======================================================================== WRITINGS OF ROBERT S CANDLISH by Robert S. Candlish ======================================================================== A collection of theological writings, sermons, and essays by Robert S. Candlish, compiled for study and devotional reading. Chapters: 131 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TABLE OF CONTENTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1. 01.0. 1 John 2. 01.1. Chapters 1 - 10 3. 01.2. Chapters 11 - 20 4. 01.3. Chapters 21 - 30 5. 01.4 . Chapters 31 - 40 6. 01.5. Chapters 40 - 46 7. 02.00.0. BETHANY OR COMFORT IN SORROW AND HOPE IN DEATH 8. 02.00.1. Contents & License 9. 02.01. MARTHA AND MARY 10. 02.02. THE WORD TO MARTHA 11. 02.03. THE HOPE OF THE RESSURECTION 12. 02.04. KINSMANSHIP WITH CHIRST 13. 03.0. "Reason and Revelation" 14. 03.01. The Authority and Inspiration of Scripture 15. 03.2. The Infallibility of Holy Scripture 16. 03.3. Conscience and the Bible 17. 04.00. Pauls's Epistle to the Ephesians 18. 04.01. Chapter 1: IN THE HEAVENLIES. 19. 04.02. Chapter 2: REDEMPTION AND FORGIVENESS. 20. 04.03. Chapter 3: SPIRITUAL ENLIGHTENMENT. 21. 04.04. Chapter 4: SPIRITUAL STRENGTH. 22. 04.05. Chapter 5: THE UNITY OF THE SPIRIT : THE BOND OF PEACE* 23. 04.06. Chapter 6: ONE SPIRIT, ONE LORD, ONE GOD AND FATHER 24. 04.07. Chapter 7: THE CHURCH EDIFIED, AND EDIFYING ITSELF. 25. 04.08. Chapter 8: THE WALK OF THE GENTILES. 26. 04.09. Chapter 9: Ye have not so learned Christ 27. 04.10. Chapter 10: CHRISTIAN TRUTH. 28. 04.11. Chapter 11: GODLIKE ANGER. 29. 04.12. Chapter 12: GIVING PLACE TO THE DEVIL : GRIEVING THE SPIRIT. 30. 04.13. Chapter 13: THE SEAL OF THE SPIRIT 31. 04.14. Chapter 14: GRACIOUS WARNING. 32. 04.15. Chapter 15: ONCE DARKNESS—NOW LIGHT IN THE LORD. 33. 04.16. Chapter 16: CHRIST GIVING LIGHT. 34. 04.17. Chapter 17: WISE CHRISTIAN METHOD. 35. 04.18. Chapter 18: WORLDLY AND SPIRITUAL EXHILARATIONIST. 36. 04.19. Chapter 19: THE GENERAL DUTY OF MUTUAL SUBMISSION. 37. 04.20. Chapter 20: THE CONJUGAL RELATION - DUTIES OF WIVES AND HUSBANDS. 38. 04.21. Chapter 21: THE FILIAL RELATION—DUTY OF CHILDEEN TO PARENTS. 39. 04.22. Chapter 22: THE PARENTAL RELATION - DUTY OF PARENTS TO CHILDREN. 40. 04.23. Chapter 23: THE RELATION OF SERVICE - DUTY OF SERVANTS. 41. 05.00. Scripture Characters and Miscellanies 42. 05.01. I. THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC "AND HE DIED." 43. 05.02. II. ELI HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 44. 05.03. III. ELI - A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 45. 05.04. IV. ELI - A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. 46. 05.05. V. THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. 47. 05.06. VI. THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD IN THE CASE OF THE RIGHTEOUS CHARACTER... 48. 05.07. VII. HEROD WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS: ON THE CHARACTER OF HEROD... 49. 05.08. VIII. HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF "WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH" 50. 05.09. IX. HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING 51. 05.10. X. PETER: HIS GENERAL CHARACTER ITS STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS 52. 05.11. XI. PETER: THE TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. 53. 05.12. XII. MARTHA AND MARY PART I: THEIR COMMON GRIEF. 54. 05.13. XIII. MARTHA AND MARY 55. 05.14. XIV THE FRIENDSHIP OF PETER AND JOHN PART I 56. 05.15. XV THE FRIENDSHIP OF PETER AND JOHN PART II 57. 05.16. XVI MARY MAGDALENE WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE 58. 05.17. XVII THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN 59. 05.18. XVIII. THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. 60. 05.19. XIX. THE CASE OF PILATE A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. 61. 05.20. Appendix 62. 06.00. THE FATHERHOOD OF GOD 63. 06.01. Lecture 1st - Original Relation of God to Man 64. 06.01a. Lecture 1st - Notes 65. 06.02. Lecture 2nd - Fatherhood of God Seen in Christ 66. 06.03. Lecture 3rd - Fatherhood of God Before Christ 67. 06.04. Lecture 4th - Sonship of Christ and Believers 68. 06.05. Lecture 5th - Adoption (Just. & Sanct.) 69. 06.06. Lecture 6th - Privileges/Obligations of Sonship 70. 06.07. Appendix 1 - Ultimate Glory of Filial Service 71. 06.08. Appendix 2 - The Great Gospel Convocation 72. 06.09. Appendix 3 -The Son Calling His People Brethren 73. 06.10. Appendix 4 -Son Learning Obedience by Suffering 74. 07.00. Two Great Commandments 75. 07.01. Two Great Commandments 76. 08.00.1. On the Atonement 77. 08.00.2. Module Prepared by BibleSupport.com 78. 08.00.3. Prefatory Note 79. 08.00.4. Preliminary Dissertation 80. 08.03.01. Chapter 1 81. 08.03.02. Chapter 2 82. 08.03.03. Chapter 3 83. 08.03.04. Chapter 4 84. 08.03.05. Chapter 5 85. 08.03.06. Chapter 6 86. 08.03.07. Chapter 7 87. 08.03.08. Chapter 8 88. 08.03.09. Chapter 9 89. 08.03.10. Appendix 90. 08.03.11. Note A—Page 2 91. 08.03.12. Note A—Page 2 92. 08.03.13. Note C—Page 5 93. 08.03.14. Note D—Page 16 94. 08.03.15. Note E—Page 28 95. 08.03.16. Note F—Page 44 96. 08.03.17. Note G—Page 73 97. 08.03.18. Note H—Page 86 98. S. Addresses to the Students of the New College, Edinburgh 99. S. Christ coming quickly 100. S. Christ meeting the Prince of this world 101. S. Christ the Power and Wisdom of God 102. S. Christ's Call to the Thirsty 103. S. Death and Life with Christ 104. S. Earthly and Heavenly Things 105. S. God's Faithful Calling 106. S. God's Righteousness brought Near 107. S. God's Temple tried 108. S. God's Ways not Man's Ways 109. S. Lectures on the Conversion of the Jews 110. S. PARTAKERS OF THE ALTAR 111. S. Peter's Restoration 112. S. Security in the midst of Danger 113. S. The Blessedness of the Forgiven 114. S. The Disciple not above his Master 115. S. The Divine Glory in Nature 116. S. The Divine Glory in the Law 117. S. The Feast of Tabernacles 118. S. The Peaceable Fruit of Righteousness 119. S. The Prayer of Watchfulness and Faith 120. S. The Prayer of a Broken Heart 121. S. The Shepherd of the Sheep 122. S. The Sifting Question 123. S. The Two Sisters and Lazarus 124. S. The Value and Sweetness of the Law 125. S. Unity of the Spirit 126. S. Unleavened Bread 127. S. Upon Earthly and Heavenly Things 128. S. Upon Papal Aggression 129. S. Upon Prayer and Praise in the Psalms 130. S. Upon the Eve of the Discruption 131. S.. The Simplicity of Christ ======================================================================== CHAPTER 1: 01.0. 1 JOHN ======================================================================== 1 John Chapters 1 - 10 Chapters 11 - 20 Chapters 21 - 30 Chapters 31 - 40 Chapters 40 - 46 (These are Candlish’ chapters, not John’s) ======================================================================== CHAPTER 2: 01.1. CHAPTERS 1 - 10 ======================================================================== ONE JOHN Chapters One to Ten PRELIMINARY CHAPTERS-GENERAL AIM OF THE BOOK. THE DOCTRINE AND FELLOWSHIP OF THE APOSTLES. "That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you, that ye also may have fellowship with us; and truly our fellowship is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ." 1 John 1:3. "They continued steadfastly in the Apostles’ doctrine and fellowship."—Acts 2:42. Evidently the desire and aim of the writer of this Epistle is to place all to whom it comes in the same advantageous position which he himself and his fellow-apostles enjoyed, as regards the knowledge of God in Christ, and the full enjoyment of the holy and divine fellowship which that knowledge implies. That is his great design throughout; and this is his announcement of it at the very beginning of his treatise. Some think that he is here pointing to his Gospel, and that, in fact, this Epistle was meant to accompany that previously-published narrative, either as a sort of supplement and appendix, or as an introductory letter, explaining and enforcing the lessons of his great biography of his Master. It may be so, although I incline, after some vacillation, to my early formed opinion as to that biography being the loved disciple’s last work. And here, at any rate, I rather understand him as referring, not to that particular book at all, but to his ordinary manner of teaching, and its ordinary scope; and as including in the reference all his brethren in the apostleship. When he says, "That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you," I cannot doubt that he means to indicate generally the "apostles’ doctrine" (Acts 2:42) - the common doctrine of all of them alike. "That which we have seen and heard" - all of us alike - "declare we" - all of us alike - in order that we may have you, our disciples and scholars, our hearers and readers, to be sharers with us in our knowledge and in our fellowship. We would have all the privileges of both attainments common between you and us. In regard, indeed, to knowledge, we cannot make you as well off as we ourselves have been; not at least so far as knowledge comes through the direct information of the senses, and is verified by their testimony. We have "heard and seen, and looked, and handled" (1 John 1:1). We have had a personal acquaintance with Jesus in the flesh, and have come into personal contact in the flesh with whatever of God was manifested in him, by him, through him. We have gazed into his face; we have hung upon his lips ; - I, John, have leaned on his breast. We cannot make you partakers with us in that way of "knowing Christ after the flesh" (2 Corinthians 5:16); nor consequently in the sort of fellowship, so satisfying and soothing, "after the flesh," for which it furnished the occasion and the means. Even if we could, we would not consider that enough for you - enough for the expression of our good will to you - enough to meet and satisfy the necessity of your case. For we have ourselves experienced a great change since the sensible means and opportunities of knowledge and fellowship have been withdrawn. That former knowledge of Christ, with the fellowship that accompanied and grew out of it, ranks with us among the "old things that have passed away." We have all learned to say with our brother Paul, "Yea, though I have known Christ after the flesh, yet now henceforth know I him no more" (2 Corinthians 5:16). It is not of course that we forget, or ever can forget, all the intercourse we have had in the flesh with our loved and loving Master when he was with us on the earth. Never can we cease to cherish in our hearts the holy and blessed memories of these precious historical years. But the Holy Spirit has come to teach us all things, and bring all things to our remembrance, whatever Christ then said unto us" (John 14:26). That former knowledge does not depart; it is not obliterated or annihilated. But it has become new - altogether new, invested with a new spiritual meaning and power; presenting to the spiritual eye a new aspect of light and love. It is true that what, under this new spiritual illumination, "we have heard, and seen, and looked at, and handled, of the Word of life," is simply what, after the flesh," we had "heard, and seen, and looked at, and handled" before. It is nothing else, nothing more. But it is all new; radiant in new light, instinct with new life and love. With new ears, new eyes, new hands, we have listened, and gazed, and felt. It is a new knowledge that we have got, and consequently also a new fellowship. And it is into that new knowledge and that new fellowship, not into the old, that we would have you to enter as joint Participators with us. I. As to the knowledge, ,, That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you;" that which we have seen and heard of the "Word of life;" " the Life .;" which ,, was manifested;,, "that Eternal Life which was with the Father, and was manifested unto us" (1 John 1:1-2). These names and descriptions of the Son undoubtedly refer, in the first instance, to his eternal relation to the Father; of whose nature he is the image, of whose will he is the expression, of whose life he is the partner and the communicator. But this eternal relation - what he is to the Father from everlasting - must be viewed now in connection with what he is as he dwells among us on the earth. It is "the man Christ Jesus" who is the "manifested life." He is so from first to last, during all the days of his flesh; from his being "made of a woman, made under the law," to his being "made sin and made a curse" for us, and thereafter, "for his obedience unto death, even the death of the cross, highly exalted;" from the Baptist’s introduction of him to John and others of the apostles as "the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world," to the hour when, as John so emphatically testifies, his side was pierced, and "there came out blood and water." Every intervening incident, every miracle, every discourse, every act of grace, every word of wisdom and of love, is a part of this manifestation. In every one of them "the eternal life which was with the Father is manifested to us." He who liveth with the Father evermore, dwelling in his bosom, is manifesting to us in himself - in his manhood, in his feelings, sayings, doings, sufferings, as a man dwelling among us - what that life is, - not liable to time’s accidents and passions, but unchanging, eternal, imperturbable, - which he shares with the Everlasting Father, and which now he shares also with us, and we with him. In the midst of all the conditions of our death this life is thus manifested. For he who is the life takes our death. Not otherwise could "that eternal life which was with the Father be manifested unto us." For we are dead. If it were not so, what need would there be of a new manifestation of life to us? Originally the divine life was imparted to man, the divine manner of dying; for he was made in the image of God. But now that image being lost or broken and marred by sin, death is our portion, our very nature; death, a manner of being the reverse and opposite of God’s; having in it no element of changeless repose, but tumultuous tossings of guilt, fear, wrath, and hatred. Such are we to whom the eternal life which was with the Father is to be manifested. We are thus dead; sentenced by a righteous doom, as transgressors, to this death; already and, hopelessly involved in its uneasy, restless darkness. How then can life, the life which is with the Father, be manifested to us, if it be not life that overcomes this dark death, - that is itself the death of it, - that completely disposes of it, and puts it finally and for ever out of the way? So he who is "the eternal life which was with the Father" is manifested to us" as "destroying this death." He destroys it in the only way in which it can be destroyed righteously, and therefore thoroughly; by taking it upon himself, bearing it for us in our stead, dying the very death which we have most justly deserved and incurred. So he gives clear and certain assurance that this death of ours need not stand in the way of our having the life of God manifested to us, - and that too in even a higher sense and to higher ends than it was or could be manifested to man at first. For now that life of God is manifested personally, in one who is himself "the life," being "the Son dwelling in the bosom of the Father." He who so wondrously and so effectually takes our death from us is himself the life - "that eternal life which was with the Father and is manifested to us ;" - so manifested that as he takes our death he gives us his life; he being one with us and we one with him. So, in him who is "the life" we enter into life ; - into that eternal life with the Father wherein there can be no more any element of unquiet guilt or stormy passion, but only trust and love and peace evermore. "The life was thus manifested" while the Word of life, "made flesh, dwelt among us full of grace and truth; and we beheld his glory " - we, his apostles - "the glory as of the only begotten of the Father" (John 1:14). What we beheld of his glory, as on the mount of transfiguration, we could not indeed then understand, any more than we could understand what we heard Moses and Elijah talking with him about, "the decease to be accomplished at Jerusalem" or what we witnessed of his agony in the garden, in the near prospect of that decease. What our bodily senses then perceived was all dark to our minds, our souls, our hearts; insomuch that when he was taken away we accounted him lost, and ourselves lost with him, and could but cry woefully - " We trusted that it had been he which should have redeemed Israel" (Luke 24:21). But new senses of spiritual insight, hearing, touch, have been imparted to us, or opened up in us. And the whole meaning of that exchange of our doomed accursed death for his blessed divine life, - which all the while he was among us he was working out - has flashed upon us; placing in a new light, and investing with new grace and glory, all that presence of our Lord and Master with us, which otherwise must have been to us as a tale that is told. To have declared to you what we saw and heard, as we saw and heard it at the time, would have been of little avail. The most life-like photographic painting, the most word-for-word shorthand reporting, could only have placed you in the position of our brother Philip, to whom, as representing us all, the Lord had occasion so pathetically to put the question, "Have I been so long with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip?" He added, however, then, "He that hath seen me hath seen the Father." And now we can say that we have seen him. All that we witnessed of the grace and truth of which he was full, when as the Word made flesh he dwelt among us, we can now say that we have seen. It is all now before us in its true significance, as the revelation of "the eternal life which was with the Father and was manifested to us." What that "eternal life" is; how he is that life with the Father - righteous, holy, loving; how he is that life to us, miserably dead in sin; this is what is manifested in him as he was on earth, and in all that he taught, and did, and suffered. And it is as manifesting this that we, his apostles, "declare unto you that which we have seen and heard." Taught by the Spirit, we would have you to know, taught also by the Spirit, what that eternal life is of which the Lord himself testifies in his farewell prayer for his people, when he says: "This is life eternal, that they may know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent" (John 17:3). II. So much for the communicated knowledge. The communicated fellowship comes next - -" that ye may have fellowship with us." The meaning plainly is, that you may share our fellowship, which truly "is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ" (1 John 1:3). The object and the nature of this fellowship - " the apostles’ fellowship" (Acts 2:42) - fall now to be considered. I. The object of this fellowship is the Father and the Son. I say the object, for there is but one. No doubt the Father and the Son may be considered separately, as two distinct persons with whom you may have fellowship. And in some views and for some ends it may be quite warrantable, and even necessary, to distinguish the fellowship which you have with the Father from that which you have with his Son Jesus Christ. As Christ is the way, the true and living way, to the Father, so fellowship with him as such must evidently be preparatory to fellowship with the Father. But it is not thus that Christ is here represented. He is not put before the Father as the way to the Father, fellowship with whom is the means, leading to fellowship with the Father as the end. He is associated with the Father. Together, in their mutual relation to one another and their mutual mind or heart to one another, they constitute the one object of this fellowship. The Father and his Son Jesus Christ; not each apart, but the two - both of them - together; with whatever the Spirit of the Father and the Son may be commissioned to show, and your spirits may be enabled to take in, of the counsel of peace that is between them both; that is what is presented to you as the object of your fellowship. It is a great idea. Who can grasp it? A father and a son among men; both of them wise, upright, holy, loving; of one mind and heart; perfectly understanding one another; perfectly open to one another; perfectly confiding in one another; together bent upon some one great and good undertaking; engrossed thoroughly in some one grand pursuit, characterised by consummate genius and rare benevolence ; - that might be an impressive, an attractive picture. To be allowed to make acquaintance with them in their own dwelling where they are at home together; to be admitted into their study where they consult together; to watch the father’s face when the son goes out on any errand or for any work agreed upon between them; to witness the embrace awaiting him on his return; to go with the son, as, through ignominy, and suffering, and toil, and blood, and loathsome contact with filth and crime, he makes his way to yonder outcast, and see how it is his father’s pity for that outcast that is ever uppermost in his thoughts, how it is his father that he would have to get the praise of every kind word spoken and every sore wound healed; to sit beside the father and observe with what thrilling interest his whole soul is thrown into what his son is doing; and when they come to talk it all over together, when their glistening eyes meet, and their bosoms bound to one another, to be there to see ; - that were a privilege worth living for, worth dying for. Such as that, only in an infinitely enhanced measure of grace and glory, is the object presented to you for your fellowship. For the illustration so fails as to be almost indecorous. The Eternal Father and the Eternal Son; what the Father is to the Son and the Son to the Father from everlasting; the Father’s purpose in eternity to glorify the Son as heir of all things; the Son’s consent in eternity to be the Lamb slain; the covenant of electing love securing the fulfilment of the Father’s decree and the Son’s satisfaction in the seeing of his seed ; - then, the amazing concert of that creation-week when the Son, as the Eternal Wisdom, was with the Father, being "daily his delight, rejoicing always before him, rejoicing in the habitable parts of his earth, his delights being with the children of men;" - theft, the Son’s manifold ministrations as the angel of the covenant on the Father’s behalf among these children of men from age to age till his coming in the flesh ; - and then, stir further - more signal sight still - what the Father and his Son Jesus Christ are to one another, how they feel toward one another, what is the amazing unity between them, all through the deep humiliation of the manger, the wilderness, the synagogues and sea of Galilee, the streets and temple of Jerusalem, the garden and the cross ; - what, finally, is that sitting of the Son at the Father’s right hand which is now, and that coming of the Son in his own glory and the Father’s which is to be shortly ; - such is the object of "the apostles’ fellowship" and yours. It is fellowship "with the Father and his Son Jesus Christ." 2. The nature of the fellowship can be truly known only by experience. In so far as it can be described, in its conditions, its practical working, and its effects, it is brought out in the whole teaching of this epistle, of which it may be said to be the theme. But a few particulars may here be indicated : - (1.) That it implies intelligence and insight I need scarcely repeat; such intelligence and insight as the’ Spirit alone can give. No man naturally has it; no man naturally cares to have it. You may tell me, in my natural state, of tangible benefits of some sort coming to me, through some arrangement between the Father and his Son Jesus Christ, of which somehow I get the good. I can understand that, and take some interest in that. The notion of my being let off from suffering the pains of hell, and of indulgence being extended to my faults and failings, in consequence of something that Christ has done and suffered for me, which he pleads on my behalf, and which God is pleased so far to accept as to listen favourably to his pleading, - is a notion intelligible enough, congenial and welcome enough, to my natural mind. But this is very different from my having fellowship in that matter, even as thus put and thus understood, with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. Even while reckoning with reckless confidence on impunity coming to me in virtue of some transaction between the Father and the Son, I may be profoundly and most stupidly indifferent as to what that transaction really is, and what the Father and the Son are to one another in it. In such a state of mind there can be no "fellowship with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ." (2.) There must be faith: personal, appropriating, and assured faith; in order that the intelligence, the insight, may be quickened by a vivid sense of real personal interest and concern. There must be faith: not a vague and doubtful reliance on the chance, one might say, of some sort of deliverance turning up at last, through the mediation of the Son with the Father; but faith identifying me with the Son, and shutting me up into the Son, in that itself. There can be no fellowship without the ground and means of the fellowship; it fellowship itself in essence ; - in germ, em-For if I grasp Christ, or rather if he grasps me, in a close indissoluble union, I am to the Father, in a manner, what he is; and the Father is to me what he is to him. What passes between the Father and the Son is now to me as if it passed - nay, as really passing - between the Father and me. It has all a personal bearing upon myself; I am personally involved in it. Is it then a kind of selfishness after all? - selfishness refined and spiritualised, the care of my soul rather than my body, my eternal rather than my temporal wellbeing, - but still the care of myself? Nay, it is the death of self. For, first, even in the urgency of its first almost instinctive and inarticulate cry for safety - " What must I do? " - it springs from such a sight and sense of sin and ruin as carries in it an apprehension of the holy and awful name of God and the just claims of God being paramount over all. Then, secondly, in its saving efficacy, it is a going out of self to God in Christ; an acceptance of God in Christ; an embracing of God in Christ; having in it as little of what is self-regarding and self-seeking as that little child’s nestling in its mother’s bosom has. And thirdly, as the preparation for the fellowship, or as being itself the fellowship, it is the casting of myself, with ever-increasing cordiality of acquiescence very mediation this faith; it is , in fact, the embryo, or seed. and consent, into that glorious plan of everlasting love, in which I am nothing and Christ is all in all ; - of which, when I join the company of all the saved, it will be my joy and theirs to ascribe all the praise "unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever." (3) This fellowship is of a transforming, conforming, assimilating character. In it you become actually partakers with the Father and the Son in nature and in counsel. For fellowship is participation; it is partnership. The Father and the Son take you into partnership with them. Plainly this cannot be, unless you are made "partakers of the divine nature;" unless your nature is getting to be moulded into conformity with the nature of the Father and the Son. For this end in part, or chiefly, that "eternal life which was with the Father has been manifested to you" in your human nature, that through his dwelling in you by his Spirit, - and so being "revealed in you," - that human nature may become in you what it was when he made it his. Not otherwise can there be community or identity of interest between him and you; not otherwise than by there being community or identity of nature. (4.) It is a fellowship of sympathy. Being of one mind, in this partnership, with the Father and the Son, you are of one heart too. Seeing all things, all persons, and all events, in the light in which the Father and the Son see them, you are affected by them and towards them, as the Father and the Son are. Judging as they judge, you feel as they feel. You do so with reference to all that you come in contact with; all that concerns, or may concern, that great business in which you are partners or fellows, fellow-wishers and fellow-workers, with the Father and the Son. What the business is you know. It is that of which the child of twelve years spoke to his mother and Joseph, "Wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business?" In what spirit, and after what manner, the Father and the Son are "about that business," you also know. You know how, on the Father’s behalf, and as having the Father always going along with him, the Son went about it all his life-long on earth. The Father and the Son welcome - nay, they solicit - your fellowship, partnership, co-operation, sympathy, in that business. The Spirit is manifesting in you that "eternal life which was with the Father and was manifested to us," for this very end, that you may enter with us into that business which is the Father’s and the Son’s, with full sympathy and with all your hearts. It is the business of glorifying the Father. It is the business of feeding the hungry, healing the sick, comforting the sorrowful, speaking a word in season to the weary. It is the business of going about to do good. It is the business of seeking and saving the lost. It is the business of laying down life for the brethren." (5.) The fellowship is one of joy. Intelligence, faith, conformity of mind, sympathy of heart, all culminate in joy; joy in God; entering into the joy of the Lord. For there is joy in heaven. And if you, receiving what the apostles declare to you of what they have seen and heard, - receiving that eternal life which was with the Father and was manifested to them, - have fellowship with them in their fellowship with the Father and his Son Jesus Christ; the end of all their writing to you is fulfilled, "that your joy may be full" (1 John 1:4). Fullness of joy it well may be, if you share the joy of the Father and the Son: truly a joy that is "unspeakable and full of glory." Into that joy, as the joy of ineffable complacency between the Father and the Son from everlasting to everlasting, - in the counsels of a past eternity, in the present triumphs of grace, in the consummated glory of the eternity that is to come, - you are called to enter; you are to have fellowship in it with the Father and the Son. Is the thought too vast, indistinct, infinite .? Nay then, in that "eternal life which was with the Father being manifested to you," - in the Son coming forth from the Father, - you have the joy in which you are to have fellowship with him and with the Father brought home to you with more of definiteness. When the earth was prepared for man, and for the acting out of all heaven’s purpose of grace to man, "I was," says the Son, "by him, and I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him." When he came in the flesh to execute that purpose, once at least in his humiliation it is testified of him, that he "rejoiced in spirit; " - it was when he said, "I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes: even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight" (Luke 10:21). Into that joy of holy acquiescence in the wise and holy sovereignty of the Father you can enter. And you can hear him and obey him, when bringing home one and another of the poor wandering sheep he came to seek, he makes his appeal to you as knowing his mind and entering into his heart ; - " Rejoice with me, for I have found that which was lost." Rejoice with me. Yes! Rejoice with me, as my Father calls me to rejoice with him! "It is meet that we should make merry and be glad, for this our brother was dead and is alive again, was lost and is found." II. THE JOY OF THE LORD, AND ITS FULLNESS. "These things write we unto you, that your joy may be full." - 1 John 1:4. The apostle could not write these words without having full in his memory, and in his heart, the Lord’s own thrice-repeated intimation of a similar sentiment in his farewell discourses and farewell prayer: "These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full" (John 15:11); "Ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full" (John 16:24); "These things I speak in the world, that they " - " those whom thou hast given me" - " might have my joy fulfilled in themselves" (John 17:13). It is surely very wonderful that the occasion on which Jesus manifests so intense an anxiety about his disciples having enough of joy, and of his own joy, should be the eve of his last agony. Is it really with him a time of joy? Are the bloody sweat and the cry as of one forsaken by his God the signs of joy? Is that the joy, his joy, which he prays they may have fulfilled in themselves? At all events, his joy, whatever it may be, must be of such a nature that it can be compatible with experience as dark as that. For his joy must be, like himself, "the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever." It cannot be fluctuating and intermittent. It cannot be merely one of many emotions, alternating or taking its turn with others, fitfully swaying the mind at intervals, according to the shifting breezes of the outer atmosphere. His joy must partake of his own unchangeableness, as the eternal Son of the Father. It is true that in his human nature and in his earthly history he is subjected to the impulses and influences of this chequered human and earthly scene. He meets with what may move, at one time to tears, at another time to gladness. Nor is he unsusceptible of such impressions. But beneath all these his real joy must be deeper far; a fathomless, infinite ocean, whose calm repose the wildest agitations of the upper sea cannot reach or ruffle. "My joy," he says to the Father, my joy in and with thee, I would have to be theirs, through their fellowship with thee and me. Such, in substance, is the Lord’s own desire, as expressed to his disciples and to his Father. And such is his beloved apostle’s aim in his teaching - " that your joy may be full." The nature of this joy, as primarily Christ’s; the reality and fullness of it, as Christ’s joy becoming ours; these are the topics suggested by this text. I. Joy, as it is commonly understood and exemplified among men, is a tumultuous feeling; a quick and lively passion or emotion, blazing up for the most part upon some sudden prosperous surprise, and apt to subside into cold indifference, if not something worse, when fortune threatens change or custom breeds familiarity. "As the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of fools" (Ecclesiastes 7:6). It is indeed vanity; an outburst or outbreak of exuberant hilarity, subsiding soon into weariness and vacancy, the dull cold ashes of a brilliant but passing flame. All the joy of earth partakes, more or less, of that character; for it is dependent upon outward circumstances, and has no deep root in the soul itself. Even what must in a sense be called spiritual joy may be of that sort. There may be joyous excitement when the glad jubilee-trumpet fills the air with its ringing echoes, and an enthusiastic multitude are hastening to keep holiday. There may be a real elevation of spirit when some affecting scene of spiritual awakening is witnessed, or some gracious ordinance is celebrated, or some stirring voice is heard. Such joy is like the goodness which, as a morning cloud and as the early dew, goeth away. There may be the joy also of complacency in one’s own success in a good and holy work; such joy as the Baptist’s disciples feared that their tidings would mar in their master’s breast, when they came to tell him, "Rabbi, he that was with thee beyond Jordan, to whom thou barest witness, behold, the same baptizeth, and all men come unto him" (John 3:26). His answer is very memorable, and very much to the purpose of our present inquiry : - " He that hath the bride is the bridegroom; but the friend of the bridegroom, which standeth and heareth him, rejoiceth greatly because of the bridegroom’s voice; this my joy therefore is fulfilled" (John 3:29). It is Christ’s joy that is fulfilled in him who is so truly and heartily the bridegroom’s friend; Christ’s twofold joy; first, his joy as the bridegroom possessing the bride; "as the bridegroom rejoiceth over the bride, so shall thy God rejoice over thee" (Isaiah 62:9); - and, secondly, his joy as the Son possessing the Father; as the Baptist goes on to testify so affectionately; "The Father loveth the Son, and hath given all things into his hand" (John 3:35). Now, upon the subject of this "joy of the Lord," this joy of Christ, this double joy of Christ; his joy as the bridegroom having the bride; his joy as the Father’s beloved Son and trusted servant, into whose hand he giveth all things ; - -I would beware of "exercising myself in things too high for me." I would not venture so much as to imagine the ineffable joy of the Son dwelling from everlasting in the bosom of the Father, and with the Father and the Holy Spirit ordering the eternal counsels of the Godhead ; - the whole vast ideal of creative and providential goodness, .all holy and all wise: - and especially the covenanted plan of electing love, for "gathering into one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven and which are in earth" (Ephesians 1:10). Neither dare I do more than touch on what, as the eternal wisdom, he himself says about the Father "possessing him in the beginning of his ways, before his works of old;" - " Then I was by him, as one brought up with him: and I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him; rejoicing in the habitable part of his earth; and my delights were with the sons of men" (Proverbs 8:22-31). I come at once to his earthly course, his human experience. And, first, I see him in the temple, when he was twelve years old. I hear his answer to his mother and Joseph, "Wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business?." How intense his consciousness even already, at an age so tender, of the trust committed to him; his Father’s business, the business on which his Father’s heart is set, for glorifying that name of his which is light and love, and saving a people to bask in that light and love evermore! "I must be about it." There is deep joy in such a consciousness as that (Luke 2:49). Then, secondly, I see him as the disciples’ left him, faint and wayworn at Jacob’s well. On their return they find him fresh and bright. Is it an outward cordial, or is it inward joy, of which he speaks as having revived him? "I have meat to eat that ye know not of: my meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work" (John 4:32-34). And, thirdly, I find it once, and once only, said in express terms that "Jesus rejoiced in spirit" (Luke 10:21). The statement is a very strong one; it implies inward leaping for joy. And the occasion is remarkable. It is connected with the mission of the seventy. In sending them forth, the Lord has been much exercised with thoughts of the failure, to a large extent, of their ministry and of his own, and the aggravated guilt thus entailed on the. highly-favoured objects of that ministry. In receiving them back, he sympathises so far with their delight at finding even "the devils subject to them;" but he adds, "Notwithstanding, in this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject to you; but rather rejoice because your names are written in heaven." "In that hour," and in the view of the names of these his little ones being written in heaven, "Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hadst hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes: even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight" (Luke 10:21). There is here the joy of full, filial acquiescence, for himself, in the gracious and holy will of his Father. And there is added to that the crowning joy of so making known the Father to these babes that they too may acquiesce as he does; "All things are delivered to me of my Father: and no man knoweth who the Son is, but the Father; and who the Father is, but the Son, and he to whom the Son will reveal him" (Luke 10:22). Thus "the joy of the Lord is his strength ;" prevailing ever the diffidence of extreme youth, the exhaustion of nature, and "the contradiction of sinners against himself." Nothing - either in his being a mere child, as when Jeremiah complained, "Ah, Lord God, behold I cannot speak, for I am a child" (Jeremiah 1:6); or in his being overcome by distress, hunger, and fatigue, as when Elijah sat down in the wilderness and requested for himself that he might die (1 Kings 19:4); - or in his being forced to utter triple woes against the cities of his own habitation, as when Isaiah, sent on an errand of judgment to his people, was fain to cry, "Lord, how long?" (Isaiah 6:11); - -nothing, I say, in any such trials of his flesh and heart, causes either flesh or heart to faint. At least, when flesh and heart faint, his spirit is refreshed with joy. To be about his Father’s business; to be doing the will of him that sent him, and finishing his work; to say, "Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight; " - such joy is his always. Throughout the whole of his painful toil and solitary suffering there may be traced an undercurrent of real joy, without which, I am persuaded, that countenance "so marred with grief" could not have worn, as it did, the aspect of one "fairer than the children of men, into whose lips grace was poured." Nay, even of his last agony is it not said that "for the joy set before him he endured the cross?" (Hebrews 12:2). There was joy set before him, lying full in his view, in his very endurance of the cross. But what! one says - joy in that dark hour! Over the most excruciating torture of body the brave soul may rise triumphant. But when his soul was exceeding sorrowful even unto death; when his Father was hiding his face from him; when the wrath of a holy God and the curse of a broken law were upon him; when literally the pains of hell gat hold of him; how could there be joy then? Nay, I cannot tell how. But I bid you ask yourselves if, when he cried, "Father, glorify thy name ;" if, when he said, "The cup which my Father giveth me shall I not drink it?." if, when in his bloody sweat these words came forth, "Father, thy will be done," - there was no joy in his spirit. More than that, I ask if you can conceive of him, in his utmost extremity of peril, endurance, and expiatory woe, ever for a moment losing the consciousness that he was doing his Father’s will and finishing his Father’s work? Could that consciousness be ever interrupted? Could it ever cease to be a source of inward joy? There is joy lying before him, beside him, as he hangs on the accursed tree; not the joy of hopeful anticipation merely, in the near prospect of victory, but the stern joy of battle in the midst of the hot and heady fight, as - true to the trust committed to him by his Father and loving to the last his own whom he came to save - -he bares his bosom to the sword awaking in its righteousness to smite the willing victim. That joy no man, no devil, taketh from him; the joy with which he meets the Father’s just demand of a great propitiation : - " Lo, I come; I delight to do thy will, O God ;" - the joy with which he sees already of the travail of his soul when he says to the dying penitent, "To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise." Not in heaven only, among the angels of God, but on earth also, in one holy bosom at least, there is in that hour joy "over one sinner that repenteth." II. This joy, "his joy," is to become ours; it is to "remain in us." "Our joy is to be full" by "his joy being fulfilled in us." Let us notice first the reality, and then the fullness, of this fellowship or partnership of joy between Christ and us. (I.) Christ would have his joy to be really ours. The bridegroom’s friend, standing and hearing him, is to rejoice greatly because of the bridegroom’s voice. But that is not all. Something more than the Baptist’s official joy, as the bridegroom’s friend, waiting upon him as his minister, is to be ours. For the Lord says that "to be least in the kingdom of heaven is to be greater than John the Baptist." In all that constitutes the essence of his own joy the Lord associates us in intimate union with himself. Thus, first, in his standing with the Father, and before the Father, he calls us to share. The position which he occupies in the Father’s house and in the Father’s heart is ours as well as his. It is that which opens the way to his joy being ours. And what opens the way to that? His making our standing and our position his. There is an exchange of places between him and us. Our state of guilt as criminals and prodigals, with all its misery, he takes to be his, that his state of acceptance as the Father’s righteous servant, and exaltation as the Father’s acknowledged Son, with all its joy, may be ours. Hence our sharing his joy begins with our sharing his cross. It begins with our mourning for our sin as piercing him. The very mourning itself has in it an element of joy; a certain feeling of calm and chastened satisfaction that the strife with God is ended, through our being moved by his Spirit to give in to him. And soon clearer, fuller joy comes. Looking still on that pierced one, pierced for us as well as by us, we see how thoroughly, by putting himself in our place, he has so met and discharged all our liabilities, that we, "being redeemed from the curse of the law," may, by his putting us in his own place, "receive the adoption of sons." Then, secondly, he makes us partakers of the very same inward evidence of acceptance and sonship which he himself had when he was on earth. The Baptist testified, "God giveth not the Spirit by measure unto him." How much the presence of the Holy Spirit, ever consciously realised, contributed to keep alive in the holy human soul of Jesus, amid all his toil and pain, a joyful sense of his being still the Father’s chosen servant and beloved Son - who can tell? Thirdly, we have the same commission with Christ; the same trust reposed in us; the same work assigned to us. Accepted and adopted in him; sealed as he was sealed by the Spirit; we are sent as he was sent into the world. This capital ingredient, this great element of his joy, is ours. It was a deep, secret wellspring of joy in his heart; the feeling, never for a moment lost or interrupted, of his being the Father’s fellow, the Father’s agent, in carrying out that wondrous plan that bad been concerted between them, in the council-chamber of the Godhead, from everlasting. There could be nothing, in all his experience, so mean but that this thought must ennoble it; nothing so dark but that this thought must enlighten it; nothing so toilsome or so tearful but that this thought must gladden it. And now, he takes us into his counsels, as the Father has him in his. "All that he has heard of the Father he makes known to us." He does not keep us, as mere servants, in the dark, about what he is doing; prescribing us our tasks, without information or explanation, to be blindly executed by us in ignorance of what it may all mean, We are "his friends;" the men of his secret; with us he has no reserve; from us he keeps back nothing (John 15:14-15). He admits us to his fullest confidence. Some matters, indeed, pertaining to "the times and seasons which the Father hath put in his own power," it may not be for us to know. They are such as he himself, in the days of his manhood, did not care to know. But as to all that is essential, we have the same intelligence that he had, and the same insight. He sends us, as the Father sent him. Have you, let me ask, duly considered what community of mind and heart between Christ and you all this implies And what community of joy. Ah! when you wearily pace the beaten round of certain devout observances; or when you painfully deny yourselves this or that gratification on which your inclinations remain as much set as ever; or when, with half-opened hand, you dole out your measured mite, as you call it, in a good cause, or a cause you cannot venture to put away as bad; or when you labour hard at your cheerless daily toil, or drag your lazy limbs along in some self-prescribed walk of beneficence, as if you were doing the dullest piece-work for the scantiest wages; and when you count such sort of service religion, as if that were the new obedience to which you are called ; - can you wonder that you have no joy in the Lord? May not God say to you, as he said once to another, who, however grudgingly, must yet do his pleasure, - "Have you considered my servant Jesus?." Get something of his acquaintance with me, and with my plans and my ways. Get something of his spirit as he rejoiced to feel always the greatness of the trust committed to him. Get it from himself. Get it in himself. "Take his yoke upon you, and learn of him." For, fourthly, here is the chiefest element of his joy. He is "meek and lowly in heart;" and therefore "his yoke is easy, and his burden is light;" so easy, so light, that he may count it joy to bear them. It is not au easy yoke in itself that is his; nor a light burden. But his meekness and lowliness in heart makes the yoke easy, and the burden light. The yoke that was laid on his neck when he took the form of a servant was hard indeed; the yoke of subjection to the law, as broken by us and demanding satisfaction from him. The burden that was lying on his shoulders all the time he was doing the work of a servant was heavy indeed; the burden of bringing in an everlasting righteousness, with full expiation of guilt on behalf of us, miserable sinners. But as the seven years of service seemed to Jacob but one day for the love he bore to Rachel, so the meek and lowly heart of Jesus makes the hard yoke easy and the heavy burden light. In his case, as in Jacob’s, the charm is love; love, rejoicing in his Father, whose will he is doing; love, rejoicing over us, whom he is purchasing to be his spouse. For, in a word, it is his self-renunciation, so absolute and entire; his self-forgetting, self-sacrificing affection; his so completely losing himself, merging himself, in the Father whom he serves and the people whom he saves; this is that meekness and lowliness of heart which, making his yoke easy to him and his burden light, moves him, "rejoicing in spirit," to cry, "I thank thee, O Father." We must share that meekness of his; that lowliness of heart. We, like him, must be emptied of self. For no true joy is or can be selfish. I may hug myself, and applaud myself, and pamper myself, and think to laugh all thought of others, and all care about their thoughts of me, away. I do but kick against the pricks. The task of vindicating my self-sufficiency and asserting my self-will, to my own contentment, against all and sundry, I soon find to be no child’s play; but a hard yoke indeed, and a heavy burden. Let me get out of my own narrow self into Christ, and the large heart of Christ. Let me, like him, be meek and lowly in heart; accepting the conditions of my earthly lot; discharging the duty of my earthly calling; meeting the trials of my earthly pilgrimage; not as if I were entitled selfishly to take credit for what I do, or take amiss anything I have to suffer; but simply in loving obedience to my heavenly Father, and loving sympathy with him in his truth and holiness and wide and pure benevolence. That was Christ’s way; that was Christ’s joy. Then may I have freedom, enlargement, joy, as Christ had, in walking with my Father in heaven always; going about in my Father’s name doing good; drinking whatever cup my Father giveth me; and on whatever cross he may see fit to nail me, saying still, as I give up the ghost, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit." (II.) The reality of this joy, - Christ’s own joy remaining in us, - may now be partly apparent. But who shall venture to describe its fullness? "That my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full;" so he speaks to his apostles. "That they might have my joy fulfilled in themselves ;" so he speaks to the Father concerning them. "That your joy may be full;" such is the beloved apostle’s longing on behalf of his disciples, as it was his master’s on behalf of his chosen ones. Surely, one would say, it is to the future state, the life to come, the world beyond the grave, that these expressions point. And that is doubtless true. In its utmost and ultimate perfection, this full joy belongs to heaven. So it is with Christ’s own personal joy. In heaven he fully rejoices with the Father and the eternal Spirit over his fulfilled work of glorious righteousness and grace, and the fulfilled fruits of it, in the fulfilled salvation of all the multitude of his redeemed. Was it something of that joy that Paul caught a glimpse of in that strange ecstasy of his, when he was caught up into the third heaven, - into paradise, - and heard unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for man to utter? (2 Corinthians 12:1-4). Was it Moses and Elias that he overheard, as on a higher mount of transfiguration, talking with Jesus about the decease now accomplished at Jerusalem? Or was it Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; the everlasting Father, communing with his Son Jesus Christ our Lord, now in his bosom evermore, and the blessed Spirit plying evermore his ministry between God and men? But "something sealed the lips" of Paul. Let me, therefore, be silent, and wait. Let me rather see if there is not some sense,- some humbler and more practicable point of view, - in which I have to do with that fullness of joy. In Psalms 45:1-17 the Messiah, rejoicing over his church as a bridegroom over his bride, is thus saluted: ’Thou lovest righteousness and hatest wickedness; therefore God, thy God, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows. All thy garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia, out of the ivory palaces, whereby they have made thee glad." This gladness of the anointing oil and the sweet-smelling spices is all associated with his loving righteousness and hating wickedness. The secret of his full joy lies in his being, as his Father is, the holy one and the just. Hence there can be no discrepancy of thought, or taste, or feeling, between him and the Father who has sent him. All things about his mission appear to him as they appear to the Father; they are to him what they are to the Father. :No painful effort is ever needed to bring his judgment into subjection to the Father’s; or his will into harmony with the Father’s. No lurking tendency of his own nature toward evil; no insidious suggestion of the tempter; no impatience of subordination; no secret longing to taste the liberty of self-will ; - can ever interfere with his walking in the light as God is in the light. And that is the perfection of blessedness. To one who is at once a servant and a son that is "fullness of joy." Is it attainable by us here? Yes, in measure, and in growing measure. Let our nature be assimilated to that of God; our mind to his; our heart to his. Let our souls learn the lesson of seeing as he sees and feeling as he feels. Let sin be to us what it is to him; and righteousness and truth as well. Let there be a clear understanding between him and us upon all questions; a thorough identity of interest and inclination in all points; an entire agreement of opinion and choice in the great strife of good and evil going on in the world. That was Christ’s own joy. And it was fullness of joy, even when his personal share in that strife cost him the tears of Gethsemane and the bitter cry of Calvary. Let it be ours, more and more, through our growth in grace and in holiness. All misery lies in our judgment not being in subjection to God’s; our will not being in harmony with his. Misery ends, and fullness of joy comes, when we think and feel and wish as God does. Therefore fullness of joy may be ours; ours more and more; when "beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord," - this glory of his being the Father’s willing servant and loyal Son, - "we are changed into the same image, from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord." And now, perhaps, we may see more clearly than we have been accustomed to see the propriety of this "joy of the Lord," - this "joy in the Lord," - being represented as not merely a privilege, but a duty. "Rejoice in the Lord; and again I say unto you rejoice." For this joy is not anything like that sort of mysterious incomprehensible rapture into which the spirits may be occasionally thrown under some sudden and irresistible impulse from without or from within. It is not mere excitement. It is not what many call enthusiasm, proper to high festivals. It is a calm and sober frame of mind, suited for everyday wear and everyday work Neither is its nature recondite, abstruse, and mystical; nor does it come and go in flashes, like the winged fire of heaven. It can be explained and accounted for; analysed and described. Its elements and causes can be specified. Its rise and progress can be traced. It is not therefore an attainment with which we can dispense; it is "our strength." Nor is it a grace for which we may idly wait until it drop upon us unawares from above. We have it in us, the germ of it, the essence of it, if we have Christ in us; if we have the Spirit of Christ. "And if any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his." Stir up then the gift that is in you. Do you ask how? Observe the different connections in which your sharing the Lord’s joy stands in the farewell discourses and the farewell prayer ; - as first, with your keeping his commandments and abiding in his love, as he kept the Father’s commandments, and abode in the Father’s love (John 15:10-11); secondly, with your asking in his name as you have never asked before (John 16:24); and, thirdly, with your being kept in the Father’s name, in ever-brightening disclosures of the Father’s glorious perfections (John 17:11, John 17:13). And observe, in the fourth place, the beloved apostle’s warm appreciation of this joy as realised in the communion of saints: "Having many things to write unto you, I would net write with paper and ink; but I trust to come unto you and speak face to face, that our joy may be full" (2 John 1:12). Surely this joy of the Lord, as it is thus intimately associated ; - first with obedience, - secondly with prayer, - thirdly with the study of the divine character, - and fourthly with the cultivation of Christian communion ;-is no rare rapture, to be snatched at intervals of excited devotion. It is, on the contrary, a calm and chastened frame of mind; such as may be realised in every common duty, in every humble supplication, in every devout exercise of soul upon the divine word, in every greeting exchanged lovingly with any of the Lord’s people. Well therefore may the apostolic precept run thus" Rejoice evermore." For this joy is independent of events and circumstances. The labours you are engaged in may be the hardest drudgery; the people to whom you are seeking to be useful may be the most perverse of all men. Your temper, patience, love, faith, hope, may be tried to the very utmost; all may seem dark; friends may change, and enemies may be round about you. But Christ is the same, and his joy is the same; the joy of doing and suffering his Father’s will. "Rejoice ye if ye are counted worthy to suffer for his sake." "Count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience," and that if "patience has her perfect work" ye shall be "perfect and entire, lacking nothing." Let nothing mar or damp your joy. What can mar or damp it if it is Christ’s joy remaining in you; Christ’s joy fulfilled in you; Christ’s joy and yours together in his Father and your Father, his God and your God "Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls; yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation (Habakkuk 3:17-18). That was the prophet’s joy, because he apprehended it as Christ’s joy, seeing his day afar off, and being glad as he saw it. Let it be your joy also, your joy in him, "whom having not seen you love, and in whom, though now you see him not, you rejoice;" with his own joy fulfilled in you; and therefore "with joy unspeakable and full of glory." PART FIRST. THE FIRST CONDITION OF THE DIVINE FELLOWSHIP - LIGHT (1: 5 - 2: 17). III. THE GROUND OR REASON OF THIS FIRST CONDITION; LIGHT BEING AT ONCE THE NATURE AND THE DWELLING-PLACE OF GOD. "This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth. But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin." - 1 John 1:5-7. Having explained the general aim of his book - to make his readers, as disciples, partakers of the same fellowship which he and his fellow-apostles had with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ, and of the fullness of joy in the Lord which that implies, - the writer proceeds to open up the nature and character of this fellowship of joy. He beans by laying down the first and primary condition of it, the fundamentally necessary qualification for its possession, that without which it cannot be. It is light; the fellowship must be a fellowship in light. He enlarges on that requirement, and sets it out in various points of view. First, he shows how it rests, not on any merely arbitrary or sovereign divine appointment, but on a holy necessity of the divine nature, admitting of no compromise or evasion (1 John 1:5-7)- Thereafter, with a tenderness and faithfulness all his own, he brings the man of simple, guileless spirit into the light, through the door of honest confession and righteous forgiveness (1:8.-2:2). And then, leading him on in the line of intelligent and loving obedience, under the unction and illumination of the Holy Spirit, making him one with the Holy Anointed One, and in him one with all the holy brethren (1 John 2:3-14); - as well as also in the line of a clear and sharp discrimination between the passing darkness and its passing world on the one hand, and the abiding of the light and of its godliness on the other (1 John 2:15-17) ; - he lands the man of guileless spirit in that indwelling in the Son and in the Father which ensures first, steadfastness amid all anti-Christian defections and apostasies; secondly, the receiving of the promise of eternal life, and thirdly, full confidence in the expectation of the Lord’s coming (1 John 2:18-28). Such I take to be the topic of this first part of the Epistle; and such the successive aspects in which it is presented. In the verses now before us (1 John 1:5-7), John gives the ground or reason of his primary and fundamental condition, - that the fellowship must be a fellowship in light; and shows how it rests, not on any merely arbitrary or sovereign ordinance of God, but on his very nature and essential perfection. Accordingly, in that view, we have first a solemn message, next a faithful warning, and lastly a gracious assurance. These are the three steps in this high argument; a solemn message in the fifth verse; a faithful warning in the sixth; and a gracious assurance m the seventh. I. The form of the announcement in 1 John 1:5 is very peculiar: "This, then, is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you." It is not a discovery which we make concerning God, an inference or deduction which we draw for ourselves from observation of his works and ways, and which we publish in that character, and with that weight of influence, to our fellow-men. It is an authentic and authoritative communication to us, from himself. And it is to be accepted as such. It is a message which John and his fellow apostles have heard of him, expressly in order that they may declare it, as a message, to us. It is substantially Jehovah himself telling us, through the apostles, about himself, what in his own person he told the church of old about himself when he said, "I am holy." For the light is holiness ; "I am holy;" "God is light. The message is twofold. First, positively, "God is light;" next, negatively, "In him is no darkness at all. I. Positively, "God is light." This is a metaphor, a figure of speech. And in that view, it might suggest a world of varied analogies between the nature of God and ‘the nature of the material element of light. Light is diffusive, penetrating, searching; spreading itself over all space, and entering into every hole and corner. It is quickening and enlivening; a minister of healthy vigour and growth to all living creatures, plants and animals alike, including man himself. It is pleasant also; a source of relief and gladness to those who bask in its bright and joyous rays. But there are two of its properties that may be singled out as specially relevant to this great comparison. In the first place, light is clear, transparent, translucent; patent and open, always and everywhere, as far as its free influence extends. The entrance of light, which itself is real, spreads reality all around. Clouds and shadows are unreal; they breed and foster unrealities. Light is the naked truth. Its very invisibility is, in this view, its power. It is not seen because it is so pure. For, secondly, a certain character of inviolability belongs to it, in respect of which, while it comes in contact with all things, it is itself affected by nothing. It kisses carrion; it embraces foul pollution; it enters into the innermost recesses of the rottenness in which worms uncleanly revel. It is the same clear element of light still; taking no soil; contracting no stain ; - its brightness not dimmed, nor its viewless beauty marred. It endureth for ever, clean and clear. Now, when it is said, "God is light;" when he says it of himself; when he makes it his own personal and special message to us, which his apostles and ministers are to be always receiving of him and declaring to us ; - the one heavenly telegram, or express telegraphic despatch, which they are to be reading to us and we are to be reading to our neighbours, that we may have fellowship, all of us together, with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ ;-let not our imaginations wander in a wilderness of fanciful resemblances. Let these two thoughts be fixed in our minds; first, the thought of perfect openness; and secondly, the thought of perfect inviolability. Let these be our thoughts of God, and of his essential character, as being, and declaring himself to be, "light." Thus "God is light." 2. Negatively, "In him is no darkness at all." I connect this part of the statement with that saying of John in his Gospel; "The light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not" (John 1:5). In the light itself, in him who is the light, - even when shining in darkness, .the darkness that comprehendeth it not, - there is still no darkness at all. It must be to some very intimate actual contact of the light - of him who is the light - with darkness; some close encounter and conflict between them, that this second clause of the message refers. Otherwise it is but a repetition of the first; serving only to weaken its force. "The light shineth in darkness." He who is the light comes, in the person of his Son, to seek and to save us, who are in darkness; who, as to our character, and state, and prospects, are darkness itself. For there is not now in us and around us the element of clearness, brightness, openness, in which we were created at first. Sin has entered; and with sin, shame. There can be pure and simple nakedness no longer. The clear, open sunshine of the presence and countenance of him who is light is no longer tolerable. The covering of fig-leaves, and the hiding-place of the trees of the garden, are preferred. Light henceforth is offensive. The unquiet and unclean soul is like that old chaos, "without form and void;" and "darkness is upon the face of the deep." With that darkness, the darkness of death, he who is light, the light of life, is brought into fellowship. And the fellowship is no mere form or name; it is real, actual, personal. The darkness is laid hold of by the light. He who is light enters into the darkness; sounding its utmost depths; searching its inmost recesses. Where guilty fear crouches; where foul corruption festers; he Penetrates. He even makes the darkness his own. He takes it upon himself. Its power, "the power of darkness," is upon him; its power to wrap the sin-laden spirit ia a horror of thickest night, in the gloom of hell. Yes! For our sakes, in our stead, in our nature, he who is light is identified with our darkness. And yet "in him is no darkness at all." In the very heat and crisis of this death-struggle, there is no surrender of the light to the darkness; no concession, no compromise; no malting of terms; no allowance of some partial shading of the light on which the darkness presses so terribly. No! "He is light, and in him is no darkness at all." All still is clear, open, transparent, between the Son and the Father. Even when the Father hides his face, and "his sword awakes against the man that is his fellow," and the Son cries as one forsaken; even in that dark hour there is no evasion of heaven’s light; no trafficking with the darkness of earth or hell. There is no hiding then; no shrinking; no feeling as if truth might become a little less true, and holiness a little less holy, to meet the appalling emergency. The worst is unflinchingly faced. In the interest of light triumphing over darkness, not by any plausible terms of accommodation, but before the open the cup and the Son drains it to the dregs. In that great transaction, thus consummated, before all intelligences, between the Father and the Son, it is clearly seen and conclusively proved that "God is light, and in him is no darkness at all." II. Such being the message in the fifth verse, the warning in the sixth verse becomes simply a self-evident inference: "If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth." For if it is really into the fellowship of him who testifies of himself that he is light that we enter; and if it is in and through that wondrous way of dealing with our darkness; the incompatibility between our claiming fellowship with him and our walking in darkness is so gross that it may well warrant the strong language, "we lie, and do not the truth." The thing indeed is in itself impossible. We cannot, if we walk in darkness, have fellowship with him; "for what fellowship hath light with darkness? or what communion hath Christ with Belial? "The profession of such a thing is a lie. And it is a practical lie. He who makes it is not speaking, but acting, an untruth. His life is a practical falsehood. The apostle’s words are very plain and energetic; but they are not more so than the case requires: "we lie, and do not the truth. For what is this walking in darkness? What does it imply? One answer, in the first instance, must be given, plain and simple enough. All unholy walking is walking in darkness. So far there can be no mistake. The works of darkness are the works of the flesh (Ephesians 5:3-11; Galatians 5:19-21). But the matter must be pressed a little more closely home. The characteristics of light, as has been seen, are, on the one hand, clearness, openness, transparency; and on the other hand, inviolability, its taking no impression from anything it comes in contact with, but retaining and preserving its own pure nature, unmodified, unmingled, unsoiled, unsullied by external influences, everywhere and evermore the same. Now darkness is the opposite of this light, and is characterised by opposite features. Instead of openness, there is concealment and disguise; instead of inviolability, there is facile impressibility. Any object, every object, flings its shadow across the benighted path; shapes of all sorts haunt the gloom. Now, without making too much of the figure, let the one thought of darkness being that which hides, dwell in our minds; and by the test of that thought let us try ourselves. Are we living, practically, in a moral and spiritual atmosphere, such as may cause distorted or disturbed vision, and so admit of things appearing different from what they really are? Is the room we sit in so shaded that what we care not to look for may escape our observation, and the somewhat coarse or crazy furniture may be skilfully arranged; its blemishes varnished over; its doubtful beauties magnified and made the most of.? Ah! this walking in darkness! Is it not after all just walking deceitfully?. Is it not simple insincerity, the want of perfect openness and transparent honesty in our dealings with God and with ourselves as to the real state of our hearts towards God, and the bent and bias of our affections away from God towards selfishness and worldliness! Is it not that we have in us and about us something to conceal or to disguise; something that does not quite satisfy us; something about which we have at least occasional misgivings; something that, when we think seriously, and confess, and pray, we slur over and do not like to dwell upon; something that we try to represent to ourselves as not so bad as it seems - as indeed, in the circumstances, excusable and unavoidable?. Alas, for this "deceitfulness of the heart!" It is indeed, its "desperate wickedness." It is not that I seek to shroud myself in a thick cloak, under cloud of night, that, unseen by my fellows, I may wield the assassin’s knife, - or hatch with an accomplice some plot against the just, - or with some frail companion do the deed of shame. It is not that I lock myself up alone in my secret and solitary chamber, to gloat over the cruel gains of griping avarice, or nurse in imagination some unhallowed passion. That, doubtless, is walking in darkness. But it is not perhaps the most insidious, or seductive, or subtle sort of such walking. It is when I would have the darkness, more or less thick, to hide me, or some part of me, from myself, and, if it were possible, from my God, that my walking in darkness becomes most perilous; when the secret consciousness that all is not right in me with reference to my Father in heaven - or that my brother on earth may have cause of complaint against me - moves me to get something interposed between me and the pure, clear light of a quickened conscience, and the purer, clearer light of omniscient holiness. It matters not what that something may be. It may be the screen of some better quality on which I flatter myself I am unassailable. Or it may be some good deeds and devout observances which I am almost unawares setting up for a shelter. Or it may be some well-adjusted scheme of self-excuse and self-justification. It is something that casts a shadow. And walking in the darkness of that shadow, however I may say, and even think, that I have fellowship with God, I "lie and do not the truth." I do not act truly, there is guile in my spirit. It is not merely that my walking thus in darkness is so irreconcilable with my having fellowship with him who "is light and in whom is no darkness at all," that to claim such fellowship is to lie. That is implied in this statement; but it is not all that is implied in it. The walking in darkness is itself the lie; the acted, not spoken, untruth. It is aggravated, no doubt, by my saying that I have fellowship with him. But my saying so is a mere aggravation; it is not that which constitutes or makes the lie; if it were, the lie charged would be a spoken, and not an acted untruth. It would consist in my false profession. The charge would be a charge of conscious hypocrisy; saying that I have fellowship with him while my deliberate walking in darkness proves even to myself the contrary. That charge is not here; at least not necessarily. It is the hypocrisy of practice rather than of profession that is denounced. I say that I have fellowship with him, not meaning to profess an untruth. But I walk in darkness; and in so walking I necessarily lie. Apart from anything I may say, my walking in darkness is in itself practical lying. "I do not the truth." I am not acting truly. I am not willing to have all that I do, and all that I am, brought fairly out and placed fully in the broad clear light of truth. I would wish it to be excused, or explained, or somehow obscured or coloured; huddled up or hurried over. I am not for having it exposed in the glaring sunshine. There is something in or about it that to some extent needs and courts the shade. "I lie and do not the truth." And therefore I cannot have fellowship with him who is True, him who is Holy, him who is Light. For it is only "if we walk in the light, as he is in the light," that we can have fellowship one with another; the blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleansing us from all sin. III. From the solemn message in 1 John 1:5, and the faithful warning in 1 John 1:6, the gracious assurance in the seventh fitly follows: "We have fellowship one with another ;" God with us and we with God. For it is not our mutual fellowship as believers among ourselves that is meant; the introduction of that idea is irrelevant, and breaks the sense. It is our joint fellowship with God, and his with us, that alone is to the purpose here. The expression indeed is peculiar; it may seem to savour of familiarity; putting the two parties almost, as it were, on a level; "We have fellowship one with another;" we with God and God with us. The explanation may be found in the conditional clause - "if we walk in the light, as he is in the light." For that clause associates God and us very intimately together. Observe a certain change of phraseology. It is not "as he is light," but "as he is in the light." It is a significant change. It brings out this great thought, that the same clear and lucid atmosphere surrounds us both. We walk in the light in which God is. It is the light of his own pure truth, his own holy nature. The light in which he is, in which he dwells, is his own light; the light which he is himself. In that light he sits enthroned. In that light he sees and knows, he surveys and judges, all things. And now the supposition is, that we walk, - as he is, - in that light. To us, the light in which we walk is identically the same as the light in which he is. The same lustrous glory of holiness shines on our walk and on his throne. The very same pure medium of vision is common to us both. "We see light in his light." Of old, it was written, respecting the scene at Sinai, "The people stood afar off, and Moses drew near unto the thick darkness where God was" (Exodus 20:21). But now it is all light! For it is indeed a marvellous community of light that is here indicated as subsisting between God and us; between the Holy One and his redeemed and regenerate people! To have the same medium of vision with God himself; the same translucent, transparent atmosphere of holiness and truth and love surrounding us; penetrating our inner man and purging our mind’s eye, our soul’s eye, our heart’s eye, that it may see as God’s eye sees; illuminating all space to us, - before, behind, above, below, - with the very illumination with which it is illuminated to him; causing all objects, actions, and events, all men and things, all thoughts, words, and deeds, - our own as well as those of others, - to appear to us exactly what they appear to him; thus to "walk in the light, as he is in the light " - who may stand that? Ah me! How shall I ever venture to walk out into that light in which God is? How can I face its terrible disclosures? I can see how this "walking in the light as he is in the light," does indeed open the way to fellowship of the closest sort between him and me. Literally we see all things in the same light. We therefore cannot but understand one another; and agree with one another; and sympathise with one another; and co-operate with one another; "we have fellowship one with another." But is it possible that, with respect to all things whatsoever, I can bear to have the same light, the same medium of open vision, that God has? Sin, for instance; my sin; every sin of mine; every secret sin; so exceeding sinful! Oh! with such sin, and so much, about me, upon me, in me, - how dare I go forth into that very light, so pure and piercing, in which God is? And yet where else now am I to look for him and find him in peace? I thank thee, O my God, O my Father, for that most precious word in season: "The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin." Yes! it is "a word in season to the weary." For I am weary; weary of the darkness in which I have been trying to hide or paint deformity, and get up some specious semblance of decency and beauty; weary of all impostures and all lies; the poor and paltry lies especially of my self-deluding, or scarcely even self-deluding, self-righteousness; weary of all attempts to take advantage of the darkness for making evil seem a little less evil, and some show of good look a little more like reality. I would fain step forth from the darkness into light; into thy light, O God! Thou mayest, do I hear thee say? - For, be thy guilt ever so deep and thy heart ever so black, the blood of Jesus Christ my Son cleanseth from all sin. He has answered for all thy guilt. He has purchased for thee a new heart. The fountain filled with his atoning blood is ever freely open and full to overflowing. Wash in that fountain and be clean. Enter into the victory of light over darkness which that blood secures. Let all compromise take end; compromise is a work of darkness. I invite thee to have fellowship with me; fellowship real, and not merely nominal, with me and with my Son Jesus Christ ;-fellowship with us in our plan and purpose of saving mercy, - in all its grace and all its glory ; - a fellowship in it with us, of insight, confidence, partnership, sympathy, joy. If it is to be real fellowship, it must be a fellowship of light. I cannot modify, I cannot alter, that condition of the fellowship, any more than I can cease to be what I am - "light." But I do what is far better. I make provision for the removal of every obstacle which your’ guilt and corruption might interpose in the way of your walking in the light as I am in the light. I give you the assurance that the blood of Jesus Christ my Son cleanseth from all sin. IV. THE PRIMARY CONDITION OF THE DIVINE FELLOWSHIP FULFILLED IN THE BELIEVING CONFESSION OF A GUILELESS SPIRIT. (Psalms 32:1-11.) "If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say that we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us." - 1 John 1:8-10. The gracious assurance that "the blood of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, cleanseth us from all sin," suggests the supposition of our "saying that we have no sin." For if we, "walking in the light as God is in the light," could say that truly, we might dispense with the relief which the assurance is fitted to give. But, alas! we can say it only under the influence of self-deception, and such self-deception as implies the absence of that "truth in the inward parts" which God "desires" (Psalms 51:6). Better far to "confess our sins," believing that God "forgiveth our sins," and that he does so in such a way of "faithfulness and justice" as insures our being "cleansed from all unrighteousness" with regard to them, - all unfair and partial dealing with conscience or with God about them. In this full faith let us "confess our sins." For if, after all, even in our confession, there is reserve and guile, trying to make out that in this or that instance "we have not sinned," or not sinned so much as might appear, we are guilty still of an unbelieving distrust of God ; "we make him a liar, and his word is not in us." Such is the line of the Apostle’s argument, in three successive steps or stages. I. "If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us" (1 John 1:8). It is not deliberate hypocrisy that we are here warned against; but a far more subtle form of falsehood, and one apt more easily to beset us, as believers, even when most seriously and earnestly bent on "walking in the light as God is in the light." And yet our venturing to say that we have no sin might seem to be a height of presumption scarcely reconcilable with any measure of sincerity. Any such claim put forward by a child of God the world laughs to scorn. For the world itself makes no such profession. The children of the world are wonderfully ready to chime in with the general acknowledgment implied in the prayer: "Have mercy upon us miserable sinners." Others may set up for saints. We are contented to be, and to be accounted, sinners. We do not deny that we have faults, plenty of faults, some of them perhaps rather serious at times; although none of them such as we may not hope that a merciful God and Father will overlook and pardon. They too deceive themselves, these children of the world. But their self-deception is not of the same sort as that which John denounces. This last is not, like the former, a vague reliance on indulgence and impunity. It may be the error of a soul working its way, through intense mortification of lust and crucifixion of self, to an ideal of perfection all but divine. In its subtlest form, it is a kind of mysticism more akin to the visionary cast of ancient and oriental musing than to the more practical turn of thought and feeling that commonly prevails among us. Look at yonder attenuated sad etherealised recluse, who has been grasping in successful philosophic systems, or schools of varied theosophical discipline, the means of extricating himself out of the dark bondage of carnal and worldly pollution, and soaring aloft into the light of pure spiritual freedom and repose. After many trials of other schemes, Christianity is embraced by him; not, however, as a discovery of the way in which God proposes to deal with him, but rather as an instrument by which he may deal with himself; a medicine to be self-ad-ministered; a remedy to be self-applied. By the laboured imitation of’ Christ, or by a kind of forced absorption into Christ, considered simply as the perfect model or ideal, his soul, emancipated from its bodily shackles and its earthly entanglements, is to reach a height of serene illumination which no bodily or earthly stain can dim. From such aspirations, the next step, and it is a short and ready one, is into the monstrous fanaticism which would make spiritual illumination compatible with carnal indulgence and worldly lust, and represent it as quite a possible thing for a man wallowing in outward debauchery to be still inwardly pure and sinless; his inward and sinless purity being so enshrined in a certain divine sublimity and transcendentalism of devotion that outward defilement cannot touch it. Church history, beginning even with the apostle’s own day, furnishes more than one instance of men thus deplorably "deceiving themselves, saying they have no sin." Such instances may not be applicable now. But they indicate the direction in which the danger lies. It lies in the line of our sanctification; our purpose and endeavour to "walk in the light, as God is in the light." When first we come forth out of our darkness into the broad light in which God dwells; when there is no more any guile in our spirits, no more any keeping of silence; when the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ so shines in us and around us, as to make all clouds and shadows break and fly away, and leave only the bright pellucid atmosphere of God’s own nature, which is light, as the medium of vision through which, in and with God, we see ourselves and all things; ah! with such discoveries of indwelling sin as then burst upon our quickened and enlightened consciences, how thankful are we for the assurance that "the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth from all sin." There is nothing then like "saying that we have no sin." On the contrary, we are where Paul was in that deep experience of his, when the law, now loved and delighted in as "holy and just and good," so came home to him by the power of the Spirit as to bring out in terrible conflict its own spirituality and his inherent carnality ;-extorting from him the groan - " O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death?." Like him, we "thank God, through Jesus Christ our Lord," for the encouragement we have to believe, and to believe just as we are, - with the mind serving the law of God, but with the flesh still, in spite of the mind, serving the law of sin, - that "there is now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus." Believing this, and apprehending all the relief that there is in believing it, we "walk now not after the flesh but after the Spirit" (Romans 7:8:). With enlargement of heart we "walk in the light as God is in the light," and so "we have fellowship one with another," - he with us and we with him, - the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleansing us from all sin. Our appropriation of that atoning blood, in all its cleansing efficacy, gives us courage to continue still walking in the light, instead of shrinking hack, as otherwise we must be tempted to do, into the old darkness in which we used to shroud ourselves. Such walking with God, in such a fellowship of light, is as safe as it is joyous. : But the risk lies here. It is a sort of walking with God, which, if we persevere in it faithfully, may become irksome, and be felt to be humiliating. For the old uneasy nature in us; with the rankling suspicions of our old relationship to God, is apt to come in again to mar the childlike simplicity of our faith. For a time the new insight we have got, under that light in which we walk, into the spiritual law of God and into our own carnal selves, keeps us shut up into Christ; and into that continual sprinkling of his blood upon us, without which we cannot have a moment’s peace, or a moment’s sense of being cleansed from sin. But gradually we come to be more at ease. We cannot be altogether insensible to the growing satisfaction of our new standing with God and our new feelings towards him. Before the fervour of our first fresh love, inward struggles are hushed. The evil that but yesterday seemed to be so unconquerable ceases to make itself so acutely felt. The crisis is past; the war, as a war to the knife, is ended; grace prevails; iniquity, as ashamed, hides its face. Ah! then begins the secret lurking inclination to cherish within myself some thought equivalent to "saying that I have no sin." It may not so express itself. It may not be self-acknowledged, or even self-conscious. It comes insidiously as a thief to steal away my integrity before I am aware of it. Remaining corruption in me ceases gradually to give trouble or distress. A certain lethargic proneness to acquiesce in things as they are creeps over me. I am not conscious of anything very far amiss in my spiritual experience or in my practical behaviour. I begin to "say that I have no sin." But "I deceive myself, and the truth is not in me." I am fast sinking into my old natural habit of evasion and equivocation, of self-excuse and self-justification. "Guile" is taking the place of "truth," the truth of God, "in my spirit," "in my inward parts." I cease to be as sensitively alive as I once was to whatever in me or about me cannot stand the light. I am thus incurring a serious hazard; the hazard of being again found walking in darkness, and so disqualifying myself for fellowship with him who is light. And I am apt to lose a very precious privilege: the privilege of continual and constant confession, in order to continual and constant forgiveness. For - II. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness" (1 John 1:9). This, I say, is a privilege. It will appear to be so if we consider the sort of confession meant, as well as the sort of forgiveness connected with it. As to the confession, it is the confession of men "walking in the light, as God is in the light;" having the same medium of vision that God has; it is the continual confession of men continually so walking, and so seeing. Such confession is very different from the sort of confession in which the natural conscience seeks at intervals a lightening of its guilty burden, and a lessening of its guilty fears. That is the mere emptying of the foul stomach, that it may be filled anew with the vile stuff for which its diseased appetite and corrupt taste continue as keen as ever. This, again, is the laying bare always of the whole inner man to the kind and wise physician who can always thoroughly heal it all. For the forgiveness, on the faith of which and with a view to which we are thus always to be confessing our sins, will always be found to be a very complete treatment of our case. What is the treatment? The sins we confess are so forgiven, that we are cleansed from all unrighteousness with regard to them. This means much more than that we are let off from the punishment which they deserve, and have to answer for them no longer. That is all the absolution for which the church-penitent, at whatever confessional, naturally cares. But that is not what is here held out to us. Our sins are so forgiven as to ensure that in the very forgiveness of them we are cleansed from all unrighteousness, - all unfair, deceitful, and dishonest dealing about them; all such unrighteous dealing about them, either with our own conscience or with our God. The forgiveness is so free, so frank, so full, so unreserved, that it purges our bosom of all reserve, all reticence, all guile; in a word, "of all unrighteousness." And it is so because it is dispensed in faithfulness and righteousness; "he is faithful and just in forgiving our sins." He to whom, as always thus dealing with us, we always thus submit ourselves, is true and righteous in all his ways, and specially in his way of meeting the confidence we place in him when we confess our sins. We open our heart to him; we are always opening it. We spread out our case before him; concealing nothing; palliating nothing. We tell him of all that is sad and distressing in our conflict with indwelling corruption, as well as of all our failures and shortcomings in our strivings after conformity to his law. We speak to him of sloth and selfishness, of worldliness and carnality, damping our zeal, quenching our love, making us miserably indifferent to the good work going on around us, and shamefully tolerant of abounding evil. On the subject of such experiences as these we are coming always to confer with our God, in the light in which he is, and in which it is our aim to walk. We find him always "faithful and just ; " - not indulgent merely, kind and complaisant, bidding us take good heart and not be so much cast down ; - but "faithful and just." God is true; true to himself, and true to us; so true to himself and to us that all untruth in us becomes impossible. Ah, brother! you may well trust him with all the secrets of your soul, for well does he requite your trust. He is "faithful;" keeping covenant and mercy; never saying to the seed of Jacob, Seek ye my face in vain. He is "just." He will not, in seeming pity, do you a real injustice. He will not heal your hurt slightly. He will not prophesy smooth things. "He will set your iniquities before him, your secret sins in the light of his countenance." He will keep you in his hand, and under his hand, until all partial dealing - "all unrighteousness" as to any of your sins, - is cleansed out of you. With the charm of true love he will work truth and uprightness in you; so that, as to your whole walk, inner and outer alike, all. shall be clear light - light, clear as crystal - between him and you. That is the sort of intercourse which it is my Father’s good pleasure that I should keep up with him continually. It is very different from a mere endless alternation on my part of sin and confession; of confession and sin. It is not on his part a mere capricious oscillation between passion and pity, - between violent wrath and facile fondness - like what is felt or fancied when I, a slave, offend and ask pardon, and offend again, reckoning on the placability of a weak master, who, however he may be moved to sudden rage, is sure to relent when he sees me prostrate at his feet. In such dealing with me there is neither faithfulness nor justice. Nor is it such dealing with me that will work faithfulness and justice in me. If that is the footing on which I am living with my God and Father, it may be consistent with my saying, in a sense, that "I have no sin;" no sin that need disturb my quiet or distress my conscience. But "I deceive myself, and the truth is not in me." I cast myself off from all that is real and genuine, all that is clear and open, in the fellowship of light that there must ever be between a trusting child and a loving father; especially when that loving father has made such full provision, in so marvellous a way, for the removal of whatever element of dark estrangement my contracted guilt or his violated law might interpose. I refuse to submit myself continually anew to that faithful and just searching of my heart and reins which, if I would but suffer it, must issue continually anew in my being forgiven all my sins, and so forgiven as to be cleansed from all unrighteousness with regard to any of them. Surely such clear, bright, open, confidential fellowship between him who is light and his little child trying to walk in his light, far transcends any poor measure of accommodation which a hollow truce between us might purpose to effect. Let us have that fellowship evermore. All the rather because - III. If, in the face of such a faithful manner of forgiveness on the part of God, we continue to shrink from that open dealing and guileless confession which our walking in the light as God is in the light implies - we not only wrong ourselves, and do violence to our own consciousness and our own conscience; but, "saying that we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us" (1 John 1:10). This is a stronger statement than that in 1 John 1:8. It is not "we deceive ourselves," but "we make God a liar ;" not generally, "the truth is not in us," but very pointedly and particularly, "his word is not in us." The difference is explained by the assurance given in the intermediate verse - "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." For that assurance, as has been shown, opens the way to a very confidential intercourse of confession on the one hand, and just and faithful treatment of our ease on the other, between us and our Father in heaven. If we think at any moment that we do not need this sort of intercourse, that we can dispense with it and do without it, we labour under a grievous delusion; we deceive ourselves; some self-excusing or self-justifying lie is expelling from within our souls the bright clear light of the truth. If again, after all the encouragement which he himself gives, we still at any moment hang back and hesitate, as if we could not venture on the sort of intercourse to which he invites us, surely that is inexcusable unbelief; refusing to trust God; giving the lie, not merely to his promises, but to his very character and nature; not suffering his word to have entrance into our hearts. To prefer now, even for a single instant, or with reference to a single sin, the miserable comfort of wrapping ourselves in fig-leaves and hiding among the trees of the garden, to the unspeakable joy of coming forth naked into the light in which God is, casting ourselves into his open arms and asking him to deal with us according to his own loving faithfulness and righteousness and truth ; - that surely is a high affront to him and to his word, as well as a fond and foolish mistake for ourselves. There can be no fellowship of light between us and him if such unworthy sentiments of dark suspicion and reserve as this implies are again, at any time and in any measure, insinuating themselves into our bosoms. For, as one indispensable condition of that fellowship,-and indeed the primary and fundamental condition of it,-is that "we walk in the light as he is in the light;" so another condition of it, arising out of the first, is that "we confess our sins." The two indeed are one; the last is only a particular application of the former. Walking in the light as God is in the light, we must be continually learning t, see more clearly as he sees. Our medium of vision being the same as his, our vision itself must be growing more and more nearly the same, Insight and sympathy are ever brightening and deepening. Things come to be more and more in our eyes exactly what they are in his. We ourselves, and our works and ways, are more and more seen by us as they are seen by God. Can this go on, honestly and really, without ever fresh discoveries and ever new experiences of such a sort as must always make confession, to the earnest and believing soul, a most welcome privilege indeed?. It is not merely that I come to perceive in old sins a heinousness and an amount of aggravation that makes me feel as if I had never adequately acknowledged them in time past, but must be ever repenting of them anew, and getting them anew disposed of by their being laid anew on him who is the sin-bearer and the cross-bearer. Nor is it merely that new forms and phases of the ungodliness and selfishness and carnality of my heart,-new shifts and windings of its deceitfulness and desperate wickedness, - must be ever coming up and coming out to vex my quickened spiritual sensibility and damp the ardour of my faith and love. Both these sources of disquietude are, alas, too common. But above and beyond all that - in my very walking, as God’s fellow; being the fellow of his Son Jesus Christ; his fellow-servant, fellow-worker, fellow-sufferer, fellow-heir in his kingdom; as the Holy Spirit gives me an increasing sense and taste of what it is to walk with God in his own light; as I seek to carry that light, and him with whom I walk in fellowship in that light, into all the scenes and circumstances of my outer walk of faith, and all the fluctuations of my inner life of faith; how is my heart troubled! How many fountains of bitterness are ever freshly flowing! And then in the world, with its manifold calls that cannot be put aside, and its troublesome questions of lawfulness and expediency, I am too often at a loss and almost at a stand. I may try to set aside all such annoyances, as not entering properly into my spiritual experience, and to keep that, as it were, isolated and pure. I may think that when I go to commune with my God and Father; when I enter into my closet and shut the door; when I seek his face and wait for his salvation ; - I am to leave all my cares and troubles behind me on the threshold, and meet him in some lofty realm of spiritual peace, where sorrow and sin are to find no place. But I am deceiving myself. And I am refusing to trust my God and Father, and so I am giving him the lie. From such sin as that may he himself evermore deliver me! Let me rather, taking him at his word, try the more excellent way of carrying with me always, in the full confidence of loving fellowship, into the secret place of my God, all that is upon my mind, my conscience, my heart; all that is harassing, or burdening, or tempting me; my present matter of care or subject of thought, whatever that may be. Let me unbosom all my grief. Let me freely and unreservedly speak to him of what is uppermost in my thoughts. There may be sin in it, or about it. There may be something wrong; some wound to be probed; some root of bitterness to be searched out; some offending right hand or right eye. Be it so. Still, let me open up all; let me confess all. Let me spread out my whole case. Let me empty and lay bare my whole soul. Let me put myself, and be ever putting myself, thoroughly, nakedly, unreservedly, into his hands. Surely I may rely on his dealing faithfully and righteously with me. Nor would I wish him to deal with me otherwise. He may "chasten me sore, but he will not give me over to death." He may rebuke and convince; he may even smite and slay. But "though he slay me, I will trust in him." I know that he requireth truth in the inward parts. I ask him therefore to lead me into all truth; into all the truth concerning myself as well as concerning Him; however painful the knowledge of it may be to my self-righteous feelings, and however deadly to my self-righteous hopes. I am for no half-measures now, no compromise, no concealment. I would keep back nothing from my God. I will not deceive myself by keeping silence about my sin. I will not make my God a liar, - I will not do my God and Father so great a wrong as to give him the lie, - by refusing entrance into my soul to that word of his which gives light, even the light of life. I will confess my sins, knowing and believing that as "the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin," so "he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. "Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts; and see if there be any wicked way in me; and lead me in the way everlasting." V. SINLESS AIM OF THE GUILELESS SPIRIT - PROVISION FOR ITS CONTINUED SENSE OF SIN. "My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father." - 1 John 2:1 To obviate, as it might seem, an objection against his doctrine of confession, that it was liable to be turned into an allowance of sin, the Apostle first makes a most emphatic protest as to his real design in setting forth that doctrine; and secondly, puts the manner of restoration, through the advocacy of Christ, on a footing that effectually shuts out all licentious and latitudinarian abuse of it, in the line of practical antinomianism. His first desire is to make clear the sinless aim of the guileless spirit, about the production of which he has been so much concerned. And here his appeal is very affectionate: "My little children?" It is the appeal of a loving master to the good faith and good feeling of loving pupils; beseeching them not to misunderstand him, as if he meant to indulge or excuse them in sin. Nay, it is more than that. It is an appeal to their highest and holiest Christian ambition. Far from tolerating sin, I would have you to aim at being sinless. "These things write I unto you, that ye sin not ;" that you may make it your express design and determination: not to sin. That is the full force of the Apostle’s language, when he says, "I write these things unto you that ye sin not." I. Let that be your aim, to "sin not." Let it be deliberately set before you as your fixed and settled purpose that you are not to sin; not merely that you are to sin as little as you can; but that you are not to sin at all. For there is a wide difference between these two ways of putting the matter. That in the business of your sanctification absolute holiness is to be your standard, you may admit. A sinless model or ideal is presented to you; and you acknowledge your obligation to be conformed to it. But is not the acknowledgment often accompanied with some sort of reserve or qualification? The measure of conformity that may be fairly expected must be limited by what your infirmity may hope to reach; nay, you even venture to add, by what God may be pleased to give you strength to reach. This is scarcely honest. It is not equivalent to an out and out determination not to sin. You do not really mean to be altogether without sin; but only so far as your own poor ability, aided by the Divine Spirit, may enable you to be so. Or, with reference to some specific work or trial that you have on hand, you do not really mean not to sin in it, but only not to sin in it more than you can help. Is it not so, both generally as regards your cultivation of a holy character, and particularly as regards your discharge of holy duties in detail?. And what is that at bottom, but secret, perhaps unconscious, antinomianism? You are not in love with sin; you do not choose sin; you would rather, if it were possible, avoid it, and be wholly free from it. But that, you say, is impossible. You make up your minds therefore to its being impossible, and reckon beforehand on its being impossible. You wish and hope and pray, that the evil element may be reduced to a minimum. Still it is to be there; you are quite sure it will be there; and you must accommodate yourself to what is unavoidable. However you may try, you cannot expect to be without sin, or "not to sin." This is a very subtle snare. And it is not easily met. For it is founded on fact. It is but too true that in all that we do we come short of the sinless aim. That, however, is no reason for our not only anticipating fault or failure, but acquiescing in the anticipation. Above all, it is no reason why we should take it for granted by anticipation that some particular fault or failure, foreseen and foreknown by ourselves, must be acquiesced in. For the special danger lies there. It is not merely that in entering on any course of holy living, or engaging in any branch of holy labour, I feel certain that I shall sin in it. I have a shrewd suspicion as to how I shall sin in it. I can guess where the breakdown is to take place. I have tried already to keep this law as I see it should be kept, and to keep it perfectly. I will try again, asking God to incline my heart to keep it. I know well enough indeed that I shall fail and fall short. And I know well enough how I shall fail and fall short. Nevertheless, I can but try, and I will try, to do my best. Is that, however, a really honest determination on my part not to sin?. Am I not reconciling myself prospectively to some known besetting infirmity?. Let us not deceive ourselves. Let us consider how inconsistent all such guileful dealing is with that "walking in the light, as God is in the light," which is the indispensable condition of our fellowship with God and his with us. The very object of all that the apostle writes on that subject is that, at the very least, we rise to the high and holy attitude of determining not to sin. All that he tells us of "the word of life," the life "which was with the Father and was manifested unto us;" all that he tells us of the divine fellowship for which the way is thus opened up; all that he tells us of the nature of him with whom our fellowship is to be, and of the provision made through the blood of Jesus Christ his Son which cleanseth from all sin, for our coming forth out of our natural darkness into his light; all is designed to bring us up to this point, that we sin not; that in purpose and determination we are bent on not sinning. II. But not only would I have you to make this your aim; I would have your aim accomplished and realised. And therefore "I write these things unto you, that ye sin not." We are to proceed upon the anticipation, not of failure but of success, in all holy walking and in every holy duty; not of our sinning, but of our not sinning. And we are to do so, because the things which John "writes unto us" make the anticipation no wild dream, but a possible attainment. We must assume it to be possible not to sin, when we walk in the open fellowship of God, and in his pure translucent light; especially not to sin in this or that particular way in which we have sinned before, and in which we are apt to be afraid of sinning again. For practical purposes this is really all that is needed. But this is needed. I do not care much for any general assurance, even if I could get it, that I am not to sin at all. But, if I am in earnest, how deeply do I care for even a faint, hope that, in the particular matter that lies heavy on my conscience, it may sometime and somehow become possible for me not to sin. That is what is pressing. In some hour of calm meditation or divine contemplative speculation, the idea of a serene and stainless perfection of holiness and peace wrapping my spirit in ineffable bliss may have a certain fascinating charm, and may awaken undefined longings and aspirations. They are far too vague, however, to be practically influential And they do not meet my case. For why am I troubled? What is it that distresses and me? Alas, it is no mere vague consciousness of imperfection. It is some specific "thorn in the flesh" that, as a "messenger of Satan, is buffeting me." "When I would do good, evil is present with me." When I would pray, my soul cleaves to the dust. When I am in my closet, with my door shut against all the world, all sorts of worldly thoughts intrude. When I read and study, I find my mind unfixed. When God speaks to me, my attention wanders. When I should be hearing the voice of his servant, my eyes are drowsy. I take up some branch of God’s service, - how soon do I grow weary, or stumble, or offend! I seek to control my temper, and some slight provocation oversets me. Try as I may, I am sure to fail. And then, when, going down to the depths of my inner nature, I seek to have my whole soul purged from lust and filled with love, alas! is there never to be an end of this weary, heartless, fruitless struggle? Is it to be always thus, - sinning and repenting; repenting and going back to sin? Nay, let me hear John’s loving words; "My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not." Believe these things; realise them; act upon them; act them out. They are such things as, if believed, realised, acted upon, and acted out, will make it possible for you "not to sin." For they are such things as, if thus apprehended, change the character of the whole struggle. They transfer it to a new and higher platform. We are brought into a position, in relation to God, in which holiness is no longer a desperate negative strife, but a blessed positive achievement. Evil is overcome with good. The heavenly walk in light with him who is light carries us upwards and onwards, above and beyond there, on of dark guilt and fear, in which sin is strong; and places us in the region of peace and joy, in which grace is stronger. Sanctification is not now a mere painful process of extirpation and extermination of weeds. It will no doubt be that still; but it is not that merely. It is the gracious implanting of good seed, and the cultivating of it gladly as it grows. And as we enter more and more, with larger intelligence and deeper sympathy, into the spirit of John’s opening words concerning the end and means of our "fellowship with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ," we come better to know experimentally what is in his heart when he says: "These things write I unto you, that ye sin not." That is what you are to aim at; and you are to aim at it as now possible. III. Why then, it may be asked, is provision made for our sinning still after all? - "If any man" - any of us - "sin, we have an advocate with the Father." Let me in reply again appeal to any who are really exercised in resisting sin and following after holiness; "walking truly in the light, as God is in the light." For I do not address those who take this whole matter easily; being quite contented with a very moderate measure of decent abstinence from gross vice and the perfunctory performance of some pious and charitable offices. The present theme scarcely concerns them in their present mood. John assumes that we are in earnest; that sin is to us exceeding sinful, and holiness above all things desirable. We have purposed in good faith that we will not offend. We rejoice to think that we may now form that purpose with good heart; not desperately, as if we were upon a forlorn hope; but rather as grasping the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ. For he is with us. He cheers us on. He assures us of success. And when, at any time, he sees some lurking apprehension of failure or defeat stealing into our souls again to discourage us; when he sees that we are getting nervous about the risk of our making some mistake, or meeting with some check or reverse, and that this very nervousness is unhinging and unmanning us; he tells us not to think too much of it, but to press on; for he is beside us, to help us if we should stumble, to lift us if we should fall - -"If any of us sin, we have an advocate with the Father." Shall I then be emboldened to walk heedlessly, presuming on his advocacy? Perish the ungenerous, the ungrateful thought [ What ] shall I make a mere convenience of that Divine Saviour, and turn his ministry of holy love into a mere pleading for indulgence and purchase of impunity? Lying priests, false mediators; priests and mediators false to both the parties between whom they mediate, to God’s high honour and man’s pure peace; false, as not reconciling but alienating, not bringing together but keeping asunder, the yearning Father and his poor prodigal child - they and their offices may be so used, or abused. But Jesus is an advocate of a very different stamp. He is not content to negotiate, as a third party, between God dwelling in light and us suffered still to continue in darkness. He is one with both the parties whom he makes one in himself. By his one offering of himself, once for all, he brings us, when the Spirit unites us by faith to him, into the very light of God, his Father and ours. But the light is such as, when our eyes are opened to its brightness, makes our walking in it an affair of extreme delicacy. In good faith, with full purpose, right honestly and heartily to "walk in the light," is to face an ordeal from which a man with renovated principles and sensibilities may well sensitively shrink. True, the tendency of all this marvellous arrangement for placing us on such a footing of light with God, - admitting us into such a fellowship of light and setting us to such a walk of light, - that we "sin not." And we are assured that if we make full proof of this light, we shall find it no such impossible thing as we might imagine not to sin. But with a growing clearness of vision, becoming more and more alive to the inexpressible lustre and loveliness of the light, and the offensiveness of whatever partakes of the least soil or stain of the darkness which the light exposes ; - how should our advance along the ascending path of heavenliness and spirituality be anything else than one continued discipline of anxious fear? Jesus knows our frame in its worst and in its best state. He knows what to us, with such a frame as ours at the best is, our really "walking in the light as God is in the light" must be. He knows how at every step - in spite of all the encouragement given us beforehand to hope that we need not, that we may not, that we shall not sin, - we still may shrink and hang back; fearing with too good ground that even if, in the form we used to dread, our sin shall seem to give way, it may, in some new manifestation of our deep inward corruption, tie in wait to trouble us. Well does our sympathising friend and brother know all this And therefore he assures us that he is always beside us; "our advocate with the Father." We need not therefore be afraid to walk with the Father in the light. We may walk, alas! too often unsteadfastly. We may give new offence. We may incur new blame. But see! There is the intercessor ever pleading for us. "If any of us sin, we have an advocate with the Father." VI. NATURE AND GROUND OF CHRIST’S ADVOCACY AS MEETING THE NEED OF THE GUILELESS SPIRIT. "My little children, these things write I unto you, that ye sin not. And if any man, in, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous: and he is the propitiation for our sins: and not for ours only, but for the sins of the whole world." - 1 John 2:1-2. The manner of our restoration, if we fall short of the sinless aim, not less than the sinless aim itself, is fitted to guard against any abuse of John’s doctrine of forgiveness. It is through an advocacy altogether incompatible with anything like the toleration of evil. This will appear if we consider the three things here mentioned as qualifying our advocate for his advocacy : - I. He is "Jesus Christ the righteous; " II. He is "the propitiation for our sins; " III. He is the propitiation "not for our sins only, but also for the sins of the whole world." I. He is "Jesus Christ the righteous." Jesus! The name is as ointment poured forth; fragrant, precious. He is called Jesus because he saves his people from their sins. Jesus, my Saviour! My Jesus! Saving me from my sins, from myself! Art thou indeed my advocate with the Father - standing by me, pleading for me - by thy Spirit pleading in me - when, in spite of my firmest purpose not to sin, and my closest clinging to thee that I may not sin, I must still, under the pressure of sin besetting me, cry, Unclean, undone! Then indeed may I hold on walking in the light, and with a sinless aim, if thou art with me. Jesus, save me from my sins! Christ! the Anointed! whom the Father anoints through the Spirit; whom I also, through the Spirit, in sympathy with the Father, humbly venture to anoint! his Christ and mine! - with thee, O Christ, as my advocate with the Father ; - with thee, True Mediator, - Revealer, Reconciler, Ruler, - Prophet, Priest, and King ; - I will not, amid all that is discouraging in the experience of ray remaining darkness, despair of yet becoming all that he who is light and who dwelleth in light would have me to be; all that thou art, O Christ! But the emphatic word here is not the proper name Jesus, nor the official name Christ, but the adjective "righteous." This term may possibly be understood as referring to the righteousness which he has wrought out on our behalf, as our substitute and surety, and which he brings in and presents before the Father as the ground of all his pleading with him as our advocate. For his advocacy is not a mere ministry of persuasion; working as it were on the placibility and fond facility of an angry but weak potentate, an offended but infirm and indulgent parent. It is his submitting to God the Father, as the righteous governor, such a service and satisfaction as may warrant, in terms of strictest law and justice, the exercise of mercy towards his guilty but penitent children. All that is true. But it is not, I think, what John principally has in his mind. For, in the first place, the efficacious and meritorious condition of our Lord’s advocacy is sufficiently brought out in the clause which follows, "he is the propitiation for our sins." And secondly, it is awkward to understand the word "righteous" in two distinct senses, as it is used in the same passage, and within the compass of a few verses, first of the Father (1 John 1:9), and now of the Son (1 John 2:1). I take it therefore as pointing, not to the legal righteousness which Christ has - or rather which Christ is - but to the righteousness of his character, and of his manner of advocacy with the Father for us. That other meaning need not be excluded, for the two are by no means inconsistent. But when John commends our advocate with the Father as "Jesus Christ the righteous," it is surely upon his benignant equity that he would have us to fix our eyes. Such an advocate becomes us; and such alone. If we rightly consider the relation to God into which the gospel message, as John has been putting it, is designed to bring us; the footing on which it places us with God.; the sort of divine insight, sympathy, and fellowship for which it opens up the way; and the sort of walk on which it sets us; we may well feel that none other than such an advocate could meet our case. In any court in which I had a cause to maintain I would wish to have a righteous advocate. Not less than I would desire a righteous judge would I welcome a righteous advocate. I do not want an advocate who will flatter and cajole me. I do not want one to tell me smooth things and lead me on the ice; disguising or evading the weak points of my plea; putting a fair face on what will not stand close scrutiny, and touching tenderly what will not bear rough handling; getting up untenable lines of defence, and keeping me in good humour till disaster or ruin comes. Give me an advocate who will tell me the truth, and tell the truth on my behalf; one who will deal truly with me and for me, and fairly represent my case. Give me an advocate who, much as he may care for me, cares for honesty and honour, for law and justice, still more. Give late an advocate not afraid to vex or wound me for my safety, for my good. Whatever his name, let him be the honest, the upright, "the righteous." Such an advocate is Jesus Christ for us in the high court of heaven; for he is "Jesus Christ the righteous." In the presence of the righteous judge, and at his righteous bar, he thus appears for us; not to bring us off as by some cunning sleight-of-hand manoeuvre; not to get the better of strict justice by some dexterous and adroit management, or some plausible and pathetic appeal to pity; but to have the whole controversy sifted to the bottom, and all hidden causes of offence laid bare, and every just demand and outstanding claim met, and all relating to our right standing adjusted, - without any compromise or subterfuge, upon the terms and according to the principles of perfect righteousness. Such an advocate is Jesus Christ for us in the high court of heaven. Such an advocate is he also when, in the capacity, as it were, of chamber-counsel, he is with us in our closet, to listen to all that we have to say; to all our confessions and complaints; our enumeration of grievances; our unbosoming ourselves of all our anxieties and all our griefs. He is still "Jesus Christ the righteous;" patient and pitiful, as he bends his ear to our wildest cry or our’ faintest whisper; yet still righteous; not dallying delicately with our sin or our sorrow; not sparing us; probing us to the quick; giving us no relief till the whole matter is searched into, and spread out, and fairly and justly met. He is "Jesus Christ the righteous." But it is not only with God as Judge that he is our advocate. He is our advocate with "the Father." His advocacy has respect not only to the Judge’s court but to the Father’s house. It is the advocacy of the elder brother, who has brought us home to his Father and our Father. It is a home of love and of light; a home of love because it is a home of light. Perfect peace should reign in it, as the fruit of perfect purity. It is not a home in which we can allow ourselves to sin. There is no darkness to hide our sin; no room for any lie to excuse it. We are brought home, in the marvellous way in which we have been brought home, for the express purpose that we may not sin. Our elder brother, in bringing us home, has suffered enough for our sin to make it very loathsome in our esteem. He has, moreover, so suffered for it that we need have nothing to do with it, nor it with us, any more. And that our connection with the old haunts and associations of our sin may be cut clean away for ever, and we may be placed at once in the best and likeliest position for sinning no more, he concurs with the Father in our being at once embraced as children, invested as children with the robe and ring of honour, and welcomed as children to the children’s table. There is to be no reproach; no upbraiding; no word or look of reference to the past any more. Our eider brother has answered for all, and all is cancelled. There is to be no more any dark servile doubt or suspicion or fear. All is to be holy light and love. There is to be no more sin. Ah! but more sin, in spite of all this, there is; and there is the apprehension of sin evermore. The Father indeed is light, always light. And we walk in his light; the light of his reconciled countenance; the light of his pure and loving eye. But how sensitively, on that very account, is our conscience, our heart, alive to all - alas! too much - that is in us and about us still savouring of the dark tastes of our old estrangement. Where - we are at every moment constrained to ask, - where is that elder brother who brought us hither, and who alone can keep us here? We know that he would have us, not to put him in between the Father and us, but to be ourselves, in him, at home with the Father (John 16:26-27). It should be so; and we seek to have it so. But the home is so holy, and the light is so holy, and he who is in the light is so holy; and we are so sinful, so fain to shrink from the light and court the darkness again, that we cannot stand upright. We cannot keep our ground; we cannot move on; we cannot meet the Father’s eye; we stumble; we fall. Ah! we need that elder brother still. We need him to be our advocate with the Father. He must not quit our side. He must not let go our hand. He must be ever leading us in to the Father, and presenting us to the Father, and speaking for us to the Father, and putting us anew right with the Father. And so he is. He is never far off. "We have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." "The righteous!" For now what sort of advocate with the Father would we have?. And what would we have his advocacy to be? The time has been when, if we cared to live at home in the Father’s house at all, we would have been glad of the good offices, say of some upper servant, not very scrupulous and not over strict, who might be disposed to take our part when any breach occurred. It might be convenient to have a friend at court, an advocate with the head and master of the family, ready always to intercede for us; to hide our faults or apologise for them; to come in between us and the angry glance or the uplifted arm; to put a specious colouring on the cause of offence, and get us off, no matter how, from dreaded vengeance. But no such advocacy will be welcome now. No such advocate will our elder brother be. For he is our advocate with the Father, as "Jesus Christ the righteous." Yes! in dealing with us, as well as in dealing with the Father for us, he will deal righteously, truly, justly. He will so ply his office, and travail in his work, of advocacy between the Father and us, as to preserve the right understanding which he has himself brought about, and obviate the risk of renewed separation. He will make it all subservient to our more thorough cleansing from sin, and our closer walk with God ; - our being "holy as he is holy." For - II. "He is the propitiation for our sins." He is so now. He is present with us now as our advocate with the Father; and it is as being the propitiation for our sins that he is present with us. It is not needful to settle in what precise aspect of the sacrificial service Jesus is here spoken of as the propitiation; whether with reference to the sacrificial victim slain, or the altar on which it was burned, or the mercy-seat on which its blood was sprinkled. Jesus is all three in one; the lamb slain, the altar of atonement, the blood-baptized mercy-seat. The important lesson is this, that it is as the propitiation for our sins that Jesus Christ is oar advocate with the Father. Whenever he acts as our advocate, whether to satisfy the Father anew or to pacify our consciences anew, he acts in virtue of his being - -not having been but being - the propitiation for our sins. The two, in fact, are one; his advocacy with the Father is his being the propitiation for our sins. In every instance in which it is exercised, it is simply a new and fresh application to our case of the virtue of his being the propitiation for our sins. For what does he do when, in some dark hour, he ministers to me and in me as my advocate with the Father? He draws near; the Spirit so taking of what is his and showing it to me as to bring him near. He is beside me, with me, at my right hand. He is here with me now, the propitiation for my sins now, precisely as he was on Calvary. I see him, invisible as he is, now and here, exactly as he was then and there; thorn-crowned, bleeding, in agony; bowing his head; giving up the ghost; pouring out his soul an offering for sin. Yes that is my advocate with the Father; and that is the manner of his advocacy! Can it be other than a righteous advocacy? Can he be other than a righteous advocate? When my sin, grieving the Father’s heart and vexing his Holy Spirit, has pierced his Son Jesus Christ anew, and he hastens, with blood and water freshly flowing from the re-opened wound, to wash me anew, and anew present me to the Father; is that a sort of ministry that can lead to sin? Can I touch these hands which I have been nailing again to the accursed tree, or feel them touching me again to bless me, without my whole frame thrilling as the voice runs through my inmost soul - "Sin no more;" "Thou art dead to sin"? III. There is a supplement added which still further explains the sort of advocacy which Jesus Christ the righteous carries on. He is "the propitiation for our sins; and not for ours only, but also for the sins of the whole world." This is added, as it would seem, for this very end, to preclude the possibility of a believer thinking that, if he lapses, it is under some method of recovery different from that which is available for all mankind. Otherwise, it comes in awkwardly and irrelevantly. For it is out of place here to introduce the subject of the bearing of the propitiation on mankind at large; for the purpose of considering that subject for its own sake, or settling any doubtful question regarding it. It is very much in point, however, and very much to the purpose, to make a passing reference to the world-wide scope and aspect of the propitiation which Christ is; and so to guard against the notion of there being anything ‘like favouritism in what he does on behalf of his true followers and friends. There is no new specific for meeting our case when we who walk in the light fall into sin, no specific different from what is provided for meeting the case of all sinners - of the whole world. We have no special fountain opened for our cleansing, but only the fountain opened in the house of David for all the inhabitants of Jerusalem indiscriminately; for all the world, and all its sin, and all its uncleanness. There is no way in which we can get rid of that sin of ours- its guilt and curse, its deadly blight and canker, eating out the very life of our soul - except that way, patent and open to all, in which all the world, if it will, may get rid of all its sins. Doubtless when we sin we have an advocate with the Father to stand by us, and lift us up, and plead our cause, and place us again on a right footing with the Father. But he can do all this only by interposing himself as "the propitiation for our sins," in the very same sense and manner in which he interposes himself as the propitiation "for the sins of the whole world." Where, then, ye children of the light and of the day,-ye fellows of the Father and of his Son Jesus Christ, - where is your peculiar privilege of sinning lightly and being easily restored? What is there in that sin of yours that should make it lie less heavily on your conscience, and afflict your souls less grievously; than the sins which, when you were of the world, you committed; of which you repented; and for which you sought and obtained forgiveness, when you came out of the world’s weary wilderness, and were brought home to your Father’s house. Is your sin now less heinous than were your sins then? Are there no aggravations to enhance its guilt, and to stamp with a deeper dye its exceeding sinfullness? Does it demand fewer tears and less poignant searchings of heart, less of godly sorrow, less of bitter weeping? What! when that eye which looked on Peter - that eye not of reproach so much as of silent unutterable woe - the eye that smote him with a mortal stab, - when that eye catches mine - yes! as he is in the very act of hastening to the rescue lest my faith fail, coming quickly to be my advocate with the Father - when, fallen as I am, I feel his touch, and that open calm look of his arrests and rivets me, - Jesus! I cry, my Lord, my God, dost thou yet care for me? Wilt thou yet comfort me; me, a sinner; a sinner worse than ever; sinning more inexcusably than ever in all the days of my ignorance I sinned; more inexcusably than all the world in its ignorance can sin? Can such a one as I yet live? I ask no special favour; I plead for no partial exemption. Let me only anew - not as a saint - not as a child of God, - but only as a sinner - of sinners the chief - betake myself to thee, the propitiation for my sin? Yes! I may, I do. And I find thee still the propitiation for my sin, because thou art the propitiation for the sins of the whole world. Not otherwise could I take the benefit of thine advocacy. It is not as a propitiation peculiar to me that I grasp thee in great distress; as if I had any peculiar claim to thee; as if others were sinners more than I, or I less than they. Alas! no. My only hope is in grasping thee as "the propitiation for the sins of the whole world." That wide charter will take me in when nothing else can. "It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief." This, and this alone, is thy refuge and revival, O poor soul! Thou sinnest ; - as a child of God, walking in the light, thou sinnest. And in the light in which thou walkest thy sin finds thee out. Thou art overwhelmed. Can such sin as thine be forgiven? Yes, brother. But not otherwise than through the advocacy of Jesus Christ the righteous, who is the propitiation for thy sins. Thou must have recourse to him in that character. But not as if thy case were peculiar, and demanded or could receive peculiar treatment. No. Thou must be content to take thy place among the whole body of the sinners of mankind, for the very worst of whom the propitiation is available precisely as it is for thee; for them as fully as for thee; for thee as fully as for them. That indeed is the very consideration which revives thee. He is the propitiation for all sinners and for all sins. No sin, no sinner, is at any time beyond the reach of that great atonement. It meets the case of all mankind, of all the world; and therefore it meets thy case, be thy backsliding ever so grievous, thy guilt ever so aggravated. Thou couldst not venture to appropriate Christ as the propitiation for thy sins, otherwise than as he is the propitiation for the sins of the whole world. It is only because thou believest and art sure that no sin, no sinner, in all the world, is debarred from that wondrous fountain filled with blood, that thou canst summon courage to plunge in it thyself afresh. Even to the last, it is not as isolating thyself from sinners of mankind, but as associating thyself with them, - feeling thyself to be the chief of them, - that thou lookest, when thou hast sinned, to "the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world." The worst enemies of Calvinism are those who challenge such statements. So far as their views are at all intelligent and logical, they make faith impossible; faith, that is, resting on a free Gospel, and without the warrant of an express personal sign, inward or outward. Whether as a sinner called, or as a Backslider recalled, I can build no hope on any propitiation presented to me as peculiar to a class, and not open to the race at large. I am thankful therefore for the assurance that, "if any man sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous, who is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only, But also for the sins of the whole world." This is my answer to certain critics who have founded on garbled extracts from this passage the charge of an unguarded and objectionable mode of expression as to the nature and extent of the atonement. VII. THE GUILELESS SPIRIT REALISING THROUGH OBEDIENCE THE KNOWLEDGE OF GOD ASTHE MEANS OF BEING AND ABIDING IN GOD. "And hereby we do know that we know him, if we keep his commandments. He that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him. But whoso keepeth his word, in him verily is the love of God perfected: hereby know we that we are in him." - 1 John 2:3-5. This is a more literal explanation of the divine fellowship, considered as a fellowship of light, than has been given before. The light which is the atmosphere of the fellowship, or the medium of vision and sympathy through which it is a doubt may be suggested as to what Divine Person is meant here when the third personal pronoun is used. Is it the Son or the Father? One might at first be inclined to say it is the Son; for it is he who is spoken of in the immediately preceding verses (1 John 2:2). But throughout this whole passage John is speaking of God the Father as the object of knowledge and fellowship. It is with God in Christ that he summons us to have communion. The Son is brought in separately (1 John 1:7, 1 John 2:2), only to show how his ministry of sacrifice, intercession, and propitiation, by providing for our not sinning, or not sinning beyond the hope of repentance and revival, makes such communion possible. That end being served, the discourse returns to its original channel. On this account, as well as on grammatical grounds, I lean to the opinion of those who think that God the Father is the Divine Person referred to. And I do so the rather because in the verse that follows (1 John 2:6), - " He that saith he abideth in him, ought himself also so to walk, even as he walked," - there is a remarkable distinction of pronouns. It does not appear in our translation; and indeed the English tongue scarcely admits of its appearing. But it is clear in the finer idiom of the original Greek. The "he" in the last clause is different from the "him" in the first; which again agrees with, is the light of knowledge, the light of the knowledge of God. For the fellowship is intelligent as well as holy - intelligent that it may be holy. But of what sort is that knowledge? And how is it to be got hold of and made sure of? These are the questions with which John now proceeds to deal. And in the verses that form our text he introduces them very emphatically, as questions personally and practically affecting us, with reference to our claim and calling to be walkers in the light. For, first, he would have us to "know that we know God" (1 John 2:3). He raises the question of the trustworthiness of our knowledge of God. It is as if you asked me about one of my familiars, whose name I am fond of using, whose opinions I am apt to quote, whose patronage I rather boast of ; - " But do you know that you know him? Are you sure that you understand him?" The abrupt question takes me somewhat aback. I think I know him. But your doubt startles me. I must inquire and see. Again, secondly, John would have us to "know that we are in God" (1 John 2:5). This suggests still more hesitancy. I have had the idea that I am in him, in the sense of being united to him in the bonds of faith, fellowship, and friendship. But you raise misgivings. Do I indeed know that I am in him. The two inquiries may be treated as one; requiring the same examination and admitting of the same proof. There comes in, however, thirdly, an intermediate thought: "whoso keepeth his word, in him verily is the with the "him" and the "his" in the verses now before us (1 John 2:3-5). Surely this marks a change. The person indicated in the end of the sixth verse is not the same as the person indicated in the beginning of that verse, and in those that precede it. But the person indicated in the end of the sixth verse is clearly the Lord Jesus. It must therefore be God the Father who is indicated in the verses of our text. "In him is the love of God perfected" (1 John 2:5). This expression denotes a fact accomplished. The word "is perfected" points to something done; and the word "verily" or "truly" marks the reality and thoroughness of what has been done and of the doing of it. Now it is love that is said to be thus perfected; the love of God. This can scarcely mean here the grace or affection of love; as the love of God to us, or our love to God; but rather the fellowship of love between him and us. "In the keeping of his word" that fellowship of love, so far as we are concerned, finds its completion, or "is perfected." Most fitly does this thought come in between the other two. I. To know God; II. To have his love verily and indeed perfected in us; III. To be ourselves in him; that is our thrice holy standing, our thrice blessed privilege, in his Son Jesus Christ. If we would make sure of it, in our experience, it must be by keeping his commandments, keeping his word. I. There were those in John’s day who affected to know God very deeply and intimately, in a very subtle and transcendental way. They laid great stress on thus knowing God; so much so that they took or got the name of knowing ones, or Gnostics. All about the essence of God, or his mysterious manner of being, they knew. All his attributes, and inward actings, and outward emanations, they knew. The forthgoings from everlasting of all his thoughts and volitions they knew so familiarly, and by so sublime an insight, that they could give to every one of them a local habitation and a name. They knew how heaven swarmed with these divine effluences or outgoings, as it were, of God sterner nature; to which they ascribed a sort of dreamy personality; associating them into a spiritual or ghostly hierarchy, in whose ranks they dared to place the very Son of the Highest himself. So they, after their own fashion, knew God. And through this knowledge of him, they professed to aspire to a participation of his godhead; their souls or spiritual essences being themselves effluences and emanations of his essence; and being therefore, along with all other such effluences or emanations, ultimately embraced in the Deity of which they formed part. So they "knew God." But how did they know that they knew him? Was it because they kept his commandments? Nay, their very boast was that they knew God so well as to be raised far above that commonplace keeping of the commandments which might do for the uninitiated, but for which they had neither time nor taste. Their knowledge of God was too mystical and ethereal - too much of a rhapsody or a rapture - to admit of its being tested in so plain and practical a way. It was a small affair for them to keep the commandments, and a small affair also to break them. They were occupied with higher matters. Their real life was in a higher sphere. They cared for nothing but "knowing God." John denounces strongly their impious pretence - "He that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him." The language is more forcible than ever. He not merely "lies" (1 John 1:6); but "is a liar." Not merely does he "not do the truth," but in that man "the truth is not." To affect any knowledge of God that is not to be itself known and ascertained by the keeping of his commandments, - to dream of knowing God otherwise than in the way of keeping his commandments - is to be false to the heart’s core. For, in fact, the question comes to be, Do I know God as a mere abstraction, about whose nature I may speculate? Or do I know him personally, as a man knows his friend? This last is the only kind of knowledge of God which John can recognise and own. It is what he starts with; his fundamental position; his postulate or axiom. God is known through or in the incarnate Word of life, as he was heard, looked upon, handled, by those who lived familiarly with Jesus. Whosoever hath seen him hath seen the Father. "No man knoweth the Father but the Son, and he to whom the Son will reveal him." God is known in Christ. And he is known in Christ as personally interested in me, and personally dealing with me; kind to me; compassionate to me; waiting to be gracious to me; opening his arms to embrace me; seeing me afar off; meeting me; falling upon my neck and kissing me. When the Spirit opens my eyes, it is thus that I know God. And how may I know that I do really know him thus? How otherwise than by my keeping his commandments? For this knowledge is intensely practical; not theoretic and speculative at all; but only practical. I know God in the giving of his Son to me and for me; in his giving him to be my friend and brother; my surety and redeemer; giving him to die for me on the accursed tree. With the new mind and the new heart created in me by his own Spirit, I know God now in Christ, as washing me from all my guilt; taking me home; making me his child and heir. I know him by the fatherly benignity of the look he bends on me, and the fatherly warmth of the grasp in which he holds me. And I may assure myself that in any tolerable measure I thus know him, only if I keep his commandments. Let me bless his name for that simple practical test. I am not sent to any Gnostic school to seek a certificate of scholarship from any of these knowing ones. I have not to graduate in any of their colleges. I need not aspire to any mystic insight, or visionary rapture, or sublime beatific ecstasy. A lowlier path by far is mine. I am ignorant of many things; ignorant of much even that it concerns me to learn of God and of his wondrous love to me; far, very far, from knowing him as I ought. But do I so know him as to make conscience of keeping his commandments - keeping them as I did not care to keep them once? Is my proud will subdued and my independent spirit broken? Moved and melted by what I know of God, do I, as if instinctively, cry, "Lord, what wouldst thou have me to do .? ,’ Then, to me, this word is indeed a precious word in season; "hereby we do know that we know him, if we keep his commandments" (1 John 2:3). II. For while "he that saith, I know him, and keepeth not his commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him" (1 John 2:4); "whoso keepeth his word, in him verily is the love of God perfected" (1 John 2:5). The change of expression here is surely meant to be significant. "His commandments," which may be many and various, are reduced to what is one and simple - " his word." The meaning is doubtless in substance the same; but there is a shade of difference. This keeping of his word. is, as it were, the concentrated and condensed spirit and essence of the keeping of his commandments. The thought suggested is not so much that of the things commanded, as of the command itself. It is not commandments, but God commanding; not speech, but God speaking; his word. The knowing ones stigmatised as liars pretended to know God, not as speaking, but simply as being; not by communication from him, but by insight into him; not by his word, but by their own wisdom. But you know him by his word. And that word of his, when you keep it, perfects the good understanding, the covenant of love, between him and you. For indeed it must always be by word that love is truly perfected between intelligent parties; by the plighting of troth; by the interchange of pledge or promise expressed or understood; by word given and kept. How is it, when I know a friend, that his love is truly perfected in me? He gives me his word, and I keep it. I have nothing else for it but his word; his bare and naked word. I need nothing else; I desire nothing else. I keep that word of his; I keep it firm and fast. And as he is true to me, and I am true to him, I find that mere word of his, so kept by me, a sufficient warrant and assurance of all being right, and there being nothing now between us but true and perfect love, a true and perfect state of amity and peace. When God is the party concerned, the keeping of his word on my part may well suffice for his love being thus truly perfected in me. For that word of his, the sum now to me of all his commandments, is his one simple assurance of good will in his Son. It is his word of reconciliation in Christ. It is, one might say, Christ himself, the reconciler. It is "God in Christ reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing unto them their trespasses." It is a word of very complete and comprehensive sweep: embracing all on God’s part that is sovereign, efficacious, and authoritative, in the gift of his grace and in the obligation of his law; and all on our part that is humble, submissive, and obedient, in our trusting acceptance of the gift and cordial compliance with the obligation. It is a word making over to us freely from God all that is his; for "he that spared not his own Son, but gave him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?" It is a word winning over to God freely from us, ourselves, and all that is ours; for "we are not our own, but bought with a price," and so bound to "glorify God in our bodies and in our spirits, which are his." So full, complete, perfect, is this word on both sides. Only let it be kept. Kept on God’s side it cannot fail to be. Let it be kept on ours. God is faithful to keep it to us. Let us be faithful to keep it to God. Kept by us, as it is sure to be kept by him, it does indeed ratify a perfect treaty of love. III. And thus "we know that we are in him" (1 John 2:5). This, as it would seem, is the crown and consummation of all; first, to be in him; and, secondly, to know that we are in him. First, to be in him; in a God whom we know, and between whom and us there is a real and perfect covenant of peace and love ; - that must be an attainment worth while for us to realise; worth while for us to know or be sure that we realise. To be in him! This cannot mean to be in God in any mystical sense of absorption; as if we were to lose our distinct personality, and be swallowed up in the ocean of the divine essence. All such ideas are precluded by the clear and unequivocal recognition of personal dealings, as between one intelligent being and another, implied in our knowing God, and in his love being truly perfected in us. But short of that wild and impious dream, it is not easy to urge too far the almost literal significance of the expression, - " we are in him." Certainly it is something very different from merely being in what is his; as in his church, his house, his family, his kingdom. It is being in himself. What, on his part, that implies is among "the things which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor heart conceived, but which God hath prepared for them that love him." Even to them it cannot be described beforehand. It transcends all that in imagination they could previously grasp. It is so prepared for them that love him that only in loving him can they apprehend and prove it. To be in him! What a covering of them with his wings - what a wrapping of them round with his own divine perfections - what an identifying of them with himself, of their interests with his, their triumph with his, their joy with his; what an identifying of himself with them, his grace with their guilt, his strength with their weakness, his glory with their salvation! To be in him! What a surrounding of them on all sides as with eyes innumerable and arms invincible; clothing them, as it were, with his own omniscience, his own omnipotence! Truly "as the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about his people." They are in him. "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." But it is rather what on our part this phrase implies that we are led to consider. What insight! What sympathy! What entering into his rest! What entering into his working too! What a fellowship of light! We are in him! We are in his mind. He lets us into his mind. If I have a friend whom I know, and between whom and me there is a truly perfected love, I long to enter into his mind; to be partaker with him in all his mental movements and exercises, as he reads, and meditates, and studies; as he lays his plans and carries them into effect. I would be so in him that there should be, as it were, but one mind between us. Oh to be thus in God, of one mind with God! We are in his heart. He lets us into his heart, - that great heart of the everlasting Father so warmly and widely opened in his Son Jesus Christ. To be in him, so that that heart of his shall draw to itself my heart, and the beating of the two shall, as it were, be in unison, and the throbbing of the two shall be blended in one ; - and the Father’s deep earnestness shall be mine ;and the Father’s holy wrath shall be mine; and the Father’s pity shall be mine; and the Father’s persuasive voice shall be mine; as I plead with my fellows ; - " Turn ye, turn ye; why will ye die?" - what a thought! To be thus in God through our knowing him, and through his love being perfected in us! Surely that is about the highest reach of our fellowship with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. And therefore, secondly, to know that we are thus in God cannot but be a matter of much concern. Who, on such a point, would run the risk of self-deception - nay, of being found "a liar, not having the truth in him"? To have some tolerable confidence, tolerably well grounded, that my being in God is a reality; that surely is desirable if it can be attained. And how am I to seek it? /tow am I at once to aim at being in him, more and more thoroughly and unequivocally, and also to aim at verifying more and more satisfactorily and surely my being in him?. For these two aims must go together; they are one. Keep his word, is the reply. Is that then all? I may be tempted to ask. Am I to look for no clearer token, no more decisive mark and proof of my being in him? Is there to be no tangible evidence in my experience, no sign from heaven, no voice, no vision, no illapse or sliding into my soul, I know not how, of some sensible assurance, I know not what, to attest my being in him?. Nay, to have such confirmation might only mislead me. I might content myself with the sign, instead of striving to realise more and more what it signifies. Better, safer, is it, that I should be directed, to a humbler method, the keeping of his word. But is that enough? Yes; for in the keeping of his word his love is truly perfected in us who thereby know him. Let us keep his word in that view of its power and virtue; as the seal and bond of a perfect understanding and a perfect state of peace between him and us. Let us cultivate what is the vital element of all intelligent and loving fellowship between him and us, the spirit which prompts the cry, "Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth." In that spirit let us keep his commandments; the commandments in which his word is broken up in detail; the commandments which assure us of his love to us; the commandments which exercise our love to him. Let us keep the commandments of his word; which, in our keeping of them, assure us of his love to us. "Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters," "come now and let us reason together," "this is my beloved Son, hear him." Let us keep also the commandments of his word, which, in our keeping of them, exercise our love to him; - "Humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God," "risen with Christ, seek the things which are above," "come out and be separate, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will be a Father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters." So keeping his word and his commandments, we more and more completely apprehend his love as truly perfected in us. We more and more clearly, brightly, hopefully, ascertain that we do know God and are in God, in some measure as he knows God and is in God, who while on earth could truly say, "The Father knoweth me, and I know the Father;" "Thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee." VIII. THE CHRISTLIKE WALK OF ONE WITH GUILELESS SPIRIT ABIDING IN GOD. "He that saith he abideth in him [God], ought himself also so to walk even as he [Christ] walked." - 1 John 2:6. To "walk as Christ" walked is essential to our "abiding in God;" not merely "being in God," as it is put in the previous verse, but being in him permanently; continuing or abiding in him. It is therefore the test of our truth when we "say that we abide in God;" it is the very means by which we abide in him. Jesus tells us (John 16:1-33) that he continued or abode in the Father’s love by keeping the Father’s commandments. That was his walk, by which he abode in God. If we would abide in God as he did, we must walk as he walked, keeping the Father’s commandments as he kept them. Thus this verse fits into those that go before, and completes, so far, the apostle’s description of the divine fellowship, viewed as a fellowship of holy light, and transforming, obedient knowledge. The walk of Christ, abiding in God, is therefore to be considered as our study and our model. I. It is sometimes said of Christ simply that he walked, without anything to define or qualify the expression. ‘ After these thing Jesus walked in Galilee; for he would not walk in Jewry, because the Jews sought to kill him" (John 7:1. He says it of himself; "Nevertheless I must walk to-day, and to-morrow, and the third day, for it cannot be that a prophet perish out of Jerusalem" (Luke 13:33). Again he says, "Are there not twelve hours in the day? If any man walk in the day he stumbleth not, because he seeth the light of this world. But if a man walk in the night he stumbleth, because there is no light in him" (John 12:9-10). Jesus then walked. His life was a walk. The idea of earnestness, of definiteness of purpose, of decision and progress, is thus suggested. Many men live as if they were not really walking, but lounging and sauntering; or running fitfully and by starts, with intervals of aimless, listless sloth; or musing, or dreaming, or sleep-walking. Some are said to be fastlivers; their life being not a walk, but a brief tumultuous rush of excitement, ending soon in vacancy, or something worse. Others again live as if life were to be all, instead of a walk, a gay and giddy dance; alas! they may find it the dance of death. It is something to apprehend and feel that life is a walk; not a game, or pastime, or outburst of passion; not a random flight, or a groping, creeping, grovelling crawl, or a mazy labyrinthine puzzle; but a walk; a steady walk; an onward march and movement; a business-like, purpose-like, step-by-step advance in front; such a walk as a man girds himself for, and shoes himself for, and sets out upon with staff in hand, and firm-set face, and cap well fixed on the head, and holds on in, amid stormy wind and drifting snow; resolute to have it finished and to reach the goal. Such a walk is real life; life in earnest. Such a walk pre-eminently was the life of Jesus. No dilettante trifler was he; nor a visionary; nor a loiterer; nor a runner to and fro; nor a climber of cloud-capped heights; but a walker; a plain pedestrian walker; a determined walker, whom nothing could turn aside or turn back. It is said of him, on one occasion, that he "stedfastly set his face to go to Jerusalem." That was his way, his manner always. He walked. He stedfastly set his face to walk. On, still on, he walked, unflagging, unflinching; he walked right on. It is a sublime spectacle to gaze on; this Jesus, Son of God, Son of man, thus walking; in Galilee; in Jewry; his face stedfastly set to go to Jerusalem. Now, "he that saith he abideth in God, ought himself also so to walk even as Jesus walked." It was as always "abiding in God" that he "walked." It was his abiding always in God that constrained him to walk; to be always walking. It was that which would not suffer him either to stand still or to make haste; either to pause and fall behind, or to run too fast before. He abode in God. He walked as one who was abiding in God all the while he walked. While his feet were busy walking, his soul was resting in God. Outward movement, inward repose ; - the whole man Christ Jesus bent upon the road, - mind, spirit, heart, all bent upon the road ; - and yet ever, at the same time, the whole man Christ Jesus dwelling in the Father’s bosom, - mind, spirit, heart, all dwelling in the Father’s bosom; as calmly, tranquilly, quietly, as in that unbroken eternity, ere he became man, he had been wont to dwell there ; - so he walked, abiding in God. So you also ought to walk even as he walked ; - " abiding in God." Ah! this blessed combination! Outward movement, inward repose; the feet busy, active, alert - the soul resting in God; incessant marching up through the wilderness, amid fightings and fears, but always peace within, peace with God, peace in God; noise and uproar often to be encountered on the open way, but silence evermore in the hidden part, the deep holy silence of God’s own secret place! Oh! to walk as one abiding in God; abiding in him all the while we walk! Who can look at Jesus walking with-out feeling that it is the walk of one abiding in God? He speaks of himself as "the Son of man which is in heaven" (John 3:13); - not which was, but which is, in heaven. It is as the Son of man who is in heaven even when he is on earth that he tells of heavenly things. It is as the Son of man who is in heaven that he walks on earth. Hence his life is indeed a walk. His being, all the while he is walking on earth, himself in heaven; abiding in God; imparts that clear outlook and that calm confidence, without which there may be wandering up and down, but not real steady walking. Therefore he is neither as one blindly feeling his way, nor as one in doubt or in despair trying every or any path. He walks, "not as uncertainly," - even as he fights, "not as one that beateth the air." He walks as one who has "the mastery." For he walks, abiding in God. But some one may say, Is not this too high an ideal Is it not the setting up of an inimitable model? Jesus, the Son of man, while walking on earth, is still in heaven, in a sense in which that cannot be said of any of us. His being still the eternal Son of the Highest as well as the son of Mary, may well be supposed to give him such divine insight and assurance as to make his life more like what life should be, a real walk, than ours can be expected to be. Not so. For, first, he fully shares with us whatever disadvantage, as regards his walking, may be implied in his being a son of man. And, secondly, he would have us fully to share with him whatever advantage there is in his being the Son of God. For both reasons, our life may be as much and as truly a walk as his was. First, it is a man whom we see walking; one who is true and very man. His being God also gives him no exemption or immunity from any of those annoyances, or difficulties, or dangers, which might be apt to turn the walk into some sort of movement more irregular and less becoming. On the contrary, what he saw, and knew, and felt, as the Son of God, made these trials of his walk all the more formidable. He, in his walk, met with far more that was fitted to make his feet stumble and his courage fail, than any of us can ever meet with in ours. And as his divine knowledge gave him a clearer sight, so his divine holiness gave him a keener sense, of it all. If ever this great walker’s firm step might totter, and his gait grow staggering, and his eye irresolute, it might well be when, with the full and vivid apprehension he had of their real meaning and awful horror, he found his walk lying through the wilderness of satanic temptation, the garden of overwhelming agony, the shame and curse of Calvary. Truly he was no privileged walker amid earth’s dark scenes of misery and sin; having for his own share to endure the contradiction of sinners against himself, and, before all was over, to taste the bitterness of death, with its cruellest sting, for the very men who cried out, "Crucify him, crucify him!" Think you not that it might have been easier for him to walk calmly and with composure if, when he was led as a lamb to the slaughter, it had been possible for him to be led blindfold? No. There was no royal road for him to walk in. His walk was on the billows of the angry sea. Then, secondly, if there is any advantage in the way of imparting firmness and fixedness to his walk in his being the Son of God, is he not sharing that advantage with us Is it his being in God, and abiding in God, as the Son in the Father’s bosom, all the time he is walking here below, that makes his walk so admirable for its serene and settled heavenliness? Does he keep that position to himself? Does he not make it freely ours? Is it not as abiding in God, even as he abides in God, that we are exhorted and expected to "walk even as he walked?" II. Let some particulars about this walk be noticed. I. If we say that "we abide in God," we ought to walk as seeing God in all things and all things in God; for so Christ walked. Nothing is more conspicuous in the general bearing of his conduct, and in every detail, than his constant reference to God. "All things" to him "were of God" (2 Corinthians 5:18). It was not that he so identified the world around him with God as to reckon devotion to the world equivalent to devotion to God; making the world’s business God’s worship. It was rather that, abiding in God, he so identified himself with God, that every object, every event, presented itself to him in its relation to God. What is it in God’s point of view?-what does it mean as regards him? - what are its aspects towards him? - what is his estimate of it and his mind concerning it? - that is always the uppermost, the only question. And it is the same with persons as with things and circumstances. No man is known after the flesh (2 Corinthians 5:16). The young man, with all his natural amiability and attractiveness, of whom it is said that "Jesus beholding him, loved him" (Mark 10:21), is yet not known after the flesh; Jesus will know him only in God, in whom he himself abideth. Even though he has to let him go away sorrowful, - himself more sorrowful still for having to let one so lovable go away, - he will walk towards him as himself "abiding in God." Neither the youth’s great possessions, nor his all but resistless winning qualities, will counterbalance in Christ’s mind what is due to the paramount claims of God and his kingdom. His walk is still not manward at all, however strong the temptation to decline a little, a very little, in that direction, but Godward alone, Godward altogether. It is still always God and not man who is in all his thoughts. Is a woman who has been a sinner behind him, washing his feet with her tears? - or before him alone, abashed, all her accusers having gone out?. Not a thought of what men may think or say is in his mind; but only how his Father will feel, and what his Father will have him to do. So he walked, abiding in God. And "he that saith he abideth in God ought himself also so to walk." 2. He ought to walk as one subordinating himself always in all things to God; submitting himself to God; committing himself to God. Abiding in God, he ought to walk as being himself nothing; God, in whom he abides, being all in all. So Christ walked. He did not seek his own glory, or do his own will, or find his own meat, or save his own life, or plead his own cause, or avenge his own wrong. Self is never a consideration with him, but always God his Father, in whom he abides. It is not that he is either a mad fanatic, prodigally reckless of God’s gift of life and of life’s loving comforts; or a mad enthusiast, dreaming of one knows not what absorption of individual personality in some vast and vague idea of the Godhead. He shared the joy of the marriage-feast and the hospitality of the common meal. In the home of Bethany he loved to be with Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus. He was ever, as the Son, distinct from the Father; and as the servant, subject to the Father. But abiding in God, he walked as having no mind of his own, but only to know the mind of God, and to have it done at whatever cost. It was not self-denial merely, and self-sacrifice. It was the self-denying and self-sacrificing surrender of himself to God. It was, "Lo, I come; in the volume of the book it is written of me; I delight to do thy will, O God" (Psalms 40:7-8; Hebrews 10:7-10). To walk in this respect as Christ walked, abiding in God as he did, is indeed to be emptied of self. But it is not that only. It is to be filled with God. It is to walk humbly, meekly, patiently, cheerfully - "seeking not our own, not easily provoked, bearing all things, enduring all things" - not as being insensible to pain and grief, or as if we affected the stoical pride of indifference to such things; but simply as "learning obedience," where Jesus learned it, in the school of suffering and submission. He that saith he abideth in God" .ought to walk in love. If we abide in God, we abide in the great source and fountain of love: in the infinite ocean of pure and per-feet benevolence. It was thus that Jesus, "abiding in God," walked abroad among men; the very impersonation of benevolence; "a man approved of God, who went about doing good." His whole walk was one continuous manifestation of good will to men. And it was of the Father’s good will to men that his walk was the manifestation; for he was ever abiding in God. No good will to men’s principles and practices, while at enmity with God, did his walk manifest: no such good will as would have their principles and practices tolerated and indulged at the expense of the honour and the law of that God and Father in whom he was continually abiding. But good will to their persons, to themselves, - ah! how intense, how unwearied, how inexhaustible, - was that walk of his incessantly exemplifying! Can we say that we "abide in God" as Jesus did, if our walk is not what his was; a walk of active benevolence, practically proclaiming our Father’s good will to men as our brethren?. Ah! let us not forget to do good, to distribute, to be kind, to carry food to the hungry, healing to the sick, comfort to the sorrowful, hope to the sinful; to speak a word in season to the weary; to visit the fatherless and widow in their affliction, while we keep ourselves unspotted from the world. "He that saith he abideth in God ought," in a word, to walk in unity with God, as being of one mind with God, and of one heart. So Jesus walked. For with reference to his human walk on earth quite as much as to his divine nature, or his being in heaven, he could say "I and my Father are one." He had no separate interest from his Father; no separate occupation; no separate joy. Whatever touched the Father, equally and in the same way affected him. "The zeal of thine house," he cried, "hath eaten me up." He pleased not himself; but, "as it is written: The reproaches of them that reproached thee fell on me." This harmony of sentiment, this conscious unity of desire and aim between him and the Father who appointed his lot, - the result of his "abiding always in God," - made his life a walk indeed. It was not a walk through pleasant places. It was no holiday excursion; no easy ramble. And yet the sense of a high and intimate community of motive, means, and end between him and the Father, which his abiding ever in God must have inspired, could scarcely fail to invest the scenery through which he passed, at its very wildest and darkest points, with a certain charm of divine majesty and awe; as well as also to impart to his soul, in passing through it, I say not equanimity only, but a measure also of deep and chastened joy. For in fact, with all its trials and terrors, its agonies and griefs, I cannot imagine that even to the man of sorrows his walk through life was what could fairly be called unhappy. When the road led through Bethany’s peaceful shades, and allowed a night’s tarrying in the home he loved so well, the hallowed repose of that familiar friendly circle must have been very sweet to his taste; all the sweeter for the thought that, abiding in him who put so welcome an entertainment, so congenial a solace, in his way, he was not solitary in the enjoyment of it; the relish of it being common to the Father and to him. And even when in his walk he had to "tread the winepress alone;" yet not alone, for the Father was with him; when flesh and heart fainting would have moved him almost to put the cup away from him ; - is it conceivable that, abiding in God, he could ever lose the apprehension of the unity of counsel between them in the great design for which he came into the world? It could not be with any other feeling than that of relief, of acquiescence, I will say of intensest satisfaction, that, overcoming in the Spirit the weakness of the flesh, he gave himself up to him in whom, in that dread hour, he was abiding, if it were possible, more closely, more intimately, more lovingly than ever; - " Father, thy will be done; " - " Father, glorify thy name ;" - ‘"Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.!’ So he walked. And so it is our privilege to walk,-abiding, by the power of the Spirit, in God as he did; saying always, "Not my will but thine be done." "Who then is among you that feareth the Lord, and yet walketh in darkness, seeing no light? Let him trust in the name of the Lord, and stay himself upon his God" (Isaiah 1:10-11). Walk on still, in darkness if it must be so, but abiding still in God. The darkness will not last for ever. "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Walk still on, I say, abiding in God as he did, who, when his walk was as of one forsaken, - through the hell which your sins and mine de-served - -cried still: "My God, my God!" My God, I abide in thee! Though thou slay me, I will trust in thee. Who says now, I abide in God? See that you really walk as he walked, who alone is the perfect pattern and example of abiding in God. Ah! the notion of any other sort of abiding in God, or any other way of abiding in God, than his sort and his way of it, which his walk so fully verified, is wholly false and vain. You cannot hope to abide in God, and in God’s love, otherwise than as he did ; - by keeping his commandments. I charge you, then, all of you, to keep the commandments of God; to walk in the way of his commandments; that you may have fellowship with him and he with you. That is the true apostolic fellowship - fellowship with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. I ask you, every one of you, how are you walking? How, and whither.? Are you "walking after the course of this world?" Then I have to tell you, - or rather Paul tells you, - that you are really "walking after the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience." That is your fellowship, the fellowship of the devil, if that is your walk, after the course of this world. "And I would not that ye should have fellowship with devils." But walk in the light, as God is in the light, and have fellowship with him and he with you, the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleansing you from all sin! IX - THE COMMANDMENT AT ONCE OLD AND NEW TO ONE WALKING WITH GUILELESS SPIRIT IN THE LIGHT - THE DARKNESS PASSING - THE TRUE LIGHT SHINING. "Brethren, I write no new commandment unto you, but an old commandment, which ye had from the beginning: the old commandment is the word which ye have heard from the beginning. Again, a new commandment I write unto you, which thing is true in him and in you; because the darkness is past, and the true light now shineth." - 1 John 2:7-8. What commandment does John mean?. Is it the same commandment throughout .? If so, in what sense is it at once old and new? Some will have it to be the commandment of brotherly love, introduced at the ninth verse. There is an awkwardness, however, in thus making these two verses describe a commandment not yet mentioned. It is an unnatural mode of writing. And it is unlike the apostle’s usual simplicity, to be as it were sounding a trumpet of preparation for the precept which he so commends, with a sort of rhetorical paradox about its being not new but old, and yet again new, and all this before the precept itself is indicated. And the last clause of the seventh verse seems conclusive against that view. The apostle tells what the commandment is. It is "the word which ye have heard from the beginning." Surely this may best be understood as referring back to the word of life (1 John 1:1), which the apostle says he and his fellow-apostles had from the beginning heard and seen and handled, and which, he adds, we declare unto you. Is not that what he means here by "the word which ye have heard "? It is not new but old, as old as the first preaching of the gospel. I am no setter-forth of novelties or strange doctrines. What I write (I.) concerning the fellowship of light and joy with the Father and the Son into which your believing knowledge of the word, through the teaching of the Spirit, introduces you; (2.) concerning the indispensable condition of that fellowship, your walking in the light as he is in the light; (3.) concerning the sacrifice and advocacy of Jesus Christ, as meeting that sense of sin and shortcoming which otherwise must be ever fatally dimming the light, and marring the joy, of the fellowship; and (4.) concerning the obligation of a sinless aim, an obedient heart, a Christ-like walk, if you would really know God, and have his love perfected in you, and be in him ; - all that, which I am writing to you, is old. It is no new discovery, no new despatch from heaven. It is "an old commandment, which ye had from the beginning." But what of the intimation that follows; "a new commandment I write unto you"? It is not merely a thrice-told tale that I am writing about. There is something fresh and new about it. And what is that? It is the realising of this fact, or this thing, as true, first in Christ and then in yourselves, that "the darkness is past," or is passing, "and the true light is now shining." For so this clause really runs. It is not a reason for the thing which is true; it is the very thing itself ; - -" which thing is true, in him and in you; this, namely, that the darkness is past, or is passing, and the true light now shineth." This is what constitutes the newness of the old commandment. ,It is a new thing to have this fact becoming matter of consciousness ; - the fact of its being true, in Christ and in you, that the darkness is passing and the true light is now shining. The obligation to make this goad is emphatically a new commandment. It commands, or commends, what must ever be felt to be a novelty. Thus viewed, this new commandment may bring out a singularly close parallelism or identity between Christ and all who, abiding in God, walk as Christ walked. I. In Christ personally this is true, "that the darkness is passing and the true light is shining." In so far as this is a continuous process, or progressive experience, it is true of Christ only as he walked on earth. Look at him, then, in his human life. A new commandment is given to him, a new charge or commission from above. Something new is given to him to be learned as a message or lesson. It is the message or lesson of its being true in him that the darkness passeth, and the true light now shineth. He is placed in new circumstances. He is plunged into the very thickest of the fight that is evermore waged here below between the two. On the one hand, darkness - the darkness that is opposed to the light which God is, and in which God is, the light which is at once his nature and his dwelling-place, - that darkness is no stranger to him; he no stranger to it. Neither outwardly in his history, nor inwardly in his inmost soul, is he a stranger to it or it to him. Darkness is upon him, around him, in him; the darkness of the sin with which he comes in contact, the sin which, in its criminality and curse, he makes his own. But, on the other hand, the true light is ever shining upon him, around him, in him; the light of the Father’s loving eye bent upon his suffering Son; the light of his own single eye ever bent upon the Father’s glory. In him this darkness and this light are incessantly meeting; present always, both of them, vividly present to his consciousness; felt to be real, intensely real - the darkness, however, always as passing; the true light always as now shining. For this is the peculiarity of the position. The darkness is on its way to the oblivion in which all the past lies buried, because there is now true light shining. It is no longer a doubtful struggle, or one that might issue in a drawn battle. The seed of the woman is bruising the head of the serpent. The true light now shining is causing the darkness to pass. So Jesus perseveres. Otherwise he must have given way. In him, even when in his experience and to his agonised consciousness, the darkness is deepest, it is still a darkness which is passing, and is realised as passing. In him, even then, the true light is shining. It is a present shining; it is the true light shining now. It is not merely that there might be in him. amid the darkness, some memory of the true light shining once, of old, from everlasting; or some anticipation of its shining again soon, to everlasting. But the true light is shining in him now; the light of conscious victory over the passing darkness. Therefore "for the joy that was set before him he endured the cross. II. What is true in him should be true in us, and should be realised by us as true in us as in him. That is the apostle’s new commandment. For we enter into the position of him in whom, in the first instance, that is true. The ,commandment to us is to enter into his position. And it :is a new position. It is new to every one with whom the ,commandment finds acceptance, and in whom it takes effect. It is a new thing for me, in compliance with this commandment, to apprehend it to be true, in Christ and in me, - in :me as in Christ, - that the darkness is evanescent, vanishing, passing, and that the true light is now shining. Nay :more, it is a new thing for me every moment, Not once for all, but by a constant series of believing acts and exercises of appropriation, I recognise it as true in him and in me, that the darkness is passing and the true light is now shining. I. "The darkness is passing." Is it so with me, to me, in me? Then all that pertains to the darkness, all that is allied to it, is passing too. It is all like a term in course of being worked out in an algebraic question; a vanishing quantity; a fading colour. Is it thus that I practically regard the whole kingdom of darkness, and all the works of darkness, and all the terrors of darkness; the power of darkness; the darkness of this world and the rulers of it? Plainly there is here a thoroughly practical test. What is the darkness to me as regards my relation to it and my esteem of it? Or the things of darkness - what are they? I know well enough what the darkness, in this use of the word, means; what it is. It means, it is, the shutting out of God. For darkness is the absence of light. But God is light. This darkness therefore is the absence of God, the shutting out of God. In whatever place or scene or company God is shut out there is darkness. Whatever work or way God is shut out from, that is a work or way of darkness. Whoever shuts out God from his thoughts is a child of darkness. Now I come into contact with this darkness on every hand, at every point. Places, scenes, companies, from which God is shut out; works and ways from which God is shut out; people from whose minds and hearts God is shut out ; - I am in the midst of them all; they press upon me; I cannot get rid of them. Tempting, flattering, cajoling; or trying, threatening, persecuting; they are on me like the Philistines on Samson. Worse than .that, they are in me, as having only too good auxiliaries in my own sinful bosom. How do I regard them? Do I cleave to them, to any of them? Would I have them to abide, at least a little longer? Would it pain me to part with them and let them pass? Or is it this very feature about them all that they are passing, - that the darkness which owns them all is passing, - that I fasten upon for relief and comfort? Is it that which alone reconciles me to my being still obliged for a season to tolerate and have dealings with the darkness? For dealings with this darkness I cannot but have. I have to go down into its depths to rescue, if it may be, its victims. And I have to resist its solicitations when its ministers come to me disguised as angels of light. My soul, like the righteous soul of Lot, must be vexed with the evil conversation and ungodly deeds that the darkness covers in Sodom. I have to stand its assaults; and when reviled, revile not again. So this darkness, this shutting out of God, with its manifold influences and agencies, besets me. How do I feel towards it?. Have I still some sympathy with it in some of its less offensive aspects? Am I still :inclined to make terms with it, so as to disarm its hostility, and even taste, in some safe manner and degree, its friendship? Would its instant and thorough disappearance from before me, - would my instant and thorough removal from beside it, - be altogether welcome? Would I have it stay with me or pass from me? Is the darkness of this world, with its pursuits and pleasures and amusements, its seductions, its associations, its customs and fellowships, - in which God is not, and therefore light is not, - is it a lingering friend to me, or a departing stranger, a retreating foe? "The darkness is passing." Is that true in me, as in Christ, with reference not merely to the darkness of this world that has such a bold on me, but also and chiefly to the darkness of my own shutting out of God; the darkness of my shutting out of God from my own conscious guilt and cherished sin? That is darkness indeed. Is it passing? Am I glad of its passing? Or am I somehow, and in some measure, loving it still? - so loving-it that I would not have it altogether or all at once pass? Say that my sin is finding me out ; - the sin, generally, of my state and character before God, or some particular sin. Say that 1 am falling away from my first love, or coming again under the dominion of some form of evil ; - that, in some particular matter, my heart is not right with God. So far as that matter is concerned, I would shut out God. I would put in something between him and me; some excuse; some palliating circumstance; some countervailing aspect of goodness; some plea of self-justification of some sort. That is the darkness which, in such a case, I naturally love. And I feel myself drawn to love it, even in spite of ray experience of the more excellent way of guilelessness on my part towards God, and grace on God’s part towards me. But is it passing - this darkness? Is it passing with my own consent? Do I make it free and right welcome to pass? Or do I cleave to it as if I would still have a little of it to abide with me? Ah! this darkness, this shutting out of God! How apt am I, if not to ask it, at least to suffer it, to return and remain. "Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts; and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." "The darkness is passing." Is this my stay, my hope, my joy in the hour of its fiercest power? When it gathers thickest and falls heaviest, hiding God’s face from me; when all about me and in me is so dark that I cannot see my signs; when a sense of guilt sinks me as in a dark pit, and "the sorrows of death compass me, and the pains of hell get hold upon me, and I find trouble and sorrow; " - -let me fasten on this "thing which is true in Christ and in me, that the darkness is passing." I am suffering with Christ, undergoing a kind of crucifixion with him. To me, as to him, - to me conscious of sin, my own and not another’s, - the cup of wrath is presented. On me, as on him, the awful blackness of that day of doom settles down. To me, as to him, sin is indeed exceeding sinful; and the death, which is its wages, terrible. Sold under sin, I am consciously, with a keen and nervous sensitiveness of conscience, dying that death. My faith is failing. Unbelief all but has the mastery. But a new commandment is given me, and a new power, at the critical moment, to realise it as a thing true in Christ, and therefore true in me, that this darkness is passing. In him it is true only through his draining the cup of wrath, dying the accursed death for me. O my soul, bless thou the Lord, that it is already and most graciously true in thee, because so terribly true in him, that, without cost to thee, though with infinite cost to him, this great darkness passes away for ever! 2. "The true light is now shining." This "thing also is true in Christ and in you ;" in you as in Christ; in you because in Christ. And it is to be apprehended and felt as true now. The true light now shineth. It is not said that this true light is to shine hereafter. This is not represented as a benefit to be got, or as a reward to be reached, after the darkness shall have passed. It is a present privilege or possession, - a thing which is true in Christ and in you, - that all the time the darkness is passing the true light is shining. "Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee." That is the gospel call to the Church and to every member of it. It is true, as a great fact, in you as in Christ, that the true light now shineth. Its present shining is in you, as truly as in him, a blessed reality. For this true light now shining, which is a true thing in you as in Christ, is simply what Christ found it to be; God’s loving eye upon you, and your single eye towards God. That is the true light now shining. And the fact of its now shining while the darkness is passing, is the thing which is to be recognised as true, in you as in Christ. That is the "new commandment ;" a commandment always new; conveying in its bosom an ever-fresh experience, pregnant with ever-fresh experimental discoveries of him who is light, and who dwells in light. Only act up to this commandment; be ever acting up to it more and more. Enter into the spirit of it, and follow it out to its fair and full issues. The newness of it, its constant novelty, will be more and more apparent, or at least more and more felt and relished. A loving Father’s eye ever fixed upon you, and a filial eye in you ever fixed upon him ; - that, I repeat, is the true light now shining in you as in Christ. It is not outward revelation only; it is inward illumination as well. It is the Spirit that dwelt in Christ dwelling also in you; shedding abroad in your hearts the love of God, and calling forth the simple response of obedient love in return. Let no child of God say that this shining of the true light must be reserved for the future. The true light shineth in him as in Christ now. The new commandment concerning it is in force now. It is a great fact, a thing which is true in Christ,- not in Christ considered as glorified, but in Christ humbling himself, in Christ walking, in Christ crucified, - that not only is the darkness passing, but the true light is now shining. It is, it should be, it must be, it shall be, a great fact, a thing that is true, in you also. Is it not so? Why should it not be so? Is not that great, open eye of your Father in heaven continually beholding you? Yes! Even when in a little wrath he hides his face from you, even when he smites you with the rod, are you not under that benignant eye? And on your part, through grace, may not this voice be ever going upwards to the throne of grace? "Behold, as the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mistress; so our eyes wait upon the Lord our God, until that he have mercy upon us" (Psalms 123:2). Thus it is "true in him and in you, that the darkness is passing, and the true light shineth." And it is ever a new oracle of divine grace. It will always be so to the pilgrim on his way through the dark wilderness to divinely lighted Canaan. It will always be so, at every step, to you who, abiding in God, walk even as Christ also walked. When faint and weary because of the way, tempted almost to give up, and to give in, as if your striving against sin were all in vain, and your endurance of the contradiction of sinners against yourself more than flesh and blood can stand, call to mind this word - " Which thing is true in him and in you, that the darkness is passing, and the true light now shineth." It is a new word to you then, a new assurance, a new appeal. It dissipates the gloom that is enshrouding all things to your view. "Lo! they are all new in the true light that is shining. Whenever the old shadows are flinging themselves again across your path, the old misgivings and questionings, the old doubts and fears, the old partial dealings with God’s promises in the word of his gospel, the old hesitancies about the freeness of his grace, and the sufficiency of his great salvation, and your title to believe in the forgiveness of your sins; call to mind this word: "Which thing is true in him and in you, that the darkness is passing, and the true light now shineth." It rings as a new Jubilee trumpet. It breathes new life into you. For "in that day thou shalt say, O Lord, I will praise thee: though thou wast angry with me, thine anger is turned away, and thou comfortedst me. Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and not be afraid: for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and nay song: he also is become my salvation." Are old frames coming back upon me: old ways of thinking and feeling about the service of God, and the troubles of life, and the terrors of death; the old ideas as to God being an hard master, and his commandments being grievous; the old spirit of bondage, the old servile grudging, the old rebelliousness, that makes duty irksome, and self-denial hard, and labour thankless, and the whole doing of God’s will a dull routine or dreary task? Let me call to mind this word: "Which thing is true in him and in you, that the darkness is passing, and the true light now shineth." Is it not a new and spirit-stirring summons to me? Is it not a new gospel to me? Is it not a new quickening, a new awakening? Is it not a new prayer that it prompts? - -" Create in me a clean heart, O Lord; and renew a right spirit within me." And now, connecting the two verses which we have been considering separately, we may see how John, being "a scribe instructed unto the kingdom of heaven," is "like unto a man that is an householder, which bringeth forth out of his treasury things new and old." He probably had in his view a class of men, not uncommon in his day, who thirsted for novelties, if not in the doctrines of the gospel themselves, at least in the way of setting them forth; upon whom the primitive simplicity that is in Christ was beginning to pall; by whom the commonplace preaching of the cross was felt almost to have become effete, and to have lost its stimulating power. John will not pander to such a taste. He has been discoursing about high matters; but he is careful to assure his readers that they are not the sort of novelties for which some have a craving. There is nothing really new in his teaching. It is the old word which has been heard from the beginning; the same word that "Paul and Apollos and Cephas" proclaimed; the same word that John has been always reiterating. But if any will have novelty, here is a safe receipt for it. Let them make the old word new in their own experience by the ever-fresh practical application of it, in the ever-fresh practical apprehension of the "thing which is true in Christ and in them, that the darkness is passing, and the true light now shineth." For though doctrinal Christianity is always old, experimental Christianity is always new. The gospel preached to us is old; but the gospel realised in us is always new. Christ set forth before our eyes is always old; but "Christ in us the hope of glory," - " Christ dwelling in our hearts by faith," - Christ becoming more and more, through the Spirit’s teaching, part and parcel of our whole inner man - This Christ is always new. X. BROTHERLY LOVE A TEST AND MEANS OF BEING AND ABIDING, WITH GUILELESS SPIRIT, IN THE LIGHT, INSTEAD OF WALKING IN DARKNESS. "He that saith he is in the light, and hateth his brother, is in darkness even until now. He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him: but he that hateth his brother is in darkness, and walketh in darkness, and knoweth not whither he goeth, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes." - 1 John 2:9-11. "He that saith he is in the light" is one who professes to obey the "new commandment;" to realise in himself, personally, the new position or state of things implied in its being "true in Christ and in him," - in him as in Christ, - "that the darkness is passing and the true light is now shining." He says he is in the light which is now shining and chasing the darkness away. But he hateth his brother; one who says the same thing; one in whom, as in Christ and in him, the same thing is true. He refuses to recognise him as a brother, or to regard him with brotherly love. And that is enough to prove that he cannot really be himself one of those in whom, as in Christ, "this thing is true, that the darkness is passing and the true light is now shining." On the other hand, "he that loveth his brother," - he that loves as his brother one in whom, as in Christ and in himself, "this thing is true, that the darkness is passing and the true light is now shining," - not only shows thereby that he speaks truth when he says he is in the light, but takes, moreover, the most effectual means for securing his continuing in the light; so abiding in the light that there shall be in him nothing to occasion stumbling. But let him be warned. If he is destitute of this brotherly love, he cannot be in the light, the true light which is now shining. He is in darkness; the darkness which, in all that are Christ’s, as in Christ himself, is passing. And according to the darkness in which he is, must his walk be. It cannot be the walk of one in whom there is no occasion of stumbling. It must be the walk of one who is darkly groping his way, not knowing whither he is going. Nor is this his misfortune; it is his fault. There is light enough, but he refuses to see it; he allows the darkness to blind his eyes. This cursory analysis of these verses may suggest for consideration the following particulars respecting brotherly love : - I. Its nature as being a brotherhood of light; II. The reasonableness of its being made a test of being in the light; and III. The fitness of its continued exercise to ensure continued abiding in the light. I. Brotherly love consists in this, that they in whom, as in Christ, this thing is true, that the darkness is passing and the true light is shining, recognise one another as, in that character, and on that account, brethren. That is the first aspect of brotherly love suggested in this Epistle. Look again, in this connection, at "this thing which is true." See the vast cauldron or wide ocean of darkness; restless, tumultuous, angry. It is the chaos of moral evil; the wild anarchy of ungodliness; in which, God being shut out, spirits made in his image "wander up and down for meat, and grudge if they are not satisfied" (Psalms 59:15). Into this darkness, into the thick of it, one plunges himself, who has no affinity with it, and over whom it has no power. But he is in it; acquainting himself with all its terrors and sounding its utmost depths. He ransacks the chambers of the darkness. Its powers and principalities he defies; its works and ways, its poor expedients of relief, its miserable comforters, its refuges of lies, he remorselessly lays bare. But more than that he does. He marches straight up to the fountain-head of the horrid stream that has made so vast a desolation. That shutting out of God, which is the real blackness of this darkness, he deals with. To make reconciliation, to make peace, he takes upon himself my dark death, in order that the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of life and light, may quicken and gladden me in him. Yes! the darkness is upon him. Its death is upon him; the death in which there is sin’s dark sting and God’s dark curse. But it is passing; and already the true light is shining. The eclipse is over; and lo! a bright cloud! a glorious Shechinah! The righteous God glorified! The loving Father well pleased! The Son himself, - yet not for himself, but as "seeing his seed," - rejoicing and giving thanks! Now it is with us as with Christ, when in us, as in Christ, "this thing is true, that the darkness is passing, and the true light is shining." For, first, in Christ, our position with reference to that darkness is changed from what it naturally is. It is reversed. The terrible flood is not now carrying us away; we stem it holding him - he holding us. We see it passing. Yesterday it was hurrying me along in its strong deep tide, to what ocean I knew not, and scarcely cared, or did not venture, to ask. Shutting my eyes, I was content to follow the stream. Or if at times some rude shock or some eddying whirl gave me pause, and a momentary alarm seized me as I saw signs of wreck and ruin on every side, I could but catch convulsively some frail stem or slippery rock; or desperately toss and struggle like some "strong swimmer in his agony." Now all is changed. By grace in Christ, I am in a new way. My head is turned up the stream, and against it. At first it is a fearful struggle. What waves and billows go over me. No breath, no life is in me. I am lost, I perish! But lo! Christ is with me; HE who "liveth and was dead, and is alive for evermore." He grasps me, and I grasp him. Together we rise, through such a death as I never thought I could survive, to such a life as - -how shall I describe it?. How but in inspired words, "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him." "The things which God hath prepared for them that love him?" Yes! For they are prepared in order to their being presently realised. "The true light now shineth." As my head is raised, leaning on his shoulder and his bosom; as my feet begin to touch the rock on which, though fierce floods may still try to drown me, my goings are to be established; as I feebly open my heavy eyes in the upper atmosphere I am now beginning to breathe; what bright warm beam is that which lightens up the face of him in whose arms I am, and lightens up ray heart as I look and gaze on him, and cling and grow to him! It is the Father loving me as he loveth him. It is "the darkness passing and the true light now shining." Then, as the first confused and rapturous joy of my own narrow escape becomes collected and calm, I look around. And I see him - for he multiplies himself and is everywhere - I see him doing the same kind office to one, and another, and another still, that he is doing to me. Here, close beside me, - there, a little farther off, - is a man like myself, in whom as in me ; - because in his Lord and mine ; - "the darkness is passing and the true light is shining." I look still, and my sight grows clearer as the light grows brighter. Here and there, all over, the surface of the dark ocean-stream is studded with miracles of saving mercy, as stupendous as I am myself; I, the chief of sinners, saved by special and as it were chiefest grace. At first I feel as if all around were still thick impenetrable gloom; and I alone were in the fond embrace of one who "loved me, and gave himself for me." But he tells me that he has others; and I see that he has. I see him embracing them because he loved them, and gave himself for them. Shall I not hail them as my brethren? Can I hate, or refuse to love, one who is my brother on such a footing as that?. Can any cause of coldness or estrangement have more power than the tie that should thus unite?vv II. Hence it is that the existence of this brotherly love is a fitting test of our being "in the light." At all events, the absence of it is conclusive proof that we are not. For, consider what this hating, or not loving, our brother is; and what it involves. Here is one who but yesterday was, as we once were, carried helplessly on in the darkness that, as it passes, sweeps so many to destruction. But he has been arrested, and has got a footing. In his experience "the darkness is passing," but he is not now himself passing along with it. He stands against it and stems it. His head being raised above it, catches the cheering beams of heaven’s light. And yet we who say that this is exactly our case, as we admit it to be his, hate that man; look coldly or cruelly on him; refuse to count him a brother! I do not ask if this is consistent. The question is rather - Is it possible?. The apostle says it is not. But why not? It does not always follow that experience of a common danger and a common deliverance makes men brothers. Perhaps it should; where it does not, there is probably something wrong. The bitterest enemies, rescued in their strife from Niagara’s Falls, will scarcely have the heart or the hardihood instantly to renew the fight. If they do, all around will cry shame on them. But there is really nothing in what they have undergone together that has any power, in its own nature, to alter their relations to one another, or their feelings towards one another. They are the same men that they were before; and no one has made peace between them. Here, however, there is a Peacemaker. First, I find myself individually and personally embraced by him, lifted up by him out of the darkness of my deep estrangement from God, into the light of God reconciled countenance; the light of the love of his Father and my Father, his God and my God. Next, I see him dealing with you, my late companion in the darkness, - my late antagonist, if you will, in some of the darkness’s deadly strifes, exactly as he deals with me. I see him embracing you as he embraces me; lifting you up, as he lifts me, out of the same dark dread and dislike of God into the same light of his love. Do I love him who has me in his arms; keeping me so that it continues to be ever "true in him and in me that the darkness is passing, and the true light is shining?" And do I still hate you whom he has in his arms as he has me, and whom he keeps out of the darkness and in the light as he keeps me?. It cannot be. I can no more hate you than I can hate him. I may say that I am in the light; but if I hate you who also are in the light, I am "in darkness even until now." Light is in itself in its very nature and bare shining - a great extinguisher of hatred; especially of hatred among those who should be brethren. It is in the darkness that mistakes occur, and misunderstandings arise. It is in the darkness that injuries are brooded over, and angry passions nursed. If you, brother, and I, are at variance, it is almost certain to be because there is some darkness about us that hinders us from seeing one another clearly. Hence we imagine evil of one another, and impute evil to one another. Let in the light. Let us see one another clearly. Differences between us may still remain; our views of many things may be wide as the poles asunder. But we see that we are men of like passions and like affections with one another. The light shows us that we are true brethren in spite of all. The light here is the light which God is (1 John 1:5), the light in which God is (1 John 1:7). It is the light which is at once his nature and his dwelling-place. First, the light is the divine nature; "God is light." If I am in the light, I am a partaker of the divine nature; my moral nature becomes the same with that of God. This identity is very specially realised in the department of the affections, in the region of the heart. I cannot be in the light - meaning by the light the nature of God, or what God is - without my heart being like his. To be in the light is to be in a high sense Godlike in our preferences, as Christ showed himself Godlike in his preferences when he was here. We know what his preferences were; they were the same as his Father’s. Could it have been said truly of him that he was in the light, if they had been otherwise?. Can I say truly that I am in the light if mine are otherwise?. What then are my preferences? Whom do I prefer and choose? Is it they whom Christ would have preferred and chosen? Is it they whom his Father and mine prefers and chooses? Are the same persons, and the same qualities in persons, likeable and lovely to me that would have been likeable and lovely to Christ, - that are likeable and lovely to God? If not, let me beware lest, though I say I am in the light, I may be in darkness even until now. Again, secondly, the light is God’s dwelling-place; "God is in the light." If therefore I am in the light, then I have the same medium of vision, as well as the same nature, with God. Objects appear to me as they appear to God. And so also do persons. This world’s darkness obscures features and confounds distinctions. The "ruler of its darkness," the "prince of the power of its air," makes that air of such a dense thickness and of such an artificial hue, that men and things look different from what they are: softened, shaded, subdued; or else distorted and discoloured. If I am in the light, that darkness is passing. I am as Christ · was, in whom, even when he was in the midst of that darkness, it was passing, and the true light was shining, showing him men and things in the light in which his Father sees them. Is it so with me? Does that poor God-fearing man appear to me as he would have appeared to Christ, as he appears to God? Do I look at the same things in him that Christ and his Father look at? Do I fasten upon the same characteristics of the man that Christ, if he were in my place, would fasten upon, that his Father and mine is fastening upon? Do the same qualities or adjuncts of the man bulk in my eyes that bulk in theirs? His rags, his unwashed limbs, his sores, as I see him lying a beggar at the rich man’s door; or his ungainly aspect and uncouth manners, as he, a clownish rustic, meets me in my dainty path; things in him and about him that are repulsive or annoying; causes of irritation and offence, for which, right or wrong, I hold him responsible: these I dwell on, and single out for contemplation, and magnify and exaggerate. Counterbalancing excellencies, redeeming virtues; graces flourishing in circumstances in which mine would languish; exercises of patience, meekness, self-denial, charity, that might put all my easy goodness to shame; escape my notice. They are overlooked, or perhaps disparaged and depreciated. These things ought not so to be. They would not be so with him who is the light of men, if he were in my place. They cannot be so with me, if I am really abiding in the light. III. The exercise of brotherly love is fitted to be the means of our continuing in the light, so as to avoid the risk of falling (3 John 1:10). Two benefits are here. First, positively, by means of brotherly love we abide in the light. The law of action and reaction is here very noticeable. Being in the light begets brotherly love, and brotherly love secures abiding in the light. For this brotherly love is simply love to the true light, as I see it shining in my brother as it shines in Christ. And such love to the true light, wherever and in whomsoever it is seen shining as it shines in Christ, must needs cause me to grow up more and more into the true light myself; to grow up into Christ, and God in Christ. There is a well-known principle in ethics that may furnish an illustration here. It is that of sympathy; according to which it is found that our moral instincts, judgments, and emotions, are largely developed by our putting ourselves in our neighbour’s place, so as to see with his eye and feel with his heart. It is a most wholesome corrective of our sentiments on all questions of duty that is thus obtained. But it is more. It is a stimulus and incentive impulse also. If I wrap myself up in myself, becoming a sort of isolated being, bent chiefly or exelusively on the preservation of my own virtue and the cultivation of my own character; my sense of obligation, however sound and alert originally, will be apt to get warped or to grow torpid. Keeping thus aloof from my fellows - self-studious, self-contained, - not only is my conscience towards man dwarfed and dimmed,, but my conscience also towards God. I am by no means so sensitively alive to what he claims and what I owe, as when, even in imagination, I associate with myself a brother, and make his mind and soul, as well as my own, my standing-point. Within the domain of spiritual light and love, a similar fact is to be noted; a similar law or principle holds good. A selfish religionist is sure to become either morbid or stupid. It is by sympathy and brotherhood that the fire of personal Christianity is fanned. For one thing, it is always refreshing to see how the gospel works in others after it has been working, say for years, in us. To observe the process of fresh conversion or quickening, simply as a spectacle,- to watch it as an experiment, - is both interesting and edifying. We look on, in a time of general and remarkable awakening. We read or listen to the details of some well marked missionary movements. Here are new and fresh specimens of people born of the Spirit; men and women created anew in Christ Jesus the Lord. Surely it is good for us to have such specimens presented to us; especially if at any time we have been beginning to lapse into a low and languid apprehension of what living Christianity is, and almost to forget the power of a first sense of sin, and a first sight of Christ ; - a first prayer and a first love. And here brotherly love is all in all. Without it, the brightest and most vivid displays of grace, passing before our very eyes, will be all in vain. If we coldly gaze, or curiously inquire, - to criticise, to speculate, to theorise or systematise; we simply become frozen up in our apathy more and more. Let it be assumed, however, that where God’s work is hopefully going on, there our heart is; that it is there, as a brother’s heart, in full brotherly sympathy with all who are engaged in it, and with all whom they are instrumental in saving ;- that our fraternal fellow-feeling goes along with the evangelist, even in that warmth and enthusiastic zeal which may occasionally transgress the bounds of prudence or of etiquette ; - and that the young converts and newly-enlisted recruits, even in the extremes of their grief and joy, touch a chord within us that awakens the melody of heaven’s home. In a word, let brotherly love be in exercise where brethren are seeking brethren, in the Lord, from among the crowd of the ungodly in the world. Let a lively interest be felt. Let reports be earnestly pondered. Let individual cases be made the subjects of special prayer, and let individual souls be embraced as old familiar faces. We catch the contagion of the excitement into the midst of which we throw ourselves. We get a new and-fresh idea of what the Spirit’s movement is. The light in which these apostles and disciples of a new Pentecost dwell becomes the light in which we also dwell. Its "clear shining after rain" dispels a world of mists and vapours in our otherwise too still and stagnant firmament. Our abiding in the light is thus more vividly realised, the more our brotherly love is exercised. It is so, even when from necessity we are listeners and spectators merely. Many a disabled child of God, lying wakeful upon his bed in the night season, feels himself to be all the more sensibly, consciously, rejoicingly, abiding in the light, for the brotherly thought and brotherly prayer he sends far across the ocean ; - to yonder missionary with burning lips, preaching Jesus to some stricken soul, - or to some saved sinner, full of a newly-found Saviour, and shouting aloud for joy. Much more may this be the effect when we are permitted personally to take part, as fellow-workers and fellow-helpers with the Son, in what he is doing on the earth for the scattering of hell’s darkness and the spreading of heaven’s light. My own soul prospers as I care for the souls of others. My abiding in the light myself is more and more to me a matter of actual joyous experience and assurance, for every brother into whose being in the light and abiding in the light I, as a brother, enter. It is as if his abiding in the light were added to mine. I appropriate his soul-exercise and make it mine. All different ways of abiding in the light may thus become mine, and I may have the good of them all. How wide and potent is the spell which my brotherly love may thus wield! It lays its hand on the dead; and I have brotherhood with Paul, and John, and Peter; and a whole host of worthies; and a dear cherished friend or two, but :yesterday called home. They all abode in the light; in them all the true light shone, as in Christ. But no one of them was in this exactly as any other. They are all, however, available to enhance and intensify my abiding in the light. The sympathy of brotherly love gives me an insight into all their frames, and a fellowship with them in all their feelings. But "the living, the living, they praise God!" Let my brotherly love carry me out to living Christians, and lay me alongside of them, and win for me entrance into their hearts. Let me share their abiding in the light as they may share mine. Let me be helpful to my brother as regards his abiding in the light. Let me, with a brother’s tender hand, remove whatever trouble or sorrow or want may interfere with the bright clearness of the light in which he abides. Let me, with a brother’s wise affection, win him more and more into the light’s meridian glory. Let me do him all brotherly offices by which his abiding in the light may become less embarrassed and more free and joyous. The whole good is mine as much as his. Thus "he that loveth his brother abideth in the light." This is a positive benefit to himself. And it implies another benefit. For, secondly, "there is none occasion of stumbling in him." This is a negative advantage; but it is great. Its greatness will appear if we consider the case of him who is described as wanting it. "He that hateth his brother is in darkness, and walketh in darkness, and knoweth not whither he goeth, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes" (1 John 2:11). The case put must be viewed as that of one who is so far in earnest as to be really aiming heavenward. He may be even a most painstaking seeker of the heavenward way, and a plodding walker in whatever way he takes to be it. Such was many a Pharisee, like Paul in his days of elaborate self-righteousness. Such was many a Gnostic, or knowing one, among those whom John, I doubt not, had in his view when he was writing this verse. Take a devotee of that sort, engrossed in some self-purifying and self-perfecting spiritual discipline. "He hateth his brother." That means, in John’s phraseology, he is destitute of brotherly love. He has no warm brotherly sympathy with other believers. He may have no positive ill-will to any man; on the contrary, in a sort of vague and general way he may think he wishes all men well. But he has no special affection for godly men as such, for children of the light. He is taken up with the care of his own soul, and his preparation for serving and enjoying God now and afterwards. I purposely state the case in its most favourable aspect. Now how does such a man really walk? One might suppose that, having nothing to do but to mind his own steps, he must walk very wisely and surely. But alas! the dreary, dismal records of ascetic and monastic piety prove that its walk is a terrible groping in the dark. Was ever the path of any of these recluses, even the holiest, "like the shining light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day?" Is it not rather a desperate plunging and floundering through mire and filth, amid stones and pitfalls, in the face of grisly phantoms of sin and hell? The man is bent on righting himself; ridding himself of lust; leaving behind him the world, the devil, and the flesh; working himself up into a state of serene and passionless equanimity, like that transcendental quiescence and repose in which he supposes God to dwell. It is a high though a visionary aim. For the attainment of it what efforts will he not put forth! what sacrifices will he not make! to what self-flagellation, self-laceration, bodily and spiritual, will he not submit! And yet what is it all but wandering as in a starless night?. Incessant failure; disappointment after disappointment; new expedients resorted to in vain; now, for a moment, a supernatural trance, an ecstatic rapture, to be followed instantly by a fierce gust of unhallowed passion, or some horrid St. Anthony’s temptation! Truly the man knoweth not whither he goeth. His eyes become so blinded that the very light is to him as darkness. The light of the glorious gospel itself fails to illuminate and enlarge his soul. The absence of sympathy; brotherly sympathy; first with the elder brother, and then with the little ones in him, explains it all. For now let brotherly love abound. Try the more excellent way, not of working in upon yourselves that you may be perfect, but of going out after Christ the Shepherd, and going forth by "the footsteps of the flock." Leave the cell, the cloister. Quit even the too exclusive use of the study, the closet. Or at least learn to make the study as wide, the closet as capacious, as the great heart of him with whom you commune in the study, to whom you pray in the closet. For that is brotherly love. It is your loving whom your Father loves; and loving as he loves. It is the elevating, sanctifying, expanding of your heart, till it becomes, in a sense, of the same character and compass with the holy, loving heart of your Father in heaven. You are not shut up in self, any more than he is. You are abroad among men as he is. There is no longer in you that painful spirit of bondage which is for ever causing offences and the fear of them; occasioning stumbling-blocks at every turn; making every step nervous and uneasy. Saved yourselves by grace, gratuitous and rich and full; loved with an everlasting love; grasped in the arms, in the bosom, of him in whom and in you, as now one, "the darkness is passing and the true light is now shining," - your spirit is free; your heart enlarged. Being loved, you love. The scales of selfishness fall from off your eyes. Christ sends you to his brethren: "Go tell my brethren." And as you go to them with Christ’s message and on Christ’s errand, and make them more and more your brethren as they are his, you clearly see your way. He makes it clear. And you walk at liberty when you have respect to all his commandments; "loving your brother, and so abiding in the light." One thought; may be allowed, in closing, as to the peculiar blessedness of there being no occasion of stumbling in you. Occasions of stumbling there will be, enough and to spare, till the end of your course on earth. "It must needs be that offences come." Even Jesus had his stumbling-blocks, his occasions of stumbling, in his path. Peter was one of these when he withstood his going up to Jerusalem. Even the brother you love may be an offence, an occasion of stumbling, to you by the way. But it is something to have none occasion of stumbling within; to be purged of malice and partial counsel; to have the narrowing and blinding influence of the love of sin and the love of self exchanged for the broad, clear, free vision and action of the love of God, and Christ, and the brethren, and all men; to have "the eye single" and "the whole body" therefore "full of light." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 3: 01.2. CHAPTERS 11 - 20 ======================================================================== ONE JOHN Parts 11 - 20 XI. THE GUILELESS SPIRIT ABIDING IN THE LIGHT IN ITS THREEFOLD ASPECT OF CHILDHOOD, FATHERHOOD, AND YOUTH. I write unto you, little children, because your sins are forgiven you for his name’s sake. I write unto you, fathers, because ye have known him that is from the beginning. I write unto you, young men, because ye have overcome the wicked one. I write [have written] unto you, little children, because ye have known the Father. I have written unto you, fathers, because ye have known him that is from the beginning. I have written unto you, young men, because ye are strong, and the word of God abideth in you, and ye have overcome the wicked one.” 1 John 2:12-14. These verses form, I think, a break or interruption in the apostle’s line of argument. There is, as it were, a pause. John calls upon those to whom he writes to consider, not only what he is writing to them, but what they themselves are to whom he is writing what is their character and standing; what he is entitled to assume in and about them as likely to ensure a favourable reception of his message. This is a common apostolic method. It is a courteous and complimentary way of insinuating advice; taking for granted the attainments to be enforced. But it is far more than that; and it is so emphatically here. It is a trumpet-call, summoning all the faithful to a recognition of their real and true position before God; and that with a view to theft receiving aright what his servant is now writing to them—or, it may be, before this letter reaches them, has written to them—of the divine fellowship of light and love. How then does John address us here? As "little children," "fathers," "young men." These triads or triplets come in twice. There are two sets of propositions or state-merits, each of them three in number, and evidently corresponding and parallel to one another. The one set of three is introduced by the verb in the present tense, "I write;" the other set of three by the verb in the past tense, "I have written." For the authority of manuscripts, critically weighed, as well as the whole structure and symmetry of the passage, requires us so far to amend our present text as to make the last clause of the thirteenth verse consistent with the fourteenth, "I have written unto you, little children." Clearly there are two parallel lines running thus :- I. "I write unto you, little children, because your sins are forgiven you for his name’s sake." "I write unto you, fathers, because ye have known him that is from the beginning." "I write unto you, young men, because ye have overcome the wicked one." "I have written unto you, little children, because ye have known the Father." "I have written unto you, fathers, because ye have known him that is from the beginning." "I have written unto you, young men, because ye are strong, and the word of God abideth in you, and ye have overcome the wicked one. ‘" In either series, in each of the two, "little children" is the endearing term first employed. It is not indeed the same word in the original in both instances; but the words are of the same import, and can scarcely be rendered differently. They are the words usually employed by John, and employed by him indiscriminately, when he is tenderly and affectionately addressing believers. They are, both of them, his common and customary words of love -" little children," or babes, "children," or boys. Children, little children, they all are; all alike to whom, as he says, he writes or has written. As such, as little children, he first addresses them all, and appeals to them all collectively. But then, secondly, he separates them into two classes,-" fathers" and "young men" - old and spiritually exercised Christians on the one hand, and on the other hand, those who are in the fresh and vigorous prime of recent but yet manly Christian experience. All alike are "little children;" but some are "fathers," ripe for glory; others are "young men," strong for work. Such, as I apprehend, is the real primary meaning of this threefold appeal of John. But what of the repetition of it?- and the repetition of it with a change of the tense from the present to the past? It is a very emphatic reiteration; having in it a pathos that should be very affecting. The apostle first realises his own position as he is writing now, "I write." Then he realises what may be the position of those to whom he writes when they receive what he is writing now. To you it may come as what "I have written;" the writer having himself been taken home. I am now writing to you as "little children;" to all of you alike I am writing thus lovingly. To some of you, however, I write as to "fathers ;" to others of you I write as to "young men." Let all that be marked and felt when you come to read what I am now writing. All the more because you may have to read it as what I have written; as my parting words to you. The present tense answers well enough now, when I am writing. But I am an old man; and the past tense may .be the right one very soon, even before you can be reading what I am now writing. In any view receive it as what I solemnly and deliberately write; or, if I am gone, as what I have solemnly and deliberately written; my last legacy, my dying charge. Receive it as my full and final testimony to I you, on the subject of what you ought to know, and to be and to do, as "little children," as "fathers," as "young men." It is all I have to write: and I write it with all the earnestness of one who, before you read it, may have passed away. I write it as my farewell word. Thus viewed, the appeal in these verses is surely very impressive and affecting. Let us look at it, first in itself, and secondly in the connection in which it stands. I. Considered in itself, the appeal recognises, on the one hand, a common character in all believers, that of "little children," and on the other hand a distinction between "fathers" and "young men." 1. In addressing us all as little children, John makes a distinction between his first and his second appeal. In the first it is "because your sins are forgiven you for his name’s sake ;" in the second it is "because ye have known the Father." In addressing us as separated into two classes,-as fathers and youths respectively,--he merely repeats in the second appeal almost literally what he had said in the first. But in addressing us all as his beloved little ones, he varies the thought. The variation, however, is slight. It is the same thought in reality, only put in somewhat different lights. For the Father is truly known, only in the forgiveness of our sins for his Son’s name sake. It is when we suffer the Son to take us by the hand and lead us home to the Father, and when we discover, in our experience, how the Father deals with us when the Son presents us to him, saying, "Behold I and the little ones whom thou hast given me," - it is then, and then only, that we begin to know the Father. Up till that time we have not known him; we have worshipped him perhaps, but it has been ignorantly; we have misunderstood him, and done him great injustice in our esteem of him. We have had hard thoughts of him; of his character and government and law; of his treatment of us and his requirements from us; or his ways and his commandments; nay, even of his very mercy itself. But we are moved to trust in the name of Jesus, and to make trial of the power of that name with the Father. And what a gushing tide of forgiveness and fatherly love does it cause to rush in upon our souls! How rich and free is the measure and manner of the Father’s pardoning grace! We do thus really know the Father; for we know him through our sense and experience of his fatherly love in the forgiveness of our sins for his Son’s name’s sake. 2. The appeal is next made to the two classes or companies into which we may be divided; those who are fathers in Israel; and those who are young men. Ye fathers in Israeli the argument with you is, that "ye have known him that is from the beginning." You have reached a higher, deeper, more satisfying knowledge of Christ, as "him that is from the beginning," than that which is common to all the household of faith, all the little ones given to him by the father. Your clear and calm insight into the glorious person of him for whose name’s sake your sins are forgiven, and who thus introduces you to the knowledge of the Father; your mature acquaintance with him, in his eternal relation to the Father and oneness with the Father from the beginning ;--should move you to give the more earnest heed to this writing or epistle of mine both now and when I am gone. Ye youths, ye young men, the flower of the army of the Lord of Hosts! I have a hold on you also. You I summon, "for ye have overcome the wicked one" (1 John 2:13); "ye are strong, and the word of God abideth in you, and ye have overcome the wicked one" (1 John 2:14). As good soldiers of Christ, I would remind you of your high vocation; of what is committed to you; of what is expected of you. Your sphere is the field of battle. The quiet of contemplative study may best suit aged saints, advanced disciples, "fathers ;" who may best serve the cause by enlarging, under the ;Spirit’s teaching, their own and the Church’s knowledge of the Eternal Word; elevating their own and the Church’s · views of the Son in the bosom of the Father. But the vigour of spiritual youth points to the never-ending conflict between the seed of the woman and the seed of the serpent, as your special department. For you are called to wage war ‘with the wicked one. And .you have every encouragement to do so. You have overcome him already in Christ, for he has overcome him. You have but to follow up and follow out the conquest. You are strong, and the word of God abideth in you. And through that word which testifies of Christ’s victory abiding in you, the foe is already vanquished. You have overcome the wicked one. To believers of all ages, to Christians in every stage of advancement, the apostle thus appeals. He first urges arguments and considerations applicable to all alike as little children; and then such as are proper to fathers, and such as are proper to young men. By these various and accumulated motives, he conjures us to give heed to his teaching in this epistle. It is a very solemn, as well as a very full and comprehensive appeal. And the place in which it stands in the epistle renders it still more emphatic. II. It stands between two opposite precepts; the one positive; the other negative; "Love the brotherhood" (1 John 2:9-11); "Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world" (1 John 2:15). To love the Father, and the brethren as the Father’s family ;--not to love the world lying in the wicked one ;--these are the contrasted commands between which the apostle’s earnest and affectionate appeals occur. Doubtless these appeals cover the whole epistle; all that John is writing; all that they to whom he writes are to regard him as having written, when the writing reaches them, perhaps after the writer is no more. But they bear immediately on loving the brethren, and not loving the world. The distinction is created by what John has just been dwelling upon; the "thing which is true in Christ and in you, that the darkness is passing, and the true light is now shining." For light is a divider. It was so at the first creation (Genesis 1:3-4): "God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness;" he divided between the light and the darkness. It is so in the new creation. The entrance of the light into the world: its entrance into the hearts of as many as are in Christ; necessarily causes a division. It unites by a new bond of brotherhood the children of the light among themselves. And it separates between them and the world. The separation, or distinction, is not of their own making, but of God’s. He is in the light. He is himself the light. It is he who is the divider, and not they. Nor is the distinction of such a sort as to feed or nurse vaingloriousness on our part, or to be invidious as regards the world. Far otherwise. It is fitted to humble us in the very dust, as often as we think,--and when do we not think?--of what we are in ourselves, and but for sovereign mercy must ever have been‘ of what many, very many, around us are; less guilty, by many degrees, than we; and more likely than we to win, not only earth’s approval, but, one would almost say, even heaven’s favourable regard too. What am I? And what are they?. Ah! it is in no spirit of supercilious self-complacency, or self-congratulation, that we associate together as brethren in the Lord, if indeed the true light is shining in us as in Christ, so as to show us the blackness of the darkness that is passing, and in its passing is hurrying to a fatal shipwreck so much that is fair and generous and lovely. No! nor is it with cool indifference that we look on and see its victims struggling in its fierce tide, or sinking lethargic in its quieter and deadlier eddies - feeling, as we do, that there is not one among them who deserves the horrid doom so much as we; and knowing as we do that there is not one whom grace may not make, as grace alone makes any one of us, a member of the brotherhood of light. The division which the light occasions assuredly affords no ground of boasting or of disdain. Nevertheless, it is to be recognised and realised; we must apprehend and feel it. One great design of John, in this whole epistle, is to bring us to a full apprehension and feeling of it; of what it is; and of all that it implies. The line is sharp; the preference must be decided. We have to choose whom we are to love and like, the brethren, or the world. Now it is for the enforcing of a firm choice and a decided preference on the right side, that John makes his double, and doubly emphatic, appeal to us, as little children, fathers, young men. It is not for our consolation merely, our personal satisfaction and comfortable assurance, that he reminds us of the exceeding great privileges which, as little children, as fathers, as young men, we possess; as little children, having our sins forgiven for the Son’s name’s sake, and in that way knowing the Father; as fathers, knowing him that is from the beginning; as young men, having overcome the wicked one. These are all high and blessed attainments, and the consciousness of our right to them in Christ is doubtless a legitimate source of humble, holy, thankful joy. But it is not merely in order that our joy may be full that John dwells so earnestly on these elements of our oneness with Christ in the light. It is for a more practical purpose; that we may be roused to some adequate sense of the duty of love which we owe to every brother in whom, as in Christ and in us, the darkness is passing and the true light is now shining; and of the attitude which it is best for us to maintain towards the world; best with a view to our own consistency and safety; best also in the view of what is true kindness and faithfulness to the world itself. Let us look then again at these appeals, in the light in which John’s practical design or object in introducing them may seem to place them. In so looking at them, it is not necessary now to consider the apostle as formally classifying us, according to our different stages of advancement, either in the life natural, or in the life spiritual. We all are, we all should be, little children, fathers, young men ;--all three together ;--little children, in respect of our having our sins forgiven for the Son’s name’s sake, and so knowing the Father; fathers, in respect of our loving insight into the mystery of the Son’s being from the beginning; young men, in respect of our overcoming the wicked one. By what we are, in all these three aspects of our spiritual history and experience, John solicits our attention to this letter of his and to its teaching; specially that we may love our brother, and not love the world. I. We are little children, and it is the instinct of little children to cling to home, and shrink from the strange world outside. What makes us little children? What but our being moved and made willing to. accept the forgiveness of our sins for the Son’s name’s sake, and our coming, in that way, to know the Father? The Lord says, "Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven." Our conversion therefore makes us little children. For in our conversion the Spirit takes out of us the proud, cold, hard heart of manhood: and creates in us the meek heart of childhood, of "the holy child Jesus." For manhood’s heart in me, hackneyed in suspicion and selfishness, recoils from subjection to God, and resents the idea of dependence and indebtedness. I must needs justify myself; I will do something to put myself right. Even when I arise to go to my father, it is with the purpose of asking a hired servant’s food in recompense of a hired servant’s work. I aha only thoroughly subdued when! suffer my Father to forgive me freely, and take me more lovingly to his bosom than he would have done if I had never gone astray. Then I am indeed a little child. All the pride of manhood’s self-righteousness, all the stubbornness of manhood’s self-will, is gone out of me. I am vain, as when I was an infant at my mother’s knee, to have my burdened and broken heart relieved by a flood of penitential tears, as I confess all, and am clasped in an embrace that assures me, oh how feelingly! that all is pardoned. Then, at last, I know the Father,--what sort of Father he is,--when thus, for his Son’s name’s sake, who has got me, ah with what difficulty! to let him relieve me of my load of guilt and grief, and bring me home to his Father and mine,--that Father pardons all my iniquities. Is it so with me?. Then where now will my heart be? A little child’s heart is in the home of loving parents, and brothers, and sisters; away from that home he is uneasy and unsatisfied. Houses of rarest splendour, scenes of fairest beauty, will not reconcile him to prolonged absence from home, and prolonged residence elsewhere. He pines for his father’s well-known smile, and for the companionship of those who share that smile with him. As to all else on earth, he is a stranger among strangers. You are little children - are you not i - converted and become as little children; suffering Jesus to bring you to the Father, to receive his forgiveness and to know his love. You are all of you little children; for such treatment cannot but make you little children. And it is as little children that you are exhorted to love your brother, and not to love the world. II You are fathers. Babes in Christ, new-born babes at first, and in a sense always so, for you are always renewing the experience in respect of which you are little children,--yet, "as new-born babes, you desire the sincere milk of the word that you may grow thereby." Continuing to be children always in respect of malice, the malice of self-conceit and selfseeking, you yet in understanding are men. Nay, you are fathers; you attain to the wisdom and insight proper to those who are of full age, as you grow in grace and in the knowledge of your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.. What makes you fathers is your knowing him that is from the beginning; knowing what we, his apostles, declare to you of that eternal life which was with the Father, and was manifested to us (1 John 1:1-3). It is your being taught and enabled, by the Spirit, to trace up what you experience in time - when as little children you receive forgiveness of your sins for the Son’s name’s sake and so know the Father,--to its source in the eternal counsels of the Godhead; in what the Son is to the Father from everlasting. For now you not merely look to Jesus as accomplishing for you a great work, effecting on your behalf a great deliverance, and ministering to you a great benefit. You delight to connect all this with his being from the beginning; with the love with which the Father has from the beginning loved him ; and "the glory which the Father giveth him because he loved him before the foundation of the world." You rise to a believing apprehension of the .ultimate ground and reason of the whole vast economy of redemption in the deep, unfathomable, unchangeable nature of Jehovah; in the purpose of the Father’s good pleasure to constitute the Son heir of all things; in the covenant securing from of old to the Son, in requital of his humiliation and obedience and death, a people in whom he is to see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied, and for whom as his body he is to be head over all things. It is such knowledge as that, of him who is from the beginning, that should make you fathers in Israel. It is when you rise, by the Spirit’s teaching, to views like these of Christ and his salvation; contemplating the gospel plan, not as a mere afterthought and expedient, to meet an emergency and serve a purpose in time, but as the bright and blessed unfolding to all eternity of what from all eternity the Son is to the Father; dwelling in his bosom; declaring his name; glorifying the Father as the Father glorifies him: it is then, and in that way, that your Christian character acquires a certain ripe and mellow fullness, and your Christian standing comes to partake of the very stability of the Son’s own position, as being from the beginning. You enter into the very mind and heart of God; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. You are no more little children merely; apt to be tossed about, and to be unstable. You are fathers. The fresh feelings of childhood, it is true, must ever continue; for its experiences are ever freshly revived. But along with these there is now the staid fixedness that should distinguish those who have a sort of fatherly place in the house, and take a sort of fatherly view of its inmates and its affairs. And so literally you do, when you know him who is from the beginning. You look at the family, the whole family in heaven and earth named of him, not now merely from a little child’s standing-ground or point of view, but from a father’s standing-ground or point of view; even from the standing-ground or point of view of the great Father himself. Yes! you come to see Christ the Son as the Father sees him; not as it were from before only; from the front; from where your foot is at this moment planted; but from behind, from where the Father sits enthroned in his eternal majesty. Your fatherhood is thus, in a sense, your participation, or at least your sympathy, with the Father in his. You are fathers when, knowing him who is from the beginning, you contemplate the whole of his mighty undertaking, with its results and issues, not merely in the aspect presented to poor sinners on earth, but in the aspect presented to the Eternal Father in heaven. As little children, you let the Son lead you up to the Father, that you may receive forgiveness for his name’s sake, and so may know the Father. As fathers, able now to sympathise with the Father, you find him giving you new knowledge of the Son, as being with him from the beginning. For as "no man knoweth the Father but the Son and he to whom the Son will reveal him," so "no man knoweth the Son but the Father." And you, when as fathers you know him who is from the beginning, become truly sharers of the Father’s knowledge of the Son. This, I repeat, is your fatherhood. It is your entering in a sense into the fatherhood of God. Need I take any pains to show how such a fatherhood as this may well be appealed to as a reason why every one of the family should be to you a brother beloved, and you should not love the world that knows not either the Father or the Son .? A father’s intelligent interest, as well as a child’s loving instinct, must keep your affections always at home. III. You are young men. As such, you are strong. The vigour of manly prime is yours. And you need it all. For the home of brotherhood which you are to love, and the world which you are not to love, are not far apart; at least not yet. They shall be one day, when there shall be a great impassable gulf between them. But they are near one another now. They meet; in my heart within, as well as everywhere without and around me, they meet. Hence, for myself, I have a constant battle to fight, to keep the world out of my heart. Ah! how may that be? How but by the word of God abiding in me? Let that word dwell in me richly. Let it so richly dwell in me that the world when it comes to solicit admittance, or to challenge surrender, or to make a breach, or to spring a mine, shall find no access, no open door, no weak defence, no treacherous longings and lingering likings for some of its good things, ready to betray the citadel, and capitulate to the foe. But alas for me! The world is so strong; so apt to draw me away from loving my brother and his fellowship; to draw me into conformity to its own still too congenial ways! Shall I then faint and grow weary and cease to resist? Nay, let me be strong, and quit me like a strong young man the word of God abiding in me. For, let me remember, I have overcome the wicked one. He is the prince of this world; it lies in his arms; it is he who, by means of it, is strong to overcome me. But I have overcome him. So I am assured by that word of God which abideth in me. He has nothing in me now, any more than he has in Christ. He cannot accuse me now; he has no right to rule me now. I am not now at his mercy, fain to comply with his terms; to win a delusive peace by some poor compromise with him; to be dependent on his lies for a wretched respite from the stings of conscience. I stand now in God’s favour, and may bid defiance to the charges, and assaults of the wicked one. And therefore I can afford and venture to break all terms of truce or amity with the world which lieth in him, and to avow henceforth that I love the Father and the Son and the brethren, in the Holy Spirit. By my youth and manhood, I am summoned to maintain this attitude always. And that not for myself only; that the home of my childhood and fatherhood may be kept from the invasion of the world; but for the sake of other little children, who are still such as I once was, and who are struggling in the dark flood, as I once did. The wicked one would claim them as his own. Let me claim them for my Father. And in stretching out to them a helping hand, let me hear John exhorting me, as a young man, to do so resolutely, because, as he reminds me, "I am strong, and the word of God abideth in me, and I have overcome the wicked one." To sum up all, I can imagine John, at the point at which he has arrived in the composing of this letter - the point of enforcing the brotherhood of believers and its antagonism to the world, - pausing to ask himself, Will these counsels of mine be understood and obeyed?. Will those to whom they are addressed receive them as they are given, in faithfulness and affection? He is moved to make an earnest, and what may be a last appeal to them. What I am writing to you, I write in the fullness of my heart. I know that you believe in Jesus; I give you all credit for being Christians indeed. I appeal to you, by all the motives and considerations that should weigh with you as such. I appeal to you in every view of your Christianity, as little children, fathers, young men. And by all that is implied in your being little children, fathers, young men, I beseech you to hear me. So "I write unto you" Take kindly what I write unto you, as little children, fathers, young men. But, it occurs to him to think, I am old, John the aged. Before the ink I am now using is dry I may have been summoned to my rest. Be it so. Then take it, O my beloved, as what "I have written;" as my last legacy to you. Take it as what I wrote when I felt as if I was bidding you adieu. Take it as my final parting testimony and prayer. As little children, knowing the Father by ever-fresh experience of his rich and free love in forgiving you for his Son’s name’s sake; as fathers, entering intelligently and sympathisingly into the Father’s knowledge of the Son as being from the beginning in his bosom; as young men, strong in him who is the Lord your righteousness, and therefore the Lord your strength; fortified by his word always abiding in you richly; bold and brave in asserting the victory over the wicked one that is already yours as it is Christ’s; by all that is simple in your childhood, by all that is godlike in your fatherhood, by all that is divinely strong in your manhood; be persuaded to give heed to what I write or have written; to love the brotherhood; and not to love the world. XII. THE GUILELESS SPIRIT LOVING NOT THE WORLD, WHICH IS DARKNESS, BUT GOD, WHO IS LIGHT. "Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world." 1 John 2:15-16. The love of the world is here declared to be irreconcilable with the love of the Father. "If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him" (1 John 2:15). And the declaration applies to "the things that are in the world," comprehending "all that is in the world." These are represented under three categories or heads, "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life" (1 John 2:16). They are afterwards reduced to one, "the lust of the world" (1 John 2:17); but in the meantime we have to consider them as three. And, in that view, the sixteenth verse is to be regarded, not as giving the reason for the commandment the fifteenth, but rather as explanatory of its nature; bringing out the contrast between the two incompatible objects of love, the Father on the one hand, and on the other hand the world, whatever form its lust may take. Plainly the world is here represented as an order of things very thoroughly complete in itself; self-contained and self-developing. "All that is in the world" is "of the world." No foreign elements are suffered to intrude; or if they do, the world speedily accommodates and assimilates them to itself. For the world, - what is it? Fallen human nature acting itself out in the human family; moulding and fashioning the framework of human society in accordance with its own tendencies. It is fallen human nature making the ongoings of human thought, feeling, and action its own. It is the reign or kingdom of "the carnal mind," which is "enmity against God, and is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be." Wherever that mind prevails, there is the world. "The things that are in the world" correspond in character to the world itself. The love therefore of any of them is equivalent to the love of the world. I may seem to be, and may suppose that I am, separated from the world. I may have renounced companionship with that visible outstanding circle, in regard to which, as a whole, it may be too plainly seen that it does not admit the true light to shine in it, but is still in the darkness which that light chases away. For there is a circle which may be thus collectively identified. There is a tolerably well-defined mode of life which a spiritual man cannot but recognise as worldly; and there are a set of people who so manifestly conform themselves to that mode of life, and that alone, as to make it impossible for the most tolerant Christian charity to characterise them otherwise than as worldly persons. Let that then be the world, broadly considered. Now I have withdrawn myself from that world; I have no sympathy with its general tone and spirit; I am attached to another order of things. So far, I think I may say that I do not love the world. In its corporate capacity, as it were, it has lost its hold over me. But "the things that are in the world," viewed separately and in detail, may have attractions for me still. I may love them, or some of them, or one of them. If so, it is the same thing to me as if I loved the world itself in the mass. The love of what is in the world, is really the love of the world. Hence the n the things that are in the world. "necessity for breaking up the general notion of "the world" into its contents. The things that are in the world which may attract love, as distinct objects of desire, even when the world as a whole seems to be discarded, are too manifold to be enumerated. But they may be classified; if not according to their own properties or qualities; at any rate, according to the inward dispositions to which they appeal. The apostle thus classifies them under three heads. "All that is in the world" is distributed into "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life." To these three harpies of the soul the world ministers. First, there is "the lust of the flesh." The genitive or possessive here - " of the flesh" denotes, not the object of the desire, but its nature. It is lust of desire of a carnal sort; such as the flesh prompts or occasions. It is the appetite of sense out of order, or in excess. It is not, of course, the appetite of sense itself; that is of God, as the provision for its satisfaction is also of God. The appetite for which food is God’s appointed ordinance, and the appetite for which marriage is God’s appointed ordinance, - the general needs and cravings of the body which the laws of nature and the gifts of providence so fully meet, - the higher tastes which fair forms and sweet sounds delight, - the eye for beauty and the ear or the soul for music ; - these are not, any of them, the lust of the flesh. But they all, every one of them, may become the lust of the flesh. And in the world they do become the lust of the flesh. It is the world’s aim to pervert them into the lust of the flesh, and to pander to them in that character, either grossly or with refinement. All its arrangements, its giddy sports and anxious toils, tend in that direction. Sensuality, or that modification of it now spoken of as sensuousness, enters largely into the world’s fascinating cup. And it may be detached plausibly from what is avowedly and confessedly the world; it may be covertly loved, while the world, as such, is apparently hated. Gluttony, drunkenness, uncleanness; the rage for physical or aesthetical excitement which the ball, the theatre, the gaming-table, if not worse excesses, must appease ; - these forms or modifications of the lust of the flesh may not be for us the most insidious It may creep into our affections disguised almost as an angel of light. A certain fondness for the good things of this life, an unwillingness to forego them, a pleasant feeling of fullness in the enjoyment of them, a growing impatience of any interruption of that enjoyment, - how soon may such a way of tasting even the lawful gratifications of sense grow into selfishness and sin! And then how readily does the imagination admit ideas and fancies the reverse of pure! Through how many channels, the news of the day, the gems of literature, the choicest trophies of the fine arts, poesy, sculpture, song, may unholy desire be kindled! I may be out of the world; but this that is in the world, "the lust of the flesh," may not be out of me. There is, secondly, "the lust of the eyes." This must be distinct from the lust of the flesh. It cannot therefore be that "looking on a woman to lust after her," which the Lord holds to be ‘the commission of adultery in the heart; or that "looking upon the wine-cup when it is red," against which Solomon warns us. The lust of the eyes is something different. It is lust or desire having its proper seat in the region of contemplation, or of onlooking. It is not merely that the flesh lusts through the eyes, or that the eyes minister to the lust of the flesh. The eyes themselves have their own lust. It is lust that can be satisfied with mere sight; which the lust of the flesh never is, nor can be. It is a feeling of such a sort that a bare look or gaze may please or may offend it. For example, I cannot stand the sight of more good in my neighbour’s possession than in my own. I would be relieved if I saw him worse off than I am. That is to a great extent the instinct of corrupt humanity; it is the way of the world. And it is one of the world’s ways that, even when I renounce the world, I am still apt to follow, or that is apt to follow me. I may be one in whom the world’s sensual or sensuous delights no longer stimulate the lust of the flesh. But my eyes are pained when I see the giddy crowd so happy and secure. My bosom swells and my blood boils when I am forced to look on villany triumphant and vice caressed. It may be all righteous zeal and virtuous wrath; a pure desire to witness wrong redressed and justice done. But, alas! as I yield to it, I find it fast assuming a worse character. I would not myself be partaker of the sinful happiness I see the world enjoying; but I grudge the world’s enjoyment of it. "I was envious," says David (Psalms 83:1-18.), "at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked." That was his temptation; it was his infirmity; it formed the sad burden of more than one of his most plaintive Psalms. It was the love of the world in one of its most stealthy and dangerous forms, winning its way into his heart, and supplanting there, for a time, the love of God. Once more, thirdly, there is "the pride of life." Self-indulgence, or "the lust of the flesh," and envious grudging, or "the lust of the eyes," might seem to exhaust "all that is in the world." The whole substance of "the world and the things of the world" is reducible to these two heads, or may be regarded in these two lights: what I long to possess and enjoy myself, and what I cannot calmly bear to see possessed and enjoyed by another. These two views of it exhaust the whole of what is substantial in the world. But the show, the shadow, the semblance, as well as the substance, is something to the world’s vanity, or to my vanity with reference to the world. Nay, it is much; the world’s manifold conventionalisms, for they are indeed manifold, prove it to be much. What pains are taken in the world to save appearances and keep up a seemly and goodly state! It is a business all but reduced to system. Its means and appliances are ceremony and feigned civility. Life is to be ostensibly, nay even ostentatiously, all right. All is to be in good taste and in good style; correct, creditable, commendable. It is the world’s pride to have it so. What is otherwise must be somehow toned down or shaded off; concealed or coloured. Falsehood may be necessary; a false code of honour; false notions of duty, as between man and man, or between man and woman; false liberality and spurious delicacy. Still the world does contrive, by means of all that, to get up and keep up a proud life of its own; a life grand and graceful; having its decencies and respectabilities; yes, and its charities, courtesies, and chivalries too; all very imposing in themselves, and altogether contributing to make the world’s life very imposing as a whole. That I take to be the "pride of life" in the world. In one aspect, it is undoubtedly mean enough. It sets in motion a game of diplomacy and a race of emulation most destructive of all the truer and finer instincts even of unrenewed humanity. It debauches conscience, and is fatal to high aims. It puts the men and women of the world on a poor struggle to outmanoeuvre and outshine one another, to outdo one another, for the most part, in mere externals; while, with all manner of politeness, they affect to give one another credit for what they all know to be little better than shams. Nevertheless, the general effect, r repeat, is imposing. , The world’s "pride of life" is something to be proud of after all. Now of this "pride of life" it is by no means easy even for those who do not love the world to keep themselves altogether clear. It is, as it were, their last worldly weakness. The lust of the flesh may be mortified, crucified, nailed to the cross of Christ ; the lust of the eyes may be overcome by the mighty power of love, the love which "envieth not;" and yet the pride of life may cleave to me. It is so difficult to have done with the world’s seemings, and to come out simply as .what I am. Need I suggest how many sad instances of religious inconsistency and worldly conformity spring from this source? I may acquit you of sensuality or sensuousness, and of selfish jealousy; you are free, as to both of these instruments of the world’s power. But what of its opinion? Have you learned to defy it, or to be independent of it? Can you dispense with the world’s approval and brave its frown? Do you not sometimes find yourselves more afraid or ashamed of a breach of worldly etiquette, - some apparent descent from the customary platform of worldly respectability, - than of such a concession to the world’s forms and fashions as may compromise your integrity in the sight of God, and your right to acquit yourselves of guile? The opinion of the world! What the world will think or say! Ah! that pitiful consideration may often sway or embarrass you when you have no selfish longing or envious grudge to gratify. To a large extent, it is identical with that "fear of man which bringeth a snare." It puts you at the mercy of the idle thoughts and idle words of any onlooker who may presume to judge you. You cannot acquit yourselves altogether of the love of the world so long as you have in your hearts that liking for the world’s good report, or that sensitiveness to the world’s censure, which "the pride of life" implies. And now, for practical use, let three remarks be made. I. Of "all that is in the world" it is said that "it is not of the Father, but of the world." This may be true of things good in themselves, the best things even, when they come to be things "in the world." They may be of the Father originally, in their true and proper nature; but the world appropriates them and makes them its own; and so they cease to be of the Father, and are now simply of the world. The choicest blessings of home, the holiest ordinances of religion, the very gospel itself, may thus come, when once "in the world," to be "of the world." Be not then deceived. Much that meets your eye, as you look on the world and the world’s ways, may seem fair and excellent; graces most attractive, devotions most comely and fervent, amenities most winning, philanthropies most admirable. But God is not really in them all. They "are not of the Father." A pure and simple regard to his will is; not their animating spirit. They are "of the world." There is nothing in them that rises above the natural influences of self-love and social, as these are blended "in the world." Again, 2. "All that is in the world is of the world," wherever it may be found. The three world-powers or world principles are, always and everywhere, "not of the Father but of the world." They may be in the Father’s house; they may be in the hearts of the Father’s children; but they are none the better for their being there. They are not themselves cleansed or hallowed by what they come in contact with, however pure and however holy. But all that they touch they smite with leprosy and wither into impotent paralysis. Let us beware then of letting into the sanctuary and shrine of our soul, now become the dwelling-place of God by his Spirit, anything that savours of the world’s sloth and self-indulgence, or of the world’s jealousy and envy, or of the world’s vain pomp and pride. No matter though, as we think, we do not now love the world, but are separated from its friendship, if still we love any of the things of the world. For "all that is in the world is not of the Father, but of the world." And "if any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him." Finally, 3. Let us remember that the world which we are not to love, because "all that is in it is not of the Father but is of the world," is yet itself the object of a love on the part of the Father, with which, as his children, having in us his love, we are to sympathise. "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." This is said of the very world which we are commanded not to love; and of that world viewed in the very aspect on account of which we are commanded not to love it; as having nothing in it that is really "of the Father." "God so loved this world," this very world, thus viewed, having nothing in it or about it that he can recognise as his own, as what he made and meant it originally to be, "that he gave his only begotten Son" on its behalf. And he calls upon us so to love it too; with the same sort of love, and with love moving us to the same sort of effort and the same sort of sacrifice. And it is our so loving the world as the Father has loved it, that will be our best security against loving it as the Father forbids us to love it. Let the world be to us what it is to the Father. Let us look at it as the Father looks at it; as a deep dark mass of guilt, ungodliness, and woe. Let us plunge in to the rescue. Let us lay hold of that young man, whom, as we behold him, like Jesus, we cannot help loving. Let us snatch him, for he is not safe, as a brand out of the burning. If we love the world as God loves it, we will have no heart for loving it in any other way. Its attractions, its fascinations, its amiabilities, its sentimentalisms, will have no charm for us. We see in them only snares to catch and ruin souls that we, - that God , - would have to be saved. We cannot love, with any love of complacency, the world which we love in sympathy with him who "sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved." XIII. THE GUILELESS SPIRIT, AMID THE DARK WORLD’S FLOW, ESTABLISHED IN THE LIGHT OF GODLINESS. "And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever." - 1 John 2:17. The expression here used concerning the world and its lust, is the same as that used in the eighth verse concerning the darkness: it is "passing away." The world, with its lust, is in this respect identical with the darkness. They partake at least of a common quality or property; they pass, or are passing. There is more meant here than merely that "the things which are seen are temporal." The fleeting nature of this whole earthly scene is doubtless a useful topic of reflection; but it is not exactly what is suggested in this verse. The idea of the darkness being a vanishing element is still the leading thought. The prince of darkness, though he may keep up appearances for a while, is like a beaten foe, drawing off from the disputed territory. Through the shining of the true light, the darkness is passing; and in the same sense "the world passeth away, and the lust thereof." "But he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever," for he is one in whom, as in Christ, "the darkness is passing, and the true light now shineth." I. The characteristic of the world is that it does not "do the will of God ;" it is the sphere or region in which the will of God is not done. The lust of the world is not doing the will of God. Take it in any of its forms. Let it be the lust of the flesh; as "lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God," you are doing your own will and not God’s. Let it be the lust of the eyes, envying others who prosper more than you; then it is the thwarting of their will, not the doing of God’s will, that your mind is bent on. Let it be the pride of life, hanging on opinion’s idle breath; you have no freedom to do the will of God, for you are at the mercy of the will of your fellow-men. As not doing the will of God, the world and its lust must pass away; for it is identical with the darkness which is passing. Passing! Whence? and whither? Whence, but from off the stage of this redeemed earth, the final blessed meeting-ground of all the Lord’s children? And whither? I cannot tell. This only I know, it must be to where it shall do no harm any more for ever. I read of everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels. Is that the final restingplace of the darkness? - of the world and its lust? There it is to be no longer passing, but permanent, abiding. "The worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched." O ye lovers of the world, or of what is in the world, have you considered what the end is to be? It may well move you to be told that the whole of that economy with which you are mixed up is fleeting, transitory, evanescent. "What shadows you are and what shadows you pursue!" It is a deep knell that is rung over the grave of all merely temporal prosperity, all earthly hope and joy; "the world passeth away, and the lust thereof." But it is a knell that, ringing out life’s present and precarious dreams, rings in a terrible reality. The world, with its lust, is passing here; passing and changing always. But it is passing to where pass no more, but stay; fixed unchangeably for It is not annihilated; it does not cease to be; it only be passing. you ever thought how much of the world’s endurableness; I say not its attractiveness but its endurableness; depends on its being a world that passes, and therefore changes? Is it not, after all, its being changeable that makes it tolerable even to you who like it best? Can you lay your hand, your memory’s hand, on any one feeling you have ever had of intense worldly gratification, and say that you could be content, with that feeling alone, to spend eternity? Is there any sensation, any delight, any rapture of worldly joy, however engrossing, that you could bear to have prolonged, indefinitely, for ever, unaltered, unalterable? But I put the case too favourably. I speak of your finding the world with its lust, not passing but abiding, in the place whither you yourselves pass, when you pass hence. True, you find it there. But you find it not as you have it here. There are means and appliances here for quenching by gratification, or mitigating by variety, its impetuous fires. But there you find it where these fires burn, unslaked, unsolaced; the world being all within, and the world’s lust; and nothing outside but the Holy One. Again I ask - Have you ever thought how much of the world’s endurableness depends on the fact that, with its lust, it has its seat for a while here in the midst of a transition process, as it were, which is going on, "the darkness passing and the true light shining?" What keeps this earth from being, at this moment, hell, or a part of hell? What but its being a place of preparation for heaven; destined ere long to become to myriads of the saved heaven itself? When in that heaven where the angels dwell, sudden it will ever. ceases to Have darkness sought to dim the light, and wilful creatures would not do the will of God, not au instant was lost. Swiftly, summarily, the world is cast out, and its lust. There is no room for it there, no, not for an hour. The lovers of it, and of its lust; the doers of another will than God’s; their own, or their leader’s; are no more found there; but somewhere else in the universe of God, where they are "reserved in everlasting chains, under darkness, unto the judgement of the great day." That holy heaven is full of light alone, and in it is no darkness at all. The will of God is always done there. We are taught to pray that his will may be done on earth as in heaven; and we believe that it shall be so. But the time is not yet. The darkness is only passing, not past; "the world is passing away, and the lust thereof." For it has pleased God not to deal with this earth where we dwell, as he dealt with that heaven where the angels dwell. If he had, he must have left it empty. The darkness must needs be tolerated; the world, with its lusts, not doing the will of God, must be allowed to continue; till the race for whom the earth was made, the family of man meant to fill it, is complete. But all is not to be darkness; a world lusting its own lust and not doing the will of God. There is to be light; there are to be children of the light. For the light and its children, as well as for the darkness and its world, the earth is to be adapted. Its order and. laws; its arrangements and accommodations; must be such as suit its present mixed occupancy. And such also must be God’s general providence over it. Hence you who love the world and its lust, and do not the will of God, find yourselves in a position here, under these conditions, which does not give the world and its lust full swing; or, as it were, "ample scope and verge enough." Not to speak of the direct shining of the light, in gospel means and ordinances, which tells upon you in spite of yourselves, in some vague way, for your partial respite from the pangs of conscience; I point to the elements of good that there are in the institutions which God has sanctioned, and which he blesses, for alleviating pain and giving happiness on this earth on which he suffers you to dwell for a season with the righteous; healthy labour, alternating with such sleep as God gives his beloved; family relationships; social ties; domestic endearments; spheres also of public activity and usefullness and generous ambition; outlets for native energy and amiability, and lofty thought and fine feeling, and the stirrings of kind pity, and the flights of genius. Do not imagine that these form part of the world or its lust, which you are to carry with you when it and you together pass hence. This earth is not furnished with these conveniences for your sakes, but for their sakes who find in them the choicest apparatus and machinery for doing the will of God. You have the use, you have the benefit of them, for a brief space. Your world, with its triple lust, is permitted for a little to have to do with these contrivances of God for making earth a school for heaven, Alas! what harm does it often work among them; blighting what is pure, blasting what is peaceful, desolating hearths and homes and hearts. Still your loved world, and you who love it, are the better and the happier for your contact with what on earth is even now allied to heaven. But have you ever thought what it will be to pass hence and go where nothing of all that can follow you? No holy beauty; no virgin innocency; no guiltless, guileless love of parents, spouse, child, brother, friend; no virtue; no decency even; none of the decorum which at least serves to make vice less hideous; no soothing balm of pure hand laid on the fevered brow; no faintly-whispered hope or wish of pure lips blessing you in your despair; nothing of the sort of comely veil which, down to the last breath of the dying sinner’s godless career, may hide the real truth from his view. Let that real truth burst upon you. Place yourself, with your loved world and its cherished lust, where you and it and God are alone together, with nothing of God’s providing that you can use or abuse for your relief. Your creature comforts are not there with you. nothing of this earth, which is the Lord’s, is there; nothing of its beauty or its bounty; its grace or loveliness or warm affection; nothing of that very bustle and distraction and change which dissipates reflection and drowns remorse; nothing but your worldly lust, your conscience, and your God. That is hell; the hell to which the world is passing, and its lust; and whence it never passes more; a dreary monotony of banishment from all that God has made to be chosen and enjoyed. It is yourselves, ye lovers of the world, filled with the lust of the world, its vulture appetites and stormy passions; shut up for ever in the darkness, as it were, of empty space, the desolate unfurnished prison-house of eternal justice. II. But now let us turn to a brighter picture. "He that doeth the will of God abideth for ever." Suppose that the world has passed away and the lust thereof. Does it follow that the earth is dissolved or perishes? Nay, it remains. And whatever in it or about it is of God remains. There may be a temporary baptism of fire, to purge away the pollution contracted while the world has been tolerated in it and the world’s lust; to regenerate it and transform it into the "new heavens and new earth wherein dwelleth :righteousness." But the earth thus cleansed and renovated does not pass away. It surely must continue, under the condition of the petition, at last fully answered; "Thy will be done in earth as in heaven." For surely that is a petition which is yet to be fully answered; and not in time only, but for eternity. This abode of men is to be assimilated thoroughly to yonder abode of angels, in respect of the will of God being alike done in both. That at all events is the heavenly state, let its localities be adjusted as they may; that is its eternal crown and joy; angels and men together doing the will of God; they in their heaven, we in our earth. That is the blessed consummation to which the apostle would have us to look forward when he urges this encouragement and motive: "he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever. But the precise point of his statement is not adequately brought out unless we connect and identify the future and the present. It is not merely said that he who doeth the will of God may hope to be hereafter in a place or in a state in which he shall abide for ever. It is plainly implied that he is in it now. The world, with its lust, is passing; but he is in possession. The world, as it were, has forfeited its title, and is tolerated on sufferance merely, for a time and for a temporary purpose; he is a proprietor, having a good and valid right to remain for ever. The world must go, he stays; it has notice to quit, he abides. Doing the will of God, therefore, you are already in your abiding state; in the state in which you are to abide for ever. No essential change is before you. There may be stages of advancement and varieties of experience; a temporary break, perhaps, in the outer continuity of your thread of life, between the soul’s quitting the body to be with Christ where now he is and its receiving the body anew at his coming hither again. But substantially you are now as you are to be always. For there is this difference between you in whom the love of the Father is, and those in whom there is only the love of the world. The world which they love, with its lust, is a foreign element in this earth, considered as the creation of God, and an element, therefore, which must be cast out, as the land of Canaan is said to have "vomited out" its inhabitants when their "iniquity was full." There is really nothing of hell in this earth viewed as the creation of God, or in its arrangements viewed as God’s ordinances; however much there may be of hell in the world with its lust, which is not God’s creation or God’s ordinance, but fallen man’s, or his tempter’s. From all that is of God’s making or of God’s ordaining in the earth, they who love the world must pass, with the world and its lust; carrying no good of it hence; quitting it all, and going to be with devils in eternal, unquenchable fire. .But in this earth as God’s creation, and in its arrangements as God’s ordinances, what may there not be of heaven? And whatever of heaven is in it, and in them, is yours, if you are doing the will of God. Neither does it pass from you nor you from it. You and it together abide for ever. Here, therefore, is the great alternative between "loving the world and its lust" and "doing the will of God." Here is the solution of what we are sometimes apt to regard as a hard problem in Christian morals. What is that separation from the world which I must keep up, if I would prove myself to be one who does not love the world, but who does love the Father? A hundred minute points of detail may come into discussion here. Is it lawful? is it expedient might be asked to weariness, of this or that pursuit, this or that pleasure, this or that party, or company, or occupation. I meet these and all similar inquiries with the broad appeal to consciousness and conscience: Are you doing the will of God? It is no, - Are you doing what, as to the matter of it, may be consistent, or not altogether inconsistent, with the will of God? But are you, in doing it, doing the will of God? You may be where the will of God would appoint or allow you to be. Are you there because it is the will of God that you should be there? Are you there on set purpose, there and then to do the will of God? This test will carry you through all entanglements, and raise you above all compromises. Only be sure that you apply it fairly. For, in this matter, the prince of this world is very wily. If possible, he will have you to substitute something of God’s instead of what is his, as being what you are not to love. He will allow and encourage you to abstain from meats and from marriage; to withdraw from your fellows and retire into the desert; to abandon the affairs of active life; to assume an ascetic severity, frowning on the ordinary ongoings of society. He is pleased when he sees you counting that to be coming out from the world. For he knows that all the while it is really God’s creation and God’s ordinance, and not his world with its lust, that you are putting away. Ah! it is a great thing to draw the line clear and sharp between what here and now is "of God," and what is "of the world and its lust." And if the line is to be drawn clear and sharp, it must be drawn, not from without, but from within. It must be drawn, not by external routine or regulation, but by a living spirit in the inner man; the spirit of love and loyalty to the Father; the spirit that moved Jesus to say, "I came not to do my own will, but the will of him that sent me." He had no perplexities, no misgivings, in going in and out among his fellowmen. He moved freely where the Pharisees were censorious and straitlaced. For everywhere and always, wherever he was, in the house, on the road, at the hospitable table, beside the open grave; with whomsoever he met, publicans, sinners, harlots, as well as Scribes, and Sadducees, and Herodians; he was doing the will of God; he was about his Father’s business; doing his will. It was not with him - -Where shall I go? whom shall I meet? so much as, - Go where I may, meet whom I may, what business would my Father have me to be about? Something surely bearing on the great work for which I came into the world; some. thing to glorify my Father; something for the saving of lost sinners; something for the comfort of weary souls. Ah! let this same mind that was in him be in you. Let it become a delight with you, as well as a business, to be everywhere and always doing the will of God. That, and that alone, is "not loving the world, nor the things of the world." For the world which, with its lust, is passing away, is just the darkness whose passing you are to apprehend as a thing true in you as in Christ. And the doing of the will of God, which is your abiding for ever, is just the true light now shining; which shining of the true light, as well as the passing of the darkness, you are also to apprehend as true in you as in Christ. There is a twofold movement going on in the earth; the moving off of the darkness, or of the world and its lust, and the moving in of the true light and its gracious, glorious kingdom. Christ, and all of you in whom, as in Christ, "that thing is true, that the darkness is passing and the true light is now shining," are engaged in the advancing movement and identified with it. It is the movement that is regaining, reconquering, recovering the earth for God. Into that movement you are to throw yourselves. With all who are in it you are to have a common brotherhood, and to make common cause. That is the will of God which you are to do. With the other movement, the moving off from the stage of the darkness and the prince of darkness, with his trappings and troops, you have nothing to do, save only to rescue, in the Father’s name, all whom you can reach, ere that movement carries them away. For yourselves you have no concern with it. You love not the darkness, nor anything in it or about it. Your whole soul is bent on doing the will of God, and so falling in with the advancing march and movement which is to issue ere long in the universal shining of the true light over all the earth. Surely that is a noble course for you, and one that must ensure your abiding for ever. It may seem indeed that you have no abiding place here. You may be called hence quickly at any time, while the darkness may seem to be passing very slowly; and the world with its lust may be still holding its ground stoutly, and showing an imposing front. But you lose not the fruit of your doing the will of God. "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; they rest from their labours, and their works do follow them." You have cast in your lot with a cause which does not pass away, but abideth for ever; and a leader who does not pass away, but abideth for ever, - " the same yesterday, and today, and for ever." It is but a little while. Lo, he comes quickly, and you who have departed to be with him come in his train. He comes, and you come, to triumph over the complete and final passing away of the darkness, of the world and its lust, of all doing of any will but the will of God; and to abide for ever in the earth, in which thenceforth for ever the will of God is to be done, even as it is in heaven. XIV. THE GUILELESS SPIRIT, AMID ANTI-CHRISTIAN DEFECTIONS, ESTABLISHED BY A MESSIANIC UNCTION AND ILLUMINATION. "Little children, it is the last time: and as ye have heard that anti-Christ shall come, even now are there many anti-Christs; whereby we know that it is the last time. They went out from us, but they were not of us; for if they had been of us, they would no doubt have continued with us: but they went out, that they might be made manifest that they were not all of us. But ye have an unction from the Holy One, and ye know all things." - 1 John 2:18-20. "Ye have an unction from the Holy One, and ye know all things." This is represented as our security against such apostasy or desertion as John has occasion to lament. We live, he says, in perilous circumstances. What has been foretold as characteristic of the last time may be seen virtually realised in our own day. The warning against anti-Christ need not be put off to a distant date. Already, in too many instances, the spirit of anti-Christ is discovering itself. To all practical intents and purposes, it is even now the last time to us. It is proved to be so by the prevalence of the very sort of opposition to Christ which in some gigantic shape is to signalise that era. We need not be setting up the phantom or ideal of a coming anti-Christ that is to torment and try the church of the future. We have enough of anti-Christs around and beside us now. And they are very near and close ; - almost of kin with us. But yesterday they were among us; one with ourselves in privilege, profession, and outward character. The keenest eye could not discriminate between us and them. True, their having gone out from us is a presumption, and indeed a proof, that they were not really of us. That very fact, however, making it plain that they who are still among us are not all of us, may not unnaturally cause uneasiness as to our own standing. But it need not. For there is a difference; "Ye have an unction from the Holy One," which they have not," and ye know all things." I do not at this stage inquire either into the nature and character of the coming anti-Christ, or into the common feature identifying all anti-Christs. I wish rather to dwell upon the ground of confidence here indicated, with special reference to trying times ; and in that view I notice these four particulars: I. The anointing or unction; II. The knowledge connected with it; III. The nature of the connection; and IV. The security afforded by the unction and the knowledge against heresy and apostasy. I. I begin with the anointing: "Ye have an unction," or the unction, or generally, unction. The term may literally denote anointing oil; so that having unction may mean being anointed with oil. This anointing, or being anointed with oil, you have "from the Holy One;" from Christ Jesus our Lord. For it is he who is meant. The title indeed of "the Holy One" may with all propriety be applied to God absolutely ;rote the undivided Godhead, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And if the persons are distinguished, it may be applied to the Father and the Holy Spirit as well as to the Son. But the sense of the passage, as well as the general usage of Scripture, points to the Son. In his humiliation, the devils acknowledged him as the Holy One (Mark 1:24). In his exaltation Peter preaches him as such (Acts 3:14). And indeed, before his incarnation, the people worshipped him in his divinity, and the prophets foretold him in his humanity, as the Holy One; the Holy One of God; the Holy One of Israel (Psalms 16:10, etc.) The same application of the term best suits the present text. The Holy One is Christ; the unction or anointing is from Christ, who is himself, as Christ, the anointed One. There is great significance in the unction thus viewed as coming from this Holy One. Anti-Christs are spoken of. These are antagonists to Christ; to the anointed One; to him who is anointed to be the Holy One. You, on the other hand, have anointing from him. The unction which he himself receives, he communicates to you; consecrating you to be holy ones, as he is the Holy One. Thus you are joint-Christs with him, while they are anti-Christs. They are against the anointed Holy One: you share with him in his anointing as the Holy One. They set at nought the unction which he has as the Holy One: you have this very unction from him. Such really is the antithesis. They are anti-Christs, you are joint-Christs; for you have an unction from him as the Holy One, making you "holy as he is holy." The holiness here meant is consecration. It is what the Lord indicates in his farewell prayer: "Sanctify them through thy truth: thy word is truth. As thou hast sent me into the world, even so have I also sent them into the world; and for their sakes I sanctify myself, that they also might be sanctified through the truth." This is the unction which you have from the Holy One ; from him whom "the Father hath sanctified and sent into the world." The anointing is with the Holy Spirit. He is the anointing oil; the oil of gladness with which God has anointed Christ above his fellows; the precious ointment poured out upon him, as the head, that runs down over all his body, even to the skirts of his garments. The unction therefore which "you have from the Holy One" is his own unction; it is identically the same with what was his. He sheds forth upon you and in you the very same presence, power, and influence of the Holy Spirit that was shed forth upon and in himself, when he was about the business for which, as the Holy One, he was consecrated. In his case that unction was real, sensible, manifest. If we have it from him, it must be so in ours also. It was in him and to him the seal of his acceptance, and the witness of his Sonship; for when the voice from heaven proclaimed him to be the Father’s beloved Son in whom he is well pleased, "the Spirit descended on him like a dove." We have acceptance in him, and the adoption of sons. And the unction which we have from him is our being sealed, as justified ones, by "the Holy Spirit shedding abroad in our hearts the love of God;" and our receiving, as sons, "not the spirit of bondage again to fear, but the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father, - the Spirit witnessing with our spirits that we are the children of God." In Jesus this unction was, on the one hand, his having always the Holy Spirit helping, comforting, and strengthening him; imparting to him, amid all his toils and tears, such fresh communications out of his Father’s heart, such assurances of his Father’s love and his Father’s nearness to him, as never failed to nerve his soul for its utmost trial; to keep him trusting still in God; and to turn every prayer of nature’s prompting: "Father, if it be possible, let the cup pass," into the resignation of filial obedience: "Nevertheless, Father, not my will but thine be done." The unction which we have from him as the Holy One, is our being in the same way upheld by the Holy Spirit in all our goings; our being enabled therefore to show "the meekness and gentleness of Christ ;" our making it thus manifest that "the same mind is in us that was also in him." Again, on the other hand, in Jesus the Holy One, this unction was his constant and abiding apprehension or realisation of the Spirit moving him to the work for which he was sent into the world. That work was to do the will of him that sent him; to preach glad tidings to the meek; to bind up the broken-hearted; to fulfil all righteousness; to suffer, the just for the unjust; to give his life a ransom for many. The unction which we have from him, that we may be consecrated to be holy ones as he is the Holy One, is our feeling and owning the inward call of the Holy Spirit, moving us in our sphere to give ourselves to the same lifework that always occupied him; to carry out the great design of his coming into the world; to be his wholly and unreservedly, as he was always and altogether the Father’s. Thus, in all that it can be held to imply of consciously apprehended and sensibly enjoyed favour and fellowship with God, as well as of sacred destination and devotion to God, we share with Christ his own very unction. Whatever is implied in his being anointed with the Holy Spirit we are to realise in ourselves, as having "an unction from the Holy One." Thus we are Christs, as he is the Christ; anointed ones, as he is the Anointed One;the Lord’s anointed, the Lord’s Christs, in somewhat of the same sense in which he is so. For we share his anointing; we "have unction from the Holy One." II. As thus anointed, we "know all things." This is not of course omniscience; but full and complete knowledge of the matter in hand, as opposed to knowledge that is fragmentary and partial. The question is between Christ and anti-Christ; between the truth of Christ and the lie of anti-Christ. That lie is a denial of Jesus as the Christ; and therefore a denial of him as the Son, involving necessarily a denial of the Father also (1 John 2:22-23). But we know ‘the truth; we "know all things" about it. The whole truth concerning Jesus as the Christ, the Son of the Father, in all its relations to the divine character and counsels as well as to human experience and hope, we know. We have mastered it, not piecemeal, but entire; or it has thus mastered us. Not a corner of the field, but the field itself, is ours. We know Jesus as the Christ, the Son of God, in all the rich and ample significance of these titles or designations. So we know all things ; all things concerning the truth that Jesus is "the Christ, the Son of the living God." This, in one view, may not be knowing much; but it is knowing what we do know well and thoroughly. And much depends on our knowledge being of that sort; not universal in its range; but, be its range ever so limited, universal in its kind, so far as it goes; universal - fullorbed, as it were, and all round, - as opposed to what is one-sided. The anointing of Jesus, his being the Christ, - what it is, and what it means; his consecration as the Holy One; his oneness as the Son with the Father; all that we know. And we know it, not by catching at some one aspect of the mighty plan, - the great "mystery of godliness, God manifest in the flesh," - that may happen to suit our convenience, or to strike our fancy, but by a calm, clear, and comprehensive insight into all that it unfolds of the highest glory of God, and all that it contemplates of highest good to man. We look at this great theme, or rather this great fact, in all its bearings; as it vindicates the righteous sovereignty of the Lord of all, while it secures full and free salvation to the worst and guiltiest of his creatures, if they will but own that sovereignty and submit to it. Hence it is a knowledge having eyes, as it were, on all sides, all round; open to what touches the prerogatives and rights of heaven, no less than to what concerns the interests of earth; full of thoughtfullness about God and what is due to God, as well as about sinful man and what sinful man requires; well balanced, therefore, and guarded against both extremes, the extreme of mere arbitrary rule, or a sort of fatalism, ascribed to God, on the one hand, and that of accommodation and compromise, assumed to meet man’s case, on the other. We know all things; all the principles of God’s government, all the attributes of his nature, all the features of his character: as well as all the miseries and necessities of man’s lost and guilty state; so as to take them all into account in forming our conception of the plan of mercy, the reign of grace, the method of redemption and salvation. Hence our conception of that economy of righteous love, however far from being perfect, is yet, to the extent to which it carries us, consistent, and, from its consistency, sure and satisfying. We know indeed only in part after all. All the things that we know, we know only dimly and faintly. We know none of them fully, or as we hope to know them one day, when we shall know even as you are known. But still we know them all. For, as Paul testifies (1 Corinthians 2:9-12), although "eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him," yet "God hath revealed them to us ‘by his Spirit; for the Spirit searcheth all things, even the deep things of God." And "we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit which is of God, that we might know the things that are freely given to us of God." We thus know them all, the deep things of God, the things freely given to us of God, in virtue of the unction which we have from the Holy One. III. For the unction which we have from the Holy One, and our knowing all things, are intimately connected. One might imagine perhaps, that the knowledge which I have been describing as so comprehensive and complete, must be the fruit of leisurely and learned study; of academic training and scholarly research. But it is really not so. If it were, it would be but little trustworthy, especially in any advent or development of the last time, in which anti-Christ may be coming, or there may be already many anti-Christs. All experience proves, that of our own day as well as of older ecclesiastical history, that the knowledge of the schools, even when it seems almost to be, humanly speaking, omniscience, is no security for those who have it continuing with us, as John puts it, in our genuine apostolic fellowship. Much study may be a weariness of the flesh, without being either strength or stedfastness to the spirit. The knowledge which alone can be relied on, must be not only the knowledge of all things; but such a knowledge of all things as only unction from the Holy One can give. In fact, we cannot have true knowledge of any of these things unless we have it by unction from the Holy One. For "the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness to him; neither can he know them; because they are spiritually discerned" (1 Corinthians 2:13). It is only "he who is spiritual" who "judgeth all things," who can know them so as to judge them. For he alone is in a position and has the capacity to form a fair estimate or judgment of the relations among the things of God. And it is by their mutual relations that things are really known and judged. This is a maxim true in all sciences; and not least manifestly so in the science of divinity. If, in the science of astronomy, we would know all its things, all its truths, to any satisfactory end, theoretical or practical; we must get, not the eye of a clown or vulgar stargazer, nor that of Chaldean sage or poetic dreamer, nor that of one to whom the clear calm midnight sky is a confused galaxy of bright gems, a brilliant shower of diamonds shed in rich disorder on the dark brow of nature’s sleeping beauty, but the eye of Newton’s scholar and Laplace’s, who has learned of them to calculate planetary magnitudes and distances and forces, and to bring the whole splendid chaos under the sway of the one simple law that reigns supreme throughout all space. So, in the region of what is spiritual and divine, the faculty of seeing things in their true relations is not ,elsewhere or otherwise to be acquired, than in the school and under the teaching of the Holy Spirit. It is his anointing of the eye with eye-salve that gives spiritual discernment, not only to understand separately, as distinct objects of contemplation and thought, many of the truths proclaimed and the objects exhibited in revelation, but to perceive how, under the leading and guiding principle of the free, full, and sovereign grace of the glorious gospel, they all assume their fitting places and proportions, and form together one consistent whole. Mere human study might master all that has been ever said or written about God and his works and ways. But still knowledge thus!got always runs the risk of being prejudiced and partial. .All the articles of all the creeds may be thoroughly sifted, in all their doctrinal, controversial, and historical bearings. The all-knowing theologian may be able to discuss them all, and all about them. But left to himself, and without "unction from the Holy One," how apt is he to let some peculiar leaning, some personal bias or idiosyncrasy of his own, prevail; exaggerating some one portion, or aspect, or feature of the divine plan, and raising many a cloud of lettered dust, such as may cause endless perplexity and doubt, and sadly mar "the simplicity which is in Christ." It is not, therefore, any such knowledge of all things that is here commended. Rather, it is that of which our Lord himself speaks when he says: "I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes. Even so, Father: for so it seemed good in thy sight" (Matthew 11:25-26). For how does that Holy One, the Son, reveal to these babes the Father, and "all things delivered unto him of his Father?" How but by imparting to them that anointing which he has himself? It is as the Holy One, the Christ, the Anointed, that the Son has all things delivered unto him of his Father, and knows the Father so as to reveal him to us. And it is by making us partakers with himself in his own anointing; by making us Christs, the Lord’s anointed, as he himself is the Christ, the Lord’s anointed; by causing us to have the same unction with himself ; - that he reveals to us the Father. How wonderfully, in this view of it, does this unction which we have from the Holy One unite and identify us with the Holy One himself, in respect of our knowing all things! It is indeed a marvellous way of grace and condescension in which the great Teacher teaches us. He does not stand on an elevated platform apart handing down to us the lessons we have to learn, and reporting, as it were, the observations and discoveries he makes. He lifts us up to be beside himself. He puts his own glass into our hand: he puts his own eye into our head: he puts his own intensity of loving gaze into our heart; and bids us look for ourselves; and see the Father as he sees him, and know all things as he knows them; "all things delivered to him of his Father." Well might Paul say of the spiritual man, thus - by such a spiritual discernment as this - judging all things; himself judged of none: "Who hath known the mind of the Lord that he may instruct him? But we have the mind of Christ." For the unction of the Spirit which we thus share with him, - or rather he with us, - -gives us the same knowledge of the Father - of all things - that Christ the Son had when he himself received the unction of the Spirit; the same, I mean, in kind, not in degree ; - not yet the same in measure, though gradually coming more and more nearly to be so; meanwhile, the same in manner. What was his manner of knowing the Father and all things about the Father’s will and purpose, when he was here, as the Holy One anointed by the Spirit? Ah! how practical it was! how experimental! how thoroughly a learning of it all by obedience; by suffering; by unreserved submission and acquiescence; by patience; by waiting; by faith, and love, and hope! Therefore, it was in his case a knowledge thoroughly simple, and in its simplicity thoroughly complete. "Little children," let it be so in our ease too. Let us remember his own saying: "If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God." It was as a doer of God’s will that he, in his human experience, having the Spirit’s unction, knew all things. Let it be as doers of God’s will that we learn to know them too. And let us remember, "This is the work of God, that ye believe in him whom he has sent." Believing in Jesus we attain to his clear knowledge of the Father and of all things. Clouds of guilt and wrath, of misconception and suspicion, of doubt and fear, are driven away before the :rising of the Sun of Righteousness with healing in his wings. We walk no more benighted and befooled; stumbling in the dark, amid unseen stones and pitfalls, and dire visionary phantoms. We walk safely and at liberty, knowing all things, seeing all things in the light of God; in the light of his reconciled countenance; in the light of that love wherewith he "loveth us even as he loveth Christ." It is by the love with which the Father loves him that the Son knows the Father, and all things which the Father has, and which also are his. It is by the love with which the Father loves us as he loves him, that we, having unction from him who is the Holy One, know all things ; "the love with which the Father hath loved him being in us, and he in us" (John 17:17-25). IV. The security which our "having an unction from the Holy One and knowing all things" affords, in trying times, must now surely be seen to be very ample and firm. Others may "go out from us;" it being thus "made manifest that they were not of us;" and may become anti-Christs, or the prey of anti-Christ. But "will ye also go away?" - ye who share the very unction and the very knowledge which the Holy One himself has?. Is not this your preservative against all error and apostasy? Is it not a sufficient preservative? "To whom will ye go? He has the words of eternal life; and you believe and are sure that he is the Christ, the Son of the living God." And you are joint-Christs with him; and joint-sons with him; and joint-heirs with him. What have you to do any more with idols?. - or with the husks of the swine-trough, to which citizens of the far country may be for sending you? - or with seducing lies and doctrines of devils to which you may be tempted to give heed? - -or, in a word, with any of the modifications of the way of grace and salvation, - any of the readjustments of the terms of acceptance, - -any of the devices for pacifying conscience, - -any of the new lights, mystical or rationalistic, sacramental or sentimental, - by which men would fain seek to be wiser than God, and even holier than God, and better than God? Ye who have found Christ, or whom Christ has found; ye who have the same anointing that Christ had ; ye who taste and see how good his Father and yours is, - -loving you even as he loveth him, - -" will ye also go away?" And be sure that this is the only preservative; the one specific. Much learning, great enlightenment, the intelligence of an age of progress in all that relates to high mental culture and social improvement; intense earnestness, profound study, patient inquiry; anxious searching of the heart and of all that has been proposed for meeting the heart’s wants; devotional feeling; self-renouncing and self-sacrificing humility ; - -these, and other equally promising means and tokens of good, are found to be no effectual safeguards. Nay, at any season when men’s minds are stirred, their consciences moved, and their souls melted; when the deadness of an age of formalism is giving place to a time of inquiry, of awakening, of thought and sensibility, of speculation and discourse, on things spiritual and divine; the very shaking of the dry bones caused by the wind of heaven may only make you more susceptible of influences, and more open to suggestions, carrying you away from the old paths and the footsteps of the flock, into wanderings in search of rest or of revival, roof peace or of perfection, - that may issue in your being fain at last to believe any prophet and follow any guide, even if he lead you into the arms of an infallible church, or down the steep bank that ends in the dreary void of scepticism and unbelief. At such an era - when "it is now the last time, of which ye have heard that anti-Christ shall come; when even now already there are many anti-Christs; whereby ye may know that it is the last time;" when, on all hands, too many who seemed to be of us - as serious and as safe as ourselves - are going out from us; "Little children," see that ye have indeed "unction from the Holy One and know all things." Be very sure that no ignorance, no emptiness, no vacancy; no unhealed sore and unanointed eye; no halting or hesitating belief; no "vague and all doubtsome faith ;" will stand in the midst of such peril. Nothing will stand but what is real, positive, satisfying, in your personal acquaintance with God, and your saving knowledge of the things of God; nothing but your having yourselves found the Messiah, the Christ, and your bringing others to find him: that they and you may really become partakers with him in all that he is to the Father as his Holy One, and all that as his beloved Son he knows of the things of the Father delivered to him for us. XV. THE GUILELESS SPIRIT, AMID ANTI-CHRISTIAN DENIAL OF THE SON, ACKNOWLEDGINGTHE SON SO AS TO HAVE THE FATHER ALSO. "I have not written unto you because ye know not the truth, but because ye know it, and that no lie is of the truth. Who is a liar but he that denieth that Jesus is the Christ? He is anti- Christ, that denieth the Father and the Son. Whosoever denieth the Son, the same hath not the Father but he that acknowledgeth the ,Son hath the Father also." 1 John 2:21-23. The last part of 1 John 2:23, although considered doubtful by our translators, and therefore put by them in italics and within brackets, is now admitted to be genuine. It completes the sense of the passage. To deny the Son is not to have the Father; to acknowledge the Son is to have the Father. And this is the ultimate difference between an anti-Christ and a joint-Christ; between those who are against the Anointed One, and you who share his anointing; "having unction from the Holy One and knowing all things." By that unction or anointing, which passes to you from the anointed Holy One, you know all things; all the truth; the truth in all its bearings; and therefore you can discriminate between the truth and every lie. If it were not so, it would be needless for me to write to you (1 John 2:2 ). I cannot expect you to detect a liar unless you know the truth yourselves. For the test by which you detect a liar, or the liar, is the truth which you know. He contradicts the truth; he denies that Jesus is the Christ; and that denial is enough to mark the liar. It marks him also as an anti- Christ, or, in spirit, the anti-Christ. For it amounts to what is the criterion or characteristic of anti-Christ, a denial of the Father and the Son (1 John 2:22). The denial, indeed, so far at least as the Father is concerned, is not express and avowed, but virtual rather and by implication. The lie touches immediately the Son alone; and reaches the Father only through the Son. It is not, however, on that account, less really a denial of the Father as well as of the Son. For the Father and the Son are one; and therefore, he that "denieth the Son, the same hath not the Father," while "he that acknowledgeth the Son hath the Father also. Two questions naturally occur here. I. How is a denial that Jesus is the Christ equivalent to a denial of the Son? And II. How is a denial of the Son a denial of the Father, so that to deny the Son is not to have the Father; and how, on the other hand, does the acknowledgment of the Son secure our having the Father? I. Plainly, in John’s view, to deny that Jesus is the Christ is to deny the Son ; the two denials are declared to be one and the same. And yet there is a difference. The object of the one denial is a proposition ; the object of the other is a person. Nor is the difference accidental or unimportant; on the contrary, it is very significant. One thing, at least, is very clear. If the denial of a proposition concerning any person is to be viewed as identical with the denial of the person himself, the proposition must be one that vitally affects his nature and character. Take any illustrious personage who may be supposed to occupy my thoughts; the heir-apparent to the throne, for instance. If I choose to deny that he is what you believe, or even know him to be, as to his height, or complexion, or turn of mind, or habit of body, you may charge me with falsehood, or even say that I lie. But you would scarcely allege that in denying any affirmation of that sort about him, I deny the prince. It must be something far more deeply touching his birth, or his ‘birthright, or his worthiness of either, that I deny, before you can construe my denial of it, into a disloyal and traitorous denial of himself. So here, if to deny the proposition that "Jesus is the Christ" is to deny the Son ; the proposition itself must :mean more than at first appears. It cannot mean simply that he is the person foretold in the Old Testament under the name of the Messiah ; there :is more in it than a mere identification of the individual. The official designation, Christ, or Messiah, or Anointed, :marks not only a certain relation to the Jewish Scriptures, but also and still more a certain relation to God, whose Christ he is, In the dreamy and misty theosophy of the Gnostic anti-Christs, any Christ whom they would acknowledge at all could be nothing else than a sort of efflux or emanation of Deity, a detached portion of the divine nature, or a mysterious outgoing of the divine power, or wisdom, or love altogether visionary and unsubstantial; but withal very sublime. The idea of such a transcendental Christ being identical with the historical man, the man of "flesh and bones," Jesus, was an outrage on their philosophy. They might admit an occasional and temporary illipse. Now and then, or perhaps generally, all through his life and ministry, Jesus might be in a certain spiritual relation to this Christ. There might be upon him, and in him, moving and inspiring him, what of God they thought proper to call the Christ. But that he was truly and personally himself the Christ, - in his manhood and in his manhood’s history and experience - especially in his birth and in his death, their subtle notions of spirit and matter compelled them strenuously to deny. This denial necessarily reduced Jesus to the level of a mere man; a representative man perhaps, the ground and type and head of restored or perfected humanity; a divine man too, in some vague use of the phrase; but still really not more than a man; his birth no real incarnation; his death no real propitiation. It is this which stamps value on the confession that "Jesus is the Christ ;" that from his being born of the Virgin to his expiring on Calvary, he is the Christ. And it is this which makes the denial of the proposition so serious. It is the denial of his vicarious character and position; his being in any fair sense, or to any substantial effect, the substitute of men; of men viewed as guilty, condemned, and lost. I have said that he might be owned, after a fashion, as a representative man, or the representative man. Humanity in its best state, whether of development or of recovery, - perfect humanity, if you will, - might have its culminating grace and glory in him. And as the model man, or something more, as the man in whom human nature and the human race, as such, are elevated, he might be so visited by the overshadowing of a divine energy as to be in some sense partaker of the divine nature. But as to what he is himself personally, he differs in no material or essential respect from other men. Born like them, like them he dies. Not only has he all in common with them; but he has nothing in him or about him but what is in common. He is not "separate from sinners." So Jesus is described in the Epistle to the Hebrews: "For such an High Priest became us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners, and made higher than the heavens" (Hebrews 7:26). Here the three epithets, "holy, harmless, undefiled," exhaust the account of his pure and perfect moral character. The phrases that follow, "separate from sinners," and "made higher than the heavens," must refer, I think, the former to the manner of his birth, the latter to his exaltation after his death. Great controversy lies, in our own day, as well as in that of John. Jesus must be acknowledged as not only one with us, but "separate from us." Not otherwise can he save us by being our substitute; redeem us by being our ransom! reconcile us to God by the sacrifice of himself in our stead. He must be "separate from us" in his birth; exempt, by special miracle, from all participation in the sin of humanity, whose guilt he is to expiate. He must be "separate from us" in his death; his death being what no other death ever was, or ever can be, a real satisfaction to offended justice; a valid atonement for the offence; an actual enduring and exhausting of what the penal severity of law requires; a true and literal "suffering, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God." The denial of the proposition that "Jesus is the Christ," according to the notions then current, precluded all such views of the way in which he saves sinners. Under a different form, a similar mysticism precludes them now. There has always indeed been a school in the church tending in that direction; willing to exalt Jesus as high as any one would wish, in one aspect of his mediatorship, his being one with us, and so qualified to represent us; but ever stopping short of that other aspect of it, his being "separate from us," and so qualified to atone for us. Of Jesus personally much appears to be made. Not too much certainly; for that is impossible. Jesus, personally, the real, living Jesus, cannot be too much thought of. His very name is as ointment poured forth. He is the chiefest among ten thousand and altogether lovely. The church, the spouse, - every soul that as a chaste virgin is espoused to Jesus, - is ravished with the beauty of his person and the endearments of his fellowship. But it is a snare to forget, it is a sin to deny, that he is the Christ; or, in other words, to overlook or set aside that real and actual work of substitution and satisfaction, of vicarious suffering and obedience, in respect of which he is the Christ. Ah! will not every true lover of Jesus feel that, apart from his being thus the Christ, he has in fact no Jesus at all to love? "Dear, dying Lamb!" is his adoring and grateful invocation; "Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us," is his song; "Thou hast redeemed us with thy blood," is his worship. He, therefore, is at no loss to see how the denial of the proposition that "Jesus is the Christ," thus viewed in its bearing on his work, is substantially and most sadly a denial of the person. 2. This will appear still more clearly when we consider that the person is the Son. As the Son he stands in a distinct and definite relation to the Father. He must be owned in that relation if he is to be owned at all; otherwise he is to all intents and purposes denied. The Gnostic dreamers fancied that they could get a notion of a Son of God from a mere contemplation of the divine nature in the abstract. By a sort of effort of imagination they personified a divine attribute or emanation, of the Son; sometimes distinguishing that idea from the idea of the Christ, sometimes identifying them. Nor did they hesitate to allow the title Son of God to Jesus, considered as the representative man, or type of perfect humanity, who, as such, enjoyed the presence of somewhat of the Divinity with him and in him. Between these two conceptions of a Son of God they may be said to have oscillated; the one high, but indistinct; the other, more distinct perhaps, and intelligible, but comparatively low. They are the two conceptions, on this great theme of the Sonship, between which, as opposite extremes, I am apt to be tossed to and fro. I fix my thoughts on the everlasting God considered abstractly as he is in himself. I try to body forth in my imagination the idea of there being in the essence of the Divine nature, from all eternity, a Son of the Father; "God of God; light of light; very God of very God; begotten, not made; of one substance with the Father;" his only begotten. Abstracting my mind from earth and time, I gaze on the Eternal Three in One; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I would pierce the mystery of high heaven; how "the Son is of the Father;" and "the Holy Spirit is of the Father and the Son." Alas! it is impenetrable. The distinction of persons in the Godhead I may believe, though I cannot comprehend. The second person I may be taught to call the Word, or the Son. But the name tells me nothing. I am lost in the dark sublimity of the infinite unknown. Coming down from heaven to earth and time, I see Jesus, "a man approved of God, who went about doing good ;" and I can understand why, as a good and holy man, the perfect model of human goodness, the restorer and perfecter of all humanity’s excellence, after the divine ideal, - he should be specially and above all others honoured with the title of Son of God. Such a view of sonship, however, scarcely rises above what is matter of mere figure or sentiment. Thus, on the one hand, considering the nature of God apart, in the deep, dark wonder of the eternal generation, the Son being eternally begotten of the Father; or, on the other hand, considering the nature of man apart, in the clear light of the history of Jesus, and his being found pre-eminently and exclusively worthy to be called God’s Son; I am either soaring up to what is too high for me, or I am apt to acquiesce in what is too low for him. But let me fully realise the fact that Jesus is the Christ. And let me fully enter into the great transaction between the Father and the Son, of which that fact is the expression. Then a new and blessed sight of this divine sonship breaks upon my soul. For now, as I am carried back, in rapt musing, to the remotest point of possible retrospection, along the vista of the ages of a past eternity, before all worlds, the Father and the Son are seen, not in repose, but in counsel at least, if not in action. A momentous consultation is going on. A great covenant is negotiated. The Father and the Son, with the Spirit, are, if one may dare to say so, in solemn conference together. From the bosom of the Father, in which he is dwelling evermore, the Son receives a commission to come forth. He is appointed heir of all things. Creation is assigned to him as his proper work. All providence is to be his care; and above all the providence of this spot of earth. Here, on this earth, from among a fallen race, he is to purchase for himself, and for his Father, at a great price, a seed given him by the Father, to share with him in the blessedness of his being the Son. So it is arranged between the Father and the Son from everlasting; the Holy Spirit being a party to the arrangement, as he is to have a large share in carrying it out. And so, accordingly, in the fullness of time, the Son appears among men. He appears as the Son; on his Father’s behalf; entrusted with his Father’s commission; to be about his Father’s business. Thus Jesus is seen as the Son. And it is in the character of the Christ that he is seen to be the Son. He is the Son, not merely in respect of his being the holy Jesus, receiving proofs and tokens of God’s fatherly presence and approval, as any holy being might. He is the Son also, and chiefly, in respect of the work or office with a view to which he is the Christ. He is the Son consenting to be the Father’s servant, and as such anointed of the Father for the accomplishment of the Father’s purpose. Only, therefore, in so far as you acknowledge Jesus as the Christ do you really receive him as the Son. Any denial, whether practical’ or doctrinal, of the proposition that Jesus is the Christ, is tantamount to a disowning of him personally as the Son. It is only when you recognise him as anointed to do his Father’s will in the sacrifice of himself that you really own him, in any distinct sense, as the Son. Such, then, is the import and significance of the proposition that Jesus is the Christ, considered in itself; and such its bearing on the owning of him personally as the Saviour and as the Son. It is a proposition which so vitally affects the essential character of him to whom it relates, that the denial of it is virtually a denial of himself. For the completeness of this illustrious personage depends on a full and adequate recognition of his double relation; to us sinners, as our Jesus, and to God the Father, as his Son. And neither of these relations can be fully and adequately recognised, unless his being the Christ is recognised, with all that his being the Christ must be held fairly to imply. Neither what he is to us as our Jesus, nor what he is to God as his Son, can be otherwise known than by what he is anointed to do, and actually does, as the Christ. Set aside his being the Christ; the anointed sacrificer and anointed sacrifice; the anointed priest and anointed victim; set aside his actual work for which he is anointed, the work of redeeming us by his obedience, and the shedding of his blood, or the giving of his life, in our stead; and we have neither any Jesus fit to be our saviour, nor any Son of God worth the owning. The stress must always, for practical purposes, be laid upon his office and ministry as the Christ? Hence he that denieth that Jesus is the Christ is not only a liar; he is anti-Christ. And being anti-Christ, setting himself against the Christ, thrusting him aside from his blessed office and ministry of real and effectual reconciliation for which he is anointed - he as anti-Christ, denies the Father and the Son. II. This raises the second question: How is it that to deny the Son is to deny the Father, so that "whosoever denieth the Son the same hath not the Father; but he that acknowledgeth the Son hath the Father also?" i. "Whosoever denieth the Son, the same hath not," and cannot have, "the Father." This may be regarded in one view as matter of positive appointment. In the exercise of his absolute sovereignty, God is entitled to say upon what terms and in what way any of his creatures shall have him ; - have him, that is, as theirs; have him so as to have an interest in him, a hold upon him, and a bond of union with him. He may set forth any one he pleases, and say, If you deny him you cannot have me. In this case however he sets forth his Son, and therefore the appointment must be allowed to be in the highest degree reasonable and fair. One would say even, it is natural that this law should be in force - you cannot have the Father otherwise than through your owning the Son. The disowning or denial of the Son cannot but be an offence to the Father; deeply wounding and grieving his heart. It will be so all the more if the Son is disowned or denied, not merely in a personal, but, if one may so say, in an official capacity; not merely in respect of something connected with his own manner of being with the Father, but in respect of his exercising a great ministry, as bearing the Father’s commission and executing the Father’s purpose. If the Son remained at home with the Father, in the inscrutable privacy of inaccessible light, which to us is impenetrable darkness, - so that beyond the fact of the Father having a Son of his own nature, dwelling in his bosom for ever, nothing of what they are to one another was ever to be known, - then to deny, or not to acknowledge the Son, might not be so culpable in us, or so justly displeasing to the Father. In that case we might possibly have the Father irrespectively of our knowing and owning the Son. It is otherwise when the Father "bringeth in the first-begotten into the world," with the proclamation, "Let all the angels of God worship him." It is otherwise still when to you, perishing in your sins, the Father sends the Son on a mission of richest grace. Now it must be very palpable that if you deny the Son you cannot have the Father; especially if your denial of the Son take the form of a denial that Jesus is the Christ. For that is a denial of the Son in the very character in which he comes to you from the Father, sent, sealed, and anointed, to save you from your sins, by his being "separate from sinners;" separate in the manner of his holy birth, in the merit of his vicarious obedience, and in the efficacy of his atoning death and justifying resurrection. Here it becomes especially important to observe that the object of your denial is not a proposition merely, but a person. It is not with a statement about Jesus that you deal; but with himself personally. And he with whom you deal is the Son. And he is the Son in the very act of coming, as he says, "to do the Father’s will;" which will is "your being sanctified or cleansed by the offering of himself, once for all, a sacrifice to take away your sins" (Hebrews 10:10). Yes! it is a living person who is now before you; showing himself to you; addressing you. You see him as he was when Pilate brought him out, his head all bleeding from the crown of thorns, and exclaimed, Behold the man! or when John saw his side pierced, and blood and water coming forth;or when the Roman soldier gazed on his :meek pale face of agony, and murmured, "Truly this was the Son of God;" or when the dying thief prayed, "Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom." The same now as then, he draws near to you; bleeding still; his freshly-pierced side still giving forth fresh blood and water; his face as woeful as when he cried, My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me? his voice as calm as when he bowed his head and gave up the ghost, and said, It is finished. He draws near, "wounded for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities." And you deny him. He tells you he is the Son in all this, doing the Father’s will, carrying out the Father’s purpose of infinite compassion and benignity toward you a miserable sinner. And you deny him; you deny the Son. He stands still beside you, knocking at the door of your conscience, of your heart; assuring you that he is the Son; that at the Father’s bidding he takes your place, and bears your sin; that for the Father’s love to you he is with you to take you home with him to the Father; now; immediately; this very instant; as you are; altogether vile and polluted, and helpless in your guilty state. He pledges himself to you that you have nothing now to fear; that a full pardon is freely yours; and a perfect peace; and a new heart; and a right spirit. And you deny him; you deny the Son. How can you have the Father? Is it not in the very nature of things an impossibility? It is no abstract truth that you deny; but the true and living Son; and that too in the very execution of his commission from the Father on your behalf. It cannot be that so denying the Son you can have, or ever hope to have, the Father. 2. "But he that acknowledgeth the Son hath the Father also." He hath the Father; how surely, how fully, may partly appear, if we consider, not only what Jesus is to us, as our anointed Saviour, but also what he is to the Father as his beloved Son. For whatever is implied in his being the Son, in so far as it is compatible with human nature and a human condition, - whatever of grace, whatever of glory there is in the relation in which he who is the Christ stands as the Son to the Father, - he shares with you who acknowledge him. The Father makes you partakers of it all with the Son. You therefore have the Father as he has the Father; after the same manner, and largely after the same measure too. How would you say that Jesus, as the Son, when he was as you are now, had the Father? All through his humiliation, how has he the Father? On what footing is he with the Father? What is his habit of intercourse with the Father? The Father’s love he has; his love of boundless complacency, approval, delight. Pie is sure of it. The assurance of it is never lost or interrupted; not even when he is made to taste the bitterness of the cup of wrath, and know the doom of a God-forsaken soul. He has the Father’s gracious presence with him always. He has the Father’s consolation and support, in the ministry of angels sent to comfort him, and in the constant abiding of the Spirit with him. He has the Father; having right of access and appeal to him always; and using that right always. "Abba Father" is on his lips always, and in his heart always. It is "Abba Father when there is work to do; when there is contradiction of sinners against himself to bear; when there is resisting unto death in the strife against sin; when the voice is heard, Awake, O sword, against my Shepherd; it is "Abba Father" still always. It is "Abba Father" when he for once rejoices in spirit, - "I thank thee, O Father." It is "Abba Father" when he soothes the sisters and gives them back their brother - "Father! I thank thee." It is "Abba Father" when he takes leave of his sorrowing followers, and commends them to the Father. It is "Abba Father" when hanging on the cross he prays for his torturers - "Father, forgive them," - and for himself, "Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit." So he, as the Son, had the Father, when he was as you are. So he would have you, acknowledging him, to have the Father also. You own him as Jesus, the Christ of God, the Son of the Father; the Christ of God, washing you in his blood, clothing you with his righteousness, and presenting you with acceptance to God whose Christ he is; the Son of the Father ; your own elder brother; come out to seek you in the far country, and to bring you home to his Father and yours. Nor will he be satisfied unless you have the Father even as he has the Father. He shows you what it is to have the Father in the state in which you now are; amid the trials of earth, the enmity of the world, the very pains of hell. He shows you how even here you can have the Father as, in a work and warfare infinitely harder than yours, he had the Father ; how you, in all your toil and tribulation, can rest in the consciousness of the Father’s favour; and rejoice in the doing of the Father’s will ; and resign yourself contentedly to the Father’s disposal ; and quietly wait the Father’s pleasure to call you hence when the time comes. And what shall I say of your having the Father then? Not as the Son on earth had, but as the Son in heaven now has, the Father? Even now he says, "If a man love me, he will keep my words, and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him." So you have the Father now. But more, far more, is yours. "Father, I will that they also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory, which thou hast given me: for thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world." He comes to receive you to himself; to take you to be with him where he is, that you may have the Father as he has the Father. O glorious day! O blessed consummation! Is this indeed the end of your not denying but acknowledging that Jesus is the Christ, and so not denying but acknowledging the Son Low he stoops, - how low none but a holy God and lost souls can tell, - as Jesus who is the Christ. Down into the depths of sin’s guilt and doom he goes. Over the head of the anointed righteous One, the obedient servant, the billows of wrath roll. And you deny him not, but acknowledge him, as thus redeeming you. You confess that "Jesus is the Christ." You are not ashamed of his cross. It is your glory. And well it may be. For what fruit is yours through your not denying, but acknowledging, the Son, in his coming forth from the Father as his Christ to such humiliation for you? Is it that you escape punishment merely, and are saved from hell? That would be no mean boon. But what privilege is yours now, - what hope hereafter? It is the Son whom you acknowledge. He has the Father. He has the Father’s kingdom; the Father’s riches; the Father’s joys. He has the Father’s heart. He has the Father himself And nothing will content him but that you, who acknowledge him, shall have the Father as he has the Father. Surely of the future, as well as of the present fruit of your acknowledging the Son, it may be said: "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him." And surely, beyond question, the whole plan and system of saving mercy is surpassingly gracious and glorious, - -according to which, "when the fullness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law, to redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons." XVI. THE GUILELESS SPIRIT ABIDING THROUGH THE WORD IN THE SON AND IN THE FATHER, SO AS TO RECEIVE THE PROMISE OF ETERNAL LIFE. "Let that therefore abide in you which ye have heard from the beginning. If that which ye have heard from the beginning shall remain [abide] in you, ye also shall continue [abide] in the Son, and in the Father. And this is the promise that he hath promised us, even eternal life." - 1 John 2:24-25. This practical appeal, concluding the previous argument, has a singularly close resemblance to the opening statement of the epistle. The same remarkable phraseology prevails. There is a "hearing from the beginning," and a "declaration" or promise connected with it. "That which was from the beginning," "that which we have seen and heard declare we unto you ;" so the apostle speaks of the apostolic position and commission (1 John 1:1-3). "That which ye have heard from the beginning " - -" the promise which he hath promised ;" - so he speaks here of the standing of those to whom he writes. And as, in the former passage, it is the Word of life that is seen and heard and handled; it is "the life," "the eternal life," that is "manifested" and "declared;" so here, "this is the promise that he hath promised us, even eternal life." The appeal runs exactly thus: "You, therefore, what ye have heard from the beginning, let it abide in you." For you must now perceive that "if what ye have heard from the beginning shall abide in you," then, and only then, shall ye "abide in the Son and in the Father." And this is the secret of your having fellowship with us in what is common to both of us: "the promise of eternal life" (1 John 1:5). I. "Let that therefore which ye have heard from the beginning abide in you." The phrase "from the beginning" must here refer to the first preaching of the gospel. It cannot be understood in the same absolute sense in which it is used in the opening of the epistle. And yet John, I am persuaded, has that great thought in his mind. His object is to identify your position with that of himself and his fellow apostles. You are to "have fellowship with us" (1 John 1:3). We would have you to be upon the same footing with us; in the same boat, as it were; the boat tossed on the Galilean sea, to whose troubled crew no phantom ghost but the living Jesus appears and says - " It is I; be not afraid." It was given to us to see, to hear, to touch and handle, "that which was from the beginning " - "of the Word of life." And this is that which we have declared unto you, and which "ye have heard from the beginning." Let it abide in you. For this end, that it may abide in you, let "that which ye have heard from the beginning" be not only known but felt ; not only known as a matter of fact or doctrine, but felt as a matter of experience. Let it so lay hold of you, that it shall be the nature of God becoming in a sense part and parcel of your nature; the great heart of the Father entering in a measure into union with your heart. The nature of God is light; the heart of the Father is love. Light, pure and unsullied, is the essence of God, and his dwelling-place. He is light and he dwells in light. It is light which no darkness can invade. It is light, moreover, in which nothing but love can be at home. It is light before which, - the true light shining, - the darkness of the world, and all that is in it, must be passing away, and only he that doeth the will of God can abide for ever. It is in Christ that this true light now shines. Without him you cannot come to the light, or dwell in the light, or walk in the light; without his blood which cleanseth from all sin, without himself as your advocate with the Father, the righteous one, the propitiation for your sins. This is what "you have heard from the beginning" and have believed; and have found experimentally to be true. Let it so "abide in you;" let it be "Christ dwelling in your hearts by faith" (Ephesians 3:17). For otherwise you cannot face the light; you cannot meet with clear and open eye the light of that clear and open eye of God; you quail beneath its truth and love. If at any moment you in any measure lose Christ, you so far lose both truth and love, the truth and love which alone can bear the light. You fall into darkness again, and come under its power, the power of its untrue and unloving ways. The old dark doubts and fears of guilt beset you: the old dark refuges of lies tempt you ; the old dark devices of self-justification return upon you; the old dark habit of tampering with the world’s lusts, and listening to the world’s palliations of them, seduces you; and the old dark disquietudes of a peevish and angry discontent with yourselves, with your God, and with your fellow-men, begin again to rankle in your bosom. Instead of the light of truth, there is dark guile in your spirits. Instead of the light of love, there is dark suspicion and enmity and alienation. Ah! if you would have all to be always clear and bright in the spiritual atmosphere around you; all open between your God and you; open truth and open love " let that which ye have heard from the beginning abide in you" Let all of Christ you have ever known, seen, heard, handled, tasted, "abide in you." Let all you have learned of Christ, - as being with the Father, from everlasting, in his bosom, - as coming forth from the Father to reveal and reconcile, - as purging your sin with blood, and bringing you to be all to the Father that he is himself to the Father, - let it all "abide in you;" always, everywhere. II. So "ye also shall abide in the Son and in the Father." First, "Ye shall abide in the Son." What the Lord elsewhere enjoins as in itself a duty, "Abide in me" (John 15:4), the apostle describes as the consequence of another duty being rightly discharged. He points out the condition or the means of our abiding in the Son; as indeed Jesus also may be held to do when he says, "If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will" (John 15:7). The meaning clearly is - "Ye abide in me through my words abiding in you" - the Lord’s expression, "my words," being equivalent to the apostle’s, "that which ye have heard" of the word of life "from the beginning." Thus it is by faith that we "abide in the Son;" for it is by faith that what we have heard of him from the beginning abides in us. The manner, therefore, of our abiding in the Son is neither sacramental on the one hand, nor mystical on the other - neither physically ritual, nor metaphysically transcendental. We do not "abide in the Son" by any sacramental act on our part, or any sacramental grace or virtue on his. The Lord’s Supper may be a help to our abiding in the Son; but only indirectly, through its being a help to our having "that which we have heard of him from the beginning abiding in us." It is the expressive sign and sure seal of it, and therefore may contribute to its abiding in us, and so to our abiding in the Son. But that is all. There is no charm or efficacy in the rite itself to secure our abiding in the Son. The relation described by our abiding in the Son is not of such a sort as can be kept up by any act or process apart from intelligence, consciousness, and volition. And therefore this abiding in the Son cannot be mystical or transcendental, any more than it can be ritual or sacramental. It cannot be such as the visionaries of John’s day imagined in their splendid dreams; in which abiding in the Christ, or in the Son, considered as an emanation or efflux of Deity, was a kind of absorption; a height of self-identification with some portion or manifestation of the Divine essence, or self-annihilation in it, to be reached by a long course of abstract musing on the first principles of things, or deep but vague contemplation of the eternal, infinite Being. John’s idea of abiding in the Son is much humbler and more practical. We abide in the Son, as we may be said to abide in any one when his words abide in us. - or when that which we have heard of him, or from him, from the beginning, abides in us ; when we understand and know him, by what he says and what we hear; when what we thus understand and know of him takes hold of us, carries our conviction, commands our confidence and love, fastens and rivets itself in our mind and heart, and so abides in us. Thus we abide in the Son precisely as we abide in a friend whom we know, and trust, and love. Doubtless the Son in whom we abide transcends infinitely any such friend. In him are excellencies which are to be found in no other. In himself personally, and in his relation as the Son to the Father, there are riches of wisdom, knowledge, goodness, grace, and glory, which our "abiding in him" through eternity will not enable us thoroughly to search or ransack. Not when myriads of blessed ages in yonder realms of light have rolled over our heads will one tithe of all the wonders of him whose "name is Wonderful" have been discovered; no, not though our abiding in him there will be without a break and without a cloud. And what shall I say of the raptures of that personal intercourse and interchange of thought, feeling, and affection, in which our abiding in the Son then must mainly consist? Can any limit be set to the ravishing joy of our walking with him and his walking with us in Paradise - when we go in and out together - we seeing him without a vail, - and he, as he talks with us without reserve, causing our hearts to burn within us? And what comparison can there be, even now, between our abiding in him and our abiding in any other, even the best of friends? Still it is important to remember, that we do abide in the Son very much as we abide in any other friend; it is important now, as well as in the apostle’s time. For there is a fancy abroad of a sort of abiding in the Son that may be to a large extent independent of his words, or words about him, abiding in us. There is a tendency to put a sort of sentimental pietism, itself undefined and hating definition, gazing with rapt and fascinated eye on a soul-melting "Agnus Dei" or "Ecce Homo," seen in dim religious light, in the place of intelligent faith, or the engagement of mind and heart in personal converse with one who speaks and would be spoken to ; of whom and from whom and about whom we hear and read, in the teaching of his own apostles, in the Scriptures of his own Spirit’s inspiration. These are practically set aside; or, at least, any attempt to make their statements yield precise information concerning Christ and his work is disparaged. A Son of God and Son of man, rising out of some deep soundings of divinity and humanity, is substituted for the Son of whom apostles spoke and disciples heard from the beginning. And abiding in him is not a plain, practical, personal dealing with him about that for which he came into the world, and has been manifested to us, to us as individuals one by one; but an attempt somehow to grasp the notion of abstract divinity and universal humanity being in him mysteriously at one. Let no such speculations beguile us. Rather "let that which we have heard from the beginning abide in us;" and let us thereby "abide in the Son;" using as the means of our abiding in him the Scriptures which we search, and which testify of him. Let us thus turn all that we learn into the materials of that personal communing of him with us and us with him, which is indeed the essence of our abiding in the Son . All the rather let us do so because, secondly, this abiding in the Son is abiding in the Father; for the Father and the Son are one. Abiding in the Son, we enter into his relation to the Father, into the whole of it and into all its fruits. We enter into all that the Son is to the Father, as his chosen servant, as the man of his right hand, as his anointed, as his lamb, the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world, as his fellow, against whom his sword of justice awakes, as his smitten shepherd, as his victorious king set on his holy hill of Zion, as his beloved Son in whom he is well pleased, declared to be the Son of God with power by his resurrection from the dead. Into all that the Son is to the Father, in these and other similar views of his mediatorial character and ministry as the Son, we enter, when we abide in the Son. And so we come to be to the Father all that the Son is to the Father. We abide in the Father as the Son abides in the Father. So we abide in the Son and in the Father. And still all this depends on our letting "that which we have heard from the beginning abide in us." It depends on that faith which cometh by hearing, as hearing cometh by the word of God. In vain we look for any other mode of indwelling in God than that which is through the Spirit giving us a sympathising insight into what we have heard and may always hear in the gospel, - into what we have read and may always read in the Scriptures, - of the great transaction between the Father and the Son on which depend the expiation of our guilt, the forgiveness of our sin, the ending of our long estrangement, and the ratifying of our reconciliation and peace. By study, meditation and prayer, let us get more and more, - the Spirit helping us in our musings, - into the very heart of all "that we have heard from the beginning," from the Father, of the Son; from the Son, of the Father. So we abide, more and more intelligently, more and more consciously, more and more believingly, lovingly, rejoicingly, "in the Son and in the Father." III. Of all this "the fruit is unto holiness, and the end everlasting life." For "this is the promise that he hath promised us, even eternal life." The meaning here may be that "the promise of eternal life" is superadded to the privilege or condition of our "abiding in the Son and in the Father," that it is something over and above that, held out to us in prospect; or it may be that our "abiding in the Son and in the Father" is itself the very "life eternal" that is promised. The difference is not material; the two thoughts, or rather the two modifications of the same thought, run into one. "The promise that he hath promised us is eternal life." And "this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent" (John 17:3). Hence we need inquire no farther at present into the nature of eternal life; nor need we conceive of it as an unknown boon held out in dim and distant prospect before us. We have only to work out what is implied in our "knowing the Father, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom he has sent." We have only to prove and real/se more and more, in our experience, what it is to "abide in the Son and in the Father." And that is the promise already fulfilled. That is "eternal life." It is in a real and valid sense, the very life of God himself made ours. For the life of God alone can be truly said to be life at all ; it alone can be "life eternal." All other life is but death; either death possibly impending, or death actually inflicted. At the very best, the life of an intelligent and responsible creature is, as it was in unfallen Adam, precarious; and if not doomed, at least liable, to death. In fallen Adam and his race, it is simply death; "the wages of sin is death," "in the day thou eatest thou diest." "But the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord ;" "God hath given unto us eternal life, and this life is in his Son." For the Son liveth. It is "given to the Son to have life in himself, even as the Father hath life in himself." This is a gift even to the Son, in our nature and in our stead. It is given to him, as one with us, our kinsman-redeemer; for he says, "Because I live ye shall live also." Let us enter then into the life which the Son has by the gift of the Father; his past life of obedience to the Father and acceptance with the Father, on earth, his present life of fellowship with the Father in heaven. Let us apprehend that life as a reality. Let us apprehend the essence of it, which is really intercourse, blessed intercourse, between the Father and the Son; converse, communion conversation. We have materials for this in "that which we have heard from the beginning," if we let it "abide in us." We have the Father speaking of and to the Son, and the Son speaking of and to the Father. That is the life of the Father and the Son; that is "life eternal." And it is that which he has promised to us, even that very "life eternal;" the Father so speaking of and to us as he speaks of and to the Son; and we speaking of and to the Father as the Son speaks of and to the Father. It is that very life that is promised to us when we, "letting that which we have heard from the beginning abide in us, ourselves abide in the Father and the Son." Hence the Lord says (John 15:7): "If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will and it shall be done unto you." To ask ; to be ever asking, and asking freely, confidently, boldly; is one way in which "eternal life," or "abiding in the Son," acts itself out. The very breath of that life is prayer. Hence also the Lord says (John 15:5): "He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit ;" for he partakes of my life; and my life is fruitful, abundantly, richly fruitful. The life which I have with God my Father is fruitful in all good works, to the praise of his glory. And if that very life is yours, through your abiding in me and in my Father; if your life is hid with me in God; then it must now be fruitful in you, as it was in me when I was as you now are; fruitful in all the fruit of the Spirit, which is "love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance." XVII. THE GUILELESS SPIRIT, THROUGH THE ABIDING MESSIANIC UNCTION AND ILLUMINATION - OF THE HOLY GHOST, ABIDING IN CHRIST, SO AS TO HAVE CONFIDENCE AT HIS COMING. "These things have I written unto you concerning them that seduce you. But the anointing which ye have received of him abideth in you; and ye need not that any man teach you; but as the same anointing teacheth you of all things, and is truth, and is no lie, and even as it hath taught you, ye shall abide in him. And now, little children, abide in him; that when he shall appear, we may have confidence, and not be ashamed before him at his coming." 1 John 2:26-28. The discourse is still about abiding in God, in the Son and in the Father. And the special lesson taught is, that the security for our thus abiding in God is to be found, not in our resisting outward solicitations drawing us away from him, but in our having in ourselves an inward principle to keep us near and close to him. If we have not that, no warning, however faithful, against seducers will avail. If we have that, no such warning should be needed. And what is that? It is what has been already indicated in the twentieth verse; the "unction" or anointing which we "have from the Holy One." Of that unction or anointing it is here testified, that its teaching is both thoroughly comprehensive and infallibly true; "It teacheth you of all things, and is truth, and is no lie." The effect of its teaching is our abiding in him; "Even as it has taught you, ye shall abide in him;" or it may be put imperatively, "abide in him" "having this unction, and being taught by it, abide in him" with whom you share it. And you have the strongest inducement to abide in him; you and we alike. For we all look for his appearing; and must surely wish that, "when he shall appear, we may have confidence, and not be ashamed before him at his coming." Two topics here occur for consideration - I. The provision made for our abiding in him; II. The motive urged for our abiding in him. 1. The provision made for our abiding in him is the "anointing which we receive of him abiding in us." That anointing, as we have seen, is our sharing with him in the gift of the Holy Spirit. And it is an anointing which abideth in us. "I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever." So the Lord gives the promise of which John here attests the fulfilment. And it is with special reference to his teaching, illuminating, and enlightening grace, that both the Lord and the apostle speak of the Holy Spirit and his unction abiding in us. "He shall teach you all things and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you; " - " he shall guide you into all truth;" - " he shall take of mine and show it unto you." That is the Lord’s way of describing the Spirit’s abiding presence and its use. And to that the apostle agrees. This anointing "teacheth you" and "hath taught you," so that you need no further teaching; for "it teacheth you of all things, and is truth, and is no lie." There is a fullness in its teaching that admits of no supplement, and an assurance that excludes all doubt. Observe the manifold worth and value of this anointing. It is in us; it is an inward anointing. Not with oil on the head, but with the Holy Spirit in the heart, we are anointed; as he from whom we receive the anointing was himself anointed. It is not an application or appeal from without; it is a gracious influence, a gracious ovement or experience, in the inner man. It is beyond the world’s cognisance; "the world cannot receive the Comforter, the Spirit of truth, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him;" and it is only what it sees and knows by the palpable evidence of sense that the world can take in. But the inward work and witness of the Holy Spirit is apprehended by faith as real ; as being really the indwelling in us of the Spirit that dwelt in Christ. 2. This anointing is permanent; "it abideth in you." It is not a fitful emotion or wayward impulse, a rapture of excitement, alternating perhaps with deep depression. It partakes more of the nature of a calm, constant, settled conviction. Frames, feelings, fancies, are all fluctuating; they are like the surface waters of the ocean, agitated by every wind. But this inward anointing is far down in the still depths beneath. It "abideth in us;" the same always in its own inherent stillness and strength, amid whatever tossings its contact with the upper air may cause. Through tears and cries, as well as smiles and laughter, it abides in us the same; as it did in him who "rejoiced in the Spirit," and who also "groaned in the Spirit." "With our groanings which cannot be uttered," the anointing Spirit, abiding in us, "maketh intercession for us;" and our joy, like Christ’s, is "in the Holy Spirit." This unction then is not to be confounded with our own varying moods of mind, or the varying impressions made on us by things without. It is something far more stable. It gives a certain firm and fixed apprehension of divine things and persons., which these vicissitudes can scarcely interrupt or weaken, and cannot destroy. There may be more or less of the vivid sense of this anointing, at different seasons and in different circumstances; the signs of it may be more or less clearly discernible and the hold we have of it in our consciousness may be more or less strong. But it "abideth in us ;" keeping God and eternity still before us as realities, in our sorest trials and darkest hours; causing us, as we fall back upon it, like David in his recovery from doubting despondency, to exclaim : - " I said, This is my infirmity: but I will remember the years of the right hand of the most High" (Psalms 77:10). 3. This anointing is sufficient in and of itself; its teaching needs no corroboration from any one; it has a divine self-evidencing power of its own that makes him who receives it independent of human testimony: "ye need not that any man teach you." The gospel is its own witness; it carries in itself, as apprehended by this anointing, its own credentials. Like its author, it speaks as having authority, and approves itself experimentally to all who make trial of it. All this is through the anointing Spirit. It is by the Spirit that we are moved to make trial of the gospel; it is by the Spirit that the gospel is so applied and brought home to us, - in its sovereignty, as God speaking, and in its special and pointed adaptation to our case, as God speaking to us, - that we cannot but say in our hearts, "Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth." This is "the anointing which we have received of him ;" it is the Holy Spirit causing us to "taste and see how good he is." And this is the real ground and evidence of our faith; that faith which realises the fulfilment of the great covenant promise, "They shall not teach every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord: for all shall know me, from the least to the greatest. For I will be merciful to their unrighteousness, and their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more." 4. The teaching of this anointing is complete and thorough, all-embracing, allcomprehensive; "it teacheth you of all things." It is not partial, or one-sided, as human teaching on divine subjects is apt to be; but full-orbed, well-rounded, like a perfect circle. It is not, of course, all things absolutely that this anointing teaches; but all things about the theme or subject of the teaching: about him from whom you receive it, and whose it is.. Of the very best of human systems, I suppose that every spiritual man will feel and confess, that it is not on all points satisfying; it cannot but bear the marks of man’s confined standing-ground and restricted range of vision. This is no disparagement of such human systems, when used as helps to the orderly understanding and right arrangement of the several parts of the truth of God. But it indicates the limit to their use. They cannot come in place of the Holy Spirit’s teaching us the words of Christ. Even at the best, when the intellect is most pleased with the symmetry and beauty of a finished theological scheme, the spiritual mind, or :rather the spiritual heart, feels that all is not there; that there is something wanting of what passes between the living God and the living soul when peace is made between them; that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in man’s best divinity. "The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him, and he will shew them his covenant." It needs the divine anointing of which we speak to teach, to unfold, to exhaust, all that is in the song of the angels, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." 5. Finally, this anointing "is truth, and is no lie." It carries with it, and in it, an assurance not to be called in question or shaken; an assurance, one may say, infallibly sure. But you ask, Though I may be assured of the anointing itself that "it is truth and no lie ;" how may I be assured that my having it is truth and no lie? And without this last assurance what will the other avail? Nay, it avails much. Even apart from the question of your assured personal interest in it, and your assured personal experience of it, is it not much to know and believe assuredly that in itself, in its own proper nature and working, this anointing is very truth, and verily is no lie? Is it not something to be told that there is such an oil of gladness, such a precious ointment, poured out upon the High-Priest’s head, and running over upon all his members; the oil, the ointment of the Spirit, teaching of all things, and teaching of them with absolute certainty? You know what the things are of which his anointing teaches; they are the things,which belong to God’s glory and your peace. But you will not he content with knowing them merely as discoveries of your own, or as communicated by others. Know them as taught to you and attested to you; above all, as wrought out and acted out in you; by the anointing of the Holy Spirit. Proceed upon the faith of your thus knowing them, in the expectation of your thus knowing them, more and more. And do so, not doubting, but believing assuredly, that "the anointing which teacheth you of them is truth and is no lie." Yes! "There is truth and no lie" in what the Spirit shows you of the love of God in Christ, and sheds abroad in your heart of that love; be sure of that, and be not afraid to act upon the assurance of it. "There is truth and no lie" in what the Spirit opens up to you of’ the free-ness and fullness of the Father’s overtures of mercy in the Son; be sure of that, and be not afraid to act upon the assurance of it. "There is truth and no lie" in what the Spirit would have you to grasp of" the peace which passeth understanding, the hope that maketh not ashamed, and the joy that is unspeakable and full of glory;" be sure of that, and be not afraid to act upon the assurance of it. "There is truth and no lie" in "that which ye have heard from the beginning so abiding in you that you abide in the Son and in the Father. That really is "the anointing which is truth and is no lie." Be sure of that, and be not afraid to act out and out upon the assurance of it. Thus receiving of the Lord Christ this anointing, you may well be proof against all seducing anti-Christs (1 John 2:26). And not otherwise can you be proof against them; for not otherwise can you abide in him. "Abide in me," he says, "and I in you." Abide in me; and that you may abide in me, let me abide in you. Let my word dwell in you richly; and my Spirit, giving to my word fragrance to fill the whole heart with the sweet savour of my name, as well as also penetrating power to reach every hard corner of the heart with the softening influence of my grace. Yes; let Christ dwell in your hearts by faith. Let the anointing Spirit infuse into your whole inner man the holy beauty, the meekness, the gentleness of Christ. Let his anointing mould and mellow your whole moral nature into a real identity with that of Christ. Thus becoming assimilated to him, growing up into him, you more and more closely and surely abide in him, and so are safe from "all them that would seduce you." No other security, in fact, will suffice; not your utmost vigilance against their lies, but the full indwelling in you of the truth, and the Spirit $of the truth. II. The motive urged for your abiding in Christ is the hope or prospect of "his appearing," "his coming." It is urged very earnestly and affectionately. There is a tender emphasis in the appeal "And now, little children!" Nor is the change of person, from the second to the first, insignificant - "that we". . John might have kept to the mode of address which he has been using, and to which in the next verse he returns; as an apostle exhorting his disciples; a teacher instructing his scholars; speaking authoritatively or ex cathedra. But when the end of all comes in view, he cannot separate himself from them. We are to be together with the Lord, you and we; you disciples and we apostles; you scholars and we teachers. And for this end we would have you to abide in him, that we may have confidence together when he appears. John had said at the outset, "That which we," who are apostles, "have seen and heard declare we unto you, that ye also may have fellowship with us," the same fellowship that we have, "with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ." Our object is to make you joint partakers with us in what might seem to be our distinctive privilege as apostles, our having seen the Lord. That is our aim in all that we write to you. With a view to that we tell you of the light in which we may jointly walk together, and of the blood of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, which cleanseth us all alike from all sin. With a view to that we warn you against having any fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness. With a view to that we remind you of the anointing which you as well as we have received of Christ, the Holy One. With a view to that we counsel you to abide in him; that as there is no real difference now between you and us, there may be none hereafter, when it would be final and fatal; that when he shall appear, we may altogether appear with him in glory; that you and we alike "may have confidence and not be ashamed before him at his coming." For we all alike need to be admonished of this risk. And what a thought! what a contingency or possiibility to be imagined! "To be ashamed before him at his coming!" It is a very strong expression. It carries us back to that old scene in Paradise when it was lost. The guilty pair "hear the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden, in the cool of the day." And they shrink with shame from him "at his coming." Is it thus that we should shrink at his coming now? Were he at this moment to appear, how would we feel? What would be our first impulse, our instinct? To run to meet him, or to shrink from him in shame? There are those who at the coming of the Lord shall "hide themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains, and say to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb; for the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?" Would we be among that terrified multitude, that woeful crowd It is to have in it not a little of the pomp and fashion of the world; "kings of the earth, great men, rich men, chief captains, mighty men, as well as bond and free men, without number." They may know no shame or fear now; unused to blush, or be abashed, or tremble in any presence, however they may force others to blush, and be abashed, and tremble before them. But at the Lord’s appearing, their brave, bold looks are gone. Ashamed, alarmed, despairing, they shrink from him. Surely we would not be of that miserable crew. Nay, fear apart, we who believe and love him would not wish to be found by him, at his coming, in any mood of mind, in any attitude of body, in any company, at any work, in any pleasure, over any book, that would cause even a momentary shrinking from him in shame. We would not choose to be so caught by him and taken by surprise; when we were not thinking of him, or serving him; when perhaps we were tempted to be ashamed of him, or of one of his saints, or of some things about his cause and kingdom, before those who happened to be our associates at the time ; - so caught, I say, and taken by surprise, as to wish for a moment’s delay, that we might get over our nervous flutter and confusion, and summon courage to bid him welcome. Who is he who comes? And for what it is not "he whom our soul loveth," our Saviour, friend, brother, who has gone to prepare a place for us among the many mansions of his Father’s house? And for what does he come? To take us to himself, that where he is we may be also. Can we tolerate the idea of being ashamed before him when he comes, and comes on such an errand? Ah! if we would be safe from any such risk then, let us "abide in him" now; "abide in him" always. So, "when he shall appear, we may have confidence." Let me be ever asking myself, at every moment, If he were to appear now, would I have confidence? If he were to come into my house, my room, and show himself, and speak to me face to face; would I have confidence? Could I meet his look of love without embarrassment? Only if he found me "abiding in him " doing whatever I might be doing "in his name, giving thanks unto God even the Father by him;" only if he found me keeping him in my heart. Let us then be always abiding in him; every day, every hour, every instant; even as we would wish to be found abiding in him, were he to appear this very day, this very hour, this very instant. He is about to appear; to appear suddenly; to come quickly. Oh let us see to it, that as we would not wish him to come when we were in such a state as to cause shrinking from him in shame; as we would rather that when he appears we were in a position to spring forward with keen eye and outstretched arm, to welcome in all confidence him whom we love; let us see to it that we "abide in him." Let us be always in the posture in which he who gives his "little children" this counsel was himself when he closed the book of the Revelation. "He which testifieth these things saith, Surely I come quickly, Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus." PART SECOND. INTERMEDIATE CONDITION OF THE DIVINE FELLOWSHIP - RIGHTEOUSNESS ( 1 John 2:28-29; 1 John 3:1-24; 1 John 4:1-6). XVIII., GROUND OR REASON OF THIS CONDITION IN THE RIGHTEOUS NATURE OF GOD - THE NEW BIRTH UNTO RIGHTEOUSNESS. "If ye know that he is righteous, ye know that every one that doeth righteousness is born of him. Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed on us, that we should be called the sons of God." - 1 John 2:29; 1 John 3:1. The apostle passes to a new thought or theme; a new view of the fellowship in which he would have us to be partakers with himself and all the apostles. It is "fellowship with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ." He has viewed it as a fellowship of light. He now views it as a fellowship of righteousness. "God is light,’ - that is the key-note to the former view. "God is righteous," - that is the keynote to the present view. It is introductory to the third, - "God is love." For it is an indispensable condition of this fellowship with God that we realise in ourselves, and in our doings, what is in accordance with his nature. If therefore it is his nature to be righteous, it must be our nature to do righteousness. But that to us is a new nature. It implies that we are born of him to whose nature ours is to be conformed; that we are "born of God." "Born of God!" The idea seems to strike John’s mind with fresh astonishment. Familiar as it is, he sees in it, as it here occurs to him, new cause of wonder; "Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God!" For this rapturous exclamation in the beginning of the third chapter is based on the principle of sonship brought out in the last verse of the second; "If ye know that he is righteous, ye know that every one that doeth righteousness is born of him." The starting-point in this new line of argument is the statement that "God is righteous." It is analogous to that given before, that "God is light." And as there, so here, the inference is obvious. Only the doer of righteousness can be really born of him, and the doer of righteousness certainly is so. For to be born of God implies community of nature between him and us. I cannot be really his child unless I am possessed of the same nature with him. So the Lord Jesus himself teaches in two remarkable passages (Matthew 5:5-45, John 8:38-44). In both of these passages, but especially in the last, there is a general principle involved. A family likeness, in features of character as well as of countenance, will betray an evil paternity, and must prove a good one; "I speak that which I have seen with my Father; and ye do that which ye have seen with your father." You say that you are Abraham’s children. If that were true, you would do the works of Abraham. He would not like you have sought to kill me, for telling the truth which I have heard of God. But I will tell you whose children you are, and who is your father. It is he whose deeds you do. You reply, We have one Father, even God. Nay; if God were your Father, you would do the work of your Father, which is "loving me;" for he loveth me. But you reject me, and so prove that, in spite of your claim to be God’s children, your actual paternity is very different; "Ye are of your father the devil." John may have had these words of his Master in his mind when he wrote down the brief and pithy maxim, "God is righteous, and every one that doeth righteousness is born of him" His object is to supply a searching test by which our abiding in God may be surely tried. For our abiding in God is our abiding in the Son; and through our abiding in the Son, abiding in the Father, as the Son abides in the Father. But that implies our being "born of God." It is as "born of God" that the Son abides in the Father. And it must be as "born of God" that we, abiding in the Son, abide in the Father as he does. The practical way of proving so high and holy a filiation is very simple: "If ye know that he is righteous, ye know that every one that doeth righteousness is born of him." It is a mode of proof which may, without irreverence, be applied in the first instance to the Son himself. We have his own warrant for so applying it (John 15:9-10). It is by keeping his Father’s commandments that he, as the Sons born of the Father, abides in the Father’s love. As the Father is known by him as righteous, so he, doing righteousness, is proved to be born of him. He doeth the works of his Father, and so evinces his sonship. All through, the stress is laid on righteousness. That is the distinguishing characteristic which identifies him that is born of God; the common quality connecting what he does as born of God with the nature of him of whom he is born. Already this attribute of righteousness has been brought prominently forward in this epistle. God is righteous in forgiving sin (1 John 1:9). Jesus Christ is righteous as our advocate with the Father (1 John 2:1). But it is in the section on which we are now entering that righteousness bulks most largely. "God is righteous;" that is his perfection. We are to "know that he is righteous." His Son, born of him, knew this; "O righteous Father, the world hath not known thee, but I have known thee." I have known that thou art righteous. It is a great matter to know that, in the midst of a world that knows it not. For does the world know that God is righteous? Have "the workers of iniquity" that knowledge, when "they eat up God’s people like bread, and say God seeth not"? when they call not upon the name of the Lord? when they do deeds of darkness, and, because he keeps silence, think that he is altogether such an one as themselves?. Do we know that God is righteous? That God is kind, compassionate, merciful, bountiful, - all that we can easily know. Such knowledge is not too wonderful for us; it is not high or unattainable. But that he is righteous! Have we a fixed and firm knowledge of that? Do we understand what it means? Do we grasp the meaning of it and hold it fast? It is not natural for us to do so. That God is righteous, absolutely and perfectly righteous;- that he thinks and feels and purposes and acts, always according to what ought to be, and never in accommodation to what is; that he makes uncompromising rectitude the rule of all his judgments and proceedings in all his dealings with men ;-that he is not facile and bending, open to appeals and appliances from without, but inherently and unalterably righteous ; - to know that; really to know it as a fact, and a great fact; true now and true for eternity; ah! such knowledge is not easy for me, a guilty and fallen man. It is not possible, unless I am "born of God." Jesus knew it; he knew the righteous Father. Born of God, he knew that God is righteous; and he did righteousness accordingly. How thoroughly he did so, let some cases in which he might have been tempted to do otherwise attest. I. I cite an instance already referred to in a somewhat different connection. A young man comes to him asking the way to eternal life. He is rich, amiable, good; a keeper of the commandments from his youth; ingenuous, attractive, sincere; so that Jesus beholding him loveth him. May he not stretch a point in this goodly youth’s favour? May he not accept his goodness as being, if not all that strict law requires, yet on the whole sufficient? No. He knows that God is righteous. And, knowing that, he doeth righteousness, though his doing it drives the youth away, with what issue who can tell? 2. He draws near Jerusalem, and beholds the city. It is inexpressibly dear to him. If other Israelites hailed it as beautiful for situation, and boasted of it as the joy of the whole earth, the city of the great king; the great king himself may well have a favour for it. The anguish of his human soul, as he contemplates its present security and coming desolation, must be all but intolerable. Can there be no help? Is no indulgence possible for his own chosen city’s sm? May no miracle be wrought sufficient to rouse it to repentance? He knows that God is righteous; and he doeth righteousness. He weeps in the doing of it. The city’s fate rings his heart. But what can he say? What but "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem!" 3. He is in the garden; praying the prayer of agony; sweating great drops of blood. The cup is handed to him; the cup of woe; the cup of wrath; the cup of his Father’s judicial reckoning with him as answerable for all his people’s sins. "Father, if it be possible!" May it not be possible? Is there no way of salvation but through the shedding of my blood? No. He knows that God is righteous; and he doeth righteousness. "Father, thy will be done l" Thus it is plainly seen that he is born of God. He knows the righteous Father. And knowing him as the righteous Father, he doeth righteousness as his only begotten Son. You who believe are born of God as he is. I speak of his human birth; in which you, in your new birth, are partakers with him; the same Spirit of God being the agent in both, and originating in both the same new life. His birth was humiliation to him, though it was of God: your new birth is exaltation to you, because it is of God. His being born of God by the Spirit made him partaker of your human nature ; - your being born again of God by the Spirit makes you partakers of his "divine nature." You, thus born of God, come to be of the same mind with him who is the first begotten of the Father; especially as regards your knowing that God is righteous, and that it is, therefore, and must be, the impulse and characteristic of every one that is born of him to do righteousness. For if you are thus born of God, must you not be as thoroughly on his side, as unreservedly in his interest, in the great outstanding controversy between his righteousness and man’s sin, as is his well-beloved Son himself? Is it really so? Was he ever seen as infirm and irresolute, as weak and wavering, in his moral judgments, as you too frequently are in yours? Was he ever equivocal or feeble in his utterances about God’s claims, and man’s duty, and man’s guilt? Did he ever hesitate to act upon the principle: "Let God be true and every man a liar?" Nor will it do to say that he had not so much inducement as you have to tamper with God’s righteousness, and be disloyal to his throne. Personally, it is true that he had no need to have recourse to any expedient of accommodation or compromise. God’s judicial righteousness and his acceptance in God’s sight never could come into collision. Never could he have occasion to desire that God were less righteous than he is, in order that there might be hope for him. But when I think of him as taking my place, bearing my sin, receiving in his bosom the sword that should have smitten me; can I say that he had no cause to wish, had it been possible, that God might be less inflexibly and inexorably righteous than he there and then found him to be? And when I think of the exquisite tenderness of his sensibility; how he could not witness human suffering unmoved, or see a human soul perish, or run the hazard of perishing, without a tear ; - I can scarcely fancy it less difficult for him than for me to acquiesce complacently in God’s righteousness reigning, as it must reign, not only "through grace unto eternal life," but through wrath unto everlasting death. But that is what is implied in knowing that God is righteous. And to do righteousness, is to think and speak and act accordingly. It is to be unflinching and unfaltering in preferring God’s righteousness to man’s sin. It is to justify God’s righteousness and condemn man’s sin, with an entire and utter abandonment of all attempts, and even of all desire, to make terms between them. It is to proclaim internecine war between them; yes, even though the issue should be the triumph of God’s righteousness in the sinner’s inevitable ruin. A hard saying this! Who can hear it? A heavy burden! Who can bear it? Who that is not born of God? Who but one who reaches, by the new birth, the position which the Son, in his birth, took as his? Who but one who, born again of the Spirit as he was born of the Spirit, comes to occupy the same point of view that he did; to see righteousness and sin, God’s righteousness and man’s sin, as he saw them; and to deal with them as he dealt with them in all his ministry, and especially on the cross. First, in him, and with him, - born of God into fellowship with him in his birth, - you enter into that doing of righteousness on his part, which was the main design of his being born; which brings into perfect harmony, not God’s righteousness and man’s sin, but God’s righteousness and man’s salvation from sin. This is your first step, as born of God; and it is all-important for yourselves, and for your fellow-men. It places you on the very vantageground on which the Son himself stood, when, coming into the world, he surveyed its sad, sinful case, in the light of the will of God which he came to do, and the righteousness of God which he came to vindicate and fulfil It enables you to draw the line sharp and dear, as he did, between that loving embrace of him and his cross which wins salvation for the chief of sinners from a righteous God, and in a way of perfect righteousness, that rejection of him which seals the fate of the very best of those who, refusing his righteous justifying mercy, brave his righteous retributive wrath. Thus, knowing for yourselves, in and with Christ, that God is righteous, you do righteousness, as he did. And thus also, in your customary intercourse with other men, you act upon the deep conviction that God is righteous; that his righteousness admits of no relaxation; that there is between it and all manner of iniquity a terrible incompatibility; that there is one only way in which the workers of iniquity can be righteously delivered; and that all who are not found in that way, be they ever so respectable, ever so amiable, are righteously condemned. Fully to realise that assurance, and to act upon it, without any wavering ; - as if you still regarded being in Christ of little moment or being out of Christ of little peril ; - so to live in your closet and in the world, at home and abroad, under the constant urgent sense of there being safety only in Christ, and only ruin out of Christ, for you, for all, for any ; - -that is to do righteousness, in the knowledge that God is righteous. Ah! what an insight into the righteous nature and character of God; what a measure of cordial oneness of principle and sentiment with him; entering into his very mind and heart; does all this involve! How far removed is it from that loose, easy-going sort of Christian virtue which would not itself do iniquity, but is very tolerant of those who do it; not, like Lot’s righteous soul, vexed with evil; nor, like Lot, preaching righteousness; but rather prone to look on sin with indifference or complacency, and to let the sinner go on, without warning or entreaty, to his doom. If you know that God is righteous, and make conscience of doing righteousness accordingly, you cannot be thus tame and acquiescent; thus cold and callous. To you, righteousness, God’s righteousness, is not a name but a reality. To be conformed to it, to submit to it, is life. To be ignorant of it, or opposed to it, or far from it, is death. Do you know that? Do you know it so as to feel it for others as well as for yourselves? Can you look out upon the world that knows not the righteous Father, and not be more in earnest than you are. "Who is on the Lord’s side - who?" Who is in the interest of the "righteous Father"? Who is he whose soul burns within him at the thought of the righteous Father being so little known? - -whose bowels of compassion melt at the sight of men perishing in the world that know him not? Truly he is "born of God." None but one born ,of God can be so like his onlybegotten Son. Is not this a position eminently high and holy? Is it not a position, our occupancy of which may well be matter of surprise even to ourselves? Does it not imply a wondrous manner of love bestowed on us by the Father, that on such a footing, in such a sense, and for such an end, "we should be called the sons of God? " - born of him; so born of him as to do righteousness, even as he is righteous; to uphold practically the very righteousness which is his essential characteristic, the peculiar and consummate glory of his infinitely perfect nature I do not speak now, at least not yet, of the amazing love manifested by the Father in the provision made for our being called or constituted his sons, through the giving up of his own dear Son for us, to bear our guilt as criminals, that we may share with him his grace and glory as the Son What at present we have to consider is, not how we become sons of God, but rather what it is to be sons of God; what oneness of nature and character, of sentiment and sympathy, of feeling and action, between God and us, - especially in respect of that righteousness of his which we thus come to know, - our being his sons, or being born of him, implies. He would have us to be his sons, as he had Jesus to be his Son, when he was on the earth; knowing him as the "righteous Father," and doing righteousness as he is righteous. He would have us, as his sons, to be true and loyal to him, as Jesus his Son was, in the great outstanding controversy of his righteousness with the world’s sin; as faithful ; and as tender too. He would have us, as his sons, to go on the very errand on which his Son, as his righteous servant, went; and in his very spirit; with the law of God in our heart, and rivers of water running down our eyes because men will not keep that law. Ah! to be thus the sons of God; as thoroughly at one with God as Jesus his Son was; witnessing everywhere and evermore that God is righteous; righteous to punish; righteous to forgive and save! What an attainment! What a responsibility! What a rank! Well may it prompt the abrupt ejaculation, - " Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed on us, that we should be called the sons of God." XIX. THE DIVINE BIRTH - THE FAMILY LIKENESS. "If ye know that he is righteous, ye know that every one that doeth righteousness is born of him. Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called [the] sons" [children] "of God!" [and so we are!] "Therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew him" [God] "not. Beloved, now are we [the] sons" [children] "of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear" [when that shall appear "we shall be like him" [God]; "for we shall see him as he is." - 1 John 2:29; 1 John 3:1-2. The first verses of the third chapter are to be viewed as inseparable from the last verse of the second. It is that verse which starts the new line of thought; our "knowing that God is righteous, and doing ‘righteousness accordingly," in virtue of our "being born of him." Born of him! That is what awakens John’s grateful surprise, and occasions his exclamation, "Behold, what manner of love!" His discourse now is an expansion of that thought. I. In every view that can be taken of it, our being called the sons of God is a wonderful instance of the Father’s love. That we - Who? The lost and guilty; who have forfeited by sin whatever claim we might have on God originally; who have become rebels against his authority and criminals under the sentence of his law; who, if left to ourselves, would rather continue estranged from him for ever than consent to return and be reconciled to him in peace: - -That such as we should be called the sons of God! And then how? Through his own Son making common cause with us, that we may have a common standing with him; and by his own Spirit making us willing, almost against our wills, to acquiesce in that arrangement. And to what effect? That we may be to him what his own Son is to him; the objects of the same love; sharers of the same rank. Well may we exclaim, "Behold what manner of love!" But it is chiefly one element or feature in this high calling that the apostle has before him when he breaks out into this rapturous exclamation; our being the sons of God as "born of him" (1 John 2:29); our undergoing a divine birth which, making us partakers of the divine nature, makes us thereby really and truly children of God; children, in a sense, by nature; and therefore fitly acknowledged as children. Observe the peculiar turn of expression. As exactly rendered, it is not that we should be called "the sons," but rather, that we should be called "children," of God. It is not said merely that we are called his sons, as having him standing to us in the relation of a Father; but that we are called his children; his divinely-born children; deriving from a divine birth a divine nature; children of God, in respect of our being born of God. Of course this last view does not exclude the other; on the contrary, they virtually coincide. The thought of our being born of God immediately suggests the thought of the Father’s love.. It is fatherly love that explains our being called children of God in virtue of our being born of God. It is the very glory and perfection of the love which the Father bestows on us, that we are thus called or constituted children of God. For it is conceivable that in some other way, and on some other footing, we might be called children of God. In point of fact, men dream of their being God’s children altogether irrespectively of any new divine birth, - anything like "being born of God." Paul, at Athens, quoted a Greek poet as saying, "We are also his offspring." From him we have our origin, and "in him we live, and move, and have our being." Simply as his dependent offspring, we may think that we are entitled to be called his children, and to call him Father. We may speak of his love in creating us and caring for us as fatherly love. It is not however really so, in any valid scriptural sense. At any rate it is not the "manner of love" which John thinks it so amazing a wonder that the Father should have bestowed upon us in our being called children of God. Again, our being "called children of God" may be considered simply as an act of adoption, very much analogous to what is practised among men. Viewed in that light, it is unquestionably an instance of fatherly love; and fatherly love of no ordinary kind. It is as if a judge were not only to procure a pardon for the criminal he has doomed to death, and hand it to him on the scaffold as he is awaiting execution; but were to take him home, and, by a legal deed, constitute him his son and heir; or as if the monarch were to admit into the royal household a vanquished and forgiven rebel, to be on the same filial terms with him, and enjoy the same filial privileges, as his own first-begotten. Or take the better example of the reception of the prodigal son. The sympathising witnesses of that scene of reconciliation might well utter the ejaculation, Behold, what manner of love the father has bestowed on him! He himself could never cease to feel the wonder of it. And yet even this is not the manner of love that awakens John’s admiring rapture; or at least not the whole of it. The parable, for its purpose, is complete, although it takes no express notice of anything on the father’s part but his welcoming his son, "once dead but now alive, - once lost but now found;" or anything on the son’s part but his "coming to himself and going to his father." But he who uttered the parable spoke of our being "born again ;" "born of the Spirit;" as explicitly as his beloved disciple speaks here of our being "born of God." And we cannot know what manner of love the Father hath bestowed on us in our being called the children of God, unless we realise our being so in virtue of this new divine birth. Here the parable does not help; it may even, if taken alone, mislead. It teaches its own lesson; but it does not teach the whole truth of God on the subject of our being "called children of God." The prodigal’s mind underwent a mighty revolution with reference to his father and his father’s house. It must have done so before he could be willing, either to accept the father’s terms of pardon and peace, or to accommodate himself afterwards to the father’s character and way of life; and without such willingness he could not have been really his son. That surely implied a great change of mind, which the parable, however, does not fully, or indeed at all explain. But. we know well, as spiritual men, how the corresponding change in our nature must be wrought. We must be born of God; so born of God that it shall be as truly our nature to do righteousness as it is his nature to be righteous. It is not merely that we need to be made willing to embrace his righteous overtures of mercy, in order to our personal acceptance in his sight. That doubtless requires that we should be born of God; for no man ever yet was found willing to know and submit to the righteousness of God, or unreservedly to consent to be "justified freely by God’s grace through the redemption that is in Christ," without so thorough a revolution in his whole inner man, so complete an abandonment of his own way of peace, and such entire acquiescence in that of God, as could only come from his being indeed born of God. To be born of God to this effect, to the effect of our coming to be of the same mind with him, in the great and vital matter of a sinner’s justification, and our justification as sinners ; - that is much. It :is the proof or manifestation of a fatherly love bestowed on us that is of a very wonderful sort indeed. But that is not all. Not only are we to be of one mind with the righteous Father as to the manner of our return and reconciliation to him; we are so born of God as to be ever after of the same mind with him, as to the whole of his righteous laws, and his righteous administration of them; "doing righteousness as we know that he is righteous." That is what his heart is set upon; that is his fatherly love. It goes far beyond his simply consenting to regard us, in spite of all our estrangement, as still his children, if we consent to be so regarded. It is very different from his merely passing an act of indemnity, and by a summary and sovereign process of will, executing, as it were, a deed whereby we are declared to be in law his children. That is all the love which a father can bestow in adopting a child, according to the usages of earth. But it is not all that our Father in heaven bestows upon us, when we are called children of God. He contemplates a far more thorough filiation, a more intensely real sonship, than what can result from any such transaction outside of us ; - any agreement between him and us, however generous and gracious. He "begets us" to himself (James 1:18); "we are born of God," by an inward communication of his nature to us. He must have us to be, not titular, but real and actual children; children by participation of nature as well as by deed of adoption; by a new creation as well as a new covenant; of one mind and heart, of one character and moral frame with himself; "doing righteousness," as we "know that he is righteous;" - so, and no otherwise, "born of him." "Behold what manner of love" is this that "the Father hath bestowed upon us!" That in such a sense, and to such an effect, the righteous God should be bent on our "being called his children;" his very children; his children in respect of our being made partakers of his righteous nature as God! Truly it is a love which it would never have entered into man’s heart to conceive, that in this marvellous way of such a new birth, "we should be called children of God." l. And we are his children ;. "Beloved, now are we children of God." Our being called children of God is a reality; our being born of God makes it so. The world may not know us in that character, for "it knows not God," and has never known him. We "know that God is righteous;" but the world does not so know him, has not so known him, will not and cannot so know him. How then should it know us, when, born of God, we do righteousness as he is righteous? On the contrary, for this very reason, because we are called children of God, and indeed are so, - therefore "the world knoweth us not." In this respect our position in the world is identical with that of Christ himself. He was called the Son of God, and was so; therefore the world did not own him any more than it owns us; because "it knew not him whose Son he ‘was." The world could not understand his thorough sympathy with God; his burning zeal for God; his holy anger kindled at the sight of whatever outraged the righteous character and claims of God; his lofty, uncompromising loyalty to God’s righteous government and law; his tender concern for the little ones given to him by God, .that they might be shielded from man’s wrong and led in God’s righteous way. His being the Son of God, not in name only but in nature also ; - his being so constantly and consistently true, in all his life, and in his death, to what his sonship involved ; - was the very thing which made him incomprehensible to the world. Even his own chosen ones, when he was in the crisis and agony of doing righteousness, knew him not. The three who should have watched with him in the garden, slept. When he was on his way to trial and death, they all forsook him and fled. They knew him not as the Father’s "righteous servant, by his righteousness justifying many, through bearing their iniquities;" because they knew not the righteous Father himself, laying upon him their iniquities. He was left alone with the Father in that last scene of all (John 16:32). All throughout he was constrained painfully to realise the fact that his mission from the righteous Father, and the righteous meaning of it, were but dimly apprehended by his closest friends, and were wholly set at nought by a world "that by wisdom knew not God." II That same world has not known God since, any more than it did before; his children have still to live in thc midst of a world that knows not him, and therefore will not know them. This is their trial, as it was Christ’s. And in one respect it is to them, if not a sorer or more painful, yet a more perilous trial, than it was to him. If the world knew not him, he in a corresponding sense knew not it. If the world had no sympathy with him in what he knew of the righteous Father, he had no sympathy with the world in what it thought of the righteous Father. If men, not knowing God whose only begotten and well beloved Son he was, could not enter into his deep views of God’s righteous character and claims, he had no leaning toward their loose notion of all in God’s government being made to bend and give way to them, that they might not die. That never could be his infirmity. But it is ours; it is our temptation. Children of God as we are called, and really are; "born of God," so as to be partakers of his nature, and to "do righteousness as he is righteous;" we are not so thoroughly rid of the old nature but that still we have too strong an inclination to think as the world thinks, and feel as the world feels, about the righteous God and his righteousness. Especially when there comes to be a heavy strain upon us as God’s children; and a strong case is made out for some concession; and we begin to doubt if we have not been too stiff and strict in refusing this or that compliance, or condemning this or that liberty and ask if we might not perhaps do more good, and better serve the cause of righteousness and a righteous God, By being a little less precise and more accommodating. Yes; we might in that way disarm somewhat the world’s hostility, and win a character for amiable courtesy and a liberal spirit. The world might come to know us, so as to like us better than it does now; better than it likes our more scrupulous brethren. But would not its knowing us in that way be just in proportion to our ceasing so far practically to be God’s children, "doing righteousness as he is righteous?" Let us be upon our guard against so great a danger. Let us lay our account with having to judge and act on principles which the world cannot understand. Let us be God’s children indeed; though on that very account the world that has not known God should not know us. III. For, whatever the world may think or say, "we are the children of God," his dear children; sharers of his divine nature; the objects of his fatherly love. It concerns us to bear this in mind; to apprehend and feel it to be true. It is our safety to do so. It is what is due to ourselves; it is what God expects, and has a right to expect, from us. And it is especially on our community of nature with God, as being "born of him" and so "called his children," that we are to dwell. It is not so much with a view to heighten our sense of privilege, as to deepen our sense of obligation, that John so emphatically repeats this assertion; - " Now are we the children of God." It is our nature, as such, being born of God, to "do righteousness, as we know him to be righteous." That is a new nature in us, and it is to be cultivated, exercised, developed, ripened. The field in which it is to grow and be matured is not at all congenial or favourable. It is the world, which not knowing him who begets, cannot be expected to know us who are begotten of him. It is the world, whose influences are all hostile to what is the great characteristic of the new nature in us which our being born of God creates, our "doing righteousness as we know that God is righteous." Still that is our nature; our new nature: "Now are we the children of God." And be the world ever so unpropitious in its atmosphere and soil, we are here in it as "trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord," to grow as his children, "that he may be glorified." That is what is John’s chief design, in reminding us, in this connection, that we are the children of God. Other views are not to be excluded. The high rank in God’s kingdom; the intimate, familiar footing in his house; the warm place in his heart; which that wondrous manner of love bestowed upon us in our being called his children implies ; - these all are animating and spirit-stirring motives to face the worst the world can do to us, through its not knowing us any more than it knows him whose children we are. It is a legitimate source of comfort and encouragement when, disallowed of men, we have to fall back upon "the witness of the Spirit, witnessing with our spirits that we are the children of God; and if children then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ." It is, moreover, a strong and telling appeal that is made to our sense of honour, to every noble and generous impulse of the new nature in us, when we are reminded that we are sent as God’s children into the very midst of a world that knows neither our Father nor ourselves; and sent for this very end, that we may approve ourselves to be his children indeed; and may "let our light so shine before men, that they may see our good works, and glorify our Father which is in heaven." In the face of the world’s ignorance of us and of our Father, and its ignorant opposition to us and to our Father; though the world may refuse to acknowledge us as God’s children, and give us credit for being what we profess to be; still let us not lose our own sense of the reality of what we are. Let us stay ourselves on the conviction that our being God’s children is not a matter of ()pinion, dependent on the world’s vote, but a matter of fact, flowing from the amazing manner of love which the Father hath bestowed upon us. And let us be put, as the saying is, upon our mettle, to make good our claim to be God’s children, by such a manifestation of our oneness of nature with him of whom we are born, as may, by God’s blessing, overcome some of the world’s ignorant unbelief, and lead some of the world’s children to try that manner of love for themselves, to taste and see how good the Lord is. These are important and relevant practical considerations, to which we do well to give heed. But they must not thrust aside the apostle’s main design, which is that our own personal holiness may be preserved and may grow. We are the children of God, as born of him; so born of him as to have the great fundamental principle of his righteous nature wrought and implanted in us. And our task, our trial, our probation, is, to give that principle fair play and full scope, in opposition to the world which disowns it; to act out all that is implied in our being God’s children, in the very heart of the world which knows neither him nor us; to grow in filial likeness and filial love to God amid all the adverse influences of the world’s ignorant ungodliness. "Now are we the children of God," as being "born of him;" having his moral image stamped upon us; his moral nature formed in us. That is what we are ever more and more to realise ourselves to be, amid all the drawbacks and disadvantages of our present state. IV. And we are to do so all the rather, because these drawbacks and disadvantages will not last long. We are only at the beginning of our life as God’s children. What we are, in that character, we grasp, or try to grasp, by faith; "what we shall be does not yet appear." But it is to appear soon. And one thing we know about it is, that our participation in God’s nature, as his children, must then be perfect, for our knowledge of him will be perfect: "We shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is." This suggests two thoughts. In the first place, what is set before us, as matter of hope in the future life, is not something different from what is to be attained, enjoyed, and improved by us, as matter of faith, and of the experience of faith, in the present life. It is not that now we are the children of God, and that hereafter we are to be something else, or something more. The sole and simple contrast is between what we are now, as children of God, and what we shall be hereafter as such. "Now we are the children of God ;" "born of him;" partakers of his nature; "doing righteousness, as he is righteous," in the midst of a world that knows us not as doing righteousness, any more than it knows him, the righteous Father, whose righteousness we do. But "the world passes away, and the lust thereof;" and, lo! "new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness!" What shall we then be as children of God, in a new world, that knows both him and us, all whose arrangements and ongoings are in sympathy with him and us? "It doth not yet appear." There is a veil hiding that glory from our eyes; and John does not lift it. But, secondly, one thing he tells us plainly enough. When it does appear what we are to be; when that is no more hidden but disclosed; we shall be like God whose children we are as being born of him; "for we shall see him as he is." We shall be like him; we shall be such as he is, not almost but altogether. We are like him now. We are of his mind and on his side in all that pertains to his righteous character and government; his righteous condemnation of all iniquity; his righteous way of saving sinners. But the likeness is broken and imperfect. It is a real family likeness so far as it goes, a real oneness of nature; it identifies us as his children. But the features of resemblance are faint at the best, and marred by traces ever reappearing of our old likeness to the world and its prince, whose children we once were. It will be otherwise when "what we shall be" is made manifest or appears. Then our likeness to God will be complete; for then "we shall see him as he is." "We shall see him as he is;" for "the pure in heart shall see God." The full light of all his perfection as the righteous God will open upon our view; we shall know the righteous Father as the Son knows Him. The Son knows him ; - " O righteous Father, the world hath not known thee: but I have known thee; and these have known that thou hast sent me." Here are the two extremes - "The world hath not known thee; but I have known thee." And here also is, as it were, the intermediate position occupied by us : - " these have known that thou hast sent me." They do not know thee yet, as I, O righteous Father, know thee. But they are in the way of learning thus to know thee; for they know me as sent by thee. I am educating and training them in that knowledge of thee which I would have them to possess as perfectly as I possess it myself; "I have declared unto them thy name, and will declare it." Nor will I desist until they know thee, as I know thee, by experience of thy love; "the love wherewith thou hast loved me dwelling in them and I in them" (John 17:25-26). So Jesus, the first-begotten among many brethren, is teaching us now to know, as he knows, the righteous Father, through the love wherewith the Father loveth him dwelling in us, and himself dwelling in us. The school is ill-suited, in many respects, to the teaching; and the scholars are not so apt as might be wished. The school is but dimly lighted and badly aired; the atmosphere is too full of dust and smoke; the learners also are often drowsy; and the lesson-object is seen through a glass darkly. But lo! the hour comes when the benign master, the loving elder brother, leads us into the spacious, lofty, bright hall of his Father’s many-mansioned house, and presents us to the Father, face to face, saying, "Behold I and the little ones whom thou hast given me." Then there is clear sight; unclouded vision; a full and perfect understanding of the righteous Father; a full and perfect understanding between him and us; as full and perfect an understanding as there is in the case of his own beloved Son himself. All that is dark or doubtful about his character and ways is cleared up. There is nothing anywhere to awaken a suspicion or suggest a question; nothing to give a partial or distorted view of what he is or what he does. We see him as he is; and so seeing him, we approve, and love, and are like him evermore! Is not this a hope "full of glory"? And is it not a hope full of holiness too? Surely it must be true that "every man that hath this hope in God," the righteous Father, - the hope of being like him through seeing him as he is - "purifieth himself even as Jesus, the Son, is pure." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 4: 01.3. CHAPTERS 21 - 30 ======================================================================== ONE JOHN PARTS 21 - 30 XXI. THE SECRET OF SINLESSNESS - ABIDING IN THE SINLESS ONE AS MANIFESTED TO TAKE AWAY OUR SINS. "Whosoever committeth sin transgresseth also the law; for sin is the transgression of the law. And ye know that he was manifested to take away our sins; and in him is no sin. Whosoever abideth in him sinneth not: whosoever sinneth hath not seen him, neither known him."-- 1 John 3:4-6. FOUR arguments against committing sin, or transgressing the law, are here suggested; all of them connected with him whose essential purity is to be our model in purifying ourselves: I. The end or design of his manifestation, - "to take away our sins;" II. His own sinlessness, - "in him is no sin;" III. Our oneness with him, - “ whosoever abideth in him sinneth not ;" IV. The incompatibility of sin with any real acquaintance with him, - “ whosoever sinneth hath not seen him, neither known him." The four may be reduced to two: the first and second being, as it were, doctrinal; the third and fourth experimental: the former turning on what he is to us, as our Saviour; the latter, on what we are in him as his saved ones. I."Ye know that he was manifested to take away our sins; and in him is no sin" (1 John 3:5). Let us consider, in the first place, for what end he was manifested; it was to “take away our sins." Some would understand this phrase as denoting here exclusively the cleansing of our nature from its sinful lusts and habits; and as having no distinct reference at all to the removal of contracted guilt. It is admitted that when the phrase occurs elsewhere it is the taking away of guilt by means of atoning blood that is meant; as in the Baptist’s testimony,"Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world" (John 1:29). But it is contended that here that thought is somewhat irrelevant, since it is moral purification, and not legal satisfaction or legal purging, sanctification in a moral, and not in a legal or sacrificial sense, that John is speaking of; and since, moreover, he seems to make that depend rather on what the Son is manifested to be, than on what he is manifested to do ; on his person rather than on his work. There is no doubt truth in these :remarks. But I cannot help thinking that they have led to an unnecessary and undue limitation of the force and fullness of this pregnant phrase. I would not, in that other passage, restrict it to the mere legal removal of the guilt of the world’s sin, without including in it also the removal of the sin itself, in its moral pollution and power. Nor am I inclined here to shut out the idea of the expiation of the gulls of our sins, though the other idea of moral purification from them is confessedly the uppermost or leading one. In fact, the two are inseparable: they are really one. I can scarcely conceive of John pointing to the manifestation of him in whom is no sin, as a source of moral purity, as taking away our sins out of our nature, without having in his mind, and wishing us to have in our mind, as a material part of the process by which that object is attained, his taking away our sins out of the record of their guilt,"the book of God’s remembrance." It confirms this view to remember that John has just described sin as"the transgression of the law" (1 John 3:4). He has fastened upon this as constituting the essence of sin, that it is against law. He is of the same mind with Paul, in that saying of his, - “ The carnal mind is enmity against God; for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be" (Romans 8:7). He, like Paul, knows that as our sins are against the law, so the law is against our sins. It is against our sins, in such a sense and to such an effect as to keep us, on account of them, helplessly under condemnation. We are under the law’s just sentence of death, Nay, more, the law, of which our sins are the transgression, is so against our sins as by a natural reaction to stir up in us more and more, the more closely it is brought to bear upon us, that very opposition to itself, and rebellion against itself, in which the sinfullness of our sins consists. In the grasp and under the power of the law, as condemned criminals, we are fettered; and can no more get rid of our sins than a doomed felon can shake off his irons. If we are spiritual men at all, we know this well. We know and have felt, that the more the law approves itself to us, as"holy, and just, and good;" the more it comes home to us, by the power of the Holy Spirit, in its high excellency and deep spirituality; the more our conscience and our heart are on its side; the more we see and apprehend of its just authority and holy beauty; the more we strive after complete conformity to it; the more we"would do good :" so much the more, while we are thus under the law, is"evil present with us" (Romans 7:1-25) An impotent sense of failure deadens and depresses us, while the feeling of our prostrate bondage in our sins irritates our natural enmity against God. And if we do not relapse into indifference, or take refuge in formality, or sink into sullen gloom, we are shut up to the one only effectual way of ending this miserable struggle between the law and our sinful nature ; the way of free grace and sovereign mercy; the way of embracing him whom"God hath set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood;""in whom we have redemption through his blood, even the forgive. ness of sins." Then indeed"sin shall no more have dominion over us, when we are not under the law but under grace ;" when"there is now to us no condemnation because we are in Christ Jesus ;" when we know him as"his own self bearing our sins in his own body ,on the cross, that we being dead to sin might live unto righteousness." All this, I think, must be held to be comprehended in the fact stated "he was manifested to take await our sins." And it is all consistent with the object for which John reminds us of it; our purifying ourselves, as he is pure. He was manifested to take away our sins, root and branch. The very completeness of that work of atonement by which he takes them away, in respect of the condemnation and punishment which as transgressions of the Law they bind upon us, secures also his completely taking them away, in respect of the carnal mind in us, of whose enmity against God and insubordination to his law they are the fruits. His purging our conscience from the guilt of them, is the very means of his purging our hearts from the pollution of them. Their power to condemn us he takes away; and so he takes away also their power to rule over us. They can never again subject us to the law’s curse; and therefore they can never again provoke in us resistance or resentment of the law’s authority. Nor is this all. In virtue of his being manifested to take away our sins, we receive the Holy Spirit. The obstacle which our sin, as a breach of the law, interposed to his being graciously present with us and in us is taken away. The Divine Spirit dwells and works in us; causing us to love the law which is now magnified, not in our destruction but in our salvation, not in our death but in our life; and to hate the thought of transgressing it any more. A new nature, a new heart, a new spirit, as respects the law of God and God the lawgiver, a new character as well as a new state, is the result of Christ being manifested to take away our sins. We know that, personally, practically, experimentally; and our knowledge of it is what enables as well as moves us to purify ourselves as Christ is pure. It is so all the rather because, secondly, we are to consider that he is manifested as himself the sinless one:"In him is no sin." Here again let us remember that sin is viewed in the light of the law: it is the transgression of the law: it is against law. The precise point of this declaration concerning the sinless one lies in that declaration concerning sin. In him is no sin, because in him is no lawlessness; nothing that is against the law. It is his being manifested as in that sense without sin, that makes his manifestation to us, - -or our looking to what he is, as well as our looking to what he does, - effectual towards the taking away of our sins out of our heart and nature. In him, as"manifested to take away our sins," “there is no sin;" nothing of what needs to be taken away from us; nothing of that sin which is the transgression of the law. I do not ask you now to dwell on the thought that this sinlessness of his, his being himself free from all liability to the law as a transgressor, was an essential condition of his taking upon himself our liabilities, so as to take them away from us. I ask you rather to consider the mighty moral power which his being manifested as the sinless one has, in itself and of itself, to take away our sins; not merely to take away their guilt lying upon us, but to take them bodily, as it were, as to their very substance and spirit, from within us. In that view, it is allimportant that we look at his sinlessness in strict and definite connection with the law. How do we conceive of him as without sin? He is before us as one in whom there is no sympathy with what is vile and polluting; or with what is mean and base; or with what is unfair and untrue; or with what is dishonour-able and unhandsome; or with what is unkind, ungenerous, unloving. Not a thought, not a feeling, not an affection is in him that could offend the purest taste, the most fastidious delicacy. Benevolence without the slightest alloy of selfishness; integrity such as the breath of suspicion cannot touch; seraphic mildness, sweetness, calmness, that no storm of passion has ever ruffled; a soul attuned to all the melodies of heaven, on which no jarring note of earth’s discord can ever strike; a divine dignity; a divine gracefullness in look and being, in air and carriage, infinitely removed from man’s uncertain temper and the rude strife of tongues - some such ideal, some such picture, rises before our eye. And the contemplation of it may be profitable as well as pleasant; for all these representations of the one only perfectly sinless man are true; and contemplating them, we may to some extent be moved to imitate as well as admire. But we do not thus,"with open face, behold as in a glass the glory of the Lord," so as to be really “changed into the same image, from glory to glory." For the glory of the Lord, manifested in and by him as the sinless one, is his never "transgressing the law." In him is no sin; nothing of what is against the law; against the law under which he was made when he was made of a woman. It is into the image of that glory that we, beholding it, are to be changed "by the Spirit of the Lord." Does this seem to be a lowering of our high ideal of perfect sinlessness, as exemplified in him Does it sound strange to hear it spoken of as his glory? Do we feel it to be almost a sort of outrage and offence to speak of this as his moral glory, that he never broke the law, and never wished to break it? What glory, what moral grandeur, is there in that? Much, I answer; much every way. It is man’s highest glory. It is the highest glory of angels. It is the highest glory of the Son himself, manifested to take away our sins, that in him, in this sense, is no sin."He learned obedience," I repeat,"by the things which he suffered." And he learned it perfectly; for in him is no sin; no possibility of any thought adverse to the learning of obedience, entering into, or rising up in, his mind. That is his essential impeccability; his being incapable of even the faintest surmise of impatience under the law of his God and Father, or the most remote approach to a desire that it were anything else than obedience, anything less or anything more, that he had to learn. Is not that"a glory which excels “? Is it not worth while to behold it, - and to aim at being changed into the same image with it, from one degree of it to another, from glory to glory, by the Spirit of the Lord? Behold it! See! It is no mere negation; no mere abstinence from evil, or absence of evil. Nor is it any mere spontaneous development of native, innate good. It is positive, practical, perfect obedience to God’s holy law. It is the doing of his will with the whole heart. It is to live for no other end but that his will be done. So in his life did he manifest his sinlessness who said,"I must be about my Father’s business:""The cup which my Father giveth me, shall I not drink it?’ Thus it is seen that"in him is no sin." II. With this sinless person we are one; "abiding in him as the sinless one manifested to take away our sins." And that is our security against sinning - " Whosoever abideth in him sinneth not." This is the statement of a fact. It is not the enforcing of a duty, as if it were said, - whosoever abideth in him should not sin, and must not sin; let him not sin. It is :not even the drawing of an inference or the announcement of what will probably be, and may be expected to be, the issue of oneness with the Lord, as if it ran thus, - whosoever abideth in him will not sin, or is not likely to sin. It is the broad statement of a present fact, - " Whosoever abideth in him sinneth not;" as is also the converse -" Whosoever sinneth hath not seen him, neither known him." Between abiding in Christ and sinning there is such an absolute incompatibility, that whosoever sinneth is for the time not merely in the position of not abiding in Christ, but in the position of not having seen or known him. In so far as he is sinning, his is virtually the very same case with that of the man who has never either seen or known Christ. The statement is very emphatic and very categorical. It is more than a mere assertion of a sort of moral inconsistency or incongruity, a certain manifest unsuitable-ness, in the view of common-sense and right feeling. It is an assertion of absolute incompatibility, in the nature of things; and it is a very strong assertion of that, put in two forms, positively and negatively, to make it all the stronger. Let us see how it must be so. I. We abide in Christ by faith; by that. faith, wrought in us by the Spirit, which unites us to Christ. Our abiding in him by this faith implies oneness; real and actual oneness; not oneness only in the eye of the law, so that we are regarded and treated as one, in .the Judge’s dealings with him for us, and with us in him; not oneness merely in the sense of au ordinary alliance or partnership, with a community of goods and interests, of lives and fortunes ; but real and actual oneness of nature. As the husband and the wife are made of twain one flesh; so Christ and we are one spirit."He that is joined unto the Lord is one spirit." Our abiding in him is our realising this oneness. It is our apprehending ourselves to be consciously one with him, of the same nature, of the same mind, with him, of the same way of thinking and feeling with him. It implies our taking the same view that he does of all things, of God and his law, of righteousness and sin, of guilt and judgment, of holiness and grace and love; our entertaining the same sentiments with reference to them all. It is this which secures our closing with him at first as our Saviour, and carries our consent to his saving us in his own way and on his own terms, so glorifying to the Father, so costly to him, so gracious to us. It is this also which ever after secures our not sinning. We cannot be thus abiding in Christ, realising our oneness of mind and nature with him, and at the same time sinning. The thought or feeling of opposition to the law, or of impatience under it; the wish that we were more free to act as we choose; is no thought or feeling or wish of his: for"in him is no sin." When we sin, when we suffer any such thought or feeling or wish to find harbour in our breasts; we cease for the time to be abiding in him. Between him and us, not then and there abiding in him, there is really as entire a separation as if we had never seen or known him: as wide and deep a gulf as that which lay between the rich man in hell and Lazarus in Abraham’s bosom. It is not fixed like that gulf; not yet. But let us beware lest it become fixed. Let us be thankful that it may still be made to disappear. And let us remember that this can only be through our repenting again, as at the beginning, - believing again, as if we had never believed before, - embracing the Lord Jesus, as if now for the first time we saw and knew him, - "doing the first works,, - becoming anew and afresh, by the grace of the Spirit,"members of Christ’s body, of his flesh and of his bones,’ - getting shut up into him anew and afresh, so as to be again of one mind and heart with him, abiding once more in him in whom is no sin. For we may be very sure that when we sin, we are none the better for all that we have seen or known of Christ; none the safer. It is the same thing to us as if we had never seen him, neither known him at all. 2. We abide in Christ by his Spirit abiding in us. That is a filial spirit - the Spirit of God’s Son in us crying Abba Father - the Spirit of adoption whereby we cry Abba Father. A servile frame of mind grieves and vexes the Holy Spirit, and hinders his continuing to dwell in us. He dwells in us only when we cry Abba Father, and therefore sin not. Sin is ever the fruit of that servile frame of mind which is characteristic of one that has not seen or known the Son. Abiding in him, through his Spirit abiding in us, we have a filial heart towards God. And a filial heart"sinneth not." For a filial heart has no temptation and no desire to go against the will, or the law, of the righteous Father. From all this we may see how the stress of practical exhortations against sin is to be brought to bear upon a child of God; upon us, who are children in the Son. For it is very important that there should be exhortation, direct and pointed. It is not enough to put the matter in the form of doctrinal statement or anticipated consequence; as :if we said: Being God’s children in Christ you do not sin; or you will not sin. It is good for you to hear a voice of authority and command: Sin not. And yet that is not the way in which the matter is put here. It is not an order issued, but a fact announced;"whosoever abideth in him sinneth not." What then? Is the hortatory method to be given up? Nay; it is only necessary to shift a little, as it were, the point of its application. I state it as a fact that whosoever abideth in him sinneth not. And therefore I issue the command: Abide in him, It is his own command "Abide in me." And that is the right position for the hortatory or commanding mode of appeal. If you would not sin; that you may not sin; that it may be impossible for you to sin - "abide in him who was manifested to take away your sins, and in whom is no sin." Cleave to him ; grow up into him; get into his mind; drink into his spirit. Enter into the design of his being manifested, and into the way in which, being manifested, he accomplishes that design. Enter into the secret of his sinlessness. Keep close to him, abide in him, and sin not. And forget not the positive, any more than the negative, result of your abiding in him; your"bringing forth much fruit" (John 15:5). For it is only in the line of the positive, in the line of bearing fruit, that you can be sure even of the negative, - not sinning. Nay, if your negatively not sinning is the effect of your abiding in Christ, it really resolves itself into your actually and positively bearing fruit, and becomes identical with it."In him is no sin;" no rebellion against that will of God which he comes to do; no insubordination to that law of God which is within his heart; nothing that hinders, or possibly can hinder, his doing that will and keeping that law always and thoroughly. You"abide in him and sin not." You have in you now nothing more than he had, in so far as you abide in him, of that sullen, slavish, selfish frame of mind; bent on getting its own way, and doing its-own pleasure; grudging God and men their due; which hinders all cheerful, loyal obedience. You therefore, abiding in him, in whom is no sin, that there may be no sin in you, go about with Into doing good. Yours is that"pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father," which is this,"to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction," as well as to keep "yourselves unspotted from the world." XXII. THE SECRET OF SINLESSNESS - OUR ABIDING IN CHRIST - THE SEED OF GOD ABIDING IN US - OUR BEING BORN OF GOD. "Whosoever abideth in him sinneth not: whosoever sinneth hath not seen him, neither known him. . . Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin; for his seed remaineth [abideth] in him: and he cannot sin, because he is born of God." - 1 John 3:6 and 1 John 3:9. These strong statements - that one abiding in Christ does not sin, and that one born of God cannot sin ; - are often perplexing, not to say distressing, to serious minds. How is it if I am forced to ask. I sin, every day, every hour, every moment, I may say, in thought or word or deed. Must I therefore conclude that I am not in Christ; not born of God? It is a real practical difficulty. Let us fairly grapple with it. I. These texts do not teach, either the doctrine of perfection, or that other doctrine which is apt to usurp its place; the doctrine that God sees no sin in his people, or that what would be sin in others is not sin in them. When I say that this latter doctrine is apt to supplant the other, I do not mean that all who believe in the perfection or perfectibility of the saints on earth are antinomians. I speak simply of what I hold to be a strong tendency in the nature of things I am told that it is possible for a Christian to live without sinning; that he may be so sanctified as to be incapable of sinning; that such holiness is attainable; nay, that no one can be long a Christian without attaining it; that no one can be sure of his Christianity unless he has attained it. But I see in the most Christian ,of men, I feel in myself in my most Christian mood, much that is not easily reconcilable with this immaculate sinlessness, unless I can persuade myself that what looks very like sin is not really sin. I am tempted to do so; to defend, on the ground of Christian character, what otherwise : would give over to just condemnation; to stand up for the harmlessness in a believer of ways that would confessedly hurt or ruin the unconverted. And so I really open the door to those perversions of such texts as,"He that is spiritual is judged of no man,""To the pure all things are pure," which have wrought sad havoc with the plain morality of the Bible. II. There is another mode of dealing with the statements before us which I cannot feel to be satisfactory. It is to limit or restrict their comprehensiveness; and to understand the apostle as speaking, not of sin absolutely and universally, but of sin more or less voluntary and presumptuous, According to this view, one abiding in Christ and born of God does not and cannot sin deliberately, intentionally, knowingly. He may be overtaken in a fault; he may be compassed about with infirmities; he may have his occasional aberrations and failings. But he does not lay plans and go into evil with his eyes open. Is that true? Was it true of David? Or of the man in Corinth who was excommunicated for incest, and upon repentance restored? Is it any relief to me, when I am staggered by the hard saying that the true Christian does not and cannot commit sin, to be told that it may be so modified as to mean that he does not and cannot sin voluntarily. Will that modification meet my case? Alas! no. For I dare not persuade myself that I never sin voluntarily. The saying excludes me, and tells against me, as much as ever. And then, is it safe to make such a distinction as this between two sorts of sin: and to make it for such a purpose as this? May it not again let in the notion of some evil being tolerable and venial after all in a child of God? Where and how is the line to be drawn. III. It may help us out of the difficulty if we first look at the statements before us in the light, not of what we are now by grace, but of what we are to be in the future state of glory. It will be true then that we sin not; it will be impossible for us then to sin. What will make it true that we sin not? What will make it impossible for us to sin. Simply, our abiding in Christ; our being born of God; his seed abiding in us. It is most important that we should endeavour to form some distinct idea of this feature or characteristic of heaven’s holiness; its absolute inviolability; its being perfectly secure against the possibility of sin ever marring it. Saints in glory do not and cannot sin. Wherein consists this impossibility of sinning? Of what sort is it? Plainly it cannot be a merely physical or natural inability; it must be of a moral kind. It is not outward coercion or prevention; it is not enforced sinlessness, which would be no sinlessness at all. Neither is it sinlessness dependent on external circumstances; such as want of opportunity or absence of temptation. The impeccability is and must be an attribute of the inner man; of the saint himself, as perfectly sanctified in his whole nature. If in the heavenly world I am not to sin; to be incapable of sin that cannot be in consequence of any mere change in. my outward position; any mere translation from one locality to another, from one system of things to another. It was not his expulsion from Paradise that made Adam peccable, or capable of committing sin. He was so from the first in Paradise, for there he sinned. It is not his return to Paradise, nor his promotion to a Better state than that of Paradise, that will make him impeccable. His impeccability must be otherwise attained and secured. It is true that change of place and of circumstances may do much; and it is a great change that is before us."We look for new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness." It will, indeed, be a very different atmosphere that we breathe in heaven from what so often deadens, stupifies, and paralyses our Christian life on earth. We shall be there under other influences and in the midst of other companionships. No more is there any course of this world for us to walk after; no more any prince of the power of the air to intoxicate us with the poisonous vapour of his ungodliness; no more any children of disobedience, seducing us to have our conversation among them. It will, unquestionably, be a blessed relief. To be rid of Satan and of Satan’s wiles; to be for ever quit of those worldly ways and habits around us here that are so apt to draw us into conformity with themselves; to be where there is no more any antagonism between what is and what ought to Be; to be where God is all in all ; - it may well be imagined to be like"a bird escaping out of the snare of the fowler; the snare is Broken; and we are escaped!""Oh! that I had wings like a dove, that I might flee away and be at rest!""Woe is me that I sojourn in Meshech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar!" But let me Beware. If I imagine that it is my being in heaven that is to make me pure and sinless, or render it impossible for me to sin, I am under a sad and most unsafe delusion. Let it be granted that then all I come in contact with will be holy, and all conducive to holiness; with"nothing to hurt or to destroy in all God’s holy mountain." Still, place me there, continuing simply such as I am here; and not only is it not true of me that I cannot sin; but it is true of me that I cannot but sin. Evidently, therefore, its being impossible for me to sin in the future state, must depend upon something else than mere change of scene. And what follows? It must depend upon something that may be actually realised more or less perfectly here. It must depend upon what may be and must be realised here, in the inner spiritual history and experience of every child of God. Let me remind you that this impeccability lies in the will; the seat of it is the will. It is because, in the state of glory, my will is made"perfectly and immutably free to do good alone," that my will is, or that I myself am, incapable of doing evil. And let me also remind you that sin, the sin which it will then be impossible for me to commit, is "the transgression of the law ;" of the law of God which is the expression of his will. His will is perfectly and immutably free. His law is its free utterance; the free forth-going of his free will. Your impeccability, - its being impossible for you to sin, - is its being impossible for you to will otherwise than he wills; to think or feel otherwise than he does, as to that law of his which is his will. And if it is your will that is to be thus free; free, as his will is free, to do good alone; and therefore incapable of an evil choice; then your impeccability must be, if I may say so, itself voluntary; voluntarily accepted and realised. The position in which I find it impossible to sin must be attested by my own consciousness as a position that is freely and voluntarily mine. Let me try to imagine myself as regards this matter in the heavenly state. I cannot sin. Why not? What hinders me? Is it that my hands are tied? Is it that my will is fettered? Am I not free? Yes; I am free as God is free. And therefore I can no more sin than God can sin. In the very same sense in which God cannot sin, I cannot sin. My will can no more go against his law than his own will can go against it. For why is it that God cannot sin? - -that his will cannot go against his law? Is it not because the law is his will? Is it not because the law is his nature? Yes. The law is his will, his spontaneous will. And it is his nature; the very essence of his moral character and being is in his law. For the law is love; and God is love. The law is holy; and God is holy. He cannot sin, or transgress the law, because he cannot go against his own will, or against his nature. Sin in him, were the thought admissible, would be selfcontradictory; suicidal. "He cannot deny himself." Now in heaven am I in this respect such as he is? - really, literally, absolutely such as he is? Yes, that is my heaven! It is my being thus like him when I see him as he is. When, clear from the darkness in which now he hides himself in a world that knows him not, his glory shines unclouded; then I"see him as he is" so as to be "satisfied when I awake with his likeness." It is the likeness of him who cannot sin. IV. Let me try to bring out more clearly this principle as one that must connect the future with the present. Why is it that in heaven, my will being free as God’s will is free, I can no more sin than he can sin? What answer would John give to that question if you could put it to him now? As thus ; - " In whatever sense, and with whatever modifications, thou didst, in thy experience when here, find that to be true which thou hast so emphatically put, - as the test, apparently, of real Christianity, - it is all true of thee there, where thou art now! How is it so Why is it so?" "Because I abide in the Son of God, and God’s own seed abides in me, as being born of God;" is not that his reply? What other reply can he give? No doubt he may also say,"I am no more in a world that knows not God; exposed to its flattery or its rage. I have nothing now to apprehend from Satan’s subtilty. I have laid aside the body of corruption that used to weigh me down. The lusts of the flesh solicit and trouble me no more. Evil propensities, the remains of my old original and inveterate depravity, are all thoroughly put away. Not a vestige of any root of bitterness remains in me; nor is there any exposure to trial or temptation from without." These are great and inestimable advantages."But," he would add,"not one of them secures, nor do they altogether secure, my impeccability; or its being impossible for me to sin. Excepting only immunity from Satan’s subtilty, man in Paradise enjoyed them all; and yet he was peccable; he sinned. Without any exception, the unfallen angels enjoyed them all; and yet they showed themselves peccable; some of their number fell. My heaven is no heaven at all, if in respect of this matter of my not sinning, or its being ira-possible for me to sin, I am no better off than Adam was in the garden, or the angelic hosts in their first estate. But I am better off. And what, you ask, makes me better off? My abiding in the Son of God, and having God’s own seed abiding in me, as being born of him. First, I"abide in the Son of God" evermore, uninterruptedly; and therefore I see God as his Son sees him; I feel towards God as his Son feels. Secondly, as born of God, I have"his seed abiding in me," evermore, uninterruptedly; his seed, conveying and imparting to me his nature, as truly as a plant’s seed imparts its nature to its successor, or a man’s seed imparts his nature to his child." "These two causes combined," John might say, "ensure my not sinning; make it impossible for me to sin by transgressing the law. For, in virtue of the first, the law is to me what it is to the Son of God, the God-man; not merely an enforced rule; far less a yoke of bondage; but an inward principle also of free, spontaneous choice. It is within my heart, as it is within his. There can no more spring up in my heart than there can spring up in his, the slightest or faintest feeling of impatience under it, or of a longing to be without it or above it. And then, in virtue of the other, the law is to me what it is to God himself. It. is the expression of my nature, as it is of his. Being what I am, as born of him, his seed abiding in me, I can no more go against it than he, being what he is, can go against it himself." Is this the secret of the saint’s impeccability in heaven Is it at all a true and fair account of his not sinning, of its being impossible for him to sin. Then does it not follow that it is an impeccability that may be realised on earth? For the causes of it are realised on earth; first, your abiding in the Son of God; secondly, your being born of God so as to have his seed abiding in you. And so far as they are realised on earth, they cannot but make it impossible for you to sin here, in the very same way in which, when realised perfectly in heaven, they will make it impossible for you to sin there. For they are causes whose efficacy does not at all depend on time or place or circumstances. They act here and now as they will act then and there. They make God’s will be done on earth, even as it is in heaven. V. Viewed thus in the light of"what we shall be," and of the bearing of what we shall be on what we are, John’s statements assume a somewhat different aspect from what they are apt to wear when taken by themselves. They become not one whit less solemn but greatly more encouraging. For one thing, you may now regard them as describing a precious privilege, as well as imposing a searching test. They show you the way of perfect holiness; how you are to be righteous, even as Christ is righteous, - even as God is righteous. I suppose that it is your desire to be so; if it is not, you are none of Christ’s, and are not children of God. Your earnest longing is, I assume, that you were placed in such circumstances, or that there were wrought in you such a frame of spirit, as would make it impossible for you ever to sin any more. Well, if it is so, should it not be matter of satisfaction to you to be told that you have even now within your reach, realisable in your experience, the elements or conditions, so to speak,, of that very state of things which you so warmly covet? John takes it for granted, that"having this hope in God ;" - the hope that when"it does appear what you shall be," it will imply your being"like him whose children you are, because you shall see him as he is" -"you purify yourselves even as his own Son is pure." And surely in that view he does you a kindness when he tells you how this purifying of yourselves as Christ is pure may become possible, even to the extent of its being as impossible for you as for him to commit sin or to transgress the law. He does no sin; he can do no sin; he cannot have a thought or wish to transgress the law. Why? Because he is the Son of God, his only begotten Son, of one nature with the Father. Even when he takes your nature, he is, on that account, sinless and impeccable. And the good news here is, that you also are becoming impeccable in him. Of course, it is good news to you only if impeccability is really the object of your desire; your hope; your heaven. Is it so? Would it be heaven to you not to sin; to be incapable of sinning; to be so situated and so minded, that for you to sin would be as truly anti really an impossibility as for Christ or for God? Then these texts are for you. They let you into the secret of this impeccability; they show you wherein it consists. They set it before you, not as something to be reached some time, somewhere, somehow, in some other world, through some mysterious unknown processes to be gone through at death and the resurrection; but as what you may have experience of, and must have experience of, in this present world, and under this present dispensation of the Holy Spirit. For the Holy Spirit makes you really one with the Son of God, so that, abiding in him, you par. take of his sonship; his filial relation to the Father and filial heart towards the Father. And the Holy Spirit also implants in you and puts within you the seed of God, the germ of God’s own nature and God’s own life, so that you are in very truth born of God. When thus in your adoption, rightly viewed, and in your regeneration, the Holy Spirit unites you to the Son, and assimilates you to the Father ; - when thus you abide in the Son, in whose son-ship you share, and the seed of God your Father, of whom you are born, abides in you ; - you have already, in present possession and for present use, all that is essential to impeccability. VI. Taking this view, I confess I do not feel so much concern as otherwise I might feel about reconciling such strong statements as that one abiding in Christ sinneth not, or that one born of God cannot sin, with the acknowledged and lamented fact that he does sin. John has dealt with that fact already, and told us how to deal with it. It is not his business here to be making allowance for it. It would be beside his purpose altogether, and indeed against it, to be qualifying his high and bold appeal to honest aspirants after perfection, by concessions to those whose object would seem to be to ascertain, not how, and how far, perfection may be reached, but how far they may stop short of it. John has not any such Christians in his eye. Or if he has, it is to bring to bear upon them the whole artillery of these startling statements, in all their strictest and most literal force. They are to be solemnly warned that sin is absolutely incompatible with abiding ia Christ and being born of God - all sin, any sin, every sin; that"whosoever sinneth hath not seen Christ, neither known him." To them John has nothing else to say. He cannot otherwise meet their question as to the extent to which sin, still cleaving to a child of God, may be admitted not to vitiate his title. For indeed it is most dangerous to be considering the matter in that light or on that side at all. It is almost sure to lead, first to calculations, and then to compromises, fatal to singleness of eye and the holy ambition that ought to fire the breast; calculations first, about the quantity and quality of the residuum of old corruption which we must lay our account with finding in the purest God-born soul; and then compromises, under the sort of feeling that, as the proverb says, what cannot be cured must be endured. I beseech you to turn from that downward, earthward way of looking at this great theme; and to look upward and heavenward. I speak to you as believing you to be in earnest about purifying yourselves even as Christ is pure. I tell you that the gospel makes full provision for holiness; and no provision at all for sin. It contemplates, not your sinning, but your not sinning; nay, its being impossible for you to sin. If it did not, it would be no gospel to you. For you are weary of sinning; weary of finding it always so possible, so easy to sin. The risings of a rebellious spirit in you against God, and his will, and his law ; your feelings of irksomeness, as if his commandments were grievous, his ways dark, his sayings harsh, his service hard, himself austere; are a continual grief to you. Well, may it not be some consolation, some encouragement, to know, that you have within you, if you will but stir up the gift that is in you, the elements of a holier and happier life? For these are indeed, when rightly considered, most precious assurances; "Whosoever abideth in Christ sinneth not;""Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin; for God’s seed remaineth in him: and he cannot sin, because he is born of God." Let a few practical inferences be suggested. I. I think the texts teach, or imply, the doctrine of the final perseverance of the saints; the impossibility of their either wholly or permanently falling away from a state of grace. I cannot understand statements so strong as"sinneth not," or"cannot sin," especially when taken in connection with the reasons given," abiding in Christ; :’"being born of God;""the seed of God abiding in him," - in any sense consistent with the idea of one who by faith has been united to Christ, and by adoption and regeneration made a child of God, proving ultimately a castaway. It may be quite true that it is not John’s immediate design to dwell on that tenet. But nevertheless he uses words that seem very plainly to assume it. It is not easy to see how any one could be called upon to recognise in himself, as actually his now in possession and experience, the principle, if I may so speak, of impeccability, excepting upon grounds precluding the risk of his losing altogether his character and standing in Christ. 