A First Century Message to Twentieth Century Christians

Chapter 4 of A First-Century Message to Twentieth-Century Christians by G. Campbell Morgan. This slipper-box recording is in the public domain. Recording by Marianne. Chapter 4. The Smyrna Letter. And to the angel of the church in Smyrna write, These things saith the first and the last, Which was dead and lived again. I know thy tribulation, and thy poverty, that thou art rich, and the blasphemy of them which say they are Jews, and they are not, but are a synagogue of Satan. Fear not the things which thou art about to suffer. Behold, the devil is about to cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried, and ye shall have tribulation ten days. Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee the crown of life. He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith to the churches. He that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second death. Revelation, Chapter 2, verses 8 to 11. Smyrna has been for long centuries a prosperous city. Originally an Ionian settlement, it passed for a period into obscurity. It was rebuilt by Alexander the Great and Antigonus, and almost immediately it became noted and wealthy. We have no account in Scripture of the planting of the church there, but history tells the story of the persecution of the church, and chronicles the fact of the martyrdom of Polycarp in his 90th year. History, moreover, clearly states the cause of the persecution, showing that it arose from the clamor of the pagan population, excited and incensed by the Jewish community. This statement is valuable as throwing much light upon some of the things incidentally referred to in the epistle itself. The master addressing the church speaks of himself as the first and the last, which was dead and lived again. These words are a repetition of those which he had addressed to John when, smitten with great fear in the presence of his glory, he had become as one dead. This church is in the midst of a great sorrow, and the Lord announces himself as the living one who has passed through death and therefore possesses the keys of death and of Hades. In approaching a people dwelling in the region and shadow of death, some of their number having already suffered martyrdom, others of them most certainly approaching the place of death through their loyalty to him, he reminds them that he is master of these darker matters also, and holds in his own hand the keys. The description is intended for the consolation of the afflicted people, and indeed, out of this description, by which our Lord introduces himself to their notice, flows all the comfort that follows. They are in the midst of sorrow, and he first declares to them that he has been to the uttermost reach of it and is alive again. They are under the shadow of death, and he tells them that he has been dead and is alive forevermore. They are almost certainly in the midst of those perplexities and questionings which come to men when surrounded by sorrow. He tells them that he, having been dead, is now alive, and, moreover, that he holds the keys of death and of Hades, the symbols of solution and authority. He has unlocked the problem and is now master of the situation. The Master's method in commending this church at Smyrna is remarkable. He offers them no solution of the problem of their pain, and it may be said that the commendation is contained in a silence and a parenthesis. His approval of the church is manifest not so much by what he said as by the fact that he had no complaint to make concerning them. Added to the silence there is one brief phrase, parenthetically interjected, A careful investigation will show the value of this phrase, and who would not rather have that illuminative flashlight than all the eulogy that fell from his lips on the church of Ephesus? Here, as ever, the value of the statement depends upon the fact that it was Christ who uttered it. We shall only be able to understand the silence of Jesus and this parenthetical commendation by careful examination of the surroundings. Let us endeavor to see it as he reveals it. Of it he says, I know three things, Let us mention these separately. Tribulation, poverty, reviling. These are the words which reveal the desperate condition of the church at the moment when the Master sent his message to them. First, This is a strong word not very often made use of. It signifies a pressure of persecution. Jesus did not say, the occasional testings of faith, those experiences which are common to all the saints and necessary for their perfecting, but thy tribulation. Our word tribulation suggests the stripe of the Roman whip, but the word that the Master used suggested rather the pressure of the stones that grind the wheat or that force the blood out of the grape. It is a word that throbs with meaning. These people are being pressed, even to death, on account of their loyalty to Christ. And as he looks at the church, he says in tones of infinite tenderness, I know thy tribulation. And yet again, I know thy poverty. And the word indicates actual beggary. Here it has no reference to a poverty of spirit. In all probability, these people had suffered the loss of all things in the persecution that had broken out against them, loss of trade, loss of social position, loss almost of the bare necessities of life, reduced to beggary. I know thy poverty. And once more, I know the blasphemy of them which say they are Jews, and they