14 The Permanence of the Divine Plan; Or, Special Providence

The Permanence of the Divine Plan; Or, Special Providence By Rev. Wayland Hoyt, D. D., Pastor of Strong Place Baptist Church, Brooklyn, N. Y.

“Then they sought to take him: but no man laid hands on him, because his hour was not yet come.”—John 7:30.

Because his hour was not yet come—that must hold our thought just now.

Let us not think of our Lord Christ when he was upon earth, as always in the guise in which the painters chiefly picture him; with a gentle and suffering mildness ever on his face and in his mcin; with never the flash of a righteous indignation striking out from him—a much enduring, even somewhat effeminate Christ, with more of the yielding and dependence of the woman than the vigor of the man. When John, in the Spirit on the Lord’s day, caught sight of him afterwards, at Patmos, he saw him wearing no such unresisting aspect. “His eyes were as a flame of fire; his feet were like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; his voice was as the sound of many waters; out of his mouth went a sharp two-edged sword, and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength.” And I am sure that often during his tarrying upon our earth, even as the lightning breaks out of the darkening cloud, the stroke of rebuke of unbelief and evil thinking and evil-living burst, scathing, from the lips even of the meek Christ. For we must remember always that sinlessness is not a merely passive freedom from any tarnish on its whiteness, but is also an active going forth against anything which would seek to tarnish. It is battle against impurity, because it is purity. It is flaming fight against wrong, because itself is righteousness. To be Christian is not to stand upon the defensive only. It is to grasp the sword, to enter into combat, to push on into the offensive against evil, too. So, I am sure that the glance of eye like flame, and the steady tread of feet like brass, and the distinct and cleaving words like quick cut of a two-edged sword, were to be heard and seen, even during the earthly humiliation of our Lord. Every Christian ought to illustrate the ability of being angry and sinning not. We may be certain our Lord illustrated it.

You will find it thus just now, if you will carefully read the context. This seventh chapter of John is a battle chapter. You can hear the clashing strokes of the sword of Truth against the shields of Error. Christ is standing in the fire front of opposition. It is the feast time. Jerusalem is crowded. The religious leaders are seeking to block his influence. They turn his sermons in the Temple courts into contentions. They interrupt him. They try to trap him. They lay plots for his life. Upon one thing they are determined — they will not believe him nor let the people. There is the stir of a great turmoil through this chapter. Because he has wrought a miracle of healing upon the Sabbath, the people, under the suggestion of their leaders, say that Christ has broken the Sabbath law. Then they listen to the great words he speaks, and get moved to the depths. Messiah himself could not speak more grandly or convincingly. Also, his tender and gentle deeds of healing and of mercy touch them. They are caught in cross-currents of feeling. They know not what to think or what to say. They cry, “Do the rulers know indeed that this is verily Messiah?” Then the influence of the religious rulers again oversweeps and triumphs. Then the people bethink themselves of an old Rabbinical tradition and test of the Messiah — that he was indeed to be born in Bethlehem, but that straightway he was to be snatched out of sight by spirits and by tempests; that he was to be hidden for a while; that unexpectedly and supernaturally he was to reappear and enter on his mission. With the changing humor of a crowd, whose feeling sets one way, though there may be refluent ripples on the surface, the people apply this test, and say,” This Jesus who pretends to be Messiah fails before it. When Messiah cometh, no man knoweth whence he is; howbeit as for this fellow, we know whence he is. No; he cannot be Messiah.” Then, against their obdurate unbelief and evil speech, the righteous indignation of the Master flashes out. He asserts himself. He pushes on into the offensive. It is the time for severity, for the quick strokes of the two-edged sword of Truth. There in the Temple, as he teaches, Jesus cries out,” Ye do indeed know me, and ye know whence I am; and I am not come of myself, but it is the True One who hath sent me; Him Ye Do Not Know. I know him, for I have come from him, and he it is who hath sent me forth.” As another has explained it,” In his miracles and his instructions they had seen and heard enough to assure them that he was from God. Their contemptuous declaration, ‘We know this fellow,’ he transformed into an indictment against them. ‘Ye do know me,’ he says, ‘and ye know whence I am, for the authentication of my divine mission is ample. Yo do know that I am not come of myself, for my whole life is a conclusive demonstration that I am not a self-seeker.’ .But the the True God, him they did not and could not know. He knew him, for he had been his companion from eternity. This tone of fearless assumption, in which he at once claimed to be from the only true God, and declared that they did not even know him whose peculiar people it was their peculiar boast to be, angered the crowd, angered especially the leaders.”^{[31] [31]} Abbott’s Commentary,in loco. Their answer is that of attempted arrest and the gagging of prison and of death.