2. The texts teach however, very plainly, that this doctrine, whatever may be its practical use and value in its right place, and when turned to legitimate account, cannot give to any man security in sin; cannot make him safe when he is sinning, when he is committing sin or transgressing the law. When he is sinning, he can draw no assurance whatever from his"having seen and known Christ." Virtually, to all intents and purposes, he is exactly in the same position with one who"has not seen him, neither known him" (1 John 3:6). Never, at any moment, may I reckon on a past act of God towards me, - his calling me, justifying me, adopting me in his Son; or a past work of God in me, - his regenerating me by his Spirit ; - as giving me any present confidence, if my present state is one of sin. Not only is this not right; I believe it to be impossible. I believe that no man ever yet felt himself secure in sinning now, on the ground of his having been brought to"see and know" Christ long ago. His feeling of security, in so far as he has such a feeling, does not really spring from that belief as to the past, but from ignorance now of Christ and of God; from present unbelief. For the present, he is an unbeliever, not seeing or knowing Christ; no better than if he had never seen or known him. The moment he comes again to believe, and has his eyes opened to see and know Christ; Christ looking on him when he is sinning as he looked on Peter ; - security there is none; confidence there is none; only bitter weeping. He repents, and does the first works. He believes, as if he had never believed before. He realises again, as at the first, his abiding in Christ and God’s seed abiding in him. Our sinning, therefore; our feeling it to be possible for us to sin; is in fact, and as a practical matter, absolutely incompatible with our abiding in Christ and being born of God. We are only really abiding in Christ, and consciously and influentially, if I may say so, born of God so as to have his seed abiding in us, - in so far as we do not sin, - in so far as we cannot sin. 3. For this, let me again remind you, is John’s true design and purpose; it is to put you in the way of not sinning; of its being impossible for you to sin. It is to let you into the secret of sinlessness, of impeccability; that you may be successful in purifying yourselves as Christ is pure. Realise your abiding in Christ, your being born of God, his seed abiding in you. And realise all that, as you may realise it, not as what is to be in heaven; when it will appear what you shall be; but as what may be, and must be, and is on earth; even when "it doth not yet appear what you shall be." Do not imagine that you must wait till you get to heaven until you can know what it is not to sin; to be beyond the possibility of sinning. No doubt it is only in heaven that you can know that perfectly. But you may know something of it on earth. You need not imagine that if you know nothing of it on earth, you can know anything of it in heaven. For it is not, I repeat, any change of scene that will make you know it. Some have fancied that by getting out of the world into the wilderness they might come not to sin; nay, might get themselves into a state in which they could not sin. Away from society’s pomps and vanities, its pleasures and vices, in the solitude of the desert, they have sought for immaculate and impeccable holiness; they have sought for it painfully, with tears and stripes. Alas! they have sought for it in vain. But you may find it, in the midst of all evil, if you seek it aright, in the way of abiding in Christ, and having God’s seed abiding in you, as being born of him. And you will find it, if you apprehend the force of the Lord’s own words:"As thou, Father, hast sent me into the world, even so have I sent them into the world. And for their sakes I sanctify myself, that they also may be sanctified through the truth." XXIII. THE SECRET OF SINLESSNESS - THE CONTRASTED "DOINGS" - DOING RIGHTEOUSNESS AND DOING SIN - THEIR INCOMPATIBILITY IN RESPECT OF THEIR OPPOSITE ORIGINS OR PARENTAGES - GOD AND THE DEVIL. "Little children, let no man deceive you: he that doeth righteousness is righteous, even as he [Christ] is righteous. He that committeth [doeth] sin is of the devil; for the devil sinneth from the beginning. For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil." - 1 John 3:7-8. These verses are embedded, as it were, between the two already considered (1 John 3:6 and 1 John 3:9); which teach what may be called the secret of sinlessness as a possible attainment, and one that a child of God must apprehend and realise. They fit into that theme, placing in marked contrast the two opposite lines of conduct, - " doing righteousness and doing sin," - and tracing them up to their respective sources, a righteous nature on the one hand, indicating a divine birth; and a sinful nature on the other, betraying a devilish origin. Thus they shut out the very idea of any mixture of the two characters, or anything intermediate between the two. Thus also they connect the argument with the introductory statement at the beginning of this second part of the epistle,"If ye know that God is righteous, ye know that every one that doeth righteousness is born of God" (1 John 2:29). For this doing righteousness, which at once implies and tests our being born of him who is righteous, must evince a family likeness to him, or a participation of nature with him. It must, therefore, be very thorough and complete, and cannot be compatible with doing sin. For that, evincing an opposite family likeness and participation in an opposite nature, points not to a divine birth or our being born of God, but to a very different parentage, our being of the devil. The passage before us opens accordingly with a very solemn warning:"Little children, let no man deceive you." It assumes an urgent and serious danger. There are those who will do their utmost to deceive you, and the point on ‘which they will try to deceive you is a very vital one. It is so all the rather because it is one on which your own hearts may be but too willing to be deceived. It turns upon the indissoluble connection that there is between being and doing; between character and conduct; between what a man is and how he acts. The false teachers of John’s day held that one might reach in some mysterious way a height of serene, inviolable, inward purity and peace, such as no things without, not even his own actions, could stain. In a less transcendental form, the same sort of notion practically prevails in the world. It used perhaps to be more common than it is now to give a person credit for having right principles, though his practice might be often wrong; to admit his claim to a good heart, in spite of his habits being to a large extent bad. But the delusion is one against which we still need to be cautioned. John meets it by bringing out in marked contrast the two opposite natures, one or other of which we must all share; that of God and that of the devil. As it is the nature of God to be righteous, so it is the nature of every one who is born of God to be righteous also. So he who is pre-eminently the Son of God is righteous; and we who are children of God in him are righteous as he is righteous. But his being righteous necessitates his doing righteousness; to imagine otherwise in his case would be a profane calumny. So also to think that we can be righteous as he is righteous, if our being righteous does not necessitate our doing righteousness, must be a gross and grievous delusion. On the other hand, it is the devil’s, nature to be evil; and being evil, he cannot but be doing evil. If we are doing evil, doing sin; that proves our identity of nature with the devil; we are of the devil. And being of the devil, the originator of sin, - sinning from the beginning, - we cannot be children of God as Christ is his Son. For he was manifested for this very purpose, that he might destroy the works of the devil. Let us consider the three steps in this argument, as thus adjusted. I."He that doeth righteousness is righteous, even as Christ is righteous." It is clearly moral character that is here in question, not legal standing. There is no reference to Christ’s vicarious righteousness; its imputation to us through our oneness with him by faith, and our consequent justification in the sight of God. That doctrine, so clearly revealed elsewhere underlies, as we have already seen, the whole of John’s teaching in this epistle. But to import it into this passage is to destroy the sense. Of course it is equally destructive of the sense to use the passage as a support to the doctrine of justification by works, as if it meant that the doer of righteousness is thereby, on the ground of his personal doing of righteousness, justified or accounted righteous before God. John is not thinking of justification at all, but rather of sanctification; of holiness of life being inseparable from holiness-of nature. The precise lesson taught, the great principle asserted, is that righteousness, moral righteousness, cannot possibly exist in a quiescent or inactive state; that it never can be a latent power or undeveloped quality; that wherever it is it must be operative. It must be working, and working according to its own essential nature. Moreover, it must be working, not partially but universally; working everywhere and always; working in and upon whatever it comes in contact with, in the mind within and the world without. Otherwise, it is not righteousness at all ; certainly not such as we see in Jesus; it is not"being righteous as he is righteous." Therefore being righteous and doing righteousness are not twain, but one; one in the very nature of things, by divine ordination and arrangement. God has joined them; and what God has joined man may not put asunder. The attempt to separate them on either side, or to confound them, is a fatal error. Hence those err who would sink the being in the doing as if the doing were all in all, - quite as much as those who would divorce the doing from the being, and leave the being all alone. "He can’t be wrong whose life is in the right," is a perilous half-truth. Doing righteousness, in the sense of merely leading what is called a virtuous life, being irreproachable in manners, and performing acts of kindness, may thus be made to constitute the sum and substance of religion and morality. Evidently that is not John’s teaching. On the contrary, it is with the inward frame of mind that he is chiefly occupied; it is about the heart being right with God that he is concerned. The very righteousness, pure and holy, which is the distinguishing characteristic or attribute of the moral character of God, is to become the attribute of ours, as it is of Christ’s. Far from undervaluing, or as it were postponing, the inward, or being righteous; he lays on that the whole stress of his .appeal about the outward, or doing righteousness. For the very reason of his appeal is this, that if there be not the being there cannot be the doing ; and therefore, on the other hand, if there be the doing, it proves and insures the being. This last is the important practical consideration here. But it is so only when we rightly understand what doing righteousness, in John’s notion of it, really is. It is not merely performing righteous actions; doing things that are in themselves, or in their own essential nature, right and good. The abstract form righteousness is significant and all-important. To do a righteous deed is one thing: to be doing righteousness in the doing of it is another. The difference may be immense. Jesus"went about doing good." And in doing good he was ever doing righteousness. For he did good because he knew that to do good is to do what is righteous in the judgment of the righteous Father. He did good, not as doing himself a pleasure or his fellow-men a service, but as doing the Father’s righteous will. To do good thus is to do righteousness indeed. Viewing it in that light, we cannot err, or go too far, in the way of identifying it with being righteous. So to do righteousness is really to be righteous; in the highest and holiest sense; according to the most perfect type and model;"even as Christ is righteous." It is a vain dream, a fond imagination, for any of us to aspire to being righteous in any other manner or after any other fashion. The humble path of obedience to the righteous Father, - the consistent doing of righteousness as we know, and because we know, that God is righteous (1 John 2:29), - is practically being righteous, So Christ, the Son of God, is the Father’s righteous servant, doing the Father’s righteousness. So let us, as born of God, be the Father’s righteous servants in Christ; doing righteousness as Christ does righteousness, and being righteous as Christ is righteous. II. As"doing righteousness," - through its being thus associated or identified with "being righteous as the Son is righteous," - proves our being "born of God ;" so"doing sin" proves a very different relationship, a very different paternity."He that committeth" or doeth"sin is of the devil." That is his genealogy or pedigree. And the reason is plain. The devil is the author of sin; it is he who"sinneth from the beginning." The"doer of sin" cannot, as such, have any other father than the originator of sin. And he cannot repudiate the ancestry. It is fastenedupon him by the same law or principle which enables"the doer of righteousness" to claim kindred with the righteous Father, in respect of his"being righteous as his own Son is righteous." The medium of proof is the same. It is this, that what one does is really what one is; the doing being the index or identification of the being."He that committeth" or doeth"sin is of the devil;" for, by doing sin, he shows his identity of nature with him who is a sinner from the beginning. And it is upon identity of nature, proved practically, that the question of moral and spiritual parentage must ultimately turn. That is the question which John raises here, and to which he afterwards returns (1 John 3:10). It is with a view to that question that he lays down the essential moral truth involved in his two contrasted propositions or arguments; first,"He that doeth righteousness is righteous, even as he, the Son, is righteous," and so, as"born of God," may assert a divine paternity; secondly, "He that doeth sin is of the devil," the original and archetypal sinner: he must consent, therefore, to trace his genealogical line from a devilish beginning and in a devilish stream. And still the test is the consistency or identity of the doing with the being. The doer of righteousness is righteous, as Christ the Son, who is one in nature with the Father, is righteous. The doer of sin is not so, but on the contrary is of the same nature with the devil, who"sinneth from the beginning." He who is born of God, knowing that God is righteous, can do nothing but righteousness, in so far as he realises his position; being himself righteous as Christ is righteous. He that is of the devil can do nothing but sin, as the devil has been doing all along from the beginning. So far as his nature is allowed full development, that is its working. But that proves a paternity the opposite of divine. Thus two parentages are here contrasted. Two fathers, as it were, desire to have us as children. They are wide as the poles asunder. Of the one relationship it is the characteristic not to sin; of the other, to be always sinning. The one father never has sinned, never could sin, being the "righteous Father." The other has been always a sinner; sinning from the beginning; his first act being to sin. Each father imparts his own character to his children. The Virtue or the vice ; the wholesome purity or the poisonous matter; the sweet charm or the sour taint; runs in the blood. The children of the one father have infused into them the seed or germ of his impeccability; his being of such a nature that it is impossible for him to sin. The children of the other inherit his absolute incapacity of not sinning; his being of such a nature that it is morally impossible for him not to sin. It is a terrible inheritance. It is the devil’s nature to sin. When we sin we give proof of its being our nature too. And it is a nature which we derive from him. It was he that communicated it to us. Our relation to him, therefore, in respect of our thus sharing his nature, is very close. It may be true that it is only in a figurative sense that we can be called "children of the devil," or said to be"of the devil." Still the figure has in it a sad reality. If it is natural for us to sin, he is the father of that nature in us. His seed is in us; the seed of his nature, his natural life, which is to sin, to do nothing but commit sin. And let us remember John’s definition of sin (1 John 3:4), and Paul’s (Romans 8:7). The essence of sin is refusing to be subject to law, That is the sin which "the devil sinneth from the beginning;" he sinneth by insubordination. That is his nature, his natural life. And he put the seed of it in us when he said to Eve,"Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree in the garden?" This phrase, therefore - "being of the devil," - as used here and elsewhere in Scripture, does not imply what in human opinion would be accounted great criminality or gross immorality. To call any one a devil, or a child of the devil, is to impute to him, according to ordinary notions, an extreme depravity. We paint the great Apostate Spirit in the blackest colours of foul pollution, rancorous hate, and wanton cruelty; and it is only monsters of vice among ourselves that we characterise as satanic. Thus we extricate ourselves from the shame of so discreditable a lineage as is involved in being of the devil. But neither John nor his Master will let us off so easily. The sin which lost Satan heaven was neither lust nor murder. It was not carnal at all, but merely spiritual. It was not even lying, at least not at first, - though"he is a liar, and the father of it." It was pure and simple insubordination and rebellion; the setting of his will against God’s; the proud refusal, at the Father’s bidding, to worship the Son. So"the devil sinneth from the beginning." And when you so sin, you are of your father the devil. Peter was sinning in that way when Jesus called him Satan. There was nothing of what we might be inclined to stigmatise as satanic in his very natural wish to arrest his Master’s fatal journey. It was an impulse of generous affection which burst out in the expostulation,".Be it far from thee." But he was"of the devil" then, notwithstanding. Therefore Jesus said to him,"Get thee behind me, Satan; thou art an offence unto me" (Matthew 16:23). Not saying it thyself, thou wouldst hinder me from saying to my Father,"Thy will be done." And that is devil’s work. In order then to enter into the full meaning of John’s solemn testimony, it is not needful to wait till some horrid access of diabolic fury or frenzy seizes us. It is enough if"the tongue speaketh proud things," or the heart conceives them."Our lips are our own; who is lord over us?" Or, why are they not our own? May they not at least occasionally be our own, - this once; for singing one Vain song, or uttering one idle word, or joining in au hour’s not very profitable, but yet not very objectionable, talk? Is there any rising up in us of such a feeling as this, as if it were hard that we may not occasionally take our own way and be our own masters? It is the devil’s seed abiding in us; the seed of the devil’s sin, and of his sinful nature. Thus this testimony is of wide range and searching power, when the Spirit brings it home. The law says - Thou shalt love God with all thy heart; thou shalt not covet. Let that commandment come to me, in its real spiritual force; and how thoroughly, how helplessly, how miserably, does it make me out to be a very child of the devil! Many laws I cannot charge myself with breaking; I do not feel them to be irksome; the laws of my country and of society, for example; the laws Of just dealing between man and man; the laws of kindness, courtesy, good breeding, good taste and feeling; the law of chivalry; the law of honour. Of all such laws I can cheerfully acknowledge the authority. But this law, - the law binding me by peremptory statute to love God supremely, and not to covet, not to love at all except as he loves, me feel that I cannot own. There is that in me which makes me rebel against what it enjoins being made matter of law at all. I would have it left to my own discretion. I object to love upon compulsion, or to worship, or to obey. Yes, there it is! That is it! I have in me the seed, the root, the germ, of the satanic spirit and the satanic nature. I cannot bring myself to be thoroughly under authority and law, when the authority and law are God’s. And why? Why but"because the carnal mind is enmity against God: for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be?" III."But for this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil.’, The expression "to destroy the works of the devil," - if it is to meet the previous statement, must be understood as meaning, in substance, that the Son of God was manifested to undo what the devil has done and is doing; to counteract and counterwork him, in respect of all his doings generally; but especially in respect of his imparting to us, as his children, the germ or seed of his own sin of insubordination to the authority and law of God. The phrase, indeed, might be taken in a wide sense; and might lead us to consider the many various ways in which the gospel tends to redress, and has actually to a large extent redressed, the manifold wrongs and mischiefs that the devil, by introducing moral evil and turning it to account, has wrought in the earth. But evidently the reference here is rather to the one inherent quality, than to the various effects, of the devil’s working. The Son of God was manifested to destroy the works of the devil - to destroy in you that sort of doing, or working, which you have derived from the devil; that sinning, or committing sin, which is his nature, and of which he has implanted in you the seed. It is a work of destruction which he is manifested to do, or which his being manifested does; for we need not be very particular as to which of these ways of putting the matter is to be preferred: they are virtually the same. Execution is to be done upon what is the essence of all the devil’s works, so far as our sharing in them as his children is concerned; the spirit of suspicion, impatience, and rankling discontent, under God’s loving rule, which the devil insinuates into our hearts, and fosters, inflames, and irritates there. In thus destroying the works of the devil, in this sense and to this effect, his being manifested as the Son of God was, in itself alone, a great step. For he was manifested, in the very form, in the very position, which the devil had himself felt, and had persuaded us to feel, to be grievous, irksome, and intolerable. He, being the Son,"took upon him the form of a servant." He was so manifested as to make it plain, beyond all question, that there is no such root of bitterness as the devil would insinuate that there is, in a creature’s subjection as a servant to the law of God his Creator, in a Son’s subjection as a servant to the law of God his Father. The Son of God is manifested as submitting to that place of subordination to authority which the devil and his angels spurned; giving himself to a service infinitely more humiliating than they were called to when they were commanded to worship him. It was a great blow to the works of the devil; it cut up by the roots the very pith and staple of his power to work at all; when the Son of God was thus manifested; when it was made patent to all the universe that it was no degradation or bondage for the Son himself to be the servant of the Father; when it was seen that his being so was not incompatible with sonship, but was in fact its very perfection. This, however, is not all; it is only a small part of what he does in destroying, to me and to all his people, the works of the devil. The Son of God might have been manifested as sustaining the very character of a servant, under authority and law, which the devil found, and which the devil makes me find, so provocative of an inward sense of impatience and spirit of rebellion; and he might have been manifested as sustaining that character in such a way as to win me over to the conviction that it is, if I can but reach it, my highest freedom and joy. But what of that, if I cannot reach it? And I cannot reach it, unless the Son of God, thus manifested, does two things on my behalf. In the first place, he must make my relation to the Father such as his own is. In order to that, and as an indispensable preliminary to that, he must abolish and destroy the relation in which the devil has got me, along with himself, to stand to God; the relation of a guilty criminal to a righteous and avenging judge. Fain would the devil keep me in that relation to my God; scowling impotent defiance, or writhing under the lashings of despair. Or he would set me to the task of painfully working out for myself deliverance; and all in vain. The Son of God is manifested to make short work of all that. I see him taking my relation to God as his, that I may take his relation to God as mine. And I have literally nothing to do but say Yes! Yes; I allow him to take my relation to God as his, the relation of a condemned criminal, a sentenced transgressor of the law! - to take it, so as to exhaust all the curse of it, and destroy it, as the devil’s work, for so it is, utterly and for ever! Wondrous condescension, is it not, on my part! And I accept his relation to God, the relation of a beloved son and faithful servant, as mine! More wondrous condescension still! Ah! let me be ashamed to hesitate here. Let me be willing to be to the Father all that his own Son is, in both views of this wonderful substitution and most blessed union. But, secondly, that I may be willing, he must put within me his own heart towards God, as well as place me in his own relation to God. For this purpose also the Son of God is manifested; not only that through his entering into my guilty relation to God the righteous judge, and making an end of it for me, I may enter into his relation to God the righteous Father, and make full proof of it, in him; but also that, through the Spirit dwelling in me, as in him, I may have the same heart that he has to cry, "Abba, Father." Let me never forget that it is for this double purpose that the Son of God is manifested. Root and branch, the works of the devil must be destroyed. The seed, the germ, the principle of all his works must be eradicated. Suspicion, dislike, servile dread, criminal sullenness, self-justifying pride, must all be scotched and killed. These are the devil’s works. They must be all destroyed. Let me look to the Son of God as he has been and is manifested; and are they not, through my so looking, destroyed? I cannot think and feel, with reference to God and his authority and law, as the devil does, when I look to the Son of God manifested for this very purpose, that I may think and feel as he does; that God may be to me what he is to him, and his law to me what it is to him; that thus in me he may "destroy the works of the devil." XXIV. CONNECTION OF DOING RIGHTEOUSNESS WITH BROTHERLY LOVE AS PROVING A DIVINE BIRTH, IN CONTRAST WITH THE UNRIGHTEOUS AND UNLOVING SPIRIT INDICATING A DEVILISH PARENTAGE. "In this the children of God are manifest, and the children of the devil: whosoever doeth not righteousness is not of God, neither he that loveth not his brother. For this is the message that ye heard from the beginning, that we should love one another. Not as Cain, who was of that wicked one, and slew his brother. And wherefore slew he him? Because his own works were evil, and his brother’s righteous." - - 1 John 3:10-12. The antagonism between the righteous Father and the great adversary, and between their respective seeds or offsprings, is here announced in such a way as to run it up to a very precise point. The question to which of the two you belong; which of the two parentages or fatherhoods, God’s or the devil’s, is really yours; is brought to a narrow issue. It is put negatively; and it is all the more searching on that account. The want of righteous doing, the absence of brotherly love, is conclusive against your being of God;"Whosoever doeth not righteousness is not of God, neither he that loveth not his brother." These two things are here virtually identified; or the one is represented as implying the other. The general is now made particular; what was general and abstract,"doing righteousness" (1 John 2:5-9), is now reduced to a particular practical test,"loving one’s brother." What sort of love is here meant will appear more clearly as we proceed. It is, at any rate, love whose obligation is not of yesterday; the commandment rendering it obligatory is of old standing, of ancient date:"For this is the message that ye heard from the beginning, that we should love one another." And the question arises - What message or commandment is here referred to? The idea is apt to suggest itself, not unnaturally, that it is our Lord’s commandment in the beginning of the gospel:"A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another;""This is my commandment, that ye love one another, as I have loved you;""These things I command you, that ye love one another" (John 13:34, and John 16:12-17). But may not "the beginning" be held to date, not from Christ’s teaching, but from the real beginning of the gospel, immediately after the fall? Does not the mention of Cain indicate as much?. Is not the law or message of love in question that which was violated in the beginning, when Cain, being of that wicked one, slew his brother. God’s commandment, heard from the beginning, is that we should love another. Therefore"he that loveth not his brother doeth not righteousness," - the righteousness required to make good or verify the fact of his being"born of God." He "committeth or doeth sin ;" the sin which is"the transgression of the law." He is"of the devil;"-like Cain, who"was of that wicked one, and slew his brother." We are thus carried back to the earliest manifestation of the distinction between the. children of God and the children of the devil in the old familiar history of Cain and Abel. Of Abel little is recorded in the history. But it is plainly implied, in what is said of him here, that he loved his brother. We read that"Cain talked with Abel his brother." And we read this in immediate connection with what the Lord said to Cain on the subject of his rejected offering : - "Bat unto Cain, and to his offering, he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell. And the Lord said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen? If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin" - a sin-offering -"lieth at the door’ - at thy disposal, and available for thee. After that"Cain talked with Abel his brother." It is in that connection that we read of his doing so. It is not needful to suppose that his talk was, at least in the first instance, a deliberate plot to draw his intended victim into his power. It is quite probable, or rather more than probable, that the conversation began in good faith. The walk of the brothers in the field may have been as much without any purpose on the one side, as without any suspicion on the other, of anything like treachery or violence. It is quite natural that Cain should have talked with Abel his brother. And the talk might turn on the recent incident of the two acts of worship; on the disappointment which Cain had experienced, and the explanation of it which the Lord had been pleased to give him. That "Cain was still wroth, and his countenance still fallen," we may well believe. He has not been able to bring himself to submit to God and his righteousness. He is in no mood for being amiable to one who seems to him to be a favoured :rival. But he does not meditate actual wrong. He would startle at the thought of fratricide, when the talk with Abel his brother begins. As it goes on, we may imagine Abel, warmly and affectionately enforcing the gospel message which Cain has just got from heaven; opening up its gracious meaning; trying to persuade his misjudging brother that there is really no respect of persons with God, no partiality for one above the other; but that for both alike there is acceptance, as well-doers, if they can claim to stand on that footing, and for both alike, if not well-doers, a sin-offering at the door and at command ; - as near to thee, brother, as to me, as available for thee as for me, as much at thy service as at mine ; - thine, as freely as it is mine, if thou wilt but have it to be thine. Had I, brother, sought acceptance as a well-doer, needing no atoning blood of the slain lamb, coming merely with a tribute of grateful homage, the Lord would have had as little respect to me and my offering as he bad to thee and thine. Nay, less. I must have been more decidedly and justly rejected; for of sinners I am chief. But, in my sin, I looked and saw the sin-offering at my door. And, brother, it lieth at thy door too, if thou wilt but consent, as a sinner, to make use of it. Has not our God been telling thee so? Is not this his gospel to thee as well as to me. Is it too much to conceive of righteous Abel thus manifesting his being of God; thus doing righteousness and loving his brother? Is it at all conceivable that he should deal otherwise with his brother, or not deal thus with him, while Cain gave him the opportunity, by talking with him in the field? Could anything else be the burden of the talk than his beseeching his brother to be reconciled to God by the sacrifice of the slain lamb? And is it not just by his manner of requiting such brotherly dealing with him on the part of Abel that Cain manifests his being of that wicked one? Is not that the explanation of his slaying him. For"wherefore slew he him ‘? Because his own works were evil, and his brothers righteous." That was the real reason; though of course he did not avow it to himself. Probably he was not conscious of it. He had some plausible plea of self-justification or of self-excuse. His younger brother took too much upon him; affecting to be on a better footing with God than he was, and to be entitled to dictate and prescribe to him. It was bad enough that God should have rejected his plea of well-doing, or of righteousness; and bid him come, not with"God I thank thee" on his proud lips, but with "God be :merciful to me a sinner" in his broken heart. That one who is his junior in age, and in strength so completely at his mercy, should press the same humiliating lesson, is more than he can stand. He cannot reach God ; else his anger would find vent against him. But the meek and unresisting child of God is in his hands. And therefore he slays him;"because his own works were evil, and his brother’s righteous." Well did our Lord say of the Jews who sought to kill him:"Ye are of your father the devil; and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning." And he was so, "because he abode not in the truth, for there is no truth in him." To lie and hate the truth, is his nature;"when he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own ;" it is his native speech, his vernacular; for "he is a liar, and the father of it" (John 8:44). And you are of him; for it is"because I tell you the truth that ye believe me not" (John 8:45); and it is that which provokes you to"seek to kill me" (John 8:40). Here then are two instances of the children of God being manifested, and the children of the devil: Abel, and his brother Cain who slew him; Jesus, and the Jews who sought to kill him. It is the first that John cites; but the second throws light upon it. For Abel is to Cain instead of Jesus; and Cain is to Abel what he would have been to Jesus. The antagonism is clearly and sharply defined. On the one side there is love, brotherly love; love to one who slays his lover, and love to him as still a brother; which is indeed "doing righteousness as God is righteous," and therefore betokens a divine birth. On the other side there is hatred, deadly hatred; hatred of the righteous for his righteousness; which is"a work of the devil," and savours accordingly of a devilish parentage. For what brings out the antagonism in both cases is truth or righteousness; truth, as the Lord puts it (John 8:1-59:); righteousness, as John puts it here; the truth of God; the righteousness of God. Whosoever doeth righteousness is of God; born of God. And such an one will, like Abel, love his brother; not sinning, or transgressing the law which commands love to men as brethren."Whosoever doeth not righteousness is not of God." And such an one"loveth not his brother," but"doeth the work of the devil ;" being like Cain, who"was of that wicked one, and slew his brother, because his own works were evil and his brother’s righteous." Mark how these opposite dispositions towards truth and righteousness, the truth and righteousness of God, operate in producing the opposite dispositions of love and hatred. I. Consider that old message or commandment, heard from the beginning, that we should love one another. On what is it based? It cannot, since the fall, be based on our joint participation in the ills to which the fall has made us heirs. Companions in guilt, shut up as criminals in the condemned cell, together awaiting execution, can scarcely be expected, need scarcely be exhorted, to love one another. There is not much mutual love lost in a band of outlaws or a community of rebels."Hateful and hating one another’ is apt to be the characteristic of the tribe. They may call one another brothers, sworn brothers; in the riot of a common feast, in the presence of a common foe. But there is little real confidence or cordiality in their fellowship. It is not, it cannot be, to guilty and sinful men, in their natural condition of guilt and sinfullness, estranged :from God and at enmity with God, that"the message" or commandment"heard from the beginning," to love one another, is now addressed. At least it is not to such that it can be addressed with any hope of its being complied with and obeyed. It is a message or commandment that plainly, from its very nature, proceeds upon the fact of their being a method of extrication, actual or possible, out of that wretched state. It is redemption, and redemption alone, with the regeneration which is involved in it, that makes mutual brotherly love among men, in its true and deep sense, a practicable duty, an attainable grace. It is only one who,"being born of God, doeth righteousness as knowing God to be righteous," that is capable of really loving his fellowman as a brother. 0nly righteous Abel can so love even murderous Cain. If you are the children of the righteous Father, you can so love even those who "despitefully use you and persecute you." For as his children you are one in sympathy with the righteous Father; you are of one mind with him; you are on his side in the great cause of righteousness, and of a righteous salvation, which lies so near his heart. Submitting yourselves to his righteous and sovereign grace; receiving pardon and peace, a new nature and a new life, on the footing of your oneness with his righteous servant and beloved Son; you are now, as his children, being born of him, altogether for his righteousness and against the world’s sin. What brotherhood then can there be between you and the men who sin; and who harden themselves, or justify themselves, in their sin? Is there not a great gulf between you and them? Are they not cut off from you? Are you not precluded from holding them to be your brethren. Nay; it is only now, now for the first time, that you are in a position, that you have the heart, to feel anything like a brother’s love towards them. And it is the very sharpness of the line that severs you from them that makes your brotherly love towards them burn bright and keen and warm. You love them as brethren now, in a sense and manner in which you never could love them before; however closely you and they might be knit together, as issuing from the same womb, or dwelling in the same house, or associated in the same calling, or walking in the same way. Yes; though you have "known that man after the flesh" known him intimately, known him affectionately, known him so as to love him as a very brother when you sat together at the godless festive board, or drained together the cup of sinful pleasure; yet now henceforth you"know him no more." It is after another fashion than that of the flesh that you know him now; and after another fashion that you love. him; with an intensity of brotherly longing for his good, unfelt, unimagined before. What sacrifice would you have made for him then? You would "lay down your life" to save his soul now. He was your playmate, your plaything then; you used him; you sported with him; you enjoyed him. And you had a kindly enough feeling towards him. He was profitable to you; or you found him always very pleasant to you. But he is far more to you now. He is precious, oh! how precious, in your eyes; precious, not as the congenial companion of a passing hour, but as one whom you would fain grasp as a brother for eternity. 2. No such brotherly love is possible for him who, not doing righteousness, is not of God. His frame of mind is that of Cain; a frame of mind that but too unequivocally identifies him as one of the devil’s children, and not God’s. For there is no room for any intermediate position here. Either you are of God; or you are like Cain, who "was of that wicked one, and slew.his brother." It was the contrast between his brother and himself that moved Cain to this act; and before he was moved to it, that contrast must have become very irksome and intolerable. It was not because he was void of natural affection, or because his disposition was one of wanton cruelty and bloodthirstiness; it was not in the heat of sudden passion, or in a quarrel about any earthly good, that Cain slew his brother; but"because his own works were evil, and his brother’s righteous." It is this which chiefly marks the instigation of the devil; and his fatherhood of Cain, and such as Cain. No doubt he has a hand in every sin or crime that his children commit. He fans the flame of lust, and fires the hot blood of furious passion. He sharpens the wits of wily craft, and helps the plotter in many a stratagem. He infuses fresh bitterness into the malign temper of envious hate, whoever or whatever its object may be. But he has a special grudge and spite against"the seed of the woman who is to bruise his serpent-head." More than anything else on earth ; - infinitely more than any remains or remnants of good that the fall has left in human nature and human society ; - for these he can turn to his own account and make his own use of; - does that wicked one detest the faintest trace of the footsteps, the slightest breathing of the spirit, of him"whose goings forth have been from of old;" who has been ever in the world, the wisdom and the word of God, the light and the life of men. Wherever his power appears, setting up God’s righteousness and its claim to vindication against man’s sin and its boast of impunity, there Satan’s malice is stirred. And he makes his children fierce even to slaying; as he made Cain. He does so commonly by fretting and irritating the conscience, while at the same time he fortifies the stronghold of stout-heartedness and pride. For these two in combination, an uneasy conscience and an unbroken heart, are in his hands capable of being wrought mightily to his purpose. Let the truth and righteousness of God be brought so near to a man, by the divine word and Spirit, as to stir and trouble thoroughly his inward moral sense, while his desire and determination to stand his ground and not give in remains unabated, or rather is inflamed and aggravated; let the process go on; and let all attempts towards an accommodation, between the conscience’s increasing soreness and the heart’s increasing self righteousness and self-will, be one after another frustrated and foiled; - you have then the making of a Cain, a very child of the devil, who, if need be and opportunity serve, will not scruple to cut short the terrible debate and end the intolerable strife by slaying his brother Abel; by"crucifying the Lord of glory!" O my fellow-sinner, let us beware! Let us not be"as Cain, who was of that wicked one, and slew his brother." I may think that there is no risk of my being as Cain; it will be long before I slay my brother Abel! But let me give good heed to what John records as the natural history, as it were, of Cain’s sin. He"slew his brother; and wherefore slew he him? because his own works were evil, and his brother’s righteous." Let me ask myself a plain but pointed question. Is there no child of God, no godly man or woman of my acquaintance, the thought of whom, or the sight of whom, or his or her talk in the field, troubles me and makes me feel uncomfortable? Many professing Christians I know and like. Many who pass for serious and evangelical I can meet and converse with, easily and satisfactorily enough. There were four hundred prophets of the Lord that Ahab had no sort of objection to have near him and to listen to. But there was one Micaiah that he did not care to send for."I hate him," said the king,"for he doth not prophesy good concerning me, but evil." Is there any Micaiah who is thus a sort of eyesore to me? Any Abel who provokes in me a kind of Cainish spirit? It is not, strictly speaking, envy, or mere jealousy of another’s superior excellence. It is the tacit rebuke administered to my shortcoming and sin; the awakening of a lurking consciousness of something wrong in my state of heart or way of life, the unsettling of my security, the begetting in me of I scarcely know what to call it - dissatisfaction, apprehension, an uneasy and unpleasant feeling of my not being altogether, in some particulars, what I ought to be, or might be ; - it is that which disturbs me, in the presence of some child of God, or in the thought of such all one, as an unquestionable type of godliness. Ah! it is a dangerous symptom; you brother, as well as I, may give good heed to it. It is the very germ of Cain’s murderous mood. It may not lead you to slay your Abel; him or her who is thus obnoxious to you; whose eminent nearness to God causes you to be too sensible of your distance. You have other ways of getting rid of the troubler of your peace without raising the cry, Crucify him; away with him. You can evade his company, keep out of hearing of his voice, and elude the glance of his eye. You can shut him out of your mind, and bid him be to .you as if he was not. Or you may try another plan. You may open your ears to whispers against him ; you may sharpen your sight to discover faults and follies in him; you may"sit and speak against your brother, slandering your own mother’s son," if by any means you can make him out to be not so very immaculate or so very heavenly, after all, but that you may stand your ground and pass muster beside him in the end. What is all that but slaying your brother; slaying him virtually if not literally; slaying him very cruelly? And wherefore?"Because your own works are evil and your brother’s righteous." Be not deceived. Be very sure that"in this the children of God are manifest, and the children of the devil: whosoever doeth not righteousness is not of God, neither he that loveth not his brother." I draw an important practical inference from the views now submitted. They may teach us something of the nature, and what may be called the genesis, or natural history, of brotherly love. We are accustomed, when we speak of the particular affection of brotherly love, as distinguished from the general affection of love or charity, to rest the distinction chiefly on the opposite characters of those who are the objects of the two affections respectively. Charity or love - I speak of it in its earthward, not its heavenward direction-has for its objects men, all men, indiscriminately; men, as such. Brotherly love has for its objects the children of God; the members of the family or brotherhood of Christ’s people; who have one Father, one Lord and elder Brother, one Spirit, one hope, one home. We love all men with a love of benevolence; we love the brethren with a love of congeniality and delight. So far as it goes, this is of course a true account. But does not John’s statement here suggest a somewhat different, or at least an additional, explanation? May not the root of the distinction lie in the subject of the affection rather than in its objects; in the person loving, rather than in the persons loved? Is not the character of the affection determined by the character of him in whom it; dwells, even more than by the character of him to whom it goes forth? At all events, when my character is changed, the character of all my love, - let who may be its objects, and let it have ever so many objects, differing ever so widely, - is changed in a corresponding manner. There is not one of those I loved before whom I love now as I used to do. My love to every one of them is a quite new love. The wife of my bosom, the child of my house, the servant and stranger within my gates, the beggar at my door, the queen reigning over me, the companion of my leisure, the partner of my business, the holy man of God, the wretched prodigal, the child of misery and vice - there is not one of them whom I love now as I did before. It is a new affection that I feel to every one of them. And what is it that is new about it? Is it not that it is all now brotherly love? Is it not that one and all of the varieties of natural affection, - not stifled, not lost or merged, but subsisting still, as distinct as ever and stronger than ever, - have infused into them this one common element of brotherhood in the Lord? In me, in my heart, there is brotherly love to every one; equal brotherly love to. all. It does not call forth the same response from all; it has not the same free course with respect to all. In some, alas! it is deeply wounded, meeting with what sorely tries and grieves it, as when the sad cry breaks forth,"Who hath believed our report? " -"All day long have I stretched forth my hands to a perverse and gainsaying generation." In others, again, it finds a blessed, present recompense; and the fellowship of saints on earth becomes the foretaste of heaven’s joy. But is it not the same affection, real, true, deep brotherly love, that is so sorely vexed in the one instance, and so richly gratified in the other? Was it not the same affection in the heart of Jesus that caused him-to"rejoice in spirit," as he lifted up his eyes to heaven and said,"I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes; even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight"? - was it not, I ask, the very same affection that caused him to exclaim, as he drew near to the city, and wept over it,"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings; and ye would not"? XXV. BROTHERLY LOVE THE FRUIT AND TEST OF PASSING FROM DEATH UNTO LIFE - THE WORLD’S HATRED - THE LOVE OF GOD. "Marvel not, my brethren, if %he world hate you. We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren. He that loveth not his brother abideth in death. Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him. Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." - 1 John 3:13-16. There is an emphatic meaning in the address (1 John 3:13),"my brethren." It prepares the way for the use of the first person"we" (1 John 3:14). You are of the company of the brethren, as I am. I address you as such, when I exhort you "not to marvel if the world hate you." For why should you not marvel at this? Why should you not count it strange or take it amiss. For this, among other reasons: because we know, - you and I, as brethren, know, - that to love as brethren is a grace belonging entirely to the new life of which we are partakers. It is the very mark of our possessing that life. Why then should we marvel if the dead are incapable of it? It is the world’s nature to hate the godly; it was our nature once; and if it is not so now, it is because we have undergone a great change;"we know that we have passed from death unto life because we love the brethren." It must be so. The absence of this brotherly love is, and must be, a fatal sign of death, and of continued death;"he that loveth not his brother abideth in death." For not to love a brother is to hate him; and to hate him is to murder him; and to murder him is to forfeit life:"Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him." Whereas, on the other hand, the presence of this brotherly love is a blessed sign of life; for it marks our oneness with the Living One; our insight into the manner of his love and our sympathy with it:"Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." Here then we have, in broad contrast, the way of the world, which is death, and the way of God, which is life. It is the way of the world to hate, and so to hate as to murder. It is the way of God to love, and so to love as to lay down life to save. And it is in virtue of this contrast that the test holds good:"We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren." The world’s hatred; God’s love; these are what are here contrasted. And yet there is one point at least of partial similarity. The affection, in either case, fastens in the first instance upon objects opposed to itself. The world hates the brethren; God loves the world,"the world lying in the wicked one." And in a sense too the ends sought are similar. The world, which hates, would assimilate those it hates to itself, and so be soothed or sated; God, who loves, would assimilate those he loves to himself, and so have satisfaction in them. This indeed may almost be said to be a universal characteristic of sentient and intelligent mind; be it pure and benevolent or depraved and malevolent; be its ruling passion hatred or love. It is, so far, common to the wicked one and the Holy One. The wicked one, in whom the world lies, hates; and his hatred fastens Upon the brethren. In his hatred he will not scruple about murdering them outright in cruellest fashion. But he is as well, or even better pleased, if he succeeds in murdering them after a milder method; by getting them to listen to his wily speech. The Holy One loves; and his love fastens on the lost. It is a love in spite of which he must, at the last, acquiesce in the inevitable ruin of multitudes, whom alas! its manifestation fails to touch. But his heart is set on winning them to his embrace, and having them to be of one mind and nature with himself. And his love has this advantage over the opposite affection. Who ever heard of the wicked one laying down his life to secure the accomplishment of his object? - or any Cain who is of the wicked one?"But hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." I. Of the world’s hatred of the brethren two things are said: it is natural, and it is murderous. In the first place, it is natural; not marvellous, but quite natural. The Lord prepared his disciples beforehand to expect it, warning them not to look for any other treatment at the world’s hands than he had met with. It should not, therefore, be matter of surprise to you if the world hate you. And yet it is sometimes apt to be so. Notwithstanding all warnings, and all the experience of others who have gone before him, the recent convert, the young Christian ; fresh, buoyant, enthusiastic, may fancy that what he has to tell must pierce all consciences and melt all hearts. He goes among his fellows, eager to appear in his new character, to bear his new testimony, to sing his new song. Alas! he comes in contact with what is like a wet blanket thrown in his face, cold looks and rude gestures of impatience, jeers and jibes, if not harsher usage still. Instead of the welcome he anticipated, as he hastened forth, with face all radiant from the heavenly fellowship, and lips divinely touched with a live coal from off the altar, crying, - I have found him, come and see; he meets with chilling indifference, or contempt, or anger. He is tempted to give up as hopeless the task of dealing with the dead. But no. Count it not strange, brother, that you fall into this trial. Why should you? Is their reception of you very different from what, but yesterday perhaps, yours would have been of one coming to you in the same character and on the same errand? Surely you know that love to the brethren, brotherly love, true Christian, Christ-like love - willing to give a cup of cold water to a disciple in the name of a disciple, and welcome the least of the little ones for the Master’s sake - is no plant of natural growth in the soil of corrupt humanity; that, on the contrary, it is the fruit of the great change by means of which a poor sinner"passes from death unto life." Have you not found it to be so in your own case? Would anything short of that have made you love the brethren, and hear them gladly, when speaking in a brotherly way to you?. Would anything else have overcome your hatred of them? Then "marvel not," nor be impatient,"if the world hate you." Again, secondly, the world’s hatred of the brethren is murderous, as regards its objects:"He that loveth not his brother abideth in death: whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer.""Loveth not,""hateth,""murdereth!" There is a sort of dark climax here! Not loving is intensified into hating, and hating into murdering. The three, however, are really one; as the Lord teaches in the sermon on the mount, to which undoubtedly John here points (Matthew 5:21-24). Not to love is to hate; and to hate is to murder. If, therefore, you would be safe from the risk of being a murderer, see that you are not a hater. And if you would not be in danger of being a hater, see that you are a lover. It is a solemn lesson that is thus taught; and it would seem to be meant for you who are apt to marvel if the world hate you, as well as for the world that hates you. In that application, it may suggest some important practical thoughts. I. When Abel first caught a glimpse of Cain’s state of mind towards him, he might feel as one who painfully dreamed. He must have been slow to take it in. They had grown up together in the same home; worked and played together; prayed together at the same mother’s knee; listened together to the same father’s teaching; done one another many offices of kindness; enjoyed much pleasant intercourse in house and field. While that strange conversation about God and his worship goes on, Abel is startled as he sees Cain’s dark frown betokening growing wrath. Hate gleams more and more from those kindling eyes. Is it fear that pales the meek martyr’s face, or is it anger that agitates his frame, as that hoarse voice threatens and that cruel arm is raised? Not so. It is horrible surprise at first; and then deep concern, tender pity, bitter grief. That Cain has ceased to love him as a brother, - that is what chiefly wounds him; wounds him more keenly than the stroke that fells him to the ground. Has he lost, can he not win back, a brother’s love? Is there such hatred, so murderous, in one who is still so dear to him? Will he rather slay me than taste and see how good our God is who has provided for us both the same sin-offering of the lamb? It is a bitter sorrow. But it is not the bitterness of a sense of his own wrong; it is the bitterness of the melancholy insight he has got into his poor brother’s dark and miserable heart. Ah! think ; - when you come in contact with some one to whom you would fain commend the Saviour and the sacrifice you have yourself found so precious, - an old familiar friend perhaps with whom your intercourse has been wont to be frequent and sweet, - a humble neighbour who has often been glad to see you under his lowly roof, to accept your alms in his poverty or your kindly sympathy in his distress; and when you begin to discover that, as a child of God, you are not so welcome now as you were when like himself you were a child of the world; when he treats you coldly or rudely, and makes it plain that he would fain in any way get rid of you ; - think rather of his case than of your own. It may be hard for you to bear with his irritability and incivility; and you may be provoked, if not to retaliate, yet to let him alone and make your escape. But consider him; and have pity upon him. This malignant spirit of dislike to righteousness, and to him whose works are righteous, is far worse for him to cherish than for you to suffer. Leave him not. Rather stay by him and plead with him; even though his hatred rise to murder. 2. For you need, for yourselves, and with special reference to the world’s hatred of you, to be ever on your guard, lest somewhat of the old dark spirit should creep in again into your own hearts. And remember it may insinuate itself very insidiously and stealthily. Consider once more the stages or steps: not loving; hating; murdering. Ah! how easily may the first of these begin: not loving. It is a simple negation; no taking of any positive step; but only, as it were, not taking any step at all; or not this or that particular step; giving up; letting alone; using less energy of prayer and pains; feeling less interest. Who is it that you have ceased, or are ceasing, to love with a true brotherly love like Christ’s? Is it one still unconverted and unsaved? You have been dealing with him, as you think, faithfully and affectionately; pleading with him for Christ, and with Christ for him. You have had much patience, and have persevered long. Nor has it been mere taskwork with you; it has been a work of love. You have felt a real concern for his soul, a real longing for his salvation. But somehow the case is not very hopeful; it was not very hopeful at first, and it is becoming less so, or at least not more so. You are getting reconciled to the idea of failure and disappointment. You are not at first conscious of a diminished regard for your poor brother; but you are becoming less sanguine, and gradually less earnest. The work of love becomes more like taskwork now. You will do your duty; you will continue to be kind to him, to warn and exhort him, to set Christ before him, and urge him to believe and live. But there is less cordiality in what you do and say; you bestow less of your heart upon him. This may be natural, in a sense and measure perhaps unavoidable, and not altogether unreasonable. There may be a limit to your earnest striving, in love, with an obdurate sinner, as there is a limit to the striving, in love, of God’s own Spirit with him. But beware. It is not because he ceases to love that the Spirit ceases to strive. See that it be not otherwise with you; that it be not your ceasing to love that makes you cease to strive. If it be Christ’s mind that you should shake off the dust of your feet as a testimony of judgment against any one whom you have been plying with the testimony of mercy, he will make that plain enough to you by unmistakeable indications of his will. And you will see all the more clearly, and judge all the more fairly, if there be no ceasing to love; no growing coldness and indifference; no feeling of a sort of apathetic acquiescence in the inevitableness of that poor soul’s fate. No such feeling is there in the tears of Jesus over Jerusalem. Beware, 1 repeat, of any such feeling insinuating itself into your bosom. Not to love, with a love that yearns to save, and-weeps rivers of waters for the lost, is to hate; and to hate is to murder."Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation." Or is it one of Christ’s little ones; one of the fatherless and widows whom you visit in their affliction; one whose feet you have counted it a privilege to wash? The service has been a delight; that suffering saint’s chamber has been to you a Bethel. You have got in it far more than you have given of spiritual refreshment and consolation. So you say and feel, under the impulse of your first love for that brother in Christ. But on further acquaintance you find, or think you find, things in him or about him that are fitted to damp and repel your ardent advances. He is not so perfect as you thought; his person not so pleasant; his room not so tidy. Infirmities come out; disagreeable incidents occur; rude friends interfere. It is not romance now, but reality. You are not quite so enthusiastic as you were in your esteem of him, or quite so frequent and regular in your calls upon him. A sort of weariness comes over you when you knock at his door; a sort of distasteful recoil arrests you as you enter his chamber. It is plain that your Christian admiration, your brotherly love towards him, is not exactly what it was; not so glowing and so gushing. It may be as real and genuine; it may be even more trustworthy, because it is more sober. If so, it is well. But beware. It may be otherwise. There may be an approximation to a state of mind not quite so right or safe ; - " not loving your brother," ceasing to love him as your brother in Christ, allowing natural or accidental causes of estrangement or indifference to cool your brotherly affection. And what then? May there not come something worse? A certain half-unconscious dislike; a certain pleasure, even in hearing him ridiculed or defamed; a not unwilling participation in the idle talk that, exaggerating defects, and overlooking or misrepresenting excellencies, would take away his fair name and reputation, and play the murderer as regards his Christian character and standing? Be on your guard against this spirit of the world finding harbour again in your breasts. I speak to you who have"passed from death unto life," and who know what it is to love the brethren; to love all men with a true brotherly love in the Lord, a love that looks on them as immortal beings, having near them a Saviour dying for them, having in them a Spirit striving with them, having before them a Father waiting to be gracious. Even you need to be warned against the world’s evil temper of dislike and envy. Consider how insidious it is. It begins with what may attract little observation and awaken little alarm; a change, scarcely noticeable, or if noticed easily explained by altered circumstances, sobering age, sad experience, repeated disappointment, or any of the thousand causes that make the heart beat less wildly as time rolls on. Consider also its deadly danger. The"not loving," or not loving so purely and so truly, comes to be"hating, avowed or unavowed, distaste, disinclination, displeasure, dislike; estrangement, suspicion, envy. And to hate is to"murder;" one way ar other, by neglect or by calumny, by ill thoughts or ill words or ill deeds, it murders. Consider, finally, how natural it is ;so natural that only your"passing from death unto life" can rid you of it, and make you capable of its opposite. You need not marvel if the world thus hate; fi)r it is its nature. Nor need you marvel that you should still require to be exhorted not thus to hate; for it is your nature too. Grace may overcome it; grace alone can do so. And even grace can do so only through continual watchfullness and prayer, continual recognition of the life to which you pass from death, and continual exercise of the love which is the characteristic of that life. II. Of this love, as of the hatred, two things are said. In the first place, it is natural now to the spiritual mind; natural as the fruit and sign of the new life ;"We know that we have passed from death unto life because we love the brethren." It is natural to us, in our old state of death, to hate; it is, or should be, natural to us, in our new state of life, to love. For our life is our participation with Christ in his life; and his life, like the Father’s, is manifested in love; or is love. Our life, therefore, is also love; it is our loving as the Father loves, and as the Son loves. And this, secondly, implies that the love in question is the very opposite of the murderous hatred of the devil; it is self-sacrificing, like the love of God himself:"Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren" (1 John 3:16). It is a high ideal of this love to men as brethren that is set before us. It is sympathy with God in his love to us; and in that love as measured by his laying down his life for us. Whom does he thus love? Us: and all such as we are; or as we were, when his love reached us."Scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die. But God commendeth his love towards us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.""When we were without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly." For us sinners, for us without strength, for us ungodly, he laid down his life. And it was a brotherly love to us that moved him to do so. It was as our brother that he sacrificed himself for us. It is that we may be his brethren that he would have us to perceive his love in sacrificing himself for us, and to believe it. Oh! to be enabled to enter more and more into this brotherly love of Jesus; to apprehend its nature; to imbibe its spirit! Truly it is the opposite of the hatred of a brother which marks one abiding in death. That hatred prompts to take away another’s life; this love to lay down one’s own."Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer ;" but here is one so loving his brother, that to save him alive he sacrifices himself. Cain was bent on slaying his brother: Abel, was anxious, at the risk of death, to win Cain. We, in our hatred, because he was righteous and we were evil, slew a greater than Abel. He loved us with more than Abel’s love when"he laid down his life for us." We know that we have passed from death unto life, when we love our fellow-men with a brotherly love like his; when we are so bent on saving and blessing them, that we are willing not only to give our whole lives for their good, but to suffer all loss, even death itself, at their hands. Even when they are still our enemies, because the enemies of our Lord; even while they hate us, and persecute us, and say all manner of evil against us; how does it become us still to love them as brethren, with a love that would seek them as brethren, and welcome them as brethren, and live and die for them as brethren! Can they be more hostile or injurious to us, than we were to Christ when he loved us and laid down his life for us? Have they wearied us as we have wearied him? or provoked us as we have provoked him? or pierced us as we have pierced him? How shall we not continue to care for them and plead with them, as Christ continued to care for us and plead with us, - oh! how long, how patiently, how tenderly, - if by any means he might bring us to receive him as laying down his life for us! And when, by his Spirit, they are moved and melted, and on the footing of that great propitiation reconciled to God and to us; how shall we set bounds to the warmth and cordiality of our embrace of them as now our brethren indeed! Can we grudge any service or sacrifice to show our love, even should it be the laying down of our lives for them, as he laid down his life for us This is our security against the evil spirit of Cain coming in again to trouble us. It is to make full proof of the better spirit of Abel, or of him in whom Abel, like us, believed, even Jesus, who so loved us, even when dead in sins, that he gave himself for us, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God; and who so loveth us, as his brethren, for whom he laid down his life, that he would have us to be sharers as his brethren with him in all the love with which the Father loveth him and all the glory which the Father giveth him. XXVI. RIGHTEOUSNESS OR TRUTH IN BROTHERLY LOVE - ESSENTIAL TO THE ANSWER OF A GOOD CONSCIENCE IN OURSELVES AND BEFORE GOD. "But whoso hath this world’s good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him? My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth. And hereby we know that we are of the truth, and shall assure our hearts before him. For if our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things. Beloved, if our heart condemn us not, then have we confidence toward God." - 1 John 3:17-21. The lesson here is sincerity. It is with special reference to the grace or affection of brotherly love, that this lesson is in the first instance enforced; and the manner in which the subject is introduced is noticeable. The highest possible model or ideal has been presented for imitation:"Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." Then immediately, by way of contrast, the testing case put is made to turn on one of the simplest and commonest instances of the exercise of human pity:"But whoso hath this world’s good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him?" It looks almost like irony or sarcasm. Your love to the brethren, to men as brethren, should reach to your laying down your lives for them. Yes! And it would, if that were necessary, or might do them good. So you say, and think. But what if, having this world’s good, and seeing your brother have need, you shut up your bowels of compassion from him? How then dwelleth the love of God in you? Is that loving as God loves? Beware of self-deception in this matter. It is easy to imagine what you would do to win or help a brother; and yeti may please yourselves by carrying the imagination to any length you choose. If a great act of self-sacrifice would avail, you would not shrink from it. But what if you grudge some far readier and easier service, a gift to the needy out of your abundance, or a visit of sympathy to the widow out of your leisure, or a word in season to the weary out of the fullness of your own happier experience, or a helping hand to snatch a perishing soul from the pit and set him on the rock on which the Lord has set you? You will lay down your life for one who is, or who may be, a brother! And yet you cannot lay down for him your love of this world’s good; your love of ease and selfish comfort; your fastidious taste, that shrinks from contact with squalid wretchedness and vulgar ways; your proud or shy reserve, that keeps the humble at a distance; your false shame, that sends you in upon yourself when you should be sowing beside all waters. Thus somewhat sternly John’s tender expostulation - -for it is very tender - is introduced:"My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue." There is enough in the world of that sort of love."Let us love in deed and in truth." It is only thus that we can"know ourselves to be of the truth," or to be true, and so can"assure our hearts before God." We can have no such assurance if our consciousness hints that there is guile in our spirit."For if our heart condemn us," how can we face him"who is greater than our heart and knoweth all things ;" all things about our heart; its secret windings and subtle refuges of lies? It is only"if our heart condemn us not," - condemn us not, that is, as unrighteous and insincere in the matter on hand, - it is only then that we can"have confidence toward God." Thus John brings out into prominence a general principle connecting conscience and faith, with immediate reference to his particular topic of brotherly love. The principle may be briefly stated. There can be no faith where there is not conscience; no more of faith than there is of conscience; no firm faith without a clear conscience. In plain terms, I cannot look my God in the face if I cannot look myself in the face. In a sense, I must be able to justify myself if I would took on God as justifying me; I must be able to acquit myself of guile if I would reckon on his acquitting me of guilt. If my heart condemns me, much more must he condemn me who is greater than my heart, and knoweth all things. But must not my heart always condemn me? Must I not be always confessing that my heart condemns me, and that therefore the searcher of it must condemn me much more? No, This is not the language of legitimate confession, although it is often used as such. On the contrary, it is rather a protest against the very sort of confession which it is too commonly employed to express. It rebukes all conventionalism; all formal routine or covert guile; all false dealing with myself and with God. It demands, in worship and fellowship, that I approach him who is greater than my heart and who knoweth all things, as one whose heart does not condemn him. Reserving the special application of this principle to the grace of brotherly kindness, I ask you for the present to consider it more generally with reference to the divine love; :first, as you have to receive it by faith; and, secondly, as you have to retain it and act it out in your loving walk with God and man. I. I am a receiver of this love. And it concerns me much that my faith, by which I receive it, should be strong and steadfast; which, however, it cannot be unless my conscience, in receiving it, is guileless. David experienced this; and he describes his experience in the thirtysecond Psalm. There was a time, he says, when he kept silence; when there was guile in his spirit. Then he had no rest. He was unwilling to be thoroughly searched and tried by God; to have the hurt of his soul otherwise than slightly healed; to have the deadly sore probed to the bottom, that the oil and balm to be poured in might reach the root of the disease. If his heart condemned him; and there was one greater than his heart, knowing all things, whose"hand day and night was heavy upon him" (1 John 3:3-4). lie got enlargement and assurance only when he tried the more excellent way of full and frank confession, apprehending full and free forgiveness (1 John 3:5-7). Then his heart did not condemn him, and he had confidence towards God; being of the truth, he assured his heart before God. It must be noticed, however, that the ground of this assurance or confidence is not the consciousness of integrity, thus declared to be indispensable, but that gracious dealing on the part of God for which it makes way. The negative form of John’s language is not without its meaning here - "if our heart condemn us not, then have we confidence toward God." It describes simply the removal of an obstacle; a hindrance or obstruction taken out of the way. A haze or mist of earth is dispelled, that the sun from heaven may give light and warmth. A work of the devil is undone, that the work of God may be wrought. For this inward misgiving, this secret consciousness of insincerity,"our heart condemning us," is of that wicked one. It comes of his lie still heeded, and, as it were, half believed. We must let it go, that the truth may make us free. The plain question then is, Are you dealing truly with God as he deals truly with you? Are you meeting him, as he meets you, in good faith? Is reserve on your part laid aside, as it is thoroughly laid aside on his part? He makes advances to you in his gospel, advances most generous and free; he gives you assurances most firm and faithful. These are the ground and warrant of your confidence before him; these alone, and not anything in yourselves, in your own consciousness of integrity, or in your conscience acquitting you of deceit. But they can be so only when they have their free course and their perfect work in you. And that they cannot have if there is guile in your spirit, if your heart condemns you. May not this be the explanation of that want of assurance of which some anxious souls complain? They are not at ease; they have not comfort, peace, liberty: they feel as if they could not win Christ, so as to be sure of being in him. They see how complete he is for them, as well as how complete they would be if once in him; and they would fain win him and be found in him. But they cannot. Why not? What is there between him and them? Guilt it cannot be; for guilt of deepest dye he takes away; but it may be guile. Sin it cannot be; but it may be silence; keeping silence. Let them not lay the blame of their unquiet and unsatisfied state of mind upon God, or Christ, or the Holy Spirit; upon the gospel way of salvation, or upon the gospel call. All the persons of the Godhead are in favour of their assuring their hearts before God. In the Father, they have rich, free, sovereign grace; altogether gratuitous; unbought and unconditional. In the Son, they have an infinitely precious atonement, an infinitely meritorious work of righteousness, meeting all claims in law against them and upon them. In the Spirit, they have an almighty agency, shutting them up into Christ, and taking of what is his to show to them. Then in the gospel, they have all this love of the one God,- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, - made over to them, if they will but have it, without price and without reserve; just in order that they may assure their hearts before God. The whole plan of salvation contemplates that result, and makes fun and adequate provision for its being realised. If it is not, why is it not? Look well to this question, my brother. See if there is not in you some double-dealing, for which "your heart condemns you." Is all straightforward? Is all real and downright earnest with you? Or are you toying and playing with spiritual frames as if it were all a mere affair of sentimentalism? Or are you brooding over your own gloomy thoughts with that sort of morbid self-satisfaction that feeds on doubt and despair. Thus, first, is it a real thirsting for God, a genuine and strong desire for his face and favour, that is moving you; such as will break through obstructions and "take the kingdom by force"? Or is it the old Israelitish temper of peevish and petulant discontent, rather pleased than not to have to complain that you cannot find the living water? And is all right as regards your perfect willingness to fall in with God’s plan? Is there no disingenuousness here; no dislike of being indebted wholly to free grace; no hesitancy about letting go your last hold of the prop on which you have been leaning, and casting yourself, as by a leap in the dark, into the arms of the waiting Saviour Above all, thirdly, is there a clear understanding as to the terms on which you would choose to be with God? Is there no shrinking from the footing on which Christ would place you with his Father and your Father, his God and your God? Is there a sort of half-consciousness in yon that you would really apprehend and welcome the mediation ,of Christ better than you do, if it were meant merely to ,establish a relation between God and you, so far amicable as to secure your being let alone now and let off at last; and that in consideration of certain specified and ascertainable acts of homage; without its being insisted on that God and you should become so completely one? If your heart misgive you and condemn you on such points as these, it is no wonder that you have not peace with him"who is greater than your heart, and knoweth all things." But, beloved, now your hearts condemn you not! "You are of the truth" you are true yourselves, and truth is your object; the truth ; the truth of God. Then you can have no objection to take in the truth, full and entire, no matter what humiliating discoveries it gives you of your own character and state; or what demands it makes upon you for submission to the sovereignty and grace of God. You have no quarrel with the gospel method of salvation for anything in it that abases you and exalts the Lord alone; if you are "of the truth." Nor can you now be cleaving to any righteousness of your own. You cut the last cord that binds you to the old natural way of making your peace with God, and sink into the embrace of him who is himself your peace. And it is peace, immediate, full, free, unreserved, that you are eager to have. No truce or compromise will content you now. You cannot be too completely reconciled to God, or brought into friendship too intimate, or fellowship too close and confidential, with your Father in heaven. Is it so? In all this your hearts condemn you not. Then why should you not "have confidence toward God"? Is it not precisely thus that he is willing, in truth and faithfulness, to deal with you? Then taste and see that God is good; suffer the love of God to dwell in you, without obstruction on your part or any partial dealing any more. II. Not only as receiving God’s love does it concern me to see to it that my heart condemns me not; but as retaining it, and acting it out, in my walk and conduct. Otherwise,"how dwelleth the love of God in me"? The apostle Paul speaks of "holding faith and a good conscience; "holding the mystery of faith in a good conscience."Herein," he says,"do I exercise myself, that I have always a conscience void of offence, toward God and toward men." This was, in a large measure, the secret, or at least one indispensable condition, of his confident boldness, as a worker and a witness for Christ. His heart did not misgive or condemn him, as to any part of his habitual demeanour and behaviour. If it bad, he would have been instantly smitten with a sort of moral or spiritual paralysis. For the absence of conscious, or half-conscious, guile, is not more essential to your standing fight with God, as regards your acceptance and peace, than it is to. your continuing to stand right with him in the whole work of faith and labour of love by which you have to glorify him. What a source of imbecility and unhappiness, even for the Lord’s own people, is there in this;"their heart condemning them!" Peter’s heart must have condemned him, more or less consciously, when he entered the high-priest’s hall, and mingled with the servants. What had he to do $here at all; getting in as he did; taking the place he did, and the character? Could he fail to have some misgivings, as he stood beside the fire warming himself, like any ordinary onlooker, while false testimony, that he could have contradicted, was swearing away his master’s life? He "kept silence" and slunk away among the menials of the office. He must have felt that either he should not have been there at all, or if there, he should have been at his master’s side. He could not"assure his heart before God," or"have confidence toward God." It is all the less surprising, in these circumstances, that he should have fallen when sharper trial came. He was not found"holding faith and a good conscience." May we not thus account for the want of joy and power that too often characterises your practical Christianity? Your experience is felt to be lacking in life; your influence somehow does not tell. May it not be because"your heart condemns you"?"Happy is he that condemneth not himself in that which he alloweth." Is that happiness yours? Is there nothing in which you allow yourself about which you have a doubt? Have you a latent suspicion that you are not quite acting up to the standard of attainment at which you ought to aim; that you are not following out your convictions to the full extent to which they might lead you ; that you are tolerating what may be at least of questionable expediency? You may have your excuses; your reasons why you cannot be expected to be altogether so heavenly as one, or so self-denied as another, or so decided and outspoken as a third, or so emphatic a protester against the world’s follies as a fourth. But do these reasons satisfy you? Do they keep your mind at ease? Or have you occasional qualms. It is a great matter if the eye be single; if your heart do not condemn you. The consciousness of integrity is, of itself, a well-spring of peace and power in the guileless soul. The clear look, the erect gait, the firm step, the ringing voice, of an upright man, are as impressive upon others as they are expressive of himself. But that is not all. The assurance or confidence of which John speaks, is not self-assurance or selfconfidence. No. It is "assurance before God;" it is"confidence toward God." Why does the apostle make "our heart condemning us" so fatal to our"assuring our heart before God"? It is because "God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things." He assumes that it is with God we have to do; and that we feel this. Our own verdict upon ourselves is comparatively a small affair; we ask the verdict of God."With me," says Paul,"it is a very small matter that I should be judged of man’s judgment; yea I judge not mine own self." I am not consciously self-convicted;"yet am I not thereby justified; but he that judgeth me is the Lord." If indeed my heart condemns me, there can be little room for question as to what I am. Even then, however, what is fatal to my peace and power, is not my heart condemning me ; but God’s being greater than my heart, and knowing all things. My own heart is not likely to condemn me without God condemning me also, and still more. But does it follow that, if my heart acquit me, he must do the same? The contrary, rather, might be inferred. My heart not condemning me might be no proof or presumption that God did not condemn me, He may not acquit me as easily as I acquit myself; for he is greater than my heart, and knoweth all things. There is, therefore, not a little grace here; in our being permitted to infer, from our own heart not condemning us, a like acquittal on the part of God. And yet how should it not be so if we are his children? Does not the Spirit witness with our spirit that we are so? And that, not merely generally, with reference to the general question of our being God’s children; but specifically, with reference to our being at each successive moment in our Christian experience, and each successive step in our Christian life, his children; his children, not in right of a past act of adoption and work of regeneration, but in virtue of a present filial heart and filial frame of mind towards him. It is thus that "the Spirit witnesseth with our spirit." Our spirit witnesses first; faithfully; for we are upon honour. How is it with you, brother, with reference to this present duty; this present trial? What are you thinking and feeling about it? That it is hard, too hard; that too much is asked of you, or laid upon you; but that you must do, or bear, as best you may, simply because you cannot help it? These are servile thoughts and feelings; they breathe the spirit of bondage, not the spirit of adoption. Your heart condemns you; your own spirit witnesses against you; the Divine Spirit therefore cannot witness for you. You cannot lift an honest filial eye to your Father; for"he is greater than your heart, and knoweth all things." But if now, by grace, yea get the victory over these risings of the old slavish mind in you, and have again somewhat of the same mind that was in him who was ever saying, "Abba, Father," as to every business, every cup, every cross; ah! then your heart condemns you not of servile guile, and the sullen, dogged sense of bondage is all gone. Your own spirit witnesses, not of past but of present sonship. It is"Abba, Father," with you and in you, here and now; you are here and now crying,"Abba, Father." And another there is who is in you here and now crying,"Abba, Father ;" the Spirit of adoption; the Spirit of God’s own Son. So he witnesses with your spirit that you are the sons of God; that you are so here and now, at this moment, in the doing of this painful business, in the drinking of this bitter cup, in the bearing of this heavy cross. And thus he gives you great enlargement and assurance, great boldness and confidence, as you walk abroad in the light of God’s loving face shining upon you, to manifest his love everywhere and always among your fellowmen, his love as"dwelling in you." For I must advert again to the immediate occasion of this appeal of John on the subject of sincerity or truthfullness. It is brotherly love of which he is discoursing; the duty of loving all men as brethren; loving every man as a brother; with a true and real brotherly love; a love that has respect to his being, or becoming, a brother in the Lord. Judge yourselves here, that you may not be judged. What says your heart, your conscience, as to this matter? Does it acquit you? Does it absolve you from the blame of blood-guiltiness? Paul could take the people among whom he had lived and laboured to record, the day he bade them farewell, that he was pure from the blood of them all; for he had not shunned to declare unto them the whole counsel of God. May I venture to do so? Woe is me! Can you venture? Have you done what you could? Are you doing what you can?. Or have you misgivings?. Here, a stumblingblock is put in the way of an inquirer by some sad inconsistency, or some cold repulse! There, a precious opportunity of showing a little kindness, or speaking a word in season, is lost irretrievably?. Ah! are these hands of yours clean which you hold out to some dear friend, or some well-disposed neighbour, or some stranger at your gate; clean from the sin of careless dealing with that man, as regards the welfare of his soul for eternity? Are you conscious of indifference or insensibility about his spiritual state being your prevailing temper, in your intercourse with this or that person in your house, or in your social circle? Are you conscious of estrangement, alienation, distance, dislike? Does your conscience tell you that you are not treating him kindly as regards his own good, or not treating him faithfully as regards the claims of God? Ah l then, you cannot face your own heart; and how then can you, with open eye and upward gaze, face your God? If there be even a lurking suspicion of duty possibly neglected, or of wrong possibly done, rest not till all is righted."If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath ought against thee; leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first he reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift.’ And generally I would urge the vast importance of guilelessness and unreservedness, in the whole domain of your spiritual experience. Why is it that we see so many joyless, cheerless, one might almost say useless Christians? Why so many living and walking in such a way as to give the notion of godliness being all gloomy doubt, painful discipline, selfabsorbing anxiety, listless musing? Awake! Arise! Shake off the chains that bind you. Go forth in open day, under the open sky, to meet your God and Father, with your heart open to him, as his heart is open to you. Stand fast in the liberty with which Christ makes you free. Be upright. Be honest, frank, and fearless. Be yourselves; out and out yourselves. Dare to avow yourselves what you are, to God, to your own hearts, to all men. Be of the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; yourselves time; receiving all truth, declaring all truth; everywhere, and always. Be honest, thoroughly honest, in the closet, in the family, in the market-place, in the parlour. Be transparently honest to yourself and to your brother. Be honest to your God and Father in heaven. Do but consent to treat him as he treats you. His whole heart, he himself wholly, is yours; all his love; all his fullness. Let your whole heart be his. Be you yourselves his; with no reserve; be altogether, now and for ever, his. XXVII. RIGHTEOUSNESS ESSENTIAL TO OUR PLEASING GOD AND TO HIS HEARING US. "And whatsoever we ask, we receive of him, because we keep his commandments, and do those things that are pleasing in his sight. And this is his commandment, That we should believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ, and love one another, as he gave us commandment." - - 1 John 3:22-23. This is one of the strongest assertions that we have in Scripture of the efficacy of good works, as bearing on our relation to God. It has no reference, however, to the question of our acceptance or justification; it raises an ulterior question. It manifestly connects a certain privilege with a certain practice, in the case of true Christians, considered as already in a state of grace. And it connects them, so as to make the privilege dependent upon the practice. The privilege is, that "whatsoever we ask, we receive of him." This is partly an explanation of the previous statement (1 John 3:21), and partly an additional thought. The"confidence which we have toward God" is such as emboldens us to ask what we will. And we ask confidently, because we know that God will not refuse us anything that we ask. But it is the fact itself here asserted, and not our sense or apprehension of it, that chiefly claims attention. It is certainly a strong assertion, "Whatsoever we ask we receive of him." And it is altogether unqualified; absolute and unrestricted. We are on such terms with God that he will deny us nothing ; - that is the plain unequivocal meaning of what John says. And it is not to be modified or explained away by any supposed exceptions or reservations. It must be taken in all its breadth as literally true, in connection with the practice on which it is dependent. That practice is obedience,"we keep his commandments;" - or the performance of good works,"we do those things which are pleasing in his sight." For there are not two separate acts or exercises here spoken of; but only one. "Doing things pleasing in God’s sight" is not something over and above"keeping his commandments," or something different from it. That cannot be. For it is not merely doing things, any things, that may be pleasing in his sight; but doing "those things;" which must mean doing the things which he has commanded, and none other. Is, then, this second clause a mere redundancy? Nay, it adds much to the meaning. For one thing, it implies that when "we keep his commandments," or do the things commanded, we do them as "things pleasing in his sight" - we take that view of them in the doing of them. .And further, it implies that God is really pleased with them. They are done in obedience to his commandments, and so done as to be in very truth"pleasing in his sight." They do please him; and it is because they do please him, that he is so pleased with us who do them, that he can :refuse us nothing that we choose to ask. He derives real gratification from what we do for him. What then will he not do for us? To make this view of the matter clear, let us take our Lord himself as our example, in respect of both of these sayings of his beloved disciple. I."We keep his commandments, and do those things that are pleasing in his sight." So John writes; and so also Jesus speaks;"He that sent me is with me: the Father hath not left me alone; for I do always those things that please him" (John 8:29). That was the hold which he had on the Father. It is, in a measure, the same hold that John says we have on the Father."I do always those things that please him.""We do those things that are pleasing in his sight." The language is the very same; the sense and spirit in which it is used must be the very same also. Let us consider it as used by Jesus; let us try to enter into his mind and heart in using it. There is indeed in it, as used by him, a depth of meaning which we dare not hope, or even try, to fathom. It touches what must ever be an inscrutable mystery; the ineffable mutual complacency of the great Three in One, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit : and especially the Father’s ineffable complacency in the Son o£ his love, as fulfilling on earth and in time the counsel of the Godhead which dates from everlasting in heaven. But Jesus uttered the words for our sakes; and as expressing a human feeling which we may understand, and with which he would have us to sympathise. That human feeling in the bosom of Jesus must have been very simple, and intensely filial; realising intensely his filial relation to the Father, and his filial oneness with the Father. There is, if I may venture so to speak, a childlike simplicity, a sort of artless straightforwardness, in his saying so confidingly, so lovingly, so naturally, ,, I do always those things that please him." It is almost as if the words came out, halfunconsciously, from his lips; as if he were thinking aloud. And certainly it is not of himself and his merit that he is thinking; but of the Father and the Father’s love.. I always please him; what I do always pleases him; is .the quiet comfort he takes in a trying moment. For it is indeed a trying moment. He has the cross in view. Men, displeased with him, are to"lift him up," and leave him to die in his agony alone. Not so the Father. He leaves me not alone; he is with me; "for I do always those things that please him." Somewhat similar are the circumstances in which John would have us to say;"we do those things that are pleasing in his sight." We are not to marvel if the world hate us; the source of its hatred we know (1 John 3:13). And we know also the source of that better spirit of brotherly love with which it is to be met (1 John 3:14-16). Only let there be, on our part, open, guileless, unreserved sincerity (1 John 3:17-21). Let our heart, as in the sight of God, acquit us of all secret dishonesty. Let there be truth in the inner man; the truth in love. Then we have the confidence of little children toward God. And, as little children, we join with John, and with Jesus, in saying, - Whatever the world may do to us, we are not alone; the Father is with us, and heareth us, for "we do those things that are pleasing in his sight." There is nothing then here of a legal spirit; nothing of the Pharisee’s self-righteous gratitude: "God, I thank thee that I am not as other men are." It is not thus that John asks us to join with him in saying"we do those things that are pleasing in God’s sight." Rather, he makes our saying this the very test of our entire freedom from all guile in our spirits; all that sort of guile which such prayer as the Pharisee’s implies. For the Pharisee’s prayer represents him as keeping God’s commandments, in so far as he does keep them, merely to gain a selfish end and serve a selfish purpose. If he cares about doing what pleases God at all, it is merely with that view. He may be in earnest, ever so much. It is the earnestness of one seeking to make terms with an adversary, and win his favour or forbearance by a measure of forced submission. It is the earnestness of one striving to effect a truce or compromise, on conditions ever. so severe, for a boon ever so far off, and apt to be lost after all. Take the man who is serving God most anxiously, and with most painstaking observance of the letter of the commandments, on that footing; on the footing of his having thus to win his way to such kind and measure of God’s countenance as he thinks he needs, or cares to have. Ask that man, as before God, and in the eye of his own conscience, Is all clear and open, free and forthflowing, between you and him whom you so painfully serve? Is there not, on the contrary, reserve and restraint; a holding back, as it were, of confidence on both sides; something still outstanding between him and you which makes you feel that all is hollow and unsatisfying? Oh, to be converted, and become as little children! First, to be made willing as little children, that all this misunderstanding should be ended, and this breach thoroughly healed at once, and once for all, as the Father would have it to be, in the Son. And then, as little children, to know something of a little child’s touching and artless simplicity, as we look with loving eye into the loving eye of the Father, and lovingly lisp out the touching words: "We keep his commandments and do those things that are pleasing in his sight." Therefore now, O humble and simple child of God, if, in saying this, you feel yourself to be identified with the holy child Jesus; if your saying it is really his saying it in you by his Spirit; if it is as one with him that you say it, or in all honesty would fain say it; do not hesitate, or have any scruple, from any apprehension of its being presumptuous, or any misgiving lest it should savour of self-righteousness. There can be no risk of that, if you say it in and with Christ. There was no self-righteousness in him; there could not be. For he began his work, himself already personally accepted as righteous; and it was as a Son that he learned obedience. He makes you one with himself in his acceptance and in his sonship. He asks you to let him make you thus one with himself; on the ground of his making himself one with you in your sin and death. You are as he is when you join with him in his saying, "I do always those things that please him." There is no self-righteousness here; scarcely even selfconsciousness. It is all direct, outward upward motion of the soul; the outgoing of filial trust and love and loyalty; the fond and guileless unreserve, one would say, of an unreflecting child, who would be amazed if any doubt were cast on his father’s being always with him, and always hearing him; for his heart bears him out in saying, with a child’s simple and artless love, - I keep his commandments, and do those things that are pleasing in his sight. Only make sure that with reference to this matter there is no guile in your spirit; that your heart does not condemn you. And there is one plain and practical test or safeguard. Your doing those things that are pleasing in God’s sight, is simply your keeping his commandments. If your heart is not right with God, you will be seeking to recommend yourself to him, by services or sacrifices that you think may give you some extra claim upon him, and almost lay him under obligation to you, as if you could benefit or profit him. You will be going about to establish or make good certain meritorious and tangible grounds of confidence, that may avail you when you have to plead with him in the judgment. But does not all that imply deceitful and double-dealing both with him and with yourselves? If you would really please him, he has told you how to do so. You are not to cast about for ways and means of winning his favour; his favour is freely yours, in his Son. And what now will he have at your hands? How, on the footing on which he would have you to be with him, are you to please him? How, but just as his own Son pleased him .? It was his meat to do the will of him that sent him, and to finish his work. He kept the Father’s commandments, and so abode in the Father’s love. II."And whatsoever we ask, we receive of him." In this saying also we have the countenance of Jesus; for we find him using it:"Father, I thank thee that thou hast heard me. And I knew that thou hearest me always" (John 11:41-42). It was beside the grave of Lazarus. What it was that he had been asking, is not said. So far as appears, the prayer for the answer to which he gives thanks consisted not of articulate words but of tears and groans. At all events he was heard; what he asked, whatever it was, he received of the Father. And while openly acknowledging this, for the sake of the bystanders, he is careful to explain that it is no exceptional case."Thou hearest me always ;""whatsoever I ask, I receive of thee always;" thou never refusest me anything. Why Jesus was so anxious, in this instance, publicly to connect the miracle he was intending to do with the Father’s hearing his secret prayer, it is perhaps useless to conjecture. It was a signal display of his power to overcome the corruption of the grave that he was about to give; that power which be is to put forth on a wider scale when he comes again. It was fitting, one might say, that in giving it he should, with more than ordinary explicitness and solemnity, carry the Father along with him. But his studied generalisation of his thanksgiving is remarkable."I knew that thou hearest me always." Never doth the Father leave me alone; for I do always those things that please him; and he heareth me always; I have his ear always; and whatsoever I ask I receive of him. The Lord’s manner of asking varies much. He weeps. He groans in the Spirit. He offers up prayers and supplications, with strong crying and tears. He asks, sometimes, as it might seem, almost incoherently (John 12:5-7). Once, at least, he asks conditional!y,"Father, if it be possible." But, be his manner of asking what it may, always the Father heareth him; always, whatsoever he asks, he receives of him. "Thou hearest me always!" It is a blessed assurance. And the blessedness of it really lies, not so much in the good he gets from the Father’s hearing him, as in the Father’s hearing him itself; not so much in what he receives, as in his receiving it from the Father. For this is the charm, the joy, the consolation, of that access to the Father and that influence with the Father which you now have in common with the Son. It is not that you may enrich and gratify yourselves with what you win by asking from him. But it is literally that whatever you ask you receive of him, as his gift; the proof that he is ever with you and heareth you always. Do you not lay the stress on the "him"? Whatsoever you ask you receive of him." You might have to do with one as to whom your only consideration would be, how much you could get out of him or extract from him. There is a common proverb about quartering upon an enemy. And there is no little satisfaction in the idea that you have a powerful and wealthy patron at your command, on whose resources you may draw at pleasure. But it is not thus that you stand with God. In these other instances, the chief, if not the whole value of any influence you have, is merely the amount of actual benefit obtained. The asker cares little or nothing for the motive which leads the giver to give, or far the disposition towards himself that the gift implies and indicates. It is all the same to him, whether it be extorted by menace; or wrung reluctantly by importunity; or made matter of cold and cautious stipulation. So as only he gets, any how, and on any terms, a certain amount or quantity of what he wants, he is content. That is not the mind of Christ, when he says,"The Father is with me" "thou hearest me always." The support which this thought gives to him is not that it warrants him in demanding any personal benefit he may choose to specify, that would be pleasing to flesh and blood. No. It is its imparting to his inmost consciousness the sense of his being such a Son to the Father, so clear in the Father’s sight, that the Father can refuse him nothing. He may ask what he will; and he is sure to receive it of the Father. Ah! how then shall I ask anything at all? If such is my position, in and with Christ, how shall I have the heart or the hardihood to ask anything at all of the Father, except only that he may deal with me according to his good pleasure? If I am really on such a footing with the Father that"he heareth me always," and"whatsoever I ask I receive of him;" if I have such influence with him; if, as his dear child, pleasing him, and doing what pleases him, I can so prevail with him that he can refuse me nothing; what can I say? What can I do? I can but cast myself into his arms and cry, Thou knowest better than I, O my Father! Father, thy will be done! Yes. And under that blessed committal of all to him, what freedom may I not use? When told that I and my doings are so pleasing to him that I may ask what I will and it shall be done; the very abundance of the grace silences me. It is enough for me, Father, that such is my acceptance in thy sight. But can I wield the sceptre? Can I use so tremendous a power as this, that whatever I ask thee to do thou doest? Nay. I am thy servant. Undertake thou for me. Enough for me to be assured that I so find grace and favour in thy sight that I have but to ask, thee to do anything and it is done. Enough! Nay, more than enough! I can ask nothing on these terms, I must leave all to thee. But leaving all to thee, I pour out all the more freely my whole soul to thee, I spread out my whole case to thee. I speak to thee of all that is upon my mind and heart. I tell thee all my desire. My groaning is not hid from thee. Let us look in closing at the two specimen commandments, if one may so call them, or the two parts of the one specimen commandment, which John expressly mentions in this connection. I."That we should believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ." The keeping of this commandment is the doing of what is pleasing in the Father’s sight. It is so in proportion to the love with which he loveth the Son, and loveth us in the Son. We can do nothing that will please the Father more. It is what his heart is set on; that the Son of his love should be the object of our faith. Is there not here a word in season for you, O sinner, whoever you are, however guilty and however helpless, poor and needy, lost and undone? You, as it might seem, are in no condition to keep God’s commandments so as to please him; and you cannot venture to ask anything, or to hope that you will receive anything, at his hands. Nay; but here is something that you may do, and that will be very pleasing to him."Believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ." It is true that he will not be pleased with your keeping any other commandment; but he will be pleased with your keeping that one. You may not be in circumstances to do anything else that will be pleasing in his sight; but you are in the very circumstances to do that which will please him best. He asks you if you will not do, him this pleasure, "to believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ." Be it that you cannot receive anything you ask otherwise than on the footing of your keeping his commandments and doing those things that are pleasing in his sight. Here is the commandment for you, here and now, to keep; here is the thing pleasing in his sight for you, here and now, to do. Without faith it is impossible to please God; but faith pleases him; it pleases him well. Then believe now. And take a right view of the duty of believing. It is not using a great liberty to believe on the name of Jesus; it is simply"keeping the commandment of God." The liberty is all the other way. You use a great liberty when you refuse to believe. Be not disobedient; displease not God by unbelief; rather please him by believing. And believing, ask what you will, and it shall be given you. Keep on believing. Continue to believe more and more, simply because you see and feel it more and more to be"his commandment that you should believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ."’ Unbelief, in you who have believed, is aggravated disobedience. And, as such, it is and must be especially displeasing to God. It is his pleasure that his Son should be known, trusted, worshipped, loved; honoured as he himself would be honoured. You cannot displease the Father more than by dishonouring the Son; refusing to receive him, and rest upon him, and embrace him, and hold him fast, and place full reliance upon him as redeemer, brother, friend. Do not deceive yourselves by imagining that there may be something rather gracious in your doubts and fears; your unsettled and unassured frame of mind; as if it betokened humility, and a low esteem of yourselves. Beware lest God see in it only a low esteem of his Son Jesus Christ. Beware of guile. May not your staggering, hesitating faith be but half. faith after all? May it not be that you are unwilling to be wholly Christ’s, and to have Christ wholly yours. Can that be pleasing to God?"What shall we do that we might work the works of God?" asked the Jews, and the Lord replied:"This is the work of God, that ye believe on him whom he has sent." Therefore let us believe; and let us be"strong in faith, giving glory to God." 2."And love one another as he gave this commandment.’ The keeping of this commandment of love, as well as the keeping of the former commandment of faith, is the doing of that which is very pleasing in God’s sight; and, therefore, in the keeping of it we may with much confidence reckon and rely on the assurance that "whatsoever we ask we shall receive of him" that "he will hear us always." I do not know - who can tell me? What connection there was between the silent prayer of Jesus at tile grave of Lazarus, and the utterance of that voice of power,"Lazarus, come forth!" Evidently the Lord wished it to be seen and known that in some very special manner the Father was with him, and went along with him, in that great work."Father, I thank thee that thou hast heard me. And I know that thou hearest me always; but because of the people that stand by I said it, that they may believe that thou hast sent me." He would have it understood that he did the work as one whom the Father had on this occasion heard; as one whom "the Father heareth always," and whom "the Father hath sent." For he was to do it, not as a thing that might please himself, but as a thing that would please the Father. He"loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus," and he was about to manifest and gratify his love by a very signal proof and token. But he would have an men to observe that it was not merely on the impulse of a spontaneous burst of affection that he acted, but as doing what the Father commanded, and what would be pleasing in the Father’s sight. Loving, in that way, Martha and her sister and Lazarus, he knew that in the practical outgoing of his love towards them; in whatever loving words he was to say, and whatever loving works he was to do; he might be sure of the Father being with him. For "he pleased the Father ;" he sought to please the Father, and did please the Father. Therefore he was sure of receiving what he asked; sure of the Father hearing him then and hearing him always. Go ye and do likewise. Love one another; love your brother; love as a brother every one with whom you have anything to do; love him with the love that would fain have him for a brother. And let your love still always be "the keeping of God’s commandment," and "the doing of what is pleasing in his sight." Let it not be, as it were, at your own hand that you love, but in obedience to the commandment of God. This may, in one view, be felt by you to be a sort of damper; a drawback upon the warm spontaneous flow of your affections. It may seem to detract from the generous enthusiasm of your good will and your good offices. It takes away the chivalry and romance of this virtue. It makes Christian philanthropy a very humble and homely duty. You are to go among your fellows, - not loving them of your own accord, and at your own discretion showing your love, - but loving them in obedience to"the commandment of God;" and in all the expressions and acts of your love, simply bent on doing what is"pleasing in his sight." But after all, if this is a lowlier, it is a far more becoming and safer position for you to occupy. And it is one in which, if you honestly occupy it, you may with all the greater confidence rely on his hearing you now, and always. You do good and communicate; you are fruitful in every good work; you wash the feet of saints; you visit the fatherless and widows; you speak a word in season to the weary; you stretch out a helping hand to all that need; not merely as indulging your own loving impulses, but rather as carrying out God’s loving purposes. You do these things because they are "well pleasing in his sight." Doing them thus, in singleness of eye, what encouragement have you to expect that he will be with you in the doing of them; that he will hear your prayer for those to whom you do them; and that whatsoever you ask on their behalf you will receive of him! But in all this, let us see to it that we are "of the truth ;" simple, guileless, upright; as regards our whole life and walk of faith and love. Only then can we have confidence before God that whatsoever we ask we shall receive of him. Let us lay to heart the Psalmist’s acknowledgment, - " If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me;" and his thanksgiving, - " But verily God hath heard me; he hath attended to the voice of my prayer. Blessed be God, which hath not turned away my prayer, nor his mercy from me." Let us lay this to heart, not in any spirit of self-righteousness or vain-glory; but in simple · sincerity, as little children, honouring our Father; according to the quaint thought of an old writer" I find David making a complete syllogism, perfect in mood and figure. The first premiss being, ‘If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me’ and the second, ‘But verily ,God hath heard me; he hath attended to the voice of my prayer’ I look for his drawing the conclusion: Therefore I regard not iniquity in my heart. But no. When I expected him to put the crown on his own head, he places itt on God’s ; - Blessed be God, which hath not turned away my prayer, nor his mercy from me.’ I like David’s logic better than Aristotle’s; that whatever be the premiss God’s glory is the conclusion."* Fuller’s Good Thoughts in Bad Times. XXVIII.OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS ATTESTED BY OBEDIENCE, AS IMPLYING OUR ABIDING IN GOD, AND HIS ABIDING IN US BY THE SPIRIT GIVEN BY HIM TO US. "And he that keepeth his commandments dwelleth [abideth] in him, and he in him. And hereby we know that he abideth in us, by the Spirit which he hath given us. Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world." - 1 John 3:24; 1 John 4:1. This is another fruit of the keeping of God’s commandments; or another view of the blessedness of doing so. It ensures our abiding in God, and his abiding in us; and that in a manner that may be ascertained and verified. Two practical questions are thus virtually put and answered. I. How may we abide in God? So abide in him as to have him abiding in us? By keeping his commandments. How may we know that he abides in us? By the Spirit which he giveth us, - and giveth us in a way that admits of the gift being verified by trial. I. In the keeping of God’s commandments there is this great reward, that he that doeth so"dwelleth in God, and God in him." Negatively, it has been already shown that there can be no such mutual indwelling if there is on our part disobedience to God’s commandments. Sin, as"the transgression of the law," is incompatible with such high and holy communion (1 John 3:6). It is the positive form of the statement that is now before us. Obedience, or the keeping of God’s commandments, actively promotes this communion. It is more than the condition of it; it is of its very essence. If this mutual indwelling is not to be mere absorption, which some dreamers in John’s day held it to be - if it is not to be the swallowing up of our conscious individual personality in the infinite mind or intelligence of God - -if it is to conserve the distinct relationship of God to man, the Creator to the creature, the Ruler to the subject, the Father to the child ; - it must be realised and must develop itself, or act itself out, through the means of authority or law on the one side, and obedience or the keeping of the commandments on the other. It is, in fact, the very consummation and crown of man’s old, original relation to God; as that relation is not only restored, but perfected and gloriously fulfilled, in the new economy of grace. For consider the divine ideal, if I may so speak, involved in the creation of man after the image of God, and in the footing on which it pleased God to place man towards himself. Evidently God contemplated obedience, or the keeping of his commandments, as the normal state or character of man. While that state or character continued, there was the best understanding between the parties; between God and man; they were on the best of terms with one another. There was entire complacency on both sides; each resting and dwelling in the other with full and unalloyed satisfaction. You would not say, in these circumstances, that this mutual indwelling of man in God and God in man was, in any proper sense, procured or obtained by man’s obedience, by his keeping the commandments of God. You would rather say that it had in that way its proper outgoing or forth-going, its conscious realisation. It is man’s method of intercourse with God; the only competent, the only conceivable method, if God and man respectively are to keep their relative positions as distinct intelligences. It is only along the line of God ruling and man obeying, that the two, as separate persons or individuals, can so walk together as to get into one another’s minds and hearts, and thus abide in one another. Such mutual indwelling of God in man and of man in God, becoming day by day more close, confidential, loving; through man’s increasing insight into the exceeding excellency of the commandments he is keeping, or rather of him whose nature and will they discover, and through God’s increasing delight in the growing intelligence and sympathy with which man keeps them; might seem to be complete; having in it all the elements of perfection, as regards both the holiness and the happiness of man. Can God and man be more to one another Alas, the drawback of a conditional standing, and a possible fall, is fatal. It leaves an opening for suspicion creeping in, upon the hint of a seeming friend, who would insinuate that restraint is irksome and independence sweet. Then all mutual indwelling is over. God and man must dwell apart. There may indeed be some sort of formal dealing between them; at least man fondly imagines that there may. He thinks that he can so far keep God’s commandments as thereby to right himself with God; to the extent at least to which he cares to be righted. He will make certain terms with God, or conceive of God as making certain terms with him ; and he will be punctilious in the fulfilment of these terms. But that is not really keeping God’s commandments. It is the keeping of a pact, if you will; the doing of his part in a bargain. And if the two parties concerned were equals, or if the relation between them were one of mutual independence, this might lay a foundation for some sort of mutual indwelling, by faith and love, in one another. Even in that case, however, the foundation is too narrow and precarious. If the mutual indwelling is to be real and thorough, there must be something more than the fulfilment of certain stipulated conditions between the parties. They must submit themselves, each to the other, cordially and without reserve; they must study to obey and please one another. Between God and man especially, the introduction of the conditional element, of anything that savours of the striking of a bargain or the making of terms, is and must be destructive of all real fellowship or intercommunion. No obedience rendered on that footing or in that spirit can ever secure your dwelling in God and his dwelling in you. In point of fact, it is apt, - if not from the first to occasion a breach, - yet ever afterwards, when a breach occurs, to widen, deepen, and perpetuate it, however it may be meant, and may seem to bridge it over. The practical value of a free gospel is, that it places your "keeping of God’s commandments" on a different footing, and breathes into it a different spirit. You look to Jesus, and are one with him. You are in the same position of advantage for keeping God’s commandments in which he was. You start, as he did, on the walk and work of obedience, not as seeking acceptance, but as already accepted; not as a servant on trial, but as a son abiding in the house evermore. You are not only what unfallen Adam was when the task of keeping God’s commandments was set before him; you are as Christ was when the same task was set before him. Consider then what sort of keeping of God’s commandments his was; and how it must have conduced to his abiding in the Father, and the Father’s abiding in him. Of course that mutual indwelling never could, through all his keeping of the Father’s commandments, become more full and complete, in principle and essence, than it was before he began to keep them. But we may well imagine that to his human consciousness, and in his human experience, the sense of it must have been growing more intense, and more intensely soothing and beatific, as his keeping of them went on, and on, to its terrible and triumphant close. Among the things about obedience which he learned by suffering, surely this was one, that it has a mighty power to promote, enhance, and intensify the indwelling of man in God, and of God in man. He learned the grief and pain which such obedience as he had undertaken to render involved. Did he not learn something of its joy and pleasure too, the joy and pleasure of apprehending and feeling, more and more, in his human soul, his dwelling in the Father and the Father’s dwelling in him throughout it all? I dare not venture upon particular illustration here. But I ask you, in any hour of deep and private meditation, and after you have prayed, or while you are praying, for the help of the Spirit, to put yourself alongside of Christ, in the sorest and hardest of the experiences which his keeping the Father’s commandments entailed upon him. Try to enter into what his soul was feeling when it was "exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." There was anguish, agony; the anguish and agony of having guilt to answer for, and a penal death to die. But was he not then and there, in his keeping of the Father’s most dread and awful commandments, and through his keeping of them, dwelling in the Father and the Father in, him, in a sense and with a depth and force of meaning, of which that human soul of his could not otherwise have had any experience? What insight, what sympathy, what rest, repose, and peace, - the rest, repose, and peace of unutterable complacency, on his part, in the Father and on the Father’s part in him, must there have been in his utterance of these simple words,"It is finished; Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit!" Let our keeping of God’s commandments be like his. Let us seek grace that it may be so. In our case, as in his, this may imply a bitter cup to be drunk; a heavy cross to be borne. Like him, we have to learn obedience by suffering. Let the obedience we thus learn be of the same sort as his. Let it be the giving up of our own will, always, everywhere, that God’s will may be done. We shall then prove how good and acceptable and perfect that will of God is. We dwell thus in God when our will is merged in his will; we have rest and repose in him; our will in his will, our thoughts in his thoughts; our ways in his ways. And he dwells in us his will in our will; his thoughts in our thoughts; his ways in our ways. We enter into his mind and heart; and he enters into ours. II. The manner of God’s abiding in us, or at least the way in which we may know that he abides in us, is specified : - -" Hereby we know that he abideth in us, by the Spirit which he hath given us." We are to distinguish here between our dwelling in God and his dwelling in us. Both are to be known as facts of our own consciousness, not as revealed truths merely, but as realised experiences. The one, however, our dwelling in God, is to be thus known by our"keeping his commandments;" the other, God’s dwelling in us, by"the spirit which he giveth us." The one we know by what we do to God ; - the other, by what God does in us. And yet, the two means of knowledge are not far apart. They are not only strictly consistent with one another; they really come together in one point. For the Spirit is here said to be given to us ; - not in order to our knowing that God abideth in us, in the sense of his opening our spiritual eye and quickening our spiritual apprehension ; - but rather, as the medium of our knowing it, the evidence or proof by which we know it. He giveth us the Spirit ; and by that token, his giving us the Spirit, we are taught by the Spirit to know that God dwelleth inns. The question therefore as to what this gift of the Spirit may be, is thus narrowed to a precise point. Is it the gift of the Spirit enabling men to perform supernatural works that is meant?. That can scarcely be the gift of the Spirit for such works was never a sure sign of God’s really and savingly dwelling in those who did them. Surely it must be the gift of the Spirit for the ordinary purposes of the Christian life and walk that John has in view; the gift of the Spirit common to all believers in all ages. God giveth us the Spirit in order that, by the Spirit being given, we may know that he dwelleth in us. He means us, therefore, to recognise this gift as a sure evidence of that fact. And how are we to recognise the Spirit as given to us? How otherwise than by recognising the fruit of the gift? The Spirit given to us is, as to his movement or operation, unseen and unfelt. But the fruit of the Spirit is palpable and patent."It is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance." For"against such there is no law" (Galatians 5:22, Galatians 5:25). "Against such there is no law." That is an important addition or explanation here. There is nothing in the gift of the Spirit, or in the fruit of the Spirit as given, that is contrary to law; nothing, therefore, that can again bring us under the risks and liabilities of law. On the contrary, the Spirit being given, with such fruit, is precisely what secures that kind of keeping of the commandments on our part, by which we"dwell in him." For, I must repeat, it is as the Spirit of adoption that he is given;"God sendeth forth the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, Abba, Father." Thus the two elements and conditions, the two means and evidences, of this mutual indwelling of us in God and of God in us meet together. We dwell in God by keeping his commandments; he dwells in us by giving us his Spirit. But our keeping his commandments and his giving us his Spirit are really one; one and the same fact viewed on opposite sides. It is not any sort of keeping his commandments on our part that will ensure or attest our dwelling in him. It is not any way of giving us his Spirit on his part that will ensure or attest his dwelling in us. Our keeping his commandments in the spirit of bondage; in a legal, selfrighteous, formal, and servile frame of mind; is not our dwelling in God. God’s enabling us, by the power of his Spirit, to work miracles, would not be his dwelling in us. Our dwelling in him is our keeping his commandments, as his Son did, on the same filial footing and with the same filial heart. His dwelling in us is his"sending forth the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, Abba, Father." III. From all this it follows that the counsel or warning,"Believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they be of God" (1 John 4:1), is as needful for us as it was for those to whom John wrote. We may think that it is the Spirit of God whom we are receiving into our hearts and cherishing there, when it may really be another spirit altogether: one of the many spirits inspiring the"many false prophets that are gone out into the world." Therefore we must"try the spirits." Do you ask how, or by what test? - " Hereby know ye the Spirit of God: Every spirit that confesseth that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is of God: and every spirit that confesseth not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is not of God." The full meaning of this pregnant and searching test will be afterwards considered. Meanwhile, as beating on the subject now in hand, it admits of at least one obvious application. The Spirit that is of God will ever honour Christ; and especially Christ come in the flesh; which means not only Christ incarnate, but also and emphatically Christ crucified. The person and work of Christ, as the outward object of our faith, the ground of our confidence before God outside of us and apart from us, the true Spirit of God will ever magnify and glorify. He will not consent to substitute for that any inward experience, however heavenly, as superseding it or setting it aside. That is what false prophets, moved by an anti-Christian spirit, are apt to do. It was a very marked characteristic of their teaching in John’s own day. An inward light, an inward sense, something, or much of a Christ in them; an inward revelation, or rapture, or elevation, a sort of mystical indwelling of God or of Christ in them, they extolled and cried up; making it the sum and substance of all Christianity, the whole gospel of the grace of God. Now any spirit that fosters such a tendency is not of God. Any spirit that would encourage us to look in upon ourselves and not out to Christ for peace or holiness is not of God. Inward experience is very precious; it is indispensable. A growing inward consciousness of our"keeping God’s commandments," or, in other words, of our conformity of mind and heart and will to God’s character and law, - -a growing inward consciousness of the fruit of the Spirit, love, joy, peace - we must have; and we must seek to have it more and more, if we would have real communion with God. But if we are rightly exercised, how will this affect our views of"Christ come in the flesh," our feeling of our need of him and of his exclusive sufficiency for us? Will it make us at all the less inclined to be ever looking to Christ, ever leaning on Christ, ever laying hold of Christ, ever having recourse to Christ, and that blood of Christ which cleanseth from all sin? Nay, on the contrary, our growing aquaintance with God, our growing delight in his law, our growing apprehension of the blessedness of perfect oneness, in nature and in will, with him, will only give us deeper convictions of sin, and open up to us new and fresh discoveries of our corruption and our guilt, and lead us to be ever saying, with reference not to past but to present evil in us:"O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" And to be ever taking refuge in Paul’s last stronghold -"This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief." Let us then, acting upon the belief that"whatsoever we ask, we receive of him," be ever asking God to give us the Holy Spirit, that we may know experimentally his dwelling in us. We cannot have too much of this gift of the Spirit, if it is indeed the Spirit "confessing Christ" that we ask God to give. We need not be afraid of having too much of the inward fruit of the Spirit; nor need we shrink from recognising the Spirit given to us by God as the spirit of assurance;"the spirit of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." If indeed we find ourselves leaning to the imagination that we have got past the stage at which we need to be living, as sinners, upon Christ the Saviour, and are tempted to live upon inward frames and feelings; putting the Spirit’s work in us instead of Christ’s work for us; then we do well to beware. But there is really no incompatibility between the two; our coveting, asking and obtaining more and more of the inward testimony of the Spirit, and our being by that very testimony - as it unfolds to us more and more God’s high ideal and our sad coming short of it- shut up more and more into Christ as the Lamb of God; with whose atoning blood and justifying righteousness we feel more and more that we can never for a single moment dispense. Finally, let us remember that it is in the actual "keeping of God’s commandments" that we find all this great mystery of"our dwelling in God and his dwelling in us, practically cleared up. In the onward path of the just, which is as the shining light, shining more and more unto the perfect day, we come to know the Spirit given to us, by his"confessing Jesus Christ as come in the flesh." Let us therefore so keep God’s commandments as not to vex or grieve the Holy Spirit. For we do vex and grieve him when our keeping them is either ungracious on the one hand; or, on the other hand, becomes to us a ground of confidence before God. As the Spirit of God, he is vexed by our submission to God being any other than a submission of the whole heart; filial altogether, and not servile at all. And as"the Spirit confessing Jesus Christ come in the flesh," he cannot but be vexed if we unduly lean even on his own work in us, to the disparagement of what is the one only ground of a sinner’s hope, from first to last,"Christ and him crucified." But let us keep the commandments of God simply, humbly, lovingly; not as doing any great thing, but only as doing his will, and content that his will be done. So keeping his commandments, we abide in God, and so also we know that he abideth in us, by the Spirit which he hath given us. XXIX. OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS EXERCISED IN TRYING THE SPIRITS; THE TEST, CONFESSING THAT JESUS CHRIST IS COME IN THE FLESH. "Hereby we know that he abideth in us, by the Spirit which he hath given us. Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God; because many false prophets are gone out into the world. Hereby know ye the Spirit of God: Every spirit that confesseth that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is of God: and every spirit that confesseth not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh is not of God: and this is that spirit of anti-Christ, whereof ye have heard that it should come; and even now already is it in the world. Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them: because greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world." - 1 John 3:24; 1 John 4:1-4. The appeal in the beginning of the fourth chapter springs out of the closing statement in the third:"Hereby we know that God abideth in us, by the Spirit which he hath given us." This evidently throws us back into ourselves; into some consciousness on our part of his having given us the Spirit. It is an inward or subjective test. Have we in us the Spirit as given to us by God! If so, we have the Spirit in us"confessing that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh." And by his confessing that truth, we may distinguish his indwelling in us from all attempts of any anti-Christian spirit, or any false prophets or teachers inspired by an anti- Christian spirit, to effect a lodgment in our hearts. For this is their characteristic; they refuse to"confess that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh." has been already brought out in what John says of Anti-Christ as"denying that Jesus is the Christ ;" - and so virtually "denying the Father and the Son" (1 John 2:21-25). I am inclined to think that we have now to deal with it more subjectively; as a matter of inward experience rather than of doctrinal statement. For the starting-point is our"knowing that God abideth in us, by the Spirit which he hath given us." It is the fact of the Spirit confessing in us, and not merely to us, that we have to ascertain and verify; and therefore the test must apply inwardly :-Have we in us"the Spirit that confesseth that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh .?" As it stands here, therefore, I think we are called to deal with that formula rather experimentally than dogmatically; and so to make it all the more available for the searching of our hearts. Taking that view, I shall consider, in the first place, what the inward confession of the Spirit in us that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh may be held to imply; and then, secondly, how our realising this in our experience secures our personal and practical victory over all anti-Christian spirits or prophets who deny that great and blessed fact. I. It properly belongs to the Spirit to"confess that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh." He had much to do with the flesh in which Jesus Christ came. He prepared for him a body in the Virgin’s womb, so as to secure that he came into the world pure and sinless. And all throughout his sojourn on earth the Spirit ministered to him as "Jesus Christ come in the flesh;" he could not minister to him otherwise. It is the flesh, or humanity, of Jesus Christ that brings him within the range of the Spirit’s gracious care. It was his human experience that the Spirit animated and sustained; and it is with his human experience also that the Spirit deals when he "takes of what is Christ’s and shows it unto us." His object is to make us one with "Jesus Christ as come in the flesh." That practically is his confession to us and in us. Let us see what it implies. 1. He identifies us with Jesus Christ in his humiliation. There is no real humiliation on the part of the Son if his coming in the flesh is denied. He might be conceived of as coming gloriously, graciously, condescendingly, in his own original and eternal nature alone; taking the mere semblance of a body, or a real body now and then, as the Gnostic dreamers taught. But there would have been no humbling of himself in that, and no room for any concurrent humbling testimony or work of the Spirit in us. It is Jesus Christ as come in the flesh, "made of a woman, made under the law," that the Spirit owns and seals. And he confesses or witnesses this in us by making us one, and keeping us one, with our Lord in that character, as"Jesus Christ come in the flesh." In our divine regeneration he brings us to be, - what, through his interposition, Jesus Christ in his miraculous human generation became, - servants under the yoke; subject to the authority and commandment of God; willingly subject; our nature being renewed into the likeness of his. 2. The Spirit identifies us with Jesus Christ, not only in his humiliation but in its conditions and liabilities. For"to .confess Jesus Christ come in the flesh," is not merely to admit the fact of his incarnation, but to admit it with whatever consequences necessarily, in terms of law, flow from. it. His coming in the flesh is not simply an incident or .event in history; it has a special meaning in the moral government of God. It brought him, not merely into the position of one made under the law, but into the position, under the law, of those whose place he took. The old deniers of his coming in the flesh saw this; and it was their chief objection to the doctrine. They might have allowed that the mysterious efflux or emanation of Deity that they seemed to own as a sort of Saviour did somehow identify himself with us, by making common cause with us, and even temporarily assuming our nature with a view to purge and elevate it. But they perceived that the literal incarnation of the Son of God, truly and fairly admitted, carried in its train the vicarious substitution and atonement. Modern teachers in the same line think that they may hold the first without the last. But I am mistaken if any incarnation they may thus hold does not slip insensibly, in their handling of it, into some modification, suited to modern turns of thought, of the old vague notion of a certain divinity being in every man; and in some one man perhaps pre-eminently as the type and model of perfect manhood. That, however, is not to "confess Jesus Christ come in the flesh;" for his coming in the flesh, accepted as a reality, implies his really putting himself alongside of those in whose flesh he comes, and serving himself heir to all the ills to which their flesh is heir. Let us look, then, at"Jesus Christ coming in the flesh," the Son of God taking our nature into oneness with himself. He takes it pure and sinless, so far as he is personally concerned; but he takes it with all the liabilities which our sin has entailed upon it, And the Spirit, confessing in us that he is come in the flesh, makes us one with him in this view of his coming; our guilt and condemnation being now his, and his taking our guilt and bearing our condemnation being ours. His coming in the flesh is his consenting to be crucified for us; the Spirit in us confessing him as come in the flesh makes us willing to be crucified with him. And so, by means of this confession, the true Spirit of God and of Christ opens to us a prospect of glory and joy such as no lying spirit of anti-Christ can hold out. If it was not really in the flesh that he came; or if, coming in the flesh, he failed to redeem by substitution those whose flesh he shared; then flesh, or human nature, can have little hope of reaching the blessedness of heaven. But having really come in the flesh, and in the flesh suffered for sin, he raises the flesh in which he suffered to the highest capacity of holy and happy being."In my flesh I shall see God," was the hope of the patriarch Job. It is made sure by Jesus Christ come in the flesh, and by the Spirit confessing in us that he is come. II. This accordingly is the secret of our present victory over anti-Christian spirits and men:"Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them" (1 John 4:4). The intimation (1 John 4:3) that the spirit of anti-Christ is already, even now, in the world, is fitted to make this assurance very welcome. For war is proclaimed; war that is to last as long as the world lasts. It is the old war, proclaimed long ago, between the serpent’s seed and the woman’s. But it has taken a new form; and that its final one. From the first manifestation of it, - from the day when Cain slew his brother - it might be seen to turn upon the question of the worship of God by atoning sacrifice. Is there, or is there not, to be the shedding of blood for the remission of sins? That, more or less clearly, with variations suited to the varied aspect of the. church and the world, has ever since continued to be in substance the point at issue. Now that Christ has come in the flesh, it is so more than ever."Jesus Christ come in the flesh" is its ultimate expression and embodiment. In the contest about this high theme,"you, little children, have overcome them." The victory is already yours: for"you are of God." Two questions here occur : - - 1 What is the nature of the victory? 2. How is it connected with your being of God? I. The victory is a real victory got over the false prophets or teachers, who are not of God, whom the spirit of anti-Christ inspires. And it is a victory over them personally; not over their doctrines and principles merely; but over themselves:"Ye have overcome them." True, it is, in a sense, a war of doctrines or of principles that is waged; its field of battle is the field of argument and controversy. You and they meet in discussion and debate; and when you succeed in refuting their reasonings, you may feel the complacency of a personal triumph over them as, vanquished, they seem to quit the field. But even though vanquished they may argue still. They are silenced, merely, and not subdued; and their silence is only for a time. You may soon have the battle to fight over again; and in the incessant fighting of it, you may be doomed to suffer wounds, in your temper at least, if not in your faith; in your equanimity of spirit towards men, if not in your peace of mind within yourselves, or even your peace with God. I cannot think that that is the victor)- on which John congratulates his"little children" so affectionately. No doubt such victory is valuable, as the sort of war in which it is won is inevitable. It is idle to effect to run down controversy, as long as there is error abroad among men. It is mere prudery to be always groaning over the symptoms of irritability which controversialists have exhibited, and bemoaning evermore their lack of a smooth and oily tongue. All honour to the champions of God’s holy word and blessed gospel, who have waxed valiant in fight against the adversaries of both! All sympathy with them in their indignant sense of what touches the glory and insults the majesty of him whose battles they fight; with large allowance for the heats into which, being but men, they may suffer their zeal to hurry them! And all thankful joy in the success with which they wield the weapons of their keen logic, their learned study, their burning eloquence, in baffling the sophistries of heresy and infidelity, and rearing an impregnable defence around the battlements on which the banner is planted which God"has given to them that fear him, that it may be displayed because of the truth!" But that is not exactly the victory which is here meant when it is said,"ye have overcome them." For what really is your contest with them? It is not about an abstract proposition, a mere article in a creed. It is not whether you can prove that Jesus of Nazareth was man as well as God, or God as well as man; or they can prove the reverse. No."Jesus Christ come in the flesh" is not with you a mere matter of disputation. It is a pregnant and significant fact in God’s government of the universe, grasped by you as such, and apprehended as such in your experience. By faith you know and feel what it means. You identify yourself with him in his coming in the flesh; consciously and with entire community of mind and heart ;. and in the very doing of this you "have already overcome them." For it is the fact that they dislike; not argument about the fact. It is the actual "coming of Jesus Christ in the flesh," and his actual accomplishment, in the flesh, of all that in the flesh he came for, that they resent and resist. It is that which Satan, the original spirit of anti-Christ, would fain have set himself to hinder; moving Herod to slay Jesus in his childhood, and Judas to betray him in his manhood; tempting Jesus himself to make shipwreck of his integrity. And it is your actual personal participation with him, as "Jesus Christ come in the flesh;" your being really one with him in that wondrous humiliation, in its spirit and its fruit; that, so far as you are concerned, they seek to frustrate. In realising that, you get the better of them; confessing thus Jesus Christ come in the flesh, you have overcome them It is not that you are able to discuss with them, as debatable questions in argument, the reality and the meaning of Jesus Christ having come in the flesh. You may have to do so, and if you do so on a clear call of duty, you are sure of divine support and help; perhaps even of success and triumph. But that is not your having already overcome them. Very gladly would they often drag you into this snare; making you mistake the chance of overcoming them in a discussion about Jesus Christ come in the flesh, for the certainty of your having overcome them through your simply confessing him in that character. But be not drawn down to lower ground. Stand upon your position of oneness with him whom you confess as Jesus Christ come in the flesh. Meet thus any and all anti-Christs; anti-Christian spirits, anti-Christian prophets. They are not to be overcome. You have already overcome them. 2. Your having overcome them is connected with your"being of God" (1 John 4:4); which again is intimately connected with your" confessing that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh" (1 John 4:2). Your being of God is the intermediate link between your confessing that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh (1 John 4:2), and your having overcome them who reject that truth (1 John 4:4)-"Ye are of God" (1 John 4:4)- This, let it be observed, is what has previously been asserted of the Spirit that"confesseth that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh." He "is of God" (1 John 4:3)- And it is denied concerning any spirit refusing to confess that. Such a spirit"is not of God." Now what, as applied to the Holy Spirit, does this mean? How, - in what sense and to what effect, - is the Spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh said to be "of God"? He is of God essentially, being himself God; proceeding from the Father and the Son; one with them in the undivided essence of the Godhead. He is of God, if I may so say, officially; condescending in infinite love, to be the gift of the Father and the Son to guilty and sinful men. But here more particularly, he is of God as confessing, or in virtue of his confessing, that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. He is on the side of God, or in the interest of God; he consults and acts for God; he takes God’s part and is true to God. It is as being thus of God that the Spirit confesses that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. He contemplates, if I may so say, that great fact with all its issues from the divine point of view; in its bearing on the divine character and nature, the divine government and law. He is"of God" in it; in that fact and in all its issues. Do I take too great a liberty in speaking thus of the Holy Spirit? I scarcely think so when I call to mind how this phrase describes Christ’s own position in the world with reference to the Father. He was"of God;" he was so in a very emphatic and significant sense; not only as regards his origin and mission; his coming from God and being authorised by God; but also, and specially, as regards his end and aim all through his humiliation, obedience, and sacrifice. He was"of God;" on the side and in the interest of God. It was the zeal of God’s house that ate him up. It was the doing of God’s will, and the finishing of God’s work, that was his meat. It was the glorifying of his Father, and the finishing of the work which his Father gave him to do, that ministered to his satisfaction in his last farewell prayer. Of him pre-eminently it might be said :"He is of God." And in his being thus "of God," as to the whole mind and meaning of the phrase, the Holy Spirit is with him and in him. Jesus Christ come in the flesh is, in this sense emphatically, confessed by the Spirit. The Spirit is with him, and in him, as the Spirit that is of God; and as being to him the Spirit that is of God. He and the Spirit are at one in being both"of God." And you, in the Son and by the Spirit are"of God;" as truly of God as is the Spirit, or as the Son was when God"gave not the Spirit by measure to him." The essential characteristic of the spirit of anti-Christ is that it is, in the sense now explained,"not of God." It does not look at the Saviour and the salvation as on the side of God; rather it takes an opposite view, and subjects God to man. It subordinates everything to human interests and human claims; looks at everything from a human and mundane point of view; measures everything by a human standard; submits everything to human opinion; in a word, conceives and judges of God after the manner of man. This, indeed, may be said to be the distinctive feature of all false religions, as well as of all corruptions of the true religion. They exalt man. They consider what man requires, what he would like, what is due to him. Even when they take the form of the most abject and degrading superstition, that is still their spirit. They aim at getting God, by whatever means of persuasion and prostration, to do the bidding of man. For it is the essence of our corrupt human nature, of which these corrupt worships are the expression, to care and consult for self, and not for God. This is the essence of the spirit of anti-Christ; the spirit that breathes and moves in the false notions that have gained currency in the church respecting"Jesus Christ come in the flesh." Their advocates give man the first place in their scheme. Their real objection lies against those views of gospel truth which assert the absolute sovereignty of God, and put forward pre-eminently what he is entitled to demand, - what, with a due regard to his own character, government, and law, he cannot but demand. They dislike such representations as bring in the element of God’s holy name and righteous authority, and lay much stress upon that element, as one of primary consideration in the plan of saving mercy. Hence they naturally shrink from owning explicitly Jesus Christ as come in the flesh to make atonement by satisfying divine justice. They prefer some loose and vague way of putting the fact of his interposition, and the manner of it. Admitting in a sense its necessity, they are unwilling to define very precisely, either the nature of the necessity, or the way in which it is met. He came in the flesh, to redeem the flesh, to sanctify, elevate, and purify it. He came in the flesh, to be one with us, and to make us, in the flesh, one with him. So they speak and think of his coming in the flesh. Any higher aim, any prior and paramount design involved in this great fact, viewed in its relation to the nature and supremacy of God, his holiness and justice, as lawgiver and judge, they are slow to acknowledge. Hence their gospel is apt to be partial and one-sided; looking rather like an accommodation of heaven and heaven’s rights to earth and earth’s wishes and ways, than that perfect reconciliation and perfect assimilation of earth to heaven for which we hold it to have made provision ; - our heavenly Father’s name being hallowed, his kingdom coming, his will being done, in earth as it is in heaven. Their system is not "of God" as the primary object of consideration; for they themselves are not out and out, in this sense,"of God." But"ye are of God, little children," in this matter; in the view that you take, and the conception that you form of Jesus Christ come in the flesh; of the end of his coming, and the manner in which that end is attained. You look at that great fact, first and chiefly in its relation to God, and as on the side of God. It is from God and for God that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. So he always taught ;and so you firmly believe. He placed God always first ;the glory of God, the sovereignty of God, the will of God always took precedency. Man’s concerns and interests were subordinate to that. Nothing is more conspicuous in "Jesus Christ come in the flesh," throughout his whole ministry, in all his life and in his death, than this loyalty to God his Father, prevailing even over his amazing tenderness and pity for men. He was truly of God, even when his being so might tell against men; tell to their destruction rather than their salvation. He does not shrink from the darkest issues which, in that view, his coming in the flesh carries in its bosom. He did not shrink from them when realised in his own person, and in his personal experience, as the suffering substitute of the guilty. He does not shrink from them as they are to be realised in the persons, and in the personal experience, of those who"will not come unto him that they may have life." If you are "of God," you are of his mind. You approve of this principle; you recognise the propriety of what is due to God being first attended to and provided for, in preference even to what may be needed by man. What God, being such as he is, must require, since"he cannot deny himself," that is the first question; then, and in subordination to that, what can be done for men. It is a great matter for you to view the whole plan of salvation, as being yourselves, in this sense, "of God" It is your doing so that secures your having overcome all spirits of anti-Christ. If thus"you are of God," you are already raised to a higher platform than they can occupy, so as to have a loftier and wider range of vision. Your profound reverence for the majesty of God; your loyal, loving recognition of his holy and righteous sovereignty; your deep, admiring esteem of his government and law; your calm conviction that the Lord reigneth ; your intense desire that the Lord should reign; your determination, may I say, that the Lord shall reign; lifts you out of the region of human questionings and all doubtful disputations. It is your very humility that lifts you up. You sit at the feet of Jesus Christ come in the flesh. You stand beside his cross. You do not now stumble at the mystery of its bloody expiation; or quarrel with the great propitiation-sacrifice through unbelief of its necessity. The ideas of justice needing to be satisfied; punishment inevitably to be inflicted; one willing to bear it in your stead being found; that one being"Jesus Christ come in the flesh;" do not now offend you. Nay, being"of God," on his side and in his interest in the whole of this great transaction, you can meekly, in faith, commit to him and leave in his hands even the most terrible of those ultimate and eternal consequences, involving the aggravated guilt and final ruin of many, that you cannot but see to be inseparably mixed up with the confession that"Jesus Christ is come in the flesh." XXX. THE SPIRIT OF CHRIST IN US GREATER THAN THE SPIRIT OF ANTICHRIST IN THE WORLD. "Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them: because greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world. They are of the world: therefore speak they of the world, and the world heareth them. We are of God: he that knoweth God heareth us; he that is not of God heareth not us. Hereby know we the spirit of truth, and the spirit of error." - 1 John 4:4-6. The security for our full and final victory over anti-Christ and his spirit lies in the emphatic declaration:"Greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world." He that is in you is the Spirit of God; for "hereby we know that God abideth in us, by the Spirit which he hath given us;" the Spirit that, being of God, "confesseth that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh" (1 John 3:24; 1 John 4:2). He that is in the world is the spirit of anti-Christ,"whereof ye have heard that it should come, and even now already is it in the world" (1 John 4:3). Therefore you who "are of God have overcome them," -"the spirits" the false prophets,"that are gone out into the world" (1 John 4:1). They are of the world; what they speak is of the world and meets with the world’s acceptance (1 John 4:5). We, the true teachers, are of God; what we speak is of God; and meets with the acceptance, not of him who is not of God, but of him who, being of God, knows God (1 John 4:6). By this test the spirit of truth which is in us is to be distinguished from the spirit of error that is in them (1 John 4:6). From whom do we obtain a hearing"Ye are of God;" and your being of God raises you above the risk of being"seduced by false prophets;" for it enables you to "try the spirits.We too are of God." And this is the proof of it - that our teaching commends itself, not to the world, but to you who know God and are of God. Between you and us there is a blessed harmony; between your state of mind as you try the spirits, and our teaching as we stand the trial You who are hearers, are secure in trying the spirits against all false prophets; for you have overcome them, being yourselves of God. We who are preachers, being of God as you are, have assurance that our spirit, the spirit of our teaching, is the Spirit of truth, when we see the world hearing them, and only you who are of God and know God hearing us. Thus you and we are both safe; you who try and we who are tried; you safe from being misled by false prophets, we safe from being confounded with them. And our joint safety lies in both you and us being "of God." Taken thus, this passage bears closely on a deeply interesting subject; the self-evidencing power of the gospel of Christ in the hands of the Spirit of God. There is a wonderfully gracious correspondence between the spiritual intelligence of the man who is of God and knows God; and the spiritual intelligibility and acceptability of the teaching which is of God. The two fit into one another; the state of mind and heart in the receiver who tests, and the character of what is submitted to him to be tested. You who test, and we who are tested, are in a close and intimate relation to one another. A common quality unites us; or a common agency; opening your eyes to try, and fashioning our doctrine for being tried. The same spirit is in you and in us; the Spirit that is"of God" the Spirit of truth. There is something like this on the other side. There is the world; and there axe the false prophets who are of the world. They are mutually related to one another, precisely as you and we are. What you are to us, that the world is to the false prophets. What we are to you, that they are to it. The world knows its own. The teaching which is of the world commends itself to the world. That teaching, therefore, must be anti-Christian; for the world is anti-Christian. Here, then, are the opposite workings of two opposite powers; and here is the secret of their greatness. For both are great; and both are great, not only in themselves, but in their adaptation to those with whom they have to deal. I."He that is in the world is great." And his greatness lies in this, that he operates in a twofold way. He forms and fashions the world spiritually; and he finds for it, or makes for it, appropriate and congenial spiritual food. He creates or moulds the world’s appetite for some sort of religious teaching; and he inspires for his own ends the religious teaching that is to suit his world and be accepted by it. Hence his false prophets are sure of their own measure of success;"they are of the world: therefore speak they of the world, and the world heareth them" (1 John 4:5). But he cannot succeed with you who are "of God;" for there is one in you who, great as he is, is greater still. And he also operates in a double way. He gives you inwardly spiritual intelligence, spiritual insight and sympathy, to try; and he gives you outwardly spiritual truth to be tried. You are yourselves of God, and therefore competent to judge what we speak. And we too, being of God, speak what cannot be acceptable to the world, but only to him who is of God, and knows God. Thus what you are prepared to apprehend and appreciate, and what we are moved to speak, harmonise and are at one. It is all the doing of"him who dwelleth in you," and of whom "we know," through your acceptance of our teaching,"that he is not the spirit of error, but the Spirit of truth." Look for a little at the world, and him that is in the world. He is great, undeniably great; great in power and wisdom; in command of resources and subtlety in the use of them. He has largely, as to its moral and spiritual tastes and tendencies, the making of the world in which he is, and of which he is the moving soul. The world, in a sense, lives, and moves, and has its being, in him. He is in it as the spring of its activities, the dictator of its laws, the guider of its pursuits and pleasures; in a word,"the ruler of its darkness." The darkness of its deep alienation from God, he rules. And he rules it very specially for the purpose of getting the world to be contented with an image, instead of the reality, of godliness. For he knows well enough that the world is, and must be, in a sense and after a fashion, religious. He cannot put it off with the"no God" which the fool would fain say in his heart. He is far too sagacious and shrewd to attempt that. What he does attempt is a much more plausible device. He takes advantage of whatever may be the world’s mood at the time, as regards God and his worship; throws himself into it; controlling or inflaming it, as he may see cause, so as to turn it to his own account. And then he contrives to bring under his sway prophets or teachers; not always consciously false; often meaning to be true; able men; holy men; men of God and of prayer; pre-eminently so it may be. And bringing into contact the world which he has doctored and the doctors whom he has tutored, he adjusts them skilfully to one another. He causes his teachers, perhaps insensibly, to draw much of their inspiration from the particular world which, as to its religious bias, he has influenced with an eye to their teaching. And so"they are of the world; therefore speak they of the world, and the world heareth them." Numberless instances and illustrations might be brought forward here; reaching from the grossest corruptions that have ever disgraced the name of religion, to the most refined forms of ingenious speculation that have ever imposed on the fancy of the most devout enthusiast, or the feelings of the most amiable. They might all, I believe, be explained on the principle now suggested. There is one in the world who is great; great in a religious point of view; great in his power and skill to master and manage, from age to age, the world’s ever-changing fits and fashions of religiousness; great in the strange and terrible command he often wields over the most gifted, and even the most godly, of the prophets or teachers who have to deal with them. Thus, if the world, at his instigation, wants a golden calf, there is an Aaron, under his influence, ready to provide one. If the people, moved by him, will have smooth things spoken to them, he has prophets of smooth things prepared for them. If men are growing weary of the old wine; and he will be but too glad to make them more weary of it, and help them also to excuses for their weariness; it shall go hard but he will mix plenty of new wine for their use. It is not he who has to take up the complaint; nor his agents either ; - " We have piped unto you, and ye have not danced; we have mourned unto you, and ye have not lamented." He is in and among the crowd of those to whom the children in the market-place are to cry. And the children who are to cry are his ministers. He can prepare the crowd to hear, and move the children to cry; according to his good pleasure; so that there shall be flock for pastor and pastor for flock; people for priest and priest for people; the times for the teaching and the teaching for the times; all in perfect harmony. Yes; he that is in the world is great; great in his ability to make the world, - the world in the church, - what he would have it to be; great in his ability to find and fit and fashion ministers and agents, who, being of the world, as regards its religious tastes and tendencies, will "speak of the world," and whom, therefore, the"world will hear." There is, indeed, a power or law of action and reaction between the world and its prophets - the world in the church and its false prophets, - which, as indicating the greatness of him who is in the world, deserves very careful notice. The world in the church, I repeat. For I have nothing to do now, - John here takes nothing to do, with the world outside of the church, the world of those who do not even profess to be religious; his sole concern is with the church, and the spirits in the church that are to be tried, and the parties that are to try them. Satan, the spirit of anti-Christ, has within the church a world of his own, a world in which he is, and is great. And he is great in it, very much through his making skilful and sagacious use of this law of action and reaction, between what the world craves and what its false prophets give. Do you suppose that if you have "itching ears," there will not be found preachers who, catching perhaps unconsciously the contagion from you, will feed and foster the disease? If you incline to a gospel explaining away the atonement, and reducing the incarnation to a mere glorifying of humanity in the mass, instead of its being the redemption, by substitution, of individual men; a gospel of that vague sort will soon be forthcoming. If, in any church or congregation, there springs up a craving for excitement, a demand for novelty, which the old preaching of the cross fails to satisfy; if a certain restless prurience of spiritual taste begins to manifest itself; if a cry or a sigh for gifts and miracles, for signs and wonders, is heard; all experience, all history, proves that it will not be long before men appear who, carried away themselves and led off their feet by the strong tide, will prove apt and able agents in encouraging others to try the virtue of its flowing waves. It is not that they purposely or dishonestly accommodate their teaching and prophesying to the spirit that may be abroad in their world. They drink it in themselves; it intoxicates their own souls. "They are of the world: therefore speak they of the world, and the world heareth them." Truly great is he that is in the world; great in adapting the world and its prophets very perfectly to one another. II. But"greater is he that is in you, little children," for he is the Lord God Almighty. He is strong; and he"strengthens you with might by his Spirit in the inner man; Christ dwelling in your heart by faith; and you being rooted and grounded in love." He is strong; and he makes you strong; strong in holding fast the form of sound words, and contending earnestly for the faith once delivered unto the saints; strong in cleaving to the truth as it is in Jesus; strong in your real, personal, close, and loving acquaintance with him, "whom to know is life eternal." He who is in you is God; God abiding in you; giving you the Spirit. He is in you; not merely on your side, at your right hand, around you; but within you. He is working in you; so working in you as to secure your safe triumph, in this great fight of truth against error, over the world and him who is in it. And his working in you is of the same sort as is the working of his great antagonist in and among those with whom he is so busy. He makes you, who are of God, to be men of quick understanding in the fear of the Lord; quick to apprehend what they who are of God are moved by him to speak. He takes these two things: the mind or heart of the learner or inquirer who is of God, and what is spoken by the apostle or teacher who also is of God. He adapts them to one another, brings them together, welds them into one. So he insures that what we who are of God speak, however it may be received by the world, shall prove acceptable to you who know God and are of God. He imparts to you, in whom he is, a certain spiritual tact or taste, - call it spiritual intelligence, spiritual insight, spiritual discernment, - by means of which he enables you to recognise, in what you hear or read or remember, the very truth of the true and living God, sanctifying and saving to your own souls. He brings out in you, palpably to your own consciousness, the marvellous correspondence that there is between the heart with which he is inwardly dealing and the word or doctrine which, through the teaching of men of God, he is outwardly presenting. He is in you; breaking your heart in deep conviction of sin, and then healing the broken heart, oh! how tenderly, by the sprinkling of atoning blood. He is in you; causing the commandment so to come home to you that you die, helplessly condemned, under the righteous sentence of the law, and then bringing near to you, oh! how lovingly, the life-giving assurance that "there is now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus." He is in you; causing you to see and feel that instead of"being rich and having need of nothing, you are poor, and wretched, and miserable, and blind, and naked," and then pressing upon you, oh! how graciously, the Lord’s affectionate counsel to buy of him"freely," without money and without price,"gold tried in the fire, that you may be rich; and white raiment, that you may be clothed, and that the shame of your nakedness do not appear; and to anoint your eyes with eye-salve, that you may see." He is in you; forming you for Christ and forming Christ in you. He is in you; fitting your whole inner man for Christ, and fitting Christ into your whole inner man. He is in you; so as to cause to spring up from the very depths of your spirit a sense of intimate oneness, not to be broken, between you and Christ, - between your highest faculty of belief and thought, and his doctrine, which now"you know to be of God." What precisely the bond of this oneness may be, in what exactly it consists, - you may not be able to define. Probably, at bottom, it is the recognition in your heart now, as in Christ’s doctrine always, of the high and holy sovereignty of God; his just supremacy. It is the joint owning, in your heart and in Christ’s doctrine, of the great truth" The Lord reigneth." But be it what it may, you feel it. And the feeling of it is your assured confidence and satisfying rest. I cannot now pursue the subject further. Let me simply, in closing, exhort you to consider well in what it is that your security lies, when you are called to try the spirits - what it is that alone can give you certain and decisive victory over the false prophets. It is God being in you; abiding in you; giving you the Spirit. The spirit of anti-Christ is in the world; in the church’s world; in the worldly materials of which, in too large a measure, the church is composed."Many false prophets are gone out into the world." The spirit of error, as well as the spirit of truth, is abroad; and it may be that sifting, trying, critical days are at hand. What is to be your protection? How are you to be prepared? Let me warn you that it is not head knowledge that will do; not logic, or rhetoric, or philosophy, or theology; not creeds, or catechisms, or confessions ; not early training in the soundest manual; not familiarity with the ablest and most orthodox writings; not skill in argument and debate ; - no; nothing will do but God being in you; in your heart, your heart of hearts; God in Christ dwelling in you; God giving you the Spirit. An experimental assurance alone will keep you safe. But that will keep you safe. For as he that is not of God will not hear us who speak as being of God; so he that knoweth God will not hear the false prophets. So the Good Shepherd himself assures us. He "goeth before the sheep, and they follow him, for they know his voice; and a stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him, for they know not the voice of strangers.""My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me: and I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of my hand. My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and none is able to pluck them out of my Father’s hand. I and my Father are one." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 5: 01.4 . CHAPTERS 31 - 40 ======================================================================== ONE JOHN CHAPTERS THIRTY-ONE to FORTY. PART THIRD XXX1, ULTIMATE CONDITION OF THE DIVINE FELLOWSHIP—LOVE. LOVE IS OF GOD—GOD IS LOVE. "Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love. In this was manifested the love of God towards us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him. Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins." - 1 John 4:7-10. Light, Righteousness, Love - these are the three conditions or elements of that fellowship with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ in which John would have us to be joint partakers with himself and the other apostles (John 1:3). Of the three, Light and Righteousness have been the heads, or leading thoughts, of the two previous parts of this Exposition (John 1:3-17: and John 1:18-30) Love is the ruling idea in the third part (John 1:31-34); love being the end to which the others are means; the consummation of the fellowship being in love. Hence there has been some anticipation of this last theme, Love, in the two preceding ones, Light and Righteousness; especially in the latter. For the righteousness meant being chiefly subjective, denoting singleness of eye, uprightness, honesty of purpose, a guileless spirit, truth in the inward parts, necessarily refers to the matters about which it is objectively exercised, the manner of dealing with God in light, and with our fellow-men in love, which it prompts and regulates. Hence that second part, having Righteousness for its keynote, carries on the line of thought begun in the first part under the idea of Light, and encroaches on the line of thought in the third, which brings out the crowning aspect of the whole .in Love. Still it is manifestly Love that is now purely and simply the reigning principle. "Beloved, let us love one another." The distinction of the personal pronouns is here dropped. It was proper when the trying of the spirits by a sort of doctrinal test was the matter in hand. John must then speak of himself and his fellow-teachers in the first person, and to us in the second. Now, however, when love is the test, all are one. It is the trial of the spirits that still is on hand, in pursuance of the intimation formerly given (1 John 3:24) "Hereby we know that God abideth in us, by the spirit which he hath given us." That intimation is connected with the double commandment in the previous verse (1 John 3:23), "that we should believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ, and love one another, as he has given us commandment." The question is about assurance; our "assuring our hearts before God;" our "having confidence toward God ;" our "having boldness in the day of judgment" (1 John 3:19, 1 John 3:21; and 1 John 4:17). The indispensable condition of this confidence is righteousness, or "our own hearts not condemning us" of insincerity or guile (1 John 3:20-21). But though that is an essential preliminary, it is not itself the ground or warrant of the confidence. The real ground or warrant is "our abiding in God and his abiding in us" (3: 54). But how is this mutual abiding of us in God and of God in us to be ascertained and verified, to the satisfaction of our own consciousness, as a trustworthy ground and warrant of assured confidence before God? On our part there is "the keeping of his commandments;" his double "commandment, to believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ, and love one another in obedience to him." On his part, there is "his giving us the Spirit." And the last is tested by the first. His giving us the Spirit is not to be lightly taken for granted. There must be a trial; and the trial is in accordance with the twofold commandment, to believe and to love. It is first a trial turning upon the confession or denial that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh (1 John 4:1-6). It is next a trial turning on the possession or the want of love (1 John 4:7-12). And the result of the trial is announced: "Hereby know we that we dwell in him, and he in us, because he hath given us of his Spirit" (1 John 4:13) - almost in the same terms in which the trial is, as it were, instituted:" Hereby we know that he abideth in us, by the Spirit which he hath given us" (1 John 3:24). Thus it plainly appears that these two things, - righteousness in owning the true doctrine concerning Christ and righteousness in mutual brotherly love, - are closely bound together. And thus, by a natural and simple transition, the discourse passes from the first of these topics to the second: "Beloved, let us love one another." This exhortation is here enforced both positively and negatively ; - positively, by the statement that "love is of God," and therefore "every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God" (1 John 4:7) ; - negatively, by the opposite statement: "he that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love" (1 John 4:8). I. "Love is of God." This does not mean merely that love comes from God, and has its source in God; that he is the author or creator of it. All created things are of God, for by him all things were made, and on him they all depend. But love is not a created thing. No doubt, in the heart even of an unfallen intelligence, it may be said to be created, inasmuch as the being in whose heart it dwells is himself created. And in the heart of a fallen man it is in that sense a new creation; for he himself must be created anew or born again if he is to love. Still, the love to which he is created anew or born again is not itself created. It is not of God, as made by him; as a new thing called into existence by the fiat of his word. In this respect love differs from light. It is not asserted of love as of light: And God said, Let there be love, and there was love. In a higher sense than that, I apprehend, it is true that love, wherever it exists, is of God. It is communicated, not created; begotten, one might say, not made. It is a divine property, a divine affection. And it is of its essence to be communicative and begetting; to communicate itself, and, as it were, beget its own likeness. "Love is of God." It is not merely of God, as every good gift is of God. It is of God, as being his own property, his own affection, his own love. It is, wherever it is found, the very love wherewith God loveth. If it is found in me, it is my loving with the very love with which God loves; it is my loving with a divine love, a love that is thus emphatically of God. Hence the sufficiency and certainty of the test: "Every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God." I. None but one born of God can thus love, with the love which, in this sense, is of God; therefore one who so loves must needs be one who is born of God. This is almost selfevident. If the love in question is not, like any of the constituent parts of the created universe, whether of matter or of mind, a thing made, called into being out of nothing, or a thing made over again, formed out of chaos into order; but part and parcel of the Divine Being himself, of his very essence: then its existence in me cannot be explained on any other supposition than that of my being born of him; born of him too in a very close and intimate manner; in a manner implying that I become "partaker of his nature;" "his seed abiding in me." I doubt, therefore, if this love formed an element in that image of God in which man was originally created. I take it to be something more. It is communicated, - it is of God in such a sense that it can be communicated, - not by creation, but only by generation. It is not as a creature that I can have it, in virtue of any mere creative fiat or let it be. I can have it only as a Son - adopted? Nay, not adopted only, but begotten. Many excellent endowments I may have as a mere creature; endowments reflecting the likeness of God’s own attributes; intelligence resembling his; a sense of right and wrong resembling his; benevolence and kindliness resembling his. As to these, God has merely, in creating me, or creating me anew, to speak and it is done. But this love is something quite peculiar. It is something, as I take it, different from the love enjoined in the "royal law," - "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." It is the very love with which the Father loves, the love manifested in his not sparing his beloved Son. It is the very love with which the Son loves, the love proved by his laying down his life for us. That is the love, the love of the "new commandment," which is here in question. Respecting that love I think it may be said that God alone is originally capable of it. Others are capable of it, only in so far as God communicates himself to them; not by a process of mere creative power; but by begetting them into participation with himself in his own very life. There is one thus eternally begotten; begotten before all worlds; the eternal Son of the everlasting Father. He is God of God; very God of very God; light of light ;" nay, rather, love of love. He is the manifestation of this love which is of God - "In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him." It shines forth in him; not through him, or by him, merely; but in him. God sent his Son to manifest this love. How? Evidently by his showing that he shared it; approving himself to be born of God by himself loving with the love which is of God. God sent his only begotten Son into the world to give us a specimen, an illustration, perhaps the only possible perfect specimen, the only possible perfect illlustration, of "the love which is of God." None but his only begotten Son could be sent to manifest it; for none but he could fully feel it. No created being, not the highest of the elect and unfallen angels, even when perfected .by their trial, could adequately feel it. And therefore none of them Could manifest it. But the only begotten Son, dwelling from everlasting in the Father’s bosom, of one nature with the Father, loves with "the love which is of God." Therefore he is sent to manifest that love. He is sent to manifest a love essentially different from any love of which we are naturally capable, or of which we can naturally form any conception, a love peculiarly and distinctively divine. Now, as it is his being the only begotten Son of the Father that qualifies him for being sent to manifest the love which is thus "of God," inasmuch as it is that which ensures his feeling it, it is that alone which makes him capable of it; so it is only your being in the Son, being born of God by the Spirit, that can make you capable of this love which is of God, and can ensure your feeling it. None can love with that love which is of God, none can love as God loves, save only first his only begotten Son, whom on that very account he sends to manifest this love, and then you who in him receive the adoption of sons, and are begotten by the Spirit into participation with the Son in his filial oneness and sympathy with the Father. Therefore, if we love one another with that love which is of God, if we love as God loves, we must be born of God. We must have become his children, his sons; begotten of him in time, through believing union with the Son who is begotten of him from eternity; the Spirit making us, as thus born of God, in the only begotten Son, really "partakers," in respect of this love, "of the divine nature." 2. Being born of God implies knowing God. This consideration still further explains and illustrates the point before us : - " Every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God." He loves with God’s own love, because, being born of God, he knows God. He knows God, as none but one born of God can know him. It is a knowledge of God altogether peculiar; belonging exclusively to the relation constituted by, and realised in, your being born of God. It is a kind of knowledge of God of which, as I think, one who is simply a creature of God’s hand, a subject of his moral administration, however intelligent and however informed, is not really capable. He is not in a condition, he lacks the capacity, to take it in. He must be a child, a son, born of God, if he is to have it. For, in a word, it is the very knowledge of God which his Son has; his only begotten Son, whom he sent into the world to manifest his love. He, being of God, as his only begotten Son, knows God; he, and he alone. "No man hath seen God at any time; the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him" (John 1:18). "No man knoweth the Father save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son shall reveal him" (Matthew 11:5-7). It is as his only begotten Son that Jesus knows God. And it is as born of God that you know God; know him even as his only begotten Son knows him- He, as the only begotten Son, knows God; he knows the love which is of God, of what sort it is; he has himself, from everlasting, been the object of it; he has been ever experiencing it. All that is in the great heart of God the Father, the only begotten Son knows intimately, and experimentally, if I may dare to say so. With a filial knowledge he knows God. With filial insight and filial sympathy, he knows all the overflowing of that love which is of God as it gushes forth in deep, full flood, from everlasting, first towards himself, and then through him towards the family of man; according to his own glorious word, "The Lord possessed ms in the beginning of his ways. When he appointed the foundations of the earth, then I was with him as one brought up with him; and I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him; rejoicing in the habitable parts of his earth; and my delights were with the sons of men" (Proverbs 8:22-31). Now it is with the same knowledge with which he, as the only begotten Son, knows God, that you, as born of God, know him; with a knowledge the same in kind, however far short it may come in measure or degree. Yours, like his, is a filial knowledge; implying filial insight and filial sympathy. Your being born of God makes you capable of this knowledge, and places you in the only position in which you can have it. Born of God, you occupy the very filial position that he who is the only begotten Son occupies; you have the very filial heart that he has. You are born of the very Spirit of which he, in your nature, was born. You have in you the very Spirit that dwelt, not by measure, in him. Thus, born of God, you are one with him who is his only begotten Son. To you as to him, to you in him, God is known, - and the love which is of God is known, - by close personal acquaintance; by blessed personal experience. How God loves; how it is ‘the manner of God to love; what sort of love his is; love going out of self; love sacrificing self; love imparting and communicating self; love unsought and unbought; unconditional and unreserved - what kind of being, in respect of love, God is; you who are born of God know, even as the only begotten Son knows. Therefore you can love with that "love which is of God," even as he loves with that love which is of God. He and you alone can so love; for he that loves as God loves must needs be one who "is born of God and knoweth God." II. The opposite statement follows as a matter of course : - " He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love." The connecting link here is all-important; it is "knowing God;" all turns on that. Every one that loveth knoweth God: he that loveth not knoweth not God; these are the antagonist statements. The stress of the contrast is made to rest on knowing or not knowing God; he who loveth knoweth God, being born of him; "he who loveth not, knoweth not God; for God is love." "God is love;" therefore, not to love is not to know God. That is a very clear and simple inference. But why this change? Why is it said, on the first or positive side of the dilemma, "Love is of God;" and on the second or negative side of it, "God is love"? Simply because the question now turns on knowing God; not anything of God, but God himself. To love with the love which is of God, is to know God; not to love thus, is not to know God; for God is love. In this view, the proposition, "God is love," really applies to both of the alternative ways of putting the case; the positive and the negative alike. It assigns the reason why it may be said, on the one hand, "Every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God;" and why it may also be said, on the other hand, "He that loveth not knoweth not God." "God is love." It is a necessity of his nature, it is his very nature, to love. He cannot exist without loving. He cannot but love. He is, he has ever been, love. From all eternity, from before all worlds, God is love. Love never is or can be, never was or could be, absent from his being. He never is or can be God, - he never was or could be God, - without being also love; without loving. I say without loving; actually loving. For this love, ‘which is thus identified with his very being, is not dormant or quiescent, potential merely, in posse, and not in esse. Love in God never is, never has been, like a latent germ, needing outward influences to make it spring up; or like a slumbering power, waiting for occasions to call it forth. If it were so, it could not truly be said that in himself, in his very manner of being, "God is love." It is, it has ever been, active, forth-going, self-manifesting, self-communicating. It is, it has ever been, in exercise. Before creation it is so. In the bosom of the everlasting Father is his eternal, only begotten Son; and with the Father and the Son is the Holy Spirit. So "God is love" before all creation; love in exercise; love not possible merely but actual; love forth-going and communicative of itself; from the Father, the fountain of deity, to the Son; from the Father and the Son to the Holy Spirit. In creation, this love is seen forth-going and communicative in a new way towards new objects. The love which from everlasting has been in exercise evermore within the mysterious circle of the Three-One God; which especially has been evermore passing from the Father to his only-begotten Son; now seeks and finds new means of manifesting itself among created beings. It is still really the same love. For all creation is the manifestation of God’s love to his only begotten Son. He "made all things by him and for him." He has "appointed him to be heir of all things." Specially when that wondrous council was held in heaven from whence issued the decree, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness," this love was manifested. The only begotten Son is to be the first born among many brethren. Not, however, by creation merely is that end to be reached; another manifestation of this same love must intervene. Created innocence is not enough to secure the issue on which God’s heart of love is set; for created innocence may and does give way. Sin enters, and death by sin; all sin, and all are doomed. Still "God is love;" the same love as ever. And "in this now is manifested the love of God towards us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him. Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins." It is, I say, the same love still; the love which from everlasting goes forth from God to his only begotten Son dwelling in his bosom, the love which in the beginning of creation goes forth in God’s making all things by and for his only begotten Son, and especially making godlike men to be his brethren; it is the very same love that goes forth in God’s sending his only begotten Son into the world that we might live through him; sending his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. It is wondrous love; love passing knowledge; love of which God alone is capable; love proper to his great heart alone. It is not such love as we may feel to him; for "herein is love, not that we have loved him, but that he has loved us." He has loved us with the very love which is his own essential nature; which has been going forth from everlasting, self-manifesting, self-communicating, from the Father to his only begotten Son, by the Spirit; and has been going forth in time, through his only begotten Son, by the same Spirit, to the world of creation at first, and now also to the world that is to be saved. This is its crowning glory; the saving mission from God of his only begotten Son. It is consummated in our "living through him," through his "being the propitiation for our sins." For now, effectual atonement being made for our guilt, our redemption and reconciliation being righteously and therefore surely effected by his being the propitiation for our sins; we, living through him, are his brethren indeed. The love wherewith God loves him dwells in us. God loves us even as he loves him. And so at last the love which, from all eternity, it is of the very nature of God’s essential being to feel and exercise, finds its full fruition in the "mighty multitude of all kindreds, and peoples, and nations, and tongues, who stand before the throne and give glory to him who sitteth thereon and to the Lamb for ever and ever." If this is anything like a true account of the sense in which, and the effect to which, it is said that "God is love," the statement becomes almost axiomatic - "He that loveth not knoweth not God." The fact of his not loving plainly proves that he knows not God; and his not knowing God explains and accounts for the fact of his not loving. How indeed can he know God; know him as being love? To know God thus, as being love, implies some measure of congeniality, sympathy, and fellowship. I cannot so know him if there is still a great gulf between him and me; between his heart and my heart ; his nature and my nature. There must be community of heart and nature between him and me; I must be "born of God." We thus come back to the previous positive declaration: "Love is of God; and he that loveth is born of God and knoweth God." And we see what manner of love it is that must be the test of our being born of God, how it is that we are to love one another. We are to love with the love which is of God, the love which is his nature. We are to love as he loves; to love all whom he loves; and to love them with his own love. First and chiefly, we are to love, as he loves his only begotten Son. Our thus loving him is one primary criterion and touchstone of our being born of God. So he himself intimates when he says to the Jews - "If God were your Father ye would love me" (John 8:42). There would be this feature of family resemblance, this community of heart and nature, between him whom you claim as your Father and you who say you are his children, that you would love me because he loves me, and love me as he loves me - love me as sent by him to be the Saviour of the world. Hence the force of that awful apostolic denunciation ; "If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema maranatha." Then we are to love, as God loves it, and because God loves it, the world which he sent his Son to save. We are to love thus one another; with what intensity of longing, like God’s own longing and yearning, for one another’s salvation, that all may turn and live; and with what intensity of delight in all who are really in Christ, who "live through him," and live so as to be indeed our brethren and his, ours because they are his! XXXII. LOVE GOING FORTH TOWARDS WHAT IS SEEN. "Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love one another. No man hath seen God at any time. If we love one another, God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us." - 1 John 4:10-12. THERE is very close and compressed reasoning here. The steps in the process, the links in the chain, are not all patent or obvious on the surface; some intermediate bonds of connection need to be supplied. Thus, the assertion (1 John 4:12), "No man hath seen God at any time," seems intended to answer by anticipation a question that might be put, as to the omission of love to God in the preceding verse (1 John 4:11). Otherwise it is, so far as one can see, irrelevant. "Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love " - God - that is what we might naturally expect to be the logical inference; but it is not so; it is "we ought also to love one another." And why? "Because no man hath seen God at any time." Therefore, love to one another is made the test of "God dwelling in us." And it is so, all the rather, because it is "the perfecting of his love in us" (1 John 4:12). Two general principles are here indicated as regards this divine love; I. It must have a visible object; or, in other words, it must be real and practical, and not merely ideal and sentimental. II. It is thus not only proved but perfected; it has its free course and is consummated. I. Love, if it is to be a sufficient and satisfactory test of our "knowing God and being born of God," must have a visible object; it cannot otherwise be verified to our own consciousness as real In a sense, it may be said even of God’s own love, the love which is his nature, that it thus verifies as well as manifests itself. It goes forth towards created beings; it seeks created beings towards whom it may go forth. A visible created universe is its object: and so also, in a peculiar manner and degree, is a visible new created church. Only in its exercise toward such objects can its true character, its communicative and self-sacrificing character, be thoroughly brought out. It exists, no doubt, and is in exercise, before all creation, the first creation as well as the new. In the mystery of the Trinity, in the ineffable fellowship of the three persons in the one divine essence, from everlasting, "God is love." There is love; felt love; inconceivable mutual complacency; love in exercise, mutually interchanging and reciprocating endearments - there is such love implied in the very nature of God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In particular, from before all worlds, the Father thus, in the Spirit, loves the Son, "dwelling in his bosom." But it is love, however exercised, that is resting and not giving; it is the repose rather than the activity of love. If it is to be manifested as a love that gives, that is active, that actually magnifies or benefits its object, it would seem that there must be creation. Indeed it is only in creation that the Son himself can become practically the object of this love. If God, because of his love to him, has "appointed him to be heir of all things," the "all things" of which he is to be "heir" must be made; made by him and for him. There must be "goings forth" on his part from the Father; there must be, on the Father’s part, "the bringing in of the first begotten into the world." Then, and only then, when he appears as "the beginning of the creation of God," "the first born of every creature," is the Son in a position in which he can receive gifts from the Father, or in which he can have bestowed on him the inheritance of all things. The Father’s love to him may now take the form of bountifullness, liberality, lavish giving; it may now express itself in deeds. And, overflowing from him to the creatures called into being by his hand and for his sake, especially to those who, being made in God’s image, can know his nature, this divine love finds vent in those tender mercies which are over all his works. So, in the beginning of the creation, God in his Son loved the goodly universe of which his Son had become the head; with a love to him and to it that could never weary of bestowing favours. So, when this earth was made, in whose habitable parts the Son as the eternal Wisdom rejoiced; and when this race of ours was formed, the sons of men, with whom were his delights: "God saw everything that he had made, and behold it was very good." His love then filled our cup of innocent and pure happiness to the brim, if only we had been content to hold it straight. Thus, for a season, one quality of the love which is God’s nature, which God is, - its simple bountifullness, its being "ready to distribute, willing to communicate," - had room to expatiate, and if I may dare to say so, to indulge and enjoy itself, in the teeming earth, and in man, its godlike proprietor and lord, for whom he bade it bring forth all its fullness. But there is a quality of this love for which that first creation provided no outlet; a quality more wonderful than all its bountifullness; the quality for whose exercise the fall gave occasion. To creatures innocent and pure, God, for the love he has to his Son, by whom and for whom they are made, may give all sorts of good things, the good things with which earth is stored, and better things still if they will but obey his word. To guilty creatures alone can he "give his Son to be the propitiation for their sins." Still, however, it is now as always to the visible creation, to what he sees and whom he sees, that God’s love goes forth in exercise. The objects of it are seen. Seen! And how seen? Can it be said now, "God saw everything that he had made, and behold it was very good"? To bless and benefit a world and a race seen by him in that light, might be almost said to be self-gratification, rather than self-sacrifice. But it comes to be selfsacrifice when its objects are seen to be corrupt and vile; guilty and deserving only of wrath; polluted and unclean; with nothing to attract, but everything to repel; alike unloving and unlovely. To continue to love creatures thus seen - not only so, but to love them with a love that does not spare his own Son, - a love that, when law and justice demand a victim, will rather that he should be the victim than they - that is a manner of love implying something else and something more than bountifullness. And that is God’s manner of love to those whom he now sees, to "the world lying in wickedness." Now our "loving him whom we have not seen," never could be a test of our having in us this "love which is of God." If the thing to be proved is the identity, in kind or nature, of our love and God’s love : - its being with the very same love with which he loves that we also love - that never can be proved by an appeal to our love to him. It must turn upon the consideration of his love to the world, and the likeness of our love to that. Mark here only one point of difference between God’s love to us and any love we may have to him; look at the object in either case. On our part, when we love God, the object is the all-good, the all-amiable. Nay, more. It is the God who "first loved us." When he loves us, he loves the evil, the unamiable. And he loves us with a love which does not grudge the surrender of his own beloved Son to our state and our doom, that we in his Son may become acceptable and well-pleasing in his eyes. Even if, therefore, our love to God were all that could be desired, all that could be looked for, all that our knowledge of his glorious excellency and our experience of the riches of his grace might well be expected to call forth; still it would not suffice for proof that our love is God’s love; that we love with the love which is of God; that we love as he loves. This accordingly seems to me to be the true sense and import of that statement of the apostle, often misunderstood, which, however, when rightly apprehended is very suggestive: "Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for ,our sins." One is apt to think that there is here a disavowal or denial of our love to God altogether; in which case the reference must be to our unconverted state. Or else it must be such a disparagement of our love to God, even in our converted state, as would represent it to be :nothing in comparison with his love to us. Both of these thoughts are no doubt true. But I am persuaded that there :is a deeper meaning in the statement; more appropriate to the context; more to the purpose of the argument. It is assumed that we love God. And much is made of that, as we may soon see, in what follows. But it is not our loving God, however sincerely and warmly, that can prove our love to be the same with his. Were we loving him even as the angels love him, were we loving him even as the Son loves him, that would not suffice. It would still be love on our part of a very different sort from that love of his; having a very different kind of object, and acting in a very different way. The Son himself proved his oneness with the Father, in respect of the love now in question, by his voluntarily coming to seek and to save the lost. The angels prove theirs by the "joy that there is among them over one sinner that repenteth," and by their being "all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation." "Herein then is love," "the love which is of God," the love whose reproduction in us is to be tested ; - " not that we have loved God," - which, thanks to his grace, we do; not by that, even though it were all that it ought to be, which, alas! It is far from being - "but that he loved us" that he loved us when we were yet sinners; that he saw us then, and pitied us, and "sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins." That is the model, the exemplar, the pattern, of the love which is to test our being "born of God." Two things are thus apparent. In the first place, this love in us, if it is to verify itself as being God’s very love, must be love, not to the unseen but to the seen; to a world that is seen; to men and women in it that are seen; to one another, to our brethren, to our fellow-men, as seen. And, moreover, it must be love to them, seen by us as God sees them. The objects of love must be the same to us as to God; and seen to be the same; seen in the same light; from the same point of view. "No man hath seen God at any time;" but God has always seen, and always sees, every man; he has seen, and sees you. And, seeing you such as you are, he has loved you. Do you love your brother, your neighbour ; seeing him, I do not say as God sees him, but as God has seen and sees you when he loves you? There must be identity in the object of this common love, God’s and yours; you and he must love the same object, the same person. But that is not all. He is, both to God and to you, visible; he is seen. And as seen by God and by you he must be the same; the same in your eyes, in your judgment, in your esteem, as he is in God’s. Or, as I have hinted, it may serve the same purpose, and be more profitable, to put the matter thus: he must be seen by you as you are seen by God when he loveth you. He must be the same in your eyes, in your judgment, in your esteem, as you are in God’s. That will do as well. Who is it who is the object of your love? One seen, of course. But is he seen by you with God’s eye, or with the world’s eye; or with the eye of your own natural prepossession, your own natural liking? I am far from saying that this last kind of love is always necessarily wrong. But it is not "the love which is of God ;" which identifies you as "born of God, and knowing God." Is he to you what he is to God? He must be either one whom God with most intense compassion pities, and yearns in his inmost bowels to save; or one whom God welcomes and embraces, not because he is naturally amiable, but because in him the Son of his love sees of the travail of his soul and is satisfied. In either view, is he the same to you that he is to God? But I must press the question further. Does what you see in your fellow-men cool or quench your love to them, more than what God sees in them cools or quenches his love to them? All that is unattractive, all that is unamiable, all that is repelling in them is seen by him as well as by you; seen by him infinitely better than by you. Does it affect him as it affects you? Does it hinder him from loving them, as it seems to hinder you? Still further I must press the question. Is it the same thing, or the same sort of thing, seen in them, which draws God’s love to them, that commends them also to your love?. What is that? Either it is the misery, be it splendid or squalid, of a doomed soul, or it is the broken heart of a child of God. These call forth the love of God ; these alone ; these always. Do they always call forth yours? Wherever a sinner still in his sin is seen, does your heart go forth towards him in earnest longing and striving for his salvation, as does the heart of God?. When the poor prodigal returns, and is clasped in forgiving arms, is your sympathy with the loving father or with the jealous brother? Or, to bring the question home again to your personal experience, is it because you see other men as God sees you that you love them?. You see them, too many of them, alas! in the same state and of the same character that were yours when God seeing you loved you; polluted, as you were polluted; perishing, as you were perishing. Do you love them on that account, as on that account God loved you, when he had pity upon you? Again, you see them, some of them, like yourselves now, by his grace, dear in God’s sight as his ransomed and saved ones. Do you love them on that account, as on that account God loves you? For, secondly, this love in us must be the same with God’s love, in respect of its character, as well as in respect of its objects. It must be what we have seen that that love is, communicative and self-sacrificing. Our love to God cannot be of that nature. We cannot impart anything of ours to him; we cannot sacrifice anything of ours for him; he is beyond the reach of any loving offices of that sort from us. "He is our Lord; our goodness reacheth not to him." If our love is his love, it must be proved to be so by its going forth in active service, not to him whom we cannot see, but to those whom we do see; God’s creatures, to whom his own love goes forth; the love manifested in creation’s bounties, the love manifested in redemption’s grace, - in his "sending his Son to be the propitiation for our sins." And here, in point of fact, is the real practical test. Love, when its exclusive object is unseen, is sometimes apt to become ideal, shadowy, and merely sentimental. Even when God himself is, or is imagined to be, its object, it has not unfrequently taken that form and aspect. Meditative musing on the nature of God, the rapt gaze of solitary contemplation, the fixed eye of secluded devotion filling itself with great thoughts of the divine majesty, ,excellency, and beauty, has had the effect of begetting in the soul a certain mingled emotion of solemn awe and melting tenderness, which is apt to pass for divine love. It is akin to the feeling which the hero or the victim of an affecting tale may call forth; though deeper far and more intense. In real life, in church history, this kinship has been but too terribly exemplified. Love to God has been spiritualised and sublimated, as it were, into a passion; such a passion as may, and must, end in one of two ways; either in a sort of mystical and rapturous absorption of the human in the divine, or in a still more dangerous substitution of the human for the divine. But, short of that extreme, there are tendencies against which sensitive natures, of an emotional and impulsive character, must be on their guard. There is the tendency to put imagination in the room of reality. For instance, it is far easier to smile or weep over a narrative that must consist of the sayings and doings of unseen, because imaginary, actors and sufferers, than to go out among the real parties in life’s drama, and meet in close contact their actual cases. Hence the meaning, in another view of it, of this solemn intimation, brought in at this stage, and in this connection: "No man hath seen God at any time." There is, there can be, no safe way of proving that we are born of God and know God, except our loving what is seen. No love to the unseen can suffice ; nay, love to the unseen alone may almost be made too much of; it may become deceptive and delusive, or unwholesome and unsafe. Our love, if it is to be God’s very love in us, must be love like his, to what is seen by both alike; to real, actual, living men, seen by us as by him. In that channel, our love to the unseen may always safely run. For - II. In this human love, in our thus loving one another, the divine love has its consummation or perfection. "If we love one another, God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us." It is a very solemn position which we are thus called to occupy. In us God’s love is to be perfected. We are to be the means of its being perfected; the instruments and agents in effecting that result. Not only so. In us it takes end; in us it is finished. Nothing beyond us remains; no chance, no opportunity, of any manifestation of God’s love, that can be at all available for the world lying in wickedness. That love has reached us, and it should, through us, reach the whole world. If not, it cannot otherwise avail. "His love is perfected in us." There is indeed another sense in which these words may be understood. They may mean that God’s love, the love which is of God, the love which is his very nature, reproduces itself in us perfectly, only when, with his own very love, we love one another. That is true. But the inspired meaning here is, I think, somewhat deeper. It seems to indicate that our love to one another, if it is indeed of the same sort with his love to us, the love manifested in his sending his Son to save us, is really on his part the last act, the crowning or final exercise, of his love. It is as if he told us that his love was exhausted in begetting or reproducing itself in us. And it may well be so. No higher instance of love is possible than his sending his Son; no stronger sort of love can be imagined. And if that very love passes from him to us; having the same objects and cherishing towards them the same affection; if we love one another as God loves us; is not his love perfected in us? What more can be done to let it have "its perfect work" Ah, then, what responsibility is ours! What an office or duty is laid upon us! To perfect, to complete, the manifestation of God’s love for the saving of the world! Through us, his love, the very love manifested in his sending his Son to be the propitiation for Our sins, is to pass on to our fellow-men. We are, as it were, in his stead. Nay, he is himself in us. He who is love dwelleth in us; he who dwelleth in us is love. It is not so much we who love, as God who loveth in us. It is his own very love that has now in us its full expression, if we love as he is love. It is ours to see to it that it is and shall be so. The subject is not ended; but I pause, and offer some practical inferences that may well be pondered. I. Very plainly the love to one another here enjoined is of such a sort that none but a child of God can be capable of it, or can feel it. None other, in fact, can comprehend what it is. We must first be ourselves the receivers of it, before we can be the dispensers or transmitters of it; before it can have its perfect work in us towards others. We must be taught by the Spirit to know what we are, as seen by God, when we are the objects of his love; what we are, in his sight, when he loves us with a saving love. We must be made by the Spirit experimentally to feel what manner of love it is that, instead of being repelled, is attracted, by our unloveliness; that instead of smiting us, lays the stroke on his own beloved Son; that now, in him, lavishes on us all saving benefits and blessings. This then clearly is our first concern ; to see to it that this love of God is really ours; embraced by us; apprehended and appropriated by us; enjoyed by us richly. 2. This love which is of God, when perfected in us, must contemplate its objects in the same light in which they are seen by God. It is comparatively easy to love the lovable, to love them that love us. If we look only at men’s amiable qualities, if we surround ourselves with a circle of friends, all decent, worthy, and upright; if, shutting our eyes to what they are before him who searches the heart, and judging according to the outward appearance, we perceive only what is fair. and charming in their winning ways; if, in a word, keeping out of view their spiritual state and character, we dwell exclusively on their natural gifts and graces - if it is thus that we love them, our love is not God’s love perfected in us. For to be God’s love perfected in us, our love must see its objects as God’s Love sees its objects. What we see in them of guilt and sin, of enmity against God and insubordination to his law, must be offensive to us as it is to him. Men estranged from God, whatever may be their other excellencies, must be to us what they are to God. Then, and only then, can we test the identity of our love with God’s love. Then, and only then, can we have some idea of what it is to love those whom God loves, with his own very love; his love, not of indifference to evil or complacency in evil, but of deep compassion to the evil-doer and earnest longing that he may be saved. Hence the Lord says, "Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you, pray for them that despitefully use you and persecute you." In that way, and only in that way, can we prove ourselves, by our family likeness, to be the children of our heavenly Father. So are we perfect, in this way of loving; according to the command: "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect." For it is not absolute or general perfection that is here meant; perfection in the wide and universal sense of that term. The command, so understood, would be irrelevant as well as impracticable. It is perfection or completeness, thorough simplicity and uprightness, as regards the particular grace referred to; according to a use of the word very common in the Old Testament Scriptures. The perfection indicated is the perfection of honesty or righteousness in loving our "seen," as God loves his "seen;" loving our enemies with the very love with which our Heavenly Father loved us when we were his. XXXIII. LOVE THE MEANS OF MUTUAL INDWELLING; GOD IN US AND WE IN GOD. "Hereby know we that we dwell in him, and he in us, because he hath given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and do testify that the Father sent the Son to be the Saviour of the world. Whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwelleth in him, and he in God. And we have known and believed the love that God hath to us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him." - 1 John 4:13-16. THE statement, "Hereby know we that we dwell in him, and he in us, because he hath given us of his Spirit," carries us back to a previous statement (1 John 3:24), "Hereby we know that he abideth in us, by the Spirit which he hath given us." We are thus reminded of the scope and design of the whole passage. The question is about the mutual indwelling of God in us and of us in God; and more particularly about his abiding in us. How are we to know this? By the Spirit which he hath given us, is the answer. But that raises another question. Every spirit is not to be believed; there must be a trial of the spirits. By what test or tests are they to be tried? How is the Spirit that is of God to be distinguished from the spirit of anti-Christ .? First, by his confessing in us that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh (1 John 4:2-5); and secondly, by our loving, with the love which is of God (1 John 4:7-12). And now, connecting the two, John brings us back substantially to the original statement, as to our knowing that we dwell in God, and God in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. For the two tests are now brought closely together, and shown to be not so much two as one; or at least not two independent tests, each separately valid in itself, but so intimately related to one another that they mutually involve one another, and thus combine together to make up one cogent and irrefragable proof. It is this virtual unity of the two tests that forms the theme or subject of the verses now before us. I. The first of the two tests is recapitulated: "We have seen and do testify that the Father sent the Son to be the Saviour of the world; whosoever shall confess that Jesus is the Son of God, God dwelleth in him, and he in God" (1 John 4:14-15). There is a slight difference here from the language of the second verse; and the difference is evidently designed. It is intended to impregnate, if I may so speak, and vivify the truth confessed, with the love whose origin and nature John has been unfolding. The two ideas, - his being "sent" to be "the Saviour of the world," and "his being the Son," - are evidently suggested by what has been said of that divine love in the intermediate verses (1 John 4:9) It is interesting in this view, to trace the growth and development of the thought. The confession which is to be the sign of its being the Spirit that is of God, or the Spirit of truth, that we receive, is first put as if it were the mere acknowledgment of a bare historical fact. It is much more by implication; but, so far as the actual expression goes, it is not anything more. But see to what fullness of warm gushing life it has now attained. And how? It has been passing through an atmosphere of love, and has thus got to be impressed with a certain teeming warmth and quickening power. What is to be confessed, when we first look at it and lay it aside, might seem to be, so far as the mere wording of it is concerned, scarcely more significant and affecting than the notice of a birth, or any other common fact, of which we read in old annals, or in the current news of the day. Now, when we take it up to look at it again, after it has been steeped in the rich dew of heaven’s love, it glows and is instinct with meaning. "Jesus Christ is come in the flesh;" come to be "the Saviour of the world ;" come as "the Son, whom the Father hath sent ;" - that is the full confession now. Hence the real reason of that first test, and of its being so closely interwoven with the other. How should the confession of a mere matter of fact be so certain a token of God’s "giving us of his Spirit," and of his "dwelling in us "? For it is a simple matter of fact, to be known and ascertained like other ordinary facts in history; to be received on the very same ground and warrant of historical evidence and testimony. The apostle admits as much, both before (1 John 1:1-3) and now (1 John 4:14). You have our testimony for it; and our testimony may be relied on; "That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you;" "We have seen and do testify" what we ask you to confess. The question therefore recurs: How should my confessing a mere and simple matter of fact, especially considering that, however wonderful it may be, I have it attested to me by sufficient evidence, prove that "God giveth me of his Spirit," and so "dwelleth in me"? The answer must be found in the character of the fact or truth confessed; or in the aspect in which it is presented, or presents itself to me. What is it in itself? What is it to me? If it is a fact or truth of a merely historical sort, and is so apprehended by me, my admission and avowal of it will be no proof or presumption of God’s having "given me of his Spirit, and dwelling in me," any more than my admission and avowal of any well-attested event that ever happened in the world. That may be my case; if so, it is s, sad one. It may be to me a mere fact or truth of history; not only in its original form, naked and bald, "Jesus Christ is come in the flesh ;" but even in the more warm and living substance which it takes, when it is, as it were, clothed upon with the love which is from heaven. For whatever can be stated in words about that love, and the measure and the manifestation of it, can all be comprehended by the natural understanding. I can put it all in propositions intelligible enough to myself and others; and I can honestly accept these propositions, and confess my acceptance of them. But it may be head-work and not heart, work with me after all. So long as it is so, it is my work merely; the work of my own mind, not of the Spirit. For his work is mainly in the heart. It is spirit dealing with spirit; not mere intellect dealing with intellect. It is God’s Spirit dealing intimately and lovingly with my spirit, and that too upon a special theme; a specific ubject; "Jesus Christ come in the flesh," as "the very Son of God, sent by the Father to be the Saviour of the world." Now if God thus communes with me, his Spirit with my spirit, not mind with mind merely, but heart with heart, upon this special theme or subject; if the fact of Jesus Christ having come in the flesh thus starts from the page of history, and fixes and rivets itself in my inner man, becoming part and parcel of my most inward experience; if:, in short, the truth comes home to me, as not simply a historical event, but, as it were, a honey-filled bee, full fraught with all the love that is in the Father’s heart of hearts and is poured out in the saving mission of his Son; - -if I take this in, and let this heaven-laden bee pierce me, and fill the wound it makes with what itself is full of ;-love, this love of God ; - then I have something to confess, which may well be an evidence of "God’s having given me of his Spirit, and so dwelling in me." Yes! I may humbly appropriate the Lord’s words to Peter; "Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona; for flesh and blood has not revealed this to thee, but my Father which is in heaven." II. The second test is thus in large measure anticipated, and all but swallowed up, in the first. The confession of truth is now seen to be identical with the sense and experience of love: "We have known and believed the love that God hath to us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him" (1 John 4:16.) "We have known and believed." This is quite John’s manner; to unite in one knowledge and faith; we have intelligently believed; we have believingly understood. We have thus known and believed "the love that God hath to us ;" - -or rather, "the love which God hath in us." For the expression is very peculiar and emphatical; and, as used here, can scarcely mean anything else than that his love to us has become his love in us; and that we have known and believed it as such. Of course it is his love to us; but it is his love to us, transferred, as it were, or transplanted, from the gospel, where it is a matter of revelation from without, to our own hearts, where it becomes a moving principle and power from within. There, in the gospel, it is his love manifested to us: here, in our hearts, it is his love actually existing in us - not merely felt by us as his love to us; but felt by us as his love in us - in us, so truly and literally in us, that we become the conscious storekeepers or depositories of it, as it were, and the dispensers of it to others who are as much its objects as we are ourselves. The love of God, having us for its objects, passes from God’s outer record into our inner life. It enters into us; it finds access to the innermost recesses of our moral and spiritual being; it is therefore now "the love which God has in us." He pours into as, he puts and plants in us, his own love. He has it in us; his own very love; :reproduced by himself in us; communicated, if one may dare to say so, by himself, from his own heart to ours. It :is the love of which we ourselves, in the first instance, are the objects; of which it was our first relief and joy, when ‘we were convinced of sin, to find ourselves the objects. It is the love of which, when all but despairing, we laid trembling hold, and of which we are still fain to lay hold ,continually - not love to the holy, the pure, the penitent, the believing, the chosen; but love to the world as such, of which we are part; love to men as sinners, "of whom I am chief." But that love is in us now. "God has it in us." It is not merely that we have it in us, as a ground of confidence for ourselves; God has it in us as on his behalf a treasury of love available for others. It is in us, - not merely as what we ourselves grasp and count to be all our salvation, but as what springs up in us, and is outgoing towards others; being thus God’s own very love, dwelling and working in our whole inner man. That, I am persuaded, and nothing short of that, is the great thought involved in these wondrous words, "we have known and believed the love that God hath in us." Not only have we known and believed his love, so as to apprehend and appropriate it, as it comes from without and from above; - not only so as to take it and make it available for our own spiritual life and comfort; but also, and especially, so as to imbibe it - to drink it into the very essence of our renovated nature, our renewed selves. In us who know it and believe it, God has his own love in actual existence and in active exercise. Herein lies that community of nature between God and us which the Spirit works or effects. Love is God’s nature; "God is love" (1 John 4:16). Again that great truth is here proclaimed. And, as it would seem, it is now proclaimed again for the purpose of bringing out what it is of God that we can share with him; that he can "have in us." Much there is about God that must continue always altogether incommunicable to us; much that must remain for ever outward and objective to us, and never can become inward and subjective in us. All that pertains to him as lawgiver, ruler, judge, - all that he is as, seated on the throne of his high majesty and universal empire, he carries on the government of the universe, - is and must be exclusively his own; it is only in a very secondary sense, and in a very subordinate capacity, that we can have any of his authority delegated to us when, besides dealing with us as his subjects, he uses us as his ministers. But it would seem to be otherwise with his holiness and his love. Paul speaks of our being made "partakers of his holiness"- John speaks of "the love he has in us." The two indeed are one, for his holiness is loving and his love is holy. His holy love therefore is not incommunicable; it passes from him to us. Not only are we its objects; more than that; it begets itself anew, if one may say so, in us. It is God’s very love, his holy love, in us, and it is to be known and believed, to be felt and manifested, by us accordingly. What is this but our "dwelling in love" (1 John 4:16), in God’s own love?. Love; the holy love of God; of the Father sending the Son to be the Saviour of the world; is now the habitual home of our hearts. We remain, we abide, we stay in it. We would not quit it, or let it go; we cannot, for it alone is our peace. Away from that love; that holy love; that love with all its holiness; reaching us and saving us, the most worldly of the world, the very chief of sinners; what hope, what health, can we have. Neither can we quit it, or let it go, as a principle of life and activity, going out from ourselves to others. If it is to be God’s love to us, known and believed by us, for our own peace and comfort and holy spiritual quickening; it must be God’s love in us, his own love, which "he has in us," known and believed by us for outward use, as well as for inward assurance and rest. Only in so far as we constantly realise this love of God, both as the love he has to us and as the love he has in us, do we really dwell in love. But dwelling thus in this love, we do indeed dwell in God. For God is this love; and as such he dwelleth in us. In respect of this love, of which we are now both the grateful receivers and the glad transmitters, there is a blessed oneness between God and us. He dwells in this love; for he is love; and we now dwell in this love also. It becomes our nature, as it is his, thus to love. Therefore this love is the bond of union between him and us - the meeting-place, the habitation, the home, in which we dwell together; he in us and we in him. This love, this holy love, is that which God and we may have in common. And therefore it is the element or quality in respect of which there may be mutual indwelling of us in God and of God in us. Hence the two tests of God’s "giving us of his Spirit and dwelling in us," coalesce, as it were, and become essentially one. To confess, on the testimony of the apostles as eyewitnesses, that the Father sent the Son to be the Saviour of the world (1 John 4:14); that Jesus is the Son of God (1 John 4:15); and to know and believe the love that God has to us and in us (1 John 4:1); is really one and the same thing. For the confession is not the cold assent of the understanding to a formal article in a creed. It is the warm and cordial embracing of the Father’s love, incarnate in the Son whom he sends to be the Saviour of the world. It is the letting into our hearts of the love which is God’s nature; for God is love. It is our dwelling with him in love. For, as Paul teaches, in entire and perfect harmony with John; - "In Christ Jesus neither circumcision availeth anything, nor uncircumcision availeth anything, but faith which worketh by love ;" faith confessing Christ; faith knowing and believing the love that God has in us; faith loving as it sees and feels that God himself loves. XXXIV. THE BOLDNESS OF PERFECTED LOVE. "Herein is our love made perfect, that we may have boldness in the day of judgment: because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love. We love [him], because he first loved us." - 1 John 4:17-19. The leading idea here is "boldness in the day of judgment; not boldness prospectively when the day comes, but present boldness in the view of it now. It is much the same thing as we have in a previous section of the epistle (1 John 3:19-21), our assuring our hearts before God; our having confidence toward God. This boldness is connected with the perfecting of love; "Herein is our love made perfect;" or as in the margin, "Herein is love with us made per-feet, that we may have boldness in the day of judgment." Love then, or the love before indicated, is perfected with us; and the perfecting of this love with us is bound up with our having boldness in the day of judgment. The bond or connecting link is our oneness with Christ; our being in this world as he is now. What is perfected is love; not love indefinitely; but the love which is God’s nature, and which comes out in the saving gift of his Son. It is to be perfected as "love with us." It is not merely, as in the twelfth verse, to be perfected in us, as love to us; it is to be perfected in us, as "love with us." It is God’s love so shared by him with us as to constitute a love relationship, or love-fellowship, between him and us. This is indispensable to our having boldness in the prospect of the day of judgment, And it is realised through oneness with Christ, through our "being as he is ;" not as he was before he came into the world; nor merely as he was in the world; but as he is now. It is our "being as he is," that connects in us, in our consciousness and experience, the perfecting of God’s love with us, and our having boldness to face the final account (1 John 4:17). The boldness must be very complete; for it must exclude whatever is incompatible with the ground on which it rests. -Now it rests on love; on God’s love shared with us. But love shared between the lover and the loved, in a mutual fellowship of love, excludes or "casts out fear." It must do so, for "fear hath torment." A relationship or fellowship based on fear is of course quite conceivable; but it has torment. It cannot therefore consist with a relationship or fellowship of love. "He that feareth is not made perfect in love ;" in this love; the love, or covenant of love, here spoken of or referred to (1 John 4:18). But "we love." We may not be made perfect in love, - the love or loving treaty in question. But we do love; and our love is a reality; it may be relied on as a reality; for it is love springing out of his love to us; it is his own very love in us "We love, because he first loved us." Having offered these exegetical explanations, I now take up the topics suggested in their order. I. (1 John 4:17.) "Herein is our love " - God’s love with us - " made perfect, that we may have boldness in the day of ,judgment: because as he is, so are we in this world." The perfecting of "God’s love with us," so that we may have boldness in the day of judgment, depends on our being as Christ is, - and that too "in this world." We are in this world, not as he was when he was in it, but as he is now. In a very eminent and emphatic sense, God’s love with him is now made perfect; in a sense in which that could not be said of him as he was when in this world. The Father’s covenant of love with him, as "Jesus Christ come in the flesh"- "the Son sent by him to be the propitiation for our sins"- is now perfectly ratified, so that he may have boldness in the view of any day of judgment. That, I repeat, could scarcely be said of him as he was when in this world. Personally, no doubt, he was then the object of the Father’s love; and that divine love, as communicated and shared with him, in his human nature and earthly condition, was absolutely perfect. Personally, therefore, he might have boldness, - he had nothing to fear, - in any judicial reckoning. But consider him as "sent to be the propitiation for our sins." Oh, what a cloud comes in between him and his Father’s love! What a cloud, charged with fiery wrath, about to burst on his devoted head! And what trembling is there in the prospect of that judicial reckoning with him for our transgression of the law which he has to stand! It was not then altogether a fellowship of love with him on the part of God. The things that passed between God and him, as he hung on the accursed tree, were not all love-tokens and love-caresses! Love was with him still, divine love, even then and there; love, if possible, more than ever, for the very death he was dying, in fulfilment of the divine purpose of salvation. But something else was with him too; something that for a season terribly shaded that love. Divine justice was with him justice inexorably demanding, in the interests of law and government, the stem execution of the penal sentence. And that must first be perfected; that must have its perfect work; before the love can be made perfect. He feels, he affects, no boldness in meeting that day of judgment. He knows its terror; he shrinks; he cries; he "is crucified through weakness." For us to be as he then was, would give us little boldness in view of the day of judgment awaiting us. But to be as he is now! Ah, that is a very different matter! Now that his dark agony is over, and all his groans are past; now that there is no more present with him, on the part of God, any wrath at all, but only perfect love; now that, no longer bearing condemnation, but accepted for his righteousness’ sake, he has boldness to set any day of judgment at defiance; now that the Father need have no other dealings with him any more for ever but only dealings of perfect love; now that, being raised from the dead, he dieth no more; death, judicial death, having no more dominion over him! May this privilege indeed be ours? Nay, it is; "we are as he is." When and where? Now "in this world." It is not the blessedness of the future state; it is blessedness to be got here and now. Do you ask how? Look to Jesus; to "Jesus Christ come in the flesh ;" "the Son sent by the Father to be the propitiation for your sins." How was it possible for him, when he took that position, to be as he now is. On one only condition. He must consent first to be as you are, in the full sense and to the full extent of enduring and exhausting all the pains and penalties which your being as ;you are entails on you. Not otherwise could he come to be as he is now. And not otherwise can you come to be as he is now; not otherwise than by first consenting to be as he was then; to die as he died; to be "crucified with him." Is this a hard preliminary? Nay, it is altogether reasonable as well as necessary; it is eminently gracious. It is his own free gift of himself to you; of himself as the propitiation for your sins. I take your death as mine, he cries; the death which as sinners you deserve to die. I die that death in your stead. You cannot die that death yourselves and ever live again, But! can. "I am he that liveth and was dead, and behold I am alive for evermore." How much better is it for you to make my death yours than to die eternally yourselves! Can you refuse to be as he then was, in the exercise of realising, appropriating, uniting faith; "knowing the fellowship of his sufferings?" - especially when you consider how this not only secures your never again being, as you naturally are, under condemnation; but secures also your being as he now is. God’s love is with you; as truly "perfected with you," as it is with him. You may have the same boldness that he might have in facing any day of judgment. To you, as to him, death as the wages of sin is really past. There is no more any judicial reckoning with you on God’s part, no more with you than with him; but only dealings of love, of love made perfect, love having free course, love unfettered and unrestrained. So you have boldness as regards the day of judgment. II. This love with us, thus perfected, is inconsistent with fear. It founds or establishes a love-relationship, a love-fellowship, with which fear cannot co-exist : - " There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment; he that feareth is not made perfect in love." The love here meant is not our love to God; neither is it, strictly speaking, God’s love to us, or our apprehension of it. In a sense, it may be said to be the mutual love that subsists between God and us, when, "as Christ is, so are we, in this world." Or, still more exactly, it may be understood as denoting the terms of loving agreement, of good understanding and endearment, on which God would have us to be with him, in virtue of "his love with us being made perfect." The great practical truth taught is that our faith, when we "confess that Jesus is the Son of God" (1 John 4:15), and when "we have known and believed the love that God hath to us" (1 John 4:16), brings us into a position, as regards God, in which there is not only no occasion, but no room, for fear. Love and fear are diametrically opposite principles and they imply opposite modes of treatment on the part of God towards us, and opposite relations on our part towards him. If God deals with us in the way of strict law and righteous judgment, then the footing on which we are with him is one simply of fear. His fear is with us; not his love. And it is so with us that, however it may be lulled for a time, it will one day be perfected,, or have its perfect work, in "a fearful looking for of judgment, and fiery indignation, which shall devour the adversary." If, again, God deals with us in the way of rich and free grace, then the footing on which we are with him is one of love. He no longer holds over us the threat of punishment; the fear of it is not with us any more. It cannot be, for this fear hath torment. Mark the reason here assigned for fear being cast out; it hath torment; the torment of anticipated judgment; for that is exactly what is meant. It echoes the voice of the demons : - " Art thou come to torment us before the time?" But we with whom "God’s love is perfected," have boldness in reference to the day of judgment; not torment, but boldness. Therefore "there is no fear in that love," thus perfected; for fear introduces an element the reverse of what a state of loving fellowship implies. Hence "he that feareth is not made perfect in that love;" he does not fully realise the standing or position which it gives him; he does not enter completely into the faith and fellowship of "God’s love with us," as a love that "is made perfect." Here let us consider, first, the evil and danger of confounding these two opposite footings, of fear and of love, on which we may be with God; and, secondly, the careful provision which God has made for keeping them separate. I. I take the case of one who is still in the relation to God in which fear reigns; who yet, at the same time, assumes that, even in his case, there may be something of the opposite relation, of which love is the exponent and expression. He is still under wrath; he has no real boldness as regards the day of judgment; he is subject to the power of the fear which has torment. But he has a notion that God’s love may yet somehow be with him after all; he has a dream of mercy; he welcomes the idea of indulgence and impunity; it abates his torment. It does not really bring him into the region of love, but it mitigates fear. Is that a good thing for him? Were it not better far that he should be left, naked and shelterless, to the full experience of all the torment which fear has? He might thus be shut up to try "a more excellent way." But I take, with John, the opposite case. I suppose’ that you are within the realm and domain of love. Love; the love which is God’s very nature; the love "manifested in his sending his only begotten Son into the world that you might live through him;" that love is the atmosphere of the region in which you now dwell. You are on loving terms with God; his love being with you; and being "made perfect with you." Nay; not quite made perfect. It should be so, but it is not so. For you let into your heart something of what is proper to the opposite relation; your being on the old terms with God to which fear belongs. And the practical effect of this is very disastrous. Not to dwell upon its sure tendency to mar your peace and joy: it thoroughly cramps your free walk with God in light; it has a sad bearing on your manner of serving God. For no two things can be more opposite than service rendered on the footing of love, and service rendered on the footing of fear. Not only are the motives different; the kinds of service which they prompt are different. If I am under the influence of the fear which has torment, and so far as I am under its influence, I am inevitably inclined to evasion and compromise. I must do some things and leave some things undone; my conscience, moved by fear, will not otherwise let me alone. But I sail as near the wind as possible, if only I may keep barely on the safe side of the law. I venture on occasional omissions of duty and compliances with temptation; stealthily, as it were, "snatching a trembling joy." The service is all task-work, slave-work. As such I grudge it always, and get off from it when I can on any plea. That is my way with God under the torment of fear. It should be otherwise when I move in the sphere, and breathe the air, of love; of divine love; "God’s love with me made perfect." There should be no guile in my spirit now; no inclination to unfair dealing any more. Alas! Is it always so with me? Even if I have some sense and experience of the new and better footing of love on which it is my privilege to be with my God, am I not too often visited with questionings and misgivings proper only to the old footing of fear? Do I not find myself ever and anon asking, Must I positively renounce this? - may I not, for once, venture upon that.? And does not all such asking indicate something of the old servile mind? What uneasiness is there in such a way of living with God, and what unfaithfulness too! What "unsteadfastness and perfidiousness in his covenant" of love! Surely it is true that he who in any measure thus acts from mere fear, under the pressure of felt necessity, is not "made perfect in love." 2. But why should it be so?. God would not have it so. His will is that there should be a sharp line of separation between the two incompatible relations; that of love and that of fear. He would shut you up, completely and exclusively, into one or other of them. Are you in that relation to which fear is appropriate Then let it be fear alone; fear in the view of the judgment-day. By all means let fear operate alone; unmitigated, unrelieved, by any vague notion of mercy; any dream of. love. That is the way in which it should operate. So operating, let it deter you from crime; let it impel you to duty. Or, better far, let it drive you to despair; to despair of yourselves, not, God forbid, of him! You have nothing to do with love as you are, and continuing as you are ;-you have to do only with fear. Oh that it were, in the first instance, perfect fear! - fear, pure and simple, casting out, I say not love, but the idle imagination of love! Yes; it is yours to fear; and only to fear! Would to God that your fear had torment enough, not merely to set you on doing some things and avoiding some things, to soothe it or set it to sleep; but to set you on crying, with the deep voice of true conviction: "Who shall deliver me?" "What must I do to be saved?" Are you, on the other hand, in the relation of which love, divine love, is the characteristic? Is it not a relation of love in which full provision is made, if you will only realist it, for the entire and absolute casting out of all fear? I call upon you so to realise it. Have you, in very’ truth, "known and believed the love that God hath in yon"? Have you considered this love, its nature, its manifestation, its effect and issue? Have you asked yourself, O my brother! this simple, but very serious, question: On what footing does this loving God; this God whose very nature is love, and whose love is with me and in me mine in actual possession; mine in all its fullness - on what footing does he intend and wish me to be with him? Ah! is it, a footing that will still admit of the miserable suspicions and subterfuges of one driven by a tormenting dread of the lash? Is it not rather a footing that precludes them all? Not a vestige of the old state of liability to judgment remains, if "as Christ is, so you now are in this world." Not a vestige of the old grudging and guileful frame of mind, congenial to that state, should remain. Not for your own comfort merely, but for your single-eyed, and simpleminded, and honest-hearted walking with God, and serving of God, I beseech you to let his perfect love cast out your slavish fear. For fear hath torment ; it is torture ; and your God and Father is not a torturing inquisitor. III. That it may be so; that "this love with you" may be so "perfected" as to "cast out fear;" see that you love with a love that springs out of God’s love, and is of the same sort. "We love," says the apostle, on behalf of himself and you who believe through his word; passing now from God’s love to ours; "we love, because he first loved us." "We love." We can take home to ourselves personally and individually what has been said abstractly of love casting out fear. For we love, and do not fear. "He that feareth is not made perfect in love ;" he does not perfectly realise the love relationship, the love-fellowship, the love-state, as it were, which God’s "love with us made perfect," involves. But that is not our case; "we love." "We love." It is the first time John has ventured to say so in this passage. Here first he brings in expressly our subjective experience or consciousness, as bearing upon the assured footing of love on which we are to be with God. Hitherto, it has all turned on God’s love; manifested by him; known and believed by us; communicated to us; present with us; and as present with us, made perfect; so perfect as to cast out fear. Now, it is our love that is asserted - " We love." For this must be the issue. It is idle to imagine that anything of the loving relationship and fellowship of which John speaks can be ours, unless we can say with him, humbly, but with some measure of confidence; "We love." And it is no light thing to say so. It is significant of much. "We love." It is not merely that we have a natural faculty of loving, and exercise it by letting it go forth on things and persons naturally attractive to us. But we have now a divine faculty of loving; we love with the Love which is of God; which is God’s very nature. We love with a love that goes forth towards things and persons, as they are attractive, not to us, but to him. In particular, as regards our life with God, our walk with God, our fellowship with God, our service of God, our obedience to God; as regards all that pertains to the relation that is to subsist between him and us; "we love." Not fear, but love, is now, on our part as well as on his part, the ruling principle and living spirit of it all. "We love." And in loving, we do but reciprocate God’s love; and respond to it. "We love, because he first loved us." For our love would be but a poor and sorry thing unless it were linked on to God’s love, as the consequence, or as it were the continuation of it, the reflection or reproduction of it. Always, it must be ultimately, in the last resort, God’s love on which we fall back. "God first loved us." This wondrous economy of love, in virtue of which he would have us to be on such a loving footing with him as to have fear utterly cast out, originates in him, and is all his own. If we love at all with the love which is of God, it is only because "we have known and believed the love which he hath to us." For it is "faith alone that worketh by love; " - to that principle we are brought back. If we are to realise, in our experience, the relationship and fellowship of love, as one in which there is no fear, it must be by faith. Therefore I call on you to believe; to believe always; to believe more and more. Believe in God as first loving you ; - yes, I say, as first loving you Be very sure that that must be first; not your loving; but God’s loving you. You cannot really know what love is until you believe in God as first loving you. You must first lay open your whole hearts to the free, frank acceptance of the love with which he first loveth you, as the plant opens its bosom to the rain and sunshine of heaven. Then, from that love with which God first loveth you, - known, believed, accepted, embraced, - there will spring up love in you; such love as will make your whole intercourse with God an intercourse altogether loving, and not fearful at all; such love as will cordially welcome the assurance that God means you to be to him, - not trembling, disaffected slaves, - but loving, loyal, and confiding sons. I close with two practical observations. I. There is surely much here, in this glorious description of the fellowship of love which God desires to have with us, and desires us to have with him, that should encourage earnest though anxious souls. I can conceive indeed that some may be inclined to question this. They may feel as if the view now given of the position which God would have them to occupy places it beyond their reach; high above their utmost aspirations. It may seem to them a perfection quite unattainable; an ideal that they can never dream of realising. If something far short of it,-some far more ordinary and commonplace walk and service, - will not suffice or be accepted, it is all over, they may be saying, with them. But let me ask, - In what spirit are you saying so? Is it with regret? Is it with a feeling of disappointment? Would you be upon this footing with God if you could? I must assume that you would; that you see it to be above all things desirable; that you really long and pray to be to God all that you now perceive he would have you to be. Then, if so, I beseech you to remember that this whole business of the adjustment of your relation to God as one of perfect love, is his and not yours. It is not you that have to go to him; he comes to you. It is not you who have to get up, by a painful process of inward working, love in yourselves; it is he who "first loveth you." It is with his love you hare to do, and not with your own. And his love is not far to seek, - or long to wait for. It is with you; embodied, enshrined, impersonated, in the Son of his love, sent by him to be the propitiation for your sin. Look to him; believe on him; consent to be now, in this world, as he is. And remember that "the righteousness which is of faith speaketh on this wise, Say not in thine heart, Who shall ascend into heaven? (that is, to bring Christ down from above :) or, Who shall descend into the deep? (that is, to bring up Christ again from the dead). But what saith it? The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth, and in thy heart: that is, the word of faith, which we preach; that if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved." 2. Let sinners be warned against presumptuous confidence with reference to the day of judgment. Whatever may be our boldness, if "as he is, so are we in this world," it does not spring from any questioning of the certainty, or any abating of the alarm, of that great and dreadful day. On the contrary, we have reached that boldness in a way that gives us an insight we never can forget into the reality and intensity of the pains of hell. "We know the terror of the Lord;" we know it by our "being crucified with Christ." What we see of it in the cross - in Jesus hanging there, bearing guilt, bearing wrath - what we feel of it in ourselves, when we take his death of condemnation as ours; - deepens our sense of God’s love in saving us from it, and fills us evermore with sensitive apprehension at the very thought of our being again "castaways." And knowing thus this terror of the Lord, we would fain "persuade men." Snatched ourselves as brands from the burning, going softly all our days in the remembrance of our narrow escape, our most seasonable deliverance, we cannot contemplate unmoved their going down into the pit. We beseech them to lay no flattering unction to their souls, as if judgment were not both absolutely certain and inconceivably terrible. We bid them fix their eyes on Jesus suffering judicially on the accursed tree, and hear his voice : - " If these things be done in the green tree, what shall be done in the dry?" "Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God." For "it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." Who shall be able to "stand before the face of him that sitteth on the throne," and brave "the wrath of the Lamb, when the great day of his wrath is come?" "Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all they that put their trust in him." XXXV. THE OBJECTS OF OUR LOVE - THE CHILDREN OF GOD AND GOD HIMSELF. "If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from him, That he who loveth God love his brother also. Whosoever believeth that Jesus is the Christ is born of God: and every one that loveth him that begat, loveth him also that is begotten of him. By this we know that we love the children of God when we love God, and keep his commandments. For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. " - 1 John 4:20-21; 1 John 5:1-3 The apostle has just announced the law of love: "We love, because he first loved us." He has still in his mind the twofold test of God’s giving us his Spirit - our "believing on the name of his Son Jesus Christ," and our "loving one another (3: 25). The Spirit in us confesses, - we by the Spirit confess, - that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh; that he is the Son of God. It is a confession implying the believing recognition of all God’s love to us in him. It implies therefore also the perfecting of God’s love with us, so as to exclude fear, and insure our loving as he has first loved us. We respond to his love and reciprocate it; it reproduces itself in us. And it does so, as love going forth to the seen, not the unseen; otherwise it would not be our loving with God’s very love to us; it would not be our loving because God first loved us. I. "We love, because he first loved us." Whom do we thus love?. "Him who first loved us," we say. And we say well. But let us beware. Our saying so may be deceptive; in saying it we may lie; not perhaps deliberately, but deceiving ourselves. There is less risk when the question is made to turn upon loving our brother; for we cannot so readily say falsely or mistakenly that we love the visible, as we can say falsely or mistakenly that we love the invisible. Hence the reasonableness of this test: "If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?" (1 John 4:20). But it may be asked: Wherein precisely consists the impossibility? Is it merely that it is easier and more natural to love one whom we see than one whom we have not seen; that the first is a lower attainment, more within our reach, while the other is more transcendental, spiritual, and sublime; so that if we cannot acquire the terrestrial virtue of loving our brother whom we have seen, it is vain for us to aspire to the heavenly elevation of loving God whom we have not seen? Nay, to put the matter on that footing is to degrade the grace of brotherly love, and wholly to destroy and overthrow the apostle’s noble argument. It is by no means clear that our seeing or not seeing the object of the affection, makes any real serious difference as regards our faculty or capacity of loving. There is no reason why one whom we have never seen, whom we have known only by report and fame, or by his friendly offices towards us, should not draw our hearts out towards him more even than the most familiar friend whom we see every day. Nay, in this very case it must be so. The unseen God, known only through the discoveries of himself which he makes to us in his word, and the communications of himself which he shares with us by his Spirit, must command our affections more than the best of created beings our eyes can ever light on, if the due order of the two great commandments is to be observed. Nor will it do to hold that our loving our brother is in the least degree more easy or more natural than our loving God; as if, beginning with loving our brother, because he, being nearest us, is the most palpably manifest object of our regard, we might through that means hope to find our love rising to the more remote and less palpably manifest object, even God. No. This love of our brother is not a natural attainment, but a divine gift or qualification, and therefore has this testing-place assigned to it here. Consider again what it is for us to "love because God first loved us." It is loving as he first loved us; loving with the very same sort of love. But the only person whom I can love with that sort of love with which God has loved me is my brother. It is vain for me to say, in this view, that I love God. I cannot love God, in the sense and on the ground required, otherwise than through the intervention of my brother. For the unseen God cannot possibly be to me the object of the kind of love with which he first loved me. That is surely love, not to the unseen, but to the seen. It was when he saw me in my original state, like "an unpitied child, cast out in the open field, to the loathing of its person, in that day that it was born," that he first loved me. "When I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee, when thou wast in thy blood, Live; yea I said unto thee, when thou wast in thy blood, Live." To me, if I am the conscious object of that love, it must ever seem so marvellous as to be all but incredible, that, seeing me as I was, he should have so loved me; nay more, that, seeing me as I am, under all his gracious dealing with me, he should so love me still. It is because he is God and not man. Well may I, whom, thus seeing me, he so loves, love him warmly, gratefully, in return. It appears almost natural that I Should spontaneously love him; I feel almost as if I could not help it. But how apt is such a frame of mind, especially in a highly sensitive and excitable temperament, to grow into a sort of vague, dreamy, mystical or sentimental pietism, such as may be really little better than a refined form of solitary self-indulgence! At all events, it is not the love wherewith he has first loved me; it is not my loving as he has loved me. If I am so to love, I must love, not the unseen, but the seen. My love must go forth toward those whom I see, as God saw me when he first loved me. And my love must be what his love is; no idle sentiment or barren sympathy, but a love that seeks them, and bears long with them, and knocks, and waits, and longs, and prays, for their salvation; a love that gives freely, and without upbraiding; a love self-sacrificing, self-denying; a love that will lay down life itself to save them. And when they become by grace, what by grace I am, I must love them, as God loves me, for what I see in them - yes and in spite of what I see in them too. I may still see many things about them to offend me. But what does God see about me? Do I not try my loving Father’s patience far more than any brother can ever try mine? But still he first loveth me. He is ever first in loving me; notwithstanding my being often last in loving him. And shall I not be loving my brother, first loving him, and that continually? Shall I withhold my love until he is all in my eyes that I would like him to be? How would it be with me if God so postponed his love to me? Surely, "if I say I love God, and thus hate my brother, I am a liar;" what I profess is an impossibility. Let me rather give heed to his own announcement of his will: "This commandment have we from him, that he who loveth God love his brother also " (1 John 4:21). II. This commandment of God still further explains the importance attached to our loving our brother, as a sign of the Spirit being given to us. And it does so in two ways. In the first place, I may be apt to think that this setting of me upon loving my brother, as the test of my "loving, because God has first loved me" disparages the prior claim which God has on me, that I should love him. But it is not so. For I am now told that it is his special good pleasure that the love I have to him should, as it were, expend itself upon my brother. I need have no fear therefore of my love to my brother on earth interfering with my love to my Father in heaven; or being imagined to be a substitute for it. There is indeed a spurious sort of brotherly love; a vague philanthropy; which is sometimes put in the place of what God is entitled to claim. People substitute a certain easy constitutional good nature, instead of piety towards God; and even quote the loving apostle as an authority for doing so. They little know the heart of the man they quote, or the real spirit of his writings. Whatever importance he assigns to your loving your brother, it is to your loving him, because God has first loved you; loving him with the very love with which God has first loved you. And more than that. He appeals to the express commandment of God requiring you in this way to manifest and prove your love to him. For, secondly, love to God is not ignored, or set aside. On the contrary, the very reason why loving your brother is insisted on so peremptorily is, that it is loving your brother in obedience to God, and out of love to God. In loving your brother, you keep God’s commandment; and you keep it under a very solemn appeal, as it were, from him to you. Let us hear his voice. You "say that you love me." You have good cause to love me, and I give you credit for loving me. But first, I have to remind you generally, that if "you love because I have first loved you," your love, like mine, must. flow out upon visible objects; on your brethren, such as they are seen in the world and in the church. And next, I tell you that this is my commandment : - If you love me, and as you love me, love your brother. I do not ask that your love to me, which I willingly accept, should manifest itself in any other way than that. Ah! what a constant tendency is there in my heart to think that I can love God otherwise, and manifest my love to him otherwise, than in the way of loving my brother, and loving him simply at God’s command. I would fain try to lavish upon God directly proofs of my affection, such as, if he were man and not God, might please him. I would fain make him the object of immediate familiar and affectionate acts and offices of endearment; as if I might return and reciprocate his love, as I would that of an equal. But he checks :me. "He is my Lord; my goodness reacheth not to him." It is not thus that you can really act out the very love with which I have first loved you. To do so, you must deal as I do with the seen, not the unseen. Nay more. It is not thus that I would have you to act out the very love with ‘which I have first loved you, assuming that you return and :reciprocate it to the full. For this is my commandment to you, that loving me you love your brother also. It is my commandment now, and will be the criterion, the test of my judgment, in the great day. For, hear the words of my beloved Son, who is then to sit on the throne of judgment: "Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me - Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me." III. There is yet another view of the connection between love to the brethren and love to God suggested in the next verse, which seems to bring out the real explanation and ultimate principle of John’s teaching as to the law of divine love "Whosoever believeth that Jesus is the Christ is born of God: and every one that loveth him that begat, loveth him also that is begotten of him" (1 John 5:1) Let the precise point of the argument be once more observed. It is that God’s love to us should work in us love to our brother; and that in fact its working in us love to our brother is a better test of our knowing and believing it, than our professing any amount of love to God himself. It is so, first, because it is only in loving our brother whom we see, not in loving God whom we do not see, that we can exercise the very love wherewith God has first loved us. It is so, secondly, because in loving our brother we are obeying the commandment of him whom we profess to love; and so proving our love. And it is so, thirdly, because in loving our brother we love one who is begotten of God; and we love him as begotten of God; on the ground of his filial relationship to him who first loved us, and on account of whose first love to us we love. My brother whom I love, let it be noted, is now viewed as a believer, a child of God. lie was not always so, when I loved him with a brother’s yearning pity and a brother’s desire to save him, any more than I was always so, when God loved me with a Father’s yearning pity and a Father’s desire to save me. But he is so now; and I love him as such. Why? Because he is born or "begotten of God." I, as begotten of God, love him, as begotten of God. The bond of love is our being both of us begotten of God, and it is a bond which God owns and sanctions; for the essence of it is love to himself. It is love to him, but it is love to him in a special aspect or character; as a Father - as one who begets. Is not that, however, the very aspect, the very character, in which he best loves to be loved? Is he not from the beginning bent on being loved as a Father, as one begetting? Is it not in that aspect and character, as a Father, as one begetting, that he would be known and loved, when, "bringing in the first begotten into the world, he says, Let all the angels of God worship him"? Is it otherwise than as a Father, as one begetting, that he would be known and loved, when a voice from heaven proclaims, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased"? He cares not to receive honour or worship or affection at our hands, unless it is rendered to him as a Father begetting; as the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Yes; he cries: if you would love me, as I choose to beloved, you must love me as a Father begetting. And the only sure proof of your so loving me, is your loving him who is begotten of me. First and primarily that must imply your loving Jesus, the Christ, who alone is my only begotten, well-beloved Son. Hear him - worship him - if you would love me; - love me as the eternal Father begetting him from everlasting; love me as sending him to save, and raising him from the dead with this acknowledgment, "Thou art my Son, this day have I begotten thee. But now in him I am begetting others to be my sons; so begetting them by the power of my Spirit, as to make them one with him who is my only begotten Son, that he may be the first-born among many brethren." One after another, I am thus begetting children to myself. And every one of them is to me what my only begotten Son is. Can you say that he is so to you? He will be so, if you love me - " For every one that loveth him that begat, loveth him also that is begotten of him" (1 John 5:1). It is at this point exactly that these two affections, or rather these two modes of the same affection of love, - our loving because God first loved US, loving God as our Father and men as our brethren, - come to be welded, as it were, together; and the mode of reasoning seems to be reversed. For whereas before, our loving our brother is made the proof of our loving God in obedience to his commandment, now the matter is put in the very opposite way: "By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God" (1 John 5:2). It is a seasonable and salutary turn that is here given to the train of thought. It ushers in a new subject. But first, it fitly finishes off the present one. It is a useful closing caution. Much stress has been laid upon your loving your brother; loving him as you see him; loving him because God commands you; loving him as begotten of God. But your love to your brethren needs to be carefully watched. Is it really love to them, as brethren, as children of God .? Is it love to them with a ‘view to their being children of God? Is it love to them because they are children of God? For it may be on other grounds and for other reasons that you love them. It may be a love of mere natural sentiment and affection; a love merely human; having little or nothing in common with the love with which God first loved you. To be trustworthy at all, as a test of God’s giving you of his Spirit, and so dwelling in you, it must be love having in it the element of godliness; love having respect to God; love to them because God loves them and you love God. "By this we know that we love the children of God," as the children of God, when we love them because "we love God, and keep his commandments" (1 John 5:2). PART FOURTH. THE DIVINE FELLOWSHIP OF LIGHT, RIGHTEOUSNESS, AND LOVE, OVERCOMING THE WORLD AND ITS PRINCE. XXXVI. LOVE TO GOD KEEPING HIS COMMANDMENTS AND NOT FINDING THEM GRIEVOUS. "By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God, and keep his commandments. For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments: and his commandments are not grievous." - 1 John 5:2-3. The three elements or conditions of the "fellowship with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ," in which John would have us to be joint partakers with himself and his fellow apostles - Light, the primary; Righteousness, the intermediate; Love, the ultimate one - having been considered - we enter, as it seems to me, on a fourth section of this great treatise, in which the divine fellowship regarded as complete is viewed in its relation to the conflict that is ever going on between God and the world, between the Holy and True One and the father of lies. The position of one enjoying fellowship with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ in light, righteousness, and love, demands on the one hand very thorough loyalty, and on the other hand ensures very thorough victory; loyalty as regards God and his law; victory as regards the wicked one and the system, or state of society, which he organises and influences, the world lying in him. Hence the fitness or propriety of the introductory text in this part of the Epistle being one that enforces not only obedience, but obedience so thoroughly loving and loyal as to be divested of all the feeling of irksomeness that is apt to embitter a state of subjection and subordination. For the assertion - "his commandments are not grievous" - is not an incidental remark merely; it is of the essence of the apostle’s argument. If the test of God’s giving us of his Spirit, and so dwelling in us (1 John 3:24, and 1 John 4:13), is to be pre-eminently our loving our brother (1 John 4:7 and 1 John 4:20, etc.), it concerns us much that our love to our brother should be itself thoroughly tried and proved. Is it love to our fellow-men as seen by us in the same light in which God sees them and us when he loveth us? (1 John 5:20.) Is it, moreover, a love that has respect to God (1 John 4:21); that loves the begotten for the begetter’s sake (5); that loves the children for the relation in which they stand to the Father; out of love to the Father himself, and in obedience to him? (1 John 5:2). This last condition is what really connects our loving them with our loving him. And it does so, in virtue of a general law or principle - "His commandments are not grievous." The statement is not absolute but relative. It points out, not what the commandments of God are in themselves, but what they are to us, in our sense and apprehension of them. It may indeed be most truly said of them, considered in themselves, that they are not grievous; on the contrary, they are all most reasonable, equitable and beneficent. Nothing that God orders us to do, nothing that he requires us to suffer, can fairly be called grievous. But to me they are too often very grievous.. I feel them to be irksome and heavy. Yes! That is the exact word. They are heavy, weighty, burdensome. That is my fault, you say. Be it so. Let us ask how it comes to be so; and let us ask also how it may cease to be so. But first, let us fix it, as a first principle, in our understandings and hearts, that no keeping of God’s commandments will suffice to meet the condition or requirement now ia question, that is a keeping of them as grievous. They are not kept at all, in the sense of the identification, - "this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments," - if they are kept by us as grievous; if in keeping them we feel them to be grievous. Under this conviction, let us look into this matter of the grievousness of God’s commandments, and the way of delivery from any sense or suspicion of their being grievous. I. Beginning at the lowest stage, it is not difficult to see how God’s commandments must be grievous to me, if I am bent on giving full scope to the movements of my inner man which are opposed to them. I cannot shake off the sense of their being binding on me; and binding on me under the sanction of terrible responsibilities. Let me drown conviction as I may in pleasure’s bowl, or stifle it in the din and whirl of worldly business, conscience will not let me take ray ease; I cannot get rid of God’s commandments. They haunt and harass me; they disturb and trouble me; they are grievous; often beyond expression grievous. How shall I ever shake off the feeling of their grievousness? 2. Shall it be by keeping them scrupulously, according to the strictest letter of the law? I become a painstaking Pharisee; a rigid and exact observer of all the command-merits. They shall not be grievous to me any more, on account of my wilful opposition to them. But alas! they are grievous still. I may reduce them to a minimum of obligations, and stretch my keeping of them to a maximum of fulfilment. I may make the least I can of them, by turning their living spirit into outward formal acts; and I may make the most of myself and my obedience, in the way of exaggerating my sacrifices and services. Still God’s commandments are grievous to me. My religion, such as it is, is a mere burden and oppression. I would shake it off if my conscience would allow me. 3. But my conscience will not allow me. It works in me deeper and deeper; carrying into the innermost recesses of my spiritual nature, not the letter only, but the spirit also of God’s commandments. And now, their grievousness comes out in a new and most distressing experience. For now, not only is my conscience convinced, but my will is renewed, with reference to these commandments of God. Both of these results or effects are of the Spirit. They are wrought simultaneously, and in harmony with one another; they act and reset on one another. My conscience, quickened by the Spirit, sensitively apprehends a spirituality in God’s commandments, - my heart reconciled by the Spirit, lovingly owns an excellency and beauty in them - unperceived and unfelt before. I become alive in my conscience to the imperative necessity of real spiritual conformity in my spirit to the holy and loving spirit of the law; and that precisely when I am smitten in my heart of hearts with love to it, because it is so spiritually holy and loving. And what follows? If the work of the Spirit goes on, I sink deeper and deeper, as under a heavy burden, growing always heavier. There is an increasingly oppressive sense, in my conscience, riot only of obligation unfulfilled, but of new guilt contracted. There is an increasingly despairing feeling, in my heart, of the opposition of my nature to the commandments of God’s law which I love. My very love to the commandments of God, my very "delight in the law after the inner man," brings out now more than ever the feeling of grievousness. Oh, how grievous to me are these commandments of my God, which I so heartily approve and love, but which, alas, I more and more helplessly complain that I cannot satisfy and keep! (Romans 7:21-25.) 4 But "there is now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh but after the Spirit" (Romans 8:1). The element of grievousness is extracted from God’s commandments, only through my believing consciousness and experience of that great life-giving truth.. How complete is the provision thus made for eradicating every root of bitterness that might make us feel God’s commandments to be grievous! There is, first, a removal of the curse, or the condemnation, and a complete restoration of our right standing with God. The element of grievousness arising out of the law’s :righteous sentence of wrath is removed, in a way that completely divests the very sentence itself of all its grievousness. I cannot rebel against the judgment, however terrible, which the righteous law, with its broken com-rounds, entails on me; I cannot complain of it as grievous when, embracing the cross, I am one with him who there on my behalf endured and exhausted it. Nor can the demand of perfect compliance with the spirit of all the commandments, as the only condition of life, grieve me now, when I see it so fully met on my behalf by the obedience unto death of God’s own beloved Son.. Then, secondly, there is the renewal of my whole moral nature, bringing it back to its original conformity to the nature of God, as that nature is expressed and manifested in his commandments. This also is essential to the removal of the feeling of grievousness, If I am a spiritual man as regards the commandments of God, then - apart from the feeling of the utter hopelessness of my ever being justified, in the only way in which I now care to be justified, in terms of the law, fully vindicated and satisfied - there is the other feeling of she utter hopelessness of my ever being sanctified, after the fashion of the only sort of holiness that can now content me, the holy loving law of the holy loving God. But here too my case is met. In Christ Jesus my Lord I have not only justifying righteousness but renewing grace. The grievousness of a felt discrepancy between my nature and God’s commandments, between my spirit and theirs, need not continue. There may still be a vast difference in degree; but there need be no difference in kind. My moral nature and that of God are now one, if I am renewed after his image. May not the grievousness of his commandments now cease for ever? 5. An ominous fact here looms out from across the gulf that separates the primeval paradise from our present world. Before the fall, in the garden of Eden, God’s commandment was felt to be grievous; the only commandment which he saw fit formally to give. The reptile insinuations" Yea, hath God said ye shall not? " - found entrance into the ear, the mind, the heart of righteous innocence, created after the image of God. To Eve, to Adam, yet unfallen, with the divine likeness in which they were made still entire, the commandment of God came to be grievous. What are we to make of that? It was the devil’s fault, be it so; let him bear the blame. But what of his own sin and fall, the sin and fall of himself and all his host? There was no tempter admitted into their abode. There were no outward circumstances to explain the rise of any feeling of grief in their breasts. Yet to them, still unfallen, the commandment of God was grievous. What shall we say to these things? How do they affect us? Ah! do they not serve to bring out a new and most blessed view of the gospel method of salvation? John says expressly and absolutely, without qualification or reserve, that "God’s commandments are not grievous." He says this with reference to himself and all believers. His meaning must be, that he and they are in such a state, and of such a mind, as to preclude the possibility of God’s commandments ever being, or ever becoming, grievous either to him or to them. And what does that imply? If the plan of grace made provision only for our being restored, in respect of position and nature, to what our first parents were before they fell, - if we were to be even as the angels were, - however thoroughly that end might be accomplished, it would not afford any adequate security against God’s commandments being felt to be grievous. For in fact, the risk to be obviated, the evil to be remedied and guarded against, is not that God’s commandments in detail are grievous, some more so and some less, but that his commandments as a whole are grievous. The grievance is that he commands us at all. Even when the thing commanded is most easy and pleasant, most manifestly right and good, its being commanded may make it grievous. That was the case in heaven, when the commandment to "worship the Son," turned out to be grievous to so many of the yet unfallen angels. It was the case also in paradise, when the commandment not to eat of the forbidden tree became grievous to our first parents. It might be the case again, in paradise restored, in heaven gained, if we who are redeemed and renewed were to be merely such, in position and in nature, as the angels were in heaven, and our first parents were in paradise, before they fell.* The real seat of the mischief is not reached unless the very possibility of our ever feeling it grievous to be commanded is thoroughly, conclusively, and effectually pre-eluded and barred. And what potent spell, what resistless charm, is to secure that blessed result? What but the spell, the charm of love? And what love?. What but the love which is God’s very essence, manifested in a way altogether new and inconceivable beforehand; in a way in which, but for the entrance of sin and evil into his moral creation, it never could have been manifested? Yes. That love of God manifested in his sending his Son to be the propitiation for our sins, - known and believed by us,-bringing us into a perfect love-relationship to him and working in us love of the very same sort with itself, - that love of him who is love, thus manifested to us, apprehended by us, and reproduced in us, - that love it is, and that alone, which puts finally and for ever away out of our hearts every shred and vestige of the old spirit, the old leaven, which, jealous of restraint and aspiring to independence, counts it a grievance .to be commanded. This is that new thing under the sun for which sin or moral evil gave occasion, and for which that alone could give occasion. This is God’s method of overcoming evil with good; higher good than could ever otherwise have been reached. This is the triumph of love; reconciling man’s proud soul to dependence and obedience; expelling the last lingering feeling of soreness because he is under authority; the last lingering feeling of desire to be his own master, or to rule himself. Ah! if that love has its free course in me; if I know it and believe it; if I enter cordially into that perfect relationship and fellowship of love for which it makes provision, and consent to be on that footing of perfect love with God on which he would have me to be; if now, in consequence, all servile fear is clean gone out of me, and only filial reverence and affection reign within me; how can it ever, at any time, seem to me grievous that this God should command me? Grievous! O my redeeming God, my loving Father, the loving Father of my Lord! Grievous that thou shouldst command me! Grievous that I should be under thee! Grievous that I am not independent of thee; left to choose for myself, instead of having thee to choose for me; left free to do my own will, and not thine! Nay, I will not, I cannot any more take exception to thy rightful rule over me, O thou loving God and Father who so lovingly makest me thine own! No, nor to any instance of its exercise, be the instance what it may. Whatever thou commandest, in the line of doing or of suffering, shall please me now, simply because thou commandest it. I dare not promise that there shall be no groans, and tears, and cries, in the doing or the suffering of it. There were groans, and tears, and cries, in the doing and suffering of thy will, when the doer and sufferer of it was thine own beloved Son. But to this I will seek to attain, thy grace helping me, that to me now, as one with him, not one of thy commandments shall ever be more grievous than was that "commandment" to him, in obedience to which "he laid down his life for the sheep." That was his loving us, with a true brother’s love, because "he loved God and kept his commandments." That also was his "overcoming the world," and the world’s prince. Thus he proved his love to God, by keeping his commandments; keeping them as not finding any of them to be grievous. Not grievous to him was the commandment to save his people by dying in their stead. Not grievous to him was the commandment to encounter Satan on their behalf, and win for them the victory over Satan’s world. And now what is his word to you? Is it not a word giving you the assurance that you in him will find God’s commandments no more grievous to you than they were to him? Yes! Once more hear his voice: "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." All ye that labour and are heavy laden; ye who are painfully seeking to fulfil the letter of God’s law and finding it very hard; working laboriously at religion as at a weary task; feeling God’s service to be a very drudgery and weariness of the flesh - or ye who, smitten with a sense of the beauty of holiness, the spirituality of the commandment, and the exceeding sinfullness of sin, are desperately striving to get rid of indwelling corruption, and bring your whole inner man into subjection to God and to godliness - " all ye who labour and are heavy laden," not succeeding, not attaining, not able to rise above the feeling of its being, after all, a heavy load that is imposed upon you in the keeping of God’s commandments, - " Come unto me; I will give you rest." But how? "Take my yoke upon you." "For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." Thy yoke, O blessed Jesus, easy! Thy burden light! The yoke thou didst take on thyself when thou didst consent to serve and obey, even to the laying down of thy life for us, - was that easy? The burden thou hadst to bear when, all thy life long and in thy death, thou hadst, in obedience to the Father, and as his servant, to carry our sicknesses, our sorrows, our sins, - was that light? Is it that yoke of thine that thou invitest us to take upon us? Is it that burden of thine that thou callest us to bear? And is it in the taking upon us of that yoke of thine, and in the bearing of that burden of thine, that thou assurest us we shall find rest unto our souls Even so. Thus and not otherwise will I give you rest when you come to me, - " Take my yoke upon you." But that it may be really my yoke that you take upon you, - "Learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart." Learn of me my own meekness and lowliness of heart. Learn of me, coming to me, abiding in me, growing up into me, getting it from me and in me, - learn of me that meek, lowly, hearty love and loyalty to my Father, - -having in it no element at all of the servile, for all in it is filial, - which makes the hardest yoke easy, the heaviest burden light. For it is thus that, in the consciousness of unbroken filial oneness with him who lays on me the yoke and the burden, I can lift up to him the eye of quiet resignation and reliance, and say, - " Father, glorify thy name ;" "Father, not my will, but thine be done;" Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit." Thy commandments are not grievous to me, for "by keeping them I abide in thy love" (John 15:10). XXXVII. FILIAL FAITH OVERCOMING THE WORLD. "For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith. Who is he that overcometh the world, but he that believeth that Jesus is the Son of God? " - 1 John 5:4-5. HERE again the apostle brings in "the world;" and he does so in the very midst of a singularly high estimate of the believer’s standing and character. He has placed him in a relation of close intimacy with God, and of serious responsibility as regards the special duty which that implies. For what is brotherly love, as John describes it? It is our letting the very love with which God has loved us go forth, through us, to all men; and our embracing all who accept that love as brethren in the Lord. John has associated this exercise of love on our part, not only with God’s love to us, but with our obligation of loving obedience to God. That loving obedience, if it is to be the obedience of persons accepting and transmitting the love of God, must be uncomplaining and ungrudging. It must be obedience counting none of God’s commandments grievous; because it owns freely God’s absolute right to command, and therefore confesses that nothing which he commands can be wrong. But the world comes in; and it must be somehow disposed of, and got rid of. It must be disposed of, and got rid of, in its bearing on our position and our duty as now brought out. In this view I ask you to consider - I What the world is, and how it is that the only way of dealing with it is to overcome it. And II. How the world is to be overcome by the new birth and through faith. I. The indefiniteness - the sort of unsatisfactory vagueness - that is sometimes felt to attach to the scriptural idea of the world, is here somewhat obviated by the connection or train of thought, in which it occurs.. The fact (1 John 5:4), that "whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world," is given apparently as the reason why to such a one (1 John 5:3) "the commandments of God are not grievous." The world, therefore, it might seem, must be characterised by an impression or feeling to the opposite effect - that the commandments of God are grievous. Wherever that. impression or feeling prevails, there is the world Of course, there are other characteristic features by which the world may be recognised and identified; some of which are brought out elsewhere in this epistle, as well as in other books of the New Testament. For the most part, indeed, when the world is spoken of in any passage of scripture as the antagonist of God, of his kingdom, his cause, his people, his law, there is, in the passage itself, some clue to guide or help us to a right apprehension of what particular aspect of the world is meant. And it might serve to give point and precision to the teaching of any scriptural text on the subject of the world - its relation to us as believers and our attitude towards it - if instead of contenting ourselves with a general notion of it, as a system or society somehow opposed to godliness, we fastened on the exact sort of opposition which the text in question may be fitted to suggest. As to our present text, for instance, we can have little difficulty. What is the world which faith overcomes? It is whatever system or way of life, whatever society or companionship of men, tends to make us feel God’s commandments, or any of them, to be grievous. Here then, at all events, we have no mere vague denunciation of some formidable, but somewhat dim and shadowy enemy; but a definition sufficiently intelligible, and sufficiently precise and practical. Ponder it for a little, and apply it as a test. What is the world to you? It is whatever, it is whoever, is apt to make you feel God’s commandments to be grievous. That is a searching test, if faithfully applied by one deeply conscious of that carnal nature in himself, even in his renewed self, which is ever ready to prompt or to welcome the suggestion. That carnal nature in you is not necessarily the world; but all that ministers to it is the world. The natural disposition in you to count the commandments of God grievous is very strong. Do you feel its strength? Are you sensitively alive to its continual and powerful working? Does it vex and distress you?. If so, and in proportion as it is so, you are in a position to discern this mark by which the world may be known; whether as an order of things, or as a fellowship of men. There is an order, or, if you will, a disorder, of things; a way of occupying the mind, amusing the fancy, gratifying the taste, stimulating the passions, warming the imagination, interesting the heart; which, if you are spiritual, and honest in your spirituality, you must feel, when you try it by this touchstone, to be the world. Ask yourself, at the close of an hour or two, or half an hour, spent in reading, or in musing, or in walking abroad, or at table, or at any sort of work, or recreation, or elegant accomplishment that you like : - Has the occupation left you less inclined than you were before to comply with a call of duty, to submit to a sacrifice of inclination, to engage in prayer, to go forth on an errand of pious love? Are you more disposed than otherwise you might have been to feel any such demand upon you to be a sort of interruption, and as such to be somewhat irksome? I am not concerned to maintain that absolutely and always this is of itself proof positive that what you have been occupied about is the world. But this I say; it is at least a very strong presumption. And when you find that upon your being occupied in the same way a second time, or a third, the effect is much the same, the presumption rises into certainty. Whatever it may be as regards others, so far as you are concerned, to all practical intents and purposes, that is the world. So also, in the matter of your intercourse with men, this rule of judgment will often help you to separate the precious from the vile. Who are they from whose company, however otherwise pleasant and profitable, you come, a little, just a very little, more apt than is your wont, to think that God is pressing rather hard upon you, or upon some other child of God whose case you pity? You are tempted slightly to lose patience and temper. You may be at a loss to explain how this comes about; for you cannot perhaps lay your finger on anything particular in what has been going on that may explain it. But you feel it; and that should be enough for you. Do not hesitate to acknowledge that such meetings and companionships are to be regarded and treated by you as the world. Let it be fixed in your minds as a great truth, that the world to be overcome comprehends all that you come in contact with which has any tendency to awaken in you the feeling that "God’s commandments are grievous." If this is a true account of the world, as here presented to us, it must be very evident that it is a world to be "overcome." We cannot deal with it, if we would avoid its deleterious and deadly influence, in any other way. We cannot escape from it, or put it aside. As regards some of its forms and manifestations we may do so. Where we have freedom of choice, we may shun its occupations and companionships. And when these are of such a nature in themselves, or have such influence upon us - or upon any brother whom we are called to love - as to foster the impression of God’s commandments being grievous, we are bound to shun them. We are under no obligation whatever to frequent the theatre, the ball-room, the racecourse; to court the friendship of dissolute hunters after pleasure or frivolous votaries of fashion; to expose ourselves to the contamination of unprofitable reading and discourse. So far we may and must "come out and be separate, and touch not the unclean thing, if we would be the sons and daughters of the Lord God Almighty." But we do not thus get rid of the world. It still presses hard upon us, with its suggestions from every side that the service of God is not perfect freedom. All the ongoings and arrangements of its necessary business, even the customary usages of the home circle itself, are but too ready to convey impressions to that effect. Nay, in the loneliest desert, in the remotest cell hermit ever dwelt in, we cannot shut out airy voices whispering in the ear that something we have to do or bear is hard; we cannot lay an arrest on ideal fascinations shedding a gloom on the cloister’s austere devotion, or on the real trials of life. No; the world cannot be shunned. Neither can it be conciliated. We cannot make any compromise with it. The only effectual, the only possible, way is to overcome it. And the manner of overcoming it must be peculiar. It must be such as thoroughly to meet and obviate that tendency to minister to a rebellious frame of mind which constitutes the chief characteristic, and indeed the very essence, of what is here called the world. II. Two explanations accordingly, of this overcoming of the world are given; the one having reference to the original source, the other to the continued following out of the victory (1 John 5:4). I. "Whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world." So the victory begins; that is its seed or germ. And as to its seed or germ, it is complete; potentially complete, though not so in actual result, fully and in detail. Being born or begotten of God implies the overcoming of the world. For whatever is born of God necessarily, ipso facto, overcomes the world. The statement is very wide; and it seems evidently to imply that there is positively no other way of overcoming the world except by our being born or begotten of God: that God himself could not enable us to do this otherwise. There is that in our being born or begotten of God which secures, and which alone can secure, our overcoming the world. And what can that be but the begetting in us of a frame of mind which cuts up by the roots the whole strength of the world’s hold over us - the idea, namely, of God’s commandments being grievous? Consider, in this view, what it is to be born or begotten of God. It is more than being created, or even created anew. It is not our being made anew, or made over again; as if the simple fiat of omnipotence went forth: Let what has made itself corrupt be re-read, pure as at the first. That would not be begetting on God’s part, or being begotten on ours. The new birth is indeed a new creation; but it is something more; at least it is a new creation of a very special sort. Christ’s birth was a creation. In his birth there was created for him a body, a holy humanity, in the Virgin’s womb. But the angel said, "That holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God." He was to be called the Son of God in a higher sense than any sense in which the first man might have been so called; and that with reference even - nay with reference especially - to his human nature and condition. He was made man, not by a mere creative act as Adam was, but by generation; being "conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit." So also in us the new creation is a new birth. When the Holy Spirit makes us new’ creatures, we are "begotten of God;" "his seed is in us," the divine germ of a new nature and a new life. This, let it be noted also, is something more than God’s consenting to reckon us his children, by a gracious act of adoption. It is his making us really, in our very nature, his children. It is not merely that he takes us to be on a new footing with him, as I might take a houseless orphan to be to me as a son. Literally and truly he begets us as children to himself. The houseless orphan whom I desire to have for my son may never be really a son to me. I may fail in all my attempts to make him, in any true or valid sense, my son. He will be my servant, because he cannot help it; he will render to me punctual, and even punctilious, obedience. But alas it is not such obedience as I care for. I see too clearly that he often looks on me still as a hard master, and feels my commandments to be grievous. No such disappointment can await the Almighty Father. He begets by his Spirit those whom he adopts in his Son. They are begotten of God; begotten by the agency of his Spirit, as his incarnate Son was; begotten, to be to him what he is; to feel towards him as he feels. That ensures their overcoming whatever might tempt them to count God’s commandments grievous; or, in other words, their overcoming the world. "Look unto Jesus." Was ever any servant of God,-for such he was - placed in circumstances more likely to make the commandments of God be felt as grievous, such commandments especially as he had to fulfil? Go with him through all his experience in the world. The commandments of God laid on him; the things he had to do, the things he had to suffer; were surely capable of being represented to him as grievous, and regarded by him as grievous. They were so represented to him by the world and its prince. Were they so regarded by him? And if not, why not? Because he was "begotten of God;" begotten of God, not merely as to his divine nature, but as to his human nature also; as "God manifest in the flesh;" "Jesus Christ come in the flesh;" "the man Christ Jesus." In respect of his manhood, as well as his .Godhead, he is the only begotten Son of God; occupying a son’s place in the heart of God; having a son’s affection towards God in his own heart. Therefore no commandment of God, whatever tears and groans and cries it might exhort from his feeble flesh, could ever be grievous to his filial spirit. So, in virtue of his being born of God, he overcame the world. And so also we in virtue of our being born of God, overcome the world; the world which is ever insinuating that the commandments of God are grievous; that the things he requires us to do, and the things he requires us to suffer, are hard. We never can withstand these insinuations of the world, fitting in so well into our own carnal disposition, unless we stand in a filial relation to God, and are possessed of a filial frame of mind, a filial heart, towards him; being not only adopted by him, but begotten of him. But being his children indeed; standing to him in the relation of sons, and having our whole inner man renewed into harmony and correspondence with that relation; being to him all that his only begotten Son is, and feeling towards him as his only begotten Son feels; we have such personal knowledge of him as our Father, such loving acquaintance with him, such insight into his character and plans, such cordial sympathy with him in the great work which he is carrying on in the earth, as must convince us that nothing he can demand of us as his ministers and servants, nothing he can lay upon us, can be anything else than what we ought to welcome in the words and in the spirit of Jesus: "I delight to do thy will, O my God; yea, thy law is within my heart. 2. This implies faith; and faith in constant and lively exercise. Our overcoming the world is not an achievement completed at once, and once for all, in our being begotten of God. It is a life-long business; a prolonged and continuous triumph in a prolonged and continuous strife. We are to be always anew, all our days, overcoming the world; "and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith." Our being born of God does indeed give us the victory; it puts us in the right position, and endows us with the needful power, for overcoming the world. But we have still before us the work of actually, from day to day, all our lifelong, in point of fact, overcoming the world. And it is by faith that we do so. Our being born of God is the source of the victory; our faith is the realisation of it, or the acting of it out. Our being born of God fits and qualifies us for overcoming the world; our faith really overcomes it. Nor is it difficult to harmonise these two things; our being born of God and so overcoming the world, and the victory which overcometh the world being our faith. For our being born of God, which is the secret of our overcoming the world, is itself intimately connected with faith; it originates faith and culminates in faith; its immediate outgoing in activity is faith. And therefore faith, continually exercised, constantly acting, is the instrument of victory. Nor is it merely faith apprehending a past event in our moral history, an accomplished change in our spiritual condition, our being "born of God." It is faith exercised upon a present object; not looking back or looking in, but looking out; "looking unto Jesus." For "who is he that overcometh the world, but he that believeth that Jesus is the Son of God?" Jesus is the ever-present object of this ever acting faith; Jesus considered as the Son of God. For it is the sonship of Jesus that our faith grasps, embraces, and appropriates. And it is because it does so that it is "the victory which overcometh the world." Who is he who is at any given moment, and with reference to any given trial or temptation, really overcoming the world? Is it not he who, at that very moment, and with special reference to that very trial or temptation, is "believing that Jesus is the Son of God;" so believing as to be one with him in his being so; of one mind and of one heart, then and there, as to the precise matter in hand or the particular question raised; of one mind and heart with Jesus the Son of God; judging the case as he, the Son of God, would have. judged it; feeling as. he, the Son of God, would have felt; acting as in the circumstances he, the Son of God, would have acted? Jesus himself had to overcome, and did overcome, the world. How? Was it not by faith by faith in his own sonship, or rather faith in God as his Father, faith ever intensely and vividly realising it as a truth that God was his Father? It was as the Son of God that he looked out upon the world; from his Father’s point of view. It was as the Son of God that he met the world’s attractions; the consciousness of his Father’s love stripped them in his eyes of all their charms. It was as the Son of God that he was tempted; trust in his Father’s faithfulness kept him without sin. It was as the Son of God that he suffered, and suffered willingly, that his Father might be glorified. Into his pure, calm, filial spirit, there never did, there never could, enter the very faintest shadow of a suspicion that anything his Father ordered or ordained could be otherwise than just, and right, and good. Therefore the world had no hold over him; "the prince of the world had nothing in him." There was not in him any latent or lurking element of possible impatience under the yoke, to which the world might appeal, and by means of which, persuading him that God’s way was harsh, the world might subdue him. For though he became the servant of the Father, he was still the Son; and therefore in serving the Father, being still the Son, he overcame the world. So we also, believing that Jesus is the Son of God, and being ourselves sons of God in him, may find that in this way we can overcome the world. At all events, we may be very sure that there is no other "victory that overcometh the world" but only this faith; this filial faith in God our Father; giving the lie to all the world’s aspersions on his character, and all the world’s complaints against his government and law. O child of God, wouldest thou overcome the world? Is it thine earnest, anxious, longing desire so to overcome the world that it shall never have power any more to make thee feel any one of thy God’s commandments to be grievous? Is it a distress to thee that such a feeling still prevails so much and so often in thy secret soul; that thy walk before God, thy fellowship with God, thy service of God, are all so marred, tainted, cramped, and hindered, by the everrecurring suggestion that this or that thing required of thee is hard? Yes; it is hard to cut off a right hand and pluck out a right eye; hard to deny self and take up the cross; hard to crucify the flesh with its affections and lusts; hard to go forth unto Christ without the camp bearing his reproach; hard to forego a seemingly harmless pleasure; hard to part with one dearly beloved; hard to bear excruciating pain; hard to die by premature decay; hard to lay down life for a brother! Ah! is it a grief to thee, a sore mortification and disappointment, that thou art so easily moved by the world; for it is thy love of the world, or the world’s power over thee, that moves thee; thus to think, thus to feel, if not even thus to speak? Here, and only here, is the remedy. Believe, be always believing, that Jesus, so called because he saves his people from their sins, is the Son of God; that it is as the Son of God that he saves thee; and that he saves thee so as to make thee a son; being himself the first-born among many brethren. Rise to the full height of that great position. Realise its greatness; the greatness of its freedom; "the glorious liberty of the sons of God." That is "the victory which overcometh the world," even such faith as that. XXXVIII. THE THREE WITNESSES AND THEIR AGREEMENT. "This is he that came by water and blood, even Jesus Christ; not by water only, but by water and blood. And it is the Spirit that beareth witness, because the Spirit is truth. And there are three that bear witness, the Spirit, and the water, and the blood: and these three agree in one." - 1 John 5:5 and 1 John 5:8. THE faith which is "the victory that overcometh the world" has for its object Jesus, viewed as the Son of God; for "who is he that overcometh the world, but he that believeth that Jesus is the Son of God?" This faith, however, does not simply contemplate Jesus as the Son of God; dwelling exclusively either on his original and eternal sonship, or on that sonship as manifested in his human nature. It has to deal with his work as well as with his person. It has to deal with him as "come ;" "come in the flesh;" "come into the world." And in particular, it has to deal with two accessories or accompaniments of his coming; two distinguishing facts or features characteristic of the manner of his coming and its design. He came, he is come, through the medium, or in the element, not of water only, but of blood also. So coming he is "Jesus the Christ;" the anointed Saviour; and it is our faith in him as the Son of God so come, as Jesus Christ coming by or with water and blood, which is the victory that overcometh the world. "He is come by water and blood ;" not "by water only," as his forerunner came, "but by water and blood;" himself undergoing a baptism of blood as well as of water, and so having blood and water available for those who are one with him. This was conclusively indicated when on the cross his side was pierced, and "forthwith came there out blood and water" (John 19:34). Then he was seen coming by water and by blood. And the fact was verified on the spot. "He that saw it bare record, and his record is true, and he knoweth that he saith true, that ye might believe" (John 19:35). So John writes in his Gospel, very emphatically giving us his testimony, as an eyewitness, for a ground of our faith. Here, in his epistle, he points to testimony still higher; not human, but divine; testimony, not to the mere matter of fact which he saw, but to its spiritual significance and power, that we may so believe as by our faith to overcome the world: it is the Spirit that beareth witness." And of the Spirit as bearing witness, not only may it be said that "his record is true and he knoweth that he saith true," he is truth itself; "he is himself truth," and he guides into all truth. This is a greater witness than John could be; for the Spirit attests, not the outward historical occurrence merely, but its inward meaning and saving virtue. But even the Spirit can thus bear witness only by associating with himself two other witnesses. These are "the water and the blood;" the very water and the very blood by which Jesus Christ came. Bearing witness that he so "cometh by water and blood," the Spirit makes the water and the blood themselves witnesses along with him; so that "there are three that bear witness, the Spirit, the water, and the blood and these three agree in one" (1 John 5:8). Two topics here suggest themselves for inquiry - I. The manner of this threefold testimony; and II. Its harmony and completeness. I. Let the manner of this threefold testimony be considered. Let the witnesses be, as it were, called in court; first the single witness indicated in the sixth verse, the Spirit; and then the other two pointed out in the eighth, the water and the blood. In the first place, "the Spirit beareth witness." He is the first and principal witness: preeminently, the witness-bearer. That he is a fitting witness cannot be doubted; the only question is, how does he give his testimony?. For he does not appear visibly; he does not speak audibly; we neither "see his shape at any time, nor hear his voice." And yet it is to us that he testifies; and he testifies to us personally, as the living Spirit to living men, present with us here and now. How then does he make his presence known? And how does he make the purport of his testimony understood? We are called in this matter to take evidence and decide a cause; and, strange to say, the first and principal witness cited is one whom. we neither see nor hear. But there may be evidence of his presence as satisfactory as sight; and there are modes of conveying testimony as intelligible and unequivocal as spoken language. The Spirit may announce his presence by "a rushing mighty noise," or by his swift descent, like a dove, from on high. By lambent flames, "cloven tongues as of fire," resting or flickering over the heads of an assembled company; by new and strange languages proceeding from their mouths; by some evidently supernatural work wrought; by some supernatural gift, or endowment, or power imparted; or by moral miracles of converting and quickening grace, as indisputable as any of these; the presence of the Spirit may be ascertained. And if now having him actually with us, we inquire what as a witness he has to say; then, in the inseparable connection which is to be observed between these signs of his presence and certain facts or statements otherwise known to us, we may obtain a silent indeed, but a sufficiently explicit reply. We have the word spoken at first, and then written, by holy men of old as they were moved by the Holy Spirit. And the Spirit, by whose inspiration that word was originally given, may significantly acknowledge it now as his own, by accompanying tokens of his influence not to be mistaken. He may, as it were, in our presence and to our satisfaction, before whom he is cited as a witness, homologate what he dictated ages ago; and so expressly signify, by some unquestionable demonstration of his power, his actual concurrence now in what was said or written then, as to make it strictly and directly his testimony to us personally; and his testimony brought down to the present hour. Thus, in the word, we have the deposition of the Spirit as first and principal witness in this great cause; we have the precise matter of his testimony. And we have it, not merely as the written report of former evidence, but as evidence emitted anew by him to us now. This is especially important. The appeal is clearly made, not to the Spirit as having borne witness formerly, and left his testimony on record, but to the Spirit as bearing witness now. For the witness in this case is not, as in other and ordinary cases, one who dies or goes out of the way. In such cases, we must content ourselves with the notes of the deposition, the report or record of the testimony, as given by him and taken down at the time. Here, the witness is ever living and ever accessible. ‘ He is not afar off; he is always at hand; to verify his own evidence. Nor can he be at a loss for ways and means of doing so. He is indeed determined, so to speak, to preserve his incognito and keep himself concealed. But he is almighty, the Spirit of power, having command over all the moving forces of the world, the world both of matter and of mind. Therefore he can give intimation of his presence by works peculiarly his own. And these works now he may so connect with words spoken or written of old, as to make us feel, not only that he then suggested the words as his, but that he is addressing them to us now as his; not only that he did once bear witness, but that he is now bearing witness, and that this is his testimony. Thus the Spirit bears present witness through his own inspired word. And now, secondly, in the course of giving this testimony, in his very manner of giving it, the Spirit associates with himself other two witnesses, "the water and the blood." And these, like the first, are present witnesses. The Spirit, in bearing witness, "takes of what is Christ’s and shows it unto us." He points to the Son of God, Jesus Christ come in the flesh; and especially to his coming "by water and blood." But how, it may be asked, can the water and the blood be brought forward as witnesses now? They might bear silent testimony at the time when they flowed from the smitten side of Jesus on the cross, and they to whom the Spirit was then bearing witness might see, through his teaching, as the dying thief did, in the pure water and the precious blood, a confirmation of the truth concerning Christ, that in him there is not only renewal of nature, but redemption also, and remission of sins. But the water and the blood are not accessible to us now. The water was spilt on the ground; and the earth opened her mouth to receive the blood. We would seek in vain, where the cross stood, for any traces of the drops that then fell beside it; and even if some of these drops had been preserved and handed down to us, they .would have been but dead relics, such as superstition loves to dote upon, not living witnesses, such as the living Spirit may associate in witness-bearing with himself. The water then and the blood are removed out of the way; we have them no more within our reach. We have indeed sacramental signs and seals of them, in the water of baptism and the wine of communion. But these elements are really as dead as are the water and the blood which they represent. There cannot be more life in the water of baptism, than there is now in the water that came from the Saviour’s side; nor in the wine of communion than in the blood. But the water and the blood are, as to the matter of them, irrecoverably lost. Still therefore the question remains, How do they now give present living evidence along with the living Spirit? The real explanation is to be found in this consideration, that though the event itself, the flowing of water and blood from the pierced side, was of brief duration and soon passed away, the relation in which it stands to heaven and earth is permanent and perpetual. For it is the relation in which it stands to heaven and earth, to the divine government and to our human interests, which alone gives to the event, or to any circumstance connected with the event, its significance as a testimony. The death of Christ, as a mere fact, occupied but a point of time in the lapse of eternal ages; but in its bearing upon the designs of God and the destinies of man - and it is that alone which renders it important - it has properly no date at all. "From before the foundation of the world," Jesus is "the Lamb slain;" he is the Lamb slain, to the close of all things. Whatever therefore took place or was going on at Christ’s death, we are to regard as taking place and going on now. Viewed as mere incidents of a historical transaction, the water and the blood flowed once, and have long ceased to flow; but then, viewed merely in that light, they tell us nothing, they bear witness to nothing, beyond the bare fact of a human being having died. It is only when they are viewed in their relation to God and to man, that the water and the blood have a tale to tell, a testimony to give. And considered in that light, they must be held as having flowed from the beginning, and as continuing to the end to flow. Hence their testimony is inseparable from that of the Spirit. For it is not in or by themselves, but only in and with and by the Spirit, that the water and the blood are or can be witnesses at all. Only through the Spirit have the wounds of Jesus an intelligible voice and utterance to convince and move the soul. For in truth it may be emphatically said of the water and the blood, and of any testimony they may bear, "It is the Spirit that quickeneth, the flesh profiteth nothing." The water and the blood carnally apprehended, regarded and understood after the flesh, are not witnesses at all; at least not witnesses of any heavenly transaction, or of any divine and spiritual truth; and of course not witnesses of the bearing of any such transaction or any such truth on the highest spiritual and heavenly interests of men. But "spiritually discerned," the water and the blood, the water for purification and the blood for atonement, like all the words and works of Jesus, are "spirit and life" (John 6:63). And thus the whole truth concerning Christ and his death attested by the Spirit, and by the water and the blood associated with the Spirit and rendered significant and saving by him, becomes the source of spiritual life and strength to every one who believes that "Jesus is the Son of God," and enables him therefore "to overcome the world." For "this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith;" that faith of ours which grasps the threefold testimony of the Spirit, the water, and the blood. Here is Jesus Christ coming by water and blood; very specially by blood; "not by water only, but by water and blood." And the Spirit, with the water and the blood, and by means of them as joint-witnesses with himself, testifies to him as "coming by water and blood," and as, in virtue of his so coming, giving us the victory over the world. Not otherwise than by taking the water and the blood as joint-witnesses with himself, can the Spirit commend to us Jesus Christ, as triumphing in his own person, and causing us who are one with him to triumph, over sin, and the guilt of sin, and the power of sin; over all that makes God’s service a bondage to us and his commandments grievous; over what constitutes the essence of the world which we have to overcome if we would walk as children with our Father in heaven. II. Such being the nature of this threefold testimony, let us look now at its harmony: "These three agree in one." This may perhaps be best brought out by putting the supposition of a partial reception of the testimony in different aspects; and showing how, in every case, the partial reception, if fairly followed out, requires and demands the acceptance of the whole, and must lead the earnest soul to that result. i. There are some who seem to acquiesce in the testimony of the Spirit, but without having respect either to the water or to the blood. To this extent at least they may go, that they admit the reality of those supernatural works by which the Spirit of old bore witness to the word, and generally they admit the authority of the word as attested by the Spirit to be the word of God. They acknowledge, in a sort of vague and general way, that the Lord Jesus is the Son of God and the Saviour of the world. He is declared and proved to be so by the Spirit of truth, and they do not question what the Spirit says. Theirs is a kind of indefinite, blind, stupid reliance on something, one knows not what, that the Spirit says in the Scriptures about Christ. But do they really receive the testimony, even of the Spirit alone, in any sense consistent with fairness or intelligence? What would be thought of such conduct in reference to temporal things? Take a somewhat analogous instance. I come to you with information to give you, on a point deeply affecting your welfare. I hold in my hands a document which I assure you is of urgent consequence to you, securing you against the hazard of loss, putting you in the way of great gain. And how do you receive me? You take the document out of my hands, with many formal compliments and thanks, and many professions of personal respect for me. You will prize it very highly, pay it all due attention, and seek to profit by it. But I have much to say to you regarding the document and its contents. I seek to prolong the conversation with yea upon the document. I wish to press upon your regard certain parts of it which I am willing to open up to you; and in particular, I am most anxious to help you in turning its discoveries to good practical account. You listen impatiently; for I wear}- you. Is it not enough that you take the document as I desire you, and really intend not to neglect it? So, getting rid of me, you retain my paper. You treat it with considerable deference; you duly look into it; you find in it some hints that you may follow, some directions with which you can comply; and if you do stumble at a few dark things in it, this is no more than might have been anticipated beforehand. At all events, you are in possession of the deed, which you have been told is, somehow or other, to secure to you safety and victory. Is it thus that we are treating the blessed Spirit of God? We receive his testimony; that is, we take the Bible at his hands, and on the whole admit as true what he told the world about Christ when he inspired the Bible. But we do not suffer him to bear witness to us now. If we did, he would not indeed give evidence now by such signs as of old; but he would give evidence by tokens no less satisfactory, because no less divine. In particular, the Spirit would bear witness, not generally and vaguely to Christ coming as a Saviour, but specially to his coming by water and blood. This he would do by his divine agency, appealing to our whole inner man, and working there, with and by the word. Allow the Holy Spirit to have full scope and free course in testifying to you now. Give the Spirit his own place; let him follow out his own plan. What plan? you ask. Ah! is he not already giving you some hint of his plan? He would have you let him keep hold of you, when he has begun to deal with you, to deal with your conscience in the way of conviction, with your heart in the way of persuasion. Does Felix tremble? Is Agrippa almost persuaded? The Spirit is testifying of Christ. Are you beginning to suspect that there may be more in the gospel than you once thought; that you may require to go deeper into religion; that the vague kind of confidence you have been cherishing, and the loose sort of piety you have been cultivating, will scarcely suffice much longer; that you need something more distinct, a more thorough search into what is the real state of the case as between your God and you, a more thorough settlement of the footing on which you are to be with him, a far more thoroughly decided walk? Have you misgivings now as to those generalities in doctrine and those formalities in duty which used to content you? Do not doubt that the Spirit is testifying to you of Christ, and do not resist or grieve him. Let him carry on his own work in his own way, the way in which he has already begun it. And he will soon make you right glad to welcome Jesus Christ "coming by water and blood ;" having in himself and in his cross precious blood to atone for all guilt, as well as pure water to cleanse from all pollution. 2. You may lean to the water as bearing witness, rather than to the blood. The influence of the gospel in purifying the heart and life may be that feature by which mainly it approves itself to your mind. You recognise the necessity of being renewed to holiness or virtue, and therefore you can apprehend and appreciate the testimony of the water by which Jesus Christ came; his requiring and providing for that result. But this purifying virtue in Christ, or in the gospel of Christ, you view very much apart from his blood of atonement; so that the change of heart towards God becomes to you, not only the chief part, but almost the whole of personal religion. You may not set altogether aside the blood; but practically you may be placing little reliance upon it and feeling little need of it. In that case, you set little value on the testimony of the blood; to the water and the Spirit you give all the preference. Then, let me say again, give these two witnesses fair scope; let their testimony be fully carried out. in other words, follow out your own convictions. You see now in some degree, and feel what alone can satisfy your God; what he is really entitled to claim and to expect at your hands. The law has come home to you, to your conscience and heart, in the full extent of its obligations, as binding you to perfect love, and making even a sin of thought exceeding sinful. That law approves itself as infinitely excellent; altogether reasonable; "holy, and just, and good." You perceive now that to this law you must become a willingly subject, that you must be brought into that state in which it shall be your meat to do the will of God, even as it was Christ’s. Under these impressions, having now a vivid perception of what holiness really is, you may set about being holy, in right earnest and with all your might. Do you succeed? Nay, the very effort defeats itself; the struggle sinks you deeper in conscious guilt, and helpless subjection to the evil that is in you. The corruption of your nature is provoked and stimulated; you feel yourself paralysed, enchained, imprisoned. And while this new discovery of the "desperate wickedness of the heart," this sad proof that you are so very far from being what God would have you to be, grieves you to the quick, the distress is aggravated by the consciousness of utter inability, the bitter impression that it is almost useless to think of being godly at all. For in this state even the assurance of the Spirit’s supernatural aid avails you nothing. It is not help in obeying that you need; the very principle of obedience is wanting, and it seems hopeless to think of ever attaining it. Hopeless, except only in one direction. Let the Spirit not only undertake to assist you, as with purifying water, in your work of holiness; but let him also, and first of all, bear witness to Christ as coming not by purifying water only, but also by atoning blood. Let the blood itself give testimony; and your case is precisely met. For what is it that lies at the bottom of such experience as Paul describes in the passage of his writings to which I have been alluding (Romans 7:1-25:) Is it not the unsettled controversy between your God and you? But the precious blood of Jesus, his perfect obedience unto death, meets your case. It furnishes the very element you need; for it furnishes the element of instant and complete reconciliation to your God. It cancels your guilt; it sets you free from condemnation; it seals your peace, And now the heart, so crushed and depressed before, springs up as with elastic rebound, and wings its eagle flight to heaven, while the feet run in the way of God’s commandments. 3- In another manner, the reverse of the former, this blessed harmony of the divine testimony may be disturbed. Instead of a preference for the water apart from the blood, there may be a leaning to the blood, to the omission of the water; as if Christ came not both by water and by blood, but by blood only. The idea of an expiation of guilt may commend itself to the minds of conscious offenders, who feel their sin and fear the wrath of God. They may welcome the blood which testifies of sin atoned for, and God pacified and reconciled. They may be inclined to acquiesce in the testimony of the Spirit and the blood, as if the gospel were intended simply to pacify the troubled conscience and set sinful men at their ease. But here again, I say as before, Give heed fairly to the testimony of the Spirit and the blood; and it will be found to require for its completion the testimony of the water. You are open to the impression of the blood; you see and feel the reasonableness and the reality of the atonement made by blood for your sin. But if the Spirit is at all tea .ring witness with the blood, it must be a spiritual view of the necessity and the meaning of that atonement that he is causing you to take. You cannot, if the Spirit is witnessing along with it, regard it as an expedient for soothing the personally vindictive feelings of an offended God, and purchasing his indulgence for your frailties; a mere provision for averting judgment and giving you security and quiet. No. You take a spiritual view of the shedding of the blood of Christ, as on the one hand vindicating the righteousness and manifesting the love of God; and on the other hand laying a foundation for a holy and loving walk with him. The blood, if you rightly receive its testimony along with that of the Spirit, speaks, not of God weakly persuaded to be indulgent and sinners allowed to escape unpunished; but of God righteously justifying believing men, and on the footing of a righteous justification freely restoring them to his favour. Its very end is to bring men near to God; and so far from setting them free from the obligation of being washed, this is its highest value, that it secures their being "washed," so as to be "sanctified as well as justified, in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God." Thus in these three instances it may be seen that every attempt to give undue prominence to one of the witnesses, to the comparative slighting of the others, necessarily implies an unfair treatment of the testimony even of the very witness that is preferred. If the Spirit alone is viewed as bearing witness; then his testimony is frittered down till it is nothing more than a sort of vague intimation of there being a revelation and a plan of salvation, without any distinct reference either to what the revelation contains or to what the plan of salvation is. If again the water is selected, and the sanctifying and purifying virtue of the gospel is chiefly commended there is danger lest a low standard of holiness be set up, such as may be consistent with a conscience still unpacified and a heart still unreconciled. And if, once more, the blood is the witness on whose testimony we dwell; we are led to misconceive altogether both the design and the efficacy of the atonement; making it a mere scheme of accommodation, instead of a glorious plan for upholding the divine righteousness and more than restoring the primeval dignity of man. "There are three that bear witness;" and it is only when all the three are received with equal faith, that they are found to "agree in one." 4. But there is one other case to which I must briefly advert. The water and the blood may be received as bearing witness, without a due regard to the testimony of the living Spirit. The gospel may be understood in its full and comprehensive import, and may approve itself to the conscience and the heart. Christ may be known as coming both by water and by blood; the minister alike of renewal and of redemption; of purifying as well as of pardoning grace. But what, you ask, what is all that to me?. Christ is set forth crucified before you, and from him all blessings freely flow. The plan of saving mercy, as it comes from heaven, is complete; Christ coming both by water and blood is the very Saviour you need. But you have difficulty about his really saving you; about the application of his complete salvation to you; about your want of faith to lay hold of him and of it. Beware here of the temptation of the spirit of evil; receive rather the testimony of the Spirit of truth. These thoughts and misgivings, so dishonourable to God, whose purpose of free love they impede, so injurious to you, whose return to God they arrest, are from the father of lies. Resist them, as of the devil; for they are false as he is himself. He may give them some air of plausibility, in order that if possible he may confuse more and more the question of your relation to God and the footing on which you are to be with God, so as to make you give up the care of your salvation as hopeless. But you must see that they are contrary to the plain testimony of the water and the blood; for surely these witnesses, the water and the blood, do most emphatically speak to you of the fullness of God’s grace, and the ample foundation he has laid at once for your peace and for your holiness. And even when you are tempted to yield to the surmises of Satan, are you not conscious of other thoughts? Is it not sometimes borne in upon your mind that this hesitating and halting unbelief is but an unworthy way of meeting such overtures as God is making, and that you might at least make the trial, and venture your soul on his faithful promises? It is the Spirit that thus bears witness; and "the Spirit is truth." Put the matter to an experimental test; commit yourself to Christ, of whom the Spirit testifies, as having water from his smitten side to wash, and blood, precious blood, to take away all guilt. For it is in this way of actual trial that you will have the witness of the Spirit, which is the witness of God. In the peace which flows from the settlement of his controversy with you and your justification in’ his sight; in the glad relief which a simple acceptance of his mercy imparts; ia the sense of his love shed abroad in your hearts; in the growing clearness of your views of his character, and the growing enlargement and elevation of your soul for his service; in the laying aside of all reserve on your part, as all reserve is laid aside on his; in the entrusting of your whole way, in darkness and distress, to him, and the surrender of your whole soul and body and spirit into his hands; you will understand, with increasing clearness, the consenting testimony of the three witnesses, the Spirit, the water, and the blood. And through faith in that testimony you will overcome the world. For no commandment of God will ever be grievous to you, if it comes to you in the power of the Spirit, and through the double channel of the water and the blood. XXXIX. THE WITNESS OR TESTIMONY OF GOD TO AND IN BELIEVERS. "If we receive the witness [testimony] of men, the witness [testimony] of God is greater: for this is the witness [testimony] of God which he hath testified of his Son. He that believeth on the Son of God hath the witness [testimony] in himself: he that believeth not God hath made him a liar; because he believeth not the record [testimony] that God gave [hath testified] of his Son." - 1 John 5:9-10. The question is still about faith; the faith which is the victory that overcometh the world (1 John 5:4-5). For that is the particular function here ascribed to faith; that is the light in which faith is to be regarded. Doubtless, gospel faith is the same, in whatever light, and with reference to whatever function, it is contemplated; it has always the same object, and the same ground or warrant. But the manner of its exercise may not be the same. And therefore it is to be noted that it is not faith as justifying; nor faith simply as working generally by love; but faith-specially as overcoming the world; that is spoken of in this passage. It is as "the victory that overcometh the world," that faith is commended or extolled. This faith rests on testimony; as all faith must do. And the testimony on which it rests is sufficient to sustain it; for it is divine: "If we receive the testimony of men, the testimony of God is greater: for this is the testimony of God which he hath testified of his Son" (1 John 5:9). Human testimony is a trustworthy ground of faith; we rely on it every day, and act accordingly. That is assumed as admitted. But we have what is far better and stronger than human testimony; we have "the testimony of God." Men are fallible and frail; the Psalmist "said in his haste, All men are liars." Still we receive their testimony; and we cannot help it; we must come to a dead-lock or stand-still, if we do not. How much more confidently may we receive the testimony of him who can neither deceive nor be deceived; who knows all things and is truth itself. To reject his testimony, and refuse to proceed on the faith of it, while we receive and act upon the testimony of men, is inconsistency and utter folly. But what is the testimony of God, and how is it given? First, What is his testimony? That is not expressly stated in this verse; it is left to be inferred. But it is not difficult to say what it is; whether we look back on the preceding context or forwards to that which follows. Of course, it is the preceding context that must chiefly guide us; but the two very much agree. As it stands in the preceding context, it is that "Jesus Christ is the Son of God, coming by water and blood." As it stands in the following context, it is that "God hath given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son." Secondly, How is his testimony given? As to that, this ninth verse says nothing. But it plainly connects the preceding and following contexts. John evidently means to say that he has been describing, and that he is going on to describe still further, this testifying, on God’s part, of his Son, with special reference to the manner of it. For he draws at this point a broad line of distinction. In what goes before, he has been speaking of God’s testimony from without, or to us; in what follows, he is to speak of God’s testimony within, or in us. It is the testimony of God in both cases; his bearing witness of his Son; and it is to be received as such. But whereas it has been put in the former passage as operating on us; it is now to be put as ascertained, apprehended, and felt, by us and in us: "He that believeth on the Son of God hath the testimony in himself: he that believeth not God hath made him a liar; because he believeth not the testimony that God hath testified of," or about, "his Son" (1 John 5:10). "He that believeth on the Son of God hath the testimony in himself;" the testimony, that is, of God; for it is upon the warrant of "the testimony of God which he has testified about his Son," that he believes on the Son of God. But in his so believing, that testimony of God becomes to him a matter of inward consciousness. He has it within him; in himself. It is not now merely God testifying to us of his Son, but God testifying in us of his Son; causing us to know experimentally the truth of what he testifies. We find, by actual trial and experience, that the Son is exactly what the Father has been testifying him to be: "the Son of God, Jesus Christ, coming by water and blood." Thus the inward verifies the outward. It is as if a friend should introduce to me his son, with a high testimony to his personal excellency and rank, as well as to his power and willingness to assist me in an emergency, and be of service to me all my days. I believe the testimony, and on the faith of it welcome the new-comer to my home and heart. He soon approves himself to me as all that his father said I would find him to be. Then I have the testimony in a sense in me, in myself. So far the analogy may hold and be helpful. But, like all earthly analogies of what is divine, it is imperfect. It is only in a sense somewhat vague and loose that, in the case supposed, I can be said to have the testimony of my friend about his son in me. For it is not really my friend testifying in me, as something distinct from his testifying to me; it is I myself who am proving and verifying his testimony. In this ease, also, it is that, no doubt; that at least. But is it not something more? For the testifier is God; and he of whom he testifies is his own Son. Literally, therefore, and in the strictest and fullest sense, I can have God’s testimony in me; I can have God himself testifying in me. And I can have him testifying in me, not of his Son offered and given to me, as "coming by water and by blood ;" but of his Son, so coming by water and by blood, and now dwelling in my heart; "Christ in me, the hope of glory." This is something quite different from our own consciousness apprehending the truth, and feeling the reality, of what God testifies of his Son. It is rather like what Paul indicates when he says: "The Spirit itself beareth witness," or testifies, "with our Spirit, that we are the children of God: and if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ: if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together." An indispensable condition of this inward testifying of God in us, our having in us his testimony, is our believing on his Son: "He that believeth on the Son of God," and he alone, "hath the testimony in himself." Evidently it must be so. For it is our believing on his Son that brings God into these hearts of ours, in which he is to testify of his Son in us more and more. And just as evidently, this believing on his Son, which thus leads to our having the testimony within us, must rest on the testimony from without. It is our believing on his Son, on the ground and warrant of his testifying to us of his Son, that opens the way for our having him testifying in us of his Son. And so we are brought back to this, that we are to believe on the Son of God, not because God testifies of him in us, but because he testifies of him to us. Is not that, however, warrant enough? Is it not sufficient of itself to win faith the most confiding, since it is the testimony of him who is the truth? Does it not make unbelief inexcusable? For refusing to believe, on the strength of the outward testimony alone, even without the inward, is simply giving God the lie: "He that believeth not God hath made him a liar; because he believeth not the testimony that God hath testified of his Son." Thus, I. The ground and reward or fruit of faith; and II. The sin of unbelief; are to be viewed in the light of its being God’s testimony and not man’s that is to be believed. I. Faith stands here between two divine testimonies, or two modes of the one divine testimony; it is the effect of the first, and the cause or means of the second. In the first place, as an effect, faith flows from the threefold testimony of "the Spirit, the water, and the blood;" which is the primary testimony of God, from without or from above. You who believe on the Son of God believe on him as witnessed or attested by God; you believe on him because it is really God who has testified or testifies of him. And the testimony of God, upon which you believe on him, is substantially of the same sort as the testimony of men, to which you are accustomed to give credit. That is implied in what is said: "If we receive the testimony of men, the testimony of God is greater." For it is indeed the testimony of God that you are to receive, "the testimony which he hath testified of his Son." It is testimony to you; not in you. It may be in some sense and to some extent in you, in so far as it enlists on its behalf, or is fitted to enlist, your inward convictions, tastes, and tendencies. But as long as it is testimony, not received and admitted, but claiming to be received and admitted, it is testimony to you. And it is upon that testimony that your faith must lay hold and lean. I have said that this testimony of God to you may, in some sense and to some extent, be in you; it may be testimony appealing to certain inward instincts or principles of your nature. It is so in the present instance. For in fact, the testimony of God as to his Son which is here compared with the testimony of men, and preferred to it, is altogether and exclusively of an internal nature; it is God dealing with your whole inner man, through the threefold testimony of the Spirit, the water, and the blood. There is no reference to what are called the external evidences of Christianity; the historical proofs of the gospel. The Spirit, the water, and the blood, are not represented as testifying through the medium of outward events or signs; authenticated, as these usually are, by the evidence, not of mere tradition, transmitting hearsay at secondhand, but of competent witnesses, leaving on record what they actually saw and heard. That would be the testimony of men. We have that, God be praised we have it most abundantly; and we do well to receive it, and on the strength of it to accept the Bible as a divine revelation and the gospel as a divine message. But the testimony of God is greater; not only because it is the testimony of God and not of men, but because, being his, it adapts and addresses itself to the inner man in us; to the whole inner man; to all our sensibilities and susceptibilities of conscience, emotion, will. For in this testifying or witness-bearing, the Spirit, having the water and the blood associated with him, makes a direct appeal to the moral sense and feeling within us. He does so altogether apart from all the logical arguments and historical demonstrations which may be brought to confirm our belief in Christianity. These are valuable in their place. But the direct and immediate testimony of God, in the threefold witness-bearing of the Spirit, the water, and the blood, is largely independent and irrespective of them. It is a very straightforward dealing of the Spirit with us; of the Spirit testifying along with, and by means of, the water and the blood. It is the Spirit pressing home upon us Christ; making us feel our need of Christ; showing us Christ’s suitableness and sufficiency for us. In particular, it is the Spirit bringing near to us Jesus, as the Son of God, eager to make us one with him in his sonship, and for that very end coming by water and blood; so that neither sin’s defilement nor sin’s condemnation may stand in the way of our being partakers of his filial relation to the Father. He is come by water to purify, and by blood to atone, that we may be sons of God in him. That is the testimony of God to us, here and now. Is it not so? Who is there among us to whom the Spirit is not thus, more or less sensibly, bearing witness along with the water and the blood, here and now? Ah, let me assume that I address some spiritually-awakened and spiritually-exercised soul. Has your sin, brother, found you out? Is the Spirit convincing you of its exceeding sinfullness? Are you in earnest longing for purity and peace? Have you been made to feel that you do really need for your Saviour one who can place you on a very different footing with your God and Father in heaven from that on which you naturally are, and create in you very different dispositions towards him from those which you naturally cherish? And is there dawning upon you more and more brightly the apprehension that Jesus, as God’s own Son, coming by water and by blood, is just such a Saviour, and that if he were but yours all would be well? Is not this the testimony of God to you, warranting and requiring you to believe on his Son, so coming, as really yours, "loving you and giving himself for you"? Is it not far greater and better than any human testimony? What need have you of my assurance, or any man’s assurance, to build your faith on? Here is God’s threefold testimony; the Spirit commending to you, all vile and guilty as you are, God’s own Son as come by water and by blood, to sanctify and save. Having this testimony, you may well "believe on the Son of God." Yes. Believing because of the Lord’s own word, approving itself to your spirituallyquickened soul, you may say, as the Samaritans said to the woman, "Now we believe, not because of thy saying; for we have heard him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour of the world." And now, secondly, thus believing, you may look for a new and additional testimony of God; not to you, but most truly and fully in you. For this simple honest faith, the effect or fruit of one mode of the divine testimony, becomes the cause or means of another. That other is not outward at all, but altogether inward; not to you, but in you: "He that believeth on the Son of God hath the testimony in himself." Understand well and keep ever in mind, that having the testimony of God in you is not the preliminary to your believing on the Son of God, but the result or consequence of your doing so. I)o not imagine that you are to have any knowledge or experience of this inward testimony of God before you believe on his Son; as if it were to be a ground of your believing, or a help to your believing. It is a sort of knowledge or experience which can never go before faith, but must always follow it. For, in truth, it is nothing more than faith in exercise; faith unfolding and developing its energy; faith acting out its purpose; faith realising mere and more its object and itself. In fact, as to its substance, this testimony of God in you is identically the same as his testimony to you. It is the same threefold testimony of the Spirit, the water, and the blood. Only now the Spirit has won for himself, and for the water and the blood, a place within your consciousness; deep down in your inmost soul, as no longer merely appealed to and assailed by this testimony, but cordially acquiescing in it. That, however, makes a vast difference indeed. It is the difference between Christ "standing at the door and knocking," and Christ, "when you hear his voice and open to him, coming in to sup with you and you with him." The testimony is the same; the testifiers are the same. But your believing acquiescence, I repeat, makes all the difference. The testifiers, the Spirit, the water, and the blood - are now, all three of them, in you; witnessing not to, but from, the far back recess of your willing mind and consenting heart. Their testimony, which is God’s, and therefore far better than man’s, is in you now; not as a stream forcing its way, as it were, into the depths of your spiritual experience; but as "a well of water" divinely opened in these depths, and "springing up into everlasting life." For the real and blessed explanation of the whole matter is simple enough. He to whom the threefold testimony of the Spirit, the water, and the blood relates, is himself in you now; not given to you, with ample warrant for your embracing him; but in you, as embraced by you; in you, as the very Son of God, coming by water and blood. Thus, believing on the Son of God, you have the testimony of God in you. The Spirit is testifying in you, with the water and the blood; not now in order to win your assent and consent, but with your assent and consent already won. And that being so, there is no limit to the gracious assurance and enlargement to be looked for from your thus having the testimony of God in you. For now, not only your conviction, but your cordial choice also, goes along with the divine testimony, and is all in the line of it. You make full proof of it; or rather you suffer the Spirit himself to make full proof of it in you. He does so by "taking of what is Christ’s and showing it more and more to you." He gives you an ever-increasing clearness and intensity of insight into Jesus being the Son of God; and into his coming, as the Christ, by water and blood. So believing, you have the testimony in yourselves; God testifying in you by the Spirit, the water, and the blood; the Spirit testifying in you of the Son of God coming by water and by blood. Let me ask you, in all faithfulness, do you believe in the Son of God, on God’s own testimony to you about him and not man’s? Then, what do you know of this testimony of God in you? "It is the Spirit that testifieth." What do you know of his testifying, not merely in his striving with you, but in his dwelling in you, and revealing in you God’s own Son, Jesus Christ, coming by water and blood?. What, first, of the blood by which he comes? Is God by his Spirit giving you, not only a sight of your need of it as a sinner, and its sufficiency for you as for all sinners, but a sense of its actual efficacy in your case, as bringing you personally near to God, on the footing of your personal guilt being atoned for, and yourselves being personally reconciled? What, secondly, of the water, by which, as well as by blood, he comes? Is God by his Spirit giving you real personal experience of Christ’s being the purifier and sanctifier, in your being "holy, as he is holy ~." What, thirdly, of the sonship, of its being God’s own Son who comes by water and by blood? Is God by his Spirit giving you an apprehension of your adoption as sons, and moving you to cry, as sons, Abba, Father. These, unquestionably, are the three kinds of experience in the line of which your having the testimony of God in you will make itself known and felt. And if you believe on the Son of God, you will have some growing practical acquaintance with all the three. The blood - does it really-first pierce and then pacify your conscience, pierce and pacify it evermore, constantly, day by day, more and more every day? The fountain filled with that blood ;-do you bathe your guilty souls in it every morning, every night? Do you feel it ever opening your wounds more painfully, and more sensibly pouring itself, as oil and balm, into the very wounds it opens? The water - are you consciously coming more and more under its power? Is the holiness of Christ filling your soul, fixing your eye, drawing your heart ~ Is your loathing of sin growing more intense? Do you welcome and value Christ as the minister of purity, even more than as the minister of peace, and rejoice in his blood purging your conscience from dead works, mainly because it thus sets you free to serve the living God? The sonship of him who comes by water and blood - are you entering into that? He is come by water and by blood, not only to make you one with himself in his atoning death and in his holy life, but to make you sons of God in him. Are you realising that? Are you entering into the position which, as the Son of God, he occupies; and into his mind and heart, as the Son of God? Thus, and only thus, "he that believeth on the Son of God hath the testimony in himself." II. Over against the power or virtue or efficacy of faith, turning God’s testimony to us into his testimony in us, John places in very emphatic contrast the exceeding sinfullness of the sin of unbelief: "He that believeth not God hath made him a liar." The two opposite ways of dealing with the testimony of God are here sharply distinguished. Either you believe his testimony to you, and so honour him that he himself gives you an inward, experimental confirmation of it; you taste and see that God is good; you prove him, and see if he does not open the windows of heaven and pour down on you a blessing; you open your mouth wide and he fills it; giving you peace of conscience, purity of heart, filial liberty, enlargement, assurance, love. Or else, you disbelieve his testimony, and so, by your unbelief, not only hinder him from testifying in you, but dishonour him by virtually giving him the lie when he testifies to you. And let it be well observed that it is the very same testimony of God to you in both cases, whether you receive it or disbelieve it. You may not shelter your unbelief under the excuse or apology that you have not proof or evidence enough. In particular, you may not plead that you have not the inward testimony. Neither had we, when we believed, may be the reply of those who deal otherwise than you deal with the testimony from without and from above. You have the same ground or warrant for believing that we had; the sure word of the true and faithful God. We were not asked to believe on the ground and warrant of any inward testimony of God in us; any witnessing of the Spirit with our spirits to our being the sons of God. It was not as being the sons of God; it was not as having any title to be the sons of God, or any consciousness of our being the sons of God; that we believed. It was simply as hearing the word or testimony of God, commending to us powerfully and persuasively, by his Spirit, Jesus Christ his Son coming by water and blood; coming to save, with a complete and full salvation, sinners, and of sinners us, the chief. That was all that our faith had to grasp; all that it had to lay hold of and lean on. We found it sufficient; we tested it, and it has stood the test. Why should not you? Why should you wait for anything else, or anything more? We had not any inward sign, we had not any inward experience, on which to build our belief. We had simply God speaking to us; to our understandings, our consciences, our hearts; testifying to us concerning our sin, and the sufficiency for us of his Son, coming by water and by blood to save. You have the same. You have all that we had. You have God, in his Son whom he sent to be the propitiation for your sins; you have God, in his Son coming by water and by blood; you have God, in his Son to whom he points, hanging on the cross, pierced by you, while out of his side come water and blood to wash and heal you; you have God, in his Son thus set forth crucified before your eyes; you have this God thus testifying to you; assuring you; swearing to you; and beseeching you - oh! how importunately and affectionately! - to give him credit when he testifies to you, and assures you, and swears to you: "As I live, saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his wickedness and live: turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways; for why will ye die, O house of Israel?" Will you still refuse to give him credit? Will you still dare to question his sincerity, his being in earnest, when he thus pleads with you? Will you not believe that he means what he says, when he tells you that, in his Son coming by water and by blood, he is waiting to be gracious? Do him not so great injustice as to treat him in a way in which you would not venture to treat an honourable man. You receive the testimony of such a man. Is not the testimony of God greater? Is he not entitled to be believed on his simple word, much more on his solemn oath? Is he not one whom you can trust, so far at least as to make trial of his faithfulness? Ah! let there be an end of doubt, hesitancy, halting, delay. All that is most insulting to him; for it is really making him a liar. Do not commit so great a sin; do not shut your eyes to its greatness. Consider well how it is not with mere facts of history or the dead letter of books of evidence that you are dealing, but with the true and living God himself. Alleged facts you might question, books of evidence you might criticise, without offence to the recorders of the facts or the writers of the books. But here is God, the God of truth, commending to you his Son from heaven, and summoning you, on the warrant and assurance of his truth, to believe on his Son. Your refusal to do so is a personal affront; it cannot but be construed as giving him the lie, "making him a liar." XL. THE SUBSTANCE OF THE TESTIMONY - ETERNAL LIFE GOD’S GIFT IN HIS SON. "And this is the record that God hath given to us eternal life; and this life is in his Son. He that hath the Son hath life; and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life." 1 John 5:11-12. THESE two verses close what John has to say about the faith which overcometh the world, and they explain and apply the statement, "He that believeth on the Son of God hath the testimony in himself" (1 John 5:10). It is the testimony of God that the believer has in himself; but he has it as not now God testifying to him, but God testifying in him. It is no longer objective and outward merely; it becomes subjective and inward. When it is believed or received, it enters into, and, as it were, passes through the receiving mind; effects a lodgment for itself behind, far back, deep down, in the innermost soul; and makes itself known and felt there, not as an external fact or proposition, but as an internal power or principle of activity. But what is it that gives this testimony of God its ability so to change its position? Is it not its having in it, not truth merely, but life? It is not mere truth-telling, it is life-giving, also; for "this is the testimony, that God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his Son" (1 John 5:11). Therefore the receiving of it is not merely being convinced, as by evidence or authority from without or from above, but being quickened by a mighty agency and influence within. It is, in short, not merely truth admitted into the inner man, hut life communicated to the inner man. It must therefore be inward; intimately and intensely inward: "He that hath the Son hath life; and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life" (1 John 5:12). The testimony of God is first, that he bestows on us life as a gift; "he hath given to us eternal life;" and secondly, that "this life is in his Son." He gives us therefore this eternal life when he gives us his Son. Consider in what sense and manner this eternal life is in his Son. It is in him, as being possessed by him as his own; he has it in himself. In his incarnate state he has it thus; not as God only, but as man also, as "Jesus Christ come in the flesh." Let us hear his own words: "As the Father hath life in himself, so hath he given to the Son to have life in himself" (John 5:26). That cannot surely be the life which, as the Son of God, he has from everlasting. It must be life belonging to him as man; life of which his human nature, as well as his divine nature, is capable. And yet it is strangely identified with the Father’s own life. It is connected with it and compared to it. And it is connected with it and compared to it, in respect of what might be thought to be the highest and most peculiar property of the everlasting God, his incommunicable attribute of self-existence. What can this mean? Is it really self-existence that our Lord claims for himself as "the man Christ Jesus," for his manhood as well as his Godhead? That can scarcely be his meaning; for he speaks of this life as derived. It is not his originally, like the life which he has with the Father and the Holy Spirit from everlasting to everlasting. It is his by the Father’s gift. It is life having necessarily, in that view, a beginning, though it may know no end. It is not therefore self-existence; it cannot be. And yet it must be something not quite unlike that manner of life which self-existence implies, and not far from being akin to it. For the statement respecting the Father himself, that he hath "life in himself," may have reference here, not to the abstract nature of his life as being underived and self-subsistent, but rather to the manner of its exercise. The Father lives, not simply as existing; but as existing ever consciously and actively, realising and enjoying existence, if one may dare to say so; thinking, feeling, doing. His life is thought, feeling, action. And what, under that aspect of it, must be held to be one chief characteristic of his life? What but this, that he does not adapt himself to things without, or draw from things without the grounds and reasons of his procedure; of his thinking, feeling, acting, in any case or instance, thus and not otherwise; that these are always found within his own holy mind and heart; that so he "has his life in himself?" Is not that, in truth, the perfection of the Father’s "eternal life?" Is it not thus that it is essentially eternal? It is not moved or moulded by what is seen and temporal. It is determined by his own indwelling purpose, which is unseen and eternal. But, it may be asked, is any creature capable of a life like that? Can any creature, in that sense, have life in himself? Not certainly as a creature living apart from the Creator, or separate from the Creator. Assuredly fallen man has no such life. He does not live a life that is independent, as to its ongoing of things without. Is he not, on the contrary, in large measure the creature and the child of circumstances? What, in fact, is his life but a struggle to accommodate himself to the state of matters that he finds pressing upon him, all around him, in the world? Selfish he may be to the heart’s core; consulting only for his own ease and pleasure. Or, in his philosophy, he may affect to rise above external influences, to bid defiance to all foreign forces, and consult no will but his own. It is all in vain. With all his selfishness, and all his philosophy, he cannot shake himself free from subjection to things seen and temporal. He cannot be, in that respect, "as God." It would not be good for him if he could; not at least unless he was so united and allied to God as to be really and thoroughly one in mind and heart with God. But was not that the case with the Son of God on the earth, "the man Christ Jesus"? He was united and allied to God as no other man ever was or could be. In him the human nature was perfectly one in character with the divine. He therefore, while living always as selfmoved and self-regulated, altogether independently of things without, never could live otherwise than as the Father liveth. Therefore it was possible for him, as Son of man as well as Son of God, to have "life in himself" by the Father’s gift, exactly as "the Father hath life in himself." Look at Jesus Christ come in the flesh; the Father’s Own Son given to be the Saviour of the world. What was his life? Was it not all from within? He was not insensible to things without; they deeply and powerfully affected him; he felt them keenly. But his life; his real life; the life he lived by purpose and determination, by ultimate choice of will; was not outwardly dictated, but inwardly originated. He had it in himself. Take a testing instance, his saying, "Not my will, but thine be done." "My will!" That was the effect of an impression from without; it was the outer world and its prince pressing him very closely; it was the horror of the cross brought to bear upon him very vehemently. And he had in him sensibilities and susceptibilities that laid his inner man very open to the pressure. His very holiness, his holy love to God and holy hatred of made the thought of his being forsaken of God and enduring the penal curse inconceivably terrible. "Father, let the cup pass," is what his will would be if it were moved from without. But no. Even in his worst straits he will mis yield altogether, he will not yield at all, to his will being moved from without. He will give uttterance indeed to what his will as so moved would be, if he were to yield to it. Thanks that for our sakes he does so! But it is not as if he were yielding to it. "If it be possible" is still the qualification. And then he falls back upon his real inmost self; his real inner life: "Nevertheless, Father, not my will, but thine be done." That is surely something like "having life in himself;" having power to pass over, or pass through, the will which outward circumstances of suffering or temptation would prompt; to get far back, far down, within; and to find and feel there an inward impulse overbearing the impression from without and moving the real inward choice; "Not my will, but thine be done." Is this "eternal life "? Is it "the eternal life which is in the Son"? Is it the power, or privilege, or prerogative of living from within himself, because it is living from within the Father, in whose bosom he dwells; from within the Father’s nature, with which his own is always in harmony; from within the Father’s will, to which his own is always thoroughly conformed? It is a life quite compatible with the obligation of subjection to authoritative rule or law; and that too in the utmost severity of penal infliction, as well as in the strictest bond of holy requirement. It was so in Jesus as "made under the law." He still had this life in himself, even when he took our death as his own. If it had not been so; if his life had been not from within but from without; if he had been one who lived according to he stress and strain of the external world; he never would have taken our death as his own. But "having life in himself," as one with the Father, he "finished the work which the Father gave him to do." Now therefore, in an eminent and blessed sense, this life is in the Son for us. There is in him for us such a life as even the death of criminality and condemnation which for us he takes as his own cannot destroy. It would be ruin to us, that death; but it is not ruin to him. If the sentence takes effect upon us, it is without our choice, and against our consent; we cannot walk up to it as "having life in ourselves," or as moved from within ourselves to bear it, as the Father is necessarily moved from within himself to inflict it. But Jesus can, and does (John 10:17-18). Even in dying for us he has therefore "life in himself." "Eternal life is thus in the Son" as "sent by the Father to be the propitiation for our sins." And this life is something more than his surviving the endurance of our death. It is a living apprehension and appropriation for us of the Father’s life. For it is as the Father hath life in himself, that he, on our behalf and as our head and representative, has life in himself. In that capacity he shares the Father’s life; his manner of living is the same as the Father’s. It is not a life of shifts and expedients; a life contingent and conditional on the chances of time and tide; a life of afterthoughts, altering the course to suit every current, setting the sails to every change in the fickle wind. It is a calm serene purpose; working itself out steadily "without variableness or shadow of turning." It is living for that for which God lives; living therefore as God lives. Is not that the eternal life of which God testifies as being in his Son? It is in his Son alone; and in him inalienably. It is in him in such a sense that he cannot part with it or give it away. We do not receive this eternal life of God from his Son; we share it with him. The Father’s testimony is that the eternal life which he gives us is in his Son. Here let me remind you that it is the Spirit who bears this testimony on the Father’s behalf; the Spirit, with the water and the blood by which Jesus Christ came. The Father’s gift of eternal life to you is in his Son; that is the testimony. And it is the Spirit that bears the testimony; the Spirit who takes of what is Christ’s and shows it to you; the Spirit making you Christ’s and Christ yours; the Spirit making you partakers of Christ’s own very life, "the eternal life which is in the Son." Because he lives, you live; as he lives, you live. In him the Father gave, has given, and is giving you, "eternal life;" life that, in and with Christ, can undergo and survive the death of guilt and wrath; life that, in and with Christ, can in a sense become identical in character with God’s own life; sharing, in a measure, its inward, selfmoving energy, and its independence of things without. For that, and nothing short of that, is the eternal life that he gives; the life that is in his Son. So he is testifying to us; testifying to us by his Spirit; by his Spirit striving with us, and shutting us up into Christ. This eternal life in his Son is his gift to us.; already bestowed; assured to us by his own testimony; awaiting our acceptance; ours if we will but have it to be ours, if we will have him in whom it is ours. Therefore "he that hath the Son hath life." If only he has the Son, he has the very life which is in the Son. Thus the way is made plain and simple; God the Father has made it so. Very wonderfully has he wade it so. The end is very high. It is our living as God lives. It is our living as God lives, from within; not as acted upon, but as acting; and that from some inward motive, or impulse, or principle, common to both, to God and to us. And the common motive or impulse or principle, that which is common to God and to us as regards this eternal life - what is it? Is it not Christ? Is it not Christ having in him this life? God in Christ; we in Christ; is it not thus that God and we meet in a common life? I. Hence, in the first place, an essential preliminary or condition of this life, nay one chief part of it so far as we are concerned, is the abolishing of death. No one can have this life; a life self-possessed and self-contained, being a life God-possessed and God-contained; who is not consciously and believingly right with himself, because fight with God; right in law and judgment; on a right footing; unimpeached and uncondemned. The conscience must be pacified and the heart reconciled. With a sense of sin upon the conscience and enmity in the heart, it is impossible for me to have anything like that free and independent life, in and with himself, which God means me to have, as his gift to me. If he is to give me that life of his, he must first give me deliverance from this death of mine, from my conscious guilt and felt liability to wrath, and the consequent dread, discomfort, and dislike, with which that life of his is wholly incompatible. And so he does; for if I have the Son, I have life, in the sense and to the effect of complete and final deliverance from death. I pass from death to life. 2. But, secondly, the life to which I pass is something more than the undoing of my death; the reversal of the sentence and destruction of the power of my death. It is a new endowment; it is the imparting to me of a new power, or privilege, or capacity; it is the accession or addition of a new faculty of life, over and above any I ever naturally possessed, or ever could have got for myself, even though the blight of sin’s guilt and curse had never come upon me. For he whom I have is the Son; and I have him, if I have him at all, as the Son. I have him, not merely as he ii set before me in his relation to sinners, and to me, of sinners the chief; himself made sin for me and making me righteous in his righteousness. I must indeed first have him in that character and capacity. But I have him also as the Son, in his filial relation to the Father; as the Son to whom "the Father hath given to have life in himself." I speak not of what he was to the Father from before all worlds, in the past eternity, ere he came into this world: it is not the life he then had that the Father gives me. I speak of him as he has been since his incarnation, and as he will continue to be all through the eternity that is to come. When I have him, I have him thus; as he now is and ever will be. I have the Son; and in him I have the very life which the Father has given him. And that life is "life eternal ;" it is "having life in himself." It is having life in himself because it is having life in God his Father. For he and the Father are one; and their life is one. Whatever constitutes the Father’s life; whatever the everlasting Father may be said to live in, or to live for; that is the life of the Son. And it is the life which you have, if you have the Son. It is your having life in yourself. It is so host emphatically when it is viewed in contrast with any life you may be supposed, or may suppose yourself, to have when you have not the Son. What is your life out of Christ? What is your life in your unconverted state; when you are unrenewed and unreconciled? Is it anything like your having life in yourselves? Is it independent of things without? Take it in any sense you choose. Take it secularly, as the life you live in the world. What keeps you alive, alert, interested, not dull and drowsy, as you too often are, but lively? Is it an inherent inward principle of activity? Or are you conscious that you depend almost entirely on outward stimulants, outward means of occupation, or excitement, outward events or news of company, for what you can really reckon the life of the day; and that without these you flag and droop, and for the time are as good as dead? You can bestir yourself on occasion. You can be roused to sentimental interest or energetic exertion, bodily or mental, when some appliance from without is brought to bear upon you. But when you are left to yourself and your own inward resources, what stagnation is apt to come upon you l Or take the life you live religiously, in the sense of your trust and hope before God! What is it? What is it that ministers to your quiet and peace? Is it an indwelling and abiding assurance, an outgoing and out-flowing affection? Or is it an observance of formal rites and a compliance with devout customs? Is it as being alone with God, or is it as one of a company, lost in a crowd or admitted into a coterie, that you feel yourself to be safe enough and comfortable enough? Certainly, if you are out of Christ, if you have not the Son; your life, in either view of it, whatever real vitality you have, is contingent upon things without; bound up, more or less, with what passes away and is not eternal. For the world, the religious as well as the secular world, passes away; and any life to which it ministers must be fleeting and not eternal. But now, if you have the Son, how different is your life! First and chiefly, in a spiritual sense, how is it that you now live? What is the seat, what the source, of your life; your confidence; your fellowship; your worship; your joy in God? Is it not Christ in you? Having him as the Son, you are complete in him. You have his life, the life which he has with God, communicated to you and shared with you. Your life, in the sense of your standing with God and your relation to God, is identical with his. Having the Son, you have the Son’s life, as being sons yourselves. And now, therefore, the ruling, active, moving principle of your life is identical with his. You live for flint for which he, as the Son, lived and lives. And what was, what is that? Not certainly anything out of himself, save only God. He lived here on earth, not for things external, any more than he lived by things external. He drew no inspiration from without himself. He owned no rule without or outside of himself. He said, "Lo, I come; to do thy will, O God. Yea thy law is within my heart." He, being the Son, walked abroad as the Son on his Father’s earth, "having life in himself," because he lived with the Father and for the Father; the Father living in him and giving him without measure the Spirit. That was his life. And you have it as yours, if you have the Son himself as yours. You also walk abroad on this earth, which is your Father’s, having your Father’s love abiding in you, as it abode in him; receiving, as he did, the Spirit. If then you realise your position, if really and truly, consciously and constantly, you "have the Son;" if you have him as yours, your own very portion and possession, yours now, to hold, to grasp, to identify with yourself; if you thus have the Son and his sonship, what ought to be your port and bearing towards things without, things seen and temporal? Are you still to be the sport of circumstances, swayed to and fro by accidents, dependent on chances and contingencies, leaning on props that an hour may overthrow, fain to snatch a trembling joy from the brief and troubled sunshine of a wintry noon? Nay rather, having the Son, live as having in you "life eternal ;" life that can defy the vicissitudes, as it will outlast the limits, time; life standing, not in the world’s or the church’s fleeting forms, but m the favour, love, fellowship; in the law, commandments, ordinances: of the everlasting Father, "his Father and your Father, his God and your God." Let a few words of practical application be allowed. I. "He that hath the Son hath life;" he has this life, and no other. Hence a searching question: Are you willing upon that condition to have the Son? You may be willing to have the Son, and along with him, and through him, some sort of life. You would have him as providing for you life, in the sense of mere safety from death; securing your ultimate impunity in the day of judgment. But you cannot have him thus; for "he that hath the Son hath life," "eternal life;" the life meant when it is said, "as the Father hath life in himself, so hath he given to the Son to have in himself." If you have the Son at all, you must have him in all the fullness of his filial oneness with the Father; for that is his life: that alone is "life eternal." 2. "He that hath not the Son of God hath not life;" he has not this life. Eternal life, in a sense, he has - life without end; and after death, life without change. Life also in himself it will then be in a very terrible sense: for then all external accessories and alleviations are gone; the world is not. But the soul not having the Son is. It continues to exist, and that for ever. It lives, with nothing out of itself to lean on, or look to! There is no congenial earthly system or sphere around to mitigate its pain; no Saviour waiting to be gracious; no Holy Spirit striving any morel For him there is, and that for ever, eternal death, instead of eternal life. It must be so because he has not the Son. 3. Eternal life is the gift of God, his present gift; his present gift to all, to all unreservedly, to all unconditionally. It is the life that is in his Son; the life which his Son lives now, and lives for evermore. This, and nothing short of gratuitous gift. It is not a prize; "the prize of your high calling of God in Christ." That is the consummation of this life ; for which you have to wait and work, to wrestle in the fight and run the race that is set before you. But the life itself, in the full sense of its being not only deliverance from the criminal’s curse through the Son being made a curse for you, but also oneness with the Son, as in his atoning death and justifying resurrection, so also in his filial oneness with the Father - this life is God’s gift, his gift now; not to be waited for; not to be worked for; not to be paid for; but to be accepted and appropriated by faith alone. He gives freely this eternal life. 4. Still he gives it only as life in his Son. He cannot separate this life from his Son; it is so precious, so divine. It is a filial life, and therefore it is in his Son. And it cannot be otherwise. You must have the Son if you would have it. But is that a painful or an irksome condition? Is it any objection, can you feel it to be any objection, that God insists on giving you his Son? Not a boon, a benefit, a blessing through his Son, but that Son himself, his own very Son, Jesus whom he loveth? Would you indeed have it otherwise? Would you rather not have the Son himself, if only you could get the good of his coming between you and eternal death? Oh, be not so ungrateful! Refuse not to receive and embrace him whom the Father is bringing near to you now. Obey the Father’s gracious command and call; "This is my beloved Son, hear him." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 6: 01.5. CHAPTERS 40 - 46 ======================================================================== ONE JOHN PARTS 40 - 46 XLI. ETERNAL LIFE CONNECTED WITH CONFIDENCE IN PRAYER. "These things have I written unto you that believe on the name of the Son of God; that ye may know that ye have eternal life, and that ye may believe on the name of the Son of God. And this is the confidence that we have in him, that, if we ask anything according to his will, he heareth us: and if we know that he hear us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him." - 1 John 5:13-15. This would seem to be the beginning of the end of the epistle. Whether the "these things" which "I have written unto you" are simply the things contained in the immediately preceding context, or must be held to reach further back, is not material. John is evidently summing up; he is pointing his discourse or argument to its close. And he points it very clearly and cogently. He puts very strongly the final end he has in view. It is that you may "know" certain things. Over and over again he uses that word "know;" not less than six or seven times in the course of about as many verses. The knowledge meant is evidently of a high order, in a spiritual point of view; not speculative and intellectual merely, out experimental and practical. It is not simply faith, although it is connected with faith, as flowing from it, and involved in it. Still it is something more than faith. It is, if one may say so, faith realised; faith proved inwardly or subjectively, by being acted out and acted upon outwardly or objectively; the believer ascertaining, by actual trial and experience, the truth and trustworthiness of his belief. It is not now with us - we think, we are persuaded, we hope; but "we know." Now one thing which you are thus believingly to know is "that you have eternal life." And you are to know this, not in the way of a mere reflex ascertaining of it, but in the way of a direct acting of it out; for "this is the confidence that we have in him, that, if we ask anything according to his will, he heareth us: and if we know that he hear us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him." It is thus, in the actual use of it, that you are to know your having eternal life. In plain terms, the outgoing or forthcoming of our boldness, as having eternal life, is in prayer. Prayer is the exercise or expression of it; as it has been said before to be: "Whatsoever we ask, we receive of him, because we keep his commandments, and do those things that are pleasing in his sight" (1 John 3:22). I. There is, however, as it might seem, a qualification here which is not there; "according to his will." What that means it is important to see. It cannot well mean that before asking anything we must know certainly that what we ask is according to his will. This would really preclude us, in ordinary circumstances, from asking anything, or at least from asking anything definite and precise. I say in ordinary circumstances. For we may be situated as Daniel was, when, upon an interpretation of Jeremiah’s prophecy, he was infallibly led by inspiration to the conclusion that the period of the Babylonian captivity was expired, or expiring, and that Israel’s restoration was certainly due. Without claiming, or having any right to claim, inspiration or infallibility, men have considered themselves entitled, on some extraordinary occasions, to ask certain things to be done by God in his providence, in the full assurance that they were according to his will. That there may be such instances of confidence in asking, upon a clear and certain conviction beforehand that what is asked is according to God’s will, confidence, not given by fresh inspiration, but reached by faith in exercise upon inspiration previously recorded, may be admitted. But these exceptionable cases can scarcely be held to meet the apostle’s broad and general statement as to the efficacy of all believing prayer. Nor will it do to make this seeming qualification, "according to his will," a mere tag or appendix to all prayer and every prayer; as meaning simply that whatever we ask, we are to ask with this proviso, expressed or understood, "if it be according to thy will." No doubt, when we pray for anything which implies that God should order his providence one way rather than another, thus and not otherwise ;-and we can hardly pray for anything specific or definite which does not imply that ; - we must, if we would not be guilty of presumption or impiety, virtually attach always the reservation which that formula implies. But this is so evidently indispensable, as a condition of all genuine and reverential prayer, that it could hardly be needful for John to state it. He must surely be pointing to some higher function of the prayer of faith. "If we ask anything according to his will" - may not this mean, "If we ask anything as we believe that he wills it"? We ask it as he wills it. In asking it, we put ourselves in the same position with him in willing it. He and we look at it from the same point of view. We who ask identify ourselves with him who wills. Whatever we ask, we ask as from within the circle of his will; we being one in our asking with him in his willing. This may seem too high a position for us to occupy or aim at; too divine a standpoint; that we in asking, and God in willing, should be at one. And yet is it not the only fair, the only possible, alternative or antithesis to what is the only notion of prayer which the natural man can take in, the notion of bending God’s will to his? For that, unquestionably, is what, when tie prays, the natural man desires. The priests of Baal, when, in answer to Elijah’s challenge, "they cried aloud and cut themselves after their manner" sought by their fierce and bloody importunity to bend the object of their mad worship to their purpose, and make him subservient to their pleasure. The sailors in the ship with Jonah, when they called every man upon his god, simply thought that they might be. "heard for their much speaking." The instinct of physical pain in acute disease, or of natural affection in an anxious crisis, or of blank despair in sudden peril, may wring from unaccustomed lips a defiant or an abject appeal to the Ruler over all. It is an unknown God who is invoked, on the mere chance that he may be got to do their bidding. The heathen view of prayer, like the heathen view of sacrifice, proceeds upon that notion of subjecting God’s determination to men’s desire; the prayer and the sacrifice being both alike intended to work upon the divine mind so as to change it into accordance with that of the worshipper. The idea is that God needs to be appeased, and that he may be persuaded; that he needs to be appeased by sacrifice, so that wrath may give place to pity; and that he may be persuaded by prayer to act otherwise than his inner nature might prompt, in compliance with solicitations, or in deference to pressure, from without. But a right spiritual apprehension of God, as "having in himself eternal life" and "giving us that eternal life in his Son" places both sacrifice and prayer in an entirely different light. Eternal life must necessarily, in its nature as well as in its duration, be independent of time, and consequently also of time’s changes and contingencies, its influences and motives. As it is in God himself, it is self-moved, self-originated, self-inspired. He has within himself the grounds and reasons of all his proceedings. In so far as it is communicable to us through his Son and in his Son, it must possess substantially the same character of self-containedness, if I may use such a term, or independence of things without. Only, in our case, this life of ours is "hid with Christ in God." It is his life in us. How then does God himself, having life, this eternal life, in himself, stand related to prayer, or to sacrifice and prayer together? Both must be from within himself. They are alike and equally means of his own appointment or ordination. Sacrifice, the atoning sacrifice of his Son for us, is his own way of opening up communication between himself and us. Prayer, our prayer to him in his Son’s name, is his own way of carrying on and carrying oat the communication. He, having eternal life in himself, moved from within himself, gives to us this eternal life in his Son. And all the fruit or benefit of it he is pleased to give through prayer. For the eternal life which is now, in a sense, common to him and us, comes out in prayer. We meet in prayer, he and we together. And we meet, be it said with reverence, on the footing of our joint possession, in a measure, of the same eternal life; life in ourselves; he and we thus meet together. Thus prayer, as it is here introduced, becomes a very solemn, because a very confidential, dealing with God. It is asking. But it is asking upon the ground of a very close union and thorough identity between God and us, as regards the life to which the asking has respect, and of which it is the acting out. In plain terms, it is our asking as one in interest, in sympathy, in character, in end and aim - one, in short, m life or manner of living, with him whom we ask; through his giving us eternal life; that life being in his Son, and being indeed the very life itself of his Son.. This is not, however, to be regarded as of the essence of prayer, so that none may appeal to the throne of grace without it. God forbid that I should restrict the efficacy of prayer, however and whenever it is offered, out of a smitten conscience and broken heart, Not merely as a sinner out of Christ, but as a believer in Christ, I find my need, daily and hourly, of that liberty of access, as it were from without, to my God and Father, which I have in and with him who has taught me so to approach him. But it is a somewhat different attitude that I am here called to assume ; different, and yet after all the same. I pray as having eternal life; the very eternal life which God gives, and which is in his Son Jesus Christ. What sort of prayer does that mean? Are we not, in offering it, brought into the position of offering the prayer from the very same standpoint, if one may say so, on which God himself stands, when he answers the prayer? We offer our prayer as having eternal life; God’s own eternal life, made over to us as ours in his Son. And that is the ground of the confidence which we have, "that if we ask anything according to his will, he heareth us." II. Hence we are to "know that we have eternal life" through our thus asking, in this confidence; for "if we know that he hear us, whatsoever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him." We are to know our privilege in the using of it; we are to know our position by taking advantage of it. We receive, in the Son, as the Father’s gift, a new life. In its nature and manner of acting, it is analogous to the Father’s own life, and indeed, in some sense, identical with it. The identity manifests itself in this confidence of prayer. In so far as my prayer is the working out of that identity, it must be confident, confiding, free, and bold. It must be real and actual conversation with God within his own holy place; in his own inmost chamber; upon the matter, whatever it is, that is the subject of my prayer. I get in now within the veil. I am a dweller in the secret place of the Most High. I am, as it were, behind the scenes of his great providential drama, his great economy of grace and judgment. I am with him; one with him; one with him in sympathy of mind and heart as to the eternal principles and laws upon which the whole plan of his moral administration proceeds. From that point of view I consider the question at issue; the question to which my prayer relates; and my prayer regarding it is framed accordingly. It is a setting forth of the matter, as, in all its aspects, it presents itself to me. It is a spreading of it out before God, as it appears to me - to me, however, as having God’s gift to me of eternal life in his Son. For the case is now under my eye, not as it might present itself to me, judging after the flesh, looking at things in the light of merely natural predilections and opinions - but as it presents itself to me, judging spiritually; looking at things in the light of the eternal life which God gives me in his Son. Whatever I so ask must be according to his will; and therefore I may have absolute confidence that I have it. I may possibly see my way, upon this footing, to ask altogether unconditionally. I may so realise God’s giving to me eternal life in his Son, - and so clearly and unmistakably and assuredly perceive how, in the view of that eternal life, the event at issue might best be ordered - as to have the utmost boldness in preferring a specific request, absolutely and without qualification. Eminent saints of God have felt themselves entitled, and have warrantably felt themselves entitled, especially in critical emergencies, to be thus precise and peremptory; all the more if a brotherhood of them conferred and consulted together, under the guidance of God’s word, as applied by the Spirit’s help to his providence. All of them being led by the Spirit to the same conclusion, finding that the case presented itself to them all in the same aspect, and being of one mind as to what would best subserve the ends of the eternal life which they all have in common as God’s gift in his Son ; - they may have considered themselves at liberty to condescend with great assurance upon the particular step which they would have God to take. And therefore they might unhesitatingly ask him to take it, and fearlessly reckon on his taking it. I suppose that this is partly the Lord’s meaning in that remarkable promise: "If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven." Even in such a case, however, the prayer is not mere importunate solicitation, as from without; it partakes more of the nature of confidential conversation, within the circle of God’s house and family. To adopt a homely phrase, it is as if, using the liberty of trusted children, we were telling our Father how the case under consideration strikes us; how it strikes us when we are looking at it, or trying to look at it, from his point of view; looking at it in the light of that "eternal life which he gives us in his Son." And what does it really matter, in such intercourse as this, on such a footing as this, with the only wise God, if we should ordinarily count it safer and more becoming to ask conditionally; under the reservation and with the qualification of deference and submission to his better judgment? Our asking anything thus conditionally, if only we ask in the spirit of the eternal life which we have in his Son, is very eminently "according to his will." He cannot but approve of it. Nor does it in the least detract from our confidence in asking. There is room indeed here for different degrees, not of our confidence in asking, but of the conditionality or un-conditionality, if I may say so, with which we ask. Our confidence in asking is the same; the only difference is as to our making up our mind what to ask. As to that, we may well have some hesitation for the most part in being very definite and positive. Even when we honestly and truly ask as having eternal life given to us by God in his Son, we may be at a loss. Nay, the more we so ask, the more may we be at a loss We try to look at the matter at issue as God looks at it; not under the influence of things without, and the considerations which they might suggest; but under the rule, and in the light, of that higher life which he has in himself. We seek to judge as God judges; in the view, not of temporal interests merely, but of eternal issues. Well may we pause and be very cautious; well may there be a certain reserve in any judgment we form, and a certain reservation in any prayer we frame upon that judgment; well may there be some dubiety, not as to our having what we ask, but as to what we are to ask; what we would have God to do. But what then? Is this confidence in prayer a delusion, a sort of juggle? I am told that in virtue of the eternal life which God gives me in his Son, I may have whatever I choose to ask. And in the same breath I am told that this very eternal life, which I thus have, may hinder me, mr the most part, from ever asking almost anything definitely and positively. Is this not a kind of double-dealing? Is it not putting me off as with the Barmecide’s empty feast, or the visionary mirage of the desert? Nay, it is far otherwise. Let us consider practically our real position; let us take a specific instance. Our brother Lazarus is sick; and the sickness seems to be unto death. What are we to ask? What is to be our petition, and what our request? If we have respect simply to life temporal; if we take account merely of such considerations as this present earthly scene suggests; we cannot hesitate a moment. Looking at the case from a human standpoint, we need no time for deliberation. The instinct of natural affection will prompt, and many reasons of Christian expediency will occur to enforce, the loud wailing cry to the Lord to spare so precious and useful a life. But we feel that, as admitted to a participation with the Son in the eternal life of God, we have a higher standing and a weightier responsibility in this matter of prayer. We are lifted up to the very footstool on which the throne of the hearer of prayer itself rests; and from thence we look at the question, as he looks at it. Finding ourselves thus placed, our first impulse may be to shrink and hang back altogether. We refuse even to attempt to form a judgment, and to frame the judgment into a prayer, however guarded. But that is not his will; nor on second thoughts is it our wish. It is indeed a singularly high and holy position, in respect of insight and sympathy, that we are called to occupy in fellowship with God. But we are to occupy it boldly, and with all confidence. And now from that position we apply our mind, as it were, along with him, to the determination of what is best to be done; and we express our mind freely to him all along as we do so. We talk the whole affair over with him; conversing about it without reserve. We reason, we expostulate, we plead. We spread out before him all the views and considerations, of whatever sort, that seem to us to have any bearing on the case; not excluding those suggested by warm natural affection and urgent earthly interests, but not limiting our regard to these. We say whatever occurs to us, whatever it is in our heart to say. What though in all this close and confidential dealing with God we should not be able to say positively what is best? Is it not a blessed intercourse notwithstanding? We may be reduced to utter straits: "Now is my soul troubled, and what shall I say?" In our anguish of spirit, distracted between conflicting motives; altogether at a loss to decide what we would have God to do; driven out of reasoning and speech; we may be reduced to groaning and weeping; to "strong crying and tears." What then? Is our confidence in prayer gone? Nay, it was when Jesus "in the days of his flesh made supplication with strong crying and tears unto him that was able to save him from death" that he had the most complete assurance of his being "heard in that he feared." And it is when "we know not what to pray for as we ought, that the Spirit, helping our infirmities, maketh intercession for us with groanings that cannot be uttered." Our unutterable groanings the blessed Spirit takes as his own, turning them into prayers; prayers very specially acceptable to the hearer of prayer. For "he who searcheth the heart knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit when he" thus "maketh intercession for the saints." His doing so is "according to the will of God." Let us look then at the light which John’s teaching in these verses casts on the privilege and duty of prayer. I. In the first place, let us consider what prayer is, as thus viewed, in all the fullness and variety of its confident assurance. It is not simply petitioning; it is not monotonous reiteration; the incessant sending up to heaven again and again of the same appeal, the same demand for some specific deliverance, some precise and definite benefit, that may seem to us indispensable, that we feel as if we could not do without. It is a far more confidential dealing with God than that. It is our becoming "the men of his secret." It is our getting into the inmost chamber of his house, and consulting with him there; seeking to know his mind; ready to make his mind ours. I say it is consulting with God. And the consultation may and must be full and free. It will embrace as its topics whatever can be of interest to him or to us; to him primarily, to us as under him. Hence everywhere and always, and with reference to everything, we must be thus consulting with God; not only upon cases of difficulty or distress, but upon all sorts of cases; common cases, everyday cases; little cases, as well as cases of rare and grave emergency. Prayer of this kind may be short, like the Lord’s strong cry of agony in the garden; it may be silent, like his groaning and weeping at Bethany. But it may be long, ever so long, without falling under the Lord’s censure of the long prayers of the Pharisees. In such prayer he himself often spent the whole long night, He was at home then and there with his Father; consulting with him about many things; about all things bearing on his Father’s glory and his own work; laying his own views and feelings and wishes unreservedly before his Father; and reverently learning his. Brethren, pray thus without ceasing. "In everything, by such prayer and supplication, make your requests known to God." Carry everything; literally everything; everything that befalls you, or seems likely to befall you; every choice you have to make ; whatever you have to say or do; every care, every duty, every trial, every glad relief; carry everything to God. Converse with God about it. Turn it over, as between God and you, in every possible way. Look at it from every possible point of view. Do not be in haste to make up your mind as to what is best; as to what you should definitely ask. Rather prolong the blessed interview. The very suspending of your judgment,, as the consultation goes on, may make the interview more blessed. And the issue will be the clear, calm "peace of God keeping your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ your Lord;" "the single eye, making the whole body full of light." 2. Then, secondly, let us consider how close and intimate is the connection between life and prayer ; between God’s giving us eternal life in his Son, and our asking thus confidently and confidentially. The two are really one; the eternal life is realised and acted out in this asking. The life is prayer; and prayer is the life. It is as partakers of the life which the Father has in himself, and which, by his gift, the Son also has in himself, that we ask and pray. The essential characteristic of that life is its self-contained-ness, if I may repeat the phrase; its independence of things without; its drawing from within itself the motives of all its voluntary determinations. So the Father lives; not affected by impulses and influences of a temporal sort from without; but purposing and decreeing, willing and acting, always from himself and for himself. So the Son also lives, not as God merely, but as "the man Christ Jesus;" being, as to his manhood as well as his Godhead, in an intimate sense one with the Father; one in purpose and decree, in will and action; one in mind and heart. So also in a measure we, having the Son, live. Our real life is apart from the contingencies and accidents of time, being "hid with Christ in God." It is as so living, living that hidden life, that we ask and pray. What harmony, what concord and agreement, what entire oneness, between God and us, does this imply! It is oneness of opinion, sentiment, feeling, desire; first, on the great fundamental question, What is life? - life worthy of the name, - life worth the living; and then, in subordination to that, upon every question which can touch that life. We form the same idea of life that God has, and that Christ has; the same idea of what it is worth while to live for. And it is under that idea, fixed and fastened deep in our inmost spirit, that we ask and pray. We settle in the Spirit with ourselves, - as well as with Christ and with God, - what is the only true, the only perfect, the only desirable life, for beings possessed of a divine faculty of intelligence, and destined to a divine immortality. Having that life, we commune with the living One, as our Father in Christ, upon all the great eternal aims and hopes which it contains, and all the small temporal casualties by which, for a season, these aims and hopes may be environed and beset. Such communing about eternity, and about time as related to eternity, is prayer; the prayer which acts out "the eternal life which we have as God’s gift in his Son." 3- In the third place, let us consider how very holy this life is, and how very holy therefore must be the prayer which acts it out. It is indeed our being "partakers of God’s holiness." For such living fellowship and communion as is implied in the life and the prayer, sensitively shrinks from all unholy handling. Sense may not mar it; sin may not pollute it; the touch of earth’s vanity or man’s corruption breaks its sacred spell, and dissolves its peaceful charm. For the charm of this life of prayer is peace; the peace of God; the peace of conscious sympathy with the God of peace. But all earthliness, worldliness, and selfishness, - all diversity of judgment or feeling on any point between us and him whose eternal life we share, - in a word, all unholiness, - disturbs that peace. No unsanctified bosom can be its dwelling-place on earth, for its dwelling-place in heaven is the holy bosom of God. Therefore, "as he who hath called us is holy, let us also be holy." 4. For, in the fourth place, this faculty of praying as having eternal life, is itself to be sought by prayer. The life is God’s gift in Christ, to be appropriated by faith; the Spirit shutting us up into Christ, and making us one with Christ. The prayer is in the Spirit and of the Spirit. It is the Spirit making intercession for us, with us, in us. It is the Spirit of his Son sent forth by God into our hearts, crying, Abba, Father. But the Spirit is given in answer to prayer. Therefore let us ask, seek, knock, that we may receive the Spirit; that he may dwell in us; that he may move us, as having eternal life in the Son, to pray, as the Son himself was wont to pray, in the Spirit. So moved, we may be praying confidently, as the Son prayed, in all sorts of ways; not only in prolonged midnight meditations, but in brief ejaculations as occasion calls; in hasty utterances; or when utterance fails, in sighs and tears and groans. For we have all boldness to be ever praying, after whatever sort of prayer may suit the times and seasons of our praying. Let us pray that we may receive the Spirit thus to embolden us always to pray ; - to "ask according to his will" even as the Spirit "maketh intercession for the saints, according to the will of God." PRAYER FOR A BROTHER’S SIN, BUT NOT FOR A SIN UNTO DEATH. "If any man see his brother sin a sin which is not unto death, he shall ask, and he shall give him life for them that sin not unto death. There is a sin unto death: I do not say that he shall pray for it. Ail unrighteousness is sin: and there is a sin not unto death." 1 John 5:16-17. John assumes that one chief use which you will be disposed to make of your right and power to pray will be to pray for others. He puts a case. You see your brother sinning. He is "your brother." This does not necessarily imply that he who sins is a true brother in the Lord. It has been already made manifest more than once in this epistle, that the relation of brotherhood, in the apostle’s sense of the term is of much wider reach and range. It arises not so much out of the character and standing of him whom you call your brother, as out of the nature of the affection with which you regard him. True, your brother, in the highest point of view, is he who, being really to God a son, is really to you on that account a brother. But whoever he may be whom you love with a brotherly love; with a love that treats him as a brother; not as a mere instrument to be used or companion to be enjoyed for a day, but as one having an immortal soul to be saved for eternity; every one so loved by you is your brother. When he sins, his sin vexes you as the sin of a brother. You cannot look on and see him sinning with indifference or amusement or contempt, as if he were a stranger, or a helot, or a dog. It is your brother whom you see sinning. And therefore you speak to him as to a brother about his sin; not harshly, with sharp reproach or cutting sarcasm, or cold magisterial severity. With a brother’s voice, coming out of the depths of a brother’s bosom, you earnestly expostulate and affectionately plead with him. Alas! he turns to you a deaf ear, and you have no power to open it. But another ear is open to you, the ear of your Father in heaven; and he can open your brother’s ear. To your Father in heaven you go. You deal with him about your sinning brother’s case. You ask that life may be given to him; the "eternal life" which the sin he is committing justly forfeits. You grow importunate in asking; your importunity being in proportion to the truth and warmth of your brotherly love; you feel almost as if you could converse with God about nothing else. And you do converse with God about it, - oh, how pathetically! In all this you do well; using the liberty you have, as receiving "eternal life in his Son" to "ask anything, knowing that he hears you." But is there no risk of excess or of error? May you not be too one-sided in looking at the case yourself, and in representing it to God? May you not be so concerned about the one terrible aspect of it, its bearing on your brother’s doom, as to shut out the other aspect of it, Which ought never to be lost sight of, its bearing on the Father’s throne; on the holy and righteous sovereignty of his government and law? May not your sympathy with your sinning brother overbear somewhat your sympathy with him against whom he is sinning? May you not thus be led to overstep the limits of warrantable confidence, so as to ask that life may be given to him, on any terms, at any cost, in any way, irrespectively altogether of what, in your calmer moments, you would yourself recognise as the paramount claims of the Most High? Thus your prayer for your sinning brother may slide insensibly into an apologetic pleading for indulgence to his sin. You may be tempted to represent as excusable what God regards as inexcusable; and to feel as if, whatever your brother’s criminality may be, there may still be favour shown to him notwithstanding. It is to guard you against such a frame of mind that the solemn warning is given: "If a man see his brother sin a sin which is not unto death, he shall ask, and he shall give him life for them that sin not unto death. There is a sin unto death: I do not say that he shall pray for it." I am persuaded that it is in the line of this train of thought that the solution of the difficult problem here suggested is to be sought. The whole analogy of the faith, as well as the bearing of the context, favours this view. If I am right in this persuasion, some important consequences would seem to follow. In the first place, there is no warrant in this text for the doctrine which Rome seeks to draw from it as to the distinction, in themselves, - in their own nature or in their accompanying aggravations, - between venial and mortal sins. Let the distinction be admitted as otherwise proved, it is nothing to the purpose here. A Romanist, in his anxious prayer for his sinning brother, may be tempted to put his sin into the wrong category, and to speak of it to God as venial, whereas it is really mortal. It is a temptation of the same sort that besets me; I admit it to be so. He, praying according to his creed which allows the distinction, is admonished, precisely as I who deny it am admonished. We are both warned against asking God to regard as venial what, in the view of his righteous judgment and holy supremacy, is and must be mortal. But this text itself does not decide between us. And if it appears from all the rest of Scripture that the Romanist’s idea is not only unproved but disproved, the circumstance that this text might possibly be interpreted in consistency with his idea avails him nothing; since it turns out that it can be equally well, or even much better, interpreted in consistency with mine. Secondly, there is no occasion to be solicitous in attempting to identify any particular sin, or any particular manner of sinning, as what is here said to be "unto death." The attempt, as all experience shows, is as vain as it is presumptuous. And yet, in spite of all experience, the attempt is ever renewed. Morbid minds, or minds in a morbid state, become sensitive on the point; but without warrant or reason. Even if there were "a sin unto death" that might be ascertainable in a man’s own consciousness, the mention of it would not be to the purpose here, unless it were ascertainable also in the judgment of his neighbour or his brother. For the question is as to your praying for me. Even if I myself could know that I had sinned the sin unto death, how could you know that I had? However it might affect my praying for myself, how could it affect your praying for me? And as you have no right to judge me to that effect, so neither have I any right to judge myself. Let it be settled and fixed as a great truth, according to this and many other passages of Scripture, that there cannot be any such thing as my sinning a sin unto death, in such a sense as might warrant me, from my fear of my having committed it, to cease to pray for myself ; - far less warrant you, from an opinion on your part that I have committed it, to cease to pray for me. For, thirdly, the real and only object of the apostle is to put in a caveat and lodge a protest against the intrusion into the sacred province of confidential prayer, especially when it is prayer for a sinning brothel of a tendency which is too natural and too apt to prevail, even in one having the eternal life which the Father gives in his Son; the tendency, I mean, to subordinate the divine claims to considerations of human expediency or human pity. It is the same tendency which, when the case is our own, is apt to bias and mislead us. Let us trace its working. I. It is of course strongest in the unrenewed mind and unreconciled heart. While under their dominion, we cannot be expected to consult for God at all; we consult only for ourselves. In forming a notion as to how God may, and as we think, ought to deal with us, we take little or no account of what may be due to him, to the honour of his holy name and the glorious majesty of his throne and law. We pay little or no regard to what the principles of his righteous moral administration and the interests of his loyal subjects may require. We think only of our own relief and safety; our own convenience and accommodation. And hence we see no difficulty in our slight offences being overlooked and our infirmities indulged, upon our making certain formal submissions, and going through some routine of service. Thus we accept the serpent’s lie: "Ye shall not surely die" no sin of ours being, in our view, if all extenuating circumstances are taken into account "a sin unto death." 2. It should be otherwise with us now; now that "having the Son we have life." We surely ought to be, as. the Son is, on the Father’s side; one in interest and sympathy with him; ready to give him the pre-eminence in alt things, and to subordinate even what most pertains to our own welfare to the glorifying of his name and the doing of his will. We may be thankful that this does not entail on us the suffering and sacrifice which it entailed on him, when he, in the matter of the cup given him to drink, submitted his own will to the Father’s. Well may we be thankful that, through his taking our death as his and our having his life as ours, we may have the same mind that was in him, without its bringing such pain on us. Nay, for us, our putting God and his claims first, and putting ourselves and our concerns second, is in fact the secret of our safety and our rest. All the more on that account is it reasonable to expect that in whatever we ask of God for ourselves, in our closest communing with him about our own affairs, whether temporal or spiritual, we should allow this principle to have full scope. But is it so? Alas! the old selfish spirit is ever apt to come back and come out again. It comes out, perhaps almost unconsciously, in our secret pleading that something in us or about us may be spared which God has doomed to destruction; be it some unmortified lust in the heart, or some doubtful practice of worldly conformity in the life. If indeed we are honestly communing with God about it, placing his honour first and our case only second, we can be at no loss what to ask. We can ask but one thing; the grace of instant decision to deal with what offends, as we know that God would have it dealt with. Are we asking that, asking it in faith, and acting accordingly? Or are we still irresolute, putting in a plea for some slight indulgence, some short delay; as if, after all, the evil were not so very serious, nor the danger of tolerating it for a little longer so very great?. Brother, let me solemnly and affectionately warn you, - or rather, let the beloved apostle warn you "All unrighteousness is sin: and there is a sin unto death." 3. In intercessory prayer, the tendency of which I speak operates powerfully and painfully. A rude and vulgar notion prevails amongst those who reject, the gospel which we embrace, that we who embrace it, hugging ourselves in our own security, have a sort of pleasure in consigning all outside of our circle to inevitable and everlasting ruin. Alas! they know not, either the weakness of our filial faith, or the strength, if not of our brotherly love, yet of our natural affection. The temptation is all the other way. It is all in the direction of our tampering and taking liberties with the sovereign authority and grace of God, in accommodation to the weakness, and even the wickedness, of men. We do not say, abstractly and absolutely, that there is not a sin unto death; but we fondly hope that our brother’s sin may not be held to be so. It is not hoping that he may repent of it. Such hope cannot well be too strong; nor can our asking in terms of it be too confident. But here lies the danger. Our asking that he may repent of it, if his repenting of it is delayed, is apt, - oh, how apt - apt in proportion as we love him, to slide unawares into our virtually asking that, though not repented of, it may be overlooked; that at least it may not be reckoned to him as "a sin unto death." It is often a very terrible test of our loyalty to God our Father, and our allegiance to his crown and his commandments, that is in such a case to be applied. 4. Take an extreme instance. One whom you loved with truest brotherly love, with most intense longing to welcome him as a brother in Christ to your heart, has gone without affording you that joy; he has died, giving no sign. lie was lovely, amiable, pleasant. You and he were one in kin; still more one in kind and in kindness. But he has passed away, continuing to the last in a course of life scarcely, if at all, reconcilable with even the profession of godliness. What is your temptation in such a case? Ah, it is a very awful one! It is to prefer his interest to the gospel of God, and the law of God. It is to think that, culpable as he may have been, his culpability may not have proved fatal. It is to cherish the fond imagination that, in spite of the law which he has broken and the gospel which he has rejected, he may still, on the ground of qualities which won your admiration, or sufferings which moved your compassion, find some measure of mercy in the end. It is very tender ground on which I tread; I know it; experimentally I know it. Far, very far, be it from me, to insist on your judging a departed brother, however he may have sinned, and continued in his sin to the last. He is in the hands of God. Leave him there without questioning. Think of the old rhyming adage - "Between the stirrup and the ground, Mercy I sought, mercy I found." Think too of the more authentic instance of the thief on the cross; by all means think of that, and take what comfort you can from that. But beware! Sorely, - oh, how sorely! - are you tempted first to wish that there were some room for such as he was, even continuing still the same, within the holy city of the most high God; and then to hope that there may be. It is, I repeat, a very sore temptation. Many a brokenhearted mourner in Zion has felt it; you and I have felt it; and we have felt that, under the influence of it, we have been beginning to underrate the need of regeneration, and conversion, and a living faith, and a holy walk; to dream of men who gave no evidence here of anything like such grace, being possibly safe without it hereafter. And What next? We become insensibly more tolerant than we were of sin in ourselves; less alive to the necessity of immediate repentance and faith; more inclined to temporise and compromise; to look at things not from God’s point of view but from our own; as if he had not "given to us his own eternal life in his Son." Let us see to it above all things, though it may cost us often many a struggle and many a tear, that we do not suffer our firm faith in God, and our loving loyalty to him, to fall a sacrifice to the fond relentings of our own weak hearts. Whatever may be its bearing on the fate of any brother, let us, for God’s sake and our own, for God’s honour and our own salvation, accept it as a great and solemn fact, that "all unrighteousness is sin, and that there is a sin unto death." 5. You do not pray for the dead; you do not think it lawful. It is in the indulgence of a trembling hope concerning them that the temptation of which I speak besets you. But the same temptation besets you also when you pray for the living. It is the temptation to wish that, in its application to the sin which you see your brother sinning, God’s holy law were not so very uncompromising, nor his righteous judgment so very unrelenting, as they are declared to be. No doubt you ask that your brother may receive grace to repent of his sin. But what if he should not? You have a sort of reserved notion that, even in that case and upon that supposition, there may be some chance of safety for him. That is the temptation. And it is often a most severe and stern trial of your faith to resist it; to ask life for your sinning brother ; but to ask it evermore under the deep conviction that "all unrighteousness is sin, and that there is a sin unto death." Let us see, once for all, what the apostle’s solemn statement really implies. In the first place, let it be very specially noted that this is the one only limitation which John puts upon the liberty of intercessory prayer. And let us mark well where the limitation applies. It does not really touch our privilege of asking life for our brother, in the true and full sense of life ; - the eternal life which God gives, and which is in his Son. We may not ask for him this life, if we ask it for him as sinning, and contemplated by us as possibly sinning unto death. And for the best of all reasons we may not thus ask; for it is asking what, even with God, is an impossibility. But, short of that impossibility, there is no restriction laid on our asking; we may ask life for him, to the utmost of our heart’s desire. We may use the utmost freedom in asking life for him, provided only we do not ask it for him as sinning: and continuing to sin, unto death. Be his sin ever so heinous, let it be the sin of a whole long lifetime of ungodliness, we may ask life for him, in the line of his repenting and believing the gospel, provided only, I repeat, that we do not ask it as if life could be given him in any other way. I know that a question may be raised even here, as to the extent to which we may absolutely and unconditionally ask for our sinning brother faith and repentance, and having asked, may positively know that "we have the petition that we have desired of God." I know that there are difficulties in the direction now indicated. They are difficulties connected with that decree of election which alone secures the salvation of any sinner ; - but they are difficulties which we may conceive of as possibly hindering the salvation of some sinner for whom we pray. They are difficulties, however, which do not touch such intercessory prayer more than they touch any other sort of prayer ; - and indeed all prayer, generally and universally. The decree of election can no more hinder my praying confidently for my sinning brother, than it can hinder my praying confidently for my sinning self. In either case, it is one of "the secret things belonging to the Lord our God" not one of" the revealed things belonging to us and to our children." At all events, this text has nothing to do with that. It imposes no restriction on our prayer arising out of God’s eternal purpose. The only restriction which it does impose is one rendered necessary by our own infirmity, and the temptation to which it exposes us. We are not to ask., what we are tempted to ask, that our brother, continuing in sin, may yet be saved; that while still sinning unto death, he may nevertheless somehow live. But under that reservation, reasonable surely, and necessary, we have all liberty, so far as this text is concerned ; - and it is the only text in all the Bible that can by any possibility be supposed to fetter or abridge our liberty ; - we have all liberty, I say, to ask life for our brother. It is a wide charter, altogether broad and free. But, secondly, there is an obvious practical application suggested by the reservation. If we ask life for our brother, knowing that he cannot have it while sinning unto death; or, in other words, that he cannot have it otherwise than in the way of believing and repenting; our prayer for him, if sincere, must imply our personal dealing with him with a view to his believing and repenting. If what we asked for him were simply life, - life in any sense and on any terms,-we might let him alone. Having asked, we might think that we could do nothing more to help in bringing about the desired result. But it is not so; it is far otherwise. We may take part along with him whom we ask, the hearer of prayer, in what we ask him to do; we must take part along with him, if our asking is real and earnest. To ask God to give life to our sinning brother while we ourselves "suffer sin upon him" - not warning him even with tears; - sin, the very sin that is hurrying him on to death ;-what mockery! - how insulting to our God, and oh, how cruel to our poor brother himself! Finally, in the third place, let our conviction be clear, strong and deep, that "all unrighteousness is sin, and that there is a sin unto death." Let us see that there is no faltering, no hesitancy as to that great fact or truth. Upon both the parts of this solemn declaration let our faith be firm, and let our trumpet give no uncertain sound. It is at this point that a stand is to be resolutely made against all antinomian licence in religion; for it is at this point that the enemy has always pressed the church most hardly, and alas! the church has too often shown herself weak. The knowing ones who corrupted the gospel in John’s own day undermined the citadel at this very point. They held and taught that unrighteousness, unholiness, uncleanness, which would be sin in any one else, might be no sin in the spiritual man It could only defile the body. And what of that, the body being perishable? It could not touch the essence of the living and immortal soul. Sin therefore, even when persevered in to the end, might yet be not unto death: John does not reason with these wicked men; it is not a case for reasoning. He meets their vile, foul, base imagination with the stern assertion of law and appeal to conscience: "All unrighteousness is sin, and there is a sin unto death." Ever and anon, from age to age, the same abominable devil’s creed has troubled and polluted the church of God. Nay, even when the church is undisturbed by it, still, ever and anon, it troubles and pollutes the child of God, in some one or other of its insidious temptations. For alas! alas! it is but too congenial to the sloth and selfishness and sensuality that still prevail too much within him.. Ah me! how apt am I to cherish the secret, half-unconscious notion, that flush , or that infirmity besetting me, or besetting my much-loved brotherinfirmity which, if I saw it attached to any one else, I would not scruple for a moment to denounce as sin, - may somehow in my case, or in my brother’s, be more mildly characterised and more gently dealt with! How apt am I to hope that this or that little secret sin which I feel cleaving still to me, or see cleaving still to my brother, may after all, and in the long run, not prove fatal! Ah, if there be but the faintest taint of this damnable heresy lurking in your inner man, how can you be prosecuting, with anything like earnestness, the work of your own personal sanctification, or seeking, with anything like faithfulness, the sanctification of your brother; - asking God to give you life, or to give him life? Be very sure that if you would be safe yourself, and if you would save him, you need to shun, as you would a pestilential blast, or the very breath of hell, whatever tends, however remotely, to confound the everlasting distinctions of right and wrong, or shake the foundations of truth and virtue which are the very pillars of the universe and of the throne of God. It is a "word which doth eat as a canker." Beware, and again I say beware, of scepticism on the great eternal principles of moral duty - of the moral law. "Be not deceived; God is not mocked." "The unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God." "All unrighteousness is sin: and there is a sin unto death. All unrighteousness is sin: and there is a sin not unto death. We know that whosoever is born of God sinneth not; but he that is begotten of God keepeth himself, and that wicked one toucheth him not." - 1 John 5:17-18. The last clause of 1 John 5:17 may best be read without the negative. There is, I believe, preponderating manuscript authority for so reading it. And, as regards internal evidence, it seems easier to explain, - and this is a good criterion, - how, if not originally in the text, it might creep in, than how, if originally in the text, it could fall out. The insertion of it by copyists, perhaps first as a conjectural marginal reading, can easily be explained by their supposing it necessary to harmonise the statement in the seventeenth verse with that in the verse before, so as to bring in again the idea of the lawfullness of praying for life for them that sin not unto death. 