging in the streets, now starts upon his feet, and walks and leaps, singing praises to his God. Yes, the soul that has been dead for years hears a voice, "Come forth!" and at the mandate, he lives. While God is pleased to make the assemblies of His house the arena of His saving might, every saint must exclaim with the psalmist, "How lovely is your sanctuary, O Lord Almighty." Lastly on this point, and only for a moment, public worship more resembles that of Heaven than private. Every picture we have of heavenly worship sets it forth as the united worship of a countless host, and the very multitude of worshipers makes its grandeur. The congregation we are told consists of a number that no man can number, and their singing is as the sound of many mighty rushing waters. Their song is one — their music one — their worship one. In the service of the sanctuary, the nearest approach is made to the likeness of the heavenly. It is there above all places, where we may anticipate a foretaste of our future bliss. So much then for our first point. I think we have together seen that the beauty of the sanctuary does not consist in anything external — but in the gracious manifestations that God is pleased to make of Himself there, manifestations that exceed in glory those obtained in secret communion. II. When this beauty is most seen. The loveliness of God’s tabernacle is not always equally perceived. There are times when we are led to utter the words of our text with a deeper emphasis than usual — seasons when an unprecedented glory fills the house. I will just mention a few times when God’s house seems to possess a charm almost beyond description. Certainly we must place first on the list, the few Sundays immediately following conversion. What a blessed freshness there is about the worship then. It is something so new, so different to any joy experienced before, that its very novelty lends enchantment. Do you not remember it this morning, friend, although many a long year has passed since then? Over and over again you had passed by that plain "meeting house" as you called it. Sometimes perhaps you dropped in, and "endured" a service. Right glad were you to get outside again, and sweeping were your criticisms about the uncomfortable pews, bad singing, and long sermon. Well, God in His mercy met with you. Old things passed away and everything became new — among them your opinion of the village meeting house. When you first entered it as a Christian, you thought the place must have been changed as much as yourself. The old dingy place, had become delightful. It seemed to you as if the foot of Jacob’s ladder rested in your very pew, and on every rung an angel stood. The services were all too short to fit your taste, and too few to satisfy your longings. It was the most beautiful building in town to your eye. Deep from the heart came the words "How lovely is your sanctuary!" Ah, friends, I wish that we could ever carry on us the dew of our spiritual youth, and ever maintain that happy freshness! Who does not remember the first time he saw the ocean? Has it ever looked so blue since, or its waves appeared so fresh? I think not. We may perhaps imagine that it was a peculiarly fine day then. No doubt it was! But there must have been as fine a day since. Surely the first glimpse had something to do with the beauty that we have never seen repeated. So is it with the service of the sanctuary — wonder is mingled with the bliss we feel. O, that first time at the Lord’s table!! Do you remember it? No, can you ever forget it? How the hand trembled as it took the bread and cup! Not with fear — but through the very excitement of the joy. The Lord’s tabernacles were then indeed most lovely. The beauty of the sanctuary is also wonderful when there is something in the service specially suited to our present experience. Have you not known what it is to feel every part of the service intended for you above all others? The Holy Spirit seemed to have planned it all for your peculiar benefit. The very hymns sung were just the ones you were singing over to yourself before coming. The prayer expressed the desires of your heart as exactly as if you had offered it yourself. As to the sermon, you felt there must be something more than chance in it. God made the man say just the very things your soul needed. If he had been listening to your difficulties for an hour, he could not have spoken more home to your soul. It was a blessed service to you, no matter what it was to others. It was a red letter day in your Sundays, and it can never be forgotten. When God gives us such seasons as these, dear friends — and we wish we had them more often — then the beauty of the sanctuary shines forth with increased charms, and we exclaim, "How lovely is your sanctuary, O Lord Almighty!" I would add lastly on this portion, that the beauty of the sanctuary can only be fully seen after a season of forced absence. Can you ever forget the joy you felt when for the first time you managed to crawl up to the house of God after that long sickness? You had passed many a weary Sabbath within the four walls of your bedroom. Little better were those you were permitted to spend in the sitting room. But one day the doctor said, "If next Sunday is fine, you may venture out." And when the day came, and once more you found yourself in the beloved spot, what an extra beauty there seemed in the service. True, you were too weak to stand or join in the singing — but your heart kept singing "How lovely is your sanctuary, O Lord Almighty." But from whatever cause the absence may come — so long as it is forced absence — the joy of return is immense. Speaking personally, I can say I never knew how much I loved the sanctuary until several weeks ago. For three Lord’s days I had been surrounded by nothing but superstition, pomp and priests! Weary days they were, and the remembrance of the happy seasons here only served to make them worse. On the fourth Sunday, being at Lucerne, I was enabled to attend the free church of Scotland. The service was held in a Roman Catholic Church — the use of which had been secured in some manner — the altars were all covered up and the place was made to look as plain and as Christian as possible. About seventy or eighty were present. The service was commenced by the minister giving out that well known psalm: "All people that on earth do dwell. Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice!" etc. We then started the singing. The tune was the "old hundredth." Some perhaps may smile and think I was rather weak when I tell them that after a few bars had been sung, my voice failed me and I felt as if I must weep. That simple song of true praise did what all the peals of the cathedral organs had failed to do. The change was so great — the worship so simple — God so manifestly present — that looking at that place with all its supposed beauty covered up and hidden, I was forced to say "How lovely is your sanctuary, O Lord Almighty!" Lucerne will long linger in my memory as the place where I learned how beautiful the place of true worship is to the child of God. Only a minute or two remains to describe, III. The extent to which the beauty is appreciated, and the only man who can appreciate it at all. The first word of the text gives us an idea of the extent of David’s appreciation, and well may the verse close with a note of admiration. The psalmist felt that it was impossible to tell in words the beauty of the place. He could but exclaim, "How lovely!" and leave it for hearts which have felt the same, to fathom the depths of the word. This we know however, that in his eyes the tabernacle made of skins — outshone in beauty all the silken tents of luxury and sin; and one day in its courts was worth more to him than a thousand spent elsewhere. The "HOW" defies all measurement and description. The only man who can behold this beauty is also learned from one word — the little word "YOUR." It was because the tabernacle was God’s that its beauty appeared so great. Now none who is alien from God can find joy in anything, because it is God’s. Someone who does not love a person can ever see beauty in that person’s house, simply because it is his. Affection for the inhabitant must precede love for the habitation. The only person, therefore, who can truthfully utter this text as his own experience, is the one who, loving God, has learned to love all that belongs to God, and all that aids him in communion with God. Can we say from this cause, "How lovely is your sanctuary, O Lord Almighty!" May the Lord give us grace to do so for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 39: S. IN MEMORIAM ======================================================================== In Memoriam Archibald G. Brown, November 20, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle "I think it is necessary to send back to you Epaphroditus, my brother, and companion in labor, and fellow-soldier, who is also your messenger, whom you sent to take care of my needs." Php 2:25 DEATH has been exceedingly busy in our ranks of late, and we have been more than usually reminded of the fact that the church on earth is on the march to join the church triumphant in Heaven. Emigration of the happiest kind has been taking place in numbers that have arrested our attention. For a long time souls were coming in troops from the far-off country of sin into the border-land on which we dwell — but comparatively few crossed the narrow sea that divides the heavenly land from ours. For months we sojourned together without any of our family receiving orders "to go over to the other side!" As a church we were constantly receiving fresh troops from Heaven — but few obtained their discharge for Heaven. Lately it has been the reverse. While we have been still receiving as many fresh recruits as ever — we have also been called to part with many of our beloved "fellow soldiers." It is but a short time since the first-fruits of our ministry — the first soul God ever made us the means of winning in this sanctuary — was called to her home. I refer to our beloved young sister, Jane Hodges, in whom grace glowed so brightly. During the past week I have been called to stand twice at the open grave of those who used to hear our word. And this evening we are gathered together to hear the Lord’s voice to us in the death of our honored brother WILLIAM FREDERICK NIMKEY. For the first time in our history as a church, an office-bearer has been laid low in death — a standard-bearer removed. It is not our custom, as most know, to preach funeral sermons for departed members. As a habitual practice, we do not agree with it, and in a church as large and as rapidly growing as this, it would soon become a too frequent service, and to make exceptions would be invidious. But this bereavement stands alone and claims some special notice, on the ground of its forming a new experience in our church history. Often we have been able to say that many who once were one with us in fellowship are now before the throne; but never until now have the deacons and elders of this church had a representative on high. It is not in fulfillment of any desire of our departed brother that we hold this evening’s service — far from it — one of his dying requests was, "Never extol me when I’m gone, for I am only a poor sinner saved by sovereign grace!" We will try and obey his request by magnifying — not him — but the grace of God in him. May his God and ours make it a solemn and yet happy time to all our hearts tonight. I can easily suppose that some present are rather surprised at the text we have selected for this occasion, and find it rather difficult to see how it bears upon our subject. I think that in a few introductory words I will be able to show the reason for it suggesting itself to our mind, and enable you to see that in the death of our brother Nimkey, we have lost our Epaphroditus. Paul wrote this letter to the church at Philippi from Rome, and sent it by the hands of Epaphroditus, who had been sent by that church with a present to the apostle. In the letter Paul gives its bearer the highest testimonial. It appears that while at Rome Epaphroditus had been taken seriously ill, and that during his illness his chief anxiety arose from the thought of the sorrow his sickness would cause in the little community to which he belonged; for in those early days, a strong family feeling pervaded the churches, making the sorrow and trouble of one the grief of all. Longing to return to Philippi to allay anxiety, Paul found it necessary to permit Epaphroditus’ departure, and sent an earnest request by him that he should be received with all gladness and held in high repute, because for the work of Christ he had been near to death, not regarding his life in his effort to fulfill their wishes. Now between Epaphroditus and our late brother Nimkey there exists, I think, a striking likeness. I. Notice first the TERMS employed by Paul in describing him. He speaks of him first as "My brother." Not implying any relationship of blood — but of grace and spirit. Paul knew that in their union with Christ and regeneration by the Spirit, they were actually brought into the relationship of brethren, and he knew moreover that in his daily fellowship with the messenger of the church, he had found a spirit that could only be described as brotherly. Does this description not apply to our friend? Any doubt as to his union with the Savior is an impossibility. His being a brother in Jesus was an undoubted fact by all his fellow members. Every child of God could say concerning him, "My brother." Our Father, we knew, was his Father. Our Elder Brother, we feel, was his Elder Brother — and our future home is where we know he now dwells. "A brother in Christ" could be said of him by every Christian that ever knew him since he was saved. But he was something more. There are many whose brotherly relationship to us by grace we dare not doubt — yet of whose brotherly character we see but little. They no doubt are relations — but they make us feel they are distant ones. Not so with the departed. His congenial, sympathetic, loving disposition won our hearts’ best love, and in losing him from our number we feel that we have sustained no mere official loss — but the bereavement of one whose whole life and spirit made us say of him, "Our brother!" The next description is equally true, "Companion in labor." Never did I know him shrink from any work, or leave his brethren to toil alone. One with us in affection, he was always one with us in labor, and with us as "companion." He was no mere critic in labor, or grumbler in work — but always a companion, never jealously desiring to be dictator, or selfishly seeking his own aggrandizement — but willingly taking his share, either large or small, in every department of church enterprise. He was most emphatically a "fellow-soldier;" but as we purpose to make this term the subject of our discourse, we will say but little on it now. Let it suffice that he was never a laggard in the army, and whenever in the heat of battle we had a moment to look round, we always found him breast to breast with us. A truer comrade on the field, or a more steady warrior for the cross it would be hard to discover. The last description given of Epaphroditus is peculiarly adapted to our brother Nimkey, "Your messenger." It is supposed by Dr. Gill that in the early Church there were some whose special mission was to look after the distressed and sick, and carry them the relief the church could afford. These men were termed messengers, and occupied the same position our newly appointed "church visitors" will. Our departed brother was most certainly your messenger — he was never happier than when doing the service of an Epaphroditus. Visiting the sick, the poor and the dying was his forte. Always ready to go anywhere and be a messenger of mercy to anybody, he acquired the name of "our traveling elder." If every person present who has been visited by him were to hold up his hand, the result would be a very forest of palms. He was a willing and welcome messenger to all prisoners at home. II. But along with the names given to Epaphroditus, must be placed his evident CHARACTER in order to make the illustration complete. He was, we learn from the twenty-sixth verse, of a soft-hearted disposition. It was no matter of indifference to him whether the members at the church at Philippi were sorrowful or not; "He longs for all of you and is distressed because you heard he was ill." The grief of the members about his sickness, troubled him more than the sickness itself. Epaphroditus was none of your walking icicles, or animated icebergs. He was a man of warm and tender sympathies, who wanted to assuage grief wherever he found it, and would not for the whole world be the cause of it, if he could possibly prevent it. We saw the same in our Epaphroditus; he was a man of an enlarged heart and almost womanly affections. His was not the character to overawe with its grandeur — but the one to melt by its love. His dying words to me were, "Pastor, as far as I know I have never intentionally wounded the heart of any — and if ever I have done so unwittingly, it has always been a source of deepest sorrow to me." The secret of his being so universally loved, was found in the fact that he loved so universally. Paul also indicates that the messenger from Philippi was a man devoted to his work, "For the work of Christ he was near to death, not regarding his life." We would be sorry to think or say that any work our brother did, ever helped to bring him near to death, or had a hand in his death. But we are prepared to say that for the work of Christ, he did not regard his life as important to himself. Many a time within the last few months he came here, when we all felt it was disregarding his life to do so. To the very last, while an atom of strength remained, he was willing and wanting to perform the office of your messenger, and taking a step ahead of Epaphroditus, he has not only come near to death — but died in the work; and the sorrow which Paul rejoiced that he was spared — has now become our sorrow. One more word about the character and I finish drawing the parallel between the two. Both were worthy of being held in high reputation. The world is often grossly mistaken in those it considers worthy of its notice. The wealthy — the unscrupulous — the successful — those are often the ones chosen by the world as the subjects for honorable mention. Christians know better! And let those you hold in reputation are the men who living, have lived for their Savior, and whose lives have been devoted to the glory of His cross. Hold those most in reputation, whose Christian eloquence has been the eloquence of Christian and self-denying action. III. Leaving now all the descriptions of Epaphroditus, and putting him also on one side, we will speak of our "fellow soldier" William F. Nimkey. As a regiment of the Lord’s hosts, we mourn the gap that death has made in our ranks; and gathering, as it were, around our campfire, we will call up a few memories of the warrior who is now taking his rest before the throne. We will speak first of his enlistment into the army; then our remembrance of him as a fellow soldier; then his last battle; then his present victory; and then the voice of his death to all. 1. His Enlistment into the Army. On this point we will speak very briefly, as we know but little of his earlier life, and our brother was never one to refer much to himself in conversation. This however we do know, and he has often declared it — he was enlisted by Divine grace. Like all the rest of God’s soldiers, there was a time when he served under Satan’s black banner of rebellion. His heart like ours was at enmity against God, and his determination was "I will not have Him to rule over me!" In God’s own time the mighty change was effected, and the rebel became transformed into the devoted servant. This change our brother always most emphatically attributed to the full, free, sovereign grace of God. Nothing roused his spirit so much as anyone hinting that such change could be accomplished apart from the direct influence of the Holy Spirit, in accordance with the eternal decrees of God’s gracious purposes. From first to last, his enlistment, like that of every other heavenly warrior, was of God. It was grace that first aroused his soul from the lethargy of indifference, and breaking through the plated armor of his soul’s carelessness, made him cry out with earnestness, "What shall I do to be saved?" He always loved to declare that it was the same grace that showed him a Savior, that first showed him his need of one; and it was all owing to free distinguishing grace that he ever cast the weapons of his rebellion at the foot of the cross. Looking up into the face of Him who hung on it, he exclaimed "Hail, Lord Jesus! I acknowledge You to be my Lord, and from now on it is only under your banner that I fight and die!" He enlisted at Calvary through the constraining power of the Spirit, and through that alone. The loyalty of soul he showed so constantly, was God-given. We cannot say positively at what age he joined the army — but from most careful inquiry and comparing one thing with another, we have come to the conclusion that he enlisted in early youth; but shortly after, he became somewhat of a backslider. Never into open sin, or neglect of attendance at God’s house — but sufficient to keep him from making any public profession. His light for some years was dim. We mention this because we are most anxious not to overdraw his picture — but give it as faithfully as possible, as we are certain that if he could but speak to us himself, it would be on this that he would dwell the most. I was much struck with one sentence he uttered the last time I ever saw him alive. "I feel," said he, "that my life has been a backsliding one." Let none for one moment imagine that this season of coldness was after his public profession. Far, very far from it! From the time when his light came out of obscurity (about ten years ago) there has been no wavering, no weakness — but it has brightened more and more, until now it has developed into the perfect day! He was drawn to Christ by quiet and gradual means. The same Spirit has a diversity of operations, and perhaps no two sinners are converted in precisely the same manner, and with identical experiences. With some, as with the speaker, not only can the means be remembered — but the year, the month, the day, the hour and the very spot. But with a large number, the work is too gradual to be detected, and they can only say with the man of old, "One thing I know, whereas I was blind, now I see!" It was in this latter way, that our brother was enlisted. There may perhaps be some few present who remember the time when he came before the church for fellowship, when it worshiped in Grosvenor Street. If so, they will remember that when asked by what means and when he found the Savior, he replied in the language of scripture, The wind blows where it will; you hear the sound of it — but cannot tell where it comes from or where it goes! So has it been in my case." This church was the first one he ever joined, although he had been in the constant habit of frequenting the sanctuary. He was brought up among the Wesleyans, and was then for some years a seat-holder at Coverdale Chapel, during the ministry of Mr. Seaborne; and afterwards at Salem Chapel, Bow Road. This is all we know of his spiritual life previous to his becoming one with our regiment. We will now speak more fully of what we found in him during the years of his church life. 2. Our recollections of him as a fellow-soldier. We have but to recall to our minds his familiar face and some of his conversations with us, to find many a happy memory. The first recollection of him as a fellow soldier that occurs to me is that he was always one remarkably jealous of his Captain’s honor. No one held more tenaciously than our brother, those doctrines that more especially glorify the sovereignty and grace of our God; and never could he tolerate anything that seemed in any measure to give to man the glory due to the Captain. So jealous was he about the honor of his Lord, that any word that appeared to suppose a man could do anything of himself, was sure to be noticed by him. I have often smiled when, after some evening sermon in which I had been inviting and entreating sinners to come to Christ, he would say to me in his kind and loving way, "I hope, dear pastor, that none of them will think they can come by their own power, for it is not by might nor by power — but by my spirit, says the Lord." No man loved the sinner or the freeness of the gospel more than he — but he was ever anxious, and rightly so, that the gospel should be preached in a way that put man in the dust, and Christ on the throne. The ruling passion was, in his case, as strong in death; and the passages of scripture that afforded him the most joy were those that most abounded with the glory of divine grace. One remark of his is so deeply impressed upon my memory that I think I can give it you in the precise words. He said, "I have often been thought to have been rather high in doctrine; but I find now that they are the only doctrines on which a man can die with joy." The covenant of grace, the glorious sufficiency of the atonement, and the unutterable affection of God for His people — these were the subjects that chiefly employed his lips in life, and sustained his heart in death. Telling him one Sunday afternoon that I was going to preach in the evening on complete justification through the imputed righteousness of Christ, he exclaimed, "That is it — preach that, preach that — all of grace and the sinners’ salvation all in Christ." Feeling that nothing but sovereign grace could ever have suited his case, he was always jealous of its honor. He was one who had a high sense of a soldier’s duty. To be a Christian, in his estimation, was something more than merely assuming the name; and to be a church member entailed in his opinion a high responsibility. As a Christian soldier, he believed in enduring hardness, and the standard he set for himself was a high one. Like Epaphroditus, he believed that in the path of duty, life itself should be unregarded. I heard the other day an anecdote of him, illustrative of this high sense of a soldier’s duty. Being desirous of visiting a family where there was a most infectious disease, many asked him not to go, and tried their best to dissuade him. His answer was, "I believe a Christian ought to dare to go anywhere on his Master’s service — and if they keep away, who can you expect to go?" It was this same spirit that brought him into our midst until so near his end. Only a few weeks before he took to his death bed, I went to his house one Monday, before the prayer meeting, to have a chat with him. Knowing he was exceedingly ill, great was my surprise to find him in the hall, just getting ready to start. Gently remonstrating with him, he answered, "I must go so long as I can, and it will not be much longer. Let me have the help of your arm and I think I can crawl there." I could not help but admire the Christian stuff he was made of, and wishing more were like him in this respect. He was also noted for his cheerfulness. It is by this characteristic that he will be remembered by many the longest. Gloom seemed a thing unknown to him, and even his long and painful illness was unable to altogether remove the habitually happy expression of his countenance. He was always found sitting on the sunny side of the hedge, and never was he lacking in some happy cheerful word to others. This I willingly grant was in great measure due to someone of naturally the best of tempers, which was all the more remarkable considering his calling. For of all things calculated to mar a happy and amiable spirit — I would think the daily teaching of a number of boys was the worst. Grace, however, counteracted every temptation to an acidity of temper — and he will long be remembered as the brother who always seemed happy himself, and was always trying to make others so. He was one willing to do any kind of work. I never had to fear lest I would wound his dignity or hurt his pride in asking him to do anything. He was happily free from that stupid "standing upon one’s dignity" that cramps so many in their work. It was all one to him what he did. He always seemed to me a living commentary on our morning’s text, "Here I am, send me!" If a brother was needed to show friends into the pews, he was always ready, and used to say laughingly, "I believe I am just the one for the work, for I can never remember whose pews they are; so after the hour, I always fill them straight up, and there is no fear of my showing any favoritism." If there was some sick one that wanted visiting, who lived in an out of the way quarter, he was all ready to go, no matter where. And who was it you always found standing at the door, no matter how cold the wind, to take your tickets at our tea meetings? Why, our brother Nimkey! Any service for the church, however humble, was to him always welcome. And lastly on this point I would add, he was a brother unusually beloved in the regiment, and out of it too. I need say nothing of your love to him as a church. Last Monday gave sufficient testimony of that, when close to seven hundred of you followed him to the grave; but this I may add, that ever since I have been pastor here, now close on four years, I have never heard one word breathed against him — but countless expressions of affection towards him. As in our regiment, so out of it. I will just read you a line or two from a letter I have here with me, that will express the feelings of many who are united with other churches. The brother says, "I regret that I cannot be with you" (that is to this service) "all the more as I have always felt a most sincere regard for our friend. And his warm hearty shake of the hand and kind words to me, a comparative stranger and member of another church, have often made me feel, when worshiping at Stepney, no more a stranger or a guest — but like a child at home. I would that God might raise up more like him in our churches." In one word, our recollections of him as a fellow soldier are most happy. 3. His last battle. There is always something deeply interesting in that which is known to be "the last." How are the final words, and the final visit, and the last look of a loved one — treasured up in the memories of friends. The words may have been commonplace, the visit an ordinary one, the look a frequent one — but they all obtain a charm for thought — they will be heard no more, received no more, and seen no more. Many a battle did our brother wage with foes within and foes without; but to us, his final battle with the last enemy will always have an additional interest. I will remark first that it was a protracted one. From the commencement of this year, it may be said the woodman Death had marked the tree for falling, and for many months our brother knew no earthly power could save him. In the month of April he was suddenly afflicted with congestion of the lungs, which laid him low for many weeks. Beside which, he had a dangerous internal disease which of itself was sufficient to make death merely a question of time. Being advised by several medical men to try a change of air, it was arranged for him to go in the month of June to Hastings. I had promised to go down with him on the Monday; but on the previous Sabbath morning he suddenly had a stroke; when sufficiently recovered to be able to speak, he turned to his wife and said, "Mother, this is my passport to Heaven." Seeing him on the Monday morning, I could hardly refrain from weeping on observing in the room the bags already packed for our intended journey. Reading my thoughts he quietly remarked, "Man proposes — but God disposes! It is Heaven, not Hastings. It is Heaven, not Hastings I am going to!" From this time he rapidly declined; and after keeping his bed for seven weeks, with a patience and joyfulness unaffected by the great pain he was in, he breathed his last this past Monday, with the name of Jesus on his lip. It was a battle victorious all along the line. Through Him that loved him, he was made more than a conqueror at every point of attack. His faith remained unstaggered, his joyful confidence was never put to the rout, and his hope only brightened as his end drew near. One remark of his I consider very beautiful, and as it gives testimony to the completeness of his victory, I will repeat it. Shortly before he passed away, I said to him, "Well, brother Nimkey and how are you now?" Thinking I made reference to his body, he replied, "Very low, very low indeed." "But how about the soul, brother?" Lifting his hand slowly up and with a countenance that brightened as he spoke, he said "that still soars, that still soars!" May our last battle be as glorious as that of our fellow soldier. 4. His present victory. I will not detain you two minutes on this point, for if I try to describe it, I would only find it surpasses all power of language. Let it suffice us to know that it is complete and eternal. He is done with sickness, pain, sorrow, sin, the curse, and done with them completely. He has entered into joy, peace, holy service, and his Savior’s presence, and entered into them forever. O if our eyes could but see him now, our grief for his loss would be swallowed up in joy about his gain. He rests with his Jesus and rejoices with his God. 5. The voice of this bereavement to us. It has a lesson for us all. It speaks to those of us who hold office in this church, and it says "Be diligent! Soon you must follow in the footsteps of your departed companion in labor. Do not let your office be taken for granted, but like Epaphroditus, let the work of your master be regarded even more than life." It speaks to the Church, and says, "You also be ready. Death is no respecter of persons. The cedar has fallen; shall the fir tree be spared? As one after another of our workers depart to their rest, determine but to do and dare more while life is spared. As one soldier after another fights his last battle — close up your ranks, and with redoubled energy press the fight." Lost sinner it speaks to you, and, O, that you might hear its warning. Die you must, whether prepared or not. Flee from death fast as you may — it will surely and soon overtake you. The grim hunter holds by the leash a troop of hounds baying for your blood. Their names are accident, old age, and disease. They are all fleeter of foot than you. The black camel, as the Arabs picture death, will soon kneel at your door; mount you must — and ride where? Do you laugh at death? Then you are a madman. Do you laugh when the hurricane is pulling down about your ears your frail tabernacle? It is frenzy — it is worse. Die you must — but what kind of a death remains to be seen. There are only two: choose which you will have. I see a dying saint upon his bed. There is joy in his heart and a light in his eye; as his body sinks lower, his soul mounts aloft, and at last with outstretched hands and the cry "Lord help me now," he falls asleep in Jesus. So died our brother Nimkey. The scene changes — I see one dying fast, the death-damp stands upon his brow, and the death chill freezes the very marrow of his bones. It is dark within — it is dark without — it is dark ahead! The last breath struggles through his lips, and the spirit leaps into eternity unsaved. Friend, that death is yours unless you fly to Christ. O hasten to Jesus now, and say in the words of the hymn last quoted by our brother — "Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to your cross I cling!" ======================================================================== CHAPTER 40: S. IS THERE A HELL? ======================================================================== Is There a Hell? Archibald G. Brown, September 12, 1869, Stepney Green Tabernacle, London "What shall the end be of those who do no obey the gospel of God?" 1 Peter 4:17 I am free to confess, dear friends, that I never came upon this platform with a greater sense of responsibility weighing upon me than I do this evening. I think I can in some measure take the language of the prophet as my own, and exclaim, ’The burden of the Lord’. It is only the deep conviction that the subject demands an investigation which has induced me to select it as the subject of our evening’s meditation. The subject is in itself so immense, the destinies involved so terrible and eternal, that in approaching the subject one seems to hear a voice saying, ’Take off your shoes from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground.’ The subject lies in the answer which Scripture gives to the question of the text, ’What shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God? — or in other words — What is the doom of those who die impenitent? Is there a Hell or is there not? The truths of God have suffered as severe a persecution as have ever the believers in them. No martyr burnt at Smithfield or tortured in the Inquisition of Spain, suffered worse treatment than has the word of God, for which he died. Texts have been broken upon the wheel of unsanctified reason and put upon the rack of atheistic philosophy — until meanings and interpretations have been dragged from them that they never possessed, and were never intended to convey. Men, not content to take their plain and apparent teaching — that which has been for centuries so clearly stamped upon their brow that none thought of any other — now endeavor to show their superior spiritual knowledge, by declaring that the whole Christian church has for centuries been mistaken; and that it is for them to prove that the doctrines held by God’s saints for over eighteen hundred years are nothing else than ’traditional prejudices’. While the attacks were confined to minor truths (if it is for us to call any truth a minor one) it was perhaps wisest for God’s watchmen to take but little notice, and continue straight on the simple work of preaching the gospel; but waxing bolder, they now attempt to undermine the very foundations of the faith of the church. The blows are now aimed, not merely at the minarets of the temple of truth — but at the deepest laid stones of its basis. The very existence of Hell itself is now called in question. That which we in our ignorance always thought beyond the shadow of a doubt, is now declared not only to be doubtful — but merely a prejudice of man’s, and something irreconcilable with the nature of God. Most certainly if this be true, we have indeed been under a most grand delusion. When the psalmist said ’the wicked shall be turned into Hell’, we were simple enough to believe that he meant Hell — but it appears he must have meant something altogether different from what we suppose by the word. Are we prepared, beloved, at once to give up the faith of our fathers, and adopt the new-fangled notions of would-be divines? I trust not. But in order to have our faith strengthened, let us with deepest humility, reverence and prayerfulness, try and find out the answer of Scripture to the solemnly momentous question of the text, ’What shall the end be of those who obey not the gospel of God?’ In order that the subject may have a close personal bearing upon us all, notice the people concerning whose end the question is asked. It is not ’What shall be the end of the open and licentiously profligate?’ Not ’What shall be the end of the profane swearer that belches out his blasphemous oaths?’ Nor ’the end of him whose very life is a crying disgrace.’ No such thing. Were it so, many might say, ’The matter has nothing to do with me, for I am neither the one nor the other.’ No! the question is, What will be the end of those who, whatever other good qualities they may possess, yet die without having obeyed the invitations of the gospel? — what will be the end of those who have never complied with the command ’believe on the Son of God’? To put the question in a form that will give it a more tremendous interest — What will be the end or ultimate doom of that portion of this evening’s congregation which dies without having rendered any obedience to the gospel of God? May the Lord enable us to speak upon this theme in the right spirit and in the right way. It was that noble man of God, M’Cheyne, who, when a brother minister told him that on the previous Sabbath he had been preaching upon Hell, asked, ’Were you able to preach it with tenderness, brother?’ God is our witness that in such a spirit we desire to preach it tonight. If we seem to say hard and severe things, believe they are said in love. Love to your souls, which would rather wound, than permit them to go sleepily to perdition with the pernicious doubt of its existence. With heart full to overflowing then, and eyes directed to the Master for teaching, we will try and answer the question, ’What shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God?’ First, NOT ANNIHILATION. Doubtless many of you as well as myself have read with surprise, some letters that have lately appeared in a widely circulated religious paper; letters written by men (one in particular) whose names are held in high repute by many. In these letters sentiments are expressed so totally contrary to all we have ever been led to believe, that they challenge attention. I will not attempt to quote from memory — but read you a few lines from the letter of one known by name to most. It is as follows — "The dogma of eternal suffering is utterly unknown to Scripture and perfectly irreconcilable with the character of God. Immortality is to be found only in union with the Lord Jesus Christ. I entreat Christian men to lay aside traditional prejudices, and look this great question fairly in the face. The ’Hell’ of theology is the great weapon of infidelity, and I long to see this weapon wrested from its hands." Now we may be mistaken — but it seems to us that these words teach as clearly as any words can, the annihilation of the sinner; if they mean not this, we are at a loss to know what they do mean. We have read them over and over again in the hope of coming to some other conclusion — but have been obliged time after time to come to the same decision. If there be no immortality apart from union to Christ (and there is no union to Christ apart from obedience to the gospel), then the ultimate end of them that obey not the gospel must be annihilation. Let me here say before going into the particulars of what that punishment is, that future punishment of some kind seems essential to the moral government of God. To quote from Jonathan Edwards (to whom I acknowledge my indebtedness for many thoughts this evening), ’Unless there is such a state it will certainly follow, that God in fact maintains no moral government over the world of mankind. For otherwise it is apparent that there’s no such thing as rewarding or punishing mankind, according to any visible rule, or, indeed, according to any order or method whatever.’ Notice specially this sentence. ’There is nothing in God’s disposals toward men in this world, to make his distributive justice and judicial equity visible — but all things are in the greatest confusion.’ Take away future punishment, and is it not so? The wicked prosper on every hand. Sin walks along triumphantly, while virtue is often pushed to the wall. The base and the vile succeed, while the true and the right often languish. The unscrupulous tradesman who sticks at no dirty trick in his trade, makes his fortune and retires; and the godly tradesman next door, after a manly struggle against his difficulties is obliged to succumb, a ruined man. The scales of God are not, and never were meant to be even on earth, though they are adjusted to a hair in eternity. It was this very thing that was Asaph’s difficulty, and this very explanation that removed it. Will all of you who have Bibles turn to Psalms 73:1-28, read for yourselves: "But as for me, my feet had almost slipped; I had nearly lost my foothold. For I envied the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. They have no struggles; their bodies are healthy and strong. They are free from the burdens common to man; they are not plagued by human ills. Therefore pride is their necklace; they clothe themselves with violence. From their callous hearts comes iniquity; the evil conceits of their minds know no limits. They scoff, and speak with malice; in their arrogance they threaten oppression." There you have, beloved, Asaph’s source of trouble, and many others have had it besides him; but see in the next verse what caused his murmurings to cease and convinced him of the equity of God: "Until I went into the sanctuary of God, then I understood their end!" And that end thrown into the balances, righted them. Yet again. There was once a godless wretch clothed in purple, who fared sumptuously every day, and lying at his gate was a godly beggar whose sores were licked by the rich man’s dogs. Here is a mystery. Yes — but one soon solved. Affairs were righted after death. The rich man died and went to Hell. The poor man died, and was carried by an angelic escort to Abraham’s bosom, while God’s perfect equity was taught the rich man, in those memorable words — ’Son, remember that you in your life time received your good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and you are tormented.’ In order that God’s infinitely judicial equity may be manifested, a state of future punishment is indispensable. But the question is, what is that punishment? Is it merely a cessation of being, a lack of immortality, or in other words annihilation? I venture to answer ’No’; for if it is so, it lacks that which is certainly a necessity, in order to make it a punishment at all, namely — a knowledge of its infliction. That can be no punishment which I never feel, and of which I am never conscious. It seems to me to stand to reason that the punishment of the sinner must be such as to make him see the connection with his guilt, and make him learn that the threatenings of God cannot be despised with impunity. These lessons can never be learned by annihilation. Moreover, the Scriptures declare if that the sinner ’shall drink of the wrath of the Almighty’, which if it implies anything, implies that the wrath shall be actually tasted, which it never could be in an utter lack of existence. Nay, in that same verse I think it states, ’he shall see his destruction’, or in other words, the sinner shall behold his misery and doom, which would be a sheer impossibility if that doom were annihilation. Another argument is that the fact of there being various degrees of punishment makes it impossible for that punishment to be annihilation. Nothing is more clearly taught in the word, than that all men receive not the same amount of punishment. Let me quote a few passages. Looking upon the cities of Chorazin and Bethsaida, our Savior said, ’It shall be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon at the day of judgment than for you.’ To Capernaum, the scene of his mightiest works, he declared ’it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom in the day of judgment than for you’. He it was who pronounced the doom of him who knew his Lord’s will — but did it not, to be greater than that of him who never knew it. It was he who turning upon those white-washed sepulchers — the Pharisees — who could pray all day in the streets, and prey all night on widows’ houses, declared that they should receive the greater damnation, and the greater implies the less. But if annihilation be the sinner’s doom, what room is there for any degrees whatever? I can not be less than annihilated, than I can be more annihilated. This theory at once puts all punishment upon a perfect equality. All that is said about the sinner’s doom shuts out the idea of annihilation. Concerning Judas, that wretched, double-dyed traitor, our Lord said, it would have been better for him ’if he had never been born’. Why so? Surely because he foresaw that the traitor’s punishment was something so dreadful, that never to have seen the light would have been a blessing. Had cessation of being been his punishment, there would have been no need for such a statement, for never having been born, and being annihilated, come to one and the same thing. Kindly turn with me to a few passages, and see if they do not bear upon their very face future torment, rather than future nothingness. The first you will find in Luke 12:1-59, Luke 12:4-5. Let us read them, they are our Master’s words, ’And I say unto you, my friends, be not afraid of those who kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do. But I will forewarn you whom you shall fear. Fear him, which, after he has killed, has power to cast into Hell. Yes, I say unto you, fear him!’ Here there is certainly something more than death threatened; there is death and Hell. Turn to Matthew 13:1-58, which we read at the commencement of this service. Read Matthew 13:41-42. ’The Son of Man shall send forth his angels, and they shall gather out of his kingdom all those who do iniquity; and shall cast them into a furnace of fire; there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth.’ Can annihilation be compared to a furnace of fire, and can annihilated men be said to wail and gnash their teeth? Impossible. Yet once again refer to Mark 9:1-50 from Mark 9:43. ’And if your hand offends you, cut it off; it is better for you to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into Hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched; where their worm dies not, and the fire is not quenched.’ It is plain that here Christ meant something more than the grave by the word ’Hell’. For the grave-worm does die — but this one never. In the grave is no fire — but in this Hell there is. The resurrection says, ’No annihilation.’ That all will have to rise, whether saint or sinner, is certainly taught. For there to be any mistake about that, seems impossible. Now if the sinner is to be annihilated, when is it to take place? Before the resurrection? Impossible. For how then is he to rise? After the resurrection? Then where has his soul been from the moment of death until the resurrection morn? Besides which, what is the sinner’s doom after the resurrection? Turn to John 5:1-47, John 5:28-29 : ’The hour is coming in the which all that are in the graves shall hear his voice, and shall come forth; they that have done good unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil unto the resurrection of damnation.’ The doom of the lost sinner and the doom of the devil are identical. The verdict passed is ’Depart from me, you who are cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.’ The master and the servants share one common woe. Is the devil’s punishment annihilation? Most assuredly we find out to our cost it is not yet and that it never will be, Scripture sets beyond a shadow of a doubt, for it declares that he ’shall be tormented day and night, forever and ever’. Satan would leap for joy, and clash his chains in mad glee if he could look forward to such a termination of his torments. But his doom is forever and ever, and the wicked are to share it! Lastly, the atonement is an argument for the existence of Hell. From what does my Savior save me? Simply from cessation of being, or from a short residence in Hell, to be followed by total forgetfulness of all its pains? The very idea is incompatible with the ransom price he paid. Gethsemane’s bloody sweat — the bloodier scourging in Pilate’s hall — and the awful death of Calvary — all seem to point to a punishment beyond description. If I believe (as I do) that Christ suffered in his own person the pangs and anguish I must otherwise have endured, tell me, what must they have been that forced from the quivering lips of incarnate love that terrific death-shriek, ’My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ O, take your stand, believer, at the foot of that cross, stained crimson with your Savior’s heart’s-blood, look up into that face of anguish; listen to those deep-drawn sighs of misery; and then ask yourself, ’From what kind of a doom must such a sacrifice have rescued me?’ What then shall be our answer to the question, ’What shall the end be of those who obey not the gospel of God?’ We have only one to give, and that we utter with melting heart; it is ’Hell’, and that Hell is one of torment. Having tried to prove that the punishment of the wicked will be no mere cessation of being — but actual torment, I now turn to my second answer to the text, namely: II. THAT IT WILL NOT BE MERELY A TEMPORARY PUNISHMENT. The generality of those who hold the view of immortality being only in union with Christ, still believe that the sinner when he dies does enter an actual Hell as described in Scripture — but that he only remains there a limited time, and is at last doomed to non-existence. Others there are who, though believing in the immortality of the soul apart from union with Christ, yet hold that after the sinner has endured the terrors of Hell for some period, either short or long — he will come from thence forgiven and purified, and join the ransomed throng in Heaven. Without attempting to compare the merits or demerits of the two theories, I shall try and prove what both equally deny — the eternity of suffering. The most general argument brought against eternal punishment is that it is opposed to the perfect justice of God. ’The punishment’, they say, ’being eternal, must at last exceed the sin.’ That, we reply, has yet to be proved, and if we can but show that the punishment is only proportionate to the sin, then the charge of injustice falls to the ground. In order to understand aright the nature of the sin, you must bear in mind the infinitely holy Being against whom the sin is committed. It is against Jehovah, the infinite one; against one who is infinitely worthy of honor and worship, and against one to whom we are under infinite obligations. If then God and his gospel are infinitely worthy of obedience, they ’who obey not the gospel of God’ are guilty of an infinite sin — and not a word can be said against the justice that visits an infinite sin with an infinite punishment. Do you find in our courts of justice that the length of the punishment is regulated by the length of time the offence took in being committed? The act of forgery or theft took but, perhaps, five minutes, and yet the punishment for that act may be transportation ’for the term of natural life’ and who impugns the justice of the sentence? ’But’, say others, ’God is infinitely merciful, and the very idea of eternal suffering is opposed to that attribute.’ It may be according to your idea of that mercy, and yet not against that mercy itself. Remember God is as just, as he is merciful. His mercy provided the gospel; his mercy invited the sinner to obey it. His mercy stood waiting to save — but the sinner spurned his mercy offered, and declined ’to obey the gospel’. Then as he would not have the mercy — he must have the justice. Justice never interfered with the sweet work of mercy — and mercy can never interfere with the righteous acts of justice. God’s mercy is not a mere passion over which he has no control, and which steps in to overturn the execution of his own righteous judgments. That misery and sorrow are compatible with God’s being merciful, can be seen in a hundred instances around us. Shall we say ’he has ceased to be merciful’ because sometimes we hear of an awful factory explosion in which hundreds are suffocated in a moment, and a whole neighborhood plunged into grief? Does not infinite mercy look on, and yet stretch out no hand to save, when a whole ship’s crew and crowds of passengers sink in the wild waves? That mercy can permit eternal suffering, is proved by the fact that it does in the case of Satan and the rebel angels. Why should it permit it to be their doom and not ours? Is their sin greater than ours? Certainly not, there is only this difference, that they never rejected an offered Savior, which the sinner has. Dispel the thought at once, believer, from your mind, that eternal punishment is opposed to the mercy of God. There will be nothing in Hell to refine or alter the sinner. Hell-fire is no ’refiner’s fire’, to purge the dross away. Hell’s torments are no ’fuller’s soap’, to cleanse the guilty soul. The lost sinner will be as great a sinner in Hell, as ever he was on earth. His hatred to God in Hell, will be as fierce as its fire. The very idea of improvement in Hell seems to me preposterous. Shall they without the means of grace become what they never did when they had them? They had Moses and the prophets, and they believed them not, and Scripture says that if that testimony be refused, none other would ever be accepted. But in Hell they will not even have these. The restraints also of earth will all be lacking, and sin will consequently be rampant. There will be no mother’s tears, no godly father’s entreaties, no ministry of love. All the barriers will be removed, and sin and hatred will roll through the infernal regions with unrestrained licence! He who was bad on earth, will be worse in Hell. In such a school as this think you the sinner will learn to love his God and obey his gospel? There is nothing in the Scriptures about Hell torments having a termination. Think not although we preach it — that we delight in the thought. Could we hold out a hope that those who are now lost should ever escape from their torments — we would do so with joy. But we search in vain for any ground for such a hope. Scripture holds out none, and therefore we dare not. Listen to the solemn words of inspiration and see if you can extract the shadow of a hope from them that Hell is not eternal torment. ’Who among us shall dwell with the devouring fire? who among us shall dwell with everlasting burnings?’ ’He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.’ ’The smoke of their torment ascends up forever and ever.’ ’These shall go away into everlasting punishment.’ The same word is used to describe the duration of misery — is employed to describe the duration of bliss. Let one mean anything else than ’forever’ — and the other does also. If it be possible for sinners to leave Hell — it is equally possible for the saints to lose Heaven. The verdict of Scripture is that the torment of the lost shall last forever and ever, forever and ever! I would now occupy the few minutes that remain, in trying to APPLY these solemn truths to your heart. Be not deceived, lost sinner, about your future doom by the sophistry of the present day. I entreat you by the value of your own soul, tread under foot these wretched theories, which like opium, will lull you into a deadly sleep, only to awake in eternal Hell! It will be no consolation when there, to remember that when on earth you doubted its existence — and when by tragic experience you have learned that Hell is eternal, you will gain no comfort from the thought that you had always doubted it. Awake! Awake!! Awake!!! lost sinner, to your danger! Hell is no ugly dream to be laughed at in the morning. It is a dread reality! It is no mere wretched scare-crow placed in Scripture to frighten children — it is no mere stock theme for the minister when all else fails him. It is the certain end of every sinner that dies in his sins. If indeed this is the case, then how momentous is the question, ’Am I saved?’ Poor, careless, thoughtless one, come in here this evening you scarcely know why — ’Flee from the wrath to come!’ Worldly pleasure-seeker — cold professor, ’Flee from the wrath to come!’ O sinners all, I implore you by the reality and eternity of Hell to ’Flee from the wrath to come!’ Do you say, ’Where?’ I answer, To Christ. Hide in the cleft of that ’Rock of ages’, and you are safe. As a lost sinner, as one who deserves eternal wrath, cast your whole soul upon Christ, and you are secure. Trust him only, trust him wholly, trust him now — and you shall be eternally saved. Lord have mercy upon all this great company, and grant that none may ever find out by experience that there is a Hell and that an eternal one. God grant it may be so, for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 41: S. JANNES AND JAMBRES ======================================================================== Jannes and Jambres Archibald G. Brown, East London Tabernacle "Just as Jannes and Jambres opposed Moses, so also these men oppose the truth — men of depraved minds, who, as far as the faith is concerned, are rejected!" 2 Timothy 3:8 "Jannes and Jambres — whoever are they?" This is a question I can imagine being asked by many, if not most present. Their names only occur in this verse, and nothing is made known about them here except the fact that they were a trouble and obstacle to Moses. All the incidents usually dwelt upon by the biographer are lacking. Nothing is recorded of their birth, appearance, manner of life or time of death. From the fact that they resisted Moses, we know fifteen hundred years must have rolled over their unknown graves. During all this time their names never once appear in inspired history, until they are used in our text as solemn warnings to the professors of Paul’s time. But who were they? Jewish records, and all commentators agree in saying, they were the chief of the sorcerers employed by Pharaoh. They were the men who sought to counteract the influence of the miracles of Moses by apparently doing the same things. Kindly turn with me to Exodus 7:11, and you will read the history of that opposition, which centuries after illustrated an apostle’s appeal. Moses had just commanded Aaron to cast his rod upon the ground, and that rod has just been changed into a serpent, when "Pharaoh also called the wise men and the sorcerers; now the magicians of Egypt also did in like manner with their enchantments, for every man cast down his rod, and they became serpents." Here now was a difficulty, and for a moment Moses must have felt baffled. In the estimation of the beholders, he was nothing more than the magician. The miracle on which perhaps he had greatly depended to give weight to his words had lost all its power. True, he might know that there was reality on his side, and only trickery on theirs — but then how about Pharaoh and his court? What effect would the seeming miracle of Jannes and Jambres have on their mind? It could have but one. It would harden them in their sin and take all point and power from the words of Moses. They doubtless argued "What is Moses more than our own wise men, if he can perform a miracle to get Israel out of Egypt — they can perform a similar one to keep them in the land; so what is there to choose between them?" Thus God’s handiwork was brought into discredit by man’s imitation. The real suffered through the sham. The truth lost its power by the lie. The appearance neutralized the influence of the reality. Now perhaps some of you are already saying, "But what has this to do with Paul’s argument? Jannes and Jambres had rotted in their graves ages before he mentioned their names." True — but a new race of them was to rise. Paul, looking into the future, saw the church meeting the same form of opposition as Moses. History was to repeat itself; so he warns of the coming danger. You and I, dear friends, are living "in the last days" that he speaks about in the first verse of this chapter. The days of Jannes and Jambres — so the subject should have special interest to us. Certainly if the Holy Spirit thought it worthwhile to hold up the opposition of these men as typical of the opposition the truth is to meet in our times, the study of their character is worthy our most careful thought. I will ask you to notice — First, the nature of the opposition offered by Jannes and Jambres. Secondly, its influence. Thirdly, its end. May the Lord help us in preaching on a subject which has long weighed upon my mind. It is a subject more important than pleasant, and one which we believe to be specially adapted to the present state of our churches. Many Jannes and Jambres abound just now. I. First then, Let us notice the nature of the opposition offered by these men to Moses. It was exceedingly subtle, and had so little show of opposition about it, that onlookers might have been slow to believe they had anything but feelings of respect towards Moses. To them it would seem little more than a trial of skill between Jewish and Egyptian magicians. Here was the power and the danger of the resistance. You do not find that they tried to make light of the miracles of Moses, or call into question their genuineness, or anything of the sort. No, they simply copied him as far as possible, and tried by imitations to depreciate the value of the real. They so surrounded the true diamond with cut glass copies that in the eye of an undiscerning public, it was difficult to tell the difference. This is the kind of resistance the church has to struggle against in the present day. The old, rough, brutal, physical opposition has passed away. The Inquisition with its horrid tortures, and Smithfield with its blazing victims — are things of the past. It would be folly on the part of Satan to try and use such weapons now. Their date is over and he knows it. With changing times, he always changes his tactics. Like a skillful angler, he suits the fly on his hook to the season of the year. Variety, if not pleasing, is profitable to him in this respect. His first effort against Christianity was to stamp it out, just as his first effort was to slay Moses. All kinds of means were employed. Edicts, prohibitions, fines, imprisonments, individual torturings, and general massacres. These things suited a certain age. We are now — or at least are supposed to be — more refined, polite and tolerant. The idea of hanging or burning a man for his views, whatever they might be, would be universally discounted, except perhaps by some of the followers of Rome, the members of which church have always shown a great partiality for the burning faggot as an argument for their faith. The times having thus changed, Satan has accommodated himself to them, and instead of seeking to stamp Christians out, he now goes on an entirely different tack. Having failed to do away with Christians, he now seeks to make the whole world Christian after his sort. Stamping out the genuine having proved another failure — he now seeks to swamp them with imitations of his own manufacture. The church in the world — but not of the world, having outlived all and every attack — is now threatened with a new danger. Satan means to have a Christian world — one at least in name and profession. As he cannot altogether do away with the testimony of a Moses, he will antidote it by raising up a number like Jannes and Jambres, who will so closely imitate him that the world will cry "they are alike, their pretensions are equally good, it is six of one and half a dozen of the other." Satan’s last and greatest plan of resistance has been to throw over the world the cloak of a hollow profession, and as far as possible — to fill the pulpit with a Jannes, and the pew with a Jambres. In the place of living, breathing Christians, he is giving us Christians on canvas, and the church is half-smothered with the shams crowded into her. That this is the true teaching of the text I have no doubt, and I am convinced that this is the kind of resistance Paul meant Jannes and Jambres to illustrate, for if you turn to the fifth verse of this chapter, you will find their characters sketched in very few words: "having a form of godliness — but denying the power." Yes, that is it — formal and powerless. Like Moses in his actions — but devoid of the God-given might by which he performed them. Let us now enter more into detail. We have seen that the resistance was one of imitation rather than obstruction — and that this is the kind of resistance we may expect to meet. Let us now notice in what particulars the imitation may resemble the real — the empty form appear to be the genuine power. Observe first that a Jannes or Jambres can do many of the same things as a true Moses; and in the judgment of worldly onlookers, they can do them just as well. Aaron’s rod is turned into a serpent! Amazement takes hold of the spectators, until one of the sorcerers with a look of perfect self-assurance casts his rod down, and lo, it becomes a serpent. Others follow his example, until coiling and twisting at Pharaoh’s feet, are plenty of proofs that, at least in this respect, the magicians can do the same as Moses. There need be no great wonderment on our part as to how they accomplished their feat. The Egyptians were masters in the are of conjuring — and as great marvels are done by sleight of hand in our own day. The thing was this, they did it — or what is the same as far as their resistance to Moses was concerned — they appeared to do it. Granting that Pharaoh and his court knew it to be but a clever trick on their part, the opposition was the same, for how was Moses to prove that his was anything better? His rod, or more strictly speaking, Aaron’s rod, became, as far as sight could guarantee anything, a serpent. So did the rods of Jannes and Jambres. That was enough for Pharaoh. Another wonder is done by the rod of Moses and Aaron. It strikes the river and lo, the channel is filled with blood instead of water. Blood — blood — nothing but blood — the whole river stank with blood. Surely now the Egyptians will believe there is power in Jehovah’s messengers. They might have, if it had not been for Jannes and Jambres. They turn, or at least they seem to turn, some water into blood, perhaps a small vessel full. Never mind the quantity. "Water into blood is the same thing whether in a large or small measure," say the Egyptians, "so our magicians are a match for God’s Moses." But again Aaron’s rod works a miracle. From rivers, streams, pools, swamps, ponds, there comes an army of frogs. The land is full of them. Indoors as well as outdoors, there they are. They leap into the beds, they croak in the ovens, they defile the kneading troughs. Horrible! But Jannes and Jambres are equal to the occasion. They seem to manufacture frogs with perfect ease, although they have no power to remove them. Thus three times the testimony of Moses was lessened, if not neutralized, by men without God doing apparently just what he did with his God. He had to contend with "the form without the power." So it is now. It is difficult to say what a Jannes or a Jambres cannot do. Can a true child of God, one who has "the power" within him, preach? So can the man who only has the form. O sirs, it is a sad truth to tell — but if every Jannes and Jambres were turned out of the pulpit this morning, there would be many congregations without any preacher — and a good thing for them too. Preach! Yes, that they can; sentences as smooth and rounded as beach pebbles, and with as much life, roll over their lips. Preach! Yes, in studied language with flowing measure that makes many a poor stammering Moses envy their ability. Preach, yes, with plenty of "form" and almost perfect delivery, while a congregation that knows and cares nothing about the "power" applauds the eloquence. Being a preacher is not an infallible proof of being a saved man. He may simply be a conjurer in the pulpit, resisting the truth he professes to love. Can a true child of God teach in the Sunday school? Yes, and so can Jannes and Jambres. It is a shame to our schools that so little care is taken to keep them out of the classes. One is almost tempted to think that children’s souls are of so little value that they may be experimented on. But the worst of it is that Jannes can look so much like Moses, and "the form" can so well imitate "the power" that it is difficult not to be deceived sometimes. If children had no souls, and if the work of Sunday School teaching was not conversion, then the Jannes would often make the best teacher. These magicians are always clever, their profession requires them to be so. Can a true child of God take a tract-district and visit the sick? So can either Jannes or Jambres. They can visit as punctually, arrange their districts as methodically, and perhaps draw up a far better report of their work. They can pour into the ear of the sick man all the well-worn bedside platitudes, and to the eye of the public, if not to the eye of God, they do as much good as the Moses who is slow of speech, and only has "the power," and do it in a neater style and in better "form." Time would fail to tell of all the different things they can do and are doing. They can take the chair at public meetings, and express their unbounded interest in the object that has convened the gathering, with a quiet self-delight that makes the meek Moses in the body of the hall, who is really devoted to the work, feel humbled to think how far he falls below their standard. They can occupy the honorable position of deacons in our churches — they can carry the bread and wine round at the Lord’s Supper — they can engage in prayer — in fact they can do almost anything — not quite — that the man can do who is commissioned by God. I know dear friends of no sadder fact than the possibility of a man looking so like a Christian, doing so much of a Christian’s work — and yet being no Christian at all. Even worse than that, being a resister of the truth, having a name to live — and yet being dead and spreading death on every hand — in a word, being a Jannes or a Jambres, having all "the form" and lacking all "the power." But not only can they do the same things — but they can speak the same language. Besides the form of action — they have the form of speech. I often regret that as Christians we have so many set phrases of speech. I believe it is a help to hypocrites and an assistance to all mere formalists. Why is it that in so many instances, the moment a man becomes a Christian he ceases to speak in a clear outspoken way, and talks in a jargon of set phrases? It would be a difficult thing for Jannes and Jambres to remain undetected, if they had to coin their own language to express their feelings. Unfortunately there is a language already coined for them, and like parrots they repeat what they have heard others say, without understanding the meaning one iota. Religious talk is one of the worst kinds of tests that can be employed, for it is not an uncommon thing for the emptiest vessel to make the most sound. Many a man who, like Moses, has "the power," also like Moses lacks a ready utterance, and has to say, "I am slow of speech and slow of tongue." Exodus 4:10. There are many like the Scotch girl who, when perplexed with a number of theological questions, replied "I cannot speak for Him — but I could die for Him." But a Jannes or a Jambres never finds any difficulty in giving an experience. If he does not have one of his own, he can soon make one up, and what is more marvelous still, he can often persuade himself that what he is saying actually expresses his own feelings. He has repeated experiences that he has only heard, until at last he has fallen into the delusion that he is repeating what he has felt! I beseech you, dear friends, do not settle down and conclude that you must be a genuine Christian, because you have a rich religious vocabulary at your command. Having it does not prove you are a genuine Christian; far from it; it is a good thing to be able to express easily the feelings and the desires of the heart — but at the same time, it does not prove that you are a Christian. You may, with all your flowing speech and wordy piety, be only a Jannes or a Jambres; you may be a good imitation — but nothing more — polished bronze — but not gold. Thus I have tried to show how close a RESEMBLANCE may exist between the real and the false, the actual and the apparent. Now what was the DIFFERENCE between Moses and Jannes? The answer is soon given. What he did, he did by a power that was not his own. What they did, they did by themselves. God was in Moses and did the miracles through him. Satan was in them and prompted them to make a copy of Jehovah’s works. In the one case there was actual power — and that was a divine power — performing actual wonders. In the other case there was simply an empty form doing nothing — but looking like much. One was a manifestation of God’s might. The other was an exhibition of man’s cleverness. There was all the difference between them that there is between the flower budding and blooming, and the wax-work imitation that is devoid of scent or life. Or to use another illustration, between the statue and the man it represents. Doubtless most of you have at some time or another gone through an are gallery. There perhaps you have seen carved in marble a Samson or a Hercules. The figure has been huge, and every part of it was intended to display gigantic strength. The shoulders have been massive. The sinews of the arms have looked like cords, and knotted muscles have stood out in every part. "What power!!!" you exclaimed. No, there is not. There is a grand imitation of it, nothing more. The sinews are all of stone, and the muscles cannot close one finger of the hand. Do you see that little child whose head does not so much as come up to the top of the pedestal on which the giant stands, and looks with awe at the great stony monster towering far above him? There is more power in the little finger of that child than in the whole bulky mass he looks at. He has life. The statue does not. There is the difference. One has great "form," the other has true power. Jannes and Jambres are statues of Christians, nothing more. II. Let us notice the INFLUENCE of Jannes and Jambres. Their influence was great; Moses felt its power, and the king and court grew hardened by it. So it is with these of whom they are the type. Jannes and Jambres wield an immense power in the present day, and it’s no use shutting our eyes to the fact. It is a mark of greatest folly to despise the strength of an adversary, and the surest way to feel it is by experience. Jannes is not to be gotten rid of with a laugh, nor is Jambres gotten rid of with a smile of indifference. Their existence is a source of constant danger, and their presence in the professing church does more to paralyze its testimony than all the outward opposition and persecution it has ever met. When we remember also that the Holy Spirit declares that "perilous times" will come with them, it is not for us to shut our eyes and live in a "fool’s paradise," particularly when the perilous times are to come "in the last days" — the days in which we are living. This form of satanic resistance is an awful proof of the deep-sightedness of the great adversary. He knows that nothing can possibly deaden the power of the church’s testimony, more than flooding it with a number of cold and heartless formalists, who in the eyes of the world can do as much, and do that much as well as the genuine Christian. And then, when the world detects that they are but shams and finds that it has been deceived, so much the better for him, for he knows that the whole church will be judged by the impostors, and all will be put down as belonging to the same family. Counterfeits destroy confidence. This is true in everything. It is unprincipled rogues that make it so hard for honest men to get their bread. It is quackery that keeps true medicine out of the field. It is bubble stock companies that eat out all commercial trust, and to many, make the very name a synonym for fraud. Everywhere the true and real are suffering through the influence of the false and base imitations. I heard an anecdote somewhere that so exactly sets forth the idea that I have in my mind, that I cannot help but tell it. One gentleman made a wager with another that if he stood on London Bridge with a tray full of sovereigns and offered them to the public for sixpence each — he would not sell half-a-dozen of them in a day. All day long the man cried out "real sovereigns for sixpence," and declared with all earnestness that he could guarantee their genuineness. Of course no one believed him, and he sold none. Why? Because the public had so often seen sham sovereigns for sale, that they never doubted these were the same. The gilt having come first, it had destroyed all faith in the gold. It is just so in the spiritual world. The existence of Jannes and Jambres eats out all faith in the reality of any Christian life. The world points to them and refuses to believe that they are the exception, and not the rule. Is there one worker for the Lord here this morning who has not found out the truth of what I am saying? I do not believe so. Go where we will, and say what we may, we will find some miserable Jannes has gone before us, and like a canker worm, he has eaten out all confidence in our word. Their influence resists the truth. This is what we have to contend with now — and yet how strangely many seem blinded to the fact. Roman Catholicism — infidelity — philosophical atheism — all these are looked upon as deadly sins and preached against continually; but it seems as if the evil growing up in our own midst is hardly perceived. Yet what is the state of the church at large? Is there not a worldly, formal spirit, percolating through and through it? Are not the doors of the church thrown so wide open that almost anyone can become a member? Is there not more of a Christian-world, than a church which, though in the world, is not of the world? Is there not a general tendency to sneer at all decided testimony for Christ, and call it fanatical or puritanical? Instead of the church "going outside the camp" bearing Christ’s reproach — is there not a very general bringing of the camp into the church? I fear so, far more than many like to believe. Jannes and Jambres are creeping into our pulpits, gliding into our churches; and the "form" without the power is rapidly becoming the fashionable thing! III. Let us now in the last place notice the END of their resistance. They were put to shame. Their pretensions were proved to be ridiculous, and they had to pass condemnation on themselves. Out of their own mouths came the confession of their imposture, and from their own lips was wrung out the acknowledgment that God was with Moses. Three times they had matched his miracles — but the fourth time they miserably failed. Observe also, how humiliating the subject of their defeat was. You will find it in the eighth chapter of Exodus, the eighteenth verse: "And the magicians worked with their enchantments so as to bring forth lice, and they could not. Then the magicians said to Pharaoh: This is the finger of God!" Ah Jannes, it must have been a bitter moment when you stood convicted before all, of being an impostor! Ah Jambres, how crestfallen you are now! You are compelled to bear testimony for God against your will. You are obliged to confess that "power" has won the day against mere "form." O what a contrast there is between their looks now, and when they first stepped forward to resist God’s servant! How complete is the collapse of their pretensions. So it shall be with their followers of today. Paul most distinctly states this in the verse following our text, "But they shall proceed no further: for their folly will be manifest to all men as theirs also was." "Folly?" Yes, folly! No other word could better describe their resistance. The hypocrite or lifeless formalist is the greatest of all fools! He is almost certain to be unmasked in time, and even if he were to carry on the horrible deception to the last — what will it profit him when God calls for his soul? Now just as Jannes and Jambres failed to do all that Moses did, so there are some things that the mere formalist can never accomplish. Let him only try, and he will break down, and have to acknowledge that it requires the power of God. I will mention but two. 1. He has no power to bear trouble with joyfulness. His whole life is one of externals; when he is driven by force of circumstances to seek his joy in the life within, he fails, and fails utterly, for there is no life there. A sham Christianity withers up in the days of trouble. It has no power to give a light in the eye, and place a smile on the lip — when every outward comfort is fleeing fast. It has no arms to put beneath a man when the dark waters of sorrow roll and surge around him. It has no power to make the tongue of the bereaved one sing, or give calm serenity to the sick and pain-racked sufferer. No, it can do none of these. It fails like the magicians when it is needed the most. The "form" may do for bright and sunny days when sorrow and sickness are unknown — but it requires the "power" to triumph in the winter night, and to "take joyfully the confiscation of the goods." Hebrews 10:34. Put a Jannes or Jambres amidst a number of anxious souls, and tell him to speak to them and point them the way of peace. See how he fails. I think I hear him say, "I could preach — but this is more than I can do, and they ask me questions about things I cannot understand. Their very anxiety is a mystery to me. It is not my forte to speak with souls." No, Sir, it is not. Anything that requires spiritual knowledge, or is beyond the boundary line of "form" is not your work. The finger of God is needed here — not your sleight of hand. Beloved hearers, let me urge this question home upon you, "Could you speak to an anxious soul?" Do you know anything of what being saved means, and therefore know how to show the way to others"? Has there ever been anything more than mere superficial work or heartless form in your professed religion? If not, I pray you to remember that Jannes and Jambres were included in the doom of the Egyptians. When the angel of death walked through the streets of Egypt, there was no exception made. There was not one house without its dead, and for all I know, they were involved in the last awful judgment at the Red Sea. The form of religion does not save — the appearance of piety is of no avail. The Hell of the drunkard and the prostitute — will be the Hell of the loud sounding professor who has the form devoid of the power. Now let no timid soul be frightened and troubled by what I have said. Thank God, there are multitudes whose hearts beat true for Him, and who live in a shallow, cold, and heartless age — yet are living a life of "power" and testimony. May the Lord increase their number ten thousand-fold. Remember, the false but proves the existence of the true. The sham declares there is such a thing as the genuine. The imitation gives unconscious homage to what it imitates. It is the multitude of the true, that makes it possible for the false to pass current. Do you love Jesus, dear friend? Does His name stir up all the emotions of your heart? Is it your joy to be in fellowship with Him? If you can say "yes" to these questions, then you need not fear. No Jannes or Jambres could say it. Let us now separate with solemn heart-searching as to whether we are among those who have the "power" — or among those who only possess the "form." May God make Jannes and Jambres a warning to us all! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 42: S. MY BANNER! ======================================================================== My Banner! Archibald G. Brown, December 5th, 1869, Stepney Green Tabernacle "And Moses built an altar, and called the name of it Jehovah Nissi. [The LORD is My Banner]" Exodus 17:15 Murmuring is sure to lead to trouble, and rightly so. Those who murmur about everything must not be surprised if God gives them some trial worthy of being talked about. The children of Israel had found fault with Moses without cause, and so, consequently, the Lord visits their sin with the rod. They had murmured against the Lord, and against His servant, concerning the scarcity of water. "Why is this" they demanded of Moses, "that you have brought us up out of Egypt to kill us, and our children, and our cattle, with thirst!" So hot did their anger wax, and so unbridled was their wrath, that Moses feared even for his life, and in his cry to his God declares "they are almost ready to stone me!" Exodus 17:3-4. The Lord gave the ungrateful rebels drink, for at the touch of the wonder-working rod, the Rock of Horeb poured forth its streams in the desert; but Israel’s sin has its condemning monument in the very name of the place, for it was called Meribah, or ’chiding.’ But no sooner were their wants supplied than at once Amalek came upon them at Rephidim. Wherever there is a Meribah, there is sure to be a Rephidim close by. Long did the battle last, sore was the fight; from morning until the going down of the sun might be heard the clash of steel and the shouts of those engaged in the combat. The battle surged continuously from one side of the valley to the other. Now there is a shout from the ranks of Amalek, "They flee, they flee!" and shortly we see Israel make a fresh attack, and with an impetuous rush that carries everything before it, they turn the tide of battle, and hew their way to victory. The enemy staggers; their courage fails; and for a moment panic seizes all the ranks. They make one more desperate attempt, and with the energy of despair, they again close their columns and show a bristling front. But all in vain; Israel like an overwhelming flood bursts full upon them, and with the shout, "The Lord Almighty is with us!" sweeps on to final conquest. It was no mere defeat — it was an entire rout. Why was glorious victory thus secured for Israel’s side? The answer is easily given. The fight was the Lord’s, and not man’s. The triumph came from the arm of Jehovah, not from the weapons or His people; and consequently, Moses did right when he erected an altar, and called the name of it ’Jehovah Nissi;’ which is, being interpreted, ’the Lord is my Banner.’ The Lord looked down upon the conflicting armies — but not as an unmoved and uninterested spectator. The battle was the Lord’s, and though unseen, He occupied the field. On Amalek He frowned, and that frown withered their strength and froze their prowess. On Israel, His smile rested like a golden sunbeam; and that smile nerved their arms with tenfold might and rendered them invincible. "Ah, Amalek, you have entered upon a hopeless encounter; no feeble man of dust has taken the field against you; but arrayed before you is the God of battles." The Lord who is a "man of war," Exodus 15:3 has come clothed with thunder to meet you, and not merely do the stars fight against you (as with Sisera) — but He who upholds them in their courses. Where God wars, there can be no question about the victory; and where his banner leads, there can be no defeat. But let us now forget the ensanguined armies and concentrate our thoughts on the up-reared altar and the title given to it, "Jehovah Nissi." Surely, beloved, we have here in richest metaphor our Lord Jehovah Jesus. Who is a Banner but He? And of whom but He can the exulting saint exclaim "Jehovah Nissi!" We will look upon this subject in several aspects, and try and discover in what respects our Master is the banner. Our divisions will be as follows: First, the banner was always the center of attraction. Next, Christ as a banner is the banner of all Christendom. Christ as a banner, is a banner unfurled. As a banner, He is the subject of continual attack. As a banner, He gives the signal for ’March;’ and He is a banner that always leads to certain victory. I. The Banner was the Center of Attraction. It was usually planted on some hilltop or eminence where, from far and wide, it might be seen. From all quarters the hosts marched forward, converging to that spot, and around the unfurled banner, they pitched their great encampment. Can we not see in this a lively picture of our Lord, and the attractive power of Him who said, "And I if I am lifted up, I will draw all men to me"? John 12:32 Does this not depict the one concerning whom the dying patriarch said (while the film of death was fast glazing his eye), "The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh comes; and to Him shall be the gathering of the people." Genesis 49:10. Yes, it is a blessed truth that whenever and wherever Christ is lifted up, then and there his power to attract is made plain. "But I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to Myself!" John 12:32. Whenever and wherever Christ is lifted up, then and there His power to attract is made plain. The elect of God, drawn by a power they have no ability or will to resist, take their places beneath the cross. The uplifting of Christ crucified, is God’s chosen means to draw to Himself His elect, yet hidden people. The cross is the divine magnet that draws with irresistible force, hearts of steel. So mighty is its magnetic power, that it attracts those on whom all other means have failed. Let us for a moment turn to the book of our remembrance and peruse its pages, and we will find this fact written in them. Long had we heard the loving tale of Christ’s humiliation — we had seen Him as the weary traveler, and as the weeping mourner — and yet our stony hearts remained untouched. We had often been compelled to take our stand before Mount Sinai; but though its lightnings flashed into our very eyes, and its thunders crashed right over head, our heart remained hard as rock — yes, pride seemed more rampant in that dread storm than ever — we felt we might be broken — but we resolved we would never bend. There have been moments when Hell argued with us, and all its sentences were written in glowing flame; moments when eternal perdition forced itself upon our thoughts, and made us dread the death that never dies. But though our knees shook with fright, our flinty hearts remained unmelted. Sinai and Hell both failed. So also did Heaven, for though we read of its glories, and heard tell of its joys, and sometimes had a languid desire at last to find our way there — but we still remained unattracted, and reveled in the vain world. But when a bleeding Savior hanging on a tree met our sight, then not only were our eyes riveted — but an unseen hand touched every heart-string. We looked — and looked — and looked again — and felt that as we looked, we were being drawn with silken cords nearer, yet nearer still, until we found ourselves as penitents at His blessed feet! Beautifully has old John Newton described this sweet experience as his own: "In evil long I took delight, Unawed by shame or fear; Until a new object struck my sight, And stopped my wild career! I saw One hanging on a tree. In agonies and blood. He fixed His languid eyes on me. As near His cross I stood. Sure never til my dying breath. Can I forget that look! It seemed to charge me with His death, Though not a word He spoke. A second look He gave, which said I freely all forgive; This blood is for your ransom paid, I die, that you may live!" Surely there are hundreds here this evening who are living witnesses to the truthfulness of what we are saying. And is it any marvel or wonder that an uplifted Christ has this power? I answer ’No,’ for on this unfurled banner can be read an answer to every fear, and a supply for every need. The trembling conscience-stricken sinner, whose one desire is to obtain "peace with God," looks up with anxious eye, and reads upon the waving banner, "Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God!" Romans 5:1. The poor, weary, worn-out sinner, whose one thought is "rest," lifts up his eyes and reads, "Come to me all you that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." The friendless and forlorn wanderer, near broken-hearted, looks up to this banner, and sees amid its ample folds, emblazoned as in golden letters, "There is a friend that sticks closer than a brother." Proverbs 18:24 The soul, quivering like aspen leaf through fear and dread of coming days reads, "Surely I will be with you." The sinner nearly in despair, through an overwhelming sense of his own defilement, reads written in the very center of the banner as its chief scroll, "Come now and let us reason together," says the Lord; "though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow!" Isaiah 1:18. "Ah," he says, "that just suits me," and he takes his stand with the ever-increasing multitude at the cross foot. Thus is the cross of Jesus our glorious banner; the center of attraction to weary, sin-sick souls. God grant that it may be so this evening, and out of this thronging multitude may an uplifted Savior draw many. II. Christ as our Banner, is the Banner of all Christendom. On this part of our subject I desire to speak with the greatest plainness, as I am confident that here many mistakes are made. "Jehovah Nissi" is no mere sectarian or denominational flag — but the royal ensign of a royal host. No one sect can claim it as its own, to the exclusion of others. It belongs equally to all who have been called to the "good fight," no matter to what portion of the militant host they may belong. Do not think for a moment that I would advocate the surrender of our party colors, or plead for the extinction of denominations. Such a thing is an impossibility, and even if it could he accomplished, I would be sorry to see it done. An army is none the worse — but all the better for being made up of separate companies; and it is no dishonor to a soldier if he loves his own regiment the most, and thinks it the best. A union at the sacrifice of truth is not to be desired or prayed for. But let us beware lest in flaunting our distinctive banner, we hide from the eyes of any, the royal ensign — lest we become so absorbed in the success of our own party, that we grow indifferent as to the progress of the entire host. "Victory all along the line!" must be our prayer and shout, and nothing else must be allowed to satisfy us. We all look to the upraised standard and together say "my Banner." The Lord grant that there may speedily be a more general recognition of this oneness among His people: a nearness to each other through a universal nearness to Christ. Let our party flags be seen by all means; but grouped around Jehovah Nissi, not planted in its separate place. It is narrated that during the times of the Crusade, when the lion-hearted Richard I of England, the Emperor of Austria, and the King of France were jointly waging war against the heroic heathen Saladin, a jealousy sprang up in the camp between England and Austria. And one morning the British banner was found lying in the dust on St. George’s Mount, with the standard of Austria occupying its place. No sooner did impetuous Richard hear of the insult offered to the royal ensign, than he strode forth alone, and before the assembled hosts hurled Austria’s ensign to the ground, and caused the British Lion once more to take pre-eminence, remarking, "Your banners may be planted around mine — but never take its place." So let it be with us, beloved. Upon the St. George’s Mount of our heart and life, let the Lion of Judah, Jehovah Nissi, alone have the place of honor. III. Our Banner is a Banner Unfurled. Jehovah Nissi is no flag whose folds hang idly drooping in the quiet security of some castle, a mere relic of the past, to be gazed on as a curiosity — but never again planted on the battlements. It is this evening, as it has ever been, a banner exalted and unfurled. When first man fell, and innocence departed, then was Jehovah Nissi raised in Eden’s garden. True, it was but very partially unfurled, and its rich folds hung in drooping wreaths — but still our fallen parents read the promise it was reared to tell, "The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent’s head." Genesis 3:15. Time rolled on, and the days of continual sacrifice approached; but through the incensed smoke that rose from off the brazen altar could be dimly seen yet more unfurled, "Jehovah Nissi". And now the prophets grasp it, and shake out yet more its folds, and in the hands of silver-tongued Isaiah it spread so wide that an astonished world read, "He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities! The chastisement of our peace was upon Him — and with His stripes we are healed." After the prophets, our Lord Jesus Himself planted the banner high on Calvary’s cross; and from that eminence, it streamed in all its beauties while men and angels wondered. From that time right down to the present moment, there have never been hands lacking to lift it high. By earnest ministers — by martyr missionaries — by devoted teachers in our Sabbath Schools — by laborious tract distributors — the banner has been uplifted. How joyous is the thought that before the eyes of assembled millions, this banner is being raised this evening. Who can tell in how many sanctuaries — in how many mission rooms in the dark places of the city — by how many dying beds — are faithful standard-bearers to be found, who, "Point to His redeeming blood, And cry, Behold the way to God!" IV. Christ as a Banner is the subject of continual attack. An eminent German writer has said, "It is no wonder that it is so, for the enemy knows that for a host to lose its banner is not only a great loss — but a great disgrace, and almost worse than a defeat." If this banner can be wrung from the hands that hold it, rest assured no artifice will be untried, no power left unemployed. "Christ crucified," stirs up all the animosity of the infernal foe, and awakens his fear — for well he knows that while this alone is the preacher’s theme, there is but little hope for him. He has no objection to Christ as mere man, or Christ as a model teacher. But Christ as a divine substitute — Christ the Son of God, on Calvary’s tree — Christ, the sinner’s only hope — is an uplifted banner that must be trampled in the dust, if it can by any means be accomplished. To this end, he tries to dazzle the eyes of God’s host by the flashy, flimsy, tawdry rags of Ritualism and bastard Popery, and seeks to induce the host to accept them in exchange for Jehovah Nissi. Rally round the banner, friends, and treat with indignant scorn, so base and insulting an exchange. Exclaim with old Dr. Watts — "Should all the forms that men devise Assault my faith with treacherous art, I’d call them vanity and lies, And bind the Gospel to my heart!" The next point (and it is one I am desirous to force home with all my power) is this, 5. "Jehovah Nissi" is a banner that gives the signal for "march." There is, I believe, a semi-infidel society now in existence which has had the astounding impudence to call itself "The Church of Progress." The name which it has pilfered rightly belongs to the church purchased with a Savior’s blood. Inscribed on its banner is "Onward," and its war-cry for ages has been "Forward." Jehovah Nissi leads to battle. It summons to the glorious war of conquering the world for Christ. It proclaims a grand crusade against Satanic strongholds, sin, and darkness. The very mention of its name recalls to memory deeds of heroic daring and life-long struggle. What noble hands have grasped it, and planted it through seas of blood upon the frowning battlements of the foe! What heroes have died beneath its folds! Let the history of the past inspire us. God has never been without His standard-bearers, and never will be. The dying hands of one have never relaxed their hold, before others have grasped the tottering banner, and carried it to further victory. Stephen, the first martyr, falls amid the frenzied cries of execration of an enraged mob; but the banner he bore so well only falls into the hands of a Philip, who unfurls it with marvelous effect amid the superstitious region of Samaria. It came into the hands of Paul, who in a few short years, planted it triumphantly in Diana-worshiping Ephesus — refined but idolatrous Athens — and grossly licentious Corinth, with its infamous temple of Venus. I would to God, there was more in our day of his fiery ambition to see cities and countries won to Christ — "Men a-dying to see men converted." There has been lately a growing conviction in the minds of many, that God’s church has in some measure been making a retrograde movement, and losing its passion for souls. Jehovah Nissi was never placed in our hands for us to be calmly indifferent; but to inspire us with an absorbing ambition for its increase of glory. There are dark places in the great East-end of London that need the bright shining of the gospel — habitations of ignorance and vice which by their very wretchedness, cry aloud for the "help of the Lord against the mighty." Judges 5:23 One has but to take a walk along the squalid streets and endless courts that surround this sanctuary, to be convinced of the truth of what I state. He must have a heart that is something less than human, who can make such a tour of inspection, and yet return to his home with a soul anything but saddened and sickened with the sights he has been obliged to witness. Often we are forced with desponding spirit to exclaim, "Great God, how small a portion of the city, after all the efforts that have been put forth, dwells beneath the shadow of your glorious banner." "Arise," Christians, "Arise!" You members of this Church, "Arise," and see if you cannot by some means help to stem the flowing, filthy stream of sin that pours past your very doors, and enlighten the murky gloom that surrounds with deathly blackness the small Goshen where you dwell. God forbid that any of us should be slumbering, while souls are being damned. By that solemn hour of death, when the past — with its opportunities, used and abused — will rise into view, and by the awful Day of Judgment, when stewardships will have to be accounted for — I beseech you, by earnest pleadings with your God, and ceaseless efforts for the souls of men, to plant the Banner in some fresh hearts and neighborhoods. My greatest ambition and most earnest prayer is to see a noble crusade made by this Church against the principalities and powers, and strongholds of sin that surround us! Oh that God would inflame your hearts and mine to hurl themselves into the battle! Beloved, this evening we would proclaim a fresh crusade to deliver immortal souls from Hell! Inspired with the desire, do you cry, "Banners! Banners! Banners!" We give them to you tonight. In every hand we place one bearing this device, "Jehovah Nissi!" Wave it, child of God — wave it while you can raise an arm — and if you fall upon the field, let its folds be your martial cloak around you, while your hand still clutches it in the death-grasp. And now, lastly, let us for a minute or two dwell upon this blessed truth that 6. Jehovah Nissi always leads to certain victory. This is more than can be said of earth’s banners. ’Tis not many years since one of the mightiest armies imperial power could command, marched eastward with the eagle banner of France, led by one whose very name had always seemed a guarantee of victory. With confidence and thoughts of spoil, they marched from town to town. Did they not follow the banner that had waved triumphantly over a thousand bloody fields? Was not "the General" at their head? Success was certain. View that same army in its return from Moscow. See it after it has met upon the field, a Russian winter. Who can recognize in those straggling groups, leaving the dying and the dead behind them at every stop — the once gallant army, that swept on with martial steps in all the pomp and pageantry of war. So much for confidence in the banner of an empire. But, child of God, Jehovah Nissi shall lead to no such bitter disappointment and disaster. Its presence in the camp is victory itself. Does it lead you into the thick of storm and tempest? It will be your protection. Does it guide you into darkness? It will throw a light upon the field. Does it pioneer you into fierce temptation? It will be your power to resist. Does it lead you, as it eventually must, to the cold waters of death? The moment your feet touch the waters, they shall roll back as before the ark of old, and your passage shall be made dry-shod. In the middle of the channel you will sing, "O death, where is now your sting! O grave, where is now your victory!" Glorious! Glorious Banner!! And thrice happy people who can call it theirs. Before we close, lost sinner, I want to have a word with you. You cannot say this text with truth — far otherwise. Floating over you is another banner altogether; its folds, black as perdition, droop heavily overhead, like some black awful pall. Written in its very center is one word. Its lurid light reveals it. It is HELL! O sinner, sinner, you must be either under one banner or the other. God help you now to escape from your direful doom, and flee with hasty steps to Jesus. Then you will be able to look up into his face, beaming with forgiving love, and say, "Jehovah Nissi," the Lord, my Banner. God grant it may be so with all, for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 43: S. NOAH'S TELESCOPE! ======================================================================== Noah’s Telescope! Archibald G. Brown, February 12, 1888, East London Tabernacle "By faith Noah, when warned about things not yet seen, in holy fear built an ark to save his family. By his faith he condemned the world and became heir of the righteousness that comes by faith." Hebrews 11:7 I shall deal mainly with the words, ’things not yet seen.’ There is nothing more convincing than sight. When a man sees a thing, it is superfluous to enter into an argument with him to prove that it exists. If we do so, he will probably reply, ’My dear friend, your logic is not wanted; that which I see needs no proof.’ When sight comes in — doubt goes out. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, sight banishes skepticism and makes a matter realistic. It is hard work to argue a man out of the belief of anything that he has seen. He will meet you with the utterance, ’It is no use to talk. Seeing is believing. Do you think that I am going to doubt my own eyes?’ Half a minute’s glimpse, is worth many hours of proof and argument. I think that none of you will doubt that the most conclusive evidence possible is that of sight. Do you think that after I saw the leaning tower of Pisa I could doubt the existence of such a structure? Impossible. I have seen it, and that is an end of the matter. Now, there is another power which makes a thing as certain and real to us as sight, and that is faith. The word ’faith’ has become a theological term. I am not sure that there is an absolute gain in that. When I use the word ’faith’, you think of it only in the religious sense; but, while it is a theological term, it also signifies one of the commonest principles of life. If you believe thoroughly concerning anything, that thing is just as real to you as if you saw it. Now, the whole of this chapter is a splendid argument concerning faith being the eye of the soul. Faith does for a man precisely what sight does: it makes things plain, palpable, real, indisputable. You have a number of instances recorded in the chapter. There is Enoch. ’No man has seen God at any time’ — that is to say, with the natural eye; but Enoch so believed God that God became a real, living personality to him; and I read that ’Enoch walked with God.’ Abraham is called to go out to inhabit a land that he has never seen; and, as geography books were not published in those days, I greatly question whether he had any idea whatever of the locality of that land. But I read, ’By faith Abraham went out, not knowing where he went.’ The land was not seen as yet; but then, he believed what God said, and to him faith was the same as sight. Look at that grand man Moses. I read, ’By faith Moses, when he was come to years, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter.’ Why? ’Choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season: for he had respect unto the recompense of the reward.’ And then I read in the next verse, ’He endured as seeing him who is invisible.’ Yes; invisible to these eyes — but plain enough to the eye of faith. I read again, that they ’saw the promises afar off’. Faith does for reason, just what the telescope does for the bodily eye. You look up tonight at one of the stars, and all that you can see is just a point of light, seemingly infinitely removed from you. But let the astronomer look through his telescope. That instrument does not add anything to the star — but it reveals what is already there. It brings close to hand that which is far off. It may be interesting to some of you to know that, positively, at the present time there is a published map of the planet Mars in which you can see that there are seas and islands, and mountains covered with snow. A wondrous power is that of the telescope; it makes apparent that which is ’not seen as yet’. Here is our subject. Faith brings the distant near, for ’By faith Noah, being warned of God of things not seen as yet, moved with fear, prepared an ark.’ Let us first note Noah’s telescope; and then, secondly, the action that followed his looking through it; and then I shall close by trying to put the same telescope to your eye. Let us note, then, Noah’s telescope. He saw a hundred and twenty years ahead. What was it that he saw? ’Things not yet seen.’ I find them in the 6th chapter of Genesis: ’Behold, I am going to bring floodwaters on the earth to destroy all life under the heavens, every creature that has the breath of life in it. Everything on earth will perish!’ God said it; Noah believed it, and his faith became to him the equivalent of sight. Let us carry out the idea. He puts up his telescope to his eye, and he looks one hundred and twenty years ahead; and what a sight meets his view! He can see the black clouds rolling up, and they pass not away before the breeze. He can see the blackness constantly intensifying. He sees now the commencement of that awful downpour. He gazes through that telescope, and he sees a sight that chills the very marrow of his bones. He beholds the waves of the ocean tossing to and fro, and now they burst their bounds. As he watches, he sees the waters, roaring over the earth, and death and desolation reigning everywhere. Looking through the telescope of faith, he was moved with fear because he beheld ’things not seen as yet’. Now, observe that Noah could see these things only by faith. Let him put the telescope down, and he sees no more than any other man. Apart from the simple words of God, he had no ground whatever for anticipating a deluge. Morning after morning the sun rose as it only can rise in an eastern climate. Some of you have seen it when you have been on voyages in the east. The sun climbed up from the horizon, blazing in all its brilliancy, and walked its kingly course through the azure, until at night it set again in a blaze of glory. Day after day, it rose and set, and not so much as a fleecy cloud was apparent. I almost imagine that Noah would sometimes imagine, ’Dear, dear, was not that an ugly dream that I had?’ Month after month passed. Sometimes the clouds would gather, and there would be a smart shower, and then they would melt again into light; and I daresay that some of the scoffers would say, ’I say, old Noah, it has not come off yet, has it? You thought that when that rain began, you were going to have your prediction fulfilled. Why, it is just as fine now as ever.’ And year after year passed on, and Noah had nothing but the word of God on which to ground his conviction. It might be said that he had a great deal to make it easy for him to doubt. Such a thing had never happened before. The world was not as grey-headed then as it is tonight; but in Noah’s day seventeen hundred years had rolled by, and there had never been a deluge or any sign of one; and he might have said, ’Is it not preposterous to think that what never has happened, will occur?’ The very regularity in the operations of Nature might have suggested a doubt. Spring, summer, autumn, winter followed one another then with just the same beautiful regularity that they succeed one another now. The tides rose and fell, just as they are doing upon our shores today; and it must have been a difficult thing to grasp the idea that a day would come when all this regularity would be broken up. Methinks that if a doubt ever came into Noah’s mind, he just took up the telescope and looked again at the ’things not seen as yet’. Yes, there they were. To the eye of faith the heavens were black, and the downpour had commenced, and the floods were rising. Faith was his telescope; and if anyone had said to him, ’Do you not think that, after all, you are mistaken?’, he would have replied, ’Do you think that I can doubt my own eyes?’ If the skeptic of the day had said, ’Do you not think it is an hallucination after all? Have you not, eaten something that has disagreed with you and made you take a distorted view of things?’ I can imagine the old man saying, ’Seeing is believing: and when I look through this telescope which God has put into my hand, I can see the deluge as if it had already begun.’ Now what was the action produced in him by his looking through the telescope? You read it in my text. ’By faith Noah, when warned about things not yet seen, in holy fear built an ark to save his family. By his faith he condemned the world and became heir of the righteousness that comes by faith.’ Hebrews 11:7. This proved the reality of the whole thing. I think, if I had been alive in those days, I should have said, ’Look, Noah, I believe that you are an old liar.’ But Noah proved the reality of his faith by his actions. I am not going to work out this point — but I will leave it with you. The faith that leads to no corresponding action is a sham! I will use an illustration which will show this to you in a moment. I rush upstairs to a man who is lying half asleep in bed, and I say to him, ’That cupboard under the staircase, where you keep your old newspapers and rubbish, is on fire, and the stairs are just catching. Quick! you have not a moment to spare!’ He looks up from under the bedclothes, and says, ’My dear Mr Brown, I believe every word you say; I would not doubt any statement of yours for anything. Good-night.’ Would he really have believed me? I should say at once, ’Man, you are insulting me. If you did believe that the staircase was on fire, I know what would be the corresponding actions: you would leap at once from your bed and escape for your life.’ When Noah looked through his telescope and saw the deluge coming, he did not hesitate; he did not cavil; he did not suggest to God some other method of deliverance. What did he do? Oh, I wish that I could lead some of you to do the same! He did just what God told him. He fell in with the divine plan and accepted God’s method of salvation. And then Noah became a preacher of righteousness. Why? Because, believing the reality of what he had seen, he would have been something less than a man if he had not warned others. I know that the general idea is that men who preach do so because they are such poor fools that they could not get on at anything else. Let Tom go into the army, and Harry go into the navy, and let Joseph go to the lawyer’s bench — but as for young Archibald, let him go into the ministry, as that is all he is fit for. Now as the Lord lives, there are hundreds of men who can say before God that they only preach for the same reason that Noah preached. They have looked through the telescope, and they have seen that there is an impending judgment; they have seen that there is a doom hanging over a guilty world! And I put this to you, dear men: granted that you believed what I believe, would you not do what I am doing? If you honestly believed in your soul that there was a day of divine wrath coming, in which all unbelievers will be condemned, would you not, out of love to your fellows, do precisely the same as Noah did ages back, and as many of us are attempting to do at the present time? Of course you would. We are not told what Noah’s sermon was — but suppose that it was something after this sort: ’Oh, my dear friends, believe me, this sky is not always going to be blue. The day is coming when this sun will not rise and set as it does today. I have looked through my telescope, and I can see that there is a day coming when the waves, like mad race-horses, shall course over the earth, and when God’s judgments shall be let loose. Prepare, prepare for the coming danger!’ He was not very successful. He preached for one hundred and twenty years, and he was the means of the salvation of only seven people. He rang the bell of warning for a century, and only a handful of people received his testimony. But O that God would give us such a handful! He was the means of the salvation of all his own family. If he did not win anybody else, he won those who were nearest and dearest to him. Have you ever noticed the order? ’The LORD then said to Noah, Go into the ark, you and your whole family.’ And I read, ’And Noah went in.’ It was quite right that he should be the first. The husband ought to be the leader of the family. The father ought to be the first to accept Christ Jesus. Then the sons of Noah, Shem, Ham and Japheth went in with him. If it were so with hundreds of fathers who hear me, how happy they would be! Then Noah’s wife followed him into the ark. And then I can imagine what an expression of gladness overspread Noah’s face as his three daughters-in-law entered next; for mark, these women must have left their own relations in order to cast in their lot with their husbands in the ark. It must have been a tremendous trial to the faith of Noah when the Lord said, ’Go into the ark’, for at that moment there was no sign of the deluge. The day was, perhaps, as fine a day as ever God made. But Noah enters the ark, and his family go with him; the Lord shuts the door: and then what happens? They stayed a whole week in that ark before the deluge came. It does not require a very imaginative mind to conceive what a roar of laughter there must have been. I think I can hear the mob saying, ’Look at the old fellow cooped up there. Does he see any deluge coming? What is the old man doing in that great ship built on dry land?’ I can imagine their calling out, ’I say, Noah, do you feel your boat rocking much? Are you beginning to feel sea-sick yet?’ The man who takes God at his word will often look very ridiculous in the eyes of worldlings. Faith is always a thing that is misunderstood. I can imagine that as Noah heard their ridicule, he himself sometimes felt almost ready to doubt — until he took up that old telescope that I have mentioned, and had a look through the window, and saw that the flood was awfully near. Then he felt that he could afford to bear their laughter. The seventh day passes by, and now comes to pass that which Noah had seen by faith. The heavens are black; the sea forgets its bounds; the waters rise; the ark begins to move, and at last it floats upon the breast of the deep ocean. God has kept his word — but Noah, by faith having been moved with holy fear of things not seen as yet, is a saved man. Now, my brethren, I want to try to put the telescope to your eyes for a few moments. ’Things not seen as yet.’ There are a good many things not seen as yet — but you would see them directly if you would only use this telescope. How many of you can see yourselves as OLD MEN? There is not a man among all who read this, who can see himself as an old man without this telescope. Old age is a thing ’not seen as yet’; but, do you know, there is a passage in the word of God by which if you just look through it, you will be able to see yourself as you will appear some few years hence if you live so long. Look at Ecclesiastes 12:1-14, and see a picture of your own old age. ’The day when the keepers of the house shall tremble.’ Those are the hands. They are not steady like the thousands of hands that are here this evening. The old man’s hands do greatly shake. ’And the strong men shall bow themselves.’ That is the bent back when so many years have passed over the old man that he stoops by reason of their weight, and has lost the elasticity that he once possessed. ’And the grinders cease because they are few.’ The teeth are missing. ’And those that look out of the windows be darkened.’ The eyes are not so bright and keen as the thousands, that gaze upon me now. ’And he shall rise up at the voice of the bird.’ You can sleep for ten hours now; but how often the old man says, ’Oh, I wish that I could sleep as I used to do!’ How light now are the old man’s slumbers! ’And all the daughters of music are brought low.’ He does not sing now as he once did. All his notes are ’quavers.’ ’Also they shall be afraid of that which is high.’ The young man smiles at that which is high. Tomorrow he will be mounting the church steeple, or standing up high on the scaffolding, with no swimming sensations in his head. Fear of that kind is one of the things not seen as yet. Why is this? ’Because man goes to his long home.’ These are things not seen as yet. It will not do any of you dear young fellows any harm if you put that telescope of the 12th of Ecclesiastes to your eye and take a good long look through its lens. There is another thing ’not seen as yet’ — that is DEATH. How few men meditate on their own death! ’All men think all men mortal, but themselves.’ I was talking with a friend only this afternoon about the continual procession of funerals that goes past my house on a Sunday afternoon; and as we were talking I could not help saying to myself, ’I find it so difficult to realize that I may be looking on the very hearse which before long will carry me!’ Have you ever tried to look at your own death? It will do you no harm; so take up the word of God, and read, ’It is appointed unto men once to die.’ Now you know no sickness and no pain. But put your eye to this telescope. Do you see that man lying there on that bed? Do you hear how labored his breathing is? Do you see what big drops of sweat stand upon his brow? You take him by the hand, and he tries to speak to you — but he cannot. And there in the corner of the room you hear the suppressed sobbing of the wife as she folds her little child to her bosom. The dying man’s breath gets heavier, and the doctor says, ’There is nothing more that I can do.’ Do you know that man? Why, it is yourself, man! You are only looking through the telescope at one of the things not seen as yet. And does not 2 Peter 3:1-18 show you another of the things not seen as yet? The day shall come when the Lord in power will come to JUDGE a guilty world, and the heavens shall be set ablaze. "But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare!" You say, ’Well, I do not realize that.’ No, nor did the men and women in the days of Noah. They thought that Noah was an old croaker; but then he had looked through his telescope and had seen what was coming. My brethren, in all love I say that I should be less than a man, and utterly unworthy of a gathering like this, if I were not honest about this matter. Before God, I believe that there is a judgment coming upon a guilty world. If I did not believe it I would not preach it. I am as assured as if I had seen the heavens set ablaze that it will come to pass — the day of the perdition of ungodly men; and it is because I believe it that, like Noah, I want to warn you. Look through the telescope, man. Do you not see the rocks rending and the heavens melting? Can you not see the judgment of God being poured out? Do you say, ’What must I do to be saved?’ I will tell you. There is one respect in which you are not to do what Noah did. Noah had to prepare an ark. You have not to do that. Thank God, that is all done. The ark was prepared in the great navy yard of God’s sovereign grace. It was prepared by a divine workman. He laid down the keel with many a sigh and many a groan, and he built up the ark of salvation at the cost of his own life. He never ceased until he was able to say, ’It is finished.’ He has left the door wide open, and God says to each of you dear fellows tonight, ’Come into the ark.’ It would not have been any good for Noah to walk all round the ark. No, he must come in. Suppose that Noah had said, as some of you may be saying, ’Well, I will stand close by the door, with one foot on the ark and the other on the ground. I do not want to be pronounced on either side. I will wait until I see the deluge coming, and then I will just step in.’ He would have found that he was too late. No, God told Noah that he was to enter the ark a whole week before the deluge came. If any of you are found standing just outside, you will be as much lost as if you were a hundred miles off. The word is, ’Come in.’ Ah, then God is inside. It is not, ’Go in.’ God himself is in the ark, and he says, ’Come in unto me.’ And what is faith? Faith is just taking God at his word, and stepping into the ark, Christ Jesus. As a poor guilty sinner — for that is what you are — you must accept God’s plan of salvation. Do not hesitate or cavil or disbelieve. Put the telescope to your eye once more. Turn it towards CALVARY. Now look through it. How near is the distant cross! Do you see, hanging on that tree, in agonies and blood, the Man, the God-Man? Gaze into those glassy eyes. Behold him marred and heart-broken. Look and look again. The sight ought to fill your eyes with tears, and make you say, ’Lord, did you bear all this for me? Did you die on Golgotha’s cross for me? Are you my ark of safety? Then, Lord Jesus, as a sinner I come to you.’ Oh, do not go and lose your own souls, when you may be saved. Do not go out of this building and say, ’Well, I do not believe a word of it.’ Do you want me to doubt my own eyes? I have looked through the telescope, and I have seen that which I have tried to tell you. I have seen a certain doom coming for the sinner. I have seen God’s ark of salvation — a Christ who died and a Christ who lives. I believe that I am in the ark, or I would not dare to speak to you. Dear readers, may God bring you also just where he has put me. Oh, it is a grand thing to be saved. Do not look upon me as if I were a ’professional’. Do not say, ’Oh, well, this is only a prepared part of his sermon.’ I assure you that it is not. I write to you as a man among men — as one who may be preaching his last ’sermon to men’. I want to be able to say to my God in Heaven, ’Lord, if those dear fellows are lost at last, put not their blood down to my account.’ It is all real. God is real; Heaven is real; Hell is real; Christ is real; sin is real; the impending doom is real. I have looked through the telescope for myself, and, being moved with holy fear, I have fled for refuge to the hope set before me, and God has received me. I want you to be saved. Do not say that you are too old or too far gone to come to Jesus. Whatever the past — though you may have sent your mother down to a premature grave with a broken heart; though you may have dragged a fair name in the mud and mire — I tell you, as God lives, he is able and willing to save every one of you. If you will reject the offer of the gospel, then your doom lies at your own door. May God add his blessing to the testimony. God’s doom on sin is coming! Fly to Christ! God save you for Jesus’ sake! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 44: S. OLD LANDMARKS ======================================================================== Old Landmarks Archibald G. Brown, November 5th, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Do not remove the ancient landmark which your ancestors have set up." Proverbs 22:28 Every age has its distinguishing character and mark. Some have been military ages above everything else, and the pages of their history might appropriately be written in blood, and illustrated by battle scenes. Others may be truthfully described as "scientific," and some few as "profligate." The present age I am inclined to catalogue as "radical." On every hand there has arisen a bold and defiant spirit of inquiry. Respectfulness for anything is at a discount. The oldest theories are now put to the most searching tests, and things that were looked upon with something akin to pious awe by our forefathers, are now handled freely, and often with laughter. Old landmarks are being most unceremoniously shifted into remote corners, or else moved off the face of the earth entirely. This spirit pervades the political, scientific, and religious worlds alike, and in all three its reckless boldness seems on the increase. Most of you know that I am not prepared to condemn this spirit in unmeasured terms. I do not have one atom of sympathy with those who venerate everything that happens to be old. The very fact that some things have been permitted to grow old is cause for shame, and only increases my antagonism to their existence. An old error is the worst error of all; and though there may have grown around it associations and traditions linking it with the history of past ages, I still say "down with it!" Its hoary locks call for condemnation, not compassion. But while recognizing the serviceable element in radicalism, I am convinced that, like fire, it makes a good servant — but a bad and mad master. Kept within proper restraints, it will cure many things; unrestrained, it will curse everything. The fire behind the grate is a source of comfort and delight — but scattered, broadcast, it leads to a Chicago conflagration. In moderation this spirit serves as a timely preservative against the chilling influences of formalism, pure and simple. But once it is allowed to pass beyond reasonable bounds, the danger of the fire is greater than that of the frost. Scriptural landmarks are threatened as much, perhaps more, than any other. Not content to work in its own lawful sphere, the spirit that is now abroad, impiously puts its hand on the declarations of inspired writ, and proposes to shift or remove them as coolly as if they were so many conclusions of men who, living in early days, knew no better. Against this we do and will protest with all the power that God has given us. There can be no parallel drawn between scripture truths and political or scientific matters. The latter are the outgrowth of man’s ideas and are therefore capable of improvement. Scripture truths are the thoughts of infinite wisdom and the utterances of one who knows no change. They are declared truths and divine facts. When man ventures to tamper with these, he puts his hands on things entirely and utterly beyond his province. I hardly need say that I am not going to teach from the text, that we are bound to accept as binding all landmarks raised even by the best of men. Many a present landmark has no better reason for its continuance than "ancient custom," or "our fathers respected it." No, this night we speak only of those landmarks planted by God through his prophets, Son, and apostles. Those landmarks that have deeply engraved on their front, "Thus says the Lord." We shall divide our subject into two parts, as follows. 1. We will look at some landmarks that are threatened. 2. We will offer a few reasons why they should be left as they stand. I. Notice some of the Landmarks that are threatened. I will divide these landmarks into two classes, namely, those of doctrine and those of Christian life. First then, those of DOCTRINE. According to the new standard of orthodoxy, it is almost heterodox to have any doctrine at all. It claims that all clearly defined views are but a proof of ignorance, and dogmatic teaching is an irrefutable evidence of shallowness of brain. To be thoroughly intellectual you must be certain of nothing, and hold all your views as changeable. Your theology, if you have any, must be of the molluscan type, devoid of all backbone and capable of being twisted into any shape — something soft and flabby that can hurt the feelings of no one. Anything more than this will bring the sneer of "puritan." It is a strange thing indeed and lamentable as an evidence of where we have gotten to, that the word "puritan" should ever be uttered with any other feeling than that of profound respect. These were the men who among general superstition still held the truth, and were willing to lose everything, even life itself, to maintain the integrity of their faith. These were the men who were loyal to Christ even to poverty and prison. It is enough to make the blood boil with indignation, to hear these grand old men spoken of in tones of sneering pity by miniature men not worthy, in intellectual wealth, to tie their shoe strings. Truly, "there were giants in those days." Doubtless, their sermons were rather long and divided into almost innumerable parts — but then there was something in them to divide, which is more than can be said of the productions of their self-elected critics. Doctrine with them meant something, and we pray, "God give the church in this respect a new race of puritans." The present feeling of many was doubtless truthfully expressed by a minister who said to me not long ago, "O doctrine; we are done with that now!" The old landmarks seem by many to be only useful as tests for agility. With a smile of great delight, they tell you how many they have succeeded in vaulting; while a semi-religious paper has the audacity to say that the only crowded and prosperous places are those that have ministers who have leaped over the boundaries of old-fashioned orthodoxy. I purpose now, by God’s help, to take you with me around the frontier — to show you the landmarks planted there by God’s hand, and ask you to read the different inscriptions engraved on them. For a reason I will hereafter explain, I will be particularly careful to keep close to the actual words of scripture. The landmarks I will select will be those that can only be slighted at the peril of the soul. I select them, not because I think it likely there are many if any present, who despise them — but on the principle of "forewarned, forearmed." The first is the Deity of Christ. This landmark is high and massive, with many an inscription indelibly written on it. Let us read them; and I ask everyone who has a bible to turn with me to the different passages mentioned. We want tonight to have God’s truth in His own words. In Matthew 1:23, it is declared "Behold a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and His name shall be called Emmanuel, which being interpreted, is God with us." In John, the first chapter and first verse, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." In the tenth chapter of the same gospel, and the thirtieth verse, you have Christ’s own solemn declaration, "I and my Father are one." In Romans 9:5, "Christ, who is God over all, blessed forever. Amen." Colossians 2:9, "For in Him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily." Lastly, in 1 Timothy 3:16, we have those noble words "And without controversy, great is the mystery of godliness: God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the spirit, seen by angels, preached to the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory." These are but a few declarations culled from the many; but they are sufficient. In tones that can only be willfully misunderstood, they proclaim the fact that He who was born in the manger — who taught in the streets — bled in Gethsemane — died at Calvary — was very God. He was not a mere man with God with Him — but God Himself veiled in flesh. Beloved friends, the deity of Christ is no doctrine that can be accepted or rejected at pleasure. It is no mere "non-essential" — a term I much object to — which may be held or cast aside without peril to the soul. If this landmark goes, everything goes with it. Or to change the figure, this doctrine is the foundation of the entire temple of salvation. Remove it and every hope we have for eternity comes falling down around our ears. Believe everything else in the bible but the divinity of Jesus, and you believe a collection of impossibilities. Apart from this, the atonement is meaningless, the blood is powerless, and the intercession is valueless. Much might be said upon this point — but time forbids; I therefore simply entreat you by your loyalty to Christ, and by every hope you have of Heaven, to stand by this glorious landmark and reckon that every hand that touches it is guilty of a higher treason than ever Hell dared breathe; for even the devils said, "We know You who you are the Son of God!" Mark 3:11 The second doctrinal landmark I would lead you to is salvation by substitutionary atonement. This is a landmark stained with blood. Many are the declarations engraved on it. Let us read a few. There is one marked in Matthew twenty-six and twenty-eight. It runs thus, "This is my blood of the new testament which is shed for many for the remission of sins." Another, Romans four and twenty-five, "who was delivered for our offences, and was raised again for our justification." Another, Galatians, three and thirteen, "Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us; for it is written, cursed is everyone that hangs on a tree." Surely if words teach anything plainly, these teach the momentous fact that our salvation is procured by blood. It could not be more distinctly stated that atonement is made by a substitute, and that substitute is a dying one. This truth is the pith and marrow of the gospel. It is the "good news." Christ in the sinner’s place, bearing the sinner’s sins, and enduring the sinner’s punishment. Pardon bought with blood. Peace brought by the cross. Life by a Savior’s death. Bold must be the hands that dare to shift this solemn landmark of Jehovah. Yet they are found. Words have been uttered concerning the doctrine of atonement so full of blasphemy that we cannot force our lips to repeat them. The blood of the everlasting covenant has been accounted an unholy thing and trodden under foot. And where no syllable is breathed against it — yet it is often despised by silence. Is there not preaching of salvation by the virtue of morality? Are not repentance and sacraments put in the holy place of atonement? "Yes." Let it be it said with shame — and by those that call themselves the preachers of the cross. O, members of this church and you who love the Lord in every place, I charge you to revere this landmark set up from before the foundation of the world. In solitary grandeur let this truth stand forth, both in heart and word, salvation by blood alone. The third doctrinal landmark I point you to, is the necessity of regeneration. Inscribed on it are the words in John, third chapter and the third verse. "Jesus said, truly, truly I say to you, except a man is born again, he cannot enter the kingdom of God." This doctrine is one that needs to be kept in the front and constantly preached, for the professing church seems apt to forget it. It was the declaration of this truth by George Whitefield, that shook England from shore to shore. I wish that there were a hundred Whitefields now, declaring in trumpet tones that conversion is no improvement of the old nature — but the implantation of a new one; not an old man altered — but a new-born man. Remember this landmark fellow-laborers for the Lord, and whether your work lies among the children or adults, bring them face to face with this great "except." Remember that however moral, pure, and educated a man may be, there is as great a necessity for his regeneration, as for the vilest and most openly depraved. One other doctrinal landmark and I close this portion of our subject. It is the eternal ruin consequent upon rejection of Christ. With solemn hearts let us read the words of warning written. "He who does not believe shall be damned." Mark 16:16. "They shall go away into everlasting punishment." Matthew 25:46. "Their worm does not die and the fire is not quenched." Mark 9:24. This landmark has been assailed more fiercely than any other; some are for doing away with it altogether, others for abolishing its eternity. Some argue that its fires restore and prepare for after bliss, others that its fires destroy to annihilation. It is enough for me to know that scripture reveals a Hell — but reveals no termination of its woe, nor even hints at restoration. The answer put by our Lord into the mouth of Abraham, given to the rich man in Hell, shuts the door against such hope: "And beside all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed: so that those who would pass from here to you cannot: nor can those pass to us who would come from there." Luke 16:26 These are a few of the great doctrinal landmarks of scripture. Beware lest you be tempted to remove them. There are many others we have no time to dwell on, which if less momentous in their subjects, are equally from God. It is not for us to spurn the smallest boundary stone of doctrine, nor cross one step beyond the frontier line. All work for God must be done within the area He has marked. "But" it is objected, "if you keep to these old-fashioned truths you will lose the ear of the public. Would it not be better to let a few landmarks go, and by meeting the popular taste, secure its sympathy and attendance?" Without for one moment believing in the danger hinted at, I deliberately declare before God that I would rather preach in a half empty place — keeping within God’s boundary mark — than draw the greatest crowd by the smallest compromise of truth! The preacher’s mission is to declare what the Lord says, let the consequences be what they may. The results are God’s — obedience is ours. Secondly. Let us now turn to the landmarks of CHRISTIAN LIFE. Laxity in doctrine is certain to result in laxity of life. It has done so in the present day. I state, without any fear of refutation, that the religious life of the professing church, taken as a whole, is at a miserably low ebb. The old standard has been lowered to enable modern dwarfs to pass muster. Anything like a life of "dead to the world" is laughed at as "narrow-minded bigoted canting." If Paul was to rise from the dead and be introduced to many of the members of our churches, he would be marvelously surprised to see the practical commentary given to his epistles. He would find that being "crucified to the world," and having the "world crucified" to us, means something very different now, to what it did when he penned the words. He would be told that the old hard and fast lines had been obliterated as an insult to the intelligence of the age; and that going "to meet" the world was a modern improvement on "coming out of it". Let us however turn to the word and the testimony, and see what landmarks are deciding our non-conformity to the world. You will find the first in John, the seventeenth chapter, from the fourteenth verse, "They are not of the world, even as I am not of the world. I do not pray that you should take them out of the world — but that you should keep them from the evil. They are not of the world even as I am not of the world." Look at John, the first epistle, second chapter, fifteenth verse, "Do not love the world, nor the things that are in the world. If any man loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him." Once more, and this reference comes with peculiar power to members of a Baptist Church. Turn to Romans six and verse three, "Do you not know that as many of us as were baptized into Jesus Christ, were baptized into His death? Therefore we are buried with Him by baptism into death; that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life." In these verses you have the old landmarks of Christian life. How do we stand in relation to them? Where are the Christs in our churches? I use this expression with reverence, and I believe in accordance with scripture. Where are the men of whom Jesus could say they are not of the world even as I am not of the world? Where are the anointed ones only caring for the world in order to reclaim it? Where are the Christly ones living separated lives from the world’s joys — but weeping over the world’s sins? Where are the men, who like Christ, are living "outside the camps"? Thank God there are many — but they are almost lost to view in the masses of the semi-worldly professors. Where are our dead men? Men who care no more for the world’s maxims and pleasures than a corpse — but are daily living a resurrection life with Christ? There are such — but I would to God they were multiplied a thousand fold. How our churches would be decimated if all those who evince a love of the world, were excluded as lacking the love of the Father. Brethren, let us not seek to lower the standard because we fail to reach its height; but rather, let us cry to the Lord mightily to make us the type of Christian described on these landmarks. It is time to shout in the ears of the church, "Back, back to primitive non-conformity to the world ; you have forsaken the old paths!!" We want to see this non-conformity to the world displayed in spirit and in conversation. We want to see it in integrity of life, refusing to stoop to the world’s paltry tricks of trade. We even want to see it in the very dress of the Christian. I know that here I am treading on delicate ground — but bear with me, sisters in Christ, when I say, that although I am recommending no distinguishing garb as do the followers of George Fox, I yet believe that there should be the manifestation of a sanctified spirit in the neatness and simplicity of your attire. To Christian young men I say the same. There is another landmark of Christian life I wish for a moment to remind you. It is self-denial. The inscription runs thus: "He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me; and he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me, is not worthy of Me." I fear this landmark is more slighted than any other. The age has become effeminate and self-indulgent, and a religion that makes great sacrifice is hard to find. This is not to be wondered at, for it now requires so little courage to profess Christ, that half-hearted ones come within the borders of the church who would never have thought of taking the name of Christian in the early ages. Then it meant something to declare yourself for Christ. Poverty and reproach with probable torture and martyrdom confronted the early professor. This kept the church pure, and frightened from her ranks all but those who were willing to sacrifice and be sacrificed for the truth. But how is it now? Are the churches of the present day composed of men who resolutely place the things of Christ before their own affairs, and willingly deny themselves for the honor of Christ and His cause? Only one answer can be given — no they are not! Time cannot be spared now — where life-blood was spilled before. A few shillings are now thought as great a sacrifice as a fortune and life were in those early days. Let it be clearly understood that I do not say there are none such in the church at the present time. I rejoice to believe there are as bright and self-denying saints now as in any age; but they are isolated and exceptional cases. The general aspect of the church is worldly and self-indulgent to an extreme. The services and worship of the church are admirable things to the multitudes, so long as they entail no privation and no loss. I believe, that as a church, we have more spiritual life than most; and yet, on looking around, I can see those who have not been to five prayer meetings in five years! Why not? The real answer is — because there has been no willingness to make any sacrifice in order to come. Beloved friends, God knows that I say these words in no spirit of bitterness — but of grief, and only that I may be faithful with you. The standard is not mine — but my Lord’s. The landmark is not man’s — but Christ’s. O read its inscription over and over again, and pray God to raise you to its height of consecration and self-denial. Thus have I tried to notice some of the great landmarks of scripture. Why are many seeking to remove them? I can answer the question in very few words. Their removal is sought because they are galling to our pride, and because they demand a higher life and a deeper devotion than this age of worldly Christianity is prepared to give. So much for our first point. Let us now, for a few moments only, pass to the second point. II. A few reasons why these Landmarks should be left. First, because God put these Landmarks there. You will remember that I said at the commencement of the sermon, I had a particular reason for wishing to give you God’s truth in His own words. It was that I might be able to say to you, as I do now, that all the landmarks of tonight are the Lord’s. I have simply led you to them, and read their inscriptions in your hearing. Now surely, loyalty to Him as King, forbids our tampering with them; and affection to Him as a Father, says "respect them." Suppose some of these landmarks do lay my pride in the dust, and condemn my previous life as unworthy of Him. Shall I refuse to acknowledge them on that account? He who is willing to save, may surely say how He will save; and He who made me a Christian, has a right to say what kind of a Christian He expects me to be. Besides which, remember that He has committed these truths to us as a sacred trust, and we are devoid of every spark of honor if we accept anything in their place. What would you think of a son who, having a family heirloom entrusted to his care by a dying father, soon after that father’s death let the heirloom go to the pawnbroker so that he might wear some modern flashy jewelry? You would cry "shame" to him, and refuse to accept as an excuse, "that the thing was old-fashioned." So it is with the truths we have been meditating on this evening. They are the Lord’s — but committed to our keeping. Do not remove them. These Landmarks are moreover the ramparts of the church. The doctrinal landmarks I have taken you to this evening are the church’s "lines of defense." Let one go, and you imperil the next. Surrender one to the foe, and you give him a vantage ground that leaves the rest of little value. Let these truths be maintained, and his fiercest onsets can avail nothing. Let them be abandoned once, and his road is open. While the doctrinal landmarks are the lines of defense, the landmarks of Christian character are our power for assault. O when God’s children rise to His standard of non-conformity to the world and self-denial, then the church shall be well-near omnipotent — but not before. Her worldliness is her weakness. I will only mention two other reasons. These Landmarks are the foundations of all true happiness, and the men who have most faithfully stood by them, and most humbly paid homage to them, have been the men who have been the glory of the church. Let modern infidelity say what it will about the old-fashioned truths of Scripture being unsuited to human thought, the fact yet remains that those most honored by God, and most successful in reaching the masses, have been those who have most rigidly kept within the landmarks of tonight. Long after all the flimsy cobwebs of human speculation have broken down by the weight of their own dust — the faith once delivered to the saints shall remain "the power of God unto salvation to everyone that believes." May the Lord raise up a generation of bold defenders for the old landmarks. The Son of God goes forth to war, A kingly crown to gain; His blood-red banner streams afar, Who follows in His train? A glorious band, the chosen few, On whom the Spirit came; Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew, And mocked the cross and shame. A noble army, men and boys, The matron and the maid. Around the Savior’s throne rejoice In robes of light arrayed. They climbed the steep ascent of Heaven. Through peril, toil, and pain; O God, to us may grace be given. To follow in their train. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 45: S. PAST FINDING OUT! ======================================================================== Past Finding Out! Archibald G. Brown, February 7, 1897, East London Tabernacle "His ways are past finding out!" Romans 11:33 These words form part of the adoring exclamation that leaps from the lips of the Apostle Paul after a prolonged study of divine procedure. He has been dwelling upon God’s plan of governing the world, and God’s method of bringing about his purposes, and, as he has gazed upon this mighty theme, its immensity has grown upon him. The ’many-folded wisdom’ has in measure been unfolded before the apostle’s eyes. He is done now with teaching, and takes to worshiping. He is like the Alpine climber who has at last reached the summit of the peak. During the upward climb he has passed by many a deep and dark crevasse; he has peered down many a black gorge, seemingly the home of the thunder-cloud. Over and over again his path has skirted some awful precipice, down which he has tremblingly gazed until his brain has grown dizzy with the sight. He has passed through the clouds that belt the lower part of the mountain, and now he is right up on the summit, and from that point he looks down, and, lo, the clouds have melted, and two burning rays of light illumine the deeps that lie beneath. These two rays of light are God’s wisdom and God’s knowledge, and from the mountain-top he sees that all the dark gorges, deep precipices, and black spots, are now illumined; and, falling upon his knees, he worships and exclaims, ’Oh, the depths of the riches of the wisdom and the knowledge of God! His ways are past finding out.’ Thus far I have taken the passage as if it were simply a note of adoration. There is adoration — but I am not quite sure that there is not something else as well. It seems to me to be adoration accompanied with a shudder, if these two things can be linked together; and therefore, I will alter my illustration and give you another aspect of the subject. It seems to me that Paul has been standing in thought on the shore, gazing out upon the boundless ocean of divine purpose and divine plan; and at last he ventures to thrust his skiff out just a little way from the shore. But no sooner has he done so, than the mists of the ocean wrap him round about. He lets out his fathoming line, and finds no bottom; and then he hastens his return to shore, and exclaims with a shudder, while at the same time he worships, ’Oh, the depths of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!’ What is it that Paul has been contemplating? We have it in the whole chapter. It is God’s method of redemption as regards both Jew and Gentile. Read from the 28th verse: ’As concerning the gospel, they [that is, the Jews] are enemies for your sakes; but, as touching the election, they are beloved for the fathers’ sakes. For the gifts and calling of God are irrevocable. For, as you in times past have not believed God, yet have now obtained mercy through their unbelief [ah, there is a mystery for you — the Gentiles finding mercy through the unbelief of the Jew], even so have these also now not believed, that through your mercy they also may obtain mercy, for God has concluded them all [both Jew and Gentile] in unbelief, that he might have mercy upon all.’ Do you catch the thought? Paul sees Israel chosen and blessed — but apostatizing; and then he sees that, through the very apostasy of Israel, a door is thrown open before the Gentile hosts. And then he sees how that, through mercies shown to the Gentile, blessing is to come to the Jew; and ultimately the Jew is to receive the Messiah, and he is to accept the One from whom the Gentiles apostatize. Then through the Jew, the world is to be blessed. And, when Paul looks at these dark gorges and precipices that he has skirted, he can only say, ’Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and the knowledge of God, who, by a heavenly chemistry, brings good even out of ill. Truly, God is not to be judged. His ways are past finding out.’ Is it not a mercy that, when we cannot understand, we can still worship; and that, when we cannot comprehend, we can still adore? When my poor tired head grows worthless, and is unable to do its work in the way of understanding, it is a choice blessing that I am free to take to my knees. When it is maddening to be a student of divine procedure — it is delightful to be a worshiper. We all often come like Jacob to a place that is full of stones, and the stones all round are hard facts, and those hard facts are often most mysterious. There are various ways of dealing with them. If you like, you can get into a peeve with them, and kick them — but you will only lame yourself. Facts are awkward things to kick. Or you may go blundering about them, despairingly, falling over them, wounding your feet, and bruising your shins. But there is a third and better way. Take these hard facts, and build them up into an altar, anoint them, and worship God at them. That is what Paul did. When he saw facts and mysteries which he could not explain, he worshiped God, and said, ’Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom of God. His ways are past finding out!’ The thought which has been working in my mind, so far as anything has been able to work there this week, is that the characteristic — may I say the chief characteristic — of God and of God’s ways and of God’s works is that they are past finding out — and that that is the verdict at which we must ultimately arrive. Oh, what fools we are, and how slow to accept this truth! If God’s ways are past finding out, why do I waste my hours, and tease my brain, and run the risk of breaking my heart, by trying to do what God says cannot be done. Happy is the man who accepts the verdict, ’past finding out’, and says, ’Lord, I believe it, and I am not going to try. If You say, past finding out — then I am not going to try to pick the lock. I will rather worship and adore.’ I. God himself is ’past finding out.’ I am not departing from my text. I am perfectly aware that the sentence is, ’His ways are past finding out’; but I am sure that he whose ways are past finding out, will himself be the same. You cannot imagine a being who is inferior to his ways. If God’s ways are inscrutable — then his being must be, and so of God we say, ’past finding out’. What a little word that word ’God’ is. You have taught it to your child, and I suppose that most of us learned to spell ’G-O-D’ when we were little ones at our mothers’ knees. So easily spelled; so quickly uttered; yet, who is there who could venture to say what he means when he says ’God’? It is the one name which, when mentioned, is not accompanied by any mental form. No figure rises to my mind’s vision when I say ’God’. But do you say, ’Who is God? What is God?’ ’He is past finding out.’ It has been so in the saintly experience of all ages. We find Job saying, in the 11th chapter, at the 7th verse, "Can you fathom the mysteries of God? Can you probe the limits of the Almighty? They are higher than the heavens — what can you do? They are deeper than the depths of the grave — what can you know? Their measure is longer than the earth and wider than the sea!" Thus in the earliest book of Holy Scripture there is this solemn note rung out, ’past finding out’. You may search — but you can not discover. There are no data to start from. There is no standard by which you may compare; and therefore, God says, ’To whom, then, will you liken me, or shall I be equal? says the Holy One.’ Do you marvel that God’s holy ire was poured out upon idolatry? Oh, the madness of the sin of trying to set forth in wood, or stone, or metal, a Jehovah whose glory lies in the fact that he is past finding out. ’No man can see me and live’ is the language of deity. Clouds and darkness are round about him; and then, in singular contrast, he ’makes light his garment’. Light can hide as fully and completely as darkness. Arrayed in light, God in his being must ever remain past finding out. O eternal God, we love to think of you! You boundless ocean of being! Our little skiff of thought may float on you. It does so now, this moment, with delight. But fathom you? Never! Does someone here say, ’I cannot believe in a God that I cannot understand’? Well, sir, I cannot congratulate you on your common sense. For my own part, I could not believe in a God that I could understand. I could not have any confidence in a God that I could comprehend. I should be greater than my God. A God that could be comprehended would be smaller than the man who comprehended him; and therefore, let faith be strengthened, and not staggered, by the utterance, ’He is past finding out.’ II. But God is past finding out, not only in his being — but in his WORKS. "He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted!" Job 5:9. Turn once more to Job 9:10, where, speaking of God, Job says, ’Who does great things past finding out, yes, marvelous things without number!’ You see that here it is not the being of God that we have to deal with — but it is the doing of God. It is that the Almighty does great things past finding out. If you look at the context you will see that the statement is made with reference to nature. Read from Job 9:5 : ’God removes the mountains, and they know it not when He overturns them in His anger; Who shakes the earth out of its place, and the pillars of it tremble; Who commands the sun, and it rises not; Who seals up the stars from view; Who alone stretches out the heavens and treads upon the waves and high places of the sea; Who made the constellations the Bear, Orion, and the Pleiades, and the vast starry spaces of the south!’ I do not think that there is a child here who will not be able to follow me in this simple line of argument. When I meet with a being who is past finding out, I need not be surprised if he does that which is past finding out. His actions are likely to be in harmony with himself. Gaze for a moment upon this wondrous illustration which Job introduces, namely, that we have only to lift our eyes up and behold nature in order to see that there is something past finding out. Oh, what wonders there are all round about us. Who are we? Where are we? Well, we are living on a little world, for, after all, the earth which we think so much of is rather a small commodity among the other worlds. We are living, I say, on a little world that is hung up on nothing. Earth floats in a limitless ocean of space. But she is not alone, for if, when you go away from this service, you look up, you will see that there is a fleet of a myriad other vessels, and that they are all navigating the same wide sea. Do the inhabitants of these different worlds act as the crews of the vessels? Is there any human hand at the helm? The answer is, ’No, there is no human steersman. All the beings that are on these worlds are but passengers.’ Who, then, is Captain? and the voice comes from Heaven, ’By the greatness of his might, for that he is great in power, not one fails.’ And, as Job marked Arcturus and Orion and the Pleiades, he did what any man who is not blinded by sin will do. He worshiped, and he said, ’Lord, your works, like yourself, are past finding out!’ But in this little world in which we live are we not ever finding that we are governed by laws which are only beginning to be discovered? Science does not invent anything. Science only discovers, and the discoveries of science are but so many testimonials to the verdict that God is ’past finding out’, for each discovery only reveals that there is more to be discovered. Oh, the many-folded wisdom of God. Marvelous are all his works, from the mountain range, to the insect’s wing, to the galaxies hung in space. III. I have no doubt that I shall carry you all with me in my third point, because it touches everyday life and everyday experience. It is that God is past finding out in his WAYS. Here, as you will see, we come to the actual meaning of our text: ’How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out.’ I wish that I could say a word that might be a help to some poor dazed brain that is here tonight. Am I speaking to any who have seen strange things in life? They are called ’providential dealings’. They have been, perhaps, seemingly very contradictory one to the other, and quite inexplicable. Have you begun to doubt? Have you come here with your faith beginning to stagger? I would be very glad to be the means of confirming some feeble knee. At all events, whatever other qualification I may not possess for dealing with this point, I have one, and that is the fitness that is gained by personal experience. But need we be surprised if God’s ways are past finding out? Listen for a moment. You have acquiesced in the truth that his being is past finding out. You are certain that his works are. Then, surely, there is no reason to be surprised if his methods are the same. Faith finds her tonic in the very fact that God’s ways are so far above our own. Listen. Does not Jehovah say, ’As high as the heavens are above the earth, so high are my ways above your ways, and my thoughts above your thoughts’? And yet sometimes we criticize God. I say ’we’, though, perhaps, I have no right to include you. But I would not dare to say that I have never criticized God, and, in all probability, you have to make the same confession. But, oh, what folly! As I turned this thought over, I imagined that I entered into a study, and found there a man of mighty intellect. I looked around the room, and there were ponderous tomes, books about deep, mysterious things; and on the table there were delicate instruments, and I could see that the professor often rose from the books to test something by a complicated experiment with the finest of instruments. Looking up, I saw that away in a top corner of that study, a little web had been spun, and there was a spider viewing all from his watch-tower; and that spider, from his exalted position, looked down upon the professor at the table, and said, ’What a strange being he is; what useless actions he is over performing. There is nothing practical about him. He neither spins a web nor does he eat flies.’ And the spider saw a fly alight upon the table, close to the professor’s hand — but the man took no notice of it, and positively he did not even try to catch it. And the spider said, ’How foolish he is! The idea of letting slip an opportunity like that!’ Ah, spider, you have more ability to enter into the deep thoughts of that chemist, and to understand the purpose of his most intricate experiments — than I have to comprehend the thoughts and ways and purposes of God! Easier far for the spider to understand the action of the chemist, than for me to understand the why of God in doing this or that. The moment we go in for ’whys’ and ’wherefores’, we hurl ourselves into a prickly hedge. To analyze God’s ’why’ and ’wherefore’, is like trying to get through a prickly hedge — you will tear your garments to pieces, and lacerate yourself. I can imagine some people here saying, ’But why should that child die? Why should that hope of the family be stricken down! Why should that dear lad, who seemed called of God to do such a gracious work, be laid low? Why should that loving wife be swept into the grave? It does seem so hard.’ Ah, wait a while. Do not judge God. It is not within your province to do so, for his ways are past finding out. God has his loving purpose, and he is carrying along everything towards it. Last summer as I was traveling up from the West of England in a railway carriage, we pulled up at a station, and, the window being down, I noticed that in tripped a little fly, and I found that I was going to have a railway companion. I said to myself, ’I wonder whether that fly knows where he has got in, and whether he knows where he will get out.’ For about two hundred miles I let the fly talk to me. He did not attempt to go out. No, he was thoroughly at home in that carriage, and he made little excursions to and fro. There was a grease spot on the back of the carriage, and he went and made an inspection of that, and I think that he found in it something sweet to his taste as a fly. He flew backwards and forwards, and rested on the lamp. Sometimes he was on the ceiling, and sometimes on the cushion, and now and again upon the floor; but I am perfectly sure that, while he was making these excursions, he was altogether unaware of the fact that he was being carried on by the train to a pre-determined goal. He might make his journeys within the carriage — but the carriage itself was whirling along the railway tracks. Just so, as God’s children, we make our little excursions, and we do this and that, and we live in our own little world; but, thank God, our little world is only part of the big train of divine purpose; and, while I fly and while I rest, I am being borne on, unconsciously to myself, to God’s terminus. God’s ways are past finding out. IV. I want to take you now one step further, and it will be the last. As God is past finding out in his being and in his works and in his ways — does it not stand to reason that there will be the same characteristics in his SALVATION, so that when God saves man, there will have about it much that is past finding out? In Ephesians 3:8, of ’the unsearchable riches of Christ’. The word there translated ’unsearchable’ is precisely the same word that we have in our text, ’past finding out’; so that the passage means ’the riches of Christ that are past finding out’. When God provides a Savior, he provides a Savior, the fullness of whose riches is past finding out. What are those riches that cannot be tracked — those riches that never can be fully discovered? Why, riches of mercy, riches of grace, riches of love, riches of saving fullness. ’It pleased the Father that in him, Christ Jesus, should all fullness dwell.’ Why, I wonder that you do not leap up from your seats and sing, "Hallelujah, what a Savior!" Here is a Savior so fully equipped by the Father that his provision as such is simply past finding out. Be of good cheer, for he saved the ’chief of sinners’. Paul came, and he found that there was enough and to spare, and so he speaks of ’unsearchable riches’. We cannot fathom them! They defy all search. Millions of sinners since Paul’s time have come to Christ, and they all say that there is enough and more than enough. I will guarantee that the man in this Tabernacle who has been a Christian longest, and who knows Christ most fully, is the man who will have discovered most that Christ is past finding out. Oh, he is an ocean that has no shore. There is always an infinite fullness, a plethora, about him. Come, sinner, you need not be afraid with such a Savior as this, for in him there is a saving ability that is past finding out. I think you will see that it must logically follow that, if Jesus, as my Savior, is past finding out in his fullness — then all that he gives me will have the same characteristic. If the Lord gives a pardon, what sort of a pardon will he bestow? Listen to the language of the Holy Spirit in Psalms 103:1-22 ’As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.’ How far does the pardon go? Oh, it is past finding out. How far is the east from the west? Actually there is no ultimate east, and there is no final west. Space is boundless in each direction. There are no limits. You may travel for ages yonder, and you will find nothing to stop you. And so it is with the pardon you may get tonight. Believer, that is the sort of pardon which you have received. It is a forgiveness past finding out. And what is the acceptance that he gives us? When he forgives our sins, what position does he bring us into? ’You are complete in him.’ At your leisure turn to Colossians 2:9 in this connection. ’It pleased the Father that in him should all fullness dwell, and you are complete in him.’ Imagine it. Complete in all fullness. How much does that include? We cannot say. It is past finding out. I only know that the acceptance of every saint here tonight is an acceptance according to the righteousness of God. His acceptance is past finding out. The believer is made the righteousness of God in Christ, and he may sing, So near, so very near to God, I cannot nearer be, For in the Person of His Son, I am as near as He! And God gives believers a peace, does he not? And what sort of a peace is that? You will find the answer in Php 4:7. ’In everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, make known your requests unto God; and the peace of God which surpasses all understanding shall keep your heart and mind.’ We are not at all surprised at this. If God who is past finding out gives me peace, I may anticipate that that peace will also be past finding out. Look at John Huss. He is blazing away at the stake — but what a glory there is in his countenance. As an onlooker says, ’His face shone as if Heaven shone into it’; and he sang a psalm until his head bowed down in the flames. It is a peace that passes understanding. Why, some of you who are here have had a peace that you could not understand. When death has invaded your home, or when sickness has laid you low, there has been within your own soul a quiet and a rest that have defied explanation. It has been ’past finding out’. ’Ah’, says someone over there, ’I will tell you of one thing that I object to in you Christians.’ Well, what is that? ’You are such a miserable set.’ Well, I dispute it. I believe that the sincere Christian is the happiest man on God’s earth; and, more than that, he can say concerning his joy what no worldling can say, for in the language of Peter, it is ’a joy unspeakable and full of glory’. It is past finding out. The Christian possesses a happiness which he cannot exactly put into words. There is not a worldling here who could not very easily describe the greatest joy of his happiest moment — but there are hundreds of God’s children here who can say that there is a delicious joy in Christ which cannot be described. There is an exquisite bliss. There is a nectar which the Lord puts to a believer’s mouth, that is exquisitely sweet. There is a strange inner joy that makes all the bells inside to ring; a happiness that overloads the chariot of language. It is unspeakable. And why? Because it is charged with glory. And the Heaven that he gives is also past finding out. It is bound to be so. If even the foretastes of it are past finding out, namely, the peace and joy which the Christian possesses here — then we may be quite sure that the full final glory will also be past finding out. ’I am persuaded’, says the apostle in the 8th chapter of Romans, ’that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed!’ Why, Paul, how much glory do you expect? ’Oh, it is past finding out. There is an exceeding weight of it.’ Beloved, how many have worshiped in this Tabernacle, and have since discovered the bliss that is past finding out. They have forded the river and gone up the shining steps on the other side, and they have had their welcome from the Master, and they are now just slowly learning what it is to be in Heaven. I suppose that . . . forever the joy must deepen, forever the glories unfold, forever the bliss intensify. The exquisite delight of being with God — oh, this we cannot tell. No poet has ever reached the height of describing Heaven. All Scripture imagery seems to fail, for even in the Book of Revelation the Holy Spirit does not tell us what Heaven is — He only tells us what it is not. He does not tell us what is there — but he tells us what is not there: There is no sickness; there is no crying; there is no weariness; there is no dying; there is no sighing; there is no parting; and there is no night there. But he does not tell us what there is, for I suppose that it could not be put into language. It is past finding out. Now, if such a gospel as this be preached to you, and if there is offered unto you a Christ so full of saving power and love that the fullness thereof is past finding out — then do you not think that there is something else past finding out if you reject it? Do you say, ’I do not quite follow you, preacher. What do you mean?’ If you reject Christ, who, in his saving power, is past finding out — then do you not think that there is something attaching to you which also is past finding out? I will tell you what it is. I mean your responsibility; for listen: ’How shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation?’ That is a question which has never yet been answered, and it never will be, and God himself cannot answer it. It is past finding out. The responsibility of the sinner who rejects such a Christ and such a salvation, is past all discovery. Oh, come and cast yourself down at the feet of the adorable Lord, the high, the holy, the lofty One, the eternal I Am, who, in his being and in his works and in his ways — is past finding out. Go, see God in Christ. Behold the One who is past finding out hanging in sweat of blood upon the cross. He is there for sinners like you. Oh, here is love past finding out. Here is grace past finding out. Go cast yourself on him, believe in him, and you shall be saved, and you shall go away from this Tabernacle saying, ’Hallelujah, I have found the Savior, and, oh! he is past finding out. Hallelujah, I have found a peace, and that is past finding out. Glory be to God, a joy has come into my soul which is unspeakable — it, too, is past finding out. Hallelujah, just a little way ahead I see, through the gloom and mist, an open door into the glory. I hear the music of the redeemed coming through it. I hear my Savior’s voice saying, "A little while, and you shall enter here, and you shall find that these glories through all ages are past finding out!"’ God grant that it may be so with all of us, for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 46: S. PEACE VERSUS WAR! ======================================================================== Peace Versus War! Archibald G. Brown, July 17th, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle [Editor’s note: Brown is referring to the French-German War, July 19, 1870 - May 10, 1871] "Now may the Lord of peace himself give you His peace at all times and in every situation. The Lord be with you all." 2 Thessalonians 3:16 Since last Lord’s Day when together we meditated upon the glorious truth that the very wrath of man is made subservient to Jehovah’s praise — momentous and stirring events have transpired. War has been declared between the two leading countries of Europe, and France and Prussia now stand only awaiting the word to commence the grim and hateful struggle. The political sky, which but a few weeks ago was declared to be clear of every cloud, is now dark with Hellish passion; and in a few days (unless some unforeseen circumstance steps in at the eleventh hour) it will be all in a glow with the crimson clouds of battle. Our soul sickens at the thought, and it feels ready to exclaim in the language of one of England’s sweetest poets: "Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more! My ear is pained, My soul is sick, with every day’s report Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled." It is humiliating to our race, to find that after well-near nineteen centuries of Christian time have passed, the clumsy method of war yet remains the last resource of arbitration for the nations. Humiliating did I say? Yes, and something infinitely more: it is a crime only worthy of its father, Hell! Strip war of its outward pageantry and pomp, tear from it the gaudy cloak called national honor; look at it in its naked reality — and was ever so loathsome and horrid a specter seen, outside of Hell? This is the monster that has so unexpectedly stalked upon the scene, carrying dismay and panic and grief into the hearts and homes of myriads. Who called this demon up? What compensation is there for the curse? These questions are soon answered. This war is only the food demanded by accursed pride in order to glut its insatiable appetite; men are to become mere food for the cannon, to maintain what is libelously called national glory. It looks like bitter sarcasm to contrast the paltry causes, and the awful results, of war. Some petty point of etiquette neglected — some ridiculously little slight which, in ordinary everyday life would be counted unworthy of any notice, becomes (when offered to a nation) sufficient motive to lead it to the battlefield. To wash away some tiny stain supposed to be found upon the robe of honor — a stain not worthy of the shedding of a tear — lo! a very ocean of blood is spilt! To avenge an insult, maintain the old bugbear of the "the balance of power," or glorify the ambition of a man — countries are to be desolated, trade paralyzed, blood spilt in unknown measure, agonies endured by those who are as innocent of the quarrel as new-born babes, and all the miseries contained in that one word War let loose upon the continent! I again repeat that it is horrible and sickening beyond all description, to think that even this week there will be heard, in all probability, the beat of the war drum, the roar of the cannon and the sharp crack of the rifle, carrying death to a thousand hearts! Who can bear to contemplate without a sigh, the wives that will be made widows, and the multitudes of children that will shortly become orphans? Let us rather this morning think of these things as a dark foil to give extra beauty to the language of our text, and only employ the thunder cloud of battle as a background on which to paint the rainbow of peace. Doubtless many present have often with the speaker gazed upon a well-known engraving taken from a painting by one of England’s greatest artists, entitled "War and Peace." In the picture of the former, you have the cavalry soldier lying dead upon the ground, with his charger over him, while around in heavy wreaths there hangs the smoke through which can be discerned the ruined cottage with the creeper still clinging by the shattered window. In the picture of the latter you have a pastoral scene — the sheep are gently feeding in a field in the midst of which there lies a dismounted gun, into the mouth of which one of the flock is fearlessly and wonderingly looking. The contrast is complete: war beautifies peace — and peace intensifies the horror of war. It is my desire now, if possible, to accomplish the same result. During the past week we have all been riveted before the spectacle of the upcoming war; it has met us in our reading, it has sounded in our ears on every hand, and in a large degree it has absorbed our thoughts. Like the glittering eye of a serpent, it has fascinated us and chained us to the spot; but blessed be God, the light of the Sabbath morn has broken the charm, and with infinite relief we turn from the bloody picture to its fairer companion, one of peace. In place of garments rolled in blood — we have green pastures and still waters; and for the roar of hateful artillery — we hear words sweet as the music of the spheres. Listen to them!! "The Lord of peace himself give you peace always by all means. The Lord be with you all." We have in the text three blessed things, all breathing peace: a designation, "the Lord of peace;" a supplication, "Give you His peace;" a blessing, "May the Lord be with you all," and we close with an interrogation, "Do you have this peace?" I. First then we have a Peaceful Designation. He who is the eternal and omnipotent Jehovah, "The man of war," "The lion of the tribe of Judah," is here described as "The Lord of Peace." This title is only in accordance with that given him by the prophetic tongue of the eloquent Isaiah, who, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit declared nearly eight hundred years before that, "unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace." Isaiah 9:6 This concluding name forms the glittering apex of the pyramid of titles, whose massive foundation is "Wonderful." Never did a name so perfectly portray the character. Our Savior is, as well as called, "The Lord of Peace." Let us for a few minutes try and demonstrate it. He is so in His disposition. Peace like a silver sheen is woven in His nature. His life manifested it, His words breathed it, His looks beamed with it, His prayers pleaded for it, His chastisement was to procure it, and His death was to seal it. The escutcheon of Hell is a roaring lion with bloody fangs seeking whom he may devour. But on the escutcheon of Heaven there appears a Lamb as it had been slain. How beautifully was the peaceable disposition of the Lord unveiled by His own hand during His sojourn on earth. How He seemed to dwell with delight on the theme of His own compassionate tenderness. And if at times the holy anger of the Lamb was kindled, and burning words dropped from His lips, how soon they were followed by the language of peace, made more soothing by its very contrast. Just as the atmosphere is sometimes the cradle of the storm and the chariot of the thunder — but generally it is the gentle nurse that kisses the floweret’s cheek, and bears on its bosom the song of the bird, so it was with Jehovah Jesus. Peace, Peace, Peace, was the psalm of his lip and life. You will find a touching illustration of this in the commencement of His public ministry. He has just come to the quiet town of Nazareth, and on the Sabbath morn he enters, as was His habit, into the synagogue; and he signifies His willingness to read. The book of the prophet Isaiah is handed to Him. I can imagine the breathless stillness that pervaded the people as He opened the roll and selected a portion. What will He read? Will it be some of the stern denunciations and dreadful threatenings that are to be found within that book? Will the words breathe fire and sword against a wicked and adulterous generation? No! for He found the place where it was written, "the Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He has anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor; He has sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord," Luke 4:18-19. He stops there, not reading the next sentence, "and the day of vengeance of our Lord." Isaiah 61:2. He closes the book and returns it to the minister, while the eyes of all present are fastened on Him. He speaks!! Listen to the short sermon!! "This day this scripture is fulfilled in your ears." Oh gracious words, how befitting to Him who in His nature and disposition is the Lord of Peace. Yet later on, His loving disposition found vent in words that have been like a heavenly balm to weary wounded souls for ages, and will as long as the word of God shall endure. He had just spoken some of the most scathing words his lips ever uttered to the favored but guilty cities of Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum. Yet behold, how the storm gives way to an invitation, sweet and soft as the evening dew, "Come to me all you that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am meek and lowly in heart, and you shall find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28-30. Truly our Savior — the Lamb of God — is in His disposition, the Lord of peace. This fact may be still more clearly seen if we remember how long-suffering He is with His enemies. What trifles may prove sufficient to light the torch of war, if there is first the desire for war. An affront, however slight, and half of that imagined; some little disrespect, and that perhaps more than half invited — are quite sufficient; and before their influence, the slaughter of a myriad of men becomes of secondary importance. The tinder being dry with war fever, it requires nothing but a single spark. Contrast with this what our Lord bears from His avowed foes and His long-suffering towards them, and you will then be enabled in some measure to grasp the peaceableness of His disposition. Oh what affronts He receives — and yet forbears to strike. What indignities are heaped upon Him. How His name is profaned — His Sabbath desecrated — His laws broken — His book derided — His worship neglected. What monarch on earth has ever been so openly defied — and by creatures who are at His mercy for their very breath and bread!! How have His ambassadors been received? If He considered every slight that they received was a cause for war with the human race, in what age would there ever have been peace? Time would fail to tell of all His representatives that have suffered from the world’s governments and kings. They have been scourged, racked, broken on the wheel, and burnt at the stake by the thousands! And in all their agonies, the apple of His eye has been touched — and yet He has held in His wrath. Ambassador after ambassador has been sent with messages of mercy, and offers of free pardon. Still they are found pleading on His behalf to a world that turns a deaf ear. The very existence of His enemies, proves He is the Lord of peace. The peace-loving disposition of our Lord can also be demonstrated by His forbearance with His friends. A slight from an open enemy is insignificant in its power to wound, compared with one that comes from a professed friend. In the former case, it is expected and provided for — hard though the blow may be, it falls on a breast that is covered with a coat of armor. But in the latter case, we are taken at a disadvantage, and the iron enters right into the soul and rankles there, while the lips murmur in the language of the psalmist, "If an enemy were insulting me, I could endure it; if a foe were raising himself against me, I could hide from him. But it is you, my companion, my close friend, with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship." Psalms 55:12-14. The more we love — the more we feel the wound the loved one gives us. The warmer the friendship which is violated — the more intensely our heart is crushed. Now who among even the most peaceable, could for one day put up with the treatment that Christ receives from His friends? What weakness, what base ingratitude, what falseness of affection are shown to Him, by the very ones whose names are engraved on His heart! And yet He bears with us and loves us still. Surely God’s grace is not more marvelous in its first love, than in that love’s continuation. It is only pure grace that will not let me go! The long-suffering of the Lord received a grand exemplification in the history of His chosen people Israel, and they were no worse than we are — but faithful types of the elected church. Turn with me to psalm seventy-eight and read from verse thirty-six, and see if the words do not apply with equal force to us. "Nevertheless they would flatter him with their mouths, lying to him with their tongues; their hearts were not loyal to him, they were not faithful to his covenant. Yet he was merciful; he forgave their iniquities and did not destroy them. Time after time he restrained his anger and did not stir up his full wrath!" Oh! how many a time He has withheld His just ire from us, and turned away from His great wrath! How often He has said to us as to Israel. "How can I give you up, Ephraim? How can I hand you over, Israel? How can I treat you like Admah? How can I make you like Zeboiim? My heart is changed within me; all my compassion is aroused. I will not carry out my fierce anger, nor will I turn and devastate Ephraim. For I am God, and not man — the Holy One among you. I will not come in wrath!" Hosea 11:8-9. Thus we find Him ever patient and seeking peace. The Lord is also the "Lord of peace" in His actions. This is seen in the fact, that He purchased his rebellious people at a tremendous cost. Nothing is so easily commenced as war, or so easily lost as peace. It required but the one sin of Adam to light the torch and break the harmony existing between the Creator and His creatures. But it required the blood of the second Adam to quench the war fire, and cement the peace. The only way to judge a person’s true admiration for anything, is by the amount he is willing to forego and endure in order to attain it. Judging our Lord’s love of peace by this standard, what must it not have been? Peace could only be procured by His voluntary humiliation, sufferings, and death. Did He shrink from the cost? Blessed be His name — No! For peace, He gave His sacred shoulders to the bloody scourge in Pilate’s Hall, for "the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and with His stripes we are healed." To purchase peace, He gave Himself up to the death, for He made "peace through the blood of His cross." His tears and groans — His sighs and blood — His shame and death — all proclaim His estimate of peace. Not only did He purchase peace — but He was also the messenger of it. He came from Heaven bearing in His hand the white flag. He was heralded by the angels as such. Their Christmas carol on the hills of Bethlehem was "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." Luke 2:14. At His baptism the peaceful nature of His mission was again made known, by the descent of the Holy Spirit. In what form was it that the Spirit alighted upon Him? Was it that of the royal eagle with outspread wings and threatening talons? Far from it, for "John bore record, saying, I saw the Spirit descending from Heaven like a dove, and it abode on Him." John 1:32. That dove-like inauguration of our Master to His public work, was but prophetical of His ministry, for he went "and preached peace," and many bore testimony to the gracious words that proceeded out of His mouth. But not only was He the purchaser and messenger of peace, He is now the preserver of it. It has well been observed by one of the old writers, that "it is only Christ that keeps matters from coming to an open rupture between us, and the court of Heaven." Having procured peace by His death, He ascended to preserve it. He is His peoples’ ambassador above; and while He remains our representative there, our peace is secured, and in glorious truth, "He ever lives to make intercession for us." Hebrews 7:25. Oh, what would we do, beloved, amid all our sins and imperfections, if we had no advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. But we have. The peace that was purchased by His blood, is now secured by His life, and He only waits to place the crown upon the whole by perfecting our peace. Sweet though the realization of peace on earth is, it is yet imperfect. Refreshing though its streams are — the fountain is better, and we have yet to drink of that, and, "If such is the sweetness of the stream, What must the fountain be, Where saints and angels draw their bliss, Immediately from Thee!" Its sweetness we shall soon know, for it is the will of Him who has purchased and now preserves peace — to make his people know its glorious perfection. Peace without the alarm of battle — peace beyond the noise or even rumor of strife — peace, deep and calm as a mountain lake unruffled by a breeze — yet glittering in the sunlight, is the sweet consummation of the dealings of the Lord of peace with us. So much then for our first point. I have dwelt so much longer upon this first portion of my sermon than I intended, that only a little time remains for meditation on the other parts of the verse. I can but give you the thoughts, and leave it to you to beat them out in private. We have in the second place, II. A Peaceful Supplication. "May the Lord of peace, give you peace." Peace here means, I think, all kinds of peace . . . peace in the conscience, peace in the home, peace in the church, peace in view of the future. We will but mention two which are mainly intended here. First, a peace of conscience. This is one of the greatest gifts the Lord can bestow. What is a man without it? He may be surrounded by every luxury — but if he lacks this peace, he lives in a perpetual Hell — there is a gnawing worm within that makes his very outward comforts like so many mockeries. Let him but possess it, and he has an unfailing source of joy that will sustain him under every privation. The effect of a lack of peace of conscience has been well illustrated by the following anecdote: A man once said he could cause a sheep to starve to death with plenty of food close by. This being doubted, he placed the sheep in an iron cage with an abundance of grass — but in an adjoining cage, he placed a ravening wolf; too terrified by the proximity of its foe to eat, it soon pined away and died. So it is with man; there can be no enjoyment of life, while at hand there rages an unpacified conscience. But Jesus gives this peace, and who can describe its sweetness? To use the beautiful words of the late Dr. Hamilton, "Peace is . . . love reposing, love on the green pastures, love beside the still waters, that great calm that comes over the conscience when it sees that the atonement is sufficient, unclouded azure in a lake of glass, the soul which Christ has pacified, spread out in serenity and simple faith, and the Lord God, merciful and gracious, smiling over it." This peace is a hidden one; it cannot be detected by the eye, though sometimes its reflection may be seen on the countenance. It is not a peace that smiles on the surface — but one that fills the great deeps of the heart. To see a Christian as he often is, tossed about with care and well-near overwhelmed with tempestuous floods — one might be easily induced to ask, "Where is the peace that he possesses, above others?" Our answer is, "Within!" The ocean, under the might of the hurricane, is lashed into huge foam-crested waves, and made to boil like a pot. But it is only so on the surface; deep down, the waters are as still as an autumn noon; not a ripple or motion disturbs their quietude. So it is with the saint; unseen to mortal eye, there are serene ocean depths of peace, calmed and kept calm by the voice of the Lord of peace. That this happy experience might be theirs, was prayed for by the apostle. But as these words were addressed to the church at Thessalonica, they may also be understood as praying for their church peace. A church without peace is in just as wretched a condition as a heart without peace. No country has ever suffered half so much through the ravages of war, as God’s church has from its internal strifes. Will the present war trample down the golden grain, and turn the smiling vineyards of the Rhine into the desolations of a wilderness? If so, it will but illustrate the future of any church that does not have peace in its borders. What harvests of souls have been neglected, and how has the beauty of the Lord’s vineyard been destroyed, while Christians have fought! And alas, as in other wars, what trifles kindle the flame. Some little grievance between two members, which a word of explanation on either side would heal at once — is allowed to grow and rankle, while partisans flock to the rival standards, and the few neutrals that are left find themselves powerless to avert the calamity. This I believe is the way in which one half of the internal battles of the Church arise. God save us, as a people, from so great a catastrophe, and long continue for us the happy peace now reigning in our midst. Notice, further, that the peace desired was a perpetual one. "Peace always" was the Apostle’s prayer. Very different is this from the peace which has been Europe’s of late. Peace did I say? I would have spoken more correctly if I had termed it an armed truce. So little confidence has there been of its continuation, that the nations, though not warring, have been standing ready, armed to the teeth. Something far higher than this is prayed for. A peace so long, that war shall be forgotten — a peace so complete that the probability of war shall cease. A peace that shall abide and rule in the heart, and only know change when it gives way to the perfection of peace in Heaven. Yes, peace always — in the dark hour as well as the bright — in adversity as well as prosperity — in cross-bearing as well as crown-wearing — in surrounding tumult as in surrounding calm — in the hour of death as in the days of life. It was also to be a peace that came by all means. "May every privilege (Paul seems to say) which you possess as Christians, be so many golden-pipes, conveying to your hearts the oil of joy and peace! When you pray, may you lose your burdens and your cares, and find in it sweet peace. When you gather for the holy purposes of public worship, may a heavenly calm be yours, and may you find the sanctuary a means of peace. When alone, you meditate upon the promises, may they be to you like songs of consolation. Ah, dear friends, what a blessed thing it would be if, from this morning, we were all to receive peace by every means, even our Father’s chastisement included! III. A Peaceful Blessing. I have but a moment or two to give to this last — but not least, sweet portion of my subject. "May the Lord be with you all." What is not included in these words? What blessing can our hearts desire that they shall not receive, if this blessing is but theirs? If the Lord is with me — what can I lack? If the Lord is with me — for what shall I pine? "May the Lord be with you all" — let us roll these sweet words under our tongue, for they are sweet to our taste. Think for a minute of all they embrace. May His presence be with you to comfort you. May you never miss his smile or mourn His absence. In your journey through the wilderness — may your beloved’s arm be ever around you. Abroad or at home, in the shop or the field, in sickness or in health, in poverty’s valley or abounding in wealth — still may your Lord be with you. May His power be with you to keep you. In the seasons of temptation, may He hold above your head His shield. In times of weakness, may He make you strong, and gird you with his might. In climbing hills of difficulty, may his right hand assist you. In descending into the valley of humiliation, may His arm uphold you. May His Spirit be with you to guide you. In the daytime, may a cloudy pillar go before you, and in the night season, may a pillar of fire direct you. In your ears may a voice be heard, "this is the way, walk in it;" and in all the winding paths of life, may the Shepherd’s voice and staff preserve you, and guide your feet in the road that leads to Heaven. All these and countless other precious blessings are embraced in, "May the Lord be with you all." IV. An Interrogation. I will now close by asking you all, "Do you have this peace?" Is there within your breast a pacified conscience and a soul that has found its rest? Thank God many of us can say, "Yes! We have learned by experience, the joyful peace that the "Prince of peace" can give; our hearts are kept by it, and our spirit rejoices in it." But I fear that out of the number present, many are strangers to it. Do you want it, dear friend? Are you seeking for it as for a hidden treasure? Then go to Calvary, and on a cross there you will behold a dying God-man. Cast yourself at his feet, and as a sinner, receive him as your only Savior. Look to him as your only hope, and cry, "Lord Jesus, Lord of peace, give me peace." Believe me, He will say to you as He has said to thousands, "Your sins are forgiven — go in peace." And now may the Lord of peace himself give us peace always, by all means. May the Lord be with us all. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 47: S. PITY THE POOR BLIND ======================================================================== Pity the Poor Blind Archibald G. Brown, February 21st, 1869, Stepney Green Tabernacle. In aid of the funds of the Christian Blind Relief Society "They came to Bethsaida, and some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man’s eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, ’Do you see anything?’ He looked up and said, ’I see people; they look like trees walking around.’ Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly!" Mark 8:22-25 A scene of wild desolation now presents itself to the view of the solitary traveler, as in his journey he passes round about the region of Galilee, skirting the lake of Gennesaret. All about that inland sea where once there used to be busy villages, there is now nothing to be seen on every hand but ruin. We are told by eye witnesses that if you skirt that lake where Capernaum, Chorazin, and Bethsaida once stood, you will see nothing but ruined foundations, fallen walls, masses of masonry heaped together, and the whole intermingled with thorns and briars. You might walk through that region and imagine you were in the land of the dead. No settled inhabitants live there — but now and then may be seen the tent pitched by some wandering Arab. The words of our Lord have come true; the prophecy has been fulfilled; the judgment has descended. "Woe to you, Chorazin. Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the mighty works which were done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes. But I say to you, it shall be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon at the day of Judgment than for you!" One has but to gaze upon the scene of utter desolation, where once these favored cities stood, to learn that when Christ pronounces a "Woe" — ruin must inevitably follow. Christ’s curse is not only sufficient to wither a fig tree — but to blast the fairest landscape. But at the time of the narrative recorded in the chapter, that woe had not come. Instead of being a ruin, Bethsaida was a quiet fishing village, as its name implies, and nestled among the hills of Galilee, close down by the waters of the lake of Gennesaret. Its inhabitants earned their living by fishing in those waters, generally so calm — but at times so troubled. This village is now better known as the village of Andrew and Peter, than for its trade. So true is the old Jewish saying, "It is not the place that gives honor to the man — but the man who gives honor to the place." And just as Bethlehem is best known as being the birthplace of our lord, so Bethsaida is best known as the place where He, in his compassionate love, took the poor blind man by the hand, and in answer to the prayer of his friends, gave him sight. Now this evening, by the Master’s help, we want to look upon this miracle as an illustration of the way in which the Lord brings sinners to himself. We will, therefore, first, look upon this blind man as an illustration of the state of every sinner by nature, secondly, look upon the man’s friends as a good example — they brought him to Christ, thirdly, look upon Christ’s dealings with the blind man as illustrative of his dealings with all sinners who come to Him, and we will close by observing that the experience of this man was identical with the experience of every man who receives mercy from the Lord. I. I want you to observe this blind man as an illustration of the state of every sinner by nature. Let us view the blind man first. The news has reached Bethsaida that the Savior is coming, and the moment he arrives, there is a large crowd gathered round about him. I can see a group pushing their way along the street, and who is that man in the center? He is supported on either side, and his supporters are hurrying him along as if it were their intention to be the first to meet the Savior. What is the matter with the man? He walks the same, and looks the same at a distance as the others. Look closely into him, and you will perceive the difference. The man is stark blind, and the crowd of friends are leading him as fast as possible, so that he who was anointed to open the eyes of the blind, may open this man’s eyes. I said there was only one difference between him and them — but such a difference, though not greater than there is between many who are here tonight. The difference was that the others saw, while this man did not. To the others, all was light; to this man all was darkness. It did not matter to him whether the sun shone, or whether night cast its sable pall over all. It was of little consequence to him whether the lake sparkled in the sunshine, or whether the storm cloud rested on the neighboring hills — all was a dead blank to him — dark, dark, terribly dark! How striking a picture this is of the lost sinner. The man was blind to two things. If there was any deformity of ugliness, he did not see it — and with object of beauty it was just the same. It did not matter if there was loathsomeness or loveliness before him, for he saw neither. It is just exactly so with the sinner in his natural state. The lost sinner does not see his own sin in its loathsomeness — nor does he behold his own defilement before God. Do not call him a hypocrite, for he is not one; he only utters what he feels when he says, "I don’t see that I am so bad after all." Of course he does not; if he did, he would not be blind; but as he is so, he is ignorant as to his true state before God. Equally blind is he also to the loveliness there is in Jesus. This is as much a hidden thing to him, as his own deformity. Many of you can say with all your heart, Lord let me see your beauteous face, It yields a Heaven below, And angels round the throne will say. ’Tis all the Heaven they know! A glimpse, a single glimpse of you, Would more delight my soul Than this vain world, with all its joys, Could I possess the whole. But such language is an unknown tongue to the blind sinner, for he sees no beauty in Jesus as to why he should desire him. The reason why people are so ignorant of spiritual things, is because they are blind. What a ridiculous answer was that of Nicodemus to our Lord when he said, "How can a man be born when he is old; can he enter a second time into his mother’s womb and be born!" The man said this in all simplicity — but it was a striking-illustration of the fact that until the Spirit gives light, the simplest truths of Jesus are utterly hidden from the natural man’s eyes. The Earl of Chatham went once to hear Cecil the preacher, and the topic was "The spirit’s work in the believer." After the sermon was over, the Earl said to a friend, "I did not understand a word of it; I could not make out what he was driving at; do you think there were any in the building who knew what he was talking about?" "Yes" said the friend "there were many illiterate men, women and children, who understood him very well." "Well," said the Earl, "I could not." And so there may be some here whose intellects may be ever so vigorous, whose education may have been of a superior kind — but who are witnesses of the fact, that mere education and talent will never teach a man spiritual things. Blind! Blind! stark blind is the condition of every soul by nature, until Jesus applies his hand to the eyes — and then the sinner sees! Remember the blind man is just as blind when in the light as in the dark; put him in the dark and it is no darker to him. Let him sit in the full meridian blaze of the sun, and it is no lighter. The evil is not in what surrounds him — but it is in himself. That man is just as blind who stands in the light of the sun — as he who sits in a dark room. I will grant you that they are in a bad way who do not have the light; but I will also go further, and say that you who are surrounded by light, and yet are blind, are just as bad. The fact of being surrounded by light does not give sight; and there are thousands in England who are just as ignorant of Divine things as the Hottentot, or as the man mentioned in our text was insensible to light. To come nearer home, there are some who have heard the truth preached in this place continually, and yet are as blind as if they had never heard the truth declared! It is not the question whether the light is round about us — but whether we have the eyes to behold it. Remember too, a blind man may do much of the work of a man who sees. Have you ever been in the Blind School and watched the busy fingers of the students? You would scarcely know they were blind; you see one stitching here, and the other engaged in some other employment there, and you feel that it does not much matter to them in their work whether they see or not. Is this not a picture of many professors? Come with me to yonder Sabbath School, and you see the teachers all equally engaged with their classes; and yet that one over there is quite blind, and has never seen spiritual things! I fear that if all were called to leave the Churches’ ranks who are in a similar condition — they would be greatly decimated. How solemn is the thought, that even in our pulpits, there are many who have not yet received sight! You may hear a blind man, through what he has heard from others, describe the beauties of the rainbow, and paint in language the loveliness of the rose. A Milton may entrance us with the beauty of his descriptions of light, while he has to exclaim as his own experience: "O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of morn, Irrevocably dark, total eclipse, Without all hope of day!" Do you think there are no blind ministers in England, who preach and talk about the glorious rays of the "Sun of Righteousness" — and yet have never seen them? It must be a sad sight indeed to see a blind father trying to lead his sightless children — but it is a far more melancholy spectacle to see a man, who is himself as blind as a post about spiritual things, trying to direct a number of other imperishable souls, "will they not both fall into the ditch?" O, do not think friend, because you are a minister, Sunday school teacher, or tract distributor — that you are safe; for I tell you that it is possible to be engaged in all these works and yet be spiritually blind. But although a blind man may talk and act as if he saw, it is yet impossible for him, if he is born blind (and all sinners are) to have any true knowledge of these subjects; and he can hardly talk much without betraying his ignorance. One writer mentions a striking instance of this fact. A blind man after much inquiry and reflection, said he had found out what sort of a color scarlet was, and on being questioned he replied; "I think scarlet is something like the sound of a trumpet." You smile friends — but there are many who have just such an appreciation of spiritual truths! Unless a man has been enlightened from above, he can have no more idea of spiritual truth than a blind man has of color! But there is just this difference between the two: the spiritually blind do not believe they are so — while the poor blind know they are blind, and feel it. You need not say to them "brother, you are blind," for he would say "I know that better than you do!" But if you speak to the spiritually blind and tell them of their condition, they turn round and say "No, it is a lack of sight on your part." He is the most terribly blind — who is blind to his own blindness! And he is the most hopelessly blind — who most persistently declares he never was blind. II. I want you to observe the conduct of this man’s friends, as a good example. They brought him to Jesus. I am sure that the sight which was witnessed at Bethsaida has often been witnessed in Heaven by the angels. I think I can see a troop of prayers ascending to the throne, and among them is that of an aged mother; and its cry is "Lord, give spiritual sight to my blind boy!" And there is the wife’s prayer that too, finds its way to Heaven, and the burden of it is, "Lord, give sight to my spiritually blind husband." It is a blessed thing, beloved, that in the arms of prayer, we can bring the blind to Jesus; if we can do nothing else with our friends and relations, let us see that we do this; for how can we be clear of their blood, unless we have borne them in the arms of vehement prayer before God, laid them at his feet, and said "Lord, give them sight." And not only can we bring them to Jesus in prayer — but we can bring them to where He passes by. The great desire of the blind man’s friends was to bring him into the road along which they believed Christ would walk. Wherever you hear of souls being brought to Christ, there you may be sure the Lord has passed by. Why was it that so many of you tried to bring so many friends to this place last Sabbath to hear the Special Sermon to Young Men? Was it not because you remembered how wonderfully the Lord had passed by on similar occasions in the past, and you expected him to do so again? There is yet another thing in which they set us a bright example, and that is in their faith: "they brought the blind man and begged Jesus to touch him." They believed a touch from the Savior was all that was required. Have faith in God, that He is able to convert your relations and friends and to give sight to the blind. Believe that his touch is all sufficient, and that what is much for you to receive, is nothing for him to perform. III. Let us now notice Christ’s dealing with the blind man, as illustrative of his dealing with every sinner. What was the first thing the Savior did with the blind man after he was brought to him? "He took him by the hand." I can imagine how that blind man startled. He had doubtless often heard of Christ being able to open the eyes of the blind, and he now stood trembling, wondering what would be done to him. But before he had much time to think, a hand took hold of his. It was Jesus. Oh! how inexpressibly sweet is the thought that the first thing that Jesus does to the anxious sinner, is to take him by the hand. Can you not remember, my friends, that time when Jesus first began to work on your heart? The preacher’s words struck home, and you thought he had been told all about you, or had been reading all your thoughts. As the service went on you felt "that man is praying for me, as if I was praying myself. I could not have laid my condition before the throne better." That, friend, was Jesus taking you by the hand and making you feel his presence. Conversion, in a word, is Christ laying hold of the sinner; a blessed contact between an empty sinner and a full Savior. Notice, moreover, Christ made the first overture; he did not stand with folded arms waiting for the blind man to stretch forth his hand. He would never have done it. No, he stepped up to the man, and took his hand. That is just what Christ does in conversion. He always makes the first step, and gives the first grasp of the hand. "We love him — because he first loved us;" and if there is any desire in your heart to be saved, it is only because Christ has put out his hand, just as he did to this blind man, and given you the warm pressure of affection and love. The second thing he did was to lead him out of the town, far from the busy hum of the multitude, so that they might be alone. And so the sinner is made to feel alone with his Savior. Does he read the truth in God’s word? Every verse seems to speak directly to him. Does he hear tell of the judgment day? He feels as if there was nobody standing before the great white throne but himself. Does he hear of Jesus hanging on the tree? He feels "Christ was crucified for me," "for me." When he comes to pray, it is not "Lord have mercy upon us" — but "Lord have mercy upon me, a sinner." It may be selfish — but it is a blessed selfishness. Oh! I would thank my Lord if he would take some of you by the hand and lead you outside the city, make you forget the crowd assembled here, and only feel that you are alone with him. We read that "he spit on the blind man’s eyes." He did this to teach us that he opens blind eyes by the most unexpected ways — through means that would be despised by the philosophers of the day. The Gospel is the most humiliating thing possible — it lays man’s pride in the dust, and only saves him as a Hell-deserving sinner. Consequently it is despised by the self-righteous, and laughed at by the proud philosopher — and yet it is by this very Gospel that the Lord saves his people. The despised simplicity of the Gospel is still the means God uses in preference to all others. You will find too, that sinners are generally converted in just the way they did not expect, and by the instrumentality they most derided. Jesus spit on his eyes — but the virtue did not come from the spittle — but from putting on his hands. It is not the means used — but the Lord’s blessing on them. The preacher may preach the truth, and nothing but the truth, and do that with all earnestness. The teacher may teach Jesus and Him only, and do that with tears. But unless the Divine Master places his hands upon the blind sinner, no miracle of grace can be effected. IV. Let us view this blind man’s experience as identical with the experience of the blind sinner. He says, "I see!" What did he see? Well, it is true he did not see very much or very clearly — but still, that "I see" in any degree, was a thing he had not been able to say before. "I see;" oh! blessed words, however limited in their application. "I see," says the sinner, "if not Christ as my Savior — yet my need of him as such." "I see, if not that I am saved — yet that I am lost." "I see my foulness — if not my scarlet sins removed." "I see I am on the road to Hell — if I do not see the heavenly gates before me." Can you say this much, sinner? Then thank God for it, for the first step towards being saved, is to feel yourself lost! And the first step towards Heaven, is made when the soul sees it is within a step of Hell. But this man’s sight was a very confused one; "he could scarcely tell the difference between a man and a tree," "it is a man, for it moves!" "No, it’s too big for a man, it must be a tree," he argues. It is not to be expected that the man whose eyes have only just been opened, should see with anything like the distinctness of the man who has long gazed upon the light. Just so, do not expect young converts to see as much as you who have been brought to the light many years. They cannot understand all they see; but if they can only see "men as trees walking," it is something to thank God for. I know who the blind man saw first — it was Christ. He was standing before him, and the first person his eyes lighted on was Jesus. What is the first thing the sinner sees? Surely Jesus, for there is no other near. And then our text tells us, "Once more Jesus put his hands on the man’s eyes, and made him look up. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly!" It was not "look down;" no light can come from earth. It was not "look within," for that would be as fruitless; but "look up," and he saw everything clearly. Now, come, poor sinner, look up to Calvary’s tree, and see Him who hangs there suffering for sinners, and then look up and behold Him sitting on the Father’s right hand pleading your cause. May the Lord help you to find peace, and that you will only do by "looking up." Look out of self — look away from the creature. Look up to Jesus, look to his blood for cleansing, look to his wounds for a refuge, look to his death for an atonement, look to his spotless life for your righteousness, look to his exaltation for your security. In a word, look to Jesus for all and everything, and keep on "looking up" poor anxious one, until you do see. Does Satan say, "You are too far gone in sin to hope." Does unbelief mutter in your ears, "it is of no use." Look up! From this evening forth, let your whole life be one continual looking up" and then you will clearly see Jesus as your glorious Savior, and Heaven as your future, eternal, happy home. If you forget every other word that has been spoken tonight; oh! remember this: "look up," "look up," for "There is life for a look at the crucified one, There is life at this moment for thee; Then look sinner, look to him and be saved, To him who was nailed to the tree." May the Lord help you to, even now, for Jesus’ sake. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 48: S. ROYAL PROCESSION! ======================================================================== The Royal Procession! Archibald G. Brown, November 7th, 1869, Stepney Green Tabernacle "We have seen Your procession, O God — even the procession of my God, my King, into the sanctuary!" Psalms 68:24 This sublime, comprehensive, and beautiful psalm was without doubt composed in commemoration of the triumphant entry of the ark of the Lord into Jerusalem. For some time it had been detained in the house of Obed-edom the Gittite; but David the king, hearing that the Lord had blessed the house of Obed-edom while the ark was in it, gathered from that fact that the Lord was willing to have it removed from that house and brought to the hill of Mount Zion. In 2 Samuel 6:1-23, you read the account of the joyful and festive occasion when, amid the shoutings of the people, the sound of the trumpet, and with the rejoicing monarch in front — the ark was brought from the house of the private individual, and taken triumphantly into Jerusalem. Now the ark was the symbol of God’s presence; so when it was carried up Mount Zion, and through the streets of the city, the people did not sing "we have seen the ark of the Lord," but "We have seen Your procession, O God." The ark was lost, in that which it typified. The type fades into nothingness before the grand antitype which it represented. When the ark came in view of Mount Zion, the place of its fixed residence for the future, and in all probability when they began to ascend it, then is it supposed the people chanted the 15th verse which, as I observed in our reading, may be understood in the form of a question, "The hill of God, is it as the hill of Bashan? Bashan may boast of its proud eminence and its cloud-cleaving summit — but is that the hill where God will fix his residence?" No — but in the humbler yet more honored mount of Zion. It is worthy of notice that this verse may be read in the following manner: "We have seen your marches in procession, O God; even the marches of my God, my King, in the sanctuary." This throws light on the subject we desire; namely, the jubilant songs of praise arising from the royal procession of Jehovah before the assembled hosts of Israel. This evening’s subject has been suggested by passing events. Yesterday there was but one theme on every lip — almost one desire in every heart; from early morn you could hear the tread of ten thousand hosts as they wended their way to the great metropolis; there was one subject-matter in the hearts and thoughts of men, and it was this — that there was to be on that day a royal procession through the metropolis of England. Now, we remember this day, there is an assembled host of people; not lining the thoroughfares of our cities — but crowding our chapels and sanctuaries, and many of the theaters. What has brought it together? What is the one desire of the hearts of the vast majority? It is this — to see the King pass by! And oh, may our God grant that this evening throughout the sanctuaries of the land, whether in those of the metropolis or in the humbler abodes of worship in the country, the shout of the King may be heard in the camp; and may the universal experience of the people be, "We have seen Your procession, O God!" We purpose, by God’s help, to make the "royal procession" of yesterday, illustrative of this evening’s subject, and so we will view our text in three ways. First of all, we will notice the people viewing the procession, "We have seen Your procession, O God!" Then secondly, we will notice the procession itself, "Even the procession of my God, my King, into the sanctuary!" Then lastly, we will notice the purpose of the procession; namely, to open a fresh thoroughfare. I. Let us first notice, The People Viewing the Procession. The first thought that occurs to us is this, that in the assembled crowds that yesterday lined our streets, the great majority came on purpose to see the Queen herself. If you had over-heard the conversation of the people, it would have been something after this sort: "I wonder whether we will get a view of Her Majesty — whether from this or that position we can obtain a clear view of royalty itself." And as many flocked from the country who had not seen Her Majesty’s face before; the one desire of their heart was that in coming up to the metropolis, they might not only see the pomp and show — but the features and face of Majesty itself; and after the procession I do not doubt that in a thousand homes it was said, "We managed to obtain a view of our Queen’s face!" Now in the assembled hosts of God’s people, in the various sanctuaries and tabernacles of the land, what has the majority come for tonight? To see the King Himself! Was it not the desire of our heart as we came here, that we would see, not the minister, not the mere outward show of the service, not the pageant — but that we would see Jesus! And oh, will we not go to our homes this evening miserably disappointed, if we cannot say we have seen the King himself? But doubtless in the thronging multitude of yesterday, there were many who wished to see the face of the Queen, because they had never seen it before. And in the sanctuaries tonight, how many are there longing to see the face of the King, because they have never seen it yet? Doubtless there are some here saying, "Would that I could get a glimpse of Jesus — that I could see that loving countenance that I have never yet beheld! My eye has often desired to see him — I have heard others speak of his matchless charms — I have heard others declare that he is altogether lovely — would that my eyes could see him!" Friend, as you wended your way here tonight, was the language of your heart, "O that I could see the King tonight, for I have never seen him yet?" The Master is passing in royal procession through this place; now may your eye be directed towards him; and when you leave the sanctuary, may the joyful exclamation of your heart be, "I have seen Your procession, O God!" There were also many yesterday who had seen Her Majesty before — but it was some time back, and they wanted to see her again. And how many of God’s saints there are tonight whose eyes have seen Him, and beheld his lovely countenance. They know what it is to be ravished with the sight; but alas! it is months back; and since then, there has been a long and dreary interval of soul-barrenness. There has been no royal procession before your weary eyes for many a long day. The remembrance of past joys only makes your present gloom the harder to bear. Having once seen the face of your King, you can never forget its beauty — and you yearn yet once again to behold the beloved of your soul. You have often come to the sanctuary with the most intense desire that you might behold the procession of your God in it; and as often you have left without the sight. You have heard the shout of the people. They have told you how gloriously he appeared to them — until you envied their bliss, yet you have obtained no view. And now, once again, you have come with the throng, once more you are found with the waiting multitude. I can see you, brother, standing in yonder doorway. I can mark your anxious eye. I think I can read its language, it is "I would see the King tonight!" May God grant that you may have your desire, friend. May the king pass so closely to you, that you will be enabled to touch his garments. May old days of joy return with tenfold bliss, and may you be able to say tonight what you have so longed to say, "I have seen the royal procession of my God in the sanctuary." But in yesterday’s concourse there were many who did not go to see the Queen — but simply to view the pageant. With them, it was as much to be seen — as to see. They went because others went, and because it would help to pass away some idle time. As the procession passed by, they were quite content to hear the sound of the trumpets, to see the horses and riders, and behold the military; they took in the procession as a whole — but had no heart of loyalty for the Queen. Just so, we have to come to the conclusion, that in the houses of God tonight, there are many who have only sought them in order to see the pageant. They will return to their homes perfectly satisfied, though their eyes have never caught a glimpse of Christ. They come to hear the preacher — to criticize the singing — to see the congregation. They are perfectly content if there is an attractive service, even if the King is missing in the midst of it. If there are such present this evening, people who have come to see the service — but not the Christ; to hear the preacher — but not his God — may the Lord touch their traitorous hearts, and from this evening may those hearts beat in loyalty to Him who is our God and our King. In yesterday’s concourse there were all grades of society represented. There were not only dukes and ambassadors from eastern countries, flashing in their jewels; but there were those who had come from the house of business, and the word "care" could be seen written on all their countenances. Yonder stands the honest artisan who has obtained a holiday with difficulty; his hands are rough and hard with work — but his manly voice shouts forth a loyalty, as true as any. And there were the poor poverty-stricken ones who had wended their way from the purlieus of the ghettos to express their gladness. All grades of society were assembled. Blessed be God, it is so tonight; in many of the sanctuaries throughout the land there are great and noble to be found. We have now our godly earls; we have now some of the noblest scions of our aristocracy who feel their highest honor is their union with their Savior. And here we have the artisan, the laborer, the workman, the man of business, the clerk — men who know what it is to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow. But do you think that the external appearance of the men in any way affects their loyalty to their Lord? Not one iota! Beneath a ragged coat — a heart may beat as true and loving as ever beat beneath a mink coat, and vice versa. The same desire brings both — the same prayer is the prayer of both — the same sight will give equal joy to both — and to the King passing by, the loyalty of both is equally welcome. It is one of the glories of our religion, that it makes men in different grades of social life forget their distinctions while bending together at their common mercy-seat, or while congregated together to see the royal procession of their One King. These minor differences that belong only to earth are lost, forgotten, swamped, drowned in the great ocean of their mutual experience as Christians. The confession of the poor man, is the confession of the rich. The praises of the noble, are the praises of the pauper. The sight that floods the soul of the godly earl with joy, is the very sight that makes the poor man sing in his poverty. And now, lastly, on this first division, I would observe that of those who went to see the procession, some obtained much better views than others — they were not all on the same level. Hundreds were fortunate enough to obtain raised seats and positions of eminence that lifted them far above the surging multitude below, and gave them a clear and uninterrupted view of all that was to be seen. All that could have proved a barrier to their sight was below them; and through their vantage ground they beheld with ease, while others failed to behold. But there were thousands with a far less happy experience. Despite all their exertions, they never succeeded in getting what they wanted — a sight of their Sovereign. They were crushed — crowded — and forced by the sheer weight of numbers, into some wretched position, where they could only see those who were beholding what they desired to behold. If for a moment there was a break in the ranks through which they perceived that the procession was passing close by them, it was sure to be closed the next moment by a multitude of heads. A great amount of trouble to see — and very little result, was their day’s experience. So is it with the vast congregations of tonight. Some are obtaining a blessedly clear view of their Lord with only a little trouble to themselves; and others, with all their striving, are only suffering disappointment. Thanks be to God, many of his saints are tonight occupying exalted positions. They are raised in spirit far above all distracting thoughts and circumstances. The cares of the world do not jostle them, nor are they crowded with doubts and unbelief. They can look down with calmness upon a seething world, and sing, "Oh, this is life! Oh, this is joy, My God to find You so; Your face to see, your voice to hear, And all your love to know!" But there are many others who, though almost dying to see the King, find it next to an impossibility to get even a glimpse. They are hemmed in on every side with the cares of business — or perhaps I should rather say, the cares arising from the lack of business. They are well-near crushed with anxiety; and by the sheer force of unhappy circumstances, they are being thrust from the front rank of spectators. Do you not think there are in this Tabernacle tonight, men and women struggling bravely with themselves, doing their utmost to cast aside their wandering thoughts — and yet failing to obtain more than a momentary glimpse of Jesus? Yes — and many of them. II. The Procession Itself. Turning from the spectators, to that which they assembled to behold — I would observe first, that the procession passed along an appointed way. If anyone failed to see it, it was not because they were left in ignorance of the route it was to take. Public notices were placed in the most conspicuous positions possible, with the course the royal visitor was to take, clearly and definitely stated. As described, so the route was taken. It would have been sheer nonsense for anyone to plead ignorance as the cause for not seeing the procession. Royalty fulfilled its part faithfully. But suppose, after reading the prescribed order, a man still remained in the back streets of Stepney? Why, he would have no one to thank and no one to grumble at but himself, for having seen nothing. He was out of the way, and he must pay the penalty for it. All he had to do was place himself in one of the appointed thoroughfares — but he never did that one thing. I have no pity for him in his disappointment — he richly deserves it. Friends, our King has marked out the road along which He passes, and if we do not see Him, it is because we have not gone into the right way. If we are backsliders in heart, and instead of standing in the highway of God, we are found even now in the slums of sin — then don’t let us wonder why we do not see anything. Too often we are like unhappy Thomas, conspicuous by our absence when King Jesus visits his people. We wonder how it is that we do not have the same joys as others, nor obtain the same gladdening sight of our Lord — forgetting that it would be a wonder if we did; considering that they are in the way, and we are out of it. The backslider is his own punishment — and he scourges himself by his own folly. But as our King passes along an appointed route, it is only fair that you should ask the question, "What is that route?" I reply first, the royal procession is announced, in the language of our text to pass through the sanctuary. The assembled hosts of his people tonight have ground to expect a view of their sovereign, for they are in the high road. They are found in the place where he loves to pass by. Let some would-be extra-spiritual people sneer if they like at the great gatherings of the sanctuary, and dub them as foolish. We have, however, found by experience that there are views of the King obtained in them that are obtained nowhere else. But if the King were only to be seen in the sanctuary, it would go hard with those on beds of sickness, and I do not know what the dying would do. So in the King’s route, I find marked out . . . the sick room, the chamber of death, the abode of suffering, and the home of sorrow. If you went into many a sick room this evening round about here, and asked the dying Christian, "Where does the King pass by?" He would tell you, "I am even now beholding him." Go into the abode of grief — go there where all are weeping, where the tokens of bereavement are around you; ask the broken-hearted mourners where is the King? And, they will say, "He comes into the abode of sorrow." Yes, he passes by whenever he is sought aright — but I think especially at His table. There is the place to get a glimpse of Him — it is there we expect to be raised above the crowd, and beyond the cares of life. It is when we sit around the table of our Lord, with the emblems of his dying love before us, that we expect to see the King in his beauty, because he always lingers there. But, "What did the joy of the procession consist of?" It was a procession of royalty. Our widowed queen, who for many years had been hidden from the eyes of her subjects, was about to appear again — and that constituted the joy of the procession. It was the queen appearing as queen. And what, beloved, will constitute the chief joy of our hearts tonight? Surely our King appearing as King, in his royalty. Christ has already made some royal processions — but they were incognito. Let me explain what I mean. It was over eighteen hundred years back that infinite mercy said, "I will pass through the world." But before our King came to this earth, He removed the diadem from off his brow, He bade his courtiers remain behind — and as a carpenter’s son He made his entry in this world. True, once He did make a triumphal entry into the capital — but then it was remarkable for its simplicity. It was made meek and lowly, sitting on the foal of an donkey. Our King has, moreover, had (O, wondrous fact) a royal procession of shame, in which, instead of being greeted with jubilant shouts, he was only hailed with roars of execration, and pelted with bitterest sarcasms. Let us for a few moments take our position and view this marvelous sight. Where will we stand? Well, first in a place called Gethsemane. ’Tis night, and all is wrapped in gloom. Hark! hark! I hear his footsteps. Do you see him as he walks with tottering steps? Do not speak — but let us see the end. He falls upon his knees — now upon his face — he groans and cries with tears — a blood sweat stands thick upon him, then drops upon the ground and dyes it red! And now the rabble have found him out, and with many a jeer and blow they drag him to a mock tribunal. From Pilate’s hall the procession of shame wends its way to Herod’s court then back again. They tie him to the whipping post, his sacred shoulders are bared — but again clothed with a crimson mantle, as the blood fast flows before the furious blows of the Roman scourge. From there, shame’s pageant slowly passes on to Calvary. The road is lined with thousands of spectators — but there was no eye to pity. "Worthy of a felon’s death!" is the shout that greets him. In no carriage of state — but staggering with faintness and loss of blood, our King walks by, while on his bleeding shoulders he bears the rugged cross. Do you see Him — "the deer of the morning" — hounded on by the dogs of Hell? Do you hear their barking and growling? Do you mark how they "worry" him, even in his dying moments? Can you hear that ringing death shriek which he utters when his heart breaks? Truly, we have seen a royal procession to death! Time fails us, or we would like to say how we have seen our God’s processions in his church. Our King has sometimes made a royal procession by the outpouring of his Spirit. He made one in the sixteenth century, when the ark of the Lord was carried forward by such men of God as Luther and Calvin. A glorious procession that was. Then the earth shook and the mountains flowed down at his presence. Before the thunder of that march, the papal throne tottered, and swarms of hooded priests like night owls disturbed with a glaring light, flew here and there, screeching in wild dismay! Our King made one of his royal marches through the land of brown heather and rugged woods (Scotland), when from end to end of the land, the ark was borne upon the stalwart shoulders of the lion-hearted John Knox. Many and many a time has heavenly royalty swept through this land of ours with men for outriders such as a Wycliffe, Latimer, Wesley, or a Whitfield. And even in our day, there are glorious indications that our King is "on the march." But this brings us to the last point on this division of our subject. We have yet to behold the procession of supreme royalty — royalty decked in all its magnificence. This will take place when our Lord comes the second time without sin unto salvation. Let me for a moment sketch the position, the present position of the church. For ages it has been anxiously expecting the return of its glorious Lord. Far back in the dim distance, yet burning like a beacon light, stands the promise, "I will come again!" John 14:3. For centuries the church has sent back the echo "Amen, even so come, Lord Jesus." Revelation 22:20. Long has it listened, and it listens still for the rumble of his chariot wheels. Sometimes, almost wearied with the long suspense, and sick with hope deferred, the cry goes up from the waiting host, "O Lord, how long?" But beloved, the day draws near apace when the "Desire of all Nations" will come. Sometimes we think we can discern with the eye of faith the eastern horizon blushing rosy with the rising sun. Sometimes the ear of faith thinks it can catch the sound of preparation for the march. Expectation is at the height, and the general feeling is "It can’t be long!" This one fact is certain: every moment brings it nearer. Every chiming hour is one hour less of waiting. The hour must at last strike, when throwing wide the doors of Heaven, our King shall come with ten thousand of his saints attending! Then, amid the waves of melody that roll throughout the universe, this shout shall be heard from the jubilant multitude: "We have seen Your procession, O God — even the procession of my God, my King, into the sanctuary!" III. And now in conclusion, let us notice the purpose of this procession. For what intent was the royal visit of yesterday made? What brought our Sovereign again before her people? The answer is quickly given: to open a new thoroughfare. Surely in this respect, the pageant of yesterday may serve as an illustration of our subject. For what intent did our Lord appear? What mighty motive brought him from the palaces of Heaven — to mingle with earth’s sinful inhabitants? Why that marvelous procession of shame and ignominy, terminating in the bloody tragedy of Calvary? I answer, he came to open wide a thoroughfare to Heaven. He came first of all not only to open — but to be the road to the Father! The old road called innocence was blocked up by Adam’s fall, and that was done so effectually that no one has ever been able to travel by it since. Men then had to go round by a wondrously circuitous route. They had to go by way of the sin-offering, the burnt-offering, the peace-offering, and the brazen altar. There was no direct road revealed — but an endless road of sacrifice and symbol. Christ came to put away forever this way that only wearied — and show poor fallen man a way, as direct as it was wide, and as free from obstructions as the former was full. The old way may now be abandoned, for the new is declared open. "Priest of God, put out that altar fire! Unbind the victim! Sheath the knife!" The true Lamb of God has come! The substance of all the types now stands in your midst. The new and living way has already been opened by Calvary’s royal procession. Christ has, moreover, opened a new way to the mercy-seat. The old road by earthly priests and high-priests is done away with. We now need no Aaronic priest, with purple robe and flashing breastplate to appear in some "Holy place" on earth for us. Our great high priest is in the heavens, even Jesus, and there, "The names of all his saints he bears Deeply graven on his heart!" Out with an earthly priesthood, and all men who allow the name to be applied to their vocation. It is a miserable attempt to keep open an old way that God has emphatically declared closed! The road to the mercy-seat is open and free to all — and as free to all as to one. Our King has also opened a high road to Heaven itself. So straight and direct is this road, that the moment we by faith place our feet on one end of it, we can behold the gates of pearl at the other. True, between us and the city of the New Jerusalem, there rolls the river of death; but over that there has been flung a bridge, so that the ransomed of the Lord pass over dry-shod. Do you still suggest there remains the dark grave? I answer that the thoroughfare passes through that also. It is no dark vault in which the road terminates — but only a shadowy tunnel, in the passage through which the light at the far end can be discerned. Our King has marched in royal procession before us here, and he solemnly declares the way to be opened! And now, lastly, may we this evening prove that in our experience, the King has opened a fresh thoroughfare of communion with Himself. Many of us came here, hoping with all our hearts that we might enjoy some fellowship with him, yet hardly daring to expect it. It seemed to us as if there were a thousand obstacles in the road, all forbidding the very idea. Home cares — business troubles — life’s anxieties — earth’s disappointments — all these, and hundreds of things besides, occupied the heart, and threatened to hold it in possession. We were pressed in by the crowd of our "multitude of thoughts," and saw no way of deliverance. But how is it now? Thank God, that doubtless with many of us, there has been a blessed change. Our King has passed by, and before his march, barriers have been removed. We have been lifted up out of the press of the crowd — we have seen our King in his beauty, and are now prepared to sit around his table, in the full expectation of deep and intimate fellowship, for between him and our souls a fresh highway of communion has been royally thrown open! May God grant that this may be the experience of all present for Jesus sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 49: S. SCRIPTURAL DOCTRINE OF HELL ======================================================================== Scriptural Doctrine of Hell Archibald G. Brown, February 24, 1878, East London Tabernacle "For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but sent them to Hell, putting them into gloomy dungeons to be held for judgment; if He did not spare the ancient world when He brought the flood on its ungodly people; if He condemned the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah by burning them to ashes, and made them an example of what is going to happen to the ungodly — if this is so, then the Lord knows how to hold the unrighteous for the day of judgment, while continuing their punishment!" 2 Peter 2:4-9 I know that in selecting my theme for this evening I am venturing to swim against the tide of public taste. I doubt not that, in many quarters, the sermon of tonight will be severely criticized, and by not a few regarded as a proof that I am irreclaimable and incapable of advancing with modern thought. Every age has had its popular heresy. For a while it has run like wildfire, and then gradually died out to give place to another. Any casual reader of so-called Christian literature must know the distinctive feature of this nineteenth century. There has arisen in the midst of the church an anti-Christ which is known by the name of ’modern thought’, at whose altars tens of thousands are bowing the knee, and offering their devotion. There is a horrid malaria abroad — a malaria breeding doubt and skepticism, and giving birth to wholesale practical infidelity. Surely the gospel of the present day might be rendered — ’He who doubts shall be saved, and he who believes shall be counted a fool.’ All things are now being called into question, and the work of the modern critic is either to destroy or tone down, or alter the word of God, until, were our fathers to rise from the grave, they would find it difficult to recognize it as the same old book on which they lived, and on whose truths they dared to die. The eternal covenant of God is torn up with a glib remark and a smile of contempt by some boy-censor. The threatenings of God are having all the thunder taken out of them; and now let any one venture to say that he believes in such doctrines as the sovereign grace of God, an atoning sacrifice, and a doom of unspeakable horror awaiting the man who dies unconverted — and if he is not derided, he will at least be looked upon with contemptuous pity. Now, the fiercest onslaught has been made upon the doctrine of God’s severity against sin, and the reason why I have selected this topic this evening is that, somehow or another the evil is finding its way into all the homes of our church members. Papers — and specially one — which profess to be Christian, prostitute their influence, week by week, in bringing before their readers all sorts of new-fangled notions, and thinly veiled blasphemy. I do not marvel that the doctrine of eternal punishment has been the subject of fiercest attack. It is only natural that man should desire to believe that he can live in sin with comparative impunity. I wonder not that the natural man says, ’Only prove to us that there is no perdition, and you shall be the preacher of our choice.’ Such teaching is sure to be popular. There is also an immense amount of jargon about the ’universal fatherhood’ of God. We are told that God is so good, so kind, so indulgent, that he cannot possibly visit a sinner’s sin with the dire doom that Scripture language declares. Now, I want, this evening to take you right away from the enervating air of the valley of modern thought, up into the bracing atmosphere of Peter’s words. I want them to blow upon you, clear and strong and crisp as the air we have felt coming off the glacier. And, young men, as I am preaching especially to you, I say that, if you are worthy of the name, you will never mind being asked to look a fact straight in the face. If we are wrong, then at some future time show us so; but I think you will see that there is a need-be for us to dwell upon the theme. Suppose there be no such Hell as we have been led to believe — then I am as well off when I die as any. But if, on the other hand, there is an eternal Hell — where then is the derider of it? If it is a mistake, yet it has been a blessed one, for it has often times inflamed our zeal to try and bring men to Christ. But O sirs, if it is no mistake, and Hell has all the horrors our fathers believed — then I beseech you to fall not into such incredible folly as to be damned in order to find out its truth! Now, observe that Peter in this chapter is just dealing with this very thing. There were many false teachers abroad and he says in 2 Peter 2:3, ’In their greed these teachers will exploit you with stories they have made up. Their condemnation has long been hanging over them, and their destruction has not been sleeping.’ And to show that God has a judgment for sinners, he adduces three examples. Let me read the verses to you. You will find the first illustration of the fact in 2 Peter 2:4, ’God did not spare angels when they sinned, but sent them to Hell, putting them into gloomy dungeons to be held for judgment.’ Now comes the second. ’God did not spare the ancient world when he brought the flood on its ungodly people, but protected Noah, a preacher of righteousness, and seven others.’ For a third example — ’God condemned the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah by burning them to ashes, and made them an example of what is going to happen to the ungodly.’ Then learn this — and you get it in the 9th verse — ’If this is so, then the Lord knows how to rescue godly men from trials and to hold the unrighteous for the day of judgment, while continuing their punishment!’ Putting all we desire to say into one sentence, it is this: it is not our work to say what God ought to be, or what he should do — but to find out what he has done, assured that his performing an action is proof of its justice. Down, puny reason! Will you dare to say that, if God acts in this way or that, he is unjust? Has God so acted? If so — then it must be right. God’s action is its own guarantee of holiness. Now, you will see that in our text we have shown us: first, that God’s severity on sin is a solemn fact; and then secondly, that this particular act of severity, namely, the destruction of the cities of the plain, is to be an example for all ages unto those who live ungodly. I. Now let us to our first point, namely, that our text shows that GOD’S SEVERITY ON SIN IS A SOLEMN FACT. I would seek to force this thought home because I am persuaded that, unless I can make you realize it, all the invitations of the gospel will be of little worth to you. Unless a man believes that there is something to flee from — it is a waste of time to tell him to flee. Unless a man believes there is a doom to escape — it is folly, if not impertinence, to keep saying to him, ’Escape for your life!’ Now let us see whether the God of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Elijah, is the sort of God that modern thought gives us — a God who has been well described as a sort of effeminate incarnation of sentimental benevolence. I venture to say that the God I read about in the Scriptures is no more like the God of modem thought, than he is like the heathen deities of mythology! Let us, then, dwell on these three facts which Peter brings forward in order to show that God has severity on sin and sinners. The first is the vengeance which he executed on the sinning angels. You have this in the 4th verse: ’God did not spare angels when they sinned, but sent them to Hell, putting them into gloomy dungeons to be held for judgment.’ I have often marveled that those who are so ready to accuse God of lack of love when the perdition of men is mentioned, have not seen that they have greater cause to arraign him at their bar for having cast the angels headlong into Hell. If it is unjust and unkind to deal out eternal punishment to fallen men — then how is it that they are silent about the doom of the fallen angels? God made bright spirits, capable of standing, yet free to fall; and some did fall, and there was war in Heaven, and a third part of the stars of Heaven were swept into eternal darkness, and, as we read here, hurled down to Hell and ’delivered into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto judgment!’ Young men, can you not see that every argument which can be employed against the ultimate punishment of men, applies with equal force against the punishment of the sinful angels? Am I told, as we are repeatedly, that there is such a nobility about man, such a natural grandeur, that it is almost impossible to imagine that God can ever consign so glorious and intellectual a being to perdition! I reply, What is man, after all, compared with the angels and the archangels who have received their eternal doom? Nobler in being, far, were those sons of the morning, pure spirits who stood before the eternal throne of God and sang his praises, and mightier still in intellect. Yet when they sinned, did the nobility of their nature save them from the Hell that awaited them? Am I told, ’Oh — but, surely, there can not be eternal punishment because it would disarrange God’s beautiful universe! It would be a discordant note in the great realm.’ I reply, The angels lived nearer God than man; and yet when they sinned, they were turned out turned out of Heaven and cast into Hell! When I see the sinning angels falling over Heaven’s brink into Hell, I see something before which my spirit stands appalled — but something which makes me say, ’The God of the angels, and the God I worship, is an dreadful God when his anger is aroused!’ Peter then passes on, you will see, to the second illustration which is in 2 Peter 2:5 — ’God did not spare the ancient world when he brought the flood on its ungodly people, but protected Noah, a preacher of righteousness, and seven others’. Now here the destruction was more complete. In the former case a glorious company of untold legions remained to sing their sovereign’s praises — but now God speaks the word, and the foundations of the great deep are broken up. How many are saved? ’A few, that is, eight souls.’ Come, Mr Modern Thinker — you who are so shocked at the idea of God ever pouring out his wrath on any — how do you account for this? Does this look like ’universal fatherhood’? Does this look like an indulgent father who knows nothing of righteous indignation against sin? It has been computed that the population of the world at that time was as great as now, owing to the longevity of the race, and yet the waters rose until the few — the eight — who rode in that ark were the sole remnant of a world that God had made. Come, open your ears and hear the shrieks of the drowning; hear the cries of the strong swimmer in his last agony, and account for it, if you can, on any other ground than that God is a hater of sin — that when the accursed thing reaches a climax, he pours his wrath upon it — ay, though doing so destroys a world he fashioned. Then we come to the third illustration, and I think you will see that they become stronger and yet more fearful. There were eight saved from the flood — but in the case of the cities of the plain only four were rescued, and out of the four one of them was turned into a pillar of salt, because she dared to look back! I wish I had the power to paint in words the scene which this text presents. When going lately among some of the loveliest villages and towns that lie round about Naples, under the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, I thought I had an idea of what these cities of the plain must have appeared like — exquisite for their beauty, charming for situation; and yet, as old Matthew Henry well remarks, it is very rare to find God’s pity, where there is much of God’s plenty. Generally speaking, the fairest spots on earth are the places where sin is most rife, and iniquity most rampant, as if to give the lie to the statement that nature leads to nature’s God. Now, the sin of the cities of the plain had waxed to such an extent that God’s indignation burned and he rained down a fire from Heaven. Now, Mr Modern Thinker, you who are so shocked at anything that is dreadful, you who, I have no doubt, will go home from this tabernacle and say that the sermon was hardly fit for polite ears — how do you account for this? Does this look like ’universal fatherhood’? Behold yon black cloud gathering over the city! Listen to the hissing of that hail of fire. Mark that pitiless flaming sleet sweeping down across the plain! Come, sir, it may be that some of the flashes that devour the city may open your eyes to a solemn fact. Do you hear the crackling of the timbers? Hark to those piteous cries and shrieks! It is fearful! Ay, and, mark you, even to this hour it remains the witness of God’s hatred of sin, for those plains were blasted with a barrenness that shall last until the end of time! Walk by the shores of the Dead Sea, where once those cities stood. Death reigns! No fish glide in its deep, no flowers bloom upon the shore; and the silent voice of that Dead Sea is this — ’God condemned the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah by burning them to ashes, and made them an example of what is going to happen to the ungodly.’ Now these are the three instances Peter brings forward; but do you suppose that they are the only three? Far from it. I will, however — but mention others, as time presses. How about the death of the first born in Egypt? Why do not those who are so ready to charge God with being cruel, accuse him of harshness in relation to Egypt? I suppose that in Egypt there were more people than there are in London tonight, and yet in every house the first born was found dead, and from end to end of Egypt’s land a great wail of grief went up. Does that look like ’universal fatherhood’? Go a step farther. We all joy with Israel when it passes through the Red Sea. In spirit we clap our hands with Miriam as she strikes her timbrel. It was a glorious deliverance for Israel. But how about the other side? Was it very glorious for Pharaoh and all his armies? We rejoice with the Israelites — but let us remember the fact that their salvation meant the destruction of all the chivalry of Egypt. Look yet, again, farther on in history. Do you see Sennacherib’s army covering all the land? Go look into those silent tents; lift up those trumpets that have never been blown; handle those spears that have never been placed in rest; twang the bow that has never sent the arrow — and then account for the scene of death, if you can, on any other ground than that our God has a hatred against sin, and will, when it pleases him, strike the sinner to the dust! But you turn round and say, ’Ay, Mr Brown — but you forget that all these examples are in the Old Testament. We are not living in Old Testament days.’ Then come with me to the New Testament. It is now customary to describe the views of future punishment held by most of us as ’medieval’, and to declare that our ideas are mainly gleaned from what monks wrote and said, and from pictures to be found in old galleries. I suppose I have seen about as many of the old masters in the galleries of Europe as most — but I must acknowledge I have never yet seen any picture from hand of medieval artist half so dreadful as some of the descriptions that fell from our Lord’s lips! ’Medieval’ is it, to speak about weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth? These words came not from the lips of any mortal man. They fell from the same lips that said, ’Come unto me, all you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ Neither Paul, nor Peter, nor any of the apostles, ever uttered such words as leaped from the lips of the Man of Sorrows. Christ’s descriptions of Hell are the most fearful that we have! It is the lips of infinite love that speak of being cut asunder, and about burning with the fire that is never quenched! One other thought, and I conclude this point. To my mind, at least, the most awful proof of the divine severity against sin, is to be found in the fact of the atonement. I have no doubt there are many here who not only remember — but, with the speaker, revere the memory of Henry Ollerenshaw, who used to labor in Bethnal Green. If ever there was a man of God in the east of London, it was he. I remember well some years back, when the new views, as they are called, concerning the doom of the wicked were getting popular, that he said to me, ’Mark if with them, the views of men concerning the atonement are not altered. When one goes, the other will go with it.’ And what is the fact? Find those who most deride the idea of an awful doom awaiting the sinner, and you will find those who rob the death of Christ of its sacrificial element. It is the logical sequence. If there was nothing much to save me from — then it was almost superfluous for the incarnate God to die upon the tree! But, O brethren, if you want to measure the deep horrors of the lost — you must measure them by the cross of Christ! It is his groans, his tears, his cries — which best tell what Hell means. Your breaking heart, Lord Jesus — your flowing blood — your death-cry of ’My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ — these are the things that say to me more than all the cities of the plain, ’There is an awful judgment to come upon the sinner for his sins!’ I trust that this fact is believed by all of you. God give it power! There is an awful doom for every man and woman in this sanctuary who dies impenitent rejecting the offer of the gospel of God. II. Now, then, let us look at the next point. THIS PARTICULAR ACT OF SEVERITY MENTIONED IN OUR TEXT, IS TO BE AN EXAMPLE FOR ALL AGES. If those of you who have Bibles will look at them you will see that it says, ’making them’ — that is the cities of the plain — ’an example unto those that after should live ungodly.’ Then this is not to be shelved as a bit of past history. We are not to put the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah on one side, and say, ’Oh, that will keep as an interesting relic of the past.’ It is not to be treated as something with which we have nothing to do. ’No,’ says Peter, ’you look at it, for God intended it throughout all ages to be an example unto the ungodly.’ Just three weeks ago I was staying in that most beautiful but most depraved of cities, Naples, and, looking across its charming bay, I could see, just in front of our window, Mount Vesuvius. I need hardly say that there the sky was not simply clear or blue. It was such a dazzling blue as we poor unfortunate Britishers know little, if anything, about. As I gazed upon that mountain it seemed to me as if it were painted on ivory. Everything about it was so softened. The smoke that came from the mountain was pearly white. It rose in slow folds, fold over fold, fold over fold, and before the gentle breeze it stretched away for miles until lost in the dim distance. It really seemed more like the white streamer of peace flying from the crater’s mouth, than anything else. And there, all up the sides of Vesuvius, were the little white cottages of the peasants. And under its shadow were smiling villages, and it seemed almost impossible to believe that Vesuvius could do any harm. I was almost inclined to think of Vesuvius as modern thinkers dream of God — that surely all the old fire has burned out. Still, there was some smoke rising which showed me that, though at that time no burning lava was pouring out upon its iron-bound flanks, yet it could do it again. Three weeks ago tomorrow I took a drive out, and I thought I would go and see this innocent-looking mountain. Still the smoke came away in white folds, and, as we neared it, the driver pointing to the foundations of some houses, and said that those houses were built on lava. Then, after all, this mountain can not be quite so harmless as it looks. And, by and by, we found that the road on either side was lined with lava, and now our carriage wheels rattled over the lava which had once poured down the mountain side. There, a little to the right, the ancient town Herculaneum once stood; and a little farther on we entered Pompeii. I wish I could make you see it, as I beheld it. I think you would understand the text better then. I suppose most of you are aware that it was in the year 79 A.D. that this strange city of the dead was covered, and that for nearly eighteen centuries it has been buried, and only one third of it at the present time excavated. We walked along its silent streets, and there we could see the rut which the wheels of the chariots had made as they rattled on their noisy way. We went into the silent houses on either side of the streets. Where were the owners? There were none there to refuse us entrance. We walked into the houses; we looked at the frescoes on the walls, some of them as fresh as if painted only yesterday. You must remember that it was not covered with burning lava, as is popularly supposed — that would have destroyed the city. There flowed a torrent of boiling mud which cooled and caked, and then over that there went the burning lava; and this again became like iron, so that there was the city sealed up airtightly, and, for 1,700 years, the world forgot that there was such a place as Pompeii. But we not only saw streets covered with the marks of chariot wheels, and houses with their frescoes. There were other sights sadder far. There were the relics of the past. There I saw the marble table, still standing in the garden as it was left that afternoon; and there was a bottle with the oil still in it; and there was the half eaten loaf of bread. Yes — but what is that lying there? It is the body of a woman with her face in her hand, seeking to avoid the cinders that were falling. And you can stand there and look upon her, still lying as she cast herself down centuries back. I walked in and out those empty houses in this city of the dead, and I thought of the text, ’turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah into ashes, he condemned them with an overthrow’. Sudden was the destruction. There was the bread in the oven which was never taken out by the baker, and the wine was still in the bottle on which the date of the vintage was clearly written. In the house of Diomed which you enter almost first, there, down in the cellar, were discovered seventeen skeletons, all of women, and we saw the marks of their bodies where they huddled on the ground among the wine flasks that were yet down there. In a backroom in a house there was found, lying in a heap of rubbish, a man with outstretched hands and clutched fingers, and there, close by, the excavation workers brought up four hundred pieces of silver, and jewels, and brooches. The miser was caught as he was counting his hoard; the harlot was arrested in her house of shame; the prisoner was suffocated in his cell, and the sentry as he stood at the gateway. Now, can you not imagine that those men and women of Pompeii thought that the day of judgment had come? A darkness that might be felt swathed the city. The earth rumbled; then the sea became tortured; and giant waves rolled up upon the trembling shore; and over all there were the lurid flashes from the crater of Vesuvius, while masses of blazing rock went hissing through the air, and the shrieks of the terrified people rose until death triumphed and stilled the clamor! As I stood in lonely Pompeii, looking at Vesuvius, the mountain did not appear quite so innocent. It seemed to me, as I stood there, that I heard Vesuvius speak. And the mountain muttered these words — ’I can do it again! I can do it again!’ O sirs, believe me, there is a day coming compared with which all we have described is devoid of terror. I mean this world’s last day. And then will men be caught careless, as they were then. O sinner, just for one minute, in conclusion, I want you to look at the actions of God in the past, just in the same way as I looked at what Vesuvius had done. I could not believe that there was no fearful power for destruction in the mountain, when I walked those empty streets of Pompeii. If any modern thinker had come to me at the time, and said, ’You know, Mr Brown, it is all a delusion. It is a medieval idea that Vesuvius has any lava in it. It is all a mistake to think that Vesuvius ever can destroy. It is always quiet, as you see it.’ I think I should have taken him by the arm and said, ’Look, sir, do you count me a born fool? How about Pompeii? If there be no destructive power in Vesuvius, how about Herculaneum? What mean these heaps of lava on which the villages now stand? What mean these ruins? Vesuvius can do it yet again!’ My brethren and sisters, go back and see what God has done. When God smites Judah it is that Israel should take warning, and he who hurled the angels from Heaven to Hell, and drowned the world, and destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, has power still to smite. Oh, do not rouse my God to anger. Will you count his longsuffering to be slackness? and because he still lengthens out the time of grace will you presume on it? ’Escape for your life.’ I have finished, and, as an old preacher once said, ’Now may God begin.’ I feel that, though we have tried to preach to you earnestly, our language has been but cold and faint. Young men, I do not suppose I shall ever see you all again. It is impossible. But as surely as you are sitting in those pews there is a day coming in which you will find every word we have uttered to be true. There is a day coming in which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the earth shall melt with fervent heat, and the trumpet of the archangel shall wax louder and louder! And if you die rejecting Christ you will find yourself, in spite of all that modern thinkers say, doomed to eternal perdition. Fly, then, to Christ, I beseech you. Trust him and he will save you this evening. Rest on his atoning sacrifice, and all sin shall be forgiven you. Go now, and presume no more on God’s patience. Flee from the wrath to come! May God add his blessing, for Christ’s sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 50: S. SONGS IN THE NIGHT! ======================================================================== Songs in the Night! Archibald G. Brown, June 26th, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle "God my Maker, who gives songs in the night?" Job 35:10 It is impossible to doubt that this world is a world of sorrow. Go where you will and wander ever so far — you still find yourself unable to get beyond the region of grief. Like the atmosphere, sorrow bounds everything; and it is a hopeless task to endeavor to get outside its circle. You will find sorrow giving a saddened tone to conversation; leaving its mark and impress on the face of man; and driving its deep furrow across his brow. Sorrow finds its way into the heart — and also steals within the home; for there is not a homestead in England or the wide world over, that does not sometimes have the shadow of grief cast across its threshold. The noise of a great city does not frighten sorrow away — nor does the calm and quiet of a country village afford any protection from its entrance. Although we here this morning differ in many respects, in one thing we all agree: "Every heart knows its own bitterness." We do not care how old or how young the heart may be — there is not one that is a stranger to grief, or unacquainted with sorrow. Trouble is the portion of all; and while we stay here on earth we are sure to have our appointed share. "Man is born for trouble as surely as sparks fly upward!" Job 5:7. "Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows." John 16:33 But if it is a sad truth that sorrow abounds everywhere, I think it is a far sadder truth that even though many are afflicted — few get any good from their affliction. Although all have sorrow, how few are the better for their sorrows. We are not, beloved, among those who believe there is any haphazard or chance in the afflictions that fall to our lot. We believe that God rules, and that he "who makes the clouds his chariot, and who walks upon the wings of the wind" has a purpose in all the troubles that beset our path and grieve our heart. But take mankind at large, and how few are benefitted by their afflictions, or improved by their sorrows. Take the great mass of the ungodly: they have their sorrows — and yet you may go into a thousand homes where grief seems to reign triumphantly, and you will find that the deeper their sorrows — the deeper their sins. God may strike down one comfort after another, and blast a hundred hopes in succession — and the only sad result is that the heart becomes the harder. If trouble would convert the world, it would have been converted long before this. If affliction had power to break the hard sinful heart of the natural man, broken hearts would not be so scarce as they are. But it is a Scriptural truth that, just as God’s favors — apart from the influence of the Holy Spirit — fail to draw men to God; so trials unblessed by God, equally fail to drive men to Him. I think there are some here this morning who have been struck by God over and over again — and yet like the brutish ox, you have only kicked at the goads that pricked you, and you are as far off from God as if He had not chastened you at all. And is it not a sad thing too, that what is true of the mass of the ungodly — is also true of a large number of God’s true children? We do not learn the lessons which God would teach us by our chastisements. The tear never rolls down the cheek of the saint — unless God meant that tear to teach us something. God never chastens His children without a purpose. Can you imagine an earthly parent who loves his child fondly, inflicting pain upon him wantonly, without rhyme or reason? Impossible! And will our Father who is in Heaven and who has within his heart a boundless ocean of love — will He lay upon His redeemed children even the lightest stroke without some purpose? Never! And yet like Israel of old, how often we are chastened by God and never ask the reason why — or kiss the divine hand that holds the rod. I think those solemn words in Amos 4:1-13, where God says, " "I gave you empty stomachs in every city and lack of bread in every town — yet you have not returned to Me, declares the LORD." Turn to the chapter and read the Amos 4:8. "People staggered from town to town for water but did not get enough to drink — yet you have not returned to Me, declares the LORD." The same sad truth is proclaimed in Amos 4:9, "Many times I struck your gardens and vineyards, I struck them with blight and mildew. Locusts devoured your fig and olive trees — yet you have not returned to me, declares the LORD." Listen to the sad echo of the tenth verse, "I sent plagues among you as I did to Egypt. I killed your young men with the sword, along with your captured horses. I filled your nostrils with the stench of your camps — yet you have not returned to Me, declares the LORD." Listen again to Amos 4:11, "I overthrew some of you as I overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah. You were like a burning stick snatched from the fire, yet you have not returned to Me, declares the LORD." Here you find God chastening his people over and over again with all kinds of chastisement — and yet He had this sad charge as often to bring against them, "Yet you have not returned to Me!" All these verses will apply to many of us as well. Oh, believer! The reason why some of us are troubled so long, is because we are such dull scholars. The reason why the trial is so often on our threshold, is because we have not returned to the Lord. As the verse of our text expresses, we have been oppressed and afflicted — and yet none of us have said, "Where is God my maker, who gives songs in the night;" so that you will see the charge which is brought against us is this — that when we have been stricken by God, instead of turning to him with lamentation and inquiry — we have in our troubles, shunned him. It is not our purpose this morning to dwell on the subject of unsanctified affliction — but to take the latter clause of the verse, "God who gives Songs in the Night." And our subject is one well calculated to give joy to the heart, if the Holy Spirit will but carry it there. Our subject is this — that there is sufficient in our God to give to every saint a song, even during his darkest night of sorrow. Or in other words, however lonely and gloomy the night through which we may be called to pass — there is sufficient in our God to give us cause for rejoicing. If this is true, I think we have alighted upon a deep well of refreshing water this morning. If it is a blessed fact that whatever my troubles are, I have a repository of joy to sustain me, even in the darkest moment — then if I do not rise up as upon eagles’ wings, it is beyond strange. Child of God, up to this morning you have been like Hagar in the wilderness, trying to get water from the bottle; you have gone from one earthly source to the other seeking joy — and as you sit here now, like her, you are full of despair. Where is your water-bottle? It is dry and cracked and useless; and you are saying with an almost broken heart, "Where am I to get water from?" Here it is before you in this book! Look at the text, "God who gives songs in the night." Turn away from your dusty bottle — and see if there does not spring up at your very side a well of sparkling water. Our error has been that we have tried to get our joy from the things of this present life — we have tried to draw our happiness from earthly sources; whereas there is sufficient in our God to make us joyful even during the darkest night. Let me try to explain and point out how this is so. I think it is because: I. Our sufficiency in God is in no way affected by our outward circumstances. Let me put this as clearly as I can. It does not matter what your outward circumstances may be, or how changed they may become — they in no way alter that sufficiency which, as a saint, you have in God. So that if in times of prosperity you ever found anything in your God which gave you cause to rejoice — you have that same cause undiminished now, however adverse your circumstances may be. Let me mention a few things that have been a cause of joy to your heart in days that are past. Have you never rejoiced in the purposes of your God? Can you not remember seasons when it has been a wondrous source of strengthening to your heart to remember that whatever happened — God’s sovereign will and purpose still moved on, and that nothing could thwart His decrees? And have you not reveled in the thought that your God walked upon the waves, and ruled the tempest, and turned the clouds into His chariot? Your heart has exulted as you said, "He is the Lord, and who can hinder Him? Who shall say to Him: What are You doing?" Now, my brethren, because your circumstances in life are changed, does that alter His purposes? If you rejoiced in their certain fulfillment last year, may you not equally rejoice in them now? "Our lives through various scenes are drawn, And vexed with trifling cares, While your eternal thought moves on, Your undisturbed affairs." Another well of comfort to your soul was found in the love of God. Well, has God’s love altered? Because you do not have the comforts you once possessed — does that prove that God’s love to you has varied? No! His love remains like himself: the same yesterday, today, and forever. Therefore if my soul ever sang a song at the remembrance of it, it is sheer treason for me to be silent now. If it pleased Him in His love to cause a shadow to overcast me, should I on that account think less of his love? Have not the promises of God also been like manna to your souls over and over again? "Yes," you answer; then I reply, "Have they altered?" Can you put your finger on one promise now and say, "That promise, though precious to me once, has now become null and void?" Can you say of one of God’s promises, "It does not have the power it once possessed?" No! His promises are like the stars that shine in the brightest night; and remain unmoved whatever may be the convulsions of earth. If then you ever rejoiced in God’s promises, there is no reason why you should not rejoice in them this morning, for they abide the same. Have you not in seasons past found the thought of God having pardoned you, a fountain of joy? Can you not remember some days when the word pardon sent a throb of joy to your inmost heart? You say, "Yes, many a time!" Well, dear friend, is your pardon affected by the night in which you are now dwelling? Have the clouds of sorrow blotted out that word ’forgiven,’ once so legibly written in characters of blood? You dare not think it. Then the only conclusion you can possibly come to, is that there is the same matter for joy now in your dark days, as you ever possessed in your brightest days. Yet once again. Have you not often rejoiced in the anticipation of Heaven? Have you not known what it is to turn to that chapter in Peter, and read of "An inheritance which is imperishable and undefiled and will not fade away," and while doing so, have an echo in your heart repeating, "Reserved in Heaven for me!" And the thought has made your heart so light that you have scarcely felt the earth beneath your feet. Have you any reason to doubt that Heaven is yours — because troubles are yours as well? Have the waters of affliction washed out the writing of your title deeds to eternal glory? Is Heaven peopled with those who on earth escaped tribulation — or with those who came out of it? Blessed be God! All we have in Christ, remains untouched and uninfluenced by earthly circumstances. WHAT IS YOUR NIGHT? Suppose it is one of changed prospects. There is as great a change in your affairs now, as there is between night and day. There was a time when temporal affairs did not trouble you much; for years you never knew what it was to have a care about anything. Now it is just the reverse. You work ten times harder than you did — and yet you seem to get but a tenth of what you did before! Your night, my brother, is a dark one — but does it alter what God is to you and what God has for you? Can you show me anything in the Word to prove that you have lost your God through your poverty? Is he less full of love for you, because you are in straightened circumstances? If you turn to Habakkuk 3:17, you will find it is possible to lose everything — and yet at the same time rejoice in God. "Even though the fig trees have no blossoms, and there are no grapes on the vines; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty — yet I will rejoice in the LORD! I will be joyful in the God of my salvation!" My friend, although your prospects are so changed, although every fig tree you have is blasted, and on your vines this morning there are no grapes — yet there is something that remains the same — Your God. Find your all in God as once you found your God in all — and you will no longer be destitute of song. But perhaps with another it may not be changed prospects — but changed health. There was a time when you never knew what sickness meant, and when pain was a perfect stranger. How changed is it now! You no longer feel that buoyancy of health you once possessed — but on the contrary, every action is now accompanied with pain, and therefore you have lost your joy. I must ask you a question, the same as I asked the other one. Does change of health change your relationship to God? Do you anywhere in Scripture find that sickness is a barrier between the Savior and his saved one? What have you lost in God, by your sickness? What cause for rejoicing in Him is removed? None most certainly; there is not a promise that was fulfilled in health, that will not be fulfilled in sickness; nor love enjoyed in health, that will be withdrawn in illness. Have you ever heard of a father losing his love for his darling child because the child was weak? Never; his love would rather increase than decrease under such circumstances. Just so, shall our Heavenly Father show less compassion than His earthly types? But there are some here I know, to whom this next point will come home; those who are saying, my night is a night of bereavement. Some of their loved ones have been cut down and removed by the scythe of death. The only son of his mother, and she a widow perhaps, has been laid low. Or in another case, the beloved mother has been torn from her children. Grant it — but at the same time — is your God dead? Have you lost Him? Has the icy hand of death cut the thousand cords that bound you to Him? Is not God still living? There once was a mother who lost her youngest child, and weeping bitterly, refused all consolation, until the little sister said "Mamma, why do you cry so? Is God dead?" My friend, however you may have been bereaved — your God remains the same. Therefore, look away from changing scenes and dying friends — to Him; and even in the darkest night of bereavement, you will find sufficient in your God to give you sweetest song. And now, lastly on this point, I can imagine one of you saying, "My night is darker than any of those you mentioned." Mine is a night of spiritual depression. It is not a lack in the home — but a lack in the heart that I feel. It is not bereavement of father or mother, or sister or brother — but the bereavement of the spiritual joy which I once had. I grant you, dear friend, your night is an exceedingly dark one — but where do you find in God’s Word that being full of spiritual depression renders null and void the blessed saying, "Accepted in the Beloved!" or "Complete in Him!" If our acceptance in Christ was in any way influenced by our earthly circumstances, I would not have a word of consolation to give to my own soul or yours this morning. But if you believe that you are as much in Christ when depressed as when you are elated, although your soul this morning may seem like lead, and you find yourself unable to enter into the joy of worship — there yet remains the foundation for a song: you are still safe in Christ. God’s covenant of grace with you remains the same — you are still accepted in the person of Jesus. You may be trembling on the rock — but its firm base does not shake beneath your feet. Yes! God is our rock — the tide may ebb and the tide may flow — but the rock remains forever. So it is with our temporal circumstances. My brother, your temporal circumstances may be running on the ebb like a sluice; comforts may be lessening every moment. But your God stands, and you stand on Him. And as in the low ebb tide, you see more of the rock than at the full flood — so perhaps your very trials here on earth will enable you to see more of your God than you ever beheld in what you now term your prosperous days. What a blessed thing it is just to rest upon our God, and feel that although from this Sunday morning to the day of my death I may have nothing but bereavement, cares, and toils — yet these things do not influence my sufficiency in him. Now, secondly, and very briefly, I want to mention, II. Some of the SONGS God gives His saints during the night — what songs do His nightingales sing? I think, first, he gives the song of FAITH. And no sweeter song can be given. There is more music in this song than in any other. I know of nothing more lovely than to be in the company of some child of God, who though chastened sore, can yet sing in the language of believing confidence, "I know that God is working all things together for my good." This thrilling song has been heard above the tempest’s roar. The heavenly mariner has often stood upon the deck with the blinding spray of every wave encircling him, and as one thing after another has been swept from his side, a God-given song has arisen upon the gale, "I know I can never be shipwrecked, because I know in whom I have believed, and am persuaded, that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day." Sweet song, this song of faith; to know all its music you should have heard it sung by the martyr as he stood surrounded by the flames. Time after time, in old Smithfield, has it been heard above the crackling of the burning stake, "when you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon you." Isaiah 43:2. This song of faith has echoed through many and many a dungeon cell. Paul and Silas were put in the prison, and their feet made fast in the stock; but at midnight the prisoners sang, and their companions heard them — and thus has many a dungeon in later days been made to ring with melody. Have you ever heard the song on the death-bed? I think it sounds sweetest there. When you see one weak in body — but strong in God, singing, "Sweet to rejoice in lively hope, That, when my change shall come, Angels shall hover round my bed, And waft my spirit home." There is another song almost as sweet as that of faith. It is called the song of HOPE. Patience works experience, and experience hope. And what is this song? "I know that God can help — even at the very last. I remember that Abraham had his knife uplifted to slay his son, before the mercy came that stopped the blow. Though God seems to tarry — I will wait for Him still." In the most pitiless storm that can fall upon a child of God, there is always the ray of hope lighting up the gloom. On the bosom of every thunder cloud, there always rests this rainbow. Take away from a man all hope, and you leave but incarnate despair and a walking Hell. Whatever song you may not be able to sing this morning, you can surely utter this one of hope, and say With David, "Why are you cast down, O, my soul? And why are you disquieted in me? Hope in God; for I shall yet praise him who is the help of my countenance, and my God!" Psalms 42:5 Another song for the night is that of tranquility. This is a much softer song than the others I have mentioned. You cannot always hear it so clearly — but I think there is a more melting melody about it. You have perhaps heard the song of faith as clear as a clarion, and the song of hope in notes that thrilled the heart; but have you ever had your soul more stirred to the depths, than by the quiet strains of tranquility? "May Your will be done" is the oft-recurring refrain. The man has lost his worldly possessions, and is now steeped to the lips in poverty; but he sings, "If you should call me to resign, What most I prize — it never was mine; I only yield You what was Thine; May Your will be done!" There is another friend who once rejoiced in bodily strength — but is now wasted and emaciated, and in an agony of pain upon a bed of sickness. Do listen!! — for he sings: "Should pining sickness waste away My life in premature decay, My Father, still I strive to say, May Your will be done!" Thus does the child of God, by heavenly strength, bear his trials not only without a murmur — but with a song. My time is so nearly gone, that I must only mention the two remaining songs. The first one is entitled "The song of sympathy with Jesus." It runs something after this sort: "Tis true O Lord, that I am tried and sorrows press me sore — but I rejoice in this; for am I not by my very grief, brought into likeness with You, O blessed Savior dear. The thorns that prick my flesh do but bring me into closer sympathy with You, who for my sake had your brow encircled with them. If I had a heart that was free from care, and eyes that knew no tears — how could I be a follower of Yours, O man of sorrows, who could throw out the challenge, ’Behold and see if there is any sorrow like My sorrow!’ If I had no bitter cups to drink, I would be unlike You, my Lord, who shuddered at the dreadful draught your Father held to You, when praying in Gethsemane. Sweet sorrow — happy grief, that makes me one with You." It is an honor for the disciple to be as his Lord, and the servant as his Master — and this thought sheds a glory round the darkest trial and leads the soul to song. There is still another song, it is "The song of heavenly anticipation." It is a sweet song to Christ’s children; and it can be sung best in the darkest night. The chorus is this: "My sorrows will only make Heaven more sweet at the close." The saint is racked in pain, and knows he cannot last long; he takes up the book and reads, "There shall be no pain there — no sickness, no sorrow." "Ah!" he says, "this pain will only make Heaven more sweet at the close!" He loses a beloved relative or friend, and he turns to the book and reads, "There shall be no death there!" And so he makes his present troubles as a dark background, to show off Heaven’s glories. If you are mourning over troubles here, and cannot sing about earth, then sing about Heaven, for the darker your nights below, "they will only make Heaven more sweet at the close." There is one night coming to us all, a night through which all here this morning will have to pass; and for those of us who are God’s children, a song is provided — it is the night of death. Am I speaking to any who are in perpetual bondage through fear of death? My dear friends, wait until you "come to the night" before you trouble yourself whether a song will be given to you or not. When death comes, dying grace will come with it. Although it may now stand before your trembling spirit as a dark grim specter of the night, it shall yet be changed into a glorious angel holding in his right hand a golden key to open before you the everlasting doors of Heaven! When the moment comes that alone we must pass through the river, we shall do so with no countenance convulsed with terror. Far from it; for just when earthly props are falling on every hand, our God and Maker will give us some sweet song to cheer the advancing night, and that song shall no sooner die upon our death-stricken lips, than it shall break forth again in louder, sweeter strains before the throne where life is one perpetual song, and where our Savior has declared there is no night. But the dark thought oppresses me that there are many here who, if they were called to die tonight, would have a songless death. I will just mention a circumstance that has deeply impressed me, and I pray to God that it may strike home to some hearts. It was just last Friday that I went, at the request of some dear relatives, to see an aged man who was evidently near the eternal shore. On my asking him if he thought he was ready for the great change, his only answer was, "Don’t worry me now about these things." I said to him, "Will you but allow me to pray with you?" He replied, "You may if you like." But before I had uttered two or three words, he stopped me again, saying he did not want to be worried; but if I liked, I might come and see him on the morrow. Alas, at half-past seven that morning he was a corpse! There was no song in that night. May the Lord save you all, and bring you all as sinners to a simple trust in Jesus crucified. And when we pass through that last night on earth, and as we are passing through the varied nights I have feebly attempted to describe — may we all find, to our heart’s rejoicing, Him who gives songs in the night. May the Lord add His blessing for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 51: S. SWEET SLEEP ======================================================================== Sweet Sleep Archibald G. Brown, March 14th, 1869, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Our friend Lazarus sleeps." John 11:11 Sorrow had visited yonder cottage in the village of Bethany, for the beloved brother Lazarus had been stricken with sickness. His two sisters, Mary and Martha by name, loved him well — but they knew also that they were not the only ones by whom their brother was beloved; so they sent word immediately to Jesus saying, "Lord, behold, he whom you love is sick!" John 11:3. We would have supposed that as soon as such a message reached our Divine Master, he would have hurried to Bethany, and with loving hand arrested the sickness in its course. But no, "his ways are not as our ways, nor his thoughts as our thoughts," for when he heard the tale of grief "he stayed two days in the same place." What weary days those must have been to the weeping sisters. I can imagine I hear Mary saying, "I am sure he does love him," and Martha answering, "I know he does," and they looked one on the other, while their hearts asked the question their lips refused to utter. "If he loves him, then why does he so delay?" And now their brother grows worse rapidly, and it is evident to them, the end is near. The last breath is drawn, the last sigh heaved, the eyes become glazed, and mournfully they say, "He is gone!" The grave receives the much loved dust, and all hope is extinguished in the sisters’ breasts. But where is Jesus? Has he forgotten his friend? Is he ignorant of all that has passed? No, he is only waiting to be gracious, for he is now saying to his disciples, "Our friend Lazarus sleeps; but I go that I may awake him out of sleep." On the road he is met first by one sister, and then by the other; the language of both was the same: "Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died." This was their belief — but it was our Lord’s purpose that his friend should taste of death, that no support should be forthcoming before the end had been reached; for he had determined to glorify himself, not in checking a disease — which might be attributed by the multitude to merely human skill in medicine — but in raising the dead to life, the prerogative of God alone. It is our purpose this evening to dwell upon the words of our Lord to his disciples, "Our friend Lazarus sleeps." We will also take the liberty of leaving out the word "Lazarus," as it is true of all and every saint that dies, that he only sleeps. As a church we have just suffered a great loss in the death of our beloved brother George Starling. One of the holiest of our number has been struck down. One of the beloved of the Lord has been removed from earth to Heaven. Our friend George Starling sleeps. But before we look at the text as specially applicable to him, let us by God’s help meditate on a few of the sweet things suggested by its words. We have first — a sweet relationship declared, "Our friend." Secondly — a solemn fact suggested, Christ’s friends die. Thirdly — a cheering description given, "Our friend sleeps." I. We have then in this evening’s text, A Sweet Relationship Declared, "Our friend." Behold here a wondrous condescension. Our Lord does not turn to his disciples and say, "Your friend sleeps," but he places himself side by side with them in their affection and he says, "Our friend." I confess that when in my study I read this verse slowly over, I dwelt with greatest joy on this word — lingered over it, and found that the more I did so, the sweeter it became. It seems to me to teach so sweetly, the blessed fact that Jesus is one with his people. It is equal to him saying, "Do you love him? So do I. Do you reckon Lazarus among your friends? So do I too. I am one with you in your griefs, one with you in your joys, and one with you in your friendships also." Now as to many present here tonight who are believers in the Lord Jesus, I would say, "Beloved, you occupy this position. You are the friends of Jesus, and he willingly owns you as such." Let us for a few minutes meditate upon the friendship Christ has to his children, and in doing so I would notice first, it is a real one. There is too much of superficial friendship abroad; plenty of the lip — but little of the heart. This is an age of shams; and among them, the most hideous of the lot, is that of miscalled friendship. I am afraid the friendships of the present day are more numerous — but less real than those of some years back. But the friendship that exists between Christ and his disciples is not one only of words: words of love he speaks, ’tis true, and sweet words they are — but their chief sweetness lies in the fact that every word of his lip has its deep echo in his heart. It is also a friendship that is heartily reciprocated by the saint. In the love of a saint to his Savior, there is a blessed reality. Whoever else he may not love with all his heart, his Savior he must. Whatever else he may be in doubt about, he cannot doubt the fact that he loves Jesus. With Peter he cries, "You know all things, you know that I love you!" John 21:17 In this friendship, there are no secrets kept on either side. The old saying runs "whisperers separate chief friends;" but in close friendship nothing is hidden; so whispers have nothing to reveal. When Jesus says to anyone, "my friend," he declares a friendship that ignores all secret-keeping, for "the secret of the Lord is with those who fear him." Psalms 25:14. He tells them the secrets of his love, the secrets of his sufferings for them, the secrets of the glory he has laid up for them. The sweet work of sanctification is learning about Jesus, and it is the Spirit’s mission to take of the things of Christ and reveal them to us. So it is with us who are his beloved; we cannot even if we would, and we would not if we could, hide anything from him. If there is a secret sin in the heart, if there is a fall in the life, O bear me witness, saints of God, there is no peace for us until, like the woman of old, we have "told him all." Mark 5:33. Heavy burdens roll off the soul, and sweet ease flows into it by telling Jesus everything. Are we bowed down by sorrow, or sore pressed by affliction? We can only find relief in the same way the early disciples did: "they went and told Jesus." Matthew 14:12. And oh, how sweet it is in silent moments just to tell him that in the secret depths of our heart, we love him. That is true communion, when Christ tells his secrets to his disciples — and the disciples in return confide their all to him. Jesus shows his friendship by helping in time of need. You may think, my hearer, that you have many friends willing to help you; doubtless you have, as you are not now in need of any help. But wait until you require it, and you will find the only time to count how many friends you have, is when you need them; and then generally it is no difficult matter to count them because of their multitude. Doubtless in the crowd here tonight there are some hearts which know the bitterness of finding out that those whom they supposed would be most firm and true in the hour of trial, become as nothing. "A friend in need, is a friend indeed." And when Jesus says of anyone "my friend," he shows his friendship by a thousand loving proofs. Never is Christ’s friendship so sweetly shown, as when we need it the most. Moreover, if a person says to me, "my friend," I naturally expect he will show his friendship by calling in to see me. Just so, sweet are the love visits that Jesus pays to his friends. How can they be described? Have you not thought at times, perhaps when depressed or in sickness, "surely such a one will call on me and help to wile away the tedium of the day." What a thrill of joy you experienced when the well-known knock sounded, and the familiar voice and step were heard upon the stairs. But the sweetest knock I know of, is that of Him who says to his church, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any man hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and sup with him, and he with me." Revelation 3:20. Yes, Jesus calls on his friends; he comes to them in their loneliness; and when no one else is near, he talks so sweetly that the time flies, and we are compelled to say, "It is good to be alone with no one else but you." Like the disciples journeying to Emmaus, we forget the distance while he talks with us by the way, and makes our hearts burn within us. That disciple will little know the sweets of the religion of Jesus, who seldom knows what it is to hear his Lord’s knock, and who seldom sups with his beloved in closest fellowship. Jesus is never ashamed of his friends. Once he has said, "my friend," he never retracts the sentence. There are many butterfly friends fluttering around us all. They are seen in the summer of prosperity — but conspicuous by their absence in the winter of adversity. When the sun shone on you, you could hardly count them for their number; but when matters changed with you, you could hardly count them at all. Once you went out, and everybody seemed to know you; but now if you walk along the street your old acquaintances all seem to be stricken with a sudden short-sightedness; you are brushed passed by the very ones who used to be the foremost in greeting you. Most of them would be ashamed to be seen walking with you for half a mile; such, alas! are some of the paltry friendships of this world. But if Jesus says, "My friend," he will stand by me in times of poverty as well as wealth. He will stand by me when the world derides, and when all others forsake. He is "a friend that sticks closer than a brother." Proverbs 18:24 One more thought before I close this first point, and that is the friendship of Jesus lasts forever. The sweeter the friendship — the more terrible the blow that severs it. But severed it must be at last. Where are many of our friendships on earth now? Who among us cannot look back and recall to memory well-loved faces that have been hidden from our eyes for years, and will remain so until the trumpet of the resurrection morning. In the experience of some, the holiest tie on earth has been snapped. "Until death do us part" has become a reality, and the memory of a happy past is all that now remains of marriage love. Parents have seen their rosebuds wither in the home — and bosom friends have been torn away by the ruthless hand of death. I have little doubt that in tonight’s congregation, a thousand broken friendships are represented. But the friendship that exists between Jesus and his beloved one can never be broken. Let my soul but hear him say, "my friend;" let him but whisper in my ear that I am among the happy number he calls his friends — then let come what may, in sickness and pain, he will stand by my side and only come nearer as my body grows weaker. In the last struggle, when I gasp for every breath, when earth with all its glitter recedes; when the clammy sweat stands in beaded drops upon my brow, even then, although deaf to all other sounds, my ear will hear his sweet voice say, "My friend, my friend!" And when death has conquered, and only cold clay remains, then will those loving lips declare "our friend sleeps," for "precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of the righteous." Psalms 116:15 Surely then we may say that in this evening’s text we have a sweet relationship acknowledged: "Our friend." II. In the second place and more briefly, we have A solemn fact suggested. Christ’s friends die. The friendship of Christ does not exempt from death. This death-reaper spares none. Death does not ask whether the shock of corn is ripe for glory — or is as yet green, and unprepared for the sickle. He does not ask whether his victim is a child of God — or one of the world’s devotees. This mower does not hold back his scythe because the one who comes before his sweep happens to be one of the chief supports of the church, or one of its brightest members. Death’s arm is not paralyzed because yonder one is a friend of Jesus. All alike are laid low — the friend, and the foe of the Savior; the lily of the valley — and the thistle of the wilderness; the prepared and the unready. Sin must have its punishment. The seed will bring forth its black fruit; and though in the believer sin is pardoned, yet it remains ingrained in his very nature. With but two exceptions, all the friends of Christ since the time of Abel downward, have had to die, and "Ten thousand to their endless home This solemn moment fly; And we are to the margin come, And we expect to die." Christ permits his friends to die, in order to make manifest how completely he has conquered death. Suppose that instead of tasting death, all of Christ’s friends were like Enoch translated into glory; might not death boast and say "Aha, they dare not meet me in the field. Their Lord is afraid to put his conquest to the test. ’Tis easy for them to say ’O death, where is your sting?’ For they have never met me foot to foot in my own dark valley. ’Tis easy for them to assume the victory when they have been spared the fight." Now the Lord will not have death so triumph, and therefore he declares, "My friends shall meet you, proud conqueror; in single combat they shall one by one make you bite the dust! Before my very weakest child, your boasted terrors shall fail — a thousand songs of triumph shall be sung by quivering lips; your absolute defeat shall be declared by every friend of mine that dies." Yes, friends of Jesus, unless your Lord comes again and receives you to his arms — die you must, to be another witness to his conquest over the last enemy. Another reason why the friends of Jesus die, is that they may be brought into conformity with their Lord. It may seem strange to some of your ears — but I believe there are many here who would rather prefer to die than otherwise, in order that in everything they might be conformed to their Master. Doubtless, it will be an honor to be one of those upon the earth when Jesus comes, and "be caught up... to meet him in the air, and so be forever with the Lord;" 1 Thessalonians 4:17. But I take it to be a higher honor to die; to be conformed to Jesus in his death; to follow him to the grave. Certainly they will have precedence at the day of the Lord’s second coming; for it is those who sleep in Jesus that shall rise first, and then afterwards those who are alive and remain shall be caught up. That Christ’s friends die is certain, for "our fathers, where are they?" Zechariah 1:5. Abraham, "the friend of God," was gathered to his people, and his dust deposited in the cave of Macpelah. Isaac and Jacob, and Daniel, and all the prophets have sunk into the grave; and the beloved disciple, who leaned his head on the Savior’s bosom, had to die. Are there not hundreds here this evening who have but to look at the family record in the old Bible to see the names of Jesus’ friends who have long since fallen asleep in their Savior’s arms? Christ’s friends may moreover be called to die very painful death. How general is the fallacy that an easy death is the sign of grace. How common the expression, "I am sure he is happy now, for he died very quietly." No greater mistake can be made than to suppose the nature of the death, is any indication of the state of the soul. Some of the most worldly die without any bands in their death; while on the other hand some of the most godly die the hardest deaths, accompanied with the most acute agony the human frame can bear. Christ’s apostles were favored with no easy deaths. Peter was crucified. James and Paul beheaded. And of the rest, scarcely one escaped martyrdom. How about the noble army of martyrs? Do you not think that Christ loved them, even when wrapped in flames? What was it that sustained the poor wretch upon the wreck — but the loving voice of Jesus whispering in his ear, "my friend." The case of our departed friend George Starling is a striking proof of the fact that Christ’s friends may die painful death. I have seen scores of deaths, and stood by the death-bed of many a child of God and friend of Jesus — but I do not think I ever saw a more painful journey through the valley. I cannot remember ever having seen a sterner fight with death right up to the very last moment; and yet when our Savior looked down into that quiet ward in the Hospital, and beheld our brother convulsed with pain, he said, "Our friend, George Starling!" III. We have in this text, a very cheering description. "Our friend sleeps." Not our friend is dead. How sweet is this description of death, and yet not more sweet than true. Those verses you sang just before the sermon were not only sweet poetry but precious truth. "It is not death to die, To leave this weary road, And ’midst the brotherhood on high, To be at home with God. It is not death to close The eye long dimmed by tears, And wake in glorious repose To spend eternal years! Jesus, O prince of life! Your chosen cannot die; Like You, they conquer in the strife, To reign with You on high!" How pleasant is the idea of sleep. Let us try, and for a few minutes carry out the metaphor. To sleep, there must be a place to rest. The weary tramp stretches himself upon the grass. The City Arab curls himself upon the step. The man of wealth reclines upon the downy bed. Where do Jesus’ loved ones rest? Their bodies slumber in the tomb — but the emancipated soul is enfolded in his loving arms and on his warm bosom. In sleep, there is a rest from pain. Have you not, when sitting by the sick bed, thanked God when sleep has closed the eyelids of the sufferer? The brow that was knitted with pain becomes smoothed; the hands clenched in agony relax; the groans are hushed. For a time pain is a forgotten thing. "Our friend sleeps." There is rest from pain in death. When I received the telegram on Friday night, saying that our brother Starling was gone (for he died only a few moments after I left him) I could only say "thank God, the poor fellow is now free from his agony! The sufferer rests from his suffering." In sleep, there is a rest from care. You may have been worried and careworn all day long. A leaden weight has pressed upon your spirit and anxious foreboding has filled your heart. But now sleep takes you in its arms, the mental strain departs — care for awhile at least is banished. Just so, Jesus’ friends forget their sorrows, when they fall asleep in Him. Did you ever watch a child sob itself to sleep? I often have. The little one cries as if it would break its tiny heart, and the big tears roll down its little cheeks. By-and-by the sobs become less frequent, the last tear glistens in the eye, and now it sleeps. A smile plays round about the lips. The rainbow has followed the storm. Just so, God’s children often cry themselves to sleep — and awake in Heaven without a tear, for their God has wiped them all away. Sleeping implies waking. We only lay ourselves down to sleep with the view of awaking refreshed; and it is the expectation of waking, that distinguishes sleep from death. Jesus only permits his friends to sleep, because he can insure their waking. He gives his beloved sleep, and he will arouse them when the morning of the resurrection day begins to dawn. The loved ones most of us have sleeping in their quiet tombs, are watched by their heavenly Friend with a solicitude beyond a mother’s over a first born; and when he whispers in their ears, "Beloved, ’tis time for you to arise!" then the sleeping dust shall awake, beautiful, glorified, and with the dew of an eternal youth! And now I want, as I said at the commencement of the sermon, to insert the words "George Starling." Yes, our friend; and I know there is not one present who knew our brother, who will not claim the word, "Our friend George Starling sleeps." Most of you knew him, and all who did so must have loved him. I will not, this evening, pass a high flown eulogy upon him; there is no occasion for it, and I have but little sympathy with the practice. Nor am I preaching what is generally termed a funeral sermon; but I feel that when God permits us to witness a remarkable triumph over the last enemy, it is only right to give you the simple recital. Let me therefore, in a word or two, tell you a few facts about our sleeping friend. Our dear brother prayed for the last time in this place six weeks ago tomorrow. Many of you will remember the prayer. It happened that Monday evening that it was much laid upon my heart that there were some present more than usually depressed in spirit. On looking over those present to see who to call on to pray, my eye fell on our dear brother, and something said, "ask him." I did, and requested him especially to remember the disconsolate and sorrowful in his prayer. He told me in the hospital, that he hardly knew how to pray that night, for only that day the physician had told him that there was no hope for him. That prayer will never be forgotten by many of us. There was a peculiar pathos about it, and no wonder; for the poor fellow was praying for himself. Just after this he went down to Chatham, his native place, being desirous of speaking for Christ to some of his old friends there, before he was no more. He told me on his death-bed of the happy time he spent there; when too ill to stand, he sat in a chair and addressed those who used to listen to his words before he came to London. Shortly after his return from Chatham, he entered the hospital, and it was there he triumphed. When I went to see him he was in the most excruciating agony. I will not attempt to describe it; it would but harrow your feelings, and do no good. Suffice it to say it was the greatest pain the human frame could bear. I said to him, "Well, brother and how is it with you in your soul now?" He gasped out, "He is precious — precious. O, he is precious; I cannot tell you how precious." A few moments afterwards he added, "Dear Pastor. I only have one trial, and that is that my dear wife is not so happy as I am." For a moment or two I tried to rally him, and said, "perhaps you may be raised up again;" when, with a look that carried conviction with it he said, "Never; the Lord has told me I am going home!" and then turning to me he said at intervals in the most simple way, "Can you explain, Mr. Brown, how it is that I am so willing to die, for you know that I have every reason why I should desire to remain on earth? I am only twenty-six. I have a loving wife and a dear little girl, and everything to make me happy, and yet my desire is to depart. I really wish to die. Surely it is because I want to be with Christ which is far better." The nurse of the ward said to me, "if ever there was a good man in the hospital, he is one, and he is so grateful for everything. I am sure I never do any little act of kindness for him — but in spite of all his pain, the smile comes upon his lip." I thanked God for that testimony. A few days after, when sitting by his side, I talked to him of the joys of Heaven that were awaiting him; being unable to speak, he made signs for the slate to be given him, and slowly wrote "I have the pledge of Heaven within my heart already." The following day when there, I thought he was insensible, and I said to his wife, "What kind of a night has he passed?" She answered "a terrible one. He has been delirious most of its hours; but even in his delirium his thoughts have wandered to the best of things; for he has recovered his voice and sung a hymn right through." Our brother came around and said, "Did I really sing a hymn last night, darling? Which one was it?" She replied, "Jesus the very thought of Thee, With sweetness fills my breast; But sweeter far your face to see, And in your presence rest." I could not help asking to what tune he sang it. He, motioning to his wife not to speak, said "I think I know which one it must have been, for I am so fond of it. Was it not this?" And to my surprise, summoning all his strength, he commenced singing the sweet song. Looking to his wife, he said, "Was that not it?" And she answered, ’"Yes." At the close of this service we will sing this same hymn to the same tune. May the Lord help us to sing as sincerely as he did. Just before he died he said to me, "You know, Pastor, it was always my desire to enter the ministry and be devoted to the Lord’s work; but now I pray that I may be like Samson, and by my death slay more than by my life." It is in the hope that our brother’s prayer may be answered, that I have told these simple but touching facts. After the most intense agony, accompanied with joy truly astonishing, the Lord gave the sufferer rest on Friday evening. "Our friend, George Starling, sleeps." The Lord grant that when the summons comes to us, Jesus may say, "My friend;" and after death may it be truthfully recorded, "he only sleeps." The Lord grant it for his name sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 52: S. SYMPATHY OF JESUS! ======================================================================== Sympathy of Jesus! Archibald G. Brown, September 10th, 1871, Stepney Green Tabernacle "For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin." Hebrews 4:15 More than a year ago I endeavored to lead your thoughts to this same text. Then we meditated more particularly upon the words "high priest," and looked upon our Savior as filling that office. This morning I purpose dwelling upon the sympathy of Jesus as taught in the words, "Sympathize with our weaknesses." With an old text, we shall yet tread on entirely new ground. SYMPATHY! There is something in the very word that appeals to the heart and commands attention. If all do not possess it, nearly all are ready to sing its praises. Even in this fallen world, the hearts are few that will deny their tribute of commendation to this gentle attribute. It has many friends, and few foes. There may be, perhaps, and doubtless there is, a miserable little clique of dried up souls who affect to despise sympathy as something too effeminate for them. They never give it because it is not in them — and they never receive it for the same reason. But these are a minority so insignificant that a bare mention of their existence is almost more than they might expect. The great mass of mankind, however fallen and hardened in sin, still has a soft place left for the charms of sympathy. There may perhaps be something selfish in the matter. Man knows that changes are so sudden, and almost as certain as sudden — that the one who is upon the top of the wheel today, may be at the bottom tomorrow. The probability therefore of himself needing sympathy, suggests the exhibition of it to others. But after deducting the selfish element, there yet remains a vast fellow-feeling in mankind — a latent sympathy, often smouldering, which only needs the breath of sorrow to make it leap into flame. It has been well said that, "Though the lower animals have feeling, they have no fellow-feeling; it belongs only to man to weep with those who weep, and by sympathy, to divide another’s sorrows and double another’s joys." I have read that the wounded stag sheds tears as its life blood flows fast upon the purple heather — but never that its pangs and agonies drew tears from its fellows in the herd. That finer touch of sympathy belongs to man alone. Sympathy is the echo that a heart gives to another’s cry of anguish. But a few weeks ago I was in the land of mountains, crags, and rocks, and there, at different well-selected spots, I heard the blast of the Swiss horn. Grand were the echoes as they rolled among the mountain gorges, giving every snowy peak a voice, and every pine-clad hill a tongue. It was marvelous to have the sound that first came from our very feet, flung back upon our ears from distant ranges that looked like the embodiment of silence. But more musical by far, because it is more heavenly, is the response given by a heart touched with the feeling of another’s grief, and that grief is the grief of one who has no legal claim on its sympathy. Well might the poet sing: "No radiant pearl, which crested Fortune wears, No gem that twinkling hangs from Beauty’s ears; Not the bright stars, which Night’s blue arch adorn; Nor rising Sun, that gilds the spring Morn; Shine with such luster as the Tear that flows Down virtue’s manly cheek for other’s woes." Yes, clearer than the pearl — more lustrous than a thousand gems — more cheering than the stars that light the night — and more radiant than the sun that makes the day — is the sympathy that feels and weeps and helps. But let it be remembered, the best of human sympathy is but human sympathy at best. To see sympathy in all its exquisite perfections of tenderness, we have to turn . . . from man — to his Maker; from the saint — to his Savior; from earth — to Heaven. This is what we desire to do this morning. In His great compassion, may our Lord help our meditations. In dwelling upon the sympathy of Jesus, we will gather our thoughts into three divisions as follows: It flows through knowledge. It is prompted by His nature. It is deepened by His experience. I. The Sympathy of Jesus flows through knowledge. Ten thousand springs of earthly sympathy are sealed through ignorance. Bad though the world is, I yet believe that half of what is put down as lack of sympathy might be more correctly described as lack of knowledge. Not one tenth of the mass of misery existing, comes before our eyes; and therefore what the eye does not see — the heart does not grieve; and ignorance seals the springs of generous feeling which would otherwise gush forth. Let me show you what I mean by an illustration. In yonder room there is a happy mother surrounded by three or four healthy romping children. It does my heart good to hear their merry ringing laughter, and watch their innocent but ceaseless play. The mother’s eye lights up with natural pride, and yielding to the impulse of her heart, she joins her laugh with theirs, and takes her part in the merry games. Evening comes, and one little darling after another falls to sleep, soothed by the quiet lullaby she sings. Happy, happy sight. Who would for a moment have it otherwise? But come with me into the adjacent house, into the bedroom that is only separated from the one I have described by a four inch wall. There is a mother there — but what a contrast to the other. Her face is wan and pale, her eyes deep sunk and red with weeping; yet through them her whole soul seems to look forth in an intensity of anguish. She is sitting with hands clasped by the side of a little bed on which, as white as the pillow on which his little head rests, lies her only boy, and he is dying fast. He fights for breath and throws his poor little arms about, while the death rattle sounds in his throat. Yes, he is dying, her only boy. The only one left her on earth after her husband’s death. Dying, and with him are her hopes and expectations of a future happier than the past. It is hard to realize, and harder still to bear. The very thought of the blank his loss will make, convulses her with grief, as unclasping her hands she holds her burning brow, and the big tears roll down upon the coverlet. Yes, her boy is dying, and no one seems to care about it. Hark! What is that? It is the shout of the children in the next house, as they romp and play. Their laughter drives the dagger to its hilt! For them to be laughing — and him gasping his last. The contrast is too great. Night comes on, and the dying lad’s face looks more ghastly still in the light of a single candle. And now the first mother’s voice is heard singing her evening song next door. It is more than the poor crushed heart can bear, and she murmurs, "Why does she sing now? It is too unkind!" Wait poor soul; it is no lack of sympathy, only a lack of knowledge. Had that happy mother known it was your dark hour, she would in a moment have hushed the laughter of her children and, stopping her own song, she would have blended her tears with yours. The wall that admits the sound, shuts out the sight. Do you see that sailor’s wife as she tosses her child in motherly glee, and laughs as the sun glints upon the waters? Poor soul, she little thinks that her husband is fighting for dear life in the waves at that very moment. Or to come nearer home — as you walked to the house of God this morning in company with your friend, you chatted about a dozen different things. To hurt his feelings was furthest from your thoughts — and yet through ignorance of his history and present position, you gashed his heart a thousand times! You did not notice the shudder that ran through his frame when you spoke of so and so being in financial difficulties, and suggested it could not be long before he went completely bankrupt. No, you thought he was rather silent and so talked faster to try and cheer him — not knowing that on the morrow the secret of his own bankruptcy will be known, and his difficulties will be discussed in every business circle. If you had but known it, you would rather have had your tongue plucked out by the roots, than to have uttered the words you did. The fault, if there was any, was not in the heart — but in the head. It is perhaps a great mercy that but little of the sorrow which is in the world comes under our notice; as it is, there is sufficient to make the heart ache, and test to the utmost our powers of help. But to see it ALL would (if we had any sensitivity of soul) "touch" the spirit so constantly and deeply that life would lose all charm, and every place would become a Bochim — a Valley of weeping! Child of God, the sympathy of your Savior is never lacking through lack of knowledge. There is no wall of separation, however thin, that hides from His eyes the sorrow within your soul. Jesus knows the every care of every saint. Think for a moment what that means. Looking round upon the great company here this morning, the thought must come to every mind, what a collection of cares has been brought within these walls. There is not one heart present that does not contribute to the multitude, for "every heart knows its own bitterness," and in many cases what a number of bitternesses are crowded into one small heart! Surely there is not one home, that has its representative here, however humble or affluent, that does not also have its skeleton — hidden perhaps from most, and draped with forced smiles. Yet there it remains, casting its shadow upon the hearth, and ploughing deep furrows upon the parent’s brow. But what are we, among the hosts that love the Lord? A mere drop in the ocean. And every saint in the myriad multitude has his own peculiar cares. If the company of saints is vast, what must be the number of their cares when every heart contributes its thousand? Innumerable indeed! Yet Jesus knows the every single care of every child of His! Not one need exclaim in despair "my way is hidden from my God." Sympathy is not withheld from any through ignorance of his need. All is known and all is felt by Him we love, and by Whom we are loved. Poor troubled one, you may venture near. You cannot tell Him anything that He did not know long before. Are you trying to carry your cares in your own bosom? Like the Spartan youth who stole a fox and hid it in his coat — are you letting it eat its way into your very vitals, rather than have it discovered? For pity’s sake, forbear! It is care untold and unbosomed that fills our madhouses and digs ten-thousand graves! Go cast yourselves upon the sympathy of Him who not only reads the sorrow of the face — but the deeper anguish of the heart. So much then for our first point. May the Lord give us all the comfort that is to be gleaned from the thought that the sympathy of Jesus is one that flows through knowledge. "Anxious cares and heavy woes Oft agitate my breast; And no balm on earth that grows Can give my spirit rest. But midst worlds that lean on Thee, You have gentle thoughts for me." II. The Sympathy of Jesus is Prompted by His Nature. In my previous division I have only supposed a lack of sympathy, owing to a lack of knowledge — but now I have to go further and say that with some, to know is not to be touched — to see is not to sympathize. Some natures are hard from their birth. No one can recollect them being anything else than stern, harsh, cold, unlovable, and unloving characters. In boyhood their games had no charm, unless spiced with a little cruelty to somebody or something; and now that they are grown up, they are little better. They can dissect misery and discuss it, and blame the steps that led to it; in fact they can do anything except feel for it and help it. They may perhaps be just and upright men — but that something which draws the unhappy to itself, and makes the miserable feel he can confide his sorrows in its ears — is utterly lacking in their constitution. They are more machines than men, and it is a difficult matter believe that they actually have hearts that beat. Others, although not naturally hard, have become steeled by selfishness. In their early days, selfishness became a besetting sin, and instead of at once flinging the accursed thing aside — they pandered to it until like a hideous serpent, it flung its coils around them, securing them hand and foot. Far within there is a heart that sometimes feels — but it has no power left to yield to any generous impulse. They are encased and encrusted in themselves! Doubtless many of you have, as did the speaker, visited the Dripping Well in Yorkshire. The drops as they fall on anything turn it gradually to stone. Hanging above your heads are stone nests, in whose soft beds the mother bird once watched her brood. There are stone handkerchiefs, stone sponges — everything is stone — however soft and flexible it might originally have been. That dripping well petrifies all that comes beneath its influence. Such is a selfishness indulged. It turns the softest heart to stone. Some grow callous by often witnessing scenes of suffering and grief. To live constantly amidst scenes of trial will be sure to produce one of two results: either it will intensify tenfold the compassionate feelings of the heart — or it will breed a stolid indifference. With many it is the former. With others it is the latter, and after a time they can look unmoved on spectacles of grief that would formerly have harrowed every feeling of the soul. Solitary cases of misery are lost in the general. Others become hardened by enduring trouble themselves. As in the former case, so it is in this: bearing trouble will either make the heart more sympathetic — or far less so. Trials will prove our greatest blessings, or our deepest curses. I hardly know a sadder sight than the man devoid of compassion for others because he was hardened by his own troubles. Thus, dear friends, you see that from different causes there are some who, although they know, still fail to feel the griefs of others. Hearts that give no echo to the cry for help — natures that take no more impress than the granite rock or icy glacier. Now blessed be His holy name, with Jesus — to know is to be touched. If His knowledge cuts the channel — His nature at the same moment fills it with the stream of compassionate love. Would you know what Jesus is? Then you have but to find out what Jesus was. Learn the latter, and you know the present, for He is the same yesterday, and today, and forever. In this blessed book we have some sweet photographs of the deep compassion ever dwelling in the heart of our Lord. There is one little sentence often occurring in the gospels that seems to me to give a beautiful insight into the workings of Jesus’ heart. It is "moved with compassion." Kindly turn with me to just one or two references. The first you will find in Matthew 9:36, "When He saw the multitudes, He was moved with compassion for them, because they were weary and scattered, like sheep having no shepherd." In the same gospel, Matthew 14:14, you will read, "Jesus went forth and saw a great multitude, and was moved with compassion towards them, and He healed their sick." Again we find the same thing in Mark, Mark 1:45 — but here not in reference to a multitude — but to one poor leper: "A leper came to Him, beseeching Him, and kneeling down to Him, and saying to Him: if you will, you can make me clean. Jesus, moved with compassion, put out His hand and touched him, and says to him, I will — be clean." How exquisite is that expression, "moved with compassion." He not only felt it — but He was moved by it. All the manhood and deity of our Savior was agitated by a sight of need or misery. His heart was moved, and then a moved heart moved His hand, for he healed the sick and touched the leper. One day our Savior was wending His way towards the city of Nain, and as he approached the gates, a sad procession met Him. It was a funeral. A young man stricken down in the prime of life was being carried out to be buried. There were many following the corpse — but among them one who in a moment became the object of our Lord’s attention. It was the mother of the young man, and she was a widow. With a heart bursting with anguish, she follows the body of her only boy. "And when the Lord saw her, He had compassion on her, and said to her, Do not weep." He stops the funeral march, and with a word calls back to life the only son, and then with a thoughtful tenderness the evangelist did well to record, "He delivered him to his mother." O loving heart, how quickly touched by a widow’s woes!! Later on the news is brought to Him that the friend He loved was sick, and now the friend was dead. Now mark that although Jesus knew what He was going to do, although He saw the raised Lazarus in his sisters’ arms — yet the present sorrow, however brief, touched in a moment that tender heart, and "Jesus wept!" John 11:35. He could not keep from being one in the sorrow of His people, however transient He knew that sorrow would be. Yet once again. With bleeding back and thorn-crowned brow, He is being hurried to the place of execution. There are cruel shouts of hatred and brutal blows. Surely if ever there was a time when a heart might be expected to be wholly engrossed with its own anguish, it was then. But hark! His quick ears have caught the sound of some women’s sobs, and turning to them in that hour of darkness and death, His compassionate heart forgets itself as He exclaims, "Do not weep not for me — but weep for yourselves." Luke 23:28. The future sorrows of others were more to Him than His own present griefs. That is what he WAS. Believer, He is just the same NOW. No selfishness has steeled the loving spirit, no gazing upon scenes of sorrow has made that compassionate heart grow callous. Still it is true, "In all our afflictions, He is afflicted." He who was moved with compassion at the sight of a hungry and disease-stricken multitude — He who had all the sympathy of His nature roused by the sight of a stricken widow — He who mingled His tears with the tears of two bereaved sisters — He abides the same now. Christ is no unmoved spectator of our trials — but, "Though now ascended up on high, He bends on earth, a brother’s eye; Partaker of the human name, He knows the frailty of our frame. In every pang that rends the heart, The man of sorrows had a part; He sympathizes in our grief, And to the sufferer sends relief." III. The Sympathy of Jesus is deepened by Experience. This is very beautifully taught in the closing sentence of the verse, "But he has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin." There can, after all, be but little true sympathy, however loving the heart — where there has been no similar experience. It is the widow who knows best how to speak words of comfort to the one from whose side an affectionate husband has been torn. It is the man who has himself passed through the agonies of a financial difficulty, that knows best how to cheer the one who, after every desperate effort to retrieve his fortune — yet finds himself bankrupt step by step. It is in the school of experience that the language of sympathy is best taught. How precious is the thought, dear friends, that He who sees all, and He who has a heart to feel all — has also Himself passed through all. Christ’s knowledge of our trials is not a theoretical one — but an experiential one. He knows what the weight of a burden is, by having carried it. He knows what anguish means, by having endured it. Unlike the surgeon who only knows what suffering means, by having seen it in his walks through the wards of the hospital — Christ knows what it is by having "Himself suffered." Beloved, whatever may be your trial this morning, your Savior passed through it before you. However rough the road you tread, Christ’s feet have been lacerated by its broken stones before. What is your trouble? Is it poverty? Does need weary you, and privation perplex you? Remember that He said "the foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests — but the Son of man has nowhere to lay His head." Is it depression? Does a heavy weight hang on the spirit? Is the sky above your head of one dull leaden hue? If so, I can pity you indeed. There is nothing harder to bear than that languor of heart that paralyzes the arm, stupefies the brain, and plunges into sore amazement. Yet of Him we read, "He began to be deeply distressed and troubled. ’My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death!’ And being in anguish, He prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground!" Is your trial temptation? Is Satan letting his fiery arrows fly at you in a veritable cloud? Are you saying "I shall one day fall by the hand of my enemy!" He was "Tempted by the devil forty days and forty nights." O mark that lone man, as in the dreary wilderness He encounters with His single arm, all the powers of darkness. "But spotless, innocent and pure The great Redeemer stood, While Satan’s fiery darts He bore, And did resist to blood." "But," I can imagine another saying, "My trial is of a different kind. I am suffering from the betrayal of my friends. Just now, when I need them most, I look in vain to find them. When I was prosperous I had so many friends I could hardly count them; but now that I am in difficulties, it is still harder to reckon them, only from a different cause — they have all gone." Your case is hard indeed, dear friend; but remember, it is recorded of your Savior’s friends, that in the moment of His extremity "They all forsook Him and fled." But from yonder corner of the sanctuary there comes a voice saying, "My case is worst of all. I have not merely lost my friend — but the one in whom I most confided. The very one with whom I walked in company to the house of God, has basely betrayed me. I carried a viper in my breast — and for my kindness, he has stung me with his poisonous fang!" Sad indeed; but Jesus said, "He who dips his hand with Me in the dish shall betray Me!" It was the one who sat next to Christ, and shared the dish with Him, that afterward sold Him for thirty pieces of silver! Some of us doubtless know what it is to be burdened with the cares of others in addition to our own. So it was with our Savior; for what was the first thing the disciples did with their own sorrows? "They went and told Jesus!" It is a fountain of consolation, to know that Jesus sees our sorrows — it is sweeter still to believe that He is touched at the sight — it is sweetest of all to remember that He has felt them all Himself. Believer, concerning all your sorrows and difficulties, Jesus can say "I have tried them!" What should be the effect upon us of this sympathy of Jesus? Surely we have it in the verse following our text. "Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need." May the Lord command His blessing upon the word for His Name’s sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 53: S. THIS GOD IS OUR GOD ======================================================================== This God Our God! Archibald Brown, East London Tabernacle ,July 12, 1896 "For this God is our God forever and ever. He will be our guide even unto death!" Psalms 48:14 "You shall guide me with your counsel, and afterward receive me to glory!" Psalms 73:24 "This God is our God." This God who has such boundless power, who works such a glorious deliverance, who is known in the palaces of Jerusalem for a refuge — this God is our God, and will be our guide even unto death. And then, speaking in Psalms 73:1-28, Asaph puts the finishing touch to this blessed statement. Not only will this God be our guide unto death, but afterward he will receive us to glory! There are three things which I want you to look at: We have, first, the glorious fact that this God is our God. Then we have the very safe prophecy that this God will be ours forever, and will be our guide unto death. Then, as the third point, we have the crowning mercy, and this we get from our second text. It is that God will not stop short with guiding us unto death, but that afterward he will receive us into his glory. I. Let us look at the Glorious Fact That this God is Our God. The text does not say that "a God" is our God, nor does it say that "the God of the heavens" is our God. The declaration is very emphatic. It is "this God;" that is, as Delitzsch renders it in his admirable version of the Psalms, "such an one"; such a God as has been portrayed in the previous verses of the psalm; the God that has been set forth all the way through Psalms 48:1-14. "This God is our God." If the Holy Spirit will but help me this morning, I shall be able to show you that the word "this" is not the least word in the text. It is not an unmeaning little appendage. Everything lies in it. If I am to know how wealthy I am, it is necessary for me to know, not only that God is mine, but what kind of God my God is. I will, therefore, ask you to concentrate your thoughts upon the word "this." "This God is our God." It is evidently necessary that we should look into the psalm in order to see what is intended by the word "this." The very first verse gives you the clue: "Great is the Lord;" and then our text says, "this God", that is, this great God. The idea is that we have in our God, no mere local deity. He is not a second-rate God. He is no manufactured idol which, like the gods of the heathen, has to be carried by his worshipers. He is the great God. The men and the women of Ephesus went mad for many hours, and in their madness they ceased not to cry, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians"; but their foolish cry at last died out to their own confusion. But God’s people are able, not in frenzy, but in much soberness and truth, to declare, "Great is the God of his people!" He is great in himself. I confess that I never feel so utterly swamped, and so powerless to set forth in language even the thoughts that are in my own mind, as when the theme of my discourse is God himself. You may speak — I was going to say, with comparative ease — about the attributes of God, and about what God has done — but who of us knows who God is or what God is? Are there any frontiers to the greatness of our God? "Great is the Lord." How far goes the boundary? How great is he? That he is great in his power and his wisdom, all nature declares. I do not need a Bible to tell me that there is a God of infinite majesty. "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows his handiwork"; and I am persuaded that a little knowledge of astronomy would do untold good to all God’s children. I believe that, through our very ignorance of the heavens above us, we have a cramped idea of God. He becomes a sort of parochial deity; for, after all, what is this solar system? We may talk of the sun which walks forth in his brightness, and we may speak of this system of which our earth forms part — but, after all, what is it? Have you ever marked that sentence in Genesis, "And he made the stars also?" What an "also"! We know that each star is itself a sun, and that our sun which blazes every day is only one of millions, and though, up to the present time, no telescope has been able to discover the fact, yet in all probability every star that we see is a sun which is the center of a system of its own. And, when we have swept the entire Heaven with our telescopes, let us remember that we have, in all probability, only just seen the fringe of creation. How far space goes, and how far space is filled up with countless suns more glorious than that which shines overhead, and how many myriads of systems there are revolving in space, God only knows, though I hope to have an idea by and by when I get into the glory. Let our thoughts fly a little way beyond this limited solar system, and be lost for a moment among the myriad suns, those points of light which are known to us as stars, and let us remember that, in consequence of the greatness of God’s power, not one of them fails, and then we shall see that great is the Lord our God. He is great in his power, for he upholds all things; and he is great in his wisdom, for he hangs the heavens upon nothing. Oh, the depth of wisdom by which God has balanced one world against another, so that, by his own law of gravitation, worlds help to uphold each other, and, being hung in space, they revolve round about him. In presence of that starry host our spirits cry, "Great is the Lord in power and in wisdom, and this God is our God forever and ever!" And yet, when I talk about God being great in power and in wisdom, I only say the least that can be said of him, for revelation declares that he is great in CHARACTER. Nature proves that he is great in power; but come to this Word where God has been pleased to reveal himself, and what do we find in that? We discover God to be as infinitely sublime in character as he is great in power and wisdom. "Holy, holy, holy" is the cry of revelation. The infinitely glorious God is as full of love to his people, as he is full of power to uphold the stars. And this God is our God. And not only is he great in character, but he is great also in all his OFFICES. As manifested in Christ Jesus, oh how he fills out and expands every office. Is he a Savior? I read that he is "a great one." Is he a Shepherd? He is "the great Shepherd of the sheep." Is he a Priest? He is "our great High Priest." Oh, our God is no little deity! All majesty dwells in him. "Great is the Lord", thunders out Psalms 48:1, "And this God is our God", says Psalms 48:14. What a wonderful psalm this is, if we merely take the beginning and the end of it and link them together. "Great is the Lord", is the shout of Psalms 48:1. "This God is our God", is the declaration of Psalms 48:14. And then God is not only great. The word discovers more than that, for you will see in Psalms 48:3 that he is a God who is known and proved to be a REFUGE. "God is known in her palaces for a refuge"; and this God who is known as a refuge is our God. If time sufficed, I would like to call up an array of witnesses, and turn this platform into a witness-box so that you might listen to their testimony. Is God known as a refuge? That is the question which has to be decided, and you have to give the verdict this morning. Is God known as a refuge? Let the witnesses come. I can see hoary-headed old Noah coming forth to bear his testimony: "I trusted God, and, though a world was drowned, he rescued me." Is God known as a refuge? And the old patriarch Abraham says, "I proved him to be so. I had my hand upon the knife while my boy was on the altar, and in that dread moment God delivered me, and a new name was coined, and I called him Jehovah-Jireh, the Lord will provide." Do you not think that David would come tripping to the witness-box and say, "I know God for a refuge. He delivered me from the paw of the lion, and from the hug of the bear; and he delivered me from the might of Goliath!" And I am sure that Daniel would not be left out. He would say, "I know that I can bear a good witness. I went into a den of lions, and not one of them even breathed his hot breath upon me to discomfort me. I rested as sweetly that night as ever, because God was my refuge." "Oh", you say, "that is very old history." Come along, then, my friend. Come out of that pew, and stand on the platform here yourself. Come and bear your testimony. Have you known God as a refuge? You have heard others say that he is. Have you ever proved him so? If I were to put it to the vote, I believe that every child of God who is here would be ready to spring to his feet and say, "I bear testimony that God is known by his people as a refuge." And this God who is so known is "our God forever and ever." You will see in Psalms 48:9 that, this God is a God of LOVING-KINDNESS. "We have thought of your loving-kindness, O God." "Loving-kindness" is about the most lovely word in the Bible. It is a mixture of two things, both of which are sweet — love and kindness; and when you blend them together you get loving-kindness. I have sometimes received kindness which was not particularly loving, and which on that account lost half its beauty; and I have met some people who were very loving, but they had not an opportunity to show their love in any practical kindness. But when we get love and kindness mingled, when the kindness has been shown in love, and when the love has manifested itself in kindness — then we have the acme of all that is blessed. Our God, great in nature, power, and wisdom, and great as a refuge, is a God who is known by his loving-kindness. And, once more, he is One who is PRAISED as universally as he is known. That is a big thing which is said in Psalms 48:10 : "According to your name, O God, so is your praise." And here let me acknowledge again that I have been utterly lost in my theme. Do you catch the thought? "According to your name, O God, so is your praise." I had been looking upon this fallen world, and I felt so disappointed. It seemed to me that it was such a barren bit of ground, and that my Lord reaped such a poor harvest of praise from it, that I almost felt sorry for him. I thought, "Lord, for one that loves you on this earth, it seems that there are a hundred that are indifferent to you." But I looked at this text, "According to your name, O God, so is your praise", and my thoughts went up among those worlds on high. Is not God praised everywhere? Why, after all, what a drop in the bucket are all the inhabitants of this earth put together. How many myriads of angels are there, think you? And they all praise him. And who am I that I should think that the poor little world in which I happen to dwell is the only world that is inhabited? I have not a doubt that in every point of light in the heavens there are unfallen beings who bless and praise their Maker. I rejoice to think that, perhaps, the atoning sacrifice which redeemed one little world keeps myriads of systems from falling, and that through boundless ages their praises will ascend unto God. "According to your name, O God, so is your praise." And — can we believe it — "this God", who is hymned by pure, bright spirits, of whom we know nothing, and who is worshiped and adored by the inhabitants of a million worlds, "is our God forever and ever!" There is not a landowner in England who can say concerning the fields which he calls his own, that they are his for ever. No, Mr Landowner. You cannot say concerning your farms or your fields, "These are mine forever and ever." Why, my dear sir, perhaps you will be buried in one of those fields before long. The king cannot say concerning his crown, "This crown is my crown for ever and ever." After it has made his head ache enough, it will give a headache to his son, and then it will be passed on again. Business man, you cannot say concerning your business, "This is mine forever." You think that it is yours, and you look at that shop, and you say, "That is mine." But for how long will it be yours? There is not a Christian business man here who can say concerning his business what he can say concerning his God. Is not this astonishing? I felt amazed when I thought that I was able to say more concerning my God, than I am able to say concerning my own child. I am able to say concerning my God more than I able to say concerning my own home or anything that I possess. "This God is our God forever and ever." He is our God "forever", and, as if that were not emphatic enough, the Holy Spirit adds, "and ever." It is not fiction; it is not rhapsody; it is a splendid fact. God is the portion of his people forever. There are two passages in the Scripture which ought never to be separated: One is, "The Lord’s portion is His people." Deuteronomy 32:9. And the other passage is this, "The Lord is my portion, says my soul." Lamentations 3:24 God and my soul possess each other. God finds his portion in His people — and His people find their portion in God. This God is mine, in all His glorious perfection. His heart is mine, for He loves me. His ear is mine, for I may pour into it all my tales of sorrow and all my songs of joy. His eyes are mine, for they watch me from morning until night. His hand is mine, for it is stretched out to uphold me. Oh, He is a God of infinite glory. Abased in the very dust, and half bewildered by the thought, I yet dare to look up, and say, "This God is my God forever and ever. He will be my guide even unto death!" Psalms 48:14 The Lord help us to receive this blessed fact. It is not a dream; it is not a metaphor; it is not a poem. It is true of us all as we are gathered here, if only we are believers. This God is our God. II. We have also here A VERY SAFE PROPHECY. It is that this God who is ours, "will be our guide even unto death." "Our guide." Then we are a pilgrim company. The wealth of the believer is not discernible. As I look at you from this platform, if I did not know your life and your history, I could never guess which was the lost sinner and which was the saved saint. One looks quite as respectable as another. I will defy anybody to pick out God’s saints by their external surroundings. Indeed, often God’s choicest saints are earth’s poorest sons. Very often God’s most choice children are earth’s sickliest, weakest, humblest, and most despised ones. The men who can lay their hands upon this psalm, and say, "This God is my God" are but a poor pilgrim host, and they need guidance. Do you grasp the wonderful thought that is contained here? This God, this great all-glorious Lord, this God that is being sung of by a myriad worlds today, takes his place as our guide, and he says, "I will go before you as I went before Israel. I will mark out your path, and I will lead you along it." How does he guide us? You will now see why we have added to the first part of our text the words taken from Psalms 73:1-28. Those words are very humbling, but they are very instructive. "You shall guide me with your counsel." But who is the one whom God is willing to guide? Now read from Psalms 73:22 : "So foolish was I." Well, I think that a great many of us can say that. That just suits me. I feel that I am among God’s foolish ones. And what are the next words? "And ignorant." Yes, and that word also describes me with remarkable correctness. I am conscious that I am both foolish and ignorant. The man who says this of himself is the man who says that he is going to be guided. But he is not done yet. He says, "I was as a beast before you." You must not call anybody else a beast, but if you like to call yourself one, you are at full liberty to do so, and you have given yourself rather a complimentary title, for, in many respects, we are all even lower than the beasts. No man of God who knows anything at all about himself will hesitate to say, "I was as a beast before you." And what does he mean by that? I was as short-sighted as a beast. Just as an ox never looks back through the centuries that have passed, or troubles his bovine brain about the years that are to come, but is occupied with the grass that is at his mouth — so have I often been earth-occupied and short-sighted. I have been like a beast, stubborn and stupid, as if there were no starlit worlds overhead. I have been as a beast before you; and yet, though I was so foolish and so ignorant, and though I have often been so beast-like, "nevertheless I am continually with you. You have held me by your right hand. You shall guide me with your counsel, and afterward receive me to glory." III. Let us pause for a moment here. This leads us up to THE CROWNING MERCY. Our first text only says that God will be our guide unto death, and does not go beyond that goal. A dear brother who is worshiping with us this morning gave me this text. He said to me, "Has it ever struck you that it is very singular that God should guide anybody unto death?" It does seem strange, does it not? I know very well that the primary meaning there is a reference to time, and that it indicates that God will guide me all my life until I die; but that does not alter the fact that God guides us unto death. We would have thought that it would have been that God so guides us that we should escape death. But no, it is God guiding us unto death. Even the divine leading affords no escape from death. That is a penalty which I have to pay. Wherever there is sin, there must be death. Ah, but, if God guides me unto death, I do not think that I need be afraid to die. If God takes me by the hand and leads me, though it be up to that last monster, I will not be afraid. If God guides me even into the sepulcher, I need not shrink back. Death loses its gloom, and the terrors of death depart, the moment that we realize that God guides us unto death. But dear Andrew Bonar, no mean scholar, points out that instead of the word "unto" it should be "over" or "beyond." "This God is our God forever and ever. He will be our guide even over death." He does not bid me good-bye at the dying moment. He does not guide me into the river, and say, "Now you must swim that bit for yourself." He does not guide me into the dying crisis, and say, "Now that I have brought you up thus far, you must scramble through the remaining hours alone." He will guide me over or beyond death. And what then? Then Asaph in Psalms 73:1-28 finishes it: "And afterward, after he has guided me up to death, and after he has guided me over death, he then will receive me to glory!" "This God!" Imagine this God receiving me to glory. Can you take in the idea? This God that we have seen to be so majestic all the way through the psalm — this God is going to receive me. But my text says that he is guiding me. How can a guide receive me? Have you never read in the New Testament that he shall present us unto himself? That is just what he is doing. God in the Trinity of his persons is guiding me by the Holy Spirit along that blessed way consecrated by the Lord Jesus; and Jesus is going to pass me over unto the Father, a redeemed soul, and this glorious God will receive me! He will receive me into glory at the hands of his own dear Son. All God’s receptions are welcomes. This is more than can be said of earth’s receptions. I sometimes have a card sent me — I suppose by way of compliment — for admission to some reception that is given in connection with religious or social work. I confess that I am afraid of these receptions. I have been to one or two, but I have got so thoroughly frozen that I have steered clear of such refrigerators ever since. If there is anything which is a deception, it is what is called a reception; and, if there is anything that does not receive you, it is that which by form and title professes to do so. The Lord Mayor, perhaps, and a few aldermen in big cloaks and golden chains are there to meet you, and your name is shouted out at the door, and somebody bows, and so you are "received." A beautiful reception that is! That is not how God is going to receive us. The eternal Jehovah — I say it with reverence — the eternal Jehovah, with a face beaming with delight, will say to me in that day, "Welcome, welcome, purchase of the blood of my Son! Welcome, trophy of the blessed Spirit’s power! Welcome in!" And I, astonished, shall say, "Where, Lord?" and he will say, "Into glory. Welcome into the glory!" That is what lies in the "afterward." Are you going home depressed? Then ask the Lord to take this morning’s text, and to lodge it in the very center of your being, and you shall sing, "This glorious God, this great Lord, is mine. He is my own forever and ever. He will be my God unto and beyond death, and after that he will receive me into glory!" ======================================================================== CHAPTER 54: S. UNGODLY AND THEIR END ======================================================================== Ungodly and Their End Archibald G. Brown, October 11, 1874, East London Tabernacle "The ungodly are not so — but are like the chaff which the wind drives away. Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous." Psalms 1:4-5 Everything shows up best by contrast, and the most startling effects are those produced by suddenly bringing opposites side by side. The artist knows this, and therefore seeks to throw just that particular background into his picture which shall make the leading figures of that picture come out most distinctly, and appear to best advantage. The musician knows it, and therefore, studies to intermingle the most plaintive strains with clarion notes. And the preacher ought to know it. Be it his to employ the power or contrasts in setting forth the word of God before his hearers. If he is wise he will endeavor to make the darkness of perdition cause the brightness of Heaven to appear all the more lustrous. He will seek to make the blackness of Hell grow gloomier by the force of its contrast with the glory of the saved. It is well, every now and then, to put side by side these things which so differ — the state of the saved with the condition of the unsaved — the glory of being with Christ, with the horror of being with the damned. Now, you will see that in the psalm from which we have selected this evening’s text, we have one of these sudden and striking contrasts introduced. The first few verses are most calm — there is a peculiar serenity about them; they are gentle as ’a pastoral symphony’. It seems to us as though David were like a shepherd in the field as he sings, concerning the godly, ’He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither, and whatever he does shall prosper — the ungodly are not so’! Sudden change; it is like a flash of lightning glaring before your eyes, when there has been no solitary sign of the brewing of a storm. All in a moment, yes, with the rapidity of a storm in the tropical regions, the quietest of calms is broken into, and the roar of the tempest heard. One moment we see a tree growing by a river’s side, its roots well watered, its leaves never withering. We think we can hear the music of the brook as it runs by, and we are just ready to say, ’What an exquisite scene of loveliness!’ when without a warning, there is brought before our eyes, not a tree — but dry chaff being swept out of the barn door by a very hurricane, whirled up, and carried out of sight! ’And’, says the psalmist, ’that is just what the ungodly are like, for the ungodly are not so as I have described the godly — but they are like the chaff which the wind drives away.’ May God, dear friends, in his great mercy apply this truth to you who are yet without Christ. He is our witness that our only desire is to try and move some of you who have been stolidly indifferent up to the present moment. Our only wish is that many of you who are going to Hell asleep, may be woken up. And though, doubtless, some are already saying, ’We wish the pastor had chosen a different kind of text today’, we trust and believe that it shall be proved by God that it is of his selection. Let us first of all, try and find out the characters intended in our text; secondly, we will listen to the description that is given of them; and thirdly, we will remind you of their end. I. First of all, let us find out the CHARACTERS intended. The ungodly — who are they? I know full well who are uppermost in your minds. I no sooner mentioned the text, and spoke about the doom of the ungodly, than you began to think of the vile and the brutalized characters whose deeds of cruelty make up that shameful list of ’crimes of violence’ now appearing in our papers day by day. And side by side with them you doubtless thought of the drunkard, pouring down his throat the liquid fire to better qualify himself for the devil’s work. And you thought of brazen-faced harlotry and open immorality and of those who are steeped to the lips in sin — and of those who live, as they say ’for time, and let eternity look after itself’. These are the characters you pictured when we read the word ’ungodly’. Well, you are right, they are ungodly. But I am certain that all I have mentioned fail to compose one-tenth part of those who are legitimately to be included in the catalogue of the ungodly. Remember this, that a man may be ungodly, without being any of the characters that I have mentioned. An ungodly man is simply a man who tries to get through the world without God. The word is plain enough in its meaning; it is not necessary for a man’s life to be a shame and a disgrace, for him to be ungodly. It is not necessary for him to be steeped in all sorts of vice, in order to be without God. No; all he has to do to earn the title is to leave God out of his love. He may have love for wife and children, love for business, love for friends but as far as God is concerned, he has not an atom of affection. It may be said of his heart, that it is ungodly — there is no God enshrined in its love. He is ungodly, also, in his thoughts. Not ten, no, not two thoughts a day are consecrated unto God. His business, his every-day affairs — these things, he says, are quite enough to occupy him without his troubling his head about religion. Look into his character, and you will find that he is ungodly in every part of his life. Inspect all his motives, and you will find that he never does a thing for God’s sake. There is no fear of God before his eyes; there is no reverence for God within his heart. He may be gentle, amiable, moral, a good sort of man as far as this world’s goodness is concerned. He would be all right, if a man could be all right without God — but he belongs to the ungodly. I will go further, and venture to assert that a man may be most moral, and yet most ungodly. While vile immorality has slain its thousands; a godless morality has slain its tens of thousands! And for one that is dragged down to perdition by the mill-stone of vice, there are hundreds who are taken in the meshes of the net of a Christless virtue. A man may be honest in all his transactions, pure in his language, chaste in his thoughts, an honorable man in all his business dealings — just the very one you would like to trade with — his word may be his bond, and all his actions fair — and yet come under the designation of ungodly. It is with him, simply morality, skin deep; there has been nothing of regeneration within, without which it is impossible for a man to enter into the kingdom. We will go one step further, and say that a man may be most religiously active, and yet be ungodly. I can conceive of a man being a most talented preacher — and yet being ungodly. It may be that he has a natural liking and gift for speaking, and he may, perhaps, take a very great deal of interest in the increase of a denomination and the outward mechanism of a church — but for all that he is totally devoid of the life of God within his soul. It is possible for a man to be an enthusiast in committee work — to be a constant worker in the outward details of church life — yes to be a very bigot in maintaining a creed, and yet be ungodly. Oh, pass the question round, I pray you, you who have made profession of the Lord Jesus Christ for years. Have you got something more than the mere name to live? Are you yet — (oh, can it be?) — ungodly, though a professing Christian — ungodly though once immersed in the name of Christ — ungodly, though your life is almost a pattern for the very best of Christians? The question is, have you God or not? For my text is not about the immoral, the profane, or the criminal — but about those who, whatever else they have, possess not God. II. Now, listen to the DESCRIPTION given of them. What are these ungodly ones like? Well, you will find that they are the very opposite of all that a godly man is. You have simply to take the picture of the saved man, and then, after every particular, write, ’The ungodly are NOT so.’ I think it were difficult to find a more solemn or more dreadful description of the ungodly man, than given by this short negative sentence. There is not a thing you can say about a godly man, as such — but what you can add, ’The ungodly are not so.’ Let us see, then, what is taught in the passage. Look at the first word of this psalm. It is a grand one for an introduction — a word full of all comfort. It is that word ’blessed.’ What a precious preface to the description of the child of God! It stands like a herald in the forefront. The Christian is ’blessed’ — but ’the ungodly are not so’. The godly man is blessed every way. His person is — I care not how plain, how unattractive, or even how deformed he may be. It matters not how poor or threadbare the clothing that covers him. Wherever he goes, round about him — but unseen by the worldlings, there is this atmosphere of blessing. Being blessed himself; he carries a blessing with him. It never departs. Whether he is awake or asleep, resting on him, as dew upon the grass in early morning, is the blessing of God that makes rich. It abides on all his provisions, whether it be the stalled ox — or the dry crust. The godly cannot partake of a solitary meal but that they have the Lord’s blessing resting on their fare. Yes, more, they have God’s blessing even on their trials, taking all the sting out of them. But ’the ungodly are not so’. No blessing rests either on their persons, their provisions, their homes, or their lives. Why, sirs, if you were to realize this fact, it would be enough to send you down on your knees in the pew at this moment, and cry to God, for his mercy’s sake, to make you one of the godly! ’The ungodly are not so.’ They live a life devoid of divine blessing. Their bodies may be healthy and pampered — but they are not blessed. They may be arrayed in purple and fine linen, as the rich man of old — and yet have no robe of blessing. They may have all that heart can wish — yet be unblessed. Their laugh is laughter under the curse of God. The levity of their speech, that runs like water from their lips — oh, what a mockery it seems! They are joking with the shadow of damnation over their heads, and they let fly their gibes and quips, and make furious merriment, while ’a sword’ — a sword is furbished, and it hangs suspended by a hair over their heads! The curse of God is out upon them, and upon all they have. Oh, do you say, that is a strong speech? It is not I who said it. These lips would never dare to make such an assertion, unless it were warranted by the divine word. Listen, ’Cursed is everyone that continues not in all things which are written in the book of the law to do them.’ And ’He who believes not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abides on him.’ Oh, dear friend, sad though it may be — it is true! If you are not a converted man or a converted woman, you are living with God’s curse like a black thunder cloud hanging over you, and it is only through his matchless mercy that the lightning has not flashed forth from it long before this, and struck you down to Hell! God is delaying his judgment, in order to lengthen out the time for mercy to be found. Yes, the godly are blessed; blessed when they fall asleep. All unconscious as they may be of their own existence, the angels watch their slumbers, for God gives to his beloved sleep. But ’the ungodly are not so’. Young man, will you dare to go to sleep tonight with God’s curse for your coverlet? Can you dare to enter into that strange world which is so near akin to death itself, with the thought that when you fall asleep you sleep not like the godly, for they rest beneath the blessing — and you beneath God’s execration. More than this, you will find, if you look into the psalm, that the godly are like trees planted. Here is the picture of a Christian. I care not whether he is high, low, rich, poor, sick, or well — in any case he is like a tree planted by the rivers of water; the roots of which are ever drinking in supplies of luxuriant life. A Christian is an evergreen — his joys in Christ last, though all his other pleasures be taken from him. But ’the ungodly are not so’. If you want to know what kind of trees they are, turn to the Epistle of Jude, and read Jude 1:12, and there you will find the contrast. ’Trees plucked up by the roots, twice dead, whose fruit withers.’ The ungodly have no root, and no one thanks them for the withering fruit they yield; an accursed fruit that only sets the children’s teeth on edge. Put the godly man into ever so trying circumstances, and he will triumph, for though the frosts may nip his boughs — his roots find nourishment from hidden springs. But, oh, poor godless soul, what have you to fly to when the winter of adversity grasps your every bough with icy hand? Nothing. For you are not as the godly. You see it were easy to talk a long time thus, showing you that no matter what may be said of the godly, it may be added, ’the ungodly are not so’. I will only mention two or three points, and I will thank God heartily if you who are unsaved are led to lay hold of them, and think them out at your leisure when you reach your homes. The godly are saved with an everlasting salvation — but ’the ungodly are not so’. They are unsaved, lost, dead even while they live; under sentence of damnation. The godly are forgiven — there is no charge against them on the Lord’s sheet. They have all their iniquities entirely blotted out — but ’the ungodly are not so’. Have you ever thought, dear friend, that there is not a solitary sin of your entire life yet forgiven? Oh, man, have you lived twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years, and is it true that not a solitary sin you have ever committed during all these years has been pardoned — but rests as an accumulated load upon your head tonight? Dreadful indeed is your condition, passing all description in its horror! And, thanks be unto the Lord, the godly are conquerors over death. They know they have to die just as much as the unsaved — but does that thought affright them? No, I think the temptation is more often the other way: they are sometimes in a hurry to depart and be with Christ. So far from fearing death, they look it in the face and say, ’When you are ready to take me — I am ready to go with you!’ But ’the ungodly are not so’. Do you doubt it? Answer me this question, sir, honestly, How would you feel if you had to die tonight? If the message came to you, ’Set your house in order, for before twelve o’clock this night you shall be gone!’ — how would you take the sentence? Tell the godly man that, and although he might shed some tears on leaving loved ones, he could receive the message without trepidation and say, ’I have a desire to depart, and to be with Christ, which is better by far!’ ’The ungodly are not so.’ There is their description. III. Now just for the few remaining moments I want to remind you of their END. May the Lord himself strike right home. What is to be the end of these ungodly ones? ’They shall be like the chaff which the wind drives away, for the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment.’ First of all, then, you see, there will be SEPARATION from the righteous. What is the chaff? The chaff is simply the husk that grows on the same stalk as the true grain. They have grown up together, the same sun has shone on both; the same rain has fallen on both. Nay, the husk has been the very cradle of the seed. But at last when the wheat has been reaped and the flail is brought down on it — the grain and the chaff are separated forever. Oh, there will be some fearful separations on that great day! Father, you know your daughter is a godly girl, and you have lived for her — you have literally been the husk round about her. How you have shielded her; how you have worked for her; and when you have felt weary and tired what comfort you have derived from the thought, ’Well, I am doing it for her.’ Yes, poor father — but with all that natural affection, you are only the husk while she is the grain, and the wind shall drive you away from her. There will be — unless sovereign grace saves you — an eternal separation! The wheat shall be gathered into the garner — and the chaff whirled into everlasting destruction! You young ones who are present, have you ever thought that you will have to be eternally absent from a godly mother — unless her Savior becomes yours? Young man, young woman present, you live, do you, for your mother? Well, I honor you for that, for no one can love a mother too well. Tell me, then, can you bear the thought of mother going to Heaven — and you to Hell? Can you endure the idea of never seeing her again when once death steps in? You may seek to cling to her — but you shall not be able, for you are like the chaff which the wind drives away. Oh, what separations there will be then! The Lord knows that sometimes this thought comes overpoweringly upon our own hearts on a Sunday night. We lie down to rest — but sleep flies, and in thought we see you again, gathered all around us as you are tonight; and from the bottom of our heart we cry, ’Lord, we love them all — may we meet them all in the glory?’ But I know that if many of you die as you are, I shall see you standing at the left hand, and I shall hear the sentence of banishment pronounced on you, and shall have to bear witness against you, and say ’Amen’ to your condemnation! We shall not be taken to Heaven in pews-full, or saved as gatherings. It is an individual matter, and though you may have worshiped here ever so regularly, yes, become closely linked with us — closely as the chaff is to the grain on the same stalk — the moment shall come when there shall be a final, an eternal separation, ’for the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment!’ Notice too how sweeping and irresistible the ruin. What can a feather-weight of chaff do against the rushing wind? You talk big swelling words now, do you, you, young man? You have had skeptical ideas put into your head. You are beginning to talk blasphemously against God and nurturing infidel thoughts within your mind. How soon will these be driven out of you in the day when he says to you, ’Depart from Me, all you workers of iniquity!’ Luke 13:27 What will your theories, your fallacies, your doubtings, your excuses, your bold sayings — be worth then? You may scoff and jeer in the tabernacle on a Sunday night — it does not need much courage to do that! But when once the Lion of Judah is roused, and you have to meet — not a dying Lamb but the angry Lamb — what will you say to him? Do you feel you are equally matched with omnipotence? Surely not! Then what will you do against the hurricane of Jehovah’s wrath? Just as much as chaff can do against the hurricane, and no more. ’The ungodly are not so; but are like the chaff which the wind drives away.’ WHEN? Why, in the judgment, for the ungodly ’shall not stand in the judgment’. Can you imagine that day, and the whole of tonight’s congregation, as but a drop in the ocean, gathered there? And now the testing time comes, and there sweeps by a wind more mighty than that which swept past the prophet of Horeb. That was an awful wind, for I read that when it swept by it rent the rocks; but in this great day there shall be a mightier wind than that. It shall come sweeping around the eternal throne, and everything that is not God-built shall be carried away in a moment. I wonder how our modern theologians will be then? Ah, sir, you who have talked about the ’universal fatherhood of God’ — deal with the hurricane now! You who have sneered at those who, as you said, ’preached damnation’. What have you to say about damnation now? You considered that God was too kind, and too loving, and too merciful ever to punish sinners. Where are your delicate ideas now? Oh, how your fine imaginations will be swept away, as if they had never been! How all these modern dreams will shrivel up before the hot blast of God’s angry, ’Depart into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels!’ And then with these imaginations shall go all excuses. You are a good hand at making them now; I know you could tell me in a minute a ’good’ reason for your not being a Christian. Either you have too much business, or you have too little; or you have not time enough to think about these things, or you mean to think about them soon. Yes, how about excuses in that day? How that great wind will catch them all from your lips, and before you have time to give God one of your paltry lies, you with them will be swept with the speed of a hurricane into endless perdition! There will be only one thing that will stand that mighty tempest, and that will be the soul that rests upon the rock, Christ Jesus. When all false props have gone — when all other dependencies have been swept away, then shall stand immovable the man who flew for refuge to the Savior. Even then, when the hurricane rends the rocks, and sweeps away the chaff these lines shall be found most gloriously true: Bold shall I stand in that great day, For who ought to my charge shall lay, While by that blood absolved I am, From sin’s tremendous curse and shame! The chaff is to be driven away. WHERE? Now, I beg you mark this answer. Do let the edge of it be removed by your saying — ’Oh, that is what Mr. Brown says!’ It is not. You ask me, do you, the question — ’WHERE is the chaff going?’ I will let Jesus Christ himself give you the answer. You will find it at your leisure in Matthew 3:12; and if, after this, any of you are damned — then I am clear of your blood. Where is the chaff going to? The answer is this: ’And he shall burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire!’ You may sneer at it, if you like, and you may reject, and may scoff, and go home and say — ’We had a brimstone sermon tonight.’ Say what you will — but remember that God has said — ’The chaff shall be burnt up with unquenchable fire!’ Oh, do you think that a heart that has got any feeling in it takes any delight in preaching these things? Do you think that it is any luxury to have to stand before a company like this and tell them that they will be eternally lost? Do you think it is any treat to our heart to have to talk these things? God is our witness, that it is the very reverse; but it is not for me to come here and tickle your ears week by week, and select that which I think may please you most. I tell you, if you are unconverted, you are among the ungodly — and at the last day you shall be carried away like the chaff, and be burnt up with unquenchable fire! And now, for your soul’s sake, flee from the wrath to come! If Hell is a reality — shun it. If Heaven be a reality — seek it. If God’s threatenings are true — fear them. If Christ’s invitations be genuine — accept them. And, as a sinner, cast yourself into the arms of him who is willing to save you tonight — but whose wrath you cannot bear. ’Today is the day of salvation. Now is the accepted time.’ Oh, get to Christ quickly, lest the storm break upon your path, and stop you! Get into the arms of the Savior tonight, lest tomorrow you should be with the chaff which the wind drives away to eternal perdition! May God in his mercy save you, every one, for Christ’s sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 55: S. UNTO HIM BE GLORY ======================================================================== Unto Him Be Glory Archibald G. Brown, January 1, 1888, East London Tabernacle "Unto him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end. Amen." Ephesians 3:21 Our text is the divine climax of a doxology which is itself the crown of the most stupendous prayer ever uttered even by that prince among pleaders, the Apostle Paul. Keeping your eye upon the passage, you will observe that from Ephesians 3:14 we are led upward as by an Alpine guide. We ascend from height to height, and the ever-growing glory of the view overawes and overwhelms us. At last we stand upon the dizzy eminence of Ephesians 3:19, ’Filled with all the fullness of God.’ From that altitude we look down upon the previous petitions as upon lower mountain ranges which are dwarfed now by the exceeding height on which we stand; and yet each one of those petitions, when viewed from the base of the prayer, seemed to tower above us like a Himalayan peak. Would you know the exceeding height of our text, it is necessary to go down into the valley, and allow this Alpine guide to take us up stage by stage. We commence at Ephesians 3:16, and he leads us up to the first range. ’That he would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man.’ O Paul, you have pioneered us to a wondrous position here! What fresh breezes blow over this mountain top, ’Strengthened with might by the Spirit in the inner man.’ What a view the soul gains from this elevation! But our guide points upwards, and mounts to a yet higher stage, ’That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith.’ He prays that I may know the habitual residence of Jesus Christ within my soul. I can now look down upon the first mountain range, though at the commencement of my ascent that seemed to be a dizzy height. But still the apostle says, ’Follow me higher yet: comprehending the breadth, and length, and depth, and height and knowing the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge.’ My guide has now taken me up into the blue ether itself. I feel that I am already in sky-land. Oh, the purity of the air that is breathed on this height, an apprehension of all the love of Christ to me, in its height, and depth, and length and breadth! While enraptured, I look around upon the out-spreading scene, he says, ’Higher yet!’ and he leads me to another range, which towers overhead — ’Filled with all the fullness of God!’ From this point all the other requests, each one of which seemed to be a mountain in itself, become dwarfed into lowly hills. But I see that there is still towering high above me one remaining peak, and it rears its majestic head so high that even the height on which I stand seems as nothing. It is that glittering peak of Ephesians 3:20. Shall we attempt its ascent? We may surely do so if Paul, as guide, will only lead the way. We start from ’Filled with all the fullness of God’, and we ascend to ’Now unto him that is able to do more than we ask.’ Ah, I have asked God that I might be filled with all the fullness, and now he is able to do more than I ask. But have I gained the summit? My guide says, ’No; up to a yet higher stage: able to do more than we ask or think.’ I can think more than I can ask, and God can do more than I can think. This is an majestic height — but still the apostle says, ’Up; you have not reached the summit yet, for he is able to do abundantly more than we ask or think.’ Oh, apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, is not this the topmost pinnacle — ’abundantly more than we ask or think’? ’NO’, he replies; ’there is a higher peak still. He is able to do exceeding abundantly — not only abundantly — but exceeding abundantly above what we ask or think.’ Is this the climax? ’No, there is one other pinnacle. He is able to do not only abundantly, and not only exceeding abundantly, more than we ask or think — but exceeding abundantly above all we ask or think. He is able to do not only above one or two thoughts — but above all my highest thoughts. Now we stand on the very topmost peak of this stupendous prayer — a prayer crowned by this doxology, and, standing on the heaven-high summit, we shout with the apostle, ’Unto him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end. Amen.’ We have selected Ephesians 3:21 as the motto for the church for 1888, because it contains . . . all that is worth living for, all that is worth laboring for, all that is worth suffering for, and all that is worth dying for. ’Unto him be glory.’ As the Lord lives, I know of nothing that is worthy of life with all its powers, life with all its activities, and life with all its sufferings, but this — ’Unto him be glory.’ He who lives for less than this, lives for that which is unworthy of his manhood and his God. Let us note, then, that we have here, first the melody: ’Unto him be glory.’ Then, the harp that is to sound it forth — the church. And then, the duration of its echoes. How long shall the strings vibrate this melody? ’Throughout all generations, world without end.’ And our soul adds, ’Amen.’ Let us, then, note that we have first the MELODY: ’Unto him be glory.’ Being a note of praise, it necessarily has ’him’ for its theme. Rapturous melody can only be employed concerning God. When the saint takes up his music book and begins to sing — when the soul inspired of God begins to pour out rapturous expressions of praise, there is no need to ask, ’Of whom does he sing?’ If a child of God praises, he must praise God, for God only deserves to be praised; and the saint feels that in the matter of adoration, he is shut up unto his God. The Miserere belongs unto us, for unto us belong shame and confusion of face, for we have sinned. But the Gloria in Excelsis of the child of God must have God himself for its theme. Believer, have you not often realized this? All song is taken out of your mouth unless God be the subject of it. Can you sing about yourself? Have you one high-sounding note for your own attainments? Have you one adoring sentence for your own achievements? Rather, do you not feel that, when you turn to yourself, the saddest dirge that music can convey is the most appropriate? But when the timbrels are taken up, and when the joyous notes of praise are heard, it ’goes without saying’ that it is unto him the praise ascends. All the birds of praise fly upwards. When they are allowed to escape from the cage of a saint’s mouth, they never wheel low to and fro over earth — but they always beat their way straight up at once — ’Unto him, unto him, unto him.’ Praise knows no other direction than an upward flight. For a moment give me your careful attention, and you will observe that it is absolutely necessary that the saint’s praise should be ’unto him’. If it were not so, he would be out of harmony with the whole of nature. Before man existed nature sang this song, though in a lower key. Before ever man raised his voice to God in adoration, nature broke the silence. There is a voice that goes forth even from inanimate creation, and it is ’unto him’, for ’the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows his handiwork. Day unto day utters speech.’ And the theme of the speech of nature is, ’Praise be unto him.’ With a splendid touch of poetry the psalmist says, ’Praise him, O stars of light’; and it needs no very vivid imagination to conceive the stars sending back the answer, ’David, you need not tell us to do that. We cannot do anything else. As we walk in our courses we celebrate him. There is not a point of light in God’s Heaven which does not glitter to his glory.’ In the Psalms again we are told that the trees of the forest clap their hands, and the hills rejoice and leap for very joy before the Lord. Old ocean is not silent. A deep spectrum of notes comes from her majestic mouth, for the waves roar out their doxology to him. Those thundering, foaming, rolling masses with their shaggy manes praise Jehovah. Were not the saint to have him as the matter of his song, he would be positively lower in his praise than nature. He would be a discordant string in God’s great harp. If he praises, it must be unto him. And yet, again, if the saint’s song were not unto him it would clash with the songs of Heaven. You know the songs which the angels sing. They gave earth a rehearsal on that first Christmas morning and their song awoke the echoes and made the welkin ring with ’Glory to God in the highest! On earth peace, good will to men.’ If I say not, ’Unto him be glory’, my song clashes with the melodies of the angels, for they know no glory but glory unto God. Seraphim and cherubim continually do cry, ’Holy, holy, holy, is Lord God Almighty.’ The redeemed raise their note, and what is that? Listen! ’Unto him.’ That is the key-note — ’Unto him who loved us and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and made us kings and priests unto God and his Father — unto him be glory.’ Yes, there is a sweet necessity that the melody of the saint’s song should be ’Unto him.’ Oh, may God give us such loving hearts, such consecrated souls, such sanctified tongues, that the note of our every-day life shall be, ’Unto him be the glory!’ There is the melody. Now, I want you very specially to note the HARP which is to sound forth this melody. ’Unto him be glory in the church.’ There is a very notable alteration in the Revised Version. I do not purpose dwelling on it — but I like in all things to be fair to the word of God, and therefore I remind you that this passage may be read, ’Unto him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus.’ Ah, yes, in him the glory of God is perfect. To carry out our metaphor, Jesus is the one perfect harp that sounds forth the glory of God, without one string being a fraction out of tune. Jesus is himself the chief singer in the glory, for we are told in the 22nd Psalm that he says, ’My praise shall be of you. In the midst of the congregation will I praise you.’ Jesus Christ praises the Father perfectly. But praise is to be in the church, as well as in Christ Jesus. Let me ask you this question: If God does not receive a tribute of glory from the church, where shall he look for it? If the church yields not a revenue of praise unto God, what harvest-field shall he reap? The world pays God no rent, no matter how he may lavish his kindness upon earth. The natural man gives him no return. There is a deep conspiracy on earth to withhold from the Lord of the Manor the glory due unto his holy name. But the redeemed of the Lord must not, cannot, remain silent. If our lips are silent, whose lips shall be vocal? The church is God’s family, and who shall speak well of the Father if not the sons and the daughters? Where can the Father expect to receive a tribute of praise, if not from the lips of his own children? To change the metaphor, is not the church his own vineyard? Does not he say concerning the church, ’A vineyard of red wine. I, the Lord, do keep it. I will water it every moment. Lest any hurt it I will keep it night and day’? He has dug about it, and walled it, and put up a tower in it. Has he not a right to seek fruit for his toil? If he finds none from his vineyard, shall he look to the desert for it? O church of God, your Lord and Master has a right to expect that his praise shall ring in sweetest strains from every string his grace has put in tune. Are you not his own blood-bought? If the church, which he has purchased with his blood, sings not ’Unto him be glory’ — then how guilty is the silence! The church is his temple, and every living stone in that temple may well shout, ’Glory unto him who has reared his sanctuary of stones cut out of nature’s quarry!’ As David sings in Psalms 29:1-11, ’And in his temple does every one speak of his glory’, or, as it is beautifully rendered in the Revised Version, ’In his temple everything says, Glory.’ But it is much easier to deal in generalities than to make a home application. My deepest wish, therefore, is to get as close as possible to your heart and my own, while I dwell, for a few moments, on the thought that, as part of the one church, we must raise the strain. We must see to it, beloved, that our portion of the church is not barren in this respect. What shall it profit us, that all the rest of the church raises the anthem, ’Unto him be glory’, if there be silence so far as the church in this Tabernacle is concerned? My soul longs with an unutterable longing that this should become the only one matter about which there is a jealousy in our borders — Who shall praise him most? Who shall sink lowest that he may be exalted? Oh, brothers and sisters, I beseech you as pastor, as friend, as brother, and, I trust, as teacher sent of God, to let everything else be reckoned by you as trivial and as unworthy of your thought and time, compared with this. Is God being glorified in our midst? Is there ascending unto him from the sanctuary a perpetual song of praise? I imagine for a moment that no member in the two thousand of us has any other ambition, any other wish, or any other aim, than this, ’Unto him be glory.’ Would it not be at once the death of all self-seeking? Oh what a revolution there would be! How all petty jealousies would die out before this one overmastering ambition! It would save us from all clashing one with another. Think of every member of this church aiming at nothing, caring for nothing, praying for nothing, and troubled about nothing — but that the Lord should be glorified in this church. I do not think that there would be then any fear of A running up against B’ or of C clashing with D’ or of D getting in the way of E. Like the seraphim Ezekiel saw, born in the fire-cloud and themselves a flame — we should each go straight forward. Where the Spirit was to go they went, and they turned not when they went. No clashing, no confusion, no hindering one another. They were all flying to one goal, which was the glory of their God. Oh, if the day might come when every member of this church should be eaten up with a passion for the glory of God in our midst, every little bickering would die, every scheme for self-exaltation would be swamped, and brother would grip brother’s hand and say, ’Let God alone be magnified.’ One would not say to the other, ’I think I have more right to that position than you have.’ No — but all would cry, ’Unto him be glory.’ The Lord hasten the day! How is God glorified in the church? The great honor of Israel was that the Lord made that nation the custodian of the oracles of God. When Paul asks the question, ’What advantage then has the Jew?’ he answers, ’Much every way, chiefly because that unto them were committed the oracles of God.’ The high privilege of the church of God today is the stewardship of the truth. Then, if I pray, ’Unto him be glory in the church’, I am virtually praying the Lord to maintain truth in the borders of the church; for, if the truth of God is not kept inviolate and held in sacred reverence, there is no glory in the church. If the day should ever come (which God forbid!) that there should be a gospel preached on this platform which has not a clear unmistakable blood-mark upon it — if the day should ever come in the which a reference to the word of God should not be considered by this church a satisfactory argument or proof — if the day should ever dawn in the which the word of God was tampered with and molded and altered, though this place might be filled as it is filled tonight, and though the world might say, ’Behold, a great success’ — yet ’Ichabod’ would be written upon its walls. Unto him be glory in the church by fidelity unto the truth. Yes, and the glory of God in the church lies also in the conversion of souls. He is more glorified in the conversion of a little boy, than in the creation of a world. It is impossible for me to pray honestly, ’Unto him be glory in the church’, unless I desire above everything that sinners should be saved. Fellow church-members, hold, with a grip that nothing can relax, the truth that no church is prosperous where conversions do not abound. If God is to be magnified and glorified in the church, there must be a constant succession of converts coming forward and saying, ’I am the Lord’s!’ Oh, if conversions are lacking, the glory of the church has departed! ’Unto him be glory.’ Yes, in the salvation of the drunkard. ’Unto him be glory.’ Yes, in the reclamation of the profligate. ’Unto him be glory.’ Yes in the tears of the penitent, in the sobs of the contrite, and in the fresh joy of the young convert. All this is included in the aspiration for God’s glory. ’Unto him be glory.’ Yes, by whatever instrumentality. We are not on right ground, brethren and sisters, unless we are prepared to say this. There is a tendency for us to put it thus: ’Unto him be glory by me in the church.’ Or, perhaps, loving and devoted church-members may be tempted to look towards the pastor, and say, ’Unto him be glory in the church by our pastor.’ No, no; there must be no restrictions. ’Unto him be glory by any instrumentality which the Lord may be pleased to use.’ Unto him be glory, whoever may be the chosen vessel. ’Unto him be glory’, whoever may be laid low. ’Unto him be glory’ at all cost, all hazard, all pain, all suffering, for his glory is cheap at any cost. I want you, brethren and sisters, before God to know no other ambition concerning the work of God in this Tabernacle than this. I pray you, forget yourselves; forget me. Let no loving association, or years of service, or bonds of affection that may have entwined about us, warp the prayer. It is, ’Unto him be glory.’ Lord, choose your own way, your own method, your own instrumentality. Put us aside, or bid us remain — but unto him be glory, and our soul shall be content. This I think is the very essence of Paul’s exclamation. In conclusion. How long are the echoes of this melody to last? Is it to be only during the evening of the first Sunday of a new year? Only to the end of a week or of a month? Listen: ’Unto him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus, throughout’ — as it should be literally rendered — ’all the generations of the age of the ages.’ Do you catch the thought? It is that this magnificent ascription, ’Unto him be glory’, is to go rolling on from generation to generation. It means that our children shall sing it when our lips are silent. It means that the son shall take up the song where the father broke it off. It means that the daughter shall continue the song at the note following that which died away on the mother’s lip. So shall it be from generation unto generation, until Jesus comes; and then unto him shall be glory in that day when he shall appear and his saints shall be caught up to meet him. In that day when the ransomed dust shall be quickened, and shall come out of its long imprisonment to enjoy the blessings of the first resurrection; in that day when he shall come to be admired in his saints and in all them that believe; in that day when with his iron rod he lays low all rebels and asserts his divine sovereignty; in that day when Heaven and earth is set on a blaze; in that day when there is a new Heaven and a new earth, the song shall still be ringing, ’Unto him be glory!’ In that day when he shall have delivered up unto the Father the key of government, in that eternal day that knows no change, rolling ceaselessly down the ages and gathering volume as it rolls, where shall still be heard the solemn anthem of tonight, ’Unto him be glory.’ Brethren and sisters, we have been singing tonight a song that is never to die out! This is a thought which makes my soul burn with joy. When we sang at the commencement of the service the glowing hymn, ’All hail the power of Jesus’ name’, we sang a song that shall never tone down into silence. When we sang just now, ’Come, saints, and adore Him, come bow at His feet’, we only sang the first bar of an anthem that is to roll on forever, throughout all ages, world without end. Do you marvel that the apostle said ’Amen’? Our hearts add their ’Amen’ to his. God grant that among the eternal choristers who maintain this undying song, there may be found all of you who are present in this Tabernacle this night, with your sons and your daughters, for Jesus’ sake! Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 56: S. WAY OF CAIN! ======================================================================== Way of Cain! Archibald G. Brown, February 12th, 1871,Stepney Green Tabernacle "Woe to them! For they have gone in the way of Cain!" Jude 1:11 It was no marvel that the heart of Eve rejoiced when a son was born to her. Now that the world teems with its multitudes — the first-born child is always hailed with wonder and delight. But with Eve there was exceeding cause for rejoicing. The child was not only her first-born — but the first-born in the world. In her arms was the first infant that ever smiled or wept. It was more to her than all creation. It was hers as nothing else had ever been. The mother’s love, latent until then, at once declared itself. That boy was her treasure! It was in him that she was to find her all, and so she names him Cain, or ’possession.’ Poor Eve! How soon were her joys diminished, her anticipations of perfect happiness in her possession blighted! The name she gave her second son is almost significant of disappointment. She called him Abel or ’vanity.’ Was it because she had already found that a mother’s experience was one of no unmingled bliss? Perhaps it was. At all events her first-born, her possession, never became what she, with a mother’s hope imagined, and with a mother’s faith predicted. Many good names are ill-bestowed. If all the names of the young men here this evening were but indicative of the history and character of those who bear them, there would be happier hearts and happier homes than are represented here. In these ranks of young men, what a number of Johns there must be. But, alas, the name gives us no assurance that he who bears it has ever with the beloved disciple laid his head upon the Savior’s bosom. Can all the Peters that are here say with the apostle, "having obtained like precious faith?" Are all the James here to be reckoned as Christ’s disciples? Have the Matthews that may be here, heard with the evangelist the voice of Jesus saying to them, "follow me!" The name by which we are called is no criterion of the nature we possess, and no true prophecy of the end that awaits us. Cain proved to be a possession — but a very different one to what his happy mother ever thought when, in the moment of maternal joy, she named him. His career was a dark one throughout. I would imagine from the few glimpses we have of his character, that he was from his boyhood, haughty, self-willed, proud, and desperately daring. His was a spirit that could brook no interference, and resented all questioning. Even when called to account by God, he makes a desperate effort to hurl a half-defiance in the face of his Creator! "Am I my brother’s keeper?" Genesis 4:9, is the language of bold, if despairing rebellion. The first-born child proved to be a murderer! Who can describe the horror of that scene? And who perhaps more horrified than Cain? In these days, death is commonplace. It surrounds us on every hand. There are remembrances of it visible in every congregation. We know that every moment, someone dies somewhere. Every day, by accident as well as by disease, men are changed to corpses! And as if death moves its scythe too slowly, man has come to its assistance and supplied it with new and devilish weapons of destruction. We have grown almost weary of hearing the oft-repeated tale of tens of thousands strewing the battlefields of Europe. A human corpse is no novelty now. But it was in the day of Cain, and it is no stretch of imagination to conceive the murderer standing by the bloody corpse aghast with horror and amazement. To quote from another, "It is scarcely to be imagined that Cain would have premeditated Abel’s death. If he did, it must have been like an invention to him. He knew indeed that man was to die, and he had seen animals dead; but it was open to question whether he even supposed man was liable to death by violence." Burning hatred — angry words — a fearful blow — and the deed was done! The first-born man became a murderer — and the second-born a martyr! Fleeing from the field of blood, he is met by his God. His hardened heart refuses repentance. He goes out "from the presence of the Lord," builds a city, and seeks in worldly pleasure to drown his remorse. It is a sad end to a joyful commencement. "Woe to those who go in the way of Cain." Some are perhaps saying "How does this apply to us? What have we to do with Cain?" I answer ’much.’ The way of Cain, although an old one, still remains popular. And as Jude holds it up here as a warning, we cannot be wrong in trying to find out what the Holy Spirit intends to teach by it, and to what practical purposes we can turn it. I will notice: first, that the way of Cain is the way of lost sinners in general; secondly, the way of Cain is the way of many professors. I. The way of Cain is the way of lost sinners in general. Here I must ask for your careful attention as I try and show WHAT THE WAY OF CAIN TRULY WAS. First it was a way of IGNORANCE. The whole of the wretchedness of his life, including the unnatural murder of his brother, may be traced to this source. He murdered his brother because he hated him; he hated him because his sacrifice was accepted by the Lord, while his own was rejected. His sacrifice was rejected because he offered the wrong offering upon the altar; he gave the wrong offering because he was ignorant of his own state before God, and ignorant of God’s requirements. He was willing to worship — but it must be a worship dictated by his taste — and not one in obedience to God’s will. Many greatly err in their judgment as to why Abel was accepted and Cain rejected. They try and find the reason in the men. Now there was no reason whatever in the men, why one should be accepted, and not the other. Both were sinners, both came from fallen parents, both were born outside of Paradise, both were devoid of any righteousness of their own. Yes, if anything in the men had been taken account of, Cain — on the ground of being the first-born — might have been most likely to have received favorable notice. Yet he was the one rejected. The truth is, dear friends, the difference was not in the men — but in their sacrifices. If you turn to Genesis 4:1-26, you will see that in both cases the men are linked with their offerings, "And the Lord had respect to Abel and to his offering; but to Cain and his offering he did not have respect." Genesis 4:4-5. What was the difference in the two sacrifices that secured the acceptance of one, and the rejection of the other? The answer to this question will bring before our notice the most important truth it is possible to imagine. It will also expose the most general mistake of the day. The two sacrifices were as follows, "Cain brought the fruit of the ground," "Abel brought the firstlings of his flock." In the worship of one there was blood; in the offering of the other there was none. Looked at from this standpoint, the two sacrifices were as far removed as the antipodes. The one was expressive of a religion based on atoning blood — and the other ignored atonement altogether. The curse that fell on man for sin also extended to the ground he was sent out to cultivate. "Cursed is the ground for your sake," were the words uttered by God to Adam. Now Cain, in his offering to the Lord, presented to Him that on which the curse already rested, and in which there was no blood. He was ignorant of the defilement of sin, and ignorant of the fact that as death was the penalty of sin, there must be the recognition of that fact made by him in his approach to God. Cain never took the place of a condemned sinner before the Lord — he never said by his sacrifice what Abel did, "I deserve to die!" The flowing blood on Abel’s altar was eloquent of his conviction of sin, and of his knowledge of his need of an atonement. The flowers and fruits that bedecked the altar of Cain, however lovely they might have been in themselves, made no such confession. They told perhaps of care and perseverance. They were the results of the sweat of his brow — but not the faith of his heart. They were beautiful, but bloodless. And the sinner has to rest in blood, and not in beauty. Ignorant of his own sinnership, and ignorant of God’s requirements, Cain offered a sacrifice incompatible with either. No doubt reason might find many excuses for Cain, and approve his offering. It might suggest that as he was a tiller of the ground, the most appropriate gift he could make was the fruit of that ground. But reason never did or can find its way to God, and the idea of giving to God is reason’s great mistake. The sacrifice was not for man to give to God — but for man to receive from God. It was not reason that led Abel to make the choice he did — but faith. "By faith Abel offered a more acceptable sacrifice than Cain." Hebrews 11:4. Faith sees far more clearly of the things of God, than the brightest reason. Now, the way of Cain is the way of the world now. It has no objection to an intellectual religion. It will willingly give its fruits and its flowers — but it refuses to simply receive through blood. To take the position of a death-deserving sinner, and receive pardon through the death of a substitute — is too humiliating for its pride. Whichever way you look now, even in the professing church of God — the religion of Cain is abounding. Multitudes of sermons are preached without one word in them about the necessity of blood for salvation. Sinners are told to do their best, and give to God from the fruit of their own hands — but they are never told that without blood, there is no remission of sin. Professors abound whom you never hear mention the blood of the atonement as the ground of their confidence. Cain’s religion is now the most respectable and popular religion of the day. It involves no abasement in the dust; no humiliating confession of sinnership; no absolute dependence out of self. It flatters man’s pride, exalts his reason, and just suits the carnal heart that wants a religion to make his respectability complete. Cain’s religion is the curse of the day! It drugs men into insensibility and indifference. If they had none, there would perhaps be more hope for them; for when sinners were appealed to, they would feel they were addressed. But as it is, they put themselves down as part of "the religious world," and perhaps a better name could hardly be found to describe them; for they have a religious worldliness — or if you prefer the title, a worldly religiousness. Before I pass on to the second description of Cain’s way, I want everyone present to test and try his own heart before the Lord. Do I have the religion of Cain, or of Abel? Am I resting on the Blood, or is my religion a bloodless one? Do I have only the external fashionable religion of the day, or am I among those who, taught by faith rather than reason, approach God through the medium of the atoning blood of Jesus? These questions may appear to many to be of little importance — but the day is fast coming when eternity will depend on the answer we are able to give to them. The polite superficial religion of the world, that acknowledges no sinnership and trusts no atoning blood of Jesus, will at last be rejected by the Lord, as was Cain’s sacrifice. My dear brother and fellow young man, if you are resting on anything that you are, or anything you can give — it is only because, like Cain, you are yet ignorant of your sinfulness, and dark as to what God requires. I can but mourn over you and say, "Woe to them! For they have gone in the way of Cain." I want now, by God’s help, to point out to you the second particular concerning the way of Cain, and that is, it is a way of worldliness. I have already said that shortly after the murder of his brother, God spoke to him. The words were surely sufficient to have struck conviction and terror into any heart less soft than a nether millstone. "Where is Abel your brother?" How this question must have rung in the ears of the guilty wretch, and brought up before his vision that ghastly form still lying in a pool of blood. "Where is he?" Dumbfounded by the directness of the question and convicted by an accusing conscience, he stammers out a lie: "I do not know," and then, growing bolder in his desperation, he retorts, "Am I my brother’s keeper?" Vain was the attempt however to keep up a bold front before Jehovah. The reply was a crushing one that bore down the impudence of the sinner. "The voice of your brother’s blood cries to me from the ground! And now you are cursed from the earth, which has opened her mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand; a fugitive and a vagabond you shall be in the earth." From recklessness he turns to despair, and groans out, "My punishment is greater than I can bear," or as it may be translated, "my iniquity is greater than may be forgiven." Is there no hope for him now? Will he not yet seek mercy through the blood? One passage in the commencement of Genesis 4:1-26 may be so translated as to teach that after the Lord had rejected Cain’s sacrifice, he yet pointed out to him the way by which he might find mercy. The passage "and if you do not do well, sin lies at the door," Genesis 4:7, may be translated, "and if you do not do well, a sin-offering lies at the door." In other words, God pointed out to him that there was a provision made for the pardon of sin. Convinced now of greatest crime, will Cain seek forgiveness through an offering for sin? Alas no! Hardened and despairing, he goes out from the presence of the Lord, builds a city, and seeks to drown his remorse in pleasure. He and his descendants busy themselves in trying to make this world a pleasant place of residence, and with the sound of the harp and the flute, the guilty man tries to drown the voice of his brother’s blood. This is the way of Cain. This is just what the vast majority of mankind is doing. It is trying in the business and pleasures of the city, to find its all — forget its God — and drown unpleasant thoughts. Guilty Cain, with all his energies devoted to the building of a city, away from the presence of God — is but a type of tens of thousands of the present day. Who can walk through our city in the daytime, and mark the haggard, anxious faces of the bustling throng without seeing that, to multitudes of them, this world is everything. They have no world apart from the mart, the exchange, the office, or the shop. Life to them means but a little time in which to scrape wealth together. They are busy building their own cities, and building them outside of the presence of the Lord. Go through the streets at night, and you will see the same thing in another form. Look at the crowds pouring into our operas, theaters, music halls, and worse! What do they teach? Why that the mass of mankind finds its joy away from the presence of the Lord, in its own city. Its pleasure is to get away from God, and all that could remind it of God; and the further away, the greater its pleasure! True, the blood that speaks better things than that of Abel has been shed upon this earth; but what does the world care about that? Speak to them of it, and they will laugh at you for being a fanatic — or else tell you not to spoil their pleasure by talking of such a dreary subject. The world — the world — the world — this is the way of Cain. Never mind the past — don’t trouble about the future — enjoy the present. Get rid of dull thoughts; and if ever a qualm of conscience does arise through the memory of the past, strangle it at once by some new mode of dissipation. But I can imagine some young man replying, "We must keep up with the times; we are living in a different age than the Puritans. This is a fast progressive age, the age of novelties, and you cannot expect us to be behind the times." Stop a moment, dear friend; the way of the times, as you call it, is a very old way; it dates back to the day of Cain! It is no novelty that you are indulging in. The first murderer set the fashion — and you are but keeping it. He went from the presence of the Lord to find his joy in a city — and you are acting the same. Dear young man, let me for a moment speak to you in all kindness as a young man myself. I do pity you with all my heart, dear friend; and it is only because this heart is so abominably hard, that I am not weeping. I pity you for this reason: burying yourself in this world’s pleasures does not remove the brand of Cain from your brow! Do you startle, and feel to see if there is a brand on your forehead? There is dear friend, although no one but God can read it. It reads thus, "Condemned already!" "He who does not believe," the scripture tells us, "is condemned already!" John 3:18. "The wrath of God abides on him." John 3:36. Cain may go from the Lord — but he carries his mark with him. He may build a city, and listen to the sound of the harp and the flute — but the music does not smooth the brand away. Dear friend, so it is with you. You cannot run away from your condemnation; it abides on you. You may forget it — but it is there all the same. I ask you in all candor, can a more pitiable object be imagined than the man who, with condemnation written on him, still spends his whole time seeking to forget it? Poor worldling, you who are living for earth and nothing else, and spending all your energies to make this world an agreeable and pleasing place of residence. Do listen to the text, "Woe to them, for they have gone in the way of Cain." Thirdly and lastly on this division of my subject, the way of Cain is the way to Hell. It is from no desire merely to try and frighten you, that I use these words. As God’s servant I am bound to tell you the whole truth, however unpalatable it may be. If I did not warn you in all faithfulness of the end of the way of Cain, I might hear addressed to me the solemn words, "Your brother’s blood cries to Me from the ground!" Besides which, how could the subject be complete without it? How is it possible to speak fully of any way, without telling where it leads to? The way of Cain is, I repeat, the way to Hell! No scripture sheds one gleam of hope upon the way of Cain. Direct reference is only made twice to him in the New Testament, and in both instances he is held up as a warning, and nothing else. The first you will find in the first epistle of John, the third chapter and twelfth verse, "Not as Cain who was of that wicked one;" and the second is found in our text and the verses following, "These" (that is those who are like Cain) "are spots in your feast — clouds without water; trees whose fruit withers — twice dead, plucked up by the roots; raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness forever." Thus you see no hope is even hinted at. The end of the way of Cain is blackness of darkness forever. Alas! how full of horror is the thought that the way of Cain has been trodden by thousands, and that perhaps numbers of those who have frequented this tabernacle have already discovered its bitter termination. My dear friend, if you have Cain’s religion — it is a bloodless one; and if you revel in Cain’s pleasures, and if you die like Cain — do not be surprised if you have Cain’s end! Cain’s religion can only result in Cain’s Hell. I do indeed pray to God with all my heart, that this warning may result in the salvation of some young men this night. II. One particular in Cain’s way, which is the way of many professors. I have been trying thus far to reach the hearts and consciences of sinners. I desire now for a few minutes to have words given to me that will wake to life the sleeping consciences of some of God’s people. I grant that Jude had no reference to the matter when he wrote our text; I only use the incident as an illustration. The particular in the way of Cain that I refer to now, was his indifference about his murdered brother. "Where is Abel your brother?" These were the words that arrested Cain’s attention. May they arrest yours. My dear friend, I am glad to see you here this evening — but where is your brother? Christian young men, where have you left your brethren this evening? Where are those who are related to you by ties of blood? Where are those bound to you by friendship? Where are those who are your brethren in daily labor — those who work with you in the office, shop, warehouse, or docks? Where is he? You are here singing God’s praise and listening to God’s Word — but where did you leave him? Is he in the sanctuary — or is he in the ale-house? Is he in Christ — or out of Christ? Is he saved — or unsaved? What is your brother’s condition in the sight of God? You profess to be a Christian, a follower of Jesus, one whose life is supposed to be a copy of Christ’s. You are one bearing the name of Him who, when surrounded by a rejoicing group, still wept when he looked down upon a guilty city and thought of its doom. Well then, as a Christian I ask you, "Where is your brother?" What answer do you give? Alas, in the way of Cain, I hear some of you reply, "I do not know!" Stop, sir! That answer will never do. I do not know! I think I see Cain as he utters the words. A burning blush crimsons his brow, and his downcast eyes and quivering face all give a lie to the assertion. He did know. Christian, such a miserable falsehood as Cain’s is unworthy of you. You feel it as you try to tell it. You do know where your brother is, and even if you were ignorant, your ignorance is a crime. You ought to know. Come, be bold, speak out the truth, even though it condemns you. Do you still hesitate? Then I will answer for you. Like Cain, you have left your brother in his blood. His soul is dead even if his body lives. In his blood — yes, that is where your brother lies tonight. O strange, unaccountable, inexcusable indifference! All the while you have been here listening about Cain, the thought of a brother in his blood has never crossed your mind. Believer in Jesus, is it not astonishing how cold-hearted we may become concerning the salvation of our brethren? How little have we yet caught the spirit of that noble apostle who could say, "I say the truth in Christ, I do not lie, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Spirit, that I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart. For I could wish that I was accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh." Romans 9:1-3 Indifference about lost souls is the crying sin of the church! Parents, are your children converted — you must know — and if they are not, what are you doing to bring them to Christ? Young man, are you a Christian? Is your younger brother one? What are you doing for him? Are you turning your back on him, like Cain, and deliberately leaving him in his blood? May God have mercy on you, if you are. His blood cries to the Lord from the ground. But perhaps some, instead of pleading ignorance, are boldly asking, "Am I my brother’s keeper?" Yes, in a certain sense you are. You are not responsible for his ultimate salvation. I know that and praise God for it. If the saints were responsible for the sinner’s salvation, I might well be crushed with despair as I look round upon this throng. But you are responsible for doing all you can to lead to his conversion; and from this responsibility there is no escape. O that God might enable each of us to say at last, I am clear from the blood of souls! Perhaps we have in our midst this evening, some godless professors who are actually soul-murderers! Parents! any godly impressions your child ever had, have been effaced by your godless life. He has seen you in the sanctuary looking like a saint--and he has followed you home and seen you act like a devil. Under the withering influence of your example, his soul has become ten-fold blighted. When asked to come to Jesus, his answer has been your life. You have encased him in an armor of steel from which all the shafts of conviction glance off. Often he has said, pointing to you, "If that is religion, may God save me from it!" O hypocrites, you have dealt him a murderous blow! Surely he will fall deepest into Hell, who drags others with him! O wretched man, "What have you done?" what a deed is yours!! It a diabolical deed. It is a brother you have slain; one of your own flesh and blood is lying stricken by your hand. "What have you done?" A deed you can never undo. Cain may wring his hands in anguish, and mingle his tears with the blood — but no tears, no frantic cries of his, can give poor Abel life again. His hand could give the fatal blow — but not avert the consequence. Professor you may have slain a young man — but you can never give him life. The deed is done. May God have mercy on you and on your victim also! Do you say "But I never meant to do it"? Perhaps not; nor did Cain. But it is done. It is a deed that cries for vengeance. God heard the cry of Abel’s blood; it was "revenge." Its prayer was answered. Surely he will fall deepest into Hell, who drags others with him! If there are unholy professors here tonight, holding the truth in unrighteousness, may God help them to take this warning. And now, to conclude, I turn again to the lost sinner who is yet in the way of Cain. I noticed some of you evidently relishing the remark I made about inconsistent professors. You quite agreed with them; and I have no doubt pictured different people whose loose walking you often make use of as an excuse. Wait a moment, friend. Suppose they are hypocrites, and at last even have the hypocrite’s doom; will it be any consolation to you in Hell, to know they are with you? The inconsistencies of professors are no excuse for your unbelief, and they cannot save you from its consequences. Where are you, dear friend? That is the question that concerns you most. Are you still walking in the way of Cain, trusting in his religion, and seeking his pleasures? Let me show you a more excellent way. It is the way of Christ. Jesus said "I am the way." John 14:6. As a sinner, take the sinner’s place, and plead the blood that speaks better things than the blood of Abel. Plead the blood that tells of pardon, peace, joy, and Heaven. It was shed on Calvary’s cross, and it is from there, that the way to Heaven commences. O, from this night, be done with Cain and cry Christ. Turn your back on Cain’s bloodless religion and trust the precious blood of Jesus. Do not go from this place to drown the voice of Calvary in the noisy mirth of the city! But here, now, leave the way of Cain, and trust the way of Christ. May God grant it — Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 57: S. WHAT CHRIST HAS DONE FOR ME! ======================================================================== What Christ Has Done for Me! Archibald G. Brown, April 21st, 1872, East London Tabernacle "Come and hear, all you who fear God — and I will declare what He has done for my soul!" Psalms 66:16 It is only natural that birthdays should be remembered days, and I sincerely trust that among the many time-honored observances which are gradually becoming obsolete, the "keeping of the birthday," may never be reckoned. It is the gala day in the years of childhood, before the stern lessons of life have arrayed it with a solemn hue. Yes, let the children "keep" it. They pay their happy if unconscious homage to a most momentous event. To live is a grand responsibility, and the day of birth has a thousand claims to be remembered. The world, Heaven, and Hell — are all interested in the new-born child. Future destinies as everlasting as Jehovah, are ushered in with birth. Let then the returning birthdays be seasons of joyous praise and solemn thought. Let memory put her mark against the date. But if the birthday is a time of joy with the child, it is equally a time of interest to the parent. With loving eye and thankful heart he notices the growth, and watches the gradual opening of the bud. The awakening intellect, the improving speech, the developing character — are all marked and compared year by year. Father and child, though from different causes, are one in their remembrance of the natal day. Now if it is so with the natural birth, how much more should it be so with the spiritual! If to be born is not to be forgotten, then surely to be "born again" is to be held in undying remembrance. The importance of the first birth dwindles into insignificance, compared with the importance of the second. Indeed, the joy of the first depends on the second, for only one who can also tell of being "born again" has cause to rejoice in birth. On the tombstone of every man who has never known the second birth, might be truthfully engraved the words, "It would have been good for this man if he had never been born!" Mark 14:21 But, beloved, hundreds of us have known what it is to be born from above. We have had a heavenly natal day. There has been a moment in our lives when Heaven joyfully sang over our salvation. Then let us keep it, and make it our gala day. Let us reckon our life (and it is the only true life) from that date of mercy, and whenever the anniversary comes round, let us see to it that it does not pass unnoticed or unsung. Known or unknown, noticed or unnoticed — there was a day when the cry of a new-born child of grace first broke from our lips. Rejoice in the fact, and remember also that our heavenly Father rejoices with you. O, it cannot be that earthly parents celebrate the birthdays of their children, and the heavenly Parent remains indifferent concerning His. All that is in a father’s heart, is infinitely more in God. His joy over us is greater. His watchfulness is more intense. His interest is deeper. He marks the growth of His own life in the soul, and with satisfaction He beholds the increasing likeness to Himself. He "rejoices over us with singing, and rests in his love." Zephaniah 3:17. The heavenly Father and the heaven-born child rejoice, and together "keep" the happy day. These thoughts have been suggested by the fact, that the whole past week I have been celebrating my own heavenly birthday. It was last Wednesday, eleven years ago, at half-past eleven in the morning, that by the grace of God, the new life commenced within my soul. The anniversary has brought old times back to mind. Vividly, as if it only happened yesterday, I see myself, at one moment the anxious sinner — the next moment, the singing sinner saved. The old joy still has the dew of youth on it, and can I speak to you this evening about nothing else. Our text is one that every saint can enter into and understand. God grant that our love may become inflamed, and our gratitude intensified, as together we declare what God has done for our souls. We will divide our subject into two very simple parts. 