But, somehow, they cannot take him. Notwithstanding the command of the leaders and the fierce feeling and the fierce tumult, no man will lay hands on Jesus. Something, somehow, holds them back.

Still the stir continues; now another refluent wave sets in. The people ask each other, “When Messiah cometh, will he do more miracles than these which this one hath done? There begins to be a flowing forth of faith toward Jesus. Many of the people believe on him. So the leaders assume authority more regular and distinctively official. By decree of the Sanhedrim, they send officers to take him.

Meanwhile, the critical tumult having overpassed a little, Christ goes on with his wonderful heart touching, heart-searching speech. Probably on that day he is not further troubled. But the last day of the Feast of Tabernacles comes round. It is the Hosunna Rabba. It is the great day. There is the grand procession passing seven times round the city with palms, with instruments of music, with sounding choirs, to commemorate the ancient capture of Jericho. There is, by other multitudes led by priests and Levites carrying golden vessels, the streaming to the brook of Siloah; that amid jubilant clamorings on every side—Ho, every one that thirsteth. With joy shall ye draw water from the wells of salvation!—the sacred water may be drawn, and from thence borne to the temple for libation at the morning sacrifice. It is much more than likely that, as this very ceremonial was going on—the vast crowds pouring themselves back from Siloah through the temple gates, the priests bearing the water toward the altar—Jesus stood and cried,” If any man thirst, let him come unto ME and drink.” It was the burning weather of the autumn. It was the parched time before the falling of the latter rain. Always in Palestine, to tell of water was to use a spell. The rivers of living water which were to flow forth from him who should believe in Jesus seemed to tell of a refreshment deeper and truer than that the most splendid ceremonial could supply.^[32] The people’s hearts were strangely touched. “Of a truth this is the Prophet,” some cried out. “This is the Christ,” still others said. But others questioned, “Shall Messiah come out of Galilee?” So the ferment grew again.

[32] Geike’s Life of Christ, Vol. 2, p. 293. And here were the officers, with their orders to make this troubler prisoner. They try, and yet they cannot. At length they go back to their chiefs, empty-handed still, and with this excuse upon their lips, “Never man spake like this man.”

Now, the Scripture which makes the text gives us the reason for this strange helplessness — of the leaders, of the people smitten by various passions as the tempests smite the sea, of the officers. Afterwards they do take him. They scourge him. They crucify him. But not now. They cannot do it now. And why? God’s time for it had not struck. On the dial of his purpose the hands of his appointment had not reached the hour. Until that moment, the mob might rage, but they could not capture. Then they sought to take him; but no man laid hands on him, because his hour was not yet come,—that was the reason. So the truth which flashes out upon us from this Scripture is the Permanence of the Divine Plan. It binds the leaders, the people, the officials. It holds them back. Wait, O raging waves! — then — but not till then. The hour has not yet come — the Permanence of the Divine Plan. And to affirm this is only to declare in another way the Doctrine of a Special Providence.

First.—Let us be frank, and confess the mystery of this matter. In the year 1608, there lived a Hollander whose name was Lippershey. He discovered that, by looking through two glass lenses in a certain way, objects distant were made larger, and could be seen distinctly. That was the seed of the telescope. The year afterwards Galileo heard of the fact, and, without knowing the principles of their construction, nevertheless invented for himself a form of the instrument. Working at it, and gradually improving it, he succeeded in making a telescope which could magnify thirty times. He turned it on the moon. He found that its surface was diversified like that of our own earth; that there were mountains, and valleys between them, and that the mountains cast deep shadows into the valleys. On the night of the 7th of January, 1610, he was looking through the telescope at the planet Jupiter. He saw near Jupiter three small stars in a straight line. A few evenings later he saw a fourth. Gazing at them evening after evening, he discovered that they were revolving in orbits round the planet in regular times and at regular distances. He was the first to see the moons of Jupiter. Here was positive proof of the astronomical theory of Copernicus. As the moons went round Jupiter, so Jupiter went round its centre, so the earth traveled round its centre, too, and its moon round it. The old thought that the earth was centre, and that everything went round it, was clearly wrong. The new thought that the sun was center, and that all the planets circled it, was clearly right. That new and better thought made a real science of astronomy possible. Yes, the moons of Jupiter were facts. The telescope discovered them. And the vast inferences from these revolving moons were facts as well. It was a wonderful night for truth when Galileo first caught vision through his little tube and his imperfect lenses of these revolving moons.^{[33] [33]} Draper’s Conflict Between Religion and Science, p. 169 But now, facts of which the telescope tells, and the microscope tells, and the chemical test tube tells,are not all the facts which exist in the universe. Some people seem to think they are, but they are not.