are not, but are a synagogue of Satan. The use of the word blasphemy is somewhat peculiar here. Evidently, the Lord uses the word not in its specific sense as against God, but in its simplest sense, that of vilification or reviling. Here the Master reveals his intimate knowledge of the causes from which all the trouble has proceeded. In all probability, the vilifying of the church by the synagogue had issued in the beggary of the little band of Christians by the pagans of Smyrna. The members of the Jewish synagogue, hating the Christian disciples, would publish libelous statements concerning them as to their character, their purpose, and their modes of life. The stories told had aroused the pagan population, and in all likelihood there had followed the confiscation of their goods which had reduced them to the point of actual want. It is profoundly interesting to notice the wonderful symmetry existing between the experience of these people at Smyrna and the experience of the Lord himself. The consciousness of this seems to lie within the phrase which is alive again. Before beginning to speak to them, he reminded them of his own experience, and declared to them that he, having passed through it, has found it to the gate of life. That through which they are passing is in many senses almost identical with that through which he passed. The force which encompassed his death was the blasphemy of the Jews, acting upon a pagan nation that stripped him of all he possessed and gave him only death. The persecution that culminated in his own passing had begun with the synagogue, at the very center of supposed religion, and had proceeded along the line of pagan power to its terrible issue. Thus addressing these people, he says, I know. And the force of the word is not merely that he knows by watching, but by his own experience, not alone by observing their suffering, but by having himself passed through the same experience. I know, for I have experienced the pain of vilification, and the want of poverty, and the final tribulation. I know all these to their deepest depths. Thus he would comfort them with a declaration of his consciousness of their condition and his experimental sympathy therewith. With what summary, conciseness, and startling force, he sums up in a sentence the truth concerning the condition of the Jews in Smyrna. They are a synagogue of Satan, and these are they that have persecuted his people. Mark the contrast. The church in Smyrna, a synagogue of Satan. The ecclesia of the living God, the gathered-out people. A synagogue of Satan, the gathered-together forces. It is a terrible indictment, called forth by the fact that they had vilified his people, and so had proved themselves under the leadership of the slanderer whose perpetual aim it is to degrade our God and his Christ. Thus he identified himself with them in their sorrow and suffering, and thus in a sentence uttered the most severe condemnation of those who were causing the trouble. Now let us mark the commendation. First the silence, and what can be said concerning silence. It is more eloquent than all language. He has no word of complaint to utter. The character and conduct of the church at Smyrna was such as perfectly to satisfy the heart of the Lord, and how wonderful it is when we remember that tribulation and poverty and reviling make more terrible demands than any other circumstances upon the spirit of those passing through it. There is no profounder proof of grace of character than that of being able to suffer wrongfully and yet to manifest a gracious spirit. How often have we all fallen at that very point, repeatedly in the midst of suffering for righteousness' sake we have manifested unrighteousness of character and conduct. Is not that the whole story of the failure of God's wonderful servant Moses? He spake unadvisedly with his lips, and yet the people were doing wrong. There was no possible defense of their action, but in the presence of their wrongdoing he did wrong in that he manifested a provoked spirit. Christ watched these saints at Smyrna, persecuted, beggared, vilified, and yet had no fault to find with them. Their spirit under tribulation was such as to satisfy the heart of Christ. The finer graces of the Christian character are only revealed under bruising and pressure, as the fragrance of fine spices is only obtained through crushing. Christ preeminently became a sweet-smelling savor to God through the terrible experiences of the cross. His unprovoked and tender spirit was most perfectly seen amidst the circumstances that were provocative of anger and resentment. So with these loved ones in Smyrna, though under press and conflict, he found nothing to condemn, and in the silence there lies the highest eulogium. Of such value is this teaching that I pause to make a passing application. Some child of God, whelmed with great and crushing sorrows, is longing for the sound of his voice, and there is nothing but silence. It may be that silence is a sign not of disapproval but of approval. Do not be cast down. If in the midst of tribulation and suffering there is no voice, it may be that the silence of the Lord is his highest commendation. There is an old and beautiful story of how a nun dreamed that she saw three other nuns at prayer. As they kneeled, the Master approached them. As he came to the first of the three, he bent over her with tender solicitude and smiles full of radiant love, speaking to her in words of