1. We will try and tell the tale. 2. We will give a few reasons that we think warrant our doing so. I. Let us try and tell the tale. "I will declare what He has done for my soul!" What has he done? Why, first, He has done that which no one else could have done. From first to last, the work is of His own right hand, and infinitely beyond the power of any other. No angel, nor any number of angels, could have done for me, what He has done. They may indeed "excel in strength," but the work required, as far exceeded their strength, as their might exceeds a gnat’s. I will tell you what an angel can do. He call pass through the streets of an Egyptian city in the dead of night, glide into every house with unsprinkled door posts, and place the seal of death upon the sleeping first-born. He can do so fearful a work between midnight and daybreak, that there will not be an abode without a corpse! Before his power, Egyptian pride will bite the dust, and Egyptian cavalry will succumb. Later on, an Assyrian host is encamped, as numerous as the forest leaves. Loud is their laughter, blasphemous are their boasts, as they resolve on the morrow to swallow up the chosen of the Lord. But, "The angel of death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved and forever grew still!" No might of the Gentiles could arrest that foe. Single handed he was more than a match for the Assyrian legions; and on the morrow when the sun rose, it shone on upturned faces, as white as marble — eyes already glazed in death, and breastplates rusted by the night dews. It gleamed on silent tents, and banners whose proud inscriptions seemed to mock the death-stricken host. One angel can do all this and a thousand times as much — but all the shining ones combined, could never have done what "God has done for my soul." Assemble all their glittering ranks — let cherubim and seraphim, angel and arch-angel, stand in a blazing circle — and put within that circle a little child, and tell them to change that heart from stone to flesh. They are powerless, and they confess that there is but One who is mighty enough to save. Thanks be to God then, for He has done for me what no angel nor any number of angels could have done. He has done also that which no saint nor any number of saints could have done. But few words are required here. The very longing of our hearts for the salvation of others has taught us the utter helplessness of man to convert man; for when our soul has yearned most over them, we have had to cry, "But feeble my compassion proves, And can but weep where most it loves, Your own all-saving arm employ, And turn these drops of grief to joy." He has done for my soul that which no minister or any number of ministers could have done. I know that many truly good men — doubtless intending some other interpretation to be put on their words — declare over the unconscious infant they have just sprinkled, that it has been regenerated and grafted into the body of Christ’s church. And then, with what appears to us as bordering on wicked audacity, they venture to thank God for it, saying "Seeing now, dearly beloved brethren, that by baptism this child is regenerate and grafted into the body of Christ’s church — let us give thanks to Almighty God for these benefits." Well, the afterlife proves the folly of the assertion, and most of these pastors, better than their creed, plead with their unregenerated congregations to be reconciled to God. He has moreover done that which I could never have done for myself. The work of conversion is not more completely beyond external power than beyond internal human power; and salvation by others is not more impossible, than salvation of ourselves. Salvation of self! Sooner could the infant that is cast out in the field, and lying in its blood, say to itself "live!" Salvation of self! Yes, maybe when dead men with cold lips can call themselves to life — when blind men can give sight to their eyes that have never seen the light — when the white hand of the leper can with a touch make the rest of his body like the flesh of a little child — and not before! Of all the impossibilities under the sun, self-regeneration is the greatest. Come then, and hear all you that fear God, and I will tell you that He has done for my soul what neither angels, saints, ministers, self, nor all of them combined, could ever have done! Secondly. He has done that which requires many words to describe. No one word can fully express the work done, though in general it may be described as saved. Saved! Ah, that is a grand word worthy of being written in letters of gold. I have hanging up in my vestry an engraving that has suggested many a thought, and it will now serve me for an illustration. Standing on the edge of a rocky reef over which the surf roars and boils, is a sailor, evidently one of a life-boat crew. A ship is being dashed to firewood on that iron coast — but a rope has been successfully stretched from wreck to rocks, and along this rope the passengers are being slung in a rough-made cradle. The engraving represents the honest follow just grasping the cradle, across which there is a swooning mother, her long hair dripping with the salt wave; while nestled in her arms and looking with wondering gaze, is a child about two years old. Under them leap the waves — over them flies the scud, but round them are arms with sinews that look like whipcord knots. At the foot of the picture is one word that tells the whole history; that word is "Saved!" Do any ask "What has God done for your soul that you should talk so much about it?" I answer, pointing to that thrilling scene, "He has done that for it. He has saved it. Out of the jaws of death and from eternal wreck — he has delivered it." But while "saved" may describe the work in general, it fails to tell all. A saved soul includes many things. I can only mention them. A saved soul is a God-pardoned soul. All its sins are forgiven, and its iniquities are drowned in that deluge of pardoning love that rises high above the topmost peaks of all its mountain sins! A saved soul is a God-reconciled soul. Once at enmity — God and the sinner are now at peace. All differences are at an end. The prodigal sinner has been embraced and kissed by the father. The rebel has thrown down his weapons, and bent his knee to the Monarch — and the Monarch has raised him up, and with a smile of love, has put him among His children. If I may so express it, God and the sinner have met and shaken hands beneath the shadow of the cross. They are at at-one-ment there. A saved soul is also a sin-delivered soul. This is something more than pardon, or reconciliation. It is a higher blessing. Pardon remits the punishment of sin — but leaves the guilt of sin. But justification acquits the person of every charge. Believer, your sins are not merely forgiven — but they are done away with, put out of sight, removed from you as far as the remotest east is from the extreme west! In the eye of God, you are as guiltless as His spotless Son! "You are altogether beautiful, My love; there is no flaw in you!" Song of Solomon 4:7 A saved soul is also a God-arrayed soul. This is higher still. The former blessing was a negation of guilt — this is a possession of righteousness. A righteousness, mark you, that is not capable of improvement — but a righteousness that is superlative in its quality — it is the righteousness of God Himself! A saved soul, even to the omniscient eye of Deity, is not only without spot or wrinkle or any such thing — but it is altogether lovely and glorious, robed in the splendor of "Jehovah Tsidkenu" — "The Lord our Righteousness!" A saved soul is a Heaven-entitled soul. This crowns all. Not merely am I delivered from Hell — but in my hand is placed a title-deed to eternal glory! This is no fiction or flight of imagination — but a blessed fact. Possessed by every saint, is a title that God Himself will declare to be valid to all eternity. Now believer, if all these things are included in what God has done for our souls, then did I not say rightly that many words were necessary to describe the work? Let us then, as God-pardoned, God-reconciled, Sin-delivered, God-arrayed, Heaven-entitled souls — call on all, far and near, to come and listen to our joyous tale. Thirdly — He has done that which can never be more completely done. Notice the past tense used in the verse, "What He has done." Yes, blessed be God, not "what he has begun — and left us to finish," but what He has Himself gloriously completed. Let us mark this well, for much of our joy as Christians, depends upon our realization of this wondrous feat. If God had but laid the foundations, and left it to us to complete the superstructure, He would as well have done nothing. But "done," "done," "done!" is replete with joy! It leaves me nothing else to do than sing my thankfulness. He has not merely put me in a salvable condition — but has actually saved me. He has not merely made reconciliation a possibility — but has actually reconciled me to Himself. He has not merely put me on a road that leads to Heaven — but has actually guaranteed my reaching there. One would be a fool for his presumption, if he called all to hear what had only been commenced by God — but was dependent for completion on his own exertions. On the other hand, one would be a traitor to his Father’s glory, if he holds his tongue concerning what his God has done. A religion of the two letters, DO, can never be a religion of song. But a religion of the four letters, DONE, is a religion that need never lack its accompaniment of praise. See to it then, that in salvation’s anthem, this note of divine completeness rings loud and clear. Fourthly, He has done that which can never be undone. Not only is the work complete in itself — but its completeness shall ever abide. No power from within or without, from earth or Hell, shall ever undo that which is so divinely done. The rope that linked the wrecked vessel to the shore, and bore the precious freight I just now described might snap, and let its burden fall within the sight — but helplessly beyond the power, of the gallant life-boat man on the rocks. But the cords of everlasting loving-kindness never break. He who wove them is the One who by the word of his power upholds all things. Or to change the simile; no storms or blasts can lay low the palace of salvation built upon the Rock of Ages, for every bolt is riveted by omnipotence, and the whole is buttressed by Almightiness! Yes, He has done for my soul what can never be undone. Inspired by this thought, we feel we can dare throw down the gauntlet and challenge Hell: O lion of perdition, seize if you can those whom the Lion of Judah guards! Wolf of the pit, you are welcome to the sheep you can tear from the embrace of the shepherd’s arms. In the name of our God we defy you and shout in your face, "Once in Christ in Christ forever, Nothing from His love can sever!" I do not know how you feel, beloved but the thought that, eleven years ago, God did for my soul what all Hell and sin can never undo — fills me with a bliss that rises beyond all expression, and makes every corner of my heart echo in song! Fifthly. He has done for my soul that which brings more glory to His name than all His other works. All his works praise Him. There is not a flower that blooms, or bird that sings, or wave that rides the ocean deep — that is not as vocal with its praises. But richer by far is the tribute of glory that He reaps from salvation’s field. The stars of grace shine with a brighter luster round his throne, than those that stud with points of light the midnight sky. The trees planted by his right hand, more loudly clap their hands than all the monarchs of earth’s forests. God’s glory is great in our salvation. He looks upon His redeemed people as the masterpieces of his love and power, and he will before assembled worlds exhibit us as the grandest trophies Heaven contains. For, says Paul, He has "made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus; that in the ages to come, He might show the exceeding riches of His grace in His kindness towards us!" Ephesians 2:6-7 Just as in ancient baronial castles we have seen the walls adorned with trophies eloquent of the prowess of the warriors of the Middle Ages — so Heaven is God’s grand trophy room, and saved sinners are the trophies. He points to them as proofs of what eternal grace can do, and from them a never ceasing revenue of glory flows to the throne. Lo, there stands the foremost of the throng and the loudest in his song: the once apostle of the Gentiles. Chief of sinners — chief of saints — and chief of songsters now. And there I see Manasseh, who made "the inhabitants of Jerusalem do more evil than the heathen!" — bowing before the footstool of Him whose altars he once spurned. And there is John Bunyan, the black sinner and the bright dreamer! And by his side is John Newton — the African blasphemer — the consecrated preacher — but now the immortal singer. Sixthly. He has done for my soul that which I am able to know is done. If a man does not know what God has done for his soul, there is some reason to believe that nothing has yet been done. Is conversion so minute a matter, so small a change, that it can only be detected by the most delicate tests, and then never to a certainty? Nonsense! It is a poor kind of conversion, that only remains a trembling hope and never develops into a conscious fact. Is being in a dark pit with feet sinking in the clay so like standing on a rock with the fresh air of Heaven blowing on you, that it is impossible or difficult to tell the difference? Is blindness so much like sight that the two can become confounded? Is corruption so nearly akin to life and health, that to distinguish between them is a perplexity? Could not the leper know himself to be cleansed — or rather, could he help knowing it? Certainly not. Yet all these changes are insignificant and imperceptible — compared with the change effected by what God does for the soul. Do not think that it is a lack of humility on your part to know and declare God’s work done in you and for you. Strong faith is the truest humility — and unbelief is the greatest presumption. I will show you how: God says, "He who believes has everlasting life." "Well," replies a soul, "I believe — but I would not like to say that I have everlasting life." Do you see what that soul is doing in its false humility? It is making God a liar! True humility says "Lord, it seems almost too good to be true that such a wretch as I should be possessed of such a gift — but I dare not doubt Your word, and therefore I believe it." Seventhly, and but for a moment — He has done for my soul that which will bear the test of eternity. I have already rather anticipated myself on this point by what I said about the impossibility of the work ever being undone; yet there is much more that may be said. The work done in our souls is often severely tested on earth — but it withstands all, and never appears more grandly real than when it is tested the most. This thought has been deeply impressed on me by the life and experience of our dear brother Jones, who has just gone home. For months he had been a dying man, and for weeks he had anticipated every day to be his last. If ever the work of God in a soul was put to a severe strain, it was in his case; and if ever there was a triumphant manifestation of its power, it was in Jones’ bedroom. Those of us who were privileged to see the light, will never forget it or cease to bless God for it. Day by day — week by week — month by month it stood the test, seeming to grow stronger and more glorious the longer it was tried, until at last it culminated when — in answer to a question from me as to whether there was anything we could do for him — he replied, "Sing, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow" etc. And then when all found it difficult to commence the tune through emotion, with a great effort he led it himself, Heaven shining in his face as he sang. Ah friends, it is something real that is done in the soul which enables a man to go down to the river of death singing his doxology. But death cannot quench the song, and eternity cannot wear it out. There are myriads in Heaven this evening who have been enjoying its bliss for ages, and still the subject matter of their song is what God has done for their souls. "To Him who loved us and washed us from our sins in His own blood, to Him be glory forever!" Revelation 1:5-6 And when this world has passed away, and a million ages have rolled their courses, still — outliving all time and all matter — the song shall be heard as fresh as when it first burst from the Psalmist’s lips, "Come and hear, and I will declare what God has done for my soul." Thus I have tried, poor and imperfectly I know, to tell the wondrous tale of what God has done for me and hundreds more that hear me. II. A few reasons that warrant telling the tale. As the tale itself is the chief matter, I have devoted almost all my time to telling it. So I shall have to be very brief in giving the reasons that warrant my doing so. First, then, let me say that saints in all ages have done the same. Our text declares that David did so. We have abundant testimony that Paul did the same. He seemed ever ready to tell the simple story in all places and before all classes of people. Throughout all his epistles the same thing shines. He never forgets his own salvation. Those personal allusions are glistening like little gems in a setting of gold. "I obtained mercy." "Of whom I am chief." "By the grace of God I am what I am." The two men whose names I have previously linked with his, were one with him in the practice: How many souls have thanked God for "Grace abounding to the chief of sinners, or a brief relation of the exceeding mercy of God in Christ to his poor servant, John Bunyan." Who has not heard the anecdote of good John Newton, who when advised because of his years to stop preaching, replied, "I cannot stop. What, shall the old African blasphemer stop while he can speak?" Surely that must be right which the holiest in all ages have loved to do. There are also inward promptings that compel the lips to tell the tale. It is not only true that the saint may tell of mercy found — but it is equally true that he must. Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth will speak. If Christ had laid an embargo on us not to tell the tale, I think we must have told it just the same. How can a man keep silence when his heart is brimful of a subject? He feels he must be out with it or die. Now as these strong desires come when we are nearest in heart to God, surely they go far to prove that telling the tale is in accordance with his mind. Tell it, for it is a good thing for ourselves. Too often we forget that we have been purged from our old sins; the day of our conversion grows dim in the distance, and our heart’s love loses its fervor and intensity. The fire becomes caked-over and gives out but little heat. Tell the tale, and in telling it, old memories spring into fresh life. The fire is stirred, its hardening crust is broken, and the flames leap out as bright as ever. O, it is a grand thing for one’s own soul to live over again the day of conversion. Tell it — it is the best argument for lost sinners. The world can understand a fact far better than a theory — cannot we all? A man may come to me with a prescription which he declares is just suited to my disease, and he may bring forward a hundred reasons why it should result in cure. But his words will have a thousand fold power if he adds, "I know it will, for I was dying with the same malady. I took it and see what it has done for me!" Friends, with no egotism I trust — I can humbly bear my testimony to the truth of this. It has been my joy to see nearly one thousand people about their souls, and my experience is that, when everything else has failed, the simple recital of what God has done for my soul has won the day. Here then, is work for all. Do you say "I could never preach a sermon or speak a word in public"? Perhaps not; but there is one thing you can do — yes must do, if you would be clear of the blood of souls — you can take a fellow sinner by the hand and quietly and gently tell him about what the love of Christ has done for you. O, do not keep it a secret — it is too good to be unknown — tell it and you may win a soul. I will close by asking a question — and making a proclamation. The question is a solemn one. Answer it, I implore you. It is this: What has God done for your soul? I think I hear some sadly answer, "nothing yet." But would you like to know what He is willing to do for it? Then listen to this proclamation: In the name of my God I declare that . . . though it is filthy — He is willing to cleanse it; though it is guilty — He is willing to pardon it; though it is lost — He is willing to save it; though it lacks everything — He is willing to do all for it. May God in His mercy grant that everyone in this congregation may at last be able to say, "Come and hear, all you that fear God, and I will declare what he has done for my soul!" Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 58: S. WHAT DO I STILL LACK? ======================================================================== What Do I Still Lack? A Sermon to Young Men Archibald G. Brown, February 13th, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle "The young man said to Him: All these things I have kept from my youth. What do I still lack?" Matthew 19:20 These are the words of the young ruler, who running to our Savior, and kneeling down before Him with earnestness betrayed in every line of his countenance, said, "What shall I do to inherit eternal life?" Our Lord, meeting him on the ground which he himself had taken, namely obedience to the law, answered him, "You know the commandments: do not commit adultery — do not kill — do not bear false witness — honor your father and your mother." The young man quickly and joyfully replied, "All these things I have kept from my youth — what do I still lack?" You have the answer of our Master, "You still lack one thing; go sell all that you have, and distribute to the poor, and take up your cross and follow me." The sad conclusion of the short interview was this — the young man went away exceedingly sorrowful, for he was very rich. Now we feel that in this special service to young men there is need for us to be exceedingly careful what words we utter, and what motive prompts them. Perhaps there may be some in this great company who have come here this evening expecting to hear something new, or something startling — some hard question discussed, or something speculative debated. We say to such, "you will be bitterly disappointed, friend." The burning desire of those who conduct the Young Men’s Bible-class in connection with which this sermon is preached, is not that you may have your ears tickled — not that you may be merely pleased and spend a happy hour — but that you may be saved! It was good advice that dear old Mr. Jay gave to a young minister, "When you preach, aim at getting something that will strike and stick," and it is our desire to say this evening, by the Spirit’s help, some words that will strike to the heart, and having struck home, stick there. May the Lord now put His hand upon our hand, as the prophet did upon the hand of the young man; so that when we draw the bow at a venture, the arrow may be divinely aimed, and carried directly to the heart by the great Master. May the Lord grant that some arrow taken from the quiver of his Word may pierce its way between the joints of the harness, and force its passage through coats of triple steel — that the slain of Jehovah may be a great multitude! Let us notice: first of all, the young man’s character; then secondly, the young man’s question; and then lastly, the answer given to the young man. I. First of all let us look at the young man’s CHARACTER, and see if he is not a representative of a great many who are found here tonight. The first thing I notice in the character of this young man, is that he was no Sadducee — he had not linked himself with those who held the theory that the grave was the end of all, that there was no resurrection — no hereafter — no eternity. The young man, from his question, evidently believed that there was a hereafter: "Good Master, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?" Whether he mixed with the Sadducees or not, whether they tried to influence him or not, we are not told — but if they did, they completely failed. Eternal life was a reality to him; he felt and believed that beyond death and the grave there was a ceaseless duration of being. He knew that he had to enter upon it, and he yearned that his eternity might be one of life and endless joy — and not of death and never-ending woe; hence the question. Friends, most, if not all of you, hold the same belief that this young man did. You believe that there is a hereafter. In spite of all that has been said to the contrary, you cannot help but believe that eternity is an awful reality, and no mere nightmare of weak minds. Although called upon perhaps to mix with many bold scoffers, and to work in company with desperate infidels; although perhaps necessitated to hear these old-fashioned theories as they are called, laughed at from Monday morning until Saturday night, and although called to do business with the numerous Sadducees of the nineteenth century, you have not been able to persuade yourselves as yet that there is not a hereafter. And if in some small measure you sometimes succeed in doing so, do you not find that all of a sudden there comes a mighty conviction that sweeps away your theories like cobwebs or autumn leaves from the forest boughs, and there comes a voice that will make itself heard, saying, "there is, there is a hereafter, and after I am dead I shall yet live." Does unbelief say, "if a man dies, shall he live again?" The answer echoes in your heart, Yes! he will. With the young man then, you believe most firmly in the existence of a future state; no, even more, you not only believe in a future state of joyful life — but you also believe that there is a Hell, even though that dreadful fact has been so boldly and blasphemously called into question, and even though many holding a high position in the religious world, and who ought to know better are disposed to dispute it. You, friends, have not yet been able to throw it aside as an exploded dogma. Hell is a belief of your soul, and I can imagine many a young man standing up and saying, "although it is a terrible thing to believe, yet I believe it; and although I know I am not prepared for eternity, yet at the same time I believe with all my heart that there is not only an eternity of bliss for those who die in the Lord — but there is also an eternity of woe for those who die out of Christ. I often wish I could think otherwise, for I condemn myself in my belief; but it is a sheer impossibility. Hell stares me in the face as a declared fact, and I accept it as such." Sometimes perhaps, you have tried to grasp what eternity really is, and you have said with the speaker over and over again, the words — forever! forever!! forever!!! and the more you have uttered the words, the deeper the depth seemed in them, until at last you have been obliged to come to the same conclusion as the deaf and dumb boy, who, when asked "what is eternity?" wrote, "Eternity — eternity is the life-time of the Almighty" Thus I think in this first characteristic of the ruler, we have displayed as in a polished mirror, the character and belief of the majority present. But notice further, that not only did he believe that there was a hereafter — but he was thoughtful about it. There are a great many who believe in an eternity — but by their life they make a lie of their faith; they not only believe there is a Hell — but they seem desirous to have their faith confirmed by actual experience of Hell! Believing in a perdition — they nevertheless rush madly into it. Not so it is with you. Like this young man, you cannot be thoughtless about it. You believe it, and more than that, you cannot shake off its influence; you may have tried — but the word ETERNITY has haunted you and followed you like your own shadow. Doubtless this young ruler had plenty of other things to occupy his attention, and an abundance of pleasures sufficient to amuse him; but wherever he went, an unknown fathomless future stared him in the face, until at last, unable to bear the crushing anxiety any longer, he cried, "Good Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" Has it not been so with some of you? No matter where you have been, or how engaged, the thought of an eternity beyond the grave has lowered over your head like some huge storm-cloud — you have been forced by some irresistible power to take your stand on the shore of that boundless ocean, until the roar of its waves has deafened you to every softer sound. Horror-struck, you plunged like a maniac into scenes of licentious pleasure and mirth, in the vain hope that in them its solemn tones might be escaped. Fruitless effort!! Amidst wild and riotous mirth, you have heard its funeral dirge, and notes only become more fearful by contrast. In every cup of sparkling joy, you found a dash of gall — it was eternity. In every song you heard a jarring note — it was eternity. Like a horrible nightmare, that word ETERNITY has filled you with fright, and the more you struggle to escape its horror, the more intense it grows. I remember having read an instance of the marvelous power this single word will sometimes wield — it was as follows: A lady having spent, as was her custom, an afternoon and evening at the card-table and in the ballroom, came home late at night and found her servant, who was a godly girl, occupying her time in reading a pious book. She bent over the girl’s shoulder, and looking for a moment at the open page, laughingly said, "Poor melancholy soul! I wonder that you don’t get tired of reading such dry stuff as that!" She retired to bed — but not to sleep, for all night long she tossed to and fro, weeping and sighing. Coming down in the morning, the servant noticed how ill she looked, and kindly asked her if there was anything wrong. At last bursting into a flood of tears, the lady said, "Oh! it was one word I happened to see in your book, when I looked over you last night, that troubles me; it has haunted me ever since." "What word, mistress?" said the girl, "That dreadful word ETERNITY!" replied the lady. "I wish that there was no eternity — or that I was prepared for it." O eternity, you word of boundless meaning — let your majestic tones completely drown all other sounds in every young man’s heart tonight; until, without a solitary exception, they all shall be awakened into earnestness. Thank God! Many of you, like the young man in our text, have been led, not only to believe in eternity — but to seek a preparation for it. There is another thing about this young man that speaks well for him; namely, that his life had been without reproach. With all truthfulness, he said in answer to the duties enjoined upon him by Christ, "All these I have kept from my youth up." When our Lord spoke of purity, no guilty shudder passed through him, no damning remembrance of immorality oppressed him. He had lived a life free from sensuality, and had no pale sorrowful face haunting him in his midnight dreams, and whispering in his ears, "I will charge you with my ruin at the Judgment day!" In answer to the command "Love your neighbor as yourself," he could reply "My hands are clean." For if I am wealthy, it is not through building my fortune on the ruin of others. I have never distilled my comforts from the lifeblood of my neighbors, or surrounded myself with luxuries by taking the poor man by the throat. If I have sometimes prayed at the corners of streets, it has not been with a "widow’s house" sticking in my throat, and the curses of desolate orphans hurled on my head. What I have, has been obtained honorably; and with all my getting, I have not lost the love of the poor. "Well said, young man! I honor you for it, and I wish that it could be the boast of more who roll in affluence." ’Honor your father and mother.’ "This also I have done," he replied, "I have never tried to prove my right to be called a man, by speaking slightingly of the one who gave me birth, and my father’s grey hairs have ever received a tribute of respect from me. The old people at home will bear witness to what kind of a son I have been." "Good again young man. I do not wonder that my master loved you; filial affection must ever command esteem." Now I do not doubt that many present have felt themselves described in this third particular of the young man’s character, and there has been in the hearts of some of you a feeling almost akin to self satisfaction, as hearing the good points mentioned, you said, "Yes; that is my character. I am just like him." I do not for a moment suppose that I am speaking this evening to many who are openly licentious and profane. Such may be here — I think there are. But most are young men who possess many amiable qualities, and who in many respects might serve as examples to those who make far more of a profession; and this brings us to the second point, which is, II. The young man’s QUESTION. I think I can almost see the self-satisfied smile that plays on his countenance, "surely," he says, "I am right now. I have said ’yes’ to all the requirements mentioned, and now what do I lack beside?" Let us do justice to the young man and say first, this question was not asked boastingly. There was nothing of the Pharisee in the young man. His meaning was not "I challenge You, O Lord! to show me a single flaw in my character, or point out a solitary excellence that I do not possess." Not at all so. He asked the question perhaps ignorantly — but at the same time earnestly. We willingly grant that you ask the question in the same spirit. You say tonight, "I do not pretend to represent myself as perfect. I would not boast of what I am; nor glory in my own excellence;" and in the simplicity of your heart you ask: what do I lack beside? But if it was not asked boastingly — it was asked ignorantly. This young man had never seen the spirituality of the law. He did not understand what the law actually required, or he would not have ventured the question. What the law really requires, perhaps is the last thing we learn before we come to Christ. Until convinced by the Spirit, we are perfectly satisfied if we give a formal and partial obedience to the law’s commands. But when the light of heaven-given knowledge shines upon the law — then we see it is an utter impossibility to be saved by obedience to it. It is not only "You shall not commit adultery," "but you shall not lust." It is not only "you shall not kill," but "He who hates his brother is a murderer." It is not only "You shall not steal," but "You shall not covet." The requirements of the law, as explained by Jesus, strike far deeper than the actions of the life — and reach to the desires and motives of the heart. It is only when the spirituality of the law is thus perceived, that all hope of ever being saved by it dies within us. And thus seeing our miserable condition, we cry with all pride crushed out of us, "God, be merciful to us sinners!" Ignorant of the requirements of the law, he asked the question, as many of you do, "What do I still lack?" I think that this question was one more of earnestness than anything else. Give the young man his due; he meant "just show me what I lack — and I will go and do it at once. Just tell me what is lacking — and I will supply the deficiency immediately." I grant you that when he was told, he did not do it — but that was because he did not know his true character, or his own weakness. Are not you like him, friend? Are there not some here saying and meaning it, "Lord, just show me what I lack — and I will go and do it at once." As an eloquent preacher not far from this neighborhood once said: "If God were to say to sinners, walk from London to Newcastle with spikes in your shoes and you shall be saved — there would be a general pilgrimage there; but the simplicity of the plan of salvation staggers them." And now the question having been asked, let us be all attention to hear the answer. III. The ANSWER to the young man’s question. Before giving in detail our answer to his inquiry — let us listen to Christ’s answer. The young man came to our Savior on the ground of legal obedience, so he was answered in the same manner. "If then you would be perfect, go and sell all that you have and give to the poor — and you shall have treasure in Heaven, and come and follow me." Our all-seeing Lord at once put his finger on the weak point in the young man’s character — and pierced him through the flaw in his armor. He made him see in a moment how little he knew of himself when he asked the foolish question. With all mere moralists it is the same; there is always some weak point which, when touched, causes the true man to spring into sight. At our Lord’s touch, the concealed character came out — and the hidden devil manifested itself. He turned his back upon the Savior, and went away. But let us now enter more into detail as we attempt to give the answer requested, and God grant that even now the Holy Spirit may exert his mighty power, and drive the words home to many a heart. "What do I still lack?" He lacked, young men, what alas some of you lack — a knowledge of himself, and of God’s plan of salvation. He had never seen himself as he really was — a lost sinner. Had he known himself, his language to our Lord would have been far different from what it was; it would have been more after this sort, "Lord a Hell-deserving sinner bends before You, and seeks mercy; if you were to spurn him from your feet, and consign him to endless misery, you would be infinitely just, and I could say nothing against the sentence; yet for your own name’s sake, have pity and forgive." He, with many of you, would never have known what it is to be tried before the bar of God and hear the verdict "Guilty!" passed, and feel himself condemned. He came to Christ with a heart that had never felt its guilt or been broken with repentance. This knowledge of himself he lacked, and a fearful lack it is — for he who has never felt his disease — will never taste the medicine; and he who has never seen himself as lost, will never rejoice at being saved. He also lacked a knowledge of God’s way of a sinner’s salvation. That one word "do" — "What shall I do?" — reveals his ignorance, for if he had known how God saves the sinner, he would have also known that his doing was unrequired. "Do," is the religion of the law. "It is finished," is the religion of Jesus! There is just this difference between salvation by the law — and by the gospel. The former is a way of two letters, DO. The latter of four, DONE. Until convinced by the Spirit, the cry of the man is what must I DO? But when taught by the Spirit, his exclamation is, "I trust, O blessed Jesus to what you have DONE." What, dear friend, is your trust — is it trust of two letters, or four? If of only two, then, like the young man in our text, you are still lacking the knowledge of God’s way of saving the sinner. And now let us for a few minutes have some close conversation together. Will you please forget that I am a minister, and only think of me as a young man like yourselves, who having tasted the joy of being saved, is anxious that you should do the same. I wish to ask you a plain straightforward question, and ask you with equal frankness to give a truthful answer — not to me but to the God before whom we shall both have to soon appear in judgment. I ask you, young man, and you, and you — have you ever known what it is to feel yourself condemned? Has the sentence of your doom ever rung in your ears? Are you now willing to be saved in God’s way, even though it puts you into the dust, or are you still clinging to some imagined goodness of your own? If so, I ask you tonight, before you retire to rest, to pray this prayer before God until he answers it, "Lord show me myself." A young man some years ago prayed this prayer for weeks, until at last the Lord answered him, and showed him such terrible things about his own defilement, that in an agony he cried, "And now, Lord, show me Yourself." That prayer was also answered, for Jesus manifested himself to him as his all-sufficient Savior. My dear friend — would that I could say brother — let both these prayers be yours tonight. "Lord show me myself, and let me see my depravity — let me feel my sinfulness though the sight blasts all comforts and breaks my heart." And then pray, "Lord, show me Yourself. Show me what Christ has done and suffered for me. Now that you have shown me my malady — show me your medicine for it. Now that you have struck my heart and broken it — graciously bind it up." "What do I still lack?" He lacked life, or a change of heart. He was what we attempted to describe to many of you the other Sabbath afternoon — a white-washed sepulcher. Outwardly, fair to look at; yes, even lovely in its purity — but do not go within. If you were to enter, you would only find it icy cold — dreary dark — full of the smell of death, and inhabited by corruption itself! So it was with the young man, a character outwardly spotless — yet hiding a heart full of impurity and spiritual death. My brother, let me again ask you a question. "Have you been converted? Has the heart as well as the life been changed? Is there beneath your breast a heart as cold and lifeless as a stone — or is there one of flesh? Take my Master’s word for it: if your heart is not changed, you are a lost man. If there is not that radical change within, I do not care what there is without. You lack the new birth, and with that you lack everything. This thought leads us to our closing one, namely, that he lacked the one thing needful. It is possible to lack only one thing — but that one lack is such as to render everything else valueless. Let me try in one or two illustrations to show you what I mean. There is a man in yonder blazing house that seems one sheet of flame from basement to garret. I see him as he vainly shouts from the upstairs window. There is only one thing he lacks — but that is the fire escape. See in his danger, dear friend, your own position. But I will multiply similes, if by any means I may wake you up to your great lack. A fearful tempest is brewing — the clouds, charged with omnipotent thunder, are lowering over your head — the first heavy drops are just beginning to fall — the lightning already scathes the distant horizon, and every successive flash comes nearer — the heavens above are contracted into one black frown, and threaten to blast you forever. You just lack one thing, and that is a refuge from the storm, a covert from the tempest. Again, I see a deluge poured out upon you — the waters spread on every hand, and every moment their black angry waves rise higher. Hill-top after hill-top is covered, and still the waters deepen. Ah! I see you now as you fight like a madman for a foothold upon the only mountain peak that rears its head above the advancing tide. You are now alone, the only one left, and the cold waters seem to mock your agony of soul as they rise inch by inch. There is but one thing you lack to save you, and that is the ark that glides silently by and soon disappears within the gloom. Friend, you are called to pass through an icy stream called death. Already you stand upon its bank and an irresistible power urges you forward. You can see its depth is fathomless, and awestruck you put your foot within its stream. There is but one thing you lack, and that is the ferry-boat. Yet once again: In a few short years at most we must meet at the Judgment throne of Jehovah. Yes, we must meet. In a few minutes this great throng will have dispersed, and in all probability I shall never again behold some of you on earth — but I shall meet you again. There is not a young man present that will not be found in that crowd before the throne. The day has come. The trumpet of the archangel sounds, "Come to judgment!" and tremblingly you obey its summons. Why tremble so? Because you find out when alas it is too late, that you lack only one thing — but that one thing is the only thing that can make you stand in that solemn hour. "Rocks fall on me, hills cover me!" is the cry of anguish extorted by the lack of the one thing needful. Thinking over this subject in my study, and trying, if possible, to pierce the future of some, I suddenly conceived myself standing at the death-bed of one of tonight’s hearers. I heard your voice as it grew husky in death, and watched, with tearful eyes, your last desperate struggle for breath. Your mother sobbed in my ears, "He is gone! He is gone!" Anxious to know your end, I thought I followed your spirit in its upward flight! Oh, how intently I watched you, and said, "He was at the special service for young men on February 13th — is he safe?" I followed you up and up, and lo, I saw the gates of pearl before you, and my heart leaped for joy, as I exclaimed, "Thank God, all is well." But just at that moment, one of the shining ones met you, and placing his hand upon you, said, "Stop, young man, what is your warrant to enter?" Eagerly I listened for your answer, hoping it might but be "The Blood of Christ!" but no! I heard you say, "I have not been guilty of this crime, or committed that sin. I have done this good work, and tried to do that; in fact there is but one thing I lack, and that is conversion." "Sir, said the angel, that one exception damns you." My heart bled, as I beheld you hurled like lightning from Heaven’s gate to Hell’s abyss! What do I still lack? God grant that this question may ring in your ears until, convinced that you are lacking that one thing needful, you cast yourself as a lost and undone sinner into the arms of Christ, and find your all in him. May the Lord save you all, and give you all that one thing you now lack, for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 59: S. WHAT OUR CHURCHES NEED! ======================================================================== What Our Churches Need! Archibald G. Brown, May 19th, 1872, East London Tabernacle "What does this mean?" Acts 2:12 This was a question that leaped from the lips of thousands, and was asked in almost every then-known language under the sun. We do not marvel at the amazement that prompted the question. We would have equally wondered and asked for the same explanation if we had been one of the throng. There was a new thing on the earth — a marvelous thing — an inexplicable thing — a thing not to be accounted for by any human reasoning. A company of illiterate and obscure people, several of them having been formerly fishermen, was now to be seen preaching in languages which a few minutes before were unknown to any of them. It must have been a sight strange beyond all description. Here were men who did not know the alphabets of the languages five minutes back, declaring with fluency the wonderful works of God. Words of burning eloquence were pouring from their lips in a tongue the very existence of which was perhaps unknown to them until they began to speak it. Here was a royal road to learning indeed. What did it mean? Where did they acquire their instantaneous knowledge? Who gave it to them? What did it portend? All kinds of explanations were offered, and among them the stupid one that the men were drunk. Had they been, it would nonetheless have been a marvel, for drunkenness generally makes it difficult to speak one language, not easy to speak many. Satan will give any explanation of God’s work, however preposterous, rather than allow the authorship to remain unchallenged. The simple explanation of the marvel was that an ascended Christ had performed His promise — poured out His Spirit, and given gifts to men. For ten days the disciples had been praying and waiting for the power from on high, and now it had come. Through their midst had gone "the sound of a mighty rushing wind." Acts 2:2. On their heads had rested tongues of glowing flame. They were different men through it. From that baptism of the Holy Spirit they came up giants. The timid spirit was made brave, the faltering was made steadfast, and on those lips through which the simplest Galilean brogue had only passed, were words of wisdom, and none could dare question their power. Yes, the blessing had come. "Pentecost" will ever be associated with the outpouring of the Spirit, and "Pentecostal" will ever remain the best description of a great revival work. Today is Whit-Sunday, the church and world declare, and it is being kept in a variety of ways. But what is Whit-Sunday? It is simply a contraction of "White-Sunday." Centuries back the primitive church used to have a great baptism on this particular day. The candidates (as the word implies) were dressed in white — hence the origin of the name. This is the day when the giving of the Spirit at Pentecost is commemorated. Alas, how the word has become corrupted and dragged in the mire. Whitsuntide!! How little is there now in that word to suggest white-robed saints professing their Savior’s name. Whitsuntide!! It suggests debauchery and drunkenness, more than baptism and blessing. Whit-Sunday!! It is the Sunday most removed from being a ’white’ one. Did you mark the crowds of shouting Sabbath-breakers as you came here? You know what the road will be like when you return. It is black Sunday, and tomorrow, to tens of thousands, it will be blacker Monday. Let us thank God if by His grace we have learned to find our joy in Him; and let us seek this evening to get our own soul revived, as we meditate on the marvels of that day which made a wondering multitude exclaim, "What does this mean?" I will first notice three things immediately preceding the outpouring of the Spirit, then the blessing itself, and lastly I will try and answer in a few words the question of our text. I. Notice three things immediately preceding the outpouring of the Spirit. In looking at the assembled group of disciples, I can see three things which, if not the direct cause of a revival, always precede and herald it. They are the shadows cast by the coming blessing. They are like "the sound of marching in the top of the mulberry trees" 2 Samuel 5:24 that told David it was time to "bestir himself." 1. I see first in that gathering, a complete congregation. In the first verse of the chapter you read "they were all in one place." No absentees. None were away. Now this signaled earnestness, for it was rather early in the morning. The Spirit had come, and Peter had commenced his notable sermon, before nine o’clock in the morning; for he says, "It is but the third hour of the day." It was in fact an early Sunday morning prayer meeting, and every one of the company was present. Glorious fact — I am not so surprised now at what followed. Always before a great blessing there will be a revived interest on the part of Christians in the services of the sanctuary. The half-truth, "I can worship God as well at home" (which is a lie when the man is able to come to the Sanctuary and does not), will not be heard. Zion’s palaces will possess a beauty in the eyes of Zion’s children, while their tongues will sing, "I was glad when it was said to me, let us go up into the house of the Lord." Psalms 122:1-2. When there, no weariness will be felt, no longing desire for the worship to conclude and to have the blessing dismiss them. No! They cry, "Our feet shall stand within your gates, O Jerusalem." There will be a trooping to the house of the Lord, and the "tribes" will go up in company. Indifference to the public worship of our God is a fatal sign. Where there are numbers of absentees, there is but little probability of having a "white" Sunday. But, O Sir! Is it not lamentable to find what trifles often serve to keep some professors from being gathered together each Sunday morning? What a shame the cause of their absence often is. Things that would never be permitted to interfere one moment with their work, or delay one minute an anticipated pleasure — are reckoned sufficient to warrant staying home from church. Many find eleven o’clock on Sunday mornings too early to come to worship — but they have no problem catching the eight o’clock excursion train on Saturday mornings. They have no intention of missing that — even if they missed the Savior’s worship, and although it requires a three hours earlier start. These worldly professors are a sad blot on the church, and signal a lack of spiritual life. But let the blessing come, and before the full power of the revival sweeps through the church, there will be a near-approach to a complete congregation — all being present who possibly can. This is the first thing I notice as immediately preceding the outpouring of the Spirit. 2. But secondly, I see a congregation one in desire and motive. They were not only all there — but all there "with one accord." No two motives had drawn them. They came to receive the promised blessing. That and nothing else than that had brought them from their homes to the early morning meeting. Go ask them, "What do you seek here?" They all answer "The Comforter." The prayer of one, was the prayer of all; the expectation of one, was the expectation of all. Every heart was giving the same echo. They were banded, welded together, in their common desire. Ah, I do not marvel now at anything that may happen. A church that is all present and all agreed may expect anything, dare anything, accomplish anything, receive anything. Is it not the lack of this spirit of unity, that is the weakness of the churches of the present day? In putting my finger on this, do I not indicate the secret disease that preys on Zion? Is this not what robs her of her bloom — enervates her strength — gives paralysis to her arm — and worst of all, hinders the blessing from falling, and makes the sky above her head hot and as dry as brass? Unbelief is not the only thing that keeps Christ from doing many mighty works. It might with equal truth be said of many a church, "He did not do many mighty works there because of their squabbling, petty, selfish spirit!" They never come with one accord, and therefore they never have a Pentecostal season. It is sad beyond description, to see the paltry pride and miserable jealousies that find their way within the courts of the Lord’s House. There are men who will be nothing, unless they are everything; and who will, without compunction, sacrifice a whole church’s prosperity on the wretched little altar of their own unsanctified ambition! Instead of all being baptized into one spirit, it looks more as if every one had been baptized into a different spirit — and every spirit an evil one. Doubtless some of you may think this is rather an over-drawn picture. All I can say is "I would to God that it was," but we speak what we know, and testify of what we have seen. With all our heart we have pitied the pastor of these "units." We have felt he was engaged in a well-near hopeless struggle. While these fruits of the flesh, "emulations, variances, wrath, and strife," hang on the boughs of any church, there can be no White-Sunday for the preacher — there can be nothing of Peter’s success in winning souls. But when the reverse is seen, then rejoice, for the dawn of the White-Sunday breaks. When one desire spreads from heart to heart, and that is the desire for greater holiness and more conversions — when all differences become drowned in one overwhelming passion, and that is the passion for saving souls — then let the church lift up her head, for the day of her revival draws near. Pentecost has almost fully come. The sacred tide has risen to the very top of the bank; it must sweep over shortly. Oh beloved members of this church, let us see to it that we are more than ever of one accord. Thanks, ten thousand thanks, be to God, that for years we have been knit together, not as a society, but as a family. Never was there truer love or more determined unity in any church. Yet I cannot doubt that hidden away among nearly one thousand members, there are some evil feelings and unworthy bickerings. Is it so? Can it be, dear friend, that except for your lack of accord, the blessing would be even greater than it is? O, away with it!! In spirit let us now grasp hands and Pentecost shall come again. I pray God, that riding over the revival we have had for five years, there may come another. A wave leaping on wave, bearing all opposition down. May the sacred flood roll and rise, rise and roll, until it sweeps like a deluge over the topmost peaks of the mountains of our selfishness — drowning all our littlenesses, and bearing this church upon its bosom, high and higher still, until it floats like the ark of old, above the highest hills! 3. The third thing I see is a congregation steeped in the spirit of prayer. This I gather from the previous chapter. Kindly turn with me to the fourteenth verse and you will read "these all continued with one accord in prayer and supplication with the women and Mary the mother of Jesus, and with his brethren." This was directly after the ascension of our Lord. Ten days have passed since then. They are praying still. They had a ten-day prayer meeting. Do you wonder that they had a white Sunday? I would have wondered, if they had not. Here I wish to speak with all the plainness possible, for God knows we are in earnest about this matter. Fearless of any contradiction, I assert that the general prayerlessness of the church is simply deplorable, dreadful, and humiliating. I wish that I could find stronger language to describe the evil; it cannot well be exaggerated. Here and there exceptional cases are to be seen, where hundreds come to prayer. But take the general run of prayer meetings. Drop in on a Monday night, and at most sanctuaries; what do you behold? A paltry forty or fifty out of a church of four hundred members; and half of these perhaps are members of the congregation, and half not members of the church at all. It is not an uncommon thing for churches to have to give up prayer meetings because so few come, and they hold a half-preaching and half-praying meeting in the middle of the week. In the majority of churches, the prayer meeting is a disgrace, and while this remains, it is no use talking about having a revival in the world. O, that a cry might go through the land, "To your knees, to your knees, daughter of Zion;" for until she does, no blessing will come. Members of this church, do let not your prayerfulness decline. The Pentecostal blessing we are now enjoying may be traced to our gatherings for prayer. It is not alone the preaching; it is nothing of the man; it is your praying that has won the day. For five years you have flocked to the prayer meetings, as consistent as the world flocks to its pleasures. I implore you, if you would have a second Pentecost, then still pray. Let everything else go rather than the meetings for pleading with God. Think! Might the blessing here not be tripled by more prayer? We have not yet had all our God can give us. He still waits with both hands full. Then pray — pray — pray. While meditating on this subject in my study yesterday, the fire burned within — desires too big for utterance filled me. Restlessly I paced the room, thinking what God’s church might have, if only it would band itself together to pray, and with one accord determine to give Heaven no rest until the day of Pentecost gladdens this century. I could not study — but I wept and cried, "O God, do make tomorrow a White Sunday in that Tabernacle!" and then I thought I heard my sighs echoed by you — the same fire of longing desire burned hot within you — and you said "we will have a second Pentecost, if we have ten days of prayer to get it!" O sirs, the blessing is ours if we like to take it. It is only a matter of waiting. God cannot withhold from a seeking people. If we do not get it one day, let us pray the next, and the next, and the next — but get it. May this spirit of prayer — this pioneer of revival — be ours now and ever as a church. Thus have I tried to show you the three things immediately preceding the outpouring of the Spirit. Let these three things be found in any church, and the certain result is "Pentecost." II. Let us notice the blessing itself. I observe first, that it came at an appointed time. It was "when the day of Pentecost had fully come." God has a time for everything. Never is He one moment behind that time — nor ever a second before it. The disciples doubtless expected the blessing sooner. They had to learn what we have learned, that there is a sovereignty in revivals. Man has no power to command one. He can only cry out and wait. The sovereignty displayed in the salvation of individual souls, is not more marked than in the revival of churches. In both cases "one is taken, and the other left;" Matthew 24:40 and the only reason faith can give is "even so Father, for it seemed good in your sight." Matthew 11:26. Over one church a cloud of blessing hangs, continually letting showers of refreshment fall. Beneath its influence, all is verdant, fresh, and lovely. The saints are joyous, with the dew of their youth abiding on them. On every hand young converts are springing up like flowerets. The music of the river of God is heard flowing through the place, and the time of the singing of birds seems always there. Every sermon bears its fruit. Every class yields its tribute. The church meetings have the joy of Heaven in them, as case after case of returning prodigals is reported. The whole is like a golden harvest field, and the song of the reapers rings out far and wide. But yonder is another church, the very contrast to this. The heavens above it seem like brass — and no cloud as big as a man’s hand can be discerned. The piety of its members seems to lack freshness and their leaf withers. Converts are almost unknown. Everything droops, especially the spirit of the pastor. How is it that in one place all is fertility — and in the other sterility? The answer cannot always be given by pointing to any one thing possessed by the former church, and lacking in the latter. Some time back I heard a statement made by a brother minister, that I felt compelled to take exception to. He said that "If the minister’s heart was right with God, there was sure to be a revival in his church." Ah, friends, I know many whose hearts are right with God, and who are walking a life of fellowship with a risen Christ that I have admired and envied, who yet see but little blessing on their labors. I have heard them cry, and seen them weep over the coldness of their churches, and wept with them as they prayed over and over again, "O Lord, revive your work in your church." Do not let those churches that have the blessing, despise those that lack it. The only difference is that the time to favor the first "has come, and the time to favor the others shall come." I do not speak here of those cold and highly respectable churches which never had a revival, never want one, and in all probability never will have one. But I speak of those churches where, though little blessing is seen, there is intense desire and prayer for more. It was mercy to the greatest number, that delayed the desired blessing. God was waiting until Jerusalem was at its fullest. While the disciples in the upper room were praying, troops of people were flocking into the city. God was heaping the fuel for the fire to fall on. It was worth waiting for such a grand result. Observe secondly, that the blessing came suddenly and in a moment. With man’s work, the process as well as the result is visible. If a temple is to be built, the plans are exhibited, the foundations dug out — the scaffolding reared, and for months the chipping of the stone-mason’s chisel and the clicking of the bricklayer’s trowel are heard. But God can build His temple in a night, and like Solomon’s, no sound of tool is heard. At any moment, without any previous warning, the revival may come. If I had time I could give many a proof of this from the history of the church in all ages; but I forbear and only mention one instance, the remembrance of which must ever be precious to us as a church. Do you remember a handful that were meeting in a small sanctuary in this neighborhood? Do you remember how quickly it became the thousand, and now the thousand has become three thousand? Can we ever forget that Sunday evening over five years ago, when the blessing swept through the place which has remained with us ever since? This church then had her White Sunday and thank God, many a one since! Note, thirdly, that the blessing spread far and wide. If it commenced with the disciples, it did not end with them. From the upper room it soon flew along the streets of Jerusalem like an electric current. The crowds gather — they surge around the building — curiosity is aroused and all cry "What does this mean?" Peter preaches. The power goes abroad. The right-hand of the Lord does valiantly. Three thousand find out what a revival means. O, Sirs, there is no telling where the influence of a revival in a church may spread. It finds its way where nothing else will. It creeps into homes shut against the tract distributor. It glides into the darkest places of vice. It penetrates the whole neighborhood. A revived church will be certain to draw the multitude together. Let a revival but come and the dreary waste of empty pews to be seen in many a sanctuary will be gone. This is the secret of getting at the masses. Our churches do not need cleverer or better ministers — but revived ones. Our ministers do not need richer or more respectable churches — but revived ones. Have a revived pastor and a revived people — and no building will be too large for the congregation that will gather. A revived church is a magnetic power. The people must come to it. If, beloved, God would but give us from this evening a fresh outpouring of His Spirit, the blessing will not stay here — Bow, Limehouse, Ratcliff, all the neighborhood will come beneath the power. If our God would but let fall a spark from Heaven’s altar into our midst tonight, as quick as in the dry prairie, the flames shall run along the ground until far and wide there shall glow a belt of living, purifying, blessed fire. O God, do so! III. Thirdly and briefly I will try to answer the question of our text. "What does this mean?" Why, it means that Christ is ascended. It means that the glorious prophecy has come to pass. "You have ascended on high, you have led captivity captive; you have received gifts for men; yes, for the rebellious also, that the Lord God might dwell among them." What does this mean? It means that Jesus of Nazareth, the despised of the people — He who died a felon’s death — is Lord and Christ and sits on high, head over all things unto His church! Do you not think, dear friends, that an ascended Christ is too overlooked by the churches of this day? "Lovely mournful Calvary," must never be separated from the glorious throne of honor; nor must He who stooped to death, be separated from Him who is highly exalted. An ascended, glorified Christ, warrants the Church to expect any measure of blessing, and any number of conversions. "What does this mean"? It means that all instrumentality is nothing without the Holy Spirit; but the poorest instrumentality with the Spirit, is mighty enough to accomplish anything. Alas, what an amount of powerless machinery we have in the so-called "religious world." Powerless, because it has no unction. Powerless, because it is the work of man — not the working of God through the man. Powerless, because it is dry and artificial. Powerless, because it is done by men who have never "tarried until they were endued with power from on high." Instrumentality is almost worshiped — while the Holy Spirit is well-near ignored. O, I wish that it were more realized by us all, that apart from the blessed Spirit, our acquirements and preparations are nothing, and can do nothing. God’s church is hindered, not helped, by any instrumentality that lacks the Holy Spirit. But see what the Spirit can do by the feeblest means. As a sermon, Peter’s discourse had nothing about it to account for the extraordinary results that followed; but God was in it and that accounts for everything. White Sundays will come in all our churches when the Holy Spirit is more honored, when unction takes the place of mere oratory, and witnessing for Jesus takes the place of frozen proprieties. "What does this mean?" It means that God is pleased to work on the world through the church. Far be it from us to call into question the good that has been accomplished by many of our "societies," but we believe that half of them could be spared with ease if a greater unction would but rest on the church. Societies composed of the church and world combined, never seem to me to be very likely to have a Pentecost. And as the Holy Spirit only dwells in the church, it is to the church that we must look to do the work of God. Worldly cooperation, though it brings wealth, will bring a more than counter-balancing weakness. "What does this mean?" It means that these are the seasons that God’s church is to seek at His hands. I will close with an illustration. In the early part of this week I was standing on the seashore, watching with great interest the "launching" of a fishing boat. I saw in it a union of work and dependence that charmed me. The fishermen brought the craft down the beach as far as they could and then left her awhile until the tide which was flowing neared her. Meantime, two anchors had been cast out to sea, from which there were ropes to a windlass in the center of the vessel. Soon the surf (for the sea was fresh) began to surround her as she lay a dead weight upon the shore. Then the waves began to curl over and break upon her side. The men at the windlass took a turn and made the rope taut. And now every moment the tide had more power over her. She was never still. Twenty times I said, "Now she is off;" and twenty times she settled down again on the shore, and twenty times the men at the windlass put on the strain. Of course they got a drenching — but then men don’t mind that when they want to get a vessel off. At last, one wave swept higher than any before; she shook — rose — glided down towards the deep — the men turning the handle of the windlass quickly as possible. A wave that she met threatened to sweep her back on the shore — but the anchors held her, and right through the surf the men wound her, and half-an hour after, she was flying away before the breeze, a very contrast to the dead weight she looked upon the beach. Friends, that vessel is the church. The Holy Spirit is the tide. The ropes and the windlass are human agencies only to be used in dependence on the tide. The tide is coming in. The church feels its power. She moves — she rises. O God, send the billow that will float her now, and send her careering on her course, and careening with the breeze of the Spirit. Let us now conclude by a united cry to God to make this day a White Sunday to us all. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 60: S. WHAT SHALL I GIVE HIM? ======================================================================== What Shall I Give Him? Archibald G. Brown, October 23rd, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle "What shall I render to the Lord for all His benefits toward me?" Psalms 116:12 As I observed in reading this psalm at the commencement of the present service, we are not informed under what circumstances it was written, or what the peculiar troubles were, from which the sweet singer of Israel was delivered, that inspired him to pen these joyful verses. The language of thankfulness is such that it will beautifully suit any grateful soul, whatever his mercies may be. The psalmist may have referred to some special mercy, such as support from his enemies, or restoration to health after a dangerous sickness, in which the sorrows of death compassed him, and the pains of the grave got hold of him; or else the whole psalm may be the result of a general view of his God’s loving-kindness towards him throughout his life. It is perhaps a good thing that the particular subject of praise is thus left unmentioned, as it becomes more easily applicable to the present experience of God’s saints. It is sufficient for us to know that David had been in some trouble and calamity; it is sufficient for us to know that in that trouble he did the wisest thing he could, "he called upon the name of the Lord;" Psalms 116:4 it is sufficient for us to know that when he cried, the Lord heard him and delivered him; and it is enough for us to know that overflowing with gratitude for so great a mercy, he exclaimed, "What shall I render to the Lord?" When David wrote this psalm he was enjoying one of those happy experiences which, alas, are too much like angels’ visits, "few and far between." Thankfulness and holy joyfulness absorbed every other thought. It was no question with him whether he would praise the Lord or not — he was bound to; and he could no more resist the impulse than the lark can restrain the song as it mounts aloft. He had been in the horrible pit of depression, and stuck fast in the miry clay of foreboding fears; but now he had clean escaped from both, and with his feet planted on a rock, he found a new song placed on his lips. Oh what a happy thing it is to hear the involuntary melody of a heart tuned to Jehovah’s praises. There is nothing happier, than to have that musical heart beating in one’s own breast. It is a remarkable thing in relation to the sayings of this blessed book, that they never become worn out or outgrown. Their freshness abides, and the dew of their youth ever remains upon them. No spiritual experience has so advanced as to get beyond the expressions of holy writ. They are just as applicable now, as when first breathed; and their words are as exact an echo to the saint’s feelings of this century, as they were to the feelings of the inspired bard, prophet, or apostle who first uttered them. It was but the other day I was reading a paragraph in a religious publication that serves as an illustration for this thought. An Alpine traveler, in company with a shepherd as a guide, had reached a dizzy height among the snowy peaks of the mountain range, when his guide asked him to stop and listen to a remarkable echo. Raising his shepherd’s horn to his mouth, he blew a blast that startled the silence; the notes seemed to die away without producing any mountain music, and the traveler was just about to express his disappointment when — at first in gentle strains, the echo became audible. It was soon taken up and flung from side to side, until it seemed as if every icy peak and glassy precipice had found a tongue. Softened and mellowed by the glittering sounding-board, the music ascended in circles and broke in wavelets of harmony on every hand, until up to its highest peak that appeared enameled on the sky, the whole mountain was draped with seraphic harmony. So is it in the mountain of the Lord’s house. A shepherd king sounds a simple note of grateful praise. For a season, perhaps, the words seem to die away in silence; but then echoed and re-echoed not by icy pinnacles — but glowing hearts, they are heard on every hand. This echo never dies away — but swelling in grandeur as time flies, it outlives time itself. And when the fiat has gone forth that "time shall be no more," the note shall still be heard in the heavenly courts, loud as the sound of many mighty rushing waters, "What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits towards me? I will take the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of the Lord." Let us this morning, by the Master’s help, catch up the strain and send the echo back again. Let our hearts join in the noble work of sounding forth the praises of our God. Be-gone now all unbelief, all coldness and all deafness. Rising up from our inherent selfishness, and viewing only our manifold mercies, let the Psalmist’s question become ours, and his answer too. There are three things in the verse that will serve us for the matter of meditation. They are, first — The desire that prompts the question. Secondly — The question itself; and thirdly — The only answer that can be given to the question. I. The DESIRE that prompts the question. Let us then commence at the desire that gives vent to itself in the question of our text; and before we talk of the stream, let us try and describe the fountain from which it flows. What was it that prompted David ever to ask such a question? It was a desire to show that he was not insensible to the multitude of God’s mercies bestowed on him. If we were able to look into his heart at the time he wrote these words, I think we would have found some thoughts and meditations such as these: "O, my God, I have been wonderfully blessed by You — Surely none owe You a deeper debt than I. You have poured out of your mercy upon me in a most marvelous manner. You have delivered my soul from death. You have wiped tears from my eyes, and my very feet have been held in your paths. All that I am and all that I have is from You; but O, my God, I fear lest I should receive your mercy as my right, and take your gifts as my due — I fear lest base ingratitude should betray me, and a cold insensibility benumb me — I tremble, lest like an open grave I were to swallow up all your benefits and make as little return, to selfishly accept the gifts — but show no gratitude to the Giver." Some thoughts such as these doubtless passed through his mind; and anxious to clear himself of so horrible a suspicion, he exclaims, in the language of the text, "What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits towards me?" Alas, how prone we all are to get — but never give; to grumble if one mercy is withheld — but withhold our song, though a thousand benefits are freely granted. Too many of us are like the barren rock, wet with the dew of Heaven’s mercy, and warmed with the sun of Heaven’s favor — and yet as unproductive in return. But still, far though we fall short of the gratitude that is His due, there will yet be in the heart of every saint at least the same desire after thankfulness. It seems to be a law of nature, that some return should be made for benefits received. Look abroad into the fair face of creation, and you will discover no selfishness there. Yonder is a field that once was covered with a sward like velvet — but there has been a long drought, and now the fresh greenness has departed, and given way to a brownish yellow; on every hand the ground is seamed with gaping cracks that appear as so many thirsting mouths calling for their drink. The cattle search in vain for food; dust there is plenty — but pasture none. But lo! The weather changes. Black clouds gather overhead, and for a whole week they let fall the welcome rain. It runs into the cracks and soaks into the soil. The thirsty field has drunk it all. Does it make no return? Walk into that meadow a few days after and see. The green blades again point their fingers to the sky from which the showers of blessing came, and the daisy lifts up its pale but lovely face in silent thankfulness. The meadow has made its return for the benefits it received. The sun pours its golden light upon the garden; a thousand plants are warmed and nourished by its rays. Do they make no return? Look at those opening buds and see, and when the whole garden is one mass of bloom, and every shade of color blends in harmonious contrast with the leafy shade — learn how nature gives loveliness for light. You will perceive the same thing if you turn to the animal creation. The Arab steed neighs with delight when his master comes near its stall, and the dog licks the hand that has patted its head. Shall inanimate nature and the lower creatures of God’s handiwork make His saints blush? Shall the grass of the field and the beast of the stall, put to shame the trees of the Lord’s right hand planting, and the children of the house? Surely not! Unless the heart has become depraved beyond conception, its first impulse must be, even if it is in the most humble form, to make some return for every gift received. Remember, moreover, that gratitude can only be shown by making some return. It is impossible to detect gratitude apart from its results. No, it is impossible for it to exist without them. I grant that the returns may be most inadequate, and valued by some standards, perfectly worthless; but there are returns, and perhaps only such as the recipient could give. To some poor wretched starving vagrant, who has nothing in the world but the rags that hang on his shoulders — you give relief. You ask, what return can he make? If he is grateful, he will give you what he has, perhaps a tear in the eye, or a broken "God bless you sir." Is that not something? And if no word were spoken and no look given, would you not justly doubt the fact of his having any feeling of thankfulness whatever? Believe me, some of these poor returns are the most genuine, and will live in your remembrance when costlier ones are forgotten. That unutterable look that the widow gave as she tried in vain to thank you for the bread you placed in the mouths of her hungry children, was a return that made you feel you had received more than you ever gave. Yes, there is always some way in which gratitude of heart can manifest itself, and it will too, if it is there. Another thing which should heighten the grace of thanksgiving in your esteem, and set you to longing to possess more of it — is that it is the peculiar privilege of the saint. None but the saints can praise God aright. It is not everyone that can make melody on the flute or lute, nor can anyone sound forth the harmonious praises of their God. I freely grant you that the wicked are bound to praise God — but I am equally certain they are not fit to. Praise is the work of a living man, "for the dead cannot praise Him," Isaiah 38:18, nor can those who are still dead in trespasses and sins render any acceptable thanksgiving to God. It is left to His saints and to them only, to thank Him. I suppose there are not many present who have not, with the speaker, often had a shudder run through them as they heard the miserable apology for praise that some godless person has thought it "the proper thing" to make. Who has not heard the cold and discordant note of "God almighty has been very good to me," and while you heard it, you felt it was next door to an indecency for someone who was living a God-dishonoring life to attempt His praise. It is good old Thomas Watson, in his rare book, "A Godly Man’s Picture Drawn With A Scripture Pencil," from which I have gleaned many thoughts this morning, who says in more pungent and poetical language, "A profane man covered with God’s praises, is like a dunghill stuck over with flowers." Thanksgiving is the highest part of worship. Prayer may, in great measure, be the offspring of a selfish desire — but praise is the result of a sincere heart. Prayer, it has well been said, is like the raven that cries — but praise is like the lark that carols. It is a blessed thing to be able to cry to God — but it is surely a higher act to praise God. It is a comforting thought that He who hears the raven when it cries, hears us also in our petitions; but it is a soul-inspiring thought that our God bends down and listens with delight to our feeble strains of praise. When upon our knees in prayer we act like men, and like men who feel their emptiness; but when our soul rises in praise we are brought more into harmony with the worship of those who surround the throne, and who have nothing to do but sing the high praises of Him who brought them there. I think that here is one of the weak points in our public worship as nonconformists. I fear that the sermon is too often looked at as the chief part of worship, and the rest as mere accessories; whereas the sermon is no part of worship whatever, and should only be valued as it is a means of conveying grace to the hearer. The truest part of worship is the singing, and it is a thousand pities that it should be thought so little of, or else only thought of as a musical performance. It is in the united hymn of praise that the congregation reaches the climax of worship. To borrow another thought from the old puritan I have already quoted, "Thanksgiving and praise is the one thing the Devil cannot do. It is in this that we reach an altitude beyond the power of Hell to attain." Do you pray? The devils can do this, and have done — and been answered too. They begged Christ that if they were turned out of the poor possessed man, they might be allowed to enter the herd of swine at hand, and their request was allowed. Do you quote scripture? So can the Devil, and better too, doubtless. In his conflict with our Savior, he showed he had the word of God on the tip of his tongue, if not in the center of his heart. Do you believe in God? So do the devils, "and tremble," James 2:19, which is something more than the faith of some present has ever produced. Do you make a profession? So can the Devil, and a fairer one by far than you, for he can transform himself "into an angel of light." 