Here is a man. He turns his thought inward upon himself. He thinks about himself. He studies himself. He is a mightier fact than these moons which Galileo saw. If a section of the sun falling earthward should smite that man to death, he would yet be greater than the sun, for he would know that he was slain, while the sun would not know that it was slaying, as Pascal has told us.

Well, this man is turning his thought inward on himself, and immediately he comes upon this great fact of consciousness, that he is morally free, and, therefore, that he is morally responsible. That is as certain a fact to every man as are the moons of Jupiter when he sees them through a telescope. It is a fact of another kind. It is a fact internal, and not external. It is a fact of consciousness, and not a fact of physics. But, notwithstanding, it is yet a certainty — every man is free in his moral choices, and so every man is responsible. Mr. Tyndall, not long ago, in Birmingham, made a speech in which he denied this fundamental fact of a moral and human freedom. Mr. Tyndall is telling the robber, ravisher, murderer, that he cannot help his robbing, ravishing, murdering. The man is plunged into a good deal of perplexity. He always thought, before, he could help it. So he turns round and asks the renowned lecturer, “What do you hold me responsible, then, for? what do you punish me, then, for?” And Mr. Tyndall answers: “You offend because you cannot help offending, to the public detriment. We punish because we cannot help punishing, for the public good.” Now, there is just one short and easy, and, at the same time, severely scientific answer to such a “cannot help” philosophy. This robber, ravisher, murderer, or any other man doing wrongly, knows Mr. Tyndall is speaking falsely to him, when he tells him he cannot help it. He knows he can help it, if he will help it. He knows he ought to help it since he can help it. He knows, everybody knows,—it is a fact of moral consciousness, as real as the physical fact of the moons of Jupiter,—that everyone is free in his moral choices, and that, therefore, he is morally responsible. But now the Scripture which makes the text, and much other Scripture also, lifts into view another great divine fact—that of the Permanence of the Divine Plan, and therefore necessarily a Special Divine Providence constantly working toward the realization of that Plan. God has a purpose in this world. That purpose stands and stays. That purpose organizes about itself all forces and instruments for its accomplishment. The accomplishing of that Plan is a special and controlling Providence. Notwithstanding the free moral action of human wills, that Providence is at work, bringing that plan to bloom. To the last jot and to the last title, and precisely in the Divine time as well, that Divine Purpose is going to get itself finished. It is not going to hurry. It is not going to delay. Nothing can thwart God, nothing can hinder God. “Then they sought to take him, but no man laid his hands on him, because his hour was not yet come.” In the Permanent Divine Plan, a special Providence took hold of these leaders, people and officers, and controlled them. They were perfectly free on the one hand, they were perfectly controlled on the other. Through a Providence special to each one of them they must render ministry to the Divine and Permanent Plan.

Certainly there is mystery here. What shall we do with it? Say there is no human freedom^ or declare there is no permanence of divine plan, and so no special providence out-working itI No, we are to hold fast to a human freedom and to a special providence bringing the divine plan to fruitage, and confess the mystery. Here is a mighty pyramid. Its base sweeps off in an unmeasured distance. Upon one of its majestic sides I find words like these let down into the stone’s heart: “Whom he did foreknow he also did predestinate. He shall cause the wrath of man to praise him, and the remainder shall he restrain,” and when I read the words I say: As fixed as fate is each man’s destiny. God holds everything in his bands. But after weary miles of travel I pass around to this pyramid’s other side, and lo! there I read these words just as deeply sculptured: “Choose ye whom you will serve.” “Whosoever will let him come.” And with the memory of those other words and of what they taught me still strong within me, in the presence of these I must say notwithstanding, all is as man shall choose; his destiny is in his own hands. Yet both are written on the same pyramid, and I notice that both sides slope upward toward the apex. But when in my perplexity I look aloft to see if these apparently opposing sides can ever meet, above that summit I discern only the thickest mists, and that is all.

What, then, am I to do? Both teachings are written on the same pyramid. I will accept the apparently opposing truths, notwithstanding the mystery. I will be glad the world cannot shackle to loose ends because there is a permanent Divine Plan and therefore a Special Providence urging that Plan’s completion; I will be sure that men are free, and so responsible. As to the mystery, I will wait till heaven’s light lifts its mists from the majestic pyramid of the Divine Revelation.

