J Arrows

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Jesus a light.

If I saw a wise man going into a blind asylum, laying on gas or making preparation for the electric light, I should feel sure that he had a view to people who can see; and if none but blind people could come into the building, I should conclude that ho anticipated a time when the poor blind folks would find their eyes again, and would be able to use the light. So, as the Lord has set Jesus to be a light, you may be sure that He means to open blind eyes. Jesus will enlighten the people, souls will be saved.

Jesus Himself.

I see at times in the newspaper, "Principals only will be dealt with," and in our heavenly business we had better keep to this rule. Go not to the servants, make all your applications to the Master, and in your dealings with Him, seek not His presents so much as Himself, for the Giver is ever greater than what He gives. The bottle of water which Hagar carried for Ishmael, is a poor thing compared with that well of God, beside which Isaac abode. Fruit from a choice tree is well; apples of gold in baskets of silver are not to be despised; but if one can have the tree planted in his own garden, he is richer far. Our Lord is the apple tree among the trees of the wood, and to possess Him is to have the best of the best; yea, all things that can be desired. Covenant blessings are streams, but our Lord Jesus is the well head. Believe for the infinite, immutable, inexhaustible "deep which lieth under," and you may sink as many wells as you please.

Jesus—"Looking Unto."

I have read of a competition between certain young ploughmen who were set to plough for a prize. The most of them made very crooked work of it. After they had ended, one of the judges said, "Young man, where did you look while you were ploughing?" "I kept my eyes well on the plough handles, sir, and saw what I had to hold." "Yes," the judge said, "and your plough went in and out and the furrow is all crooks." He asked the next ploughman, "And where did you look?" "Well, sir," he answered, "I looked at my furrow; I kept my eye always on the furrow that I was making. I thought I should make it straight that way." "But you did not," answered the judge, "you were all over the place." To the next he said, "What did you look at?" "Well, sir," he said, "I looked between the two horses to a tree that stood in the hedge at the other end of the field, right in front of me." Now that man went straight because he had a fixed mark to guide him. This helps us to appreciate the wisdom of the text, "Looking unto Jesus." Run: run straight: you cannot run straight except you keep your eye on the One who is always the same. "Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of your faith," you will have a sure preservative from wandering. Spiritual ploughmen, take heed that ye look not back, but plough a straight furrow towards Jesus on the throne!

"Jesus, Lover of my soul"

I think I have read somewhere that Mr. Wesley was one morning dressing: his window looked out towards the sea, and there was a heavy wind blowing, the waves were very boisterous, and the rain was falling heavily; just then a little bird, overtaken by the tempest, flew in at the open window, and nestled in his bosom. Of course, he cherished it there, and then bade it go on its way when the storm was over. Impressed by the interesting occurrence, he sat down and wrote the verse—

"Jesus, Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the raging billows roll, While the tempest still is high.

Hide me, O my Savior, hide Till the storm of life be past."

Imitate that poor little bird, if you would have Christ: fly away from the wrath of God, fly away from your own convictions of sin, fly away from your dark forebodings of judgment to come, right into the bosom of Jesus, which is warm with love to sinners.

Jesus only.

I recollect a story told of William Dawson, whom our Wesleyan friends used to call Billy Dawson, one of the best preachers who ever entered a pulpit. He once gave out as his text, "Through this Man is preached unto you the forgiveness of sins." When ho had given out his text he dropped down to the bottom of the pulpit, so that nothing could be seen of him, only there was a voice heard saying, "Not the man in the pulpit, he is out of sight, but the Man in the Book. The Man described in the Book is the Man through whom is preached unto you the remission of sins." I put myself and you, and everybody else out of sight, and I preach to you the remission of sins through Jesus only. I would sing with the children, "Nothing but the blood of Jesus." Shut your eyes to all things but the cross.

Jesus will win at last.

I shook hands after the sermon this morning, with a good missionary of Christ from West Africa. He had been there six, teen years. I believe that they reckon four years to be the average missionary's life in that malarious district. He had buried twelve of his companions in the time. For twelve years he had scarcely seen the face of a white man. He was going to Africa, to live a little while longer, perhaps, but he expected to die soon, and then he added (I thought, sweetly), as I shook his hand, "Well many of us may die, perhaps hundreds of us will, but Christ will win at last. Africa will know and fear our Lord Jesus; and what does it matter what becomes of us—our name, our reputation, our life, our health—if Jesus wins at last." What heroic words! What a missionary spirit!

Joy rapturous through faith.

Bunyan pictures Christiana as saying to Mercy, "What was the matter that you did laugh in your sleep last night?" And Mercy said, "But are you sure I laughed?" When she told her dream, Christiana said, "Laugh, ay, well you might to see yourself so well." She laughed because she dreamed she had been welcomed into glory. To faith this is no dream. We have had many dreams of this sort, and we know that we are saved by grace, adopted of the Father, united to the Son, indwelt by the Holy Spirit—visions most true, and these have made us laugh with an inward inexpressible delight. The more steadfastly we believe, the more of this rapturous joy we shall experience.

Judgments—national.

National judgments are frequently a ministry of grace. The first year in which I came to London, I was greatly struck with the access that one had at all hours of the day and night to people's houses, into which no ministers of Christ had ever been welcomed before. I remember, at two o'clock one Monday morning, I was in a house, now pulled down, close to London Bridge, to see a man who had spent the Sunday at Brighton, and had come home to die with the cholera. Yes, they sent for me at dead of night often and often then; and rich and poor—it mattered not, if they found someone willing to come and visit them—were eager for you to read and pray with them; for death was all around us, making havoc in these streets. They are not so eager for a visit now. So far, cholera did arouse our neighbors, and they flocked to hear the Word out of very fear. So much of benefit there may be in the plagues which are shot from the quiver of Providence.

Just, yet merciful.

Some time ago a judge in America was called upon to try a prisoner, who had been his companion in his early youth. It was a crime for which the penalty was a fine, more or less heavy. The judge did not diminish the fine ; the case was clearly a bad one, and he fined the prisoner to the full. Someone who knew his former relation to the offender thought him somewhat unkind thus to carry out the law, while others admired his impartiality. All were surprised when the judge quitted the bench and himself paid every farthing of the penalty. He had both shown his respect for the law, and his good will to the man who had broken it; 'he enacted the penalty, but he paid it himself. So God has done in the person of His dear Son. He has not remitted the punishment, but He has Himself endured it. His own Son, who is none other than God Himself—for there is an essential union between them—has paid the debt which was incurred by human sin.

Jesus will never be a part Savior.