softest, tenderest music. Leaving her and approaching the next, he only placed his hand upon her head and gave her one look of tender approval. But the third woman he passed almost abruptly without word or glance. The woman in her dream said to herself, How tenderly the Lord must love this first of his children, the second he is not angry with, and yet for her he has no endearments like those bestowed upon the first. She wondered how the third had grieved him so that he gave her no look, no passing word. As in her dream she attempted to account for the action of the Lord, the Master himself confronted her and addressing her said, O woman of the world, how wrongly thou hast judged. The first kneeling woman needs all the succor of my constant care to keep her feet in the way. The second has stronger faith and deeper love. But the third, whom I seem to pass abruptly by, has faith and love of finest fiber and her I am preparing by swift processes for highest and holiest service. She knows and loves and trusts me so perfectly as to be independent of words or looks. Do not, therefore, be surprised if you have no vision. It may be that the vision granted is after all but proof of weakness. Peter, James, and John were taken to behold the vision of Transfiguration. The common interpretation of this is that they were special apostles being prepared for special service, and while unable to contradict that, I should not personally be surprised in the perfect day to discover that the reasons for the Master's special attention were to be found in their weakness rather than their strength. Not a word of commendation did he speak to the church at Smyrna, but a great silence as they passed through the fire proved his approval of the rightness of their spirit. And yet there was more than silence, just that one word, that flash, that gleam of light, but thou art rich. It is as though he bent over them and whispered the great truth, Smyrna counts thee poor, I count thee rich. The blasphemy of the Jews and the persecution of pagans have robbed thee of everything, but thou hast lost nothing. I know the pinch of poverty, I know its pain, and yet I never lost the riches of spiritual wealth. While I was still upon the earth a man, I was a beggar, and yet my father was with me. I know thy poverty, but thou art rich. The words recall to our mind the Lord's conception of riches as revealed in his parable concerning the rich fool, he said to himself, I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years, as though a life could be fed with goods, and yet the only place of worship for many is a dry goods store. Dry goods indeed! At the close of the parable Jesus said, So is he that layeth up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God. Of goods these Smyrna saints had none, but they were rich toward God. I know thy poverty, thou hast no barns, no storehouses, but thou hast all wealth. Again one calls to mind the word of James, the practical, far-seeing apostle. Did not God choose them that are poor as to the world to be rich in faith? This also is what the Master meant. I know thy poverty, you are poor as to the world, they have taken everything from you, but you are rich in faith, in the principle that possesses the unseen and imperishable things. And yet again the words of Paul recur. His conception of his own position perfectly harmonizes with the Lord's estimate of the people and Smyrna. As poor, so poor that he had to make tents to live, so poor that when someone is coming to see him he has to ask them to bring that old cloak to protect him from the cold and to keep him warm, yet making many rich, so rich that he is able to minister through tent-making without cost, so rich that he is more anxious about the parchments than about the cloak, especially the parchments, as having nothing, he writes, and yet possessing all things. I know thy poverty, says Christ, you are poor, you have nothing, but you are rich, enriching others, possessing all things. All this is intensely interesting, but we have not yet touched the deepest note of exposition. Read again the old familiar words concerning the Master from the writings of Paul. For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might become rich. The words used are exactly the same, the same for rich and the same for poverty. He became poor. I know thy poverty. He was rich. But thou art rich. I know. I know your poverty. I have been poor with the actual poverty of beggary, but you are rich, for through that poverty of mine you have entered into that wealth of mine, and even in the midst of all your poverty you possess the abiding wealth. I know your poverty, for I have shared it. I know your wealth, for I have given it. It is well to remember that the word rich in all these cases is the actual word which we use of the world's wealth. It is the root word from which we derive our word plutocrat. According to Christ, then, wealth is enrichment of character, not possession of gold. He said in effect to these suffering people in Smyrna, You are the poorest people in Smyrna. You are the plutocrats of Smyrna. Others have the wealth of the world, the fullness of material things, but you have the true fullness. I love to think of this estimate of Christ, and to remember that the saints of God are the true aristocrats and plutocrats of every age. An aristocrat is a man of best strength. A plutocrat is a full man. The best strength of a nation is ever to be found