05 - No More Sea
NO MORE SEA!
"And there was no more sea."Revelation 21:1 This remarkable declaration has excited the attention and curiosity of many of the readers of the Apocalypse. The inquiry has been made, why a circumstance like this should appear in a heavenly vision, and be deemed of sufficient importance to be recorded by an inspired pen. In the hints and descriptions which are given of the future world, it is not always easy to determine what is to be taken literally, and what figuratively; and this difficulty has occasioned, in a great measure, the diversity of opinion which prevails respecting the meaning of various passages relating to this subject.
But, whatever may be the precise import of these words, they suggest to the mind several features of "the new heavens and new earth," upon which we may meditate with pleasure and benefit.
1. In the first place, we learn from this language, that there will be, in that blessed abode, no changes or vicissitudes in the condition of the saints. The sea is the emblem of change. It is never perfectly at rest. The ebb and flow of the tides, the various currents passing through it, the changes in the temperature of the atmosphere, keep it constantly in motion. It fluctuates with every passing breeze, yields to every impression, and is disturbed by a thousand different causes. At one moment it lies perfectly calm and placid, with not a ripple upon its bosom — its silvery surface reflects every object along the shore. It is a mirror to the skies, to the pale moon, the stars, and the clouds. It seems, at such an hour, the emblem of peace and security. It invites the voyager to trust to its waters, and to float quietly upon its placid bosom. But soon a change steals over the scene. The breeze springs up, and slightly agitates the waters. A dark cloud is seen rising in the distant horizon. The muttering of an approaching storm is heard. Dim shadows begin to fill the air, and the howl of the tempest breaks the silence of the hour. How rapidly, now, does the beauty of the scene change to wild sublimity! How sudden the transition from security to the most imminent danger — from feelings of delightful admiration to indescribable terror! As such, the sea affords a vivid picture of human life. Change, instability and disappointment, are inscribed upon everything pertaining to our earthly existence. The hopes and prospects of the individual fluctuate. A thousand invisible influences are working upon him, affecting his character, molding his opinions, and strengthening or weakening good principles. The Christian is at one time on the mount, in the enjoyment of perfect serenity. The pure atmosphere around him diffuses through his system the glow of spiritual health. He gazes with delight upon the wide and beautiful prospect that opens before him. But the next hour he is in the valley, oppressed with cruel doubts and distressing fears. His bright hopes have all fled. The beautiful prospect is shut out from his view, and the mountains, that had lifted him to the skies, become a dark rampart around him.
Families, too, are subject to constant changes. Not a day nor an hour passes in which some circle is not broken by death. The tenderest ties are severed; the fondest anticipations of happiness are suddenly blasted. The father who but yesterday gazed with thankfulness and affection upon his fair boy, participating in his sports, and rejoicing in his progress and culture — today follows his cold remains to the silent grave. The wife, by one fatal stroke, is deprived of her companion and protector, and is left to battle life’s stern realities alone.
Communities and nations are constantly changing. From our churches, from the marts of business, and the halls of pleasure, multitudes are daily withdrawing — while others are stepping in to take their places. Upon the throngs that we encounter in the streets, upon the crowds that gathered to listen to the eloquence of the orator or the sweet strains of music, upon the mightiest armies and most densely populated cities, there is written, "passing away!" The continents are covered with the monuments and burial-places of dead empires. As one wave follows another upon the sea, so generation follows generation, each in its turn breaking and dashing upon the shores of eternity. The moral condition of the world has been emphatically one of change. It has been like a restless, boisterous ocean, with its dangerous currents, its quicksands, fatal rocks and fearful whirlpools. Strong temptations, violent passions, and the influx of various forms of error and infidelity, have spread their disturbing influences over the entire moral world.
But, in the vision that John had of the new heavens and the new earth, he tells us "there was no more sea." All there is permanent, and unalterably settled. Not a wave or ripple ever agitates the surface of celestial purity and felicity. The saints, having passed through their last great change, know no other change but progress in holiness and happiness. Their mansions are neither built upon the sand nor float upon treacherous billows — but rest upon the solid rock. No more doubts shake their faith; no more currents of worldly influences impede their progress in the divine life; no more weary watchings for the beacon-lights of hope are endured. The dim visions of future happiness have opened into glorious realities. The voyage of human life is passed, and the happy spirits have reached the haven of rest. They enjoy the protection and blessing of the "Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning."
no God to worship,
no altar before which he bows,
no Savior in whom he trusts,
no Holy Spirit to enlighten, comfort and bless him. Nor is he any more favored in intellectual advantages. No institution of learning offers its treasures of knowledge to those whose home is on the sea. There is, indeed, upon the ocean, an education that is in many respects peculiar, and in some sublime. The dark, rolling waves, as they rise from their unfathomed cavern homes, tell of His power "who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand." The wide expanse, stretching in every direction as far as the eye can reach, teaches the infinitude of the divine Being. The midnight tempest announces, in solemn and solemn tones, that there is a Sovereign above, in whose estimation "the nations are as a drop of a bucket, and are counted as the small dust of the balance." Everything around the mariner teaches him of the power and majesty of Jehovah; and would he but listen, he might hear voices that would instruct him in his duty and his destiny. But there are other educational influences that too often obtain the mastery over him. Confined to a companionship that is hostile not only to mental development — but to moral culture — deprived of those healthful stimulants and religious restraints that surround others — he has but little chance of escaping the debasement of his intellectual powers, and the destruction of his moral principles.