1 John 5:17, how-ewer, rather points the thought, not backwards to the sixteenth, but onwards and forwards to the eighteenth. Do not imagine that in praying for a sinning brother, you may overlook the possibility of his sin being unto death. Do not pray for him as if you thought that in accommodation to ibis case God’s law might be relaxed, and he, though sinning so as to deserve to die, and continuing so to sin, might yet not surely die. Beware of that; for your own sake, as well as for his sake; for your own sake, even more than for his sake. For you are in danger of being led to tolerate in yourselves what you are inclined to palliate in a brother. You secretly hope that there may be impunity for him, even though he is continuing in sin. Is there no risk of your being tempted to cherish a similar hope for yourselves; and so to forget the great truth that "all unrighteousness is sin: and there is a sin unto death" But you may be saying within yourselves, "Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin for his seed remaineth in him: and he cannot sin, because he is born of God" (1 John 3:9). You, therefore, as born of God, may hold yourselves safe in extenuating sin and deprecating on his behalf its terrible doom. Still beware! It is true that, as it has been explained, whosoever is born of God does not and cannot sin. "We know that whosoever is born of God sinneth not." Yes, we know that. But we know also that his not sinning, however it may be connected with his being born of God, and secured by God’s seed, the seed of the divine nature and eternal life, remaining in him, - is not so connected with that fact, or so secured by it, as to preclude the necessity of care and watchfullness. He has "to keep himself;" and that too in the presence of a formidable enemy. "We know that whosoever is born of God sinneth not." But why not?. Because "he that is begotten of God keepeth himself, and that wicked one toucheth him not." He "keepeth himself." The phrase might suggest two ideas: that of keeping, as if restraint were needed; or that of keeping, as if care and culture were intended. This last is probably to be regarded as the right sense, not however by any means to the exclusion of the other. He has to guard himself against the touch of "that wicked one" from without; and he has carefully to watch and foster the growth of the divine seed within. His thus keeping himself is the effect of his being born of God; and it is the cause, or means, of his not sinning. Not otherwise than in the way of his keeping himself, can one born of God be safe from sinning. In an important and practical point of view, he must be his own keeper. And his keeping himself will be earnest, sedulous, anxious, in proportion to the sense he has of the value of what is to be kept, on the one hand, and of its liability to sustain damage, or be lost, on the other. I. What is to be kept, O child of God? Yourself! Not yourself as you are by nature, but yourself as born of God. Consider, first, what is implied in that solemn thought. Even as regards the life that now is, you have to keep yourself. Self-preservation is both your right and your duty; your right, which you are to vindicate though your doing so may involve an assailant’s death; your duty, which, whatever you may think about your own worth or value, you are not at liberty to renounce or to neglect. You are not entitled to throw yourself away; you are bound to keep yourself. And that, not only in the sense of your not literally committing suicide; for you may abstain from suicide and yet be virtually a selfdestroyer. You are bound to keep yourself as one, - whatever you are, and wherever you are, - that is too costly to be cast away, being still, as you are, within the reach of divine grace and eternal life. You have no more right, in any circumstances, or in any mood or frame of mind, to give yourself up to despair, than you have to give yourself up to death. But it is as a child of God that you are here said to keep yourself. Consider, I say again, what that means. Try for a moment to separate in imagination yourself as the, keeper, from yourself as what is to be kept. Look upon yourself objectively; as if you were looking at another person. Or, to make this easier, look first at another person, as if he were yourself. Suppose yourself your brother’s keeper; keeping him as if he were yourself. And, to make the analogy a fair one, suppose yourself to be, under God, his only keeper. And suppose also that your are his keeper in the sense of having most intimate access to his inner man, as well as entire control over his outward actions. Well, you keep him; you, as born of God, keep him, as born of God ; - would that we were all thus keeping one another! But what sort of keeping will it be? That will depend on the vividness of the apprehension which you have of your own sonship, and of his; of your being born of God, and his being born of God. He whom you have to keep is no ordinary piece of goods. He may have been once vile ; a condemned criminal; and as such, unclean. But "what God has cleansed you cannot call common or unclean." He is very precious now, and very pure. He has the seed of God abiding in him; the germ and principle of au absolutely sinless character and life. It is in that view, and upon that supposition, that you have to "keep" him. Your whole treatment of him must be accommodated to that fact. Need I bid you ask yourself what your treatment of him would, or at any rate should, be if you had to keep him as thus "born of God"? Now if your keeping yourself is to be at all such as you feel that your keeping of your brother ought to be in the case supposed, it must proceed upon as clear and explicit a recognition of your own standing as, in that case, there would be of his. If you are really to keep yourself, you must distinctly understand, and strongly realise, what it is about you that is to be kept; what is the character in which, and what the standard by which, and what the end for which, you are to keep yourself. For instance, I may feel that I have to keep myself as a good worldly man, or a good moral man, or a good man of business, or a good man of society, or a good neighbour and friend; a good husband, father, brother, son. I can only keep myself, in any of these characters, by first making it thoroughly, inwardly, intensely, my own, and then thoroughly acting it out. It will not do to assume it, or to imagine it; neither will it do to admit it in any doubtful or hesitating way. If I am to keep myself, I must know and apprehend myself actually to be what I mean, by keeping myself, to continue to be. In keeping myself as born of God, this personal and realising faith is especially needful. The secret of my not keeping myself, with enough of watchfullness and prayer, is too often to be found in the want of it. I keep myself, perhaps, with tolerably decent consistency, as a professing member of the church; I keep myself as an upright, charitable, and correctly religious man. But do I take home to myself the obligation of keeping myself as more than that? Do I adequately apprehend the fact that t am more than that; that I am really and truly "born of God"? Do I sufficiently apprehend what that means? Nothing else will ensure my "keeping myself." I do not speak now of assurance, in a doctrinal point of view. No question is raised here as to a believing man being assured, for his own comfort, of his present standing and of his final salvation. The whole strain of John’s teaching is practical. Whether or not he that is born of God is to sit down and conclude reflexly that he is born of God, is not said. It is not even said that he is to raise the question. All that is said is, that he is to treat himself; he is to keep himself; as born of God. He is so to use and deal with himself, as he would use and deal with what is born of God. It is not to any reflex or subjective exercise of faith, ascertaining itself simply for its own confirmation and confidence, that he is called, but to the direct, objective acting out of his faith. And that is all in the line of his practically keeping himself, as he feels that what is born of God ought to be and must be kept. What sort of keeping of one’s self should grow out of such a vivid and realising sense as this implies of what being born of God means, it is not necessary to describe minutely or at large. The working out of the problem may well be left to our own consciences and hearts. The main thing is to secure here, as everywhere, singleness of eye. Only let us settle it decidedly, firmly, unequivocally, as the deep conviction of our souls, that it is as "born of God" that we are to "keep ourselves." Ah! if we did so, would there be so-much careless living among us; so much unsteadfast walking; so much indifference to the way in which our customary manner of spending our time and occupying our thoughts tells on our spiritual state? Would there not be more of earnest prayer, of secret fellowship with God, of diligent study of his word, of anxious watchfullness; more of an eager pressing on to higher attainments in divine insight and sympathy, in holiness and love? For to keep ourselves as born of God, is to aim at exhausting experimentally all that the privilege involves. It is to keep ourselves, as sons and heirs, in the full enjoyment of our Father’s love and in the full view of the many mansions of our Father’s house. II. This keeping of ourselves, as born of God, will be felt to be the more necessary, when we consider, secondly, how liable that which is to be kept is to suffer damage and be lost. If we are born of God, and if it is in that character that we are to keep ourselves; let us remember how apt that character is to be marred and injured by the outer world with which we are ever coming in contact; how apt it is to lose its marked distinctiveness and fresh life in our own souls. As born of God, we have to "keep ourselves unspotted from the world;" we have to keep ourselves also unspotted from the evil that is in us, as born in iniquity and conceived in sin. In both views, what is above all things needed is to cherish a deep, abiding, personal, practical persuasion that "all unrighteousness is sin, and that there is a sin unto death." The risk of relaxed diligence in "keeping ourselves as born of God" lies mainly in our ceasing, more or less consciously, to regard sin as exceeding sinful, and the doom of sin as inevitably certain. Hence, in order to our keeping ourselves, it is of the utmost consequence, .first of all, that we truly and fully apprehend that we are to keep ourselves as being born of God. And it is of equal consequence, secondly, that we truly and fully apprehend the absolute incompatibility of our sinning with our being born of God. Sin from without and from within is ever besetting us. And the temptation is very strong to begin to think that, in some form or degree, it may not be altogether damaging to our spiritual life, as born of God, or altogether fatal to our heavenly prospects, as having eternal life. The instant such a thought finds harbour in our bosom, all our faithfulness in keeping ourselves is gone. "Whosoever is born of God keepeth himself" - only when he realises his own sacredness as "born of God;" and when moreover he realises, - and that too with special reference, not merely to the world with which he is ever in contact, but also to himself and his own tendencies and liabilities, - the solemn truth that "all unrighteousness is sin, and that there is a sin unto death." There is no room for any question being raised here ag to the certainty of his final salvation, or the security for his preservation in grace to the end. That is not the point. Be it that God keeps him, and will keep him, infallibly safe: God does so, and can do so, only through his keeping himself. And his keeping himself implies a constant sense of his liability, after all, so far as he is himself concerned, to be lost. So Paul kept himself: "I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection: lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a cast-away." So will every one that is born of God keep himself; remembering the exhortations, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall;" "Thou standeth by faith; be not highminded, but fear." And this fear, not slavish fear of an angry God, but filial fear of a loving Father, the fear of filial love, will grow, and will become more and more "fear and trembling." It will do so in proportion as I apprehend, with growing vividness, on the one hand, all the holy blessedness that there is in being born of God, and on the other hand, all that there is in sin; in any sin; in every sin; of deep and deadly malignity, making it the very bane of that blessedness. Thus, with increasing sensitiveness, will I be keeping myself "as born of God, and not sinning." Thus will I be "working out my own salvation with fear and trembling, because it is God which worketh in me both to will and to do of his good pleasure." I do not now enter on the consideration of the promise annexed to this self-keeping: "The wicked one toucheth him not." I prefer to take that promise in connection with what follows. I content myself with one observation on its connection with what precedes. "The wicked one" seeks to touch you; to touch you at the tenderest and most sensitive point, where alone lies your security against sinning; your being "born of God." For it is only as born of God that you sin not. It is in your filial standing thoroughly realised, and in your filial spirit thoroughly cherished and exercised, that the secret of your not sinning lie, The wicked one knows that right well; he quite understands it. Full well he knows and understands that if he can get you, be it only for a brief hour or moment, to step off from the platform of your sonship ; - or if he can insinuate into your breast at arty time a single unchildlike thought of God ; - he has you at his mercy. And you sin. You listen to his whispered suggestion that this or that commandment of God is grievous. You suffer his wily insinuation - "Yea, hath God said that ye shall not?" - to poison your ear, to poison your soul. You let in the spirit of bondage again. The light and liberty of your loving cry, "Abba, Father" are gone. Shorn of your strength, you repine, you murmur, you sin. Ah, friends, "keep yourselves." And see to it that you keep yourselves as "born of God." Keep yourselves in your conscious sonship, and in the spirit of it. Then "the wicked one toucheth you not." Be very sure that it is sonship believingly apprehended and realised, it is the spirit of sonship faithfully cherished and exercised, that is ;your only real shield and defence against the touch of the wicked one. For his touch, his stinging touch, is the suggestion of the poor servile thought that God’s commandments are grievous. The filial, loving confidence of one keeping himself as a child of God instinctively and indignantly casts away the insinuation. The wicked one therefore cannot touch one living as a son of God. He could not touch, terribly as he tried to touch, the Son of God while he lived on earth; for never did he live otherwise than as the Son of God. He cannot touch any one to whom God gives "the Spirit of his Son, crying, Abba, Father." For no one can be, at any moment, crying, in the Spirit, Abba, Father, and at the same moment counting any of God’s commandments grievous. Therefore when "he that is begotten of God" keepeth himself as so begotten, "the wicked one toucheth him not." XLIV. OUR BEING OF GOD. - THE WORLD LYING IN THE WICKED ONE. "And that [the] wicked one toucheth him not We know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness" [the wicked one]. - 1 John 5:18-19. INSTEAD of "wickedness" in the nineteenth verse, we may rather read "the wicked one." There is now a general agreement among critics and interpreters to that effect. There is no good reason for any change in this verse from the rendering in the verse before. There it must unavoidably be personal, "the wicked one toucheth him not." It is quite unnecessary and unwarrantable to make it impersonal and abstract here, "the whole world lieth in wickedness." It is the same expression and should be translated in the same way, "the whole world lieth in the wicked one." For the change mars the sense, and destroys the obvious contrast that there is between the child of God, whom that wicked one does not touch, and the world which, so far from being safe from his touch, lies wholly in him. We know this last fact, as knowing ourselves to be of God; and it is our thus knowing it that mainly contributes to our security. For that is the precise point and purpose of the statement, "the whole world lieth in the wicked one." It is a statement introduced for a purely practical end; an end or purpose personal to us, as begotten of God, and, in that character, "keeping ourselves." It has no reference to any other persons besides ourselves; it is strictly applicable, and meant to be applied, to ourselves alone. There is no contrast intended between us and the rest of mankind. There is no emphasis in the "we" - " we are of God" - as in contradistinction to those of our fellow-men who may be classed as "the world." In fact the "we" is not in the original at all. It is supplied, and of course necessarily supplied, in our translation. But its not being expressed in the original is plain proof, as all scholars know, that it is not intended to be emphatic, or to suggest any contrast between us and any other body of men. We have nothing here to do with any but ourselves; the text is written solely for our learning, for our warning. It bids us remember that we, being of God, are not of that world which lies wholly in the wicked one. It bids us do so, in order that, being begotten of God, we may so "keep ourselves" as being begotten of God, that the "wicked one shall not touch us." Thus the world is here to be viewed rather as a system than as a society; with reference not so much to the question who constitute the world, as to the question what the world is; what is its character and constitution; what are its arrangements; its habits of thought, feeling, and action; its pursuits, occupations, and pleasures. One common feature is brought out, helping us to identify and characterise it. The whole of it "lieth in the wicked one." It is a strong expression; going beyond any of John’s previous intimations on this subject. He makes early mention of "the wicked one" {1 John 2:13-14). Believers are represented as, in the strength of their mature and vigorous spiritual youth, overcoming, or having overcome, "the wicked one." Thereafter, when "the wicked one" comes up again (1 John 3:12), he is plainly identified with the devil (1 John 3:8-10), in respect of his murderous hatred of God and of whatever is born of God; he kills or seeks to kill whatever and whoever is of God. Next, he appears as that "spirit of anti-Christ" which is in the world, as "the spirit that confesseth not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh" (1 John 4:3). Here it is said, not that he is in the world, but that the world lies in him. It lies, and lies wholly in him. He has got the world into his arms; the whole world. I. "The world lieth in the wicked one." .The figure may suggest several different ideas. A stranded vessel lying embedded in the sand; a lost sheep lying engulphed in the treacherous swamp; a sow contented to lie wallowing in the mire; a Samson, lying bewitched in Delilah’s lap ;-these are the images called forth; and they are all but too appropriate. Considered in its origin, this lying of the world in the wicked one may be taken in a very literal and personal sense. The fall is a fall out of the arms of God into the embrace of’ the wicked one. He is ready to receive the fallen; and, in a measure, to break their fall. He has a bed of his own prepared on which the fallen may lie in him. It is shrewdly and plausibly framed. It is like himself. It is the embodiment of his mind and spirit; the acting out of his very self. It is a couch composed of the very materials he had before woven into the subtle cord of that temptation which drew the unfallen out of God’s hold into his. The same elements of unbelief which he turned to such cunning account in his work of seduction, he employs with equal skill in getting the seduced to lie, and to lie quiet, in him. For the most part, he finds this an easy task. The world listens willingly to its seducer, now become its comforter and guide 3 and frames its creed and constitution according to his teaching and under his inspiration. faith, worship, discipline, and government are dictated by him. So "the world lies in him ;" dependent on him and his theology for such assumed licence and imaginary peace as it affects to use and to enjoy. For the essence of worldliness is at bottom the feeling that "God’s commandments are grievous;" that his service is hard, and himself austere; but yet that somehow his indulgence may be largely reckoned upon in the end. It is as "lying in the wicked one" that the world so conceives of God, and acts upon that conception of him. It is as "lying in the wicked one" that it peevishly asks, "Who is the Almighty that we should serve him, and what profit shall we have if we bow down unto him?" - while at the same time it confidently presumes, "The Lord seeth not, the Lord regardeth not." II. "The whole world thus lieth in the wicked one" he has it all in his embrace. There is nothing in or about the world that is not thus lying in the wicked one; so lying in the wicked one as to be infected with the contagion of his hard thoughts of God, and his affected bravery in defying God’s righteous judgment. Take the world at its very best; all its grossness put away ; no vile lust or passion polluting it; much pure virtue adorning it; many pious sentiments coming forth from it, not altogether insincerely. What trace is there here of the wicked one’s poisonous touch? What necessity for your being warned to be on your guard against it or him? Nay, but look deeper into the heart of what is so seeming fair. Do you not see, do you not instinctively feel, that there is throughout its sphere of influence a sad want of that entire surrender of self to God, that unreserved owning of his sovereignty, the sovereignty of his throne, his law, his grace, that full, loyal, loving trust, which alone cam baffle Satan’s wiles? Instead of that, is there not a hidden fear of coming to too close quarters and too confidential dealings with God; a disposition to stand aloof and make terms of compromise; a willingness to be persuaded that some questionable things may be tolerated and some slight liberties allowed? Is not all this what "lying in the wicked one" may best explain We are not safe unless we realise it as a fact that "the whole world lieth in the wicked one ;" all of it; the best of it as well as the worst of it. Only thus can we "so keep ourselves that the wicked one shall not touch us." It is a sad fact, but we must realise it. And in the firm and full realisation of it, we must "keep ourselves." For it is not with a view to our condemning or judging the world, but only in order to our "keeping ourselves" that we are to have this fact always before our eyes; it is in order to our so "keeping ourselves that the wicked one shall not touch us." For it is through the world which is lying in him that he seeks to touch us. We are coming constantly into contact with the world; we cannot help it; and yet we are to keep ourselves "unspotted from the world." Iknow better may we hope, through grace, to do so, than by knowing, in the sense of always and everywhere acting upon the knowledge, that "we are of God and the whole world lieth in the wicked one "? Let us recognise our own standing in God, and the world’s lying in the wicked one. We are of God, born of God; his sons in his Son Jesus Christ. That is our character and position. It is in that character, and with reference to that position, that we are to "keep ourselves." Let us be ever mindful of our high and holy calling. And that we may be ever mindful of it, let us be ever sensitively alive to the risk of the wicked one’s contamination. True, "the wicked one toucheth us not." But "the whole world lieth in him." And the world touches us, for we are in the world. Ah! does not our danger spring from our practically forgetting that tho world in which we are lieth wholly in the wicked one? Have not we found it so? We begin to think, or to live as if we thought, that after all the world does not lie absolutely and altogether in the wicked one; that it is not so thoroughly evil as that would imply. We find, or fancy that we find, some of it at least, such as we would not choose to characterise so offensively. The world may be mostly, or for the most part, lying in the wicked one. But surely some exception may be made in favour of this or that about it that looks so harmless and so good. O child of God, beware. The wicked one is touching you very closely, through the world that lieth in him, when he gets you thus to plead. The Spirit teaches you a safer and better lesson when he moves you to say: "We know that we are of God, and the whole world "all of it" lieth in the wicked one." This teaching of John, concerning the world as lying in the wicked one, is in striking accordance with that of Paul in two remarkable passages of his Epistle to the Ephesians (Ephesians 2:1, Ephesians 6:12). One would almost think indeed that John had Paul’s teaching in his view. At all events, it may be interesting and useful to notice the parallelism and harmony between the two apostles. I. Consider the first of the two passages (Ephesians 2:1) "You hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins; wherein in time past ye walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience." Writing to the Ephesians as now believers, Paul reminds them of their former walk. It was "according to the course of this world." But "the world, the whole world, lieth in the wicked one." Therefore, walking according to the course of this world, they walked according to the wicked one in whom the world lies. How the world lies in him, so that walking according to the world’s course is really walking according to him, is explained in two ways. . He is "the prince of the power of the air." He rules, as a powerful prince, the world’s atmosphere; its moral and spiritual atmosphere; impregnating it with his own venom; the poisonous vapour of his own dark and godless hell. The air which the world breathes is under his control; he is the prince of the power of it; its powerful prince. It is, as it were, compounded, concocted, and manufactured by him. Very wisely does he use his power; very cunningly does he compose the air which he would have his subjects and victims to breathe. He mingles in it many good ingredients. For the worst of men he does so; and indeed he must do so, if he is to make it palatable and seductive even to them. For the lowest company, he must needs prepare an atmosphere with something good in it; good fellowship at the least, and a large measure of good humour and good feeling. Then, as he rises to higher circles, how does he contrive, in the exercise of his princely power, to make the air that is to intoxicate his votaries, or lull them to unsuspecting sleep, all redolent, as it might seem, of good; good sense, good taste, good temper; good breeding and behaviour; good habits and good-heartedness! Many noisome vapours also that might offend he carefully excludes; so that the inhaling organ perceives nothing but what is pure and simple in what it imbibes and absorbs. But it is the wicked one’s air or atmosphere after all; he is the prince of the power of it. He contrives to have it all pervaded with the latent influence of his own ungodliness; his godless spirit is in it all through. The whole world is lying in that subtle atmosphere of his; the air of which he is the powerful prince. Have you not felt something of what it is to breathe the air of which the wicked one is thus the powerful prince, to breathe it at the time almost unconsciously, and afterwards to find the fruit of your having breathed it all but inexplicable? You come home from a business engagement, or a party of pleasure. You feel an unwonted indisposition to serious thought; you are less inclined than usual to prayer and meditation; anxious calculations or frivolous fancies, and vain if not vicious imaginations, intrude into the sanctuary of your inner worship; you are not so much at home as you were before in your closet-fellowship with your Father in heaven. You are at a loss to account for this. You have not been anywhere, or done anything, in known or conscious opposition to his will. But you have been living in an unwholesome atmosphere. You have been in scenes or societies; all decent and proper no doubt; but yet imbued with as thorough a spirit of indifference or alienation as the wicked one would care to inspire. You have forgotten that "the whole world lieth in the wicked one" as "the prince of the power of its air." 2. Nor is this all. He is "the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience." He is not content with exercising his power in concocting and compounding the world’s atmosphere; he is busily moving to and fro, and up and down, in the ranks of those who breathe it, He prepares for them the air he would like them to inhale, making it as soothing and seductive as he can. And then. while they are inhaling it, he deals with them personally; going in and out among them; whispering his suggestions; speaking low into their ears ; insinuating into their hearts such thoughts of God, and of his service, and of his gospel, as fit into the pervading godless spirit of the region into which he has got them to venture. In this view, he very specially works among them as "the children of disobedience." He takes advantage of every rising feeling of distrust and disaffection; he watches for the first beginnings of discontent. Wherever there is any disposition to count any of God’s appointments or commandments grievous, he is at hand; to fan the flame; to irritate the sore; to widen the breach between the loving Father and his undutiful child, beginning to question and rebel. So the whole world doubly, or in a double sense, lies in the wicked one; inasmuch as he is the prince of the power of its air on the one hand, and inasmuch as, on the other hand, he is ever working in it among the children of disobedience. And in both views, it concerns you deeply, as "knowing yourselves to be of God" and called to keep yourselves accordingly, to know that "the whole world lieth in the wicked one." Know this, that you may beware of its seductive atmosphere, of which he is the powerful prince. Know it, that you may beware of the first rising in you of that insubordinate and impatient spirit of which he avails himself so skilfully in his "working among the children of disobedience." If you would keep yourselves, as being of God, so that in respect of your being begotten of God the wicked one may not touch you, you must be ever alive to this double risk; the risk of your forgetting how thoroughly he controls the world’s atmosphere; and the risk also of your forgetting how busily and persuasively he works among the children of disobedience in it. Keep yourselves, in both views; unspotted from the world. Keep yourselves, as born of God, in the atmosphere into which your new birth introduces you; the atmosphere of pure light and love ; the Father’s own light; the Father’s own love. And keep yourselves, as "obedient children, not fashioning yourselves according to the former lusts in your ignorance; but as he which hath called you is holy, so be ye holy in all manner of conversation; because it is written, Be ye holy, for I am holy." II. Look now for a little at the second of the two passages in Ephesians (Ephesians 6:12.): "We wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." There is a double view here given of the influence which the wicked one, with his principalities and powers, exerts. On the one hand, he "rules the darkness of this world." On the other hand, he is "spiritual wickedness in high places." I. He rules the dark world which lies wholly in him; rules it as the prince of the power of its air, and as the spirit now working in the children of disobedience. If he finds you there, he finds you within his own territory; at once breathing the worldly atmosphere he has mixed; and open at the same time to his influence as he is busy in his vocation, plying all his wiles among those whom he finds harbouring thoughts of insubordination. He has an advantage over you on his own ground; you cannot there cope with him; your only safety is in flight. "Come out and be separate." Flee to the stronghold; "the heavenly places." The wicked one’s world is not your home.. You are not to know it at all; or to know it only as lying wholly in the wicked one; to beware of it; to renounce it; to keep yourself unspotted from it. Your home is in "the heavenly places" in which "you sit with Christ." Abide there, and "the wicked one toucheth you not." 2. Nay, but even into "the heavenly places" the wicked one may find access; and even in "the heavenly places" he may seek to touch you. But he does not, he cannot, really touch you there. He crept indeed into Paradise, which was "the heavenly places" before the fall; and touched fatally our first parents there. But in "the heavenly places" now, in your "heavenly places" you have a defence which they had not. You "sit with Christ in the heavenly places" being "begotten of God in his Son." You "know that you are of God" in a sense and to an effect that Adam and Eve, with all their innocence, could not realise. By redemption, by adoption, by regeneration; as bought and begotten; you are of God; his own very sons, as Jesus is. The wicked one may come to you in your heavenlies, as he came to them in theirs. He may come as "spiritual wickedness;" plying his old wicked spiritual arts of temptation, suggesting his old doubts of the love and equity and truth of God. But he "touches you not." He could touch you only by appealing to something in you of what he finds in the children of disobedience among whom he works in the world; something in you of their disobedience, some incipient leaning towards insubordination, some aptness to count the commandments of God grievous. Is there at any time anything of that spirit in you? Is there any rising within you of the old feeling of impatience, of suspicion, in a word, of unbelief?. Ah, then, even "in the heavenlies" you are not safe from the touch of the wicked one. Remember that you have to "wrestle against him even in the heavenlies ;" to wrestle against him, not only as "ruling the world’s darkness" but as "spiritual wickedness in the heavenlies." For he comes into the secret place where you dwell with God as his children; transformed perhaps into an angel of light; insinuating his old doubts, surmises, questionings again; putting in his old cavils between your Father’s loving heart and your simple trust. Let him not, O my brother! let him not succeed in his attempt. Stand against him by faith. Bid him begone. He has no right to be in your heavenlies, whatever right he may have to "rule in the world’s darkness." If you have faith you may cast him out. Keep yourself, as "born of God" keep yourself in the vivid realising sense of all that your "sitting with Christ in the heavenlies" involves. So keep yourself in the heavenlies, and that wicked one touches you not. What shall I say, in closing, to you who are not of God, but of the world; of the world that is altogether lying in the wicked one. Ah! do you not know that the prince of the world is judged; that for this purpose the Son of God was manifested that he might destroy the works of the devil? Are you still listening to the gospel of the wicked one: "Ye shall not surely die"? Nay rather, hear another gospel: "God is love; in this was manifested the love of God towards us, because that God sent his Son into the world, that we might live through him." XLV. KNOWING THE TRUE ONE AND BEING IN HIM. "And we know that the Son of God is come, and hath given us an understanding, that we may know him that is true; and we are in him that is true, even in his Son Jesus Christ." 1 John 5:20. THIS is the third and last "we know" in these closing verses of the epistle (1 John 5:18-20). John insists, in leaving us. upon our being Gnostics, or knowing ones, as the heretics of his day professed to be ; but in a better and safer sense. They affected to be knowing, in the lofty and transcendental region of abstract speculation about the divine nature; whereas John would have us to be knowing, in the humbler yet really higher and holier experience of real, direct, personal acquaintance and fellowship with the Divine Being, as coming down to us, poor sinners, in his Son, and taking us up, by his Spirit, to be sons and saints in his holy child Jesus. That whosoever is born of God sinneth not, because he keepeth himself so that the wicked one touches him not; that we are thus of God, in contrast with the world which lies wholly in the wicked one; these are the two former "we know." And now the third "we know" has respect, neither to our standing as being of God, nor to the world’s position as lying in the wicked one, but to him who causes or occasions the difference, "the Son of God." It would almost seem as if there was a regular syllogism here; an argument built up in three propositions; two premises and a conclusion. First there is the major premiss, in the general assertion, abstract and impersonal; "we know" that being born of God implies not sinning, inasmuch as "he that is begotten of God keepeth himself, and the wicked one touches him not." Then there is the minor premiss, in the assertion, particular and personal; "we know" that we individually "are of God" and, there fore, separated from "the world that lieth wholly in the wicked one." The strict logical conclusion would be; therefore "we know" that we do not sin. John, however, puts it somewhat differently, so as to place our not sinning on a surer footing; more humbling to us; more glorifying to God "We know that the Son of God is come." And yet this is a fair enough inference, and fits well enough into the argument when viewed in its full spiritual import. Nor is it inconsistent with the other. For if he that is born of God sinneth not; and if we consequently, being of God, sin not, it is all in virtue of "the Son of God being come" come, in the first place, to "give us a knowledge of the True One" come, secondly, to secure in that way our "being in the True One." I. "The Son of God is come, and hath given us understanding, that we may know him that is true" or "the True One." It is God who is to be known; and he is to be known as "the True One." The truth here ascribed to God is not truthfullness, as opposed to falsehood; but reality, as opposed to fiction or imagination. That we may know God, as truly real, as a truly real being, "the Real One" strictly speaking, the only truly Real One, apart from whom all things and persons are shadowy and unreal; that is, in the first instance, the purpose for which his Son Jesus Christ is come, and "hath given us understanding" or insight "to know him that is true." The inward working of the Holy Spirit is here assumed, or asserted; that is the "understanding" or insight that is meant. Jesus Christ coming as the Son of God has given us, not merely new outer light, but a new inner eye; otherwise even his coming could not make us know "the True One." His coming indeed may be said to be itself the outer light. His coming forth from the True One in whose bosom he dwells reveals the True One to us. But the discovery would be in vain if his coming did not secure to us, as his gift, "understanding to know" the True One when thus revealed. That is, we may say emphatically, his best gift; the best fruit of his "being come" and of all the travail of soul on our behalf which his "being come" includes in it. For the worst of our miserable state, from which he is come to save us, is that we have no understanding, no spiritual sense in us, by which we can discern and recognise, so as truly to know, him who alone is true. And the best part of his salvation is his giving us that knowledge, not only by revelation from without, but by enlightenment within. It is a great thing to know God as he is here named" the True One ;" to know him as true and real; no imagination or mere idea, but true and real. That I say, is a very great thing. It is indeed all in all; the one thing needful. What is God to me? Ah, momentous question! And as searching as it is momentous! Is he true? Is he real? Do I apprehend him to be so? I know my friend when I see him and take him by the hand. I know him as true and real; no shadow, no myth, no visionary ghost, but verily real. There he is before me, not a wraith such as Highland seer beholds in the misty vapour, but invested with unmistakable, palpable reality. Is God thus ever before me? Whenever I think of my friend, even when he is out of my sight, I think of him as true and real; as having a real and actual existence; a real and actual personality. Do I always thus think of God? Do I always thus know him? There are two conditions of this knowledge. In the first place, if I am to know any one as true and real, I must have a distinct and well-defined conception of him in my mind. He must present himself to me as having a certain special individuality of his own, marking him out to me as separate from others. I thus identify him as true and real. But. how confused and incoherent is my conception of God apt to be! A number of vague notions about him and his ways may be floating hazily, as it were, before me. But they lack unity, and are therefore unreal. A heap or bundle of attributes, such as I can name, enumerate, and define, may be all that I have for my God. If so, it is a heap or bundle of rags. It has no life, no living personality, no oneness, no reality, no truth. To know any person as real and true, I must know him as one; one living personality; living and true. But, secondly, can I so know any one otherwise than by personal intercourse and personal acquaintanceship? It is in that way that I know an actual living friend as true. When our eyes meet and our hands join and our tongues exchange words, I know him as true and real. I know him better thus, than when he and I communicate by letter merely, or by message at second-hand. My knowledge of him has in it a truth and reality, a true and vivid realisation, that does not belong to the notion I have of any hero or martyr; however graphic may be the history, however lifelike the picture, by means of which I am to set him before my mind’s eye. Now "the Son of God has come, and given us understanding that we may know the True One;" that we may truly and really know, know as a living person, the Father whose Son he is. The very object of his "coming and giving us understanding" is to put truth and reality into our knowledge of God. He does so by bringing God and us personally together. His "coming" provides for that on the part of God; his "giving us understanding" provides for it on our part. It is indeed, I repeat, a great thing thus to know "him that is true" to have a true personal knowledge of him; such as you have of the friend you converse with every day about everything or anything that turns up, or of the father to whom you go every day and every hour for deeper counsel or for a passing embrace. The friend, the father, is a reality; a real and true friend, a real and true father. You feel him to be so. He is no dead, historical personage, exhibited on the stage of the historical drama. He is to you a real and living person: for there is life and reality in your present intercourse with him. And it is that there may be this present living intercourse with God as a living person, that "the Son of God is come" to make that possible on God’s side; "and hath given us an understanding" to make it possible on ours. Only in that way, by his revelation of himself to us in the Son and by our fellowship with him in the Spirit, can we know "him that is true." Only thus can we know God personally; as "the True One;" a real person and not a mere abstraction or generalisation. II. Knowing thus "him that is true" we are "in him." But we are so, only as being "in his Son Jesus Christ." The apostle’s statement thus fits into the Lord’s own saying, in his farewell prayer, "I in them and thou in me" (John 17: 53). Both of them rest on that higher appeal which the Lord makes to his Father : - " As thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us" (1 John 5:21). Thou in me, I in them, and so thou in them - they in me, I in thee, and so they in thee - such is the wondrous reciprocal line or chain between God and us. We are in the True One, as being in his Son Jesus Christ, who is himself in him. We are therefore in the True One as his Son Jesus Christ himself is in him. Thus our being in the True One rests on very sure ground, since it is in his Son Jesus Christ that we are in him. And it implies a very high ideal of what being in the True One means, and what it is. I. It is in his Son Jesus Christ that we are in the True One. We are in him, not directly or immediately, but by mediation; through and in a mediator. It is only thus that we can be in God, as the one only living and true God. It must be so. If the God whom our conscience indicates and owns is indeed true and real; a real, true, living person; we cannot dream of being in him, in any sense implying rest and peace, or a refuge and home, otherwise than through and in a mediator. No doubt, if there are many gods, alike fabulous, though still imagined to among them one so congenial that I drawing me into his embrace, so that I all alike true, or all be ; I may find can conceive of his may be in him. Or if the only true God is the universe, or universal being; all things and persons being but his parrs; and all actions and events the unfoldings of his own self-consciousness: then necessarily I am in him; or rather I am he and he is!; there is no personal distinction between us. Or if God, admitted to be a real, true, and living person, is not known by me as such, I may amuse or soothe myself with some name or notion of my being in him, so far as to secure my safety, if I do but say a prayer occasionally, no matter though my saying it is really little better than speaking to vacancy, addressing idle words to the empty air. But let me know God as true, as a reality. Let me be confronted face to face with God, as no far-off vision, but a real, present, living person. Let my inner sense be quickened; and let there flash from heaven a light making clear as day the features of him in whose real presence I stand. Ah! what cry escapes me? - " I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee; wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes!" Now I see clearly; now I feel deeply; the full difficulty of the case. If God is true and real, my sin is true and real; and I, the sinner, am true and real. Guilt is real. Wrath is real. Judgment is real. Punishment is real. Ah! this knowing of the True One, as the True One, by the spiritual understanding which the Son of God is come to give! It imparts to all things in heaven and earth and hell a terrible distinctness, an altogether new air of truth, an intense, vivid, burning reality, such as I cannot long stand without being maddened, if I am to stand alone; a real sinner before a real God. For me to be in him! How utterly hopeless! Nay, but let me consider. Who is he who has come to give me understanding thus to know the True One? The Son of God; his Son Jesus Christ. It is he who by his coming makes the True One known as he really is; for he is himself "the image of the invisible God." It is he who by his Spirit gives me understanding that I may know the True One. And placing himself between the True One, whom now at last I truly know, and me, whom that knowledge must otherwise utterly appal, he, the very Son of this True One, his Son Jesus Christ, calls me to himself; to be one with him; to be "in him." It is not that he would again hide the True One from me, or hide me from the True One. No. But he makes it possible for me, if I will but consent to be in him, to be "in the True One" as he is himself in the True One. For he says, I am a reality; the real Son of God, really come to you, in your real flesh. As his true and very Son, I give you understanding to know him who is true and very God. And in me you know him, not so as to be a castaway from him; but so as to be in him, as I am in him. For in me, whatever in you might seem to stand in the way, and did stand in the way, of your being in the True One, is met and obviated. In the Son of God, his Son Jesus Christ, you can be in God, known as the True One, and can have perfect peace. Out of Christ, I can have peace only by not knowing truly the True One, not knowing him as he is, or by keeping away from him among the trees of the garden, and under the veil of some apron of fig-leaves. Satan belies him to me, and I hide or cover myself from him. But there is no need now of guile, or concealment, or disguise; no room for evasion or compromise. The True One may be truly known, and I, the chief of sinners, may be in him, truly known as the True One, "in his Son Jesus Christ." 2. If it is thus that in his Son Jesus Christ we are in the True One, it is after a high ideal or model that we are so. For our being in the True One in his Son Jesus Christ, must be after the manner of his Son Jesus Christ’s being himself in him. What a manner of being in the True One is that! What truth, what reality is there in it! I would keep fast hold of the apostle’s ground-thought or leading idea in this passage; which is truth, reality, fact. There are other views that may be taken of the Son of God, his Son Jesus Christ, being in the True One, as the type and model, as well as the cause, of our being in the True One in him. But I fix on this one as chiefly relevant here; "we are in the True One in his Son Jesus Christ;" and therefore in him as truly as his Son Jesus Christ is in him. How truly then, how really, is his Son Jesus Christ in him! His Son Jesus Christ! For it is not his Son, as being in him from everlasting, that is here presented to us. It is with his Son as "being come" that we have to do. It is in his Son Jesus Christ as "being come" that we are in the True One. Let us look well and see how his Son Jesus Christ is in the True One; how, in the days of his flesh, "he is in him that is true!" How truly, really, thoroughly! How naturally too! He is in his native element when he is in the True One. Who that ever followed Jesus in his earthly life could for a moment doubt that God was to him a reality, and that his being in God was a reality too? It was a true God that he served; and he himself was truly in him. My Father! he is ever saying; and so saying it as to show that it is a real and true Father he means; and that he is really and truly in him, as a real and true Son. Yes! his Son Jesus Christ is truly in the True One; never out of him; never away from him; never at home but with him; never thinking a thought, or feeling an emotion, that he did not think and feel in him; never speaking a word or doing a work but as having his Father with him. Truly, all through his real and true humiliation, and obedience, and sacrifice, "he is in him that is true;" in him, with a depth and intensity of real inness, if I may use the word, that the devout study of a lifetime will not suffice to fathom. Nay, the devout study of eternity will not suffice to exhaust the full truth of that ineffable complacency of the Everlasting Father of which his Son Jesus Christ, for his obedience unto the death in our stead even more than for his original relation to him, has become the object. Yes! "I in thee" says Jesus, as he leaves the world and goes to the Father Oh! that word "I in thee!" What a word, as spoken then and there! Who can understand its significance, its intense reality, its living truth? "I in thee!" Can it be that I, a sinner, of sinners the chief, am to be in the True One as his Son Jesus Christ is thus in him? It must be so, at least in measure, if it is in his Son Jesus Christ that I am to be in the True One. My being in the True One must be after the model and manner of his being in the True One. It must at all events be as real and true as that. To me, as to him, God must be a reality; and my being in God must be a reality too. Is this too high an aim? Does it seem to be beyond my reach? Nay, let me look again at the way in which God comes down to me that I may rise to him. "Thou in me; I in them" is the language of the Son. So "he that is true" the True One, first condescends to ns. He is in the Son, in his Son Jesus Christ; all his fullness dwells in him bodily - "Thou in me." And the Son is in us "I in them." The Holy Spirit takes of what is his and shows it to us; he forms Christ in us. So the Father, the True One, comes down to us; he in Christ; Christ in us. Let Christ then be in us. Let us open our hearts to him. Let us welcome, receive, embrace him; and the Father in him. Then we are in the Son as the Son is in the Father. "We are in him that is true, in his Son Jesus Christ our Lord." Let me make a twofold practical appeal, in two opposite directions. I. If you will not know the True One now, by the understanding which the Son of God is come to give; know him so as to be in him, in his Son Jesus Christ; the day is coming when you must be compelled, by another sort of awakening, to know the True One; and to know him terribly as a reality, as a real God dealing with a real sinner about real sin! Here, for a little longer, God may be to you as if he were not. You may live on as you would live if he were not; almost as if, like the fool, you said in your heart, There is no God. You may live as you would live if you believed God to be no real being at all, but a mere creature of the imagination; like a character in fiction; an airy nothing. Have you no apprehension that it may be far otherwise soon? It will not always be possible for you thus to ignore God. For he exists. Yes! He does indeed exist. You may find that out to your cost sooner than you think; too soon for you. It is a great fact, however little you may make of it, or it may make of you. Were it not better for you to know it now; to take account of it now; to accommodate yourselves to it now? "It is hard for you to kick against the pricks." The Son of God is come to make God known to you now, in all his glorious reality, as "light" and "love." He gives you understanding now that you may thus "know God." Better surely that, than to go on darkly, as in a dream, until there comes a shock. And lo! there is God! No shadow, but too truly real! And there is the Son of God; real also; too truly real! "Behold he cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see him; and all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him." Yes! God, and the Son of God, are realities then, when men "hide themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains, and say to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb. For the great day of his wrath is come, and who shall be able to stand?" (Revelation 6:15-17.) 2. Let me remind you who believe of the main end for which John would have you to "know the True One, and be in him, in his Son Jesus Christ." It is that "you may not sin ;" that you may "keep yourselves so that the wicked one, in whom the whole world lieth, may not touch you." Mark the contrast here. The world lieth wholly in the wicked one; you are in the True One; in God truly known, in his Son Jesus Christ. Let that contrast be ever vividly realised by you. It is your great and only security. Look well to it that your being in the True One, in his Son Jesus Christ, is a reality. Let it be a true experience. Be evermore "dwelling in the secret place of the Most High, and abiding under the shadow of the Almighty." "Let him cover thee with his feathers, for under his wings you may trust." Is it not his Son Jesus Christ who thus addresses you - " Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the Most High thy habitation, there shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling"? XLVI. JESUS THE TRUE GOD AND ETERNAL LIFE AGAINST ALL IDOLS. "This is the true God and the eternal life. Little children, keep yourselves from idols." 1 John 5:20-21. The Lord Jesus Christ is the person here meant. Such seems to be the fair inference from the use of the pronoun "this;" which naturally and usually indicates the nearest person spoken of in the context; and therefore, in this instance, not "him that is true" but "his Son Jesus Christ." That inference indeed is so clear, in a merely grammatical and exegetical point of view, that there would not probably have been any doubt about it, were it not for its implying an assertion of our Lord’s supreme divinity; an assertion which no sophistry or special pleading can evade or explain away. It is true that some who strongly hold that doctrine have professed, on critical considerations, to take the same view which the deniers of it take. But there is room for suspecting that they have been half unconsciously influenced by a sort of chivalrous desire to concede debatable ground, rather than by a strict regard to the real merits of the question. It is a forced construction only that can get us past "his Son Jesus Christ" so as to send us back to him whose Son he is. Certainly the simple and natural reading of the words is, that "he who is come and hath given us an understanding that we may know him that is true," he in whom "we are in him that is true, his Son Jesus Christ" is "the true God, and eternal life." He is "the true God" and as such he is "eternal life" or rather the eternal life. It is our realisation of him in that character, as" the true God and the eternal life" which constitutes our best and only security against idolatry, the idolatry which John exhorts us in his closing admonition to shun - "Little children, keep yourselves from idols." "This is the true God and the eternal life." First, he is the true God. That may be said of each of the three persons in the Godhead separately, as well as of the "three in one" unitedly, "the Triune." The entire Godhead, in all its reality and fullness, is in each one of the persons; each therefore is in himself really and verily "the true God." The mystery of the Holy Trinity involves this seeming paradox. But there is a peculiar significance in the Son’s being thus designated here. He is "the Son of God" who "is come ;" come in the flesh by water and blood; attested by the Spirit as come by water and blood; giving us an understanding that we may know the True One, and in him and with him may be in the True One. In that character and capacity, and with a view to these functions, he is declared to be "the true God." Again, secondly, in the same character and capacity, and with a view to the same functions, he is declared to be "eternal life" or "the eternal life." Eternal life! How much is there in this little phrase! It suggests the ever awful idea of endless duration; existence, if not from everlasting, yet to everlasting; conscious existence running on for ever. But that is the least part of its meaning. The manner, rather than the term or duration, of the life is indicated; not so much the continuance of the life, as its kind, its character, its nature. It is life independent of time and its changes ; of earth and its history; of the created universe itself. It is the life that God lives as the True One; in himself, from himself, for or to himself. His Son Jesus Christ is "this eternal life." As being "the true God" he is so. As the true God he is the eternally living one; in such sense the eternally living one that all who are m him are eternally living ones as he is himself. If I am one with him, then as he is "the eternal life" so also am I in him. My own life is not eternal In a sense, indeed it is so as regards its duration, for it is to have no end. But it is not, as to its character, eternal life. On the contrary, it is eternal death. The life which I have naturally is the life of a doomed criminal, sentenced to perpetual servitude; bound over to penal suffering for the entire period of his existence. Such is the eternal death, of which the eternal life is the opposite. For that is the life which he who dooms the criminal to perpetual servitude has himself; the very life of him who binds the criminal over to penal suffering for ever. It must be, therefore, as being "the true God" that Jesus Christ is "the eternal life." He is so, and can only be so, as being one with that righteous Father whose judicial condemnation of us is our eternal death. But if so, must not his being "the eternal life" be eternal death to us? Not so. For if, on the one hand, he is one with "him that is true" being his Son, and therefore, like his Father, "the eternal life" - he is one, on the other hand, with us, as his Son Jesus Christ. He becomes, with us and for us, "the eternal death" which is our portion and characteristic; which indeed we are, for it is our very nature. As he shares always his father’s eternal life, so he shares once for all our eternal death; takes it as his; makes it his own. Yes; he dies our eternal death, that we may live his eternal life. Not otherwise, even as "the true God" could he be, in any sense that could be available for us, "the eternal life;" not otherwise than by being "made sin" and "made a curse "for us; which means his taking upon himself as his our "eternal death." And let it be well noted that not even his being thus made sin and made a curse for us; not even his becoming our partner and our substitute, in our eternal death; could have been of any benefit to us, or of any use, but for his being, in that very act and experience, "the true God" and as such "the eternal life." It is his being "the true God" that alone can make that eternal death terminable in his case, which it cannot be in ours. His becoming our eternal death for us must involve him in its terrible endlessness, but for his being still in himself "the true God" and as such "the eternal life." We cannot die the eternal death and yet live; but he can; because he is "the true God and the eternal life." Therefore he says, "I am he that liveth and was dead; and behold I am alive for evermore;" and again he says, "Because I live ye shall live also." I have died your eternal death that I may share with you my eternal life.! can share with you this eternal life of mine, for it is as the true God that I have it ; - " I am the true God and the eternal life." It is as the true God that I am the eternal life; as the true God; truly and verily the Son of "him that is true." For "this eternal life" is to know him and to be in him. I am the eternal life because I know him and am in him; being, as I am, myself "the true God." Were I not so, were I anything less than that; I might tell you about the eternal life; I might unfold it to you; I might show you the way to it. But I could not myself be that eternal life to you. I could not say to you, that having me you have the eternal life. But I do say that. I give you the assurance that having me you have the eternal life; ‘that being in me you are in the eternal life. All that you can imagine of peace, rest, joy; pure and holy love; perfect, endless, uninterrupted blessedness and glory ; - and whatever else you may connect with that most pregnant phrase "the eternal life ; " - you have it all when you have me; you are in it all when you are in me. For all that I am to the Father you are to the Father; all that I have from the Father you have from the Father; all that the Father is to me the Father is to you. Thus I am, for you and to you, "the true God and the eternal life." This statement about Christ, - his being "the true God and the eternal life" - has a very intimate connection with what is said of him as being come to give us knowledge of his Father, as the True One, and to secure our being in his Father, as the True One, in virtue of our being in him (1 John 5:20). And viewed in that light, it explains the earnest, emphatic, and affectionate appeal with which John closes his epistle - "Little children, keep yourselves from idols" (1 John 5:21). I. He "is come, and hath given us an understanding that we may know him that is true;" and, so coming, he is "the true God and the eternal life." In him the true God becomes really true to us. In his person God stands forth ‘before our eyes as a reality, and is felt in our inmost hearts ‘to be a reality. This is what we need and often crave for; that the true and living God should be to us, not a notion, but a reality. He is so to us, and is so known by us, in the person of his Son Jesus Christ, because his Son Jesus Christ is "the true God and eternal life." We need not seek elsewhere for what we want. We may "keep ourselves from idols." For what is the use of an idol? What is the design and aim of those who frame or fancy visible images of the invisible God, grotesque figures, in wood, or stone, or metal;the heavenly orbs; deified heroes; personified divine attributes and influences? Is it not to bring God more within the range of their actual and sensible apprehension than otherwise he would be, and so to have him before them as a true and palpable reality? The idols are real, and, in a sense, even living. The hideous, misshapen block before which yonder dark Hindoo bows and worships has for him a certain real life, akin to his own. The beasts so sacred in old Egypt’s eyes were real and living emblems of divine powers and qualities of some sort. The suns and stars on which rapt Chaldaean gazed had a real and living significance, as representative of deity. The men and women whom a more earthly superstition turned into gods and goddesses were real and living flesh and blood while on earth, and continued to be to their votaries much the same when they were gone. Even the strange, dreamy, mysterious spiritualities, with which the early heretics and Gnostic corrupters of Christianity peopled the divine fullness; the divine essences and emanations which they named as in some sense persons; had for their imaginative minds a living reality that they could grasp and feel. These last were the idols of John’s day, within the church; from which, even more than from grosset idols outside, it concerned him to warn "his little children to keep themselves." They were the forerunners, as his prophetic eye partly saw, of idols still more seductive, with which Christendom was to be ere long tried; canonised martyrs and saints, with their images and pictures and relics; and high over all, alone in her glory, the blessed Virgin. Now all these idolatries, however widely differing in their nature, and in their effects upon their devotees, have this principle in common, that they are all attempts to give actual form and substance, true and living embodiment and realisation, as it were, to men’s conceptions of deity; those conceptions which otherwise are apt to be so indistinct, indefinite, misty, shadowy, as to be for the most part practically all but uninfluential. They bring what is divine within the range and grasp of humanity. The abstract becomes personal; the ideal becomes real. The infinite takes the clear and sharp outline of a form or a face that can be pictured to the mind’s eye at least, if not to that of the body. And what is apt to be little more than a great blank vacancy, becomes instinct with living personality. Hence, even for refined natures, the more refined kinds of idol-worship have a strong fascination; witness the hold which Mariolatry has over intellects the highest and hearts the tenderest and purest. It is indeed the crown and masterpiece of idolatry, this worship of the Virgin. Fairer, holier, more lovely and lovable idol was never formed or fancied. Never idol like her, the ideal mother of our Lord. I say the ideal mother of our Lord. For it is an idealised Mary that is idolised. And yet we see and can understand how intensely real, even as thus idealised, she is and must be to her believing worshippers. In her they feel that they have a real mother, a real sister, a true and very woman; with all of woman’s warm love and none of woman’s weakness. And she has to them divinity about her, being, as they put it, "the mother of God." That Mary, thus ideal and yet real, should be adored and loved, chivalrously and yet devoutly, with human passion rising into divine enthusiasm, is so far from seeming to me strange, that I doubt if any of us have not sometimes had some secret sympathy, if not with the superstitious homage, at least with the frame of mind that prompts it. I take this highest instance of the charm that there is in idolatry, because it comes nearest to what John puts as a safeguard against it. The virgin-mother of our Lord is alone in the created universe of God. No other being ever has occupied, or ever can occupy, the same position with her. She stands in a relation to deity altogether peculiar; absolutely singular. It is a natural thought that she may be invoked as well as her Son; nay, that she may be inyoked instead of her Son; as, in fact, a most persuasive pleader with her Son. And she grows to be so very true and real, as a genuine woman, kind and pitying and relenting; while her divine Son, as well as his heavenly Father, fades away in the dim distance of a sort of undefined and misty majesty; that knowing her, as it seems, so thoroughly and personally, one is fain to rest in her, and leave all to her, and be satisfied with her as virtually all in all. And it must be so, if we take her as our mediator. For she is not "the true God and eternal life." She is, when thus viewed, simply an idol. Now no idol brings us into communication with God as true and real. We accept the idol as real; but God, whose image he may profess to be, between whom and us he ought to mediate, is as unreal as ever, or more so. The virginmother I know; in her I can lie. But as for the Son and the Father, I look to her to deal with them for me. To me they are but names. Nothing like that can happen when he through whom I am to know God truly, is himself, as his Son Jesus Christ, "the true God and the eternal life." He is as human as is his virginmother. He is, as much as she is, a real and living human person; as truly set before me as such. Nay, I have him, as a real and living person, more clearly and fully, with more of personal individuality, in my mind’s eye, than ever I can have her. The notices of Mary are few and far between; vague also and indefinite. We have nothing beyond the merest generalities to give us a notion of what sort of woman she was. But her divine Son, the Son of the Highest, the Son of the True One, his Son Jesus Christ, is as a living man amongst us, a real person. He is more truly, vividly, intensely real to us than even his mother Mary. And if more so than she, then more by far than any saints or martyrs that ever were canonised ; any heroes that ever were deified; any representatives of deity, dead or alive, that ever were worshipped; any effluxes or emanations of deity that the highest imagination ever invested with the property of personality. Yes; here is Jesus Christ the Son of God, truly, vividly, intensely real; a real and living person; going in and out among us; one of whom we can really form a truer, fuller, more intimate conception, than we can form of our dearest and most familiar associate and intimate ; whose hand we clasp in ours more really, because more inwardly, than we can clasp the hand of any friend; with whom we can talk more confidentially than we can with any brother. Here he is. And it is through and in him that I am to "know God as the True One." He is to represent God to me; it is with him that I have directly and immediately to do; in him I am to know "the True One." But does not this arrangement really put aside "the True One" and substitute in his stead "his Son Jesus Christ"? Doubtless he is the best possible or conceivable substitute. But still, is it not a substitution? Does it not tend in the direction of making Jesus Christ, the Son of "the True One" the real and living "True One" to me; while God, his Father, the absolute and ultimate "True One" becomes to me a dim and far-off vision? Is there no danger of idolatry here? Am I not on the point of falling into that sin, by setting him up instead of God? And is not that equivalent to making him an idol. It has been so often; and it would be so always; were it not for the great and blessed fact that he is "the true God and the eternal life." But I cannot make an idol of him if I believe that. I cannot worship him in an idolatrous manner, or after an idolatrous fashion, if I really own him as being "the true God and the eternal life" and in that view take in the full meaning of his own words: "Whosoever hath seen me hath seen the Father." Is it not a blessed thing to know that there can be no idolatry in your closest fellowship with Jesus, if only you bear in mind that he is "the true God and the eternal life?" Your warmest love to him, your most familiar intercourse with him, your most affectionate clinging to him, your most tender and trusting embrace of him, never can be idolatry for he is "the true God and the eternal life." You need have no fear of your making too much of him, or making an idol of him; as you must have in the case of any other being, real or imaginary, whom you let ia between God and you; for "he is the true God and the eternal life." You may admire others to excess, but you never can admire him to excess; for "he is the true God and the eternal life." You may be too devoted to others, but you can never be too devoted to him; for "he is the true God and the eternal life." What ease and freedom may this thought impart to all your dealings with him, as come especially to "give you an understanding that you may know the True One ;" that you may know him as true and real. The most perfect of God’s creatures, the highest angel, if he had come on such an errand, must have bid you look away from him. You may listen to my voice, he might say; you may hear what I have to tell you about God. I will do my best to set him before you as a reality, in as lifelike a representation as I can give. But beware of fixing your eyes too much, or indeed at all, on me. You may imagine that I am so like him, as living so near him and seeing so much of him, that when you have formed a clear notion of me you really know him. But it is not so ; it is far otherwise. Your very knowledge of me may mislead you as to him; tempting you to form inadequate, if not erroneous, conceptions of him; to enshrine him in my frame and clothe him in my vesture; the frame and vesture of a mere creature at the best. But no such caution is needed on the part of Jesus ; for he is the true God and the eternal life. Therefore let not Jesus, the Son of God, be a name or a notion to you; if he is so, much more will God his Father be so. Let him be a true, present, living reality. Be sitting at his feet as really as did Mary of Bethany. Be welcoming him to your house and table as really as did Zaccheus. Be leaning on his bosom as really as did John. Be grasping his hand, when you are sinking in the stormy sea, as really as did Peter when he cried, Lord, save me, I perish. You may do so with all safety, and with no risk of idolatry; for he is "the true God and the eternal life." But not only are we "in his Son Jesus Christ so as to know him that is true" we are to be "in him so as to be in him that is true." In that view also it is all-important thoroughly to apprehend and feel that "he is the true God and the eternal life." For were he not so, we could not really be in the True One by being in him. Nay, our being in him, so far from a help, might be a hindrance. We might be in the True One through him, but scarcely in him, unless he were himself "the true God and the eternal life." This word "in" be it observed, though small in size, is very great in significance. It denotes a very close, real, and personal connection; and indeed almost, as it were, au identification; so much so that it may be said to be as impossible for me $o be in the True One, and at the same time to be in any one else who is not "the true God and the eternal life" as it is for me to serve two masters, to serve God and Mammon. For what is this "inness" if I may so say, when it is spoken of a real and living person to whom I may sustain real and personal relations? Surely at the very least it implies that I give myself up entirely to him, and become wholly his. I consent to his taking me to be one with himself. It is a real unity, corresponding in its nature and character to the nature and character of him in whom I am; but still real; and intimate as real; so intimate as to be engrossing, absorbing, exclusive. He in whom I am is to me all in all. In a sense, I lose myself in him. I have no separate standing from him.! see, as it were, through his eyes; I judge with his understanding; I make his will my will; I make himself my supreme good, and my chiefest joy. Now if, in any such sense, I am in one who is not "the true God and the eternal life ;" can that be compatible with my being also "in him that is true" It is not needful here to suppose that it is ah enemy of God in whom I thus am, and with whom I am thus identified. The case is better put when he is supposed to be a friend of God. For then I look to him to deal with God for me. I am in him as being his; so thoroughly his, that I have nothing of my own; I myself am not my own. He has made me part and parcel of his own very self. It belongs to him to make terms with God for himself; and for me as being in him. He has to do with God; not I. So it must be with me, if he in whom I am is not "the true God and the eternal life;" if he and the True One are separate and distinct; if he and the Father are not one. The higher he is, the nearer he is to God, the more does my "being in him" supersede and supplant my "being in God." But Jesus Christ is "the true God and the eternal life." I may be "in him" as much as ever I choose, as much as ever I can; his own good Spirit helping me; the more the better. For "in him I am in the True One." In the Son I am in the Father, even as he is in the Father. And all this is so, because "he is the True God and the eternal life." It could not otherwise be so. I could not be in him as I long to be in him, without being not in, but out of, the True One, were he not himself "the true God and the eternal life." For how do I long to be in him, if I am at all awakened to a sense of what I am in myself? How do I long to be in Christ.? How thoroughly would I be hidden, and, as it were, swallowed up in him! A poor, naked, shelterless, child of sin and wrath, shrinking from the presence of "him that is true" shrinking from the glance of his true eye and the searching scrutiny of his true judgment, - ah! how fain would I be lost and merged altogether in that holy, righteous, loving Saviour, who has come to answer for me; to take my place; to fulfil my righteousness; to bear my guilt; to die for me, and yet live, so that I may live in him. Oh! to be in him; shut up into him; lost and merged altogether, I repeat, in him; and because lost and merged in him, therefore also safe in him. Safe? From whom? From the True One?. Am I to be in his Son Jesus Christ so as to be away from himself? No. For he in whom I am is "the true God and the eternal life." Therefore, being in him, I am in the True One, "in him that is true." I would be in Christ incarnate. I would be in Christ crucified. I must be in Christ both incarnate and crucified. I must be in him as he becomes bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. I must be in him as dying, yet not "given over to death" but rising again; the living one; who, having once died, dieth no more; who living, though he was dead, liveth for ever. I would be, I must be, thus in Christ. Is it as against God?. Is it as if I were to be out of and away from God the True One? No! Emphatically no! For he in whom I am is himself "the true God and the eternal life." "Little children, keep yourselves from idols." And let this be the test or criterion of what an idol is. Whatever worship or fellowship or companionship, whatever System or society, whatever work or way, whatever habit or pursuit or occupation, is of such a sort in itself, or has such influence over you, that you cannot be in it and at the same time be in God, or that you may be in it and yet not be in God, as little children in a loving Father; that to you is idolatry, be the object of your regard what it may. From all such idols keep yourselves. And that you may keep yourselves from them ail, abide evermore in the Son of God, your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. To be in him is your only security, to be always "found in him." For to be in him is to be in the Father, even as he is in the Father. And there can be no idolatry in that. AMEN ======================================================================== CHAPTER 7: 02.00.0. BETHANY OR COMFORT IN SORROW AND HOPE IN DEATH ======================================================================== BETHANY or Comfort in Sorrow and Hope in Death by Robert S. Candlish, D.D. Edinburgh Adam and Charles Black 1871 ======================================================================== CHAPTER 8: 02.00.1. CONTENTS & LICENSE ======================================================================== CONTENTS 1. MARTHA AND MARY Their Common But Diverse Grief, Diversely Comforted 2. THE WORD TO MARTHA Jesus the Ressurection and the Life 3. THE HOPE OF THE RESSURECTION The Trial of Abraham’s Faith 4. KINSMANSHIP WITH CHIRST in the Risen Body ___________________________ Copyright Status: This book is in the Public Domain. License: Creative Commons License (CC-BY-NC-SA) 2009 by Larry Gross. This book may be freely copied and distributed worldwide. This book may be freely downloaded from Google Books, in PDF format: http://books.google.com/books?id=SgsDAAAAQAAJ&oe=UTF-8 This book may be freely downloaded from the Internet Archieve, in Text format: http://www.archive.org/details/bethanyorcomfor00candgoog MAY God be glorified and his Body encouraged with the contemplation of this text. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 9: 02.01. MARTHA AND MARY ======================================================================== I MARTHA AND MARY - THEIR COMMON BUT DIVERSE GRIEF DIVERSELY COMFORTED " It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning : but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth." Such is the voice of wisdom (Ecclesiastes 7:2-4). If this is true generally as to the effect which should be produced by familiarizing the heart with the devout contemplation of death, and of the grief which death occasions, it must be especially true when we have Jesus as our companion. It was our Lord’s custom, in his visits to Jerusalem at the feasts, to retire in the evening, after the toils and trials of his daily ministry in the temple, to the quiet village of Bethany, and the peaceful abode of Lazarus. There he found the rest and repose which he needed, in the holy endearments of a congenial family circle; - the nearest approach, for him who " had not where to lay his head," to the warm heartiness of home. That house is now the house of mourning. Let us visit it in the company of Jesus ; and let us observe how he is received there, and how his presence cheers the gloom. The sisters, Martha and Mary, greet him with the same pathetic salutation, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." And this might seem to indicate an entire similarity in their sorrow. But if we look a little closer, we see a striking difference of demeanor, corresponding to the manifest difference of their characters generally. And this difference is marked in our Lord’s different treatment of them. In every view, this record of sisterly affection is an interesting study. We may learn from it, on the one hand, how much sameness there is in grief, as also, how much variety; and, on the other hand, how much compass there is in the consolation of Christ, as capable of being adapted to all varieties of grief - to grief of every mould and of every mood. I speak chiefly throughout of the grief of true Christians ; for I am surely warranted in assuming that, not withstanding their great contrast in respect of natural temperament, the two sisters were partakers of the same grace. Part First - Common Grief . Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died . John 11:21 , John 11:32 It is remarkable that two persons so different in their turn of mind, as we shall afterwards see that these sisters were, - so apt to view things in different lights, and to be affected by them with different feelings, - should both utter the very same words on first meeting the Lord Jesus: "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." It shows how natural such a reflection is in such a season ; how entirely the heart, when deeply moved, is the same in all ; and how much all grief is alike. The sisters, however otherwise dissimilar, were united in their fond affection for their departed brother, as well as in their grateful reliance on that divine friend "who loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus." They had sat and watched together beside their brother’s bed of sickness. They joined together in "sending unto Jesus, saying, Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick." In their distress they both thought of the same remedy, and applied to the same physician. It was a joint petition that they dispatched, and they did not doubt that it would prevail. Together they waited anxiously for his coming. They reckoned the very earliest moment when he could arrive; and as they looked on their brother’s languid eye, and saw him sinking every hour and wasting away, - ah, they thought how soon their benefactor might appear, and all might yet be well. But moments and hours rolled on, and no Saviour came. Wearisome days and nights were appointed to them. Often did they look out and listen ; often did they fancy that they heard the expected sound, and the well-known accents of kindness seemed to fall upon their ears. But still he came not. Ah! what were their anxious thoughts, their earnest communings, - their fond prayers that life might be prolonged at least for a little longer, - to give one other chance, one other opportunity, for the interposition of him who was mighty to save even from the gates of death! And how were their own hearts sickened, as they whispered to the sick man a faint hope, to which they could scarcely themselves any longer cling! Still the time rolls slowly on. The last ray of expectation is extinguished; the dreaded hour has come; it is over. Their brother has fallen asleep. Lazarus is dead. And now four days are past and gone since he has been laid in the silent tomb. The first violence of grief is giving place to the more calm, but far more bitter pain of a desolate and dreary sadness, - the prolonged sense of bereavement which recollection brings along with it, and which everything around serves to aggravate and embitter. The house of mourning, after the usual temporary excitement, is still. It is the melancholy stillness of the calm, darkly brooding over the wrecks of the recent storm. And amid the real kindness of sympathizing friends, and the formal attentions of officious strangers, the sisters, as each familiar object recalls the past, are soothing or suppressing as best they may those bitter feelings which their own hearts alone can know; - when suddenly they are told that Jesus is at hand ! He is come at last. But is it not too late ? His having come at all, however, is a comfort. He is welcome as their own and their brother’s friend; he is welcome as their Lord. They never doubt his friendship; they do not question his willingness or his power to do them good. But still, when they meet him, they cannot but look back on the few days that are gone. And as all their anxieties and alarms, their longing hopes and cruel disappointments, rush again upon their minds, they are constrained to give utterance to the crowded emotions of their hearts in the irrepressible exclamation of regret, - "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." It is the voice of nature that speaks in these words, - the voice of our common nature, mingling its vain reflections with the resignation of sincere and simple faith There is here, first, the feeling that the event might have been otherwise: "If thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. Mightest thou not have been here?" We know not what has detained thee. Some call of duty may have prevented thee from coming ; or perhaps our message did not reach thee in time ; or it may have been some merely casual circumstance that hindered thee. If this sickness had happened but a little sooner, when thou wast in Jerusalem at the feast ; or if we had taken alarm early enough, so as to send for thee before our brother was so ill; or if our messenger had been more expeditious, and had used more dispatch ; or if we had but been able to lengthen out, by our care, our brother’s sickness for a single week ; - had we not been so unfortunate in the occurrence of this evil just when it did occur; or had we, when it occurred, used more diligence, and taken better precautions ; - then thou mightest have been here. And, " if thou hadst been here, our brother had not died." Is it not thus that the heart speaks under every trying dispensation? Is it not thus that an excited imagination whispers to the forlorn soul? Who has ever met with any affliction - who has ever lost any beloved brother or dear friend - without cherishing some such reflection as this? - If such or such a measure had been adopted ; if such or such an accident had not happened ; if it had not been for this unaccountable oversight or that unforeseen and unavoidable mischance; so grievous a calamity would not have befallen me, - my brother would not have died. Alas! alas! the reflection, however natural, is only a sinful and sad delusion; - proceeding upon a very limited view of the power and the providence of God our Saviour. How did these sisters know that, if Jesus had been there, their brother would not have died ? How could they tell whether he might not have ends to serve, which would have required that, even though he had been there, he must have permitted their brother to die ? And were they not aware that, though he was not there, yet, if he had so chosen and so ordered it, their brother would not have died ? Had they not heard of his being able, at the distance of many a long mile, to effect an immediate and complete cure of the most deadly disease? Did they not believe that he had but to speak, and it would be done ; he had but to say the word, and, however far off he was, his friend and their brother would be healed? Ah! they had forgotten who it was to whom they made this most touching and pathetic appeal; that he was one who, though not actually present, could have restored their brother if it had been consistent with his wise and holy will ; and that he was also one who, even if he had been present, might have seen fit, for the best reasons, to suffer their brother to die. And are not these the very truths concerning the Lord Jesus Christ which, in your distress, even you who believe in him are tempted to forget, when you dwell so much on secondary circumstances and causes, instead of at once and immediately recognizing his will as supreme? You are overtaken by sudden misfortune ; you are overwhelmed in the depths of sorrow. You ascribe your suffering to what seems to be its direct occasion; - whether it be your own neglect of some precaution which you might have taken, had you thought of it in time ; or the fault of others, with whose skill or diligence your dearest hopes were inseparably connected ; or something perhaps, in the course of events, over which neither you nor they could have any control. You fix upon the very date, the very scene, when and where your brother’s doom seems to have been sealed. And this is your train of thought. If we had but suspected what was about to be the issue, or if the help which we now see would have been available had then been within our reach; - if we had been warned in time, or had taken the warning, or had been able to employ the right means of escape ; - we might not now have been left disconsolate. Our beloved one might have still been spared to cheer us with his smiles, and share with us all our cares. Our brother might not have died. So you are apt to think and feel. But however natural the reflection, is it not in reality the very folly of unbelief, - the dream of a soul forgetting that the Lord reigneth? What! Is it come to this, that you conceive of him as limited by events which he himself ordains, - as the slave of his own laws? You think that if a certain obstacle had not come in to prevent relief, the calamity which you bewail might not have happened. But, not withstanding that obstacle, might he not, if he had seen fit, have found means to avert the calamity? And are you sure that, even if the obstacle had been removed, he might not have seen fit still to let the calamity come? " If thou hadst been here," say the mourning sisters, "our brother had not died." " Nay," he might have answered, "I could have been here if it had seemed good to me; and, though I was not here, I could have kept your brother alive; and, though I had been here, I might, in very love to him and to you, have allowed your brother to die." Look, ye afflicted ones, beyond second causes, to him who is the First Cause of all things! Believe and be sure that the circumstances which you regret as the occasion of your misfortune. are but the appointed means of bringing about what he determines. If evil comes upon you, if your brother dies, it is not because this or that accident prevented relief; it is not because your Lord and Saviour was not with you in sufficient time; - but because it was his sovereign and gracious will. " Be still, and know that he is God! " (Psalms 46:10) But further, secondly, there may be in this address of the sisters somewhat of the feeling, that the event not only might, but should have been otherwise. There is at least an intimation of their having expected that the event would have been otherwise : " If thou hadst been here, our brother had not died." And why wert thou not here? We sent to thee, - we sent a special message, - a special prayer, - and surely thou mightst have been persuaded to come. Ah! Why didst thou linger for two whole days after tidings of our threatened loss reached thee? Why didst thou not make haste to help us? We could not believe that thou wouldst have treated us thus. Thou wast not unmindful of us before. Thou didst regard us as thy friends. Thou didst bless our house with thy presence; making it thy resting place, thy home. Thou didst choose us before thine own kinsmen. Thou didst select our brother as the object of thine especial affection. And we thought it would have been enough to touch thy heart simply to send to thee, saying, " He whom thou lovest is sick." We thought thou hadst but to hear of his illness to hasten at once to his relief. True, we had no right to dictate to thee, and now we have no right to complain. But we cannot help feeling that, " If thou hadst been here our brother had not died;" and that surely thou mightst have been here. It was not so very great a favour that was asked of thee; and was he not worthy for whom we asked thee to do it? He loved thee, - he trusted in thee; and thou mightst have come, if not to preserve his life, at least to soothe and satisfy his dying hours. He looked for thee, and thou didst not appear. To the very last he waited for thee, and thou didst hide thyself. He missed thee, and he was not comforted. Such are the instinctive complaints of nature in a season of sore trial, of bitter bereavement. Thus the wounded soul rises against the stroke that pierces it, and turns round upon the hand that smites it. It is very hard for flesh and blood to believe, in regard to any crushing load of woe, that it is God who directly and immediately ordains it. It is far harder to believe, that in ordaining it he does not do wrong. Simply to be still, and know that he is God, is no easy exercise of resignation. To be sure that what he does is right, that all he does is done well, is even more difficult still. You fancy that, if he had really been here, it would have happened otherwise, - your brother would not have died. And you feel as if you had had some right to expect that he should have been here, - that it should have happened otherwise, - that your brother should not have died. And you can give, perhaps, many reasons. You can point out many ends which might have been served had your brother been spared, - how faithful and successful he might have been, - how noble a course he might have run. He was just prepared for entering into active life; he was just newly fitted for the service of God in the world; and it does seem strange and unaccountable, that at the very time when his life seemed to have become most valuable, when his character was ripened for increased usefulness, and when the mere word of the great Physician would have brought him back from the gates of death, he should yet have been suffered to die! Ah! But remember that in all this the Lord may have many purposes in view with which you may be unacquainted, - which indeed you could not as yet comprehend. Only wait patiently for a little, and you will see that "this sickness is not" really "unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified thereby " (John 11:4). Would that thou hadst been here! - thou surely mightst have been here! - is the natural language of the mourner to his Lord. Nay, says the Lord to his disciples, "I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe" (John 11:16). A hard saying this, - who can always hear it? But consider who it is that speaks to you when you say " If thou hadst been here." It is your friend, your Saviour. He might have been here, and might have taken care that your brother should not die. And may you not be sure that, if it had been for God’s glory, and for your good, he would have been here, and would have taken care that your brother should not die? He might have ordered this matter otherwise, you say ; and you almost think that he ought to have ordered it otherwise. But may you not believe that, had it been right and good, he would have done so : and that, if he has not, it must be for the best of reasons ? What these may be you cannot now guess. He may have need of your brothers services elsewhere. He may intend to make his death the occasion of showing forth God’s glory, and blessing your soul. Only be patient, and hope unto the end. What he doeth you may not know now, but you shall know hereafter. Meantime, when you are tempted to fancy that he might have interfered - nay, that he should have interfered - to prevent the calamity under which you suffer, may not that very feeling, on second thoughts, suggest the conviction, that if he has not so interfered, it must be because he intends to make to you some gracious discovery of himself, and to confer upon you some special benefit? Be not hasty, then, to judge, but rest in the assurance that all things shall work together for good to them that love God. And though he may seem to stand aloof when you would most desire, and when you most need, his interposition, yet when he does come, be sure that you receive him gladly-as did the sorrowing sisters. For, lastly, there is apparent in the address of the sisters a sincere, though melancholy satisfaction in meeting with Jesus when he comes. He has not come so soon as they expected. He has not come at the very time, in the very way, for the very purpose, that they could have wished. Still, when he does come, at whatsoever time, and for whatsoever purpose, he is welcome. He is come too late to do them that particular favour which they solicited: still he is come for good, and gratefully do they receive him. True, they say, as if almost in complaint, ’’Lord, if thou hadst been here sooner, our brother had not died." But thou art here now; and it is enough Our brother, indeed, is dead, - and, if it had been possible, we would have had it otherwise. We expected that thou wouldst have come ; we wondered that thou didst not come; - for a time, perhaps, we entertained some doubtful and hard thoughts of thee, as if surely thou mightst have come. But now that thou hast come, we are satisfied. We are sure that had it been possible, consistently with the high ends of thy ministry, and consistently with our own real interest, thou wouldst have been here. We see that thou lovest and carest for us; and though thou didst not at once grant our Request precisely as we desired, yet not the less on that account do we take thy visit kindly. Thou art still our best friend, our gracious Lord. " We know that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee." At thy feet we will still lie down. That thou hast come at all, at our solicitation, is great condescension. That thou hast come in such an hour of trouble is a peculiarly seasonable act of friendship. Happy will it be for you who mourn, if in like circumstances you are enabled to feel as these sisters felt, and to meet your Saviour’s gracious advances as they did. In the hour of blighted prospects and disappointed hopes, when the evil which you deprecated has befallen you, you may think that consolation comes too late, like Rachel, you may weep and refuse to be comforted. Like Jonah, when your gourd withers, you may almost be tempted to say that you do well to be angry. You may turn away when your Saviour draws near ; you may sit disconsolate when he calls. If he had come for the purpose of averting the calamity, - if he had been here sooner, and had interposed his power to help, - it had been well, for then my brother had not died. But the calamity has overtaken me, - my brother is dead ; and what avails it that he is here now? Beware of all such impatience, such natural irritability of grief. Reject not the Saviour’s visit of sympathy now, because he did not come to you exactly as you, in your ignorance, would have had him to come, and did not do for you exactly what you would have had him to do. It is enough that he is with you now; - to speak comfortably to you, to bind up your broken heart, to fill the aching void in your affections, and be to you instead of all that you have lost. True, if he had been here before, your brother might not have died. And your brother, alas, is dead. But he is here now, - he who is better than a thousand brothers, - he who hath the words of eternal life, - he who can speak a word in season to the weary soul, and who, when flesh and heart faint, will be the strength of your heart and your portion for ever. Such might be the feelings common to the two sisters, - such are the feelings of nature mingled with grace common to all sanctified grief,- as indicated in the affecting address, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." Part Second. Diverse Grief Diversely Comforted. Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him ; but Mary sat still in the house. Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. . . Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying unto him. Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. John 11:20-21, John 11:32 The simple and pathetic exclamation that bursts from the lips of the two bereaved sisters, as they separately meet with Jesus, " Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died," cannot but find an echo in every breast that has ever mourned over a loss like theirs. The feeling which it expresses is so natural, that we may almost call it the very instinct of grief. We reflect on what has happened, with a vague idea of its having been possible somehow to avert it. Nor is the expression of the feeling always sinful, if it be to Jesus himself that we express it. He would have us, indeed, to open our minds and hearts without reserve to him , for it is better that our complaint should be poured into his ear than that it should be pent up in our own bosoms ; and the relief which the utterance of it affords may lead to calmer and holier thoughts. Thus, in the present instance, the mourners, amid their very upbraiding of Jesus, as some might count it, were warm and cordial in the welcome which they gave him. They spoke the language common to all deep and recent sorrow, when they bewailed the untoward accident but for which, as they imagined, the event might have been ordered otherwise. But at the same time they gave evidence of their being under the influence of genuine faith in Jesus and tender love to him, when they hailed his visit so affectionately as they did, and accepted with meek and grateful resignation his seasonable fellowship and sympathy. Thus far we trace, in their first appeals to their common Saviour and friend, the working of a common emotion of regret, seeking rest in him. But the sisters differed in their sorrow, as they did generally in the leading features of their characters, and their manner of thinking and acting in the ordinary affairs of life. They were persons of very different tempers and dispositions ; and this difference is uniformly and strikingly brought out in their treatment of the Lord Jesus. Both of them looked up to him with reverence ; both of them regarded him with full confidence and tender affection ; and they were equally earnest and eager in testifying their esteem and love. But each in doing so followed the bent of her own peculiar turn of mind. Martha was distinguished by a busy, if not bustling activity in the despatch of affairs. She seems to have possessed great quickness, alertness, energy; along with a certain practical ability and good sense ; both together qualifying her for taking a lead herself, and for giving an impulse to others. She was on this account well fitted for going through with any work to be done, and she was always awake to the common calls and the common cares of the ordinary domestic routine of life. Mary, again, was evidently characterized by more depth of thought, more devotedness and sensibility of feeling. She was more easily engrossed in any affecting scene, or in any spiritual subject; more alive at any time to one single profound impression, and apt to be abstracted from other concerns. Hence, as we find it stated on a former occasion, when our Lord was received in their house, while "Mary sat at his feet and heard his word," " Martha was cumbered with much serving." She was assiduous, and even officious, in her hospitable anxiety to provide for the accommodation of her guest ; and if Jesus had come " to be ministered unto," he would have been best pleased with Martha’s attention to all his wants. But as he came, "not to be ministered unto, but to minister," he found greater delight in her sister Mary, who, with the meekness of a disciple, and the earnestness of a spiritually awakened soul, listened to the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth. Accordingly, when "Martha said. Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone ? bid her therefore that she help me," - "Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things : but one thing is needful : and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her" (Luke 10:40-42). Thus the sisters showed their respective characters in their manner of waiting upon the divine visitor whom it was their privilege to entertain in their house as a highly honored guest and a much-valued friend. And as their ways of testifying regard to the Lord Jesus in their prosperity differed, so also did their respective modes of demeanor towards him in their adversity. Martha was evidently the first to receive information of his approach (John 11:20). This might be either because to her, as the mistress of the house, the message was brought ; or because, going about the house in her usual manner, she was in the way of hearing intelligence. She went out in haste, impatient to meet the Lord, and to render to him the offices of courtesy and respect. She is ready to be up and doing; she can turn at once from the conversation in which her friends from Jerusalem have been seeking to interest her, and disengage her mind for active exertion. Mary is more absorbed in her grief. Her sorrow is of a deeper and more desponding character. While "Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him, Mary sat still in the house " (John 11:20). This more engrossing and absorbing intensity of Mary’s grief, " the Jews who were with her in the house, and comforted her," seem to have remarked, when they said of her, as they saw her at last rise hastily and go out, " She goeth unto the grave to weep there" (John 11:31). They had not said that of Martha when she went forth. She might be bent on other errands in the house ; Mary could be going - only to weep at the grave. And at first her feelings so overpower her as to prevent her from going at all. The sudden arrival of her brother’s friend is a shock too great for her ; it tears the wound open afresh, and recalls bitter thoughts. She is plunged by the tidings into a fresh burst of sorrow, and can only " sit still in the house " (John 11:20). Thus, in different circumstances, the same natural temper may be either an advantage or a snare. Martha was never so much occupied in the emotion of one scene or subject as not to be on the alert and ready for the call to another. This was a disadvantage to her, when she was so hurried that she could not withdraw herself from household cares to wait upon the word of life. It is an advantage to her now, that she can, with comparative ease, shake off her depression, and hasten of her own accord to meet her Lord. The same profound feeling, again, which made Mary the more attentive listener before, makes her the more helpless sufferer now ; and disposes her almost to nurse her grief, until Jesus, her best comforter, sends specially and emphatically to rouse her. Nor is it an insignificant circumstance, that it is the ever active Martha who carries to her more downcast sister the awakening message ; - so ought sisters in Christ to minister to one another, and so may the very difference of their characters make them mutually the more helpful to one another : " She went her way, and called Mary her sister secretly, saying: The Master is come, and calleth for thee " (John 11:28). When the two sisters meet Jesus, the difference between them is equally characteristic. Martha’s grief is not so overwhelming as to prevent her utterance. She is calm, and cool, and collected enough to enter into argument. She can give expression to her convictions and her hopes. She can tell that her faith is not shaken even by so severe a disappointment. Having hinted what might seem to imply a doubt, - "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died" (John 11:21), - she is in haste to explain her meaning, and to give assurance of her undiminished confidence : " But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee" (John 11:22). And then, as the conversation goes on, she is sufficiently self-possessed to listen to a short argument on the resurrection, and to reason with the Lord upon the subject. She invites and welcomes religious discourse, and makes a formal declaration of her faith in Jesus as the author of eternal life : " Yea Lord, I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world" (John 11:23-27). Not so her sister Mary. She indeed, when at last she is emboldened by her Master’s kind message, goes forth to meet him; and her reverence, her devotion, her faith, are not less than those of Martha. But her heart is too full for many words. Her emotions, when she sees the Lord, she cannot utter; the passion of her soul she cannot command. She can but cast herself down, weeping, before him, and cry, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." She adds not a word more, - she lies prostrate and silent at his feet (John 11:32). Shall we notice one other distinctive mark of character, exquisitely delicate and true to nature? Jesus having asked where Lazarus had been laid, is conducted to the tomb, which was " a cave, with a stone upon it." He gives orders to take away the stone. " Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he stinketh : for he hath been dead four days" (John 11:39). It is not Mary to whom it occurs to offer this objection ; she is silent still, in the unutterable agony of her grief, and the deep reverence of her soul before the Lord. But Martha’s wonted officiousness makes her forward, when it might have been more becoming to be "dumb," and to "stand in awe." And the answer of Jesus might well be felt by her partly as a mild reproof; - "Said I not unto thee, that, if thou wouldst believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God ?" (John 11:40.) Such are the different aspects which sorrow wears in minds of different stamps, and of different degrees of strength and of sensibility. But if it be the sorrow of a godly heart, it finds in Jesus one who can, with the most perfect tenderness and truth, adapt his sympathy and consolation to its peculiar character, whatever that may be. It is very instructive accordingly, in this view, to observe the Lord’s demeanor towards the two sisters, in his first meeting with them on this occasion, and to see how it was exactly suited to their respective tempers, and their different kinds of grief Martha’s distress was of such a nature that it admitted of discussion and discourse. She was disposed to converse, and to find relief in conversation. Jesus accordingly adapted his treatment to her case. He spoke to her, and led her to speak to him. He talked with her on the subject most interesting and seasonable - on the resurrection of the body and the life of the soul Martha had declared her unshaken trust in him as still having power to obtain from God all that he might ask (John 11:22). And a wild idea seems to have crossed her mind, that it might not even yet be too late - that the evil might, even now, be repaired. If so, it was but the fancy of a moment - the dreamy notion that sometimes haunts the desolate breast, when it strives in vain to realise the loss which it has sustained. A single sad thought brings the recollection to which, as we have seen, in her characteristic spirit of attention to such details, she afterwards adverts, that her brother has been now four days in the tomb, and corruption must be doing its horrid work upon his body. When, therefore, she hears her Lord’s promise, " Thy brother shall rise again," she applies it to his share in the general resurrection : " I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day" (John 11:23-24). Jesus is anxious to explain himself more fully. He speaks, not of a resurrection merely, but of a resurrection in himself ; - not of life only, but of life in himself : " I am the resurrection and the life : he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live : and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?" (John 11:25-26). For in fact this is the only true comfort in reference to the future state. He is the only true comforter who can speak, not merely of the immortality of the soul and the resurrection of the body, but of himself as the life of the immortal soul and the quickener of the risen body; - "the first-begotten from the dead - Revelation 1:5" - " the first-fruits of them that sleep." Ah, what consolation is it for thee to know merely that thy brother lives and shall rise again, - that he lives now in the spirit, and that he shall rise again in the body! The consolation which I give is more effectual and complete by far. He lives in me. He shall rise with ME. And what is the life which I continue, even after death, to sustain? It is the very life which I impart now,- life before God,- life in God; the life of a soul pardoned, justified, reconciled to God ; - renewed after the image of God, sanctified and made meet for the fellowship of God for ever. And what is the resurrection which I give? Is it not a resurrection to glory - when these "vile bodies" shall be changed and "fashioned like unto my glorious body?" It is my own life that I impart to the believer now, and continue to him without interruption beyond the grave. It is of my own resurrection that I am to make him a partaker when I come again. These, or such as these, are the only words which, spoken by one who has authority, can shed light on the dark tomb of a lost and buried brother, - or on the darker sorrow of a surviving sister’s heart. So the apostle felt when he said, " I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him." (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14) And what though Martha may not as yet understand fully all that is involved in the assurance, " I am the resurrection and the life ?" She is relieved by having laid on her Divine Friend the burden of her soul, and imparted her sorrows and her hopes to one who can so graciously commune with her concerning the glorious end and issue of them all. It is, therefore, with somewhat of a lightened heart that she declares her entire acquiescence in his power and her perfect trust in his goodness ; adopting the usual form of confession by which the disciples were wont to own their Master as the Messiah: "I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world." When Mary, on the other hand, draws near, in the anguish of silent woe, Jesus is differently affected, and his sympathy is shown in a different way. He is much more profoundly moved. He does not reply to her in words, for her own words are few. Sorrow has choked her utterance and over-mastered her soul But the sight of one so dear to him, lying in such helpless anguish at his feet, is an appeal to him far stronger than any supplication. And his own responsive sigh is an answer more comforting than any promise. "When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her," - for it was a melting scene, - " he groaned in spirit, and was troubled." And when he had asked of the bystanders, " Where have ye laid him" and received the reply, "Come and see," - like Joseph, he could not refrain himself - "Jesus wept." O most blessed mourner, with whose tears thy Saviour mingles his own! Sympathy most unparalleled! To each of the two stricken and afflicted ones the Lord addressed the very consolation that was most congenial. To Martha he gave exceeding great and precious assurances, in words such as never man spake. To Mary he communicated the groanings of his spirit, in language more expressive to the heart than any spoken words could be. With Martha, Jesus discoursed and reasoned. With Mary, " Jesus wept." What a friend is this! what a brother! Yea, and far more than a brother ! And how confidently may you come to him, ye Christian mourners, in every season, of trial ! For he will assuredly give you the very cordial, the very refreshment, which you need. He is a patient hearer, if you have anything to say to him ; and he will speak to you as you are able to bear it. Your complaints, your regrets, your expostulations, your very remonstrances and upbraidings, may all be expressed to him. He will pity - he will comfort The Holy Spirit will bring to your remembrance what Christ has said suitable to your case. He will recall to you the Saviour’s gracious words of eternal life, and suggest to you considerations fitted to dissipate your gloom, and put a new song in your mouth. And even if you cannot collect your thoughts, and order your words aright, - if you are "dumb with silence when your sorrow is stirred," and as " you muse, your heart is hot within you," - oh remember, that with these very "groanings which cannot be uttered, the Spirit maketh intercession for you ! " And they are not hid from him who, when he saw Mary weeping, groaned, and was troubled, and wept. There is, indeed, enough of all varied consolation in this blessed book, which all throughout testifies of Jesus ! For the sorrow that seeks vent in words, and desires also to be soothed by words, - there is the Saviour’s open ear - there are the Saviour’s lips into which grace was poured. For the grief that is dumb and silent, - there are the Saviour’s tears ! I have endeavored to trace the lineaments of two very different characters ; and to show how they appeared in the ordinary scenes of life, and how they manifested themselves in the chamber of sickness - in the house of mourning. On their comparative excellencies and defects respectively I pronounce no judgment, further than what may be gathered incidentally from the narrative as the judgment of the Lord himself. But I may be allowed to say, in conclusion, of Mary’s fervency of spirit as compared with Martha’s diligence in business - This ye ought to cherish, but not to leave the other undone. There is a tendency to regard religion as consisting chiefly in services rendered to the Lord Jesus, and attention and observance paid to him, - in ministering busily, if not to his person, yet to his cause and the affairs of his kingdom. And there is a danger, in days especially when much is to be done, of substituting a certain bustling activity and liberality and zeal in the work of the Lord, for deep and devoted piety in waiting upon his word. Never forget, then, that Mary chose the better part. What Jesus chiefly desires is to see you rather sitting at his feet than cumbered about much serving, - rather that you should ask and receive much grace from him than that you should make a merit of rendering much service to him. But beware of supposing that there is any inconsistency or incompatibility between these two habits of mind. The tempers of the two sisters may be united and blended. Be it your study and prayer that they may be so in you. Be as fervent in spirit as Mary was, - as diligent in business as Martha was. Choose the privilege of waiting upon the word of the Lord, - yet, neglect not the work of the Lord. Seize every opportunity, answer every call, of usefulness, - while, at the same time, you cultivate the holy taste for meditative retirement, divine fellowship, and heavenly rest ; - even as he did of whom it is testified that he "went about doing good," and of whom also it is written, that he "spent the whole night in prayer to God." Then may you entertain the confident hope that in seasons of affliction yours will be the blessedness of uniting both the portions of consolation which the sisters separately received. Jesus will speak to you as he did to Martha, -Jesus will weep with you as he did with Mary. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 10: 02.02. THE WORD TO MARTHA ======================================================================== II. Jesus the Resurrection and the Life Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life ; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live ; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. John 11:25-26 The Lord here identifies himself with an event, - "the resurrection;" and a state, - "the life." The event and the state are intimately connected - the one takes its character from the other; according to what the life is, so is the resurrection. If it is life in the sense in which all men on the earth live, - if it is the life that is here and now common to all the race, - then the resurrection is a mere resuscitation. It is simply a return to this present world, under the ordinary conditions of man’s present occupancy of it. Such a return to life as actually took place in the case of Lazarus, and of others whom our Lord and his apostles raised from the dead. But if it is life in a higher sense that is meant - life in the favour and fellowship of God - the resurrection must obviously be of a sort corresponding to the life. That this last is the life meant is evident, for it is associated with faith. It is the life which those have who believe in Jesus. Of this life it is said, on the one hand, that it overcomes, or, as it were, undoes and reverses death; and, on the other hand, that it abolishes death, or renders it impossible. In the one view, the believer in Jesus may die, or be dead, yet with the certainty that he shall live. In the other view, he is never to die at all. In either view, the life is in Jesus. He is the life. And in order to his being the life, he is the resurrection. For he was dead. But, in the first place, when he died, it might be said of him, " though he were dead, yet shall he live." There is to be for him a resurrection. And now, secondly, it may be said of him that he " liveth," and so liveth that " he shall never die." Hence he himself says, "I am he that liveth and was dead, and behold I am alive for evermore, Amen ; and have the keys of hell (or hades) and of death ;" - of the unseen world and of the entrance thereto (Revelation 1:18). And hence also to those who, believing, are one with him, he is the resurrection and the life. He is their life, and in order to his being so, he is their resurrection. In a double sense he is their life ; inasmuch as, first, in him, though they die, they shall yet live ; and inasmuch as, secondly, living now in him, they shall never die. Thus there are two ways of considering the Lord’s saying, " I am the resurrection and the life." On the one hand, it may be considered in connection with the admission that the believer has to face death; according to the promise in the twenty-fifth verse, - "He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." On the other hand, it may be considered in the light of the assurance that to the believer there is properly no death ; according to the promise in the twenty-sixth verse, - "Whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die." Part First It would seem to be admitted, in the first instance, that one who believes in Jesus as the resurrection and the life, may die. Though he were dead," the Lord says ; though he die ; though he be dead. In a literal sense, this was an admission obviously demanded by the fact that Lazarus was dead. It would have been difficult to persuade Martha that a believer in Jesus was never to die when her brother Lazarus was dead. Yes, there is death. My brother is gone. The arm that used to embrace me so tenderly, the eye that so often met mine so lovingly, the manly frame I was so apt only too proudly to admire, -all is mouldering in the dark grave. But out of that death there is life. ’’I am the resurrection and the life ; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." The life, therefore, which a believer has in Jesus, as the resurrection and the life, is not incompatible with death. Nay, it implies death. It is the antithesis or antagonism of death. The glory of it lies in this very concession ; - " though he were dead, yet shall he live." Nor is it merely to the death which Lazarus had just died, that this admission applies. Death, in a far deeper sense, is comprehended in it. The expression - " though he were dead " - will cover, not merely such a death as Lazarus had died, but such a death also as Christ himself died. Nay, it must comprehend and cover that death, if he is the resurrection and the life, and if it is as one with him in that character, that he who believeth in him, though he were dead, shall yet live. Need I say what death that was? The death which Christ had to die! The death with reference to which it might be said of him, "Though he were dead, yet shall he live!" What death was that? A death of cruelty; a death of agony; a death of shame! More than that. A death of condemnation; a death of wrath; a penal death ; " the cursed death of the cross !" He was to die, bearing the guilt, and suffering the punishment of sin ; exhausting the sentence of the violated law. That was the bitterness of his death. Thus he was appointed to die. Thus he actually died. ’ But though he was thus to die, yet he was to live. Even before he gave up the ghost, he was to be in a position to say, "It is finished;" " Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit." And on the third day thereafter he was to be " declared to be the Son of God, with power, according to the Spirit of holiness, by the resurrection from the dead" (Romans 1:4). Jesus then might truly say of himself, Though I were dead, yet shall I live. And it is because he can say this of himself, that he can say also of every one who believes in him, Though he were dead yet shall he live. He may have to die, not merely as Lazarus has died, but as I am to die. He may have to be a partaker, not in the first place at least, with Lazarus in his death, but before that, with me in mine. Nay, it must be so, if he believes in me. For, if we believe, we must enter into Christ’s death, and make it our own. There must be realized in our experience an actual personal dying with Christ. There must be wrought in us by the Holy Spirit some real apprehension of a dealing with us for our sins on the part of God, the righteous Judge, exactly similar to his dealing with Christ, when he bore our sins in his own body on the cross. It may be a dealing thoroughly fatal, for the time, to our peace; remorselessly destructive of any life we may once have thought we had, - any life we may once have hoped to make good, - before our God. There may be darkness above and all around, a rending of the rocky heart within, a sharp sword of wrath piercing us, a heavy sense of guilt oppressing us ; and the cry, as of one forsaken of God, may be wrung from each of us apart, - " Woe is me! for I am undone" Still let us not shrink from the hour ; let us accept the punishment of our sin ; let God smite us even to the dust, till all idea of our having any life of our own is gone, and we fall at his feet as dead. Only let us believe in Jesus ; embrace him as dying for us; consent to be dead in him. And let us lay hold of that assurance of his, concerning every one who believeth in him; - "Though he were dead, yet shall he live." Yes! In spite of this death we live. Nay, more. Through this death we live. For now, believing, we are accounted one, because we are really one, with Christ in his death. His death is reckoned to be ours ; in the eye of the law, it is equivalent to ours. Because Christ is dead, the law regards us as dead. Christ, in his death, has endured and exhausted the penalty of the law ; and we who are one with him, have endured and exhausted it in him. Its condemning sentence has no more hold over him ; nor over us who are in him. Such is the efficacy of his death; such its legal force and import. And such is the virtue of that real and vital union which the Spirit, by working faith in us, effects between Christ and us. We die with Christ ; we die in Christ. Now, "he that is dead is freed from sin" (Romans 6:7) ; from sin’s curse or condemnation by the law. The law has done its worst That penal death being over, - first as regards Christ, - and then as regards us who are in Christ, - he lives, and we live along with him. So our Lord here teaches. And so also, with greater fulness, his fully instructed Apostle Paul testifies ; " If we be dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him : knowing that Christ, being raised from the dead, dieth no more ; death hath no more dominion over him. For in that he died, he died unto sin once : but in that he liveth, he liveth unto God. Likewise reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord" (Romans 7:8-11). Is there yet awaiting us another death? Believing in Jesus, and being partakers with him in the death which he died, have we still, even after that, to be partakers of the death which Lazarus died? Be it so. But is not the Lord’s assurance as applicable to this death in prospect, as to the death that is past? Nay, it is so much more. For this death before us is less formidable by far than the death from which we are already delivered. It need not have in it, and should not have in it ; if we really believe, it cannot have in it ; - those elements of guilt and wrath that filled the cup which our Saviour had to drink, and which we drink with him when we are " crucified with him." The experience of our dying hour is not to be like that which smites us when, under a sense of sin’s guilt and the law’s curse, we die now. The Spirit, - causing us to enter into the death of Christ now by giving us an insight into his cross,- slays us once for all; empties us of all conceit of life; makes us own and feel ourselves to be dead. But that death we survive; from that death we are raised. Though thus dead, we live. What remains is not death - it is a falling asleep in Jesus. When that hour comes to thee, believer, the Spirit, bringing to thy remembrance what Christ hath said, will cause thee to hear these gracious words, " I am the resurrection and the life." Thou seest the heavens opened, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. It is as raised from the dead that he stands there; and thou too art raised from the dead in him. Dying thou art, "thy life is hid with Christ in God." Thy life is bound up in the life of thy risen Lord. He, as the resurrection and the life, has already brought thee through a worse death than thou hast to die now. He will bring thee through this death also. He will bring thee through it completely, - in respect of thy body as well as thy soul. Though thou hast to die, yet shalt thou live. Ah, then, thy end may well be peace! Yes. Though it be even amid a shower of stones that thou art perishing, the tumult of angry passions raging all around; gazing still on thy risen Saviour thou shalt say, " Lord Jesus, receive my spirit !" And breathing the prayer of charity, " Lord, lay not this sin to their charge," quietly, in the arms of thy risen Lord, thou shalt "fall asleep." This first view of the Lord’s gracious assurance may suggest some practical thoughts. 1. In how emphatic a sense is that saying true, " He that loveth his life shall lose it " (John 12:25). The Lord says this with reference to his own dark death, viewed as the condition of his life and glory ; - " Except a com of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone ; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit" (John 12:24). And yet the love of life is inherent in man. All men cleave to life. Nor is it merely to the natural life which finds its congenial home in this warm-breathing world that men cling. To life in a higher sense they cling ; to the idea of some spiritual life which they may have, as being at all events not utterly and hopelessly condemned in the judgment of God. It is of that life chiefly that the Lord speaks when he says, " He that loveth his life shall lose it." Are you in this sense "loving your life?" Are you clinging to the imagination of your not being, after all, so very guilty, so very destitute of all title to favour with God, as his whole word proclaims you to be ? Are you still going about to establish a righteousness of your own, - striving to satisfy or silence conscience by the common pleas of worldly self-justification? I beseech you to consider that, as certainly as there is a God of judgment, so certainly must that life of yours issue ere long in the discovery that all is lost ! Before the awful throne, the books of reckoning are opened. Your sins are set out before you ; yes, and your virtues too ; your pieties and charities. The heartlessness of your whole way of dealing with God is exposed. And the heavy sentence of his holy law of love crushes you, - unholy and unloving, - in ruin that admits of no retrieval Love not a life like that. Rather now, in the day of grace, let that self-righteous life of yours be hated, disowned, renounced, finally and for ever. Let it go; you are well rid of it. For "he that," in this sense, "hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal " (John 12:25). 2. " The com of wheat falls into the ground and dies." And he carries you with him. You are in him as he lies in the grave; crucified with him ; buried with him. That old life of yours, with all its sins and all its righteousness’s, is buried with him ; never again to come up, either to tempt you again to trust in it, or to torment you with any feeling of its condemnation. There, in the grave of that crucified one, you lie buried, as to all your guilt, and all your liability to wrath and judgment. Surely it is a blessed thing thus to die. 3. It is so, because the life that issues out of this death is very blessed indeed. " The com of wheat," when it dies, " bringeth forth much fruit." You, believing, are among the " much fruit" - being raised from the death of guilt and condemnation to a life of acceptance and peace. You live now, in and with Christ. His life, - his risen life, - is yours ; as truly as your death, - your penal death, - was his. You are in the same position in which you would be, if you had yourselves personally died the very death which Christ died when he fully expiated guilt; and had thereafter risen again as he rose; -experiencing the very resurrection by which he was "declared to be the Son of God with power." How complete, then, is your deliverance from the fear of death, and the bondage in which the fear of death keeps you. How strong also is the obligation under which you lie, as " dead with Christ," "to crucify the flesh, with its affections and lusts;" and as "risen with Christ," to " seek the things which are above, where he sitteth at the right hand of God." For thus you realise your fellowship with him, first in his death, and then in his resurrection and life as consequent upon his death. He is thus, through his death and your participation in his death by faith, " the resurrection and the life " to you. Thus, " though you die, yet you live." And though you have another death still before you, it is not that " second death " which awaits the ungodly. Your second death is your quietly falling asleep in Jesus. That once over, you are alive in him for evermore. You are at home with him immediately in your emancipated spirits. And ere long, in your glorified bodies also, you are to be for ever at home with him, according to his own blessed parting promise to his disciples ; " In my Father’s house are many mansions ; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there you may be also " (John 14:2-3). Part Second While in one view it is admitted that " he that believeth in Jesus as the resurrection and the life " may die, when it is said, "though he were dead, yet shall he live ;" in another view the opposite seems to be implied, when it is added, " Whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die." And that is emphatically true. The life which you have through believing in Jesus as " the resurrection and the life " is unbroken and continuous. It admits of stages of progress and advancement, but not of interruption. From its first commencement onward through eternal ages, it stretches its unsevered line, its uncut thread. And it is one and the same life throughout. It is life in Christ ; and in Christ considered as "The resurrection and the life." It is a state, reached through an event ; a state of life, reached through the event of a resurrection. The event is identified with Christ, "I am the resurrection ;" and so also is the state, " I am the life." When you believe in him, the event and the state become yours as well as his; - yours in the very sense in which they are his. Being one with him as " the resurrection," you become one with him . " as the life." That is the law or condition of the life which knows no death. And it is so in reference to all its stages of development ; initial here ; and hereafter - first intermediate, and then final. I. Take this new life in its initial stage of development, as it begins and makes progress in this world. It is a state reached through an event. It is life springing out of a resurrection from death. And the resurrection, as originating the life, Christ identifies with himself personally ; - " I am the resurrection and the life" The expression is figurative ; - but, viewed in the light of the occasion, it is not obscure. Martha has been looking to the future, probably the remote future, thinking of some far distant day when she may embrace her brother in the flesh again. Jesus recalls her to the present. The resurrection to which you thought I was referring when I said, "Thy brother shall rise again," may, in one view of it, be far off. But in another view, it is near. It is here. It is here in me ; in my person. For it is a resurrection which must first be realized in me personally, in order that it may then be realized also in him who, through grace, believes in me. How is this resurrection realized in the person of Christ himself ? As realized in his person, what is involved in it ? Guided by the fuller teaching of the apostles on this subject, and especially of the Apostle Paul, we may partly trace the meaning of that great transaction. Writing to the Ephesians 2:5-6, he represents believers as, in the first place, "quickened with Christ ;" in the second place, " raised up together with Christ ;" and in the third place, "made to sit together with Christ in the heavenly places." He thus identifies their position with that of Christ himself (Ephesians 1:19-20), when " God raised him from the dead, and set him at his own right hand in the heavenly places." Now the position of Christ, as thus raised, has in it the three elements of power, grace, and glory ; - power, reversing the sentence of death ; grace, conveying a sentence of life ; and glory, crowning the conqueror with meet reward. In the first place, in his resurrection, Christ is fully and finally delivered from death ; - from the death he consented to die when he " gave his life a ransom for many." Resurrection is to him the removal or reversal of the divine sentence under which he suffered ; the proof that, with reference to him, that sentence is exhausted. He ceases to lie under any of the penal consequences of that guilt of ours which was imputed to him when he died. In so far as these consequences affected his soul, he was rid of them when he cried, " It is finished." But that was not enough. So long as they continued to touch his body, so long as the penal death he died had hold of him by any part of his human nature, - he was still really bearing somewhat of the doom of sin, as one condemned. But there was no more condemnation when he rose from the dead. In the second place, in his resurrection, Christ not only ceases to be dead, or to lie under the sentence of death; he begins to live anew; he receives the sentence of life. Not only is he absolved from the condemnation that was upon him, as " made a curse " for us; he is judicially acquitted; accepted as righteous; in a word, justified. And the justification is complete. For he has brought in an everlasting righteousness; he has rendered a perfect obedience. He has not only endured and exhausted the penalty of the violated law; he has done more than that. Made under the law, he has honored it by his holy, spotless, sinless compliance with its demands, both positive and punitive or penal As the Father’s righteous servant he has done the Father’s will. And his resurrection is the Father’s significant approval of him, in that character, and on that account. Thirdly, in his resurrection, Christ is set at the right hand of the Father. His seat now, as the risen Saviour, - his home, - is in "the heavenly places," beside the Father. That is his life, following from his resurrection. It is the life upon which, being man as well as God, he enters, - when he passes from the cross and the grave into " the heavenly places." How he there dwells with the Father; how his human soul is filled with overflowing communications of the Father’s love; how, as to his human nature as well as his divine, he is with the Father, being "daily his delight, rejoicing always before him;" how his afflictions are ravished there; what are his activities there; tongue cannot tell nor heart conceive. Enough to know that our risen Lord is at home with the Father in " the heavenly places! " Such is the resurrection, as realized in the person of Christ, and such the life which it originates. Now it is this very resurrection that Christ becomes to us, and this very life, when we believe in him. Resurrection, as realized in us, is identical with what it is, as realized in him. First, we are " quickened together with Christ." Secondly, we are " raised up together" with him. And, thirdly, we are made to " sit with him in the heavenly places" (Ephesians 2:5-6). Thus his resurrection, and consequently his life, become ours. All this implies a work of power. It is the exercise of "the exceeding greatness of the power of God, according to the working of his mighty power, which he wrought in Christ when he raised him from the dead and set him at his own right hand in the heavenly places" (Ephesians 1:19-20). It is power, however, exercised in a peculiar manner. It is omnipotence; but it is omnipotence working in terms of law; and that law, the moral law; the law of love and duty, which can neither be forced nor evaded, but must be honored and obeyed. Look again at the Lord Jesus in his death. See him as his body lies in the tomb. What obstacles stand in the way of his resurrection ? Some obstacles there are, which a mere and simple exertion of divine power may remove. The stone can thus be rolled away from the mouth of the sepulcher ; and the breath of life can thus be made to reanimate the clay cold corpse. There might thus be a resurrection effected by the mere fiat of omnipotence. The Father speaks and it is done : - " Let that grave be opened ; - let the principle of vitality again possess that body ;- let the disembodied spirit return to it." There is a resurrection thus effected. The dead Christ no doubt is raised. But he is raised only to be what he was before. He is raised to resume his old life in the flesh, - under the old terms and conditions ; the old obligations, responsibilities, and liabilities. He is raised to be again " made under the law" - under its authority, and under its curse. A resurrection, in the case of Christ, effected by a mere act of power, might have done that; it could have done no more than that. It could not have brought him into a position in which he might be " the resurrection and the life " to us. It would have been merely and simply a return to the old life; not a resurrection to a new life. His resurrection, if it is to be available as a source of life to us, must be a judicial act, as well as a work of power. Omnipotence effects it; but I repeat, it is omnipotence acting according to law. It is the Almighty One speaking, and it is done. But it is at the same time the Righteous One saying - It is enough ; the judgment is over; the punishment has been borne. The surety, when he is raised and revived, rises and lives upon a new footing. And on that new footing he is in a position to be " the resurrection and the life" to us, when we believe in him as thus risen and thus living. There is therefore a two-fold divine interposition in that event of our history, - that crisis in our experience, - that change in our spiritual state, - which is implied in Christ being " the resurrection and the life" to us; or, in other words, in our being " raised with him to newness of life" (Romans 6:4). First, there is a work of power ; an operation of the Almighty Spirit. The sealed stone at the mouth of Christ’s sepulcher, the perfect deadness of his bodily frame, its utter incapacity for originating life or motion ; - these are but faint types of the obstacles, external and internal, which have to be dealt with and overcome, before one who is dead in sin can rise and live. The immediate and direct touch of omnipotence, and that alone, can meet the case. To roll away the stone, - the hard and heavy stone, - of careless unconcern and carnal security, with which the world, and the world’s prince, contrive to close the way of access into the heart and conscience ; and then, to impart vitality, so that the smitten conscience may mourn and the broken heart give forth its tears; -that is the Spirit’s work of power. But, secondly, the Spirit works in harmony with that judicial resurrection-act apart from which even a real spiritual resurrection would be in vain. For of what avail would it be to have fresh vitality imparted to the soul; to have the conscience and the heart quickened into new sensibility, as regards the claims of God and the guilt of sin ; if it were to issue merely in our being put again where we were before, - and set again to the old task of working out a righteousness or resurrection and a life or justification, for ourselves? Quickened thus in conscience and in heart, - with conscience keenly sensitive and heart affectionate and warm,- we would only aim the higher in our attempt to satisfy God’s law of love, - and sink the deeper under a bitter sense of failure and defeat, - of condemnation and of wrath? To recall Christ again, by a resurrection of mere power, to the state in which he was before he died, - to place him again under law as he was then,- to impose upon him a second time the obligations and responsibilities which he had already so fully met, - this would have appeared, in the eyes of all intelligences, intolerable severity. And yet he could have stood the ordeal! He could have passed again unscathed through the furnace heated seven times! But for us to be spiritually quickened in heart and soul and conscience, - and at the same time left in the state in which we are by nature, as regards our relation to God and our standing in his sight, - to be put, as it were, again upon our probation, to have simply another opportunity given to us of trying how we may right ourselves with God, - and that, too, with an altogether new sense of holiness and of sin; - such procedure on the part of God towards us would be a sort of mockery. It would be as if God had given Adam a second chance in the garden of Eden; as if, reinstating him there, with the knowledge he had got of good and evil, - of unattainable good and inevitable evil, - God had simply proposed to him, as if in irony, a repetition of the experiment of the forbidden tree. That, however, is not the manner of God. When Christ is raised, there is a work of power; rolling away the stone and causing the buried body again to breathe. But along with that, there is a judicial act ; removing the condemnation and passing a sentence of acquittal and acceptance; - admitting him who had died a criminal to a prince’s seat on the king’s throne, and a son’s place in the Father’s heart. Even so, when Christ is "made of God to us" "the resurrection and the life," there is a work of power. The door of our heart, which is a very sepulcher, - whited, perhaps, but still a sepulcher, - is broken open; - often violently with much force of awakening and conviction, a sort of earthquake shaking us with great terror; - sometimes, however, more gently, as if an angel’s hand were touching the stone very tenderly. The dead bones within are stirred to life. The Spirit breathes on them. Stupid, carnal unconcern gives place to earnest, anxious, inquiring sensibility. Thus far there is a work of power ; - issuing in the cry, " What must I do to be saved ?" But is that enough? Is that all? No. Along with that there is and must be a judicial act. We hear the call, " Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." We hear; and hearing, through grace we believe. And now, first of all, we are delivered from death; for " there is now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus." (Romans 8:1)Nay, more ; in the second place, we are judicially acquitted and accounted righteous; we are raised to life as " accepted in the beloved."(Ephesians 1:6) Nay, more still ; in the third place, we are made to ’’ sit with him," (Revelation 3:21) as adopted children, partakers of his filial rank and filial nature, " in the heavenly places." We have a life, whose seat and centre and home is the bosom of the Everlasting Father, where the Son himself dwells for evermore. Thus, with reference to our experience in this world, Christ is to us " the resurrection and the life." Through union and participation with him in his resurrection, we come to have union and participation with him in his life. Believing in him, we live; absolved, justified, adopted. And we so live in him that we shall never die. Such a life, thus reached by such a resurrection, has no liability to death in it or about it, - no possibility of death. It is not, and cannot be, subject to death, or the risk of death. From its very nature and origin, it is unbroken in its continuity. When once begun, it must go on uninterruptedly. The work of divine power, - and the judicial act, or sentence of divine law, - concurring in the resurrection which originates the life, secure its continuing for ever; and its continuing for ever, always the same. "Living and believing in Jesus, we never die." II. But our life, realized through faith in Jesus as " the resurrection and the life " - our life in the risen Saviour,- has its eras. It has its eras even here in this world ; its dates or times of progress and advancement. And in reference to the world to come, it has at all events these two; - death and the resurrection. Death, in this view, is not really death; it is a step in the march of that life which knows no death. It is, in fact, our second resurrection. When we fall asleep in Christ, he is even then to us " the resurrection and the life." He is so, in a new sense, and to a new effect. For he then severs completely the ties that bind us to the past and present here, and throws us wholly on the future elsewhere. In our conversion, - when we believe in Christ now and here, - he is to us "the resurrection and the life." Spiritually, as believers, we rise from the death of guilt and apostasy, and pass with him into "the heavenly places." And there we " sit with him at the right hand of God." This we realise by faith ; - often by an effort of faith by no means easy. Our aspirations after the resurrection-life now, - our endeavors to enter into it and carry it out, - are hindered by our present worldly condition and our present bodily frame. Both are unfavorable to its development. The world is adverse, and the world’s prince. And "the flesh lusteth against the Spirit." At death, these obstacles are taken out of the way. The world is left behind, and the prince of the world. The flesh is cast off. Emancipated from all earthly bonds, disencumbered of all fleshly desires, we depart to be with Christ. Absent from the body, we are present with the Lord. Is it not a step in advance? It is virtually our entering, through a new resurrection, into a new life. The new resurrection is the escape which the soul, perfected in holiness, makes from the world and the body; - from the world lying in wickedness, and from the "vile body" that is corrupting and corruptible. The new life is the rapturous communion with the risen Saviour which the soul, thus delivered, may enjoy. No outward object distracts; no burden of flesh depresses. Away from the world of sense, abstracted from things external, - all carnal tastes and tendencies cast off, - I am at home with Christ in God. And it is with Christ as risen, that I am at home in God - in his favour, his fellowship, and his love. Leaving this earth, and the body which is mouldering in its dust, - with no thought of either any more, - I pass into the august presence in which my risen Lord has his abode. And I am one with him there. My disenthralled and disencumbered spirit is one with him there ; - one with him in the life which in his human nature he reached when, on the very day of the crucifixion, he himself, - carrying the spirit of the dying penitent along with him, - passed into paradise. Is he not then to me - is he not then preeminently, "the resurrection and the life?" My death, thus viewed, is no interruption of my resurrection-life, but the lifting of it up, as by a new resurrection, to a higher stage and platform, on which it may be realized and unfolded more fully than it can be now. Surely, I might be inclined to say, this is the consummation of the blessedness to which I may aspire, as " living and believing in Christ." Nay; it is not, it cannot be. For this unearthly and incorporeal life has its drawbacks. It is an advance on what goes before undoubtedly. But the very circumstances in respect of which it is so, constitute its imperfection. In the step taken at death, the external world and the material body are cast off; and the soul emerges bare and naked, to find its home with Christ in God. This, I repeat again, is a step in advance; it may be said to be a second resurrection. Here, on the earth, when Christ becomes to us " the resurrection and the life," the utmost we can look for, as regards the world and the flesh, is that we may be in a position, and may have power, to overcome the world and mortify the flesh At death we cease to have any connection with a world needing to be overcome, and with flesh needing to be mortified. It is a great and blessed emancipation. And yet there may be a more excellent way. Absence from the world and the flesh, - exemption from what is here the needful task of overcoming the world and mortifying the flesh, - is not the perfection of our being. It is not the perfection of Christ’s. If there can be a world that does not require to be overcome, and flesh that does not require to be mortified ; if we can resume our worldly condition and our bodily frame, not only without the necessity of constant war against them in the spirit, but with the certainty of their ministering to our holiness and joy; - if we can return to this earth, or such an earth as this, renewed and purified, and return to it with bodies incorruptible, spiritual, and immortal ; - is not this a higher hope than the other? And is not this our full and final hope in him who, as " the resurrection and the life," calls us, in and with himself, to " inherit all things"? He has himself a glorified body; he is coming to possess a renovated earth. We are to "bear the image of the heavenly," - of "the second Adam, the Lord from heaven." We are to reign with him, sharing his throne and crown. Our life, begun now in him as made of God to us " the resurrection and the life," is to have its perfection of holiness and happiness then ; for " when he who is our life shall appear, then shall we also appear with him in glory" (Colossians 3:4). Several important lessons of a practical nature may be drawn from the views now submitted. I. As originally uttered, in his conversation with Martha, this statement of the Lord was fitted, and probably intended, to throw light on what, to believers under the Old Testament dispensation, seems to have been a dark object of contemplation - the intermediate state between death and the resurrection. Of the resurrection itself they had a firm persuasion and bright prospect. It was "the hope of Israel;" "the hope of the promise made of God unto the Fathers." Their views as to the nature of that world into which the resurrection was to usher them, may have been inadequate, and more or less carnal. But when it is testified of them that they "walked as strangers and pilgrims in the earth, declaring plainly that they sought a country," " a better country," " a heavenly country," - it is undeniable that they looked for an inheritance to be reached by a resurrection. A cloud, however, as it would appear, hung over the blank space in front of that event. It was felt to be a dreary void ; - that vast unseen region in space, that blank interval in time, wherein flesh and blood are not. A cloud, however, as it would appear, hung over the bland space in front of that event. It was felt to be a dreary void; that vast unseen region in space, that blank interval in time, wherein flesh and blood are not. Hence, probably, the excessive shrinking, sometimes amounting almost to horror, which holy men of old manifested, when they were standing on the threshold of that unknown eternity. They express themselves almost as if it were annihilation that they feared. And hence the passionate, and, as we might be apt to think, even unbecoming eagerness, with which such men as David and Hezekiah cling to this earthly state, and deprecate removal from it, as if it were of all calamities and greatest. The gloom which appalled them rested mainly, I am persuaded, not on the territory beyond the resurrection - for that might admit of a well-defined embodiment in the imagination - but on the awful vacancy before it. This word of the Lord to Martha is perhaps the first distinct sound given by the trumpet to chase these dark doubts away. "He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live," is a promise that might point to the resurrection. But What follows, "Whomsoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die," - must embrace the intermediate state. And when connected with the intimation, - "I am the resurrection and the life, " - it conveyed unequivocally the bright hope, that "to be absent from the body" would be to be "present with the Lord." It is the same hope that the Lord gives, when he says to his fellow-sufferer on the cross, "Today shalt thou be with me in Paradise." It is the hope which enables New Testament believers to look steadfastly as they depart, into the opened heavens, and seeing their Lord there, "the resurrection and the life," to say, as Stephen said, falling asleep in him, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!" II. Still the hope of Israel is the resurrection. the belief of the resurrection, - first, of Christ’s resurrection for us, and then of ours in him, - is the indispensable condition of our confidence, whether in time or for eternity. Yes! Resurrection is the only way to life - Christ’s resurrection, and ours in him. No otherwise than by death and resurrection from death can the curse of sin and it’s accompanying corruption be shaken off. A resurrection-life alone can meet our case. It is as risen with Christ that, in the first place, we live; and, in the second place, that we so live as that we shall never die. 1. The beginning of this life, in our experience, is and must be a resurrection - a resurrection, in our case, corresponding to the resurrection that there was in the case of Christ. In order to this, as we have seen, two dealings of God must concur and conspire; a work of power, restoring the vital principle, and a judicial act, placing us, with our restored vitality, on a right footing with God, the righteous judge. Regeneration, in short, and justification, meet in this resurrection ; and the two together are essential to its completeness. There must be a new birth, a new creation, effected by divine omnipotence. And along with that, and coincident with it, there must be the canceling of the sentence of condemnation against us, and the passing in our favour of a sentence of acquittal and acceptance. It is thus that we are risen with Christ, quickened with him, justified in him. 2. As it is a resurrection-life in its commencement, so it is a resurrection-life throughout; - now in this present world ; after death in the world of spirits; and after the resurrection, through all eternity, in " the new heaven and the new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness." How completely does this consideration identify the life that now is and the life that is to come! They are no more twain, but "one spirit." It is throughout one spirit that is the breath of this life ; - the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus. It is the one Holy Spirit; - making us, in successive stages, more and more partakers of the resurrection-life of Christ Ah! How calm and holy is this progressive life! It knows no violent breaks. Even death and the resurrection are not interruptions of it. Its changeless stream flows ever equably on. Through the portals of the tomb it enters a purer, but a narrower, channel. At the opening of the doors for the King of Glory at the last, it issues forth, - a broad river of joy and love, - rolling its ceaseless tide among the islands of the blessed for ever. From the first, throughout, its essential character is the same. It has the same taste, the same color, the same tendency. The life which we now live in the flesh, is the same as the life which we are to live when we depart to be with Christ. It is the same as to all that constitutes its real nature, with the life which we are to live after the Lord has come to " change our vile body that it may be fashioned like unto his own glorious body," and to say "Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world." III. For, finally, all throughout the life is Christ. He is " the resurrection and the life." He is so now; " to me to live is Christ." He is so at death ; " I depart to be with Christ," " absent from the body I am present with the Lord." He is so at the resurrection; I shall then "bear the image of the heavenly." So Christ teaches us here. I am now; I shall be when I take you hence; I shall be still more when I return hither, bringing you with me again ; - I am always, evermore, " the resurrection and the life." All is in me and of me; for I am all in all; the alpha and the omega; the first and the last; the living one; the same yesterday, today, and for ever ! Is not this your consolation, believers ? Is not this your hope? When your tears flow fresh for your loved and lost ones, you think of them as they are now, far away from you; - and for that you mourn. But you think of them as being with Christ, - and so you are comforted for them. When, again and again, the thought of their separation from you rushes back to afflict you, you think of them as coming with Christ to meet you ; - and so you are comforted for yourselves. It is their being with Christ that comforts you for them; - it is their coming with Christ that comforts you for yourselves. And when your own dissolution is present to your mind, and the eternal state is in solemn prospect before you; on what do you fasten as your hope? Is it not on the assurance that when you leave the body you go to Christ, - and that when you resume the body again it is to be with him where he is: - to " behold his glory, the glory which the Father hath given him," for " the love with which he loved him before the world was"? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 11: 02.03. THE HOPE OF THE RESSURECTION ======================================================================== III . THE HOPE OF THE RESURRECTION - THE TRIAL OF ABRAHAM’S FAITH (Genesis 22:1-24) By faith Abraham, when he was tried, offered up Isaac. Hebrews 11:17-19 Was not Abraham our father justified by works, when he had offered Isaac his son upon the altar? James 2:21-23 Tour father Abraham rejoiced to see my day; and he saw it, and was glad. John 8:56 The temptation of our Lord in the wilderness occurred immediately after his being declared to be the Son of God by the voice from heaven at his baptism (Matthew 3:17). And all throughout, the temptation turns upon the privilege and prerogative which his being the Son of God implies. The tempter would fain persuade him to stand upon his right, as the Son of God, - to avail himself of the power belonging to him, in that character, for his own relief and his own aggrandizement, - and to snatch the inheritance to which he is entitled, as the Son whom God hath appointed heir of all things, without waiting the Father’s time and fulfilling the Father’s terms. It is not Satan, but God, who "tempts Abraham," or puts him to the proof. So far there is a difference between the patriarch and the Saviour. The trial of the one is gracious and paternal; the other has to stand a more fiery ordeal. Abraham has to listen to God, and obey; Jesus has to encounter Satan, and resist. In other respects, however, there is a remarkable analogy between the two events. The father of Isaac is tried concerning his son, at the very time when that son has been emphatically owned from above as the heir. The Son of God is tempted upon the precise point of his sonship, just when it has been most signally and unequivocally acknowledged by the voice from heaven. Jesus is solicited to grasp impatiently the inheritance of his birthright, without passing through the preliminary stage of his deep humiliation and painful death. Abraham, again, is expected to acquiesce patiently in the putting off of the promises, even though the sacrifice of his beloved child, and the darkness of that child’s tomb, be brought in between his hope and its fulfillment In the one case, the question is, - Will the Lord Jesus anticipate prematurely the immunities and glories of the heritage ultimately designed for him? In the other case, the question is, - Will Abraham, on the part of his son, and as bound up with his son, consent to their being indefinitely postponed? In this connection, the trial of the patriarch’s faith may be viewed in two lights, as bringing out, first, the general principle of his faith, and, secondly, its more specific character and reward. I. Let the general principle of Abraham’s faith, as here exercised, be considered. If we look at the bare fact of a father offering up his son in sacrifice, we can see little to distinguish the conduct of the patriarch from that of too many unhappy men who, in the dismal infatuation of superstitious fear, have " given their first bom for their transgressions - the fruit of their body for the sin of their souls." We search in vain in such a work of delusion for real faith; - that meek and holy trust which alone can be either honorable to God, or saving in its influence on the soul of man. A faith indeed of a certain kind we may discover - a faith in the existence and the power of God - a faith also in the terror of his unknown judgment. But it is such a faith as the devils have, who " believe and tremble." We discover no sense of the divine love, no enlightened and manly confidence, in the severe and gloomy resolution of such a worshiper. All in his soul must be doubt and darkness; doubt inexplicable, darkness impenetrable. And in the horrid deed of blood at which we shudder, - by which the frantic parent would appease the wrath of an inexorable and implacable Deity, - we see no hopeful reliance on an unseen benefactor, but only abject and servile fear, grasping at a lie! We must look, therefore, beyond the naked fact that "Abraham offered up Isaac,’’ if we would rightly understand his faith. Let us look, accordingly, to the occasion of the deed ; - " Abraham, when he was tried, offered up Isaac." He made this sacrifice of parental affection at the express command of God, and sought, perhaps, to conciliate the favour of God, not indeed by the costliness of his offering, but by his ready and implicit submission to the divine will. Perhaps that may be a full account of Abraham’s views and feelings in this act, as well as of the motives from which he acted. So far it may be so. He certainly did well to submit to the declared will of his Creator, however mysterious that will might be. We see in such obedience plain evidence of faith; and of faith more enlightened in its nature than what we formerly observed in this sacrifice; - faith in the righteous authority and moral government of God, who commands, and requires obedience to his commandments, however inexplicable they may be. But we do not see faith confiding, clinging, loving; for we might conceive of the heart of the forlorn parent inwardly rebelling, while his trembling and reluctant hand was stretched out to execute the stem decree. Again, therefore, we must take into account some other circumstances of the case, if we would truly estimate either the intense severity of Abraham’s trial, or the unconquerable energy of his faith. It was "he that had received the promised" who did all this. In full and faithful reliance on these promises, while as yet he was childless, Abraham left the land of his fathers, and "Went out, not knowing whither he went." By faith in these promises, he sojourned as a stranger in the land which his descendants were to possess. On the birth of Hagar’s son, despairing of any other child, he cries, "O that Ishmael might live before thee!" But when the long-expected heir is born at last, God, renewing the promises, expressly confines them to Isaac: - " In Isaac shall thy seed be called." And as if to cut off all room for doubt, Ishmael is expelled altogether from the patriarch’s house. All his hope now is centered exclusively in Isaac. Thus the promises which Abraham had received were all closely and necessarily bound up in the life of Isaac. And it was that " only begotten son " - in whom "his seed was to be called " - on whom the promises depended - that, nevertheless, by faith in these very promises, he was ready at the command of God to offer up ! In the light of all these past proceedings on the part of God, we can now better understand the trial and the faith of Abraham, as they are recorded with such affecting simplicity ; - " And it came to pass that God did tempt Abraham, and said unto him, Take now thy son, thine only son, Isaac, whom thou lovest. And get thee into the land of Moriah, and offer him there for a burnt offering" (Genesis 22:1-2). Was this, then, to be the end of all the patriarch’s hopes? - this the fate of that son - the heir of so many promises, the child of such persevering faith, the destined father of a mighty people - in whom all the families of the earth were to be blessed? Was it thus that the old man, who had given up to God his youth, his friends, his home, his country, was to give up even Isaac, the child of his old age, the son of his love and his tears, his last and only stay? - to give him up, too, to the God in the fond faith of whose promises he had already sacrificed so much, and sacrificed all so vainly? Were all his long-cherished expectations to be thus cruelly mocked, at the very time when they seemed to be at last realized? Yet we read of no hesitation - no natural regret - no murmur - no thought even of remonstrance. The patriarch did not delay or deliberate an instant. He rose up early in the morning, and took Isaac his son, and went unto the place of which God had told him. Then, leaving his attendants behind, and going on with Isaac alone, he " built an altar there, and laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood." And these arrangements being deliberately made, ’’ Abraham stretched forth his hand and took the knife to slay his son " (Genesis 22:3-10). Here let us pause to contemplate the patriarch at this tremendous moment. Let us observe the conflict between sense and faith. In the eye of sense, he was by one rash act casting recklessly away the tardy fruit of a long life of obedience, and sternly sacrificing on the altar of his God the very hope which that God had taught him to cherish. Visions of grace and glory which had fed his soul during the years of his weary exile were fast vanishing from his view, and his high prospects were by his own hand now dashed for ever to the ground. Henceforth he was to linger out his days, childless and hopeless; his faith turned into despair, his joy into heaviness ; since, in the excess of his self-denying devotion, he was obeying God, and yet by the very act of obedience, putting utterly beyond his reach all the blessing which he had been so fully warranted by God himself to expect. But, in the eye of faith, the venerable patriarch was still, even in this hour of terror, looking up to God, and reposing with unshaken confidence on that goodness which, daring a long and harassed life, had never deceived or forsaken him. The same humble and holy trust in God, as his benefactor and his friend, which had thus far led him in safety, still triumphed over every doubt. Harsh as the decree might appear, he knew by much experience that God had never yet commanded him to his hurt; and he felt that the faithfulness of God must be as secure in the time to come as he had ever found it in time past. The cloud, indeed, might be dark which veiled the divine proceedings from his view ; but it was not so dark as to cast a single shadow over his heart. He still trusted in the Lord as implicitly as when first he abandoned his father’s house, casting himself on the Lord’s protection. It mattered not to Abraham that by sacrificing his only son, he was, to all appearance, sacrificing his hope of a future people and a future Saviour to spring from him through that son. It mattered not that what God commanded seemed altogether inconsistent with what God had promised ; and that, according to human judgment, by obeying the command, he was making utterly void the promise. He presumed not to question the wisdom or truth of God. He simply confided in his faithfulness and love ; being well assured that God would reconcile all difficulties in the end, and justify his own ways, and accomplish His own word. Thus, "against hope he believed in hope."’ The language of his obedience was the language of Job: " Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him." Such was the spirit in which Abraham, on this occasion, unreservedly obeyed God; such the principle of that faith by which he was rendered willing to offer up Isaac. He did not offer up Isaac in order that by so costly a sacrifice he might purchase or propitiate the love of God; nor in order that by so signal an instance of obedience to the divine will he might merit the divine favour. He had already received from God "exceeding great and precious promises" which, from the first, he implicitly believed, and which, from the first, warranted him in placing full reliance on the love of God as already his. He did not seek to make out, by his obedience, a claim to the favour of God; for the promises of God had already given him a claim sufficiently clear and sure. From the first and all along, his faith was altogether independent of his obedience, resting simply and solely on the promises of God ; it was not the consequence but the cause, not the result but the motive, of his obedience. It was not because he obeyed God that he felt himself entitled to trust in God ; but because he trusted in God, therefore he obeyed him. And his trust rested not on anything he had done, or was willing to do, but exclusively on the promises he had received. That was the faith which made him cheerfully consent to leave the land of his birth, and carried him safely through all his trials - even the present trial as by fire - not a vague, doubtful, contingent faith, timidly venturing to deprecate wrath, and hoping, by good behavior, to find acceptance at last; but a strong assurance of God’s faithfulness, and a blessed sense of acceptance in his sight, springing out of the simple credit which he gave to the free and gracious promises made to him. Had he not had such faith in God, he never would have taken a single step in the pilgrimage of toil and trouble which God prescribed. But God promised, and Abraham believed: God commanded, and Abraham obeyed. Long before this crowning instance of his obedience, Abraham believed ; - " He believed God, and it was counted unto him for righteousness ;" - a justifying righteousness was imputed to him. It could not, at that time, be on the ground of his own obedience that he felt himself warranted to believe, but simply on the ground of the promises. And still, to the last, even after this crowning instance of his obedience, his faith was of the same simple kind; resting not on any service of his own, as if that were the condition of his peace and hope, but on the promises he had long before received, and still continued to hold fast. Such is the explanation generally of Abraham’s faith, as exemplified in the most memorable instance of its trial and its triumph. It is reliance, confidence, consent; taking God at his word; closing with his proposals; resting upon his known character and revealed will; laying hold of himself. Thus viewed, it has a double efficacy, as a bond of union and a motive of action. It unites him who exercises it to the Being upon whom he exercises it; they are one ; and the oneness implies justification, reconciliation, peace. So far faith is receptive, appropriating, acquiescing. But it is an active and moving force, as well as an acquiescent uniting embrace. It not only clings closely to the stem in which it finds its inner life; it works powerfully upward and outward, bringing forth fruit. Hence, while in one view it justifies by apprehending a righteousness not its own, - in another, it justifies by verifying and vindicating itself. It justifies, as resting upon God and receiving the promises; it justifies, also, as proving itself to be genuine, by obeying the command. By faith alone Abraham was justified as a sinner before God; by faith alone he obtained acceptance in God’s sight; he believed, and therefore he was accounted righteous. But his faith wrought by works; believing the promises, he obeyed the commandment. And by this obedience, he was justified as a believer; nor without it could he have been justified in that character. By works his faith was verified and completed; and his acceptance, as the result of that faith, sealed and secured for ever. Thus we may understand the question of the apostle James - " Seest thou how his faith wrought by works, and by works was his faith made perfect?" - in harmony with what he immediately adds - " And the scripture was fulfilled which saith, Abraham believed God, and it was imputed unto him for righteousness" (James 2:22-23). That very Scripture was fulfilled when "by faith Abraham offered up Isaac: and he that had received the promises offered up his only begotten son, of whom it was said, That in Isaac shall thy seed be called." II. Let the specific character and reward of Abraham’s faith be now considered. Its simplicity, viewed generally as a habit of reliance on the promises of God, and its power as a motive of implicit obedience, are sufficiently brought out in the mere narrative itself of his trial relative to the offering up of Isaac. But we seem to obtain a deeper insight into its exercise and reward on this occasion, when we look at it in the light of allusions made to it in other parts of Scripture. In particular, both the apostle Paul (Hebrews 11:19), and our blessed Lord (John 8:5-6) lead us to an understanding of the precise truths which Abraham believed, more definite than a perusal of the history, without the benefit of their commentaries, might of itself suggest. They speak to the question of the "What" as well as the How? It is not now merely, - How did Abraham believe? how strongly, unhesitatingly, unreservedly? but. What did Abraham believe? What facts and doctrines had such a hold over his convictions as to make him willing "against hope to believe in hope," and to slay his only son - "the very son " of whom it was said that in Isaac shall thy seed be called" ? One article of his creed is not obscurely indicated as having some bearing on this act of faith. He did it, - " accounting that God was able to raise him up, even from the dead; from whence also he received him in a figure" (Hebrews 11:19). What gave him courage for the offering up of Isaac was, as it would seem, his " accounting that God was able to raise him up, even from the dead." ? But a question arises. Was it a return to this present life that Abraham had in his view, or a resurrection to life in the world to come? Did he contemplate the possibility of a miracle similar to that performed long after by our Lord in the case of Lazarus ? Or, was he thinking of his lost child as Martha thought of her departed brother, when, in reply to the assurance of Jesus, " thy brother shall rise again," she said, so simply - "I know that he shall rise again, on the resurrection at the last day"? It may have been upon some such event as the raising of Lazarus that Abraham reckoned. The God who commanded him, at one instant, to slay his son, was able the very next to restore him again to his arms. Abraham could not doubt that. So far, this may appear at first sight a credible and consistent enough account of his conduct. But, on farther consideration, it will probably be felt by most men to savour somewhat of refinement; it makes the apostle’s explanation of the patriarch’s faith somewhat far-fetched and artificial. Such a raising of Isaac to life again, was not a natural idea to enter into the mind of Abraham. If it had, it would have been fitted to give rather an unmeaning character to the whole scene in his eyes. The intense reality of it is upon this supposition gone ; and a sort of theatrical stroke, or piece of stage effect, is substituted in its stead. We have the impression that God is not acting in his usual manner, or in a way altogether worthy of himself, in thus commanding a deed to be done, on the implied understanding that he is instantly to undo it. And Abraham putting his son to death upon the faith of God being able to restore him again to life, is subjected to a physical rather than a moral trial - to the mere instinctive pain of embruing his hands in kindred blood, rather than to any exercise of the higher and more spiritual faculties or affections of his soul. Surely, when having built the altar and laid the wood in order, and having bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood, the venerable father stretches forth his hand, and takes the knife to slay his son - it is with no expectation of ever seeing him in this world again. It is a long last look of love that he casts upon that dear face, and a fond and final farewell that he sadly whispers in that eager ear, as he nerves his hand for the fatal, the irrevocable stroke! And then, on the other hand, the idea of a resurrection to life in a future state was as familiar to Abraham, as that of a return from death in this world must have been strange and inconceivable. Had any one sought to encourage him concerning his son, by telling him that it was not impossible for God to reanimate the mangled body, and recall the departed spirit; had some Eliphaz, or Bildad, or Zophar, been schooling him to patience by some such discourse on the divine omnipotence, and the abstract possibility of a dead man being restored to life; Abraham, like Job, might have winced under the commonplaces of his miserable comforters; but as to the notion they would insinuate into his imagination, - he must have rejected it as a temptation, not from God, but from Satan; he must have felt it to be a fond delusion and a dream. But it could not " be thought" by him " a thing incredible that God should raise the dead " (Acts 26:8). On the contrary, that is " the very hope of the promise made of God unto the Fathers," as Paul speaks in his defense before Agrippa; - "unto which promise," he adds, " our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to come" (Acts 26:7). In the very passage, moreover, in which his reference to the sacrifice of Isaac occurs, he celebrates the faith of the patriarchs generally,- and especially the faith of Abraham, - as a faith which made them feel that they were strangers and pilgrims in the land, looking for a more permanent order of things beyond the tomb (Hebrews 11:9-16). And it is in immediate connection with this explanation of the hope which animated Abraham, as well as all that went before him in the heavenly race, that the apostle introduces, as a specimen and choice example of it, the incident of the offering up of Isaac. Surely, therefore, we may conclude, on all these grounds, that what Abraham in this instance relied on, was not generally the power of God to raise the dead, but specially his power to fulfill his promise about the resurrection, and the inheritance of the world to come. It was no vague notion of the divine omnipotence, - or of God being able to do anything, however strange, - that sustained the patriarch; but a hope far more express and unequivocal; a hope having respect unequivocally to the world to come. Thus viewed, the trial of Abraham’s faith receives a meaning not perceived before. He had been warned, that with respect to himself personally, the promise of "the land which God was to show him’’ (Genesis 12:1) ; - " the place which he should after receive as an inheritance" (Hebrews 11:8) ;- the very promise on the faith of which he left the country of his birth and the home of his fathers ; - was to have its fulfillmentt in the resurrection state, or in the world to come. He had been told that he should "go to his fathers in peace, and be buried in a good old age," and that several generations must elapse before the land was to be taken from its present possessors and vacated for his posterity (Genesis 15:15-16). Thus far he had been taught to abandon the prospect of his being himself put in possession of the promised inheritance on this side of time, and had been led to regard it as a hope for eternity. But he might still be clinging to the present - the seen and temporal - in reference to his seed. Contented to die himself before receiving the promised inheritance, he might still be dwelling on the bright future that stretched itself out before his children in the land. And now that Isaac was born, he might be willing to say, as Simeon said, "Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace," - not from any spiritual apprehension of eternal things, but because he could now leave behind him one who, even in a temporal point of view, might elevate his name and lineage among the families of men. The command to offer up Isaac is the test of his faith upon this very point. Is he willing, not merely to have his own inheritance postponed till after the resurrection, but the inheritance of his seed also? Can he bear to have, not only his own expectation, but that of Isaac, deferred to the future state? He can; for he believes in the resurrection! He accounts that God is able to raise him up, even from the dead." He can forego, therefore, all his fond imagination of being the founder of a family and father of a great nation in this present world. He can consent to the arrangement that after his decease there is to be no farther trace of him excepting only in the line of Ishmael that has been so unequivocally disowned. He is to die in a good old age ; and it may be that he is to survive the son of whom it has been said, " In Isaac shall thy seed be called." After that son’s decease, there may be no genuine representative of his house left behind; and to the end of time it may be matter of wonder and reproach that neither he, nor any child of his, has ever actually got possession of the inheritance, on the faith of which he went out, "not knowing whither he went." But none of these things move Abraham. He looks not to the things which are seen and temporal, but to the things which are unseen and eternal; being well assured that " if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens" (2 Corinthians 4:18 and 2 Corinthians 5:1). Great indeed, in this view, is the faith of Abraham - great almost beyond our power of sympathy or insight. And yet we may partly measure it by the universal instinct which prompts men to aim at leaving a name, or building a house, that shall survive their own removal. One of the most painful thoughts connected with death is that "the place which once knew us shall know us no more ;" and one of the strongest natural desires in a parent’s bosom is to live again in his children. Not a few of us can make up our minds to our own obscurity; but we yearn after distinction in the race we are to leave behind. It is often the last weakness even of a spiritual man to cherish such prospects of posthumous renown; and it is no trifling trial of his spirituality when he must submit to his not having, either in his own person, or in his posterity, a high position in the world. But if this is trying to a man having only ordinary expectations in this life, what must it have been to Abraham? No common parent is he; nor is it any common hope that is bound up with the son for whose birth he has waited so long. The child of promise is the heir of no common birthright. A glory coextensive with the blessing of all the families of the earth is in store for his seed; a mighty nation is to hail him as their honored sire; and the whole world is to own him as the source or channel of its regeneration. And are the whole of these bright anticipations to stand over till time gives place to eternity? Is the patriarch, after having been taught to see glorious visions of temporal greatness and spiritual good hovering over the head of his dear child, - visions reaching to long ages and embracing the entire family of man, - not only to depart himself ere they are realized, but to have the realization of them made impossible in the present world, and possible only in the world to come? Then so be it. " Lord, not my will but thine be done." Abraham believes that God is able to raise the dead; and therefore he is willing to have the entire inheritance of himself and of his seed laid up in that unseen and eternal heavenly state to which the faithful dead are to be raised. His faith in the resurrection reconciles him to the loss of all his possessions and prospects in the life that now is, and enables him to lay hold of the treasure that is in heaven. Such, then, is the precise and specific character of Abraham’s faith, as brought out in the greatest trial it had to undergo. It embraces the doctrine of the resurrection. And it embraces that doctrine with a cordial preference of the state that is beyond the resurrection over the state that is on this side of it. There is thus plain evidence in it of that transference of the affections from earth to heaven, which a divine agency alone can effect. It obtains accordingly a suitable as well as signal reward. Being made perfect by works- having its consummation in the act of obedience which it prompted - it has its appropriate and congenial recompense also in that very act itself. He " received " Isaac " from the dead in a figure" (Hebrews 11:19). He " saw the day of Christ and was glad" (John 8:56). In the first place, "he received Isaac from the dead, in a figure." In the signal and seasonable deliverance of his son, he had a vivid representation of the resurrection which he had believed that God was able to effect. To all intents and purposes, Isaac had been dead, and was now alive from the dead. It was an emphatic rehearsal of the real and literal resurrection; nor could the patriarch, having been thus brought to feel the power of the world to come, ever afterwards lose the vivid sight and sense he had got of its eternal realities. Isaac has been spared to him; and, in acknowledgment of his obedient faith, the promises are renewed to him of a numerous family through Isaac, as well as of the Saviour in whom all the nations of the earth are to be blessed (Genesis 22:15-18). But the blessings thus graciously secured to him in time, must now have a peculiar meaning in his eyes, when viewed in the light of the resurrection and of eternity. For the lesson he has been taught is really this ; - that the promises reach beyond this present life, and have their chief fulfillment in the life to come; that, even if he should see no fulfillment of them here, this need not surprise or grieve him, since there is a greater and better fulfillment of them in reserve hereafter; and that any fulfillment of them he may see on earth is altogether subordinate to the fulfillment awaiting him in heaven. The birthright of which Isaac is the heir, is now seen to have its principal seat - not in this world, where all is change, and where, in a moment, the child of promise may be suddenly cut off - but in the world to come, where there is no more sorrow or separation, because there is in it no more sin. Thus, in the second place, "Abraham saw the day of Christ" in this transaction, "and was glad." For we can scarcely doubt that it is to this transaction that the Lord refers in his controversy with the Jews on the subject of their boast of liberty, and their standing in the house or family of God (John 8:34-59). It is an animated controversy. The Lord drives them back from one point of defense to another. He proves that they are the servants of sin; so that they can have no footing but that of servants in relation to God. He meets their proud boast of descent from Abraham, by an appeal to their entire want of sympathy with Abraham. He meets their still prouder boast of having God as their father, by the exposure of their family-likeness, not to God, but to Satan. And at last, in answer to their challenge - "Art thou greater than our father Abraham, which is dead?" - he announces himself as the object of Abraham’s faith : " Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day ; and he saw it, and was glad" (John 8:56). Now, the day of Christ which Abraham " rejoiced"- or earnestly desired - to see, must be the day of which he himself speaks; " I must work the work of him that sent me while it is day." It is the day of his sojourn on earth; when he glorified his Father, and finished the work given him to do. More particularly, it is the day on which his work was finished, and he was himself acknowledged, accepted, and glorified by the Father; according to the prophecy of the second psalm - " Thou art ray Son: this day have I begotten thee." (Psalms 2:7)For " this day," as the apostle Paul expressly explains it, is the day on which God "raised up Jesus again" (Acts 13:33). That is the day of Christ which Abraham desired, and was permitted, to see. But the sight which he longed to have of it must have been something more than was ordinarily granted to the saints and patriarchs of old. They, indeed, living by faith in a Saviour yet to come, looked forward to his day, and anticipated the time when the Seed of the woman should bruise the head of the serpent. But what the Lord refers to would seem to have been the peculiar privilege of Abraham; for Abraham is very specially represented as desiring to see "the day of Christ ;" and as on some special occasion seeing it, and being fully gratified with the sight. But what occasion in the history of Abraham can we fix upon more probably than the occasion now before us? And does it not give a very beautiful significance to that most mysterious transaction, if we regard it as the appointed means of affording to Abraham that glad sight of " the day of Christ" for which he had longed and prayed? Regarded in no other light than as a trial of Abraham’s faith, the narrative of the offering up of his son Isaac is abundantly interesting and affecting. But it becomes still more so, if we look at it in the light of our blessed Lord’s commentary. Abraham had desired to see "the day of Christ ;" and a sight of it, more full and distinct than believers of that time ordinarily had, is to be granted to him. He is to see in vivid reality the details of that event, of which the general outline alone was then communicated to others. For this end, he is to stand on Mount Moriah, which, as some think, is the very spot subsequently called the hill of Calvary. And he is to behold the scene of the atonement accomplished there. He beholds it in a threefold figure. First of all, when he takes the knife, and stretches forth his hand to slay his son, he is made to realise the intensity of the love of him who spared not his own Son, but gave him up even to the death. Again, secondly, in the ram provided for Isaac’s release, there is a vivid representation of the great principle of the sacrifice of Christ - the principle of substitution. A ransom is found for the doomed and condemned - an acceptable victim is put in their place. But, thirdly and especially, in the reception of Isaac again by Abraham virtually from the dead, and his welcome restoration to his father s embrace ;- not, however, without a sacrifice, not without blood ; - the resurrection of the Son of God, and his return to the bosom of the Father - after really undergoing that death which Isaac underwent only in a figure - might be clearly and strikingly discerned. And in Christ’s resurrection, his own resurrection also was involved, as well as the resurrection of all his true children, to the inheritance of eternal glory. Thus the very transaction which so severely tried the faith of Abraham showed him all that his faith longed so much to see. He saw the day of Christ - the day of his humiliation and triumph - not darkly and dimly as others then saw it, but clearly, distinctly, vividly. He saw the very way in which the salvation of man was to be accomplished, and the blessing purchased for all the families of the earth, by the atoning death and glorious resurrection of the beloved Son of God And seeing thus gladly the day of Christ, he saw Christ himself as the Living One; - dead indeed, and sacrificed once for all, yet still living, and by his very death enabled to be the author of life to the "many sons whom he bringeth unto glory" (Hebrews 2:10). These, then, are the gracious fruits of this trial of Abraham’s faith. They are such as the trial of our faith also may yield. For we are tried in the very same way with him. "We are called to give up to God the desire of our eyes, the beloved of our hearts ; - some dear partner, or child, or friend, around whose brow, in our fond esteem, the halo of many a bright anticipation shone. It is a bitter parting ; and it is hard to acquiesce in it, - to consent to it. But it is God*s will; and we submit. And what sustains us, but our accounting that God is able to raise him from the dead? Yes ; let him depart to be with Christ - and let the once beauteous body rot in the silent tomb to which my own hand consigns it. I know he is not lost after all. My own inheritance now is not on earth but in heaven; and in heaven he will rejoin me again. For myself and for him, I place all my hope beyond the grave. It is but a little while. " This corruptible must put on incorruption." "The Lord shall appear, and all that are his shall appear with him in glory." Is my heart wrung with the anguish of that parting hour ? Is the bitterness of death felt in my desolate home, and my still more desolate heart? Ah ! do I not now enter as I never did before - with a new insight and new sympathy - into the agony of the death endured by him who bore my sins in his own body on the tree? And as I lift my thoughts from this shadowy scene to the region of realities, how does my bosom burn with adoring gratitude and love to that Saviour who has spoiled death of its sting, and the grave of its victory, - who has abolished death, and brought life and immortality to light ! He calls me to suffer with him now, that we may be "glorified together" hereafter. He would have me to be partaker of his cross, that he may make me partaker of his crown. Through his own day of suffering and shame, issuing in his return to the Father’s bosom, he summons me to the hope of that heaven where he dwells. Am I contented to have all my hope there - and there only ? Can I bear to have my portion postponed - my expectation deferred- till the hour when time gives place to eternity? Can I resign myself to the surrender of everything dearest to me here below - friendship, love, happiness, - honour, wealth, - a husband’s or a wife’s embrace, - a child’s fond smile, - a friend’s sweet counsel, - not in gloomy submission to fate ; - not in stoical and stubborn pride; - not in heartless worldly unconcern; but in firm reliance upon that blessed Redeemer, who has himself passed through much tribulation, and gone to prepare a place for me among the many mansions of his Father’s house? And he cometh again, - his risen saints all with him, - to receive me to himself, that I may be with him for ever! Even so, come. Lord Jesus. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 12: 02.04. KINSMANSHIP WITH CHIRST ======================================================================== IV KINSMANSHIP WITH CHRIST IN THE RISEN BODY Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God. 1 Corinthians 15:50. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. 1 Corinthians 15:53. Handle me, and see ; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see me have. Luke 24:39. In connection with the announcement that "flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God," - with the reason implied in its being added, " this corruptible must put on incorruption," - a difficulty is sometimes raised. It is founded upon the supposed constitution of our Lord’s corporeal nature after his resurrection, as it is seen in the interval between that event and his ascension into heaven. Did he not, during these forty days, perform acts and offices such as ordinary " flesh and blood" performs? And did he not himself appeal to the fact of his having a fleshly body, to prove that it was not a spirit or mere ghost that appeared to the disciples, but their Lord himself in person? Now here, generally, it must be remembered that there hangs over the risen Lord’s forty days’ sojourn on the earth a veil or cloud which the Spirit has not seen fit, by any clear revelation, to remove. Plainly, his manner of life was peculiar, and wholly different from what it was before his death He did not frequent public places of resort. He did not, as he used to do, worship in the synagogues or in the temple. He was not to be met with familiarly in the common streets and highways, on the mountain-side, or by the sea-shore. He did not go about doing good. He did not even go in and out among his chosen friends, as was his wont in the more private hours of his previous ministry. He was not, as of old, the welcome guest of Lazarus and his sisters in the quiet village of Bethany. He did not live, as if at home, among the apostles; sharing with them common fare and a common purse. All is changed. He shows himself only occasionally, and indeed rarely. And when he does show himself, it is in a strange, mysterious kind of way, by glimpses and momentary flashes as it were, in brief and hurried interviews, - like "angels’ visits, few," if not "far between." He appears and disappears, abruptly, suddenly. He comes, they know not whence. He goes, they know not whither. And none of them ask him, " Where dwellest thou?" Mary Magdalene, weeping beside the empty sepulcher, hears her name called. It is the well-known voice of love. She turns and cries, " Babboni, which is to say. Master?" But she is not suffered to embrace her beloved. She may not tarry to enjoy his company. A short kind message to the brethren she gets. And lo ! in an instant, the interview is over (John 20:1-17). Two weary travelers are wending their disconsolate way to Emmaus. One draws near, who is apparently, like themselves, a traveler. They do not at first recognize him. He is a stranger; but apparently he is a pious man, who can speak to them of the Messiah’s sufferings and glory; and as such they insist on entertaining him. He blesses, in his own well remembered form, their humble repast. Their eyes are opened; - they know him. And lo! again on the instant, he ceases to be seen of them: he vanishes out of their sight (Luke 24:13-32). Twice, in successive weeks, on the first day of the week, the little company are gathered together. For security against intrusion, or against something worse, the doors are shut. Unexpected, unannounced, making a way into the room for himself, the Lord stands in the midst of them. They hear the customary salutation, " Peace be unto you," and are glad. They listen to the few words he has to say. But they seek not to detain him, nor does he offer to remain. He goes as strangely as he came. And whither he goeth they cannot tell (John 20:19-29). A party of them go fishing at the sea of Tiberias, and all the night they catch nothing. As morning dawns, one who seems to be unknown to them is seen standing on the shore. " Children, have ye any meat?" he asks; and they simply answer " No." Try once again, is his reply. The miracle which they had seen wrought before at the same spot, - the miracle of an overwhelming draught offish, - is repeated; - and the beloved disciple says to Peter, " It is the Lord." A conversation thereafter ensues, when they have come on shore, more like the fellowship of former days than what any of them had had with him since he had reappeared. It is for Peter’s sake ; - it is to meet the affecting case of the fallen apostle. That being done, this scene ends as unaccountably as the rest. Jesus is gone, and they are alone again (John 21:1-25) Once again he met the eleven, and as it would seem, a larger number, on Mount Olivet, near Bethany, and in the act of blessing them, was carried up into heaven (Luke 24:50-51). Such is the historical evidence of the Lord’s manner of existence and intercourse on earth being altogether different, after he rose, from what it was before he died. In the face of this difference, it is scarcely possible to doubt that his natural had become a spiritual body - that it had been raised "in incorruption, in glory, and in power," - that it was no longer "flesh and blood," but that substance, whatever it may be, into which "flesh and blood" is to be altered when it is to "inherit the incorruptible kingdom of God" (1 Corinthians 15:50). But there is one particular instance in which the Lord seems to assert the reverse of all this. When he first stood in the midst of the disciples, his sudden and inexplicable appearance disconcerted them. " They were terrified and affrighted, and supposed that they had seen a spirit." To reassure them, the Lord simply says, "Why are ye troubled? and why do thoughts arise in your hearts? Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself : handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have" (Luke 22:36-43). This verse is sometimes read and commented upon, as if the risen Saviour on that occasion had used identically the same words which Paul uses, "flesh and blood;" or, as if the words which he did use, " flesh and bones," had identically the same meaning. Hence a very serious difficulty is supposed to arise. To harmonize the saying of Christ with the doctrine of the apostle, - as they are thus respectively understood, - some have felt themselves shut up to the conclusion, that our Lord’s body did not undergo the needful change from corruption to incorruption. That it did not become a spiritual body, - until his ascension. Until then, in their view, his risen body was of the same kind with his body as it hung on the cross, and as it was laid in the grave. It was on its going into heaven, that it was so transformed from a natural to a spiritual body, as to be fitted for its heavenly immortality. There seem to me to be insuperable objections to this solution of the difficulty. I would not, for my part, very willingly acquiesce in the idea of my Lord and Saviour being different, in any material respect, now that he has ascended into heaven, from what he was when he showed himself on earth after his resurrection. I would feel as if I were forced to give up the strongest proof I have by far of his being the same person now, in his exaltation, that he was in his humiliation; the same as to his entire humanity, body as well as spirit. Let me speak as if I were Peter, or John, or any one of those who had been with Jesus. Let me speak, for example, as the beloved John. And I would say - Leave to me the impression which all that I saw of the Lord after he rose confirms, that he is now in heaven, - that he is to be when he comes again, - that he shall be through all eternity, - exactly what he was when he showed himself to us during the memorable forty days; - and I am satisfied. I know that, however the structure of his material frame may have been altered at his resurrection, however it may have been changed from a natural into a spiritual body, it was not so metamorphosed but that I could recognize and identify him, as the very friend on whose bosom I leaned at the supper. And not his spirit merely, or airy unsubstantial filmy ghost, could I thus recognize and identify; - but himself bodily ; his very self ; seen and felt to be the same as when he touched us upon the mount of glory, or wept with us beside the grave at Bethany, or pitied us amid the agony of the garden. If, however, you tell me that, changed as I certainly found him to be at his resurrection, he has been still farther changed in his ascension, - you make him, alas! an unknown friend to me. I am to see him again, it is true. But what he may be - what he may be like - when I see him, I cannot guess. He may be so altered that I shall need another Baptist to introduce me to him anew (John 1:35-40). But it cannot be. I remember the angel’s word: ’’This same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven" (Acts 1:11). The glimpses which I got of him when in his spiritual body he revisited the earth for a season- glimpses necessarily imperfect and obscure - assure me that, when I have risen as he rose, and my body becomes spiritual like his, we shall know one another in that kingdom of God which flesh and blood cannot inherit ; - and shall have fellowship in person one with another, not as during these few weeks, only now and then, but uninterruptedly throughout endless ages. So John might feel And so I cannot help feeling too. To me, as to him, the fact of Christ’s bodily nature having undergone all the change it is ever to undergo at the resurrection, and continuing ever since to be such as it was shown to be during the forty days thereafter, - recognizably substantial and recognizably also the same as it was before death, - is a precious confirmation of that most blessed hope, that in our spiritual bodies, in the heavenly state, we are to know one another and converse with one another ; that when I and my brother meet on the resurrection morn; I among the living who are changed, he among the dead who are raised ; we shall meet, not as strangers, but as old familiar friends, - to resume some interrupted argument, or labour, or song of love divine, - and to start together on a new course of study, work, and praise, in the realms of cloudless light and everlasting bliss. The resurrection of the Lord from the dead, therefore, and not his ascension into heaven, must surely be held to be the turning-point as regards the great change which it was necessary should be effected upon his bodily constitution, in order to fit it for the heavenly and eternal state. Whatever he is, as to his entire humanity, body as well as soul, when he rises from the grave, that he continues to be, - the same thenceforth and for ever. And yet he speaks of his having still "flesh and bones." How then, it is asked, can Paul say, - "Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God"? The answer is, that the expressions are not identical Christ did not say - " A spirit hath not flesh and blood as ye see me have : " but - " A spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see me have." Nor is this a mere verbal or technical distinction. The instances in which the phrase, "flesh and blood," occurs in Scripture are rare.* It is altogether a New Testament phrase. And it has a distinct meaning. It denotes man in his present bodily state, and implies that even at his best, and when doing his utmost he is unfit while in that state for his eternal heavenly home of light, love, and liberty. The phrase, "flesh and bones," is quite different, and is, as if of set purpose, differently applied. It is twice used in the New Testament ; - first, by the Lord on the occasion now before us - " A spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see me have ;" - and secondly, by Paul, when, speaking of our oneness as believers with Christ, he says, " We are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones" (Ephesians 5:30). The corresponding Hebrew phrase is used more frequently in the Old Testament, and always, as I cannot but think, with a very definite import. The following examples may suffice : - 1. Adam says of Eve, his wife, as he receives her from the Lord, - " This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh" (Genesis 2:23). 2. Laban salutes Jacob as a kinsman, " his sister’s son," when he " runs to meet him, and embraces him, and kisses him, and brings him to his house," - "Surely thou art my bone and my flesh" (Genesis 29:14). 3. Abimelech, paying court to the men of Shechem, " his mother’s brethren," reminds them of his relationship to them, - " Remember also that I am your bone and your flesh" (Judges 9:2). 4. "All the tribes of Israel," coming to Hebron to make him king, claim a family interest in David, - " We are thy bone and thy flesh" (2 Samuel 5:1). It is Judah that evidently takes the lead in trying this argument. 5. David reproaches the elders of Judah, because, although they were his kindred, they were dilatory in welcoming him as he returned in triumph after Absalom’s defeat and death; "Ye are my brethren, ye are my bones and my flesh; wherefore, then, are ye the last to bring back the king?" (2 Samuel 19:12). 6. The king appoints Amasa to be captain of the host in the room of Joab, on the ground of relationship, - "Art thou not of my bone and of my flesh?" (2 Samuel 29:13). In all these instances, the idea of affinity, of close personal union and family relationship, is implied. A certain oneness of nature is indicated. And the uniting principle or element, - the seat or tie of union, - is not blood, or " flesh and blood," but " flesh and bones." In regard to this matter of family kinsmanship, I cannot but think that a difference is to be observed between the Scriptural or Jewish notion, and that of the Gentiles ; - with which last, that of the Gentiles, the modem notion of relationship coincides perhaps more nearly than with the other, that of the Jews and the Jewish Scriptures. In our reckoning, community of blood, or consanguinity, is the chief connecting bond. So it was among the old Gentiles. And hence Paul, at Athens (Acts 17:26), speaks of God as having "made of one blood all nations of men." Such a way of expressing the unity of the race is Gentile and Grecian, not Jewish nor according to the Jewish Scriptures. There, oneness in respect of marriage, or in respect of the unions of family and of race that flow from marriage, is expressed by a reference, not to blood, but to flesh and bones. Indeed it would almost seem as if , in this connection, the idea of the blood was studiously and of set purpose avoided. The blood, let it be borne in mind, was understood among the Jews to be the principle of the animal life. Thus the original prohibition of blood as food (Genesis 9:4) runs in this form, - "Flesh, with the life thereof, which is the blood thereof, shall ye not eat." So also in the Mosaic law (Leviticus 17:14; Deuteronomy 12:13), the prohibition is made to rest on the same consideration, - " The life of all flesh is the blood thereof ; therefore ye shall eat the blood of no manner of flesh." " Be sure that thou eat not the blood ; for the blood is the life ; and thou mayest not eat the life with the flesh." The vitality of the body, as it now exists, in its present mortal state, is held to be in the blood. Hence, when Satan proposes that Job should be tried by the utmost severity of infliction upon his person that is consistent with the sparing of his animal life, he challenges God to "touch his bone and his flesh" (Job 2:5). No mention is made of his blood. Is not this significant? " His life" is to be " saved" (Job 2:6); and the blood is the life. The blood, therefore, is spared. It is the bone and the flesh that are touched. He is to be tried in his person, and in his tenderest personal relationships and friendships. ’ But save his life," says the Lord. If there is anything in this view, the Jewish mode of expressing kinsmanship, by unity of flesh and bones rather than of blood, bears the trace or mark of a higher conception than our Gentile phraseology embodies. To say that you and I are " of one blood," is to put our unity upon low ground; upon the ground of our being joint partakers of the same animal nature and lower animal life, - the " life which is the blood." To say that we are " one bone and one flesh," - that I am " bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh," or you of mine, - if the origin or original meaning of the language is realized, - is to elevate our affinity, our kinsmanship and brotherhood, into a higher region. It is to extricate it from the conditions of the lower economy, in which we are partners with the brutes which perish, and to give it a direction upwards to the state in which humanity is to be perfect, incorruptible, and immortal. Is it not possible that the words put into the mouth of unfallen Adam, on his receiving Eve, his spouse, at the hands of the Lord, may have been intended by the inspiring Spirit for this very purpose, - to place the marriage-union on this higher footing? She " is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh?" We are one, corporeally as well as spiritually one; not however, as regards our blood merely, or that lower animal life which is in the blood, but as regards the condition of our human nature which is independent of that life, and above it. And is not the apostle’s argument about marriage (Ephesians 5:30), in which he uses the identical words which Adam spoke concerning Eve, and applies them to the church’s relation to her heavenly Spouse, somewhat remarkable in connection with our present argument? He virtually identifies the union of Christ and his people with the union of husband and wife. He interchanges, as it were, or rather associates, what is spiritual in the one with what is bodily in the other. He gives a corporeal character, in a sense, to the heavenly marriage-union, as well as a spiritual character to the earthly. And in doing so he adopts, surely designedly and deliberately, and not accidentally, the same language which Adam employs in welcoming Eve. "We are members of his body, of his flesh and of his bones ;" - so says the apostle of the heavenly marriage-union. " This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh ;" - so says our first father of the earthly. Such being the use and wont, if I may so speak, of the Holy Spirit in employing this phrase, " flesh and bones," and such being the marked distinction between it and the other phrase, " flesh and blood," - is it too much to suppose that the Lord had this very peculiarity of meaning in view when he said, - " A spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have" ? He vindicated his corporeity; he asserted his manhood, his bodily manhood, as still a real bodily manhood, after his resurrection. And God be praised that he did so. God be praised, also, that he did so by a more emphatic and convincing proof than his merely partaking of human food would have implied. He did indeed eat once before his disciples (Luke 24:43). That seems to have been the only instance of his doing so ; for it is not said that he ate with the two brethren at Emmaus, or with those whom he met at the sea of Galilee. That he condescended, on that one occasion of his first appearance to the eleven gathered together at Jerusalem, to partake of man’s ordinary diet, was a most gracious accommodation to the weak faith of his disciples. But on reflection, they might have felt that this was no more than angels, and he himself as the Angel of the Covenant, had done of old, long before the incarnation; as when the three celestial visitors were entertained by Abraham at noon-day, and the two by Lot at night (Genesis 18:19) They might be thankful for his own surer words addressed first to them all collectively, and then to Thomas in particular ; - words most significant of continued corporeity in the resurrection state : - " Handle me and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see me have ;" - "Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands ; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side ; and be not faithless, but believing." There is, therefore, no real inconsistency between the apostle saying "flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God," and the risen Lord saying, "I have flesh and bones." The two expressions are quite distinct. The first, "flesh and blood," denotes the human bodily nature, liable to dissolution and decay. The other, " flesh and bones," points rather to its higher spiritual development in a structure having extension and form, - bones and flesh of some sort, - but not necessarily of a sort resolvable into dust, and perishable. And when the Lord used that phrase to indicate his resumed corporeity, purposely avoiding the former, he may be understood as addressing to his disciples an affecting appeal. You thought that I was gone, and that you were never to see me more in the flesh. Now, when I appear, you take me for a spirit, from whose approach you shrink as from a strange and alarming phantom. But I have not left you, nor have I taken or received a nature in which you can claim no affinity to me and I have no union and communion with you. My manhood is still such, that in respect of it I may be your kinsman, and you may be to me, what Eve was to Adam, " bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh." True, you may not retain me in the, body here ; I cannot welcome your embraces, as I used to do when I was a sojourner among you ; " I go to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God." (John 20:17) But I go possessed of a bodily frame in which I am still one with you, and you are still one with me. We are one, as husband and wife are one, or as brethren in the flesh are one. I claim to be still one of you ; of the same body and the same family with you. And I would have you to look upon yourselves as still one with me, of the same body, now spiritually quickened, and of the same family, with me ; " members of my body, of my flesh and of my bones." We surely cannot altogether err in regarding our Lord’s remarkable language, especially when interpreted by the scriptural usage, as designed to teach some such lesson as this, ultimately at least, if not immediately, to the apostles and to us. At all events, it is clear that it is no contradiction of the statement that "flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption." That statement is the ground on which the apostle rests the assurance that our bodies must and shall undergo such a change as is needful for removing the disqualifications under which they now labour. It must be so, for otherwise we could not enter heaven in the body ; - " for this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality." It shall be so, for we are to enter heaven in the body; - " So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory." What the change is to be, and how it is to be effected, it is needless to inquire particularly. Enough has been said already on that subject. It may be more profitable to notice some practical lessons which it suggests. I. By an irresistible argument, a fortiori, it bars the door against whatever is unholy, impure, sensual, or vile. If even physical corruptibility is inadmissible in heaven, what shall we say of moral defilement? Is the body better than the spirit? If even the righteous cannot pass into these realms of light and glory with a body corruptible and mortal, how think you that you can reach them with mind, heart, and soul, polluted and unclean? How can you, who work iniquity, enter into the kingdom of God, if even sinless flesh and blood cannot inherit it? Think of the far different doom awaiting you. You, as well as the righteous, survive death. For you, as well as for them, there is a resurrection. But in the Lord’s own awful words, it is a "resurrection of damnation!" Your bodies, as well as the bodies of the righteous, will undergo a change then; a change that will make them as indestructible as your immortal spirits are. Oh ! what will it be for you to meet your God on that resurrection day! - "unjust still and filthy still!" - furnished with bodies of fearfully enhanced power for evil, and intensified sensibility to pain! What will it be for you to reap in such bodies the bitter, bitter fruits of your sowing to the flesh now! And these bodies, ah ! they are made to last for ever. The worm that dieth not will never eat them away. The fire that is not quenched will never consume them. That tremendous sacrifice of righteous retribution is salted with salt for its endless preservation! (Mark 9:48-50). Ye workers of iniquity, have you no knowledge? Will you not be moved to tremble at the prospect of an eternity like that? II. How high and holy is that fellowship with Christ into which you are brought, as " members of his body, of his flesh and of his bones! " He took your natural body, corruptible and mortal, that you might take his spiritual body - incorruptible, immortal. In respect of your corporeal as well as your spiritual nature, you are married, you are united to Christ. You who believe are thus thoroughly, out and out, one with him. Yes, you who believe. O wondrous power of faith ! How mighty a spell lies in so simple an act! Only believe, thou doubting, trembling soul. Believe! Christ is near thee saying to thee, Believe! Believe in me, as joining myself in spirit and in body to thee; - to bear thy sin, to atone for thy guilt; - to take thy place, to be thy substitute, thy surety, thine elder brother, thy kinsman redeemer; - to obey for thee, to suffer for thee, to bring thee back to my Father and thy Father, to my God and thy God. Believe in me also as joining thee in body and in spirit to myself ; espousing thee to myself: that thou mayest be a "member of my body, of my flesh and of my bones." Believe in me as sharing with thee the very corporeity which I have myself; that I may present thee among my brethren before the Father, saying - ’ Behold I and the children whom thou hast given me". O wondrous power of faith, uniting thee thus to Christ!. Nay rather, O wondrous power and glory and beauty of him to whom faith unites thee ! And what a union ! How close, how constant, how comprehensive ! Whatever it was necessary should happen to him, must happen also to thee. ’ The Lord from heaven" could carry to heaven nothing corruptible, nothing mortal, either in himself or in any of his members. Therefore " this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality." III. What a motive to be spiritually minded and heavenly minded ! And to be so more and more, as our union to Christ grows closer, and the time of our being glorified with him draws nearer ! Our present bodies are corruptible and mortal. In respect of them, we are of the earth, earthy. This condition or quality which now belongs to them, calls for acts and offices which cannot be omitted with impunity. It entails upon us the necessity of discharging the functions by which life in the individual and in the race is maintained ; those functions of the animal organization and the social economy which in this world repair the waste of corruption and the ravages of death. To neglect these functions - to affect a spirituality that is above them - is folly and sin. The direst consequences have ever come of the attempt. Let it be broadly stated, that as he lives now in the body man must obey the laws and fulfill the ends of his bodily nature and bodily condition. To do so is plainest duty. But surely it is duty that ought to occupy only a subordinate place in his esteem. About what shall I be occupied? About things relating to my present body, corruptible and mortal? Or about things that will task to the uttermost the energy of my body, when it shall have become incorruptible and immortal ? What is to engage my mind, what is to interest my heart? Is it eating and drinking - marrying and giving in marriage ? These are indeed matters with which I must concern myself ; for they involve the life and health of the body as it now is, and of the social state for which, as it now is, the body is adapted. But the body is not to be long what it is now ; the social state for which it is now adapted is to pass away. Mortality is to be swallowed up of life. In heaven they " neither marry nor are given in marriage ; neither can they die any more ; but are equal unto the angels, and are the children of God, being the children of the resurrection" (Luke 20:35-36). Surely the things which should chiefly engage my mind and interest my heart, in the view of what I am then to be, and where I am then to be, - are the pursuits for which my risen body, in that heavenly world, will be adapted, rather than those for which my natural body here on earth is fitted. Surely I should be giving myself to the acquiring of those tastes and habits that will be found to be congenial, when I am raised in Christ incorruptible, in body a well as in spirit, to be with him in glory for ever. IV. Finally, what a reason is there, in this high hope, for patient waiting, all the days of our appointed time, till our change come. Many and bitter are the griefs occasioned by the corruptible and mortal nature of our present bodies, and the sad vicissitudes of the mortal state with which they connect us. Pain, suffering, sickness, disease, rack the limbs and waste the frame. Sorrow and trouble come, through the ravages which death works in this changing world. But courage! child of God. It is but a little while. The Lord is about to change all things soon. " This corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written. Death is swallowed up in victory." Yes ! " He will swallow up death in victory, and the Lord God shall wipe away tears from off all faces" (Isaiah 25:8). THE END. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 13: 03.0. "REASON AND REVELATION" ======================================================================== "Reason and Revelation" (1859); The Authority and Inspiration of Scripture The Infallibility of Holy Scripture Conscience and the Bible ======================================================================== CHAPTER 14: 03.01. THE AUTHORITY AND INSPIRATION OF SCRIPTURE ======================================================================== Chapter 1 THE AUTHORITY AND INSPIRATION 0F THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. The authority and inspiration of Holy Scripture form one subject. According to its inspiration, so is its authority. And if the Bible is not inspired, in the full sense of that term,- in the sense of its being literally the word of God, the whole question as to the degree of weight to be attached to its statements becomes a matter of discreation and doubt. Reason, or intuition, or whatever else the faculty in man may be called, is constituted the ultimate and only judge. And in all that relates to acquaintance and intercourse with the Supreme, - in the whole vast problem of the settlement of our peace with God, and the adjustment of the terms on which we be with him for ever, we have absolutely no distinct and authoritative expression of the Divine mind at all. We are left entirely to the guidance of the higher instincts of our own nature, and of such finer particles of the historical Record, - such flowers of Biblical fact or argument or appeal, - as these instincts may happen to grasp. In short, we have no external standard or test of religious truth, - no valid objective revelation, - no "thus saith the Lord" - but only such a measure of insight as a good and holy man, by the help of what other good and holy men have written, may attain into the Divine Ideal, which the aching void and craving want of the human soul either creates and evokes for itself, or welcomes when presented from whatever quarter, and by whatever means. This is especially the state of the question with reference to the turn which modern speculation, in religious matters, has taken. For a revolution, as it would seem, has come over the camp and kingdom of the freethinkers - whether philosophers or divines. Formerly, the battle of the Bible was to be fought chiefly on the ground of historical testimony and documentary evidence. The possibility at least, - if not the desirableness, - not to say the necessity, - both of an express revelation from above, and of an infallible record of that revelation, was acknowledged ; - and upon that acknowledgment the method of procedure was well defined.. Two steps were required. In the first place, good cause must be shown for connecting the two volumes which we now call the Old and New Testaments, and these alone, with the entire body of proof for the supernatural origin of our religion, which miracles, prophecy, internal matks of credibility, and other branches of the evidence of a divine revelation, afford. And in the second place, these volumes being thus attested and accredited by the whole weight of proof that accredits and attests the religion itself with which they are identified, - it followed that they must be allowed to speak for themselves, as to the manner in which they were composed, and the measure of deference to which they were entitled. Thus the two questions, of the canon of scripture, and the authority of Scripture, fell to be dicussed in their order, immediately after the evidences of Revealed Religion. The divine origin of Christianity being established by the usual arguments, together with the genuineness and authenticity, as historical documents, of the books from which we derive our information concerning it - the way was open for inquiring, ftrst On what principle have these books come to be separated all other contemporary writings, so as to form one entire and select volume - the Holy Bible - held to possess a peculiar character, as entitled to be considered exclusively and par exellence divine? And, secondly, - In what sense, and to what extent, is the volume thus formed to be regarded as the word of God, - how far is it. to be received as dictated by his Spirit, and as declared to us authoritatively his mind and will? This last, supposing the other to have been satisfactorily adjusted, sought and found its solution within the volume and whatever it could be fairly proved that the claimed to be, in respect of its inspiration, - that, admitted, it must be allowed and believed to be. For at that stage of the Christian argument, the Bible established a right to speak for itself, and to say what kind and amount of submission it demanded at the hands of all Christian men. Such is the method of proof applicable to this subject, as it used to be discussed formerly, in the Protestant schools and books of divinity. And such, I venture to think, is the only fair and legitimate method of proof still; at least, if the sound and cautious principles of the Baconian logic, or the inductive philosophy, are to have any weight in the province of religious belief. By a rigid investigation of its credentials, we ascertain that Christianity is the true religion, - that it is of supernatural origin, - that it is a divine revelation, divinely attested. On an examination of written records and documents, we find, that this religion of Christianity, thus proved to be divine, is identified with a volume entirely sui generis; - that the whole force of its own divine authority, and of the divine attestations on which it leans, is transferred to that volume ; - that the volume, in short, is the religion which has been proved to be divine, and is therefore itself divine. Thereafter, we consult the volume itself to discover what it tells us of its own composition and claims: and whatever it tells us concerning itself, we how implicitly receive as true. But a new aspect of the question meets us, as we come in contact with the speculations of modern times. Not only the antecedent probability, but the very possibility of an infallible external standard of faith, is doubted at least in some quarters, and wholly denied in others. A subtle sort of refined mysticism, - offspring of the transcendental philosophy meeting with a certain vague fervour of evangelical spirituality, - has entered the field: and the atmosphere has become dim with the haze and mist of a vapoury and verbose cloud, in which nothing clear, nothing distinct or defined, but the vast sublime of chaos seems again to brood over all things. Among others who have contributed to this result, Sleiermacher in Germany might be named, and the poet Coleridge among ourselves; although it is due to great and good countryman to remark, that many who are indebted to him, - and these not merely among the more openly sceptical, but even among the schools and circles of far more evangelical thinkers, - have improved upon his hints, bettered his example, and so out Coleridged Coleridge that the philosophic bard might with a]most as much justice protest against being identified with his followers, as Wilkes the patriot did when he denied that he had ever been a Wilkite. At the same time the impulse given by the profound and transcendent genius of Coleridge, has been one chief cause or occasion of the style and method that has become fashionable, of late years, in treating of the inspired authority of the Bible. His famous opprobrium of Bibliolotry - flung in the face of old-school, Bible-loving, gospel-taught Christians, - has become a by-word and watchword in the mouths of men, whom to name in the same breath with Coleridge would be to offend alike against high intellect and pure spirituality. Even some of better mark, while themselves railing against echoes with which, instead of voices, they say the orthodox world resounds, have not scrupled to ring the changes on this poorest of all echoes, - the unintelligent echo of a not very intelligible conceit, - .filling the air with the cry of Bible-worship, and making it out that to receive the Bible as the word of God is as gross idolatry and superstition as to revere the Pope in the character of the Vicar of Christ. With this modern form of opposition to the infallibility of Holy Scripture,, it is not very easy to deal. In the first place, it is in itself very intangible, unfixed, obscure; being negative rather than positive. And it is apt, moreover, to take shelter in a sort of studied indistinctness; making a merit of abstaining from plainness of speech, and creating such a vague alarm as leads timid men to be thankful for any measure of forbearance, and to shrink from asking explanations, or wishing to have the inquiry carried further home. A notable instance of this occurs in a tract of Archdeacon Hare, in which he speaks of himself and those who think with him, as "finding difficulty in the formation and exposition of their opinions on this mysterious and delicate subject," - "hesitating to bring forward what they felt to be immature and imperfect," and "shrinking from the shock it would be to many pious persons if they were led to doubt the correctness of their notions concerning the plenary inspiration of every word of the Bible." So far good. This maybe a reason why "refusing to adopt the popular view on the subject, the Archdeacon does not straight-way promulgate another view." But might not this hesitancy of his incline him to speak a little less offensively of the popular view than he sometimes does, seeing that he has nothing better to put in its place? Might it not also suggest the suspicion that possibly he does not really understand that "popular view" itself so well as he evidently thinks he does, above all, does it never occur to him this sort of bush-fighting is unfair to his opponents, that they are entitled to demand from him a practical repudiation of the popish doctrine of reserve - as well e dintinct, articulate, and manly avowal of what he, and such as he, really hold the Scriptures of the Old and Testaments to be? But I must do what I can to thread my way through the misty labyrinth. And accordingly, passing from preliminaries, I now propose to indicate rather than discuss - for I can do little more than indicate - four successive topics as those which, in my opinion, a thorough inquiry the subject before us should embrace. I. The conditions of the question should be ascertained. What previous points of controversy are to be held as settled? And what meaning is to be attached to the terms employed ? II. The method of proof ought to be adjusted. What are the lines of evidence bearing upon the investigation? And what is their precise amount and value, whether separately or in combination ? III. The sources of difficulty are to be candidly and cautiously weighed. And IV. The practical value of the doctrine is to be estimated, with especial reference to the right fixing of the limits between divine authority and human liberty, and the vindication of our Protestant submission to the teaching of the Spirit, in and by the word, from the imputation of its being analogous to, if not virtually identical with, the popish prostration of the intellect, and heart, and will, beneath the blind sway of a spiritual monarch or a traditional Church. These, then, are my heads of discourse. I. There are several preliminary matters in regard to which we ought to have a clear and common understanding, before we enter directly upon the argument we have in hand. Three of these in particular must be briefly noticed, however imperfectly. 1. A divine revelation of the mind of God is a different thing from a divine action on the mind of man. To some, this remark may sound like a self-evident truism; but the turn of modern metaphysical speculation in certain quarters renders it necessary to make it. According to what is now a favourite theory of our mental constitution, we are possessed of a twofold reason: the one, the lower, or logical faculty, which deals with truth in the region of experimental knowledge, and deals with it mediately, through the processes and forms of raciocination and language; the other, the higher, or intuitional faculty, which has for its object the spiritual, transcendental, the infinite, and which grasps its by a sort of super-sensual instinct, the intervention of the ordinary means, or of human thought. To the cognisance of this latter faculty belongs the idea of God, and of whatever his character, government, and law. Whatever real insight we have into the being and perfections of God is by the intuitional faculty, or by intuition. Hence it is inferred that the only way in which God veries of himself to man, is by quickening faculty, and so giving to his highest reason sight of things divine. In this way all revelation is resolved into one grand process of subjective illumination, which God has been carrying on by a great of methods since the world began In short, according to the theory to which I am now adverting, revelation is not oracular, but providential. The Scriptures are not in any proper sense the oracles of God ; - nor do they convey to us direct utterances, or objective communications, of the divine mind. They merely contain materials fitted to exercise a wholesome influence by awakening into more intense and lively action powers, through the contagion of sympathy - the force of example - and whatever divine impulse leads us to kindle our torch at the divine fire which we see burning there so brightly. For that a divine fire does burn in the Bible is not to be denied. It burns in the wondrous history of the Church as unfolded in the Bible, from the first germ of that history in the homes of the pilgrim patriarchs - through all the stirring vicissitudes in the Jewish annals of captivity, deliverance, wilderness-wanderings, wars, and victories, gorgeous pomps, and temple services - down to the full development of faith and fellowship ushered in at Pentecost. It burns also in the heroic lives and deaths - the words and deeds - of all the holy men of whom the world was not worthy - the martyrs, prophets, apostles, raised up in succession to receive the gift of a divine intuition, and spread the savour of a divine unction all around. Especially it burns in the character and life of the divine Man who taught in Galilee and Judea, and died on Calvary. Thus, throughout the Bible a divine fire burns. The sympathising student may catch the flame of it; and in this way, imbibing the spirit of the Scriptural narratives, and of the Scriptural personages whom these narratives, so manifestly show to have been spiritually moved, - being moreover spiritually moved himself - he may gain an insight into things divine, otherwise beyond his reach. Thus in a sense he may come to "see Him who is invisible." Now this vague and perhaps sublime recognition of a certain sort of divinity in the Bible, is manifestly inconsistent with the idea of its being, in any fair meaning of the term, a revelation of the mind of God. It becomes, in this view, merely one of the means by which God acts upon the mind of man The Bible is in no respect different from "Fox’s Book of Martyrs," or "The Scottish Worthies" in which also the divine life is manifested the actions and sufferings of divinely- gifted and divinely-aided men. There may be a difference in degree teaching us thus in the Bible, and His teaching us in the same way in these other works. But there is no difference in kind. To call this a revelation is an abuse of language; but a plausible abuse, and one fitted to impose upon the unwary. The distinction between a real revelation and this counterfeit adroitly substituted for it, is as broad asit vital . It.may be made clear by a simple illustration. It is one thing for a king to leave his subjects to gather from his mind what they may see of the conduct of his officers and captains, whom he admits nearest to his person, and who may be presumed to have the best opportunities of knowing him, and to be most strongly attached to him by the ties of loyalty and love ; - to be able, therefore, of exhibiting and acting out, in their whole life and conversation, the true spirit of their royal master’s kingdom. It is quite another thing for the King to make an express communication of his mind to his subjects and to use the agency of his officers and captains in making it. That nothing is to be learned of his mind in the first of these two ways I am far from saying; nay, I admit that the teaching of the Bible is, in many parts of that indirect nature, in so far at least as the use we are to make of its inspired narrative is concerned. Still, revelation, properly so called, is something different. It is not merely a depository or receptacle of sundry influences fitted to act upon my mind. It is God himself making known to me, and to all men, His own mind. It is God speaking to man. Inspiration, as connected with revelation, has respect, not to the receiving of divinely communicated truth, but to the communication of it to others. This again might seem so self-evident as scarcely to need its being stated. But in certain quarters there is great confusion of ideas upon this very point. It is admited by all deep thinkers - it is a great doctrine of Scripture, that spiritual things can only be spiritually discerned. Let these spiritual things be set forth ever so clearly, in the plainest forms of speech, so that an intelligent man can have no difficulty in ascertaining what is meant, and in laying down correct propositions upon the subjects to which they relate, still the things themselves cannot be fully grasped by the mere logical faculty or understanding; the higher reason or intuition, which alone is conversant with the infinite and the absolute, must be called into exercise; and even it cannot take in the things of the Spirit of God, to the effect of their becoming practically and powerfully influential, without an operation of that same Spirit upon the mind itself - purging, quickening, elevating the mental eye, so as to make it capable of the divine, the beatific vision. All this is true; or, in other words, it is true that no communication of the mind of God to me from without, even if it were made to me directly and immediately, in express terms, by God himself, could give me a real spiritual, satisfying, and saving knowledge of God, if he did not also, by his Holy Spirit, touch and move me within my inner man, giving me a spiritual tact and spiritual taste to discern spiritual things. Now, such an action of the Spirit of God in and upon my spirit, with a view to my spiritually apprehending spiritual truth, may be called in a certain sense inspiration. And if there be due warning given of the unusual sense in which the word is to be employed, no great harm perhaps may be done. But such an application of the term ceases to be harmless and becomes a snare or a juggle, when it is the occasion of confounding the Spirit’s action upon me, for my own enlightenment and edification, with the use which the Spirit may make of me, for conveying his mind to others. The inspiration of a disciple is one thing; the inspiration of an apostle is another. A little child in the kingdom of God is inspired: he is breathed upon, - he is breathed into, - by the Holy Spirit; He has imparted to him a capacity for knowing God and apprehending things divine, higher far than man’s proudest intellect can boast. He has a God-given eye to see, and a God-given heart to feel, the very eye and heart of the eternal Father, as he looks down from heaven in love, to embrace all that believe in his Son. Tender as he may be in age, and but ill-instructed in the schools of human learning, that little child has in him the Spirit who searcheth all things, even the "deep things of God" and in respect of all that pertains to his saving aquaintance of the Most High, he may be greater than the greatest of the prophets. Nevertheless, it is an inspiration proper to the prophet, as a revealer of the will of God, which the little child, as a learner of it, does not need, and does not possess. This last sort of inspiration may be less intuitional and spiritual, so far as the immediate recipient of it is concerned, than the other; aud therefore to him personally, far less valuable. It would have been better for Balaam personally, if he had been taught as a little child by the Spirit to know the will of God, for his own salvation, rather than used as a prophet by the Spirit, almost as involuntarily as his own dumb beast, for making known the will of God to others. The question here, however, is not as to the comparative advantages of these two operations of the Spirit, but as to the essential distinction between them. Our sole concern at present is not with what the Spirit does when he works faith in the heart, but with what he does when he employs human instrumentality for communicating those truths which are the objects of faith. 3. One other remark, under this head, must be allowed. The fact of inspiration is a different thing altogether from the manner of it. The fact of inspiration may be proved by divine testimony, and accepted as an ascertained article of belief, while the manner of it may be neither revealed from heaven nor within the range of discovery or conjecture upon earth. But it may be asked, What are we to understand the fact of inspiration which is to be proved? And especially, What are we to understand by the inspiration of the Bible? To this I answer generally, that I hold it to be an infallible divine guidance exercised over those who are to declare the mind of God, so as to secure that in declaring it they do not err. What they say or write under this guidance, is as truly said and written through them, as if their instrumentality werenot used at all. God is, in the fullest sense, responsible for every word of it. Now, I do not much care about the definition of the term being more precise than this. It is of very little consequence whether you call this verbal dictation or not. It is equivalent to verbal dictation, as regards the reliance placed on the discourse, or the document, that is the result of it. Only to speak of it under that name is to raise a question as to the manner of inspiration, a subject into which I refuse to be dragged. For the same reason, I refuse to discuss a topic which used to be too much a favourite among religious writers, the different kinds and degrees of inspiration for different sorts of composition. The mode of divine action upon the mind of the speaker, or writer, is at issue. It is enough to maintain such an action as makes the word spoken, and the word written, throughout, the very word of God. Oh, but this is a mechanical theory of inspiration, cry some! We, for our part, prefer the dynamical. The prophets and apostles were dynamically inspired, not mechanically. Formidable words! which it would puzzle many who use them most familiarly to translate into plain English, and plainly distinguish one from one another. But if what they mean is this; that God by his Spirit cannot so superintend and guide a man speaking or writing on his behalf, as to secure that every word of what the man speaks or writes shall be precisely what God would have it to be; and that not merely the whole treatise, but, every sentence and syllable of it, shall be as much to be ascribed to God as its author as if he had himself written it with his own hand; if they mean that God cannot do this, without turning the man into a mere machine - if this be what they mean - then I have to tell them that the onus probandi, the burden of proof, lies with them. They must give some reason for the limitation which they would impose upon the divine omnipotence. They must show cause why God may not employ all or any of his creatures infallibly to do his will and declare his pleasure, according to their several natures, and in entire consistency with the natural exercise of all their faculties. God may speak and write articulately in human language without the intervention of any created being, as he did on Sinai. He may cause articulate human speech to issue from the lips of a brazen trumpet, or a dumb ass. He may constrain a reluctant prophet to utter the words he puts in his mouth, almost against his will, as in the case of Balaam: or so order the spontaneous utterance of a persecuting high priest; as to make it an unconscious prediction, as in the case of Caiaphas. But is he restricted to these ways of employing intelligent agents infallibly to declare his mind and will? Let us see how this matter really stands. Let us eliminate and adjust the conditions of the problem. It is an important part of the divine purpose that, for most part, men should be employed in declaring his will to their fellow-men; men rather than, for example, angels. Several good reasons may be assigned for this. Two, in particular, may be named here. For the purposes of evidence, this is an important arrangement. A divine revelation needs not only to be communicated, but to be authenticated; and the authentication of it must largely depend upon human testimony. Take for example, the four gospels. These are not the records of our Lord’s ministry, but the proofs of it. It is upon the historical authority of these documents that we believe Christ to have been a historical personage, and to have said, and done, and suffered the things ascibed to him. But the historical authority of the gospels rests very much, not only on the external evidence in their behalf afforded by the writers of the first and second centuries, but also on the internal evidence arising out of a comparison of them among themselves. And here great stress is justly laid upon their essential agreement, amid minute and incidental differences. There are variations enough in the accounts which they severally give of Christ, to preclude the idea of a concerted plan, or of premeditated collusion; while there is so entire a harmony throughout as to make it manifest that they are all speaking of a real person, and that person the same in all. In short, we have fourindependent witnesses to the facts of our Lord’s history; proved to be independent, by the very differences that are found in their depositions; differences not sufficient to invalidate the testimony of any of them, but only fitted to enhance the value of the whole, by making it clear that they did not conspire together to deceive. Such is the actual result of a fair collation and comparison of the four gospels as they stand. Now to secure that result, it is manifest that the Spirit, in inspiring each evangelist, must act according to that evangelist’s own turn of thought and gift of memory, and must direct him to the use of expressions such as shall at once convey the mind of the Spirit in a way for which he can make himself thoroughly responsible, and shall also at the same time record the bona fide deposition of the evangelist, as a witness to the transactions which he narrates. Nor is there any incompatibility between these two things. Take an illustration. Let it be supposed that any one - say such an one as Socrates - has spent three years in teaching, and that he wishes an authentic and self-authenticating record of his ministry to go down to posterity. Four of his favourite pupils; or two, perhaps, of these, and two other students writing upon the immediate and personal information of men who had been pupils, prepare four separate and independent narratives, all availing themselves more or less of the reminiscences current in the school. The four narratives are submitted to the revision of Socrates. He is to correct and verify them, so as to make each of them a record for which he can become himself out and out responsible. And yet he is not to prune and pare them into an artificial sameness. Would he have any difficulty in the task? Could he not each narrative, with such close attention tothe minutest turn of phraseology as to imply that he sets his seal lto every word of it, and owns it to be what he is prepared to stand to as an exact record of his sayings and doings? And would he ever dream of reducing all four to one flat level of literal uniformity? Would he obliterate all the nice and delicate traces of truth and character that are to be observed in different varieties of honestly and correctly testifying, each according to his own genius, to the same fact, or to the substance of thesame discourse? What, then, in the case supposed, would be the result? Socrates would have four memorabilia, of his memorable deeds, for each of which, in his revisal of them all, he would be as thoroughly responsible, down to the very sentences and syllables, as had himself written it with his own proper hand; whle each, again, would preserve the freshness and us of its own separate authorship; and the whole would carry the full force of four independent testimonies to the credit of the life which Socrates actually led, and the doctrines which Socrates taught. The case is really the same, so far as the consideration is concerned, whether it be verbal revisal afterwards or verbal inspiration beforehand. The Spirit is as much at liberty to dictate and direct the writing of t accounts of Christ’s ministry, according to minds and memories of the compilers whom he employs as Socrates would be to sanction four different reports of his teaching, taken down by four of his followers of very various capacities and tastes, and submitted for his imprimatur to himself. An exact agreement in accounts given by different persons of things done or said, is not essential to the integrity of the narrators; it would often be a proof of preconcerted fraud. Neither is it essential to the integrity of one revising their several accounts ; - even if he do so under the condition of becoming himself accountable, as much as if he were directly the author, for every one of them, and for everything that is in every one of them. It cannot, therefore, be fairly regarded as inconsistent with the integrity of the Holy Spirit, that, in inspiring the four evangelical narratives, he should give to each the impression of its own characteristic authorship; so as to make them severally tell as distinct attestations, upon the faith of independent witnesses, to the things that were said and done by the Lord Jesus in Galilee and in Judea. But again, for the purposes of life, and interest, and spirit, as well as for the purposes of evidence, the arrangement in question is important. The Bible would have been comparatively tame and dull, if it had come to us as the utterance of an angelic voice, or as all at once engraven on a table of stone. Its power over us largely depends upon its being the voice of humanity, as well as the voice of Deity; and upon its being the voice, moreover, of our common humanity, expressing itself in accommodation to all the varieties of age, language, situation, and modes of thought, by which our common humanity is modified. A stiff thing, indeed, would the Revelation of God have been if it had been proclaimed once, or twice, or ever so often, by an oracular response, from a Sybil’s cave, or by a heavenly trumpet pealing articulate words in the startled ear. God has wisely and graciously ordered it otherwise. He inspires men to speak to men - he inspires men to write for men. inspires men of all sorts; living in various times and various countries; occupying various positions; accustomed to various styles. He inspires them, moreover, as they are - as he finds them. He does not put them all into one Procrustes-bed of forced uniformity. He uses them freely, according to their several peculiarities. They are all his instruments; but they are his instruments according to their several natures, and the circumstances in which they are severally placed. Every word they write is His, but he makes it his, by guiding them to the use of it as their own. Doubtless there is some difficulty in our thus conceiving of this divine work. But it is not a difficulty that need affect either our understanding of the Spirit’s meaning or recognition of his one agency throughout, amid all the diversities of composition which he may see fit to employ. Thus, as to the first of these points, with reference to our understanding the Spirit’s meaning when he thus variously inspires the various writers of the Bible, we must apply the same sagacity that we would bring to bear upon the miscellaneous writings of a human author. A mass of papers written or dictated by a friend, or a father, comes into my hands. They are of a very miscellaneous character,with a great variety of dates, ranging of time, and almost every clime and country of the globe. They consist of all manner of compositions, in prose and poetry, - historical pieces, - letters on all sorts of subjects, and to all sorts of people, - antiquarian researches, - tales of fiction, - with verses in abundance, lyric, dramatic, didactic, and devotional. I receive the precious legacy, and I apply my reason to estimate and arrange so welcome an "embarrass des richesses" And here there are two distinct questions; the first, What can I legitimately gather out of the materials before me as to the real mind of the author on any given subject? and the second, What weight is due to his opinion or authority? Assuming this last question to be settled - and it is the fair assumption - what remains as to the first? There may be very considerable difficulty in dealing with it, and much room for the exercise, said, let it be added emphatically, for the trial of my candour, patience, and good faith. There is not a little confusion, let us say, in the mass of materials to be disposed of; it needs to be examined, assorted, and classified. There may be room for inquiry, in particular instances, as to how far, and in what manner, the author means to express his own views in his narratives and stories, or in his poetical productions, or even in his abrupt, off-hand, and occasionally rhetorical reasoning. There may be need of a certain large-minded and large-hearted shrewdness, far removed from that of the mere word-catcher that lives on syllables, and able to enter into the genuine earnestness with which the writer throws himself always into the scenes and the circumstances before him, - nay, even when he employs an amanuensis, into the habits of thought, and the very manner of expression, of his scribe. The voluminous and varied papers of more than one great man might furnish an example of what I mean. Now, in a sense quite analogous to this, the Bible may be said to consist of the papers of God himself. They are very miscellaneous papers: every sort of character is personated, as it were, in the preparation of them every different style of writing is employed; every age is represented, and every calling. There are treatises of all sorts, which must be interpreted according according to the rules of composition. And yet an intelligent reader can discriminate between the several discoveries which God makes of himself - in the inspired history of the Pentateuch, in the inspired drama of Job, and in the inspired reports of Christ’s own teaching, in the inspired reasoning of Paul s epistles, - just as is he can gather a human author’s real sentiments on any point from a comparison of his different plays, and poems, and tales, and histories, and sermons, which he may have composed. His mind is not indicated in the same way in each and all of these various kinds of writing. It is discovered in some, and more inferentially in others. Still, they are His writings; he is responsible for every one of them; and, taken freely and fairly together, they authentically, and with sufficient clearness declare his views. Nor, again, on the other hand, need we have any serious difficulty in recognising the one divine agency that pervades the various compositions which the Bible comprehends within itself. Let it be assumed that God means to compose a book, such as shall at once bear the stamp of his own infallible authority, and have enough of human interest to carry our sympathies along with it. He may accomplish this by a miracle in a moment; the book may drop suddenly complete from heaven; and sufficient proofs and signs may attest the fact. Even in that case, unless the miracle is to be perpetual, the book once launched has the usual hazards of time and chance to run in the world; in the process of endless copying and printing, it is liable to the usual literary accidents; and in the course of centuries, sundry points of criticism emerge regarding it. But instead of thus issuing the volume at once and entire from above, its divine Author chooses to compile it more gradually on the earth, and he chooses also to avail himself of the command which he has of the mind and tongue and pen of every man that lives. - He selects, accordingly, chosen men from age to age. These not turn into machines; they continue to be men. The; speak and write according to their individual tastes an temperaments, in all the various departments of literary composition: the prince, the peasant, the publican, the learned scribe, the unlettered child of toil, one skilled in all the wisdom of Egypt, another bred among the herdsmen of Tekoa, - men, too, of all variety of natural endowments, the rapt poet, the ripe scholar, the keen reasoner, the rude annalist and bare chronicler of event- the dry and tedious compiler, if you will, - all are enlisted in the service, and the Divine Spirit undertakes so to penetrate their minds and hearts, and so to guide them in every utterance and recording of their sentiments, as to what they say and write, when under his inspiration, the word of God in a sense not less exact than if, his own finger, he had graven it on the sides of the everlasting hills. Many questions, doubtless, will arise to exercise the skill and tact of readers, and put their intelligence and faith to the test; for it is to intelligence and good faith this volume of miscellanies is committed. In the case of any author writing freely and naturally, it often becomes a nice point of criticism to determine how and in what way he is to be held as giving any of his own; as, for example, when he narrates the speeches and actions of others, or when in an abrupt play of argumentative wit he mixes up the adversary’s pleas with his own, or when he uses parables and figures, he adapts himself to the state of information and measure of aptitude to learn among those for whom he writes, or when he writes in different characters and for different ends. On the principle of plenary inspiration, it is, of course, assumed that the same sagacity and good sense will be applied to those various works of which God is thus the author, that we do not grudge in the case of a voluminous and versatile human authorship; and it is confessed that the whole inquiry regarding the books to be included in the collected edition of these works, the purity and accuracy of the text, and the rules of sound literal interpretation, falls within the province of the uninspired understanding of mankind, and must be disposed of according to the light which the testimony of the Church, the literary history of the canon, and other sources of information may afford. But what then? Does this detract from the value of our having an infallible communication from the divine mind, - somewhat fragmentary, if you will, and manifold, having been made "at sundry times and in divers manners," - but still conveying to us, on divine authority, and with a divine guarantee for its perfect accuracy, the knowledge of the character and ways of God, the history of redemption, the plan of salvation, the message of grace, and the hope of glory? Or does it hinder the assurance which, under the teaching of the Holy Ghost, a plain man may have, as the Scriptures enter into his mind, carrying their own light and evidence along with them, that he has God speaking to him as unequivocally as one friend speaks to another, - but with an authority all his own? I have dwelt so long upon my first topic - which is the preliminary work of clearing the way - that I must hasten rapidly over the remainder of the ground. In particular I must dismiss, almost without remark, the second and third branches of the subject, - the method of proof, and the sources of difficulty. This I do the more willingly, because they are found sufficiently discussed in many excellent and easily accessible treatise, and because the principles upon which they are discussed in these treatises are really not substantially affected by those transcendental speculations, which threaten to involve the whole question of a divine test or standard of truth in hopeless and inextricable confusion. II. In regard to the method of proof - I may briefly indicate the line of evidence that seems most simple and satisfactory, only premising again that we must assume, at this stage, an acquiescence in the truth of Christianity, as in the genuineness of its books as historical and literary documents. 1. First, then, I start with the undoubted fact, that Jesus and his apostles recognised the Old Testament as of divine authority, and divinely inspired. This is clear from the use which they made of them in their discourses and writings. It must be remembered that, in our Lord’s day, the books of the Jews existed, not as miscellaneous works of different authors, having different claims upon mens’ attention and belief, but as one volume, of which throughout God was held to be the author. The contents of the volume were well defined. It had its well-known division in three parts. But it was always freely quoted and referred to as one complete whole; and the words contained in it anywhere, in any of its parts, were always cited as divine. I do not here inquire into the formation of the Jewish canon. That is a matter of history involved in much obscurity. When, how, and by whom, the writings of Moses and the Prophets were collected, revised and published as one book - by what authority and under what guidance - we may be unable to ascertain. But that does not affect the notorious fact that the book did exist, as one book, in our Lord’s day; and that it was so well known as having the character of a peculiar -a sacred book, that any allusion made to it by him and his apostles could admit of no misapprehension. Now, whenever either he, or they, do allude to that book, or any portion of it, it is in language implying in the strongest manner its divine authority and inspiration Such phrases as, "It is written " - " Well spake the Holy Ghost by the mouth of" such a one - " The Scripture saith ". - " David in the Spirit calleth him Lord " - these and similar forms of expression will readily occur; together with such exhortations and testimonies, as "Search the Scriptures " - " Then began he to open up to them the Scriptures, and to show that Christ must needs have suffered, and have risen from the dead " - " These were more noble than the men of Thessalonica, in that they searched the Scriptures daily whether these things were so." The uniform manner of speaking of the Old Testament which we trace in the sayings and writings of Christ and his apostles in the New - is such as to be wholly incompatible with any other idea than that of it’s full and verbal inspiration: and cannot but convey to a simple reader the impression that they regarded every word of that Testament as divine. 2. There are manifest traces, in the teaching of Christ and his apostles, of the design to have a volume, and of the actual forming of a volume, under the New Dispensation, corresponding in respect of authority and inspiration to that existing under the Old, and equally entitled to the name of the Scriptures, or the word of God. Not to speak of the presumption that this really would be the case - since surely God could be expected to provide less security for the gospel infallibly transmitted among the families of men, than for the law being so transmitted - and not to dwell the plain intimations which Christ gave of his design to have his own words perpetuated upon earth, and to endow his apostles with the gift of the Holy Spirit, for utterance, as well as for the understanding, of all truth - -it is impossible to read the epistles generally, without perceiving that we have in them the gradual compiling of books that are to lay just claim to a place in the New Testament volume. And in particular, it is impossible to evade the force of the Apostle Peter’s testimony, classing the writings of his brother Apostle Paul. among the well-known Scriptures - as to whose divine character there could be no doubt. Here, again, we may be at a loss to explain, historically, the settlement of the Christian canon. This much, however, seems plain enough. The early Christians had every reason to believe and be sure that inspired narratives of gospel history, and treatises on gospel truth, would be forthcoming. And when called to discriminate between these and other publications, they were in the best possible circumstances for knowing and judging what were divine and what were not. That they were, in point of fact, guided to a wonderfully correct discrimination, must be evident to every one who considers the cautious pains which they took, and the scrupulous jealousy which they exercised, in admitting books into the canon ; - especially when in connection with that, he compares the books actually admitted, with those of the like kind discarded or rejected. The contrast is so striking between the most doubtful of the canonical books and the very best of the apocryphal, or the patristic, in point of doctrine, sentiment, taste, sense, and judgment - that scarcely any one can hesitate to admit that the early Christians came to a sound conclusion when they recognised the present set of works as composing the New Testament Scriptures - which ‘they had already been led beforehand to expect, and which they had been taught to place upon the same level, in point of inspiration and authority, with the Old Testament Scriptures themselves, as the Jews had been wont to accept them. 3. And now, at this stage, we are fully warranted in applying to the books, both of the Old and New Testaments, viewed as a whole, whatever testimonies we find anywhere in the Bible to the plenary character of the inspiration of Scripture. Among others, including the familiar formulae of quotation already noticed - two in particular stand out; the first, that of the Apostle Paul (2 Timothy 3:16) - " All scripture is given by inspiration of God ;" and the second, that of the Apostle Peter (2 Peter 1:20-21) - " No prophecy of the scripture is private interpretation. For the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man: but holy men of God as they were moved by the Holy Ghost." In the first of these passages, inspiration is plainly ascribed to Scripture or to the written word ; - not to conception of divine things in the mind, but to the writing down of divine things with the pen. In so far inspiration can be predicated of any scripture or writing at all, it must, according to this testimony, be inspiration reaching to the very words or language, as written down. The other passage, again, giving the reason why no prophecy, or no revelation, of Scripture is of any private interpretation, uses phraseology singularly explicit and strong: "Holy men of God spake as they were moved the Holy Ghost." And the argument implied is a striking confirmation of this view. It is briefly this. No human author should have his meaning judged of by single, isolated observation or expression, in some portion of his works. You are not at liberty to fasten upon a single sentence, as if it must needs be exclusively its own interpreter, and as if out of it alone you were to gather the author’s mind on any point at issue. He is entitled to the benefit of being allowed to explain himself; and you are bound to ascertain his views, not by forcing one solitary passage to interpret itself, but by comparing it with other passages, and from a fair survey of the scope and tenor of his whole writings, collecting what he really means to teach. The Author of the Bible, argues the apostle, has a right to the same mode of treatment. If, indeed, each holy man of God had spoken simply by his own "will," then the Bible would have many authors, and each author must speak for himself; his teaching, apart from that of others, must be self interpreting. But if holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost, then the Bible has really but one author - the Holy Ghost. And in dealing with it, you are to deal with it as one whole, - the product of one mind - the collection of the miscellaneous works of one divine Author. 4. Finally, to a mind rightly exercised upon them, and above all, to a heart influenced by the same Holy Spirit who breathes in them, the Scriptures evidence themselves to be of divine authority and divine inspiration. This is a great and glorious theme, upon which, however, it is impossible, in the present lecture, to expatiate or enlarge. One remark only I would make, in reference to a somewhat unfair objection that has been raised against this branch of the proof of inspiration. It is admitted that some books and passages of the Bible do commend themselves to the honest mind and pious head as divine. But what impress of divinity does any one feel or own in the genealogies of Matthew and Luke, or in the dry catalogue of names in the tenth chapter of Nehemiah? The question is almost too absurd to deserve a reply; and yet very spiritual and transcendental philosophers have condescended to put it. If it is anything more, in any instance, than a mere trick of argument, a poor and paltry hit, - if any one is seriously embarrassed by it, - a plain natural analogy may furnish a satisfactory reply. My child feels the letter which I write to him to be from me. He lovingly recognises my spirit breathing in and prompting all the words of simple fatherly fondness that I address to him. "It is my father’s letter, all through," he cries; - " I trace my father’s warm and loving heart in every syllable of it." My own actual hand-writing may not be on the page: sickness, or some casualty, may have made an amanuensis necessary. But my boy knows my letter nevertheless - knows it as all my own - knows it by the instinct, the intuition of affection, and needs no other proof. And what would he say to any cold, cynical, hypercritical schoolmates, who might ask, - But what of your father do you discern in that barren itinery with which the letter begins - the dry list of places he tells you he has gone through; or in that matter-of-course message about a cloak and some books with which it ends? How would he resent the foolish impertinence! How would he grasp the precious document all the more tightly, and clasp it all the closer to his bosom! "You may be too knowing to sympathise with me" he will reply ; - " but there is enough in every line here to make me know my father’s voice; and if he has been at the pains to write down for my satisfaction the names of towns and cities and men - if he does give me simple notices about common things, I see nothing in that. I love him all the better for his kindness and condecension; and whatever you may insinuate, I will believe that this is all throughout his very letter, and that he has a gracious meaning in all that he writes to me in it, however frivolous it may seem to you." III. The sources of difficulty, in connection with this subject, are many; nor is it wonderful that it should be so, and that the lapse of time, and the loss of nearly all contemporary information, should render the solution of some perplexing questions impossible. There is much that is incomprehensible in the doctrine, or fact, of inspiration itself, and not a few things in the inspired Scriptures confessedly hard to be understood. Objectors are fond of multiplying and magnifying these difficulties, - drawing them out in long and formidable array, and giving them all the pomp and circumstance of successive numerical enumeration. In point of fact there are two classes to which they may all be reduced. 1. There are critical difficulties connected with the canon, the original text, the translations, and the interpretation of the Scriptures. Several elements of uncertainty are thus introduced which, it is alleged, go far to neutralise the benefit of an infallible, plenary inspiration. Now it is admitted, of course, first that the question of the canon, - what books are to be received as of divine authority, or what books do the Scriptures contain, - is mainly a question of human learning - secondly that the original text of the sacred books has suffered from successive copyings, that it must be adjusted by a comparison of manuscripts, and that the best adjustment can furnish only an approximation to absolute accuracy - thirdly, that all translations, ancient and modern, are imperfect - and, fourthly, that the ordinary rules of criticism must be applied to the interpretation of the Bible, and that in applying them there may be doubt, hesitancy, and error. It is confessed that these circumstances do imply that a certain measure of uncertainty to the Scriptures as we now have them; though less than in the case of any other ancient book, as facts prove, and as there are obvious reasons to explain. at what of that? Because we, at this distance of time and place, can have but a transcript, somewhat marred and obscured by the wear and tear of ages, of the inspired volume as it originally, in its several parts, came directly from God, - does it therefore follow that there was no inspiration of the original books at all? Or that we would have been as well off if there had been none? The strangest perversion of mind appears among our opponents upon this point. One learned Theban, for instance, a profound Anglican divine, objects to our view of inspiration, on the ground that it precludes the application of criticism to the settlement of the text, or the interpretation of the meaning of the Bible. I would have imagined it to have an exactly opposite tendency. If the Scriptures have God as their author, it surely concerns us all the more on that account, to have them subjected to the most searching critical scrutiny. What pains do critics take with the remains of a favourite classic! With what zeal will a Bentley apply himself to the works of Horace; first, to see to it that no spurious production is allowed to pass under that honoured name; secondly, to make the text, by a comparison of manuscripts, and the exercise of a sound, critical acumen, as nearly as possible, immaculately accurate; thirdly, to guard against mistakes in translation; and, fourthly, to lay down the rules, and catch the spirit, that may enable him most thoroughly to enter into and draw out his loved author’s meaning! In all these particulars the pains spent upon the works of Horace may with tenfold more reason be spent upon the word of God. And the more thoroughly and completely the Scriptures are held to be the very word of God, so much the more need will there be for the vocation of the sound biblical critic. Our worthy scholar and theologian, therefore, may calm his alarmed soul, and rest assured that the theory of a plenary inspiration will give him no cause to cry "Othello’s occupation s gone !" 2. The other class of difficulties are of a historical, physical, and moral, rather than of a critical, kind; consisting of alleged inconsistencies and contradictions, whether between different passages of the Bible themselves, or between the Bible and the facts of history, or the laws of nature. These would require to be dealt with in detail; and this cannot be attempted at the end of so long a lecture. But one general observation may be suggested. No intelligent defender of plenary inspiration need be ashamed to own that, in many instances, he cannot reconcile apparent disagreements. For, after all, the Scriptures are fragmentary writings: and we would require to have far fuller information on all the matters which they treat, to enable us to say which of several explanations may be the right one, or, whether there may not be an explanation in reserve, such as our knowledge fails to suggest to us. IV. But I must now close with a brief reference to my fourth and last topic. I would vindicate, in a few words, this sacred doctrine of the authority and inspiration of Bible, against the charge of Bibliolatry, rashly vented, in evil hour, by a man too great for the use of such a name; and eagerly bandied about by a whole tribe of followers, to the exposure of their own conceit, as as to the scandal of pious minds. "Bibliolatry !" "Mechanical Inspiration !" "As of a drawer receiving what is put in it !" "Cabalistic Ventriloquism !" So the pleasant sarcasm takes! And ingenuity of sucessive lovers of freedom is taxed, as on improving on one another! One of the most recent improvements, perhaps, is due to Professor Sherer, formerly of Geneva - to whom belongs the credit of that happy hit, "Cabalistic Ventriloquism !" What profanity, one is inclined to exclaim! And yet, need we wonder? It is not meant for profanity by the writers. Nay, they think they are doing God service. my do well to get a convenient by-word, or term of reproach that may make short work with Christ’ - as certain men of old contrived by such a by-word, - blasphemy and treason, - to make short work with Christ’s person. But we wrong them. They are the champions of liberty. They are to emancipate the soul from the Protestant yoke of subjection to the Bible, as well as from the popish yoke of submission to the church. Authority, - especially authority claiming to be infallible, - must be set aside; and man must be absolutely free! The Papist has his church. The Protestant has his Bible. Both are almost equally bad. For me, I have as the object of my faith, the person of Jesus Christ! And ask me not to define who, or what, Jesus Christ is. Far less ask me to define what his work was upon the earth. All the ills of Christianity come from definition. Let me have the person of Jesus Christ, as my intuitional consciousness, quickened by a divine inspiration of it, apprehends him; let me lose myself in him: let me plunge into the infinite divine love of which he is the impersonation. But I cannot pretend to make intelligible the rhapsodies of this new anti-biblical mysticism. Nor need I dwell on the approaches to it that are but too discernible in the whole school that would substitute what is called "the Christian consciousness" for the direct authority of Scripture. Let it suffice to contrast man’s position before God, upon the true Protestant footing of his owning the Scriptures as authoritative and inspired, with either of the other two positions which he may be regarded as occupying ; - when, on the one hand, he rejects, more or less, their inspired authority, or when he substitutes for them, on the other hand, the authority of church or Pope. 1. Some would have it that Christianity is purely a subjective influence on the minds of men - that the gospel operates by assimilating the soul to itself - that Christ it not a revealer, but a revelation - and that as the central revelation of God, he becomes the occasion, or the means, through the working of the Spirit, of our intuitively apprehending God, and being renewed into his likeness. According to this view, God brings to bear upon you a series and succession of influences, partly external and partly internal, fitted to emancipate you from corruption, and elevate you to a participation in the divine nature. It is a subjective process, - a working in and upon you, at so that, like the plastic clay, you take the impress and character into which you are moulded; and the Scriptures, in exhibition of God in Christ, have an important part in the process. But in all this, there is nothing like God addressing himself directly to you, and dealing with , as it were, face to face. There is no real, objective transaction or negotiation of peace between you and him. This, however, is the very peculiarity of the gospel, as conceive of it; that God not merely influences man, but speaks to man. He treats man, not as a creature merely, but as a subject; not merely as a creature needing to be renovated, but as a subject to be called to account. The two systems are directly conflicting here. And which,think you, best consults in the long-run for the true dignity and liberty of man? Tell me that I am brought within the range of influences and impulses, inward revelations and spiritual operations of various kinds, to be grasped by my intuisional consciousness, and to be available, through the exercise of my soul upon them, and their hold over me,for my regeneration. In one view, my pride may be gratified. These divine communications are all subject to me: I am their master: I receive them only in so far as they commend themselves to my acceptance: and I use and wield them for my own good. But after all, in the whole of this process, am I not passive, rather than active? It is God acting upon me; according to my intelligent and self-conscious nature, no doubt; but still very much as if he were acting upon some sort of substance that is to be sublimated into an ethereal essence, and is to lose itself ultimately in the surrounding air. But tell me that God has something objectively to say to me, - that he summons me as a responsible, and in a sense, an independent being before him, - that he treats with me upon terms that recognise my standing at his bar, - that he calls me to account, - that he reckons with me for my sin, - that he directs me to a surety, - that he makes proposals of mercy, - that he puts it into my heart to comply with these proposals, - that I, personally, and face to face, come to an understanding with him personally, and that he, judicially acquitting me, receives me as a loyal subject, a son, an heir, and works in me to will and to do, while I work out my own salvation with fear and trembling. Tell me all this, and tell me further, that the charter of this real and actual negotiation of peace is in his word, as the Scriptures infallibly record it And then judge ye, if I am not really made to occupy a far loftier, nobler, freer position in the presence of my God, than the highest possible refinement of subjective illumination and transformation could ever of itself reach? It is true in this instance, as it is true universally, that "whosoever humbleth himself shall be exalted."Refusing to submit yourself to the divine word, you may affect a superiority over the slaves of mere authority: and you may work yourself into a state of ideal absorption into Christ, little different in reality from the pantheistic dream of a rapturous absorption into the great mundane intelligence. But yield an implicit deference to the word. Let it absolutely and unreservedly rule you, as a real communication of his mind, by God, to you. Then you have realities to deal with. You have real sin, and a real sentence of death ; - a real atonement, a real justification, a real adoption ; - a real portion in the favour of God now, a real work of progressive sanctification, and real inheritance in heaven at last. 2. Nor let us be greatly moved, even if it shall be alleged against us that our reverence for the Bible is to on the same level with the Romanist’s blind obediance to the Church, and the Church’s head upon earth. In point of fact, no tendency towards the recognition of an infallible human authority can be more direct and strong than that which the denial of an infallible objective standard of divine truth implies. Set asidethe Scriptures as not furnishing such a standard. You are thrown back on either the individual intuition of each Christian consciousness of each believer, or on the general community of believers. But neither of these refuges will long satisfy or soothe the earnest soul. Soon there will come to be felt a sad want of some surer prop. And whether as relieving the individual from his undefined responsibility, or as giving shape and power to the indefinite notion of a general Christian consciousness, - an ecclesiastical voice will be allowed to speak as the interpreter of the dumb mind of Christendom; and the weary spirit will sink to rest, and find its home, in the maternal embrace of Rome. But apart from this consideration, an emphatic protest must be uttered against the attempt to represent Scriptures in Protestantism, as occupying a parallel position to that of the Church in Mediaevalism ; - or to that of Pope in Romanism. The real truth is, that the Pope, - and the same may said of the Church, - does not take the place of the Bible He usurps the throne of Him whom the Bible elevate as the only High Priest and King in Zion ; - Christ Jesus the Lord. He assumes the office of Him who interprets authoritatively the Scriptures which he inspired ; - the Holy Ghost, the Great Teacher of Church. And the glory of Protestantism is not that it puts the Bible instead of the Pope, but that it puts Christ instead of the Pope, as the great object of the Bible’s testimony, and the Spirit instead of the Pope as the Bible’s only interpreter. The Bible - the Bible alone is the religion of Protestants; the Bible, not sealed the papal key, and doled out by the papal ministers ; - but the Bible left freely in the hands of its Divine Author the Holy Ghost, to be by Him freely opened up to every devout and serious child of man, that he may know who is the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom He has sent ; - whom to know is life eternal. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 15: 03.2. THE INFALLIBILITY OF HOLY SCRIPTURE ======================================================================== Chapter 2 THE INFALLIBILITY OF HOLY SCRIPTURE. I THINK it right to explain at the outset of my lecture, that I do not intend to traverse the whole field of inquiry which the question of the inspiration of Scripture opens up. The principles and rules according to which the canon of Scripture should be settled, and the genuineness and authenticity of its several books should be ascertained, I cannot even notice. Nor do I touch upon such topics as the methods of verifying and correcting, by the collation of manuscripts, the original inspired text; or the use and value of translations. All these points may have a bearing on the question, and must be embraced in any full discussion of it. But they do not enter into its essential merits. I must add that I do not mean even to attempt anything like the leading of proof, external or internal in behalf of the plenary inspiration or infallibility of the Bible. All that I propose to myself in a lecture like this, is to try my hand at an adjustment, or what may contribute to an adjustment, of the state of the question; to bring out what it is that the advocates of this doctrine really hold, and to bring out also the qualifications and conditions under which they hold it. Much is gained if I succeed in clearing up our position, and contribute any help towards the extrication of it from the confusion in which irrelevant discussions of matters altogether beside the point have, as one is sometimes tempted to think, almost hopelessly involved it. According to the plan and method of my present investigation, I do not care much about any definition of terms. Such definition of terms would be indispensable, if I were about to enter into the whole subject methodieally and comprehensively; but, so far as my present object is concerned, I hope to be able to accomplish it without the aid of rigid formal and scholastic technicality. I am content to understand by revelation whatever God has to say to man, whether man might have discovered it for himself or not; and as to inspiration, I care for no admission or acknowledgment of it which does not imply infallibility. I intend, indeed, rather to avoid the use of this word inspiration; not because I consider it unsuitable - it is the right word - but because it has been, I fear I must say disingenuously, perverted from its recognised meaning, as expressive of that divine superintendence of the process of revelation which secures infallibly the truth and accuracy of what is revealed, and made to signify the mere elevation, more or less, of human, and, therefore fallible, capacity or faculty. Briefly I intend, first, to offer two preliminary remarks in explanation of what, as I understand it, is meant when the infallibility of the Bible is asserted; and then to indicate some of the conditions - four of them - under which that assertion of the infallibiity of the Bible is made. First, then, I have to offer two preliminary remarks in explanation of what is meant when the infallibility of the Bible is asserted. The first has respect to the nature, the second to the extent, of the infallibifity claimed. 1. By the infallibility of the Bible, I simply mean that it is the infallible record of an infallible revelation. The infallibiity is purely and simply objective. It is the attribute of the revelation and of the record, viewed altogether apart from the interpretation which each may receive, and the impression which it may make, in the subjective mind with which it comes in contact. The revelation, as given by God, is infallible; it may not be so, as apprehended by men. The record of it, as prompted or superintended by God, is infallible; it may not be so, as read by us. It may seem unnecessary to advert to so plain and obvious a distinction. But those who are familiar with certain recent modes of reasoning on inspiration, are aware that not a little pains has beentaken, by mixing up and confounding things which differ, to wrap the whole subject of revelation, and the record of revelation, in a sort of dim and doubtful mist. Thus, as to revelation, the divine influence under which Moses spoke when he gave the law; Isaiah, when he described beforehand the sufferings of Christ; Paul, when he taught the doctrine of grace, is represented as differing from the divine influence under which a good and gifted man speaks now, when he discourses on the law, on Christ, on grace; not generically, or in kind, but in amount, or quantity, or degree. Hence it has been inferred that, however much their insight into these matters may have been clearer, higher, more intuitive, more far-reaching in all directions - above, beneath, behind, before - than that of others who have had less of the co-operation of the Spirit, it cannot amount to absolute and complete certainty. It may be far more trustworthy and satisfying but it is not infallible. So, also, as to the record of revelation, the Apostle John writing his Master’s life, enjoys a larger measure of divine influence and guidance than an ordinary biographer recording the sayings and doings of a pious friend. But it is an influence and guidance of the same nature. It enabled "the disciple whom Jesus loved" better to understand the divine subject of his memoir, to enter with, deeper sympathy into his Master’s mind and heart, and. therefore to give a better and more vivid picture of him, as well as a more exact transcript of his teaching, than he could otherwise have done. Still, even John might fail - to grasp the whole bearings, the full and exact significancy, of the story which he had to tell; and so, in the telling of it, he may have come short of the truth, or unawares, occasionally, misrepresented it. Now, the fallacy of all this seems to lie in not distinguishing the position of one through whom a revelation is given, or by whom it is recorded, from the position of’ an ordinary person attending to the revelation, or reading the record. The question is not, Was Isaiah’s knowledge of the message which he had to deliver full and infallible? but, did God see to it, and make sure, that by means of Isaiah’s instrumentality the message should be fully and infallibly communicated to those to whom he ministered? It is not, Was there in the prophet himself infallibility? but, Was there infallibillity in his prophetic teaching? So far as concerns his own understanding of what God commissioned him to reveal, he might be in the same position with any other member of the Church - more enlightened, certainly, but not necessarily infallible. God is the revealer - not Isaiah. The infallibility, therefore, lies in the disclosure or discovery which God causes the prophet to make - not in the insight of the prophet himself. This is the view suggested by the Apostle Peter : - " Of which salvation the prophets have inquired and searched diligently, who prophesied of the grace that should come unto you: searching what, or what manner of time, the Spirit of Christ which was in them did signify, when it testified beforehand the sufferings of Christ, and the glory that should follow. Unto whom it was revealed, that not unto themselves, but unto us, they did minister the things which are now reported unto you by them that have preached the gospel unto you with the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven; which things the angels desire to look into" (1 Peter 1:10-12). Take also the record of a revelation; and, to simplify the matter, let it again be the Evangelist John, writing down one of the discourses of the Lord Jesus, in which it will be admitted, that when Jesus delivered it, there was an infallible revelation. As regards his own apprehension and hold of the discourse, John in writing it may be regarded as similarly situated with us in reading it ; - with immensely greater advantages no doubt for taking it all accurately in, but still, in that personal point of view, not necessarily infallible - not fully and infallibly enlightened. And yet the in.fallibiity of the record which he pens may be secured by the immediate oversight of the infallible Spirit. 2. Such being the nature of the infallibility claimed,’ - let us now consider its extent. All that is in Scripture is not revelation. To a large extent the Bible is a record of human affairs - the sayings and doings of men, not always a record of divine doctrine, or of communications from God. Is it infallible, when it narrates the wars of kings, and inserts the genealogies of tribes and families ; - as strictly so as when it reports an immediate oracle of Heaven, or embodies the religious teaching of prophets and apostles? To determine this point, in so far as the necessity of the case may be allowed to bear upon it, let the actual plan and method of the revelation which the Bible records be briefly considered. How, in point of fact, has it pleased God to reveal his will to man? I can imagine his doing so in a form and manner that would admit of easy extrication from the events of history and the actions of men. All that he intended to say to the human race - the whole instruction which he wished to give them verbally by direct discovery from Himself apart from what they might otherwise gather from his works and ways - might have been comprised in one single communication, made all at once, and once for all, to one competent person, or simultaneously to a select number, associated for the purpose. That one communication might have been complete in itself, embracing, whatever information and direction God meant in this way to afford for the guidance of mankind in all ages. Let us suppose the original parents of the race to have been in possession of this one communication - to have got such an authentic revelation - clearly and unequivocally certified to their own minds to be no discovery of theirs, but a direct communication of God - his very word spoken in their ears. Let us further suppose that they made, or received, a record of this communication, and that the document has come down in tolerable preservation to the present day. On this supposition it is quite conceivable that books similar to those of which the Bible is composed might be written from age to age; breaking up the one original and complete revelation into its constituent parts and elements; applying these, in orderly or miscellaneous detail, to the several exigencies of history, - whether the history of the entire race, or that of particular family or nations, or individuals ; - and showing the different uses made of them, "at sundry times and in divers manners," by the leading minds of successive generations. The primeval divine communication might thus as it were, be reproduced bit by bit in the writings of men prompted, under the ordinary divine influence vouchsafed to holy men, to illustrate and unfold its various bearings, at manifold points of contact, on the progress of human society, the conditions of human life, and the experiences of the human heart. There might be books of history, legislation, poetry, devotion, and in a sense, also, prophecy; didactic treatises, familiar letters, songs, proverbs, parables ; - all based upon the old revelation, pervaded by its spirit, drawing out its principles into their practical issues, and so interspersed with its very words and phrases, its sentences and paragraphs, that what existed at the beginning as a complete divine whole might all be found, in the form of detached portions and scattered fragments, in the body of human literature thus gathering and growing up around it. I say human literature - for the literature might be merely human; and so long as the original revelation, in its original record, was within reach, and might be consulted, there would be little or no difficulty in disentangling the divine from the human. Even in that case, however, the value and usefulness of the books, as books written to connect the divine ideal with the realities of the actual world, would be comparatively small, if the writers of them were not infallibly guided, and were consequently liable to err. And supposing the document itself, in which the revelation is recorded as a whole, to be lost, after the body of literature is held to be complete, - in which the whole of it exists, indeed, but exists dispersed, and mixed with other matter, - what then? We have the revelation still. But who shall tell us what it is? Or how may we find out what it is? For we have it only as subjected to merely human handling; broken up and spread through a vast variety of writings known to be more or less merely human; itself, indeed, continuing infallible as before; to be found, however, only in the compositions of men, confessedly fallible; found there, moreover, without marks of quotation, or any definite or distinct signs of discrimination of any sort between what is of God and what is theirs. And the better the books fulfil the end for which I have supposed them to be written - the more thoroughly their authors succeed in making their several compositions, of whatever kind, the living practical embodiments and expressions of revealed truth; in which it is variously acted out in harmonious accordance with its own various parts and phases; so much the greater will be the difficulty of extricating and disentangling the divine ore from its human bed. In fact, this difficulty might be so great as to drive one to the alternative of either abandoning the idea of an infallible revelation altogether, or accepting as infallible the books themselves in which alone, upon the hypothesis in question, the infallible revelation is now contained. This is the very alternative forced upon us, with reference to the volume, or collection of writings, which we call the Bible. Have we in it an infallible divine revelation at all? Can we have such a revelation, divine and infallible, unless the character or attribute of infallibility belongs in the fullest sense to the record in which it is contained - unless the Giver of the revelation guarantees the accuracy of what the recorders of the revelation write? Can the infallible word of God be in the Bible, unless the Bible itself is the infallible Word of God? The manner in which the authoritative will of God has been actually communicated or revealed to men, is very much the reverse, or converse, of that in which I have been supposing it to be communicated; and the contrast may be of use in guiding our inquiries and remarks under such heads as the following, touching the conditions und which the infallibility of the Bible is asserted : - I. Revelation was to be gradual and progressive; not immediate and at once complete. II. It was to be practical and pointed; springing out of the exigencies, and framed for the occasions of ordinary human life and experience, from day to day, and from age to age; plastic, therefore, in ite susceptibility of adaptation to human modes of thought and feeling; not rigidly stereotyped in a divine mould of absolute perfection. III. It was to be natural and free not stiff and formal. IV. It was, nevertheless, to be throughout limited and restricted; not ranging over all the field of possible knowledge, but embracing only what concerns the moral government of God and the salvation of man. Under such conditions as these, let us assume an infallible revelation to be given, and an infallible record of it to be framed; and let us ask if that record would not present very much the appearance which the Bible, as we now have it, presents? Let us look at the Bible as a book composed under these conditions; and let us see if they do not, on the one hand, indicate the direction in which evidence of its inspiration and infallibility may be sought, and, on the other hand, suggest the source from whence a probable solution of most of the difficulties of this subject may be derived. The first two of these conditions may be said to attach chiefly to the divine element in the composition of the Bible; the last two to the human. I. What God had to communicate by revelation to man‘was to be communicated, not all at once, but as it were piecemeal; gradually and progressively. Now, in the first place, this consideration suggests a very strong reason why God should from the beginning, and all along, superintend most closely and minutely the committing of his communications to writing, so as to secure even the verbal accuracy of the record. I am aware that this is a mode of reasoning about God in the use of which there is need of the greatest caution. To infer that God must have taken a certain course with reference to any matter, merely because to our judgment it seems the only course suitable to the circumstances of the case, is not often either reverential or safe. In the present instance, however, I cannot but think that the presumption is peculiarly strong. He who sees the end from the beginning, and before whom all truth lies open, employs me, an ignorant and fallible man, to put on record, not the whole of what he means to say, but only a small, a very small part of it. He knows the relation of that part to the whole; but I do not He can judge how the part can be so put that it shall be found ultimately to fit into the whole; but I cannot. Is it credible that he will leave it to me, writing a history, or a poem, or a letter, to bring in the portion of revelation which I have got from him just as I think fit, and choose my own way of introducing and expressing it, without satisfying himself that it is treated entirely according to his own mind? You would not, as a merchant, trust a clerk, unacquainted with all the interests of your vast business, to send a message for you about someone of them, having bearings, which you understand and he cannot, upon the business as a whole. You would ask to see the document before it was despatched, and you would correct its very hmguage. Again, secondly, the fact of the divine communications which the Bible has to record being partial, and in a sense, fragmentary in their character, may prepare us to expect a good deal of difficulty in harmoniously adjusting and combining them. At all events, it ought to be an argument for much more modesty in dealing with the Scriptures than is sometimes shown. An author, especially a voluminous author, is placed at a great disadvantage when his views and sentiments on any important truth have to be gathered from a great variety of miscellaneous writings, composed long ago, and spread over a long series of years. Even with the most honest desire to ascertain his real mind, and do him full justice, you are often greatly at a loss and at fault. You cannot explain how he was led to speak in this particular way at one time, and in that other particular way at another time. You do not wish, however, to magnify apparent anomalies and inconsistencies. You have a firm persuasion that the great man whose works you are studying knew what he was about when he wrote them, and had fixed opinions to advocate, and a well-digested system to maintain. You examine patiently, and judge candidly. And if you do find passages really difficult, in which he seems to express himself on any question, or to have himself acted in any emergency, in a way that somewhat jars with his statements elsewhere and his conduct atother times, you are not surprised. You call to mind that you are ignorant of many particulars of local, temporary, personal, or relative significance which may have influenced him on such occasions, and which, if known, would show that there was only a just and wise adaptation to the necessities of the case; involving no change, or compromise, or concession. And as you esteem highly the author and his writings, you readily acquiesce even in a solution merely conjectural, if it offers anything approaching to a satisfactory vindication of his consistency. Such a mode of procedure is reasonable and fair. It is common sense. It is bare justice. Now, the divine communications which the Bible professes to record extend, with large intervals, over centuries. Surely, in all fairness, the Bible which records them ought to be treated and judged in the manner which I have been attempting to describe. This is probably what the Apostle Peter means in that remarkable passage, in which he unequivocally asserts the divine authorship of the prophetic books, or of the Scriptures generally, and assigns it as the reason of a general rule or canon of exposition: "No prophecy of the scripture is of any private interpretation. For the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man; but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Ho]y Ghost" (2 Peter 1:20-21). He is proving that the hope of the Lord’s coming in power and glory is no "cunningly devised fable." He first insists on the fact of the Transfiguration. Even in the midst of his hunuiliation our Lord’s glory was beheld. "We," James, John, and I, "were eye-witnesses of his majesty." We actually saw him as he is to be seen at his Second Advent. This, of itself, affords a strong presumption in favour of what we teach, when "we make known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ." But "the word of prophecy" is a still "surer" evidence: clearer, more explicit, and more direct. To that word - to the Scriptures containing it - the apostle refers his readers for proof of the doctrine which he is teaching. And, in doing so, he gives them a strong caution. They are to "know this first" - I they are to keep it in view as a primary and capital: principle of interpretation - that "no prophecy of Scripture is of any private interpretation." The maxim thus announced has been variously explained; but, taken in connection with the reason assigned for it, I apprehend its meaning to be somewhat to the following effect. If the Scripture were a collection of separate and independent treatises, composed by different authors, then each treatise might be expected to contain within itself the means and materials of its own interpretation. We would count it enough, in that case, to let each writer explain himself. We would give him the benefit of collating or comparing the passages in his own book fitted to qualify or throw light on one another; but we would not consider it necessary to travel beyond what, he himself had written, to ride the marches, as it were,. or adjust the terms of agreement, between him and the: other authors whose works happened to be bound up 1w the same volume. But the Bible is not such a miscellanyt;. Properly speaking, it has but one author - the Holy Ghost throughout. All the books in it are of his composition. He is responsible for them all And that being so, he is entitled to the same measure of justice at our hands which an ordinary writer may claim. We are to take his writings as a whole, and interpret them by the help of one another; by allowing them to shed light on one another; sometimes, perhaps, to limit and restrict one another’s meaning, and at other times greatly to enhance and enlarge it. This is the correct view of the Bible as the Word of God. It is the work of one author; and of an author, let it he remembered, whose object it is not to declare his whole mind and will at once, but to let it come out only very gradually, in a sort of fragmentary way, bit by bit, in detached portions. He purposely at first, and for a long time, restrains himself; and of necessity leaves many things, especially in his earlier communications, unexplained. It ought not, therefore, to be matter of surprise to us, nor ought it to be felt as impeaching the infallibility of the Bible, when we find the dealings of God with men in the days of old, as the Bible records them, to be in some particulars such as, at this distance of time, we cannot have cleared up to our entire satisfaction. It was impossible for him, consistently with the plan of a progressive revelation, to make known always all the reasons of his procedure. Even with the clearer and fuller discoveries of the later revelation, as a key to the earlier, we may be sometimes unable to ascertain these reasons now. In contemplating some of those sterner aspects of the character of God which the earlier revelation exhibits, or those rigorous severities in his providence which it narrates, we may be apt to wonder if this is the same being whose love shines so conspicuously in the face of Jesus Christ. But when we candidly consider the nature of the case, compelling, if I may so speak, this glorious being, for a long season, to hide himself and his doings behind a cloud only partially dispelled, we see that we may well be expected to acquiesce in explanations not at all points free from doubt ; - and for the rest be silent. Nay, more, we begin to suspect that we may perhaps err seriously, if we dwell only on what appears to be the milder view of the great Father presented to us in his Son, and to ask if, before all is over, and this very dispensation of grace has run its course, there may not be things seen and done on the earth that will but too terribly identify him whom men will persist in misrepresenting as the vengeful God of the Old Testament with him whom, to their cost, they may find that they have been equally misrepresenting as the all-indulgent and all-merciful God of the New. II. It was the design of God that the revelation of his will to man should be, not theoretical and ideal, but practical, and, as it were, business-like, arising out of the circumstances, and adapted to the events and exigencies, of human history and human life. Whatever God revealed at any time of his mind and will, he revealed, as we say, pro re nata, for the occasion. What was revealed, therefore, took to a considerable extent, more or less, the form and mould of the occasion. Even apart from this consideration, independently of the occasion, the agency employed, being human agency, necessarily affects the substance as well as the form and manner of the revelation. I suppose that truth, absolutely pure and perfect, can dwell only in the divine mind. To lodge it in the mind of a creature, exactly as it is in the mind of the Creator, may very probably be an impossibility. It is said, indeed, that in the future state, "we shall know even as we are known." That, however, may not literally mean that our human knowledge is then to be completely assimilated to the divine knowledge, and made absolutely equal to it. It is rather intended to mark strongly the contrast, in this respect, between that future state and the present, in which "we know in part, and prophesy in part." In this life at all events, as is clear from that statement of the apostle, revelation, even when fullest and clearest, does not transfer truth identical and entire from the divine mind to the human; it does not give perfect, but only partial knowledge. Now it is a true maxim, that "whatever is received, is received according to the capacity of the receiver." This maxim applies to a divine communication as well as to other things. Hence it may be freely admitted that gospel truth - the truth as it is in Jesus - even when communicated directly and immediately - to the inspired apostles for instance - was not to them, absolutely and perfectly, what it is to God. Even they "knew in part, and they prophesied in part." Nay, more: it may be granted that it was not to any one of them exactly what it was to any other of them that no two of them saw it in exactly the same light themselves, or could present it in exactly the same light to others. They were men of like passions with ourselves. They had their several idiosyncrasies; their individual peculiarities of thought and feeling; their distinctive temperaments and tastes. He must be either very blind or very bigoted, who refuses to admit that Paul, and James, and Peter, and John, had each his own conception of the revealed way of life and duty; and that, in writing their apostolic letters, they taught it each according to his own conception of it. Had it been otherwise, the New Testament would have been a very dull book; and what is worse, the mind of God would have been far less fully and adequately conveyed to us than as we have it now; unless, indeed, the writers were to be mere machines. It is the fact of our having the truth of the gospel presented to us by different men, looking at it from different standpoints, and conceiving of it somewhat differently from one another that enables us to obtain something better, at any rate, than a merely one-sided view of that great mystery of godliness, which yet, until our earthly house of this tabernacle is dissolved, we can know only in part. But now, admitting and thankfully rejoicing in this fact, I urge it as what to my mind is one of the strongest of all arguments for the full and infallible inspiration of the apostolic writings. I cannot bring myself to believe that when God meant to reveal his will to me, to you, to all, in a matter, not of life and death merely, but of life and death for eternity; when he was about to communicate, as from himself, and on his own authority, the knowledge of the one only way of salvation; and when, for that purpose, he engaged the minds and pens of men, who, being men, could at the very best know it themselves only in part ; - and who, moreover, being men of different habits and dispositions, could not but view it and present it differently from one another - I say I cannot bring myself to believe that he left these men to write without a superintendence and unerring oversight that would secure the literal and verbal accuracy of every sentence they composed; its being literally and verbally what he would have it to be; literally and verbally correct and true. I will not do my God so great wrong as to imagine that he could so act. I may have to admit that there are difficulties in connection with these precious remains, which I have not, in this remote age and country, the means of solving. But I for one will be no maker of difficulties; no eager finder of them; nor will I make too much of them when they force themselves upon me. I will not refuse a probable, or even.a possible, explanation of them, merely because it does not clear up and make all certain. And most assuredly, even in a desperate case, I shall consider it infinitely more probable that there is some mistake on my part, some error in my way of looking at the matter; that the puzzle I am in is owing to my distance from the writers; that a few simple words from them would at once remove it ; - and wifi remove it when I meet them in a better world ; - than that either they should have undertaken, or God should have permitted them, to handle, as his authorised ambassadors, and the authoritative teachers of his Church in all ages, the deep things of his righteousness and peace, in any other words than those which his own Holy Spirit sanctioned and approved. Returning now to the point on hand, I observe that not only must we take into account the human agency employed, as modifying the revelation of which the Bible is the record, but we must allow also for the human occasions to which it was adapted. Divine truth, as taught in Scripture, resembles mixed, rather than pure, mathematics. It is not like the abstract science of number or extension, but rather like the science of number or extension practically applied, in the mechanical arts, or in the transactions of business. In the Bible we have not merely God speaking from heaven, and man listening on earth; we have God, as it were, coming down to the earth, mixing himself up with its affairs, taking part in the ordinary ongoings of the world’s history, turning the sayings and doings of men to account for the purpose of conveying the instruction which he wishes to impart. Hence there is need of continual discrimination, that we may ascertain the true value and bearing of Scriptural statements as expressive of the divine mind and will. With ordinary candour, the task of exercising the necessary discrimination is not really difficult. But it is easy, if one is so inclined, to create embarrassment; to confound the earthly occasion with the heavenly lesson; and to take exception to some things in the divine procedure which may appear to be inconsistent with the highest ideal of pure truth and perfect holiness, when in all fairness allowance ought to be made for the constraining force of circumstances. We must regard God, in those dealings of his with men which Scripture records, as in some sense laid under a restraint. It is no part of his purpose to coerce the human will, or to disturb and disarrange the ordinary laws which regulate the incidents of human life, and the progress of human society. There must be, on his part, a certain measure of accommodation. He cannot in his Word, any more than in his providence, have things precisely such, and so put, as the standard of absolute perfection would require. In legislating, for instance, for ancient Israel, it was not possible to have the ordinance of marriage, the usages of war, the rights of captives, the relation of master and servant, - and other similar matters affecting domestic order and the public weal, - regulated exactly as absolutely strict principle demands. If it had been the plan of God to reveal his will by infallibly directing Plato in the framing of his idea of a perfect republic, or our own Philip Sidney in composing his "Arcadia," - there would have been none of the apparent anomalies which it delights the sceptic to detect, and which it sometimes vexes the devout reader to find, in the Mosaic writings, and in the books of Kings. Even when the New Testament revelation was given, some things which it might have been expected that our Lord and his apostles would have regulated according to the perfect law of liberty, were left, as it would seem, undetermined. Evils were to be allowed to work themselves out, as it were, gradually in the course of time, through the growing Christian enlightenment of mankind; and the spirit of the gospel, as its influence was to be felt from age to age in every department of human experience, was naturally and spontaneously to effect salutary and blessed reforms, which it would have frustrated the very purpose for which the gospel was given to enact by formal statute, or enjoin in positive command. The disappearance of polygamy - the elevation of the female sex - the abolition of personal slavery in European Christendom - and other similar improvements in modern society, are instances in point. In short, as regards both the teaching of truth and the enforcing of duty, the principle on which divine revelation has been given, "at sundry times and in divers manners," is very much the principle on which the Great Teacher himself acted in his personal ministry, when "he spake to the people in parables as they were able to bear it." And it is upon that principle, therefore, that the record of the revelation ought in all fairness to be interpreted and criticised. If this common justice is done to it, not a few of the objections urged in certain quarters against its infallibility will be found to be altogether groundless. Nay, more, I am persuaded that if due regard be had to the consideration now stated, the presumption in favour of the infallibility of Scripture will appear to be very strong. I cannot see how otherwise we have any guarantee for the accuracy of a revelation, depending for the right understanding of it on a knowledge of the circumstances in which its separate and successive portions were communicated, unless we have these circumstances reported to us under an unerring oversight. And, I have no doubt that, were a comprehensive survey taken of all the various intimations of the mind of God contained in Scripture, viewed in the light of the historical and circumstantial occasions by which they were suggested, and to which they were accommodated, a singularly cogent, cumulative body of proof might be built up. It is, in fact, impossible to account for the wonderful harmony and consistency pervading the whole of the divine volume, - as the record of a revelation of God, growing out of, and growing into, the progress of the race of man, - on any other supposition than that the Spirit of God has so superintended the entire book throughout, as to insure, from the highest discoveries of heaven in it, down to the meanest details of earth, the infallible correctness of all its contents. III. Revelation was to be natural and free, not stiff and formal. Those by whom it was to be given were to speak and write freely. It seems somehow to be imagined by some that men infallibly directed by the Holy Spirit, and conscious or assured of their being so, must feel themselves under the pressure of a strong restraint, obliged to pick their steps, if I may so say, with extreme nicety and delicacy; to be very scrupulous and fastidious in telling what they have to tell; carrying their anxiety about the rigid accuracy of everything they say to a pitch of punctiliousness that, in an ordinary speaker or writer, would be held to be either mere affectation, or ridiculous precision and pedantry. I apprehend that we might expect the very opposite effect to be produced on their modes of thought and expression. I can see no reason why the Holy Spirit, if he has any communication to make, should not use the same latitude that the most truthful of mankind allows himself to use, when minute exactness is not necessary, and is not pretended; as, for instance, when he thinks it quite enough to state a sum of years, or of people, in round numbers; or when he reports the speech of a friend, or of an orator, whose precise words he does not profess to give. Nay more, I can well believe that a man writing under the assurance of divine guidance, might be even less careful in matters of that sort than he would otherwise consider himself obliged to be; and might take liberties in dealing with certain subjects, which, if left to himself, he would not have considered it warrantable to take. Let me illustrate what I mean by a very simple example, in a very trifling matter ; - and then endeavour to show how the idea or principle which I have indicated may be applied to things of greater consequence. I find Paul, in his First Epistle to the Corinthians, in his anxiety to meet the subdivisions among them - their taking sides, "I am of Paul, and I of Apollos, and I of Cephas, and I of Christ " - asking, with some indignation, "Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were ye baptized in the name of Paul ?" And then he adds, in his eager and anxious haste to disclaim his having ever given them any occasion for imagining that they should attach themselves to him, as if he had baptized them in his own name, - that he had not been in the practice of ordinarily baptizing them at all, and that it was now matter to him of high satisfaction that he had not: "I thank God that I baptized none of you, but Crispus and Gaius; lest any should say that I baptized in mine own name." Now this was a mistake; and I can fancy the amanuensis or scribe who wrote to Paul’s dictation, stopping short to tell him so, and to refresh his memory; or else Paul recollects himself; for he goes on to say: "And I baptized also the house of Stephanas." Then, as if he felt that there might still be some omission, but that it was unnecessary to be more particular and precise, he adds: "Besides, I know not whether I baptized any other. For Christ sent me, not to baptize, but to preach the gospel." I give this as a slight illustration of the freedom with which an inspired apostle might write; that freedom being all the greater, in consequence of his, being quite sure that in some way or other the accuracy of what he wrote would be sufficiently secured by the Divine Spirit, under whose infallible superintendence he knew himself to be writing. Now, the consideration thus suggested may go far to explain not a few things that have been regarded as difficulties and objections in the way of the infallibility of Scripture. I shall mention only two. The one is, - the variations in the evangelical narratives; the other is, - the manner in which the Old Testament is quoted and referred to in the New. 1. As to the first, let me make a supposition. Our blessed Lord, during his lifetime, or after his resurrection and before he went to heaven, might have desired four of his followers, who had been always with him in his ministry, to write down, separately and independently, what they could remember, and what they considered most worthy of being remembered, of his sayings and doings; and then to bring their several narratives to him, that he might revise and correct them. The knowledge that what they wrote was to be submitted to their Master’s eye, would be a stimulus to all of them to do their best. But would it not also give them great boldness and freedom in executing their task? They would not feel themselves hampered by the constant fear of not giving verbatim every sentence of a discourse, and not stating every minute particular about a miracle; nor would they be haunted by the apprehension that their failing to do so might give rise to apparent discrepancies in their biographies. They would have little scruple in following very much each the bent of his own mind, as to the selection of materials, the order of their arrangement, and the language employed in recording them. There would be a free play and exercise of their faculties and feelings. Theirs would be the "pens of ready writers." And now, they put their manuscripts into their Master’s hands. What will be his treatment of them? Will be insist on reducing them to a tame uniformity? Will he be for retrenching here, enlarging there; overcrowding the canvas with details in one place; cutting out graphic incidents, graphically told, in another; altering and amending words and phrases, until the agreement becomes so close and complete as to defy the most captious fault-finder? Surely not. He will not thus give the appearance of collusion to what he designs to be distinct and independent testimonies. He will leave the memoirs in the freedom and freshness of their original spontaneous simplicity; only taking care that there is nothing in. them for which he would not be willing himself to stand voucher. He prefers their easy and artless reminiscences to an absolutely perfect history, as giving really a truer and more life-like representation of himself. He suffers them to go forth under his sanction, although he quite well foresees that the different ways in which they tell the story of his life may give rise to questions that could only be solved by a fuller and more exact narrative than any one of all the four professes to be. Now the case, thus put as a supposition, is virtually the case as in point of fact it actually is. Historians and biographers, enjoying the infallible guidance of the Divine Spirit, and knowing that they enjoyed it, would be sure to write in the free and natural way which I have described. The Spirit acting, if I may so speak, in the interest of Christ, and consulting for his glory, would exercise his superintendence, just as I have imagined Christ himself to conduct his revision. And the result, as might easily be shown in detail, would be the very phenomena which the Scriptural narratives, as we now have them, present. 2. The manner in. which the Old Testament is quoted and referred to in the New, may also be explained, I think, at least partly, upon the same principle. This is a wide subject - far too wide to be discussed fully in this form. A very few hints regarding it must suffice for the present. My notion is, that the apostles and evangelists may have been led to use more freedom than they would otherwise have ventured to use, in dealing with the Old Testament Scriptures, and connecting them with the New Dispensation, by the very fact of their being under infallible guidance. Nor is it difficult to see a good reason for this. The whole of the Old Testament has a prospective reference to the gospel. Its historical details, its typical institutions, its devotional pieces, its maxims of wisdom, its prophetic intimations - all point to Christ and the kingdom of Christ. Of necessity, however, all these foreshadowings of more substantial good things to come, are expressed in language less clear than what might and would naturally be employed when the good things had actually come. And let it be borne in mind, that the New Testament writers, when they quote or refer to the language of the Old, are not merely citing it in proof of what they teach. They are authoritatively interpreting it and applying it; drawing out its full meaning as it is developed by the later revelation. In these circumstances, their very consciousness, or assurance, of an infallible divine superintendence being exerted over them, might make theth feel that they were warranted in exercising a large measure of discretion. Being under such a superintendence, they are not, like ordinary teachers, subject to the Scriptures which they handle. In an important sense they are masters of them: entitled to put their own sense and meaning on the statements and contents of these Scriptures; and entitled consequently, in large measure, to take their own way of making that sense and meaning clear. When, therefore, a passage of Old Testament Scripture assumes in their hands a different import and bearing from what, as it stands in its original place, it seems to have, the presumption is, that the apparent difference arises from the limit which, by the very necessity of the case, was put upon the clearness of Old Testament discoveries ; - that the apostle understands the prophet better than the prophet could understand himself, and expresses the meaning of the passage better than the prophet himself in the circumstances, could express it. The same consideration may account generally for the free manner in which the authors of the New Testament cite the words of the Old. They do not study always literal and verbal accuracy. They interpret while they quote. They have respect to the use and application which they are making of the words, rather than to the mere workthemselves; giving the true evangelical sense, if not the very terms in which originally that sense may have been more or less imperfectly conveyed. All this seems to be capable of a reasonable and satisfactory explanation, on the supposition of an infallible divine guidance being incessantly exercised over what the apostles and evangelists wrote. I confess, however, that on any other supposition I consider it to be inexplicable. I can scarcely reconcile it, I would almost say with fair dealing. At all events, I cannot reconcile it with that reverence for the very letter of their sacred books which was a peculiar characteristic of Jewish writers of old, and that sense of responsibility for even verbal correctness which men in their position must have owned. I am persuaded that the New Testament teachers felt themselves at liberty to deal with the 0ld Testament as freely as they did, solely because they were - and because they knew that they were, - under the control and superintendence of the Spirit of Truth, would not suffer them to err. There are other circumstances connected with the use of the Old Testament in the New, which must be taken into account, if we would do full justice to the argument. I allude to certain Oriental and Jewish modes of thought and ways of looking at things, which differ much from the mental habits of Western and modern nations. They were not so analytical and discriminating as we are; not by any means so abstract; but rather prone to view objects in the concrete, and to group together as one person or thing. what, when closely examined, may found to resolve itself into several. But this, and other considerations bearing on the present topic, I must pass over. IV. The fourth condition under which I assumed the outset the divine revelation to be given, and record of it to be framed, is, that the revelation was to be limited and restricted; not ranging over the whole field of possible knowledge in. science or in history; but embracing only what concerns the moral government of God and the salvation of men. Here, it is important to understand what the problem is which occasions difficulty. What is it that the Divine Being, according to the plan which he proposes to himself; has, I ask with reverence, to do? He intends to reveal his will, not in an abstract form of ideal heavenly perfection, but in connection with earth’s changes and the affairs of men. Of necessity, therefore, the revelation must not only touch the confines, but enter and occupy the domains, of scientific truth and secular history. But God did not mean to make either those whom he employed as his agents in giving the revelation, or the people to whom they gave it, wiser or better informed on these subjects, than they would have been without a revelation - except only in so far as it might be necessary for spiritual and moral ends. Hence, when the facts of science or of history come up, as it were, in the course of the giving of the revelation, and are to be dealt with or referred to, - this must be done in such a way as, on the one hand, not to anticipate the discoveries, or supersede the researches, which from age to age men are to make and institute for themselves, in the exercise of their natural faculties; and yet, on the other hand, not to be inconsistent with them. Very plainly this is a problem which the Divine Mind alone can meet and grapple with. To say nothing that shall tell men what God means that they should find out for themselves; and yet, to say nothing that shall be at variance with what they do ultimately find out for themselves; who can reconcile these opposite terms of this condition under which revelation is to be given, but God only? And how, let me ask, may it be expected that the reconciliation shall become clear and certain to men? At first, of course, there is no difficulty. The revelation is given, and the record of it is written, in accordance with the amount of information and the state of opinion at the time. The inspired Word is abreast of the science and literature of the age, but not in advance of it and by, the progress of inquiry brings out new information, and gives rise to new opinions on those subjects which men have been left to investigate for themselves. The new information, and the new opinions, clash and come into collision with the method of interpreting Scripture hitherto in use, and the current notions which has been supposed to sanction. Alarm is felt, as if the very foundations of revealed truth were shaken. The sun must move round the earth. Galileo dies, asserting with his latest breath, that it is the earth that moves round the sun. "It moves! it moves " cries the martyr in the cause of science ; - a martyr also, as it turns out, in the cause of revelation too. This is the second stage in the advance of man towards the right apprehension of the plan and method of revelation of God. It is a natural and inevitable stage. And we are not to judge too severely, either on the hand the students of nature, who may have been tempted in this stage, to raise reluctant doubts as to the scientific accuracy of revelation; or on the other hand the students of revelation, who may have been led by these doubts being raised to show an unworthy jealousy and fear of the free study of nature. But a better understanding comes. It is found, on closer study, that while the Bible does not teach the new doctrines of science, which it could not do consistently with its general design, yet it does not teach the opposite, or the reverse of them. And that is all that can be reasonably asked. Not only so. When that is made clear, it furnishes a most striking and irrefragable proof of the infallibility of the Bible; its having been composed under the eye and hand of an infallible Mind, knowing all things from the beginning, and taking care that whatever of truth is revealed and written down, from time to time, partially and incompletely, to meet the successive exigencies of human sin, and suffering, and sorrow, and salvation, shall be, on the one hand, adapted to the existing state of knowledge at the time; and, on the other hand, consistent with all that ever can be known. The Bible has hitherto stood this test. The Bible alone can stand it. All other pretended revelations teach, as an essential part of themselves, positively false cosmogonies, false deluges, impossible miracles. In contrast, the Bible stands alone. I may be allowed here to refer to a remark made some years ago in conversation by the lamented Hugh Miller, (Editor of the "Edinburgh Witness" and a devout Christian) which at the time impressed me much, and which I have never forgotten. It was to this effect. The geological discoveries as to the earth’s existence and history before the Adamic creation are consistent with a probable, possible, interpretation of Genesis: not indeed with a interpretation that would naturally have occurred to a reader before these discoveries were made - that would have been to forestall the discoveries by revelation; but still with an interpretation of which the inspired words are fairly susceptible. The Confession and catechisms of the Westminster divines, on the other hand, in treating of the subject of the creation, use language that could not in any way be harmonised with the teachings science. Of course this.is not wonderful. These learned men, being uninspired, could not make provision for state of knowledge not yet reached. They gave the judgment on questions actually before them, and cannot be considered authoritative on a point which was then then raised. But the argument which the contrast between them and the sacred writer suggests is very striking. There is reserve on the part of Moses. The inspiring and superintending Spirit does not give him scientific information in advance of his age. But care is take that, writing according to the scientific views of his age he shall say nothing that is to be found ultimately is compatible or irreconcilable - in the judgment of any candid mind, duly considering the conditions of the problem - with what the advancing march of inquiry is to go on unfolding to the end of time. I have done, as I best could, what I proposed to do. I have not only not exhausted the subject; I have scarcely even touched its arguments. I have endeavoured sirnply to state the question; to lay down the conditions under which it might be assumed beforehand, that the Bible, as the infallible record of an infallible revelation, would be written; and to suggest some of the features which the Bible, written under these conditions, might be expected to exhibit. Suffer one closing word. There is a very vulgar outcry in certain learned quarters against bibliolatry. Some of our learned Grecians positively cannot keep their temper, when they have to speak of a believer in an infallible Bible. And lesser scholars chime in. For it looks like manliness to put an infallible Bible in the same category with an infallible Church or an infallible Pope - to turn the tables upon biblical Protestants, and taunt them with their submission to an infallible Book, as if that were equivalent to their kissing the toe of an infallible priest. With all deference to our iconoclastic friends, there is some little difference between these two attitudes. To stand erect in the presence of my God and Father in heaven, and with his Book in my hand and in my heart - the Book which he has caused to be written, and written infallibly, for my learning - to confer and commune directly with himself about its contents, asking him to open it up to me, and to open my eyes that I may behold wonders out of it; and, on the faith of the wonders I behold in it, to pour forth my inmost soul before him, unbosoming all my grief, confessing all my sin, accepting all his mercy alone- myself alone with him alone ; - to settle and seal, upon this authentic record of his will, a holy covenant of peace ; - who dare say - what Grecian pedant, what shallow sceptic - that transaction like that on my part with my God - so close, so direct, so personal, so confidential - proceeding throughout on his speaking to me in this infallible Bible and my speaking to him in reliance on its infallibility, has anything at all in common with the blind, implicit trust which allows a man - a mere man, though be clothed in scarlet, and wear a triple crown, and have backing of solemn conclaves and councils - to set Book aside ; - and himself come in between me and the God of my salvation, asking me to receive the law his mouth, and let him negotiate for me the relation which I am to stand to Heaven? If I can dispense with guidance out of myself altogether - if while willing to receive hints from all quarters, I am prepared to say that I need not, and that I will not, take authoritative instructions from any - then away equally with an infallible Bible and an infallible Pope. •But, if conscious my own ignorance and insuificiency, my guilt and insufficiency, I long for good news from heaven to meet my case, shall I take the good news at second-hand from the mouth a poor mortal like myself? Or shall I thankfully welcome, embrace, study, meditate on, and pray over the Book, the blessed Book, in which my heavenly Father himself has taken care to have the message of his grace in his Son unerringly recorded, - the Book which he also promised, by his Holy Spirit, to open up to sufficiently for my everlasting salvation, to his own eternal glory? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 16: 03.3. CONSCIENCE AND THE BIBLE ======================================================================== Chapter 3 CONSCIENCE AND THE BIBLE. CONSCIENCE and the Bible have a common meeting-point behind, as it were, or above, in law; and a common meeting-place in front, in virtue. As they point upwards or backwards, their lines meet in divine law; as they tend forwards or downwards, their lines meet in human virtue. This thought might be presented in a sort of diagram. Look at an elongated diamond-shaped figure. At the extremities of a line drawn across between the two larger angles, let conscience and the Bible stand inscribed; conscience on the left, the Bible on the right. The other two extremities, those of a line joining the smaller angles, may indicate the relative positions, tile one of law, the other of virtue. Beginning at a point marked for law, draw two diverging lines till they reach two other points, opposite to one another, marked for conscience and the Bible respectively ; thereafter let the lines converge till they come together in a fourth point ; that point may be marked as denoting virtue. Such is a sort of geometrical representation of the positions occupied by law, the Bible, conscience, virtue, relatively to one another. Law is prior to both conscience and the Bible; it is recognised as prior by both of them; both of them look up to it and do it homage. Virtue again is under them; it appeals to them; they judge it. Conscience and the Bible acknowledge law; they approve virtue. And across the line joining law and virtue, conscience and the Bible meet. What then is law, as acknowledged by conscience and the Bible? What is the virtue which they approve? These are the two questions on the answer to which the solution of a third question, as to the mutual relations of the two authorities, - conscience and the Bible, - may largely depend. I. What is law, as acknowledged by conscience and the. Bible? It is a moral law; a law of right and wrong. But of what nature? It is, perhaps, unfortunate that the word law is ambiguous. It has one meaning when it is used as a term of jurisprudence, and another meaning altogether when it is applied to the phenomena of natural science. What is called the law of the land, for instance, is felt by all men to be a thing quite distinct, generically, from the physical laws, or the laws of instinct. These last are generalization.s of facts observed; the other is a rule authoritatively promulgated and judicially enforced. The result of a fair induction of particular instances is embodied and expressed in a general formula, to which we give the name, of law. It is a natural law, or a law of nature, thus ascertained, that bodies gravitate towards one another, and that the force of gravitation is inversely as the squaxe of the distance. To most minds this language conveys a very different idea from what they receive, when they are told that the laws under which they live as citizens forbid and punish crime. That the divine law is essentially the same in principle with human law, both conscience and the Bible clearly teach. The obligation to obey the law of God, commends itself to conscience as identically of the same kind with the obligation to obey the law of the land. And in the Bible, the magistrate is represented as wielding an authority of the same kind with the authority of Deity. The rulers of the people are called gods. The mere mention of this distinction must be enough. But as it touches a point of supreme importance, and as a view adverse to that now stated is widely prevalent in influential quarters, it is necessary to go into the subject more fully. The order established in creation is one of the surest evidences of a creative mind. The more thoroughly it is observed, tested, ascertained and developed, by the inquiries of science, the more conclusively is it seen and felt to be so. Ranging over the myriads of ages of which our globe retains the traces; subjecting the multitudinous stars of heaven to her far-seeing telescope, and the all but prophetic calculations of her exact mathematics; embracing all the living tribes that have ever peopled the earth; mastering all the relations of social life, and all the conditions of social prosperity ; - science seeks to reduce the whole complex mechanism and manifold movements of the universe to a sort of uniformity, if not to unity. And the more successful she is in this, the more thoroughly does she establish the reign of one infinite and omnipotent Intelligence, planning all, and presiding over all. Now, law is the index, the assertor, the vindicator of order. If there is to be order, there must be law. And it must be law with its appropriate penalty. The more simple and universal the law - the more self-acting and self-enforcing - the more perfect the order. Hence the tendency, in the various departments of physical knowledge, to resolve particular inductions into more comprehensive general maxims - to trace a similarity of proportion throughout them all - to find the principles of sound, of colour, of form, of weight and motion, identical; so that music, painting, architecture, and the kindred art are said to be based on similar ratios or relations of number; and such powers as those of light, heat, electricity, galvanism, gravitation, converge towards some one radical element in the constitution of matter, that is to cover the phenomena of them all. Even apart from these higher speculations, the sense of law, as the security of order, which is originally strong in the human mind, gains additional strength through the investigation of nature. All things proceed according to law; and law implies intelligence and design. It seems but another step in the same direction, to reduce the moral world also under the same rigid uniformity of rule and order with the physical. There, too, the empire of law reigns. There are laws according to which our intellectual, our active, our social, and our moral faculties are respectively regulated in their exercise. There are laws of association governing the intellect; laws of motive and habit guiding the active powers; laws of taste and feeling controlling the social propensities; and laws of truth, righteousness, and love, determining the moral judgments. Thus man, as to his whole nature, is the subject of law. He thinks and acts, he likes or dislikes, he approves or condemns, according to law - according to laws proper to the different departments of his complex constitution. The violation of any of these laws is his misfortune, or fault, - and his misery. It is so, whichever of them it may be that is violated. The disorder, the evil, may be greater, when it is the law of a higher department of his nature, than when it is the law of a lower one. Redress and reparation may be more difficult. But it is an injury of the same kind that is done in both cases; it is a law of the same kind that is broken. The apparent symmetry of a system like this has an attraction for minds of a certain order. But how does it stand the test of an appeal to consciousness? Try it in a single instance. I dash my foot against a stone. A physical law is outraged by me. It vindicates itself: I suffer. But look at the different circumstances in which this may happen. It is a mere accident - I am pitied. It is the result of gross carelessness - I am pitied and laughed at. It is an injury inflicted on me - I am pitied, and a desire is felt to avenge me of my adversary. It is, on my part, a deliberate attempt to put an obstacle in the way of a crowded train - I am execrated as a monster. It is a prompt impulse, at the risk of life, to take an obstacle out of its way - I am lauded to the skies for my benevolence and bravery. Here there are several distinct laws - call them laws of nature if you will - under which the same act or event~~ is considered, tried, and judged. It is not with the same sentiment, - it is not even with similar sentiments, - that the violation or observance of these several laws is regarded. The violation or observance of the physical law which regulates the contact of two hard bodies, as of my foot and a stone, cannot be reduced to the same category with the violation or observance of the law which injustice and wanton cruelty are felt to break, and which courage in a good cause fulfils and honours. No sophistry can identify things which differ so widely.:; The instinct of mankind revolts against the attempt Let it be granted that God governs by law all his creatures, from dead and shapeless matter, up through all. the gradations and developments of organization and life, to the highest order of mind. Is it law of the same kind throughout? Does not mind, intelligent and free, as it is found in man, come in contact with a law wholly unlike~ what holds dominion in the region of matter, - and in the region of mind, as it unfolds itself among the most sagacious of the other living races around us? Some points of contrast may be noted between this higher law and all the other laws of nature and being. In the first place, these other laws are, all of them, we apprehend them, the products of induction. That higher law we have by pure and simple intuition. That there are certain fixed and general laws to which the processes of nature and the energies of life in the universe are amenable, we learn - and what they are we learn - a posterior by observation and experience - the observation and experience of ourselves and others. The study of these laws is an inductive study. The sciences which treat of them are inductive sciences. It is true, that we can and do bring to bear upon them the intuitions of mathematics, - the a priori laws of thought which give us the necessary conditions of time and space. It is under these conditions that we investigate the phenomena of creation, and systematize or codify its laws. Still, essentially, they are laws forced upou us, a posteriori, by induction. The moral law is impressed upon us, a priori, by intuition. That there is a law of right and wrong, we know - and what it is, we know - by an original and primary intuition. It is a law of thought, exactly as those laws are, out of which geometry and algebra are evolved. The study of it is a deductive study. The science of ethics is a deductive science. It is true, that as we have to apply this law to the phenomena of voluntary action, there is occasion for observation and experience; and the more there is of a large and wise induction the better. In that view, the science which deals with this law is a mixed science. It is like the science which applies the axioms and demonstrations of the pure mathematics to the phenomena of practical astronomy. Still, the law itself is not one which we arrive at through any process of induction. It is known by intuition. It is given as an a priori law of thought - an original principle of moral judgment. In the second place, this law is necessary, universal - eternal. These others are contingent. There is no absolute necessity, in the nature of things, for their being always and everywhere the same. We can conceive a world in which the law of gravitation might be different from what it is here. The idea is not felt to involve contradiction in terms, or an impossibility in thought. But we cannot even imagine the possibility of an alteration of the law of right and wrong. We can no more conceive of its being right to commit murder, and wrong to love our neighbour, than we can conceive of two and two being five and not four. It is easy, indeed, to make difficulties about this, sceptical writers have often done. Look, they say, the varieties of opinion among nations - some justifying and commending as virtues what others condemn crimes: Sparta encouraging cleverness and success in theft; the Hindoos admiring the conjugal devotion of the widow, as she casts herself on her husband’s funeral pile, and commending the maternal piety which sent the tender babe away from the pollutions and ills of Man once, through the holy river, into a better land. All such instances as these, however, the bare statement of them, if it be a fair statement, shows that what really is commended is some quality universally felt and allollowed to be commendable. The ill-informed and ill-regulated mind, misled by a partial or erroneous induction, comes exclusively to dwell on that quality, - to the omission other features of the transaction which impart to it entirely opposite character. There is nothing, therefore, in these instances that militates against the truth, which consciousness attests, that the law of right and wrong is not contingent,. - that it is not arbitrary or discretionary, like those other laws of nature which, for anything we can see, might have been, and may yet be, different from what they are - but that it is necessary and universal, like the axioms of intuitive science. In other words, the law of God is, like God himself, eternal and immutable. But thirdly, and chiefly, this law has in it an element which none of these other laws, not even the laws of number and extension, possess,. - the element of command. lt speaks as having authority. It says, Thou shalt, and thou shalt not. It makes me say, I ought, and I ought not. The physical law of heat tells me a fact, that fire bums; and it suggests an inference, that if I go into yonder burning fiery furnace, I shall be consumed and perish. It does not certainly say, Thou shalt go; neither, however, does it say, Thou shalt not go. And if the alternative be between that and worshipping the golden image, there is a law which says, imperatively, Thou shalt go; for it says, Thou shalt worship the Lord alone, and him only shalt thou serve. The physical law of health tells me a fact, that excessive toil and scanty food wear out the body; and it suggests the inference, that if I toil the livelong day and night, and give myself but a crust of bread to eat, I must ere long sink and die. It does not certainly say, Thou shalt thus work in thy want; neither, however, does it say, Thou shalt not. And if the alternative be between that and theft, there is a law which says, imperatively, Thou shalt; for it says imperatively; thou shalt not steal. Even when the physical law comes nearest the moral law, this distinction is to be observed. The physical law of health tells the young man a certain fact, that sinful indulgence breeds disease; and it suggests the salutary inference, that if he continues in the sin, he must expext to reap the fruit of it in loathsome agony. Even here however, it is not that law which speaks with a voice of command, but the law which says, Thou shalt not commit adultery; Lust not in thy heart; Thou shalt not covet. In the fourth place, it is a consequence of this eleme~ of rightful supremacy residing in the moral law, and tinguishing it from all the others, that the breaking of is something radically and essentially distinct from the breaking of any of them. A man might be so wrong-headed as to insist on wording a question in arithmetic in defiance of the law number, that two and two are four; or he might try to master a problem in geometry by going in the teeth the law of extension, that two straight lines cannot close a space. Of course he makes a mess of his sum and his solution. It is an instance of mental aberration the man is mad, we say; and that is all. A simple madness or wrong-headedness might lead some extravagant idealist, out-Berkeleying Berkeley, to act upon theory of the non-existence of matter, so as to knock head against every post, - coming into collision with the material laws of force and weight But apart from extreme cases, what are the terms, even the strongest terms, which we can fairly use in characterizing conduct that is opposed to what these natural laws would seem to recommend? It is ignorance, or inadvertence, or imprudence. The worst we can say of it is, that it is imprudence. And none of these terms are terms of reproach necessarily - not even imprudence. They are quite consistent with innocence, and indeed even with merit. A strong sense of duty, an impulse of patriotic or generous feeling, will be accepted, any day, by the people, - the best judges by far in such a matter, - as a set-off against the most flagrant disregard of all the ordinary considerations of caution and wisdom. And when either ignorance, or inadvertence, or imprudence is alleged as a moral imputation against any one who has acted otherwise than these natural laws, if they had been duly attended to, would have led him to act, and who has consequently brought misfortune on himself and others, it will invariably be found that the higher law comes in. Some precept or some principle of that law has been outraged. And the measure of reproach is not the violation, more or less wilful, of those natural laws, but the indifference, or the opposition, which tbe act in question involves, to the eternal law of rectitude and duty. Then again, on the other hand, ignorance, inadvertence, imprudence, - any of these pleas, - may explain or palliate my conduct, viewed as in antagonism to the natural laws. But none of them, nor all of them, will meet the case when the moral law is concerned. I did it because I knew no better; I did it without consideration and by mistake; it was very senseless and unwise in me to do it; so you say when you have gone against any of the laws which regulate the sequences of events, their following one another according to a certain order in the physical, mental, and social world; so you say, and there is no more to be said. You take the consequence. Or, perhaps, by some happy chance, or some shrewd afterthought, or some wise appliance under a system that admits of remedies and compensations, you escape the consequence. At all events, learning by experience, you are more wary in time to come. Look now at Saul of Tarsus, consenting to the death of Stephen. He does it ignorantly, not knowing what he does, thinking that he is doing God service. He does it inadvertently, not considering sufficiently what he is about. It is the height of imprudence; even with the light which he has he had better pause, according to the sagacious counsel of Gamaliel. A wiser and calmer man would not at that juncture commit himself against the Christians. Is that all? Does that exhaust the case? Then, what is the meaning of the keen remorse which seems always, in the midst of his happiest experience of mercy, to haunt the memory of Paul? "For I am the least of the apostles, that am not meet to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God" (1 Corinthians 15:9). There is a law, the breach of which - whatever plea of ignorance, or inadvertence, or imprudence, may be urged - is a very different matter from the crossing or traversing of any of the instituted laws of nature. It is the eternal law, the transgression of which is sin. Hence, finally, in the fifth place, it would seem to follow that the manner in which offences against these other natural laws are dealt with, affords no safe analogy for judging of the procedure on the part of the lawgiver, which transgressions of this moral law may require. Every law of nature is enforced, or enforces itself, by an appropriate penalty. The penalty is the destruction of whoever or whatever thwarts the law. It is a penalty sure and inevitable, unless means are found to make the person or thing offending conformable again to the law, and to prevent or repair the injury which his or its nonconformity might do to the system of which he or it is a part. It is a principle of the divine government, even in the lower spheres of material and sentient nature, that the evil resulting from a breach of any of its laws is either worked out of the system by the destruction of the peccant member, or is repaired by some process of amelioration and neutralization; amelioration as to the peccant member, and neutralization as to the tendency of what is peccant to grow and perpetuate itself. I fall, and break my ann. I break a physical law, and the penalty is the destruction of the limb. But there is a provision of nature which not only knits the fractured bone, but compensates the system for any harm that the fracture might do to it. So I escape the penalty; I am safe in the use of my forfeited member still; and my body is all the stronger for the accident. Upon this analogy, an attempt has been made, not wisely, as I think, nor successfully, to explain the manner in which, according to tlìe Christian system, the great Lawgiver deals with sin as the transgression of his jaw. That law is held to be of the very same nature with the other laws on which the order of creation seems to depend. And the wonderful provision made by God for meeting the case of man’s violation of it, is represented as identical in principle with those remedial provisions which abound in nature, and by which injuries happening under the laws of nature are repaired and redressed, with no ultimate damage, either to the member offending - or to the system to which it belongs, but rather with benefit to both. It would be unsuitable to enlarge on this topic here, and now. Let it suffice to say, that such a view is not more dangerous in its theological aspect than it is madequate, at least, if not unsound, in its philosophy. It confounds things that differ. It makes no sufficient account of that moral government, that divine and eternal system of jurisprudence, which such ideas as those of authority, right, duty, obligation, responsibility, guilt, blame, crime - ideas expressed in every language, and, therefore, indicating a universal instinct or intuition of the human mind - prove to be the highest order in the universe. And surely we speculate somewhat too wildly when we aspire to master the policy of Heaven; as if we could grasp, in some principle or formula of unity that we think we have found out, the whole vast and complicated plan of the divine administration. It is more in accordance with the humility of true science, as well as with the humility which does not seek to be wise above what is written, to accept the facts of conscience and the statements of revelation on the particular subject in hand, - the transgression of the moral law, - in their plain meaning, instead of aiming at so wide a generalization. And if we do, we shall stand on surer ground. We receive the combined testimony of conscience and revelation as to the demerit of sin, the reality of judgment, the necessity of satisfaction. And we adore the righteousness and love of the mysterious propitiatory sacrifice of the cross.1 Such, then, is law, as acknowledged by conscience arid tile Bible; the law to which both do homage. 1. The homage which conscience does to it is the recognition of its legitimate authority. That faculty or principle of our moral nature asserts a right of supremacy over all the particular affections, whether of self-love or of social love, by which men are moved to action. It has paramount authority within tile domain of voluntary choice. It is, however, a delegated authority, and it is felt to be so. In fact, its own authority lies in its apprehension of the authority of law. To assert and vindicate the authority of law is its proper function. It is only in so far as it is competent to the discharge of that function, that its own title to command is valid. Can, then, its competency be relied on? To interpret and apply the law is an office requiring information. The bearing of the law on any particular case can be rightly deterimined only when the information respecting that case is exact and full. It is not the province of conscience to collect information. It calls for information. It imposes the duty of inquiry. But the conduct of the inquiry is devolved on the ordinary power of the understanding. These are liable to err through:. their own infirmity, or the absence of the means of knowledge. They may represent the case otherwise than it really is. The obligation of the law of right and wrong may, in consequence, be asserted erroneously. But, strictly speaking, that is not the fault of conscience. Again, if the power whose function it is to vindicate the law is to discharge that function well, it must rule de facto, or in faet, - as well as de jure, or in right. A usurper, displacing it from its seat of authority, may succeed in silencing it; or he may impose upon it by false representations; or he may subject it to a torture that makes it incapable of true discernment. Such a usurper is the will - the masterful will - backed by his accomplice, habit. No faculty or affection in us, except the will, can set aside conscience. But the will can do it. And it can do it so perseveringly, and so violently; it can so imprison conscience in its own den, and so bandage the eyes through which conscience sees, that law - the law of right and wrong - shall be asserted very fitfully and very feebly, and shall soon cease to be asserted at all. But I neither is this, strictly speaking, the fault of conscience. Still, in so far as the understanding is fallible, and the will powerful, the competency, or at least the sufficiency of conscience, as the vindicator and assertor of law, is indirectly, if not directly, affected. And if the understanding is darkened, and the will debauched by sin, the risk of fraud or force interfering with its fair and free dis.charge of that function is immensely increased. In itself: moreover, directly as well as indirectly, conscience is injured and defiled by the entrance into the human constitution of that blight of moral evil which has vitiated the whole nature of man. The very facility with which it accepts the representations of a darkened understanding, and yields to the force of a debauched will, proves it to be not only infirm and irresolute, but inclined towards the side which these other powers would have it to tolerate, if not to favour. It has lost that high tone of faithful and cordial loyalty to the law and the Lawgiver to which, were man in a right state, both the understanding and the will would be constrained to defer. Nevertheless, as regards its capacity of recognising both the character and the authority of divine law, the conscience is upon the whole intact. The corruption of our nature has not so vitiated the conscience as to invalidate its conclusions when it discriminates between right and wrong, or deprive it of its right to rule and be obeyed. If it had, our guilt would have been less, and our recovery would have been impossible. For it is through the conscience alone that a fallen, but yet free, intelligence can be reached. It is to the conscience that the violated law appeals. It is the conscience that accepts the sentence of condemnation. It is the conscience that pleads guilty of sin as the transgression of the law, and welcomes the assurance of a sufficient expiation, and an adequate satisfaction. Liberated from the aberrations of an understanding darkened by alienation from God, and from the excesses of a will at enmity with God, - liberated both of these extraneous influences - quickened, and purged, by the Spirit, through belief of the truth, - the conscience rejoices in its recovered power, - a power flowing from its own free and loving allegiance to law, as the law of liberty and love, - to be the effectual as well as the legitimate vindicator of its authority. There is another manner in which the conscience may be set free - free to see, to know, to assert, the whole melancholy and appalling truth - when the guilty is to be dealt with, not in mercy, but in judgment; when they stand to receive their sentence at the bar of God, - and pass away to endure it, - compelled, in their own despite, to own the righteousness and majesty of law. Such is the homage which conscience does to the law. 2. As to the Bible, not to speak of the glorious eulogies, in either Testament, which extol and celebrate the excellency of the law of the Lord, nor of the deep emotions of reverence and delight with which holy men meditate on its perfection; let the view which the Bible gives, throughout all its revelations, of the actual present government under which the human race is placed, be well considered it is impossible to find consistency in the sacred records on any other supposition than this - that mankind are living on the earth under a respite. The analogy of religion, natural and revealed, can be fully brought out only upon that hypothesis. Men, here and now, are spirits in prison. The whole human family under sentence of condemnation. The sentence is pended. For the race, it is suspended till what Scripture calls the consummation of all things; for individual members of the race, it is suspended till the moment of death. It is, however, only suspended. And the condition on which it is suspended, the end for which it is suspended, - as well as the ultimate issues of the experiment in regard to those who do, and those who do not, acquiesce in the condition of its suspension, and reach the end which the suspension is designed to serve, - are all unfolded in the Bible. They are so unfolded, moreover, as to present and submit to the free choice of all men the one only alternative of which the case admits, - the alternative of prompt submission carrying with it an immediate, legal justification, or of prolonged lawlessness and rebeffion, sealing the inevitable doom of legal condemnation. It is homage to law throughout. On this subject it is relevant to quote, as summing up the argument, the closing paragraph of the “Examination of Maurice’s Theological Essays" (p. 480), in which the controversy at issue between him and his examiner is reduced to a single question: - “That question, as it seems to me, concerns the nature of the government of God. Is it a government of law? Does God rule intelligent beings by a law? Certainly, I may be told. Who doubts it? The government of God is a government of law, - of the law of love. But I must be allowed again to ask, In what sense is it a government of law? For the familiar use of the expression, ‘laws of nature,’ has introduced an ambiguity into this phrase. What is a government of law, a government by law? If I am absolutely dependent upon a being possessed of certain tastes, under the influence, let it be supposed, of a particular ruling passion, - if he and I are inseparably bound together, so that I must make up my mind to receive all my good from him, and find all my good in him, such as he is; then, in his tastes, in his ruling passion, I have a law, conformity to which is th condition of my wellbeing. Obviously, however, ruling passion in him is a law to me, in precisely the same sense in which any quality in matter is a law to me; in that sense and in no other. My intimate connection with the material world makes conformity to the unchanging principles, according to which its movementa. proceed, a condition of my wellbeing as a creature endowed with a physical nature. My intimate connection with the being or person with whom I am living, and am always to live, makes conformity to the unchanging principles, or habit, or ruling passion according to which being uniformly feels and acts, the condition of my wellbeing as a being endowed with the capacity of feeling and acting as he does. Let his ruling passion be pure charity or love. Then, in one sense, there is a law of’ love is brought into contact with my will. The law of love is unbending, and it has in it an element of wrath against the unlovely. My will is perverse, apt to incline towards subjection to a usurping tyrant or an intruding tempter, capable of almost infinite resistance. But the law of love works steadily on. It unfolds and reveals itself, it embodies itself in action, it is manifested wonderfully in redeeming and regenerating economy, and ultimately one cannot see how it can fail to bring my will, and every reasonable will, into accordance with itself. For any.thing I can perceive, government by law in any other sense than this, is not recognized at all in the theology of these Essays. It is needless to add, that the whole theology of those who are commonly considered orthodox and evangelical divines, is based upon an entirely different conception both of government and of law. According to them it is an administrative government that God exercises, - a government embracing in it legislation, judicial procedure, calling to account, awarding sentences. It is an authoritative law, with distinct sanctions annexed to it, that God promulgates and enforces. This is what they understand when they speak of God being a moral Ruler as well as a holy and loving Father. They cannot rid themselves of the impression that both Scripture and conscience attest the reality of such a government and such a law. It is under that impression that they draw out from Scripture, to meet the anguish of conscience, those views of the guilt of sin and its complete expiation, the corruption of nature and its thorough renovation, - those views of pardon, peace, reconciliation, reward, which they delight to urge upon all men in the name of Him who “hath no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked should turn unto him and live." And it is under the same impression that they think they find, in the essential freedom of the will of man as a responsible agent, an explanation, on the one hand, of the possibility of evil entering into the universe under the rule of a good and holy God; and on the other hand also, a probable explanation of the impossibility of there being any provision of mercy brought Within the reach of men, which does not imply a provision also for the case of that mercy being neglected or refused." II. Conscience and the Bible approve virtue as they acknowledge law. What is this virtue? And what is the approbation with which not only man, but Go regards it? The first of these questions it is not very important either for philosophical or for practical purposes, to answer. What is virtue? Is there any common quality that characterizes and identifies all the actions or dispositions that are said to be virtuous? Yes, one may say they are all useful; useful to the individual; useful to society. Utility is the test of virtue. It may be so. Perhaps this is the simplest and most obvious common quality that can be named. The habits and frames of mind that win approbation are such as are useful. What then? Is it for their utility that they are approved? The instinct of mankind says, No. As supplying an argument from final causes for the goodness of God, till fact that the things which we approve as virtuous are found invariably, on the whole, to be useful, may deserve notice. That is not, however, the element which constitutes their virtue, or, if the term may be allowed, their, virtuousness. Nor is much gained when we add the element of intention or choice, and resolve all virtue into a desire to be useful, or into benevolence, or good-will, or any other single affection. The truth is, the affections which we approve as virtuous vary indefinitely in their nature, and in the circumstances in which they are exercised. No attempt to run them up into one common attribute has succeeded. To discriminate, describe, and classify them is all that can be done. That is the province of practical ethics. The second inquiry, into the nature of the approbation with which virtue is regarded, or into the state of mind which it occasions in one contemplating it, is more interesting. Here, too, an extreme passion for simplicity is to be deprecated. What we call approbation, is a complex state of mind. It is not easy to give in short compass an exhaustive analysis of it. But if allowance be made for what, perhaps, may appear to some to be too fanciful a theory, - I think the harmony of conscience and the Bible on this subject may be placed in a somewhat striking and graphic light. Take one of those states of mind which are admitted to possess a moral character, whether good or bad, and trace it in its effects upon the moral observer. In the first place, the mere conception of it - the bare, naked apprehension of it in the mind - gives rise, instantaneously, to a double movement in the department with which it first comes in contact. That department cornprehends the power or faculty of distinguishing what is true from what is false, as well as what is fair and beautiful from what is the reverse. These two functions, the judgment and the taste - the discernment of truth and the sense of beauty - are intimately connected, if, indeed, they are not all but identicaL They are both of them immediate and instantaneous in their action, and they are mutually the handmaids of each other. A mathematic proposition or demonstration, seen to be true, is felt to be beautiful. It appeals to the taste, as well as to judgment; and in proportion as it satisfies and convinces the judgment, it pleases and gratifies the taste. We speak of a beautiful theorem, and it is the sense of beauty no less than the perception of truth, which, when the difficulty of the search is overcome, and the discovery successfully made, prompts the exclamation of delight I have found it! I have found it! On the other hand, the peculiar field of taste, if any object awaken the sense of. beauty, it will be found, at the same time, to command the acquiescence of the judgment in it, as in what is true. When the eye rests on a fair form or a beauteous scene, not only is it agreeable and soothing to the taste, but judgment also approves of it as consistent with the truth of things. When I am admiring a picture, or statue, landscape, I am conscious of a calm conviction of reality similar to what I experience when I assent to an abstract demonstration, just as, in return, when I perceive conclusive certainty of an abstract demonstration, and a gratification of taste, precisely such as the visible completeness of nature calls forth. Nor is this connection between the judgment and the taste altogether unaccountable They are both simple acts or operations of the mind; what is common to both is the apprehension of contrariety and disunion removed, and consistency, compactness, or, in a word, unity, established or restored. In morals, this blending of the judgment and the is very discernible. Let an evil action or an evil state of mind be contemplated, and there is an uneasy apprehension of its opposition to truth, along with a painful and oppressive sense of its deformity and unloveliness. The judgment finds the true relations of things divided and dissevered, and the taste recoils from the dislocation. Let the opposite virtue be observed, and the faculty of comparison discerns agreement, coherence, union, in the fitness of things as now adjusted, while the sense of beauty rests and reposes in the harmony. But there is a second and inner chamber into which these actions or states of mind, apprehended, in the first or outer chamber, as either true and beautiful, or false and foul, must now pass; and that chamber is the seat of the emotions. The transition here is from the head to the heart - from the mind, sitting in judgment at the gate, and looking out with quick eye for all that is grand or fair, to the bosom in whose depths the springs of feelilig lie. Through the judgment and the taste, moral actions or states of mind reach and set in motion the affections; and, as in the department of simple apprehension, - the outer hail of the soul, - there is a double exercise of vigilance, and, as it were, a double scrutiny of all corners, so, in their reception within, there is a double movement or excitement among the dwellers there. The affections are doubly stirred. Are both of the watchers satisfied? Do both of them concur in warranting the entrant? Does the judgment attest his truth, and the taste relish his beauty? Then, as lie enters in, the emotion of reverence or awe rises to bow before him; the affection of love opens her arms to embrace him. Thus the moral action or state of mind which, in the seat the intellect, carries conviction of truth to the judgment awakens, in the region of the affections, the feeling of profound veneration; while, again, in so far as it approves itself as beautiful to the taste, it calls forth complacency and love. For, as truth is venerable, so beauty amiable. What is true is to be revered; what is fair is to be loved. There is still, however, a third apartment in which these objects of our moral cognizance and observation -these moral actions or states of mind - undergo yet another process. Behind, and farther in than the region of the affections, lies the secret closet of the soul, the one of self-inspection and self-judgment. From the mind head, with its twofold faculty of judgment and taste- the discernment of truth and the sense of beauty - throughout the heart, deeply stirred with the emotion of reverence and the affection of love-there is a passage to the conscience, where the final act in this sifting trial is performed. And here, again, there is a double function, responding to the double functions of the other departments. In that sanctuary, that inner court of last resort, these states of mind come to have final sentence passed upon them, and the sentence has respect to the discernment which the judgment has of what is true, and the apprehension which the sensibility has of what is false! Truth, compelling conviction, and commanding reverence asks a verdict of acquittal or acceptance, and will nothing more. Beauty, again, gratifying the taste, and winning the affection of love, solicits a warmer welcome, and would wish to receive approbation and applause. In the one view, there is a demand to be justified; in the other, there is a desire to be praised and to be embraced. It may be some recommendation of this analysis, or induction, that it combines different theories, and comprehends various principles of our moral nature, which the framers of moral systems have been accustomed to isolate. Thus, the accordance with truth, or the fitness of things, which some have made the foundation of moral judgment (Clarke, Cudworth, &c.), and the moral sense or instinct to which others have appealed (Hutcheson, &c.), unite and conspire in the first act of simple apprehension, by which the mind takes in the conception of a moral action, or a moral quality, as right and good. Nor is moral rectitude and goodness, on this scheme, a matter of reason exelusively, or a matter of instinct or taste. The emotions and affections have a large share in the work of identifying virtue, and giving it life and warmth (Sir James Mackintosh). The emotion of reverence, and the affection or sentiment of love, dealing with what has passed the calm scrutiny of the judgment and the taste, touch the deep springs of holy awe and worship in the soul, and open the fountain of its tears and gladness. Nor does the trial end here. The judge, whose verdict is final, sits within. The moral action, or moral quality, under review, must enter within the vail - into the very shrine, the holiest of all in this living temple - where, on the throne, is the great arbiter, entitled authoritatively to justify what is true (Butler), and at the same time, ready, with lively sympathy, to commend what is fair (Adam Smith). The award of this ruler of the soul which is the power or principle of conscience, is conclusive. It determines what is just and righteous, and bestows meed of commendation on what is excellent and worthy. But the scheme, as it would seem, has a still high value. It is in fine accordance with the moral system the New Testament. For it is no rude or unskilled artist, but a master-hand, that has constructed the noble climax in the Epistle to the Philippians (Php 4:8, “Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, what ever things are honest" (honesta, venerable), “whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure" ( chaste, fair, clean, undefiled, and holy), “whatsoever things are lovely" (amiable, loveable), “what ever things are of good report" ( commend such as to move sympathy, approval, applause); “if there be any virtue" ( power, stability, firmness), there be any praise" ( what solicicits commendation), - " think on these things." There is something more here than a casual enumeration of mere motives. The apostle was too much a master both ethics and of rhetoric to heap up such materials miscellaneously and at random. There is symmetry in structure; there is method and system in his fervid approach. He traces and marks out the double line of approach entrance, along which actions or qualities, admitted at door of the mind, are conducted, through the heart the conscience. For there are two sets of connected of observation in this sketch - two distinct series of successive mental acts. The six names read over in this muster, or roll-call, fall into two ranks; and each of these, at its termination, is represented by a single leader, as in the following tabular view: - "Whatsoever things are true," . . . . . . . . . . . .Whatsoever things are pure," (fair,) "Whatsoever things are honest," (venerable,) Whatsoever things are"lovely," (amiable,) Whatsoever things are "just," . . . . . . . . . . . . Whatsoever things are "of good report," "if there be any virtue," . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .If there be any praise" Thus, of these epithets, the first three - what is true, what is venerable, what is just - rank as a column under the one head, virtue; the remaining three on the other hand - what is pure or fair, what is lovely or amiable, what is of good report or commendable - are marshalled in the line of praise. Or, to change the application of the figure, let us trace the subject of our scrutiny - the particular action or quality, whose moral character is to be ascertained - from post to post, in the citadel of our moral nature. At the gate it is challenged by the faculties of simple apprehension, the judgment and the taste, the sense of natural agreement or fitness, and the sense of beauty; is there in it anything true - is there in it anything pure? Let it enter. Farther on it has to encounter the emotions or affections, and they have to deal with it - the capacities of reverence and of love must be satisfied; is there anything honest - venerable? is there anything lovely - amiable? Let it pass, - the soul standing in awe of its majesty, and rapt in the love of its gentler grace. But once more it is arrested. One having authority, but at the same time full of sympathy, calls it to account; is there anything just - right, righteous, coming up to the high standard of strict duty? is there anything of good report - worthy, commendable, meet for being warmly honoured and approved? If there be any virtue, any inherent strength of conscious rectitude - if there be any praise, any moral beauty meet to be applauded - then, by all that is true, venerable, and right, in the stern integrity and firm standing of that virtue, and by all that is pure, amiable, and worthy in the fair and soft charms of that praise or that commendableness, and in its warm yearning for sympathy - let us be adjured, let us be persuaded to give earnest heed and full practical effect to that gospel, whose highest aim it is to restore and re-adjust the whole moral nature of man, so that truth and righteousness, grace and love, may once more meet and embrace each other, in the holy home of a reconciled and renovated soul. Were further illustration needed of this complex system, it might be found in the discrimination, so exquisitely true to nature, which the same apostle makes between two different kinds of character to be observed among. men. Magnifying the divine benevolence, as manifested in the death of Christ, he puts it as an all but impossible supposition that "a righteous man" should find a friend prepared to lay down his life for him. He allows it to be more conceivable that "a good man" might win affection thus devoted and self-sacrificing. And he places in strong contrast that love of God, whose miserable objects had neither "righteousness" nor "goodness" to recommend them, but only sin (Romans 5:7-8). "A righteous man" is such a one as the poet describes, "just and firm of pmpose," one who is moved by neither fear nor favour from his solid mind. Regulus, calmly turning away from his weeping family and the awe-struck Senate, to redeem his pledge to the Carthaginian enemy, and meet the death prepared for him, with its worse than Indian refinement of cruelty - Hampden defying unjust power - Latimer cheering brother Ridley at the stake - Knox before Queen Mary, and Melville before King James, maintaining allegiance to a Heavenly Master against both the tears and the frowns of royalty - rise as examples before the mind. In each there is a stern integrity - which we apprehend to be "true " - which we feel to be "venerable" - which compels us to recognize it as inexorably and inflexibly "just " - presenting, on the whole, a spectacle of moral courage and steadfast "virtue," almost beyond the reach of our commendation or compassion, such as rather inspires a sort of deep and silent awe. We scarcely presume to praise or pity - we stand apart and reverently look on. But let a touch of tenderness mingle in the scene - let it be the Roman matron presenting to her trembling husband the dagger plucked from her own bosom - " It is not painful, Petrus " - or Lady Jane Grey bidding adieu to her lord, as he passed on to the scaffold, to which she was soon to follow him - or Lady Russell, pen in hand, gazing on the noble features she had loved - or Brown of Priesthill’s widow, meeting the rude taunt of the persecutor as he interrupted her in her melancholy task - " What thinkest thou of thy husband now, woman? - I thought ever much of him, and now as much as ever " - or, coming down from the heroic to ordinary life, let it be a character marked rather by gentle maimers and kind affections than by strength of nerves, that is exhibited to us ; - and our moral taste is charmed with its "pure" beauty - our heart is warmed with "love" towards it - we speak of it as not only unimpeachably correct, but positively "worthy," and we award to it the meed of our cordial sympathy and "praise." The combination of the two kinds of character, as in some of the instances referred to, is the consummation of moral excellence. To be true, yet, at the same time, not stern or severe, but fair, pure, graceful - to be both venerable and amiable, calling forth in equal measure the emotion of reverence and the affection of love - to stand before the tribunal of conscience and receive, not only the cold verdict which strict justice, caring for nothing more, extorts, I find no fault, but that also, which a softer sensibility asks, Well done - in short, to be both great and good - such is the idea of a perfect man. Such was He who was not only "holy, harmless, undefiled, and separate from. sinners," but also "meek and lowly in heart" - .: "full both of’ grace and of truth." Such His Gospel intended and fitted to make all those who, following, at a humble distance, His example, and changed, by His Spirit, into His image, unite with the "faithfulness unto death" which challenges "the crown of life," "the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit," which not only is of good report and praiseworthy among men, but, "in the sight of God himself, is of great price." III. Conscience and the Bible thus agreeing, on theone hand, in the acknowledgment of law, and, on the other hand, in the approbation of virtue, are of necessity closely related to one another. Their mutual relations form the third subject of inquiry, on which a slight indication of the beads or topics must now suffice. 1. In the first place they are to be recognized as distinct from one another, and independent of one another. It may be true, and probably is true, in point of fact, that God never has left us to discover our duty by the dictation of conscience alone, as he has never left us to arrive at the knowledge of his own being and perfcctions by the discoveries of reason alone. From the beginning God revealed himself and his will, by means of words, to men. He spoke to them of his own character, purposes, and plans. He placed them under an explicit and formal obligation of obedience to an explicit and formal commandment. That, however, does not impeach either the competency of reason to prove the truths of natural religion, or the competency of conscience to establish the principles of natural morality. It is of the utmost consequence, for the interests of revelation itself, to vindicate the independent validity, both of natural theology and of natural ethics; to assert, not the sufficiency indeed, but the legitimacy and trustworthiness, of the light of reason and the jurisdiction of conscience. 2. In the second place, conscience, when once for all satisfied that the Bible is the word of God, bows in lowliest reverence before its paramount authority. She asks, and she has a right to ask, to be satisfied that the Bible is the word of God. She asks this humbly and with docility - feeling how much she would be the better for the guidance of Him who sees the end from the beginning, who knows all things, and always judges right She asks it calmly, dispassionately - calling in the help of manly reason to authenticate the voice of the Sovereign Ruler. But being satisfied, she gladly takes her place, beside her sister Faith, at the feet of Him who speaks from heaven; of Him who, coming from heaven, speaks on earth, and speaks as one having authority. She receives the law at his lips. She learns of him what things are true, honest, just; what things are pure, lovely, of good report; what virtue is, and what is praise. And if in any difficult or doubtful instance, there occurs any apparent discrepancy between her conclusions and the clear intimations of his mind, she remembers how an erring understanding, and a wayward will, and her own infirmity or vice, make her judgments at the best but probable, - fallible, even when it is the conduct of man that is judged, - still more fallible when it is the conduct of God. And having confidence in the rectitude, truth, and love of the great Being to whom she owns allegiance, - for to none but a being possessed of these attributes would she, who approves them so warmly herself, yield any homage, - she is content to acquiesce, to adore, and to wait ; the rather when she hears such words as these: - What I do, thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter. 3. In the third place, Conscience looks to the Bible for an explanation of much, in the present state of things, that she feels to be anomalous and inconsistent, or at least incomprehensible. In vain does she look elsewhere for even a tolerable guess upon the subject. I cast my eye around the world, and long "for a lodge in some vast wilderness." It is not merely that my heart bleeds at the sight of suffering; my bosom swells under the sense of wrong. In the abodes of squalid misery, in the very haunts of reckless crime, what cases innumerable meet my view, not only of injustice at the hand of man, but, it would even seem, of most unequal treatment at the hand of God! That shivering victim of another’s lust; yonder little one, bred in filth and profligacy from the cradle; the children of Africa, crushed into brutal apathy or lashed into brutal madness; those sons and daughters of our own happier clime, that, by the force of circumstances, amid the cankering, festering sores of our social state, become well-nigh as degraded as they! Why are they what they are? What makes them what they are? What chance had they of ever being otherwise? How can these things be, and yet this goodly world be justly governed? Alas! it is little wonder if a sullen fatallsm or an angry atheism, - begotten of sad despair, and a vehement resentment of oppression, - reigns among the outcasts, whom neither earth nor Heaven seems to pity! No wonder if, looking on, conscience stands aghast, and feels as if she had no plea to urge in justification of God, nor any word in season to speak to weary man! In vain you tell her of general laws of righteousness and love, which, through inevitable evil, are slowly and painfully working out the highest good. Bid her go with that solution of the mystery into the streets, and see what a scowl of leering contempt or exasperated rage darkens every brow. Let her take it into her own study, and ponder it there: the memory of one beggar-boy, one thin and naked girl, the gaunt face of famished manhood, the sigh of a wasted frame, the sickening groan of a broken heart, - one such dismal vision will scatter speculations by the thousand to the winds. It is darkness all - darkness more than ever. Conscience cannot say it is well, it is good, it is right. But she opens her Bible; she learns there why the race of man is so miserable as it is. Yes. And she learns there also why it is not more miserable still. Sin has entered into the world, and so also has salvation. Sin has entered; it has tainted deeply, it has doomed, the entire human family, and every member of it. Hence these tears, these groans of creation. But salvation has entered too. Hence these tears and groans are not yet, bitter as they are, what otherwise they must have been, - what elsewhere, if not in one only way met and relieved here, they must inevitably be, - "weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth," amid the irremediable anguish of "the worm that dieth not and the fire that is not quenched." Struck and startled; struck with the truth of a representation which, bringing so vividly out the sentence, the respite, the remedy, the issue, really accounts at last for this condemned world’s, strange and sad state; startled at the thought that, whio the respite lasts, the remedy is available for every one, for any one, of its condemned inhabitants;- conscience, the open Bible still in hand, rises in haste from her study, from her knees, and rushes forth on the trembling wings of fear and love, to speak of judgment and of mercy to whatever child of Adam she can reach to speak affectionately, for the case is worse than had been thought; to speak wisely, for there is need of delicacy; yet to speak earnestly, for the crisis is urgent; to speak promptly and at once, for the time is short. 4. Once more, in the fourth and last place, conscience finds in the Bible the solution of a problem which vexes her not a little, - the reconciliation of law and liberty. How may virtue or moral goodness possess that element of freedom, of voluntary and spontaneous choice, which would seem to be essential, if it is to be approved as venerable and lovely, and yet retain its original and inherent character of obedience to law? There is difficulty in answering the question; and, apart from the Bible, the difficulty may be pronounced insuperable. The idea of law, and of the supremacy of law, however it may be acknowledged by conscience, is irksome to the will. That masterful power is impatient of subjection to another, and inclined to boast of what it wifi do if left to itselE If it is to choose the good and reject the evil, it must be of its own accord. To expect that it is to do so upon compulsion and by command, for whatever reward or hire, and yet feel itself to be acting freely, is as unreasonable as it would be to imagine that bribes and blows can give a sense of liberty to the slave, as he drudges doggedly at his master’s task. This attitude of the will conscience is at a loss to meet She owns herself perplexed and at fault. She cannot tame the proud spirit, or win its consent to be under authority. But she goes to the Bible, and there discovers the charm. And the charm lies mainly in the insight which she gets into the heart of God, whose holy nature the law expresses, whose just right of sovereignty the law asserts. That great heart of the Eternal Father is opened up; in his Son. God is light; God is love. That law which conscience binds me to acknowledge, the everlasting God acknowledges too. It is the law of his will, and he will himself see to it that it shall become the law of my will also. Yes; he will himself see to it. For this end, he rights my position, my standing, in his Son, and renovates my nature by his Spirit. The removal of the sentence of condemnation, the passing of an opposite sentence in my favour, - a sentence of acquittal, acceptance, justification;- all in terms of the law, perfectly fulfilled, adequately satisfied; this amazing harmony of law and love in the Father’s manner of dealing with me, as represented by his Son, disarms me. My criminal grudge against law,. my servile jealousy of law, cannot stand out against treatment like that. My whole soul undergoes a change The law is in my heart, as it is in the heart of God. It is no more a yoke of bondage to me than it is a yoke of bondage to him. Spontaneously, through his own Spirit moving me, - more and more spontaneously as my hearb learns more and more to beat in unison with his heart, - I do the things that are true, honest, just, pure, love of good report, virtuous, praiseworthy And I do them in obedience to Him whose service is perfect freedom whose law is the law of liberty. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 17: 04.00. PAULS'S EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS ======================================================================== Pauls’s Epistle to the Ephesians PREFACE. DURING his ministry Dr. Candlish delivered courses of Expository Lectures on various portions of Scripture; being in the habit of lecturing at the forenoon service on Sabbath. Those on Genesis, First John, Romans 12, and First Corinthians 15, were published by himself. None of the other courses, however, was left in a state such as to warrant publication, except the lectures on the latter part of Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians, which were written and delivered at intervals during the years 1863-9. Part of this series was published in 1871, in a little volume entitled "The Relative Duties of Home Life." It has been thought proper now to publish the whole series, along with a few sermons on texts in the earlier or doctrinal part of the Epistle, which seemed to form a fitting introduction to the practical subjects mainly treated. The discourses are printed almost exactly as written; and a wish to alter them as little as possible, has led to the retention of some repetitions, which the author would doubtless have removed had he prepared the volume for publication himself. In two of the discourses (V. and VII.) there are allusions to circumstances more peculiarly affecting the Church and Congregation with which he was connected, which have also been retained, as furnishing examples of Dr. Candlish’s manner of practically adapting his interpretations of Scripture to the wants and duties of the time. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 18: 04.01. CHAPTER 1: IN THE HEAVENLIES. ======================================================================== CHAPTER I. IN THE HEAVENLIES. "In the heavenly places." - Ephesians 1:20. "In heavenly places." - Ephesians 3:10. "In heavenly places." - Ephesians 1:3. "In heavenly places." - Ephesians 2:6. " In high places." - Ephesians 6:12. THE phrase is the same in all these passages. It is correctly rendered in one of them (Ephesians 1:20). There is no reason for the omission of the article in the other four; nor for the marginal reading, "things," in the first; nor for the variation "high," instead of "heavenly," in the last. This change was probably occasioned by the notion that the expression denoted the ordinary places of residence of the evil spirits spoken of; which might be high, but could scarcely be heavenly. That notion, however, is a mistake. It is not a place of residence but a field of battle that is meant. The phrase, then, is the same throughout; in the heavenly places; in the heavenlies. It is the keyword of this epistle. It is not to be found in any other epistle; nor indeed in any other part of Scripture. And here it occurs five times; or say four times; for two of the passages in which it occurs (Ephesians 1:20 and Ephesians 2:6) may be regarded and reckoned as one. It stands in four different connections; and in all the four it denotes a place; an ideal locality; a sphere of action, experience, and discovery; a stage, or platform, or arena, on which different movements are going on, and different scenes of interest are enacted. The heavenly places, or the heavenlies, are opened up to us in four aspects; first, as a blessed home (Ephesians 1:3) ; secondly, as a seat of lofty eminence (Ephesians 1:20 and Ephesians 2:6); thirdly, as a theatre, in which a spectacle or drama is exhibited to the rapt eyes of pure intelligences (Ephesians 3:10) ; and fourthly, as a field, on which evil powers are to be met in fight (Ephesians 4:12). The four may be classed under two heads ; the first and second bring out what your position is as regards yourselves; the third and fourth what it is as regards your relation to other beings. PART FIRST (Ephesians 1:3 ; Ephesians 1:20 and Ephesians 2:6). I. In the heavenlies you have a blessed home; a home in which you are greatly blessed, and bless him who blesses you (Ephesians 1:3). You bless the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who blesses you with all spiritual blessings in him; all blessings of the Spirit in the full range and to the full extent of whatever element of blessedness the Spirit may bestow or convey. The blessings are the Spirit’s. They are all such blessings as he may impart. And they are enjoyed in the heavenlies. Outside of the heavenlies the Spirit beneficially works. He strives with men. He convinces, moves, persuades; if by any means you may be brought into the heavenlies; into the heavenly fold; into Christ, of whose fulness you may there receive. Vex not the Spirit, so dealing with you. Let him shut you up into the heavenlies, where he can bless you with all his own most precious blessings in Christ. In Christ! For all the Spirit’s blessings, with which God blesses you in the heavenlies, are in Christ. Seven times over is this thought repeated in this glowing picture. First, he has chosen you; chosen you to be the objects of his eternal, sovereign, pure, and holy love. It is in Christ that he has chosen you (Ephesians 1:4). Secondly, he has predestinated or appointed you unto the adoption of children to himself. It is by and in Jesus Christ that this sonship is reached and realised (Ephesians 1:5). Thirdly, you are accepted; not merely pitied, indulged, condoned; but received into favour; justified. You are accepted in the beloved (Ephesians 1:6). Fourthly, you have redemption; the full redemption his blood procures; forgiveness of sin, reaching to the full participation of all the rich grace in which God has abounded toward us so wondrously and so wisely. In Christ you have this redemption and this free forgiveness of sin (Ephesians 1:7-8).In the fifth place, you become members of the great family, composed of all the faithful, in heaven and on earth, who are to be gathered into one, in Christ (Ephesians 1:10). In the sixth place, you obtain an inheritance, the inheritance of all things, in Christ. For if children, then heirs, heirs of God, and joint heirs with Christ (Ephesians 1:11). Lastly, you have a present seal and earnest of the inheritance; a foretaste of future glory. In Christ you have it, in whom, after that ye believed, ye were sealed with the Holy Spirit of promise, which is the earnest of our inheritance, until the redemption of the purchased possession (Ephesians 1:13-14). With such blessings of the Spirit in Christ does God bless you in the heavenlies. And you bless him, the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; dwelling with him there as in a home; and partaking in some sense of his own blessedness, in the Son and by the Spirit. II. The second view of the heavenlies raises you to even a higher eminence of spiritual life than the first contemplates. "He raised Christ from the dead, and set him at his own right hand in the heavenly places," "and hath raised us up together, and made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus" (Ephesians 2:6). These two texts must be taken together; they are really one; as Christ and you are one. The first describes the position of Christ himself in the heavenlies; the second, your position there as one with him. God is represented as doing the very same thing, when, on the one hand, he puts forth his mighty power in raising Christ from the dead; and when, on the other hand, he raises you from your death in trespasses and sins. And he places you, upon your spiritual resurrection, where he set his risen Son, at his own right hand in the heavenlies. Thus, the heavenlies undergo a sort of change or transfiguration. They become wonderfully high. Seen, at first by you, guilty and condemned, lost and perishing, they are a lowly refuge, a humble home; into which, by humbling yourself, you enter and are richly blessed. Struggling desperately in the deluge of wrath you see the heavenlies as a little ark, dimly visible in the gloom of a sunless day, with a strait, and low, and narrow door, through which you feel as if an unseen hand were forcing you in. But what a change seems to pass upon it! It expands. It rises. Not only does it float buoyant on the wide waste of waters; it ascends upwards. It is the palace of the Great King. There he sits on his throne. And beside him, at his right hand, sits his Son. And you in him sit there also, in the heavenlies. Mark the steps of this great promotion. 1. God quickens you together with Christ (Ephesians 2:5). First, he quickens Christ himself (Ephesians 1:20). He needed quickening, for he was dead. He took your death, your death in sin, as his. He died the criminal death of guilt contracted and wrath inflicted, which is your death. He took your condemnation on himself. And the first step towards his exaltation is his deliverance from that. And who may deliver him? Who but the Righteous Father to whose sentence he has bowed himself. And how shall he deliver him? By the exceeding greatness of his power. Yes, it is an exceeding great act or exercise of power! For it is not a mere omnipotent word that will here suffice. A summary undoing of the law’s sentence, even in favour of this one singular bearer of the criminality and doom of its transgression, is out of the question. The law cannot be broken. Its sentence against all who come under its curse must take effect. And not till that sentence is executed and endured to the uttermost does its dark and heavy weight pass from the sufferer. Thus, and not otherwise, does God quicken Christ when he has drunk the cup; when he has died the death. And thus also does he quicken you who are in Christ. For you are crucified with Christ. You partake with him in the penal death which he took upon himself. You make it your own in him. To you, therefore, as now to him, the bitterness of that death is past. There is now no condemnation to you who are in Christ. God quickens you together with him (Ephesians 2:5). 2. He.raises you up together. This is a step in advance of the former. It was so in the case of Christ himself. When God raised him up by his exceeding great power, the act, in the eye of law, meant more than the removal of the penal sentence of death which he had endured and exhausted. It implied a positive acknowledgment of him as the obedient servant. It was the owning of his perfect and finished righteousness. It was his justification. And it is yours in him. For you are raised up together. Not merely, negatively, is the sentence of that death removed from you ; but positively, a new sentence of life is passed upon you. You live anew in Christ. Raised up together with him, you are welcomed by God, his Father and your Father, his God and your God, as having not only the same deliverance from death, but the very same title to life, in the favour and fellowship of God, which, as your representative, Christ has made good for himself and you together. 3. As the result of his thus quickening you together with Christ, and raising you up together, God makes you sit together at his own right hand. There Christ himself is set in the heavenlies: and there you also sit with him in the heavenlies; at the right hand of God. What does this imply? What blessed nearness to God! His right hand is the post of honour. More, and better than that, it is the seat of much gracious and loving intimacy and familiarity. To that Christ is promoted in your nature and for your sake. And you share his promotion in the heavenlies. Yes, thou who, when thou art bidden, wouldst go and sit down in the lowest room; to thee, he who bade, comes and says, "Friend, go up higher!" Abashed, ashamed, scarcely venturing to meet the eye of love that beams on thee so tenderly, thou hangest back. But look up. See who is there already in the place thou art invited to occupy! It is thine own Saviour, who loved thee and gave himself for thee; thine elder brother, who prayed, "Father, I will that they also whom thou hast given me be with me where I am." Then do not hesitate to go up higher; to rise more and more to a real practical apprehension of that nearness to God, the Holy One, which your sitting with Christ, at his right hand in the heavenlies, implies. In this sitting with Christ at the right hand of God in the heavenlies, there is elevation above all created powers (Ephesians 1:21). Over whatever.agency or influence, whether of earth or hell, might work him evil or cause him woe, Jesus, in the heavenlies, at the right hand of God is now exalted. No strife of tongues, no violence of hand, can touch him now. The contradiction of sinners against himself, the assaults of the devil and his angels, he leaves below him ; when quitting earth, he ascends into the heavenlies, and is set at the right hand of God. And not only is he above them all, so as to be independent of them all : he has them all under his feet, so as to use them all as subordinate to himself and subservient to his ends. He is no longer buffeted amid the billows; he walks triumphant on the sea. All elements of creature power are at his disposal: all are subject to his dominion: all are available in his hands for his people’s good. For, in this absolute sovereignty of his over all things, you virtually share. Sitting with Christ at the right hand of the Majesty on high, you sit very near the Father; close beside him, as it were; under the very eye of complacency with which he regards Christ, within the very embrace in which he clasps his Son to his bosom: and you sit above all else but God. All outward things you may command to be your ministers and servants in the Lord. Such is your position in the heavenlies; such its manifold blessedness; such its serene and sublime elevation at the right hand of the most high God. Do you ask, "Where are the heavenlies, in which you are to be thus blessed and thus exalted?" Is it any*particular spot in creation that is meant? Or any special occurrence or occasion? Is it a holy city, a holy shrine, or a holy sepulchre, or a holy temple? Is it a holy rite, or ceremony, or sacrament? Is it a secluded cell, a hermitage, a cloister? Is it in any of these things that you are to recognise the heavenlies? Not certainly if what is included in the idea is your being blessed with all spiritual blessings in Christ, and sitting with him at the right hand of God. Certainly, these conditions are not secured by any of the expedients now named. But give me a broken heart; a broken and contrite spirit, trembling at God’s word. And let that man tell me where the heavenlies are. Nay, I need not that he should tell me. He is himself what I am in search of. Wherever he is, there are the heavenlies; in his closet, his family, his shop, his office. For, in them all, he has in his inmost soul what is the essence of the heavenlies; Christ, and God in Christ, and a home of blessing beyond earth’s troubles, and a life of elevation above the world’s vanities and sins. PART SECOND (Ephesians 3:10; Ephesians 6:12). Your being thus situated in the heavenlies thus blessed and thus exalted; naturally, as one may say, draws upon you the notice of other beings; of other intelligences, good and evil, who may be capable of understanding what is going on in the heavenlies. III. "To the intent that now, unto the principalities and powers in heavenly places, might be known by the church the manifold wisdom of God" (Ephesians 3:10). The heavenlies now put on the aspect of a theatre, or place of exhibition, in the view of holy angels; the unfallen inhabitants of heaven. Let it be noted, however, that even here the phrase "in the heavenlies" does not refer to their place of abode, but to the seat of the scene or drama of which they are witnesses or spectators. They are the holy inmates of heaven. Their character as such appears in what they make of what they see. They see in it the manifold wisdom of God. In the heavenlies, they see, as it were, a dramatic movement, illustrating the manifold wisdom of God. What can this movement mean but the history of the Church? Not its outer history of events merely, but its inmost history of spiritual experiences. In the heavenly places; not in courts and councils merely, though these need not be excluded, but in any two or three believers meeting together for prayer; in family devotions; in the secret and solitary closet; or on the highway and in the market-place; wherever and whenever intercourse is going on between God and a soul, blessed in Christ and exalted in Christ; there the angels are eager and sympathising onlookers. By the Church thus variously viewed, working out thus its purpose in the heavenlies, they have made known to them the manifold wisdom of God. The Church, expanding and enlarging itself from small beginnings to most wide and comprehensive issues; the Church found in embryo, in the heart of the first martyr Abel, in the Ark, in Abraham; traced through the narrow channel of the Levitical economy; and now in apostolic times widening into a capacity for embracing all things in heaven and on earth; - the Church is the spectacle on which angels gaze. And very specially do they note in connection with it the fellowship of the mystery; the mysterious purpose of God to make themselves and us alike partakers in the one family bearing the blessed name of his Son. For that is the fellowship of the mystery. It is the purpose of God, from all eternity, to gather into one all things in Christ. It is involved in his creating all things by Christ. It is evolved, or unfolded, as time runs on, first more obscurely, in the earlier dispensations ; and then more clearly in the preaching of the Gospel. It is to be finally consummated and manifested at the glorious appearing of the Lord Jesus Christ; and the gathering together unto him of all the chosen and called and faithful from all creation. No wonder that the Church, thus teeming in its womb with so vast a disclosure of the heart of God, should be the object of intensest interest to all the unfallen intelligences. They watch the progress of the divine plan; and all throughout, in the unrolling of the scroll of the Church’s destiny, they have made known to them, by its means, in the heavenlies, the manifold wisdom of God. Yes! It is indeed manifold wisdom! It is manifold in the provision which it makes for harmonising what might seem to be incompatible claims in the moral government of God; the demands of justice, the yearnings of mercy, the standing of the innocent and holy, the salvation of the lost. It is manifold in its adaptation to all the exigencies of the world at large, and all the experiences of individual men. It is manifold in its falling in with the all but infinite varieties of thought and feeling and action, among communities and families and persons; while yet it absorbs them all in the great unity of its original design to found a great universal family for God, in which he may be glorified throughout eternal ages. Is it indeed through the Church that this manifold wisdom of God is to be made known? And is it in the heavenlies? Ah, then, it is no wonder that the heavenlies on earth should attract and rivet the holy principalities and powers of heaven. What else, in all the ongoings of the wide universe, can have equal interest for them? They eagerly observe what is happening among the children of men. They watch the movements of society and the progress of the race. Domestic incidents, as well as public affairs, pass in review under their eyes. They are on the look-out for news. But it is not what strikes us as romantic or momentous, whether in the annals of family life or in the wars and politics of empires, that they pause to notice. It is what bears upon the Church of the living God that engrosses all their thoughts. Is there anywhere, in some solitary chamber, or some dark and lone prison cell, a single sinner repenting? That chamber, that cell, is to the principalities and powers above, the heavenlies. There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over that one saved soul in these heavenlies. And as they rejoice, how do they delight to trace, in the dealings of providence and grace with that soul, there, in these poor heavenlies, the manifold wisdom of God! Is there a meek and humble saint of God breathing his last on a lowly sickbed, or amid the din of battle, in a dying testimony for the Saviour who loved him? Angels are watching these heavenly places, the pallet of straw, the cold wintry ground, waiting to carry the witnessing one to Abraham’s bosom. And as they carry him, how do they desire to learn all the way by which the Lord led him through much tribulation unto glory, and to discover in it all new evidence and new illustration of the manifold wisdom of God! And as one after another is added to the Church of such as shall be saved; as trophy after trophy is gained for the cross of Christ; as things go on manifestly ripening for the judgments and the triumphs of the latter day; as they see the axe laid to the root of every tree which our heavenly Father hath not planted, and the wrath of man made to praise God, and crooked things made straight, and rough places plain, and a way being prepared for the coming of the Lord; as thus they witness, amid many vicissitudes, the advance of Christ’s kingdom to its final victory; ah, what ever new and fresh emotions of grateful and adoring wonder must fill the bosoms of these pure and loving spirits, while in true and deepest sympathy with the Saviour and the saved alike, they discover through the Church, in the heavenlies, ever new and fresh instances, each more marvellous than what were before, of the wisdom, the truly manifold wisdom of God ! IV. "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places". Still another change or metamorphosis befalls the heavenlies. Instead of a spectacle, there is a strife ; instead of an exhibition, a fight. The heavenlies now appear as a field of battle. Paradise was once the heavenlies. The eyes of the pure angels were riveted on that spot. With interest wound up to the highest pitch, they watched the experiment of the garden. But alas, the eyes of fallen angels also were attracted thither. Satan sought and found an entrance into the heavenlies; disguised probably as an angel of light. He came; and paradise was gone. The heavenlies, however, were again set up on the earth. This world was still to have in it what might furnish a platform, on which a refuge might be provided for the weary, needing to be blessed; on which a tower might be reared, rising and raising them to the very throne of God. Holy angels look on and sympathise, and rejoice to see the manifold wisdom of God. But the heavenlies now are not, any more than the heavenlies before the Fall, secure from the invasion of the spoiler and the foe. Consider the enemies you have to encounter; what they are in themselves, and what are the spheres of their energy and their influence. In themselves, in point of rank and resources, they are principalities and powers; principalities in respect of rank; powers in respect of resources. Fallen as they are, they are principalities still. Defeated as they have been, they are still great as powers. As principalities they still assert a certain kind and measure of authority. As powers they are formidable for craft and might. Being both principalities and powers, they can not only command the earthlies, but keep up a stern fight in the heavenlies as well. For there are these two fields of operation open to them: the world and its darkness on the one hand, and the heavenlies on the other. With reference to the first, the darkness of this world, they are represented as rulers, world-rulers. With reference to the second, the heavenlies, they are characterised as spiritual wickedness, wicked spirits, or the spiritualities of wickedness. There is a reciprocity or correspondence here. They are both principalities and powers in themselves; and they can therefore act in either capacity; as principalities asserting authority, or as powers using influence and force. And, accordingly, they have two very different spheres of activity. Of the darkness of this world they are rulers; and in that sphere therefore they may and do act as principalities. In the heavenlies they are intruders; and therefore there they can act only as powers. Mark well the distinction. (1.) In the world, and amid its darkness, they act as principalities. They are the world-rulers of the dark and disordered system of things that now prevails among men. The manner of their rule is described in a previous passage - "Wherein in time past ye walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience " (Ephesians 2:2). It is of a twofold sort. You once walked after the course of this world. When you did so you were really walking according to the course of this world’s prince. As such, he is the prince of the power of the air. He has the control of this world’s atmosphere. He has the making of it. And right skilfully does he compound it. Elements of good he mixes in it; good taste, good temper, good sense, good feeling, good fellowship, good faith. But, alas, it is only to dilute and disguise the fatal drug of ungodliness that makes the air so poisonous. Who among you has not felt the poison? You go into worldly company. Nothing unbecoming shocks you; nothing vicious alarms you. All is pleasant, peaceful, and even profitable converse. But, alas,! when you have left the gay assembly, or the busy market-place, or the hall of science, or the festive board, or even the quiet fireside evening circle; when you have sought your closet, and opened your Bible, and gone down upon your knees; ah, have you not made the sad discovery that almost unconsciously, you can scarcely tell how, you have been drinking in and breathing an atmosphere unfavourable to prayer? Nor is this all. Not only does the enemy, as the prince of thepower of the air, thus subtilely adjust the atmosphere of worldly society. He works also among the children of disobedience. While they are breathing his atmosphere he is at work among them ; sliding up and down secretly in the crowd; insinuating evil thoughts; plying their evil hearts with congenial temptations. He does not simply trust to the soothing charm or exhilarating excitement of the air he has compounded. He is actively going ahout among you; stirring up in you thoughts of insubordination and rehellion; making you feel God’s commandments to he grievous, an undue or unnecessary restriction upon your liberty ; kindling in you a longing for more of the freedom of independence and self-will; and so fostering in yon the temper and spirit of the children of disohedience. (2.) But while thus the principalities of wickedness rule, and in a certain sense have a right to rule, over the darkness of this world, it might seem that the heavenlies ought to he beyond their reach. But no, that cannot be; at least not yet. They cannot indeed any longer rule over you in the heavenlies as principalities, hut they can invade your sanctuary as powers. They follow you into your retreat. Resenting your escape from their dominion; bitterly grudging your being blessed by God and exalted with Christ in the heavenlies; they would fain scale the mountain of your hope and joy in the Lord. They will find ways of access into your most sacred and secret hiding-place; and, adapting themselves to the circumstances of your lot, and the varying frames and moods of your experience, they will become in the heavenlies spiritual wickedness, the very spiritualities of evil. Their temptations and assaults now are not carnal but spiritual. They become expert disputants about the very Word of God itself. They quote Scripture for their purpose. They pervert texts. They bring up nice questions about the deep and sacred things of God to confound you. They harass you with blasphemous suggestions. They malign God to you. They minister to you most plausibly, even out of the Scriptures, the materials either of presumption and spiritual pride, or of doubt and darkness and despair. But be ye strong in the Lord and in the power of his might. Take unto you the whole armour of God. Take unto you above all the shield of faith, whereby you may quench the fiery darts of the adversary, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God; praying always, with all prayer and supplication, in the Spirit. For practical application take the four views of the heavenlies together; and take them in pairs, two and two. I. Consider what is your position in the heavenlies in respect of privilege and duty. What sort of blessings are there dispensed? According to what measure? There is nothing in the heavenlies of what the carnal mind seeks and welcomes; no mere impunity or indulgence or indiscriminative grace and favour to all creation. The blessings in the heavenlies are all spiritual. They are all such as the Spirit alone can make us partakers of; by a spiritual regeneration in us, and a spiritual work towards and upon us. They infer, on the part of God, a thoroughly complete gracious dealing with you; a thoroughly complete righting of your, state and condition in his sight; a very full and frank establishment of closest peace and confidence and love between him and you. And so they are in harmony with the life to which God raises you in the heavenlies. That life is very high, and therefore very holy. It is a life of most intimate nearness to God, and of most absolute elevation above all else than God. It places you alongside of the risen Christ, sitting at the right hand of God. You see things from his point of view, as sitting with him there. You judge by his standard. Your heart is as his heart. Your home is with him in God, at God’s right hand in the heavenlies. And in all you have to do with things outside of God and of you; in all your dealings with persons and principles that would assert dominion or exert influence over you; vindicate, on the contrary, your prerogative of command over them. You are not subject to them. They, in Christ, are subject to you. They are under your feet, as they are under Christ’s. II. Consider your position with reference to the other spiritual intelligences who take an interest in you and in your experience. On the one hand, is it not an animating and spirit-stirring thought that you live your spiritual life as forming part of that great divine drama by means of which, through the Church, the holy principalities and powers have made known to them in the heavenlies the manifold wisdom of God? Nor is the effect of this high thought diminished by the fact that over against these benevolent and sympathising onlookers from above, coming up from below, from the pit, a dark host is mustered by the prince of darkness; crowding all earthly scenes and circles, and invading even the heavenly places themselves. Be not unduly afraid of them. But be not ignorant of their devices. Especially remember always their double character. They are the rulers of the darkness of this world. Beware of meeting them in their own domain, in the world of whose darkness they are the rulers. You may be tempted to sally forth out of your hiding-place in the heavenlies; to quit occasionally your high and peculiar position as the sons and daughters of the Lord God Almighty; not of the world, even as he in whom you are so called was not of the world; and for some good purpose, as you think, and under safe resolutions and precautions, to venture within the range of the worldly associations, the worldly principles and influences to which you were once in bondage. But beware. When the principalities and powers of evil find you thus in the world, as being of the world again they may claim you as their subjects, and assert their dominion over you. They have you at an advantage. Your only safety lies in flight. Betake yourselves again to the heavenlies. Enter into your closet and shut the door. They may follow you even there, these principalities and powers, as spiritual wickedness. They may assail you in the heavenlies. But there you have the advantage over them. That is not their domain but your heavenly Father’s, and yours as being his, in the Son and by the Spirit. No need of flight now. No room for flight. Only a call to stout and stern resistance. "Let God arise, and let his enemies be scattered. And let them that hate him flee before him." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 19: 04.02. CHAPTER 2: REDEMPTION AND FORGIVENESS. ======================================================================== Pauls’s Epistle to the Ephesians Chapter Two REDEMPTION AND FORGIVENESS. "In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace." - Ephesians 1:7. " In whom we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of sins." - Colossians 1:14. WHAT we have in Christ Jesus is here indicated by two phrases or forms of expression, which explain and define one another. The redemption through his blood is the forgiveness of sins. The forgiveness of sins is the redemption through his blood. I. The redemption through his blood is the forgiveness of sins. This limits the meaning of the term redemption. It is a term which, with its corresponding varieties - redeem, redeemer, and so forth - is sometimes in theological writings, and even in Scripture, used more widely. It is held to be descriptive of any deliverance of any kind, and effected in any way; and as applied to the deliverance wrought out by Christ for guilty men, it is made to include the whole of what, as mediator, he does on their behalf; the whole of what, as mediator, he obtains for them and bestows on them. According to this extended meaning, it takes in his execution of all the offices which, in his mediatorial character, Christ sustains, as Prophet, Priest, arid King; Revealer, Reconciler, Ruler; as well as also the entire work of the Spirit, making us partakers of Christ’s threefold mediatorial ministry, and the entire salvation which, through that ministry, becomes ours. In the text the sense in which redemption is spoken of is restricted. It is doubly so. It is restricted by the qualification or qualifying clause, "through his blood." And it is restricted also by the explanatory addition "the forgiveness of sins," "In whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace." One thing is evident from this explanatory addition, identifying as it does the redemption, which is through Christ’s blood, with the forgiveness of sins. It makes the transaction in question wholly and exclusively an act or exercise of the divine sovereignty. Who can forgive sins but God only? It is his indefeasible, inalienable prerogative. He can delegate it to none. He can share it with none. He can denude or divest himself of no part of it. If, therefore, the redemption through Christ’s blood is the forgiveness of sins, it must be a procedure in which God can acknowledge no other person or power whatever as having anything to say or anything to do in the matter. No person or power can come in between himself and those to whom he thus dispenses pardon. Be it a hostile power or a friendly power, it makes no difference. Whichever it be, the idea of any third party whatever intruding into this great affair, or having any concern in it, is equally inadmissible. The great enemy of God and man is thus excluded. The redemption through Christ’s blood can have no reference to him. If, indeed, the redemption through Christ’s blood is viewed in some other light; if it is regarded, and in a loose way it may sometimes be fairly enough regarded, as not the pardon of a criminal, but the recovery of a captive, or the release and rescue of a slave; then doubtless it may be so conceived of as to admit of Satan as it were coming, or trying to come into court as the Potentate who has taken men the prisoners; the master to whom they have sold themselves. Redemption through Christ’s blood may be thought, in that aspect of the case, to be something of the nature of a price paid, or a ransom given, in order that he, being satisfied or appeased by the cruel death of so great a champion on their behalf, may be induced to let his victims go free. There is no room for any such imagination if the redemption through Christ’s blood is held to be identical with the forgiveness of sins. He may be ordained to have a share as the instrument of a higher and overruling will, in trying or testing the righteousness of him through whose blood the redemption is. He may be doomed to yield up his prey to him as to a lawful conqueror, and to swell the conqueror’s triumph as he leads captivity captive; but the redemption itself is altogether beyond his sphere of action or of influence, of right or of power. For it is the forgiveness of sins, and that is a mode of exercising rule which has its source in the bosom, and its seat in the throne, of God alone. "Who can forgive sins but God only? The same consideration which thus excludes a hostile third party, excludes also one who is friendly, even though Christ himself should be supposed to be that party. The notion of the redemption through Christ’s blood being of the nature of a dealing on the part of Christ, as the friend of sinners, with a being whose resentment he appeased and whom he persuades to relent, is as incompatible with the divine prerogative in the forgiveness of sins as the notion of its being a dealing with Satan to ransom them out of his hands. God cannot be obliged, or bribed, or coaxed to forgive sins. If he were, it would be no forgiveness at all. It might be his consenting to let the sinner so far off from being under his jurisdiction as to be exempt from the exact rigour of law; or it might be his conniving at the sinner’s exemption. It could not possibly be the forgiveness of his sins. If, for example, this redemption through Christ’s blood like the stepping in of a wealthy patron to discharge obligations to a strict creditor, there would be a release, and it might be called a redemption, but it would not be the forgiveness of sins. Or, again, if this redemption through Christ’s blood were like the offering of a gift by which a potentate who desired a gift, might be so contented - or if it were like the performance of some hideous sanguinary rite by which a potentate, who delighted in vengeance, might be so appeased as to be willing to overlook the fault of some poor wretch had offended him : in that case also there would be a The friend who offered the gift or performed the rite would succeed in obtaining the offender’s release. That also might be called, in a sense, a redemption : but it could not possibly be regarded as the forgiveness of sins. Or, once more, if the redemption through Christ’s blood were a mere ministry of persuasion, the pleading of one who, by his meritorious services and heroic sufferings and sacrifices, had gained a high place in the sovereign’s favour, and who took advantage of his position so to urge his claims that the sovereign, having respect to him, must needs, on his account, give up to him in safety certain condemned rebels whom he chose to count his friends : here, too, there would be a release, which might perhaps, as in the former instances, be improperly called a redemption : but neither would this be really the forgiveness of sins. Take any one of these ways of it, and what have you? A third party, as the sinner’s friend, comes in between the sinner and the God whom he has offended. And what is it that he is to do? "What is it that his interposition is to effect? Is it not in fact, so far as it avails at all, to win, or or somehow get the offender practically out of the grasp the omnipotent being on whose decision his fate depends, in that he may be more gently and more kindly disposed of? The interposition might be successful. The grasp might be relinquished or released, and yet there might be no sentiment of pardoning love in that dread being’s heart; no sentence of pardoning mercy from his hard and stern tribunal. The redemption, whether effected through blood, or by some milder process, would not be, in any fair and legitimate acceptation of that blessed and gracious phrase, the forgiveness of sins. For it is a blessed and gracious phrase; it is a blessed and gracious thing, the forgiveness of sins. Some indeed may think and feel otherwise. You will think and feel otherwise if your sins are to you what, alas, to most men, to all men naturally, their sins are mistakes merely, or misfortunes, slips and miscarriages, accidents; infirmities, wildnesses, madnesses, it may be sometimes, the inevitable result of strong passion, opportunity, temptation, and a weak will; nothing more than what might be expected, for which allowance ought to be made, for which in fact you are to be pitied rather than blamed. With such a notion of your sins, any method of release out of the hands of the judge that you can bring yourself to trust in, will be found perfectly compatible, whether it is to be effected by satiating and soothing his vindictiveness, or by working upon his placability; and if, along with such a notion of your sins, there should at any time be wrought in you more alarming misgivings than usual, or more terrible impressions of the day of doom, yours is the very mood, yours is the very frame of mind, to welcome the notion of impunity being somehow purchased or procured for you by the good offices of one who, by his influence, or his service, or his sacrifice, may be able to shield you from the anger of an avenging god. But if you see your sins in their true light, in the light of a right knowledge of him against whom they are committed; if the emotions with which you contemplate your sins are emotions of genuine grief and godly sorrow; if the load of their guilt upon your conscience is felt to be intolerable, and the brand of their corruption in your heart and soul is felt to be loathsome, because he from whom they separate you so loves you and is so worthy of your love; if it is because they displease and dishonour him, and place him in a false relation to you, and you in a false relation to him : setting his holy and loving nature against you, and blighting, blasting your nature with enmity against him: if it is on that account that your sins do indeed distress you, ah ! then, no way of escape will meet your case that aims merely at your being somehow, anyhow, got safe from under his arm of power. No deliverance will suffice that a third party could by any means accomplish. Nothing will suffice; nothing will content you, that does not provide for the righting of your position with your God himself. You must have your God himself, your very offended God himself, directly and personally dealing with you. From your Father’s own lips you must receive your sentence. You repudiate any redemption based upon any principle of mere compromise, or evasion, or escape: and you receive with thankfulness the assurance that the redemption which is through the blood of Jesus Christ his Son, is indeed the forgiveness of sins. II. The forgiveness of sins is the redemption through Christ’s blood. The statement, or definition, thus reversed, is significant and important. It is not the simple utterance of a sentence: frankly forgiving. It is that no doubt. But it is something more. It must be so if it is held to be identical with the transaction indicated by the expression redemption through Christ’s blood. What is it that really passes or takes place between the righteous God and his guilty subjects, between the offended Father and his prodigal children, when they have forgiveness of sins? Is it merely a word, or an oath, on his part, understood and believed on theirs? Nay, there is a procedure far more solemn and awful. There is brought in, not by any other, but by this God and Father himself, into the very heart and essence of the act he does when he forgives sin, a fact of heaven-reaching and hell-reaching import; the fact of the redemption through the blood of Christ. Wheresoever there is the forgiveness of sins, there is that redemption through Christ’s blood. Whosoever has the forgiveness of sins, has it, and can only have it, in connection with, and as identical with, the redemption through Christ’s blood. Nor is this a foreign or extraneous element here; something interposed by some one from without between God forgiving and the sinner forgiven. God forgiving is God redeeming through Christ’s blood : the sinner having forgiveness is the sinner having redemption through Christ’s blood. The two are one. For this redemption, what is it in itself? It is deliverance, release, rescue. From whom? From what? From God; from the hands of the living God, into whose hands it is declared to be so fearful a thing to fall. Then, it is also by God, and by these same hands of his. It must be God delivering you, rescuing you, releasing you, from himself. Is, then, God divided against himself? Is redemption with him like the supposed infatuation of Satan casting out Satan? Nay. The Lord our God is one God. And yet, in no frivolous sense, his redeeming you is his delivering you from himself. It is himself who does it: and it is by a ransom provided by himself, and offered to himself. Is this a riddle, a paradox and mystery? Nay, consider what it is for sinners, for you as sinners, to be in the hands of God. He is the holy Lawgiver, the righteous Judge, the unchangeable Jehovah. As such, he cannot let sinners, he cannot let you as sinners, away from him. As truly as he is a God who cannot lie, so truly is he a God who can by no means clear the guilty. While guilt attaches or adheres to you, he cannot suffer you to escape from him, from being under his penal wrath and curse. More than that. With reverence be it said, even himself cannot, by his mere almighty word, deliver you from himself. His unalterable name or nature ; his essential character and perfections; in short, his being what he is, must for ever make that an impossibility. But there is redemption: not deliverance merely; but deliverance by the payment of a price, by the giving of an equivalent or a compensation. An equivalent or compensation for what? For what guilty sinners deserve, and for what, if there be no redemption, guilty sinners must inevitably endure. And to whom is this equivalent or compensation given? To God himself, the holy one and the just. And by whom? By God himself; for he giveth his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. And now through his blood; through the shedding of his blood; through his voluntarily laying down his life for guilty sinners (the blood is the life) ; through his taking their guilt upon himself, and expiating that guilt by suffering and dying penally, as one guilty, as a criminal, in their stead, there is redemption; there is God himself buying them with a great price from being under his righteous wrath as criminals; to be criminals no more in his sight, but accepted in the Beloved. There is the offended Father himself providing that the irreversible sentence of law and justice lying upon his rebellious children shall have fitting and sufficient execution upon the head of his own well-beloved Son, who is willing to take their place ; so that they may come forth free ; no longer under condemnation ; but righteous in his righteousness, and sons in his Sonship. This is the redemption through the blood of Christ. And this is what you have when you have the forgiveness of sins; this, and nothing short of this. It is something more than impunity; something more than indulgence; something very different from either impunity or indulgence; and indeed the opposite of both, this forgiveness of sins. It is seen to be so when it is thus identified with the redemption through Christ’s blood. "I believe in the forgiveness of sins," is the brief statement of what is called the Apostles’ Creed. It is all that is there said on the subject of God’s personal dealing with the sinners whom he saves. Does it seem bald and meagre? It may be so when it is viewed apart from what is to be believed concerning God, the Father Almighty; and Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord; and the Holy Ghost. But if you are taught by the Holy Ghost to know the Father in the Son, that naked, simple formula, "I believe in the forgiveness of sins," becomes very pregnant and very precious. It is felt to comprehend all that can be conceived of divine love, love worthy of God, accomplishing for you in a divine way, a way worthy of God, a divine salvation, a salvation worthy of God. "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." Yes, of course, I hear one saying. What more easy? What more natural? Yes! Natural and easy enough for you who have never seriously felt that you have any sins greatly needing forgiveness. Natural and easy for you also whose only notion of forgiving is exemption from endless punishment; who care for nothing else; to whom, if only you continue to persuade yourselves that God, letting you alone now, will let you alone always, it is matter of absolute indifference whether you are to him simply offenders whom, as being too insignificant, he does not deem it worth while to smite, or children whom he delights to love; whether he is to you simply a scarcely appeased tyrant, or an infinitely loving Father. Yes, you can reckon on the forgiveness of sins, in your sense of it, coolly and familiarly, at your pleasure : and you wonder why any one should ever have any difficulty in relying on what seems to you so reasonable a measure of mercy that you cannot imagine it ever to be withheld. It was otherwise with him, the great reformer, to whom, in the depths of his self-condemning anguish, a holy man, or rather the Holy Ghost by his instrument, scarce succeeded in bringing home, after many a fierce struggle with doubt and despair, the humble, homely consolation of these few artless words; "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." It will be otherwise with you now, if in any measure the Holy Ghost is causing you to feel what sins you have that need to be forgiven; and what sort of forgiveness it is that is needed. You cannot take it now for granted, as other men, as you once did yourselves, that there is forgiveness of sins for you. It does not seem to you so much a matter of right or a matter of course. You deeply feel that you are justly condemned on account of the very least of your sins, and might justly be left under condemnation for ever. And what, if - even there were a chance that somehow, somewhere, and sometime, in the long lapse of everlasting ages, there might be some partial and temporary assuaging of the agony of the lost; which yet you now see must be impossible, because you feel that it would be unrighteous; what of that lifting up of a reconciled countenance upon you now, which is what now you long for, and cannot dispense with, or do without? Can such a one as I, with such sins to answer for, ever be so forgiven as to be taken back into favour, and received as if I had never gone away or gone astray? For, woe is me, these sins of mine so cleave to me, that strive, and weep, and pray as I may, I cannot get rid of them! Let me resolve ever so vehemently, and chastise myself ever so desperately; my case is growing all the worse. There is the past, which no penitence of mine can undo. And the evil in rne I feel to wax stronger and stronger the more I wage war with it. 0 wretched man that I am! Can ever my position and my heart be put right with God? For that is the forgiveness of sins which I need; such forgiveness of sins as shall give me a clean conscience and a right spirit for living and walking at liberty with my God. Ah, when you are thus affected, and may not some of you be thus affected now, what gospel shall we preach to meet your case? The forgiveness of sins? Yes; if by the forgiveness of sins is meant the redemption that is through the blood of Christ. For now we can show you how your sins, be they ever so heinous and ever so engrained in your very nature, may yet be consistently and most righteously forgiven by him against whom they have been committed. And we can show you how complete, and frank, and full, the forgiveness may and indeed must be. We ask you if the most sensitive and scrupulous conscience may not own, that in the blood through which we have redemption the broken law is sufficiently vindicated, and justice abundantly satisfied? We put it to you to say, if on the footing of that shedding of such blood on Calvary, the forgiveness of any sins can be impossible? And we put it to you finally to say, if the forgiveness of sins of which our gospel assures you, which we press upon your acceptance, which the Holy Ghost is bringing near to you, thrusting into your hands, almost forcing you to take - if this forgiveness of sins is in very truth the very identical redemption that is through the blood of Christ; oh, can you hesitate in your hearts to acknowledge that it is more than you could expect, and all that you could desire? Can you find it in your hearts to cast it still away from you? Will you not thankfully rejoice to believe that the forgiveness of sins which you have in Christ is indeed the redemption through his blood. Thus, then, in both ways of announcing it, the assertion which the text virtually contains, of the identity between these two things: the redemption through Christ and the forgiveness of sins: is of the highest practical value, as bearing upon the anxious sinner’s peace and hope. It concerns him much to understand, and know, and feel, that the redemption through Christ’s blood is the forgiveness of sins; and that the forgiveness of sins is the redemption through Christ’s blood. Thus is the salvation that is provided seen to be complete for any of us. And the question therefore is forced powerfully upon us all - "How shall we escape if we neglect so great salvation?" III. A few words may be enough by way of practical conclusion on the manner in which this great benefit becomes yours. You have it in Christ, "in whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace." It is not from Christ or through Christ that you have it, but in Christ. The condition of your having redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, is your being in Christ. For "this is the record that God hath given to us eternal life, and this life is in his Son." First and chiefly, the gift of God, held out freely to the acceptance of all the guilty alike, to you and to me, the gift of God, his free gift, is Christ; and not Christ as the medium or channel through which the redemption or forgiveness reaches you, but Christ having in himself the redemption and the forgiveness. O sinner, whoever thou art, get to be in Christ, to win Christ, and to be found in him. Deal with Christ, the gift of the Father to thee; his best gift; himself better than the best of all the saving benefits that are in him. Deal with Christ, not for what he has to bestow, but for what he is in himself. Use him not as a mere trafficker or merchant, a convenient and accommodating dealer in heaven’s wares, who has bought, as it were, a wholesale supply or stock in the market above, and will dispense it to you in retail, so much of it as you choose to have, on such terms as you may contrive to adjust, or think you can adjust, between him and you. If you would buy of him that you may be rich, it must be gold tried in the fire that you buy. It must be the gold, the only gold that ever stood the test of the trial of fire, that you buy. It must be himself that you buy, for he has bought you for himself. All fulness is in him; all fulness of grace and truth. And out of his fulness you receive even grace for grace ; grace corresponding, proportional, answerable, and equal to the grace and truth of which he is full. Grace in that proportion out of his fulness you can. receive only as you receive himself. It pleased the Father that in him all fulness should dwell. The whole fulness of the Godhead dwelleth in him, but it dwelleth in him bodily, in his body, in his person, in himself manifested bodily, and bodily giving himself for you, to you. You share in his fulness, you can share in it only when you are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones. He has nothing to give away. No virtue goes out of him. Or if at any time any poor sinner, like that trembling woman in the gospel, has courage but to touch the hem of his garment, and gets healing, as it might seem, from him; taking it with shivering hand, and as it were by stealth, through the medium of his underclothing; she too must be taught that he cannot really have any virtue to go out of him. The virtue must come back to him. She who has got it must come back to him. She must learn that it is her faith that has made her whole; for by her faith she is in him. Get therefore Christ, I repeat, 0 sinner. Get into Christ. Let him get into thee, into thy heart, into that heart of thine, at whose door he is even now knocking; oh, how affectionately, how earnestly! Lift up your heads, ye gates, that the King of glory may come in. Be ye shut up into Christ. He is near. The Spirit and the Word bring him near. He would have you to grasp him. He would himself grasp you. Consent, 0 sinner. Let it be as he would have it to be. Refuse not his embrace. Cast him not away. Be sure that in him, only once in him, in the ark floating buoyant and free over the wreck of a ruined world; once there ; in him ; you are safe ; you are complete ; for in him you have redemption and forgiveness. Raise no preliminary questions. Listen to none when raised by Satan or by his agents, listen to none when raised even by one disguising himself as an angel of light. Insist not on all being made clear to you beforehand as to God’s counsels or as to your own experiences. Be not curious to inquire into the precise way in which God carries out his plans, or into the precise way in which peace and assurance are to visit your souls. Stand not aloof. Stand not upon terms, as if even when Christ and you are brought together face to face, you had still to interrogate him, and hear his proposals and conditions, and consider at your leisure how far you might venture to trust him, and to take out of his hands some pittance of the good he holds out to you. Shame, 0 sinner! And not shame only, madness; infatuation. Is not thy foot on the verge of the yawning gulf? Thy very next step may be down into its depths. And here is Christ; face to face before thee ; near thee; his look as benignant as when he welcomed little children; his arms as open as when he took them into his embrace and blessed them; his voice as thrilling as when he cried "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Sinner, 0 sinner! come to Christ. Close with Christ. You never will get any satisfaction out of Christ; but you will get all satisfaction on everything in Christ. For in him " we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace." 0 my friends, is it not a blessed thing that this, and nothing else than this, is the gospel of the grace of God the gospel which, as poor perishing sinners, you have to be ever receiving afresh and anew yourselves; the gospel which you have to proclaim and commend to your poor and perishing fellow-sinners around you? Is it not a blessed thing that we have always to send you, and you have always to send them, to Christ; to Christ himself, to Christ alone? "We have no riches to dispense out of Christ; we do but send men in search of riches on to Christ himself. We cannot answer all the questions of an inquiring spirit; we can but refer the inquirer to Christ himself. "We cannot stay to argue with any one as to what Christ may be to them that are still out of him, and what he may have of good for them. Taste and see, we cry, how good Christ is himself. And now! Let it be now! Let it be now that you determine to win Christ and to be found in him. Let it be now that you determine to urge your neighbour, your brother, that he too may win Christ now and be found in Christ - now. Up! Let there be slumber, let there be delay, no longer. Lay yourselves out from this moment to be yourselves in Christ, and to get as many as you can into Christ. All things now persuade haste and recommend decision. The Spirit is striving; manifestly and mightily in some places. Everywhere, however, he is striving; for this is the dispensation of the Spirit. He is striving, is he not, here, among us? Is there any one ill at ease; ill at ease because his own sins are not forgiven; ill at ease because the sins of some one with whom he might be pleading are not forgiven? It is the Spirit striving now; but he will not strive always. Therefore harden not your hearts. Everything in providence persuades haste and recommends instant decision. Personal visitations of frailty, disease, and sorrow; the Lord’s servants smitten the young prematurely summoned hence, or about to be prematurely summoned; aged disciples, witnesses for a pure and simple gospel to more than one or two generations of their fellows, gone, or going to their rest. All things are full of change. But Christ never changes. He is still here, among us, the same yesterday, today, and for ever, and in him "we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of his grace." I would, beloved brethren, that one and all of us were stirred up to consider if this be not, to one and all of us, in some sense and for some end, a special day of visitation. Is there not much shaking of the dry bones and troubling of the water everywhere? All around us the air seems vocal with the echoes of a still small voice proclaiming to you, to me, to all men, to redeemed souls, to a world careful and troubled about many things : One thing is needful for you, for me, for all, for weary souls, for an uneasy world; one thing is needful; to sit at Christ’s feet and learn of him ; to choose that good part which shall not be taken away ; to win Christ and - be found in him; " in whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 20: 04.03. CHAPTER 3: SPIRITUAL ENLIGHTENMENT. ======================================================================== Chapter Three SPIRITUAL ENLIGHTENMENT. "The eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that ye may know what is the hope of his calling, and what the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints, and what is the exceeding greatness of his power to us-ward who believe, according to the working of his mighty power." - Ephesians 1:18-19. THE apostle not only tells the Ephesians that he prays for them (Ephesians 1:16); he specifies also what he prays for on their behalf (Ephesians 1:18). It is knowledge or enlightenment; "the eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that ye may know" (Ephesians 1:18). In the preamble (Ephesians 1:17) he indicates the source of this enlightenment; the agency employed in imparting it; and the end to be gained by it. As to its source, it comes from God; and from God viewed as the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory. All knowledge, all enlightenment, is from God. The light that shines in creation and providence is divine: divinely originated and divinely communicated. But here, it is not as the God of nature and providence merely that he is invoked; but as the God of redemption; of redeeming grace and glory. As such he is asked to give knowledge of himself. The agency is that of the Holy Spirit. The prayer is that he may be given. And it is that he may be given with a view to the double office which he has to discharge as the Spirit of wisdom and revelation ; the Spirit of wisdom, imparting inward spiritual discernment; the Spirit of revelation, presenting, opening up, and applying the things that are to be spiritually discerned. The end sought is the owning of the glory of God. For the marginal reading seems preferable here. "For the acknowledgment" of God; that in this whole matter he may be known, owned, acknowledged, glorified, is this prayer for the enlightenment of his people offered. But now, what is it that in terms of this apostolic prayer we are thus to know? Three things are specified, embracing three aspects of the religious life. I. "What is the hope of his calling." This phrase should surely be taken in its simplest sense: that ye may know the hopefulness of God’s calling ; what hope there is in it; how full of hope it is. Thus regarded, the hope of it may be put in different lights. Consider who it is who calls, and in what character. It is God, and God in the character of the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory; the God who gives grace and glory. It is not every or any calling of God that is hopeful. When he calls as the God of judgment; sitting on the great white throne and summoning into his presence the workers of iniquity, to give account of their deeds and receive their everlasting doom, what then is the hope of that calling of his? It awaits you; the day of wrath is near; the trumpet-call is about to sound, you know not how soon. But nearer, sooner, is the trump of jubilee. God calls now as God in Christ reconciling you to himself. From the mercy seat, over the sacrifice of the bleeding Lamb that taketh away the sin of the world, he calls : and that calling of his is full of hope. Consider who are called. To whom is the call addressed? Is it not to men? To men as such, to all men, as such, as they are. "Unto you, 0 men, I call, and my voice is unto the sons of man." Is not this a primary and indispensable element and condition of the hope that there is in God’s calling? Were it otherwise, what hope could there he in it? The calling is to men. Not to men as elect: there could be no hope in such a calling for me, unless I could ascend to heaven and find my name written in the book of God’s eternal decree. Not to men as righteous; were it so, I am undone; thanks for that word, "I came not to call the righteous, but sinners." Not to men as penitents. "I call sinners to repentance." Thanks for that word also for never as a penitent could I hopefully appropriate the calling. Not to men as believers; how as a believer could I ever accept the calling as a hopeful calling to me; I who can but venture to say, in my very acceptance of the calling, "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief "? But not to men as elect; not to men as righteous; not to men as penitent; not to men as believing, is this call addressed; but widely and universally to men; to men as such; to men as they are, sinners. Therefore there is hope in it for you, sinners, and for me. But it is chiefly the nature of this calling that is to be considered : and in considering it, its qualities may best be set forth in pairs. 1. The calling of God is hopeful; there is hope in it for sinners, of whom I am chief, because it is on the one hand absolutely free, and on the other hand peremptorily sovereign and commanding. It is free beyond all possibility of restriction or qualification; so free as to preclude the very idea of any condition to be fulfilled, or any title made good on the part of the called. "Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money: come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price" (Isaiah 55:1). "The Spirit and the bride say, I Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come: and whosoever will, let him take of the water of life freely" (Revelation 22:17). And it is not less authoritative than it is free. It is a free offer; but it is also a peremptory command. "This is the work of God, that ye believe on him whom he hath sent" (John 6:29). "This is his commandment, that we should believe on the name of his Son Jesus Christ, and love one another, as he gave us commandment" (1 John 3:23). "God comrnandeth all men everywhere to repent" (Acts 17:30). I put these two qualities or conditions of this calling of God together, because it is only thus that they can minister to its hopefulness. I speak to spiritually awakened and anxious souls; for it is you chiefly who need to be satisfied as to the hope of God’s calling. I ask any of you who have undergone anything of a deep and searching movement of the Spirit convincing you of sin, and very specially of the sin of unbelief, if you have not found, perhaps more than once, that what has at last got you over the seemingly insuperable barrier to your at once closing with Christ and rejoicing in him, has been, not merely your being most freely and graciously invited, but your being shut up by a stern, authoritative, peremptory order, which you could no longer misunderstand or evade, and which you dared no longer disobey. It is not "I may," but "I must;" I cannot make God a liar. 2. The calling of God is hopeful, because it is on the one hand earnest, in the way of persuasion; and on the other hand effectual, as implying a divine work of renewal in the will within. No calling can tell on me as an intelligent and moral being that does not come to me with motives fitted to convince my reason and move my heart. Hence the affectionate expostulations and pleadings of God. "Turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways; for why will ye die?" (Ezekiel 33:11). "Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool" (Isaiah 1:18). "We pray you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God" (2 Corinthians 5:20). But be these motives ever so sufficient, they avail nothing, unless a divine power is directly and immediately put forth upon my inner man, making me responsive to their influence. "I will take the stony heart out of their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh" (Ezekiel 11:19) ; that is the kind of promise, and there are many promises to the same effect, fitted to meet my case. And it must be thus met. For "except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God " (John 3:3). Therefore I rejoice in this harmony of the outward appeal of the Gospel and the corresponding inward work of the Spirit. Together they make this calling of God a calling full of hope to me. The command, "Take up thy bed;" the call, "Lazarus come forth;" are such as are most seasonably persuasive. But they must be vain unless they are the command and call of him who can impart strength to the impotent to obey the command, life and hearing to the dead to respond to the call. 3. The calling of God is hopeful, because it is, on the one hand, righteous, and on the other hand holy: righteous, as proceeding upon provision made for the righteousness of God, the righteousness of his character and government being maintained without compromise; holy, as making provision for our becoming personally righteous; upright, pure, holy. Here, very specially, I must address you as spiritual men; having some spiritual sense and apprehension both of God’s just claims upon you, and of your own true character in his sight. To ordinary men, to me as a merely natural man, the necessity of these conditions or qualities meeting in this calling of God as ministering to its being hopeful, is not palpably apparent. Some calling of God, some gospel of some sort that may minister hope, or at least keep despair at bay, I may, upon an occasion, need I am at the point to die. By that, or by some startling providence, under some spiritual visitation, I am roused to serious thought. It seems as if I could be content with nothing but the God-glorifying and conscience-satisfying work of Christ, and could have hope in no calling not based on that. But, alas, my deep convictions and lively impressions fade away. I begin to acquiesce in the old devil’s gospel, which is the world’s and mine naturally: "Ye shall not surely die." I embrace a notion of impunity, a scheme of mercy, easy and indulgent. No matter though it makes God the judge of all unrighteous, and leaves me unholy and unclean. It may imply the surrender, on my account, and for my relief, of all that is just in the divine authority and law; and it may suffer me to continue as godless, as selfish, as sensual as ever. I have little or no care about any such bearings of the way of mercy, if only I may fashion it into a calling that may not be quite hopeless for me in the end; let righteousness and holiness fare as they may. But no such calling of God will meet my case, if I am moved by the Spirit to take a spiritual view of what it really is. Then I am not at all so easily soothed. I see my sin, my guilty and sinful state, in a far more serious light; in its bearing both upon the character and claims of God and upon my own nature, as seen by his holy eye. Ah me! How ever can the righteous and holy God hopefully call one so unrighteous and unholy as I am? How can God, consistently with his own righteous- ness, and in the view of my unholiness, address to me a calling full of hope, or indeed having in it any hope at all? Let no man say that this is a rare question to be raised by a spiritually exercised soul. If it be so with us now, so much the worse for us. It was not so in days of deeper spiritual experience. It is not so in your spirit, brother, or in mine, if our sin has really found us out. We cannot rest in a vague presumption of indulgence. We cannot take so easily on trust the settlement of our peace with God. We see and feel the double difficulty: God’s righteousness and our unholiness, standing in the way of our acceptance and reconciliation. How ever can the just and holy God forgive and call hopefully me so guilty; so impure and vile? Oh! How blessed a result is it for us to be brought by the Spirit, it may be through much darkness, into the clear light of that cross which shows how guilt of deepest dye is righteously atoned for by Christ’s infinitely sufficient propitiation, and all uncleanness is washed away by the cleansing virtue of his blood, and the renewing work of the Spirit applying it; and how, therefore, there is hope in God’s calling as a calling thus approved to be both righteous and holy. 4. There is hope in this calling of God; as being on the one hand sure on his part, and on the other hand capable of being made sure on our part. Thus, on God’s part, "the gifts and calling of God are without repentance" (Romans 11:29). There is no change of mind in him with regard to this calling. Again, on our part, we are commanded to "make our calling and election sure" (2 Peter 1:10). It is our privilege and duty "to assure our hearts before God" (1 John 3:19). The assurance, in both views of it, objectively and subjectively, turns upon the calling being a filial one; our being called to be the sons of God in Christ. Thus, as to the calling being sure on the part of God, the caller, we find the Lord Jesus expressly putting it upon that footing (John 8:35-36) "the servant abideth not in the house for ever: but the Son abideth ever. If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed." The calling of God is in and through his beloved Son. It is your being called to nothing short of participation with the Son in the footing which he has himself in the house or household of the Father, as the Son abiding ever. It is with that freedom that the Son makes you free; it is to oneness with the Son in that freedom that you are called; to oneness with him as the Son abiding ever. No other position could make God’s calling absolutely and infallibly sure. Called to be servants merely, you might be put again upon your probation, with old scores cancelled, and a new opportunity given of profiting by past experience, and starting afresh upon a new experiment. Still, your standing would be conditional and precarious; depending, after all, on your own fulfilment of the terms of service, and liable therefore to failure and forfeiture. It is your being called to be not merely servants but sons, in him who, himself entering into your service, in all the breadth of its obligation and all the depth of its penal liability, would have you to enter into his sonship in all its grace and glory - it is that which establishes beyond all question the irrevocable certainty of this calling of God. Whom he thus calls he justifies, and whom he justifies he glorifies. And on your part the calling of God is made sure by your realising it as a calling to sonship, "for ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God: and if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ: if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together" (Romans 8:15-17). "Because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father" (Galatians 4:6). That is the seal of this hopeful calling of God; the seal of its hopefulness, as sure in itself, and meant by God to be sure in your spiritual sense and experience. For he intends, he really does intend, his calling of you to be hopeful; thoroughly, brightly, clearly, and cloudlessly hopeful. Therefore he presses it upon you as free and peremptory; free, because he cannot and would not make terms or conditions with you; peremptory, because he would shut you up, as in a vice, to instant, dutiful compliance. Therefore he brings it home to your conscience, mind, heart, your whole inner man, by arguments, appeals, persuasive expostulations, sufficient to break the very stones and melt the coldest iron; and because you are very stone and very iron, puts forth his hand, in the power of his Spirit, to create you anew, that you may understand and respond to his appeals. Therefore he takes pains to satisfy you, that, guilty as you are, he is righteous in calling you ; and corrupt and carnal as you are, his calling provides for your cleansing from pollution as well as from guilt; for your holiness as well as your peace. And therefore he assures you, that being called to be sons, and to receive the Spirit of his Son, you may hold fast the confidence and the rejoicing of the hope firm unto the end. II. "What the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints;" its rich glory; its glorious richness. This expression, "his inheritance in the saints" is remarkable. It is not the inheritance which they receive from him; it is not the inheritance which they have in him; it is the inheritance which he has in them. It is an Old Testament thought, used often as an argument in prayer, or a motive or encouragement to faith: "The Lord’s portion is his people; Jacob is the lot of his inheritance" (Deuteronomy 22:9). " Save thy people, and bless thine inheritance: feed them also, and lift them up for ever" (Psalms 28:9). "For the Lord will not cast off his people; neither will he forsake his inheritance" (Psalms 94:14). "Remember me, 0 Lord, with the favour which thou bearest unto thy people. 0 visit me with thy salvation; that I may see the good of thy chosen, that I may rejoice in the gladness of thy nation, that I may glory with thine inheritance" (Psalms 106:4-5). "Blessed be Israel mine inheritance" (Isaiah 19:25). "Return for thy servants’ sake, the tribes of thine inheritance" (Isaiah 63:17). It is only here that it occurs in the New Testament; being, as I believe, merged for the most part in the New Testament’s fuller and clearer discovery of the fatherly and filial relation between God and us. It is a great thought; that God should not merely give us an inheritance, or even give us himself as our inheritance; but that he should take us to be his inheritance! Well may it be associated with richness of glory. Let me be the occupier, upon lease or upon annual rent, of an estate, a house and grounds, lent or hired out to me. I am bound to fulfil the conditions of my temporary possession, and I may make the most I can of it for present use, in consistency with these conditions. I have no inducement, however, to take pains, or spend time, money, and thought, in order to its future and permanent amelioration in respect of fruitfulness and beauty. But let it be mine; my personal property; my own peculiar possession. Let me have my inheritance in it; as coming to me through a long ancestral line ; from an unknown, almost dateless antiquity; and perhaps, recovered and redeemed by me from a sad forfeiture and bankrupt alienation ; how rich and glorious is it in my esteem! How rich and glorious would I have it to be in the esteem of all! I will lavish all my wealth, I will apply my whole mind, to have it brought to the highest pitch of culture and of beauty. I take pleasure, I take pride, in it. I delight in furnishing, fertilising, and adorning it. I love to increase to the utmost the riches of the glory of my inheritance in it. But I do not seek or expect the rich glorifying of the inheritance I have in my house and grounds to come, as it were, at random, or by chance, upon the mere expenditure of my means and time and thought, as the process happens at haphazard to go on. I have a definite aim and object from the beginning. And what is that? It is to realise my own ideal of what is rich and what is glorious. To arrange and mould the materials I have to work upon, the house and grounds in which I have my inheritance, in conformity with the architectural form and image in my own soul of the fulness of perfect beauty in art and nature. It is to stamp an impress of myself on my whole estate and every part of it; "to hang a thought of mine on every thorn," and make every bed of flowers and field of grain abroad responsive to my taste; and every room and passage at home suggestive of my character and will. I so identify the inheritance I have in these material possessions with myself, that I would have them to express me, to represent me; to express and represent me at my best. In aiming at this result, I do not hesitate about having recourse to rough and severe treatment. Suppose you come to look at the house and grounds in which I have my inheritance, shortly after I have redeemed it from long alienation at a great price, and recovered it from recent forfeiture by a seasonable exercise of power, what do you see? Disorder, perhaps, and derangement, everywhere; the house turned upside down; the grounds rudely bared by the cruel axe; deeply wounded and cut by the horrid plough; little sign or symptom, as it would seem, anywhere, of rich fertility or glorious beauty; nothing but breaking down and breaking up; overturnings and upturnings; breaches, cuttings, diggings, manifold everywhere. What, one says to me, is this what we are to regard and own as the riches of the glory of the inheritance you have in the old ancestral estate which you have so dearly bought back and recovered? Yes, friend, I reply. It is the very riches of its glory. It is the process by which I am really enriching and glorifying it to the utmost perfection of riches and glory of which it is capable. Come again, ere another autumn closes, and see how things look then. You will admit then, that in all my unsparing use of instruments and implements of architectural and agricultural torture, I was keeping steadily in view the richness of the glory of my inheritance. The Lord’s inheritance is in his saints; in those that have made a covenant with him by sacrifice. Called as sinners, you are called to be saints; the Lord’s saints; his holy ones; consecrated to him by the sprinkling upon you of atoning blood, and the indwelling in you of the sanctifying Spirit. As his holy ones you are precious in his sight; dear to his heart; kept by him as the apple of his eye; "he that toueheth you touches the apple of his eye." He has in you his inheritance. He takes pleasure in you as his inheritance; his redeemed and purchased possession. "The Lord taketh pleasure in them that fear him, in those that hope in his mercy" (Psalms 147:11). "He taketh pleasure in his people; he will beautify the meek with salvation" (Psalms 149:4). Yes, ye meek, whose blessedness it is that you shall inherit the earth, the Lord choosing you for his heritage, takes pleasure in you, and will beautify you with salvation. You are of infinitely more value in his esteem than the whole earth which you are to inherit can ever be in. yours. How then may he be expected to enrich and glorify, gloriously to enrich, richly to glorify, the inheritance he has in you, his holy ones; in you, the meek ones! He cannot but take pleasure; in a sense he cannot but feel pride in doing so. All the rather since you, in whom he has his inheritance, are capable of being enriched and glorified in the way most honouring to his name and most gratifying to his heart. In you he can realise his own perfect ideal. On you he can impress his own image. With you he can so deal as to make you truly reflect himself. When the materials of my inheritance are houses and lands, be the houses ever so palatial, and the lands ever so wide and fertile, it is only very imperfectly and quite inadequately, at the best, only as it were in a figure, that I can succeed in so adorning it that it shall bear the stamp and impress of my character; that it shall express my intelligence and taste, my mind and soul, and show what manner of man I am. Dead stone and lime, dull earth and clay, can by no process, let it be ever so careful and costly, be moulded into real conformity to my living self. But God’s inheritance is in you; you are the materials of which it is composed; materials of such a sort as to admit of closest fellowship; exactest likeness; completest union. Especially since it is in you as one with his own dear Son that he has the inheritance which he delights to enrich and glorify; loving you as he loves him, glorifying you as he glorifies him. He may well, therefore, hope to succeed in adorning you with all his own moral beauty; the beauty of his holiness and love. Yes. It is that on which the Eternal Father’s heart is set; it is for that that the Holy Spirit is given to bring you into living oneness with the Son, and keep you ever one, that in you as in him he may be well pleased, beholding, if one may dare to say so, in you as in him the brightness of his own glory and the express image of his own person. Oh what riches of glory is the Father bestowing upon you, in whom he has his inheritance! The entire fulness of it may not appear now. On the contrary, God’s heritage here may present an aspect apparently anything but rich and glorious. "The ploughers ploughed upon my back, they made long their furrows," so with the Psalmist you may be ready to complain. Rough may be the treatment, hard the discipline, to which you are subjected. Many a sharp stroke of the keen-edged axe may be painfully cutting away old familiar trees in field and garden. Many a rude breach may be made in the house; and there be much upturning and overturning in all the premises. He who has his inheritance in you may cause your visage to be marred as was the Master’s; your soul to be troubled as his was; your hands and feet, like his, to be nailed to a cross; your side to be pierced with a spear. His sharp arrows may enter your soul. His hand may be heavy upon you, turning your moisture into the drought of summer. Sorrows from without, sins within, may trouble you; and instead of the bravery of riches and glory there may be poverty and shame ; the grief of a wounded spirit and the groaning of a broken heart. But courage, ye fainting souls. Believe and know that all these experiences are part of the process by which even now the Spirit, is enriching and glorifying you, and is preparing you for the riches and glory of eternity. Yes. Even now is he not enriching you with frequent communications of his grace; visiting you with tokens of his continued care; causing his Spirit to dwell in you as he dwelt in his beloved Son; and enabling you to say, as he said, "Father, thy will be done" What wealth can compare with such a meek submissive mind as that? And is he not perfecting you, as the Captain of your salvation was perfected, through sufferings? "Beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, you are changed into the same image, from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord." And it is but a little while. "When Christ, our life, shall appear, then shall ye also, appear with him in glory." For it is a faithful saying : "If we suffer, we shall also reign with him." III. "And what is the exceeding greatness of his power to us-ward who believe?"That is the third thing to be known. And here the apostle gives us a measure. It is "according to the working of his mighty power which he wrought in Christ, when he raised him from the dead, and set him at his own right hand in the heavenly places." It is a measure of amazing compass. It is nothing short of this, that you who believe may rely and reckon upon the power of God as available on your behalf, to the full extent of its exercise on behalf of Christ; in his victory over death, his resurrection to life, his ascension to the right hand of God, and his investiture with dominion over all. That is the exceeding greatness of his power to you-ward who believe. It is a power which prevails over death; death, the wages of sin; for it was from that death, penal and retributive, that Christ was raised. It is a power which sets you, once sinking in guilt and condemnation, high in the favour of God; exalted, as justified in and with Christ, to God’s own right hand in the heavens. It is a power which enables you, in and with Christ, to assert your sovereignty over all outward influences; all claims and assaults of the world and its prince; of hell and its inmates ; putting all things under your feet, as they are all under the feet of him who is given to be "head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fulness of him that filleth all in all." Such, briefly, is the exceeding greatness of God’s power to you-ward who believe. And you do indeed need to know it. Yes! You need to know it, if you would know these two things going before. To know the hope of his calling, personally and experimentally, requires the putting faith in you and upon you, of a divine power, not only equal and equivalent to that great faith in the raising of Christ from the dead, but in a most vital sense, identically the same. It is as sinners that you are called; sinners doomed, and lying under the sentence of death. Can any calling, even a calling of God, have hope in it for you unless it gives you assurance of a power that can reach to the reversal of the doom and the destruction of death? Such power has been put forth in the case of Christ: not violently, as if it were a mere act or fiat of omnipotence; but legally and judicially; through the endurance and exhaustion of the death sentence. And such power is put forth in your case, when you are hopefully called. The hopefulness of God’s calling of you depends on the assurance that the very power which raised Christ from penal death to justified life is available for you; when you gladly and gratefully say, "I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me" (Galatians 2:20). To know the riches of the glory of his inheritance in his saints is a privilege closely connected with knowing the exceeding greatness of his power to us-ward who believe. For it implies your entrance into a school of trial in which no human power can avail. You are brought into contest with agencies and influences too strong for you. While you went along with them contentedly, you did not perceive their strength. But you feel it now, when you break with them and go against them, because you know, and desire more and more to know, the riches of the glory of God’s inheritance in his saints. That knowledge, and the growing thirst for more of it, must bring you into mortal strife with all the forces of nature, physical, mental, and moral. These have been wont to sway and command you. There is a rebellion against them now in your bosom, alive to some apprehension of the riches of the glory of God’s inheritance in his saints; there is a death struggle between them and you. Either they must out and out succumb to you, or you must more or less give in to them. There can be no compromise. You are still at their mercy unless you assert your victory over them; subjecting them to your command; and using them as God’s creatures placed under your control. Can you hope to do so, otherwise - than by entering into Christ’s risen sovereignty and dominion over all things? Is it not as being one with him in the justifying virtue of his resurrection, and the victory of his ascension, that you emancipate yourselves from the bondage of corruption and taste the glorious liberty of the children of God; knowing "what is the hope of his calling, and what the riches of the glory of his inheritance in the saints, and what is the exceeding greatness of his power to us-ward who believe" ? Some practical reflections, suggested by the subject we have been considering, may close this discourse. I. The knowledge for which Paul prays is altogether divine; coming from a divine source, through a divine agency, for a divine end. It is meant to be a knowledge both assured and assuring. But it cannot be so unless these conditions of it are duly observed. You long for this assured knowledge of these things, and complain that you have it not. You are trying to have it, and you think that if you had it all would be well. But how would all be well? You would be at ease and at rest. No more anxious soul-concern; no more fear or trouble about your spiritual state and prospects; but only quiet peace. Yes ! and if a voice from heaven told you all this at once, you would be satisfied and pleased. But would it be for your good? No. If you would have this assured knowledge communicated by some comfortable sign, merely for your own personal relief and rest, my prayer is that God may not grant it to you. Better far a lifetime of doubt than an hour of such security as that. But if you seek this assured knowledge of these things as the gift of God, and seek it for the glory of God; that, being established and enlarged, you may the better own, and serve, and testify for him, then doubt not that Paul’s apostolic pleading is available for you. Use it as yours. Hold on. "Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of his servant, that walketh in darkness, and hath no light? Let him trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God" (Isaiah 1:10). II. The highest point in this threefold knowledge of God is the centre, and that implies your being his saints, his holy ones. It must be as his holy ones that you reach and realise the knowledge of the riches of the glory of his inheritance in you. Let no false humility come in here. There might be room for that, if the holiness were a personal virtue or qualification of your own. But it is not so. It is altogether of God, and of God not so much giving you a right to call him yours as claiming you to be his. It is only when you own this claim; when you feel and acknowledge yourselves to be holy unto the Lord, not common or unclean, but separated, set apart, consecrated, sealed, as a peculiar people; that you can expect to apprehend the rich and glorious blessedness of his having his inheritance in you. "What I know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own. For ye are bought with a price : therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s" (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). III. The exceeding greatness of God’s power is put forth in your exercising faith; it is "to us-ward who believe." "You are kept by the power of God, through faith, unto salvation." It is by the ever-present exercise of faith that you realise that power as available for you, and make it practically yours. The power is exceeding great. The working of it is mighty; mighty to raise you now from the death of sin and guilt to the life of holiness and peace; and to raise you at last from the grave to glory. But it is not communicated or given to you. It is not lodged in your hands. It is all in Christ; "wrought in Christ." And it is yours only as you are in Christ by faith; "quickened together with Christ; raised up together with Christ; made to sit together, in heavenly places, in Christ Jesus." It is all of faith. IV. But not as God’s saints; not as believers, are you, all of you, hopefully called. Let me close as I began. Let me press this blessed gospel message, wide, universal, full, and free. Not to his holy ones, not to the faithful, is the hopeful calling of God addressed. It is his holy ones, his saints, who are to know the riches of the glory of his inheritance in them. It is the faithful, those that believe, who are to know the exceeding greatness of his power, working in them as in Christ, to quicken them, and raise them up, and set them in the heavenly places. But holiness and faith apart, the hopeful calling of God is to you, 0 sinners; to each and all of you; without exception and without reserve. Will you not make trial for yourselves of its hopefulness? Will you not taste and see that the Lord is good? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 21: 04.04. CHAPTER 4: SPIRITUAL STRENGTH. ======================================================================== Chapter Four SPIRITUAL STRENGTH. "That He would grant you, according to the riches of his glory, to be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man; that Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God." - Ephesians 3:16-19. THIS prayer proceeds upon the assumption of those prayed for being included in the house, or household, of which the apostle has been speaking. For both figures are used to denote the true church. It is a holy temple. It is a holy family. You are interested in the prayer as being members of the church which is Christ’s body, the fulness of him that filleth all in all. You are stones in the house or temple; inmates in the household or family. And therefore this prayer is offered on your behalf; "For this cause, I bow my knees." I pray for you. And I pray for you to one who is a father; first and originally the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; and then in him the Father of a large and comprehensive family, including the unfallen heavenly hosts as well as the redeemed from among men; all bearing the name of Jesus, of him whom all angels worship and in whom all the saved believe. My prayer also is very bold and high; the measure of it being nothing short of the transcendent excellency of the Father from whom the blessing is sought. It is according to the riches of his glory that he is asked to grant the request. No lesser proportion will content me, says the apostle. No lesser proportion should content you. Now, under and upon this great preamble, what is it that the apostle prays for on your behalf? The answer to this question might not be easy, if we were to go into a critical examination of all the interpretations which have been suggested of what is confessedly a difficult passage; difficult, as all admit, chiefly on account of its vast sublimity and holy spiritual elevation of thought. It is the ideal of the universal church in its ultimate completeness; an ideal now; but soon to become real. I think. However, I may fasten upon five significant terms, as keys by which we may partly unlock this divine casket, so that its precious contents, the riches of the Father’s glory, may be set free and shed abroad. These are faith (Ephesians 3:16-17); love (Ephesians 3:17); comprehend (Ephesians 3:18); knowledge (Ephesians 3:19); be filled (Ephesians 3:19). I. Faith is my first stand-point, or point of view. The prayer is that the Father would grant you to be strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man; that Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith (Ephesians 3:16-17). The sense in which the phrase "to be strengthened" is to be taken here, may be best gathered, as I think, from the opposite expression elsewhere (Romans 5:6), "we were without strength." The context there explains this as meaning "ungodly" (Romans 5:6); "sinners" (Romans 5:8); "enemies" (Romans 5:10); first, ungodly, not owning God and giving loving and loyal allegiance to him; - therefore, secondly, sinners, guilty in his sight, and righteously condemned; - and therefore again, thirdly, enemies, at variance and strife with the God whose just authority we set at nought, and under whose wrath, for that sin, we justly lie. That is our being without strength. For in that state we are impotent; absolutely helpless. We cannot help ourselves : and there is no available help within our sight, or our grasp. We cannot stand erect and firm before the Lord. If we may not hide ourselves among the trees of the garden, or cover our nakedness with aprons of fig leaves, we must hear his call and.come out under his eye, shrinking and shivering, with trembling limbs and fainting heart. We are altogether undone; without strength. But we are to be strengthened, strengthened in respect of what constituted our weakness or our being without strength before. For there is a blessed and gracious correspondence or adaptation here. We shall be strengthened inwardly. Our strength to stand firm and upright before God is to be from within and not from without. And this is a vital point, involving the new nature, the new heart. To be thus strengthened inwardly is not according to the habit or the desire of the old nature, the old heart. To pray ourselves for such a kind of strengthening, or to accept Paul’s praying for it on our behalf, is wholly of grace and not at all of nature. Naturally we lean on outside props; outward religious observances and moral duties; the opinion of men; the church’s acceptance of us; and the world’s acquittal; something that is not ourselves, or part and parcel of ourselves; but extraneous and external. If we summon up courage at all to meet God face to face, and stand with any measure of boldness in his sight, it is by means of outward appliances and expedients that we try to do so. That, however, is not the sort of strengthening which the apostle would have us to experience and realise. It is in the inner man that he wishes us to be strengthened. As regards this strength, we are to be self-contained; every one of us individually, apart from all the rest. To strengthen you thus inwardly is the work or office of the Spirit of God. His gracious agency may be dispensed with is the other kind of strengthening that is sought. You may hold up yourselves on the strength of good works done by you, or good offices performed upon you. The world may hold you up by its flattering approval; or the church by its charitable judgment; or the devil with his lie - "You are not worse than others; the tree will make you wise; God cannot have meant you to take his threatening so very literally; you shall not surely die." Thus entrenched in worldly or satanic apologies; or in priestly and sacramental absolutions; or in self-absolutions on the ground of outward acts of piety, you may seem to stand strong. No need of the Spirit in that mood for that strength. But when all these fall away from around you, what is your strength? When you are alone with God, with no one to cling to, and nothing to lean on, what are you? Strong! Ah, if you would be strong then and there, it must be through your being strengthened by God’s Spirit in the inner man. And what is the strength which God’s Spirit thus inwardly imparts? It is Christ. Christ dwelling in your hearts; Christ dying for the ungodly; Christ dying for us sinners; Christ justifying us by his blood; Christ the Son of God reconciling us to the Father by his death. It is the indwelling of this Christ in our hearts that is our strength. It is an abiding strength; for he is to dwell in us. It is a sure and real strength, thorough and complete; for he is to dwell in our hearts, for it is the heart that faints under a sense of guilt and fear of wrath; and conscious of enmity and estrangement we lose courage, we lose heart when summoned to stand before God. But let Christ enter into the heart, and win back its trust, its affection, to himself and his Father; let him become the trusted, cherished inmate and owner of the heart, then there need be no more trembling there, but strong confidence and good courage. My flesh and my heart faileth ; but he is the strength, the rock, of my heart. By faith he is so. By faith he dwelleth in your hearts; by no mystical or sacramental grace, operating blindly like a charm or spell; by no material symbol or priestly ministry imparting him to you almost without your consciousness, concurrence, and consent; but by faith; simply by faith; by faith alone; faith in your hearts. For the faith which is to win and secure for you this indwelling of Christ in your hearts must itself be in your hearts. With the heart man believeth unto righteousness. It is the Spirit opening your hearts, and keeping them ever open for the entrance into them of Christ the King of Glory. It is your intelligent, simple, cordial, glad embracing of Christ, your being always ready, with prompt alacrity, to recognise and rise to meet him as he cries - "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock; if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." Thus you are to be strengthened with might according to the apostle’s prayer. The seat of the strength imparted is the inner man; it is the strength, not of outward propping but of inward peace and power. The agency by which it is imparted is that of the Holy Spirit; for he alone has access directly and immediately into the inner man; he alone, the Spirit of God, can deal effectually with spirits of men. The essence of it is Christ dwelling in your hearts; Christ living in you; Christ in you, the Lord your righteousness, the Lord your strength; Christ in you the hope of glory. The means or instrument of your receiving it is your simple heart’s faith. Well may this strength be characterised as mighty; your being strengthened with might. It is indeed your being strong in the Lord and in the power of his might. II. To faith succeeds love. You are to be rooted and grounded in love. These images or figures suggest the ideas of a grove and a building. You are to be rooted as the trees that constitute a grove, and grounded as the stones and pillars of a building; "rooted and built up" (Colossians 2:7). The apostle here refers to and resumes the thought with which the previous chapter closes; the comparison of the church collective to a temple of which individual believers are the materials, or component parts; and he seems to contemplate the temple in two aspects; on the one hand as formed by the plantation and growth of trees, and on the other as constructed by the skill and toil of workmen out of the stones of the quarried rocks. In either view, it is, in the first instance, indispensably necessary that the trees be, each of them apart, strong, firm enough to stand erect; and the stones strong, compact, square, and solid enough to lie in position and bear pressure. But that first condition being secured, something more is needed. The strong, well-growing trees must be capable of orderly combination, so as to constitute the temple’s leafy walls. The strong, well-polished stones must be capable of being adjusted and fitted in to one another, so as to make the entire temple structure secure, symmetrical, and imposing. In your case, the first necessity is met by faith; the second can be met only by love. For faith, while it strengthens you as individuals and strengthens you mightily, does not of itself bring you together, or form you into one body, one clump or building. In order to that, it must work by love. In its own proper nature, and as regards its immediate efficacy, it strengthens you personally, every one of you apart. It gives you courage and confidence, Christ by it dwelling in your hearts, to appear before God without shame and without fear. That is its legitimate and primary function, limited to a personal transaction and a personal dealing between you and God, having reference not to others but to yourselves alone, bearing exclusively on your personal relation to God and standing in his sight. If you and others, thus strengthened, are to grow together, or to be built together into a holy temple in the Lord, there is need of a principle, or influence, or power, more pliant and plastic, as well as more catholic and less self-regarding than faith. And what is needed is found in love, or in faith working by love. Love is the soil, rich, deep, and generous, and withal homogeneous all through, in which all the trees are rooted. It is also the soft and tender lime or mortar, the close-drawing and close-fixing cement, in which, through successive layers, the stones are deposited or imbedded. "Were the soil in which the trees are rooted not all of one kind, and that the best and the most kindly; were the trees rooted in soils which, though contiguous, were as diverse as the soils in the parable of the sower; no care or culture of any husbandman, however watchful and expert, could ensure their growing into anything else than a mixed and motley group of detached, ill-matched, ill-assorted stumps and stems, alike unfit and unworthy to have the sacred character of the house of God. So also, were the binding cement in which the stones are row by row grounded, of many different qualities and modes of acting, what but unseemly rents must ensue, and perilous cracks and flaws and fissures! But the soil is love; the cement is love. And it is love which is always and everywhere itself one; love, which makes all in whom it is implanted and imbedded, or rather who are implanted and imbedded in it, one; one in nature, one in heart and mind, one in the mutual embracing of one another, as of one family in the Lord. Yes, you are to be all rooted and grounded in one and the same love; the love which, flowing ever freshly forth from the warm bosom and large heart of the Eternal Father, flows ever freshly into your bosoms and your, hearts, through that faith wrought in you by the Spirit which opens your bosoms and your hearts for the indwelling in them of God’s dear Son; the love which reproduces itself in your bosoms, in your hearts, as you learn more and more to love, because God hath first loved you, and as God hath loved you, to love with the very love, forthgoing, forthflowing, wide, rich and free, with which God loves, when he so loved the world that he gave his only hegotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life; when not having spared his own Son, but given him up for us all, with him also he freely gives us all things. III. Faith and love lead on to comprehension or taking in; a comprehensive survey of something very vast; and vast in all directions (Ephesians 1:18). What is that whose breadth and length and depth and height you are to be able, through faith and love, to comprehend? Is it an attribute or affection, such as love, the love of Christ? I think not. We come to that presently, in a somewhat different connection. I rather find myself now, first strengthened as a believer, so as to be fit for standing alone; but at the same time, secondly, having all over me, and all through me, love; love being my soil and cement: I find myself thus introduced into a grand hall; a glorious amphitheatre, a temple of immeasurable dimensions; thronged and crowded with all the saints; all the holy ones; angels and men; into whose society I am strangely and of grace admitted. In company with them, and in full sympathy with them, I look behind, before, below, above; and see nought but one wellnigh boundless room and home for all the elect, all the saved. I comprehend its breadth and length and depth and height. It is not that I comprehend it, in all its vastness and in all its dimensions, so as to grasp it in my experience, or even in my imagination. No. I can comprehend it only as I may comprehend the multitudinous starry sky, when I come abroad on some calm, clear night, and gaze into the all but infinite, around, beneath, above. So, believing and loving; strengthened, through believing, and therefore able to stand erect and firm under the opened heavens; melted, through loving, into catholic and holy fellowship with all on whom these heavens open; I stand under the canopy of the highest azure sky, and look abroad, around, below, above. It is a great sight. And it is not as being alone that I look. It is as associated with all the saints; all the holy ones. I am myself one of the family that fills the house to overflowing; one of the society, for whose accommodation, I see with adoring gratitude and wonder, that, with all its vastness, the house is almost too small. I comprehend its breadth and length and depth and height only to realise, in common with all the saints with whom I comprehend it, that in all directions it defies any bounds I might assign to it. It goes far lengthways and broadways; far every way; all around; over all the universe where lost beings capable of salvation are to be found. This vast elastic net and comprehensive structure sweeps and gathers all around into its embrace. It goes down to the lowest depths of humanity’s utmost degradation, and carries all that it rescues to the highest heavenly elevation. It is a wonderful temple or tabernacle; and has wonderful qualities as a tabernacle, growing into a temple. It is, in that view, capable of the widest expansion. It is indeed a tabernacle indefinitely, if not infinitely, expansible in breadth and length and depth and height. And you, believing and loving, are brought to comprehend its being so. It is a blessed fruit of love, or of faith working by love. It is your being brought into intelligent and sympathising oneness with the great architect of the temple himself! Whether it is to be made up of trees, or of stones, it is viewed by you now in the light in which it is seen by him. You see it in a measure, in its breadth, length, depth and height as he sees it. You enter intelligently and sympathisingly into his great plan and purpose to gather into one family bearing his Son’s glorious name all in heaven and on earth that are his; to prepare in that family, and as embracing all its members, a fitting temple for his own inhabitation. Thus you comprehend, as far as it is to be comprehended by the understanding of the creature as now enlightened spiritually, the vast dimensions, in every direction, of the temple now in course of growth, or of building. Only let it be observed, you comprehend it with all saints; not in solitary musing or meditation; but in social Christian fellowship. It is but a dry and dead theoretical catholicity that you can reach in your lonely study. If you would really know the breadth and length and depth and height of the great common hall now in course of erection, it must be in sympathy and co-operation with all the holy ones. IV. Through this process of faith, love, and comprehension, we reach a marvellous knowledge; the knowledge of the unknowable, "to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge." The possibility of knowing what passes knowledge, has become a question or problem in philosophy; the possibility of our having any clear and reliable or trustworthy knowledge of what we cannot know thoroughly. It is a mere speculative juggle; such as the commonest everyday experience might expose. "We act constantly on the faith of a partial knowledge of men and things, holding the knowledge to be valid so far as it goes; otherwise, very often we could not act at all. All depends on what it is that is to be known. If it is what may be thoroughly known by our minds as now constituted and now enlightened, then we are bound thoroughly to know it. But who will say that the love of Christ is a thing of that sort? Especially when I begin to conceive of that love, not only in its bearing on my individual case, but in its relation to the vast purpose of the Father to gather into one all things in him, to form a universal family of all the saved, heavenly and earthly, bearing his name; to build a great temple, whose breadth and length and depth and height only faith divinely wrought and divinely working by love can comprehend. When I enter there, I come in contact with a love that passeth knowledge. In one view, indeed, it might seem, and it is true, that I best know the love of Christ, so far as it is knowable, through my own personal and individual experience; through his dealings with me and my dealings with him. It is thus that I know the love of Christ at first; and thus I must continue to know it first and primarily at every stage of my spiritual progress. It is vain and idle to say or think that I can ever at any time know the love of Christ in any wider aspect or application of it, if I am not at that very time first knowing it, so as to realise it, in its bearing on me; or as his loving me and giving himself for me. But while this is needful for the depth and warmth of my knowledge of the love of Christ, that it should be intensely personal; a knowledge of it as his love to me personally and individually; something more is needed for its width and comprehensiveness. In particular, something more is needed for its being a knowledge of his love as passing knowledge. For in order to that I must seek to know his love by entering into it and sharing it. I must not be merely a receiver or recipient of it, as the object on whom it is bestowed. I must rise to a participation with him in the very love itself which he feels and shows. I would know his love, not merely by the appropriation of it as running in the narrow channel of its most gracious adaptation to my case, but by real sympathy with it in its widest scope and sweep, as regards the whole counsel of God and the final setting up of his great temple. If, indeed, I am to know this love at all, or at all truly and adequately, I must know it thus not as an individual sitting apart, but in fellowship with all the saints. I must get out of myself, and my own individual case. I must make common cause with all who love the Lord Jesus, and join heartily with them in every work of faith and labour of love. And all this I must do, as sympathisingly, comprehending with them the love of Christ; his love to me; and to them as well; his love far reaching, in every direction, beyond them and me ; his love as the Good Shepherd, having other poor sheep that are not of this or that fold; his love bent upon there being but one fold under one Shepherd. To know that love of Christ is surely possible, if we seek to know it with all saints; not as if we would ourselves monopolise it, or appropriate it as exclusively or pre-eminently ours; but as willing to recognise its large and universal fulness. And it is a blessed knowledge, real and true, and therefore blessed; though it is the knowledge of what passeth knowledge. Nay, it is blessed because it is so. It is our entrance into an experience which can never be exhausted. To know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge! It is the beginning of an eternal scholarship; an endless progressive study. The theme of the study, Christ’s love, passeth knowledge; the study, therefore, can never reach completion. Throughout eternity we shall be ever learning to know the love of Christ, of which, the more we know it, we shall know that it passeth knowledge. In this sense, through eternity we shall be ever learning and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth, to the true and full knowledge of the love of Christ which passeth knowledge. V. There remains one other great and final consummation which the apostle’s prayer would have you to reach; "that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God." The idea is almost beyond belief, beyond conception. And yet, in connection with the apostle’s line of thought, it may become conceivable, yes, and believable too. He has, as it were, in vision before him, a holy temple; vast, immense; wondrously reared by a love that passeth knowledge; but reared in a manner and for a purpose fitted to make that love reliably known. It is meant to be for a habitation of God through the Spirit (Ephesians 2:22). That temple is to be filled with all the fulness of God; it must be so if he is to inhabit it. For he cannot be where his fulness is not; he cannot dwell where his fulness dwells not. If, therefore, he is himself to inhabit that temple, it must be filled with all his fulness. What was manifested symbolically and typically at the dedication of Solomon’s temple is to be fulfilled in this one. Then the cloud, the glory of the Lord filled the house of the Lord. That was a visible symbol of Jehovah’s presence; not certainly his fulness. But the New Testament spiritual temple is really filled with his own very fulness. It may well be so. All its materials are separately filled and prepared by the Spirit. Christ dwells by faith in every one of them. They are lovingly compacted together. And together they form a holy temple, and one all but infinitely wide in all its dimensions, such as may be well and worthily filled with all the fulness of God. But of such a temple, composed of such materials, must it not be true that what fills the whole, fills also every part? For in truth the parts are so related to the whole, that the whole cannot be ultimately filled with anything with which all the parts are not first severally and separately filled. It is, and can only be, through all the parts being severally filled, that the whole is filled. If it is the fulness of God that is to fill the entire structure, it must do so through its filling all the materials of which it is composed. In plain terms, the church collective cannot have in it more of the divine presence and the divine blessing than its members have in themselves individually. But the apostle would have you individually to reverse this order, and to look at this matter in another light. He would have you to seek to be yourselves filled with all the fulness of God, through your comprehending with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and knowing the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God. The fulness of God is in that great holy temple, composed as it is of living beings, intelligent and free; elect angels and the redeemed from among men; these last especially planted as goodly trees in the garden of the Lord; polished as well-hewn stones and stately pillars in his house. The fulness of God is in this vast erection; all his fulness; the fulness of all his perfections illustriously displayed; the fulness of all the riches of his grace and glory copiously bestowed. The whole fulness of God is there; all that he can ever show of his character; all that he can ever give of his bounty. He exhausts himself, as it were, to fill that immense living temple of all the saints; the countless assembly of his chosen and holy ones. You are joined with them; you are parts of the temple formed of them; and the fulness of God which fills it as a whole, fills you also as one of its parts. For this is the marvel of that fulness of God. It fills the universal church, the whole family in heaven and earth named of Christ; fills it to overflowing; for the universal church, even when it is complete, can scarcely contain it all. And yet your heart, O humble believer in Jesus, your single heart, your broken heart, can contain it all, as well as the universal church can. Yes, when the love of God is shed abroad in your heart through the Holy Ghost being given unto you; when he takes of what is Christ’s, and shows it unto you ; when the very love with which the Father loveth the Son dwells in you and he in you; and the very glory which the Father giveth the Son is given by the Son to you; when Father, Son, and Holy Ghost come and make their abode with you; when the mystery of a single soul saved, and that soul your own, grows in your apprehension into the mystery of a mighty multitude, ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands, out of every kindred and tongue and people and nation, singing the new song; when your heart takes in these two mysteries and realises them as one, the one mystery of godliness, is it not indeed filled to overflowing with all the fulness of God; the fulness of all that he is, all that he has, all that he gives? Two practical reflections, suggested by the subject we have been considering, may close this discourse. I. How personal and individual a matter is the religion of Jesus! There is no salvation in it for sinners in the mass; no wholesale amnesty or deliverance. Every one must stand alone. There must be a personal and individual reckoning with every one separately, alone, and by himself; first a smiting, and then a strengthening. This is a solemn thought for the ungodly. Though hand join in hand the wicked shall not escape punishment. There is no safety for thee, 0 sinner, in a crowd. Thou canst not hide thyself in the multitude of thy companions, or lean on their support, or justify thyself by pleading their countenance and concurrence. Alone, thou must meet thy God; alone, in thine own solitary impotence and helplessness, without strength; alone, by thyself, to be graciously strengthened with might if thou wilt; but yet anyhow thou must meet thy God alone. Alone thou meetest him when thou comest to thy last hour. Ah, the terror of that view of death, its solitariness. Friends may go with thee to the verge of the dark valley, but thou passest through it alone. Loving faces may be around thy bed, loving voices may be whispering in thine ear; but lo, the cold hand of death is upon thee, and thou art alone; alone with thy God; face to face alone with thy Maker and thy Judge! Ah, rather be alone with him now! Come out from the company in whose companionship thou hast been vainly dreaming of security. Say not, "a confederacy" to all them to whom they say "a confederacy." Come out and stand alone before thy God. Let him deal with thee by thyself, apart, now; as if thou wert the only sinner in all his wide creation. Stand! Nay, thou canst not stand that awful ordeal, that lonely solitary dealing, when thou lettest go thy hold of all thy comrades and art alone with thy God. Thou art weak, helpless, undone. Thou faintest, thou fallest. Oh, blessed fall, thou lone and lost one! Thy God raiseth thee up. Thy Saviour is himself thy strength, his Spirit brings him near; near to thee, to thee alone. And thou nearest his voice as he enters thy heart and thou openest to let him in. "Peace be unto thee, thy sins be forgiven thee, thou art strengthened. I am thy strength; I, Jesus, who am Jehovah thy righteousness, and therefore Jehovah thy strength." II. How wide and catholic a matter is the religion of Jesus! Dealt with thus alone, 0 poor soul! thus faithfully, thus graciously, thou dost not continue to be alone. The faith which saves thee is thine own solitary act, grasping Christ for thyself alone, as loving thee and giving himself for thee. But the love by which faith works cannot breathe in solitude. No, it introduces you into fellowship with the great heart of the Father, in his purpose to gather into one all in Christ. You are invited, you are called, to enter with lively sympathy with that purpose in all its wide sweep and compass. It is your privilege to be fellow-workers with the Father, and the whole family, in carrying it out. That is your high vocation. The reproach is sometimes cast upon the doctrine of grace that it tends to foster a selfish frame of mind. "We are represented as caring only for our own personal salvation, congratulating ourselves on our security, as a select circle of heaven’s favourites, and complacently consigning well-nigh the whole race of men to ruin. The reproach is undeserved. Let us prove it to be so. Let us meet it practically. Let us with all saints comprehend the vastness of the divine plan of love. Let us labour in the building of the all vast, boundless temple, that is to be an habitation of God through the Spirit. Let us watch and pray, until " before Zerubbabel the great mountain shall become a plain, and the headstone of the house shall be brought forth with shoutings; Grace, grace, unto it." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 22: 04.05. CHAPTER 5: THE UNITY OF THE SPIRIT : THE BOND OF PEACE* ======================================================================== Chapter V. THE UNITY OF THE SPIRIT : THE BOND OF PEACE* "Endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace" - Ephesians 4:3 Two questions may here be raised— I. What is to be kept? - "The unity of the Spirit." II. How is it to be kept? "With endeavour in the bond of peace." I. What is to be kept is the unity of the Spirit. This phrase may admit of different interpretations, but I am inclined to understand it in its most strictly literal sense, as indicating the unity of which the Holy Spirit is the author; that oneness of believing men in Christ which is the Spirit’s new creation. Of course, in that view, it must be a unity corresponding in its nature and character to the nature and character of him who is its author and creator. It cannot therefore be merely outward and formal. It may be that; but it must be something more than that. It must be inward and spiritual. And the outward and the inward, the formal and the spiritual, must meet in this unity, and harmonise and be at one. (* This sermon, originally prepared and delivered as the first of a series on the practical part of the epistle, was preached in Free St. George’s on the first Sabbath after the rising of the General Assembly of the Free Church of Scotland, 1873, with a conclusion referring to the discontinuance by that Assembly of the negotiations for union between the Free Church of Scotland, the United Presbyterian Church, the Reformed Presbyterian Church, and the Presbyterian Church in England; and it was published immediately thereafter by Messrs. Maclaren and Macniven, along with an Appendix, containing the Acts of that Assembly on the subject; the dissent of Mr. Nixon, Dr. Begg, Dr. Forbes, and others; and the explanatory statement of Dr. Duff, Lord Dalhonsie, Dr. Candlish, and others. It is now reprinted just as then published.) For the Holy Spirit is one. And what the Holy Spirit makes or forms is one; like the pure and perfect manhood of the incarnate Son, the Lord Jesus, which he fashioned in the virgin’s womb. The Church is Christ’s body; fashioned also by the Holy Ghost, in the womb, as it were, of the pure and glorious gospel, out of which, by the power of the Spirit, it comes. And it comes as being one; indivisibly one, as was the manhood of that holy child Jesus, born of the Spirit in Bethlehem’s stable. In that unity, however, there may be said to be two elements, or what we may call factors; the outward form and the inward spirit or life, corresponding to the true flesh and the rational soul in the one man Christ Jesus. So the Church, which the Spirit makes one in Christ, which is Christ’s one body, may have its external, visible, tangible, embodiment or substance, as well as its internal principle of vitality. It may have the Spirit’s own dove-like shape or form, as well as the Spirit’s unseen power. Thus the unity may be regarded as twofold. It may be viewed in two lights - as outwardly manifested, and as inwardly wrought. But in either view it is -mthe unity of the Spirit. It is unity of which the Spirit is the immediate author. It is unity of the Spirit’s making. 1. Look at its outward manifestation. Where, you ask? Where are we to look for, that we may look at, this outwardly manifested unity of the Spirit? There is unity - visible unity - of various kinds and degrees, within the realms of Christendom. There are different outwardly manifested unities. There is the unity of which Rome makes her boast: the unity of which the Papal throne is the symbol: and priestcraft the cement. There is the unity which the sanction and control of civil authority, the strong arm of civil law, may give to a corporation, embracing diverse sects and vexed with endless strife, resounding with the din of confused and conflicting voices. There is the unity which the holding of a common creed suggests, and which the signing of a common formula is meant to seal. There is the unity which, disclaiming and disdaining all such ties or helps, affects to rest on the higher, broader basis of an agreement to think more freely than the common mass. There is the unity that springs out of the claim of superior sanctity, hugging itself in its own select circle, and saying to yonder publican, Stand by, for I am holier than thou. There are thus Church Unities, of the ecclesiastical, the national, the voluntary sort. There are unities of the conclave, the council, the cabinet, the coterie; the party, or the sect. Which one of them all is the unity of the Spirit? Is any one of them such a unity as may be worthily ascribed to the Holy Ghost as its author? - such a unity as he may be supposed to make? Alas, that we have to answer, No! Is there then no such thing as an understanding, realisable, unity of the Spirit? Has the unity which he originates and creates, no outward manifestation or embodiment at all? Nay. I do believe in the visible church, and in its visible unity. I believe in the holy catholic church as one; and visible as one. It is visibly one, as being holy and catholic. It is holy, as consecrated to God. It is catholic, as embracing all in its universal love. That is its real and essential unity. It is the unity of holiness and of love. And, as such, it is a unity that may be seen, and known, and read of all men. For, holiness and love, godliness and charity, if they exist at all, must make themselves visible. A holy and loving man, or woman, or child, is not an inward ideal, but an outward, palpable reality. The Spirit makes holy and loving men, and women, and children. And that is his unity in its outward manifestation, as well as its inward birth. Thus he manifests his unity, inwardly and outwardly. That is the visible unity which he produces; which alone is worthily and truly his. Let no man disparage, or doubt, or undervalue it; even as thus put in its germ or seed. Let no man complain of it as being too vague, shadowy, and undefined. No doubt the unity of a common badge, or of a common dress, a shaven crown, a red cross, a peculiar gown or hat, scarlet stockings, and the like, may be more discernible, and discernible with less trouble. It may be deceptive, nevertheless; specious, yet hollow; a seeming oneness, covering all but infinite diversities. But true holiness and true love are everywhere and always the same. And there is nothing under them. They cover nothing. Where holiness and love prevail, there can be no diversities. All holy and loving persons speak and act alike, because they think and feel alike. Is not that the true ideal of the holy catholic church? - holy and loving persons associated together? Do you still question if such unity as this is more than a name, a dream, as regards the church of Christ, subsisting upon earth? Where, you ask, are the people who are so manifestly and unequivocally one, in holiness and love, as you would have me to believe? Show me them. Bring them together before me; and let me compare them and count them. Nay, my friend! This incredulous demand of yours is scarcely reasonable. And yet, alas! I can find some apology for it, when I myself see how little many Christians whom I know, and whose Christianity I dare not doubt, do really lead such thoroughly holy lives as Christ led, and do really walk in love as Christ has loved them. But I entreat you, brother, to consider. May not the fault be partly in yourself ? May it not lie in your having so little of an eye to apprehend - so little of a heart to appreciate and to sympathise with - the holiness and love - the holy living and the loving working - which do, however imperfectly and inadequately, yet most truly characterise some few at least of your accquaintances, or have characterised some few historical names, - some few of the remembered dead? They may be very few; few faithful among many false or weak professors. But if there are only two or three, of whom you cannot but own that - dwelling far apart, of different natural temperaments, belonging to different sects, frequenting different circles, and mingling in different societies - they yet all agree in giving the unmistakable impression of their living habitually under the influence of loyalty to God and charity to man - all of them acknowledging Christ as their all in all, and being themselves in large measure consistently Christ-like as well as Christ-loving - that is to you the church visible - visible as one; made one by the Holy Ghost. That is "the unity of the Spirit," sufficiently manifested to you! Sufficiently, I say, to draw you over to this unity yourselves, or to leave you without apology if you continue in your unbelief! Sufficiently, I add, to make your case a very sad one, if - refusing to see in such a gracious work any higher hand than man’s - "or, it may be, ascribing it to agencies and influences even meaner still - you incur the guilt of those who said that Christ cast out devils by Beelzebub their prince. 2. I have dwelt thus long on the visible aspect of "the unity of the Spirit’’ which you are to endeavour to keep, because it is in that line that your endeavour must mainly be put forth. But I must remind you that the real seat of unity is within, in the heart. There, of course, it is invisible, save only to God the Father, who is indeed himself its living centre. For the unity which the Spirit effects among all the redeemed is primarily and essentially unity in God the Father; unity, in a high sense, with God the Father. It is the unity of which Christ speaks when he prays: "That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us; that the world may believe that thou hast sent me. And the glory which thou gavest me I have given them; that they may be one, even as we are one: I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one; and that the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them, as thou hast loved me" (John 17:21-23). That oneness which Christ thus seeks is the unity of the Spirit. The Spirit is himself one with the Father and the Son, in the divine unity or oneness with which, in some sense, the human is here so wonderfully identified. It is as being himself one with the Father and the Son, in their mutual indwelling in one another in love, that he makes us one; through the Son’s dwelling in us as the Father dwelleth in him; and the indwelling in us consequently of the very love with which the Father loves the Son. That is "the unity of the Spirit" the only unity that can be worthily ascribed to him. It is, as the Lord intimates, a unity which, in its fruit or issue, may be and must be visible; for by it the world is to "know that the Father hath sent him." But in its deep source and seat it is invisible. It is the secret of the Lord which is with them that fear him. It is a communication made by the Spirit of God to and within the deepest spirit in man. It is his causing you to know and believe the love with which God has loved you. It is not your loving God but his loving you - loving you as he loves his own Son - that constitutes your unity or oneness, first with God the Father, and then, in him, with one another as brethren. It is no narrow, earthly, selfish unity, but a unity wide and high and heavenly. II This unity of the Spirit is to be kept. l. There must be an endeavour to keep it . And 2. There is a bond provided for keeping it. 1. In the first place there must be an endeavour to keep it. And the endeavour must be most earnest and most strenuous. The word used is very emphatical. It implies a strong and sustained effort of will. And well it may. If it is indeed the unity of the Spirit, it may well require, as it well deserves, sedulous and anxious keeping. For it is a beauteous, heavenly vase, in the custody of rude, earthly hands. It craves tender handling. It is easily marred, cracked, and broken. It needs to be scrupulously watched and most assiduously guarded and fenced. On the one hand, the inmost shrine in which it is fashioned and nursed, the shrine of this poor heart of mine! What a receptacle, what a home for this seed, transplanted into it from heaven’s own soil! To keep that there - what an endeavour! Let me try to realise the thought. This "unity of the Spirit"! - it is, I repeat, the love wherewith the Father loveth the Son dwelling in me through the Son himself dwelling in me by the Spirit. Surely this is, almost without a figure, heaven on earth! It is the Father’s love to the Son, which is heaven’s glory, finding a lodgment on earth! And where? In me, consciously in me; in my heart. And what a heart! How weak, irresolute, infirm! How cold and carnal and worldly, even when renewed! To keep such a treasure in such a place; a gem so pure in a casket so open to all defilement - assuredly needs endeavour; the keeping of the heart with all diligence, since out of it are the issues of life. Then, on the other hand, the need is certainly not less among those issues of life which come out of the heart. If in the recesses of your own inward experience, the unity of the Spirit is so liable to suffer damage that there must be constant endeavour to keep it, it cannot well be less so when it comes in contact with the outer world. So to keep the unity of the Spirit, as to cherish always a vivid sense of your being one with the Son in his enjoyment of the Father’s love, and one with all that are his in the enjoyment of it - amid all jars and disagreements - ah, there must be careful, diligent endeavour! It will not keep itself. It is not according to nature; if it were, it might spontaneously keep itself. It is against nature. Count it not strange therefore if the keeping of it cost you effort. 2. In the second place, for your encouragement, there is a bond provided for keeping this unity; it is the bond of peace. The endeavour, strenuous and sustained as it must be, is not to be the endeavour of violence or excitement. It is no desperate groping and struggling in the dark that is required. The unity of the Spirit is to be sedulously kept. But the keeping of it is to be quiet, calm, peaceful. The bond, the girdle, which is to be the means of keeping it, is peace. What peace? "The peace of God which passeth all understanding, keeping your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ" "peace in believing;" the peace, his own peace, which Jesus bequeaths and gives - "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you : not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." It is not a peace which you have naturally, or can acquire by any exertion, or through any righteousness, of your own. It is of grace. Naturally you know not what it is. You are at enmity with God, your fellows, and yourselves; distracted in your own minds; uneasy in all your relations. In such a state there is no unity of any sort to be kept, unless it be the unity of a precarious truce, or a hollow compromise, or mere conventional courtesy and compliment, which is no real unity at all, and which any kind of peace may decently enough keep. The Spirit makes real unity by making real peace. And therefore it is in the bond of real divine peace that "the unity of the Spirit" is to be kept. First and chiefly, it is the peace of reconciliation to God that is here meant; "the peace with God" which, "being justified by faith, you have through Jesus Christ your Lord." It is idle to talk of your keeping the unity of the Spirit, or having any unity of the Spirit to keep, if you are strangers to that peace, if there is not some sense in your hearts of a well-grounded and assured peace between you and your God and Father in heaven. If the question of your standing in his sight - how it is between him as the righteous judge and you as guilty sinners - the question of questions for your perishing soul - is not settled; so settled as to breathe into your troubled spirit serene, secure, pure, and placid peace - if doubt, anxiety, misgiving, continue to haunt your bosom, as to whether you are still outcast, condemned, afar off, or justified, forgiven, accepted in the Beloved, brought nigh by the blood of Christ - what bond, what tie, what girdle, have you for keeping God, and you, and your fellow-men together as one - unless it be the cold cord of ceremony, or the brittle thread of routine? Be very sure that peace, peace of conscience on the footing of the great propitiation, peace sealed and ratified by the gift of the Spirit of adoption, peace implying no surrender on God’s part and admitting of no reserve on your part, - complete, confiding peace, - Christ’s own peace in the bosom of the Father, now that he has drained the cup of wrath; such peace alone can really bind in one, as the Holy Ghost would have to be bound in one, the Father, and the Son, and you, and the holy brethren. In vain, without the bond of that peace, you try to keep any unity deserving of the name. But having that bond in which to keep the Spirit’s unity, the only unity worth the keeping, you may go forth among earth’s manifold discords, confident that heaven’s harmony will overbear them all. For, let it be remarked, secondly, This peace of God ruling in your minds and hearts, and keeping them through Jesus Christ your Lord, overflows in copious streams all around, and becomes a sort of universal peace; benign, calm, quiet, all-pervading, all-embracing. The love of God - the love wherewith the Father loveth the Son, and loveth you even as he loveth him - that love, shed abroad in your hearts by the Holy Ghost given unto you; that holy, fatherly love of God, known, believed, felt - and that is peace - goes forth in holy, brotherly love, everywhere and always. This love, this peace, is the only uniting bond. An uneasy conscience; the consciousness or apprehension of an unsettled controversy on any point still outstanding between you and your God, or between you and your fellowmen ; such an uncomfortable state of the inner man, causing restlessness, fitfulness, irritability, cannot but hinder the cultivation of that "meek and quiet spirit," which is not only "in the sight of God an ornament of great price" but is also in the sight of men the most convincing and attractive manifestation by far of the holy loving unity which the Holy Ghost creates in and among all the saints of the Most High. "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you." In the bond of that peace, "keep the unity of the Spirit." My subject has been suggested by the recent proceedings in the General Assembly of our beloved Church. In applying it accordingly, I intend to confine myself to one aspect of the case; the "endeavour" which was required on the part of those who took a leading part in these proceedings, in order to "keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." I might speak of the Church in the third person; but it is easier and simpler to use the first person. We who, being the majority, had mainly the conduct of the affair all along, have had a hard task to perform, a difficult part to play. Let me advert to some of the difficulties. In the first place we had to consider our own position with reference to the whole union movement from the beginning hitherto, and the deep responsibility involved in its discontinuance. This was with us a far more serious matter than many thought, raising in our minds very anxious and perplexing deliberations. It seemed however to be taken for granted, in certain quarters, that if we hesitated about bringing to an end the union negotiations, it could only be from a regard to our own personal credit and consistency, and an unwillingness to submit to a personal disappointment. Pride, self-will, dogged obstinacy, sheer persistency and perversity of adherence to our own course, party-spirit, partisanship, must have been our ruling motives; else we might have yielded long ago to our friends in the minority, and given up the struggle. But we could not all at once see that to be the path of duty. We believed the cause which we advocated to be the cause of God, and our work in connection with it to be a work of God. We thought we might recognise his hand and Spirit in the progress of it. We hoped that as it advanced, farther difficulties might be removed, and the way made more plain. We did not feel at liberty lightly to despair of a happy issue. And we could by no means be sure that it might not be the will of God to accomplish, the desired end through painful processes, and that it might not consequently be binding upon us to persevere, as we had the right and power to persevere, in carrying forward and carrying out the plan of a general fusion of the negotiating bodies into one, even at the risk of greater evils attending it than had been experienced, and far more serious partial heats and divisions. For my part, it was a great relief to me to find my friends so willing to join in subscribing a document, which so far saves and protects our consciences, as it is a formal explanation of our reason for consenting to an interruption and pause in this labour of love, and a solemn protest that we have been acting in good faith. Then, secondly, we had to consider our relation to the churches with which we have been negotiating, and the brethren in these churches with whom we have been conferring. With the very clear and decided conviction which we entertain of their entire agreement with us in all essential points of doctrine, worship, and discipline, and the experience we have had of their truly Christian spirit, we could not consent to any close of the negotiations that, either as to the matter or as to the manner of it, might seem to involve discourtesy, or rude abruptness, or careless indifference. In particular, we could not bear the thought of the most pleasant and profitable intercourse of ten long years coming to an end in its present form, without some sort of landmark or milestone being erected as an index of some advance having been made along the blessed road to union. To part ecclesiastically as if we had never met, to let the whole goodly array and fabric of materials that we have been trying to gather together and adjust for future use, fall to the ground, or vanish into thin air and leave no trace behind, would surely have been a lame and impotent conclusion of the whole matter, a pitiful ending of an bid song. We were constrained to insist on a more seemly and creditable catastrophe, or consummation, of the drama; and could be reconciled to the curtain falling, only when it had graven upon it in imperishable letters, on the one hand, the fact of the concurrent opinion of all the churches, that there is no bar in principle to an incorporating union, - and, on the other hand, the law which meanwhile provides for the reciprocal recognition of the fellowship of the ministry among them all. Lastly, we had to consider the position in which our brethren differing from us as well as ourselves, in fact, the entire Church collective, might ere long be placed, if the rule of a majority, with full liberty of dissent on the part of the minority, were to be denounced as spiritual tyranny, and an invasion of the rights of conscience; if, in other words, the majority, doing their very best to interpret and apply, under the guidance of the Spirit, the Word of Christ in any matter upon which they must make up their minds and decide and act, are after all to yield their own deliberate judgment thus reached, to the scruples of a minority who, after all, can sufficiently protect themselves, without extreme measures being threatened or carried into effect. We had to assert and maintain the possibility of lawful government in a free church of the living God. I have indicated some of the difficulties on our side of the question in our recent contendings, not certainly with anything like mortification or bitterness in my soul, but simply to show how much cause we have to thank the Lord who has brought our poor, weak, and sinful Church through so many embarrassments, and opened, as I trust, a bright future before us. Let there be much confession of guilt, and earnest cries for pardon on all sides. Let there be a healing of every breach. "Let all bitterness, and wrath, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from us, with all malice. Let us be kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake forgiveth us. Let us be followers of God, as dear children. And let us walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling savour." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 23: 04.06. CHAPTER 6: ONE SPIRIT, ONE LORD, ONE GOD AND FATHER ======================================================================== Chapter Six, ONE SPIRIT, ONE LORD, ONE GOD AND FATHER "There is one body, and one Spirit, even as ye are called in one hope of your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all." - Ephesians 4:4-6. THE three Persons of the Godhead are here remarkably brought out in connection with that unity of the Spirit which you are to endeavour to keep in the bond of peace. The Holy Ghost is in the first of these three verses. The Son is in the second. The Father is in the third. 1. (Ephesians 4:4). The apostle uses a favourite image here. The church is represented by the individual man; and the unity of the church is represented as like the unity of a man. In the one man there is duality: body and soul; an outward material frame and an inward living principle of intelligence and will. So also is it in the one church. It is outwardly manifested in the visible and palpable form of men evidently living holy and loving lives, for Christ’s sake and his Gospel’s. It is inwardly animated by the Holy Ghost in them all. There is an outward oneness of character and walk, as there is an outward oneness in the corporeal structure of a man. And there is an inward oneness, as of the soul in man. And this double unity is effected by no mystical process. It is brought about by a calling; a hopeful calling; the one hope of your calling. 2. (Ephesians 4:5). The one individual man, having a body and a soul, but still one, is one also as having and owning one head. Made one body and one spirit, through the one hopeful calling common to all, you are further one as recognising one Lord. And there is but one method of union with him, and with one another in him, faith, one faith; and one seal of that oneness of faith, one baptism. 3. (Ephesians 4:6). Thus called, in one hopeful calling, to be one body animated by one Spirit; thus united to one and the same Lord by one and the same faith, confirmed by the seal of one and the same baptism; they who constitute the one church come to stand in one and the same relation to the Suprem ; one God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all. There is, then, first, the one Spirit, making you, in one hope of your calling, one body, of which he is the living soul. Next, there is the one Head or Lord, to whom one faith unites you inwardly, while one baptism seals your union outwardly. Lastly, there is the one God and Father; your God by nature; your Father by grace; who now is not only, in virtue of his own sovereignty, over you all alike; but is also, in virtue of the mediation of his Son, through you all alike; and in virtue of the ministration of his Spirit, in you all alike. Thus the unity begins and ends with the Spirit. It is from first to last the unity of the Spirit. It is originated and consummated by the Spirit. 1. Its origin is the one hope of your calling. The calling is one; and its hope is one. There is a reference here to (Ephesians 1:18) the prayer on your behalf "that ye may know what is the hope of his calling." It is spoken of as God’s calling there; here it is yours. But it is the same calling that is meant in both passages; God’s calling you; his calling you hopefully. It is the Gospel call which is meant. In that call the unity of the Spirit begins. For it is to all of you one and the same; and, when rendered effectual, it begets in all of you one and the same hope. The Gospel call finds you all on the same footing, as all alike sinners dying in despair. When embraced it places you all on the same footing, as all alike now sinners living in hope. So, by means of this one hope of your calling, the one Spirit forms you into one body. Striving with you, he presses home upon you all alike the same overtures of mercy, peace, and reconciliation. He urges against you all alike the same sentence of condemnation which you have all alike deserved. He proclaims to you all alike the same message of forgiveness which you may all alike freely, without money and without price, receive. And then, besides not only striving with you, but moving and working in you, by one and the same process of conviction, enlightenment, and renewal, he effects in all of you one and the same result. It is one and the same sense of sin that he awakens in all your consciences, when he causes you to look on him whom you have pierced, and mourn. It is one and the same sight of Christ that he gives to all your understandings, when your minds are opened to perceive the divine method of salvation by him, and to approve of it. It is one and the same gracious consent that he wins at last from all your hearts, when, overcoming all your reluctance, your hesitation, your dislike and doubt, he makes you all alike a willing people in the day of the Lord’s power. 2. As by means of the one hope of your calling the Spirit forms you into one body, so, in doing that, he brings you under one head - one Lord, Christ. He unites you all alike to this one Lord. You are all one in your common oneness with this one common Lord, Christ. It is not merely that you all alike consent to acknowledge this one Lord. Such a unity might be of your own making; like the coming together and combination of many independent men under one common chief. But it is still the unity of the Spirit that is here intended. Your oneness, as having one Lord, is the Spirit’s doing. This is plain from its being connected with faith. For faith is the Spirit’s work. And if it is in respect of there being one faith that there is one Lord, this unity of a common headship - of there being one Lord - is something more than a mere human act of will; it is a divine operation; a divine effect. There is to all of you alike one and the same Lord, because there is wrought in all of you alike, by the one Spirit, one and the same faith. No man can call Jesus Lord but by the Holy Ghost. If you are all one in calling Jesus Lord, it must be by the Holy Ghost working in you all one faith. There is one Lord in whom you are all one, because you are all one with him, by one faith. Viewed in this light, the common relationship to Christ as one Lord, which we all alike have as believers, is seen to be very close and sacred. It is no ordinary lordship, like the ascendency which one master mind may wield over many admiring, consenting followers. It is, in a sense, the lordship of a natural oneness, a oneness of nature. There is now wrought between this one Lord, and all of you alike, a real oneness of nature. It is not merely that one and the same relation comes to subsist between him and all of you alike, there being the same reciprocity of authority on his part, and submission on yours, as regards all of you alike. It is that. But it is at the same time also something different and something more. It is that one and the same real, intimate, incorporating oneness, comes to exist between him and all of you alike; so that he is, not outwardly merely and relatively, but inwardly in the apprehension and grasp of your one faith, one and the same Lord of all of you alike; because you are all of you alike one with him. As the one Lord he is thus the one common life of all of you alike; making his life in God, his own very life in God, your life: the one common life of all of you alike. As the one Lord, apprehended, appropriated, by the one faith, he is the mind, and heart, and soul of all of you alike; leavening you all alike throughout and thoroughly with his own frame and temper of spirit; enlisting your sympathy; assimilating your nature to his own; so that you all alike come to think and feel in unison with him. As the one Lord he enters into and possesses the whole inner man of all of you alike; so that all of you alike have Christ dwelling in you by faith. As the one Lord, he identifies you all alike, not in law only, or in a legal form, but in a true and real personal union with himself; so that you, all of you alike believing, do really and truly, all of you alike, die with him in his death, and rise with him in his resurrection to newness of life. Thus there is one Lord and one faith. The one faith makes the Lord one and the same for all. And this union fitly symbolises itself in one baptism, as its sign and seal. For you are all alike baptized, in one and the same baptism, into one and the same Christ. And you are all alike baptized into him, as the one Lord. You are all of you alike baptized into his death and his resurrection; your baptism signifying and sealing, for all of you alike, your joint participation with him in his being delivered for your offences, and in his being raised again for your justification. Your baptism has, for all of you alike, one and the same signification. You are, all of you alike, baptized in one and the same faith, into one and the same Lord. There is one and the same Lord for all of you alike; one and the same faith embracing him; one and the same baptism sealing the embrace. 3. Over and above all this oneness; springing out of the one Spirit by means of the one hope of your calling uniting you into one body; this oneness of your having one Lord; apprehended as yours by one faith; sealed as yours by one baptism; a still higher unity is yours; one God and Father of all. One God and Father of you all; his Father and your Father; his God and your God. So the one Lord in whom all of you with one faith believe, and into whom all of you, with one baptism, are baptized, would himself lead you up to the highest ground and platform of this unity of the Spirit; your one common relation, his and yours together to the Supreme. For after all, ultimately, this unity - the unity of the one Spirit hopefully, because effectually, calling you; and the one Lord owning your one faith and confirming it in your one baptism, must have respect to God the Father. The Spirit, in this matter, glorifies the Son; and the Son glorifies the Father. By the one Spirit, in and through the one Lord, you are brought up face to face to meet, all of you together, the one God and Father of all. And how does he present himself to you, and so present himself to you as to make this your unity of the Spirit in the Son consummate and complete? All of you alike now with one eye see, and with one mind and heart and voice own, his sole and absolute supremacy. In the view of all of you alike he is now, as the one God and Father of all of you alike, " above all." You all of you feel him to be so ; you all of you would have him to be so. You are of one mind and heart in owning, and rejoicing to own, the one undivided sovereignty of your one God and Father. Your one Lord, by the working of the one Spirit in you, makes you one with himself in this; so that you, in and with him - all of you alike - are ever saying, "Father, thy will be done." "Even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight." And this you are the rather inclined and enabled to say, because the one God and Father, whom, in and with the one Lord, the one Spirit moves you, all of you alike, to own as over you all, is to be apprehended as also "through you all." With one heart and soul,you all alike worship this one God and Father of all, as above all. With one heart and soul, you also welcome him as through all. Yes. You now, all of you alike, know this one God and Father of all of you alike, not as one afar off and aloft, to be adored from a distance in trembling fear; but as one who conies among you and is present with you. All of you alike having one Lord are to recognise this one God and Father of all, his and yours, as not only over, but through and among you all. Still farther, he is to be recognised by all of you alike, as not only above you all and through or among you all, but really and truly "in you all." He is so, and he can be so, only by his Spirit. It is the Spirit, the Holy Ghost, who alone enables you to realise the great fact of the one God and Father of you all being not only above you all and through or among you all, but in you all. This, in fact, is the crown and consummation of the Spirit’s work in bringing about the unity which is his own. Through the one Lord he leads you up to the one God and Father of you all; and to him above, and through, and in you all. If the unity of the Spirit is such a unity as this, it is, and should be, a visible unity. It may be visible in an individual believer; in his holy profession and consistent walk. Every one of you singly and separately may exhibit this unity of the Spirit as imparting to your character a certain unity, not otherwise, not naturally belonging to it. David had some apprehension of this when he said (Psalms 27:4), "One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after." And again (Psalms 57:7, and Psalms 108:1), "My heart is fixed, 0 God ! my heart is fixed." For in myself, and when I am left to myself, that can scarcely be true of me. Waywardness, wantonness, fickleness, in a word, unfixedness, is rather my natural turn of mind. No doubt, a strong worldly necessity or a keen worldly ambition may sometimes steady me and make my worldly life to a considerable extent a unity. Even then, however, the nnity is only partial, often fitful. Nature resents the pressure of one continuous strain in one direction, and relieves herself, it may be, by random sallies of caprice. The unity of the Spirit, even in the individual believer, is of a different sort. It does no violence to his nature, by giving any one part of it exclusive prominence. It keeps his nature whole and entire, elevating all its parts harmoniously. Hence, the most natural of all men is the child of God; the most various; and yet always one and the same. The unity of the Spirit in him is no monotony; no harping on a single string. It is large and free, as the breath of heaven, or the experience of earth. He goes forth among his fellows with the impress, not of a dead uniformity, but of a living unity, stamped upon his whole character and life. None can mistake either the one or the other. He need not be stiff and formal, the slave of martinet routine. He may adapt himself to circumstances, and interest himself in the concerns of all around him. He may become all things to all men. Only it will be clear that it is with the one view of Paul: "that I might by all means save some." Only let this be clear, 0 my brother! Settle it with yourself, that, as called to this divine oneness in the Lord, you are as he is in the world. Then let all men know, by your whole walk, that you are so. Your own single testimony will be a demonstration such as men will not be able to gainsay of the unity of the Spirit. Ah! let us each, in this matter, begin at home. We mourn over the comparatively little that there is of real and true brotherhood among the children of God. And there is too good ground for humiliation as to this. But what is the readiest and most effective remedy? Let us, each of us, individually and privately realise more of this unity of the Spirit in our own individual experience; more of its elements; more of its essence; more of its identity with the divine unity itself. Then, when we meet, coming fresh, each of us individually, from the secret place of the Father where we habitually dwell, we shall better recognise and understand one another. There will be less embarrassment, less reserve, more of the full communion of the saints. And when we separate to go about our several occupations in the world, and mingle with all sorts of persons, they will see in each of us apart, and when they come to compare notes, in two or three of us together, indications of a certain fixed unity of feeling, sentiment, aim, and end, having constant reference to God and his will, such as they cannot account for otherwise than by admitting that these men have been with Jesus. Tor the sedulous keeping of such a unity as this, the cultivation of these precious graces, lowliness, meekness, long-suffering, the mutual forbearance of love, must be above all things indispensable. A lowly esteem of self, with, as a consequence, a large and loving tolerance for others, is its best preservative. Nothing can be more damaging, more ruinous, to it than spiritual pride. The very slightest touch of that satanic breath or spirit is sure to mar the heavenly vase, and may go far to break it. I call it a satanic breath or spirit. And well may it be so called. For it was that which marred and broke the unity of heaven. Ah, there was no lowly meekness, no loving patience among those who would not, at the Father’s command, worship the First-begotten. For the secret of this meek and quiet spirit is this worship of the Son. That gives the death-blow, as nothing else can, to spiritual pride. I cannot, if I am really adoring the Son, especially if I am adoring him as redeeming me, a poor sinner, by his most precious blood, I cannot be keeping any publican at arm’s length, or saying, Stand by, for I am holier than thou. Therefore, 0 my friends, be ye ever thus adoring, worshipping the Son; that will make you and keep yon lowly and meek, long-suffering, forbearing towards one another in love. And so it will conduce greatly to your keeping the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. For the Spirit’s unity is his making you one with Christ and with God; and there is no pride in Christ or in God; nothing but grace; no bidding of any sinner away; but the bidding of all sinners to come near. Pride, spiritual pride, must be fatal to a unity like that. But the worshipping of the Son is fatal to pride. Therefore, I repeat, be ever worshipping the Son; believingly, gratefully, lovingly, be worshipping him evermore. Your worship of him will do what all believing, grateful, loving worship does. It will assimilate you more and more to him whom you worship. It will make you more and more one with him in his meekness and lowliness of heart; more and more one with him in his cry to the weary, Come unto me; in his weeping at Bethany; in his saying, "Thy sins be forgiven thee." It is at the Father’s command that you worship the Son, and your worship of the Son, being very well pleasing in his eyes, commends you to the Father’s love. The Father himself, says Christ, loveth you, because ye have loved me, believing that I came out from him. This special love of the Father, as the one God and Father of you all; above you all; through you all; in you all; is the highest culminating perfection and consummation of the unity of the Spirit. He makes you one, in your joint possession of this one God and Father of you all; in your joint participation of the fulness of his love, as above, and through, and in you all. To have one God and Father thus ever near, on every side, above, around, among, within; to have such oneness in and with so great a God, so gracious a Father; is indeed unity of a high sort. It passeth knowledge. But it is to be reached experimentally, in the way of a growing love to the Son for the Father’s sake, and a growing worship of the Son at the Father’s command. For thus you win, as it were, more of the Father’s love, in very proportion to the love he has for the Son. You come to have, if I may so say, a warmer place in the Father’s heart. So the unity of the Spirit comes to be more and more, in your conscious experience of it, that of truest fatherhood on God’s part, and truest sonship on yours. Need I add that it will be more and more that of truest brotherhood among yourselves? For it is the unity of which the Elder Brother speaks when he prays for all who may believe on him; "that they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me and I in thee; that they also may be one in us;" "that they may be one, even as we are one." Though the consummation of this unity of the Spirit is thus high; so high that it might seem as if you could not attain to it, yet, let me remind you, the commencement of it, the initial step, is low, low enough to be within the reach of all. For it is your being called in one hope of your calling. Though the Spirit, in perfecting this unity, would raise you to the very throne and heart of the one God and Father, he begins the process on the level of your utmost depths of misery and sin. For he begins with the Gospel call as a call full of hope. To whom? To the lost, the guilty, the unclean, the undone; full of hope to them now; just as they are; in their low and desperate estate. It is the one Gospel call: that call of rich, free, sovereign love; which is ever one and the same to all; the same to you, 0 my brother sinner, as to me; not less needed by me than by you; not more free to me than to you. It is that call which the Spirit uses as his first and only instrument, in his great work of bringing together in one in Christ the mighty multitude out of every people and kindred and nation and tongue, who, accepting, all of them, one and the same gracious pardon now, are to sing, all of them, one and the same song of praise hereafter. He is using that Gospel call now; using it with me; using it also with you. Oh! Grieve him not. Resist him not. Is he not moving you to compliance now? Then today, while it is called today, harden not your hearts. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 24: 04.07. CHAPTER 7: THE CHURCH EDIFIED, AND EDIFYING ITSELF. ======================================================================== Chapter Seven THE CHURCH EDIFIED, AND EDIFYING ITSELF. "But unto every one of us is given grace according to the measure of the gift of Christ. Wherefore he saith, "When he ascended up on high, he led captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men". (Now that he ascended, what is it but that he also descended first into the lower parts of the earth? He that descended is the same also that ascended up far above all heavens, that he might fill all things.) And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers; for the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ: till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ: that we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive; but speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ : from whom the whole body fitly joined together and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love." - Ephesians 4:7-16. THE leading thought, all through, in this whole passage (Ephesians 4:4-16), is the oneness of the body of Christ. And that oneness is brought out in three consecutive and closely connected points of view. First, there is the constitution of the body (Ephesians 4:4-6). Secondly, there is the ministry provided for the nourishment of the body (Ephesians 4:7-12). And thirdly, there is the body’s power of spontaneous growth and progress towards perfection (Ephesians 4:13-16). These are the three connections in which the word "body" here occurs. First, "one body" (Ephesians 4:4). Secondly,"the edifying of the body of Christ" (Ephesians 4:12). Thirdly, "the body edifying itself" (Ephesians 4:16). Having considered the first of these views, let me ask attention to the other two, briefly, for I attempt no full exposition. A living organised body requires for its subsistence and development (I.) An outward system of means and ministries ; and (II) An inward power or capacity of making these means and ministries available for its subsistence and due development. And if the body is complex and various, the means and ministries may be expected to be manifold. So also must be the power or capacity of improving them. Yet all must be found tending to unity. The Church is such a body, complex and various: "Unto every one of us is given grace according to the measure of the gift of Christ" (Ephesians 4:7). It is composed of members having graces and gifts all but infinitely diversified. To meet the case of such a body, and foster its growth to maturity, the outward appliances and the inward impulses must also be very varied. I. There are various outward appliances; all meant for the edifying of the body of Christ (Ephesians 4:8-12). These may be regarded as comprehending generally all the spiritual instrumentalities and gifts brought to bear upon the church and its members from without and from above. For the apostle is not here laying down the platform of church government, or determining formally and authoritatively what offices had been, or were to be, owned and sanctioned in the church. He is not thinking of that, but of something else. He merely names the ministries then in exercise. He names them simply to bring out their variety of function, in connection with their unity of aim. They are all of them, as then subsisting, among the gifts which, when he ascended up on high, leading captivity captive, Christ received of the Father that he might give them unto men. They are widely different from one another, in respect of their inherent nature and their official use. But all their differences tend to unity, and they work together for one ultimate end. Thus we have, first, apostles hearing witness to the resurrection of the Lord, from their intimate personal acquaintance with him, and their directly receiving communications from him in his risen state. Then, secondly, we have prophets; men endowed with supernatural insight and foresight as to the mind and purpose of God. Then, thirdly, we have evangelists, possessed of burning zeal to conquer new realms for Christ; and of ripe wisdom also to organise their conquests. Fourthly, there are pastors, to lead and nourish, as shepherds, the flock of Christ, feeding them with heavenly food. And, fifthly, there are teachers, to instruct the ignorant, to guide inquirers in the right way, and to assist all the people to grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. These are the means and ministries of grace in full force and play at the time of the apostle’s writing his letters; various in their character, so as to meet varieties of condition and circumstances among the members of the church, but all working together for the church’s unity, having one aim, one end, one tendency. And what is that? It may seem, and indeed is in one view, twofold. It contemplates "the perfecting of the saints;" their progressive sanctification and growth to perfection; it contemplates also, not only their personal progress and perfection, but their work, their ministry, their deaconship; the obligation lying on them to do good, to be of the same mind with Christ, when he said that he came not to be ministered unto, but to minister. But though thus twofold in the working out of it, the end is one. These various appliances, apostolical or divinely authoritative, prophetical or divinely intuitional, evangelistic or missionary, pastoral, didactic; promoting inward progress towards perfection in the saints, and prompting them to outward service; all tend to one result, the drawing of the whole together; the edifying of the body of Christ (Ephesians 4:12). II. In this process of edification the body of Christ is not passive. It has inward vitality; internal vital impulses and movements. And these also are various, as are the ministerial influences from without (Ephesians 4:13-16). And yet they too all tend to one and the same result; the edifying of the body of Christ; its edifying itself (Ephesians 4:16). For it is correct now to speak of the body edifying itself. It is not merely subjected to an outward process of edification; it has in it an inward principle of self-edification. It grows to maturity, not only in virtue of outward influences and appliances, but in virtue also of impulses and movements and aspirations from within. And these, however various, all tend in one direction and to one issue, the edifying of the body of Christ; its not only being edified, but edifying itself. This is indicated in the opening words of Ephesians 4:13 - "Till we all come." The risen Saviour gives certain gifts to us for certain effects to be wrought on us, till we all come, with a view to our all coming to one goal. Not as dragged, or forced, or driven by external compulsion or constraint; but as reaching what we have ourselves been aiming at. It is clearly implied that we all, who are members of the body, however different our circumstances may be, and however different our paths, are yet moving to one goal. What that is the apostle indicates in Ephesians 4:13 : "Till we all come to (not ’in’) the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ." Oneness of faith and knowledge as regards the Son of God is the great terminus ad quern, the meeting-point for all the members of the body. Oneness of faith and knowledge about the Son of God is what constitutes the church’s perfect manhood, her full-grown mature unity; and that according to the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ. There is ripeness or maturity of manhood among Christians in proportion as there is oneness of faith and knowledge about the Son of God. To that we are all to come at last: to that we are all coming now. But our coming to it implies the fulfilling of two terms or conditions: - First, There must be an end of all childishness or infantile imbecility; of mere passive submission to external influences (Ephesians 4:14). And, secondly, there must be wrought in us an active, energetic principle, bent on doing the true thing, and doing it lovingly (Ephesians 4:15). There can be no growth, no tendency to oneness of faith and knowledge about the Son of God, where there is nothing more than a sort of childish receptivity. But let there be wrought in us a fixed, manly determination to embrace and act out the truth lovingly, cordially, affectionately, with our whole souls and hearts. Then there is a growing up into Christ. There is a growing up of the whole nature into him. All of us, the members, thus exercising ourselves truly and lovingly, grow up into Christ. And all growing up into him, we draw from Him an all-pervading element of unity. Mark, then, the two causes or conditions of that growth which is the full development of the unity of the body of Christ. On the one hand (Ephesians 4:7-12) there is the outward ministry, in all its variety of means and influences, adapted to the double character which all Christians have to sustain as saints and deacons; personally sanctified and set apart as holy unto the Lord, and officially, as it were, called to be workers, fellow-workers, with the Lord. In the one character they need to be perfected, completed. Their consecration to the Lord, their coming out from the world, their devoted-ness, their piety, their godliness, all the elements of the hidden life of God in their souls; their spiritual tastes, convictions, and affections; all need to be becoming more thorough, real, intense. In the other character they need to be stimulated, encouraged, guided, stirred up to love and to good works; made to walk and abound more and more in all good works. For both ends the outward ministry in the church is available. Let us "be edified." Then, on the other hand (Ephesians 4:13-16), there is the inward principle of activity, causing you to be ever coining, as by a spontaneous movement, into oneness of faith and knowledge of the Son of God. That principle is faith working by love. It is "speaking the truth in love." It is our being true and loving; true to ourselves, loving towards others. Thus let us be true and loving, and so expect the double blessing. We grow up more and more into him who is the Head in all things. And this growing up into him, making our union more close, more vital, more of a real identification, draws out from him, more and more, the living virtue which, pervading the whole frame, and putting fresh oil into every joint, brings out in fullest symmetry all its various susceptibilities of growth and faculties of motion, and so makes it increase and edify itself. Such is the divine ideal of the church and of its unity ; its living, growing unity. I cannot now enlarge on the whole subject thus brought before us. But I fasten upon the one thought that all is of Christ the risen Saviour. He gives the Spirit, the source and spring in us of life and growth. And he gives the means and ministries needful instrumentally for that life and that growth. In particular he gives " pastors and teachers," the standing ministry in his church till now. But now, how is this gift to be ascertained and verified? How is a pastor and teacher to be recognised and identified as really given by the risen and ascended Lord to the church at large, or to any single congregation in particular? Apart from any outwardly supernatural designation or sign, we must look to indications and evidences of a more inward character. And we can look for such indications and evidences only in the line of the views and feelings of the parties called to judge in the matter. I. First among these is the individual himself who is proposed as pastor and teacher. He must, in the first instance, take the responsibility of saying that he believes himself to be Christ’s gift to the church. He must avow, and act upon the avowal, that his call to the ministry is from Christ. Nothing can relieve him of the burden of that decision, no human opinion, no human authority. Human opinion, and the influence of human authority, he may fairly weigh. In making up his mind, he must take these elements into account. On the ground and warrant of such pressure from without, on the part of the Christian commonwealth, men of old were constrained to accept office in the church. And there is no reason why similar instances might not occur in a lively and reviving state of religion. Still, ultimately, however his mind may have been moved by such considerations brought to bear upon him from without, his ultimate determination must be, not only, as regards the church, his own free and voluntary act; but his act acknowledging, as regards the Supreme Head of the church, an inward movement that leaves him no discretion, a call from above which he cannot disobey. It is indeed a solemn and awful question that he has thus to raise and answer. And it is one which every student, every preacher, every minister, must be continually, from time to time, putting to himself, Am I Christ’s gift to his church? Am I that now? Was I that long years ago when I entered on my ministry? Am I that still; my ministry having lasted so long since then? I cannot evade the question, as a present question, no matter how long a time I have been in the Gospel-harness. I must realise now, not merely what I may hopefully look upon as having been a warrantable call to adopt the ministerial profession more than a quarter of a century ago, but what may give me some confidence as to my being Christ’s gift to the church now. I must feel that I have, not merely a past, but a present call to the ministry. On what evidence I may feel that I have that; or on what evidence one entering on the ministry may feel that he has it, is a question on which I cannot now enlarge. I would only say that there is this distinction between him and me: - He must judge for himself without experience; without actual trial of his ministry. I have a far deeper and far more formidable question to raise. Have you found me faithful? Are you the seals of my ministry? II. The second party in this matter is the church; or the collective body of Christians in any place or under any organisation, acting as a collective body through its appropriate and appointed official channel; its legitimate scripturally-sanctioned representatives and agents. To simplify the matter, I take the presbytery, the radical court in our church, as regards the point in question; and the court for which we think we can plead direct apostolic authority. "What have these presbyters to do when a man presents himself, or is presented to them, as a candidate for the ministry, for the office of pastor and teacher? What question have they to decide? Plainly this, Is he Christ’s gift? His gift to the church at large? His gift to any particular congregation soliciting his services? Whatever rules may be laid down as to the training of students, whatever conditions may be attached to the disposal of calls; in the long run, and in the last resort, the church, in its presbyteries and other courts, has to face this as the crucial and testing appeal to her : Is the man now before us one whom we ought to recognise as given by the Head of the church to be a pastor and teacher, in the church generally, or specially in this congregation? We license and Ordain and induct. But in all that we do not act as exercising a right, and asserting a discretion of our own. We simply seek to ascertain, as best we can, and to acknowledge and carry out, the mind of the church’s Head. No doubt, in the absence of miraculous indications from above, and the power of discerning spirits here below, we must, in faith and prayer, use and trust our own judgment; looking to personal qualifications and providential leadings. And, knowing our own weakness, we must guard against caprice and partiality, by enacting and enforcing general regulations on the subjects of the curriculum of students and the calling of ministers. But that does not shift, or in the least affect, the real state of the case, as we have ultimately to dispose of it. In principle it always comes back to this plain, issue: - here is, by supposition, a man, offering himself, or permitting himself to be offered, to the church, or to one of her charges, as Christ’s gift; not merely at his own hand seeking office, but called and sent by Christ. That must be postulated, or assumed, or taken for granted, in the first instance. And what have we, the church’s office-bearers, to do, on behalf of Christ, the church’s Head? Simply to form and give forth our opinion as to whether what the man professes for himself, or his friends allege of him, is in our judgment, after full trial, in the light of Scripture, and with prayer for the Spirit’s guidance, true or not. If, in some extraordinary instance, we conclude that this is true of one who has not complied with our rules, these rules must give place and give way. Even when these rules have been most punctually observed, there still remains the question, Is the man. Christ’s gift? III. There is a third party, when the case is one, not of a general license to preach the Gospel, but of ordination or induction into a particular ministerial charge. The congregation comes now upon the field, without whose call or consent we hold any such transaction to be unscriptural and unlawful, sinful and wrong. We maintain the indefeasible right of the flock to choose its own pastor: we stand for popular election. But we do so with this clear and solemn intimation, that in availing yourselves as a congregation of your right, you have to entertain and dispose of the very same question which, as we have seen, the individual believer has in the first instance to face for himself with reference to his warrant for entering on the office of pastor and teacher, and which we, as rulers in the Church, have to face for ourselves, with reference to our acknowledgment of him, in that character and capacity. Is he one whom you can and ought to regard as given by Christ to you, or rather to the congregation of which you are one? Obviously there is here something more than the mere exercise of a privilege or right, in the ordinary sense of these terms; something, in fact, altogether and widely different. Your position is really reversed. You have to ascertain, as best you may, not your own mind, but Christ’s; not what you would have, but what he gives. No doubt, in trying to ascertain that, you must do what the other parties concerned are entitled and constrained to do. You must exercise your own judgment, in the light of Scripture and with prayer for the Spirit’s guidance, upon all the materials within your reach. You must inquire, and examine, and make diligent search. And you are at full liberty, nay you. are imperatively bound, not merely to weigh scrupulously all information coming to you through most competent and trustworthy testimony, but to consult your own impressions and feelings, in so far as you have the means of personal and experimental trial of a man’s gifts and graces; and in so far as you think you have reason to believe that you have had the Spirit of the Lord along with you and within you in the trial of them. Still you are to keep steadily before you the real state of the question. You are to bear in mind what it is that you have to decide. It is not who, as pastor and teacher, would best please you. Nay, it is not even who, as pastor and teacher, might most plausibly or most probably be welcomed by you as given to you by Christ the Lord, the church’s Head ; I mean given by him to you individually. No. For you cannot isolate yourself. It is not you by yourself, and for yourself alone, who have to exercise this sacred trust, and discharge this responsible duty; but the congregation as such. It is as one of the congregation ; it is in the interest of the congregation, and in view of the congregation’s obligation and responsibility, that you are required to decide and act. The question therefore now becomes far wider and far deeper. Does it seem to be the mind of Christ that such a one may be pastor and teacher in such a congregation? Am I shut up to the conclusion, or may I warrantably regard myself as shut up to the conclusion, that he is one whom, not I as an individual, but the collective congregation, may accept as Christ’s gift? I have said that the question becomes thus far wider than if the decision of it turned simply on your individual preference or predilection, or even upon your conviction of what might be best for your individual good. You cannot, of course, be responsible for the constituting of any pastorate, or acquiesce in it when constituted, if you believe it to be unwarrantable in itself, m injurious to the best interests of your souls. But under that qualification you must bear in mind the duty of consulting for others; consulting for the congregation; consulting for Christ; always devoutly and vividly realising the large bearing of the question, viewed in the light of the pastor and teacher being Christ’s gift to the flock. For in that view, a variety of considerations come to press upon you which would have no weight or relevancy if you had only yourselves to think of, and your own comfort and edification, or even your own highest spiritual perfection, to provide for. The position of the congregation, the exigencies and wants of the time and of the place, the interests of families as regards family visitation, the risks and hazards of the young in the midst of social, intellectual, and spiritual trials, are to be considered as indicating what is needed. Then again, as pointing to an adequate meeting of the need, the strong and unequivocal opinion of competent judges, the earnest commendation of men chosen and trusted by yourselves for this very thing, the evidences of success, under the divine blessing, in another sphere of usefulness, are to be weighed. All such elements of judgment may and must enter into your disposal of the question forced upon you, when you are called to say if you can concur in welcoming one thus pointed out to you as Christ’s gift to the congregation; not, of course, as if none but he could, in any conceivable circumstances, be Christ’s gift; but yet with sufficient ground for believing that here and now, as regards present duty, you have the mind of Christ. I referred also to the question being deeper as well as wider, in the view I have been trying to impress, than when it is looked at in the coarse and vulgar light of its being the mere exercise of a personal right, upon personal considerations, that is involved. What I mean is that, not only must it be looked at more broadly, but it must be pondered more profoundly. And especially there must gather round it, in the sphere of your conscientious convictions, a more intense feeling of responsibility. If it were merely your saying for yourself who it is whom you would like to preach to you and he your minister, you might waive that right, and make a merit of waiving it. You might stand aloof and be neutral. You might decline to take any share of responsibility in the matter. But you cannot thus evade your duty when you take a scriptural view of this momentous transaction, as affecting, not your spiritual gratification merely, but the carrying out of the mind of Christ, in his gift of pastors and teachers to his church. You cannot be guiltless if you refuse to judge in any particular case as to whom he may be giving; and to carry out the result of whatever judgment you may, through prayer and meditation, reach. Let me, in closing, urge yovi to consider the vast importance of your acting on the view now suggested, as bearing on the welcome you give to any minister coming among you, as well as the call you address to him inviting him to come. If you call on the principle and in the spirit I have been endeavouring to explain, then your welcome will correspond to your call. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 25: 04.08. CHAPTER 8: THE WALK OF THE GENTILES. ======================================================================== Chapter VIII. THE WALK OF THE GENTILES. "This I say therefore, and testify in the Lord, that ye henceforth walk not as other Gentiles walk, in the vanity of their mind, having the understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of God through the ignorance that is in them, because of the blindness of their heart: who being past feeling have given themselves over unto lasciviousness, to work all uncleanness with greediness." - Ephesians 4:17-19. ACCORDING to what I consider the scheme of the practical part of this Epistle, I now take up the subject of the relation of the church to the world. It is a very close relation. And if it admits, on the one side, of the church influencing the world, it admits, to say the least, on the other side, of the church being influenced by the world. Accordingly, it is against that influence of the world upon the church that the apostle is now anxious to admonish believers. He has given a great picture, a high ideal, of the church, as a united body, not formed on earth, but formed and inspired from heaven. He has described its unity; a living unity through an inward movement in all its members ; but a unity compatible with diversity; admitting of different Offices and different qualifications; but still always the same. His primary exhortation to all believers is that they should walk worthy of that high calling. He now points out another sort of walk from which they are to keep themselves free. The point or question here is, What is the walk to be avoided ? Positively, in the way of command, you have been exhorted to " walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called " (Ephesians 4:1). And the sort of walk enjoined has been indicated by a lofty delineation of the standard, or model, or ideal, of Christian perfection (Ephesians 4:2-16). Now, negatively, in the way of prohibition, you are warned against another sort of walk. And that sort of walk is described here (Ephesians 4:17-19). Generally, it is the walk of other Gentiles (Ephesians 4:17); of the rest of the world. It is the way of living naturally common to man; common to all men in their unconverted state, and with their unregenerate character. It was your way of living once: and, but for grace, it would have been your way of living still. The exhortation reminds you of this. For it runs thus - " That ye henceforth walk not as other Gentiles walk, in the vanity of their mind." It sets you upon considering your old natural Gentile state and Gentile character. Such were you. Such are you naturally. If now God in his grace has made you to differ from other Gentiles, it is good for you to remember that you are yourselves of the same stock and of the same nature. It is good for you to remember that you are still prone to walk as they walk. Nay, you are still so prone to such a walk that you need to be strenuously warned against it. You need to be dissuaded from it with the utmost possible earnestness. " This I say then ;" I arn ever saying ; it is my constant counsel. And I say it as emphatically, as affectionately, and as solemnly as I can. "I testify ;" I obtest you ; I beseech you ; I adjure you, " in the Lord," in the Lord’s name, and on the Lord’s behalf; by all that is glorious, by all that is gracious in the Lord himself, and in his dealing with you, I adjure you that ye " walk not as other Gentiles walk, in the vanity of their mind." Look at this Gentile or worldly walk against which you are thus so anxiously put on your guard. Look at it in its nature, its causes, and its issues. I. As to its nature, one leading feature or characteristic of it is vanity of mind. They walk in the vanity of their mind. By their mind we are to understand here their whole inner man; their soul or spirit considered simply as one ; not any particular part of their mental frame or constitution, such as the intellect in contradistinction to the emotions or the affections; but their entire spiritual nature. And by the vanity of their mind we are to understand its worthlessness ; its unprofitableness; its uselessness; its vacuity or emptiness; its utter unfitness to fulfil any really great or good purpose ; to serve any high or holy end. The life of men walking in the vanity of their minds is either all but wholly aimless, or else its aims are mean and frivolous, or, at the best, disappointing, tantalising, and unsatisfying. The character of vanity is stamped on all its pursuits and pleasures; on its worship, such as it is, and on all its works and ways. Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is vanity. II. Now the cause of this dismal and disastrous state of things is indicated in the verse that follows (Ephesians 4:18) : - " Having the understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of God through the ignorance that is in them, because of the blindness of their heart." Let me here explain that the first clause of the verse ought to be connected with what goes before, more closely than our translation connects it. The participle " being" should be disjoined from the second clause, and emphatically prefixed to the first, so as to make the passage stand thus: "They walk in the vanity of their minds; being, as they are, darkened in respect of the understanding, alienated from the life of God." This is the first explanation, given of their walking in the vanity of their minds; and it is itself twofold. On the one hand, they are darkened in respect of their understanding. They are blind, spiritually blind. They lack spiritual discernment of spiritual things. They want the faculty or capacity of perceiving any spiritual matter, any spiritual truth, in its glory, excellency, power, and beauty. They have no apprehension, no appreciation, no real and vivid sense of divine realities; of God, of holiness, of heaven. Their views are limited to the objects of natural sight; the things of the present world; things seen and temporal. Things unseen and eternal make no impression on the organ of mental vision, the eye of the soul. They may hear about them, and know something about them by hearsay; by the hearing of the ear. But as to any actual influential realisation of them ; any grasping of them as realities ; anything like seeing them ; so seeing them as to recognise their true nature and bearings, whether as regards God’s true character, or as regards their own destiny and duty; they are as much in the dark as is a man born blind amid the beauties of earth and under the glorious sky. Now it is not wonderful that they who are thus darkened in the understanding should walk in the vanity of their minds. For, in fact, how else can they walk ? They must walk ; they can only walk according to the light of their understanding, such as it is. And if that light is practically darkness as regards all but earthly things, then it is by earthly things alone that their walk can be determined and ruled. Their mind, unable to discern the heavenlies, must be occupied with the earthlies. But that is a vain occupation ; for the earthlies are all vanity, and the mind that feeds on them feeds on vanity. But the connection in the case of other Gentiles, or worldly men, between this darkness in the understanding as the cause, and their walking in the vanity of their minds as ill the effect, is still more clearly brought out in what follows. For as, on the one hand, they are darkened in respect of their understanding, so, on the other hand, they are alienated from the life of God. For these two things - their being darkened in respect of understanding, and their being alienated from the life of God - go together. And together they explain and account for their walking in the vanity of their minds. By the life of God we are to understand the life which consists in glorifying and enjoying God ; the life for which man was originally made ; life in God, with God, to God; God’s own life in the soul of man; life of which he is the source, the centre, and the end. If men had kept that life, there would have been no walking in the vanity of their minds. In so far as by grace they recover and regain that life, there is, there can be, no such walking. God in heaven is not vanity, though all earthly idols are vanity j and walking with God, which is for men the life of God, is no walking in a vain show. God known to be real; God felt to be real; God trusted as real; God loved as real; as a real living person; a real living friend ; God lived on, lived in, lived for ; fills and satisfies the soul. There is no sense of vanity in communing with God, as there is in communing with all but God. All else is shadow. He alone is substance. The life of God, when a man comes to have it as his life, his own, his very life, is no mere breath, no vapour, no dream, no tale that is told, as, at the best, man’s life otherwise is. It is life indeed ; even life eternal. But men are alienated in heart from that life. They must be so if they are darkened in their understanding. For they cannot have the life of God in the heart unless they have the knowledge of God in the mind. An unknown God never can be life to any one. They who have no capacity of spiritual vision; no power of spiritual eyesight; no ability to apprehend God as real; to apprehend him as real and really present with them as a living person; so to apprehend him as vividly as if they saw him ; cannot live either in God, or with God, or to God. They are and must he alienated from this life of God. Now for the alienation, as for the darkness, they are themselves alone to he hlamed. This is a farther explanation of their walking in the vanity of their minds. It traces the cause of such a vain walk farther back, ascribing their darkened understandings and alienated hearts to themselves, to their own wilful ignorance and obduracy. This is brought out in the closing clauses of Ephesians 4:18, in which they are said to be alienated from the life of God, " through the ignorance that is in them, through the hardness of their heart." For so the clauses should be read, as indicating the double source in men themselves of all this evil. Their ignorance is spoken of as " ignorance that is in them," with a view, I think, to impress this truth, that their being darkened in respect of their understandings is not to he ascribed to anything in God, anything wanting on his part, in the way of discovery and enlightenment; but solely to the ignorance that is in themselves. And in like manner I take the hardening of their hearts to be here brought forward as what is also due to themselves. For both of these conditions they themselves alone are responsible. They are conditions connected respectively, the one with being darkened in the understanding, the other with being alienated from the life of God. The ignorance explains and accounts for the first; the hardening of the heart explains and accounts for the second, of the two combined causes of men’s walking in the vanity of their minds (Ephesians 4:17). The ignorance which more particularly explains and accounts for the darkened understanding is the ignorance that is in them. If they have become so darkened in understanding as to be incapable of spiritually discerning spiritual things, it is not from want of the means of knowledge placed within their reach by God ; nor from want of original capacity, and a promise of divine grace to restore it; but through their own wilful ignorance. So the apostle testifies elsewhere : " For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who hold the truth in unrighteousness : because that which may be known of God is manifest in them ; for God hath shewed it unto them. For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead ; so that they are without excuse : because that, when they knew God, they glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened" (Romans 1:18-21). The hardening of their heart also, which, on the other hand, more particularly explains and accounts for their alienation from the life of God, is similarly ascribed to themselves. Thus the root of the disease is double. It is in the mind and in the heart. The mind is wilfully ignorant; the heart is wilfully hardened. Therefore there is neither light in the mind, nor love in the heart; and therefore there is vain walking. For, darkened in its understanding through its choosing to be ignorant of God and the things of God; and alienated consequently from the life of God, through the gradual hardening of the heart; what can a poor soul do but accustom itself to be taken up with the vain frivolities, and vain activities, and vain idolatries, of the only world it can know or love, the world of which it is said that it passeth away 1 III. The natural result or issue in the case of "other Gentiles," or worldly men, of their walking in the vanity of their minds, as thus explained and accounted for, is described in Ephesians 4:19. The form of the relative is to be noted here. It does not identify the persons referred to as individuals ; it does not stigmatise them as individuals. It characterises them as a class or family. The rendering might he - who are of the sort that, becoming reckless, abandon themselves. This is practically an important modification or qualification of the statement in our translation; not only warranted, hut grammatically required by the original. The apostle does not mean to say that all the " other Gentiles," or worldly men, against whose walk he warns you, are absolutely without feeling • and do, in consequence, literally and in outward act, give themselves over in the way here described. It is a much more solemn and searching warning that he gives. He warns you not against the walk of the openly licentious and greedy votaries of self-indulgence or self-aggrandisement; but against the walk of those who, however outwardly decent and respectable, are’ yet really following vanity and forsaking God. And the point of this last part of his warning is this, that all who so walk are really of the class and character of those who, " being past feeling, have given themselves over unto lasci-viousness, to work all uncleanness with greediness." For, in fact, what should hinder the downward course here terribly indicated, if once you begin to walk as other Gentiles, "having the understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of God, through the ignorance that is in them, because of the blindness of their heart" ? You are darkened in respect of understanding; unable to take in or apprehend and appreciate, either God, or the things of God. You are strangers to any higher life; to the life which God lives; the life which he would have you to share with him in his Son. The darkness and alienation are not from without, but from within. It is not God who withholds knowledge of himself from you: it is not God who casts you away from himself: it is you who choose to be ignorant and estranged. You blind or darken your own minds to God, and alienate your own hearts from, God. It is only natural that you should walk in the vanity of your minds. You have nothing else to walk in. But vanity leads to vice. What is there, when you thus cast yourself adrift, to keep you from the mire and filth of the foulest corruption ; from giving yourselves over "unto lasciviousness, to work all uncleanness with greediness"? There is a question about the last word here, greediness. It usually means covetousness ; desire of gain; a self-seeking, self-aggrandising frame of mind. Is it unbridled excess in the sin of lasciviousness that it denotes here, or is it a separate and distinct outlet of’your walking in the vanity of your mind that it opens up ? The question is not in my view material. For I take the lasciviousness here spoken of, to which those who walk in the vanity of their mind, when they are past feeling, give themselves, to be excess in any form of self-indulgence and self-gratification. The usual forms are lust and avarice ; uncleanness and greed; what tends in the direction of worldly pleasure, and what tends in the direction of worldly profit. In the love of one or other of these objects of pursuit, the unrestrained spirit of self-love is sure to develope itself. And it is sure to do so in the way of whichever of these tendencies it follows becoming its work or business. You come to live for nothing else but only to please yourselves, or to profit yourselves. The pleasure you aim. at may be more or less refined; or more or less gross. The profit you aim at may be what you call a modest competency, or the wealth of a millionaire. Still, either way, self-pleasing, self-profiting, is the work or business to which you ultimately give yourselves over, with unfeeling callousness of conscience, and therefore, with unrestricted license. That is the sad result to which your walking as other Gentiles walk, in the vanity of their minds, naturally and inevitably tends. Thus the beginning and the end of this very solemn apostolic warning are brought’together; the beginning, as it might seem, not very serious; the end, however, very awful. A terrible course of possible declension or backsliding is pointed out. Note and mark it well. There are several stages in it. First, there is your walking like others in the vanity of your minds. Secondly, there is your being darkened in your understandings. Thirdly, there is your alienation from the life of God. And fourthly, there is a giving of yourselves over to a life of mere and thorough self-seeking or self-indulgence, in some form or other. Observe the stepping-stones in the downward path. 1. There is a measure, more or less decided, of worldly conformity. It may be in the outer life, in the way of your giving in to some one or more of the world’s customs in business, or the world’s gaieties in society, from which you once felt yourself bound to keep aloof. Or it may be in the inner life, the hidden life, the life of your inward thoughts and feelings, your inward motives and aims. You are beginning to think and feel, at least on some points, very much as others do; to be influenced as they are by considerations of worldly policy or expediency; to see things as they see them, and judge of things as they judge of them ; to consult, as they do, in some particulars, your own mind rather than the mind of God. What is this but walking in the vanity of your mind ? It is a most insidious snare. You do not mean to live altogether, or indeed to live at all, as other Gentiles live, without God in the world. Yours is still to be, in the main and on the whole, a life of godliness. But there must be some relaxations, some abatements, some accommodations. Self-denial, self-sacrifice, self-mortification, you are willing to practise, as far as is reasonable, to the utmost. You will try, as far as may be, to walk worthy of the vocation wherewith you are called. But insensibly, unconsciously, you yield to the suggestion that you must occasionally do as others do. And what is worse, insensibly, unconsciously perhaps, you yield to the suggestion that you need not always keep so strict a watch over your private studies, your secret thoughts and inclinations, as a constant and continual regard to your hig] calling might imply; since now and then nature must have its way, and the bent and bias of your soul must find some outlet. What is this but walking, like other Gentiles, in the vanity of your mind? 2. And is not this connected immediately with your being darkened in the understanding; doubly so connected, in the way of consequence and of cause t For cause and effect here act and react on one another. Walking as other Gentiles in the vanity of your minds, is in one view an eifect of your being darkened in your understanding and alienated from the life of God, springing out of that, flowing from it. But, in another view, it operates as a cause, deepening more and more the darkness and increasing the alienation. It deepens the growing darkness, this walk of worldly conformity. It dulls and deadens your spiritual sense and spiritual sensibility. Your spiritual discernment of spiritual things is dimmed and blunted. Your insight into the great realities of God and of eternity ; your taste and relish for them, and for communion about them with Christ in the Spirit, and with one another in Christ; your power of seeing the unseen, and bringing near the remote; all this is miserably impaired. You mind earthly things and become blind to those of heaven. There creeps over you a certain stupor and insensibility as to Christ himself, and all that is his. 3. And what next? Alienation again, more or less, from the life of God ; such alienation as ignorance and hardness of heart accompany, and either occasion or produce. Let but the sad process go on, the process of your walking, like others, in the vanity of your mind, and so being darkened in the understanding; the life of God in you must inevitably and infallibly decay and die out. Eeal living fellowship with God cannot be kept up. You relapse into dead, cold formality. Instead of growing in grace and in the knowledge of your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, you begin to lose what knowledge of him you ever had. The ignorance that is in you, that is native and natural to you, takes its place. The teaching of the Holy Spirit is hindered ; his enlightening and assuring unction is arrested; the clear, full, sure, personal acquaintance with Christ, which he would enable you to realise, passes into mere dim and doubtful notions about Christ; until all again is vague uncertainty and doubt. Along with all this there is a gradual hardening of the heart. For if there be alienation from the life of God, from living, loving, real and personal intercourse with God ; what is there to keep the heart soft and tender, its affections warm, its emotional frames lively and acute ? What is there to counteract the miserable, indurating, secularising, freezing influences of the vain world in which you are again tempted to walk in the vanity of your mind! 4. And then what next t What but loss of feeling, of that keen-edged sensitiveness of conscience which once made you tremblingly alive to the risk of defilement and greed, whether greed of pleasure or greed of gain ? The moral sense is blunted. Sin ceases to be hated and feared. There comes to be a certain helpless self-abandonment; a throwing of the reins on the neck of carnal or worldly lust; a giving of yourselves over to some ruling appetite or passion, some dominant power or principle of evil; a consenting to obey its bidding and to do its work. The faculty of self-control and self-command is paralysed. The ability to resist the tempter is gone, as the right to bid him depart is forfeited. The flag is lowered, and the citadel surrendered tamely into the enemy’s hands. Ah, brethren, if this, or anything like this, is the inevitable course, and tendency, and issue of your walking as other Gentiles walk, is it at all surprising that Paul should be so very earnest in warning you against it 1 Be very sure the warning is needed. It is no unnecessary alarm that he sounds in your ears. So long as you are living in the midst of other Gentiles ; yourselves having been, and still, alas ! to so large an extent being, men of unclean lips dwelling among a people of unclean lips, you are in continual risk and hazard of being drawn aside into their ways of thinking, feeling, judging, acting. And you may be very sure that a very slight inclination or deviation towards them will suffice for a beginning of evil. It needs not much walking as other Gentiles walk, to bring you under the power of this vain world, and mar the holy love and joy of your divine connection. A very little of that walking will be enough. Therefore, beloved brethren, in the spirit and after the example of the apostle, let me say this; let me be ever saying it, again and again, continually. Let me testify, let me adjure you in the Lord; by the Lord’s love to you, by his giving himself for you for this very end, that he might redeem you from your vain conversation and make you partakers of the life of God ; by your love to him; as you prize his favour, and would win his approval, and would seek his glory, and would not grieve his blessed Spirit and frustrate the design of his atoning death; let me adjure you that ye walk not as other Gentiles walk. For your own sakes let me adjure you thus in the Lord, for your peace and hope and joy, your growth in grace, your victory over evil, your preparation for heaven. And for the sake of these other Gentiles themselves,’ let me thus adjure you in the Lord; in the Lord whose grace alone causes you to differ; in the Lord who would have them to be receivers of that grace with you; that you may not, by your seeming toleration of their vanities, your easy acquiescence in their ways, compromise your right and power of rebuke and of persuasion; that they may not be hindered from seeing your good works and glorifying your Father which is in heaven. And if there is any particular in regard to which you know, or suspect, or fear that you are or have been walking, not as the vocation with which you are called would worthily lead you to walk, but as other Gentiles walk, let me adjure you in the Lord that you walk henceforth no more in that or any other doubtful worldly path. For surely the time past of your life may suffice you to have wrought the will of the Gentiles. Wherefore I adjure you once more in the Lord, " forasmuch as Christ hath suffered for us in the flesh, arm yourselves likewise with the same mind : for he that hath suffered in the flesh hath ceased from sin; that he no longer should live the rest of his time in the flesh to the lusts of men, but to the will of God" (1 Peter 4:1-2). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 26: 04.09. CHAPTER 9: YE HAVE NOT SO LEARNED CHRIST ======================================================================== 9. Ye have not so learned Christ "But ye have not so learned Christ; if so be that ye have heard him, and have been taught by him, as the truth is in Jesus : That ye put off, concerning the former conversation, the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; and be renewed in the spirit of your mind; and that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness." Ephesians 4:20-24. THE apostle is here warning you against a walk that is unworthy of the vocation wherewith you are called, having previously exhorted you to a walk worthy of it, and having put that worthy walk before you in a very noble ideal of the Christian church. The walk against which you are warned is the walk of "other Gentiles." It is the walk of all men naturally. It is your own natural walk, to which, even though you have received grace to enter on another walk, you are still too prone. You need, therefore, to be warned against it, as the apostle here warns you, with the utmost possible earnestness. For his language is very strong. This I say; I am always saying this; I must needs be ever saying this. And I say it with all the solemnity of an appeal, as it were, upon oath. I adjure you in the Lord that ye walk not as other Gentiles walk. The adjuration is not too emphatic; for the risk of your relapsing into the walk of other Gentiles is very great. What is it? At first sight, or in its beginning, it is not a very alarming evil. It is "walking in the vanity of their minds." A vain or vacant mind would seem to be the worst of it; a mind or soul empty, frivolous, unoccupied; aimless, or only aiming at what is sure to disappoint. But why is the mind thus void or vain? Because it has not in it the "life of God." For the life of God alone can fill and fix the soul, so as to make it proof against other suitors for its favour. You must be full of God; having in you the life of God; if you would he safe from the danger of vanity of mind, or an unfurnished soul, ready, like an empty and open room, to admit all, or any, intruders. For intruders will not he wanting. Lasciviousness is on the watch, and greediness; lust of pleasure or of profit. Vanity of mind, with alienation from the life of God, opens the door for these two great tyrants of a worldly and godless soul to enter in. They do enter in, and soon they gain the mastery. The power of self-restraint and self-command is paralysed. Feeling, sensitiveness of conscience, tenderness of heart, dies away, gets blunted, hardened ; until at last there comes a sort of passive yielding, a giving up of the struggle, a throwing of the reins on the neck of the rampant steed; a self-abandonment to sloth and sensuality and sin. That is the walk, so insidious at the outset, as if it were mere idleness or emptiness, so fatal in its inevitable issue of self-surrender to evil, against which you are solemnly warned in the Lord. Now it is with reference to this walk that the apostle says, "But ye have not so learned Christ, if so be that ye have heard him and have been taught by him." There is no insinuation of a doubt here; but rather a generous confidence expressed. Ye have learned Christ. That is taken for granted; and more than that. Ye have so learned Christ as not to walk as other Gentiles. That is and must be the effect of your having learned Christ, if, as I suppose I may assume, it is he whom you have heard, if it is in him that you have been taught; if you have learned him by hearing him, himself personally, and have been taught in him, in union and communion with himself personally. So it is emphatically in the original. A knowledge of Christ thus acquired, an acquaintance with Christ thus formed, cannot fail to keep you from a vain and worldly walk; for it ensures your being taught according to the full measure of the truth as it is in him; in him as Jesus, so called because he saves his people from their sins. Hence these three results follow - First (Ephesians 4:22), you put off and put away, as regards the past, as regards your former manner of life, the old man, your old natural self. You may well do so, for it is corrupt or corrupted, ruined, rotten. Its corruption is according to your lusts, in the line of your carnal, worldly, selfish desires. And these lusts are lusts of deceit. They are the vassals and ministers of deceit; the tools or instruments by which deceit, falsehood, the old lie of the devil, prevails over men to their ruin. Then again, secondly (Ephesians 4:23), you undergo and are ever undergoing a present renewal, inwardly, in your mind. The renewal is in the Spirit, the Holy Ghost. He becomes the spirit of your mind, and in him, as the spirit of your mind, you are renewed. Finally, in the third place (Ephesians 4:24), you put on the new man, a new nature, a new self; remade, by a creative act, after God. It is created after God in righteousness and holiness ; and the righteousness and holiness are of the truth, the truth as it is in Jesus. They are the righteousness and holiness which the truth specially claims as its own, and by means of which it triumphs in your final and complete salvation. Such would seem to be the fair exegesis of these pregnant verses. Thus viewed, they suggest two general inquiries: - I. How are you to learn Christ ? And II. How is your learning Christ connected with your putting off the old man and putting on the new man, through, or by means of, a process of renewal in the spirit of your mind? I. (Ephesians 4:20-21). To learn Christ is something more than to learn about him. The expression is peculiar. It is not a truth, a fact, a science, an art, a trade, that is to be learned; but a person. And it is not certain particulars concerning him and his history; but himself personally. Now, when a person is the object to be learned, the learning, one would say, must itself be very personal. It must be the fruit and recompense, not only of close study and observation, but of intimate and confidential personal intercourse, relationship, familiarity. So, at all events, it will be found to be in this case, whether we consider the beginning of it, "hearing him," or the progress of it, "being taught in him." Its beginning is hearing him (Ephesians 4:21). You have heard him. With the Samaritans, therefore, you can say, "Now we believe, not because of thy saying, for we have heard him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour of the world." There is much in this little phrase "ye have heard him." The hearing meant is that of intelligence and faith, of the opened understanding and the willing mind; it is your hearing so as to follow and obey. Christ speaks; you listen, the Lord, the Spirit, opening your hearts as he opened Lydia’s; and, listening, you are drawn to him. Christ speaks. He tells you of his coming forth from the Father, and of the purpose for which he is come; to lay down his life for you, to atone for all your sin, and obtain its complete forgiveness, and so to bring you back, as his ransomed ones, to the Father’s home and the Father’s heart. You hear, and hearing you consent. You suffer him to take you into his arms and bless you. Christ speaks. He cries, Come unto me, ye weary, and I will give you rest. You hear, and hearing you comply. You rush to his embrace, and are welcomed to his bosom. This is the first step to your learning Christ. This is your first lesson in the school in which you really learn him, the school of experience, of experiment and trial. For let it be noted, it is himself that you are to learn, himself personally, his very self. That is his own wish. It is not learn of me, or from me, as your teacher or pattern ; but learn me. It is not learn my words; but learn myself. Learn to understand me, to appreciate me, to know me so as to do me justice and think rightly of me. Learn to interpret my looks, my sighs, my tears. Learn the meaning of my weeping at Bethany, my groans in Gethsemane, my loud cry on Calvary. Learn to see into my heart, my heart of hearts, as it breaks in the agony of my sore travail of soul for the satisfying of my Father’s dishonoured law and the effecting of my people’s righteous deliverance. Learn me. Ah ! it is a great thing for you to learn Christ. And there can be no beginning of your learning him unless you hear him; hear him speaking personally to you; hear him lovingly with all your heart. You make progress in learning Christ through your being taught in him. The teacher here is not Christ but the Holy Ghost. He teaches you to learn Christ; to learn Christ more and more. And he teaches you in Christ. You are taught by the Spirit and taught in Christ. It is your oneness with Christ, your being in him and abiding in him, that the Spirit makes the effectual means of your being taught. Through your real and living personal union to Christ, and in your real and living personal communion with Christ, you are taught by the Spirit to learn him. Instruction thus got must surely be very full and complete; for it must correspond to the fulness and completeness of the volume or book in which you get it. The volume, the book, is Christ. It is in him that you are taught. You are taught therefore up to the full measure of the truth that is in him ; the saving truth that is in the Saviour Jesus. And it must be instruction, moreover, very lively and very influential. For it is as being in Christ consciously, in actual lively fellowship with Christ, that you are taught. Truth as in Jesus, all truth. The truth, all the truth, is in him, as Jesus. If it is in him that you are taught, you are taught as the truth is in him; taught according to the standard of the whole truth that is in him. And you are taught in the way of a most living, loving experience. For the truth that is in Jesus has for those who are themselves in him a most winning attractiveness, a most commanding power, a marvellous charm to elevate and refine the soul into its own pure light and beauty. Dwelling in him; habitually, constantly dwelling in him; confidingly, affectionately dwelling in him; so dwelling in him as to be ever leaning on his bosom, and ever holding converse with him; how, under the Spirit’s teaching, can you fail to be making ever new and fresh discoveries of that wondrous heart of his, which your hearts now have got some ability, through sympathy, to understand? The grace and truth of which he is full, as you are ever receiving out of his fulness grace for grace, may well grow more and more clear, bright, fair in your eyes. Especially the truth that is in him as Jesus, saving you from your sins; the truth respecting God’s unsullied, immaculate righteousness and holiness, and his love passing knowledge, which shines so conspicuously in his manner of saving you; the truth that God is light and that God is love, which so emphatically is in Jesus, in Jesus saving you by dying for you; the whole truth of God in him; must more and more, the more you grow up into him, and abide in him, and are enlarged in fellowship with him, open in all its glory to your eye, and ravish your hearts as you thus increase in grace and in the knowledge of your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ; that knowledge of the only true God and of Jesus Christ whom he has sent, which is life eternal. Now, if indeed you have thus heard Christ, and have thus in him been taught; if it is he whom you have thus heard; if it is in him that you have been thus taught, as the truth is in Jesus, is it any wonder that Paul should make this appeal to you: "Ye have not so learned Christ" as to walk as other Gentiles walk (Ephesians 4:17). Surely all that you have learned of him through hearing him, and being taught in him, must enforce the apostle’s solemn obtestation, "I say then, and testify in the Lord, that ye henceforth walk not as other Gentiles walk." Nay, rather, it points altogether in the direction of a very different course. II. "That ye put off, concerning the former conversation, the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; and be renewed in the spirit of your mind; and that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness" (Ephesians 4:22-24). There are here three things included in your being thus taught: a putting off (Ephesians 4:22), a putting on (Ephesians 4:24), and between the two a being renewed (Ephesians 4:23). 1. There is a putting off (Ephesians 4:22), or putting away, of what is inconsistent and incompatible with your having learned Christ in the way described. And what is that? It is something that has to do with "the former conversation." It is something that concerned "the former conversation" lay in the line of it, and was in accordance with its character. But "the former conversation" is to be identified with "your walking in the vanity of your minds." What is to be put off, or put away, is what pertains to that former manner of life, and is its animating motive and ruling principle. And what is that? It is "the old man." It is old self ; and the whole of old self. It is not the former conversation, or any of its outward forms. It is not the former manner of life, or any of its customary practices, that is to be put off. What is to be put off relates to that former conversation or manner of life; but it is itself a far more closely fitting garment. It is far more intimately and essentially identified with you. It is part and parcel of your very nature. It is your nature, your old nature, yourself, your very self, your inmost and most natural self. That is what you have to put off. And you may well consent to put it off, because it is corrupt. It is undergoing a process of corruption. It is fit only to be put off; not only because it is judicially doomed to destruction, but because it is morally subject to a corrupting influence. It is under the power of a debasing, depraving, hardening, and demoralising spell, which is continually operating in the way of strengthening its inherent selfishness, as the old man, and giving to it, as such, more power to mould the former conversation. The spell which thus operates is to be found, in the last resort, in the lusts of deceit. These are the lusts, the inordinate desires and affections of the old man; which deceit or falsehood, the deceit or falsehood of the father of lies, enlists in its service, and uses as its own, for its vile purpose of betraying men to destruction. They are the likings and longings which incline men to listen credulously to the insidious insinuation "Ye shall not surely die." They are such hankerings after the forbidden thing as made Eve willing to believe the devil’s lie. These lusts, thus ready to become the instruments and the dupes of Satanic falsehood and fraud; these lusts of deceit, pollute and destroy the very essence of the old man; that old man which rules and regulates the former conversation. Therefore the old man is incurable. There is no mending it, or patching it up. It needs to be wholly put off and put away. This implies an inward spiritual renewal (Ephesians 4:23). Not otherwise can you put off the old man; not by your making some superficial change in your conduct; not by your mere abandonment of some customs and companionships of the outer life. No; not otherwise than by your submitting to be inwardly and spiritually renewed; renewed in your mind, your inner nature; and renewed there spiritually, in or through the Spirit; the Holy Ghost entering into your spirit; and so becoming virtually the spirit of your mind. It is very relevant here, and practically most important to bring forward this great thought, this vital truth; that you are passive as well as active, needing to be acted upon as well as acting, in this whole work of your sanctification. Between your putting off the old man, and putting on the new; both of which are represented as your own doing; there comes in most appropriately your being renewed. No doubt it comes in, as it would seem, under the form of a command. It is an instruction to you, as taught in Christ, to be renewed. That, however, is a familiar scriptural usage, and it is one of great practical significancy. "Repent and be converted." " Make you a new heart and a new spirit." For though this renewal is not effected by you, but upon you, it is effected upon you as beings capable of volition and choice. In one sense, you are passive, as being acted upon. But in another view, from the first touch of divine power, you are active. For the renewal is a renewal to activity. It is to be actively recognised, actively realised, actively followed up and followed out. As hearing Christ, and being taught in him, be renewed in the spirit of your mind. Nothing short of your being renewed, and your actively apprehending your being renewed, will duly meet and fulfil that teaching. No putting off of the old man which does not imply that, will at all come up to the mark. You may in in some sense, and to some effects, so divest yourself of the worn-out rags of your old self as to begin a new conversation, a new mode of life. And it may seem even as if you had to a large and very creditable extent got rid of the corruption of the old nature, its lusts, and the deceit, or deceitful dealing with conscience and with God, to which they ministered and gave occasion. But it is a mere change in the old man, in your natural self, from one mode of manifestation and action to another. Radically, and at bottom, you are the same as before selfish, worldly, carnal, godless. No such mere outward and partial putting off of the old man will suffice. There must be a thorough inward renewal. As taught in Christ you feel that this is quite indispensable; that in fact there can be no such thing as your really putting off the old man unless there be this renewal in the spirit of your mind. There must be a new spirit breathed into your mind; into that very mind of yours in the vanity of which you once walked, as other Gentiles walk still. Then, that mind, your inner man, was a void, a vacancy, a blank; ready to let in all sorts of unclean spirits. But now, see to it that there be in it a new spirit; the Holy Spirit of God making your spirit new; himself dwelling as a new spirit in you. Only thus can you really put off the corruption of the old man : only thus can you be clothed in the beauty of the new. This new man which ye are to put on is (1) created after God; (2) in righteousness and holiness; and (3) in righteousness and holiness, viewed as the righteousness and holiness of the truth. (1.) What ye are to put on is something thoroughly new. It is something expressly and of new created for you to put on. It is a newly made human nature; a nature newly made after God. Where is that nature, that new man, in its first manifestation, to be found? Where but in the pure and perfect humanity of Christ? He is the new man, created after God. It is he, therefore, that you are to put on. Put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ (Romans 13:14). You are to put on Christ as the new man created after God. But you are to put on Christ not as an outer, but as an inner garment; not as an outward covering of the court of the temple, but as an inward ornament of its inmost shrine; receiving him into your deepest heart; receiving him there as the new man, created after God; and as in that character really and truly taking the place in you of your old self, according to that saying of Paul - It is not I who live; but Christ liveth in me. So the king’s daughter is all glorious within; her clothing is of wrought gold (Psalms 45:13). It is not her outward body, but her inner spirit, that is thus gloriously clothed in wrought gold. She wears, in her soul, as her life and warmth and beauty, her glorious royal spouse. So you, as taught in Christ, are to clothe yourselves inwardly, to fill yourselves, with Christ. Let him be to you and in you the new man created after God. Let Christ thus dwell in your heart by faith. (2.) The new man that you are to put on is created after God in righteousness and holiness. These are the attributes, these the qualities, in respect of which the new man resembles God, and is created in his image and likeness; righteousness and holiness. Let it be still kept in mind that it is Christ who is the new man created after God in righteousness and holiness. No doubt Adam was originally created after God in righteousness and holiness. And it is a legitimate enough application of the text to cite it in explanation or in illustration of what the image of God in which Adam was made really is. There is a sense also in which our putting on the new man, created after God in righteousness and holiness, may be represented as our becoming again such as Adam was before he fell, when the image or likeness of God, after which he was created in righteousness and holiness, was unbroken and entire. But that, I am persuaded, is not really what is here set before us. It is not the unfallen Adam but the sinless Christ that you are to put on as the new man created after God in righteousness and holiness. And hence, if you would know what this righteousness and this holiness really are, in respect of which the new man you are to put on is created after God, you must look not to the unfallen Adam hut to the sinless Christ. You can know little or nothing historically of the righteousness and holiness in which Adam resembled God. But you may know enough of these godlike qualities as they characterised the man Christ Jesus. You scarcely get a glimpse of Adam as righteous and holy, after the pattern of the righteousness and holiness of God. But you have a full view of Christ the holy one and the just. You can be at no loss to see and understand what the righteousness and holiness are in which he is like God. And therefore you can be at no loss to judge what must be the righteousness and holiness of the new man created after God that you are to put on. You are to put on Christ as one with the Father in his righteousness of administration, and holiness of nature. You are to put on Christ as thoroughly of one mind with the Father in all that concerns the interests of justice and purity; of uprightness and innocence and goodness. You are to put on Christ as equally with the Father determined to uphold the claims of the holy and good law; and equally with the Father intolerant of all evil. You are to put on Christ’s righteous zeal for the honour of his Father’s name and the sanctity of his Father’s house. You are to put on his holy habit of praying always to his Father. You are to enter into his mind when, by the sacrifice of himself, he made righteousness and holiness meet with love in your redemption. You must "let that mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who being in the form of God thought it not robbery to be equal with God; but made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of man : and being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross." (3.) The righteousness and holiness in respect of which the new man you are to put on is created after God are the righteousness and holiness of the truth. This does not mean merely that these graces or virtues, these attributes or good qualities, are true, in the sense of being genuine and sincere; but that they stand related to truth, or the truth, as the lusts of the old man you put away stand related to deceit; to the great lie or falsehood which corrupts the world. The lusts of the old man are the instruments of deceit; by means of them falsehood prevails. The righteousness and holiness of the new man are the instruments of the truth; in them the truth illustriously shines forth; through them it gloriously reigns. The contrast is very striking, when we thus personify on the one hand the deceit which has the lusts of the old man to work upon and work with, and on the other hand the truth which claims and uses as its own the righteousness and holiness of the new man. But in fact no figure of speech is needed. For have we not seen that the truth is in Jesus? It is not abstract truth, speculative truth, dead truth. It is not the truth expressed in a verbal formula or proposition. It is the living truth, embodied in the living person of the man Christ Jesus. And so also the deceit is no mere abstraction. The lie that rules the world and slays the souls of men has a father. He who is a murderer and liar from the beginning is the father of it. The lie as well as the truth has life, for it is embodied in the living person of him whose lie it is. What then have we here? Two mighty rival potentates, the prince of darkness and the prince of light and peace, stand over against one another; the one the impersonation of all deceit; the other of all truth. They are both striving for the mastery. And they have their appropriate weapons. The lusts of the old man are at the service of him who is the living lie. The righteousness and holiness of the new man are in the interests and on the side of him who is the living truth. Have you indeed learned him? Is it he whom you have heard? Is it in him that you have been taught as the truth is in Jesus? Ah! what room is there for hesitancy as to putting off the old man, undergoing renewal, and putting on the new man? What, can you still dream of compromise or accommodation between the two? Can you still cling to the fancy of its being possible to serve these two masters? Consider, O my brother, consult your own experience. Call to mind any occasion on which you have made provision for the flesh to fulfil some lust thereof. Alas, no child of God can be at a loss here. You yielded yourself up for a time, shall I say, to the seductive influence of sloth or self-indulgence. Or you suffered some unruly appetite, some unholy or uncharitable passion, partially to regain its ascendency ; or you began to walk in some doubtful worldly way. Some lust of the old man was somehow again corrupting you; tampering with the righteousness and holiness of the new man; shaking your stedfast integrity; sullying your purity of soul. What, ere long, has been the issue? Ah! Have you not too soon found yourself fain to listen again, as you have listened before, to the devil’s soothing lies? Evil is not so very bad, sin is not so exceeding sinful, the world is not so very wicked; nor is God so very strict, or his law so very stringent, or his gospel so very exacting of complete separation, as you once were taught to believe. It is the old, old story. Allowance will be made. The tree will make you wise. Ye shall be as gods. Ye shall not surely die. Oh, my friends, put off the old man, which is corrupt according to the lust of deceit. Hold fast the righteousness and holiness of the new man created after God. They are of the truth. They are no vassals of deceit; or of the father of lies - the prince of darkness. They are the free ministers of the truth ; of him in whom the truth is ; who is himself the truth. They shrink not from his calm and loving eye. They solicit his inspection. They win his approval. In righteousness and holiness you have fellowship with him who is holy; him who is true; hearing him; being taught in him; and so learning him as to be no more conformed to this world but transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove, as he did before you, what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 27: 04.10. CHAPTER 10: CHRISTIAN TRUTH. ======================================================================== Chapter Ten CHRISTIAN TRUTH. "Wherefore, putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour: for we are members one of another"- Ephesians 4:25. THE precept here, "Speak every man truth with his neighbour," has prefixed to it a sort of preliminary condition : "putting away lying:" and has annexed to it a reason: "for we are memhers one of another." Evidently therefore it is a precept having special reference to believers; to their character as putting away lying; and to their condition as members one of another. There is more here than the mere general enforcement of the duty required in the ninth commandment, the maintaining and promoting of truth between man and man. It is as a specially Christian duty that speaking truth is here enjoined. This will appear as we consider, I. The condition assumed. II. The injunction itself. III. The reason annexed to it. I. Let us consider the condition. The precept manifestly assumes a preliminary condition, putting away lying. It founds upon that condition a specific command: "speak every man truth with his neighbour." It takes for granted that you put away or lay aside, that you have put away or laid aside, that you are putting away or laying aside, lying, the lie, the false thing - falsehood. Observe, it is not merely speaking a lie, as opposed to speaking truth, that you put away; but lying itself, the false thing, falsehood. This is all-important. It distinguishes the special apostolic and evangelical rule from a mere general command not to tell lies. It touches the root of the matter. It points to the entire and thorough abandonment and renunciation, not in outward speech only, but in the inmost heart, of all falsehood. You put away the thing that is false, all false dealing in your inmost mind and spirit with any person or any thing. That I hold to be the true and full meaning of this preliminary condition of the precept "putting away lying." We must connect this with what goes before. At Ephesians 4:22 we are exhorted to put off or put away the old man, which is corrupt after the lusts of deceit, i.e. to put away the lusts of deceit in which its corruption consists. Here we are assumed to put away the deceit itself to which the lusts belong, and by means of which they wield their corrupting influence. Now, consider what this implies. It cuts very deep. It goes down into the most intimate recesses of the heart. It searches and tries the reins. For is not falsehood, lying, not perhaps in the gross outward sense of uttering lying words; but in the more subtle sense of inwardly believing a lie, and loving it and making it, the very breath and element of our natural life? What sustains it but a lie? What makes it tolerable but a lie? What but the great lie of the devil gives us courage to live on and on our life of sin and selfishness; of ungodliness and carnality; of sensuality, sensuousness, and sloth? And then, what is the life that is thus cherished and nourished but itself one great lie, a system of fraud and imposition, of imposition on ourselves and others? For whom, or what, do we venture to face in the clear light of truth? With whom, or with what, do we deal truly, with entire, open, frank, guilelessness and unreserve? I speak of inward dealing, remember, not of outward treatment. Let us look into ourselves from the new point of view which we occupy, as renewed in the spirit of our mind; let us note the falsehood of the old man which the new man has to put away. It is very potent, very powerful; for it wields as its instruments our lusts. And it is very inveterate, for these lusts are native. They are our old nature. The essence of the old nature is selfishness; and selfishness is of necessity radically falsehood. It is so in every form of it. Whether I am seeking to justify myself, or to profit myself, or to please myself, I am fain to believe some lie; to lean on some false support; to desire some false excuse; to cherish some false hope. I dare not look at things as they really are. I dare not look at God as he really is; no, nor at man either; least of all at myself. An uneasy sense of guilt secretly haunts me; a sore consciousness or suspicion of claims unmet, duties unfulfilled, injuries inflicted, degradation incurred; a feeling that I do not stand right with God, with man, with myself; from which I try to take refuge in concealment, disguise, reserve. I am involved in a miserable shifty game of make-believe and self-deception. I have rest and am quiet only in the dark, where false pretences and false delusions escape detection; shunning the light of noon; hiding like our first parents among the trees of the garden. Ah, it is a great matter to have put away this falsehood; to have purged the soul quite clean from selfish and partial counsel. Need I say how, and how only, this can be effected? How but by your state and your heart being made right with God? That first, that last, that always, is the only specific in this case. Let all be open between my God and me. Let there be no shrinking on my part from his holy presence, from his loving embrace. Let there be a full, thorough, satisfactory settlement of all that is outstanding, as ground of controversy or estrangement between us. Let there be the negotiation of a pure, righteous, perfect peace. Let me be made willing to renounce self; to deny, to crucify self; my own false self; and to take Christ in stead; Christ who tells me the truth; who is himself the truth. Let me see light in his light; in the light of him who is the light of the world. Let me hear him, and be taught in him, as the truth is in Jesus. Let me consent to his bringing me out of my dark deceitful den, and placing me under his Father’s open eye, washed in his own precious blood, clothed in his own spotless righteousness; so that all half measures, the devices of falsehood, being for ever at an end, there may be true, real, complete reconciliation. Then is there wrought in me that truth in the inward parts which God desires. Then the miserable necessity of guile is abandoned, and I can afford to be honest. All now is above board; nothing concealed; no subterfuge; no evasion. Thus, and only thus, I put away falsehood. Thus, and only thus, I must be always putting it away; in the exercise of simple honest faith ; walking in the light as God is in the light; the blood of Jesus Christ cleansing me from all sin. Brethren, put away lying, falsehood. Realise your having put it away in your first frank acceptance of Christ and of God’s free mercy in him. Persevere in putting it away, by abiding always in Christ whom you have learned, hearing him and being taught in him according to all the truth that is in Jesus. For indeed, you need to be always putting it away; it is so very prone, though put away once, ay put away a thousand times, to return, to come back and revisit your soul. Remember that as long as you are in the flesh, and in the world, you have the old corrupt man, with his lusts of deceit, still very near you; besetting you; clinging and cleaving to you; and you have the prince of this world making his own use of the lusts of the old man to deceive and slay you. Beware of yielding to these lusts, and so becoming again entangled in the wiles of your own self-excusing, self-justifying spirit, and of Satan’s soothing lies. Stand fast in the holiness and righteousness of the new man. These are of the truth. Abiding and abounding in them, you put away lying. II. Now it is having thus put away lying, and thus continuing to put it away, that you are to "speak every man truth with his neighbour," or "speak truth every man with his neighbour." Obviously the condition and the precept are closely connected. And the connection is natural. Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. If there is no falsehood in the heart, it may be anticipated that there will be truth in the lips. And the converse holds good. If falsehood is not put away from the heart, the mouth can scarcely be expected to speak truth. So far, generally, the connection here indicated is clear enough. I am persuaded, however, that this is not all. Bear in mind what putting away falsehood, as I have endeavoured to explain it, really means. It describes a state or frame of mind, a character of the inner man, peculiar to the real Christian, the true believer. If so, it would seem to follow that by speaking truth every man with his neighbour, is meant a habit or mode of speech also peculiar to such a one. The true speaking must correspond to the putting away lying with which it is associated; out of which in fact it springs. They are both of them Christian graces and attainments, and not common virtues; excellences of which the renewed man is capable, but which are beyond the reach of the old. And yet, one would say, speaking truth is not surely a monopoly of the Church as opposed to the world. The godly cannot claim it as exclusively their own. Are there no true speakers outside of their pale? Nay, is not speaking truth a point of honour among the high-minded men of the world ? Do not they scorn to tell a lie ? Is it not, in their view, the worst of all offences you can charge upon them, and that which they will resent, even to the death, when you call in question their veracity? To say they do not speak truth is a mortal affront. Then moreover may they not retaliate the accusation? May they not point to doubtful principles and suspicious practices in the Church herself; principles and practices which seem to warrant the notion that, with a view to the high end she has to aim at, she claims to exercise some discretion in regard to the lower obligations of mere literal accuracy, or unreserved openness of statement? Let us look at these two questions, which are undoubtedly pertinent and relevant. I take the last first. I admit that there is a snare for the Christian in this department of duty. If there were not, I scarcely think the apostle would have introduced this warning so emphatically. The temptation is to think that, because you have yourselves got rid of the devil’s lie, and got hold of, or been got hold of by, the truth of God; the God-glorifying and soul-saving truth as it is in Jesus ; and because you feel yourselves bound and moved to do all you can to bring others to be as you are; therefore you may use policy, and take them craftily with guile. I do not here advert to the grosser form which this error takes in the minds and hearts of those who avowedly believe and openly teach that the end justifies the means; and that, according to times circumstances and persons, reticence dissimulation and even simulation are legitimate means of conversion to the true faith and the one church. That may be the full-blown development of the tendency. But the tendency itself exists and works, more or less, in the minds and hearts of all who, in the evangelical sense and the evangelical spirit, have put away lying. It may he a sad admission to make, humiliating, mortifying. It may seem, moreover, to be a monstrous paradox; self-contradictory, self-confuting ; that the expulsion of guile from my spirit, with reference to the great and vital concerns of my sin and God’s salvation, should be the very secret and source and occasion of my being tempted to use guile with others. And yet it is not so wonderful after all. Looking at the way by which I have myself been led, I am apt to fancy that if I had been otherwise dealt with, and better managed, I might have been sooner and more easily brought to Christ. I think I see where allowance might have been made; where strict and stern rigidity of practice might have been judiciously relaxed; and dark and gloomy notions of sin and hell might have been advantageously shaded; and the higher views of the sovereignty of the divine purpose in salvation might have been prudently kept in abeyance and in the back ground, for a time. And perhaps I may be right. I may have been unwisely handled. But mark the danger. I mean to be wiser in dealing with others than I think my pious friends were in dealing with me. I must be more cautious and discreet. I must speak truth of course, as it is in me; as it is in Jesus, truth, and nothing but truth. I put away falsehood; and there must be none in my mouth, as I seek that there shall be none in my heart. But then I must exercise discretion. I have a very high calling; a very high aim; and I must not be judged by ordinary standards, or limited and restricted by ordinary rules. I must determine for myself when the truth should be spoken; with whom; and how far. I must be regulated, in speaking it, by a holy expediency. That is the snare. And it is all the more seductive and perilous because there is a measure of apparent and partial soundness in the reasoning; such as may be plausibly turned to account by the timid and the temporising. Therefore let all who seek to put away lying or falsehood, beware of the snare. See how it works. It begins in the way of suggesting the necessity of most sagacious discretion and discrimination in speaking the truth. Speak it by all means; but not so as to give offence, and thereby hurt the cause you have at heart. What follows? What but dissimulation, conformity, accommodation? Men of the world begin to see that you are not speaking, not acting, up to the full meaning of your profession. They shrewdly guess that you are not really speaking the truth, in its integrity, to one another, any more than you are speaking it to them. And alas, they soon have too good ground for their suspicion. For the likelihood is that you will not stop short at the point I suppose you to have reached. For you are compromised; you are committed; you cannot stand up for the whole truth of God always and everywhere; you are involved in worldly works and worldly ways. When challenged for inconsistency you can but hesitate, and shuffle, and hang your head and be dumb. It is here that honourable men of the world seem to have the advantage over the disciples of Christ. Speaking truth is their boast. It is, I repeat, their highest point of honour. To impute a lie is, with them, a mortal insult. And I am far from saying that their claim to the most scrupulous veracity is always unfounded. I do not dwell on the instances, rarer now, I would hope, than they once were, in which the most chivalrous sensitiveness as to the slightest imputation of falsehood on the part of an equal has been found compatible with systematic and deliberate lying to a creditor; and base, cowardly falsehood in the betrayal of female innocence. I hail, and I rejoice to hail, thoroughly truthful and honourable men, among those who, alas, are not yet joined to Christ. Nor do I care to inquire from whence they derived their high-minded principle, or how far the phenomenon they exhibit would have been possible without Christianity. I give them all credit for the strictest conscientiousness in adhering to the truth of fact, in whatever statements they have to make. And I give up freely to their tender mercies all professing Christians who are unscrupulous or unwise in that matter. But after all, do these men, at the very best, really speak truth every man with his neighbour? Do they speak truth as you, who put away falsehood in the sense already explained, are bound, and should be prepared and prompt to do so? Do they, as the saying is, let themselves out, turn themselves, as it were, inside out, allow their inner spirit to have free scope and full expression outwardly in their intercourse with their fellow-men? Granted, that as regards all they speak about, they speak truth. They truly represent outward facts and circumstances, accordingto their knowledge. Granted, moreover, that so far as they give utterance to their inward views and sentiments, they do that also truly; telling truly what they think and feel. Still, all that being granted, I ask, does their outward speech, their external communication with their fellows, really manifest, fully and unreservedly, their inner selves? Is that possible unless they first, in the true spiritual sense, put away falsehood. I am quite prepared for the objection to my view which may here be taken. It may be said that no man; not the best of men not the most thoroughly renewed and sanctified; will ever lay bare his whole inner life to his neighbour, or speak out all the truth regarding it. Even the believer cannot be expected or required to do so. That is partly true. Still there is a difference in this respect, a vast and vital difference, between him and the most truthful and trustworthy of worldly men with whom he might be compared. The difference may be partly illustrated by contrasting the high specimen or type of worldly honour I have been indicating, with a lower and less respectable example. The unscrupulous worldly man cares nothing about the agreement between what he knows and feels and what he says. The man of honour does. He is thus separated from the other by a vast moral distance, and immeasurably elevated above him. But even he, the man of honour, does not care about his inward experience being outwardly expressed. For the most part, he will shrink from that. He will, of course, see to it that nothing is outwardly expressed by him that is inconsistent or at variance with his inward experience. But he does not feel himself to be under any obligation to open to his neighbour his mind and heart. He is not naturally - he cannot be - either willing or inclined to do so. For there is still guile in his spirit. He hugs and hides himself in his own deceitful self-esteem. It is the special duty and high privilege of believers, renewed in the spirit of their mind, and putting away falsehood, to speak truth every man with his neighbour. For their inner life now, being true and guileless, is such as may be truly and guilelessly expressed outwardly. It will and must be so. The incidents, if I may so say, of that inner life may often be secret, sacred, incommunicable; spiritual exercises of soul, spiritual communings with God, spiritual joys and sorrows, that can be shared with no neighbour. But all that is essential to it may be freely and frankly spoken out. Speak it then; speak it all out, 0 man of God! There is truth now in your inward parts. Let there be the same truth in your outward utterances. You have got rid of reserve in your heart; get rid of it also in your lips and life. Avow yourself, show yourself, speak yourself, to be what now you really are. Be yourself; express yourself; let the truth that is in you come out. Everywhere and always let it come out. Speak it with your neighbour, whoever he may be. Ask not, who is your neighbour? He is whoever is near you; at your side; within your reach; whoever will hear you. Speak with him. Speak truth with him. Let there be no dissimulation; no equivocation; no accommodation; no silence. Speak because you believe. Speak as you believe. "Putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour: for we are members one of another." "Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul. I cried unto him with my mouth, and he was extolled with my tongue. If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me: but verily God hath heard me; he hath attended to the voice of my prayer. Blessed be God, which hath not turned away my prayer, nor his mercy from me" (Psalms 66:16-20). III. The reason given for observing this precept is drawn from the description of the church in the first part of the chapter, and is in harmony with the peculiar nature of the precept itself, "We are members one of another." That is not stated as the ground on which the ethical or moral obligation of truthfulness or veracity in general rests; nor is it meant to supersede or set aside the ordinary motives by which the practice of that virtue may be enforced. It is a new and special consideration, arising out of the new and special position which believers in Jesus are called to occupy. They are formed into one body, having a common head; from whom they all derive a common life, and in whom they all are one. There are not, therefore - there cannot be, if they realise and act out this great ideal - separate interests among them. They are not isolated from one another, and independent of one another. Nor are they simply a community of individuals, voluntarily associated together for certain common ends. On either of these suppositions there might still be room for concealment and caution on many points; there might be some apology for reticence and silence. But believers are a divinely constituted, a divinely created corporation. Their unity is of the Spirit. It is the work of the Holy Ghost. They are more intimately bound and knit together in one than are the limbs of man’s corporeal frame. They have absolutely, in the highest sense, all things in common. There is one body, one spirit, one hope of their calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above, and through, and in them all. Surely, in such a society, there might be expected to be the most outspoken freedom of utterance; the fullest and frankest speaking of the truth. As members one of another, you should have no secrets to keep from one another. There ought to be no cold reserve; no jealousy; no suspicion; none of that wary prudence, that wise doubting of your neighbour, which prompts the keeping back of some of the truth from him, and the leaving of him in ignorance or in error. What, as members one of another, can you have to hide from one another? What, as believers in Jesus, can you have to hide from any man? I speak of your Christian life; your Christian history; your Christian experience; what you know and feel of the truth of Christ’s gospel, its grace, its power, in your own souls. It is with that especially that you have here to do. It is with reference to that alone that you are here exhorted to speak truth every man with his neighbour. I raise no nice questions of casuistry as to other matters. I enter into no discussion of any such delicate subject as the extent and limit of that outspeaking of the truth about your common affairs, which, as members of society, you owe to your fellow-men. As to all that, I appeal to the moral law, which is universally binding. But I have an additional claim to urge upon you. I address you as members of the body of Christ ; and therefore members one of another. I speak of what, in that capacity, you have to say to one another. But, first, let me remind you I speak on the assumption of your having put away, and still ever putting away, falsehood. I assume that you are Israelites indeed, in whom there is no guile; that there is truth in your inward parts. Alas, can it be that it is the want of that indispensable condition that makes you so timid and tongue-tied when you should be speaking the truth of God; speaking the truth for God? That it is the consciousness of some secret inconsistency, some lurking element of deceit, that paralyses you and tempts you to temporise. Seek more and more thoroughly to put away falsehood. "Create in me a clean heart, 0 God. Let there be truth in my inward parts. Open thou my lips, and my mouth shall show forth thy praise." And now, secondly, I speak to you as members one of another; as incorporated into one divinely constituted body. And I urge that consideration, not only as a reason or motive, but as a help or means, to your compliance with this precept. For surely, in that capacity, you should feel yourselves free to throw off disguise, to speak yourselves out to be what you are. You are at home, among friends. All discrepancy between your inner life and the outward speaking of it in word and deed should be at an end. Among yourselves it should be so; and if it be so among yourselves, it must needs be so also before all the world, in so far as men have eyes to see. We surely need not, if we are really members one of another, be sensitively afraid of being misunderstood or harshly construed. We may trust one another, and rely on our doing justice to one another. Therefore we may let ourselves out. Come then, brethren, let both of these hindrances be taken out of the way; let us strive and pray that they may be taken out of the way - guile in our spirit and isolation of ourselves. Then let us venture to be honest, true, open, bold. Let us have our hearts enlarged; our eye single; our whole body full of light. Let us have freedom of speech, unreserved, unembarrassed, unhesitating, frank, and joyous. Ah, were there more of that in our homes, in our churches, in all circles in which we mingle, among ourselves and toward all men; how might our own souls be gladdened refreshed, revived! How might the cause of God and his blessed gospel be advanced ! How might men have reason so to take knowledge of us that we have been with Jesus, as to be turned, through our full and faithful speech, from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to the living God ! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 28: 04.11. CHAPTER 11: GODLIKE ANGER. ======================================================================== Chapter Eleven GODLIKE ANGER. " Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath." Ephesians 4:26. A QUESTION may be raised as to the force and meaning of the first imperative; "Be ye angry." Is it a mere permission; the recognition and acknowledgment of a necessary evil? You may be angry; you cannot help it; but it must be under certain carefully considered conditions and restraints. Or is it more than that? Does it imply that anger may be right and lawful, nay, that it may be a duty, that it may be wrong not to be angry? The best way of meeting this question is, as it seems to me, to connect the text with the preceding context. Who are they who are least assumed to be angry? They are those who, in obedience to the previous command, have put away lying, or falsehood, and speak truth every man with his neighbour. Now, in the first place, this putting away of lying, or falsehood, as we have seen, implies a deep and thorough inward process of spiritual renovation or renewal. It implies the laying aside of all guile; in all the relations in which we have been guilty of guile before, and are naturally prone to guile; first and chiefly in our relation to God, his government and law, his throne of grace and his blessed gospel; then in our relation to ourselves, our own hearts and consciences ; and, last of all, in relation to our fellow-men, as they are in the sight of God, and as they have claims upon us in the view, not of time only, but also of eternity. Then, secondly, we resolve to speak as we believe; to speak truth every man with his neighbour; whoever that neighbour may be, on whatever grounds his neighbourhood to us may rest; we are to speak out truly what we think and feel, whenever we speak at all. Can this be done, ought it to be done, without anger, without our spirits being stirred within us, without the rising of that emotion which the sense of wrong calls forth? Surely, within the sphere which the apostle, or rather the Spirit, is here regulating, anger is not only inevitable, but lawful and right. This may appear more clearly as I proceed to inquire - I. What is the sort of anger here allowed or enjoined? II. What are the conditions annexed to the allowance or injunction? I. What is the sort of anger here meant? Evidently it must be anger of such a sort as shall be in keeping and in harmony with the sphere in which it works or operates. In this view consider again what that sphere is. It is the sphere of the truth as it is in Jesus, in contrast to the deceit or lie of which the devil is the father. You have learned Christ, hearing him and being taught in him. This brings you into the region of the truth as it is in Jesus; into the full blaze of the true light shining in him. The spell of Satan’s dark falsehood is broken. The truth, in the person and work of Jesus, the real truth, the whole truth, as regards God and man, and their relations now and for ever, possesses your whole soul. You have done with the lusts of the old man, which are the blind ministers of the devil’s lie. You have to do only with the righteousness and holiness of the new man, which are the bright ornaments and blessed agents of God’s truth in Jesus. Thus you are ushered into a new sphere, a new world; a sphere, a world, in which you no longer swallow the devil’s lie, and in terms and under shelter of it indulge your natural lusts; but believe with your whole hearts God’s gracious, glorious truth, in Jesus; and follow after the righteousness and holiness which it demands and inspires. In this new sphere, this new world, and with reference to all its interests and concerns, you are to be inwardly upright, honest; altogether without guile or reserve; putting away all deceit; all deceitful dealing in the inner man; laying the whole inner man bare and open to the truth of God in Jesus: and you are to be outwardly speakers of truth; speakers of that truth; and of all truth in the light of it. You are to do this as required by the law of neighbourhood generally, of course according to the Lord’s interpretation of it in the parable of the good Samaritan; and also as required by the special consideration of our being in him members one of another. Now if it is to this peculiar sphere of life, and to this thorough truthfulness, inwardly and outwardly, in it, that the precept or permission, "Be ye angry," refers, it is plain that the anger meant must be of a very peculiar sort; and the question about it is very limited. It is not, for instance, the question raised by Bishop Butler, and so handled by him, that he must be a bold man who ventures to touch it after him; the question as to the place which anger legitimately occupies among the original elements of man’s moral nature or constitution, its use and abuse, and the principles which should regulate its exercise and expression. It is both a narrower and a loftier view of anger which we are here called to take. We are to look at it as forming part of the new man, created after God, and as working in the new sphere of his divine life, of truth, righteousness, and holiness, in Jesus. No doubt it is still radically the same passion. But it is modified in itself, and in its manner. The only sort of anger that can enter into the kingdom of God is that which has respect to the intention and purpose of the party provoking it; to the moral character indicated by that, whatever it may be, in him or about him, which, when perceived by us, awakens our indignation. And here, therefore, any question as to the nature of the passion must necessarily turn on the standard by which we judge of purpose, or intention, or moral character, and our singleness of eye in judging. To a large extent, even natural men, in natural things, judge rightly, unless warped by interest or prejudice. A cruel murder, a base act of treachery, the recital of a story of oppression, will make most people of any natural feeling angry; and justly so. But natural feeling is fitful, variable, capricious. Men under its influence differ widely from one another as to what makes them angry, and how angry they are; and they differ from themselves at different times. A breach of decorum will irritate the fastidiously polite; a breach of delicacy the sensitively pure; a breach of honour the chivalrously highminded; where coarser souls, or even these very persons in coarser moods, might see nothing to offend. Nay, familiarity with some slight violations of the law of honesty and truth in your worldly dealings may so blunt the moral sense as to render you very tolerant of things, at the bare mention of which you would once have been indignant. Such is anger in the old man, and in the old world; surely, at the best, a doubtful weapon and motive of power, even in what may be called its own appropriate domain of natural morality, amid the ordinary ongoings of natural life and society. And then as to that other domain, pertaining to God and the things of God, it is all but absolutely powerless. Sin, as such, as it touches the law and the throne of God; blasphemy, profanity, the treatment which his Son receives; the affront offered to his Spirit; the insolent rejection of his overtures of grace; the impious defiance of his judgments, arouse no passion; inflame no bosom; kindle no eye. Now look at anger in the new man, created after God - after his image. Will it not, like the new man it belongs to and forms a part of, be itself after God, after his manner? What makes God angry? How is God angry, it will be ever asking. Nay, it will be ever instinctively feeling, under the teaching of the Spirit, what it is that makes God angry, and what his anger is. For this anger of the new man is, in one word, sympathy with God; intelligent, confiding, loving sympathy with God. In its highest and purest form, when not selfish but generous, natural anger may be said to be sympathy with man; a fellow-feeling with the injured, rousing resentment against the injurer. So anger here is genuine, thorough sympathy with God. And hence, in the first instance, in so far as it is genuine and thorough, it takes cognisance of a class of wrongs and offences wholly beyond the range of the merely natural principle. But it is not limited to these. It takes cognisance also of all that lies within the range of that other anger. And it does so not only with a sounder judgment, but with intenser earnestness and warmth. He is but a poor specimen of the new man, if entitled to be accredited with that character at all, who is roused to passion by any hasty or even inadvertent inroad on some sacred form, while he can listen, callous and unmoved, to the wronged orphan’s cry, or pass by on the other side, without anger and therefore without pity, while the traveller is stripped and beaten by thieves. The real Christian is a man still; and nothing human is foreign to him; of nothing human can he say, It is not my concern. But more than that. He is the new man created after God. He looks on all human things with God’s eyes; with God’s heart; seeing them as God sees them; feeling them as God feels them. They move him as they move God. His anger about them is truly Godlike. Thus, to be angry at what makes God angry, is one chief and primary condition of this Godlike anger of the new man created after God; another, is to be angry as God is angry. Here let it be settled in your minds as a great fact that anger in God is a reality, a real feeling. It is not to be explained away as if it were a mere figure of speech. Nor is it to be confounded with his calm determination to enforce law and execute judgment. There is no anger in that. If there were, the sinner might have some better chance of getting off. God, as judge, is not angry; no, never. But he is angry as a moral being. And his anger arises out of his very perfection in that character. He could not be perfectly holy if the sight of sin did not awaken the anger of loathing and abhorrence ; or perfectly righteous if the perpetration of injustice did not awaken the anger of indignation demanding redress; or perfectly good and loving if the spectacle of cruelty did not awaken the anger of pitying resentment, calling aloud for vengeance. He could not be in earnest in the mission of his Son, and in the mission of his Spirit, if unbelief in the Saviour and the offence against the Holy Ghost did not move him to anger. Nor can you be holy, righteous, good and loving, as he is; nor can you be in earnest, as he is in earnest, about the great work which he is carrying on in the earth, for the glory of his own great name and the saving of poor lost sinners; unless you know what it is to be angry even as God is angry. II. But you are to be angry only as God is angry; only in his spirit and after his manner. Therefore, your anger must be (1) sinless in its character ; and (2) brief in its duration. In these two respects your anger, if it is to be the anger of the new man, created after God in the righteousness and holiness of the truth, must be itself after God. 1. It must be sinless. "Be ye angry and sin not." This is not a mere vague and indefinite warning against sin of any sort mixing itself up with your anger. It is precise and definite. It points to sin in the matter of the anger. The anger itself may become more or less sinful; yes, even though its motive is the righteousness and holiness of the truth as it is in Jesus ; and its original impulse is righteous, holy, and true. Let this be ever kept in mind, especially by warm and zealous men, in warm and zealous moments. All anger in you, even Godlike anger, tends to sin; and must do so as long as you are in the flesh. For it too readily allies itself to that self-love in you which is the real root and ground, the source and spring of the anger of the old man, which is altogether sinful, and of whatever is sinful in the anger of the new man. God’s anger is absolutely holy. For he is never angry on his own account, or for injury done to him. In one sense, indeed, it may be said that his anger is kindled by insults and affronts offered to himself and to what is his. Nay, that may be said to be the true ultimate cause of his anger, even when it is manifested in the avenging of his elect and the ruin of their persecutors. But there is no self-seeking in all this. What makes him angry, however it may be opposed to his nature and will, does not really touch his essential glory and blessedness. His glory - the glory of his essential perfections - he can, and must, and will vindicate, not only in spite of, but by means of, opposition the most wilful. His blessedness - the blessedness of his eternal rest - no jarring elements of creature strife can even for a moment disturb or interrupt. It cannot be for their bearing on himself personally, that he is angry when these ills are done. No. But they vex him because he is so holy, pure, loving, true. They vex him for the inherent malignity that is in them; for their sapping the foundations of that righteous government on which the well-being of the universe is based; for the disaster which they bring on helpless victims; for the mischiefs that recoil on the ill-doers themselves. These surely are intelligible enough and warrantable enough motives of anger, even in the breast of infinite benevolence; of him whose nature and whose name is love. They must be felt to be so by all of you who know and believe the love wherewith he has loved you in Christ Jesus. Entering into these motives, and making them yours, you cannot well sin in your anger. In so far as you do so you are surely safe. But the risk always is that self intrudes; the old self; the self of the old man. Anger springs so much more naturally and spontaneously from selfishness than from godliness, brotherly kindness, and charity, that there is ever apt to lurk at the bottom of it, even when it seems to be most disinterested and most divine, some root of bitterness ready to spring up and give trouble. Were its objects, the things we are angry at, mere abstract principles, opinions, practices, there would be comparatively little danger. But they are living persons. Now there lies the snare. Even when we try to conceive of what provokes our righteous and holy anger in the most impersonal possible way, after the most abstract possible fashion, in spite of all that we can do, it becomes embodied. It takes shape and form in living men and women. So there is an inlet for personal feelings stealing in : and personal feelings in such cases are apt to beget sin. But is it not so, even with God? Is not his anger like yours, stirred and provoked not by abstract qualities and acts, but by living personal agents? True. It is so. And that it is so is a very solemn consideration for those who stir and provoke his anger. God is angry with the wicked. Not with their wicked attributes and wicked deeds, but with themselves; he, personally, with them personally. 0 wicked man God is angry with thee! But he has no personally vindictive feeling against thee. He has no personal wrong to avenge; no personal grudge to gratify. No! Far from it. He loveth thee with a pure and holy love, though he is angry with thee for thine impurity and unholiness. Angry as he is with thee, he would have thee to be pure and holy as he is himself. Thus the sinlessness of God’s anger is secured by his infinite, universal love. Thus it is divested of every element of personal feeling. God is love. Would you learn how to be angry and sin not? First, be sure that you know and believe the love that God has to you : and then be sure that you love as God loves. Only then can you be angry as God is angry; and so be angry and sin not. Let love, divine love, the love of God flowing forth out of the heart of God through his Son Jesus Christ; flowing into your hearts in the Holy Ghost; flowing again forth, through the same Lord Jesus, and in the same Holy Ghost, from your heart, in which now it has its home; let that love give its tone and temper to all your anger, whoever may be its object, be he the worst of enemies, the worst of men. You are angry; you cannot but be angry; you do well to be angry, when you see his crimes and hear his blasphemies. But you love him as God loves him, and would have him to be saved, even as God shows that he would have him to be saved, when he swears by himself, "As I live, saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked ; but that the wicked turn from his way and live," So be ye angry and sin not. It must be short, as well as sinless, this anger that is here sanctioned. It must be of brief duration. "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." In this respect also the anger is Godlike; it is such as it is in God. For the anger of God is not one of the eternal attributes of his nature. It is a feeling or emotion (I cannot help using human phraseology here) called forth by passing events and circumstances in time; and not therefore necessarily lasting. It is not like his justice, always and unchangeably the same. On the contrary, it is temporary, and, if I may so say, occasional. It must be so, if it is real. For what, in this connection, is his anger? It is the effect produced upon his moral nature by what offends it in the current history, the actual ongoings of the world; in the daily doings of its inhabitants. It is the present effect of a present cause. It is, even in God, not an abiding principle, but a transient affection. I repeat that, so far as I can see, it must be so, if it is real. For, if real, it partakes beyond all doubt of the character and quality of emotion. It is the occasional acting, not the abiding state, of the Divine mind. This is a view of the anger of God which I think I might prove, did time permit, to be strictly scriptural. It is a very solemn one for both saint and sinner, for the wicked and the righteous. God is angry with the wicked; it is said, he is angry with them every day. His anger is a daily anger. It is new and fresh every day; as they commit new and fresh wickedness every day. It is real anger against them personally; and it is very fierce and terrible. The expression of it, when he sees fit to express it, cannot but be dreadful. He does not always outwardly express it. For the most part he holds his peace and keeps silence. All the more appalling may the expression of it be, when he does speak out, not in word only, but in deed. Still, it is the expression, not of a past purpose, or of a prospective sentence, but of a present feeling on the part of God. As such, I repeat, it cannot Tout be terrible. God forbid that I should mitigate its terror. But it is not the worst terror for the wicked. It is not with that that their final punishment is connected; it is not on that that it is based. I nowhere find their condemnation represented as flowing from God’s anger. If it did, it might not be so hopeless as it is. But it comes of his justice; and that is a very different affair. Anger, in the breast of God, may not be a lasting emotion. But justice in his kingdom is an everlasting principle; an eternal unchangeable necessity. And it is God’s justice, not his anger, that seals your irreversible and irrecoverable doom. God is angry with his own people when in their character and conduct he sees what offends his moral nature. He must be so, for no change in their relation to him can possibly change his moral nature. Nay, he is more angry with them than with the wicked. He may well be so. He cannot but be so. For what in them provokes him to anger is far more inexcusable than it would be in the wicked. It pains and vexes him far more. And he may express his anger in their case, in his dealings with them, more clearly and emphatically than for the most part he does in the case of the wicked. Nay, he must needs do so. He cannot let them, as he lets the wicked, alone. He cannot conceal from them his anger. They must be made to feel its effects. "Why should you be stricken any more?" may be his language to you who believe not. It is of no use; of no avail. There is no sound part in you on which the stroke of my anger might tell. Ah what a state! You escape the temporary visitation of his anger to fall into the inexorable hands of his everlasting justice. To you who are in Christ there is now no condemnation. Justice, in your case, is satisfied. You have nothing to fear from it. Nay, it is what constitutes your security. God is just, and the justifier of you who believe. You are at peace and on terms of friendship with God for ever. But he to whom you stand thus so blessedly related is the same moral being that he has ever been. The Lord your God is holy still. He is angry when what you are, or what you do, is contrary to his moral nature, contrary to his holiness. He cannot but be angry; and angry too, in very proportion to the love he bears you, and the favour he has shown you. And his anger is a real emotion; it will be felt by you to be real; a real distress; a real grief in your inmost soul; causing many tears; and it may take effect upon you in real and awful inflictions even of penal severity, not to speak of salutary chastening. Still it is but for a moment. For hear his own gracious words of comfort: -"For a small moment have I forsaken thee; but with great mercies will I gather thee. In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer." ..." For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee" (Isaiah 54:7-8, Isaiah 54:10). Now, if a moment suffice for the anger of God, surely a day may be more than enough for yours. If his righteous and holy wrath endureth but for a moment, yours may well subside ere sundown. It may be well that it do, if you would be angry, and not sin in your anger. For your anger, even at the best, is not, like that of God, perfectly righteous. It is not so righteous and so holy that you can afford to nurse it, or be safe in keeping it long. Alas, it soon loses its disinterested character of sympathy with God, his truth, his righteousness and holiness. It ceases to be his: it becomes your own. It is not generous indignation on account of wrong done to him or to his saints, but a sense of personal wrong inflicted on yourselves. It passes into that sad frame of mind which the psalmist confesses so feelingly -"As for me, my feet were almost gone; my steps had well nigh slipped. For I was envious at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. . . . Verily I have cleansed my heart in vain, and washed my hands in innocency" (Psalms 73:2-3, Psalms 73:13). Therefore, as is elsewhere counselled -"Fret not thyself because of evil doers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity: fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass. Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in anywise to do evil" (Psalms 37:1, Psalms 37:7-8). That your anger may be sinless ; not selfish, carnal, earthly; but pure, upright, heavenly, divine ; that ye may be angry and sin not; "let not the sun go down upon your wrath." And now, in conclusion, adverting again to the question with which we set out, we surely cannot greatly err if, under the qualifications and limitations specified, we interpret freely, broadly, fearlessly, the precept, "Be ye angry," as not an allowance or permission merely, but a warrant, a sanction, a command. It is not the toleration and regulation of a necessary evil. It is the commendation of a good thing ; the enforcing of a high and holy obligation. Yes, it is a duty to be angry. It is good to be zealously affected in a good thing. Who is the man who has learned to pass through this world of sin, and suffering, and sorrow, calm, unruffled, unmoved; his ear not pained, his soul not sick, at rumours of oppression and deceit, of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled; the placid, mild philosopher; smiling in imperturbable serene tranquillity amid the groans of oppressed virtue and the shouts of triumphant vice? Call you him a model man? One of whom you would make a patriot, a philanthropist, or anything more noble than a vulgar hero, a callous conqueror of empires, wading remorselessly through slaughter to a throne? Who is the Christian who can pass through a city wholly given to idolatry without his spirit being stirred in him? Certainly no second Paul. Who is the follower of Jesus who can see men turning his Father’s house into a den of thieves - or making long prayers while they devour widows’ houses, and not be roused to righteous wrath? Certainly he is not like-minded with his Master. Let Christ here be your study, your pattern, your example. Let him be more. Let him be your life; Christ living in you; dwelling in your hearts by faith. And as it is not you who live, but Christ who liveth in you; so let it be not you who are angry, but Christ in you. Never be ye angry, where you are not sure that he would have been angry. Never be ye angry, otherwise than as you are sure he would have been angry. Never be ye angry longer than you feel he would have been angry. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath. Let all be pure and calm at eventide. Would you lie down in peace and take quiet sleep? Can you, if there be sin in your heart? In all your anger there is sin, or risk of sin. Therefore let not the sun go down upon your wrrath. Again I ask, Would you lie down in peace and take quiet sleep? Can you, if there is trouble in your spirit? In all anger there is trouble, unquietness, perturbation. When Jesus slept so soundly in the storm without, there was no storm within. The tumult of the people, the contradiction, vexed him no more than the noisy and adverse billows of the sea. It was his own calm repose that he imparted and expressed, when he said to the disciples, Why are ye so fearful, and to the rolling waves, Peace, be still. Would you have the same sound sleep that he had? Would you have him to give you, as his beloved, his own sleep? Then let not even righteous anger be prolonged. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath. Once more I ask, Would you lie down in peace and take quiet sleep? Can you, if you lie down tonight in any other frame than you would choose to he found in were tomorrow’s wakening in eternity ? And what frame is that but what was in Jesus, when the sun was going down in deepest eclipse, not on any wrath in him, but on his dying love, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do "-" Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit"? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 29: 04.12. CHAPTER 12: GIVING PLACE TO THE DEVIL : GRIEVING THE SPIRIT. ======================================================================== Chapter Twelve GIVING PLACE TO THE DEVIL : GRIEVING THE SPIRIT. "Neither give place to the devil. Let him that stole steal no more : but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth. Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers. And grieve not the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption."— Ephesians 4:27-30. THE warning in Ephesians 4:27 may he taken in connection with the immediately preceding context. If in your anger, however righteous and holy, you sin, by letting in self; or if, without consciously letting in self, you keep your anger too long; in either way you give place to the devil, and allow him scope and space to work; you play into his hands. And that is true. The prohibition thus construed is relevant and emphatic. Take care lest your anger, however it may be of God at first, become soon satanic, or of the devil. But what follows must, as I think, be taken into account. Two measures of reform are enjoined. The hands, instead of stealing, are to work (Ephesians 4:28). The mouth, instead of being foul, is to be edifying (Ephesians 4:29). And that under the risk or peril of giving place to the devil and grieving the Holy Spirit of God (Ephesians 4:30). Surely it must be with reference not merely to sinful and long-nursed anger, but to stealing instead of working, and idle or profane speech instead of speech pure and profitable, that the two opposite Spirits are here introduced, and you are cautioned against giving place to the one and grieving the other. Thus viewed, the antagonism is very pointed; and the diverging lines are very clearly marked. First of all,- going back a step (Ephesians 4:22-24) we have on the one hand deceit, or the father of lies, patronising the lusts of the old man; and on the other hand truth, or him who is the truth, or the Spirit of truth, owning and turning to account the righteousness and holiness of the new man. Then, next (Ephesians 4:25), we have on the one side calm and easy tolerance of lying and wrong; and on the other side honest indignation. For that contrast surely is what suggests the caution, "Be ye angry and sin not." Even honest indignation is apt to take the shape of personal irritation; and, if prolonged, to become personal ill-will. At this stage, however, a new temptation as it were comes in. Why persist in a vain protest? Of what avail is our measured and mealy-mouthed reproof if all the fire of honest passion is to be thus cautiously repressed? Why not rather be quiet, tolerant, acquiescent? That is what Satan would have us to be; that is another way, the reverse of the former, of giving place to the devil. And to what does it lead? What follows? We begin to think our old manner of using our own hands and our own mouths not so sinful or so unallowable as we once believed it to be. Ceasing to be angry, because afraid of being too angry, with those who do these evil and untrue things, we cease to be angry with the evil and untrue things themselves, and with their prompter : we need to be reminded that there is another Spirit to whom we stand related, and to be in a startling way admonished of the danger of our so losing sight, in word or deed, of our pure and high and holy calling, as not only to give place to the devil but to "grieve the Holy Spirit of God, whereby we are sealed unto the day of redemption." It would thus appear that the risk of giving place to the devil, against which we are warned, lies not altogether in the direction of our anger being apt to become excessive; but rather, partly at least, in a direction the opposite of that. For it may lie in both directions. We give place to the devil by overmuch anger, in degree or in duration, even when the anger is of a righteous sort: we give place to him equally, if not more, when, in our determination to avoid that extreme, we suppress all indignant emotion against wrong and outrage, or against inhumanity and impiety and crime. For then and thus we learn to tolerate in ourselves, as well as in one another, more or less of what the devil well knows how to take advantage of and turn to account; such a use of the hands and of the mouth, such a giving place to him, as plays his game and does his work, while it grieves the Holy Spirit of God. In this view, let us look at the two warnings (in Ephesians 4:28-29) as regards I. The sins forbidden. II. The opposite virtues enjoined. And III. The motives or aims suggested. I. The sins indicated are, as one would at first sight suppose, very gross and flagrant; thieving hands and a foul mouth. It is against stealing, and against profane or ribald speaking, that the warning is given. The apostle uses great plainness of speech. There is no mincing of the matter. And yet it is Christians who are thus addressed ; and that, too, without any impeachment of their Christianity. Their title to be addressed as Christians is not called in question. Rather, it is tacitly admitted. It is indeed made the ground of the apostle’s urgent appeal. Is it for you Christians to steal with your hands, and speak abominably with your mouths? But is that, you ask, possible? Can any one professing faith in Christ be guilty of either of these offences, and yet retain his position as a member of Christ’s church? Would that we could meet the question without a blush of shame and a tear of sorrow! But it may be said those who, under the cloak of a Christian profession, act dishonestly and speak lewdly or profanely are hypocrites; wilful and conscious hypocrites. Surely God’s own children are not to be supposed capable of such iniquities. Nay, but what are these iniquities, in essence and in germ? Stealing, is it not dishonest self-seeking? And what self-seeking ever was or can be honest? Corrupt communication proceeding out of the mouth, is it not unscrupulous and unguarded self-utterance? And what self-utterance ever was or can be pure? In the one case, it is the old man seeking his own; in the other, it is the old man uttering himself: and the more I realise my being so renewed in the spirit of my mind as to put off the old man and put on the new, the more sensitively will I feel my liability to relapse into those habits of selfishness taking in, and selfishness giving out, by which the old man, still continually besetting me, is intensely and incurably corrupted. II. The sins indicated are to be looked at in the light of the opposite duties enjoined. Over against stealing is working with the hands that which is good. Over against corrupt communication proceeding out of the mouth is the coming out of it of what is good to the use of edifying. It is not negative but positive legislation that we have here; not the mere prohibition of evil, but the express injunction of the reverse. To keep the hands from theft is not enough; they must be well, and honestly, and honourably occupied; not merely idle as to evil, but actively working good. To shut the mouth, so that no corrupt communication shall proceed out of it, is not enough; it must be open for the utterance of what is good in itself and fitted to be edifying according to present need; fitted to do good on the occasion and in the circumstances. Look at these two precepts as contrasted with the two prohibitions. 1. Instead of stealing, you are to labour, and labour hard. But in whatever work you shall labour, see that it be good ; not merely innocent, and such as cannot be condemned; but beneficial and praiseworthy. Manual work is here specified ; but the precept is plainly comprehensive of all work. For all work, considered objectively, or as telling outwardly, is in a sense manual. It is, in one way or other, directly or indirectly, working with the hands. And the alternative here is plain and pointed. It is either stealing or doing good; working thievishly, or working honestly and honourably. For it is assumed that there must be working, manual working, which is working with the head as well. You are working incessantly, and cannot but be working, as long as you have brains and hands. And you must be working, at every given moment, either in the way of stealing, or in the way of doing good. There is no other alternative; no middle state; no absolute idleness. "For Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do." There is working always, and working with a character; no neutral working, working that is neither evil nor good. The only question is "Of what kind shall it be?" Ah, does not this bring the prohibition, viewed in the light of the precept, very closely home to the spiritually awakened conscience? Steal no more! Is that voice of warning addressed to me? Perhaps not, I say at first, for there is a qualification. Let him that stole,- the stealer, one who used to steal,- steal no more. "Was that ever my profession or my practice, so as to make such a warning necessary for me, or applicable to me? Perhaps not, I say again, so far as other men could take cognisance of my doings ; or, for that matter, my own self. "In my worst state I was not a pickpocket or a burglar or a highway robber. I bore a fair reputation; I worked at an honest trade. Why should I be told now not to steal?" So some outwardly respectable member of the church at Ephesus might not unnaturally ask. So I may be apt to ask now, if I count nothing to be stealing but taking a purse by sleight-of-hand, or cheating a customer over the counter with a lie. But shut me up into this vice or screw, that I must be either stealing or doing good ; that if my handy-work or my head-work, of whatever sort, is not consciously and intentionally good, in the sense of its being done under a feeling of duty, and as what I owe to my Maker and my brethren rather than myself, it must necessarily partake of the character of self-seeking, and lead to the tricks and arts and subterfuges, of which self-seeking is the source. Let me be made to see how, as often as I act on any other principle than that of doing good, doing the right thing; as often as I act on considerations of self-interest or of selfish expediency, I am almost sure to give in to worldly maxims and worldly ways, if not of positive and actual dishonesty, yet of what sails very near the wind in that direction; then, so far from taking offence at such plainness of speech as implies that I may still be apt to steal, I thank God for my being forced at every step I take, to meet the question, Am I doing this as a good thing, or merely as a matter of self-interest or self-pleasing or self-aggrandisement? For if it be merely that, it is theft. Therefore, "Let him that stole steal no more: but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good." 2. The same line of remark will apply to the other precept, which has respect to the mouth rather than the hands, the speech rather than the conduct. Here also it is practically most important to consider the prohibition and the precept as shutting you up at every moment into a strict and stern alternative, from the grasp of which there is no possibility of escape. Out of the mouth there must proceed either corrupt communication, or that which is good to the use of edifying; either the one or the other ; nothing between the two; nothing else. Here again, what is characteristic of the old man, must be regarded in the light of the spiritual insight and spiritual sensibility of the new man. In that view, the stigma of corrupt communication must be affixed to whatever is not good in itself and in its tendency; or, in other words, edifying according to the occasion. All, in our conversational intercourse with one another and with our fellow-men, that does not fulfil these conditions, is corrupt communication. It must be so. For speech as well as action must always be influential, either for evil or for good; and if not for good, then for evil. And the conditions here are such as the spiritual man cannot but admit to be reasonable and fair. He must speak. He cannot take refuge in silence. He is a testifier ; a witness-bearer. " Open thou my lips," is his prayer. " My mouth shall show forth thy praise," is his profession. Nay, he must be speaking, whether he will or not. He cannot help it. He must be giving some indication of what he thinks and feels, about what he sees and hears, in the company of his associates, in the fellowship of the world. He cannot be neutral. He will not be allowed to be neutral. Let him be as dumb as the born mute, he will be held to speak. His very dumbness will be read and construed. Therefore let him see to it, that not only no corrupt communication come from his mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying. III. The motives suggested in these two exhortations; the ends to be sought, must be noted. 1. That you may have to give to him that needeth. It is from, this motive, for this end, that you are " to labour, working with your hands the thing which is good" (Ephesians 4:28). No man ever steals from such a motive or for such an end. There may indeed be instances in which the robber or the bandit affects to be very generous and liberal to the poor. He may thus make a merit of his deeds of charity, and even superstitiously set off alms given to a helpless beggar at his mercy, against the spoil and plunder of a richly-laden caravan, or a lordly chariot, or a princely palace. He may even be visited with occasional fits and movements of real sensibility, and may indulge his better nature at the cost of some sacrifice of his booty. But it is not in order to his having gifts for the needy that he plies his trade. He is simply seeking to enrich himself. And what are you seeking in the trade which you ply, whatever it may be? Is it simply to enrich yourself ? Is it merely to provide for yourself and your house? Is that your motive, your end? I mean your chief motive, your real end, to which all that you may do or give for pious uses is subordinate? If it be so, can you say that you are safe from the temptation to steal, to place self-interest before justice and truth, as well as charity, to take unfair advantage, to wink at gainful frauds, to tolerate doubtful practices and usages, to let the ignorant or the unwary victimise themselves for your good? It is not to you that we can look for help to the needy families of men or the needy cause of God; not at least for help, that can be relied on, help steady, continuous, systematic, and secure. You may give to serve a purpose, to pacify conscience, to get rid of importunity, to silence censure. Or you may give upon the spur of a sudden impulse or caprice, when a strong appeal has alarmed your hard heart, or a pathetic pleading has drawn tears from your eyes. But, if you look on what you get as the robber looks on his spoil,—as mere gain to yourself,—property or means to be grasped as your own, as the thief grasps his booty, your giving will partake of the spirit of your getting. It will be mere selfishness after all; selfishness still, to whatever length it may go. For true giving, true and real disinterestedness in giving, is the attribute of him alone who, when he works, works from a sense of duty, and when he wins, wins under a sense of duty; " working with his hands the thing which is good, that he may have to give to him that needeth" (Ephesians 4:28). 2. That it may minister grace unto the hearers. Here also, as regards your mouth as well as your hands, your sayings as well as your doings, your means of influencing by your testimony as well as your means of benefiting with your gifts, you are called to rise to a high and holy aim, if you would be secure against the hazard of sad calamity and sin. You would not have the communication that proceeds out of your mouth to be corrupt or corrupting. You would have it to be good, useful, edifying. Be it so. You can make sure of this only if you enter into the noble design that it may minister grace unto the hearers. For it is a noble design. It appeals to you, as called yourselves to be ministers of grace, and therefore bound to make all your speech, all that proceeds out of your mouth, minister grace. Not for your own sakes only are you to set a watch upon your lips, and see to it that nothing be allowed to appear, in your converse or in your conduct, that might indicate corruption in yourselves or promote corruption in others. Nor is it merely to keep yourselves safe from any such corrupt communication proceeding out of your mouth that you are to make sure of all that does proceed out of your mouth being good to the use of edifying. You are to count yourselves charged with a most sacred and honourable commission. Grace has come to you, and through you it is to reach others. Therefore, " let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers" (Ephesians 4:29). And now, taking these two verses as marking out, or covering, the region in which the church and the world, the renewed and the unrenewed, with their opposite characters and antagonistic tendencies, come in contact with one another, we may see the propriety or the relevancy of the two commands, the one ushering in these verses,- Give not place to the devil: the other following them up, Grieve not the Holy Spirit of God. It is as if on either side of a slippery and sloping field there stood or moved a waiting, watching, working Spirit. Below, along the lowest line, the dark spirit of evil goes to and fro incessantly. At the upper ridge, where the ground is highest, see, the good Spirit is ever hovering. It is the field of earth’s ordinary commerce and communion, on which its’ varied business goes on, and men act and speak with one another and their hands and mouths are constantly, in one way or other, occupied and engaged. But there is a difference. Below, where the slope descends, the hands are stealing, appropriating, selfishly and unscrupulously grasping, and the mouths are giving forth words vile or vain, and withal a noxious breath. The spirit of evil acknowledges and smiles on them as his own. Above, on the heights, the hands are instruments of loving liberality, and the mouths are ministers of grace. The good Spirit, beholding his own fruit, is pleased. The intermediate space is the scene of contest; the arena on which good and evil workers, good and evil speakers, meet and mingle, and struggle for the mastery. You are in the thick of the heady fight, or rather in the eager bustle of the busy crowd; apt to be swayed upwards or downwards. Both the Spirits would draw you, each his own way, by personally moving you themselves, and by soliciting you through their respective agents and agencies. What now is your place? Whither are you tending? Is your manner of working losing somewhat of its character of honourable conscientiousness, and taking on rather the character of self-aggrandising greed? Is your utterance of yourself, your speech, less edifying? Is it, on the contrary, growing, occasionally at least, if not habitually, secular and secularising? Ah, do you not experience how the devil from below is opening his arms to embrace you, while the grieved Spirit from above seems about to leave you? But no. You will not so vex and grieve that blessed, gracious, loving Person, who having begun a good work in you would fain perfect it to the end. You will not let your way of life, through compromise of your high testimony, and concession to the world’s greed, and the lie and theft of the world’s prince, become such as to give him a hold over you and wreathe his horrid features with a grim and ghastly look of malignant triumph, as if he were to have you again within his grasp. Eather you will resist the devil, and say, "Get thee behind me, Satan:" and, turning your eye upward and heavenward, you will cry, "Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow." But my illustration halts. Far nearer is the Spirit than as if he were watching you or helping you from without or from above. He is with you, in you, personally; dwelling in you; shedding abroad in your hearts the love of God; forming Christ in you the hope of glory. He seals you; seals you as accepted in the Beloved, as adopted children, as heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ. He is in those hearts of yours, out of which proceed your works, out of the abundance of which your mouth speaks. He is in you, moving you to right working and to right speech. Grieve him not, for you need him to be in you as the only seal of your security until the day of redemption. You cannot dispense with, you cannot do without, that seal. If you efface and mar the holy and pure stamp with which he impresses your inner man, as you must do if your hands work vanity and your mouths speak idly, you are at the mercy of that other spirit who also is very near, and from whose embrace only the Holy Spirit of God can keep. And for another reason grieve not the Holy Spirit of God. For he loveth you even as he loveth the Father and the Son, and fain would mould your whole mind, soul, heart, into the perfect image of the Father’s holy forgiveness and the Son’s self-sacrificing love. Nor let me omit to address a word to you who, not being renewed in the spirit of your minds, are still walking after the course of this world and its prince; entangled in the snares of the evil spirit; led captive by him at his pleasure. Have you no misgivings, no relentings, when you think of that other Spirit who is contending with the devil, not for your body, as in the case of Moses, but for your immortal souls? Think how you also may, or rather must, be grieving him! Is he not striving with you? Is he not convincing you of sin, especially of the sin of your unbelieving and ungrateful treatment of Christ? Is he not making you feel uneasy, unhappy, on account of your rejection of Christ? Is he not causing you to say to some dear Christian friend, in your secret heart if not with your open lips - Almost thou persuadest me? Is he not assuring you that Christ has vanquished the devil, and set his vassals and captives free? Is he not even now moving you to assert your liberty, and say, I will arise, and, led by my elder brother, I will go to my Father? Ah, will you continue to grieve this gracious Holy Ghost? Have you not grieved him enough, and long enough, already, resisting his movements, quenching his fire? Has he not continued to deal lovingly with you, in spite of many provocations, showing you Christ, shutting you up into Christ, until this very hour? Grieve him not any more, 0 my brother: grieve him not now. He is now pressing on your acceptance Christ in all his fulness - is he not? He is now moving you to embrace him. He will now, even now, give you grace to lay hold of Christ as Christ lays hold of you. But remember the awful warning, "My Spirit shall not always strive with man." And to you, to all, let me address this closing exhortation. Be decided, be thorough-going in your walk and work, in your speech and testimony. Beware of the sliding scale. Beware of half measures and a doubtful state or doubtful footing. Let the eye be ever single, looking always upwards, heavenwards never casting a glance downwards, world-wards. The two Spirits, to one or other of whom you must be surrendering yourselves, are irreconcilable foes their mutual opposition is everlasting. The breaking off from the one and the yielding to the other must be complete. You must be born again, you must be created anew. And ever thereafter you must be relentlessly, unsparingly, as you would cut off a right hand, putting off the old man which is corrupt according to the lusts of deceit; and you must be putting on, whole and entire, without breach or flaw, the new man which after God is created in the righteousness and holiness of the truth. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 30: 04.13. CHAPTER 13: THE SEAL OF THE SPIRIT ======================================================================== Chapter Thirteen THE SEAL OF THE SPIRIT "And grieve not the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption. Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil-speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: and be ye kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you. Be ye therefore followers of God, as dear children; and walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling savour."- Ephesians 4:30-32 - Ephesians 5:1-2. THE day of redemption (Ephesians 4:30) is to be understood as pointing to the consummation elsewhere described (Ephesians 1:14) as the redemption of the purchased possession. The idea suggested is that of property, such as an estate or house, secured by purchase, but not yet fully claimed and occupied. The purchaser has acquired a full and valid title to it by payment of the price. His ownership of it, or vested interest in it, is secure beyond all legal challenge. But, for some reason that seems good to him, he does not immediately complete the transaction by the final step of actual and entire appropriation. He departs for a time, and abstains from taking it absolutely and exclusively into his own hands; leaving it, in the meantime, apparently very much in the condition of the other and ordinary lots or streets in the midst of which it is for the present situated; open to temporary tenancies, or to untoward intrusions and influences; from which, when he comes back, he will effectually and conclusively deliver it. But he does not, on that account, care for it less now than when he purchased it. On the contrary, in the view of its present circumstances, he cares for it all the more. And in his care for it, he seals it with his own seal, as the sign of his having bought it and separated it to himself, and the sure pledge of its safe preservation unto the day of redemption. The sealing, in this case, is by the Holy Spirit of God; as the property to be sealed is the church collective and its members individually. You personally, as believers, each one of you apart, are sealed by the Holy Spirit of God, or you are sealed in the Holy Spirit of God. So, with the approval of competent criticism, the preposition may be more literally rendered. The difference matters little. By the agency of the Holy Spirit of God in the one view, or in the sphere and working of his agency in the other, a seal is stamped or impressed upon you. It is of course stamped inwardly; for it is the work of the Holy Spirit. The material point is, that the Holy Spirit comes in here. And he comes in, not so much as being the giver of the seal, but rather as being himself the gift - the seal. The sealing, as to its source and original donation, is to be ascribed more directly and properly to Christ than to the Holy Spirit; and indeed ultimately to the Father; as the apostle speaks elsewhere, "Now he which stablisheth us with you in Christ, and hath anointed us is God; who hath also sealed us, and given the earnest of the Spirit in our hearts" (2 Corinthians 1:21-22). So also the Lord says of himself, as the Son of man (John 6:27), "him hath God the Father sealed." Thus this sealing comes from God the Father through the Son. The office of the Spirit in the matter of this sealing is to apply or impress the seal in the heart. Nay, more than that. It is his own blessed and gracious operation there that is itself the seal. In his indwelling in you; in your receiving him into your inmost souls; in your experience of those heavenly communications, and holy movements, and loving frames, which indicate his presence and his power, in that lies the very essence of the seal. Ye are sealed by or in the Holy Spirit of God. But what precisely are these indications, constituting, as it were, the stamp or impression more or less legible to you and to others, which the Holy Spirit of God, in this sealing process, makes and leaves upon your inner man? There is no trace in them of the Spirit himself. He does not speak of himself. He makes no manifestation, nor does he stamp any image of his own person or of his working. He is like one present and working incognito; keeping himself and his working concealed. He gives out, as it were, a stamp on the wax which he softens, and by means of the softening influence he exerts, and of the die he uses, he makes, not himself cognisable or recognisable, but something else or some one else. Such is the teaching of Scripture elsewhere on this subject. And so it is here as regards your being sealed by or in the Holy Spirit of God. Apart from all general reasoning out of Scripture, and keeping to the present text, I think you may find in this passage a twofold sealing by or in the Holy Spirit of God about which you have to concern yourselves. On the one hand, he seals to you, or in you, "God, for Christ’s sake, forgiving you;" on the other, "Christ loving you, and giving himself for you, an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling savour." In either view, the exhortation applies -"Grieve not the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day of redemption " (Ephesians 4:30). I. God, for Christ’s sake, hath forgiven you. And if you would not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, you are, in this respect, to be followers of God as dear children, imitators of God as his beloved sons and daughters (Ephesians 4:31; Ephesians 5:1). The precise and particular line of your thus following or imitating God is his having forgiven you ; and so forgiven you as to make you, and make you feel yourselves to be, in his forgiving you, his dear children. That is what is first of all sealed to you by or in the Holy Spirit of God. The forgiveness of God and its fatherly character ; that God in Christ does forgive you, and that in Christ he forgives you as a father forgiving dear children ; such is the import or aspect of this sealing by or in the Spirit, so far as God the Father is concerned. And it is plainly a sealing that is to be recognised by you in your own consciousness and your own experience ; and that not merely, according to the view of this passage, in order to the promotion of your comfort and peace. That is not what is chiefly pointed at here ; nay, it is not pointed at here at all. It is duty, not privilege; your obligation towards others, not your enjoyment for yourself, that Paul is anxious about. His only object is to have your way of dealing with your fellow-men moulded on the type or pattern of God’s way of dealing with you. That it may be so, he would have you to realise God’s way of dealing with you as a fact, a real fact, an actual event in your personal history; he has in Christ forgiven you. Of course, in the first instance, and in its fullest sense and force, this applies to your first apprehension of the pardoning mercy of God in Christ; your first turning from sin unto God; your first embracing the glorious gospel of reconciliation; your first tasting and seeing how good God is. But it is not at all necessarily restricted to that. To the Lord our God belong mercies and forgivenesses. He multiplies his pardons. "Forgive us our debts" is your daily prayer: and daily forgiveness, if rightly asked and really got, is ever a fresh renewal and revival, day by day, of the original forgiveness reached through your first knowledge of the righteousness of God in Christ, and your first conscious grasp of his saving mercy, his forgiveness, and the manner of it. Daily, hourly forgiveness, which you need, is nothing to you if it is not that. Day hy day, therefore, hour by hour, you must be realising the nature and character of that forgiveness; the Holy Spirit of God must be sealing it as regards its nature and character, to you, and in you. It is forgiveness in Christ, and its being so involves two great commendations of it. Negatively, there is the absence of all personal feeling of irritation (Ephesians 4:31). Forgiveness is possible, after a sort, even when he who forgives retains, and pleads that he cannot help retaining, some soreness as regards the wrong that has been done to him. In spite of that he forgives. He may even make a merit of the forgiveness being in spite of that. But that is not the manner of God. It cannot be. For, first, there never was any such element as personal irritation in his holy anger against sin, or in his judicial condemnation of it. And, secondly, his forgiveness is in Christ; for Christ’s sake; flowing to guilty men through the channel of that mediation of Christ, that gift of his own dear Son, which makes his forgiveness a purely, thoroughly, unreservedly, paternal or fatherly act, and absolutely precludes and shuts out the very idea of anything like a reserved grudge or a lingering sense of wrong. Forgiveness, with such a drawback, may be the manner of men. It is not the manner of God. But more than that. Positively, there is in the forgiveness of God a kind and tender heart (Ephesians 4:32). It is not the careless or contemptuous overlooking of a fault, because he who commits it is below resentment. It is not the supercilious graciousness of one who is above taking notice of an offence ; and in a sort of offhand exercise of clemency, pardons because he does not consider it worth while to punish; the offence being in his view so abortive as an attempt to hurt him, and the offender being so poor and pitiable a wretch, as scarcely to attract his notice. No! That cannot be. For it is forgiveness in Christ; in the Son of his love; in whom he does, and even must, manifest himself as having a father’s nature and a father’s heart; in whom and for whose sake his forgiving you must needs be forgiving you with full fatherly affection; because you are in his Son, and being one with him, are yourselves his own dear children. Thus in Christ, through Christ, for Christ’s sake, forgiveness comes in such a way as to bring out unmistakably, and with resistless cogency and affecting power and pathos, on the one hand the view which God takes of the sin to be forgiven, as being so exceeding sinful that nothing but the blood of his own dear Son could blot out its guilt; and on the other hand the special and peculiar regard which God has to each one and every one of those, for each one and every one of whom individually Christ tasted death. Forgiveness in Christ, or for his sake, is not, and cannot be, a mere vague amnesty, or indiscriminate gaol-delivery; consistent with entire ignorance of the parties delivered, and the entire absence consequently of all personal feeling of good-will towards any of them. It is, and must be, of a sort implying kindness and tenderheartedness to the forgiven ones, one by one, if it is forgiveness in Christ as tasting death for every one. Now it is this forgiveness of God in Christ that is sealed to you by the Holy Spirit of God. And if you would not grieve the Holy Spirit of God you must be, in respect of this manner of forgiveness, like-minded with God. Hence, on the one hand, the exhortation, negatively: "Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice" (Ephesians 4:31). The thing condemned is primarily "bitterness," acrimony, a frame of mind that is acrid and sour, ill-tempered, ill-conditioned. It is such a frame of mind as breeds inwardly "wrath and anger;" hasty indignation sometimes, and at other times prolonged and settled animosity. And it is apt to vent itself outwardly in "clamour and evil speaking;" in clamour, or outspoken vehemence, if it is a passionate burst of wrath; in evil speaking, or calumny, if it is more deliberate. And the whole is traced to "malice;" to ill-will; to what is the opposite of goodness, generosity, and geniality; to the evil spirit of unregulated self-seeking and self-regard. For it is that spirit which begets "bitterness," the root of all this evil. It makes a man jealous and fretful as regards the treatment he meets with at the hands of his fellow-men. It inclines him to be easily provoked; to take amiss what may not be really meant to be an offence. Or, if he is of a slower and more retentive temperament, it inclines him to dwell on the affront or injury, and to magnify his sense of it. If it is the first of these inward movements that he feels, it may escape - as steam does through a safety valve, in a loud roar or cry - in "clamour." If it is the second, it is but too likely to work more insidiously, as "evil speaking" or slander. In either case it has its origin in "malice," in badness, in evil-mindedness; and the badness is easily traceable to ignorance, or unbelief, of the goodness of God, in his way of forgiving you in Christ. If, therefore, you would not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, in this matter of forgiveness, or dealing forbearingly and forgivingly with your brethren, get into the very manner of God, in forgiving you in Christ. Get into the heart of God himself in his thus forgiving you. Is there, on his part, any clamour or evil speaking - any hasty reproach or prolonged accusation - when he forgives you? Is there any wrath or anger - any vehemence of passion, as if indulging itself in one last ebullition, or any reserved and suppressed heat of cherished sullen resentment? Surely God’s forgiveness of you has not in it any of these drawbacks. Let not your forgiveness of one another - your treatment of one another in the way of a forbearing and forgiving line of conduct - be such in that view as to grieve the Holy Spirit of God, who upbraideth not, who remembers your sin no more. Rather, on the other hand and on the contrary, learn the positive lesson, cherish the positive spirit of brotherly kindness and tender-heartedness (Ephesians 4:32). No forgiveness, no manner of forgiving, has any value if it has not these two qualities or characteristics - kindness and tender-heartedness. Without them it is not really forgiveness at all. It wins no confidence; it calls forth no gratitude. It is set down to the account of weakness, or indifference, or partiality; or any motive consistent with, at the best, an enlightened selfishness. If I am to be forgiven in such a way as to touch my heart, and make it one with the heart of him who forgives me - and no other forgiving is worth my having - there must be kindness and tender heartedness; kindness, as opposed to bitterness, or the lurking acrimony that may inwardly survive the outward condoning of an offence; tender heartedness, as opposed to the indifference cloaking over ill-will, that affects to treat the offence as a trifle, and to let off the offender accordingly. Kind, tender-hearted! Are not these the right adjectives and epithets to be applied to God’s forgiveness of you in Christ? Does he not, when he first forgives you in Christ, and whenever he forgives you anew in Christ, come out before your eyes, or rather come into your inmost heart, as very kind, thoroughly generous, dispensing to you complete pardon, pardoning you with perfect graciousness - not retaining in his bosom one spark or atom of the righteous indignation which your sin has provoked? It must be so if he forgives you in Christ; in him on whom, being his own beloved Son, in his kindness to you, he laid the burden of all your guilt; in Him who for the bearing of that burden asked no other recompense than that the Father should be as kind and well disposed and gracious to you as he ever is to him ; that he should make you his dear children, as he is his beloved Son; loving you even as he loveth him. And then what tender-heartedness! It is from the heart that God forgives you in Christ. And from the heart, oh, how tenderly! Even when you are out of Christ he cares for you in Christ. He is tender-hearted towards you in Christ; giving him to you, in all tender-heartedness; and if you will but have him to be yours, giving you forgiveness in him. True, he cannot, however tender-hearted, forgive you out of Christ. In Christ, however, his forgiveness of you is tenderhearted indeed. It is cordial, oh, how cordial! It may well be so if it is forgiveness in Christ. In tender-heartedness he gives him for you ; in tender-heartedness he clasps you in him, to his bosom, as his dear children. Now in all this, in this manner of forgiving, in this way of dealing with those who offend you, or whom you inadvertently offend, that is, in short, in all your dealings with your fellow-men generally, you are to be followers of God; imitators of him; followers and imitators of him as your Father; you being his dear children. And the Holy Spirit of God is grieved when you fail in this duty. For he is in you as the Spirit of adoption, the Spirit of God’s own Son. You are sealed in the Holy Spirit of God as being thus in you as the Spirit of adoption. The seal, as regards its manifestation to your consciousness and your realising apprehension of it, is your being God’s dear children; and your consequently feeling and acting as God’s dear children. If, therefore, in any case you feel and act otherwise; if you deal with your fellow-men, be they ever so hostile, otherwise than as God deals with you, who are in yourselves more hostile to him than any of them can be to you; if you so manifest and indulge an unbrotherly and therefore an unfilial spirit; you grieve the Holy Spirit of God. For the unfilial spirit implies the unbrotherly. If you are not God’s dear children, having him consciously as your Father, you cannot cherish the brotherly love of which Christ’s love to you is the type and pattern. II. We now come to the second particular as regards the impress of the seal; you are to walk in love, as Christ also has loved you. The sphere, or atmosphere, in which you are here called to walk, to have your hahitual going up and down, going out and coming in, to live and move and have your being, is love. Walk in love. It is larger and wider, apparently, than what goes before; it expands personal forgiveness into general and universal benevolence. But it is not, on that account, vague or indefinite. The benevolence or love meant is precisely indicated. It is that of Christ. He hath loved us so as to give himself for us. Even vague as that statement is, it is, with all its vagueness, important and impressive, in the practical point of view of this text. The love in which you are to walk, if you would not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, is a self-giving love; a love that gives itself. For no one can give himself, save only in the way of his giving his love. "Whatever else about himself he may give, and in whatever sense, he must at any rate give his love. So Christ, giving himself, gives his love. If he did not give his love, I would care little for any other gift of his. He gives therefore his love, when he gives himself. But he gives his love, himself, in a very peculiar way, for us; for you and me. He gives me his love, himself, as lovingly taking my place, and acting on my behalf, in the negotiation of my peace with God, I would not have him discharge this office for me, much as I feel my need of it, unless he first gave himself, his love. Scarcely otherwise would I accept his discharge of it. But, oh ! how cordially, how warmly, do I welcome and embrace him, when I do so in the exercise of a simple, childlike, appropriating faith in him as loving me, and giving himself for me. Nor is his giving himself for me a mere mystery to me ; an incomprehensible act of self-surrender or self-denial, or self-crucifixion, in the efficacy of which I am ignorantly and implicitly to trust. I apprehend his giving himself for us an offering and sacrifice to God. To God! For that is a material, significant, emphatic consideration. The phrase should be connected with the nouns rather than with the verb. He gave himself to God. True! He gave himself an offering and sacrifice. True! But the impressive and affecting thought is this : it was an offering to God : it was a sacrifice to God. He gives himself, not as at his own discretion, and of his own proper and personal motion, volunteering homage to God; but simply as rendering to him his own ordained offering, his own appointed sacrifice. Not otherwise could it be really an offering and a sacrifice to God. Not otherwise could it be an offering and a sacrifice to him of a sweet-smelling savour. No will-worship could be thus acceptable to him ; not even if it were presented by the Son of his love. When he gives himself for us, it is as an offering and sacrifice unto God; it is as the offering and sacrifice which God appoints. He gives himself as an offering; himself, as the righteous one, fulfilling all righteousness. He gives himself as a sacrifice; himself, as expiating guilt and enduring the condemnation in the room and stead of the criminal And he gives himself thus for us. It is all for us ; for our salvation ; out of love to us ; love surely passing knowledge. Now it is in this love that you are to walk, if you would not grieve the Holy Spirit of God; in the knowledge and belief of it; in the sense and experience of it; in the appropriation and imitation of it; in the reception and reproduction of it; in the air or atmosphere which it breathes and inspires. Walk in love. Abroad, among your fellows, walk in this love. Give lovingly yourselves; not your money, nor your time, nor your labour merely; but yourselves; your hearts. Let all with whom you have anything to do on Christ’s behalf see that for his sake, and in his Spirit, you give yourselves. And let them see that you give yourselves for them ; cordially and affectionately for them ; not merely to serve a purpose, nor in the mere discharge of a necessary task; but as putting yourselves in their place, and alongside of them ; so as to become one with them and make their case your own. But yet let them always see also, that you thus give yourselves for them in the view of what they and you alike owe to God; not indeed as if you could answer for them ; but at all events as if you would fain do so if you could ; in the very spirit of Paul, when he wrote : "I say the truth in Christ: I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart. For I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh." Walk thus in love, as Christ also hath loved us. Now let us come back to our original starting-point; your being sealed by the Holy Spirit of God unto the day of redemption. What is it that the Spirit seals to you and in you, in this intermediate state of your spiritual life, between grace and glory? What but God’s forgiving you in Christ, and Christ’s loving you and giving himself for you? He does not put his seal on anything that is yours; no ; not even on anything that is yours through his own agency and his own operation. At least, so far as I see, there is no trace of any such sealing here. His seal is reserved for what is of God; the Father’s pardoning mercy; the Son’s redeeming sacrifice. But his sealing you thus implies his imparting to you a real sense and feeling of what he seals upon you and within you. He sheds abroad in your hearts the love of God. He causes that love, as the love of God forgiving you in Christ as dear children, and of Christ giving himself for you, to flow into your souls, so as to make itself felt through all your inner man. And it is when he is doing this, and would fain do it more and more, that you are apt to thwart and hinder him. And how ? How, but by your cherishing in yourselves what is opposed to that in God which the Holy Spirit of God would seal to you, by your not forgiving as the Father forgives, and not loving as the Son loveth? For what is it that the Spirit really seeks? He would have you to know and believe the love which God has to you. But that is impossible if you are yourselves unloving. For no one who is himself unloving ; incapable of loving, or in fact not loving; can credit, or even comprehend, the reality, the possibility, of love, disinterested, unselfish, generous, and true, in the bosom of another. Your continuing therefore to be unloving is a counteracting of the work of the Holy Spirit of God, and it must be very grievous to him. Let it be fixed then in your minds, believe assuredly, that this sealing work of the Holy Spirit of God is a great reality, within the range and sphere of your own spiritual consciousness, and that it is a real and living divine person who is carrying it on. Nay, more than that, the three persons in the Godhead are all severally concerned in it. For it is mainly in this sealing work of the Holy Spirit of God that the Lord’s own promise is fulfilled : "If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him" (John 14:23). This is that manifesting of himself and of the Father to his disciples and not to the world of which he speaks so affectionately. It is the Holy Spirit of God sealing to you and in you as a blessed fact the Father’s forgiveness of you in the Son, and the Son’s love in giving himself for you. It is the Holy Spirit of God personally doing this; he, personally, dealing thus with you personally. Will you not suffer him to do it more and more, to make the impress of his seal broader, deeper, surer, clearer? He can do so only through your coming yourselves to have more of the mind of God and the mind of Christ. How God forgives you in Christ, what manner of forgiveness it is, you can best learn by forgiving one another as he forgives you. The love of Christ in giving himself for you will be fully apprehended when you lay down your lives for the brethren. Still, however, remember always that this is no merely natural process, the result of means and influences brought to bear upon you, or of your own exercise of your spiritual gifts and graces. The Holy Spirit of God is personally in the whole work, and in every part, in every stage of it. Consider well, that when you are slow of heart to receive and welcome the Father’s forgiveness in Christ, and Christ’s own dying love; when you cherish contrary affections in yourselves, thereby shutting out both from your hearts; you are not merely rejecting a true doctrine and resisting a powerful motive, you are wounding and vexing a living person, one who loves you tenderly, and who cannot but be grieved when you hinder him in the discharge of his gracious office on your behalf. And consider also what is your security, what can be your sense of your safe preservation till the day of redemption, if you dim, or sully, or efface, even partially, the only seal you can ever hope to have of it - the Holy Spirit of God shedding abroad in your hearts the love of God, and taking of what is Christ’s that he may show it unto you. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 31: 04.14. CHAPTER 14: GRACIOUS WARNING. ======================================================================== GRACIOUS WARNING. CHAPTER XIV. "But fornication, and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not be once named among you, as becometh saints ; neither filthiness, nor foolish talking, nor jesting, which are not convenient : but rather giving of thanks."- Ephesians 5:3-4. WE have to notice in this passage I. The evils against which we are warned ; and II. The considerations by which the warning is enforced. I. Let us note the evils against which we are here warned, and the necessity of the warning. With strong indignation and abhorrence, the apostle returns to his necessary warning of the Church against the loose notions and practices of the world; which in his day, at Ephesus, were loose and impure indeed. He has been appealing to the highest, the divine ideal of pure and holy love, as manifested in the Father’s forgiveness and the Son’s sacrifice. He has been urging home these instances as the measure of our aspiration and the model for our imitation, in the line of personal sanctification. And now he abruptly turns round to face some of the lowest forms of vice; and to face them as what even saints need to be warned against; on the ground of their being unbecoming (Ephesians 5:3), and not convenient (Ephesians 5:4), or unsuitable. The transition is a strange and striking one; from an exhortation and appeal to the highest spirituality of aim, to a vehement protest against what is inclusive and indicative of the lowest carnal indulgences. In part, the explanation may be found in the situation of such a church as that early Church of Ephesus; formed out of one of the most fashionable and abandoned, but yet one of the most accomplished and refined, communities of what was then the civilised eastern world; composed of people accustomed to see in their Greek philosophers the highest speculative flights of ideal perfection, or perfectibility, in conjunction with the lowest depths of practical immorality. So far this explanation may be accepted. But there is a deeper and wider lesson to be learned here. So long as the church is in contact with the world, her members never can rise above the necessity of strict prohibitory rule and law. Let them aim and aspire ever so high in the line of positive spiritual attainment; to be followers of God as dear children, in respect of his holy and righteous, as well as gracious, way of forgiving them - and to walk in Christ-like, self-sacrificing, and God-glorifying love; still they may not claim any exemption from that necessity. Nor will they make the claim, if they really desire to realise the high ideal of conformity to the Father and the Son, and if, in connection with that desire, they have at all learned to know themselves. The attempt has been made; the experiment has been tried. Men professing the most elevated piety, and not always with conscious insincerity or hypocrisy, have fallen, as it were, over the height of an exaggerated and overstrained godly profession; and even, as it might seem, a godly practice of no ordinary measure of attainment, into the worst sort of worldly conformity indicated in this apostolic warning. Nay, it must never be forgotten, that the very love in which we are to walk, the all-forgiving love of God and the self-sacrificing love of Christ, has in it an element or source of danger for emotional and susceptible tempers. However holy and heavenly, however pure and unselfish, it may be in itself, it is but too apt to ally itself, or allow itself to be allied, to some kind or measure of earthly passion or desire; and often when its own warmth is highest, is its tendency that way the strongest. Alas, that it should be so! It is about the saddest of all proofs of the deceitfulness and desperate wickedness of the heart, that the best and most blessed of the religious affections, love or charity, should have in it, at least as it exists and grows in the human heart, or should be capable of having in it this root of bitterness, which, springing up, may trouble it, this worm in the bud that may eat away all its bright beauty. But so it is. Not only past history, but present observation, and your own consciousness and experience, may attest it to be so. But this love, in which you are commanded to walk, is the love of a brother, or of a sister. It is such love as will forgive any injury, as the Father for Christ’s sake forgives you (Ephesians 4:32); and it is such self-denying and self-surrendering love as the Son manifested when he gave himself for us (Ephesians 5:2). So to love a brother, or a sister, is the religious duty here enjoined. But now the brother or the sister to be so loved may be on other grounds than that of religious duty personally attractive. And then the duty may become one which it may be difficult and hard, purely and holily, to discharge. It may be difficult and hard, sometimes, in the very proportion of the warmth of the affection felt. May not this consideration, in part at least, explain the connection here indicated, between the exhortation to aim at conformity with the highest instance of divine love and the warning against the lowest form of human licentiousness? For the transition is very abrupt, and very startling; "But fornication, and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not be once named among you, as becometh saints." It may even seem needlessly coarse and offensive. Alas! it is not so. It is not needless. There is in that divine affection, that best and highest of-all the religious affections, love or charity, an element that but too readily combines and coalesces with what is merely human and earthly. It is what I may call the palpably personal element. The love has for its object a living person, one whom I see, and hear, and personally know. It may be love to him, or to her, originally as I think of the purest, holiest, most heavenly type; like the Father’s love in forgiving me for Christ’s sake; like Christ’s own love in giving himself for me. But I am of a susceptible temperament, let it be supposed; an enthusiastic admirer of all that is amiable in any one with whom I am familiar. And I am ardent in my piety, my love to God and Christ, and in the love to my neighbour, my brother or sister, which that piety prompts and inspires. Now here, in this very frame and feeling - here is the danger. The very spirituality, the religious character, of my affection, may almost unconsciously beguile me. The fact that it may combine and coalesce with a sentiment or passion of another sort, and the facility with which it may do so, escapes my notice. My love becomes a mixed kind or character, made up of human fascination with divine benevolence. Which is to prevail ? This question that I now put is no ideal supposition. Instances too many of the actual realisation of an unhappy answer to the question stand recorded in the saddest pages of church history. And the admonition is not inapplicable or unseasonable now. Nay, it may be applied in more ways than one. I may be in danger of so indulging and manifesting my Godlike and Christlike love to a dear friend as to let it run, more or less, into the channel of a merely natural or carnal inclination. That, of course, is a danger to be guarded against; perhaps the danger to be first and chiefly guarded against. But what if I feel that I must restrain the outflowing of my spiritual love to any one, lest it should become more or less carnal? Is that for me a right or a safe state? Does it not call for instant and serious thought? Am I right or safe if I cannot regard the aged women as mothers, and the younger women as sisters, and so have all freedom, unabashed and unembarrassed, to walk in love towards them "as Christ also hath loved us"? (Ephesians 5:2). The enumeration or list of the things here forbidden I do not particularly examine; my object being rather to bring out the peremptoriness of the prohibition, and the grounds of it. A word or two on that other point may suffice. It is lust that the apostle plainly, and with no mincing of the matter, denounces; lust, and whatever tends in the direction of lust. And the lust, as it would seem, may be of two sorts; lust of beauty and lust of gold. For so, I think, we must interpret the word "covetousness;" although some would have it, both here and in chap. iv. 19, to mean excess of lasciviousness. It may mean that; but only, as I think, indirectly. Strictly speaking, it means greed; the grasping and griping greed of a thorough self-seeker. But that is not inconsistent with lewdness; nor is the warning against it at all irrelevant to a warning against fornication and all uncleanness. Do we not see instances, in ordinary life and among worldly men, of the two tendencies being by no means incompatible? Is it not so common a remark as to have become almost proverbial that a young rake often develops into an old miser? A youth of luxurious and licentious waste ending in an old age of tenacious and suspicious avarice? Nay, they may exist and work together; as indeed they often do. Tor perhaps, at bottom, they might be shown to be really one. It is in both cases alike concupiscence; inordinate desire ; excessive longing for what is good in itself, and if rightly sought, may be turned to good account. And therein sometimes may lie the snare. Both objects may be looked at and approached from a religious standpoint; from a spiritual point of view; and in order moreover to a religious and spiritual end. To speak plainly, I may have to deal with an amiable brother or sister about spiritual matters, either personal, or pertaining to the public interests of Christ’s cause. Or, I may have to decide upon some gainful project or proposal that promises to increase my means of usefulness in that behalf. The two temptations in the two cases are in some sort analogous. In both cases alike I am tempted to slide, through what at first may be a religious and spiritual aim or motive, into one that ultimately proves itself to be worldly and carnal. The lust of beauty and the lust of gold are not therefore so far asunder from one another, or so at variance with one another, as is sometimes thought. Nay, in men professing godliness, the latter may be more apt to swallow up the former, than in men of the world. So at least the outward aspect or appearance may be. For the , difficulty of fully and freely gratifying the one desire may throw the mind all the more in upon the cherishing and the indulging of the other. But, be that as it may, you are here warned emphatically against both kinds of lust, or inordinate desire; against the first, apparently, as coming into nearest and most seductive contact with the love in which you are exhorted to walk ; against the second, as what is the natural sequel of the first, and is even perhaps worse, in some respects, than the first; for it is that which is elsewhere more than once stigmatised as idolatry. It is the breach of the tenth commandment; the great final commandment which stands at the close of the entire series, and stamps upon them all the character of inmost spirituality, and therefore also of utmost universality; "Thou shalt not covet." All desire of what is not your own, be it person or thing, is forbidden in that crowning precept. And therefore covetousness is idolatry. As such, it is here put as the culminating point of the mere creature-love, which is the opposite of the love that is Godlike and Christlike; the forgiving love of the Father, the self-sacrificing love of the Son. The warning against all this is very strong. The thing condemned is not merely not to be done, but not even so much as once to be named among you. It is not to be made matter of talk. It may be made that in more ways than one; in the way of filthiness or obscenity, positive delight in conversation about impurity and greed ; or in the way of foolish talking, reckless, inconsiderate indulgence of that taste and tendency in yourselves, and reckless, inconsiderate toleration of it in others ; or in the way of jesting, and if not making a mock at the sin, treating it lightly, and turning it into a source of ridicule and mirth. Will any of you who are accustomed to mix with the world, in business or in recreation, venture to say that these are not dangers against which you need to be ever on your guard? Will any one of you say that the current tone and temper of the society in which you mix, and the company which you keep, does not expose you, more or less, to hazard? Some of the apostle’s words may seem too strong to awaken in you serious alarm. You are as safe from the risk of foul language as you are from the risk of foul conduct. But beware. Let these two of the apostle’s words, each summing up a series, be laid to heart, "covetousness;" lust of any sort, be it of beauty or of gold ; and "jesting." Either of these two things - and neither is very remote - is surely a sore evil. And when they meet, in your own heart, or in your converse with your fellows, there is real risk and deadly danger. II. The considerations by which this warning is enforced are eminently worthy of notice. They are three in number. And they are all of them truly filial, and not servile. They appeal to you as children, guided by your Father with his eye; not as to those who might need, like the horse or the mule, to be kept in with bit and bridle. 1. You are to consider what becometh saints. You are to recognise yourselves as saints; as the Lord’s holy ones; consecrated to be his by the sprinkling of the Son’s atoning blood and the anointing and indwelling of the Holy Spirit. That is your standing; and it is to your standing that the term "saints" refers. It is a standing which you are to realise as yours; and you are to realise it thoroughly as yours; with a clear and full sense of what it implies, not only ii respect of privilege, but even still more in respect of obligation. "As becometh saints." Ponder these words; pray over them. In the light of them, pondered and prayed over, consider four ways. Very specially consider your manner of intercourse with one another as brethren in the Lord, and with our fellow men in the world; your ways of thinking and feeling; your ways of speaking and acting. "As becometh saints." It is a searching text. But it is to no ignoble motive that it appeals. It is not worldly or selfish, but spiritual and loving. It is not legal at all; but out and out evangelical. "As becometh saints." Ah me, would that I could rise always to this holy height, that I might question every loose thought that seeks entrance into my mind, and the loose and light talk with which I am but too faniliar, "Is it as becometh saints ?" 2 You are to consult conveniency. You are to think not nerely of your relation to God, and your standing in his sight as saints, but of your position in the church and in the world, and the duty which that position entails. To ask whai is worthy of yourselves as saints is noble, if you righly apprehend what it is to be saints. To ask what is convenient, suitable, expedient, in the view of the circumstances in which you are placed, including all your personal and local surroundings, and all your means of influence, is also noble. You are called, as saints, to respect yourselves; to vindicate your character as saints ; to see to it that all you think and say and do is such as becometh saints. But you are called also to take a higher and larger view. You have to face the question of convenience; not, of course, of convenience in the mere selfish view of your own accommodation, but of convenience in the Lord’s view ; in the view of the interests which the Lord has at heart, and the end which the Lord seeks. Do you always think of that sort and standard of convenience when you go into worldly company, or even when you mix with Christian friends? Do y»u ask what Christ the Lord would hold to be convenient, at the present time, in the present circumstances, among the people now around you? If you did so, would your converse always be what it is ? 3. You are to give thanks. You have that resource always to fall back upon, in your own hearts and in your converse with others. They who have it not may need other sorts of excitement; other means of occupation or amusement, when they are alone, or when they mingle in the social circle: and they may be too ready to welcome or to suffer, in tlought and in talk, what is impure and carnal, or what is sordid and mean; licentious or covetous conversation; or the foolish jesting that is too nearly akin to that. But you have something better to occupy your hearts and open your lips when you are most in the mood to make merry and be glad; or when you want some source of merriment and gladness to win you out of a mood of another sort, despondency or gloom. The giving of thanks is a way of recreating yourselves and others that should be always available, and that should surely enable you to dispense with other and more doubtful metbds; for thanksgiving is always and everywhere suitable and seasonable. There may be companies and occasions when and where a saint of God - a meek and lowly child - could not with any propriety, or any prospect of doing good, venture upon Christian rebuke or expostulation, or even upon Christian admonition, or direct and formal Christian testimony. But in all companies and on all occasions he can exhibit and express, significantly and unequivocally, Christian thankfulness. He can make it plain that he is a happy man; and why he is a happy man. He need not preach, or exhort, or pray, or bless. He need not obtrusively thrust in sacred topics. He need scarcely even open his lips ; and if he does, he need not refuse to join in ordinary innocent talk. But his countenance may beam with thankfulness; and his own conscious thankfulness may insensibly shed its radiant influence over all the circle of which he may become the centre. And without effort or parade, there may come to be, one scarcely can tell how, a suspension of idle and frivolous and vain and worldly talk, and a sliding into converse more profitable and more becoming. Nor is it in society alone, but in the closet and the study as well, that this giving of thanks is important as a safeguard against the invasion of uncleanness and of covetousness - of sensual and worldly lust. For it is not as a negative but as a positive quality that holiness is to be cultivated and preserved. The absence of evil from the heart can be secured only by the presence of good. And the only good in my heart that can keep out evil is giving of thanks. Other good I have not, and cannot have, and would not have if I could. The good that I would I do not; the evil that I would not that I do. In me, that is in my flesh, dwelleth no good thing. But in my spirit, in my heart and soul, there may be giving of thanks. And there must be that - that always - that more and more, if I am letting Christ into my spirit, my heart and soul; Christ as the free gift of the Father to me the chief of sinners; Christ as loving me and giving himself for me; Christ in all his fulness of grace and truth; Christ as living in me; Christ in me the hope of glory. Let there be giving of thanks for that always and everywhere in my bosom. Then may I bid away from me, in my secret chamber, all that would defile or debase my inner man. And then also, going forth from my secret chamber, refreshed and gladdened by ever new communications of divine love, and bent on making all my fellow-Christians and fellow-men partakers of my joy, I move among them and mingle with them, not with grim, austere, and gloomy visage, far less with any inclination to seek relief from what might make my face sad in sinful or foolish utterances, but with a free and cheerful simplicity ; simply letting myself out instead of keeping myself in; and so appealing to all with whom I come in contact, to taste and see that God is good. This is what becometh saints; this is what is always and everywhere convenient; such giving of thanks as this. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 32: 04.15. CHAPTER 15: ONCE DARKNESS—NOW LIGHT IN THE LORD. ======================================================================== Chapter Fifteen ONCE DARKNESS—NOW LIGHT IN THE LORD. "For this ye know, that no whoremonger, nor unclean person, nor covetous man, who is an idolater, hath any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God. Let no man deceive you with vain words : for because of these things cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience. Be not ye therefore partakers with them. For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light: (for the fruit of the Spirit is in all goodness and righteousness and truth;) proving what is acceptable unto the Lord."- Ephesians 5:5-10. WHILE gracefully and graciously introducing or insinuating, as we have seen, into his warning against impurity of all sorts of covetousness or inordinate desire, the highest motives of Christian honour and expediency and gratitude; the apostle does not think it unnecessary to repeat the warning, in a very strong and startling way (Ephesians 5:5-7). He puts it in a double form - First, you know what sort of things absolutely bar any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God. They must do so. For, secondly, they are the things which bring down the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience. And between the two forms of it, in the middle of the warning, he says emphatically, "Let no man deceive you with vain words " (Ephesians 5:6). Vain words! An empty boast or dream of indulgence or impurity; however you look at the matter; whether heavenward or hell-ward; whether as regards yourselves as God’s dear children, or as regards the children of disobedience; whether in the line of your hope of heaven, or in the line of their desert of hell. Let no man deceive you with vain words, either way. They are vain words which would natter you with the notion that your Christian standing will procure for you impunity ; that you may safely venture upon certain liberties without forfeiting your title to heaven; or that their heathen and worldly state, if you should think of casting in your lot, or having fellowship with them, will be less hazardous in the issue either for them or for you ; that your companionship with them in their evil can shield them, or your Christian standing can shelter yourselves from the wrath of God that lies on the children of disobedience. The things themselves, the practices in question, are and must be fatal to you, if you give in to them; fatal, as excluding from any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God; fatal, as causing the wrath of God to come again upon you as it lies always on the children of disobedience. "Be not ye therefore partakers with them " (Ephesians 5:7). Beware of vain words that might tempt you to be so. All the more beware of this, because "ye were once darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord" (Ephesians 5:8). Thus the apostle introduces for a practical purpose, for the enforcing of his lesson of holy abstinence from sin, the great contrast which he draws between what the Ephesians once were, and what, if not hypocrites and self-deceivers, they now are. It is the contrast between what we all are naturally, and what we become through grace. Once darkness - now light. And the transition is in the Lord; ye are light in the Lord. Now are ye light. This mode of speech, this personal application of impersonal terms, this identifying of you personally with the sphere, or region, or atmosphere, of your spiritual life, is very emphatic and significant. It occurs elsewhere in Paul’s writings; as when he says - "For he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him" (2 Corinthians 5:21). And the apostle John gives it the highest endorsement when he says, "God is light." It is to that idea, in fact, that we must appeal, if we would really understand the full force of the contrast here drawn. God is light. And now are ye light in the Lord Christ. But first, you were once darkness. Darkness! It is the concentrated essence of all the evils and abominations here denounced. They are, all of them, works of darkness (Ephesians 5:11); unfruitful works of darkness; for no fruit can come of what grows and works in darkness. And they are themselves the darkness. The darkness does not cover or excuse them; for they are it; these works of darkness are themselves the darkness. And you were once that darkness; you were identified with it and swallowed up in it. The darkness was not only your sphere of life, but your life itself; not only your natural air and atmosphere, in which you had to live and move, but your very nature. You were once, not only in darkness, but yourselves darkness. Darkness was your nature as well as your condition. It was not darkness without, but darkness within. You were yourselves the darkness. So also now you are yourselves the light. Now are ye light. Not only do you see light and walk in light; you are yourselves light. It is not merely that light shines around you, and even into you, - the light of the knowledge of God in the face of Christ Jesus our Lord. It becomes part and parcel of your being. You are yourselves that light. It is your personal experience, your nature now, to be yourselves that light. It may well be if you are Christ’s. For it is light in the Lord. I. Ye were once darkness. Why does Paul run up all his varied and manifold enumeration of abominable Gentile, that is natural, corruptions, into this one idea of darkness, when he would have believers from among the Gentiles to shun these but too familiar outrages and excesses? For two reasons, as I think : first, that you may see what is really the one evil, in which all varieties of evil are concentrated; the quintessence of evil - darkness. And, secondly, that you may see yourselves to be naturally that darkness. 1. All evil, all forms and kinds of evil, may be comprehensively summed up in the one idea of darkness. Even natural or physical darkness, - the darkness of a sunless sky and a starless night, the darkness of a city’s closes and deus unrelieved by any gleam of wholesome artificial illumination - is associated and identified with all manner of pollution, violence, and vice. Let the darkness flee away; comparatively speaking, purity and peace will immediately return. Much more in the moral and spiritual world will this identification of all evil, all sorts of evil, with darkness hold good. And the point and purpose of the identification is this. The evil is manifold; the darkness is one. Innumerable almost are the modes of wickedness that Paul here indicates, in strong terms, but not stronger than his age required; and ours requires at least as much. But lest the very multiplicity of his enumeration should give a loophole to this or that form of the spirit of self-righteousness, acquitting itself of some of the grosser vices condemned, and so slipping through into a more comfortable persuasion of innocence and immunity, he brings the diversified manifestations into one common source and centre - darkness. That is the essence of them all - the one name for them all - darkness. Wherever any of them are, there is darkness. And wherever there is darkness, there is no security against any, or all of them, coming in. They are all works of darkness. Darkness is their universal and invariable mark. They are summed up in the one word or thought, - darkness. 2. And you were once darkness; this very darkness. You were identified with it; it was your very nature. It was yourself; that which may be almost said in a sense to have constituted your personal individuality and identity; ye were darkness. The apostle’s admonition or faithful testimony here is very emphatic. It is, I repeat, doubly so. First, he gathers up all the moral offences and abominations which he has been forced to name, with others which he cannot name, into one focus, as it were, one central point or capital head, one element or state summarily comprehending them all; it is darkness. And then he personifies the abstract idea. He makes the darkness personal in you. You were darkness. He does not do this with reference to the details of his black catalogue of heathen, or, as I may say, natural vices. He does not say, you were once uncleanness, or covetousness, or idolatry; or filthiness, or folly, or a jest. He does not thus connect you, or identify you as personally one with any of these forms of iniquity. But he fastens upon the one feature which characterises them all, - the one element or atmosphere in which they all live and move and have their being - darkness. And he identifies you as one with that. And the darkness - what is it? The darkness which not only shrouds these excesses under its convenient cloak, but is itself their very essence - the spirit or mental habit that makes it possible for such dead carnalities to live, or have even the semblance of living. Is it not at bottom the darkness of atheism? It is the darkness which would brood over all things, if there were no God. It is the darkness which does brood over all things to him who says in his heart "There is no God". It is the darkness of him who does not choose to retain in his heart the knowledge of God. It is the darkness which makes the world godless to me, and me godless to the world. I was that darkness ; and so were you. It was your nature. It was natural to you thus to be darkness; not only to walk in darkness and to do the works of darkness, but to be yourselves darkness; not only to have your outer life shrouded in darkness and too often stained with the pollution that courts darkness; but to have your inner life penetrated and pervaded by this darkness; a dark soul within vainly trying to fathom a dark world without. You were dark. Ye were once darkness. The apostle might say this with literal truth of the Gentile converts at Ephesus to whom he was writing. Dark, indeed, was their state, with all its surroundings, before the Gospel reached them. And dark indeed also was their inward soul, their inward experience; living as they did without God and without hope in the world. But you, as well as they, were once darkness; you even more than they; inward darkness amid the shining of outward light, personally dark under the bright beams of the light of the Sun of Righteousness. Even if you cannot look back to a time when you were, if I may so speak, historically dark, all the more on that account will you feel and own that you were, and are, naturally darkness. I believe in the possibility of regeneration from the womb ; and in the frequent occurrence, among a godly community and in godly families, of unconscious, or all but unconscious, conversions in early infancy and childhood. Even those who are thus favoured may say Amen to the apostle’s statement, Ye were once darkness. They will say it, I am persuaded, even more feelingly than others. For they come to the discovery of what they naturally are, and what they feel, by a sort of spiritual instinct or intuition, they must have continued to be, but for early grace - with the keen apprehension and sense of holiness and of sin which the Spirit in the new birth imparts. They will not be the parties to object to their being included in the sweeping sentence, Ye were once darkness. Nor indeed will any one who, whatever may have been the time and manner of his awakening, has been brought to know the plague of his own heart. He will at once see and acknowledge that the contrast here is not one of dates, but a far deeper one, of state and nature and character. You were darkness. That was your state and nature and character once. Yes! And but for grace, it must have been so still. Nay, but for grace, it is so still. For in fact that is the very point of the apostle’s statement. He is not calling up old memories for their own sakes, but only for their bearing on present duty and present experience. He would have you to remember and recollect, always and everywhere, now, what you once were; because it is what you now are, but for present grace overcoming present nature. It is not his object to set you upon raking up the past, your past experiences of evil, your past evil doings. But it is his object to remind you that you still carry about with you - or rather, still have in you, in your inmost selves - the old nature, what you once were; not indeed the old development of that nature, but still substantially the old nature. Ye were darkness once. Keep that in mind. Would that the children of the light, after whose pattern we are exhorted to walk, were always fully alive to this consideration; not as a retrospective view of the past; but as a present experience. "Ye were once darkness." Paul does not mean to send them back to recall the deplorable evils and excesses of their former way of life. Nor is he here bent on making them feel that on that account they must be debtors to grace originally. His aim is much more practical, and intensely present. His whole soul is in the present. See what you were, he cries; not workers of the works of darkness merely, but darkness itself. And see this, because that is still your nature, here and now; to be here and now, always, overcome only by grace; and that it may be so overcome here and now by grace, needing to be watched with the most jealous and anxious solicitude, in the view of the unfruitful works of darkness with which you are tempted to have fellowship. Remember what you were, and beware; beware of over-confidence, slackness, and security. You once were darkness, the very darkness in which these unfruitful works are all summed up. It is not for you to trifle with them, as if you could do so with impunity. Consider what your nature was and is. Ye were once darkness. II. Now are ye light. The abstract form of expression here is even more emphatic than in the former clause; it touches a very different and much higher sphere or region of life; and on that account, and in very proportion to that difference and superiority, it is not so easily explained and illustrated. To identify myself with darkness, as my natural state and character, is doubtless difficult enough for me, even as a spiritual man; to say and feel that I was once - that I am by nature - not only surrounded by darkness, but in my inmost self darkness; that is difficult enough. But even that is not so difficult as to say and feel that now I am light. This new identification of myself with the abstract "light," is a higher and nobler, but yet harder exercise of self-appreciation than the other identification of myself with the abstract "darkness." That is the recognition of what is human and earthly in me, of which I have but too much natural experience. This is the recognition of what is divine and heavenly in me, which I can apprehend only by spiritual faith. But it must be apprehended, if I am not to be a partaker with the children of disobedience. It is a fact, and a great fact. "Now are ye light." It is not, Now ye have light, or now you receive light; new light shines around you, or shines into you ; now ye are enlightened outwardly and inwardly; outwardly by the Gospel, inwardly by the Spirit shining in your hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. It is, Now ye are light. You are yourselves light. It is now your character, your function, your calling, your very nature, to be yourselves personally light. For light is an active principle or power. It is not a mere negation or negative. Darkness may be that - though we read of the powers of darkness - it may be simply the negation or negative of light; its absence or exclusion. But light is not, in any analogous sense, the negation or negative of darkness. It is a force in nature; a real force; operating really as such. No object on which it shines can be merely a recipient of it; a passive accepter and absorber of its beams. More or less, in some way, every object on which it shines is not only brought into light, but becomes itself light. The planets in the clear midnight sky are thus, all and each of them, light, in the glorious sun. So light is here viewed by the apostle ; in its active, outgoing, influence and power; rather than in its mere capacity for being received and retained; when he would identify you with it and it with you. In that sense and to that effect now are ye light. The verse that follows confirms this interpretation. "The fruit of the light is in all goodness and righteousness and truth." It is then fruitful light; it is the light considered as fruitful; that Paul has in his eye when he says - Now are ye light. And the fruit; the manner of the outcoming of the light’s fruitfulness, is described. It fructifies into all goodness first; that is, into all amiability, kindness, sympathy, benevolence, universal and hearty goodwill. That fruit of the light may surely be looked for, if it is the same light as the shepherds saw on the morning of the great nativity. Is it not that light that you now are - a light surely fruitful of goodness ; charged and vocal with the song, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men." But this light fructifies or has its fruit, not in goodness merely, but in righteousness and truth as well. It must be so, if the goodness or good will in which it primarily, as it were, fructifies, is identical with the good will proclaimed from heaven, under the shield and sanction of the first voice in the great doxology, " Glory to God in the highest." No goodness, in fact, can be the fruit of the light, or can have the light for its source or seed, that is not allied to righteousness and truth. There may be a sort of amiable weakness, tolerant of evil, indulgent to injustice, unholiness, and falsehood, at least in some of their milder and more mitigated manifestations, which may pass current, in some quarters, as the genuine fruit of the light. And some who profess to be themselves light, may content themselves with this fruit of the light being brought forth in them and manifested by them. And they may call it charity, Christian charity, goodness, good-heartedness. But is it really so? To count nothing blameworthy, but everything excusable, in the circle in which I move and the society with which I mix; to smile with bland complacency on all alike ; to be simply kind, complaisant, amiable, and nothing more; is that goodness to my fellows? Is it safe for me? Is it not the very way to bring me in guilty of the sin, or exposed to the danger, against which the apostle warns me - "Be not ye therefore partakers with them"? (Ephesians 5:7). And is it not sad cruelty to my fellows? I countenance their folly. I compromise my own integrity. The goodness which is the fruit of the light must have associated with it, as of one essence with itself, righteousness and truth. It must be good will to men, giving glory to God. For the fruit of the light cannot but be righteousness and truth as well as goodness, if the light is indeed that which shone on Bethlehem’s plains at the birth of Christ. The light then shining from highest heaven pointed to the light then come to our lowest earth, in the person of the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in the manger. That is the light which you now are, if you are in him; light in the Lord. What fruit of that light can you trace, in its brief shining here for a few memorable years between the cradle and the cross? Goodness, all goodness. Yes ! that surely; benevolence without bounds; love without a parallel; having a length and breadth and depth and height in respect of which it passeth knowledge. But is it goodness merely? Does that light bear no other fruit than all tolerant kindness and all indulgent fondness? He is the light of the world. The light in him, the light which he is, his mere living presence as the light of the world; scathes and withers every unkind wish, every unloving thought; nothing but pure goodness can grow under it, or out of it, or in it. But is that all? Does it not scathe and wither every germ and manifestation of what is unjust or false? Its fruit is in all goodness and righteousness and truth. Ah, were it not so, even he, as the light, could avail us little, as we lie in darkness: in the darkness of guilt and corruption, of sin and selfishness, of unrighteousness and untruth. Had the fruit of that love been pure and simple goodness it never could have met our case, satisfied our consciences, or saved our souls. It is because its fruit is in all goodness, allied to all righteousness and truth; because its full fruit is in that cross which makes these three one; acting out deepest divine love in harmony with highest divine righteousness and truth, that this light is the life of men. III. It is this light, this very light, that you now are, if indeed you are in him who is the light. Now are ye light in the Lord. It is a very close identification of you with Christ and Christ with you that is here implied: "light in the Lord." It is not light through the Lord : as it might be, through his mediation; but light in the Lord. And it is and must be light in the Lord, in the sense, and to the effect, that he is himself the light. It is a high standard; a high aim! It is nothing short of your entering into the meaning and spirit of all that is implied in Christ’s being the light. It is in him that you are light; light in the Lord. And you are light in him, as regards the fruit of the light, which is in all goodness, and righteousness, and truth. Alas ! I fear that there may be here a difference of mind between my Lord and me. One with him in goodness I might consent to be; understanding by goodness mere vague and general, indifferent and indiscriminating, good will. But the oneness is to be in all goodness, and righteousness, and truth. For myself, and for my friends and brethren, let me thoroughly lay that to heart. If it is in Christ the Lord that I am to be light, it must be in him as being the light, whose fruit is first in all goodness, and then in righteousness and truth. In the Lord; light in the Lord. How close and intimate is the identification here between your light and the Lord’s ; your being light and his being light! Close and intimate in very proportion to the closeness and intimacy of the oneness indicated by the phrase "in the Lord." It is not a mere legal oneness, your being accounted one in the eye of law : it is so ; but it is so because it is a real spiritual oneness ; a oneness of character, a oneness of nature, a oneness of heart and mind and soul. You are so in the Lord as to partake of his holiness : which indeed is his light. He is light, for he is holy. And you are light as he is light, when you are holy as he is holy. As the light of the world Jesus shone before all men in the beauty of holiness, in the fruit of the light, all goodness and righteousness and truth. So he was light; the light of loyalty to God as his Father; the light of purest and truest love to men as his brethren. So if it is in him that you are light, you must be shining forth ; walking as children of the light, proving what is acceptable unto the Lord. For now, to draw this discourse to a close, you may see the meaning and feel the force of the exhortation - "Walk as children of the light." Being yourselves light in the Lord, as the planets are light in the glorious sun, see that you let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven. Walk worthy of the light, as its children. Walk thus, for your own sake, that you may more and more thoroughly make good your complete deliverance from the darkness which you once were. You are still so surrounded with its works that you need to be continually on your guard; and the best guard is not the negative security of keeping the darkness and its works and their workers at bay, and as it were at arm’s length - although that is always and by all means needful - but the positive attainment of walking, without disguise or concealment or reserve of any kind, openly, under the eye of God and before the eyes of all men, as children of the light. So walk for your own sake. And walk thus also for the sake of your great mission and high office towards men, . among whom ye are to shine as lights in the world. The light of the body, says our Lord, is the eye. If the eye be single, the whole body is full of light. But if the light that is in you be darkness, how great is that darkness. So it may be said of you in relation to your fellow-men. Ye are the light of the world. If the light that is in the world be darkness, how great is the darkness; how dark and hopeless is the world’s state if the church is not light in the Lord; if her members do not walk as children of the light. Consider this, ye who are light in the Lord. Consider that as he was the light of the world, when he was in the world, so now that he is gone, you, in his stead and on his behalf, are the light of the world called to walk as children of the light. And, that you may he so walking - walk as he walked, proving what is acceptable to him; as he was always proving what was acceptable to the Father, doing all things to please him, not trying what might be acceptable to himself, but ever trying, proving and preferring, simply what was acceptable to God. For it was that, in large measure, which made him the light of the world, not in his teaching only, but even still more in all his holy life and in his voluntary yet obedient death. This was what was pre-eminently conspicuous in him, so conspicuous as to be known and read of all men, his caring absolutely for nothing but to please God; to prove what would be acceptable to God. None could possibly mistake him for a self-pleaser, or a man-pleaser. He walked as one bent on pleasing God only. Let your walk be like his : let it be so more and more. There never was any darkness in him, any of the darkness of self-pleasing or man-pleasing. But you were that darkness. That you may never at any time or in any degree become that darkness again, see to it that, being indeed light in the Lord, you walk in the Lord as children of the light. And oh! have pity on a benighted world, and the men who are, not walking, but groping, in its darkness ; not knowing what they are doing, what they are, or whether they are going. Tell them, in holy and faithful love, in all the goodness and righteousness and truth which is the fruit of the light, that they are darkness; in the midst of darkness, and themselves darkness. Yes! 0 my brother, that is thy state, thy character. And thou canst scarcely deny it. Darkness : a dark frame of mind, a dark present, a dark future ; that is thy characteristic now. I testify in truest kindness that thou art a child of darkness, that thou art thyself darkness. But I add - so was I. I was darkness. And if now I am light in the Lord, it is not through any merit or work of mine that I am so, but by grace; and not by grace peculiar to me; no, no, my brother; but by grace common to thee and me : grace free to all; grace bringing near to all now the light of a glorious salvation ; the grace which hung on the lips of the Light of the world when he said, "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up ; that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have eterAal life." " Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 33: 04.16. CHAPTER 16: CHRIST GIVING LIGHT. ======================================================================== Chapter Sixteen CHRIST GIVING LIGHT. "And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them. For it is a shame even to speak of those things which are done of them in secret. But all things that are reproved are made manifest by the light: for whatsoever doth make manifest is light. Wherefore he saith, Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light."- Ephesians 5:11-14. THE contrast is remarkable between "the fruit of the light" (Ephesians 5:9) and "the unfruitful works of the darkness" (Ephesians 5:11). The light is fruitful. The works of the darkness are unfruitful. The darkness works as if trying to be fruitful; and its works are manifold, as is here indicated. But they are all dead works; having in them no element of life or fruitfulness; but only the sentence of death, and the character which deserves and entails death. The light has fruit, large and abundant fruit; it works fruitfully; and is rich in fruit-bearing, "its fruit is in all goodness and righteousness and truth." That is a fruitful working. These are fruitful works; fruitful of life and beauty and immortal joy. The darkness also works;- alas, too energetically! But its works are unfruitful. They are, like the darkness which produces them, not creative but destructive; not life-giving and life-inspiring, but deadly; barren of all vitality; dead and unfruitful. "What fruit had ye then in these things whereof ye are now ashamed? For the end of these things is death" (Romans 6:21). Therefore "have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them" (Ephesians 5:11). Either reprove them; although, as the apostle seems to intimate (Ephesians 5:12), some of them are unfit to be reproved, if the reproving of them implies speaking of them. And, indeed, as I think, he points to a way of reproving all of them, that does not, at least necessarily, imply speaking of them; but rather, perhaps, for the most part, the opposite. Reprove them, these works of darkness. But remember that, done in secret as they are, they are most of them, if not all of them, so shameful, that it is contamination to speak of them; or think of them as matter of speech. Is there then any other, or safer, way of reproving them, putting them, to shame in others, and getting rid of them as apt to become shameful to yourselves? Yes! The light reproves them. The light itself will do so, by its own proper virtue and power, if it gets fair play and has full scope; if it shines in you, and through you, and from you; if you let it so shine, and interpose no hindrance in its way. The true meaning of the passage is explained in the following note by ALFORD in loco - "But all things, being reproved, are made manifest by the light; for everything which is made manifest is light." The meaning is, "The light of your Christian life, which will be your reproof shed upon these works of darkness (Ephesians 5:12), will bring them out of the category of darkness, into light" You yourselves were thus ’once darkness,’ but having been ’reproved’ by God’s Spirit, you have become ’light in the Lord.’ .... It is not the fact of ’being made manifest,’ that Paul insists on; but the fact that if Christians, being themselves light in the Lord, reproved the works of darkness, these would become no longer works of darkness, but would be made manifest or discovered by the light. Hence we should read,’whatever is made manifest.’ Everything which is made manifest is no longer darkness, but light; and thus you will be, not compromised to these works of darkness, but making an inroad upon the territory of darkness with the armour of light. Thus it reproves by making manifest; it convicts by discovery. It shows things as they really are; it makes men see what they are really doing. And that is much ; it may be everything; to dispel all mists, and expose the naked truth. Whatsoever is thus made manifest becomes light. Therefore that being so, seeing that there is so much depending on our being light in the Lord, the saying is welcome - "Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light" (Ephesians 5:14). And in another view also it is welcome. For it meets the case. There is life in the light; the life of reality; the life of a capacity to see and know and appreciate the real. Therefore, wherever the light is, it is a call to life: "Wherefore he saith, Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light" (Ephesians 5:14). It is not quite clear who is spoken of as saying this, or from whence the words are taken. I would not be disinclined to take it, as the original admits of its being taken, as the call of the light: Wherefore it (the light) saith :- and so it would not be a quotation at all. If any Old Testament text in particular is here quoted, it must be that in Isaiah,-"Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee. For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people: but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee" (Isaiah 60:1-2). The mutual relations of light and life, .in the spiritual sphere or economy, are not easily adjusted; they interlace one another; and, as it were, reduplicate upon one another; light giving life; and life again being the condition of light. So it is in John’s preface to his Gospel: and so apparently it is here also. But we have here to deal with the difficulty quite practically. It is not the intercommunion of light and life as received, but their mutual connection as going forth from him and from us in him, that is here brought before us. This will appear more clearly as we illustrate and enforce the saying,-"Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light" (Ephesians 5:14). 1. It would seem to be assumed here that you desire to have light; or, literally, to be enlightened or shone upon. You were once darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord. And you would fain be so more and more. You have come to the light because you are doers of the truth. You no longer love darkness, the darkness of concealment, disguise, and guile, to hide your evil doing, or make it appear less evil, in the view of your own conscience at least, if not in the view of God’s righteous judgment. You have been made willing to face the light, the light of honest truth, of full discovery, of actual reality. You would have all your works, your whole spiritual state and character, all things in you and about you, to be seen as they really are, by God, by yourselves, by all men. And therefore you wish and long to have more light; to be more thoroughly brought to the light; to he more intimately penetrated and pervaded hy the light; to be more clearly and brightly shone upon and shone into. This is what you earnestly desire; because you do not desire to have any of your works to be such as need, or court, the darkness; and because moreover you desire that all works of darkness, whether in yourselves or in others, should be made manifest and reproved; or, in other words, should be seen to be what they really are. 2. Is this your case? Is this the spirit of your mind? It must be so if you are no more what you once were, darkness, if you are now light in the Lord. But then, because it is so, and in very proportion as it is so, you become painfully sensible of danger in consequence of the darkness, which you once were, continually pressing in upon the light which now you are. For though you are not now darkness yourselves ; though darkness is not now either your atmosphere or your nature; either the medium through which, or the organ by which, you look at things in their moral and spiritual aspects: nevertheless you are to remember that the darkness is still here; that it is near you, is ever seeking and striving to get into you again. In plain terms, you are still always surrounded and plied by temptations to the world’s way of estimating and judging in such matters. And as that was once your own way, so you cannot but feel that it is apt sometimes and to some extent to become your way again. The beginning of evil here needs to be carefully watched; for it may be a very insidious, and very plausible, wile of the evil one. Thus, in the first instance, it may be a brother’s practices that you are considering; a beloved Christian brother’s walk and conduct. Dear as he is in your esteem, and in many things exemplary before all men, you cannot altogether shut your eyes to certain failings and inconsistencies in his manner of life ; occasional acts of worldly indulgence; customary instances of worldly conformity; things said or done by him that you cannot but regret. Ah, how strong is the inducement to cast over them the mantle of your charity, your charitable construction, your charitable indulgence and allowance. Brought to the light, the clear light of an open Bible and a single eye, a holy law and a gracious Gospel, they would at once be seen in their true colours; and being so seen, they would be faithfully condemned. Being manifested to be what they truly are, they would at once become light, themselves light, as seen in light, light, a blaze of light, that would leave no room for hesitancy or halting. Your friend would be timeously startled. Whether he might choose the one side or the other, he would at least be made to face the clear and sharp alternative before him. And you, at any rate, would deliver your own soul. Alas, for the sad weakness that leads you to suffer sin upon a brother! Alas for the almost certain danger of your thus coming, but too soon and too easily, to suffer sin in yourselves! Take another instance. Let the man with whom you are familiar be a reputable and amiable man of the world, or one who passes current and has credit for being so. In him you may most probably discover - or of him you may hear - worse things than you had to deal with in the former case; fashionable follies, fashionable vices; loose principles avowed; loose practices followed and defended. All this shocks you no doubt. You condemn and protest. Alas, your condemnation may grow faint; your protest very feeble! He is not what you would wish him to be, a Christian; he is not perhaps in all respects such as you might expect him to be as a pure, upright, honourable member of society. But then you must not judge him too harshly, or believe the worst you are told about him. You may surely attach some value and give some weight to the explanations and apologies that may be offered. And for his own sake, with a view to your influencing him for good, you may continue to be on terms of intimacy with him; and, under due restraints and precautions of course, to frequent with him the scenes and the society in which he is at home. And what may follow ? Too soon you may find yourselves, almost before you are aware of it, half-unconsciously perhaps, taking the tone and catching the style of the world; learning to speak about many things as the world speaks about them; to treat them lightly; to tolerate foolish jesting about them as not perhaps quite convenient in a serious hour, but not very censurable when unbending and liberty is the order of the day. You may have a shrewd suspicion, a secret persuasion, that all this is an evading of the light; that it is letting in darkness to disturb and distort your spiritual vision j that it is the eye becoming evil; the light in you becoming darkness. But a sort of spell is upon you; a subtle fascination paralyses you. You linger on; with what likelihood of your making others really Christians, or continuing to be yourselves in a real Christian frame of mind, let melancholy experience attest. It is dark unreality all of it. 3. In such circumstances, at such a crisis, let the startling trumpet call be heard: "Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead." Is it not a word in season? It does not come a moment too soon. For you are sleeping when you come to think and feel thus. Sleeping; yes, and dreaming; dreaming of peace and safety when sudden destruction is all but coming upon you; dreaming of life when you are at the point of death. Yes! It is a deadly sleep to which you are surrendering yourselves, a dream that if not instantly dispelled may soon be fatal. Is it not so? Must you not confess, do you not feel it to be so, if anything like the process described is going on in your experience; and in what spiritual experience has it not a place ? It is a perilous slumber; a lethargy like that of one shutting his eyes in the snow wreath; a sleep that admits of no delicate handling. It must be rudely, roughly, abruptly, and violently interrupted and broken. It is not a case for reasoning, or remonstrance, or pleading. There has been too much pleading already. It has got to be special pleading. The only remedy is the loud voice of peremptory command; Arise, awake, thou sleeper ; ere thy sleep become to thee the sleep of death. Servant of the Lord, thou art sleeping in thy work! Watchman for the Lord, thou art sleeping on thy tower! Soldier of the cross, thou art sleeping at thy post! Witness for the truth, thy trumpet has ceased to sound, as it falls in thy sleep from thy relaxing hand! Prisoner of hope, but now rescued from the pit, thou art sleeping in thy flight to the stronghold! Escaped, and scarcely escaped, from the corruption that is in the city, thou art tarrying in the plain, looking back, falling asleep in the dark and drowsy atmosphere of the smoke of Sodom! It is no time, no case, for dallying. The Lord lay his strong hand on thee and cause his thunder to be heard. "Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead." Does this sound like exaggeration? None will say or think so who have any experimental knowledge of the stealthy manner in which the sore malady of spiritual sloth creeps over the soul. I have indicated in part what may be, and often is, its origin and first stages. It may come, as a pestilential haze, from the bewildering mists of outward worldly society. Or it may rise rather from within, from the inner depths of an evil heart of unbelief in departing from the living God. Either way, the symptom is for the most part the same. There is the loss of clear honest vision; our ceasing in some points to see light in God’s light; our letting in some of the shades of sense and sin, to colour more or less, with their misleading hues, the objects we have to look on. And for the most part also the effect is the same. It is to depress and deaden spiritual vitality, and to superinduce a suspension, as I might say, of spiritual animation. For all darkness tends to sleep, and to sleep which may end in death. When. I begin, therefore, again to see things darkly; spiritual things; such as sin, judgment, duty, law, grace, holiness, glory; to see them, not in their true light, as they really are, as God sees them; but under the disturbing influence of the world’s false notions, or my own unbelieving doubts; when, instead of being seen in broad, sharp, well-defined outline, and strong, clear, unmistakable relief, admitting of no confusion, no sliding or shading into one another; when, instead of that, they become dim, shadowy, doubtful, indistinct; I cannot choose but begin to fall asleep. My eyelids grow heavy; my senses uncertain; my limbs unsteady. I struggle for a little with the growing listlessness; and then, slowly yielding, drop into more or less comfortable insensibility. Is this my case now? Have I been in that lethargic state long? Or am I only now coming to be in it? Can any call be too loud and peremptory? What can save me but instant decision? Let the horrid nightmare be shaken off; let the accursed spell be broken. Let me hear the call as if it were the last resurrection call "Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead." 4. "And Christ shall give thee light;" a powerful motive surely; a great inducement and encouragement. It is so, all the more, when the full meaning of the promise is brought out. It is not merely Christ shall give thee light; but rather, Christ shall make thee light. (Even that way of putting it does not exhaust or adequately express the thought. Christ shall shine upon thee ; in thee ; through thee ; making thee all luminous ; luminous all over, as he is himself. The thought still turns on what is said, "Ye were once darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord" (Ephesians 5:8). There is however, as it were, a step in advance.) Ye are light in the Lord, is the statement in the one verse. Christ the Lord shall himself shine over you, into you, in you, and from you, making you all light; is the promise in the other. It is a glorious promise, and one that may well reconcile you to whatever effort of decisive self-denial and self-assertion may be required of you at the sounding of the alarm: "Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead." It is God who speaks, and he speaks on behalf of his Son -"I summon you to an immediate awakening out of sleep that is dangerous, and may be deadly. And I do so all the more peremptorily, as well as all the more persuasively, because here is my Anointed, ready and waiting to give you light, to lighten you, to make you altogether light." Plainly, it is the light of renewed spiritual discernment, of holy insight and sympathy, and the manifestation of truth in love, that is here promised; the light of a renewed capacity for seeing as God sees, judging as God judges, feeling as God feels, with reference to all things. It is with that ligtht that he illuminates us. It is that light which he is himself. Surely there is here great comfort to him who hears the call : Awake. Thou dost not awake and arise to see and shine by any light of thine own. That experiment perhaps thou hast tried before now, and tried more than once ; the experiment, I mean, of seeking to rouse thyself out of the sleep of spiritual darkness and deadness, by a forced awakening, as it wetre, to thyself; a reassertion of thy position as light in the Lord. The experiment has failed. For it is not by a return; to thyself that any backsliding of thine is to be healed. ; If thou hast left thy first love, it is not by going back to past that thou art to regain it. Thou canst not thus recover lost experience, or re-occupy a past position. No. All is present and future. Your past state is not to be recalled ; but Christ’s grace is now to be realised. And what grace! He is to shine on you and make you shine in him. He is to overshine and overshadow you with his own light, and to be himself light in you. Not only are you to be light in him ; he is to be your light; around and in you. Nor is there anything that should be mystical or incomprehensible in this assurance, thus understood. For, after all, the light is simply the light of truth. It is seeing things as they really are, and showing them accordingly; seeing them and showing as God sees and shows them. It is discovery, manifestation, unreserved and without guile. It is daring to look at all persons and things in their true character, and call them all by their right names. But, nevertheless, it is a difficult attainment; all the more if I have to recover that standing after even a partial and doubtful loss of it. To work myself back again, and up again, into that tenderness of conscience; that quick sensitiveness of moral feeling; that prompt spiritual discernment; that transparent openness of mind and heart, which I once had; or to get it now as I now see it to be so needful, may be a hard task. If I seek to master it by a self-moving effort, by working in and upon myself, I may fail. But here is Christ. He can never fail me. It is with him and not with myself that I am to deal. It is he who is to be my light, and to make me his light. It is he who is to shine on me and in me and through me. Awaking from sleep, rising from the dead, at his trumpet call, let me anew, whether for the fiftieth or the first time, have him as my light; illuminating, irradiating, all in me and all that goes from me. Let me anew accept him as the light of the world; as my light. For when he is the light in which I see all things, I may venture to see them as they really are, and not as my conscience burdened with guilt, and my corrupt heart, would incline me to see them. I can dare to face the light honestly and with singleness of eye, when he is the light; he, whose blood cleanseth from all sin, and whose spirit sanctifies from all uncleanness. And let me be light in him; myself light as he is light, he in whom is no darkness at all. Let me be his light before men, as he is my light before the Father. Let me rise to the full height of my calling to be light in the Lord to have the Lord to be light in me. Christ lightens me. Dwelling in my heart by faith, as I am strengthened with might by his Spirit in the inner man, he makes that whole inner man light; clear, searching light; searching like a candle all that is in me; suffering nothing that will not bear the light; letting no lurking thought of evil escape its scrutiny in any dark recess, penetrating into every nook and corner; dragging out for full discovery and faithful condemnation and prompt execution and destruction every hidden root of bitterness which might spring up to trouble me. So may the entrance of thy words give light, 0 Christ! So do thou thyself, as the light in me, search me and see if there be any wicked way in me. So lighten my darkness that there may be nothing in me that the light reproves. Then, being thus shone in upon by thee, all in me being light, I may shine, or rather thou through me, as thy light in the world. The clear, consistent outshining of the light that is in me; which is thyself, O Christ, thyself in me the hope of glory, thyself living in me; will then indeed reprove all works of darkness, causing them to be seen to be what they really are. Thy presence, when thou wast here on earth, broke in upon all earth’s darkness. Beneath that calm, holy look of thine, no dark disguise could lurk. Where thou didst come, where thou didst speak, where thou didst act, men were forced to know themselves and their works, of what sort they were. Self-convicted before thy pure truth and love, they gave in to thee, or went away ashamed. Oh, that I thy servant after thy example, and having thee dwelling in me by thy Spirit, may be thus in a measure what thou wast, the light of the world; having no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reproving them; reproving them by my walk as a child of the light, of that light whose fruit is in all goodness and righteousness and truth. I have taken this call as addressed to those who are children of light; who profess to be so; and the truth of whose profession the apostle does not call in question. But it is applicable to you also, who have not that character; and very specially it is applicable to those of you who are weary of the darkness and its works, and are groping for light. To you it offers Christ. To you, as you are, not light at all, but very and thorough darkness, it presents and gives Christ. He will enlighten you. He will so shine upon you and in you as to turn all your darkness into most joyous light. Only awake, arise; for he, thy light, is come; come to thee; come for thee. Awake, arise, for the shining of this light. Do not wait till all is clear before awaking and arising to meet and welcome and embrace Christ. He will give you light; he will make you light; he will shine and cause you to shine. Not, however, before you hear and obey the call; but in your hearing it; in your obeying it. You could not expect, you could scarcely desire or wish, him to do so otherwise. The call is to you as sitting in darkness; sleeping, alas! the sleep of death. Do not ask that the darkness should be dispelled before you comply with the call. Do not make that a preliminary condition or qualification. Here is Christ; himself all light; ready to make you all light in him. Awake! Arise! In thy darkness, dense as it may be and hopeless as it may seem; in the darkness of thy guilt and misery; in the darkness of thy deep despondency; in the darkness of thy manifold doubts, anxieties, and fears; in the darkness of utter self-despair : Awake! Arise! Christ will make all clear. Returning to you who are children of light, let me again remind you of your danger as living amid the darkness of this world and witnessing its works of darkness. The prophet Isaiah had experienced something of this danger in the year that king Uzziah died, before he saw the Lord. He had been growing insensible to the uncleanness even of his own lips, as well as to the uncleanness of the lips of the people among whom he dwelt. Familiarity with their words and works of darkness had blunted the edge of his conscientious sensitiveness and spiritual feeling, as a child of light. The things he heard and saw in the society in which he mingled, and could not but mingle, ceased more or less to appear to him in their true character and colours; to present themselves to him as they really were. The disguises and devices of dark special pleading cast a veil or a gloss over them, so that they did not startle or disgust or offend or alarm him as they used to do. Speedily he began to suffer in his own soul. The line of demarcation between good and evil ceased to be distinct and sharp; it became shadowy, hazy, wavering. Sin in himself, as well as sin in others, was not seen or felt to be so exceeding sinful as once it was. Dark refuges of lies were tempting him to hide himself from the light of truth; from the face of him who is light. In such a state, he could not be a reprover of the world’s works of darkness, either by open lips or silent life. His power of rebuke as a child of light was paralysed and gone. But the voice said, "Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead." Shake thyself from the dust. Awake, arise, enter into the holy place! Within the veil; enter, bloodsprinkled anew; enter and behold a great sight. He saw the Lord. He saw the glory of Christ. He saw Christ dwelling between the cherubim over the mercy seat; shining forth, the Shepherd of Israel. Then it was all light light terribly bright; light making all things light; his own uncleanness and the people’s. There is no escape now under the cover of any dark deception. The child of light is smitten down. Himself and his lips; the people and their lips ! Ah, there is no darkness now about them; all are light. Woe is me, for I am undone. Blessed, thrice blessed, undoneness, this undoneness at the sight of the King the Lord of Hosts; for it is true and real, not vain and false; true and real conviction, not a false and vain delusion; light altogether and not darkness at all! Blessed indeed is such undoneness! For in the very crisis of it bright grace comes. The light reveals the altar, and the sacrifice, and the fire, and the ministering Spirit taking of the fire, and touching the lips. And there is revived feeling; no deadness any more, but life as he hears the words of love: "Thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged." Then is he again fitted to be a reprover of the works of darkness. Then he listens to the summons, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" Thea he may venture to volunteer -"Here am I, send me." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 34: 04.17. CHAPTER 17: WISE CHRISTIAN METHOD. ======================================================================== Chapter Seventeen WISE CHRISTIAN METHOD. "See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise, redeeming the time, because the days are evil. Wherefore be ye not unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is."- Ephesians 5:15-17. THE fifteenth verse is best connected, not with the immediately preceding context, which is a sort of digression to explain the action of the light, but rather with the eighth verse "walk as children of light." In that character "see that," or rather "how, ye walk circumspectly." See, or take heed, that ye walk carefully, strictly, accurately, according to some exact rule or discipline. And see, or take heed, how you do so. For there is a double admonition here. You are to walk circumspectly, cautiously, methodically, by method and system. But how you are thus to walk is as important a consideration as that you are thus to walk. For the manner of walking by method and rule may be faulty, though the method or rule is right. It may be too stiff, precise, and unaccommodating; like a soldier’s monotonous exercise, or a monk’s mechanical service. Or it may be too loose and facile, such as the natural conscience is too apt to allow it to be. These indeed are the dangers of methodising the religious life, which is the life of God in the soul of man. And yet it must be methodised. The Christian walk must be circumspect. It must be not wild and random; made up of experimental runs and dashes in every direction; under influences from everywhere: movements hither and thither at the impulse of any or every wind. It is the walk of one who has looked all round, and, on a survey of the whole, has made up his mind, and formed and fixed his plan; so that ever afterwards he walks on with a clear aim, along a definite route. But he must consider how he is thus to walk. It is a manner of walking that is not natural; and therefore it is not wonderful that it should be delicate and difficult. For a hermit or an ascetic indeed, for one entering a convent and submitting to monastic bondage, the problem may be more easily solved. He has to live by inexorable rule. All his movements, during all the hours of the night and day, are fixed for him and stereotyped, without any liberty on his part to exercise discretion; and without his feeling, or being called to feel, any responsibility for what may be the issue of his wanting such a liberty of discretion. He can live methodically, by rule; walking thus circumspectly; having no liberty of discretion to exercise; having really no choice to make. It is otherwise with you, when you are called, in this sense of the term, to walk circumspectly. For you it is not so simple a matter to lay down a systematic plan for your inward spiritual life, and to apply it faithfully to the varied and ever-varying circumstances and conditions of your intercourse with the outer world. You cannot indeed walk at all, consistently or safely, unless you walk circumspectly, upon a plan and by rule. But you may err by coming under bondage to the plan or rule, and refusing to relax or modify it when occasion calls for that. Or you may err by not rightly apprehending and estimating the way of applying the plan or rule to unforeseen and unexpected emergencies. Or, most likely of all, you may get so bewildered in the attempt to carry it out, that you quietly lay it aside, and reconcile yourselves to your religious life being a mere affair of impulse and impression; a kind of knotless thread; a fluctuating succession of indefinite frames of mind and courses of conduct, without object and without rule. Hence the need of wisdom (Ephesians 5:15, "not as fools, but as wise") wisdom to tell you how to walk circumspectly; wisdom; a wise discretion; to guide you in the practical adaptation of your carefully adjusted and methodical plan of inward spiritual life, to the outward calls and occurrences of the surrounding world. You are to live by rule; the rule of a godly discipline, to be punctually and scrupulously observed. But you are to live thus by rule wisely; in the way of a wise, discreet, prudent, accommodation to your present surroundings, as regards men and things ; not as if you were bound beforehand by a mere stiff and martinet routine; but as being entitled to exercise your own judgment on every case as it comes before you. Nor need this latitude or discretionary liberty cause any fear of abuse. For, I. It is to be a redeeming of the time; a seizing of the opportunity, out of the evil days in which it is to be exercised (Ephesians 5:16). II, It is to be always exercised in the way of understanding what the will of the Lord is (Ephesians 5:17). These are surely safe enough guarantees. I. "Redeeming the time because the days are evil" (Ephesians 5:16). The expression is very strong and significant. It is not merely that we are to improve, and make the most of time generally - redeeming the whole and every part of it from a wasteful or evil use, to one that is fruitful, productive of good. The words may be so understood; and so understood, they yield a warrantable sense, and enjoin an important duty. Their special point is the seizing of opportunity. "Buying up the occasion" is the exact thought suggested. You are on the watch and on the look-out for occasions and opportunities. They are precious; they may be rare; especially when "the days are evil." And the difficulty of adjusting your systematic plan of Christian life-discipline and life-rule to their varying demands upon you may be considerable, and often very perplexing. Still it will be good for you to be put to the problem of practically balancing your a priori method, your exact discipline arranged beforehand according to the highest ideal you can form of the Christian character and life, considered, as it were, in the abstract, by bringing in the consideration of a necessary and expedient adaptation to times and seasons and circumstances. Of course there is a danger here. The tendency is all in the line of facile acquiescence and conformity. You are tempted to relax the circumspectness of your walk in accommodation to the evil days and their evil ways. That is not Paul’s idea. What he wants is that you should redeem the time out of the evil days ; that you should lie on the watch for opportunities of good, and seize and grasp them, as if you bought them up eagerly with a great price. He would have you to look out on the temporal as well as look up to the eternal. For, indeed, there is a great difficulty here, for earnest souls; especially in evil days. To keep out of their evil, I may be tempted to isolate myself, to live a lonely life, and try to live it as well as I can; or to shake myself free of evil influences and evil entanglements, not perhaps by retiring to the solitude of the desert, but by cutting off my walk in the streets and my work in the shop from my spiritual experience in the closet and study. That may be my temptation; especially when I find that in going abroad, if I go abroad as a spiritual and upright man, I have to meet and come in close contact, in the church as well as the world, with what wounds and vexes my Christian sense of truth and honour and uprightness. But let me not yield to the temptation. I may fancy that in some such way, separating my inner life in my closet, or my life in some inner circle of choice saintly society, from my necessary dealings with the outside world, I may walk circumspectly with God and before God; according to some well-arranged plan of devotional and experimental piety. Alas, the likelihood is that I shall very soon find my secret discipline a failure, verging on vague indolent musing; and my exclusive fellowship with a select coterie a cover for half-unconscious hypocrisy. At the best, my personal religion, thus cultivated, will become mystical and ideal, or morbid and fanatical. It is good for me to be driven out from the private monastic cell, and from the fellowship of the monastic cloister; yes, even if I am driven out among the worst of the wrongs and miseries and crimes which characterise and stamp the days as evil. Yes! For I am driven out to redeem the time; to seize, and buy up, and use the opportunity; to use it as I would use a dearly-bought instrument of power, and turn it to account, and make the most of it. This was Paul’s own way "I became all things to all men." It was the safety of Methodism, and the secret of its success, that in its first rise among the knot of men in Oxford who banded themselves together for security in the midst of ungodliness and vice prevailing all around them, they soon learned the lesson of combining the two elements and conditions of a right Christian mode of life; walking circumspectly and redeeming the time; walking circumspectly, strictly by rule, methodically arranging and rigidly observing a definite plan of spiritual life; and yet doing so, not foolishly, as if they were to be the slaves of their own arrangements; but wisely, with a wise common sense, and intensely Christian regard to the evil days on which their lot had fallen, and the urgent need of their redeeming the time, grasping and improving the opportunity. It was this that made Methodism a power; not a new retreat and home for recluse spirits and souls sick of sin and of the world; but a new source of blessed influence in a dry, cold age; a mighty agent for the revival and regeneration of a Christianity that had fallen upon, and, alas, yielded itself up to what were, truly evil days. It was not that Wesley, and his friends and followers, abandoned their Methodism, their walking circumspectly. Method, and strict adherence to method, is an eminently distinctive feature of the collective body, and of its individual members, to this hour. And certainly at the first there was no relaxation of the exact methodical discipline of the inner private life and brotherly fellowship when that noble band threw themselves out of the lettered leisure of a college into the thickest of the fight in Satan’s mightiest strongholds. It fared the better for their private personal and brotherly Methodism that it thus wisely issued in an open and public inroad upon the evil of the days in which they lived. And it fared the better for that inroad, and for the seizing of opportunity in regard to it, that they did not for a moment cease to be methodical; to walk circumspectly; to be systematically living, as well as opportunity-seizing, Christians; systematically living in their spirituality, opportunity-seizing in their activity. II. "Wherefore be ye not unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is" (Ephesians 5:17). This is, I think, another qualification or explanation of the advice to walk circumspectly; not inconsistent, but rather almost identical, with the former. You are to lie open to every intimation of the will of God; and in view of existing circumstances to exercise your understanding, to the best of your power, on the question of present duty, without feeling yourselves tied up by any martinet methodical rule, however good in itself. To meet exigencies and emergencies, calls and occasions, as they arise in God’s providence, under the trammels of a servile subjection to any fixed and stereotyped plan or rule laid down beforehand, is to be unwise. Your wisdom is to understand, with reference to the choice you have now to make, and the step you have now to take, what the will of the Lord is. No doubt you will be enabled to understand this all the better if it is the habit of your Christian life to walk circumspectly. Otherwise, indeed, you will assuredly fail. Without fixed principles and a fixed plan, as regards your Christian walk as a whole, you will find yourselves altogether incompetent to decide how you ought to walk in any special instance. Still the question you have in every instance to ask is, not what your system of circumspect walking would suggest, but what is the will of the Lord. The mariner, out at sea, is helpless and resourceless if he has not studied and mastered the science of navigation, and accustomed himself to the use of chart and compass. In a high wind, on a lee shore, under a strange sky, he is taken all aback if he is not a well-trained, well-disciplined, well-informed, systematic sailor. But he will prove himself a fool if he holds himself so tied to rigid rules, laid down beforehand, that he cannot shift his sails, or turn his helm, to shun a fatal rock, or win a friendly port. He is wise when, availing himself of all the skill and method of his craft, he seeks to understand, at every shifting of the uncertain breeze, what the present aspect of the air and ocean requires. So, "therefore be ye not unwise, but understanding what the will of the Lord is." Thus, as I think, there is an important qualification here with reference to the preceding admonition. The word "wherefore," very feebly represents the original. It is rather, Do not, on this account, be unwise; unwise, as I take it, in the application of the principle or practice of living by rule, and the principle or practice of living according to occasion. For there is certainly danger in that direction. And the danger is met when I am told not merely that I am to lie open to the consideration of circumstances, but that I am to be open to that, as understanding what is the will of the Lord. Now put all these conditions together, first a circumspect walk, regulated according to a well and wisely adjusted plan laid down beforehand, on a full and faithful consideration of all that is implied in your being called and consecrated to be children of the light, awakened out of sleep, arising from the dead, lightened by Christ inwardly and so lightened to shine outwardly, giving forth rays of his glory and his grace; then a certain wise pliability and adaptability, on the principle that it is to be your seizing of the opportunity as it presents itself; and your understanding what the will of the Lord is. Surely you have the elements of a safe and blessed, and holy and useful walk. It is not your walking at random, as it were, under the impulse of casual forces and influences operating from without, or fitful frames and fancies rising within; it is the steady, consistent, careful carrying out of a system upon which you have deliberately made up your mind: the practical realising, not of an ideal floating vaguely and variously before a vacant eye, but of an ideal that has circumspectly lodged itself in an enlightened mind, an awakened soul, a warm and loving heart. Then it is not your walking stiffly, artificially, by rigid unbending rule; turning your Christian life into a martinet’s drill or a formalist’s routine. It is your walking freely, naturally; alive to the present call or occasion, as well as circumspectly giving heed to your pre-arranged method. It is your lying on the watch, ready to buy up on the spot, to seize with avidity, and make the most of the opportunity of the hour; the means of doing good, the opening for showing light, now at hand. And it is not your following the guidance of your own judgment in thus walking, with a due balance of the systematic and the extempore or occasional. It is your hearing at every successive moment the voice of him according to whose will you have been graciously led to mould and model your plan of life as a whole; and being open to ask, and seek to understand, at every step you take, what is his will here and now. How complete is the security thus afforded for your walking worthily as children of the light! You consult chiefly for yourselves, walking circumspectly. You consult for your brethren and fellow-men when you grasp the opportunity. You consult for God, when you apprehend what his will is. Surely this is perfeet wisdom, if only you can attain to it. And wherefore should you not, if indeed you are children of the light: beholding, imbibing, absorbing, and shedding forth, the very light of Christ, of him who in his sojourn here was emphatically the light of the world! His was truly a circumspect, orderly, systematic walk; having throughout a definite aim, a definite plan. It was pre-eminently also a seizing of the opportunity; as when, abandoning or postponing his purpose of retirement, he adapted himself to the exigency of the occasion, and weary as he was, and much needing rest, spent the long laborious day in teaching the multitudes, and fed them by miracle as evening closed in. And he was ever ’ in the attitude of observing what the will of his Father was ; his meat, as he sat on the stone at Jacob’s well, faint and hungry, being to do the will of him that sent him, and finish his work ; and his prayer, when the hour came from which he would fain have been saved, had it been possible, Father, glorify thy name. Not my will but thine be done. Would that we were, in these respects, more Christlike! How much more brightly and steadily would our light shine! How much more decidedly and strongly would it condemn the works of darkness! How much more effectual would it be to draw out of the darkness the doers of its works and bring them into God’s marvellous light! But one word to the children of darkness themselves. You are apt to excuse to yourselves your continuing in the darkness, by pointing to the faint, feeble, unsteady shining of the light in those who profess to be its children. Alas, you may have too good cause to reproach them. But I point you to Christ. It is with him that you have to do. It is to him that you have to look. The imperfect shining of the light in his people is their blame. But it will not be your justification. For the true light has shone, and is shining yet. And this will be your condemnation, that light having come into the world ye have loved darkness rather than light. Come to the light, that your deeds may be made manifest. Come, hearing the gracious assurance, "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 35: 04.18. CHAPTER 18: WORLDLY AND SPIRITUAL EXHILARATIONIST. ======================================================================== Chapter XVIII. WORLDLY AND SPIRITUAL EXHILARATIONIST. "And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess ; but be filled with the Spirit; speaking to yourselves in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord; giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ."- Ephesians 5:18-20. THIS is the end or completion, as I take it, of the second section, or subdivision, of the practical part of this epistle; the section or subdivision which views the church in its relation to antagonism to the world. The next verse (Ephesians 5:21) seems to mark the transition, or mode of passing, through a general principle or maxim, into the third section or subdivision; connecting the submission which Christians universally owe to one another as such, with the special natural relations of domestic and social life. The text, meanwhile, closes and crowns the previous line of thought. It is assumed that the two opposite and contrasted sets, or systems of principle and practice, of influence and action, the Christian and the worldly, will ultimately find different ways of expressing themselves. For both of them are powers which, originally working from within, must ultimately act also outwardly. They are like opposing streams which, after crossing and vexing one another too often in their course, branch off from one another in the end ; like inconsistent and irreconcilable forces, which, after much mutual collision and consequent confusion, find opposite vents by which to discharge themselves at last. The forces, the streams, are those of worldly darkness on the one hand, and spiritual light on the other. The first works naturally in the line of such excitement and exhilaration as may be best sustained by material stimulants or appliances, and may but too readily issue in outward excess, or reckless mirth and riot. The second works spiritually in the line of a safer and holier elevation, which, even if it should become intoxication, would yet be safe and holy; for its stimulant is not wine, or anything coming in the room of wine, and working as wine works, but the Spirit; and its vent or issue is not the rude excess of ribald speech and senseless voice and walk; but "speaking to yourselves in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord; giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." Here, therefore there is a double contrast, suggesting a double test, as to your life. I. What is the stimulant that is most congenial and welcome to it? II. What is the vent or issue in which it naturally comes out? I. What is the stimulant? It is wine in the one case: Be not drunk with wine. It is the Spirit in the other case: Be filled with the Spirit (Ephesians 5:18). The prohibition, be not drunk with wine, is to be taken in its most literal sense, and urged home, in that sense, upon Christians, true Christians, as well as upon other men. It is needed for them; sometimes for them even more than for other men. The use, or the abuse, of wine, is apt to creep on them as a habit of moderate indulgence in regard to which, being spiritual men, they may without serious risk allow themselves some liberty; or as a solace in hours of anxious thought and depressed spirits, in seasons, perhaps, of spiritual heaviness and gloom. Let no child of God put away from him as unnecessary or inapplicable, the strong, plain warning, taken in its strongest, plainest meaning. Be not drunk with wine. But the force of the warning is not weakened, but rather enhanced, by its being construed as involving a somewhat wider principle. It is a warning against your being dependant on any outward, carnal, worldly stimulant, for the exhilaration which you need. For it is assumed, as being conceded on all hands, that exhilaration of some sort is really needed. Human nature, under the pressure of its earthly experience, requires something of that sort. It cannot stand the dull, dead level, passionless and emotionless, of a monotonous round of continual work, or a mere tame routine of decency. If it is genuine human nature,- not stunted or warped, but real and living,- it is impatient of stagnation, and welcomes stimulants. And it is not in that respect altered in conversion. The new man, or manhood, as well as the old, is intolerant of prolonged and uniform quiescence. It demands to be in a sense, at least occasionally; frequently, it may be; if not indeed always, intoxicated. It cannot consent to unbroken and perpetual sobriety. That may suit the formalism and self-righteousness of the old man; it will not do for the living loving soul of the new man. I call for the full glass; the overflowing bumper. The wine, the rich and generous wine, unmixed and undiluted, let me be thoroughly drunk with that. Yes. Let me be filled with the Spirit. Let that be my wine. Let me be drunk with that wine; filled with the Spirit. It is the. highest notion and ideal of the Spirit’s office that is here suggested. There is no disparagement or degradation in his being compared to wine ; nor in his spiritual working being compared to the exhilarating influence of wine. No reader of the Old Testament can stumble at the comparison, when he calls to mind what is there said of wine, whether literally or symbolically. "Wine that maketh glad the heart of man" - "wine which cheereth God and man." "He brought me to the banqueting-house, and his banner over me was love. Stay me with flagons: for I am sick of love." "Eat, 0 friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, 0 beloved." Itis fitted to bring out the fulness of the work of the Holy Ghost in our salvation. It is one of many comparisons; but it consummates and crowns them all. He is likened to wind and to water; to wind, blowing for the soul’s new birth, breathing or inspiring new life; to water, a well of living water in the soul, springing up and flowing forth. But here he is as wine; instead of wine ; himself wine ; superseding and setting aside that material stimulant; being himself a spiritual stimulant, which is far better. Let this office, this function, of the Holy Spirit, be duly recognised and honoured; his most congenial office; the function which assuredly pleases him best. He is willing, most willing to be to you as wind, in respect of your being born of him; and as water, in respect of his being in you a well of water, springing up into everlasting life, and causing rivers of water to flow forth from within you all around. These operations of the Spirit are needful for the beginning of your spiritual life, and for its inward growth and outward influence and power. But he would be more to you than these. He would be to you as wine. Are you not apt to grieve the Holy Spirit in this most elevated and blessed sphere of his agency, which is that in which he himself must chiefly love to move? The necessity of his initial movement as the wind, in your regeneration, you humbly and thankfully acknowledge; and you feel your need of his continual watering of your souls for the preservation of some growing life in them, and the going out of some good savour from them. But the wine! What of that? Is he instead of wine to you? Is he himself wine to you? He will be so, if you let him take of what is Christ’s and show it to you. For it is always as not speaking of himself but glorifying Christ that he works towards you and in you, as wind, or water, or wine. In your new birth, your being regenerated or bom from above, he makes over to you Christ’s birth as yours; so that you enter into the kingdom of God, in and with Christ, blameless and righteous, as he is when he comes under it; renovated also and regenerated in Christ. In your being sanctified as well as justified, he causes Christ to dwell in your heart by faith; and to be in you a new life for yourselves, and out of you, a new life for others. But he has more of what is Christ’s to show you than all that, more than may suffice for your becoming new creatures in Christ, and your living more and more daily, not unto yourselves, but unto him who died for you and rose again. There is such a thing as joy in the Holy Ghost. And it is Christ’s joy, the very joy of Christ himself; the joy which he felt when he said, "I thank thee, 0 Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes;" and again, "These things have I spoken unto you that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full." This is the stimulant which is put against wine: your being filled with the Spirit instead of being drunk with wine; filled with the Spirit as thus taking of what is Christ’s and showing it to you; of his entire fulness of joy; filling you thus with all the fulness of God. It is more than deliverance from death. It is more than life; more than pardon and peace ; than a quiet sense of reconciliation ; a calm trust and humbly contented walk of consistent welldoing. It is all that; and that is much. But to be filled with the Spirit when it is put against being drunk with wine means I repeat, more than that. It means spiritual elevation; some sort of spiritual experience or state, analogous though not akin to being drunk with wine. It means your being spiritually agitated, excited, exhilarated; somewhat after the fashion of the physical effects that strong drink so sadly works. There is room under this image for the most intense, rapturous, and enthusiastic fulness of the Spirit being recognised as a legitimate means and method of excitement and exhilaration in the Christian life. And if we allow such a joyous spiritual frame to be not always and everywhere indispensable, we must insist on it as being that which is in itself most honouring to the Holy Ghost, and most likely, in respect of its energy and influence, to meet and overcome any tendency to have recourse to more carnal and worldly ways of what is called keeping up the spirits. For these two reasons then I press home the precept, "Be filled with the Spirit." Let the Spirit largely shed abroad in your hearts an animating sense of the love of God. Let him fill you with all joy as well as all peace in believing. Rejoice in the Lord. "Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it." "Prove me now, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing that there shall not be room enough to receive it." So you best honour the blessed Spirit. So also you can dispense with the relief or recreation which being drunk with wine, or any other worldly and sensual stimulant, may be supposed to give. II. Such being the two opposite stimulants or sources of exhilaration, let us now look at the two corresponding vents or issues. The one, being intoxicated or excited with wine, leads to, or has in it, excess, revelry, unruly speech and behaviour, profligacy, riotous living. The other, being filled with the Spirit, finds its appropriate and congenial outcome in the voice of rejoicing and salvation; the melody of joy and health that is in the tabernacles of the righteous. Is any merry, filled with the Spirit? Let him sing psalms. 1. Being drunk with wine, drawing whatever elevation of spirit they have from an external cause, from what can only minister to their animal and carnal nature, men can scarcely fail to seek an outlet for their excited frame in some form or other of boisterous mirth or sensual indulgence. The steam thus generated refuses to be shut up or suppressed. It must and will break out in a manner kindred to itself. And its breaking out may often be disorderly and disastrous indeed. This is notoriously true of literal intoxication. "Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging; wine, the new wine, takes away the heart." "People, priest, and prophet err through wine, and through strong drink are out of the way." Hear the poor victim, as the poet makes him so pitifully to lament: "Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swagger? swear? and talk fustian with one’s own shadow? 0 thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil! 0 that men should put an enemy into their mouths to steal away their brains, that we should with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!" But it is not wine alone, or strong drink, that will so take and turn a man’s head as to throw him off his balance, and destroy or paralyse his power of self-command. Any kind of excitement or elevation of feeling that is merely sensual, or sensous—occasioned by what touches the senses only, whether the lower or the higher—may in a different way and in a lesser degree move a man to conduct unbecoming and unwise. What folly, for instance, may be committed, what mischief done, in the mere exuberance of animal spirits, allowed to run riot without curb or check. Are not the absurdities and extravagances of weak-brained, half-crazy enthusiasm about some favourite whim or hobby the standing themes of humorous wit and satire 1 Is not many a man, in the heat of highly raised emotion, caused perhaps by what may not in itself be wrong, hurried into scenes, and hurried on to sayings and doings, from which, in a calmer mood, he would recoil and shrink ? For, in truth, all excitement or desire of excitement,- all exhilaration, or craving for exhilaration, for what may raise or keep up one’s spirits; every taste, in short, or tendency, or inclination that is altogether natural, carnal, worldly, is. apt to become thus dangerous. It may not perhaps break out into riotous living. But if it breeds disorder in the inner man; if it insidiously leads to waste of precious time; if it deranges the economy of the household; if it encroaches on holy study, devout meditation, cheerful good-doing ; if it disposes to sloth and self-indulgence, or over-indulgence in what may be innocent and even good; if it indisposes for active exertion, and diligent working, and willing self-sacrifice ; it has in it substantially the very element of evil, the excess, that there is in being literally drunk with wine. 2. Turn now to the other kind of exhilaration; otherwise created or caused; your being filled with the Spirit. How, does it express itself, and work itself out? "Speaking to yourselves in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord; giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." Observe, generally, in the first place, how manifold are the ways in which this sort of intoxication, your being filled with the Spirit, may find vent and utterance. For, as I take it, there are more ways than one indicated here in these verses; three at least; (1.) your speaking to yourselves; that is, among yourselves, to one another, and with one another, in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs ; (2.) your making silent melody in your heart unto the Lord; and (3.) your giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. If you are in sympathising companionship, then the utterance is in loudest strains of highest music. If you are alone, it is in music still, the deep music of a soul allured to heaven’s harp. If you are at work, or on a journey, toiling or travelling, it is in music still, the music of a grateful sense and acknowledgment and proclamation of God’s manifold providential care and kindness, as connected with his saving grace. Such variety I find here as regards the vent which your being filled with the Spirit demands. But how ample, I say, is the vent! Can I ever be at a loss for a channel through which the fulness of the Spirit in me may find an outlet? Have I access to the house and household of God? Do I go up with the people to keep holyday to the Lord? Do I join in fellowship with loving souls? Then in all sorts of hymnology, psalmodic and spiritual, I welcome what admits of my pouring into it the utmost exuberance and deepest experience of my soul’s fulness, as filled with the Spirit. Am I alone, in solitude, with none to join with me in this exercise of praise? I may sing and make melody in my heart to the Lord. Am I abroad in the world, away from the social house of prayer, where voices may join audibly in song, and from the solitary and secret closet, where the song can be only in my hushed silent bosom: am I about my business, my Father’s business, cast, in the prosecution of it, into the very midst of the world’s bustle, its cares and griefs, and crowded tumult? I may be cherishing continually a grateful sense of divine grace and goodness; always, and for all things, giving thanks to God in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. That surely is an ample channel; these are wide enough mouths, through which a very Nile of the fulness of the Spirit in any heart may discharge itself into the ocean of infinite love; (1.) all varied speech and song.in holy Christian communion ; (2.) truest melody of soul in closet exercise ; and (3.) a thankful, cheerful apprehension and proclamation, always and in all things, of the Father’s faithfulness and love in his Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Next, observe in the second place how thoroughly safe, as well as sufficient, is this threefold vent for your emotions when filled with the Spirit. There is no risk of excess or disorder here. Let a man be ever so much filled with the Spirit, even to extreme pressure and overflowing; he has in this threefold outlet a suitable and ample safety-valve. Even if he had any one of the three channels by itself, he might well be content. In the communion of saints, worshipping together; in the heart-melody of closet prayer, addressed to him who seeth. in secret; in the continual remembrance and acknowledgment of redeeming grace and providential goodness, always and everywhere, in the midst of the world’s turmoil; in any one of these three apart, your fulness, as being filled with the Spirit, might flow forth and find fitting outlet. How much more when you have, as you have for the most part, all the three available! The church, the closet, the very world itself; the church, with its vocal music; the closet, with its silent song; the world with its ever-varying experiences, calling forth at every moment a new feeling of gratitude to God in Christ; and giving thus at every moment a new opportunity of testifying on his behalf; these are, not separately but unitedly, the channels provided for the overflow of your spiritual fulness. And, taken together, they afford a vent or outlet that cannot well be abused. Any one of them, taken separately, might possibly lead to extravagance. The social element might, by sympathy and contagion, prompt fanatical outcries and wild physical convulsions. The secret devotion might become morbid, self-eating, and therefore self-destructive. And the fond idea of making all work worship, might end in there being no worship but work. But let the three unite and coalesce in one. Be ye, as filled with the Spirit, ready to join with the Lord’s people in all manner of Christian fellowship, whether of service or of song. Be ye also, even when you are alone, praising God inwardly, and lifting up your silent hearts to him. And be ye even in the world abroad remembering and showing forth his grace and goodness as your God and Father in Christ Jesus your Lord. This threefold sluice will suffice for any fulness. There is no danger of any excess here. Observe, thirdly, how the outflow, in this triple channel, instead of wasting and exhausting, tends evermore to replenish and revive the fountain. The case is different when the fountain is a fulness of wine, or of any carnal or sensational stimulant. In that case the force or impetus imparted very soon exhausts itself, and prostrate lassitude ensues. Excitement, simply natural,- or rather, perhaps, one should more properly say artificial,- whether caused by strong drink, or by any other exhilarating means, almost invariably ends, and that very speedily, in a collapse. "Eor, as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of fools." It flares up in a fitful, noisy, outburst of wanton mirth, and soon sinks into ashes, dull and dead. The morning after a debauch; the slow and vacant hours of the day succeeding a night of giddy dissipation in the theatre or the ball-room; the listless apathy that steals over the whole soul when the thrilling romance or startling tale of terror is closed; nay, the very weariness of the flesh which much study proves itself to be; these, and other instances sufficiently familiar, attest this truth, that high-wrought elevation of feeling, fed and fostered by wine, or some virtual substitute and equivalent for wine, consumes alike its food and itself; entailing a sad reverse of helpless depression and despondency. It is not so, but quite otherwise, when it is being filled with the Spirit, that gladdens and enlivens the soul, and when the life and gladness find their fitting vent in the songs of brotherly fellowship, or the silent melody of the heart, or the cheerful, happy, grateful frame that turns the whole ordinary and commonplace walk of life, with all its trials and troubles, into a continual sacrifice of praise. These ways of spiritual recreation, letting out, and, as it were, letting off the spiritual steam, are not liable to any reaction. Spiritually and wisely used, they minister to that fulness from which they proceed; they gently and genially fan the flame of that inward fire which your being filled with the Spirit kindles. They are exercises fitted to be reciprocally effects and causes. Coming from a heart filled with the Spirit, they tend to keep it full. They contribute to your peace and joy; your peace in believing, and joy in the Holy Ghost; the very peace and joy which are their animating principle and moving mainspring. There is no risk therefore, here, of undue excitement, to be followed by the opposite extreme of dulness. Nay, rather the more you abound in all these varieties of the Christian life and experience, social, secret, active, and busy, the more abundantly will you be strengthened with might by God’s Spirit in the inner man; the more will Christ dwell in your hearts by faith ; the more will you be enabled to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; and to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye may be filled with all the fulness of God (Ephesians 3:17-19). By way of practical application, let me repeat the warning -"Be not drunk with wine," and press it home as a peremptory authoritative prohibition; a categorically imperative commandment. In that form it is much needed. It is Paul’s manner, or rather God’s, in dealing with sinful or even doubtful practices and usages, to be thus peremptory. It is not persuasion, argument, entreaty, he brings to bear upon them, but strong and stern denunciation. This is the way in which ungodly sinners are addressed; and not only openly ungodly sinners, but professing Christians too. "Be not deceived. Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, shall inherit the kingdom of God." "Of whom I have told you before, and now tell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ." "Be not drunk with wine." 0 my poor brother, who art at this very time perhaps in danger of being drawn into this most insidious and subtle snare of the devil, seeking solace or excitement in strong drink, be very thankful that the appeal to you is made on this footing. Lay it to heart: as no remonstrance merely, or argument or expostulation: but a plain, clear command, not to be trifled with. Be not drunk with wine, or with anything that is leading to excess or disorder of any kind. 0 let the word come as with a voice of thunder; loud, emphatic, unequivocal, breaking through all sophistry and special pleading. Be not conformed to the world. "Be not drunk with wine." Your best security is your being filled with the Spirit, and giving free and wide scope and vent to that fulness in all the channels in which the spiritual life may run. Get some of the indwelling in you of the Holy Ghost, causing Christ to dwell in your hearts by faith. Pray for that. Pray believingly. Pray as expecting to receive the blessing; as willing to receive it. Willing I say. For, alas, may it not be that while asking, not with conscious insincerity, that I may be filled with the Spirit, I rather shrink secretly from the high, holy, heavenly state and frame which my getting what I ask might imply; that I dread being brought so completely out of the world, and so thoroughly caught up into the third heavens? Ah, if so, is it any wonder that I receive not what I ask? Is it any wonder that, failing to receive it, I yield to the temptation of falling back on worldly stimulants? Be sincere, brethren, be earnest in seeking to be filled with the Spirit in all the fulness of that great thought. Then may you bid a final adieu to all the excitements of the world’s pomps and pleasures. Then may you indeed live now the very life you are to live for ever, the life of song, the life of heart-melody, the life of joyous grateful service. "Be filled with the Spirit; speaking to yourselves in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord; giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ" (Ephesians 5:19-20). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 36: 04.19. CHAPTER 19: THE GENERAL DUTY OF MUTUAL SUBMISSION. ======================================================================== Chapter XIX THE GENERAL DUTY OF MUTUAL SUBMISSION. "Submitting yourselves one to another in the fear of God"- Ephesians 5:21. THIS verse stands in a sort of double position. The injunction which it contains may point backwards to those excesses or abuses of social fellowship which are apt to follow being "drunk with wine," or excited and exhilarated by carnal or worldly stimulants. The characteristic of them all is that, in the tumult of spirit which they occasion, however well they may be ordered, those engaged in them are apt to become heady and headstrong; obtrusively opinionative and intolerant; self asserting; self-glorifying; more or less noisily. But the injunction may also point forwards ; in the line of those familiar household relationships on which the apostle Paul is about to bring to bear the practical power of Christian principle and motive, according to the highest measure of Christian doctrine. In this view, it is noticeable that the only exactly parallel passage is to be found in the First Epistle of Peter; where it occurs at the close of lengthened exhortations, having reference to the discharge of relative duties in the constitution of society, and in the fellowship of the church. "Likewise, ye younger, submit yourselves unto the elder; yea, all of you submit yourselves" one to another; and be clotbed with humility. For God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble." The idea of our "submitting ourselves" is familiar and frequent in Scripture. But, for the most part, what or whom we are to submit ourselves to, is specified. Thus, Christ was "submitting himself" to Mary and Joseph, being "subject unto them." The Jews, again, are blamed or pitied for not "submitting themselves" unto the righteousness of God. And the carnal mind is charged with being enmity against God, because it does not and cannot "submit itself" to the law of God. I need not quote more instances of our "submitting ourselves" being spoken of, with reference to particular parties having a claim upon us otherwise for obedience. The peculiarity here, and in the passage quoted from Peter, is that the admonition is quite general and indefinite. It is a universal order or injunction. And Peter gives it, one would almost think, with some slight feeling of impatience or indignation. It is as if he were weary of details, and glad to take refuge, before closing, in the general rule universally applicable, "Yea, all of you be subject one to another." Paul begins with that wide maxim, but it is in the same mind in which Peter ends with it. This is seen to be so through the appeal which Paul makes formally, as Peter makes it virtually, to the highest warrant and authority; "Submit yourselves one to another in the fear of Christ." For that being the reading here it introduces a very high model and sanction. "The fear of Christ!" It is a strange expression; singular and unique; representing the loving Saviour almost as an object of dread. For we cannot understand the phrase otherwise; we cannot explain it away. It is the fear of Christ. He is to be feared. Yes, certainly! He is to be feared; greatly to be feared. That is a solemn and appalling warning for unbelievers;-"Be wise now, therefore, 0 ye kings; be instructed, ye judges of the earth. Serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice with trembling. Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when bis wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all they that put their trust in him." So also is that other warning -"And they said to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb ; for the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand ?" But the peculiarity here is, that "the fear of Christ" is brought forward as a Christian motive. It is not merely used in the way of pressure, as it were, from without; shutting men up into Christ, or plunging them in despair if they refuse to be found in Christ. It is as an inward principle of the new man, the new nature, that it is appealed to and called into play. It is "in the fear of Christ," as a feeling or affection within us, as being ourselves in him, that we are exhorted to observe this rule of holy living ; "submitting ourselves one to another." I. One very simple explanation of this way of enforcing the duty in question may be found in the consideration of our Lord’s special, and as it were personal, dislike of the opposite frame of mind - the opposite mode of conduct. I say his personal dislike of it, for it was really that. It was more than disapprobation; it was distaste and disgust. The questioning of his disciples among themselves as to who should be the greatest, gave him deep and sore offence. It was a personal annoyance. It very specially vexed and wounded him. It showed so little intelligent apprehension of his character, and work, and mission; so little appreciation; so little sympathy. So also the assumption by Peter of superior faithfulness and courage above all the rest of the apostles occasioned, as it would seem, real personal discomfort, and a sort of personal recoil, of which his words somewhat savour : "I tell thee, Peter, the cock shall not crow this day, before thou shalt thrice deny that thou knowest me." II. Another consideration, and the principal one, explanatory of this peculiar way of illustrating and enforcing the duty of mutual submission, may be found in our Lord’s personal walk and conduct. It is an appeal to his example. Let the grace of reciprocal subjection be manifested and exercised in the fear - the reverential, admiring, adoring, loving fear - of him who himself manifested and exercised that grace so constantly, so wonderfully. Submitting himself to others is the rule and ruling principle of his life; its essential characteristic; as viewed in its relation to his fellow-men. For it is not his submitting himself to the Father, as his chosen servant, that I here speak of. That cannot come under the head of the command - "Submit yourselves one to another." It cannot, therefore, be brought in as a motive, or precedent, or example, bearing upon that command. In his submitting himself to the Father there can be no room for reciprocity. It is only with reference to his manner of dealing with those whose equal he condescended to become, that that element can be recognised - the element, I mean, of mutuality or reciprocity : Submit yourselves one to another : Let there be submission on both sides. Alas ! In his case this element could be recognised practically, for the most part, only on one side; on his own side. For by far the larger number of those with whom he had intercourse were dead and insensible to any feeling of a corresponding obligation on their side. Still, one-sided as its exercise might be, this element of reciprocity or mutuality entered into the Lord’s manner of submitting himself, in all his fellowship with his fellow-men. He submitted himself to them as one expecting, desiring, willing, that they should submit themselves to him. Nor do I speak here of that submission which he authoritatively claims as the Son, and as appointed by the Father to save them that obey his voice and believe in his name. I speak of his common manner of intercourse as a man with his fellow-men. I speak of him as in that manner of intercourse illustrating and fulfilling the command: Submit yourselves one to another. For it is not necessary to a full and hearty compliance with the spirit of that command, that both of the parties who may.be held to be concerned in it actually conform to it. I may obey it in my dealing with you, though you refuse to obey it in your dealing with me. I may submit myself to you, though I cannot reckon on your submitting yourself to me. Still my submitting myself to you proceeds upon the hypothesis or supposition of your submitting yourself to me. I act thus toward you, on the faith, as it were, of your acting in like manner towards me ; or as if I might expect you to act in like manner towards me. And this materially affects the whole character and spirit of my intercourse with you: For one thing, it quite divests it of all assumption on my part of superior worth or authority. There is no air of affected condescension. I recognise you as doing to me all that I do to you. I bend no more to you, than you, with entire self-respect, may bend to me. And I am quite as ready to accept kindly your submitting of yourself to me, as I would wish you to be ready to accept kindly my submitting of myself to you. For this I take to be an essential feature, a vital characteristic, of the grace or virtue now in question. This gives it its excellency and charm. There is a style or mode of submitting one’s-self to another which, lacking that gracious element of reciprocity, is apt to be painful and offensive. I come down to you from a high position, and I make you feel that I am coming down. With elaborate and ostentatious humility I bend and stoop to you. You see that I am patronising you. When I bow my head to enter your lowly hut, the very courtesy of my act puts you in mind of the hut’s lowliness. When I pour oil and balm into your wounds, it is with an air that makes your spirit smart even when your flesh is soothed. Why? Why but because I mean my submitting of myself to you to be altogether one-sided; I mean it to be understood to be so; or, at least, I act so that it can scarcely be construed otherwise. Not such was the manner of Jesus. None to whom he submitted himself could ever imagine that he was patronising him; or condescending to him; or doing a great service of humiliation. No, he always proceeded on the principle and in the spirit of reciprocity ; as one showing that he considered himself to be obliged in the very act of obliging others; as one willing to be indebted to those whom he was making his debtors ; as one ready to accept gracefully, as well as to bestow, a service. True, he came not to be ministered unto, but to minister. But his way of ministering was such as could not wound or mortify the most sensitive sensibility; for he ministered as not refusing, but consenting - though that was not his aim - to be ministered unto. So he ministered, as willing to be ministered unto, when he introduced himself to the woman of Samaria by asking her to minister to his thirst. So also when he welcomed the good offices of her who ministered to his weary head, soon to be bowed on the accursed tree, by anointing his body unto his burial. Scarcely anything, indeed, is more remarkable in the whole of our Lord’s intercourse with those to whom he spoke, or among whom he went about doing good, than the perfect simplicity, and, if one may dare to say so, the unstudied and unassuming naturalness of his manner. It was such as to put them at once at their ease in conversing with him, and receiving benefits at his hand. It was such as, while it commanded respectful homage, disarmed or charmed away all jealousy and suspicion. It made all who had any sense of what true manhood - genuine humanity - is, feel that he was among them, not as a patron among clients, or a benefactor among dependants on his bounty; or a visitor from a higher sphere condescending to notice an inferior race; but as desiring to be a friend among friends; a man among men needing, accepting, welcoming for himself the sympathy and the service which he manifested and rendered towards all. It is in the reverential and loving fear of Christ, thus submitting himself, that you are to submit yourselves one to another. It must, therefore, be after his manner, according to his example, that you are to do so. Our way of submitting yourselves must be like His; for the spirit of it must be in your case what it was in his. There must be no reservation of self-complacency, or even of self-consciousness. There must be the entire abandonment or renunciation of any thought of self. There must be Christ’s own losing of himself in those he longed to save, if you are to submit yourselves one to another in the fear of Christ. III. The fear of Christ, in which you are to submit yourselves one to another, may have, and must have, a higher reference. It may and must point not merely to his manner among men, but to his mission from God. He was subject, he submitted himself, to the Father. It was always as submitting himself to his Father in heaven that he went about on earth submitting himself to his fellow-men. The one submission explained and characterised the other. His humbling himself to be obedient to the Father left really no room for any other humiliation. The first step being accomplished; his taking upon him the form of a servant, and becoming obedient; the entire amount of possible subjection was, as it were, exhausted. All other submissions were swallowed up in that one. For him, who has submitted himself to the Father so willingly, so unreservedly, so joyfully, to reckon any other submission a submission worthy of the name; except as it implies possible if not actual reciprocity ; how incongruous and intolerable an anomaly! Nay, rather; submitting himself to the Father once for all and always, for the great work of salvation among the children of men, covenanted in the eternal counsels of the Godhead, - Father, Son, and Holy Ghost - being therefore found in fashion as a man - he cannot feel that, as a man among men, he has any high state to surrender, or any honour or dignity to compromise, when he renders the humblest offices and services of friendship simply as he would accept them if rendered to himself. He is acting for his Father; submitting himself to his Father. He knows of no other submission but only what he would have to be mutual and reciprocal. For it is joint submission to his Father and your Father, to his God and your God. Let your fear of Christ, then, in which you submit yourselves one to another, be of the same sort - shall I say - as his fear of the Father. Let Christ be to you, in this matter of submission, what the Father is to him. Let that be the type and model of your exercise of this grace. Let your submitting of yourselves in the first instance to Christ be as reverential, as thorough, as cordial, as was his submitting of himself to the Father. Be you, in this matter, Christ’s; even as Christ is God’s. You cannot go among your fellow-men in that character and capacity, with anything like the assumption of a right to put on an air of gracious condescension; as if you were coming down, in a very self-humiliating and self-sacrificing way, to them. Ah, no! In your case, even far more, if possible, than in Christ’s, any such idea or feeling is precluded. Your submitting of yourselves to Christ, in your relation as believers to him, involves in it what must shut all that out - even more than his submitting himself to the Father, in his relation of son and servant, on your behalf. He submits himself to the Father- the righteous one, fulfilling all righteousness. You submit yourselves to him as guilty ones, redeemed by his blood. He submits himself to the Father as coming down from heaven to sound in your stead the lowest depths of hell. You submit yourselves to him, as taken by him out of the horrible pit and the miry clay, to have your feet set upon a rock; upon himself; the "Rock of Ages cleft for you." There is infinite merit in his submitting himself to the Father for you. These is no merit at all in your submitting yourselves to him; but only obligation to grace, rich, sovereign, and free. Surely then, if his submitting himself to the Father influenced and determined the whole manner of his submitting himself to his fellow-men ; much more may your submitting yourselves to him do that for you. Ah! when he went abroad on the mission for which he submitted himself to the Father; and he never went anywhere without having that mission in his eye and in his heart; he had no leisure for calm self-inspection - nay, not even for self consciousness, in his dealings with those to whom his Father sent him. There was no thought of himself, but only of the mission for which he was submitting himself to the Father, when he let the penitent woman’s tears wash his feet, or when he girded himself to wash the feet of his disciples. Engrossed, absorbed, engulfed, or swallowed up, in the single and exclusive consideration of that great and blessed work for which he submitted himself to the Father, his soul could admit no selfish thought, either of superiority over those to whom he ministered, or of a surrender of that superiority in his ministering to them. The higher, heavenly, motive carried all before it. And should it not do so in you, when you first submit yourselves to Christ, as Christ submits himself to God? Should not that prior and primary submitting of yourselves to Christ make your submitting of yourselves to any other be felt by you as really no submission at all? If it is indeed as submitting yourselves to Christ, in the view and for the ends of the very mission in which he submits himself to God, that you mingle with your fellow-men; if you make conscience of that being so, always and everywhere, in all companies and on all occasions; what heart can you have for standing upon your own dignities and rights, or making a great work or merit about your consenting to hold them in abeyance? Dignities and rights indeed! Why, you have none. You have surrendered all to Christ. Tou are the servants of all men, being the servants of him who served for all men. You submit yourselves to Christ. And in the fear of Christ, you submit yourselves one to another. IV. One more thought I simply notice, as suggested by the expression "in the fear of Christ." Understanding the term fear to mean, as applied to Christ, what it means ordinarily in Scripture as applied to God, I find in it an affecting and affectionate motive. It seems as if Christ himself were brought in by the apostle as adjuring you, and beseeching you, to abound in this grace, and so to avoid offending him. It is not merely I that exhort you; but he whose name I invoke, and whom I know that you reverence and love. In his name I speak. He speaks by me. Hear, not me, but him: - By your fear of me; by all that I have done and am doing for you and in you to awaken your fear of me; by the dread awe my cross is fitted to inspire; by the deep, dark terror of Gethsemane and Calvary; by all that is moving and melting for the conscience, the mind, the heart, in the solemn spectacle of my self-surrender and self-sacrifice for you; above all, by the love I poured out with my life-blood when I died for you, I implore you to lay aside all pride, vainglory, superciliousness; all self-seeking; all self-consciousness in your condescension; to be meek, not self-asserting, but submissive; and to be so in all simplicity. I make this my personal request to you, as you fear me. Yes! as you fear me. For surely I am to be feared. I do not indeed desire to be the object of any fear on your part having in it anything of the element of torment. I do not assert any harsh or tyrannical lordship over you. I submit myself to you. I have called yon not my servants but my friends. I welcome you as my brethren. I admit you to closest and most confidential intimacy. I would have you to lay aside all feelings of reserve and constraint in your intercourse with me. I would have you to be at home with me ; leaning on my bosom. But surely not the less on that account - nay rather all the more - I am to be feared. Especially when you consider how and at what a cost I have won and bought you to be mine. The thought of displeasing me must be intolerably painful to you. That is always to be feared. And you cannot displease me more than by not submitting yourselves one to another. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 37: 04.20. CHAPTER 20: THE CONJUGAL RELATION - DUTIES OF WIVES AND HUSBANDS. ======================================================================== Chapter XX. THE CONJUGAL RELATION - DUTIES OF WIVES AND HUSBANDS. "Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. . . . Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it." * - Ephesians 5:22, Ephesians 5:25. THE sort of submission enjoined in the twenty-first verse is described in those that follow; as well as also the peculiar mode of its enforcement. The submission is in the first instance of a conjugal sort; proceeding upon and implying conjugal endearments. The expression "in the fear of Christ" may be thus, partly at least, explained. The mutual duties, claims, and responsibilities of the family relationships are to form the theme or topic of the apostle’s teaching. These relationships all culminate and centre, as they all originate, in the primary one, out of which they all spring and flow. The principle which rules and regulates it, rules and regulates all the rest. That principle is submission one to another in the fear of Christ. As applied to the family relationships generally, it resolves itself always into two; that of rightful authority on the one hand, and dutiful subordination on the other. It does so in particular in that which is the original of them all; the union of husband and wife; as it does in what is the type or model of that union; the union of Christ and his church. Thus we are led up, through the primitive relation of authority and subordination, in the marriage-tie formed in paradise - of which all other earthly relatisns are the fruit - to that of which even the nuptial union in Eden was but the reflex, and, as it were, the analogical reproduction; the relation of the Eedeemer, from the beginning, to his redeemed; as "the head of the church, the saviour of the body." *Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church ; and he is the saviour of the body. Therefore, as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the Church, and gave himself for it ; that he might sanctify and cleanse it with the washing of water by the word, that he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy, and without blemish. So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies: he that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church: for we are members of his body, [as being] of his flesh, and of his bones. For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh. This is a great mystery; but I speak concerning Christ and the church. Nevertheless, let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband." - Ephesians 5:22-33. The first step in this great analogy is very simple. It requires submission of wife to husband. But it requires that in a way which involves the germ or spring of all that follows. The affectionate and emphatic "your own" - "wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands" - suggests at the outset the idea of mutual ownership or proprietorship. And the motive, or reason annexed, "as unto the Lord" - at once makes the wife’s submission to the husband a religious act - an act really done to the Lord; - and brings in the consideration of the submission being such as is due to the Lord himself. "Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord." Hence, secondly, the formal statement of the analogy - "For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church; and he is the saviour of the body." It turns upon the relation of headship. What Christ is to the church as her head, the husband is to the wife as her head. There is a qualification indeed, bringing out a difference - "he being the saviour of the body." He is the head of the church which is his body, as being its saviour. In that respect, his headship is peculiar. The husband cannot be the head of the wife, in that sense, or on that ground; although he must ever feel that his headship as being analogous to that of Christ whose own headship is connected with his being the saviour of the body - must be of a like nature; saving, delivering, preserving. Nevertheless, in spite of that distinction; - (not "therefore" rather "but") - "as the church is subject unto Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything." Although the wife’s submission to the husband cannot be placed altogether on the same footing with the church’s submission to Christ, as the body of which he is the saviour - still it is submission of the same sort. For one thing, it is so especially in respect of its unreservedness and universality. It may not be such in degree as his being the saviour of the body entitles him to claim from the church; unlimited, unconditional, unquestioning. But in extent it is the same. It is not a partial or fitful or occasional submission. It is a submission that is the normal condition of the whole marriage life. For, thirdly, it must be so, if it is to meet the analogy on the other side: "Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church." That which on the husband’s part corresponds to submission or subjection on the part of the wife is love. It is not simply that he owes reciprocal submission or subjection; the precept may include and cover that. But it goes far beyond that. It involves a deeper affection. It proceeds upon a feeling of the heart prior to the submission or subjection claimed; a feeling which is indeed the procuring cause of the submission or subjection claimed. It is love and love going far beyond the subjection or submission which it claims; love self-sacrificing even to the death. "Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it." Here, accordingly, in the fourth place, the apostle’s unfolding of the great analogy begins. Let us approach it with deepest and holiest awe. Christ’s love of the church is now the subject of the apostle’s discourse, his marital or conjugal love, if I may so speak ; not his loye considered generally; but his love viewed as partaking of the character of the "love of espousals." The general idea of his love to the church being contemplated in that aspect could not be strange or new to any of Paul’s readers, who were, doubtless, familiar with such Old Testament Scriptures as the Song of Songs; the forty-fifth Psalm; the Prophecy of Hosea; the sixteenth chapter of Ezekiel, and others. But the apostle’s treatment of it here is new. It is more definite and doctrinal; being accommodated to New Testament discoveries. (1.) He gave himself for the church. " Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it." Such was his love ; the love of his espousals. That he might espouse her unto himself, - in espousing her unto himself, - he gave himself for her. Jacob, or Israel, in Syria, "served for a wife and for a wife he kept sheep." He got his spouse by service; his own voluntary service; buying her with that price. It was a high and hard price; but he grudged it not, for the love he bore to Rachel. It was not, however, himself that he gave for her. Years of servitude, under a cruel and cunning father-in-law, made up the price he paid; long years of irksome servitude a very sore price. But he never gave himself for his wife, as Christ gave himself for the church. For Christ gave himself, not to a weak, passionate, capricious master, but to his Father, to God the judge of alL And he gave himself unreservedly into his hands; not to win a bride out of his loving family; but to purchase the release of a captive and criminal; lying under the Father’s righteous and inevitable sentence of penal death, of everlasting condemnation. For the church, thus viewed, he gave himself. He gave himself to redeem her by taking the sentence due to her upon himself, and so, by dying in her stead, to buy her with a price to be his spouse. (2.) He gave himself for the church in this way for a twofold purpose or object; the one intermediate, the other ultimate - the one being the means to the other as the end; - the one being a process: "that he might sanctify and cleanse it with the washing of water by the word" the other being its result: "that he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy, and without blemish." The process is, "sanctifying and cleansing the church with the washing of water by the word." That is the first purpose or object of Christ’s giving himself for the church. As she is, when he gives himself for her, she does in truth sorely require to be sanctified and cleansed; or to be sanctified by cleansing. She needs to be separated from the mass of guilt and corruption in the midst of which she lies; to be hewn out of the rock, and dug out of the hole of the pit. She needs to be severed from the world, and consecrated to the Lord. And this can only be through her being washed, purified, cleansed. Of what sort the washing or cleansing is, may best appear from a consideration of the instrumentality said to be employed. It is "the washing of water by the word" If, as interpreters generally hold, there is any reference here at all to the sacrament of baptism, it must, I think, be a reference of the very slightest sort. Or rather, it must be a reference to the thing signified rather than to the sign. For here, as always, it is the Spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing. Neither the water of baptism, nor the word with which it is associated, can of itself avail anything. They need the quickening power of the Holy Spirit. Inwardly and outwardly, therefore, the Spirit works in this process of sanctifying and cleansing; inwardly by cleansing the inner man; outwardly, by bringing home, with new light and fresh power, the truth as it is in Jesus, of whom the Scriptures testify - the word of reconciliation - "the washing of water" implying the subjective or inward operation of the Spirit in and upon the person; and "the word" with which it is connected being the means of the outward or objective operation of the Spirit in the way of appeal to the person. Thus the process of sanctifying and cleansing is exhausted. Such being the process, the result is the Lord’s finding for himself, and betrothing to himself, a suitable bride -"That he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy, and without blemish." She is glorious; inwardly glorious and her glory is twofold. Negatively, she has now nothing about her of what can in any way cause a stain in her pure skin or a ruffle in its fair outline. Positively, she is holy and pure. For the word, "without blemish," means more than a mere negation. It indicates purity or beauty. She is consecrated to be the Lord’s; and to be faultlessly perfect as his, and his only. She is to be blamelessly holy; dedicated and devoted, without drawback or reserve, as " holiness unto the Lord." Thus Christ prepares the church, and presents her to himself. He needs to do so, for in her natural condition she is not fit to be his spouse. Those whom the Father giveth him to be his espoused church are in themselves not only unworthy of so close a union, but unqualified for it; unable even to imagine it. They are unclean and untaught; steeped in the mire of guilt and corruption; ignorant of God; uninstructed in his ways. For them, in that state and with that character, to be forced into a marriage relationship to the Holy One of God - if that were conceivable - would be an outrage upon him not for a moment to be tolerated. The bare idea of such an outrage is blasphemy. But he takes great delight in receiving, as his Father’s gift, the very worst and vilest of the children of men. He takes great delight in forming and fashioning them - each one of them individually, and all of them collectively as one - by the agency of the Spirit, and the instrumentality of washing and of the word, into a bright and beauteous image of himself. Then the church is fit for being his bride ; being inwardly holy as he is holy, and shining outwardly in holy beauty. It is spotless, smoothed, unruffled, and unwrinkled ; such as he may, with a love not of pity only, but of most intense congeniality, complacency, and sympathy, clasp to his embrace; and take into the closest personal union with his own very self. (3) For that is the ultimate end in view; the end contemplated in the institution of marriage; and in its divine ideal or exemplar. It is the effecting of an incorporating union or oneness; such as shall make it as natural and necessary to love one’s spouse as it is to love oneself; and as impossible to hate one’s spouse as it is to hate oneself -"So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies: he that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church. For we are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones." I take the higher ideal or exemplar first. It is first in the line of argument, and suggestive of the other; "The Lord nourisheth and cherisheth the church : for we (the church) are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones." It must be, strictly and literally, an incorporating union of a really personal sort, that is thus so strongly described. For such a union, the preparation and presentation already spoken of is the obviously needful preliminary. And such a union, nothing short of it, is an appropriate sequel or consequence, an adequate issue or consummation, of the purifying process and the dedication of the espousals. "We are members of his body, as being of his flesh and of his bones." For these are two distinct thoughts. The allusion in the last is to what Adam says of Eve; "This is now bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh." He there points to her origin; "She shall be called woman, because she was taken out of man." She is emphatically bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh; being woman taken out of man. And therefore "shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh." "This is a great mystery" says the apostle. It has a great mystical meaning; it has a great mystical reference to Christ and the church "For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh. This is a great mystery : but I speak concerning Christ and the church." I am not now quoting - so Paul may be understood as saying - I am not now quoting the words of Adam as applicable to himself and his marriage with Eve; or to any marriage among his descendants. I see in them, even as originally spoken, a deep and hidden spiritual meaning, wonderfully great, realised only now, and revealed, in Christ and the church. The description in that old divine word or oracle, of the community of nature between man and woman, the manner of its origin, and the relation that rests or is founded upon it; far transcends anything within the compass of human life, or human institutions. It is not exhausted, it is not adequately expressed or fulfilled, even in that blessed social ordinance which it sanctions and sanctifies. It points to a far higher and holier sphere. In its full meaning, it is true only of Christ and the church. Here, there is real and thorough community of nature ; not of a bodily sort only, as might seem to be indicated by the phrase, "This is bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh," but including the entire man; soul, body, and spirit. We, our whole selves, being of his flesh and of his bones, are members of his body. We, as we now are; the church; the church sanctified and cleansed with the washing of water by the word; we derive our nature, our life, from him, in a sense far deeper, truer, worthier than that in which woman could be said, as to the germ of her body and her bodily existence, to be taken out of man. And therefore the nuptial union also in our case must be deeper, truer, worthier, than even the marriage divinely formed and blessed in Paradise. When the man who leaves his birth-home to cleave unto his wife is none other than the Man Christ Jesus; the Eternal Son; coming forth from the bosom of the Eternal Eather; his dwelling-place from of old, from everlasting; to clasp to his own bosom, in the warm embrace of a love that passeth knowledge, the church, his bride; given to him by the Father before all worlds; bought by himself at the cost of his most precious blood; prepared for him now by the baptism of the Holy Ghost and the power of the quickening word; the church, his bride, taking out of his pierced side his own nature, his own life; the church thus made one, intensely one, with him; part and parcel of his very being; is that not a great mystery, a glorious mystical fact or truth, that is spoken of Christ and the church? And may we not now fall back, with new insight and new sympathy, on the amazing model and measure of a husband’s conjugal affection, to which the apostle has been pointing in the previous verses 1; "So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies: he that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church." As the Lord nourisheth and cherisheth the church! What manner of nourishing and cherishing is that? What must it be, if, in so intimate an identification, and on such wondrous grounds, she is part and parcel of himself? Will he hate his own flesh? Would that be natural? Would that be possible? No thanks to a man if he loves his wife. It is but loving his own body; loving himself. But was it as loving himself that Christ loved the church, and gave himself for her ? Was that loving himself ? What! loving himself! when he laid down his life for her sake? Yes. In a manner it was. For it was to win her to himself, and have her all his own, to nourish and cherish evermore, as one flesh with himself! To nourish and cherish. Ah! how tender are the words! To nourish; to feed and foster; to fan the feeble spark of life; gently to draw out the growing powers, and cheer encouragingly the upward aspirations heavenward. To cherish; to fondle; to be ever lavishing on the beloved all love-tokens ; not for a brief moon, but onward through all time, into a dateless eternity. So the Lord nourisheth and cherisheth the church; and all its members, as being members of himself. Certainly this husband does not hate his own flesh. No thought of alienation or estrangement ever comes in between him and the church which is his own flesh ; or between him and any one in the church ; myself, for instance, if I am really his. For every individual in the church is to him what the church collective is; his own flesh, which he does not and cannot hate. I give him much provocation; much offence. I am unsteadfast, if not perfidious and unfaithful. But I am a member of his body; being partaker of his nature, of his flesh and of his bones. And this Man, at any rate, hateth not his own flesh. He cannot disown me; he will not desert me. As a member of his body, I may be in many respects but too uncomely, unseemly, and unmannerly; troublesome also, and unruly; apt to relapse into old and odious disease or to yield to new infirmities. But I am of his flesh and of his bones ; and therefore a member of his body. He does not, he cannot, ever at any time hate me. He is not one to hate his own flesh. He does not cast me off. He does not deal with me cruelly. He does not give up his kind and kindly treatment of me. He continues to the last, in all loving faithfulness, to nourish and cherish me as his own flesh. Now, that being the divine ideal, according to the apostle, of the husband’s connection with the wife and relation to the wife in the earthly married state, is he demanding too much on either side when he gives the concluding precept, "Nevertheless, let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife see that she reverence her husband"? If the husband is thus, after the example and in the spirit of Christ’s dealing with the church, to love his wife even as himself, is it unreasonable to ask that the wife shall reverence her husband; that, in terms of the original injunction of the apostle, she shall "submit herself unto him as unto the Lord"? Should she not own him as her head? Her husband is not indeed altogether her head, as Christ is the head of his church. He is not her saviour, as Christ is the saviour of the body. But the analogy still holds. Her husband is to her what Christ is to the church. And she may well consent to be subject to her own husband in everything, as in everything the church is subject unto Christ. Thus far as to the duty of wife to husband. The whole of the subsequent appeal to husbands, viewed especially in the light of the high mystery, or mystical analogy, of Christ and the church, is fitted and designed to reconcile wives to the sort of submission or subjection or reverence required of them. It cannot be a submission, a subjection, a reverence, either irksome or humiliating, if it is such as the church owes to her Lord and Head. It cannot be a submission, or subjection, or reverence, inconsistent, or in any way interfering, with the most thorough reciprocity, and even equality, of mutual love. The Lord would fain have the church, in her every member, to love him as he loves her, knowing that he loves her as his own flesh; And therefore, if the wife’s relation to her husband is like the church’s relation to Christ, the submission, subjection, reverence, enjoined on her cannot be incompatible with the fullest, frankest, most confidential communion; the free and equal interchange of all thoughts and feelings and desires and hopes. What liberty may the church not take, what liberty may I nof take, as being the church to all intents and purposes, in my closet, on my knees, in conversing with him who, as the church’s husband and mine, loveth her and loveth me as his own flesh? To what confidence of familiar fellowship is not the church - am not I - unreservedly admitted ? Ah yes! Do I hear some sad wife softly murmuring, "If I had such a husband, or even one trying to be such a husband to me, as Christ is to the church, most willingly, most cheerfully, would I submit and be subject! It would be a pleasure and delight to me; my truest liberty and joy". And may not some husband rejoin, "If only I had a wife who could understand, apprehend, and appreciate, the great mystery spoken concerning Christ and the church; if only she were one who could give me credit for loving her as Christ loveth the church; loving her as the dearest part of me; as my own very self! If only she would consent to such community of nature as that implies; how completely would we be one in all things ; one in mind and heart; in soul, body, spirit!" Nay but vain and idle recrimination aside and apart, we must be content with an approximation to the high ideal or exemplar here set before us, though falling far short of its full realisation. Even as regards the exemplar or ideal itself; the nuptial relation, with its nuptial endearments, between Christ and the church; we can form but a very imperfect conception of it in our understanding, even when spiritually enlightened, and can only still more imperfectly realise it in our spiritual experience. It need not therefore be matter of wonder or surprise if the corresponding or analogous relation, as it subsists, not in the calm region of spiritual and heavenly faith, but amid the rude jars and jostlings of earth’s endless strife, should come much below the divine standard; so that the wife may well complain that she finds little in her husband that is akin to Christ’s love to the church; and the husband may with too good cause retort upon the wife the charge that she is not quite to him all that the church is to Christ. Nevertheless it is a most blessed thing for Christian husbands and Christian wives, - and only such are here addressed, - to keep continually before their eyes the divine model of the marriage state. Oh, to be to my wife what Christ is to the church, and to have her to me what the church is to Christ! To feel that I ought to be to her what Christ is to the church, and to have her feeling that she ought to be to me what the church is to Christ; and to be striving constantly that it may be so; that we may be on such terms with one another as Christ and the church - Christ and every believer - are with one another; terms as true and tender, as loving and confiding, as close and intimate; open to one another in our inmost hearts; open in our joint view of God, and heaven, and all things! Surely then our home fellowship would be blessed. Nor would the difference between my relation to her and hers to me affect our equal participation in the blessedness. True, there is headship on the one side, and subjection or reverence on the other. But the headship is like that of him whose headship is the salvation of the body. And the reverence or subjection is the response of a trustful love to a love that makes its object one with itself. At all events, we have here the reciprocal claims and obligations of husband and wife placed upon the only sure footing. It was dimly shadowed forth in the original creation; in woman being taken out of man, and then man and woman becoming, in holy wedlock, one flesh. It is fully and clearly set before us now, in Christ’s love to the church as his own body, and his preparing her and presenting her to himself at last, holy and without blame. I do not think it needful practically to apply this great apostolic lesson in detail, or to enlarge in the view of it upon the particular duties in detail which husband and wife have to discharge to one another. Nor do I enter on any difficult questions that may be raised in special cases as when a believer finds himself or herself, through no fault it may be, unequally yoked together with an unbeliever. Even on such a case the great analogy may throw light. The unbelieving party may be won. And the Lord’s manner of dealing in forming the marriage-tie with his spouse may suggest the most likely and hopeful method of winning. I rather.choose, in closing, to make a brief appeal to you, 0 my brother, to you, 0 my sister, who may be at this moment putting away from you the marriage overtures of the Lord. Have you considered what a suitor you are rejecting? What a husband he would be to you, how he would love you, nourish you, cherish you? How he has loved you, giving himself for you? Have you no misgiving while you keep him waiting? For is he not waiting for you? Wooing you, ah, how tenderly; knocking at your door - beseeching you to be his? Say, will you not consent? Nor be deterred by any sense of your own vileness, filthiness, uncleanness, and foul guiltiness. He who woos you and would win you will have you just as you are. He will himself make you what he would have you to be. He has ready for you the blood of atonement which he sheds when he gives his life for you ; the washing of regeneration, even the renewing of the Holy Ghost - the word of pardon, "Thy sins be forgiven thee"- the word of purification, "A new heart will I give thee". Hear him, 0 my friend! Hear him now. And hearing, believe. 0 taste and see how good he is! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 38: 04.21. CHAPTER 21: THE FILIAL RELATION—DUTY OF CHILDEEN TO PARENTS. ======================================================================== CHAPTER XXI. THE FILIAL RELATION—DUTY OF CHILDEEN TO PARENTS. "Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right. Honour thy father and mother (which is the first commandment with promise), that it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth."- Ephesians 5:1-3. (Deuteronomy 5:16; Colossians 3:20.) THE duty which children owe to their parents is expressed in two words -"obey" and "honour." I use them as convertible terms. To obey is really to "listen to" to hear submissively and deferentially; to respect their utterances; to "honour" them. The duty is enforced by three considerations. It is right. It is commanded. And it has connected with the commandment a promise. I. It is right. In the nature of things, it is just and proper. The appeal is made to reason here; to our natural sense of justice and propriety. Apart from all other arguments or motives on its side, the thing itself is right. So clearly and self-evidently is it right, that the Lord appeals to it in pleading with his people, and remonstrating against their inexcusable undutifulness and unfaithfulness. "A son honoureth his father, and a servant his master: if then I be a father, where is mine honour, and if I be a master, where is my fear?" "A son honoureth his father." It is natural, it is fitting, it is just and right, that he should. It is his duty; and his reasonable duty; so much so, that if he violate or wilfully neglect it, he is counted a monster rather than a man. The ties which bind you to your parents are so numerous, so strong, so tender, that even when God breaks them, it is a wound grievous to be borne; and nothing but the most wild or wanton hardness of heart can be imagined as an explanation of your wilfully breaking them yourselves. To be a grief to your father and a bitterness to her that bare you; to requite with ingratitude those who fondly cared for your infant helplessness and supplied your infant wants; to disappoint the bright hopes that cheered their spirits in many an hour of anxious thought and midnight watching; to set at naught an authority never exercised but for your good, and resent salutary chastisement never inflicted but with deepest pain and pity; to forget their counsels of wisdom, their lessons of love, their earnest warnings and persuasive pleadings; to be deaf to the voice of a father’s fervent prayer, and the eloquence of a mother’s silent tear; to despise the Holy Book they have put into your hands, showing you how over it to bend the knee; to grieve them by your waywardness, or by your sins pierce their souls with many sorrows; - such conduct is so manifestly opposed even to the natural sense and feeling of mankind, and their instinctive apprehension of what is right, that all cry shame on one so abandoned; and leave him, without sympathy, to the remorse with which his conscience, however seared, and his heart, however hardened, must soon be. When the Lord then, as the father of his people, makes this plea his own; surely his remonstrance may well strike home upon the best feelings of your nature, and awaken one of its truest and tenderest chords. "A son honoureth his father. If I be your father, where is my honour?" Ye fathers in Israel, would you be content to receive such honour from your children as you yourselves are rendering to your God? And, ye children, would you count it enough to show to your parents the kind and measure of regard that you show to your God - to give to your father on earth as little of your heart as your conscience testifies that you are giving to your Father in heaven? II. But, secondly, the duty is commanded. The argument is here to be reversed. It is not from man to God, but from God to man. For though, in one view, the duty of honouring your earthly parents may be made the test of a duty infinitely higher, in a far more important view the order must be changed. Even in regard to the former duty, your natural estimate is apt to fall far short of the truth. Such as it is, it may be used to convince you of your utter and inexcusable failure in the other duty of rendering to God the honour and obedience you owe to him. But when that sad fact has been realised by your conscience, quickened by the Holy Spirit; and when, led by the Spirit, you have been moved and enabled to repent of your deep estrangement from God, and to seek and find reconciliation, to him in his Son; when, pardoned through that Son’s blood, and accepted in him, the Beloved, you become sons of God in him, and receive the Spirit of his Son in you, crying, Abba, Father; when thus you really honour God as your Father in heaven; then, returning to your earthly parents - and that sense of your obligation to them which may have, in the first instance, set you upon thinking of your duty to God - you return with a new sense of the deep holiness and exceeding breadth of your obligation to honour your father and your mother in the Lord; not only because this is right;"but because it is right as being a commandment. It is a duty, and a commanded duty. "Honour thy father and thy mother, as the Lord thy God hath commanded thee." This view of its being not merely a duty, but a commanded duty, materially affects both the motive and the extent of the obligation to honour your father and your mother in the Lord. 1. The motive must be holy. It is a pure and holy respect to the will of God. In that view, "this is right." On that footing alone should the parent base his parental authority; on the footing, I mean, of the rightful authority of God. For in his hands it is a delegated authority. He claims obedience "in the Lord." And therefore he claims it as "right;" as a right thing, because the Lord has made it matter of commandment. He may try to rule his child otherwise: by force, by flattery, or by fraud. Reason also may be brought in to show the propriety and expediency of submission. And the affections may be engaged on the same side. In infancy and early childhood, he may have to begin by asserting, as best he can, his own will as supreme, and enforcing it as from himself. But the sooner he claims obedience as obedience "in the Lord," and as on that account "right," the better for his hope of wielding his authority effectually for good. And the sooner a child begins to obey his parents in the Lord, because it is right, as being commanded, the better for his standing well with them, and getting good from them. There may be other reasons and other motives for his doing so. He may find it to be his interest; or a sense of decency, and the habit of submission, may constrain him; or admiration and gratitude may move him. Nay, he may think it a finer thing to obey his parents from the spontaneous promptings of his own warm heart, than to obey them by compulsion and on command; to obey them in the Lord; because it is right in the Lord’s sight. But let him not so deceive himself. He does not obey his parents at all, unless it is in the Lord, and because it is right, that he obeys them. For it is the Lord who, by subduing you to himself, renders you, in himself, submissive to your parents, as he was himself. He makes your submission to them part and parcel of your submission to him. It comes to be submission of the same sort; obedience divested of all the bitterness and irksomeness of merely legal enforcement; obedience on the higher platform on which free and sovereign grace places you; obedience partaking of that cordiality, that free and joyous sense of free and honourable obligation, that high and tender love that must have breathed through all his own personal obedience to Mary and Joseph, when he was subject to them at Nazareth; and still more through all his personal and official obedience to his Father in heaven: "I must be about my Father’s business" "Father, thy will be done" "Father, not as I will, but as thou willest;" "My meat is to do my Father’s will, and finish his work;" "The cup which my Father giveth me, shall I not drink it?" 2. The extent also as well as the motive of the duty is affected by the footing on which it is thus placed, as being not only right, but commanded. Of Jesus himself, in his home-relation to Mary and Joseph, it is said without qualification or reserve "he was subject to them." He thus kept the commandment of God. And the commandment which he thus kept is very broad. It is strongly and unequivocally asserted and enforced as such all through the Old Testament Scriptures. And in the nature of the case it must be so. If indeed your filial duty rested on any other foundation, it might admit of modifying or explanatory qualifications. If it rested on a mere sense of natural fitness or propriety, that might seem to point in a quite opposite direction. Is it right or fitting for a wise son to defer to an imbecile or unworthy parent ? If it rested on gratitude or natural affection, how easily might the parental claim be viewed as forfeited, to the extent at least of some large abatement from its full force and integrity? How strong, in point of fact, is the tendency, as you who have been children grow up to maturity, to deal thus with your filial obligations! You do not intend to dishonour your parents; nor do you in reality behave towards them with anything like studied disrespect or disobedience. But alas, you fail in too many daily instances, and you secretly palliate your failure. You omit some attention that would have pleased your father, or you yield to some levity that vexes him. He does not appear to notice any neglect. No great harm is done. Or you are provoked by his treatment of you. You think yourself harshly used in some slight particular. Your temper is ruffled; your looks are sullen. But you are excusable; he rather than you is to be blamed. You begin to cast off your old feelings of reverence and dependence, and to presume upon your superior enlightenment and enlargement of mind; so as not merely to urge your own views against his, but to do so with unseemly arrogance and presumption. And for all that you have a good deal to plead. For indeed, according to any principle of mere natural reason or natural affection, it is not easy, in such circumstances, to bring home to you, on the ground of such instances as these, any very poignant sense of guilt. For you readily persuade yourselves that if you do not honour your father and your mother now with that unquestioning and unreflecting and all-confiding homage with which once you reverenced them, it is they and not you who are changed; or at least they are changed to you and you to them. Neither they nor you may be blameworthy. The change is accidental or inevitable. Eeason and affection can scarcely either prevent it or reprove it. Ah! It is only when you come to know your parents, not after the flesh, but in the Lord; when thus you come to honour them, not from any variable considerations of natural feeling, but from a regard to the Lord; it is then only that you honour them consistently, constantly, "in all things." For then, in all your treatment of them, you consider yourselves as dealing first and primarily with the Lord; not with them, but with him; and with them only in him. What a holy fervour should this thought inspire into all your filial piety! How should it rebuke all eye-service; all irritability; all resentment of what may seem vexatious interference! How should it make you recognise the obligation in all its breadth - Children, obey your parents "in all things." From all this it follows, first, that the duty which children owe to their parents is altogether independent of the character and qualifications of the parents, and of the opinion which the children may have of them. Are your parents unfit for their high and holy charge, or unworthy of it? Have they failed to secure your confidence and esteem? Have you outgrown your first instinct of blind affection? Have you reached a higher spiritual position than they seem to occupy? You are more alive than once you were to the real dignity of the parental relation. You see more clearly what a Christian parent might be, and ought to be. You feel what kind of Christian parent would now content you. If you had your own choice, you would not select the father or the mother you now have. It is a sad discovery. To be forced, on principles strange in their view, to judge unfavourably your earliest and dearest friends, to see defects and faults in those whose actions once seemed to be all exemplary, whose every word was an oracle; to detect folly or falsehood in a father once regarded as infallible, or a mother deemed to be without a stain; - ah, it is a case in which one might be tempted to say that ignorance is bliss! A believing child may almost shrink from recognising his own faith, if it compels him thus to recognise his parents’ unbelief! But look, thou son or daughter, called in an ungodly or worldly household to be the Lord’s - look not to your parents as deserving honour, but to the Lord as commanding honour to be given to them. You never in that view can lose your reverence and respect for any father or mother, however far from God themselves, so long as you feel that it is not they, but that God to whom you have been brought nigh, who really claims and calls forth this tribute of regard. You may sometimes be at a loss to know how your honouring your parents should be manifested; how it may be harmonised with higher obligations. You may have to take steps displeasing to them, and stand out against what they would prefer. Still you will feel that all the more, for that very reason, all possible deference is due to them "in the Lord." On his account you will honour them; "bearing all things; believing all things; hoping all things; enduring all things" if by any means, for your sake, they may be brought themselves to honour him, for whose sake, as they must see, you so dutifully honour them. Are your parents, on the other hand, all that your hearts could wish? Are they like-minded with you, "partakers of the blessing"? To honour them is surely an easy duty. But be sure that you honour and obey them as your parents in the Lord. It is not enough that you honour them as all believers honour one another. Your parents, though they are your fellow Christians, are still your parents. Nay, they must be felt to be so all the more on that very account. Do not then at any time, or in any instance, forget to reverence them as parents, because it is your privilege to love them as brethren in the Lord. Use no unseemly familiarity. Take no undue liberties. Assume no air or attitude of independence. But while you live with them in the confidence and communion of brotherly kindness, as being of the same household of faith, obey them in the Lord; honour them as your father and mother, because the Lord your God has commanded you. Hence again, secondly, the extent of the filial obligation is to be urged. Thus, as children obeying your parents, you are to obey them "in all things." Yes, "in all things." There is no exception or reservation; save only that implied in the overbearing and all-dominating principle ; " we must obey God rather than man." There are a few cases under the milder and more tolerant assertion of parental authority as against the conscientious convictions of children that has now taken the place of a sterner domestic rule - still there are cases with reference to worldly entanglements, in which you must be true to God, in spite of apparent disloyalty or disaffection to your father or mother. I say apparent. For it is only apparent. Even these hard questions do not exempt you from the duty of honouring your parents in the very matters in which you are compelled to decline their jurisdiction; and honouring them all the more because of that compulsion. You will meekly receive their censure; you will explain to them affectionately and tenderly the views on which you act; you will yield to them a double homage in all other things; you will pray for them always. You will remember the example of the Lord Jesus, who did indeed in one instance set aside his mother’s interference in a matter that pertained to his Father’s kingdom; whose first miracle, however, was at that very time wrought in compliance with his mother’s hint; whose all but latest breath on the cross was spent in commending her to the disciple whom he loved. The views which Paul suggests of parental claim and filial duty may seem to impart to the relation too awful a character. Who may venture, on these terms, to call himself a pious son? Even according to natural sense and feeling, it is a bitter pang to recall years of intercourse with a father or mother, long since, it may be, withdrawn from your embrace! "Who can stand the knell of that deep sigh which seems to whisper in the child’s dreaming startled ear a parent’s buried wounds? They were silent long. But now they have a voice and utterance, reaching the inmost soul! "What would you not give for one brief hour to have them all explained, to give a fresh pledge of love such as you never knew you felt till now? And how is all this yearning aggravated if grace has come in to concur with nature in giving your parents a right over you! How must the recollection of them, as passed into rest and glory, cut you to the heart, as you deeply feel your unworthy treatment of them when they were with you here below! What were they to you? What were you to them? Is it, however, through God’s good providence, otherwise with you? Are your parents still spared? Does the old man your father yet live? Ah, it may be well now to be anticipating the time of separation, and to be asking yourselves how your conduct towards him will appear when he is taken away from you, or you are taken away from him. Look forward to the hour when he and you must part. The parting will be in itself hard enough to bear. Let it not be made harder by anything now in your intercourse with one another, on which you will then have to cast back a self-accusing eye. Let all your prayers, and services, and offices of filial love and duty, be such as may soothe the spirits of your parents while they live, and, by God’s blessing, minister comfort to you when they have gone to their long home : the comfortable hope of being again reunited, where separation and sorrow and sin are known no more. III. There is yet a third consideration by which this duty is enforced. It has connected with it a promise -" Honour thy father and mother (which is the first commandment with promise), that it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth." The mention of this being the "first commandment with promise," might naturally suggest the idea of there being other subsequent commandments with promise in the decalogue. But there are none. We are thrown back therefore on the preceding portion of that code. There has been no commandment with promise, however, before this one. There have been simply reasons annexed, or grounds of obligation stated. Thus, the first commandment is based on the absolute sovereignty of Jehovah and his special relation to his redeemed, as asserted in what is called the preface to the whole ten; -which, however, I take to be part and parcel of the first. The second, again, rests on the character of God; on his holy jealousy for the honour of his name. The third is enforced by an appeal to his principle of j’udgment being after a higher standard than that of man. While the fourth brings forward the gracious example of the Sabbatic rest of God, to be a defence at once and a warrant for the Sabbath as made for man. But the fifth is the first command,ment with promise. To ascertain the full import of this significant fact, let the meaning and position of that commandment be noted. 1. As regards its meaning, I cannot but think that it is too widely stretched in our Shorter Catechism, where it is made to embrace all the relations of social life. I entirely concur in the principles of interpretation laid down in our Larger Catechism (99) as applicable to the ten commandments; and especially in the sixth of these principles ; " that under one sin or duty, all of the same kind are forbidden or commanded." We must apply the prohibition or precept to all cases that are analogous to the case formerly specified, -that fairly fall under the same category. Thus the order " honour thy father and thy mother," may be held to cover all relations of inferior to superior; all relations implying obligation under authority; such as that of a subject to his sovereign ; or a pupil to his guardian ; or even a servant to his master. But it is an unwarrantable extension of the principle to make the commandment embrace the relation of equal to equal; or that of superior to inferior. 2. The mistake probably arose out of a wrong position being assigned to the fifth commandment, in the division of the decalogue. It was held to stand at the head of the second Table, and to have in itself, accordingly, in germ or embryo, all the duties which men owe to one another. But is that its right position ? I scarcely think so. For if, as is commonly understood, the division of the decalogue into two parts rests on its having its summary in the two great commandments, the assigning of its place to the fifth commandment is a matter of some difficulty. There have indeed been many principles and methods proposed and practised in this dichotomy; this cutting of the law in twain, to suit the two divinely-written tables, holograph of Jehovah himself. But none can stand comparison, in point of fitness, with the one which rests on the twofold law of love. Is it clear, however, as is generally assumed, that this division gives four commandments to the first Table, and six to the second ? Does the fifth commandment fall under the rule of equal and reciprocal love 1 Is it not rather allied to that which reigns in the first of the two great requirements of love ? Does it not partake of its character and breathe its spirit 1 Is it not a sort of extension of the law of love, as applicable to God in heaven, to those who are in a sense his representatives and deputies on earth; clothing human parents with something like the majesty of him who alone is to be supremely loved. 3. If this be so, then possibly a closer analogy of resemblance, in point of structure, than is sometimes thought of, may be traced between the two tables of the decalogue. In both, alike we have four commandments, quite homogeneous in their character; forming a complete code of duty as regards the matter in hand; and then a fifth, supplemental, as it were, to the previous four, in the way of interpreting or applying them spiritually and practically. Thus, take in this view the second table, treating of our duty to man ; to man considered as our neighbour ; entitled to be treated by us as we would think it right that we should ourselves be treated by him. In four of the commandments (6, 7, 8, 9) we have provision made for his life, his purity or perfection, his property, his reputation or good name. "We are to see to it that, so far as we are concerned, in all our intercourse, with him, he is regarded (1) simply as a living man; (2) as a living man, not marred, mutilated, maimed, corrupted, but complete, in his true, unsullied, uninvaded manhood; (3) as entitled to what he wins or gets of the means of livelihood as his own; and (4) as entitled to claim true recognition of himself as he really is at the mouth of all his fellows. I may not (1) take his life away ; nor (2) snatch from it its native purity and beauty; nor (3) intercept the well-earned or justly-gifted supply for its sustenance ; nor (4) brand it with any stain of calumny and ill-report. These four precepts seem to exhaust the list of what we are forbidden to do, in this second table. But now comes in a fifth (the 10th); not enacting an additional prohibition, but imparting new life to all the preceding four. For it comprehends them all; killing, corrupting, stealing, lying ; all these ways of injuring our neighbour; in his house, his wife, his servant, his cattle; in anything that is his. And by the use of the term " covet," it lifts the whole up from the region of the outer life to the inner region of thought and feeling; from what a man does, as regards his brother, to what in his inmost heart he thinks, and wishes, and desires. Take now the first table of the law, or the first four commandments usually regarded as contained in it. What do they assert? 1. Jehovah lives: to have other gods before him is to destroy his life 2. He is pure spirit: to worship him by idols is to carnalise his nature. 3. He has a name or character among his creatures : to profane it is to rob him of his property. 4. He witnesses of himself in his Sabbath of rest from work: to work on the Sabbath is to bear false witness of him. To own him as the one living and true God : to worship him as a spirit, in spirit and in truth : to give him what he has a right to claim, a sacred recognition of his name : to bear true witness for him and with him by resting on the Sabbath as he rested; these are the requirements of the first four commandments. And now, what of the fifth ? Does it usher in the commandments that come under the head of Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself ? Is that all that it enjoins 1 Does it not rather come in as a corollary from the first four? Is it not an extension, and earthly application, of the heavenly and divine, the first and great commandment, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God 1 And in that view, as a supplement or appendix to the first table, does it not harmonise with the tenth precept, as the summing up and spiritualising of the second ? For one thing, to honour is equivalent to not coveting; as not to covet implies honouring. The one is the positive way of putting it; the other is the negative. And as in the tenth commandment, the negative, Do not covet, lifts the whole of our duty to man out of the region of the seen and palpable into the region of the unseen and the spiritual; so, in the fifth, the positive, Thou shalt honour, brings the whole of our duty to God down from the region of the remote and the heavenly to the sphere of our common life. Nor, in this view, would I object to the widest extension of the fifth commandment, so as to embrace all men universally ; provided only it is kept to its own proper meaning of honouring, respecting, reverencing. For thus, through the command to bring somewhat of the homage we owe to God into the obedience we owe to our parents, we reach, by a thoroughly legitimate inference, a farther application of the precept to our neighbours generally. And we come to see that in measure, and in proportion to the positions which they occupy, first our parents, and then all connected with us by any ties, are entitled to claim at our hands a love of honour and submission partaking of the nature of the love which we are bound to render to God. Thus the two commandments, the tenth and the fifth, suitably crown their respective tables in the divinely-written decalogue; and fit into one another so as to make of them one whole. The one, the tenth, raises earthly relations upwards to the sphere of what is spiritual, and therefore heavenly. The other, the fifth, brings the heavenly to bear upon the earthly. 4. It is its positive form which gives it that singular preeminence. For it is the first commandment that is, or indeed could be, positive. And there is no other like it, in that respect, afterwards. " Honour," is the word; not " Thou shalt not;" not even, as in the fourth commandment, " Thou shalt not" -coming in after "Remember:" the negative defining the positive ; but, pure and simple, it is the command " Honour." Where could this purely and simply positive precept have place except where we find it ? -turning all the prohibitive commandments, as regards God, into the one positive or direct form in which they can be realised on earth; the form of a code, which, though necessarily at first, and indeed all throughout, saying, " Thou shalt not," yet ultimately, through its taking the shape of " Thou shalt not covet," conies really to be identical with " Thou shalt love or honour." 5. Is it not thus, through its being the first commandment of precept, that it is the first commandment with promise. A promise cannot well be annexed to a merely negative commandment. The formula, " Thou shalt not," is that of threatening rather than that of promising. The Lord must begin with that formula. He must assert his self-existence, his holiness, his faithfulness and truth; under the sanction, not of a promise, but of a threat. But, may I say, he longs for the opportunity of making the whole matter turn on a different arrangement ? -he longs to be a promiser ? And he finds that he can be so first in the fifth commandment. There, therefore, for the first time, he can bring in the element of a gracious reward. He can do so, even as when he closed his parable long afterwards with a promise grounded on the principle : " Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of my brethren, ye did it unto me." Honour thy father, with loving honour; for my sake, and as thou lovest me ! " 6. The nature of the promise may confirm and explain these views ; " That thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee ;" " That thy days may be prolonged, and that it may be well with thee, in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee ; " or as here, " That it may be well with thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth." It is "a promise of long life and prosperity," as our catechism puts it, "to all such as keep this commandment." Prosperity ! Of what sort ? Outward prosperity 1 Yes ; perhaps it way be outward prosperity, with the reservation; " so far as it shall serve for God’s glory and their own good." But it is better explained, both in the Old Testament and in the New. In the Old Testament, we have the Lord’s assurance to the man who sets his love upon him, " With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation." In the New Testament, we have the "Nunc dimittis" of aged Simeon, satisfied with length of days; "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation." That is the prosperity; " to see the salvation of the Lord." And that also is the length of days. To have seen the salvation of the Lord is to be satisfied with long life, or length of days. These days may be few according to the reckoning of time, or they may be many. But, be they few or many, the promise of long life is fulfilled when mine eyes have seen thy salvation. I am satisfied, 0 Lord. I am satisfied with length of days. Now, in the very morning of life, I can say, " Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word." Surely such a promise, so interpreted by the word of God himself, befits the precept to which it is annexed, in its widest and most comprehensive acceptation. There is a blessed connection and harmony between them. Who that ’ sets his love on God, honouring him with loving honour, and with like honour in the Lord honouring his father and mother, and all with whom through them he is united and of one blood, would care for any other sort of prosperity, -any other sort of length of days than this! Ye who set your hearts on long life and prosperity of a different sort, consider how impossible it is, in the very nature of things as well as by the word of God, that the promise can be fulfilled to you ! You may live long, and it may be well with you in a sense. You may be reaching the measure of the threescore or fourscore years allotted to the earthly life of man ; and all along their prosperous course fortune may have smiled upon you. You may have heaped up riches, and fared sumptuously every day. And it may have seemed even as if, by some special providence, you were exempted from the ills to which flesh is heir. But are you satisfied with long life? Can you truly sing the "Nunc dimittis" ? Are you ready to depart in peace ? See, on the other hand, yonder meek, pale face, -that emaciated form, -limbs it may be, racked with pain, -a wan and weary longing for rest ever and anon stealing over the cold and clammy brow ! It is but a child, of the age perhaps of Jesus when he first went into the temple on earth, a child waiting to be led by Jesus into a better house above. He began, with the earliest opening of his mind and heart, to honour his father and his mother. Through their teaching, he learned to honour them with a loving honour, in the Lord; to honour his parents as Jesus honoured his. Early has he got his reward. Graciously, gloriously has the promise been fulfilled. The Lord, even Jesus, has showed him his salvation. And that bright radiant smile, as he falls asleep, speaks only of satisfaction like old Simeon’s as the Lord lets him depart in peace. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 39: 04.22. CHAPTER 22: THE PARENTAL RELATION - DUTY OF PARENTS TO CHILDREN. ======================================================================== CHAPTER XXII. THE PARENTAL RELATION - DUTY OF PARENTS TO CHILDREN. "And, ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath; but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." - Ephesians 6:4. THE negative, or prohibitive, command, which here precedes the positive, stands alone in the parallel passage in Colossians, "Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged." It is almost as if the whole of parental duty were covered by it, or comprehended .in it. Evidently the apostle means to connect it emphatically with his strong and unqualified assertion of filial obligation. This is indicated by the connecting particle. On the one hand, it is said "Children, obey your parents in all things, in the Lord." "And," it is instantly added on the other hand "ye fathers," invested thus with such absolute authority, beware of using it so as to "provoke your children to wrath, whereby they may be discouraged." Thus there is, as it were, an equitable counterpoise in a relation implying subjection and rule. The peremptory order to be subject is balanced by a counter-order to rule tenderly and not harshly. It is so put with reference to the marriage relation in Colossians, "Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against them." And it is so put here with reference to the parental and filial tie. There is great wisdom and kindness in the arrangement. It is a needful warning against the abuse even of legitimate authority; apt to become irksome and intolerable. Still, it may be asked "Is the risk or danger, as regards the discharge of parental duty, in the line of such treatment as may provoke children to anger? Is it not rather all the other way?" So far at least as mothers are concerned, is there not hazard from treatment of the very opposite sort? However rough fathers may provoke, gentle mothers will caress and fondle. It is rough fathers therefore that are here addressed, and not mothers, who belong to the tenderer sex. So some would have it. But there is no warrant for this humorous conceit. The identity of oneness, as already taught, of husband and wife, precludes the idea. Mothers are embraced in the appeal; "And ye fathers." Their authority over the children is involved in and under that of their husbands. In point of fact, it is not true that fond female indulgence is, in this case, to be separated from masculine harshness and severity. It may, and often has, exactly the same effect. Nay, the more a child is treated as a favourite, whether by mother or by father - the more he is pampered and indulged - the more apt is he to be irritated and offended when his wishes are crossed; the more easily is he "provoked to anger." For the favouritism, the indulgence, on the part of the parent, is simply natural and wholly selfish. It is himself that he is gratifying when he covers his child’s face with kisses; when he spares the rod of rebuke, and excuses faults, and smothers all offences in a weeping embrace of peace. And, moreover, that is not always his mode. The spoiled and privileged object of his partial affection presumes occasionally on his position. He becomes troublesome, unseasonably intrusive, pertinaciously persistent. The father or mother loses temper. Harsh dealing ensues. The child retires in indignant or desponding tears. Ah! There is much in that thought. It is precisely what is suggested in Colossians, "lest they be discouraged." For that is not merely the motive, but the measure or limit, of this prohibitory enactment. Whatever mode of treatment tends to discourage children, is forbidden. For a child is easily discouraged; far more easily than many a parent, many a teacher or trainer, thinks. His mind and heart are very susceptible; very open to the influences to which they are subjected. And of all the results of mistake or mismanagement in his up-bringing this is the worst; his being discouraged; disheartened; having his courage, his heart, taken out of him; becoming timid and uncertain; weak and helplessly undecided; or wilful and wilfully capricious. There are many modes of parental discipline, or want of discipline, leading in these lines. But they may be best considered, perhaps, in.connection with the positive precept, to which I now proceed. There are four particulars as to the parental training of children, suggested by the separate expressions that are used : 1. "Bring them up." The word is very wide, or rather long, in its usage here. It starts from the first entrance of the new-born babe into this world; his transfer from the mother’s womb to the nurse’s arms. It embraces all the nourishment he has in the maternal bosom. It covers the fond endearments of helpless infancy and childhood. It runs on through the house, the academy, the college - or whatever other means and appliances may be at hand - onwards to the stage of complete and perfect manhood. That is the upbringing here enjoined; beginning thus early; ending thus late. In this full sense and range, the parent is the upbringer of the child. From the child’s birth to his maturity, the responsibility of this upbringing lies largely upon the parent. 2. This upbringing is, in the first instance, "nurture." The word is significant of outward culture or cultivation; and of all outward culture or cultivation. It takes in all that can be done in the way of fostering and guiding growth; by such pains- taking and kindly care as a gardener might bestow on the advancing progress, from day to day, of a favourite plant. The first drop of milk drawn from the mother’s bosom forms part of this nurture; as does also the last act of the father’s discipline, ere the child leaves the nursery and the school. All means and influences used, then and thereafter, to form the character, and mould the mind, and rouse the soul, constitute this nurture. 3. There is also in the bringing-up here enjoined, "admonition." The word points to a higher mode of the discharge of parental duty than the former. It assumes, as the result of "nurture," completed or in progress, the opening of the child’s understanding and affections to such reasoning as might be addressed to a full-grown adult. It contemplates the child in course of becoming a man; and so capable of being dealt with by means of arguments and appeals addressed through his understanding to his conscience and his heart. He is to be admonished; warned; exhorted; expostulated with; as one having a mind of his own; entitled and able to judge for himself. Thus, these two ways of training or bringing up, "nurture and admonition," differ from one another very much as childhood differs from incipient manhood. You do not attempt to govern a mere child through the medium of his own reason. You do not expect to carry his intelligent assent and approval along with you in all your treatment of him. You subject him to influences of another kind. You work upon him, as it were, by means of his natural instincts; his instinctive love and confidence toward you; his instinctive desire of pleasure and dread of pain. You win him by fond caresses; and occasionally, if need be, coerce him by the strong arm of force, or impose upon him the penalty of what he thinks good withheld, and the infliction of what he feels to be evil. But you do not stop to explain the meaning and grounds of your procedure. You simply aim at bringing him, by judicious kindness and salutary severity, into such a frame and habit of mind and character as meets your own views of what is best, and not his. You wait till he is a little older before you try the efficacy of the method of "admonition." Then, you invite and encourage him to exercise his own faculties. You take him into your counsels, and unfold and justify to him your plans. You consult him. You confer with him, and it may be, sometimes you defer to him. You bid him not merely hear, but consider, what you say. You desire the thing, whatever it is - whether it be a step in the line of departing from what is evil, or a movement in the direction of following after that which is good - you desire the thing to be done, not merely under your influence of favour or of fear, but because he himself sees that in itself it is the right thing to do. Let it be noticed, however, concerning these two modes of upbringing, first, that you cannot so separate them as to say when the one should end and the other begin; nay, rather, secondly, that all through the time of the upbringing, they must to a large extent be plied and worked together. You cannot fix a time, the fifth or any other year of his age, at which nurture may be wholly dispensed with, and admonition alone relied on. For they are not incompatible with one another, or antagonistic to one another, but, on the contrary, quite consistent and co-operative powers. They can go together; and the more they go together the better - every way the better. The sooner you bring in the element of admonition into the nurture, the more pure and safe and efficacious will the nurture be. Yes ; and the farther you can carry the nurture into the admonition, the longer and-the more deeply will the admonition tell. First; watch your little one from his very cradle. Mark the first dawn of intelligence in his brightening eye, and keen questioning gaze, and eager listening ear, as he lies on your breast, and you exchange with him fond childish prattle. Seize the first opportunity of trying to get him to understand you. Note the first sign of success in the attempt. Begin early, - at the very earliest symptoms of an intelligent response from him - begin to explain yourself to him. There is no risk, as some might think, of "the admonition" thus early tried making your child prematurely wise; not at least if it is subordinated to "the nurture," and enters into it and becomes part of it. There is no danger of the little man, early accustomed to be thus affectionately reasoned with, setting himself up to be a debater with you; questioning your ways and disputing your commands; no danger; not the least; if only you keep hold of him by those natural instinctive ties and cords by which God binds his heart to you, and by which you influence and mould his opening soul. No. He will yield all the more to your sweet and loving guidance, and the more willingly and lovingly consent to be led by you - even blindfold and dumb - the more he sees that you are ever ready, whenever you can, to satisfy and inform his mind. He feels with you the more, the more he finds that he sees with you as well. And then, at the other stage of this process of upbringing - where admonition naturally and legitimately predominates over nurture - do not, 0 ye fathers, and especially ye mothers, do not, I beseech you, give up the nurture too soon! True, the character and manner of the nurture must in some respects be changed. You cannot caress and fondle, you cannot chastise and correct, that manly youth, all but six feet high - that blooming maiden of sweet sixteen - as you were wont to do some ten or a dozen years ago. They are now beyond the reach of means and appliances for your nurture of them, such as were available then. But they are not beyond the reach of the wise and holy and tender affection which moved and inspired it all And you have other means and appliances for bringing that nurturing affection to bear upon them still. They are growing to be men in understanding, and you must treat them accordingly as men; to be admonished, and not merely nursed. But if your nursing of them has been of the right sort, wise and holy and tender, they are children still to you in feeling. There is a soft place in the heart that your nursing hand, your nursing love, can still touch, and move, and melt to tears. Ah! Thou fond mother, sending out thy son into life - launching him on the sea of this cold world’s hardening cares and toils and trials; parting with him for far-off commerce, or the service of bloody war - see that he carries in his bosom, wherever he goes, sweet memories of home; of home influences; of home scenes; of home nurture. These may be blessed by God, not only to soothe him with a melancholy sadness in many an hour of sickness and sorrow and desolation, but to keep him true and loyal to the principles of his godly upbringing; true and loyal to the God he was taught to reverence and love, beneath a father’s eye and beside a mother’s knee. 4. The nurture and admonition in which you bring up your children are to be " of the Lord." What does that mean? What does it imply? Is it that they are to have the Lord as their object? That the training, having in it these two modes or methods, is to be all Godward? That it is of the Lord, in the sense of its being all planned and carried on with a view to the children becoming themselves the Lord’s? That is doubtless a great truth. And it may be held to be covered by this phrase, incidentally and imferentially. But it is not the direct import of the passage. Is it again that all this training is of the Lord, in the sense of its having the Lord as its source and origin; inasmuch as it is only when qualified and commissioned by the Lord that parents will undertake, or can conduct, the sort of education required? That also is true ; but it is not the truth here inculcated. Nor is it enough to say that the education, in both its branches, of nurture and admonition, must be thoroughly pervaded and saturated by the Spirit of the Lord; imparting to it all - infusing into it all - the spiritual life which is of the Lord alone. I take the words more literally; in the first instance at least. The nurture must be the Lord’s own nurture. The admonition must be the Lord’s own admonition. It must be the very nurture; the very admonition; which he himself uses, in bringing up the children, the little ones, whom the Father hath given him. For with respect to them, he is himself an educator, a trainer-up, a bringer-up, of children. And he educates them, trains them, and brings them up, by the twofold means of nurture and admonition ; nurture and admonition of a sort peculiarly his own. Hence, first, when you who are a father are called to bring up your children in that very nurture and admonition of the Lord, it is plainly implied that you are to put yourself in his place, and consider yourself as acting for him, representing him and discharging his function in this whole matter. The nurture in which you bring up your children is not yours but his. The admonition is not yours but his. It is he who nourishes them, and not you. It is he who admonishes them, and not you. The nurture reaching them through you is not yours but the Lord’s ; and so also always is the admonition. That is your real position in bringing up your children. How solemn the thought! How great the responsibility! Consider it well. When, in the nurture of your child, you caress him, it is not you, but the Lord Christ who caresses him. When you smile on him, it is with Christ’s own smile. When you frown upon him, it is Christ weeping over him. When you smite him, it is Christ who wields the rod. And so also, as regards the admonition. It is not so much by you for Christ, as by Christ in you, that it is given. He is the admonisher, and not you. The argument, the expostulation, the appeal, the entreaty, the weeping, is his far more than yours. Ah! What would a Christian parent’s training of his child be, if this, which is his real position, were thoroughly realised ? My nurture of him is to be identical with what the Lord’s nurture of him, were he in my place, would be. And my admonition too! That is a high ideal. But let me make conscience of its being a reality. Let me deal with my child in the way of nurture and admonition, exactly as Christ would deal with him. Let my treatment of my child be what Christ’s treatment of him would be. Let me see to it that whatever I do to my child is what Christ would do in my circumstances, and whatever I say to my child is what Christ would say. Let me apprehend and feel in this, as in every department of my life, that "it is not I who live, but Christ who liveth in me". Then may I have great and strong and high hope. It is in the Lord’s nurture; it is in the Lord’s admonition; that I seek and strive to bring up my child. The Lord will bless his own work. The Lord will hear my prayer for the child whom I try to bring up as he would himself bring him up, if he were in my position; if he did not honour me by letting the work be done by me, in his name and for his sake. But, secondly, how am I to know what the Lord’s nurture .and the Lord’s admonition, with reference to my child, would be, were he undertaking the upbringing himself personally, instead of delegating it to me ? How otherwise than by my believing sense and experience of what the Lord’s nurture and admonition are in his dealings directly with myself ? Is he, the Lord Jesus, bringing up me, as one of the children, the little ones, given to him by his Father? Is he training me up, for work and service now, for rest and glory soon, in the Father’s kingdom and his own? Nurture he employs: he "nourishes and cherishes the church as his own body." And the nurture is most loving and tender. Converted and become as a little child, he takes me in his arms and blesses me. He finds me in a desert land and in the waste howling wilderness; he leads me about; he instructs me, he keeps me as the apple of his eye. As an eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on her wings, so the Lord alone doth lead me. Gently does he lead me, carrying me as a lamb in his bosom. He hears my cry, and is not offended. He gives to me liberally, and upbraideth not. He heals my broken heart, and binds up my wounds. In all my affliction he is afflicted. He speaks to me a word in season when I am weary, and weeps with me when I weep. Nor is his nurture mere fond indulgence. He does not spare the rod. He visits me with seasonable and salutary chastening ; all the while pitying me as a father pitieth his children. Surely I may own that I have found his nurture of me very wise and good and kind. And his admonition too, his manner of admonishing me - have I not had trial of that also? Do I not know something of what sort it is? He does not control or coerce me, as if, like the horse or the mule, I needed to be kept in with bit and bridle. He guides me with his eye. He gives me credit for watching every change in his countenance; catching every hint or indication of his will; and anticipating his command in my desire to do his pleasure. He treats me, not as a mere servant who knows not what his lord does, and must obey in utter ignorance whatever order may be issued ; but as a friend, whom he takes into his confidence, and makes familiar with his ways. He puts me on the same footing with himself in the Father’s house, that my obedience may be like his. Thus gracious is his admonition; his manner of admonishing me; putting me in mind of duty, and putting me on the best footing and in the best mood for its discharge. Nor is it less faithful than it is gracious. In his providence, by his word and Spirit, he admonishes me of danger, of backsliding, of sinful unbelief. He deals with me as he did with the Asiatic churches ; not sparing me ; but not leaving me without encouragement. He breaks my slumber. He summons me to repent and do the first works. He gives me assurance of new pardon, and new life, and new sanctification. But why need I enlarge? You yourselves experimentally know "the nurture and admonition of the Lord" in his treatment and training of you. And what is wanted is that you bring the whole spirit of it, as well as the whole manner of it, into your treatment and training of your children. Bring them up as the Lord is bringing you up. Apply fully and faithfully to your dealing with them all the principles which, as you know and feel, must inspire and regulate the Lord’s dealing with you. Educate them as you would wish the Lord to educate you; as you know and feel that the Lord is educating you. Take as your model, in bringing up your children, the Lord’s way of bringing up you. Get into the heart, the very heart, of his method of nurture and admonition. Get more of that nurture and admonition yourselves; dwelling in his bosom; growing up into him; learning of him; beholding his glory, and being changed into his image. Then come forth, bearing his image, shining in the beauty of his holiness, loving as he loves you ; and seek to make your children - like yourselves, shall I say ? Yes! And like the Lord! - " bringing them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." Let three observations close this discourse. I. Returning to the first clause of the text, - and the negative or prohibitive form in which parental duty is there enjoined -"Provoke not your children to wrath" or "Provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged" - you may see what is your best and only security against so great an evil. It is to be found in the positive or preceptive form; that is, in your "bringing them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord". For the risk lies in your "bringing them up in a nurture and admonition of your own. You have your own way of dealing with them, in the line of nurture and admonition. It may be a way on which you have hit, after much anxious parental thought. It may be fair in itself; and you may resolve fairly to abide by it. But it is your own; and you abide by it as your own. And you are yourselves inconstant; and in your application of it your way becomes inconstant. Incoherency comes in, and vacillation; fitfulness and caprice; than which nothing can be so irritating or provoking to your children. You mean to treat them kindly and equitably. You have a high ideal of what your kind and equitable treatment of them ought to be. But it is yours merely; your nurture; your admonition. You hold the reins; you guide the eager steeds; on a well-devised plan of your own. But what are you in such a capacity as that? An infantile wail, the cry of a spoiled boyhood or girlhood, breaks down your cold and cut-and-dry purpose of measured relaxation or unrelenting hardness. Or a defiant challenge brings you at once to a humiliating stand. So such risk is run if you make conscience of its being in the Lord’s nurture and admonition, and not your own, that you bring up your children. For then, and thus, the element of caprice is excluded ; the caprice which is inseparable from mere human will. Enlightened it may be, that will of mine; resolute it may be; in the determination on my part of what my training of nurture and admonition for my child is to be. But it is fond and fickle; apt to be swayed by partial leanings and partial predilections. It is only when I regard, and in so far as I regard, the nurture as not mine but the Lord’s; and the admonition as not mine but the Lord’s; that I can hope to make my child feel it all to be reasonable and right - reasonable and right, as being not my own, but the Lord’s, Only thus can I prevent what is so sore and common an evil; the sight of a child growing up in a well-ordered home, a Christian home, yet growing up with broken spirits, sullen temper, disheartened, discouraged, open to be swayed by flattery or fear, accustomed to reserve, prone to equivocal and evasive ways. 0 fathers, beware of that sulky eye, that look of suppressed indignation, those tears of wounded feeling, that painful pathetic glance, which marks a secret sense of wrong, and an unsatisfied craving for redress. "Fathers, provoke not your children to wrath, lest they be discouraged". And that you may be safe from the risk of so provoking them, see that you make conscience of "bringing them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord". II. How happy and hopeful should the bringing up of your children be, if it is to be identified, as I have shown, with his bringing up of you. You bring them up as you believe, and in your experience feel, that the Lord is bringing up you; in the same sort of nurture, in the same sort of admonition. It is a high and sacred function, involving deep, sacred responsibility. To transfer to the sphere of your fellowship with your children, the spirit, the essential spirit, of God’s fellowship with you; to feel towards them as the Lord feels towards you; to act towards them as the Lord, in his providence and by his Spirit, acts towards you; thus to ascend into the heart of the Lord, and apprehend, so far as it can be apprehended, how that heart opens itself, and acts itself out, in wise and holy love towards you; and then to have your hearts exercised with the same kind of love towards your children, and to let it come out in the same kind of way - that is a great attainment. But it is very blessed. It infuses into all your treatment of your children a calm, serene, equable, uniformity of affection, far removed from anything like favouritism or partiality; safe also from the agitations of a soul apt to be swayed by passing influences and circumstances; always consistent, always the same; - such as can scarcely fail, with God’s help and blessing, to fix the giddiest temper and command the most wayward and wilful heart. Working on thus, patiently and steadily, in the training of your children, you may hope to see them loving and honouring you with that pure esteem and perfect confidence and warm regard with which you seek to love and honour the Lord. Nor need you fear lest such a sort of training should make your relation to your children, and your intercourse with them, too solemn and stiff, gloomy and constrained. That is not the character of the Lord’s dealings with you, and yours with him, if you are on a right footing with him; coming boldly to his throne, with a reverential yet confidential familiarity; going in and out in his house; walking with him as your Father and your friend. So let your children walk with you; in all the simplicity of mutual unreservedness and love. III. All this, however, implies on your part a very watchful study and observation of the Lord’s manner of nurture and admonition in his training of his children generally, and especially of yourself. Acquaint yourself well with the principles of his educational plan. Acquaint yourself still better with the practical working out of his plan. Submit yourself to his training. Read and learn in his school. Welcome his embrace, and feel his arms around you. Consent to his chastening you. Accept his rebuke. Kiss his rod. Know thus personally and experimentally, more and more, what it is to be brought up as children by the Lord in his own nurture and his own admonition. Alas for you, if you know nothing of this divine upbringing ! Alas for you as fathers, and for your children! Alas for you as men! You can conceive of no other manner of dealing with you on the Lord’s part, but only the way of arbitrary severity, or the way of weak indulgence. You can but deal with your children after the like fashion, alternating, vibrating, oscillating between facile fondness and passionate harshness! For their sake, for your own sake, I beseech you, brother, to let God show you a more excellent way. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 40: 04.23. CHAPTER 23: THE RELATION OF SERVICE - DUTY OF SERVANTS. ======================================================================== Chapter Twenty-Three THE RELATION OF SERVICE - DUTY OF SERVANTS. "Servants, be obedient."*— Ephesians 6:5. WHETHER the parties here addressed as "servants" were bond-slaves, or free and hired domestics, I do not think it worth while to inquire. I simply protest against the rendering of the word being "slaves;" implying, as it does, the same rendering in the case of Christ. It is monstrous to speak of him as the Father’s slave, or of his service or obedience being slavish. Nor is there any need or warrant for such an interpretation. The term should be understood universally, as embracing all relations that imply service to an acknowledged master. Some indeed think that the close of the eighth verse describes two sorts of servants, serving together in the ordinary household economy of the family - some being bond, under the coercion of ownership; others being free, under a contract of wages. There is no warrant for such a view of that verse. It is a forced and unnatural exposition. Unquestionably, however, there were in these ancient homes hired servants as well as slaves. And therefore we may consider what Paul writes as applicable to all who serve, in any character and capacity. * "Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ; not with eye service, as men-pleasers; but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart; with good will doing service, as to the Lord, and not to men: knowing that whatsoever good thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the Lord, whether he be bond or free."- Ephesians 6:5-8. Still the existence of slavery, and its being throughout the Roman Empire to a large extent the normal condition of those who served, must be taken into account as moulding the apostle’s affectionate address and appeal to servants. We are safe, at any rate, in considering it as, in the first instance, bearing on the very worst form in which this peculiar relationship of service or servitude can subsist. In that view, there is peculiar emphasis and point in the qualifying clause "according to the flesh." It has a ring in it that must have gone home to the heart of many a poor Christian bond-slave. Be your bondage ever so bitter and severe; let your heathen owner, who has taken you captive by his arms or bought you with his money, be ever so tyrannical and cruel; harassing and persecuting you for your very Christianity; he is your master only "according to the flesh." He may command your outward bodily services. He may enforce his commands by outward bodily torture. But he cannot reach or touch the free spirit within. As to that, you are the Lord’s freeman. Bought by him with a price, you will not, you cannot, be the servant of any man. So Paul teaches elsewhere. "For he that is called in the Lord, being a servant, is the Lord’s freeman; likewise also he that is called, being free, is Christ’s servant. Ye are bought with a price: be not ye the servants of men." Not at least otherwise than "according to the flesh." For in that sense, and to that effect, you may be forced to be slaves. You maybe manacled,stripped, and beaten by the man who claims to hold you as his property. But his property in you can only embrace your mortal body. He has no property in your immortal soul. There, one is your master, even Christ. And you in him are free, as he is himself. But while thus on the one hand recognising by this phrase your spiritual disenthralment and emancipation; that freedom in the spirit which may well reconcile you to any service or servitude according to the flesh; Paul makes this thought the express ground and starting-point of his practical appeal; his exhortation to the discharge of duty. All the more because you are the Lord’s freeman in the spirit, you are bound, and are to feel yourself bound, to obey him who is your master according to the flesh. The Lord himself, whose purchased possession you are, puts you upon your honour to himself, and under him, to your master. You are called unto liberty. But use not your liberty as a cloak of maliciousness or insubordination. Eather let your obedience to your earthly master be such as becomes your high calling of him who is your heavenly Lord. In your earthly master, see always your heavenly Lord. Look through the one to the other. Let the obedience be apprehended and felt by you to be rendered, not as to your master according to the flesh, but to him who is the one and only master of your Spirit. Then will it be obedience such as he will acknowledge. It will be obedience like his own, of the same character with his own, and having respect to the same recompense of reward. I. Let the obedience be considered; of what sort it will be, if it be obedience to your master as unto Christ. 1. It will have in it the element of "fear and trembling" of scrupulous, sensitive conscientiousness. It is a gracious, not a servile, fear and trembling that is meant, having reference not to man, but to the Lord.* In obeying one who is your master according to the flesh, you will have respect to him who is the Lord of your spirit. You will be as anxious, as nervous, about your obedience to your master being all that he is entitled to expect it to be, as you would be if it were the Lord himself personally that you were directly serving. There will be no presumption; no confident boldness; no self-assertion or assertion of right; "no answering again" no "purloining " or depriving your master of what is his due, be it money or time - his money, or your time, which is his; no slackness or sloth; no impatience of the yoke, or evasion of its obligations; but always and throughout all, a deep tremulous feeling of responsibility; such as may make your master see how solicitous you are to "please him well in all things, and show all good fidelity;" fulfilling all his will and doing all your duty. * The phrase is elsewhere used in that sense ; as in 1 Corinthians 2:3, "I was with you in weakness, and in fear, and in much trembling;" in 2 Corinthians 3:15, "He " (Titus) " remembereth the obedience of you all, how with fear and trembling ye received him;" and in Php 2:12, " Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who wqrketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure." 2. " Singleness of heart" will characterise your obedience " if it is rendered," as unto Christ; singleness of heart; implying the entire absence of all bye-ends; of all duplicity or double-mindedness; all reserve, or secret disaffection; all keeping of your heart out of the service you perform, the obedience you render. On the contrary, your heart will be in the business, frankly and honestly. "Whatever you do, you will do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men." You will do it heartily, cordially, cheerfully. This may often be felt to be a hard thing; a difficult attainment; if your master is not a Christian, or does not act a kind Christian part towards you; if his service is grievous, his demands unreasonable, rudely made and recklessly enforced. It may not be easy for you to keep your temper; to meet the sour or angry look, the passionate speech, the hasty buffet, not only with unruffled calmness, but with a real sense or feeling of continued cordiality, in what you do at your master’s bidding. But do it as not to him but to the Lord. So may you still do it heartily, " with singleness of heart." 3. In obedience thus rendered there can, at all events, be no "eye-service" but, on the contrary, since you obey your master as servants of Christ rather than of him, there will be a doing of the will of God, "from the soul, with good will." For, with the best interpreters, as I think, I connect the phrase "with good will" in the seventh verse, not with what follows but with what goes before. And I put "soul" instead of "heart," at the end of the sixth. It is so in the original; not heart, as in the fifth verse, but soul; from the soul, the inner man; the whole inner man. And I take the clause, thus arranged, to be descriptive not only of your obedience as the servants of Christ, but first rather, in a sense, of Christ’s own obedience as servant of the Father, and then of your obedience as servants of him. For, as his servants, he would have you to be one with him in his manner of serving. What, then, in this view, will be your obedience as his servants ? (1.) "Eye-service" is excluded. For eye-service is possible only when it is "man that is to be pleased." You serve him when his eye is upon you; or the eye of some one who may report to him your service. When the eye of such vigilance is turned away, you cease to serve him; you serve yourselves. But there can be no eye-service in your obedience when you obey as being heartily and honourably the servants of Christ. For then, not only is his eye ever upon you, precluding the possibility of relaxed watchfulness on his part, and on your part the fearful joy of an unwatched liberty stealthily snatched. But more than that, you are the servants of one who became himself a servant; the servant pre-eminently; the chosen servant of God. Can he own you as his servants, if your manner of serving him is different from his? And what was his manner of serving? Was it eye-service? Far, very far, be the very thought! Was it not "doing the will of God from the soul, with good will"? (2.) It was "doing the will of God;" simply and solely doing the will of God; nothing else; nothing more. Not only was there no eye-service in Christ’s obedience; there was in it no will-worship either; no volunteered humility; no offering of any service of his own; of his own choosing or devising. It was simply and merely doing the will of God. When it is man that is to be pleased, when it is a human master that is to be satisfied, the slave or servant may seek to propitiate him and win his favour by fulsome flattery or humiliating self-abasement; by a great show or pretence of even more deference and attention and submision than is required; by works of supererogation, as it were; by going beyond what is asked; offering proofs and evidences of loyalty, so to speak, at his own hand, so as to make his lord his debtor. All that is quite compatible with eye-service; the two things commonly go together. The servant who in his lord’s absence neglects his duty, may try to make up for that neglect by paying extra court and giving extra worship to him when he is present. But it is not compatible with simply doing the will of God. Christ, as a servant, did the will of God. His meat was to do the will of him that sent him, and to finish his work. As the Father gave him commandment, even so he did. I delight to do thy will, 0 God. Thy law is within my heart. I do nothing of myself. I offer no ultroneous gift or sacrifice. I am thy servant. In service and in sacrifice I do thy will, 0 God. (3.) He did the will of God from the soul. The motive of his obedience was within, in .himself, in his own inner man, in his own breast, his own bosom. It was the free, spontaneous consent and choice of his own mind and will to do the will of God. His doing the will of God was not extorted by appliances or influences from without; by the force of circumstances; or, as the poet puts the case of Africa’s wronged children, "by stripes, which mercy, with a bleeding heart, weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast." He did the will of God voluntarily; out of the great love with which he loved the Father, and his intense inmost desire that, even at the cost of his obedience unto death, his agony, his cross,- his death as bearing human guilt and the hiding of his Father’s face,- the will of God should be done. (4.) Hence he did the will of God "with good will" with a will, as we say. The source and spring of his obedience being in himself, in his soul, it had its outflow in an unbroken stream of complacency, benignity, satisfaction, and joy. It was not reluctantly or with a grudge that he submitted his own will to the will of God. All throughout his hard service, and harder sacrifice, there was equanimity and contentment. He did indeed shrink from suffering and pain. His soul was troubled. It was exceeding sorrowful, even unto death. He made supplication with strong crying and tears. But he did the will of God; he did it from his whole soul; and never was there anything but good will in his doing it. Good will! Ah, how pure, how perfect, and how loving! Good will to him whose will, amid groans and agonies and tears, he was doing! Good will to us, whom, by so doing the will of God, he was redeeming and saving! With right good will he did the will of God, even to the last, to the bitter end. With holy, blessed, calm serenity,- speaking peace to the poor penitent beside him,- commending his spirit into his Father’s hands,- in yielding up the ghost upon that accursed tree, from his inmost soul, in right good will, he was doing the will of God. Such was the obedience of Christ as a servant; the servant of God the Father; obedience thus rendered in a position, upon terms, amid surroundings, infinitely more terrible than you can ever have to face. Is it too much to ask of you, when it is as his servants that you are to obey, be the master who he may - himself - his Father in heaven, or those whom he has set over you on earth,- is it too much to ask of you that your obedience should in all cases be such as his? You have himself and his Father to obey. And the obedience you have to render in that line. Oh! How sweet! Made sweet by his own going before you, and going with you, in it all; the obedience of faith and love. Well may it be, through the Holy Ghost working in you and making you willing in the day of his power, an obedience in spirit like his. No eye-service in it; but a simple doing of the will of God from the soul, with good will, with right good will. And if on earth you are called to obedience, not so gracious, not so blessed, as that which you owe to Christ and his Father in heaven; his and yours; if you are placed under masters less congenial, less venerable, less amiable; still you may well be expected and required to carry into your earthly service the temper and frame of mind which you now see to be appropriate to that which is heavenly and divine. For in fact the conditions of all obedience are here laid down; obedience of whatever sort; whether the Son’s obedience as a servant to the Father; or your obedience to the Son and in him to the Father; or your obedience to those who are your masters according to the flesh. All acceptable obedience; all obedience worthy of the name; all obedience that is really obedience at all - whoever may be its object- must have in it these principles of, first, antagonism to eye-service; secondly, doing the will of God; thirdly, doing it ex animo, from the soul; and fourthly, doing it with entire and cordial good will. And if this is felt to be no easy duty, when the characters and caprices of earthly masters are considered, may not the difficulty be met by the closing word, reduplicating upon the opening of the exhortation - "doing service as to the Lord, and not to men" ? Yes; you are doing it to him, to the Lord Jesus; who presents himself to you as if in front of your master. It is with me that you have to deal, and not with him - for it is with me that he is dealing, and not with you. His reproaches of you fall on me, not on you. His strokes under which you groan touch me and not you. I am between him and you; verily between him and you. No tyranny, no oppression of his, can reach you otherwise than through me. I arrest his uplifted arm. I receive in my bosom his envenomed dart. Only through me, stripping it of all its venom, can it come near to you. May I not ask, in return, that you shall deal with him through me; that you shall allow no thought or feeling or affection to go forth towards him except through me! It is against me that the dart of your impatience or indignation must be held to be turned; for however hard and severe the service may be, it is to me and not to him that you are to regard yourselves as rendering it. Brethren, how is service ennobled,- how is the position of a servant in its very worst form, the most painful and degrading, raised, elevated, sanctified, glorified, when it is lifted up out of the region of earthly and carnal relationships, and finds its place among relationships that are spiritual and heavenly! Christ put honour upon it, and freedom into it, when he "learned obedience by the things which he suffered." And that honour, that freedom, it retains, when you obey whatever master you are under, as Christ’s servants; doing service as to the Lord, and not to men. II. Look now at the recompense of the reward, as corresponding to the obedience required, and as largely affecting or determining its character. "Knowing that whatsoever good thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the Lord, whether he be bond or free." It is assumed, as it would seem, that a servant serves for hire; under the condition, expressly stipulated or virtually implied, of his receiving an adequate and suitable return for his service. That is the fair rule or law of the relationship in question, when rightly understood and equitably constituted. It is indeed of its very essence. I am not a servant unless I consent to serve for hire. "He that reapeth receiveth wages." I am not really a servant if I affect to reap or serve gratuitously. For not only is the receiving of wages, or my looking for a recompense of reward an animating, stimulating and encouraging motive. It is humbling also. It keeps me in my right place. It wakes the right sense of accountability to him who dispenses the prize. But what if I am a bond-slave? I have no wages for my service, no recompense, no reward. I belong absolutely and unconditionally to my master; and all that I have, all my powers and faculties, and all the work of them - all is his. He does not need to buy them or pay for them. Ah, then, if I am to be a true servant, I must look for my paymaster elsewhere. I must look to him in whom there is neither bond nor free, but all are one. I may not take credit for serving my earthly owner without fee or bounty, unless stripes may be so viewed. I may not be puffed up with pride, or make a merit of it, as if I were supremely generous and magnanimous in serving my master for nought but "these bonds." But I cannot escape the position of a hired servant. Only it is the Lord who hires me. I serve the Lord Christ, I serve him for such wages, for such recompense, as he has in store for all alike, whether bond or free. I cannot decline his pay, although my master pays me not. I cannot ask extra pay, because my master pays me not. I must consent to work for the Lord’s pay, on the same footing with all other servants of the Lord. And these other servants must work for the Lord’s pay on the same footing with that poor slave. I, as one of them, may have a master who pays me well; giving me good wages, and amply requiting all my service. His partial fondness may make me almost feel as if I were altogether free; my own master, rather than his servant. Or, on the contrary, he may be one who, though I am not his slave, would fain treat me, and as far as he can. does treat me, as if I were his slave. The one rewards liberally all my service. With niggard hand the other pays, or with feigned lips promises to pay, the stipulated stipend. It is neither the bountiful man nor the churl whom I really serve for hire, but the Lord Christ. To the bountiful man and the churl alike I render equal obedience; as I would render the same equal obedience to one who owned me as his slave. Tor I do service to the Lord, and not to men; "knowing that whatsoever good thing any man doeth"- whatsoever good service he renders - to any master, in any sphere or relation, "the same shall he receive"- not from the master, who may judge partially and act capriciously, but from the Lord, with whom there is no respect of persons; of whom ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance, whether ye be bond or free. For ye serve the Lord Christ, who, at his coming, will judge righteously." If the master whom you are called to obey now, on the earth, does justice to you and deals with you indulgently, let not that be accepted as your recompense; far less let it be held to give you irresponsible liberty and license. You have still to abide the Lord’s searching scrutiny, and await the Lord’s impartial verdict and award. If, on the other hand, your master does you wrong, he "shall receive for the wrong which he has done." You need not resent the wrong, or make it a reason or apology for refusing him, or grudging him, the obedience which you owe. Leave him in the Lord’s hands; and as yourselves serving not him but the Lord, with whom is no respect of persons, serve as "knowing that whatsoever good thing any man doeth, the same shall he receive of the Lord, whether he be bond or free." And now, in closing, let me first ask you again to consider the obedience of Christ as a servant; remembering always on whose account and for what purpose he became a servant that he might render it. Yes; look to Jesus serving for his hire! The hire for which he stipulated in the everlasting covenant; the redemption of the people given to him by the Father; of the countless multitude out of every kindred, and people, and nation, and tongue, in whom he is to see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied ; who are to be with him where he is, to see his glory, and share with him in his inheritance of all things! For that joy set before him, he obeyed even to the enduring of the cross. In life and in death; actively and passively; ministering and giving himself a ransom for many; he did the will of God. "By the which will ye are sanctified," cleansed from guilt, and from all filthiness of the flesh and of the spirit, that ye may "perfect holiness in the fear of the Lord." See to it then that you are making this obedience of Christ your own; taking it to be your own. Yours it is, if you will but have it to be yours; yours by the free gift of the Father; yours through the operation of the blessed Spirit, making you willing to embrace him whose obedience it is, as he is freely offered to you in the gospel. Oh! Let this obedient servant and Son of the Father take you to be his brethren, and make you partakers of all his own worthiness as the Lamb that was slain, causing you to enter now into all the perfection of his finished righteousness and atonement, and so into his joy at last. But, secondly, see that you enter into the spirit of this model servant’s obedience as well as into its meritorious efficacy, as available for you, and its gracious recompense of reward. It is your only ground of faith and warrant of hope. But "let the same mind be in you which was also in him, when he took upon him the form of a servant, and as a servant became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross." Humble yourselves in and with him. Learn of him the lesson of meekness and lowliness of heart, his own meekness, his own lowliness of heart. Learn to be as a servant like-minded with him ; serving the Lord, and in the Lord serving one another, and all men." Then, thirdly, whomsoever you serve, in whatever capacity and on whatever occasion, to whomsoever you minister, be it to a weary disciple, giving him a cup of cold water, washing his feet; or to Lazarus at the rich man’s gate; or, like the good Samaritan, to the stripped and wounded traveller, or, it may be, to one who is your master according to the flesh;- your service, your ministry, will be of the same sort, Christ-like always, equally Christ-like in every case. No eye-service, seeking to please, by a show of regard, him whom you are willing to benefit perhaps, but do not care to love; eye-service with a view to man’s approval and applause. No assumption of merit; no air of self-consciousness, as if you were doing some great thing. No. You obey and serve and minister, simply as doing the will of God; thinking little, or not at all, of the good office you are performing, or the duty you are discharging; but merely doing the will of God ; doing it, however, from your whole soul, and with thorough earnestness and hearty good will; doing service as to the Lord, and not to men. For this, fourthly and finally, is the great secret of right obedience and right service, in every sphere of life. "Whatsoever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men, knowing that it is of the Lord that ye are to receive the reward of the inheritance; for ye serve the Lord Christ." Serving him and seeking to please him, you may pay little regard to the favour or displeasure of men; their smiles or their frowns. It is a small matter to be judged by man’s judgment. To your own Master you stand or fall. Yea, you shall be holden up, for God is able to make you stand. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 41: 05.00. SCRIPTURE CHARACTERS AND MISCELLANIES ======================================================================== Scripture Characters and Miscellanies by Robert Smith Candish London: T. Nelson and Sons, Pathrnoster Row Edinburgh; and New York Copyright 1857. ---> Contents <--- 1.The Universal Characteristic "And He Died" 2. Eli His Heart Trembled For The Ark Of God Part I 3. Eli A Godly Man Trembling For The Ark Of God Part II 4. Eli A Godly Man Trembling For The Ark Of God Part III 5. The Long-Suffering Of God. Example In The Case Of An Impenitent Sinner. Character Of Ahab 6. The Forbearance Of God In The Case Of The Righteous Character Of Jehoshaphat 7. Herod Weakness Growing Into Wickedness On The Character Of Herod, Tetrarch Of Galilee 8. Herod An Example Of "Worldly Sorrow Working Death" 9. Herod An Example Of An Alleged Necessity Of Sinning 10. Peter His General Character Its Strength And Weakness 11. Peter The Trial, Infirmity, And Triumph Of His Faith 12. Martha And Mary Part I. Their Common Grief 13. Martha And Mary Part II. Their Different Kinds Of Grief And The Lord’s Different Ways Of Dealing With Them 14. The Friendship Of Peter And John Part I 15. The Friendship Of Peter And John Part II 16. Mary Magdalene With Peter And John At The Sepulchre 17. The Spirit Of God Striving With Man Pontius Pilate Judging The Lord Christ 18. The Wicked Taken In Their Own Net Pontius Pilate Dealing With The Jews 19. The Case Of Pilate A Warning Against Resisting The Spirit ======================================================================== CHAPTER 42: 05.01. I. THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC "AND HE DIED." ======================================================================== I. THE UNIVERSAL CHARACTERISTIC "AND HE DIED." Genesis 5:5, Genesis 5:8, Genesis 5:11, Genesis 5:14, etc. "And Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that generation." Exodus 1:6. THE succession of generations among the children of men has been, from Homer downwards, likened to that of the leaves among the trees of the forest. The foliage of one summer, withering gradually away, and strewing the earth with its wrecks, has its place supplied by the exuberance of the following spring. Of the countless myriads of gay blossoms and green leaves, that but a few months ago were glancing in the beams of the joyous sun, not one remains; but a new race, all full of brightness and promise as before, covers the naked branches, and the woods again burst forth in beauty and song, as if decay had never passed over any of their leafy boughs. So of men: "One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh, but the earth abideth for ever" (Ecclesiastes 1:4), the same to the new generation that cometh the same scene of weary labour, endless vanity, alternate hope and disappointment as if no warning of change had ever been given as if the knell of death had never rung over the generation that is passing away. But there is one point in which the analogy does not hold; there is one difference between the race of leaves and the race of men: Between the leaves of successive summers an interval of desolation intervenes, and "the bare and wintry woods" emphatically mark the passage from one season to another. But there is no such pause in the succession of the generations of men. Insensibly they melt and shade into one another: an old man dies, and a child is born; daily and hourly there is a death and a birth; and imperceptibly, by slow degrees, the actors in life’s busy scene are changed. Hence the full force of this thought "One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh" is not ordinarily felt. Let us conceive, however, of such a blank in the succession of generations as winter makes in the succession of leaves. Let us take our stand on some middle ground in the stream of history, where there is, as it were, a break or a void between one series of events and another, where the whole tide of life in the preceding narrative is engulfed and swallowed up, and the new stream has not begun to flow. Such a position we have in some of the strides which sacred history makes over many intervening years, from the crisis or catastrophe of one of the world’s dramas to the opening of another: as, for instance, in the transition from the going down of Israel into Egypt in the days of Joseph, to their coming out again in the time of Moses. Here is a dreary vacancy, as of a leafless winter, coming in between the scene in which Joseph and his contemporaries bore so conspicuous a part, and another scene in which not one of the former actors remained upon the stage, but "there arose up a new king over Egypt, which knew not Joseph’ And the historian seems to be aware of the solemnity of this pause, when, dismissing the whole subject of his previous narrative, he records the end of all in these brief but most suggestive words, "And Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that generation." The first view of this verse that occurs to us is its striking significance and force as a commentary on the history of which it so abruptly and emphatically announces the close. The previous narrative presents to us a busy scene an animated picture; and here, as if by one single stroke, all is reduced to a blank. But now we saw a crowded mass of human beings men of like passions with ourselves moving and mingling in the eager excitement of personal, domestic, and public interests, like our own. They were all earnest in their own pursuits; and the things of their day were to them as momentous as those of our day are to us. They thought, and felt, and acted, and suffered; they were harassed by cares and agitated by passions; and, their restless energies contending with the resistless vicissitudes of fortune, the very earth they trod seemed instinct with life and the stern struggles and activities of life when, lo! as by the touch of a magic spell, or the sudden turn of the hidden wheel, the whole thronged and congregated multitude is gone, like the pageant of a dream, and the awful stillness of desolation reigns. It is as if having gazed on ocean when it bears on its broad bosom a gallant and well-manned fleet bending gracefully to its rising winds, and triumphantly stemming its swelling waves you looked out again, and at the very next glance beheld the wide waste of waters reposing in dark and horrid peace over the deep-buried wrecks of the recent storm. All the earth, inhabited by the men with whose joys and sorrows we have been sympathizing Egypt, with its proud pyramids and palaces Goshen, with its quiet pastoral homes the rich land of Canaan the tented deserts of Ishmael all passes in a moment from our view; and there is before us, instead, a place of tombs, one vast city of silent death Joseph is dead, and all his brethren, and all that generation. What an obituary is here! What a chronicle of mortality! How comprehensive, yet withal how precise and particular beginning with a particular intimation, and then swelling out into the most wide-sweeping and wholesale generality of announcement! In the first instance, the name is given "Joseph died;" as if the intention were to enumerate in detail the whole. But the number grows and accumulates too fast his brethren also died. These too might in part be specified Reuben, Simeon, Levi, and Judah Issachar, Zebulun, and Benjamin Dan and Naphtali Gad and Asher. But already the family branches out beyond the limits of easy computation, and all around there stands a mighty multitude, which arithmetic is too slow to reckon, and the pen of the ready writer too impatient to register, and the record too small to contain; and all must, without name or remark, be summed up in the one indiscriminating notice - a notice all the more emphatic on that very account "Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that generation." "And all that generation:" How many thousands does this phrase embrace? And of how many thousands is this the sole monument and memorial ? How startling a force is there in this awful brevity, this compression and abridgement the names and histories of millions brought within the compass of so brief a statement of a single fact concerning them that they all died! And these were men as alive as we are to the bustle of their little day as full of schemes and speculations as much wrapt up in their own concerns and the cares of the times in which they lived. Each one of them could have filled volumes with details of actions and adventures too important in his eyes to be ever forgotten ; and yet all that is told of them in this divine record, and told of them as of an uncounted and undistinguished mass, is, that they all died. Or, if any particular individual has been selected for especial notice; if any one, by the leading of Providence, and by his own worth, has gained in this record an undying name; and if he has collected a small circle around him, who dimly and doubtfully stand out in his light and lustre, and are not quite lost in the common crowd; still, he to whom prominence is given, and they who partly share his exemption from oblivion, are singled out only that they may be the better seen to have their part in the one event which happeneth alike to all; and for each and all the same summary form of dismissal suffices, "And Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that generation." Surely it seems as if the Lord intended by this bill of mortality for a whole race, which his own Spirit has framed, to stamp as with a character of utter mockery and insignificance the most momentous distinctions and interests of time; these all being engulfed and swallowed up in the general doom of death, which ushers in the one distinction of eternity. I. Let us ponder the announcement as it respects the individual, "Joseph died." Let us carry this intimation back with us into the various changes of his eventful life, invested as these are in our recollection with a peculiar charm by the affectionate associations and the fresh feelings of childhood. Does not the intimation impart to them all a still more touching and tender interest? We see Joseph - a child, a boy, a youth at home, the favourite of a widowed father, the first pledge of a love now hallowed by death. We follow him with full sympathy through the petty plots and snares of a divided family, to which his frank and unsuspecting simplicity made him an easy prey; and when we think of him as even then, in boyhood, honoured by direct communications from above, and on that very account persecuted and hated by those who naturally should have cherished and watched over him; when we read of his unsuspecting readiness to meet them half way in their plans against him, and of the desperate malignity of these plans the cruel deceit practised on his aged parent, and his own narrow escape, his providential deliverance; are we not touched by the reflection, that all this is but to lead to the brief conclusion, "Joseph died"? We accompany him to Egypt. We go with him into Potiphar’s house, and rejoice in his advancement there. We share in his disgrace and degradation. Joseph in prison is to us like an old familiar friend. His innocence, his unsullied honour to his deceived master, his unshaken loyalty to his God, endear him to our hearts, and we burn with indignation at the wrongs he suffers. The dreams which he interpreted, the chief baker’s fate, the chief butler’s fault, all the particulars, in short, of his exaltation to royal favour; his rank at Pharaoh’s court, his power over all Egypt, his policy in providing for the years of famine, his treatment of his father and his father’s house - these circumstances in his history, the history which first ‘won our heart in childhood, and longest retains its hold over us in age;’ these things give to the earthly career of Joseph an attractiveness and beauty in our fond esteem, equalling, nay, far surpassing, what we have ever found in any of the pictures of romance. It may not be pleasant to cast over all this stirring picture the sullen gloom of death; yet it does invest it all with a sort of softened and twilight charm, like the peaceful shades of evening shed over a busy landscape; and it teaches, at all events, a salutary lesson, to bear in mind, that prominent as was the station which Joseph occupied in his day, famous through all ages as his name has become, great and lasting as were the fruits of his measures after he was gone, touching not the Israelites alone, but Egypt and all the world he himself had to go the way of all flesh. His trials, with their many aggravations his triumphs, with all their glories were alike brief and evanescent; and his eventful career ended, as the obscurest and most common-place lifetime must end for "Joseph died." Read over again the history of Joseph with this running title, this continual motto, "And Joseph died." Call before your mind’s eye its successive scenes; and as one by one they pass in review before you, and you gaze on the man of so many changes, let a loud voice ever and anon ring in your ears the knell, "And Joseph died." And try how this startling alarum will affect the judgment which you form and the emotions which you feel. Take each event by itself isolate it, separate it from all the rest, bring it at once into immediate contact with the event which closes all and see how it looks in the light, or in the lurid shade, of the tomb. Joseph is at home, the idol of a fond parent. Ah! Dote not, thou venerable sire, on thy fair and dutiful child. Remember how soon it may be said of him, and how certainly it must be said of him, that "Joseph died." Joseph is lost, and the aged father is disconsolate. He thinks of his son’s bright promise, and of all that he might have been, had he been for a season spared. But grieve not, thou grey-haired patriarch. What though thy child has gone ere he has won life’s empty prizes? Ah! Think, though he had been left to win them all, how it must have come speedily to the same issue at the last, and it must have been said of him that "Joseph died." Joseph is in trouble betrayed, persecuted, distressed, wounded in his tenderest feelings, a stranger among strangers, a prisoner, a slave. But let him not be disquieted above measure, nor mourn over the loss of his prosperity. It will be all one to him when a few years are gone, and the end comes. It is but a little while, and it shall be said of him that "Joseph died." Joseph is exalted; he is high in wealth, in honour, and in power. He is restored to his father; he is reconciled to his brethren. But why should all his glory and his joy elate him? It will be nothing to him soon when it comes to be said of him that "Joseph died." Ah! There is but one of Joseph’s many distinctions, whether of character or of fortune, that does not shrink and shrivel beside this stern announcement. The simplicity of his trust in God, the steadfastness of his adherence to truth and holiness, the favour of Heaven, his charity out of a pure heart and a good conscience and faith unfeigned - these will stand the shock of collision with this record of his decease. And the one bright thought on which chiefly we love to rest when we read this record is, that he of whom we learn the tidings that he is dead, is the same Joseph whom we have heard uttering, under strong temptation, the noble sentiment, "How can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?" the same Joseph of whom we have read in prison, that "the Lord was with him, and showed him mercy" the same Joseph whom we have seen in Pharaoh’s presence disclaiming all personal credit, and giving glory to God alone "It is not in me; God shall give Pharaoh an answer of peace;" the same Joseph who has spoken so kindly to his father and his brethren, soothing his father’s death-bed with the promise that he shall indeed, as he so fondly wishes, lie with his sires in the promised land, "I will do as thou hast said;" and relieving, with exquisite delicacy, the troubled consciences of his brethren, "Fear not; ye thought evil against me, but God meant it unto good; I will nourish you and your little ones;" and finally, the same Joseph who is found strong in faith when the hour of his own departure comes, hoping against hope, "making mention of the departing of the children of Israel, and giving commandment concerning his bones," saying, "God will surely visit you, and ye shall carry up my bones from hence". Yes, it is something to learn that it is such a man; one who fears to offend against God, who trusts in His mercy, and who glorifies Him before kings; one, moreover, so dutiful to his father, so generous and forgiving to his brethren; and one, in fine, so firm in faith to the last, and so joyful in hope of the inheritance of God; it is something to learn that it is such an one, that it is Joseph, who is dead. There is comfort in the news that Joseph died. "The righteous is taken away from the evil to come" "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord." So "Joseph died." II. "And all his brethren." They too all died, and the vicissitudes of their family history came to an end in the silent tomb. That family history has its scenes of tenderness and of trouble, of pathos and of passion, like other family histories before and since scenes of similar though surpassing interest; and do not all these scenes derive a new interest and new significance from so solemn an intimation of death at the close? The actors in these scenes, the members of this family, would surely have thought and felt far otherwise than they did, had they reflected always how soon the time would come when, of all their joys and sorrows, their jealousies and heart-burnings, their rivalries and resentments, their feuds and reconciliations, their sins and their sufferings when of all these the simple and solitary record would be, that "Joseph died, and all his brethren." Ah! How intimately should this reflection have knit them together in unity of interest, of affection, and of aim! The tie of a common origin is scarcely stronger or closer than the tie of a common doom. That they were all born in the same father’s house is an argument of love that is greatly heightened and enhanced by the consideration that soon it may and must be said of them that they are all gone to the same resting-place of the tomb. The graves of a household, as they are dug one by one; the breaches in the little circle of home, made singly and in detail, as one and then another dear member is called away; these are very impressive to you who remain, and stamp with a new character in your estimate all the intercourse which you have been wont to have. When individuals of a family depart, ah! Does it not compel the survivors to review the past in a new light, and to think alas! Often in what bitterness of soul on what terms, and for what objects and ends, they have for long years been living together? The friend, the beloved brother who has gone, has acquired, by his death, new value in your esteem a new and sacred claim to your regard. Now for the first time you discover how dear he should have been, how dear he was, to your hearts dearer far than you had ever thought. How fondly do you dwell on all his attractions and excellencies! How do his faults and failings fade away from your eyes! And oh! With what a pang, and with what poignancy of grief, does the wounded soul brood over any passages of unkindness, any instances of neglect! How frivolous are all former causes of misunderstanding, all excuses for indifference, now seen to be! Death has stamped upon them all a character of most absolute insignificance; and bitter almost beyond endurance is the idea now, that for the sake of such trifles and vanities as are all the things of earth that breed coldness and suspicion among brethren, you have in any degree lost or wasted the season of friendly and familiar communion, so precious and so soon to close. How cheerfully would you give your all, if you could re call the lost one but for a day, or for an hour, that you might unburden your heavy heart, and exchange anew forgiveness and affection! With what warmth would you now meet, with what fullness of confidence and love would you embrace, him whom but yesterday, perhaps, you carelessly overlooked or cruelly offended! Would that you had known then how soon and how suddenly death was to claim him as its victim! Ah! You would have better improved the time of his remaining with you. You would not have omitted so many opportunities of cultivating and enjoying his intimacy. You would not have delayed from day to day your purposes of kindness. You would not have been so readily and so frequently estranged from him. You would not have suspected, or envied, or provoked, or wounded him, as you have done. You would not have consulted so habitually your own selfish inclinations, or sought your own selfish ends, or indulged your own selfish passions. And, above all, you would not, in your dealings with him, have so exclusively regarded the things of time and so grievously neglected the things of eternity. Ah! You would not have met so often, and so soften parted, without one sentence or one mutual thought of godliness interchanged between you. You would have spoken more faithfully; you would have conversed and communed on the things that belong to your peace. You would have wept over sin together, and praised the love of the Saviour together, and prayed together, and joined together in works of faith and labours of love. Your reserve would have been far more completely laid aside, and God would have been far more fully acknowledged, and a "word in season" would have been uttered, and something, it may be, perilous to the soul of a dying sinner would have been left unsaid, if, when you last saw and conversed with your brother, you had had the slightest idea that he was so speedily to go to his long home. And does this consideration lose its force when, by such a sentence as that before us, the members of a family are not, as it were, individually and one by one, but altogether, and in one sweeping summons, called to pass from the shadows of time to the dread realities of the eternal world? Is there not an awful voice to families in this short, solemn note of death "Joseph died, and all his brethren"? "With their loves and hatreds, their fears and hopes, their family affections, such as they were, their family sins they are all gone from this earth, and the place that once knew them knows them no more. And whither are they gone? And what are their views now, and what their feelings, on the matters which formed the subject of their familiar intercourse here? Are they united in the region of blessedness above? Are they formed again into a society in heaven, more happy and more stable than was their household on earth Joseph and his brethren, the beloved Benjamin and the aged Jacob, all met in joy, to part no more for ever? Or is there a fearful separation, and are there some of their number on the other side of the great gulf, vainly regretting the time when they would not cast in their lot with those who were faithful to their father’s God? We dare not raise the curtain, or gaze even in imagination on the mysterious secrets of the invisible state. It is enough that they are all dead, and have left the many things about which they were careful, and have all now at last learned the lesson "One thing is needful". Would to God that the anticipation of the time when, concerning us and those with whom we are dwelling together in families, the final and summary record shall be, that we are dead and all our brethren, were sufficient to teach us that lesson now, ere it be too late! that God himself would persuade us now so to cultivate the charities of home, in the spirit and the hope of heaven, that to us and our brethren may be applied, in their highest and holiest and happiest sense, the words of David’s lamentation over the father and son who fell together in the fight "They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided!" "So Joseph died, and all his brethren" III. "And all that generation." The tide of mortality rolls on in a wider stream. It sweeps into the one vast ocean of eternity all the members of a family, all the families of a race. The distinctions alike of individuals and of households are lost. Every landmark is laid low. The various dates and manners of different departures are merged and overwhelmed in the one universal announcement, that of all who at one given time existed on the earth, not one remains Joseph is dead, and all his brethren, and all that generation. Some are gone in tender years of childhood, unconscious of life’s sins and sufferings some in grey-headed age, weighed down by many troubles. Some have perished by the hand of violence some by natural decay. Here is one smitten in an instant to the dust there is another, the victim of slow and torturing disease. The strong man and the weak the proud man and the beggar the king and the subject whether in prosperity and nursed by friends, or in dreary and desolate destitution, without a friend or brother to close the anxious eye all are gone. The thousands have met their doom from a thousand different causes, and in a countless variety of circumstances. War, famine, pestilence, have had their innumerable victims. Crime has carried off, in one undistinguishable crowd, the ministers that did his pleasure the dupes that fell into his snares. Profligacy has slowly preyed on the pining souls and bodies of her votaries. Accident has suddenly snapped the thread of life. The tyrant, mingling men’s blood with their sacrifices the falling tower, crushing its inmates under its weight fire seizing the midnight dwelling, or the lonely ship in mid ocean afar, the Assassin’s knife, the poisoning cup or the weary wear and tear of a prolonged battle with life’s ills, all have achieved their triumphs over the proud race that lords it in this lower world. Grave after grave has been opened and filled; man after man has gone the way of all living; new bodies have been consigned to the silent tomb; new sets of mourners have gone about the streets. And now, of the entire multitude that at some one point of time occupied the earth, not one remains, all, all are gone. Various were their pursuits, their toils, their interests, their joys, their griefs various their eventful histories; but one common sentence will serve as the epitaph of all "Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that generation." And another generation now fills the stage a generation that, in all its vast circle of families, can produce not one individual to link it with the buried race on whose ashes it is treading. Make for yourselves, in imagination, the abrupt transition which the historian here makes in his narrative the sudden leap across an interval of years, during which the gradual process of death and birth has been going on, ever emptying, but ever replenishing, the earth, and keeping it ever full. Make that interval, as he does, an absolute blank, a dreary void, a great gulf. Let the sleep or oblivion of a century come in between; and as you awake out of a trance, let it be amid a throng as eager and as intensely active as that which you left, but a throng in which you see "not the face of one old friend rise visaged to your view." It is the same scene as before; but ah! How changed! On a smaller scale, you have experienced something of what we now describe. In the sad season of bereavement, how have you felt your pain embittered by the contrast between death reigning in your heart and home, and bustling life going on all around! Oh! to step out from the darkened chamber of sickness, or the house of solitary woe, and stand all at once in the glare and amid the tumult of the broad and busy day; to see the sun shine as brightly, and the green earth smile as gladly, and all nature rejoice as gloriously as ever, while all to you is a blank; to hear the concord of sweet voices mocking your desolation; to mix with dreary heart in the unsympathizing crowd; it is enough often to turn distress into distraction, and make you loathe the light and life that so offend your sadness! In the prospect, too, of your own departure, does not this thought form an element of the dreariness of death, that when you are gone, and laid in the silent tomb, others will arise that knew not you? Your removal will scarce occasion even a momentary interruption in the onward course and incessant hurry of affairs, and your loss will be but as that of a drop of water from the tide that rolls on in its career as mighty and as majestically as ever. But here, it is a whole generation, with all its families, that is engulfed in one unmeasured tomb! And, lo! The earth is still all astir with the same activities, all gay with the same pomps and pageantries, all engrossed with the same vanities and follies, and, alas! the same sins also, that have been beguiling and disappointing the successive races of its inhabitants since the world began! Is there no moral in the shadow which this gigantic burial of a whole generation in a single brief text casts upon all these things? What are they all, the joys and sorrows, the cares, the toils, the pleasures of time, as the gate of eternity opens to shut in from our view, with one wide sweep, the millions that once used them, as we are using them now? What are they all, with the tears and smiles which they caused, to these millions, to whom but now they seemed to be everything? What will they all be to us, when of each one of us, as of Joseph, the simple record shall be, that "Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that generation?" This funeral of a whole generation! The individual, the family, and the entire mass of life, mingled in one common tomb! Surely it is a solemn thought. It appeals to our natural sensibility. But does it not appeal also to our spiritual apprehension? Natural sensibility is but little trustworthy. It is easily moved by such musings; and it is as easily composed. Violent emotion and frivolous apathy are the extremes between which it vacillates and vibrates. To win and command its sympathies for the moment is an insignificant and unworthy triumph. Faith, on the other hand, finds matter of deeper and more lasting impression here. Death is the great divider. It severs families and cuts friendships asunder, breaking closest ties, and causing the most compact associations to fall in pieces. Coming as it does upon the race of men one by one, singling out individually, one after another, its successive victims, it, resolves each hill or mountain into its constituent grains, taking separate account of every one of them, as separately it draws them into its insatiable jaws. But death is, after all, the great Uniter too. Separating for a time, it brings all together at last. The church-yard opens its graves to part dearest brethren and friends; but soon it opens them again, to mix their kindred ashes in one common dust. Is the union, however, that death occasions real, substantial, enduring? "Joseph died, and all his brethren, and all that generation." Death passed upon them all, for they all had sinned. It is the common lot the general history the universal characteristic. And there is another common lot - another general history - another universal characteristic: "After death, the judgment." Joseph rises again, "and all his brethren, and all that generation" and they all stand before the judgment-seat. There is union then. The small and the great are there; the servant and his master all are brought together. But for what? And for how long? "The wicked shall go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into life eternal." What a solemn contrast have we here! Death unites after separation: the judgment unites in order to separation. Death, closing the drama of time, lets the ample curtain fall upon its whole scenery and all its actors. The judgment, opening the drama of eternity, discloses scenery and actors once more entire. All die; all are judged: the two events happen alike to all. And both are near; for the time is short, the Lord is at hand. But before death, before the judgment, is the gospel, which is now freely preached to all. And a voice is heard, "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock; if any man open unto me, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." Let this feast of love be begun in heart after heart, as one by one sinners die in Christ unto sin and live in Christ unto God. And when individuals, families, generations, are separated, and united, to be separated again, separated by death, united at the judgment, to be finally separated for eternity, may it be our privilege to meet at the marriage-supper of the Lamb, beyond which there is no parting any more for ever. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 43: 05.02. II. ELI HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. ======================================================================== II. ELI HIS HEART TREMBLED FOR THE ARK OF GOD. PART I. "I will judge his house for ever; because his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not." "And Eli said, It is the Lord; let him do what seemeth him good." "Eli sat by the wayside watching; for his heart trembled for the ark of God." 1 Samuel 1:4 THE key to Eli’s character is in these simple words: "His heart trembled for the ark of God." He was a good man, but timid; faithful, but fearful; with much love in his heart to God and the ark of God, but with little strength of mind or firmness and decision of purpose. His conduct at this crisis may be contrasted with that of Moses on a similar occasion. When the Israelites, discouraged by the report of the spies, refused to go up and take possession of the promised land, and were condemned, in consequence, to wander for forty years in the wilderness, stung with remorse, they resolved hastily to repair their fatal fault : "They rose up early in the morning, and gat them up into the top of the mountain, saying, Lo, we be here, and will go up unto the place which the Lord hath promised : for we have sinned/’ Not only did Moses strenuously oppose their resolution, "It shall not prosper; go not up, for the Lord is not among you; that ye be not smitten before your enemies;" he peremptorily refused either to lead them himself, or to let the ark of God go with them: "They presumed to go up unto the hill-top: nevertheless the ark of the covenant of the Lord, and Moses, departed not out of the camp." The issue of the engagement was disastrous to the Israelites; for "the Amalekites came down, and the Canaanites which dwelt in that hill, and smote them, and discomfited them, even unto Hormah." But, thanks to the moral courage of Moses, the ark of God was safe (Numbers 14:40-45). Eli is placed in circumstances not unlike those in which Moses acted so nobly. The army of Israel is smarting under a defeat sustained at the hands of the Philistines. It is proposed to send for the ark of God: "Let us fetch the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of Shiloh unto us, that, when it cometh among us, it may save us out of the hand of our enemies" (1 Samuel 4:3). Eli being both high priest and chief magistrate for he is at the head of civil affairs as well as ecclesiastical has of course the custody of the ark; and has in fact, in virtue of his double office, more power over it than even Moses himself could possess. Evidently he has misgivings as to the step about to be taken; and well he may, considering all things. A heavy cloud of judgment overhangs himself and his household. If the ark is to accompany the army, it must be under the custody of his sons. Are they fit keepers of it, vile as they have made themselves, and doomed to perish miserably? Is the army itself engaged in so righteous a warfare, and animated by so good a spirit, as to warrant their carrying with them what, in better times, was wont to be the pledge of victory? Eli may well hesitate; and, when the message from the army reaches him, it must cause him deep distress. Is he to consent? Hophni and Phinehas are ready to run every risk; not unwilling, perhaps, to seize the opportunity of somewhat recovering their character, and gaining a little credit with their countrymen. The elders and people are importunate. The old man does not resist, though in the very act of yielding his mind misgives him, and his heart cannot but tremble for the ark of God. He is a godly man, and as kind as he is godly. The brief notices of his connection with Samuel are singularly affecting. He seems never to have forgotten the little injustice he had inadvertently done to his mother, Hannah, when he mistook her unwonted fervency in prayer for a sign of intoxication: "Now Hannah, she spake in her heart; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard: therefore Eli thought she had been drunken" (1 Samuel 1:13). Observe how promptly and eagerly he accepts her explanation, and hastens to relieve her wounded spirit: "No, my lord, I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit: I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but have poured out my soul before the Lord" (1 Samuel 1:15). "Then Eli answered and said, Go in peace; and the God of Israel grant thee thy petition that thou hast asked of him. And she said, Let thine handmaid find grace in thy sight. So the woman went her way, and did eat, and her countenance was no more sad" (1 Samuel 1:17-18). Thus he turns her weeping into joy. And ever after he seems anxious to make up for that first affront by his treatment of her son, whom the Lord gave her in answer to her many prayers, and whom, in terms of her own vow, she gave to the Lord. The child, Samuel, is warmly welcomed by him when his mother leaves him, while yet an infant, under his care; and as he "grows on, and is in favour both with the Lord, and also with men" (1 Samuel 2:26), he shares the home, perhaps even the chamber, of his venerable guardian; the parents, as they pay their annual visit to Shiloh, receive his blessing; and the youthful servant of the sanctuary is to Eli, as it might seem, instead of his own sons. With what affectionate tenderness does Eli initiate Samuel in the right manner of receiving the word of the Lord! Eli, old and well-nigh blind, is "laid down in his place;" and Samuel hearing himself called by name, naturally starts up to ask what service his now almost helpless friend may be requiring from him: "Here am I, for thou didst call me." "I called not, my son; lie down again;" is the simple reply, until the third repetition of the incident awakens Eli to its real meaning: "Eli perceived that the Lord had called the child" (1 Samuel 3:8). Nor is there any grudging in the old man’s bosom that he should be passed by, and another, a mere child, chosen to receive one of those divine communications which in those degenerate days had become so precious, because so rare (1 Samuel 3:1). On the contrary, we almost seem to see the lighting up of his dim eye, and to feel the throbbing of his heart, as with tenderest interest he tells the favoured youth how to demean himself under so high an honour: "Go, lie down: and it shall be, if he call thee, that thou shalt say, Speak, Lord; for thy servant heareth" (1 Samuel 3:9); and then he quietly composes himself to await the issue of the scene. Ah! Little did he dream what the issue was to be! Some fond thoughts he might have as to the sort of voice or vision from on high likely to mark the beginning of a child’s and such a child’s prophetic ministry. Something bright, something encouraging, something charged with the fullness of divine love and heavenly joy, will probably form the appropriate subject of the Lord’s first message or address to so gracious a youth. Alas! Alas! Little thinks the old man that Samuel’s office, like Jeremiah’s afterwards, is to open with denunciations of wrath and judgment; still less, that these denunciations are to be directed against himself. Eli has been warned already by a man of God, and warned in language of terrible distinctness, that he and his whole house are to be cut off with dishonour from the earth (1 Samuel 2:27-36). Must the warning be repeated; and must it be through the lips of the child he has so fondly cherished; and must it be the very first word these lips are to be inspired to utter in the name of the Lord? A hard and cruel trial this might well be thought to be. No wonder that "Samuel feared to show Eli the vision," and that it was only after the most solemn and urgent importunity on the part of Eli "God do so to thee, and more also, if thou hide anything from me" that he could find it in his heart to "tell him every whit, and hide nothing from him." Nor would it have been any wonder, if, on hearing such a message conveyed through such a messenger, some little of the irritation of wounded love had ruffled Eli’s spirit, and some impatient words had escaped from his mouth. But nothing of the kind appears. The grey-haired saint of God is as a little child, and meekly takes rebuke from the little child he has himself nursed. Reversing the prophecy, "The child shall die a hundred years old," the man all but a hundred years old is to die a child: for it is the "quiet spirit and mild" of a little child that breathes in the simple utterance, "It is the Lord; let him do what seemeth him good." What a soul is Eli’s! Truly, his "soul is even as a weaned child." What else could have made him so gentle when he heard, out of the mouth of a mere babe, as it might seem, and one too who "had eaten of his own meat and drunk of his cup, and had lain in his bosom, and been unto him as a son" such unmitigated threatenings as these? "Behold, I will do a thing in Israel, at which both the ears of every one that heareth it shall tingle. I will perform against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house; when I begin, I will also make an end. For I have told him that I will judge his house for ever for the iniquity which he knoweth; because his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not. And therefore I have sworn unto the house of Eli, that the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be purged with sacrifice nor offering for ever" (1 Samuel 3:13-14). Think of Samuel, the child Samuel, having such a message to deliver! Think of Eli, the venerable Eli, having such a message, so delivered, to receive! No doubt, his conscience testified that he had grievously sinned, and deserved many stripes; but severity so pitiless as this wrath, as it might seem, so unrelenting, after so long a time of service, during the whole of which, however weak and indulgent he may have been to others, he has himself been faithful to his God might be felt as treatment that it was very hard to understand, and harder still to endure. He might almost have been tempted to cry out with Cain, "My punishment is greater than I can bear." And that it should be the very hands so often clasped in holy adoration between his own knees, that were now selected to strike the blow, and the very lips he had himself taught to lisp in prayer, that were to pour forth the oracle of vengeance and of woe against him was it not a strange and sad aggravation of the distress; was it not, in a sense, like "seething a kid in its mother’s milk?" But, "It is the Lord; let him do what seemeth him good." "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him." What acquiescence is here! What patience! What faith! There is no justifying of himself; nothing like charging God foolishly. The old man’s "sin is ever before him." He acknowledges it all to the Lord. He owns the perfect righteousness of the sentence. God is just in judging. Eli’s mouth is stopped. He is verily guilty. That he should be thus rebuked and chastened is no more than he deserves; nay, it may even be fitting that the stroke should come through that dear child, in whose opening and expanding graciousness of character he has been apt, perhaps, too readily to find comfort and compensation for the unbridled license of his own sons. For it could not but be a more congenial task to Eli to train the docile Samuel than to restrain unruly Phinehas and Hophni; and there might be something of retribution in the arrangement, that the very first act of Samuel’s ministry, in the prophetic office for which Eli had with so fond and deep an interest been preparing him, should be, to denounce the parent’s neglect of parental discipline and duty, and open his eyes to all its inexcusable guilt. At all events, Eli makes no complaint. There is no feeling of even momentary resentment, either against God or against Samuel. He sees nothing amiss, either in the dreadful message or in the channel through which it comes. He blames only himself. Samuel is as dear to him as ever, although reluctantly the bringer of evil tidings. And God is honoured by the exercise, not of a mere stern and stubborn bravery, submitting sullenly to an irrevocable and irresistible decree, but of a meek faith; faith accepting judgment, and yet clinging to and confiding in the very judge himself; faith, in short, still seeing, even in the God of judgment, a pacified and reconciled God, a father and a friend! "Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure. Have mercy upon me, Lord; oh save me for thy mercies’ sake. The Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping; the Lord hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer," (Ps. vi.) Such a man is Eli, so godly, so gracious and kind; the very "meekness and gentleness of Christ" might be supposed to characterize him. But, alas! He is deficient in that quality which alone can give to all other good dispositions their proper weight and value, the quality of which the Apostle Paul speaks when he says, "Add to your faith, virtue" or valour, fortitude, and moral courage. His deficiency in this respect comes sadly out in all the relations which he has to sustain as a ruler, in the State, in the Church, and in the Family. 1. Eli was head of the State. He was a judge in Israel. He was the last but one in the succession of judges or rulers, coming after Samson as it is generally thought, and having only Samuel as his successor; for the kingly power soon superseded that of the judges, in the person, first of Saul, and then of David. As a judge, in his capacity of civil governor, Eli saw the affairs of the Jewish commonwealth brought to the lowest ebb of fortune. It is true, that little or nothing is recorded of his administration; but in the last act of it, the war waged with the Philistines, and in the way in which that war is conducted, we see indications of imbecility not to be mistaken. (1 Sam. iv.) There is an evident want of due consideration and concert. The contest is obviously begun rashly, without a previous appeal to God; and the army marches without the divine sanction: (for the first clause in the first verse of the chapter, "And the word of the Lord came to all Israel" is to be connected with the previous chapter; it indicates the general acceptance of Samuel in his prophetic character, and has nothing to do with the Philistian war.) The expedition, then, wants that symbol of the divine presence which of old was wont to strike terror into the foe, and to inspire every heart in the host of Israel with holy zeal; according to the usage described in the book of Numbers: "And it came to pass, when the ark set forward, that Moses said, Rise up, Lord, and let thine enemies be scattered; and let them that hate thee flee before thee. And when it rested, he said, Return, O Lord, unto the many thousands of Israel" (Numbers 10:35-36). No such ringing battle-cry, "Rise up, Lord" is heard on this occasion; and no glad note of peace concludes the fight. The sudden expedient, the desperate after-thought, of summoning the ark to help in retrieving the disaster, only brings out more sadly the absence of all sound and godly counsel in the whole affair at the first; and the conduct of Eli is throughout that of a habitual waverer. One thing is clear, as a ruler, he left the State on the very brink of ruin. 2. As high priest, set over the affairs of the House of God, he lets his weakness still more shamefully get the better of him. The scandalous outrages and excesses committed by his two sons when they were associated with him in the priesthood, never could have taken place had "things been done decently and in order." The law as to offerings, and as to the several shares which the altar, the priesthood, and the worshippers, were to have in them, was clear enough, if due authority had been put forth to enforce it; nor, with all their greed, could Hophni and Phinehas have so used their flesh-hooks as to make "men abhor the offering of the Lord," if there had not been prevalent already a grievous laxity in the mere routine of the tabernacle service. This laxity Eli must have tolerated; at least he wanted firmness to repress it (1 Samuel 2:12-17). Need we point to the still grosser infamies that made the holy place of the Most High resemble the abominable dens of moral pollution to be found in the heathen temples (1 Samuel 2:22)? Such foul wickedness never could have been so practised by the most abandoned of mankind, except under a state of things implying the most deplorable misrule. We do not speak of the actual misconduct of the miserable young men themselves, who prostituted to these vile purposes their priestly character and office; we found rather on the mere fact, that misconduct like theirs was possible, as proving that the reins of spiritual government must have fallen into the hands of one himself either very wicked or very weak And as, in the case of Eli, the former side of the alternative is out of the question for he was a holy man, and hated sin, we are forced to conclude, that in his capacity of priest, as well as in that of judge, he was the victim of indecision and imbecility. 3. But it is as a parent that he chiefly shows his weakness; and it is in that character that he is especially reproved and judged. "Thou honourest thy sons above me" is the charge which the Lord brings against him (1 Samuel 2:29). And yet Eli feared God, and had no sympathy with his sons in their vile crimes. On the contrary, he remonstrated with them faithfully: "Why do ye such things? For I hear of your evil dealings by all this people. Nay, my sons; for it is no good report that I hear: ye make the Lord’s people to transgress. If one man sin against another, the judge shall judge him; but if a man sin against the Lord, who shall entreat for him?" (1 Samuel 2:23-25.) What more could he do? Instruction, admonition, expostulation, persuasion, are all in vain. The resources of his parental influence are exhausted. What further remains to be tried? Ah! He forgets that he is invested with parental authority; authority, in his case, backed and seconded by all the powers of law and all the terrors of religion. Nay, it is not so much that he forgets this, as that he has not nerve to act upon the recollection of it. He knows his right and duty as a father; but he weakly shrinks from enforcing his right and performing his duty, out of false tenderness and pity to his sons. And what construction does God put upon his weakness? "Thou honourest thy sons above me." Is it not a harsh construction? Is no allowance to be made for his parental feelings? He does not mean deliberately to prefer his sons to God; and if he fails to execute the full measure of severity that their offences merit, and his position warrants, is it not hard to ascribe the failure to a want of respect for God ? Might it not rather be allowed to pass as the venial, and even amiable, infirmity of parental love? No. For it is not really parental love, according to any right view of that pure affection, but self-love at bottom that Eli indulges, and self-love in one of its least respectable, forms. It is himself that Eli is unwilling to mortify, not his sons. It is to himself that he is tender, not to them. And when it is considered that his selfish feebleness and fondness show themselves in his neglect of parental discipline even in matters in which the divine honour is immediately concerned, it is not too much to say that he is preferring his children to his God. How offensive to God must be a parent’s want of firmness in enforcing his authority! For what, in fact, is that authority but the authority of God himself? God has delegated his own authority to the parent; and, so far as the parent has any right of rule at all over his child, he has it as representing God. In the exercise of it, therefore, he has properly no discretion. If he rule as God, he must rule for God; and to let any partial leaning of the natural heart towards his child tempt him to act as if it were otherwise, as if he ruled in his own right and for himself, and not in God’s right and for God, and might, in consequence, please himself or his child as he sees fit, this is evidently to usurp a power independent of that of God, it is to dishonour the Lord of all. How this sin of Eli’s, in his treatment of his sons, commenced, we cannot tell; probably in their early childhood, when their evil dispositions began to show themselves, and he spared the rod and withheld correction. What his sin was, is very precisely pointed out; "he restrained them not." Doubtless he taught them; surely he prayed for them; he certainly exhibited to them the example of a holy and blameless life; but he restrained them not. At first, he might have restrained them with comparatively a very gentle hand: a firm voice, a decided look, might have been enough; a few instances of patient, persevering determination, with an absence of all angry passion provoking them to wrath, might have taught the little rebels how hopeless it was to think of making their father yield to them; judicious kindness, not being bitter against them, would have made them feel the relief and gladness of yielding to him; and thereafter he might have guided them with his eye. Failing at that first stage to form in them the habit of obedience, Eli’s task became of course more difficult as his sons grew in strength and stature, as well as in force of will. The waywardness and impetuosity of early youth, succeeding to the insubordination of spoiled and fondled childhood, presented a stouter aspect of resistance or defiance. Still he might have restrained them; his parental resources were not yet exhausted; they had not yet outgrown the power of the parental arm, nor could they yet dispense with the support of parental love. He has a hold over them still by many ties, if only he will summon resolution for the task of first thoroughly studying their characters, and then vigorously and wisely using bit and bridle, if need be, to keep them in. It may be a struggle; but calm consistency will gain the day. For a parent’s rule commends itself to the conscience, as a parent’s kindness touches the heart; and an effort put forth even at the last hour, in faith and prayer, to resume the reins of parental discipline, will have the countenance of God, and will not fail of success. But, alas for Eli! This second opportunity also is allowed to pass. His sons have become men; they have left the parental roof; they have families of their own ; they take rank on their own account in the world; they hold office in the Church. They are their own masters now, and, availing themselves of their liberty, they let loose their unruly passions and make themselves vile. Still Eli should have restrained them; for it is expressly mentioned, that his not restraining them even then was his sin. He had power to restrain them. He had the power every parent has, when his children make themselves incurably vile, he could disown them, discountenance them, solemnly renounce their fellowship, and cast them off. He had power also as their ruler in the state, and their superior in the priesthood. And every consideration of decency and good order, as well as of godliness and virtue, should have made him use his power to the utmost, and adopt the most decided measures, when they were making the very sanctuary a foul scandal. But he had not the heart; he could not bring himself to be severe. Even God’s highest honour must give place to the indulgence of his fond and feeble dotage. And the issue is, that "the iniquity of Eli’s house shall not be purged for ever." It is an issue, as to all the parties concerned, sufficiently disastrous. For the sons of Eli, whom "he did not restrain" what hope is there? Sudden destruction comes upon them. There may be a show and semblance of adventurous patriotism in their readiness to bear the ark, as a forlorn hope, into the midst of Israel’s renewed battle with the Philistines. But, with all their daring, they carry into the fight a weight of guilt and a crushing sentence of wrath that cannot but be fatal. They perish miserably. Will it alleviate the pang of a sudden and violent death; will it allay the burning torments of the fire that is not quenched to think of their indulgent father, who did not restrain them? Eli may well be cut to the heart as the reflection comes across him, that possibly, had he restrained his sons, they might not have made themselves so vile and perished so miserably. But will any such reflection avail them? On the contrary, will not the very fondness of Eli, which they have so foully abused, add a scorpion-sting to the gnawing of the worm that "dieth not"? In spite of all his ill-judged leniency and want of firmness to restrain them, he was the kindest of parents and the holiest of men. These unnatural and ungrateful sons knew this right well. Many a holy thought was associated with their father’s image; many a tender tear; many a fervent prayer. The very mildness of his pleading with them "Why do ye such things? Nay, my sons; it is no good report that I hear" that gentleness which at the time only emboldened them to scoff and sneer must enhance their agony when their sin finds them out; and whatever fault his extreme paternal fondness may be in him, and however sharply it may be visited upon him, assuredly it is not fitted to be even so much as a drop of cold water to their parched tongues, when in hell they lift up their eyes, being in torments. Of the utter ruin of Eli’s household we need not speak. The priesthood passes away from his family; the government is upon other shoulders; his seed are a beggared race. The last incident recorded concerning his children is most profoundly touching; it is the birth of his grandson, the child of his son Phinehas. The unhappy mother hears of her husband Phinehas, fallen in the disastrous fight; and of her father-in-law Eli, suddenly dead. She cannot stand the shock. She bows her head and the pangs of premature travail are upon her. The women about her say, "Fear not, for thou hast born a son." But there is no joy for her because a man-child is born into the world. She is a godly woman, broken-hearted by the sin and fate of an ungodly husband. She is like-minded with her husband’s godly father, Eli. When the women tell her of the son she has born, "she answers not, neither regards it." But with her dying breath she names the child "Ichabod;" for she says "The glory is departed from Israel, because the ark of God is taken." The whole house of Eli is a ruin; the priesthood degraded; the nation defeated; the ark taken; and, amid the wreck, his own family broken up, and the sole survivor launched on the stream of time with an ominous name, and under a heavy curse. And all this in connection with one of the meekest and holiest of the saints of God! It is a terrible lesson. And, in keeping with it, is the lesson taught by the melancholy notice of his own decease. For in truth there is not anywhere in the Bible and, if not there, certainly nowhere else a more affecting picture than that of the aged Eli, sitting on the watch for tidings of the disastrous battle which was to be fought on the day when he allowed the ark to be carried from its home at Shiloh to the camp of Israel at Ebenezer. He had many things to make his heart tremble. He had a deep stake in the fight, on which issues most vital to him, both public and domestic, depended. It seems to have been a critical death-struggle between the two armies, which was to decide the fate of their respective nations; and Eli, as a patriot, must have had many an anxious thought as he brooded over the alternative of his country’s liberty or bondage, which one brief and .bloody hour might fix for ages. Nor could he be insensible to the fate of the many thousand brave hearts that, ere the setting of the sun, must cease to beat, and the many mothers in Israel that must be made to mourn. And, besides these public cares, he had his two sons on that field of battle, with a dark and heavy prophecy of judgment hanging over their heads; which, whatever they in their profligate impiety might think of it, their devout, though, alas! too fond father, could never dismiss for a moment from his memory. It was not any of these things, however, that moved the old man most deeply: "His heart trembled for the ark of God." For this, he sat upon a seat by the wayside watching. And when he heard the noise of the tumult in the city as the man of Benjamin, running out of the army, with clothes rent and earth on his head, came into the city, and told the woeful tale which made all the city cry out, the old man stretched forth his palsied arms and strained his sightless eyes. "What is there done, my son?" is his eager question to the messenger. "And the messenger answered and said, Israel is fled before the Philistines, and there hath been also a great slaughter among the people, and thy two sons also, Hophni and Phinehas, are dead, and the ark of God is taken" (1 Samuel 4:17). The messenger of evil delivered his tidings; and his hearer could stand the accumulation of horrors; Israel fled before the Philistines; a great slaughter among the people; aye, and his two sons, Hophni and Phinehas, dead also. But when the crowning calamity burst upon him "the ark of God is taken," Eli could bear up no longer. Bending under the weight of ninety and eight years, and crushed by the stunning blow of this disastrous intelligence, "he fell from off the seat backward by the side of the gate, and his neck brake, and he died; for he was an old man, and heavy." No words could add to the pathos of this sad and simple announcement. It is all the epitaph which Scripture has for one who had spent nearly a century beside the altar, and for somewhat less than half that time had occupied the seat of power for "he had judged Israel forty years." Such was the end of so protracted a life; thus miserably died this man of God. Many practical remarks suggest themselves in connection with the painful history which we have been considering; remarks applicable to parents and members of families, to individual Christians, to the ungodly, and to all. 1. It is a most emphatic warning that the fate of Eli gives to parents; and not to parents only, but to all who have influence or authority of any sort in families. Whoever in a family has any power at all to restrain evil and fails to use that power to the uttermost, incurs a responsibility from which a thoughtful man would shrink. The power may be of various kinds; it may be superior strength, or superior station, or weight of character, or example, or that control which seasonable and tender affection wields, and gratitude gladly owns. But whatever it be, let it be faithfully and fully used. The positive duty lying upon all heads and members of households, to seek one another’s good in the highest and most spiritual sense, is not more binding, and scarcely more important, than the negative duty of restraining one another’s evil. Nor is this a harsh or invidious task. It may be done with all the meekness and gentleness of Christ. And the secret of its being rightly and effectively done is this: Let no one, let nothing, be honoured above God; let God be honoured above all. Let your intercourse with children, or brothers, or sisters, or domestics, or any with whom you dwell together in families, be upon this principle. Honour God; honour God supremely; honour God alone. Consider not merely what may be best for them, but what, in every instance, is due to God. This will prevent compromise, concession, and fond indulgence on your part; while it will place your power of restraining evil on the highest of all grounds of advantage, the law and the will of God himself. 2. Let individual Christians ponder the lesson of Eli’s character. Much, very much, there is in it to be admired and imitated, especially the grace and godliness of his walk, the tenderness of his affections, and the manner in which he takes the divine rebuke. But his defects or, let us say at once, his sins are recorded for our especial warning. The first of these, his want of firmness, is a very sad one; it mars and hinders the exercise of every other grace, and stamps upon the whole man the character of one like a wave of the sea, driven by the winds and tossed. "Add to your faith virtue" or moral courage, is a precept to be again and again repeated and pondered well. But another fault in Eli is that which is so emphatically rebuked by God, he honoured his sons above God; or, in other words, he did not honour God with an entirely undivided and undistracted heart. "How can ye believe," said our Lord to the Jews, "which receive honour one of another, and seek not the honour that cometh from God only?" And if seeking honour from any but God is a fatal obstacle in the way of guileless faith, giving honour to any besides God is a serious and dangerous hindrance in the way of holy obedience. 3. Let the ungodly tremble. Let them look on, and see how God deals with sin in his own people. Does he spare sin in them? Does he spare them in their sins? Behold the severity of God in his treatment of the good and gracious Eli, and tremble at the thought of what may be his treatment of you! "If the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and sinners appear?" Or as a greater than Eli reasoned, when, bearing the cross up the hill of Calvary, he pointed to his own sufferings for sin as a pledge and presage of judgment against sinners, "If these things be done in the green tree, what shall be done in the dry?" 4. And, finally, let all lay to heart the irrevocable decree and determination of God, that sin shall not pass unpunished; let them look and see the end of the ungodly, while they stand in awe at the chastisement of the just. Whatever excuse the wicked may frame out of the weakness of those who should have restrained them; and whatever promise the just may plead, as warranting assurance and good hope through grace; the law of the divine procedure is fixed, as announced to Eli and his sons: "I said indeed that thy house, and the house of thy father, should walk before me for ever; but now the Lord saith, Be it far from me; for them that honour me I will honour, and they that despise me shall be "lightly esteemed" (1 Samuel 2:30). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 44: 05.03. III. ELI - A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. ======================================================================== III. ELI - A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. PART II. "His heart trembled for the ark of God." 1 Samuel 4:13. IN the circumstances, as we have seen, Eli’s heart might well tremble, and could not but tremble, for the ark of God. That sacred symbol was put in peril; nor was there anything, either in the composition of the army or in the character of the fight, to allay the apprehension that might be awakened. On the contrary, whether he considered into what hands the ark had fallen, when it was carried into the camp under the charge of his unhappy sons; or pondered on the circumstances that led to its being sent for, and the use to which it was to be applied; the old man had more than one good reason for apprehension and alarm. The same reasons, alas, might cause the heart of many an Eli now to tremble for the ark of God; whether the holy veteran looked to the sort of company which has assumed, or accepted, the guardianship of that sacred symbol; or to the exigencies which demand, and the motives which prompt; the risking or committing of what is God’s, on the uncertain field of human controversy and strife. Our subject may thus branch out into two topics: I. The heart trembling for the ark of God on account of the hands that bear or defend it; and, II. The same anxiety caused by the occasions and circumstances which serve to bring it forward in battle, and to peril it on the issue. The first of these topics will chiefly occupy our attention, the second being but briefly noticed. I. The mixed and motley character, the very miscellaneous composition, of the army in whose hands the ark of God seems to be placed, may well cause the heart of an Eli to tremble. Let any thoughtful man cast his eye along the ranks - alas! How broken and disordered of the host that should be fighting the Lord’s battle, and can his heart fail to tremble? In the first place, there are those whose mere bodily presence is all that can be reckoned on, the lukewarm and indifferent, the treacherous and false, the men who have joined the standard on compulsion, or in the crowd, or to serve a purpose, disguised spies and traitors in the enemy’s interests, or soldiers of fortune, fighting every one for himself. "Unto the wicked God saith, what hast thou to do to declare my statutes, or that thou shouldest take my covenant in thy mouth?" "Thy people" says Jehovah to our Lord, the Captain of our salvation, the Conqueror out of Zion, the Ruler in the midst of his enemies "thy people shall be willing in the day of thy power." They shall be all volunteers, no pressed men among them; they shall be all in earnest. That indeed will be the day of his power, when his people are thus willing; the day of his power in a double sense; the day when, in the first place, he makes them all willing, with the rod of discipline and doctrine wielded by his own Spirit, thinning perhaps the columns, yet by that very process inspiring new courage and giving new compactness to those that remain; and when, secondly, he uses that band of brothers for mightier conquests and triumphs than have ever yet been dreamed of. Gideon’s proclamation, "Whosoever is fearful and afraid, let him return and depart;" aye, and besides this appeal to conscience, some Gideon-like test, some trial appointed by the Lord himself, whether it be the lapping of water or the baptism of fire; must go before that "breaking of the yoke of Zion’s burden, the staff of his shoulder and the rod of his oppressor" which is to be as another day of Midian: "for every battle of the warrior is with confused noise, and garments rolled in blood, but this shall be with burning and fuel of fire." [* Judges 7:1-25.; Isaiah 9:4-5, where this comparison occurs between the victory of Christ and that of Gideon, in immediate connection, on the one hand, with that brief picture of restored peace after successful war which goes before: "Thou hast multiplied the nation, and increased to him the joy (marginal reading or, whose joy thou hadst not increased): they joy before thee according to the joy in harvest, and as men rejoice when they divide the spoil;" and, on the other hand, with that glorious doxology or song of praise that follows (Isaiah 9:6-7): "Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end, upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom, to order it, and to establish it with judgment and with justice from henceforth even for ever. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this."] It is no strife this for mere hireling mercenaries; or for reluctant recruits, enlisted in a fit of temporary excitement, and almost unawares, and now kept in the camp only because they are ashamed, or are not allowed, to draw back; or for officious allies, encumbering the real force with their intrusive self-sufficiency. The Lord needs no such aid for any purpose of his, his own zeal will perform it; and it will be a zeal whose cleansing and sifting power his own troops may have to experience in the first instance, before he pours out its fury on his foes. They are not all accessions that the Church receives, as its numbers are filled up from among the people of the land. The "mixed multitude" who go up with the children of Israel out of Egypt, "fall a-lusting" themselves, and spread discontent and weeping throughout all the tribes; and when the sacred deposit is in the custody of such hands, the godly man may indeed tremble for the ark of God. These are they who, if they are not conscious and wilful hypocrites, making a gain of godliness, yet almost seem to think that they compliment God by giving in their adherence to his cause, and consenting to take charge of his ark; and make no scruple about bearing it ostentatiously before them into the very heart of the enemy’s country, and the thickest throng of the ungodly; having no fear, no misgiving, as to their being able to bear it in safety through, or to retrieve and repair any temporary damage it may sustain. Oh! how does our heart tremble for the ark of the Lord, when we see so many lightly taking upon them the Christian name, and making the Christian profession with little of anything like an adequate and serious sense of what so solemn a pledge implies. Alas! How many do we see rushing to the Lord’s Table today, and frequenting the haunts of vanity tomorrow, exposing their Christian character, in the very flush and bloom of its newly-budding freshness, to the withering blight of a worldly atmosphere and worldly conversation? They profess, and perhaps feel, not a little devotion in the sanctuary, although at home, and in the social circle, they make it too plain to their ungodly companions that there is really no very essential difference between them. They refuse to come out and be separate, so as to shun and shrink from the very touch of the unclean thing; while still they dream of preserving sufficiently entire all the pure grace and holy beauty of their blood-washed raiment, and all the tenderness and truth of their filial reverence and love, as the sons and daughters of the Lord God Almighty. Is it any wonder, then, that the cause of God languishes, and conversions are few, and iniquity abounds, and the adversary waxes bold, and many an aged believer’s heart but lately perhaps cheered with the hope of a better day, as the Lord seemed to be leading his Church out into the wilderness, and there reviving her begins again to tremble for the ark of God! But, secondly, there are those in the camp who are not thus insincere and false, who are, nevertheless, disabled and enfeebled by some rankling inward wound, some corroding grief, some sad sense of insecurity, or of a doubtful right to be themselves there, and to have the ark among them. On the occasion before us, the Israelites had just been smitten in a previous battle with the Philistines; and it was as defeated men that they were about to take the field again. True, they had now got possession of what was wont to be a pledge of victory. Their elders, in proposing to bring down the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of Shiloh, had assured them that whenever it came it would save them out of the hands of their enemies; and the multitude, ready to grasp at any lie and trust in any spell, had welcomed with mad joy the consecrated symbol, and made the earth ring again with their shouting. But were there no sad countenances and grave looks, as this ill-timed scene of premature exultation went on? Were there no ears on which the rude clamour of that noisy mirth struck as a funeral knell? And when the first drunken and senseless fit of enthusiasm was over, were there none among the shouters themselves whose hearts began to misgive them, who, hurried along in the first tumultuous burst of the contagious rapture, had since got leisure to reflect, and found too good cause to despond? We may imagine some such little group of thoughtful men, as the shout arose, or at least as the shout fell, opening to one another their minds, and exchanging words of fear. It is so far well to see the army in good heart, and, instead of the lamentations of defeat, to hear the brave note of defiance again; but is all this confidence justly warranted? The ark, indeed, is with us; but in what spirit has it been sent for, and in what spirit received? If it be right to take it down with us into the second battle, it must have been wrong to go without it to the first. By thus seeking to have God in the midst of us now, we confess that he was not in the midst of us before, and that it was in our own strength that we fought. Have we repented of our sin? Is it out of a returning sense of duty that we now hasten to repair our sad omission; or is it by a mere feeling of superstition, and on the pressure of extreme necessity, that we are driven to avail ourselves of this high refuge? If so, can we expect that it will stand us in stead? Its presence has not always saved our armies in time past; nor will it now, if it be all that we have to look to, if there be no searching of heart among us, no humiliation before God, and no turning with weeping and lamentation to him. The elders themselves, in the proposal they made to us to send for the ark in our straits, submitted to us a solemn question in reference to our former defeat (ver. 3): "Wherefore hath the Lord smitten us today before the Philistines?" Has that question been duly weighed and faithfully answered? If not, with all the security which the ark of God is fitted and designed to give, aye, and that multiplied a hundredfold can we dare to hope for a better issue in the enterprise which we are about to undertake tomorrow? Thus, they that feared the Lord might have much talk one with another, both as to the state of mind in the army generally, and as to their own condition in particular. And if such a feeling of doubt, respecting others or respecting themselves, began to spread like a panic through the ranks, it was they, and not the enemy, that had the best reason to be afraid. The Philistines might rally and recover themselves after the first surprise occasioned by this new device: for they might shrewdly suspect that it was no honest faith in their God that moved the Israelites to resort to it, but the mere helplessness of despair; and they might gather courage in the end, rather than lose it. The Israelites themselves, however, or at least the serious and thoughtful among them, could scarcely get so easily over the consciousness of guilt and guile; and sympathizing in these sentiments even at a distance, as the godly Eli could not fail to do, what marvel if, as he sat and watched, his heart trembled for the ark of God? Is there anything analogous to this state of feeling among us? Let all, as they read, inquire; and let us inquire with reference not only to our standing as individual believers, but to the congregation with which we are associated, the community to which we belong, and the Church of Christ generally. Let us consult first and principally our own personal experience. We have failed, perhaps, hitherto once, or it may be more than once, in maintaining the Lord’s cause, and resisting the enemies of our peace. We have yielded in the struggle with our evil hearts of unbelief, and with the world, the devil, and the flesh. We have sustained a sad and shameful defeat, and left the field of battle thickly strewed with the fragments of our shivered shields and swords, our broken promises, and resolutions, and vows, our unanswered, because unwatched and unheeded prayers. Is this indeed our case? Are our consciences thus laden with the sense of recent backsliding? It may be some specific instance of unfaithfulness that it vexes us to think of; or it may be a certain general listlessness and languor and spiritual declension of which we have to complain. Let us affectionately ask one another, let us faithfully ask ourselves, wherefore is it so? Is it the remembrance of particular occasions on which we are conscious that we have compromised our truth and integrity, dissembled our principles, connived at sin, or treated it lightly, or made a mock at it; failed, in trying circumstances, to testify for God; wounded tender consciences, or cast a stumbling-block in the way of anxious inquirers, or stifled awakenings in careless souls, by our inconsistency, our worldly conformity, our easy walk, our abuse of our Christian liberty; is it any such remembrance that haunts us? Or is it, what is even more distressing, a certain vague feeling of apathy, for which we can scarcely assign any tangible cause, that oppresses us, a want of interest in sacred things, a dreary drowsiness in poring over the word and drawing near to the throne of grace, a kind of lethargy, in short, coldly stealing and insinuating itself through all our spiritual frame? Have we to confess that we are in the position of beaten men in Christ’s warfare, or of men who have given way? And are we engaging in any holy service coming, let us say, to the Lord’s table in something of the same spirit in which the Israelites sent for the Lord’s ark, expecting, somehow, to be the better for this sacrament being administered to us, as they imagined they would fight the better for that symbol being among them; and determined, on the strength of this holy ordinance, to make a firmer stand in the next trial of our courage, and leave no inglorious buckler on the field? And yet, all the time we are not quite at ease, we have our misgivings and alarms. The unanswered question, "Wherefore did the Lord smite us before the Philistines?" stands ominously out as a barrier against our complete enlargement, confidence, and security. But why, let us ask again, why is it still an unanswered question? Why should it be an unanswered question any longer? Even now the Lord is ready to answer it. Even now he will search and try us. He will unfold to us the real cause of any controversy he has with us or of any failures and defeats on our part, in our walking with him, and our warring for him. Have any of us been offering in earnest the prayer of the psalmist: "Search me, God, and know my heart; try me, and know my thoughts: and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting?" And may not some of us truly say, that in a way we little thought of by terrible things in righteousness the Lord has been answering that prayer to us? Would that we were all made willing now, under the searching of his providence as well as of his word and Spirit for he is searching us very sharply this day to have the wound of our souls thoroughly probed, and not slightly healed; each man among us submitting the plague of his own heart to be dealt with, oh! how faithfully and yet how tenderly by him who is the holy God, but who is also to us in Christ Jesus a reconciled and loving Father. See, brother, he waiteth to be gracious. He has balm for every wound, blood for every sin, healing for every backsliding, and a gracious reception and free love for each and all, however miserable on account of the greatness of their guilt or the stony hardness of their heart, who, with all that great guilt and that hard heart, will only so far honour, and trust, and gratify him, as let him take the guilt away and turn the smitten rock within into a fountain of tears. Thus repenting and doing our first works, returning anew to God, and embracing anew his promises of full and free reconciliation, by all means let us send for the ark; by all means let us come to the sacrament; it will do us good now. No matter for our past defeat, we shall be more than conquerors now. And it will be no vain and idle shout of boasting that lifts us up, as if a chest of Shittim-wood, or this covered table and these elements of bread and wine, could save us; but the deep and grateful consciousness of our having, not the seal and symbol only of God’s presence, but God himself in very truth, in all the fullness of his redeeming love and all the power of his quickening Spirit, in us and among us; this will so inspire a calm serenity, and humble, holy resolution, as to strike real, and it may be salutary, fear into the consciences of the enemies of the truth, and satisfy aged Eli, that, so far as this particular cause of anxiety is concerned, his heart need no more tremble for the ark of God. Would to God that all of us individually, all the congregations of the Church, and our beloved Church herself, were thus brought low, that we might be exalted, thus weakened, that we might be strengthened in the Lord! For who can shut his eyes to the fact, that even since the Lord began to deal with us, and with the Church, as in these last years he has been dealing, there has been too much of human boasting and human confidence, too much noise and shouting? The high testimony which we have been honoured to bear for Christ, and the great things which he has done for us; the liberty and enlargement which he has granted to us, and the liberality and love which he has called forth among us; the approving voice of other Churches, and of all our missionaries in other lands; our door of access to the people at home; nay, even the partial droppings of the dew of the Holy Spirit on our assemblies and flocks; the prosperity of so many of our congregations; the very persecutions which have visited others; all these things we have been too apt to regard very much as the Israelites regarded the arrival of the ark among them; we have exulted when our adversaries seemed to be startled and surprised; and we have congratulated one another, as if the warfare were accomplished and the victory were already ours. Is it in rebuke of such untoward and untimely lifting up of our hearts, that the great Head of the Church is chastening us, that symptoms of disorder are showing themselves here and there, and masters in Israel are cut down? May the Lord himself sanctify these troubles! Everywhere may clamour cease, and deeply may the question be pondered, and fairly may it be met in reference both to the past and the present: "Wherefore hath the Lord smitten us?" For, assuredly, until that great outstanding question be disposed of, as regards individuals, congregations, and the Church at large whatever zeal there may be, whatever enthusiasm, whatever wise plans and bold doings the heart of an aged and godly Eli cannot cease to tremble for the ark of God. [*This whole passage I have thought it best to leave as it was originally written, although its application is partly local and temporary, having reference to a time of private bereavement and public loss (April and May 1845) a time, moreover, when men’s minds in the Church to which the author belongs were not a little exercised in the manner here indicated. ] Once more, in the third place, let us take yet another, and that the most favourable view of the parties in whose hands the ark has come to be placed. Let us suppose them to be neither hypocrites and mere formalists on the one hand, nor backsliders and men of doubtful position on the other. Let them be men of truest conscience and tenderest walk before God in Christ. Still, compassed about as they are with manifold infirmities, and liable to err and stumble at every step they take, how shall they carry the precious burden safe along the rough road, or across the channel of the stormy sea, or by the way of the howling wilderness, or through the rage and din of hostile crowds? For it is a delicate and tender, as well as a costly deposit that is committed to their charge, easily susceptible of injury, apt to be soiled and tarnished if the dust of earth reach it, or the very wind of heaven be suffered to visit it too roughly. The essential holiness of God, do we rightly apprehend what it is? And have we any adequate impression of that holiness as imparted and communicated to whatever is his? The name, the word, the day, the house of the Lord, whatsoever he vindicates and challenges to himself, not by the right of creation merely, but by that of redemption through the blood of his Son, and renewal through the operation of his Spirit; these things, that thus belong to God our Saviour how venerable are they, and how awful! And it is these glories and wonders of his grace and power that he commits into our hands, to be defended and to be displayed. Ah! My brother, if indeed you are a believer in Jesus, consider how much of what is God’s you carry about with you wherever you go! your body and your spirit, which are his, your character and reputation, which are his, your talents, which are his, your very life, which is now altogether his! His honour, and the interests of his kingdom, are now bound up with everything you say and do. Not a plan or purpose you can form but must affect something that is his; every hour you spend is a portion of his time; every mite you cast into whatsoever treasury is his property! For it is not with us now as it was with the Israelites of old. They might place the ark in comparative security in the midst of their close and compact ranks, where not a finger of the enemy could touch and pollute it, until all its defenders were slain. Man after man might be smitten, and phalanx after phalanx might be cut down or scattered to the winds; and though the danger, becoming more imminent every moment, might make the heart of one who witnessed it tremble more and more, not a profane or unhallowed breath could sully the sacred symbol till its last guardians, the wretched Hophni and Phinehas, had fallen. But in the Christian army, what of God’s is entrusted to men’s care, is so diffused and circulated through all the troops, that not a tongue can speak, nor a limb move, nor the poorest soldier in the utmost extremity of the lines be wounded, or turn his back, or lay down his arms, without instant damage to the holy trust which is committed more or less to all. And how sensitive to the slightest shock is the holiness of all belonging to God that you have to handle and to bear about with you! The smallest rent mars that seamless coat, woven from the top throughout, which is the uniform of all Christ’s volunteers, the faintest stain shows itself on that clear bright name with which each forehead is sealed! Ah! Who may venture to undertake such responsibility, as this? Who is sufficient for these things? Let me never open my mouth for Christ, or lift my hand for Christ, or stir my foot for Christ, lest inadvertently I offend, and be found hindering instead of furthering the cause which I love, blemishing instead of adorning the doctrine which I believe, discrediting instead of magnifying the only name under heaven which I care to honour, because it is the only name under heaven given among men whereby I, or any sinner like me, can be saved. Nay, but, brother, inactivity, reserve, hanging back, will not mend your position. You have got your post assigned to you; and whether you decline to act at all, or act amiss, the jewel of Christ’s crown which you have in charge is in either way compromised. Nor have you any choice, or any liberty to stand aloof. Necessity is laid upon you. Woe is unto you if you preach not the gospel! Woe is unto you if you testify not for Christ! Woe is unto you if you speak not to your ungodly neighbour’s conscience, and care not for his soul! Woe is unto you if you visit not the fatherless and widows in their affliction! Woe is unto you if you speak not a word in season to him that is weary! You have your task, your office, your ministry, allotted to you, whether as a public functionary or as a private member of the Church; and if you undertake it with fear, if your heart trembles for the ark of God, which you feel yourself to be so incompetent to handle, ask yourself, would either it or you be at all the safer were you to refuse to handle it at all? Let me put myself now for an instant in the position of an onlooker or watcher, like the aged Eli; and what might be my thoughts, as I gaze, not on the faithless or the faltering part of the Lord’s army, but on his true and earnest adherents? Do I see any living for themselves alone, caring for their own souls, apparently finding food and refreshment in ordinances, and striving to have a close walk with God while yet there is no sign of their taking any special interest in any department of the Lord’s work, or charging themselves with any specific duty with reference to any one in particular of their fellow sinners around them? I ask, if, with all their devout assiduity of personal and private piety, their souls are prospering and in health? Ah! The complaint is, "My leanness, my leanness!" And when I consider the selfish, secluded, isolated, and indolent character of their devotions, I cease to wonder, I simply mourn; and, having a regard to those very spiritual interests of their own which they seem exclusively to care for, more even than to the good cause which they are sinfully neglecting, my heart trembles for the ark of God. Do I see any who are keepers of the vineyards of others, and are not keeping their own; any spiritual busybodies in other men’s matters, and idlers in their own; any who are tempted to put an officious and bustling energy in the Lord’s work in the place of deep experimental searching of the Lord’s word; any, in short, who find it easier to exhaust themselves for whole days in active service than to pass a still and silent hour in solitary prayer? Ah! I may cease to wonder that such incessant pains should issue in such scanty fruit; and, with special reference even to those public concerns which such persons seem to prefer to their own spiritual well-being, my desponding heart trembles for the ark of God. Where, then, shall this trembling heart find rest? I pass in review before me the whole muster-roll of the tried and tested army of the Lord. I take the champions and captains one after another. I rely on the mature experience of many a hoary veteran. I hail the fresh ardour of many an eagle-eyed recruit. But as, one after another, they take up the seemingly desperate battle, and one after another give some melancholy advantage to the foe, my heart still trembles for the ark of God. I cannot see a preacher, however gifted, ascend to his desk; or a pastor, however faithful, visit his flock; or an elder, the most conscientious, go his rounds; or a deacon, the most punctual, perform his service; or any private member of the church draw near a sick-bed where an anxious soul is tossing, or enter a parlour where a word in season may be spoken, and a clear testimony may be borne; but my heart must tremble for the ark of God. And all the while my heart must tremble the more, because the parties who are the occasions of its trembling seem themselves to tremble so very little. For if the Israelites in the camp had trembled more for the ark of God, Eli’s heart, as he sat by the wayside watching, might have trembled less. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 45: 05.04. IV. ELI - A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. ======================================================================== IV. ELI - A GODLY MAN TREMBLING FOR THE ARK OF GOD. PART III. "His heart trembled for the ark of God." 1 Samuel 4:13. THE composition of the army to whom the ark of God is committed, may but too well account for the trembling of an Eli’s heart. Not to speak of the false and formal adherents to the cause, how feeble and faint-hearted are many of the host, how ill at ease, how unbelieving! And even the best and bravest are compassed about with infirmity; and the holiest fall far short of any adequate apprehension of what it is to serve the holy God, and uphold the honour of his holy name. It is a gloomy picture we have been contemplating. May there be no representation given somewhat less discouraging, to relieve the gloom ere we pass from this first cause of the trembling of Eli’s heart? Let us try. Let us ask if no company or army of men may be got together, to whom Eli could see the ark of God committed without his heart trembling, at least so very anxiously? The three sketches we have attempted to give, being reversed, may suggest the reply, and furnish the materials of a more trustworthy host. Let us summon our troops. In the first place, let them all be men who come, not as fancying that the Lord hath need of them, but as feeling that they have need of Him. This is our primary and capital qualification. We are to have no self-righteous, self-confident cavaliers, who would either hire themselves to Christ for a reward, or espouse his cause with an air of condescending patronage, as if they were doing him a favour. But is there any poor sinner in all the world who looks upon himself as lost, and so far from imagining that he could ever lend a helping hand in an emergency, considers himself the very Jonah, that, if taken on board, would sink the ship the worse than Achan, that, if admitted into the camp, would only mar the fight? Come, sinner! Whosoever thou art, with nothing but thy wants for Christ to supply thy sins for Christ to forgive thy diseases for Christ to heal thy hard heart for Christ to break; come, thou art the very man for whom Christ is looking out. It was to enlist thee that he came into the world; it was to save thee that he suffered and died. Come; and at thy coming, though thou bringest nothing but guilt and sorrow, wounds and bruises and putrefying sores, Eli’s heart will not tremble for the ark of God. Secondly, let all who flock to the Lord’s standard at first, or continue to rally round it, make sure and thorough work of the settlement of their covenant with the Lord himself Let there be nothing ambiguous or equivocal, nothing uncertain or precarious, as respects the footing on which you are to be with him. And if any cause of misunderstanding has arisen if any defeat has been sustained while he withdrew his presence on account of your sin think not to patch up a truce or accommodation with him, or to recover his favour and his powerful aid, by having recourse to half measures or formal devices. Come again, at once, to himself; let there be an entire clearing up of all that is amiss between him and you. On his part there is no hesitation or reserve; he would have a perfect covenant of peace established. No measured or doubtful boon does he dispense; but, taking you once more to be his own, he would have you to be again, and for ever, complete in him. Let him have your consent to be so. Let his Spirit incline you to submit thoroughly to him, to his searching of your painful wounds, to his tender upbinding of them all. Be satisfied with no noisy shout of triumph, upon any merely external and temporary sign of his presence. Be satisfied with nothing short of an uncompromising adjustment of the question, why has he been smiting you? Then, all being clear and bright, his Spirit abiding in you and his countenance shining upon you, when he now commits himself to you, and commits you again to himself, frankly and freely, without condition on his part and without guile on yours, there will be no occasion for Eli’s heart to tremble for the ark of God. Finally, let all in this army recognise and feel their responsibility, the peculiar sacredness of the trust committed to them, and its extreme liability to receive damage in their hands. Let them know what it is to work out their own salvation, and to aim at the salvation of others. Let them have a due sense of the tenderness of the heavenly vessel which they bear, and the holiness of the heavenly name by which they are called. Then, though their infirmities may be many, and they may often feel themselves to be in straits, let them be assured that it is not on their account that Eli’s heart will tremble for the ark of God. You may be hesitating even now, my brother, and shrinking from an explicit and open avowal of your faith, or from the undertaking of some labour of love to which you feel yourself called or prompted. ’Ah!’ you may be saying within yourself, ’I would gladly receive the seal and pledge of my living union to Christ, and have him committed to be mine, and myself committed to be his. And I would esteem it a precious privilege and high honour to have a hand in some personal ministry for the glory of his name, and the winning of souls to him. Had I any good reason to hope that I would not dishonour my profession, or do harm instead of good in any work I might undertake, oh! how cordially would I take my place at his table, and enrol myself among those whose whole aim in life it is to be ever doing something for Christ, for perishing sinners, for poor sufferers. But I feel that it is a much more solemn thing than many think or than I once thought myself to take the name of God into my lips, and have the vows of the Lord upon me. I would not rush into such a position so hastily as many do, nor carry its tremendous responsibilities so lightly. You do not err, brother, in your estimate of the solemnity of the Christian culling. You cannot form too high a conception of the delicacy, and unsullied purity. and integrity beyond suspicion, that ought to characterize the follower of Jesus; the light that should ever kindle in his eye, the love that should ever burn in his heart, the grace that should be poured into his lips, the comely beauty that should shed a charm over his whole demeanour, and the high authority that should give weight to his counsels, his example, his rebuke. But what then? Do you on that account hesitate, and halt, and hang back, when the Lord is calling you? Are you deterred, by the very loftiness of the standard which you have set up, from casting in your lot with the Lord’s host, and do you think it safer for yourself, and better on the whole for the cause, that you should not be so deeply pledged to a style of life which you might not realize, and that the holy name should not be taken into the keeping of one who might only tarnish and soil it? Nay, brother, suffer the word of expostulation. Assuming your scruples to be real, and not affected, let me say to you, first, you have no right thus to reason; you cannot thus evade the responsibility which you would decline. It is laid on you by Christ, and it is treachery or cowardice, or both, to shrink from it. Accept it, rather, cheerfully, manfully, in faith; you have his own assurance: "My grace is sufficient for you; for my strength is made perfect in weakness." And let me also say to you, further, It is precisely you, and such as you, that the Lord seeks to serve him; you who have some adequate notion of the sacredness of the Christian profession, and the magnitude of the Christian enterprise your irresistible call to undertake both, and your utter and helpless insufficiency for either. The Father seeketh such to worship him; the Son seeketh such to commit himself to them; the Spirit seeketh and searcheth such to dwell in them; that they may "work out their own salvation with fear and trembling, because it is God that worketh in them both to will and to do of his good pleasure." Aye, and their fear and trembling will go far to supersede all Eli’s trembling for the ark of God. "Who is among you that feareth the Lord that obeyeth the voice of his servant that walketh in darkness, and hath no light? Let him trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God." "Thus saith the Lord, The heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool: where is the house that ye build me and where is the place of my rest? For all these things hath mine hand made, and all these things have been, saith the Lord: but to this man will I look, even to him that is poor and of a contrite spirit, and trembleth at my word." "Fear not, thou worm Jacob, and ye men of Israel: I will help thee, saith the Lord, and thy Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel. Behold, I will make thee a new sharp threshing instrument, having teeth: thou shalt thresh the mountains, and beat them small, and shalt make the hills as chaff. Thou shalt fan them, and the wind shall carry them away, and the whirlwind shall scatter them: and thou shalt rejoice in the Lord, and shalt glory in the Holy One of Israel." It was not a trembling, but a presumptuous look into the ark, that slew the men of Bethshemesh. It was not a trembling, but a presumptuous hand that Uzzah laid upon the ark, when for that error he was smitten. It was not a trembling, but a presumptuous shout around the ark in the camp that made the old man’s heart tremble as he sat watching. Look ye on the ark touch ye the ark rejoice ye in the ark, under the profound impression of this awful inquiry: "Who is able to stand before this holy Lord God? Wherefore hath the Lord smitten us?" Let there be such trembling as this in your hearts when you handle the ark of God, and at last the trembling of Eli’s heart may cease. II. Besides the composition of the army into whose hands the ark may have come, the occasions and circumstances which seem to bring it forward in battle, and to peril it on the issue of battle, may cause not a little trembling of heart for its safety. We might here speak of such occasions as that on which the Israelites sustained a miserable defeat at the hands of the Amalekites and Canaanites, when they would have taken the ark with them in their unwarranted enterprise, had not Moses sternly refused to let it go out of the camp (Numbers 14:40-45). There is not always at hand a Moses to keep the ark from being involved in the hazards of a presumptuous enterprise, undertaken in the impatience of unbelief, by men smarting under the Lord’s rebuke, and in haste to retrieve a false or sinful step. An Eli may be unable in such circumstances, to arrest the hot impetuosity of the irritated host, his heart can but tremble for the ark of God. "Woe is me," said the royal psalmist, whom superficial critics would pronounce, with cursing Shimei, to have been a man delighting only in blood; "Woe is me, that I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar! My soul hath long dwelt with him that hateth peace. I am for peace; but when I speak, they are for war." How weary was David of wars and fightings when he cried out, "Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest!" Nor was it for his own sake alone that he yearned for this quietness; he desired to see the ark of God, so long tossed on the unsettled flood, at last lodged in safety on the holy mountain. And for the sincerity and intensity of this desire, he could appeal to God himself: "Lord, remember David, and all his afflictions: how he sware unto the Lord, and vowed unto the mighty God of Jacob; Surely I will not come into the tabernacle of my house, nor go up into my bed; I will not give sleep to mine eyes, or slumber to mine eyelids, until I find out a place for the Lord, an habitation for the mighty God of Jacob" (Psalms 132:1-5). But it was not given to him to accomplish this fondest wish of his heart. It was reserved for Solomon to build for God an house. All David’s lifetime, the symbol of the covenant, unsettled and unhoused, was constantly exposed to peril and profanation, amid the vicissitudes of his stormy career; whether lodged with Abinadab at Gibeah, or carried aside into the house of Obed-Edom, or covered with a tent on Zion; whether "heard of at Ephratah," or "found in the fields of the wood" (Psalms 132:6). All his lifetime, therefore, considering these manifold exposures, David’s heart, like Eli’s, might tremble for the ark of God. It is the prayer of every true servant and soldier of the Lord, that the din of war and controversy may speedily come to an end, and the Church may dwell safely in a quiet habitation. The world, indeed, is apt to judge otherwise of those who maintain the Lord’s cause, especially in troublous times, stigmatizing them as troublesome and pestilent sowers of sedition, or as lovers of strife, seeking to turn the world upside down. There may be those amongst the ranks of Christ’s army who delight in contest for its own sake, and are, as it were, in their element when the storm is at its height; and they who witness only the untiring energy and unflinching courage of such devoted men, may conceive of them as having no pleasure in any scene but one of stirring incident and adventure, of peril and of death. But could we read their hearts as God does, ah! we would soon see what injustice the world does them. Not willingly, but because necessity is laid on them, do they engage in such scenes; and amid all their bold and hearty animation when the war is raging, what secret sighs are breathed for the return of a serene and honourable peace! Could it be effected without compromising the cause of truth and righteousness, how gladly, whether on the field of theological controversy, or of ecclesiastical contention, or of those political struggles in which the interests of Christ’s kingdom are mixed up, how gladly would we proclaim a cessation of hostilities, a truce, an armistice, a pause, that the ark of God might have a little rest! "Thou sword of the Lord, how long will it be ere thou be quiet? Put up thyself into thy scabbard; rest and be still. How can it be quiet, seeing the Lord hath given it a charge against Askelon, and against the seashore? There hath he appointed it," (Jeremiah 47:6-7). Quiet! Rest! How can it be? Satan is not bound; the world still lieth in wickedness; heresies, divisions, strifes, abound; Babylon is not yet fallen. Nay, if ever there was a time when rest and quiet might appear indefinitely remote when the sacred symbol might be regarded as but a speck like the halcyon bird, or that Noetic ship dimly seen amid the chaos of the wild and tumultuous waters it is this present age, this present hour, in which, as it would seem, old controversies and new, old causes of agitation and new outbreaks, are about to be blended in one general hurricane and fiery storm. What former dispute, in literature, theology, or politics, is not revived? What fixed foundation of opinion, in any department of human thought, is not now unsettled? What body of men is in security and at ease? What creed, or covenant, or combination, is giving compactness to the gathering masses, whether of the higher intellectual and spiritual orders, or of the grosser portions of mankind? Statesmen and people, priest and flock all alike are thrown back on first principles if they have any, or on mere hour-glass expediency if they have none. And seeing how things most sacred are now at issue on the field of strife, and how much risk there is, in such stirring times, of the kindling of that wrath of man which worketh not the righteousness of God, as well as the scheming of that wisdom of man which is foolishness with God, how shall not Eli’s heart tremble for the ark of God! Is there, then, no source of consolation in the prospect of such trials and commotions as these? Had any one sought to comfort the blind old man, as he sat upon a seat by the wayside watching, and to allay the agitation of his soul he might have been reminded that what his heart trembled for was the ark of God; that God himself, therefore, might be expected to care for it; and that for him to be so anxious concerning it, was almost like distrusting God. Or it might have been represented to him, that for any evil consequences ensuing from the ill-advised policy on the part of the elders and people that put the ark in peril, he at least could not be held personally responsible. The whole of these proceedings were against his judgment and remonstrances; and be the issue what it may, his conscience at all events must be clear, and his hands must be clean. Would these considerations materially alleviate his grief? The last of them, so far from taking in as comfort, he might almost have resented as an insult. What! Was he thinking only of himself, and of his own individual credit or security, when his heart trembled for the ark of God? There may be men who, in such circumstances, would rather congratulate themselves on their own exemption from blame, than enter into the risk and danger of the good cause and of its soldiers. From the safe shore they pleasantly view the toil of the exhausted crew, whose bark is all but engulfed in the billows; all the while complacently taking credit to themselves for having wisely declined to embark, and having warned their rash comrades of the impending storm. These are they who are so selfish, even in the Lord’s work, that they can rejoice in no success that is not won by themselves, and grieve over no failure for which they cannot be brought in as personally accountable. Not such was Eli. That selfish ground of congratulation is not one that he can stand on. The other topic, indeed, is more congenial; it is comfort which he can take in. He calls to mind, that great as is the peril to which it is exposed, and weak and unworthy as are the hands that bear or defend it, it is the ark of God still; and, remembering this, he bids his trembling heart be calm. Still it costs him an effort to say, when things seem to be at the worst, "I will trust, and not be afraid." It is impossible for him to disconnect himself from the battle that is raging: nor can even the assurance of the ark’s ultimate safety and triumph make him insensible in the meantime to the rude shocks that assail it, and the perils it has to encounter alike from friends and from foes. I cannot help becoming indignant and uneasy when a father’s good name is aspersed, or his good faith is called in question, even though I know that he will certainly clear himself at last. No more can I look on with calm indifference, when I see the good cause injured by human pride, and prejudice, and passion, even though I firmly believe that it will ere long come off victorious. If I love God, I feel for the honour and safety of his ark with that nice sense of honour which would make the sword leap from its scabbard when the faintest whisper is breathed, or the puniest arm is raised, to its disparagement or injury. But, alas! I know not what spirit I am of, when I would call fire from heaven on the heads of those who will not give it homage, or when I would use the fire of earth to minister in its service. Let me be still and know that it is the ark of God. And while engaged in the strife, let me beware of all that, if I were but a looker-on or a looker-out, would make my heart tremble for the ark of God. Then only may I say with Moses, when the ark sets forward: "Arise, Lord, and let thine enemies be scattered; and let them that hate thee flee before thee." And when it rests, oh that it might be soon! How gladly will I join in the triumphant and peaceful strain: "Return, Lord, unto the many thousands of Israel" (Numbers 10:35-36). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 46: 05.05. V. THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. ======================================================================== V. THE LONG-SUFFERING OF GOD. EXAMPLE IN THE CASE OF AN IMPENITENT SINNER. CHARACTER OF AHAB. 1 Kings 22:1-53. THE narrative in this chapter brings prominently out two very different characters that of Ahab, king of Israel, and that of Jehoshaphat, king of Judah. We begin with the consideration of Ahab’s character, as it is illustrated in the closing scene of his life. This Ahab had been all along in his life, as he continued to be in his death, a signal monument and example of the long-suffering patience of God In the very beginning of his reign he had provoked the Lord by a new crime. He did evil, it is said, in the sight of the Lord, above all that were before him; and, as if it had been a light thing for him to walk in the sins of Jeroboam, he took to wife Jezebel, the daughter of Eth-Baal, king of the Zidonians, and went and served Baal and worshipped him (1 Kings 16:30). The sin of Jeroboam was not so much idolatry as schism not the worship of false gods, but the worship of the true God in a false, unauthorized, and divisive course. After the revolt of the ten tribes, he saw that their political separation from Judah would be of short duration if they still went up to Jerusalem to worship; whereupon, taking counsel (1 Kings 12:28), he set up in Dan and Bethel two golden calves, in imitation of the cherubic emblems in the temple, and as substitutes for them; and, ordaining a separate priesthood to minister at these new shrines, he made the people believe that they need not go out of their own possessions to find the God who had brought them out of Egypt. This was the policy of Jeroboam and his successors, to make the ten tribes independent of Jerusalem in things sacred as well as in things civil, by erecting separate altars, as well as a separate throne. Still they did not profess to differ in the object of their worship from their brethren of the two tribes, who continued subject to the house of David. But Ahab improved upon this device; he completed the separation, and consummated the apostasy. Having married, against the law, a heathen princess, he openly adopted the heathen worship. The daughter of the king of Zidon easily introduced and established the Zidonian idolatry, the worship of Baalim, or the heavenly hosts. This fierce and persecuting idolatry well-nigh suppressed the religion of Jehovah, and exterminated his prophets. A small but chosen band, however, of these devoted men escaped the fury of Ahab and Jezebel; and in this depth of wickedness, when the Levites were expelled, the priesthood degraded, and the people sunk in crime, boldly maintained the cause of God. Among these, Elijah was the chief. On the very first out-breaking of Ahab’s new offence, he was commissioned to announce one of the judgments threatened by Moses, that of long drought. A parched land and a famished population wrought at last a salutary change. Elijah, miraculously preserved during the famine, appears suddenly before the king, challenges the priests of Baal to a trial of their respective faiths, and having confounded them and vindicated himself by the fire from heaven descending on his altar, brings back the prince and people to the acknowledgment of the true God. The heathen priests and prophets are slain. Those of Jehovah are sought out and honoured, (1 Kings 17:1-24. and 1 Kings 18:1-46.) It was in this interval of partial and transient reformation that Ahab, by divine encouragement, defeated the king of Syria, and repelled his invasion. But in the very height of triumph he forgot God, and made a covenant with the enemy, whom he was commanded utterly to destroy; suffering him to escape on his promising to restore a few towns formerly taken from the Israelites. He had victory given to him, and final deliverance secured, if only he had been willing, in faith, to follow up and follow out the advantage he had gained, and, according to God’s command, utterly exterminate the foe. But he would be wiser more politic or more pitiful than God. He would make terms of compromise, drive a profitable bargain, and, in consideration of a merely nominal and apparent concession for the Syrian king soon showed he was not in earnest let the oppressor go in peace. For this he was rebuked by one of the prophets: "Thus saith the Lord, Because thou hast let go out of thy hand a man whom I appointed to utter destruction, therefore thy life shall go for his life, and thy people for his people." The rebuke, instead of humbling, irritated and provoked him: "He went to his house heavy and displeased." (1 Kings 20:1-43.) Soon he was still farther misled by that covetousness which in his case most emphatically was idolatry. The longing eye which he cast on Naboth’s vineyard seduced him into compliance with his wife’s diabolical counsel to have Naboth stoned to death on a false charge of blasphemy; and that unscrupulous and unprincipled woman having regained her influence over him, soon hurried him again into the worst excesses of his former heathenism; insomuch that "there was none like unto Ahab, which did sell himself to work wickedness in the sight of the Lord, whom Jezebel his wife stirred up; and he did very abominably in following idols." (1 Kings 21:1-29.) But still he is not forsaken by God. In the very instant of his relapse into sin, the prophet Elijah is sent to admonish him. Ahab repents; not perhaps very thoroughly, or with a really godly sorrow, but still so as to procure for himself one more respite, one other trial. For it is a striking feature of the providence of God, as exemplified in Scripture, that he sometimes accepts even a hypocritical, or at least a temporary and superficial, reformation, so far as to make it the occasion of a new respite and a new trial; but it may be the final respite, the final trial, as it was in the case of Ahab (1 Kings 21:17-29). Let us pause, however, here for a moment, and behold thus far, and at this stage, the goodness of God. In an age and nation of abounding iniquity, he has all along been raising up witnesses of his truth and his love. And in the particular case of Ahab, how patiently has he waited! It seems as if he were willing to make all possible allowance for the man’s natural infirmity, his impetuosity of temper, the circumstances in which he has been placed, and the influences exerted over him. He is reluctant to give him up altogether. He labours to arrest his downward career; he hails and welcomes every appearance of improvement; he counteracts the advice of evil counsellors by the faithful and effectual expostulations of true prophets; he is long-suffering and slow to anger. But there is a period to this forbearance. The time is come when Ahab’s fate must be decided. We arrive at the history of Ahab’s fall, the last, controversy between the goodness of God on the one hand, and the wilfulness of this heady and high-minded man on the other. Let us mark the successive stages of this strife: the king’s wilful purpose; the Lord’s gracious opposition; the issue of the contest; the issue and end of all. PART FIRST. The King’s Wilful Purpose (1 Kings 22:1-6). Ahab’s purpose is announced in the beginning of the chapter. We find him, after three years of peace, preparing to attack the Syrians. The Syrian king, whom Ahab had treated with such ill-timed levity, and with whom he had made so sinful a compromise, has, as might have been anticipated, failed to fulfil the stipulated terms of ransom, and to restore the cities of Israel Ahab, provoked at his own simplicity in having suffered so favourable an opportunity to slip, through his fond trust in the honour of a perfidious prince, and stung by the recollection of the prophet’s rebuke, conceives the design of retrieving his error, and compelling the fulfilment of the treaty, on the faith of which he had been weakly persuaded to liberate the enemy whom God had doomed. In this, Ahab acts under the impulse of resentment and ambition. He burns with the desire of avenging a personal wrong and insult, rather than of fulfilling the decree of God. Had he consulted the will of God, he must have seen and felt that it was now too late for him to take the step proposed. He had let the time go past. When God gave him victory, and assured him of power over his enemy, then he should have used his opportunity. This he had failed to do; and for his failure he had been reproved by God, and warned by the prophet that his people and his life were forfeited. He might have acquiesced in the reproof, and learned caution from the warning; and, thankful for the undeserved blessings of peace and safety which he enjoyed, he might have waited patiently on the Lord, who, in his own good time and way, would have accomplished his purpose. This would have been his true wisdom; and the best, or rather the only proof which he could give of the sincerity of his repentance, would have been to show himself thus humbled instead of being displeased. Certainly Ahab should have been the very last person to think of rousing and provoking the very foe who, by the divine sentence and by his own compromise, had gained so sad and signal an advantage over him. But instead of following so wise a course, Ahab blindly rushes into the opposite extreme from his former fault; and because before he has been blamed for not going far enough, with God on his side, he is provoked to go too far now, though God has declared against him. His conduct was like that of the Israelites of old, who, discouraged by the report of the spies, refused to invade the land, even when assured of God’s help; but when God refused his help on account of their unbelief, instead of humbly receiving the just punishment of their offence, were stung by it to the madness of making the rash attempt themselves. So Ahab,- instead of meekly submitting to the displeasure of God for his late unjustifiable weakness, would brave that displeasure again by an act of equally unjustifiable rashness; in the very temper of a petted and froward child, who, when reproved for doing too little, thinks to show his spirit by instantly doing too much. Still, however, though in breaking the peace or truce with which he is favoured, and venturing to provoke his perfidious and powerful neighbour, Ahab is acting without the warrant, nay, against the express warning of the Lord, he is not without his reasons, and they are very plausible reasons, to justify the step proposed. In the first place, it is in itself an act of patriotism and of piety; at least it looks very like it, and may easily be so represented: "And the king of Israel said unto his servants, Know ye that Ramoth in Gilead is ours, and we be still, and take it not out of the hand of the king of Syria?" (1 Kings 22:3). The city unquestionably belonged originally to Israel, and the king of Syria had promised to restore it, along with his other conquests. It lay within the territory of the tribe of Gad. It was a city of the Levites, and a city of refuge. It was a possession, therefore, an important and indeed sacred possession of the Israelites. What harm, then, is Ahab doing? Where is the injustice of his proceedings? Nay, is it not fair, reasonable, honourable, to attempt the recovery of his own and his people’s rights? Is he not even consulting the honour of God, in seeking thus zealously the restoration of what is God’s? Justice, duty, religion, appear to sanction his purpose. Secondly, it has received the countenance of a friend: "And he said unto Jehoshaphat, Wilt thou go with me to battle to Ramoth-gilead? And Jehoshaphat said to the king of Israel, I am as thou art, my people as thy people, my horses as thy horses" (1 Kings 22:4). And that friend is not a wicked man, but one fearing God, and acknowledged by God as righteous. And, thirdly, it has obtained the sanction of four hundred prophets: "Then the king of Israel gathered the prophets together, about four hundred men, and said unto them, Shall I go against Ramoth-gilead to battle, or shall I forbear? And they said, Go up; for the Lord shall deliver it into the hand of the king" (1 Kings 22:6). And these are not prophets of Baal; for his prophets had been lately dishonoured and almost utterly destroyed, and Ahab could not venture to bring any of them forward before so pious a prince as Jehoshaphat. Ahab is at this time professing a regard to the true religion, and he keeps at his court and about his person many disciples of the schools of the prophets, who themselves hold, or are reputed to hold, the prophetic character. The most complaisant and courteous of their number would doubtless be his counsellors: the boldest, as we know, he imprisoned. Still the approbation of these four hundred prophets, such as they were, might well confirm his resolution. Looking, then, at the act itself as an act of patriotic and pious zeal, encouraged by the consent of his friend and the concurrence of the prophets, Ahab, we may think, might well be misled. And we might pity and excuse him too, as one misled, did we not see him so willing to be so. Is he not all the while deceiving himself, and that too almost wilfully and consciously? Is it not the fact does he not feel it in his secret soul to be the fact that it is no sincere regard to the honour of his God and the good of his people that actuates him, but pride, vain-glory, ambition, and a spirit of impatience under the Lord’s rebuke? Is he not aware, that in the enterprise which he contemplates he has no call from Heaven, and no right to reckon on help from on high? That instead of having any title now to attack his enemy and to recover his lost possession, he should be very grateful if he is not himself attacked, his own life and his people’s being declared to be forfeited? Then as to his friend’s consent, has he dealt fairly with that friend? Has he stated to him all the circumstances of the case? And does he not see plainly his friend’s desire to conciliate, or fear to offend? Is he not deliberately taking advantage of a good man’s weakness? Lastly, as to the prophets, has he no cause to suspect flattery and falsehood? Is he not of free choice preferring their soothing lie to the honest truth? Does he not know that there is one prophet at least whom he cannot venture to consult? And is not this of itself a proof that he is by no means himself satisfied that he is right; that, on the contrary, he feels or fears that he may be doing wrong? Beware, ye pilgrims in an evil world, ye soldiers in an arduous fight, beware of your own rash wilfulness, of the weakness of compliant friends, and of the flattering counsels of evil men and seducers, who in the last times in the last and critical stage of individual experience, as well as of the world’s history are sure to wax worse and worse! There is no design, no device, no desire of your hearts, which you may not find some specious arguments to justify, some friends to countenance, aye, and some prophets too to sanction. You scarcely ever can be tempted to take a single doubtful or dangerous step in life without having some plea of reason or religion to warrant it. It may be a step which God does not require you to take, and which he does not promise to assist you in taking. You may be putting in jeopardy your principles, and risking the very safety of your souls, by rushing needlessly and un-warrantably into the province of the enemy, and braving, or even courting, temptation challenging, by invasion of its haunts, the seductions of an evil world provoking the slumbering power of sin, of the very sin to which, by former concessions and compromises, you have given a formidable advantage over you. Ah! But you have some good purpose to serve in thus exposing yourselves you have some important end to gain. You have to make up for past neglect; you have to repair past errors; you have to win back to God some part of what the great adversary has conquered, which still you think might be cleansed and sanctified again; you have to assert your Christian freedom and vindicate your superiority over the world, the devil, and the flesh. And if you should go a step too far, and venture somewhat imprudently into the very midst of the strong-holds of this world’s god, you will surely, in consideration of the sincerity of your motives, be forgiven and protected. And then you can get good men, in their complaisance, to go along with you, and even some form, or feeling, or fashion of religion some spiritual plea of gospel liberty or love to consecrate the undertaking; and you may seem to have a very good cause, or at least a very fair excuse, for venturing, as you do, on the very margin of what is wrong. Aye, but are you sure that, all this while, there is no guile in your spirit? Is there no consciousness of a selfish aim, no feeling that, in part at least, you are seeking to gratify your own pride and passion, as well as to advance the interests of righteousness, when, not content with the security and peace which by God’s special mercy you might enjoy, through simply believing in Jesus, hiding yourselves in him, and humbly keeping aloof from the evil one, you are thus ready to risk a nearer encounter with the foe, and trust in your own ability to conquer? Are you not deceiving yourselves, and willing to be deceived? Is there no pious friend, to win whose approval you feel that you would need to state your case falsely, or partially? Is there no sound judgment that you fear to consult; no eye of searching penetration and keen reproof to which you would not wish the whole purpose of your hearts to be unveiled; no argument or expostulation to which you would not like to listen; no prophet of the Lord whom you dare not send for? Oh, if there be, let this proof of a bad, or a doubtful cause, startle and alarm you! Doubt, deliberate no more, if you would not be lost. However innocent, however justifiable, the line of conduct in question may be, however plausible the arguments in its favour, however ready the consent of friends, however full the sanction, of prophets, be sure it is the beginning of evil, the first step to ruin, as it was in the case of Ahab. PART SECOND. The Lord’s Gracious Opposition (1 Kings 22:7-23.) We come now to consider the Lord’s opposition to Ahab’s purpose; for God did not yet leave this infatuated man to himself he interposed to warn him by the mouth of a faithful servant. The king of Israel is satisfied with the oracular answer of the prophets. Not so, however, the king of Judah. He suspects something wrong, missing probably among the four hundred some one of whom he has heard. Hence his question (1 Kings 22:7), "Is there not here a prophet of the Lord besides that we might enquire of him?" And hence the pains he takes to overcome Ahab’s prejudice against Micaiah (1 Kings 22:8): "And the king of Israel said unto Jehoshaphat, There is yet one man, Micaiah the son of Imlah, by whom we may enquire of the Lord: but I hate him; for he doth not prophesy good concerning me, but evil. And Jehoshaphat said; let not the king say so." The king of Judah, it is true, does not venture to speak very boldly; for that he is too timid, or too temporizing. Still he persuades Ahab, and so far prevails as to have Micaiah summoned from the prison in which, for his freedom of speech, he had been confined: "Then the king of Israel called an officer, and said, Hasten hither Micaiah the son of Imlah." This Micaiah is supposed to be the prophet who re proved Ahab formerly, on the occasion of his compromise with the Syrian king; and it was probably his boldness on that occasion that caused him to be imprisoned. That for some such reason he was at this time a prisoner, seems to be plainly implied, both in the king’s manner of summoning him and in the terms in which he is afterwards remanded to confinement (1 Kings 22:26-27). To please, then, his over-scrupulous ally, Ahab calls Micaiah into his counsels. But mark in what spirit he does so; not willingly, but reluctantly; not out of a candid desire to hear him, but with a fixed prejudice and predetermination against him. And is not this, the spirit in which good advice is too often asked, and the word of God consulted, when it is too late, when a man’s mind is already all but made up? You go when your conscience will not otherwise let you alone, or when the remonstrances of pious friends trouble you; you go to some man of God, to God himself, by prayer and the searching of his word: for what? What is it that you want? Light for duty, however self-denying? Or light to justify your doubtful course? Alas! alas! it may be all a mere form, gone through to satisfy some scruple of a friend; or it may be a desperate effort to catch at any semblance of divine permission for what you have, at any rate, set your heart on doing. Look at Ahab, for example. See how he is occupied while his messenger is gone for Micaiah. Instead of preparing himself to judge impartially, he is still lending an itching ear to the prophets of smooth things, one of whom goes so far as to mock and mimic the symbolic mode of prophecy adopted by the true prophets, and to represent, by the similitude of two pushing horns, the supposed successes of the allied kings: "And the king of Israel and Jehoshaphat the king of Judah sat each on his throne, having put on their robes, in a void place in the entrance of the gate of Samaria; and all the prophets prophesied before them. And Zedekiah the son of Chenaanah made him horns of iron: and he said, Thus saith the Lord, with these shalt thou push the Syrians, until thou have consumed them. And all the prophets prophesied so, saying, Go up to Ramoth-gilead, and prosper: for the Lord shall deliver it into the king’s hand" (1 Kings 22:10-12). Thus Ahab is confirmed in his purpose, and is still further prejudiced against Micaiah. Meantime that man of God is called. He is advised, in friendship perhaps, to accommodate himself to the humour of the king, and to fall in with the rest of the prophets (1 Kings 22:13): "And the messenger that was gone to call Micaiah spake unto him, saying, Behold now, the words of the prophets declare good unto the king with one mouth: let thy word, I pray thee, be like the word of one of them, and speak that which is good." His answer is noble (1 Kings 22:14): "As the Lord liveth, what the Lord saith unto me, that will I speak." And right nobly does he redeem his pledge. He stands before the princes, undaunted by their royal state. First of all, he rebukes the prejudice of Ahab, by seeming to flatter it (1 Kings 22:15): "So he came to the king. And the king said unto him, Micaiah, shall we go against Ramoth-gilead to battle, or shall we forbear? And he answered him, "Go, and prosper: for the Lord shall deliver it into the hand of the king." He says this in bitter irony and sarcasm, taunting the king, and using the very words of the prophets to whom he delighted to listen. ’What is the use of consulting me? They have given you already the advice and the promise which you desire. Doubtless they are to be believed, and you have resolved to believe them. They bid you go; yes! Go by all means. They assure you of success; certainly they must know best.’ The irony conveys a cutting reproof, and a merited one; and with this the holy prophet might have left the prince to believe his own and his flatterers’ lie. But the mercy of God and the sin of Ahab are to be yet more signally brought out. Micaiah, therefore, when again adjured, speaks plainly. Ahab discerns the sharp and keen ridicule of the prophet’s first address, and feels the rebuke. He presses him more closely: "How many times shall I adjure thee that thou tell me nothing but that which is true in the name of the Lord?" (1 Kings 22:16.) In reply, the prophet first describes what he saw in vision, scenes of desolation, the king lost, and the people dispersed, the shepherd smitten, and the sheep scattered; an expression which became proverbial, and was prophetic of another scene, when another Shepherd was smitten: "And he said, I saw all Israel scattered upon the hills, as sheep that have not a shepherd: and the Lord said, These have no master: let them return every man to his house in peace " (1 Kings 22:17). And then, still more thoroughly to awaken and alarm the king, the prophet, by a striking announcement of what is presented to him in vision as at that moment passing in the unseen world, denounces the falsehood of the other advisers, and unveils to Ahab the crisis of his fate: "And he said, Hear thou therefore the word of the Lord: I saw the Lord sitting on his throne, and all the host of heaven standing by him on his right hand and on his left. And the Lord said, who shall persuade Ahab that he may go up and fall at Ramoth-gilead? And one said on this manner, and another said on that manner. And there came forth a spirit, and stood before the Lord, and said, I will persuade him. And the Lord said unto him, wherewith? And he said, I will go forth, and I will be a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets. And he said, Thou shalt persuade him, and prevail also: go forth, and do so. Now therefore, behold, the Lord hath put a lying spirit in the mouth of all these thy prophets, and the Lord hath spoken evil concerning thee" (1 Kings 22:19-23). Thus Micaiah describes the Lord sitting on the throne of judgment, and in judgment sending forth a spirit of delusion to lure and decoy Ahab to his fall: not that God ever seeks and desires the destruction of his creatures, or influences them by any necessity to be destroyed; but that, both as the natural consequence and also as the just punishment of their perverseness, when he sees them, in spite of all remonstrances, enamoured of destruction, he suffers them to destroy themselves. He leaves them, when willing to be deceived, at the mercy of the great deceiver. He causes blindness to fall on those who will not see, and hardness of heart on those who will not believe; and when men are ready to grasp a lie, sends a lying spirit to put a lie in their right hands. And yet even to the last, in judgment God remembers mercy. The very scene of judgment which the prophet discloses does not imply any fixed and irrevocable design of wrath against Ahab; with such a design, indeed, the disclosure of the scene would be incompatible and inconsistent. We speak of the revealed, not the secret will of God; with the revealed will of God alone Ahab had to do. And accordingly this scene, while it indicates a fearful trial, appointed in just wrath God himself sending forth a lying spirit indicates also, in the very intimation given of it previously by one whom Ahab knew he ought to believe as a true prophet, that the Lord would have him to be forewarned and forearmed. He thus puts into Ahab’s hands, if he will but take them, the arms by which he may meet the adversary; the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God; and the shield of faith, whereby he may be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one. It is in love that this scene is disclosed in truest and most tender pity to rouse, to arrest, to turn him, ere it is too late. There is yet time for him to stop short; else why this last attempt to open his eyes? And is it not ever thus? The sentence of final infatuation does not come without previous intimation. However you may be deceived, or may be deceiving, yourselves, is there not a voice of truth, or a prophetic warning, which you feel might keep you right if you were but willing to be kept right? Lying spirits of Satan may be sent abroad; but is not the Spirit of the living God still to the last striving with you? Though all your friends, and all the prophets, and all the longings of your own heart, join to beguile you, is there not still something in your conscience, in the Bible, in the providence of God, which tells you that all is not well, and bids you pause and see how Satan is mustering his agents to betray you, and God is permitting or appointing it, on account of your sin? And is not this the very height of your criminality and the aggravation of your doom, that, with your eyes opened, and suspicions and doubts awakened, when, by the misgivings and forebodings of your own souls, as well as by signs all around you, God is in mercy calling you to beware of the fearful visitation of judicial blindness and a reprobate mind, soon to be inflicted on such as you are, you can still listen to the soothing voice which speaks according to your wish, and count the faithful monitor your enemy because he tells you the truth? So it was with Ahab. "Did I not tell thee," he says to his ally, that this Micaiah was mine enemy, "that he would prophesy no good concerning me, but evil?" (1 Kings 22:18.) ‘You see what I gain by consulting so severe and gloomy a fanatic. But, after all, why should he arrest our glorious career of triumph? What need have we of his sanction? Have we not enough of countenance without him? What fault have you to find with the four hundred, who have all with one consent promised us victory? And then see how tame and mean-spirited this saint is, how meekly he submits to insult and affront’: "But Zedekiah the son of Chenaanah went near, and smote Micaiah on the cheek, and said, Which way went the Spirit of the Lord from me to speak unto thee?" (1 Kings 22:24.) When he is buffeted, he takes it patiently. Is he a fit counsellor of brave men and potent kings? Is his sour and malignant envy, grudging our success, his morose and unaccommodating temper, crossing our purposes, thus always to blast our fair prospects with the ominous presage of woe? No; his very presence spreads cowardice and disaffection. Let him leave war and government to nobler spirits; away with him to his dungeon and his cell, to meditate his tame doctrine of slavery and peace, and muse on the glories of his visionary heaven. The prophet, having faithfully discharged his conscience, and served his God and his king, retires happy to his prison, calm and confident of the result: "And Micaiah said, Behold, thou shalt see in that day, when thou shalt go into an inner chamber to hide thyself. And the king of Israel said, Take Micaiah and carry him back unto Amon the governor of the city, and to Joash the king’s son; and say, Thus saith the king, Put this fellow in the prison, and feed him with bread of affliction and with water of affliction, until I come in peace. And Micaiah said, If thou return at all in peace, the Lord hath not spoken by me. And he said, Hearken, people, every one of you." (ver. 25-28). The prince, enraged and irritated by the consciousness of this last wrong, having sealed his doom by his abuse of this last mercy, losing now all temper and self-command, rushes infatuated to battle and to death: "So the king of Israel and Jehoshaphat the king of Judah went up to Ramoth-gilead" (1 Kings 22:29). PART THIRD. The Issue of the Contest (1 Kings 22:29-38). We come now to the closing scene, the issue of Ahab’s trial. Having at last overmastered the scruples of his friend, Ahab marshals the hosts of Israel and Judah to go up against Ramoth-gilead. And here, in the first place, let the expedient by which Ahab consults his own safety be observed. For he does not feel entirely comfortable and secure; he cannot rid himself of the uneasy apprehension which the prophet’s word has suggested. There is danger. Oh! but he will fall on a shrewd way of escaping it! The prophet has announced that it is the shepherd, that is the king, who is to fall; and accordingly, as it turns out, the orders of the Syrian commander are (1 Kings 22:31), that his troops are to spare all meaner enemies, and bend their whole force against the royal captain of the Jewish host. Ahab, knowing the hazard, cunningly proposes to resign the post of honour to his ally: "And the king of Israel said unto Jehoshaphat, I will disguise myself, and enter into the battle; but put thou on thy robes. And the king of Israel disguised himself, and went into the battle" (1 Kings 22:30). While Ahab is to disguise himself, or, in other words, to go forth in the ordinary armour of a common soldier, Jehoshaphat is to retain his royal robes and assume the command. The design of the crafty prince is so far successful. His too easy friend accepts the post of honour, as being the post of danger too. The dauntless spirit of this honourable man suspected no fraud in his ally, and shrunk from no force of the enemy. How narrowly he escaped without paying the penalty of his confidence and complaisance, we may afterwards remark. Meantime, what are we to think of the meanness of him who could thus treacherously impose upon another the conduct and hazard of his own unholy enterprise, and that other, too, his sworn comrade, his friend? what but that there can be no friendship, no honour at all, in a confederacy of sin, a confederacy against God? Cowardice, treachery, these are the characteristics of an evil conscience and a doubtful cause. Ahab was perhaps no coward naturally, no traitor to the sanctities of friendship; yet how unscrupulously does he sacrifice his friend and ally to the dastardly hope of shifting away from himself the sin and danger of the step that he is taking? And what are we to expect but that, false to his God, a man will be false to his friend also. Especially in any matter in which he has sought to fortify his own wavering resolution by his friend’s companionship, he make that friend’s godly character available as a shield and cover for his own sin. Let none trust the fidelity of him who is not faithful to his best, his kindest, his most generous benefactor, his Saviour, his God. Consult your own conscience. When you are prepared to violate the restraints of God’s holy law, and to despise the warning of his holy prophets, will you stand upon much ceremony with the cobweb delicacies of courtesy and kindness, of that honour which is but breath, and that friendship which is but a name? Will you hesitate one moment to endanger the peace, the safety, or the reputation, even of the man who treats you with the most simple and confiding frankness? Will you scruple to turn his simplicity to your own account, and to play and work upon his confidence? You will try to make him as bad as you are yourselves; perhaps a little worse. By flattery, by solicitations, by false representations of your design, you will persuade him to join you to give you his consent and countenance to take a lead perhaps in your enterprise. Under pretence of honouring him, deferring to his advice and trusting in his wisdom, you will propose that he should stand forward while you occupy the back ground. And if you succeed, how will you secretly exult! And if he be a good man, you will triumph all the more. You will lay all the blame and all the risk on him; and under his wing you will think that you are safe. But will the treacherous and cowardly device avail? Did it in the case of Ahab? No; God is not mocked. He sees the trembling caitiff [obsolete word for ‘coward’] under his mean disguise. And in the random shot which struck the guilty prince we recognise the immediate hand of the Lord in judgment. The expedient, indeed, has apparently almost answered Ahab’s purpose. His friend, the king of Judah, as he expected, is mistaken for him, and becomes the mark for a thousand weapons: "And it came to pass, when the captains of the chariots saw Jehoshaphat, that they said, Surely it is the king of Israel. And they turned aside to fight against him: and Jehoshaphat cried out" (ver. 32). Ahab himself in the meantime escapes detection, and is exulting in the success of his scheme, and in his own security; when, as if to mark him out as the victim, not of man, but of God, no well-aimed dart, but an arrow sent at a venture, becomes to him the unerring bolt of wrath, and accomplishes his just and predetermined doom: "And a certain man drew a bow at a. venture, and smote the king of Israel between the joints of the harness; wherefore he said unto the driver of his chariot, Turn thine hand, and carry me out of the host; for I am wounded" (1 Kings 22:34). It is thus, sinner! that the judgment of God will overtake you, and "your sin will find you out." You may follow the multitude to do evil, and, mingling in the multitude undistinguished and unobserved, you may seem to get rid of your own individual responsibility and your own individual risk. You may flatter yourself that in your worldly course you have lost and merged your own particular share of the guilt and hazard in the general mass, and, as one of many involved in a common liability, are not specially marked and specially doomed. You may place before you, in the foremost rank, some dear friend, some greater and better man than yourself, who can better stand the brunt of battle. Against him the charge must be made; on him the fault, if any, must lie: he stands between you and judgment, and under the warrant and with the excuse of his authority, you feel yourself secure. Still, "be sure your sin will find you out." An arrow drawn at a venture will enter your soul. The Lord singles you out individually, and separately deals with you. There is a shaft of conviction or a bolt of wrath on the wing, rushing seemingly at random through mid, air the arrow of Christ the king shot from his word, his gospel. Whose heart shall it sharply pierce? Yours, sinner! though a high name lead you, and a high example authorize you. Then stand forth now from the crowd alone, singly, separately, pierced in your heart now, that you may not be pierced hereafter. Flee from the camp and company of the wicked. "Say not, A confederacy, to whom this people say, A confederacy, neither fear ye their fear; but sanctify the Lord of hosts in your heart, and let him be your fear, and let him be your dread." Beware of Ahab’s doom. Beware of Ahab’s sin. Trifle not with the remonstrances of God. Abuse not his long-suffering. Resist not his Spirit, when he is, in long-suffering patience, striving with you. In particular 1. Beware of the beginning of Ahab’s evil course - his fatal compromise with the enemy of his peace. See that you enter into no terms with any sin, and that you be not hardened through its deceitfulness. When God in Christ gives you the victory, delivering you from condemnation by his free grace, and upholding you by his free Spirit; when, justified and accepted in the Beloved, you see every sin of yours prostrate beneath your feet, stripped of all its power to slay or to enslave you be sure that you make thorough work in following out the advantage you have gained that you listen to no plausible proposals of concession that you suffer no iniquity to escape that you mortify every lust. For, if a single iniquity be tolerated, or allowed, or indulged; if a single sin remain alive; if, deceived by Satan’s sophistry, you let our vanquished enemy go, and trust to his fair promises of moderation and good behaviour, who can tell what a thorn in the flesh that one enemy may prove to you, what a root of bitterness to spring up and trouble you! How soon may you be led into Ahab’s course of impatience, presumption, and rebellion! To what shifts and subtleties of an unsatisfied conscience may you be compelled, like him, to resort! How, by one petty sin unmortified and unsubdued, may your peace be disturbed, your heart hardened, and your soul involved again in danger and in death! Let, your prayer, Oh penitent believer! be the prayer of the psalmist: "Who can understand his errors? Cleanse thou me from secret faults. Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins: let them not have dominion over me: then shall I be upright, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression. Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, Lord, my strength and my redeemer." 2. Beware of welcoming ...a slumbering foe. If there be any enemy of your peace to whom, by former compliances or concessions, you have given an advantage over you, beware of invading his territories again. Be on your guard against the very first beginnings of evil of any evil especially that you have ever, in all your past lives, tolerated, or flattered, or fondled in your bosoms, when you should have been nailing it, without pity, to your Saviour’s cross. You may have many plausible reasons for venturing into nearer and closer contact with it than is at all necessary or safe. You may wish to recover a lost opportunity of grappling with it in the death-struggle of repentance and faith; you may wish to assert your Christian liberty and power. But, oh! beware, if conscience whisper that there is in you any latent lurking remnant of the spirit that made you once indulgent towards that sin, or anything like that sin. "Look not on the wine-cup when it is red." "Make a covenant with thine eyes that they behold not a maid." "If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell." 3. Beware of the deceitfulness of sin. The wiles of the devil are not unknown to you. In a doubtful case, where you are hesitating, it is easy for him to insinuate and suggest reasons enough to make the worse appear the better cause. Generally you may detect his sophistry by its complex character. Truth is simple; the word of God is plain: "Come out from among them and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing." The voice of conscience also is clear: "How can I do this wickedness, and sin against God?" 4. Beware of being hardened through the deceitfulness of sin. Beware of a judicial hardening of your hearts, or of your being given over to believe a lie. Imagine to yourselves what may be at this very moment going on in the high court of heaven concerning you. It may be your case that is under consideration; it may be the crisis of your fate that is come. No Micaiah is here, indeed, to unfold the solemn scene; but something in your own conscience may tell of it. There is hesitancy: Felix trembles Agrippa is moved. It is not yet too late; you are at the very point of the decisive choice. All is trembling in the balance. Then, today, if ye will hear His voice, harden not your hearts. Trifle not with the convictions of conscience or the strivings of the Spirit of God. Beware of provoking and incurring the sentence "Ephraim is joined to his idols, let him alone;" or the judgment indicated by Him who is the faithful and true witness, in his parable of the barren fig-tree "Cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground?" the judgment which, after all suitable influences have been applied in vain, is acquiesced in by the intercessor himself as in the last resort inevitable "Then after that thou shalt cut it down" (Luke 13:6-9). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 47: 05.06. VI. THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD IN THE CASE OF THE RIGHTEOUS CHARACTER... ======================================================================== VI. THE FORBEARANCE OF GOD IN THE CASE OF THE RIGHTEOUS CHARACTER OF JEHOSHAPHAT. 1 Kings 22:1-53; 2 Chronicles 18:1-34; 2 Chronicles 19:1-11. "SHOULDEST thou help the ungodly, and love them that hate the Lord? Therefore is wrath upon thee from before the Lord" (2 Chronicles 19:2). Such is the reproof administered by Jehu the seer to Jehoshaphat, on his return from the unsuccessful warfare in which he had been engaged with the king of Israel against the Syrians. In the history of that event we have an interesting exhibition of character, especially of the characters of the two leaders of the Jewish host - Ahab king of Israel, and Jehoshaphat king of Judah. In Ahab we have an instance of a wicked man partially reclaimed, frequently arrested, but yet finally hardened in his iniquity. In Jehoshaphat, again, we have a still more affecting example. We see how a man, upright before God, and sincere in serving him, may be betrayed into weak compliances; and how dangerous and melancholy the consequences of these compliances may be. The general uprightness of Jehoshaphat, his sincerity in serving God, is expressly acknowledged and commended by the prophet in the very act of condemning his sin (2 Chronicles 19:3): "Nevertheless there are good things found in thee, in that thou hast taken away the groves out of the land, and hast prepared thine heart to seek the Lord." And this high and honourable commendation corresponds with what we elsewhere read concerning his character and conduct. 2 Chronicles 17:1-19 gives an account of his piety and zeal at the beginning of his reign, and before the event to which the prophet refers; and 2 Chronicles 19:1-11 and 2 Chronicles 20:1-37 prove the continuance of these excellent dispositions, even after that most sad and untoward occurrence. We read of his labours in removing idolatry out of the land, and restoring the worship of the true God (2 Chronicles 17:6); of his attention to the religious instruction of the people (2 Chronicles 15:2); of his concern for the administration of justice (2 Chronicles 19:5); and of his care for the defence of his people against their enemies, by the best of all resources an appeal to God (2 Chronicles 20:1-37.): on all which accounts he was eminently favoured by God with prosperity at home and honour from abroad; the attachment of his people, the submission of his hostile neighbours, the tribute of many nations, and the blessing of Jehovah, the God of David, whom he feared. Such a prince, we might naturally imagine, opposed to all corruption in the worship of God, would be especially studious to keep himself and his people separate from the heathenism and idolatry of the adjoining kingdom of Israel. He could have no sympathy with the spirit which animated that kingdom under the auspices of the infamous Jezebel no toleration for the abuses which prevailed after she had secured the open establishment of the very worst form of paganism. His aim must surely be to avoid as far as possible all communion with a nation which could only ensnare and corrupt his own people. Yet, strange to tell, the besetting sin of this good man was a tendency to connect himself with idolaters. The single fault charged against this godly prince is his frequent alliance with his ungodly neighbours. This is the very offence for which he is reproved by the prophet. And this offence he more than once committed in the course of his reign courting, or at least accepting, the friendly advances of the kingdom of Israel; and that in three several ways. Thus, in the first place, Jehoshaphat consented to a treaty of marriage, probably at the beginning of his reign (2 Chronicles 18:1). He "joined affinity with Ahab" by marrying his son to Ahab’s daughter (2 Kings 8:18). This was the first overture towards an alliance. It is a policy common among princes though, alas, too often ineffectual for uniting their royal families and their respective nations. It is the very policy of which in our own history we have several examples, in the intermarriages of the heirs of the two crowns in this island; whence, by the blessing of God, has resulted that solid union which, in his mercy, may he long preserve! The powerful monarchs of the south, after vainly endeavouring to subdue their poorer northern neighbour, whose proud and singular boast it is, that, poor as she is, she has never yet yielded to a foreign yoke, were content to win by courtship what they could not conquer by arms, and to welcome on a footing of affinity the people who would not be held as subjects. In accordance with this policy, then, the king of Judah sought to conciliate the friend- ship of the king of Israel, by mingling the blood of their royal races; not, however, with the same happy consequence, but, as it turned out, with most disastrous issues. Then, secondly, Jehoshaphat twice joined in a league of war with the kings of Israel; first, in the expedition against Syria which we have been considering; and again, shortly after in an attack upon the Moabites (2 Kings 3:7). This latter confederacy being formed against a common enemy, who had given both of them provocation, was not so unjustifiable, nor was it so un- fortunate as the other: it received the sanction of Elisha’s counsel and of the Lord’s signal interposition. But the warlike alliance into which, of his own accord, he entered, issued in nought but evil. Lastly, in the third place, Jehoshaphat consented, though reluctantly, in the close of his reign, to a commercial alliance of his people with the ten tribes. It appears (1 Kings 22:48) that once before, when asked by the king of Israel to concur in a joint expedition of their two navies to Ophir for gold, Jehoshaphat promptly and peremptorily refused, having then had fresh and recent experience, in the Syrian war, of the danger of his connection with Ahab. But yet afterwards (2 Chronicles 20:35-37) he agreed to a similar proposal; on which occasion he was again rebuked by the prophet of the Lord, and again visited with signal judgment. "The ships were broken," and the expedition ruined; "they were not able to go to Tarshish." Such, then, was Jehoshaphat, and such his besetting sin. Now, this infirmity in so excellent a person especially as manifested in that confederacy with the king of Israel of which we have already been tracing the dismal consummation is well worthy of our study, both to ascertain its cause and to trace its effects; first, to find out the probable reasons or motives of Jehoshaphat’s conduct in this matter, and then to expose its folly, its sinfulness, its danger, and its evil fruit. As to the sin itself with which Jehoshaphat is charged, and the probable reasons or motives of its commission, we cannot suppose that, in forming an alliance with the ungodly, Jehoshaphat was actuated by fondness for the crime, or by complacency in the criminal. "We must seek an explanation of his conduct rather in mistaken views of policy than in any considerable indifference to the honour of God, or any leaning to the defections of apostasy and idolatry. For this end, let us consider the relative situation of the two kingdoms of Judah and Israel, and the feelings which their respective kings, with their subjects, mutually cherished towards one another. The first effect of Jeroboam’s revolt with the ten tribes from the house of David, was a bitter and irreconcilable hostility between the two rival kingdoms of the ten, and of the two tribes. All friendly intercourse was interrupted, mutual jealousy and suspicion prevailed, and the minds of men on both sides were exasperated and inflamed by a succession of reciprocal injuries and insults. The division was marked by all the warmth of religious controversy, and the implacable rancour of civil and domestic feud. The kings of Judah could keep no terms with rebels against the Lord and his anointed David; while it was manifestly the policy of the revolted princes to make the breach irreparable, by keeping alive and aggravating feelings of animosity among the Israelites against their brethren of Judah. And, as if to widen and perpetuate the breach, each party in turn had recourse to the expedient of calling in foreign aid against the other. At the instigation probably of Jeroboam, Shishak, king of Egypt, who had formerly been his patron and protector, invaded Judah. And again, by way of retaliation, the king of Judah soon after invited the Syrians to ravage the territory of the hostile kingdom of Israel, (2 Chronicles 12:1-16 and 2 Chronicles 16:1-14.) Thus these two kindred nations, when the quarrel was yet recent and the wound rankled, hated and devoured one another. In course of time, however, when a generation or two passed away, something like a change, or a tendency to approximation, began to appear. The feelings of hostility had in some degree subsided, the memory of former union had revived, and the idea might again not unnaturally suggest itself to a wise and patriotic statesman, of consolidating once more into a powerful empire communities which, although recently estranged, had yet a common origin, a common history, a common name, and, till lately, a common faith, whose old recollections and associations were all in common. The manifest folly, too, of exposing themselves, by intestine division, to foreign invasion, and even employing foreigners against each other, might prompt the desire of bringing the kingdoms to act harmoniously together, whether in peace or in war. Such might very reasonably be the views of an able, enlightened, and conscientious sovereign, pursuing simply, in a sense, the good of his country; and such, probably, were the views of Jehoshaphat. His favourite aim and design seems to have been, to conciliate the king and people of Israel; at least, he was always ready to listen to any proposals of conciliation. He, no doubt, thought that he could secure all the advantages of an amicable intercourse without incurring its dangers that he could sufficiently guard himself and his people from the contamination of evil influence and evil example that they could derive all the benefit to be desired from mixing with their neighbours in things temporal, without losing their own superior privileges in things spiritual. Nay, we may believe that this good man contemplated the communication of these privileges to his outcast brethren of Israel, and proposed, by the course which he adopted, to leaven them with the spirit of a better faith, and ultimately bring them back again to the legitimate dominion of the house of David, and the pure worship of the God of their fathers. If so, his object was certainly not unlawful; but in the pursuit of it, he was tempted to an unlawful compromise of principle. In his anxiety to pacify, to conciliate, and to reclaim, he was tempted to go a little too far - even to the sacrificing of his own high integrity, and the apparent countenancing of other men’s iniquities. Here lay the error of this pious prince; and here it was that he suffered the subtlety of worldly wisdom, and the spurious kindness of worldly liberality, to interfere with the simplicity of an upright and honourable faith in God, and a godly love towards men. To desire the restoration of his brethren of Israel to the privileges of the covenant which they had renounced, Was natural, just, and right, in one who himself valued these privileges so highly; but with this view, and under this pretence, to make friendly advances towards them, and show a disposition to unite with them, in their present state of apostasy and idolatry this was imprudence this was sin. And is not this the very sin of many good and serious Christians, who manifest to the world, its follies and its vices, a certain mild and tolerant spirit, and are disposed to treat the men of the world with a sort of easy and indulgent complacency; justifying or excusing such concessions to themselves by the fond persuasion, that they are but seeking, or at least that they are promoting, the world’s Deformation? No doubt, it is your duty to conciliate all men, if you can; but there is such a thing as conciliating, and conciliating, and conciliating, till you conciliate away all the distinctive characteristics of your faith. It is true, that in your intercourse with the world you are bound to be patient, long-suffering, and kind, as your God is patient, long-suffering, and kind, even to the evil and the unthankful You are to love the most abandoned with all that intensity of compassionate regard with which God has loved an ungodly race. By all words of sympathy, by all acts of true liberality, by the cultivation of all the charities and all the courtesies of social intercourse, by self-denial and self-sacrifice, by all frank and cordial testimonies of affection, you are to demonstrate your own and your heavenly Father’s good-will, if by any means, heaping coals of fire on their head, you may melt them to penitence and love. But to make men see and feel how gladly you on earth, and your Father in heaven, would welcome them as penitents, this is one thing. To make them suppose that you are willing to receive them on terms of friendship while still impenitent, this is quite another. To treat them as if their impenitence formed no serious obstacle to the closest and most familiar intimacy; to mix and unite with them, as if you could tolerate, and even admire, their frailties, their excesses, their loose maxims and opinions; this is to attempt a union between light and darkness, between Christ and Belial an attempt alike vain and sinful, dangerous to yourselves and ruinous to them. If, therefore, there are any in the Church of Christ who are sometimes tempted (and who shall say that he is not?) to advance too far in this line of concession and conciliation, and these overtures of friendly conformity to the world, and to plead that they are not thus contaminated themselves, but that they rather season the world’s corruption in the circles in which they move, by the admixture of their own purer principles and practices; we bid them look to Jehoshaphat and his unholy alliance with the idolatrous king of Israel. Let them consider what the real effect of such conduct was in his case, and what must be the effect of similar conduct in theirs. Let them observe its vanity and folly, for it fails to serve, or rather tends to hinder, the good purpose they intend; its sin, as it regards their own testimony for God and maintenance of sound principle; its danger, as it puts to hazard their peace and safety; and its mischievous tendency to encourage the evil course and accelerate the ruin of the very men whom they profess that they desire to benefit. Thus, as to the first point, Jehoshaphat, when he consented to an alliance with the king of Israel, no doubt contemplated the possibility of doing him some good. He thought that his influence and example might operate as a check on the violence of his ally. He intended to interpose, at fitting seasons and opportunities, his advice, his remonstrance, his authority; and flattered himself that, under his control, the measures of the headstrong prince would assume a milder and more moderate, as well as more religious character, than was their wont. Such was his hope. How in point of fact was it realized? Do we find the presence of the Jewish king at all restraining the impetuosity of Ahab’s counsels? No; but his presence gives to these counsels a weight and a plausibility which, without his countenance and consent, they never would have had. Do we find Jehoshaphat boldly resisting and opposing the ungodliness of his new friend? All, no! His voice of rebuke is feeble and unheeded. Hear how he answers Ahab’s impious avowal of the hatred which he bore to the true prophet of the Lord. Is it in the tone of manly and honest indignation which it deserved? No; but with a puny, pitiful, girlish gentleness of expostulation "Let not the king say so." And when the prophet is insolently buffeted by one of Ahab’s minions, and consigned to unmerited imprisonment by the chafed monarch himself, what has this godly king to say against such atrocities? What! Not a word? No! For not a word from him will now be regarded. He has lost his high prerogative of reproof. He has descended from his footing of unquestioned and uncompromised integrity, and involved himself irretrievably in the very course he should be rebuking. In a word, do we find this pious prince exerting any salutary influence at all over Ahab’s manners, or principles, or pursuits? No; but we see him a tool, a dupe, and well-nigh a victim, in the hands of one too crafty and too headstrong for him to manage. And so it must ever be. The very first step a good man takes from the eminence, on which he stands apart, as the friend of God and the unflinching enemy of all ungodliness in the world, he compromises his authority, his influence, his right and power of bold remonstrance and unsparing testimony against the corrupt lusts and the angry passions of men. He gives up the point of principle, and as to any resistance that he may make in details, men see not what there is left to fight for. If you make concessions to the weak, the wicked, or the worldly, and enter into their plans, and sit down with them in their indulgences, you renounce the advantage which the consciousness of untarnished honour and un-impeached consistency, and that alone, can give you over them; you put yourself on their level; you are at their mercy; you are one of themselves; and it must be with an ill grace and a feeble effect that you venture timidly to stand forth either as God’s witness or as their reprover. Whatever you gain by conciliation, you lose far more by forfeiting the respect and reverence which firm integrity commands. You may consent to mix with them familiarly on terms of friendship and companionship; you may thus gain their easy and indolent good-will; but you gain something very like their contempt too; and a sort of feeble paralysis comes over you in the very attempt to be faithful. Your voice of censure loses all its commanding energy; your look of disapprobation loses all its keenness; your presence is no longer felt to be a restraint on folly; your severity cannot awe, your tenderness cannot touch; you can but feebly "hint a doubt, and hesitate dislike." To assume a high tone and take high ground now, would but excite ridicule by its absurdity or anger by its impertinence. Your right to testify, your influence to persuade, your power of rebuke, alas! Are all gone. Is not this the natural, the necessary result of such a conciliatory course? If you condescend to flatter men in their vanities, will they listen to you when you gravely reprehend their sins? No; they will laugh you to scorn. If you countenance them in the beginning of their excess, will they patiently bear your authoritative denunciation of its end? No; they will contemptuously reject it as a fond folly, or indignantly resent it as an insult. If you go with them one mile, may they not almost expect you to go two? At least, you have no right to take it very much amiss if they go the two miles themselves. Settle it, then, in your minds, as a fixed principle, that if you would preserve unimpaired your privilege of testifying for God, and would not be disqualified for discharging a very sacred trust, and performing a very sacred duty, you must beware of a single step in the way of such conciliation as Jehoshaphat’s. If you would have your influence, your example, your character and conduct, to be of any weight in the world on the side of divine truth and holiness, be very careful, by the grace of God, to keep yourselves unspotted from the world. But, in the second place, Jehoshaphat not only failed to arrest Ahab in his sinful course, he was himself involved in its sinfulness Instead of reclaiming this wicked prince, he was himself betrayed into a participation in his wickedness, he joined him in his unholy expedition. And be sure, we say to all professing Christians, that you too, if you try thus artfully to gain the advantage over the world, will find the world too much for you. For Satan, the god of this world is far more than a match for you in this game of craft, and compromise, and conciliation. Beware how you step out of your own proper sphere, as a separate and peculiar people, to provoke such a trial of skill with Satan or his practised votaries and advocates; and that, too, in their own haunts the haunts of their own worldly vanities; and on their own ground the ground of their own worldly modes and maxims. Be sure that they are to the full as able to argue the point with you, as you are to persuade or convince them. They are as likely, at the least, to pervert you as you are to convert them. You may take part with them in their counsels, and cultivate their friendship, hoping to influence them towards good; but beware lest the tables be turned upon you, and they influence you towards evil. Remember, that from man to man holiness diffuses and spreads its healthful savour far more slowly and less extensively than sin disperses its contagious poison. The contact of your holiness may not sanctify them; the touch of their sin will certainly contaminate you. It is your purpose, in joining with them, to stop them short at a certain point. Are you quite sure that you can stop short at that point yourselves, that you will not, when you come to it, feel yourselves committed, and be easily persuaded that, having gone so far with them, it is needless to scruple about going yet a little farther? Then go not along with them at all no, not a single step: for a single step implies tampering, in so far, with your religious and conscientious scruples; and when these are once weakly or wilfully compromised, Satan’s battle is gained. The rest is all a question of time and of degree. Your spiritual faith, and your moral principles, are henceforth at the world’s disposal. Your safety lies in resisting at the outset, before the world’s cold and subtle influence has debauched your hearts and perplexed your understandings. The first prompt decisions of a conscience convinced of sin, and a soul touched with the Saviour’s love, will, in most cases, be right; but when you give time for the world to ply you with its manifold considerations of doubtful expediency when you once entertain the world’s insidious inquiry, May I? Is it lawful? Are you sure that what I long to do is positively wrong? Ah! Then you are already involved in the tide and current that may soon sweep you into the resistless whirlpool, where so many promises and so many professions, once as trustworthy as yours, are day after day engulfed. Stand fast, then, in your liberty. "All things are lawful unto you, but all things are not expedient." Be not yourselves "brought under the power of any;" and consider what may "edify" the Church and glorify God (1 Corinthians 6:12 and 1 Corinthians 10:23). Stand fast in your integrity. Be faithful to Him who calleth and appointeth you to be children in his house; "faithful in that which is least" as well as "faithful in much" (Luke 16:10). Then, and then only, may you expect him to be faithful to you, and to keep your eyes from tears, your feet from falling, and your souls from death. For, thirdly, see what hazard Jehoshaphat ran. Not only did he sin with Ahab, but he was on the point of perishing with him in his sin. Betrayed by his false ally and associate, who could meanly consult his own safety by exposing his friend to danger, Jehoshaphat was saved, but scarcely saved, by faith and prayer, and that only in the last extremity: "And it came to pass, when the captains of the chariots saw Jehoshaphat, that they said, It is the king of Israel. Therefore they compassed about him to tight: but Jehoshaphat cried out, and the Lord helped him; and God moved them to depart from him" (2 Chronicles 18:31). The interposition was seasonable; it was just in time, and no more than in time. And critical as it was, was it not more than he had any reason to expect? Was it not a deliverance on which he had no right to calculate? It was by his own fault, and against express divine warning, that he was involved in this hazard, and he might justly have been left to take the consequences of his own perverseness. His narrow escape was a cause of peculiar thankfulness to himself, but not a warrant of presumptuous confidence to others. It was a signal and special act of most undeserved mercy. And think not, Christian! that you may depend upon a similar act of mercy when you tempt the Lord as Jehoshaphat did. If you consent to the schemes of vain, wicked, or worldly men, and compromise your devotion to God out of courtesy and complaisance to them, you may be very sure that, as in Jehoshaphat’s case, they will take advantage of your easy and accommodating spirit, to put the blame and the danger on you. But you cannot be at all so sure that God will come so very opportunely to your rescue. He is in no way bound to do so. For it is not a hazard which you have encountered in his service and at his call, but a risk incurred through your own weak folly or wilful self-confidence; and why should you not be left to reap the fruit of your unwise compliance with the world’s sin, by sharing largely in the world’s doom? But suppose that God deals with you far more kindly than you deserve, and in the hour of threatened and courted ruin your prayer is heard, and you are saved from sinking in the deep pit and the miry clay, and your feet are set again upon a rock, and your goings established, we have still, in the fourth place, one other consideration to urge. Look to the mischief which your compliance brings on others. Here we might speak of the many evils which the weak and worldly policy of Jehoshaphat entailed upon his family and people. We might show how his connection by marriage with the house of Ahab led, in another generation, to the introduction of all the vices and abominations of that idolatrous house into his own court and kingdom. We might show also how, in the present instance, notwithstanding his own escape, his army and his subjects suffered by his rashness; and we might remind you of the harm which you may do, by involving your friends, your children, or your dependants, in the consequences of your folly, from which you may yourselves be delivered, by encouraging them through your example, and leading them on in the way of sin, and shame, and sorrow. But we rather choose to confine your view to a single point, and we ask you to remark how Jehoshaphat’s countenance contributed to the ruin of the infatuated and unfortunate prince whom he assisted and seconded in his mad career. The king of Judah was saved himself, as by fire; but his ally, his confederate, was lost. And had he no hand, had he no concern, in the loss? And when he came to reflection, had he no cause of self-reproach no blame to take to himself? Had he faithfully warned his friend? Had he honestly remonstrated with him? Had he fearlessly protested against him, and sharply rebuked and withstood him? Oh! Such wounds would have been kind and precious. But he had been too merciful; he had been pitiful, falsely pitiful, fondly, foolishly indulgent; he had spared his companion’s feelings; he had dealt mildly and gently with him; he had seemed to consent, or at least to acquiesce. Alas! Might not the perishing outcast too truly plead, that in every step of his sinful and fatal career he had the sanction of a righteous man? And oh! what would that righteous man now give for the recollection of but a single word affectionately spoken in strong and stern expostulation? Friends and Christian brethren! What a thought is this that, in making flattering advances to sinners, and dealing smoothly with their sins you not only endanger your own peace, but you accelerate and promote their ruin! You may save yourselves by tardy yet timely repentance; you may extricate yourselves ere it be too late; but can you save, can you extricate those whom your example has encouraged, or your presence has authorized? We speak not of the evil which in your unconverted state you may have done, that is bad enough to suggest many bitter recollections; but we speak of the evil which even in your character of believers you have unwarily and incautiously sanctioned, that you should feel to be even worse. Think of any single sin which you have seen committed, any single excess of word or action that has occurred in your presence or within your knowledge. Did you testify against it? Did you boldly stand forth to protest and to condemn? Did you decidedly separate yourself? Oh! You said a few words, perhaps, to save your credit; you feebly started an objection, and ventured timidly to suggest a hint. But did you faithfully and fearlessly start back at once from the scene, and disavow all sympathy and all toleration? Nay, did you not rather, by your light mode of speech, by lending your countenance before, and continuing to lend it still, convey the idea, that though for decency’s sake you opposed, you were not very earnest in your opposition? And are you sure that this idea did not tend to encourage the offender? May it not be, that had you not at first acquiesced so easily, and at last remonstrated so faintly, the offence might not have been committed? And when you think of some such individual perishing in some such sin, in sin which you seemed yourselves to countenance and tolerate, oh! What depth of sorrow and self-abasement can ever exhaust the repentance due for so grievous a wrong? What earnestness of unceasing prayer is needed to guard against so dangerous a weakness! We ask you, the very best of you, have you not to charge yourselves with some such compromise and compliance! We ask you, have you felt the guilt of it as you ought? Have you repented of it as so aggravated an injustice ought to be repented of? Have you seen that there may lie upon you the burden not of your own sins merely, but of the sins of other men, of which you have been partakers? Have you ever considered what it may be to have to answer for the loss and ruin of immortal souls? Think what it would be to have the dying blasphemer point to you, and say, ‘It was you who, by your decent profession, your little concessions and conformities, your moderate indulgences it was you who, by your easy tone of levity, by your air of indifference, or by a word, a look, of sympathy with sin it was you who emboldened me to go on!’ The thought is too dreadful for us to dwell on; and especially so when we consider that even good men, holy men, servants of God, have suffered themselves to be thus criminal, and thus cruel. Well said the patriarch, of the ungodly, "My soul, come not thou into their secret;" have no fellowship with them; advance not, draw not near to their council no, not a step, not for a single hour. You may be putting to hazard your own principles, and fearfully aggravating and hastening their condemnation. And will God not visit for these things? Will he not rebuke the saint’s weak compliance as well as the sinner’s wilful sin? True he will not acquit the sinner, though he may plead the saint’s infirmity as his excuse; for, after all, he sins wilfully. But will he on that account hold his saints guiltless? Must not this as well as their other sins, this infirmity with its sad results, "find them out" - so as to be made sensible to their awakened conscience? And can it be so, if their hearts are touched with a feeling for lost souls, can it be so, without almost the very agony of remorse? Beware how you treasure up for future hours of disquietude and despondency for the season of desertion for the dark and doubtful death-bed in addition to too many other sad recollections, the memory of sins tolerated and sinners emboldened, through your simplicity, your timidity, your faint resistance, or your half-hinted consent! Truly you have need of sound wisdom and high principle in your walk through an evil world. The men of the world are ready enough to misunderstand even what is right in you, and to speak evil even of what is good. Give them no room for the sly remark, the shrewd suspicion, the insinuated doubt, which the very appearance of evil in you will suggest. Plead not an innocent or a laudable design, as though your policy might tend to win souls. Be not wiser than your God; but be faithful to him. It were hard to say how much of the world’s carelessness in sin, as well as of the ill success of the gospel, may be ascribed to the feebleness of the testimony which believers bear against the world, and the uncertain sound which their trumpet gives. Let there be more decision among true Christians, a higher tone of feeling, a higher standard of conduct greater consistency, greater earnestness, greater separation, a more unequivocal zeal for God, a more unhesitating care and consideration for the interests of righteousness and the souls of men; and the people of the world may be made at last to know and feel that Christianity does put a real distinction, now and for ever, between them and the people of God. Alas for the tendency of many a Christian’s walk to cherish the very opposite delusion! When unconverted men find you in their company, free and unconstrained, nay, ready to go along with them in some doubtful liberty of pleasure, or some questionable plan of profit, do they understand, can they be satisfied, that you really believe them to be in a lost and guilty state? Are you at any pains to show them and make them feel that you believe this? Would it not be benevolent in you to do so? Are they under the wrath of God? Are they going down to hell? Do you believe that they are? And is it fair, is it generous, is it kind, to leave them, amid all your intercourse with them, still by possibility under the impression that, after all, you cannot seriously think the difference between you and them so very vital, else you would scarcely treat them and their plans and pleasures so favourably as they see that you do? Your tender mercies are cruel indeed, if such be the issue of them! Be sure that, not less out of charity to them than out of a regard to your own safety, it concerns you to realize, and to live as realizing, the momentous truth "We know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in wickedness" (1 John 5:19). Such knowledge is no nurse of vain-glory; for it implies a recognition of the free gift of God: "And we know that the Son of God is come, and hath given us an understanding, that we may know him that is true, and we are in him that is true, even in his Son Jesus Christ. This is the true God and eternal life" (1 John 5:20). And it deepens and renders intense the feeling of duty and responsibility: "Little children, keep yourselves from idols. Amen" (1 John 5:21). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 48: 05.07. VII. HEROD WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS: ON THE CHARACTER OF HEROD... ======================================================================== VII. HEROD WEAKNESS GROWING INTO WICKEDNESS: ON THE CHARACTER OF HEROD, TETRARCH OF GALILEE Mark 6:14-19. "And the king was exceeding sorry; yet for his oath’s sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her." Mark 6:26. THERE is a very remarkable quality to be observed in the evangelical histories; it is the tone of calm simplicity and candour which uniformly pervades them. Among many singular and admirable characteristics of their style and manner of composition, this is not the least. There is everywhere a mild and passionless equanimity, a quiet dignity, which marks the guidance and superintendence of a spirit truly divine. Not a trace, not a vestige or feature, anywhere occurs of wrath, or bitterness, or envy, or railing accusation, or evil speaking, or malice, or resentment, or any of those seeds and symptoms of human passion, which are so apt to disfigure the writings of uninspired men on subjects which interest and excite their feelings. With entire self-possession, or rather with an entire oblivion and forgetfulness of self, they write as the disciples of the meek and lowly Jesus, who, when reviled, reviled not again, when buffeted, threatened not. Nor is theirs the calmness of affected philosophic impartiality, the indifference or insensibility which some think it the height of wisdom to assume when they write, as if in carelessness or in scorn of all the high and spirit-stirring recollections, and the deep, heart-moving associations, which their subject should suggest. The writers of the New Testament are not thus destitute of interest and sympathy in what they write. They write with feeling. They write from the heart. None, indeed, could write narratives so simply and profoundly cordial and hearty, without being hearty and cordial themselves. But yet what is remarkable in them is that they are never betrayed or hurried into the slightest excess. There is not a word, not a hint, of extravagance or exaggeration, or unbecoming heat and intemperance: all is fervour, indeed; but it is the chastened and subdued fervour of heavenly meekness. They never lose their temper. They are never hastily provoked to utter unadvisedly one single sentence. They never wonder, though they have wonderful things to tell of. They never fret or rage, though they have intolerable wrongs to set forth. They show no studied enthusiasm to recommend their cause, no impatient resentment against its adversaries; although theirs was a cause to rouse from their depths all the soul’s emotions of admiration, exultation, triumph, and revenge. Still there is no violence of feeling in what they write, but a plain and temperate record of facts. And is not this especially singular? Is it not a proof of divine influence restraining all human pride and human wrath, and leaving nothing but the forbearance and single-minded devotion to the majesty of sacred truth, becoming the historians of Heaven’s own acts and counsels? Even when they are most tempted to launch forth into declamation, or to indulge in invective, still all the narrative is calm. Here, for instance, what an occasion had they for impassioned oratory! What a handle for stirring men’s minds might they have seized in the tale of cruel wrong which they had to relate! No colours could be too dark to paint the atrocity of the transaction; no language strong enough to denounce and stigmatize the perpetrators of so foul an enormity. There is the mean and dastard tyrant, who would fain have been a villain had he dared, but whose coward spirit made him a mere tool. There are the monsters in female form, whom unhallowed lust and passion converted into blood-hounds. And the deed itself! unparalleled in the annals of cold-blooded crime, a match for the blackest cruelties of the blackest pages of Roman story, casting quite into the shade that savage inhumanity which could make its jest of slaughter, and find a fit accompaniment for its strains of levity in the carnage and conflagration of a devoted city! Here was an occasion that seemed to justify, nay, to call for indignation, here was a theme on which the friends of the murdered and martyred saint might well be expected to grow warm. But no. They forget not their character as historians of heavenly truth. They condescend to no vivid painting, no passionate upbraiding. They simply discharge their office, and tell their story. Nay, it appears almost as if, instead of exposing the full and aggravated enormity of the crime, they were willing rather to say what could be said in the way of extenuation and excuse. Instead of enlarging on its horrors, they hint rather at what might be received as some palliation, or at least some explanation of the affair. "The king was exceeding sorry:" he was not willing to do this cruelty, he shrunk from it; it was, in a manner, forced upon him after much reluctance and regret. What more could a professed apologist of Herod, what more could the prince’s warmest friend and admirer, have suggested? What more could he have desired to see put on record, in extenuation of Herod’s conduct? The deed was not properly his own, he was compelled to it against his will, "he was exceeding sorry;" but there was a necessity; he could not help it. How different is all this from the spirit that appears in the ordinary historians of the Church’s wrongs, and the biographers of her injured servants! In them there is still too much of man’s corrupt spirit of retaliation, and the infirmity of vain-glorious boasting. Nor is it wonderful. They are but men, men of like passions with their fellows, and not under any special or super- natural guidance of the good Spirit of God. We blame them not; nay, we praise them rather; greatly preferring their honest warmth to the affected coldness that is too wise to wonder, and too refined to be ruffled or discomposed. But the difference we have adverted to is worthy of notice, as affording no mean proof of the inspiration of the Scriptures. Thus, in the instance before us, this manner of relation on the part of the sacred writers serves to introduce Herod to the best advantage for himself, while it gives us also a key to the solution of his character: "And the king was exceeding sorry; yet for his oath’s sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her." "The king was exceeding sorry." Some interpreters have shrewdly suspected that this sorrow was feigned, that the whole scene of this banquet was a pre-concerted scheme, to which not only Herodias and her daughter, but Herod himself was privy, in order to get rid of the Baptist, who had become alike obnoxious to them all. Herod dared not openly do him wrong, for fear of the people, who counted John a prophet. He fell, therefore, upon the expedient of throwing the guilt of the original suggestion on his accomplices. The feast; the dance; the sudden admiration the rash promise the late repentance all seemingly natural and incidental, were artfully got up, that Herod, to the public eye, might be represented as a reluctant victim rather than a willing actor. He is, to save appearances, to be entrapped and surprised into an enforced consent. But this view of the matter, though not at all very improbable at first sight, is, upon the whole, rather too ingenious and refined. And there are circumstances in the history, and features in the character of Herod, which would incline us to the belief that he was not concerned in any previous arrangement, that the plot, if there was a plot, was formed between the mother and daughter, without his knowledge, that the atrocious proposal did come upon him abruptly and unexpectedly, and that he really was "exceeding sorry." This appears likely from the respect and attachment which we know that Herod previously felt towards the Baptist, as well as from the remorse of which, it is said, he afterwards gave proof. The truth, is, this man was not by nature blood-thirsty. Weakness, rather than violence, was very much the characteristic of his mind. He was not prepared to adopt extreme measures; on the contrary, he was prone to try temporizing expedients, and to seek the accomplishment of his ends by craft and compromise, rather than by force. Other historians give him this character. They do not charge him with a deliberate and systematic love of cruelty, but rather with being sly and subtle, cool, crafty, and designing. He was ambitious, but he had not learned to lay aside all restraints. He was not one of those who could deliberately "wade through slaughter to a throne;" on the contrary, he contrived to maintain a decent character for just clemency and moderation. Violence, cruelty, and bloodshed, were therefore, on the whole, against his natural temper; and hence we may well suppose, that, when he was betrayed into the temptation of committing crime, he might show much indecision and reluctance. We may give him credit for a struggle in his own mind, and for pain and sorrow in yielding. Such is the representation given of this prince in the uninspired histories of the times. And such he appears in the Bible. There is not much told of him there, but the little that is told agrees with the view of his character elsewhere given, and exhibits him as a man in some respects well disposed, yet too selfish and too timid to be consistent; with some good principles, yet too much the slave of passion and the world, to give them fair play and scope; not firm enough to do right, yet not bold and bad enough unscrupulously to do wrong; neither decidedly good nor decidedly wicked; neither resolutely honest nor a reckless ruffian; but hampered and entangled between good feelings, desires, and resolutions, on the one hand, and evil inclinations and evil counsellors on the other. If he could have got rid of the last, he might have been a better man. If he could even have got rid of the first, he would have been a happier, or at least an easier, man. As it was, he was perpetually miserable; tossed and bandied to and fro between his sins and his scruples, doing things by halves, and settling the controversy of conscience with temptation by a sort of evasive, underhand compromise, which left as much room as ever for a new struggle, a new assault, and a new defeat. Ever as he was disposed to do right, some supposed necessity of doing wrong interfered; and yet, ever when the wrong was done, there was reluctance at the time, and regret and remorse afterwards. He was always stopping short too soon either way, having not enough of principle to keep him steady in duty, and yet too much to let him go on contentedly in crime. Hence that appearance of cunning which procured for him from our Lord the name of "fox" (Luke 13:32); and hence, too, that wavering and vacillating inconsistency which marked his treatment both of the Baptist and of the Saviour. Thus, on the one hand, it is quite plain that he had a high opinion of both. For, as to the Baptist, we read that Herod much esteemed him, admitted him to his court, made him almost a favourite and personal friend; listened to him respectfully, treated him with all honour, and even in many things gladly followed his counsel (Mark 6:20). Again, as to our Lord, we are told that, when Herod heard of his fame and his wonderful works, he desired to see him; out of curiosity, perhaps, or to atone for the violence done to the Baptist by some attention to his successor and representative (Luke 9:9). Nor did this desire pass away: for, when Jesus was brought before Herod for trial, we are told (Luke 23:8) that the prince rejoiced; having now for a long time been anxious to see this wonderful prophet, in the hope of seeing some miracle done by him. It is quite evident, therefore, that, to a certain extent, Herod had a regard for religion and its ministers. Nay, it seems as if at times, under the Baptist’s ministry, on which he waited, he had been really under the influence of religious impressions, both sincere and deep. He "feared John, knowing him to be a just man and an holy, and observed him; and when he heard him, he did many things, and heard him gladly" (Mark 6:20). He esteemed the man, and reverenced the prophet; hearing him gladly, and complying with his instructions, so long as these did not interfere too painfully with his worldly inclinations. At first, accordingly, when there was nothing to stir up an opposition between his religious principles and his ruling passion the fire within being smothered, the storm lulled into a calm, Heaven seeming to smile propitious and approving the attentive convert and docile pupil bade fair to turn out an exemplary saint. The prince seemed to be living in peace and friend- ship with the prophet, and even with the prophet’s Lord. But touch his secret sore too boldly, and the peace is broken, the friendship gone. Let temptation kindle again his favourite lust - his cherished desire; let the world make its demand openly, and religion as openly interpose her authority; let the controversy be brought to a single point, and the call be made upon him in a single definite particular to deny himself and mortify the flesh; then comes the struggle; and then is seen the weakness of merely natural impressions of religion. The prince, who appeared to have started so well, in an unlucky hour, is tempted to sin. The Baptist fearlessly remonstrates and reproves: "It is not lawful for thee to have thy brother’s wife" (Mark 6:18). Then is the king distracted between the flatteries of the world’s easy morals on the one hand, and the unaccommodating and uncompromising claims of rigid religion on the other. Need we say which prevailed? The king yielded to his unlawful passion; but not without many apologies to himself, and many prudent resolutions. He was sorry, "exceeding sorry; "not perhaps, as one says, "for his sin against God’s law, but yet for the severity of God’s law against his sin." He was sorry that the temptation was so strong, and his friend so strict; but then he felt as if he could not resist the temptation, as if indeed he could scarcely be fairly expected or required to resist it. And though, in this one instance, he could not go along with those high and stern principles, which might suit an austere and solitary recluse, but could not well be acted upon in the world, and amid the trials of a court, still this single, almost unavoidable deviation from such counsels, would not hinder him from paying all respect in general to the teaching of his friend. So he might reason. Alas! He little thought how soon this one instance of opposition to good advice would lead on even to the murder of the adviser! if he could but have foreseen that this one indulgence, in the world’s eye so venial, would issue, by an almost necessary and inevitable sequence, in falsehood, treachery, and blood! But once do wrong, and who shall dare to say where the wrong will end? Doubtless Herod felt that, though he might occasionally transgress the too strict rule of his religious counsellor, he never could be prevailed upon to disavow religion itself, or its minister. He little knew how instantly and irresistibly the consciousness of guilt would work a change in his sentiments towards the reprover of that guilt. Even at the time, in the very act of sin, the thought of the holy man’s disapprobation, and still more the conviction of conscience that the holy man spoke truth, must have poisoned the pleasure of his unhallowed and incestuous passion. And afterwards how must he have felt? Dissatisfied, restless, impatient, he could scarcely tell why or with whom, angry with himself and with all around, he could no longer gladly listen to the voice of him whose presence was a reproof, whose very smile of kindness and benignity could not but cut him to the heart. In these circumstances, he would fain have silenced this too faithful witness against his sin, at once and effectually, and for ever. But he feared John. The prophet had still too great a hold on his mind, and he had too many religious feelings and scruples, to venture on so bold an act of violence; and so he hesitated between his dislike of the reproof and his reverence for the reprover. And this perplexing indecision in his own mind was increased by opposing applications from without. His offended and indignant partner instigated him to direct outrage. His people, again, acknowledged John to be a prophet. Weak, therefore, and irresolute, he had recourse to the usual expedient of weakness, he adopted a middle course. He did John no personal violence, but kept him in prison (Mark 6:17). He put religion and its strenuous assertor quietly, and, as he might think, quite allowably, out of the way. Thus he so contrived the matter, that he shall neither be vainly tormented by officious remonstrances on the one hand, nor yet, on the other hand, incur the guilt and odium of avowed and actual hostility to the word and prophet of the Lord. Such, in the first instance, is his treatment of the Baptist. Precisely similar is the temper displayed in his treatment of our Lord, and that on two different occasions. The first of these is recorded in the Gospel of Luke, where we read that once, in Galilee, there came certain of the Pharisees, saying to Jesus, "Get thee out, and depart hence: for Herod will kill thee. And he said unto them, Go ye, and tell that fox, Behold, I cast out devils, and I do cures today and tomorrow, and the third day I shall be perfected" (Luke 13:31-32). It is plain, from our Lord’s answer being addressed to Herod, that he suspected that prince to be at the bottom of the message; and the case seems to have been this: The Pharisees, in their usual enmity against Christ, had applied to Herod to procure his interference against him. Herod, on the other hand, had scruples. He was willing enough to oblige the Pharisees, so as to be on good terms with these convenient apologists and absolvers of his worldly frailties. He would gladly have rid himself and them of another troublesome and officious reprover, who had come to take the place of the beheaded John. But then he felt too much about his former violence to the Baptist. The memory of that crime lay heavy on his conscience; so heavy as to make him dread, in the Lord Jesus, his injured friend risen to reproach him. What a striking instance this, as we may note in passing, of the power of conscience! The guilty man has rid himself of one accuser, only to be startled by the rising up of another! Herod, then, would not again be so rash; and, besides, he still feared the people, who honoured Jesus even more than they had honoured John. So once more he is in a dilemma, and once more he tried a middle course, authorizing the Pharisees to convey to this new teacher of righteousness an indirect hint, which may have the effect, of banishing him from his territories. This seems to have been his cunning device and stratagem, in allusion to which Jesus denounces him as "that fox." And thus sinners still think slyly to get the better of their God. Without committing themselves by open hostility, they would contrive, by a sort of by-play or side-wind, to put away his word of warning and re proof. The second occasion of Herod’s having to deal with Jesus, was when Pilate sent Jesus to him to be tried. And now Herod hopes, at last, to gratify his vain curiosity, and see some specimen of the miracles of which he has heard so much: "And when Herod saw Jesus, he was exceeding glad: for he was desirous to see him of a long season, because he had heard many things of him; and he hoped to have seen some miracle done by him. Then he questioned with him in many words; but he answered him nothing" (Luke 23:8-9). Herod is provoked by the Saviour’s silence, and feels it as a reproof of his former crime. The Jewish authorities, meanwhile, loudly and clamorously reiterate their accusations: "The chief priests and scribes stood and vehemently accused him" (Luke 23:10). What is now the judge’s course? Plainly either to condemn or to acquit the prisoner; to declare him guilty, and worthy of death; or innocent, and therefore free. But mark the weakness of the man! Either of these measures would be too decided for him. He does not venture to condemn, neither will he at once absolve. So he gratifies the Pharisees and vents his own impotent resentment, by an act of wanton, gratuitous, and unjustifiable barbarity, he exposes his victim, still uncondemned, to the insults of the soldiery, and then sends him again to Pilate; thus losing all the calm uprightness of the judge in the petty and jealous insolence of the tyrant: "And Herod with his men of war set him at nought, and mocked him, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate" (Luke 23:11). Such was the character of this monarch. Now, with this character it is perfectly consistent that, on the occasion of the demand made for the Baptist’s head, he should have been "exceeding sorry." No wonder, indeed, that by such a demand, at such a time, on such a day of festal joy, he should have been shocked, startled, horror-struck. The man whom but lately he had welcomed as his friend, admitted to his family, and entrusted with his confidence; to whom he had pledged his hand in fellowship, and his heart too, we may almost say, in respectful love; from whose lips he had heard words of wisdom, and tenderness, and kind reproof; this man of God he was now called upon to sacrifice in the light frivolity of a dance. No wonder he hesitated and scrupled, and was "exceeding sorry." But what did his sorrow, however sincere, avail him? Did it arrest him in his evil course? Did it prevent the crime? He looked about for some way of escape. Fain would he have found some compromise to satisfy his friends and soothe his conscience, that he might evade the necessity of a definite and decided step. But no ready expedient occurred. Still he hesitated, and was "exceeding sorry." But a supposed necessity of compliance prevailed: "For his oath’s sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not," he thought he could not, "reject her." Let us now endeavour, having some knowledge of Herod’s character, and some sympathy and pity for his weakness, to measure the force of the strong compulsion which he pleads, and estimate the worth of his sorrow, "exceeding sorry" as he was. "For his oath’s sake." Like the Jew of the poet, he pleads an oath in justification of his cruelty. He has an oath in heaven; would you have him lay perjury to his soul? True, he has been entrapped. In his light and playful mood of joy, he promised, and even swore, to grant the pleasing dancer’s request; expecting, probably, that he .would have to give some costly bauble to gratify her gay and giddy vanity, of which her dancing so publicly, against all custom and the modesty of her sex, was a scandalous proof and instance. He little dreamed of so bloody a demand upon his faith. Still that faith must be kept; he has promised, and he must redeem his promise; he has sworn, and he must perform his vow. Alas, infatuated man! and is it possible he can really have believed that Heaven would register such an oath, or sanction, far less require, such a fulfilment of it? Did he not know that it is impossible for man to bind himself to sin, being previously bound by God against it? To keep a rash and unlawful vow is surely worse than to break it; for it cannot cancel the guilt of having made it at first, and it does but add to the sin of a hasty word the heavier guilt of a deliberate criminal deed. But, in fact, Herod could not think himself religiously obliged to crime. Rather, now that his eyes were opened, was he not religiously obliged to stop short and retrace his steps? The very sorrow which he felt, was it not a proof that it could not be the will of God that he should fulfil his engagement? It was a warning against it. It was as if the angel of the Lord stood in the way with drawn sword to oppose him, as he stood in the way to oppose Balaam of old. Balaam, too, was going to fulfil a promise, to curse Israel But when the angel stood aside and suffered him to go on was it in approval of his keeping such a promise? Was it not in displeasure and in wrath abandoning the covetous prophet to his own heart’s lust? The truth is, it was not really God that the prince thought of as demanding the fulfilment of his vow, but man. He scrupled about breaking his sworn promise and plighted word to a mere mortal. Alas! His scruple was not about breaking any obligation under which he might lie to God! He had sworn to the lewd minion and minister of his pleasure, and he could not in honour, or in conscience, draw back. Innocent blood must be shed, the holy man must fall and was this, then, the poor punctilio, the paltry point of honour, to which a saint and servant of the Most High must be sacrificed? He was sorry he had committed himself, deeply and bitterly did he regret the pledge and promise he had given that he had never seen that day; never sat down at that fatal entertainment; never tasted the intoxicating cup of the siren’s flattery and fondness! He had begun in sport; alas! Now it was too serious earnest. He had been seduced by a mask of painted smiles; alas! Now the mask falls off, and all the devil appears. He had been lulled into a soothing slumber by the soft blandishments of love and joy; he little dreamed of so terrible an awakening. It was pleasure he sought; he little reckoned on the black and bloody villainy that was to follow in her train. Would that he had resisted at first, that he had taken the prophet’s advice! But now he is entangled, involved, committed too far it is too late: "For his oath’s sake" "and for their sakes which sat with him." He had publicly sworn, and would be publicly taunted and upbraided, if he did not perform his oath. All his court would cry shame on him. It would be of no use to explain to them his reasons for hesitating. They could not understand his scruples. They would give him no credit for sincerity. After all he had sacrificed, they could not believe him in earnest in hesitating to sacrifice a little more; for in their estimation it was no great matter, after all, that was demanded, only the obscure and worthless life of a troublesome captive! What was this, that it should be suffered to disturb the festivity of the scene, or break the harmony that prevailed? The king had acted royally in the munificent pledge he gave; the festive hall rung with applause of his princely liberality; and was he now, from pretended delicacy of conscience, to fail in redeeming it? It was too late for him, after all that had passed, to plead religious or conscientious reasons, these had long ago been overborne. The courtiers well knew that if he had acted from such reasons, he never would have gone so far as he had already gone in his persecution of the Baptist; they could not therefore suppose that these were the reasons which prevented him now from going just a little farther. His refusal would be placed to the account, not of principle, none would give him credit for that, but of falsehood, meanness, or cowardice; and he dared not incur such an imputation. He "was exceeding sorry; but for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her." And these were the arguments which satisfied this man, who had once been almost persuaded to be John’s disciple! He consented with reluctance, yet he felt himself compelled to consent. And what compelled him? a fanciful point of honour; a false feeling of shame. Alas! What a spectacle is here! A man always sinning with regret, yet still always sinning; "exceeding sorry" to do wrong, yet in spite of his sorrow still always obliged to do it. What a specimen of the deceitfulness of sin! How plausibly it argues, so that the heart of man, ay, even of a seemingly religious man, shall be persuaded to acquiesce in its arguments! How skilfully and cunningly does it contrive to spread the toils and meshes of its net around him, so that he can see no possible way of escape! And the marvel is, it is but a cobweb net after all. A single vigorous effort of honest resolution would burst it and break it in ten thousand pieces. But the victim entangled is a weak, and half a willing captive. The heart involved in the deceitfulness of sin, is itself deceitful. Still unregenerate, unrenewed, and unsanctified, untouched by the mercy, and unchanged by the Spirit of God, it has not taken part decidedly with the Lord and his Anointed. Some religion it may have, a religion of scruples, and fears, and regrets, but not a religion of faith, something of sorrow for sin, but not the godly sorrow that worketh true repentance. Let none be deceived by such experience, or rest contented with such a religion as Herod’s, a religion of continual alternation between sin and sorrow. We know not what ultimately became of him. History tells us, that shortly after this period he lost his kingdom, and spent the latter years of his life in disgrace and solitude in the remote province of Spain. It is possible that the leisure of exile may have been blessed by God to work a salutary effect; and, amid the reflections of adversity, the long controversy carried on in his soul may have terminated in the decided victory of a spiritual faith over sense and sin. But certain it is, his religion, such as it was at this time, could never save him. It was but leading him on to ruin, and that by no flowery path, but over thorns and painful briers. Oh! It is a sorrow most unprofitable and vain that men feel under the influence of mere natural regrets and relentings. It is but losing the present world without gaining anything of the next. It is but inflicting upon themselves needless, unprofitable pain; it is doing penance in vain. Better far would it be to get rid of the sorrow altogether, and then go on to sin. But as this they cannot do, would it not be better still to get rid of the sorrow by getting rid of the sin? And how is this to be done? Not by a system of half measures, or any delusive compromise with the enemy, not by a religion of impulse, or of alarm, or of mere instinctive sensibility; but by being "born again, born of the Spirit" and then "working out your own salvation with fear and trembling, since it is God that worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure." For "by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God." Let us, then, come over wholly to the Lord’s side. All on his part is full and free. There is no hesitation; there are no half measures with him; but full and free forgiveness, full and free reconciliation, full and free expiation of guilt, and the full and free gift of the sanctifying Spirit. On our part, too, let there be the like fullness and freeness. Let God be all and in all. So shall we be preserved from those fluctuations between God and the world, those vicissitudes of compliance and compunction, which embitter the life, and must torture the death, of him who, in the vain attempt to serve two masters, sins and is sorry; is "exceeding sorry" and yet goes on to sin. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 49: 05.08. VIII. HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF "WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH" ======================================================================== VIII. HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF "WORLDLY SORROW WORKING DEATH" "For godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death." 2 Corinthians 7:10. "And the king was exceeding sorry; yet for his oath’s sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her." Mark 6:26. "THE king was exceeding sorry;" such is the explanation shall we say partly the excuse, of Herod’s conduct, suggested by the inspired historian. It is the very apology which he might have been disposed to offer for himself, or his friends might have offered for him; it is the sort of extenuating circumstance that he or they might have wished to be left on record, in connection with the narrative of so dark a deed. In consenting to it, "the king was exceeding sorry." Such sensibility seems, so far as it goes, to be rather creditable than otherwise; indicating a certain tenderness of feeling, which, in one view of it, looks well in contrast with the remorseless and cruel levity of the fair dancer and her parent, making sport, amid their revelry, of that venerable and holy head. But then how far did this sensibility of Herod’s go? Of what avail was his exceeding sorrow? It did not save the prophet’s life, would it save the prince’s soul or satisfy his conscience? Must it not, on the contrary, in another view of it, appear to be even an aggravation of his guilt, that, in the face of his exceeding sorrow, he went on to commit the crime? At all events, this sorrow is nothing more than what is very commonly the accompaniment of sin, especially when the sinner has any natural or gracious emotions that must be got over before he gives in to the sin. For in fact sin is usually, or rather invariably, more or less a cause of sorrow, either beforehand, or at the time, or afterwards. Beforehand, there is reluctance and hesitation; at the time, a sharp pang of sudden shame, or undefined uneasiness and alarm; and afterwards, regret and remorse. The sorrow beforehand is what chiefly tests the state of the sinner’s heart, and affords the measure of his criminality. Of such sorrow there may be in some cases little or none; as where the hurry of a hasty temptation, or the violence of passion, carries a man on with scarce a moment for reflection; or where long and hackneyed familiarity with vice has deadened all the feelings. But between such cases there lies a sort of middle or debatable ground, on which, with more of deliberation than in the one case, and less of obduracy than in the other, the man solicited to sin sways to and fro before he falls; and it is the pain of such oscillation of mind the sorrow of this weak or wicked suspense ere the blow is struck that the example of Herod illustrates. Now the sorrow in question may arise out of either of two contingencies; either, first, when sin comes to disturb a religious profession; or, secondly, when religion comes to disturb a course of continuance in sin. I. The first of these occasions on which this sorrow is apt to be felt, is when sin comes to disturb a decent and perhaps serious profession of religion. This was Herod’s case with reference to the first great crime which he committed, in taking to himself Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife. Until he was thus tempted, and fell a victim to the temptation, all apparently might be going on well with him, as the follower and friend of the Baptist. He respected that holy man, waited on his ministry, admitted him to his intimacy, complied with his counsels, and had the reputation, perhaps, of being an earnest and consistent disciple. Doubtless, when he found that he could no longer continue on the same terms with his spiritual adviser, but must reject his too faithful advice, he was "exceeding sorry." His sorrow, however, did not hinder his sinning. Is the case uncommon? May it not once have been may it not still at this very moment be your own? You are willing, nay, forward, to adopt a profession of godliness; and, if not quite prepared to go all lengths, yet up to a certain point you are ready to go hand and heart along with the godly. It is not that you are consciously insincere. You have received deep impressions; you are anxious to maintain a Christian character; you hear the word with joy; you do many things to prove your earnestness and zeal; you delight not a little in services of piety, works of faith, and labours of love. It is true, you are not yet altogether such as Paul, were he speaking to you as he did to Agrippa, might wish you to be " Such," he would say, "as I am, except these bonds;" you are only almost persuaded to be such. There is a hidden reserve and secret guile in your spirit; and a sort of suspicion may visit others, and even haunt yourself, that there might be some sacrifice required of you, some renunciation of self-indulgence, or some act of self-denial, to which you might not be quite able to consent. Still, so long as a peremptory and painful decision, in a particular instance, is not actually forced upon you, the symptoms of your general unsteadfastness in the covenant of God may not be very apparent, and the root of bitterness may not spring up to trouble you. But let an emergency occur, let there be some sin so besetting that your principles can remain quiet and tolerant no longer; then comes the "tug of war," the strife and inward controversy. Conscience, but now smooth and satisfied, becomes agitated and uneasy. Inclination, on the other hand, is importunate, and there is a strong necessity pressing upon you. Everything like truce or compromise between the contending powers is, for the time at least, at an end. The customary terms of good understanding are broken. It is "war to the knife" now; and you are sorry for it, "exceeding sorry." Christian! Professing Christian! and thou especially whose profession of serious godliness is yet fresh and recent! Consider, with reference to such experience as this "consider your ways." Call to mind the first marked step you have been tempted to take, since you seriously assumed the Christian character and name, in the direction of self-indulgence or worldly conformity. You have been advancing, as you flattered yourself, steadily and happily, finding "Wisdom’s ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths peace;" nor has any anticipation of the embarrassment of a doubtful choice marred the serenity of your heavenly fellowship. All at once a question is started bearing upon your practical conduct, your walk before God in the world. A proposal is made that you should enter into a certain society, or engage in a certain pursuit, or consent to a certain alliance, of which the lawfulness, or at least the Christian expediency, may not be altogether so clear as you would wish. There may be a secret leaning perhaps in your own heart towards compliance; or, if not, the very absence of it may be a snare, making compliance look all the more like a duty. And there may be much friendly advice, and even perhaps parental authority, on the same side. But, on the other hand, there is a scruple; and there is the divine warning sounded in your ears "Whatsoever is not of faith is sin." "He that doubteth is condemned if he eat;" "Happy is he that condemneth not himself in that thing which he alloweth;" "Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind." Such full persuasion, in the instance on hand, you are very far from having; and the want of it distresses you, and makes you "exceeding sorry." Still much is to be said in favour of concession; there are many arguments against an unreasonable and impracticable degree of strictness; there are various considerations of plausible worldly policy and propriety to justify or excuse the step; time presses; the matter is urgent; people all around are waiting for your decision; and what can you do? At least you may cast another look on what you are thus solicited to sanction. You look and linger; you linger and begin again to long. Your hand is stretched out; your feet are about to move. Here, however, once more, at the very critical moment, an arrest is laid upon you, a voice from within is heard; from on high there flashes upon you the eye of a frowning God, an angry Father; and the clear, emphatic word of warning, "It is not lawful for thee," rings in your ears, as it rung in the ears of Herod. You are startled, you stop short, your special pleading is laid bare, your duty is clear. Thus arrested, you draw back, and you seem to be safe, and to breathe freely. And so you might be safe, were it not that, even in the very act of stopping short, you are "sorry." Thankful, doubtless, for your escape, glad of your seasonable deliverance, coming as it did just in time, and no more than in time, contented to acquiesce in the rejection of the offered worldly boon or worldly pleasure, and satisfied that it must be so, you yet at bottom cannot help being, if not "exceeding sorry" yet at least a little, a very little sorry, that it should be so. And of this natural sorrow the tempter knows right well how to make the most. Returning, as opportunity serves, to the assault, he plies you with still more subtle arguments than before. It is really so small an affair, after all so trifling a question; why make so much of it? It is but one little liberty; and when it is over, and you have done with it, all will be well. In this one particular, Herod cannot meet the views and wishes of the Baptist. He is sorry for it, "exceeding sorry;" but, situated as he is, how can he follow such a rigid rule as his spiritual counsellor would lay down? How should he be expected to do so? This John, a native of the wilderness, fed on wild food and clothed with coarsest raiment, cannot know the ways of kings and kings’ courts. As a well-meaning man, a powerful preacher of righteousness, a faithful and friendly adviser, he is no doubt entitled to esteem; and Herod has by no means ceased to esteem him, though in one solitary point of private honour or public policy he cannot absolutely defer to him. For once, he must set aside the stern code of heavenly morality for the less impracticable maxims of worldly interest and worldly views of the sort of virtue it is reasonable to expect in kings’ houses : but he will not, on that account, think the less highly, but rather the more, of the prophet, whose honest admonition he is only sorry he cannot, in this instance, regard; he will not wait the less punctually, or with the less docility, on his ministrations; nor will he welcome him less cordially to his house, his table, and his closet. So Herod might think; and so may you, when "exceeding sorry," as you may be, to go against the misgivings of conscience, and what you cannot help suspecting may be the dictates of the Divine Word, you resolve, nevertheless, to go. You may intend and expect that your general reverence for the authority of that Word is to continue uncompromised, and your general conscientiousness unimpaired. The solitary exception is to confirm rather than invalidate the otherwise universal rule. Alas for the infatuation of such a hope! You said you would be none the worse for your one compliance. It was to be a single instance, and in all other respects you were to be as devout and as scrupulously holy as ever. But have you, in fact, found it so? Have you ever, in such circumstances, been able to realize your anticipation? After a concession or compromise like what we have been describing, have you lived as near to God as before? or walked as closely with him? or prayed to him as fervently? or rejoiced as lovingly in the light of his countenance, and the blessed peace of conscious reconciliation, divine fellowship, and heavenly hope ? Ah, no! An inward blight has come over you; a withering coldness and callousness of heart oppresses you. Herod could never again be on the same terms as before with the Baptist, or with the Baptist’s ministry. He could not, with clear and calm eye, look John in the face; and never again could he hear him gladly. With hanging head, averted ear, and sullen heart, he must have listened ever after to his friendly voice. And on you too, in the like case, a similar spell falls. Singleness of eye is gone, and with it all simplicity of faith and frank cordiality of love. The living spirit of your religion has passed away; a dead and weary weight of forced formality remains. You feel this, and complain of it, and mourn over it, though too frequently, alas! without searching out the cause! You have a vague sense of dreariness and undefined dissatisfaction. You are "exceeding sorry," you often know not why. Nor is this all. As you have not kept your promise to yourself, so the tempter does not keep his promise to you. You said you would be as godly as ever, upon the whole, in spite of your one doubtful step: he said he would be as forbearing as ever, and would take no advantage of that step to draw you farther on. You were not to tempt God any more by any further tampering with his authority: Satan was not to tempt or trouble you any more by any further working on your weakness. Such was the sort of tacit understanding on both sides. But have you kept your part of the agreement? and if not, can you reasonably expect the adversary to keep his? Can you wonder if, seeing you unfaithful to yourself, and to your God, he should be unfaithful to you? If you were able to fulfil your purpose, to realize all your intended uprightness of walk with God, and be as spiritually-minded and as tender-hearted as you thought that, notwithstanding your slight conformity to the world, you might still continue to be; then Satan might not venture to break his truce with you, he might shrink from assailing you again. But perceiving you to be as unstable as you are unhappy, as feeble and silly as you are "exceeding sorry," it is too much to think that he should forego so attractive an opportunity, let slip so easy a prey, and continue to leave you alone. Back, therefore, he comes to you, urging all his old pleas, and this new one in addition, that you have already so far committed yourself as to make it vain for you to attempt either to stay or to change your course. ‘See’ he cries, ‘you have broken with that holy man and his holy teaching, beyond the hope of any accommodation. You have found it so. Why, then, stand upon scruples and ceremonies any longer? You have made up your mind, in a right kingly manner, to brave this spiritual tyrant, and set at defiance his intrusive and impertinent interference with your domestic affairs, and the arrangements of your court and kingdom. You have shown, so far, a proper spirit; you have asserted your independence and freedom; you have proved to this proud Mentor that he is not to dictate to you in everything. But do you not feel that, so long as you suffer him to live and be at large, you have no full confidence, no unembarrassed freedom, in the way which you have chosen? He may not now be allowed to preach to you so often as before. He may be silent when he finds his remonstrance unheeded. But he is still there; and his very presence is a restraint. The mere glance of his eye is a drawback on the pleasure you should be enjoying. Come, have him disposed of somehow anyhow; and, without further unmanly temporizing, give free scope to what your heart is set on.’ So we may conceive of the tempter pleading with his now scarce-resisting victim. And "the king is exceeding sorry;" sorry to be called upon to take a new step in the direction against which the convictions of his conscience and the affections of his heart equally protest. Must he, then, give up this man of God, whom he has in former days heard so gladly? To his death, indeed, even yet he cannot bring himself to consent. But a middle course may be tried. Let him be cast into prison, and, on the principle of "out of sight out of mind" the king may hope that he will be less sorry, less "exceeding sorry," as he now finally settles down, unrebuked and unadmonished, into a customary and unreflecting course and routine of sin. Thus also, in your case, backsliding soul! your sorrow in sinning may force you at last to the expedient of ridding yourself of what you take to be the cause of it which is not of course, in your view, your sin, but the troublesome monitor that reproves it. The struggle may be more or less protracted and severe; but, as it goes on, the issue may be too surely foreseen. You reckon without warrant, when you trust the tempter’s fair promises of forbearance. His favourite plea of ‘But once’ is a mere blind and snare: soon it will be ‘Once more, only once more;’ and again it will be ‘Once more;’ and still always but once. The tide of encroaching ocean may be stemmed sooner, and turned back more easily, than his advances, when, planting his foot upon one concession, he lifts his never-satisfied, never-ceasing demand for another, and another, until all is gained. And if there be any form or fashion of religious profession, or any feeling of religious principle, that stands out in silent grief against the successive compromises that are thus claimed; if there be so much of a remaining scruple of conscience and reverential awe of God and his Word, as to make the poor yielding soul sorry, "exceeding sorry," every time it yields, even such a measure of godliness is more than can long be tolerated. There is a growing urgency in the demand to have the pertinacious reprover still more effectually silenced and set aside. True, it may be too much, as yet, to require that you should actually put him to death. To the absolute and final extinction of your religious character, such as it is, you can scarcely consent. But a prison may be found for it, a cold and dreary cell of formalism, a dull, icy dungeon of foul, pharisaical, and antinomian hypocrisy; where the word of God’s law and gospel may be kept in safe custody apart, far enough away from the palace, with its council-chamber and banquet-hall, from the world, with its plans and pleasures: so that, like King Herod, relieved of the Baptist’s presence, the worldly Christian, chaining his Christianity out of sight and out of hearing, may abandon himself at last to his worldly-mindedness; without being so sorry, so "exceeding sorry" as, in more puling [obsolete word meaning ‘whimpering’] and effeminate days, when, like the frightened schoolboy, "Still as he ran he look’d behind ; He heard a voice in every wind, And snatch’d a fearful joy." Such is the kind of sorrow apt to arise on the occasion of sin coming to disturb a decent or serious profession of godliness; and such its practical value. II. But there is another occasion of sorrow, when religion, or godliness, returns the compliment, as it were, and comes to disturb a course of continuance in sin. Let it be supposed that the process which you have been hitherto trying, for silencing conscience and getting ease in sin, has been, on the whole, rather successful. Your experiment of confining, imprisoning, and chaining your religion, has turned out tolerably well. You have now freedom and enlargement in your worldly conformity. Weak scruples and fond fancies trouble you no longer. Your unfashionable timidity, your ridiculous singularity, the sigh of regret, the blush of shame, all have been got over; and with a smile, or a jest, you can venture boldly on the ice. No frown of an offended God, no warning of any pious friend, no voice of a wounded conscience, haunts you now. You can talk as familiarly as your neighbours of the world’s vanities and venial indulgences; and, contriving to keep at a distance, and in a dark unvisited corner of your mind, any religious scruples that might still give annoyance, you find tolerable security and comfort in the broad road along which you are following the multitude to do evil. But it may happen, on an occasion that you are abruptly asked to go a great deal farther than you ever dreamed of. A sudden demand is made upon you for a decision in an entirely new case, such as cannot but bring back "your banished" to your memory. A proposal is made to you, so much beyond all that you have as yet consented to in daring profanity and crime, that your conscientious scruples and religious principles are again stung into reviving sensitiveness. The miserable battle and intestine feud of soul is resumed, and again you are sorry "exceeding sorry." This was Herod’s case in his last and crowning wickedness. He has got over the Baptist’s opposition to his incestuous marriage; he is living quietly in his sinful indulgence, and has even a kind of peace in it. He can enjoy the revelry of the banquet and the ball; there being no officious intermeddler to trouble him with unseasonable remonstrances, and make him sorry or afraid. John is safe in prison; as well treated as his insolent and unaccommodating temper will admit of, certainly as well as, after all that has passed, he deserves or can expect. And the king has his own way, and is his own master. Why may not matters rest on this decent and decorous footing? So Herod would have it. But not so the tempter: "Give me John the Baptist’s head in a charger." Horror-struck, the king staggers under the shock! So fiendish and blood-thirsty a cry, issuing from lips so fair and young, appals him! He is agitated in his whole frame. Fain would he live on at ease, forgetful of his old guide, monitor, and friend: but now all the past rushes in fierce and fiery flood upon his soul, with all its vivid recollections of past kindnesses and past wrongs; and the holy, placid countenance of the man of God is before his mind’s eye once more, as in the days of old; and all this while the horrid words are ringing in his ears, Give me his head! Little wonder that the king is "exceeding sorry!" The instance may seem to be an extreme one, but it has many a parallel in the church and the world of every age. No downward career of declension or apostasy has ever been without circumstances and symptoms similar to those which we find in that of Herod. One feature in particular is invariably to be observed, and it is a most insidious and disastrous one: Always, now and then, an interval occurs a pause, a break, a sort of rest or breathing-time between one concession reluctantly extorted, and the demand of another awakening all the old reluctance again. For this strife with conscience is close and deadly, and the parties in the wrestling-match must have some space between the rounds. The tug and strain upon the moral nature the spiritual constitution, the whole framework of the religious sensibilities and affections is so intense, that were it not from time to time relaxed, and a season of comparative quiet allowed, the cord must break and the tempter’s art be foiled. It is not his interest to have you always struggling and always "exceeding sorry." He has his landing-places on which, having dragged you so far down, he lets you have a little peace before again he shocks and startles you by another grasp to drag you down still farther. Beware of these devil’s landing-places, for they are most deceitful They are the successive compromises which you are but too glad to make, as step by step you are led on in sin. Hardened profligates, confirmed and habitual drunkards, seared and sordid slaves of avarice and the world’s gain, know these landing-places full well. There is not one of them who could not tell of stages at which, ceasing to be sorry for practices or indulgences now become familiar, he had some measure of a sort of ease, and even of contentment, till some new excess, into which he found himself fast falling, startled him from his drowsy quiet, roused his remorseful agonies once more, and made him again "exceeding sorry." And he can tell too how that second sorrow, like the first, was in due time overcome, and a second season of repose ensued, until new and larger strides in the path of wickedness became inevitable; and, after weary alternations of angry tumult and false peace, the death-blow being at last given to whatever of God’s word or voice within him could raise a feeble protest against his madness, he has been given over to a reprobate mind, to do without feeling those things which are not convenient. Let the young man, entering on life’s busy scene, beware of these false and fatal landing-places. Plunged into the tumult and temptations of a great city while yet fresh from the endearments of a holy home, you meet the first solicitations of evil with a comparatively pure conscience and a tender heart. Compliances are required of you, which create uneasiness; you are expected to tolerate at least what but lately you would have rejected with utter loathing: you must, as you think, mix a little in doubtful society, and consent to some doubtful practices; you yield; but you are "exceeding sorry." Soon, however, your sorrow wears away, and you are tranquil and unconcerned. You have come to an understanding with your religion on the one hand, and with the world’s claims on the other. You cease to be shocked with what is so common in your circle; and, familiar with its little levities and liberties, you are no longer "exceeding sorry" when you occasionally conform to them. Thus far the tempter has gained the day; whatever ease or liberty you now experience, it is to him that you owe it; and you may be very sure that he will soon exact a reckoning. Accordingly, ere long, he has some new demand to make in the line of sinful compliance and conformity. Again you struggle, as a bird in the net. Old memories of home, its joys, its prayers, its tears, the yearnings of parental fondness, the loving smiles of familiar faces, holy thoughts of holy seasons, all crowd around you; and you are sorry, "exceeding sorry." But again an extorted compromise purchases a precarious peace; until a new call of vanity or folly occasions a new resistance and a new surrender; and the end comes alas! how speedily ruined character, blighted prospects, and broken hearts. Nor is it superfluous to say to the professing Christian, or even the true believer, Beware of this particular artifice of the adversary. You are not ignorant of Satan’s wiles and devices; and sad experience may have proved to you that this is among the very worst of them. It is the triumph of the deceitfulness of sin. What shipwrecks of faith and of a good conscience have been made on this sunken rock! With what subtlety has insidious habit contrived in this way to weave her chains of exquisite delicacy around the weak or willing or half-willing victims of her craft! You have the strongest reasons for venturing on a measure of doubtful, or more than doubtful propriety; and in venturing upon it, timidly and for once only, you have scruples, and are "exceeding sorry." Again, however, the strong reasons, or plausible excuses, are urged; again you venture on the compliance that is asked of you, and it is with fewer scruples and less exceeding sorrow than before. Soon the first landing-place is reached. The act of worldly conformity, from being occasional, has become customary; inward upbraiding ceases and you are "exceeding sorry" no longer. It is the dark, deceitful lull before the gathering storm. Presently you are solicited to advance another step in the direction in which you have begun to walk. You resist; but your resistance is met by a smile of derision or a scowl of defiance. You are at the mercy of circumstances which you cannot now control. You are committed to associates or accomplices from whom you cannot now draw back. You have contracted habits which you cannot shake off. Forward you are constrained to go reluctantly, for you are "exceeding sorry" but still forward you are carried, till another stage is gained and another respite granted. Thus on and on you go, unless specially and almost miraculously arrested by sovereign grace, sinning and sorrowing; sorrowing and yet sinning still. For when your sorrow for sin is of such a sort as we have been tracing, and is again and again overborne, what security can it afford against the "great transgression?" (Psalms 19:13.) Or in what can the history of your religious walk be expected to end, but the ruin of hardened and final impenitence? You are ever struggling, but still ever surrendering: you sin and are "sorry" - you are "exceeding sorry" and yet go on to sin. But, it may be asked, If this sorrow be thus practically inefficacious, wherein does its inefficacy consist? or how may it be distinguished from that sorrow which, being of a godly sort, "worketh repentance unto salvation not to be repented of?" Two distinctive marks may be enough; and accordingly it is to be observed, that the sorrow in question has in it no true fear of God, and no just sense of sin. There is in it no true fear of God; for in all this sorrow you regard God, if you regard him at all, as if he were such an one as yourselves as if he were like an earthly friend, whom, if by any accident you happen to offend him, you may easily conciliate and appease by a few formal common-places of apologetic explanation. In making your way through a crowded street, you are compelled to elbow and jostle some one whom you respect. You pause for a moment to ask his pardon, you did not intend to hurt, you are "exceeding sorry;" but the pressure was so great! Your interest obliges you to take an un- wonted and not quite warrantable liberty with one on whose personal regard and indulgence you think you can reckon. You explain the freedom which you have used or are about to use, you are "exceeding sorry" that it should be necessary, but you know he will excuse you; and, after all, between friends is it not a trifle? And if your sin were no more than such a liberty taken, or such a personal offence heedlessly given, in your intercourse with a being with whom you might use familiarity, and who, in his dealings with you, had to consult merely his personal predilections then you might presume that he would excuse it too. But the Almighty God, the High and Holy One, is not to be thus regarded. He is the moral governor of moral agents; and in that capacity he must be considered as acting in his treatment of sin and of sinners. Were God divested of this high supremacy, as the ruler and the judge of all; were he at liberty we speak with reverence to deal with men as a private person deals with those who have personally wronged or insulted him; then it might be conceivable that he should accept as easily as they are lightly uttered, the casual, off-hand apologies of his weak and wayward creatures. And is it not precisely because you do thus conceive of him, that you venture to trifle so recklessly with his authority, and to presume so confidently on his indulgence? You flatter yourselves that he will not severely visit your failings; and if he should chance to take offence for any reason at any neglect you seem to show, a little explanation will set all right. "You are exceeding sorry;" but you really meant no harm. He will make allowance for your infirmity, and accept, as a sufficient apology, the regret which you feel for thus offending him. Offending him! and who or what art thou, sinner! worm of the earth! that thou shouldest stand on such a footing with thy God? Thinkest thou that thy sin, or thy sorrow either, can reach or affect Him, the King, dwelling in light inaccessible and full of glory, - as if He were a man, dependent for his happiness or for his honour on thee? Alas! what presumption in us, sinful mortals, to conceive of the Holy One, or to treat with him, as we might conceive of and treat with a fellow-mortal whom we had happened to irritate or wrong! He is offended with us, we scarcely know or care to ask why, unreasonably, we are apt to think, and somewhat capriciously; but a few words of concession, a few signs of self-abasement, will pacify his resentment, and win his toleration of our weakness! Even so an ignorant and wilful child misinterprets the cause of a father’s just displeasure. He knows nothing of the parental authority, or of parental discipline. He sees only that his father is angry, and fondly hopes that a few expressions of penitence and a few tears of sorrow will coax and persuade him into easy and indulgent good-humour. And you, O sinner! will deal thus with God, as a froward child with a doting parent! And when his voice is raised to forbid, and his arm to threaten, and his angel stands to oppose you, still, by humble apologies and professions of "exceeding sorrow" you will work upon his compassion, and win, if not his sanction, yet at least his tolerance and permission; so that if you may not yield to him, he shall yield to you, and standing aside, as the angel did when Balaam continued perverse, suffer you quietly to go your own way! Nor in this kind of sorrow is there a just sense of sin. There cannot be; for a just sense of sin flows from a true fear of God. The feeling, accordingly, which such sorrow is apt to cherish, is that of regret as for a misfortune, not repentance as for a fault. There is a secret presumption that you are to be pitied rather than to be blamed; and instead of a profound sense of your guilt, and an acknowledgment of the heinousness of your offence and the justice of your condemnation, there is rather an impression that it would be an extreme measure of severity on the part of God, were he to withhold from you the indulgence which you need. Deeper feelings, doubtless, of poignant grief and remorse may wring your hearts, as more generous and gracious thoughts of God, and of his holiness and love, occasionally visit your minds. Smitten with admiration, gratitude, and awe, you may have something like a real and longing wish that you could please God, and real and bitter disappointment because you cannot. But it is a calamity that distresses you, not a crime. It is your infirmity your fate; but still not your fault! There may be sorrow when you sin; but it is the sorrow, not of self-condemnation, but of self-justification. There is no conviction in it, no guileless confession, no thorough conversion, no gracious forgiveness. True sorrow for sin implies a recognition of the sovereignty of God, the sovereignty of his authority and the sovereignty of his grace; or, in other words, it implies your looking to the cross of Christ, and beholding there, as in a glass, the glory of God. Let the enlightening Spirit shine into your hearts, to give you the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ; then, at last, feeling the extent and reasonableness of his righteous claims over you, and the deep demerit of your opposition to his will, you stand before him naked and without excuse; "every mouth stopped" and every one of you "brought in guilty" at his bar: "Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest" (Psalms 51:4). Thus, as lost sinners, appropriating and apprehending the full and free forgiveness dispensed through the blood of Christ, and sealed by his Holy Spirit, you receive mercy at the hands of God, not as a kind of indulgence on which you may indefinitely presume, but as a special and signal act of grace. You feel that he sets you free, once for all, from all condemnation, and sends you forth as his redeemed and reconciled children; not to sin and be "exceeding sorry" but to be ever sorrowing after a godly sort, and so sorrowing as "to sin no more" (John 5:14; John 8:11). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 50: 05.09. IX. HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING ======================================================================== IX. HEROD AN EXAMPLE OF AN ALLEGED NECESSITY OF SINNING "And the king was sorry; nevertheless for the oath’s sake, and them which sat with him at meat, he commanded it to be given her." Matthew 14:9."And the king was exceeding sorry; yet for his oath’s sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her." Mark 6:26. THERE is a world of sad meaning in the little word that qualifies the intimation of Herod’s grief."The king was exceeding sorry; yet." He "was sorry; nevertheless." The full half of all the sins of men on earth are committed in this very way, with a feeling of sorrow and an excuse of necessity. One half of the sinners of mankind are in the very predicament of this poor king. They have a great deal of religion, but somehow they are always compelled to compromise it. They cannot help it; they are"exceeding sorry;" but yet. Alas for this treacherous"But yet!" How many good resolutions and good feelings does it arrest! How many admirable designs does it interrupt! How many plans for good, how many plans against evil does it stay or stop! How many excellent premises does it bring to a"lame and impotent conclusion?" "But yet, Madam! I do not like ‘But yet’. It doth allay The good precedent! Fie upon ‘But yet’! ‘But yet’ is as a jailer to bring forth Some monstrous malefactor." So the poet complains. And not less indignantly may the Christian moralize over this poor equivocator,"But yet;" this shuffler between a frank affirmative, Yes, and a bold outspoken negative, No; this halting, envious busy-body, that is ever coming between a man and his wishes; paving the way to hell with good intentions, and blasting with the mildew of his hesitancy many a holy and heavenward aspiration. Nevertheless even this same trimming waverer "But yet" may demand a hearing. He has his reasons. The historian gives Herod all the benefit of them:"For his oath’s sake, and for their sakes which sat with him, he would not reject her." These are surely strong enough reasons; an oath in heaven and a pledge on earth. Is there not here the entanglement of a double obligation, on which God and man may equally insist? Are the reasons valid? Such a question we need scarcely ask or answer. But are they alleged honestly, and in good faith? That is a more interesting inquiry. And, in dealing with it, we must distinguish between excuses of weakness and apologies for wilfulness. I. Is it a case of weakness? Do you really find yourselves committed unawares? Is it in all sincerity that you pitifully urge the plea - you have gone too far to draw back? You would fain do so; but yet. Certainly you are entitled to sympathy; and none like-minded with the Saviour will treat your sad embarrassment with contempt. Far be it from a Christian counsellor to make light of the delicacies and difficulties of your position. It may be proper, however, to ask you, in all tenderness, two questions deeply affecting your responsibility. In the first place, how came you into such a position? In the second place, what hinders your escape from it? Thus, in the first place, How came you into your present position, delicate and difficult as confessedly it may be? Your oath, you say, binds you, and your companions expect you, to sacrifice your godly principles and scruples, at least in this one instance, and to this precise extent. It is painful, and you are "exceeding sorry;" but you are doubly pledged to it, before God and men. You are pledged before God; there is your oath. Now, this may mean that you really have involved yourselves so deeply that a question of conscience or a scruple of religion is fairly and inevitably raised when you attempt to draw back. In that case the alternative before you is distressing indeed; and in the choice you have to make you are greatly to be pitied. The vow of Jephthah, how ever we may interpret it whether as dooming his daughter to a sacrificial death, or as devoting her to a perpetual and sacred virginity stands out in holy Scripture, written for our learning, as a solemn and awful beacon against all rash tampering with the name of God, or with the sanctity of a covenant with God. It is possible that you may have fallen into a similar snare, at least in your own honest opinion of your case. But the far more probable supposition is, that what you mistake for a sacred pledging of yourselves in the sight of God, is really nothing more than your being committed in your own opinion. You have formed a resolution, more or less deliberately; and it is a mortification of your self-esteem to find that you must alter your course. And then you are pledged, not only in your own mind, but in the judgment or opinion of men. The pledge may be either express or virtual; but taking it at its lowest value, and in its loosest form, we must admit that the entanglement is sufficiently serious. Have you experimentally arrived at the discovery, that wickedness makes a tool of weakness? Have you found that novices are always at the mercy of professed and practised proficients in crime? Have you learned that tutors in sin invariably become tyrants, and that they will not let you alone until they have constrained you to do their bidding? For, thereafter, they may cast you aside as exhausted instruments, or worthless remnants, of their pleasure. Truly you are to be pitied. But the question must be pressed upon you How came you into a position so embarrassing? And it. is not for the mere purpose of vexing you that we press this question, but for reasons of obvious practical importance. The first of these reasons is, that you may apprehend and feel your guilt. For you may rely on it that your case will never be adequately treated so long as you consider yourselves, or are considered by others, to be the objects of pity merely, and not of blame. Certainly pity is not to be withheld; and, in any judgment which your fellow men pronounce upon your conduct, the circumstances in which you may have been placed are to be taken into account. But there is a risk of your being fondled in the cradle of a spurious, sentimental sympathy, when it would be far better for you to be startled, were it even as by the alarum of judgment and the trump of doom. This, indeed, is one of the peculiar dangers of these times in which we live. It may arise partly out of the influence of a false, infidel philosophy, which would make mind the mere development of matter, and moral character the mere result and product jointly of physical organization and of physical laws. Or, it may be partly owing to a reaction from the sanguinary severity of the old penal code, which assuredly dealt with offenders pitilessly enough. And partly also it may spring from a sort of conscientious feeling of self-condemnation, and the impression that, having done so little to prevent evil, society has but a doubtful right to punish it. One or other of these causes, or all of them combined, may account for the tendency to which we refer. Certain it is, however, that it is fast growing into a mischievous and fatal infatuation in the department of public morals and social order. Criminals are regarded as entitled to sympathy. And so they are; no class of the community are more so. But practically, is it not coming to this, that to a large extent they are regarded simply as entitled to sympathy, and not as deserving also of blame? And a sickly, sentimental, feminine sensibility, very far removed from the manly and Christian philanthropy that first groped its way into our jails and bridewells, would treat the violator of all laws, human and divine, as a victim rather than a villain, to be pitied rather than to be punished. The contagion of this false feeling is but too likely to reach the private walks of life, and even the inner region of spiritual experience. There, also, the idea is apt to prevail, that conformity to the world is the consequence of circumstances such as make it almost unavoidable. Under this impression, you may be mourning over your declension from your first love and complaining of it to others on whose friendship and fellow-feeling you think you have a claim. You spread out your difficulties, and open up the hidden distresses of your souls. Your want of comfortable assurance and living joy, in your fellow-ship with God; the constant intrusion of the world and the world’s cares; the unfixedness of your thoughts in devotion, and the secularity of your hearts; the little hold you have of the unseen and eternal state, and the little hold it has of you; the immersion of your minds in the drudgery of daily toil, or in the necessary calls of social courtesy and kindness; and, as the effect of all this, the feebleness of your faith and the languor of your love; such evils in your spiritual condition you pour into the ear of pious friendship, with broken voice and bitter tears, looking, all the while, for the earnest and intelligent sympathy of brotherly love. And God forbid that you should want this sympathy: tenderly must your case be treated. But let it be treated truthfully too. Come, we say to you, rouse yourselves, and quit you like men. Get rid of the imbecility of a mere appeal to pity. Look boldly at the actual state of the case. Consider how you have come to be so involved and committed as you now are. Realize your full responsibility. Believe that you are not the sport of chance and victims of fate. No. You are not passively moulded into a character that is indelible; nor are you brought by any irresistible necessity into a condition that is irremediable. It is your sin, as well as your sorrow, that you have come into this state; and the first step towards your being relieved is, that "your sin must find you out." The other reason, accordingly, for insisting on this inquiry is, that being convinced of guilt, you may not despair of recovery. For there is, perhaps, no more dangerous influence abroad, so far as personal effort is concerned, than that of a sort of covert and incipient fatalism. The listless impression of utter helplessness that creeps into the soul, when folly or excess has contrived to cast its lethargic spell over you, is like the stupor that steals upon the senses of the benumbed traveller, as, weary and way-worn amid the northern ice, he yields to the seduction of an insidious slumber. It is real kindness to break, however painfully, that sleep of death. Hence our urgency in pressing home the question, How came you into a predicament so painful? Arouse yourselves to a firm and strong grasp of the entanglements that beset you. To bewail them as misfortunes merely, is to indulge the mere fretfulness of a child. Take a manlier view of them. Deal with them as sins; and deal with yourselves as sinners. And look well into the source of your sin, into its very fountain-head and spring. It is idle to throw the blame on circumstances or companions. You are yourselves the guilty parties. And the very first thing you have to do, is not only to criminate and condemn yourselves, but to investigate, to its utmost depth, both the cause of your criminality and the ground of your condemnation. This was what David did, when, abandoning all refuges of lies and all expedients of self-justification, he "acknowledged his sin unto the Lord," feeling both its offensiveness in the sight of God and its just liability to wrath; and then, tracing it up to its bitter source, cried out in his godly sorrow, "I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me. Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me" (Psalms 51:5-10). But, in the second place, besides asking how came you into your present embarrassment, we must ask also, what really hinders your escape from it? Your vow, you say, and the right which your companions have over you: "For his oath’s sake and for their sakes which sat with him." Assuming still that yours is a case of weakness rather than of wilfulness, we ask you to consider the real value and force of these excuses. To what do they amount? Your vow, your oath, what is that but a feeling of false pride? The opinion or expectation of your fellow-men, what is that but a feeling of false shame? False pride! False shame! Are these, after all, the giant forms and fantasies that stand forth to oppose you when you would retrace your steps, and recover yourselves? And what strength is there in them, when it is a prophet’s head that you are required to sacrifice? To what a height must the infatuation of self-deception have come, if a conviction like this can be seriously entertained! And after all, even at the last hour, might not Herod have frankly owned a fault in himself, and fearlessly disowned the fellowship of those "who sat at meat with him?" Had he summoned up courage enough to be abased under the judgment of God, and to defy the judgment of men, to abandon his false pride in the presence of God, and to overcome his false shame in the presence of men; to say to his God, "I have sinned against thee, thee only;" and to say to his fellow-men,"What have I to do with you?" the night, so dark and bloody, might have become to him ere it closed the dawn of a bright and blessed day. John, out of his prison, would have preached repentance to the humbled monarch as freely and fully as ever he preached it to the multitudes in the wilderness. Herod might have heard of the Lamb of God that taketh away sin; and before the morning broke, had he preferred the living voice to the lifeless head of his injured friend, there might have been joy over him in heaven among the angels of God, as over one more sinner repenting; and on earth, in his own heart, there would have been peace with God and goodwill towards men. Was there no apprehension of such an alternative in the mind of Herod that night? Did it never once occur to him that he was a man, not to say a king; and that he had but to speak the word and John was free? Was there not a critical instant, when he had almost ventured on such a step, when the spell was all but broken, and he was on the very point of asserting his liberty of choice? And is there not always some faint and passing glimpse of a freer and better choice darting across the gloomy helplessness of soul with which you abandon yourself to a supposed necessity of evil? Are you not conscious, that in every step you have been taking there has been a moment when, by one vigorous effort, you might have broken the vile enchantment under which you were spellbound? Nay, are you not conscious that there has been a moment when you found yourself on the very point of breaking it? At such a moment the truth has flashed upon you, and you have felt that the cords which bound you were become as flaxen threads. The mercy of God in Christ is within your grasp; the Spirit is moving in your soul. One stroke, and you are free; one leap, and you are safe; free to close with Christ, in spite of all evil surmises and misgivings, safe in the embrace of Christ, whatever storms may rise and rage around. You know that there has been such a crisis as this; and the remembrance of it is apt to enhance the bitterness of your despondency. But it need not, and it should not do so. Rather let it open your eyes to the utter worthlessness of such pleas as the adversary may be urging for keeping you ensnared in his wiles. Take courage for one prompt and peremptory exertion, with fear and trembling, of your own power to will and to do, in the humble confidence that God worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure. There are really no obstacles in your way, if only your false pride and shame will give place to that fear of God which knows neither fear of man nor favour of man; and if only you will believe assuredly that, with reference to the matter on hand, the practical question to be determined,"now is the accepted time, and now is the day of salvation." II. Thus far we have considered Herod’s plea as urged rather in weakness than in wilfulness; and this is doubtless the most common case among professing Christians; and it is, practically, the most interesting. But the partition between weakness and wilfulness is very slight and slender; and as "secret faults" rapidly and imperceptibly pass into "presumptuous sins," so what may be at first the honest and really distressing complaint of occasional infirmity, is apt to become, ere long, the contented acquiescence of a confirmed and customary" walking after the course of this world." The growth of this wilful spirit may be traced, first, in your more deliberate justifying of yourself; and, secondly, in your more daring defiance of God. The first symptom is the increasing deliberation, and perverse, systematic ingenuity, with which you justify yourself. With increasing ease you evade duty, with increasing boldness you palliate sin. Is a call of duty addressed to you, whether from without, through the word and providence of God, or from within, through the stings or stirrings of your own conscience? Is the Spirit of the Lord dealing with you on the score of any neglected obligation, whether of piety and prayer, or of liberality and love? Are you urged to give more earnest heed than hitherto to the exercises of private retirement and social worship, the closet, the study, the prayer meeting, the Sabbath, and the sanctuary? Are you pressed and straitened in your own mind, as to a more frequent and devout perusal of the word of God, and a more punctual observance of all the hallowed and hereditary order of a Scottish Christian home? Or is it some opportunity of greater usefulness and more active zeal in the Lord’s cause that is presented to you? And are you conscious of something very like a call from heaven, to part with more of your substance for heavenly ends, or to give more of your time and thoughts to such works as may awaken joy among the heavenly hosts? And are you hesitating and hanging back? It is not that you either doubt or deny the general reasonableness of what is asked. Gladly would you aim at the very highest standard of Christian perfection, as some whom you can name may easily do, and as you yourself hope one day to be able to do. At present, however, with every desire on your part to aspire to the most elevated style of Christianity, you do not see how it can be practicable. You are"exceeding sorry;" but your indispensable engagements, and the demands of the society in which you move, form an obstacle, in the meantime, insurmountable. So far, your reasoning has the aspect of a graceful and sorrowful declinature. But a question or two may be permitted. Do you find, for instance, we may ask, that this process of apologetic pleading is becoming easier to yourself that you can satisfy yourself now with reasons such as, at one time, would have availed you little, that appeals to your conscience, and misgivings in your conscience, are disposed of more promptly than they once were? Or again, we may ask, are you beginning to calculate more confidently than you could once venture to do, on the acquiescence of others? Formerly, even when your own judgment, as you persuaded yourself, was convinced, and your own conscience was consequently at ease, you had doubts as to your being able to carry other judgments along with you; and you would have shrunk, with a somewhat nervous sensitiveness, from the idea of submitting your case unreservedly to the opinion of your most intimate Christian friend, not to speak of the verdict of the general Christian world. Have you grown bolder now? Above all, we may ask finally, are you secretly conscious that, when your apology is sustained, whether by yourself or by others around you, there is not really, in spite of all your expressions of regret, and all your attempts to be"exceeding sorry," a latent feeling of relief, rather than a sense of disappointment, as if it were not a labour of love which you were reluctantly hindered from undertaking, but a task and irksome drudgery, from which you had contrived to make your escape? Beware in such circumstances of the hardening of your hearts through the deceitfulness of sin. If questions like these cause you ever so little to wince and feel sore, it is high time for you to awake out of sleep. It is no longer in mere weakness alone, but partly, at least, in wilfulness also, that you are availing yourselves of the convenient services of a "But yet;" and although you may still, from time to time, experience enough of poignant and sharp remorse to make you "exceeding sorry" it is now fast becoming a settled thing with you, that such sorrow is simply a calamity and vexation, with which you must lay your account, and of which, however troublesome it may be as a drawback on your liberty, it is scarcely reasonable to expect that you should ever be able altogether to get rid. The same sad course might be traced in the palliation of sin, as well as in the evasion of duty. And here the rapid progress which may be made in the art of self-justification conspicuously appears. For the vague and indefinite character of the line that marks off the forbidden ground, enhances at once the force of temptation and the facility of finding excuses for compliance. There are so many difficult questions that may be raised as to particular instances of worldly conformity, and the considerations for and against them are so complicated, that the path of duty comes to be enveloped in a cloud ; and you are at a loss whether to go or to stay, whether to resist or to yield. Thus you venture upon your first liberties with doubtful steps, being really unable to determine what is best. But the misfortune is that you soon become unwilling too. The sort of haze, which at first was so distracting and distressing, gradually becomes rather welcome than otherwise. The difficulty which you feel in determining the right course ceases to be so vexatious as once it was, and you are rather inclined to take refuge in it. Naturally, in such a state of mind, you exaggerate the difficulty. In fact, you have no objection to see the whole subject of the Church’s separation from the world involved in an inextricable maze of minute sophistry and special pleading. And you glory in the doubtful interpretation and seeming elasticity of gospel principles and gospel precepts the very feature about them over which you professed, at first, most painfully to lament. Alas! how soon and how certainly does this mode of thought, in regard to gospel principles and gospel precepts as a whole, lead to a confirmed habit of tampering with these principles and precepts in detail! And then, with what ease do you contrive to give yourself indulgence as you practise the tricks of trade with which your professional calling may be beset, and join in the lighter levities, or in the graver follies, of your rank and station in the world. You may be still sorry,"exceeding sorry;" but it is the sorrow of one bemoaning a fatality, not bewailing a fault. And, accordingly, it scarcely at all disturbs the equanimity of your complacent acquiescence in many things which once might have greatly shocked you, but which now you have learned to view in their right light, as inevitable incidents of your place and standing, to be regretted, perhaps, but scarcely to be remedied or redressed. Thus your skill in the art of justifying yourself is rapidly improved by practice; and you may rely on it, that your bold defiance of God will keep pace with it. This is the other mark, or symptom, of weakness passing into wilfulness, to which we referred; and a very few words may suffice to expose its insidious and deadly nature. It is always a dangerous thing to tempt the Lord; and never is it more so than when you tempt him with a sincere expression of sorrow, and under a plausible plea of necessity. It may be the very turning-point of your spiritual history. It is, indeed, a critical moment when at any time you find yourself beginning to reckon beforehand on the forbearance of God. Deeply, daily, must you be indebted to that forbearance; and the more you know of the deceitfulness and desperate wickedness of your own heart, and the more you grapple in close conflict with the world, the devil, and the flesh, the more must you feel your ever-increasing debt of obligation. But there is the utmost possible difference between your owning the forbearance of God, as it is with unwearied pity and patience exercised towards you in your actual walk before him, and your anticipating that forbearance, and laying your account with it in the previous planning of your walk. The two states of mind are "wide as the poles asunder." There is a great gulf between them, though, alas, it is a gulf over which the deceitfulness of sin can but too easily and imperceptibly effect a passage. And if you once begin to venture on such a liberty with God, where are you to stop? It is in itself essentially the height of presumption thus to treat the High and Holy One. In fact, it is so daring and profane an instance of impiety, that at first you shrink from explicitly avowing it, even to your own mind. But mark the beginning of evil. Is there ever a course of conduct to which you reconcile yourself, perhaps with some difficulty, by the reflection, that if it be not altogether right, God, in his long-suffering patience, and in consideration of your difficulty, may pass it by? What is this but the germ of the very spirit that prompts the language of the wicked, "The Lord seeth not, the Lord regardeth not;" "Where is the rod of judgment?" the spirit which the Lord so signally rebukes, "These things hast thou done, and I kept silence; thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself: but I will reprove thee, and set them in order before thine eyes?" (Psalm l:21) You may not, indeed, adopt the very words of the ungodly; you may even repudiate the thoughts and imaginations of their hearts. But what is it that your conduct really implies? Let it be ever so trifling and unimportant a step that you are called to take; let it be a step, moreover, about which ever so much may be said in the way of specious advocacy and extenuation; and let it be taken with ever so many compunctious visitings of regret, and under ever so strong a pressure of necessity; still, is it a step for which, as you take it, you have a shrewd idea that you will have to draw more or less upon the forbearance of God? Then, be sure, there is nothing whatever of a difference in principle between that step, so taken, and the bravado of the scoffers in the last days "Where is the promise of his coming?" And further, be sure that, having once passed the line of a holy and scrupulous conscientiousness, there is nothing whatever likely to arrest your progress before you reach the stage of hardened insensibility, when you can sin with a high and careless hand, as if you might brave and defy the Holy One to judge you. Surely this is a consideration well fitted to warn and alarm. God is not mocked. It is no light matter to trifle with him. His forbearance towards sin is not so cheaply purchased as that you may make a convenience of it at your pleasure; nor does his way of dealing with you, in reconciling you to himself, warrant your presumptuous dealing with him as if he were to accommodate himself to you. The Cross of Christ, the just and necessary price of God’s long-suffering patience and your perfect peace, makes all such compromise impossible; and the full and free forgiveness of the glorious gospel cries shame on the very thought of it. It is the sure sign of the bondage of guilty fear, to be ever and anon stealing abroad on some sly errand of doubtful gain or pleasure, in the hope of escaping notice or evading punishment. The liberty of conscious acceptance and acquittal the love and joy of adoption and conscious sonship demand a franker and more guileless walk. To give way to circumstances which you think you cannot control, being all the while "exceeding sorry," but yet preparing beforehand the plausible excuses that are to justify your doubtful choice, is to enter on a course of double dealing with God, such as can scarcely fail to land you, perhaps before you are well aware of it, in the sin of lying against the Holy Ghost, and turning the grace of God into licentiousness, the sin, in short, of crucifying the Son of God afresh, and putting him to open shame. We have thus sought to trace the progress of that helpless frame of mind of which we have an example in the miserable imbecility of Herod. We have followed out to its legitimate issue this poor habit of self-justification, which leads you to shelter yourself, as if you were the passive victim of an irresistible fatalism, under pleas of strong necessity and constraint; pleas compelling you, as you allege, in a manner, to give in. We close with two brief remarks: How unsatisfying, at the best, are these pleas! And how unsubstantial! In the first place, whom do they really satisfy? Not yourself; for you are not happy and at your ease, so long as you have so many scruples about yielding, and so long as in yielding you are so "exceeding sorry." Nor are your tempters satisfied. They hail your concession, no doubt, so far as it goes, and are glad to have you taken in their wiles; but your remaining reluctance is a vexation to them; and they will not rest until you go with them freely and joyfully, instead of being so "exceeding sorry." Far less will your God be satisfied. If your own heart condemn you in urging your excuses, and convict you of secret guile, God is greater than your heart, and knoweth all things. You are labouring in vain, and spending your strength for nought. Come, try a more excellent way; especially since, in the second place, these pleas of necessity that embarrass you are as unsubstantial as they are unsatisfying. They have no real force in themselves, nor is there anywhere, in any quarter, any right or power to enforce them. On the contrary, there is One not far off, but "standing at the door and knocking;" and if only you will "open to Him" He will put an end at once to this miserable strife, He "will come in unto you, and sup with you, and you with Him." Call John out of his prison; let him be your friend once more. Call on Him of whom John bore witness; or rather hear Him when he calls on you. Jesus will speedily cut the knot of all your worldly entanglements, and take you to be altogether his own; "ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." There is no halting or hesitating with him; no drawback, no reserve, no "But yet" in the whole history of his dealings with poor sinners among men. No such word is upon his gracious lips; nor is the thing it signifies in his large and loving heart. When was he ever found qualifying, or guarding, or hedging the boundless liberality of his calls and offers in the gospel, by such a poor afterthought and cautious reservation as this "But yet"? "Come unto me!" "Ho, every one that thirsteth, come unto the waters!" "Whosoever will, let him come and take of the water of life freely!" "Whosoever cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out!" Is there ever any "But yet" appended to any of these gracious invitations? No! You are complete in Christ. Believing, you have all things in Christ, unconditionally, unreservedly, assuredly, and for ever, without "if," or "but," or any such thing. Then believe, and have done with this "But yet" at once, and once for all. Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ. Receive him as he is freely offered to you in the gospel. "I do - I try - I would," you answer; "But yet." What! O sinner, perishing as thou art, wilt thou still harp on this poor evasion! When it is thy Saviour, thy God, who is speaking to thee, giving thee eternal life, holding forth to thee, as thine for the taking, all that thou canst need for the forgiveness of all thine iniquities and the healing of all thy diseases, is it for thee to cavil and question any further, thwarting the full and free grace of his proposal with this subterfuge of thine, this equivocating "But yet"? You would fain believe, and have peace in believing, and be all that Jesus would have you to be; "But yet." Nay, whatever you are going to add, whether you are about to complain of coldness, or deadness, or unworthiness, or unbelief, whatever is to follow this "But yet" of yours stop, pause, be ashamed and confounded. Whatever it may be that you are on the point of pleading, can it be anything else than an insult to your Saviour and an offence to your God, to put in any plea whatever in bar of the mercy and the grace which he so freely gives? Come, rather close with him now, unconditionally, unreservedly. Let "ifs" and "buts" have place no longer in your surrender of yourself to him, as they have no place in his giving of himself for you, or in his giving of himself to you. Then,"with enlargement of heart, you will run in the way of his precepts: you will walk at liberty when you have respect unto all his commandments." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 51: 05.10. X. PETER: HIS GENERAL CHARACTER ITS STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS ======================================================================== X. PETER: HIS GENERAL CHARACTER ITS STRENGTH AND WEAKNESS "And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me. And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?" Matthew 19:28-30. THE incident here recorded illustrates in a very striking manner the character of the Apostle Peter. His whole conduct, on this occasion, is such as vividly to exhibit the peculiarity of his natural temperament; and the rather, when we trace its remarkable though undesigned agreement with what we read elsewhere concerning him. The character, indeed, of this holy apostle is not in any part of the sacred writings directly drawn; for the historians of the Bible do not deal in professed delineations of individual character, it being their province to narrate, and not to comment. Hence they never undertake to describe at length what such a man was; they content themselves with telling us simply what he did. And this they do without reserve, and generally without remark, neither elaborately magnifying what is excellent, nor studiously palliating what is wrong, but permitting facts to speak for themselves, and leaving it to the reader to form his own judgment concerning the merits or defects of the various actors in the scenes which they honestly set before him. Now, this artless, unaffected simplicity of narration well becomes the authority of sacred and inspired evangelists; it contributes much to gain credit to their testimony, while it approves itself to the taste of every competent and intelligent judge of such matters. For what person of good sense and good feeling can refuse to believe authors, every page of whose writings bears the stamp of honesty, and of that courage which is fearless and careless of everything but the truth? And, on the other hand, is it not a source of the most refined satisfaction and delight, a high intellectual entertainment as well as an interesting moral experiment, to exercise our own skill in discerning and discriminating character, to trace for ourselves its broad outline, its marked and distinctive features, its nicer and more minute and delicate shades of peculiarity; and to observe how, in different histories, and in all varieties of situation, the same individual is, without any appearance of artful contrivance or constraint, represented as uniformly and most harmoniously in keeping, if we may so speak, and in accordance both with nature and with himself? Thus, to those who delight in inquiries and speculations respecting the individual diversities of mental and moral constitution among men, the character of the Apostle Peter must be an interesting study, as it is found to be undesignedly and incidentally delineated in the histories of the New Testament. There is nowhere in these histories any laboured description of his habits and manners, any formal enumeration or catalogue of his good and bad qualities respectively, such as other historians are so apt to deal in. But a few striking instances of his conduct set the man before us. On whatever occasions we meet with this apostle, we find him always natural, and always the same; distinguished by individual peculiarities from others, yet throughout, in all particulars, fairly and beautifully consistent with himself. And this perfect yet simple consistency we are irresistibly led to attribute, not to any concerted scheme of fiction, but to the native harmony of truth the unity and uniformity of a common living original. For we feel convinced, as we read and study it, that such a character, thus artlessly unfolded in such different circumstances and by different authors, must have been taken by each of them apart, directly from the life. The most prominent and distinguishing peculiarities of the Apostle Peter’s natural character seem to have been these two: a certain hasty and generous impetuosity of temper on the one hand, and a certain occasional imbecility or infirmity of purpose on the other; two qualities of mind which are found not infrequently combined. Easily and deeply impressed with new feelings, and prompt to decide at first with frank and fearless honesty, but without enough of calm consideration, he was apt to be afterwards daunted or disconcerted by difficulties unforeseen and unprovided for. When any new object of pursuit was presented to his view, or any new scene or topic crossed his imagination, his eager spirit seized immediately on some one of its grand, or imposing, or affecting features. This single idea roused his enthusiasm, and so occupied, overpowered, and engrossed all his soul, that doubt seemed impertinent and delay intolerable; and he had neither thought nor feeling for anything except that upon which for the time his ambition might be set, an ambition occasionally perhaps fanciful, yet always amiable, and excellent, and noble. In the ardour and impatience of his confident hope, to resolve was to accomplish. With his eye kindled and his heart burning within him, and both alike intently fixed on some one high and honourable aim, he could not bear to be distracted by the remonstrances of cold and timid caution. He could see nothing formidable in his enemy. He could feel no weakness in himself. But passing over in idea all intervening hazards, confident in the strength of his own determination, he grasped the victory ere yet his armour was put on ; and, when he had scarcely even conceived his plan, he seemed to himself to have already attained and secured his end. Now this honest and dauntless spirit did indeed give boldness, energy, and warm cordiality, to his professions and his resolutions, in every enterprise which he undertook; but then, as it was too hasty for deliberation, and would not suffer him to pause before setting out, that he might look around him or look before him, it exposed him to the risk of being taken at unawares and when off his guard, by dangers, against which a little more of timely foresight might have effectually defended him. Hence that mixture, which we observe in Peter’s character of zeal and weakness, of zeal in purpose and in promise, of weakness, sometimes, in performance. He was always sincere and earnest in his intentions, although, being often rash and inconsiderate, he heedlessly presumed upon his own strength, and unwarily exposed himself to trial. Thus, on all occasions, we find him the first and most forward of our Lord’s followers, both to avow his attachment and to put it to the proof. On his very first introduction, indeed, to the Lord when his brother Andrew and he, along with several others, were attending on the ministry of the Baptist, and Andrew brought him to Jesus, of whom the Baptist spoke, with the glad announcement,"We have found the Messias," Peter was specially noticed in language having reference, as we can scarcely doubt, in part at least, to his personal character, as well as to his destined position in the church: "Thou art Simon the son of Jona: thou shalt be called Cephas, which is by interpretation, A stone" (John 1:42). And we begin to see something of his peculiar temper, his extreme susceptibility of impression, and his quickness of feeling, in his next interview with the Lord on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, after the miraculous draught of fishes (Luke v. 8, 9). He is far more deeply moved by the miracle than his companions; he is affected with a more vivid sense of the holiness of a present God, and his own guilt in his sight: "Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord." But soon he is reassured by the gracious promise, "Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt catch men" and is ready to forsake all and to follow Jesus. All throughout his waiting upon the personal ministry of Jesus, we trace the same fervency of spirit. For instance, when our Lord questioned his disciples as to their opinion of his authority, "Whom say ye that I am?" it was Peter who promptly, in their name, made confession of their faith "Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God;" and when their Master, seeing many draw back offended, put it to the twelve, "Will ye also go away?" it was Simon Peter who instantly and eagerly replied, "Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life" (Matthew 16:1, Matthew 16:6; John 6:68). Again: when Jesus filled the minds of his disciples with grief, by announcing his intention of going up, in the face of all his enemies, to Jerusalem, there to suffer and to die, it was Peter who, on the first impulse of his enthusiastic affection without thinking what a liberty he was taking, in thus objecting and contradicting instead of humbly acquiescing presumed to remonstrate, "Be this far from thee, Lord" which inconsiderate and unwarrantable boldness exposed the ardent apostle to that severe reproof, "Get thee behind me, Satan." It was Peter, moreover, who on the Mount of Transfiguration, when James and John were overpowered by the glory of the scene, was ready to make the eager proposal, "Lord, it is good for us to be here: let us build tabernacles." And it was Peter who, in the garden, stung with a holy rage, drew his sword for his Master’s defence, in that hasty act which his Master so solemnly rebuked, "All they that take the sword shall perish with the sword" (Matthew 16:22-23; Matthew 17:4; Matthew 26:52). Again: when the Saviour exhibited that memorable example of kindly condescension in washing the feet of his own servants, still it was Peter who ventured to argue with him; first bluntly refusing to receive so humble a service from a Master so divine, "Thou shalt never wash my feet." And then, when he hears the significant words, "If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me," see how, with his wonted warmth and impetuosity, he earnestly exclaims, "Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head" (John 13:6-9). And once more: when our Lord, having risen, appears on the shore, and makes himself known to his disciples as they are fishing in a boat at a little distance, and when Peter, instead of waiting with his companions, and coming in the boat to land, casts himself in his haste into the sea, who fails to recognise, in this simple but very characteristic incident, the same ardent and eager temperament which uniformly distinguished the zealous apostle? The whole interview, also, which follows, teems with little traits and incidents, all beautifully illustrating the character of Peter. We see him the very same man in his penitence that he was before in his pride. How glad is he to meet his Master again! How anxious to win his kind eye once more the eye which, when last he met it, was so full of wounded love! How eager also to testify his returning affection, and how prompt and bold to profess and promise anew, though in humbler faith and a more chastened spirit, yet with all his wonted warmth, "Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee!" Nay, even the slight question which he then asked concerning the fate of his brother apostle John, "Lord, and what shall this man do?" This question, which every reader at once feels that Peter, rather than any other, was likely to put, suits his somewhat forward, yet affectionate turn of mind - just as perfectly as does our Lord’s reply,"What is that to thee? Follow thou me" (John 21:1-25). So hearty and affectionate a disposition altogether disinterested, generous, and honourable admirably fitted this apostle for the endearments of friendship. And accordingly Peter evidently enjoyed, in a high degree, the private and personal attachment of the Master whom he so warmly loved. Jesus, indeed, seems to have all along taken a lively interest in the discipline and improvement of this apostle’s amiable yet imperfect character. Thus, even in the most trying scene of his life, Jesus failed not to remember his erring disciple; at the very time, too, when that disciple had meanly disowned and denied him. "The Lord turned and looked upon Peter;" and by that look of more than human power and more than human tenderness melted his heart to penitence: "Peter went out and wept bitterly." At resurrection, also, in the message which he sent by women how kindly and considerately does he special mention of his fallen follower and friend: "tell the disciples, and Peter!" What a token is this the mourning apostle, after his grievous sin and his bitter weeping! And when they meet, still remembering the disciple who had fallen how graciously does Jesus take an opportunity of accepting his penitence, and sealing and ratifying the penitent’s pardon! By the thrice- repeated question, "Lovest thou me," he invites him to renew his profession of attachment just as often and as devotedly as he had formerly renounced it; while, by the thrice-repeated command, "Feed my lambs" "Feed my sheep" he comforts his wounded spirit by thus most solemnly and emphatically restoring him to the apostolic office which he might be held to have forfeited (Luke 22:61; Mark 16:7; John 21:15-17). Still, however, the same cordial warmth of temper, which raised him so far above all timid and selfish meanness, and endeared him so much to his beloved Master, occasionally hurried Peter heedlessly into situations of danger, where his courage, surprised and alarmed, was apt to fail. Thus it was in the instance of his lamentable fall, when, but a few hours after his bold and manly declaration, "Though I should die with thee, yet will I not deny thee" and after he had been ready to shed blood in his Master’s cause, he was betrayed by temptation to which his own rash self-confidence exposed him, and against which he had been expressly warned into a base and perjured disavowal of the very name he had so sacredly pledged himself to honour (John 13:38; John 18:15-27). And thus it was, also, in the instance of his walking with Jesus on the water (Matthew 14:28-31). We see how ready he was at first to expose himself, and how soon and how easily he was terrified in the moment of danger. While the other apostles were scarcely yet recovered from the consternation into which they were thrown, first by their helpless exposure to the midnight storm, and then by the sudden appearance of Jesus, whom, in their alarm, they mistook for a spirit, Peter, as usual, distinguished himself by the prompt alacrity of his devotion. No sooner did he recognise his Master, than forgetting all the fears which he had cherished in that Master’s absence, while tossed on the waves of the tempestuous sea he thought only of his presence now, eagerly and hastily seeking permission on these very waves to meet with him. Yet no sooner did he actually encounter their fury than his high-wrought resolution gave way: "When he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid." Now he might have observed, before he left the ship, that the wind was boisterous. But so much was he struck by the amazing miracle which he beheld, and so exclusively engrossed with the idea of meeting his Master on so new and singular a path, that he took no time to consider or reflect; and therefore he was not proof against the terrors of the storm, which really came upon him suddenly and altogether unexpectedly. How perfectly, how beautifully consistent, is this occurrence with the apostle’s general character! How much in harmony with the spirit of his ordinary conduct! How natural in him, the first hasty excitement of his zeal, as well as the subsequent failure of his confidence and courage! Such seems to have been the original character of the Apostle Peter, always impetuous, sometimes weak. Such he appeared before the memorable day of Pentecost and the descent of the Holy Ghost. After that time, though we must observe a decided and remarkable change in Peter, as in all the apostles, his enthusiasm being tempered, and his courage sustained, by the calm resolution of a more spiritual faith, still we may perceive in his conduct abundant traces of his natural, his wonted warmth, and some little of his wonted weakness too. For the inspiration of the Spirit did not then any more than his ordinary gracious influences do now level all the distinctive prominences and peculiarities of natural constitution into one dead, flat, and insipid uniformity. The persons inspired still retained their natural temperament of mind and body. They were changed as to the direction of their powers; but still, in respect of the powers themselves, they were the same as before. So Peter, even after he came under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, showed his former high determination and hearty impetuosity. For do we not still find him foremost among the apostles in their holy work and warfare, the most ardent, the most forward and earnest, in the labours of his missionary office, the boldest in facing danger, the most dauntless in encountering death? The early chapters of the Book of Acts sufficiently attest the prominent part which Peter took in all the proceedings and in all the sufferings of the early Church; and show how heartily he threw his whole soul and spirit into the glorious cause which he was called and commissioned to promote. And as even their inspiration did not render the apostles perfect or faultless, so after his great spiritual change we may still detect in Peter some remains of his original defect. In one instance at least, as we know from the testimony of his "beloved brother Paul" he betrayed a culpable weakness, when, out of deference to the prejudices of the Jews at Antioch, whom he desired to conciliate, or feared to offend, he in some way disguised or dissembled his own views relative to the liberty of the Gentile converts, and their right of exemption from the yoke of Jewish ceremonies; compromising thereby the essential and fundamental doctrine of the gospel - justification by faith alone, without ceremonies or observances of any kind, or any works at all of any law. In that instance Paul tells the Galatians concerning Peter: "I withstood him to the face, because he was to be blamed." It was the very fault which had previously characterized him that in this instance he was to be blamed f 6r, a want of sufficient firmness and decision in following out his own purposes, and adhering, amid all difficulties and trials from without, to his own higher principle and better judgment (Galatians 2:11-21). Such then was Peter - such a man naturally - such a disciple and, through grace, such an apostle. Now his character is exhibited for our instruction. From his imperfection we may learn a lesson of humility from his infirmity a lesson of self-distrust. For if he was misled thoughtlessly and incautiously, through ignorance of his weakness, surely it little becomes us to presume upon our own strength, or to trust in our own hearts. We are to shun his errors; but then let us not forget his admirable, his noble excellences. His one great fault of rash and inconsiderate self-confidence should teach us prudence; but let us beware of that prudence which is indolence, or reluctance, or selfishness in disguise. We do well, no doubt, to reprove his impetuous and impatient hastiness of temperament. But his affectionate, disinterested, and unreserved attachment to the Saviour his generous and devoted earnestness in the cause of God and Truth may reprove and put to shame those doubtful and dilatory scruples, by which we would fain excuse ourselves from the "work of faith, and labour of love, and patience of hope." Truly it well becomes your dull and drowsy formalists in religion, to criticise and coolly to condemn this prince of all the apostles, and to plead to themselves his occasional error in one extreme, as a justification of their continual crime in the other! For surely, after all, there may be as much of weak timidity in a cold heart, as there can be of rashness in a keen temper and an ardent spirit. There are men who are ever ready, with the chilling air of insinuated doubt, to blast and wither the energy of religious hope; prophets of evil, who would suppress every lofty aspiration of faith, and discourage every wish and every plan of good, by the poor suspicions of their shrewd policy and their worldly wisdom; anticipating always the hazard of failure, just hinting the chances of coming danger and defeat. But let such men know, that if to make rash vows and inconsiderate attempts in a holy cause, is folly, to make no vows and no attempts at all, is sin. Let them look let us all look to the generosity of Peter’s self-denial and self-devotion. And while we resolve more circumspectly and act more deliberately than he sometimes did, let us learn to resolve and to act as nobly for God, and in the strength of God We may seek to avoid his impetuosity; but let us not forget, that, without something of his enthusiasm, nothing great, nothing good, can ever be achieved. There may be danger when there is zeal without knowledge. Is the danger less when there is no zeal at all? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 52: 05.11. XI. PETER: THE TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. ======================================================================== XI. PETER: THE TRIAL, INFIRMITY, AND TRIUMPH OF HIS FAITH. "them of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?" Matthew 14:28-31. THE incident recorded in this passage of Scripture not only illustrates generally the character of the Apostle Peter, but affords a particular example of his faith its power, and its weakness too such as may be usefully studied. The whole of this midnight scene, indeed, is full of instruction to the believer, especially in seasons of darkness and doubt. The disciples are sent to sea alone; their Master constrains them to get into a ship and go before him to the other side of the lake, while he remains behind, first to dismiss the multitude whom he has miraculously fed in the desert, and then to go up into a mountain apart to pray. At first, in the calm evening and on the smooth waters, fresh as they were from the wondrous feast, the disciples might think little of their temporary separation from their Lord, as they cheerfully launched forth their little bark, in anticipation of a short and easy voyage, and a happy meeting on the other side. Suddenly the sky is overcast, the wind is contrary, and, midway across the sea, the ship is tossed with waves. And where at this critical moment is Jesus? Why is he not with them, to say to the stormy billows "Peace, be still?" Has he forgotten them? "This is their infirmity." Did they not "remember the works of the Lord and his wonders" not in their case "of old?" (Psalms 77:10-11.) Alas, they feel desolate and forlorn. And lo, to trouble them still more, here is a vision, an apparition of a shadowy, spectral form, in the dark mist the spirit of the tempest, as it might seem, mocking their helplessness as he makes them "reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man!" Truly "they are at their wits’ end;" when a blessed voice out of the gloom reassures them, and the well-known accents fall upon their ears "Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid." , What a lesson to a doubting soul! What a rebuke of unbelief! "The waters saw thee, O God, the waters saw thee; they were afraid. Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known" (Psalms 77:16, Psalms 77:19). Rushing, with his usual impetuosity, from one extreme to another, Peter not only recovers his self-possession, but rises as by a rebound to the highest pitch of boldness. We may be sure he had been at least as much depressed as his fellow-disciples as ready to despair of help while Jesus was absent as apt to mistake his abrupt approach in an unexpected way as if it were a vision of judgment, and not a visit of love. But what a start he makes, on the instant, out of the lowest depth of trouble and terror, to what might seem the very romance of confidence and daring, rather than the chastened and sober reality of humble faith! And that there is something of the spirit of romance here, we are far from denying; nay, it is this very feature in the incident before us that gives it, in our view, at once its charm and its value; its charm, as a picture of most attractive interest; and its value, as a lesson of the utmost practical worth. Certainly, the alternations of a mind like Peter’s even when it seems to be capriciously tossed to and fro between what looks too like despair and what savours too much of foolhardiness are preferable to the monotony of an ever placid and unbroken calm. The living enthusiasm of faith, with all the irregular fluctuations of its beating pulse and throbbing heart, is better far than the uniformity of a dead sleep, or sloth. It is not always the most unwholesome weather when the glass shows rapid variations between the points of storm and fair; nor is it a bad sign of the glass itself, that its index sometimes makes sudden enough leaps upon the dial-plate, in obedience to these atmospheric changes. There is life, then, in Peter’s faith life, and not a little health too; otherwise it would have nothing in it either to attract or to edify. But the incident which we are now to consider is both attractive and edifying; affording us an insight into the workings of a lively faith in a lively soul, and bringing out, in the liveliest manner, its genuine sincerity, its imperfection, and its ultimate prevalence and triumph. That Peter’s faith in Jesus was at all events and upon the whole sincere, is manifest from these two circumstances in his behaviour: that at the first, in dependence upon Jesus, he left the vessel; and, again, when sinking, called upon him for aid. He must have believed that it was no incorporeal spirit, but his own beloved Master, whom he saw, and whose voice of encouragement he heard; and he must have been thoroughly convinced that he was both able and willing to sustain his footsteps on the treacherous path which he invited him to tread: otherwise his conduct, in attempting to walk on the water, was utter madness; and his cry when sinking, "Lord, save me!" was the mere raving of delirious terror. His faith, then, might be weak and liable to the interruption of doubt; but still it was genuine and hearty. And the very words of our Saviour’s reproof manifestly imply that it was so: "thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?" Peter is not charged with the sin of having no faith at all, though he is reproved for having little faith. Nay, at the very instant of his culpable doubting, his faith was in active exercise; for in faith he had been willing to comply with his Master’s call, and in faith he was making his earnest prayer to him for help. He had faith, therefore, and that sincere faith, though he had not much faith, or strong faith. He had such a faith as made him hazard his life on the truth believed, and told him where in danger to seek for safety. By the example, therefore, of Peter’s faith, we are taught that uneasy thoughts and anxious fears, however inconsistent they may be with the abundance and the strength of energetic faith, are not always or necessarily inconsistent with its genuine reality. He who doubts in the time of trial is evidently a man of comparatively little faith, and, as such, may be reproved; for his doubt intimates some remains of unreasonable and unworthy distrust: "Wherefore dost thou doubt?" But still he may be a man of true and sincere faith. Nay, his very doubt and disquietude may arise from an experience which, while it proves the weakness of his faith, must be regarded, at the same time, as proving anything rather than his total want of faith; as from a deep conviction of his own sinfulness and helplessness, which is rarely found unconnected with some measure of a believing knowledge of Christ, his holiness, his grace, his power; or from a keen sense of those very difficulties and temptations to which the warmth, the zeal, and the devotedness of his believing love to Christ may have mainly contributed to expose him. Yes, there are difficulties; there are dangers and disasters, in the true believer’s course, of which your smooth formalist and mere worldly professor of Christianity can know nothing. There are terrors in sin which the unawakened conscience never feels; trials in a holy walk which the"contented dweller in decencies" never has to face; vicissitudes in the inward conflict with corruption, and the inward fellowship of the soul with its God, of which they who pace the dull routine of outward ordinances, and call such bodily exercise religion, cannot even imagine the possibility. Ah! it is easy for those who have never learned to be tremblingly alive to the realities of God’s wrath on the one hand, and his blessed favour on the other; who have never looked hell in the face, and never basked, in the sunshine of God’s reconciled countenance as a prelude of heaven itself; who have never felt what it is to cast a trembling glance on the Lamb of God, and lay a trembling hand on the atoning sacrifice, scarcely venturing, even on the strongest and broadest assurances of the free offer and full welcome of the gospel, to commit their souls to a gracious and waiting Saviour; who have never, in short, encountered the actual work and warfare of a life of unreserved self-dedication to God; it is easy for them to be placid and unruffled in their temper, and to pass through this world of sin and sorrow with an equanimity that seems entitled to all praise. No wonder that any record of the ups and downs of a spiritual man’s experience should seem to them either a mystery or a lie. The doubts, and fears, and groanings, and unspeakable cries and tears of David, in the Psalms, or of one greater than David, they set down as mere exaggerations. But if there be any who find in such deep movements of soul only too true a picture of their own state if there be any who, in trouble of body or anxiety of mind, are apt to be shaken and to be afraid it is something for them to learn and see, from this instance of Peter, that such doubting, however it may indicate remaining unbelief, is not necessarily of itself a proof, either that they do not believe now, or that they have never believed at all. And if, in the midst of such natural anxieties, and the fears which beset him on every side, the Christian, when sinking under the weight of conscious infirmities, is enabled in his distress to call upon the Lord "Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, Lord" then, though his faith may be little, it may be a true faith still; and his earnest ejaculation, "Lord, save me," will be heard and answered as a prayer of faith. Nay, more; as in the case of Peter, this very proof this practical and experimental instance of his unbelief will itself be made the occasion of strengthening and encouraging his faith. The Saviour’s hand will be stretched forth to help, and his ready Spirit will descend to comfort, even while his voice of mild expostulation ever averse to break the bruised reed or to quench the smoking flax gently reprimands the sin and folly of distrust: "thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?" But let us further observe, that the faith of Peter, though sincere, was yet imperfect; and accordingly, our Lord’s question, "Wherefore didst thou doubt?" while it implied a gracious acknowledgment of his prayer, even in the instant of his faith beginning to waver, implied also a reproof of that very wavering. And the reproof was just. The question might well be asked of Peter, and of every one of us, when, like him, under the very eye of our Saviour who, exalted as he is, and gone apart to pray for us, still bends on us a look of sympathy we are ready to faint in the trials to which he calls us; the question might well be asked, "Wherefore dost thou doubt?" Wherefore? For surely while He is so near us there is no cause of fear. Such doubt, both in Peter’s case and in ours, must be alike unreasonable and sinful. Let us mark here the progress of Peter’s temporary distrust and doubting, that we may see exactly the nature of his sin. When Peter, then, first recognised his Master’s presence, so forward was he to profess his faith, and to put his resolution to the test, even at the hazard of his life, so great was his anxiety to meet Jesus, and so implicit his confidence, that he was willing to trust himself with him even on the yielding waves. Yet, notwithstanding this almost childish eagerness, he was not so hasty but that he felt the necessity of his Master’s sanction being previously given to a proposal which, without such a divine sanction, and the implied promise of divine help, it must have been folly in him, or in any man, to make. Accordingly, he desired to know his Master’s will and pleasure in this matter. He did not venture upon a single step .without first inquiring what his Master would have him to do. He appealed to his judgment and sought his countenance: "Lord, if it be thou" as surely, indeed, it is thou "bid me come unto thee on the water." He would not go unbidden. Impetuous as he was, he would not run into danger without a call; he waited for his Master’s invitation. It may seem to us, indeed, that in courting and seeking that invitation, the apostle was too rash and hasty. And certainly it does appear, that when he confidently challenged so severe a trial of his faith, he was not sufficiently aware of the weakness of that faith; though, after all, where his Lord was, it was surely good for him to be; and he could scarcely avow too strong an attachment to Jesus, or cherish too impatient a longing to bear him company, through whatever dangers his way might lie. One thing, however, at least is evident, when he received the invitation, "Come," Peter unquestionably did right in complying with it. His error afterwards consisted in this that he distrusted that divine assistance which had been virtually pledged and secured to him. But, certainly, after the profession which he had made, and the command which he had received, there was no room for reluctance or hesitation. He could not now draw back without a complete renunciation of all his love to the Saviour and all his hope in his mercy. He made the profession, perhaps, somewhat rashly, when he abruptly proposed to venture on so bold an attempt; yet it was a good profession, a good proposal after all, it had obtained his Master’s approbation. And at all events, when he was taken at his word, and required to prove the sincerity of his profession, by acting according to his own proposal, he had only one course to pursue, that of instant and unreserved obedience. He did not, therefore, we now see, presumptuously and needlessly encounter this trial of his faith. He did so at his Master’s invitation, and by his Master’s express authority. And accordingly, we may observe, while Jesus reproved him for his doubting in the time of trial, he did not reprove him for his spontaneous proposal to come unto him, much less for his readiness to obey in faith, and at all personal hazards, the commandment which he had received to come. Thus the sin of Peter, in this instance, must be held to lie, not certainly by any means in the zealous profession which he made of his faith, nor in the prompt alacrity of his faithful obedience, but in the weakness and unsteadfastness of that faith which he professed, and in which he obeyed. Such precisely was Peter’s sin; such is the sin against which we have to guard. For we too, from time to time, make precisely such a profession of our faith as Peter did, and express like him our desire of meeting with our Lord and Saviour, even though it should be on the waves of a stormy ocean. When we see, as it is hoped each one of us not infrequently in devout musing sees, when we see him standing not far from our souls, and hear him addressing to us those words of mild encouragement with which he revived the drooping hearts of his faint and disconsolate disciples, "Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid;" when thus, in his own appointed means and ordinances, we recognise a present God, especially if it be after a season of midnight gloom and tempest; in the ardour of our faithful and honest zeal we are constrained to exclaim with Peter, ‘Lord, since now I know that it is thou, bid me come unto thee and I will confidently and joyfully come, even walking, if need be, on the dark and deceitful waters of the deep.’ It may be that we often make this profession somewhat rashly and inconsiderately, presuming upon our own competency, not knowing sufficiently our weakness, or pausing to think of the temptations which await us. But then we have professed, and surely we do not repent of our profession. From time to time, with peculiarly affecting solemnity, in the holy sacrament of the Supper we profess, every Sabbath, every day of the week, in our retirement, we profess this very morning, in our closets, this Sabbath, in the Lord’s house, this Communion Sabbath, at the Lord’s table, with tears and prayers we have professed our willingness, our anxiety, to go to Jesus, even though we should have to go through darkness and a stormy sea. We have said that our great delight, our supreme desire, is to be with Jesus, and to enjoy his holy and spiritual fellowship; that, with this view, we are prepared cheerfully to renounce our most favourite sin, fearlessly to encounter the most formidable enemy of our peace, resolutely to deny ourselves, and to take up our cross and follow wherever he points the way; that as we advance towards him in our Christian course, no difficulties are to shake our holy resolution, since we are willing even to cut off our right hand, and to pluck out our right eye, to sacrifice our dearest hopes and wishes, if they keep us apart from him, or cause us to offend against him. All this we have professed, believing that He who sustained Peter on the water will uphold us also by his mighty power; knowing assuredly that there can be no danger in the sea when our Saviour is with us, no terror in the boisterous and stormy wind when He, our God, is there. Doubtless, in all this zeal of profession and determination, there may have been sin, because there may have been self-deception. For in what act, in what promise or purpose of faith, is there not both? In the excitement of an impressive religious ordinance in the engrossing earnestness of our devotional feelings we may forget the pain of self-denial, the trials of active duty, and our own insufficiency in the midst of these trials. And so, being imposed upon by the transient warmth of our enthusiasm, we may fancy our faith to be more firm and trustworthy than in the hour of the world’s temptations it may be found to be. But what then? Do we mend the matter by refusing now to fulfil our obligations? Are we prepared to falsify altogether the profession which we have made? to decline the work which we have undertaken? To resist the call which we have received? Wilfully to cast aside our Christian name and our Christian hopes; and pledged as we are sealed and devoted yet to draw back, to the perdition of our souls? Rather, if ever the blessed promises of the gospel have been brought home with unwonted power to our hearts; if ever the love of a crucified Redeemer, set vividly before us in the doctrines of his word, or in the symbols of his death, has touched and affected us, and filled us with new and strong emotions of holy zeal; let us act as we have felt, let us practise as we have resolved, not resisting the Spirit nor despising the voice of Him who speaketh now to us from heaven as he spoke to his disciples upon earth. When he says, "Come," let us be ready to go, though we may be called to pass through deep waters or walk on a troubled sea. And then, in the trial and weakness of our faith, we shall be encouraged as we remember the prevailing efficacy of the apostle’s seasonable prayer. "When he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid, and began to sink." But still, in his alarm, he knew to whom he should apply for aid. His faith, though failing, did not altogether desert him; his fear, though it shook his confidence, did not hinder his prayer. He cried, saying, "Lord, save me." And immediately, for God is not slow to hear the cry of the afflicted, and send help in the time of need, immediately Jesus lent his ear, and"stretched forth his hand and caught him." That ear is not now heavy, that it cannot hear. That hand is not now shortened, that it cannot save; it will be extended to us also, when, in sin and in sorrow, trembling and sinking, we call upon Him for aid. And, as in the case of Peter, our very faintness of heart may be turned to account for ministering not only a reproof of our unbelief, but even a new strengthening of our faith. For the Lord can bring good out of evil, and make all things work together for good to them that love him. When "this poor man cried, and the Lord heard him," he received a new encouragement, such as he would never forget, to "trust and not be afraid." In his doubt and despair he made application to One mighty to save, and the application was not made in vain. In prayer, ejaculatory prayer, the mere cry of utter helplessness, he found relief from terror, and help in his utmost need. So will Jesus help his people still; delivering their eyes from tears, their feet from falling, and their souls from death. His ready Spirit will turn their very groanings which cannot be uttered into prayers; and taking of what is Christ’s to show to their souls, he will become to them, and in them, a Comforter indeed. And ever after, the recollection of their experience in such a trying hour will be at once for rebuke and for help and consolation; as if there were ever before them the gracious face of the living and loving Saviour, and ever ringing in their ears his calm clear voice of mingled reprimand and revival, "thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?" We are apt to complain sometimes of life’s weary trials, and of the difficulties and hardships of our Christian calling; but we may bless God for them all, as for our greatest mercies, if by his grace they thus become the means of directing our thoughts and our prayers to him. When danger is absent, we are apt to depart from God, because we forget our dependence, we forget our infirmity, we are confident and strong in the apparent strength and confidence of our faith; and it is only when we feel that faith to be actually giving way, its strength all gone, and its high confidence turned into doubt and fear, it is not till then that we are thoroughly convinced of its utter insufficiency, and disposed to trust no longer in our faith itself, but in the Lord our God, who is the object of our faith. Thus it may frequently happen, that, being conscious of some particular duty hitherto neglected, or of some one sin which very easily besets us, in the depth of our repentance, and the holy ardour of our faith, we resolve now to perform that duty punctually, and resolutely to renounce that sin. Our repentance may be a repentance of godly sorrow; our faith may be for the time sincere. And feeling quite secure in the conscious integrity of our own good purposes, we forget their weakness, we forget the difficulty of the task which we have imposed upon ourselves, we forget the temptation which, in a few short hours, will assail us. But that temptation comes too soon, and the difficulty which we had strangely overlooked is felt. "We see the wind boisterous, and are afraid, and begin to sink." We find ourselves fast yielding to the allurements or the terrors of the world, which we still too fondly love. Betrayed too by the inclinations of our own deceitful hearts, we find ourselves just about to omit the duty again, and once more, only once more, to commit the sin. But we stop short just in time; we betake ourselves to prayer; and a single thought of heaven, perhaps, a single ejaculation directed thither, draws down an influence from on high, to strengthen, to quicken, to revive us. Happy is it for us if we learn from such critical experience the double lesson of watchfulness and prayer. Happy is it for us if, thus convinced of our own helplessness, we neither resolve nor act in our own strength. "He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool." Let us ponder well the lesson of Peter’s faith. Let us learn, like Paul, to profit by our very infirmities. That apostle, for our instruction, has thus recorded his experience: "There was given to me a thorn in the flesh" some sore outward trial or grievous inward temptation "lest I should be exalted above measure;" and "I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me." The answer was, not the removal of the thorn, nor any promise as to its removal, but the mere general assurance, "My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness." "Therefore" adds the holy apostle, "I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong" weak in the feeling of my own utter helplessness; strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. "Why sayest thou, Jacob, and speakest, Israel, My way is hid from the Lord, and my judgment is passed over from my God? Hast thou not known? Hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? There is no searching of his understanding. He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall: but they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint." (Isaiah 40:27-31). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 53: 05.12. XII. MARTHA AND MARY PART I: THEIR COMMON GRIEF. ======================================================================== XII. MARTHA AND MARY PART I: THEIR COMMON GRIEF. "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." John 11:21, John 11:32. "IT is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning: but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth." Such is the voice of wisdom (Ecclesiastes 7:2-4). If this is true generally as to the effect which should be produced by familiarizing the heart with the devout contemplation of death, and of the grief which death occasions, it must be especially true when we have Jesus as our companion. It was our Lord’s custom, in his visits to Jerusalem at the feasts, to retire in the evening, after the toils and trials of his daily ministry in the temple, to the quiet village of Bethany, and the peaceful abode of Lazarus. There he found the rest and repose which he needed, in the holy endearments of a congenial family circle; the nearest approach, for him who "had not where to lay his head," to the warm heartiness of home. That house is now the house of mourning. Let us visit it in the company of Jesus, and let us observe how he is received there, and how his presence cheers the gloom. The sisters, Martha and Mary, greet him with the same pathetic salutation, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." And this might seem to indicate an entire similarity in their sorrow. But if we look a little closer, we see a striking difference of demeanour, corresponding to the manifest difference of their characters generally. And this difference is marked in our Lord’s different treatment of them. In every view, this record of sisterly affection is an interesting study. We may learn from it, in the first place, how much sameness there is in grief; secondly, how much variety; and, lastly, how much compass there is in the consolation of Christ, as capable of being adapted to all varieties of grief to grief of every mould and of every mood. We speak chiefly throughout of the grief of true Christians; for we are surely warranted in assuming that, notwithstanding their great contrast in respect of natural temperament, the two sisters were partakers of the same grace. At present we advert to the similarity of their common sorrow, the sameness of their grief. For it is remarkable, that two persons so different in their turn of mind, as we shall afterwards see that these sisters were, so apt to view things in different lights, and to be affected by them with different feelings, should both utter the very same words on first meeting the Lord Jesus: "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." It shows how natural such a reflection is in such a season how entirely the heart, when deeply moved, is the same in all; and how much all grief is alike. The sisters, however otherwise dissimilar, were united in their fond affection for their departed brother, as well as in their grateful reliance on that Divine Friend, "who loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus." They had sat and watched together beside their brother’s bed of sickness. They joined together in "sending unto Jesus, saying, Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick." In their distress they both thought of the same remedy, and applied to the same Physician. It was a joint petition that they despatched, and they did not doubt that it would prevail. Together they waited anxiously for his coming. They reckoned the very earliest moment when he could arrive; and as they looked on their brother’s languid eye, and saw him sinking every hour and wasting away, ah! they thought how soon their benefactor might appear, and all might yet be well. But moments and hours rolled on, and no Saviour came. Wearisome days and nights were appointed to them. Often did they look out and listen; often did they fancy that they heard the expected sound, and the well-known accents of kindness seemed to fall upon their ears; but still he came not. Ah! what were their anxious thoughts, their earnest communings, their fond prayers, that life might be prolonged at least for a little longer, to give one other chance, one other opportunity, for the interposition of Him who was mighty to save even from the gates of death; and how were their own hearts sickened, as they whispered to the sick man a faint hope, to which they could scarcely themselves any longer cling! Still the time rolls slowly on. The last ray of expectation is extinguished; the dreaded hour is come; it is over; their brother has fallen asleep, Lazarus is dead. And now four days are past and gone since he has been laid in the silent tomb. The first violence of grief is giving place to the more calm, but far more bitter pain of a desolate and dreary sadness, the prolonged sense of bereavement which recollection brings along with it, and which everything around serves to aggravate and embitter. The house of mourning, after the usual temporary excitement, is still. It is the melancholy stillness of the calm, darkly brooding over the wrecks of the recent storm. And amid the real kindness of sympathizing friends, and the formal attentions of officious strangers, the sisters, as each familiar object recalls the past, are soothing, or suppressing as best they may those bitter feelings which their own hearts alone can know, when suddenly they are told that Jesus is at hand! He is come at last, but he is come too late. His having come at all, however, is a comfort. He is welcome as their own and their brother’s friend; he is welcome as their Lord. They never doubt his friendship; they do not question his willingness, or his power, to do them good. But still, as they meet him, they cannot but look back on the few days that are gone; and as all their anxieties and alarms, their longing hopes and cruel disappointments, rush again upon their minds, they are constrained to give utterance to the crowded emotions of their hearts in the irrepressible exclamation of regret, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." It is the voice of nature that speaks in these words, the voice of our common nature mingling its vain reflections with the resignation of sincere and simple faith. There is here, first, the feeling that the event might have been otherwise: "If thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." We know not what has detained thee. Some call of duty may have prevented thee from coming; or perhaps our message did not reach thee in time; or it may have been some merely casual circumstance that hindered thee. If this sickness had happened but a little sooner, when thou wast in Jerusalem at the feast; or if we had taken alarm early enough, so as to send for thee before our brother was so ill; or if our messenger had been more expeditious, and had used more despatch; or if we had but been able to lengthen out, by our care, our brother’s sickness for a single week; had we not been so unfortunate in the occurrence of this evil just when it did occur; or had we, when it occurred, used more diligence, and taken better precautions; then thou mightest have been here, and "if thou hadst been here, our brother had not died." Is it not thus that the heart speaks under every trying dispensation? Is it not thus that an excited imagination whispers to the forlorn soul? Who has ever met with any affliction who has ever lost any beloved brother or dear friend without cherishing some such reflection as this? ‘If such or such a measure had been adopted; if such or such an accident had not happened; if it had not been for this unaccountable oversight, or that unforeseen and unavoidable mischance; so grievous a calamity would not have befallen me, my brother would not have died.’ Alas! alas! The reflection, however natural, is only a sinful and sad delusion, proceeding upon a very limited view of the power and the providence of God our Saviour. How did these sisters know that, if Jesus had been there, their brother would not have died? How could they tell whether he might not have ends to serve, which would have required that, even though he had been there, he must have permitted their brother to die? And were they not aware that, though he was not there, yet, if he had so chosen and so ordered it, their brother would not have died? Had they not heard of his being able, at the distance of many a long mile, to effect an immediate and complete cure of the most deadly disease? Did they not believe that he had but to speak, and it would be done; he had but to say the word, and, however far off he was, his friend and their brother would be healed? Ah! they had forgotten who it was to whom they made this most touching and pathetic appeal; that he was one who, though not actually present, could have restored their brother if it had been consistent with his wise and holy will; and that he was also one who, even if he had been present, might have seen fit, for the best reasons, to suffer their brother to die. And are not these the very truths concerning the Lord Jesus Christ which you in your distress are tempted to forget, when you dwell so much on secondary circumstances and causes instead of at once and immediately recognising his will as supreme? You are overtaken by misfortune; you are overwhelmed in the depths of sorrow. You ascribe your suffering to what seems to be its direct occasion; whether it be your own neglect of some precaution which you might have taken, had you thought of it in time; or the fault of others, with whose skill or diligence your dearest hopes were inseparably connected; or something perhaps, in the course of events, over which neither you nor they could have any control. You fix upon the very date, the very scene, when and where your brother’s doom seems to have been sealed. And this is your train of thought: ‘If we had but suspected what was about to be the issue, or if the help which we now see would have been available had then been within our reach; if we had been warned in time, or had taken the warning, or had been able to employ the right means of escape; we might not now have been left disconsolate; our beloved one might still have been spared to cheer us with his smiles, and share with us all our cares, our brother might not have died.’ So you are apt to think and feel. But however natural the reflection, is it not in reality the very folly of unbelief, the dream of a soul forgetting that the Lord reigneth? What! is it come to this, that you conceive of Him as limited by events which he himself ordains, as the slave of his own laws? You think that if a certain obstacle had not come in to prevent relief, the calamity which you bewail might not have happened But, notwithstanding that obstacle, might he not, if he had seen fit, have found means to avert the calamity? And are you sure that, even if the obstacle had been removed, he might not have seen fit still to let the calamity come? "If thou hadst been here," say the mourning sisters, "our brother had not died." ‘Nay’, he might have answered, ‘I could have been here if it had seemed good to me; and, though I was not here, I might have kept your brother alive; and, though I had been here, I might, in very love to him and to you, have allowed your brother to die.’ Look, ye afflicted ones, beyond second causes, to Him who is the first cause of all things! Believe and be sure that the circumstances which you regret as the occasion of your misfortune, are but the appointed means of bringing about what he determines. If evil comes upon you, if your brother dies, it is not because this or that accident prevented relief; it is not because your Lord and Saviour was not with you in sufficient time but because it was his will. Be still, and know that he is God! But further, secondly, there may be in this address of the sisters somewhat of the feeling, that the event not only might, but should have been otherwise. There is at least an intimation of their having expected that the event would have been otherwise: "If thou hadst been here, our brother had not died." ‘And why wert thou not here? We sent to thee, we sent a special message, a special prayer, and surely thou mightest have been persuaded to come. Ah! why didst thou linger for two whole days after tidings of our threatened loss reached thee? Why didst thou not make haste to help us? We could not believe that thou wouldest have treated us thus. Thou wast not unmindful of us before. Thou didst regard us as thy friends. Thou didst bless our house with thy presence; making it thy resting- place, thy home. Thou didst choose us before thine own kinsmen. Thou didst select our brother as the object of thine especial affection. And we thought it would have been enough to touch thy heart simply to send to thee, saying, "He whom thou lovest is sick." We thought thou hadst but to hear of his illness to hasten at once to his relief. True, we had no right to dictate to thee, and now we have no right to complain. But we cannot help feeling that "if thou hadst been here our brother had not died;" and that surely thou mightest have been here. It was not so very great a favour that was asked of thee; and was he not worthy for whom thou shouldest do this? He loved thee, he trusted in thee; and thou mightest have come, if not to preserve his life, at least to soothe and satisfy his dying hours. He looked for thee, and thou didst not appear. To the very last he waited for thee, and thou didst hide thyself. He missed thee, and he was not comforted.’ Such are the instinctive complaints of. nature in a season of sore trial, of bitter bereavement. Thus the wounded soul rises against the stroke that pierces it, and turns round upon the hand that smites it. It is very hard for flesh and blood to believe, in regard to any crushing load of woe, that it is God who directly and immediately ordains it. It is far harder to believe, that in ordaining it he does not do wrong. Simply to be still, and know that he is God, is no easy exercise of resignation. To be sure that what he does is right, that all he does is done well, is even more difficult still. You fancy that, if He had really been here, it would have happened otherwise, your brother would not have died. And you feel as if you had had some right to expect that he should have been here, that it should have happened otherwise, that your brother should not have died. And you can give, perhaps, many reasons. You can point out many ends which might have been served had your brother been spared, how faithful and successful he might have been, how noble a course he might have run. He was just prepared for entering into active life; he was just newly fitted for the service of God in the world; and it does seem strange and unaccountable, that at the very time when his life seemed to have become most valuable, when his character was ripened for increased usefulness, and when the mere word of the great Physician would have brought him back from the gates of death, he should yet have been suffered to die. Ah! but remember that in all this the Lord may have many purposes in view with which you may be unacquainted, which indeed you could not as yet comprehend. Only wait patiently for a little, and you will see that "this sickness is not" really "unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified thereby"(ver. 4). ‘Would that thou hadst been here! Thou surely mightest have been here!’ is the natural language of the mourner to his Lord. Nay, says the Lord himself to his own disciples, "I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe."(ver. 15). A hard saying this, who can always hear it? But consider who it is that speaks. It is your friend, your Saviour. He might have been here, and might have taken care that your brother should not die. And may you not be sure that, if it had been for his glory, and for your good, he would have been here, and would have taken care that your brother should not die? He might have ordered this matter otherwise, you say; and you almost think that he ought to have ordered it otherwise. But may you not believe that, had it been right and good, he would have done so; and that, if he has not, it must be for the best of reasons? What these may be you cannot tell. He may have need of your brother’s services elsewhere. He may intend to make his death the occasion of showing forth his glory, and blessing your soul. Only be patient, and hope unto the end. What he doeth you may not know now, but you shall know hereafter. Meantime, as you are tempted to fancy that he might have interfered nay, that he should have interfered to prevent the calamity under which you suffer, may not that very feeling, on second thoughts, suggest the conviction, that if he has not so interfered, it must be because he intends to make to you some gracious discovery of himself, and to confer upon you some special benefit? Be not hasty, then, to judge, but rest in the assurance that all things shall work together for good to them that love God. And though he may seem to stand aloof when you would most desire, and when you most need, his interposition, yet when he does come, be sure that you receive him gladly as did the sorrowing sisters. For, lastly, there is apparent in the address of the sisters a sincere, though melancholy, satisfaction in meeting with Jesus when he comes. He has not come so soon as they expected; he has not come at the very time, in the very way, for the very purpose, that they could have wished: still, when he does come, at whatsoever time, and for whatsoever purpose, he is welcome. He is come too late to do them that particular favour which they solicited: still he is come for good, and gratefully do they receive him. True, they say, as if almost in complaint, ‘Lord, if thou hadst been here sooner, our brother had not died. But thou art here now; and it is enough. Our brother, indeed, is dead, and, if it had been possible, we would have had it otherwise. We expected that thou wouldest have come; we wondered that thou didst not come; for a time, perhaps, we entertained some doubtful and hard thoughts of thee, as if surely thou mightest have come. But now that thou hast come, we are satisfied. We are sure that had it been possible, consistently with the high ends of thy ministry, and consistently with our own real interest, thou wouldest have been here. We see that thou lovest and carest for us; and though thou didst not at once grant our request precisely as we desired, yet not the less on that account do we take thy visit kindly. Thou art still our best friend, our gracious Lord. "We know that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee." At thy feet we will still lie down. That thou hast come at all, at our solicitation, is great condescension; that thou hast come in such an hour of trouble, is a peculiarly seasonable act of friendship.’ Happy will it be for you who mourn, if in like circumstances you are enabled to feel as these sisters felt, and to meet your Saviour’s gracious advances as they did. In the hour of blighted prospects and disappointed hopes, when the evil which you deprecated has befallen you, you may think that consolation comes too late. Like Rachel, you may weep, and refuse to be comforted; like Jonah, when your gourd withers, you may almost be tempted to say that you do well to be angry. You may turn away when your Saviour draws near; you may sit disconsolate when he calls. ‘If he had come for the purpose of averting the calamity, if he had been here sooner, and had interposed his power to help, it had been well, for then my brother had not died. But the calamity has overtaken me, my brother is dead; and what avails it that He is here now?’ Beware of all such impatience, such natural irritability of grief. Reject not the Saviour’s visit of sympathy now, because he did not come to you exactly as you in your ignorance would have had him to come, and did not do for you exactly what you would have had him to do. It is enough that he is with you now, to speak comfortably to you, to bind up your broken heart, to fill the aching void in your affections, and be to you instead of all that you have lost. True, if he had been here before, your brother might not have died, and your brother, alas! is dead. But he is here now, he who is better than a thousand brothers, he who hath the words of eternal life, he who can speak a word in .season to the weary soul, and who, when flesh and heart faint, will be the strength of your heart and your portion for ever. Such might be the feelings common to the two sisters, such are the feelings of nature mingled with grace common to all sanctified grief, as indicated in the affecting address, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 54: 05.13. XIII. MARTHA AND MARY ======================================================================== XIII. MARTHA AND MARY PART II: DIFFERENT KINDS OF GRIEF DIFFERENTLY TREATED. "Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him: but Mary sat still in the house. Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying unto him, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." John 11:20-21, John 11:32. THE simple and pathetic exclamation that bursts from the lips of the two bereaved sisters, as they separately meet with Jesus, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died" cannot but find an echo in every breast that has ever mourned over a, loss like theirs. The feeling which it expresses is so natural, that we may almost call it the very instinct of grief to reflect on what has happened, with a vague idea of its having been possible somehow to avert it. Nor is the expression of the feeling always sinful, if it be to God himself that we express it. He would have us, indeed, to open our minds and hearts, without reserve, to him; for it is better that our complaint should be poured into his ear, than that it should be pent up in our own bosoms; and the relief which the utterance of it affords may lead to calmer and holier thoughts. Thus, in the present instance, the mourners, amid their very upbraiding of Jesus, as some might count it, were warm and cordial in the welcome which they gave him. They spoke the language common to all deep and recent grief when they bewailed the untoward accident but for which, as they imagined, the event might have been ordered otherwise. But at the same time they gave evidence of their being under the influence of genuine faith in Jesus, and tender love to him, when they hailed his visit so affectionately as they did, and accepted with meek resignation his seasonable fellowship and sympathy. Thus far we trace in their conduct the working of a common grief. But the sisters differed in their sorrow, as they did generally in the leading features of their characters, and their manner of thinking and acting in the ordinary affairs of life. They were persons of very different tempers and dispositions; and this difference is uniformly and strikingly brought out in their treatment of the Lord Jesus. Both looked up to him with reverence; both regarded him with full confidence and tender affection; and both were equally earnest and eager in testifying their esteem and love: but each in doing so followed the bent of her own peculiar turn of mind. Martha was distinguished by a busy, if not bustling activity in the despatch of affairs. She seems to have possessed great quickness, alertness, and energy, together with a certain practical ability and good sense, qualifying her both for taking a lead herself and for giving an impulse to others. She was on this account well fitted for going through with any work to be done, and she was always awake to the common calls and the common cares of the ordinary domestic routine of life. Mary, again, was evidently characterized by more depth of thought, more devotedness and sensibility of feeling. She was more easily engrossed in any affecting scene, or any spiritual subject; more alive at any time to one single profound impression, and apt to be abstracted from other concerns. Hence, as we find it stated on a former occasion when our Lord was received in their house, while "Mary sat at his feet and heard his word, Martha was cumbered with much serving." She was assiduous, and even officious, in her hospitable anxiety to provide for the accommodation of her guest; and if Jesus had come "to be ministered unto," he would have been best pleased with Martha’s attention to all his wants. But as he came, "not to be ministered unto, but to minister," he found greater delight in her sister Mary, who, with the meekness of a disciple, and the earnestness of a spiritually awakened soul, listened to the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth. Accordingly, when Martha said, "Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? bid her therefore that she help me," "Jesus answered and said unto her, Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: but one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her" (Luke 10:40-42). Thus the sisters showed their respective characters as they waited upon the Divine Visitor whom it was their privilege to entertain in their house as a highly honoured guest and a much valued friend. And as their ways of testifying regard to the Lord Jesus in prosperity differed, so also did their respective modes of demeanour towards him in adversity. Martha was evidently the first to receive information of his approach (John 11:20), either because to her, as the mistress of the house, the message was brought, or because, going about the house in her usual manner, she was in the way of hearing intelligence. She went out in haste, impatient to meet the Lord, and to render to him the offices of courtesy and respect. She is ready to be up and doing; she can turn at once from the conversation in which her friends from Jerusalem have been seeking to interest her, and disengage her mind for active exertion. Mary, again, is more absorbed in her grief; her sorrow is of a deeper and more desponding character; for while "Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him, Mary sat still in the house" (John 11:20). This more absorbing intensity of Mary’s grief, "the Jews who were with her in the house, and comforted her" seem to have remarked, when they said of her, as they saw her at last rise hastily and go out, "She goeth unto the grave to weep there" (John 11:31). They had not said this of Martha when she went forth. She might be bent on other errands. Mary could go only to weep. And at first her feelings so overpower her as to prevent her from going at all. The sudden arrival of her brother’s friend is a shock too great for her; it tears the wound open afresh, and recalls bitter thoughts. She is plunged by the tidings into a fresh burst of sorrow, and can only "sit still in the house." Thus, in different circumstances, the same natural temper may be either an advantage or a snare. Martha was never so much occupied in the emotion of one scene or subject as not to be on the alert and ready for the call to another. This was a disadvantage to her, when she was so hurried that she could not withdraw herself from household cares to wait upon the word of life. It is an advantage to her now that she can, with comparative ease, shake off her depression, and hasten of her own accord to meet her Lord. The same profound feeling, again, which made Mary the more attentive listener before, makes her the more helpless sufferer now; and disposes her almost to nurse her grief, until Jesus, her best comforter, sends specially and emphatically to rouse her. Nor is it an insignificant circumstance, that it is the ever-active Martha who carries to her more downcast sister the awakening message; so ought sisters in Christ to minister to one another, and so may the very difference of their characters make them mutually the more helpful to one another: "She went her way, and called Mary her sister secretly, saying, The Master is come, and calleth for thee" (John 11:28). When the two sisters meet Jesus, the difference between them is equally characteristic. Martha’s grief is not so overwhelming as to prevent her utterance. She is calm, and cool, and collected enough to enter into argument. She can give expression to her convictions and her hopes. She can tell that her faith is not shaken even by so severe a disappointment Having hinted what might seem to imply a doubt, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died" (John 11:21), she is in haste to explain her meaning, and to give assurance of her undiminished confidence: "But I know, that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee" (John 11:22). And then, as the conversation goes on, she is sufficiently self-possessed to listen to a short argument on the resurrection, and to reason with the Lord upon the subject. She invites and welcomes religious discourse, and makes a formal declaration of her faith in Jesus as the author of eternal life: "Yea, Lord, I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world" (John 11:23-27). Not so her sister Mary. She indeed, when at last she is emboldened by her Master’s kind message, goes forth to meet him; and her reverence, her devotion, her faith, are not less than those of Martha. But her heart is too full for many words. Her emotions, when she sees the Lord, she cannot utter; the passion of her soul she cannot command, she can but cast herself down, weeping, before him, and cry, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." She adds not a word more! She lies prostrate and silent at his feet (John 11:32). Shall we notice one other distinctive mark of character, exquisitely delicate and true to nature? Jesus, having asked where Lazarus had been laid, is conducted to the tomb, which was "a cave, with a stone upon it." He gives orders to take away the stone: "Martha, the sister of him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he stinketh: for he hath been dead four days" (John 11:39). It is not Mary to whom it occurs to offer this objection; she is silent still, in the unutterable agony of her grief, and the deep reverence of her soul before the Lord. But Martha’s wonted officiousness makes her forward, when it might have been more becoming to be "dumb," and to "stand in awe." And the answer of Jesus might well be felt by her partly as a mild reproof: "Said I not unto thee, that, if thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God?" (John 11:40.) Such are the different aspects which sorrow wears in minds of different stamps, and of different degrees of strength and of sensibility. But if it be the sorrow of a godly heart, it finds in Jesus one who can with the most perfect tenderness and truth adapt his sympathy and consolation to its peculiar character, whatever that may be. It is very instructive accordingly, in this view, to observe the Lord’s demeanour towards the two sisters, in his first meeting with them on this occasion, and to see how it was exactly suited to their respective tempers, and their different kinds of grief. Martha’s distress was of such a nature that it admitted of discussion and discourse. She was disposed to converse, and to find relief in conversation. Jesus accordingly adapted his treatment to her case. He spoke to her, and led her to speak to him. He talked with her on the subject most interesting and most seasonable on the resurrection of the body and the life of the soul. Martha had declared her unshaken trust in him as still having power to obtain from God all that he might ask (John 11:22). And a wild idea, perhaps, crossed her mind, that it might not even yet be too late that the evil might, even now, be repaired. If so, it was but the fancy of a moment the dreamy notion that sometimes haunts the desolate breast, when it strives in vain to realize the loss which it has sustained. A single sad thought brings the recollection, to which, as we have seen, in her characteristic spirit of attention to such details, she afterwards adverts, that her brother has been now four days in the tomb, and corruption must be doing its horrid work upon his body. When, therefore, she hears her Lord’s promise, "Thy brother shall rise again," she applies it to his share in the general resurrection: "I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day" (John 11:23-24). Jesus is anxious to explain himself more fully. He speaks not of a resurrection merely, but of a resurrection in Himself; not of life only, but of life in Himself: "I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?" (John 11:25-26). For this is the only true comfort in reference to the future state. He is the only true comforter who can speak, not merely of the immortality of the soul, and of the resurrection of the body, but of Himself as the life of the immortal soul and the Quickener of the risen body, the first-begotten from the dead the first-fruits of them that sleep. ‘Ah, what consolation is it that thy brother lives and shall rise again, that he lives now in the spirit, and that he shall rise again in the body? The consolation which I give is more effectual and complete by far. He lives in ME. He shall rise with ME. And what is the life which I continue, even after death, to sustain? It is the very life which I impart now, life before God, life in God, the life of a soul pardoned, justified, reconciled to God, renewed after the image of God, sanctified and made meet for the fellowship of God for ever. And what is the resurrection which I give? Is it not a resurrection to glory when these vile bodies shall be changed and fashioned like unto my glorious body? It is my own life that I impart to the believer now, and continue to him without interruption beyond the grave: it is of my own resurrection that I am to make him a partaker when I come again.’ These, or such as these, are the only words which, spoken by one who has authority, can shed light on the dark tomb of a lost and buried brother or on the darker sorrow of a surviving sister’s heart. So the apostle felt when he said, "I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him" (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14). And what though Martha may not as yet understand fully all that is involved in the assurance, "I am the resurrection, and the life," she is relieved by having laid on her Divine Friend the burden of her soul, and imparted her sorrows and her hopes to one who can so graciously commune with her concerning the glorious end and issue of them all. It is therefore with somewhat of a lightened heart that she declares her entire acquiescence in his power, and her perfect trust in his goodness adopting the usual form of confession by which the disciples were wont to own their Master as the Messiah, "the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world" (John 11:27). When Mary, on the other hand, draws near in the anguish of silent woe, Jesus is differently affected, and his sympathy is shown in a different way. He is much more profoundly moved. He does not reply to her in words, for her own words were few. Sorrow has choked her utterance, and overmastered her soul. But the sight of one so dear to him, lying in such helpless anguish at his feet, is an appeal to him far stronger than any supplication. And his own responsive sigh is an answer more comforting than any promise. "When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her" for it was a melting scene, "he groaned in spirit, and was troubled." And when he had asked of the bystanders, "Where have ye laid him?" and received the reply, "Come and see," like Joseph, he could not refrain himself "Jesus wept" (John 11:33-35). Most blessed mourner, with whose tears thy Saviour mingles his own! Sympathy most unparalleled! To each of the two stricken and afflicted ones the Lord addressed the very consolation that was most congenial. To Martha he gave exceeding great and precious assurances, in words such as never man spake. To Mary he communicated the groanings of his spirit, in more expressive to the heart than any spoken could be. With Martha, Jesus discoursed and reasoned. With Mary, "Jesus wept." What a friend is this! What a brother! Yea, and far more than a brother! How confidently may you come to him, ye Christian mourners, in every season of trial! For surely he will give you the very cordial, the very refreshment, of which you stand in need. He is a patient hearer if you have anything to say to him; and he will speak to you as you are able to bear it. Your complaints, your regrets, your expostulations, your very remonstrances and upbraidings, may all be expressed to him. He will pity He will comfort. His Holy Spirit will bring to your remembrance what Christ has said suitable to your case. He will recall to you the Saviour’s gracious words of eternal life, and suggest to you considerations fitted to dissipate your gloom, and put a new song in your mouth. And even if you cannot collect your thoughts, and order your words aright, if you are "dumb with silence when your sorrow is stirred," and as you muse your heart is hot within you, oh remember, that with these very "groanings which cannot be uttered the Spirit maketh intercession for you!" And they are not hid from Him who, when he saw Mary weeping, groaned, and was troubled, and wept. There is indeed enough of all varied consolation in that blessed book, which all throughout testifies of Jesus! For the sorrow that seeks vent in words, and desires also to be soothed by words, there is the Saviour’s open ear there are the Saviour’s lips into which grace was poured. For the grief that is dumb and silent, there are the Saviour’s tears. We have endeavoured to trace the lineaments of two very different characters. We have seen how they appeared in the ordinary scenes of life, and how they manifested themselves in the chamber of sickness in the house of mourning. On their comparative excellences and defects respectively we pronounce no judgment, further than what may be gathered incidentally from the narrative as the judgment of the Lord himself. But we may be allowed to say, in conclusion, of Mary’s fervency of spirit as compared with Martha’s diligence in business. This ye ought to cherish, but not to leave the other undone. There is a tendency to regard religion as consisting chiefly in services rendered to the Lord Jesus, and attention and observance paid to him, in ministering busily, if not to his person, yet to his cause and the affairs of his kingdom. And there is a danger, in days especially when much is to be done, of substituting a certain bustling activity, and liberality, and zeal in the work of the Lord, for deep and devoted piety in waiting upon his word. Never forget, then, that Mary chose the better part. What Jesus chiefly desires is to see you rather sitting at his feet, than cumbered about much serving, rather that you should ask and receive much grace from him, than that you should make a merit of rendering much service to him. But beware of supposing that there is any inconsistency or incompatibility between these two habits of mind. The tempers of the two sisters may be united and blended. Be it your study and prayer that they may be so in you. Be as fervent in spirit as Mary was, as diligent in business as Martha was. Choose the privilege of waiting upon the word of the Lord; yet, neglect not the work of the Lord. Seize every opportunity, answer every call, of usefulness, while, at the same time, you cultivate the holy taste for meditative retirement, divine fellowship, and heavenly rest; even as He did who "went about doing good," and of whom also it is written, that he "spent the whole night in prayer to God." Then may you entertain the confident hope, that in seasons of affliction yours will be the blessedness of uniting both the portions of consolation which the sisters separately received. Jesus will speak to you as he did to Martha, Jesus will weep with you as he did with Mary. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 55: 05.14. XIV THE FRIENDSHIP OF PETER AND JOHN PART I ======================================================================== XIV THE FRIENDSHIP OF PETER AND JOHN PART I "A FRIEND loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. A man that hath (or would have) friends must show himself friendly; and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother. Faithful are the wounds of a friend. Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart; so doth the sweetness of a man’s friend by hearty counsel. Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend" (Proverbs 17:17; Proverbs 18:24; Proverbs 27:6, Proverbs 27:9, Proverbs 27:17). Such are the maxims of inspired wisdom concerning friendship; and they must surely impress us with the conviction of its being, if not a necessary duty, at least privilege, whose value can scarcely be over-estimated. The conditions, also, of a pleasant and profitable friendship, are pointedly indicated in these proverbs. To love at all times, and especially in adversity; to give open manifestations of a friendly spirit, and abound in all friendly offices; to stick close even closer than a brother to be faithful in inflicting necessary wounds; to refresh with hearty counsel as with the fragrance of a grateful perfume; and to stimulate and sharpen the whole inner man by the collision of mind with mind and heart with heart, as the eye is kindled into brightness by the quick sympathy of a congenial glance; such, according to the inspired standard, are the qualities of a genuine friend. Love, constant, active, and close; honest in reproof, kind and cordial in advice, keen and spirit-stirring in converse; such is the essence of scriptural friendship. For an example of it, we have Jonathan’s love to David, "wonderful, and passing the love of women." And a greater than David - David’s Son and Lord - "loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus;" and, as has been well observed, from among the twelve whom he ordained to be apostles, chose out one, "the disciple whom Jesus loved." [It may not be out of place to quote in full the passage in Boswell’s "Life of Johnson" here referred to. It is a conversation with a Quaker lady, about Soame Jenyns’ book on the Internal Evidence of Christianity: "BOSWELL: ‘You should like his book, Mrs. Knowles, as it maintains, as you Friends do, that courage is not a Christian virtue.’ MRS. KNOWLES: ‘Yes, indeed, I like him there; but I cannot agree with him that friendship is not a Christian virtue.’ JOHNSON: Why, madam, strictly speaking, he is right. All friendship is preferring the interest of a friend to the neglect, or perhaps against the interest, of others; so that an old Greek said, "He that has friends has no friend." Now Christianity recommends universal benevolence, to consider all men as our brethren; which is contrary to the virtue of friendship, as described by the ancient philosophers. Surely, madam, your sect must approve of this; for you call all men friends.’ MRS. KNOWLES: ‘We are commanded to do good to all men, "but especially to them who are of the household of faith." JOHNSON: ‘Well, madam, the household of faith is wide enough.’ MRS. KNOWLES: ‘But, doctor, our Saviour had twelve apostles, yet there was one whom he loved. John was called "The disciple whom Jesus loved." JOHNSON (with eyes sparkling benignantly): ‘Very well indeed, madam. You have said very well.’ BOSWELL: ‘A fine application. Pray, sir, had you, ever thought of it?’ JOHNSON: ‘I had not, sir.’" Vol. iv. pp. 147, 148.] That disciple was surely formed for the cultivation of friendship, for loving and being loved. His writings breathe throughout a spirit prone to friendship; and, if we may believe the traditions of history, he was wont to have upon his lips, in his extreme old age, the one precept, "Little children, love one another." The relation between him and his Divine Master is full of an interest almost too sacred to be rudely handled. But we seem to have a reflection of that relation in his intimacy with his brother apostle, Peter. The indications of that intimacy, slight and incidental as they appear to be, suggest a study full of profit. The two disciples were men of very different temperaments; and their ages, also, differed much. Peter was probably a man comparatively advanced in life when our Lord’s ministry began; while John did not reach the limits of the human term of existence here until nearly half a century had rolled on after that ministry was closed. But they were a pair of friends, though one was young and the other might be, if not actually "seventy-three" yet verging on the borders of his seventh decade. ["A pair of friends, though I was young, and Matthew seventy-three." WORDSWORTH. ] And the circumstances which originated and matured their friendship may be traced, without much difficulty or doubt, in the evangelical histories. We shall notice, at present, the successive stages which, as we think, may be observed in the rise and progress of this Christian and apostolic friendship; reserving for separate illustration those more affecting instances of it that occurred towards the close of the Lord’s ministry on earth. The earliest hint of any connection between Peter and John, is to be found on the occasion of their first introduction to Jesus. The two apostles are brought before us together, as fellow-disciples of the Baptist, on the day when he personally and publicly identified Jesus of Nazareth as the Messiah, the Saviour, whom he had been previously announcing as about to come: "Again the next day after John stood, and two of his disciples; and looking upon Jesus as he walked, he saith, Behold the Lamb of God!" (John 1:35-36.) Of the two disciples here referred to as in attendance on the Baptist, one was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother (ver. 40); the other was the Evangelist and Apostle John himself. Such, at least, is a very general impression among interpreters, who gather from John’s ordinary manner of writing in his Gospel in which, whenever he points to himself, he is careful to write without intruding his own name that it was he who was Andrew’s companion on this occasion. Andrew’s first impulse is to find his own brother Simon, and announce to him with eager joy the discovery they have made: "We have found the Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ" (John 1:41). And here it would almost seem that we might detect the old man’s complacency for John wrote his Gospel in extreme old age as, looking back along the line of half a century of toil and woe, he recalls that scene of his early youth, and with fond and affectionate pride records what he alone notices the very marked reception which he saw Jesus give to his friend, when they were as yet both strangers to him. For it is John who tells us, that when Andrew introduced his brother to Jesus, the Lord said, "Thou art Simon the son of Jona: thou shalt be called Cephas, which is, by interpretation, A stone." It is John who tells this; and as we read, we feel glad that, of all the evangelists, it is John who tells it. Passing the marriage at Cana in Galilee, at which some have imagined that they could recognise John in the bridegroom, and possibly Peter also in the ruler of the feast, we find them together beside the Lake of Galilee, plying their hereditary trade as fishers, and called hence forth to be fishers of men, (Luke 5:1-39.) The two ships were in company, Peter, the owner of the one, and Zebedee, the father of John, the master of the other, being probably associates in business as well as private friends. For the families seem to have been neighbourly and intimate; Peter and his brother Andrew, on the one hand James and John, with their father Zebedee, on the other. They were accustomed to go up to the feasts at Jerusalem together. When there, they frequented the ministry of the Baptist together in the wilderness of Judea. They thus became acquainted with Jesus together; and though some time elapsed between their first making his acquaintance, and their being summoned to follow him as his disciples, a year, as most reckon, during which they carried on their ordinary occupations, yet doubtless, all the while, they had much communing together respecting the extraordinary person to whom the Baptist had introduced them as the Messiah. And as they continued to hear of him, and even frequently to meet with him, they had their expectations of some great and glorious discovery, about to break upon the world, wound up to the highest pitch. Thus their intimacy must have become closer; the sons of Jonas - Peter and Andrew - being much in company, both for work and conversation, with their more youthful associates, the sons of Zebedee. And in particular, notwithstanding a very considerable disparity of years, Peter, as it would appear, was contracting an ardent friendship for John, which John as ardently returned. Of the other brothers - Andrew, Peter’s brother, and James, the brother of John - but little comparatively is known. That they were highly esteemed by their colleagues, and highly honoured James especially by their Master, sufficiently appears from what afterwards occurred in the course of their attendance upon Jesus. But already we have discovered something like an indication of the strong and special tie that knit Peter and John in one. And reflecting back some of the light of subsequent and more tender disclosures, on that early transaction of the miraculous draught of fishes, we seem to see John gazing, with deepest emotion, on the Being at whose knees Simon Peter, with characteristic promptness, has fallen down, and entering with fullest sympathy into the impetuous exclamation, "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, Lord" (Luke 5:8), the same John, who himself long, very long afterwards, in the lonely Isle of Patmos, when he saw the same Lord in his risen glory, "fell at his feet as dead" (Revelation 1:17). Thus summoned together to forsake all and follow Jesus, they were thereafter never separate. During the whole of our Lord’s ministry he kept these two disciples very near his person; nearer, as we may fairly gather from the narrative, than all the rest of his chosen followers. It is always Peter and John whom we find using the greatest freedom in speaking to him. And if Jesus did draw John closer to his bosom, as the disciple whom he loved, it was for Simon Peter that, with a special interest in his most interesting character, his Master prayed, that in the critical hour of Satan’s sifting trial his faith might not fail (Luke 22:32). They were colleagues, not only in the apostleship or company of the twelve, who were with Jesus in his public labours, but in that more exclusive triumvirate, or band of three, whom he made his standing, select, and triple staff of witnesses to the more private incidents of his mediatorial work. Following out the maxim of Moses, "that at the mouth of two or three witnesses everything is to be established," the Lord invested with a peculiar character, for that end, Peter and the sons of Zebedee; that such particulars of his ministry as, for good reasons, he wished to have concealed during his lifetime, might, after his death, be attested by a competent number of credible men, not limited to the very lowest amount of testimony barely allowed by law, yet not extended beyond what would be fully acknowledged on all hands to be sufficient. Hence the two friends, with James, who was to them both as a common brother, were thrown much together. More particularly, not to speak at present of the raising of Jairus’ daughter, they were the only persons present on the mount of the transfiguration and in the garden of the agony. And oh! what a depth of joint insight into all that is glorious in heaven, and all that is terrible in hell, must these men ever after have had, to make them one, one in a sense unknown to common friendship, one as the thrilling ecstasy of heaven’s love, and the shuddering horror of hell’s unutterable hatred, may be imagined to make souls one. To have stood together within that glorious cloud which overshadowed them on the mount, to have sunk together under the overwhelming drowsiness with which the heavy and mysterious sorrow of that fatal night in the garden seemed to have charged and loaded the very air; what gorgeous day-dreams of youth, shared together what dark and dreary cup of woe, drained together, ever had such power to be a bond of friendship as these experiences? Especially in after years, when the real meaning of these transactions came to be better known to themselves, and when they were left alone, James, the brother of John, having been slain with the sword (Acts 12:2), with what bursting fullness of heart may we conceive of Peter dwelling on that glorious scene, of which none now on earth, but only himself and John, can speak! "For we have not followed cunningly devised fables, when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eye-witnesses of his majesty. For he received from God the Father honour and glory, when there came such a voice to him from the excellent glory, ‘This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.’ And this voice which came from heaven we heard, when we were with him in the holy mount" (2 Peter 1:16-18). Peter is anticipating his departure, as he says, "Knowing that shortly I must put off this my tabernacle, even as our Lord Jesus Christ hath showed me" (2 Peter 1:14). A cruel martyrdom is before him, and having long lived with an eye to it, he now feels it to be near at hand. But to him the bitterness of death is past. It was past so soon as he learned, under the Spirit’s teaching, the awful import of his Master’s agonizing cries, as well as of his own and his friends’ irresistible drowsiness in the garden, on that night when it was as the very gate of hell. And now it is a brighter vision that fills his soul The Lord, who then gave vent to strong crying and tears, is coming in glory. For it is no fable this, cunningly devised; it had been miserable folly to follow a fable. To Peter, it is an actually seen and witnessed reality. It had been given to him, as he rejoices to declare, to behold the very glory in which the Lord is coming. And with what thoughts of inexpressible tenderness towards John - John, so soon to be the sole survivor of the three who had been witnesses of it - does Peter make this reference to the transfiguration of the Lord! For doubtless he has John full in his mind and on his heart. He is about to leave him behind in the world, to leave him perhaps, for anything he knows, till the Lord come again ; yet, in any event, not to leave or lose him for ever. What emotions, what recollections, what hopes, must have been gushing forth within him, when embracing, as it were, his long-tried and dearly -loved friend in his arms once more, the old man gave utterance to these noble words: ‘We - John and I - have not followed cunningly-devised fables, when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. We were ourselves together eye-witnesses of his majesty!’ Many circumstances of resemblance, and bonds of intimacy, might be pointed out as occurring in the dealings which their Master had with the two disciples severally, and they with him, during the ordinary course of his ministry. For there is a similarity in these particulars not always noticed. Did the Lord, for instance, see in Simon such a temper of mind, or did he foresee in regard to him such a turn of destiny, as to warrant his being named Cephas, or Peter a stone, the rock whether in reference to his indomitable strength of resolution, or to the services he was to render in the first founding of the Church? Did he not, also, give to John and his brother James, on similar considerations, the perhaps even more expressive name of Boanerges, or Sons of Thunder? James, alas! lived too short a time after the Lord’s departure to verify the appellation. It must have been John, therefore, especially that the title was meant to note and characterize, as destined to show himself vehement and bold in his Master’s cause, and powerful in dealing with his Master’s foes. Peter, on one occasion, incurred the Lord’s displeasure, and received his stern rebuke "Get thee behind me, Satan" when, giving utterance to his feelings of personal attachment to the Saviour, with little or no regard to the work and ministry which he came to accomplish, he would have stood in the way of his going up to Jerusalem (Matthew 16:23). It was very much the same spirit that moved John and his brother James to propose that the inhospitality of the Samaritans, who would not give the Saviour passage through their town, should be visited with swift resentment, and that fire from heaven should be called down to destroy them. The Lord turned and rebuked them, and said, "Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of; for the Son of man is not come to destroy men’s lives, but to save them" (Luke 9:55-56). It was the same love to Christ’s person, generous, disinterested, and even violent, but without enough of intelligent sympathy with his mission, that made John propose to avenge the insult put upon him by others, and moved Peter to seek to lay an arrest upon his purpose of going up to Jerusalem to die. Again, the forwardness of Peter to profess his attachment to the Lord, and to claim pre-eminence in respect of fidelity over his fellows "Though all men shall be offended because of thee, yet will I never be offended. Though I should die with thee, I will not deny thee" (Matthew 26:33, Matthew 26:35) has its parallel not only in the ambitious proposal of the sons of Zebedee, that they should have the first place in the Lord’s kingdom, sitting at his right hand and at his left, but also, and especially, in the fearlessness of their reply to the question which the Lord then put to them: "Can ye drink of my cup, and be baptized with my baptism? They say unto him, We can" (Mark 10:38-39). Even the weakness of Peter, brought out in his yielding under the very trials of his faith he had himself courted, as in the instances of his walking on the water, and his denial of the Lord, would seem to have its corresponding feature in the character and conduct of John; if at least, as many think, John is the young man spoken of by Mark who followed Jesus at first with seeming courage when he was apprehended, but afterwards, being himself laid hold on, left his upper garment and fled (Mark 14:51). Altogether, there is surely more congeniality of natural temperament between Peter and John, as well as more agreement in their spiritual experience, and in the progress of their faith and love, than is often supposed. For there is a vague notion in the minds of not a few respecting John, that a certain unmingled sweetness and mild amiability of character distinguished him as the disciple whom Jesus loved. He is regarded very generally as a man of soft and sentimental, and almost feminine tenderness, having in his composition something of what David, as we have seen, attributes in his lamentation to Jonathan, when he says, "Very pleasant hast thou been unto me; thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women." That John should even be compared with Peter, or placed on the same footing, may seem to some offensive; so much are they accustomed to conceive of Peter as a hard, common-place, every-day sort of character, the very opposite of the refined, and somewhat romantic, ethereal, and transcendental quietism, which they are pleased to ascribe to the gentle spirit of John. There is an idea, also, that the writings of John, like himself, breathe only mildness, suavity, and serenity; those of Peter being comparatively rugged and harsh. Now, we are far from denying that there was a real difference between them. It is brought out both in their manner of acting and in their style of writing. Peter evidently was a man of a more practical understanding and active temperament than John; inquisitive, alert, hasty; expert in the use of arguments; prompt in deciding and speaking; ready for emergencies, and fertile in expedients. John, again, was of a deeper and calmer, and perhaps slower, mood; swayed more by inward emotional feeling than by mere reason or external impulse; deliberate, therefore, rather than abrupt, and not fluctuating, but uniform and consistent. Still, there is in both the same under-current, strong and clear, of warm and even passionate devotion; frank, unselfish, single-eyed - only it seems as if, in the one, the stream met with more eddies, rocks, and cross currents; while, in the other, it ran in a less broken channel. Their respective writings, if carefully studied together, might bear out this comparison. John, indeed, in his epistles, seems to know no theme but love, and in his gospel he opens the very heart of the loving Saviour; while Peter’s letters turn more on the business of the Christian life, its hard work and its rude trials. But where, in all the Bible, are there more enthusiastic out-bursts of tenderness than that of Peter: "Whom having not seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory." (1 Peter 1:18.) Nor is this a solitary example, for many other similar instances of sublimity might be quoted. And as to John, if severity, wrath, and terror, are to be found anywhere in the word of God, let the beloved disciple’s writings be searched for such qualities. Not Peter’s sword cutting off the ear of the high priest’s servant is sharper than John’s rebuke, when he indignantly denounces the pre-eminence-loving Diotrephes, and debars every heretic from the house and home of a believer, and forbids any to pray for the unpardonable sin (3 John 1:1; 2 John 1:10 ; 1 John 5:16). The truth is, there is a fallacy abroad, and an ingenious self-deception is practised by certain minds, by means of the distinction which they would fain draw between the milder and more amiable apostle, and him whom they put aside as "made of sterner stuff." It is like the preference which some affect to give to the Gospels above the Epistles, or to the New Testament above the Old, or to the gentleness of James above the hard sayings of Paul. It is like what we sometimes see in common life; a worldly man attempting to set off the meekness of a retiring saint against the fire and fervour of a hard-fighting soldier in Christ’s host. He is partial, it seems, to what is serene and sweet; he loves repose, and dislikes all that looks like haste, or hurry, or violence. If Christianity were all modelled after the pattern of a weeping Magdalene or a mystical Madonna, it might be tolerable; but your men of rude speech and action break the spell and dissolve all the charm. It is a most suspicious compliment, however, that these would-be Christians pay to the devotees whom they profess to admire. For themselves, they are but seeking, like those of whom the children in the market-place complained, to cast the blame of their rejection of the gospel on something wrong in the manner of presenting it, and not on what they are conscious is the real cause, its deep distastefulness to their own evil hearts of unbelief. And, as regards the style of piety which they pretend to honour at the expense of that which really disturbs them more, they little understand how entirely at heart Peter and John understand and sympathize with each other, and are in everything at one. For surely, if there be in Peter any of the uncompromising, rugged, stubborn sternness which his name of the Rock might indicate; there is a fire in John’s bosom, and a bolt in his hand, that amply justify his appellation of a Son of Thunder. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 56: 05.15. XV THE FRIENDSHIP OF PETER AND JOHN PART II ======================================================================== XV THE FRIENDSHIP OF PETER AND JOHN PART II "Then Peter, turning about, seeth the disciple whom Jesus loved following; which also leaned on his breast at supper, and said, Lord, which is he that betrayeth thee? Peter seeing him saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do? Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Follow thou me." John 21:20-22. IT is no ordinary friendship that we are tracing, no common-place acquaintanceship or familiarity, when we make a study of the intimacy between Peter and John. How the friendship first arose whether from contiguity and neighbourhood of residence, or similarity of occupation, or community of taste, or, as we might say, mere accident and casual circumstances it would be idle to conjecture, and not very profitable, even if it were possible, to discover; nor need we regret much our inability to determine the probable nature and degree of their fellowship, before they met with Jesus and became his followers. Afterwards, as we have seen, they had enough of experience in common to knit them together in the closest and most confidential union. Their common alacrity in consenting together to forsake all for Christ and to wait upon his ministry, their common sight of his glory on the mount, and their common participation in his agony in the garden, these formed bonds of mutual sympathy as strong as they were strange. And a certain subdued congeniality of temper, amid great diversities, calling forth the same kind of rebukes on the part of their Master, as well as the same kind of lessons and encouragements, was fitted to make them intimately and thoroughly one. The real value of this unity may be seen most evidently, as it appears to us, First, In what passed between them as their Master’s life on earth drew towards its close; and, Secondly, In the brief but emphatic notice of the separation awaiting the two friends, with which, after his resurrection, the Lord wound up his conversation with Peter concerning John. I. The close of their Master’s life brought Peter and John very much together. As Jesus drew near to the city to eat his last Passover, these were the two disciples whom he sent on before him to make the needful preparation: "And he sent Peter and John, saying, Go and prepare us the Passover that we may eat" (Luke 22:8). At the paschal supper itself, when Jesus, troubled in spirit, made the melancholy announcement that one of the twelve should betray him, amid the blank astonishment and dismay that sat on every face, as, looking one to another, they doubted of whom he spake, we find Peter beckoning, or making a signal, to the disciple whom Jesus loved, that he should ask the Lord, on whose bosom he was leaning, "Lord, who it?" a trifling incident in itself, but characteristic, the one hand, of Peter’s readiness of resource, for it was quite like him to suggest the expedient that might end the terrible suspense; and, on the other hand, indicating the footing on which the two apostles were, and the sort of telegraphic and electric understanding that subsisted between them: "Now there was leaning on Jesus’ bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved. Simon Peter therefore beckoned to him, that he should ask who it should be of whom he spake. He then lying on Jesus’ breast saith unto him, Lord, who is it? Jesus answered, He it is to whom I shall give a sop, when I have dipped it. And when he had dipped the sop, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon" (John 13:23-26). Let us imagine such a sympathy as this would imply, between Peter and John. Let us conceive of the beloved disciple himself reposing on the bosom of his Master, and drinking in his words of deep sorrow, yet of infinite love as he catches the eye of his anxious and excited friend. A momentary suspicion flashes through his mind, as he detects some trembling perhaps some vacillation in the eager look. Instantly he is aroused; and taking advantage of his position and of his Master’s acknowledged partiality, he hastens to set a bursting heart at rest, and to relieve Peter of his fears. From the supper there is an adjournment to the garden, where together they are found yielding to the oppressive sorrow of the scene. And immediately thereafter, there follow in quick succession, like the incidents in a dream, the arrest of Jesus, his trial, his crucifixion, and his burial. And all throughout this tragedy, Peter and John are together. If John be indeed the young man of whom Mark speaks (Mark 14:51-52), who fled, leaving his upper garment, as he was laid hold of in following Jesus, he soon repented and returned. For there is little doubt that he was the individual who introduced Peter into the palace of the high priest (John 18:15-16). We gather this from the style and manner of the description, compared with this evangelist’s usual way of indicating himself. What interest or influence he had with the high priest’s officers, or how he was known to the high priest himself, does not appear. It is supposed by some, that Zebedee, his father, was a man of wealth and consideration, and that, personally, John held a somewhat distinguished rank or position among his countrymen. But be that as it may, he has evidently the means of entering himself into the hall where his Master is to be tried, and of procuring admission for his companion and friend (John 18:15-16). Ah! Little did John think when he executed for Peter this commission of common civility that the issue was to be so disastrous and deplorable. But the trial goes on. Peter is betrayed into the cowardly sin of denying his Master; and John, who was instrumental unadvisedly in introducing him to the scene of temptation, has the deep mortification of witnessing his friend’s disgrace. But he catches a glimpse of what is in the eye of the Lord, as he turns and looks upon Peter. And he sees, also, the tears ready gushing, as he goes out, from the smitten penitent’s eye. Shall we say that he makes haste to follow him? Or rather, as we shortly after find John at the foot of the cross, receiving the charge which, in the midst of all his own agony, the son of Mary committed to him, "Mother, behold thy son; Son, behold thy mother," shall we say, that after leading that mother to his own house, and soothing her poignant grief as best he might, he bethought himself of his fallen friend, and went in search of Peter, whom he had seen, under the piercing yet melting glance of their common Master’s eye, going out to weep bitterly? Certain it is that we find Peter and John together on the morning of the resurrection (John 20:1-2). And they are together, as it would seem, not casually or suddenly, but by design and on set purpose. Have they been together all the time, since their Lord was laid in his silent tomb? And how have they been spending that dismal interval? Christian friendship! How precious art thou! When the Saviour is in the grave, and Peter, disconsolate and despairing, is brooding over his base treachery and that last look of the Holy One, which, beaming with kindness, all the more on that account cut him to the heart, thou, Divine Consolation! Thou bringest to him one dearer than a brother; younger in years, but how tender in sympathy! It is John; who amid the overwhelming sorrow of that hour with the grief of witnessing the cruel torture of Him who loved him full in his bosom, and upon his hands the care of her who was now to be his mother, as she had been the mother of his Lord has yet leisure to remember the claims of brotherly affection, and to seek out and console his fallen but much loved friend. We might here give imagination the reins; but we forbear. The sacred history has wrapt in deep and unbroken gloom the period that intervened between the burial and the resurrection of the Lord; nor is it for us to break the silence of these nights and that day, when it might seem as if all creation were hushed in intense expectancy till it should be seen whether Heaven or Hell had gained the victory, whether the sacrifice so marvellously offered would prove fruitless, or would win acceptance and salvation. But the fact that, during that awful pause, John was with Peter, and that they were found together on the third morning, is in itself enough it speaks volumes. What might be their converse, who can guess? "We did trust" they might be sadly saying one another, "that it was he that should have redeemed Israel." But he is gone, - it may be for ever; and all seems to be lost. Hope is withered, and, for our consolation, memory is all that now remains; - memory, John, of that last endearment at the supper; in Peter, that last offence at the trial. And yet, friendship blend the two. The bosom on which John leaned; the eye that looked upon Peter, are now common in the retrospect to both. They mourn, in their sad bereavement and bitter penitence, together. And now the morning is come. The dreary Sabbath is over, and the first day of the week begins to dawn. The friends are together still, when the strange tidings reach them of the women having gone to the tomb and found it empty, and having received a message from angels. Together the two disciples rush, with eager feet, to verify the news. The youthful John outstrips his partner in the race, and is first at the empty sepulchre; where he pauses to gaze, and wonder, and mourn. The more impetuous Peter, arriving breathless at the spot, waits not a moment to reconnoitre outside, but promptly leads the way within. John as promptly follows. And in a moment the minds of both are opened to an apprehension of the marvellous event that has occurred. Together they own the Scriptures fulfilled, as the light of the glorious doctrine of the resurrection flashes simultaneously on their understandings; and, wondering at their former blindness, they encourage one another in the belief that the promised Christ must indeed rise again from the dead, and that this Jesus, their beloved Master, is the Christ. The whole scene is as characteristic as it is interesting and instructive (John 20:1-10). Little more remains to be added on the subject of this friendship between Peter and John. That it was prolonged into their future lives and ministries, after the Church began to be formed, is sufficiently apparent from the history in the book of Acts. Thus, we read of Peter and John going up together to the temple, on the occasion on which the lame man was healed, "at the gate which is called Beautiful" (Acts 3:1-11). Again, we see them cast into prison together, and then brought before the council to be examined. And we have their joint reply, so nobly given when they were "commanded not to speak at all nor teach in the name of Jesus:" "Peter and John answered and said unto them, Whether it be right in the sight of God to hearken unto you more than unto God, judge ye" (Acts 4:19). We find them, also, associated together in a mission to the Church in Samaria which Philip was instrumental in planting: "Now when the apostles which were at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had received the word of God, they sent unto them Peter and John: who, when they were come down, prayed for them that they might receive the Holy Ghost" (Acts 8:14-15). And finally, along with James, "Cephas and John" are mentioned by Paul as joint pillars in the church at Jerusalem; and, in that character, giving to him and Barnabas the right hand of fellowship (Galatians 2:9). Thus throughout, to the very last, we have incidental traces, slight in themselves, but significant when taken together, of the close association and constant personal intimacy of these two holy men. And we feel justified therefore, on the whole, and upon scriptural grounds, in the view which we have been giving of this close and blessed friendship between Peter and John. II. But we cannot conclude without adverting, in connection with this subject of the friendship of these apostles, to a few points brought out in the concluding chapter of John’s Gospel; and especially to what is there recorded as having passed between Peter and his Master, relative to the fate of John. The very writing of this chapter, it would almost seem, is to be regarded as a tribute of friendship, on the part of John, to the memory of his beloved and now departed comrade, Peter. It was, as is generally believed, the last task on earth of the disciple whom Jesus loved, to prepare his Gospel. Moved and inspired by the Holy Ghost, he gave to this work the latest days of his lengthened life. And what more congenial occupation could he have had assigned to him? He had addressed to the Church at large, as well as to individuals, letters of warning, affectionate and faithful, against the deadly errors of that time, when men were already beginning to deny, or explain away, all the reality of the atonement made by Christ, and the renewal wrought by the Spirit. He had put on record the revelation of all things about to happen on the earth, down to the era of the Lord’s appearing in glory, and the establishment of his glorious heavenly kingdom. And now, on the near verge of the grave, with his foot on the very confines of the eternal world, he is summoned to live over again, in inspired recollection, and in minute detail, those three youthful years of his personal fellowship with the Lord, which to him are worth uncounted ages. Blessed toil! Nay, rather rapturous enjoyment! How does he throw his whole soul into it, and linger over it, feeling as if he never could have done! Notice, for instance, the close of the 20th chapter: "And many other signs truly did Jesus in the presence his disciples, which are not written in this book: but these are written, that ye might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing ye might have life through his name" (John 20:30-31). Plainly, the venerable writer was then laying down his pen. It is the formal finishing of the book. But he cannot tear himself away; he cannot bring himself to say, "Farewell." There are more last words to utter; there is a postscript - an appendix - a supplement to add. He resumes the pen; he has omitted something of interest and value; he has to rear a monument more durable than brass, not only to his Master, but to his Master’s friend, and his own. For who can doubt that it is partly, at least, as a memorial of Peter that this extra matter in the 21st chapter is given? The whole chapter is about Peter. And with what exquisite tact and taste, with what tenderness and what truth, is Peter sketched to us in this affecting picture! We see him standing beside John on the vessel’s side, when, at the command of Jesus, as yet unrecognised, the net is let down, and the multitude of fishes taken. John is the first to discern who this seeming stranger is; and his eager whisper to Simon Peter, "It is the Lord," is characteristic of the disciple whom Jesus loved. Equally characteristic is it of Peter himself that he is the first to act on the hint, and impetuously cast himself into the sea, in his haste to meet the Master whom he had so recently denied. Ah! The blessedness of that bitter weeping! How is it turned into joy! But for those gracious, relenting drops, of which the Lord’s eye, as he turned and looked on him, unlocked the fountain and source within, Peter must have shrunk from encountering him again. He must have fled, like Judas, to despair and suicide. But now there is an attraction in the very Saviour whom he has pierced, drawing Peter towards him. He hastens to embrace him: and well is his haste recompensed! In the interview that follows, the Lord addresses himself to Peter alone. All the past is buried in oblivion; forgiveness begets love; much forgiveness, much love. The fallen apostle is restored; the shepherd’s crook is again put into his hand, the martyr’s crown is suspended over his head. And it is John who tells it all! (John 21:15-18.) Is it not fitly reserved for John to tell it? He, as well as the other evangelists, is to record his friend’s fall; but he alone is to have the satisfaction of recording his friend’s recovery. Was ever monument to friendship more precious? Was ever friendship more worthy of such a monument? Nor is it, we may well believe, without emotion, that in winding up his whole history once more, John notices proof of affectionate interest which Peter gave, when, in the very midst of such close personal dealing of the Lord with his conscience, and such peculiar experience as might have engrossed his whole soul, he yet found leisure to remember his friend. Peter might have been excused had he thought merely of himself in such a crisis. But that was not his nature. The beloved disciple is beside him; and, as if remembering and returning the kind service rendered on the night when during supper John questioned the Lord at Peter’s suggestion "Who is it, Lord?" Peter now, on his part, asks the Lord concerning John, "And what shall this man do?" ‘What is to become of him? He has been lovely and pleasant to me in life; are we, in death, to be divided? Thou hast engaged me to love thee, and thou knowest that I love thee, good cause hast thou given me to love thee, and none but thee. Thou hast assigned to me my work: and most welcome work it is, to feed thy lambs, to feed thy sheep. Thou hast warned me of the death by which I am to glorify God; and though not now so foolhardy as once I was, and so ready to volunteer myself for martyrdom, I shrink not from what thou appointest. Thou hast given me that command, including all promises and all grace, "Follow me;" and, Lord, thou wilt enable me to follow thee even unto death, and through death to glory. But what of my friend my more than brother, whom thou, Lord, lovest, who leaned on thy breast at supper? Following thee, must I be parted from him? We were together when thou didst call us, at the first, to forsake all and follow thee; and together we left all the world behind, that we might bear thee company, and wait on thee. We have been together, he and I, ever since; and on that dreary day when thou wast in the tomb, and I, a miserable sinner, had seen, as I imagined, the last of thee, and seen thee in that look of thine that cut me to the heart, what, oh! What would have become of me, but for his sympathy with me in my unutterable sorrow? And now, can I be blamed for wanton or impertinent curiosity when I ask thee to satisfy me as to the future course of that friendship which hitherto has run so deep? It is not that I hesitate about following thee, it is not that I draw back even from a cross like thine own; but this man, good Lord, what of him? One word to alleviate the anxiety of friendship - of such a friendship; and I am ready - I am thine for ever!’ Can it possibly be an answer of stern reproof that the Lord, in such circumstances, returns to such an inquiry on the part of one with whom he has been dealing so closely and so graciously, "If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Follow thou me?" Nay; we confidently say it is not, - it cannot be so intended. We cannot believe that the Lord designs to upbraid Peter, or take otherwise than in good part the affectionate solitude of his friendly interest in John. Some, indeed, would have this to be a rebuke of Peter’s unwarrantable curiosity, a check given to his inquisitive turn of mind, which made him eager to learn the appointed destiny of a brother, instead of acquiescing in what the Lord had told him respecting his own. And in this view many edifying practical lessons may, no doubt, be deduced respecting the sin and folly of prying, or seeking to pry, into our neighbours’ circumstances and affairs, and the propriety of attending to what more nearly concerns ourselves. But there is surely more in this reply of our Lord than a mere censuring of his disciple’s inquisitiveness. No doubt, it must have been sufficiently irritating, if at a time when his Master was dealing so very graciously, and so very pointedly, with his own soul, Peter manifested the spirit of a mere busybody in other men’s matters. Still, anything like even the appearance of severity, after so tender a scene, jars on the feelings which that scene awakens. Peter’s question respecting John may have been dictated by some other and better motive than idle curiosity; and the answer of the Lord may have been designed to convey, not only a hint against the indulgence of such a temper, but a weightier and deeper lesson. It was as a warm friend, and not a frivolous, gossiping interloper, that Peter was moved, at such a crisis, to think of John so affectionately, and to inquire so earnestly, "What shall this man do?" And it was this friendly interest in a brother’s fate that the Lord meant, not to suppress, but to turn into a right and comfortable channel, when he gave the somewhat abrupt and oracular response, "If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Follow thou me" (John 21:22). What is there, then, in this reply? Upon what, at the time, would the full heart of Peter, eagerly and intently fasten? The saying, as we are told, gave rise to a vague rumour that John was not to die: "Then went this saying abroad among the brethren that that disciple should not die." That disciple himself is anxious to show that what Jesus said to Peter warranted no such conclusion: "Yet Jesus said not to him, He shall not die; but, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?" (John 20:1-23). What the Lord’s reply to Peter did not necessarily mean, John carefully explains. What it did mean, he does not say. One thing, however, is clear; it must, at all events, have conveyed to Peter the impression, that he was to leave John behind him on the earth. Whether his beloved friend was to die at last or not, he was to be exempt from such a premature and violent death as his own was to be. ‘John, it seems, is to live on after I am gone, and in a good old age his days on earth are to close tranquilly, the current of his life flowing calmly into the ocean of eternity, either through the peaceful outlet of a natural decease or through the wide-opening portals of the gate that is to admit the King of glory.’ Then be it so. Peter does not envy his friend, or grudge him any higher favour which the Lord may have destined for him. He is content, it is nothing to him; he follows Jesus. What! Nothing to him who had but now so anxiously put the question, "What of this man?" Nothing, to be parted so cruelly from his friend whom he must leave behind, perhaps till his Master’s coming again? No; for in that coming he, following Jesus, has a share. Peter may be snatched away by a bloody death before his time, John may tarry till Jesus come. But what of that? It is but a little while, and "he that shall come will come, and will not tarry." Hush then, Peter, thy earnest questioning concerning thy friend, who is to be spared when thou art taken. And thou, John, beloved disciple of thy Lord, be satisfied, if it so please him, to tarry till he come; yes, even when thy weary head would fain repose itself again on thy Master’s bosom. It will be all one to thy friend and to thee, very soon. Peter has followed Jesus through martyrdom into his rest; thou tarriest, if he will, till he come. But all will be well then. Thus the parting of Christian friends may lose its sharpest pang. They part to meet again, if not sooner, at least when the Lord comes. The dying believer may be willing to depart; the survivor may be contented to remain, for the time is short, the world is passing away, and the Lord is at hand. Am I summoned, like Peter, to follow Jesus into the unseen and undiscovered country whence no traveller ever returns? Do I leave a beloved John behind? Still, to depart and to be with Christ is far better - to be absent from the body and present with the Lord. Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints. Nor need the fate of the friend to whom I bid adieu concern me much. How long he is to tarry on this cold earth when I am gone is really nothing to me; no, not even should it be appointed to him to tarry till the Lord come. For oh! Rapturous anticipation! The Lord will come; and they that are his shall appear with him in glory; and the living, that are tarrying for him shall be changed; and all shall be for ever with the Lord! Then, let me be willing to follow Jesus, however cruel may be the death by which I am to glorify God, and however dear the friend from whom I am constrained to part. Enough for me to know, that, let my death be ever so cruel, it is but following Jesus still, following him through his tribulation into his glory; and let my friend tarry ever so long behind me, it can at the utmost be no longer than till Jesus come. Am I called, on the other hand, like John, to witness the removal of some dear brother or venerable father in the Lord, and to tarry behind alone? Am I desolate and lonely, feeling as if life had now no object and this world no charm? Let me first call to remembrance, that "to me to live is Christ." Whosoever may be taken from me, the desire of my eyes, the delight of my soul, still all is not a blank to me. I have something left to live for; "To me to live is Christ." Then, as to those who fall asleep in Jesus, let me not ignorantly sorrow, even as others that have no hope. For if I believe that Jesus died and rose again, let me believe also that them which sleep in Jesus God will bring with him. Long time I may have to tarry after my best and dearest ones are gone. He whom they have followed through painful deaths, and whom I still seek to follow in my weary life, may will that I tarry till he come. Be it so. For he himself says, "Surely I come quickly: Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 57: 05.16. XVI MARY MAGDALENE WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE ======================================================================== XVI MARY MAGDALENE WITH PETER AND JOHN AT THE SEPULCHRE John 20:1-18. As a sequel to the sketch which we have been giving of the friendship between Peter and John, a friendship growing all throughout their attendance on the Lord’s ministry, and especially hallowed by its closing scenes, we may find it interesting to notice what passed at the sacred sepulchre on the morning of the resurrection. And all the rather may this interest us, because it introduces another character, and places in a most affecting light the tenderness of another true penitent’s heart. Mary, surnamed Magdalene from the place of her birth or residence, pre-eminent in sin and suffering, and in her debt of obligation for sin forgiven and suffering relieved, has the high honour conferred upon her of being among the first to hear of the risen Saviour, and the first to see himself. In this honour she has associated with her Peter and John; and thus these three together become the witnesses of the fact of the resurrection. In tracing the incidents of that memorable morning we follow chiefly the narrative of the last of the four evangelists. His narrative is here, as usual, supplementary to those of the other three; and is, besides, more definitely directed to a special end. The object of John in all his history, and especially in this portion of it, is not merely in general to record miscellaneously certain circumstances connected with the Lord’s resurrection; but in particular to establish this precise truth, that "Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God" and that they who "believe have life through his name." With this view, he dwells chiefly on those features in this event, and on those sayings of his beloved Master, which tended to bring prominently forward the high dignity of his person, and the purpose of love for which he "died, and rose, and revived" (Romans 14:9). I. The first particular which the evangelist notices, is the arrival of Mary Magdalene at the tomb: "The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early, when it was yet dark, unto the sepulchre, and seeth the stone taken away from the sepulchre" (John 20:1). Although John mentions Mary Magdalene, and none else by name, and gives no hint of any others being with her, he says nothing inconsistent with that supposition. He singles out Mary, because it is exclusively with what happened to her that he is concerned. But he does not assert, nor do his words at all imply, that she was alone. And we gather from the other narratives that she was not alone. It must be confessed, indeed, that the harmony of the several evangelical accounts of the resurrection is by no means very clearly ascertained with any general consent, or unanimity of interpreters; and it would be unsafe and unwise to pronounce very positively on any point that depends on an exact adjustment of independent testimonies, all consistent with one another, but evidently not intended to be reduced into one full and formal history. It is not difficult to prove that they need not be understood as contradicting one another, that where their statements seem to conflict, a very little attention will suggest a sufficiently probable explanation, and show how they may be reconciled. But, on the other hand, it is to be remembered that the sacred narratives being all of them of a fragmentary character, and consisting chiefly of incidental notices or reminiscences may not, even when taken together, afford all the materials of a complete history. We would probably require to know more of what passed than all the four evangelists have told us, before we could assign to each circumstance exactly its proper place, and explain its relation to other matters. This consideration might be useful to all who attempt formally to harmonize the Gospels; and it may satisfy us in declining, in the present instance, to make the attempt at all. It is enough to observe, that in what the four histories record as to the resurrection, there is really no contradiction. Mary Magdalene, then, came early in the morning, the first day of the week, along with the other women who had been making preparations for anointing the body of Jesus. They had been saying to themselves, as they drew near the tomb, "Who shall roll us away the stone?" They found the stone already removed. On perceiving this, it would seem that Mary, without waiting to make any further examination, abruptly left her companions at the grave, and hastened to carry this intelligence to the disciples: "Then she runneth, and cometh to Simon Peter, and to the other disciple whom Jesus loved, and saith unto them, They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid him" (John 20:2). This is her inference from what she had seen. She is greatly agitated. The mere sight of the stone rolled away throws her into confusion; and the idea at once rushes into her mind, that the grave must have been rifled, and the Saviour’s body taken away. Full of this impression, she runs into the city. The other women, meanwhile, remain at the tomb. There they see, first one angel, and then two. One angel had descended previous to the arrival of the women: "and, behold, there had been a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it" (Matthew 28:2; marg. reading). This angel had taken his station at first on the outside of the sepulchre; and thereafter, along with another heavenly visitor, he seems to have appeared to the women and conversed with them within the sepulchre. The two angels sat or stood within the sepulchre, on either side of the place where Jesus lay, varying their posture as they welcomed and addressed the women. With what passed between the angels and the company of women we are not now particularly concerned. The women received a gracious message to the disciples, and to Peter by name, - such tenderness was shown to the erring apostle. They were informed that the Lord had risen; they were reminded of his having himself told them that he would rise, and that he would meet them in Galilee. And now, for the first time understanding the import of their Lord’s prediction, they hastened to execute his commission, and to "bring the disciples word" (Matthew 28:5-8 ; Mark 16:5-8 ; Luke 24:3-10). All this may have occupied some time after Mary Magdalene left them. For that she had parted company with them before their interview with the angels, immediately on perceiving the stone rolled away, is plain from what she says to Peter and the other disciple, who, as we have seen, was his friend John: "They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid him" (John 20:2). This she could scarcely have said if she had heard the angels deliver their message. That message must have reassured her, as it reassured the other women: "Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen." So the angels, or one of them, spoke. And the women, assured that he was "going before his disciples into Galilee and that there they were to see him," "departed quickly from the sepulchre, with fear and great joy." Evidently Mary Magdalene had not received this assurance, when, immediately on seeing the stone removed, she hurried off with the tidings to Peter and John. She had not waited with the rest of the women. She could not stand the shock of this new and sudden disappointment. She - out of whom the Lord had cast seven devils - she, being forgiven much, loved much. What she suffered, when the Lord whom she loved died on the cross, who can conceive? Now, her whole heart is bent on honouring him, though dead. She has looked forward, with intense longing, to the hour when she may anoint the body of Jesus. Though crucified, he is still dear to her; and, by every token of grateful remembrance, she will testify her attachment. The moment when she is to render to him this last service is come. But the melancholy gratification is denied to her. She rushes from the open sepulchre, and gives vent to her bitter grief in that singularly affecting exclamation, "They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid him." Shall we blame this poor mourner for her haste and precipitation? Had she lingered a little longer at the tomb; had she inquired more diligently, and searched all around more patiently; she might have learned something of Him whom she sought, something better far than anything that she could have expected beforehand. If she had not found him where she sought him, she would at least have learned where she might seek and be sure of finding him now; and, above all, she would have been taught to look, not for a dead, but for a living Saviour. Shall we reflect upon her folly in depriving herself of this opportunity by so abruptly quitting the scene where she might have hoped, if she had persevered, ere long to be satisfied? Shall we not rather rejoice that she is led so soon to return to it? They, to whom she flies to unburden all her grief, happily direct her, by their example, in the right way; for they hasten to the spot, and, as we shall soon see, she herself hastens after them. If she erred in yielding to her disappointment too easily, her error is speedily repaired. If she left the place the Lord’s burial too hastily, she is immediately brought back to it again. Is there ever a time when, in any measure, your experience is analogous to hers? You have come - very lately, perhaps - to the sepulchre, on the first day of the week, on a communion Sabbath. You have come to contemplate your Lord in his death, and to perform a simple and touching service in remembrance of him. You intended to do him honour, and you expected to enjoy a certain meditative and mournful pleasure in thus showing your attachment to your crucified Lord. You have been disappointed. You have not received those impressions which you thought would be made on you; nor have you, to your own satisfaction, been able to render that homage and service which you proposed. You feel as if you had come to discharge a pious office, and had found nothing but an empty form. And now you are ready to complain that your devotion has been all in vain. We would not, in such a case, inquire too particularly what your views and anticipations may have been. You may have come under the impulse of a kind of natural feeling, a blind and vague desire to testify, in this way, your regard and reverence for Him who died on the cross, having but a very imperfect and inadequate idea of the terms on which you should have been looking and waiting for him. You may have come, as you imagined, to discharge a debt or duty of gratitude, with but little apprehension of the real nature of the service for which you have to be grateful with but little intelligent or spiritual faith in Jesus, as delivered for your offences, and raised again for your justification. But whatever may have been your purpose in coming, if only you came honestly and in sincerity, we would not now upbraid you. It may be matter of regret, however, that you have too hastily withdrawn yourselves from the scene and the subject to which you recently resorted; and it may be a good deed to lead you back to those memorials of the Saviour’s death which you have somewhat too abruptly left. Return again to the place where your Lord lay, return even to the empty sepulchre. Resume your meditations on that death which you have so lately been commemorating. Place yourselves once more in the position which you then occupied. Pursue the studies; prosecute the inquiries, in which you were then engaged. Go with Peter and his companion and the Magdalene - go anew to the tomb. Give yourselves anew to devout thought respecting all the wondrous issues of the decease which was accomplished at Jerusalem. And, in prayer, and patience, and faith, await the clearer discoveries that may be made to you, and the deeper impressions under which you may be brought. II. The second particular noticed by this evangelist, is the visit of Peter and another disciple to the sepulchre. That other disciple was John himself. The incident here narrated is, in all its circumstances, peculiarly characteristic. That the two brethren, on hearing the strange tidings, which Mary had to tell, should hasten to satisfy themselves as to the real state of the case, was just what might have been expected. That in running, John should outstrip Peter, was not surprising, if we consider both the greater youth of John and the warm enthusiasm of his love to Jesus. That Peter, again, though coming last to the tomb, should be the first to enter in, is precisely in accordance with his usual forwardness and the natural impetuosity of his spirit: "Peter therefore went forth, and that other disciple, and came to the sepulchre. So they ran both together: and the other disciple did outrun Peter, and came first to the sepulchre. And he, stooping down, and looking in, saw the linen clothes lying; yet went he not in. Then cometh Simon Peter following him, and went into the sepulchre, and seeth the linen clothes lie, and the napkin, that was about his head, not lying with the linen clothes, but wrapped together in a place by itself. Then went in also that other disciple, which came first to the sepulchre, and he saw, and believed. For as yet they knew not the scripture, that he must rise again from the dead" (John 20:3-9). The beloved disciple bent down to examine the sepulchre. The body, it clearly enough appeared, was no longer there. But a remarkable circumstance presented itself. The linen clothes were lying in decent order. The body, then, had not been carried off by enemies; for they could not have rifled the tomb without leaving some traces of violence. Neither had it been removed friends - as by Joseph of Arimathea or by Nicodemus - intending to bury it in another place more deliberately and more honourably than time permitted them to do the evening on which he died; for even in that case the clothes would not have been left lying, since they would have been needed wherever the body was taken. Here, then, is a startling appearance meeting the eye of John. He pauses. Is it in perplexity in amazement? Does a faint surmise, a supposition of the truth, come into his mind? Can it be? The beloved disciple is filled with awe; he is profoundly moved and he stands as if fixed and rooted to the spot. But his more eager and practically energetic friend now joins him. At once, and without hesitation, Peter proceeds to ascertain how the matter stands. He enters, followed by John; and they find, on a closer and more careful examination, that in very truth the clothes are so arranged as to preclude the idea of the body having been removed by any human hand. The inference immediately flashes upon them; and now, at last, for the first time they understand the scripture, "that he must rise again from the dead." What a light then burst upon these followers of Jesus, amid the darkness of their Master’s silent and vacant grave! How must they have marvelled at their own strange insensibility! Awakened as from a trance, roused from the stupor of a dream, they feel the scales falling from their eyes and a new world opening to their view. The resurrection of Jesus! This, now that they realize it, is a new idea, and of how many new ideas is it the source! Strange that they should not have apprehended it before. Is there not here the element of a new life, of new faith, of new hope? Not the least remarkable feature in this process of conviction and awakening is the fact, that it is wrought without any extraordinary or miraculous interposition, by the simple contemplation of what might have been regarded as an immaterial circumstance, or an unimportant accident. There is no vision of angels granted to the two apostles; these heavenly attendants seem to have withdrawn themselves while Peter and John were at the sepulchre. They are not to receive direct intimation of their Lord’s having risen, from any divine messenger. The Spirit of God needs not always such instrumentality. By means far more insignificant, yet in his hands equally effectual, he can enlighten and awaken men: and the slightest incidental hint he can so impress upon the understanding, and so apply to the conscience, that it shall work conviction as swift, and as sure, and as satisfying, as any herald from the skies could do. What is to hinder his working such conviction in you? You may need it as much as did Peter and John. When you came to deal with the memorials of your Lord’s death, you may have been, to all practical and spiritual purposes, almost, if not altogether, as ignorant as they were. It is true you knew the fact of the Lord’s resurrection, and as a matter of history you believed it. But as a matter of doctrine, or as a matter of experience, did you understand? did you apprehend? did you realize it? Did you perceive all its bearings on the death which preceded it, and on the glory which followed it? How it seals to you the efficacy of that death as a full atonement for all your sins, and opens to you the prospect of that glory as the everlasting portion of your bodies and your souls. Come, see the place where your Lord lay; see it as reminding you that he is not here, he is risen. That which, at a communion-table, you might touch and taste and handle as his body, is now gone; the outward drapery which covered it is decently preserved; the linen clothes, as it were, are wrapped together and laid in an orderly manner aside. Ah! If you came at all with carnal and worldly views, seeking to honour Christ by any merely bodily service, or to enjoy him in any merely sensible way, may you not now, by this token, be made to know the scripture, that he must needs rise from the dead, and that you must rise with him? Seek no longer, then, the living among the dead. Let your eyes and your hearts be opened to the reality of his life, as well as to the remembrance of his death; and consider well that it is with a living Saviour that you have now to do. You are not merely to pay decent respect to his death, anointing, as it were, and honouring his body, gratefully remembering his dying love as a thing past and gone, of which only the memorials are present. By these very memorials, as lively signs and tokens, you must be moved to enter into the meaning of his resurrection, as justifying you from all your iniquity, and raising you to newness of life. Muse not merely on the death of Christ indulging those natural emotions of pity and remorse which it is fitted to call forth, nor think that, when you have come to pay your tribute of homage at his tomb, all is over, and you may either sit down disconsolate, or go back to the vain world again. No; let the empty sepulchre and the linen clothes lying - let the ordinances on earth, so soon found to be in themselves vacant and formal remind you that he is risen, that he has broken the bands of spiritual death, and opened to you the gates of eternal life. And let this thought revive and reanimate your souls, dispel the vapours and the gloom of earth, and rouse you to the pursuit of heavenly glory. III. Thus instructed, "the disciples went away again unto their own home" (ver. 10). But another mourner still remains to be consoled; for we return once more to Mary Magdalene. She had followed Peter and John to the tomb; and, as they ran swiftly, she probably did not reach it till they had gone away again unto their own home. It is not likely, either that she was with them at the sepulchre, or that she met them by the way on their return; else surely they would have imparted to her some of their own reviving confidence. We are to remember in all this narrative that between the sepulchre and the city there must have been many different roads and streets; so that parties going and coming, especially to and from different parts of the city, might easily miss one another. So perhaps it happened in this instance. Peter and John had left the sepulchre before Mary reached it; and she came without having encountered them going to their own home. Thus she found herself alone at the sepulchre; all human counsel and human companionship seemed to have failed her. She stood without at the sepulchre weeping. Now for the first time she stooped to look into the sepulchre. The angels, guardians of the place where Jesus lay, had returned to their post: "But Mary stood without at the sepulchre weeping: and as she wept, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre, and seeth, two angels in white sitting, the one at the head, and the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain" (John 20:11-12). For while the apostles apparently were left to judge for themselves, it was the women, to whom, perhaps on account of their deeper dejection and more lively feeling of disappointment, such ministry was more necessary; it was the women, first those whom Mary Magdalene in her haste left at the tomb, and then Mary Magdalene herself on her return to the tomb; it was the women, and not the apostles, who were favoured with the sight and converse of angels. These heavenly messengers, touched with Mary’s sorrow, tendered their sympathy, asking affectionately, "Woman, why weepest thou?" She answers almost in the very words, which she had addressed to Peter and John, "Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him." (John 20:13). Oh woman! Thy love is strong. The dead, the crucified body of thy Lord what wouldst thou give to see it once more? To all whom thou meetest, to all who find thee, thy language is still the same, "Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?" What follows is too simple and touching to admit of comment: "And when she had thus said, she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus. Jesus saith unto her, "Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou? She, supposing him to be the gardener saith unto him, ‘Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away’. Jesus saith unto her, ’Mary’. She turned herself, and saith unto him, ’Rabboni’; which is to say, Master" (John 20:14-16). How blessed is this recognition! Mary, turning half round from the tomb, sees Jesus at first but indistinctly. In the early dawn, and amid her blinding tears, she merely perceives that a man is standing beside her. Absorbed in her own grief, she mechanically hears, and answers the question of the stranger, naturally enough imagining that it must be the gardener; for he alone could be supposed to have business there at that early hour. A single word dispels her sad stupor. Jesus calls her by name, "Mary;" and the well-known accents of love reach her heart. Yes, it is her Lord; to whom instinctively, as of old, she addresses the prompt reply of recognition and loving devotion, "Rabboni, Master." Surely this Mary too, as well as the other Mary, is "highly favoured among women." Not an angel merely but the Lord himself salutes her. To her first he appears after he is risen; to her, out of whom he had cast seven devils. And now, it might seem, her soul found rest. Her mourning is turned into joy. She has found him whom her soul loveth. She will hold him, and not let him go. But stay - yet again there is another disappointment. The Lord seems to put her away from him: "Jesus saith unto her, Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God" (John 20:17). What can this mean? Is there any mystery here connected with the nature of the Lord’s risen body, as if it were of too spiritual and ethereal a mould to be pressed by mortal hand? Certainly the body of Jesus was changed, as is plain from the manner in which, after his resurrection, he appeared and disappeared, concealed and revealed himself. But it was not so changed that it might not be handled. It was his real body, consisting of real flesh and bones. Jesus permitted the other women, when he met them, to embrace him. Why, then, did he say to Mary, "Touch me not?" Surely he had some lesson to teach her. He was not merely, as some say, in haste to dismiss her, that she might carry his message to the disciples; nor did he mean, as others suggest, to hurry her abruptly away, with the assurance that she would have other opportunities of embracing him, because he was not yet ascended. If this had been all that he intended, he might have allowed time for so brief and simple an act of homage and of love. There is more in his answer than any such supposition implies. He is dealing with Mary as a disciple; he has a lesson to teach her; he has an end in view connected with her peace and her holiness. In a word, he has to reconcile her to the idea of his ascension: "Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father." For that idea is new to her. Mary, like the other disciples, when she admitted the thought of the Lord having come back to life, seems at once to have rushed to the conclusion that he was come back permanently to remain, that he was now to abide among them, and to fulfil at last all their expectations. It was probably under this impression that the apostles afterwards put to him the question, "Lord, wilt thou at this time restore again the kingdom to Israel?" (Acts 1:6.) Mary, we may well believe, did not care so much for the temporal glories of the kingdom whose establishment they then expected. But she did care for the actual presence of her Beloved upon earth. Before his death, she had begun to understand that the Messiah must needs go away and come again. Well, he has been absent three days, and that in her estimation is long enough. He had gone, and he now comes again. The necessary separation is over. Now she may embrace and cling to him, to be parted from him no more. Nay, but, O woman! that time is not yet come. It will come. Thy Redeemer liveth, and will stand at latter day upon the earth, and in thy flesh thou shalt see God. Then thou shalt hold thy Beloved in thine arms; then thou shalt welcome and embrace him;- then thou shalt be forever with the Lord. But touch him not now. Hold him not, as if the wouldst detain him. This is not that final and permanent return of which he spoke, when he assured his followers that he would come again to receive them himself. This is but a flying visit - a passing call. He is on his way to heaven. Suffer him to go. If thou lovest him, rejoice that he goes to his Father. Yes, however hard it may seem to flesh and blood to be thus tantalized with but a glimpse of him whom thy soul loveth, and whom thine arms would fain grasp in an indissoluble embrace, thou mayest suffer him to depart. For hear the gracious message, which, in reference to his departure, he leaves for his disciples "But go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God" (John 20:17). He calls them his brethren. He is not ashamed to call them brethren, to associate with himself the children whom God hath given him. They are God’s dear children now, and his brethren beloved. And He to whom now he is ascending is their Father, as well as his Father, their God, as well as his God. Ah! Well may the Lord’s disciples consent, on such a footing as this, to forego for a little longer the joy of his personal presence with them. Earth would indeed be a desert without him, could they think that he had utterly forsaken them. If they had neither his dead body, on which they might lavish the tears and the pledges of a fond but vain remembrance, nor his living eye to smile on them, and his living voice to cheer them, and if he were gone to an unknown region and a land of strangers, they might be desolate indeed. But he is gone to his Father’s house, where there is room enough for them; and his Father is now their Father, his God is their God. He must be absent from them for a season; but it is to be with One who is now no stranger to them, and it is to be with Him on their behalf. It is to plead their cause, and prepare a place for them; it is to send the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, and to rule over all for their good. He ascends, and even his brethren cannot hope to keep him here; but he ascends to his Father, and their Father, to his God, and their God. Let us ponder the sayings of the angels and of our Lord himself. 1. "Come see the place where the Lord lay." Come again, if ye have come before. Visit the holy sepulchre; not in the spirit of carnal superstition; not in the indulgence of merely natural feelings, not seeking either to excite or to express your devotion by any merely outward service, however touching and tender as a remembrance of him. No! In that case you will be apt to turn unsatisfied away. You find not the Lord’s body. Still come and see where it lay; and think why it lay there once, and why it lies there no more. See here, in the very void and emptiness of the sepulchre, and of every earthly memorial of it, the proof and pledge of sin atoned for, and death overcome. He who bore your guilt, and lay in that grave in your stead, could not be detained a prisoner there. He is risen and you in him are now free. 2. He is risen and he will meet you, as he said. He will manifest himself unto you in another way than he doth unto the world. He will come to you, as you weep over his death. "He goeth before you into Galilee." Yes, believers, your Lord will continue to be known to you, and your fellowship will be with him. He will find opportunities of communicating with you, not only beside the sepulchre, where in holy retirement you muse and mourn; but in Galilee, amid the ordinary scenes of your daily avocations, when you return again to your houses and your labour, to your fields and to your nets, Jesus will be with you. He will be known to you in the breaking of your common bread. He will be known to you in the blessing he bestows on your common toil. He will be known to you as he opens up the Scriptures, which are your daily meditation. He will be known to you as you sit in the secret chamber and walk on the highway. Be sure that Jesus is often near you, when your eyes are holden that you do not recognise him; for do not your hearts burn within you as he talks with you? and may you not often have cause to say with Jacob, "Surely the Lord is in this place and I knew it not?" 3. Finally, While you prize these precious interviews, and ask to have them multiplied, while you rejoice to believe that your Lord is always with you, even to the end of the world, still remember that you embrace him not now as if this were your rest, or as if it were the consummation of your blessed union and communion with him. You may hope to recognise him as often near you upon earth; but remember he ascends to his Father, and your Father; to his God, and your God. There, in his Father’s house, seek even now in the Spirit to have your fellowship with him. Let your life be hid with Christ in God. Your treasure is in heaven, let your heart be there also; and rejoice in all that he is doing for your welfare, and for the salvation of all his people. Above all, wait for his coming again, his final return to receive you to himself, when all the purposes of his ascension are fulfilled, and all is made ready in his Father’s house for you. Then your embrace of him will be forever; for there is no farther separation after that. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 58: 05.17. XVII THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN ======================================================================== XVII THE SPIRIT OF GOD STRIVING WITH MAN PONTIUS PILATE JUDGING THE LORD CHRIST John 18:28; John 19:16; Luke 23:1-56; Matthew 27:1-66. THE character of Pilate, as it is brought out in the scene of our Lord’s trial, is an interesting study to those who would trace the workings of natural conscience when it is brought into closer contact than usual with the truth of God, or with Him who is the truth. We see, indeed, little or no evidence of any saving, or even of any deeply serious impression. But we see emotions of natural pity; and we see more - we see the convictions and relentings, the compunction and hesitation, of a natural sense of duty, and a natural feeling of remorse. He went farther, indeed, in this way than most of the other princes of this world who, in their official capacity, had to deal, not merely with the religion of Jesus (which is the common case now), but with Jesus himself. Herod of Galilee, who had been first the Baptist’s patron and then his persecutor, for a long time desired to see Jesus; but when his desire was gratified, and Jesus, sent by Pilate, stood before him on his trial, the crafty "fox" evaded the question, and having carelessly insulted the Saviour, as carelessly dismissed him. Felix, when Paul, arraigned as the prisoner, stood as the preacher before him, and reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come trembled; but he sent him away till a more convenient season. Agrippa, partly perhaps in courtly compliment to the unrivalled eloquence of the defence to which he listened, partly in sincere admiration of the inspired pleader, and partly also under a real impression of there being more in his theme than he had before imagined, avowed himself almost persuaded to be a Christian. But the workings of the mind of Pilate were surely deeper, at least the history gives us a deeper insight into them. There is so much of apparent honesty in the conflict of his soul, between his own evident reluctance to be instrumental in so foul a deed, and the unrelenting importunity of those who cruelly practised on his weakness, that we cannot refuse our compassion, and we almost yield our sympathy. And, on the other hand, in what he saw of the holy and awful majesty of the Lord Jesus, and in the solemn words which he heard from his lips, as once and again, nay repeatedly, he conferred with him face to face, away from the clamours of his Jewish accusers, in his own private hall of audience, there is so close and cogent an application of the divine word, in circumstances the most intensely affecting, to his whole moral nature, that we cannot but regard it as one of the most remarkable cases on record of the Spirit of the Lord striving with man. What sort of man, either as an individual or as governor, Pilate was, we have scarcely any means of determining. Other historians, whether Jewish or Gentile, say very little either of his personal character or of his public administration; and, beyond their narrative of our Lord’s trial before him, the sacred writers mention only one particular regarding him. In the Gospel by Luke (x 3:1), allusion is made to his having perpetrated an act of cruelty on some Galileans, who, it is probable, having come up to Jerusalem to worship at one of the festivals, were slain by his orders in the very midst of the solemnity, so that their blood was mingled with their sacrifices. This severity may have been inflicted on some pretence of tumult or of political disaffection; for the Roman governors were jealous, and not without reason, of the great concourse of strangers from the country districts at such seasons to Jerusalem; and in particular, they had some cause to suspect the natives of Galilee of an inclination to be turbulent and seditious. Perhaps also the misunderstanding which, as we learn from subsequent events, prevailed between himself and Herod, by whom, as king or tetrarch, Galilee was then ruled, might make Pilate willing enough to take an opportunity of wreaking his vengeance on the subjects of his rival when they happened to come within his own government; although it is quite as probable that this very act of violence may have been itself the cause and not the consequence of the quarrel. It is said that on other occasions, both in Judea and in Samaria, Pilate committed great cruelties; and it is certain that he was a man who, in enforcing his authority and prosecuting his ends, held human life very cheap, and made no scruple of recklessly causing blood on a large scale to be shed. Still there is no appearance of his having been wantonly cruel, either as a man or as a governor; nor even of his having been particularly oppressive or unjust. Most probably, indeed, he was very much like the other governors of the Roman provinces in those days, who, being for the most part noblemen of high rank and family, but of scanty or ruined fortunes, looked to such provincial appointments as means of retrieving or improving their affairs, and expected to enrich themselves by the spoils of the countries which they governed. Hence fines and favours, exactions and extortions of all kinds, formed an ordinary part of their administration, insomuch that it turned very much on the length of time during which a governor held office, at what rate the province should be pillaged. Frequent changes aggravated the evil; for each governor, ruling for a short period, must make the most of it for the purpose of satiating his rapacity; and the only chance of milder treatment lay in the lengthening of the period, so as to spread the demand over a greater number of years. So completely was the system understood, that in the case of this very Pilate and his predecessor in the government, the Emperor Tiberius is said sarcastically to have assigned this very reason for making their tenure of office longer than previously been the custom. Pilate, therefore, we may well believe, was not better in these respects - in respect of cruelty and rapacity - than the ordinary class of Roman governors of the day. Nor was he worse. The fact of its having fallen to him to judge our Lord, and of his having actually caused him to be crucified, is apt to leave on our minds an impression of this nature. Strongly condemning his treatment of the Saviour, we form exaggerated notions of the injustice and blood-thirstiness of his character, and conclude that he must have been a very monster so to deal with the Holy One. In this way the lesson which his conduct is fitted to teach is rendered far less pointed and profitable than it might be. It is not unlikely, that in the very trying predicament in which he found himself placed, Pilate acted better, and evinced more sensibility of heart and conscience, than the great majority of his compeers would have done; and moreover, it is not unlikely that in his circumstances some of us would have acted worse. For, consider the position of Pilate when brought into contact with Jesus. He was a Roman, probably of good family; a soldier and senator of considerable rank, and accustomed to move in the best society. The tone of such society was not favourable to serious thought. It was abundantly frivolous and dissipated. The showy accomplishments and refinements of a luxurious age accorded well with the light spirit of the liberal and sceptical philosophy which was then in vogue. The ancient sternness and simplicity of the republican manners had been relaxed; the ancient depth and devout earnestness of character had given place to a shallow and flippant way of evading all grave consideration and decision of choice, and making light equally of all things. Trained in such a school, in the camp and at the court, a noble Roman might enter life, whether as a man of ambition or as a man of pleasure, with little fixed principle of any kind, - with little habit and little capacity of deep reflection - with a sort of gay and easy indifference of temper, likely enough to waft him buoyant over the waves of fortune, but giving him no hold of the element through which a more solid mind would pursue a steadier and more commanding course. After passing the ordinary novitiate and routine either of fashionable idleness or of military parade (for the times were peaceful), or of perfunctory attendance on the forms of some civil or political calling, such a man might retire, for a season, to the government of a remote province, with whose people, having no connection, he could have no sympathy and of whose real interests, having little knowledge, he had still less care. There, living in dignified ease, and invested with very absolute and discretionary power - living, too, never as if he were at home, but always as an exile expecting to be recalled, he has every inducement to abandon himself to his own pleasure or his own profit, giving himself scarcely any real concern about what may be passing around him. Thus, if not tyrannical, he is very apt to prove like Gallio, governor of Achaia, who, when the whole city of Corinth was excited and convulsed by the agitation of religious controversy, took the matter very easily, and cared for none of these things. Such, probably, might be Pilate’s state of mind when, sitting quietly in his palace, he heard of the strange proceedings of that memorable paschal-week. And as tidings reached him of a singular procession, of one sitting on an ass, and attended by a countless throng, entering the city and the temple, like a moving forest of waving palms, amid shouts that filled the air; and again, as rumours circulated through his court of a remarkable commotion, first among the Jewish multitude resorting daily in crowds to the temple to see and hear this extraordinary person, and then among the Jewish authorities, all alive and on the alert respecting him; and still further, as the news of this mysterious individual being arrested, and the hasty convening of the Sanhedrim, and the hurried trial and condemnation before that tribunal, and the feverish excitement of the public mind which the affair was creating; as the news of these things passed around the circle of his attendants, the haughty Roman might listen with an air of real or affected unconcern, as to a mere idle breath of popular folly; and dwelling apart, as in some higher region of imperturbable repose, he might calmly put the subject away from him as beneath or beyond his notice; he might even find materials of courtly and philosophic pleasantry in what was turning the Jewish world upside down. If so, he must have been somewhat startled when, most unexpectedly, the cause was suddenly transferred to his own judgment-seat, and the whole case brought under his own immediate cognisance. He must now entertain and dispose of a question which otherwise he might have regarded as altogether out of his way. He must meet with this Jewish teacher, who might be supposed to belong to an entirely different sphere from his own, and enter on a discussion which in his ordinary manner of life he would have little dreamed of. It is a somewhat strange position into which this great man is abruptly brought; and it is most interesting to observe how, in that position, he conducts himself. From the very outset he is embarrassed and uncomfortable, and all throughout the trial he makes successive attempts to evade decision of the matter. But before proceeding further, let us adjust the local scenery of this most tragic drama. When the Jewish leaders brought Jesus to Pilate (John 18:28) they would not enter his house. They were at that time eating the Passover; that is, they were keeping the paschal-feast; for the expression is to be understood not merely of the first act of the solemnity - their killing and eating the paschal-lamb, which in the present case was probably over - but of all the subsequent rites and observances during the days of unleavened bread. That they might thus keep the feast acceptably, they must scrupulously, as they believed, abstain during the whole course of it, and especially on the day of preparation for the Sabbath, which this was, from going into a heathen dwelling, and so contracting defilement. In compliance with their scruples, however frivolous and superstitious he might think them, Pilate went out to them to the palace-gate, where, according to eastern custom, was his public seat of audience (John 19:13). There, during the whole of this transaction, he conducted his intercourse with the Jews; but from time to time he took Jesus himself into his own house, or inner hall of judgment, for the purpose of more private trial and examination (chap 18:33 ; 19:9). It is necessary to bear this in memory, in attempting to bring before the mind"s eye the several incidents of the trial. I. Meeting the Jews, then, at the door of his palace, Pilate asks what accusation they bring against the man whom they have in custody; and at first he will scarcely attend to the accusers. ‘He is a malefactor, you say, else you would not have brought him here (John 18:30-31). Be it so. It is some ordinary case of crime, some religious contention, or some breach of the peace, such as are now become too common for me to be troubled with them all. Decide it yourselves. "Take ye him, and judge him according to your law;" I give you full authority and warrant.’ Pilate, however, is not to get so easily off. This is a more serious matter than he thinks. ‘It is a capital offence with which this criminal is charged’, and ’it is not lawful for us to put any man to death’ (John 18:31). His crime is treason against Caesar, and Caesar’s deputy must look to it: "We found this fellow perverting the nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Caesar, saying that he himself is Christ a king" (Luke 23:2). Pilate, therefore, has no alternative; he must look into the accusation. He takes Jesus, accordingly, into the inner judgment-hall in his palace, thinking probably that a very short inquiry will suffice. And here first the barbed arrow enters his heart, which is to sink deep and remain fast, - the wound rankling and festering till it proves mortal. If this man takes the title of King of the Jews, as his accusers allege, brief work may be made of his case. And he does acknowledge the title; but then he adds an explanation which opens up an entirely new view of the affair. He is a king; but his kingdom is not of this world. It does not therefore interfere with Caesar’s (John 18:33-36). The Jews who accused him knew, or might have known, this; but they did not choose to make it known to Pilate, for it was necessary for their purpose that Jesus should be charged before Pilate with a political crime. Hence they did not bring him to Pilate’s bar as a blasphemer, in which character they themselves, in their own spiritual court, had previously tried and condemned him. They were well aware that Pilate, a Gentile and an unbeliever, would not, as a civil magistrate, have dealt with that offence; at least not in that view of it which their religion might suggest. They accused Jesus, therefore, as a rebel and traitor, as claiming for himself royal rights and honours, and denying them to Caesar, the Roman emperor, whose authority Pilate must uphold. Nor would it have served their end to say, that he made himself a king in any spiritual or religious sense. They would have Pilate to believe that he sought political power inconsistent with that of Caesar. Jesus at once, and simply, removes this impression. There is no cause of alarm. He asserts no authority which can at all interfere with that of any lawful earthly government. But, at the same time, he does assert an authority of a high and sacred character, and in a way which seems to strike his judge (ver. 37). "Thou art a king then?" "I am," is the Lord"s reply; "and I am more - I am a witness unto the truth." "What is truth?" says Pilate - jesting, perhaps, and not waiting for an answer, thinking by a jest to turn away the appeal which has already come too closely home to him. Now, he would fain persuade himself, he sees how the case stands. ‘This is one of your sages, your contemplative dreamers, not made for this world, as this world is not made for them. He has got hold of some fragments of our wildest and most unearthly philosophy - a visionary king - himself his only kingdom - enamoured of some fond fancy which he chooses to call the truth! It might be curious, in some idle hour, to settle with him what this same truth may be. Meanwhile, he must be acquitted of any grave offence; at the least, he is clearly harmless. "I find in him no fault at all." ‘Nay, but, vain man! This business is not so quickly or so cleverly managed as thou, in thy ingenious wit, art inclined to think. There is more in it than thou art likely soon to reach the end of. Thou hast seen for once another kind of sovereign than any thou hast hitherto met with. Thou hast heard of truth in a way not familiar. He who hath spoken to thee hath spoken as a king, - as one having authority; and, as one having authority, he hath proclaimed to thee that he witnesses to a truth, - to the truth. Yes, to thee, a careless, unfixed self-seeker - to thee, who hast neither reverence nor faith, one has appeared who claims authority, and bears witness to the truth; and thou canst not easily rid thyself of the surmise that it may be authority of which thou shouldest stand in awe, - that it may be truth which thou shouldest believe. Thou art brought into contact with things more serious than, in thy frivolous intercourse with a world of vain lies, thou hast been accustomed to deal with. Thou must have more to do with this same mysterious stranger, whom thou wouldst so summarily dismiss with a hasty and half contemptuous admission of his harmlessness. The subsequent conduct of Pilate exhibits a melancholy picture. Whatever air of light-hearted levity he may assume or affect, and however he may try, in his rejoinder to the Lord, to turn the edge of the Spirit’s sword, - the quick and powerful word so authoritatively spoken by Him whose word it is - we see plainly that he is not at his ease. To this extent, at least, he is now evidently in earnest, that he is most anxious to rescue Jesus out of the hands of his accusers. And the very anxiety of the Jews to obtain his blood only increases Pilate’s desire to save him. He perceives that there is, that there must be, some high interest at stake, else these formal hypocrites would not be so eager and zealous in the matter. ‘They are not in general such warm friends of Caesar and of Caesar’s power, these rulers of the Jews. They are not commonly so sensitive in regard to treason against the emperor as to persist in an accusation so evidently groundless as this. There must be more at the bottom of this affair than at first sight appears." Thus from the very beginning of this strange trial, and all throughout, more and more, the pertinacity of the Jews tends to deepen the impression made on Pilate’s mind, increases his concern, and makes him the more impatient for an adjustment. II. When therefore the Jews, instead of acquiescing in his judgment of acquittal, reiterated the more impetuously their charge against Jesus as seditious, and by way of aggravation, referring to the extent of the mischief, spoke of his labours in Galilee - "And they were the more fierce, saying, He stirreth up the people, teaching throughout all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this place" (Luke 23:5), Pilate eagerly catches the hint. He will send the case to Herod, within whose jurisdiction Galilee lies, and, fortunately, Herod happens to be at this time in Jerusalem: "When Pilate heard of Galilee, he asked whether the man were a Galilean. And as soon as he knew that he belonged unto Herod’s jurisdiction, he sent him to Herod, who himself also was at Jerusalem at that time" (Luke 23:6-7). If there is any truth in the charge brought against Jesus as a subverter of the government, it is plainly in Galilee, the ordinary place of his ministrations, that the offence must have been chiefly committed, and not in Judea, which he has only occasionally visited. It belongs therefore to Herod, as tetrarch of Galilee, ruling that province under Caesar, to deal with this rival king; - and the rather because he knows such cases of old, having once been the admirer and follower of just such a prophet, - his friend and patron, entertaining him at his court, - his devoted disciple, hearing him gladly. Thus Pilate thought that he might evade the necessity of coming to a decision in regard to Jesus and his claims. ‘Let Herod be the judge; send the case, by all means, to Herod; he is on all accounts the proper person to dispose of it." But this expedient will not stand Pilate in stead. It is to prove a more troublesome business than he could have imagined, and he cannot easily divest himself of the responsibility connected with it. Jesus comes back to him, scourged, indeed, and buffeted, but not judged, neither absolved nor condemned. Herod mocks him and sets him at nought: "And Herod with his men of war set him at nought, and mocked him, and arrayed him in a gorgeous robe, and sent him again to Pilate" Luke 23:11). But not in that way is the question to be set at rest. The cause is still undetermined, and Pilate has to determine it. What, then, is to be done? The Jews will not be satisfied. They insist on a sentence. It avails not to tell them that neither Pilate nor Herod finds in Jesus any fault worthy of death. Will Pilate then at once discharge him, and so run the risk of being represented to the Roman emperor as shielding a traitor to his power? Or will he give him up, notwithstanding his impression of his innocence, to the doom of a convicted malefactor? But yesterday, and in any other case, it would probably have cost Pilate scarce a moment’s thought to decide on this latter alternative, and sacrifice an individual, however guiltless, to his own interests and the interests of his imperial master’s authority. And even now, perhaps, he wonders at his own weakness. Whence this unwonted hesitation, these unprecedented scruples, in his mind? This is not the first instance, probably, in which he has been called upon to propitiate supporters, and to secure himself, by giving up an unconvicted man as a victim to his enemies, and justifying the doubtful step by reasons of state, thus making to himself friends not only of the Mammon, but of the Moloch, of unrighteousness. Why should he be so sensitive now? Can it be that this extraordinary criminal at the bar has virtually changed places with the judge, and marvellously gained an ascendency over him as his king and cited and sisted him at a higher bar as a witness of the truth to his conscience? Then why does Pilate not avow and follow out his convictions, whithersoever they may lead? Why, at least, does he not do justice to him in whom he finds no fault? Alas! He will attempt another compromise. He sees a way, as he fondly thinks, by which, without committing himself, he may deliver Jesus. III. Resuming his place at the palace gate, amid much most painful perplexity - perplexity increased by the remarkable warning given him by his wife, who sent to him, saying, "Have thou nothing to do with that just man; for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him" (Matthew 27:19); thus divided and distracted between his own and his wife’s conscientious feelings and apprehensions on the one hand, and the unrelenting and persevering importunity of the Jews on the other, Pilate bethinks himself of an expedient. He will take advantage of the custom of the feast to release a prisoner, and that prisoner shall be Jesus; "Ye have brought this man unto me, as one that perverteth the people; and, behold, I, having examined him before you, have found no fault in this man touching those things whereof ye accuse him: no, nor yet Herod: for I sent you to him." He proposes therefore to "chastise him, and release him." For he adds, "Ye have a custom, that I should release unto you one at the Passover: will ye therefore that I release unto you the King of the Jews?" (Luke 23:13-17; John 18:39.) Thus Pilate thinks to avoid the necessity of pronouncing judgment, and yet save Jesus. The Jews shall not have it in their power to say that he has acquitted a traitor. It is not to be a judicial sentence at all, but an act of grace and favour, the deliverance of a prisoner, customary at the season; on which, therefore, no imputation against his loyalty and fidelity in his government can be fairly or even plausibly founded. Thus there may be a sort of compromise between him and the Jews, and, instead of a judgment offending or endangering either part, there may be a measure of neutrality. Miserable expedient! Most shallow device! Even this discretionary exercise of authority he cannot venture upon without consulting the Jews. They must have a choice, and they can compel him to consent to it. And though he selects one of the worst and most atrocious criminals then in custody, to be offered to them along with Jesus; and though, as Luke tells us, he three successive times most earnestly and pathetically beseeches the people to choose Jesus he has the deep mortification of hearing their reiterated and impatient cry, "Not this man, but Barabbas," although "Barabbas was a robber" (John 18:39-40). What is it that has come over the spirit of this Pilate, usually stern and decided enough in every act of his administration? If his leanings are really toward Jesus, why does he not think, why does he not act for himself! Is he ashamed - is he afraid to speak out? And does he really imagine that he clears himself from the guilt of partaking in this great sin of other men, by the pitiful ceremony of the washing of his hands, and the hollow protest of his lips, "I am innocent," he who had but to raise one finger of these hands, or to utter one breath of these lips, and not a single stroke would have fallen upon Jesus, not a hair of his head would have been touched? Yet it is a characteristic circumstance this washing of his hands. It brings out in marked contrast the weakness of the judge and the violence of the accusers; and it throws light on the brief struggle that follows: "And the governor said, Why, what evil hath he done? But they cried out the more, saying, Let him be crucified. When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it. Then answered all the people, and said, His blood be on us, and on our children" (Matthew 27:23-25). IV. Weary of resistance, Pilate seems reluctantly to have given over Jesus to be scourged, perhaps with some faint hope that this preliminary severity, which, according to the barbarous custom of that time, preceded the punishment of death, might satiate the cruelty of his persecutors; and that the people, moved by the spectacle of suffering and shame, might yet relent, and interpose to save him from the cross: "Then Pilate therefore took Jesus, and scourged him. And the soldiers platted a crown of thorns, and put it on his head, and they put on him a purple robe, and said, Hail, King of the Jews! and they smote him with their hands. Pilate therefore went forth again, and saith unto them, Behold, I bring him forth to you, that ye may know that I find no fault in him. Then came Jesus forth wearing the crown of thorns, and the purple robe. And Pilate saith unto them, Behold the man!" (John 19:1-5.) The concession only stimulated the fury of his adversaries. So far from being melted to pity by an exhibition which Pilate might think enough to soften the very stones, the Jews were provoked the more by these repeated delays; and the sight of blood, streaming from under the crown of thorns down that holy head, served but to whet their appetite for more. "Behold the man!" says Pilate, pointing to that scourged and bleeding sufferer, whose meek endurance might have disarmed the very wrath of devils! But all the more "the chief priests and officers cried out, Crucify him, crucify him" (John 19:6). And now, perceiving clearly the sort of man with whom they had to deal - emboldened by Pilate’s evident distress, and presuming on his irresolution, the Jews lay aside all disguise and press at once to their point. They no longer consider it necessary to keep up so much as the form of an accusation of treason. They avow the real cause of their hostility. Not even professing to submit to Pilate’s judgment, they seem to reckon confidently on his accommodating himself to theirs. Seeing that he has not firmness to decide according to his own views, they gather courage, and require him broadly and nakedly to decide according to theirs: "The Jews answered him, We have a law, and by our law he ought to die, because he made himself the Son of God." (John 19:7). V. But they had well-nigh overshot the mark. The expression which they let fall renewed all Pilate’s scruples, and once more shook his purpose "He made himself the Son of God." ‘Made himself! Can it be that he really is so? It may be, then" as Pilate from the first could not help surmising ‘that this Jesus has authority, and witnesses truth." He has the authority of God; he witnesses the truth of God; for he is the Son of God. He said so. These Jews now tell Pilate that he said so; and they let out that it was because he said so that they hated and would crucify him. It turns out that their pretence of jealousy about Caesar"s prerogative is but a blind and false colour. Something far more awful is here really involved. Pilate sees this clearly now; and, seeing it, may he not even now stop short and retrace his steps? As it is, he once more pauses and resumes his examination. O, that he had but given fair play to his own convictions! He might even yet have been saved and blessed. He has another precious opportunity. Once more, away from all Jewish clamours, in the inner hall of judgment, the judge confers with his prisoner. Jesus "is led as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth." "When Pilate therefore heard that saying, he was the more afraid; and went again into the judgment hall, and saith unto Jesus, Whence art thou? But Jesus gave him no answer." (John 19:8-9). His silence is the silence, not of disrespect, but of awful, divine authority. He has met the charge already brought against him. He has explained what might give rise to the accusation of treason; and, in doing so, he has said enough to determine Pilate’s decision, and Pilate is bound to decide. This new question, so earnestly put, is not necessary or relevant; it is not to the point, it is not to the purpose. "Whence art thou?" asks the trembling Roman ‘Whence art thou, that thou shouldest make thyself the Son of God?" Dost thou ask this, Pilate! as an inquirer? Wilt thou also be his disciple? If so, thou shalt not long be at a loss for an answer. Thou art not far from one even now. It is in thy heart already, if out of thy heart thou wouldst allow thy mouth to speak. Meanwhile thy function as judge is not yet discharged. There is a case before thee to be disposed of, and there are all the elements for disposing of it. Do justice according to the dictates of thine own conscience, not according to the prejudices and passions of others. Till then Jesus is silent. Vexed by this silence, and provoked perhaps by the calm demeanour of the Lord, contrasting so painfully with his own agitation, Pilate suffers one flash of his natural impatience and the insolence of office to escape him, in a scene which has hitherto overawed him. He reminds the prisoner of his power over him, a power which, though subordinate to that of the emperor, was practically, in such cases and in that distant province, absolute and arbitrary: "Speakest thou not unto me? Knowest thou not that I have power to crucify thee, and have power to release thee?" (John 19:10.) It is an unworthy taunt against one in whom he himself acknowledges that he can find no fault. It marks a secret misgiving in regard to the equity of his procedure. Conscious of having no other ground to stand upon, he takes refuge in the last and worst argument of cowardly tyranny, - the argument of mere power. Alas! This too is but a refuge of lies. There is no escaping from the searching glance of one who seems to pierce his very soul. Infatuated man! This power of which thou makest a boast, however practically irresponsible in so far as thy master on earth, the emperor, is concerned, is not so in reality. It is given thee from above, - it is of God. And wilt thou use it after thine own pleasure, when it is the Son of God, as thou hast reason to fear, who stands before thee? ‘The sin of those who delivered me to thee is aggravated tenfold by their seeking thus to turn against the cause of God and his Son the very power that is ordained of God. Thy sin will not be the less if thou art moved to yield to their importunity. "Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above: therefore he that delivered me unto thee hath the greater sin" (John 19:11. See Appendix). But yield, after all, he did; although to the last all the more after this closing interview he would fain have delivered his prisoner. "From henceforth," more than ever, "Pilate sought to release him: but the Jews cried out, If thou let him go, thou art not Caesar’s friend" (John 10:1-2). The struggle becomes more desperate as it draws near its close. The claim of Jesus - his claim of sovereignty as a king, of truth as a witness, and now even of divinity as the Son of God - is pressing closer and closer on the conscience. But, alas, alas, the loud cry prevails, " If thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar’s friend." Ah! It had been well for Pilate if, at this eleventh hour, in this final crisis of his mental struggle, the Lord’s appeal to his tremendous responsibility, as having no power but from above, had been effectual to make him feel that he had no discretion, - that he was shut up to the necessity of deciding for Jesus, and owning him as the King, the true Witness, the Son of God. It had been still better if, at the very first, when the idea of sovereignty and of truth, as not fictions but realities, took hold of his mind, he had learned to stand in awe, that he might not sin, - to believe, that he might be saved. If there be ground for the vague rumours of history, he had but little ease or peace in his future life, which he himself, it is said, in disgrace and in exile, terminated by a voluntary death. It is a solemn reflection to think how near the vacillating judge, the despairing suicide, may once have been to a believer. It is a most emphatic warning to all, to trifle with no convictions of their own, to yield to no solicitations of others, to let the word of God have free course in their hearts, and to offer no resistance to the strivings of his good Spirit. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 59: 05.18. XVIII. THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. ======================================================================== XVIII. THE WICKED TAKEN IN THEIR OWN NET. PONTIUS PILATE DEALING WITH THE JEWS. John 19:13-37 THE fatal tragedy in which Pilate bears so sad a part, has what we might almost call an after-piece, in his subsequent intercourse with those to whom at last he has made up his mind to give way. Altogether, it is, if I may say so, a strange game throughout that we see carried on between Pilate and the Jews, between the half awakened conscientiousness of the governor and the unscrupulous ferocity of the Pharisees. They are well matched in this trial of strength or skill. They are nearly balanced, mutually seeking to overbear or to overreach one another; and were it not that the subject of contention is so solemn, and the issue so serious, a discerning by-stander might almost smile as he looks on. At first the Pharisees have greatly the best of it. Their remorseless and unrelenting bigotry gives them an advantage over the vacillating Roman, who, however irreligious, has still some sense of honour and some feelings of compassion. Accordingly they press hard upon him. They drive him from one point of defence to another. They carry in succession the several outposts at which he would gladly rally and make a stand. They beat up his refuges and lurking-places, where he vainly tries to evade them, till at last they shut him up in a corner, and he is fain to capitulate, or rather surrender at discretion. But now it is his turn to make reprisals upon them. He has his revenge; he has the satisfaction of a certain kind of retaliation. And if they insolently exult in having made a tool of him, he may at least enjoy, if he can, the triumph of seeing them also sufficiently degraded; for at a certain stage the parts are reversed. These Jews, however hardened and hackneyed in their trade of hypocrisy, have yet, as well as Pilate, their tender point, at which they may be made to feel sore. They, too, have their scruples not quite so honest or generous as those of Pilate, but as sensitive when touched or trenched upon; and Pilate, their newally and confederate, having as little sympathy with their scruples as they had with his, has now the upper hand, and may, if he pleases, gratify himself by tantalizing and tormenting them. It may not be unprofitable to mark an instance or two of this strange and sad cross-fire illustrating the vulgar proverb of the biter bit; or, to use the more becoming scriptural phrase, "the wicked taken in their own snare, and falling into the pit they have themselves digged." I. There is much meaning in the last appeal which Pilate addresses to the Jews, evidently after he has made up his own mind, and apparently for the purpose of drawing them on to commit themselves more deeply than they might intend or wish: " And it was the preparation of the passover, and about the sixth hour: and he saith unto the Jews, Behold your king! But they cried out, Away with him, away with him, crucify him. Pilate saith unto them, Shall I crucify your king? The chief priests answered, We have no king but Caesar" (John 19:14-15). It is the day before the Sabbath, and it is getting far on towards noon. Much time has already been lost through Pilate’s long hesitation; and even now, when the hours are slipping by, he seems to be still trifling with them. Else why this new solemnity of bringing Jesus out, and presenting him to them as their king? and why this idle repetition of the appeal to them, "Shall I crucify your king?" Why waste words and put off the business of the day? As it is, the day is already too far spent. The Sabbath will be upon them before the work is done, and Jesus may escape somehow after all For though they have no scruples about ridding themselves of a preacher of righteousness, and of the righteousness which he preaches nay, though they think that in this way they are doing God service by no means will they, for all the world, have the thing done on the Sabbath. They had thought that they were safe from any such risk. They set about their task betimes in the morning. They summoned their own council at the high priest’s house while it was yet dark; and they came early enough thereafter to the governor’s palace. And if it had not been for the most unexpected obstacle which they met with there, tin’ whole affair might have been already over, and they might now be decently and devoutly composing their minds for the coming day of rest. For certainly they never dreamed of any conscientious difficulty in the quarter to which they applied. They never imagined that a Roman judge could have any feeling in such a matter, or that it would cost him a second thought to dispose of it, or let them dispose of it, as they chose. Much to their surprise and annoyance, they have been kept waiting all the forenoon, while Pilate has been conferring with Jesus, consulting Herod, and debating with himself. And now, when after much ado they have prevailed with him and got his sanction, it is barely possible to avoid encroaching on the Sabbath. And even yet Pilate seems to be manoeuvring and managing to gain time, coming slowly to the point, keeping Jesus still in his hands, repeating his idle and tedious appeals, renewing his formal and solemn protests, and shrinking from the last decisive step. In this irritating suspense they lose patience, they lose temper. Their usual cautious cunning deserts them. They let out more and more of their bitter hatred to Jesus: " Away with him, away with him, crucify him!’ Nor is this alL They are provoked to go farther in their avowal and asseveration of compliance with the Roman government than in a less hasty moment they would have ventured to do: " We have no king but Caesar;" ’We not only give up this pretender to the throne, but we renounce all claim at any time to independence. Not only is this man not our king, but never in any sense are we to have any king but Caesar. Not even our Messiah when he does come, as this Jesus professes to be our Messiah already come, not even the true Messiah is to be our king. Were these Jews seriously and soberly prepared to make this broad avowal in a calmer hour? Were they ready thus absolutely, unequivocally, and without restriction or reservation, to pledge themselves to Borne, to deny not only this Jesus as their Messiah, but the very hope of a Messiah altogether, to give a foreign tyranny so unlimited a hold over them, and abandon all their fondly cherished hopes of national glory, liberty, and power? No; but they had a purpose to serve. They were on the point of being baulked in a favourite scheme on which their heart was set. They were approaching the very verge of what they most punctiliously accounted sacred. They must, at all events, have Jesus crucified; and they must have him crucified in such time as not to interfere with the Sabbath. Ah, Pilate! thou art already well-nigh even with these Pharisees who have so hardly pressed thee. It may gratify thy most vindictive feelings, it might gratify the malice of the very fiend himself, to get this insight into the hearts of these men; to see them, as the trembling eagerness of their unholy passion contends with the miserable bondage of their superstitious formality, so simply betraying themselves, so rashly committing themselves to an extent far beyond all that in the first outset of this affair they could themselves have dreamed of. It is a triumph for hell itself, to see " the wicked snared in their own devices, and falling into the pit themselves have digged" II. And their own vain and impotent remonstrance when the blunder of their extravagant concession strikes them by way of after-thought, and Pilate keeps them rigidly to the letter of their admission serves to bring out still more palpably the sort of by-play between the parties in this crime of crucifying the Lord: " And Pilate wrote a title, and put it on the cross. And the writing was, JESUS OF NAZARETH THE KING OF THE JEWS. This title then read many of the Jews: for the place where Jesus was crucified was nigh to the city: and it was written in Hebrew, and Greek, and Latin. Then said the chief priests of the Jews to Pilate, Write not, The King of the Jews; but that he said, I am King of the Jews. Pilate answered, What I have written I have written" (John 19:19-22). And he answered shrewdly. For by this time the rulers of the Jews seem to have recovered their recollection, and they find that their Roman friend, their newally in this confederacy against Jesus, has somewhat outwitted them. He has taken them at their word, and has them pledged much deeper than they, on a moment’s more deliberate reflection, can well consent to be pledged. They would fain retrace their steps. They would retract or qualify what they have said; and at least contrive to have the case put not quite so strongly against them. Hence they propose a change in the inscription. The title, as Pilate wrote it, intimated that, even if Jesus were the rightful and hereditary king of the Jews, he might justly be condemned, because, by their own acknowledgment, they could now have no king of their own no king but Caesar. They would have it modified so as to involve an admission that there might be a king of the Jews, and to declare merely that this Jesus was not that king. The crime of Jesus, as Pilate expressed it, was, that even if he were by right the king of the Jews, even allowing the soundness and legitimacy of his claim, he should have asserted that claim at all. His crime, as the Jews would now have it explained, was merely that his claim was false. They would now have him crucified as pretending to be their king. Pilate crucified him as actually being their king: thereby declaring, not only that one wrongfully usurping the title, but that even one having an undoubted personal right to it, if he ventured to avow and exercise it, might, on the ground of the allegiance which the Jews owed to the Roman emperor, be justly put to death. And this the Jews themselves had virtually allowed, " We have no king but Caesar." It was too late, therefore, for them now to attempt to draw back; Pilate had them committed. ’ " He said, I am king of the Jews" so now you would have the accusation run. He said! nay, it was yourselves who said it. You expressly admitted that, even if he were your king, you disowned him. For you gave him over to me, not on the ground of his claiming falsely to be your king, but on the broad general ground of your having no king but Caesar. By that admission you must be held bound, even though now you may seek to escape from some of its consequences that you did not formerly advert to. You told me I might crucify your king, because you had no king but Csesar. You appealed to my fidelity as a deputy to Csesar: " If thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar’s friend/’ And you will find me faithful at least to the full extent of your own most loyal and most dutiful acknowledgment. Has not Pilate the better of them here? And do not they, with their after-thoughts, make as poor and miserable a figure as Pilate with his scruples beforehand? They first sought to entrap him, and carry him along with them in a course in which they needed his concurrence; and now they find that, in their eager haste to accomplish this, they have themselves gone much farther than they meant to go in the way of denying and disavowing their own promised and expected Messiah. Thus the wicked and the worldly become entangled in their own schemes, and put it in the power often of the weakest of their accomplices to unmask them. Thus you may be apt to pledge yourselves unwarily to the world. Having still some religious profession, such as it is, you would not engage in what is altogether inconsistent with it. In your practical opposition to serious godliness, and in your approaches and applications to the ungodly, you would save, as far as possible, that measure of faith, or of formality, which even yet you hold to be essential, -just as these Jews, in their persecution of Jesus and their flattery of Caesar, would fain reserve their hope of such a Messiah and such a king as might suit their views. So you would persuade yourselves, and, it may be, others too, whom you wish to go along with you, that it is not religion itself that you are sacrificing in the course which you follow, but only some extravagant and unreasonable mode of it. But, unluckily, in courting others you may be apt to betray and to commit yourselves. And a shrewd man of the world may soon clearly enough perceive, that however you may pretend or profess to be merely giving up this or that form or fashion of religion, yon are really quite willing to give up religion altogether; that, in fact, you are prepared to do so, to go the full length of preferring the world to God; and that, not merely in reference to the claims which this or that particular power or principle might have over you, but in reference to the claims of any other power or principle whatsoever, besides himself, the prince of this world has really nothing to fear. You may be desirous, on reflection, of keeping yourselves free, to render a certain kind of homage to some ideal lord, when he shall come to demand it. But meanwhile, and practically,* to all intents and purposes you are the subjects of Caesar alone; and the servant of Caesar is shrewd enough to perceive it. And will the world be slow to take advantage of what is thus let out, and to interpret in the largest sense your giving up of your own King, and your avowal of allegiance to its prince? You may attempt to explain, and limit, and modify; you may wish to make it appear that, after all, in the particular instance in question, it is not real godliness that you are compromising or conceding, but only what may sometimes, though too strictly, be called godliness, or what unwarrantably professes to be godliness, not the King of the Jews, but one who said he was the King of the Jews. But, alas! the spirit which you evince is the spirit of unreserved submission to the world and its prince. You too clearly show, by what you give up now, that, if required, you would give up all, that not only one saying that he is your king, but your king himself, if need be, would be sacrificed. Nay, is it not in fact your King that you are sacrificing? Is it not godliness itself that you are compromising? Then of what worth or avail is the vain qualification which you would now attach to your concession? Why make any reservation in favour of any religion, when all religion, or at least all its real and living spirit, is substantially gone? The Jews would have it written that he whom they crucified said he was their king; as if, had he been really their king, they would not so have treated him! But this shift could stand them in no stead. It was their King, after all, whom they crucified; and therefore Pilate did them no wrong when he answered, " What I have written I have written/’ III. There is still one other feature worthy of illustration in this record of the poor and pitiful position in which these Jewish persecutors of the Lord found themselves. It is their final application to Pilate, as their victim hung upon the cross: " The Jews therefore, because it was the preparation, that the bodies should not remain upon the cross on the Sabbath-day, (for that Sabbath-day was an high day,) besought Pilate that their legs might be broken, and that they might be taken away" (John 19:31). Mark here the wretched superstition of these hypocrites, at the mercy as the} 7 are now of the very man, all whose better scruples they themselves have assailed and overcome! As evening draws on apace, and the Sabbath is about to begin, the Jews are again troubled by the thought of that holy day being desecrated; more especially as this Sabbath-day is a high day, a great festival, distinguished as* the principal Sabbath of the paschal feast. It must be observed, therefore, with peculiar solemnity; its rest must be undisturbed, and its sanctity unviolated. But here are three crosses at the city gate, a most unseemly profanation of the holy season. Here is a work of death going on, by which its repose is broken; for the punishment of the cross is lingering* and many hours may elapse before the sufferers are relieved from their horrid agony. What, then, is to be done? Some speedier mode of despatching them must be resorted to, in mercy, perhaps? to shorten the period of their excruciating pains? Nay, for that matter, they might have been left to hang as long as nature could sustain them. But the Sabbath must be kept holy! And who, it might be asked, who exposed it to the risk of desecration? who but these very Jews themselves, in their haste to shed innocent blood? ’ It is a dismal work. Let it be all got over, and let every trace of it be effaced, before the peaceful Sabbath eve sets in/ Ah! are your hearts misgiving you? Are your consciences smiting you? Do you secretly feel that fraud and murder are but sorry preparations for religious duty? Nay, no such suspicion disturbs your self-complacency but the Sabbath the Sabbath! Blessed day! that such enormous and unblushing criminality should shelter itself under colour of respect and reverence for thee! that men, dead to every holy feeling, every kind affection, should pretend to know thy value, and to love and honour thee! These Pharisees, were they men of like passions with their fellows, that, in the midst of a crisis so awful, they were wholly occupied with such punctilios? The heavens were darkened, the earth convulsed, the rocks riven, the vail of the temple rent in twain. He who hung upon the cross, meanwhile, patiently enduring anguish, insult, and outrage, was uttering mysterious words of sovereign and gracious consolation to his fellow-sufferer, of most pathetic complaint to his God! Yet none of these things moved the Pharisees. Their only care was to get the whole business over, and all the apparatus of torture and the dead bodies taken away, no matter where, before the hour of the opening Sabbath should come. And when it did come, they would compose themselves for a due observance of all their Sabbath ritual with serene, self-satisfied vsolemnity, as if nothing extraordinary had marked that preparation-day, as if they had not gazed on the agony of One with whose mysterious sufferings heaven and earth sympathized, and had not themselves uttered the fearful imprecation, " His blood be on us, and on our children." Now, surely when these men thus anew applied to Pilate for such a purpose as this, they must have appeared to him in an aspect abundantly humiliating. Here again, they who pressed him so importunately are at his mercy, they who overbore with their clamour all his conscientious scruples, are now fain to come to him with certain scruples of their own. In the morning of this very day they seemed to be troubled with no tender feelings, to be above all the weaknesses of ordinary human nature, to have no fear no reverence no remorse. They were bold and reckless. They would shrink from nothing themselves. They had no allowance for any sensitiveness in others. They seemed to acknowledge no restraint of justice or of pity. Before the gratification of their passions, and the attainment of their ends of policy, they would make all things give way. And now these very men are in utter consternation at the very idea of even a hairbreadth deviation from the letter of a positive institution. The deed itself did not hurt their conscience; but that it should all be over in good time for their Sabbath devotions, this was a point of infinite moment to their peace I Pilate, however, is more indulgent to them than they had been to him. They had shown little regard for his compunctions. They would not wait his time. They hurried him on without reflection, and made him consent to an act of wrong from which his soul all the while recoiled Fairly might he now have retorted upon them. Why should he accelerate or interfere with the ordinary course of justice for their accommodation? What has he to do with their Sabbath, or with the possibility of this execution encroaching on its sanctity? That is their concern alone. It was they who clamoured for it, and insisted on it al] the morning; and if it came too near the Sabbath, it was their own doing, and what was it to him? But the easy Koman is more good-natured than they might have expected to find him. He is willing to relieve them out of the difficulty in which they are involved. He has no wish to offend their religious feelings, by all means let the horrid work of death be shortened. Let the criminals be despatched at once. Their sufferings will be the less, and the consciences of these honest and religious Jews will be saved! Thus with something like contempt Pilate must have heard and granted this request. He could scarcely give them credit for real sincerity in their religion. After all that he had seen of them, he could have no great opinion of their piety, however he might smile at their superstition, or hate their hypocrisy. What, indeed, could be the impression made upon this worldly prince by such ostentatious affectation of a regard for holy ordinances on the part of those who had so lately denied the Holy One and the Just, and demanded a murderer to be given to them? What could be the effect, but altogether to disparage in his eyes these holy ordinances themselves, and confirm him in the notion that all punctual observance of sacred duties, all scrupulous adherence to sacred laws, all godliness itself, in short, with its holy exercises and duties, was but a fond dream, or a vain pretence? Alas! how apt are the men of this world to turn to such account as this the inconsistencies of those who profess to be religious! How much encouragement do they derive in their own neglect of sacred things, from the apparent falsehood or infirmity of those who more devoutly regard them! How easy is it for a man, witnessing in those who themselves too plainly neglect, and who have no scruple in leading others to neglect, the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith, witnessing in such characters not a little punctiliousness in the regular discharge of certain pious offices, how easy is it for such a man, and how natural, to rush at once to a conclusion, and indiscriminately to condemn, or to despise, alike the offices themselves and those who so discharge them! So it might have been with Pilate; and not without some considerable show of reason, or some plausible excuse, at least, if he had had these Jews alone to deal with. He might have justified himself, by their vile hypocrisy, in now at last dismissing for ever those serious thoughts which had, in all this dark business, been harassing and distracting him. He might have got rid of his uneasy misgivings, and settled down again into the peace and quietness of scornful or sceptical indifference. So it might have been, but that God in his wise providence having, it would seem, determined not to leave himself in this man’s soul without a witness, and not to leave him with any apology for his sin brought him, on this very same night, into contact with one that feared God after quite another fashion from these Jews. For so it was ordered, that scarcely had these Pharisees left his presence, these hypocrites, whose baseness might well occasion, and almost warrant, some emotions of indignation and disgust against all that they contaminated with their touch, scarcely had they left his presence, when a man of another stamp came in upon another errand. Joseph of Arimathea is introduced; a devout man, likely to place devotion in a better and truer light before this prince: " And after this Joseph of Arimathea, being a disciple of Jesus, but secretly for fear of the Jews, besought Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus: and Pilate gave him leave. He came therefore, and took the body of Jesus" (John 19:38). This Joseph, too, as well as the chief priests, scrupulously and punctiliously respects the Sabbath. He too is in haste to have his work concluded ere the Sabbath sets in. But what is the work on which he is intent? Not such a work as they had on hand, but a work of faith and labour of love. They came to dishonour Jesus, by adding yet new outrages to all that they had already inflicted; he to honour him, by reverently consigning him to the tomb. They wanted him taken away and put aside ere the Sabbath should commence; but where, or how, they cared not. With what indignities he might be treated, how his bones might be scattered and left to bleach among the skulls from which the place got its name, what was all that to them, so as only they got through their customary Sabbath routine? Joseph, too, wishes the body of Jesus taken away before the Sabbath; but with what different treatment! with fragrant spices, and comely burial service, and the laying of it in a sepulchre wherein was never man yet laid (John 19:38-42). Thus, to counteract in Pilate’s mind the impression which hard-hearted hypocrisy had made, there is presented to his view an instance of truest and tenderest devotion. Pilate had been struck with reverence and awe as he gazed on the Lord’s unspeakable majesty, and heard his words of gracious authority and truth; he had begun to think that this might be a divine person, and the thought had troubled him during the whole pleading by which he was at last persuaded or constrained to give him up. When he saw, however, this holy and heavenly being left alone in his dying hour, deserted, and apparently scorned, by all; when he saw, especially, that he was to be recklessly cast aside as a worthless thing by men who made a great profession of strictness in religion; when, in their usage of this Just One, he perceived the offensive and most repulsive union of bitter malice and base cruelty with the most imposing sanctity of mien and manners; what more natural than that he should relapse into a state of hardened, indifferent unconcern? as if all the things which had ever moved him to serious thought were to be regarded as little better than solemn mockery or imposition. But he is not thus to be given over. He is not to have such a plea or pretence for his unbelief as the conduct of these Jews might seem to furnish. He is to have a specimen of true piety as well as of its counterfeit. He is to know that there can be such a thing as an honestly religious man, a punctual observer of the Sabbath, and, at the same time, upright, merciful, compassionate, one who can testify his love to Jesus when all else forsake him, one giving such simple and affectionate proof of his real attachment as may well touch Pilate’s heart again, and go far to awaken once more his sentiments of reverence and awe. Great, in this view, is the value of a single Joseph of Arimathea amid a crowd of frivolous or formal Pharisees. Great the good that he may do, most precious the testimony which he may bear, and the example which he may show, by counteracting the unfavourable impressions which less consistent or less straightforward professors of religion leave on careless, and even on thoughtful minds; by reviving feelings of admiration or of love for the gospel, which the conduct of some of its disciples may have stifled or blunted; by appealing to the sympathies of men who, though not thoroughly religious themselves, can yet appreciate religious excellences and graces in others; by removing prejudices, and presenting the beauty of holiness in its own fair and honourable aspect, apart from the colourings which less hearty and ingenuous characters may manage to throw over it. Such a one may do much to keep alive salutary convictions, obviate misapprehensions, and conciliate favour; and if his testimony issues not in the conversion of those before whom it is exhibited, it serves at least to rescue the blessed gospel of Christ from those unworthy imputations under which the ungodly would fain seek to shelter their rejection of it. Pilate may still harden his heart and resist the striving of the Spirit of God with his conscience; but the fact is not without meaning and it has a solemn bearing on his state of mind and ultimate responsibility that, amid all that he saw of human wickedness and weakness in the close contact into which he was brought with those who called themselves the people of God, the first image certain to rise up in Pilate’s memory, whenever he retraced these scenes, must have been the venerable look and language of authority with which the Lord himself appealed to him; and his last recoUection must have been that of Joseph of Arimathea coming in to beseech him that he might take away the body of Jesus for an honourable burial. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 60: 05.19. XIX. THE CASE OF PILATE A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. ======================================================================== XIX. THE CASE OF PILATE A WARNING AGAINST RESISTING THE SPIRIT. WE are unwilling to leave the subject of Pilate’s character and conduct, without attempting to apply it more particularly and practically than we have yet done to ourselves. For there are many Pilates still among us; and many occasions on which the Lord Jesus, if not personally, yet as represented in his cause, his gospel, and his people, comes before them for trial and judgment. And it may be interesting and profitable to observe how far, in such circumstances, our modern Pilates follow the winding track of their sorely harassed and desperately hunted predecessor of old. Let us trace, then, a parallel case. Instead of Pilate, let us place on the bench an individual of the present day; and let each reader conceive that "he is the man." Jesus comes before you to be tried; and his adversaries, the world, the devil, and the flesh, press for a sentence of condemnation. In plain language, the claims of serious religion, or vital godliness, are pressed upon you in a form and with an urgency which you find it difficult to evade. You are called upon, in a manner more peremptory than usual, to decide between God and Mammon. You are shut up to the necessity of choosing whom you will serve. This crisis may arise in a variety of ways, either in reference to the general question of your condition and character before God, or in reference to some particular point of practical detail which brings that question specially to an issue. You are living, and you have been living perhaps all your days, in a state of quiet and secure indifference; satisfied with a respectable routine of religious forms and moral decencies, and giving yourselves little concern about any deeper movement of soul, such as some might consider necessary to your being enrolled among the true followers of the Lamb. You hear, indeed, of proceedings in certain quarters, and among a certain class, which seem to indicate a very different tone of religious feeling from anything with which you are familiar. You hear and read of convictions and awakenings, of changes and conversions, of intense excitement, of extraordinary emotions both of joy and sorrow, of earnest meditation, of burning zeal, of things, in short, which show that the question which you take so easily and settle so smoothly, is found by others to be more engrossing, more agitating, more spirit-stirring. You regard these things, however, as a mere idler might listen to the strange news of revolutions in other lands, scarcely knowing what to make of them, scarcely caring to know; or as Pilate might superciliously catch some floating rumour bandied in his vacant court-circle, respecting Him who was creating such a stir in Jerusalem. But something occurs to bring the matter home to you. Suddenly you find Jesus the gospel or the cause of Jesus standing before you. And who, or what, has brought him? Perhaps your own conscience, half awakened, or your worldly inclinations, your worldly lusts. These have taken the alarm. Jesus the gospel or the cause of Jesus is interfering with your allegiance to the master whom they serve, the world, or the prince of the world. This religion is like to be troublesome. It is advancing very high and paramount claims, claims, as these advisers would fain represent them to you, incompatible even with the just and lawful demands of this world’s necessary business. On this plea and charge, these accusers these worldly lusts of yours or, it may be, worldly companions flattering your lusts virtually bring the religion of Jesus to your bar, and press you summarily to dispose of it? Like Pilate, perhaps, you would gladly enough avoid the necessity of taking up the case at all. You shrink from the question, and are shy of meddling with it, you would rather keep this whole matter at a distance. You have a sort of uncomfortable feeling that it does not lie quite in your way; that the discussion of it might not be altogether to your taste; and that, if you once entertained it, you might not easily get rid of it. But then, on the other hand, there is great importunity, not to be beaten off, in the demand made on you for a decision. At this stage, it may be an importunity all on one side. There may be no very urgent pleading, no, very close striving, as yet, in favour of religion. The Lord may as yet be silent. But his enemies your sins, and the world’s vanities are clamorous; for they have taken the alarm. They see that if the high authority which religion claims is to be acknowledged, or even tolerated, it strikes at the root of their power; and this or the other darling attachment must be sacrificed, this or the other favourite indulgence must go. Therefore they press for your decision against that authority. It is true, they may not venture to avow their real motive and design, any more than the Jewish rulers ventured to do before Pilate. They did not tell Pilate that they wished to get rid of Jesus bedause he was destroying their influence and exposing their arts: that would have been too plain speaking. They went about the matter more warily, more wilily. And on the same principle, it might be too plain speaking in those lusts and pleasures which regard Jesus as their enemy, to let you understand at once what they would have, or to avow that they hate him because he condemns them. It is not thus that you are to be managed, and, if possible, "hardened through the deceitfulness of sin/’ No; these plausible Jewish hypocrites sink the offence against themselves, and are only anxious lest Caesar’s lawful power be touched. And so the plea still is, that Jesus and his cross or rather, that Jesus and his crown would threaten even what is lawful in this world, its lawful and necessary pursuits, or its lawful and necessary pleasures. Yes; the fear is, that these high and uncompromising views of Christ’s authority, as so paramount and so holy, are carrying matters decidedly too far, and encroaching upon every other province, and engrossing and swallowing up all things. It is plain that, if this kind of religion is to prevail, the world is at a stand. Such is the charge which certain secret sins in the heart, or certain open flatterers in the world, towards whom you have a lurking bias, and who have gained an ascendency over you certain solicitors with whom you are inclined to comply certain habits which, almost for very necessity, you are fain to indulge may be urging against that godliness which, as they are beginning to suspect, would reprove and denounce them. And they may be insisting on the plea importunately, in the hope that you may be at once persuaded to acquiesce in the accusation and give sentence accordingly. I. Well, and what is the first step in the process? You have no great objection to do what is asked. You would willingly enough dispose of the whole matter by coming to the abrupt conclusion that this allegation against all serious religion at least against a religion so very serious as that in question is substantially well founded; that it will not do for this world; that it does involve danger to the quiet and orderly course of this world; and that it must, therefore, be sacrificed. Thus you would decide, your sympathies and predilections, as yet, being all against such a religion. Your interest as well as your inclination leads you to leave unmolested those principles and passions opposed to religion, which, if you do not positively desire to gratify, you are, at any rate, not prepared to mortify and offend. But you cannot altogether evade the necessity of at least appearing to deliberate. You cannot quite drown your instinctive sense of what is due to the claims which are pressed upon you. There is a time for reflection. You have to enter into your closet, and Jesus follows you there. And, however unseasonable and inconvenient the interruption of your business or your gaiety may be, you are constrained in your own mind to look a little into this religion of Jesus, and let its voice, however faintly, enter the ear of conscience. And here the hollowness of the pretence on which the first insidious charge against it is urged, must soon become apparent. You quickly perceive that the plea of interference with anything really useful or lawful in the world cannot be sustained. A single word of explanation on the part of our Lord satisfied Pilate that his imperial master had nothing to fear. And you too, in the like case, however willing to be imposed upon, cannot fail to see through "the deceitfulness of sin/’ You are not at all disinclined, at the instigation of sin, or of some of its vain and worldly allies and friends, to get rid at once of this religion, whose very presence is troublesome, by finding that it must necessarily in practice be compromised, for the sake of this world’s peace and this world’s indispensable calls. But you cannot easily satisfy yourself that you are quite justified in doing so. Conscience, the judge, detects the partial counsel of the accusers. Almost in spite of yourself you are convinced that the character of this religion, so pure, so spiritual, and so holy, is such as not only must prevent any undue interference with a single lawful claim which anything in this world can have over you, but must even, on the contrary, impart a new sanction and a new sacredness to them all. Nay more, you cannot but suspect that it is this very character that makes the world’s sins and vanities so clamorous against it. And then, its twofold claim of sovereignty and of truth begins to arrest you. Jesus is King; and he is the Witness of the Truth. It is with authority that he speaks, and there is an impression made by his emphatic and peremptory demand upon your faith, such as is not easily shaken off. You cannot but feel that there must be, that there is, more in this religion than you at first imagined. You cannot dispose of its claims so summarily as might suit your convenience, and that of your worldly lusts. No! You have an idea now that it may be mystical, visionary, fanatical; but whatever it may be, it has got a hold over you. It has taken possession of you; so that, at all events, it cannot be put down by any false pretence in regard to its interference with other claims. Such a pretence might once have led you to think some sacrifice of religion’s high demands excusable, at least, if not absolutely indispensable; but it will not avail you now. II. What, then, is next to be done? Send the question to your neighbour, and take his opinion. It concerns him as much as you, perhaps a little more. It is in Herod’s jurisdiction; let Herod judge. Yes! Try, if you can, to devolve upon another the responsibility of determining this matter. See if some worldly friend, or, still better, if some worldly enemy, will keep you in countenance, and take away from you the blame. And if possible let him be one who has been better acquainted with these things than you, who has at one time entertained godliness at his court, or in his house, and has been accustomed to hear it gladly. If such a one now mocks it, and sets it at nought, if he scoffs, at this religion, or at its professors, his levity may somewhat relieve and dissipate your growing seriousness. And this seasonable relief administered by him to you may make you great friends! Ah! how many intimacies are thus cemented between individuals, otherwise most uncongenial to one another. Herod and Pilate had little in their respective characters, and little in their previous histories, to bring them together. Herod was probably too impetuous and headstrong, Pilate too reserved and too refined, to admit of much cordiality between the fastidious Roman courtier and the ruder Galilean tyrant. They had mutually offended one another; they were at outstanding enmity and open quarrel. But a common cause, or rather a common distress, made brothers of them. They were both rendered uneasy by having to deal with Jesus, Herod by his old recollections, Pilate by his new convictions. Hence the reconciliation between Pilate and one whom otherwise he would have hated or despised; Herod seemed to give him countenance and support in his attempt to get rid of this troublesome case. And is not this the explanation of too many of this world’s friendships, as well as of much of that complacency and admiration with which we see some highly gifted individuals regard those who in every valuable endowment are far inferior to themselves, for whom, indeed, and for whose sentiments and manners, except on this most deplorable ground of union, they could have no toleration? Is it not thus that we must account for a certain delight which even persons of some good taste and good feeling take in the coarse scandal or the profane levity of loose companions, who, in a style of writing or conversation that would otherwise be most offensive, use familiar liberties with sacred subjects and serious men, to the implied disparagement of all sacredness and seriousness together? Is it not that, ill at ease, and not satisfied in their own minds, they derive a certain courage and confidence from seeing how others, better acquainted perhaps with these matters than they can pretend to be, are yet free to treat with every kind of contempt what has made them tremble and stand in awe? If Herod, who knows such cases so much more intimately, as being himself, after a sort, a Jew, once professing a kind of devotion, the friend of a holy man, understood to have repented of the wrong he did in beheading him, if Herod and his men of war set Jesus at nought, it ma}’ the less hurt the conscience of a Gentile unbeliever to treat his cause with indifference, and count his death a trifle. Still, where there is conviction of any depth at all, the conscience may not be so easily satisfied. Herod, after all, though he has insulted Jesus, has not judged him. The case is still undisposed of, and in all its urgency it comes back upon Pilate once more. Ah! you would often be glad to find a temporary expedient for keeping serious thought away, by lending an ear to the vain and flippant cavils of those who, dealing in smart remarks, or in the light and frivolous irreverence of tale-bearers and busy-bodies, substitute mere wit for argument, and settle the most momentous questions by a personal hit or a party jest. But criticising or mocking the godly does not really get rid of the claims of godliness. Neither you nor your friends have yet decided the cause. Jesus is still there, claiming sovereignty and witnessing truth. His adversaries the lusts and passions which he condemns still require you to give him up. And, in spite of raillery and ridicule in spite of all that might make you easy and indifferent about the matter you have your own misgivings and relentings. You cannot bring yourself altogether to renounce or sacrifice your reverence for religion, or make an entire surrender of your religious feelings and scruples, to the sins, the follies, and vanities of the world. These, therefore, or your own lusts flattered and stirred up by them, are still unsatisfied. They persevere in their demand that you should come to some decision in regard to this serious call of godliness, such a decision as may prevent its troubling them any more. What, then, is to be done? III. Try what a compromise will do. You will not decide positively in favour of this religion; but neither will you decide peremptorily against it. You will leave the matter undetermined; you will simply let Jesus alone. He shall escape the last sentence of death; but it shall be merely by sufferance, and of grace. You will take advantage of some fair and plausible excuse for not actually proceeding to extremities against his cause, or against his people; such an excuse as cannot well subject you to the suspicion of fully sanctioning either it or them. The decent custom of the season, ordinary civility, mere routine, may explain what you say or do in favour of godliness, or of its statutory observances; and you will not be committed on either side. Well, and will this satisfy the world that is pleading so urgently for the Lord’s condemnation, or those worldly desires which have gained such an ascendency over you? Will they be contented with this declaration of neutrality? Will they accept of this proposal of a middle course? You do not intend to pledge yourself rashly to the principles and the practices of the godly. You are not prepared to go all lengths with them in their extreme strictness and severity. You have no wish to take up what is called a religious profession, and to be marked out as a religious character. No! by no means. There is nothing to be apprehended on that score. Your worldly friends need not take the alarm so fast. You will not offend them. You will not separate yourself from them. And your worldly lusts may, in the meanwhile, rest assured that there is no great risk of your sacrificing any of them that are really dear to you, to your new religious sensibility. At the same time, you cannot bring your mind to declare wholly against this religion. There may be something, after all, in its high and uncompromising claim of sovereignty and of truth. There are some features in it which you admire, others which you fear, a few which you almost love. You cannot join in sweeping censures and denunciations against it. You cannot summarily conclude that it is all folly and madness. You may be allowed at least to treat it civilly. Thus the case remains in suspense. And surely this understanding might appease the distressing strife. Surely your worldly habits, and worldly counsellors and tempters, need not ask more than this. Nay, but it is not enough for them that you are not for Christ. It is not enough if you are not against him; for otherwise you are not wholly theirs. They would have you to be entirely their own, to go along with them heartily and fully, not with hesitation and reluctance, not with misgivings and scruples, not like one " fleeing when no man pursueth," and "in great fear where no fear is," but boldly and frankly. This halting, therefore, will not do. Even so measured and cautious a toleration of godliness they will not endure. You may put it to them, as an alternative, whether they will have serious religion allowed and countenanced even to so limited an extent, and on so guarded a footing, or have open profanity and profligacy let loose. You may put the very hesitating and halting regard you would still have paid to Christ, on the ground of its being preferable to the license of evil, which otherwise is to be chosen. They will almost take their risk of a jail-delivery of all crime, rather than let the religion which they dislike have free scope and play. Even if the choice I between Christ and Barabbas, they will choose Barabbas, though Barabbas be a robber. What, then, is next to be tried? IV. Make yet another experiment. Make the experiment of concession, and see if that will succeed. Give them, if not the cloak, at least the coat. Go with them a mile. Let Jesus, in pain and mockery, be crowned, and robed, and smitten. Perhaps that measure of compliance will content the Jews! Yes, you will overcome your scruples so far as to allow certain liberties to be taken with religion. The profane and worldly, when they treat it with levity, can now sometimes win a smile from you. Nay, you have so much of a kind of sympathy with them as to be rather pleased than otherwise to see unseasonable gravity and sanctimonious gloom somewhat rudely handled, and solemn professors made sport of. But beyond this you are not at all inclined to go. For your secret uneasiness is increasing; you have more and more disquieting apprehensions; you have your dreams and omens, your warnings and visitations. You tremble more and more at the extremity to which you are likely to be hurried. Still you cannot extricate yourself from the toils which the deceitfulness of sin, and this vain world, have cast around you. You are involved with those who are carrying their violence against religion to the most implacable extremes; you are committed to Christ’s enemies; and any concession that you may make only emboldens them to insist on more. But if they will thus insist on going so much farther than you can approve of, you can wash your hands, you can protest against their guilt; you, at least, are not to be blamed. Most miserable delusion, most deplorable infatuation, of this wretched and hollow truce between light and darkness, between Christ and Belial! You wash your hands! you protest your innocence! Idle ceremony! empty and hypocritical words! What! do you not continue still associated with the very parties whose proceedings, as you now acknowledge, are becoming offensive and alarming? Do you come out from among them? When you discover whither they are really hurrying you, do you break with them at once? No! you give them still the right hand of fellowship and the embrace of brotherhood; and, however you may save yourself by feebly protesting and washing your hands, you smile on them, you court them, you flatter them! Most melancholy dream! And not more melancholy than false and vain! For meanwhile the world and your sins are not contented. They still press for a more explicit condemnation of Christ and his gospel. They take advantage of the compromise which you have proposed, and the concession which you have made, and they urge with greater importunity their demand, " Crucify him! Away with him! " Your uneasiness increases, your perplexity, your pain. The strife becomes more deadly. And a surmise, or a hint, as to the true nature of it comes out. Jesus must be got rid of, because he claims to be the Son of God I Here is the secret cause of offence, the real ground of opposition to him. He is a King and a Witness to the Truth; a King whose authority may not be set aside, a Witness whose testimony may not be rejected, because he is the Son of God. He claims to be so; and they who would have him crucified let out at last that it is on account of this claim they would away with him. V. Thus, as the prolonged struggle begets impatience and irritation, the mask at last drops, and the deep source of the outcry against Jesus comes out. The adversaries lose their self-possession, and, pressing for a decision, show what really is at the bottom of their enmity, and what it is in his claims that most provokes them, he makes himself the Son of God. The judge also, taking the alarm anew once more tossed on a sea of doubt, and not knowing what to make of the expressive and emphatic silence of the accused loses temper, and affects to end the whole by a mere bravado and boast of power: ’Am I not the master of this King this Son of God. May I not use my discretion in disposing of him and his pretensions? Have I not power to condemn and power to release, as I see fit?’ In the instance of Pilate, this menace is the last and impotent struggle of an uneasy conscience sorely and hardly pressed by convictions and appeals to which it will not submit, and of which it cannot get rid. It is an affectation or assumption of bravery which he does not really feel, a desperate effort to cover or to overcome, by an ostentatious attitude of defiance, the secret misgivings of a quailing spirit. The feeblest victim of the chase, when, after all his shiftings and windings, he is brought at last to stand at bay, will turn upon his pursuers and emit some expiring flashes of rage. Baited and maddened by the prolonged pursuit, he will face his unrelenting foes and give fight ere he yields and dies. So the poor sinner, whom the claims of religion are dogging so closely and importunately at his heels, after vainly seeking to evade or to escape from them, becomes petulant and indignant, and almost thinks that he does well to be angry! Is there to be no end of this annoyance? Is he to be thus harassed for ever? And now when he would bring the matter to a point, and therefore puts an explicit question, "Whence art thou?" he receives no answer Jesus is silent. Has he not a right to be vexed? And why, after all, should he suffer his peace to be disturbed when he can put an end to the whole question at once? Why continue to be dunned by the solicitations of these Jews; and, especially, why allow one who is wholly at his mercy to keep him thus endlessly on the rack of a painful suspense? He will change his tone. What! has he not a right, after all, to take his own way, and do as he pleases? He will settle the affair off-hand, and so have done with it. A state of mind like this is more common than some may be ready to suppose, when men attempt, as it were, to face down the uncomfortable remonstrances and suggestions of conscience, and by putting on, as it is called, a bold front, abruptly end internal deliberations of which they are weary. This is seen in their way of dealing with the general question of religion’s claims upon them, as well as with particular questions of duty which arise in regard to their employment of their time:iul talents. The flesh, with its lusts and passions; the world, with its deceitful pleasures; the devil, with his seductive wiles; all come and clamorously demand that you make a sacrifice to them of your religious principles, and give up, as incompatible with the actual condition of life, that vital godliness which, however good in itself, seems too visionary to be here realized. On the other hand, the Son of God stands before you; and though he does not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the streets; though, he is led as a Lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth, his very silence awes the conscience. And the heart too is sometimes touched, when, meek and lowly in heart himself, he says, " Come unto me, ye weary." At such seasons, you feel as if you were more than half inclined to comply at once with the affectionate call, and end the strife of your soul by casting yourself unreservedly into his arms, and consenting to be wholly his. You almost wish that you could make up your mind to be fairly and thoroughly religious, and to cast in your lot with the godly. But again you are pressed on the other side. You are peremptorily and importunately solicited to let religion go, and accommodate yourself to the world; and they who solicit you will not easily take a denial. You are in straits, you are at a loss, what is to be done? And here there is a fallacy into which you are very prone to fall the very fallacy by which Pilate deceived himself into the idea that he had ground of complaint against the Lord Jesus, when he said, " Speakest thou not unto me?" This same religion, that so urges you, will not speak so articulately as you would wish. It seems to present its claims to you in a form too vague and indefinite. You want something more precise and explicit: ’ Who is it, after all, that you are? What is it that you would have? " How long dost thou hold us in suspense? If thou be the Christ, tell us plainly." ’ For there is no feature in the gospel which more sorely perplexes and provokes unrenewed and worldly men than this alleged indistinctness. The demands which it makes have a certain character of large, vast, and unlimited extent, which they cannot easily grasp. If it were something more specific and more tangible that it asked, they would know better how to deal with it. Hence, to such persons, even the most painful system of penance, and the most burdensome routine of forms, will be more intelligible and more welcome than the free grace of the gospel. They desire a religion which will just tell them at once what is to be done, and then let them alone. They wish to know the utmost range of its claims upon them, that they may get through what is necessary to meet them, and then be free. They feel always as if, in pressing upon them the gospel, we were not coming to the point as if we were dealing in vague generalities. They call for something more particular and practical Just prescribe to them at once, in so many precise terms, their creed and their task what they are to believe, and what they are to do and so let there be an end of it. This is the very longing, this is the very craving, of the natural mind, which Popery is so skilfully contrived to satisfy. It relieves men of the responsibility of an indefinite obligation in religion; it exacts from them the acknowledgment of a certain formal authority, and the fulfilment of certain formal conditions, and, as to all beyond, it simply lets them off. This is what men seek, to have the claims of religion put into a tangible shape, and marked out by exact limits; and for this they will consent to pay a very considerable price, in the way of service or of sacrifice, to any church that will thus define and circumscribe their duty. In fact, this is the religion which, in whatever church, men commonly try to make for themselves. You have your statutory or customary round of duty to which you bind yourself a certain decent acquiescence in the form of sound words which you hear, a certain measure of attendance on outward ordinances, a certain reverence for things sacred, and a punctual performance of certain pious offices. So much as this, religion seems fairly entitled to require; and, having so far acknowledged and complied with its requirements, you would fain be let alone and suffered to take your ease. And so you might take your ease, but for the apprehension which ever and anon haunts you, that there may, after all, be something more in the gospel than this that there may be some depth which you have not yet fathomed. The very enemies of true religion suggest to you this apprehension. They let out their jealousy of the Lord Jesus because he is the Son of God. You cannot help suspecting that there must be more in his claims than at first appeared, since so strong a feeling of dislike on their part is manifested; especially when you experience the difficulty of any compromise, and perceive how hard it is to reconcile the importunate demands of the world with anything like respect and reverence for religion, or the safe preservation of any of its life in your souL You begin to be convinced that it may be a very different kind and amount of homage that it requires from any that you have hitherto thought of rendering. Jesus stands before you, the King, the Witness to the Truth, the Son of God. May he not have rights in you, and over you, to an extent hitherto unrecognised and unconceived? But here again the complaint comes in of the vague and indefinite character of what he claims. There is an air of mystery about him. He does not speak out plainly and explicitly enough. You are unhappy, uneasy, dissatisfied, angry. You have the idea of some unknown discovery which it may deeply concern you to make, some unknown heavenly majesty with which you ought to be acquainted. But you know not how to proceed, or to which hand to turn. This religion of which you hear so much, what precisely, and whence is it? What, definitely, would it have of you? It will not further explain itself. But still there it stands, and the solemn impression of its high and undefined authority remains, and cannot be got rid of. What, in these circumstances, is to be done? Weary of this uncertainty, provoked by this apparent mystery, you determine to break up the useless conference, to break off the unsatisfactory negotiation. After all, this religion is a matter under your own power. It rests with you to dispose of it at your discretion; and, if it will not come to terms or to an understanding with you, assume you the mastery over it, assert your right to treat it as you choose. Thus you would gladly terminate the strife. And there are many who in this attempt partially and for a time succeed. They keep the Lord Jesus at a distance, and in abeyance. They affect to deal with him and his holy and spiritual religion as if he and it were at their mercy, left to their arbitrary disposal, as if they had a kind of title to make of both of them what they please; so that any respect shown on their part to vital godliness must be considered as a favour, an act almost of grace and condescension. That they do not at once condemn Jesus, that they tolerate his claims even for a moment, that they pay him the compliment of listening to him at all, is a great stretch of courtesy, for which they duly take credit. They might, if they chose, adopt far more decided measures against him. ’ They might give the word or the hint, and there would be plenty of his enemies ready to revile, to scourge, to crucify him. Religion is really indebted to them for their forbearance, and for the decent homage which they render to it. They confer an obligation on Christ and on his cause by going so far as they do go, nay, by simply abstaining from going against him, which if they did, the loss would be his. Let him beware, then, of driving them to this extremity. Let religion beware of making its high and mysterious demands on them so unpalatable as to put them to the necessity of withdrawing even the countenance and support which they now give, and leaving it to take its chance without their patronage. Vain, impotent, and impious pride, of the poor potsherds of the earth! What! and do you really fancy that the Lord is indebted and obliged to you, because you are graciously pleased not to turn your power wholly against him? that he must purchase your forbearance by concession, and bow his head to you, lest you should be provoked to declare more openly against him than you do? Nay, but know, O vain man! that He who sitteth in the heavens laughs, (Psalms 2:1-12) The Lord holds such haughty bearing in derision. Yes; and he will speak to you in his wrath. What! dost thou think that it is as a criminal at thy bar, a suppliant at thy footstool, that the Son of God standeth before thee? Is he not thy Lord, thy King? He, indeed, dependent upon thee! Thou worm of the earth, He challenges thee to do thy worst! Yes, use thy power against Him, if it seem to thee good; only remember it is at thy peril it is on thy responsibility. And think not, though thou givest up the Savior, thou canst have peace. No, thy weakness, thy imbecility, is still thy curse. Thou carriest to thy grave the sting of an uneasy mind Thou hast not succeeded in braving and bullying either thy conscience or thy God. Thou art driven at last to desperate measures, to suicide or self-murder itself; to the worst form of suicide, the hardening of thine own heart, the destroying of thine own soul. Only in spiritual death wilt thou find that end of thy strife which the miserable Roman was fain to seek by imbruing his hands in his own blood. But enough of this. The parallel between Pilate in a great strait between the Jews and Jesus, and a worldly man struggling in the grasp of certain spiritual convictions which he cannot shake off, and to which his worldly lusts will not suffer him to yield, might’ be followed up at greater length and in much more minute detail. It is a painfully interesting study, and it suggests not a few important practical lessons. One in particular may be noticed. If the question be once fairly and seriously raised between Christ and his. enemies, or between the claims of vital Christianity and the demands of the world, neutrality becomes impossible, neither party will suffer it. Christ, on his part, cannot endure it: the authority with which he speaks, the Truth of which he is the Witness, the relation in which he stands to God as his Son, and to men as their Savior, Sovereign, and Lord, are all of such a kind as to forbid his being satisfied with anything short of a full and unreserved acknowledgment of his claims. But the point of the moral lies rather in the consideration, that the world on its side is as intolerant of neutrality as is the gospel of Christ itself. Let the question come to a trial before you, and the world will never let you off until it extorts from you a sentence against the Lord. Your inclinations, your convictions, your good feelings of every sort, may be all in favour of some middle course. But it is all in vain. You cannot long escape. You are at the mercy of evil principles and evil men with whom you are not prepared to break; and, as you will not give them up for Christ, the issue is too plain and certain on the other side, you cannot but in the end sacrifice Christ to them. There is, therefore, no safety in a neutral position neither the prince of this world nor the Prince of Life will let you rest in it. There must be a decision for or against the Lord. "He that is not with me is against me." Let the inevitable alternative be pondered well. And not only let the decision be on the side of Christ, let it be also on the side of Christ as having authority. Too ’often is the question weighed between him and his enemies in the spirit of haughty or headstrong independence; as if he were at our mercy and disposal, as if we had an absolute discretion, and might own or reject him at our pleasure. He seems to stand before us at our bar, awaiting our verdict; or we conceive of him as if he were to be obliged to us for a little water, such as he asked of the woman at the well of Samaria; or for a courteous act of hospitality, such as he accepted in the Pharisee’s house when he sat down to meat with him. No wonder that our decision in reference to his claims partakes of the character of compromise and evasion, when we regard him as thus a suppliant merely, or an accused person, at our gate. But let us conceive of him as lie stood before Pilate, in high and holy majesty; or as he appeared to Saul on the way to Damascus, in the glory of his divine sovereignty and grace; and our attitude will be that of Saul, prostrate on the ground before him; and our language also will be that of Saul, " Lord, what wouldest thou have me to do?" Let us hear his word to the woman of. Samaria, "If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith unto thee, Give me to drink, thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water/’ And let each one echo the woman’s prayer, with intelligent, prompt, and guileless faith, " Lord, give me this water, that I thirst not." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 61: 05.20. APPENDIX ======================================================================== APPENDIX. NOTE. Page 318. I AM tempted to republish here a portion of a little work, doomed I suppose to oblivion, namely, my Letters to Mr. Elliott on some passages in his " Horse Apocalypticae." In my argument with him regarding the constitution of the Church of Christ on earth, and its claim of freedom from the control of the civil power, I found myself brought into contact with " the famous text," as Mr. Elliott calls it, "My kingdom is not of this world;" and I was led to make the following observations upon it, which I reprint without any change, believing that they sufficiently explain themselves: It is a remarkable scene which that "judgment-hall," or chamber of private audience, in the governor’s palace, presents. Pilate and Jesus are seen confronting one another, alone: apart from the accusing Jews, who remained, through all the trial, on the stairs, or in the vestibule, without. Pilate, then, and Jesus, are met face to face: Pilate representing the majesty of earth, Jesus the majesty of heaven: Pilate set in defence of the prerogatives of human governments, Jesus asserting a divine prerogative of his own. The State and the Church are brought together: the State, in the person of one who wields the power of the Roman Emperor, the ruler of the world, the Church, in the person of her great Head. And the business to be transacted is nothing less than the adjustment of their respective claims. I believe that nearly all the essential elements of a right adjustment of these claims may be found in the brief conversation that ensues. Thus, in the first place, the Lord declares that he is a king, and that he has & kingdom. And I repeat that this must imply a purpose to have a visible society upon earth, organized in his name. That was the only sense in which his being a king, and having a kingdom, could be a matter with which Pilate had anything to do: and I own I cannot conceive of Christ using such language as that now before us, if he did not wish it to be understood of an actual, outstanding community, about to be formed in the world. He did intend to set up a commonwealth of his own, and to exercise authority in it, just as ostensibly as other kings do. This, therefore, seems to be sufficient warrant for the doctrine, that the visible Church is a divine institution; and that Christ exercises full royal authority in it, governing it by distinct laws and distinct officers of his own, laws and officers as distinct from those of civil governments, as the arrangements of one earthly king are from those of another. Then, secondly, the Lord intimates that this kingdom or society of his, which he is to govern as King, by laws and officers of his own, differs from other kingdoms, inasmuch as being "not of this world," but spiritual and heavenly, in its professed character and objects, it has not, and ought not to have, any of this world’s authority or power intrusted to it. In particular, no civil authority belongs to it, and no power of the sword; or, in other words, no branch of the visible Church has any right,’ nor can it lawfully usurp or receive any right, to decide civil causes, or to use violence, conscience alone being the single principle by which it is to act and to maintain itself. But yet, thirdly, the Lord makes the domain of conscience very wide and universal. For he goes on, in the immediately following verse, to claim and challenge the allegiance of Pilate himself to this kingdom of his. It is a kingdom a government or sovereignty depending not at all on the force of arms, but wholly on the force of truth: its King is the witness to the truth: it appeals not to physical coercion, or constraint, but exclusively to conscience. It appeals, however, through the truth of which its King is the witness, to the conscience of every one, of rulers as well as subjects, of Pilate himself as well as others. The princes of this world, therefore all civil rulers and governors are, in their official capacity, and not merely as private persons, bound to hear the voice of this King, to own the truth of which he is the witness, and to acknowledge the kingdom of which he is the Governor. And hence, in the fourth place, as the Lord emphatically teaches, they are peculiarly responsible to God for the manner in which they deal with his Son, and with the kingdom which his Son sets up, a kingdom in, though not of, the world. For when Pilate, hard pressed between his own convictions on the one hand, and the bloodthirsty cry of the Jews on the other, turns rudely round upon the meek prisoner before him, and boasts of his power to do with Jesus what he pleased how does the Lord reply to him? ’That power thou doubtless hast. But whence derived? From God: "Thou couldest have no power at all against me, except it were given thee from above." And tbou art thinking to use the power received from God against the Son of God! ’ This was a fearful aggravation of the traitor’s sin, that he called forth a power ordained of God to crush the Son of God: " Therefore he that delivered me unto thee hath the greater sin. " ’ It must be an aggravation, also, of thy guilt, if thou fallest into his snare, and into his condemnation.’ Pilate here represents the princes of this world: and what the Lord says to him, applies to them. Their power is not superseded or abridged by the setting up of Christ’s kingdom, or by his claim of sovereignty. Neither on his own part, personally, nor for his visible Church under him, does he challenge any right to control civil rulers, even as to their treatment of himself and that very Church. These rulers are left to their own discretion, to act upon their own responsibility. Their duty, however, is plain, and their interest and safety, too; to "kiss the Son " (Psalms 2:10-12); to own publicly and officially the truth to which he bears witness; and to respect and hold sacred his separate and independent authority in that kingdom, or visible Church, which he rules by statutes and magistrates of his own. In a word, he does not interfere with them in their kingdoms, nor should they interfere with him in his. These, in substance, are our Church principles; denying the power of the sword to the Church, and the power of the keys to the civil magistrate. That power of the keys, in our view of it, is simply the right to determine who shall be members, and who shall be officers, of the Christian society. It is not, therefore, in reality, very formidable. No doubt, it is easy to create a vague fear of undefined and irresponsible ecclesiastical supremacy; and it is easy, also, to cast a mist around a plain doctrine, by exaggerating the difficulty of distinguishing between things civil and things ecclesiastical. Both of these artifices were very plentifully used against us when we were contending for our principles within the Scottish Establishment; and I am not surprised that they should have had their effect in influencing your view of our position since we left it. But stript of all its technicalities, and of the details of endless legal subtlety, our claim really never amounted to more than this, that it belongs to the visible Church herself, according to her own views of duty, guided by the word and Spirit of God alone, to say who shall be admitted to membership, and who shall be admitted to office, within her communion; that is, not merely to admit, by whatever ceremony, but to judge who shall be admitted. The Erastianisni "which we condemn, is a direct refusal of this claim. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 62: 06.00. THE FATHERHOOD OF GOD ======================================================================== THE FATHERHOOD OF GOD BEING THE FIRST COURSE OF THE CUNNINGHAM LECTURES DELIVERED BEFORE THE NEW COLLEGE, EDINBURGH, IN MARCH 1864. BY ROB. S. CANDLISH, D.D. PRINCIPAL OF THE NEW COLLEGE, AND MINISTER OF FREE ST. GEORGE’S CHURCH. EDINBURGH ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK 1865 Printed by R. CLARK, Edinburgh. EXTRACT DECLARATION OF TRUST, ETC., March 1, 1862. I, WILLIAM BINNY WEBSTER, late Surgeon in the H.E.I.C.S., presently residing in Edinburgh,—Considering that I feel deeply interested in the success of the Free Church College, Edinburgh, and am desirous of advancing the Theological Literature of Scotland, and for this end to establish a Lectureship similar to those of a like kind connected with the Church of England and the Congregational body in England, and that I have made over to the General Trustees of the Free Church of Scotland the sum of £2000 sterling, in trust, for the purpose of founding a Lectureship in memory of the late Reverend William Cunningham, D.D., Principal of the Free Church College, Edinburgh, and Professor of Divinity and Church History therein, and under the following conditions, namely—First, The Lectureship shall bear the name, and be called “The Cunningham Lectureship.” Second, The lecturer shall be a Minister or Professor of the Free Church of Scotland, and shall hold the appointment for not less than two years, nor more than three years, and be entitled for the period of his holding the appointment to the income of the endowment as declared by the General Trustees, it being understood that the Council after referred to may occasionally appoint a minister or professor from other denominations, provided this be approved of by not fewer than eight members of the Council, and it being further understood that the Council are to regulate the terms of payment of the lecturer. Third, The lecturer shall be at liberty to choose his own subject within the range of Apologetical, Doctrinal, Controversial, Exegetical, Pastoral, or Historical Theology, including what bears on missions, home and foreign, subject to the consent of the Council. Fourth, The lecturer shall be bound to deliver publicly at Edinburgh a course of lectures on the subjects thus chosen at some time immediately preceding the expiry of his appointment, and during the Session of the New College, Edinburgh; the lectures to be not fewer than six in number, and to be delivered in presence of the professors and students under such arrangements as the Council may appoint; the lecturer shall be bound also to print and publish, at his own risk, not fewer than 750 copies of the lectures within a year after their delivery, and to deposit three copies of the same in the Library of the New College; the form of the publication shall be regulated by the Council. Fifth, A Council shall be constituted, consisting of (first) Two Members of their own body to be chosen annually in the month of March, by the Senatus of the New College, other than the Principal; (second) Five Members to be chosen annually by the General Assembly, in addition to the Moderator of the said Free Church of Scotland; together with (third) the Principal of the said New College for the time being, the Moderator of the said General Assembly for the time being, the procurator or law adviser of the Church, and myself the said William Binny Webster, or such person as I may nominate to be my successor: the Principal of the said College to be Convener of the Council, and any Five Members duly convened to be entitled to act notwithstanding the non-election of others Sixth, The duties of the Council shall be the following:— (first), To appoint the lecturer and determine the period of his holding the appointment, the appointment to be made before the close of the Session of College immediately receding the termination of the previous lecturer’s engagement; (second), To arrange details as to the delivery of the lectures, and to take charge of any additional income and expenditure of an incidental kind that may be connected therewith, it being understood that the obligation upon the lecturer is simply to deliver the course of lectures free of expense to himself. Seventh, The Council shall be at liberty, on the expiry of five years, to make any alteration that experience may suggest as desirable in the details of this plan, provided such alterations shall be approved of by not fewer than Eight Members of the Council. PREFACE. I HAVE delayed the publication of these Lectures, I fear, somewhat beyond the term prescribed by the letter of the Founder’s deed, though not so as seriously to violate the spirit of it. I entertained the hope of being able to render them less unworthy of the occasion; and, in particular, I contemplated a supplementary or preliminary dissertation, in which I might obviate some misapprehensions not unlikely to arise out of my manner of treating the subject, and might also fortify my principal positions by authorities more or less favourable to my views. Various circumstances have so hindered me, that I have judged it best, on the whole, to abandon that intention, and to content myself for the present with a careful revisal of the Lectures as they were delivered. I have given, however, a few explanatory notes. And I have added an Appendix of four Discourses, or Scriptural Expositions, fitted, as I trust, to confirm and illustrate the doctrines which I advocate. These are not, in my opinion, novel doctrines; I would be sorry to think that they were. I may have put some points more sharply, and pushed a certain line of thought more boldly, than some may be quite prepared to approve. I am persuaded that I have really advanced nothing which may not be found, if not categorically asserted, at least fairly implied, in the writings of orthodox and evangelical divines, both of earlier and of later times. But I am also persuaded that in the interest of a sound faith, and in the view of presently prevailing error, it is of some consequence that the aspects of theology which I have endeavoured to present should be more unequivocally and prominently elevated into a conspicuous place of their own, than they have been in some of our systems. This must be my apology, both for the choice of my subject and for my way of handling it. Thus, for one thing, I am anxious to keep the relation of real and proper sonship quite distinct and separate from every other. That the original relation of intelligent creatures to God, the relation constituted in and by their creation, is such as to admit of much friendly and loving intercourse and of many mutual endearments, very nearly akin to fatherly and filial fellowship, I freely allow. But I refuse to call it sonship. Satan, in Milton, claims to be God’s son, even in his fallen state— “The son of God I also am, or was, And if I was, I am ; relation stands.” Paradise Regained, iv. 517. And he is logically right. “Relation stands;” and with relation, duty also. The fallen spirit is God’s son still, if he was his son before. And he owes his Father filial love. It may be so. In his case it does not matter much. But if it be so in the case of fallen man, how is his case met? I can see how in Christ his case, as that of a disobedient subject, is met. But what provision is made for healing the hurt which the relation of sonship, still standing, has sustained? None that I can see;—unless sonship is simply merged in subjectship. And that I take to be the real state of the matter, so far as the sounder portion of the asserters of an original relation of sonship are concerned. The truth is, that this original relation of sonship is with them nothing more than a kind of quality of subjectship. It is subjectship realising itself, if one may so speak, in favourable circumstances and under favourable influences;—causing it to partake not a little of the genial, cordial spirit which is wont to pervade the walk of a son with his father. If that is all that is involved in the primitive and primeval sonship of paradise, then it follows that it is all that the perfected sonship of heaven can have in it;—all I mean in kind, there may be a difference of degree. For “relation stands,” after its hurt is healed, the same as it was at first, and has ever been. But such a view does not really satisfy those who look forward to the believer’s ultimate glory in Christ. I cite a few instances in proof. For I claim all such instances as virtually on my side in this argument. They may not make the sonship so explicitly the point at issue as I do. But I think they admit, or rather assert, all that I require for my purpose. I begin with Goodwin. Writing of the superiority of the future state of the, redeemed, as compared with man’s position in Paradise, he says :—“ I grant that this new spirit, begotten of the Spirit, is of a more divine temper, genius, and aspirement than the image of God in Adam was, which though holy, yet (was so) but in a natural way;—in knowing God in and by the creatures, and by the covenant of works, and so only according to what is naturally due unto a creature reasonable, as he first falls out of the hands of his Maker. And I should not only grant that this new divine nature, born of the Spirit, is supernatural, in comparison to corrupt nature and the dispositions thereof, but also in comparison of pure nature. Insomuch as Adam was but an earthly natural man, comparatively to that which is born of the Spirit, which is the image of the heavenly, and is ordained in the end to see God in himself, and will be raised up thereto; and at present hath such a way of knowing and enjoying God, and such object spiritual suited to it as Adam’s state was not capable of.”— Works, vol. vi. p. 161, Nichol’s Edition. More particularly, in another passage, he uses language so strong, that I would hold any controversy with him on the subject to be little better than logomachy. “Adam was a son of God’s by creation (Luke iii. 38). But to be a son of God by Christ, this is a higher thing, and puts the spiritualness upon it which a holy heart values. For it is to be a son-in-law by marriage unto, and union with, the natural son of God. So then the spirituality of our sonship lies in that relation it hath unto Christ.”— Works, vol. vi. p. 180. And still more strongly, if possible, in yet another passage he contrasts the servant and the son;—“So in like manner to be begotten again notes a state of sonship, a being truly made a child; for if God begets, he begets genuinely, it proves always a true child of his begetting; and whoever is born of God hath his image, his nature, or as the apostle speaks, ‘true holiness,’ (Ephesians 4:24). They (i.e., apostates) are said to be sanctified (Hebrews 10:1-39) for that may have a counterfeit, namely, a setting apart to outward service by gifts and enlightenments; but to shew it is not true sanctification, or after God in true holiness, they are never said to be born of God. They as servants live in the family, are put into offices and services, and to that end do receive gifts and graces to lay out as talents, (Matthew 25:1-46) which, not improved, they lose, but being not made children, therefore it is they abide not always in the house, as Christ speaks (John 8:35)—“And the servant abideth not in the house for ever; but the Son abideth ever.” They are hired servants, not begotten children. They have gifts from him as a lord, but not his image as from a father, and so are never said to be begotten.— Works, vol. vi. p. 154. Another matter which I have sought to elaborate is the connection of our sonship as believers with that of the incarnate son of God, in its nature as well as in its discovery or manifestation. As to this last point,—its discovery or manifestation,—I have founded an argument on the distinction, which I hold to be very marked and very significant, between the almost unbroken silence of the Old Testament on the subject of the sonship of the saints, and the clear, full utterances of the New. And I am glad to have had my attention called to a criticism of Delitzsch, which strongly corroborates my view. It is a criticism on Psalms 73:15. “‘The generation of thy children’ is the totality of those in whom the filial relation in which God has placed Israel to himself has become an inward reality, the Israel of God or the generation of the righteous (Psalms 14:5). It is a generic name, as in Deuteronomy 14:1, Hosea 2:1. For hereby is the New Testament distinguished in this point of the uioqesi,a from the Old, that always in the Old Testament only Israel as a people is called son—or as a totality of individuals, sons. But the individual could not yet venture to call himself a child of God. The personality is not yet set loose from the race, it is not yet independent, it is still the time of the minority.” The other point is, of course, the more vital one. I mean the nature of the connection between the believer’s sonship and that of Christ. I have not hesitated to avow my belief in the substantial identity of the relation. I have of course insisted upon certain very material differences. In particular I have been careful to discriminate between the original ground of a relation, or the manner in which it is constituted or subsists, and its proper nature. It may rest on different grounds and be differently constituted, in two different parties sustaining it, and yet be truly the same relation. Then, again, it must ever be kept in mind that there may be the widest possible difference also, as to the capacities of the two parties respectively for apprehending the relation in all its fulness. When the one party is divine as well as human, and the other human merely, the difference in this respect must be literally immense. Still it may be held to be the same relation, without in the least confounding divinity and humanity, or making man God, or equal to God. In illustrating the identity for which I plead, I have not felt myself bound to attempt any exact or formal definition of the sonship which I hold to be the privilege of the believer. If it were, in my view, a relation in which, as a believer, he stood alone, or a relation which he shared only with other believers, such a definition might be legitimately demanded of me. But if it is a relation which he shares with the Son, or rather which the Son shares with him, the thing is not so practicable. Indeed, as it seems to me, the attempt wouldbe almost presumptuous. It is safer and more becoming to study the outgoings or outcomings of the relation in the actings and utterances of the Son himself, and to seek, by the help of the Holy Spirit, to become more and more one with him in them all. This, in fact, is what all devout theologians more or less explicitly teach on the subject of the union which faith effects between Christ and his people;—so that here again I may claim as virtually on my side many who do not employ the phraseology which I adopt;—phraseology, however, which I think I see reason more and more every day why the Church should appropriate, if her trumpet is to give a certain sound. I am tempted to give a quotation or two from authors of widely different times and temperaments, bearing on the intimate connection, at least, of Christ’s sonship with that of the believer. I begin with Athanasius. In his epistle on the Decrees of the Council of Nice (ch. 31), he thus writes:—“And Christ would have the sum of our faith to refer to this, for he commanded us to be baptised, not in the name of the unbegotten and the begotten, nor in the name of the uncreated and the created, but in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit; for thus being perfected, we too are truly made sons; and naming the name of the Father, we recognise from this name also the Word, who is in the Father. And though each one of us may call our Father his own Father, we must not therefore equal ourselves with the Son by nature. For even this is said of us through him: for since the Word bore our body, and was made in us, it follows that on account of the Word in us, God is called also our Father. For the Spirit of the Word in us addresses through us his own Father as ours: and this is the mind of the apostle when he says, ‘God sent forth the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying Abba, Father’.” And again, in his second oration against the Arians, he says:—“And this is the love of God to men, that of whom he is the Maker he also afterwards became by grace the Father; and he becomes so when the men whom he has created, as the apostle says, receive into their hearts the Spirit of his Son, crying, Abba, Father; and these are they who, having received the Word, receive power from him to become sons of God; for otherwise they could not have been sons, being by nature creatures, unless they receive the Spirit of him who is the true and natural Son of the Father. Wherefore, that this might be, the Word was made flesh, that he might make man capable of receiving the Deity. . . . From this it may be shewn that we are not by nature sons, but the Son in us; and again, that God is not our father by nature, but (the father) of the Word in us, in whom and through whom we cry, Abba, Father. And just so, too, in whomsoever the Father sees his own Son, them also he calls sons, and says of them, I have begotten; since to beget, is the sign of a son, and to make, of creatures. Wherefore we are not first begotten but made; for it is written, Let us make man; but afterwards, receiving the grace of the Spirit, we are said thenceforth also to be begotten. . . And when men are by grace said to be begotten as sons, yet not the less are they by nature creatures.” Schleiermacher may not be ranked highinteresting. It will be observed that he makes adoption a part of justification; but he pleads for a high sort of adoption;—“As to the second element (of justification), it is not possible that Christ should live in us without his relationship to his Father also forming itself in us, and our thus partaking in his sonship, which is the power that he gives to become the sons of God; and this includes in it the guarantee of our sanctification. For the right of sonship is to be educated, to be free fellow-workers in the affairs of the house; and the natural law of sonship is that by means of the vital connection also likeness to the father developes itself in the child. Thus, too, both elements are inseparable; for a divine adoption without forgiveness of sins were null, since guilt begets fear, and that again bondage; and by forgiveness without adoption no constant relation to God would be established. Both in this inseparableness make up the complete reversal of our relation to God, which is only called forgiveness in so far as it is connected with the putting off the old man, and adoption in so far as it is connected with the putting on the new. And both, too, are so mutually conditioned one by the other, that each element may be viewed both as the earlier and the later; for on the one side it would seem that the feeling of the old life must first be blotted out before that of the opposing new life can form itself. But, on the other side, it is only in the new that there lies the right and the power to shake ourselves free from the old. Thus it can be said with equal correctness, after a man’s sins are forgiven he is received into the sonship of God, and after he is received into the sonship of God he receives forgiveness of sins.”—Christliche Glaube. ii. p. 194, 195. Nor may it be out of place to quote from Treffry a specimen of what he frequently though incidentally says in his book on the Eternal Sonship:—“The first Adam upon his fall ‘begat a son in his own likeness;’ and so ‘the image of the earthy’ is set upon his entire posterity. He was the type and model of that degenerate and corrupt condition which was introduced by his sin. It is the office of the second Adam to give back to a lapsed race the forfeited image of God. Nor is he, as the Son of God, the renewer only of the miserable state of man, but equally the type and model of the new creation. Such he is, both with respect to personal purity, and in his eternal filial relation. It is not without reference to this that the faithful are called sons of God; for the entire administration of the gospel is designed to establish, between the human spirit and God, a moral relation in some respect analogous to that which subsists between the divine Father and the divine Son. “This was one of the objects contemplated in the incarnation of the Son; that thus he who was inconceivably remote from us might be brought near to us; and that beholding the glory, ‘even of the Only Begotten from the Father,’ the process of assimilation proposed in the divine counsels might be accomplished in us. Hence, ‘when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth HIS SON, made of a woman, made under the law, to redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the ADOPTION of SONS. And because ye are SONS, God hath sent forth the SPIRIT of HIS SON into your hearts, crying, ABBA FATHER.’ He who by nature is the Son of God becomes the son of man, that we, who by nature are sons of men, may become the sons of God. He assumes our nature that we may be transformed into the likeness of his. The SON is sent forth as our Redeemer, that we may receive at once the filial relation and the filial spirit.”* There is a passage in Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity (Book v. sec. 56) which contains some very strong statements bearing on “the union or mutual participation which is between Christ and his people.” It is too long to be given entire; and I fear I could scarcely make selections from it in a way that would be intelligible. It deserves careful study; and I am mistaken if the careful study of it will not suggest incidental corroborations, at least of the main propositions which I am anxious to maintain. I leave my work now to the judgment of intelligent and candid students of theology and of the Word of God. I ask no more than this, that the volume be considered as a whole before it is criticised in detail. And I think I am entitled to beg that favour; for whatever may be at first sight startling to some minds in my manner of treating the subject, can be fairly estimated only when my whole reasoning is examined. EDINBURGH, 17th April 1865. __________ * Pages 403, 404, edit. 1837. The italics and capitals are Treffry’s own. CONTENTS. LECTURE FIRST. The original relation of man to God 1 Notes to Lecture First 45 LECTURE SECOND. The Fatherhood of God, as manifested in the Person of Christ, the Incarnate Word 63 Notes to Lecture Second 103 LECTURE THIRD. The Fatherhood of God, as revealed and known before the Incarnation 112 Notes to Lecture Third 155 LECTURE FOURTH. The Teaching of our Lord on his own and his brethren’s sonship 162 Notes to Lecture Fourth 202 LECTURE FIFTH. The Manner of Entrance into the Relation; Adoption, as connected with Regeneration and Justification 208 Note to Lecture Fifth 251 LECTURE SIXTH. The Privileges and Obligations of sonship 253 Notes to Lecture Sixth 289 APPENDIX. SCRIPTURAL EXPOSITIONS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. The ultimate glory of filial service (Revelation 22:3) 2. The great Gospel Convocation (Hebrews 12:22-24) 3. The Son calling his people brethren (Hebrews 2:11-13) 4. The Son learning obedience by suffering (Hebrews 5:7-9) ======================================================================== CHAPTER 63: 06.01. LECTURE 1ST - ORIGINAL RELATION OF GOD TO MAN ======================================================================== LECTURE FIRST. The invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead.— Romans 1:20. When the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves: Which show the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the meanwhile accusing or else excusing one another.— Romans 2:14-15.*[1] I could have wished that it had fallen to one possessed of learning, leisure, and the habit of study—none of which qualifications now belong to me—to inaugurate this lectureship. The man whose name it bears would have been the proper person to discharge this duty. It was in consultation with him that the founder matured his plan. And had it pleased God to spare him, we would have had here this day, instead of the name, the living presence and voice of Principal Cunningham. The occasion would have been worthy of the man. It is a new thing in Scotland. And it is what not a few of the best and wisest of Scotland’s theologians have for years been anxious to realise. To one person, in particular, the credit is due of having urged upon the church and the community the importance of this object, with an enlightened zeal and perseverance which he will feel to be amply rewarded by the wise and liberal deed of gift of Dr. Webster, becoming palpable as an accomplished fact, in our present meeting. I cannot but congratulate my old friend and beloved brother, the Free Church minister of Newhaven, on his being here to witness this day’s proceedings. The church owes not a little to him in connection with this noble institute.*[2] I call it a noble institute, because I believe it to be so. And therefore I greatly honour the memory of the man who, when none else seemed to be at all alive to the appreciation of it, or, at least, so much alive as to be moved to practical effort in its behalf, took the matter into his own hands, and by his own act did the thing. For the thing is done. It may not be done so thoroughly as not to admit of supplement. I do not think that it is. Something more is needed. But the thing is done. The lectureship is established; and whether sufficiently or not, it is yet so far endowed as to be henceforth, as it were, an ordinance in Israel. It is a self-perpetuating institute. Humanly speaking, the Cunningham Lectureship, founded by Dr. Webster, is safe for ages. What its effect is to be on the church of the future, or on its theology, time with its unknown influences alone can show. It surely must contribute to give fixity to theological investigations; to harmonise originality with conservatism; to stimulate fresh thought and inquiry in divines of the new generation; and yet to link them in close continuity with the graver and slower meditations of those who may be passing away. I hope that this result, or a tendency to it, will very soon appear. Naturally, a desire has been felt and acted upon, that the honour and responsibility of some of the first appointments should be assigned to veterans—to those whose spurs, whether on the field or in the study, were won long years ago. But the number of these is now very small. And soon, I would almost say the sooner the better, younger brethren must be called in. This Lectureship must bring forward the representative men of another generation. Then the full benefit of this institution will begin to appear. Then it will be seen how, not by its emolument, but by the stimulus to honourable ambition which it supplies, it will tell on the lone chamber of many a student toiling in the recesses and far-off isles of our church; and tell so as to make his ministry all the more hearty, in the proportion in which it makes his study all the more hopeful. The subject which I have chosen, with concurrence of the council, is the Fatherhood of God. It is a subject which might be handled in a great variety of ways, according to the different points of view, and the different aims of those handling it. My object is chiefly a practical one. It is to bring out the import and bearing of the Scriptural doctrine respecting the Fatherhood of God, as an influential element in Christian experience. To reach that object, however, it may be necessary to begin with what may seem to be a somewhat abstract and speculative inquiry—an inquiry, I mean, into the relations which God sustains towards his intelligent creatures generally, and the place which the paternal relation holds among them. This inquiry, accordingly, will occupy the first Lecture. The second will be devoted to a consideration of the Fatherhood of God, as manifested in the person of the Son; especially with reference to his Sonship in his incarnate state, and its bearing on the sonship of his people. In the third, I shall inquire how and how far the Fatherhood of God was matter of human knowledge and divine revelation before the incarnation of our Lord. The fourth will contain an examination of the teaching of our Lord and his apostles on the subject; with special reference to the question how Christ’s Sonship and his people’s are mutually related to one another, and connected with one another. In the fifth, I shall advert to the manner in which the relation is constituted, so far as men are concerned; and in the sixth, I shall endeavour to point out some of its characteristic privileges and obligations. Such is a general outline of the plan upon which these Lectures are prepared; subject, of course, to modifications that may be rendered necessary, as I proceed from day to day with the work of extending and putting in shape the rough materials which I have somewhat carefully brought together. In the discharge of this duty I crave the indulgence of my audience. And more than that, I ask their sympathy and their prayers. The theme is a very great one, and it demands very delicate treatment. My way of treating it may be in some respects unusual; on which account I hope my hearers may be willing sometimes to suspend their judgment until they have my views fully before them. I do not, however, mean to teach new doctrine. I seek to know the mind of Christ. ____________________ The inquiry concerning the Fatherhood of God, its nature and foundation,—in what sense, to what effect, and on what ground, God is to be regarded as the Father of all or any of his intelligent creatures,—is one that ought to be conducted on the principle of a pure and simple appeal to Scripture; at least it is on that principle that I profess to conduct it. Does revelation ascribe to the Divine Being a relation of paternity as sustained by him towards angels and men? And if so, of what sort is it, how constituted and how realised? That is my idea of the question at issue. At the same time it may be proper, as preliminary to the scriptural investigation of the subject, to look at it for a little in the light of natural religion; to see how far, among the elements, whether intuitional or experimental, out of which the system of rational Theism must be constructed, there is any valid or sufficient warrant for conceiving of God as a Father. This is all the more necessary because it has somehow come to be taken for granted, in many quarters, that the primary and original relation of God to man is the paternal; and that consequently, any other relations which may belong to him, and in fact all his ordinances and actings in all his dealings with the human race as a whole, and with its members individually, must be viewed as springing out of that first and fundamental relation, and moulded and regulated by it. Nor does this mean merely that God must be held to cherish towards persons capable of being the objects of them feelings and affections similar, in many respects, to some of those which find a place in an earthly father’s bosom. It is evident that something more is intended; something of the nature of a real and definite relation. For it is made the basis of arguments a priori for or against several of those aspects of the Divine procedure with reference to mankind about which controversies are still agitated. It is pleaded that God must be held to act in this or that particular way towards men, because he is their Father; or otherwise, that he cannot be imagined to adopt such or such a course, inasmuch as it would be inconsistent with his Fatherhood. I do not here speak of this mode of reasoning as unwarrantable and unsafe. I do not raise or argue that point at this stage. I allude to the fact which I have stated, simply as proving that the paternal relation into which some would resolve all the Divine dispensations is in their eyes a great, or rather the only great, reality; and as rendering it therefore a matter of not a little consequence to attempt to ascertain what root it has, if any, in the original conceptions which nature teaches us to form of her glorious Author. In making this attempt, I am not called upon, at least in the first instance, to define exactly, or to describe particularly, the relation now in question. It is rather incumbent on those who assert it as a natural and original relation, and who insist upon it as their all in all, to do so. For the most part, however, they decline the task. They are more inclined to deal in somewhat vague generalities; losing sight, as it seems to me, of an important distinction which, in view of the ambiguity of language, ought to be carefully observed. We speak familiarly of the relation in which two persons stand to one another, when we mean nothing more than the state of feeling, or the manner of intercourse, that subsists between them. They are related to one another, in amity or in enmity, as friends or as enemies. The relation between them is one of mutual confidence, or of mutual distrust and disaffection. It is that of a benefactor to him whom he benefits, or of a wrongdoer to him whom he injures. Relation, in that sense, or relative position,*[3] is not fixed, but variable. And as such, or as being so, it may modify more fixed and permanent relationships, even to the extent of reversing their legitimate mode of action. The actual, de facto, consciously realised relation subsisting at any given time,—say between sovereign and subject, or between brother and sister, or between husband and wife, or between father and son,—may be very different from what the permanent mutual tie binding them, whether by birth or by covenant, to one another, must be held, de jure, to imply. The difference may be either in defect or in excess; in shortcoming or in superfluity. The tenderest bond,—the conjugal, the fraternal, the parental, the filial,—may thus be practically made void by unloving spouses, brethren, fathers, sons. And on the other hand, a connection not in itself necessarily involving any of the affections and obligations of these unions may have their warm and loving spirit infused into it, by the warm and loving hearts of the connected parties themselves. Thus those who till yesterday have been utter strangers to one another may unite today in an embrace closer than either ever gave to his nearest of kin; just as nearest of kin may draw off from one another more than any two mere strangers would ever think of doing. I do not now enlarge upon this distinction. Its importance, especially when God and man are the parties concerned, may appear more clearly as my argument advances. Meanwhile it is enough for my purpose, in the outset, to have indicated the distinction thus briefly, and, as it were, in the form of a caveat against a possible misapprehension of the introductory observations which I have to offer in this opening Lecture; the object of which is chiefly to clear and define the state of the question (status questionis), when viewed in the light of natural religion and its teachings. Let it be understood then that it is the relation, or relations, in which God stands to the other intelligences in the universe, that constitutes the subject of my present inquiry. It is an inquiry which has respect to relationship, and to that only. I say relation, or relations. For one point of inquiry,—and that a primary and principal one,— must be this:—Are the relations in which God stands to the other intelligences in the universe, manifold, and essentially distinct? Or may they all be ultimately simplified and reduced into one? That there is, and must be, a certain thread of unity running through them all, and harmonising them all, is probable, a priori. It is probable, as a mere deduction or inference from the unity of God; the oneness of the Divine nature. And accordingly, it may be anticipated that in the end or in the long run,—as the result or issue of the actual dealings of God with the other intelligences in the universe,—a unity of the strictest sort may come to prevail and be established, in the final adjustment, whatever that may be, of the terms on which He and they are to stand related towards one another for ever. It may not be the same unity for all. There may not be the same adjustment in respect of all. Undoubtedly two opposite poles are indicated, not by Scripture only, but by reason and conscience as well; both of them simple enough; the one simply penal and accursed; the other simply free and blessed: to one or other of which the conflicting elements in the troubled chaos of created will appear to be all tending. But that simplicity, whether as “a savour of life unto life,” or as “a savour of death unto death,” is not yet. As things now are, a somewhat more mixed and comp1ex system of relationship would seem to be, if I may so speak, the order of the day. Certainly, common language suggests the idea of a variety of relations being sustained by the Supreme toward subordinate intelligences; such as those of Creator, Preserver, Benefactor; Lawgiver, Ruler, Judge; Friend, Father. Thus, one would say, the common sense of mankind recognises complexity rather than simplicity; the manifold rather than the one. The enumeration which I have made of these relations may be too manifold; too various and complex. Let that be at once admitted. Still, let my enumeration be sifted and simplified ever so carefully, it gives at all events a threefold notion of what I may be allowed to call the normal Divine relationship; meaning by that term, exhaustively, the entire relative position which God occupies, or may occupy, with reference to his intelligent creatures, considered simply as such. First, there is the relation springing out of the bare fact of creation; a relation implying certainly preservation and benefaction. The Creator, in virtue of his being their creator, preserves and benefits his intelligent, as well as his other creatures. Secondly, there is the relation necessarily constituted by the fact of the creation being a creation of intelligent and responsible beings; a relation implying moral rule and government; authoritative law and retributive judgment. Thirdly, there is the relation of which intelligent and responsible beings may fitly, though not necessarily, be the objects;—the relation of friendship, rising, it may be, into fatherhood. The popular mind, as it expresses itself in all languages, recognises this threefold conception of God. The distinctions which it involves, between the first view rising into the second and the second culminating in the third, are of such a nature, and the sense of them is so deeply rooted in the very constitution of all created intelligence, that science the most scientific,—system the most systematizing,— cannot be allowed to overlook or disregard them; or so to aim at their obliteration as absolutely to confound creation with government,—or creation and government with friendship or fatherhood. But another question here arises. May not these relations involve one another, or run up into one another? May it not be the case, first, that creation implies government; and, secondly, that creation and government necessarily imply friendship and fatherhood?— necessarily, I mean, in essential principle, ab origine, as well as ultimately and practically, in actual result or issue? To a large extent, or rather indeed unreservedly, the former of these two questions must be answered in the affirmative. Whatever God creates, he must not only preserve and benefit, but also govern. Let it be observed, however, that this necessity does not arise out of any right which creation may be supposed to give to the creature;—any claim which the creature, as such, may be imagined to have upon the Creator. Nor is it founded upon any such right or claim. It arises solely out of the absolute sovereignty of God, the Creator, and is founded entirely on that inherent and inalienable prerogative of Deity. Whatever God as Creator makes he must rule. If it is not to rule him, he must rule it. And he must rule it, in all its actings and workings; through all the stages of its development. And the rule must always be, in a sense, by law and judgment. In a sense, I say, more or less proper. For the nature of the law and judgment by means of which God rules must correspond to the nature and constitution of the thing or being to be ruled. If it is inert matter that is to be ruled, the law will be of a material or physical kind, whether mechanical or chemical. And the judgment, if it may be so called, by which the law is enforced, will be the material or physical disorganization which any interference with its uniform and orderly working, or any disregard of its uniform and orderly working, inevitably tends to cause. Such interference or disregard, it is obvious, cannot come from inert matter itself, but only from a living voluntary agent handling and using it. Upon the living voluntary agent, therefore, the judgment, or quasi-judgment, falls. Inert matter itself never is and never can be disobedient to the law by which it is ruled; and consequently never can incur the penalty of disobedience. But now, let what is to be ruled be, not inert matter, but beings possessed of animal life, having the capacity of feeling and the power of voluntary motion;—with the sensational propensities which we class as instinctive, and those dawnings of intelligence which, rendering them teachable, look so marvellously like reason, as they are unfolded, in growing shrewdness, from the lowest to the highest order of the brutal tribes. The sort of law by which such beings are ruled,—the law of instinct, and it may be added, in a measure, of experience,— is adapted to their sentient and motive nature. It tells or operates upon them blindly; that is, without any consciousness of it on their part, or any faculty of either assenting to it, or dissenting from it. Nor are they more conscious of the judgment enforcing the law, as judgment, than they are of the law, as law. They receive good through compliance with the law, whether the compliance be their own act or another’s act upon them, with equal unconcern. And so also, with equal unconcern, they receive evil through the violation of the law, when either their own act, or another’s act towards them, is such as to make it work to their hurt. There is an entire absence, equally in either case, of anything like the feeling of moral obligation fulfilled or outraged; of moral guilt and culpability avoided or incurred. That feeling is the exclusive property of intelligence, when it rises to the possession of consciousness and of conscience; consciousness of the personal self; conscience toward the personal God. And it is that feeling which identifies and attests the peculiar character of the law and judgment by means of which the Creator rules his really intelligent and accountable creatures. His rule now becomes government, properly so called; government worthy of himself; in full harmony with his own personal nature, and with his ultimate purpose in creation, to have persons under his sway, with whom he, as a person, may personally deal. It becomes a rational and moral government, by means of a law and a judgment of which reason and the moral sense take cognizance; a law, which the soul or spirit, consciously free, voluntarily accepts or disowns; a judgment, which the soul or spirit, consciously responsible, cannot but confess to be either the appropriate reward of innocence or merit, or the deserved recompense of crime. Thus it would seem that, from the very nature of the case, creation implies rule and government. The Creator must, of very necessity, be a ruler and governor; unless his own creation is to be independent of himself. And, as regards his intelligent creatures, his rule or government must be, in the proper forensic sense, legal and judicial, if it is to be adapted to the constitution and relative position of the persons who are to be governed. Only thus can he rule them as really persons. For the same reason also, it is a matter of necessity, as regards himself, that the Creator’s rule or government shall be absolute and sovereign. This is a capital point in the argument from creation to government, which must be clearly apprehended and steadily kept in view. If it is as Creator that he rules and governs,—if it is as his own creatures that he rules and governs all things, all animals, all persons in the universe,—by whatever sort of law, by whatever sort of judgment, accommodated to their several natures,—it is not possible to conceive otherwise of his dominion than that it is of the most thoroughly royal, imperial, autocratic kind. For it is the dominion of him to whom all creation belongs. It is the dominion of him who must, if he is to be God, be supreme over all. It is the dominion of him to whom this worship belongs: “Thou Lord hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and they were created.” (Revelation 4:11)*[4] Now, if this is at all a right view of the original relation of God to his created intelligences,—the relation necessarily constituted by creation, and necessarily implied in creation,—where is the idea of fatherhood? Is there, at this stage, and so far as the inquiry has been hitherto pushed, any room for it at all? Is it not rather excluded? Has that great thought any place among those original, fundamental, primary, and elemental conceptions of the connection between the Creator and his intelligent creatures, which must lie at the very root and foundation of all religion, and must enter into its heart’s core;—at least if it is to be theistic and monotheistic? Set pantheism and polytheism apart. Let the proper personality of the one only living and true God be assumed. Let it be taken for granted that the Creator is a living, personal intelligence, distinct from his own creation; and in particular, distinct from his own intelligent creatures, who are themselves, as he is, living, personal intelligences. It may be clearly shown and certainly inferred that he must, as Creator, govern them; and govern them in a manner suited to their organisation or constitution, as that of beings made capable of owning righteous authority and reasonable law, and therefore capable of receiving recompense or retribution. Standing to them in the relation of their creator, he must of necessity stand to them in the relation, as thus explained, of their ruler; their sovereign lawgiver, and just judge. These apprehensions of God, and of his relation to the rational and responsible inhabitants of his universe, are of the essence of all belief in him, and all worship of him. They originate, and what is more, they fully explain and vindicate, both belief and worship. But the paternal relation, the Fatherhood of God, has no place among them. Let the precise question here at issue be carefully cleared and ascertained. It is not a question about the existence of a certain attribute in God, such as goodness, kindness, pity, sympathy. Nor is it a question about the sentiments and feelings which God may be supposed to entertain towards the beings whom he has made, and which he may express or embody in his actual dealings with them. The question is much more precise and definite. It is about the existence of a certain positively real and actual relation of fatherhood and sonship, between the Creator and his intelligent creatures; such a relation as, like all real and actual relations, implies this at least, that in virtue of it, certain specific reciprocal obligations, of a peculiar nature, are incumbent on the parties embraced in it,—having certain specific reciprocal rights, privileges, and endearments associated with them. It is not a divine feeling that may be called fatherly,—as it might be equally well named from some other kindly human analogy,—that we are in search of; but a real and actual divine fatherhood. We want not merely one who, in his other relations, acts as far as possible a fatherly part towards us; but one who is in fact our father. If any choose to say that fatherhood is simply origination,—that the essence of it lies in being the cause or occasion of a new living person beginning to exist in the universe,—that paternity consists in bringing a new living person, whether instrumentally or otherwise, on the stage of the universe, and in that alone; that it is that, and nothing more;—then of course creation and paternity are identical. God, simply as creator, is the father of all his creatures. But, not to speak of the obvious difficulty that this establishes somewhat too wide a fatherhood, since it makes it comprehensive, not only of all the higher intelligences, however ultimately sunk and lost;—for fatherhood by creation can scarcely be conceived of otherwise than as natural, necessary, and inalienable;—but also of others besides, who may be still less welcome associates;—who does not see that it really evacuates the idea of fatherhood altogether of any precise or definite meaning; making the name little more than a euphonious synonym, or figurative personification, for causation; and in truth denying that there is any real paternal relation on the part of God at all! Nor will it avail to hold, by way of limitation and definition, that it is his creating them “in his own image, after his own likeness,” that constitutes the Creator to be also the father of the higher intelligences;—as if his fatherhood consisted in his being the originating cause of new beings like himself coming into existence. For this only brings us back to the former inquiry, What is it, as regards the relation between God and them, that their being thus created “in his image and after his likeness” necessarily involves? It can scarcely be proved to involve any more than this; that they are capable of understanding his will, feeling their free responsibility under it, and receiving reward or punishment in terms of it. His government of them therefore must be of a reasonable and moral character; by means of a reasonable, moral law, having annexed to it suitable and corresponding judicial awards. If the relation of fatherhood arises out of the fact of creation, it may be admitted that, in the case of intelligent creatures, it involves that. But it cannot be shown to involve more than that. And really, if that is all, the fatherhood of God, I repeat, is but a name. It is little, if anything, more than a mere figure of speech. For it cannot, in my judgment, be too strongly asserted, that among the primary and original elements of our relational conception of God, there is absolutely no trace of anything peculiar in the constitution and condition of his rational, as distinct from his other creatures, beyond the bare fact of intelligent responsibility.*[5] Nay, not only so. There is absolutely no room, no place, for anything more. The intrusive introduction of anything more deranges and disturbs the whole great economy of creation. The notion of the Creator’s government of the very highest of his intelligent creatures being anything else, in its principle and ideal, than simply and strictly legal and judicial, is, as it respects the radical and essential relation of Creator and creature, an inconsistency; an intolerable anomaly; a suicidal self-contradiction. Were it admitted it must break down,— so far as it is admitted, it does tend to break down,—the vast, infinite distance that should ever be felt to subsist between the Creator and the creature. It is fatal to the real recognition of absolute sovereignty on the one hand, and absolute dependence and subjection on the other. It introduces necessarily the idea of some sort of intermediate relative position, modifying and qualifying the Creator’s sovereignty and the creature’s subjection; as if the Creator owed something to the creature beyond strict legal justice; and as if the creature had some right or claim, irrespective of mere legal justice, which he might assert, if not against, yet at least upon, the Creator. A paternal government, in any fair and full sense of the term, imagined to spring out of the mere fact of creation, or to be implied in it, must be fatal to the prerogative of God the Creator; and therefore also fatal to the true happiness, because fatal to the right position, of his intelligent creatures. It could only be realised by their being as gods themselves. Let it be settled, then, as a great fundamental truth, that on whatever other ground the relation of fatherhood in God may rest, and in whatever other sphere of divine operation or creature experience it may unfold itself,—it cannot have its rise in creation, and cannot have its place in that rule or government which is consequent upon creation. Let there be no confounding of things separate and distinct. Government by law and judgment is one thing; fatherhood is something altogether different. It is only by keeping them quite apart in our conceptions of them that we can do justice to both. It is only thus that we can conserve the sovereignty inalienable from the one, and give full and free scope for all the affection which is the peculiar glory of the other. And it is only thus that we prepare the way for the harmonious adjustment of the two, in the complete development of the gospel plan,—for their being so married that “what God hath joined, man may not put asunder.” But, while it is maintained that the only proper and original idea of the relation in which the Creator stands to his intelligent creatures,—the only idea necessarily involved in his having made them, and made them such as they are,—is that of rule or government by law and judgment,—it by no means follows that there may not have been from the first indications pointing to the higher relation of fatherhood, and a foundation, as it were, laid for its subsequent adjustment and development. On the contrary, the fact revealed in Holy Scripture of the agency of the Eternal Son in the creative work, coupled with what is not obscurely intimated as having been the design of that arrangement,—the glorifying of the Son through the unfolding of his filial oneness with the Father,—would seem to make it not unreasonable to expect that in the original constitution, mental and spiritual, of the higher intelligences there should be found some aptness, at least, for realizing the great divine ideal, and taking on the impress or image of it; or in other words, that they should be found so constituted from the first as to be capable of apprehending the paternal aspect of the divine character and administration, when made known to them,—and capable also of entering themselves, in due time and on due warrant, into that state or standing with reference to God, for which the apprehension of his fatherhood may open up the way. These are subjects of inquiry which must come up afterwards. For the present, it is enough to observe that in whatever manner and in whatever measure the notion of God being a Father,—and more particularly, the notion of their being personally interested in his being a Father,— may be supposed to have dawned on the minds of the intelligences, this must have always appeared to them and been felt by them to be something quite distinct from their primary, normal relation to him as their moral ruler; something superadded to that relation, or superinduced upon it, and not to be either identified or confounded with it. His being a Father to them, if they rightly reflected on their true position, must have been regarded as a pure and simple act of grace; not an essential element of their creature state or condition; not discoverable by them as creatures through any inference or deduction from the fact of their being creatures; to be known there fore only by direct communication from God himself, who alone is competent, in the exercise of his mere and sovereign good pleasure, to determine, and consequently to unfold, the nature and the terms of the relation which it indicates. These conclusions, as it seems to me, are applicable to the intelligent creatures of God, as such; and to all of them; not merely to the guilty and fallen, but to the innocent and unfallen also. There may indeed be a loose and vague sense in which, for popular or poetic uses, the holy angels may be said to be the sons of God by their creation or from their creation; and man may be spoken of as having been a child of God in Paradise before he lost by his transgression his original standing there. Even if it could be established as a theological truth or a historical fact, that God was pleased to regard and treat these innocent subjects of his rule as sons from the very beginning of their existence, still it must be maintained that his doing so was simply an exercise of his own free discretion; that it was no necessary inference from, no necessary consequence of, his having created them such as be did create them; that it was a distinct and independent benefit, posterior to creation, in the order of nature, though on the supposition now made, simultaneous in point of time. I am persuaded, however, that there is really no valid proof or sufficient presumption, either in natural religion or in the word of God, in favour of that idea. I do not think that there is in either any trace of sonship constituted at creation ex gratiâ, any more than there is of sonship constituted by creation ex necessitate. This also may be matter of future investigation. There is one deduction from the views advocated in this lecture to which before I leave the subject I must ask particular attention; for it seems to me to be all-important. If I am right in holding that any relation of fatherhood into which God may be pleased to enter towards his intelligent creatures must be, in the sense now explained, posterior to the original relation which he sustains, as being their Ruler, in virtue of being their Maker,— then it clearly follows that the former relation, the paternal, cannot be allowed to supersede, or even to modify the latter, the governmental. That prior relation is a necessity of nature, if one may so speak, and not a discretionary arrangement. The mere existence of intelligent creatures involves their subjection to rule by law and judgment. Their creator, if his sovereignty in his own creation, and over it, is to be, as it must be, absolute and inviolable, cannot but so govern them. And he must continue so to govern them, whatever other relation he may think fit to assume or to announce. That other relation, of whatever character it may be, and however originated, cannot be conceived of as making any change in the conditions of the primary relation. For if it did, it must be through their ceasing to be creatures and God ceasing to be their Creator. A monstrous imagination!—to which however I must feel myself to be literally shut up, if I am asked to make the fatherhood of God the all in all of my religion. I contend earnestly for the distinction of the two relations. Neither must be suffered to override the other. Neither must be merged or sunk in the other. It is one thing for me to have God as my ruler, lawgiver, judge. It is another, and an altogether different thing for me to have him as my Father. What the points of difference are, it would be premature, at this stage, to discuss. But I may briefly refer to two of them, as illustrating the importance of our keeping the relations in question quite apart, in all our conceptions and reasonings regarding them. Rightly understood, as it seems to me, the paternal relation, in the first place, implies the enjoyment by those towards whom it is sustained of a permanent footing in the family, as opposed to one that is contingent and precarious (John 8:35). And secondly, in consequence of its implying this, it excludes the idea of punishment, properly so called; admitting only that of chastisement (Hebrews 12:1-29). It is not the function of a father, as such, to try, or put upon probation. It is not his function to inflict a penal or retributive doom. But these are functions of that rule or government by law and judgment which God the Creator exercises and must ever exercise. Surely there is here a line of distinction and demarcation that is sufficiently clear, and that ought to be kept clear. For observe what follows if it is obliterated or lost sight of. Let the view which some extreme lovers of simplicity would advocate be adopted. Let God be a Father, and nothing else. Let all the acts of his universal administration be held to be done by him as the Father of his creatures. Then this dilemma immediately presents itself. Either, on the one hand, you must include among the actings of a father, in his paternal character, the imposing of an arbitrary or discretionary conditional test and the inflicting of penal judgment; in which case, you make fatherhood little more than a name; descriptive, perhaps, and suggestive of the general benevolence which may be supposed to temper the severity of strict rule; but not otherwise significant of any special affection, or any special mode of treatment. Or else, on the other hand, giving to fatherhood its full and true meaning, and maintaining it to be wholly and exclusively a relation of pure and simple fatherly love, you deny, and consistently deny, that one who sustains that relation, and no other, can test for the mere sake of testing, or punish for the mere sake of punishing. Probation, and especially retribution, in the true and proper sense, become thus simply impossible. Let a merely human instance, in contrast with a divine ordinance, be referred to, in explanation and confirmation of my opinion, as to the evil and danger of confounding the two relations. In the Roman law, the authority of a father over his children was the very same, in nature and extent, with the authority of the civil magistrate. The Roman father had the power of life and death over his son. He was irresponsible in the exercise of his power. No other power, not even the magistrate’s, could interfere with his. Nay more, he had a right to demand that his son, even when a public accusation was brought against him, should be handed over by the magistrate to the parent, for the trial of the case and the execution of the sentence. Thus in Roman law, the functions of ruler and judge were mixed up with those of father. And with what result? Surely, as every reader of history knows, with sad damage to the one relation which is the source and centre of all the sacred tenderness of home; and with no corresponding benefit, in respect of strength or stability, to the other, on which the leal-hearted, patriotic, public spirit of the true citizen must rest. The Roman knew no substantial difference between his relation to his father and his relation to the state. Domestic affection was thus weakened, almost to extinction; while, to say the least, the spirit of loyal subordination to law and its awards was not greatly strengthened. In marked contrast with the Roman law, the Jewish law on this subject may be quoted. It draws the distinction for which I plead in a most unmistakable and emphatic way. “If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother; and that, when they have chastised him, will not hearken unto them; then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, and bring him out unto the elders of his city, and unto the gate of his place; and they shall say unto the elders of his city, This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton and a drunkard. And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die” (Deuteronomy 21:18-21). What can be clearer or more admirable than the distinction here drawn between the paternal and the judicial? The limit of fatherly authority and fatherly discipline is pointedly marked. It reaches to chastisement, “when they have chastised him.” But there it stops. The rebel passes from the familiar house and warm heart of a loving and broken-hearted father, who has done his utmost and whose utmost has failed, —to the cold, calm, tribunal of “the gate of his place;” the awful seat of judgment; there to be judicially tried by “the elders of his city,” and thence to be delivered over, for judicial execution, to the appointed ministers of the last sentence of the law. I cannot stay to show the working and effect of this divine ordinance among the Jews, as contrasted with the working and effect of the merely human legislation of the Romans. With all their faults, I do not know that the Jews have ever been chargeable with want of family affection. Nor may their national loyalty be lightly called in question. All that it concerns me, for my present purpose, to insist upon, is the careful discrimination which the Jewish law makes between the parent and the magistrate; between the relation in which a son stands to his father, and the relation in which he stands to “the elders of his city.” Nor would I press the analogy too far. One qualification at least is needed; and it is a material one. Among the Jews, as indeed ordinarily among all the nations of mankind, the two characters or relations, the parental and the judicial, are in separate hands. They belong to separate and distinct parties. The father and the magistrate are two different persons. And in the order of nature and of natural development, the father comes first. He first makes proof of his paternal relation, before he hands over his son, as a subject, to the magisterial ruler and judge. It is otherwise in the divine economy to which this analogy applies. There, the two relations are sustained by one and the same being; the one Supreme God, who is both ruler and father. Nor is he in the position of that Roman father who, being also judge, when his own son appeared at his bar, had either to pronounce the inevitable sentence of condemnation against the criminal, or to satisfy outraged justice by giving himself to suffer along with him, or to suffer instead of him. In the case of fallen man, the Creator, as governor and judge, sees before his tribunal, not a disobedient son, but simply a rebellions creature and subject. He sees indeed a creature whom he meant to be his son; whom he made to be his son. And so far, in that view, his regrets and longings are those of a deeply disappointed father. But the criminal at his bar is not his son;—as he was not his son before he became a criminal. He has no filial standing; no filial rights or claims. He is simply a creature and a subject. No doubt his Creator, having intended originally to adopt and own him as a son,—after probation probably as a subject,—may be pleased to draw near to him, even when upon probation he has failed and fallen, in a way indicative of that original intention; and may show his willingness to welcome him, on his return, with the fulness of the parental love and the parental blessing which he meant him from the first to possess;—for which indeed, I repeat, he made him. Even this, however, implies a very special and peculiar manner of dealing on the part of the Creator, with his fallen creature; the rebellious and guilty subject of his government. For the difficulty of combining the paternal element with government properly so called,—or introducing it as a modifying or mollifying influence,—is very great. It is found to be so, when the attempt is made in human affairs; in the administration of the kingdoms of this world. A paternal government! A king or an emperor the father of his people! A supreme Court of Parliament legislating paternally! A bench of magistrates or judges awarding paternal sentences! These are fine ideals. But how, in its application to facts, is the theory of the ruler in the state, ruling as a father, apt, and almost sure, to work? It will turn out for the most part to err, both by excess and by defect. It errs by excess; for it is apt to become too paternal in the administration of law and justice. It substitutes discipline for punishment; the rod for the sword. It errs by defect; for after all it falls far short of what a fatherly discipline would really require. It does not and cannot wield the rod with the discrimination and discretion which the use of it, as a fatherly instrument, requires; and which only the intimate familiarity of minute home-inspection, and constant home-fellowship, can enable a parent to exercise. It is ordinarily better, therefore, on the whole, that the magistrate should be content with the enforcing of his magisterial authority; under such influences as the general principle of benevolence may suggest. He cannot safely or usefully unite in himself the relation of ruler, and that of father.*[6] To do so, is pre-eminently the glory of God. And it is his glory in his Son Jesus Christ. It is his having it in his power, if one may so say, to manifest and reveal a relation of fatherhood altogether distinct from the relation constituted by creation,—though closely connected with it,—that solves the difficulty and explains the mystery. He “bringeth in the firstbegotten into the world” (Hebrews 1:6). Sitting on the throne of sovereign and universal dominion, he does not, in fond and weak pity, sink the character of the righteous ruler in that of the relenting father. But he introduces his Son; his co-equal, co-substantial, only begotten, well-beloved Son. And he proclaims his purpose, to make all his intelligent creatures, if they will, his sons in Him. Are they to whom the proclamation comes innocent and upright,—proved to be so by a sufficient test of their loyalty to their Creator as their righteous Lord? For them, it might seem that the mere discovery of this divine relation of fatherhood,—coupled with the assurance that it admitted of their being, so far as their nature is capable of such elevation, comprehended in its wide embrace,—would suffice to make them, without their ceasing to be subjects, sons, in and with “the first- begotten.” Is it, on the other hand, to creatures guilty and depraved that the proclamation comes? Alas! it is, as it might seem, all in vain. For in their case also it is a fixed principle, that if they are to be made sons, it must be without their ceasing to be subjects. But as subjects, they are helplessly and hopelessly condemned. They have violated law and are doomed to the penalty annexed to its violation. They are moreover incapable of obedience to law; their carnal mind being enmity against God, the lawgiver. How then, continuing subjects, can they ever become sons? How otherwise than by the wondrous provision of divine grace, according to which he in whom they are to be Sons, undertakes to right their position as subjects? First he deals with their case as it stands in law. They are condemned criminals at the bar of the righteous judge. He joins them there. He sists himself and takes his place beside them; not to plead in extenuation of their crime, or for mitigation of their punishment; for indulgence; for impunity; but as their substitute, to answer for them; to take upon his own head their guilt and doom, that a righteous sentence of legal and judicial acquittal may, by the Father’s grace, be freely theirs. So he clears the way. So, being justified in the relation in which they stand as subjects under law to God their ruler and judge, they may pass into that new and divine relation in which they are to stand for ever; the relation of which Christ spoke when he sent the message from his empty sepulchre, “Go to my brethren and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father and your Father, and to my God and your God” (John 20:17). __________ [1] *I prefix to the Lectures passages of Scripture, in deference to a practice, in similar cases, of which I quite approve. But I would not wish it to be understood that these are texts, in the ordinary sense of the term—that I either undertake the exposition of them, or found my reasoning upon them. They are simply to be viewed as mottoes or headings, more or less appropriate, indicating in a general way the subsequent line of thought. [2] *See Note A. [See "01a Lecture 1st - Notes", which had to be included in a separate section due to e-Sword Topic Notes chapter space limitations.] [3] *It may be worth noting here that Dr. Kidd, in his book on the Eternal Sonship of Christ, to which I shall have occasion afterwards to refer, makes constant use of the term “related state,” when speaking of the relationship between any two of the three persons in the Godhead; in particular between the Father and the Son. It seems at first sight a somewhat awkward phrase. I am persuaded, however, that Dr. Kidd used it on purpose, and with his usual regard to technical accuracy of theological expression; having in view the very distinction which I am now endeavouring to explain. [4]* See Note B. [See 01a Lecture First] [5] *See Note C. [See 01a Lecture First] [6] *See Note D. [See 01a Lecture First] ======================================================================== CHAPTER 64: 06.01A. LECTURE 1ST - NOTES ======================================================================== NOTES TO LECTURE FIRST. NOTE A. (Page 2.) THE letter which follows was addressed to the present lecturer so far back as February 1853. It was accepted by an influential meeting of friends in December following, as the ideal of what ought to be established. As such, and in justice to the writer, I now give it all the permanent publicity I can. My object in this letter is to lay before you the substance of what I have stated to you in conversation, in regard to my scheme for promoting the more general production of a religious literature of a high class in Scotland. My proposal is to procure the institution of a Lectureship in the Free Church, similar to the Boyle, Warburtonian, Bampton, or Hulsean Lectures of the Church of England, or to the more recent series, called “The Congregational Lectures.” I would propose that a series of such lectures be delivered by some minister or professor of the Free Church during the session of the college—in the Free High Church of Edinburgh, if possible— and that they should be re-delivered during the same, or other convenient period, in the city of Glasgow. It might more certainly keep the selection of lecturers among the men of highest qualifications, and so elevate to a higher point the character of the works to be produced, if this delivery should take place only every third or even fourth year; the effect on the public mind would, I think, even be increased by the interval. But this might be shortened, if necessary, by extending the Lectureship in all, or at least In some cases, over two sessions. I would have a great latitude permitted in the choice of subjects. Certainly the lecturer should not be limited, as in England, to demonstrations of the Being of a God, or Expositions of the Christian Evidences, but should be left free to select any topic—doctrinal, controversial, exegetical, practical, biographical, historical—that might be of general or present interest. The sole limitation would be that the subject be approved of by any body of Trustees, or Committee of Assembly, that might have the management of the whole matter, and this limitation would give a certain power to that body to procure the selection of any subject that might specially require illustration. The lecturers, being ministers or professors of the Free Church, would of course be responsible to her for the soundness of their teaching. Each lecturer should be bound to publish his lectures within a certain time after delivery, in such a form that the whole might constitute a uniform series; and he would, of course, be entitled to the profits of such publication. The sum required for the support of this lectureship would be, say £4000, which, at the present current rate of interest (3½ per cent), would yield an annual return of £140; and this, if the lectures were to be delivered every third year, would yield to the lecturer £420; if every fourth year, £560. The church-door collections at the time of delivery would cover the incidental expenses. This, with the profits of publication (and I have no doubt these would be considerable, seeing that purchasers would like to keep up their series), would be good remuneration—a prize worth competing for. The lecturers would be selected by the managing trustees or committee. Last of all, I propose that the Institution should bear the name of some eminent Father of our Church who might be selected by the subscribers; unless, indeed, some wealthy and patriotic individual could be found to take upon himself the burden of the whole, and to gain, as in England, a wellearned immortality for his name, by connecting it with an Institution so noble and enduring. This is a rough sketch of what I would wish to be done. Should the scheme be approved of, the details could easily be adjusted. But surely, my dear sir, I cannot doubt that the proposal will meet with general approval. For one thing, the adoption of it by the Church would, in process of time, wipe off all ground for the common reproach against our Church and country—that of being destitute of a high-class theological literature. This reproach is not by any means a just one. Our Church has never wanted able and learned men who have, in their own sphere, zealously contended for the faith once delivered to the saints. Still it must be owned, that owing probably to the mould in which their precious thoughts were cast, their works have not obtained that standing in the republic of letters to which they were entitled. The effect of such a state of things on the general standing of our Church may be measured, on the one hand, by the contempt with which the literary world has hitherto looked upon her, and, I fear, upon her religion too; and on the other, by the powerful redeeming influence in her favour which the works of Chalmers have produced. Now, what is the cause of this inferiority in our theological literature? It is not want of natural capacity; for I hold it to be a fact, that for the last 150 years, in nearly all the great walks of human thought, the first and preeminent British name has ever been that of a Scotchman! This is no vain boast. Look at this list Mental Philosophy -- HUTCHISON, HUME, REID, STEWART, BROWN, HAMILTON. Natural Science. Chemistry, Medicine -- BLACK, THOMSON. The MUNROS, HUNTER, GREGORY, Sir C. BELL, ABERCEOMBIE, and their illustrious living Successors. Geology -- HUTTON, PLAYFAIR, LYELL, MURCHISON, MILLER. Natural History -- JAMESON, FLEMING. Mathematics, pure and mixed -- MACLAURIN, LESLIE, BREWSTER, PLAYFAIR, IVORY Mechanics -- JAMES WATT History -- BURNET, HUME, ROBERTSON, M’CRIE, MACAULAY, ALISON. Fiction -- SMOLLETT, SCOTT . Poetry— Descriptive -- THOMSON. Pastoral -- RAMSAY, BURNS. Dramatic -- HOME. Narrative -- SCOTT. Didactic and Lyrical -- CAMPBELL Political Economy -- HUME, ADAM SMITH, MAcCULLOCH. Biography -- BOSWELL. Voyages and Travels -- BRUCE, PARK, ROSS. Periodical Writing -- JEFFREY, WILSON, HORNER, MACKINTOSH, CARLYLE, CHAMBERS. Painting -- WILKIE Engineering -- RENNIE, TELFORD, FAIRBAIRN. Is not that a noble array of pre-eminent names? Still we are deficient in four branches—Scholarship, Military Talent, Statesmanship, and (till Chalmers) Theology. Now be it remarked that these are just the four which require the greatest expense of production, and poor Scotland seems to want the political influence or wealth needful to produce and sustain them. Rich England and its wealthy Church may keep up a theological literature of a high class. But there is not water enough in Scotland to float vessels of so large a draught. Even England would have had difficulty in doing so, but for the very kind of institutions which I propose to have established. Let us have the same appliances and means to boot; that is, let us make the thing physically possible, and we shall succeed as well as they. Wherever there has been such encouragement we have not been behind. Neither the oppressive toils of the ministry, nor any want of natural capacity, have hindered the land of Boston and Willison from having a popular theological literature equal, if not superior, to that of any nation in Christendom; and only give high-class literature the adequate encouragement, and you will soon have that too. Now, my dear sir, is not this a scheme that ought, nay, that will call forth the sympathy and aid of the liberal and enlightened friends of the Church. Only think how such an institution as I propose would tell on the people, by supplying them with weighty and sound materials of thought—on the students, by setting before them high models of thought and composition— and on the ministry, by opening up to them a noble arena for the exercise of their powers, and by instituting a legion of honour, in which it would be any man’s pride to be enrolled! The office too, being limited to ministers and professors of the Free Church, would be to that extent an endowment of the Church. Then how useful would such an institution be as a defence against prevalent error! The enemies of the truth have the advantage common to all other assailants, that of selecting their own time and point of attack. They come therefore first upon the field, and gain a great advantage by this priority of occupation. Before the friends of the truth can, if left to the ordinary chances of demand and supply, be aroused to the rescue, the enemy has made himself master of a wide field, and swept multitudes of prisoners away. Does not the present state of the rationalistic controversy furnish a striking and lamentable proof of what I say? And would not such a lectureship as I propose be in all time to come a ready means of sending forth, on the shortest notice, a champion fully accoutred—to flee to the post of danger—to meet the first movements of the foe, and to hoist he standard of truth, by which to rally all its friends to the help of the Lord against the mighty? And then how noble would such an institution be in the permanence of its character. Those who contribute to its establishment may have the assurance that what they are doing “is not for an age, but for all time.” Throughout every future generation it would have the effect of collecting and preserving every drop of pure and profound thought that might spring up in any part of the Church, and which would otherwise run to waste, or water but the desert—and would concentrate all such supplies into one deep and everwidening stream of Divine truth, which through all coming time would contribute to refresh and make glad the city of our God. May I request you then, my dear sir, to give your attention to this matter, and to devise some way or other by which this great object may be accomplished? I believe it will only be necessary to bring the matter before the public, in order to awaken a deep and general interest in it. Surely there will be found among the generous friends of the Church at least thirty or forty who would contribute a hundred pounds each to the scheme. Or rather there may be some one noble-minded and patriotic individual who would take upon himself the whole charge of this matter, and thus perform a service of vast importance and immortal renown to the resources of his church and the literature of his country. Mr. Fairbairn continued to press his views from time to time. He published various letters on the subject; one, in particular, in connection with the tricentenary of the Scottish Reformation, dated 7th May 1860, in which, among other things, he says :— I am glad to observe that in view of the approaching tri-centenary of the Scottish Reformation, there is a general desire to institute some permanent memorial of that great event. It appears to me, therefore, that this is a fit season for my endeavouring to recal public attention to a suggestion which I ventured to throw out some years ago. What I proposed was, that steps should be taken to institute and endow a Lectureship similar to the Boyle, Bampton, Warburtonian, or Hulsean Lectures of the Church of England, or to the more recent series called the Congregational Lectures. I now beg to suggest that the institution and endowment of such a Lectureship would be a most fitting and profitable memorial of our glorious Reformation. There can be no doubt that this great change originated in a mighty movement of the higher order of minds, both on the Continent and in this country; and every one who has studied the details of our Reformation period knows that the movement in this country was promoted, if not originated, by the study of the great works of Continental Protestantism. There were numerous acts, both of the civil and ecclesiastical powers, having for their object to prohibit the importation of these great works into this country. Let us, then, by all means, be possessed of a literary institute for the defence and illustration of the great principles of Divine truth, which were for the first time promulgated in this country by our glorious Reformation. I cannot doubt that such a Lectureship would do much to take away our national reproach—the want of an adequate theological literature. It would, I make bold to say, speedily originate a first-rate national school of theology, and would at all events, even in less-favoured cases, be the means of supplying us, as in the case of the English Lectureship at present, with a seasonable and instructive volume on some of the great topics of the day. And then, how noble would such an institution be in the permanence of its character! Those who might contribute to its establishment would have the assurance that what they are doing “is not for an age, but for all time.” Throughout every future generation such an institution would have the effect of collecting every drop of pure and profound thought that might spring up in any part of our Church, and which would otherwise run to waste, or water but the desert; and would concentrate them all into one deep and everwidening stream of Divine truth, which through all coming time would contribute to refresh and make glad the city of our God.* * I single out Mr. Fairbairn, as entitled to special notice, because it was he who kept his eyesteadily on the accomplishment of the object, and because I believe that it was his persistency that accomplished it. I by no means wish to overlook the claims of other men. In particular, I think much credit is due to Mr. James Knox, who advocated the cause anonymously, in an influential journal, some time before Mr. Fairbairn published anything on the subject, though not before he was known to be actively moving in the matter. NOTE B. (Page 21.) It might seem almost necessary to offer an apology for dwelling so much on what may be thought by some to be very elementary principles. But they are, in my view, very vital. And there is in many quarters a strange incapacity to apprehend or unwillingness to admit them. I shall give an instance, by referring for a little to a recent work bearing this title, “On the Fatherhood of God,” by “Thomas Griffith, A.M., Prebendary of St Paul’s” (1862). I may premise, however, that I regard the title as altogether inapplicable to the book, and fitted, though of course not intended, to mislead. It is not the fatherhood of God at all, as it seems to me, that the writer discusses, but an entirely different subject, the moral government of God. This is his formal definition or description, at the outset of his treatise;—“I mean by this phrase that we must conceive of God as no mere universal Breath, and no mere blind Force, but as a Personal Will endued with wisdom and goodness, the intelligent Author, moral Governor, and righteous Judge of all things” (p. 5). That, and nothing more, is what he sets himself to “assert, vindicate, and establish.” And he is consistent throughout in holding to this view of God’s fatherhood. Over and over again he repeats it. Thus he says:—“In his relation to us, God is all that a Father can be to his children; not alone the Author of our being, but our moral Governor, our righteous Judge” (p. 84). Again he speaks of “the working out of a universal system of retributive justice, or paternal government” (p. 184). Mark the identification of “retributive justice” with “paternal government.” In another place, he formally explains the matter thus:—“The Fatherhood of God, in its widest sense, is of vast extent. It comprises his upholding all things by his power; his prescribing to them their laws of action by his wisdom; his keeping up throughout the universe one vast system of paternal administration in pursuance of one purpose of eternal good” (p. 214). But I need not multiply quotations. As an exposition and defence of the moral government of God, the work of Mr. Griffith is one of considerable value. It contains some striking enough arguments and illustrations in proof of the personality, authority, and will of God. I think it is defective in the views given of moral evil, the manner of its entrance into the world, its effects, and the method of its cure. Perhaps its defectiveness in some of these particulars may be partly explained by the opinion which he seems to hold on the subject of law, an opinion which appears to me to be erroneous and dangerous. He is dealing with objections to the fatherhood of God,— that is to the doctrine of there being a living will concerned in the government of the universe,—taken from the fixedness of order and the prevalence of law. He proves that interference with law is no part of a paternal government as thus explained:—“The true idea of God’s Fatherhood is that of the government of a constitutional King, who is the embodiment and executive of law, who sits at the helm of law, and superintends the working of law, as himself the fountain of law,—with no personal caprices, no personal interferences, no mending of defects by sudden incursions of ex post facto will, but providing against defects by the quiet constancy of an ever-present purpose underlying and actuating all things” (p. 182. The italics are the author’s.) I am not quite sure that I understand these closing words. But let that pass. It is what comes after that I am concerned to notice. He goes on to argue for what he calls “a universal system of retributive justice, or paternal government” in connection with law; and he lays great stress on its being universal. “A system of universal retribution is being carried out by the divine will, not in one direction only, but in all; not with reference to personal character merely, but with reference to all the actings of life throughout the universe. And according to this system, we are amenable not only to the so-called, in a narrow sense, Moral laws, but equally to the Mechanical laws, the Physical laws, the Mental laws, all the laws which regulate, each in its own department, universal being. All equally have their sanctions, which must be enforced; all equally their authority, which must be vindicated by reward when they are attended to, by punishment when they are interfered with” (184, 185). He enlarges on this topic; placing, as it seems to me, obedience to all these different kinds of law, precisely on the same footing in respect of obligation and title to reward, and disobedience also to all of them precisely on the same footing in respect of culpability and ill-desert. And this is his answer, and his only answer, to the objection that “God does not adapt his dealings with us to our notions of moral justice.” In reality, as might easily be shown, it is no answer at all; since it leaves the ineradicable craving for justice as unsatisfied as ever, and the enigma which perplexes it as hard as ever. But that is not to my present purpose. I wish simply to point out the fundamental error which runs through all this reasoning. It is a very serious one. It strikes at the root of conscience in man and judgment in God. It resolves all virtue in the creature into prudence; and all government in the Creator into the mere action and reaction upon one another of the forces of the universe. I can scarcely think that this writer is fully aware of the real import of his statements and reasonings, or of the extent to which he commits himself to the doctrine of Combe’s “Constitution of Man;”—though really, his argument, as an answer to the objection with which he is dealing, has not even any shallow speciousness unless he means to put exactly in the same category, as a fair antithesis, the ill-desert of a “godly man,” who “through negligence or ignorance, violates the laws of physical life;” and the good-desert of an ungodly man who, “whether intentionally or not,” “fulfils the laws of his organic system.” It is very sad to see a Christian divine trifling so egregiously with the solemn and awful term, the solemn and awful thought, “retribution;”—applying it equally to what follows from a man’s falling on the ice and to what follows on his uttering an oath or an untruth. I might ask, in this connection, what does the writer mean when he talks of “the so-called, in a narrow sense, Moral Laws?” Is it that the term “Moral” should be used in a wider sense, as applicable to the “Mechanical laws, the Physical laws, the Chemical laws,” equally with the laws, or the law, of duty, commonly designated by that name? I cannot understand him to mean anything else. And yet, if that is his meaning, he commits an egregious logical fallacy, and what is worse, surrenders the entire principle of the moral government of God. There is a logical fallacy here which imposes upon many. It is admitted that the Natural laws,—embracing under that phrase the Mechanical, Physical, and Chemical laws,—fall within the range of the Moral law; as indeed “all the laws which regulate, each in its own department, universal being,” necessarily must do. In other words, we are morally bound to have respect to the natural laws which are observed to operate in the created world, and to keep them in view, as ordinances of the Creator, in the regulation of our conduct. Ordinarily also we are bound to act according to these natural laws,—to act so that their operation shall benefit and not hurt us. But the obligation to do so does not arise out of these laws themselves; nor is it measured or determined by them. It is not constituted by these laws. It belongs to another category altogether;—the category of a higher law; a law which, being itself unchangeable as the nature and will of the Supreme, must rule me always in my dealing with these other laws, and may compel me often practically to set them at defiance. For they have no standing beyond the material creation and consequently they have no right to control the immortal spirit in its allegiance to the Creator. The hero, the patriot, the philanthrophist, the martyr,—even the enlightened self-disciplinarian seeking his own highest perfection,—may suggest instances in point. But the logical fallacy is the least evil involved in the loose way of talk in which this author, with many others, indulges. To extend the term “Moral” to these natural laws, is not really to exalt the latter, but to debase and destroy the former. If my obligation to keep the laws of the decalogue, or the two commandments which are its sum, is of the same sort as my obligation to have respect to the law of gravitation,—if the one is neither more nor less moral than the other,—then duty, as “a categorical imperative,” on the part of God, and responsibility, as conscience toward God on the part of man, become mere names. Government, properly so called, is out of the question. The entire system of “universal being,” in the midst of which I find myself, from its lowest to its highest range, is still no doubt a system in which, after a sort, law prevails, and order is upheld by law. But it is a kind of self-acting law, working out its end by the equable pressure of its various departments on the various constitutions, and constitutional powers and susceptibilities, of those under it; enforcing itself or avenging itself in the same way upon all, from the meanest monad to the loftiest archangel; and so ultimately securing universal conformity to the purposes of the great Creator. That may be a theory of the universe satisfactory to some minds. But it cannot be satisfactory to any who defend, as this author does most strenuously, and in the main successfully, the view of the Creator which represents him as a real living Person, ruling real living persons made after his image;—ruling them by the assertion of his rectoral authority, as their sovereign, over them, and of their accountability, as his subjects, to him. On the whole, I conclude that the only safeguard of morality and religion, the only defence of human duty and the divine throne, is to keep the moral law clear and distinct, as being radically different, in its essential character and nature, from all the generalized observations of fact which have been suffered to usurp, or allowed for convenience to borrow, the name; and I would add, almost as a corollary from that, to keep clear and distinct from one another God’s necessary government of moral beings by law and judgment, and his free fatherhood. NOTE C. (Page 26.) I would not have my argument become a mere logomachy, or fight about words. And, in particular, I would not wish to be supposed to run counter to the line of thought, or even to the phraseology, customary in the writings of the old and sound British divines. They certainly seem to speak as if they held that a natural and original relation of fatherhood and sonship subsisted between God and his intelligent creatures, in virtue simply of their being his creatures, or in virtue of their being his intelligent creatures. They carefully distinguish, however, that natural and original relation from the relation constituted de novo, in the case of all true Christians, by regeneration and adoption; of new, I repeat, and not simply in the way of restoration. It is this last relation that I am chiefly concerned to vindicate. I may differ from them,— in appearance, however, more than in reality,—in my way of vindicating it. But we agree in holding it to be a part of the dispensation of grace, dependent on the joint work of the Son and of the Spirit. If I take any exception to their suggestion of a natural and original relation of fatherhood and sonship, it is mainly because it seems to me to bring in at the very outset of creation an altogether inadequate ideal or type of that relation—falling far short, in my apprehension, of what is realised as the issue of redemption. Still there is really nothing in their usual mode of putting the relation of intelligent creatures, as such, to their Creator, to which I would seriously object;—excepting only on the ground that it tends, as I fear, in some degree, to substitute a figurative for a real notion of the fatherhood. I take Pearson and Barrow as authorities. Pearson, in his Exposition of the Creed, Article 1, “I believe in God the Father,” opens the subject thus: “Although the Christian notion of the Divine paternity be some way peculiar to the evangelical patefaction”—let the reader mark that—“yet wheresoever God hath been acknowledged, he hath been understood and worshipped as a Father: the very heathen poets so describe their gods, and their vulgar names did carry father in them, as the most popular and universal notion.” In his foot-notes on this sentence, he quotes a statement from Lactantius, to the effect that every god worshipped by man must be styled father, “not only by way of compliment, but by force of reason, both because he is more ancient than man, and because he gives to man life, preservation, and sustenance, as a father.” Then he brings in Homer’s favourite expression, “Father of gods and men,” and cites Servius as “observing of Virgil, that the paternal title is poetically added to almost all the gods, that they may become the more venerable.” He goes on to enumerate the different grounds upon which God may be called a father, beginning with “the creation or production of anything, by which it is, and before was not;” which, he says, “is a kind of generation, and consequently the creator or producer of it a kind of father.” In this sense he says, with reference to the rain and dew (Job 38:28), “God, as the cause, may be called the Father of it; though not,” as he adds, “in the most proper sense, as he is the Father of his Son” `Ete,rwj gar tij u`etou/ pate,ra qeo.n avkou,ei kai. e`te,rwj ui`ou).*[1] Of course, he distinguishes the rational creatures of God, as being his sons by way of eminence; but without really implying more on their behalf than that they can know who their maker is. And this, with the addition of “conservation,” is literally all that Pearson holds to be implied in the idea of an original and natural fatherhood on the part of God. For he goes on immediately to speak at much greater length of God’s fatherhood by redemption, by regeneration, by adoption—as to all which grounds of fatherhood I substantially agree with him, with this qualification, that I would transpose the two parts of his exposition. I would place first his most admirable statement of the fatherhood of God with reference to his Eternal Son, and deduce from that, as founded upon it, the fatherly relation which, in his Son become incarnate, he sustains to those who are savingly interested in the work that he became incarnate to accomplish; who are, in short, one with him by faith. Barrow is fuller on this subject than Pearson. But much the same may be said of him as of the other. In his parallel treatises, “The Christian Faith Explained and Vindicated,” and “A Brief Exposition of the Creed, etc.,” he enlarges on the article, “1 believe in God the Father.” In doing so, he makes much use, according to his custom, of the classic writers and the early fathers. But the sum of what he thus gathers is given by himself in this compendious form:—“In so many several respects is God our Father: we are his children—(l) as being his creatures, made, preserved, and maintained by him; (2) as we are intellectual creatures, being placed in degree and quality of nature so near him; (3) as we, by virtue and goodness (produced in us by his grace), do anywise approach him, resemble him, and partake of his special favour; (4) as we are Christians, adopted into his heavenly family, renewed by his holy grace, and destinated to a participation of his eternal glory.”—(“The Christian Faith,” etc., Sermon X.) Of the four grounds on which the relation is here made to rest, the first two alone are natural, the others being confessedly of grace. And in the first two nothing really is involved beyond mere origination in the one, and in the other, such resemblance, in respect of intelligence, as makes intelligent personal intercourse possible. There is a remarkable passage immediately preceding that now quoted, to which I may afterwards refer, as connecting the sonship of believers with the incarnation of the Son. Meanwhile, it is enough for my purpose to show that, in whatever sense, and whether properly or not, these divines make God, as Creator, to be the Father of his creatures, this can mean nothing more, even in the case of the highest intelligences, than that he and they can understand one another, and can converse and commune accordingly. NOTE D. (Page 42.) A singular and striking confirmation of this view is to be found in “Locke’s two Treatises on Government,” and in the two works of Sir Robert Filmer, Bart.,—his “Observations, &c.,” and his “Patriarcha, or the Natural Power of Kings,” (1680),—to which Locke’s Treatises were a reply. The Baronet’s brochures are of little worth. Their only value is that they called out such an antagonist, and gave that great man occasion for not only destroying his opponent, but erecting a stronghold on the side of liberty that has never since been shaken. I cannot enter into details. But I may note it as a significant fact that Sir Robert’s fundamental position makes all government paternal, and that he builds upon that position the most unrestricted doctrine of absolute power that has ever been propounded in an intelligent age. Passive obedience and non-resistance are his cherished tenets. The right of kings to make laws and overrule laws, to command their subjects as they see fit, with no counter-right of opposition recognizable in any circumstances whatever, is pled to the most extreme point. And the basis of the whole pleading is the idea of a paternal government. All government, according to him, is originally paternal; and as being so, it is hereditary. He has great difficulty in tracing the hereditary line of descent. The inextricable complexities of ever-changing dynasties, empires, kingdoms, commonwealths, puzzle him somewhat. But in spite of facts, his theory carries him through, just as the High Church theory of apostolic succession carries divines through in the face of all historical embarrassments. The High Church divines contrive, in spite of endlessly doubtful ecclesiastical genealogies, to invest the modern bishop with all the prerogatives belonging to what they hold to be the primary episcopate. And so also, Sir Robert, as representing the ultra-loyalist party of his day, makes no scruple about placing all existing legitimate kings in the position of the first parent of our race, and assigning to them the very same sort of authority which, according to him, Adam had over his family begotten of his loins and living under his roof. And what follows, according to Sir Robert’s logic? Nothing short of the most absolute right, on the part of all kings, to treat their subjects, who are their children, as dependants wholly at their disposal, without natural privilege or claim of any sort, beyond what a mere infant, or a mere boy, has in the household of his father. No other warrant is needed for the cruellest tyranny on the one hand, and the tamest acquiescence on the other. Hence the zeal with which Locke repudiates the paternal theory of human government, and insists on its being based on another principle; a principle which by no means, as some suppose, excludes a divine ordinance as sanctioning human government, but only makes the actual carrying out of the divine ordinance dependent instrumentally, as it must always ultimately be, on the consent of the community. Of course, the only point of analogy here, between the human government and the divine, is the entire separation and seclusion of the paternal element from the proper and original ideal of both. Whether the government rests immediately on the sovereignty of God, or mediately on the consent of men, makes no difference, as regards the present question. In either case it is a government based fundamentally on mere law and judgment, and altogether exclusive of the paternal relation or the idea of fatherhood. The intrusion of that relation or idea, when it is human government that is to be considered, inevitably leads to tyranny, for the popular voice is excluded. When it is the divine government that is to be considered, it introduces a corresponding disorder; not perhaps in the way of establishing tyranny, but rather in the way of tending to anarchy; for in that case the divine supremacy, in virtue of which God necessarily vindicates his just rule, is practically excluded. For there are these two opposite ways of working out the theory of all government being paternal, and paternal only. In the case of human government, it exempts the governor from the obligation of observing as well as enforcing righteous law, and so gives him a discretionary power which he may push to any extent of severity. In the case of the divine government, it does the same thing, but with an opposite issue. It makes the Divine Governor independent, in his government, of his own righteous law; and so gives him a discretionary power which he may push to any extent of laxity. The only security for liberty in human governments, and for authority in the divine, is the recognition of the principle,—and the recognition of it as a first and fundamental principle,—that the foundation of all government is law, in the strict forensic sense of the term; and that the essential function of all governors is to administer law, and to administer it judicially and not paternally. __________ [1] * “One understands God to be father of the dew in another sense than that in which he is father of the Son.” Sever. in Job, as quoted by Pearson. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 65: 06.02. LECTURE 2ND - FATHERHOOD OF GOD SEEN IN CHRIST ======================================================================== LECTURE SECOND. THE FATHERHOOD OF GOD, AS MANIFESTED IN THE PERSON OF CHRIST, THE INCARNATE WORD. God sent forth his Son made of a woman.— Galatians 4:4. THE only relation or relationship, properly so called, which can be fairly held to be constituted by the fact of creation, so as to be implied in it, or legitimately inferred from it, is that of rule or government by law and judgment. And the only distinction which the possession of intelligence akin to that of the Creator confers on the higher order of creatures, as compared with the lower, is that they are capable of understanding and appreciating the law by which they are ruled, so as either to consent to it or to dissent from it; and that, consequently, the judgment enforcing the law is to them an experience of conscious personal responsibility. In other words, they are endowed with the faculties of free will and the moral sense. In virtue of their being thus distinguished and thus endowed, they are capable originally, by their very constitution, simply as creatures, of a kind of intercourse on their part with the Creator, and a mode of treatment of them on his part, altogether peculiar. The peculiarity of it lies in its being personal. The Creator and the creature face one another as persons. Now, proper personality, as I need scarcely say, implies capacity of intelligence and freedom of will. When two parties are brought together as persons, so as to have dealings with one another as persons, they must be able to understand one another, and they must be at liberty to choose how they are to stand related to one another. You and I, as persons, dealing with one another upon any point at issue between us, must be able to comprehend the point, and must be free to say whether we are prepared to agree or resolved to differ regarding it. It is not easy to see how anything beyond this can be held to be involved in the original relation, constituted naturally by creation, between God and the highest of the intelligent inhabitants of his universe. Let it not be supposed that I regard that original relation as imperfect or defective, or that I underrate the rank which it confers. On the contrary, I hold it to be the very climax and consummation of the creature-state, when there comes forth a godlike person, intelligent and free, with whom the personal God may have personal intercourse and personal transactions. No limit can be set to the intimacy of personal communion and the reciprocity of personal affection thus rendered possible. But the possibility is necessarily conditional on the assertion, on the one hand, and the recognition, on the other hand, of government by moral law and its judicial awards. The very perfection of the creature-state, in the case of intelligent beings, consists in that reciprocal assertion and recognition. Neither angels nor men could have been originally perfect, as creatures, on any other footing. They cannot, on any other footing, be perfect as creatures ultimately and eternally. All this, however, is consistent with its being matter of legitimate inquiry whether there is not revealed in Scripture a relation of fatherhood on the part of the Creator, and sonship on the part of the creature, quite distinct from any relation constituted by creation? And, in particular, it is consistent with the question being raised, whether it may not be indispensable to the full realisation of the perfection of the creature-relationship itself in the unfallen, and to its recovery in the fallen, that this new and superadded relation of fatherhood and sonship should somehow come in? At the present stage of the inquiry, I take up the former of these questions. And I begin with a consideration of the fatherhood of God as manifested in the person of his incarnate Son. It is not my purpose to enter at any length into the proof of the eternal sonship of the Second Person in the Trinity—involving, as it necessarily does, the eternal fatherhood of the First. I rather assume the fact or doctrine, as plainly taught in Scripture, and, with scarcely an exception of any note, universally admitted by all believers in our Lord’s supreme divinity, in all ages of the Church. But as I consider this eternal relation of fatherhood and sonship in the Godhead to be the real origin, root, and ground, as well as the archetype, prototype, and model of the relation of fatherhood and sonship between God and any of his creatures, it may be proper to bring out briefly, though with great prominency, what is usually held to be the import of this glorious truth. These are in the undivided essence of the Godhead relations, or “related states.”*[1] And these are and must be from everlasting. The one living and true God is revealed, not as God absolute, but as God related, or as God subsisting from the beginning with certain internal relations; in a way admitting, in some sense, of mutual action and reaction; of a certain reciprocity of loving and being loved. So we are to conceive of God as love. He is love. And his being love is not dependent on what may be called the accident or contingency of his having creatures to be loved. It springs out of the very necessity of his nature. It is his essential manner of being. Before the existence of any creature—before all time—God is love. And he is not love potentially only, but actually: not capable of loving, but loving. He loves and is loved. He is love itself. He is not love quiescent, but love active and in exercise. He is so from all eternity. And he is so, and can only be so, in virtue of the eternal distinction of the divine persons in the Godhead, and the eternal relations which they sustain towards one another. More particularly, it is in respect of the eternal relation of fatherhood and sonship that God is thus, from everlasting, love. It is chiefly in virtue of that relation that God is revealed as consciously, if I may so say, and energetically, love. From everlasting the Son is in the bosom of the Father. And the infinite, ineffable complacency subsisting between the Father and the Son in the Holy Ghost, is the primary exercise of that love which God is; that love which is of the essence of his nature. It is thus that love in God has never been, properly speaking, the love of himself, or selflove. For there have ever been in the one undivided Godhead the holy three, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, mutually loving and loved. And especially in the second person, and in the real and intimate relation of fatherhood and sonship between the first person and the second, the deep disinterestedness of the divine love is proved. The Father loveth the Son. The Spirit glorifieth the Son. For it is in the Son, as the Son, that the fatherly love of God flows forth in full stream. It flows forth to create and bless the countless multitude of intelligences who are, throughout eternity, to rejoice in calling the highest Father, in and with the Son. Thus, then, the paternal relation, the relation of fatherhood and sonship, exists primarily and originally in the Godhead itself. And, as thus existing, it is natural, necessary, and eternal. It is not constituted by any creative act, or any sovereign volition or fiat of will. The Son is eternally begotten of the Father; “begotten, not made;” of the same substance; participating in the same nature; “God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God.” In this eternal relation between the Father and the Son, the Holy Spirit is eternally and intimately concerned. Being one with the Father and the Son in the undivided essence of Deity, he is—if one may venture to use such language on such a subject— from all eternity, a conscious, consenting party to the relation. It is in the Holy Spirit that this wondrous relation of divine fatherhood and sonship, with all its inconceivable endearments, is realized from all eternity. It is by the Holy Spirit that it is developed, so far as it is to be developed, in time. He is the Spirit of God, and of his Son (Galatians 4:6). I cannot here deny myself the gratification of quoting a passage from the very remarkable book of a very remarkable man;—“A Dissertation on the Eternal Sonship of Christ,” by Dr. Kidd, of Aberdeen.*[2] He sums up his argument from Christ being said to dwell in the bosom of his Father, in these terms:— “Language cannot convey in stronger words the existence of the only-begotten Son of the Father in the Godhead. If the expression Son, be a mere title conveying no relation to the person who is Father,—terms must cease to include meaning, and be stript of the property of including rational ideas. Could such expressions be used, in any other case, where an unbiassed mind would not instantly affix the notion of a related state between persons thus described?—Could an unprejudiced mind adopt any other conclusion? The love of the person of the Father, and complete participation in his counsels and designs, are attributed to the only-begotten Son. If there were not the Son eternally enjoying this love, and participating in these counsels and designs, there never was the Eternal Father loving, counselling, and designing. This is the utmost verge of knowledge which the human intellect is permitted to apprehend. When it has explored creation and creation’s laws—when it has risen to higher contemplations than the investigation of matter can elicit—when it has surveyed farther than planets roll or spheres glitter—when it has exhausted the wonders of the telescope and microscope— when it has studied the soul, whose powers have directed these pursuits—when it has left the observation of kindred minds, and learned what is announced of the ranks of the pure spirits—when it has, in thought, ascended to the illimitable vastness of Godhead,—it is permitted to know that harmony active, energetic, eternal, subsists therein, enjoyed between the adorable persons, the Father and the Son! “In our nature complacency is the sweet, refreshing influence which hallows enjoyment, which is the unison of the mental powers, which introduces repose from all that is harassing, and a soul-felt intensity of delight. The mind is alive to enjoyment, and misery is hushed. It feels the flow of what is good, and the retrocession of what is evil. Existence is experienced more alertly, more gladly, more exquisitely. The periods when we were without this feeling were, in our estimation, either those of tempestuous confusion, or the dull, dead level where emotions are absorbed in vacancy.—In complacency we feel joy; we wish joy to be felt by all. The very ardour of our happiness longs for a congeniality of feeling and sentiment. The aspect of creation is more pleasing. For us, the sun shines brighter, and the earth gives its thousand sweets more lovely. We act better; we think better; we are better. We long to enjoy this for ever! We hold communion with those suited for happier, purer scenes. We wish for the time when this complacency shall be warmer—when communion of soul shall be dearer—when we shall increase in the expanse of this feeling. Such is the complacency of men.—But, in the Godhead, complacency is undefinable, because it is immense,—vast as the Being in whom it dwells,—vast in the nature of him who ‘filleth all in all,’—vast in that boundless expanse of delight, from whose stores angels’ joys have flowed, man’s delights have been given. There—is the only-begotten Son, in the bosom of the Father. He sees him; he is with him; he is God.” (Pages 221-223. Edit. 1822.) Thus far I have adverted to the original and necessary relation of fatherhood and sonship, as subsisting from everlasting in the Eternal Godhead. For the farther investigation of that great subject, I refer inquirers to such works as that of Dr. Kidd, and the more recent unanswered and unanswerable treatise of Treffrey. My present object does not require me to dwell longer upon it. Assuming the eternity of the relation, I proceed to inquire into the manner in which it is manifested and acted out, if I may so say, in time. And here, generally, it may be observed that the development of this relation, its being disclosed and unfolded, is by means of creation, and its history; of which, indeed, the development of this relation is the one chief and capital design. The created universe is the stage on which it is to be displayed. The succession of events in the created universe is the process through which it is to be displayed. The interest chiefly centres, at least so far as we are concerned, in the one great event of the incarnation. It is the incarnation that illustrates all the preceding, as well as all the subsequent steps in the process of this development of the divine fatherhood and sonship. For it is the incarnation that brings this eternal relation within the range of human cognizance and experience in time. There may have been other ways of making it partly and partially known to other intelligences. It is possible, perhaps even probable, that the Father may have found other occasions, and adopted other methods, for introducing his Son to the angels, so that they might recognise him as his Son, and worship him accordingly. Still I am persuaded, even as regards these high intelligences, that their full insight into the fatherhood of God, and their full participation, to the extent of their capacity, in the sonship which that fatherhood implies as its correlative, must be found ultimately to be connected with the incarnation and its accompanying incidents—“the things which the angels desire to look into.”—(1 Peter 1:12) Certainly, for all created minds and hearts, the incarnation is the clearest, brightest, most gracious, and glorious exhibition that has ever been given, or may I not add, that ever can be given, of the divine fatherhood. And it is the manifestation of it too, that must ever be most intensely interesting to all holy beings and all saved ones, for its momentous bearing practically on their everlasting state and prospects. Let the several principal points which the incarnation brings out be in this view carefully considered. In the first place, the incarnation, as a great fact, discovers the communicableness, if I may use such a word, of the relation of fatherhood and sonship, as it exists in the Godhead. It proves that it is a relation which may be communicated to a creature, and shared in by a creature. The incarnation demonstrates, by a plain palpable proof, that this relation is not like an incommunicable property or attribute of Deity, but is something in or about Deity, in which others besides the Divine persons may participate and have fellowship. For in fact the incarnation shows this relation actually communicated to humanity, and shared in by humanity, in the person of the man Christ Jesus. For the man Christ Jesus is the Son of God, in respect of his human nature as well as his divine. He is, as he goes about on earth doing good, the Son of God, in the very same sense, in the very same fulness of blessed significancy, in which he is the Son of God, as dwelling in the Father’s bosom from everlasting. Let it be ever remembered that, though possessed of two natures, Jesus Christ, come in the flesh, is one person; one individual person; as truly and literally so as I am, or any one of you is. It is the one person, the man Christ Jesus, who is, from and after the incarnation, the Son of God. There are not two sonships belonging to him, but only one; not two fatherhoods of God towards him but only one. For the relation of sonship, being strictly personal, must be one, as the person is one. There are not, there cannot be, two distinct relations of fatherhood and sonship subsisting between God and the Incarnate Word; the one proper to his divine, the other to his human nature. The sonship of the one person cannot be conceived of as thus divided. It has, and must have, the character or quality of perfect unity. Again, it is to be remarked that the original and eternal relation in which the First Person in the Godhead stands to the Second, as his uncreated, only begotten Son, cannot be conceived of as altered or modified by that Son’s becoming incarnate; by his taking into personal union with himself the nature of the creature man. His proper personality is not thereby affected; nor the relation between it and that of the Father. He continues to be the Son of the Father in the very same sense exactly in which he has been the Son of the Father from everlasting. Any other imagination would make that divine relation mutable in time, not, as in his case it must be held to be, necessary and eternal. If it is in any respect, or to any extent, susceptible at any time or in any circumstances of any modification whatever, it cannot be regarded as what we hold it to be, the original and inherent condition of Deity itself, of the everlasting and unchangeable God. From all this it clearly follows, that in the one undivided person of Jesus Christ, the Son of God come in the flesh, humanity enters into that very relation of sonship which, before his coming in the flesh, he sustains to the Father. From thenceforth fatherhood is a relation in which the Supreme God stands, not merely to a divine, but now also to a human being; to one who is as truly man as he is truly God. This is not, let it be carefully observed, making man as God; confounding the two natures in Christ, and ascribing to the one what can only be truly predicated of the other. It is not implied in the view which I have been giving that there is any communication of any divine property or attribute, any quality or perfection of the divine nature, to the human nature, in the man Christ Jesus. The question is not a question about nature at all; it is simply and exclusively a question of relationship. The two natures, being distinct, and continuing to be distinct, may nevertheless, if united in one person, be embraced in one personal relationship. That is what is meant, and all that is meant. And that surely cannot reasonably be said, either to derogate from the supreme divinity, or to deify the humanity, of the Incarnate Son. As God and man, in two distinct natures, he is one person, standing in the one personal relation of sonship to the Father. That is what he begins to be from the moment of his becoming incarnate. And he is so, all throughout his earthly course. This also it is important to bear in mind. There is no such thing as dualism, or duality; about this thoroughly human Son of God, as he is seen walking before our eyes in Galilee and Judea. There is no need of any line being drawn, or any distinction being made, between his sonship as God, and his sonship as man; as if he sometimes spoke and acted in the character or capacity of God’s divine Son, and at other times in that of his human Son; as if he sometimes called God Father by a right or title proper to his divinity, and at other times by a right or title belonging to his humanity. To conceive thus of him is really to break the unity of his person. And it does not elevate; rather on the contrary it lowers him. It lowers him as man, in the human aspects of his position and standing towards the Father and his fellowship with the Father, without at all elevating him as God, in any of his divine prerogatives. The true honouring of him in his incarnate state, is to hold that whatever he says as the Son, to the Father; whatever he asks, as the Son, of the Father; whatever he does, as the Son, for the Father; he says, and asks, and does, as the “one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus;” the one Lord Jesus Christ. Here it may be proper, for the purpose of preventing, if possible, misrepresentation and misconception, to interpose an explanatory caution, which, but for there being some men of peculiar minds, apt to pervert even the plainest statements, I might not have considered necessary. I would not like the inference which I deduce from the fact of the incarnation to be confounded with the notion, which seems much in vogue in certain quarters, of that great event having somehow affected beneficially humanity in general; the human nature as such; the human race universally and at large; so as to impress a kind of filial character on the intuitional apprehension which all men are said to have of God, and on the position which they occupy towards him. I confess, I never can feel quite sure that I thoroughly understand the language used on this subject by the class of writers I refer to; it seems to me so vague and hazy. I would not do them injustice. And, therefore, I wish it to be observed, that it is not my present object to comment on their opinions, but only to make my own meaning clear. The idea of some at least seems to be, that the Son of God, becoming man, has taken all manhood, wherever and in whomsoever found, into a sort of incorporating union with himself as regards his sonship; that simply in consequence and in virtue of humanity being a partaker of the filial relation in his human person, it is so in all human persons; that altogether apart from any dealing with men individually, the Son, having assumed the nature common to all, invests that nature everywhere with the dignity which it has in him, and makes all who possess it ipso facto sons. Whether I am right or wrong in believing that to be the teaching of any theologians is not at this stage of any consequence. All I wish to say is that it is not mine. I limit my contemplation, for the present, to the one glorious object of the person of our Lord;—the most glorious object of contemplation, I suppose, in all the universe. I fix my eyes exclusively on him. And I follow him with admiring, adoring gaze, all along the path he trod, from Bethlehem’s cradle to Calvary’s cross. I see him doing works, I hear him uttering words, which unequivocally proclaim him to be God; while, evermore, suffering, sympathy, tears, sighs, groans, as unmistakeably prove him to be man. Here are manifestations of power and glory which I hesitate not to ascribe to his divine nature; there are traces of weakness, weariness and woe, which I at once ascribe to the human. But while I distinguish the natures, I cannot divide the person. And, consequently, I cannot divide the sonship. It is the one Son of God, sustaining but one relation as Son to the Father, who lives and moves before me, in all his earthly history, whether I behold him putting forth his power, as God, to raise the dead, or submitting, as man, himself to die. Thus, I think the fact of the incarnation may be shown to involve this consequence, that the relation of fatherhood and sonship subsisting between the first and second persons in the Godhead is not incommunicable; that it is a relation in which one having a created nature may participate. Undeniably, in point of fact, humanity actually shares in it, in the person of the Son of God, Jesus Christ, come in the flesh. Let it be observed that I do not here assert the actual communication of this relation to others besides the incarnate Son. Far less do I undertake, at this stage of the argument, to define either the extent and limits, or the terms and conditions, of such communication. It is admitted, or rather asserted, that the relation in the incarnate Son is a personal one; and consequently, that the mere fact of his incarnation does not of itself prove its communicableness to other persons. It is in his case a relation retained by the divine person in the new human nature assumed by him. The new human nature communicates in the sonship by entering into the person. But this shows, at least, that human nature, as such, has nothing in it or about it which should preclude, in certain circumstances, the being and exercise of sonship in that nature. This is all that I at present contend for. What the circumstances are or may be in which this may be possible, is another question. In Christ, we have the divine Son retaining his sonship in his assumed humanity. In the believer, we have a human being divinely united to Christ by the divine Spirit, in the exercise of a divinely originated faith. And he is thus united to Christ, as the divine Son retaining his sonship in his assumed humanity. I do not say that the circumstances in the two instances are the same. Nor do I, in the meanwhile, even say that they are so far analogous as to warrant a valid conclusion with regard to the identity of the relation. But the incarnation surely renders this, beforehand, a not impossible, nay, a not improbable, opinion;—which is all that I now assert. And it seems to me to do so without involving the least risk of our being shut up into the wild mysticism which would make Christ and the believer literally one person, or represent the believer as losing his own distinct and proper personality in that of the incarnate Son. On the contrary, my reasoning is all in the opposite line. It is the communicableness of the original, divine, filial relation to manhood as subsisting in an individual that I contend for. Christ preserves his proper personality when he shares with the believer what is characteristic of him as man—his being a creature. Is there any reason why the believer should necessarily lose his proper personality when, by a divine act or operation, he shares with the Son what is characteristic of him as God—his being the Son? Is it really a question of personality at all, in any fair sense of the term?*[3] But I am anticipating. I return to the subject on hand. I speak of what the incarnation proves, with reference to the person of the incarnate Son of God. In that view, I have noticed one conclusion or inference which I think may be deduced from it. I now proceed to point out another. It is this:—Not only does the fact of the incarnation establish the communicableness of this divine relation of sonship to God the Father; it discovers also its entire consistency, when communicated, with another relation;—that of subjectship, if I may be allowed to use the term, to God the ruler, to God the king. In the person of Christ, the two relations, while continuing distinct from one another, are yet found combined. I do not see how, before the appearance of the Son of God in his incarnate state, the possibility of such a combination, or the manner in which it might be effected, could be made clearly manifest; how it could be shown, at least fully, to the satisfaction of any created intelligence, that the relation of proper sonship, and the relation of real and actual subjectship, might co-exist in one and the same individual person. For certainly, as it seems to me, all a priori presumptions, all antecedent probabilities, must have been felt to be against the union; the two relations being to all appearance, as regards their respective natures and conditions, opposite and contradictory. The problem might well be regarded by any one who had to deal with it beforehand as all but insoluble—to produce, or even imagine, a being, who should unite and combine, in his own single and individual person, the filial relation, as it has subsisted from all eternity in the uncreated Godhead, and the subject or servant relation, which began to exist when intelligent creatures came upon the stage of the universe. The problem is now seen to be solved by the union of the two natures, the uncreated Godhead and the created manhood, in Jesus Christ as come in the flesh. In virtue of the one nature, he is the Son; in virtue of the other nature, he is a subject and a servant. And being one person, combining in himself both natures, he is at once both son and subject;—both son and servant. This, as I cannot but think, is the special wonder and the peculiar mystery of the incarnation. Even more, I would almost say, than in the union of the two natures in one person,—the wonder, the mystery, to my mind, lies in the union of the two relations. If we at all worthily realise to ourselves the eternal sonship of the second person in the Trinity, I apprehend that we must feel this to be the true state of the case. Theophanies are quite conceivable. The eternal Son of the Father may be imagined to make himself visible in many ways; assuming on occasion the semblance of angel or man, or any other suitable symbolic form. Personal intercourse is conceivable. The uncreated Son of the Father may be supposed to visit the created subjects of the Father, and to have dealings with them, of various sorts. But that he should himself, continuing to be the Son of the Father, come to stand, in his own person, in the relation of a subject and servant to the Father,—this might well be held to be all but inconceivable beforehand. It is not inconceivable now. The incarnation has made it palpable as a great accomplished fact. And it is a fact pregnant with great results. His coming in the flesh, demonstrates that it is possible for him, who is naturally the Son, to be also a subject and a servant, as all God’s reasonable creatures are. May it not, must it not, be regarded as going far to demonstrate the converse also, that it is possible for those who are naturally subjects and servants to be sons, as he is—to enter somehow and to some extent into his relation to God as his Son, as he enters into their relation to God as his subjects and servants? I have thrown out the idea that there may have been beings far back in the history of the created universe, interested in having the possibility and the manner of this union of the two relations in one person made patent to them. And I have suggested that before the incarnation this may have presented itself to their minds as a difficult, if not insoluble, problem. I refer, of course, to the unfallen angels. If, as I venture to think it may be shown to be at least probable, on grounds of reason and Scripture which I may have occasion afterwards to state, these blessed spirits, having stood some decisive test of their allegiance as subjects and their obedience as servants, were on that account, and as the appropriate reward of their faithfulness, invested with the character and title of sons;—and if especially their being invested with that character and title was connected with some introduction to them by the Father of his eternal Son, as such, and some act of homage on their part to him;—I can well imagine how, having before their eyes an ideal or exemplar of sonship, so august, so intimate, so dear, so transcendently glorious and ineffably complacent, they may have felt themselves at a loss to grasp all the fulness of the blessing so graciously bestowed upon them, in their being called the sons of God. The lowly posture of subjects under dominion, of servants under the yoke, they had been well content to take. But what manner of love is this? Can it indeed be possible that sonship, after the only model of which they have any knowledge, is to be, nay, that it already is, theirs? They cannot doubt, they must believe it to be so. And they must thankfully rejoice in its being so. But I can suppose that the divine privilege is at first only very imperfectly realized. I can suppose that, even for a long period, it may be all matter of faith with them, rather than matter of clear-sighted knowledge and experience. I can imagine them looking for clearer light to be shed on what may seem to them so strange, so unaccountable, so all but incomprehensible, a state of things, as that their humble standing as creatures should be found compatible with their sharing the high standing of the Son. And as they wait upon the Son in all the stages of his march along the line of his own creation’s opening history;—as they mark his footsteps on this earth, his wondrous goings forth from of old, and the everbrightening signs of a coming forth more wondrous still;—I can almost, I would say, see these blessed spirits, waiting, watching, on the tip-toe of expectation, on the very rack of hope, till—Lo! The babe is born at Bethlehem. Now at last there bursts on them the great discovery. The Son of God, taking upon him the form of a servant, explains all, harmonizes all. Now the joy of their sonship begins to be complete;—completely intelligible, completely realizable;—as they fix their gaze on the proper and eternal Son of God become truly and in all respects a servant. Now is their worship of the Son recompensed indeed. They see him who is the Son become a servant as they are servants. They can understand how they, being servants, are sons as he is Son. Is this an altogether wild and unwarranted speculation? I do not think so. I think I find some warrant for it in what all Scripture indicates of the attendance of angels on the Son, and in that very significant intimation of the Apostle Peter already quoted—“Which things the angels desire to look into”—(1 Peter 1:12). At any rate, this speculation, if it be a mere speculation, as to what the angels may have known and reasoned about it, does not touch the conclusion which I am now asserting to be deducible from the mere fact of the incarnation itself. It is that fact which proves, and which alone could prove, the possibility of the two relations of sonship and subjectship meeting in one and the same person;—the sonship, let it be very specially noted, being the very relation in which the Son stands to the Father from everlasting; and the subjectship, let it be also very specially noted, being the very relation in which the creature stands to the Creator, as his lawgiver, ruler, and judge. Much importance, therefore, is to be attached to the keeping of the two relations which meet in the person of Christ apart and distinct. As much importance, at least, is to be attached to that as to the keeping of the two natures apart and distinct. The person is one, though the relations are to be regarded as distinct, even as the natures are distinct. The Son in the bosom of the Father, and the subject or servant learning obedience by suffering, is one and the same person. The Son is the suffering and obedient servant. The suffering and obedient servant is the Son. This thought suggests a third consequence following from the fact of the incarnation, which it is important to notice. The incarnation not only brings the eternal Son into the relation of a subject and a servant, but brings him into that relation after it has sustained a great shock—a fatal jar, as it might seem—after it has become thoroughly disordered and deranged. I assume here, in the meanwhile, the reality, not so much of substitution as of identification;—not so much the eternal Son’s substituting himself for us, as his identifying himself with us. The Son of God, in his incarnation, becomes one of us men, one with us men. He becomes one of us, one with us, as fallen creatures, guilty, corrupt, condemned. He shares with us the relation in which we stand to God as subjects, not in its original integrity, as it was at the first, but as it is now, I repeat, disordered and deranged. In its essential nature, of course, the relation is one and the same throughout. It is that of subjection to authority. It is being ruled by law. But as the Son takes it, in our nature, being still the Son, it is subjection to outraged authority — it is being ruled by violated law. No doubt his human nature, when he becomes incarnate, may be different, so far, from ours, in respect of its being such as it was in Adam before he sinned and fell. It may be different from ours, not in its essence, not in anything necessary to identify human nature as human nature, but in the circumstance or accident of depravity and corruption attaching to it, or rather to those who inherit it. I have always felt a difficulty in conceiving of the Holy Son of the Most High becoming man, altogether as man now is since the fall, without qualification or reservation. It has always seemed to me to imply a derogation from his holiness. That he should become what Adam was when he was first made in the image of God, involves no difficulty beyond what lies in the idea of a union of the two natures in one person, however put. But that he should become what I am, when I am begotten in the image of fallen Adam, born in iniquity and conceived in sin,—that theory exceedingly complicates the difficulty. And then, I never have been able to see how, if the human nature of the Son of God had in it anything of the blight or taint which the fall has entailed on it as transmitted to us—if, when he came into our world in human nature, he had any stain of sin, original or actual—he ever could have stood us in stead, as the Lamb of God offered for us without blemish and without spot; or, in other words, as the Holy One of God, taking our place, and answering for us, by substitution, under a sentence of condemnation from which, as it would seem, if he is really to do so, he must himself be free. I cannot, therefore, reconcile myself to the idea of his assuming the human nature in the corrupt condition, and under the personal liabilities, consequent upon the fall. I hold his manhood to be what unfallen Adam’s manhood was.*[4] But the question of relation is altogether different. For the very same reason for which I maintain that he assumes our nature in the incarnation, not as it is now, but as it was before the fall, I maintain also that he enters into our relation to God, as his subjects and servants, in its present, not its original state. The incarnation, if real, necessarily implies this. Or, at all events, the end or design of the incarnation requires it. He comes into our place or position as that of subjects and servants who have disobeyed, and have justly incurred the penalty of disobedience,—to relieve us of our liabilities by taking them on himself. The incarnation of the Son of God is his entering into our relation to God, as a relation involving guilt to be answered for, and the wrath and curse of God to be endured. How does this enhance the wonder and deepen the mystery of the incarnation! For what does it imply? In the person of the man Christ Jesus, the incarnate Son of the Living God, the relation of Sonship to God which from everlasting is his glory and joy in heaven, must now for a time co-exist with the relation of criminality and condemnation, under God’s righteous sentence, which is to be the misery of lost intelligences in hell to everlasting! That these two opposite relations should meet in the incarnate Son of God, in him and in his experience, even for a moment, is an amazing thought. How much more so is it when we consider that, however the full agony of the felt contrast between them may have been concentrated into one dark hour, he must have been conscious, for a lifetime, of their really meeting in him! Surely this is indeed a great wonder and mystery. And yet, as it would seem, nothing short of this is implied in the incarnation of the Son of God. Nor, if anything less had been implied in it, would our case be really met;—not at least if we, being by nature not merely servants and subjects, but, as servants and subjects, criminal and condemned, are to find our relation to God in that character and position,—yes! even this relation of ours to God,—not ultimately incompatible after all, through his marvellous grace, with our being admitted into participation in the relation which He sustains to God, who washes us in his blood, and renovates us by his Spirit;—that relation of sonship which gives to his mediation on our behalf all its value and all its efficacy, and which alone opens up the way to our being sons, as he is the son. There is yet a fourth inference or deduction which I would draw from the fact of the incarnation as uniting in the one person of Christ, not only the two natures, the divine and the human, but the two relations, that of Son and that of subject and servant. It is this. Not only does the incarnation bring the Son into the relation of a subject, under the inevitable condition of criminality and condemnation now attaching to that relation in our case; it proves that the relation itself, apart from that condition, may be one in spirit with that of sonship; and it secures that, as regards all who are in Christ, it shall ultimately be so, and that for ever. I assume the union of the two natures in the one person of Christ to be indissoluble. And I argue that, the two natures being indissolubly and for ever united in him, the two corresponding relations are also united in him indissolubly and for ever. How they are so, and how they are to be seen to be so in the world to come, it may be difficult to imagine. But that they are so, would seem to follow as a necessary consequence from his unchangeableness, as Redeemer, Lord, and King,—his being “the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.” Of course the relation of subjectship must be divested conclusively and thoroughly of the character or condition of criminality and condemnation attaching to it when he comes into it. How that is effected I need not now state at length. I simply refer to his “obedience and death,” as satisfying the claims of outraged authority and violated law. That being over, there is no more criminality, no more condemnation, to mar this relation assumed by him, as it thenceforth co-exists in him with his own natural and divine relation of sonship. Thus the relation of subjectship adapts itself in a wonderful manner, and through a wonderful process, to the relation of sonship; and that too, even after it has been so deranged and broken by the introduction of sin, that even its restoration to its original integrity could scarcely have been anticipated, far less its elevation to so high an honour in the person of its Great Restorer, who, in virtue of his incarnation, “is, and continues to be, God and man, in two distinct natures, and one person for ever;”—and therefore also, on the same ground, Son and subject, in two distinct relations, and one person for ever. To some, this view of our Lord’s manner of existence throughout eternity may seem, at first sight, strange and startling; and beyond all question, it is a great inscrutable mystery. The idea of the Eternal Son, the Maker, Lord, and Heir of all things, not only condescending to occupy for a time the position of a subject, but consenting to make that position his own inalienably and for ever, is very solemn and awful. It is one from which the reverential adorer of the Divine Redeemer may be apt, on its being first presented to him, to shrink and recoil. And yet I do not see how that conclusion can be avoided or evaded, if the fact of the incarnation is admitted, together with the doctrine founded upon it,—the doctrine of the indissoluble union of the two natures in the one person of the incarnate Son. Nor, I am persuaded, will the devout student of scripture, the humble searcher after truth, upon fuller, deeper meditation, be disposed to turn away from it. It will probably occur to such a man that there is one remarkable passage, at least, which seems to indicate something like what I have been inferring. I mean the passage (1 Corinthians 15:28) in which the consummation of the Son’s mediatorial reign is anticipated. Whatever difficulty there may be in determining the precise nature of the change which, as there announced, is to take place in the Son’s state at that era, one thing would seem to be expressly asserted. He is to be “subject unto him which did put all things under him.” So direct a declaration cannot but have weight with all who are content to believe the simple word of God; and it will go far to reconcile them to a view which otherwise they might be slow to admit. Then, besides, it may probably occur to them, as they reflect upon the whole subject, that any feeling they may have had against the view in question, may have arisen out of inadequate and unworthy conceptions of what subjection or service in the kingdom of the Father really is; especially of what it is when it is associated with sonship. Certainly, when he was on earth, our Lord gave no indication of his considering the position of a subject and servant either irksome or degrading. He counted it an honour and a joy to be subject to the Father, and to serve the Father. Why, then, should it be deemed incredible that this should be his honour and his joy for ever? Why should we not hail and welcome the thought that it is this honour and this joy that he is to share with us, when we, having overcome, sit with him in his throne, even as he, having overcome, sits with the Father in his throne ? *[5] I am afraid that some of my hearers may be inclined to find fault with my manner of treating the great subject I have on hand in this, as well as in my former lecture. It may seem to them to be too speculative, and to make too much of merely inferential reasoning. My object has been to clear the way for a direct appeal to the word of God. The next lecture, in which I propose to inquire in what manner and to what extent the fatherhood of God was matter of human knowledge and Divine revelation before the incarnation, will bring me into more immediate contact with the sacred volume. __________ [1] * See footnote, p. 10. [=*It may be worth noting here that Dr. Kidd, in his book on the Eternal Sonship of Christ, to which I shall have occasion afterwards to refer, makes constant use of the term “related state,” when speaking of the relationship between any two of the three persons in the Godhead; in particular between the Father and the Son. It seems at first sight a somewhat awkward phrase. I am persuaded, however, that Dr. Kidd used it on purpose, and with his usual regard to technical accuracy of theological expression; having in view the very distinction which I am now endeavouring to explain.] [2] *A singularly graphic and interesting notice of Dr. Kidd, drawn up chiefly from personal recollections, by Professor Masson, will be found in “Macmillan’s Magazine,” Dec. 1863. [3] *See Note A. [See Below "NOTES TO LECTURE SECOND"] [4] *See Note B. [5] *See Appendix I. __________ NOTES TO LECTURE SECOND NOTE A. (Page 84.) As this view of the communicableness of the original divine relation of sonship lies at the root of my whole argument, and as it is that which has appeared most startling to some who heard the lectures, I may be excused if I add a few words of explanation. One chief difficulty here lies in the apprehension that we may lower the original divine ideal of sonship, as subsisting from all eternity in the Godhead, by reducing it to the level of a relation which may have a beginning, being formed in time; and a relation, moreover, in which a mere creature may be a party. The difficulty, I fear, when the question is once raised, cannot be very easily evaded or set aside. The fact or phenomenon of Christ’s sonship in his incarnate state must be fully met; and it must be met according to the ordinary doctrine concerning his humanity—that is, on the assumption of his being “both God and man, in two distinct natures, and one person, for ever.” The difficulty does not arise when it is a question as to nature; for the two natures, the divine and the human, exist in the one person, the man Christ Jesus. But it does arise when it is a question as to relation. How does the one person stand related to the Father? In what sense is he his son? I might here, as I think, roll over the question upon those who hold the original relation between God and his intelligent creatures, whether angels or men, to have been filial. I might ask them to dispose of it, according to their view. When the eternal Son became truly and thoroughly man, he became of course man, as sustaining that original filial relation to the Supreme. Is that his sonship, since then, until now, and for ever? Has it come in the place of his own proper eternal sonship? Or are the two identical? What has become of that original filial relation, which is alleged to be the birthright of the intelligent creature man, in the man Christ Jesus? Is it lost? Or does it still attach to him? If so, to what effect? Quid valet? Or is it absorbed and merged in the higher sonship? Then does he not so far cease to be man? Is this not something like the heresy of his manhood being swallowed up in his divinity? But, besides, in this view, it is surely worthy of remark that, with reference to the end or design for which the Son became incarnate, he is never represented as discharging filial obligations on our behalf, or answering for breaches of filial duty. His whole work of righteousness and atonement has respect to our standing as subjects and servants under law to his father as our moral governor. If we sinned and fell as sons, I do not find anything, either in the Old Testament types or in Christ’s New Testament fulfilment of them, to satisfy me that our case is met. This is an important consideration, to which, in another connection, I may have occasion afterwards to advert more fully. I mention it here by the way; yet not I think altogether irrelevantly, as regards my present point. It is more natural, however, here to ask how, admitting the eternal distinction of persons in the Godhead, it should in the least detract from the position of the Son—how it should not rather enhance the glory of it—to believe that at the instance of the Father, and with the concurrence of the Spirit (“I speak as a man”), he should have created intelligent beings, originally subjects, as all created beings must be, and nothing more, yet capable of becoming sons, as he is? So he truly creates them after his own image; sons of God potentially, in respect of faculties to be tried and developed; more truly than he could have done by making them sons on a lower footing and after a lower pattern. It surely is a great and ennobling thought, that the Eternal Son of the Father should create intelligent beings, not to be sons of God originally in any inferior sense, in respect simply of their intelligence, but to be capable of becoming sons of God, in and with himself, upon their intelligent recognition of him in that character. I am more and more persuaded, the more I think of it, that the notion of the created state of angels and men being filial, not only deranges the entire economy of legal and judicial government on the part of the supreme God, but detracts from the dignity and destiny of these intelligences, as originally made by the Son in his own image, and detracts also from the glory of the Son, as making them in his own image, with a view to their being ultimately sons, as he is himself. In particular, as regards man, I would wish this question to be considered, Whether the incarnation does not force upon us the idea of a sonship for humanity altogether new?—a sonship after the type, not of Adam, but of Christ? I am anxious to press that question. I am anxious especially to press it with reference to the notion which some seem to have, that this is arrogating too much to the creature; that it is putting the creature in fact on a level with the uncreated one, the creator. I might raise a counter-question, What are we to say of the uncreated one, the creator, putting himself on a level with the creature? The incarnation has two sides on which it may be looked at. But apart from that rejoinder, is it really investing the creature with any properly divine attribute or prerogative to say that, in virtue of a divine act and work; an act of divine sovereignty—a work of divine power; he may come to be regarded by the Father in the same light in which his Son is regarded by him: to be the object of the same complacency, and the subject of the same reciprocal love? I repeat here that this is wholly incompatible with anything like a wholesale, universal, and indiscriminate elevation of the entire human family into the filial relation, or “related state,” in virtue of the incarnation. That seems to be the opinion of some Anglican divines of the school of Maurice. I contend, on the contrary, for individual personality, and individually personal dealing, in this whole matter. The Father owns the incarnate Son as the man Christ Jesus, having a distinct individual personality. And in him he owns, not manhood in the abstract, nor all men en masse, or in the lump, but men one by one, as one by one they are moved by his grace to consent to their being to him what his incarnate Son is. I am anticipating, however, somewhat. I reserve for the proper place what references and authorities I may have to adduce. NOTE B. (Page 95.) On the subject of our Lord’s humanity, and its entire exemption, in virtue of its origin, from all taint of the guilt or the corruption inherited by all the rest of Adam’s race, the voice of the church has been always clear and unanimous. I do not, therefore, consider it necessary to cite authorities in proof; I rather wish to indicate the reason why, in common with almost all the theologians of all ages, I attach great importance to the doctrine. If the question regarding it is to be isolated, it may seem to be unimportant. And, for some purposes, it may be convenient to isolate it. The isolation of it may suit the views of those who do not care to inquire too particularly into the precise nature, either of the ruin caused by the fall, or of the deliverance effected by Christ. For, on the one hand, if the fact of Adam’s fall is denied; or if the effect of it, as entailing on all his posterity guilt and corruption, a righteous sentence of condemnation and a thoroughly depraved nature, is under-estimated; the question vanishes altogether; or, at least, becomes one of comparative insignificance. But then, on the other hand, in that case, the ideas of redemption, atonement, propitiation, substitution, are apt to disappear also, growing thin and hazy till they melt into the dim obscure. I do not say this of the words, for theologians of the misty school are fond of using the current orthodox and evangelical phrases. Nay, they affect a peculiar fervour in the use of them, and appropriate, as in a high sense their own, statements in Scripture and in the creeds which speak, as we have been accustomed to read them, and speak most explicitly and unequivocally, of expiation by blood. But then their high sense is very indefinite, transcendental, undefinable. Indeed, they avow their dislike of definition. They refuse to say exactly what the work of Christ for men is. That by his obedience and suffering—his life and death—he has removed, in some manner, they know not how, an obstacle of some sort, they know not what, which must otherwise have stood in the way of man’s restoration to the Divine favour and his attainment of peace of conscience,—that is nearly all the length to which they are inclined to go, in explaining what is meant by such precise modes of speech as Christ’s “laying down his life for the sheep,” or his “giving himself a ransom for many?’ At the same time, they dwell rather generally on the grace and condescension of the Son in his humanity; and on some mysterious efficacy, as it would seem, which that holy, living, lovely humanity of Christ has to assimilate humanity in us to itself; and so, in a sense, to redeem, and purge, and elevate the nature which he has assumed, the flesh in which he has come. Now it is not wonderful, that to those who thus conceive of Christ’s redeeming work, or who in any other similar way virtually divest it of its atoning character, the question,—whether it was human nature as it was in Adam before he fell that Christ took, or human nature as it has ever since been in Adam and all his seed,—may present the aspect merely of an unmeaning dispute, an unhappy logomachy. Nay, the view which represents him as assuming our nature, exactly as it exists in us, and having it sanctified in himself, exactly as it needs be sanctified in us, really fits into their notion of the way in which he saves us, and the way in which his saving us should influence us, better than the other. But the case is quite reversed when we regard Christ’s sufferings and death as, in the strict and proper sense, piacular; when we conceive of him as redeeming sinners by actually suffering for them, the just for the unjust; taking their place under the law which condemns them and bearing in their stead the condemnation; submitting to the penal infliction of divine wrath in their room;—when, in a word, we introduce the idea of substitution. Then the doctrine of our Lord’s humanity being that of Adam, not as Adam made it when he sinned and fell, but as God made it in the beginning, is all important. It is vital. If Christ is himself personally involved in the consequences of the fall, he cannot redeem, by substitution, others in the same predicament. He must be, in his birth, and in virtue of the miracle of his conception, what no other born of woman ever was, or could be declared to be, “The Holy Child Jesus.” Such an high priest became us, who is not only “holy, harmless, undefiled,” in heart and character and life, but “separate from sinners” (Hebrews 7:26);—separate from sinners in his very manner of being or becoming man; separate originally; and therefore able to save them by dying in their room. Here I may remark, in passing, we have one explanation of what is apt to perplex or scandalize an uninformed and unreflecting onlooker, when a case of heresy has to be met in the church, whether in controversy or by discipline. A very small and narrow point seems often to be chosen. The tug of war is about a minute corner of the field. Apparently, no central essential truth is touched. And this occasions trouble. The reason may be partly this— that as a tree may begin to manifest decay at its extremities, while the real seat of the decay is in its inmost principle of life, so, when he lapses into errors, the religious man cleaves strongly to what he considers to be the heart’s core of the gospel; while almost unconsciously he dallies at the outskirts, with doubtful disputations. As the process goes on, he becomes more and more anxious to hold to the form of sound words in the main, although he may raise or entertain speculative questions, as he counts them, in things of subordinate and unimportant detail. And so, at last, he almost unwittingly and unawares gets more involved than he intended in deviations from the customary modes of thought and expression on what, perhaps, he regards as mere accessories; for he is slow to perceive how these react on the very fundamentals of the faith. Thus, without conscious dishonesty, dogmatic heresiarchs—who are often, indeed for the most part, earnest though partial in their dogmatism—persist in professing their unabated belief in the vital doctrines of the Gospel, as set forth in the articles of an orthodox creed, long after they have really disembowelled these articles, and explained away these doctrines, so as either to reduce them to mere platitudes, or dissolve them in mysticism. Hence it happens that they can be detected and exposed, even to their own conviction, if that is possible, not to speak of the conviction of the church, only in an outpost, as it were; by assailing them on what might be regarded as debatable ground, open to harmless differences of opinion, and proving, it may be indirectly, that the contest carried on there is really decisive of the whole war. This, perhaps, is partly a digression, though it is not altogether foreign to the matter in hand. For I believe that the error on the subject of our Lord’s humanity which I am adverting to, cuts deep into the doctrine of the Sonship, whether viewed as his or as ours. If, in his birth, he became man exactly as we are born men since the fall, I cannot conceive of his manhood entering, ab origine, into the filial relation which he sustains to the Father. There must be need of a preliminary work or process of sanctification, both legal and moral, in his case as in ours, before he can be, as man, or quoad his manhood, the Son of God. And even with that sanctification of his manhood, his sonship in his humanity is not after all anything different from what any sanctified man might claim—it is not really one with his sonship in his divinity. We are landed again in the monstrous anomaly of a double relation of sonship subsisting in the same person. And, moreover, we are shut up into a very sad conclusion as regards ourselves. For evidently it is only in so far as he is the Son in respect of his manhood, that we can be partakers with him in his sonship. But now it appears that he can be the Son, in respect of his manhood, only on the condition of his manhood, which is originally such as ours, being sanctified as ours needs to be. Does not this really imply that, so far as sonship is concerned, we might dispense with him?—that we, with our manhood sanctified, might be sons in our own right, as it were, as well as he, with his manhood sanctified, is? And, what is worse, does it not imply that sonship, in the only sense in which humanity is capable of sustaining that relation is nothing else and nothing more than human nature purged from the pollution of the fall, first in Christ, and then in us? That idea of sonship may satisfy some. I own I cannot acquiesce in it. I look to the one person of the Incarnate Word. I look to him as sustaining only one relation of sonship. This can be only in virtue of his human nature being essentially pure, as it came originally from his own hand when he made man in his own image. Looking to him thus, I rejoice to think that, through his redeeming and renovating work of grace, he admits me, so far as I am capable of being admitted, into participation with himself in the one filial relation which, as Emmanuel, he now sustains, and will ever sustain, to the everlasting Father. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 66: 06.03. LECTURE 3RD - FATHERHOOD OF GOD BEFORE CHRIST ======================================================================== LECTURE THIRD. THE FATHERHOOD OF GOD, AS REVEALED AND KNOWN BEFORE THE INCARNATION. When the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son. Galatians 4:4. I PROPOSE here to raise the question;—To what extent was the fatherhood of God matter of human knowledge, or matter of divine revelation, before the coming of his son Jesus Christ in the flesh? It is a question which necessarily emerges out of the view that has been given of the fatherhood of God, as manifested in the person of the incarnate Son. And it is moreover a question which, in that view, is preliminary to another inquiry, and one that goes deep into the heart of the whole subject, namely this:—Is the relation which God sustains to his son Jesus Christ come in the flesh, his only true and proper fatherhood? and is it by their being made personally partakers, in some sense and to some extent, yet really and truly, of that relation, that angels and men become sons of God? To prepare the way for that ulterior inquiry, for the conducting of which the New Testament, of course, must furnish the principal materials, I intend now to ask—at least that is my main object—what the Old Testament—with the New as throwing light on the Old—says of the fatherhood of God; or in other words, how far, and in what way, before the incarnation of the Son of God, and apart from that event, God was revealed and known as a Father in the ancient church. Before the Son of God appeared in human nature, the only conception which men could form of a relation of fatherhood and sonship between God and them must have been based on the analogy of the paternal and filial relation among themselves. And there can be little doubt that the analogy is a natural, and so far, a valid one. The relation of son and father on earth is fitted,—and probably, in its original constitution, intended,—to suggest the idea of a similar relation between earth and heaven. The creation or origination of intelligent beings, on the part of the great intelligent Creator, may thus be viewed as analogous to the act by which a human father produces a son like himself. And the Creator’s providence over his creatures may be likened to the human father’s care and tenderness towards his children. Such representations of God, accordingly, are not uncommon even among heathen writers, especially the poets; as might easily be shown by familiar quotations. In considering such representations, however, and especially in reasoning upon them, it is necessary to keep in view an ambiguity of which he analogy admits. God may be called father, simply as having caused his creatures to exist, and not as thereafter sustaining a real personal relation to them. That, I apprehend, is actually all that is meant in not a few of the passages usually cited. But that, it will be at once perceived, is not to the purpose of my present inquiry. It is a mere figure of speech employed to denote the creative agency or act of God. In this sense, paternity, as we have seen, may be attributed to God with reference to mere material things; as when God asks Job (Job 33:28),— “Hath the rain a father? or who hath begotten the drops of dew?”—as if he meant to assert for himself a fatherhood having the rain and the dew for sons. Obviously, in such a case, it is a merely creative fatherhood that is with such boldness of vivid poetic personification claimed and challenged for the Supreme. With more of prosaic propriety, fatherhood in this sense is attributed to God with reference to his intelligent creatures. Even then, however, as thus restricted, it suggests no idea of any permanent personal relationship. It suggests nothing more than the idea of primeval causation or origination. It is in this sense, I am persuaded, and only in this sense, that we are to understand the verse of old poetry which Paul so aptly introduced into his speech before the Areopagus at Athens,—“As certain also of your own poets have said, For we are also his offspring.” *[1] This pregnant saying which, though originally a merely human and heathen utterance, Paul, by quoting it, of course adopts and engrosses as his own, has been supposed to indicate a relation of sonship belonging by a common right to all men, and actually subsisting in the case of all men. But if we look at it in the light of the occasion on which Paul quoted it and the purpose to which he turned it, we may see some reason to question that interpretation or application of it. For what is the use which Paul makes of it in his argument? It is simply to expose the absurdity of rational beings ascribing their origin to what is irrational; or, which comes to the same thing, worshipping in an irrational manner him to whom they ascribe their origin, so as virtually to make him out to be irrational. That is all. That is the apostle’s only object; the sole and single point of his reasoning. Obviously there is no question of present personal relationship raised here at all; no question as to the footing on which men as individuals are with their Maker,—what he is to them and they are to him. There is simply an assertion of a common source or origin, Are we not all his children? If this makes God a father at all, it is in the sense in which an ancestor is held to be the father of all his posterity; it is in the sense in which Abraham is called “the father of many nations.” Our being all God’s offspring, in that sense, sustains the apostle’s argument, and is indeed all that is necessary, or even relevant, to sustain it. Anything else, anything more, would be out of place. We dislike to have our lineage—our parentage in the line of direct and natural ascent—traced up to a gorilla, or a tadpole, or a monade. We think that our being possessed of intelligence affords a presumption in favour of our original progenitor, the primary author of our race, whoever he may be, being himself intelligent as we are. So thought the wisest and best men in heathendom. Paul appeals to their being of that mind. He adopts their logic, and. makes it available for his immediate object, which is simply to expose the inconsistency of idolatrous worship. That is really all. The principle asserted, the ground and medium of the argument, is simply this—that the head, or origin, or father, whether of a long line of descendants, or of a numerous race coming simultaneously into existence, cannot be wholly dissimilar to them in nature; that if they are intelligent he must be recognised as being so, much more; and that he cannot therefore be expected to be pleased with unintelligent worship. There is no assertion here of any personal relation of fatherhood and sonship. It is merely an argument for community of nature as regards intelligence. It is, in fact, nothing more than an application of the maxim, or axiom, that “like produces like.” It appeals to the same sort of principle which Paul so powerfully brings to bear in another direction on the spiritual identity, in respect of faith, between believing Abraham and all his spiritual children (Galatians 3:1-29, Romans 4:1-25) As he is, so are they; he and they alike being believers. Therefore he is their father, “the father of the faithful.” And they, in respect of their joint possession with him of the common quality or attribute of faith, are his seed. The argument of Paul in his appeal to the Athenians is precisely of the same kind. As you, the offspring, are intelligent, so, it is to be presumed, must he whose offspring you are be intelligent. And he must, therefore, be intelligently worshipped. But all this has nothing whatever to do with the question of the personal relation in which the offspring,—that is, the individual persons composing the offspring,—are personally to stand to him whose offspring they all are. In a way very similar to this, I think another text, often cited or referred to with some confidence, is to be disposed of. Adam, it is said, is declared in Scripture to be, as he came forth from the hand of his Creator, “the son of God,” or “a son of God,” or simply “son of God.” Now, the only authority alleged for that statement is the closing climax of Luke’s genealogy of our Lord; in which, after a long enumeration of an ascending series of fatherhoods, he comes at last to Adam, and says of him, using the very same formula as in all the other cases, “which was the son of God;”—or rather, for the phrase is all throughout elliptical, “which was of God” (Luke 3:38). This mere rounding off of the genealogy of our Lord, as traced by Luke upwards, and not, as in Matthew’s gospel, downwards,—this simple intimation that in Adam the ascending line of human parentage is lost, and that his origin must be ascribed immediately to God,—is often brought forward as if it were not only an express, but even an emphatic assertion of Adam’s proper personal sonship. Nay, it is made, as it would seem, the ground of an argument for “attributing Adam’s creation to the Deity of Christ.” *[2] In reality, there is no idea suggested in this whole pedigree or family-tree but that of descent; son descending from father, until Adam is reached, whose descent is from no human father, but must be said to be of God. There is nothing like real fatherhood and sonship, as a permanent and personal relation, asserted here. Setting aside, then, those passages in the Bible, as well as those passages in heathen writings, which seem to ascribe fatherhood to God, in the sense simply of origination, or causation, or ancestry,—the question remains, What traces or indications are there, before and apart from the incarnation of the Son of God, of fatherhood in God, properly so called;—of his actually sustaining the paternal relation to his intelligent creatures and subjects, personally and individually? In dealing with this question, I leave out of view the secular literature of antiquity;—for, in truth, it throws little or no light on the subject of my present inquiry. That inquiry is almost altogether a scriptural one;—Was God revealed as a Father to the Old Testament Church? If so, in what manner and to what extent? And of what nature is his fatherhood represented as being? I. I begin with what I hold to be a material and fundamental fact. So far as I can see, there is no trace of anything like natural or original sonship, either in angels or in men, having ever been accepted in the church as an article of belief. That either angels or men were sons of God from the beginning of their being, is nowhere taught in holy Scripture. 1. I speak first of the angels. Those of them that fell are never spoken of or referred to as having been before their fall sons of God. Their offence is stigmatized as “pride.” “The condemnation of the devil” is his being “lifted up with pride” (1 Timothy 3:6). It is the offence of a disloyal subject, rather than of a disaffected and undutiful son. They refuse to occupy a subordinate position; to own government by authority of law and judgment. They aspire to the liberty of independence. It is as proud, rebellious subjects, not as ill-conditioned sons, that they disobey, and come under the condemnation of disobedience. And if that be so, then it follows that it is a trial of their obedience as subjects that their faithful brethren stand. They too are tested, not as sons, but as subjects. The trial is, whether they will proudly insist on being their own masters, or meekly consent to be ruled? At any rate, it is only after their trial and its good issue, that the angels who kept their first estate are introduced in Scripture as sons of God. It is in the book of Job, and there only, that the holy unfallen angels are spoken of or referred to as sons of God. For I suppose it is they who are meant when it is said, twice over, that “the sons of God came to present themselves before the Lord” (Job 1:6; Job 2:1). I doubt, however, if, according to Hebrew idiom, this title, as here given to them, can be fairly held to imply more than a mere antagonism or antithesis to the adversary of God, “Satan,” who “came among them.” But be that as it may, there is certainly, it must be admitted, another passage in the book of Job where this explanation will not apply. It occurs at the opening of that sublime address in which—after the sophistries of the three bigoted friends and the noble appeal of the generous Elihu—the Lord himself takes the matter in hand and reduces Job to silence (Job 38:1-7). There that much afflicted but as yet too self-righteous patriarch is thus abruptly challenged: “Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth?” Wast thou with me then, as a party to my counsels and my working “when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?” There can scarcely be a doubt that it is the elect angels who are here meant. And they are called the sons of God absolutely; not merely in the way of contrast to any other parties, or contradistinction from them;—but simply in respect of their own gracious character and standing. This I take to be the only unequivocal intimation of the sonship of the angels which the Old Testament Church ever got. I admit it, or rather I hold it, to be emphatic. But it is so chiefly, as it appears to me, in a prospective point of view, and in its bearing on subsequent scriptural hints and discoveries. For, as I think, it fits in remarkably to Balaam’s prophecy (Numbers 14:17), “there shall come a star out of Jacob;”—and also to that announcement in the very close of the Revelation (Revelation 22:16), “I am the root and offspring of David, and the bright and morning star.” Thus followed out, it suggests large and high thoughts as to the connection of the sonship of the holy angels with that of Christ. And if we take in another text, in which Christ says to “him that overcometh” atThyatira (Revelation 2:28) “I will give him the morning star,”—it may seem probable that some sort of joint fellowship of angels and men in Christ’s sonship is what, by thus connecting together, in so close a verbal relation, the widely separated books of Job and the Revelation, the Spirit intends to teach. For thus we find the title, “morning star,” which is associated with that of “son of God” in the case of the angels, applied to the Son of God himself, and in him also to the overcoming christian.*[3] But anything like such community of sonship could be only very imperfectly taught, if taught at all, to the Old Testament Church, by such a brief notice as that which the book of Job contains. To the men who had simply that, and nothing more than that, the juxtaposition of the titles “morning stars” and “sons of God” could convey little or no clear information. It might rather indeed occasion perplexity. Certainly, however well they might understand the words put into the mouth of God as a most conclusive rebuke to Job, they could scarcely gather from them any distinct idea of the sonship of angels. At all events, they would not be likely to gather from them any idea of the sonship of angels being, as a real personal relation, natural and original. The title must rather, I think, have appeared to them, like the other title “morning star,” to be merely figurative and analogical. And in any view, it belongs to them as having stood the trial which proved fatal to their fellows. 2. As the angels are not represented in the word of God in the character of sons of God by nature and from the beginning of their being, so neither is man. There is not a hint of sonship in all that is said of Paradise, or of man’s sin and fall there. Nay, I hold that what is revealed of God’s treatment of Adam, in the garden, is palpably irreconcilable with the idea of anything like the paternal and filial relation subsisting between them. Adam is tried simply as a creature, intelligent and free;—as a subject under authority and law. Not a hint is given of his having violated, when he transgressed, any filial obligation. Nor, in the sentence pronounced upon him, is there any trace whatever of his being subjected to fatherly discipline and correction. All about it is strictly, I should say exclusively, forensic and judicial. It is the legal condemnation of a servant;—not the fatherly chastisement of a son. No doubt, hope of recovery is held out. But it is held out in a way strictly and exclusively indicative of legal judgment and legal deliverance. The deliverer is to prevail over the tempter by becoming himself a victim; a victim to outraged authority; a substitute for those whom the devil has tried to ruin; bearing in his own person the doom impending by a righteous award over them; accepting the curse which the great deceiver has brought upon them; and doing so to the effect of destroying him and emancipating them. Accordingly, the remedial work of Christ is always represented in Scripture,—in exact consistency with its representation of the evil to be remedied,—as purely and wholly legal, forensic, and judicial. That is its character, so far as it consists in his becoming his people’s surety and ransom. He redeems them from the curse of the law. It is nowhere said that he atones for any filial offence; any offence committed by them as sons against God as their father. If they sinned in that character and relation, their sin, so far as appears from Scripture, is up to this hour unexpiated. Surely that is a conclusion somewhat startling. And yet it seems to me to follow inevitably, and by the inexorable force of logic, from the notion of man’s original relation to God being filial.*[4] II. The manner in which the expression “sons of God” is used in the Hebrew Scriptures is very vague and indefinite. It is not very often used. And many of the instances in which it is used are such as to indicate that it is little more than an idiomatic way of identifying the godly as distinguished from the ungodly; or Israel as distinguished from the Gentiles. Personal relationship is not really in such instances a relevant thought. Thus, in the narrative of the breaking down of the wall of division and demarcation between the church and the world which brought on the sweeping judgment of the flood, “the sons of God” are contrasted with “the daughters of men” (Genesis 6:1-22) But it would be unwarrantable to found upon the phrase, as there used, anything more than that those so called were professedly of the number who, when the wickedness of Cain’s race became rampant, separated themselves, and “began to call upon the name of the Lord,” or “to call themselves by the name of the Lord.” In other cases also the phrase “sons of God” is evidently used in the vague analogical sense in which the Jews were wont to apply it,—and in which we too do not object to apply it,—as appropriate to any relation implying benefit on the one side and dependence on the other, with corresponding feelings of endearment on both sides. Thus a master calls his loved scholar his son. So also the pupils of the prophets are called their sons. “And such an one as Paul” appeals to Timothy as “his own son in the faith.” In like manner, when the Lord promises in Hosea (Hosea 1:10), “In the place where it was said unto them, Ye are not my people, there it shall be said unto them, Ye are the sons of the living God,” it seems plain that no new or peculiar relation is meant by the latter phrase, as if it were in contrast with the former. And in the same way, as I apprehend, we must interpret those appeals in Jeremiah and Malachi—the most emphatically paternal in their terms to be found in the Old Testament (Jeremiah 31:20), “Is Ephraim my son? Is he a pleasant child?” (Malachi 1:6), “A son honoureth his father, and a servant his master. If, then, I be a father, where is mine honour? And if I be a master, where is my fear? saith the Lord of Hosts unto you, 0 priests, which despise my name.”*[5] III. The passages in the Old Testament are thus seen to be very few, which even appear to assert a distinct personal relation of fatherhood and sonship between God and his people individually. No doubt, in the Church or nation viewed collectively, the Lord sometimes claims a father’s right of property. Thus he sends an urgent message to Pharoah (Exodus 4:22-23), “Israel is my son, even my firstborn; let my son go that he may serve me.” And he gives this as his reason for bringing the people back from captivity (Jeremiah 31:9), “For I am a father unto Israel, and Ephraim is my firstborn.” The collective Church, or nation, also occasionally appeals to the Lord on that ground: as in Isaiah (Isaiah 63:16), “Thou, 0 Lord, art our father, our redeemer;” and again (Isaiah 64:8), “But now, 0 Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we are all the work of thy hand.” In these instances, however, though a certain paternity is ascribed to God, as choosing, constituting, redeeming, creating, his people Israel, it is a figurative paternity, having for its object simply “Israel as a spiritual or ideal person;”*[6] not that real fatherhood of which individuals are the objects. Nor is even that most pathetic passage in Jeremiah to the point,—the passage, I mean, in which the Lord puts into the mouth of the repenting people the affecting language of filial tenderness (Jeremiah 3:4), “Wilt thou not from this time cry unto me, My father, thou art the guide of my youth?” For the context plainly shows that it is not the relation of parent and child at all that is referred to, but that of husband and wife; the conjugal relation, not the paternal. The idea suggested—and it could be better understood and felt according to old Eastern manners than according to our modern notions—is that of the faithless young wife casting herself at the feet of her injured husband, pleading her tender years,—and making her plaintive appeal,—as to a sire rather than a spouse,—“My father, thou art the guide of my youth!” Clearly there is here no claim of sonship, properly so called. IV. In marked contrast with these vague and indefinite modes of speech,—in which ideas of parental authority and filial tenderness are for the most part, as it would seem, merely borrowed to illustrate other relationships,—I notice the clear, exact, and unequivocal precision with which real and proper personal sonship is ascribed to one individual, and to one only. There is a Son of God revealed in the Old Testament. He is revealed as standing alone and apart. There is not much said of him in that character, it is true; indeed, there is very little. And nothing at all is said of the bearing of his sonship on others besides himself. For this, before I close, I may suggest a probable reason. But a Son of God there is in the ancient Scriptures. And however rare may be the passages in which he appears, and however few the words in which he is described, his sonship is beyond all question not figurative, but true sonship. In the oracle which the second Psalm records, “Thou art my son;”—in the prediction of the eighty-ninth Psalm, “He shall cry unto me, Thou art my father,. . . I will make him my first-born;” and perhaps also in the song of triumph in the ninth chapter of Isaiah, “Unto us a son is given;”—chiefly, however, in the great original oracle;—the sonship of a person is declared. How far the ancient Church understood the oracle;—whether or not they held this personal and individual Son of God to be divine, or identified him with the Jehovah of their worship, with the promised Messiah;—I am not now concerned to inquire. There has been much ingenious speculation on all these questions; and has been argued with great power that, at least among the later Jews about our Lord’s time, an opinion prevailed admitting the Son to be a divine person, but separating him from the Christ.*[7] Be that as it may, my present object is simply to direct attention to the precision of the language which the Holy Spirit takes care shall be used, when the idea of true and proper personal fatherhood and sonship is to be expressed, as affording a presumption that no such relation is really meant to be asserted when the phraseology of a looser and more indefinite kind. V. I would only advert in a sentence to one other consideration which seems to me all but decisive in support of my idea of the teaching of the Old Testament on this subject. I mean the very remarkable absence, in the recorded religious experiences and devotional utterances of the Old Testament saints, of the filial element. I may have occasion to touch on this topic again. I notice it now as a fact which cannot well be disputed, and which surely must be allowed to be a fact of great significancy, in relation to our present inquiry. On the whole I am disposed to conclude that, so far as we can gather information or evidence from the Scriptures of the Old Testament, the fatherhood of God was not revealed to the ancient Church, either as a relation common to all his intelligent creatures generally, or as a relation belonging to the obedient angels and believing men specially; that any use made of the analogy of this relation as it exists among men, in the way of applying it to the dispositions and dealings of God, was little more than rhetorical; and that, in fact, there was great reserve maintained on the part of the great revealer with reference to this whole subject. But it may be asked, Does the New Testament afford no materials for helping us in the determination of the question? I am persuaded that it does, in several places. I solicit attention to two passages in particular. The first is in the Epistle to the Hebrews. It is a passage, as I believe, fitted to have great weight with those who, in the language of the Westminster Confession of Faith, are prepared to receive as the teaching of the Spirit, not only what is “expressly set down in Scripture,” but also what, “by good and necessary consequence, may be deduced from Scripture.”*[8] My argument will undoubtedly be based on a process of inferential reasoning; a mode of proof against which some very respectable men, especially in our country, seem to have a strange and unaccountable antipathy. It may be convenient sometimes, when one sees an unwelcome conclusion looming in the distance, to refuse all inferences, and to demand ipsissima verba,—explicit and articulate chapter and verse,—for everything. But we are commanded to “search the Scriptures;” and we are commanded also “in understanding to be men.” To those obeying these commands, in the spirit of them, I do not think my argument will appear very far-fetched. At the close of the tenth chapter, Paul quotes the Old Testament saying, “The just shall live by faith;” and he proceeds immediately, in his glorious muster-roll of the worthies of the olden time, to give instances of “the just living by faith.” He ends his enumeration thus: “These all”— the just living by faith—“received not the promise; God having provided some better thing for us, that they without us should not be made perfect” (Hebrews 11:39-40. What is that “better thing” which they, while they “lived by faith,” and when, as the apostle had previously said, they “died in faith,” had not?—which God has provided for us?—which they must share with us if they are to be made perfect? For, it would seem, they cannot be made perfect without it, and they cannot have it apart from us. Is it merely the general blessing of clearer light and fuller joy consequent upon the complete revelation of the gospel plan, through the actual coming of the long-promised Saviour, and the actual accomplishment of the great salvation? Or is it some particular benefit, precise and well defined, which really effects a change in their standing or position? Let us carry our view forward. After pondering devoutly the practical appeal in the beginning of the twelfth chapter, founded upon our being “compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses,” let us approach the august scene presenting itself to our adoring gaze before the chapter ends.*[9] What have we here? A scene at Zion analogous and corresponding to the scene at Sinai of old, with which it is contrasted. It is ideal, spiritual, heavenly,—but not the less on that account revealing real truth. The redeemed of all ages are represented as brought together to meet their redeeming God. Setting aside the locality and the witnesses of which the first of the three verses (ver. 22) speaks; and the mediator and the mediation brought forward in the third; we have the real meeting in the verse which intervenes. It consists of “the general assembly or church of the firstborn which are written in heaven, God the judge of all, and the spirits of just men made perfect.” Sitting on a central throne is God the judge of all; his people’s saviour, but still their judge; the judge of all. On either side there stands a vast company. Who are these on the one side? “The firstborn written” or registered “in heaven.” They are there in their character of sons and heirs. They are there in full “assembly,” yet in the capacity of a select body, “a church.” The expression “firstborn, registered in heaven,” properly denoting the possession of the filial birthright, describes the position of those referred to elsewhere, when Christ is spoken of as destined to be “the firstborn among many brethren” (Romans 8:29). He alone is, strictly speaking, the firstborn. To him belongs the birthright, the right of primogeniture. He is the Son; and, as the Son, the heir of all things. But he shares his birthright, or right of primogeniture, with many brethren. They all accordingly in him become in a sense firstborn;—sons and heirs. And they are registered as such in heaven. The position of believers under the dispensation of the gospel is thus characteristically marked. I can scarcely doubt that it is the entire body of New Testament believers who are mystically, as it were, and by a sublime figure, set before us, as convened, in a universal but select church-convocation, on one side of “God the judge of all.” Who then are they who are seen by the eye of faith standing on the other side? “The spirits of just men made perfect.” I cannot admit that this means merely the pious dead generally. I cannot forget that a particular class of “just men” have been brought prominently out in the very passage of which this magnificent pictorial representation of the gathering together of all the saved is the close. “Just men” have been spoken of, who in the days of old lived by faith and died in faith, who yet were not “made perfect.” There was a certain incompleteness, a certain defect, in or about their spiritual state, while they lived, and when they died. And the defect could not be altogether remedied,—their state could not be thoroughly put right,—apart from Christian believers. It is they, I am satisfied, who are to be regarded as standing alongside of the firstborn registered in heaven, before Jehovah’s awful throne. They are made perfect now. Perfect! in what respect? Surely one can scarcely help drawing the conclusion, in respect of their sharing with the firstborn their privilege of sonship and right of primogeniture, becoming out and out sons, as they are.*[10] The other passage which I mean to adduce is in the Epistle to the Galatians. The consideration of it need not detain us long. I am persuaded, however, that it strongly confirms the view which I have been suggesting of the passage in the Epistle to the Hebrews. In the beginning of Hebrews 4:1-16, Paul draws a contrast between believers under the law and believers under the gospel. Of the former, he thus writes:— “Now I say that the heir, as long as he is a child, differeth nothing from a servant, though he be lord of all, but is under tutors and governors until the time appointed of the father. Even so we, when we were children, were in bondage under the elements of this world.” Of the latter, “But when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law, to redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons. And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts, crying Abba, Father. Wherefore thou art no more a servant but a son; and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ.” It is admitted, or rather strongly asserted by the apostle, that the Old Testament believer is an heir. Being a child of Abraham, in virtue of his having and exercising the same faith that Abraham had and exercised, he really has all the rights of a son and heir in the family of God. But these rights are in abeyance during the period of pupillage or nonage. He cannot avail himself of them. He is not fully acquainted with them. His place in the family is rather that of a servant than that of a son. Such, says Paul, was the position even of the true members of the church before gospel times. But, he adds, their position is now changed. And what effects the change? God sending forth his Son, and the Spirit of his Son. It is very plainly intimated that it is through God’s sending forth his Son, as his Son, that they receive the adoption of sons; and that it is through God’s sending forth into their hearts the Spirit, as the Spirit of his Son, crying Abba, Father, that they realise their receiving the adoption of sons. If sons before, they were so prospectively, and as it were potentially—in posse, rather than in esse. They are sons now really and truly, in a sense and to an effect impossible before. They saw, indeed, the day of Christ afar off, and were glad. They saw his holy person in the spotless lamb; his atoning death in the paschal sacrifice. But they saw him not as the Son of God. And till he is so seen, even believing men cannot receive, so as to realise it, the adoption of sons; they cannot conceive what true sonship really is. It is the manifested sonship of Christ that alone opens up the way for his believing people becoming sons indeed, and having in them the spirit of sonship, the Spirit of God’s very Son, crying Abba, Father. Now, if such a change was thus effected in the spiritual position of living believers, and in their consciousness of it, is there any difficulty in apprehending the thought of a similar change taking place in the case of the dead? Is there anything incredible in the idea of these grand old worthies— “the just who lived by faith and died in faith”—coming to know their Redeemer as God’s Son and their brother, in a way in which they never could know him, till they saw him “sent forth made of a woman, made under the law?” And what a large accession of holy joy might their new knowledge of him impart! They have never been separated from him since they left the world, for they are one with him. They have known and loved him well. But now they behold a new thing—his sonship in their nature. And beholding that glory of God, they are changed into the same image. The single drawback, the solitary element of inferiority attached to their saved state, is gone. Not in an ideal sense only, but in real heavenly fellowship, they are now on the same footing with Stephen, and James, and the noble army of martyrs, and all the faithful who, falling asleep in Jesus, depart to be with him. The just are made perfect as sons.*[11] Thus, as it seems to me, the opinion which is suggested by a calm survey of the teaching of the Old Testament on the question,—How far the fatherhood of God was revealed to the Old Testament Church,—is corroborated by what we find in the intimations of the New Testament. There are two observations which I wish before closing to make on the view which I have ventured to submit. In the first place, I think I can see a reason for reserve, as regards the full discovery of God’s fatherhood, before the coming of Christ. I can see some risk likely to arise from its being prematurely disclosed, and some benefit in its being in a great degree shaded and concealed. I remarked at the outset that, apart from the incarnation,—and what is seen in the earthly and human life of the Son of the footing on which, as the Son, he is with the Father, and the manner of their mutual intercourse as Father and Son with one another,—all our conceptions of fatherhood in God, as a relation which he sustains towards any of his creatures, must have been simply analogical; based on the analogy of the relation of father and son as it subsists among men. But that analogy is originally inadequate; and, since the fall, it is positively unsafe. I believe, indeed, that the existence of the paternal and filial relation among men, from the beginning, has reference to the eternal relation of fatherhood and sonship in the Godhead, and to the ultimate development of that relation, in the standing of all saved intelligences. I entirely agree with those who maintain that this forms part, and a chief part, of the image and likeness of God in which man was originally made.*[12] The divine relation is not a mere analogical inference from the human. The human is formed upon the model of the divine, and expressly in order to be its analogical representative. Adam’s being a father, is not the type of God’s paternity. Rather, in the sense of being the mould into which it is cast, God’s paternity is the type of his. In that view, I can conceive of the angels welcoming the introduction on the stage of being of a race meant to exhibit this relation. They could form no idea of it from the manner of their own existence. They had been, so far as appears, simultaneously created; all of them alike in full possession of mature intelligence. They had been all of them simultaneously tried and tested; and the faithful among them had made good their position simultaneously, as the subjects and servants of the Most High. If the reward of their obedience was to be sonship;—especially if it was to be sonship somehow after the model of the relation of the second person to the first in the ever adorable Trinity;—they might well be at a loss to form any notion of a relation so utterly beyond the reach of their own created experience. But now, they see a race of new intelligences called into existence; in whose constitution and history a relation is to be exhibited that may at least be a faint shadow of the divine relation, to some participation in which they are taught, to aspire. They rejoice in the help thus given towards their understanding the relation of fatherhood in which God is to stand to them. But alas! the dawn is soon overcast. Sin comes in; and its blight taints and blasts the earthly relation which should have been the image of the heavenly. It is better for the angels now, that the full discovery of this relation should be deferred till the Son of God himself appears as a creature;—to show what, for the creatures, it really is. The postponement was equally expedient, or rather even more expedient, as regards men. What materials were there in these old times, what materials are there now, for the construction of a notion of fatherhood in God upon the analogy of fatherhood in man? One of the best perhaps of human fathers, since the fall, is Abraham. But was he faultless in that relation? Or shall we take Jacob? or Eli? or David? If the Old Testament Church—if Old Testament believers—had been asked to worship God as their Father, was there no danger of their conceiving of him whom they worshipped, after such unsafe analogies as these? There is the same danger still. It is urgent. It is the unbelief of the day. I have little hesitation in saying that the merely analogical view of the fatherhood of God lies at the root of much, if not all, of our modern current infidelity. How, indeed, can it fail, unless very carefully guarded, to breed infidelity? It must do so doubly,—in two ways. Human parents, on the one hand, are weak, fallible, selfish, capricious;—holding with unsteady hand the balance of equity;—unreasonably passionate, yet fondly placable. And, on the other hand, they who conceive of God’s fatherhood as like the fatherhood of human parents, are but too ready to reconcile themselves to precisely such a view of God as that which the analogy suggests. I believe it to be God’s purpose to set aside, to a large extent, if not altogether, all analogical apprehensions of his fatherhood. I believe he means us to look exclusively, or all but exclusively, to the manner of life of his Son Jesus Christ, and to draw our notions of his father hood directly from thence. Here there is no analogy; or, if there is, it is all the other way. It is not analogical reasoning from the human to the divine, but from the divine to the human. There is presented before our eyes the actual working out, in human nature and human experience, of the only relation of fatherhood and sonship which God would have us to realise as possible between himself and us. He would be our father, not as we are the fathers of our children, but as he is the father of his Son Jesus Christ. I do not urge any question as to the original purpose of God in instituting a relation of fatherhood in man;—or as to how his original purpose might have been served, if the relation had not been practically vitiated by the fall. It might, in that case, have been, within certain limits and under certain cautions and reservations, the source and ground of a pure and sound analogy. And so far as it partakes of the redeeming and renewing grace of the gospel, it may be so still;—and may be so more and more. But God has not trusted to that. He has revealed his fatherhood, not analogically but expressly, in his incarnate Son. And there is divine wisdom in his keeping silence, for the most part, upon the whole subject, until the fulness of the time for that revelation comes. The other observation which I wish to make arises naturally out of this last thought. The divine wisdom in this arrangement is signally manifested in the character and spirit of Old Testament piety, as that was necessarily moulded by it. I have already noticed the fact that there is little, or I think I may almost say nothing, of the filial element, in the recorded spiritual experiences and spiritual exercises of Old Testament believers. The Psalms entirely want it. The nearest approach to it, perhaps, is that most tenderly suggested analogy (Psalms 103:13): “Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.” The same sort of analogy is suggested elsewhere; as in Malachi (Malachi 3:17): “I will spare them, as a man spareth his own son that serveth him;” in Deut. (Deuteronomy 8:5): “Thou shalt consider in thine heart that, as a man chasteneth his son, so the Lord thy God chasteneth thee;” and in Proverbs (Proverbs 3:12): “Whom the Lord loveth he correcteth, even as a father the son in whom he delighteth.” In these instances, the very nearness of the approach to the assertion of God’s fatherhood makes the stopping short of it all the more noticeable. The last instance in particular is, in that view, not a little significant. The verse from Proverbs is quoted in Hebrews (Hebrews 12:6). And the inspired writer, in quoting it, does not scruple to throw it into New Testament form, for the purpose of his inspired New Testament appeal:—“Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.” Fatherhood is in the text, as Paul was inspired to give it. But it is not in the text as it stands in the Old Testament. All that is there is a similitude;—a “like as,” or “so as,” or “even as.” But apart from minute criticism, I suppose it will not be denied, that in Old Testament piety there is not anything like a full recognition—scarcely, indeed, any recognition at all—of that personal relation of fatherhood and sonship which enters so largely and so deeply into the prevailing spirit of Christian devotion. The consideration of this fact might suggest a line of thought and investigation intensely interesting; on which, however, I cannot now enter at any length. I can only throw out a hint or two. It must, I think, greatly enhance our admiration of the godly men of old, and of their godliness, when we listen to their utterances of praise and prayer, or search the records of their manifold spiritual experiences and deep exercises of soul, to bear in mind how little they were permitted to know of God as a Father. Their close walk with him, their strong trust in him, their fervent desire after him, the warmth of their affection, the poignancy of their sense of sin, the liveliness of their heavenly joy—these and other features of their personal religion must appear, in the view of this condition attaching to it, more and more wonderful the more we examine and reflect upon them. It might be not unprofitable also to inquire, how far that condition may explain some of the peculiarities of their holy aspirations and contendings; the restlessness, the impatience, the dark questionings and misgivings, the passionate outbursts even, which their writings occasionally indicate; the sort of wailing cry for something better which breaks from them; and the eager, intense expectancy of their air and attitude, like, that of children in a strange place, longing to be taken to some unknown home. Again, it might be well to mark, in searching these old books, and specially the psalms and prophetic songs, how marvellously the Holy Spirit has so inspired them, that this absence of what has since been so fully revealed,—which might be supposed to be a drawback,—is in truth the very quality which best fits them for universal use, in all ages of the Church till the end comes. For it is that which makes them most expressive of the groans and sighs of lost humanity; its tossings, strivings, fightings, until it finds its God; its strange vicissitudes of joy, fear, hope, even after it has found him. And then, finally, one might usefully inquire how, in virtue of its very imperfection, the divinity of the Old Testament prepares the way for that of the New; how the knowledge and worship of God, as Creator, Governor, Lord, lays the best and only safe foundation for the knowledge and worship of him as Father; how in this, as in other respects, “the law is our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ.” __________ [1] * The entire argument to which this quotation from a heathen poet has reference, is in these words:—“God that made the world, and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands; neither is worshipped with men’s hands, as though he needed anything, seeing he giveth to all life, and breath, and all things; and hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation; that they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after him, and find him, though he be not far from every one of us; for in him we live, and move, and have our being; as certain also of your own poets have said, For we are also his offspring. Forasmuch then as we are the offspring of God, we ought not to think that the Godhead is like unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by art and man’s device.”— Acts 17:24-29. [2] *See Grinfield’s Christian Cosmos, pp. 34, 35. The writings of this author are often very suggestive. He certainly deserves credit for bringing prominently into view the place which the Son holds in creation, as the original maker of all things, in connection with the place which he holds in redemption, as making all things new. But he rides a hobby, and rides it often to the death. It is extremely difficult to find out what precise use he means to make of what he imagines to be almost exclusively his own peculiar doctrine or discovery as to Christ’s agency in creation. At all events, in the present instance, he builds upon a rotten foundation, though not perhaps more than others have done before. Surely, on reflection, all must see that nothing more than origination is in Luke’s genealogy. It certainly does not carry us beyond the prophetic word in Deuteronomy, “Of the Rock that begat thee thou art unmindful, and hast forgotten God that formed thee” (Deuteronomy 32:18). This text in Deuteronomy interprets the Old Testament idea of fatherhood and sonship. And to what does it amount? Is it anything more than the relation of mere creatorship and creatureship? Does it go at all beyond ascribing to the Creator, simply as Creator, a right, not of paternity, but of property, in the creature? [3] *See Note A. [See Below "NOTES TO LECTURE THIRD"] [4] *See Note B. [5] *See Note C. [6] *See Note D. [7] *See Treffrey on the Eternal Sonship, ch. ii. sect. ii. pp. 80-102. [8] *Confession, chap. i. sect. ii. [9] *I give the entire passage (Hebrews 12:18-24), to the close of which (Hebrews 12:22-24) I here refer. “For ye are not come unto the mount that might be touched, and that burned with fire, nor unto blackness, and darkness, and tempest, And the sound of a trumpet, and the voice of words; which voice they that heard entreated that the word should not be spoken to them any more: (For they could not endure that which was commanded, And if so much as a beast touch the mountain, it shall be stoned, or thrust through with a dart. And so terrible was the sight, that Moses said, I exceedingly fear and quake:) But ye are come unto mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels. To the general assembly and church of the first-born, which are written in heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect. And to Jesus the mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel.” [10] *See Appendix II. [11] *See Appendix II. [12]*See Treffrey on the Eternal Sonship, chap. II., sect. v., pages 156, 157. __________ NOTES TO LECTURE THIRD. NOTE A. (Page 125.) Job 38:1-7; Numbers 24:17; Revelation 2:28, and Revelation 22:16. IT is not necessary for my present argument to inquire particularly into the meaning of these remarkable texts, which seem to associate so intimately the filial rank and relation in the spiritual firmament with the ushering in of the morning dawn in the natural heaven. The image of the morning star is as suggestive in a religious point of view as it is poetically beautiful. In particular, as used in these texts taken together, it surely points to the identification of unfallen angels and redeemed men with the second person in the Godhead. Whatever it imports, as descriptive of the bright and blessed effulgence of dawn growing into glorious noon, is common to him and them. He is the morning star. He is so, emphatically and preeminently—himself alone. He avows himself to be so at the very close of his Revelation (Revelation 22:16): “I am the bright and morning star.” But it is not a “starship” belonging to him simply in his original divine nature and condition. It belongs to him as “the root and offspring of David.” It belongs to him in the character and capacity which formed the ground of the riddle that, in the days of his flesh, he propounded to the Pharisees (Matthew 22:45) “If David call him,” the Messiah, “Lord, how is he then his Son.” In that view he shares it with all who own him as David’s Lord, and therefore their Lord also; while they welcome him as David’s son, and therefore also their brother. His “starship,” in a word, is his “sonship.” It is his “sonship” in the process of its development, from earliest streak of morning to fullest blaze of noon. Hence the association of the two—“starship” and “sonship”—in the holy angels as witnessing our earth’s creation. That, to them, was the dawn of a new day. The Son was then to them as “the morning star,” ushering in a new manifestation of the unclouded glory of God. They are one with him—intelligently and cordially one with him—so far as their natural capacity and their information at the time admit. They are one with him as the Son. But his sonship is only then beginning to be unfolded. It is as the shining of the morning star. It is, therefore, as “morning stars” that they are “Sons of God.” This original idea or image being once recognised, it is not difficult to see how, under Old Testament conditions, it could be only very imperfectly and obscurely developed—as, for instance, in Balaam’s prophecy. Nor is it strange that, even under New Testament light, it should not bulk much in our view. It is a mere figure, indicating little more than the gradual and growing manifestation of the relation in question. That relation, however, is surely thus proved to be the original filial relation of the Son to the Father, now wonderfully shared with unfallen angels and redeemed men. NOTE B. (Page 128.) This, as it seems to me, is a sort of experimentum crucis, a testing trial, as regards the notion of the original relation of man to his Maker being filial. As such, it must be fully met and satisfactorily disposed of. Is there any hint whatever in Scripture of the fall being a fall from a filial state? Is the sin which caused it represented anywhere in all the Bible as a breach of the filial relation? Is it possible, upon the supposition of its being so, to construct anything like an adequate scriptural representation of the atonement? Judgment, judicial retribution, the just award of guilt according to strict law strictly administered—these are the ideas, and the only ideas, which underlie the principle of expiatory or propitiatory sacrifice, as all history proves that the human conscience craves for it;—and, as the Bible history reveals that divine love has provided it. But it is all out of place—irrelevant, nay, offensively inconsistent and incongruous—if it is a breach of the filial relation that is to be repaired. In that case, the whole apparatus and arrangement of the Cross, considered as a real judicial transaction,—as the real and actual punishment of the guilty by the substitution of a willing and holy divine victim in their stead,—must be explained away. I admit that there may remain, even though that meaning is blotted out, a certain power in the Cross to manifest divine love. It may be represented as simply a manifestation of divine love, and nothing more. And the love may be called fatherly love. But it is not really so. In the Cross, thus baldly and barely viewed, we see the Father putting the Son through the experience of fallen men to the utmost extremity of suffering which that experience can involve. For what end? To satisfy justice on behalf of criminals—to expiate their guilt? No. But to encourage lapsed children in their return to their Father. But is such a procedure really needed for their encouragement? Is it, in fact, any encouragement at all? Is it not rather fitted to discourage? Does it not tend to invest the fatherly and filial relation with a very awful and impenetrable gloom, when it comes out that the father cannot receive back his erring children into his favour, otherwise than on the condition of his holy “firstborn” Son becoming a sufferer and a victim on their behalf? All is clear and simple, if the substitutionary work of Christ is held to have reference to the purely legal and judicial relation as that originally subsisting between God and man. But the introduction of the relation of fatherhood and sonship confounds all. For the two relations cannot be conceived of as originally combined; certainly not in the instance of a race liable to fall, and now actually fallen. They must be dealt with either as guilty subjects, or as undutiful sons. The method of recovery must be adapted to one or other of these two views of their condition. I would have evangelical thinkers to ponder this alternative well. The looser and broader school of speculators understand its meaning and its bearings very thoroughly. NOTE C. (Page 130.) I think these four Old Testament texts— Genesis 6:2, Hosea 1:10, Jeremiah 31:20, Malachi 1:6 —are all that can be supposed to teach a relation of fatherhood and sonship, practically available for personal appeal. I would not wish to weaken the force, or dilute the virtue, of any one of them, as introducing an element that aggravates man’s guilt and enhances God’s forbearance. That the universal corruption ushering in the deluge had its rise in the worldly conformity of those to whom the high title of children or sons of God was in any sense appropriate (Genesis 6:2); that so high a designation should be still within the reach of apostate Israel (Hosea 1:10) ; that the Lord should yearn over Ephraim as “his dear son, a pleasant child” (Jeremiah 31:20); and that he should urge his claim on his people as at least equal to that of a father and a master in an ordinary human household (Malachi 1:6);—all that is most emphatic. By all means the emphasis must be preserved. But there is nothing in it all like the assertion or implication of real and proper fatherhood and sonship, as a relation subsisting personally between God and the individual man. I would not explain away these and similar texts. On the contrary, I would press them into my service. I would especially do so if I were elaborating proof in support of the opinion which I strongly hold, that from the beginning the relation, in the noblest sense of it, was contemplated as the perfection of created intelligence; and that accordingly all nature is cast in that mould, and all revelation points in the same line. At the same time, when alleged as evidence of the relation being known to the Old Testament church,—so as to form any part of its theology or any element of its piety,—such rare and isolated passages are altogether without point and without power. They are merely conventional or rhetorical modes of speech;—conventional, when they simply designate one set of people as distinct from another;—rhetorical, when they are made the ground of complaint, or expostulation, or entreaty. NOTE D. (Page 131.) The following passages extracted from Alexander on Isaiah (Dr. Eadie’s edition, 1848) have an important bearing on the question now under discussion. The first is from his note on Isaiah 63:16;—“Because thou art our father.” This does not merely mean our natural creator, but our founder, our national progenitor, as in Deuteronomy 32:6. Here, however, it appears to be employed in an emphatic and exclusive sense, as if he had said, ‘thou and thou alone art our father;’ for he immediately adds, as if to explain and justify this strange assertion, ‘for Abraham has not known us, and Israel will not recognise or acknowledge us.’ . . The true sense of the verse, as it appears to me, is that the Church, or chosen people, although once, for temporary reasons, co-extensive and coincident with a single race, is not essentially a national organization, but a spiritual body. Its father is not Abraham or Israel, but Jehovah, who is, and always has been, its redeemer, who has borne that name from everlasting. . . . The strong terms of this verse are of course to be comparatively understood, not as implying that the Church will ever have occasion to repudiate its historical relation to the patriarchs, or cease to include among its members many of their natural descendants, but simply as denying all continued or perpetual pre-eminence to Israel as a race, and exalting the common relation of believers to their great Head as paramount to all connection with particular progenitors; the very doctrine so repeatedly and emphatically taught in the New Testament.” The second passage is from the note on Isaiah 64:7;—“And now, Jehovah, our Father (art) thou, we the clay and thou our potter, and the work of thy hands (are) we all.” ... “The Prophet here resumes the thought of Isaiah 63:16, where, as here, the paternity ascribed to God is not that of natural creation in the case of individuals, but the creation of the Church or chosen people, and of Israel as a spiritual and ideal person. The figure of the potter and the clay, implying absolute authority and power, is used twice before (Isaiah 29:6; Isaiah 45:9), and is one of the connecting links between this book and the acknowledged Isaiah.” . . . “The same plea, derived from the relation of the creature to the maker, is used in Psalms 138:8, forsake not the work of thy hands. (Compare Psalms 76:1; Psalms 79:1). In either case there is a tacit appeal to the covenant and promise in Genesis 17:7; Leviticus 26:42-45; Deuteronomy 7:6; Deuteronomy 26:17-18.” The remarks in this last note of Alexander apply to Jeremiah 31:9. Indeed that text in Jeremiah is conclusive, I think, in favour of the opinion that it is simply Israel, or the Church collective, as an ideal person, that is meant, in the few places where sonship or heirship seems to be implied;—and not at all individual believers realizing personally and practically any such relation. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 67: 06.04. LECTURE 4TH - SONSHIP OF CHRIST AND BELIEVERS ======================================================================== LECTURE IV. THE TEACHING OF OUR LORD ON HIS OWN AND HIS BRETHREN’S SONSHIP. The firstborn, among many brethren.— Romans 8:29. THE fatherhood of God is revealed in the person of his Son Jesus Christ, and in his life on earth. If we would conceive aright of what it is for God to be our father and for us to be his sons, it is to that model that we must chiefly look. The Old Testament church had little or no knowledge of God being a father, in the sense of his sustaining a proper personal relation of fatherhood to men individually. When I say that, I do not of course mean that he was not the father of those who believed in his name; really and truly their father; as much so before as after the incarnation. I mean only that he did not see fit to reveal himself clearly and unreservedly in that character. And I think I have shown good reason for some reserve being maintained until the relation in its full integrity could be manifested. Neither do I forget that Israel collectively is spoken of by the Lord as his son, and is therefore constituted a type of Christ. Thus, to name one remarkable instance, or rather one decisive proof, Matthew quotes the message of the Lord to Pharaoh; or Hosea’s reference to it; as receiving its fulfilment in Christ: “Out of Egypt have I called my son.”*[1] Still, with a full admission of all these premonitions, I am persuaded that, as a definite personal relation subsisting between God and individual men, the fatherhood of God did not form part of the revelation given to the church under the old economies. All this reserve is at an end when the Son himself opens his mouth. “The man Christ Jesus” called God father in a way quite unprecedented. Not even his forerunner, the Baptist, used the name as he did. There is no trace of God’s fatherhood in John’s teaching;—unless it be that on one occasion, upon the warrant of the voice from heaven, he says, “I saw and bare record that this is the Son of God” (John 1:34). With Jesus himself, the title “Father,” as applied to God, is a familiar household word. And yet, as I think, he uses it with careful and studied discrimination. Thus, for example, I do not know that there is one instance recorded of his using the title of Father with reference to the world at large, or to men generally; or, indeed, with reference to any but those whom he was pleased to regard as his disciples, and to address and treat accordingly. He speaks to them of God as their father;—and, so far as my observation goes, to them only. I cannot call to mind a single case in which he gives God that appellation in dealing with the promiscuous crowds that resorted to him. Nay, there is at least one case—there may be more, but let one suffice—in which he makes a very marked distinction. It occurs in the twelfth chapter of Luke’s Gospel. “One of the company”— the crowd literally—asks Jesus to assume the office of judge between him and his brother in the matter of the family inheritance (Luke 12:13). After declining that position (Luke 12:14), the Lord takes the opportunity of warning the company, or crowd, against the sin of covetousness. “He said unto them,”—“he spake a parable unto them” (Luke 12:15-21). In thus addressing them, he uses simply the term “God” (Luke 12:20). But suddenly he turns from the multitude to his disciples. The incident suggests a lesson for them also;—a lesson against care, answering to his warning to the company against covetousness. Immediately his tone changes from something approaching to severity or sternness to the utmost tenderness and affection. And after appealing to God’s creative power and providential bounty, as reasons for trusting him and having no anxiety, he tells them, as a stronger reason still, of “their Father knowing what they need,” and of its being “their Father’s good pleasure to give them the kingdom” (Luke 12:30, Luke 12:32). I believe it will be found that our Lord observes this distinction throughout;—restricting the term to his disciples, and avoiding the use of it when he addresses others. Nor can the obvious inference deducible from this uniform practice be turned aside by the mere allegation, that there must have been among those whom be chose to count as his disciples not a few who were not his disciples in reality, as among the apostles there was one traitor. The fact is admitted. But it does not touch the point of my present observation. For the same principle must be applied here which explains Scripture usage elsewhere; as when the visible churches to whom the apostolic letters are written are addressed as if all their members were true believers. Men are, and must be, treated according to their calling and profession. On that principle, his disciples are regarded by our Lord as having God to be their Father; and, so far as I can see, they alone. There is, I think, another important distinction to be observed in our Lord’s manner of calling God Father. I refer now to those almost countless instances in which he points to his own relation to God;—saying, “my Father,” or, “the Father.” In so saying, he sometimes has in view the relation of fatherhood and sonship between the Father and him as it subsisted from everlasting before his incarnation; while at other times, what he has in view is manifestly the relation as it subsists now that he has become incarnate. Of course, I hold that it is the same relation, unchanged and unmodified. But it is now shared in by his humanity, which it was not before. And this, so far, makes a difference;—not in the nature and character of the relation;—but, as it were, in the manner of its outgoings or outcomings in the person sustaining it. Let me attempt to make my meaning somewhat more plain by means of an explanatory instance. When Jesus made that most solemn and sublime appeal from earth to heaven,—from the cold unbelief of man to the loving heart of God—“I thank thee, 0 Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes;—even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight” (Matthew 11:25-26)—none hearing the marvellous words could doubt,—at least, none reading them in faith now can doubt, —that they point far back in the past eternity to mutual counsels and infinite endearments in which his manhood never had a share. When, on the other hand, prostrated in Gethsemane’s garden, he uttered first the cry of agony, “0 my Father, if it be possible let this cup pass from me”— and then the prayer of acquiescence, “0 my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done” (Matthew 26:39, Matthew 26:42),—the language springs out of trial of which his manhood bears the brunt, and obedience of which his manhood must have the credit. The Father is the same to him, and he is the same to the Father, on both occasions alike. The relation of fatherhood and sonship is the same. But he who sustains the relation of sonship has undergone a change of state. From being only God he has become also man; from being alone with the Father in the Holy Ghost, in the unapproachable unity of the one only thrice holy God, he has come to be associated and identified with a race of fallen creatures, whose sorrows he is willing to share,— whose guilt and condemnation he has consented to take upon himself. He is the same person throughout—the same in his sonship. But is it not evident that now, when he speaks as the Son occupying the last of these two positions, he may be expected, alike in what he says to his Father and in what he says of his Father, to use language proper on some occasions to his former condition, and on others again to his present condition? He cannot but speak at some times as realising, even in and all through his humiliation, what he has been to the Father and the Father to him, from everlasting. He cannot but speak at other times as realising what, in virtue of his humiliation, he is to the Father and the Father to him, now. But there is not on that account any difference in respect of the personal relation in which he stands to the Father. That is the same in both states. There is simply a distinction between what refers back to his past, and what expresses his present, consciousness and experience, in that one relation which is common to both the modes of his existence, and both the periods, if I may so speak, of his history. This distinction, I need scarcely say, has a very material bearing on the question as to the connection of his people’s sonship with his own. Can it be a sonship of the same nature and character with his own? Can it be, in fact, their being made really and truly partners and partakers with him in his being the Son of God? I advert to this question at this stage and in this connection, merely to the effect of considering how far such an identity is possible or conceivable;—how far it can be shown to be consistent with a due regard to the vast distance that there must ever be felt to be between an uncreated and a created being. For an opinion certainly prevails in some quarters, that to represent Christ’s sonship and his people’s as being of the same sort, is to confound the human and the divine. Let me say a few words on that opinion. I begin with an illustrative or suggestive case. My father has a firstborn son; and after the lapse of, say, some quarter of a century, he has a second son, there being none between. I am that second son. As the second son, I stand to my father in the very same relation with the first. I have the same claims on him and the same place in his heart. But I hear my elder brother continually alluding to interchanges of love and confidence between him and our common father long prior to my coming into the family. I am not surprised at these allusions, nor chagrined or vexed by them; for my elder brother gives me the full benefit of all that they imply. Still, my real and actual communion with my brother, in our joint filial relation to our common father, dates only from my coming to an intelligent apprehension of it. All before that is matter of testimony; it is information at secondhand. I can have no fellowship, properly so called, with him in it. But for all that, my sonship is really the same relation as his, though his is of older standing than mine. Would it make much—or indeed any—difference to me if I were told that my brother’s sonship had no beginning at all? That might raise a difficulty otherwise, as regards the past,—or as regards the question how that sonship without a beginning could be possible. But it need not affect my present standing, as my brother’s fellow in the relation of sonship to our common father. Or take another parallel case. My son’s wife is to me a daughter. She stands to me, as I believe and feel, in the very same relation in which my son himself stands to me. I treat them both equally as my children. I am a father equally to both. The relation is differently originated and constituted in the two. In the one, it is natural, dating from the beginning of the party’s existence; in the other it is the result of an arrangement entered into when the party has been in existence for years. But what of that? The law declares the relation to be the same, and my heart owns it to be so. My new child must be an entire stranger to the consciousness and experience of much in the relation between myself and my son, or in our realisation of it, which preceded the union that has given me a new child. But still, what of that? The whole good of the relation is now common equally to both of my children. Would it make the least difference, as regards the apprehension of present joint relationship, if the child I have got by her becoming my son’s spouse were to be told that he whose spouse she is was born years or ages ago?