JSL-23-Chapter Six:

Chapter Six:
Seeing the Invisible

If I have not signally failed in my efforts thus far, it has been made sufficiently evident that the man who is what he ought to be will not need to be lashed into the performance of his duty. The things which please God are the very one which please him. If in the real core of his heart he is honest and truthful and upright; if in his very soul he is merciful, forgiving, compassionate and tender; if he sincerely loves all that is good and pure and Christlike, he will not have to be driven and dragooned into a course of life corresponding to such a character. It will flow spontaneously out of him. And yet he may need to be led onward, and encouraged to attempt greater things. Brotherly counsel and sympathy, scriptural instruction and godly example will all be helpful to him. He may be brought to a higher appreciation of his privileges, and to a heartier realization of his sacred and blessed relations to God. He may be shown, perhaps, with greater clearness that he has hitherto seen it, how conduct reacts upon character, and promotes its development. And certainly we can all assist one another in the study and improvement of the great volume of God’s Providence — a book which he makes the companion of his word, and the commentary upon it. Though deeply sensible of my unfitness to treat these lofty issues as they should be treated, I can at least fix the attention of my readers upon some of them, and this of itself will be a source of profit and blessing to them. The terms of the title which I have given to this chapter, if understood in their strictly literal sense, would be incongruous. It is, of course, impossible actually to see the invisible. And yet the word “see” is sometimes used in the Scriptures to signify the “view” which the soul may take of that which, with the natural eye, can not be seen. For example, the apostle speaks of ”looking at the things which are not seen” (II. Cor. 4: 27) that he literally saw God, we are told that “he endured as seeing him who is invisible.” In like manner the patriarchs are declared to have seen the promises afar off (Hebrews 11:13); and Abraham rejoiced to see Christ’s day, “and he saw it, and was glad” (John 8:56). In that passage (Job 19:26-27), which seems to be difficult to translate, we read in the Revised Version, as modified by the American revisers: “And after my skin, even this body is destroyed, then without my flesh shall I see God; whim I, even I, shall see on my side, and mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger.” Here the figure of seeing with the soul alone, “without the body,” is vivified by the use of the “eyes.” Finally we come to the beatitude: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” But while this is in the future tense, like the assurance expressed by Job, and seems to point for its realization to the future state, I do not think that the blessedness of this vision is wholly postponed till we reach the heavenly world. Whatever the state or condition into which we may hereafter be changed or introduced, I doubt whether it will ever be possible for us to see the Infinite Spirit in any sense essentially different from that in which we may now see him. We may hope to breathe this Spirit in deeper inspirations, to come into more intimate communion with him, and better to understand his character and his ways; but I suppose that we shall never literally see him, save in the person of Christ, who is “the image of the Invisible God.” “We now see [him] in a mirror, darkly; but then face to face” (1 Corinthians 13:12). And this vision, imperfect and indistinct as it is, exerts a transforming influence upon us, and tends to make us more and more like him upon whom we look. This is expressly taught in II. Cor. 3: 18: “But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are transformed into the same image from glory to glory, even as from the Lord the Spirit.” If we are thus gradually changing and growing into the likeness of Christ, who is himself, it will be remembered, the image of God, we are certainly going on to perfection, and our hearts may well be filled and animated by the hope of finally reaching this goal. But the consummation as well as the progress, the fruition as well as the hope, is connected with seeing: “We know that, if he shall be manifested, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is. And every one that hath this hope set on him, purifieth himself, even as he is pure” (1 John 3:2-3). Of course now, while we are compassed with the flesh, and our minds disturbed and distracted by so many worldly objects, we can see only “as in a mirror,” and the view is necessarily dark,” that is, enigmatical, mysterious. Reflected objects are not exhibited in their true relations, either to us or to each other. They consequently suggest problems or riddles, for the full solution of which we must wait till we reach the direct vision of the world to come. But even as it is with us here and now, with our clouded intellect and imperfect sight, we can still perceive that what we gaze upon with our inner eye is “glory” — the “glory of the Lord.” And let me ask, What is the glory of the Lord, but his character? His several attributes which constitute all that we know or can know of him, such as love, mercy, goodness, wisdom, power—these are his glory; and while we contemplate these, meditating upon them and striving to appreciate them as qualities of inestimable worth and value—as being in fact the only good—we find ourselves little by little becoming weaned from meaner things, and changed into these more excellent and divine characteristics—“transformed into the same image from glory to glory.” This means, I suppose, from the glory of God which we behold, to our own glory, and also from one degree of this to another. It indicates our progress upward and Godward.

We are very little and imperfect; we are sometimes hardly able to stand; and we feel that we can not move. We are often sorely tried; the world, the flesh, and the devil tempt us to give over, and we are liable to become discouraged. At such times how blessed it is to reflect that if we can do nothing more, if we are unable to walk or even to stand, we can at least sit down, or, better still, kneel down, and look; and by looking be transformed into the divine image. It is certainly no ordinary provision—no common privilege—that enable us to acquire strength and courage, and light and peace, and joy and love, just by seeing Him who is invisible.

We talk at great deal about faith and trust, and this is well. We can not say too much upon these important subjects, if only we are careful to understand them aright. But we should remember that they are not abstractions. Faith is not a thing which has inherent virtue, or any saving efficacy in and of itself. Nor is trust a mere theological term to be lauded as having some mysterious worth of its own, nor yet a something for the mere possession of which God will reward us. Important and valuable as they are, their worth is wholly instrumental. They server to bring us into communion with the Invisible. They are the eyes, so to speak, with which the soul looks upon God, and by thus looking brings the glory of the Lord into itself. And its because we so frequently use the words faith and trust by themselves, as though they were things apart—as though they were meritorious per se—that I have chosen to express their dependent relation by the phrase, “Seeing the Invisible.” Mere “faith,” as a simple state of mind, or as a sort of conscious feeling, or what some may call an “experience,” is really of no value, and properly speaking, is not faith. Nothing is worthy of this name which does not bring us into connection with the Divine Being, and which does not constitute a channel through which his gracious and saving influence may flow into the soul. What we need is not faith simply, but faith in God. And there is nothing fraught with richer blessings to the soul, nothing that can better sustain and uphold us amid the trials and afflictions life, than the ability to realize that God is lovingly near us; that he is watching over us for good, and leading us onward. The Lord said to Moses, and no doubt the promise is applicable to every one of us: “My Presence shall go with thee.” If we could but habituate ourselves to something like a consciousness of this “presence”—whether we call it feeling, or seeing, or believing, or trusting—if it could have for us a reality comparable to some sense-perception, as with

The poor Indian, whose untutored mind
Sees God in clouds, and hears him in the wind; it would bring to us an unspeakable comfort. In our frailty and weakness we should daily look away from ourselves; we should cease to fear, for we should know that “by the power of God we were guarded through faith unto the salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.” And thus we could take home to ourselves the other promise to Moses: “My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest.”