These privations and dangers, inseparable from a life at sea, occasion the deepest anxieties, and often keenest sorrows, upon the land. Here is a mother whose son is far away upon the mighty deep. With what strong affection and intense solicitude does she follow her boy, in his pathless track upon the waves! Perhaps he is an only child, and one in whom all the hopes of a fond mother center. In the quiet hours of night, when past scenes crowd around the memory, and stand before the mind as present realities, she thinks of him, prays for him, pleads with the God of the ocean to protect him. She reflects upon the care with which he was cherished in infancy — the interest with which she watched his opening faculties and powers — the toil and patience expended in planting in him right principles, and qualifying him for usefulness and happiness. All the incidents of his departure rise up before her imagination. His preparation for the voyage, his enterprise, his noble bearing, his last farewell — the tear of affection, that, in spite of his efforts, started in his eye, as he grasped a mother’s hand — come thronging around her memory; and in that hallowed hour she tries to picture to herself his situation.
Perhaps he is exposed to powerful temptations, and all her care and labor to fortify him, in early life, against such assaults, are to be sacrificed in one fatal hour. Perhaps he is lying in his narrow, gloomy room, prostrated by severe sickness, with no kind friend to cool his fevered brow, no mild voice to whisper words of encouragement and hope. Perhaps he is encountering his first storm at sea, and his young heart throbs as its fierce howl sweeps by him. Perhaps he is aloft, striving with one hand to bind the fluttering sail, while with the other he clings for his life to the treacherous rope. He is, at least, far away; and, whatever dangers may surround him, she cannot go to him — cannot help him, except by her prayers.
How many have fathers upon the sea, whom they revere and love — whose toils they would gladly lighten, whose dangers they would gladly share! When bowing around the family altar, they remember him. While engaged in their daily duties, they think of his kindness, and of the tokens of his love that he has brought from distant climates. In every disaster or shipwreck of which they read, their thoughts revert to him, with the hope that he is safe. The possibility that he is exposed to dangers — that they may never see him again — may no more experience his warm embraces — comes like an arrow to the heart.
How many have beloved companions upon the ocean, concerning whom the deepest anxiety is felt! For a long time, no tidings of the absent have been received. Days, weeks and months, drag heavily on, leaving behind them only hope. A heart full of affection is kept in cruel suspense. A wreck has been seen. Perhaps it is all that remains of the missing ship and its gallant crew. The evidences for and against this opinion are weighed with scrupulous exactness. Every circumstance is examined with the most intense and painful interest. And not infrequently the mind for years is kept in a state more agonizing, and more wasting to the spirits, than would be produced by a knowledge of the certain death of the departed.
How little, after hearing of a wreck, and of the sad fate of all on board the ship, do we realize that there were sons, fathers and husbands, in that struggling, gasping group — that those lifeless forms were bound to friends by ties as strong and tender as those that unite us to the dearest objects of our affection! How little do we think of the families, in different towns and villages, to whom the announcement of the wreck comes as a thunderbolt — whose sighs, and tears, and habiliments of mourning, tell where the lightning of affliction has struck! Is there not a depth and intensity of meaning, to such, in the declaration of John, that in the heavenly world there is no more sea — no more separation from dear friends — no more nights of weary watchings and deep agony — no more startling news of the loss of those we love? The sea is the emblem ofall life’s trials. Its ceaselessly rolling billows shadow forth the agitations of many hearts. Its roar is the echo of the groans of an afflicted world. Its perils are emblematic of the moral dangers that surround the soul of man. We are all upon the ocean of life. Every human being has his voyage to make, his dangers to encounter. Many a dark wave lies between us and the haven of rest. We have barks freighted with more precious substances than silver or gold. The merchant may lose his ships. The sea may engulf his property, and leave him a bankrupt. This is a calamity. But greater calamities threaten many voyagers now sailing upon the ocean of life. They are attempting to make the passage without noticing the compass, whose needle points to the throne of God, and with no pilot at the helm. They seldom consult their chart, that marks out the only course by which they can reach the celestial city — that indicates the rocks and dangers of the way. They heed not the beacon-lights held forth by patriarchs, prophets and apostles. Though the forms of these holy messengers may be seen moving along the shore, with torches in their hands — though their voices may be heard amid the roar of the waters, warning the careless mariner of the dangers that surround him, pleading with him to escape the wild breakers that have swallowed up thousands of others — yet he heeds them not.