2 Corinthians 11:14. But when as a saint, you offer to God the sacrifice of thanksgiving, you perform an act that Satan cannot do. Hell knows no hallelujahs, and perdition can raise no praises. The voice of praise is a heavenly one, and the praising Christian, has Heaven commenced on earth. Since then it is such a high and blessed thing to have this thankful and thanksgiving spirit, I can imagine that many present are now asking a question, that I desire for a few minutes to try and answer. It is this — How may we know when we are truly thankful? The heart is so deceitful — and we are so ready to be deceived when the deception is that we possess something that is good — that it would be good for all to put themselves to the test. I think I may say, we have the truly thankful spirit, when we are quick to see our mercies, and slow to forget them. By being quick to see our mercies, I mean, having a disposition that loves to find out mercies that are perhaps not apparent at first. Anyone can see the mercy that meets him in the very middle of the path of life; but the truly thankful soul will hunt the hedges that line his road, to see if there are no concealed mercies among the thorns. The character I would describe, is the one that always looks for the bright side of every providence, and if unable to find a bright spot, thanks God that it is no darker than it is. Such a spirit may well be illustrated by a little anecdote I was reading this week. A poor woman had two children — but not a bed for them to lie on, and scarcely clothes to cover them. One winter night, when they were nearly perished with the cold, and half frozen by the bitter wind that found its way into the room, the mother took the door of the cellar off the hinges, and set it up before the corner where the little ones were crouching down to sleep, in order that some of the draught might be kept from them. One of the children whispered to her, as she was complaining of how badly off they were, "Mother, what do those dear little children do, who have no cellar door to put in front of them?" That little one was quick to see a mercy. But not only is the truly thankful one quick to see a mercy — but he is also slow to forget it. It is said that the memory is the part of man that first decays. It is so spiritually. We are too prone to record our mercies as children record their names in the sand, to be washed out by the first wave of a new trouble that reaches us. Now the thankful soul treasures his mercies as the miser does his gold, and in dark and trying times he lives over again the bright past. A person is only truly thankful, when his heart is in his praises; and when his heart is in them, he will never consent to render them by proxy. No mere instrumental music in church, will suffice for the truly thankful soul. He will sing with it but never let it sing for him, and perhaps he will sing truest praise without any of its assistance. No choir can render to God the praises of his soul. He must render them himself. I greatly question whether organs and choirs have ever been any help in the praise of God. They have doubtless been so to the correct singing of the congregation — but that is a very different thing from true praise. At all events, no earnest soul will take them as its substitute. The idea of "a children’s choir" performing his thanksgivings for him, will only rouse a feeling of indignation. He must sing them out himself, although the heart is in far better tune than the lips. Nothing, however beautiful in itself, can be accepted in the place of hearty worship. I well remember being, sometime back, in York-Minster, and being delighted with the service as a musical treat. Next to me was a poor old woman, who evidently had come to render her thanks to her Lord. She never was in time or tune — but her responses came so deep from her heart, that many turned round in evident displeasure at her great lack of taste in allowing her unmusical voice to be heard so distinctly. I could not help feeling on leaving, that the most real thing I had witnessed was her worship, and that perhaps in God’s ears the most melodious part of the service was that old woman’s honest — but discordant praise. Have heart and music too, if possible — but if you are in earnest, you will have the heart. The heart is truly thankful when in its praises, there is an absence of all thought of human merit. That is no true thanksgiving that says, "I bless God for his mercy — and myself for my wisdom," or "God has been very good to me — and I feel in some measure I deserve his benefits." No, no. True praise says, "I am not worthy of the least of His mercies." "What am I or my father’s house that you have brought me here? Not to me, O Lord, not to me — but to your name be all the glory." When self creeps in — praise creeps out; and in proportion as our song rises to true melody, self will sink in utter abasement. Before passing on to our second point, let us all put the question home to our souls. "O my soul, if you have nothing beside, have you the same deep desire that gave birth to David’s question: What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits towards me?" May the Lord breathe that desire into us, and mightily increase it if it is already there. II. The question itself. "What shall I render"? Here is a question far easier asked, than answered. I confess that in studying this subject, when I asked my soul this question, and then tried faithfully to answer it, I found myself completely bewildered. I found I had all the desire in the world to render something. But what? There are many thoughts that occur to our mind that only make the question a greater difficulty. Think for a moment of the possessions of God. Rightly has the text been engraved upon the front of our Royal Exchange, "The Earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof!" Psalms 24:1. What can mortal man give to his God? How can the treasury of the Creator, be enriched by the gifts of the creature? The thought of our God’s infinite wealth makes the question of our text appear next door to an impertinence. Listen but to his own words, "I have no need of a bull from your stall or of goats from your pens, for every animal of the forest is mine, and the cattle on a thousand hills. I know every bird in the mountains, and the creatures of the field are mine. If I were hungry I would not tell you, for the world is mine, and all that is in it." Psalms 50:9-12. The golden veins of the everlasting hills are his, and the hidden treasures of the deep belong to him. Lift up your eyes on high some starry night, and behold the bespangled skies — every glittering speck you see is a rolling world, and every world is the result of His handiwork. He calls them all by their names, and the heavens are but His jewel-case. Turn your eyes to a darker region, and you will but behold His possessions, for swinging at His waist are the keys of death and Hell. Now say believer, what you will lay at the feet of Him who can place His hand upon Heaven, Earth, and Hell, and say, "all is mine!" But apart from the possessions of our God, there is another insuperable difficulty to answering the question, and that is our own poverty. It is not the rich offering to the richer, nor the wealthy rendering to the more wealthy — but is total poverty talking of making a gift to infinite wealth. Forgetting for a moment that God’s riches that can never be increased, let us ask ourselves "if it were otherwise, what do we have?" Ransack your memory, run over your accounts, find out what you do possess. "What is the sum total? Nothing! Nothing!! Nothing!!! We are miserable bankrupts, not worth a jot. The very bread we eat is the bread of divine charity, and the breath we draw is lent to us. It is utter emptiness, talking of giving to the perfection of fullness. It is the beggar rendering to the benefactor! There is yet another reason for our being at a non-plus in giving an answer, and that is, if we were able to give Him anything — it would be but rendering to Him what is already His own. What do we have, that we have not first received from God? 1 Corinthians 4:7. Scripture is most emphatic on this point, "You are not your own — but purchased with a price." 1 Corinthians 6:19-20. When Jesus died on the cross to redeem His people, or as Peter expresses it, "to purchase" his church, Acts 20:28 — He bought all they were and all they had. Our body, soul, and spirit, our time, our talents, our head, our heart, our hands, our mouth, our feet, all belong to Him — so that with every offering we should have to say with David, "But who am I, and who are my people, that we should be able to give as generously as this? Everything comes from You, and we have given You only what comes from Your hand!" 1 Chronicles 29:14 Now I ask you my dear friends, with these thoughts in your mind, what answer will you make to the question? Surely you can make only one, and that is the same as the Psalmist. This leads us to our third and last division. III. The only answer that can be given. "I will take the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of the Lord." Psalms 116:13. As I mentioned in the exposition of this Psalm when reading it, this has reference to an old Jewish custom. At the close of a meal, the master of the family would take and drink from a cup, called the cup of blessing, in token of his gratitude for the mercies they had received. So the psalmist seems to say: "In token of gratitude for all God’s benefits towards me, I will take up the cup of thanksgiving and bless the name of the Lord." The heart’s gratitude is all the saint can give in return for divine mercies that are fresh with every hour, and as numerous as the seconds in the day. But you will reply, "Is that not giving to God what He has first bestowed. Is that very gratitude of soul, not His gift?" It is — but in His infinite compassion, our Lord is willing to accept from our hands, that which He has first placed in them. O grasp therefore the cup of thanksgiving, and drink it in His courts to His praise. Do not niggardly withhold the only thing you can render. Show that the question you have asked was asked with a purpose, and was no mere heartless mockery. Praise Him, it costs nothing, it is all that you can do, and it is just what He is willing to accept. Not to do so is disloyalty to Heaven’s throne. But if thanksgiving is good, remember thanks-living is better; therefore let your whole life join in the harmony. There are several ways in which you may take the cup of blessing in your hand. I will mention but a few, and close the discourse. First — Give Him your love. Nothing testifies to gratitude so much. Indeed, where this is lacking, no true praise can exist. Do not be afraid of loving Him too much. Do not fear being thought a fanatic, or considered an enthusiast. If you could love Him to a flaming passion, absorbing every love, you would not love Him half enough. Give Him your love; He asks for it. He will pardon its weakness, and at the same time increase its power, for he who loves will learn to love. You are not grateful if you deny him this. Consecrate yourself to His service. This is another way to render praise. Lay yourself upon His altar. Keep no selfish reserve — but live for Him who died for you. Let the locks of your dedication to God be thick as Samson’s, and see that no Delilah robs you of them. The highest praise that mortal saint can give, is the praise that vents itself in the exclamation, "for me to live is Christ." Php 1:21 Resignation under present trouble also supplies some of the softest, sweetest, and most melodious notes in the anthem of a life song. May God now inspire every heart in his presence with the desire that burned in David. On every lip may the same question dwell, and in the life and character of every one, may the answer be heard and seen. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 61: S. WHO IS A PARDONING GOD LIKE THEE? ======================================================================== Who is a Pardoning God Like Thee? Or, Who Has Grace So Rich and Free? Archibald G. Brown, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Who is a God like you, who pardons sin and forgives the transgression of the remnant of his inheritance? You do not stay angry forever but delight to show mercy. You will again have compassion on us; you will tread our sins underfoot and hurl all our iniquities into the depths of the sea!" Micah 7:18-19 No God is like Israel’s God — this was the joyous boast of patriarch, psalmist, and all the prophets. Not only was it rung into the ears of the chosen people, that the "Lord your God is one Lord," but that their God was incomparable in Himself and in all His actions. With what triumphant joy Moses utters his song and extols his God before the assembled congregation of Israel. How defiant the song becomes, as glorying in his Rock, he challenges all others to show its equal, and exclaims "Their rock is not like our Rock, even our enemies themselves being judges." Deuteronomy 32:31. Well did Elijah, that prophet of fire, maintain the same thing when on Carmel’s mount he dared all the prophets of Baal to put it to the test; when before an assembled host he vindicated the honor of his God, and made the conscience-stricken crowd declare, "The Lord, He is God — the Lord, He is God." 1 Kings 18:39. The psalmist bids his harp sound forth the same bold strain, as he sings, "Why should the heathen say, where is now their God?" And then lashing their idols with bitter sarcasm, he continues, "They have mouths — but they do not speak; they have eyes — but they do not see; they have ears — but they do not hear; they have noses — but they do not smell; they have hands — but they do not handle; they have feet — but they do not walk; nor do they speak through their throat. Those who make them are like them; so is everyone that trusts in them." Psalms 115:2; Psalms 115:5-8. Jehovah grandly throws down the gauntlet through His servant Isaiah, and challenges all to comparison. "To whom then will you liken me, or to whom shall I be equal? says the Holy One." "Thus says the Lord, the King of Israel, and his redeemer, the Lord Almighty. I am the first, and I am the last; and beside me there is no God." "Is there a God besides me? Indeed, there is no God; I know not of any." Isaiah 40:25; Isaiah 44:6; Isaiah 44:8. God laughs to scorn all rivals. He spurns idols, the work of men’s hands. Jehovah does not share His glories with another. He alone is God, and incomparable are all His actions. It is happy work to boast in the Lord. It is good for the soul to get out of itself its petty cares and trials, and revel in what its God is. This holy boasting is an atmosphere that strengthens while it rests — it prepares the heart to endure suffering with patience, and makes it bold for any enterprise. He who has a little God, will always be a small saint. In proportion, as we understand the grandeur of our God — our spiritual manhood will grow strong. Everything about our God is great and worthy of Himself. Every attribute our God is in fullest perfection. Everything our God does, is done in a God-like manner. All that He is — all that He has — all that He does — is beyond comparison. Is he wise? Yes, He is the "only wise God." Is He potent? Yes, something more, for "the Lord God omnipotent reigns." Is He holy? Yes, the Holy One — Him before whom the angels veil their faces and cry, "Holy — Holy — Holy." Thrice must the word be repeated to set forth the holiness of Him whom they praise. When His mercy is the theme, the holy writers seem as if they felt all language is far too poor to describe its matchless worth; and so they heap words upon words, and thus in every verse of a whole psalm it is declared that "His mercy endures forever." He is the God, "merciful" — or full of mercy; and all His mercies are "tender mercies"; and His kindnesses are "loving kindnesses." But He is most transcendent in His pardons. Here indeed, the incomparable God shines forth in glory all His own. His pardons, like Himself, are infinite, and know no bounds or limit. Well may we sing in triumph "Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Who has grace so rich and free?" My purpose this evening is, by the Lord’s help to set forth before you the all-excelling nature of our God’s forgiveness. We shall try and do this by asking seven questions, each question, like our text, challenging comparison. I. Who pardons at such a COST? Earthly pardons are cheap. Although often hard to get and difficult to give — yet most cost but the sacrifice of a little personal feeling. Let that go, and it is easy to forgive. I can easily imagine there are two here this evening who have long been severed in their friendship. Both feel a reconciliation ought to have taken place before this — but they say, if spoken to on the subject, "It is impossible." Why? The simple reason is that neither is prepared to pay his share of the cost of a pardon, and that amounts to the sacrifice of a little personal pique, and a good deal of foolish pride. Neither likes to be the first to offer his hand. Both are waiting for each other, and so a miserable estrangement is carried on through weary months and years, because neither will exchange pride for pardon. O ’tis a thousand pities that when pardons are so cheap, they yet remain so scarce! Turn now to the pardon of our God and see if it is not an incomparable one for cost. Before God could forgive a sinner in accordance with His infinite holiness and perfect justice — think what had to be done, sacrificed, and suffered. Measure God’s desire to pardon, by the obstacles His pardoning love overcame — and then you can form some idea of its intensity. No little sacrifice of feeling — no small surrender of pride would have prevailed here; something infinitely greater must be surrendered, and the sacrifice must be that of a Son. God has fathomed His love and pity in one text, "God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish — but have everlasting life." That little word "so" contains more than Heaven or earth can describe. In it is the heart of God — in it is the depth of pardoning love. O think for a minute what that pardon cost, that now makes your soul sing for joy. You received it freely enough because another paid the price; but what was that price? It cost the Father the gift of His beloved Son; He who from eternity had dwelt in His bosom — must be surrendered, become incarnate, suffer and die. It cost Jesus a price no lip can tell — and no heart conceive! See Him tied to yonder pillar — mark that awful scourge as it falls again and again upon His quivering flesh; note how deep the thongs cut, drawing blood at every stroke! Your pardon cost that! "By His stripes we are healed." Isaiah 53:5 Follow Him in that weary walk to Calvary — linger by Him as fever courses through His veins, while head and hands and feet all drip with gore! Stay by Him until His sacred head falls upon the bosom, and His great heart breaks with anguish. And then looking up into that ashen countenance, say "My pardon cost Him that!" Yes, no pardon could ever have come to guilty man — if an atonement had not been made that . . . satisfied divine justice, honored the law, and magnified the holiness of God. It is sweet work to trace the ruby stream of forgiving love; and mark how it would flow on until it reached the sinner, yes, even though it flowed along the channel of a Savior’s wounds! Contrast beloved, this evening, the poor cheap pardons of man, often withheld because he will not sacrifice his foolish feelings or his paltry pride — with the rich costly pardons of our God, given at the price of His own Son, given through the agonies of Gethsemane and Golgotha. "Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Who has grace so rich and free?" II. Who pardons to such an EXTENT? Truly the poet is right when he says that the tenderest hearts have limits to their mercy. The most loving person may have his compassion put to a test that will prove the best of human love, is but human love at best. With most however, the limit of forgiveness is soon reached. Many are the crimes marked down by men as "unpardonable." All Europe seems to agree in putting the wretched assassins and incendiaries of Paris beyond the pale of mercy or hope for pardon. Their hands are too red with blood — their outrages too gross and vile. But behold God, and wonder at his pardoning love!! Man has revolted against Him — murdered His servants — lighted His church with the fires of martyrdom — laughed to scorn and derided His Book, and even crucified His own Son — and yet he says to such red-handed rebels, "Come now and let us reason together; though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall be as wool." Isaiah 1:18 No sinner has ever yet been lost because his sins were too great for pardon. God’s power and willingness to forgive, go beyond — indeed, infinitely beyond — the greatest lengths of sin into which any desperate sinner has dared to run. Go bring me the vilest wretch that breathes the air of Heaven — out of depravity itself, bring me the most depraved — one on whose head is accumulated the guilt of every sin, and every sin in its most aggravated and malignant form — one who had vice written in every line of his sin-stamped countenance, and Hell’s hatred in his heart; and I venture to say to such a one, "there is mercy sufficient for you, and God’s pardoning love reaches a deeper depth than your iniquity." Men are not damned because their sins surpass mercy — but because they refuse to accept it when offered. God’s pardoning mercy is like the waters of the Red Sea when it rolled upon the Egyptian host; the captains and the charioteers were as much overwhelmed as the common footmen. The impetuous tide knew no distinction; it drowned Pharaoh with as much ease as it did the horses in his chariot; it swept in triumph over all alike. Just so, the great sins and the mighty sins are as easily drowned in the blood of Jesus, as those which in our ignorance we call but "failings." The depths of pardon cover them; they sink to the bottom like a stone; the sea covers them; they sink like lead in its mighty waters. O blessed deluge of forgiving mercy. Surely this second question has stirred our hearts to highest gratitude, and put on every lip the adoring challenge!! "Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Who has grace so rich and free?" III. Who pardons so WILLINGLY? It is almost difficult to decide which calls for loudest praise: the pardon — or the way in which the pardon is bestowed? Not only is God incomparable in the forgivenesses He has — but also in the way He gives them. Human pardons are generally spoiled in the mode of bestowal. The bloom of their beauty is lost by the hot hand that holds them so long, before it parts with them. Too often, man’s pardon is only the result of long pleading by the offender. It never gushed forth towards the guilty one with holy alacrity — but was wrung out by many an argument and plea; then when it came, how ungracious it was in its language. Who among us has not known what it is to be forgiven in such a way, that we felt more miserable after the pardon than before? Henry Ward Beecher has well said, "There is an ugly kind of forgiveness in this world — a kind of porcupine forgiveness, shot out like quills. Men take one who has offended them and set him down before the fire of their indignation, and scorch him, and burn his fault into him, and when they have kneaded him with their fiery fists — then they forgive him." How different is the manner of our God — how infinitely higher in this matter are His ways than our ways. I will show you an illustration or two of how the Lord forgives. Our Savior is sitting at dinner in the house of Simon the Pharisee, when a woman comes timidly to the door. The woman is too well known; her shame has been her living. She is an adulteress — a woman of the town. Respectable morality will, "Make a wide sweep, lest she wander too near." She is fallen, and sanctimonious Phariseeism would lose its caste if it was weak enough to pity her. Something tells this poor creature that Jesus may be ventured near; perhaps she has detected a look of deep compassion on His face as she has passed Him in the streets, and that look has broke the heart. At all events she comes to where he is, and bending over His feet upon the couch, big tears begin to fall. The bold look of the past has gone; she can but sob as she remembers it. Her tears wet those blessed feet she has come to anoint with anointing oil; so stooping down, she uses her long tresses to wipe them. The host at the head of the table looks on with scorn. He seems to have known the woman well, and says within himself "If Jesus were a prophet he would have known who and what manner of woman this is that touches him." Jesus perceives his thoughts, rebukes him, and then turning to the weeping sinner, he says, "Your sins are forgiven; go in peace." Luke 7:48-50. O the exquisite tenderness of our Lord in giving that guilty soul its pardon! Yet again. The scribes and Pharisees bring to Him one day a woman taken in adultery. Here is, if anything, a greater sinner than the last. They demand that she should be stoned to death and ask His approval of the sentence. Appearing to be occupied in writing on the ground he looks up only for a moment to say, "He who is without sin, let him cast the first a stone at her." Convicted in their own consciences, they leave one by one, until only the woman remains. Jesus looks up again from the ground, and says to that guilty wife, "Has no man condemned you?" and she said, "No man, Lord." "Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more." John 8:11. Could anything be more delicately done? Could reproof and pardon be more sweetly blended? Would you yet know, dear friends, how God forgives? Then take His own picture in the parable of the prodigal son, and there in every line you will behold the beauty of His pardon. In the father who sees the prodigal "afar off," who "has compassion," who "runs," who "kisses," who interrupts even the confession of guilt, and puts on the best robe at once; in all these things I behold my God who is "ready to forgive," and am compelled to sing, "Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Who has grace so rich and free?" IV. Who pardons so FREQUENTLY? On this point there can be no question, no difference of opinion. The stock of man’s pardons is very soon exhausted. I have no doubt that Peter thought he displayed marvelous magnanimity when he said to the Lord, "How often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him — until seven times?" Seven times seemed to him a great many; but how few and small they looked after the Savior’s answer. "I say to you not until seven times; but until seventy times seven." How much greater the divine idea of pardon was, than the human. Peter and Christ both consulted their own hearts — but how different the response. But He who tells us to forgive our brother seventy times seven, forgives His brethren seventy million times seven — and more than that. We notice when we do forgive. But there never is a minute when our God is not forgiving. His pardoning love runs parallel with our erring life! I do not marvel that John Newton said, "I am downright staggered at the exceeding riches of his grace. How Christ can go on pardoning day after day, hour after hour!!! Sometimes I feel almost afraid to ask for a fresh pardon for very shame." Who has not felt the same? The very multitude of God’s pardons overwhelms. It would tire out an angel to write down all the pardons that God bestows on one of His children. Dear friend, if indeed you are a Christian, then rejoice in the thought that you are ever pardoned. True it is, even to you, that "The blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from all sin!" O, how precious is that present tense, "cleanses" — it keeps on cleansing, never ceasing in its purifying work. Being reconciled to God . . . the friendship is ever maintained, sins are forgiven as soon as committed, wrongs are continuously pardoned, guilt is purged by precious blood every moment. O bear me witness, saints of God, that His willingness to forgive has often amazed you, even though you knew it well — over and over again you have returned to Him after seasons of backsliding, until you felt ashamed to go again — you felt He could never forgive you any more; it was almost presumption on your part to ask for it — but at last you were obliged to seek His face; you could stay away no longer. With many a tear you told Him how again you had fallen into the very sin that had been forgiven a thousand times, and how you felt you were no longer worthy to be called His son. How did He receive you? Never can you forget how He ran to meet you, and as if this was the first offence, he hastened to give the kiss of forgiveness lest your heart break with sorrow. Then you indeed you sang, "Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Who has grace so rich and free?" 5. Who pardons so COMPLETELY? There is much that goes by the name of forgiveness, that is no true pardon at all. The tongue may declare that all is forgiven and forgotten — but let some fresh little difference arise, and all the past has a resurrection — old wrongs that have been buried for years, rise from their graves, all the more hideous for their partial burial! Forgiving love had never made total work of it. The remembrance of the past still rankled in the bosom; it required but a touch to remove the outer skin and reveal the festering wound beneath. Or to use another illustration, wrath’s fire had never quite been put out — it had just smouldered for years, and a new wrong stirred the slumbering embers and made the old flames break out again! It is not so with the pardon of our God. It is as real in its nature, as it is comprehensive in its embrace — it is as true as it is often repeated. God never brings old scores up again, or taunts with the past while He forgives the present. When He says "forgiven," we are forgiven, and the sins He buries in the grave of pardoning love never live or are seen again. The grave is too deep for even Hell to find them! Have you ever, beloved, noticed the different terms employed in scripture to set forth the forgiveness of our God? They are well worthy of study. Words and illustrations more expressive of completeness could not be found. I will mention one or two. Not only are our sins declared to be "covered," but "washed" away. "He has washed us from our sins in His own blood." Revelation 1:5. However perfectly anything may be covered, it still exists — therefore the more expressive term of washing is employed. When a stain has been removed by purging, it is something more than hidden — it is clean gone, so entirely that it can never be restored. A fresh one may take its place — but the old one is no more. As if "washing" were not sufficiently forcible, a stronger word is also used "as for our transgressions, you shall purge them away;" Psalms 65:3, and again, "when He had by Himself purged our sins He sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high." Hebrews 1:3. Washing and purging imply thorough work. Another beautiful emblem is that of "blotting" them out. Just as the sun not only shines through the cloud but dissipates it — it blots it out of existence and leaves nothing but the blue skies over head — so God says, "I have blotted out as a thick cloud your transgressions, and as a cloud your sins." Isaiah 44:22. "I, even I, am He who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and will not remember your sins." Isaiah 43:25. Our sins when pardoned are as the cloud that melts in the air — gone! They are also declared to be "removed," and that to an infinite distance, "as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us." Psalms 103:12. Who will say where the east commences — or where the west terminates? The distance is boundless. Yet as far as the furthest east is from the remotest west — so far has pardoning love taken our sins from us. They are not near you, believer — they have been carried by your divine scapegoat into an uninhabited land — so far away that even the eye of God does not perceive them. Yet one more illustration, and I think it is the loveliest of them all. You will find it in the chapter from which the text is taken, and the nineteenth verse. "You will cast all their sins into the depths of the sea!" Notice here two beauties. First, the number of sins that God takes away: "ALL their sins." Not one is left to tell the tale. Observe secondly where all the sins are cast. "In the DEPTHS OF THE SEA." Not in any river, lest like the Kishon, it might run dry and reveal the hidden crime. Not in the foam of the waves that break along the beach, lest when the tide went down, they might be left high and dry on the shore. But "in the depths;" far out to sea, where the waters cover the face of the deep. There God drops His people’s sins! They are out of sight — eternally hidden — not only forgiven — but forgotten — wondrous love!! "Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Who has grace so rich and free?" 6. Whose pardon is so FULL OF GRACE? Only a word or so on this division. However sweet human pardon may be, there is nothing gracious in it. There is not one reason why we should not forgive; and there are millions of reasons why we should. Needing forgiveness ourselves from man, ’tis but our duty to forgive. But why should God forgive us? What reasons can there be but those found in His own gracious purposes why He should pardon fallen man? The roots of pardoning love are in His own heart, and therefore the fruits appear on us. One says, "It is a remarkable fact that the words in all European languages which express forgiveness or pardon, all imply a free gift." Here indeed our God stands forth incomparable, for "Who has grace so rich and free?" 7. Whose pardon but God’s, SUBDUES THE SIN? Most beautiful is the teaching of that sentence in the verse following our text. He who pardons our iniquities — subdues them as well. The fond parent may forgive his child over and over again — and yet die of a broken heart through seeing that the more frequently he forgives, the more reckless his son becomes! He has the love to pardon — but not the power to subdue the sin. Blessed be God, He has both! While He forgives the result — He heals the cause. God subdues our iniquities, by forgiving them! It is a great mistake to imagine that a consciousness of pardon will lead to an indifference about sin. Love is a mightier motivating power than fear. Gratitude for forgiveness, will make the soul hate sin far more than a dread of lacking pardon for it. It is when we enjoy the sweets of felt pardon in the fullest measure — that we abhor our sins with deepest detestation. Is it not a joyful thought, dear child of God, that while infinite love keeps on pardoning our ever-recurring sin — infinite power is at the same time bringing our wayward hearts more and more under control? God is gradually putting our iniquities beneath His feet — and still pardoning them as they rise. I will now conclude with a sentence or so of application. Believer, rejoice! rejoice!! rejoice!!! You are a traitor if you do not sing. The past is forgiven — the present is being forgiven — the future will be forgiven. You are surrounded by pardons — they line the road to Heaven’s gate. O triumph in your God tonight — let your soul make her boast in the Lord, and sing of blood-bought pardon! Lost sinner, has this verse no word of hope to you? It has. It is all hope. While it stands as part of inspired writ, you never need to despair. Do you say, "But there is no sinner like me?" Granted. And there is no God like our pardoning God! Let an incomparable sinner and an incomparable Savior meet tonight. You shall find His pardons are even greater and more numerous than your crimes! I have read of a most hardened sinner who was condemned to death in the town of Ayr. It pleased the Lord, however, to save his soul while in prison; and so full was his assurance of pardoning mercy, that when he came to the place of execution, he could not help crying out to the people, "Oh, He is a great forgiver! He is a great forgiver!" May the Lord have mercy on you my hearer, and then with us you will exclaim, "Who is a pardoning God like Thee? Who has grace so rich and free?" ======================================================================== CHAPTER 62: S. WHY GO TO HELL? ======================================================================== Why Go to Hell? Archibald G. Brown, December 18th, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Why will you die?" Ezekiel 33:11 Doubtless those of you who were with us last Sunday evening have not yet forgotten the subject of discourse. It was a solemn time to us all. God was in our midst, and we felt that we had received a warning from Him to prepare for death. "This year you shall die!" sounded in our ears, and not knowing who the one would be, many of us took the message as if specially addressed to ourselves. Looking death in the face, and contemplating the tremendous results depending on it — we realized something of the experience of one of old when he exclaimed "How dreadful is this place! This is none other but the house of God." Many of you will also remember that I said while preaching, that it was deeply laid upon my heart that some of my hearers would be in eternity before the year was out. This statement proved to be only too true. Oh, how much greater would have been the solemnity of the service, if you all had but known what I learned only three minutes after the sermon was concluded. While I was preaching, there was one lying a corpse, who was in this Tabernacle on the previous Sabbath evening. He heard with many of you that sermon on the text, "Come here, I will show you the bride, the Lamb’s wife!" and alas on the following Tuesday, he was cut down with little warning. I know he was impressed — but whether more than that, I cannot say. What a voice this has to us! It says to me, "Preach as a dying man to dying men; waste no time over mere prettinesses of speech — but plead with men as for eternity." "O God, save me from trifling with immortal spirits, and speaking as if I only half believe the warnings that I utter, or the gospel that I proclaim!" But my hearers, it speaks to you. Before this year has gone, few though its remaining days are, some of you may be swept away as with a flood! Time with you may be over — and eternity commenced! Is it so? How then should you listen — with what breathless interest should you attend when we tell you of the only way whereby you may be saved. Will you sit listless and careless as if the subject did not concern you, when we plead with you about matters which will decide your eternal well-being — or eternal woe? Awake! awake!! you drowsy ones, for what I have to tell you this night will be remembered by you either in Heaven — or in Hell. My subject is a more stupendous one than last Sunday night’s. Then I spoke only of the death of the body — but now I am going to speak about the death of the soul. Listen to me, you shall. God has brought you this evening under the sound of the word, and there is something within me that tells me that God will this night give me a message to some of you. I do not doubt some will be offended, for I will speak some plain truths in rather rough language; I do not care not if some are offended — for I must have souls at any price. An overwhelming desire is within me to clear myself of the blood of all, and if I have never warned or pleaded with you before, I will now, God helping me. This year has almost gone; but one Sunday now remains, and that, being Christmas day, many of you will not be here. To numbers of you, then, this is the last sermon I will preach this year — to some perhaps, it is the last forever. I am going to ask you a startling question tonight, one very different from my usual kind. Hundreds of times I have asked you, "Why will you not be saved?’ But now I ask you, "Why will you be damned?" It is not this evening, "Why will you not go to Heaven?" but "Why will you go to Hell?" I want a reason for your madness. I want a cause for your preference for perdition. But wait, I am in error; it is not I — but God, who asks the question. It is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who says, "Say to them: As I live, says the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live! Turn, turn from your evil ways, for why will you die?" Looking now to the Lord for power and earnestness, I will try and dwell upon three things in the text: First, you have in it a horrible resolution implied — to die. Secondly, a plaintive question asked — why? Thirdly, a glorious truth taught — God does not desire your ruin. I. First then, We have a Horrible Resolution. It is a resolution to die — a determination to be eternally damned! "Wait, sir," says one, "that is far too strong an assertion; whoever heard anyone say that he intended to go to Hell?" I never said anyone had been heard to say so; all I say is, they determine to to go to Hell. There are two ways of pleading: one by the lip — and the other by the actions. And I am inclined to think the latter way is often the most truthful; at all events, the old saying declares that "actions speak louder than words." I have never heard a sinner say he had made up his mind to be eternally damned — but I have often seen him say it, and seeing is believing. There are several ways of expressing a resolution to be damned, without uttering a word. I will mention three of them, and leave it with you to determine whether I am justified or not in saying that sinners are determined to go to Hell. A man may be said to have resolved to die, when he uses the means of death. After knowing that a certain course of action will be sure to end in death — then if he still persists in it, it is a mere quibble to say that he never intended to die, because he never told anybody so with his lip. He did tell them so in the most emphatic manner he could. As I want to bring the solemnity of the subject home to every heart, I will employ some illustrations perhaps more forcible than elegant. Elegant did I say! Elegancies are out of place when immortal souls are in the balance. Come then and let me show you a picture. Do you see that man in yonder room? He carefully locks and double locks the door — he casts his eye around to make sure no one is concealed — with determined step he advances to the cupboard, and mounting a chair, he takes from the top shelf a small bottle. He puts it to his lips and drinks a few drops. What is it? Why look! Don’t you see that red label on it, with the words "Poison!" That is what it is! He drinks again — a cold chill seems to grip his heart, and from head to foot he shudders. Again he puts the deadly mixture to his lips, and now, while his heart feels like ice, his brain begins to burn. It feels to him as if the fiery chariot of Elijah was coursing through his veins. He drinks again. His hands become palsied — his throat parched — all swims around him, and . . . But we will follow the wretched suicide no further, nor attempt to describe the last few moments of his poisoned life. What I want you to answer is this, "Did that man’s actions not declare without a word on his part, that he meant to die?" Of course they did, the mixture was labeled poison; he read it so, knew it was so — and yet he took it. Do you say "he was mad"? Granted, perhaps he was; but that does not alter the argument — in his madness, he resolved to die. Let me now present to you the horrible reality of which this is but an illustration. There is a black mixture, sweet to the natural taste of man — but labeled by God "Poison!" called sin. The result of taking it is declared, in language that cannot be mistaken, to be certain death. "The soul that sins, shall surely die." Ezekiel 18:20 "The wages of sin is death." Romans 6:23 "Sin when it is finished brings forth death." James 1:15 These are a few of the red labels of caution that God has put upon sin. Now if the sinner, in spite of all warning, not only refuses the antidote for the poison he has already imbibed — but loves the death-dealing draught, and revels in his secret drams — then what conclusion can we come to than that he is determined to go to Hell? O, young man, I would that I could speak a word tonight to arrest you in your miserable madness. Your secret sins, like stolen waters, you now find to be sweet. An impulse well-near irresistible draws you again and again to the fatal drink. For Heaven and Hell’s sake, stop! It is poison that you are drinking! But alas! you, with sinners of all kinds present, know it. Sin has been marked as "poison" a thousand times before your eyes — and yet you roll it like a sweet morsel under your tongue! Surely you must have determined to be damned! It has sent the deadly chill to your heart; its poison is working in your mind and memory tonight — and yet you grasp the damnable cup, and with Hell-inspired resolution, you murmur, "I will have more!" You are a suicide, man, and of the worst kind, for you are killing your eternal soul! God’s verdict over you, when the poison has done its work, will be "You have destroyed yourself!" But again, the man may be said to have determined to die, who spurns all that could save him from death. On this point I think I will be able to touch some of your hearts, who have warded off the former blow. You say, "Ah, that slow poison illustration does not affect me much. I am no open sinner who revels in his sin; I am not rushing to eternity without a thought; I am most particular about my morality, and I pay great respect to religious affairs." Stop a minute, friend! Not quite so fast, please. You are just as determined upon soul-suicide as the poor madman we have described. Remember, it is possible to ensure death by simply refusing to accept anything that could rescue you from it. Granted, for the sake of argument, that you are not one who delights in open sin and drinks down its poison with delight — yet you have sinned. The poison is in your blood, working death — and in rejecting Christ you have given as solemn a proof of determination to go to Hell as you could ever have given by the vilest of lives. Let me hold a mirror before you, so that you may see yourself. On that bedstead there lies a man dying to all appearance as fast as possible. The death dew stands upon his brow, and for every breath he has a struggle. The poison has well-near done its work. But lo! a physician rushes in. He has heard of the case, and come with overwhelming earnestness to tell the man he has an antidote that can save him completely. He assures him he was poisoned himself by the same thing, tried the antidote, and was saved by it. He offers it — presses it upon the man. Taking the medicine in his hand, and without saying a solitary word, the dying wretch summons all the strength he has, and hurls it through the window! What does that action say? Why, "I am determined to go to Hell." Ah! moralist, remember that with all your morality, you are rejecting Christ, the heavenly antidote; and that says, without your uttering a word, "I mean to be damned forever!" Lastly on this point — a man may be said to have determined to die, who surmounts all obstacles placed in his way in order to prevent him from dying. I see a man making his way with dreadful haste to the canal. I know he means death. I rush in front of him and hold out my arms across the path. With an curse, he dodges under them and pursues his headlong race. I call to another man to stop him — but with a blow the maniac fells him. There is one last chance. Across the footpath along which he runs there is an open gate. I call to one at hand, and he swings it close. "Thank God," I exclaim, "he is saved now." Not so; with one leap he clears it, and nothing now remains to thwart his purpose. What purpose? Why death, of course. Has he not fought his way to it? Lost sinner, I mean you. God only knows how many obstacles you have overcome in your race to eternal ruin. In early days a mother stopped your path — but you soon evaded her, and broke her heart. You can now jest about the foolish fears of the "old woman," as you term her. A Sunday school teacher did his best to arrest you — but he proved no great obstacle; you soon left his class when you found he was satisfied with nothing less than the salvation of your soul. Hundreds of sermons have been flung across your path — but you have somehow gotten over them all. I am trying to shut a gate before you this evening — but I have little doubt you will soon surmount it and laugh around your supper table tonight, at the folly of the preacher who tried to stop you! Well, I can only mourn if it is so, and tell my Lord, "Lord, I did my best to be the means of saving him — but it was of no avail; he has made up his mind to be damned." We must now get to our second point. II. The Text asks a Plaintive Question. Why will you die? Why this determination to be ruined forever? Surely, friend, you must have some weighty reason for a resolution so fraught with eternal importance. What can it possibly be? I fear it must be one founded on a delusion — so I will ask you two or three questions which I pray God may be the means of shaking you out of your madness. Is Hell so pleasant a place that you want to enter there? Is there anything in the descriptions given of it in scripture that can possibly become father to the desire of going there? Unless I am under one of the strangest delusions, I think I have read of things such as . . . a fire that is never quenched, a worm that never dies, smoke of torment that ever ascends, outer darkness, and weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth! Unless my Bible is a different one to yours, I think I have read that Christ said — and surely He ought to know — that it would be better for a man never to have been born, than to ever enter Hell. Was it not the psalmist who said that horror seized him at the thought of the sinner’s doom? The Hell described in my Bible is a very awful one, and I think you will find the same in yours. O sinner, to be damned is no trifle! The Hell of scripture makes your resolution the resolution of a maniac. "Why will you die?" But if it is not that Hell is desirable — is it because Heaven has no charms? Are the descriptions of Heaven such that they present no attraction to you? Is Heaven a dreary, joyless place, not worth a thought? If you think so, certainly your Bible cannot be the same as mine. Surely I have read of it as a place where there is no pain, no sickness, no sorrow, no tears, no death. I cannot be mistaken on that point. Have I not read of golden streets and gates of pearl, of harps and crowns, and singing loud as the sound of many waters? Surely I have. O friend, the Heaven described in your Bible and mine is worth suffering a martyrdom to obtain. Then if it is so, why go to Hell? If perdition’s attractiveness, and Heaven’s lack of attraction, are not the reasons for your resolution — then what are? Is eternity a trifle in your estimation? Do you consider it a mere addenda to life, a thing only to be thought of when there is nothing else to occupy the mind — a mere postscript to life’s letter? Is eternity a matter of so little importance, that it does not concern you whether you are forever damned or forever saved? How sad the thought that the vast mass of mankind lives as if the few years on earth was the chief portion of its existence, and the eternal ages beyond are of secondary importance. Let me try and arrest your attention by the thought of the boundlessness of your future life. I could better understand your indifference to salvation, or, as we are describing it tonight — your preference for eternal perdition — if the future state in either case was of only limited duration. But to risk the loss of a soul, when forever and forever is part of the contract — is almost sufficient to stagger belief, were there not so many sad witnesses to the fact! Think, friend, that with the close of this life, closes all hope of any future alteration. As death leaves you, the judgment will find you, and as the judgment leaves you, eternity will keep you! O, eternity, eternity, what are you? What mind can grasp your immensity — what tongue can describe you rightly? O eternity, you "life-time of God," make your unknown ages eloquent with souls now. Tell them that if they are damned, it is without hope of rescue forever! Ask them, if in their resolution to die, they have reckoned you in the costs. How will I give you any idea of what eternity is — how will I convey to your minds any true conception of the meaning of the word "forever"? I can only employ the finite to illustrate the infinite — the limitable to describe the illimitable. It was just the other day you watched the snowflakes as they fell in numbers that dazzled the eyes. Millions a minute seemed to whirl in eddies around you. They covered the ground — festooned the trees — though tiny in themselves, they mantled, by their countless multitudes, the earth for miles around. Now suppose that only one flake melted in a thousand years; how long would it be before every vestige of the snow storm had passed away? The mind reels at such a course of time. We are almost tempted to exclaim "the time could never come, when for miles around there would be but one flake left, and then a thousand years must pass before that last one had vanished; the time is inconceivable." Yet the time would come when the last flake had gone. Now after a thousand such snowstorms had fallen and passed away — eternity would have only just commenced. No period of time, however vast, can bring the end one iota nearer. Eternity has no end! Sinner, have you thought of all this? Or has the ocean of eternity, without a bottom or a shore, been thought of as a trifle, beside the drop in the bucket that you call life? Stop!! And with the waters of this ocean at your feet, listen to God’s question: "Why will you die?" I have one more question to ask, and then I will have exhausted all possible reasons I can think of for your determination. Do you consider your soul to be worthless? Among your possessions, does that rank for nothing? If so, I can understand your willingness to have it lost, for men do not fret over the loss of what they do not value. You value your health, you value your home, you value your friends — but you set no value on your soul! Is it so? Then let us see if that is not a lamentable error in judgment. Surely that which will outlive all the other possessions of a man, must be of some worth. When health has gone and death has come — your soul will still survive. When your home has gone to ruins, and the world has gone to ashes — the soul you set so little count on will still survive. Nothing can destroy your soul; nothing can even age it; it is eternal as our God Himself. Remember also, that if you count it of but little value, it has been differently estimated by one who ought to know, considering that he made it. Have you never read anything like this before, "What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" Matthew 16:26 Christ considers that the worth of one soul, outweighs the accumulated wealth of a universe. I would that you thought so too; but alas, in answer to the question, "What shall a man give in exchange for his soul?" You reply "Give me a little pleasure, give me a little frothy mirth, give me something of this world — and the devil may take my soul!" Friend, believe me, it is an awful bargain you are making, and one you will repent forever when it is too late! Your soul is priceless in its value, that it was worth — so thought Jesus — a bloody sweat in Gethsemane, and a cruel death at Calvary. Then if these things are so, tell me, tell me now, "Why will you die?" Thus far this evening’s subject has been far more solemn than joyful. I have been obliged to dwell upon the dark side of the picture in order to clear my soul of responsibility. As watchman, I have seen the enemy coming, and I have endeavored to blow a blast of warning, so that if any of you are cut down by him, your blood may be upon your own head and not mine. Let us turn now to the joyous part of our subject. III. The Text teaches a glorious truth, full of hope for lost sinners. If this text proclaims anything, it declares with trumpet-tongue that Hell is not unavoidable. This verse steps in the path of the sinner, throws a barrier before him, and argues with him to turn him from his fatal resolve. "Sinner," it seems to say, "why will you die, why will you go to Hell when you need not unless you determine it? Why make your eternal perdition unavoidable, when God has not?" O friends, what a joyful message this is which I have to tell! How could I not tell it to you! But alas, what mortal tongue can utter words worthy of the theme; they should be words melting with tenderness, ringing with joy, flashing with earnestness. An escape is possible from Hell!! Why, such a message is enough to make a sick man forget his pain, and preach with joy. Hell is avoidable! It would be worth an angel’s while to fly from Heaven to earth’s remotest nook, to tell the news. Think for a moment what it means. It means that Hell may be forever and forever an unknown place to you. It means that you need never know what the unquenchable fire feels like, or hear the weeping and the wailing of those who gnash their teeth in agony. It means that it is possible for you to escape all the horror and despair summed up in that one word, "Damned!" These thoughts burn within me like a fire — the immensity and the eternity of the eternal interests involved, well-near overwhelm me; and I find it true, that often when the heart is fullest, the lips can say the least. I feel as if I could but stand before this throng, and sob "Sinner, you need not, you need not be lost — Hell can yet be escaped!" Yes, I would willingly come in your midst, and taking hold of the hand of him who is resolved to die, say, "Dear friend, will you be damned, when there is no occasion for it?" There are none present who are shut up in the steel prison house of doom, to be led forth, against their cries and prayers, to execution. If a man is saved, it is God’s work from first to last. But if he is finally lost — his blood shall rest upon his own head — from the commencement to the close, his damnation has been his own! But friends, how should you receive such a message? Surely if I ought to deliver it with earnestness, you ought to listen to it as for your life! Oh what a hateful thing sin is — that makes a man hear his own doom, and his possible mercy, with indifference! It would not be so if the life concerned was his natural one on earth. In yonder cell there sits a man who has been tried and condemned by his country’s laws. The day of execution draws near, and a shivering despair settles down upon the miserable wretch. I am allowed to be a messenger of hope and mercy to him. The bolt grates in the socket, and the lock springs back with a snap, and I stand before him. Placing my hand on his shoulder I whisper in his ear, "I have come to tell you that death may yet be averted and your life spared!" See the startle he gives, mark the imploring look in his eye, as starting to his feet he cries with a cry that makes the stone walls ring, "Is it true, I may yet be saved?" There is no indifference on his part as I tell him it is yet possible for him to leave the dungeon, escape death, and enjoy life. Lost sinner, you are the man, and looking in your face I tell you tonight "Hell may be escaped — perdition may be avoided, and Heaven entered!" O cry out, "How?" I answer, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you shall be saved!" A word or two only on the next glorious truth taught in the text, a truth which I have already rather anticipated: God does not desire the sinner’s ruin. It is no pleasure to God to deliver over the sinner to his just doom — He takes no delight in Hell. The infinitely happy God does not find one of the sources of his happiness in the perdition of His creatures. He will punish them eternally if they die in their sin; His truth and justice require it; but he finds no joy in that punishment. The bottomless pit was never dug to gratify revenge, nor were the eternal fires kindled in order to give vent to blinded fury. Hell was never meant for man at all — but for the devil and his angels; and it is only if man prefers Satan to God on earth, that he must reap the consequence of his choice in eternity — by dwelling forever in the home of the one he has preferred. God did not send His Son into the world to condemn it, nor His Spirit into the world to seal men for destruction. It is they who, rejecting the Son and resisting the Spirit, make their own destruction certain. God has declared by an oath that He takes no pleasure in the death of a sinner. "As I live, says the Lord, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked." Not only does God repudiate the idea of His finding pleasure in the death of the sinner — but he also declares He finds pleasure in their salvation: "but that the wicked turn from His way and live." Ezekiel 33:11. Let Gethsemane bear its witness — let Calvary add its deep "Amen." How shall we now conclude? What can I say to arrest you in your course, and save you from its consequences? I will cry out, in the language of the text, "Turn, Turn!" I see tonight a multitude of immortal spirits rushing with the speed of time to eternal doom, of which they have no conception. I behold a number of mad souls choosing eternal damnation rather than eternal life. O, turn, turn! Why will you die? Stop sinner! For your soul’s sake — for Heaven’s sake — for Hell’s sake — stop! For eternity’s sake, stop and turn! Do you cry, "Turn where?" Why yonder, to the Rock of Ages. Hide yourself in the cleft of the rock — take shelter in the wounds of Jesus. Do not wait one moment — but escape for your life! Turn, Turn, Why will you Die? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 63: S. WILL HE COME TO THE FEAST? ======================================================================== Will He Come to the Feast? Archibald G. Brown, June 6th, 1869, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Then they sought Jesus, and spoke among themselves as they stood in the temple: What do you think — that He will not come to the feast?" John 11:56 Our Lord had just performed the wondrous miracle of raising his friend Lazarus from the tomb. Before an astonished group he had, with a word, called back the dead to life. At his command he who had been in the grave three days already, had come forth again to take his place in the loving family at Bethany. Such an act as this could not fail to be widely spoken about, and wield an immense influence in favor of Christ among the people. Being conscious of this, the chief priests and Pharisees gathered a council together to take into consideration what was to be done under the circumstances, and how best they might counteract the influence which was spreading on every hand. After much deliberation they decided it was necessary that he should by some means be put to death; and from that day they took measures to carry their determination into action. Jesus knowing their purpose, and knowing also that his hour had not yet come, "Therefore Jesus no longer walked openly among the Jews, but went from there into the country near the wilderness, to a city called Ephraim, and there remained with His disciples." While thus living in seclusion, the time for the Jews’ Passover came round. From all parts of the country the male population flocked towards Jerusalem to purify themselves before the feast. It must have been a busy scene; fresh arrivals entering the holy city every minute, and all the roads and lanes dotted with the various groups, all wending their way in the same direction. But though varied in appearance, and coming from different parts, it was evident to any observer that there was one matter paramount in the minds of all, and constituting the main theme of conversation along the road and in the temple. Had you been there, you would have heard one question asked on every hand. It was "do you think HE will come?" The little knots of people gathered in the streets — the groups in the temple — the travelers on the road — all were anxiously debating the same subject. "Will HE come to the feast? What do you think? And you?" Who was it whose company was so anxiously desired? Who was it, the probability of whose coming seemed to absorb every mind? It was Jesus. The design of the Sanhedrin against his life, and the fact of his retirement from public, was doubtless known to most. But the Passover was a special occasion, all males were obliged to be present; and the question was, "would HE come? Would he treat with contempt, the designs of his enemies? Would he, to rejoice the hearts of those who loved him, dare all and join them?" These were the thoughts agitating the hearts of many. The question was doubtless asked from a variety of motives. Curiosity prompted it in many; the fame of Jesus had reached the town or village where they lived; they had heard of his power to heal the sick and raise to life the dead, and the miracle performed on Lazarus had been the talk of the place for weeks; they wished to see what he was like, who did such wondrous things. This they thought was their only opportunity; so anxiously they asked whether he had yet come; and when answered in the negative, they asked whether they thought he would come. There were also some sullen, evil-eyed Pharisees, who gathered together in groups, argued the likelihood of his presence. Diabolical hatred and deep revenge gave them their concern; and as they laid their plans of blood, they often asked each other, "What do you think — that HE will not come to the feast?" But in all probability the vast majority of those who asked the question did so because they felt a true desire to see him, and hear the words of his mouth. To be in his company was their chief inducement in journeying to Jerusalem. True, they had come up from the country in obedience to law and universal custom — but still their feet trod the road all the more willingly because of the hope of seeing HIM. He was the object of attraction. "Will HE come to the feast?" is ever the language of God’s people in all their gatherings; and the motive that prompts the question is that of intense desire for his presence and company. Let us then this evening dwell upon the text, not as the language of the Jew at the Passover feast — but as the question of the saint in relation to every service. We will dwell first on the question and different reasons for asking it; secondly, we will give our answer and the reasons for it being such as it is; thirdly, mention some signs indicative of his being at the feast; and lastly, try and point out some ways to ensure his company. 1. First then, The Question. It was, "Will HE come?" They saw many others going up to the feast — but that sight did not satisfy them. On the road were relatives, friends, fellow townsmen, and numbers whom they knew by having often seen them on previous occasions. There was no lack of company, and no necessity for solitary traveling. Yet, despite the multitude surrounding them, the one question was, "will HE come?" Believer in Jesus, is not such the case with you? You rejoice to see the multitudes flocking to houses of prayer; with David, you delight with them "to keep holiday," yet you feel that were all the world present and your Lord absent, your soul would only be filled with disappointment. It is a happy thing to come to the feasts of the Lord, surrounded by family and friends, and if HE is present, their company lends an extra charm. But how, if HE is absent? Can they supply his place? Ah, "No." Amidst a thousand equally as alone, you ask, "will HE come to the feast?" The goodness of a meeting can never be reckoned by its numbers. A crowded church building may be full without Christ — and the room with only the "two or three" may be full with him. Numbers merely will never satisfy a saint. Nor will the respectability of those present. The best families in the land were doubtless represented in Jerusalem as well as the poorest. Yet their presence in no way lessened the desire for Christ’s. What a miserable mistake it is of the present day to suppose that the so-called respectability of a congregation constitutes in any way the prosperity of the Church, or the value of its services. The child of God will rejoice to see them brought under the sound of the gospel as he would any other sinners — but beyond that, their company gives him no pleasure; he can no more feast on respectability than on numbers. He wants Christ. He would sooner worship with the poorest and their Lord, than with the wealthiest without him. Christ’s presence is to him simply indispensable, and no one else of any number of others can take his place. Many of these Jews had come on purpose to see him. The journey had been undertaken with this expectation. Let them see ever such glorious sights, yet if they do not see HIM — they must return to their homes disappointed men and women, the one design of their coming being unfulfilled. Say, child of God — has the expectation of meeting your Lord not been the sole motivating power that brought you here? Was the language of your heart, as you walked to the sanctuary — the same as that of the seeking Greeks, "we want to see Jesus?" Will this sanctuary be nothing better to you than a sepulcher, if you have to mourn an absent Christ? And surely, if there is one time more than another when we feel we must have the Lord’s presence in order to be refreshed, it is when (in obedience to his command) we gather round the table to remember him in broken bread and outpoured wine, as so many of us hope to do this evening. Yes, we have come here on purpose to see Jesus, and nothing short of the sight of his blessed face will satisfy our souls; with what deep anxiety therefore is the question being asked by many a heart, "What do you think — that HE will not come to the feast?" There are many reasons prompting the question; but as we desire the service this evening to be brief, we can only dwell on one, and that is that we feel it will not be a feast at all if he does not come. No true child of God can feast on externals. Without Christ, the feast is no better than a fast. Let there be everything else but Christ, and he only starves — but never feeds. Here is a touchstone whereby the true saint is discovered, and the formalist detected. The latter is satisfied with the temple — the people are the service. He never takes the trouble to seek Jesus or ask whether HE is at the feast or not. So long as the service is conducted in what he terms "the proper way" — so long as the form is decorous or showy as his taste inclines — so long as the ritual is duly observed, he is perfectly satisfied. He is a formalist — and the form suffices him. Far different is it with the spiritual man; to him the form is of little value, and anything that serves to destroy the spirituality of the worship is looked upon by him with abhorrence. All his desire is to know whether Christ is present, and if so, whether he is communing with him; and all he dreads is lest anything should occupy the position that belongs to his Lord alone. Let me illustrate what I mean by an anecdote. A Spanish artist was once employed to paint a picture of the "Last Supper." It was his chief desire to throw all his powers into the form and countenance of the Savior, so that HE alone might attract the gaze of the beholder. But it so happened that he put on the table in the foreground such exceedingly lovely cups, the workmanship of which was so beautiful, that when his friends came to see the picture in his studio, they all said "What beautiful cups they are." "How lovely." "You have indeed been most successful in them." Nothing was said about the Savior — but all about the cups. "Ah!" he said, when they had all gone, "I have made a great mistake. I see that these cups attract the eyes of the spectator away from the Master whom I wanted to be the object of admiration." So he took his brush and rubbed them from the canvass. Just so, will the believer willingly dispense with anything however good it may be in itself, if but for a moment it diverts his gaze from the person of his Savior. The formalist stops at the lovely cups; the true Christian at nothing short of his Lord. He will desire his Lord’s presence moreover, because it is HIS being at the feast that gives him a spiritual appetite. Not only must Christ give us the food — but he must also give us the appetite to desire the food; and this is most necessary, for the very choicest of food is insipid to the taste, if the appetite is lacking. Have we not often found by bitter experience, that it is possible not only to lack communion with Jesus — but to be in such a dull, indifferent state of soul as not to pant and hunger for it? But let Christ be at the feast, and spiritual desire will be aroused, and the first step towards being fed is to hunger. In order, therefore, to have a feast and the hunger to enjoy it, there is a need for Christ to be present. To sum it all up in a sentence — Christ’s company is the feast; let that be lacking, and it is only bitter mockery to call the most elaborate service by that name. For this reason, with far deeper anxiety than the Jew’s, we ask, "what do you think, that HE will not come to the feast?" This question was also asked, because they knew there were many reasons why he should stay away from the feast. The high priests were up in arms against him. The Sanhedrin had determined his death. There was danger in his showing himself openly among the people. It was the remembrance of these things more than anything else, which caused them to wonder whether he would come to the feast. And, beloved, do we not know of many things sufficient to make us doubt whether he can come into our company? Has he lived in our warmest heart’s affections? Do we not have to confess to a terrible amount of worldliness, coldness and indifference? Has there not been in all our hearts, sufficient coldness to make us question whether he can again give us a love-visit? Have we not often been ashamed of him — and blushed to speak his name — and refused to defend his cause when it has been assailed? Is it, I ask, any marvel that conscious as we all must be of having often denied him, we tremblingly put the question, "Will HE come to feast? Have we not also been often absent from the feast when he has been present? Are there not some here who, although they desire to sit at his table this evening, cannot help but remember that through backsliding, they have long been absent from the feast? With what deep anxiety do you ask the question, "Lord, now that I am coming to the feast again, can’t you condescend to meet me after I have been absent so long when you have been present?" And are there not more of us who feel that although we may have constantly given our bodily presence — yet our hearts have been far away, occupied with a thousand other things than communion with our Lord? And our hearts this evening feel that if he were to deny his company now that we desire it, it would only be perfect justice. There is yet another cause sufficient to make us wonder whether he can come to the feast — and it is the many vows we have made at former feasts, and broken. What resolves we have made when sitting at his table on former occasions. What lives we meant to lead. To what heights of spiritual-mindedness we determined to rise. What lives of thorough consecration we vowed to live. How we wept over past coldness, and resolved that our future career would be a very contrast to the past. But alas, the resolves have passed away with the ordinance! The vows of a Sabbath evening have been forgotten on a Monday morning, and we have again sunk into our former life of cold indifference and worldliness, to be again roused the following month, and to again relapse into the half-hearted state in which perhaps some feel they are this evening. Oh, is it any wonder, friends, that on remembering all these things, we marvel if Jesus can again honor us with his company. There are sufficient causes known to all our hearts to make us say, "What do you think, will he not come to the feast? II. I will try and give the Answer, and some Reasons for it being what it is. Well, dear friends, in answer to the question "Will HE come to the feast?" I reply, "Yes, I think he will." No, "I believe he will." Yes, more, "I know he will." My reasons for giving such an answer are fourfold. First — I think he will come to the feast, because he loves it himself. Is it a joy to you to commune with him? It is an equal joy to him so to do. Do you love his company? He also loves yours. Is it your delight for him to draw near to you? It is also his delight to be near his people. Is your language, "O that I might find him?" His is, "Let me see your countenance — let me hear your voice!" Christ finds his joy in walking in the garden and beholding his fruits. "He feeds among the lilies." Jesus loves the feast as much and far more than you do. It is no irksome work to him to be in company with his people. Therefore, because it is his delight, I think he will come to the feast. I think moreover he will come because he has instituted the feast and invited us to it. The sweet feast we hope to celebrate this evening is no man-appointed ordinance. It was his dying command, "do this in remembrance of me." He has ordained it; he has provided the feast at his own cost; it is he who invites us. Do you think then that when we come at his own invitation, to meet with him and feast on his bounty — that he himself will be absent? Surely not. Would you invite a friend to sup with you and then let him find an empty house and bare table when he came at your own request? You never would! Nor will your Lord. His command thus to remember him, is a sweet guarantee that he will meet you at the feast. Banish from your mind all thought of man in the sacred ordinance — it will only give rise to doubting. The table is his not man’s, the provisions are his not ours; the invitation comes from him, from no lower source. Certainly then when we come at his own bidding, we shall find him at the head of the table waiting to greet us. Very likely also these Jews entertained the hope he would come, from the fact that he had often come before. May we not do the same? Can we not call to mind many times when he has favored us with his company at the feast — when we have been no more deserving of it than we are now. Has he not often met with us in so sweet a manner, that we could scarcely tell whether we were in the body or out of it? We had no claim on him then, and we have none this evening. We were all unworthy then — and could not be more so now. Then if we have found him at the feast on former occasions despite all our lack of merit — then why not again? Ah, friends, it is a blessed thing that his visits of love do not rest on our worthiness to receive them — but on his grace to bestow them; and for this reason I think he will come to the feast. My last reason for so thinking, is because of his promises. He has said, "Lo, I am with you always." Matthew 28:20. He has said, "I will manifest myself to them," John 14:21, that is, to his disciples. He has said, "Wherever two or three are gathered together in my name, there I am in the midst of them." Matthew 18:20. With so many precious promises, I venture to say to every timid doubting saint, "I know he will come to the feast." III. What are the Signs of his being at the Feast? Well, they are many. The first is a melting heart on account of sin. Our own unworthiness will appear great, in proportion as we have communion with Christ. Self and Christ can never stand together; where HE is — self lies in the dust. He who has but little nearness to Jesus may entertain flattering thoughts concerning himself — but when our Lord comes up to the feast, the very light of his countenance reveals ourselves to ourselves, and the sight is such that with melting heart we have to exclaim, "Unclean, unclean!" Do not think, dear friend, because you are filled with anguish that you have lived so far from him, that therefore you can have no fellowship with him — that very sorrow of heart is a true though painful proof that he is drawing you nearer. We are never so far off, as when unconcerned about the distance; and often never so near, as when we mourn our distance the most. If Jesus comes up to the feast this evening, all our hearts will bow in penitential grief like weeping willows before the breeze. Self accusations will abound. Pride will be trampled underfoot, and every soul be filled with what John Newton termed "pleasing grief." Yes, there is a pleasure in the grief, though not in its cause. It is this grief that prepares for joy. The highest communion, generally follows the deepest self-abasement. So will it be received by all God’s children. The crown will be removed from every brow, and cast at Jesus’ feet. Deep humiliation will be one of the signs of Christ having come up to the feast. A second sign of his presence will be a joyful heart on account of pardon. When Christ visits his people, he not only makes them see the number of their sins — but also their complete pardon, and it is this double sight that prepares the soul for sweetest fellowship. This sorrowful heart and joyful heart beat beneath the same breast at the same time. To quote John Newton again — "With pleasing grief and mournful joy My spirit now is filled; That I should such a life destroy Yet live by him I killed." If Jesus meets you at the feast dear friend, you will get beyond the mere hope you are pardoned, and will be able to read your complete forgiveness in his wounds. You will hear him say, "I have put away your sin," and you will have the greatest joy any saint on earth can have — that of knowing the blood of Christ has cleansed you from all sin. The third sign of Jesus being at the feast is an indifference and forgetfulness about all externals. This point I have already touched upon — but much more might be said upon it. How few of us know what it is to be so absorbed in talking with Jesus, as to be unconscious of the outside world. Would that we could have such an experience as that of Colonel Gardiner, who when riding out with a friend one Monday, after having been at the communion service the previous day, made an apology for being so absent in manner, and said "that his heart had gone up so high while at the Lord’s table, that he could not yet get it down to the things of the world." Happy the man who gets his heart so high, that it takes two days to come down to earth. Alas! with most of us it is no difficulty to sorrow over our sin. Yet if Jesus come to the feast, we shall know, at least in some degree, what it is to be forgetful of all things else but his sweet company. IV. I will try and point out some Ways to Ensure His Company. The first and most apparent way is by asking for it. Christ will never say "no" to the united request of his people, and we may rest most assured that when that united request is simply for his presence, it will be granted. Let us now, dear friends, invite him. Let there be from every heart a special invite given, "Lord, visit me!" He has said, "Ask, and you shall receive." John 16:24. "Blessed Jesus, we do ask. As a company of your disciples we now look up to You, and invite You for your own sweet mercy’s sake to come to the feast this evening." Poor wearied one, do you feel that Christ’s company would refresh you and give you new life? Do not be afraid — ask him, and he will come. O, ask him every saint, for he will be found by those that seek him. Another way is by forgiveness. Nothing so surely hinders Christ’s communing with us as an unforgiving spirit; where that is, the joy of fellowship cannot be. A soul in an unforgiving frame is in just the very frame that renders Christ meeting him at the feast impossible. Are you saying even now, "Well I can never forgive so and so; or this or that supposed slight." Well then, dear friend, do not expect that Jesus will come up to the feast in your experience. That one fly will make the whole ointment lose its sweet savor to you. While you withhold forgiveness, I am certain your Lord will withhold his company. But why not forgive anew? Why, in order to secure Christ’s company, should there not be a general forgiveness on the part of all towards all? I am sure there are none of us that do not need to be forgiven, as well as to forgive. Let us all be able now to say with truth "forgive us our trespasses — as we forgive them who trespass against us." Matthew 6:12. A child of God never looks so thoroughly Christlike, as when he pardons — as when he forgives as he has been forgiven. Can there be a sweeter time to forgive than when we meet to celebrate a dying Savior’s love? Surely not. It is the very time beyond all times, when differences should be healed. Warburton and Tucker were bishop and dean at the same time of the same cathedral. An unhappy quarrel produced such a coldness between them that for some years they were not even on speaking terms. It was on one Good Friday, not long before Warburton’s death, that they were at the Lord’s table together. When he handed the cup to the dean, he stooped down, and said with deep emotion, "Dear Tucker, let this cup be the cup of reconciliation between us." I need not add that it was. So let it be with all this evening. In that cup, let every angry feeling be drowned. "Forgive, forgive, forgive," and Christ will come and meet you at the feast. Oh, to wait in loving quietness of spirit for him! Let him see us thus waiting for him, beloved, and he will fulfill our desire and "sup with us." And now, poor sinner, before we close, a word to you. Jesus is here, closer to each one of us than we are to the other. He is by your side. He has come up now to the feast. What will you do? What will you say to him? Oh, invite him to your feast; tell him "you have nothing to offer him but a broken heart and contrite spirit," and he will not despise that. Trust him, sinner. Trust him now. Cast yourself at his feet while he is here and cry, "O bless me, even me!" May the Lord visit every longing heart, and meet every saint at the feast, for his name’s sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 64: S. WITH CHRIST! ======================================================================== With Christ! In Memory of My Father Archibald G. Brown, August 25th, 1872, East London Tabernacle "My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better!" Php 1:23 How marvelous is the transforming power of the religion of the Lord Jesus! Whatever it touches, it beautifies; and all that comes within its range receives a luster and a loveliness from the reflection of itself. Everything on which its light is cast, appears the very reverse of what it appeared before. Where there was darkness — light springs into existence; where there was previous gloom — brightness shines; and where there was sadness — songs begin to abound. How true this is in reference to the heart. "The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked!" Jeremiah 17:9. Behold your heart in its natural sinful state — can you imagine anything more devoid of anything that is lovely? Can you think of anything more dreary to the view? ’Tis a wilderness, a wilderness overgrown with briars and with thorns, while these are interlaced with poisonous plants, and in and out among them there creep reptile lusts and serpent sins. It is enough to make an angel weep to look at such a sight! But behold! God’s hour of mercy touches that heart — saving grace enters it. See now the contrast. Instead of the thorn — there is the fir tree; and instead of the briar — the myrtle tree sends forth its sweet perfume; while the birds of praise carol as they rest in the branches of the trees of the Lord’s right-hand planting; and the serpents are either destroyed, or else they hide themselves in their holes. The religion of Jesus has touched that heart — and at its touch there has been a magic transformation; where dreariness and death reigned, there is now beauty, delight and joy. What it does for the heart, it also does for the life. Previously the life of that man had been a wasted, frittered, foolish life — baneful, perhaps, to all who came within the range of its influence. But now how different. There is not a greater change in the heart, than there is in the life; and the man who previously had lived to himself begins to say, "For me, to live is Christ!" Php 1:21. The very countenance seems to have caught additional beauty. Previously, those compressed lips spoke of selfishness; but now there is something in the very eye that says the man is living for others rather than himself. Before it was easy to see how an evil temper knit those brows; but now as we look at him, we can see that he is longsuffering and not easily provoked. The lion is turned into the lamb — and the vulture is transformed into the dove. The outward life is as marvelously changed as the heart within the breast. Then what it does for the heart and for the life, it does for all the surroundings of the man. Everything he looks at appears different. For example, take the sorrows and troubles of life. Before he had Christ, it was darkness without alleviation; but now, though the religion of Jesus does not free him from sorrow, it alters its aspect. If it does not take away the black pall, it puts a fringe of gold on it. If it does not altogether take away the storm cloud — yet it throws a light behind it that shines through the rifts, or else it paints a rainbow on its black brow, and the man exclaims with astonishment, "Why, everything is altered. The very things I wept over before — I can rejoice over now. How is that?" The answer is simple, "It is the blessed religion of Jesus that has thus changed everything." And then going a step further, we add that it likewise alters death. When a man has Christ in the heart, death becomes as much transformed as everything else. It is no longer a dreadful thing to him, a dark thought that is only associated with corruption and the tomb. Death now appears to him to be more like an angel than anything besides. Death to the Christian is not death — but simply God kissing his child to sleep. There is the last sigh drawn; one gentle breath; in the arms of eternal mercy the redeemed child has fallen asleep — and death, from being the greatest foe, has been transformed into the choicest friend! This is what the religion of our Savior accomplishes. You will observe that in our text Paul gives a very beautiful description of death, "I have a desire" — not to be annihilated, not to cease to live, not even to die. "I have a desire to depart" — to depart. The idea of continued existence is in that word. The one who departs has not ceased to be. The one who leaves one spot to go to another, still lives. Meditating on these words, it seemed to me that perhaps Paul’s idea might be very well illustrated by a sight that doubtless many of you have often seen. There is an emigrant ship lying in the docks yonder, and it is about time for her to start on her voyage. The relatives are assembled on the dock, watching the departure. Many are the tears rolling down the cheeks of those standing on the quay — but I do not see, after all, so many tears on the faces of those on board. They believe that they are going to a far better land, and they go brightened with hope. By-and-by there comes the last shake of the hand; and now the narrow plank between the dock and the ship is removed, and the vessel begins to glide out of the dock into the river. I think I can hear the last goodbye as it comes from the ship to those on the shore. And I think, too, I can see the mother as she waves her handkerchief to her boy leaning over the bulwarks. The ship goes quietly down the river; you see her — yet more and more indistinctly. Now you can scarcely see her at all, and at last that bend in the river shuts her out from sight. Well, the emigrants have departed — but they are there all right. And so Paul says, "I have a desire to depart; I am willing to start on the voyage to cross yon narrow sea." Why? "That I may be with Christ." Oh Paul, this explains your longing. I had marveled up to now why you would have any desire to depart or die — but these two magic words explain it all, "with Christ." Only two words — but Heaven is condensed in them, "With Christ." Only two syllables — yet such a concentration of bliss in them that Heaven itself will never unfold the depth of them. "With Christ." Let us take these two words and specially dwell on them, looking at them in three ways: First, as expressive of the believer’s desire throughout life. Secondly, as the believer’s song in death. And then we will close by observing them as the dying words of my own dear father. I. Let us then, first of all look at them as EXPRESSING THE BELIEVER’S DESIRE THROUGHOUT LIFE. Paul desired to be with Christ, and every believer has this same goal before his mind’s eye. The arrows of his desires are flying towards the same target. He remembers well the time when he was without Christ. He also looks back and remembers that anxious period when he was first awakened to the consciousness of the awfulness of his unsaved state. Well does he bear in mind those days and nights of agony and fear — they are indelibly printed upon his memory. Then he calls to mind that moment when by faith he rested on Jesus, and when he could say "Christ is mine!" So he says. "I have known what it is to be without Christ; I have known what it is to live on Christ — and now I long for the closing experience of being with Christ. I have had the darkness of being without him — I have had the break of day, the grey morning light of living on him; and now I want the noontide glory of being with Him. I have known what it is to have the burning thirst; I have known what it is to drink of the stream; but my spirit longs to drink at the fountainhead! I have known what it is to have the wail of sorrow in my heart; I have known what it is to have the first notes of praise struck in my soul; but I want to join in the full anthem of Heaven’s praise! Without Christ — I have been that. Living on him — I am that. But oh! to be with Him — with Him! This yet remains, and ’tis after this that my spirit pines." Now this longing to be with Christ is very easily explained. 