in the saints of Christ. True fullness of the nation is to be reckoned by the number of its men and women who are living in fellowship with God. The riches of the saints are the riches that abide. The things the Christians of Smyrna had lost, they must have left behind them ere long, when they had passed from the stage of earthly action. The things that they possessed became theirs in the fullest measure only through that passing. True wealth is the wealth that never tarnishes, never decays, never fades. O glorious parenthesis of Jesus, a great silence of commendation, and a parenthesis of approbation! What words of counsel, then, has he to speak to people passing through such circumstances? Mainly two. First, Fear not, and secondly, Be thou faithful unto death. In reading this epistle, I think the most startling thing to me was to discover that there is not a single promise to them that they should escape their suffering. Nay, he rather tells them that heavier trials are to come upon them, and the Fear not is a preparatory word in advance of the present consciousness of need. He does not say, Fear not the things which thou hast suffered, but, Fear not the things which thou art about to suffer. There is no promise of succor. He does not say, Never mind, these things will soon be over. He comes rather with an announcement of another sorrow. O the comfort of knowing that he is acquainted with the things that are yet to be, and that facing them he says, Fear not. There is no sorrow waiting for them that he is not acquainted with. I know thy present tribulation. I know thy present poverty. The present blasphemy, I know. I know more. I know what lies hidden in the womb of the future, that the devil is about to cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried, and ye shall have tribulation ten days. Fear not these things, then. The persecution will increase. The fearsome darkness will deepen. Tribulation will be more severe. The pressure will be yet heavier. Fear not, and let the first comforting thought against fear be that I know, and that I have told you. Then, Be thou faithful unto death. Live upon the principle of faith, even to the bound of death. The word faithful here is from the root which means to be convinced. Fidelity is born of conviction, and conviction must have a groundwork and foundation. What then is this faithfulness enjoined? The faithfulness of the saints is the assurance of the faithfulness of Jesus. A deep conviction of His fidelity produces their fidelity. Wherever a man, woman, or child, under any circumstances of pain or testing, is deeply convinced of the fidelity of Christ, they are immediately and necessarily faithful themselves. It is as though He had said to them, You are going to be cast into prison. The devil is about to cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried. Be faithful. Believe still. Live within the limit of a great assurance. Don't question Me. Don't doubt Me. Depend on Me. The Lord did not mean, Gather yourselves up and go through. He simply meant, Trust Me. He did not intend to advise them to gird up their loins and be determined that they would see the business through. That is ever a poor and sorry way of attempting to pass through times of testing. He meant rather, Trust Me. Let Me be your courage. I am alive, and I was dead. I have gone to the limit of this matter. There is no depth I have not fathomed, no darkness I have not penetrated. Be faithful. Follow Me, not in the effort of a strenuous determination, but with the ease of a simple trust. Then the gracious promise, I will give thee the crown of life. And the word is very full and very rich. This crown that He promises is the crown of royalty. It is more. It is the crown of royalty victorious. It is still more. It is the chaplet that adorns the brow of the victor who comes laden with spoils. The crown of royalty, the crown of victory, the crown of added wealth. It is the crown of life, life which reigns because it has won, and reigns moreover in possession of spoils obtained through conflict. The life is the crown. What wondrous light this flings back upon the process. This pressure of tribulation is not accidental and capricious. Out of tribulation we shall have our triumph. Out of the darkness we shall come to light. That is the whole philosophy of suffering. This may be a message to some saints who are being sorely tried. And yet are you not already, as the mists clear from the valleys, finding your crown of life? I think today I see the meaning of past mysteries in my own life. Out of the pressure of tribulation we extract the new wine of the kingdom, and out of the deep, dark death experience in which the devil sifts and tries, there breaks a new capacity, an enlarged outlook, a new meaning in life, a new tone in the speech. Almost imperceptibly, and yet surely, through the process of pain God is putting the horizon further back in broadening and deepening the experience of life. That is the present value of pain, but its ultimate value is the fullness of which all this is but the foretelling. When presently all the tribulation is past and the painful processes of the little while are over and the last grim pressure ceases, then we shall be crowned with life and we shall know the meaning of life. All this must ever be emphasized by the perpetual memory of the words with which Christ addressed his suffering saints. Emphasizing his experimental acquaintance with the