Bent upon his pleasures, absorbed by his schemes for transient good, he thinks that it will be time enough to arouse himself when the peril is more apparent. He sees that his ship is strong. Every timber is sound; every plank is bolted with iron. He looks above, and every mast, spar, sail and rope, is in its place. What need of alarm, when everything appears so secure?
Thus reasons the man in health and prosperity. But suddenly the alarming tidings ring through the cabin, that the ship has struck, and is fast upon the rocks. Now, in the panic of the hour, the voyager runs to his chart; but this cannot help him. He looks at his compass; but it points where he cannot go. He seizes the helm; but its power is gone. He pleads for deliverance; but there comes from the shore a voice, "Too late!"
He lifts his agonizing cry to God for mercy; but he hears the dreadful response, "Since you rejected me when I called and no one gave heed when I stretched out my hand, since you ignored all my advice and would not accept my rebuke, I in turn will laugh at your disaster; I will mock when calamity overtakes you — when calamity overtakes you like a storm, when disaster sweeps over you like a whirlwind, when distress and trouble overwhelm you. "Then they will call to me but I will not answer; they will look for me but will not find me. Since they hated knowledge and did not choose to fear the LORD, since they would not accept my advice and spurned my rebuke, they will eat the fruit of their ways and be filled with the fruit of their schemes. For the waywardness of the simple will kill them, and the complacency of fools will destroy them!" Proverbs 1:24-32
O! is it not a blessed announcement, that there is a world where no such moral danger will surround the soul — where no waves of temptation will roll over us, and no sea of sorrow endanger our hopes or our happiness?
3. In the next place, we are assured, by the declaration before us, that no storms will arise in the eternal home of the blessed. The sea is emphatically the theater of storms. Here they rage with their greatest fury, and produce the most marked and terrific results. How frail an object is the stoutest ship, when in the fatal grasp of an ocean tempest! With what speed it is driven before the resistless force of the wind! How easily the billows sport with it, tossing it from wave to wave, as though it were but a feather! The stroke of a single surge makes every timber tremble, and causes the vessel to quiver like an aspen-leaf!
I need not describe a storm at sea. Its violence, its solemn grandeur and disastrous effects, have oft been told. The piercing, maddened winds; the wild, foaming surges; the appalling lightning, the crashing thunder, the reeling of the ship like a drunken man, the strained and breaking ropes, the bending masts, falling spars, rent and torn sails, the cold mist that fills and darkens the air, the consternation of rapidly-beating hearts, the dread, horrible suspense of the hour — all these are familiar to the reader.
I have read of Christian voyagers who have said that they never knew the full meaning of the apostle’s declaration until they had experienced a storm at sea. And not a few, going down into the dark waters, have derived great comfort from the assurance that in the heavenly world there is no more sea. There, serene skies, an unclouded atmosphere and perfect peace, forever reign. The saint, instead of gazing upon a wild waste of waters, is surrounded with the splendors of celestial cities. Instead of the roar of midnight tempests — the music from angelic choirs, and from the worshiping multitude around the throne, thrills his soul.
Yet these earthly storms have their mission. Rightly viewed, they are the messengers of Jehovah, sent to proclaim his indignation towards our sinful race. They indicate that this panting, groaning earth, lies under the curse of its Creator. They are designed to restrain man in his wickedness — to remind him of the laws of the supreme Sovereign, which he is so ready to break, and to warn him of more terrible disasters that await the impenitent in another life. Were it consistent with the principles of God’s moral administration, he would not inflict upon one of his creatures the slightest pain or sorrow. Not a storm would arise; not a wreck would be found upon the sea; no calamity would be experienced. But his authority has been resisted; his laws have been broken and trampled under foot; and by storms, earthquakes, pestilence and death — he is teaching the world that he is still a sovereign — that he has not abdicated his throne, and has no intention of abdicating it!
He is endeavoring to convince man that it is not for his interest to provoke his wrath; but that it is the part of wisdom to yield to his authority, and seek his favor. He also assures us that it is his ardent desire to receive his children to the happiness and glory of Heaven, as soon as it can be done consistently with the claims of justice, and the interests of his moral kingdom. He infinitely prefers to treat us as a kind Father, than to deal with us as an arbitrary Sovereign; and, in the fullness of his love, he makes proclamation that there is a world where there is no more pain or sorrow — where "all tears shall be wiped away!"
Yes, there is a home, far above all ocean tempests — a home where the death-chill from cold waters will never be experienced! At the appointed hour, the sea shall give up its dead. Coral tombs, and "the giant caverns of the unfathomed ocean," will resign their charge; and this corruption shall put on incorruption, and this mortal be clothed with immortality. Then may the glorified saints, having reached the haven of peace, cast their anchors within the veil, and feel secure from all danger!
"O, for a breeze of heavenly love,
To waft my soul away
To the celestial world above,
Where pleasures never decay! From rocks of pride on either hand,
From quicksands of despair,
O, guide me safe to Canaan’s land,
Through every fatal snare!
Anchor me in that port above,
On that celestial shore,
Where dashing billows never move,
Where tempests never roar!"