1. The saint being born from above — naturally desires to go above. All things tend towards the place of their origin. The sparks having first come from the sun in ages back, leap upwards towards it the moment they are liberated from the dark prison-house of that lump of coal. The eagle that is born in yon high rocky eyrie is not content to skim the water’s edge like the swallow; having an eagle’s eye, an eagle’s heart and an eagle’s wing — she beats her way upward on the storm blast, and sails at a dizzy height. Water, let it have its own way, will always find its level; it will rise to the elevation from which it came. So too, grace having come from Heaven, struggles to get back again to Heaven. And the life which a believer has in his soul, being a life which has come directly from Christ, will allow him no rest until it reaches the place of its birth. The believer suffers from homesickness — a desire for his own country. I remember well, some few years ago, being acquainted with a young Swiss lady who had come over to live in England; after a while everyone felt concerned about her health. The bloom had faded off her cheeks, and all thought she was going into a rapid consumption. She became weaker and weaker, and tried all sorts of expedients to recover her health, until at last a friend suggested, "I believe, after all, she is only suffering from homesickness. Send her back to Switzerland." The very thought had magic power in it, and no sooner was she once more among the valleys of the Alps, breathing the crisp air that came to her fresh across the glaciers, then all signs of consumption fled. Having a Swiss heart beating within her breast, she could not rest until she was back again in Switzerland. So too, having a new heart that has come from the heavenly land, we suffer from homesickness, and yearn to get up to where our life came from. 2. A second reason is — the believer’s relationship to Christ. Think for a moment of the relationship between the saint and his Savior, and then you will understand how it is that the saint has a desire to depart and to be with Christ. He is the believer’s bridegroom — the believer is Christ’s bride. The Savior is the believer’s husband — the believer is His wife. Is it a strange thing if the wife longs to be with her husband? Imagine for a moment that a husband leaves his wife, and says, "I am going across the Atlantic — but I will either come back to you or else I will send word for you to come to me." Do you think that when the letter comes one morning bearing the postmark of the place where she knows him to be, and she reads that she is to go over to him, that she will weep many tears about it? Not one! She has a wifely heart, and is therefore willing to cross the Atlantic, or ten oceans, to be with her husband again. Just so, Christ has left us, and he says, "I will either come to you again, or else I will send word for you to come to me across the Atlantic-billows of death. I will be waiting on the other side to receive you!" Oh, is it a remarkable thing then, if his spouse says, "I have a desire to depart and to be with Him"? And so, Lord Jesus, we are your bride; and we sigh either for your coming to us — or your message to us to come to you. This, then — our relationship to Christ — explains the desire of the apostle to depart and be with him. 3. But thirdly, all that the believer knows about Christ inflames his desire to be with him. O if only we had a better tongue to dwell upon this theme — but let your own memory supply our lack of words. What has Christ been to you? Everything you know of Christ thus far — does it not make you want to be with him, for has he not been all sweetness? Has his name not become all music to your ear? Can you not say that what you know of him only inflames your soul to know him more? Can you not add with truth, "The very thought of him fills my soul with rapture!" The embraces of his love have been such, that you long to have a still closer embrace. The fellowship you have had with him, has not satiated or satisfied your soul. It has only quickened the appetite, and you cry "More, more, more!" We cannot omit to also say that EARTH has her arguments to induce the soul to desire to depart. While there are heavenly drawings — there are earthly drivings. And while God lifts our spirit upward with a golden chain, link by link — there are arguments of earth that make it easy to go. A cold heart that will always be cold until it is bathed in the light of Heaven; a stubborn will that is still so rebellious to a Father’s will — these things make one long to go and to be different. Earth itself — with all its disappointments, bereavements, losses, crosses, treachery, faithlessness, and slander — makes the soul almost in a hurry to leave here and enter eternity. With the psalmist we sigh, "O that I had wings like a dove, for then I would fly away and be at rest!" Psalms 55:6. Yes, Heaven and earth both unite to make the saint exclaim, "I have a desire to depart and to be with Christ." 4. Observe, lastly, on this point, that the desire is confined to being with Christ. Paul does not say, "I have a desire to depart, and to be in Heaven." Oh no! It is far better than that. Nor is it, "I have a desire to depart and to get free of troubles." No, it is, "My desire is to depart and be with Christ!" "With Christ! With Christ!" This honey in the mouth, and the more often you turn it over, the sweeter it becomes! Heaven is not merely a place of golden streets and pinnacles glittering with the jewels. No! That is not enough for the believer. It is, "With Christ." All the pearly gates, and all the cherubic songs, and all the seraphic praises — fail to make the Heaven of our desire. Our Heaven is to "be with Christ!" It is not the glory of the place — it is the beauty of the person! "With Christ!" Oh, how shall I illustrate it? It is the magnet that makes the soul tremble, and will not let it rest until it points true towards it. "With Christ!" Yes, that is the distant haven on which the mariner gazes as the ship rocks and reels, as the timbers creak, and as the storm blast whistles through the rigging. "With Christ!" These words are the bugle note that awakens all the heroism in a Christian’s soul, and makes him willing to dash into the thickest part of the fray. He says, "I can fight my way out through ten thousand foes, for on the other side it is "with Christ!" Now, much more briefly, in the second place, II. Let us look at these two words as forming the Believer’s Song in Death. We have marked the believer journeying homeward, having an intense desire to reach his goal. Well, he is getting near it now. I think I see him. He is gently breathing out his last in that quiet bedroom. The blinds are down, and sorrowing ones are standing grouped around the bed. The flowers are blooming by thousands in the garden outside, and the singing of the birds is plainly heard. Has he got a song? He has. It is that which has been his desire through life. It is "with Christ!" That which was at a distance before, has now come wonderfully near. The magnet now is no longer at a distance but held right over the head of the dying one. The light in the window is no longer on a distant horizon — but near — so near that the gazing eye can see into the mansion itself. The haven of rest — there is only one billow between the ship and it. The bugle note — oh, it is sounding now more clearly in his ear than ever — not now to urge him on to battle — but to tell him that the victory is won! It is the bugle of recall. Ask him, "Brother, are you afraid of death?" His answer is, "No, not an atom!" He has put his hand into the shepherd-bag of Scripture and taken out two smooth pebbles called "with Christ." He has put the smooth stones into the sling of faith, and the Goliath — Death — with all his terrors, has fallen down before them! Death is conquered. "With Christ," Yes! How small all other things appear to him now. He used to be an active business man. Go, whisper in his ear that there is a fall in the fund. He will smile and say "with Christ — this is the fund I have to deal with now." Go tell him there is a panic in the city. "There is no panic in my soul," he answers. Go, tell him there is a run on the bank. He only answers, "I have a heavenly bank that will stand any run on it. I will be with Christ soon!" And how that thought seems to drown all other thoughts, and as the man gets nearer and nearer to the realization of his desire — how the face seems to get something of Heaven’s glory in it. And so, right down to the water’s edge — that which has been the desire of the life, remains the song in the hour and article of death. This brings us to our third point. III. It is the believer’s experience in eternity. You see, we have watched his course from the moment when he was without Christ — until the moment when he is just dying. He is not yet quite with Christ — but he is very near, and now — there is one breath drawn, and that is the last! "One gentle sigh, the fetters break, We scarce can say ’he’s gone,’ Before the willing spirit takes Her mansion near God’s throne!" Ah, that last breath did it! Brother, you had only a breath between you and being with Christ — and that breath has been drawn, and you are with him now. There was but one gentle sigh between you and Jesus — and that sigh has been heaved; you will sigh no more forever. You are in the arms of your beloved Redeemer! Have you ever thought, dear friends, what that moment will be when the spirit says, "Now I am in Heaven! Now I have reached home! Now the cares, the troubles, the sorrows of life are all over. Safely housed! Now I am with Christ! In Christ’s own house, dwelling in the mansion which infinite love has prepared." Surely, when you and I look round about that mansion, we shall be amazed to see the ten thousand proofs of loving forethought. Who knows what he has laid up in store for those that love him? When we get there we shall find that like a kind elder brother, he has been thinking of us for many a year, and made everything ready for our reception. There will be no passing through the doors and finding we were not expected — but in a moment we shall be embraced in the arms and welcomed to the home of our Savior! "With Christ," Yes, with Him to see Him! "Jesus, these eyes have never seen That radiant form of Thine; The veil of sense hangs dark between Your lovely face and mine." But when I am with him, I shall see him. Oh, dear friends, have you ever thought what it will be like to see Jesus — to look into that dear countenance that once ran with spittle for you — to look into those eyes of infinite compassion that once wept over guilty Jerusalem — to look into those dear wounds, and see the mark of the nails in his hands and feet? To see him! Oh, how the soul will gaze upon Christ. How the ransomed will drink in with his eyes his blessed Redeemer! With him — to see him. Yes, and with him, to hear him. Hear those lips of our adorable Savior saying, "Come, you blessed of my Father." Oh, what rapturous joy for Christ to take the soul by the hand and say, "Soul, as I died willingly for you on the cross — so I welcome you with all my heart into my home." With him. Yes, with him, to worship him forever — to forever sing his praises, or sink adoringly at his feet! One long Sabbath, without the shadow of a Monday morning! All Lord’s-day — all worship! All blessedness — all song. And then, as the joy increases, to be able to say. "Forever! forever! No nearer the end — no approaching termination!" And when ten million years have rolled their course, we are still only in the dew of our youth. Forever, and ever, and ever, singing and praising and worshiping — reveling in the great ocean of God’s joy! This is what it is to be with Christ. And now to conclude. Let me, for a moment, if I can, speak to you on these words as, IV. The dying words of my own dear father. It was only last month that he was in this Tabernacle. He came just before the prayer meeting, and saw me in the vestry. I never saw him in apparently better health or in a happier frame of mind; with a smile on his face he said, "I have been thinking. Archie, that I may as well pay you what I owe you towards your Tabernacle. You had better take the cheque while you can get it, for one can never tell what may happen." How little did I imagine that that was the last conversation I would ever hold with him on earth! On the following Thursday he left home for business, seemingly in better health than usual, and very cheerful. In fact, many had noticed how much more cheerful he had been for the few previous weeks. As he left home he said, "I will not be back until late this evening, so none of you need to stop in." Doubtless, however, feeling ill, he returned home earlier than he intended. When they came home from the service at about nine o’clock, they were amazed to find my father speechless. He had been suddenly struck with paralysis, and was utterly powerless to hold any conversation. For six weeks he continued so, and sometimes it was almost more than the heart could bear to witness the efforts he made to convey his thoughts. God only knows how many prayers ascended during those six weeks, the burden of them being, "Lord, grant that before he dies, he may recover his speech!" He never spoke to any one of us again — yet our prayers were answered, and God gave us more than we asked. We asked that he might speak to us — but the Lord said, "No, he shall speak to Me before you." It was on the Wednesday night, just as my beloved mother was rising from her knees after praying by his bedside, that the tongue which had been dumb for six weeks began to speak as clearly as it had ever spoken through life. He said, "In the name of the Lord Jesus." Thinking it must be a dream more than anything else, she drew near the bedside, and then again she heard his voice, as clear as possible, saying, "Precious Jesus! Blessed Savior! With You soon! So precious! With you where you are! Peace; peace; peace!" and then" Rest; rest; rest!" We tried to see if he was conscious of our presence. No, he was dead to the outside world. No pressure of the hand received any answer. No words brought any recognition. His spirit was already dwelling in another world. "Hear his praises, hear his praises!" said the dying one! Then came the closing words, "With Christ! With Christ! With Christ!" These were spoken very early on Thursday morning; and all Thursday he lay like a child asleep, gently breathing. We knew the end was near. It was just near the hour of midnight on Thursday, when he gave one deep breath; all were listening for the next, when the nurse quietly said "It’s all over." And so my father fell asleep, "With Christ!" the last words on his lips. It is not for a son to speak much of a father. I might say many things — but my heart is full. Suffice it to say that as a family, we shall ever look more upon this Tabernacle as his monument — than any stone that may be erected in the cemetery. If ever my father had his heart in anything, it was in the erection of this place. As my friend, Mr. Spurgeon, told me the other day, "If I ever saw your father depressed, I only had to talk about the work in the East of London, and he was soon cheerful." We bless God that he ever put it into my father’s heart to do what he did; but above all, we prize that precious testimony that dropped from his lips in those dying hours. And I do not know that, if I had the choice of the whole of inspired writ, I could have chosen a sweeter portion to be the last on a dying father’s lips than this, "With Christ!" Friend, when you die — will you be with Christ? Will your dying be going home? Are you ready to meet the last enemy? Oh, if not, I beseech you, as for your own life, flee to Christ! Rest your soul on him; and when death beads your brow with its cold drops, you shall then be able to say with the departed, "Precious Jesus! Precious Jesus! I can dare to die, for to die means to be with Christ." May the Lord add His blessing for His Name’s sake! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 65: S. WITHOUT CHRIST! ======================================================================== Without Christ! Archibald G. Brown, March 13th, 1870, Stepney Green Tabernacle "Without Christ!" Ephesians 2:12 In this chapter Paul does his very best to magnify the exceeding riches of the grace of God. So jealous was he of the glory of free grace, that he laid the axe at the root of the tree of human pride with a ringing stroke. He shows the members of the church at Ephesus how entirely dependent they were for their salvation on the full, free, sovereign favor of God. He reiterates over and over again the fact that they were saved by grace through faith, and that that faith was not of themselves — but it was in itself a pure gift of God. "Not of works, lest any man should boost," Ephesians 2:9 was the apostle’s much-loved creed and oft-repeated assertion. Having magnified the grace of God as demonstrated in the salvation of the sinner, he tries next to stir up the hearts of the members of the church to abounding and overflowing gratitude for that grace having ever touched them, and embraced them in its loving arms; for he says, "remember what you once were — turn over the pages of your memory — go back just a few years — think of what you were before divine mercy met with you. If sovereign grace had never saved you — what would your career have been, what would be your present position? Let the past rise up before you. Think, at that time — with some of you only a few years back; with some of you perhaps only a few weeks — remember, he says, "that at that time you were without Christ." But now behold the marvelous difference; "you who once were afar off are made near by the blood of Christ." Shall such a marvelous act of God’s grace be done in you — and yet your hearts remain cold, and still, and lifeless — frozen in base, unworthy ingratitude? Awake! Awake!! Utter a song, and extol in flowing praise Him who by His sovereign grace has made you thus to differ! Now, in Paul’s description of the sinner before conversion, you will notice he uses several negatives; and often that picture is the most striking that abounds the most in negative tints. The descriptions we have of Heaven are chiefly negative; we are told of what there is not in Heaven — far more than of what there is. All we know of Heaven (speaking generally) is what it lacks. We know that in Heaven there is no sorrow, no pain, no sickness, no curse, no night. Multiply the number of negatives — tell me what there is not, and I will perhaps get a clearer idea of what there is. Now, as in the case of describing Heaven by negatives, so is it in the picture of the sinner’s condition. Paul tells me here what the sinner does not have, and then by finding what he fails to possess — I can more clearly find out what he actually has. He is a man without Christ; he is one who is a stranger and a foreigner to the grace of God; one without God in the world and without hope. Often, as we have already remarked, you can best find out what a man has by describing what he does not have. To use a very homely illustration, I think if I wished to stir up your hearts to liberality in order to help some distressed one, I would try to picture, in negative tints — that he had no fire, no blankets, no shoes for the children, no comforts in life, no friends. And then, having shown you what the man did not have — you would be the better able to form an opinion as to the little that the man did possess. Now you have here the picture of the sinner drawn in negative tints. In a word, he is a man without Christ. Now I know that if the Holy Spirit will only enable the speaker tonight to bring out in some humble measure the real teaching of the text, and if that same Holy Spirit will but give power to the word, and apply it to every hearer, so that we may in some small measure understand what it is to be without Christ — there will surely be hearts constrained to bend and break. "Without Christ." Let us notice first of all, What is the state described here? Or in other words, what is it for a man to be without Christ? And then, when we have tried to delineate that state, we will notice secondly, the horror of that state. For the most awful thing that can be said of any man or woman is: he is a man without Christ, or she is a woman without Christ. Now in order that none may escape, let us have exceedingly close dealing with our own hearts, and with each other, on this point. I. What is the state described here — what is it to be without Christ? Let me first tell you what it is not to be without Christ. It does not necessarily mean to be without any knowledge of Christ. When we quoted the words "without Christ," some of you no doubt had immediate visions such as these before your eyes: you thought of foreign lands where the glory of the gospel has never arisen; you thought of the heathen dwelling in thick darkness, and of those who still sojourn in the land of the shadow of death; you pictured to yourselves the deluded Hottentot; and conjured up before your eyes a miserable multitude of men and women who had never heard the name of Jesus, that who are perhaps at this moment bowing down to stocks of wood and stone; and you said with pity, ’they are the people without Christ.’ And some of you thought of the courts and slums, reeking with foulest vice, and dark as heathendom itself, that are to be found not far off from your own residences; you thought of some of those "City Arabs" who have not been brought up — but dragged through life; you thought of one of those, who to the City Missionary’s question as to whether he knew the Lord Jesus Christ, replied, "He didn’t think He lived on that street, as he had never heard His name mentioned." But stay, Sir, we have to come nearer home. Without Christ does not necessarily imply that a man is without a knowledge of Him. It is possible for a man to live in a blaze of gospel light — and yet be as much without Christ as the heathen who has never heard the name of Jesus breathed. It is possible to be brought up from infancy with the name of Jesus sounding in your ear more frequently than any other; to come and hear a faithful and plain preacher week by week; and although surrounded by gospel privileges, you are as much without Christ as if you had never heard the name of Jesus in infancy, or been brought in early years to hear the gospel truth — but had been cradled in heathenism and brought up in the blackness of ignorance! No indeed, we will go further and say, there are many people who know a great deal of Christ — and yet they are without Him. It is possible for a man to know the history of Christ — and yet be without Him. There is a man yonder who knows perhaps far more of this book than some of us do, who we trust can truthfully call ourselves God’s children. He knows the life and history of Christ, and can recount it without turning to a single page. His sermons, His life, His bloody sweat, His cross, His passion, His death — all these things the man has at his fingers’ ends, and at the tip of his tongue. He could stand up and talk glibly on this platform of the life and death of Christ, and perhaps draw a picture of Christ’s present glory — and yet the man himself is without Christ. There is a vast difference between knowledge and possession. I may know a great deal about a thing — but that does not in any way prove that I possess it. Why, there is a man there who knows all about the coinage of this country — the manufacture of bank notes — all about gold and silver refining — and yet the man himself is utterly destitute and without a penny. He may be able to detect the genuineness of a sovereign by its ring — and yet perhaps not have a penny with which to buy a loaf of bread for himself or his children. Just so, it is possible for a man to be so well up in the history of Christ — to be so well taught in the externals of religion — that we may scarcely be able to detect whether he is a genuine Christian, or a sham — and yet he is not in possession of Christ. A man yonder, who is a chemist, may be able to tell you all about the properties of water — he knows its component parts, and could lecture about its wonders for the hour together — and yet the man dies on the arid desert for lack of a single drop. And do you not think there are many who know much of this Book in their head — much theoretically of Christ — but who are dying for lack of Him? Alas, yes, thousands upon thousands. Without Christ does not therefore necessarily mean a man without any knowledge of Him. But let us go a step further. To be without Christ does not necessarily mean to be without any respect for Him. A man without Christ need not be the bold, blasphemous, profane swearer, who only mentions the holy name to mock it. There are men without Christ who bow their knee every time the name of Jesus is mentioned; there are many without Christ who walk with the most sedate solemnity to their places of worship, with the Bible, the Prayer Book, and Hymn Book in their hands. They are horrified if they hear an irreverent word spoken of Christ. There are multitudes of men who pay all the outward decorum, and a superabundance of it, to the religion of Jesus — and yet who lack just this one thing — Christ Himself. There are respectful church-attending, knee-bending, psalm-singing heathen — as well as blasphemous heathen. As you came along the street this evening you were compelled to hear the vile oath of the sabbath-breaker as he passed by. With a shudder, you exclaimed, "Thank God, I am not like that man;" and yet you are like that man, for that man is simply without Christ, and you, with all your respect for the name of Christ, are similarly destitute. Remember too, that to be without Christ does not necessarily mean to be without the name of Christ. No, there are many who bear the name of Christ, that do not have Him, Himself. You may go to your Churches to find men without Christ — you may go to your Baptist Chapels, or any other denominational sanctuaries you please — and in those buildings you will find men who, although members of the respective churches, and bearing the Savior’s name — are yet without Christ. You may (sad fact) go even into some of our pulpits and find men like sign posts, they direct others to the road — but never move a foot along it themselves. Like church bells, they ring others in — but they themselves remain without. A means of life to others — they are yet spiritual corpses themselves! What is it then to be without Christ? I will tell you in a few words. To be without Christ means first, to be without any SAVING FAITH in Him. It is faith that gives possession. I cannot say that Christ is mine until by simple faith I have stretched out my hand and laid it upon Him, and so appropriated Him. The moment, as a sinner, I savingly trust Jesus — that moment he becomes mine. A man who is without Christ, is a man who has Christ standing outside, knocking at the door of his heart. It is when He is outside, that we are without Him. I think I can hear some of you say, "that is very simple; but how am I able to tell whether I have saving faith or not?" We will put a test which I think will come home to every heart. The man without Christ is a man who is without LOVE to Christ. Faith works by love; and if there is faith in a man’s soul, it will not be long before it shows itself in love. A man without Christ is one who has never sung with gushing heart: "My Jesus I love You, I know you are mine, For You all the pleasures of sin I resign; My gracious Redeemer, my Savior are Thou, If ever I loved You, my Jesus, ’tis now." The man who is without Christ is an utter stranger to that sweet experience which makes us sing, "Jesus, the very thought of Thee With sweetness fills my breast; But sweeter far your face to see, And in Your presence rest." Come sir, have you ever felt that love? Can you say, "Lord, you know that I love You?" I think I hear many of you say "No, I have never felt that." Then, if you have never felt it, you are still without faith in Christ; and those who are without faith in Christ, are without Christ Himself. Just let me for a few moments hold up the mirror before some of you; and as you look into it and see the character of the man without Christ reflected, may you be led to exclaim, "It is I!" Here is the mirror: The man we have attempted to describe is the man who possesses almost everything but Christ; he has health, and has never perhaps been laid aside a day from his work; but he is without Christ. He is surrounded by friends; there are many who will speak a good word for him and do a kind action; and it is his boast that he has never lost a friend he has ever made — but he is without Christ. He has respectability and good standing in society; his name would be taken anywhere for any amount — but he is without Christ. Number up all his possessions — count up the sum total — he has this and that, and the others — but in all his possessions he does not have Christ. Oh, my brother and sister, let me ask you now — have you among your possessions, a Savior? When you lay your head upon the pillow, can you say, I have not only this and that, not only a loving wife and dear children, and a happy home, and the various comforts of this life — but best of all, I have got my Savior. Can you say, I fall asleep this night with a Savior in my arms? There you have (I wish I could put it far better) the character described. A man not perhaps without a knowledge of Christ, not without a certain respect for Christ, not without the name of Christ — but one who has never savingly trusted Christ — who does not love Christ; and among all his possessions, cannot truthfully say that he has Christ. II. And now may the Holy Spirit help mightily while for a few minutes we try to show the horror of this state. God is our witness that if we try to show you the blackness of the picture — it is only that we may cause you to see your unhappy state and flee from it. From no mere love of the horrible do we dwell upon it. "Without Christ." This is indeed a dreadful "without," a lack that no tongue can properly describe. There are many things we all are compelled to dispense with, without our being actually one whit the less happy, or one iota the worse off. But to "lack" Christ is an awful lack, one for which the possession of the universe would be a poor and despicable compensation! You do not perhaps yet feel it so — but the time is fast coming when the hour will chime, in which you would be perfectly willing to throw to the winds all that you ever had if you could say, "I have Christ!" If you do not have Christ, remember you have no hope of salvation. There is no other way of salvation but by Christ. If you are without Him, you are without the only one who can bring you to Heaven. If you are without Christ you are without the only passport that will cause the gates of Heaven to be thrown open to you. Let me show you what I mean by an illustration. There is a man yonder who, having fallen overboard, is battling for dear life with the deep green waves. A rope is flung to him — he sees it — believes it is strong enough to bear him — but never lays hold of it. All he lacks to save him, is union with the rope, and he does not have that. So with a gurgle in his throat, he sinks like lead in the waters. What the lack of that rope was to the man, the lack of Christ is to the lost sinner. I see there are many sailors here tonight, and we rejoice to behold them. Come, my sailor friends, let us try and put the truth of what we are saying before you in such a way as you will understand. A terrific storm is raging out to sea; the billows run mountains high, with crested heads; while all other sounds are drowned in the tumult of the great ocean clapping its thousand hands. But see, amid the waves, there is a vessel laboring in distress, and driving on a lee shore. The sails have been split to ribbons, and the masts bend and break and go overboard; the helm is unshipped, and they spring a leak. The helpless hulk begins to fill fast, and as she drifts, she sinks deeper — deeper and deeper. Hark!! There is a shout heard — it is the life-boat being launched. See how she ploughs her way through the boiling surf, and like a bird on the wing makes straight for the sinking crew. One after another leaps from the foundering vessel amid the shouts of the multitude who line the shore. There are but two more left upon the deck now to be saved, when a huge, hissing billow sweeps the life-boat from the side, and in that moment the fast sinking ship goes stern first, down into the deep, and leaves nothing but a plank or two to mark the spot. The two men without the life-boat perished — the rest were saved. Just so, there is no hope of salvation for the man who is "without Christ." To be without Christ is to be without the only thing that can satisfy the heart. There is no satisfaction in the things of earth. Let the thirsty man drink the sea water, and when it slakes his thirst, it will be time enough for you to expect the world to satisfy you. An old writer says "man’s heart being a triangle, it can never be filled by a round world; there will always be some empty corners left." Are there not some here this evening who have learned by bitter experience the truthfulness of this statement. The soul’s restlessness until it finds the Savior, has been well described by another in language something like the following: "The needle’s point in the mariner’s compass never rests — but quivers and shakes until it comes right against the North Pole." The wise men of the east never stood still, until they were right under the star which appeared to them; and the star itself never stood still until it came right against that other Star which shone more brightly in the manger, than the sun did in the firmament. And Noah’s dove could find no rest for the sole of her foot, all the while she was fluttering over the flood — until she returned to the ark with an olive branch in her mouth. So the heart, which should be Jesus’ turtle-dove, can find no rest until with the silver wings of faith it flies to the true Noah, which signifies Rest — until Christ puts forth his hand out of the ark and, taking it in, receives it to Himself. But alas, the man "without Christ" is the needle without a pole; a fluttering, weary, mourning dove, with no ark of rest to fly to. To be without Christ is to be without the only solace that will make up for the loss of all beside. A man who has Christ, can never be poor, nor lack a subject for a song. To have Him, is to have a portion that can be robbed by none. In the time of the Marian persecution, there was a gracious woman, who being brought before bloody Bonner, was threatened by him that he would take away her husband. She says, "Christ is my husband." "I will take away your child" he replied. "Christ," she says, "is better to me than ten sons." "I will strip you," he says, "of all your outward comforts." "Yes — but Christ is mine," says she, "and you cannot strip me of him." The answer of Basil was as good, "You may take away my life — but you cannot take away my comfort; you may remove my head — but not my crown." These are noble replies, given birth by Christ possessed. But the man that is without Christ, is without any true wealth, whatever earthly possessions he may have. The poorest child of God is better off than he. Said a gentleman to his friend as he was showing him over his estate, "Do you see that farm yonder?" "Yes." "Well, that is mine." "Do you see that house?" "Yes." "That is mine, also." "Do you see that plantation?" "Yes." "That too, is mine." "Do you see that meadow yonder?" "Yes." "Well, that belongs to me also." The friend, who was a Christian, answered, "Do you see yonder village — do you see that cottage with the little gable?" "Yes," "Well, there is a poor woman living there, so wealthy, who has far more than you altogether!" "How is that?" "Why, that poor woman can say, Christ is mine; and he who has Christ, has more than all the world massed together!" But alas, there are some here who, up to this evening, do not have this great possession, that in itself is boundless wealth, for they are without Christ. And now in order, in some humble measure, to grasp the horror of the position, let us look at the man in four different aspects. 1. Look at the man without Christ, and bereft of everything. Yonder is a man who once had all the comforts which a moderate income could command; he is compelled to move from house to house, each lower in rent than the last. I mark the man as he goes down step by step with pity; see now how lowly he appears as he walks the streets. He hardly knows how to find bread for his children; his heart is well-near broken as he thinks of the happy days he once enjoyed. Yet still down, down he goes; and perhaps other men rise to fortune by treading him still lower in the dust. And now as he looks around at his shattered fortune, what has the man to fly to for solace? Nothing! For worst of all, he is without Christ. If he only had Christ, he could say with the nobleman, "When I had all, I found my God in all — but now that I have nothing, I find my all in God." But a man without earthly comforts and without Christ, is in a piteous state indeed. 2. Let us look at the man without Christ in another aspect; at the period when he has to DIE. I see him as he trembles at the water’s brink — those waters that run so still and strong, so deep and dark. An unseen power pushes the man forward; do you mark how he shrinks back? The man is pushed on and on, and just as the waters rise to his lips, there is this one horrid thought which haunts him like a nightmare, "I must die, and I am without Christ!" 3. Follow the man to the JUDGMENT bar of God, and then you will know what it is to be without Christ. The blast of the archangel’s trumpet fills his heart with terror; and as the Judge’s eye fixes itself upon the trembling wretch, a shriek escapes his lips, "Mountains, fall upon me! Hills, cover me! I stand before the great white throne, and — O horror — I am without Christ!" Friends, I ask you in all candor — can you bear the thought of a judgment day without Christ? 4. Last of all, follow the man without Christ, in imagination throughout ETERNITY. Age after age passes — and yet he is without Christ. Eternal damnation — but no Christ. I think the bitterest drop in the cup of the lost is this — that forever and forever they are to be without Christ. Can you, my friend, bear the thought of never having a glimpse of Jesus, never seeing the countenance of Him who is the joy of many of our hearts, and the subject of every angel’s song? God knows, as I turned down the road leading to this chapel and beheld you pouring along in such a full stream, there was one question that kept recurring to me over and over again; it was this, "Great God, how many in this multitude are now without Christ?" How many of those who are now trooping into that tabernacle will be without Christ when they die — will be without Christ when the judgment day has dawned, and without Christ as the eternal ages roll? O! for your soul’s sake, friend, you cannot — you dare not be without Christ any longer. Listen but to this truth: Christ is willing to be yours tonight — yes, tonight. Lift up your eye and cry, "Lord Jesus, I have been without You, alas, too long. And now in this sanctuary, as a poor, lost rebel sinner, I receive You to be my only Savior!" The Lord grant that some of you who came in here without Christ, may go to your homes with Christ. The Lord grant it for Jesus’ sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 66: S. WORSHIP ======================================================================== Worship Archibald Brown, September 6, 1891, Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington, London. "God is a Spirit, and those who worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth." John 4:24 We shall only dwell on the one word ’worship’. I can almost imagine that I hear someone saying, ’Only one word? Will you be able, preacher, to fill up the allotted time from so small a text?’ True, it is only one word — but then it is such a word that we need have no fear of exhausting its teaching, did we preach until midnight. The only dread we have is lest the greatness of the word should altogether overwhelm us, for an ocean depth lies in this single word, ’Worship’. Seven letters spell it — but seven millenniums will never exhaust its meaning. ’Worship’. Oh, it is a sanctuary word. As the tabernacle of old among the tents of Israel, so is this word ’worship’ in earth’s vocabulary. It will be a delightful occupation if, this morning, we can walk round about it; but yet shall we not be satisfied, for, as the tabernacle of old could never be comprehended by an outside view, there being but the badger skin covering to be seen, so merely walking round about the word ’worship’ will never reveal to us all its exquisite loveliness. To understand worship, you must worship. To enter into its meaning, you must enter into its reality. May the Spirit of truth promised of our Lord, the Spirit who guides into all the truth — guide us into the truth concerning worship this morning. No word is more common or more generally heard in almost innumerably different ways of application. We often hear of ’places of worship’, and in some cases a more startling misnomer could hardly be found. We read of ’books of worship’, and yet perhaps it is often the book of family worship which stands most in the way of the true worship of the family. ’I am going up to worship this morning’ is an ordinary expression, and perhaps hundreds who are present have employed it; and yet going up to worship may be the very last motive that prompts the moving steps in the direction of the sanctuary; or, if it be the object in view, it is perhaps the very last attained. We are told, ’The worship at such and such a place is very ornate.’ ’Ornate’ worship! One might as well talk of an angel in full evening dress. ’Oh’, say others, ’in such a place the worship is severely simple.’ ’Severely simple’ worship! You might as well speak of an angel in clown’s costume. Worship can be neither ornate nor simple. Those terms belong to externals only, not to spirit. ’Worship’ — what is it? This is the question which we ask, and may the Spirit of God lead us into the true answer. ’God is Spirit, and those who worship him’ — that is something far more than coming to the Metropolitan Tabernacle on Sunday morning. ’Those who worship him’ — that is something far more than singing, magnificently as you sang that hymn just now. ’Those who worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.’ O Spirit of worship, reveal unto us the meaning of worship! We shall this morning ask and try to answer two questions. The first is, What is worship? And when we have received the answer to that we shall ask a second question which is suggested by the answer: Who are worshipers? I. First, WHAT IS WORSHIP? In order to get at the bottom of the matter it will be best to see what is the actual literal meaning of the words which, in our Bible, are translated ’worship’. In the Old Testament there is one word employed almost exclusively, and the literal translation of the word (and I ask you to mark it) is ’to bow self down’. Indeed, it is many times so translated in our version. The word chiefly used in the New Testament and translated worship means ’to kiss the hand towards’. Now, bring the Old Testament and the New Testament definitions together, and you will see that they amount to this, that worship is the prostration of myself before God, and yet it is not a prostration of terror or dread. It is the prostration of adoring love. But bear in mind that, while to bow self down is the meaning of the word which is translated ’worship’, to worship is something far more than simply to bow the body. This comes out, and most strikingly, in one or two passages to which I will now refer. I might give you a dozen — but we will take only three. In Exodus 4:1-31, and Exodus 4:31, we read: ’And the people believed, and when they heard that the Lord had visited the children of Israel, and that he had looked upon their affliction, then they bowed their heads and worshiped’; or, literally translated, ’they bowed their heads, and then they bowed themselves’. This evidently teaches that it is possible to bow the head without bowing self. They bowed their heads — and then they bowed themselves in worship. In Exodus 12:27, you have this most interesting distinction repeated: ’And it shall come to pass, when your children shall say to you, What do you mean by this service? that you shall say: It is the sacrifice of the Lord’s Passover, who passed over the houses of the children of Israel in Egypt, when he smote the Egyptians, and delivered our houses. And the people bowed the head, and worshiped.’ Here, again, they bowed the head, and then they bowed themselves. But if these two references show us that it is possible to bow the head without bowing self, a third reference shows the converse, or the other side of the shield, that it is possible to bow yourself without bowing the body. In Psalms 95:1-11 we have these well-known words, ’Oh come let us worship’, or, as it is really, ’Oh, come let us bow self down’, and then it adds, ’and bow down’. Yes, I can bow the body without bowing the spirit; and I can bow the spirit and worship without bowing the body. Evidently, therefore, the first answer to our question, ’What is worship?’ is, that it is something infinitely more than mere posture. Personally, I think that it is well to be as reverential as possible in external demeanor; but worship consists not in any external posture. Daniel kneeled and prayed, and he so worshiped that the Lord came and put his hand upon him as he kneeled, and he arose strengthened. But Solomon stood before the altar of the Lord and prayed; and, as he prayed, the glory of the Lord filled the house, and the cloud of the divine presence went rolling through the building, until man was excluded, and the priests could no longer serve there. But I think that one of the most delightful bits of worship on record is that which David had, concerning which I read, ’And David sat before the Lord.’ The one kneeled, and the Lord bowed over him. The other stood, and the Lord descended and wrapped him about with his glory. The third sat — but his worship was none the less sweet. What is worship? Worship is the bowing of the inner self. It is my innermost self doing that which may be seen done by the Eastern in his external worship. Look at yonder Oriental. Let him be present to our mind’s eye. He stands there, and I see him with closed hands. He bends; he bows; he does not stop until his forehead is in the dust. It is when my soul does that, that I worship; and, dear brethren and sisters, there can be no worship at all until self bows. But here is just the difficulty. How hard it is to get this wretched self to bow. When my self, graciously influenced by the divine Spirit, prostrates itself lower and lower before God until it puts its very brow into the dust with no word to say for itself — but filled with the glorious consciousness of being before God, perhaps too delighted to be able to utter a word, simply prostrate before God, and yet without an element of dread, then I approximate to the meaning of the word ’worship’. Worship is not even a matter of words. There may be words — or there may not be. Worship is not interfered with, either by their presence or by their absence. Very delightful it is to join in singing hymns, and singing them as you sang just now. Yes — but the singing of hymns is not necessarily worship, although we may worship in the singing of hymns. The reading of the word is very precious — but the reading of the word is not necessarily worship, though I may worship in the reading of the word. When our dear brother led us just now in prayer, who of us did not feel that prayer is talking to God? — and that is delightful worship. Yes — but worship is not necessarily prayer, though true prayer will always be worship. The spirit may worship in prayer — but worship is that inner thing that can neither be seen nor heard by our fellow men. Worship is my self down before God in unspeakable delight. Now, may I take you a step further, and this will go more deeply into the subject? What is worship? We answer, true worship is the sovereignty of God recognized in reality. I am afraid that the phrase the ’sovereignty of God’ is not very popular just now. ’The sovereignty of man’ commends itself most to this proud generation. Humanity enthroned and worshiped is Satan’s present preparation for an actual Antichrist. A day of terrible judgment is at hand for those who, in the pride of their heart, have thus deified humanity, for ’the lofty looks of man shall be humbled, and the haughtiness of men shall be bowed down, and the Lord alone shall be exalted in that day. For the day of the Lord Almighty shall be upon every one that is proud and lofty, and upon every one that is lifted up; and he shall be brought low, and the loftiness of man shall be bowed down, and the Lord alone shall be exalted.’ Those who bow not now before the sovereignty of God, can never be his worshipers. Where there is no recognition of divine sovereignty, there can be no true worship, for worship is the bowing, not the exaltation, of self. God’s critic can never worship. He who has a contention with Jehovah concerning his sovereignty cannot worship him, whatever else he may do. In worship my whole self accepts the sovereignty of God, and, without a quibble or criticism, bows in unreserved obedience. There is a very remarkable expression in the book of Genesis, where Abraham says to his servants, ’Tarry here while I and the lad go yonder and worship.’ He does not mean there ’go and pray’. No, Abraham, taught of the Spirit, has entered into the very core of what worship is. He is going now to render a sublime obedience to the word of his God, a surrender which knows no limit. This is worship. It is comparatively easy to surrender one’s self to enthusiasm. Let there be a mighty shout of praise such as would fill this building, and he would be a strangely stolid soul who remained unmoved. Let there be a multitude of people brought together, and one thought filling all minds, and, in all probability, ’enthusiasm’ will be quite sufficient to account for a good deal of thrilling emotion. Yes, it is not difficult to be moved by enthusiasm; and it is not a very high experience either to be led to break out in a note of praise. But oh, brothers and sisters, to bend the will, to bow my self — this is no easy achievement. For me to sing ecstatically about the greatness, the glory, and the majesty of God, and yet not be surrendered to him, is not worship. I may sing like a seraph of him who rules and does as he wills — but, if my proud heart is not in absolute submission to his will, I know nothing whatever of the meaning of this word ’worship’. No proud, no self-satisfied, no God-contending spirit can worship. So long as self lifts up its ugly head, there is no worship. The worship taught in this word is the prostration of self in adoring love before Jehovah. As one has well put it, if my memory serves me rightly, to worship is to plunge with dazzled eyes into the glory of God, and then, with veiled face, to cry, ’Holy, holy, holy!’ This prostration before the sovereignty of God, as we have already said, is not a prostration of fear. No. A worshiper would not have God less a sovereign than he is, if he could. The yoke of the divine sovereignty does not gall him. He sings, My God, how wonderful You are; Your majesty how bright; How beautiful Your mercy-seat In depths of burning light! He would not have the burning light less burning. He fears — but, oh, it is with a delightful fear, a fear that has no element of terror in it; for he adds — But I may love You too, O Lord, Almighty as You art; For You have stooped to ask of me The love of my poor heart. May we know, dear brethren and sisters, more and more every day what it is to be in absolute subjection to the sovereignty of God, our wills completely surrendered to his, so that the subjection becomes the soul’s delightful rest. Perhaps the most marvelous picture of worship which we have in this book is that which is found in Isaiah 6:1-13. You know it well. The burning ones, the sons of fire, the seraphim, are worshiping; and how do they worship? I hear them cry, "Holy, holy, holy is the LORD Almighty; the whole earth is full of His glory!" They are not thinking of themselves. They are not concerned about their surroundings. Those seraphim are occupied with One, and that One is ’upon a throne high and lifted up’ and, as the cadence of their song rises and falls, ’Holy, holy, holy’, what do they do? They veil their faces, though they are seraphic, and they veil their feet, though they are unsoiled. They boast neither of their character, nor of their walk. It is self veiled, self hidden, self forgotten, self drowned — and God realized! May the Lord grant that when next we use this word ’worship’ there may be a deeper meaning in it than, perhaps, there has been heretofore. And when I cast my inner self Prostrate before the Lord, Earth left behind, alone with Him, ’Tis then I know the word. When, conscious only of Himself, Myself is swept away, ’Tis then in spirit and in truth I worship in His way. II. Our second question is, WHO, THEN, ARE WORSHIPERS? Bear with me, dear unconverted friend, for a moment. You may, perhaps, feel wounded at what we say; but if we wound you, as we hope we may, we do so in deepest love. In answer to the question, Who are worshipers? we reply that the unrenewed cannot be. No unconverted man here in this tabernacle can worship. I will tell you why. Because ’the natural man is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can he be’. As long as I have within me a self that is not subject unto God — how can I worship? That self which lifts up its head and struts about and is proud of its own righteousness, cannot worship. I know when the angels will recognize your worship. It is when that proud head of yours has been bent before God, and the last word of self-excuse has been uttered, and when the brow of your inner soul is down in the dust, as you cry, ’God be merciful to me the sinner!’ Then the angels will begin to rejoice, and say, ’Behold, he prays at last. Now the man has commenced to worship.’ ’Two men went up into the temple to pray.’ Do you see the one as he says, ’God, I thank you that I am not as other men are’? That man does not bow himself before God. Not he, indeed! Why, his Pharisaical self struts about like a little God, saying, ’I do this, and I do that, and I give tithes of all that I possess.’ The man said his prayer, and he went back — but he did not worship. Do you see that other man? He bows his innermost self as he cries, ’God be merciful to me the sinner!’ Christ’s comment is this: ’I tell you; that man went down to his house justified rather than the other, for everyone that exalts himself shall be abased, and he who humbles himself shall be exalted.’ Do you want to know WHOM you worship? You worship the one to whom you bow down, whatever may be your professions. If I bow down to money — then I worship money. If I bow myself down to myself — then I worship myself. Whatever that thing may be to which I prostrate myself — that thing is my idol. O unrenewed man, you are a worshiper — but you are bowing down to the works of your own hands. Self is your God! The true Christian, also, so long as he is unsurrendered, cannot be a real worshiper. Have you got any little quarrel on with God? You say, ’A quarrel with God?’ Yes, are you sure that you have never had one? I do not know the man who could venture to say that he never had. God’s thought about some matter is not quite your thought, and his way is not the way that you want to take — and so there is inward contention. Your will is not surrendered to his, and therefore you do not get any refreshment from your devotions, do you? How can there be ’devotion’ where there is no devotedness? As long as I am God’s critic — as long as I am God’s judge — as long as I am contending with him about anything — there can be no real worship. Hence we come away often so unrefreshed in prayer. We go to church and to chapel very regularly, and perhaps we read the Word — but we do not get any blessing. Why is this? The answer is simple. We are not worshipers. The moment that miserable ’self’ falls down before God, we shall have the blessing, for then are we true worshipers — but not until then. This message seems to grow on me — but I see that my time has just gone, and therefore I will conclude. Any heart that prostrates itself in adoring love, is a true worshiper. I will not ask you to turn to the references now — but will you look up the word ’worshiper’ where it occurs in the New Testament, and see who the real worshipers are. To do so is very instructive. I read, for example, in Matthew 8:1-34, ’And, behold, there came a leper and worshiped him.’ Now, how did that leper worship? Listen. He said, ’Lord, if you will, you can make me clean.’ I have often heard that poor leper abused as if he was a very unbelieving man, because he said ’if’. I think that the man was quite right. He bowed to the divine sovereignty. ’Lord, I have no doubt as to your ability. If you will — you can make me clean.’ And the Lord has put him down on the list of his worshipers. In Matthew 15:1-39 there comes a Syrophoenician woman, and I read, ’And she fell at his feet, and she worshiped him, and said, Lord, help me.’ Now, mark, how did that woman worship? See how she won the title of worshiper. Jesus said, ’It is not fit to take the children’s bread and to cast it to dogs.’ Most of us would have lifted up the head of our paltry little self, and said, ’Dog? Do you call me "dog"? I am not a dog.’ Ah — but when self lifts up its head, it ceases to be a worshiper. The woman said, ’True, Lord — but yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their Master’s table.’ The Lord enrolls her among his worshipers. And, had we time, we could show you how often people in the most unexpected quarters yielded to the Lord a worship which refreshed his heart. Oh, come, let us worship. You know where to come. There is the altar; there is the sacrifice; there is the high priest. Behold where Jesus sits still bearing the marks of the thorn-crown and the nails! I will tell you what worship is, then. It is to go to the mercy-seat concerning which God has said, ’There will I meet with you,’ and it is to cast one’s self right down at the feet of Christ, perfectly prostrate as far as self is concerned, the last idea of goodness taken out of us, the last word of excuse silenced — then bow in the dust, and yet trust and love in the heart. Oh, come, poor sinner. Your life in the past may have been as black as perdition; you may have rejected the word over and over again; but will you worship this morning? Cast off your pride. Do not be damned for the sake of your dignity. Down with self, before an exalted Christ. Give him love’s salute, and the Lord will say, ’That man worships me.’ Worship is the captive will, Hidden deep in Him; Nothing in our hearts but love: These filled to the brim. Hearts that bow before the Lord Lost in loving gaze, Viewing what a love He gave, Filled with holy praise. Looking at His lovely form With an eye of faith, Thinking nothing of world and self, Only what He says. Resting in the arms of Him Who o’er all has sway, Willing He should take our wills, Make them will His way. Counting self as nothing worth, Jesus Christ as all; Losing our whole self in Him, Caught in love’s sweet thrall. Worship lies in bended wills Rather than bent knees. The secret of a life of praise Is Jesus Christ to please. Spirit of God, give the heart of worship to every one of us, for your name’s sake. Amen. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 67: S. YEAR OF JUBILEE! ======================================================================== Year of Jubilee! Archibald G. Brown, September 22nd, 1872, East London Tabernacle "Count off seven sabbaths of years — seven times seven years — so that the seven sabbaths of years amount to a period of forty-nine years. Then have the trumpet sounded everywhere on the tenth day of the seventh month; on the Day of Atonement sound the trumpet throughout your land. Consecrate the fiftieth year and proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you; each one of you is to return to his family property and each to his own clan." Leviticus 25:8-10 To a Christian’s mind, the Jewish institutions and forms of worship will always possess a peculiar charm — a charm which, I think, will increase as the child of God grows in experience. To the merely casual superficial reader, the Book of Leviticus appears little more than a dry account of endless and almost unmeaning routine. He reads continually of the sacrifices of rams and bulls and goats; of little things being prescribed, apparently of little worth in themselves; and he is ready, perhaps, to say, "Surely the interest of the Book of Leviticus has passed away — it is a book that has but little claim on our thought or meditation." But the child of God, taught by the Spirit, sees far more in all this Jewish ritual than appears on the surface. He looks deeper down, and in all its minutiae he perceives Christ, and he finds that there is a gospel as true and clear in the Old Testament (although preached in metaphor, types and shadows) as there is in the New, though proclaimed by the tongue of a learned Paul, or an impassioned Peter. He looks at the Book of Leviticus as God’s Illustrated Primer, with which he taught his church when in its childhood. He knows that the Lord deals very much with his children, as we deal with ours. We do not begin teaching them out of some great folio that has no illustrations and no pictures between its two covers — but we seek first of all to convey knowledge chiefly through the eyes, and to select books with as many pictures as there are pages of print. Thus God educated his infant church. He taught them by outward and visible signs, and he set before them in different sacrifices and varied institutions, the coming Messiah, and the blessings of his reign. This Book of Leviticus is like a deep mine of precious treasure, and the further you go into it, the richer you will find it yield. When in North Wales a few weeks back, I saw a mine that had been worked for two thousand years, and they assured me that it pays better for working now than in any previous age. That may be a fiction — but I know that this is a fact — that the Book of Leviticus is a mine that has been worked by Christians since the time of Paul, and that it is true today, that the more you study it, the more will you get for your study, and the more careful your examination, the better will it repay you. Perhaps, out of all the Jewish institutions, and all the types of the Old Testament, there are none more simple, more beautiful, or more easy to be understood than this one of the Jubilee, which we have selected for our text. However, in order to explain it fully, we must mention that it was really the climax of two previous institutions, the first one being the Sabbath. Jehovah in his infinite wisdom had decreed that every seventh day was to be a day of rest. Once in the week there was to dawn a day on which the ploughman should leave his plough, the artisan throw aside the tools of his employment, and the weary servant find rest. God who made man, knows best what man needs, and what is due to himself. He therefore never gave man seven days for work — but only six, reserving the remaining one for himself, thus blending human rest and divine worship in one. It is well, especially at this time when efforts are being made to bring a continental Sunday into England, to remember that he who calls it "A day of rest" also adds that it is to be a day holy unto the Lord — not merely a day of cessation from work, or a day of recreation — but a day whose hours are consecrated and considered holiness unto the Lord. But then we read that every seventh year was also to be a year of rest — the year taking the place of the day. Six years of work rolled on broken by the Sabbath rests; and then came a Sabbatical year; and right throughout these twelve months there was to be no work done. The land was to share in the rest. No plough was to be driven through it, no seed was to be scattered in its furrows. What grew of itself was not to be reaped. The vines were not to be pruned, nor were their bunches to be plucked. There was to be rest for man and beast, and rest for the earth too during that Sabbatical year. But suppose that a skeptic said, "How are we to live? If on the seventh year we neither sow nor reap, we lose the eighth year as well." God, you will see, answers such a question as that in Leviticus 27:20-21. "And if you say, ’What will we eat the seventh year? Behold, we will not sow, nor gather our increase;’ then I will command my blessing upon you in the sixth year, and it will bring forth fruit for three years; and you will sow the eighth year, and eat of old fruit until the ninth year. Until her fruits come in, you will eat of the old store." So God gave them such an amazing blessing on the sixth year, that there was sufficient to supply them during the seventh and the eighth and until the commencement of the ninth year. Israel had to learn that God’s blessing is worth more than all man’s ploughing and laboring — that if God is so pleased, he can give such a marvelous increase in one year, that it will be sufficient for his people to live on for three years. This is the second institution. Now, the third is the jubilee, which seems to be the consummation of the other two. First of all, we had six days and one day of rest; then, secondly, we had six years and one year of rest. Now the fiftieth year was to be a year of rest, a year of restoration too, a year in which the trumpet of the jubilee would proclaim liberty to the captive, and freedom from debt to every debtor. We purpose this evening, by God’s help, to invite your attention: first, to the gospel age as the world’s jubilee; and then, secondly, to the heart’s reception of the gospel which ushers in the soul’s jubilee. We will ask you to look at a double jubilee tonight — the jubilee of the world — which has come because we are living in the gospel age — and the jubilee of the soul — which we pray to God may come to some of you this evening. I. First, then, let us look at the gospel age as the world’s jubilee. And notice particularly that the jubilee year was ushered in on the Day of Atonement. We will not have time to turn to all the references. It will do you no harm if, when you reach home this evening, you employ a leisure hour in just working the matter out in detail yourself. Suffice it to say that on the Day of Atonement, after the blood had been shed, the trumpet was sounded — not before. First of all, there were two goats brought, and one chosen by lot was slain. The high priest, bearing the blood of this slain goat, enters into the holiest of all, and there, with head bowed, he sprinkles God’s throne. It is necessary that Jehovah’s throne in that holy place should have the blood-mark on it to show that all its claims are perfectly satisfied. Then the high priest goes out of the holy place, and sprinkles with blood the altar which stood in the court of the tabernacle. Then the scapegoat is brought, and the sins of the people are confessed on the head of that goat. It is led by a fit man out into the wilderness, bearing with it all of Israel’s iniquities; and then, the atonement having been made, all of a sudden there would be heard from every hilltop throughout the land, a trumpet blast awaking a thousand echoes on every side. One trumpeter after another, as he catches the sound, blows his blast, until right throughout the length and breadth of the land, all have heard the trumpet of jubilee. Jubilee stood immediately connected with atonement. Now, how is it with our jubilee? Was it not also ushered in by atonement? The prophets foretold the coming of the acceptable year — but there was no jubilee until Christ came; and there was no true trumpet of jubilee until after Christ had died. It was after he had been led to Golgotha, it was when his blood had flowed from his pierced side, that the atonement was made. Three days he lay in the grave, and the third day he rose again; and then after forty days he ascended, the Great High Priest, and entered into the holiest place, bearing his own blood there. Then, the atonement having been made, he sends down the Spirit on the day of Pentecost, and his servants go forth everywhere preaching the jubilee that had come in — a jubilee based on an infinite atonement. Not until Christ had died, not until his all-atoning blood had been shed, were the disciples commissioned to go and preach the gospel to every creature. Now, if it is true that the gospel age was ushered in by atonement, then it is equally true that the atonement of Christ must usher in all gospel proclamations. There is no gospel without the atonement, any more than there was any trumpet of jubilee without first having the atonement day. A bloodless gospel is no gospel — but rather Hell’s choicest weapon. A gospel that ignores the Lamb slain, is worse than no gospel at all. For it leaves men not merely in their original ignorance — but it stupefies and drugs them with a fresh lie. I know that we have in our minds tonight many who are one with us in the sweet work of preaching Christ. My brethren, permit me to say this word to you and to my own heart — let us see to it that our trumpet of jubilee is ever ushered in with atonement, and that when we preach liberty to the captives, and the binding up of broken-hearted ones, and when we proclaim salvation for the vilest — we base it all on the blood and atoning sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ. O sirs, you must be careful, lest you blow a jubilee trumpet, so-called, that does not have in it the grand truth that it is the blood which makes an atonement for the soul; for bear in mind, that all the promises, and all the invitations, and all the blessings of the gospel — are based on the blood. Let us look for a moment at a few of the chief things included in gospel preaching, and see how they are all connected with the great day of Christ’s atonement. Certainly, peace must be classed among the first and chief notes. The gospel, like an angel, flies through the world crying, "Peace! — Peace! — Peace!" I think this is one of the sweetest notes in the whole of gospel harmony. But what kind of peace is the gospel peace? It is peace that is based on blood! For if you will kindly turn to the first chapter of Colossians, and the twentieth verse, you will read these words there, "Having made peace through the blood of his cross." Oh, proclaim peace if you will, with trumpet voice and with jubilee note; but mind that it is a peace procured through the blood of Christ’s cross. The dove of peace must come to us with her white wings all spotted with the red drops of a Savior’s blood! If peace is one of the chief notes in the gospel, then surely we may place by its side remission of sins. Oh, let us tell that God can forgive all sin, though he cannot overlook one. By all means tell that God can remit all iniquity — that there is no sinner so wicked that God cannot forgive him, none so heinous that it cannot be pardoned; but remember, remission of sins, like peace, is based on the atoning blood. For in Hebrews 9:22, you read "Without the shedding of blood, there is no remission of sins," and in Hebrews 9:22, "Once at the end of the world he has appeared to put away sin." How? "By the sacrifice of himself." Oh, sound that trumpet of jubilee, "remission for all sin, pardon for all iniquity;" but mind that both are declared as inseparably linked with the atoning sacrifice. "Forgiven!!!" Yes — but the word is written in the blood that flowed from a dying Savior’s side. Cleansing is also one of the most sounded notes of the gospel, and it is a blessed thing to be able to tell a sinner that however sin-stained he is, he can still be purified, and the soul that is as black as Hell can be made as white as wool, and that the soul that is crimson-dyed with iniquity may still be so cleansed that even the driven snow will look black by comparison. But remember, it is the atoning blood that cleanses. "The blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from all sin;" and the jubilee trumpet that says, "Whiteness for black sinners — cleansing for scarlet sinners," also adds "in the blood of the Lamb!" There is no pardon, peace, or mercy which is not based on Christ’s atoning blood. And now — and I wish that we could speak even as we feel — I entreat you to be very careful whom you hear preach. No matter how cleverly the trumpet may be blown, no matter how attractive its notes, listen to hear whether there is anything about the blood of the atonement; for if that is lacking, then all is lacking. If there is nothing about a sacrifice having been made, and if all the invites to sinners are not based on that sacrifice — then the invite is all a farce, and the so-called gospel is but a hideous sham. Beware of the specious lie that we are forgiven on the ground of Universal Fatherhood, and that we are brought near because God has a so great a heart of love, yearning after everybody, that he cannot condemn any. Thanks be to God, we are brought near — but let us remember it is at the cost of Christ’s life! Blessed be his name, we are forgiven; but let us never forget that we are forgiven in the way of perfect justice, and that our reconciliation has been accomplished by the griefs and blood and death of an incarnate God! So much then for this point, that the jubilee was ushered in with the Day of Atonement, and that no trumpet is a jubilee trumpet at all, unless it tells the story of atonement. Now, notice next, that the jubilee was proclaimed with trumpet-note. The atonement has been made, and from every hill-top the note is heard. And WHO blows the trumpet? Why, a man. It must have been joyous work for him. I cannot imagine an angel feeling it any insult if the Lord had said, "Go to the hills of Palestine, one hundred of you bright shining ones, and blow a blast that will tell the pining captive in the dungeon that he is free. Go, blow a note that will tell the bankrupt that his debts are all forgiven. Go, blow a note whose melody will tell the weeping exile that he may return once more to his home, fall into his father’s arms, and have again a mother’s kiss." Any angel would have coveted the honor — but it is man that receives the commission for the work and surely he will blow it best, for as he blows he says, "I am blowing good news to myself!" Perhaps the man on yonder hill-top owed a debt and did not know how to pay. Oh, with what very good will that man would blow the trumpet! He says, "I am blowing my own debt away!" Or perhaps that other man had a boy that was in prison. He says, "I will blow a blast that will be heard far and wide, for I am blowing a note that will open the prison doors to my own boy!" Maybe that boy was an exile, perhaps far off, and for family reasons he had been unable to return home. "The moment this note is heard," says the trumpeter, "the exiled one will be able to come back again." So the man blows the trumpet, yes, as no angel or seraph could have blown it. So too, no angel could preach the gospel like the man who is himself saved by the gospel. When we preach Christ we may well preach him with a holy ecstasy, for we preach what saves us; and when we are telling the tale of the atonement made, we may tell it with the whole soul, for "The blood that makes the foulest clean, That blood avails for me!" The trumpets were blown by man. And then observe, they were blown everywhere. It says, "all throughout the land." There was not to be a little nook in the land that did not echo with the note. The big city was not to be left in silence; and the scattered village hamlets were not to be neglected; while on the hill-side, the shepherd in his little hut was also to hear the note. It was a great wave of music that broke over the land and eddied everywhere. Just so, brethren, this is what you and I have to do. We have to help to sound the trumpet throughout all the land. Go, blow it among the great ones of the earth — and tell kings and potentates that they must be born again. Go and blow the note among the humblest and the poorest that fill our mission halls and theaters — and tell how Christ can save the vilest. Go and be Christ-like, and proclaim to the perishing everywhere that the acceptable year of the Lord has come, and that he is willing to bind up the broken-hearted ones, and to open the prison-doors for all captives. Friend, what are you doing to make the jubilee trumpet heard? Are you trying just to give a feeble blast? Perhaps someone will say, "Well — but I could not stand up and preach to a number of people." Perhaps not — but can you just blow the trumpet in the little back-room to those that are with you? If everyone would fill his own house with gospel music, there would not be a house in the land dwelling in silence. If every one determined that the little circle round about him heard the good news from his lip, there would soon be none in Great Britain that had not heard the glad tidings of the gospel. O brother, put the gospel trumpet to your lips, and although it is a very quavering blast, and although your nervousness is apparent from the very shaking notes that are blown — still blow, for it was not the one who blew the trumpet well that was the means of giving deliverance to the captive — but the one who blew it at all. It was not the beauty of note — but the note itself. May God give to us all a holy ambition to bring as many as possible beneath the sound of his glorious jubilee trumpet. We notice further that the notes of the jubilee trumpet, and the notes of the gospel, are identical. What was it that the trumpet proclaimed? First and foremost it proclaimed a return to all exiles and to all who were banished from their homes. I think I see the father when that trumpet sounds; he pulls back the bolt and takes the chain down and says, "My boy will be back soon! For years he has been shut out of the home." That boy perhaps had offended in something, and did not care to show his face in the neighborhood; so for many a long year the father had sighed to see his face again. But the moment he heard that note he says, "See that the door is not fastened until he comes back. My boy has heard the note as quickly as I have. Depend on it that by this time his face is turned homeward." The trumpet sounded "home sweet home" to all banished ones. There was a pale captive in a dungeon; but the trumpet note found its way between the iron bars, and I think I see him as he says. "Now jailor, off with these fetters! And off with them quickly; you have no power to keep me in vile subjection a moment longer." See, how he flings the shackles down on the floor and stretches his unfettered arms with ecstacy! That trumpet said to him the one glorious word, "Liberty!" Yonder is a poor debtor, and his debts have been hanging around his neck like a millstone for years, and he could not come into this neighborhood, for he had run so deep into debt; he knew he would be caught if he came, and if he went to another neighborhood he was no better off. He owed money all around for miles. But I think I see him when that trumpet sounds. He just runs a line through all his debts. "Cancelled!" he cries. "No longer do I need to fear showing my face anywhere; I am a clear man once again." Then there was the slave who had been toiling for a hard master, and had often heard the crack of a whip. Do you see the overseer standing over him with a whip, who is going to bring the lash down on his shoulders? But the trumpet note rings and the slave, turning round, says, "You cannot strike me, for I am a free man!" And he goes leaping home from that plantation, blessing God for jubilee. And the bankrupt one who had sold his father’s estate for a song, enters again into possession. There is no one now to keep it from him. And I think I can see him with tears in his eyes walking along the old gravel paths he used to tread in his boyhood, saying "Ah, many a long year has passed since I was here. Now I am back again, thank God, in the old inheritance." These were some of the notes that the trumpet of jubilee sounded. But oh, the gospel trumpet sounds not merely the same notes — but the same notes pitched to a still higher "Selah." It declares, "Return from the exile." The prodigal who is a long way off hears the note saying, "Come home," and it is jubilee to him; and he says, "I will arise, and go to my father," and he finds the doors are all opened, and the father is waiting to receive him. The gospel sings: Return, O wanderer, to your home, Your father calls for you; No longer now in exile roam, In guilt and misery. Return, Return! Does the gospel not say to the captive "Liberty"? O soul, you that are fettered hand and foot with sin, it cries to you "be free." Rise and come — he calls you. And the note of the gospel to the bankrupt sinner is "your debts are all forgiven because they are paid by another. You need not fear even to look God in the face, for justice has nothing against you, as your Savior has paid every jot and every tittle and every farthing for you." Sweeter notes than the jubilee trumpet ever sounded are these notes that come from the gospel. Behold, too, the man who is restored to his possession. I see him tonight as he says, "I have an inheritance that is incorruptible and undefiled." 1 Peter 1:4. "Oh! What a wonder that I should ever be able to say so — I who had forfeited my inheritance; I who went and mortgaged myself and laid myself out for nothing — to think that I should have such a bright possession given back to me!" And tonight as he walks its paths by faith, he says, "Never, never, never did the jubilee trumpet sound such wondrous notes of bliss to beggared men, as the gospel has sounded into my rejoicing soul." II. Now when does the SOUL receive its jubilee? I can imagine someone saying, "Well, my case is a very bad one indeed. It is all very well, Mr. Brown, to be talking about a jubilee age — but a jubilee age and a jubilee heart are two different things." Friend, I know it; and I think I can understand you. Do I not express your feelings when I put the matter this way: "I am everything that you have spoken about: I am an exile far from my Father’s house. I am a captive, and the iron eats into my soul. I am a debtor, and I feel that I owe what I can never pay. I am over my head and ears; I am drowned in debt. I am a miserable bankrupt. I cannot pay a farthing on the pound. I am a lost man. How am I ever to have a jubilee?" Why, I tell you friend, you will have a jubilee the very moment you believe the report of the jubilee trumpet. Thank God, the jubilee of the soul can come any day. It is not once in fifty years, or once in fifty days, or once in fifty hours, or once in fifty minutes. God is willing to give salvation at any moment. The moment you receive Christ, the moment you believe the report of the gospel — in that moment your jubilee will come. Remember, that it is not enough to have the gospel preached all around you. It is not enough to live in a gospel age. There must be a personal reception of the truth. I see here tonight the very man who is an incarnation of the case I am describing. I marked him as he came through the door. Let me try and picture his case. Friend, you have sold everything that is in the house. Your wife tonight is broken-hearted and your children are sobbing at home. What has brought you here I cannot tell — but here you are; and perhaps at this moment there is something saying in your heart, "I do not think such a wretch as I am, can ever be saved. Can there ever be a moment when the jubilee note will sound for me?" Poor sinner, let me tell you the glad-tidings. If as a sinner you believe in Christ, at that very moment the jubilee in your soul will commence; and when you come to God, sinner though you are, you will find that he is waiting to embrace you. The shackles will fall off your wrists unfiled by man — but snapped by the gentle touch of grace; and you, the greatest reprobate in this place, will have cause to say, "It is all true!" The moment a sinner believes, and trusts in a crucified God — he receives his pardon at once — redemption in full through his blood. Oh, that God would grant that some of you might find out by joyful experience, how true this is. And now for a moment or two, let me try and blow the trumpet. It seems to me as I am standing here, as if I were on one of Judah’s hill-tops, and God had put a trumpet into my hand, and said to me, "Now, blow that trumpet. Blow it as hard as you can; blow it as clearly as you can; blow it as long as you can; and blow it for the benefit of every one." I pray that you listen as I sound the note. "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you shall be saved." Acts 16:31. You shall be saved. What you? Why you, dear friend, you — you who are sitting there; you who have come here direct from scenes of debauchery and sin; you who have broken many a heart; you whose iniquity is so deeply dyed; you about whom nobody entertains a hope; you who are looked upon even as a disgrace to the neighborhood. You shall be saved, whatever the iniquity of your past life may be! Shall I blow a second note? "Him that comes to me I will never cast out." John 6:37. Does unbelief say, "What him?" I will give John Bunyan’s answer, "Any him under the sun;" any him that breathes; any him that is found in this Tabernacle tonight. "Him that comes to me" — let him be as bad as the devil; let him be black as Hell; let him be such a foul sinner that an angel would not touch him. "Him that comes," says the trumpet, I will never cast out." And yet one more note; and oh, I would that its music might go in waves and wavelets right through every soul that is here. I entreat you, poor captive, bankrupt, exiled sinner — listen to its notes: it is God that is speaking and not the preacher. "Come now, and let us reason together, says the Lord; though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall be as wool." Isaiah 1:18 I close by simply stating this grand fact: the atonement has been made; the blood has been shed; the blood is already sprinkled on the eternal throne; Christ, the great scapegoat, has borne the sinner’s sins and the sinner’s punishment; and now, based on that atonement, I tell you that any lost sinner, every lost sinner in this place, can be saved the very moment he or she rests on that atoning sacrifice. O God, we have tried to blow your trumpet; let its notes ring in some heart tonight, for your dear Name’s sake! Amen. ======================================================================== Source: https://sermonindex.net/books/writings-of-archibald-brown/ ========================================================================