philosophies, he declares, I was dead, and behold, I am alive. I know thy tribulation. Think of his tribulation. I know thy poverty. Think of his poverty. I know the revilings of them which say they are Jews and they are not. Think of the revilings heaped upon him by them which said they were Jews. Fear not. Think of his unswerving faith in God. Be thou faithful unto death. See him faithful unto death. I will give thee the crown of life. See him crowned with life on the resurrection morning. This is the heart and center of the great truth delivered to the suffering saints at Smyrna. I am your companion in distress. I am your comrade in the darkness. I know, and I am with you, and just beyond I will be with you still, leading you to the fountains of living water. Then there was his added promise, He that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second death. It always seemed to me as though this were an inferential note of warning and threatening against the persecutors. These men of Smyrna would die, saints and sinners alike, but beyond death is death. The persecutors of Smyrna would pass through death to death. The believers of Smyrna, being faithful to death, through death will find no second death, but instead thereof, life. The saints are rich in poverty. They walk through darkness into light. They live beyond all death. As Christ holds the keys, we see through open doors things as they really are. The great and wealthy men of Smyrna were not the persecuting pagans and the blasphemous Jews, but the suffering, tried, poverty-stricken saints, for they were wealthy in essential things and would pass through the pressure of death to the realization of endless life. Let all Smyrna face death, but only those whose principle of life is faith in Christ will pass unafraid through the first to find the second abolished. Of this epistle there can be no immediate application to the majority of those who hear these words. Sometimes it seems as though the very reproach of Christ has almost ceased. I am not sure that this is a healthy sign. It is doubtful if many people really suffer much today for Christ's sake. I often hear men speak of the difficulties of their position in business, of the taunts and sneers of certain opposing ones, but are they really serious when they mention these things? When we think of the actualities of the persecution in Smyrna and of the early days of the Christian era, ought we not to blush to speak of suffering today? And yet is there not a sadness in this very fact of absence of persecution? Is real godliness more popular today? Or is not that which is popular a kind of hybrid Christianity? I leave these questions for personal asking. And yet there is a sympathetic application of the epistle. During the Armenian massacres and the martyrdom of native Christians in China, how one has thanked God again and again for the letter to Smyrna. Surely the one walking amid the lampstands said to all these, as robbed of earthly possessions and brutally deprived of life, they were still faithful to his name. I know, but thou art rich. I think I hear the voice of the thorn crowned sounding in cadences of Swedish music over the hills of the valleys of Armenia. And I think I hear that self-same voice, like the voice of many waters, breathing these words of strength to all his witnesses in China. Surely he met them at the portal of death and crowned them with life. And yet there is an immediate application to all those who suffer for his namesake. From the mediation, let us gather one or two lessons of general import. First, outward adversity of a church or a people or a person is not proof of essential poverty or weakness. It is not always the wealthy church financially that is the rich church. The material wealth of members does not create the true riches of the church. How often it has been that some struggling company of believers, fighting with poverty, contending for very existence, has been the truly rich and prosperous church. Then, secondly, let us gather the inexpressible comfort that comes from this revelation of Christ's identification with all his suffering saints. Wherever the church passes through tribulation, he stands and says, I know. And lastly, let us ever rejoice in his assertion that he holds the keys of all the things that most affright and oppress us, of the last foes, of death and of Hades, and the keys in his right hand are symbols of solution and authority. As we pass to the valley of the shadow, he approaches, holding these keys, and saying, Fear not. I have unlocked the problem. I have solved it. I have been into the deepest darkness. I know it. I have not borrowed these keys. They belong to me. I have them for unlocking and for locking. O suffering saints, and all who approach the shadow land, fear not. Fear not. Trust him utterly. Be faithful, confiding, even unto death. And through the dark chambers of death and of Hades, he will lead to light. Christ never tells us not to fear until he himself has fathomed all the mystery. I say to my child, Do not be afraid, while yet in my own heart lurks a great fear that I dare not tell him of. This Christ never does. He has not fear, and therefore I need not fear, but may sing with the psalmist, Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. He has probed the shadow and the pain. Let him lead on, even through tribulation and through death, to the life and the crowning that lie ahead. End of chapter 4