Secondly.—While we confess the mystery of a permanent divine plan, through a special providence laying its grasp upon all natural laws and forces and all freely-acting human wills, let us nevertheless affirm that though the doctrine may be above reason, it is not against reason.

It is not an unreasonable doctrine. That is to say, it is not against the analogy of things; it is in accordance with that analogy. One thing is certain: God cannot deny himself; therefore, this other thing is certain, that, in the grasp of this permanent Divine Plan through a special providence, upon all natural facts and forces and also upon the free choices of human wills, there can be no break or fracture of the laws ruling them since these laws God has himself appointed. Such breakage and fracture would be God’s denial of himself. The question comes, is there any analogy which may at least suggest to me how this special providence may push on the blooming of God’s purpose without injury to these presiding laws? In the light of such analogy, while this doctrine of a special providence may be above my reason, and while I may freely confess it to be so, I may be still sure that it is not against my reason.

I think the analogy from our human use of natural law will help us here. The advance of science, how wonderful it is! I get aboard a steamship, and in a few days, against the tides and winds and sweeping ocean currents, I am borne across the Atlantic. This my fathers could not do. What I can do in days they could scarcely accomplish in as many mouths. They were the sport of tides and hostile winds. I enter a telegraph office and send my question to a friend in London through the great wide sea, and get his answer almost in a moment. This my fathers could not do. They must wait months for an answer, until the slow-sailing ship brought in the tardy mails. I turn the crank of a phonograph and find, to my amazement, that it has caught and kept even the most evanescent varieties of my tone and accent, the rapidity or the slowness of my speech, the words that I have spoken into the yielding air. Surely this marvel was never for my fathers. By what means have these things been accomplished, and a thousand others like them? Through the breaking of any natural law? Nay, verily I Through a better knowledge of, and so through a better obedience to the laws of steam and electricity and sound, and the skillful manipulation of them to special uses. These vast achievements result from a truer knowledge of, and a profounder obedience to, natural law. They do not come, they never could have come, from the breaking of natural law.

God knows all laws; those which preside over physics, those which preside over the free and subtle human soul. With God’s knowledge is conjoined also infinite power and infinite skill. I am unable to conceive how he may do it; but I am not unable to conceive that infinite knowledge and infinite power and infinite skill may, without injury to a gossamer thread of law, through a special providence, cause and complete the actualization of his own majestic plan. If man can do so much through law, surely God can do infinitely more. And so, to me at least, this analogy from the human sceptre over natural law assures me that while the doctrine of a special providence may be above my reason, it is not against it—it is not unreasonable’?”

Thirdly.—Let us get the comfort of this serene truth of a permanent Divine Plan working itself out through a special Divine Providence. “Preventively,” “permissively,” “directively,” “determinatively,” it may work, but this providence works on toward the highest and holiest, since it is but the expression and actualization of the Divine Plan,

There is comfort in it. Once my little child taught me a deep lesson. I was changing my residence; we were in the turmoil of moving. The pictures were taken from the walls; the carpets were rolled from the floors. Her nursery had been invaded; her toys must be captured and packed as well. Apparently to her it was the destruction of her home. But I noticed that as she went about through the desolate rooms she was as joyful and as fearless, and was ringing out a laugh as merry as when her toys were at her hand and the house was ordered from the basement to the attic. I waited and watched her, and asked myself why her childish comfort could be so little blighted. This was the answer to my question about my child: She had utter faith in my thought for her, and in the means by which I was carrying out my thought. We are to have such faith in the greater Father’s thought and in his means. Who shall say that there is not for any Christian the profoundest comfort here!

There is comfort for the Christian worker. The cause of God must triumph shiningly and the meshes of this special providence are so fine that no word of prayer or deed of duty done to help it on can slip through into loss or uselessness.

There is comfort for the Christian who is meeting trial. The Kohinoor, the mountain of light from India, was a gem most wonderful. But it was poorly cut, and so the inward fires of its lustre were somewhat dimmed. For more than a mouth they set whirling at it the emery wheels armed with diamond dust. They removed a third of it; but it gleamed now a perfect gem. It was into 20 careless hands they gave the duty. He was the best diamond worker who could be found. He knew what he was about, and his instruments were the best possible. We need the grindings and rubs of trial. But God’s design for us is the best possible, and it is his special providence which uses the tools. And even death must wear a shining face when we see it through the lense of his appointment and remember that a special providence shall bring it in his time. We must be immortal till our work is done; then dying is coronation.