— or even, to speak with reverence, that he was begotten from everlasting? These, let it be remembered, are most inadequate and imperfect analogies. Still, they are analogies. And to my mind they go far to prove that there has been some confusion of thought about this whole matter. For I cannot help suspecting that there has been from of old a tendency to suppose that there is a difference of relationship, when, in point of fact, the difference merely lies in the dates at which, and the grounds on which, the same relation has been constituted in different persons. In other words, the difference has been held to be essential; whereas it is in reality only circumstantial, and should accordingly be treated as such. When and how the relationship was constituted,—is one question. What it is, whensoever and howsoever constituted,—is quite another question. And it is still a different question;— How far two parties may partake in the same relation, though constituted, in the two, at different times and in different ways. Nor, as regards this last question, does it matter though in the one it should be from everlasting. Let me anticipate a little my line of argument, and put a scriptural, and, as I think, a critical and crucial test, on this particular point. In his farewell prayer, Christ says to the Father, “Thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world” (John 17:24). He asserts also with reference to his disciples,—“Thou hast loved them as thou hast loved me” (John 17:23). I take this last statement to be an assertion of the real and absolute identity of the love of the Father, as the Father, to the Son and to the Son’s disciples. And I ask, Is there any difference between that love and the love to which the other statement alludes—the love with which the Father loved the Son before the foundation of the world? Has the Father’s love of the Son undergone any change? Has it not always been fatherly love? And now the Son’s believing people share with him in it as such. It is the same fatherly love to them that it is to him. There is no difference as to the Father’s love;—or as to their standing, his and theirs, in the possession of it. It is true that they can have no consciousness or experience of it, as love in exercise “before the foundation of the world.” That is exclusively his privilege, his honour, his joy. In the old eternal reminiscences, if we may dare to use the term, of that unfathomable immensity of the duration of this love,—they, the creatures of yesterday, can have no part or title. But does that consideration evacuate of meaning the truth announced by the lips of the Son himself,—surely at a time when oneness and not distinction is in his mind,—that from the moment of their believing in him the Father “loveth them as he loveth him?” that the very “love wherewith the Father loveth him is thenceforth in them?”—and that ever after the Father is to them exactly what, as the Father, he is to him? Let it be admitted then,—or rather let it always be very strongly asserted and strenuously maintained,—that our Lord does very frequently use language which cannot fairly admit of any other interpretation than that he claims to be the Son of the Father from before all worlds,—from all eternity. When he uses such language, he appeals to a mode or manner of his filial life with the Father, in which none else can participate. Down to the time of his assuming the human nature, in his preexistent state before that event, he enjoys,—if I may venture so to speak,—he enjoys and exercises his sonship in a way strictly and absolutely peculiar to himself, as the only-begotten Son in the bosom of the Father. Into that period of his filial life no man or angel dare intrude. But the case is altered when he becomes incarnate. Then he begins a new mode of filial life, of such a sort as by no means to exclude the idea of others sharing with him in it. And when his language refers to the experience of that new kind of filial life, in the new state into which he has entered, I can see no reason why he may not be understood as meaning that it is really and literally the kind of filial life of which he intends to make his disciples partakers, when he calls God their Father as he calls him his own Father;—that they are to be on the same footing with God on which he now is;—that the Father is to be to them what he is now to him as “having come in the flesh,” and what he will be to him in that character for ever. Thus, I think, it may be seen that though in some of our Lord’s filial utterances and expressions we cannot go along with him,—since they refer to his position with the Father, and his intercourse with the Father, before he came to be one with us in our nature,—there are others proper to his new state of being into the spirit of which we may enter. We may therefore have the same filial experience which they denote, and partake of the same filial relation which they imply. I have been endeavouring to show that the nature or character of such a relation as that of fatherhood and sonship, does not depend, either upon the period of its subsistence, or upon the manner of its original constitution. And therefore I infer that there need be no difficulty, a priori, in conceiving of two persons standing in the same relation to a third,—even though in the case of the one the relation may be dateless, and founded on a necessity of nature, while in the case of the other it may be of recent date, and formed or constituted by an act or work of grace. There is one other remark of a general kind which it seems needful to make. Identity of relation does not imply that if two parties share in it, the one may not have a far greater aptitude to apprehend it, and a far larger capacity to enter into it, than the other. There may be the widest difference between them in this respect. Perhaps no two sons in a family ever equally realise their sonship. Both of them may be dutiful, loyal, loving. But there may be in the one a knowledge of their common father, an insight into his heart, an apprehension of his counsels, a sympathy with his pursuits, to which—at least in equal measure or degree—the other does not, and cannot attain. Still, both are sons. They are sons, as having the same footing in their common father’s house, and the same hold on their common father’s affection. No doubt the difference between them,—in the amount of their filial insight, apprehension, sympathy,—may warrantably cause a difference in the amount of their father’s affection towards the two respectively;—or rather, one would say, in the manner of its manifestation. But it is fatherly affection towards both alike. And it is so in the same sense. The footing of both in the house is alike, and to the same effect, filial. All this is too obvious to require proof or illustration. I would only add that the difference I speak of must be vast indeed when the one Son is the Divine Redeemer, and the other a sinner redeemed; though still it is not a difference which need at all affect the sameness of the relation. I have thus sought to clear the way for the consideration of the main question—What does Christ mean when he represents God as being his people’s Father? There is undoubtedly one instance—I think only one—in which our Lord brings in the analogy of the human fatherhood, and founds an argument upon it, a fortiori (Matthew 7:9-11; Luke 11:11-13), “What man is there of you, whom, if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?” Of course, it is a fair and valid analogy, especially if we hold that human fatherhood is meant to be a shadow or representation of the Divine. Let it be observed, however,—first, that the analogy is employed only for a very specific and limited purpose,—and, secondly, that the employment of it is quite consistent with the very highest view of God’s fatherhood. Nay, the higher the view taken of that fatherhood, so much the stronger is the a fortiori reasoning. And surely it is not a little remarkable that while the Lord is always, as it would seem, seeking to familiarise the minds of his disciples with the idea of God being their Father, he makes so little use of the human analogy. It looks almost as if he studiously avoided it; as if he would have them to form their conceptions of what it is to have God for their Father, not from what they might see in any human household, but from what they saw of him as a member of the divine household. For, let it be remembered, they were continually hearing his filial utterances, and witnessing his filial walk. No doubt, the words that fell from his lips were often such as they could not as yet fully understand,—pointing to a higher condition than that which he now occupied, in which he had been as a Son with God as his Father. But yet again, on the other hand, they could not but perceive that in circumstances precisely similar to their own, and under the pressure of an experience which might any day be theirs, he still habitually looked up to God as his Father. Nor did he ever give them the slightest intimation of his looking up to God as his Father, on these occasions,—any otherwise than as he taught them, on the like occasions, to look up to God as their Father. They could not but observe in their Master’s whole demeanour, in his everyday conduct, in all his sayings and doings, a very peculiar style of godliness—new, unprecedented; giving evidence of a singularly close, intimate, warm, endearing sort of connection between God and him; showing him to be on terms of most confidential fellowship with God. They could not but know—he told them—that this sprung from his knowing God to be his Father, and feeling himself to be God’s Son; that it was what this fatherhood and sonship meant and implied. But this very manner of living with God, as they were constantly instructed, it was their duty to aim at and realise. And they were instructed, with a view to it, to call God their Father. Would it naturally enter into their minds to suppose that this language denoted a different relation in their case from what it did in his?—that, while they were expected to walk with God, in that wonderful way of holy familiarity and loving trust in which they saw him walking with God, they were to be placed in a less favourable position for doing so?—that God was not to be their Father as he was his, though they were expected to be like him, and to live like him, as sons? Surely the opposite of all this is rather the conclusion fairly to be drawn, unless some very clear intimation has been given to the contrary. Much stress is often laid, as if it were such an intimation, on the fact, that whereas our Lord very often speaks of God with reference to himself as his Father, and with reference to his disciples as their Father, he avoids, as it would seem intentionally and of set purpose, the use of the expression “Our Father.” To this remark there is only one exception, the invocation of the Lord’s Prayer; and it is thought that this is one of the instances in which the exception confirms and strengthens the rule. Christ, in putting the very words of prayer into the mouths of his disciples, must necessarily use the first personal pronoun, to denote God as the Father of the person praying; and as he intends the prayer, even when most personal and secret, to be still most catholic and loving, he uses, because he cannot help it, the plural,—“Our Father.” But he does not mean to include himself. For, it is said, he is giving a form of prayer to be offered by the disciples, either jointly or severally, by themselves;—not by him and them together. I confess I have always felt a difficulty in taking in this notion. It does not seem to me to be a natural explanation. I can scarcely think that it would have occurred to one of the disciples using this prayer, say on the very day on which it was given, to associate with himself in his mind and heart his fellow-disciples, and to exclude the Master. This would seem to imply that our Lord’s prayers, even when he was among his disciples, were always exclusively intercessory—not praying with them, but only praying for them; that this was known to be his standing rule and order; and that the disciples were accordingly instructed—not only never to pray for him—but never to embrace him, though they might embrace all others, in the loving fellowship of prayer. For surely otherwise, apart from these suppositions, in saying, as he taught them to say, “Our Father,” the impulse, the instinct, of affection would lead them to have him as well as one another comprehended in the communion which the “our” implies. But I cannot reconcile myself to such suppositions as I have indicated. I cannot imagine Jesus and the apostles living for years together, sitting together at meals, walking together by the way, and yet not praying together.*[2] But though in this one instance Jesus uses the words, “Our Father,”—be the account given of his doing so what it may,— it cannot be denied that his otherwise invariable practice, in referring to the fatherhood of God, is to speak of himself and of his disciples separately. And it is argued that this indicates a deliberate design to separate his sonship from theirs, and to represent it as being of a different sort—as being, in fact, a different relation. I am not at all satisfied that it does. I think the practice admits of another explanation, and one that may bring out, in a fresh and important point of view, the bearing of our Lord’s work of propitiation for us, in our state of guilt, on our being admitted into participation with him, in his state of sonship. I must premise, however, that, even apart from that explanation which I am about to offer, I do not consider the phenomenon we are now dealing with as very unaccountable, if we keep in mind the position of our Lord and his disciples as master and scholars. It is quite natural for a master addressing his scholars, for the most part magisterially, though with all affection, so to express himself as to maintain a certain distance and distinction between him and them; and, in alluding to a third party to whom he and they stand similarly related, still to let it appear that the relation primarily belongs to him as the master, and to them only in a secondary sense, or by a secondary and subordinate right, as his scholars. This end is secured by the manner of speaking on the subject which Christ adopts; nor does any occasion occur calling for a deviation, except when he is giving them a form of prayer. Then, however, as I cannot but think, he does not scruple to employ phraseology which the disciples could scarcely understand otherwise than as conveying the idea of their master and themselves being alike, and in the same sense, entitled to call God Father. But I proceed to the other explanation. I think I can see a reason for there being still some reserve, even though the incarnation has been effected, in regard to the discovery of God’s fatherhood and his people’s sonship. Even the incarnate Son is not yet in a position to do full justice to the subject, He cannot yet unfold fully the substantial identity of the relation in which he and the disciples stand to God as Father—not at least in its highest and fullest significancy. Let me try to bring out what I mean by referring again to the passage in the Epistle to the Galatians formerly quoted: “When the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law, to redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons” (Galatians 4:4-5). It is there intimated that while God sends forth his Son that we may receive the adoption of sons—surely after the model of his sonship who is sent forth—while this is the design of its being his Son whom God sends forth, an indispensable preliminary to our receiving the adoption of sons is the Son’s “redeeming us from the curse of the law by being made a curse for us” (Galatians 3:13). For so, a little before, the apostle has given in full what he expresses more elliptically now. Hence, it would seem that until his work of redemption is complete, the way for our entering into his sonship is not fully opened up. In order to his making us partakers of his relation to God as the Son, he must make himself partaker of our relation to God as under the law. And not only so. He must redeem us from the guilt and condemnation which, in that relation, we have incurred, and under which we lie helpless. That he has not done till his life on earth is ended. All the time he is on earth he is about the doing of it. But it is only on the cross that he can say—“It is finished.” It is only “by his resurrection from the dead,” as Paul elsewhere says (Romans 1:4), that he is “declared to be the son of God, with power, according to the spirit of holiness.” And it is only then, —then, and not before,—that he is in a position to make the entire benefit and blessedness of his sonship available in behalf of his disciples, as admitted to be sharers with him in it. Until then, he is justified in not fully or in express terms bringing out all that is implied in his sonship being the model of theirs,—its being, in fact, up to the measure of their new capacity and his redeeming grace, truly and actually communicated to them. This idea is confirmed when we turn to a passage in the Epistle to the Hebrews (Hebrews 2:11), where it is said that, upon certain grounds or considerations there stated, Christ is “not ashamed to call us brethren.” The meaning is, not that he might be ashamed of us, but that, were it not for these grounds and considerations, he might be ashamed of himself. It is the same meaning that is suggested when it is said of God (Hebrews 11:16) that he is not ashamed to be called the God of the patriarchs, “for he hath prepared for them a city.” Christ is not ashamed to call us brethren, as he might well be if his doing so were a mere lip-compliment or figure of speech, and nothing more. He has no reason to be thus ashamed, because his calling us brethren involves, not a mere nominal title of courtesy, but a real and actual participation with him in his relation to the Father, and in its fruits, so far as the nature he shares with us allows. Passages are cited from the Old Testament Scriptures to prove that Christ has no cause to be ashamed, in the sense now explained, to call his disciples brethren. And the first and chief is from the twenty-second Psalm, which so wonderfully brings out, in its beginning, the suffering, and in its close, the triumphant, Messiah. The verse quoted is the point of transition from the one state to the other—from Christ suffering to Christ triumphant. It is then that he says—“I will declare thy name unto my brethren.” Now that all my agony in redeeming them is over—and the Psalm describes the agony to the life, or rather to the death—now I may without reserve call them brethren. I need not be ashamed of doing so. For I can now worthily and effectually declare to them thy name, as magnified in my obedience unto the death for them,—and in their being admitted, on the footing of that obedience, to be my brethren;—my brethren, as having the same standing in the Father’s house that I have, and the same warm place in the Father’s heart.*[3] It is in the light of this idea that I think we must view the message sent by the risen Lord to his disciples—“Go to my brethren” (John 20:17). It is the first time he calls his disciples, in unequivocal terms, his brethren. He might have been ashamed to do so before; but he is not ashamed to do so now. Before, his calling them his brethren might only have implied that he made common cause with them; that he took his place among them; that he became one of them, so as to share all their liabilities and responsibilities. His incarnation was sufficient evidence of that. But it was evidence of nothing more than that. For anything that appeared, he might have thus identified himself with them, with no benefit to them, but only with damage to himself; sharing their fate, and so far sympathising with them; but not effecting their deliverance. While that state of things lasted, he might be ashamed to call them brethren. But when that is over, and it is seen that he has not merely partaken with them in their miserable state, but accomplished their redemption out of it, he is not ashamed—there need be no more reserve—as to his calling them his brethren. Then he is in a position to deal with them as out-and-out one with himself—his brethren—having the same position that he has in the Father’s family, and the same interest in the family inheritance. I cannot but interpret the message to the disciples after the resurrection in accordance with this view. It is, as I have said, then, the first time that he adopts unequivocally this phraseology, and calls his disciples, without qualification or explanation, his brethren. He never called them his brethren before. He did unquestionably keep up a certain distinction between himself and them. He was not able thoroughly to bring out his identifying of them with himself in his sonship, until he had proved his identifying of himself with them in their subjectship to be really, for them, their redemption from its curse. But now even this reserve is over. He can say, “My brethren,” with fullest, clearest, warmest welcome— welcoming them into his own very relation of sonship and subjectship combined.—“Go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God.” I own I shrink from any exposition of this message of love, sent through that loving woman to the lonely eleven, which would make it suggestive of separation or distinction. It was not an occasion for reminding the disciples that he and they stood in different relations to God—relations nominally the same, yet really different. But it was an occasion for assuring them that he and they stood in the same relation, and that he was now in a position to assure them of this;—now that he had expiated their guilt and made their peace with heaven. Why should the risen Lord seize on that opportunity for discriminating between his sonship and theirs,—and it must be added, for they go together,—between his subjectship and theirs, in a way that he never thought of before? It was a strange time to take for that,—a strange place,—a strange medium. No! It is, I am confident, not distinction but identification that he means when he says—“Tell my brethren that I ascend unto my Father and their Father, and to my God and their God.”*[4] I am aware that the views which I have been submitting as to the relation of fatherhood and sonship being the same in the case of Christ’s disciples that it is in that of Christ himself, may seem startling to some minds. I may appear to them to be going not only against certain modern speculations, but also against the opinions of the early fathers, which are, perhaps, on this point, entitled to more weight. I think it right to offer a very few observations to show that the difference may after all be more apparent than real. 1. The Ante-Nicene divines were in the very thick and heat of the Arian and Semi-Arian controversies. Their whole energies were directed and devoted to the object of maintaining that Christ is the Son of God, not merely in virtue of some priority or precedence belonging to him in the order of creation; nor even in virtue of his being Creator or an active agent in creation; but in virtue of his being himself uncreated, and of the same substance with the Father from everlasting. Hence, they laboured anxiously to prove that he is represented in Scripture as being the Son of God in a sense and manner in which that title is never given to any other being in all the universe. Of course, they had no difficulty in proving this. They could show that neither the sonship supposed to belong originally to angels and men by creation, nor any sonship conferred on angels or men as the reward of obedience or the fruit of faith, could be held as coming up to what Holy Scripture says of the sonship of Christ. This they did with an ability and success which none but God could give. And God has blessed what they thus did, for the peace of the Church catholic, on that article at least, down to our own time. It need not be counted strange, however, that having their minds so intently bent upon bringing out that feature in Christ’s sonship which could not be shared with any creature, or be common to him with any other intelligence;—its being natural and necessary from everlasting, in respect of his being the only-begotten and eternal Son;—they may have been led, perhaps, to isolate him in his sonship rather too much; and so to exaggerate or misapprehend the difference between his sonship and that of his believing disciples. 2. In particular, I cannot help suspecting—for I confess my imperfect knowledge and dare not speak confidently—that they may not have had sufficiently before them the distinction between the two questions which I have been attempting to keep separate;—the first having reference to the nature or character of the relation in itself, and the second having reference to the time and manner of its being constituted. Their argument against the Arians and Semi-Arians is conclusive, if it is made out from Scripture, as it clearly can be made out, that the sonship of Christ has a different origin, and rests fundamentally on a different ground, from any relation of sonship competent to any other person;—its origin, if we may speak of the origin of what has no beginning, being in the everlasting nature of the Godhead, and its ground being eternal generation. That is enough for their purpose. It is not necessary to hold that the relation itself, as regards all that is vital and essential in its reciprocal claims and endearments, may not be shared by Christ with his worshippers among the angels and his believing people among men. 3. I believe that this community for which I plead is really and truly, to all practical intents and purposes, admitted by the writers to whom I am referring. I am persuaded that they did virtually hold the believer’s filial relation to God to be so closely connected with Christ’s that it might be reckoned substantially the same. “For this cause is the Word man, and he who is Son of God was made Son of man, that man, receiving the Word and accepting adoption, might become the Son of God.” *[5] Before closing this lecture, I wish to advert again to the topic on which I touched at the beginning. I referred then to the discrimination which our Lord manifested in speaking of God’s fatherhood with reference to men. He reveals God as sustaining this relation to his disciples, and to them alone. God is their Father, not the Father of mankind generally. I find no trace whatever, in all our Lord’s teaching, of anything like a universal fatherhood. The Son reveals the Father, not as the Father of sinners of mankind generally, but as the Father exclusively of those who receive the Son, and believe on his name. At the same time, it is to be observed that the fact of his revealing God at all as the Father, has a very gracious aspect towards sinners of mankind generally. God would be the Father of them all if they would but consent to have it so. He would have them all to be his children. His relentings, his longings, his appeals, are prompted by a love that does really partake of the paternal character. It is of a Father’s pity, a Father’s love, a Father’s open house, a Father’s open heart, that the Son has to speak, when he pleads with those whom, however guilty and degraded, he regards with an affection that is truly that of a brother. It is this consideration that makes the matchless parable of the prodigal son so appropriate as well as so affecting. Some, indeed, are disposed to found an argument on that parable in support of their favourite opinion that men, even in their unconverted state, may look on God as already their Father; and that in reality what they need, and all that they need, is not to become sons of God, but only to become alive to the fact that they are his sons already, and have always been so. But,—not to speak of the danger of drawing doctrinal conclusions from the minute and incidental details of illustrative narrations or stories,—I cannot help thinking that those who would make such a use of this most beautiful of all the parables grievously pervert its meaning, and altogether miss its spirit and scope. I hold them to be guilty of bad taste, as well as of bad criticism and bad theology. Let it be conceded that the prodigal represents sinners generally, the sinners with whom our Lord was accused of being too familiar. The parable is his defence against that accusation, and nothing more. And what is his defence? Virtually it is this:—He is the elder brother in the Father’s house. He puts it to his accusers to say whether he best sustains the character and does the part of the elder brother, by acting as he is wont to act, in the way that seems to them so objectionable, or by behaving, as they would have him behave, like the elder brother in the parable. In doing this, the Lord, as the Son, necessarily appeals to his Father’s character, and wonderfully opens up to all the human family his Father’s heart. In my Father’s eyes, these sinners with whom you say I associate too freely, are not what they are in yours. You regard them as outcasts;—He would have them to be sons. He looks upon them as lost children whom he would fain recover to himself. His purpose is that I, the Son of his love, should be “the first-born among many brethren.” And it is among these sinners that I am to find my brethren. These sinners, each and all of them, my Father longs to embrace, as any father worthy of the name would embrace a longestranged child coming back to him again. He has sent me to seek and save them;—to reveal him to them as a Father, waiting to welcome them as sons. How think ye? Do I best carry out my Father’s purpose by treating them after the manner you would have me treat them,—as the offscouring of the earth,—or by treating them as my Father’s children and my brethren?—so treating them all, including the very worst and vilest of them,—even those who have sunk almost to the level of the hungry wallowing swine? Surely that is the point of the parable, viewed in the light of its occasion. And that is really its only meaning. It turns wholly on the love with which God regards lost sinners, and his willingness to have them reconciled to himself. It does not turn at all on the precise nature, either of their present relation to him, or of any previous relation in which they may have stood to him. Thus viewed, the parable is very precious. It warrants the widest and most unrestricted proclamation of the fatherhood of God as now, in his Son, brought within the reach of all,—to be pressed on the acceptance of all,—with the strongest possible assurance that all are welcome, freely welcome, to have the full enjoyment of all that is implied in it, if they will,—when they will. But what is it that is thus brought within the reach of all and pressed upon the acceptance of all? Let that be kept ever in view, for it enhances a thousandfold the grace of the whole arrangement. For it is not merely in the universality and freeness of the offer, but even still more in the value of what is offered, that the great benevolence of the Father is seen. He would have all men to be sons as Jesus is his son. Jesus would have all men to be his brethren—to be to him what those are on whose behalf, in the view of their perfected oneness with himself in his sonship, he offers his wonderful intercessory prayer—“That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.” In what sense one? Let himself reply—“The glory which thou gavest me I have given them; that they may be one, even as we are one: I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one.” And for what end? “That the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them as thou hast loved me.” Let this identification be specially noted;—“Thou hast loved them as thou hast loved me.” Can it be explained away? I think not. For mark what follows;—“I have declared unto them thy name, and will declare it; that the love wherewith thou hast loved me may be in them, and I in them” (John 17:21-26). __________ [1] *I give the passages entire. First, there is that in Exodus (Exodus 4:22-23): “And thou shalt say unto Pharaoh, Thus saith the Lord, Israel is my son, even my first-born. And I say unto thee, Let my son go, that he may serve me: and if thou refuse to let him go, behold, I will slay thy son, even thy first-born.” Next, there is the passage in Hosea (Hosea 11:1): “When Israel was a child, then I loved him, and called my son out of Egypt.” Then, lastly, there is the quotation in Matthew (Matthew 2:15): “That it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet, saying, Out of Egypt have I called my son.” [2] *See Note A. [3] * See Appendix III. [4] *See Note B. [5] *Irenaeus apud Treffrey, page 434. __________ NOTES TO LECTURE FOURTH . NOTE A. (Page 184.) I DO not attach much importance, or indeed any importance, to this view of the Lord’s Prayer, as bearing on my argument. But I confess I have some value for it nevertheless. I am very unwilling to believe that the Master gave to his disciples a form of prayer in which they must be dissociated from him, or in which he could not identify himself with them. I am all the more reluctant to take in this idea, because there is nothing whatever expressive of his mediation in the prayer. Apart from any question as to the closing doxology, whether its genuineness be admitted or denied, there is really no hint of the Lord’s standing apart from his disciples as their mediator, and bidding them use this form of supplication in his name. There is no occasion for that, if he means to join himself with them and join them with himself in the prayer which he dictates. In that case all is clear. For mediation is really identification. Jesus prays with us when he prays for us. It is as praying with us that he prays for us. I shrink from the idea of his being my mediator with the Father, and interceding with the Father on my behalf, if it means that his intercessory prayer for me, and the prayer he teaches me, are so distinct that I cannot join with him in his, and that he cannot join with me in mine. I own I do not see how, on that supposition, we can have any other sort of mediation and intercession than that which heathenism and Romanism agree in holding. Nor do I see the least force in the argument, that the closing petitions are such as a sinless person could not offer. That is true, if the sinless person has not consented to make common cause, out and out, with a sinful and guilty race. If he has consented to do that, I do not see how he can refrain from the use of language proper to their sinful and guilty state. Does he not use such language in the Psalms? Does he not use it on the cross? The objection seems to me to strike at the root of the doctrine of identification and substitution. But it really is not with me, so far as my present purpose is concerned, a doctrinal question at all. I have no motive whatever to insist on its being settled one way or other. The “our” in the preface of the Lord’s Prayer,—“our Father,”—may be inclusive or exclusive of the Lord himself. My reasoning is not touched either way. All that I would say is this:—I deprecate the line of argument sometimes employed to prove his exclusion, because it seems to me to savour of a mode of thought that would dissociate the Son from those to whom he is to be “ the first-born among many brethren,” and would place him on a different platform altogether; a platform inconsistent, I think, not only with the idea of his drawing them up to his own level, but even still more with the idea of his doing so through the medium of his descending to theirs. I think it is really, in this connection, allowable to ask a pertinent question. In his ordinary meals with his chosen disciples—not to speak of morning and evening family devotion—did our Lord say grace or ask a blessing? Surely that was common prayer, as between himself and them. Did he, on such occasions, studiously ignore or suppress his sonship? I cannot think so. I cannot but think, on the contrary, that he must have been all along, in all his private intercourse with them, and especially in what was of a directly devotional character, accustoming them to that kind of joint supplication,—implying both mediation and identification,—of which the form of prayer “commonly called the Lord’s Prayer”gives intentionally the authoritative example. Note B. (Page 193.) I begin this brief note by giving the passage in Barrow already referred to (page 59). It does not directly bear on the present text (John 20:17). But it is relevant nevertheless. “Christian men do become the sons of God by the intervention of our Saviour, assuming our nature, and conforming himself to the likeness of men; whereby he becomes the first-born of many brethren: God (saith St. Paul) sent forth his Son, born of a woman, that we might receive the privilege of being made sons: and, children (saith the apostle to the Hebrews) partake of flesh and blood; whence (as he meaneth to infer) our Lord being the Son of God, we, upon conjunction of nature with him, and as his brethren, become also such: he further intimateth, that upon this score we do surpass angels themselves; for that he took not on him the nature of angels, but took on him the seed of Abraham; they were not, as we, dignified with a fraternal relation to the Son of God.”—(“The Christian Faith,” etc., Sermon x.) I might be inclined slightly to qualify this last statement. I believe that the angels are to be ultimately revealed as Christ’s brethren and ours. But the full revelation of that glorious brotherhood, even to themselves, comes through the manifestation of it in the first instance, and in action, as Christ’s brotherhood with us. This is the peculiarity of our position. In us, his brotherhood comes out through his participation with us in our nature. It is, as I take it, true and full brotherhood; implying our participation with him in his filial relation to the Father. His resurrection unfolds and attests the truth and fulness of the brotherhood. I cannot think that he means to teach anything else,—far less can I think that he means to indicate two separate sorts of sonship,—when at the early dawn of the resurrection morn he bids Mary “go to his brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father and your Father, and to my God and your God.” I find in Dr. Barth’s Bible Manual, page 936 (Translation,. Nisbet & Co., 1865), a very brief but suggestive remark: “By the words, ‘to your Father,’ in this connection, he means to hint that it is appointed to his disciples to follow after him. It is worth observing, however, that Jesus does not say, ‘to our God and to our Father.’ The design of the address is to instruct his disciples still farther as to the relation existing between his resurrection and ascension.” Apparently Dr. Barth holds that the ascension was needed to bring out Christ’s full identification of his people with himself, as his brethren, in his relation to God as his Father and his God; and that the peculiar form of speech which he adopted was meant to convey that meaning. This may be a refining upon the words. But it does not make them suggestive of difference between himself and his disciples,—and that too at a crisis when I cannot but believe that their entire oneness must have been the loving Redeemer’s thought. There may be a tacit and reserved reference to the ascension, as the final step in the process of this great identification. But I own I lean to the simple exposition of the message as an affectionate intimation and acknowledgment of brotherhood now complete. Nor do I think that the early expositors are really adverse to that view. I agree with Steir (Words of the Lord Jesus, English translation, vol viii. pp. 82, 83), that his not saying “to our Father and to our God,” is significant. “A rationalistic Christ must have said our, in order to give honour to truth, and to avoid exalting himself unduly in the presence of the common God and Father. But the God-man cannot possibly use such an expression.” At least he has not used it, as a “rationalistic Christ” would probably have done. And in his not using it, we have a clear presumption, if not a proof, that he is not a “rationalistic Christ.” His sonship and his subjectship, as “the God-man,” are undoubtedly peculiar. But, after all, is the peculiarity any more than what is indicated in the passages which Steir quotes from the Fathers? “Thus Cyril of Jerusalem observes: ‘Mine in one sense, by nature; yours in another, by privilege.’ Chrysostom: ‘In different senses my Father and yours. If he is the God of just men in a sense in which he is not the God of others, how much more does this hold good of the son and you?’ Augustine: ‘He does not say our Father: he is my Father by nature, and in another sense your Father by grace. And he says my God and your God; not our God—in one sense, therefore, mine, and in another sense, yours. My God, under whom I also am man; your God, between whom and you I am Mediator.’ Ambrose: ‘Because, although he and the Father are one, and the Father his Father by propriety of nature, to us God became a Father through the Son, not by right of nature, but of grace’.” These, as I think I have ascertained, are fair enough specimens of the way in which the distinction assumed to be indicated in this gracious message has been explained by evangelical commentators, both in former and in recent times. I need scarcely say that, even admitting them all, they do not really touch the question as to the substantial identity, in Christ and in his people, of the double relation of sonship and subjectship, however constituted, and for whatever offices and ends. My only doubt is as to the Lord’s meaning to indicate distinction at all in the message. It seems to me to be an occasion, and the first possible occasion,* for the very reverse. It is not separation, but union, that he announces. Is God “his God,” since he has become man, any otherwise than he is “their God?” If so, the whole plan of redemption, as implying identification and substitution, under the righteous and legal government of God, falls to the ground. Christ, as the servant, has met the claims of “his God.” But what of the claims of “their God?” Surely of set purpose the Lord has used language implying that, as he has made himself thoroughly one with them in their relation to God, as God, so he makes them thoroughly one with himself in his relation to God, as Father. * See Appendix III ======================================================================== CHAPTER 68: 06.05. LECTURE 5TH - ADOPTION (JUST. & SANCT.) ======================================================================== LECTURE FIFTH. THE MANNER OF ENTRANCE INTO THE RELATION;ADOPTION, AS CONNECTED WITH REGENERATION AND JUSTIFICATION. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.— John 1:12-13. THE manner of entrance into any relation must correspond to the nature and character of the relation, and must be in harmony and in keeping with it. If it is a relation of hired service of any sort, the way into it is through a properly adjusted bargain or mutual agreement. If it is the relation of the married state, it is reached through consent on both sides, sufficiently intimated and certified. If it is right standing in the eye of law, after being charged with crime, the only proper access is through a legal and judicial sentence of acquittal. If it is restoration to friendship and friendly intercourse, where misunderstanding and estrangement have prevailed, the healing of the breach, through explanation given and accepted, is the obvious method of reconciliation. The same rule or principle must apply to the relation of fatherhood and sonship between God and his people. According to what the relation itself is, so must the mode of entrance into it be. But, in the present instance, how may this condition be realised? I have been pleading for the identity of the relation, as common to the Son and to those who are his. I have admitted, no doubt, these two qualifications:—first, that he has filial consciousnesses and experiences in the past eternity which they cannot have; and secondly, that their power of apprehending and appreciating all that the relation involves must be immeasurably less than his. This last qualification, I would say in passing, must be a continually decreasing one, as the years roll on of the eternity that is to come. For all along the line of its endless ages, they will be “growing in grace, and in the knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ.” They will be growing in their acquaintance with him as the Son; and in their understanding of his manner of existence as the Son with the Father from everlasting. With these qualifications, however, I have been maintaining that the relation is the same; that it is in their case substantially identical with what it is in his. How, then, are we to explain their admission into this relation? Is there not a serious difficulty here? Assuredly there is; and it is a twofold difficulty. It may be put both as a natural, and as a relational difficulty,—if I may be allowed to use such a phrase. It may be viewed either in the light of man’s inward nature as a fallen being, or in the light of his outward legal standing as a guilty subject. I. I begin with the consideration of the difficulty viewed as natural. How is man, as a fallen being, capable of sonship? Here, however, I must, by way of preliminary remark, ask attention to the original and eternal filiation of the Second Person in the Trinity. For, in connection with my present subject, I cannot help thinking that there is something rather remarkable in the representation which Scripture gives of our Lord’s sonship, and of the ground on which it originally rests. His entrance into this relation had no beginning; and, therefore, to speak of the manner of his entrance into it would be obviously unwarrantable. According to strict propriety of speech, he never entered into it at all. It has been his from everlasting. And yet this eternal relation is represented as resting from everlasting on his being begotten. Mysterious, incomprehensible, generation lies at the root of it. He is the only-begotten Son of God; “begotten, not made;” and begotten from everlasting (John 1:14, John 1:18; John 3:16, John 3:18; 1 John 4:9, etc.) This is unquestionably analogical language;—it is speaking of God after the manner of men. It is the setting forth of the original foundation of an eternal divine relation, and an eternal distinction of related divine persons in the Godhead, under the analogy of an act or event in human history and experience, having its date, of course, in time. This is strange. It is all the more so, if I am right in my opinion that, as regards the nature and character of God’s paternal relation to his people, there is in Scripture,—especially in our Lord’s teaching,—a studied avoiding of the human analogy; indicating a desire on his part that his disciples should learn to conceive of their sonship, not analogically at all, but by direct knowledge and insight;—or, in other words, that they should be led to apprehend their sonship,—not merely as a relation similar to sonship in a human family,—nor even as a relation similar to his own sonship in the divine family;—but as identically the same relation. In that view, I think the use of the human analogy to describe or indicate the original constitution of the relation in the person of the Son, must be felt to be not a little noticeable and significant. As to the question—what the relation is?—the human analogy is dispensed with, or rather studiously shunned. As to the question—how it subsists from the beginning?—the human analogy is the chosen medium of revelation. And yet, one would say, the human analogy is in this latter case even more inadequate than in the former. The use of it, we might suppose, must be apt to mislead, or to be a stumbling-block. Indeed it has misled and proved a stumbling-block to not a few;—the phrase, “only-begotten” or “first-begotten,” being in their view irreconcilable with the doctrine of our Lord’s supreme divinity, or his being the coequal, coeternal, consubstantial Son of the everlasting Father. With all its imperfection, however,— when due allowance is made for the necessary defectiveness of every earthly similitude of what is heavenly,—this human analogy serves a most important purpose. It brings out, for one thing, the idea of entire sameness of nature. The begotten son of a divine father must be himself essentially divine,—just as the begotten son of a human father is himself essentially human. The Son of God must himself be as really God, as a man’s son is himself man. Thus the analogy, though it is a human analogy, does not degrade or obscure the divine and eternal sonship of our Lord. It rather illustrates and magnifies it. Reflexly, also, this use of the term “begotten” may shed light on the sonship of our Lord’s disciples, and the manner of its constitution. It now becomes, with reference to that subject, a divine analogy. It is, as it were, taken up into heaven. It is there appropriated, in a very wonderful way, to the relation of fatherhood and sonship subsisting from everlasting between the eternal Father and his beloved Son. From thence it may be brought to earth again. And, being thus sanctified and elevated, it may be applied, in illustration of the relation of fatherhood and sonship, as it is formed in time, between the eternal Father and the brethren of his Son. Here, however, it might seem that the entire and utter inadequacy—not so much of the analogy to what is to be illustrated as of what is to be illustrated to the analogy—must absolutely preclude the use of the analogy, as in its very nature unsuitable and unsafe. There is, undoubtedly, in such matters, the utmost need of caution. But I do not think that I go too far when I suggest this thought. The employment of the phraseology of earth,—and of such phraseology,—to denote the original ground of the heavenly relation, may be merely an instance of gracious condescension on the part of God. But to my apprehension, it rather looks like a plan purposely intended to familiarise the minds of our Lord’s disciples with the idea of his sonship being of such a sort that they can share in it. The soundest of the fathers, those most strenuous in maintaining the Son’s supreme divinity—his being uncreated and of one substance with the Father—his absolute and unqualified equality, in respect of nature, with the Father—were accustomed at the same time to allow, or rather to assert, a certain mysterious distinction, in virtue of which the Second Person in the Godhead has from everlasting been in some sense subordinate to the First, as the Third has been to the First and the Second. And though some modern writers have demurred to the opinion, thinking it inconsistent with a full belief of the Trinity, I still incline on the whole to side with Bishops Bull, Pearson, and Horsley on this question, if it really is a question, rather than with them. Let it be noted that it is a relational distinction exclusively that is contended for, such as fits into what is written of the Father sending and the Son being sent; the Father giving and the Son being given; the Father begetting and the Son being begotten. And surely these last correlatives—begetting and begotten—are fitted—may I not say intended—to facilitate somewhat the conception of the relation which they indicate being such as we may have communicated to us. Not only is it a relation having its analogical representation in the natural human fatherhood and sonship; it is even capable of really and actually moulding into conformity with itself the spiritual fatherhood and sonship which is constituted by grace. Whatever these expressions imply,—in the line of relational priority in the Father and relational subordination in the Son,—tends to harmonise sonship with creatureship. They go far to establish a presumption a priori that, whether in Christ or in his disciples, the relations may not be incompatible. It may thus appear how, in virtue of the grace by which he who is the only begotten Son becomes a subject,—they who are originally subjects only may be, in a sense, “begotten,” or born again, as sons. For it is the manner in which the two relations are combined that is here again the main question. In considering it, the incarnation must once more be the guiding fact. What is it that constitutes Jesus, in and from his human birth, the Son of God? Or, otherwise, and more properly shaping the inquiry,—what is it about his human birth that prevents it, if one may say so, from clashing with his sonship, and secures that on the contrary his sonship shall continue identically the same, notwithstanding his change of state? Is it not the agency of the Holy Ghost in the production of his holy human nature? The angel’s annunciation to the Virgin Mary seems certainly to imply this at all events,—that if her son had taken human nature as it is in fallen creatures;—if he had been born after the ordinary manner of men;—divine sonship could not have been ascribed to him in his original condition as man.*[1] Any such supposition, however, carries in its bosom an intolerable, and all but inconceivable, contradiction. It would make Christ—who, though uniting in himself the two natures, continues to be one person—the Father’s Son in one of the two natures, and not the Father’s Son in the other. But this, as we have seen, is a plain and palpable inconsistency; sonship being not a relation of the nature or natures to God, but a relation of the person. Hence the necessity of Christ becoming man in such a way as to secure that there shall be nothing in his manhood incompatible with continued sonship; or, in other words, with his being still the Son of God, in his one undivided person, whole and entire. His being born through the operation of the Holy Ghost secures that. For it secures to him the possession of a human nature such as, from the very first moment of its existence, is capable of sharing in the filial relation with the divine nature—a body, soul, spirit, such as the Son of God may worthily take into personal union with himself, continuing still to be the Son. Some may think at first sight—and the objection has been seriously urged—that this makes the Holy Ghost the father of our Lord’s humanity, in respect of his being the agent in its production. But it is not so. There cannot be a father of a nature, but only of a person. Our Lord’s human nature never had any proper personality of its own. It was assumed by him into his personality as the Son. What the Holy Ghost had to do was to provide that it should be such as the Son could thus assume, without derogation from his sonship. Now, if it was necessary that the Holy Ghost should thus fashion and mould the human nature of Christ,—in order to its being such as might not detract from, but rather harmonise with and even adorn, the relation of sonship in which he stands from all eternity to the Father,—much more are the good offices of the same gracious Spirit needed for human nature as it is in us, if we are to have a share in that relation. And here the task might well seem to be more difficult,—the problem harder to be worked out. In his case it was simply a birth that the Holy Spirit had to effect; in ours it is a new birth. For him, he had to provide a manhood such as the Son of God might wear, by what might be regarded as equivalent to an act of creative energy or the utterance of the creative fiat. In us, he finds manhood so marred and corrupted that it requires to be, in a sense, unmade that it may be made over again anew. Nor is this unmaking and remaking a simple process. It demands the application of some power or specific that shall avail to obliterate the stains of guilt,— to break up entirely the old inner man,— to root out the seed of Satanic insubordination which is native and indigenous, and implant the seed of God, whence a new life of willing subjectship compatible with sonship may spring. This is the work of the Spirit in regeneration. Is it not a work corresponding closely to his agency in the human birth of Christ? He generated Christ’s humanity, that he might continue to be the Son. He regenerates our humanity, that we may become sons. To be “born of the Spirit” may thus, I think, be shown to be, as far as the human nature and human state are concerned, an indispensable preliminary condition of their being reconcilable with sonship. II. But it is not enough to make out a capacity of sonship, or a fitness for sonship, in the human nature of the Son as generated—and in that of his disciples as regenerated—by the Holy Ghost. There must be an express act of the Father declaring or constituting the relation. For the possibility of any of the fallen race of man being righteously owned and acknowledged as sons might well be called in question. Even if, subjectively, an inward renewal and regeneration of their natures might be effected, would that suffice for so righting, objectively, their standing in God’s sight as to ensure their sonship? Nay, more, when the eternal Son became one of the human family,—even under the guarantee of his not being himself personally involved in their natural pollution and criminality,—was it quite obvious beforehand that this could take place without the sacrifice or compromise,—or to say the least, the keeping in abeyance,—of his sonship? There must be as regards both,—as regards both Christ and them,— an authoritative and official procedure, as it were, on the part of the Father;—declaring the continuance of the relation and its fuller development in his case;—constituting the relation in theirs. For him, it is the announcement of the voice from heaven at his baptism (Matthew 3:17; John 34). For them, it is the act of free and gracious adoption. I connect the two. And yet there is a vast difference. The voice from heaven recognises sonship already subsisting—having subsisted from all eternity, and continuing to subsist still unchanged, though by his assuming human nature the Son has become a creature and a subject. The act of adoption confers sonship of new, de novo, on those who are originally nothing more than creatures and subjects. It assumes a newborn capacity of receiving sonship. But it does not assume, it constitutes, the sonship itself. It is a pure and simple act of the free grace of God. Notwithstanding this difference, however, there is one particular in respect of which the declared or recognised Son, and the adopted sons, are on the same footing. In the case of both alike there is required, as a preliminary to the manifestation of the relation of sonship in all its glory and blessed joy, a full and final clearing up and settlement of whatever may be doubtful, or whatever may be wrong, in the relation of subjectship. The Son himself, after his coming in the flesh, was not declared to be “the Son of God with power” till “his resurrection from the dead” (Romans 1:4). Up till that time, he had to meet and contend with the liabilities which he had undertaken as “made under the law”—made under it when it had been broken by us, and had to be magnified and honoured at a terrible cost by him. He was “crucified through weakness.” It is only thus that “he liveth by the power of God” (2 Corinthians 12:4). He must first be himself justified, through his fulfilling all the righteousness which he became bound on our account to fulfil, and expiating all the guilt which he consented on our account to answer for. His sonship, now that it has become associated with subjectship,—in the broken and disordered state to which we, in whose nature he becomes a subject, have reduced this last relationship,—cannot be set free, as it were, and made thoroughly available, as a source of power, otherwise than by this preliminary procedure of law, When the case is that of creatures and subjects who are to be raised to the position of sons, a similar preliminary procedure of law would seem to be, a fortiori, indispensable. I think it must be held to have been so, even when angels were the parties. If I am right in believing that these high and pure intelligences were not sons originally, in virtue of their creation or their innocence, but became sons, by a sovereign act of grace on the part of God,—that act, I cannot doubt, must have followed the trial of their obedience. If so, it must have been preceded by what to them would be substantially equivalent to a sentence of justification. For the trial, whatever it was, to which they were subjected was really a trial under law, and in terms of law. It turned upon their willingness to acknowledge and submit to the moral government of God, as ruling them by law and judgment. That was what was put to the test. When their companions sinned and were condemned, they through grace stood the test and were acquitted; they were accepted as righteous; in a word, they were justified. Their probation being well over, they are judicially, and, as if it were by the sentence of a court, declared to be not merely innocent and upright creatures, but obedient subjects who have kept the commandment, and are on that account entitled to life. Then, as I conceive, and not before, they are in a condition to receive the adoption of sons. For there is no inward work of the regenerating Spirit needed in their case; nor need the Son assume their nature to redeem them, before he can have them as his brethren. All that is required is an outward act of grace, the appropriate recompense and reward of the obedience by which they have made good their title to justification. The Son is presented to them by the Father; and the Spirit by whom they have been enabled to stand as subjects, ensures their willingness to accept the position of sons. The case is, of course, somewhat altered when it is not holy angels but fallen men who are concerned. Still, allowance being made for difference of circumstances, the principle which rules it is essentially the same. Their relation to God as subjects must first be put upon a right and satisfactory footing before they can become sons. This necessity has already been considered in its bearing on the redeeming work of Christ.*[2] I now advert to it again in connection with the gracious act of God conferring, and the gracious act of the believer appropriating, the benefit flowing from his redeeming work—the benefit of justification, as opening the way to the ulterior and higher benefit of adoption. So long as men are in a state of guilt and condemnation under the law’s righteous sentence, they cannot be regarded as fit subjects for becoming the sons of God. Nor is the disqualification to be viewed as being merely of a vague and general sort;—as if the objection raised on the part of God might be something like the repugnance which a man of pure taste and refined manners would naturally feel to admitting coarse, low-minded, illbred vagrants to the familiarities and sanctities of his home. If that were all, the difficulty or scruple might be got over by a little patience and forbearance, a little tact, a little judicious treatment and prudent kindness. Were the person I had to deal with merely, in some such indefinite sense as that, offensive to me, a little time and pains might amend the fault. But he is in the hands of justice. The law has a hold over him. He is tried, convicted, condemned. He is an imprisoned criminal, either undergoing his sentence or awaiting the execution of it. That is the precise obstacle which, in the case of fallen man, must be got out of the way. And it is removed in his justification. Faith, uniting him to Christ, and making Christ and his righteousness his, secures his being absolved from guilt and accounted righteous. He is now rectus in curiâ, and therefore capable of sonship. I have been endeavouring to trace and point out the nature of the connection which I hold to subsist between our becoming sons of God and our regeneration on the one hand, and justification on the other. It seems to me to be of some consequence to have that determined as clearly as possible;—I mean not only the connection but the nature of it. I cannot help suspecting that loose and indefinite views here have led to our forming somewhat inadequate apprehensions of what the sonship of Christ’s disciples really is. Neither our regeneration nor our justification constitutes our sonship; neither of them is the formal ground or warrant of our being sons of God. That is to be found in God’s free and sovereign act of grace alone;—in his “giving us the power” or privilege “to become the sons of God;” in his “calling us the sons of God;” in his having “predestinated us unto the adoption of children” (John 1:12; 1 John 3:1; Ephesians 1:5). But both regeneration and justification have a material bearing on this act of God, and it is important to know as exactly as may be what that bearing is. Perhaps the tendency has been to separate adoption somewhat too much from regeneration on the one side, and on the other side to confound it somewhat too much with justification. I. In the writings of John—I refer especially of course to his Gospel and First Epistle—the sonship, not only of Christ but of his disciples, is more fully and affectingly brought out than in other parts of scripture. It is John who sets before us most clearly and touchingly his master’s filial manner of life. If we would obtain an insight into what Jesus as the Son is to the Father and the Father to him, we must ponder incessantly these books; nor will one ponder them long, I am well persuaded, without coming to the conviction, based on countless minute touches of most pathetic tenderness, that Jesus meant to identify those whom the Father had given him with himself in his sonship. John does not say much of the manner of our entering into that relation; but what he does say appears to me to make it turn very much on regeneration. Thus, in the outset of his Gospel (John 1:12-13), he connects very emphatically the statement concerning “the Word,”—“that to as many as received him, he gave power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name,”—with this explanation, as I cannot help regarding it,—“which were born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.” And immediately he goes on to say of “the Word made flesh, and dwelling among us, full of grace and truth,”—“We beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father.” Here, in the first place, I cannot but conclude that John intends to represent the sonship of those who receive “the Word,”, and believe on his name, as substantially the same relation with the sonship of “the Word” himself. It is not impossible, and not, I think, very improbable, that John may have been acquainted with what Paul had written—“We all, with open face, beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the spirit of the Lord” (2 Corinthians 3:18). Had he that scripture in his mind when, speaking evidently of sonship, he says,—we beheld the glory of the sonship of the only begotten?—beheld it so as to be changed into the same image, into the very form and fashion of that glorious relation? Of course I do not attach any argumentative importance to this conjecture, although it may serve for an illustration. Apart from that altogether, there is enough, I think, in the passage which I have quoted, taken by itself, to support my first conclusion with regard to it. My second conclusion is more material to my present purpose. It is drawn from the fact that John connects very pointedly and emphatically our “becoming sons of God” with our “being born of God.” Does not this intimate that, while acknowledging the act of grace towards us in which God gives us the standing of sons, he would represent our sonship as largely dependent also on the work of grace in us by which God gives us the nature of sons? “Power” or right “to become Sons of God,” secures the filial standing; “being born of God” secures the filial nature. This last conclusion from these words in John’s Gospel will commend itself with most peculiar force to those who are most intimately acquainted with his way of writing in his First Epistle. Turning to that book, we find one passage especially in which the manner of our entering into the relation of sonship is noticed. Our being sons is ascribed to the calling of God (1 John 3:1):—“Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God.” Of course there is no difficulty in understanding what is meant by our being called by the Father the sons of God. It is not a nominal but a real calling that is intended, the actual constituting of a real relation. But the statement seems to make sonship depend solely and exclusively on God’s calling, that is, on his adoptive act. It is not so, however. This verse should not be separated from the verse immediately preceding it (1 John 2:29), in which it is said that “every one that doeth righteousness is born of God.” For it is plainly that thought, “being born of God,” which suggests to John the burst of adoring gratitude, “Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed on us that we should be called the sons of God.” Thus, in point of fact, John rests that sonship, which is in his eyes so wonderful, mainly on our being born of God. Nor is this all. John, repeating the assertion “we are the sons of God,” continues to dwell with singular earnestness and explicitness on what being born of God means, and what it involves— perfect likeness to God hereafter (1 John 3:2); purity like his now (1 John 3:3); having the seed of God remaining in us as the germ of an impeccable life (1 John 3:9). It is impossible, I think, to read that whole passage in the epistle with any care and thought, without coming to the conviction that John attaches a very deep meaning indeed to our being born of God; that he looks upon it as in some real and vital sense analogous—not merely to the relation of the human child to the human parent—but to the act in which the relation originates; that he regards it as actually effecting a certain community of nature between God and man. Keeping all this in view, I can scarcely doubt that John’s design is to represent our being sons of God as connected very closely with our regeneration; and connected, too, after the very same manner that a man’s being the son of his earthly parent is connected with his generation in time;—or what I apprehend was more in John’s mind, after the very same manner that the Lord’s being the Son of his heavenly Father is connected with his generation from eternity. If so, then that makes sonship not merely a relation of adoption, but in a real and important sense a natural relation also. There must be adoption. But he who adopts, regenerates. The regeneration is a real communication to us on his part of “his seed,” of what makes our moral and spiritual nature the same in character as his; perfectly so at last, and imperfectly yet as far as it prevails, truly so, even now. And this regeneration makes the adoption real. The adopted sons are sons by nature, and that, too, I am persuaded, in a very literal acceptation of the term. These views may be of use as enabling us better to understand how the sonship of Christ and that of his people are, and must be, in a very intimate sense, identical; how it is one and the same relation for both. There are no more two sonships, one for them and another for him, than there are two sonships for him, one for his human nature and condition, and another for his divine. There is but one sonship for us both. It may well be so, if in us, as in him, it is a natural sonship. Those who would make a distinction between the sonships, Christ’s and ours, sometimes represent it as turning on the distinction between natural and adoptive sonship;—Christ being the Father’s Son by nature, we being sons by adoption only. If the reference here is to the fact that whereas Christ is God’s Son from the beginning we have become God’s sons only yesterday;—his, in that view, being of the very essence of his existence, a necessity of his very being, while ours is nothing of the sort;—the fact is of course admitted. I have attempted, however, formerly to show that it is not to the purpose in this argument. If anything more is meant, the distinction may now be seen to be without warrant. If we are the sons of God at all, we are, in virtue of our regeneration, his sons by nature, as well as by adoption. The nature, as well as the standing, of the Son is ours.*[3] I would only further add, on this part of my subject, that while John is our chief authority, it is not John alone who ascribes so high a signification to the change which the Holy Spirit effects in the new birth,—making it imply the production of a certain community of nature between God and us. Peter speaks expressly of the children of God being “partakers of the divine nature”—(2 John 1:4). Paul also, when he would reconcile us as sons to the chastening and corrective discipline of “the Father of spirits,”†[4] represents this as the design of our Father’s faithful dealing with us, “that we might be partakers of his holiness”—(Hebrews 12:10). And again, when he announces the high rank to which, from everlasting, God has destined “them that love him, and are the called according to his purpose,” he describes them as “predestinated to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the first-born among many brethren”—(Romans 8:28-29). Surely this is a strong assertion of their actual participation with the Son, in his own very sonship. And it is made to rest on their being “conformed to his image;” or, in other words, on their community of nature with him. For though the Son’s relation to the Father may be partly what is meant by his image here,—and the exact assimilation of our relation to the Father to his may consequently be partly what is meant by our being conformed to his image,—yet the phrase can scarcely be taken otherwise than as inclusive of sameness of nature as well as sameness of relation. Likeness or identity of nature is what makes likeness or identity of relation possible and conceivable. And it is that also which makes it realizable in consciousness and experience; more and more so, as the conformity to the image of the Son of God grows more and more complete; until, in the full and final “regeneration” of the resurrection, the full and final “adoption, to wit the redemption of the body” (Romans 8:23), long waited for, comes at last. Then is he indeed “the first-born among many brethren.” II. But if this relation of sonship, as shared by the Son with his disciples, has suffered from its close connection with regeneration not having been sufficiently recognised, it has suffered perhaps still more seriously from so many of our theologians having failed to recognise sufficiently its entire distinction and separation from justification. The two have, to a large extent, been confounded and mixed up together. What God does in the act of adoption has been so represented as to make it either a part of what he does in the act of justification, or a mere appendage and necessary corollary involved in that act. Turretine, for example (Locus XVI., Quoestio vi.), expressly and formally includes adoption in his exposition of justification. He makes adoption nothing more than another name for the positive element which all the reformed divines held to be embraced in justification. They all held that in the justification of any man there are these two things implied— the pardon of his sins and the acceptance of his person. He is on the one hand judicially, and in terms of law, absolved from guilt, from ill-desert, from just liability to punishment. And he is on the other hand,—judicially also and in terms of law,—pronounced righteous. He is acknowledged as having fulfilled all incumbent obligations, in virtue of his oneness with him who has done so in his stead; and he is received into favour accordingly. Even the former of these two things held to be implied in our justification, goes far beyond the mere idea of the remission of the threatened and deserved punishment, which is all that mankind naturally care for; all that they really include in their favourite fancy of an universal fatherhood. It carries in it the removal, not merely of the penalty, but of the desert of the penalty. It is the taking away, not only of that to which our guilt justly exposes us and makes us liable, but of our guilt itself. It is a thorough absolution. And when the second of the two things held to be implied in our justification is taken into account—our being treated, not only as if we had never sinned, but as if we had fulfilled all righteousness—it may be seen how far God’s manner of dealing with us when he justifies us goes beyond the manner of men. This will be all the more apparent when it is considered that, in virtue of our real union to Christ by faith, the whole is a real transaction. It is no mere fiction in law. The use of the phrase “as if,” in describing it, though scarcely to be avoided, is unfortunate and improper. As made one with Christ personally, by the Spirit working in me appropriating and uniting faith, I am really and truly one with him in his absolution from my guilt which he took upon himself, and in his being accepted as righteous on account of his “obedience unto death” for me. I state thus as broadly and strongly as I can the great Reformation doctrine. For I would not lower justification in order to exalt adoption. On the contrary, the higher any one raises the privilege of justification, the better for my view; since I hold adoption to be a privilege higher still. It is the admission of a person thoroughly justified, as being really one with the Father’s righteous Servant, to fellowship with him with whom he is one, in his higher position, as the Father’s only-begotten and well-beloved Son. For that reason, partly, I object to Turretine’s identification of adoption with what may be described as the second or positive part of justification. And there is another objection to his view. It makes the act of God in adoption savour, as I think, too much of a legal and judicial procedure. I ask special attention to this consideration. The more strictly we attach the character of a legal and judicial procedure to the act of God in justification so much the better. It is only I believe in that way that we can really maintain the infinite distance that there should always be felt to be between God, the Creator, Ruler, Judge of all, and ourselves, who are naturally nothing more than his created subjects. It is only in that way that we can uphold, in all its integrity, his government by law and judgment. We can scarcely, therefore, err in the direction of viewing justification too forensically—casting it too strongly into the mould of what passes, or may be supposed to pass, in a court of law. Nor need that detract from the grace of the act, on the part of God. On the contrary, it is only when we recognise its strictly forensic character that the real grace of the act appears; and only in proportion as its strictly forensic character is practically apprehended and realised, will its real grace be felt. For in fact—strict law and judgment apart—Christ’s work of redemption and God’s act of justification founded upon it, so far from indicating grace, imply something like the opposite of grace. Strict law and judgment apart,—no reason can possibly be given for the interposition of the Son being required, with such sufferings as it entailed on him, and for the Father’s forgiveness being based on that interposition, which does not derogate from grace—which does not, in fact, impart to the whole transaction an ungracious aspect—as if God personally needed to be conciliated and appeased. It is only by adhering strictly to the legal and judicial character of the transaction—by viewing it as properly and literally forensic, both as regards God’s treatment of Christ for us and as regards his treatment of us in Christ—that we can see and appreciate the grace that there is in our justification. Then, indeed, grace shines forth in it conspicuously—grace providing the substitute; grace accepting the substitute; grace making us one with the substitute; grace receiving us and dealing with us as one with the substitute. Thus, to conserve its gracious character, it is indispensably necessary to hold firm and fast the forensic character of justification. All the more, however, on that very account, it seems desirable to extricate adoption out of its entanglement with justification, and to recognise it as having a place and character of its own in God’s manner of dealing with us; a place and character not in any proper sense forensic at all. No doubt the term adoption may be suggestive of legal procedure;—it is a term which occurs in law-books. In countries where the practice prevails it is commonly regulated by statute. It was so of old in the Roman commonwealth and empire; and it is probably the Roman usage that the New Testament writers have in view on the rare occasions—for they are comparatively rare—on which they thus designate the Christian sonship. Where adoption is allowed to affect civil and patrimonial rights, as it was held to do under the government of Rome, the parties must necessarily be required to appear before the judge, in order to have the transaction duly attested and recorded. I suppose that even in our own country, where this practice is not so expressly and formally recognised in law as it was at Rome, if I wished to adopt a strange child, to the effect of investing him with a legal right to maintenance and to the succession as my child, I would be obliged to go through some legal form. Let it be observed, however, that there is the widest difference between that and a purely forensic procedure. The case is not submitted to a tribunal for decision, but only for ascertainment and registration. No judicial sentence is asked for, or is competent. The adoption itself is altogether extrajudicial; as much so as is the contracting of marriage; though in both cases it may belong to the judge or magistrate to require that he shall be satisfied as to the good order of what is done, and the good faith of the parties doing it. I think it is of as much consequence to maintain the thoroughly unforensic character of God’s act in adopting, as it is to maintain the strictly forensic character of his act in justifying. All is legal and judicial in the latter act; if it were not so, there would be no grace in it at all. Nothing is legal or judicial in the other; if there were anything of that sort in it, all its grace would be gone. I look upon God as in adoption giving full and unrestrained vent to the pure fatherly love which he has for his own dear Son; pouring it out upon him so lavishly that it overflows upon all that are his. There is nothing in his fatherhood or in his fatherly treatment of his Son that savours of the legal, the judicial, the forensic. There was once needed a very short and sharp dealing of that sort, on the Father’s part, with the Son of his love, when he stood in our stead, as not only a subject but a criminal. That, however, is all over now. As criminal for our crime he has paid the penalty;—as subject on our behalf he has fulfilled the righteousness. No outstanding claim of justice can ever arrest the flow of his Father’s fatherly love. Nor does it flow by any legal rule, or under any legal restriction or condition. It is simply fatherly love. And it is that very love of which our adoption, following upon our justification and associated with our regeneration, makes us, as his brethren, partakers. There are, I think, two practical advantages connected with our keeping clear the distinction on which I have been insisting, between the forensic character of God’s act in justifying us, and the unforensic character of his act in adopting us, and his treatment of us consequent upon that act. To these I shall very briefly advert before I close the present lecture. 1. In the matter of our justification, we are accustomed to be very scrupulous in excluding everything on our part except faith alone. And it is carefully explained that faith is admitted as the means of our being justified, not because it has any merit, or virtue, or goodness in itself,—nor because it is the source of goodness, since it “worketh by love,”—but only because it is the hand that accepts the benefit;— or rather because it is the heart that embraces him in whom the benefit resides. It unites us to Christ. In the matter of our adoption, again, it is the very circumstance of its “working by love” that fits faith for being the appropriate organ or instrument. In fact, one might almost put it thus—that love occupies somewhat of the same place with reference to adoption or sonship which faith occupies with reference to justification. It is in the exercise of mere and simple faith that we apprehend and realise our acceptance as righteous in the sight of God. It is in the exercise of faith working by love, or of the love by which faith works, that we apprehend and realise our loving fellowship with our heavenly Father as his sons. This may be partly what the Lord means by these remarkable words, “At that day, ye shall ask in my name: and I say not that I will pray the Father for you; for the Father himself loveth you, because ye have loved me, and have believed that I came out from God”—(John 16:26-27). The elder brother, having presented himself and those whom “he is not ashamed to call his brethren,” to their common father, saying— “Behold, I and the little ones whom thou hast given me,”—steps for a moment aside. He declines to be a mere negotiator between his Father and the younger members of the family, as if there were still some distance or reserve. He insists on their using their full privilege of sonship, and making full proof of their Father’s heart; tasting and seeing how he loves them for the love they bear to the Son; the love which, in a sense, constitutes them sons themselves. I am inclined to think that this view which I am attempting to explain of sonship, as not a part of justification, nor a mere corollary from it, but a distinct and separate benefit,—differently conferred, at least in some respects, and differently apprehended and realised,—will be found to be of some practical importance. There is unquestionably, in certain quarters, a feeling of distaste and dislike apt to arise when God is represented as on the one hand dealing judicially with Christ standing in the room of his people, and then, on the other hand, dealing judicially with them in virtue of their being one with him by faith. The whole transaction, in both its parts, in requiring from the surety satisfaction to law and justice and in giving us the benefit of that satisfaction, appears to some to wear a harsh, technical, and legal aspect; a sort of cold, business-like, court-of-justice air, which they cannot relish. It is not difficult to show that this is a prejudice, occasioned,—either by the rude and coarse way in which the doctrine is sometimes handled by unwise advocates and expounders of it,—or, which is the far more common case, by some gross caricature of it which the parties choose to draw or paint for themselves. At the same time,—if that is the only mode of God’s dealing with Christ, and with those whom Christ answers for in the judgment, which is prominently brought forward and insisted upon,—there may undoubtedly be some risk of its degenerating into barren and dogmatic orthodoxy. It would be a curious and interesting speculation to inquire whether we may not thus, to some extent at least, account for the lapse of the theology of the Reformation in the schools and colleges of the continent, as well as among ourselves, first into rigid and frigid scholastic systematising, and then into rationalism. At all events, I am persuaded that we have a strong safeguard against any such danger, if we do full justice to the common sonship of Christ and of Christ’s disciples;—erecting it into a distinct and separate article of belief, and giving it a welldefined place of its own, “with ample room and verge enough,” among the truths of the Christian creed and the elements of Christian experience. “Beloved, now are we the sons of God.” Let that be fully taught. 2. My second observation is very much the converse of the former. The manner of treating this whole subject for which I have been pleading, seems to me well fitted to erect a barrier against all Antinomian and Neonomian tendencies. The mixing up, in any way or in any measure, of God’s dealing with us as sons in our adoption and his dealing with us as subjects in our forgiveness and acceptance, is apt to open the door for the notion, either of law, old strict law, being superseded, or of its being somehow modified. The idea of some sort of compromise between the paternal and the judicial in God’s treatment of us, very readily suggests itself. And believers, once justified by faith, are either held to have nothing to do with law at all, it being their privilege to act, not from a sense of legal obligation, but from the spontaneous prompting of affection; or else they are held to be under some mysterious new form or fashion of law, partaking too often not a little of the character, of license. There will be little room for such imaginations, if the right balance and adjustment between our justification as subjects and our adoption as sons is maintained. For I need scarcely say that though they are to be distinguished, these two are not to be disjoined. We are not to conceive of them as successive states; as if our state as justified subjects coming first, gave place to our state as adopted sons following after. They are simultaneous states, to be realised continually as such. Love reigns in both. Love delighting in the holy and good law of the Ruler reigns in the one; in the other, love rejoicing in the endearments of the Father. It is the very love which moved the Ruler’s righteous servant, the Father’s beloved Son, to say, “I delight to do thy will, 0 my God; yea, thy law is within my heart;” “My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work;” “I must be about my Father’s business;” “The cup which my Father giveth me, shall I not drink it?” __________ [1]* “The angel answered and said unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God” (Luke 1:35). [2]* See remarks on Galatians 4:1-6, in the preceding Lecture, pages 186, 187. [3]*See Note A. [4]†By this expression I may remark, by the way, the apostle means, I think, nothing more than to contrast the merely carnal, earthly, bodily character of the original tie which binds us to the fathers of our flesh, with the spiritual and heavenly character of the relation in which we stand to him who is no mere “father of our flesh,” but “the Father of spirits.” __________ NOTE TO LECTURE FIFTH. NOTE A. (Page 235.) The full exegesis of this passage in the first Epistle of John would confirm the argument which I have urged. But it is connected intimately with the exposition of the entire Epistle. And in the view of my being able, as I hope, to give to the public shortly the complete series of discourses on the Epistle which I have all but ready for the press, I abstain in the meantime from minute criticism or interpretation. I would simply explain that I follow the best recent expositors in reading the second verse of the third chapter as having reference to God the Father, and not, as it is very generally understood, to Christ the Son. The grammatical construction seems to me conclusive in favour of the verse running thus: “Beloved, now are we the Sons of God; and it doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that when that shall appear,”—namely what we are to be—“we shall be like him,”— like God the Father—“for we shall see him”—God the Father—“as he is.” So construed, the verse leads on to our identification with Christ in the verse that follows, where a different pronoun is used (evkei/noj not auvtoj), “Every one that hath this hope in him purifieth himself even as he”—the Son—“is pure.” The hope is, that we shall see the Father as he is;—that is, we shall see him as the Son sees him. And this hope is a motive to us to be pure as the Son is pure;—according to the word of the Son himself on which this word of his beloved disciple is the best commentary, “Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God” (Matthew 5:8). But is this purity attainable?—purity in us, such as can be identified with the purity of the Son? Surely. But how? By a process or work of real filiation; making us, not merely in respect of outward privilege, but in respect of inward and spiritual nature, sons of God according to what is said in the ninth verse, “Whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin; for his seed”—the seed of God—“remaineth in him: and he cannot sin, because he is born of God.” Waiving for the present the difficulty of admitting the regenerate to be incapable of sinning—this strong statement certainly implies that the seed or germ of an impeccable nature is communicated and implanted in regeneration. And it implies, moreover, that it is the divine germ of a divine life. However incomprehensible it may be to the mere natural intellect, I cannot but think that the spiritual man must recognise, at least in some measure, in his own experience as well as in this teaching of John, a newborn principle in him which makes purity such as the Son’s,— that is sinless and impeccable purity,—possible, realisable,—a thing to be aimed at and attained. If so, this constitutes a wonderful identity between his Sonship and theirs. It explains the oneness assumed throughout in the Lord’s farewell prayer (John 17:1-26). That prayer, as I conceive of it, makes us, as his disciples, thoroughly one with him. For as he joined himself with us, in the lowest depth of our subjectship, so also in that prayer he joins us with himself in the highest elevation and blessedness of his sonship. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 69: 06.06. LECTURE 6TH - PRIVILEGES/OBLIGATIONS OF SONSHIP ======================================================================== LECTURE SIXTH. THE PRIVILEGES AND OBLIGATIONS OF SONSHIP. Now are we the Sons of God— 1 John 3:2. THE relation of fatherhood and sonship, if it is what I have ventured to represent it as being, must involve in it privileges and obligations of a definite and distinctive character. For it is in itself a definite and distinctive relation. It is something more than the mere infusion of a certain measure of fatherly feeling, such as prevails in the homes of earth, into the ordinary moral administration of God; to the effect of tempering the rigid and exact severity of strict justice and qualifying judgment with mercy. It is something different, also, from the kindly and fatherly sort of feeling with which God, as ruler, may be supposed to regard his once rebellious subjects when they are returning to their allegiance. If either of these accounts is held to exhaust the idea of God’s fatherhood, its practical bearing on our happiness and duty can be only very vaguely felt and described. A general notion or impression of benignant graciousness on God’s part, calling for gratitude on our part, is nearly all that can be made of it, or got out of it. It is true that, as regards its actings and manifestations, this general notion or impression of graciousness may be broken up, as it were, into details. The analogy of the human family may suggest a variety of particular instances. The subject is often treated in this way. God is represented as discharging many different offices towards his people, all of them indicative and expressive of an affection like that of a parent—such as putting upon them his name; giving them access always to his throne; pitying, protecting, and providing for them; chastening and correcting them; keeping them safe till they reach heaven at last. But to a large extent, these may be all classed as benignant offices of government,—and of government merely. They all, however, stand out in a new light, and become far more clear, specific, and well-defined, when they are viewed in connection with the true and proper fatherhood of God, as distinguished from what I may perhaps be allowed to call the analogical. The more the special and peculiar nature of that relation is recognised, the more will these and other similar dealings of God be seen to be special and peculiar also. And if there should turn out to be any one speciality in particular—any one peculiarity—attaching to the position of sonship in the creature, as constituted by participation in the sonship of the uncreated,—then that peculiarity may be expected to give its tone and complexion to the whole practical development and working out of the relation, both on God’s part and on ours. I cannot help thinking that there is such a guiding principle to be found, if rightly sought for, in Scripture. Here I must once more refer, in the outset of my search, to the holy angels, whom I think we ought to look upon as our brethren in our sonship. Let us attempt to realise the situation of those who stood the test, and their state of mind, when their companions sinned and fell. What a shock to them! They may almost be moved to exclaim: “If the foundations be destroyed, what can the righteous do?” (Psalms 11:3). What a shuddering sense of insecurity, what a thrill of fear, may pass along the ranks and agitate the bosoms of the faithful, in the view of infidelity on the part of their comrades, so utterly unaccountable. They are indeed themselves still standing, through grace, in their integrity. But how many who seemed as steadfast and strong as they have miserably fallen! And they have fallen, too, without a cause; there has been no temptation from without, nor any previous corrupt tendency within. And there is nothing in the order issued from the throne that should have awakened in reasonable minds and loving hearts suspicion or resentment. If it was a demand upon them for homage to the Son, surely that was a most honourable service. But, as it would seem, they insist on having liberty, in the sense of absolute independence. In the mere relation itself of subjectship, necessarily implied in their state as creatures, they find a certain element or source of irksomeness. And when the sense of their being necessarily, simply as creatures, subjects and “servants under the yoke,” is powerfully and pointedly borne in upon their consciousness, by the assertion of sovereign authority, in the form of an express, positive, and peremptory commandment, no matter how righteous and even gracious the commandment may be;—how righteous in its ground or root of equity, how gracious in its loving tendency towards a better state;—they cannot endure the idea of being thus ruled. In the absence alike of outward solicitation and of inward covetousness or desire, it is not easy to conceive of the trial or temptation which proved fatal to the lost angels, as having been different in its principle, working, and effect, from the line of thought and feeling which I venture hypothetically to trace. But if so, what a discovery breaks upon the unfallen! Is it not, in fact, the discovery of an element of instability inherent in the very constitution and essential nature of the relation of subjectship itself? It is not an incidental fault or failure in the working out of that relation;—such as might be remedied for the present by proper appliances, and prevented for the future by proper precautions. Does it not rather indicate a radical vice, or source of weakness, in the relation itself ?*[1] For what guarantee, let us ask,—putting ourselves in their place, —could the obedient angels have,—after witnessing the fall of so many of their companions,—what guarantee could they feel themselves to have,—against their own fall, as at least a possible, and even not very unlikely contingency? No doubt they have stood one trial. They have obeyed, by God’s gracious help, as they freely own, in the instance of this one commandment. But who can tell? Other commandments may be issued from the throne; commandments that may be felt to be more grievous. The very necessity now imposed upon them of disowning,—perhaps judging,—so many of their race whom till now they had counted brothers,— may well be supposed to awaken apprehension. May not the sternest loyalty give way? May not the infection, if not of insubordination, yet at least of pity for the victims of insubordination, grow and spread? Thus these pure spirits may well, in these circumstances, begin to apprehend that it is only too natural for the creature, as such, to feel the subjection to authority and the obligation of obedience to law, implied in his being a creature, to be irksome and vexatious; that the yoke of mere subjectship is, from its very nature, apt to become galling; that, apart altogether from the character and condition of those who are under it, if that is their only standing, it has in itself a tendency to call forth in them, be their character ever so pure and their condition ever so good, a disposition to cast it off and to aspire to the liberty of independence. The holy angels have seen all this only too clearly and too terribly proved and exemplified before their eyes. How, after this, can they reckon their own footing, as subjects, to be quite safe? For my part, I cannot imagine any way in which the standing or position of a creature—considered simply as a subject under the government of God—when God is viewed simply as Creator, Lawgiver, and Judge—ever can become absolutely and infallibly safe. Of course God is able to keep any one occupying that standing or position, and no other, in perfect and inviolable security for ever. He can so keep any one anywhere and always. But the standing or position itself may be precarious nevertheless. It is, as I think, a necessity of its very nature to be so. Evidently it was so originally. The fall of the untempted angels, as well as that of tempted man, proves it to have been so. Nor, as regards the unfallen, is there anything in the mere fact of their having on one occasion stood some test of their obedience, and received some gracious acknowledgment for doing so, that can of itself suffice to make it different, in this respect, from what it was before. But it is impossible to reconcile ourselves to the idea of these holy intelligences being left,—after the issue of that trial which had proved so disastrous to their fellows, and out of which they might well feel that they had made a narrow escape themselves,—on the same footing merely on which they had previously been. “God is not unrighteous to forget their work and labour of love,” in that they have heard his voice, and at his command “worshipped,” shall I say? “the first begotten.” In the sin of their former associates they have now come, in a sense, to know evil as well as good. And this very knowledge, marring the unconscious confidence of innocent and blissful ignorance, must tend to awaken misgivings in their minds, and make them feel their footing insecure. In short, it would seem that they cannot be allowed to stand where they were. If they are to be protected from the risk and the fear of falling, they must be raised. And so, according to my view, they are. They receive the adoption of sons; and that ensures their safety. They are no longer servants only, but also sons. Having been tried, they are now trusted. Having disowned the servile spirit of insubordination, they receive the Spirit of the Son. Having refused to aspire to a lawless liberty of independence, they are—and it is a meet “recompense of reward”—put in possession “of the glorious liberty of the children of God” (Romans 8:21). This, as it seems to me, is the peculiar benefit of sonship; this is its great radical, distinctive, characteristic property. It puts an end conclusively to probation, in every sense and in every form. It secures permanence of position in the household or family of God. But it is only when it is held to be of the same sort with that of Christ that sonship can be shown to involve this consequence. If we take the merely analogical view of the relation of fatherhood and sonship between God and his children,—conceiving of it simply according to the similitude of fatherhood and sonship among ourselves,—we cannot see in it any element of absolute and inviolable security. A son’s standing in his earthly parent’s house is not absolutely and inviolably secure. He may go out, or he may be thrust out. It is true he is not, strictly speaking, upon trial; the right to be at home with his father is not, in the ordinary sense of the term, conditional. Still it may be forfeited, or it may be despised and practically renounced. He may be tempted and may fall, and that too even irrecoverably. If our standing as sons in the divine household is imagined to be at the very best simply like my son’s standing in mine, it is not divested of the condition of precariousness. There may be more safeguards in the one case than in the other. God is able to take more care of his children than I can take of mine. That, however, is only a difference of degree. Some insecurity, be it more or less, still attaches to the relation. And if those called to be sons, in the sense now supposed to be put upon sonship, have seen others as good and strong as themselves fall,—or if they have themselves fallen and been with difficulty recovered,—I can see no reason why, even in the bosom of the holy, heavenly home, they may not be occasionally, or rather constantly, haunted by the apprehension that possibly after all they may be cast away. I do not forget here the bearing upon the point now under consideration of the doctrine of free justification. I am quite aware that, apart from sonship altogether, God’s act of free grace in justifying those who believe is held to carry with it, as a consequence, involved in its very nature, the inviolable security of the justified. I fully allow, or rather decidedly assert, that by the purpose of God, expressed in his promises, it does so. Nay more, it must be admitted, that in the justified state itself there is that which puts the servant of God in highly favourable circumstances for maintaining his integrity. Holding justification to be perfectly unconditional, so far as we are concerned,—all of grace and not of works,—I can see how it does place us, in some respects, in a far better position than that which Adam occupied before he fell. We are not merely put again upon trial and probation; permitted as it were to have another chance,—to venture on a second experiment,—to make a new attempt to establish a righteousness of our own. We have always the righteousness of Christ on which we may stand as giving us a title, not inchoate merely, but complete, to acceptance in the sight of God. Unquestionably, therefore, we start upon our new course of obedience, as his subjects and servants, at a great advantage. We have not, like Adam, to make good for ourselves our standing as God’s righteous subjects and servants, but only to preserve it as freely given to us by God. We have not to work our way to that standing, but only to hold it fast. Still we have to preserve it and hold it fast. And there is nothing in it or about it, considered simply in itself, to secure infallibly that we shall preserve it and hold it fast. No doubt, as I have already said, God is able to secure this, and is graciously pledged to secure it. But for anything that appears to the contrary, his way of securing it may be just through our receiving the very adoption of sons for which I plead. For let the relation in which we stand to God as subjects and servants be taken at its very best, as it subsists in the case of justified believers;—and that is its very best;—I still desiderate in it the element or condition of absolute inviolability. I consider that our Lord has really settled this whole matter in one remarkable passage which, as I take it, is the divine key to unlock the mystery of God’s fatherhood and his people’s sonship. It is this; “The servant abideth not in the house for ever; but the son abideth ever. If the son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed” (John 8:35-36). The Lord is here arguing with “those Jews which believed on him,” about liberty. He has given them the promise that “if they continue in his word,” and so prove themselves to be his genuine disciples, they shall “know the truth, and the truth shall make them free” (John 8:31-32).. Then they are not now free. They feel that the Lord’s promise implies as much. He regards them as now in bondage; an imputation which they somewhat indignantly disclaim. They disclaim it as being inconsistent with their being “Abraham’s seed” (John 8:33). For they quite well understand that Christ is not speaking of civil or political liberty, or even of what is commonly called religious liberty. The question raised, as they clearly enough perceive, respects, not their position with reference to men at all, but their standing before God, in his house or family,—which of course they counted their own church and nation to be. In our relation to God, as being members of his household, are we not already free? Is not our footing in that relation a footing not of bondage but of freedom? Our Lord meets them first with an appeal to their own consciences: “Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whosoever committeth sin is the servant of sin” (John 8:34). You can scarcely deny that you commit sin; that you do more or less consent and yield yourselves to sin. So far, you serve sin. It has dominion over you. You said you never were in bondage; never had a master. But has not sin some mastery over you? Then you are not free; free, as you boast, to serve God only; free to dwell in his house for ever. You may be in God’s house. But if so, it is not as being free in your relation to him. For that you cannot be, while, committing sin, you are the servants of sin. Your position in the house can be only that of a servant; whose position at the very best is precarious and insecure;—“for the servant abideth not in the house for ever.” As a servant, he has no right to such a privilege; nor indeed has he any capacity for realising it. He is distracted between the claim upon him for undivided allegiance on the one hand, and his inclination towards compromise on the other. He can only be God’s servant partially; having still a hankering after independence and self-will, which is the service of sin. Therefore “the servant abideth not in the house for ever.” He cannot be sure of thus abiding, so long as he is a servant merely. “But the son abideth ever” (John 8:35). I as the Son am free;—so they must have understood his words, for they could not doubt that he was speaking of himself;— I as the Son am free, and as the Son “I abide in the house for ever.” Would you have true freedom? Enter into the freedom which I have as the Son. “For if the Son shall make you free ye shall be free indeed” (John 8:36). Clearly, as I apprehend his words, the Lord intends, in this divine reasoning, to represent his own sonship, and that alone, as absolutely ensuring permanence of position in the house or family of his Father. And just as clearly, to my mind, he indicates his willingness to share that sonship, and that feature or quality of it, with us. In this view, the connection is not a little remarkable which he virtually establishes between our participation in his sonship on the one hand, and on the other hand, our freedom from the risk or hazard of “committing sin,” so as to forfeit the certainty of our abiding in the house for ever. For I cannot help thinking that the Lord has here in his mind that servile tendency which, as I have already said, I hold to be inherent in mere subjectship, if it be not joined to sonship such as his;—the tendency, I mean, which must ever make the committing of sin, even to the extent of the subject and servant losing his place in the house, conceivable as at least a possible contingency. He seems to say first, that “committing sin” is incompatible with our being free in the house—free, in the sense of being sure of abiding in it for ever. And then he seems to say also secondly, that if we are “servants” only in the house, and nothing more, we are not, as servants, inviolably safe from “committing sin.” Accordingly he assigns this as the reason why we cannot, as servants merely, be absolutely sure of abiding in the house for ever. In order to that, we must become partakers with him in his sonship, and in the freedom which as the Son he has. “If the Son shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.” If I am right in this last idea, it may suggest a close harmony between our Lord’s teaching in this passage and what, as we have seen, John says in his First Epistle about those who, “being born of God,” are “called sons of God,” having “his seed remaining in them,” as the germ of an absolutely impeccable nature or life—a nature or life incapable of sin (1 John 3:6-9).*[2] For now we may see how,—both in respect of its implying community of nature, and in respect of its implying community of relation, with Christ the Son,—our sonship, securing our indefectibility by excluding the very possibility of sinning, thereby makes our abiding ever in the house absolutely certain. Of course, as regards our sense, or assurance, or apprehension of this certainty,—that can be realised only in so far as the sonship on which it depends is, in all its fulness of holiness and grace, itself realised. But in so far as it is, the assurance which it warrants is entirely trustworthy. In fact, it is the only assurance any one need desire. “The Son abideth ever.” An attentive study of those two wonderful chapters in Paul’s Epistle to the Romans—Romans 7:1-25 and Romans 8:1-39—would, I am persuaded, not a little confirm the representation which I have been giving of John’s doctrine, and of the Lord’s. If we trace the progress of that experimental exposition; in which, emerging out of the depths of an apparently hopeless struggle between his renewed will and the power of indwelling corruption—a struggle in which he feels himself all but overmastered by evil, as if in spite of himself he could not help “committing sin” and so being “the servant of sin”—Paul rises by successive steps to the highest climax of assured triumph and holy joy; it is worthy of remark that it is mainly through the apprehension of sonship that he reaches that elevation. Deliverance from condemnation, of course, comes first (Romans 8:1-11). That is fully brought out, so as to do ample justice to the free grace of God in justifying “him which believeth in Jesus.” But the apostle passes on and up to the position or platform of sonship. And, I think it especially deserving of notice that he very emphatically connects the realisation of our sonship,—or our receiving the Spirit of adoption to enable us to realise it,—with our mortifying the deeds of the body;—“Therefore, brethren, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live after the flesh. For if ye live after the flesh, ye shall die: but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live. For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God. For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father.” “If ye mortify the deeds of the body.”—It is the very body of which he had so sadly complained a little before, “0 wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death?”—it is that body of which he now speaks hopefully;—“If ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live.” And why? “As many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God.” What can this mean but that it is the fact of our becoming “the sons of God,”—and as such “receiving, not the spirit of bondage again to fear, but the spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father”—that turns, as it were, the tide of battle in the strife between us and the evil that is in us? “The Spirit beareth witness with our spirit that we are the sons of God;” and so gives us, in virtue of God being our Father and “his seed” remaining in us, the capacity, in a sense and measure, of being sinless,—or of feeling that “we cannot sin because we are born of God.” Continuing servants merely, we could never be quite sure of our standing firm and being successful in striving with the flesh. But now that we are sons, so far as we realise our sonship, we “mortify the deeds of the body;”—for, as John puts the same thought in other words, “whosoever is born of God doth not commit sin.” Is not Paul’s practical appeal in this passage to the sonship, as the secret of the believer’s victory over indwelling sin, proved thus to be in harmony with the Lord’s representation, as I have been trying to explain it? And is it not very much equivalent to what John says in his Epistle: “Whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world; and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith. Who is he that overcometh the world but he that believeth that Jesus is the Son of God?” (Romans 4:5). He so believes as to partake with the Son of God in his sonship. But Paul has not done with the sonship when he represents our realising it, by receiving the Spirit of adoption, as that grace or experience by which, we “mortify the deeds of the body,” and “overcome the world.” He fills his own mind, and ours, with large expectations of future blessedness and joy, connected with the sense of this sonship, attested by our own conscience and the Spirit’s powerful co-operation. He brings in all creation as waiting anxiously for these expectations to be fulfilled (Romans 8:19-22). And having reconciled himself and us to this attitude of waiting, amid creation’s groanings and our own, by reminding us of the Spirit of the Son ever “helping our infirmities” (Romans 8:23-27), he carries us far back into the depths of the past eternity, that we may see there the original and everlasting ground of our security as sons of God by adoption,—which is really nothing short of the security of that only begotten and well-beloved Son with whom our adoption makes us one;—“We know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose;—for whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the first-born among many brethren;—moreover, whom he did predestinate, them he also called; and whom he called, them he also justified; and whom he justified, them he also glorified.” Finally, he crowns the whole with the bright view of God’s eternal purpose at last accomplished, and his Son rejoicing as “the firstborn among many brethren,” all “conformed to his image as the Son” and so glorified with him. Thus, the apostle fixes, on the side, as it were, of both eternities, “the sacred chain that binds the earth to heaven above.” Called as sinners,—justified as subjects,—glorified as sons;—so runs the climax. Whereupon there breaks forth the greatest perhaps of all the songs of inspiration;—beginning with “What shall we then say to these things? if God be for us, who can be against us?”—and ending with the glorious challenge—“For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:31-39). This element of inviolability—“the Son abideth ever”—is what determines the whole character of the relation of fatherhood and sonship, as subsisting between God and any of his subjects and servants. Christ was in the position of a subject and servant when he uttered the words. And I can almost fancy that I see him as he utters them. I think it must be with intense self-consciousness that he utters them. There is a falling back upon himself, and his own unchanging fellowship with the Father, in his utterance of them. Let what may happen, “the Son abideth ever.” He instantly, indeed, dismisses all exclusive thought of self, as if he stood alone. What I am, I would have you to be; but what I am chiefly thinking of when I say that, is that “the Son abideth ever.” It is the sense of my abiding ever, as the Son, in the Father’s house, that sustains me, whether you continue in my words or not. And it is that abiding ever in the Father’s house, and the sense of it, that I long to share with you; making you free, as I am free: “For if the Son shall make you free, you shall be free indeed.” All through his service of humiliation this thought was ever present to his heart—“the Son abideth ever.” It was his consolation, his strength, his joy. It gives singular weight and force to very many of his expressions with reference to what the Father is to him and he is to the Father; investing them, as it does, with a certain strange complexion or character of conscious, confident unchangeableness. Hence the intense repose which, amid all its strange and often terrible vicissitudes, marked the life of Christ. Hence his sleeping in the storm, and his quiet demeanour before Caiaphas and Pilate. He was always selfpossessed, because he was always conscious of his sonship, and of his abiding ever in it. There was no need of haste; no room for feverish or fitful agitation. Let him be working ever so busily, let him be suffering ever so acutely, Jesus is always resting. “The Son abideth ever.”*[3] Is not this the explanation of the calm, serene, quiet peace which underlies the whole troubled experience of Christ? “The Son abideth ever.” He abideth ever as the Son. Let him be tried, buffeted, tormented to the utmost; let him even have to be made sin and made a curse for us; still “the Son abideth ever.” And he can say in the worst extremity, “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit;” having said just before, in the same spirit of unruffled composure, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” “The Son abideth ever.” I believe that if we study the human and earthly life of Christ with that as the motto or key to it, we may come to a better understanding of what the relation of fatherhood and nsonship between God and us, if we are in his Son, really is,—and ought to be apprehended by us to be,—than we could do by means of the most minute and articulate enumeration of fatherly acts and offices on the part of God, and filial duties and responsibilities on our part. I own, therefore, that I have a feeling of relief in being warrantably compelled to say, that I have no time or space left for what I might call relational details. The relation itself is manifested and acted out in the history of the man Christ Jesus. Let an insight into the relation be got, by deep thought exercised upon the history. Let it be thought, however, based upon this one condition—that there is in the relation a very peculiar element of inviolability. All other conceivable relations, so far as I can see, may be violated. Husband and wife may part. Rulers and subjects may be arrayed in arms against one another. Friends may disagree, and brothers may fight. Parent and child on earth may be mortal foes. All other conceivable relations admit of fluctuation and variety, according to change of circumstances. They are all liable to breaks and interruptions; to fitful and capricious movements on one side or other; to strange alternations of pathos and of passion. This relation alone; the relation between the Eternal Father and his Incarnate Son, Jesus Christ our Lord,—and in Him, so far as they can realise it, between “his Father and their Father” and “the little ones whom he is not ashamed to call his brethren;” this relation alone is always and for ever the same. From whatever may be turbulent, uncertain, or uneasy, in any other relation, we may take refuge at any time in this one. Be the temptation that assails upon the history. Let it be thought, however, based upon this one condition—that there is in the relation a very peculiar element of inviolability. All other conceivable relations, so far as I can see, may be violated. Husband and wife may part. Rulers and subjects may be arrayed in arms against one another. Friends may disagree, and brothers may fight. Parent and child on earth may be mortal foes. All other conceivable relations admit of fluctuation and variety, according to change of circumstances. They are all liable to breaks and interruptions; to fitful and capricious movements on one side or other; to strange alternations of pathos and of passion. This relation alone; the relation between the Eternal Father and his Incarnate Son, Jesus Christ our Lord,—and in Him, so far as they can realise it, between “his Father and their Father” and “the little ones whom he is not ashamed to call his brethren;” this relation alone is always and for ever the same. From whatever may be turbulent, uncertain, or uneasy, in any other relation, we may take refuge at any time in this one. Be the temptation that assails us ever so strong; be the affliction that tries us ever so severe; be the work we have to do ever so hard, or the death we have to die ever so cruel;—in the unchanging fatherhood of God we, like his Son, may have evermore quiet peace. Is it not in this view worthy of remark that it is in immediate connection with one of his most intensely filial appeals to the Father—that which opens with such a burst of grateful love, “I thank thee, 0 Father,” and closes with so sublime an assertion of mutual intimacy and insight, “No man knoweth the Son but the Father, neither knoweth any man the Father but the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son shall reveal him,”—that Jesus issues the gracious invitation to the weary, and gives them his gracious assurance of rest (Matthew 11:25, Matthew 11:30)? It is his own rest which he promises to share with them; the rest which his “meek and lowly heart” always possessed, under a yoke such as never any other had to take upon him, and a burden such as never any other had to bear; the rest which made him feel even that yoke easy and that burden light. “I will give you rest.” Surely, I repeat, it is his own rest he means to say that he will give. It is that rest in the Father’s knowledge of the Son and the Son’s knowledge of the Father of which he has just been speaking. His own knowledge of the Father he shares with them, revealing to them the Father. And it is by sharing with them his own knowledge of fatherly and filial love that he shares with them his own rest;—the rest which that knowledge must always have imparted to his own soul, even when it was most troubled. Have we not here the essence of what is implied, whether in the way of privilege or in the way of duty, in the relation of fatherhood and sonship between God and us?—First, there is rest, the Son’s own rest, in the ever-present consciousness of his filial fellowship with the Father. And then, secondly, there is the Son’s own “meekness and lowliness of heart,” as he takes upon him whatever yoke the Father is pleased to lay upon his neck, and bears whatever burden the Father is pleased to lay upon his shoulders. For so he sustains the joint character of the Father’s servant and the Father’s son, in which he “glorifies the Father on the earth, and finishes the work which the Father giveth him to do” (John 17:4). I now bring these Lectures to a close. I do so with the feeling that, however inadequately I have handled my great theme, I have at least thrown out some suggestive thoughts. I do not pretend to have established any peculiar views of my own. Very possibly not a few of the opinions I have advanced, and the criticisms by which I have supported them, may be shown to be crude conjectures and unwarrantable interpretations. Be it so. I shall still cherish the hope that more competent workmen may enter into my demolished labour, and may rear a better structure. For I cannot divest myself of the impression that, whether I am right or wrong in my notions of the Divine Fatherhood, the subject has not hitherto been adequately treated in the Church. In particular, I venture on a critical observation touching the theology of the Reformation. The subject of Adoption, or the sonship of Christ’s disciples, did not, in that theology, as it seems to me, occupy the place and receive the prominency to which it is, on scriptural grounds and warrants, entitled. It may be thought at first sight presumptuous to hazard this remark; but let the explanation which I am disposed to give of the fact be duly considered. The Reformers had enough to do to vindicate “the article of a standing or falling Church,”—justification by faith alone; to recover it out of the chaos of Popish error and superstition; and to reassert it in its right connection with the doctrine of the absolute Divine Sovereignty, which Augustine had so well established. Their hands were full. It need not be matter of surprise that in their case, as well as in that of their predecessors, the early fathers, there should have been lines of theological inquiry on which they scarcely at all entered. One might almost say that it has fared somewhat ill with the truth, as regards God’s fatherhood and his people’s sonship, at both eras—both in the primitive Church and in the Church of the Reformation. It may, perhaps, in some respects, have had more justice done to it at the former era than at the latter; although the patristic literature shows too plainly how the controversies about the supreme divinity of the Son tended to draw men’s minds away from the sonship of his disciples. The divines of the Protestant Reformation and their successors gave their main strength to the questions at issue between them and Rome; of which questions this could scarcely be said to be one. The creeds and confessions of the Protestant and Reformed Churches, as well as the theological systems of their colleges, are for the most part extremely meagre and defective in what they say on the subject. In some it is not even noticed; in others, it is made a part of justification, or a mere appendix to it; in none, I believe, does it receive sufficiently full and distinct treatment. Hence perhaps it is that the doctrine of the fatherhood has been so little understood and so much abused in recent days. I have long had the impression, that in the region of that great truth there lies a rich field of precious ore, yet to be surveyed and explored; and that somewhere in that direction, theology has fresh work to do, and fresh treasures to bring out of the storehouse of the Divine Word. For I am not one of those who would lay an arrest on progress in the science of divinity, and compel it to be stationary.*[4] I would not, indeed, be disposed to reopen discussions which, after ample investigation, under the useful and, perhaps, necessary pressure of controversy, have been satisfactorily closed; or to unsettle the conclusions to which the Churches have harmoniously come on the vital and cardinal articles of the faith. I do not call for any revision of our creeds, confessions, and catechisms. By all means let them stand untouched; as monuments of the vast erudition and mental power of other days, and as safeguards of truth and bulwarks against error for ages yet to come. But it is no disparagement to these symbols to say of them that they do not exhaust the whole volume of revelation. For that is simply saying that the compilers were uninspired men, and that “the riches of Christ are unsearchable.” Take our own books, for instance, our Confession and Catechisms. I never have had any scruple to affirm that their statements on the subject of adoption are by no means satisfactory. No doubt all that they say is true; but it amounts to very little. The answer in the Shorter Catechism is really, in substance, scarcely anything more than that adoption is adoption.*[5] In the other documents, the matter is handled more fully, and some of the privileges of the children of God are enumerated. Still even in them the whole matter is left in the last degree vague and indefinite. And no information whatever is given, nor is any opinion expressed, as to how the relation of Sonship is constituted, or as to what its precise nature is. The contrast is very remarkable, in this respect, between their treatment of the subject of adoption, and their treatment of all the other topics connected with the purchase and application of redemption; plainly showing, as I cannot but conclude, that while they had fully matured their views and made up their minds upon these last,—and were, in fact, quite at home in them,—they were very much at sea as to the former. I hold them, therefore, to have virtually left the whole of that department of theology which bears on God’s paternal relation to his people, and their filial relation to him, an entirely open question,—a perfect tabula rasa,—so far as any verdict or deliverance of theirs is concerned. I consider that we have the fullest liberty to sink new shafts in this mine, which they evidently had not explored, if only we take care that our diggings shall do no damage to any of the far more important mines which they did explore,—and explored so thoroughly and so well. I have endeavoured to lend some help in the way of, as it were, breaking ground. I have sought to observe the caution which I have now given, and I trust I have not violated it. Some of the thoughts I have ventured to throw out may seem to some critics to be nothing better than speculations. But I hope it will be admitted that none of them touch the foundations of the sacred temple of truth, or displace any of its stones. What I have advanced may, perhaps, in the long run and in other hands, add some features of symmetry and beauty to the structure, and even strengthen some of its buttresses. But all the old glory remains untarnished; all the old refuges for the weary and the lost are as open and as secure as ever. I thoroughly believe that the line of inquiry which I have been tracing is as safe as I think it will prove to be interesting for any one who will prosecute it with due reverence, docility, and humility of spirit. I commend the subject to the study of younger and fresher minds. And in doing so, I can scarcely suggest a better text from which to start than that wonderful answer, as it has always appeared to me, in the Larger Catechism, to the question (65), “What special benefits do the members of the invisible Church enjoy by Christ?” They “enjoy union and communion with him in grace and glory.” This covers and comprehends all; union inferring communion. It explains their justification, as being community of righteousness with him. It explains their regeneration and sanctification, as being community of nature with him. It explains their adoption, as being community of sonship with him. To which last I assign the highest place. For whereas in the others we have communion with him principally in grace, it is preeminently in the sonship that we have communion with him in glory. __________ [1]* See Appendix I. [2]*See this text discussed in preceding Lecture, and relative Note. [3]* See Appendix IV. [4]* See Note A. [5]*Q,. What is adoption? A. Adoption is an act of God’s free grace, whereby we are received into the number, and have a right to all the privileges, of the sons of God. __________ NOTES TO LECTURE SIXTH. Note A. (Page 285.) I GIVE the explanation of my meaning which I embodied in a closing address to the students of the New College a few weeks after the delivery of the lectures. This will explain the form and character of the present Note. I yield to no man in my admiration of the Westminster Assembly and its symbolical books. I doubt if ever synod or council sat to which the Church catholic will ultimately acknowledge herself to be more, if so much, indebted. I believe that its doctrinal decisions, on all the questions fairly before it, will stand the test of time, and ultimately command the assent of universal Christendom. That is my firm conviction. And it is just because that is my firm conviction, that I assert the right of respectful comment on the Westminster Standards, as on all human compositions; believing, on the one hand, that a man’s reverence for these noble documents may be not the less sincere for its being intelligent and discriminating; and, on the other hand, that the more they are subjected to the light of growing and advancing theological science, the more will their excellency and value appear; and the more also will the importance, or rather the necessity, be felt, of holding by the “whole doctrine contained in them,” as the only safe anchorage in any and in every storm. Into the general question of the use and abuse of creeds and confessions it would be quite unseasonable here to enter. I would only say that, if they are pleaded as a bar in arrest of progress by means of biblical study and free theological inquiry, it will be difficult to defend them in consistency, either with the rights of human reason, or with the paramount authority of the Divine Word. One chief value of such documents, as it has always seemed to me, is this:—that they mark off, as ascertained and finally settled, doctrines upon which, after thorough investigation, the Evangelical Church may be held to have made up her mind. On that very account, they render the work of the farther search after truth both easier and safer than otherwise it might be. They define, by well-placed landmarks, the territory which has been fully won and accurately surveyed; thereby at once facilitating on the one hand, and guiding and guarding on the other hand, the traveller who, with due caution, would venture to explore what may be beyond. Hence they have been themselves progressive. There has been an advance, step by step, according as, in the march of controversy and discussion, the Church has been led to clear up her views on successive points or topics of theology, and to embody them for preservation in articulate and exact propositions. It was in this way that, in primitive times, the Church matured and fixed, one after another, her authoritative decisions on the Trinity, on the Incarnation, on the union of the two natures in Christ, on the personality of the Holy Spirit. Thus, by stages, the system grew. One article was adjusted satisfactorily; and the adjustment of it opened and prepared the way for the handling of a new subject. That in its turn being rightly formularised, if I may so say, became the point of departure for a fresh start. And so things went on; until what I may perhaps be allowed to call the Patristic scheme of Christianity, as handed down in the three Creeds and in the Decrees of the orthodox Councils, was complete; so complete, as far as it goes, that in its substance it still stands as the Fathers left it, and has never since been touched. But it has received additions. The Augustinian doctrine of grace, and the Lutheran article of justification, were movements in advance;—movements which had their consummation, as it were, in the exact science of Calvin, and the harmony of the Reformed Confessions. Such, I think, is the manner, and such the spirit, in which the church hitherto has acted on the principle of “proving all things, and holding fast that which is good.” Thus, she may be said, in a sense, to have gone “from strength to strength,” like her great Head, “conquering and to conquer.” She consolidates her successive conquests as she proceeds. “Whereto she has already attained,” she stands firm; yet not as if she had “attained” all. Such is the manner, and such the spirit, in which alone I consider that progress in theology either ought to be aimed at, or can be looked for. In that spirit and manner, however, I can see no reason why we should not press forward; —“ following on to know the Lord” more fully. This, as all must admit, is a very different thing from that removing of old landmarks,—that disposition to tamper with received standards and unsettle men’s minds on vital points of the “faith once delivered to the saints,”—which many in our day, not without reason, dread. Against all that I protest strongly. I regard with extreme alarm every indication of a tendency, or a wish, to lower by a hair’s-breadth the flag of ascertained truth from the position in which the Church catholic has displayed it in past generations. I would not throw loose again questions upon which wiser and better men than we are came to an agreement ages ago. I deprecate the introduction of new modes of thought and forms of speech about God’s law and gospel, about Christ’s work and the Spirit’s, in accommodation to the speculations of the day. The dislike of system, of definition, of logic in theology; the embracing of what is vague, shadowy, dreamy; the turning away from whatever has the aspect of distinct assertion or assurance; the refusal to be obliged to form any precise opinion, or adopt any categorical statement, with reference to such matters as man’s original state, the temptation, the fall and its effects; or such as the atonement, substitution, imputation; or such as conversion, regeneration, justification; or such as the resurrection, the last judgment, and the future state of the saved and lost;—the shrinking from a full and explicit recognition of what the Church has long taught regarding these matters;—the disposition to take refuge in ambiguous or uncertain generalities, under the guise perhaps of respect for the letter and language of Scripture;—these and other similar leanings, but too manifestly showing themselves, not abroad or in England only, but nearer home, I cannot view in any other light than as the fitful symptoms of a feverish age;—an age of small men, tossing restlessly on a bed of doubt. There is nothing of manliness in them, and nothing of progress. They all savour of imbecility. And they are all in the direction of a retrograde movement;—a retreat or fight, not an onward march. They do not help forward, they simply retard, any such advancement of theological study as might give good hope of real increase, either of light or of life. All this I feel strongly. And it is because I feel it so strongly as I do, that I am anxious to show you a more excellent way; and to make it plain that the creeds and confessions, the systems and standards, which record the views of the orthodox Fathers and the divines of the Reformation,—even when accepted with that full, explicit, articulate acknowledgment of “the whole doctrine contained in them” about which some are so sensitive,—far from being mere obstructives, as many think they are, standing in the way of fresh thought and free inquiry,—are really the best helps to both. It is on this account that I have sought to indicate lines of thought and inquiry still open to the students of God’s Word;—on which they can best enter, or rather can only enter, under the impulse and guidance of truths already received, and from the stand-point of attainments already made. To cast these truths and attainments away, is as if the Israelites at the Red Sea had thought to obey the Lord’s command “Go forward,” by abandoning the firm position they had already gained, and simply mingling again, as on common ground, with the Egyptians. I fear I may be too tediously elaborating this explanation of my views on the subject of theological progress. But I own, it seems to me to be a matter of some consequence that the subject should be thoroughly cleared up. I do not deny, rather I assert, the need of regard being always had to the wants and tastes of the existing race of men, in the manner of setting before them the truth of God. Their predilections, and even their prejudices, must be considered. For as there is a right as well as a wrong development, so there is a right as well as a wrong accommodation to the spirit of the age. If there is a demand for something less stiff and confined, less starched and formal, more genial, flowing, varied, and expansive than the old way of systematising and sermonising is accounted to be,—something with less of monotone and more of the wide compass of orchestral melody and harmony,—it is idle to ignore it or set it at defiance, even though we may think the criticism on the old way severe, and the likelihood of improving upon it but slight. It may be wise to aim at being like the “householder who bringeth forth out of his treasure things new and old.” We may thus practically convince men that the old are good—better possibly than the new. For the staple is unquestionably “the old.” The old theology of the seventeenth century; the theology of Geneva, of the Dutch professors, of the Scotch Church, of the English Puritans; the theology of the covenants, of the law and the gospel, of absolute divine sovereignty in providence and grace, of free and full salvation in Christ and nothing but utter and everlasting ruin out of Christ;— that is the theology which must be mastered;—or rather which must obtain the mastery. But it must be imbibed also. It must come to be at once the ruling principle and the sustaining food of the life of the soul; and that too as well in professional study as in personal devotion. It must mould the entire inner man of the Christian, as a teacher of others as well as a disciple on his own account. The more it does so,—in proportion as it does so,—will the disciple and teacher feel himself able and free to throw his mind and heart, with all confidence, into the tide of advancing knowledge and inquiry. He will thus be able to avail himself of all the fresh currents of thought that may be moving the world. And he will do so for the very purpose of urging forward the vessel of the Church on her voyage of divine discovery, always through the same timehonoured channel, until the long-desiderated haven is reached at last. Therefore, I repeat, in the interest of present adaptation as well as of future progress, let us hold fast by past attain ments. There were giants in the days of the Reformation and in the century which succeeded it, who did their work well, laying deep and building high the entire structure of Evangelical Christianity. So thoroughly well did they do their work, that we never can be safe in dealing with the building otherwise than by first of all entering ourselves, heart and soul, into their labours. I rejoice, accordingly, in the opportunities and facilities afforded to students now for doing so—opportunities and facilities far beyond what I can recollect as being within reach in the days of my student life. I congratulate you on this advantage, and exhort you to avail yourselves of it; reminding you, at the same time, of the increased responsibility connected with increase of privilege. In particular, I cannot help congratulating you very warmly on your being put in possession of so trustworthy a chart to lead you, through the mazes of controversy, to what may be held to be ascertained truth, on almost all the successive questions which have been raised in the Church from the beginning until now, as that which Dr. Cunningham’s works supply.*[1] Certainly I can imagine scarcely any better manual, in these uneasy times, than Dr. Cunningham’s four volumes. Their excellency, in my view, is chiefly seen, first, in the singular clearness and fairness with which every question is stated; and secondly, in the equally singular caution and moderation with which every question is settled. There is no one-sided exaggeration or misrepresentation. In every case, full justice is done to all opinions; they are all brought clearly out, and thoroughly dealt with and disposed of. As a calm and temperate representation of the Reformation theology generally, and of Calvinism as received in Scotland in particular, Dr. Cunningham’s lectures are invaluable. Avoiding extremes, and carefully balancing opposite tendencies, he places the system on the very footing which, as it seems to me, is best fitted, on the one hand, to make the platform or position reached impregnable as a fortress, and, on the other hand, to admit of safe advances from it as a centre into the surrounding territory. And that is the very combination for which I have been pleading. But it is not merely in the Reformation theology that Dr. Cunningham is thus remarkable for wisdom and caution, as well as for profound and accurate learning. The same features characterise his discussions of the points raised in the early history of the Church respecting its doctrine, discipline, and government. Indeed, if I were asked to select the passage in the volumes which most fully manifests these features, I know not that I could fix upon a better specimen than his treatment of the subject of the government of the primitive Church. I cannot imagine any advocate of the divine right of Prelatic Episcopacy fairly grappling with Dr. Cunningham’s statements. And as regards the Scriptural authority for Presbyterian Episcopacy,—for the parity of presbyters or bishops, and their equal title to rule,—it will be difficult indeed to shake the safe position which he takes up between the opposite extremes;—that of finding everything in our system, down to its minutest details, regulated in the New Testament in express terms;—and that of finding nothing, in the form of general principles, sanctioned by Apostolic example, that can be held to enjoin any order or impose any obligation at all. I intended to advert to one or two practical matters in this address; but I forbear. I must hasten to a close. I exhort you to earnest prayer for the outpouring of the Spirit. That is what we really require, in our colleges, in our congregations, over all our Church. Ministers, professors, students, we all alike need a fresh anointing of the Holy Ghost. I say this emphatically, and with special reference to the times, and the signs of the times. I am not uttering words of course, to wind up and round off properly a formal discourse. I am no alarmist. But I cannot shut my eyes to what seem to me to be tokens, if not of declension, at least of certain things which are apt to indicate or occasion declension;—such as suspicion, fear, sensitiveness and irritability, in not a few quarters;—and a kind of dissatisfaction with existing means and agencies, and craving for novel experiments. The sure remedy for all this is to be found in the revival of vital godliness through the abundant outpouring of the Spirit from on high. That will heal all sores and cause brotherly love to abound; as of old;—“When they had prayed, the place was shaken where they were assembled together; and they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and they spake the word of God with boldness; and the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and of one soul” (Acts 4:31-32). Let such a flood of grace come as shall carry all along in its rushing tide. Then the Church will indeed be abreast of the age, and powerful as a present force in the world. And it will be seen that the same gospel which was preached from the beginning is still, through the mighty working of the Holy Ghost, all-powerful for the pulling down of strongholds and the building of that “holy temple in the Lord” which is to be “for an habitation of God through the Spirit” (Ephesians 2:21-22). __________ [1]*This refers to a most liberal arrangement, on the part of a generous friend, through Professor Bannerman, for putting all the students in possession of Dr. Cunningham’s works. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 70: 06.07. APPENDIX 1 - ULTIMATE GLORY OF FILIAL SERVICE ======================================================================== APPENDIX. SCRIPTURAL EXPOSITIONS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. I. The Ultimate Glory of Filial Service. “And his servants shall serve him.” — Revelation 22:3. THIS is an important element in the blessedness of heaven. For surely, it is the blessedness of heaven that is here described. The locality may be this earth; but it is this earth renovated and delivered from the curse of the fall. It is the “new heavens and the new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness.” The moral and spiritual aspect of the whole scene shows that it represents the Church’s eternal state. Of that perfect and happy state this is one chief characteristic, “His servants shall serve him.” It is a notable feature, and it is put in a notable way. It is put almost as if it were God’s satisfaction and not ours that it was intended to express. At last he has gained his end. At the close of that wondrous march of his providence over angels and men of which the Bible traces the footsteps, as the consummation of all his manifold dealings with his intelligent creatures,—by much pains, as it were, and after long waiting,—he succeeds in his object. He finds himself presiding over such a household as pleases him. “His servants shall serve him.” But if this is the object on which the heart of God is set, why may it not be at once and from the beginning realised? Why may not the creative act or word surround the Creator at once with circle upon circle of obsequious subjects, as pliant and plastic in his hand as wind or fire? Servants to serve him according to his mind he may surely have, in any number, and of any variety of structure and capacity,—from the inert and shapeless mass of matter, upwards through all gradations of life, sense and mind, to the highest faculty of thought and will, inferior only to his own. May he not thus find the sort of agents needed to perfect his ideal of the universe which he would have to unfold his glory? No. The end is not to be thus summarily attained. The attainment of it is not the triumph of creation, but the result of an entirely different process;—a long providential and administrative system, to which angels and men have been subjected, and out of which this glorious issue comes, “His servants shall serve him.” This service of God, in its origin, progress, and perfection, may be traced in these successive stages:—I. The service of the angels before any of their number rebelled; II. The service of the elect and faithful after that event; III. The service of Christ, the Lord of angels and Redeemer of mankind; IV. The bearing of his service now on the inhabitants of hell, of heaven, and of earth; V. The final service of the future state. I. God made the angels to serve him;—endowing them with suitable capacities, and placing them in circumstances favourable to the exercise and expansion of these capacities. All things were propitious. Moral evil was unknown. There could be no temptation. One would think that perfect service was thus secured. The recorded fact, however, of a rebellion in that angelic world, proves that there must have been something in or about the service not altogether and absolutely good; not, at all events, what may be called in reference to such a matter, the highest good. It could be nothing amiss in what God required, or in the moral nature of those of whom it was required. But that somehow the position was such as might become the occasion of feelings of insubordination springing up,—even in pure minds and innocent hearts,—the actual result proves. Our Lord identifies the offence of the apostate spirit; he “abode not in the truth” (John 8:44). If he had, “the truth would have made him free” (John 8:32) in serving; and he would have coveted no other freedom. Paul speaks of pride, or being “lifted up with pride,” as “the condemnation of the devil” (1 Timothy 3:6). And Jude (Jude 1:6) describes the sad company as “the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation.” They kept not their first estate;” or rather their “principality.” They were not content with the princely rank originally belonging to them. They “left their own habitation,”—the place assigned to them as their own,—their proper sphere for serving God. It would thus appear that the evil originated in a desire on their part to be upon some other footing with God than that on which, as at first created, they stood. The desire may, or rather must, have sprung up in connection with some particular command. I conceive it to have been the command which the Psalmist, according to the interpretation of the apostle Paul, indicates: “When he bringeth in the first-begotten into the world,” or on the stage as it were, and in the view of creation, “he saith, And let all the angels of God worship him” (Hebrews 1:6). Exception is taken, if not to the thing commanded, at least to its being commanded. These “princes” will not “abide in the truth”—in their true position of dependence, duty, and responsibility. They “are lifted up with pride:” they become impatient of subjection and obligation. To worship “the first-begotten” may be all well; but to worship him upon compulsion and command is not so. They would have it left to their own free discretion. They are not content to be princes under the Most High. They would be “as gods” themselves; they would be their own masters. The possibility of this dark spirit of jealousy insinuating itself into the thoughts of these servants of God, so as to cause rankling dissatisfaction with the state in which they were created, shews how, even before their sin and fall, there was some element of imperfection—some latent root of possible bitterness—in that state itself. It was not a state with reference to which it could be said with full assurance, “His servants shall serve him.” The original angelic state is not the highest good. II. May we venture to look into the abode of the angels after their ranks have been so disastrously thinned? He whom, at the Father’s command, they have consented to worship—“the first begotten”—is among them. But for that, blank consternation may well be on every face, and a painful misgiving in every heart. True, they have stood the test; and their obedience, doubtless, is rewarded by some decisive token of the divine regard. But it is a terrible proof of the peccability of their nature and the precariousness of their position, that is ever before their eyes. The poet says—“Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” But ignorance is now out of the question. They know the possibility of transgression; and though they know its penalty too, that does not allay their anxiety. The mere dread of incurring the doom of disobedience will go but a little way to reconcile them, or to keep them reconciled, to a state of things which so many of their number felt to be irksome and intolerable. It may prevent the outward and overt act of rebellion. But it does not tell upon the inner man; or, if it does, it is at least as apt to irritate as to subdue. So far then as the influence of the sad catastrophe itself goes, it makes no change for the better in the standing of those elect ones who, through grace, survive it. On the contrary, they may seem to be even in worse circumstances than before for serving God. That, however, cannot be. He whom the Father has been introducing to them for their worship, will see to it that it shall not be. He will at all events prevent any injury coming upon them through the knowledge of evil which they have unwillingly got. By his divine presence with them, and by the power of his Spirit in them, he will so confirm them in their loyalty to his Father’s throne that no sense of present insecurity, and no fear of future danger, shall mar their serene and settled peace. But more than that he does. From henceforth he has their regards fixed upon himself. In obedience to the Father’s command they have worshipped the Son. Already, as their recompense, they see his glory, as the glory of one altogether worthy of their worship. But the Father’s voice to them is, Ye shall see greater things than this. Worship him still, wait, and watch. Keep your eyes fixed on him. For in him, as you are soon to see, a higher and better platform is to be reached, on which God’s “servants shall serve him.” III. For what is the next important step in this development of service? I pass over the probation and the fall of man; events but too well fitted to awaken new alarm, as if another experiment had been tried and failed. I come at once to the incarnation; that great era in the universal providence of God, to which, without knowing beforehand what its precise nature was to be, not only believing men were accustomed to look forward, but the unfallen spirits also. For they clung in faith and hope to him whom the Father would have them to worship; being taught to expect some still more signal “bringing in of the first-begotten into the world” than that which had been the occasion of the trial of their obedience, and its reward. As the fulness of the time drew near, the angels,—having accompanied this divine person in all his previous intercourse with the patriarchs and with the ancient church,—had their eyes rivetted on Bethlehem-Ephratah,—whence he was to “come forth unto God, who was to be Ruler in Israel, whose goings forth had been from of old, from everlasting” (Micah 5:2). They took part in the divine arrangements about the births of the Baptist and the Christ. And when the holy child Jesus, of whom they spoke to the shepherds, lay before them in the manger, we can imagine a voice coming to them “from the excellent glory,”—“Behold my servant whom I uphold, mine elect in whom my soul delighteth” (Isaiah 42:1). Service is now to be ennobled indeed. In every view it is to be so; in the person of the servant; in the actual work of the service; and in the spirit pervading it all. 1. Who is this servant? A man—the man Christ Jesus; a volunteer—his manhood voluntarily assumed, his service voluntarily undertaken; a Son—the Eternal Son of God the Father whose servant he becomes — himself “God over all, blessed for evermore;” Son of God and Son of Man; uniting in his own person the highest prerogative of rule and the humblest obligation to service; entitled to command the whole universe, as its Creator-God, and bound, in his created manhood, to be under the yoke in this narrow corner of his own vast dominions. What a servant has the Father found to serve him now! 2. And then, what is the service? its nature? its conditions? its work? It is service undertaken in the room and stead of others; and these others, the fallen children of men. The terms of it are his fulfilling all their obligations, and meeting all their liabilities. He consents to be their substitute, under the law which they have failed to obey, whose penalty of death they have incurred. And he consents to this, in the full knowledge that the obedience required of them must be rendered by him, and the penalty incurred by them must be visited on him,—to the very uttermost of the law’s righteous demands. 3. And what of the spirit pervading the whole service? Meek, gentle, uncomplaining submission; the entire surrender of his subject will to the will of him whose subject he is; unshaken loyalty to the God and Father whom he serves, even when the cup given him to drink wrings from his body the bloody sweat and from his soul the cry of agony; disinterested, self-sacrificing affection; these features, and such as these, marked the spirit in which this wondrous servant served his wondrous service. In one word, the spirit of that service was sympathy; sympathy with him whose servant he was; sympathy with the service itself;—“I and my father are one;”—“the works which the Father doeth, these also doeth the Son;”—“my meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work.” It is real and actual service all along; entailing upon him privation, toil, obloquy, pain; exposing him to cold, hunger, thirst; the temptations of evil spirits; the reproach and violence of evil men. Throughout it all he simply served; not acting for himself, in self-support, self-vindication, or self-defence; but acting wholly for God and leaving all to God; It was service growing dark and dreadful as its close drew near. In prospect, it appalled his human spirit with its unutterable woe ; and when the hour came at last, full fraught with the venom of sin’s sting and curse, and the blood-red wine of the righteous vengeance of the Most High, he sank under the burden as well nigh more than even he could bear. But still he simply served. He saved others; himself he did not save. As a servant under the yoke, he bowed his head and gave up the ghost;—with these words upon his lips,—expressive of a servant’s resignation as well as of a Son’s trust,—“Father into thy hands I commend my spirit.” Well may the Father say, “Behold my servant!” IV. What a voice to echo through all worlds—in hell; in heaven; and on earth!—“Behold my servant!” 1. Is it heard in hell? Does it ring in the ears of lost angels, and lost men? For lost angels—See what that service of God is which you resented as a galling burden and spurned as a humiliating bondage! The place which was not high enough, or free enough, for you, the very Son of the Highest himself does not disdain to occupy. You, indeed, would not be servants; it seemed drudgery and restraint to you. What worship you are to render, what work you are to do, must be matter of spontaneous choice, not of prescribed command. To worship and work to order,—to be obedient merely, nothing more, and nothing else,—you felt to be an unworthy sort of homage from you to God; unworthy of your angelic nature and your princely rank. So you felt once. But what have you to say now? What plea have you now,—when God points to the birth, the life, the death of his own Son, and says,—“Behold my servant!” What! Was my service a degradation, my commandment grievous, my law severe, and myself too austere and hard a master to be obeyed in love? You dare not think so now, when you behold my servant! For lost men—How will they feel when at last, too late, the full meaning of that service of the Son of God flashes upon them? It was a bloody service to him, but he did not deem it either unreasonable or unrighteous. To him “the law,” even while he was enduring its condemnation, was “holy; and the commandment holy, and just, and good.” If we lift up our eyes in hell, being in torment,— sharing the punishment prepared for the devil and his angels,—compelled by God to “behold his servant,” and as we behold him, to justify God and condemn ourselves,— how must we recall, with unavailing groans of self-reproach, the day, the hour, when he invited us to share with him in that service of his;—in its infinite worth and efficacy, its gracious fruit and issue, its blessed filial spirit, addressing to us the call;—the Servant inviting us to be his fellow-servants;—“Come unto me all ye that labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me: for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls: for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” It must be a terrible voice for hell’s inhabitants to be hearing always—“Behold my servant!” 2. It must have been a blessed voice when heard in heaven. When the obedient angels saw him whom they worshipped “taking upon him the form of a servant, and being made in the likeness of man;” when they saw him “being found in fashion as a man, humbling himself and becoming obedient unto death, even the death of the cross;” they were well prepared to worship him anew, even in his humiliation. When “God highly exalted him, and gave him a name above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,” all their tongues were ready to “confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Php 2:7-11). For now to these bright “morning-stars,” the mystery of that service of God which is perfect freedom is unveiled, in the person of this Son and Servant, and in his gracious work. Nor is it as mere onlookers that they get an insight into this mystery. As he has carried them along with him in all his ministry towards our fallen race,—and very specially in his taking our nature and serving, even to suffering, in our stead,—so now, he carries them along with him and associates them with himself in his subjection to the Father, as at once his Servant and his Son. They partake with him in the full grace and glory of that double relationship. Service is to them what they perceive it to have been to him. It is divested of every element of precariousness, and therefore of every element of grievousness. It is their joy and crown. Their footing is identical with that of him whom they worship. It is as sons of God, “in the first begotten,” that these servants of God in heaven now serve him; hearing always the voice that points out the great exemplar—“Behold my servant!” 3. To the followers of Christ on earth this voice should come home with peculiar power—“Behold my servant!” See how the Son, as servant, served God! And learn how God would have you, as sons, to serve him, in the Son! First, however, let us make sure that we enter into that service of the Son, as undertaken and accomplished for us. It stands for us instead of any service that might be required of us as the condition of our peace with God. Let us look ever first at the servant and the service in that light. As the bankrupt and beggared servants of a righteous God, laden with the burden of long accumulated guilt, utterly unable either to cancel the past or to satisfy the claims of the present and the future, let us accept as our substitute this servant whom our Father has chosen for us. What fault have we to find with him? Personally, is not he every way qualified to represent us, to consult and act for us, to serve on our behalf? To serve! And what service? Does it not fulfil all righteousness and atone for all sin? Is it not, as a service of penal endurance, adequate to the utmost rigour of punishment that we have deserved? Is it not, as a service of merit, enough to purchase the choicest blessings that God’s favour can bestow? Let us thankfully accept this servant, and his service, as ours. Let us suffer him to place us where his service entitles all for whom it avails to be placed. And where is that? Where, but where he is himself? It is his position that we are to occupy; it is his relation to God that we share. And whatever service is now imposed upon us,—it is as occupying his position and sharing his relation that we meet it. Then may it not be expected that the spirit which pervaded all his service shall pervade ours also? If our standing is thus identical with his,—if we receive the adoption of sons, in and with the Son of God, and have his Spirit in us, crying, “Abba, Father,”—should not the service of God be to us precisely what it was to him? It may extort from us groans; it extorted them from him. Its toil may weary us; it wearied him. Its pain may make our soul, as it made his, exceeding sorrowful, even unto death. Our fellow-servants—the angels—know well what our sufferings may be in the service which they see us share with him whose sufferings they never can forget. They delight to stand by us, as they stood by him, when, as “ministering spirits,” they are “sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of guilt, utterly unable either to cancel the past or to satisfy the claims of the present and the future, let us accept as our substitute this servant whom our Father has chosen for us. What fault have we to find with him? Personally, is not he every way qualified to represent us, to consult and act for us, to serve on our behalf? To serve! And what service? Does it not fulfil all righteousness and atone for all sin? Is it not, as a service of penal endurance, adequate to the utmost rigour of punishment that we have deserved? Is it not, as a service of merit, enough to purchase the choicest blessings that God’s favour can bestow? Let us thankfully accept this servant, and his service, as ours. Let us suffer him to place us where his service entitles all for whom it avails to be placed. And where is that? Where, but where he is himself? It is his position that we are to occupy; it is his relation to God that we share. And whatever service is now imposed upon us,—it is as occupying his position and sharing his relation that we meet it. Then may it not be expected that the spirit which pervaded all his service shall pervade ours also? If our standing is thus identical with his,—if we receive the adoption of sons, in and with the Son of God, and have his Spirit in us, crying, “Abba, Father,”—should not the service of God be to us precisely what it was to him? It may extort from us groans; it extorted them from him. Its toil may weary us; it wearied him. Its pain may make our soul, as it made his, exceeding sorrowful, even unto death. Our fellow-servants—the angels—know well what our sufferings may be in the service which they see us share with him whose sufferings they never can forget. They delight to stand by us, as they stood by him, when, as “ministering spirits,” they are “sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation.” But the loyalty to God his Father, and the sympathy with God his Father, which they saw in him throughout all his service, they may, in a measure, see also in his brethren. Not only in the fervid apostle whom the zeal of God’s house is eating up and the love of souls is urging to an untimely tomb; not only in the martyr whose service is to praise God amid the flames; but in this hewer of wood or drawer of water making conscience of serving God in his lowly calling; in yonder poor, bed-ridden, widowed, childless soul, content that her service should be solitary suffering and waiting for the Lord—the same mind may be found which was in Christ. Angels, as they look on, rejoice to perceive how, even in this sin-burdened earth, God has servants who really serve him. And when the earthly service with all its trials is over, they rejoice to carry them to Abraham’s bosom. V. But it is not in this present state of things that the object on which the heart of God is set is altogether attained. Even for the angels, and still more for the saints, a change for the better is in reserve. There are things in God’s majestic plan which the angels desire to look into, and which they cannot so look into as to be satisfied, until they see what the end is. Even they must be taking much on trust, and living by faith, as to not a few particulars in the great volume of providence now unrolling itself before them—the sealed book which the Lion of the tribe of Judah is only gradually opening. Saints on earth, at any rate, are compassed about with many infirmities; exposed to manifold assaults of the devil and so tempted and wounded in the war they have to wage with evil that they find it no easy matter always to feel that “God’s commandments are not grievous.” And even saints gone to their rest are waiting for the resurrection of the body. “The family in heaven and earth that is named of our Lord Jesus Christ”—is broken, divided, tossed and tried; great part of it still journeying through the wilderness; none of it having, at the very best, anything more than a sort of Mount Pisgah view, as yet, of the full blessedness of the land of promise. But it is otherwise when “the Lord cometh again.” A fresh song of praise bursts from the hosts of heaven, as they accompany the “first-begotten,” once more coming forth,—the Father “bringing him in,”—into the world, on the final occasion of his reunion with his redeemed. The great reconciliation is complete. The mystery of God is finished—the mystery of his will, which he hath purposed—“that he might gather together in one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven and which are in earth.” (Ephesians 1:9-10) All are gathered together, all are one in Christ. His service of obedience and atonement has effected the full reconciliation; accomplished the eternal purpose; consummated the universal union. And now, what remains? What but this eternal glory and joy,— “His servants shall serve him?” The service of God, thus reached and realised, who may venture to describe? Some of its conditions, however, are indicated in this passage (Ephesians 1:3-5). 1. (Revelation 22:3) “There shall be no more curse.” Not only are we to be ourselves personally delivered from the curse; but nowhere all around is there to be any trace of its malign influence; and never again is there to be any risk of its return. The personal justification, the removal of the curse, which is all matter of faith now in the hidden life of the soul—and, alas! too often but dimly and doubtfully apprehended—will then be matter of open discovery and proclamation. Our own hearts are assured, and all the universe is advertised, that no curse can ever henceforth be our portion. Our bodies as well as our souls are perfectly delivered. And then to us creation’s groans are over. No blight of sin is on the soil we tread; no taint of sin is in the air we breathe; no evil element is in the paths we have to tread,—the works we have to do,—the pleasures we have to enjoy,—the company we have to keep. All is holiness and peace. Service may well be different from what is now, when “there shall be no more curse.” 2. (Revelation 22:3) “The throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in the city.” No anarchy, or lawless liberty, or proud self-government is there. Subordination, discipline, and order prevail. God manifestly reigns. And he reigns in a character that must charm away all jealousy, even in the most sensitive of his subjects. “The Lamb is in the midst of the throne.” Subjection to that throne never can be felt to be irksome. Never can any feeling of impatience of such a yoke intrude; nor the faintest shadow of a suspicion of its being grievous; nor the remotest desire to shake it off and be more free. One look at “the throne of God and of the Lamb” must ever suffice to satisfy. 3. (Revelation 22:4) “They shall see his face.” It is a blessed thing to see God’s face even now. The sight of it, by faith, makes duty pleasant, and even trial sweet. Alas! however, that face is often hidden. Dark clouds of unbelief roll in upon the soul. Or there is a frown, a shade, upon my Father’s loving countenance. My waywardness and wilfulness have dimmed, as it were, his loving eye with grief. What heart have I then for his work? What courage to fight his battles? What strength to face temptation? What enlargement of heart or opening of lip to show forth his praise, and teach transgressors his ways? How wearisome is the whole business of obeying him and doing his will felt to be! What a drudgery does it become! what a lifeless and joyless form! “Hear! 0 Lord, when I cry with my voice; have mercy also upon me and answer me. When thou saidst, Seek ye my face; my heart said unto thee, Thy face, Lord, will I seek; hide not thy face far from me, put not thy servant away in anger” (Psalms 27:7-9). What must it be for me, as God’s servant, to serve him, when no such cry can ever any more be heard—when I shall see his face always! 4. (Revelation 22:4.) “And his name shall be in their foreheads.” When we stand “with the Lamb on the Mount Zion” (Revelation 14:1),—with the “hundred, forty and four thousand,”—we are sealed as his servants for preservation from the winds of judgment. We have even now “his Father’s name written in our foreheads.” It is a hidden name: legible enough to the Lamb, and to the angels executing his pleasure; but not legible to an unbelieving world; and, alas! not always legible to ourselves. In mingling with the multitude who, instead of that name, receive the mark of the beast in their right hand or in their foreheads (Revelation 13:16),—it is not always easy for us to maintain our integrity as the Lord’s servants and not his,—“to keep ourselves unspotted from the world.” But in that city, all have the same character; all are impressed with the same seal! From every brow there flashes in glowing brightness the same new name—the name that is above every name. There is no promiscuous fellowship with the ungodly to disturb or deaden pious feeling; to disconcert or embarrass a pious walk. Nor in fellowship with one another, is there any of that hesitancy which too often casts a damp over pious meetings here. There, all alike mutually know and are known. They never can be hinderers,—they never can be other than helpers,—of one another’s joy in serving the Lord. 5. (Revelation 22:5) “There shall be no night there, and they need no candle, neither light of the sun, for the Lord God giveth them light.” All is open, beatific vision. “They that fear the Lord and obey the voice of his servant” may sometimes “walk in darkness” here. It may be darkness that dims, not only their comfortable assurance, but their clear and certain perception of the path of duty. They see no light; or the light they see comes fitfully, in gleams and glimpses; sharing the imperfection of the instruments and channels through which it reaches them. It is midnight with them, and they have only a little flickering candle to shed its unsteady flame into the thick gloom in which they are groping. Even if it is midday with them, and the bright meridian orb is over their head, its scorching rays may smite or blind them; or yonder cloud, no bigger than a man’s hand, may in a moment clothe the sky in sackcloth. Oh! to be where there is no night, to make the twinkling taper welcome; nor even any day, dependent for its clearness on the glorious sun! To know God and his will, not circuitously, through means, ordinances, and providences; but directly, by immediate insight into himself and immediate communication from himself. Even here, what the Spirit shows us of the Father and the Son,—though it may not hinder the night being often dreary and the day cloudy,—suffices, if the eye is single, to guide us in the right way. What must it be to have the same Spirit opening our eye evermore to the light which the Lord God himself gives,—in which he dwells,—which is his very nature! No more distraction, no more despondency, when—seeing light in that light—“his servants shall serve him.” 6. (Revelation 22:5) “They shall reign for ever and ever.” It is as reigning with him that they “see light in his light.” It is from his point of view, as seated on his throne, that they survey and contemplate all things. They have a common concern with him in the government of the universe, which in a measure he shares with them. Their reigning with him is partly the effect of their having learned to serve him; otherwise, he could not so far trust them as to admit them to any participation in his authority and rule. Hence the welcome, “Well done good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many.” But their promotion for faithful service is chiefly valuable in their eyes because it enables them to render service more faithful still. The position which they occupy raises them above the questionings and heart-burnings, the jealousies and misgivings, that are apt to rankle in the minds of mere subjects. The confidence reposed in them honourably binds them. Because “they shall reign” with him, therefore his “servants shall serve him.” Let us see, then, what sort of service God desires. “Bring no more vain oblations. Incense is an abomination unto me. The new moons and sabbaths, the calling of assemblies, I cannot away with; they are a trouble unto me: I am weary to bear them” (Isaiah 1:13-14). So the Father speaks from heaven. And so also the Son speaks on earth. “God is a spirit, and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.” “The Father seeketh such to worship him;” he is weary of all other worship. And I am come to tell you so. Nay, I am come to see to it, that what the Father seeks he shall surely find. Yes! though it is to cost me the shedding of my blood, to expiate guilt and win the gift of the Holy Ghost,—that men, reconciled and renewed, may give my Father what he wants—their hearts. Let all formalists—all whose religion, such as it is, and it is not much, is a mere weariness of the flesh; a painful perfunctory work of necessity; a routine which they dare not dispense with but cannot take delight in—hear this solemn warning. His servants,—the only servants he cares to have,—are such as make his service a reality. “His servants shall serve him.” 2. And what is the first and indispensable condition of our thus serving him? Is it not to shake ourselves free from the legal covenant which gendereth to bondage, and close with the covenant of free grace and perfect peace? Otherwise, what Joshua said to the people when they so stoutly declared “We will serve the Lord, for he is our God,” may be said to us;—“Ye cannot serve the Lord, for he is an holy God; he is a jealous God; he will not forgive your transgressions, nor your sins” (Joshua 24:19). He cannot accept of any service rendered in self-righteousness. He cannot overlook the radical vice of a heart not right with him. We must renounce our own service, as placing us on a right footing with God, and accept as our substitute him whom the Father commends to us as “his Servant;”—laying hold on “the oath which he sware to our father Abraham, that he would grant unto us, that we being delivered out of the hand of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all the days of our life” (Luke 1:73-75). 3. That we may “stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free,” we must beware, above all things, of a servile spirit; the spirit that is ever grudging what is asked, and stretching to the utmost any license supposed to be allowed; the spirit that tries to steer very close along the shore by the exact letter of the law; the spirit that is for drawing the line very sharply between the lawful and the unlawful—between what may perhaps be tolerated and what is expressly forbidden. It is the spirit of bondage that is always prompting the questions,—must I? may I? may I not? The “Spirit of adoption whereby we cry Abba, Father,” speaks otherwise;— 0 Lord, truly I am thy servant. I am thy servant and the son of thine handmaid. Thou hast loosed my bonds” (Psalms 116:16). 4. The same Spirit of adoption enables us also to enter, with enlarged hearts, with clear intelligence and full sympathy, into the vast and comprehensive plan of God, for “gathering together into one all things in Christ, both which are in Heaven and which are in earth.” Thus we keep out the spirit of bondage. The imagination and the heart are filled with sublime views of God’s magnificent purpose in his Son Jesus Christ our Lord;—so as to be ever anticipating that bright day when we shall join the assembled throng, whose highest glory is,—that “reigning with God,” they, as “his servants, serve him.” Satan’s proud defiance is, “Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.” Alas, it is as vain as it is proud! In the place of torment, God, in his terrible justice, reigns alone. Satan, and his angels, and his victims, serve in pena1 chains and penal fire for ever. But the saints who have “overcome are set down with Christ on his throne, even as he overcame and is set down with the Father on his throne.” All in the Father’s confidence, all in the Father’s interest, all sharing the glory of the Father’s reign,—they “are before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple. And he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them” (Revelation 7:15). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 71: 06.08. APPENDIX 2 - THE GREAT GOSPEL CONVOCATION ======================================================================== APPENDIX. SCRIPTURAL EXPOSITIONS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. II. The Great Gospel Convocation. “Ye are come unto Mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the first-born, which are written in heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel.”— Hebrews 12:22-24. THE warning (Hebrews 12:25), “See that ye refuse not him that speaketh,” refers to the judgment of God on the generation of Israel which he brought out of Egypt. That indeed is the warning which all through this epistle is held up before the eyes of the believing Hebrews. Let them beware of the sin of their forefathers. In their case, it must be a sin peculiarly aggravated, in proportion as their privilege is peculiarly high. Their forefathers stood before God at Sinai, and heard him speak, as it were, “on earth” (Hebrews 12:25), “his voice then shook the earth” (Hebrews 12:26). But they themselves have heard him, as it were, “from heaven” (Hebrews 12:25), his voice “shaking not the earth only but also heaven” (Hebrews 12:26), effecting a far more complete renovation, introducing not a temporary but a permanent economy. It is in this connection that a scene is here described having the same relation to the new economy that the Sinai scene had to the old. “Ye are come” to this, as your fathers came to that; and you are to realise your position and its responsibility accordingly.*[1] Of the three verses descriptive of the scene (Hebrews 12:22-24), the first gives the place of meeting and the audience; the second, the actual convocation, or the parties convened; and the third, the business on hand, and the manner of its transaction. The first verse, giving the place of meeting and the audience,—“But ye are come unto mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels,”—needs little remark. The place of meeting is “mount Sion, the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem.” It is evidently a place that is meant, not a society or church, as when it is said, “Praise the Lord 0 Jerusalem; praise thy God 0 Sion.” And it is evidently no earthly place. The earthly Jerusalem was doomed; Sion was to be a desolation. It is a heavenly locality, ideal to us now, but yet real, and soon to be realised. The audience or spectators are the angels. They were witnesses from above of the scene at Sinai (Deuteronomy 33:2; Acts 7:35; Galatians 3:19; Hebrews 2:2). They are also witnesses of this scene. They are not mere witnesses; they are deeply interested par-ties. But it is as witnesses or onlookers that they are here brought before us. In this place and in this presence a meeting of a solemn, and, as it would seem, judicial character, is convened,—” To the general assembly and church of the firstborn, which are written in heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect.” There is in the centre the President, and on either side a company awaiting his award. The president is “God, the judge of all.” Some would read, “the Judge, the God of all” They prefer such a rendering, because it seems to divest the scene of its terror. The Judge is presiding; but he is to all who are before him “their God.” I think this view proceeds upon a very inadequate, if not erroneous theory of the Spirit’s design,— which is not really to abate fear, but to quicken it. God is here enthroned; “the Judge of all;” of all now before him; their lawgiver, ruler, lord, and king. It is in that character that he presides over the assembly. It is for legislative and governmental purposes that he sits upon the throne.*[2] Two separate and distinct bodies are marshalled on opposite sides of the throne. I. On one side, there are “the first-born, which are written in heaven.” They are the first-born; distinguished from among men, as the first-born among the Israelites were from among their fellows; or rather as Israel was from all the world (Exodus 4:22). They are in possession of the birthright. They are partakers with Christ in all the privileges of that right of primogeniture which pro-perly and essentially belongs to him alone. He is “God’s Son, whom he hath appointed heir of all things” (Hebrews 1:2). But in his inheritance he is not to be alone, as he is not to be alone in what is the ground of it—namely, his filial relation to the Father. It is the Father’s purpose that the Son shall have partners in that relation, and in its fruit. Believers are said to be “predestinated to be conformed to the image of his Son,” for this express end, “that he may be the firstborn among many brethren” (Romans 8:29). These then are “the first-born.” And, as the first-born, they are “written in heaven.” The peculiar privileges belonging to the firstborn in Israel, as well as the peculiar right of property which the Lord claimed in them, made it necessary that an accurate register of them should be kept (Numbers 3:40). And so also there is a complete register kept of the first-born in Christ. They are written or enrolled in heaven. They are not lost sight of while they are exposed to earth’s trials. “The Lord knoweth them that are his.” He “calleth his own sheep by name;” and he has their names recorded in heaven. This is their joy; “In this rejoice not, that the spirits are subject unto you; but rather rejoice, because your names are written in heaven” (Luke 10:20). This is their security also against the devouring enemy on earth; “All that dwell upon the earth shall worship” the beast, “whose names are not written in the book of life of the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world” (Revelation 13:8). And it is their warrant and passport of admission at last into the New Jerusalem; “There shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or maketh a lie; but they which are written in the Lamb’s book of life” (Revelation 21:27). Such is the company here convened, at the foot of the heavenly Sion, and in the presence of the holy angels, on one side of the President, who is God the Judge of all. They are convened as a company at once comprehensive and select;—comprehensive, for it is a “general assembly” (panhgu,rei); select, for it is a church (evkklhsia|). Both of these expressions are here used in their primary meaning. They denote, not a permanent association, but a particular gathering; a meeting called for a purpose, and on an occasion. In this view, the one expression—“general assembly”—brings out the wide and universal character of the meeting; it is the assembling together of the entire body referred to. The other expression—“church”—implies selection. The meeting is exclusive as well as comprehensive. It is not a promiscuous or miscellaneous crowd. It is a meeting of the whole body, but of none else. It embraces all “the first-born who are written in heaven,” but it shuts out others. All friends are here; but only friends. The whole family is admitted; but strangers must withdraw. II. On the other side of the presiding Judge stands another company, designated as “the spirits of just men made perfect.” Who are they? Not, as I apprehend, the pious dead generally, but a particular class of the departed people of God. I take them to be the collective body of the Old Testament saints, as I take “the firstborn which are written in heaven” to be the entire household of New Testament believers. And I ground this opinion on two expressions which occur in the previous part of the passage, beginning at the end of the tenth chapter, of which the last verses of this twelfth chapter are the close. The first is the intimation at the outset, “The just shall live by faith” (Hebrews 10:38). Starting from that great principle, the writer goes on to define the faith by which the just live, and to give historical instances in illustration. So he ushers in his noble catalogue, in the eleventh chapter, of the grand old worthies of the olden time. For that eleventh chapter, which should not be separated from the last two verses of the tenth, is simply an appeal to the example of the just who lived by faith before gospel times; and virtually, under chosen specimens, it includes them all. Now let the summing up of the glorious list be noted, “These all, having obtained a good report through faith, received not the promise: God having provided some better thing for us, that they without us should not be made perfect” (Hebrews 11:39-40). Plainly the writer points to some drawback or disadvantage connected with their Old Testament state; and just as plainly he points to its complete removal through their becoming in some way partakers of some New Testament privilege. “They without us,” or apart from us, were “not made perfect.” This may mean merely in general that,—as “our eyes see and our ears hear what many prophets and righteous men of old desired to see and to hear but were not permitted,”—so they also now see and hear it, and rejoice therefore with us in the actual accomplishment of the great redemption, which was only imperfectly revealed to them in prophecy, type, and figure. I am persuaded, however, that the meaning is more pointed and precise. Especially taking into account the remarkable phraseology of the verse now under consideration,—distinguishing between “the firstborn written in heaven” and “the spirits of just men made perfect,”—I conceive the imperfection attaching to the condition of Old Testament saints to have been just this, that till Christ came, they were not and could not be put in possession of the full blessedness which the sonship and heirship of “the first-born written in heaven” imply. It is to me a strong confirmation of this view, that it harmonises so thoroughly with the representation given in the Epistle to the Galatians (Galatians 4:1-7) of the state of pupillage in which Old Testament believers were, as contrasted with the higher and freer filial standing of Christians. The difference is made to turn mainly on the mission and manifestation of the Son, as the Son, and on the coming of the Holy Ghost as the Spirit of the Son. In virtue of the Son being “made of a woman, made under the law,” “the redemption from the curse of the law,” which the just who lived by faith of old saw and embraced afar off, is now complete. And in virtue of its having been “his Son” whom “God sent forth when the fulness of the time was come,” and of its being “the Spirit of his Son” whom he has been “sending forth into our hearts” since, we “receive the adoption of Sons,” and the Spirit in us “cries Abba, Father.” Is not this that “better thing which God hath prepared for us, that they without us should not be made perfect?” And is not the description—“the spirits of just men made perfect”—simply an intimation that they have come to share with us in that better thing now? Thus, then, it appears that the perfection of the state of believers under the gospel, as contrasted with the imperfection of the state of believers under the law, consists in their adoption as the sons of God, their participation with Christ in his filial relation to the Father, being more fully developed and realised; more distinctly indicated on the part of God, and more thoroughly apprehended, felt, and acted out by themselves. The difference, in fact, turns upon the sense and recognition of the sonship and the birthright. New Testament believers are “the first-born written in heaven,” in all the extent and fulness of significancy that can belong to these expressions. It is as possessing fully this privilege that they are convened in this great assize. And of this very privilege their predecessors, the Old Testament saints, are now partakers. Whatever imperfection, in respect of the development and realization of their sonship, might mark their spiritual state on earth, before the actual manifestation of the Son of God in the flesh, is all now at an end. The wall of partition is broken down. And when the souls of these righteous ones who lived by faith are summoned to attend the wondrous meeting at which all the first-born are assembled before their God and Judge, it is not now any inferior or imperfect position that they occupy. They come forth as “the spirits of just men made perfect.” They are “complete in Christ.” In so august an audience, in such near contact with God the judge of all, the assembled company need and welcome a Mediator and his mediation;—“And to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel.” First, there is a Mediator. There was a Mediator at Sinai: Moses; who said,—“so terrible was the sight,”—“I exceedingly fear and quake.” There is a mediator here: one who, “in the days of his flesh,” cried, “Now is my soul troubled,”—“Now is my soul sorrowful even unto death.” The terror of Sinai fell chiefly on Moses, as the mediator then between Israel and Israel’s God and Judge. A terror still more overwhelming falls upon Jesus, the mediator now, not on Sinai but on Zion, between those to whom he is “the first-born among many brethren,” and that “God, the judge of all, before whom they stand.” And through this greater terror, he is the mediator of a new and better covenant. From Sinai, through the mediation of Moses, the law was given; uncompromising in its claims and unrelenting in its penalties. From Zion, through the mediation of Jesus, the law is given ; satisfied in its highest claims, and exhausted in its sternest penalties, by his own work of love. From Sinai, at the hands of Moses, the law is given by a thundering voice, as a rule of life authoritatively enforced from without. From Zion, at the hands of Jesus, the law is given also by the power of the living Spirit, as a principle of life energetically working within. Secondly, there is mediation. It is the sprinkling of blood, or “the blood of sprinkling.” And of that blood it is said that “it speaketh;” that it speaketh good things; that it “speaketh better things than that of Abel,” or than Abel. Is there here any reference to what the Lord says in emphatic reply to Cain’s impious defiance, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”—“The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground” (Genesis 4:10)? That cry is assumed to be a cry for vengeance, like the cry of the souls under the altar, “How long, 0 Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?” Is it with this cry for vengeance, supposed to be uttered by Abel’s blood, that Christ’s peace-speaking “blood of sprinkling” is contrasted ? I think not. For one thing, I would ask, is it quite clear that God on that occasion speaks of Abel’s blood as crying for vengeance? That is not expressly said, nor is it at all necessarily implied. All that is meant may be, and probably is, not that it is a cry for vengeance against Cain’s life, but that it is a cry of witness against his lie. God makes inquisition for blood. He asks Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And the audacious falsehood of Cain’s reply, “I know not,”—is refuted by the “poor dumb voice” of his brother’s “wounds” speaking for him. Besides, even if we take the cry of Abel’s blood to be a cry for vengeance, the introduction of it on the occasion of this great convention is unseasonable. To say of the atoning blood of Christ, that it speaketh better things than blood that cries for vengeance, is to pay it a poor compliment at the best. It is far more to the purpose, as it seems to me, to understand the writer as referring,—either to the blood which Abel shed, when “by faith he offered unto God a more acceptable sacrifice than Cain” (Hebrews 11:4),—or to the testimony which Abel bears concerning the efficacy of that sacrifice which by faith he offered. This last is probably the real meaning. It is in accordance with the exact words of the passage: “the blood of sprinkling which speaketh better things than Abel” And it fits in, by a natural allusion, to what has previously been said concerning Abel (Hebrews 11:4), that, with special reference to the sacrifice which by faith he offered, “he being dead, yet speaketh.” Abel is the first of the Old Testament worthies celebrated in the muster-roll of the eleventh chapter, and introduced into the scene now before us as “the spirits of just men made perfect.” He leads the van of that noble army of martyrs—“the cloud of witnesses compassing us about.” And he does so, because he is the first on record to seal his faith in the necessity and efficacy of an atoning sacrifice for sin. He acted on that faith when he offered as his sacrifice, not “the first fruits of the ground” as a mere expression of gratitude, but “the firstlings” of his flock as a propitiation for guilt. He suffered for that faith when he fell under his brother’s envious hand. He died a martyr to the great truth, that “without shedding of blood there is no remission” (Hebrews 9:22); and of this precise truth, “he being dead yet speaketh.” But, after all, how inadequately can he speak of it! How vague and indistinct is any voice his offering or his martyrdom can utter, in comparison with that “blood of sprinkling” which “speaks” now! Abel’s testimony then, embodied in the act he performed and confirmed by the death he died, speaks of guilt expiated and the guilty soul cleansed, only in a figure, through the slaying of a lamb, a mere senseless animal, that could never be a worthy substitute for the criminal at God’s bar; “For it is not possible that the blood of bulls and of goats should take away sins.” But the blood of sprinkling now, the precious “blood of Jesus Christ the Son of God which cleanseth from all sin,” speaks better things. It speaks not of redemption typically represented, but of redemption actually accomplished—not of a figurative, but of a real atonement —not of “sanctifying” or cleansing “to the purifying of the flesh,” but of the “purging of the conscience from dead works to serve the living God” (Hebrews 9:13-14). Thus understood, the introduction of this “blood of sprinkling, speaking better things than Abel,” is entirely to the purpose of the matter here on hand, the ratifying of a great covenant of righteousness and peace. It is suitable and seasonable as regards the comparison or contrast between Sinai and Zion. In the scene at Sinai there was indeed blood of sprinkling; for only by the use of blood could the people be sanctified according to the Lord’s command. (Exodus 19:10, Exodus 19:14). The blood of sprinkling, however, then employed could speak only as Abel speaks. It was of the same nature with Abel’s sacrifice, and could speak no better things. But the blood of sprinkling that is available here, at the foot and within the precincts of Mount Zion—the blood that is to fit and qualify for an approach, not to a tangible burning mountain, but to a glorious spiritual city—that blood speaks assuredly better things by far. It speaks of a sufficient ransom for condemned and depraved men found and provided by the living God himself. It speaks of the ratification of a better covenant, founded upon better promises. It speaks of the removal of the whole burden of guilt from the conscience, and the whole pollution of sin from the heart. And it so speaks these better things as to unite in one the two companies on the right and on the left of God, their common judge,—the first-born registered in heaven and the spirits of just men made perfect. All now are one, invested with the same sonship, sprinkled with the same blood. Now, having examined the several particulars of the scene, let us combine them in one whole. Let us take a general view of the picture. The veil of sense is withdrawn, and what does the eye of faith see? Not “the mount that might be touched,” but one that can be only spiritually discerned—on which no hand can as yet be laid, and no foot may tread. It is Mount Zion. But it is Mount Zion more “beautiful for situation” than ever Israelite’s fond gaze beheld her—“the joy,” not “of the whole earth” merely, but of the whole heaven—“the city of the great King” (Psalms 48:2). For the mountain is not like Sinai, lifting its dark and lonely head over the dreary wilderness. The heavenly Jerusalem crowns its summit and sweeps along its skirts. And instead of burning fire she has “the glory of God. And her light is like unto a stone most precious, even like a jasper stone, clear as crystal” (Revelation 21:11). At the base of this glorious mount,—not yet entering the heavenly city but assembled near it,—what a group meets our view! On one side, there is the whole vast multitude of those who, under the dispensation of the gospel, receive the adoption of sons. They are brought together in holy convocation to meet their God—to meet him as their Lawgiver, King, and Judge. On the other side we see,—associated with them in fullest sympathy and on a footing of entire equality,—the glorious company of those who walked by faith under an imperfect dispensation, but to whose estate imperfection attaches now no more. Myriads of angels are assembled as deeply interested spectators, and something more,—occupying the surrounding heights, and intently watching the procedure. The real transaction, however, is between the people met below the Mount beside the City, and the Being before whom they stand. The transaction is through a mediator; who on the one hand has a covenant to promulgate on the part of God, and on the other hand has blood to sprinkle on the people. He comes from God to the people with tables in his grasp on which are inscribed the exact terms of the law. But it is the law satisfied, magnified, and honoured, by his own infinitely meritorious righteousness; the law, moreover, now to be transferred, in that new form of it, into the sinner’s heart, and made part and parcel of his very nature as renewed by the Holy Ghost. Thus the Mediator comes from God to the people, proposing to them, not a legal covenant which must condemn, but a gracious covenant which saves. And then, to bring the people near to God, he has blood to sprinkle on them—atoning blood. For this end “he has received of the Father the promise of the Holy Ghost.” And this sprinkling of such blood by such an agency,—this application of the propitiatory sacrifice of Christ by the power of the holy Spirit,—speaks of what no other service or sacrifice could promise. It speaks of peace with God, peace of conscience, “peace in believing and joy in the Holy Ghost.” This, then, is the scene. Clearly enough it is for the present ideal and spiritual, it is to be apprehended by faith. But it concerns us deeply to apprehend the scene as real, It must be matter of personal experience with us; spiritual, but not the less on that account real. For it is said, “Ye are come to it.” There are three applications of which, as it seems to me, these words admit. 1. The first is that which is more immediately suggested by the language “Ye have come.” Your coming to Mount Zion bears the same relation to your exodus, on the one hand, and your march through the wilderness to Canaan, on the other hand, that the coming of the Israelites to Sinai did to theirs. The transaction at Sinai, let it be remembered, is the intermediate link between the exodus and Canaan. Instantly on their being brought out of Egypt, God summoned the Israelites to meet him at Sinai. He had a solemn business to transact with them. Their first step out of Egypt was to the foot of the Mount. God brought his ransomed people before him that he might declare to them his covenant. It was a gracious covenant, if they had been able so to understand it. It was ordained in the hands of a mediator—Moses. And it was not without blood of sprinkling for the sins of the people; blood typical, indeed, merely of the real atonement for sin, but yet significant and satisfying so far to all spiritually awakened souls. A transaction of this sort was a fitting sequel to the exodus. And it was also a fitting preliminary to the command, “Go up and possess the land.” The redeemed stood before their redeeming God as their lawgiver, deliverer, king, and judge,—to know the terms on which they were to be with him. It was meet that there should be this understanding before they set out on their brief march, for it should have been brief, to Canaan. Now, if the New Testament Church were to be saved by some such wholesale deliverance as this, its members might be led out thus to meet their God;—to be dealt with collectively by him and to receive his instructions. That, however, is not the Gospel method. Individually, by a separate process in each mind, a distinct spiritual change in every soul, God effects the rescue of his people. There cannot, therefore, be any general gathering together, in a literal sense, such as there was at Sinai. But practically, in a real though spiritual sense, every converted soul has to pass through an analogous spiritual crisis. It is a momentous crisis, as regards both the exodus and the pilgrimage; the escape he has made and the way he has to go. It is, in fact, the settlement, once for all, of the terms upon which he is henceforth to be with his God, as his Sovereign Lord. It is his being confronted and brought face to face with God, in a new state and character, as redeemed by his grace and ready for his work. Let the believer place himself in this position on his first closing with Christ. Let him know and feel what it means. Have you been rescued from the city of destruction? Then, your first step is to come to this Mount Zion. You “are come” to it. There is the holy hill of God, the city of the Lord, the heavenly Jerusalem. And there are angels in countless throng, rejoicing over one sinner that repenteth, ready to minister to the heirs of salvation. And the holy men of old, “of whom the world was not worthy.” And all the faithful in Christ Jesus, from the dying thief, and the martyr Stephen, down to the last saint that is to be translated to glory. That is an august enough assemblage, fitted to strike you down to the ground with deepest awe. But that is not all. For, looking up, what do you see? Or rather, whom? The God with whom you have to do. Yes! it is God the judge of all whom you meet, eye to eye, face to face. Do you tremble—you, a man of unclean lips, seeing the King, the Lord of Hosts? Do you fall down as one dead? Let the Mediator minister to you the promises of the covenant of grace. Let him sprinkle you afresh with atoning blood. You stand erect among the first-born. But hark! a voice! Before you leave the presence, God speaks these words: “I am the Lord thy God which brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage; thou shalt have none other gods before me.” Thus, “out of Zion goes forth the law.” And other words he speaks, words of greater love and of more quickening power. “I will put my laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts: and I will be to them a God, and they shall be to me a people: And they shall not teach every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord: for all shall know me, from the least to the greatest. For I will be merciful to their unrighteousness, and their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more” (Hebrews 8:10, Hebrews 8:12). Speak on, Lord, will you not now say, for thy servant heareth. Let him speak to you his whole mind. And see that you refuse not him that speaketh. Stand in awe, 0 believer, and sin not. Let God the judge of all, to whom in circumstances so solemn you are brought so very near, deal with you and instruct you in all the way you have to go. Let him deal with you thoroughly according to all his good pleasure. Let there be here, and now, in this dread audience, an entire adjustment of his claims and your obligations. And leave not the holy mountain until, a thorough understanding being established between you and the living God, the righteous judge, you are ready for going up to take possession of the inheritance in face of all enemies, with the light of his countenance shining upon you, and his love shed abroad in your hearts through the Holy Ghost being given unto you. 2. Another application of this phrase, “ye are come” may be allowed. You are come to this scene, and here you remain. This is your rest. You are ever coming to it. You draw near; you live near. To what? and to whom? You are near the holy Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem; your conversation is in heaven. You are near to holy angels and perfected saints. I do not speak of conscious fellowship between them and you. No actual intercourse may be enjoyed with them as yet. But you are near; and faith ever realises the nearness. You “are come to them.” There they stand; angels receiving charge over you to keep you; and the saints of old, Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob,—all the martyrs and all the prophets testifying to you how, even in a state far less perfect than yours, they found it no vain thing to serve the Lord, and never once regretted that they had walked as strangers and pilgrims on the earth. And you are near to God; to “God the judge of all;” a reconciled God; but your ruler still, your king and Lord;—all the more entitled to rule over you and judge you, because he has made you his “firstborn,” and as such, partakers of the very love he bears to his own Son, and the very inheritance of all things to which he has appointed him. And you are near to Christ Jesus, ever discharging as Mediator his double office, ministering to you the new covenant, and sprinkling you with atoning blood. Is this indeed our spiritual standing? Is this really our spiritual life? Then, what reason is there for fear and trembling; for surely the place where we stand is holy, and we are called to be holy as He before whom we stand is holy. Is the Holy Ghost bringing us and keeping us ever near to a scene like this? Do we see it, though it be invisible? Do we feel it, though it be intangible? Then let us not refuse “him that speaketh.” Let us not be of them that draw back unto perdition. It is in solenm may be allowed. You are come to this scene, and here you remain. This is your rest. You are ever coming to it. You draw near; you live near. To what? and to whom? You are near the holy Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem; your conversation is in heaven. You are near to holy angels and perfected saints. I do not speak of conscious fellowship between them and you. No actual intercourse may be enjoyed with them as yet. But you are near; and faith ever realises the nearness. You “are come to them.” There they stand; angels receiving charge over you to keep you; and the saints of old, Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob,—all the martyrs and all the prophets testifying to you how, even in a state far less perfect than yours, they found it no vain thing to serve the Lord, and never once regretted that they had walked as strangers and pilgrims on the earth. And you are near to God; to “God the judge of all;” a reconciled God; but your ruler still, your king and Lord;—all the more entitled to rule over you and judge you, because he has made you his “firstborn,” and as such, partakers of the very love he bears to his own Son, and the very inheritance of all things to which he has appointed him. And you are near to Christ Jesus, ever discharging as Mediator his double office, ministering to you the new covenant, and sprinkling you with atoning blood. Is this indeed our spiritual standing? Is this really our spiritual life? Then, what reason is there for fear and trembling; for surely the place where we stand is holy, and we are called to be holy as He before whom we stand is holy. Is the Holy Ghost bringing us and keeping us ever near to a scene like this? Do we see it, though it be invisible? Do we feel it, though it be intangible? Then let us not refuse “him that speaketh.” Let us not be of them that draw back unto perdition. It is in solenm circumstances that God is ever speaking to us when he brings us in such a way so near to himself. “If they escaped not who refused him that spake on earth, much more shall not we escape, if we turn away from him that speaketh from heaven” (Hebrews 12:25). 3. There is still one other application of the scene which is surely not inadmissible. It is all matter of faith with us now. But is it not one day to become matter of sense? It is spiritually apprehended now. Is it not to be literally and actually realised at last? “I John saw the holy city new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of heaven, saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God” (Revelation 21:2-3). Is not this the actual accomplishment of what is represented here in figure? The shaking of the earth at Sinai indicated the introduction of a new economy. The shaking, not of the earth only, but also of the heaven, which the apostle connects with the scene on Zion, indicated a revolution more complete. All temporal and typical ordinances were superseded. Things capable of being shaken passed away. Room was made for the bringing in of “things that remain,”—“the kingdom that cannot be moved” (Hebrews 12:27-28). This kingdom “we now receive.” But we receive it only spiritually and by faith. Our capital, our fellow-subjects, our king, are all unseen. All, however, are to be visible at last. The God of glory appears. Angels, the church of the first-born, the worthies of the olden time—all severally indebted to Christ, as their Saviour, cease not to celebrate his praise day and night. Let us hopefully anticipate this blessed gathering. Let us believingly taste, even now, its blessedness, as well as its solemnity. Receiving now by “faith,” as we are to receive actually at last, the, “kingdom which cannot be moved,” “let us have grace, whereby we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly fear. For even our God is a consuming fire” (Hebrews 12:28-29). __________ [1]*Thus the contrast runs:— “Ye are not come unto the mount that might be touched, and that burned with fire, nor unto blackness, and darkness, and tempest, and the sound of a trumpet, and the voice of words; which voice they that heard entreated that the word should not be spoken to them any more: (For they could not endure that which was commanded, And if so much as a beast touch the mountain, it shall be stoned, or thrust through with a dart: And so terrible was the sight that Moses said, I exceedingly fear and quake:) But ye are come unto Mount Sion,” &c. [2]*I believe the best scholars hold the ordinary rendering to be the natural and legitimate construction of the clause. The other is forced and ungrammatical. See Alford in loco. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 72: 06.09. APPENDIX 3 -THE SON CALLING HIS PEOPLE BRETHREN ======================================================================== APPENDIX. SCRIPTURAL EXPOSITIONS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. III. The Son calling his People Brethren. “For which cause he is not ashamed to call them brethren, saying, I will declare thy name unto my brethren, in the midst of the church will I sing praise unto thee. And again, I will put my trust in him. And again, Behold I and the children which God hath given me.”— Hebrews 2:11-13. THERE is probably an allusion in this passage to the condition which the Jewish law annexed to the right of redemption. The redeemer must be a kinsman of the party whose person or whose property was to be redeemed (Leviticus 25:25, Leviticus 25:48-49). This condition was doubtless designed to guard against fraud, and to secure that the interference with the ordinary course of law which the right of redemption implied was really, in good faith, an act of grace. When, therefore, the Son undertakes the office of redeemer on our behalf he must be in a position to claim kindred with us. That is not his original position. As the Son, he is the Father’s “fellow;” not ours. But he becomes our fellow, our kinsman. And he does so even though it involves his taking our place under the law which we have broken; answering for us in the judgment; sanctifying or cleansing us by his blood. “For which cause,” in respect of his so thoroughly identifying himself with us, and making common cause with us, “he is not ashamed to call us brethren.” It is a strong expression. He is not ashamed, because his calling us brethren is more than a bare verbal acknowledgment or formal salutation: it involves the conferring of real and substantial brotherly benefits.*[1] It is to confirm this view that the three texts from the Old Testament are here introduced. It is to show not only that the Messiah does call his people brethren, but that there is no reason why he should he ashamed to do so. It is to prove,—not only generally that this relation of brotherhood between Christ and his people is asserted in Scripture,—but in particular that it is asserted in such a way as to make it not nominal merely, but substantial and real. I. The first passage quoted here (Hebrews 2:12), “I will declare thy name unto my brethren: in the midst of the church will I praise thee,”—is from the twenty-second Psalm (Psalms 22:22). That psalm is strictly Messianic. It is literally fulfilled in the sufferings of Christ and the glory which followed. No doubt the inspired author uttered his own sentiments when he composed the psalm. The spiritual man also, using the psalm now, does the same. The oneness with Christ which the Spirit works, through faith, implies as much. But it is Christ himself; not of course Christ standing alone and apart from his Church; but Christ representing his people, and taking them all to be his body;—it is he who speaks; first in his agony (Psalms 22:1-21), and then in his triumph (Psalms 22:22-31). The beginning of his triumph is the verse here cited. The first fruit of his victory is, that it places him in the best and most favourable position for declaring his Father’s name unto his brethren, so that in the midst of the church or congregation composed of them he may praise the Father. This is no new purpose on his part. He has been all along, in all his earthly ministry, keeping it in view. So he appeals to his Father before his death,—“I have declared unto them thy name, and will declare it” (John 17:26). But at this crisis, after his death, when he is passing from his finished work to its reward,—he can say, as he could not fully say before, “I will declare thy name unto my brethren.” Yes! “Unto my brethren!” The emphasis lies there. And accordingly, as a simple historical fact, it is worthy of notice that it is after his resurrection that Jesus for the first time uses this expression concerning his disciples,—my brethren.”*[2] To the women the risen Saviour says, “Go, tell my brethren.” To Mary he says, “Go to my brethren and say.” How is this to be explained? In the first place, Jesus now enters upon that state in which he can fully declare the Father’s name. He can now unfold the character of God his Father in a light in which it could never before be adequately seen; and he can thus raise in the church a new song of praise. Never before, never otherwise, could the name of God— his nature, his character, his mind and heart, as the Righteous Father—be so declared as the Son is now in a position to declare it. He can declare it fully and effectually. He can declare it fully. He can declare it as it shines forth, in all its light and love, in himself personally, and in his work now finished and accepted. He can declare it effectually. He has received of the Father the promise of the Holy Ghost to teach his people all things. Hence the propriety of the profession coming from his lips now. Passing from his cross to his crown, the Lord is now most thoroughly able, both by revelation to his disciples and by inspiration in them, to declare the Father’s name, and lead among them the Father’s praise. By revelation to them;—for he has his own wondrous person, as the God-man, and his own gracious work, as the mediator, the ransom, the bleeding victim, dying in their stead, and owned in his resurrection as not having died in vain;—he has himself, in short, and his cross, to be the means or medium for declaring the name of the righteous Father. By inspiration also in them; for, ascending up on high and receiving gifts for them, he gives the Holy Ghost, by whom they are taught to know the name of the righteous Father, as the Son declares it, and to praise him as the Son praises him. But, secondly, this is not all. There is a still closer connection to be traced between the Lord’s calling his people his brethren and his declaring to them the Father’s name. It is not simply said,—they are my brethren, because I declare unto them thy name; but I declare thy name unto them as my brethren. They are my brethren when I declare unto them thy name. It is as to my brethren that I declare unto them thy name. Their becoming my brethren is the condition of my declaring unto them thy name, and the means of my doing so. Not otherwise could I do so. For the discoveries which I have to make to them concerning thee, 0 righteous Father, are such as I could not make to any but my brethren. They must occupy the same position that I occupy, and be one with me, as my brethren, in my relation to thee and my acquaintance with thee. They must see thee from the same point of view from which I see thee. They must come to know thee by the very same sort of experience of thy love by which I know thee. I must have them to be my brethren, if I am to declare unto them thy name. For this name of God the righteous Father,—this essential nature of his, as the righteous Father,—the holy love that is in his heart, as the righteous Father,—never can be known at second hand. Even the Son cannot make us know it, except by making us one with himself—one with him in his personal, experimental, loving knowledge of the Father, in whose bosom he dwells. He says this, I think, very clearly on three different occasions. 1. (John 1:18), “No man hath seen God at any time. The only begotten Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him.” But how has he declared him? Not merely through his “dwelling among us, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14); but through our “receiving of his fulness, even grace for grace” (John 1:16); grace answering and corresponding to his grace; the very grace of which he is full, as “the only begotten Son dwelling in the bosom of the Father.” It is as dwelling himself in the bosom of the Father that he sees the Father; so sees him as to be able to declare him to us. And it is by making us partakers of his own grace,—by causing us to dwell, as he himself dwells, in the bosom of the Father,—by embracing us in his own filial oneness with the Father and filial fellowship with the Father,—it is thus that he declares to us the Father. 2. (Matthew 11:27), “No man knoweth the Father save the Son and he to whomsoever the Son will reveal him.” And to whom is it the Son’s pleasure to reveal the Father? To whom but to “the babes” to whom the Father himself reveals “the things which he has hid from the wise and prudent?” And the babes! Are they not the new-born babes, the little children, who alone can see the kingdom of God? They are those whom, as born again,—born like himself of the Spirit,—Jesus may call his brethren. As such, they are placed by him in the very same position of advantage for knowing the Father which properly belongs to himself alone. None can know the Father but the Son, and those to whom, by making them his brethren in his sonship, the Son reveals the Father. 3. (John 17:25-26), “0 righteous Father, the world hath not known thee.” Sad, but not strange. How should the world, lying in the wicked one and estranged from the Father, know him, so as to enter into his mind and heart, understand his real character, and do him justice in judging of his ways. Is there no one then to whom the Father can look? none to know, to understand, to sympathise with him? “I have known thee,” says the Son of his love. And not only have I known thee. There are others who have “known that thou hast sent me.” To them “I have declared thy name,” and will yet more fully “declare it.” “The love wherewith thou hast loved me,” and whereby I have known thee, shall “be in them, and I in them.” Thus the Son undertakes to declare the Father’s name to those whom in virtue of his incarnation, his obedience, his sufferings, his death, and his resurrection,—all on their behalf,—he is not ashamed to call his brethren. And it is “in the midst of the church or congregation” composed of them, that he now praises the Father. “I will praise thee,” he says to the Father. But not alone and apart will I praise thee; as if I only, rightly knowing thee, could worthily praise thee. I have now got a church or congregation of brethren with whom I can associate myself, and in the midst of whom I can praise thee. The praise is on account of prayer answered and signal deliverance experienced. “I will praise thee,” I who but yesterday “made supplication, with strong crying and tears.” The sharp cry of agony is changed into the triumphant language of praise; praise, however, not as for myself alone. “In the midst of the congregation I will praise thee.” For these, the congregation of my brethren, are interested in the deliverance on account of which I have to praise thee;—in what way, and with what depth and intensity, they will begin to understand and feel when I fully “declare unto them thy name.” But for that they would be incapable of any sympathy with me, either in my song of praise, or in the terrible experience that preceded and evoked it; and I must go apart and be alone in my joys as much as I once was in my grief. In the garden they all slept;—on the cross, they all forsook me and fled. They could not go with me into my sufferings; they could not enter into the meaning of my shame and sorrow. To call them, in these circumstances, brethren,—to expect them as brethren to sympathise with me,—would scarcely have been reasonable or fair. I might have been ashamed then to call them brethren. And in point of fact, I had to make allowance for them, as for a feeble flock, in whom the spirit was willing but the flesh weak; the scattered sheep of a smitten shepherd; to be pitied rather than to be blamed. But it is not so now. I have declared and will more fully declare unto them thy name. I give them such a discovery of thy character, such an insight into thy heart, 0 righteous Father, as casts a flood of light on all that I have had to do and to suffer on the earth. The evil of earth’s sin—the awful justice of heaven—the dread reality of an atoning sacrifice—the shedding of blood for the expiation of guilt— the substitution of the holy one in the room of the guilty, and the laying of their iniquities upon him;—all this they can now enter into and sympathise with, whatever might be their inability before. And therefore, also, in the joy and triumph which follow upon the anguish ended and the victory achieved, they can now with heart and soul participate. I need not now be solitary in the utterance of my thankful acknowledgments, 0 righteous Father. I have brethren who now at last can go along with me and be one with me, first in my agony and then in my triumph; who know “the power of my resurrection” because they know “the fellowship of my sufferings.” There is a congregation now gathered around me; the congregation of those to whom as my brethren I declare thy name. In the midst of that congregation, and carrying their full sympathy along with me, I now, 0 righteous Father, will praise thee. Surely, on such terms, he need not be ashamed to call them brethren. II. The propriety of the second reason why Christ is not ashamed to call his disciples brethren, is not at first sight very apparent. The saying quoted in the first clause of Hebrews 2:13, “I will put my trust in him,” may be found in more than one Messianic passage, and I am not disposed to fix very dogmatically on any one. I am inclined to regard it as a sort of general reference;—though I do not at all object to its being held to be a version of that word of Isaiah, in the passage to which the next quotation refers, “I will wait upon the Lord” (Isaiah 8:17). That certainly is equivalent to “1 will put my trust in him.” But the more material question is; how does our Lord’s use of either of these forms of speech, or of any similar language, prove that he is not, and need not be, ashamed to call his disciples brethren? Plainly such language as this—“I will wait upon the Lord,”—or “I will put my trust in him,”—is not, and cannot be, the expression of any sentiment or feeling proper to the original and everlasting relation subsisting between the Father and the Son. Never, at any time, could the coequal and coeternal Son, with reference to his own divine nature, as one of the Persons in the everblessed Trinity, thus speak of the Father. That he should be found in a position to use such language is an instance of wonderful condescension. And that he should use it in a position of oneness with us,—as regards our state of dependence upon God and the necessity of our continually exercising faith or trust in God,—is indeed a proof of his conferring upon us so great and substantial a benefit as may well make him not ashamed to call us brethren. “I will put my trust in him.” Is not this the motto and grand heading of the entire human life of the Saviour? Is not this the spirit and embodiment of his whole conduct here below? He did not live by the exercise of his own prerogative or power, but as other men, by bread, or whatever God might be pleased to ordain. His miracles were not done to support or relieve himself. As to all that was personal to himself—what he was to eat and drink—wherewithal he was to be clothed—where he was to lay his head;—as to all his personal experience, and especially as to all he had to suffer from first to last;—he had the very same occasion for the exercise of trust or faith that we have amid the anxieties and perplexities of our utmost helplessness and want. And was not this faith on his part sufficiently put to the test? Was not the extent to which he could go in saying,—“I will put my trust in him,”— thoroughly tried and proved? And is he not therefore well entitled to call us his brethren, and to ask us as his brethren to learn of him? Can we ever be in circumstances in which it can be more hard for us to say, I will put my trust in God, than it was for him, in the wilderness, in the garden, on the cross? And let us remember that the very fact of his having power to deliver himself must be regarded as enhancing the severity of such trial of his faith, and so enabling him all the more to sympathise with us in the trial of our faith. The consciousness of his being able, by a mere word, to extricate himself out of all his troubles, must be taken into account as an element of aggravation, when we see him willing to face them all—naked as we are—dependent as we are—submissive as he would have us to be—in the spirit of implicit resignation and reliance,—“I will put my trust in God.” Surely He is one who need not be ashamed to call us brethren! He is indeed a brother—a brother born for adversity! He is our brother, being our companion in tribulation! Hast thou a struggle, 0 poor soul, in saying “I will put my trust in him?” So had he. Thou hast brotherhood in thy struggle with him. Hear his loud cry; “Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour: but for this cause came I unto this hour. Father, glorify thy name” (John 12:27-28). Ah! this language of acquiescent and submissive reliance,—“I will put my trust in him,”—has a peculiar pathos and emphasis imparted to it, when it is used as language in the use of which we have brotherhood with Jesus. For it is because he has been in a position to use that language himself—and knows how hard it often is to use it,—that he is not ashamed to call us brethren. We imagine sometimes that this trust in God—this willingness to leave all that concerns us to God—ought to be always an easy and almost spontaneous exercise of soul with one who really knows the Father’s name, and has got such cause to praise him as we have got. But who knows the Father as the Son? Who praises the Father as the Son? And yet he, in the days of his flesh, found it difficult enough to say, “I will put my trust in him.” It cost him “prayers and supplications, strong crying and tears.” Why should we count it strange if it cost us the like? Rather let us be thankful that on this very account he is not ashamed to call us brethren, because at the very worst, in our utmost extremity,—when we find it the hardest of all tasks to say “Thy will be done,” “I will trust in thee,”—he can, as a brother, understand our case; he can enter into it. He can bring his own personal experience forward for our encouragement. He can meet us as a brother in every trial; and ever as he meets us, and has fellowship with us as a brother, he can give us courage, with whatever effort, to murmur,—“I will trust and not be afraid,” “Though he slay me I will trust in him.” III. The third reason given for Christ’s not being ashamed to call us brethren is founded on a passage in Isaiah (Isaiah 8:18), which is apt to be misunderstood, both as it stands there, and as it is quoted here. It is given substantially in the same words by the Prophet and the Apostle; “Behold, I and the children whom the Lord hath given me.” This text, as recited in Hebrews, is sometimes held to be an instance of our Lord’s calling us his children. But he is never represented as sustaining that relation to his people;—not at least in any other sense than that in which Abraham is said to have a seed. And at any rate his being so represented here would be quite foreign to the writer’s argument, and, indeed, inconsistent with it. Even as used by the prophet originally, the saying has no reference to his own children, though some have so applied it. It has a far higher import, as will be seen if its connection is considered.*[3] The prophet is describing the times in which he lives. There is a general confederacy for evil among the people. They associate themselves in defiance of the Lord. Are there none found faithful among the faithless? Yes, replies this man of God. “I will wait upon the Lord, that hideth his face from the house of Jacob, and I will look for him” (verse 1). Nor am I alone. I have brethren willing to be fellow-witnesses, and, if need be, fellow-victims with me. “Behold, I and the children whom the Lord hath given me are for signs and for wonders in Israel from the Lord of hosts, which dwelleth in mount Zion.” Such obviously is the meaning of the words, as originally uttered by Isaiah. And such also is their meaning when put into the mouth of the Messiah. “Behold I and the children,”—the little ones,—“whom thou hast given me;”—given me to be my brethren. Thus viewed they are expressive of intense filial and brotherly affection. Observe, in the first place, how lovingly he speaks of them to the Father. They are “the children”—the little ones. It is the language of endearment. The elder brother presents to his Father and their Father the little ones, mere babes, infants who can but lisp thy praise, 0 Father; of whom I said, Suffer them to come unto me. They are the little ones—the children. As such I love them, and delight to have them as my brethren. I have revealed to them things hidden from the wise and prudent; I have declared to them thy name. They are the congregation in the midst of which I rejoice to praise thee; for “out of the mouth of babes and sucklings I have perfected praise.” I teach them to put their trust in thee, as I have done, 0 righteous Father. Then how dear are these little ones to their elder brother, as given to him by his Father;—given to him in covenant from everlasting;—given to him in right, as bought with his blood;—given to him in reality, being born of the Spirit, in some sort as he was himself! With what overflowing fullness of love,—the love of a true son and a true brother,—does he present them to the Father! They are mine—these children—these little ones; mine, by thine own gift, 0 Father. “Thine they were, and thou gavest them me,” that I might be “the first-born among many brethren.” Be to them what thou art to me; not indeed as thou hast been to me from everlasting, but as thou art to me now;—now that I have become one with “the children whom thou hast given me;” now that they have become one with me. “Holy Father, keep through thine own name those whom thou hast given me, that they may be one, as we are one” (John 17:11). And now, secondly, observe for what end He presents the little ones as his brethren to the Father. Certainly, in the first instance, it is for present work and warfare on the earth. So the original setting of this gem indicates. He presents them to the Father to be jointly with himself “for signs and for wonders in Jerusalem from the Lord of hosts, which dwelleth in mount Zion.” Thou art not to be without signs, 0 righteous Father;— without witnesses of thy character and purposes and plans, in the world which knoweth not thee. Here am I for one. And here also are these, the little ones, whom thou hast given me; whom I scruple not to associate with myself in this office of being signs. I am not ashamed to call them, in that view, my brethren, and to offer them to thee, O righteous Father, as my brethren, to be witnesses for thee, as I have been. I have fitted and qualified them, as my brethren, for that mission. I have given them the very knowledge which I have myself of thy glorious name. I have put my own song of praise into their lips. I have made them partakers with myself in that grace of simple trust which carried me safely through the pains and perils of my witness-bearing. They are willing to be “for signs.” And “for wonders” too. They are willing and able, by the help of the blessed Spirit, to be a very world’s wonder; to bear reproach, obloquy, persecution; to seal, as I have done, their testimony with their blood. So I present them along with myself to thee, 0 righteous Father, to be “for signs and wonders” in the church and in the world. But we need not limit this gracious presentation to the present scene of trial We may carry forward our view to the day when the Lord Jesus shall appear, “to be glorified in his saints) and admired in all them that believe.” At that day it will be seen that he has indeed no cause to be ashamed to call us brethren;—that he has well sustained a brother’s character, and well performed a brother’s duty; that he has kept back nothing of his Father’s light or his Father’s love from us, for all things that he has heard of his Father he has made known to us; that he has upheld us by his sympathy in the same faith which upheld himself; that he has made us bearers of the same testimony that he bore for his Father, and signs of the same grace that he manifested, in the midst of a world of “despisers that can only behold, and wonder, and perish.” Surely it is no vain thing to have the Son of the Highest calling us brethren. He comes forth from the Father to us as his brethren, and carries us back with him as his brethren to the Father, that we may know the Father as he knows him, and praise the Father as he praises him. He is with us as our brother in all that calls for meek patience, for quiet and simple trust, throughout our whole pilgrimage and warfare here on earth. He presents us to the Father as his brethren,—to be fellow-witnesses with him of the Father’s grace now, and fellow-heirs with him of the Father’s glory hereafter. Such an elder brother is Christ to thee, 0 child of God; truly one who need not be ashamed to call thee brother. Such an elder brother thou wilt find him to be, thou poor prodigal, whosoever thou art, if thou wilt but suffer him to act towards thee now a brother’s part. Far unlike that elder brother in the parable, this elder brother comes to thee in the far country of thine estrangement from God; deals with thee, pleads with thee, expostulates with thee; seizes thee, lays hold of thee, will not willingly let thee go, until thou lettest him take thee home with himself to his Father, waiting to be thine. Come, he cries, I will declare to thee our Father’s name; it is love. I will show thee his nature; it is love. I will open to thee his heart; it is love;—love to thee. Thou hast not known him. Thou hast misunderstood him. Thou hast not done him justice. Thou hast suspected, dreaded, disliked him. But see, here am I to tell thee what he is, and how he feels toward thee. Behold, in me, his gift to thee—to be the propitiation for thy sins—how my Father loveth thee. Yes, 0 my poor brother sinner, chief of sinners as thou art, believe me. Believe, and join me, and join all my redeemed, in the grateful song of praise. Let me have thee, as my brother, to be one of the congregation in the midst of which I am to praise our Father evermore. __________ [1]*The same thought is suggested elsewhere in this Epistle. “But now they”—the patriarchs—“desire a better country, that is, an heavenly: wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for he hath prepared for them a city” (Hebrews 11:16). The meaning evidently is, that God would have been ashamed,— he would have counted it unworthy of himself,—to assume or accept, with reference to his people, a merely nominal and empty title, that did not secure to them a substantial benefit. The meaning is the same here. [2]*I do not consider the Lord’s reply to those who told him of his mother and his brethren standing outside of the crowd, desiring to speak with him, as at all a parallel or equivalent instance;—“Who is my mother, and who are my brethren? . . . . Behold my mother and my brethren! For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother” (Matthew 12:48-50). Evidently the Lord means nothing more than that the moral and spiritual tie which binds him to all his Father’s obedient subjects, is stronger and more sacred than any mere family bond, however close and tender. There is nothing special in the expression “my brethren” or “my brother,”—any more than there is in the expressions “my sister” or “my mother.” [3]* For the Lord spake thus to me with a strong hand, and instructed me, that I should not walk in the way of this people, saying, Say ye not, A confederacy, to all them to whom this people shall say, A confederacy; neither fear ye their fear, nor be afraid. Sanctify the Lord of hosts himself: and let him be your fear, and let him be your dread. And he shall be for a sanctuary: but for a stone of stumbling, and for a rock of offence, to both the houses of Israel; for a gin and for a snare to the inhabitants of Jerusalem. And many among them shall stumble, and fall, and be broken, and be snared, and be taken. Bind up the testimony, seal the law among my disciples. And I will wait upon the Lord, that hideth his face from the house of Jacob, and I will look for him. Behold, I and the children whom the Lord hath given me are for signs and for wonders in Israel from the Lord of hosts, which dwelleth in Mount Zion (Isaiah 8:11-18). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 73: 06.10. APPENDIX 4 -SON LEARNING OBEDIENCE BY SUFFERING ======================================================================== APPENDIX. SCRIPTURAL EXPOSITIONS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. IV. The Son learning Obedience by Suffering. “Though he were a Son, yet learned he obedience by the things which he suffered; and being made perfect, he became the author of eternal salvation unto all them that obey him.”— Hebrews 5:7-9. THE Lord Jesus is here set before us, first, as passing through a painful experience; secondly, as by means of that experience learning a necessary lesson; and thirdly, as becoming in this way qualified to bestow on his obedient people all saving benefits. The experience through which he passes is described not so much in its nature as in its effects. We see the meek and holy sufferer offering up “prayers and supplications.” And these are of no ordinary kind; they are accompanied by “strong crying and tears” (Hebrews 5:7). And if the question is asked,—Why is that sinless one subjected to such an afflictive discipline?—is there anything he needs to acquire at such a cost?—there is a key to the mystery. Son as he is, he has to learn obedience by the things which he suffers; and so to be made perfect. Nor is this all. The gracious end for which he is to learn that lesson and to acquire that perfection is not left to be conjectured. It is that he may become the author of eternal salvation to all them that obey him. The learner, the lesson, the result or issue,—all demand our serious and attentive study. Who and what is the learner? A son; the Son. Can he be a learner simply as the Son? Consider his original nature, dignity, and rank; his co-equality with the Father, as the Eternal Son; of the same substance, equal in power and glory; one with the Father and the Holy Ghost, in the undivided essence of the Godhead, in the mysterious fellowship and mutual relationship of the Trinity, and in all the purpose of the divine mind,—specially with reference to the ordering of the everlasting covenant. Thus essentially one with the Father in nature, and thus intimately related to the Father in person, the Eternal Son can learn no lesson of obedience. But his incarnation renders him capable of doing so;—“Being found in fashion as a man, he became obedient” (Php 2:6-8). In his state of humiliation he learned obedience. And he learned it by becoming obedient even “unto death;” and that death no ordinary one, but “the death of the cross;” death, with the sting of sin, and the curse of the broken law. He learned it, in a word, “by the things which he suffered.” For, even when incarnate, how could he without suffering have learned it? Imagine the Eternal Son, taking upon him the form of a servant; uniting in his own person the two distinct natures, the divine and the human; and the two distinct relationships, that of a son, co-equal with the Father, and that of a servant, under authority to the Father. Conceive thus of the Lord from heaven, placed as Adam was in a sinless and sorrowless garden, under no other obligation than that of conformity to the law, which is his own as well as the Father’s. How would he then and in these circumstances have learned obedience at all? He would have been holy, no doubt. Holiness immaculate and inviolable, stainless and serene, would have characterised his whole moral being. But it could scarcely have been holiness having in it anything of the element of obedience. But introduce now the circumstance of suffering, and of such suffering. Bring this holy one into contact with the results of sin realised on earth, and place him under the responsibilities of sin registered in heaven. Let his life be a life of suffering—of suffering, too, judicial and penal— having in it the bitter ingredients of imputed guiltiness and inflicted wrath. Then truly that God-man is in a position to learn obedience. And the more intense his sense of his filial relationship is, and the more inviolable his holiness, so much the more complete must be the lesson; so much the more thoroughly must we regard him as “though he were a son, yet learning obedience by the things which he suffered.” The meaning of this wonderful economy—this “great mystery of godliness”—“God manifest in the flesh,” and in the flesh “learning obedience by suffering,”—will be better understood when we consider the process, as it were, or the manner, of the lesson; the actual learning of obedience in the school of affliction and pain. But at the very outset, let the character which the Son bore and the position in which he stood, when he was learning obedience by the things which he suffered, be carefully noted. He bore a representative character; he stood in the position of the head and surety of redeemed men. He was the second Adam. It was as the second Adam that he learned obedience. That was the lesson which the first Adam ought to have learned, and failed to learn. And it was his failure that rendered it needful that there should be a second Adam raised up to learn it. There is here, I think, a great truth—a broad general principle—to be announced. The learning of obedience is an indispensable condition of the creature-state itself, or of the creature-relationship to the Supreme. Any one, whoever he may be, whatever his rank and character among the intelligences of the universe—any one placed, whether by his own choice or not, in the state of a creature, or in the relation in which a creature stands to God—must necessarily learn obedience; he has it to learn. And he can learn it only by being tried. It would seem, indeed, to be of the essence of that most marvellous and awful gift which God has associated with intelligence,—the gift or endowment of free will,—the power of spontaneous choice and action which makes intelligence to the creature so high and yet so hazardous a boon,—that obedience, even to the most rightful and reasonable authority, needs to be learned as a lesson or acquired as a habit. Hence, whoever is constituted the head or representative of mankind must learn that lesson and acquire that habit of obedience. That, therefore, was the appointed task of the first Adam as well as of the second. And it may help us to a right understanding of this whole matter if we consider the principle which I have indicated as applicable, in the first instance, to the original state of man, or to the first Adam. I. Thus applied, the principle maybe found to cast some little light on the economy of probation in paradise, on the occasion of man’s temptation and fall. 1. Let us note what man, as originally made, had not to acquire. Personally and perfectly innocent and holy, Adam had nothing to learn in the way of pure tastes or a benign temper. All within being serenity and peace, and all without harmony and repose—had he been left untutored and untaught—his simple, guiltless, guileless, naked character would have expanded—not by any effort, but spontaneously and naturally—into something like that lovely virgin bloom which romantic dreamers have sought to paint as the perfection of uncontaminated humanity. But Adam was not merely an intellectual plant,—or, as it were, mere organised matter, growing or grown into mind. He was a living person, made expressly for personal converse with the living personal God;—made therefore in the image of his Creator;—made after that likeness in respect of high intelligence and holy affections—and above all, in respect of the wondrous faculty of free will. 2. Being so made, what has he to acquire? He has to learn obedience. Many things, I repeat, he has not to learn. All good dispositions are native to him, and not acquired. But obedience is a habit, and he has to learn it. For the learning of it he must be put to school; and to such a school as shall teach obedience alone, and nothing else; not the things he has already by nature, but the thing he needs to learn; not other good qualities or faculties, but obedience merely. 3. In this view, the barer the school the better. The less furniture it has of any sort beyond the mere materials of the single lesson to be learned, the more thoroughly is it fitted to serve the purpose of teaching it The less there is in it of what appeals to anything the scholar already possesses, the more perfectly may it teach the one thing he has to learn,—namely obedience. 4. Now the school to which man was put was the forbidden tree. It was through that tree that he was to learn obedience. All over the garden otherwise, he roamed of his own free will;—giving forth the fragrance and shining forth in the beauty of his own holy innocency of soul;—very much as the plants beneath his feet bloomed into fresh verdure and blossomed into ripe fruit,—or as the animals around; in their harmless gambols, gave ever new exhibitions of beauty, gentleness, and love. But beside the forbidden tree, he was at school; and as a scholar, he had to learn obedience. This indeed was his dignity, as well as his danger. For to be the scholar of God, is more than to be the child of nature. And fascinating as is the charm of virgin innocency—yet, had man used the office of scholar well, he would have purchased for himself a still better degree. 5. And it was the best school he could have had for learning obedience. For it was a school in which he could learn nothing else. It was not a school in which he could learn intelligence;—or exercise and quicken his faculties of thought. That benefit he might have in walking with God, and among the works of God, everywhere, over all the garden. But in the school of the forbidden tree, there was no dealing with his intelligence at all; no appeal to his reason; no attempt to stimulate or satisfy his judgment. Nor was it a school in which he could learn, if he had needed to learn, any good affection of any sort. In God, in one another, in the creatures,—our first parents had ample scope for the indulgence and expansion of all their affections. But in the school of the forbidden tree, the matter upon which the lesson turned had nothing in it with which the affections could deal at all. It was a prohibition and a threat; neither, on the one hand, justified to man’s understanding, as founded on any reason; nor, on the other, coming home in any way to his heart. For it could appeal to no natural sense of propriety, no natural perception of morality, no natural feeling of the sublime, the pathetic, or the honest and good. All the more on that account was it fitted for teaching the single lesson man had to learn, the sole and simple lesson of obedience. The very circumstance, therefore, which some have made an objection to this procedure, is in fact its highest recommendation. That the trial turned on what might seem so insignificant and arbitrary a matter as the mere eating or not eating of the fruit of a particular tree, is the very thing that fits it for being the school in which man is to learn obedience. For, in fact, what else can he learn? He cannot learn, for he is not taught, to understand; he cannot learn, for he is not asked, to approve; he can only learn to obey. And had he learned his lesson right, he would have passed in due time from that school under the discipline of God here below, to some higher home of study in the bosom of God above. He would have been raised from his precarious position of probation, which could not last for ever, to his meet reward in a state of confirmed security and holiness and joy;—having acquired the only thing originally wanting to his perfection; having learned,—not to be good and pure and holy, which he needed not to learn,—but simply to obey. 6. And this, let it be farther noted, he would have learned in a sense through suffering,—not indeed through the suffering of pain, but through the suffering of patience,—through passive submission, not voluntary action. Nor could he otherwise have learned it. All goodness in him being natural or spontaneous, its exercise, even throughout eternity, never could have taught him this lesson of mere obedience. There must be positive restriction,—the formal and express imposing of constraint,—implying, so far, something of the nature of suffering. But by what he suffers, if he will but suffer it, he may learn obedience, and so through suffering be made perfect. To the tasteful and graceful, yet perhaps the somewhat insipid charm of mere natural innocency, there may be added the sterner and riper virtue of tried and tested discipleship. The whole character thus assumes a firmer texture. The gentle influence of good affections meets and coalesces with the more robust staple of habitual obedience to authority. And he comes out of the school in which mere submission has been the only lesson,—instructed, improved, accomplished, as a finished scholar, and not merely a selfunfolding and growing child,—a man in the full development of proved and perfected manhood. Such might have been the schooling of man, and such its issue, had he kept his first estate. II. Returning now to the second Adam, the Lord from heaven, we may be the better able, from the illustrations that have been given, to follow him through some of the actual lessons of that school in which he learned obedience by the things which he suffered. But how shall I venture farther? What instances shall I select of this amazing schooling of such a scholar? I can do nothing more than offer a few general, and generally characteristic, observations. 1. There is this peculiarity running through the whole, that it is still as a Son, or as the Son, that he learneth obedience. There is a vivid apprehension, a blessed realising, of his filial relationship to the Father that never leaves him. The external manifestation of his original and eternal Godhead he laid aside; he made himself of no reputation; he veiled the glory of his divine sonship in a tabernacle of humanity, when he was made flesh and dwelt among us. But his sonship itself he never laid aside. The unspeakable thought, of all that from everlasting to everlasting the Father is to him and he to the Father, was never absent from his mind. “Wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business,” is his prompt reply when called in question for sitting with the Doctors at the age of twelve. It is “his Father’s business” he must be about. So he begins, and so he goes on. Throughout all his work, and amid all his sufferings, he is about “his Father’s business.” He learneth obedience as the Son. Is he charged as a Sabbath breaker—enduring on that account the contradiction of sinners against himself?— “My Father worketh hitherto and I work” (John 5:17), is the reply with which he sustains himself in his obedience to the spirit of the law, against those who could not look beyond the letter. Is he met, when most graciously proclaiming himself as the good Shepherd, with that discouraging question of unbelief, “How long dost thou make us to doubt? If thou be the Christ, tell us plainly”?—What a sense of his filial oneness with the Father pervades his answer! It is evidently, under that trial, the stay of his own soul;—“I and my Father are one” (John 10:30). Or again, is he forced to upbraid the cities wherein his mighty works were done? See how he learns obedience, even here, as to this most dark and trying sorrow,—the seeming failure of his ministry; and how he learns it still as the Son,—“I thank thee, 0 Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes. Even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight” (Matthew 11:25-26). “I thank thee, 0 Father”—“Even so, Father.” And not to multiply examples, let us come to the crisis of his sufferings. Behold him in the garden. Was it otherwise than as a Son that he learned obedience when, having appealed so affectingly to his Father’s pity, he yet uttered so meekly the words of filial resignation, “Father, thy will be done?” Or finally, as he hangs upon the cross, is it not still as a Son that he learns obedience, when he commends in filial faith, as the Son to his Father, first, the souls of them that slew him, and then his own;—“Father, forgive them for they know not what they do;”—“Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.” 2. But though he was the Son, it was a real obedience that he learned by the things which he suffered. His being the Son did not divest the obedience he had to learn of its true and proper character of obedience. Still less did it exempt him, in the learning of it, from its accompanying pain and grief. The very contrary was the effect of his intimate relation of sonship to the Father, and his intimate sense of that relation. It made such obedience as he had to learn all the more painful, and the learning of it all the more trying. For we must remember that as he never, in all his sufferings, lost his apprehension of his filial oneness with the Father, so he never, in any of them, made a stand upon it, as giving him any privilege of exemption, or any power of endurance or escape. This, indeed, was the very temptation of the adversary—to lead him into such a use of his sonship. It was thus that he assailed him when,—immediately after the heavens had been opened at his baptism, and the Holy Ghost had descended upon him like a dove, and a voice from heaven had proclaimed, “This is my beloved Son,”—Jesus was “led up of the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the devil” (Matthew 4:1-10). For what is the devil’s plea? “If thou be the Son of God.” That is his plea, all through the three acts of the temptation. (1.) Why should the Son of God suffer hunger when by the word of his power, as the Son, he has but to speak, and the very stones will become bread? (2.) Why should the Son of God come in lowly guise, disguised as a poor Nazarene, when, as the Son, he may make the summit of his own temple his glorious throne, and summoning his angels, to whom the Father giveth charge over him, cast himself from its pinnacle, as on the wings of the winds and in the chariot of the clouds, making his approach to Israel? (3.) Why, finally, must the Son of God receive his kingdom only after much tribulation, when he may, at once and immediately, as the Son, recover and reclaim it from the hands of the reigning Prince, on the terms of a single act of courtesy—surely a very simple compromise? And how did the Lord meet this threefold temptation—all throughout based upon an appeal to his sonship? Was it not by declining to take advantage of any privilege or prerogative belonging to him as the Son,—either for lightening the pain,—or for covering the shame,—or for abridging the term, of the obedience he had to learn? He is to live, like any other man, by bread, or in any way that God may be pleased to appoint. He is to depend on his Father’s promised help, only in the lowly path of duty as a servant, and not, presuming on his sonship, to tempt the Lord his God. He is not, as the Son, to act as if he were free to make his own terms with the adversary; he is to worship the Lord alone, and him only is he to serve. Thus, from the beginning, Son though he was, he yet learned to obey. And so it was to the end. He might have stood, as he tells us, upon his sonship, and claimed deliverance from his final sufferings. What! he says to the over-zealous disciple, who in the garden drew his sword in his defence, “Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then shall the Scriptures be fulfilled that thus it must be? The cup which my Father giveth me, shall I not drink it?” (Matthew 26:53-54; John 18:11). It was the very cup respecting which he had just been praying in an agony that, if it were possible, it might pass from him. As the Son, he might have prevailed to have it pass from him. But still to the last he persevered in learning obedience. “Father, thy will be done!” 3. It was obedience alone that he learned by the things which he suffered. It was all he had to learn; it was all he could learn. No lesson of holiness was to be taught him by suffering save only the lesson of obedience. There was no lust in him for pain or penance to chastise; no imperfect and unstable virtue for discipline to strengthen and mature. Suffering could not add one gracious feature to the consummate moral beauty of his soul; nor could it be meant to eradicate any root of bitterness, or to quench any hidden flame of desire. Obedience alone was “the peaceable fruit of righteousness” it could yield to him. Hence, through all his sufferings, we find no trace whatever of suffering for mere suffering’s sake; or suffering self-imposed or self-inflicted; or suffering to please men or devils; or suffering, finally, in wanton bravery and defiance of pain. All that he suffered was by the Father’s command, and in execution and accomplishment of the Father’s will. It is undoubtedly true that his sufferings were all, from first to last, voluntary. It was spontaneously, of his own free will, that he gave himself to them all. But still it was in compliance with the Father’s will and for the doing of the Father’s work. It was obedience still, however willing. “No man,” he says, in reference to the crowning instance of his sufferings,—his laying down his life for the sheep,—“No man taketh my life from me, but I lay it down of myself; I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again.” But observe how he instantly and emphatically adds, “This commandment have I received of my Father” (John 10:18). 4. Finally, let it be noted, it was “the obedience” that he thus learned (th.n u[pakoh,n). It was the very obedience needed, not for himself, but for the “many sons” he is to “bring unto glory.” It was the obedience which the first Adam failed to learn that the second Adam learned, by the things which he suffered. The learning of it was not, indeed, by any means so easy, when the second Adam came to repair the damage that the first Adam had done. But the issue is more glorious by far. Let us mark, in this view,—first, the difference between what the first and second representatives of men had to learn;—and secondly, the difference between what might have been the position of all the race, in covenant relation to the first Adam, if he had “learned obedience” through trial—and what actually is the state of believers now, standing in covenant relation to the second Adam, who has, in fact, in a far higher sense, “learned obedience by the things which he suffered.” First, Let us compare, or contrast, the second Adam with the first in the tasks assigned to them respectively. Here the difference is vast. In the first instance, if it could be said that obedience was to be learned through suffering at all, it was through suffering without either sin or the sense of sin—through suffering in no way partaking of a judicial character. It was suffering, in short, allowing it to be properly suffering, neither retributive in its purpose, nor severe in its nature. For, on the one hand, as to its design, it was not punitive or penal, but preventive and probative merely,—intended not to punish but to try. And on the other hand, as to its amount, it implied no actual ordination of evil, but the mere withholding of what might seem to be good—restraint, therefore, merely, and not positive pain. Adam in Paradise would have “learned obedience,” had he simply suffered the abridgment of his absolute discretion, to the extent of abstaining from the forbidden tree. Very different is the task of the second Adam. The scene of his discipline and trial is not the school of an unforfeited and unpolluted paradise, but the school of a condemned cell—the residence of prisoners, guilty, and awaiting execution. The obedience he has to learn, when he takes the place of such criminals, is not mere abstinence from what may condemn them;—it reaches the endurance of that actual condemnation which they have all already incurred. In the capacity in which he has to “learn obedience,” he stands as the representative, not of a race that may fall, but of a people already fallen. And he has to “learn obedience,” to the full extent of undertaking all their liabilities, and answering for all their sins. Ah! what a burden is it that is thus laid on this Divine learner in the school of suffering! It is not the burden merely of keeping his eye from beholding—his heart from coveting—and his hand from touching—a certain forbidden thing. It is the far, far heavier burden of bearing for us the guilt of that first sin which our natural covenant-head, the first Adam, committed,—and of all our sins that have flowed from that dismal source. What did he suffer? And how, by all that he suffered, did he learn obedience? He “bore our sins in his own body on the cross.” He was “made sin” and “made a curse” for us. He bared his bosom to the bolt of wrath that should have scathed and destroyed us for ever. And when the Father said, “Awake 0 sword against my Shepherd, against the man that is my fellow!” the answer of the Son was still the same, “Lo I come, I delight to do thy will 0 God.” Secondly, We may now see how much more precious to us, as well as how much more costly to himself, the attainment of the second Adam is, as compared with what that of the first would have been, even if he had stood. For what comparison can there be between the position we might have occupied, as represented by a mere innocent creature, trained and tried in obedience by a slight and arbitrary test, and the position which we may now occupy, as represented by the very Son of the Highest himself;—and by him as “though he were a Son, yet having learned obedience by the things which he suffered”? In the former case, our position at the best would have been that of a servant reconciled to service; in the latter, it is that of a son taught, 0 how willingly, to obey. For let us remember, the Lord associates and identifies us with himself, in respect of what he personally is to the Father, as well as in respect of what he has learned by the things which he suffered. He makes us one with himself in his sonship, as well as in the obedience which, as the Son, he learned through suffering. In fact, it is the sonship of the second Adam, that makes his “learning of obedience through suffering” so much more precious and profitable, than the first Adam’s success, had he succeeded, would have been. Or rather, it is the combination of these two—the depth to which he descends as suffering for us in obedience to the Father, and the height to which he raises us as one with him in his sonship—that completes his fitness for being our Saviour. It is thus that “being made perfect, he is the author of eternal Salvation unto all them that obey him.” For that is the practical issue of the wondrous education of the Son of God in the school of suffering. 1. He is thus “made perfect.” The expression is remarkable. He himself uses it in anticipation of his sufferings and their glorious issue (Luke 13:31-32). The Pharisees said “Depart hence, for Herod will kill thee.” No! he replies, I am not to be thus hurried. For all Herod’s bloody purpose, I have some days yet for doing good on the earth before I “shall be perfected.” When the time comes, and not before, I shall be perfected: perfected by the very measure Herod proposes when he fain would kill me. To the same effect, using the same word, the Apostle speaks, “It became him, for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing many sons unto glory, to make the Captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings” (Hebrews 2:10). In several different ways, the sufferings of the Lord may be regarded as constituting, or contributing to constitute, his perfection or completeness. For one thing, they fit him for having compassion on his people and sympathising with them. They have the same conflict which he had; the same temptations; the same solicitations and assaults of the adversary. And in all of these they have this double consolation and encouragement. On the one hand, they may remember that Jesus was really tempted like as they are,—that he did not insist or presume upon his power and prerogative as the Son, but was simply like them a servant and a sufferer in the hands of his Father. On the other hand, they may be assured that whatever support the unbroken sense of his Sonship afforded to him, is afforded also to them; inasmuch as they also, in and with him, are sons. For, as he makes himself one with them in their sufferings, so he makes them one with himself in his sonship. But the perfection reached through suffering has reference chiefly, beyond all doubt, to the Lord’s official character and ministry as the great “high-priest of our profession,”—the representative of his people. In that character, he occupies the place of the first Adam in Paradise. And on behalf of those for whom he stands, he has to reach that platform of confirmed acceptance to which Adam would have been raised, when his temporary probation was over, had he “learned obedience” by the thing wherein he was tried. Our great high-priest, standing in this representative position, must be proved as Adam was proved, and perfected as Adam would have been perfected; perfected by passing from a condition of trial to one of finished and complete victory. This was in large measure “the joy that was set before him,” for which “he endured the cross, despising the shame” (Hebrews 12:2). And this joy was perfected, when “God exalted him to be a Prince and a Saviour, for to give repentance to Israel, and forgiveness of sins” (Acts 5:31). 2. Being thus “made perfect, he became the author of eternal salvation.” For now, on the footing of his obedience, “learned by the things which he suffered,”—and rewarded as well as attested by his resurrection to glory,—he is in a condition to bestow, not a contingent or conditional, but a complete salvation; not the temporary enjoyment of an opportunity of salvation, but eternal salvation itself. How grievously do they dishonour him,—how sadly do they detract from the perfection of his priestly character and work,—who conceive of him as merely giving men another chance, as it were, for trying, upon easier terms than before, to win for themselves eternal life. Is this all the effect of his interposition on our behalf?—to put us again upon probation?—that we may try to succeed where our first father failed? No. Let us be sure that the Son, in virtue of that obedience which he “learned through suffering,” and the “perfection” to which he thus attained, is in a position to be to us at once and immediately “the author of eternal salvation.” He is complete for us, and we are complete in him. We are “of God in him,” and he “is of God made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption” (1 Corinthians 1:30). 3. For fully finishing in us what he has fully obtained for us, he requires nothing more than what is reasonable, when he requires the same mind that was in himself. He is the author of eternal salvation to “all them that obey him.” For this obedience on our part is really nothing else than sympathy with Jesus in his obedience. Thus viewed, it is of a twofold kind. We are to obey him by submitting to him in the things which he suffered for us. And we are to obey him by submitting to him in the things which he would have us to suffer with him. In the first place, we obey him when we submit ourselves to his righteousness, or to himself as “the righteousness of God;” when, born of his Spirit and believing his gospel, we enter into his perfection as our great representative, High Priest and surety, and into the completeness of that salvation of which he is become the author. Our first obedience to the Son is to receive the fruit of his obedience. We first honour him by believing in him; renouncing for ever the vain conceit of our being saved by any present or prospective or possible obedience of our own; not seeking to perfect our own peace with God, but yielding ourselves up to him who is our peace, already perfected. Let us receive him, as the author to us personally of “eternal salvation.” Let us be sure that the obedience he learned as the Son is infinitely perfect,—as the sufferings by which as the Son he learned it are infinitely precious. There is a perfection of merit in the obedience to justify us wholly,—as there is a perfection of efficacy in the sufferings to atone for all our sins. Let us not be disobedient to him when he asks us to submit to him, in his thus doing all and bearing all that, in the view of his Father’s righteous government and law, was needful for our eternal salvation. Then, let us submit to him,—as in what he obediently suffered for us,—so in what he calls us obediently to suffer with him. Let us bear this reproach; take his yoke upon us; take up his cross; fill up the measure of his sufferings. And let us do all this in the spirit of simple obedience: not as being profitable to him, or rendering any favour or service that can avail him, or doing any great thing, or exercising any great virtue; but simply as, in and with him, “learning obedience through endurance and suffering.” For indeed it is a great thing to be thus going about every duty, enduring every sorrow, submitting to every privation, simply as like-minded with him,—obedient to him as he was to the Father. Truly, thus suffering with him, we may expect to be glorified together; glorified in the full joy and liberty of the day of the manifestation of the sons of God. THE END. Printed by R. CLARK, Edinburgh. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 74: 07.00. TWO GREAT COMMANDMENTS ======================================================================== Two Great Commandments (1860) Introductory Discourse Chapter One. Consecration to God Chapter One concluded. Introductory Discourse Two Great Commandments INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. Romans 12:1-21 is usually regarded as a section complete in itself. Romans 13:1-14, or at least Romans 13:1-10, might perhaps be taken in as part of the section. The topic there discussed, - which is, the duty of Christians as members of civil society - the obedience which they owe to their civil rulers and the obligations under which they lie to their fellow-subjects, - fits in well enough to those which occupy the twelfth chapter. And the pithy and emphatic maxim about charity or love, - " Love worketh no ill to his neighbour; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law," - would form a not unsuitable close to a series of practical lessons which all turn on the cultivation of that grace or virtue of love, in the different forms or modifications of it which different relations and circumstances require. I am inclined, however, to adhere to what seems to be the ordinary opinion. The thirteenth and subsequent chapters embrace several questions of a somewhat casuistical nature, and of rather difficult solution, apt to arise in particular states of the Church and the world. The twelfth is quite general and comprehensive. It is not of course to be disconnected from the preceding and following portions of the Epistle, - especially from the preceding. But as a summary of Christian ethics, it is, when taken by itself, an entire whole ; - having, if I may so say, its own beginning, middle, and end. Considered in that light, the summary has always commanded the warm admiration, not of divines only, but of moralists also ; - and is, indeed, rather a favourite with a class of persons who are fond of praising the preceptive part of Christianity at the expense of those peculiar dogmas which they regard as hard and mystical. Even Christian readers themselves, perhaps, have been apt to feel as if the moral beauty and simplicity of the exhortations of this chapter were a relief:, after the more abstruse matters of doctrine which have strained and taxed their attention so severely in what goes before. One object of the present volume is to modify any such impression, and to show how thoroughly the ethics of the Gospel are impregnated with the spirit of its theology. Not merely does the word of connection or inference in the first verse, - " therefore," - warrant the general conclusion, that it is upon the views given in the previous chapters of the Divine Sovereignty, first in the grace of justification, and then in the grace of election, that the precepts of the present chapter all hang ; - but when these precepts come to be examined in detail, they are found, one and all of them, to embody the principle, that man’s right conduct, in all the relations in which he is placed, consists essentially in his knowing, and believing, and sympathizing with what may be called the conduct of God; insomuch that, in every instance, man feels and acts rightly just in proportion as he understands, by divine teaching, how God himself feels and acts in his great plan of saving mercy. I believe that what is required of me, in every department of duty, is, that, on the one hand, I apprehend God’s sovereign grace, in his justification of the unrighteous through faith in the righteousness of his Son, and in his choice and calling of the unworthy and the unwilling according to his own mere good pleasure; and then, on the other hand, that apprehending this sovereign grace in its immediate personal application to me, and as ruling God’s treatment of me, I enter into the spirit of it, and apply it myself to all with whom I have anything to do, for the ruling of my treatment of them. Now these are the two themes which occupy the whole doctrinal part of the Epistle ; - the sovereignty of God’s grace in justification, and the sovereignty of his grace in election and vocation; - the one being discussed in the first eight chapters, and the other in the ninth, tenth, and eleventh. I assume the teaching of these chapters upon both of these views of God’s grace; and I endeavour, with reference to Romans 12:1-21 as a whole, and with reference to its precepts in detail, to bring out the amazing harmony and identity that there are between that grace of God and every duty which, on the ground of it, he requires of them that believe. The plan which I have adopted, dividing the chapter into three parts, is explained and vindicated as I proceed from verse to verse in my exposition. It is not necessary to enter upon a formal defence of it beforehand; I trust to its approving itself in the course of its detailed development.. I may observe, however, that down to Romans 12:1-8, there is little or no room for doubt. Believers are in the first place (Romans 12:1-2), summoned to a personal dealing, each for himself, directly and immediately with God.. They are to consecrate themselves to God, and separate themselves from the world, for the proving of the will of God; and this they are to do as individuals, - not jointly, but severally. Then, in the second place, (Romans 12:3-8) they form themselves, or find themselves formed, into a collective body, in which they have all their separate gifts, and functions, and offices; while yet such order and mutual subordination reign that they all act in harmony, - not only severally, but jointly also. Thus far, the arrangement is clear enough. After Romans 12:8, however, there might at first sight seem to be a mere miscellaneous string of good advices, some having reference to the Christian’s duty in the Church, others to his duty towards the world, and others again partly to both, but all mingled together, as one would say, very much at random. Thus the ninth verse brings in the duty of universal charity, or love, in the midst of precepts evidently bearing upon the fellowship of Christians as such; whereas again in the fifteenth and sixteenth verses, or at all events in the latter, we have what looks like a counsel of Christian brotherhood, while both before and after the teaching refers to the treatment of persecutors. Hence I believe the notion has come to prevail, that beyond Romans 12:1-8 there is no exact order to be traced in the chapter. I am persuaded that this is a mistake, and that it has led to an inadequate interpretatipn, to say the least, of some of the verses in question. I have endeavoured to show how the introduction of the general commandment of love (Romans 12:9) qualifies the special commandment of brotherly love (Romans 12:10); and also how the enjoining of sympathy (Romans 12:15), and even apparently of unanimity (Romans 12:16),. is very much to the purpose in considering how a hostile world is to be treated. I look at those precepts which appear to be out of their place, and inquire what, supposing that they are in their place, is their bearing in the connection in which they actually stand; and in doing so, I begin to find in them a force and point not otherwise observed. I trace an orderly sequence in the whole train of thought, as the writer would lead believers in Jesus to apprehend what they are to God, as his peculiar people; what they are in respect of their union among themselves, and their organization into one body, for the purposes of fellowship and of work; and what they are in respect of their position in a hostile world, and the duties which they owe to "them that are without." It is this view that has reconciled me to the Title suggested by a friend for my treatise. I do not profess formally to discuss the "two great commandments" in connection with my theme. But having sought to enter into the meaning of Paul’s ethical directory, without any immediate reference to the Lord’s summary, I have noticed with much interest how the law or principle of love, given forth as a pure ray of light from the Sun of Righteousness, is as it were broken up in its application to the details of duty ; - how, as if he were giving a practical commentary on his Master’s saying, the Apostle brings out the working of supreme. love to our God in self-consecration, transformation, and obedience; and brings out also the working of equal love to our neighbour, - our loving him as ourselves, - in Christian brotherhood among believers, and Christian humanity towards all men. There is no attempt in this work to deal with the chapter critically, or even, in the strict sense, exegetically. If that had been my aim, I must have discussed some questions of interpretation which I have not even raised, and dwelt upon some sentences and clauses on which I have only slightly touched. It is to be remembered, however, that there are not any considerable critical or exegetical difficulties in the passage. Of the various readings, two only are noticeable, not for any force of external evidence in their favour, - the weight of manuscript authority, both in quantity and in quality, being decidedly against them ; - but because they illustrate the way in which alterations of the text have sometimes crept in, through the prejudice or erroneous judgment of transcribers. Thus in the thirteenth verse, some copies have, instead of distributing or ministering to the "necessities" of saints, ministering to their "memories"; - an alteration evidently savouring of that undue reverence for the departed which early began to prevail in the Church, and ultimately became worship. Again at Romans 12:11, the clause, serving "the Lord," is in a considerable number of manuscripts, serving "the time," or "season" . The copyist apparently thought that the idea of "serving the Lord" was too general to come in among the specific directions with which it is joined, and therefore be made it "serving the time," - that is, acting in conformity or in obedience to the time or season; an injunction not very appropriate or emphatic, and not very much in accordance with what Paul elsewhere says about being diligent in season and out of season. That the received text, as it stands, has a relevant meaning, I have endeavoured to show. Much has been made, in former times, by theologians, both Romanist and Protestant, of the expression in Romans 12:6, "the proportion" or the analogy "of faith." It has been used, in fact, as a sort of proof text to support a principle of interpretation of very wide application, and requiring somewhat delicate handling. The principle is this, - that in fixing the meaning of any particular passage, regard is to be had to the general strain of the teaching of Scripture, and of the system of truth as understood and held by the Church Catholic. However sound the principle may be, within due limits, it derives support from the passage now in question; in which it cannot be an objective measure or standard of faith that is intended, but rather the inward, subjective kind, or amount of conviction which a man has in himself. Having formed that opinion, I have not deemed it needful to dwell on the phrase, "the proportion of faith," or to discuss the principle of interpretation which it has been supposed to countenance; since I take it to mean simply that he who prophesies should in doing so go to the full extent of the faith wrought in him, or, as I have expressed it, should prophesy - " believing all that he says, and saying all that he believes" (see page 119). I am glad to find that I may appeal in support of my opinion to so high an authority as Alford. Had my plan been different from what it is, I must have gone much more fully into the consideration of the topic treated of in the fourth and following verses, taken in connection with Paul’s teaching in his First Epistle to the Corinthians, (1 Corinthians 12:1-31) where the same subject is handled at greater length. I am aware that I have thus been led to omit some topics of interest regarding the constitution and organization of the Church, whether viewed as an unseen, spiritual fellowship, or as an outstanding society in the world. But the discussion of these topics would have drawn me away from the more immediate design of the Apostle’s discourse; which is not to lay down an ecclesiastical platform, but to enforce personal obligations. For much the same reason, I have dealt somewhat summarily with the phrase in the twentieth verse, "coals of fire," or "burning coals ;" contenting myself with a single reference to the passage in the Old Testament which the Apostle manifestly has in view (Proverbs 25:21-22). Several other Old Testament texts might have been exegetically examined, and might have been found very much to the purpose. An inquiry of deepest interest would thus have been opened up, into the harmony of the teaching of both Testaments, not only as to the penal justice of God, but as to the sentiments with which his saints regard the execution of its righteous awards. The inquiry, however, would demand, and deserve, a separate treatise. It would demolish, I am persuaded, the notion of there being any real difference between the Christian dispensation and those which preceded it, on the subject of God’s treatment of his enemies and his people’s acquiescence and sympathy therein; and would make it clear, that, with all the fuller discoveries of his love which we have in the Gospel, we are called all the more on that account to realize, for ourselves and for others, the dark, overhanging cloud of ultimate retribution. But any such discussion as that would have led me away from the line I had prescribed to myself. Of the texts indicated, it is enough to say, that since they, one and all of them, apply the phrase exclusively to the infliction of judicial vengeance, for the vindication of the righteous and the punishment of the ungodly, they confirm the opinion that we cannot interpret the Apostle’s precept (ver. 20) as if it contemplated only a good issue of kindness shown to an enemy; that its meaning is not exhausted unless we hold it to have fully in view the possibility of the issue being exactly the reverse. What I wish to be understood, in short, is, that the present treatise is entirely practical. The Discourses when preached were meant to be practical; and they are published nearly as they were delivered. When I call them practical, however, I mean practical in an evangelical point of view. I endeavour, throughout, to carry the stream of sound doctrine through all the departments of duty that I have to survey. In particular, as the chapter begins with a pointed reference to Sacrifice, and ends with a very solemn appeal to Judgment, so I think there is a propriety in viewing the whole of this brief code of Christian ethics, as well as every part of it, in the light of those high attributes of the Divine character, and those great principles of the Divine government, of which the first and second advents of Christ may be said to be the exponents. I start with the assumption of the Atonement made by Christ at his first coming being a real satisfaction to Divine justice, through his real substitution of himself in the room of the guilty who are obnoxious to justice. And I can find no meaning in the very solemn closing verses of the chapter unless they involve the reality of wrath and retribution, to be consummated when the Lord cometh again. I solicit special attention, in this view, to the last two or three Discourses in the volume. For, however modern theological refinement may shrink from any notion of righteousness that is not remedial, and any notion of punishment that is not resolvable into correction, I am fully persuaded that it is fatal, not less to the high and healthy tone of Christian morals than to the living power and influence of Christian faith, to repudiate or keep in the back-ground the doctrine or fact of judicial retribution. That doctrine, or fact, I take to be the essence of law and government. Without it, neither the Divine sovereignty nor human responsibiity, - neither the sovereignty which is God’s prerogative as a moral ruler, nor the responsibility which is man’s dignity as a free moral agent, - can, in my opinion, be safe. On any system which excludes that element, God is dishonoured, and man must in the long run be degraded. I recognise it alike in the theology and in the ethics of Paul. R.S.O. EDINBURGH, February 1860. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 75: 07.01. TWO GREAT COMMANDMENTS ======================================================================== Chapter One. Consecration to God Chapter One THE CHRISTIAN IN HIS RELATION TO GOD. 1. CONSECRATION TO GOD. "I beseech you, therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service." - Romans 12:1. BELIEVERS in Christ are consecrated to God. This is the first element in their relation to him ; the second being separation from the world. They are addressed as priests; called to execute a priestly office, - to "present a sacrifice." And this implies consecration to God. In one view, it is a high calling. "Ye are a royal priesthood," is the testimony of the Apostle Peter. " Thou hast redeemed us to God by thy blood," is the new song of the saved, " and hast made us unto our God kings and priests." In another view, it is a humble position. A priest is ordained to minister and serve at the altar. In this passage, it is not so much the high dignity of the priestly office as its humble ministry, that is brought out. Still it is, in every view of it, a sacred position ; a position of consecration to God. Paul has been touching some of those deep, dread mysteries which shroud in impenetrable gloom the eternal throne and the eternal world; mysteries which only thicken into darker midnight the more we try to pierce them. For the sovereignty of God, in its bearing on the ultimate issues of his providence, and on the final destinies of the creatures whom he has made intelligent and free, must ever be inscrutable. Paul, accordingly, closes the great argument which he has been maintaining for the Divine prerogative, with a solemn ejaculation, implying utter impotency and prostration: "0 the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God ! how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past ftnding out !" (Romans 11:33). To silence, however, where he cannot satisfy, he appeals abruptly to any who would still raise questions. By what right he asks, do you presume to judge or to interrogate the Supreme ? Have you been in his confidence from the first? Or must he advise with you? Or have you any such claim on him as to lay him under an obligation to give you satisfaction? "For who hath known the mind of the Lord? or who hath been his counsellor? or who hath first given to him, and it shall be recompensed unto him again ?" (Romans 11:34-35) Are you the Lord s confidants? Are you the Lord’s councillors? Are you the Lord’s creditors? If not, how are you entitled to pry into those "secret things" which "belong to the Lord your God ?" "The things which are revealed belong to you and to your children." But as to the secret things which belong to him, he is not in any way bound to you; nor with reference to them can you demand that he should discover more of his plans to you than he sees fit; "For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen." (Romans 11:36) Your becoming attitude is that of the Psalmist: "Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine eyes lofty: neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in things too high for me. Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child. Let Israel hope in the Lord from henceforth and for ever" (Psalms 131:1-3) We are then in our right place, when, instead of aspiring to master, as critics, the whole mind and will of God, we thankfully consent to learn, as children, what it is his pleasure to teach. He is not dependent on us: he is not indebted to us. The dependence and the debt of obligation are all on our side. We are not competent to dictate or give lessons to him. We are children and scholars under his training. And the training is for service. We are to be, not advisers or judges, but ministers, servants, priests. "I beseech you, therefore, brethren," instead of aspiring to be the confidants, or the councillors, or the creditors of the Lord, to assume the office and discharge the functions of the priesthood. For the priesthood is to be considered as a ministry and service. It was so to Him with whom we are associated in its exercise. "The Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his hfe a ransom for many." So he came to do the business of his priesthood. So we are summoned to do the business of our priesthood. The business of his priesthood was to "give his life a ransom for many." The business of our priesthood is to "present our bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is our reasonable service." From this general account of what Christians have to do, as consecrated to God, in the character of priests, the following particulars may be drawn out in detail: - I. There is to be a sacrifice: "I beseech you, brethren, that ye present a sacrifice." II. It must be a sacrifice that fulfils two conditions: it must be such as may righteously find acceptance in the sight of God, and such as may reasonably be required and expected at the hands of man: "I beseech you that ye present a sacrifice ;" such as shall, on the one hand, be "acceptable to God;" and such as shall, on the other hand, and on your part, be "a reasonable service." III. If it is to fulfil these two conditions, the sacrifice must possess the two qualities of life and holiness: "I beseech you that ye present a living sacrifice, holy ; " - for such a sacrifice alone can be acceptable to God; such a sacrifice alone can be your reasonable service. IV. The substance or matter of the sacrifice is mdicated; it is to consist of "your bodies," your persons, yourselves: "I beseech you that ye present your bodies." V. The motive also is indicated which is to prompt the sacrifice: "I beseech you, brethren, by the mercies of God." Under these heads, the sacrifice which as Christians, bearing the character of priests, we have to present to God may be considered; and the Connection and correspondence, as well as the difference, between it and the sacrifice of Christ may be traced. The connection and correspondence will be found, if we rightly apprehend the Spirit’s teaching, to be very close. 1. - THE SACRIFICE: ITS NATURE. "I beseech you that ye present a sacrifice." - Romans 12:1. There is to be a sacrifice. Priests are not to approach to God empty handed. "Bring an offering and come into his courts ;" so runs their summons. This law applies to the High Priest as well as to ordinary priests. It applies pre-eminently to the High Priest. "Every high priest is ordained to offer gifts and sacrifices; wherefore it is of necessity that this one," our great High Priest, Christ, "have somewhat also to offer" (Hebrews 8:3). So far, Christians who are priests, and Christ who alone is the High Priest, have this in common, that they as well as he have to present a sacrifice. But there is a wide and essential distinction. Any sacrifice which we as priests can present, must be of an entirely different nature from what Christ, the High Priest, presents. His sacrifice is, in the strict and proper sense of the term, a sacrifice of atonement. His sacrifice alone can be so. Our sacrifice is a sacrifice of thanksgiving and praise. This is a distinction recognised in the Levitical economy. in that economy, there were atoning sacrifices, designed to be effectual for the expiation of guilt and the reconciliation of offenders to God. Of this kind, in particular, were the sacrifices appointed for the great annual day of atonement, when the high priest entered within the veil with the blood of bulls and of goats, "which he offered for himself and for the errors of the people." The sacrifice of Christ is represented in the New Testament as exactly of the same character with these sacrifices, only infinitely more efficacious. Thus the Apostle writing to tile Hebrews reasons: "If the blood of bulls and of goats, and the ashes of an heifer sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth to the purifying of the flesh: how much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead works to serve the living God?" (Hebrews 9:13-14) In the offering of a sacrifice of this kind, Christ, our High Priest, stands alone. Into his ministry of atonement, his propitiatory work, we may not, as priests, intrude. But there were sacrifices of another kind under the law; sacrifices of praise and thanksgiving, offered in acknowledgment of the sovereignty and bounty of God, and as pledges of dependence and gratitude. These sacrifices had nothing to do with the cancelling of guilt and the restoration of the guilty party to favour. They did not make peace. They proceeded on the faith of peace being otherwise made, by a previous sacrifice of atonement. They were, in fact, expressions of thankfulness on that account. The sacrifice of Cain was a sacrifice of thanksgiving. And as a sacrifice of thanksgiving, it would have been legitimate and right, if it had been preceded by the ordained sacrifice of atonement. The sacrifice of Abel was a sacrifice of atonement. And undoubtedly, if his life had been spared, it would have been followed up by an appropriate sacrifice of praise. Having offered "of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof ;" and having evidence of the acceptance of his offering, in the "light of God s reconciled countenance lifted up upon him," and "the love of God shed abroad in his heart by the Holy Ghost being given to him ;" he would gladly and gratefully have "brought of the fruit of the ground an offering" of thanksgiving and praise "to the Lord." And this now is our ministry as priests. This is all our ministry. The ministry of atonement is not ours, either for others or for ourselves. That ministry Christ alone exercises. "He treads the wine-press alone," in his work of bloody propitiation, as well as in his work of bloody judgment, "and of the people there is none with him." All the more may the ministry of thankoffering be ours. For our pardon and peace, our acceptance and justification, we have nothing to offer, we have nothing to give. The Apostle calls for no sacrifice at our hands for the purpose of cleansing us from sin and restoring us to favour. So far as that matter is concerned, he uniformly points our view exclusively to the one only sacrifice of the one only High Priest: "We are ambassadors for Christ as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God. For he hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God In him" (2 Corinthians 5:20-21). But now, upon the supposition that we are reconciled, freely, effectually, thoroughly reconciled, through faith in the great Atonement, the Apostle calls for some suitable offering of praise. He tells us that the atoning ministry of the High Priest, thus available on our behalf opens the way for a graceful and grateful ministry of thanksgiving: "I beseech you, brethren, that ye present a sacrifice." 11. - THE SACRIFICE: ITS CONDITIONS. " I beseech you, brethren, that ye present a sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service. " - Romans 12:1. The nature of the sacrifice which, as priests, Christians are called to present, having been ascertained, the next point is to consider the general principles which ought to determine the character of the matter, or material, to he used in the sacrifice, or of which the sacrifice is to consist. If there is to be a sacrifice of thanksgiving and praise, proceeding upon the faith of a sacrifice of atonement having been offered and accepted, let it be a suitable sacrifice. Let it be a sacrifice that fulfils these two indispensable conditions: let it be, as regards him to whom it is presented, "acceptable to God ;" let it also be, as regards you who present it, "your reasonable service." Of the sacrifice of atonement which our great High Priest has to present, it may with equal justice be said that it must fulfil these two conditions. To that sacrifice also - to that sacrifice primarily - they apply, as conditions. When a ransom was to be found for sinful man, it was necessary on the one hand, that it should be such a ransom as it might be worthy of God to accept; and on the other hand, that it should be such a raasom as it might be reasonable to expect should be offered on behalf of reasonable creatures. The character and nature of the offended party, God, the holy lawgiver and righteous judge; the character and nature of the offending party, man, a free and intelligent being, made in the image of God; and the relation be tween the parties, implying just condemnation on the one side and guilty enmity on the other; all must be taken into account. The sacrifice must bear some adequate proportion, or suitable relation, to the majesty of violated law and the unforced responsibility of its violators, it must have in it worth and value enough to meet the case of God’s sovereign authority having been outraged, and to meet also the case of man’s conscience having become burdened and defiled. It must be sufficient to satisfy Divine justice; and sufficient also to assuage the anguish of genuine remorse and shame. Tried by this test, it is easy to see how the blood of bulls and of goats can never take away sin. The substitution of a senseless, unconsenting animal, as a victim or ransom, in. the room and stead of a race which has intelligently and wilfully sinned, is felt to be, upon every principle of common sense and reason, as well as of right religious feeling, an utterly inadequate atonement. There is no propriety or suitableness in the idea of the death of such a substitute being accepted as an equivalent for the execution of the sentence upon the guilty. The law cannot in that way be vindicated. The Lawgiver cannot on that ground be warranted in treating offenders as if they had never sinned; or as if they had themselves suffered the penalty, and come out from the suffering of it, pure and upright. Nor can such a vicarious endurance of my punishment, by a bull, or goat, or ram, or is mb, held to represent me, satisfy my own conviction of right and my own consciousness of wrong. Whatever may come of my controversy with my Maker, I instinctively feel that these animal sacrifices cannot avail for its settlement ; - no; nor any formal observances I may be inclined to put in their place. "The blood of bulls and of goats cannot take away sin." "None can by any means redeem his brother," or ransom his own soul. The conditions which it was necessary that the High Priest’s sacrifice of atonement should fulfil must be fulfilled also by the sacrifice of praise which believers, as priests, are to present. This sacrifice of theirs must be in accordance with what God is, and with what they are. In particular, it must be in accordance with what God is to them, and with what they are to God. Let it be remembered that we present our sacrifice of praise, as priests, on the footing of the High Priest’s sacrifice of atonement being on our behalf offered and accepted; on the footing of our personal interest by faith in its efficacy and fruit. Upon that footing, what is the idea which we are called to entertain of the God to whom we have to present our thank-offering? "God is a spirit ; and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth. The Father seeketh such to worship him." He is weary and impatient of all other worship. "My son, give me thy heart," is his demand. That we may be in a condition, and may be made willing, to give him our heart, - be redeems us to himself by the blood of Christ, and renews us by the power of the Holy Ghost. He, therefore, to whom we are to present our sacrifice is a spirit, requiring spiritual worship. And we, who are to present the sacrifice, are spiritual men. "Now he that is spiritual judgeth all things" (1 Corinthians 2:15). We can judge, therefore, what may be fairly regarded as our "reasonable service;" what is the sort of service that may be reasonably expected and required, as a sacrifice of praise, at our hands, if God is a spirit and we are spiritual men. And this we may the rather do, when we consider the relation now subsisting - the relation which ought to subsjst - between our God, who is a spirit, and ourselves who are spiritual men. Through that one sacrifice of propitiation presented by the High Priest on our behalf, there is peace, friendship, reconciliation. All our guilt is expiated: all our sin is purged. We are no longer treated as guilty criminals under a respite. We are accepted as righteous in the sight of God. We are adopted as children in his Son: we receive "the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, Abba, Father" (Galatians 4:6). Now it is as thus knowing God, who is a spirit; knowing thus, also, ourselves as spiritual men; and knowing, above all, the footing on which we stand with our God and Father ; - that we are called, as priests, to present a sacrifice of praise. May we not decide and determine for ourselves, according to these considerations, what sort of sacrifice is suitable and appropriate? what is worthy of God? what is worthy of ourselves? What sort of sacrifice may God be expected to accept? What sort of sacrifice, in the full view of all the circumstances, may be regarded as our "reasonable service ?" At all events, tried by such a test, how miserably will many a sacrifice and service that we are apt to present to God fail and be found wanting! Form, ceremony, routine; heartless prayers, however long; ostentatious alms, however large; bodily exercise, whether in the way of easy compliance with outward rites, or in the way of painful inward self-mortification ; enforced obedience; reluctant abstinence from pleasure ; the cold and cheerless performance of duty; all or any of these kinds of worship - all similar methods of serving God - we can bring to this criterion. Is it such a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving that a reconciled God and Father should in fairness be asked to accept? Is it such a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving that we, his reconciled children, may be reasonably asked to offer? Is it such a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving that should signalize and seal so thorough a repairing of the breach caused by sin between our God and us, as that which the High Priest’s sacrifice of atonement effects? Surely, if it is felt by the universal moral instinct of all men to be true, that the blood of bulls and of goats cannot take away sin, - it must, be felt also by the universal spiritual instinct, of all those whose sins are taken away, by the blood of a better ransom, to be not less true, that formal worship, or obedience rendered in the spirit of bondage, is not the sacrifice which a redeeming God can worthily accept, and is not a "reasonable service" on the part of the people whom he redeems. 111. - THE SACRIFICE: ITS QUALITIES. "I beseech you that ye present a living sacrifice, holy." - Romans 12:1. The sacrifice which Christians present, as priests, must possess two qualities which formal worship, or obedience rendered in the spirit of bondage, is sure to want. It must possess the qualities of life and holiness. Without these qualities it cannot fulfil the two indispensable conditions; it cannot be either an acceptable offering to God, or, on our part, a reasonable service. The sacrifice must be living and holy: "I beseech you that ye present a living sacrifice, holy." It was necessary that the sacrifice of atonement which our High Priest was ordained to presenb should possess these two qualities. It must be living and holy. It must have in it life and holiness. Life must belong to it. And what life? Not merely animal life, the life that is common to all sentient and moving creatures; not merely, in addition to that, intelligent life, the life that characterizes all beings capable of thought and voluntary choice ; but spiritual life: life in the highest sense; the very life which those on whose behalf the sacrifice of atonement is presented lost, when they fell into that state which makes a sacrifice of atonement necessary. If a ransom is to be found, - an adequate and suitable substitute for those who have ceased to live, as they were originally made and meant to live, in the favour and loving-kindness of God, and have become dead under his sentence of righteous condemnation, - it must be a ransom, a substitute, having the life which they once had; exempt and free from the death which they have incurred. A living sacrifice of atonement alone can suffice; a sacrifice of atonement having the quality of life; of that life which consists in a right standing with God; in complete exemption from his condemnation, and the complete enjoyment of his favour and loving- kindness. And the sacrifice must be holy also. As it must have life forfeited by no guilt, liable to no sentence of death; so it must have holiness tainted by no corruption. Let either guilt or corruption - let either death or sin - belong, by whatever tenure, hereditary or personal, to the ransom or victim that is to be the atoning sacrifice presented by the High Priest on behalf of guilty sinners; - it. is not such a sacrifice as God, the Lawgiver, can be justified in accepting as a compensation for the breaking of his law; it is not such a sacrifice as can be considered a reasonable service on behalf of the breakers of that law, - if it is to exempt them from the penalty which they have incurred, through the vicarious endurance of that penalty by a worthy substitute in their stead. The dead and unholy cannot be ransomed or redeemed, if the only sacrifice provided for that end is itself involved in their death and unholiness. "Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world," is a welcome call to sinners, and to me, the chief of sinners. But if that very Lamb of God that is to take away the sin of the world, is involved in that very sin of the world which is to be taken away, where, alas! is my hope? Thus the sacrifice of atonement presented by the High Priest for us must be free alike from the condemnation and from the corruption, from the death and from the defilement, of our sin. It must be "a living sacrifice, holy." And so, also, must be the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving which, as priests, we are to be always presenting; it must be "a living sacrifice, holy." It must partake of the character of the sacrifice of atonement, in immediate connection with which it is presented. It is by faith in the sacrifice of atonement that we present the sacrifice of praise. This last sacrifice is the fruit of the first; and indeed, in some sense, a continuation of it. We enter into the spirit, while we appropriate the efficacy, of our great High Priest’s sacrifice of atonement, as a living sacrifice and holy. We become one, as priests, with him who, as High Priest, presents it. We become one with him in his Presenting of it. And being one with him who is the High Priest, we go on, as priests, to present our sacrifice of praise. We cannot, in such circumstances, think of presenting any sacrifice of praise that is not in keeping and in harmony with the High Priest’s sacrifice of atonement. We cannot ask God to accept, we cannot offer as our reasonable service, any tribute of gratitude, any sacrifice of thanksgiving, that does not possess the qualities which impart worth and efficacy to the High Priest’s great propitiation. Ours, like his, must be a sacrifice, living and holy. IV. - THE SACRIFICE: ITS MATTER. "I beseech you that ye present your bodies a sacrifice." - Romans 12:1. The nature of the sacrifice as a sacrifice of praise, as well as the indispensable conditions and qualities of it, having been considered, the next inquiry relates to the substance or matter of the sacrifice. What shall it be? Our bodies: "I beseech you that ye present your bodies a sacrifice." The same phraseology is used when it is the High Priest’s sacrifice of atonement that is in question. "We are sanctified," it is said, we are cleansed from the guilt of sin, "through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all" (Hebrews 10:10). It is the entire person of Christ that is there meant. He offered himself That was his sacrifice of atonement. The offering of ourselves is our sacrifice of thanksgiving. But how can there be any parallel or analogy here? How can there be any correspondence, in respect of life and holiness, between Christ s person, offered as a sacrifice of atonement, - and mine, offered as a sacrifice of praise? That Christ, the High Priest, may offer his body, or present himself, as a sacrifice of atonement, living and holy, I can understand. As to his life, I read what his beloved disciple records as part of his teaching in his humiliation: "Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that I might take it again. No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. This cornmandment have I received of my Father" (John 10:17-18). I read also what that same beloved disciple records as a voice from his beloved Master in his exaltation: "I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, be hold, I am alive for evermore, Amen" (Revelation 1:18). He has life; life forfeited by no guilt, liable to no condemnation or death. When he offers, or presents, himself as a substitute for the dead, the guilty, the condemned, he offers, or presents, himself a living sacrifice. His life; his right to live, according to the highest idea of life; his prerogative of life in the favour of God, in the bosom of the Father ;cannot be challenged or impugned. He is not under any sentence of condemnation, he is not doomed to die a penal death on his own account. No fault, therefore, can be found with him on that score, when he offers himself as willing to be the substitute of the guilty. Nor can any objection be taken on the score of his being one of our race, as if that involved any compromise or surrender of his essential holiness, or any participation in our sin. His holiness is still as untarnished, as his life is unforfeited and uncondemned. It was needful that he should become one of us, that he should become one with us, if he was to present himself as a sacrifice of atonement in our stead. And, without a miracle, there might be difficulty in his taking our nature, without taking also our corruption and criminality ; - which if he had taken, his offering of himself in our stead would have been in vain. But it is miraculously otherwise arranged. He is essentially the living one, the holy one, in respect of his divine nature. And even when he associates the human nature with that divine nature, so as to constitute one person, Emmanuel, God with us, - the Word made flesh, - Jesus, saving his people from their sins, - he is still the living one and the holy one. A sacrifice of atonement is needed, a ransom to deliver from going down to the pit. The sacrifice or ransom, in order to fulfil the twofold condition of its being such as God may accept and such as may be a suitable and reasonable service of propitiation for man’s sin, must be living and holy. It must possess the qualities of life and holiness; life in God’s favour forfeited by no guilt; holiness unstained by any taint of pollution. Such a sacrifice of atonement is found in Christ. He is the living one. He "lays down his life of himself." He is "holy, harmless, undefiled, and separate from sinners." "He offers himself without spot to God" (John 10:18; Hebrews 7:26; Hebrews 9:14). Now our sacrifice of praise must partake of the qualities of his sacrifice of atonement. It must be living and holy. But how may that be, if it is our bodies, our persons, ourselves, that we are to present as the sacrifice? ‘Woe is me! some poor soul may be heard to cry out, ‘I am asked to present a thank-offering and sacrifice of praise. It is a just demand; a gracious invitation. Fain would I comply with it. - But the sacrifice, I am told, must be living and holy. - Certainly, I answer, ‘it is most right and fitting that it should be so. - But I am further told that it must be myself; myself bodily; my very self. - Alas! alas! are life and holiness in me, that I should furnish in my own person the material of this sacrifice! - Life and holiness in me ! - I am lost and dead in sin; I am carnal, sold under sin. In me, that is, in my flesh, dwelleth no good thing ; - nothing but guilt weighing me down to utter destruction, and corruption defiling the whole inner man. For me, undone, unclean, to present myself a living and holy sacrifice ! - it cannot be. Nay but, my brother, it must be. It is thyself that thy God will have thee to present as a thank-offering. He will accept no other thank-offering at thy hands: it is not reasonable that he should. Say not that there is no life in thee. Is not Christ in thee? "Thou art crucified with Christ, nevertheless thou livest yet not thou; but Christ liveth in thee" (Galatians 2:20). And for thine uncleanness" what God hath cleansed, that can not thou common or unclean" (Acts 10:15). Believers in Christ, called to be priests, present yourselves a sacrifice, as the great High Priest presents himself a sacrice. Let your ministry and his be one. Are not you and he now one, - intimately, inseparably one? When you present yourselves a sacrifice, are you not presenting him? Even as when he presents himself a sacrifice, is he not presenting you? He presents himself as crucified for you; he presents you as crucified with him. You now present yourselves; yet not yourselves; it is Christ in you that you present. The Spirit making you one with Christ by faith, makes you partakers of Christ’s life; the life which he laid down that he might take it again, - the life which he has as no more bearing guilt, but justified, accepted, raised and glorified. The same Spirit, making you one with Christ in nature, by the renewing of your mind, makes you partakers of Christ’s holiness. The Spirit takes of what is Christ’s, and shows it to you. And when, through the Spirit, you present yourselves a sacrifice, he takes of what is Christ’s in you, and shows it to God. May not this be an acceptable thank-offering? Is not this, ye redeemed and regenerated saints of God, - is not this your reasonable service? "I beseech you therefore, brethren, that ye present yourselves a sacrifice." And let it be yourselves in Christ; let it be Christ in you. For thus only can it be a sacrifice "living and holy." When Christ presents himself a sacrifice of atonement, be you one with him in his doing so. When you present yourselves a sacrifice of praise, let him be one with you in your doing so. Let the two presentations be ever going on together, simultaneously, unitedly. The presentation by Christ of himself as the sacrifice of atonement is always going on in the sanctuary above. There, in the true holy place, he is always ministering as your great High Priest, having his own blood to offer, ever freshly flowing, and freshly efficacious to cleanse from all sin. Enter, be always entering, within the veil, that you may associate and identify yourselves by faith, through the Spirit, with Christ, in what is there transacted for your peace. In a corresponding manner, let your presentation of yourselves, as a sacrifice of thanksgiving, be always going on in the sanctuary here below; the only sanctuary now owned on earth, - the deep and sacred shrine of a believing heart. And oh! let Christ be always entering in there, within the veil, and dwelling there, that he may associate and identify himself with you, in what is there transacted for God’s praise. Thus it will be always Christ, and Christ alone; yet always you in Christ, and Christ in you. In the sacrifice of atonement, it is Christ crucified for you, and you crucified with him. In the sacrifice of thankfulness, it is Christ living in you, and you become par-takers of his holiness. It is the sacrifice of propitiation, living and holy, prolonging itself, in a manner most acceptable to God and most reasonable on your part, into a living and holy sacrifice of praise. There is the sin-offering of the living and holy body of Christ once for all; and there is the thank-offering of the living and holy Church, " which is his" mystical "body, the fulness of him who filleth all in all" (Ephesians 1:23). CONSECRATION TO GOD - A SACRIFICE: V. - THE SACRIFICE: ITS MOTIVE. "I beseech you, by the mercies of God. " - Romans 12:1. It now only remains for us to advert a little to the motive by which Christians are to be animated in their discharge of the office of their priesthood, for which they are consecrated to God. As it is a sacrifice of praise and gratitude that they are to present, they are fitly adjured and implored to do so "by the mercies of God." The adjuration, the entreaty, is very earnest. "I beseech you," says the Apostle. I make it a matter of personal request, as if I were asking you to do me a personal favour. I may well thus appeal to you; for the motive which I have to urge is one which I have had good reason myself personally to feel. "The mercies of God" have been very abundant towards me. But it is not from myself, or for myself, that I speak. I speak as an ambassador of Christ. I call to mind what these mercies of God were to Christ, - what they were in his eyes and in his esteem, - when, as the great High Priest, he went about the business of presenting his sacrifice of atonement. What were they to him? What were they in his eyes and in his esteem? - These mercies of God Go back in imagination, to the unfathomed depths of that unbroken eternity, before the world was, wherein the Son is alone, with the Spirit, in the bosom of the Father. There are mercies in that bosom, throes of pity, yearnings of kindness and love unquenchable. A guilty, lost and ruined race is before him; a race of beings who are miserably to fall, under the temptation of an evil spirit more powerful and more knowing than themselves. The great Father’s heart is moved; his bowels of compassion are stirred: his mercies are overflowing. But alas I there is a barrier; a great rampart of righteousness; a holy law; a righteous rule of government ; - that keeps these mercies back; pent up, barred, restrained so that they can find no vent or channel through which they may reach their miserable objects. Is the Father’s heart to hold these mercies in, through reverence of sacred justice, until, if we may dare to say so, it shall burst or break? Lo! the Son, moved by these mercies thus struggling to find a vent, comes forth, and by his own sacrifice of himself, becomes himself their vent, the outlet and channel for their effusion. He opens a door, a door of righteousness, through which these floods of richest love may freely flow,until they reach and revive and renovate even the guiltiest of the guilty, the chief of sinners. Now by these mercies, no longer pent up in the bosom of the Father, but gushing in full stream through the rent veil, - the veil rent by that offering of his body once for all which the great High Priest makes, - and coming in, through the Spirit opening the door of your hearts, into the deepest recesses of your souls, and pouring life and gladness, peace and hope, through your whole inner man ;. - by these mercies of God, thus issuing from the bosom of the Father, thus coming home to your bosoms, is as you believe on Him who is the way, the truth, and the life, "I beseech you, brethren, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, and holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service." Some practical applications of the views which have been given on the subject of the Christian’s sacrifice of praise may be briefly stated : - I. If any of you who are called to be priests feel that. there is something vague and shadowy about the sacrifice of praise which you are here called to present, and that you would like to have materials more tangible to offer, - or at least to have some more definite instruction as to what is meant by offering yourselves, - will such scriptural intimations as these afford you any help? First, hear what David says (Psalms 2:1-12.), in the depths of his sorrow for his grievous sin, after he has sought interest anew in the sacrifice of atonement, offering th prayer of faith, "Purge me with hyssop and I shall be clean," "Create in me a clean heart, 0 God." He looks about for a fitting sacrifice of praise, to seal and witness his appropriation of the sacrifice of atonement. And he finds it, not in any external acts of worship, but in his own sense and experience of the evil of his sin; "For thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it; thou delightest not in burnt-offering. The sacrifices God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, 0 God, thou wilt not despise." Next, hear what the Lord himself testifies (Psalms 1:1-6.) when He pleads with " his people, who have made a covenant with him by sacrifice," - by faith in the sacrifice of atonement ; what sort of sacrifice of praise the Lord desires ; - "If I were hungry, I would not tell thee: for the world is mine, and the fulness thereof. Will I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats? Offer unto God thanksgiving; and pay thy vows unto the most High: and call upon me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me." Or again, hear the words which the Lord so graciously puts into the mouth of penitent Israel (Hosea 14:1-9) ; - " Take away all iniquity, and receive ils graciously: so will we render the calves of our lips." Or once more, hear the exhortation of the Apostle writing to the Hebrews (Hebrews 13:1-25), when, having spoken of Jesus, who, that he might sanctify or cleanse the people by his own blood, suffered without the gate, he adds; - " By him therefore let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually, that is, the fruit of our lips giving thanks to his name. But to do good and to com municate forget not: for with such sacrifices God is well pleased." Here is a choice of materials for a thank-offering; a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart; the payrnent of your vows, calling upon God in the time of trouble; the calves of your lips, the fruit of your lips, confessing and praising the name of Jesus; good deeds, good gifts; all or any of these things may be sacrifices of praise. And in fact, are they not all comprehended in your presenting yourselves a sacrifice? So Paul seems to teach when writing to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 8:1-24), he stimulates their zeal by quoting the example of the churches of Macedonia ; - " How that in a great trial of affliction the abundance of their joy and their deep poverty abounded unto the riches of their liberality. For to their power, I bear record, yea, and beyond their power they were willing of themselves; praying us with much entreaty that we would receive the gift, and take upon us the fellowship of the ministering to the saints." A fact like this - such abundance of joy in great affliction, such abundance of liberality in deep poverty, requires explanation. The Apostle feels this, and accordingly he furnishes the explanation when he adds, "And this they did, not as we hoped; but first gave their own selves to Lord." THEY FIRST GAVE THEIR OWN SELVES TO THE LORD. Ah! this solves the riddle: this accounts for the mystery. No wonder their joy abounded in a great trial of affliction; no wonder the riches of their liberality abounded in deep poverty. And no wonder your joy in your religion is marred by gloom, and your liberality straitened by selfishness, if you do not first give your own selves to the Lord. That you may rejoice right heartily in God your Saviour, that you may be always abounding in the work of the Lord, "I beseech you, brethren," that you first give your own selves to the Lord "that ye present your bodies, a living sacrifice, and holy. II. And let the deed of gift, the act of presentation be thorough and unreserved. There is no reserve on the part of Christ, when he presents himself a sacrifice atonement. Let there be no reserve on your part, when you present yourselves a sacrifice of praise. Let your surrender of yourselves be as complete as Christ’s surrender of himself was. Through the Eternal Spirit, he offered himself to God; his whole self: himself whole and entire. Through the same Eternal Spirit, offer ye also yourselves to God; your whole selves: yourselves whole and entire: mind and body, heart and soul. That is what as Christians you profess to do: let it be what you really do. Sin not as Ananias and Sapphira sinned; when wishing it to be understood that they were giving their all, they kept back a part. Remember how it was not the amount withheld that was the measure of their guilt. Even their offering of what they gave was vitiated. ‘they lied to the Holy Ghost. Grieve not thus the Spirit. Let no portion whatever of yourselves, - none of your affections, faculties, powers, energies, resources, - be held back from God. Be it ever so little, the holding back of anything mars your whole sacrifice; its life and holiness are gone; it is dead and dull; it is hollow and insincere; it is a cheerless, joyless, routine of duty; not a glad service of love. If that be your religion, it may well weary you and repel others: you neither glorify God, nor do good to man; no, nor even gain contentment for yourselves. Follow the Lord wholly; give your all to him; if you would be really Christians, and happy, as well as useful, in your Christianity. III. Finally, let it be always by the mercies of God that you are moved to present yourselves a sacrifice of thanksgiving to him. "The mercies of God! " How precious is the very phrase! How sweet its sound! "The mercies of God :" how great is their multitude! How manifold are they! New every morning, fresh every moment, coming down as rain upon the mown grass, as showers that water the earth! Only let your eye be open to see them; your hand to take them; your mouth to sing of them all the day long; above all, your heart to keep them in its inmost shrine. Thy mercies, Lord, in Christ, flowing in upon me through Christ, - if I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered. First and chiefest of them all is Christ himself, whom thou, 0 Father, givest to be mine; my Saviour, brother, friend. And in his train what troops of mercies! - mercies of all sorts, for soul, body, spirit: if I am wearry, rest; if I sin, forgiveness; if I have sorrow, comfort; if I am weak, strength; if I am wayward, chastening; if I am dying, hope! - mercies for all times and places; songs in the night; a table spread in the wilderness; bread and water sure; oil to anoint the head; a cup running over! - mercies always, mercies everywhere! Thy tender mercies, Lord, are great: thou crownest me with loving-kindness and tender mercies. What shall I render to thee for them all? Wilt thou take myself, 0 Lord? Wilt thou suffer me to give myself to thee? Wilt thou enable me to give myself to thee? Wilt thou make me thine? thine alone, thine altogether, thine for ever? But what if thou art disqualified, 0 sinner, for presenting a sacrifice of praise at all? And art thou not disqualified if thou hast not embraced the appointed sacrifice of propitiation? En such a state, unbelieving, unforgiven, think not that any offering of thine can avail thee with God. I move, for thee, the previous question. I beseech thee, brother, to let Christ wash thee in his blood, arid present thee to his Father. Think not that whilst thou continuest in thy present state, thou canst bring into God’s house any offering that he will accept as thy reasonable service. Thou art dead; thou art unclean. Thou canst not present any service or sacrifice that will at all avail thee for averting the Divine wrath or winning the Divine favour. But see, 0 Sinner, there is a sin-offering lying at thy door. And it is thine, if thou wilt but have it to be thine. Why shouldst thou continue in so sad a condition as to be debarred from offering songs of praise to thy God? Nay, it is a condition which, if thou continuest in it, must extort from thee, ere long, instead of songs of praise, weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth! But thou needst not continue in it, no, not for an hour. Accept now in faith the sacrifice of atonement, and thereupon present the sacrifice of praise. First, be reconciled to thy God; then come and offer thy gift. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 76: 08.00.1. ON THE ATONEMENT ======================================================================== On the Atonement The Cross of Christ; The Call of God; Saving Faith. An Inquiry Into the Completeness and Extent of the Atonement, with Especial Reference to the Universal Offer of the Gospel and the Universal Obligation To Believe. BY ROBERT S. CANDLISH, D.D., MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL, EDINBURGH EDINBURGH: JOHN JOHNSTONE, HUNTER SQUARE LONDON: R. GROOMBRIDGE & SONS MDCCCXLV Prepared for Libronix Digital Library System by William A. Anderson, December, 2008 Prepared for e-Sword / theWord by: BibleSupport.com / WordModules.com ======================================================================== CHAPTER 77: 08.00.2. MODULE PREPARED BY BIBLESUPPORT.COM ======================================================================== Module Prepared by BibleSupport.com Text Modification The text has been changed from the print edition. Scripture references were formatted for electronic presentation in e-Sword. Most implicit scripture references were made specific to reference the actual book chapter:verse rather than expecting the reader to deduce the chapter or book. Footnotes are presented in-line. Text provided by William Anderson @ StillTruth.com. Connect With Us Download thousands of free e-Sword modules, find answers to e-Sword problems, access e-Sword user forums, and fellowship with other e-Sword users. BibleSupport.com is also home to the only e-Sword User’s Guide, the most comprehensive documentation available for e-Sword. Want to know when this module is updated? Want to know when we release other modules? Want to show your support? Like us on Facebook: Facebook.com/BibleSupport Follow us on Twitter: Twitter.com/BibleSupport ======================================================================== CHAPTER 78: 08.00.3. PREFATORY NOTE ======================================================================== Prefatory Note THE circumstances in which this publication originated, as stated in the beginning of the work, will explain any apparent want of order in the treatment of the subject, especially in the first two or three Chapters, which were written without any view to a full and systematic discussion of it. Had time permitted, I might have remodelled the whole, so as to give it greater compactness and completeness; and I might have embodied all I had to say in the work itself, without having recourse to an Appendix of addenda. As it is, I have endeavoured to correct, and I have somewhat enlarged, my hastily prepared contributions to the Magazine; and, with the Preliminary Dissertation and explanatory Notes, I would fain hope that, by the blessing of God, this treatise may be instrumental in aiding some who may desire to study this branch of theology, by directing the course of their inquiries, and laying down a few soundings and landmarks—the rather, as I have sought to avoid the perplexities of recent and personal controversies. EDINBURGH, May 22, 1845. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 79: 08.00.4. PRELIMINARY DISSERTATION ======================================================================== Preliminary Dissertation IN the introductory remarks which we have to offer, we shall take the opportunity of adverting to what might seem to some to be a more directly scriptural method of conducting the argument respecting the work of Christ—its nature and extent—than that which, in writing these papers, we were led to adopt. The reason which we had for discussing the subject in the manner we have done, is briefly stated in the letter that accompanied our third communication. (See page 37.) The truth is, it does not seem that much is gained by a mere array, on either side, of texts and passages—the interpretation of which must, after all, turn on certain general principles, derived from Scripture, respecting the sovereignty of God, and the character of Christ’s work, and of the Spirit’s. For it is a great mistake to imagine that to treat a subject scripturally, means merely to string together a concordance of quotations; or that the mind of the Spirit is to be ascertained by a mere enumeration of some of his sayings. His meaning is to be known, like the meaning of any other author—especially if that author be a voluminous writer, and one of vast compass and variety, having many different styles, suited to all different occasions, and personating many different characters, real or imaginary, whom he makes the vehicles for conveying his sentiments—not always by particular isolated expressions, so much as by an intelligent study of his general train of thought, and the scope and tenor of his reasoning on the more comprehensive and larger topics which, from time to time, fill and occupy his soul. This seems to be what judicious divines mean when they speak of the “analogy of the faith,” as a rule or canon of scriptural interpretation. At the same time, we frankly admit the danger of excess or error in the application of this rule—as it may lead to a habit of presumptuous and dogmatical theorizing, on the one hand, together with a loose and careless exegesis, or examination of texts, on the other; and we at once consent to the appeal being uniformly made, in the last resort, to particular passages, as the legitimate tests or touchstones by which all general views are to be tried. Let us consider, then, some of the portions of Scripture usually brought forward in connection with this subject of the extent of the atonement, or the question between particular and general redemption; and, for the sake of convenience, let us distribute them as they seem, at first sight, and as they are generally made use of, on the opposite sides of this controversy. There are a number of texts which seem to assert the universality of the redemption purchased by Christ. These are chiefly such as the following: 1 John 2:2; 2 Corinthians 5:14; Romans 5:18; Hebrews 2:9; and others of similar import. Now, in regard to this series of passages generally, we may, in the first place, avail ourselves generally of the judicious observations of Professor Moses Stuart, who, as the closing sentence of the very paragraph we are about to quote sufficiently proves, can scarcely be suspected of any undue leaning to the strict Calvinistic doctrine. We quote the passage for the sake of the general principle it contains: as to the particular text in question, we shall presently give our view of the interpretation which seems to exhaust its meaning more fully than that suggested by this eminent commentator. In his Commentary on Hebrews 2:9, he thus writes:—“Ὑπὲρ παντὲς means, all men without distinction—i.e., both Jew and Gentile. The same view is often given of the death of Christ. (See John 3:14-17, John 4:42, John 12:32; 1 John 2:2, 1 John 4:14; 1 Timothy 2:3-4; Titus 2:11; 2 Peter 3:7. Compare Romans 3:29-30, Romans 10:11-13.) In all these, and the like cases, the words all, and all men, evidently mean Jew and Gentile. They are opposed to the Jewish idea, that the Messiah was connected appropriately and exclusively with the Jews, and that the blessings of the kingdom were appropriately, if not exclusively, theirs. The sacred writers mean to declare, by such expressions, that Christ died really and truly as well, and as much, for the Gentiles as for the Jews; that there is no difference at all in regard to the privileges of any one who may belong to his kingdom; and that all men, without exception, have equal and free access to it. But the considerate interpreter, who understands the nature of this idiom, will never think of seeking, in expressions of this kind, proof of the final salvation of every individual of the human race. Nor do they, when strictly scanned by the usus loquendi of the New Testament, decide directly against the views of those who advocate what is called a particular redemption. The question, in all these phrases, evidently respects the offer of salvation, the opportunity to acquire it through a Redeemer; not the actual application of promises, the fulfilment of which is connected only with repentance and faith. But whether such an offer can be made with sincerity to those who are reprobates (and whom the Saviour knows are and will be such), consistently with the grounds which the advocates for particular redemption maintain, is a question for the theologian, rather than the commentator, to discuss.” With this high authority we might be satisfied; and when, in the face of it, we find men still reiterating these particular texts, as if the mere sound of the words was to be conclusive, and they had nothing to do but to accumulate “alls” and “everys,” taken indiscriminately out of the Bible, very much as children heap up at random a pile of loose stones, without regard to context, or connection, or analogy (the usus loquendi of the New Testament, as Professor Stuart calls it), we might content ourselves with this testimony of an adversary, as proving, at the very least, that they cannot make such short work of this argument as they suppose. But, for sake of further illustration, we may take up one or two of these passages separately. In doing so, we must ask, in each case, what is the precise point under discussion; for it is a good general rule, well known, though, alas! not so well observed, among controversialists, that a writer’s authority, in any given passage, does not extend beyond the particular topic which he has on hand. You may appeal to him as giving a deliverance on the matter before him, but not as deciding another question which may not, at the time, have been in his mind at all. Nothing can be fairer, or more necessary, than this maxim. An earnest and simple-minded man offers his opinion frankly on what is submitted to him, without being careful always to guard and fence himself round on every side, lest, perchance, some incidental phrase he may happen to let fall, in the warmth and energy of his feeling, in a matter, perhaps, in which he takes a deep interest, should be laid hold of and brought up as the expression of his deliberate judgment on some collateral topic which, all the while, may have been miles away from his thoughts. He relies on your intelligence and honesty—on your good sense and your good faith; if he did not—if he felt himself bound to be ever qualifying and defining his terms, lest what he gives you as his mind on one point should be used by you as authority on another—all the freedom and fairness, the generosity and cordiality of friendship, would be at an end; and stiff and strait-laced ceremony would rule the day. This remark pre-eminently applies to the style and manner of Holy Scripture; for there is no one feature of the Spirit’s communications to us more signally conspicuous than this, that He always gives himself to one thing at a time. Using as his instruments, earnest and simple-minded men, who speak as they are moved by Him, the Holy Ghost, identifying himself with each, in turn of thought and style of writing, and entering into the very mind of the individual whom he inspires, gives forth, through him, a frank and full utterance on each subject as he takes it up, with the same unstudied ease and unsuspicious freedom—often even with the same impetuous rapidity of involved grammar and abrupt rhetoric—with which the writer himself, if left alone, would have poured out his whole soul. Hence the ease with which anomalies and inconsistencies may be raked together, for the use, or abuse, of minute critics who have no mind, and subtle cavillers who have no heart, to understand what the Spirit says, through honest men to their fellow-men. But Wisdom is justified of her children; and he that hath ears, let him hear. 1. Take, as an instance, Romans 5:18, and 2 Corinthians 5:14. In the first of these passages, the sole object of the apostle is to explain, or assert, the principle of imputation—the principle upon which God deals with many as represented by one, or with one as representing many. For this end, he draws a parallel between the imputation of Adam’s sin and that of Christ’s righteousness. Evidently, however, the whole value of the comparison turns upon the nature of the transaction on either side, not upon its extent. The identity, or agreement, or correspondence, intended to be pointed out, is an identity in respect of principle. To stretch the language used, so as to make it decide the question of extent, is to make the apostle inconsistent with himself in the very matter he is formally and expressly discussing. For what is the principle of imputation, as he lays it down? It implies these two things: first, That a vicarious headship be constituted in one person; and, secondly, That the whole result or consequence of the trial upon which that one person is placed, whether it be success or failure, be actually and in fact communicated and conveyed to all whom he represents. Of this last condition, he is very careful to prove, that it was realized in the imputation of Adam’s sin, and for this purpose he insists very specially on the universality of death: “Nevertheless death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over them that had not sinned after the similitude of Adam’s transgression, who is the figure of him that was to come.” (Romans 5:14) But it is a condition which, if insisted on at the other side of the antithesis—and without it the parallel wholly fails, and the doctrine of imputation is gone—is positively irreconcilable with the notion of a general or universal redemption, excepting upon the hypothesis of universal salvation. For it is of the very essence of the principle of imputation, according to this parallel, that precisely in the same manner in which Adam’s sin, with the death which it entailed, did, in point of fact, as well as in law, pass from him to those who were represented by him, and identified with him; so, the righteousness of Christ, with the life and salvation which it involves, must be really and actually, in its consequences as well as in its merit, made over to all the parties interested. Hence, if the parallel is pressed, in regard to the extent as well as the nature of the two transactions, life and salvation must actually be as universal as death. Thus, if this text he unwisely pressed beyond the present purpose of the writer, contrary to the rule of sound criticism and sound sense, it is really not the limitation of Christ’s work to his people that will come to be called in question, but the fact of the condemnation of any of the wicked. An observation nearly similar might be made in reference to 2 Corinthians 5:14. There the apostle’s theme is the union and identification of believers with Christ in his death and in his life. His object is, to remind them that as Christ’s death has become theirs, so also has his life. Hence it is to his purpose to argue thus: “If one died for all, then all were or became dead,” or literally, “died” also, in and with him; and “He died, that the living might not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him which died for them and rose again.’’ He thus brings out the principle of imputation, that whatever befalls the Head must be held to pass, and must actually pass, efficaciously, to all whom he represents; and he connects with it the principle of vital union—that all thus represented are partakers in all things with the Head. The whole argument in the context depends on these two principles. The question of the extent of the atonement is not once before the writer throughout the whole of this fervid practical appeal, in which he is enforcing the high standard of spiritual privilege and duty. The bearing of Christ’s death on the unregenerate is not within the scope of his reasoning; and to regard him as giving a deliverance on that point, instead of urging home its bearing upon believers, is to introduce an element altogether heterogeneous, and, in fact, not only to perplex the argument, but to make it, as in the former case, tell rather in favour of universal salvation. Again, 2. In such texts as 1 Timothy 2:6, Titus 2:11, 1 John 2:2, the universality asserted is plainly a universality of classes, conditions, and characters of men, not of individuals. Thus, in the first (1 Timothy 2:1-6), the apostle is exhorting that prayer be made for all men, kings and rulers, as well as subjects (a necessary specification at a time when those in authority, being too often oppressors, might seem to have little claim on Christians for this kindness); he would have intercession offered for men of all ranks and all circumstances in the world; and it is to enforce this universality of intercessory prayer, in opposition to the idea of excluding or omitting any set of men, even the most undeserving, that he introduces as an argument the universality of the Father’s love, who has no respect of persons, but would have all men to be saved, and the universality of the Son’s mediation, which has regard to men, as such, without excepting any portion of the race; for he “gave himself a ransom for all, to be testified in due time.” In the second, also (Titus 2:1-11), admitting the marginal reading to be preferable—“The grace of God that bringeth salvation to all men hath appeared”—the design of the apostle is to gather and collect together, in one company, those whom he has been distributing into detachments, according to age, sex, office, and station. Aged men; aged women; young women; young men; Titus, the pastor; servants; these he has been severally directing as to their several duties: and having adverted to the things wherein they are separated from one another, he closes with an appeal to that wherein they agree; for, though their relations in life, with their corresponding trials and obligations, are diversified, their position, as believers, is one, and the motive to obedience is one and the same—“the appearing of that grace of God which bringeth salvation to all men”—however in age, sex, office, or station, they may differ—and which teaches and binds them all alike to a sober, righteous, and godly life, in the hope of the glorious appearing of Him whose saving grace has appeared already. Such is the argument: the very force of which, as being an appeal to the place, or middle stage, which believers occupy between the two “appearings,” the gracious and the glorious, turns upon these being, as to extent, commensurate. The universality, therefore, of the former must be measured by that of the latter; as to which there can be no question, for it is “to them that look for him that he is to appear the second time, without sin, unto salvation.” In the third text cited above (1 John 2:2), the matter is, if possible, still more plain and certain. Let it be noted that in his first chapter, of which the beginning of the second should form a part (for there is no pause in the sense till after the second verse at the soonest) the apostle’s discrimination of the persons (we, you, they) is very accurate and exact. In the beginning of the first chapter, he speaks of what he and his fellow-apostles witnessed of the manifestation of THE LIFE; and at the third verse he takes in those whom he is immediately addressing: “That which we have seen and heard declare we unto you, that ye also may have fellowship with us;” that is, may have the same fellowship which we have, or be partakers with us in “our fellowship,” which “truly is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ.” Thereafter, the apostle associates those to whom he thus writes with himself and his fellow-apostles—the taught with the teachers—and speaks in the first person, as now comprehending both: “If we walk in the light,” you and we together, “as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another”—we with him and he with us, or you and we together with him. Twice, indeed, he briefly keeps up the distinction, when, as a master, he tells them, as his disciples, what he would have them to learn, and what is the great object of his testimony and teaching: “These things write we unto you that your joy may be full” (1 John 1:4)—“These things write I unto you that ye sin not” (1 John 2:1)—fulness of joy, and freedom from sin being the twofold end of Christian doctrine. But, otherwise, he merges the “you” and the “we” in one: and especially, when he has to refer, alas! to the possibility of their yet contracting new guilt, and needing new forgiveness, “you” and “we” are no way separated now: “If any man sin”—any one of you, for though “I write these things unto you, as my little children, that ye sin not”—though my doctrine is as opposed to sin as God’s light is to darkness—yet I dare not hope that you will be altogether sinless—I cannot but anticipate that you may fall into sin; for though you have in you that divine seed of the new life, which, in so far as it abides in you, makes sin impossible (1 John 3:9) you are still liable to the lusting of the flesh against the Spirit;—I must remind you, therefore, that you are still apt to sin; not as if I would make allowances or grant indulgences beforehand for sin, but that I may tell you of your constant need of that cleansing blood which has been shed, and exhort you, on the very first instant of your being overtaken in a fault, to flee anew to that fountain, and that hastily, lest you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin;—“if, therefore, any man sin,” any one—any of you—but stay—we as well as you may be in the same predicament—“if any one sin, WE have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous, who is the propitiation for our sins.” Is this merely a plausible paraphrase? or is it really the sense and meaning of the apostle, affectionately pouring out his heart to his “little children?” Then, if so, what CAN be the meaning of the short, abrupt, but most emphatic allusion to a third party? for the apostle instantly returns to the “we” and the “you,” and throughout all the chapter, and indeed the Epistle, keeps to that style and manner of warm epistolary familiarity. What, therefore, can the passing introduction of this seemingly extraneous reference imply? what, but that the apostle, with his truly catholic love to all brethren in Christ, calls to mind that others besides himself, and those to whom he writes, may be in the same sad circumstances for which he has been making provision? If any of us sin, we have an advocate with the Father—we know where to find relief—we know how we may be restored, and have our backslidings healed. But this is too good news to be kept to ourselves; many, too many, in all successive ages, may need the same comfort and revival. For the admonition, therefore, of all, everywhere and to the end of time, who may be situated as it is here intimated, some, or all of us, may be—overtaken in a fault, fallen from their first love, lapsed into sin—the universal efficacy of this remedy is to be asserted, as available, in such circumstances, not for us only, but for all. Who does not see that thus interpreted, according to its connection, it cannot possibly be any general or universal reference of the atonement to all mankind, whether believers or not, that is meant? The whole propriety, and sense, and force of the passage are gone, and all its sanctifying and comforting unction is evaporated, if it be held to denote anything whatever beyond that special efficacy of Christ’s blood and intercession, which cleanses the believer’s conscience from the defilement of backsliding, and his heart from its baseness and bondage. 3. In 2 Peter 2:1; Hebrews 10:29; 1 Corinthians 8:11; Romans 14:15; we have a class of texts, in which, being “bought by the Lord,” “sanctified (or cleansed) with the blood of the covenant,” and interested in Christ as “dying for them,” would seem to be represented as consistent with men “bringing upon themselves swift destruction” (2 Pet); “dying without mercy, and falling into the hands of the living God” (Heb.); “perishing,” and “being destroyed,” through the liberty of others becoming to them a stumbling-block. (1 Cor. and Rom.) Now, it is remarkable that in all these passages, the strong and awful appeals made all turn on the right which God has in the parties referred to, rather than on the interest which they have in him: they assert God’s prerogative, rather than their privilege; and proceed on the consideration, not of any claim which they have upon God, but of the claim which God has upon them. In this view, it is the assumption, as de jure, more than the assertion, as de facto, involved in them, that gives to these texts, rightly apprehended, their peculiar emphasis and solemnity. Thus, the first two of these texts bring out, in stern relief, on a background of bright profession and promise, the black guilt of apostasy, and of the bringing in of damnable heresies; the latter being applicable chiefly to the case of private members of the Church, who, beginning with “forsaking the assembling of themselves together”—growing weary of godly fellowship and society—lapse gradually into “wilful sin,” and are in imminent hazard of being finally and fatally hardened; the former, again, having respect to “teachers” in the Church, whose insidious poison of false doctrine tends to eat away as a canker, first the religion of the people, and then their own. For, alas! how often have ingenious innovators in the faith, or in the form of sound words, almost unwittingly unsettled and undermined the principles of others, before they have begun to feel, in their own souls, the destructive tendency of their speculations. In both of these instances, the object is to paint, as with a lightning-flash across the thundercloud, the perilous position of the individuals who are to be warned; it is to startle them with a vivid sight of the view which God cannot but take of their aggravated sin, and the inevitable ruin which it must entail on them. For everywhere, throughout Scripture, it is intimated, that whatever assurance believers may have of their final salvation, they are to be as sensitively alive to whatsoever might even tend to a separation from Christ, as if they were every instant in danger of perishing; assurance, indeed, on any other footing, would be a carnal, and not a spiritual boon—disastrous, instead of salutary, to the soul. Hence the apostle’s language concerning himself (1 Corinthians 9:27), intimating that he was as jealous over himself, in the article of bodily indulgence, as if he ever had in his eye the possibility of intemperance becoming, after all, his snare, and its bitter fruit his fate. And on the same principle, the two texts in question are to be understood, as indicating, either, on the one hand, what true Christians, whether private members or office-bearers in the Church, must always keep before them, as the certain issue of an unstedfast walk or of false teaching, should they be seduced into it; or, on the other, in what light God is entitled to regard their sin and danger, and in what character, considering their profession to him and his own right over them, he cannot fail to consider them, when he comes to judge them; their sin falling to be estimated, and their judgment determined, by the standard of their Christian name. It is as Christians that they are to be considered as sinning; and on that footing, they are to be condemned. The other two passages (1 Corinthians 8:11, and Romans 14:15) being addressed, as warnings, to those who, on the strength of their own clearer light and firmer conscience, might despise or offend the weaker members of the Church, evidently point out the light in which the former are to regard the latter, as brethren, namely, interested in the same Saviour with themselves, yet not so secure as to be beyond the reach of serious and fatal injury, at the hands of their fellow-Christians. The lesson to the strong is twofold: Look not on the weak with contempt, as if their scruples were undeserving of attention; they are your brethren still, relying, as you do, on Christ as their only surety;—neither plead, in excuse for any use of your liberty that wounds or ensnares their consciences, that this is no concern of yours, since, if they are Christ’s, he will keep them safe from harm;—so far as your conduct toward them is concerned, you are to treat them even as you are to treat yourselves, with all that delicacy and tenderness which the most precarious and uncertain tenure of grace might prompt. To you, the humble believer, on whose unnecessary fastidiousness you are tempted to look down, and with whose minute cases of casuistry you are provoked to play, is still, with all his weakness, a brother, to be treated by you as a brother, for whom, as well as for you, Christ died: and whatever may be his security in him whom he trusts, that can be no reason for your trifling and tampering with his soul, if you would not have his blood to answer for; but, on the contrary, if ever you are inclined to follow your own more liberal opinions, without respect to their influence on him, that moment, whatever God may think of him, he is to you simply a brother, who, through your knowledge, and by your eating, is in extreme danger of perishing and being destroyed. 4. There is one other series of texts in which, as we freely admit, the universal bearing on mankind at large, of the exhibition of the cross, and the proclamation of the gospel, is graciously and gloriously attested. These are such as John 1:29, John 3:16, John 4:42, John 12:32; 1 John 4:14. Generally, these passages coincide, in substance, with those of the class first cited, which assert the indiscriminate applicability of Christ’s work, without respect of persons, or distinction of “Jew or Greek, Barbarian, Scythian, bond or free;” and they equally, with the former, fall under the remark of Professor Moses Stuart, in the extract which we have given from his book. But they seem to go a little farther; and having respect, not to the design and efficacy of the atonement, in its accomplishment and application, nor even, strictly speaking, to its sufficiency, but solely to the discovery which, as a historical transaction, it is fitted to make of the divine character—especially of the divine compassion and benevolence—they are to be regarded as giving intimation of the widest possible universality. This is particularly the case in that most blessed statement: “God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” For we would be little disposed to qualify or explain away the term “world,” as here employed. We rather rejoice in this text, as asserting that the gospel has a gracious aspect to the world, or to mankind, as such. “God so loved the world”—that is, of mankind in opposition to angels—mankind as such, without reference to elect or non-elect; the giving of his Son was a display of goodwill towards men. Let it be observed, however, that even here nothing is said about God’s giving his Son for all; on the contrary, the very terms in which the gift of his Son is described, imply a limitation of it to them that believe; on which limitation, indeed, depends the fulness of the blessing conveyed by it. The design of Christ’s death is very pointedly restricted, as to its extent, to them that believe; while, on that very account, this gift of God is amplified, and expanded, and stretched out, in regard to the amount of benefit intended to be communicated, so as to take in not only escape from perishing, but the possession of everlasting life. It is the gift of his Son, with this limited design, which is represented as being an index and measure of his love to the world at large, or to mankind as such; and it is so, through the manifestation which the cross gives to all alike and indiscriminately, of what it is in the mind and heart of God to do for a race of guilty sinners. As to any farther meaning in that text, it can only be this: that it is a testimony to the priority or precedency of God’s love to man, as going before, and not following from, the mediation and work of Christ. We speak, of course, of the order of nature and causation, not of the order of time. In the counsels of eternity there can be no comparing of dates: but it is important to adjust the connection of sequence or dependence between the love of God to man, and the work of Christ for man, as cause and effect, respectively. And one main object of this statement of our Lord undoubtedly is, to represent the Father’s good-will to men as the source and origin of the whole scheme of salvation, in opposition to the false and superstitious idea of God’s kindness being, as it were, purchased and reluctantly extorted by the interposition of one more favourable and friendly than himself, to our guilty and perishing world. 5. Among these various classes of texts which we have been considering, there is a single passage which seems to stand isolated and alone; namely, Hebrews 2:9. Now, as to this passage, one thing, at least, is very clear, that the apostle’s train of reasoning has no reference whatever to the question of the extent of Christ’s work, but only to the depth of that humiliation, on his part, which it implied, and the height of glory for which it prepared the way; and in other portions of Hebrews 2:1-18, he distinctly limits to the elect Christ’s whole mediatorial character and ministry. (Compare verses Hebrews 2:10, Hebrews 2:13-17.) In the verses before us, he is expounding Psalms 8:1-9, in connection with his argument for the superiority of Christ over the angels, which occupies Psalms 1:1-6, Psalms 2:1-12. He regards that psalm as a prediction of the Messiah’s exaltation, in human nature, far above the visible glory of the moon-lit and starry heavens; and, in particular, he interprets it, as announcing also his previous and preliminary abasement. He thus turns the lowly appearance of Jesus, in the flesh, which might have been urged as an objection against his high and heavenly rank, into an article of evidence in its favour. It was in accordance with prophecy that the Messiah should be thus humbled, in the first instance, and should thereafter and thereupon be exalted to glory. But the apostle does not rest merely on the word of prophecy; he appeals to the very nature and necessity of the case, as requiring that the Messiah’s exaltation should be reached through humiliation. If he is to be crowned with glory and honour, it is to be for the suffering of death—for which suffering of death he must be made lower than the angels. But why lower than the angels? Because, for the carrying out of the purposes of the grace of God, he is “to taste death for every man.” It is quite manifest that the number of those for whom he is to taste death is an element altogether irrelevant to the scope of the apostle’s discourse: it is their nature alone that it is in point and to the purpose to notice. Any reference to the universality of the atonement would here he out of place. But this is not all. A reference, so to speak, to the individuality of the atonement, will be found to be most significant. And such a reference this text contains. The assertion is that Christ tasted death for men, one by one, as it were, individually and personally, hearing the sins of each. This is opposed to the notion of his death, or his work of atonement, having a reference merely to mankind collectively, and in the mass. Had it been a work of that sort—a method of vindicating the divine justice, and opening a door of pardon, common to all—it does not appear how it might not have been accomplished by him without his becoming lower than the angels. In the angelic nature itself, it might be conceived possible for him to have effected the adjustment required. But the work being one of substitution, representation, suretyship, and, in fact, identification—in which he is not to sustain a general relation to the race, as a whole, but a very special, particular, and personal relation to men, one by one—taking the place of each, and meeting all the obligations, responsibilities, and liabilities of each—the necessity of his manhood becomes apparent. Had it been a general measure for upholding the divine government, and introducing a general amnesty for all, there might have been other ways. But when it was to be “the tasting of death for each,” there could be but one: he must take upon him the very nature of the individual whom he is to represent. There is much meaning to believers, and much ground for mourning on the one hand (Zechariah 12:10), and comfort on the other (Galatians 2:20), in this view of the efficacy of Christ’s death being distributed among them; and that, not in the way of division, as if each got a part, but, as it were, in the way of multiplication, so that each gets all; and every man of them may as truly realize Christ’s tasting death, specially and personally for him, as if he had been the only sinner, in whose stead, and on whose behalf, Jesus was nailed to the cross. Having thus briefly indicated—for we have done little more—the line of interpretation applicable to the general body of texts which seem, at first sight, to favour the theory of universal redemption—and having also given some specimens of the satisfactory manner in which what seems to us a fair, sound, and reasonable principle, or canon, of scriptural criticism may be applied to particular passages—we feel that our task is nearly done. For it is not our intention to enlarge on the numerous statements in the Word of God which explicitly teach, or by plain and necessary inference involve, the doctrine for which we contend; which may be said to be neither more nor less than this: that for whomsoever Christ died at all, for them he died efficaciously and effectually. These statements must, of course, be submitted to the test of the same general rule which was used as a criterion in the case of those already quoted; and, indeed, they are all such as court and challenge the trial. For there is this general difference between the two classes of texts—those which seem to assert a general, and those which rather point to a restricted and limited, reference, in the atoning work of Christ—that while the former easily admit of a clear and consistent interpretation, such as makes them harmonize with the doctrine which, at first sight, they might he supposed to contradict, it is altogether otherwise with the latter; it can only be by a process of distortion—by their being made to suffer violence—that they can be so explained away as to become even neutral in the controversy. It is remarkable, accordingly, that the opponents of the Calvinistic view rarely, if ever, apply themselves to the task of showing what fair construction may be put, according to their theory, on the texts usually cited against them. They think it enough simply to collect an array of texts which, when uttered in single notes, give a sound similar to that of their own trumpet; and although we undertake to prove, in every instance, that the sound, even taken alone, is, at the least, a very uncertain one, and that, when combined and blended with the sounds of other notes in the same bar or cleff, the general result of the harmonized melody is such as to chime in with the strain which we think we find elsewhere—they are very slow in dealing thus with the texts quoted on the other side. But it is surely as incumbent upon them to explain how the texts on our side are to be interpreted consistently with their views, as it is on us to make a corresponding attempt in regard to the texts which they claim as theirs. This, however, it would be by no means easy to do. For setting aside all partial counsel in this inquiry, and coming to the passages referred to, not for the purpose of reconciling them with any supposed “analogy of the faith,” but exclusively bent on looking at each in the light of its own context or connection, we can scarcely fail to perceive that the assertion of a limited or restricted atonement is by no means in them, what that of a universal redemption would have been in the other series of passages we have considered—an excrescence upon the argument in hand, not in point or to the purpose, but intrusive and embarrassing—embarrassing, we of course mean, not to the controversialist, but to the critic, in his exegesis or exposition of the particular verses under review. On the contrary, this assertion of limitation or restriction, as being the characteristic feature of Christ’s work, is at the very heart of these passages—essential to the writer’s or the speaker’s argument or reasoning, at the time, and, indeed, essential to what he says having any meaning at all. To illustrate this, let us take a few examples, classing them according to the several practical ends or objects with which this doctrine stands connected, and to which it is made subservient, in the several passages in which it is announced. Thus, in the first place, the certainty of the salvation of believers is in a remarkable manner bound up, in Holy Scripture, with this doctrine. They for whom Christ died cannot perish; and it is his dying for them that makes their perishing an impossibility. This is very clearly brought out in the tenth chapter of John’s Gospel. There it is explicitly declared by Christ himself that he was to “lay down his life for the sheep” (John 10:15); and that this declaration is exclusive—implying that he lays down his life for them alone, without any reference to the world at large—is to be inferred from the connection in which he introduces it. He is enlarging on the security which his people have in him; and it is as the proof of this—the only tangible proof which he alleges—that he brings in the appeal to the fact of his dying for them. But this would be no proof at all, if others besides his sheep were interested in his death; or, which is the same thing, if any for whom he laid down his life might, after all, perish. Hence, in a subsequent part of the chapter (John 10:25-30), it is expressly given as the reason why some believe not, and therefore are lost, that they are not of his sheep, for whom he lays down his life; and, on the other hand, the safety of believers, or the security that they shall never perish, is made to depend on their being his sheep, to whom he gives eternal life (John 10:28), and whom the Father hath given to him (John 10:29); the former of these gifts being the consequence, and the latter the cause, of his laying down his life for them, and for them alone. He lays down his life for those whom the Father hath given him; and to those for whom he lays down his life, he giveth eternal life; and this is that threefold cord, not to be quickly broken, which fastens believers to the Rock of Ages;—the Father’s gift of a people to the Son to be his sheep; the Son’s dying for his sheep thus given to him by the Father; and his giving to them, as the fruit of his dying for them, eternal life. But unless all the three lines in this cord be of equal extent, it cannot hold fast—it must yield, or stretch, or break; nor, on any supposition of a wider purpose in the death of the Son than in the gift which the Father makes to him of a chosen number to be his sheep, is there any value in the assurance with which the Lord rivets the last link of the chain: “I and my Father are one.” (John 10:30). The security or certainty of the salvation of Christ’s people may be considered in two lights—either as ordained by God, or as realized by themselves. In the former point of view, it seems to be connected with Christ’s dying for them, and for them alone, in the closing verses of the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah; where the promise to the Messiah, that he shall see his seed, is specially represented as turning upon his soul being made an offering for sin. It is said of him that “he bare the sin of many,” when “he poured out his soul unto death;” and that the “many” whose “sin he bare,” are identical with that “seed of his own that he is to see,” is as clearly to be gathered from the whole strain of the passage, as that the “many” whom, as “the righteous servant of God, he is to justify, through the knowledge of himself,” are identical with those “whose iniquities he is to bear.” (Isaiah 53:10-12). In fact, it seems amazing that any can read that single marvellous and momentous clause: “He shall see of the travail (or sorrow) of his soul, and be satisfied”—knowing what “the travail of his soul” means, and believing it to have been his really taking upon himself the guilt, and enduring the curse, of a broken law—and yet admit it to be possible that any for whom he can be said at all to have died on the cross should, after all, perish for ever. Was his soul in travail for any of the lost? Was it in travail for any who were not given to him to be his seed? Would this have been consistent with his seeing the fruit of that travail of his soul, so as to be satisfied?—adequately satisfied, according to the measure of the Father’s satisfaction in him? “He shall see his seed;” “he shall see of the travail of his soul;” “the pouring out of his soul unto the death” being, as it were, the very birth-pang, (It is remarkable that this is the only unequivocal passage (for Isaiah 9:6, where he is called “the Everlasting Father;” and 1 John 2:29, where it is said that “as he is righteous, so every one that doeth righteousness is born of him,” are ambiguous) in which Christ’s people are represented as standing to him in this relation of children or seed towards a parent; and the representation turns, apparently, on the “travail” or grievous labour of his soul, of which they were to be the fruit. His seed, then, are they for whom his soul travailed; and all for whom his soul travailed are his seed; so called, as being the recompense and result of his agony—the purchase of his pain. Nor does the view here indicated turn upon the precise meaning of the word rendered “travail,” as if it denoted the pang of child-birth; like that other expression which Paul uses, when, claiming such a tender interest in his converts as a mother has in those whose birth has cost her sorrow (John 16:21), he thus affectionately appeals to them: “My little children, of whom I travail in birth again until Christ be formed in you.” (Galatians 4:19) It may be allowed that the term here employed by Isaiah means grief and labour generally. Still, this sorrow of Messiah’s soul, of which he is to see a satisfying issue, stands connected with his “seeing his seed;” and still, therefore, it would appear that they for whom this sorrow is endured, must be identified with his seed; and that they are his seed, because his agony of soul, endured on their behalf, is the very cause of their life.) through which the relation of his people to himself, as “his seed,” is constituted, and his life is communicated to them; his death being their life; and so he shall be satisfied. In the sixth chapter of John, also—in which we may conceive of our Lord as appealing to this very promise of the everlasting covenant, and pleading it as his ground of confidence and comfort, amid his endurance of the contradiction of sinners against himself—we find him putting very strongly the impossibility of any of his people being lost. He is speaking to the unbelieving Jews; and, taking a high tone of sovereign authority, he exposes, with withering severity, the impotency of their unbelief. They were apt to regard him as, in some sort, a candidate for their favour—presenting himself to their choice, and soliciting their suffrages, like one dependent upon them, and standing at their mercy—a view which sinners are still too generally apt to take of Him with whom, in the offer of his salvation, they have to do. The Lord gives no countenance to such trifling and dallying with his paramount claims, and his peremptory commands and calls. Let not these unbelievers imagine that he has need of them, or that they can either benefit or injure him. They may reject, they may oppose, they may persecute his person and his cause; but they hurt only themselves; his triumph is certain, whatever they may do; he is sure of having followers and friends enough. And here, he first cites the Father’s deed of gift, as the ultimate source of his security on this head, and as making it infallibly certain, both that “all that the Father giveth him shall come unto him,” and also, that “whosoever cometh to him he will in no wise cast out.” (John 6:37) And then, he goes on to explain, with special and exclusive reference to them, the precise meaning of those general statements respecting himself, which so much scandalized the Jews: “The bread of God is he which cometh down from heaven and giveth life unto the world;” “I am the bread of life;” “I am the living bread which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread he shall live for ever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.” Do these announcements convey the impression of his death having a universal reference to all? Are we to understand what he says about his coming down from heaven to “give life unto the world,” and his “giving his flesh for the life of the world,” as pointing to a universal atonement? Where, then, so far as his own confidence was concerned, would he have any security that his death might not be in vain? In the decree of the Father, it may be replied, and his deed of gift, promising to his Son a chosen seed. True, he is to “give his flesh for the life of the world;” and if that expression is to be pressed as proving the universality of his atonement, many of those for whom he died are to be lost—many “see him, and believe not” (John 6:36); still it is certain that some will take advantage of the general provision of grace; for “all that the Father giveth him shall come to him.” Such is the view which is sometimes given; but it is only one-half of what satisfies Christ. Their coming to him is made sure by the sovereign will of the Father; and so also is his receiving of them to give them life. It is the will of the Father that they should come to me; it is the will of the Father that I should in no wise cast them out; that I should lose none of them; that every one of them, in me, should have everlasting life; and that I should “raise him up at the last day.” And this will of the Father, under which both their coming to me, and my giving them life, fall—and by which they are rendered certain—is not merely his will of good pleasure, or what he desires, hut his will of decree, or what he determines. That Christ came to give life unto the world, as such—the world of mankind, without respect of persons—Gentiles as well as Jews—is a declaration similar to those other declarations: “He came to seek and to save the lost:”—“he is the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world;” and, like them, it is full of encouragement to sinners of all descriptions and of all degrees. Were it left on this footing, however, there would seem to be an element of indistinctness introduced into the transaction. But the certainty of his work being effectual is infallibly secured, by there being a people given to him by the Father, and by his offering of his flesh as the living bread being restricted to them; since now, whatever others do, they are sure to come; and coming they are sure of life in him. For we may observe, in leaving this passage, that it bears also on the other point of view in which the certainty or security of the salvation of Christ’s people may be considered, namely as not merely ordained by God, but realized by themselves. This the Lord presses as a strong inducement to sinners to come to him, that coming unto him, they never can be, in any wise, cast out—they will be, and must be, infallibly safe. And what constitutes their security? Is it not the will of the Father specially ordaining for them, and therefore restricting to them, the life-giving work of the Son? And here, we might refer to other portions of Scripture in which the atoning death of Christ is represented as securing the salvation of his people. For indeed, in all instances in which they are called upon to realize their security at all, it is upon the footing of his dying for them, and of the exclusive reference which his work has to them. On this footing the Lord himself places the matter in his intercessory prayer. (John 17:1-26) Nothing can well be clearer, as brought out in that prayer, than the limitation of the entire work of Christ to the people given to him by the Father. Of the design of his interposing as mediator at all, he intimates that it is with a view to his “giving life to as many as the Father hath given him;” as to his obedience unto death, or “the work given him to do, which he finished” ere he left the world, and by which he “manifested the Father’s name,” he expressly restricts it all to “the men given him out of the world;” and of his work of intercession, which he then began, and now prosecutes in heaven, and which is inseparably connected with his work of atonement—that work being the very ground of it, and most essential ingredient in it (for the intercession of Christ is not a persuasive pleading upon his atonement, but the presenting of the atonement itself before God;—on which account these two, Christ’s work of intercession and his work of atonement, must he co-extensive;—for, if he intercede for some only of those for whom he died, he must have some additional plea to urge on their behalf, beyond the merit of his death), he speaks, if possible, still more explicitly: “I pray for them; I pray not for the world, but for them which thou hast given me; for they are thine.” That, that alone, is the reason why I take so deep an interest in them—that is the reason why I lay down my life for them, and intercede for them. They are dear to me, because they are thine; “and all mine are thine, and thine are mine.” Ay, though many of them, “not knowing what they do,” will be found among the number of my persecutors and murderers, yet, even when they are nailing me on the cross, I will pray for them for whom, as well as by whom, my blood is poured out: “Father, forgive them.” Thus Christ unequivocally restricts and limits his own work of obedience, atonement, and intercession, to those whom the Father hath given him; and it is upon his work, as thus limited and restricted, that he establishes their perfect security in him, which he would have them to realize (John 17:11): “Holy Father, keep through thine own name,” which I have manifested to them, “those whom thou hast given me; that they may be one, as we are.” And in exact accordance with this prayer of the Lord, we find Paul resting the assurance of believers on the death of Christ, as that which, by its own exclusive efficacy, secures their salvation. We refer especially to Romans 5:9-10, and Romans 8:34. (See also Romans 4:16, where the assurance of the promise, or its being sure, which is declared to be the very end or design of its being “of faith,” and “by grace”—or gratuitous and free—is very pointedly connected with its being limited to “all the seed.”) In these, and various other passages, it is uniformly implied, that to have an interest in Christ, in the sense of being among the number of those for whom he died, secures, infallibly, everlasting salvation. And this is what every anxious and inquiring soul longs to have. He may be in difficulty as to his warrant to appropriate Christ’s death as for him; he may have difficulty as to the evidence of his having rightly and warrantably done so; but these are his only difficulties—the one in the direct, the other in the reflex, act of faith. To separate between the proposition, “He gave himself for me,” and the proposition, “I am safe for eternity”—whatever hesitation I may have in timidly apprehending, and scarcely venturing hopefully to realize, the former—would be to cut off the very bridge by which, as a prisoner of hope, I can ever dream of reaching the stronghold to which I would flee. But, further, in the second place, the completeness, as well as the certainty, of the salvation of Christ’s people is, in many passages of Scripture, remarkably bound up with statements implying a limitation of his purchased redemption. Here, we might quote again some of the passages already commented on, such as the tenth and sixth chapters of John, in which the fulness of the provision made for Christ’s sheep, or those given him by the Father, as well as the security of their position, is connected with his dying for them. But there are other texts which set this connection in a great variety of striking and affecting points of view. Thus, there are some which represent the death of Christ as the highest conceivable instance of his love, and the Father’s; upon which an argument a fortiori, is to be based, as to what his people may expect at his hands. In the fifteenth chapter of John, the Lord is dwelling at length, on the abundance of fruit which he would have his disciples to bring forth, the fulness of joy of which he would make them partakers, the large desires in prayer which he is ready to satisfy, and the copious stream of mutual love which he would have to flow from himself through all their hearts; and, as if to convince them that there could be nothing, in the way of attainment or enjoyment, too high for them to aspire to, he appeals to his dying for them, as explaining all and justifying all: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” The whole force of this motive to enlargement of expectation is gone, if his death be not the pledge of his special love to his friends; for if no greater proof of love can be given than his laying down his life, and if it be not for his friends, exclusively, but, in a sense, for the whole world, that he does lay down his life, what has he in reserve to demonstrate his affection for his people? Can he give them any proof of love greater than he gives the world? The same view is supported by the argument of the apostle (Romans 8:32, Romans 5:1-11); in both of which passages he represents believers as arguing from the mere fact of Christ’s dying for them, that they may claim and challenge all the abundant blessings of grace and salvation. This they could never do were his death a propitiation or atonement in which they had a common interest with the reprobate and lost. They might, in that case, reason from the Spirit’s work in them, making them Christ’s, but scarcely, as they do, from the mere fact of Christ’s dying for them. The statement of our Lord, however, as we have quoted it, is still more precise. It is a clear assertion that he laid down his life for his friends; and that this must mean for them exclusively, is apparent from the view he teaches them to take of his death, as the highest instance of his love, as well as from the use he would have them to make of it, as warranting unlimited ambition in the life and fellowship of God. On this subject of the completeness of the salvation of Christ’s people, we might bring forward many passages in which the special elements of their blessedness are so connected with the death of Christ for them, as to preclude the possibility of that event being regarded in any other light than as a special atonement for their sins exclusively, and as purchasing, by its own intrinsic efficacy, for them alone, all things pertaining to life and godliness. We might particularly notice the manner in which the gift of the Spirit is represented as bound up with the work of Christ, so as to convey the irresistible impression that they must be of the same extent; and we might enlarge on the very numerous texts in which the peculiar relation of Christ to his people is set forth; and his dying for them is made the very index and crowning glory of that relation. But we have prolonged this introduction much beyond our intention, and we fear, also, our readers’ patience. We briefly notice, therefore, in the third place, that the death of Christ is often spoken of in Scripture, in connection with the duties, obligations, and responsibilities of his people, in such a manner as necessarily to imply its restriction and limitation to them. Two particular passages occur for illustration of this remark. In Ephesians 5:25, it is expressly asserted that Christ gave himself for the Church; and this is cited as the proof and measure of that special love of Christ to the Church, which is to be the model of true conjugal affection: “Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the Church, and gave himself for it.” The appeal is unmeaning, if Christ gave himself for any besides the Church; for then, his giving of himself can be evidence of nothing more than his general regard for mankind at large; which, surely, is not the type of the love that husbands are to have for their wives. Again, in Acts 20:28, the Apostle Paul, addressing the elders of the Church of Ephesus, reminds them of their duty to feed the Church of God; and he enforces that duty by two considerations—the one taken from their peculiar relation to that Church, as having been made its overseers by the Holy Ghost; the other, from God’s own relation to it, as having bought it: “Take heed therefore unto yourselves, and to all the flock, over the which the Holy Ghost hath made you overseers, to feed the Church of God, which he hath purchased with his own blood.” There would be no force in this last consideration, as bringing out the value which God attaches to his Church, and the corresponding responsibility which he lays on all who have anything to do with it, if the blood of Christ was shed for others besides the Church: for then, these others, equally with the Church, are purchased by him, and there is no peculiar sacredness at all in the Church, so far as this consideration goes, nor any peculiar delicacy in dealing with it. Besides these particular passages, in which the limitation of Christ’s death to his people is explicitly asserted, we might refer to that great family of texts, in which the position assigned to believers is described. They are bought with a price: they are redeemed with the precious blood of Christ: they are his purchased possession: he gave his soul a ransom for many. Throughout, we find very much of their peace, and still more of their holiness, made to depend on their realizing the fact of their being purchased, bought, redeemed, by the death of Christ: and they are never taught to look upon his death in any other light than that of a price and a ransom. But all this is inexplicable on the supposition of his having died for men generally and universally; for then, it is not simply on account of his dying for them, that they can be said to be redeemed or bought, in any sense that can distinguish them from others—which is the uniform and invariable scriptural representation—but on account of something else—something additional, or something different altogether. And finally, to pass from the present scene of trial to the future world of blessedness and glory, how unmeaning, on any theory of a universal reference in the atonement, does the song of the countless multitude before the throne become! There we see the mighty mystery of God’s will accomplished, which he purposed in himself;—“that in the dispensation of the fulness of times he might gather together in one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven, and which are on earth; even in him.” (Ephesians 1:10) One universal family or household is gathered together, out of every kindred, and people, and nation, and tongue; and the note of praise which, as they sing the new song, they all with united voices give forth, is but one continued acknowledgment of special obligation to the Lamb, for his death; and for his death as exclusively on their behalf; otherwise it could not be, by itself, any special ground of thanksgiving; which they expressly make it: “Thou art worthy, for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood!” Edinburgh, December 10, 1844 MY DEAR SIR,—I have often been urged by others, as well as by yourself, to explain my sentiments on the subject of the extent of the atonement; more particularly with reference to some statements bearing upon that subject, which I am reported to have made in the address which I delivered at the bicentenary meeting held here in July 1843, to commemorate the Westminster Assembly. These statements, as I am informed, have been referred to in public, and more frequently in private, as if they implied a concurrence, on my part, in the views alleged to be held by some respected brethren in the Secession Church, relative to the sense in which they think Christ may be said to have died for all men. I have the utmost reluctance to engage in this controversy, and I must disclaim, at the very outset of my remarks, any intention of reflecting on individuals; for I really have not studied what has been published even by such men as Dr John Brown and the late Dr Balmer on this question; nor have I interested myself in the discussion of it in recent pamphlets and periodicals. But as it seems to be thought that some explanation is due to my brethren, I have at last resolved to address myself to the unwelcome task. Were I inclined to evade an irksome duty, I might content myself with the intimation, that I had no opportunity of revising the report of my address, on the occasion in question, and cannot, therefore, be considered responsible for its accuracy. Had I seen the report before it was published, I believe I would have amplified and qualified the portion of it which, it seems, has been misunderstood; for scarcely any of the address was fully written out beforehand, and that portion of it, in particular, was delivered from very brief and imperfect notes, my time being so occupied as to prevent me from making that accurate preparation which was due to the subject, the occasion, and the assembly. I relied on my being allowed to correct the report taken at the time; and, especially in reference to so difficult and delicate a point of theology, I may say, that I would not otherwise have ventured to approach it as I did. Through some oversight, the report was not sent to me for revision—a circumstance which I have regretted only since I have learned that my observations have been deemed worthy of the honour of being animadverted upon at all. I need scarcely say, that I impute no blame to any one but myself on this account. (I subjoin in the Appendix the portion of the report referred to. See Appendix A.) But, while I might satisfy myself with this general disavowal, I feel that something more may be called for by others, whose good opinion I highly value. And, especially considering that I do not, on turning to the passage in question, see anything material to be retracted—however much there may be that would require to be more guardedly, perhaps, as well as more correctly and elaborately expressed—I feel that it would be somewhat like an unworthy shift, to shrink from the responsibility of the address, even as thus insufficiently reported. May I request you, therefore, to give insertion to the following remarks, in which, far from professing to discuss the subject thoroughly, my object is merely to explain and enlarge the brief and cursory allusion to it which I made, in the course of treating a far wider theme.—I am, &c. ROB. S. CANDLISH On the Atonement ======================================================================== CHAPTER 80: 08.03.01. CHAPTER 1 ======================================================================== Chapter 1: The relation of the Work of Christ to mankind at large—The universal obligation and encourgement of faith THE question being, in the first place, Was the death of Christ, or his work of obedience unto death, considered in the light of a satisfaction rendered to divine justice, and an atonement made for human guilt, undertaken and accomplished for any but the elect?—we answer, without qualification or reserve, in the negative. They for whom Christ died are infallibly saved. If it be asked, secondly, Has the death of Christ any relation at all to mankind at large, whether elect or not?—we reply, that the condition of those at least to whom the knowledge of it comes, as regards their present obligation and ultimate responsibility, is most materially affected by the event or fact in question, or rather, by the publication of it. Assuredly the guilt and condemnation of those who have had the gospel among them, and have rejected it, cannot be put upon a level with the criminality of such as have never heard the joyful sound; and, in so far as God, in his providence, gives any information to the heathen, respecting his long-suffering patience and love, as connected with a mediatorial provision of grace, they are left the more without excuse. The third inquiry, having reference to the precise hearing of Christ’s death upon the world at large, including the unbelieving portion of it, is the very question which we declined, and must still decline, to answer, or, at least, to answer categorically, or so as to exhaust the inquiry; it being our opinion that Holy Scripture has not given materials for any very explicit deliverance upon that point. At the same time, there are some particulars, under this head, which may be ascertained. Thus:— I. In point of fact, the death of Christ, or his work of obedience and atonement, has procured for the world at large, and for every individual—the impenitent and unbelieving as well as the chosen, and called, and faithful—certain definite, tangible, and ascertainable benefits (if we may use such words to designate their reality and their specific character), among which, in particular, may be noted these two: first, A season of forbearance—a respite of judgment—a period of grace (Romans 3:25); (See Appendix B.) and that, too, in subserviency, and with direct reference, to the plan of saving mercy (ibid., and Romans 2:4; and 2 Peter 3:15); and, secondly, A system of means and influences fitted to lead men to God, and sufficient to leave them without excuse. (Acts 14:15-17, and Acts 17:22-31; Romans 1:18, and Romans 2:15.) This, since the promulgation of the gospel, includes all the ordinances of God’s Word and worship, with the accompanying common operations of the Spirit in them. (See Appendix C.) Nor does it affect this statement, as to the actual obligation under which mankind at large, including the finally lost, lie to Christ and his work, for benefits, in point of fact, real and valuable, that this season of long-suffering, and this system of means, are extended to them all indiscriminately, mainly and chiefly for the sake of the elect who are among them. For, in the first place, It does not appear that this can be established, from Scripture, to be the only reason which God has for such a mode of dealing with the world. It is true, indeed, that the elect are the salt of the earth, whose presence would procure a respite even for a Sodom; and when they are all gathered in, and not a soul remains to be converted, the end will come. But this does not prove that God may not have other ends to serve, besides the salvation of his elect people—and ends more closely connected with the individuals themselves who are thus spared and subjected to salutary influences, though in vain—when he extends to them his goodness for a time. And, secondly, Whether directly or indirectly—mediately or immediately—for their own sakes or the elect’s—the fact, after all, is the same—and it is important and significant—that the forbearance granted to every sinner, and the favour shown in such a way as should lead him to repentance, must be ascribed to the interposition position of Christ, and his sacrifice on the cross. May not this consideration, of itself, go far to explain not only the strong and touching appeals made generally to sinners, as forsaking their own mercies (Jonah 2:8), but even such awful denunciations as that uttered by the Apostle Peter respecting apostates bringing in damnable heresies, that they deny the Lord that bought them? (Second Epistle, 2 Peter 2:1)—not to speak of a still more terrible sense in which even the reprobate may be truly said to be bought by Christ, inasmuch as, for his obedience unto death, he has received the right, and power, and commission to dispose of them, and deal with them, as it may seem meet, for the honour of his Father’s name, and the salvation of his people. (Psalms 2:1; John 17:2) It may be observed, in passing, that there is a double sense in which we may speak of Christ’s purchase; first, Strictly and properly, when we regard him as purchasing men; and, secondly, More improperly, when we consider him as purchasing benefits for men. This last view, as we have hinted, is rather figurative and metaphorical than real and literal; for the idea of his purchasing benefits from the Father for mankind, must ever be understood in consistency with the Father’s sovereignty, and his pre-existing love to the children of men. The Father is not induced or persuaded to bestow benefits on men by a price paid to him; but being antecedently full of compassion to all, and having a purpose to save some, he appoints and ordains—he decrees and brings in—this death of his Son as a satisfaction to divine justice, and a propitiation for human guilt, that he may be justified in showing forbearance and kindness to the world, as well as in ultimately and gloriously saving his own elect. In this view, as it would seem, it may he said, with equal fitness, and equal truth, that Christ purchased the benefits implied in the long-suffering of God for all, and that he purchased the blessings of actual salvation for his elect; inasmuch as, so far as appears from Scripture, his death is no less indispensable a condition of any being spared for a season, than it is of some being everlastingly saved. In regard, again, to the other light in which Christ’s purchase may be viewed, as a purchase, not of certain benefits for men, but of men themselves, there is room for an important distinction. In right of his merit, his service, and his sacrifice, all are given into his hands, and all are his. All, therefore, may be said to be bought by him, inasmuch as, by his humiliation, obedience, and death, he has obtained, as by purchase, a right over all—he has got all under his power. But it is for very different purposes and ends. The reprobate are his to be judged; the elect are his to be saved. As to the former, it is no ransom or redemption, fairly so called. He has won them—bought them, if you will—but it is that he may so dispose of them as to glorify the retributive righteousness of God in their condemnation; aggravated, as that condemnation must be, by their rejection of himself. This is no propitiation, in any sense at all—no offering of himself to bear their sins—no bringing in of a perfect righteousness on their account; but an office or function which he has obtained for himself by the same work—or has had intrusted to him for the sake of the same shedding of blood—by which he expiated the sins of his people, as their true and proper substitute, and merited their salvation, as their representative and head—an office or function, moreover, which he undertakes solely on his people’s behalf, and which he executes faithfully for their good, as well as for his Father’s glory. II. In addition to this general benefit, in point of fact, resulting to mankind at large from the interposition of Christ, or rather, perhaps, as included in it, may be mentioned the manifestation which the death of Christ is fitted to give to all men, universally, and to every individual alike, of the divine character and the divine plan of salvation. In this view, Christ is the light which, coming into the world, lighteth every man. Lifted up upon the cross, Jesus reveals the Father, and the Father’s provision for reconciling the exercise of mercy towards the guilty with the maintenance of law and justice; and this service is rendered, not to the elect specially, but to men generally and universally. III. Nor, lastly, is it to be omitted that the cross of Christ is the proof and measure of that infinite compassion which dwells in the bosom of God towards each and all of the lost race of Adam, and his infinite willingness, or rather longing and yearning desire, to receive each and all of them again into his favour. Even the cross itself would almost seem to—of what is in his heart; of the feeling, so to speak, to which he gives utterance by an oath, when he swears, “As I live, saith the LORD, I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth;” and of the deep, ineffable sincerity of his assurance, that he would rather—how much rather!—that the sinner should turn unto him and live. There is a well known theological distinction between God’s will of decree (voluntas decreti) and his will of desire or of good pleasure (voluntas beneplaciti)—between what his mind, on a consideration of all interests, actually determines, and what his heart, from its very nature, if we may venture the expression, must prefer and wish. The types, or expressions, of these two wills respectively, are to be found in the two texts commonly quoted to illustrate them;—the first, Romans 9:19 : “Who hath resisted his will?” the second, Matthew 23:37 : “How often would I have gathered you, and ye would not!” (See also Psalms 81:13-16, and various other passages.) This latter, as distinguished from the former, denotes the pure complacency with which God approves of a certain result as just and holy in itself, and delights in it, and therefore wills to enjoin it on the creature, as his most bounden duty; and, in enjoining it, cannot but add the assurance of his willing acceptance of it, whensoever, wheresoever, and howsoever realized. Even in a human agent, some such distinction must be recognised. Knowing his character and his hearty you at once can specify what would be most agreeable and welcome to him, as the scene or spectacle which he would most delight to contemplate. But you must know a great deal more respecting his opinions, and the circumstances with which these come into contact—or, in a word, respecting his mind—his judgment as to what, in certain contingencies, he is to do, and the reasons of his judgment—before you can be qualified to understand the whole of his procedure. Still, if he were a straightforward man, you would act without hesitation, in any case in which your personal interest was concerned, on what you knew of his heart, although you might have much perplexity in discerning all the views which, in certain difficult cases, entered into the making up of his mind. Thus, to take a familiar instance, a man of undoubted and notorious beneficence to the industrious poor, or the poor willing to be industrious, has peculiar opinions on pauperism generally, and on the right mode of dealing with certain instances of pauperism, which involve his conduct in some degree of mystery to the uninitiated, and might give rise to various questions in regard to some parts of his procedure. Now, if I am a beggar, perishing without his aid, shall I perplex myself with difficulties arising out of my ignorance of the reasons that determine his resolution in these particulars?—or shall I proceed upon my acquaintance with his acknowledged goodness, and, on the faith of his own express invitations, appeal at once to his generosity and truth for what is needed to meet my case? Evidently, in such a state of matters, I would practically draw the distinction. Knowing my friend’s character, and frankly interpreting his frank assurances to me, and all situated like me—without reference to any inquiries that might he raised respecting his actual treatment of particular cases not, as yet, fully explained to me—I would venture confidently to make my appeal to him, and feel no anxiety as to the issue. So is it with God; his will, as determining what, in every case, is to be the actual result, is an act of his omniscient mind, which he need not explain to us; but his will, as defining what, in every case, would be the result most agreeable and welcome to him, is an inherent part of his nature, and, as it were, a feature of his heart. In the one view, his will is consistent with many being impenitent and lost; in the other, it would have all men everywhere to repent and be saved. Now, it is into this latter will—this will of the DIVINE HEART—and not into the former, the will of the DIVINE MIND—it is into what God, from his very nature, must and does desire, in reference to lost sinners, and not into what God, for ends and on principles as yet unknown, has decreed—that the cross, as such, considered merely objectively, as presented to the eye, and not subjectively, as experienced and realized in the heart, gives mankind at large, and every individual, if he will but look, a clear, unequivocal, and most satisfying insight. To every individual, believer or not, elect or not, it is a proof and pledge of the Father’s bowels of compassion yearning over him, and the Father’s eye looking out for him, and the Father’s arms open to embrace him freely, if he will but be moved to return; and to no individual, before he believes, is it, or can it be, anything more; to none dries it beforehand impart any further insight into the mind and will of God, as a warrant or encouragement to believe. Nor is more needed; for, on the subject of the universality of the gospel offer or call, and its sincerity and good faith on the part of God, as well as its sufficiency as regards men, let the following observations be considered:— 1. To vindicate God in this procedure, and satisfy men, it is enough that these two things be acknowledged and established—first, His right to require and command the sinner’s return to himself; and, secondly, His willingness and ability, in consistency with the ends of justice, to save all such as do return. It is irrelevant here to raise any question as to the extent or sufficiency of the atonement. It is enough that it is sufficient for all who will avail themselves of it, and through it, return to God—sufficient for washing away guilt of deepest dye, and corruption of darkest stain. This, taken along with the undoubted right which God has to say to the sinner—not merely graciously, and in the way of a free permission, but authoritatively, in the way of a peremptory command—return, repent, believe—is enough to shut the sinner up to the necessity of complying with the call; and if we add, what has already been explained, the insight given into the character and heart of God—into the intensity of his longing desire to see every sinner return, and to embrace every sinner returning—what can be wanting, so far as argument, or motive, or warrant is concerned, to bring the prodigal again, in relenting contrition, to his father, and the rebel, in new-born allegiance, to his Lord? 2. No sinner, before believing, is entitled to stipulate for any information on the subject either of the extent or of the sufficiency of the atonement, beyond the assurance that it will suffice for him, if he will make use of it. To raise a question as to what may be its aspect or bearing towards him, while he is yet rejecting it, and to insist on his having this question answered or settled, as a preliminary condition of his believing, is not only arrogant presumption, but mere infatuation; and to deal with any such question, as if it might occasion any scruple really embarrassing to an earnest soul, and really, therefore, deserving of pity—or as if the statement of Christ’s dying for his people, and for them only, must be modified or qualified to meet it—is but fostering the presumption, and flattering the folly, of unbelief. Let the sovereign authority of God in the gospel call be asserted, and let the sinner be summoned, at his peril, to return to his allegiance; let him be certified, also, of the sufficiency of Christ’s atoning death for all the purposes for which he can possibly need it, and the free and full welcome that awaits him with the Father—and what more has he a right to ask? “The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him, and he will show them his covenant.” To believers, accordingly, more insight may be given into the mind and purpose of God. But to let unbelievers imagine that they, while yet in an attitude of rebellion, are entitled to have all things made plain; or that it is necessary to accommodate our statements respecting God’s love to his elect, Christ’s death for them, and the Spirit’s witness in them, to the difficulties which may be started as to the precise relation of all these to the unconverted—difficulties which the unconverted man starts, while continuing in a state of sin, and which would vanish on the instant of his being converted, and so ceasing to sin—is really to bring down the sovereign Jehovah to the rank of a mere petitioner for man’s favour, and the gospel to the level of a kind of bargaining and trafficking with presumptuous offenders. It is, in fact, to place salvation at the mere discretion of sinners—who may condescend to look at it, and, if all is to their mind, make trial of it; instead of bringing the guilty, at once and peremptorily, to the bar of an offended Judge, who does not relinquish the stern hold of his just sovereignty over them, even while, with melting love, he beseeches them, as a gracious Father, to be reconciled to himself. It is to be feared that the trumpet has sometimes, in this respect, given forth too feeble and hesitating a sound, when a higher tone might have been more constraining in its influence on the heart, as well as more cogent and commanding in its appeal to the conscience. 3. But, further, it might be shown, that even if men had more information on the point in question, it would not help them to believe. For faith is not the belief of an express proposition defining the precise relation of Christ’s death to the elect, or to men in general, or to the individual in particular; but it is “the receiving and resting upon Jesus Christ alone for salvation, as he is freely offered in the gospel.” Thus, even the revelation of the decree of election, and of my name in it, would not materially help me in believing, and, at all events, would not produce faith; for it is not the knowledge or belief of a certain fact respecting the bearing of Christ’s death on me, that saves me, but my trust in him as the way to the Father. Still less could it avail me to know with the utmost possible exactness, and to be able to put into the most precise categorical proposition, the exact relation or connection between the death of Christ and men at large, including the non-elect—since, after all, the knowledge of that fact, and the belief of that proposition, would not advance me, by a single footstep, towards that faith which is neither mere knowledge nor bare belief, but a hearty acquiescence in God’s proposals, and acceptance of God’s gift, and reliance on his faithful promises, for all the benefits of salvation, unto everlasting life. If any deem it worth while to look into the address delivered at the close of the bicentenary meeting, and the portion of it bearing upon this subject, they will see that this is substantially the view there indicated. The object, on that occasion, was, to illustrate the harmony of truth, and to show, in reference to all the complex doctrines of our Confession—how an error, however trivial, in one part of the system, vitiates the whole. The instance selected was Faith, and the view held by those who make faith a simple act of the understanding—the intellectual apprehension and belief of the truth. Now, it was then observed, right or wrong, as a consequence of that view of faith, that it forces us to express in the shape of a definite and exact proposition the relation of Christ’s death to those who are called to believe (i.e., to mankind at large); and so to frame a sense in which it may be said that Christ died for all men, and in which, therefore, every sinner may be at once and summarily required to believe that Christ died for him; a sense, however, after all, falling far short of that in which the believer does actually, upon his believing, come to apprehend and appropriate Christ. And it was argued, that the more simple view of faith, which seems to be sanctioned by our standards, supersedes the necessity of any such definition, since it makes faith consist, not in the belief of any definite (See Appendix, D.) proposition at all, but in the committing of the soul, and the soul’s interests for eternity, to a divine person. For such a faith, it is indispensable to know the truth concerning Christ’s death, as a manifestation of the Father’s character, and as the way to the Father’s fellowship. But as to any more minute information, respecting the relation of Christ’s death to the world, while yet unbelieving, not only has Holy Scripture withheld such information, but even if it were granted, it would avail nothing to understand and admit it. The real belief of the truth is independent of it altogether; and, in fact, for any practical purposes connected with the sinner’s actual return to God, it would be alike impertinent were he to ask, and useless were he to receive it. The reasons of this opinion have now been briefly stated. Having been reluctantly compelled to enter upon the subject, we almost regret being obliged to leave it, without some further observations, especially with a view to trace the connection between erroneous or imperfect views on the subject of the atonement, and inadequate apprehensions of the divine sovereignty—human depravity and impotency—the work of the Spirit—the origin and nature of saving faith—the perseverance of the saints—their assurance of salvation, and other kindred doctrines. But, for the present, we must abstain. TO THE EDITOR OF “THE FREE CHURCH MAGAZINE” Edinburgh, January 9, 1845 MY DEAR SIR,—While I cannot think of using your periodical as the vehicle for carrying on any controversy personal to myself, I believe you expect me to furnish one or two papers on some of the topics indicated at the close of my article in your last Number. I would be understood as attempting to discuss, not so much the extent of the atonement, as its nature, fulness, and perfection; together with the sufficiency and certainty of the salvation which is inseparably and infallibly connected with it.—I am yours very truly, ROB. S. CANDLISH ======================================================================== CHAPTER 81: 08.03.02. CHAPTER 2 ======================================================================== Chapter 2: The Sufficiency of the Atonement for all that believe—Its adaptation to the want and desire of the awakend soul IT may be necessary to recapitulate some of the points brought out in the former paper; and, accordingly, the following propositions may be taken as embodying the substance of the statements then made, respecting the bearing of Christ’s work, or rather of the publication of it, on the world at large. For it is to be observed that, let the design and efficacy of the work itself be ever so definite, the publication of it, being confessedly indefinite, cannot but affect materially the condition of all to whom it is made, as regards both their present duty and their ultimate responsibility. To say, as some do, that the atonement, if held to have been undertaken for a certain number, cannot be a demonstration of love to all, is to confound the secret with the revealed will of God. Were the parties, whether few or many, for whom it is undertaken, named in the proclamation of it, it could not be a demonstration of good-will to mankind generally, or to sinners indiscriminately, as such. But, since what is revealed is simply the way of acceptance, or the principle on which God acts in justifying the ungodly, it seems plain, that to whomsoever such a revelation comes, with names and numbers suppressed, it is, in its very nature, a revelation of love. Let it be granted that Christ’s work, like Christ himself, is set forth “for judgment,” for “the fall and rising again of many in Israel,” for “a savour of life or of death;” and let it be granted, also, that the names and numbers of those to whom it is to be the one or the other respectively, are fixed, in the very undertaking and accomplishment of the work; still, to each individual to whom it is presented, with the alternative announcement that it will certainly be to him either life or death, and with that alone, it necessarily must be a manifestation of grace. Any question that may be raised as to the divine rectitude and faithfulness in such a procedure, is really no other than the great and insoluble question, as to the combination of the divine will with the human, or the divine agency with that of man, in any work whatsoever. This difficulty remains on any supposition; and certainly, on the hypothesis of a general and universal design or intention in the atonement itself, coupled with a limited and special design in the application of it, or in the work of the Spirit making it effectual, the difficulty is not less than on the most rigid Calvinistic theory. No system but that of universal pardon, or universal salvation, cuts the knot; and no system admitting special grace, even approaches a solution of it. The truth is, we attempt what is presumptuous and vain, when we seek to vindicate the consistency and sincerity of God in the gospel call, by going beyond the assurance, that whosoever will put him to the proof, will find him faithful. But, to return to the propositions in which the substance of the former paper may be embodied, they are these:— 1. The present dispensation of long-suffering patience towards the world at large, seems to stand connected with the work of Christ. That dispensation of forbearance is subservient to the dispensation of grace, and preparatory to the dispensation of judgment; and it is the fruit of Christ’s mediation. 2. To all alike, the work of Christ is a manifestation of the divine character, as well as of the divine manner of dealing with sinners of mankind. 3. To all alike, it is a proof and pledge of the desire, if we may so speak, subsisting in the divine heart—a desire involved in the very nature of God, as originating such a plan of salvation at all, whatever, on grounds and reasons unknown to us, his decree, as to its actual issue or result, may be—to see every sinner return to himself, and to welcome every one so returning. 4. To every individual it brings home the divine claim of sovereign and supreme authority. It is an appeal to conscience. Whether the sinner is to be satisfied, on all points, or not, before believing, the gospel proceeds on the principle that God has a right to demand submission and allegiance to himself; and that conscience must recognise that right. 5. To every one who hears the gospel, assurance is given of the full and infinite sufficiency of Christ’s work for any, and for all, who will come unto him. The dignity of his person, the merit of his obedience, and the value of his death, as a propitiation, secure this. 6. Saving faith—not being the mere belief of any definite propositions, far less of any that are indefinite, but union with a person, and reliance on a person, even Christ—requires nothing beforehand as the ground and warrant of its exercise, beyond the apprehension of these two precise and unequivocal truths:—1. That God is entitled to command the sinner’s return to himself; and, 2. That the sinner, returning, is sure of a sufficient salvation. No additional information is necessary; nor would it be of any use. We request the readers of this paper to peruse again, along with the above summary, the whole of our former article. And now, leaving, in the meantime, the view of the subject which has been first forced upon us, we shall endeavour to present it in a somewhat different light. It may be useful, in such a case, to apply a kind of practical and experimental test, of which this question seems very particularly to admit. For, we are deeply and solemnly persuaded, that the instant we begin to conceive of Christ’s work, as undertaken and accomplished for any but those actually saved, under whatever vague phraseology of a general reference, or general relations, this may be done, we altogether change the nature and character of that work, so that it ceases to be a work of substitution, properly so called, at all—we subvert the whole doctrine of imputation, whether of the individual sinner’s guilt to Christ, or of Christ’s righteousness to him—we materially modify the principle on which faith is held to justify and save us, making it not the instrument of vital union to Christ, but a work, or condition, supplementary to his work—we insensibly incline to an inadequate feeling of the utter impotency, and just condemnation of the sinner; and, above all, we sadly detract from the completeness and certainty of the salvation that is in Christ. It is chiefly on this last aspect of the subject that our observations are at present to be made. And, in this view, we remark, that the practical value or importance of this doctrine, respecting the work of Christ, as undertaken for those only, in regard to whom it is finally and savingly effectual, may be illustrated by tracing the progress of an awakened soul towards assurance; from the first feeling of desiderium, or the apprehension which such a soul has of what it really needs—through the successive stages of its “first love,” or fresh and childlike simplicity of faith—its subsequent trials and difficulties, even verging on despair—and its matured and experimental confidence—onwards and upwards to that infallible certainty of hope which maketh not ashamed. This progress, accordingly, it may be interesting to attempt to trace, at least in its commencing stage. Let it be considered, then, what it is that the awakened soul really needs, and feels itself to need—what is its desiderium? And here, without hesitation, we reply, that what such a soul desiderates, is not a general or universal redemption, which must necessarily be contingent and doubtful—but one that is particular, and therefore certain. On this point we appeal to the experience, not only of those who are converted, but of all who have ever been conscious; or who now are conscious, of any inward movements at all, tending in the direction of conversion. Were you ever aware of any spiritual awakening in your consciences and hearts, without the instinctive conviction, that, as regarded both the end to be attained and the method of attaining it, what you needed—what alone you cared for, and could no longer do without—was not an interest in some kind of general deliverance, or some bare chance and opportunity of deliverance, common to all, but an interest in a real and actual salvation, such as, you feel, must be peculiar to God’s own people? “Remember me, O Lord, with the favour that thou bearest unto thy people: O visit me with thy salvation; that I may see the good of thy chosen, that I may rejoice in the gladness of thy nation, that I may glory with thine inheritance.” (Psalms 106:4-5) The very anxieties and perplexities of an awakened soul turn upon this particular sense of need. In fact, there are but two ways in which, otherwise, the sinner’s case, when at all realized, can be met—the one leaning to the Popish, the other to the Pelagian, error—yet both of them proceeding on the same idea of the divine work of redemption being left to be supplemented, whether as to its accomplishment or as to its application, by a priestly ministry, in the hands of the Church, or by some effort of spontaneous will, or some attainment of righteousness, on the part of the individual. For both of these systems agree in this, that they make the plan of salvation contingent and conditional; they would have it to be a sort of panacea, or universal medicine, to be in the possession, under the control, and at the disposal, either of the Church and priesthood, as dispensers of it, or of all and sundry, as qualified to administer it to themselves. The balm that is in Gilead is thus to be taken and used, apart from the Physician that is there. The remedy proposed being, in itself, of general, nay, of universal, applicability, inasmuch as it is fitted for every form and every measure of disease, is to be distributed and rendered actually effectual, either on the principle of a close spiritual corporation and ecclesiastical monopoly, the Church being recognised as having the sole key of this divine dispensary; or on the principle, or the hap-hazard, of absolute free trade, every man being left to be his own mediciner. Thus, it is but one great gigantic error, at bottom, which raises itself against the truth of God; whether it be the priesthood, with its mystical and sacramental charms—or the individual will of fallen man, with its supposed freedom, power, and ability of choice—that is regarded as dealing with the divinely ordained and divinely accomplished salvation, so as to affect, or to determine, or in any way to regulate, its particular application. It is the grand question, Whether I am to possess God’s salvation, or God’s salvation is to possess me? whether I am to have God in my power and at my disposal, or God is to have me? whether the Creator is to place himself under the control of the creature, or the creature is to submit to the Creator? whether man is to make use of God, or God is to reign over man?—(Galatians 4:9) For to this it must ultimately come; as every awakened sinner feels, whether he may be able to put his feeling into any definite expression or not. For, as the process of earnest thought and deep exercise of soul in the things of God goes on, the systems and forms of religion, which once appeared sufficient, whether more or less ecclesiastical, or more or less rationalistic, become wholly unsatisfactory and distasteful. Once, it might not be difficult for the sinner to content himself with a Pelagian, or semi-Pelagian notion of his being at liberty, and having power, to use the promises of the gospel as a remedy for the disorders of his nature and the ills of life, and to mould his character according to its precepts. Or, he might graft on this notion some Popish, or semi-Popish confidence in the Church’s ritual and observances. And so he might have a fair-weather religion, with not a little apparent fervour, and with not a little fruit, which looked well enough, and served his purpose well enough, while his sky was clear and his heart was whole. But when experience of another kind comes—when he sees the wind boisterous, and is afraid, and begins to sink—ah! then, it is not his laying hold of Christ, with his own withered arm, or through the Church’s treacherous mediation, that will save him; but his being powerfully caught and laid hold of by Christ himself; and he feels this when he cries, “Lord, save me, I perish;” and immediately Jesus stretches forth his hand to catch him, saying, “O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?”—(See also Php 3:12.) Now, a sinner thus apprehended, does not find his case at all met, or the desideratum or felt want of his soul supplied, or its desiderium or longing desire satisfied, by either of the two contrivances, which they, who would be wiser than God, and would have a simpler gospel than that of Christ, are apt to propose; as either—first, By any extension of the plan of salvation, so as to make it comprehend and embrace others besides the individuals actually saved; or, secondly, By an exaggeration of the power and ability of individual sinners, at their own discretion, to avail themselves of the remedy provided. For these are the two expedients, the Arminian and the Pelagian, invented by human wisdom, to meet this case. For, as to the first—with which, in this inquiry, we are chiefly concerned—tell such a one of a universal redemption—an atonement or propitiation made for all—a pardon or life purchased for all—and ask him, Is it this that you want? is it this that you feel yourself urgently and indispensably and immediately to need? It is true that, in a certain stage of his experience, this doctrine of an unlimited atonement may seem to remove a difficulty, as to the earnest cordiality of the call or invitation on the part of God, and the warrant for compliance with it on the part of the sinner; and thus, it may contribute, in his apprehension, to facilitate the decisive step, or, as it were, the leap, not indeed in the dark, but yet at a venture, and in faith, by which he is to pass over the great gulf, and effect his clear and unequivocal transition from a state of nature to a state of grace. Such is the purpose which this notion seems to serve, in the system of those, who, being better preachers, as we are apt to think, than theologians—(and what can he higher praise, as applicable to a Church like that of the Wesleyan Methodists, forced into existence and energy by a universal deadness, and having time for nothing but instant and reviving action?)—unite with the doctrine of a universal atonement or general redemption, those other doctrines, of particular personal election, on the one hand, and individual regeneration, in order to faith, and in believing, on the other. (See Appendix E.) They think they find, in this theory of redemption, a stepping-stone to that personal appropriation of the blessings of saving grace, which they rightly hold to be incumbent, as a duty, on every hearer of the gospel, and to be involved in the acceptance of the gospel call. But the assistance, which their idea of a universal atonement affords, is, after all, more apparent than real. In point of fact, to a sinner situated as we are now supposing, it is the universal, unlimited, strait, and imperative command to believe, coupled with the unrestricted, unconditional, free, full, unequivocal, and infallible assurance, that whosoever believeth will be saved—which, after all, does the thing—which gets him over the difficulty, and lands him in peace and enlargement of heart—not any conception, either of a universal purchase, or a universal application, of the benefits which he covets and grasps. Put it to such a sinner, whose conscience within him being thus quickened, and undergoing the pangs of the new birth, is scarcely pacified, and with difficulty made to rest. Do you look to Jesus, and believe on him, or long to believe on him, for no more special and specific blessings than what are common to all for whom you imagine that he died? Is it for nothing more sure and certain—more complete and full—in the way of salvation, that you seek an interest in Christ, and venture timidly and fearfully to hope that you have obtained, at least, as it were, a first instalment, or infeftment and investiture in it? Ah, no! he will reply. For such a redemption, common to me with the lost and damned, it were little worth my while to believe in Jesus. If I am to believe in him at all, it must be for a great deal more than this. Nor will it be of any avail here to introduce the scheme of a double sense, as if the belief that Christ died for me, in some sense in which he equally died for the traitor Judas, could at all help me to believe in him, as dying to make such propitiation for sin, and purchase such a salvation, as must, confessedly, be restricted to them that are “chosen, and called, and faithful.” Universal redemption, universal atonement, universal pardon, are ideas or words that may seem to make the sinner’s appropriation of Christ to himself, and his use of Christ for all the purposes of his own spiritual life, a very easy and simple thing. But if you exclude universal salvation, this apparent facility becomes merely imaginary and delusive; for still, what is needed is the appropriation of Christ, not as standing in a relation, and doing a work, common to all, the lost as well as the saved, but as standing in a relation, and doing a work, peculiar to them that believe. The really awakened and enlightened soul will scarcely be manœuvred into peace by any such ambidextrous juggle or ambiguity as this. Ask such a one what he needs, what he wants, what he now feels that he cannot dispense with, or do without? He will tell you that it is not a redemption consistent with his being after all cast into hell, but a redemption real and actual, full, finished, and perfect, infallibly certain, and irrevocably secure. Nay, but you say to him, this redemption with which you have to do, is, in one view, common to all, and, in another, peculiar to those actually saved; and it is the former general aspect of it that you are first to take in, with a view to your apprehending the other, which is more special. But what is it that makes the difference, I ask—that translates me from the position of one generally interested, according to some vague and undefined sense, along with mankind at large, in the redemption purchased by Christ, to that of one specially and actually redeemed? My acceptance of the redemption, you reply. But of what redemption? It cannot be my acceptance of real and complete redemption; for what is presented to me as the object of my faith—as that which I am to believe—is the fact of a general redemption, common to me with Judas. It must be, therefore, my acceptance of something which, as it is presented to my acceptance, is very far short of complete redemption, and is made up to what is needed by my act in accepting it. Ah! then, after all, it is a salvation by works, at least in part—a salvation only partially accomplished by Christ, to be supplemented by those to whom it is offered; conditional, therefore, and contingent on something on the part of the sinner, call it faith or what you will, that is to be not merely the hand laying hold of a finished work, but an additional stroke needed to finish it.—(Galatians 2:1-21) Nor does it help the matter to tell me that this also is the work of God—this faith being wrought in me by the Holy Ghost. Still it is a different work from that of Christ, and must be associated with it, not in the way of appropriating, but in the way of supplementing, it. For, in this view, the work of the Spirit must become necessarily objective, along with the work of Christ, instead of being merely subjective; and the Spirit must speak of himself, as well as testify of Christ. He must reveal to me, as the ground and warrant of my confidence, not merely the work of Christ, but his own work in addition. For as, on this supposition, the work of Christ purchases nothing more than salvability for all, and it is the work of the Spirit which turns that common salvability into actual salvation, what I am to believe in for salvation is not the work of Christ alone, but, conjointly, Christ’s work for sinners generally, and the Spirit’s work in me individually. Hence a looking to inward signs, and leaning on inward experience; a walking, in short, by sense, rather than by faith. For this is the worst effect of the notion of which we are speaking, namely, that of the atonement being general and universal, connected with a strict view of regeneration, or of faith being the gift and work of the Holy Ghost. It almost necessarily leads those who hold it to place the work of Christ and the work of the Spirit on the same footing, as making up between them the ground, and warrant, and foundation of confidence; so that the sinner is to look to, and rest on, not Christ’s work alone, but his and the Spirit’s together. But it is a great scriptural truth that, in the exercise of saving faith, Christ’s work alone is objective, and the Spirit’s wholly subjective; or, in other words, that while the Spirit is the author of faith, Christ is its only object. And if so, it must be Christ, as securing, by his death, a full, finished, complete, and everlasting salvation. It is for this, and nothing short of this, that the awakened and enlightened sinner cares to believe in Christ at all. He longs to appropriate Christ. But it is Christ as not a possible, but an actual Saviour, that he does long to appropriate; Christ as having purchased a complete salvation; a salvation complete and sure, irrespective of his own act of appropriating it, or of the work of the Spirit by which he is persuaded and enabled to do so. True it is that he may experience difficulty in thus appropriating Christ and his salvation; he may have scruples, and doubts, and misgivings manifold, in bringing himself to realize anything like a personal interest in the love and the death of Jesus. But will it meet his case to widen to the very utmost the extent of Christ’s work, and to represent it as designed and intended, undertaken and accomplished, for all, even the lost? Do you not, in proportion as you thus widen its extent, limit and diminish its real efficacy, and in consequence, also, the actual amount of benefit implied in it? You say to the broken-hearted anxious inquirer, that he may appropriate this redemption as a redemption purchased for all. Ah I then, it becomes a redemption scarcely worth the appropriating. Nay, you rejoin, it is very precious; for, when accompanied by the work of the Holy Ghost, it becomes a great deal more than redemption common to all; it becomes redemption special and peculiar to the saved. Be it so. But do you not thus instantly set the inquiring sinner on putting the two works—that of Christ and that of the Holy Ghost—together, as constituting together the ground of his hope?—whereas the Spirit himself would not have his own work to be, in any degree or in any sense, either the object, or the ground, or reason, or warrant, of faith at all, but only and exclusively the finished work and sure word of Christ. The truth is, what is needed to meet such a case, is a complete salvation freely offered. The difficulty in question, so far as it is to be overcome by argument or reason at all, or by considerations addressed to the understanding, is to be got over by pressing the peremptory gospel call to believe, and the positive gospel assurance, of a cordial welcome to all that will believe. That call and that assurance are universal, unrestricted, unreserved. But the call must be a call to the sinner to submit himself to the righteousness of God, or the work of Christ, as by itself, alone, justifying the ungodly; and the assurance must be an assurance that an interest in Christ immediately and necessarily carries with it the full possession of all saving blessings; otherwise, if it be not the very nature of the atonement itself, or its exact design and inherent efficacy, that connects with it a sure and perfect salvation—but something super-added to, or supervening upon, the atonement, to qualify, as it were, or complete it—then, it is on that something, after all, whatever it may be, that the sinner is to fix his eye and rest his hope, and not really on the atonement, which, without it, is to him unmeaning and unprofitable. Some, for instance, (1.) say that, on the part of God, it is a covenant transaction alone that secures the actual salvation of any, in connection with the atonement; which, in itself, does no more than make the salvation of any, and of all, possible. They represent the Son as undertaking his work, on the condition or stipulation of its being infallibly rendered effectual on behalf of a given number; and they seem to hold that it is this alone which imparts to that work any more special reference to that given number than it has to the world at large. It is plain that this view touches very deeply the nature of the work of Christ. We are accustomed to believe that in the covenant transaction between the Father and the Son, an elect people being given to Christ, he did, in their room, and as their surety, undertake and accomplish a work which, from its very nature, as a work of satisfaction and substitution, insured infallibly their complete salvation. But that other theory makes the whole peculiarity of Christ’s relation to his people turn, not on the essential nature of his work on their behalf, but on the terms which he made with the Father; so that, in fact, it comes to this, that Christ really has not done more for them than for others; although, by the divine arrangements regarding it, what he has done is to be rendered effectual for their salvation, and not for that of others. And hence, it follows, (2.) that, on the part of the sinner himself who is called to receive salvation, there must be a tendency to have his attention turned, not to Christ’s work, as, from its very nature, a sure and sufficient ground of hope, but to those arrangements which define and determine its otherwise unlimited efficacy, in so far as these are made known. And here the great practical evil comes out. The death of Christ, or his work of atonement, is viewed very much as an expedient for getting over a difficulty that had occurred in the divine government, in reference to God’s negotiating a treaty of reconciliation with the guilty; it is a sort of coup-d’etat, a measure of high and heavenly policy, for upholding generally the authority of law and justice in the universe. But that purpose being served, it may now he put very much in the back-ground, excepting only in so far as it is a manifestation of the divine character, which it must always be right to admire; for, the hitch or crisis that demanded such an interposition being adjusted, the door is open for a negotiation of peace between God and his guilty creatures of mankind, in which reference may, indeed, be made to the atonement—but rather as if it made way for reconciliation, than as if it actually procured it. Is not this like what Paul calls “another gospel?” To preach, or proclaim salvation through Christ, is a different thing from proclaiming salvation IN Christ. I go to the crowd of criminals, shut up in prison, under sentence of death; and my message is, not that in consequence of Christ’s death I have now to offer to them all liberty to go out free; but that Christ himself is there, even at the door, in whom, if they will but apply to him, they will find one who can meet every accusation on their behalf, and enrich them with every blessing. I refer them and point them to Him alone; and whatever difficulties may remain as to obtaining an interest in Christ, I am bound to assure them that this is all they have to care for; even that they may win Christ, and be found in him. In a word, I present to them, not a general amnesty, or vague and indefinite deed of jail delivery, proceeding upon the transaction which Christ finished upon Calvary—but Christ himself, and him crucified, a present Saviour now, as then—of having in his hand a special pardon and special grace for every one who will resort to him—and nothing for any who will not. The Pelagian, or semi-Pelagian, expedient for meeting the sinner’s case, by exaggerating his natural ability to believe, will fall to be afterwards considered. In the meantime, it would appear that little is gained, in the way of facilitating his acceptance of Christ, by any extension of the design and efficacy of Christ’s work beyond those actually saved, or any idea of a general aspect or reference in his atonement. TO THE EDITOR OF “THE FREE CHURCH MAGAZINE” Edinburgh, February 10, 1845 MY DEAR SIR,—I fear you and your readers may have cause to regret the letting in of what threatens to be somewhat too copious a stream of matter; for I have allowed myself to be led on greatly beyond my original intention, which was merely to explain a sentence or two in my bicentenary speech, of which I understood some use had been made, not exactly according to my mind. My apology is to be found, partly in the vast importance of the subject, especially in present circumstances, and partly in the manner in which I have endeavoured to treat it, without any of the personalities of controversy, as an abstract theological question—abstract, I mean, not in the sense of its being theoretical as opposed to practical—for I hold it to be most vitally practical—but in the sense of its being considered apart from the peculiarities of particular cases and individual disputants. My hope is, that the presenting of the subject in this manner may tend, by God’s blessing, to settle some minds, whose calm convictions may be in danger of being disturbed by the excitement of polemical warfare. In the present paper, I have wandered somewhat from the line indicated in my former article; but the digression, as I trust I may afterwards show, and, as an accurate thinker will himself perceive, is more apparent than real. The observations I make may seem also to some, to be too much of a general nature, and to savour too much of human reasoning and metaphysical discussion, instead of being exclusively scriptural. In explanation, I would say, first, That I by no means shrink from a minute and particular examination of Scripture texts and passages, which I admit, or rather maintain, to be the safe and legitimate mode of ascertaining what the Lord saith; but, secondly, That the interpretation of such texts and passages, and the settlement of the controversy by means of them, will, for the most part, be found ultimately to turn on certain general considerations, such as those which I have sought to bring forward. In the revival of these discussions, in our day, this seems to have been very generally felt and acknowledged.—I am, &c. ROB. S. CANDLISH ======================================================================== CHAPTER 82: 08.03.03. CHAPTER 3 ======================================================================== Chapter 3: The faithfulness of God, in the universal call of the Gospel—Its adapation to the want and desire of the awakened soul THE REASONS which, as it would appear, chiefly weigh with those who advocate the theory of a “general reference,” or “general relations,” in the atonement, reaching beyond the individuals actually saved by it, are, on the one hand, a desire to explain and establish the consistency of God in the universal call of the gospel; and, on the other, an extreme anxiety to facilitate the sinner’s compliance with that call. The design is, in so far, worthy of commendation, and the motive good—to justify to all men the divine procedure, and to leave all men without apology or excuse. At the same time, it may be doubted if this can altogether be a becoming or safe point of view from which to contemplate the plan of saving mercy; since it almost inevitably leads to our regarding it rather in the light of what seems due to man, than in the light of what is due to God. It is remarkable, accordingly, that Holy Scripture rarely, if ever, concerns itself with these aspects of the great fact or truth which is its subject—the fact and truth of redemption. The Bible is not careful to vindicate the ways of God to man, or to make them all so smooth and plain that there shall be no stumbling-block in them for those who will stumble. It represents these ways, indeed, as such, that the wayfaring man, though a fool, cannot err in them; but it represents them also as such, that they who turn aside may think themselves entitled to complain of their narrowness, and of the straitness of the gate that leads into them. In point of fact, the Bible, in all that it reveals as to the adjustment of the relation between the God of love and his guilty creatures, proceeds much more on the ground of what God claims as his own proper right, than on any notion of what man may consider due to him. It stands much on God’s high prerogative—his irresistible power and unquestionable sovereignty; and though it does leave men really without excuse before God, it does not leave them without excuses to themselves. This, indeed, is one chief evidence of the divine authority of the Bible, as well as of the divinity of that blessed Saviour of whom it testifies, that, in the whole system of truth which it contains—the truth as it is in Him—it maintains so lofty and uncompromising a tone of loyalty and allegiance to God, and shows so much more anxiety to silence and subdue man, than (at least beforehand) to satisfy him. “Let God be true, and every man a liar. Who art thou, O man, that repliest against God? Let every mouth be stopped. He that is unjust, let him be unjust still; and he which is filthy, let him be filthy still. Be still, and know that I am God. He that doeth my will shall know of the doctrine.” The whole strain of the divine Word, and especially of the glorious gospel of our Lord Jesus, is to this effect. “The preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God. We preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling-block, and unto the Greeks foolishness; but unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God.” (1 Corinthians 1:18-24) It were well if, in this respect, the disciple did not seek to be above his Master. Let the ambassadors and messengers of the King leave it to himself to vindicate his own ways to all to whom he cares to vindicate them (Matthew 12:25); and let them take to themselves the humbler function of handing over inquirers to Him for satisfaction, instead of offering to make all that concerns him plain to them—even before they are in the attitude of Mary, sitting at his feet, and hearing his word. This humiliation on the part of his ministers is their best credential; for it is thus that, like Jesus himself, they speak as having authority. But with reference, more particularly, to the matter in hand, let the real value be ascertained of the two reasons already assigned for that relaxation, which some propose, of the strict and stern Calvinism of our evangelical divines. The first relates to God, and the supposed necessity of vindicating his sincerity and good faith, in connection with the universality of the gospel offer. Now, without dwelling on the obvious consideration that this whole matter might be left to God himself; inasmuch as we may most emphatically and unequivocally assure all sinners, without exception, that none ever put him to the proof, by accepting, or desiring to accept, his offer, and found him fail—and none ever will;—let it be asked, What is the actual import of the expedient proposed for this end? It is obvious, in the first place, that it merely shifts the difficulty. In fact, of all theories the most inconsistent is that of a universal atonement, or an atonement with a “general reference” to all mankind, taken along with a purpose and provision of special grace, in regard to its application. To say that, in a sense, Christ died for all, but that in so dying for all, he stipulated, in covenant, with the everlasting Father, that the Spirit, without whose agency his death would be effectual for the salvation of none, should be given infallibly to a certain number, and to them alone—this is so manifest an evasion of the real perplexity, so shifting and sandy a refuge, that none can long continue to occupy such a position. Accordingly, it has been almost invariably found, that the theory halts, and is lame, until the doctrine even of a special purpose and special grace in the application of the remedy is abandoned, as well as that of a limited design in the work itself. Nay, rightly followed out, it can scarcely stop short, either, on the one hand, of a denial of all that is essential to the idea of an atonement, as a true substitution of the innocent in the room of the guilty, or, on the other, of universal pardon, or the universal salvation of all mankind. Certainly, the middle stage, or intermediate position, which would combine a general reference in the atonement itself, with a limited purpose, from all eternity, in its application—the notion, in short, of Christ’s work being more extensive than that of the Spirit rendering it effectual—will not go far to satisfy any who are inclined to raise a question as to the honesty of the gospel offer; for how is it more easy to explain the universal offer of salvation on the footing of a general atonement, with a particular purpose of application—than the universal offer of salvation as connected with an atonement, from its very nature and efficacy restricted indeed, but, on that very account, and by that very restriction, securing the salvation offered, and rendering it certain, to all who are made willing to receive it? For the real question here is not how the difficulty is to be explained, but where it is to be allowed to rest. It is admitted that there is a knot which cannot be unloosed—an arrangement, or ordinance, or decree, which must be resolved into an exercise of the divine sovereignty, of which no account is given to us. The only question is, Where is it to be placed? Is this restriction, or limitation, of the plan of mercy, which constitutes the real perplexity, to be introduced between the work of Christ purchasing redemption, and the work of the Spirit applying it? With all deference, this seems the worst of all niches in which to hide it; for thus situated, it dishonours either the Spirit’s work or Christ’s—the Spirit’s, if we ask, Why should not that blessed agent give more wide and universal effect to the general atonement of Christ?—or Christ’s, if we ask, Why should not that infinitely meritorious and precious atonement of his, having reference, as it is alleged, in its own nature, to all, avail to purchase, for all, the needful supplement of the gift of the Spirit? The truth is, there are but two consistent landing-places for this high mystery which has been so much tossed and bandied to and fro—the one at a point prior, in the order of nature, to both of these works; the other at a point subsequent and posterior to both. Or, in other words, the reason of this limitation must be sought, either in the purpose of God’s will, going before both the work of Christ and the work of the Spirit, and defining both, or in the power (arbitrium) of man’s will, coming after both of these works, and restricting what God has left general. This is the real alternative; and this is the danger to be apprehended from any attempt to shift the difficulty from the former position, that it almost infallibly leads, sooner or later, to an adoption of the latter. Then we have a general love of the Father, a general work of the Son, and a general influence of the Spirit, all depending on the power of man’s will for their fruit and efficacy. Is it not better to regard the will of the Eternal Father, as the source, alike, and the limit, of the whole plan; and to make both the work of Christ and the work of the Spirit commensurate with that will, which they exactly fulfil? Then, the whole difficulty is resolved into the sovereignty and mere good pleasure of God, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; and the question, Why is it not God’s good pleasure to save all men, or to save more than are actually embraced in the plan? is met by the question, Why is it his good pleasure to save any? (See Appendix F.) But, secondly, this is not all. For, in our anxiety to avoid a supposed appearance of insincerity, on the part of God, in one direction, there is danger of incurring risk in another. By all means let there be an honest offer of the gospel, it is said. Surely: but let it be honest in respect of what is offered, as well as in respect of those to whom it is offered. Let God be true to those who accept the offer, though all else should make him a liar. Now, consider what they who are in Christ are said, according to Scripture, and on the terms of the gospel offer, to possess. Is it anything short of a real and personal substitution of Christ in their room and stead, as their representative and surety, in fulfilling all their obligations, and undertaking and meeting all their liabilities, under the law?—such a substitution as insures that, in consequence of it, they, by a legal right, and in terms of the law which he, being constituted their covenant head, magnified and made honourable, are now free from blame, and being justified, are invested with a title to life, and everlastingly saved? This is what was presented to them, and pressed on their acceptance, before they believed. It was for this that they believed; and it was this which, on believing, they obtained—Christ, namely, not as standing in a vague and undefined relation to all men, but Christ, as standing in a special relation to them, as their substitute, who took their place under the law, and so was made sin for them, that their condemnation thereafter would have been, and would be, unrighteous and impossible. Let the passages of Scripture be fairly weighed which describe what Christ is to his people (such passages as these: Ephesians 1:7; Romans 8:1; Colossians 2:10; Galatians 3:13; 2 Corinthians 5:21, and innumerable other texts of the same general class), and then, let it be asked, In what character is he set forth and offered to sinners of mankind generally and universally, and proposed to their belief, and pressed on their acceptance? Is it not in the character which he sustains to his own people, and which he can sustain to none other—the character of a real and actual substitute in their room and stead? Is this an honest offer—honest, as regards not only the parties to whom it is made, but the portion of good which it contains? Honest! Nay, the offer, the proposal, the gift, of what is implied in a general atonement may be, and must be, delusive; for it is the offer of what does not meet the sinner’s case. But “it is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came to save sinners, even the chief”—to save them, by the actual substitution of himself in their stead, under the law which they have broken, and by the actual fulfilment of all the righteousness of the law, and the endurance of its penalty, on their behalf. In regard, again, to the second reason which weighs with some who object to any limitation or restriction of the plan of saving mercy, or at least, to such limitation and restriction as is implied in the doctrine, that the whole work of Christ was undertaken and accomplished for those actually and ultimately saved, and for them alone—the supposed necessity of satisfying sinners themselves, on this point, with a view to facilitate their acceptance of the gospel call, or to leave them inexcusable in rejecting it—there are some practical considerations which may serve to show the danger of such an experiment. There is one, however, in particular, on which it appears important to enlarge. It is this—that the train of thought, or habit of mind which this objection either indicates or fosters, seems to have an important bearing on the whole question of what it is that makes man accountable, and renders his condemnation just. In fact, it is very apt to derange or vitiate very seriously that most delicate of all the parts of our moral and spiritual frame—the sense or feeling of responsibility; and to countenance the impression which sinners are prone enough otherwise to take up, that, except upon a certain understanding, and certain conditions fitted to meet their own views, they ought not to be held, and cannot fairly be held, accountable before God at all. This impression operates in various forms and degrees among men. In its worst extreme, it becomes the plea of Infidelity itself, leading to a denial of all accountability, properly so called, and all retributive justice or penal judgment. “I am so framed, and so situated,” says the Infidel, “that I have no fair chance, or fair play, in this mighty moral warfare, and so cannot fairly be made to answer for the issue. The child of impulse, and, to so large an extent, the creature of circumstances, I have not the liberty or power essential to my contending with any hope of success. If I am to engage in this life-struggle, and peril my all on its issue, give me a better constitution, and more equitable or more favourable terms.” To this demand of the Infidel, what reply can be given, beyond an appeal to his own consciousness and his own conscience?—his consciousness, as testifying that he sins wilfully—his conscience, as registering, even in spite of all his sophistry, the just sentence of condemnation. The same tendency is seen among many, who, stopping short of absolute Infidelity, have, nevertheless, but very vague and inadequate apprehensions of the principles and sanctions of the divine government. They take, as they say, a rational and moderate view of human nature and human life, and look with an indulgent eye, as they allege the great Creator himself must do, on a race of frail and fallible mortals, who could scarcely be expected to be much better than they are, and who may, in all good sense and good feeling, claim a certain measure of forbearance. They regard the sins, and follies, and crimes of men as misfortunes, rather than faults, and look on offenders as deserving rather to be pitied than to be blamed. Now, we cannot help thinking that there is something of a similar tendency in the idea which we are combating—the idea, that is, of its being necessary to extend and stretch out the scheme of grace, with a view to satisfy men as to its application to them, and so to deepen their feeling of responsibility in dealing with it. It tends to shift, or transfer, the ground of responsibility too much away from the moral to the intellectual part of our nature. It is true, indeed, that the sense of responsibility must be intelligent as well as conscientious; but all that the understanding is entitled to demand is, that it shall be satisfied on these two points, namely, first, That what is duty, in the matter on hand, is clear; and, secondly, That it is reasonable; or, in other words, that there is no reason against, but every reason for it. These preliminaries being settled, the understanding inquires no further, but at once hands the affair over to the department of the conscience, and lays the imperative and indispensable obligation upon that supreme and ultimate faculty of our moral nature. And all this is independent of any question of will, on the part either of the Being who claims, or of the party who owes, the duty—any question, that is, either regarding the purpose of God’s will, or regarding the power of man’s. Leave the burden of responsibility here, and all is safe. But it is most dangerous to give the slightest countenance to the idea, that any information respecting the purpose of God’s will, or any communication of power to man’s will, is to enter at all as an element or condition into this vital principle, or great fact, of accountability; or that man is entitled to stipulate, before consenting to hold himself responsible in any matter, that he shall have any knowledge of the intention of God, or any assurance of ability in himself; or anything whatever, in short, beyond the apprehension that this is his duty, and that it is altogether reasonable. Thus, in dealing with the law, or covenant of works, the sense of guilt is wrought in the awakened sinner’s conscience, by the insight given him into the excellency and spirituality of the law, and the holiness, the reasonableness, and the benevolence of all its requirements. Nor is this sense of guilt at all affected by the sad experimental conviction, that he is himself so carnal, and so sold tinder sin, that he cannot do the things which he would—unless, indeed, it be, that its bitterness is not alleviated, but aggravated, by the melancholy discovery. (See Romans 7:7-25) And so, also, in dealing with the gospel, the condemnation of unbelief, as a sin, rests altogether on the right which God has to demand the sinner’s return to himself, and the reasonableness of that demand, arising out of the full and sufficient warrant with which he has furnished the sinner, and the evidence and assurance which he has given of his gracious willingness to receive him. And conviction of this sin of unbelief is wrought by the Holy Ghost, simply by his manifesting to the conscience the enormous impiety, infatuation, and ingratitude, which, in its very nature, unbelief involves, apart altogether from every other consideration, either as to the design of God in the gospel which it rejects, or as to the utter helplessness and impotency of man’s will in rejecting it. On this subject a very confident appeal may be made to the experience of every deeply exercised soul. When the Spirit has been convincing you at any time of sin, because you believed not in Jesus (or believed not Jesus, for it is the same thing—John 16:9), was there any other thought present to your mind but that of the infinite unreasonableness, in every view of it, of your unbelief? Had your feeling of guilt any reference at all to the purpose of God’s will; or was it not rather wholly concerned with the just authority of his government, as asserted in the gospel you had been disbelieving, and the infinite perfection of his character, as there so gloriously and attractively displayed? Or did you raise any question as to your own power of will to believe, or your possession of effectual grace, as if that might modify your responsibility for not believing? Nay, the very feeling of that impotency with which your whole nature has been smitten—with the thorough impression, moreover, that so far from being due to you, all help from above may be most justly withheld—only increases your distress; and that, not in the way of transferring this inability to believe, out of the category of a sin, to be condemned, into that of a misfortune, to be complained of and deplored, but in the way of fastening down upon you, with even a deeper acknowledgment than ever of God’s perfect equity, and your own inexcusable demerit and guilt, the sentence of judgment for the sin of unbelief. Something like this, it is apprehended, is the course of the Spirit’s work, and of the experience of the people of God, in reference to conviction of the sin of unbelief. But it is to be feared, that this true and solid ground on which guilt is to be brought home to the unbeliever’s conscience, is apt to be not a little shaken by the jealousy which has always been entertained, by some, of special love in the accomplishment of Christ’s work, and by others, of special love in its application. For it seems to be thought, that the responsibility of the sinner for his unbelief, is at least rendered more obvious, more tangible, and more simple, when he is told of an unlimited atonement, and still more, when he is assured of an unlimited work or operation of the Spirit. The contrary, as has been said, seems to be the impression which a sound view of the nature of the case, and the constitution of man, is fitted to make. For the danger is, lest you thus substitute responsibility, for continuing, under certain circumstances, in the state of unbelief, instead of responsibility for the sin of unbelief itself, and so, in point of fact, change the character of the responsibility altogether. For you almost inevitably lead the sinner to think, that but for the information which he obtains respecting God’s grace, in the work of Christ, embracing all, and being common to all, himself among the number, he would be scarcely, or, at any rate, far less to be blamed, for not submitting and returning to God. And the next step is, that he considers himself entitled to insist on a knowledge of the purpose of God’s will, and a removal of the impotency of his own, as necessary conditions of his accountability; which, in fact, goes far to make his conscience very easy, as to the guilt which his unbelief, in its very nature, implies, causing him to dwell exclusively on the aggravations which attach to it, in consequence of this supposed universal and unlimited grace. Now, the universality of the gospel offer, is an aggravation of the sin of unbelief, which it is important to take into account; or, rather, not properly an aggravation, but an essential ingredient in its criminality; for it is that which establishes the perfect reasonableness of what is required of the sinner, and so leaves him without excuse. But, as to any of these other aggravations, which may be supposed likely to tell upon his conscience, the risk is that they operate rather as palliatives, and so conduce to a state of mind the most difficult, perhaps, of all its morbid experiences to be dealt with—the state, namely, in which unbelief is bewailed much as an evil, without any adequate sense of its guilt as a sin. It is but too common to hear one complaining, in doleful accents, that he cannot believe, and alleging, perhaps, the decree of election, and its kindred doctrines, as a difficulty in his way; and, in treating such a case, one is often tempted to enter into explanations, and to wish even that the obnoxious dogma were got rid of altogether. But alas! however far we go in that direction, and whatever assurances we try to give of universal grace, the sufferer complains the more; his misfortune is the greater, that even under a universal scheme of mercy, and with a universal promise of the Spirit, he cannot believe. But let him cease to be a patient—to be soothed and sympathized with, and be viewed as a criminal—to be placed at the bar of that great God whose word of truth he is belying, whose authority he is defying, whose love he is refusing; then, in the Spirit’s hands, he begins to feel what true responsibility is, and to be convinced of sin, because he believes not on Jesus. And then, as in the case of conviction of sin under the law, the sense of his own utter impotency—his inability to know, or to believe, or to will, or to do, according to what God requires—taken along with the deep and solemn impression, that he has no claim at all upon God for the communication of any light or any power from on high—so far from alleviating the poignancy of his feeling of inexcusable guilt, fastens and rivets it more firmly in his inmost soul. In such an attitude, the Word of God, in the proclamation of the gospel, finds him little disposed to ask questions or raise difficulties, but rather ready, with all the simplicity of the early converts to Christianity—with whom this whole doctrine of sovereign and free grace was less an affair of the head, and more of the heart, than with us—to receive the Father’s testimony concerning his Son, and, led by the Spirit, to return through the Son to the Father. Other observations occur, bearing on this subject, and leading again into that train of reasoning, which was left unfinished in the former article. But this apparent digression has so swelled out, that both the time and the space at present available are exhausted. One remark, only, in closing, may be allowed; and it is this: that what seems chiefly to be deprecated in some of the views we are opposing, is their tendency to affect the doctrine of conversion or regeneration, and to convey the impression, that the understanding and belief of the truth of God, is an act to which a natural man is altogether, or at least partially, competent. This, however, would require fuller illustration than can now be given; and it may afterwards occur to be considered. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 83: 08.03.04. CHAPTER 4 ======================================================================== Chapter 4: Faith—Its function, or office—As appropriating Christ and His saving work A DESIRE to facilitate the sinner’s coming to Christ, and closing with Christ—to help him over the great gulf (which on this side of the grave, is to none impassable) that divides a state of reconciliation from a state of enmity—weighs with many who dislike the restriction or limitation of the work of Christ, and of the whole of his saving offices and relations, to the people actually, in the end, reconciled. Now, it might tend to remove, in part, such a feeling of repugnance, were it borne in mind that it is not at all this feature of the salvation of the gospel which is presented to the sinner, in the first instance, as the ground or warrant of his believing, and the motive or inducement for him to believe; but another feature of it altogether, which is not in the least affected by the former; the feature, namely, which that salvation exhibits, as in its nature suited, adapted, and applicable to the case of each individual sinner, and in its terms freely and unreservedly offered, and, by an absolutely gratuitous grant or deed of gift, conveyed and made over to the acceptance of every individual sinner who will have it. True, it may be said, all this liberality in the ostensible proclamation and front scene, as it were, is well; but there is the fatal contraction and drawing in behind. Nay, we reply, there need be no reserve in the matter. The exclusive reference of the work of Christ to those actually saved by it may be, and must be, announced. But this does not hinder the work being, in its very nature, such that each individual sinner may see and feel it to be what meets, and what alone can meet, his case—or the terms on which an interest in it is bestowed being such, that each individual sinner may also see and feel it to be freely and fully within his reach, if he will but take it. We go further, however, on this point, and venture to add, that it is this very exclusiveness, so often complained of, which imparts to the work of Christ that character of special and pointed adaptation to his own case, which is so readily apprehended by every sinner truly sensible of his sin, and which makes the free offer of an interest in it so very precious and welcome; in so much, that if my soul be really groaning under the burden of sin—whatever difficulty I may feel in getting over the decree of election, or the necessity of the Spirit’s agency in producing faith—I ought not to feel—and sinners so situated do not, we believe, usually feel—the pressure of any difficulty on the side of the work of Christ; but, on the contrary, I would not wish to have it more extended, lest it should cease to be what, on a first glance, and on the first awakening of a desire towards it, it approved itself to be—namely, a complete remedy for all my soul’s disease, through the substitution of Him who bears it all in my stead. The real truth would seem to be, that the universality so much in demand, and admitted to be so indispensable, is not the universality of an actual interest of any kind, in anything whatever that is Christ’s, but the universality of a contingent or possible interest, of the most complete kind, in all that is his: and what I need to have said to me for my encouragement is, not that I actually already have something in Christ, but that having now nothing in him at all, I am freely invited, exhorted, and commanded, at once, to have Christ himself, and then in him to have, now and for ever, all things. In a word, the gospel assurance is, “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that be- lieveth;” and what comes home to me as the crowning excellence of the gospel, is this very assurance which it conveys to me—not that there is something in Christ for all, but that there are all things in Christ for some—for believers, namely, and for me, if I can but say, in the very agony of my helplessness—“Lord I believe, help thou mine unbelief.” But the transition from this warrant to have, to the actual having—the translation of the contingent into the categorical—the transmutation of the objective gospel offer, Christ is thine (as the saying is), for the taking, into the subjective gospel assurance, Christ is mine, IN the taking—that, now, is the difficulty; a difficulty which, more than any other, has vexed the ingenuity of practical and experimental divines, especially since the era of the Reformation. It is a difficulty which was not much felt, either on the first proclamation of the doctrines of grace in apostolic times, or on the first recovery of these doctrines out of the rubbish of Popery. The fresh and authentic simplicity of a newly awakened or revived soul, bursts through all entanglements, and asks no questions; hut, with a deep conviction of sin, and a bright discovery of the Saviour, frankly and unhesitatingly makes the obvious application, and rejoices in it. At each of the times referred to, for at least a brief moment, all was fresh and authentic; nor, even in the most doubtful and suspicious age—the most to be doubted, or the most apt to doubt—have there ever failed to be multitudes, converted and become as little children, who have been content to know that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, of whom, each has been ready instinctively to add, I am chief; and they have found that knowledge enough. This is our comfort, in attempting to thread the mazes of an intricate inquiry; that to babes in Christ the Spirit opens up all mysteries, and unties or cuts every knot. At the same time, for minds of a more restless turn, and with a view to errors to be shunned, a more minute investigation cannot be declined. The inquiry, so far as it is still to be presented, may be regarded as having respect to the office, the nature the warrant, and the origin of saving faith. I. Let the office of faith be considered, or, in other words, the place which it holds, and the purpose which it is designed to serve, in the economy of grace. Let the question be asked, Why is the possession of all saving blessings connected with faith, and with faith alone? It is easy, at once to dismiss all answers to this question which would imply anything like a plea of merit, or a qualification of worthiness, in faith. It is, doubtless, in itself an excellent grace, most honouring and acceptable to God and his beloved Son, as well as most becoming and ennobling to him who exercises it. It is, moreover, the source of all excellence, working by love, and assimilating its possessor to God himself; for, by “the exceeding great and precious promises” which faith receives, we “are made partakers of the divine nature.” But to represent it as saving or justifying, on account of its own excellency, or the virtue that goes out of it, is to build again the covenant of works—making the good quality of faith, or its good fruits, our real title to the divine favour and eternal life, instead of the perfect obedience which the law requires. In this view, the dispensation of grace, brought in through the mediation of Christ, consists simply in a relaxation of the terms of the old natural and original method of acceptance—not in the establishment of a method of acceptance entirely new. Again, it is easy to answer the question which has been put, by an appeal to the divine sovereignty, and the undeniable right which God has to dispense his liberality in any manner, and upon any footing, that may seem good to him. This, undoubtedly, is the ultima ratio, the final explanation or account to be given of the arrangement in question—that God is free to connect the enjoyment of the blessing with any act on our part that he may be pleased to appoint. But this summary argument or answer from authority, though it may silence, cannot satisfy; and, on the particular point at issue, it is in accordance both with reason and with Scripture, that we should be not merely silenced, but intelligently satisfied; for, if left on this footing, faith would be as much the mere blind fulfilment of an arbitrary or unexplained condition, as the doing of penance, or the undergoing of circumcision, or the compliance with any task or ritual, would be; and no sufficient reason—indeed, no reason at all—could be given, why life and salvation should be inseparably and infallibly annexed to the one more than to the other. Is faith, then, to be viewed, in this matter, as a condition, in any sense, or to any effect at all? Is that properly its office or function? Setting aside, on the one hand, the idea of a condition of moral worth or qualification, on the part of man; and, on the other hand, the notion of a condition of mere authoritative appointment, on the part of God, as if faith were one of several kinds of terms, any of which he might indifferently, at his own mere good pleasure, have selected and chosen—there remains one other aspect in which faith may be regarded—as a condition of necessary sequence or connection—a conditio sine qua non—as that without which going before, in the very nature of things, and by the necessity of the case, the desired result or consequence cannot be obtained. In this view, it may be said, without impiety, or even impropriety, that God requires faith in those who are to be saved, because he cannot save them otherwise; so that, as “without faith it is impossible to please God,” so without faith it may be said to be impossible for God to save men; for God saves men in a manner agreeable to their rational and moral nature, as intelligent, conscientious, and accountable beings. Hence, generally, the office or function of faith, as distinguished from its nature, may be said to be this, namely, to effect and secure man’s falling in with what God is doing. But more particularly, in determining the office or function of faith—the purpose it is designed to serve—what, in short, renders it indispensable—much will depend on what it is that God is doing, in saving sinners, and especially on the extent to which, and the manner in which, he makes use of the sinner’s own co-operation or instrumentality in saving him. Take, for example, any saving work of God in which man’s own agency is employed. This is the simplest class of cases, in which, indeed, there is no difficulty at all. God is about to save Noah, when the flood comes; and this salvation is by faith. Why so? What, in this instance, is the office or function of faith? Evidently to set Noah to work in preparing the ark, “wherein few, that is, eight souls, are saved.” For this end God gave the promise, which Noah was to believe, and on which he was to act. So also, when he was about to make Abraham the father of the promised seed, he required faith, and for a similar reason; because, without Abraham’s belief, the promise could not have been accomplished. In these cases, it is not merely from any abstract delight which God may be supposed to have in receiving the homage of a believing assent to his Word, nor out of a regard to any barren honour thereby done to his name, as the God of veracity, and faithfulness, and truth, that he requires this act or exercise of faith; but for a more immediately practical end, and, if we may so speak, with a business view—that faith which he requires being the indispensable prerequisite, or sine qua non, to the setting in motion of the human agency or instrumentality, on which the attainment of the result that is sought, depends. The case is somewhat different, and the explanation perhaps is not quite so simple, when we pass to another mode of procedure on the part of God, and take, for our example, an act, or work, or transaction, in which all is done by God, without any co-operation or agency of man. Why is faith required now? What is its function? Not, evidently, as in the former instances, to insure the executing or performing of anything, but simply to acquiesce, or to APPROPRIATE. For there is the same necessity for appropriation here as there was in these former instances for performance, that the saving work of God may be effectual. That work, we here assume, is complete and finished, independently of any co-operation on the part of man; faith, therefore, on his part, is not needed for any work to be done by him. For what, then, is it demanded? Is it merely that the individual believing may have an intelligent apprehension of this work of God, thus finished without human concurrence, and may admire it, and be suitably affected with all the sentiments and emotions which it is fitted to call forth? Is this what God immediately and most directly seeks when he unfolds his plan of justifying mercy through the righteousness of Christ, and asks you to believe? Is it merely that your faith may lead you to have a right conception of that plan, and do justice to it, and approve of it? Is it simply that he may have your signature, as it were, and your setting to your seal, to justify his wisdom and love in the scheme of redeeming grace? Nay, it is not your approbation or admiration that he desires; but your appropriation of it—your acquiescence in it—your personal application of it to yourselves; and for this end he requires in you faith: otherwise the requirement of faith, in the matter of the sinner’s justification, has no meaning or propriety. Thus, then, in the divine arrangements, where anything is left to be done by man himself, the office or function of faith is properly that of a motive prompting to action; but where, on the other hand, as in the justifying of the ungodly, all is done by God, and the act of justification proceeds upon no work of man, but on the finished work and perfect righteousness of Christ, instead of a motive to any act, faith rather takes the character of an act in itself final; it is the resulting movement, rather than the moving power; it partakes more of the nature of an effect than of the nature of a cause; and resembles not so much the force of hunger prompting to the search for food, as the play and motion of the muscles and organs of touch and digestion, laying hold of the food that is presented to them. This, at least, would seem to be the exact function of faith, in its ultimate and direct dealings with its proper object; it is like the closing of the hand upon what is brought into contact with it, or the action of the mouth on what is put into it, or the heart’s warm embrace of what is its nearest and dearest treasure;—all which processes or operations, considered in themselves, imply no working out of anything new or additional, but simply the appropriating of what is already perfect and complete. We speak, of course, not of the inducements and encouragements to believe, which go before, nor of the gracious impulses and active energetic affections, that come after, but of the mere act itself, or exercise of faith, in its immediate dealing with that which is set before it; and, in this view, we cannot fail to perceive the fitness of such expressions as receiving, embracing, closing with Christ—all describing the office or function which belongs to faith, as that which carries and makes sure the sinner’s consent to be saved freely by grace, through the redemption that is in Christ. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 84: 08.03.05. CHAPTER 5 ======================================================================== Chapter 5: Faith—Its nature—As simplying not only a reasonable conviction of the understanding, but consent and confidence A RIGHT and clear understanding of the office or function of saving faith, may go far to supersede, if not to settle, the question respecting its nature. II. Let it be remembered, then, that the reason why faith is required or appointed as a step in the accomplishment of the Lord’s purpose, is not any grace or beauty in faith itself, making it generally acceptable to God and useful to man; but this special virtue which it has, that it provides for and secures man’s falling in with what God is doing, and taking the place which God assigns him, whether it be, as in his sanctification, actively to “work out his own salvation with fear and trembling; since it is God which worketh in him both to will and to do of his good pleasure” (Php 2:12-13); or, as in his justification, to appropriate the free gift of God, and make it his own. Now, if we comprehend in our idea of the nature of faith, all that is essential for this office or function which it has to discharge, then, it would seem, besides a rational conviction of the understanding, there must be included in it, or associated with it, some corresponding affection of desire in the heart; otherwise it is not explained how it either acts as a motive, or appropriates as a hand or handle. There is, indeed, a difference of statement on this point among those who hold substantially the same sound doctrine; which need not, however, occasion much embarrassment, if the parties could always be sure of mutually understanding one another. Thus some are anxious to make the intellectual part of our nature exclusively the seat of faith, properly so called; faith, according to them, being altogether an act or exercise of the understanding, weighing the evidence submitted to it, and drawing the legitimate or necessary conclusions; and faith in God being simply the belief of what God says, and because he says it. There is an advantage, as they think, in thus isolating the bare and simple act of believing, and separating it from any process going before or coming after, and viewing it as simply the state of the mind assenting to certain truths, on the testimony of Him who cannot lie; a state not at all differing, as to the nature of the thing done, from that of the mind assenting to truth of any kind, on the authority of a credible witness. The advantage of this way of considering faith is chiefly twofold. In the first place, it most effectually puts away and puts down the Popish or semi-Popish notion, of implicit faith, or of a blind reliance on the supposed communication of spiritual blessings to the soul by a mystical charm, or sacramental virtue, or some process guaranteed by the priest, of which he who is the subject of it need have no knowledge or cognizance at all. That the faith with which all saving blessings are connected, is a reasonable act of an intelligent mind, not merely taking upon trust the thing said to be done, but understanding and assenting to what is done—is a great scriptural truth, and a great safeguard against the delusions of the Man of Sin. It is sanctioned by such passages as the following, in which, after dwelling on the fact that the gospel system is foolishness to the world, the apostle is careful to explain that it satisfies the reason, and carries the intelligent assent, of the upright or sincere inquirer:—“Howbeit we speak wisdom among them that are perfect; yet not the wisdom of this world, nor of the princes of this world, that come to nought;—but we speak the wisdom of God in a mystery, even the hidden wisdom, which God ordained before the world unto our glory.” (1 Corinthians 2:6-7) Again, in the second place, this view tends to divest faith of that character of unknown and mysterious peculiarity, which is apt to make it appear, in the eyes of an anxious inquirer, so very recondite an exercise of soul—so very unattainable; a grace. Such a one is told of the necessity of faith, and hears much of its workings and experiences; and conceiving that it must be some high and singular attainment, altogether different from the ordinary actings of the mind, he harasses and perplexes himself in groping after this unknown something, without which, it seems, he cannot be saved; and so, he either involves himself in a labyrinth of inextricable difficulties, or elaborately gets up some frame or feeling which, he thinks, answers the descriptions usually given of faith; whereupon, having got, at last, as he imagines, the key, he seems boldly to enter into the treasury. It is manifest that the alternation, or transition, or vibration, as it were, here, is between absolute helplessness on the one hand, and a subtle form of self-righteousness on the other; and it is a safe and blessed relief for such a mind to have faith presented to it in its very barest and most naked aspect, and to be made to see that there is nothing recondite or mysterious in the act of believing, considered in itself; inasmuch as it is really nothing more than giving to the true God, in reference to things divine and eternal, the same reasonable and intelligent credit that you give to a true man, in reference to the things of time. With these advantages, the intellectual view of the nature of faith comes strongly recommended by its simplicity and clearness; nor would we say that it is practically defective, if we regard it as the isolating, for the purpose of better mental analysis, of what in reality never exists but in a certain combination. For, as in physical science, an analytical chemist may take out of a compound or complex substance one single ingredient, that he may subject it to the test of a separate and searching scrutiny, and verify its character in its purest and most unequivocal form, while still it may be true that the ingredient or element in question is never, as a natural phenomenon, to be found otherwise than in a given union or affinity; so, in the science of mind, the moral analyst may deal with some act or state of the living soul which, though seeming to be one and simple, is yet capable of being resolved into parts. He may detach and clear away, as in a refining crucible, all that may be regarded as the adjuncts, or accessaries, or accompaniments, leaving single and alone the real central and staple article of the mass, round which the rest all cluster, and with which they all combine; and this he may do for the most useful and satisfactory purpose, while he may be himself the readiest to admit that, for ordinary practical uses, it is the mass as a whole with which we have to do. Thus, to apply this illustration, let it be granted that faith may be resolved ultimately and strictly into intellectual assent or belief on the evidence of divine testimony—still it remains true, as a matter of fact, that his assent or belief, if it is of a saving character, has ever associated and blended with it, on the one hand, a deep sense of sin in the conscience, a clear sight of Christ in the understanding, and a consenting will and longing desire in the heart; and on the other, sentiments of trust, reliance, confidence, or what can only be described as leaning and resting upon Christ; and all these, in actual experience, so enter into combination with the central element of assent or belief, that the whole may be practically considered as making up one state of mind, complex in its ingredients, but simple enough in its acting and out-going—the state of mind, namely, in which, as a poor sinner, I flee away from my guilty self to my righteous Saviour, and roll over the burden of all my iniquities on him who, though he knew no sin, was made sin for such as I am, that such as I, the chief of sinners, might be made the righteousness of God in him. There are two observations, however, which it seems necessary to make, in the way, not so much of controverting, as of guarding on the one hand, and supplementing on the other, this analytical view, if we may so call it, of the nature of faith. The first is, that it must be understood with an express or implied qualification, recognising the moral character and the moral influence of faith—its moral character, as proceeding from a renewed will, and its moral influence, as determining that renewed will to embrace Christ, or God in Christ, as the chief good. Not only to maintain, untouched, the fundamental principle of man’s responsibility to God for his belief, is this explanation necessary; but with reference, also, to the scriptural view of man’s depravity, as well as of the office or function of the faith which is required of him. All belief is voluntary, in so far as it depends on the fixing of the mind upon the substance of the truth to be believed, and the evidence or testimony on which belief is claimed. To understand what we are expected to assent to, and to weigh the grounds of the assent expected, implies an exercise of attention; and attention is a faculty under the control of the will. Hence, any perverse bias of the will must affect the kind and degree of the attention which is given; and consequently, also, the result attained. On this ground, it may be most consistently maintained, that the renewal of the will is an indispensable preliminary to the believing assent which the understanding has to give to the truth of God. “The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, neither can he know them; because they are spiritually discerned.” (1 Corinthians 2:14) The intellect of fallen man is clouded and struck with impotency, through the entire estrangement of his affections from God, and the enmity of his carnal mind against God, and the impossibility of his willing subjection to God. He is prejudiced, blinded, darkened; and in order that the light may get into his understanding, and bring home to it a conviction of the reality of things divine, there must be a direct work of God in the soul, restoring to it the capacity of discerning and perceiving the truth which God has to reveal. Again, it is presumed, in the principle on which this theory of faith proceeds, that once to carry the understanding, is to carry all. Get the mind, or intellect, enlightened and convinced, and all is gained. Thus it is alleged that a man really understanding and assenting to all that God reveals respecting coming wrath and present grace, cannot but flee from the one, and lay hold on the other; and hence, though neither reliance nor appropriation be held to be of the essence of faith, yet both are secured, if you have the intelligent belief of what God testifies concerning his Son. It is true, there seem to be individuals not a few, whose understandings are well informed in the whole of Christian doctrine, and convinced of the truth of every portion of it, who yet give too palpable evidence of their being still unrenewed. But then, it is said, there must be, unknown to us, and perhaps even to themselves, some mistake or misapprehension in some particular, or a latent incredulity in regard to some point: they cannot really know and believe all the truth; since, if they did, it would be impossible for them to continue, for a moment, impenitent and unreconciled. Now it is here, if anywhere, that we confess we feel the exclusively intellectual view, as it is called, of the nature of faith, giving way. “We may allow the extreme improbability of a man being able to comprehend, even intellectually, the whole truth of God, in all its terrible and affecting reality, without an inward work of God on his conscience, his mind, his will, his heart; though even in this view it is most painfully instructive to observe how very near, at least, natural intelligence, under the ordinary means of grace and the common operations of the Spirit, may, and does often, come, to a right speculative knowledge, and a real theoretical admission and belief, of all the statements of the Divine Record, without any consciousness, or any satisfactory evidence, of a change of heart; and it is a solemn duty, in a land of privilege and profession, to warn all hearers of the gospel that they may have what at least is commonly understood by an intellectual acquaintance with things divine, and an intellectual conviction of their truth, through the mere use of their natural faculties, under gospel light and gospel opportunities, without being spiritually enlightened so as savingly to know Christ Jesus the Lord. But it is the other aspect of this matter that chiefly strikes us as doubtful. When it is taken for granted that the understanding is the ruling principle of our nature—and that to carry it, is to carry all—we have some fear that man’s depravity is under-rated. Is it so very clear, that a man, knowing and believing all that is revealed of his own lost estate, and the Redeemer’s free and full salvation, will necessarily consent to be saved? Is there no case of a sinner, whose mind is thoroughly enlightened, so far as an acquaintance with all the truth of God is concerned, and thoroughly convinced, so far as intellectual assurance goes, yet, from sheer enmity to God, and unwillingness to own subjection or obligation to God, refusing to accept deliverance, and choosing rather to perish than be indebted, on such terms, to a Being whom he hates—who will not barter salvation with him for a price, and from whom he cannot bring himself to take it as a free gift? Or, if such a case be considered visionary and ideal, and if it be alleged that, in point of fact, such a man cannot really know what it is to perish, or cannot believe in the certainty of his perishing, since, if he did, he could not but seek and be anxious to escape—then, at any rate, we are mistaken, if it be not the earnest feeling of almost every child of God, not only that such a depth of depravity is conceivable, but that it is no more than might have been, and but for a strong pressure from above on his rebellious will and heart, must have been, realized in his own experience. On this account we are rather inclined to consider consent and confidence as not merely flowing naturally and necessarily from faith, but forming its very essence; and giving all due prominence to the share which the understanding has in bringing about that state of mind which we call faith, we would still place its seat in the moral, fully as much as in the intellectual, part of our nature, and make it chiefly consist, not exclusively in the assent or credit given to what God reveals or testifies, but also in our embracing, with a fiducial reliance or trust, Him whom God reveals, and of whom he testifies, as the Lord our righteousness, and the Lord our strength; according to that saying of the apostle, which, though we would not urge it as conclusive, seems, at least, to countenance this view: “With the heart, man believeth unto righteousness.’’ (Romans 10:10) (See Appendix G.) And the second observation which we have to make confirms this leaning. For, returning again to what was said of the office or function of faith, as appropriating Christ, and all things in him, it would seem that it is only through the medium of this trust or reliance—this casting of ourselves upon Christ—that we arrive at any intelligible connection or correspondence between the nature of faith and its office, or are enabled to see how faith is fitted for the purpose which it is designed to serve; what there is in it that adapts it for the appropriation of the salvation presented to its acceptance in the gospel. If we limit our view of faith to the mere assent or credit given to the testimony of God, then, on the one hand, no very satisfactory reason can be assigned for the selection of faith as the medium or instrument of justification (unless it be that it excludes works, which is rather a reason why works are not, than why faith should be, the appointed way of obtaining the blessing); and further, on the other hand, it seems difficult to explain how a sinner can get at the direct act of APPROPRIATION, which it is the very office and function of faith to secure. True, he may arrive at this appropriation, and even at full personal assurance, by a reflex act of faith, or a syllogistic process of argument founded on his own act of believing. For though there is no revelation or testimony of God concerning the salvation of any individual sinner, personally, and by name; though there is nothing beyond the general declaration of his being able and willing to save all and any sinners who will believe; yet, according to the intellectual view of faith, appropriation may be reached by reasoning thus:—Christ is the Saviour of every one that believeth; but I am conscious that I believe—that I understand and assent to what is revealed in the gospel concerning Christ, and the way of acceptance in him; therefore, I conclude that Christ is MY Saviour; and I rejoice in him as such. And this, as all admit, is a legitimate and scriptural way of arriving, through a process of reflex self-inquiry, at a full assurance of one’s personal interest in Christ. But we plead, also, for a more direct act of appropriation; for which, on the theory of faith we are now examining, there is scarcely any room. According to that other theory which we would prefer—but rather as supplementary than as antagonist to the former—making faith consist mainly in trust or reliance on Him of whom the Father testifies, we hold that the discoveries of Christ in the gospel, as the Saviour of sinners generally, are so full, pointed, and precise in themselves, and are so brought home to the individual, by the Spirit working in him, that he is persuaded, as by a leap—not indeed at hazard or in the dark, but still as one would venture from a burning house into the arms of a friend standing below—to cast himself upon Christ; and in so doing, he directly appropriates Christ as his own; his language being that of Thomas, in the very looking to Christ: “My Lord, and my God.” For this, we may observe, in conclusion, is probably the nearest approach that can be made to the embodying of the direct act of faith, in language such as does not turn it into the reflex; when one naturally hard and slow of heart to believe, having yielded, it may be, to sullen despair, refusing to be comforted, has such an insight given him into the love of Jesus, and the meaning of his wounded hands and side, as constrains him not only to recognise the divine character of Him who is mighty to save, but to realize His gracious and saving relation to himself. There is an end of hesitation; there is a frank resolution to confide in Him; there is a committing of his soul and his all to Him; and that not in any express formula or definite reflective proposition—such as, I take Him to be mine, or, He is mine—but in the direct, straightforward earnestness of ejaculation: “My Lord, and my God.” (See Appendix, Notes F and G.) ======================================================================== CHAPTER 85: 08.03.06. CHAPTER 6 ======================================================================== Chapter 6: Faith—Its warrant—The Divine testimony—Necessity of an acquaintance with the Divine character, or name, as exhibited in the person and work of Chrit THE warrant, or ground, of faith is to be considered in connection with the views already given, respecting (I.) the office or function it has to discharge, as well as (II.) the nature of the act or exercise itself. III. Generally, it is to be observed, that the warrant or ground of faith is the divine testimony. I believe because the Lord hath said it. The formal reason for believing, is not the reasonableness of what the Lord saith, but the fact that the Lord saith it. To give credit to a report on account of its inherent probability, or the circumstantial evidence by which it is corroborated, is a different thing from receiving it on the simple assurance of a competent and trustworthy witness. The states of mind implied in these two acts of faith respectively, are very different; the one being that of a judge or critic—the other, that of a disciple or a little child. (We may be allowed, perhaps, to refer, for an illustration of this distinction, in reference to our faith in the work of creation—which, however, is easily and obviously applicable to our faith in the work of redemption—to the first chapter of “Contributions towards the Exposition of the Book of Genesis,” on Hebrews 11:2.) It is true, indeed, on the one hand, that as an element, and a very important one, in determining the question, whether it be the Lord that speaketh or not, we are entitled to take into account the substance and manner of the communication made to us; to weigh well its bearing on what we otherwise know of God and of ourselves, and to gather from its high tone of sovereignty, so worthy of the speaker, and its deep breathings of mercy, so suited to the parties appealed to, many precious and delightful confirmations of the fact, that it is a message from heaven that has reached us, and a message addressed to us, and meant for us, poor sinners upon earth. It is true, also, on the other hand, that, in gracious condescension, God does not merely announce to us peremptorily His will and our duty—abruptly intimating that so it is, and so it must be; but He is at pains to explain how it is so, and how it must be so; He lets us into the rationale of his own procedure; He shows us what he is doing, and why, and how he is doing it; He not merely proclaims the general result, that his justice is satisfied on behalf of all that choose, or become willing, to embrace the righteousness of his Son; but He goes into the details of the mysterious transaction, and makes it plain and palpable that this satisfaction is real, and cannot but be sufficient; He not merely summons, authoritatively, the rebels against his government to submit and be reconciled; but He argues, and expostulates, and pleads with them—unfolding the whole plan and purpose of wise and holy benevolence, whereby he is enabled to receive them graciously and love them freely; and all this he does that they may have no excuse for their unbelief, and no pretence for not being intelligently and thoroughly satisfied. Still it is ultimately, or rather immediately, on the ipse dixit of God—his THUS SAITH THE LORD—that our faith must rest; for then only am I really exercising this blessed grace, when I am not merely canvassing the contents of the revelation, with a view to settle my mind as to whence it comes, nor even meditating on the wondrous wisdom with which all is arranged, so as to harmonize all the attributes of God, and meet all the exigencies of man’s case; but when, like the child Samuel, I say from the heart: “Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth;” or, like the docile and grateful virgin mother, reposing her trust, not on the explanation given of the marvellous announcement made to her, but on the truth of Him from whom it came: “Behold the handmaid of the Lord: be it unto me according to THY WORD.” It is plain, however, that as regards the nature of the faith which I exercise, and still more its fitness for the function or office assigned to it, much will depend, not merely on the precise literal amount of what is said, but also on the view which I take of Him, whose word or testimony is my warrant for believing. Thus, to make his testimony a foundation of that faith which is needed, the veracity, the faithfulness, the sincerity and truth of God, must be owned and appreciated; otherwise there can be no credit given to him, and no confidence reposed in him, at all. But it would seem that other attributes of his character must be apprehended, in order that his testimony may be a ground of the faith which is desiderated and sought. For example, in addition to his veracity, the unchangeableness of God must be recognised. How indispensable this is, will appear, if we inquire what is the common source of the scepticism, whether of presumption or of doubt, which lies and lurks at the bottom of the unbelieving heart. It is not so much the veracity, or general truthfulness of God, that is called in question, as his unchangeableness, or the immutability of his counsels and his commands. Men forget that it is not only said of him, “He is not a man, that he should lie;” but it is added, “nor the son of man, that he should repent.” Hence, in reference to threatened judgment, that reliance which they are so prone to place on the imagined placability of God, and the ready heed they give to the argument of the tempter: “Ye shall not surely die.” Thus, in a similar case—alas! too much of ordinary experience in human families—when I warn my child of my determination to visit his iniquities with stripes, and his transgressions with the rod, why does he run away from me, careless and unconcerned? Not so much because he doubts my honesty, as because he doubts my inflexibility of purpose. He is quite aware that I am in earnest in straitly forbidding the offence, and loudly intimating my resolution to punish it; but he sees a relenting fondness in the glance of the very eye that would sternly frown on him; and experience has taught him that I may change my mind; and he has a vague notion that if the worst, as the saying is, come to the worst, my parental tenderness will get the better of me, or something will happen to appease me, and somehow he will get off. In the same way, when I tell him of the general principles according to which his conduct in youth must exert an influence on his welfare in after years, and early profligacy must entail upon him either early death or an old age of vain remorse and premature decay, he admits my veracity, as well as the average probability of the testimony which I bear; but he lays hold of the doubt that may be cast on the inflexibility of the law, or the invariableness of the providence, which I seek to announce to him; and he can find many plausible reasons for a relaxation of the rule or practice in his especial favour. Thus he carries his scepticism and calculation of chances, from the parental government to the divine. So also, in my dealings of kindness with him, how is it that, when I fondle and caress my child most warmly, I may detect, under all his wild gaiety, a shrinking and half-avowed sense of insecurity? It is not that he doubts my sincerity at the time; but, alas! like the school-boys in the deserted village, the “boding trembler” having found that I may be swayed by passion, or warped by prejudice, has “learned to trace, the day’s disasters in my morning face.” The threatenings and promises of God are too generally received in a precisely similar spirit and temper by the children of men. (Psalms 50:21; Matthew 25:24) And, in fact, the unbelief of the evil heart manifests itself in this very disposition to regard the denunciations of God’s law as mere ebullitions of personal, and therefore placable, resentment; and the assurances of his gospel as the relentings of a merely pitiful, and therefore precarious, indulgence. On both sides, in reference both to the severity and to the goodness of God, what is chiefly needed is, to have men convinced, not only that God is really in earnest, but that he is unchangeably so. But this is not all. There must be not merely a conviction of the unchangeableness of God, but a conviction also, that this unchangeableness is necessary, reasonable, and right; that it is not to be confounded with the perseverance of mere obstinacy or caprice; but is the result of the absolute perfection and infinite excellence of the divine character and nature. Among men, one often holds on in the course which he has indicated and announced—whether of favouritism or of vindictiveness—merely because he has committed himself, and has not courage, or is ashamed, to draw back. Such a one is essentially of a weak temper and frame of mind, and never can be the object either of respect or of faith. He may be feared or flattered as a tyrant, but can never be loved as a gracious father, or reverenced as a just master and lord. The unchangeableness of Jehovah, on the other hand, must be viewed in connection with the glorious attributes of his character, and the everlasting principles of his administration, as the moral governor of the universe; and thus viewed, his unchangeableness must so commend itself to the intelligence, the conscience, and the whole moral nature of the individual to whom it is rightly manifested, as to make him feel, not only that God is, and must be, unchangeable—but that, for his part, even if it were possible, he would not wish Him to be otherwise. It is here, particularly, that we may see the necessity of an acquaintance with God’s character, as preliminary, if not in the order of time, at least in the order of causation, to that saving faith which rests upon his word or testimony; according to such scriptural statements as these: “They that know thy name shall put their trust in thee.” “Acquaint thyself with God, and be at peace.” Apart from this knowledge of his name or nature, and this acquaintance with his character, the most explicit assurances, either of judgment on the one hand, or of mercy on the other, must fail to bring home real conviction or contentment to my soul. Even if I were forced to admit the truth of his commands and prohibitions—his threatenings and promises—and were also most unequivocally told of their irrevocable stedfastness, and of the impossibility of any change of his mind with regard to them—still, in ignorance of his real character, and blind to all its glorious excellences and perfections, there would be no acquiescence on my part, but, on the contrary, either impatience, sullen resentment, and defiance, on the one hand, or carelessness and presumption, on the other. Beyond all question, the faith of which we are in search, whatever word of God it is to be based and built on—whether his word of wrath or his word of grace—presupposes an enlightened knowledge of his nature; and such a knowledge, too, as carries consent, and even a measure of complacency, along with it. No true sense of sin, or right apprehension of the holy displeasure and righteous judgment of God, could be wrought in my conscience, by the mere announcement of the sentence of death under which I lie—were it ever so terribly thundered in my ears, and the withering conviction of its irrevocable and endless endurance rivetted, ever so deeply, in my heart. Like the devils, I might believe and tremble; but this extorted belief, forced on me by the mere word of God, unaccompanied with any true and spiritual acquaintance with his name, has nothing in common with the faith which we seek. To realize my condemnation aright, I must not merely apprehend it as a fact; I must enter also into its reasonableness—its righteousness—its inevitable necessity. I must not merely believe that I am condemned; but there must enter into the ground and reason of my belief, such a view of God as makes me feel that I am condemned, not because God has said so, but because GOD IS WHAT HE IS; and makes me feel, moreover, that even if it were to effect my own escape from condemnation, I would not have him to be other than he is. In like manner, in regard to any word of God conveying a promise of mercy, it is not that mere word, taken by itself, that becomes the ground or warrant of my faith, but that word, as the word of Him, who is no longer unknown—whose name and character—whose attributes and perfections, are now recognised, apprehended, or, in short, perceived and seen. Hence the unspeakable importance of the cross, and the preaching of the cross, as a manifestation of the nature of God, or of what God is; and especially of what God is, in those acts or exercises of his administration in which he is peculiarly the God with whom we have to do—in dealing, that is, with sin—whether to punish or to pardon. Apart from all the verbal assurances connected with it—all the promises and threatenings of God’s word that may be associated with it—the cross, in itself, as an actual transaction and fact in the history of the divine government, exhibits and reveals, not what God says, but WHAT GOD IS; and what, in all his dealings with sin and with sinners, he necessarily must be. And they who are spiritually enlightened to “behold the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ,” now see both the severity and the goodness of God in a very different point of view from that in which they once regarded them. Thus, without reference, for the present, to the question of my personal interest in it, or its ultimate bearing on my personal destiny, there the cross stands, as a fact, significantly revealing to me, if my eyes are opened to take it in, the real character of that God with whom I have to do, and the manner in which, being what he is, he must necessarily deal with sinners, and with me, the chief of sinners. For this very end, indeed, is the great fact of the atonement made matter of revelation at all; that the view thus given of the name, or nature, or character of God, may enter as a constituent element, or a determining cause, into the assent which I give to the word of God, in the assurances and promises which that word connects with it; otherwise the transaction might have taken place in another part of the creation, and the knowledge of it might have been confined to another race of beings. In so far as it is an expedient or device in the divine government for getting over, as it were, a difficulty, and meeting an exigency, and enabling God to dispense amnesty and peace—it might have equally well served the ends of justice to have it hid from the eyes of men; and it might have been enough to proclaim to them, without explanation, the mere general message of reconciliation which it warrants God to announce; nay, this might even have seemed a more thorough trial of men’s dispositions, and a simpler appeal to their sense of present danger, and their natural desire of safety. But God sought to be believed, not merely for his word’s, but also for his NAME’S sake; not only on the ground of what he might say, but on the ground of what he is, and must necessarily ever be. No faith based upon his mere word, apart from an intelligent and satisfying acquaintance with his nature, could effect the end in view; for no such faith could insure that falling in with what he is doing—that acquiescence and willing subjection—which is the very thing that he seeks and cares for. Hence the cross is revealed; and it is revealed as a real transaction. God, in Christ, is seen dealing with sin. And how does he deal with it? He is seen inflicting its full penal and retributive sentence—punishing, in the strictest sense, the individual who, then and there, takes the sin as his own. (See Appendix H.) But that individual, thus bearing the punishment of sin, is no other than his well-beloved Son. What room is there here, for the suspicion of anything like vindictiveness, or mere perseverance in a course to which He is committed? It cannot he merely on account of what He has said, in the sentence pronounced; it must be on account of what he is, in his own nature, irrespective of any word gone forth out of his mouth; that even when his own Son appears before him as the party to be punished, there is no relenting or mitigation, but the judgment is carried out to the uttermost. Then, again, as He is revealed in the cross, how is God seen to deal with the sins of those whom he reconciles to himself? Not in the way of pardoning their sins, in the sense of remitting their punishment, but rather in the way of making provision for the punishment being endured by his own Son in their stead; so that they are now free. Thus, in dispensing to all such his grace and favour, in Christ, as well as in inflicting judgment on his own Son, as their surety, God appears as justifying the ungodly who believe in Jesus, not merely on the ground of what he has said, but on the ground also of his very nature; insomuch that, before he can withhold these blessings from those, the punishment of whose sins has been borne by his own Son, not only must he fail to fulfil what he has spoken, but he must cease to be the God he now is—the I AM, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. Hence the peculiar force of such an assurance as this: “I am the Lord Jehovah, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed.” (Malachi 3:6) It is an appeal to his name, as confirming his word, and making it absolute and irrevocable. On the whole, the cross, or rather the transaction there completed, reveals God as never pardoning, in the strict sense of the word, but always punishing, ski; and never punishing, but always rewarding, righteousness; and, moreover, as dealing thus with sin and righteousness, for his great name’s sake. Let me be really enlightened to see the real meaning of this great event, and I have an entirely new apprehension of the character of God, especially in reference not only to what he tells me of the way in which he deals with sin, but to what I now see to be the only way in which he can possibly deal with sin. My eyes are opened to perceive that he does not punish vindictively, or pardon capriciously, as I once fondly imagined—that he does not merely act on the principle that he must keep his word; but that, both in punishing sin, and accepting righteousness, he acts according to the perfection of his own blessed and glorious nature; which same nature, blessed and glorious, I dare not now expect, nor would wish, even for my own salvation, to have different from what I now perceive it to be. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 86: 08.03.07. CHAPTER 7 ======================================================================== Chapter 7: Faith—It’s warrant—Hypothesis of post-poned Atonement, as illustrative of the warrant of faith, in connection with particular redemption ASSUMING, therefore, this acquaintance with God, and this new insight into his glorious character and name, let us return to his word or testimony, which is more directly the ground or foundation of that faith of which we speak. Here we might enumerate all the commands, and invitations, and promises of the gospel, and we might show how full and free a warrant these afford to every individual sinner of the human race to lay hold of Christ, and to appropriate him as his own Saviour; hut adverting once more to the hearing of a right knowledge of God’s name on the kind of credit or assent which we give to his testimony, we may practically consider that testimony as threefold. 1. God testifies, in his Word, to my guilt, depravity, and condemnation. This testimony, did it stand apart from the manifestation which he makes to me of his character, might irritate and provoke me, or simply drive me to angry and dogged despair. But now, if I am spiritually enlightened to know God, how differently does it affect me! I can suspect nothing arbitrary or harsh in his sentence that condemns me; I can expect nothing weak or capricious in his treatment of me. I learn that I am condemned; I perceive that it must be so; I have no excuse—my mouth is stopped; nor has God any alternative. Looking to the cross, I see the principle on which God punishes such sin as mine—not vindictively, or merely because he has said the word—hut necessarily, from his very nature being such as it is. I believe, therefore, God’s testimony concerning my own condemnation; but my belief of it now, in my relenting and softened frame of mind, arising out of my being enabled to see, and to do justice to, the real character of God, and the obligation I am under to love and serve him because he is what he is—is very different from the conviction of mortified pride and insolent defiance, which might have been forced on me by the mere thunder of wrath. I have sinned against God, and am justly judged. “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest.” (Psalms 51:4) Again, 2. God testifies to me, in his Word, of the complete safety and blessedness of all who are once in Christ. And here, also, the importance of an acquaintance with his character, with a view to its bearing on my belief of his testimony, becomes very apparent. He tells me how he treats sinners in Christ Jesus—what favours he bestows upon them—what complete blessedness he secures to them. Well; but I might hear all this with a feeling of envy, or of mere wonder; or with an idle, indefinite hope, that I might, perhaps, one day, have a share in these benefits. There might seem to me to be in all this gracious treatment of his people, nothing more, on the part of God, than great kindness and indulgence, or, at best, a sort of inflexible favouritism, and a determination to stand true to what He may once have said to them. But let me acquaint myself with God; and then, when he testifies to me of the grace which he dispenses to them that are in Christ, I not only admit that it may be so, or that it is so; but I perceive that it must be so. I see the principle on which he so graciously deals with them. I apprehend, not only the certainty, but the reasonableness, of their joyous security. It must be so. For such is the inherent efficacy of the atonement, as a real transaction, and a real infliction of the sentence of judgment on the surety instead of the actual offenders—that God cannot but justify those who are in Christ; if he did not so justify them, he must cease to be what he is. Hence, instead of grudging and suspicious envy, as regards others, or vague wishes, as regards myself, in the view of that state in which the Word of God assures me that those who believe in Jesus are, there is wrought in me the single, solitary conviction, that in all this, God is righteous—that his ways are just and true, and that, as there cannot possibly be salvation out of Christ, so in Christ there can be no condemnation. It may be necessary here to explain, that throughout the whole of our present argument, in speaking of Christ’s work of atonement as a real transaction, and as, on that account, by its own inherent efficacy, rendering infallibly and necessarily certain the justification of all that are in him—we have been considering it as a manifestation of the character of God to men, and not simply as a ground or reason of His own procedure. There are two distinct senses in which that work of Christ, viewed in its connection with the name, or character, of God, may be said to secure the salvation of those whom, as their covenant head, he represents. Thus, in the first place, for his name’s sake, God, being such as he is, must necessarily provide for all the seed of Christ being in due time brought to him, and savingly made one with him: otherwise, were any of them to be finally lost—the punishment of their sins having been actually borne by Christ—there would be injustice and inconsistency with God; it is, in fact, an impossibility—so long as his character remains what it is. This is a precious truth, making it certain that “all whom the Father giveth Christ shall come unto him.” But it is not to our present purpose, though it bears upon the remaining part of our subject. We observe, therefore, secondly, that, for his name’s sake, God, being such as he is, cannot but justify all who are in Christ. This is the open and revealed side of the pillar, which becomes the warrant of the sinner’s faith. In the cross, he sees not only how God may, but how he must, his nature being such as it is, receive graciously, and rejoice over, all who come unto him through Christ, and who, by faith, become one with his own beloved Son. But to return, we observe once more, 3. God testifies to me of his willingness to make me a partaker of the same benefits, on these very terms, which I now see to be so reasonable and necessary. At this stage, especially, my knowledge of the name, or character of God, obtained through a clear and spiritually enlightened insight into the meaning of the transaction completed on the cross, goes far to determine the sort of credit which I give to the divine testimony, and the confidence I repose in it; for it has the effect at once of silencing and of satisfying me—silencing my inquisitive presumption, and satisfying my real anxiety. Thus, in the first place, if I am disposed to call in question the sufficiency of the mere word of God, addressed to me, a miserable sinner, who, after all, may not turn out to be one of the chosen—if I am tempted to demand an explanation of that, or any other similar difficulty, as a preliminary to my believing God’s word—I am met at once with the appeal to his name; for I find that what I am to believe is not an arbitrary rule or law, which becomes true and certain because God has said it, but a fact or principle that is, in its very nature, unchangeably sure, and must be so as long as God is what he is. It is not by a simple act of his will, or utterance of his voice, that God brings in the whole world, out of Christ, as guilty before him, and accepts believers in Christ, alone, as righteous. His character, or name, being what it is, he could not do otherwise. The atoning death, or rather the meritorious obedience unto death, of his own Son, in the character of a surety and substitute, being once admitted as a fact—there is no more room for discretion, on the part of God, in this matter; to speak with reverence, he has no choice now, and no alternative;—those who are out of Christ he cannot hut condemn, being what he is; and those who are in Christ he cannot hut justify, accept, and save. It is thus simply IMPOSSIBLE THAT, COMING UNTO HIM, THROUGH CHRIST, I SHOULD BE CAST OUT. Now, this is precisely what I have to believe, on the assurance of the word or testimony of God. He explicitly and unequivocally declares that, coming unto him through Christ, I shall not be cast out. Can I hesitate to believe this, when I find that this is an intimation, on his part, not only of what shall be, but of what must be; that he has so revealed his name, or character, or nature, as to make it absolutely certain, that if I will but come unto him, through Christ, I shall be necessarily saved? I have now not only God’s word for it, but God’s nature; and what more would I ask? But this is not all. For, In the second place, to satisfy real anxiety, as well as to silence idle questioning, God appeals to his name, in this transaction, and gives it, as it were, in pledge and pawn, to the hesitating and trembling soul. Have I endless misgivings as to whether, vile as I am, I may venture to come to God, through Christ? or whether, even coming through Christ, I may not be too vile to be accepted? God assures me, most emphatically, that I may freely come, and that, coming, I shall surely be received most graciously. Is this to me too good news to be true? Am I incredulous from the very greatness of the glad surprise, like the disciples of whom it is said, that they “believed not for joy?” Such is the condescension of God, that when I would even question his word, he is ready to give me the assurance of his name. Am I apprehensive that I may miss my aim, and be disappointed in my timid and trembling expectation of finding rest, peace, and all saving blessings in Christ? It cannot be. For his word’s sake, he would not suffer it; nor for his name’s sake. He cannot deny himself. It would be not merely a breach of the promise that has gone out of his mouth, but an outrage on his very nature, were he to suffer any poor sinner to perish, when he would fain cling to Christ, or any anxious soul to seek his face in vain. The passages of Scripture are innumerable in which this use is made of the name of God, either by God himself pledging it, and swearing by it, as the confirmation of his promises to his believing people, or by poor and perishing sinners, helpless and hopeless, pleading it, and appealing to it, in their cries to him. This name, or nature, of God, furnishes a good reason why God should extend mercy to me, the chief of sinners, and I should reckon on that mercy as both sure and gracious—infallibly certain, and altogether gratuitous and free. “Howbeit for this cause I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might show forth all long-suffering, for a pattern to them which should hereafter believe on him to life everlasting.” (1 Timothy 1:16) It is alleged by God himself, as his motive for imparting sanctification as well as justification—a new heart as well as newness of life—and so completing the salvation of all that come unto him. “Therefore say unto the house of Israel, Thus saith the Lord God; I do not this for your sakes, O house of Israel, but for mine holy name’s sake, which ye have profaned among the heathen, whither ye went. And I will sanctify my great name, which was profaned among the heathen, which ye have profaned in the midst of them; and the heathen shall know that I am the Lord, saith the Lord God, when I shall be sanctified in you before their eyes. For I will take you from among the heathen, and gather you out of all countries, and will bring you into your own land. Then will I sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean: from all your filthiness, and from all your idols, will I cleanse you. A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do them. Not for your sakes do I this, saith the Lord God, be it known unto you: be ashamed and confounded for your own ways, O house of Israel.” (Ezekiel 36:21-38) And it is the security or guarantee implied in God’s swearing by himself, that his blessing, once bestowed, is irrevocable; as when he gives to those who might be discouraged by the fear of falling away, the pledge of two “immutable things—wherein it is impossible for him to lie”—that is, his immutable word and his immutable nature—to prove the impossibility of his casting off his people, and “show unto the heirs of promise the immutability of his counsel, that they might have strong consolation who have fled for refuge to the hope set before them.” (Hebrews 6:9-20) In all these instances, men are asked and expected to believe, not merely on the ground of what God says, but on the ground, also, of what God is; and God is seen to challenge their credit and confidence, not by the authority of his word exclusively, but in respect of the necessity arising out of the very immutability of his nature, and the absolute perfection of his glorious character and name. The view now given of the warrant of saving faith may be rendered still more clear, when we go on to consider the remaining particular embraced in this inquiry, namely, the source and origin of that faith. But, even as we have now endeavoured to present it, it has an important bearing on the general question of the extent and nature of Christ’s work of atonement. For, in this view, it is of consequence to observe, that much less than is usually imagined depends on the explicitness and preciseness of any verbal statement regarding it; such as may be applicable to a sinner, even before he believes; and much more, on the exhibition of character which it gives, and which a sinner, so situated, may apprehend, as his chief encouragement to believe. It is not so much what God says, as what God is, that gives boldness to confide in him; or, at least, what he says, were it ever so articulate, would go but a little way to assure my heart, were it not for my apprehension of what he is. Were the warrant of my faith the simple ipse dixit of God, or his bare word, I might have some reason for requiring very express information as to my actual and ultimate interest in the salvation of which he speaks to me, before believing or taking it to be mine. But the ground on which I am to believe, being not so much that he says so and so, as that he who says so and so, is of such and such a character, and cannot but act in such and such a way—I am less concerned about knowing beforehand what I am, or am to be, to him, and more occupied with the thought of what I shall assuredly find Him to be to me. And, here, let us sum up, in a few brief statements, the information which, as we have seen, the cross gives concerning God; and which, rightly and spiritually apprehended, becomes the ground and foundation of appropriating faith. 1. The objective revelation or discovery which the cross gives of God, and of the name, or nature, or character of God, is evidently general and universal. It is a manifestation of the divine perfections, and the divine manner of dealing with sin and sinful men, to all alike and indiscriminately. Hence it is a warrant of faith to all. But, 2. That it may serve this purpose, of a universal manifestation of God’s real character and actual mode of procedure, the transaction accomplished on the cross must be a real transaction. It must be the real infliction of judicial and retributive punishment on him who suffers there; otherwise it is no manifestation of the principle on which God, being what he is, must necessarily deal with sin; so that he can acquit or justify the guilty, only when their punishment is vicariously borne by an infinitely worthy substitute in their stead, while, on the other hand, he cannot but acquit and justify them, when they are thus represented and redeemed. It is needless to say that this implies a limitation of the efficacy of Christ’s death to those ultimately saved; but it is important to observe, that this very limitation of it to those, in reference to whom alone it can be a real transaction, is essential to its being a manifestation of God’s real character universally and alike to all. For, 3. This real and actual, and therefore particular and personal, work of substitution, becomes a sufficient warrant of faith to all, through the discovery which it makes of what God is, and must necessarily be, as an avenging Judge, to all who are out of Christ; and of what he is, and must necessarily be, as a gracious Father and justifying Lord, to all who are in Christ. It reveals the impossibility, from the very nature of God, and his being what he is, of pardon out of Christ, and of condemnation in Christ. Not by any arbitrary arrangement, or mere spontaneous act of will, do I find God acquitting some for Christ’s sake, and rejecting others; but, by the very necessity of his nature, I perceive him (with reverence be it said) shut up to the acceptance of all who are in Christ, because their punishment has been actually endured by him—and to the acceptance of them alone: and it is this perception of the inevitable sentence under which every sinner out of Christ lies, and the absolute certainty and necessity of its removal from all who are in him, which shuts me up to the belief of his testimony, when he assures me, that I have but to come unto him, through Christ, and that so coming, I cannot fail to be saved. Nor, 4. Can it really be any practical hindrance, that Christ’s death is a real atonement only for those who come to him, and not for all mankind. For, let us suppose ourselves to have lived before Jesus suffered on the cross; or, which is the same thing, let us suppose his blessed work to have been postponed till the end of time. Let us regard him as, from the beginning, waiting to receive accessions of individuals, from age to age, made willing to take him as their surety, and covenant head, and representative. Let us conceive of him as thus waiting to have the number of his seed actually made up, and all who are to receive salvation at his hands effectually called and united to him. Then, when the last soul is gathered in, and the entire multitude of the elect race who are to stand to him, as the second Adam, in the same relation in which the family of man stands to the first Adam that fell, is ascertained, not only in the eternal counsels of the Godhead, and the covenant between the Father and the Son, but in the actual result accomplished—then at last, the Son, on their behalf and in their stead, performs the work, in which, by anticipation, they had all been enabled to believe, and satisfies divine justice, and makes reconciliation for them all. Where, in such circumstances, would be the necessity of a general or unlimited reference in his atonement? No one called to believe, with the knowledge that Christ was to be the surety of believers alone, and in that character alone was to be ultimately nailed to the cross, could have any embarrassment on that account. There might still be difficulties in his way, arising out of the decree of election, or the special grace of the Holy Ghost; but the limitation of the work which Christ had yet to do, to those who, before he did it, should be found to be all that would ever consent to take him as their Saviour, could not, in such a case, occasion any hesitation. And is the case really altered, in this respect, when we contemplate the cross as erected in the middle, rather than at the end, of time? On the supposition we have ventured to make, there would be the same absolute certainty, as to the parties in whose stead Christ should ultimately make atonement, that there is now, as to those for whom he has made it; and yet it would be enough for every sinner to be assured, that he might freely believe on him for the remission of sins; and that, so believing, he would undoubtedly find himself among the number of those for whom, in due time, atonement would be made, and whom, for his own name’s sake, God must needs justify, on that all-sufficient ground. Is it really any assurance less than this that we can give to the sinner now? Surely there is a strange fallacy here. The essential nature of this great transaction does not depend on the time of its accomplishment. It would be a real propitiation for the sins of all who should ever take him as their surety, were it yet to be accomplished; it is all that, and nothing more, now that it is accomplished, eighteen hundred years ago. Nor is it practically more difficult to reconcile a limited atonement with a universal offer, in the one view than in the other. It is enough, in either view, to proclaim, that whosoever believeth in Jesus will assuredly find an efficacy in his blood to cleanse from all sin—an infinite merit in his righteousness, and an infinite fulness in his grace. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 87: 08.03.08. CHAPTER 8 ======================================================================== Chapter 8: Faith—Its warrant—Hypothesis of a postponed Atonement, as illustrative of the warrant of faith, in connection with particular redemption THE supposition which we ventured to throw out, at the close of the last paper, is one which we are inclined to resume, and which, unless we are mistaken, may he found to carry in its bosom, or in its train, not a few of the elementary truths needed, for a settlement of this whole dispute. Let it be assumed, then, that instead of being accomplished during the fifth millennium of man’s existence in the world, the incarnation, obedience, death, and resurrection of Christ, stood postponed till the end of all; and that now, with a fuller revelation, perhaps, than the Old Testament saints had, of the precise nature of the ordained and appointed salvation, we were, like them, in the position of expectation, looking forward to the work of atonement, as still to come. This cannot be regarded as a presumptuous or irreverent supposition. For certain purposes, and in a certain view, the death of Christ is ante-dated in Scripture, and He is spoken of as “the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world.” (Revelation 13:8) It is no bold fiction, or mere figure of speech, that thus assigns an era to this event, so remote from that of history. The truth is, the event itself, like the Godhead concerned in it—the everlasting Father ordaining and accepting, the only begotten Son undertaking and accomplishing, and the eternal Spirit sealing and applying it—is “the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.” It has properly, therefore, no date; and if, on this principle, it may he held to have taken place “from before the foundation of the world,” it is not doing any violence to its reality, or taking any undue liberty with its sacredness, to conceive of it as delayed till the world’s close. In fact, we may thus test, to speak with reverence, the precise import of the cross, by planting it at different epochs in the lapse of ages, and observing what one aspect it invariably presents—what one voice or utterance it uniformly gives forth. We are to conceive, therefore, of the atonement as still future; and we are to inquire how far, and in what way, this conception of it may seem at all to throw light on some of the various questions which have been raised regarding it, especially on those which relate to the offer of salvation, on the part of God, and the acceptance of it, on the part of the sinner. Thus, in the first place, let the gospel offer be viewed in connection with an atonement yet to be made; as preceding, not following, the actual accomplishment of redemption; and let us see if, either in its freeness or in its fulness, it is at all affected by the transposition. The freeness of the offer, as an offer made in good faith, unreservedly and unconditionally to all, might seem at first sight to be, in this way, more clearly, intelligibly, and satisfactorily brought out than on the present footing; an air of greater contingency is imparted to the whole transaction; room is left, as it were, and opportunity is reserved, to use a Scottish legal phrase, to “add and eke;” the promised and still future atonement beheld afar off, bulks in the sinner’s eye as a provision or scheme of grace capable of expansion and of adjustment, which, if more should ultimately be found willing to be embraced in it than were from the first anticipated, may yet be made so much wider as to take them in; and, in short, it appears possessed of an elastic capacity of enlargement, instead of being fixed, stereotyped, and confined. But, even on this theory, it would be no general or universal atonement; nor any general or universal reference in the atonement, that the sinner would be encouraged to look forward to, or that he would feel to be suitable to his case. On the contrary, to preserve the integrity and good faith of the offer, in respect of its fulness as well as its freeness—to give it, in fact, any worth or value—it must even then be an offer connected with a limited atonement after all. For what, in the case supposed, must be the actual benefit freely presented to all? What must be the assurance given? How must the tenor of the gospel message run? Surely to this effect: that whosoever, understanding and approving of the divine plan, yet to be accomplished, gave his consent and avowed his willingness to acquiesce in it, might rely on finding himself comprehended at last in a work of propitiation and substitution adequate to the expiation of all his sins, and the complete fulfilment of all righteousness on his behalf; on the faith of which atonement, yet in prospect, he might, by anticipation, be presently accepted in the Beloved, and have peace in believing, and joy in the Holy Ghost. Still, most manifestly, the offer made to him must be the offer of an interest in a limited atonement. Explaining to such a one, in such circumstances, the principle of this method of salvation, its bearing on the honour of the divine character, and its adaptation to the necessities of the sinner’s condition, you would set before him the Saviour hereafter to be revealed; and enlarging on the dignity and wondrous mystery of his person, the depth of his humiliation, the merit of his voluntary obedience, the infinite value of his penal sufferings and death—all as yet future—what would you say next? or how would you seek to apply all this to the hearer or the inquirer himself? Would you tell him of any general references and aspects in this vast mediatorial undertaking? Would you speak of any universal, or vague, or indefinite relation which, in all this work, the Saviour was appointed, or might be held, to sustain to mankind at large? Nay, would you not be prompt and eager to disavow all such generalities, and to fix and fasten on the very limitation of the work, as the precise feature in it to which it was most important to give heed? It is to be all, you would say, a work of suretyship, in the strictest sense, and of suretyship exclusively; He who is to finish it—is in the undertaking and accomplishing of it, to sustain no relation whatever to any but his own people: he is so literally to identify himself with them, and them with himself, that all their sin is to be his, and all his righteousness is to be theirs; and it is in no other character than that of their representative, and with no reference to any but them, that he is to pour out his soul as an offering for sin. If you held the doctrine of the atonement at all, you could not fail, in the circumstances which we have supposed, to announce it to sinners of mankind, in some such terms as we have indicated. And you would do so without embarrassment. You would feel no difficulty in preaching such a gospel, then; and you would hold it to be the freest and fullest of all possible offers or proclamations, that you made, when pointing to this atonement, which you confessed, or rather boasted, would be a restricted atonement—from its very nature a restricted, because a real and effectual, atonement—you summoned all men everywhere to believe and be saved. Now, how is this to be accounted for? How is it that, on the supposition of the atonement being yet future, it would seem so much easier to reconcile the universality of the gospel offer with the restriction or limitation of Christ’s work, than on the other supposition, which has now been realized, and become matter of fact, of its being a transaction already past? It were well, we cannot but think, if this question were seriously pondered; for we have a deep persuasion that it might arrest not a few earnest and inquisitive minds, who, having got entangled in the difficulties in which this subject is involved, as it touches the throne of God (which clouds and darkness must ever surround), are seeking relief and a door of escape, in the other direction, by taking liberties with it at the point at which it touches the hearts and consciences of men. This inquiry which we have now suggested might show them whither they are tending, and what is but too likely to be the issue of that state of mind which they are cherishing. For, what makes the difference between the two cases, as we have put them—the hypothetical and the actual? Or, is there any real difference? None whatever, unless you introduce the element of contingency. We have already observed that there is the appearance of this contingency in the view of a postponed, more than in that of a past, atonement—that the former seems to leave more scope and room than the latter for the discretionary exercise of divine grace, and the free play of the human will. But, unless there be the reality, as well as the appearance, of this greater contingency, under the economy of a postponed, rather than of a past, atonement, the ease or relief which one feels in passing, in imagination, from the one to the other, is wholly delusive, and is such, moreover, as to indicate a very dangerous turn of thought, and a sort of embryo-heretical pravity of disposition. For, let me interrogate myself: Am I conscious that I find it a simpler thing, and less revolting to my natural understanding, to conceive of Christ’s work as undertaken and accomplished for his people alone, when I try to view it prospectively, than when I look upon it in the way of retrospect? What makes it so? It must be some lurking idea, that, under the former system, matters are not quite so fixed as under the latter. Ah! then, it is really electing love and sovereign efficacious grace that I must get rid of; for, if the eternal decree of election, and the utter impotency of man without a sovereign operation of grace within him, be held equally under both systems, there is really no more uncertainty or capability of enlargement under the one than under the other. It is high time for me, on seeing this, to stop short, lest I find myself carried on, as so many have been, along this fatally inclined plane, from less to more, to a denial of special grace altogether. For thus men, leaning to unsound views, improve one upon another; and, following out more and more fearlessly the legitimate consequences of incipient error, they come boldly to proclaim an extent of aberration from the truth, from which they, or their masters, would once have recoiled. Hence, what germinates as an isolated and uncongenial anomaly, on the surface of some otherwise well-cultivated mind—springing out of some peculiar influence that does not, perhaps, materially affect the general crop of good grain and abundant spiritual fruit—grows, in course of time, and spreads and swells out, till all the fair foliage is choked, and the sound seed is well-nigh expelled from the soil. For, as in the case before us, when a man seeking relief from the perplexity of the one great insoluble problem, thinks he has found it in denying or explaining away the limited extent of the atonement—and when he finds, as he, or his disciple, bettering his example, will soon do, that the relief, so long as he stops short there, is but delusive and apparent—the same impatience of mystery or difficulty which unsettled his views at first, carries him on a step further, until nearly all that is peculiar and precious, either in God’s love, or in Christ’s work, or in the Spirit’s grace, is sacrificed to the demand which men vainly make for a gospel that may enable them to save themselves, instead of that which announces the salvation of God. But, to return from this digression, we may ask, on the other hand, if the putting of this case, as to the supposed postponement of Christ’s work, should not go far to satisfy those who object to the doctrine of a limited atonement, on the ground of its alleged inconsistency with the good faith of a universal gospel offer, that this objection, at least, is really groundless? You perceive that, if the work of Christ were yet to be accomplished, it would fall to be announced as a work restricted to those who should then be found to constitute the entire number of his believing people. That number being supposed to be made up, previous to his coming in the flesh, you would never dream of his death being anything more than an atonement for their sins, and the bringing in of a perfect righteousness on their behalf. You might say, indeed, that meanwhile, the fact of that death being, if we may so speak, due, was one in which not only those ultimately saved, but the world at large, had an interest; inasmuch as it procured for all, that season of providential forbearance, together with those universal calls, and influences, and opportunities of grace, which otherwise would not have been vouchsafed to any. This, however, as you must at once see, on the supposition now made, would appear to be plainly a consequence, not of his death on the cross, but of his being destined to die; or, in other words, it would be evidently connected, not with the proper virtue or efficacy of his atonement at all, but simply with its certainty, as an event yet to occur. Were it to turn out, at last, that only a single individual had been persuaded and enabled to become a believer in the promised Saviour, so that he needed to lay down his life for none, save for that single individual alone, still the appointment of his death, though restricted, in its references to one solitary soul, would be a sufficient explanation of the forbearance granted to all, and the offer, made to all; for still, all along, and even at the very instant of his ascending the cross, all might be most honestly assured, that if they were but willing, their sins also would be expiated on the tree. We might thus conceive of the Redeemer as standing, from generation to generation, among the successive millions of the children of men—testifying to them all that he has been ordained to become the substitute of all sinners, without exception, who choose to accept of him in that capacity, and that he delays the execution of the work he has to do till the end of all things, for the express purpose of allowing full time to all to make their choice. The announcement he has to make is, from the very nature of the case, the announcement of a limited atonement: the decease which he is to accomplish, as he must in faithfulness warn them all, is to have no general reference whatsoever: he is not in any sense to obey, or suffer, or die, for any but his own people: the efficacy of his propitiation, as well as its design, is to be strictly and exclusively theirs: and still, as age after age rolls on, may he be seen, down to the last moment, plying each one of the mighty multitude of the guilty, almost lingering as he takes his appointed place under the broken law and the impending curse—Thy surety, also, would I gladly be, if thou wouldst suffer me, thine, as well as this thy neighbour’s, who was not less guilty than thou; thy sins would I willingly bear, as well as his; yet once more consider, ere I go on my heavy and bloody work, shall I go in thy stead, as well as in his?—as substitute for thee, as well as for him? Choose before it be too late— Would this be a free gospel? Would this be an honest universal offer? It is connected, you perceive, with a limited atonement. Would it be of any value if it were not? And does the accident of date so alter the essential nature of this great transaction—in which the parties are that eternal Father, who seeth the end from the beginning, and that well beloved Son, who is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever—as to make the restriction of it to his own people less consistent with a universal offer when it is set forth as past, than it would be, if announced as still future? Surely, if such an impression at any time prevail, one may say, in all humility, with the Psalmist: “This is my infirmity; but I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.” (Psalms 77:10) ======================================================================== CHAPTER 88: 08.03.09. CHAPTER 9 ======================================================================== Chapter 9: Faith—Its source or origin—The work of the Spirit in the production of faith indentical with his work in the new creation PASSING now from the offer, on the part of God, to the acceptance of it, by faith, on the part of the sinner, which it was proposed, in the second place, to investigate, under this hypothesis or supposition of a postponed atonement, we may dispense with any renewed and formal discussion of the three particulars already disposed of, namely, (I.) the office or function; (II.) the nature; and (III.) the warrant of that faith which is required for the appropriation of the gift of God; for these are not very directly affected by this test;—and we may proceed at once to the only remaining topic, and consider, IV. The source and origin of this faith, by which sinners become interested in the work of Christ. And here, let us, first, bring our imaginary, but yet potent, criterion to bear on the precise point at issue. Let Christ be presented to us, not as having accomplished the work of redemption, but as appointed and ordained to accomplish it, whensoever the number of those willing to have it undertaken and accomplished by him, on their behalf, shall have been ascertained. It is to be assumed that we have all the knowledge that we at present possess of the person of Christ and the nature of his work, as a work implying the substitution of himself instead of, or the identification of himself with, a peculiar people, consenting to have him as their head. But an apparent contingency is allowed to rest, so far as man’s judgment goes, on the precise number and actual names of the parties who are to be thus dealt with; although, in the foreknowledge and decree of God, all is fixed. Still, the matter seems to be simplified by the work, while yet unaccomplished, being thus thrown loose on mankind at large and indiscriminately; it looks like leaving the door more open. And in that view, scarcely any difficulty can be conceived of as arising on any of the questions regarding faith, which we have already had before us. Thus, let Christ be set forth as having the work of obedience and atonement yet to do. Then, as to the office or function of faith, it is plain that unless he is to save me against my will, he must have my consent or acquiescence; as to the nature of faith there must evidently also be not only a conviction of the understanding recognising his sufficiency, but a movement, moreover, of the will or the affections, or the choice of the heart, urging me to avail myself of his all-sufficient mediation; and as to the ground or warrant of faith, what more can be needed beyond his assurance, that if I choose to accept of him as my substitute, he will undertake to satisfy all claims, and meet all demands on my behalf? So far all is clear. But now, as to the source or origin of faith, let the question be raised, on the hypothesis or supposition of a deferred propitiation, as to the causal priority, or precedency in respect of logical order—of faith to the new spiritual life, or of the new spiritual life, at least in its beginning, to faith. Let it be observed that, in the view we are now taking, the object of faith is not a past, but a future work of salvation; a present Saviour indeed, but one whose actual and effectual redemption of his people is still in prospect, and is necessarily, therefore, set before us under a contingent, and in a sense, a conditional aspect. It is my faith, however wrought in me, that must turn the contingent and conditional into the categorical and certain. It cannot, therefore, in such a case, be the understanding that commands the will, at least in the final act of faith, but the will that furnishes a guide or index to the understanding. For, so far as the conviction of the understanding is concerned, the proposition which I am to believe, if it is to be reduced to exact form, and expressed with intellectual precision, is not that my sins are expiated, but that they will be expiated, through my being now embraced and included among those whom, in his yet future work of propitiation, Christ is to represent. But evidently the truth of this proposition depends on my consent to be thus represented by him; and my assurance of its truth must turn upon my consciousness of the consent which I give. Thus, on the theory we are now imagining, for the sake of illustration, to be realized, there is no room for any intellectual conviction, implying an appropriating interest in the work of Christ, except upon the footing of a previous act of the will, consenting to his suretyship, with all its consequences. But such consent, it will scarcely be denied, is the result of a divine operation, and is an exercise of the new spiritual life. For the real question, on this closing branch of the subject, respects the precise nature of that state of mind in which faith originates, and out of which it arises. Some, indeed, might think it enough to have it acknowledged, in general terms, that “faith is the gift of God”—that “no man can say that Jesus is the Lord, hut by the Holy Ghost”—that salvation is “through sanctification of the Spirit and belief of the truth” (Ephesians 2:8; 1 Corinthians 12:3; 1 Thessalonians 2:13): and, doubtless, to plain minds such plain statements as these suffice; nor, but for the subtle refining which has been resorted to, on this as on other points, for the covering of an ambiguous position, would anything more in the way of explanation have been necessary. For it is thus, for the most part, that the defence of the truth becomes complicated, and a prejudice is created against it, as if it turned upon mere word-catching and hair-splitting. The reason is, that persons verging, perhaps unconsciously, towards dangerous error, shrink from realizing, even to themselves, the full extent and actual tendency of their aberrations and peculiarities; and cling, with a sort of desperate tenacity, to the familiar formulas and expressions of a sound scriptural creed; with the sort of infatuation with which one struggling in the river’s treacherous calm, above the rapids, might convulsively grasp some landmark as he is drifted past, fancying himself thereupon to be stationary and safe, while he is only carrying the sign-post he has embraced, along with him, into the perilous and eddying navigation of the torrent. Hence it becomes necessary to follow them in their windings, and to recover, out of their hands, those simple statements of Holy Writ, which they so ingeniously mystify and pervert. In the present instance, a mere admission of the necessity of the Spirit’s agency in order to the production and exercise of saving faith, may be very far from coming up to the full meaning of what, to persons inexperienced in the arts of controversy, the words would seem to imply. Let us consider how very differently different men may understand that acknowledgment of dependence upon God, as the source alike of every good gift and of every good work, which they may all be ready, with a measure of honesty, to make. Thus, that God is not far from every one of us, since in him we “live, and move, and have our being,” is what even a heathen poet could feel and own, when he said, “For we are all his offspring.” Every common function of the natural life may thus be said to be performed by the help of God. But a devout Theist, having an intelligent belief in a particular providence, will regard this as meaning far more than an Epicurean philosopher, with his notions of the retirement and repose of the great Creator, could admit. This last would ascribe to God the original contrivance of the curiously-wrought organ, or the subtle mental power, by which the function is to be performed, as well as the adjustment of those general laws, of matter and of mind, under which all such operations are carried on; and in that sense he might recognise God as enabling him to draw in every fresh breath of air that swells his chest, and to eat every morsel that is to revive his exhausted frame; and so far, he might be grateful. But the other goes much farther. Believing in the direct and immediate interposition of God, upholding all things and regulating all things, he believes literally that he can do nothing without God: and hence he is thankful to God, not merely for having made him, such as he is, and placed him under natural laws, such as they are, but for his concurrence, in the very act by which he puts forth his hand to touch, and opens his mouth to taste; without which concurrence, present and real, he could do neither. Again, in the department of practical morality, there are many who hold that without God they can do nothing good; in a sense, too, more special than is implied in the acknowledgment that, without God they can do nothing at all. For here, some weakness or derangement of the natural faculty is admitted; and the feeling is, that in every instance in which it is to be exercised, there must be the presence and concurrence of God, not merely that it may be enabled to act at all, but that it may be helped to act rightly. A pious moralist may thus maintain that man, left to himself, cannot form, or reform, his own character aright; nay, that he cannot, without the help of God, think a good thought or speak a good word; and hence he will be ready to trace every good disposition and every good act to God, and to do so frankly and sincerely. But in all this there may be great vagueness and obscurity; it may be rather an indefinite impression with him, than an intelligent article of belief; and were he questioned particularly, he might be unable to explain what he meant. But, generally, his notion would seem to be this: that God is, as it were, to second or back the efforts of man, by some supplementary influence or aid from on high; that man, straining himself to the uttermost in the exercise of his moral faculties, of reason, conscience, and will, is helped on and helped out by some divine communication of additional light or power; as when I am blinding myself with intense looking into the depths of a vast cave, I am relieved by a friend putting a torch into my hand, or applying his glass to my eye; or when I am toiling up a steep ascent, breathless and ready to give way, I find a strong arm linked in mine, that carries me swiftly and pleasantly up the hill; or when I am suffering my resolution to be overborne by the flattery or the taunts of false friends, I am recalled to myself by the timely warning of a faithful brother. Now, is it anything more than this that some mean, who seem to admit that faith is the gift of God, and that no man can believe but by the special grace and operation of the Holy Spirit, while yet they sensitively shrink from any explicit recognition of faith as being one of the fruits of the new birth, or the new creation, or the new spiritual life—of which, with strange perverseness, they would make it the instrumental cause? What more than this can they possibly mean? For there is, and can be, but one other sense in which the acknowledgment of divine help, or of a divine interposition, in the act or exercise of any faculty, can be understood; and that is, that the faculty itself is renewed—that it becomes, in fact, a new faculty. And can anything short of this exhaust the meaning of the scriptural testimonies on this subject? “Faith is the gift of God.” Does this mean nothing more than that God concurs with man, and is an auxiliary to him, in believing? How does the passage run? “By grace are ye saved, through faith; and that not of yourselves;”—how not of yourselves?—because God influences and helps you to believe?—not at all; but “it is the gift of God.” “What can this mean, if it be not that God directly bestows the faculty or capacity of believing, and that too, as a new faculty—a new capacity. He does not merely co-operate with man in this exercise or act of faith: but he gives it. And why should we take alarm at the idea of man receiving new faculties, that he may know God, and believe God? Why should we hesitate to say that it is a new understanding that apprehends, and a new heart that embraces, “the things of God”—“the things which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man—the things which God hath prepared for them that love him?” (1 Corinthians 2:14, and 1 Corinthians 2:9). You say that in this new creation, there are no new powers imparted to man, beyond what he naturally possesses, and no essential change is wrought in his constitution. If this mean that he continues to have the same number of powers that he had before, and these of the same kind as before—that he is still a man, and not an angel—that he has understanding, conscience, will, affections, such as are proper to a man, and such as he had before—that he knows, in the same manner as he did before, not for the most part intuitively, but through reason and discourse, and believes, in the same manner as he did before, upon evidence presented to him; and loves, in the same manner that he did before, from the sight of what is excellent and the sense of what is good—if this be what is meant when the protest is anxiously made against the new creation being supposed to imply any essential change of man’s constitution, or the imparting to him of any new faculties—it is true, but it is little to the purpose. He has an eye, he has a heart, as he had before; but it is a new eye and a new heart: an eye and a heart as strictly new, as if the natural organs had been taken out and replaced by others entirely different; or as if, being taken out and thoroughly renovated, they were again restored to the frame to which they belonged, but restored, so changed from what they were before, as to make a new world all round, and a new world within. Now, it is out of this new creation that faith springs; it is by this work or process that it is wrought in the mind and heart of the sinner; it is the act of a renewed understanding, a renewed will, and a renewed heart. If it be not—if it be not the fruit of that new life which the soul receives in the new birth or new creation, but in any sense its cause or instrument—then it is idle to say that it is the gift of God, or that no man can believe but by the Holy Ghost; for, at the very utmost, this can really mean nothing more than that the Spirit must be concurring and aiding in the act of faith, as he might be held to concur and aid in any act, for which man has a certain measure of ability, that needs only to be supplemented and helped out. Is this the sense in which it is meant that the Spirit is the author of faith? If not—and they whom we have in our eye will probably feel that this is much too low a sense—then what intermediate sense is there between that, and the new creation or regeneration? Or in what other way can the Spirit be conceived of as originating faith, excepting in one or other of these two—either in the way of helping, or in the way of causing, man to believe; either in the way of mere auxiliary influence, or in the way of creating anew, and imparting new life? What is man’s natural state, apart from the Spirit’s work, in reference to his ability to believe? Is he partly, but not quite, able to believe? Has he some intellectual and moral power tending in that direction, not indeed sufficient to carry him on to the desired landing-place of faith, but such as, with some concurrent and assisting operation of the Spirit—falling short of a new creation, however, or the imparting of new life—may be stretched out so as to reach that end? Or is he wholly devoid of all that even tends in the line of faith? Is he altogether without strength? And must faith be in him, not merely an improvement on some natural act of his mind, but an act entirely and radically new? Is it with him an old thing amended, or a new thing, to believe God? Need we say what the scriptural reply must be? If the Spirit is the source and author of faith at all, it must be in his character of the quickening, the regenerating, the creating Spirit. Otherwise if it be in any other character that he produces faith, or by any other process than what that character involves, there is no reason why all other grace and goodness may not be implanted in the soul, and matured there, by the mere co-operation of God with man, in the use of his natural ability, without anything that can be properly called a new birth or new creation for the imparting of new life at all; for if a man can believe before he is regenerated and made alive, he may equally well acquire any other good quality, or perform any other good work. But we must close this argument, and, indeed, this whole series of arguments; and we may do so by noticing one or two difficulties that may be started on the other side. 1. Do we set aside Christ in this view which we take of the source and origin of faith? as if we maintained that the first germ, at least, of the new spiritual life was imparted by a process irrespective of Christ’s work and word—so that a man might be said to have life without having Christ? (1 John 5:12) There might be something in this, if the quickened soul had far to seek, or long to wait, for Christ—if, in my new birth, opening my new eyes to look, and my new and feeble arms to grasp, I had still to say—“Who shall ascend into heaven? (that is to bring Christ down from above); or, Who shall descend into the deep? (that is to bring up Christ again from the dead.”) But it is not so. “The word is nigh me, even in my mouth and in my heart” (Romans 10:8); so nigh, that the very first cry of my new and faultering tongue is to confess Christ; for he is in my mouth, and I find him there (ibid. Romans 10:9; Psalms 8:2); and the very first pulse of my new and trembling bosom beats against my Saviour’s breast; for he is in my heart, and there, too, I find him. In the very agony of my birth- struggle, I have Christ—very near, in close contact, giving himself to me; and awakening from that long dream that has been my death, I awake, with Christ’s voice ringing in my ear, Christ’s blessed image filling my eye, and Christ’s word in my inmost soul. What separation is there here, between the possession of spiritual life and the possession of Christ? I live not before having Christ, but in having Christ. My new life is through him, and with him, and in him. Yet it is the Spirit that quickeneth; and being quickened, I have Christ near, and life in him. 2. Do we disparage faith, as if we called in question the great doctrine of salvation through faith? Surely, if it be held that salvation is through faith in such a sense as to imply that this faith is not itself a part of the salvation—of which redemption by the shedding of Christ’s blood, and regeneration by the operation of the Holy Ghost, are the sole causes—the one of its purchase, and the other of its application—any such imagination we set altogether aside. But while faith is ever to be magnified, as opposed to all works of man, in the salvation of the sinner, it never can be the antagonist of any work of God, whether of God the Son, or of God the Holy Ghost. “We thus degrade faith itself, bringing it down from its high position, as the link of union between God and man, into the class of those righteousnesses of ours, which are as filthy rags. Thus, in justification, make faith, instead of obedience, the ground of acceptance; and what worthiness has it? or what stability? None whatever, more than those other works which it supersedes. But put the work of Christ in that position; and let faith take her proper place as a handmaid, meekly waiting on Christ, and taking his work as her own; she becomes omnipotent—she can remove mountains. So also, in regeneration; if you insist on faith being the cause or instrument of the change, or being in any way antecedent to the new life which the new birth gives, you establish, as the measure of that great change, and that glorious life, something to which man’s ability is competent, or with divine help, can reach, before he is changed or made alive. For the effect must be proportioned to the instrumentality; and in this view, therefore, regeneration must be according to the measure of faith—not faith according to the measure of regeneration. But take it the other way. Then, in regeneration, on the imparting of the new life, you have an agency that creates anew, and an instrumentality that liveth and abideth for ever—the agency of the quickening Spirit, and the instrumentality of the unchanging Word; and the fruit, or result, is faith, according to the living energy of the Holy Ghost, and the enduring stedfastness of the divine testimony. What a principle of power and patience have we now in the faith that is thus produced, corresponding, as it must do, if real, to the might of its heavenly cause and the massive strength of its heavenly instrumentality! It is truly a divine principle. This faith is a divine act; implying the inward communication of a divine capacity, concurring with the instrumentality of a divine testimony. Thus, literally, with the Psalmist, may the believer say, “In thy light shall we see light.” (Psalms 36:9) For, through his divine power, working in me a divine faith, I see Christ with the eye with which the Father sees him; I hold him as the Father holds him; and love him as the Father loves him. He is mine, by a work of the Spirit in me, such as that by which, in his mediatorial character, he is the Father’s; for I am born of the Spirit, as Christ was. 3. Do we cast any slight or discouragement on human efforts, or give any sanction to the relaxation of diligence, or the diminution of anxiety, on the part of the sinner seeking the salvation of his soul? Here, let us face, at once, this imputation, by comparing, as to their tendency in this respect, the two different ways in which the divine interposition, in the actings of his creatures, may be represented. For the sake of distinction, we may characterize them, as the auxiliary, or the creative methods, respectively. According to the first, God is regarded as co-operating with man; according to the second, he is to he viewed as requiring man to co-operate with him. This, as it seems to us, is an important distinction; on which, indeed, turns the practical question, whether man is to have the precedency or God, in the work of individual salvation. The types, so to speak, of the two opposite theories, may be found in the instance of the impotent man beside the pool of Bethesda. (John 5:1-9) Contrast his own complaint: “I have no man, when the water is troubled, to put me into the pool,” with the Saviour’s command to him: “Rise, take up thy bed, and walk.” The Lord might have adopted the plan which the man himself suggested; he might have rewarded his long waiting and his many previous attempts, by helping him to the side of the pool; and supported and aided by so strong an arm, the tottering invalid might have succeeded, at last, in curing himself, by the use of the mysteriously troubled waters. But God’s ways are not as our ways. Jesus proceeds otherwise in his work of healing. He will not merely fall in, as an auxiliary, in the carrying out of man’s plans and efforts; he will take the lead, as assuming the whole matter into his own hands; he issues his order, and the man, believing, is healed. Now, on both of these plans, there is co-operation; but on the first, the Lord is expected to co-operate with the man; on the second, he requires the man to co-operate with him. Need we ask which of these two arrangements is the most becoming and the most blessed?—becoming, as regards God—blessed, as regards man. Now, throughout, in the first step, and in the whole subsequent progress, of the life of God in the soul of man, the position or attitude which man has to take is that of acquiescence; he is to fall in with what God proposes; he is to be a fellow-worker with God. His own idea constantly is, that God is to concur with him, so as to help him out, where there is any deficiency in his attainments, and help him on, where there is any failure in his strength; and that, upon his doing his best, God is to make up what may be wanting, and have a tender consideration for what may be weak; and so, the righteousness of Christ being virtually supplemental to his own sincere yet imperfect obedience, and the assistance of the Spirit seconding his own honest though infirm resolution, he is to be somehow, on an adjustment of accounts, and with a due allowance for human frailty, justified and sanctified at last. Need we say that the whole of this motley and mongrel system must be overturned and reversed? It is the very opiate of a drowsy spirit, deadening all energy, and lulling asleep all care. How different from this is the plan of God! Take a believer in the middle of his course. What is he doing?—“working out his own salvation with fear and trembling, because it is God that worketh in him both to will and to do of his good pleasure” (Php 2:12-13);—not trying to make himself holy, by the help of God—as another man might vaguely express it—but realizing God himself within, making him holy; and under this impression, following out what God is doing. It is the Christian paradox; to feel myself passive, in the hands of God, and yet on that very account the more intensely active—moved unresistingly by God, like the most inert instrument or machine, yet for that very reason all the more instinct with life and motion; my whole moral frame and mechanism possessed and occupied by God, and worked by God, yet through that very working, made to apprehend more than ever its own liberty and power. This is the true freedom of the will of man, namely, that it becomes the engine for working out the will of God. And does not the same order hold in the beginning of the divine life? Here, too, is it not through our being passive, that we reach and realize the only true activity? Is it said that, by telling men that faith is the act of a living soul, and that they cannot believe but by the impulse of a new life—a life such as the creating and regenerating Spirit imparts—we encourage them to shut their eyes, and fold their hands, and sit down in listless and indolent expectancy, waiting for, they know not what? Miserably shallow theology! and, if possible, still more meagre metaphysics! Call a man to believe, and let him imagine that his believing is some step which, with a little supernatural help, he may reach, as a preliminary to his new life with God; then, he may take his ease, and, to a large extent, use his discretion, as to the time and manner of obeying the call. But let him know that this faith is the effect or fruit of an exercise of divine power, such as raises the dead and gives birth to a new man; that his believing, is seeing Christ with a new eye, which God must give, and grasping Christ with a new hand, which God must nerve, and cleaving to Christ with a new heart, which God must put within him; and let it be thundered in his ear, hat for all this work of God, now is the accepted time and now is the day of salvation;—then, fairly startled and made to know what faith is, as the act of a living soul, and what is its source, even the present power of the quickening Spirit, will he not be moved to earnestness and energy in seeking the Lord while he may be found, and calling upon him while he is near? And is it not this urgent impression, alike of the heavenly nature, and the heavenly origin of faith, which prompts both the profession and prayer—“Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief?” This great theme is yet very far indeed from being exhausted. In fact, we may say, with truth, it is little more than one single feature in the atonement that we have attempted to exhibit, in various points of view. That feature is its COMPLETENESS, as securing all blessings to those who embrace it. They are complete in Him. For this end we have endeavoured to bring out the full meaning of Christ’s work, as a real and literal substitution of himself in the room and stead of his people, and also the full meaning of the Spirit’s work, as that which gives them a supernatural sight of Christ, and a supernatural hold of Christ. Seeing Christ with the new eye which the Spirit purges, grasping him with the new hand which the Spirit strengthens, believing all the divine testimony, with that clear intelligence which belongs to the renewed mind, and that eager consent which the renewed heart hastens to give—I am Christ’s, and Christ is mine; I become a partaker of the divine nature; for as Christ is, so am I. The completeness of the atonement, as regards all who embrace it, we have sought also to harmonize with the universality of the gospel offer, as being the free offer of an interest in that atonement, to every individual of the human race. For thus the matter stands. A crowd of criminals, guilty and depraved, are kept in prison, waiting for the day of doom. What is my office, as a preacher of righteousness, among them? Is it to convey to them from my Master any universal proclamation of pardon, or any intimation whatever of anything purchased or procured by him for them all indiscriminately? Is it to carry a bundle of reprieves, endorsed with his sign-manual, which I am to scatter over the heads of the miscellaneous multitude, to be scrambled for at random, or picked up by whosoever care to stoop for them? That, certainly, is not my message; that is not my gospel. They are not thus to be dealt with collectively and en masse; nor are they to be fed with crumbs of comfort from the Lord’s table. The Lord himself is at hand, and my business is to introduce him to you, that individually, and one by one, you may deal with him, and suffer him to deal with you. It is now, as it was in the days before the flood. The ark is a preparing; for, though prepared, from all eternity, in the counsels of the Godhead, and now also prepared, in point of fact, in time, it is, to all intents and purposes, as if it were a preparing for us. Does it seem too straitened?—too small? Doubt not, sinner, that there will be room enough in it for all that choose to enter; have no fear but that there is room enough for thee. For, to sum up all, in the words of an old writer, take, O sinner, whosoever thou art, this assurance, “that there is mercy enough in God, and merit enough in Christ, and power enough in the Spirit, and scope enough in the promises, and room enough in heaven,” for thee, brother, and, blessed be God, also for me. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 89: 08.03.10. APPENDIX ======================================================================== Appendix ======================================================================== CHAPTER 90: 08.03.11. NOTE A—PAGE 2 ======================================================================== Note A—Page 2 Extract from Bicentenary Address—Consistency of Creeds—Difference Between such as Preceded and such as Followed the Reformation. THE following is the passage in the Bicentenary Address which gave occasion, in the manner now explained, to these papers. I insert it with some satisfaction, inasmuch as, on reviewing it, after an interval, and upon a fuller consideration of the subject, I am not disposed to recognise any such serious error or defect of statement, as could fairly warrant the use said to be made of it, in support of the notion of a general or universal atonement. I still think that an inadequate view of the nature of saving faith lies at the root of much of the crude heresy that has been vented in regard to this department of theology. The naked intellectual view of faith, as I have endeavoured to explain in one of the chapters of this work, may possibly be held, isolated from what seem to be its legitimate consequences; and may seem to simplify the plan of salvation. I believe it may have been thus held by such men as the late Dr Stewart of the Canongate. (See his Treatise on Faith, republished by Dr John Brown.) But I have a strong impression that it was this theory of faith, ingeniously defended, that led, first, To the devising of a sense in which Christ might be regarded as having died for all, while, really, he died as the substitute of the elect only; secondly, To the idea of his death being, in its own nature, equally for all, though limited, in its application, by the purpose of God, and the necessity of the work of the Spirit; and, thirdly, To the notion of its being designed for all; and of its depending on the free will of man, under the common influence of the Spirit, to render it effectual. The only points on which, in reprinting this extract, I would now wish to guard myself, are these two:—first, As to the use of such phraseology as, “a certain reference to all men universally,”—I would now be more cautious, knowing more than I did then of its current value in recent controversy; and, secondly, I would explain more fully than I did then, as I have attempted to do in these papers, the sense in which this “reference” can be said to “lay the foundation for the universal offer of the gospel.” I am disposed to rest the universal offer on the mere command of God; connecting it with the atonement in no other way than as the atonement manifests the good-will of God to men generally, and is a pledge to every man, individually, of his being saved, in Christ, if he will but believe. I have prolonged the extract, for the sake of a view contained in it, which I would delight to have an opportunity and the means of expanding and illustrating—that of the contrast between the creeds that preceded, and the confessions that followed, the Reformation:— “The usual objection made to the use of human standards, creeds, and confessions, in connection with the unity of the Church, is, that creeds and confessions embrace so wide a field, and contain so many minute statements of doctrine, that it is impossible to expect a hearty and unanimous concurrence in these various points on the part of all true believers. Now, suffice it to say, in the first place, in answer to these objections, that as these standards are intended to shut out error, so it must be borne in mind that, in proportion to the consistency and harmony of the truth of God, is the all-pervading subtlety of the errors of Satan. The truth of God is perfectly harmonious, and is one complete whole. All the parts of it fit into one another, and are mutually dependent upon each other; and as this edifice, so reared by God, is complete and compact in all its parts, so the subtle influence of Satan is often applied to the undermining of one part of the building, in the knowledge that if he should succeed, he can scarcely fail to effect the destruction of all the rest. We might illustrate this by showing how error, in what at first sight may appear an unimportant point, ruins the whole system, and essentially affects the whole doctrines of the gospel. It may seem, for instance, that the dispute regarding the precise nature of saving faith is a comparatively unimportant point, and one on which Christian men may afford to differ; and yet an error on this point might easily be shown to affect the doctrines of God’s sovereignty, of human depravity, the extent and nature of the atonement, and justification by faith alone. We might show, for example, that those who make justification by faith to consist in the belief of the fact that they are pardoned—who maintain that a man must believe that Christ died personally for him as an individual—are compelled necessarily to adopt a mode of statement in regard to the bearing of Christ’s death upon all men indiscriminately, and particularly upon the lost, which strikes at the root of the doctrine of personal substitution altogether, and makes it difficult, if not impossible, to believe that Christ actually suffered in the very room and stead of guilty sinners themselves. According to the admirable definition of faith in the Shorter Catechism, in which it is described as “a saving grace, whereby we receive and rest upon Jesus Christ alone for salvation,” it is unnecessary to define the precise relation which the death of Christ has to mankind universally, and its precise bearing on the condition of the finally impenitent and the lost; for that the death of Christ has a certain reference to all men universally—that it has a certain bearing even upon the lost—we must hold and maintain; because we maintain that it lays the foundation for the offer of the gospel to all men universally, and lays the foundation for that offer being perfectly honest and free on the part of God. This could not be without some sort of relation existing between the death of Christ, and every impenitent and unbelieving man who is called to receive the gospel. What may be the nature of that relation—what may be the precise bearing of Christ’s death on every individual of the lost, we presume not to define. And we say that it is unnecessary to define it; for we do not ask the sinner to believe in the precise definition of that relation respecting himself. We say that even if the sinner could put into articulate language his theory of the precise bearing of the death of Christ on himself, and his belief in it, he would still be an unreconciled sinner, unless lie closed with the offer of the gift of God. This relieves and exempts us from the necessity of prying too curiously into the relation between Christ’s death and impenitent and unbelieving sinners, to whom God has made a free, and unconditional, and honest offer of the blessings of reconciliation. According to the view of faith laid down in the Shorter Catechism—which makes faith virtually to consist in closing with God’s gift—we are exempted from the necessity of stating, in the form of a proposition, what is the precise relation between the death of Christ and all mankind; and so we are left free to maintain that while, in a certain sense, unknown to us, but the effect of which is well known to us, namely, that it constitutes the foundation for a free offer of the gospel—while, in a certain sense, Christ’s death has a bearing on the condition of the lost and impenitent, yet, in a strict sense, he was really, truly, and personally, a substitute in the room of the elect, and in the room of the elect only. On the other hand, if I hold the doctrine that faith is the belief of a certain fact, concerning Christ’s death and my interest in it—that it is mere belief of a certain definite proposition, such as that Christ died for me—I am compelled to make out a proposition concerning Christ’s death, which shall hold true equally of believers and unbelievers, the reprobate and the saved; which proposition I am to believe, simply as a matter of fact, necessarily true, whether I believe it or not. But how is this to be done? I am to believe that Christ died for me, and I must believe this in a sense which shall be true independently of my belief—winch shall be equally true of me whether I am saved or lost. Does not this compel me to make Christ’s dying for me, though I should be one of the chosen, amount really to nothing more than what is implied in his dying for the finally reprobate? Accordingly, it is to be observed, that those who take this view of saving faith carefully avoid the use of any language respecting the atonement which would involve the notion of personal substitution. They do not like to speak of Christ being put actually in the room of sinners, considered as personally liable to wrath. They use a variety of abstract and impersonal phrases—such as, Christ’s dying for sin—his death being a scheme for removing obstacles to pardon—manifesting God’s character—and other expressions, all studiously general and indefinite, and evading the distinct and articulate statement of Christ’s death as a substitute in the very room and stead of guilty sinners themselves. We might extend our illustrations, and show how the scheme of the sovereign mercy of God—the entire, total, helpless corruption of man—the utter impotency of man’s will—the perfection of God’s righteousness—the freeness of God’s grace—the simplicity and child-like nature of faith—how all these things are intimately associated together, so that unsoundness in one runs through all; and, indeed, we may say of every error, that, if traced to its ultimate source, it will be found to take its rise in a denial of the doctrine which is the leading characteristic of the Westminster Standards—the doctrine of the absolute sovereignty of God. “There is another remark which it occurs to me to make on this point, and it is one peculiarly referring to the composition of the Westminster Standards. It is this, that we may be reconciled to the minute and systematic form of the Westminster Confession, if we observe the marked distinction that exists between the composition of the Protestant Standards and those articles of faith that were framed before the Reformation. One mark of distinction may be mentioned in a single phrase—that the creeds before the Reformation were framed when the Church was on her way to the cell of the monk, while the creeds since the Reformation were framed when the Church was on her way out of the monk’s cell. The creeds and confessions of the Church before the Reformation were framed in the spirit of a Church which was making rapid progress towards this as the highest possible attainment—the asceticism of the monkish state—a morbid, laborious, and painful system of self-righteousness; whereas, on the other hand, the glory of the Reformation, and the leading excellence of the creeds of the Reformation, was, that all were framed in the spirit of a Church taking a start, as it were, from the dark cell of that deep spiritual distress and sore conflict of soul through which the disenthralled spirit of Luther was enabled to escape from the trammels of self-righteousness, and to lay hold of the righteousness of God. In the creeds before the Reformation, such as the Apostles’, the Nicene, and the Athanasian creeds, we find the Church drawn to frame articles respecting abstruse, difficult, and sacred mysteries, and the incomprehensible doctrine of the divine nature, at a time when she was losing hold of the practical doctrine of the sinner being accepted as righteous before God, through no works of his own, but only through his faith in the work of God; and we might say in reference to this, as our Lord said to Nicodemus: “If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe, if I tell you of heavenly things?” (John 3:12) They pried into the secrets of heaven; they attempted to penetrate into the mysterious being of the unsearchable God; at the very time when they were setting their hearts upon a righteousness of their own, in open defiance of the righteousness of God, in the matter of their own personal justification, which might and should have been within the cognizance of their personal experience on earth. This will probably explain the abstract, mystical, cold and unimpressive character of the creeds that were drawn up before the Reformation. On the other hand, Luther, making his escape from the deep experience of a soul convinced of its own utter impotency before God—Luther making his escape from his experience of legal convictions of sin—Luther rejoicing in the light of God’s reconciled countenance—Luther rejoicing in the righteousness of God his Saviour—carried this spirit of life, and love, and liberty, into all the confessions that were subsequently framed; and all these confessions, accordingly, however minute and detailed, will be found to be no technical and scholastic exercise in abstract and abstruse, theories of theology, but the consistent unfolding of the one practical and experimental scheme of the sinner’s acceptance, by sovereign grace in perfect righteousness, through a simple and saving faith. “These remarks may be regarded as suggesting a reason for, and reconciling us to, the minuteness and complication of character of the confessions of Protestant Churches, and especially of the Westminster Standards. But we have one answer to make of a practical character, and it is to this effect—that amidst all the varieties of mind and opinion of the Westminster Assembly, there was an entire unanimity as to the system of doctrine; thus affording the strongest of all proofs that it is quite possible for Christian men, by prayer and consultation together, to come to an agreement, not only on the broad general principles, but even on the details of the Christian system, so that they may be of one mind and heart, not only on certain general propositions, but on the whole tenor of their confessions.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 91: 08.03.12. NOTE A—PAGE 2 ======================================================================== Note B—Page 4 The long-suffering of God—Interpretation of Romans 3:25-26. In the passage quoted (Romans 3:25-26), we seem to find the dispensation of long-suffering patience, and the dispensation of saving mercy equally ascribed to the interposition of Christ and his finished work. It is intimated that “God hath set forth Christ to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness;” which is explained in the following verse to mean his justice: “That he might be just,” or might be declared, or seen, to be just—that the righteousness of his administration might be vindicated and magnified. Two things are represented as calling for that vindication—two aspects of his providence in dealing with men—which otherwise must appear anomalies and inconsistencies. The first is, his “passing over sins that are past, through forbearance.” (Romans 3:25, marginal reading) The second is, “his justifying him that believeth in Jesus.” (Romans 3:26) His past exercise of forbearance, and his present ministry of justification, are the two acts which might seem to impeach the rectitude of his moral government, and to touch the sanctions of his law, but for his “setting forth” or foreordaining (Romans 3:25, marginal reading) “Christ to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood.” The distinction here made, is, in the first instance, between the general character of God’s treatment of men before Christ came into the world, and the peculiar grace of the gospel dispensation. The former is elsewhere described by this same apostle as a sort of connivance, on the part of God, in comparison with the urgency and universality of his subsequent appeal: “And the times of this ignorance God winked at; but now commandeth all men everywhere to repent.” In these “times past, he suffered all nations to walk in their own ways” (Acts 14:16); whereas now, he would have all men to “turn from lying vanities unto the living God.” (Ibid., Acts 14:15) But it is plain that even thus viewed, the distinction in question turns, not on the dates of these dispensations of forbearance and of justification respectively, nor on the era of transition from a period when the former prevailed to a period characterized by the prominency of the latter, but on their difference from one another in respect of God’s twofold manner of dealing with the children of men,—showing forbearance to all, and justifying them that believe. We are to remember, also, that before Christ’s coming, though the leading feature of God’s providence was his letting men alone, he never left himself without a witness, and he always had a ministry of justification going on; while, since that time, though his appointment is more clear and unequivocal, that an aggressive system is to be plied towards the whole world—whose inhabitants, instead of being let alone, and having their “times of ignorance winked at,” and being “suffered to walk in their own ways,” are all to be pressed to accept of a fuller grace—still, the miracle of mercy is God’s forbearance—the suspension of his judgment—his passing by sins so many and so heinous—sins, too, aggravated by the rejection of the offered Saviour. So that, on the whole, we may understand this passage as discriminating the natures, rather than the dates, of these two dispensations; and connecting both of them equally with the “setting forth of Christ,” as that which justifies God in both of these modes of dealing with men, and without which, he could neither exercise long-suffering, nor impart justification, except by a compromise of his righteousness, and a sacrifice of this essential attribute of his character and administration. It may be right to add, that while we interpret the phrase, “the righteousness of God,” in these two verses, as meaning the attribute of righteousness in God, as the moral governor, lawgiver, and judge of the universe, chiefly because it is so explained in the following clause—“that he might be just;” we take it, in all other places in this Epistle, to denote the righteousness (not subjective, as regards God, but objective) which he has provided, and of which he has accepted, in the person and work of his own Son—that righteousness which is “unto all and upon all them that believe” (Romans 3:22); which, as a righteousness by faith, is revealed in order to faith (Romans 1:17); and which is not afar off, but “nigh thee, even in thy month, and in thy heart: that is, the word of faith which we preach; that if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shall believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shall be saved.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 92: 08.03.13. NOTE C—PAGE 5 ======================================================================== Note C—Page 5 Gracious, as Distinguished from Judicial, Forbearance—The death of Infants. It will be observed, here, that we speak of the dispensation of forbearance, as connected with the plan of saving mercy, and means and influences fitted to lead men to God; without which, indeed, it could not properly be considered as forbearance at all. We altogether omit the question, how far God might not have had reasons for sparing man on the earth, irrespectively of the atonement, and although no such provision of grace had ever been contemplated. Thus, for the sake of illustration, we may venture to conceive of the alternative before the divine mind having been decided otherwise than he was freely pleased to decide it, in his eternal counsels of love; we may imagine that instead of a gracious purpose to save any, there had been a righteous and holy determination to leave all to perish; and still, even on such a supposition, the earth, cursed for man’s sake, might have been spared, the final conflagration delayed, and the race of sinners suffered, or ordained, to increase and multiply, till the full number of the generations of Adam’s children should be completed, and all in succession should individually and collectively give evidence of their participation in his guilt and corruption, and by bringing forth, from the seed of original sin, the bitter fruit of actual transgressions, consummate their iniquity and ruin. This, indeed, may be regarded as but too probable a result, or rather as the inevitable issue of the arrangement we have dared to indicate. For it was not with fallen man as with the fallen angels. These last, headed perhaps by an individual leader, whom either they may have chosen, or God may have appointed, to represent them, completed their apostasy at once. For they, too, may have been treated by God on that footing of representation which seems to characterize so generally his dealings with his creatures; in their case, also, it may have been a single offence, committed in their names by a single and selected surety, which tested their loyalty, and sealed their character and fate; and all the parties on whose behalf the trial was made being already in existence, and capable of giving voluntary consent, the execution of the sweeping sentence may have been swift and summary. But in the case of man, had there been no remedy provided, we must believe that the whole progeny of Adam, whom, in his probation, he represented, must still have been brought into being; and there might seem reason also to conclude, on that supposition, that all would have been suffered, one after another, each individual for himself, to show what was in them; so that none would have been taken away in infancy, or before opportunity had been given them to manifest, by their own wicked works, their practical concurrence in the rebellion of their first father; and so to prove the reality and universality of the imputed guilt and transmitted taint of his original apostasy. If so, then the fact that any little children die, and still more, that so many die, taken along with what is revealed respecting their interest in the life-giving remedy of the gospel, as well as in the deadly disease of sin (Romans 5:14-15), must be viewed as one of the blessed fruits of Christ’s interposition. It is true that early death is usually deprecated in Scripture as a heavy calamity (Psalms 102:24); and in particular, the death of a little child is represented as a sore stroke and heavy judgment to its parents—as in the instance of David. (2 Samuel 12:14-23.) It is true, also, that in the glorious state of things described by Isaiah (Isaiah 65:17-25), the death of infants seems to be referred to as a special source of sorrow, as well as a peculiar token of sin, from which that period is to be exempt. Nor, indeed, is it possible to conceive of any more affecting proof of the malignity and power of sin, than the sight of one who has never ginned after the similitude of Adam’s sin, or ours—the newborn babe, guiltless of actual transgression—yet on account of sin, suffering, languishing, and expiring. The heart round which the tie of a new affection has begun to twine itself, cannot but be smitten to the dust when the bond is thus rudely and prematurely cut in twain; and recognising the melancholy ravages of the destroyer, where shall it find rest, but in a scene from which this sore disaster is excluded? But all this is quite consistent with the opinion that to die in infancy is a privilege procured by the death of Christ for those who are thus early carried away—that but for his interposition, all the children of Adam would have lived to heap the guilt of their own wilful iniquities, besides their inherited sin, upon their own heads—that it is a part of his purchase to have so many given to him to be regenerated and sanctified from the womb, and to be taken away from the evil to come. This idea we here venture to throw out is one full of interest and consolation, and it seems to be warranted by the analogy of Scripture; but the present is not the occasion for enlarging upon it. Our object in this note is to explain that we do not connect the sparing of the earth, and of men upon the earth, in itself, necessarily with the death of Christ; since, even had there been no design of mediation at all, it might still have been necessary, for the ends of righteous judgment, that there should be time given for the whole race to increase and multiply, and sin, and perish. But that would not have been an exercise of long-suffering, or a dispensation of forbearance and patience, properly so called, any more than the partial respite or license given to Satan and his angels, before their being first bound, and then cast into the lake of fire, can be viewed in that light. Evidently the apostle speaks of a dispensation of suspended judgment, with the accompanying benefit of a system of means fitted to work reconciliation, when he refers to the passing over of men’s sins, through the forbearance of God, as connected with the setting forth of Christ to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 93: 08.03.14. NOTE D—PAGE 16 ======================================================================== Note D—Page 16 Saving Faith Founded on Definite Propositions, Though not Capable, in its Direct Act, of Being Expressed in One. It might seem unnecessary to guard myself against being supposed to mean, that since faith does not “consist in the belief of any definite proposition at all,” it must consist in the belief of one that is indefinite, were it not that such an interpretation has, strangely enough, been put on this sentence. I need hardly say that it is entirely erroneous. In so far as saving faith has to do with propositions at all, it is with such as are quite definite and precise—clear, exact, and categorical. That God is love—that he so loved the world as to give his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him might not perish but have everlasting life—that Jesus is able to save unto the uttermost all that come unto God by him—these, and many other propositions with which faith is concerned, are not indefinite, if, by indefinite, we are to understand vague, equivocal, or uncertain, statements. But while these definite propositions constitute the warrant or ground of saving faith, and while the belief of them must lie at the foundation of any gracious act or exercise of soul, we cannot but think that saving faith implies in it something more than this belief. The truth is, this belief of these definite propositions, having its seat in the understanding, needs, as it were, to be quickened into warmth and activity, by touch and contact with the more energetic principles of our nature; so that, first carrying the will, it becomes appropriating faith; meeting, next, the conscience, it becomes repentance; entering the heart, it becomes love; and impregnated with the principle of ambition or desire, it becomes high and heavenly hope. This, however, is not the place for discussing the nature of faith, which comes under our notice afterwards. Hut we are anxious to protest, on the one hand, against our being supposed to make saving faith rest on indefinite propositions; and, on the other, against our being required to express the act of faith itself in any definite formula, or, indeed, in any formula whatever. In regard to this latter point, we think an instructive lesson may be learned from the perusal of two antagonist treatises—the one written by Dr Bellamy of New England, against Hervey and Marshall; the other by Dr John Anderson, in reply to Bellamy. Dr Bellamy’s “Treatise on the Nature of True Religion” is a work of great value, especially as searching very deeply the foundations on which our knowledge of God and our obligation to love God, as well under the law as under the gospel, must rest. In his “Letters and Dialogues,” also, in which he assails the doctrine taught by Hervey in his “Theron and Aspasio,” and by Marshall on Sanctification, there are many important cautions, and much useful matter. At the same time, it is to be feared that, in his anxiety to convict the parties whom he assails of Antinomianism, he does injustice to them; and in his dread of all assurance but what might stand the test of self-examination, and an appeal to fruits, he does injustice to himself. In exposing the absurdity which he imagines his adversaries to hold respecting faith—as if it consisted in the mere belief that I am saved already—he seems to infringe upon that act of appropriation by which, on the warrant of the gospel invitation, I take Christ and his salvation to be mine now. It is on this point, accordingly, that Dr Anderson dwells at length, and with remarkable clearness and power. Still, we cannot but think that, as is not uncommon, the disputants have exaggerated the difference between them. The truth is, the chief difficulty in adjusting the matter at issue would seem to arise out of the attempt to translate into a precise formula, and embody in a definite proposition, what is implied in the act or exercise of saving faith. Hence such definitions of saving faith as the following, which give occasion for Dr Bellamy’s strictures:—“It is a real persuasion in my heart that Jesus Christ is mine, and that I shall have life and salvation by him—that whatsoever Christ did for the redemption of mankind, he did it for me.” “It is an hearty assurance that our sins are freely forgiven us in Christ;” and its language is, “Pardon is mine—grace is mine—Christ and all his spiritual blessings are mine.” Yet, if these expressions be weighed in connection with other views set forth by the same writers, they will be found, perhaps, to mean nothing more than that faith, in its very essence, is an appropriating act; and that, consequently, in its direct exercise, it involves a measure of “persuasion,” or confidence, or “hearty assurance;” which, however, it would itself, if genuine, shrink from putting into the bold and naked form of an express and positive deliverance. Nor does this seem to be inconsistent with Bellamy’s own opinion; for he freely uses such scriptural phraseology as “coming to Christ, receiving Christ, trusting in Christ, believing on Christ, flying to Christ,” &c.; which he considers as descriptive, not of any act subsequent to faith, but of faith itself. Now, any exercise of mind such as will suit that phraseology, must surely have in it a measure of directly appropriating assurance, which, if it is to be articulately interpreted at all, must have some voice given to it, very similar to the utterance which Dr Bellamy condemns. But this is the very evil to be complained of—that men should either attempt, or be required, to fix down, in written or spoken words, an affection or movement of the ‘ mind, as yet unable to realize itself. For all language is reflex, whereas faith is direct. It is directly that I believe, and believing, take Christ as mine; it is reflexly that I say that I believe, or that Christ is mine. Thus it is with other mental operations. I love; but my loving is not my saying, or thinking that I love. I take an offered friendship to be my own; but my so taking it and using it is different from my saying, or thinking that it is mine. It is the imperfection of language, after all, that causes any fallacy here. Language cannot catch a direct act of the mind, without instantly making it reflex. The moment I put my faith or feeling into words, it is as if I looked into a mirror, or sat to a painter, to have, not the primary attitude of my soul, but an image of it, presented to my own view, and to the world’s. The mistake of the class of divines whom Bellamy criticises somewhat sharply, would seem to lie in their vainly endeavouring to make language do the office of that magic art which would arrest and stereotype the almost unconscious glance of the eager eye; or, in plainer terms, to reduce into a formula that direct exercise of simple trust, which cannot thus recognise its own reality, without ceasing to be direct altogether, and becoming reflex and inferential. And Bellamy’s error, in so far as he erred, consisted in his making no allowance for this source of misunderstanding, and in his pressing, consequently, too for, his reductio ad absurdum, or the running up of his antagonists into a corner. Two brief quotations from Dr Anderson’s work will illustrate our meaning. The first has reference to a passage in Hervey, and is as follows:— “Before we conclude this letter, it may be proper to take notice of Mr Bellamy’s remarks on some passages of the 16th Dialogue of Mr Hervey’s ‘Theron and Aspasio.’ “Mr Hervey observes, that ‘this appropriating persuasion is comprehended in all the figurative descriptions of faith which occur in Holy Writ. Faith is styled a looking unto Jesus. But if we do not look unto Jesus as the propitiation for our sins, what comfort or what benefit can we derive from the sight? When the Israelites looked unto the brazen serpent, they certainly regarded it as a remedy, each particular person for himself. Faith is styled a resting upon Christ, or a receiving of him. But when I rest upon an object, I use it as my support. When I receive a gift, I take it as my own property. Faith is a casting ourselves upon Christ. This may receive some elucidation from an incident recorded in the Acts. When those who sailed with Paul saw their vessel shattered—saw the waves prevailing—saw no hope of safety from continuing in the ship, they cast themselves upon the floating planks. They cast themselves upon the planks without any scruple; not questioning their right to make use of them; and they clave to these supporters with a cheerful confidence; not doubting that, according to the apostle’s promise, they should escape safe to land. So we are to cast ourselves upon the Lord Jesus Christ, without indulging a doubt concerning our right to make use of him, or the impossibility of his failing us. Faith is characterized by eating the bread of life. And can this be done without a personal application? Faith is expressed by putting on Christ as a commodious and beautiful garment. And can any idea or any expression more strongly denote an actual appropriation?’ “The unprejudiced will allow these observations to be much to Mr Hervey’s purpose; that is, they clearly prove that there is, in the nature of saving faith, an application of Christ to ourselves in particular. “And what does Mr Bellamy reply? ‘Why,’ says he, ‘Christ is to be acknowledged, received, and honoured, according to his character, as the promised Messiah. Is he compared to the brazen serpent? We are not to believe that we are healed; but to look to him for healing. Is he compared to a city of refuge? We are not to believe ourselves safe; but to fly to him for safety. Is he compared to bread and water? We are not to believe that our hunger and thirst are assuaged; but to eat the living bread, and to drink the living water, that they may be so.’ “In this reply we observe, first, that Mr Bellamy misrepresents the sentiments of his opponents. For they are so far from saying that faith is a belief that we are healed, or that we are already in a safe state, or that our hunger and thirst are assuaged, that they will not allow that faith, properly speaking, believes anything concerning the state we are already in, excepting that we are miserable sinners of Adam’s family to whom the gospel is preached. And while they tell sinners that the gospel is directed to them, in such a manner as to warrant their immediate reception of Christ as therein exhibited, they at the same time declare that the gospel, without that reception of Christ, will be unprofitable to them. In the next place, it is to be observed, that, in Mr Bellamy’s remark, there is no notice taken of Mr Hervey’s argument; the force of which lies in two things. One is, that it is only true and saving faith which is meant by these metaphorical expressions. The other thing is, that each of them includes the notion of a person’s application of something to his own use, or for the benefit of himself in particular. If these two things hold true (and Mr Bellamy says nothing against either of them), it will necessarily follow, that there is such an application of Christ to ourselves in the nature of saving faith.” In farther explanation, we must refer to the close of this letter of Dr Anderson’s:— “We conclude this letter with a caution, which may be of use to remove a common prejudice against our doctrine concerning the nature of saving faith. When we say that a real persuasion that Christ is mine, and that I shall have eternal salvation through his name, belongs to the essence of faith, it is not meant that a person never acts faith, but when he is sensible of such a persuasion. There are various degrees of faith; and its language is sometimes more, sometimes less, distinct and explicit. The confidence of faith is, in many, like a grain of mustard seed, or like a spark of heavenly fire amidst the troubled sea of all manner of corruptions and temptations; which, were not this faith secretly supported by the power of God, according to his promise, would soon extinguish it. Hence this real persuasion may be rooted in many a heart, in which for a time it cannot be distinctly discerned; yet it in some measure discovers itself by secret wrestling against unbelief, slavish fear, and all other corruptions.” The other passage is one in which Anderson answers a query of Bellamy; and it is fitted still more clearly to show their difference and agreement:— “‘Query 1. Did God ever require any of the sons of Adam to believe any proposition to be true, unless it was in fact true before he believed? We are required to believe that there is a God—that Christ is the Son of God—that he died for sinners—that he that believeth shall be saved—that he that believeth not shall be damned—that without holiness no man shall see the Lord. We are required to believe all the truths taught in the Bible. But they are all true before we believe them, and whether we believe them or not.’ “Answer. The occasion of this query is the following words in the explication of the tenth direction in Mr Marshall’s ‘Gospel-Mystery of Sanctification:’—‘The reason,’ says he ‘why we are to assure ourselves in our faith, that God freely giveth Christ and salvation to us particularly, is not because it is a truth before we believe it, but because it becometh a certain truth when we believe it, and because it will never be true, except we do in some measure persuade and assure ourselves that it is so.’ In opposition to this passage, Mr Bellamy asserts, ‘that God never requires us to believe anything but what is true before we believe it, and whether we believe it or not.’ And it is granted to Mr Bellamy, that God never requires us to believe any speculative proposition, such as those recited in the query; or any absolute prediction or historical fact, but what is true, whether we believe it or not. But saving faith, as it is distinguished from other sorts of faith, is not merely a belief of such speculative truths; because there is no such truth but what may be known and assented to by wicked men and devils. When the apostle James says, Even the devils believe and tremble, he undoubtedly admits, that they may assent to all the truths or propositions contained in the Scriptures. In this sense, it has been justly said, that true justifying faith is not simply the believing of any sentence that is written or can be thought upon. So the persuasion, that Christ is mine, which we consider as belonging to the nature of saving faith, is not, properly speaking, a belief of this proposition, That Christ is mine, as if it were formally, or, in so many words contained in Scripture; but it is the necessary import of that receiving or taking of Christ to myself, which is answerable to, and warranted by, the free grant of him in the gospel, directed to sinners of mankind indefinitely. In this believing, however, that Christ is my own Saviour, I am no more chargeable with believing a lie than I am in believing that, when a friend gives me a book, or any other valuable article, I have a right, by virtue of his gift, to consider it, to take and use it, as my own; though it be certain, that, if I finally despise and reject his gift, it neither is, nor ever will be mine. Further: if the gospel be considered as a free promise of Christ and his benefits; then this persuasion, that Christ is mine, is undoubtedly the import of my faith or belief of that promise as directed to me. And yet, though this promise be directed to all the hearers of the Word, none of them, in the event, will find Christ to be theirs, excepting those that believe; because faith is the only way or mean by which God hath appointed them to attain a saving interest in, or the actual possession of, what he hath promised in the gospel. Hence the apostle warns those to whom this promise is left of the danger of coming short of it. Hebrews 4:1. It may be useful to add the words of some ministers of the gospel on this subject. ‘There is a full warrant,’ say they, ‘to believe, or general right of access to Christ by faith, which all the hearers of the gospel have before they believe, and whether ever they believe or not; and, in this respect, the provision of the new covenant is their own mercy; which warrant, or right, faith believes and improves. Yet faith is not a mere believing of an interest which the person had before; but it is also a believing of a new interest in Christ and his blood; or a persuasion, by which a person appropriates to himself what lies in common upon the field of the gospel. All the privileges and blessings of the new covenant are generally and indefinitely set forth by the gospel, upon this very design: That each person who hears it may take it all to himself, in the way of believing; as there cannot otherwise be any proper entertainment given to the gospel. An indefinite declaration is made of God’s name, as THE LORD OUR GOD, and of Christ’s name, as THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS; and all covenant blessings are presented to us in absolute promises; all which is certainly for being believed. But every person is to believe for himself, not for another. It is a mock faith, if a person believes only that some others have a saving interest in God, and Christ, and the promises; as he hath no business about making this particular application to others. So that he is still a rejecter of the whole, if he do not believe with an appropriation of the whole to himself; whilst the revelation of grace is made to him for this purpose, or for none at all.’ “‘Such is the wonderful power and privilege which God bestows on true faith, that he makes all to be personally and savingly a man’s own; just as the man is taking all to himself, and making all his own, by an appropriating persuasion of faith.’” We cannot close this note, without referring to the late Dr M‘Crie’s correspondence with Dr Watson, as we are tantalized, rather than satisfied, with a brief specimen of it given in his life (p. 323-337), and venturing to ask if the whole is never to be made public? In such a publication we trust Dr Watson will give his concurrence and aid, that his own letters on the subject may be embraced in it. While on this topic, we cannot help referring also to the recent republication of a tract on faith, by the late Dr Stewart of the Canongate, and suggesting that his able biographer might confer a favour on the Church by taking tip the subject. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 94: 08.03.15. NOTE E—PAGE 28 ======================================================================== Note E—Page 28 The Wesleyans—English and Scottish Theology. This reference to a body of Christians, whom to disparage were to question the seal of God himself—for no society has been more evidently owned as a branch of the true Church than the community of Wesleyan Methodists—was made, at the time, with the utmost respect, and simply for the sake of illustration. I would deeply regret it, if I supposed it to be fairly capable of a construction that might seem invidious or unkind. The truth is, in discussing this subject, one is anxious to keep an open door for the mutual recognition of one another’s Christianity, between parties that seem to differ; and especially, to make allowance for the different points of view from which they may have been led, by circumstances, to contemplate it. We can afford to smile at the bitter hatred of Calvinism which breathes through the writings of John Wesley and his friends, when we perceive the caricature of that system which they set up to be attacked; and still more, when we take into account their thorough recognition of the sovereignty of divine grace, in the work of regeneration and conversion. With the high doctrine which they hold respecting the work of the Spirit, it becomes rather an inconsistency, than a heresy, with them, that they put a more lax interpretation on the extent of the work of the Son. On the other hand, any departure from the strict view of the extent of the atonement, among us, is to be most anxiously dreaded and deprecated; because it almost uniformly indicates a lurking tendency to call in question the sovereignty of divine grace altogether; and it is invariably found, in our Churches, to open a door for the influx of a tide of Pelagian, as well as Arminian, error. It would be an interesting subject of historical and theological inquiry, to investigate the cause of a distinction which, we think, may be traced throughout, between the practical divinity of England, and that of Scotland, at least since the days of the Covenant and Puritan contests. In England, Calvinism has much more frequently lapsed into Antinomianism than in Scotland; whereas in Scotland, Arminianism has always run more immediately into Pelagianism than in England; for these are evidently ,the opposite tendencies of the two systems—Calvinism inclining towards Antinomian fatalism, and Arminianism towards Pelagian self-righteousness or self-conversion. Now in Scotland, a Calvinist is rarely Antinomian, while an Arminian has almost always a leaning towards Pelagianism; whereas in England, a hard, cold, and indolent orthodoxy, was found to take the place of living piety, among too many of the successors of the Calvinistic and Nonconformist divines—until the philosophical necessity of the Socinian Priestly almost came to be held as the legitimate representation of the Predestinarian theology; and, on the other hand, an Arminian notion of the extent of the atonement has sprung up, in connection with a strictly Calvinistic view of the new birth, under a free and fervid preaching of the gospel of the grace of God. The national difference, in point of intellectual talent and moral temperament, may go far to explain the fact to which we have referred—the different histories of the two countries, still farther—but that it is, substantially, a fact correctly stated, can scarcely be questioned; and if so, it is one deserving of elaborate inquiry, especially in present circumstances, on the eve, as we cannot doubt, of events that must stir the public mind, on matters of religion—and on the very matters which occupied the minds of our fathers, ranging between high Arminian Prelacy on the one hand, and the extreme of lawless speculation on the other—as it has never been stirred since the days of the Commonwealth. Without entering on this tempting theme, we may content ourselves with observing that a departure from Calvinism, in Scotland, has almost uniformly been the index, whether as cause or as effect, of a decline of vital godliness, and the introduction of the broadest Pelagianism, in the assertion of a general power in man’s will to believe, as well as a general purpose in God’s will to save; whereas, in England, at least hitherto, it has been often found, that, starting from practically Antinomian orthodoxy, or mere Pelagian formality, evangelical and living religion has taken a form that bears somewhat of the Arminian character. At the same time, the present is an era in which the Lord is trying every man’s work; and we have no idea that the position which even the most evangelical Armenians take up, is one that will stand the test. On the contrary, we anticipate either a more thorough searching of the depths of theology, with a view to a surer foundation being laid, by all who hold the doctrine of the divine sovereignty; or otherwise, a scattering of the ranks even of the godly, and a springing up of multitudinous sects and shades of party and of opinion, such as gave a victory to the ungodly in the last strife of thought that convulsed our country. A disaster like this God may avert; or he may remedy the evil, after years of licentiousness and persecution; but if it were possible for men of God to meet, confer, and be of one mind beforehand, it were well. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 95: 08.03.16. NOTE F—PAGE 44 ======================================================================== Note F—Page 44 The Inexplicable Difficulty—Where It Should Be Placed. It is most essential to a right apprehension of the Calvinistic system, to bear in mind that it does not profess to solve the great difficulty in the relation of God’s will to man’s, but only to adjust the position of that difficulty aright, so that it shall not interfere, either with the sovereignty of divine grace from first to last, on the one hand, or with the responsibility and dependence of man, on the other. In this respect, the doctrine which has been so much vilified as presumptuous and sophistical, may fairly challenge, more than any other, the praise of humility and honesty. Other theories undertake to explain and vindicate the divine administration, to the satisfaction of human reason—with what success, let the tendency from one expedient to another, in the attempt to get rid of mystery, show. This, alone, frankly owns the impossibility of making all plain: and makes its appeal to the undoubted supremacy and almighty power of God, as the only answer, in the last resort, to cavilling questions; and all the service it pretends to render is, that it assigns to the inexplicable knot its right position. What it chiefly contends for is, that this knot shall not come in between the counsels of the Godhead and the salvation of believers, so as to occasion any discrepancy, in passing from the purpose of redemption to its purchase, or from its purchase to its application. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 96: 08.03.17. NOTE G—PAGE 73 ======================================================================== Note G—Page 73 The Reserve of Scripture on the Subject of the Nature of Faith. The remarks made in a preceding note (D) may be considered as applicable here; especially those which relate to the difference between a direct and a reflex act of the mind, and the imperfection of language as the vehicle or instrument of these two acts respectively. The chief embarrassment, indeed, on this question as to the nature of faith, would seem to arise from this cause. It is remarkable, accordingly, that Scripture says very little, if anything, on the subject. The object of faith is set forth—Christ, in all the glory of his mediatorial person, the fulness of his mediatorial work, and the freeness of his mediatorial ministry of reconciliation; the motives to faith are urged; the warrants of faith are spread out; the blessed fruits of faith, in the peace and joy of a believing soul, are traced, as well as its holy issues and evidences, in a life of new obedience. But as to the nature of the act itself, there is no analysis in Scripture that seeks to reach it. It is assumed that men know what believing or trusting means. That a more rigid and subtle scrutiny has been rendered necessary by the accumulation of errors on every side, may be admitted. At the same time, we may be allowed to regret that such a necessity should have arisen; and we cannot but fear that it may have led some to carry the process too far. Thus, on the one hand, the enumeration of so many different kinds of faith as some divines have been wont to distinguish—such as historical faith, the faith of miracles, temporary faith, saving faith, &c.—has undoubtedly tended to perplex; while, on the other hand, the attempt to simplify the whole matter, by reducing all to one, has, perhaps, created that very appearance of over- refinement which it was meant to remedy. For, after all, the belief of a statement which is abstractly or independently, true, whether I believe it or not, is a different thing from the belief of a statement which becomes true through some process of conviction, or concurrence, or consent, on my part; and it is different, also, from the process itself on which the truth of a statement of this latter kind turns. There is thus a sort of tertium quid, an intermediate something, between the belief of the one kind of statement and that of the other, which it seems vain to attempt to reduce into the form of a categorical proposition. That Christ is the Son of God and Saviour of sinners, is a clear announcement; that he is my Saviour is a clear announcement also. But the former is true, as a matter of fact, whether I believe or not; the latter becomes true, as a matter of fact, only upon my believing. Does not this seem to prove that my believing, standing as it does between the two announcements, and forming the stepping-stone from the former announcement to the latter, is different from the belief of either the one or the other? But no categorical proposition can possibly be framed between these two: He saveth sinners; and, He saveth me. Must not that faith, therefore, of which we are in search, be an act or exercise of the mind, such as cannot be expressed in any formula of the naked intellect? For the intellect cannot turn the contingent (which alone comes between the two propositions) into the categorical—which really is the present problem; there must, therefore, be some other function—call it trust, or confidence, or persuasion, or assurance, or consent, or what you will—to translate, He saveth sinners who believe, into, He saveth me. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 97: 08.03.18. NOTE H—PAGE 86 ======================================================================== Note H—Page 86 The Sufferings of Christ—Their Amount and Character. Let it be observed, that we do not here speak either of the precise nature, or of the amount, of the sufferings which Christ endured, but only of the character in which he endured them, whatever they were; and the character, consequently, which is to be assigned and ascribed to them. It was in the character of one made under the law, and made sin for us, that he endured these sufferings; and therefore, they were, in the strict sense, penal and retributive; and as borne by one, the divinity of whose person, and the merit of whose obedience, imparted an infinite value to his offering of himself, they exhausted the full penal and retributive sentence lying upon the guilty sinners whose place he took. As to the exact nature of these sufferings, beyond what is revealed respecting his bodily anguish and mental agony, it would be presumptuous to inquire; it was a good form that was employed in the old litanies: “By thine unknown sufferings, good Lord deliver us.” The sweat in the garden—the cry on the cross—speak volumes. Nor, as to the amount of these sufferings, do we at all incline to the idea of the striking of a balance, or the settling of an exact proportion or account, between the number of sins to be expiated, or of sinners to be redeemed, and the stripes inflicted on the surety; as if his sufferings, weighed and measured to the value of each sigh and each drop of blood, were exactly adequate to the guilt of the transgressions of his people—neither more nor less: so that, if fewer sins, or sinners, had been concerned, his pain would have been less; while, if it had been the will of God to save more, he must have had additional pangs to bear. Any such calculation is to be utterly repudiated, as dishonouring to God, and savouring of a carnal mind. So far as we can judge, such is the heinousness of sin, and the inflexibility of the righteous and holy law of God, that had there been but one individual sinner, for whom atonement was to be made, it would still have been as necessary as now that the eternal Son of God should become incarnate, and assume that individual’s nature, and take his place under the law, and under the curse of the law; for even then, nothing short of the Surety’s perfect obedience in his stead could have justified that one transgressor, and nothing short of his endurance of the cross, with all its woe, could have procured remission of his sins. And so, on the other hand, such is the Surety appointed by the Father, and such the merit of his voluntary obedience and propitiatory sufferings and death, that had the number of those whom he represented been increased a hundredfold, it does not appear that it would have been needful for him to do more, or to endure more, than he has actually done and endured for his elect. The real question is, Did he obey and did he suffer, in a representative character? and if so, Whom did he represent? Was he under the law? In fulfilling all righteousness, did he meet the positive demands of the law which his people had foiled to meet? In enduring all his sufferings and submitting to the cross, did he receive the punishment due to his people? Was his righteousness a legal righteousness, and were his sufferings penal sufferings? If not, the atonement has no meaning at all. It is a mere coup de theatre, a spectacle, or exhibition, to amaze men; or a coup d’ etat, to convey an impression of God’s greatness; it has no reality as a satisfaction to God’s justice; nor can it ever come home, as a personal transaction, to me. THE END ======================================================================== CHAPTER 98: S. ADDRESSES TO THE STUDENTS OF THE NEW COLLEGE, EDINBURGH ======================================================================== Addresses to the Students of the New College, Edinburgh FRIENDS AND BRETHREN, - BEING forced reluctantly to abandon all idea of personally taking any part in the proceedings of this Session, and being very unwilling to let it close without some indication of my unabated interest in you and in your studies and prospects, I take the liberty of speaking to you in a few words through the press. I beg your acceptance accordingly of two addresses delivered, the one at the end of last Session, and the other at the opening of the present Session; - not as if I considered them of much value in themselves, but in the hope that they may help to keep me in your kindly remembrance, and may also suggest to you some not unprofitable lines of thought. They were hastily composed, and did not bring out to my own satisfaction the kind of inquiry I wished to institute. For I had it in my mind to contribute something towards the supply of what must be admitted to be a present desideratum, - the magnifying of the preacher’s office, in harmony with received evangelical traditions, and with due reference to more recent tastes and tendencies. To my younger brethren in the ministry, and more especially to you whom I address, a somewhat more difficult task falls than I think we who are passing away had to face; or at any rate a task somewhat different. When I began work in 1829, - for, though not ordained till 1834, I was in harness and upon full duty from the former date, having the entire charge successively of two congregations, - it was when the tide of the evangelical revival that specially marked the second and third decades of this century was still full and fresh. The ground was then simply and clearly marked. Two styles of preaching were opposed to one another; the one, the old commonplace routine of moral essays, with elegant literary compositions on the Christian evidences, or on the heathen ethics slightly Christianised; - the other, what was largely felt in that age to be comparatively new, the proclamation of a free gospel, or of salvation by grace alone. There was little, if any, intermediate or debatable territory. Discourses on virtue generally, or on particular virtues in detail, - under a favourite plan of division setting forth, first, the nature of the virtue, secondly, its obligation, and thirdly, some reasons for the practice of it, - formed the staple of pulpit oratory in the moderate school; while the evangelical minister, on the other hand, was chiefly occupied in the primary and elementary work of pressing upon the acceptance of his hearers the unrestricted and unconditional offer of immediate pardon, peace, and eternal life, through the blood and merit of Christ. Thus the line was sharply drawn. The doctrine of justification by grace alone, through faith alone, in the righteousness of Christ alone, stood boldly out in contrast with what was then almost its only antagonist in the pulpit, the cold and dry praise to weariness of good outward conduct. The heralds of the cross had a plain, if somewhat narrow, path to tread. Things have considerably changed since then. The anti-evangelical or non-evangelical pulpit has materially altered its tone. Such Christless discourses and mere moral platitudes as used to pass muster respectably and creditably enough, would not be well received or tolerated now. Christ is preached after a fashion, - or a Christ of some sort is preached, - generally in all the churches. It is not that the offence of the cross has ceased, or the dislike and disrelish of the pure and simple gospel at all abated. The published writings of the class of divines I refer to, - even the best of them, - suggest the very opposite inference; and the current light literature of the day, in trashy sensational novels and flippant newspaper or magazine articles, abundantly confirms the inference. But here lies the danger. Their opposition to the Evangelical system, or the evangelical mode of setting forth the truth as it in Jesus, is not now negative merely, but actively and in a high degree positive. It is not merely the omitting or dropping out of Christ, - or of all but the name of Christ, - in their essays; it is the substitution of a false ideal instead of the real original. They are doctrinal now and theological in their teaching; and that fact is fitted to make their teaching plausible and prevalent. You who desire to stand in the old way, and preach the old gospel, must take this condition of matters into account. For one thing, by way of example, you have to study great accuracy and exactness in all your expositions of scriptural dogmas. You are aware that in assailing what they are fond of stigmatising as Puritanism or Calvinism, our opponents, for the most part, aim at success through the grossest misrepresentations and offensive caricatures of the tenets which we hold; some of them doubtless sinning ignorantly in this; others, however, I am afraid, sinning wilfully. I am willing to make allowance for the entire absence of anything deserving the title of theological teaching or training in such a body as the Established Church of England, and to ascribe to that cause the shameful and profane language often used in speaking of the received doctrine of the Atonement, and other doctrines connected more or less closely with it. That circumstance, however, does not render my caution and counsel to you the less necessary. For, beyond all question, the persons I have in my eye have been able to lay their fingers on such unwise and unsafe utterances, on the part of the defenders of these gospel mysteries, as may afford some ground for their ridicule or resentment. Rhetorical appeals and pictures may occur in the course of a flood of fervid eloquence, which, in a time of excitement, and in presence of an enthusiastic audience, convey no impression but that of divine reality and truth, - which, however, when calmly weighed, may call up images and associations the reverse of salutary, and may admit of being twisted into an evil guise. I urge, therefore, the duty of caution and circumspection in the use of current theological terms and formulas, and the necessity of bearing always in mind the art, or the ignorance, which in various ways is doing mischief, - say, for instance, in the way of putting a heathen gloss on the evangelical doctrines of atonement and mediation, or in the way of ascribing to the great truths on the subject of imputation and justification which the Reformers vindicated, the reproach of being like mercantile trafficking, or the sophistry of a legal fiction. With due regard, however, to such considerations, let it be your constant aim to hold forth the “common salvation” strongly, clearly, unambiguously, in all its breadth and freedom. Be not ashamed of the cross, in which you must be ever glorying. And in all your doctrinal statements, make it palpably plain that it is salvation in Christ, not salvation through Christ, that you preach. Let the root of all personal religion be the personal union of the believer and the object of his faith. Be true to our standards, as well as to Scripture, in making all turn or hinge on the real vital, divine unity which the Spirit effects between the Saviour and every saved soul. “And now, brethren, I commend you to God, and to the word of his grace, which is able to build you up, and to give you an inheritance among all them which are sanctified.” - I am, yours truly, ROB. S. CANDLISH. Edinburgh, March 1872. I. - CLOSING ADDRESS Session 1870-71 I DESIRE to offer a few remarks on the subject of preaching; in answer to the question, What is the preacher’s function? I. He has a message to deliver. He is an ambassador for Christ. Never, on any account, let him forget that. It is the distinctive feature and attribute of his office or calling. It is, in logical phrase, its differential quality; the essential characteristic by which it is separated from all other functions which men may have to exercise in the service of God, and of their fellow men. To give instruction, to convey information, to investigate, elucidate, and explain difficult problems in theology and religion, as in other sciences and arts; - to open up the Scriptures, and unfold in an orderly way their inexhaustible fulness of grace and truth as containing, all throughout, the unsearchable riches of Christ; - to discuss controverted questions and establish dogmatical conclusions; - to be the expositor and defender of the whole truth as it is in Jesus; - these all, and more than these, are works within the sphere of the preacher’s province. It is his right and his duty to handle all these themes or topics, largely and freely, according to the word of God. Nor is there any risk of his thereby turning the evangelistic pulpit into a quasi-academic chair; if only he keep always in view that, above all these matters, and subordinating them all to itself, there is the commission with which he is charged, whenever, in his special vocation of preacher, he opens his mouth; the commission to deliver a message from God to those whom he is addressing - a personal message, from God personally, to each one of them personally. The preacher must have this always in his view; all through his discourse, and all through his treatment of any of those themes which his discourse may embrace. For this view of his office does not, I repeat, limit the range of the preacher’s function as a teacher, bound to declare the entire Name of the Lord, and entitled, therefore, to deal with “all that whereby God maketh himself known.” He is entitled to bring in, as parts or elements of his dealing for God with men, not only all such Scriptural narratives, parables, proverbs, but also all such rational illustrations and analogies, as he can turn to account in the way of unfolding the character, plans, and methods of him whose messenger he is. But let him always and in everything magnify his office. Let him see to it that he is always and in everything asserting his position; as being not merely an exhibitor and explainer of the nature of the Most High, but a real ambassador on his behalf to men. One thing, however, this principle or practice demands. The preacher’s trumpet must give no uncertain sound. He must not come forth from God to his fellowmen without a clear and definite message. If he holds and argues that there are no fixed dogmas in theology; no fixed principles in religion; no facts in Christology which, if admitted, must become doctrines; if he boastfully professes that he cannot tell where theology ends and religion begins, or how much of theology may or must enter into religion, or how much of religion may or must admit of being formulated in theological, - that is, logical and intelligible, - propositions; if, in a word, he is in a position to tell his audience little more than this, - that definition of saving truth is difficult and dangerous; and that sincerity in any view of Christ or Christian doctrine is saving faith; - he may have much to say about Christ. But he can scarcely be an ambassador of Christ; having a specific message from Christ to deliver to the people. He may, in a sense, preach Christ. And there is more of such preaching of Christ now than there was in the days when Hugh Blair’s moral essays found favour in Scotland, and when Bishop Horsley stigmatised a large section of the clergy in England as apes of Epictetus. A discourse without Christ in it would scarcely now be tolerated. But how is he presented and held forth? Is it Christ elevated in the host? Is it Christ mysteriously materialised in the mass? Is it Christ given in a wafer, and eaten with fasting lips? Is it Christ exhibited and presented in some poor, half-credulous mimicry of that gorgeous Roman idolatry? Or, again, is it Christ brought in as the centre of subtle analysis or philosophical disquisition; a name with which to conjure in handling ideal theories of the universe of God, and the nature of man? Or finally, is it Christ, giving me, the preacher, a definite and explicit message to deliver to you the hearers, on his authority, and with his peremptory demand for a reply? This last method alone is a real preaching of the gospel; a real preaching of Christ. I personally am commissioned and charged by Christ personally, to deliver a message to you personally. The transaction is personal throughout; doubly personal; personal in both its stages. There is a personal dealing of Christ with me; like Isaiah’s divine interview “with Jehovah (Isaiah 6:1-13); when he saw the Lord in the glory of his majesty, his grace, his holiness; and, - smitten with a sense of uncleanness, - purged by an atoning touch, and quickened by a pardoning word, - was constrained by love-begotten love to cry, Here am “I, send me!” There is personal dealing there! “Would that I could always apprehend it as real in my case; every time I open my lips to any one poor sinner; every time I ascend the pulpit steps to address the great congregation in the name and on behalf of Christ. Then would my address to them be sufficiently personal too; as personal as my present and immediate commission from him. I would speak as if it were not I, but Christ speaking in me. And he spoke as one having authority. He had a message from heaven to earth, - from God to men; - not merely to make discoveries of the essence, attributes, and operations of Deity; far less to raise and leave unfixed general questions or problems as to man’s constitutional religious tendencies, and the sorts of spiritual treatment they may severally require or admit; but to propose and make provision for the distinct personal adjustment of the relation of every man, individually and personally, to God his Father. That was his personal ministry in preaching. Did it want breadth, or liberty, or variety? Did it want these qualities when it became his preaching in Paul, or John, or Peter? Was it a monotonous whine, or an endless uniformity of mere beseeching? Was it a Paganini-like harping on a single violin-string? Nay. The message to be delivered is of such a sort as to admit of all but endlessly diversified modes of thought and speech in the delivery of it. Over the whole wide field of nature the preacher may roam; all things in heaven and earth are his - the sun, the moon, the still and starry firmament, the cloudy sky, the rolling thunder, the raging waves, the quiet breath of spring; the green and tender grass, the flowers of the field, the trees of the forest, the lofty mountains, the lowly vales; the fowls of the air also, the beasts that roam the desert, the domestic tribes, - all the works of God are at your command, for illustration, ornament, and appeal. The entire range of human experience, the vicissitudes of human life, the rich resources of human history over all the world and through all the ages, are freely open to you. Nor need you hesitate to draw materials of analogy from the freshest discoveries of science and the most ingenious inventions of art. Then how manifold must your pleading be if you are masters alike of the divine message which you have to deliver, and the human heart which it is meant to touch! Argument, instruction, expostulation; admonition, reproof; nay, even ridicule and sarcasm at times; terrible and cutting irony; affectionate remonstrance; tremblingly-uttered threats; vivid painting of the open heart of God, and the blessedness of being his; - these and many other similar instruments of persuasion you have to wield at will. How should there then be any lack of varied interest in your discourse? There can be none if it is scriptural, for there is no lack of varied interest in Scripture; and all Scripture is yours, to be used by you in your calling. Only remember that all Scripture testifies of Christ. And not of Christ as an object of sentimental affection or the poetic rapture of imagination; vague and abstract; the ideal divine man; the restorer of manhood generally; to be welcomed as such gratefully and gladly, though without the need of any very exact conception of what he is to me personally, and what he does for me personally. No. But of Christ, true Son of God, executing a definite purpose, finishing an actual work. You are ambassadors of this Christ. You are charged by him with a message concerning himself and the Father, who defined the purpose he had to accomplish, and gave him his work to do. Magnify your office in that character. Never pen a single sentence, never speak a single word of your sermon, without having this great thought full in your mind and heart: I have here and now a message to each and all of my hearers; - a manifold message in one sense; of varied application to different classes and different cases; but at bottom one and the same to the whole. “As an ambassador of Christ, I pray you, in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.” II. The preacher, in delivering his message, is not alone. He has a Divine Person associated with him, the Holy Ghost. He is to apprehend and feel that fact all throughout his preaching. I do not here speak of the help which you are entitled to expect from the blessed Spirit in the preparation of your discourse in the closet and in the study. Your prayer in the closet, your reading, thinking, composing, in the study, are of the Spirit, if they are real. In some sense, a discourse thus prepared is the production of the Spirit. It is the Spirit working in you, and so causing you to work with fear and trembling. Would to God that no sermon were ever otherwise made? But I wish rather to advert at present to another view of the Spirit’s presence and co-operation with you in the discharge of your office of messenger or ambassador; a view which, if vividly realised, will materially affect, indeed, your preparation of your discourse, but which directly bears more upon your delivery of it. There is a gracious promise given by Christ to his disciples when he was about to leave them alone in the world, exposed to the world’s hostility on account of their witness-bearing for him (John 15:27; John 16:11). While they are bearing witness of him, there is another also who is bearing witness of him; the Comforter, the Holy Ghost. The two witness-bearings differ from one another. The disciples testify outwardly, by words and signs, to the world, to men. The Holy Spirit testifies inwardly, by a work in the world, in men. This is a very encouraging, but also a very solemnising assurance to every faithful herald of the cross. Let me place any one of you in the pulpit, with a discourse prepared in the presence and with the help of the Holy Spirit, - prayed for in the closet, waited for and felt in the study. Have you done with him now, as regards yourself personally? Can you dispense with his presence and his help in your own soul, as you stand face to face before that sea of expecting faces? No. You need him almost more than ever, that he may enable you to forget yourself in your audience, and in the message of the Lord which you have to deliver to them; that you may speak to them from the heart; not with stammering lips, but with holy boldness; With the mild majesty and meekness and gentleness of him in whose name you speak. But even this is not exactly what I desire to bring out. At the very moment when you are delivering the message to your hearers, the Holy Spirit is moving among them, upon them, within them. You speak; he works. And his working goes along with your speaking. Surely this is a very awful position for you, for me, to occupy. That the infinite, almighty Spirit of the Most High, and I, - a poor sinner, scarcely saved myself through the rich mercy of God, - should be, - in a manner so close, intimate and personal, - fellow-labourers, true yoke-fellows, joined in so real a partnership in the house and business of God; that while I am dealing with the message, - handling it, with his help, as best I may, - pressing it home, with all the power and pathos I can command, on the consciences and hearts of the men before me; he also is dealing with that selfsame message, cutting a way for it through the callous conscience and rocky heart, into the deep recess of the inner man, where sits and reigns the lordly will! No doubt, in one aspect of it this thought or belief is fitted to minister to me strength, comfort, and hope, in the delivery of my message. It is an assurance which I sorely need, and should most thankfully embrace. But for it, I cannot but despair. If, indeed, the ordinance of preaching is a mere spiritual entertainment, or a pleasant and profitable exercise of the higher faculties in speculations about all things in heaven and earth, as in some quarters it threatens to become; or if it is thrust aside as an ordinary means of grace and salvation, and made to give place to sacramental and sacerdotal observances; - then I may take the matter easily enough. If, however, it is a message to be delivered; a message about which God is deeply in earnest, and upon which men’s destinies depend; - when I think what little weight my words can have, - or, indeed, any words, be they uttered by angels’ tongues, - to tell upon the dull cold ear of apathy and sloth, - how little capable they are of adequately setting forth that love of him who gives the message which, rightly urged, should melt and break the very stones, - how can I but cling to this promise of the Spirit’s effectual inward co-operation, which alone can meet and solve the despairing cry, - “All day long I have stretched forth my hands unto a disobedient and gainsaying people”? But, while thus, in one aspect of it, this assurance is most cheering and encouraging, in another, it is deeply solemnising. And the solemnising effect of it is felt all the more when we bear in mind that the promise on which it is founded is limited. It is not a promise of such a co-operation of the Spirit, - working inwardly in those to whom I bear witness or deliver a message from Without, - as shall absolutely secure my success, in the best and highest sense of the term; in their being actually converted and saved. It reaches only to conviction. He will convince; not, he will convert. It is a work of conviction that, according to the promise, he carries on in a parallel line, as it were, with the word which I speak, as witnessing of Christ and delivering a message from him and about him. I may warrantably hope that in many instances the Spirit will convince so as to convert, and thus secure for my message, not awakening and anxiety merely, troubling the conscience, but acquiescence and consent also, giving peace to the heart. But I have no absolute assurance of that; nor have I any probable reason to believe that even the Spirit’s work of conviction will be co-extensive with my witness-bearing or my delivery of my message. Whole congregations may retire, unmoved and unimpressed; the Spirit of the Lord being straitened for my sin and for theirs. Still, there is the general rule or law, that the Spirit works conviction in those to whom I testify. It is a gracious adaptation. And it may partly explain some of the phenomena of a religious revival. As the fruit of a faithful ministry, - or as the cause of it, - simultaneously with a fresh life in the preaching of the gospel to the people, there comes a wide and deep working of the Spirit in the people. And what is the immediate result, in terms of the promise? Conviction merely; conviction of the sin of unbelief in connection with a present righteousness and a coming judgment. The conviction may not issue in conversion. There may be travailing in the womb, and no new birth. And this very repression may cause pains and convulsions. There may be vehement agitations of mind, violent contortions of body, bringing a scandal on the whole movement. And yet it may be a real movement of the Spirit after all; proved to be real by the numbers, larger or smaller, of those who are at once brought, through the simple message of the gospel, to a simple resting on Christ, and a quiet peace in believing; until soon, when all the chaff that had been stirred flies away and subsides, the good and fruitful seed remains and grows apace. But, apart from such seasons of well-marked revivals, coming back to the ordinary routine, - the case of a preacher delivering his sermon as a real message from God, - let me ask if there is not something very awe-inspiring in the thought that, if all is rightly ordered, his feeble word, spoken with fear and trembling, has in strict alliance and connection with it the mighty working of the Holy Ghost; softening the hard wax, which he is trying to impress with the divine seal; melting the cold iron, on which he seeks to impose the heavenly mould. It is a thought that may well cause increased fear and trembling. That he should be standing in the pulpit alongside, as it were, of the Spirit; and when he opens his mouth thence to the people, the Spirit should fly thence, in haste to work among the people; convincing many, converting some? It enhances greatly the anxiety which Paul felt when he said, “We are a savour of death unto death, as well as of life unto life.” We are so, as being ourselves witnesses for Christ, delivering a message which must either kill or cure; which, if rejected, is death, and, if accepted, is salvation. We are so much more, as being not alone in witnessing and delivering the message, but having the Spirit co-operating with us in a work of conviction that must either lead to gracious and saving conversion, or sink the soul that resists in the hopeless gloom of the Spirit’s final withdrawal, and the consummation which that entails. Now, it is in the view of its being such a message from God, and a message involving such responsibilities and issues, that you must seek always to prepare and deliver your discourse. These solemn views of preaching must be ever before your eye. The earlier you become impressed with them the better. They are your best, your only safeguards against perfunctory or merely professional preparation. They cut up by the roots the miserable practice of mechanical sermon-making. They cast you at once into the arms of that divine Spirit whose joy it is to testify of Christ; to take of what is Christ’s, and show it unto men; to glorify Christ alone. III. One practical counsel more let me give, as a sort of corollary from the views I have been suggesting. In your whole work of preparation and delivery, see that you have ever steadily before you, in your mind’s eye, a real, living audience. In the penning of your first sentence, conjure up for yourself listeners, hearers, real or imaginary; and throw yourself into the attitude and spirit of a witness-bearer to them, the deliverer of a message to them. Let your solitary chamber be thronged with living faces, looking and waiting to hear what you have to say as Christ’s ambassador to them. Write as if you were actually face to face with them; speaking to them as a man speaks to his friends. Sometimes you may set before you an individual to be appealed to and dealt with. To obviate all risk of a charge of personality, it may be safest and best to let that individual be yourself. Prepare the sermon first for yourself. Preach it first to yourself. Deliver the message first to yourself. Then, as taking it home primarily to yourself, you will find yourself all the better able and all the better entitled to press it home upon your fellows. Another end also may be thus incidentally served. It is said, and truly said, that one of the most important elements or conditions of good preaching is a knowledge of human nature; an intimate acquaintance with the workings and windings of the human heart. And many seem to think that this can be best acquired, or indeed can only be acquired, by a large induction founded on a wide experience of the world, its men, its maxims, and its ways. If what is sought is what Lord Chesterfield tried to teach his unhappy boy, that notion may be correct. But if I wish to learn what man is, or what is in man, for the purposes of gospel preaching and the delivery of my message from God, I had better tarry at home than range far and wide abroad. In that view, the study of myself is my best way of studying mankind; and when I bring the message to bear personally and particularly on myself, - on my own sins and sorrows, and wants and fears, and loves and hates, and hopes and joys - on the manifold moods and experiences of my own soul, I am equipping and accomplishing myself in the very best way possible for wielding that message as my weapon in dealing with all sorts of men and all sorts of cases. For in me, as in a microcosm, in my bosom, agitated by every influence that can reach me from above, from around, from beneath, all that is in any man may in a sense be found. Observing the movements of my own consciousness and conscience, in the searching light of God’s holy word, I can understand and enter into all the frames and feelings in others with which the gospel has to deal. Let me then be always applying to myself, in the first instance, the text I have chosen for my discourse, and gathering out of it the message God has in it specially to me. Let me habitually adopt that method in every sermon I compose. It will wonderfully enlarge and deepen my sympathising insight into the heart of God and the heart of man, and into the fitness and adaptation of all that God reveals of his heart to all that is to be discovered in man’s. I come to know both of them, by personal insight and experience, through the Spirit’s teaching. And so I learn to speak because I believe, - to testify of what I have seen and heard. II. - OPENING ADDRESS Session 1871-72 AN indispensable qualification of an ambassador is loyalty. It is especially so when the embassy is from heaven, and in the name of heaven’s Lord. I wish to say something upon that qualification that may be seasonable and suitable to your calling and preparation for the Christian ministry. This loyalty, as I take it, is something different from love, or something more than love. It assumes love. It has love as its basis and its vital principle throughout. Love is its motive power and living influence. It is nothing if it is not loving. It is itself love in its highest mode of action. It has in it, however, a certain royal element, chivalrous, single-eyed, forgetful of all else than what is due to the one object of its devoted allegiance, and enthusiastic about that. There may be real love lacking this element, or having it only imperfectly. The love of sentiment, or of impulse and emotion, or of gratitude, or of complacency, good-liking or good-will, - may be real, and, so far as it goes, strong. But the full strength of love is loyalty. That is perfect love. Now, I wish to illustrate and enforce this view, in connection with some of the more important departments of theological study and ministerial work, and to show how a spirit of loving loyalty may carry, and how that alone can carry, a student and a worker through, or over, not a few embarrassments. I. I begin briefly with the revelation which God has given to us in Scripture. I assume that you are satisfied, on good and sufficient ground, as to the authenticity and authority of the sacred books, and that you cordially accept the Bible as being the Word of God. You accept it bona fide, as not discovered by you, but given to you in common with all mankind. You are not in the secret of its preparation or compilation. You have no knowledge beforehand of the principles upon which it is put together; the plan according to which it is framed and fashioned. Its author, the Holy Ghost, - the one author throughout, though employing manifold agencies and instrumentalities, - has not explained his method à priori. You have the product; his finished work of authorship; the Word of God. “With full faith you receive it as such. You fully and firmly admit the authorship. And now, I ask, What is the attitude which becomes you, if you would be loyal in this matter to him whose word it is? For one thing, such loyalty should surely inspire calm courage and confidence, amid whatever rough handling this holy thing may meet with, in the midst of unholy strifes and collisions, - or, let me say, putting it more mildly, whatever shocks this divine and heavenly thing may encounter in its contact with human and earthly movements. There should be an entire absence of haste, irritation, over-sensitiveness. Any inclination to oppose or limit free inquiry, or free speculation, in any line fairly open to human research, should be resisted. Any dread, - any jealousy or resentment of results should be repudiated. The fact, that the divine revelation of saving truth from age to age was never meant to supersede or to fetter human study in its attempts to penetrate and estimate the unfolding secrets of nature, must be frankly admitted and fully acted upon. The loyalty of a loving son, accepting his father’s deed of settlement as authentic and valid, will sustain him in a patient confidence amid all the vexatious questions that lynx-eyed legal subtlety may suggest. He will not press for a premature discussion or solution. He will be content to wait for further light; whether it may fall on the scruples and objections raised, or on the interpretation of some portions of the document called in question. Meanwhile, his loyal faith in the document and in its author is not shaken or even touched. He knows that it is his Father’s voice to which he listens; that it is his Father’s message which he has to deliver. With all confidence and with all authority he can still use the august formula - “Thus saith the Lord.” Sitting loose, in large measure, - or rather free from anxiety, - as to the progress of investigation, whether biblical or scientific, he is right loyal in his firm and sure belief that all will end well; that a harmonious adjustment of all difficulties will be the happy result of whatever misunderstandings may now disturb the atmosphere of philosophical and theological thought. And, meanwhile, he is thoroughly and confidingly loyal in his conviction that he really has the truth of God to believe and teach. II. There is need of loyalty in the assertion and exercise of the preacher’s function as an ambassador of God to men individually. I use this last word advisedly and emphatically. In preaching the gospel, we have to address multitudes and masses of men, and, in a sense, to address them collectively or miscellaneously. But we have no collective or miscellaneous method of salvation to propose. We have no message to any crowd, as such. Our message is to every one in the crowd; separately and personally; to every man, woman, and child; isolated and apart. True, we cannot feather the arrow, or give it its aim to the particular person it is meant to hit. For all that, we look out of and above ourselves. We look to the Holy Spirit, our co-witness; whose office it is to deal directly with the conscience, heart, and will; and to fasten the convincing and converting barb in the soul that is to be pierced and saved. Our preaching, however, must proceed upon the firm faith of its being the divine purpose and method to save men, by means of it, one by one; not through any wholesale process, or general amnesty and jail-delivery, as it were; but by means of a special dealing with every one criminal, every one prisoner, alone; - a special negotiation with him of pardon, peace, and reconciliation, as if he were really alone, the only one in all the prison-cells. Now, what tries and tests our loyalty here is, to a large extent, a certain prevalent and somewhat plausible line of thought and tone of feeling in the current literature of our day. Some leading thinkers, as they are fond of calling themselves and one another, in influential periodicals and publications of various kinds, grave and gay, have got into the way of stigmatising evangelical religion, or, as they are very fond of calling it, Calvinism, with the brand of selfishness. It is self-preservation merely that we Evangelicals or Calvinists care for; that, in the first instance, always first; and then, perhaps, as the utmost stretch of our benevolent aspirations, the salvation of a select few, who may plume themselves along with us on being heaven’s favourites themselves, while coolly consigning the mass of their fellow-men to ruin. Deferring the question of the issue or result of gospel preaching, I would speak for a little of its character and nature considered in itself. Is it really open to the charge of heartless selfishness, because it calls upon every sinner individually to make the saving of his own soul his first concern? I must show how the issue is thus raised; first, in the light of mere secularism; and then more theologically. (I.) “Man is for Mr. Carlyle, as for the Calvinistic theologian, a fallen and depraved being, without much hope, except for a few of the elect.” So one of our most advanced thinkers writes, in an Essay on the Chelsea Philosopher, forming part of his Critical Miscellanies (Morley, p. 240). He makes an admission: - Mr. Carlyle has indeed written that generation stands indissolubly woven with generation; “how we inherit not Life only, but all the garniture and form of Life; and work and speak, and even think and feel, as our fathers and primeval grandfathers from the beginning have given it to us; how ‘mankind is a living indivisible whole.’ Even this, however, with the ‘literal communion of saints’ which follows in connection with it, is only a detached suggestion; not incorporated with the body of the writer’s (Carlyle’s) doctrine. It does not neutralise the general lack of faith in the cultivable virtue of masses of men; not the universal tone of humoristic cynicism with which all but a little band, the supposed salt of the earth, are treated.” Then follows the sentence already quoted - “Man is for Mr. Carlyle, as for the Calvinistic theologian, a fallen and depraved being, without much hope, except for a few of the elect.” Of course, I am not concerned about Mr. Morley’s view of Carlyle’s philosophy; nor about the philosophy of Carlyle himself. I simply wish to indicate the common mode of regarding and representing “Calvinistic Theology,” - that is, evangelical religion, - which prevails in the circle of advanced thinkers that such a writer as Morley may be held to represent. In that view, I quote from Morley’s volume another notice of Carlyle as compared with Rousseau. He says, with reference to their comparative influence on their respective ages and countries (p. 210) - “Rousseau’s renovation was far more profoundly social than the doctrine of Mr. Carlyle, which, while in name a renunciation of self, has all its foundations in the purest individualism. . . . It has all the fundamental egotism of the doctrine of personal salvation.” This last idea is what I have now to do with; “the fundamental egotism of the doctrine of personal salvation.” Of course it is egotism in an evil sense. Once more, I cite a sentence from the author’s comparison of Carlyle with Byron (p. 237) - “As a reaction against religious theories, which make humanity over-abound in self-confidence, and fill individuals with the strutting importance of creatures with private souls to save or lose, even such cynicism as Byron’s was wholesome, and nearly forgivable.” But Byron, and even Carlyle, failed, it seems, in “stirring in men and women, many or few, a deeper and more active sense of the worth and obligation and innumerable possibilities, not of their own little lives, one or another, but of life collectively; . . . heightening the self-respect of the race.” These are significant utterances. And they are current in a class of self-confident literateurs. (II.) On the other hand, from the theological point of view, there is a tendency in the same direction. Not to speak of what may be regarded perhaps by many as its foreign source and origin in the ideal philosophy of Kant, efflorescing into the vague spiritual mysticism of Schleiermacher; - in our own country and in our own tongue, its influence may be traced from Coleridge downwards; through men like Arnold in the first instance, and ultimately through men like Maurice; as affecting largely an imposing school of religious thought. I give here a sentence or two from a work just published, which is, I am sure, destined to be classical and authoritative in theology; the first volume of Dr. Hodge’s Systematic Theology. In his elaborate and exhaustive Introduction, Dr. Hodge discusses briefly but clearly this phase of the theological mind, He connects it with the doctrine of Realism in the system of the schools; not as if its advocates were always conscious of the connection; but as for his own part tracing it to that paternity. And it would seem that he is right. The theology which he criticises does indeed tacitly assume the realism of abstract generalisations. For thus he speaks of it, when discussing Schleiermacher’s theory of inspiration (p. 174): “God, in becoming man, did not take upon himself a true body and a reasonable soul, but generic humanity; i.e. humanity as a generic life. The effect of the incarnation was to unite the human and divine as one life. And this life passes over to the church, precisely as the life of Adam passed over to his descendants, by a process of natural development. And this life is Christianity. Participation in this divine-human life makes a man a Christian.” Or, as Dr. Ullman, whom he quotes, puts it - “The ground and central point of Christianity is the oneness of Deity and humanity effected through the incarnation of God and deification of man.” To the same effect, Dr. Hodge speaks again of (p. 176) “Realists, who define man to be the manifestation of generic humanity in connection with a given corporeal organisation; and who believe that it was generic humanity which Christ took and united in one life With his divine nature, - which life is communicated to the church as his body, and thereby to all its members.” Now, I do not put upon the same level, or in the same category, these two influences; the one simply secular, the other theological. But, unhappily, they concur and conspire. And, as is always the case in any such alliance, the secular turns to account the theological, more than the theological the secular. It has become a cant or slang axiom in high literature, that to care for one’s soul and for one’s own personal salvation is the worst form of selfishness. By all means, let the race be redeemed, regenerated, glorified; but not its individual members. I do not now stay to argue upon the merits of this theological anthropology. It may easily be shown to involve a notion of human nature that is very humiliating. It is so, because it touches, so as to degrade, human nature in its original state, irrespectively altogether of any fall. It assumes that man was made to be dealt with collectively and gregariously; as mankind; in the mass. Direct personal intercourse between God and the individual man it ignores and precludes. It divests man therefore of his indefeasible dignity; the dignity which belongs to him essentially, and which no accident or fault can touch; his being, in his own proper person; - every man, individually; - one with whom God can personally deal, and who can personally transact with God. That is the ground and reason of our appeal to men individually when we speak as the ambassadors of God. And it is what makes a demand upon our loyalty to God in our appeals to men. For there is a subtle but strong temptation in the line of such thoughts as I have indicated. I am sorely pressed in spirit to give in to this cry of selfishness. It does look like mean egotism, or narrow individualism, that in a state of society teeming with general disorder, and rushing into general ruin, I should think it my duty to isolate myself, and make it my first and chief concern to save myself from this untoward generation, and make my own calling and election sure. Yes; and that thereafter and thereupon I should make it my business, not to organise a general raid into the dark and cruel places of the earth, according to some large, wholesale plan, operating upon a multitude in mass; - but to get one, and another, and a third, personally and individually, each to seek his or her own salvation. Surely the essence of such a gospel is pure selfishness. How am I to meet that imputation? How am I to resist the tendency in my own heart to give way to it? Certainly there is a call for loyalty here. I may not reason; I may not speculate, when thus painfully exercised. Better far to fall back on my allegiance to the King and Lord, the uniform of whose commission I wear. First and chiefly, let me be sure of my loyalty as regards my own personal relation to God; his dealing with me and my dealing with him personally; person to person, face to face, in a private, personal audience. I am not to enlist under his banner in a crowd. I am not to be one of a multitude baptized into his name indiscriminately and wholesale. The oath of allegiance is not tendered to the army en masse, and to me, as lost in the miscellaneous host. It is an oath which I must loyally take as an individual; an enlisted recruit; a volunteer; separately; by myself; alone. Yes! Alone; alone with him to -whom I swear; or who swears me to himself! Lovingly he does so; most lovingly. Owning his own work in making me willing in the day of his power, - graciously taking me at my word when I am made willing by him to say, “Here am I, send me,” - he seals the transaction, and hinds me to himself in covenant. It is a personal transaction between him and me. Yes! It is a personal transaction. He receives me individually, and lays me under a vow more sacredly binding on me than any military oath. Thus personally and individually am I pledged to loyalty; loyalty to the captain of my salvation; the king and lord of my soul that he has redeemed; of my whole being that he has purchased and conquered for himself. Only thus am I prepared and qualified for going forth, in fearless loyalty, along with him, as he goes forth, to subdue the people under him. In fearless loyalty, I say. For I have full and loyal sympathy with him in his manner of subduing the people under him. I am not in haste for wholesale conquests. I am not incredulous of individual conversions. I recognise his purpose, his desire, to have sinners saved, - the enemies of God reconciled, - not in crowds - but singly; one by one. It may be a fond and pleasing dream that I have to renounce when I cease to reckon on any gregarious or collective regeneration of humanity. But, reserving all my confidence, such as it is, in sundry indirect influences of Christianity, I do my master’s work loyally, lovingly, hopefully, when I beseech men one by one to be reconciled to God; each one for himself to be reconciled; that so the kingdom may at last come, whose citizens are all holy; and the temple be set up, every stone of which is pure and precious and perfect. III. The third and last view which I mean to suggest of the need of the loyalty I crave, has respect to the result or issue of the preaching of the gospel, or of the divine plan of which it forms the chief part. Here the strain, the stress of pressure on a loving and loyal heart, is apt to become very trying. And the trial is the more severe in these days, when it seems to be a special device of the great enemy, through his manifold agencies, to turn, if he can, the message of salvation into “tidings of damnation.” It is no new device. The decorous moralist, Dr. Hugh Blair, is said to have suggested that phrase to Burns, as an amendment of a verse of his Holy Fair. The poet had written “salvation.” The divine makes it, - “Now Moodie speels the holy door, Wi’ tidings o’ damnation.” The present race of friends of culture and free thought are open-mouthed with the same cry. We poor preachers of the gospel are anathematised as men who revel in the idea of the vast majority of the human race being none the better, but rather all the worse, for the gospel which we preach; who gloat over the horrid spectacle of an all but universal ruin; while we hug ourselves in our security among a very few comparatively that are chosen and saved. Now, it is true that we must, with our convictions, face in the last resort an issue which they do not consider themselves called upon to contemplate, the condemnation of a portion, at least, - nay, let us say, a large portion, of mankind to eternal death. And the question of more or fewer may seem to us, as it really is, irrelevant or unimportant, since the difficulty, after all, lies in there being any. It is beside the question, therefore, to harp upon the subject of the lost being in our opinion numerous. Still, since a prejudice is created by the exaggerated representations of enemies, and sometimes by the unwise statements or admissions of friends of the truth, it may be well to indicate the real state of the question as on our side. And, with that view, a few facts and observations may be brought forward. 1. I touch a dark and dread mystery when I advert to the state of heathen nations, ancient and modern, who have had no written revelation and no preaching of the gospel. Their case, as we are constrained to view it, is, if fully realised, such as may appal the stoutest heart, while it must move to tenderest pity and most strenuous effort. It is impossible to paint it in colours too black, or to dream of any reasonable or scriptural hope of salvation for multitudes of immortal souls perishing in gross darkness and vice. “We may indeed make some account, perhaps, of these two considerations: - First, That, believing, as we do, the common origin of all mankind, and their descent from a single pair, to whom and through whom divine communications of law and grace were unquestionably made, we cannot say of any people that there may not be among them some faint remains, in their deepest degeneracy, of the primeval traditionary message; and, secondly, that we cannot tell how small a portion of saving truth, lying hid in much error, the Holy Spirit, in the sovereignty and omnipotence of his merciful dispensation, may use and turn to account for good. But these considerations, whatever may be their value and bearing, cannot be felt by any of us to cast even a fitful gleam of light on the impenetrable gloom, or mitigate the pain and anguish which the thought of earth’s dark places and their doomed inhabitants should call forth in our breasts. They have knowledge enough of God and duty, we are assured, to condemn them; the light of nature, the voice of conscience, and the Lord’s own original discovery of himself, leaving them without excuse. That is the fact on which alone we must ever dwell; a fact which makes a demand upon our dumb and silent loyalty, such as only the strongest faith can enable us always to meet; a fact which, when fully apprehended in all its overwhelming significancy, may well awaken emotions of awe and terror such as only the holiest sympathy with him who said, “Go ye into all the world,” and the warmest and most loving zeal in obeying that great command, can in some tolerable measure practically assuage or soothe. 2. It is an easier and brighter theme I handle when T speak of the salvation of infants. I firmly believe that all who die in infancy are saved. “That,” says Dr. Hodge (p. 27), “is the general belief of Protestants, contrary to the doctrine of Romanists and Romanisers,” who, more or less categorically, connect salvation with baptismal grace. The belief rests chiefly on a fair and liberal interpretation of the comparison and contrast which Paul draws (Romans 5:1-21) between the effect of Adam’s sin and that of Christ’s righteousness, and partly also on the Saviour’s treatment of little children, and his acknowledgment of them as members of his kingdom. I have ventured elsewhere to indicate[1] an opinion that the death of infants is itself one of the results of redemption; that it is in consequence and in virtue of Christ’s substitutionary work that any die in infancy; and that, if there had been no such work, all born of Adam would have lived on the earth long enough to manifest and consummate their original sin by actual transgressions; the earth being in that case spared, not as now in gracious, but in judicial forbearance, till that result was accomplished. I give it not certainly as an article of faith, but as a probable opinion, deriving some considerable support from particular statements of the divine word, as well as from general views of the principles of the divine plan of salvation. To my mind, at least, it is a most welcome and blessed thought that all the countless multitude of babes who in all ages and in all countries have, by whatever means, whether decay of nature or violence of man, been snatched prematurely, as we say, from the fond maternal bosom or the cold cruelty of crime, have been specially given by the Father to the Son, as the recompense of his obedience, and the fruit of the travail of his soul, to be taken by him from the evil to come on earth; taken to be trained and nurtured in the school and home of heaven. The fact, at any rate, that all who die in infancy are saved we all believe; and it surely helps our loyalty, required to acquiesce in so much that is dark as regards the prospects of our race, to dwell on that bright belief. Nor need we be much moved by the poor and miserable cavil which would twist the words, - “Elect infants, dying in infancy,” in our Confession, into an argument against the doctrine of their universal salvation. The article in our creed may not positively assert the doctrine; I give no judgment upon that point. But it argues the profoundest ignorance or the grossest unfairness, to allege that it denies or contradicts the doctrine. Every intelligent student knows that creeds and confessions arise out of the necessity of guarding the truth against error, and are compiled with a view to that end. The honest way, therefore, of interpreting any passage in any one of them is to ask, Against what error is it directed? To what heresy does it point? Plainly and undeniably, in the present instance, the error or heresy meant to be condemned is that of holding that infants dying in infancy are saved “in respect of their natural innocency and purity, irrespectively of the electing love of the Father, the redeeming work of the Son, and the regenerating grace of the Holy Spirit.” The initial word “elect,” and all the subsequent words in the section, repudiate that infidel notion. They place the salvation of infants on the scriptural footing. They do that; and they do nothing more than that. 3. Another cheering topic may be briefly noticed. The present rate at which additions are made to the church of such as shall be saved, - which may be regarded as having been too long and too generally the average rate, - is not that to which alone we are to look as providing for the peopling of heaven with redeemed men. In the past, from the days of Enos, when men began to call on the name of the Lord, downwards, through repeated seasons of revival, to the coming of the Lord; and thence again forward and onward, through the Pentecostal work, Reformation awakenings, and other subsequent visitations of grace on a larger or smaller scale, - specimens have been given, and they are only specimens, of what is to be looked for in the latter times, when a nation shall be born in a day, - when the fulness of the Gentiles shall come in, - when Israel’s restoration shall be as life from the dead, - when Satan shall be bound, and millennial prosperity and peace shall reign. What may be the measure of the Spirit’s effusion then, - how great the company of those who spread abroad the word, - how accelerated the speed of men running to and fro in the world, - how vast the numbers springing up everywhere to sing songs of praise; - when the whole earth, becoming the garden of the Lord, is indeed a nursery for heaven; - who can tell? Enough to know that between now and then it will not always be a day of small things. I have adverted to these encouraging thoughts, as somewhat relaxing, so to speak, the strain upon our loyalty; because it seems right to relieve our evangelical Calvinistic faith from the charge of being a mere gloomy and morose fanaticism, in the representation it makes of the condition and prospects of the human race. It is the fashion to stigmatise our system of doctrine as mercilessly exclusive; confining the chance or possibility of salvation within the narrowest possible limits; holding out hope to a very few, a mere handful, a small infinitesimal minority of mankind; and leaving the vast majority, almost the whole mass, to perish helplessly by an irreversible decree or an inevitable doom. And it must be acknowledged that in a few Calvinistic writings, of considerable authority, unguarded and incautious expressions do occasionally occur; unduly exaggerating the number of the lost, and dwelling with needless and unwarrantable reiteration on the exceeding fewness of the saved. This tendency may arise perhaps from natural temperament, inclining men to look too much on the dark side of things; or from their pressing beyond its fair meaning the Lord’s warning about the two gates; or from a desponding and perhaps morbid feeling, like that of Elijah, despairing of his age and country, ignorant of the thousands still remaining true to their God; or from the absence at times of that large and wide sympathy which grasps the purpose of God to gather into one all things in Christ. Still a prejudice is thus created in men’s minds against the truth of God. And the prejudice may be fostered by too much being made, and erroneously made, of expressions occurring even in our standards. For instance, the word “some,” as used in stating the doctrine of election, is apt to be made an offence in ill-affected quarters, and even perhaps to stagger honest minds; as if it meant a few, only a few, a very few. I need not say that it has not at all necessarily that meaning, nor would it, as I think, when originally employed, have suggested that idea. At the same time, I must confess that I have often wished that some other mode of expressing the truth had occurred to the Westminster Divines. I was greatly delighted, accordingly, when a few years ago I lighted on the phraseology adopted in the Confession of Faith of the Calvinistic Methodists in Wales. Here is their article (12), headed, “Of the Election of Grace.” “God from eternity elected Christ to be a covenant head, a mediator, and a surety to his church; to redeem and to save it. God also elected in Christ a countless multitude out of every tribe, tongue, people, and nation, to holiness and everlasting life; and every means were employed to effect this purpose most securely. This election is eternal, righteous, sovereign, unconditional, peculiar or personal, and unchangeable. It wrongs none. Though God has justly left some without being elected, he has not wronged them; they are in the same condition as if there had been no election; and had there been no election, no flesh had been saved.” Thus, by placing in the forefront Christ, the elect of the Father, and then all the rest of the elect in him, the full wonder of God’s comprehensive grace is brought out. The wide and free flow is unembarrassed and unimpeded. The limitation is put in the form of a vindication of God’s justice. The main stress is laid on the election being the election of Christ, and therefore, in him, of a “countless multitude;” in whom he sees of the travail of his soul, and is satisfied. I hold our statement to be equivalent to that of our “Welsh Calvinistic and Presbyterian friends, although I greatly prefer theirs. It is their spontaneous and original utterance. For, in the constituting of their church they adopted neither creed nor government from any outward source, or under any outward influence; but from their own study of the Bible brought out for themselves Calvinism and Presbyterianism; Charles of Bala, and others of like mind, being their chief human guides, under whose auspices, originally and freshly, their Calvinistic Confession of Faith was drawn up, and their substantially Presbyterian manner of administration organised. But I must return, in a few closing sentences, to my subject. With all the explanations and qualifications which I have ventured to suggest, the office to which we are called, as preachers of the gospel, demands no ordinary amount of loyalty. It is an office which we have to execute very much in the dark. Not that there is any darkness as to the message which we have to deliver, or the name and authority in which we have to deliver it. No. But thick darkness veils the issues, and the elements of sovereignty and power on which the issues depend. I desire here to make my concluding application as personal, as well as practical, as I can. I speak for myself while I speak to you. I urge the paramount importance of our loyally giving the first place always to God in the discharge of our ministry, - in the preaching of the word. He is our master. We are his ambassadors. It is for him that we act. It is on his behalf that we treat with our fellow sinners. We are the men of his secret. We stand in his counsel. Let us give good heed, let us look well to it, that we be thoroughly, unreservedly, fearlessly, and uncompromisingly on his side, in the great controversy which he has with men, and which, partly through our instrumentality, he would have amicably settled. Let us keep steadily before our eyes, as our first and chief concern, what is due to him, to his name, his kingdom, his will; his character and claims; his authority and law. To that high end, every other consideration, even the salvation of precious souls, must be secondary and subordinate. Let God be true, and every man a liar. Let God be magnified, and the guilty perish. Let the hallowing of his name, the coming of his kingdom, the doing of his will, take precedence of all human interests, the highest and the dearest. Let us ever consult for the Creator’s glory in preference even to the creature’s good. To carry out this loyal principle, to cherish this loyal spirit, is no easy attainment. Flesh and blood often rebel against it. Our best affections often rebel against it. We may not be, in the ordinary sense, men-pleasers or time-servers. We may have no bye-ends of our own to seek. We may court no man’s favour. We may fear no man’s frown. These, indeed, are temptations to unfaithfulness, which are ever besetting us, and against which we need to be ever watching and praying. But we may be resisting and withstanding all such influences, and yet not be true to our high calling, and thoroughly loyal to our God. A far sorer trial may be soliciting us; the sort of trial which these affecting words may indicate: “Jesus, beholding him, loved him.” The sad, sad case of one, “almost persuaded,” - “not far from the kingdom of God,” - may be touching your tender heart. Or Jerusalem doomed may be drawing tears from your aching eyes. You may not utter a word in disparagement of Jehovah’s righteousness. You may give no sign, you may drop no hint, in the line of any concession or surrender. But ah! the yearning of your pained and grieved soul may cause an inward faltering, - a secret shrinking, - a hidden wish. On the instant your power is gone. Something about you, - your trembling lips, - your hesitating tongue, - betrays your weakness. God’s own Spirit in you is on the point of leaving you, and the lie of the devil is again soliciting you, - in your brother’s case perhaps first, and then in your own, - the fatal lie, “Ye shall not surely die.” The Lord give us grace to be loyal; so that our ministry may be such as to warrant our adoption of Paul’s words at its close, “I take you to record this day that I am pure from the blood of all men, for I have not shunned to declare unto you the whole counsel of God.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 99: S. CHRIST COMING QUICKLY ======================================================================== CHRIST COMING QUICKLY “Behold, I come quickly: blessed is he that keepeth the sayings of the prophecy of this book. . . . And, behold, I come quickly; and my reward is with me, to give every man according as his work shall be. . . . He which testifieth these things saith, Surely I come quickly. Amen. Even so, come. Lord Jesus.” - Revelation 22:7; Revelation 22:12; Revelation 22:20 THIS assurance, given three times within the short compass of these closing verses (Revelation 22:6-21), is not only in itself, but in respect also of its repetition, significant and emphatic. It occurs once before, in the message to the Philadelphian church (Revelation 3:11), in a connection somewhat similar to that in which it first occurs here. As it stands here, it is addressed to no particular church, but to all to whom this book of the Revelation is known. It is the burden or key-note of the book’s concluding strain. And as the book is evidently meant to be the conclusion of the whole volume of inspiration, whether it was the last written or not is not material. This announcement is the Lord’s parting word to the church as she is to be left on earth till he comes again from heaven. It is his farewell. Hereafter I will not talk with you any more, as I have been doing, in my personal ministry, through my inspired apostles, and in this book, by my angel signifying to my servant John things which must shortly come to pass. All that I have to say in connection with my coming in the flesh, and through much tribulation in the flesh entering into glory, has now been said. The Holy Spirit is to teach you all things whatsoever I have said, and to bring them to your remembrance; so that I shall be still present with you, ever apprehended and felt by you to be freshly speaking to you these things, speaking them in my own proper person to all my little ones individually, one by one, as really as I have been speaking them to John and his fellows hitherto. I will not leave you comfortless. In that way, I will be ever coming to you. Lo, I am with you always. But the revelation and the record of it. are complete. The sum of all that I have to communicate is made up. My lips are closed as to any new utterances. As the Father’s witness, I have, for the present, nothing more to say. I take my leave. But, “behold, I come quickly.” Viewed thus in connection with the completed volume of divine discovery, as it clusters round the first appearing or advent of the Lord, this intimation of the fact of his second coming, and the manner of it - I come, and I come quickly - is plainly fitted, like the Lord’s own emphatic warnings towards the end of his personal ministry and teaching, rather to deepen the feeling of responsibility as regards the present, than to stimulate curiosity or encourage speculation as to the future. It is the admonition, as it were, of a teacher when he has finished the giving out of a lesson. See that it be well conned and learned. I shall be with you presently to hear you say it. The servants have got their Lord’s will, so far as he sees fit to make it known to them, put into authentic shape. They have got all the information they are to have on the subject of the intervening period; - all that is needful for the unfolding of his plan and for their guidance in connection with it. They have nothing more to expect. They are to make the most of what they have. For, he says, “I come quickly.” There is, undoubtedly, a difficulty here. It arises out of the lapse of time. He says, “Behold, I come quickly.” But how quickly? Centuries have rolled on, and there is no coming, no sign of coming. I would face the difficulty, and see how it may be met. I. The difficulty is not met by putting death instead of the second advent, or by considering the two events as practically identical. They are not so. As motives, they tell very differently on our minds. They present the future in very different lights. Death is our going to Christ. The second advent is his coming to us. Death is, in a solemn sense, isolation. It is our meeting with Christ, with God in Christ, separately, individually, each one of us apart, each one of us alone. The second advent is union and reunion. It is the gathering together of all in Christ; all in heaven and all in earth. Death is abstraction, spirituality. The second advent is substantial embodiment, fresh corporeity. Death is silent and successive, taking man after man noiselessly away, one by one. The second advent is simultaneous, one blast of the trumpet summoning all together. Death is the preparation for judgment. It is the apprehension or arrest of the parties who are to be judged. The second advent is the judgment itself It is the great and final assize. It announces the irreversible, eternal issues. Thus it may appear that there are such differences between death and the second advent, considered in the light of motives, as must preclude their being, as motives, confounded or identified. There is undoubtedly one particular, in respect of which they may be assimilated. It is the suddenness of their coming. Death may come in a moment, at any moment. Is not this, to the individual believer, the same thing virtually as the Lord’s coming again to receive him to himself? And is not the possible suddenness of death as strong and urgent a consideration as the predicted suddenness of the second advent? To a large extent, even as regards believers, this must be allowed. And certainly, as regards unbelievers, in appealing to the unconverted, I would admit of no distinction. I would not waste a moment’s thought in weighing the difference between the two motives in question. What! When men are dying, perishing, ripening for eternal fire, shall we nicely hold the balance between the means or motives by which we may pluck them as brands out of the burning? Let us tell them that Christ is coming quickly. Let us tell them that death is coming quickly. Let us anyway and anyhow sound in their ears the alarm: “This night thy soul may be required of thee.” “The Judge standeth at the door.” “Flee from the wrath to come.” Even the Lord’s own people need to be reminded, for comfort as well as for edification, that death may be to them individually equivalent to the second advent, in respect of the immediateness of their entrance into rest; and that it is the same in respect of the obligation of being always prepared. But still, the two future events are not to be confounded or confused as motives. One point of difference is very clear. The idea of death suddenly snatching me from this body of mine, and this my bodily and earthly condition, takes my mind off” altogether from the circumstances and characteristics of my present being. The idea of Christ suddenly meeting and confronting me fixes my mind upon them. In either case, the elements of suddenness, unexpectedness, the absence of previous warning or notification, is practically most important. But it does not in both cases tell in the same way. Where am I, at any given moment? What am I doing? How am I occupied and engaged? Let me pause and think. In another moment my soul may be away from this mortal frame, and this gay or busy scene. It will all be as if it had never been! Most affecting, most thrilling, most solemnising is the thought! Oh! that I were wise, that I were ever realising this thought, that I were always thus considering my latter end! But again, let me pause and think. Christ is to appear suddenly. He comes quickly. That sudden appearing of his is to me near, at the very door. I am to feel and apprehend it to be so. It is to me as if the very next time I lifted my eyes from the work I am doing, or the book I am reading, or the letter I am writing, or the friend with whom I am talking, I were abruptly to see my Lord! to see him in glory on his glorious throne of judgment, and to be in a moment, in the bodily state in which I am, and with the very earthly business I have on hand, cited and sisted before him, to see him as he is. II. Is the difficulty met by getting rid of the interval, real or supposed, as by placing the coming of the Lord before the millennium? How can I be asked or expected to live, as if Christ were coming quickly, momentarily, as if he might come to-morrow or to-day, or this instant, if I believe that at least 1000 years must intervene before he comes? The difficulty is precisely the same, if any interval of time, or even any single event or series of events be interposed. Let me put myself in the position of the disciples, gazing after their ascending Lord, and listening to the voice of the angels: “Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing into heaven? This same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven” (Acts 1:2) He shall come again. From that instant they were to live as if he might come at any time. They had been so commanded by their Lord himself: “Watch ye therefore, for ye know not the time when the Master of the house Cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cock crowing, or in the morning; lest coming suddenly, he find you sleeping. And what I say unto you, I say unto all, watch” (Mark 13:35-37). Thus, then, from the moment they saw him depart, they were to realise his quick and sudden coming, as what might happen at any moment thereafter. And yet they knew of one event that must come in between his going away and his coming again. They were to wait at Jerusalem till they received the Holy Ghost, Again, let me put myself in the position of the Thessalonians, to whom Paul wrote so earnestly, exhorting them to live in the faith of the Lord’s coming quickly at any time. They were not to sleep, as did others, but to watch and be sober, seeing that the day of the Lord Cometh as a thief in the night. And yet they too were told of a signal event that must take place before the Lord appeared; the apostasy; the rise and revelation of that wicked one; the antichristian development of Rome. So also is it in the Revelation. The words, “Behold, I come quickly,” are uttered at the close of a prophecy, foretelling a whole ecclesiastical history. Nor does it avail to say, that in these cases, the length of time that the intervening events might occupy was concealed. Let it be granted that the disciples did not know how long the dispensation of the Holy Ghost they were to wait for might last, and that the Thessalonians did not know how many years the predicted apostasy would last, nor John, what lengthened centuries the history he predicted would take to unfold itself They might conceive of it, we may argue, as very short. Be it so. Still it was an interval It was, so far, a postponement to them, be it ever so brief, of the expectation of the second advent. They knew that there was something to happen and some time to elapse before the Lord’s appearing. They were positively, and even anxiously, informed that this was to be the case. And yet it was their duty to realise practically, and as an influential motive to personal purity and holy watchfulness, the suddenness and nearness of the Lord’s appearing; to live, in short, as if he might appear at any time. This it must have been possible for them, by faith, through the Spirit’s influence, to do. And where is the essential difference between a longer and a shorter interval interposed? Do you reply that these believers, regarding the interval as indefinite, and possibly as very brief, might feel to-day, as if what was to happen before the Lord came might be over to-morrow, and therefore, he might come to-morrow? Be it so. Still, until it was over, the expectation was to them as unequivocally and decidedly postponed, as it is by the intervention of hundreds of ages. I have no idea, however, that they were left, or that it was intended that they should be left, so much at sea and in the dark. Only I repeat. Let the event interposed be ever so hurried, and the interval ever so brief and uncertain, precisely the same difficulty is raised as by the interposition of the entire millennium; a difficulty the very same in kind, and really not at all less in degree. For, in truth, we must have some principle here to explain how a believer can live, as if Christ might come suddenly at any moment, although he knows that some certain thing must happen before he comes. I say we must have some principle to explain this, partaking of the same power or virtue, in respect of which, to God himself, one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. III. In looking out for such a principle, I would desire to avoid everything that might appear like refining upon or explaining away the strong and plain statements of the word of God on this subject. “Behold I come as a thief.” “Behold I come quickly.” “The Lord is at hand.” There is a sense in which, from the moment of his departure, he may be truly and emphatically said to be coming quickly. He is making haste to come, inasmuch as he is putting matters in train, as it were, for his speedy return. The whole march or movement of affairs, from his ascension to his glorious appearing, is quick and rapid. There is no drawing of breath, as it were; not an instant is lost; he is no sooner gone than it seems as if he were on the way back again; and such is the ceaseless flow, the rapid and resistless force, with which all things are hastening on to usher in the last solemn crisis, that the believer seems to see and realise his Redeemer and Judge, as even now already on the wing, and on the very point of emerging from the clouds in glory. It is a sublime and spirit-stirring view. “Ye men of Israel, why stand ye gazing up into the heavens? This same Jesus who is taken up, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven.” He shall come; he is already coming: even now, he is on the wing, so to speak, and on the way. “What though ages have to roll on, and many a world-history has to be acted out before his actual appearing? It is a rapid, swift, hasty, sudden coming after all. He is making short work; He is losing no time; nor is there any time to be lost by you. Behold, he cometh quickly. There is much practical power in an appeal like this; although it is not quite satisfactory as a solution or explanation of the difficulty. It rather evades than meets it; and giving an excellent gloss or paraphrase on the plain and solemn warnings of Scripture, it yet fails in bringing home the precise truth taught. IV. The real explanation, as it would seem, is to be found in the power of that principle of faith which enlightens darkness and annihilates distance, which brings out the invisible and brings near the remote, which is “the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen.” The second coming of Christ, like the first, is an object of faith; and it is so in all its particulars as regards the person coming, the purpose of his coming, and the manner of his coming. Now to a believer, the mere possibility, or even absolute certainty, of ages being yet to elapse before the Lord come again, ought no more to diminish the influence of that event upon his mind, and heart, and conscience, than the fact of ages having elapsed since the Lord came at first lessens the moral weight of his constant vivid sight of Christ and him crucified, and his always bearing about with him the dying of the Lord Jesus, Everything about the first coming of Christ, and especially about the cross, the capital and central and all-engrossing subject of the picture, the sudden lifting up on the accursed tree, the streaming of the blood and water, the cry of agony - Why am I forsaken? the voice of satisfaction - “It is finished” - the prayer of unutterable faith and love - “Father, forgive them:” “Father, into thy hands I commit my Spirit:” all this I say, is to the believer ever fresh, as if it were but of yesterday, nay, as if it were a spectacle of to-day. It tells upon his whole moral nature, not as a past, but as a present reality. Before his eyes, he feels ever as if Christ were even now evidently set forth, crucified for him Why should it be otherwise with the second coming of the Lord? Believer in Jesus, - simple, single-eyed, meek and lowly child of God, - Do you feel any difficulty in realising that first coming and all that is involved in it, as not past and gone and obsolete, but present, and pressing upon you daily? - any difficulty, I mean, arising out of the long tract of centuries you have to travel over, before you find its date in the history of time? Do you trouble yourself here with the innumerable occurrences that crowd the intervening period? And when you are living in all simplicity and godly sincerity by the faith of the Son of God, who loved you and gave himself for you, does the intrusive suggestion, Ah! but that is long gone by! ever come to mar the force and point of this all-prevailing motive to holiness? Never, you will reply, never, except to be resisted; you strive against it until, by God’s help, you have got rid of it, and find yourself enabled to realise that shedding of blood as a thing of to-day. I know no chronology and no chronological computation of long eras, in dealing with that Saviour, who eighteen hundred years ago trod with his blessed feet the soil of Judaea, and expired on the cross of Calvary. I know no chronology and no chronological calculation of the manifold intricacies of dates and cycles, in that which is my daily, hourly, momentary life of faith; my looking unto Jesus crucified, as the Lamb slain, and embracing Jesus risen as my Lord and my God. Then why, I would with all deference submit, - why should there be any real difficulty in applying this principle in the prospect, more than in the retrospect? Does faith mounting up in the ascending series of years to the opening up of the fountain, long centuries ago, lose all sense of distance and remoteness, in the bright and vivid apprehension of the cross; the cross as fresh, and new this very moment, as if that earth which Saracen and Turk have trodden down were still stained with the warm drops that fell from the pierced side? And will not the same faith in its keen glance downwards and onwards along the stream of time, seize the one great and only object of its hope, and bring it near, even to the very door, ay, though the destinies of a hundred dynasties and the revolutions of a thousand ages may seem to come in between? Surely there is among not a few spiritual men some misapprehension here. Take the somewhat analogous instance of the prospect of death; which is not indeed to be substituted for the hope of the second advent, or confounded with it; but which yet may be referred to for illustration in this particular matter. The prospect of death is undoubtedly, to the believer, so far as it goes, a perfectly legitimate and warrantable motive to activity and to holiness. It is not, in itself, sufficient: and especially, we admit, it is not the same motive with that which the second advent presents. But it is a good Christian motive to watchfulness, nevertheless. And to the believer, as to other men, doubtless its efficacy depends not a little upon the suddenness with which it may come. But how is my faith, to deal with this event? Is it in the way of a calculation of chances? That is the world’s way of dealing, both with death and with the second advent. “Because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil.” They say: - The Lord delayeth his coming. This may be very natural in a worldly man. He would interpose something between death and his present state. Certainly, or very probably, this or that event may have yet to happen before I die. But do I, at any time, as a believer in Jesus, feel that I am reasoning thus, or that I would reason thus if I knew of any certain interval that must elapse before sudden death can befall me? It is high time to awake. And what, in such a state, is the remedy? To get the interval on which. I am beginning to reckon taken out of the way? No. But to get my soul again brought into such an attitude and exercise of faith, that interval or no interval shall be the same thing to me, and I shall live as realising the nearness and certainty and suddenness of death, as what may come on me at any moment, and in any circumstances. Simeon was told, while yet comparatively young, that he should not see death until he should see the Lord’s anointed. Hezekiah was informed that a lease of fifteen years of renewed life was sure to him, ere the fear of death again need overtake him. What should have been the effect of these announcements to these holy men, these men of faith and prayer? To set them free from the consideration of their latter end? or from the consideration of it as a motive quite as urgent and influential as if nothing were to intervene at all? Nor will it do to say that, in the instance at least of Hezekiah, such too probably was in part the tendency and the effect of the respite he obtained. That was his infirmity. He should have remembered his last end. It was still his duty to live under the influence of the prospect of death, and a divine faith would have enabled him to do so, just as thoroughly when he knew that fifteen years must pass before death came, as when he heard the knell, “Thou must die and not live.” Yes, my friends, and when we consider the difference between death and the second coming, in one all-important particular, the application of our present illustration will be the more emphatic. Death may be sudden. The Lord’s second coming must be so. It is a possible suddenness that is to tell upon you in the one case. It is a certain suddenness in the other. And explain it as you may; adopt our explanation, or any other you prefer; the peremptory practical point is clearly and unequivocally this; - that as children of God, having in you the hope of glory, you are to be ever purifying yourselves under the vivid, realising apprehension of him who is pure breaking out of the clouds, and breaking in upon you, at any moment; and what he said to the disciples he says to you, and what he says unto you, he says unto all, “Watch!” V. Let the event of Christ’s coming be apprehended apart from all preceding and accompanying circumstances. There are various outstanding events in the scheme of unfulfilled prophecy that are full of interest, as we try to anticipate and decipher them beforehand. The fulfilling of the times of the Gentiles, the bringing in of the Jews, the ruin of mystic Babylon, or literal Rome, the judgments to be inflicted upon the nations of the earth, the several particular occurrences, whether unclean and lying agencies of Satan, or divine interpositions of mercy and wrath that are to mark the crisis of Antichrist’s fate, and usher in the reign of Christ and of the saints, - these, together with the features and characteristics of that reign itself, - the period of its duration, and the strange catastrophe in which it seems to end, form a wide field of prophetic inquiry in which it is not wonderful that thoughtful men part asunder. I believe, indeed, that there is a closer agreement among intelligent students of prophecy in regard to the whole grand outline of this prospective history, than appears on the surface. The fond dream is now generally abandoned of a gradual and insensible sliding into millennial blessedness and peace. An era is looked for in the winding up of this Gentile form of the dispensation, quite as well defined as that which marked the close of the Jewish, only proportionally more wonderful and more terrible. It was no soft euthanasia, or gradual melting into the economy which was to succeed it, that brought the Jewish day of grace to an end, but a dreadful day of vengeance to the Jew - a day of judgment indeed. Has the Gentile day of grace been better improved than theirs? Is the Gentile apostasy, whether in the east or in the west, less ripe for God’s wrath than theirs? Nay, that unparalleled siege of Jerusalem, this long desolation of Judaea, are but faint types of Babylon’s doom; to the Gentile churches, and the nations that have had the gospel among them, the day of grace may well be expected to have as dark a close, and the day of judgment as tremendous a rising as in the case of Israel. And with what manifestations of divine majesty and power this exercise of the Saviour’s dread prerogative of judge among the Gentiles may be accompanied, or with what resurrection-wonders, literal or spiritual, the setting in of a new and brighter economy is to be signalised, the opening beauty of that millennial day, which is to be the day of special grace, not to Jews or Gentiles peculiarly, but to the whole world, who can say? At this stage in the unfolding of the future drama there is undoubtedly room for expecting much that will indicate the immediate presence of him who is the judge of all the earth; while, again, in the new impulse to be given, on a scale so much wider, and in circumstances so much more propitious, to the dispensation of the grace of God, then at last become universal; the risen Saviour, he who is the Resurrection and the Life, will assuredly, by many infallible tokens, show himself as living and as life-giving. All this might to a large extent be surveyed, and ascertained, and marked out as common ground, so that upon one condition a large measure of harmony might ensue. Upon one condition, I say; for there is a preliminary matter to be adjusted. The second coming of our Lord, his glorious appearing, that one solemn, awful, joyful event, which is the terror of the Lord for persuading men, and the hope set before believers for their quickening, encouragement, and support - I would desire to see lifted at once and altogether out of the troubled class of these terrestrial agitations, and placed high and clear above and beyond them all. Whether he is visibly to appear in the midst of them, or not; whether his martyrs, or his saints, are to be raised literally before that new reign of his, or not; whether the reign itself is to be a state of things in which Christ the king is to be actually seen, and his risen servants are to be actually mingling with the society of flesh and blood, and a heavenly city is to be always apparent, and the nations are to walk in the light of it, and a literal temple service, with literal commemorative sacrifices, is to be reinstituted; or is to be a state of things in which what corresponds to these prophetic symbols is to be spiritual, and is to be spiritually discerned - however those things may be, I cannot but think that it were well to consider if the precise second advent and glorious appearing which is the great and ultimate terror of the wicked, and the great and ultimate hope of the righteous, be not, after all, an event detached from all these revolutions and revivals, seen, indeed, as if casting its shadow before, in them all and through them all, more dimly or more clearly, as the case may be, but yet standing out, apart and isolated from them all, in broad and sharp outline, having its own incommunicable features of majesty and awe - a Saviour judge, an assembled universe, and an unbroken eternity behind. If indeed there is such a day coming, when all is over; and if, to the eye of inspiration in prophetic vision, it is always present, in its glory and terror, looming darkly in the distance, yet seeming ever near; then it is no wonder that all the scenes which the prophets paint of intermediate transactions, should take form and colour, more or less, from that sublime and solemn background. Especially when these transactions partake of the very nature of what is to be done at that day, when they are signal acts of divine judgment or signal deliverances and interpositions of divine mercy, falling under the mediatorial sovereignty of the Redeemer, as ruling among the nations, and as Head over all things to his church, and when, moreover, these may very possibly be occasions for some special discovery of himself, and some rehearsals, as it were, on a limited scale, of the grand consummation which is to embrace all, and to finish all; then, still more may it be expected that the intermediate prophetic descriptions will be cast into the mould of that one announcement, which, from the beginning, has been God’s alarm-trumpet to a godless world since Enoch, the seventh from Adam, cried, “Behold, the Lord cometh with ten thousand of his saints, to execute judgment upon all,” Arrange the dates and events connected with the winding up of the times of the Gentiles, and the bringing in of millennial peace, as you may: let the advent of Christ then be ever so palpable, and the reign of Christ and the risen saints thereafter ever so literal: I yet cannot divest myself of the impression, as I try by anticipation to take my place under that glorious economy, that still, even then, and after all, the real coming of the Lord, with, which chiefly men, as men, have to do, is outstanding and impending, waiting in reserve, and coming as a thief for all. I do not now enter into the detailed consideration of such questions as I have indicated respecting what may be coming, and that shortly, on this earth of ours. I feel the tempting and fascinating interest, and fully admit the practical importance of such inquiries prosecuted soberly and with humility. By all means let the churches of Christ be awakened from their drowsiness, and the nations of the world startled from their security, by the loud cry, The Lord, the Judge, the Avenger, is at hand. But I plead for keeping apart the great judgment day, for the simultaneous appearance and trial and sentence of the whole countless myriads of individuals of the race of Adam, ay, and the angels too, from all these vicissitudes that yet await churches and nations upon the stage of time. And it is with that great judgment day, and its issues for weal or woe throughout the endless lapse of everlasting ages, which no subsequent interruption is ever to break, that I feel constrained exclusively to connect and identify that appearing of Christ, which is represented throughout the Word of God as so influential a motive to personal repentance and personal sanctification and watchfulness and prayer. Let the solemnities of that day, and of its results, remain entire, and let it be understood that these solemnities are the essential elements or ingredients of that great final event of the Lord’s coming quickly, which is to be proclaimed for arresting the ungodly and keeping the Lord’s own people ever on the watch, and on the look out, and on the alert; then I feel that that grand cardinal article in our common Christianity is made sure: God hath appointed a day wherein he will judge the world by that man whom he has ordained, Jesus Christ. “To them that look for him he shall appear the second time without sin unto salvation.” Give me only that day and its momentous issues as the ultimate object of the church’s faith and hope; and you may introduce, in the intermediate space before it, interpositions of Christ’s power, and even appearances of Christ’s person, of whatever sort and in whatever manner. By all means let the onward march and movement of affairs in the world’s history, as it runs fast on and draws near its close and crisis, be broken by signs and wonders, by voices and visits from above. Let there be a quick coming of the Lord, whether personal, or spiritual, or providential, to usher in a new era of universal empire for himself, as there was when the bodies of many saints arose on the resurrection morn, when the Spirit was poured out on the day of Pentecost, when Saul on his way to Damascus was called to be the Apostle of the Gentiles. Let there even be a sojourn of the Lord and the risen saints for a season on the millennial earth. Still, let me have outstanding, beyond all that, towering above all that, the Lord’s swift coming in the clouds of heaven, to take his seat on the great white throne, to summon all the quick and the dead for judgment, to seal the final, irrevocable doom of apostate angels and unbelieving men; to complete the gathering together in one of all things in him, both of things in heaven and things on earth; even in him of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named. This is that coming of the Lord which he himself would have you ever to realise as quick and sudden; as near, even at the door. Its sharp suddenness, its immediate nearness, you are to apprehend by faith; even as by faith you apprehend as very near to you his once offering up of himself a sacrifice to take away your sin. These are the two events, the death of shame, the coming in glory, which faith, when rightly exercised, grasps; which I, believing, grasp. I grasp them as equally real, equally nigh. I grasp him, Christ Jesus my Lord, dying for me; coming again to receive me to himself; Christ crucified, Christ coming in glory; I grasp Christ, and Christ only. Is not this what is meant when I sit at his table, and show his death till he come? Seated there, I am to see nothing, I am to be conscious or cognisant of nothing, I am to think of nothing, I am to know nothing, but Christ dying and Christ coming. It is as if all the past, since that scene on Calvary, and all the future, on to the end of time, were a blank, a vacancy. It is all annihilated; it is all gone. My only past is Christ dying; my only future is Christ coming. Not long past is the one; not long future is the other. Jesus! I see thee now going from the cross now before me, fresh and gory, as on Calvary; I see thee now going heavenward. Jesus! I see thee now coming thence, from heaven, in thy love and in thy glory. Even so come. Lord Jesus. Ah! is it not this fixed riveting of my soul on Christ; on Christ himself, on Christ alone, on Christ in this twofold aspect, Christ dying, Christ coming; is it not this concentrated gaze of my inward eye on Christ as near, as present, in both aspects; Christ dying, near and present, Christ coming, near and present; is it not this that makes my showing his death till he come, real, blessed, profitable? What though ages have run since that death I show, and ages more are perhaps to run before that coming! It is nothing to me. The world’s history, past and future; the Church’s history, past and future; all is to me for the present as if it never had been and never were to be. I am looking to Christ, dealing with Christ; Christ himself; Christ alone; Christ now dying; Christ now coming. And should not this, which is the real charm of the supper, this faith annihilating sense, and seeing only the invisible, be the habit of the whole Christian life? Should I not be always thus living; bringing to bear these two appearings of Christ, his appearing in grace and his appearing In glory, his dying and his coming, on every step I take, every choice I make, every work I do? Wherever I am, whatever I am about, ought I not to be alive to my position between these two manifestations of Christ, and these alone? Behind me Christ dying; before me Christ coming. And not far behind me Christ dying; not far before me Christ coming. Between me and Christ dying I see nothing; between me and Christ coming I see nothing. In this double light alone; in rays from the cross, in rays from the glory; in that light alone I see the step I am taking, the choice I am making, the work I am doing. All intermediate considerations being obliterated and ignored, every standard of judgment and comparison suggested by events past or future, or by friends or foes pressing them on my regard; let me ask of this duty apt to be irksome; of this trial felt to be grievous; of this pleasure tempting me; of this pain deterring me; how does it look in the light of Christ dying for me, Christ coming to me? Is it not thus, and only thus, that I live by the faith of him who loved me and gave himself for me; that I live also by the power of the world to come; enduring as seeing him who is invisible? ======================================================================== CHAPTER 100: S. CHRIST MEETING THE PRINCE OF THIS WORLD ======================================================================== CHRIST MEETING THE PRINCE OF THIS WORLD “Hereafter I will not talk much with you: for the prince of this world Cometh, and hath nothing in me. But that the world may know that I love the Father; and as the Father gave me commandment, even so do I. Arise, let us go hence.” - John 14:30-31 THE Lord would have the world to know that what he does at this crisis is done, not in deference to any right or power which the prince of this world has in him, or over him; but from love to the Father, and in obedience to the Father’s commandment. For it is a crisis; the supreme crisis of his earthly life. The active work of that life is over. His public ministry has been solemnly closed: “Then Jesus said unto them, Yet a little while is the light with you. Walk while ye have the light, lest darkness come upon you: for he that walketh in darkness knoweth not whither he goeth. While ye have light, believe in the light, that ye may be the children of light.” It was his last word to the people: “These things spake Jesus, and departed, and did hide himself from them” (John 12:35-36). He taught no more publicly. His public ministry is over. The time for more private communion with his chosen apostles is also all but spent. “Hereafter I will not talk much even with you.” What remains is the passion; the passive endurance of appointed suffering. In that terrible trial he might seem to be the victim of hostile principalities: “This is your hour, and the power of darkness” (Luke 22:53). But it is not so; “for now,” in that very hour, “shall the prince of this world be cast out” (John 12:31). He cometh indeed; but he cometh only to be cast out. He has nothing in me. I am the servant of the Father only. Let all the world of created intelligences know that what I do is done from love to the Father, and in obedience to the Father’s commandment. The prince of this world comes. He comes at this critical hour to look after his interests; the interests which the fall has given him in the history and destiny of the race which he has seduced. He comes to urge the accusation which he is ever bringing against the guilty children of men at the bar of the righteous Judge. He comes to assert his title as the potentate to whom the rebels against the throne of the Most High have become subject. But he comes to one who sets at naught his accusation, and disowns his rule; whom therefore he cannot touch. He has nothing in me. Can he charge with guilt the Holy One of God? Can he claim the Son of God as his captive or slave? I have indeed a bloody baptism to be baptized with, a bitter cup to drink! Not, however, because the prince of this world has anything in me, though he comes to me; but to make the world know that I love the Father, and that, as the Father has given commandment, so I do. Let us consider, in reference to this position, first Christ, and then the Christian. Part First Contemplate Christ in this position. As representing mankind - sinners, guilty, under a just doom of death; subjects, in rebellion against righteous authority; he meets, faces, and confronts, two antagonistic authorities or powers; on the one hand, that of the prince of this world; on the other hand, that of the Father, He defies the one, he owns the other. He defies the prince of this world in the very points in which he owns the Father. I love the Father, and as he gives me commandment so I do. He therefore has something, everything, in me; I am his. If he has anything to allege against me, I bow to his charge. If he has anything to require of me, I acknowledge his right. But if the prince of this world accuses, I defy his malice. If he asks obedience, I defy his might. I. The prince of this world comes as an accuser. That is his character from the beginning; his very name. He is the Devil, the maligner, the calumniator. He is Satan, the adversary, the libeller. In that character he is seen in Zechariah’s vision (Zechariah 3:1) “standing before the angel of the Lord, at the right hand of the high priest, to resist him” - to be his adversary (marg.); evidently as an accuser; to expose the filthy garments with which the high priest is clothed. It is Joshua, or Jesus, who is the high priest thus charged. The case is tried first here, on earth, in the tribunals of the world, whose prince he is. And how does he fare? Jesus stood before two earthly courts, in both of which the prince of this world had enough of influence, and could reckon upon ministers enough to do his pleasure. The Jewish priests and elders met in solemn conclave; the Sanhedrim, which in these days the prince of this world might claim as his own - a very synagogue of Satan. The judges were on his side, and there was no lack of unscrupulous witnesses. But the charge of blasphemy, even in so partial a court, broke down. Consistent testimony could not be found. In default of evidence the accuser is fain to get sentence passed upon a wilful and violent misconstruction by the judges of the prisoner’s pleading; - “he hath spoken blasphemy.” The prince of this world carries the suit into another court, even more properly his own - the court of Pilate. And craftily shifting his ground, instead of the charge of blasphemy, which a Gentile judge would have laughed to scorn, he substitutes that of sedition, or treason against Caesar, to which Caesar’s deputy cannot but give heed. Even there again, however, the accuser is baffled. “I find no fault in this man,” is the unwelcome sentence of the unbiassed Roman. And then, when, in defiance of law and justice, the Holy One, is executed as a criminal, and when the dying thief testifies, “This man hath done nothing amiss;” adding the prayer, “Lord, remember me;” and when the relenting centurion glorifies God, saying, “Truly this was a righteous man;” the prince of this world is forced to feel, that though he cometh to Christ as an accuser, he has nothing in him. But Jesus stands before a higher tribunal than any human judgment-seat. He is at the bar of the holy and righteous God, and even there the prince of this world would, if it were possible, stand against him as an adversary, an accuser. Against himself personally he can have nothing to say. He cannot gainsay the voice from heaven: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” But the Lord bears our sin in his own body on the cross! “He is made sin for us!” Well! and what then? what of that? Has the prince of this world on that account anything in him? Has he any authority or any power to deal with our Surety? to charge him with our criminality, or lay upon him our doom? Was it at his bidding; was it to please him that Jesus, our Jesus, consented to take our iniquities as his own, and so suffer for us, “the just for the unjust, that he might bring us unto God?” Was it not for his love to the Father, and in obedience to the Father’s commandment? The Father’s right to deal with him as standing in the room of guilty sinners, - and of me the chief of sinners, - my Saviour willingly acknowledges. The prince of this world can assert no such right. He can enforce no such substitution. This is a vital point. It touches the essence of the great doctrine of the atonement. The Lord Jesus, when he gave his life a ransom for many, gave it, not to the prince of this world, but to God only, who alone could require, who alone could accept, the ransom. To conceive otherwise of the redemption purchased by Christ, is to make it a redemption from the dominion of Satan by the Son’s voluntary offering of himself in our stead to Satan. It is to glorify Satan, not God. No doubt, the prince of this world has acquired dominion over us. He has led us captive. And having seduced us, he is our accuser; accusing us of the very sin into which he has seduced us; urging against us the sentence of condemnation. So he tries to keep us helplessly bound in the fetters of conscious guilt. From all that thraldom our Lord delivers us; but not surely by giving himself an offering to the prince of this world. He has no title to demand satisfaction, as if the world, or as if we, were lawfully his. He cannot stipulate for any conditions, or any price of our release; nor will our Deliverer so far acknowledge his interest, as to appease him with any ransom. When the Lord Jesus, therefore, appears at the bar of heaven’s righteous judgment, laden with the burden, covered with the foul robe, of your guilt, the Father alone has to do with him. The prince of this world has nothing in him. To all that the Father inflicts he willingly submits. The chastisement, the wrath of the Father, he willingly bears. To the Father he presents himself, even when the Father’s word is: “Awake, sword, against my shepherd, against the man that is my fellow.” “Lo! I come, to do thy will, God.” With the prince of this world he deals very differently; not as his victim, but as his conqueror; that we also may deal with him as conquerors. On the cross “he spoiled principalities and powers, making a show of them openly.” And this is his crowning triumph over them and their head, that just because on the cross he is still loving the Father, and as the Father gave him commandment, so doing; on that very account, when the prince of this world came, he has nothing in him. Is not this your confidence, poor soul? Is not this your emancipation from Satan’s bondage? When the willing Surety took your place, and submitted to the treatment which you deserved, the prince of this world could lay nothing to his charge. He could find no fault in him, either personally or as your substitute, in his character or in his finished work. He had no hold over him. That precious life was not forfeited to him. No! a thousand times no! But Jesus loved the Father; and the Father, out of his great love to the world, - to you, - had given him a commandment to “finish transgression, to make an end of sin, to make reconciliation for iniquity, to bring in an everlasting righteousness;” and he would have all to know and believe, that because he loves the Father, who “so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him might not perish, but obtain everlasting life,” therefore, as the Father has given him commandment, so he does. What say you to this, sinner? Is it not good news to you? II. The prince of this world comes, not only as an accuser, but as a ruler and lord, claiming dominion over all the world. In that character he came to Christ at first. In his first interview, in the temptation of the wilderness, he speaks as the prince of this world. He makes princely demands. He gives princely pledges. A divine stranger, as it seems, sets foot on what he has been wont to regard as his own proper domain. Will this new man, this second Adam, the Son of God, do him homage, as the first Adam and all his seed have done? Will he fall down and worship this world’s prince, for the sake of this world as his prize? The tempter is cast out. He departs for a season. But he comes again. Flattery has failed; severity may succeed. He musters his hosts; summoning his legions from hell, prompting his agents on earth. For one dark hour of agony he is permitted to assail the soul of the wondrous sufferer, and so to overpower him as to wring from his body the bloody sweat, and from his all but broken heart the prayer of anguish: “Father, if it be possible, let the cup pass!” Still, the Lord says, the prince of this world has nothing in me. He may be this world’s prince, but he is not mine. I owe him no allegiance; nor can he, nor any minister of his, have any power against me, except it be given him from above. I give no heed to his suggestions or to his threats. It is not his will that I do, but the will of him who sent me; and, if that will appoint a cross, better far a cross from the Father than a hundred crowns from the prince of this world. Is not this also your confidence, poor soul? Is it not thus that you can stay yourself on the Righteous One? Here is your righteousness, the righteousness on the ground of which you, a guilty sinner, are justified, acquitted, accepted. It is Christ, Christ loving the Father, and as the Father gave him commandment, so doing. His doing is his passion, his suffering, his dying. But it is doing still. In one view it is passive righteousness; his endurance of the cross. But it is active righteousness as well. It is the crowning instance of his obedience; that obedience unto death for which God “has highly exalted him, and given him a name that is above every name; that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, and every tongue confess that he is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” Yes! he is “the Lord our righteousness.” We are righteous in him. “Of God are we in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us righteousness.” Part Second Consider now, not Christ, but the Christian. You, believer, occupy the very position which he occupied. To you, as to him, the prince of this world cometh; and in his double character, - as your accuser, and as claiming to be your lord. I. He comes to accuse. He does not so come at first. He may not be so coming now. He does not reprove your sins now. He palliates them, and pleads in their excuse, calling them by smooth names, cloaking them under plausible disguises; and, in an hour of seriousness or alarm, he has many an opiate wherewith to minister to an uneasy soul. But he will not be always thus kind, furnishing you with a shield and shelter against the upbraidings of a wounded spirit, and the sharp arrows of an angry God. He is like his minions and ministers on earth, the sinners who entice you. When they have enticed you, they may keep up the farce for a time; they may flatter and fondle you while you please them: but when you begin to reap the fruit of what they have sowed; when lassitude, and self-reproach, and weariness of soul, and sickness of heart, are consuming you, miserable comforters are they all; they are the first to cast a stone at you. The prince of this world, while you follow his course, may give you no hint of the hour of reckoning at hand; but when that hour comes, he will be there. For what end? to take your part, and plead in palliation of your guilt? Ah! no. When he meets you in the agony of conviction, in the hour of death, it will not be to whisper in your ear hollow promises of peace, and vain assurances of safety; but to drive you, if he can, to utter despair of God’s mercy. For, if by any means he can keep you away from God, by false peace now, or false fear then, he gains his end. But, in this matter of your being chargeable with guilt, let the Father alone deal with you, as having something in you. Fall into his hands. His way of dealing with you may be sharp; but it is true, and tender, and loving. It is the reverse of that of the prince of this world. It is not flattery first and then fierce revenge; but kind faithfulness all through, bringing solid peace. He who spared not his only begotten Son, will not indeed, in the like crisis, spare you. He will make it terrible to you, as it was terrible, in his agony, to your surety. But submit yourself in and with Christ to the Father, in trusting, loving obedience. Let the Spirit shut you up into Christ, and work in you that intimate personal oneness with Christ which carries in it communion with him in what he did out of love to the Father, and as the Father gave him commandment. Let his willing endurance of the Father’s righteous sentence of death for sin become yours. Be ye crucified with Christ. Be ye partakers in his passion; in his cross. Let the Father search, and judge, and condemn you. That sets you free from every other accuser. For now, if any other being than the Father whom you love, and whose commandment in this matter you own, or if all other beings together, come against you as adversaries; you know how to meet them all. To your own master you stand. With the Father alone you have to do. The prince of this world has nothing in you. It is a very small thing that you should be judged of man’s judgment upon earth. It is a very small thing even that the accuser of the brethren should accuse you day and night before the throne on high. The Father himself, seated on the throne, has already judged you; he has already sentenced you; and his sentence none may impeach. It has already taken effect. The case is ended. You may challenge, therefore, all the powers of the world and its prince, to come, leagued in a covenant of envy, to do their worst, to try their utmost, if they can shake the rock of sure acceptance on which you stand. Sins they may discover in you, numerous enough and aggravated enough. Charges, many charges, they may urge against you. But the Father has been beforehand with your enemies, who are his own. All the sins which they discover have been already set out before him. All the charges which they bring have been already dealt with and disposed of by him. You acknowledge all the guilt which they can point out, and more, infinitely more. You feel, and are content to feel, its bitterness and its curse; not, however, out of deference to any right which they have in you or over you; but because you love the Father, and as the Father has given you commandment, so you do. Yes; it is in loving obedience to the Father that you now consent to be tried, and judged, and sentenced, in and with Jesus. More helplessly guilty than the prince of this world could represent you, still you cast yourself into the arms of Jesus. You and Jesus are one. The Spirit, working faith in you, makes you and keeps you one; and therefore, if the prince of this world comes now to accuse you, you are not careful to answer him. You make your appeal to Jesus, and say, - Thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Here let me offer two counsels, - the one for warning, the other for encouragement. 1. For warning. - If you would know, or realise in your own experience the full blessedness of the position I have described; you must, in this matter of your condemnation, as guilty sinners, be truly loyal and faithful to the Father, even as the Lord Jesus himself in your place was. You must submit to be thoroughly tried and judged by the Father with respect to each and all of your sins or sinful tendencies, without exception and without reserve. Is there a single fault of temper or behaviour; is there a solitary affection of the flesh, which you cannot bear to have judicially dealt with by the righteous Father; first condemned, and then pardoned; crucified and cancelled, in Christ and his cross? Then, in respect of that one lust or iniquity, unconfessed, unforgiven, unmortified, unforsaken, the prince of this world has still something in you. You give him a hold over you which he will not readily let go. He and the world, whose prince he is, are entitled to accuse you. Their accusation has point; and, however you may make light of it now, it will one day sting you to the quick. But do as David was wont to do. When charges, even false charges, were laid to his door, he did not hastily acquit himself. He entered into the secret place of his God. He consented, he sought, to be searched and judged by the righteous Father. And not till every hidden root of bitterness was anew brought out to light, and made to die the death, did he stand upon the divine verdict of acquittal, and brave the malice of his foes. Be ye thus guileless and thus true; that yours, by the power of the Spirit, may be the triumphant challenge; “If God be for us, who can be against us?” “Who shall lay anything to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth, who is he that condemneth?” 2. For encouragement. - Count it not strange if, as you advance in the divine life, and draw near its earthly close, the prince of this world should be ever coming with increasing malice. Taking advantage of your growing tenderness of conscience, your infirmities, and the troubles that beset you, he may more and more pitilessly assail you. He may try to persuade you that all is not right between the Father and you; that something is seriously wrong. The pitiful chastenings of fatherly love he would have you to regard as wrathful judgments. But you will accept all such experience as Jesus did. You love the Father, and as the Father gives you commandment, so you do. To whatever the Father appoints you yield, be it ever so grievous. You receive it as his appointment; for, dark as the visitation may appear, it is not sent at the instance of the prince of this world, or because any heed is given to his accusation. He has nothing in you any more than he has in Jesus. When he comes, seeking to take occasion from the Father’s sharp but salutary treatment of you, to cast doubt on your standing as accepted in the Beloved, be it yours to say: “It is Christ that died; yea rather that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?” II. The prince of this world comes, not only to accuse you as guilty before God, but to claim you as subject to himself. And, as you once were his servants, he has therefore some title, as it might seem, to your service. But his title is now null and void; for, prince of this world though he be, he has no natural, no original, no legitimate right to be your prince. His right can be only a right of conquest on his part, or of consent on your part, or of both. But on neither of these grounds has he anything in you now. 1. As to the right of conquest on his part, he is indeed as a strong man armed, who did once keep his palace and his goods in peace; but has not one stronger than he come upon him, to overcome, disarm, and spoil him. The secret of his power over you lies in your being under condemnation. It is that which makes you dependent on him for such false peace as he can give you in exchange for your serving him. He has you at his mercy. In Christ the spell is broken. There is now no condemnation to you who are in Christ. You are able, therefore, and entitled, to throw off the yoke of bondage. “Sin shall not have dominion over you: for ye are not under the law, but under grace.” Arise, then, ye emancipated slaves. Assert your freedom to serve the Father only. Alas! if there should still be any hesitation; any tendency still to compromise, and make terms, and gain time. I may be a prisoner in my enemy’s stronghold, and the glad tidings may reach me that my enemy is fallen. I may be assured, that if? Will, I may go forth free; that no gate of brass will hinder me, nor any rude sentinel challenge me. But the helplessness of prolonged imprisonment is upon me. I see high walls, strong gates, and gigantic foes, all around me. And I sit still and shiver, when one effort of resolution would set me at liberty. Is there any such snare in which, at this hour, the prince of this world is entangling you? Is there any step in your Christian life which you feel you ought to take, and which he is hindering you from taking? It may be the breaking off from some evil custom, the abandonment of some doubtful worldly way; or the commencement of some holy duty hitherto neglected. With how many embarrassments will the prince of this world surround you! What arguments will he bring forward to perplex you! What difficulties will he conjure up to alarm you! As if you ought not, or cannot, in present circumstances, take the step which, if you were more favourably situated, would be reasonable and right. All the while your own heart testifies, that if you would but determine to take the step, and take it at once and with prayer, all these phantoms of opposition would vanish, through the help of the grace that is sufficient for you, that strength which is made perfect in weakness. True; if you were to act thus decidedly, you might raise a commotion in the world, and provoke him who is its prince. He and they might talk, and wonder, and scoff. He might vent his rage upon you in a final struggle before letting you go. But what of that? You love the Father: and as the Father giveth you commandment, so you do. Greater is he that is for you than all they that can be against you. Be strong in your love of the Father and your doing as the Father commandeth you; you will be strengthened with might by the Spirit in the inner man; and so you will over come the adversary. “I can do all things, through Christ which strengtheneth me.” “When I am weak, then am I strong.” 2. And if the prince of this world comes with the plea of consent on your part, have you not an answer for him in Christ. Yes! I did consent to have the prince of this world as my prince; but it was a consent got on false pretences. Now I know the truth; and the truth has made me free! He came to encourage my evil heart of unbelief in departing from the living God. But he misrepresented to me, and wholly calumniated and belied, the character of God. He would persuade me, and I was persuaded, that the Father was a hard master, whom I could not love, and whose commandments I could not, except under compulsion, keep. Now I see that he is love; that his law is holy, and his commandment holy, and just, and good. The accuser of the brethren would fain accuse even the Father of falsehood or fickleness; and would make me believe, and I did believe, that he might make void his own word, and I might not die. Now I perceive that in this also the prince of this world lies. I see in my Saviour’s cross, - I feel in myself as crucified with him, - that the Father is indeed the Judge of the whole earth, and cannot but execute righteous judgment. And not only in his representations of the Father, but in his promises with reference to himself and his world, he has dealt falsely with me. He held out to me large prospects in the world’s kingdom, if I would but yield to him, as the world’s prince, a very little homage. I have found that he exacts a terrible service, and rewards it with what may be sweet for the moment, but is terribly bitter in the end. Yes! I now see the whole system of fraud and delusion by which the prince of this world once made me his willing subject. The veil has fallen from my eyes. The glare of worldly glory which attracted me is disclosed in all its rottenness. The Father shines forth in all his fulness of grace and truth, and love. Once I agreed to serve the prince of this world, for the sake of this world as my prize and portion. But I have been deceived, and I keep no terms with the deceiver. The corruption of my nature, indeed, still too strong, and my long familiarity with his works and ways, may give him still the means of harassing and vexing me; and often, too often, he may gain an advantage over me; but, so far as his right and my consent go, he has nothing in me. I am freed from his dominion. I yield him no more any voluntary service: for I love the Father; and as the Father giveth me commandment, so I do. I put off the livery of the prince of this world. I assume the badge and token of another master, the Father, my Father. His now I am. Him now I serve. To him now, by his grace, I would be found faithful even unto death. I cannot close without adverting, in a sentence, to the Lord’s evident concern for the world at large. His desire, his design, is, not that you only, but that all the world should know what he does, and why he does it. Surely this lays upon you a strong obligation to forward, so far as you can, the accomplishment of his wish and purpose. It is not for your own sake merely, that you may be saved and may serve the Lord, that he tells of Satan’s power overthrown and of his own great work finished. He would have all men everywhere to hear the joyful sound and partake of the glad emancipation. Let your sympathy be with him. Let your trumpet sound. Let your light shine. Tell, by word and deed, by testimony, example, influence; by love and liberality; by Christ-like self-sacrifice and self-denial, and self-devotion, - be ever telling everywhere the story of the cross; making all men know how Jesus loved the Father, and how, as the Father gave him commandment, so he did. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 101: S. CHRIST THE POWER AND WISDOM OF GOD ======================================================================== CHRIST THE POWER AND WISDOM OF GOD “But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God.” - 1 Corinthians 1:24 “But of him are ye in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption.” - 1 Corinthians 1:30 THE two leading thoughts in this passage are, what Christ crucified is, as of God; and what Christ crucified is, as of God, to us who are of God in him. As of God, Christ crucified is power and wisdom; the power of God and the wisdom of God. As of God to us, Christ crucified is made wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption; or, briefly, wisdom and power. For these three particulars, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption, may be brought under the one general head of power. These then are the two topics of our discourse. But first, and as preliminary to our discussion of them, I must ask you to consider the states of mind to which Christ crucified is neither the power of God nor the wisdom of God; but only a stumblingblock and foolishness: “For the Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom: But we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumblingblock, and unto the Greeks foolishness” (1 Corinthians 1:22-23). Two ideas of Deity are natural to the natural mind; the one more rude, coarse, and material; the other more refined and spiritual. The one is the idea of vast physical force; the other is the idea of consummate intelligence and skill. Hence result two distinct schools or forms of what maybe called natural religion; the religion congenial to fallen man. Viewed in that aspect of grandeur in which it first strikes the eye, all nature suggests the vivid notion of power; of giant strength and resistless might. The abrupt forms and immense proportions of earth’s broken surface, as it shows everywhere the tokens and remains of terrible convulsions and wondrous reconstructions; the agencies still always and everywhere at work; the rolling clouds, the thunder’s voice, the lightning flash; stormy winds, tempests, hurricanes, desolating the plain, and lashing ocean into fury; earthquakes, volcanoes, eclipses; portents and signs in the sunlit or in the starry heavens; these all, not to speak of the living monsters and wild beasts of prey, swarming in the woods and waves, might well, in the primeval world, foster the idea of a Being having a mighty arm, and a voice on the waters full of majesty. Wonder, terror, awe, are the instinctive emotions of the new-born, and, alas! newly fallen, race of man. Apart from the revealed word of grace, which comparatively few accept, the earliest type of religion that suggests itself to the human heart is a vague sense of superior or supernatural power. But, as wonder wears away, nature begins to be questioned as well as gazed at. Its stupendous processes are investigated, and more or less clearly understood. Its march and movements are more or less satisfactorily accounted for. The very lightning of heaven is imitated or reproduced by human art on earth. Fire, vapour, electric sparks, galvanic shocks, - the forces which cause creation’s death-struggles and birththroes, become the servants and ministers of human science, to be wielded by the feeblest arm and applied to the commonest purposes and uses. Nothing continues to surprise. Men cease to be merely amazed, and alarmed, and stupefied. Knowledge now alone is power. Intelligence is the only God! Such, I think, is the natural history or genesis of all uninspired religion, whether in its polytheistic or in its pantheistic tendency. It is either the worship of mere force or forces, above nature, or else the worship of nature itself, as the impersonation, or embodiment, or expression, of intelligence and mind. The former belongs chiefly to the fresh infancy of human thought, when the faculty of wonder is all entire, and the facility of objective faith. The latter springs from the less picturesque, but more subtle habit which maturer reflection is apt to form. Real personal gods, endowed with resistless physical power, peopled the busy heaven of primeval heathenism. An impersonal and ideal spirit of design, as the all-pervading and all-embracing essence of the universe, is the cold abstraction that seeks to satisfy the refined wisdom of a riper age. Now, vulgar traditionary Judaism, in the apostle’s day, might well represent the first of the two tendencies I have been noticing. The religious speculations of Greek philosophy might stand for the type of the other: “For the Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom” (1 Corinthians 1:22). The Jews require a sign. They were a wonder-loving people from the beginning; accustomed, through all their history, to prodigies. It might almost seem as if God was to them little more than a giver of signs. Nor was it any sign that would content them. They had become greedy in their demand for marvels. They must have the terrors of Egypt and the Red Sea, the sublimities of Sinai, the judgments and deliverances of the wilderness, with its angels’ food, its water from the flinty rock, its fiery serpents, its yawning gulph to swallow up apostates, its glowing cloudy pillar marching over the Arabian sands; these, and such signs as these; not to speak of other and later instances of Jehovah’s arm visibly made bare; they must have matched or surpassed in the proofs of any new era or dispensation to be introduced among them. Hence the Lord’s simple and significant deeds of mercy failed to convince them. Their cry was still for a sign; a sign of his commission, his authority, to do these very miracles. And the sign must be on a scale and after a style corresponding to the wonders of old. Show us a sign from heaven. Our fathers did eat manna in the wilderness. Let the like credentials attest and illustrate thy Messiahship. This morbid rage for the supernatural on the part of the Jewish, or any other, vulgar; this gaping after wonders in air, earth, sea, and sky; - see how it calls up a smile of calm contempt in that academic sage or sophist, with scarcely curled lip and slightly supercilious brow, who has allegorised, or spiritualised, in his wisdom, the whole gross mythology of Greece! Yes! he can afford to smile at the popular belief, while he himself sees in it, with all its intricacies and abominations, its vile plots of gods and heroes, only a recondite system of universal nature; a veiled portraiture of the various processes of birth, decay, and reproduction, that are ever going on among its tribes. This is the god of his idolatry. He first dissects, and then deifies, nature. He masters all her functions and operations in his keen search after influences and causes. And having got, as he imagines, behind the scenes, and reached the very springs of motion and life, he admires, in the whole scheme which he thinks he has thus grasped, little else than the image of his own sagacity in grasping it. Then he carries the same spirit into the domain of mind and morals, and the higher speculations which touch the destiny of the soul. There too he would refine away all the real substantial doctrines of individual immortality and judicial reckoning, and eternal retribution; an actual heaven and an actual hell. Nothing remains at last but mere abstract infinite thought, without character, without history, without law: “The world by wisdom knew not God.” Thus the extremes of all-knowing science, ashamed to wonder at anything, and stupid star-gazing bewilderment, looking out for wonders everywhere, meet in a denial of the one only all-wise and almighty God. The Jew, vaguely clamouring for a sign that may appeal to his mere sense of the marvellous, and the Greek, politely smiling at all marvels, and affecting to embrace all things in heaven and earth in his philosophy; both alike miss what is lying at their door; what alone has in it anything, - what alone has in it everything, - of the Godhead that is attainable here below; the Christ whom we preach; Christ crucified; Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. I. Consider now this Christ as the power of God and the wisdom of God. He is so essentially, being true and very God, the Eternal Son of the Father, the “Word which in the beginning was with God, and was God. And as the Word made flesh, Immanuel, God manifest in the flesh, he is still, in his person, character, and work, the power of God and the wisdom of God. But now, to conceive of him aright in this view, it is necessary to inquire what sort of power, what sort of wisdom he is; or, in other words, to distinguish carefully power, as the power of God; wisdom, as the wisdom of God, from the broken images of these elements of majesty which pass for power and wisdom among men. With us, power is commonly violent, and wisdom artful, ingenious, inventive. We measure power by the din, and noise, and tumult it creates; we measure wisdom by its shrewd guesses and apt contrivances and plans. But nothing of all this is to be found about the holy Jesus! He makes no mighty stir when he exerts his power. He surprises by no mere exercise of ingenuity when he manifests his wisdom. Calmness, simplicity, repose, and what might almost be called unconsciousness, are the features that most distinguish his manner. There is nothing fitful or capricious in Christ as the power of God; nothing like the putting forth of a giant’s or a tyrant’s might. There is nothing strained, and refined, or artful, in Christ as the wisdom of God. His wisdom is not mere knowing or cunning. Power with him is serene and unimpassioned. Wisdom with him is always self-possessed; calm and clear in the unruffled fulness of its infinite forethought, and foresight, and insight. And hence the grandeur of his character. Excitement may be great, but repose is greater. Samson, among his enemies, is terrible for the blows he wildly deals. Hushai, David’s friend at the court of Absalom, is admirable for the tact with which he turns the counsel of Ahithophel to foolishness. But more sublime by far is the eye that smote Peter’s heart, and the voice that knew so well to speak a word in season to the weary! The power of Jesus in working miracles is a quiet look or word. He speaks and it is done. The wisdom of Jesus in all his teaching is the pure transparency of truth. He speaks as one having authority, and not as the scribes. The testimony is true: “Never man spake like this man!” Now it is as being thus in himself, personally, the power of God and the wisdom of God, that Christ is constituted and appointed, officially, to be the head of all principality and power. The government is upon his shoulders. As being the power of God and the wisdom of God, he is the representative to you of him with whom you have to do; either now, for peace, or at the last, for judgment. His being the power of God and the wisdom of God brings out the principle and manner of all the Lord’s dealings with you. Into his hands, and to his disposal, you are, one and all of you, whether willingly or against your will, given over. And it is as bearing upon that view of your position, that you are most deeply concerned to know how, in what sense, and to what effect, Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God. Take, for instance, first, his government of the world now, his providence alike over the godly and over the unjust. How few consider this rightly! What really is my position here, as consciously a criminal, having broken the law of God, and incurred its righteous and inevitable doom? I am in the grasp of one who, as to power, can crush my utmost strength; and who, as to wisdom, can baffle my shrewdest scheme. Yes! But my strength is not thus crushed, my scheme is not thus baffled, however they may both be against God. Hence I dream of escaping his arm, and eluding his eye! Were he, as my adversary, meeting me at every turn; matching his force, at every effort I make, with mine; and counterworking every plot of mine, as it is hatched, by a deeper and more dexterous policy of his own; - were he thus, ever in detail, and step by step, measuring his strength directly with my strength, and closely tracking every turn and winding of the subtle spirit of evil within me; then, by actual contact and resistance, I might feel the reality of that power which I so madly brave, and that omniscient wisdom which I so vainly seek to outmanoeuvre or to outwit. But he lets me alone. There is no palpable pressure of his hand against my hand; no trace of his keen eye detecting and defeating each several device of my wily course of sin. He smites not. He speaks not. It might almost seem that he cares not, that he sees not. Hence guilt in my conscience waxes bold and defiant; and guile in my spirit, the guile of self-excuse and self-justification, becomes more and more seductive, satisfying, and soothing. Alas! I forget that he in whose hands I am is not one to bandy stroke for stroke, or stratagem for stratagem, with me. His is a far more formidable power. His is a far more awful wisdom. Silent he sits on high, while I, a worm of the dust, am exhausting the resources of my impotent force and fraud in desperate struggles to get the better of him, or to get away from him; rejecting his blessed gospel; resisting his gracious Spirit; and all the while trying to persuade myself that his power, after all, may not actually be put forth so as to reach to my utter destruction; and that his wise and holy searching may stop short of inexorable detection and discovery, and arrest, and judgment. Oh! to be awakened in time from this delusion, and made to know, by the Spirit’s living and experimental teaching, that it is not power and wisdom expended beforehand, in petty skirmishing, as it were, that is most to be dreaded by the children of guilt and guile; but power and wisdom held in reserve for one final and irrevocable reckoning. It is hard to kick against the pricks, or evade the eye of him before whom hell is open. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God. Who may stand before the wrath of the Lamb, when the great day of his wrath is come, and, in the character of Judge, he appears, the power of God and the wisdom of God, to render to every one according to his works? The power of the Judge then, who may defy? His wisdom, who may question? Dare I venture next, secondly, to raise the curtain that hides the abode of misery beyond all time? The lost! They who have fallen into the hands of the living God! What a wall of brass is all around; what a keen, searching, blasting, withering light is all above the dark pit and prison of their doom! And how is the horror enhanced by the fixedness and passionless repose of the power and wisdom that together hold them fast in the vengeance of eternal fire! Were it power with which they could grapple in the impetuous strife of a hand-to-hand engagement; were it wisdom with which they coukl keep up a game of ever new craftiness and subtle shifts, they might, though defeated, have a sort of desperate solace in the excitement of such personal battle and the angry feelings of defiance they might thus vent against their tormentor. Some such idea the grand tragic poet of ancient Greece has embodied in his sublime and awful picture of a human spirit, brave and shrewd, plunged into hot debate with the omnipotence and omniscience of Jove. Chained to his immovable rock, with the deathless vulture preying on his vitals, the criminal, - his strength and sagacity unimpaired by all his sufferings, - rises to a hero in his keen encounter of personal antagonism with the god of whose mere brute force and cunning craft he is the unsubdued and indignant victim. Even Christian poets have given colour to the delusion of a sort of active strife with the Almighty and All-wise, on the part of fallen angels and lost men. But Scripture affords no warrant for the thought. Look at the evil spirits meeting Christ when he was on earth! See how vainly and impotently they chafe and fret in the presence of their appointed Judge. Terribly do they vent their rage, whether in one final convulsive onset on the poor sufferers whom they are ordered to let go, or in such frenzy as that of seizing the herd of swine. But the calm majesty of Jesus himself they could not face. With him, the power of God and the wisdom of God, there is no contending; no room for effort or device of any kind. Ah! that cry of theirs, “I know thee who thou art, the Holy One of God.” Is it not the cry of utter helpless, prostrate, passive wretchedness; of dreary imbecile submission; the presage of a dark and hopeless unrelieved eternity of woe. And it is this same Jesus, the Holy One of God, that you, impenitent sinner, must have to do with in the day of judgment, and throughout the endless ages! Most appalling is he in the heat of his fierce anger, when he rides forth red with the blood of enemies, taking swift and summary vengeance on nations of the ungodly, and treading the winepress of the fury of the Most High! I explain away none of these tremendous images; earth seems about to know their meaning and reality too well! But more appalling, if possible, is Christ the Judge, in the aspect he wears when such scenes of carnage are over; when, seated on the great white throne and holding in his hand the eternal awards, he appears in the serene, unruffled majesty of the power of God and the wisdom of God! What shall the sinner do within the arm, beneath the eye, of such power and such wisdom? Is it a power put forth in impulses? Is it a wisdom open to failure of plan or change of purpose? If that were the case, there might be times of relaxed effort, of which advantage might be taken; there might be room somehow, and some day in the long lapse of everlasting years, for some shifts or suggestions, or expedients of relief. But, alas! alas! for those whose doom is pronounced by him who is no fitful or capricious adversary, but himself the very power, the very wisdom of God. It cannot but be a doom, resistless, changeless; with neither ray of hope, nor even any lightning flash of some last effort of despair, to break the monotonous gloom of its endless, restless night. Ah! be thankful that he comes to you now, once more at least, ere he comes for such judgment as this. Still more be thankful that he comes not to you, as the devils complained that he came to them, to torment you before the time. For, thirdly, it is chiefly in his cross that Jesus is to be considered as the power of God and the wisdom of God. In every view of it, the work of redemption is pre-eminently a work of power and wisdom; and he who would undertake it must be possessed of these perfections in all their fulness. But a redeemer or mediator might be imagined, having power and wisdom, not properly of God, but distinct from God’s; power, for instance, to prevail by mere vehement importunity of intercession; wisdom to discern and seize relenting moments for overcoming the resentment of an offended Deity and procuring for the offender a measure of indulgence. Such in fact, is the vulgar notion of mediation, in all heathenism, whether pagan or popish, in all fond superstition and every religion of mere terror and alarm. And such, it is to be feared, is the notion, at least in part, which some who should know better, still have of the mediation of Christ. But such notion, by whomsoever entertained, we condemn as unscriptural, and indeed blasphemous. The imputation of it to evangelical theology generally we repudiate with just indignation. Christ indeed, as Mediator, has all power, - power over his own life to lay it down and to take it again, power, as the true Israel, the prince, to prevail with God; and in him are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. But the power he has is identified with that of the Father, and his wisdom with the Father’s wisdom. It is, and must be so. For the possible availableness, if I may so speak, of his power and his wisdom for your redemption, depends on his intimate personal oneness with the Father, and the thorough counsel of peace that is between them both. “I and my Father are one.” And then consider how this power and this wisdom, being thus of God, became actually available for your redemption. By what sort of power, by what sort of wisdom, can guilty sinners be redeemed? The redemption of the soul - how precious is it! To create a world is, with the Almighty, but the utterance of a word. He spake and it was done; he said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. To fill the world he creates with all various instances and illustrations of adaptation and design, in its material elements and structures, in its animal tribes, in man, the head and crown of all, is with the All-wise but the unfolding of himself in his manifold works. But no mere word of power, no mere fiat of the Almighty, not his simply saying. Let it be, can undo the fact of sin, or alter its nature; make it either, as it were, no longer a real existence, or no longer exceeding sinful. Guilt cannot thus be cancelled or purged. And even infinite intelligence, considered simply as such, could but foresee the inevitable and inexorable necessity of the sentence of retribution, and find no expedient for modifying or evading it. Is there then, even with the Highest, no eye effectually to pity, no arm strong to save? Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world! See that willing servant, that divine sufferer, made under the law, bearing the weight of all your obligations and all your liabilities under the law. See him on the cross, meeting as the substitute of the guilty, the doom of guilt, its very real and actual doom, the sting of sin, the curse, the wrath of God! Has divine power, has divine wisdom, no means of escape or exemption for him, for him the holy one, for him the beloved of the father, from such a fate as that? Is there no relief for him, through any exertion of power or any exercise of wisdom, from the dire necessity of paying the uttermost farthing, enduring the extremest penalty, draining the cup of imputed guiltiness and inflicted judgment to the very dregs? None, absolutely none, if he is to be the surety and Saviour of sinners. Power says, I have no arm to break the bonds of law. Wisdom says, I have no device for evading the claims of law. Power may be great, and wisdom greater; but the holy supremacy of law is above all. It is not possible for the cup to pass! Himself he cannot save! Yes! In the case of this divine victim, thus laid on the bloody altar of atonement, even divine power must fail, and divine wisdom, as it may seem, be helpless, No voice from heaven can arrest the sacrifice; no ram caught in a thicket can release that only begotten Son of the Father! He is crucified through weakness. He died, one might almost say, as was said of Abner, he died as a fool dieth. As a man falleth before wicked men, so fell he. “But the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.” He, on whose own behalf personally and for whose own deliverance, in that dark and dread crisis, divine power was as weakness, and divine wisdom was as foolishness, becomes through that very weakness and that very foolishness, effectually and savingly the power of God, and the wisdom of God, powerful now to save the lost, wise to win souls. He saveth others; sinners, me the chief of sinners, he saves. And he saves not by an act of power doing rude violence to the holy sanction of law; not by such wisdom as might seek, like our worldly and carnal wisdom, to compromise them; but powerfully and wisely in accordance with strictest law, most strictly applied, on the very footing of the authority of the law and the lawgiver being anew ratified, confirmed, and sealed. Thus is Jesus able to save his people to the uttermost. With a strong arm now he breaks all their bonds, and leads them forth by the right way, that they may go to a city of habitation. For now, on their behalf, and for the weakness and foolishness of the cross he bore for them, he is at fullest liberty, he has the most unquestionable right to expend all the resources of the power and wisdom that are his. In him now no accuser can ever challenge their standing as accepted in the Father’s sight; for he answers every charge. It is God that justifieth. Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, and ever liveth at the right hand of God, to make intercession for us. Having power now through his great sacrifice, to purge away all your guilt and pardon all your sins, - power to give the Holy Ghost for the perpetual washing of your souls in that pure fountain of blood and water, will he not, by the same power, keep you through faith unto salvation? Having wisdom, even the knowledge and revelation of God, wisdom to open to you his own heart and the heart of his Father, and by the Spirit of wisdom to draw your hearts to himself and to his Father, will he not wisely guide your feet in the way of peace? will he not give you the wisdom that is profitable to direct; making you wise unto that which is good, wise even unto salvation? Thus Christ crucified is to be seen and owned as the power of God and the wisdom of God. II. Is he really so to you? That now is the question, to which the answer is found in 1 Corinthians 1:30 : “Of him are ye in Christ Jesus, who of God is made unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption.” There is here a double work of God; making you Christ’s, and making Christ yours; causing you to be in Christ Jesus, as he is, the power of God and the wisdom of God, and causing him to be to you that very wisdom and that very power which he is himself. The work is a divine work, in which the Holy Ghost is the agent; the Holy Ghost shutting you up into Christ, and taking of what is Christ’s and showing it to you. Blessed indeed is the correspondence of these two divine operations to one another. To be by a divine work, yourselves in Christ Jesus; and by a divine work also, to have Christ Jesus made all things to you! Yes, I say all things! For what is there that is not embraced in this complete and comprehensive enumeration? Let us briefly note the particulars of this experimental Christianity; Christ made of God unto us wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption. 1. He is made of God unto you wisdom. He is made of God to you in your experience, that very wisdom of God which he himself is. For all your wisdom is still only Christ. Christ known; Christ believed; Christ applied to you by the Holy Spirit, and appropriated on the warrant of the free call and command of the gospel; Christ, in short, grasped as yours, nay rather, grasping you as his. Thus you become wise, wiser than the ancients, wiser than your teachers, when Christ alone is all your wisdom. Ah! what wisdom, holy, heavenly, divine, does a simple acquaintance with Christ and him crucified impart to very babes! What intelligence and what clear insight on things hidden from the wise and prudent! What an understanding of God has such a one, of his character, his ways, his truth and love; and what an understanding of all things as seen in the light of God, his law, his will, his promises. “No man knoweth the Father but the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son shall reveal him.” What manner of knowledge is this? How does the Son himself know the Father? For he to whom the Son reveals the Father must know the Father even as the Son knows him. Therefore you to whom Christ is made wisdom, even the wisdom of God, are near to God as Christ is near. You see God even as Christ sees him. You have an insight into his very heart, and into all its yearnings of compassion, pity, tenderness, and love. And your knowledge of him is, like Christ’s, a knowledge of holy sympathy, of blessed complacency, of willing submission even to what in his dealings generally may seem most mysterious, and what in his dealings with you particularly may seem sorest, and hardest, and darkest. You know him so as to say, “Though he slay me, I will trust in him.” You know him so as to say, “The cup which my Father giveth me, shall I not drink it?” You know him so as to justify his utmost severity in visiting sin, and to magnify the riches of his forbearance and lovingkindness in receiving sinners such as you are so graciously, loving them so freely, blessing them so abundantly. 2. Not is this wisdom barren and theoretical merely, abstract speculation, and nothing more: it is intensely practical. For it is allied to power. He who is of God made to you wisdom, is also made of God to you power; power effectual (1) for your justification through his righteousness; (2) for your sanctification by his indwelling Spirit; and (3) for your redemption, under his government, from all the effects of sin, the ills of life, the power of Satan, the sting of death, the victory of the grave. Consider these three particulars in respect of which Christ is made of God to you power as well as wisdom. (1) He is made of God to you righteousness. He who knew no sin is made sin for you, that you may be made the righteousness of God in him. You are in yourselves sin, altogether sin, and sin only. Sin is, as it were, your very being; your essential nature, as fallen and corrupt. Guiltiness, helpless, hell-deserving guiltiness, is the sum and substance of your spiritual state, of your life, which is simply death. But in Christ you are made - he is made of God to you - righteousness, the righteousness of God. What an instance of power, of omnipotence! One moment you are a criminal, a guilt-laden, hell-doomed criminal. The next you are an acquitted, justified, righteous, and loyal subject of heaven’s kingdom! Surely there is power in this marvellous transformation! not the power of mere might or magic, but power allied to wisdom; power working in the line of a wise harmonising of the holy claims of the righteous God and the helpless need of sinful man. Still there is divine power here, even the working of the mighty power which God wrought in Christ when he raised him from the dead. He quickens you together with Christ when he justifies you. He raises you from death to newness of life. (2) To you who are of God in Christ Jesus he is made of God sanctification. Personal holiness of character, as well as righteousness for your right judicial standing before God, you find in Christ, in Christ himself, in Christ himself alone, not merely in his doctrines and the influence they are fitted to exert; not in his pure precepts and the sanctions by which they are enforced; not in his example and the sweet constraint by which it should draw you to follow his steps; not in any or in all of these together, though all are instrumental, helpful, indispensable; yet not in them have you this holiness, but in him, in himself, his living self, himself alone. He is made of God unto you sanctification. Oh! what power, what virtue is there in that Holy One to turn the foulest thing he touches into purity and pure peace! Be sure, be very sure, thou whom indwelling sin is vexing; thou for whom inveterate, inborn corruption is too strong; thou who hast got some sense of the beauty of holiness, some taste and relish for the blessedness of holy love; thou who wouldst fain be rid of those carnal, worldly thoughts and lusts that trouble thee; thou who longest in real and right earnest to have the very same affections in thy bosom towards all things that are in the bosom of thy God; be sure that it is Christ himself who is thy holiness as well as thy peace; for he is made of God unto thee, not righteousness only, but sanctification also. Deal with him, directly and personally with himself, for the one grace as well as for the other. Abide in him, and let him and his word abide in you. Take his death as your own; his life also, his risen life, as your own. Die daily in and with him. Be daily renewed after the image of his life. For you are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God. Mortify therefore your members which are on the earth. You are dead. Let them be dead too. And let Christ, living in you, and shedding abroad in your hearts a sweet sense of the love of God, through the Holy Ghost being given to you; let Christ - made over to you as yours in the gospel; appropriated as yours by faith; lived upon, fed upon, tasted and enjoyed, in a growing experience of living fellowship and living trust - be more and more apprehended as being himself, in his death and in his life, the principle, the spring, the motive, the end and aim, of all your thoughts and all your activities. Thus he will be made of God to you, more and more powerfully, sanctification as well as righteousness, as you grow in his grace and in his knowledge. (3) Christ, as the power of God, is made to you redemption. Whatever of divine power is not included in your justification through his righteousness, and your sanctification by his Spirit is fully covered by this most comprehensive word, as it is here used, redemption. If the first two exhaust the whole of his justifying work for you and his sanctifying work in you, this last takes in all his work of rule and government over you; his entire administration of all things on your behalf and for your sake. As he is made unto you righteousness, jow. are just before God. As he is made unto you sanctification, you become holy, as God is holy. And now, as he is made unto you redemption, you, thus justified and sanctified, have all saving benefits secured to you. For what does not redemption, in its widest sense, embrace? Is it not a purchased deliverance from all the evils of sin, and a purchased title to all the glory of the heavenly inheritance? From the wrath to come, from death and him that hath the power of death, redemption fully saves you. It ensures your victory over all your enemies, even the last enemy, which is death. It takes the sting from death, and from all the grief which death occasions; for that sting is sin, and sin has no more power to bring you, or any loved brother in the Lord, under condemnation again. It makes you more than conquerors through him who loved you and gave himself for you. Then, positively as well as negatively, what does redemption contain? Father, what does it not? With a purchased deliverance from all the sad fruits of the fall, is there not joined a purchased right to more than all the blessedness and joy of paradise? All things are yours when you are of God in Christ Jesus, and he is made of God to you redemption. Peace with God is yours; assurance of God’s love is yours; the earnest of the Spirit is yours; adoption into the family of heaven is yours; brotherhood with the first-begotten is yours; to cry Abba Father as he did is yours; the chastenings of God are yours; the fulness of earth is yours; the march of providence is yours. And yours, in fine, is the crown, yours the palm, yours the triumph in that day when to him that overcometh he gives to sit with him in his throne, even as he also overcame, and is set down with the Father in his throne. Observe, in conclusion, the connection of the two topics. What Christ is of God, that he is to you who are of God in him. He is of God power and wisdom; he is to you wisdom and power. In Christ these divine attributes become yours; yours to be available on your behalf; yours to be appropriated and used as yours for all saving purposes. Does this seem too high for you? Nay, consider how Christ himself, is the power of God and the wisdom of God. Is it not in the humiliation of his cross? Be you one with him in that, crucified with him, accepting in his death your own death. Then are you one with him in all the power and prestige of his risen life. The connecting link between what Christ is of God, or as God’s, and what he is to you, or as yours, is his being wisdom. Observe, in this view, the alternation or change of order. On the part of God there is power put forth in Christ for your salvation; not power operating violently and lawlessly, but power seeking its end wisely, in the way of a wise adaptation to the essential perfections of the divine nature and the unchangeable principles of the divine government. On your part there is a wise spiritual discernment of this wise procedure of God, an intelligent sympathy with it, a cordial acquiescence in it, a willing consent to it. And thus there is found in it all power to save your souls; power to justify, and sanctify, and redeem. In the highest sense, therefore, knowledge to you is power. The wisdom of God, which Christ is, working in you wisdom toward God, becomes in you and to you saving strength. How complete is Christ for you, and how complete are you in him! The sovereign prerogatives of God are power and wisdom. And these now, in their very highest exercise, are identified with Christ, and with Christ crucified. The weakness of his cross is the power of God. The foolishness of the cross is the wisdom of God. This all holy beings confess. And in this you who are of God in Christ rejoice. For all is for your sakes, that in a way of consummate wisdom, and by a work of power beyond all measurement, you may be righteously and lawfully, and therefore thoroughly, saved. How glorifying to God is all this arrangement! It is of God that Christ Jesus, as mediator and redeemer, is constituted and recognised by the Father as the power of God and the wisdom of God. It is of God that you are, by the effectual working of the Spirit, in Christ. It is of God that Christ is made to you wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption. All is of God. Let no flesh glory in his presence. “He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord.” “For thus saith the Lord, Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, neither let the mighty man glory in his might, let not the rich man glory in his riches: But let him that glorieth glory in this, that he understandeth and knoweth me, that I am the Lord which exercise lovingkindness, judgment, and righteousness, in the earth: for in these things I delight, saith the Lord.” How vain is the notion of any other mediation than that of him who is at once the power and the wisdom of God, or any other salvation than what these sovereign prerogatives of the Godhead combine to secure. If there were any power in the universe that could overmaster the wisdom of God, any wisdom that could evade or elude the power of God, sinners out of Christ might have hope. If there were an arm of might that could defy the All-wise, or if there were a cunning craft that might undermine the resources of the Almighty, then, by power violently overmastering wisdom, or by wisdom evading power, you might think that somehow you had a chance of safety at the last. But, sinners in the hands of an angry God, and that God resistless in power and unerring in wisdom, how can you escape if you neglect the great salvation? Escape now by consenting to be of God in him who is made of God unto you wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption; who is to you all in all; who is all your salvation and all your desire. “Now to him that is of power to stablish you according to my gospel, and the preaching of Jesus Christ: to God only wise, be glory through Jesus Christ for ever.” “Unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 102: S. CHRIST'S CALL TO THE THIRSTY ======================================================================== CHRIST’S CALL TO THE THIRSTY “In the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying. If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink.” - John 7:37 THE last day of the Feast of Tabernacles was the eighth, a day of holy convocation. Why it was regarded by the Jews as the great day is not well known. In some respects it seemed to be less important than the other days; and indeed not so much a part of the feast, as itself a sort of supplementary and subsidiary feast to the other. The peculiar sacrifices appointed to be offered during the seven days were discontinued on the eighth, on which the common daily sacrifice alone was offered, and the booths in which the worshippers dwelt during the week were also abandoned on this last day, as if the ordinance, in so far as it was a Feast of Tabernacles, was now over. As a feast of ingathering, however, it was still honoured on the eighth day, by joyous processions of companies bearing branches of trees. On this last day they performed with peculiar state the ceremony of drawing water with joy from the wells of Siloam, or, as they interpreted them, the wells of Salvation. It was in the midst of this ceremony, in the course of its being completed in the temple, that Jesus arrested the assembled crowd by the proclamation: “If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.” The time was, if we may judge, well chosen. The feast has once more been celebrated, and to all appearance with no nearer prospect, no better sense or sight, of Jehovah’s presence than for many long years bygone. Many a disconsolate worshipper may have mourned, and mourned all the more sincerely the more spiritual his views were. The feast is over, and we have not found the Lord, the King. But let them stay for a little. On the very last day their attention is called, in a way most startling, to a humble Nazarene. They hear a voice of authority; they look, they see a present God. Surely the Lord is in this place and we knew it not. It is Christ, the King, who is even in the midst of their tents. They obey his call; they believe his promise; they need to wait no longer for his coming; they need to draw no more water from the cistern; they cast aside their pitchers; they stay not to waste precious time in a typical ceremony of their own devising when the reality which they meant to represent is at hand; they look beyond the ordinance to him whose presence blesses it; they have found the Lord amid the tabernacles, if not precisely in the character they expected, at least in the character most suitable. The feast has not gone by so desolate as they feared; their mourning is turned into joy, and it is indeed to them a festival of gladness once more. Thus seasonable and welcome might our Lord’s proclamation be to the humble worshipper at this feast, waiting for the consolation of Israel. The proclamation contains a call and a promise - a call (John 7:37); a promise (John 7:38). At present I ask your attention to the call. Consider, I., who are called, “If any man thirst;” II., what they are called to do, “Come,” etc. I. They who are called are the thirsty: “If any man thirst.” The figure here is evidently suggested to our Lord by the employment in which he found the people engaged. They were drawing water, and that implied thirst. By the very act which they were performing they professed and acknowledged that they thirsted. Our Lord takes them, so to speak, at their own word. He holds them confessed; they are all evidently athirst. He summons them to himself to drink. Here, in the first place, let the form of expression be noted: “If any man thirst.” And let it be observed that this does not by any means imply any restriction or reserve, any limitation or condition, any want of absolute and unconditional freeness in the invitation. It does not involve a doubt or suggestion that there may be some who do not thirst, and to whom, therefore, the call is not addressed, any more than the similar form - “if there be any virtue, if there be any praise” - is to be regarded as a doubtful supposition, and as leaving room for the idea that there might possibly be no virtue and no praise. On the contrary, the very universality of the call is in this way well enforced. “If any man thirst,” no matter who or what he may be - “If any man thirst,” in whatsoever circumstances and from whatsoever cause, “let him come.” The invitation, therefore, is given most widely and generally. It is to the utmost possible extent free and unconditional. “Ho! every one that thirsteth, come.” To say that the thirsting is a condition of the call is a mere abuse of language. It is as if I should say of the beggar whom I summon to my door to be fed, that my summons to him is conditional, the condition being his poverty; yet the proclamation. If any man be poor, let him come to my door and be fed, is surely most unfettered and unrestricted. Even so is the Saviour’s call: “If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink.” It is very true that a discussion may be raised on the point whether thirst denotes the want of a good thing or the desire of it - whether it means merely destitution actually existing, or destitution felt, and prompting the wish for a supply. I can conceive a man to thirst without being sensible of his thirst, or aware of what is needed to relieve it. His lips may be parched and his throat burning; he may pant and gasp in agony; yet the fury of insanity, or the very collapse of extreme and prolonged want, may deaden all his feeling, and he may spurn from him in mad passion, or reject in utter imbecility, the cup that would relieve and revive him. I might raise a question how far such an one is really embraced in the invitation: “If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink” - how far it may really be said to be available on his behalf - yet it would be the merest quibble to assert that my decision of that question at all affected the free and generous liberality of the invitation. My poor patient may be beyond the reach of the most earnest call, the most urgent offer; yet not the less on that account is the call entirely unconditional, and the offer, in every proper sense of the term, wholly unrestricted. I carry the cold water to the thirsty soul. If the man persist in his frantic or fatuous delusion that he does not need it, I waste not my time in proving that he, even in spite of that delusion, is at liberty or is called to drink; I simply press on him the refreshing draught, if by any means he may be persuaded to take it. I know that he needs it, and that he is right welcome to have it freely, and that is enough for me; and enough also for him - enough for me to make me persist in urging on him the call to come to Jesus and drink; enough for him to sober or to awaken him, to make him look and see one ready, not with a finger dipped in water, but with a large and copious draught to cool his burning tongue, his burning heart. If, on the other hand, I find him anxious for relief, and yet in doubt as to his ability to pay for, or his warrant to appropriate, what I offer, what fuller encouragement or assurance can I give than the very terms of this gracious proclamation of the gospel: “If any man thirst” - be he ever so poor, so vile, so worthless - “let him come unto me, and drink?” Let him that is athirst come; and whosoever will let him, without money and without price, take of the water of life freely. But, secondly, it is to be noted, the thirst, the destitution or desire here implied, while not in any right sense a condition of Christ’s offer, is yet plainly a characteristic of those receiving it. It is to you as thirsty that the invitation is addressed, and by you as thirsty that it is accepted. We may fitly, therefore, ask what this thirst means? not whether it is the want or the wish of a certain good; but of what kind of good it is the want or the wish, or both. Now, this thirst may be either general and unfixed, or it may be special and definite. It may be a thirst for something, many things, anything - we scarcely know or care what - or it may be a thirst for some one precise thing, of which we have in part a distinct conception. To both kinds of thirst, but especially, as I think, to the latter, is our Lord’s invitation in the text intended to be applicable. 1. It applies to the first sort of thirst. All more or less, at different times, feel a sense of destitution, an emotion of desire, vague, undetermined, variable, to which often they cannot assign any object, of which they cannot give any account. It is the common property of fallen humanity thus to thirst. It is the very misery of the state into which the fall has brought mankind, that, having lost the chief good, its proper state, it is vainly asking good elsewhere, ever seeking rest and finding none; wearied with an endless round and routine of vanity; to be at every step disappointed, dissatisfied, vexed, to see nothing in every part blessed, to experience no full contentment. This is the lot of all, and to this lot mere human wisdom tells you helplessly to submit. It can provide no remedy. But if any man thirst in this sense, to him the Lord Jesus, the true Wisdom, cries, “Let him come unto me and drink.” To the many who say, “who will show us any good?” is this invitation addressed. Let none in such a case put it away from him. To each and all of you who are living without God does it belong, for who is he among you all that does not thirst? You may say, and sometimes think that you are rich, and have need of nothing; that you have much goods laid up for many years; that you may take your ease and be merry. Engaged in the active business of life, and taking a decent share in its pleasures, fulfilling its common duties, and cultivating its common charities, you seem to be on the whole as happy as in this frail state you can expect to be. But is there no misgiving, occasionally, of your own mind, as though all were not exactly as you could wish? Is there no one point on which your temper is sore, and your spirit discontented; no bitter in the cup; no Mordecai at the gate? Is there no feeling of despondency coming back from time to time; no aching void within, of which, at such seasons you are conscious; no craving appetite for something untried; no longing for a change, whatsoever it might be; no secret envy or repining; no dark sense of something being wanting, without which all that you have yet attained availeth you nothing? Oh but, you will say, such, a feeling arises from a cause which you can trace. You have met with some loss that has upset your fortitude. You have failed in some favourite pursuit, and you are for a little cast down. Or, if you have succeeded, some unlucky chance has marred your satisfaction. There is a little drawback which you did not foresee. You can tell well enough how it happens that you are disquieted, and you will soon have all put to rights. You will repair the loss you have sustained, or forget it. You will rectify the error you have committed. You will supply the deficiency you have discovered. But one step more, patience for a little longer, let but this one measure more be taken, this one plan be executed, and all will be well. Alas! and is it possible that you can be thus deluded, after all your experience of the deceitfulness of such a promise? Or, perhaps, you will acquiesce in such thirst as a necessary evil, inseparable from your nature and condition: with a frail constitution, and in a changing world, your spirits cannot always be equal, and you may be often ready to complain you know not why, and to long for you know not what. Still, you can but hope, by time and a good temper, to get the better of such morbid sensations; and, at all events, such as you are, and such as life is, you must even contrive to make the most of it. Nay, but here is Christ saying to you, “Come unto me and drink.” Here is one exhorting, intreating you to make a very simple experiment, to adopt a very simple cure. Do not tamely submit to a burden so intolerable. Do not rest in a state so unworthy of a reasonable being. Your conscious uneasiness indicates something wrong. Do not hastily conclude that the wrong is irremediable. At least listen to the suggestions of the Saviour; for you have no right to suppose that your case is beyond relief till you have tried all expedients, and this among the rest. You have been pitching your tents in a dreary desert, or in a city of vanity. You have reaped many a harvest, and kept many a harvest-home. You have decked and garnished the hard realities of sordid, commonplace existence with many rich tokens of your Maker’s bounty, and in gathering in the fruits of all your labour that is under the sun, you have done your best to rejoice, and you have called your neighbours to rejoice along with you. But in this feast of tabernacles, to which at the very best your plan of life may be compared, have you discovered, have you recognised the Lord himself in the midst of all, and have you acknowledged him as the centre and source of all? And is it any wonder, that when he who is himself alike the Author and the End of the whole feast, is unobserved and unregarded by you, or noticed only as one giving good counsel to the busy crowd, or as the voice of one crying in the wilderness, you receive not the full measure of joy that the scene and the circumstances might seem fitted to yield? that you are still conscious of a void, a vacancy; something wanting, something you fain would grasp, but cannot? Cannot! No. You cannot, until you hear, as even now you may hear his voice: “Come unto me, and drink.” Hear it now. As you are in this wilderness, pitching your tabernacles, as for a feast, be sure you cannot do any longer without him. And you need not. He is calling you: “Come unto me, and drink.” Come now. Only be sure that you come now, and drink. You may have met with the Lord Jesus on former days of this world’s festival, as you passed to and fro among the tents and booths of its vanity fair. You may have treated him courteously, respectfully, reverentially. You may have listened occasionally to his instructions, and thought well of him and of his Gospel, as a somewhat forward and officious, yet still useful, monitor; and, as you went about the formal business of each day, you may have waited on his ministry for a little ere you hastened to draw water out of the cisterns which you yourself were hewing out. But now, to some of you it must be the last; oh, that it were also the great day of the feast: now Jesus stands before you, crying: “Come unto me, and drink.” Behold in him, not a mere attendant at the feast, to whom you do well from time to time to give heed, but the Lord of all, by whom and for whom expressly, the whole is instituted and ordained. Dwelling for a brief season in tabernacles, oh, let Jehovah, as your king, dwell in the midst of you. Behold him condescending to take up his abode among you; visiting you in your own nature, and amid your present habitations; not disdaining to share with you your earthly house of this tabernacle; making himself even bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh. O, say, if coming thus to join you in the tents wherein you sojourn, he is to be coldly received, as an intruder, or listened to merely with respect when he speaks to you now and then. Nay, rather arise and come to him with your whole heart; give him the place to which he rightfully has claim. Remodel the whole festival on the principle of his supremacy. Let Christ he all in all; his salvation the one thing needful. Give his Gospel fair and full scope. Let it have free course, and lead you to fulfil the high end of your being. Let it bring you wholly to God, that he may rule and reign over you. Ah! then, see if your thirst will not then be appeased, and your soul satisfied. You thirst, because you are made for communion with God, and no other fellowship can stand for his. Then, let every one that thirsteth come unto the waters, “and he that hath no money; come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Wherefore do ye spend your money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearken diligently to me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness.” The cisterns which you have hewn out to yourselves are broken, and can hold no water; but the fountain of living water is still open to you. You have been seeking more from the world than it was ever fitted or intended to yield. It is the tabernacle of your pilgrimage; it cannot be a home for your hearts: good for many uses, if you turn it not to that for which it never was designed; but not good for your chief joy. The immortal spirit within you has a capacity above, and an appetite beyond it. The Lord himself is its only portion. Seek ye then the Lord, and let your souls thirst for the living God. He will dwell with you. The Lamb will lead you beside living waters. Your souls will be satisfied with the goodness of the Lord, for with him is the fountain of life. So will you enjoy God, and, enjoying him, you enjoy more than others the very feast of life itself. You expect not too much from it. You take its fruits at their true worth and value, and for all its losses you have a never-failing substitute in the Lord. 2. The thirst referred to in the invitation of our Lord maybe regarded as somewhat more definite and precise, as the thirst not only generally of a dissatisfied spirit seeking some good; but specially, as the thirst of a guilty conscience, a heart estranged from God, seeking or needing peace. They whom our Lord addressed were thirsty in this sense; at least they were acting as if they were thus thirsty. They were drawing water, as they fancied, from the wells of salvation. The waters which they drew represented spiritual and saving blessings of which they stood in need, the blessings of which the Holy Spirit is the author; and the fact of their being employed in drawing these waters was a plain admission of their need of these blessings. Some of them, no doubt, conceived that these waters actually supplied their need, and so were contented and at ease when they had performed the ceremony. Others again felt that something more was wanted, and these, notwithstanding their punctual observance of this rite, were still restless and disquieted. To both alike does the Saviour say: You are drawing water which, whether it satisfies you for the time or not, cannot really quench your thirst, - “Come unto me, and drink.” Thus also in regard to you, to whom now the same invitation is given, we may appeal to your own consciousness and your own conscience, and ask, Do not you yourselves admit it to be an invitation both suitable and seasonable? Does not your own inward sense acknowledge; does not your own conduct, even in the matter of religion, prove that the blessing which the Lord Jesus offers in his Gospel is a blessing which you need? The very expedients to which you have recourse, whether they be ordinances of God’s appointment, or devices of your own hearts, show that you are thirsty, and that, more or less distinctly, you know and feel your thirst. By every devout observance of which, in any measure, you make conscience, your omission of which pains and distresses you, your compliance with which gives you some sensible relief, - by every act of worship or of duty which you perform, with any sense of its being necessary to your standing right with God, - by your consciousness of an obligation to pray, - by your stated or occasional reading of the Bible, and your self-reproach if that exercise be omitted, - by your appearance, either regularly or at intervals, in this house of God, from habit or from principle, or because you cannot bring your mind to acquiesce in the entire discontinuance of the practice, - by every act of homage, in short, which you feel bound to render to religion, - by everything you do under an impression that it concerns your spiritual welfare to do it, - you show that you really need, and that in part at least you desire, that very thing which Jesus offers. It is of no consequence in this view, whether what you do satisfies yourselves or not; whether the want, which you practically acknowledge is, by the measures which you adopt, supplied as you might wish, or not. It is with the want itself that the Gospel has to do. It is enough that Christ sees you trying, in any measure, to draw water from the wells of salvation. Whether you think that you are now succeeding or not, he calls you to abandon your present plan, and to come unto him and drink. On the subject of your relation to God, and what is necessary for your peace with God, you may have a very convenient latitude of conscience, and you may be easily satisfied. You may not be aware of any very serious controversy between you and your Maker, nor very much affected by his absence from your feasts and solemnities. You may contrive on something of the principle of a tacit understanding or of mutual courtesy and forbearance, to be, as you think, on very good terms with the Lord and his gospel, listening devoutly enough when you think it is his time and turn to speak, that he may let you alone at other times when you think it is your turn to be busy elsewhere. And when the palm-trees are waving amid the sacred tabernacles, and the hymns are duly ascending, in the decent and comely beauty of your holy convocations you are readily inclined to believe that there can be nothing very far wrong, and so you may be pleased and pacified, though the light of God’s countenance be not at all before your eyes, nor the sense of his favour in your hearts, nor the dew of his Spirit on your soul. Or it may be that your conscience is not so easily appeased, nor the fears of guilt so quietly allayed, nor your mourning for an estranged or absent God so readily comforted. You go heavily, because you find not the Lord. You are seeking him earnestly in the means of grace which he has himself ordained, and in others perhaps which you yourselves have added. You go up to every festival, to every solemnity. You multiply sacrifices and prayers. You pitch your tent with the rest in the solemn season. But alas! you meet not your God reconciled and returning to visit you. You cannot desist from such observances, because you feel you would be worse if you did. But at the same time you are often tempted to feel as if they were all in vain. You have a sense of the evil of your alienation from God, and a sight of the condemnation under which you lie. You have some conception of the claims which God has over you, and some sad conviction of your own helpless inability to fulfil them. And the more you strive and strain to approve yourself in any measure faultless before God, and win back his favourable regard, the more are you crushed under an increasing burden of guilt, by your increasing reverence of the high majesty of God, and the exceeding breadth and spirituality of his law. Well. And what then! “What now is to be done? You thirst. That surely is a truth, a great fact, whatever your precise feeling of your state at this or that moment may be; whether partially and for a time your sense of sin is deadened, and your anxiety about peace with God allayed; or whether you are in bitterness and anguish of soul, crying, What must I do? you thirst. Your heart is not right with God. You are not settled, not thoroughly satisfied. Then yours, let me tell you, is the very case for which provision is here fully and freely made. Jesus stands here and cries, “If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.” To you, whosoever you are, who have lost the favour and fellowship of God, Jesus stands and cries, “If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.” Go not to expedients of man’s devising. Listen not to arguments of Satan’s suggesting. Be not contented with a few miserable and doubtful drops of comfort got from some loose notion of mercy and indulgence. Here is Christ, having all blessings now in store for you, pardon, peace, reconciliation, renewal, hope, joy, the water of life: come unto him without hesitation, without delay, without fear, without doubt. Come unto him and drink freely, copiously, continually. II. The invitation is as simple as it is suitable: Come unto me and drink. It is explained in the verse which follows that these expressions denote faith; for to both of them, or rather to the two together and jointly, do we refer the interpretation implied in our Lord’s saying, “He that believeth on me,” that is, cometh unto me and drinketh. It is the same principle of faith in double action; or, to make it plain, it is faith viewed (1) as the faith of application, (2) as the faith of appropriation. 1. It is the faith of application. Let him come unto me. But now this might seem to present an insuperable difficulty if we did not consider that he who says “Come unto me” is himself near, and that he is drawing men to himself Let him come unto me; here I am, not far to seek, not long to wait for. It is not with you as with the infirm man at Bethesda, doomed to be tantalised with sight of troubled waters too distant to be available on his behalf. Jesus draws near - to the very bed of the palsied man - to the very door of your heart. Here am I. Come. And then, too, he has power to give ability. He attracts, draws, by the manifestation of his grace, by the power of his Spirit. All may, and through power of his grace, can come. He makes you welcome; he makes you willing; come. Only lay it well to heart that it is to himself you are to come. He says: let him. come unto me. He does not hand you over to any others that may stand between himself and you. He does not hand over to you blessings apart from himself. Come unto me; transact with me; deal with me. It is not merely I will give you rest; but in me ye shall have peace. Not merely he provides a righteousness for your acceptance; he is himself your righteousness. Not merely he imparts life to you; he is himself your life - he liveth in you. Not, I bestow resurrection and life; but I am the resurrection and the life. Yes; sinner, whoever you are, thirsting for what may meet and satisfy the aching void of a guilty conscience, a wounded spirit, a broken heart, a weary soul, it is with Jesus personally that you personally have to do. He is at the door; let him in; embrace him. Close with him when he offers to you, not his salvation, but himself Take him. Count all things but loss if you win him. Mark! - win him. Ah! there is often a misapprehension here; and poor sin-sick, sorrow-sick souls are needlessly perplexed and troubled. They are concerned about winning this or that spiritual gift from Christ. They are in heaviness, and well-nigh in despair, as to their getting peace, or pardon, or assurance, or comfort, or some sensible pledge of God’s love, or some sensible token of adoption and sanctification. If only they could get this assured hope of which they hear so much, it would be all well; they would be satisfied. Nay, but, dear brethren, are you not putting Christ’s gifts in the place of Christ himself? It is not with things you have to do, but with a person, a real living person. It is not his word merely, or his work, you are to look to and lean on, but himself - Jesus, your Lord. Oh! let this strange struggle between shyness and sluggishness, the hesitating embarrassment of endless doubt, and the simplicity of an honest and straightforward application to Christ at once, and once for all, come to an end. Be children; be little children! What questions does a little child ask, when, with open arms and beaming eye, the mother says, Come unto me? What hesitancy is there in the child’s guileless bosom? He is in a moment in the loved embrace; and the mother and the child are one. So let it be between you and that Saviour who says, Come unto me. Oh! wait not till all is cleared up, and everything explained to your satisfaction. Be not always asking about the why or the how. There is the loving and living Saviour, pointing to the stream flowing from his pierced side - his side pierced for you. Here are you, poor, needy, guilty, lost. Come unto me! he cries. Lord, here am I; take me - I am thine. 2. Thus applying to Christ, thus united to Christ, you appropriate all his benefits. You drink; you draw out of his fulness; you live upon his love. AIL that is his is yours; all that fills and satisfies his soul fills and satisfies yours. If you thirst for a settled peace, you have it in Christ. Drink, drink of the peace he giveth - the peace that passeth understanding - peace from anguish of conscious guilt - peace from strife of angry passions - peace with God. If you thirst for a sure and satisfying portion, you have it in Christ - drink. The favour of God, communion with God, joy in God, in contemplation of his glory, in participation of his grace and love - drink. If you thirst for moral purity, the perfecting of your spiritual nature, your deliverance from the weary sense of vanity that oppresses you in your intercourse with all things here below, your elevation to a clear, bright atmosphere of light and love, in which, with eye no longer dim and heart no longer heavy, you may mount to heaven on high, come to Christ and drink - drink into his spirit, into his mind; above all, his temper of obedience. Get into the very frame in which he was when he said: I thank thee, Father; even so, Father! Finally, if you thirst for comfort in sorrow, strength in weakness, help in danger, support in death; if there be any care or anxiety you long for grace to cast off, any sin you long for grace to overcome, any holy taste you long for grace to acquire, and confirm, and exemplify more and more; still come and drink. Nothing of all this can you get elsewhere than in Christ, or away from Christ. Abide in him; grow up into him; cleave to him. Whatever you need, seek not to attain to it directly, as if by an effort of your own; but go to Christ, seek it through Christ, seek it in Christ, seek Christ himself, and the thing you need and want will be yours. You cannot directly, by any exertion of your own, compass any spiritual achievement. If you complain of weak faith, by no wishing and working can you make it strong. If of a cold heart, no working in and upon the heart itself will warm it. Come to Christ; be ever coming unto Christ to drink! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 103: S. DEATH AND LIFE WITH CHRIST ======================================================================== DEATH AND LIFE WITH CHRIST. "For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God. " - Colossians 3:3. It is the Christian state that is here described; the state of the real Christian. And it is described in a twofold aspect; as a state of death, and a state of life. The paradox is not peculiar to this passage. We have it in Galatians 2:19-20. But it is put here in a very pointed form. Let us look at both sides. I. "Ye are dead." This is strong language to be addressed to true believers. But it is very gracious language. It is the reverse or opposite of what the apostle had said before - "Being dead in your sins and the uncircumcision of your flesh" (Galatians 2:13). Blessed be God! From that death you are delivered. But you are dead still. And it is your being dead still that explains your deliverance from the other death.I say, your being dead still; now and always. For the apostle does not speak of a single event, consummated at once- so as to be past and over; but of a prolonged and continued experience. He says not merely, Ye died or have died, with Christ, as on your first believing in him, and being made partaker. of his death. That would be true. For, in conversion, the sinner does indeed die with Christ, being buried with him by baptism into death, that like as Christ was raised from the dead, by the glory of the Father, even so, we shou1d walk in newness of life. But the text speaks ot merely of your dying once, but of your continuing to be dead. Ye are dead. The expression is quite indefinite. Ye became dead, and ye are dead still. It would thus appear that there are three stages of this death of believers. In their original state of unconcern and unbelief, they are dead. In their effectual calling by the Holy Ghost, they die. And ever after, so long as they remain on earth, they are to reckon themselves dead indeed (Romans 6:11). But, in another view, it is the same death throughout: the same state of being, only regarded, successively, in different lights. This death is, in other words, a name for your character and condition, as you are in yourselves. That character is enmity against God. That condition is liability to wrath. You are dead, as not naturally loving, or willingly subject to the Holy God, but estranged from him. You are dead, as lying helplessly under his righteous sentence of condemnation. The only difference, at different stages of your experience, lies in your apprehension of this death, this character of enmity, and this condition of condemnation, as really and justly your own! 1. Naturally, and until the Holy Spirit work a decided change upon you, in your effectual calling, you do not feel that such really is your character; you will not admit that such righteously is your condition. You put away from you the charge of enmity. It seems to you that you do, in some tolerable measure, love God, and that you do, to a considerable extent, serve him faithfully. It is true, indeed, as you must confess, that you are occasionally sadly apt to forget God, that you sometimes grow weary of his word and his worship, and that you take some little liberties with the strict letter of his commandments. You acknowledge also that you must plead guilty, at times, to the cherishing of thoughts and the indulgence of passions, the uttering of words and the allowance of practices, which perhaps may not be quite pleasing to him, and no doubt there are things in your temper and conduct which might be otherwise ordered if you were always remembering God. But all this is not inconsistent with a very fair amount of real reverence and regard for your Maker and his authority; any more than the frequent carelessness or waywardness of a stirring child must necessarily be incompatible with sincere love, at bottom, towards his parent. You cannot be constantly serious and on your guard. Perhaps, indeed, you might be more so than you are. You pretend not to be free from the error and infirmity of a heart, that may, at times, be too thoughtless of God, and too much engrossed with other objects. If that be the charge breught against you, you can understand its meaning and admit its justice. But to say that you have no love to God at all, - nay, that you positively hate God, - is more than you can admit. You are conscious of no such aversion. You can plead guilty to no such enmity. And in regard to the other element of this death, you put away from you also the sentence of wrath. For not realising your natural character as God’s enemies, you cannot realise your condition as condemned. You feel indeed that are not perfectly righteous, or altogether free from sin. You do therefore deserve some punishment at the hands of God, and you may need to be taught, by suffering some of the consequences of your heedlessness and folly, the necessity of greater prudence in future, Of course, also, you acknowledge that if God were to insist on the rigour of law to the utmost he might perhaps sentence you to eternal death. But it seems to you that it would be strange if he did so. He must surely deal with you more leniently, and as you think also, more fairly. And so when you hear of a judgment to come, you cannot imagine, that in your case, it be a very serious or alarming prospect; or if it were, you think it would be just. In this state of mind you are dead. you may be living in pleasure. But you are dead while you live. And your death consists in your being enemies to God and condemned by God. It is not merely your insensibility, or the deep slumber of your soul, or the dream of innocence and security, that constitutes this death. It is not your insensibility, but that to which you are insensible; your guilt and condemnation in the sight of an avenging God. Suppose that under some strange hallucination the doomed felon, with the very halter fixed round his neck, should make his escape for an hour from the inevitable scaffold, and assume his place in some hall of commerce, or around some festive board; he is dead, as a rebel, a convicted and sentenced criminal. But what is it that constitutes his death! Not the fitful madness which shocks his old companions as he thrusts his ill-omened presence among them; but the fact of his crime and the certainty of his doom. Let his drunken idiocy pass away. Let him once more realise his position. It is death still. This, then, is God’s word to the unconverted. Ye are dead. As God’s enemies, and as doomed criminals, ye are dead. You may be alive in your own opinion, but it is as Paul says he once was alive. It is without the law. "I was alive, righteous enough, safe enough, - aye I was even a favourite of heaven. Sin in me was dormant and dead. It seemed to me that all was right. Alas it was a delusion altogether. I was alive without the law. The instant the commandment came; the instant I was made to see and feel the full extent of God’s claims upon me, the searching spirituality and holiness of his law, the law of perfect purity, the law of perfect love; sin revived, it got strength and power, to convict, to condemn me, sin revived and I died. Yes, I died." 2. This is the second stage. In your effectual calling by the Holy Ghost you are made to recognise this death as real, and to acquiesce in it as just. Your enmity against God, and your condemnation by God, become sensible to your souls; and in a way which makes you feel the enmity to be inexcusable and the condemnation to be righteous. When the commandment came, I died; I lost all the life I thought I had, all the rights, all the strength, I once relied on. I died, a lost and guilty sinner, no longer justifying myself, accepting, owning, the sentence of death as justly mine. Ah! it is good thus to die, - to die thus now. Better that your sin should find you out, better that the commandment should come, and you should die now, than that the terrible discovery of what you are, the shock of the awakening to the reality of your death, should be reserved till the hour of doon. For your sin shall find you out. The commandment mutt come. Behold the awakened sinner, out of Christ, by himself, alone, meeting his offended God, and seeing him as he is, in the hour of awakening, in the day of judgment. No fond persuasion has he now that he has loved or served that God sufficiently. Instinctively he feels at last that it was in a very different spirit, and after a very different manner, that he ought to have honoured and obeyed that holy loving God. it is all in vain now to call to mind decencies and charities, forms of devotion and deeds of humanity. The truth now bursts on him; that the Eternal is a Sovereign; that he is a Father; and that to give less than what a sovereign may claim and a father ask, with whatever phrase of compliment or duty, is but to cover over real disaffection and radical estrangement of heart from him. At any rate, there now he stands, before the sinner’s startled eye, inflexible, uncompromising, terrible in his wrath. In the hands of an angry God, the arrested convict is held fast. He may affect to be angry too. Fain would he accuse the Just One of unfairness. Fain would he charge the God of love with harshness. But his own heart condemns him, proud and stubborn as it is. There he stands, resisting God, yet relentlessly doomed by him for ever. Were it not better far that your eyes should now be opened to that scene of holiness and of wrath, of unbending law and unrelenting judgment which one day, either now or hereafter, you have to face? Were it not every way better to have the bitterness of this death over? And may it not be so to you? Was it not so to Paul when he said - " I died"? "I through the law am dead to the law, that I might live unto God. I am crucified with Christ" (Galatians 2:19-20). When the law kills, it may be by a severe stroke. It may be a sharp, a stinging, death. The humiliation, the shame, the grief of it, may be trying to flesh and blood, to heart and conscience. There will be solemn awe and tenor in your awakening to the apprehension of your being indeed dead. But there will be no resistance, no resentment; no resistance to the holy sovereignty which you now feel you have slighted; no resentment against the righteous sentence of condemnation which you would now no longer, even if you could, evade. For when you thus die, do you not die in and with Christ "I through the law am dead to the law." The law kills, condemns, slays me, empties me of all conceit of life, inflicts and executes on me the grievous sentence of penal death. But lo! near me, making himself one with me, making me one with himself, in this very death, the Son of the very God whose law condemns me, the living Saviour! let me make his death mine, as he made my death his. If die I must let me die in Christ. let me be crucified with Christ. Oh! the blessedness, of thus perceiving, for the first time, what this death really is, in the cross of your dying Redeeme; and feeling yourselves to be dead indeed only when you die with him. Not that you have less seriousness or sadness, in this way of becoming acquainted with this death, than in the other way, of having trial of it by yourself alone without Christ. No! There is more, incalculably more. There is a deeper insight into the claims of God’s holy supremacy, and the corresponding inexcusable guilt of all your attempts towards a compromise with him. There is a livelier alarm at the thought of your prolonged estrangement from him. There is shame to which the unbroken heart is a stranger, and sorrow such as a sense of God’s love alone can cause. But along with all this, there is unquestioning submission, so that you justify God, even in that death to which he condemns you. How, indeed, can it be otherwise? You are crucified with Christ. You are dead in him. 3. As in your effectual calling, so in all your subsequent life on earth, you continue to be thus dead with Christ. In fact, you become so in your own esteem more and more. Your growing acquaintance with the character of God, with the excellency of his law, the reasonableness of its requirements, the fulneas of his grace, the riches of his salvation, discovers more and more your natural enmity against him. And then, is not your condemnation under the righteous sentence of the law more and more thoroughly realised! Your very union with Christ, by which you become interested in all the efficacy of his death, gives you a more searching insight into the meaning, the reality, the righteousness of that death, as endured by substitution for you, and as now, in all its actual import, made really, personally, consciously your own. Always you bear about with you the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus may be made manifest in your mortal bodies. Ye are dead. In and with Christ ye are habitually, constantly, dead. Your sin is ever before you. And the sentence of your sin is ever acknowledged, recognised, embraced by you, as really and justly yours. Ye are dead, and this very death is, in truth, your life. For who, or what shall slay you now, seeing ye are dead already? He who is low fears no fall. He who is already and always dead, what fear can he have of any farther death? What fear now of anything that may inflict death? Does the law again point against me the thunders of its deadly threatenings of wrath? What harm can they do me, since I am dead already? Are carnal ordinances and rudiments of the world, ceremonial rites and observances, brought up in formidable array to condemn me for for their neglect? How can they reach one who independently of them is otherwise, and by a prior right, confessedly and justly condemned before? I am dead, and against the dead no charge can be brought. I am dead, and over the dead no enemy has power. I am dead, and to the dead there is no more fear of death. This is my safety. This alone is my liberty to be always, in myself, dead. To cease for a moment to be so is to aspire to a life which I cannot sustain. It is to provoke the adversary to a new trial of strength with me, and to brave anew the judgment of God’s law. It is only as one dead that I am freed from sin, from its terrors, its temptations, its triumphs; and the more I die with Christ, entering into the meaning of his cross, reckoning myself to be condemned with him, the more am I able to defy every attempt to subject me anew, in any other way, to condemnation. To every challenge at any time which would require me now to answer for myself as a criminal or as a rebel doomed to death, my reply is that I am dead already. Or rather, it is Christ’s reply for me. "He is dead in me. My death is his." And I, believing through grace, acquiesce: "Yea; Lord, I am dead in thee. I live no more myself. It is thou who art my life. I live; yet not I: thou livest in me." II. As it is said of those who live in pleasure, that they are dead while they live, so it may be said of you who believe in Jesus, that you live while you are dead. And your life is hid with Christ in God. Follow Christ now, from earth to heaven; from the scene of his agony here below, to the scene of his blessed joy in the presence of the Father above. Enter within the veil, into the holiest of all, the very inmost recess of the sanctuary above, into which your Saviour has passed. What is the nature of this most sacred retreat? and what the Saviour’s manner of life there? In the bosom of the Father, in most intimate fellowship with the Father, he who liveth and was dead is now alive for evermore. And there, where he is, your life now is. It is with him, for he is your life. it is where he is, and as his, in God. And it is hid there. 1. ,Your life is with Christ. It is in fact identifed with him. He is your life, and ho is so in two respects. (i) You live with Christ, as partakers of his right to live. And oh! how ample is that right. For who is he with whom your life is now bound up He has life in himself In his own nature he is originally and eternally the living one. For you, who are dead, to be attached to him, ensures your life; since then all his right and prerogative of life becomes yours. Your life with Christ is thus the counterpart of his death for you; and as he was willing to make your death his own, so you need not scruple or hesitate to make his life yours. For he has store of life enough for himself and for you; and you need have no fear of drawing too largely on that store. Even his dying with you and for you did not exhaust it. Neither will his taking you to live with him. If I am struggling desperately and ready to sink in the billows of an angry sea, and if a friend cast himself in to save me, I may, by hanging upon him and clinging to him with the gripe of death, merely drag him down along with me to the depths of a watery grave. Or if he undertake to answer for me in the judgment, my miserable case may but serve to overwhelm him in the participation of my shame and guilt. He may merely succeed in destroying himself, by involving himself in the responsibility of my offence. But Christ, having life in himself, has power to lay down his own life, and has power to take it again. When I cleave to him, a wretched perishing sinner, the billows of wrath go over his head, and he tastes the death to which I am doomed. But nevertheless he lives still, he rises from the midst of the waves, he walks on the waters once more, and I, grasping his outstretched hand, nay, rather grasped by him in his strong arm, am forthwith in safety, with him, on the shore. He makes himself indeed answerable for my sin; and for any man, or angel, for any creature, however high, or however holy, to do this, could not but entail on him everlasting destruction, eternal death. But he is no creature. He is the ever-living Son, righteous and holy. And the burden which must have weighed down any other substitute or surety to hell, and that for ever, he can sustain and yet live. What a privilege to have my life with him! And may this indeed be my privilege? asks some poor trembling soul. Wherefore should it not? On what terms is it to become yours? In what character are you to appropriate it? In the character simply and exclusively of one dead. For what do you read as your warrant? "Ye are dead, and your life is with Christ." To be dead is the only requisite preliminary to your life being with Christ. And is not this your case? Are you not dead, as an enemy to God, righteously condemned by him? Then rejoice to know and believe that your life is with Christ. Ah! do you still hesitate? Are you waiting anxiously and impatiently until you find in you some symptom of a new-born spiritual life before you lay hold of Christ, or let him lay hold of you! Nay, nay, have done with this longing after a righteousness or life of your own. You feel that you have none. Be content that you should have none. Remember that it is not as one living, but as one dead, that you have your life in Christ. Yes, there is life in him for you, even for you who are dead. "When I am weak, then am I strong." When I am dead, then I live. (2.) As you live with Christ, in respect of your new right to live, so you live with Christ in respect of the new spirit of your life. For not only must you who are dead receive a title to live. You must besides receive power to take advantage of your title, to avail yourselves of it, and actually to live. And for both alike you must be indebted to Christ. Your right to live, and your power to live, are both with Christ. Your right to live is with him, as having life in himself. Your power to live is with him, as quickening he will. He has the residue of the Spirit. The Holy Ghost is given through him, in respect of that very righteousness of his through which he liveth, as just and justifying many. If you would have this life, then have it with Christ, with him altogether, and with him alone. He alone has it in himself; and he alone can make it yours. And still, once more, remember, it is as those who are dead, that you have this life with Christ, this right and this power to live. Say not, then, that you cannot live; that you have not life enough even to lay hold of the life which is with Christ for you. Neither the right to live, nor the power, is with you. Both are with Christ. "When we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly" (Romans 5:6). While ye are yet without strength, you are raised from death to life, by the mighty working of the same power which brought Christ again from the grave. "Awake, then, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light" (Ephesians 5:14). Say not that you cannot comply with this invitation, or accept this offer. who calls you is the same who commanded the sick man to rise and walk, who said to the dead man in his tomb, "Lazarus, come forth." You are dead. But your life is with Christ. His very word to you, when he says, Believe and live, is itself life; and dead as you are, he makes you hear his voice. And in hearing it, you have power to obey his call, to embrace the Saviour, and to be saved. 2. Further, this your life, being with Christ, must be where he is. It must therefore be in God. He is your life. And where he is, there is your life. But he is in the bosom of the Father. Thence he came to accomplish the purposes of humiliation. Thither he returned when these purposes were fulfilled, when the Father’s holy name was glorified, and the Father’s work of redeeming mercy finished. Youi life with Christ, therefore, is in God. For in his favour is life, and his loving-kindness is better than life. It is in God as its source and fountain. For all life, especially all spiritual life, is from the Father. "As the Father hath life in himself; so hath he given to the Son to have life in himself" (John 5:26). The Father raised him from the dead. He "brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant" (Hebrews 13:20). It is true that Christ had power to lay down his life, and he had power to take it again; and his own divine power was manifested in his resurrection, by which he was declared to be the Son of God with power. It is true also that the Eternal Spirit, the Spirit of holiness, was the immediate agent in this transaction. Still, the life which Christ condescended, as the risen Saviour, to receive on your behalf was from the Father, as its fountain. It had its source in the Father. And so also your life, with Christ, is in God, as its source. It is God that justifieth. It is he who reconciles you to himself. The grace, the favour, the love, the free forgiveness and full acceptance, in which this life consists, all flow from the Father; they are all his gifts to you, and for them all, you are continually, at every instant, dependent upon him. And as your life with Christ is in God as its source and fountain, so it is in God also, as its seat and centre and home. The life which the Father imparts finds its dwelling-place in himself. It consists in his favour, and it is exercised in his fellowship. The love, flowing from him, returns, and rests in him. We love him who first loved us. "Return unto thy rest, 0 my soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee" (Psalms 116:7). "Being justified by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ" (Romans 5:1). Again, your life with Christ is in God, as its model, or type, or pattern. "God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him" (lst John 4:6). Beholding his glory, we are changed into the same image. Living in God, we are conformed to his likeness. "He that loveth not knoweth not God, for God is love" (John 4:8). So, on other hand, your life with Christ being in God, you know and dwell in him. And, knowing him, you love. It becomes your very nature to love, even as it is his nature to love. Dwelling in him, you dwell in love; loving him because he first loved you, and for his sake loving your brother also. And your love in a measure is like that of God himself; pure, holy, disinterested, free, as his is; self-sacrificing, too, and self-denying; being that love which "suffereth long, and is kind; which envieth not; which vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things" (1 Corinthians 13:4-7). Thus imbibing his own spirit of love, and being kind even to the evil and to the unthankful, ye are the children of your heavenly Father, and are perfect, even as he is perfect. Once more, your life with Christ is in God, as its great end and aim - its motive and object. It is to him now that you live, for his glory, for his will, for his pleasure. Believing in Jesus, you are to the praise of his glory, to whose grave you are debtors. And your main concern now is, that God may be glorified in you still. This indeed is your very life, to glorify God. You live, then, only when you are seeking, desiring, longing for the advancement of his glory, and are willing that in you lie should be glorified, whether by life or by death. Such is your life in God, if it be life in Christ. For such was, and such is, his life in the Father. 3. Finally, this life with Christ in God is hid. It must needs be so, since it enters in within the veil. There is, of course, a sense in which it is not, and cannot be hid. Its fruits and symptoms are manifest. But its principle is hid. For as the movements of the living body are sensible and palpable, while the mystery of that unseen vital energy which sets the head and the heart in motion, baffles all inquiry: so while the outward walk is patent to all on earth, the life of the soul with Christ is hid in God in heaven. Your life is hid. It is an affecting characteristic of this life that it is hidden. It suggests several touching ideas of security, of spirituality, of privacy, and of seclusion. Your life is hid, for security. It is hid with Christ, in God, where no coarse eye can reach, and no rude hand can touch it. It is hid from the storm and the tempest. It is hid from the relentless accuser of the brethren. It is hid from the secret counsel of the wicked and the strife of tongues. It is hid from the unwise and flattering friend. It is hid from the spoiler and the foe. It is hid in God’s pavilion, in the secret of his tabernacle, in the hollow of his hand, where your name is engraven on his palms. It is not hidden so that it can ever be overlooked or forgotten by But it is hidden so that sin and Satan and the world seek in vain to come nigh to it. What blessed confidence may this impart even to you whose life may seem to be but as a quivering spark. Feeble, flickering, unsteady as it may be, such as the slightest breath might extinguish, God takes it into his keeping, hides it, cherishes and fosters it, until it be revived. Have you life at all, with Christ, be it ever so precarious, as if scarce a pulse were beating? Is there but the faintest sigh, - the quivering of but a limb, to show that the weary and wounded soldier on Satan’s dreary battle-field is not quite dead? Left to languish on the plain, with the keen and cutting night breeze chilling his stagnant blood, and the a charger trampling him in the dust, and the swords of hostile bands flashing over him - how soon would be extinct! But your life is not liable to such exposure, fallen and sore stricken as you are. It is hid with Christ in God. You are his hidden ones; safe in the hollow of the rock in which he shelters you, safe under the shadow of his wing.. Your life is hid with Christ in God. It stands not in the opinion of men, who, judging according to outward appearance, may condemn those whom God hath judged. It depends not upon your being able to meet Saran’s charges or even your own accusations of yourselves. It is not in human approbation, or in a tampering with Satan’s soothing wiles, or in the complacency of a formal self-righteousness, that now you live. As to all these, you are dead. With them all you can now dispense. For your life is hid with Christ in God, where he will care for it well,if only you leave it entirely to him. Your life in hid, as a life that is no longer carnal and earthy but spiritual and heavenly. It is not an outward profession merely, or of ceremonial observances. It is the hidden man of the heart, life itself hid with Christ in God. Hence it is altogether independent of what the apostle calls the rudiments of this world. It is quite inconsistent with subjection to ordinances (Colossians 2:20); you need not now concern yourselves about such a life, or such a notion of life, as these could sustain. You are no more striving to make good a poor and precarious life for yourselves, based upon any outward and formal righteousness. As to any such life, or any such title to life, you are dead. And you are contented and thankful to be dead; your life now is inward and spiritual. It is a real life of inward and conscious reconciliation to God; inward and conscious walking with God. it is life in God; life therefore hid in God. Hence it is a life of intimacy; and as it were of confidential fellowship. You are the men of God’s secret (Job 19:19). You are his friends, to whom he makes known what he does. " The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him, and he will shew them his covenant" (Psalms 25:14). "His secret is with the righteous" (Proverbs 3:32). To men generally it is only the outward aspect of the works and ways of God which is revealed; and that they are at a loss to understand. In the things he has made, they see little more than what furnishes matter for vacant wonder or curious speculation. And in his providential dealings how much is there that is dark! "How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out !" How hard a thing do the ungodly and the worldly find it to be even to imagine an explanation of his procedure, to conjecture what may possibly be the meaning of his actings. To them the whole is a mighty maze, without a plan. Things good and evil, pleasant and painful, terrible and joyful, are mingled and jumbled together in inextricable confusion. What can they do but live at random, and as if by chance; receiving whatever comes as best they may; letting the world pass, and taking things as easily as they can But if your life is hid with Christ in God, you stand in his counsel. You are in his secret, as it were, behind the scenes. You have the key to all the mysteries of his government. To you now all is not a chaos or a blank, a confused pageant or a troubled dream. You are, as it were, admitted into God’s chamber; you have an insight into his plan and purpose as the God of grace and of judgment. The present chequered scene is no longer a mere enigma to you. You know what it means. God’s long-suffering patience with the wicked, whom he would fain win to himself; his dispensations of fatherly love towards his own people, whom he corrects and chastens; his warnings of wrath; his tokens for good; the benefits with which he loads his enemies; the trials, with which he visits his children; the whole scheme of his adinistration; however incomprehensible to others, is not now all dark and hard to you. Hence you can stand serene in life’s shifting vicissitudes and death’s dread terrors; amid the war of elements and the crash of worlds. You know that all is well; that all the Lord’s ways are just and true. You are not apt to be taken by surprise. It is yours to see, in the ceaseless march of all things here below, the unfolding of the plan of redeeming love. And in the very dissolution of universal nature, you can hail the advent of the new heavens and the new earth. Once more, your life with Christ in God is hid, as being a life of seclusion from the world’s eye, and separation from the world’s sympathy. The world cannot discern or appreciate it. They cannot believe in its reality. They have no apprehension of its spirit. Yes; you have a rank that is concealed from the carnal mind. "Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed on us, that we should be called the sons of God; therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew Him not" (1 John 3:1). You have riches of which the world cannot conceive, the unsearchable riches of Christ. The pearl of great price is yours, though none but you recognise it. You carefully hide and keep it. Almost all things about your life are hidden. It has its hidden source and spring; Christ living in you; Christ in you the hope of glory, It has its hidden motive, for which the world will give you no credit; to you to live is Christ. It has its hidden food; you have meat to eat that the world knoweth not of; the hidden manna; the word of Christ dwelling in you richly. It has its hidden joys, and its hidden sorrows too, with which a stranger may not intermeddle; its hidden history and exercise of soul in the privacy of your secret closet; in deep experiences of the heart, known only to your Father and your God. But though your life, as believers, is hid, its outward workings and movements, its fruits and effects, are and must be, visible and palpable. It is a life which manifests itself. The natural life is in large measure hid. Its principle, its manner of being, its sustenance, growth, decay, revival, much about it is hid. But it acts outwardly in word and deed, in speech and behaviour. So also the spiritual life, however hid it may be in many aspects of it, must come, out in unmistakable proofs of its reality. "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance" (Galatians 5:22-23). "Add to your faith, virtue ; and to virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance ; and to temperance, patience ; and to patience, godliness ; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, charity" (2 Peter 1:5-7). "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven" (Matthew 5:16). Out of the abundance of the heart let the mouth speak. From within, from the Spirit in you, let rivers of living waters flow. Then your life is not to be always hidden. "When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory" (Colossians 3:4). Its being hidden is, in one view, an advantage meanwhile to this life; as a hiding-place from the tempest’s fury, or from war’s alarm, be it ever so lonely and so dreary, is welcome to the traveller or the patriot. "Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee; hide thyself as it were for a little moment." Yes ; for a little moment. But only until the indignation be overpast" (Isaiah 26:20). But the traveller rejoices to walk abroad when the blast is over. The patriot is glad when persecution yields to peace; and he in free to quit his close retreat. For it is, on the whole, a drawback on the enjoyment of this life with Christ in God that it is hid. The believer often feels the lack of sympathy, the pain of being misinterpreted and misunderstood. He looks forward to the day when clouds and shadows shall flee away and all shall be open fellowship and joy. Finally, for unbelievers as well as believers, for all of us alike, it is a solemn question - What is your hidden life? every man has a hidden life; a life that he lives apart from even his dearest bosom friend; a life that he lives alone; in his lonely musings; in his solitary closet; in the deep receases of his inmost heart. What, 0 my brother! is your hidden life, your real life! For your hidden life is your real life. Your life outwardly, before men; in the sight of the world and the church; maybe all that could well be desired. But what of your inner hidden life; your real life, I repeat? it life with Cbrist in God, the life of love? Be very sure that, whatever it is, the day will declare it. "For there nothing covered that shall not be revealed; neither hid, shall not be known" (Luke 12:2). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 104: S. EARTHLY AND HEAVENLY THINGS ======================================================================== EARTHLY AND HEAVENLY THINGS “If I have told you earthly things, and you believe not, how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly things?” - John 3:12 THE Lord here plainly makes a distinction between the things which he has been telling Nicodemus, and the things of which he is about to tell him. The former he calls earthly things, the latter he calls heavenly things. He intimates also plainly that the earthly things are of easier grasp to human intelligence and faith than the heavenly; so much so that if Nicodemus could not apprehend the earthly, he could scarcely be expected to accept the heavenly. But still the Lord is so bent on telling of the heavenly things that he speaks as if he must needs do so, whether the earthly things are believed or not, in order to fulfil his mission and complete his message. There are, therefore, three questions suggested by our text:- I. What is the distinction between the earthly things and the heavenly things? II. How should the earthly things be more easily believed than the heavenly things? III. Why must the Divine Teacher, having told his hearer earthly things, proceed to tell him of heavenly things, even although the earthly things are not believed? I. The things which Christ has been telling Nicodemus are facts or truths connected with regeneration; its necessity, its nature, and the agency by which it is accomplished. The things of which he goes on to tell him are facts or truths which concern redemption; the lifting up of the Son of man, the love of God in the gift of his Son, and the way of grace and salvation through faith in him. In what sense and to what effect are they contrasted as earthly and heavenly? Are they not alike and equally heavenly? Surely in some most important aspects they must be so regarded. 1. They have both of them alike and equally a heavenly source and origin. Regeneration and redemption are alike of God. They are effects of his mere good pleasure. “Of his own will begat he us with the word of truth” (James 1:18). “In his love and in his pity he redeemed them” (Isaiah 63:9). The new birth and the atonement are alike and equally heavenly thoughts, heavenly plans and purposes. 2. The agencies concerned in their accomplishment are alike and equally heavenly. In the one, it is the agency of the Eternal Spirit, the only regenerator. In the other it is the agency of the Eternal Son, the only Redeemer. In both works and the things about them, in both alike, a heavenly being, a divine person, must be the worker - the Spirit in the one, the Son in the other. 3. In respect of instrumentality also, they are alike heavenly. The word of God, which is heavenly, is the available instrumental means as regards our interest in both. In regeneration, we are born again, not of corruptible seed but of incorruptible, by the Word of God which liveth and abideth for ever” (1 Peter 1:23). And the application of redemption, or our being made partakers of it, is through the Word; the Word or ministry of reconciliation, which Christ has committed to his ambassadors, that as though God did beseech you by us, we should pray you, in Christ’s stead, to be reconciled unto God (2 Corinthians 5:20). 4. The end contemplated is in both cases alike and equally heavenly. Coming from heaven, they aim and tend heavenward. Regeneration contemplates our restoration to the image or likeness of God; redemption contemplates our restoration to his favour, fellowship, and friendship. The Spirit, in the new birth, brings us near to God in respect of character and nature. The Son, lifted up, brings us near, in respect of real and actual standing. Thus, as regards the source, the agency, the instrumentality, and the end; the two works are alike and equally heavenly things. In another view, and in a view, for practical application quite as important, they are alike and equally earthly. 1. The subjects of both, the persons on whom they tell, are the same; and they are to be viewed in the same light as earthly, all alike and equally earthly. They are men; and men contemplated simply as earthly; wholly alienated and estranged from heaven; destitute, all of them alike, of a taste or fondness for heaven, and of a right or title to heaven; in character and condition, earthly. Regeneration deals with them as corrupt; redemption deals with them as criminal. Regeneration looks at their depravity; redemption looks at their guilt. The one has respect to their being morally and spiritually unsound, the other to their being legally and judicially condemned. “The carnal mind is enmity against God, and is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be:” that is the feature of our miserable case that renders the new birth, our being born of the Spirit necessary. “Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things written in the law to do them:” that is what requires the lifting up of the Son to be the propitiation for our sin. Thus far, alike and equally, regeneration and redemption, with the things or truths about them, are emphatically earthly; they bring the heavenly agents concerned in them respectively into contact, real and personal contact, with the worst elements of our earthliness; our deep indwelling ungodliness on the one hand, and our hell-deserving guilt on the other. 2. Then, as to place and time, the place and time of their accomplishment, or their availableness for us, they are earthly. The place for both alike and equally is this earth. The time for both is our brief sojourn on this earth, our earthly life. Here and now, on this earth, while you are spared on it, you must be born again. There is no provision for any renovating change of nature anywhere else than here, any time else than now. Here and now you have to make good your interest in him who is lifted up as the atoning Lamb of God. Nowhere else than here, no time else than now, is there any sacrifice for sin. Thus the things, or truths, relating to these two works - the work of the Spirit in regeneration and the work of the Son in redemption - are to be regarded as in some views alike and equally heavenly, and in others alike and equally earthly. What then is the ground of difference in respect of which the Lord characterises and contrasts the two themes or topics as earthly and heavenly? How are they to be thus distinguished? Evidently the distinction is one of relation. It turns upon the antithesis or contrast of these two questions, both arising out of our fallen state - the first. How does man on earth feel and act towards God in heaven? the second, How does God in heaven feel and act towards man on earth? The relation between heaven and earth, between God and man, has become and is deranged and disordered on both sides. It is no more what it was at first; a relation of amity and mutual good-will. Both parties have drawn off from one another; they stand to one another in the attitude or position of estrangement and antagonism. If there is to be reconciliation and peace, restored fellowship and friendship, there must be double movement. Earth and heaven must both be moved. Earth, must be moved heavenward; its heart must have put into it a heavenward bent and bias; and it must also be made clear that heaven is moved earthward, that the longings and yearnings of heaven’s heart are earthward, seeking to have earth again as its own. Hence the distinction now in question. Regeneration, or the new birth, has respect to the relation and affection of earth towards heaven; redemption, to the relation and affection of heaven towards earth. Regeneration is the putting right of man’s disposition of heart towards God; redemption, or the operation and manifestation of the Father’s love in the lifting up of the Son, is the discovery to us of God’s disposition of heart towards man. Nay, it is more than that. It is the actual working out of that disposition; the rendering of it effectual on the part of God for the real and actual reconciliation of sinners to himself. For in both cases, and on both sides, there is a work. Only, in the one case it is a work needed to call forth love, while in the other case it is a work needed to make a way in which love may righteously have its free course. The Spirit’s work in regeneration creates love out of enmity, turning the carnal mind, which is enmity against God and insubordination to his law, into the loving, loyal, obedient heart of a child. The Son’s work in redemption - his being lifted up - does not create love, being itself the fruit of love; but it is a work indispensable to heaven’s love reaching righteously this earth and its righteously doomed inhabitants. Most fitly, therefore, it may be characterised as in itself, and in all the things or truths connected with it, distinctively and emphatically heavenly. For as it is all of earth that there is need of regeneration to make earthly men meet and fit for heaven, so it is all of heaven, of heaven’s holiness and right and truth, of heaven’s free grace and love, that redemption is needed and provided for earth’s guilty ones - the redemption which alone can secure to them either a righteous title to heaven or a holy preparation for its joy. II. The Lord plainly intimates that the earthly things which he has been telling Nicodemus are somehow of easier grasp to human intelligence and faith than the heavenly things of which he has yet to tell him; insomuch that if one cannot take in the earthly he will not be likely to accept the heavenly. Here it is at all events implied, that in our Lord’s judgment Nicodemus should have understood and believed the earthly things; that this might have been warrantably expected of him. The Lord has already indicated as much. And he has given two reasons; the one, as it were, official; the other simply human. 1. “Art thou a master of Israel, and knowest not these things?” (John 3:10). As a master of Israel, thou art called to study and expound the Scriptures. And hast thou never discovered in them any trace of man’s need of the Spirit’s renovating work, or of God’s promise of it? Is David’s fervent prayer “create in me a clean heart;” is the Lord’s gracious assurance “a new heart will I give you;” are these to thee sealed utterances from earth and from heaven? And if it is my use of the symbol of water that staggers thee, should not that be familiar to thee as a reader of Isaiah’s prophecy, especially in its application to Messianic times. “I will pour water on him that is thirsty, and floods upon the dry ground. I will pour my Spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring” (Isaiah 44:3). “Art thou a master of Israel and knowest not these things?” 2. But that is not all. On another ground my teaching should have a hold upon thee. “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, we speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen; and ye receive not our witness” (John 3:11). Not only as a master of Israel, familiar with Old Testament phraseology, and with Messianic prophecy using that phraseology; but simply as a man with human consciousness and human experience, you might have taken in and accepted the earthly things I have been telling you. For my speech and testimony hitherto has been about what lies within the range of our ordinary knowledge, and sense, and observation; yours and mine alike. The subject of our conversation, about which, as a teacher and revealer, I have been conferring with you, is one that touches the confines, or rather reaches the heart of man’s conscious want. What I have been telling you of the new birth might never indeed have occurred to you so clearly unless suggested from above; but when suggested it should be felt to fall within the range of your conscience as well as my insight. I know enough of human nature by intuition (John 2:24-25), you should know enough of it experimentally, to make us both own this as a great truth, that except a man be born again he cannot see the kingdom of God. So the Lord appeals to the inward sense of Nicodemus. And not without warrant. For Nicodemus has already given some indication of his consciousness or conscience bearing responsive witness to the Lord’s appeal about the new birth. Consider, in that view, the rise and progress of the conversation. Nicodemus is an earnest man, seeking light. Gladly and gratefully he hails the light which a teacher come from God may give. He places himself accordingly at the teacher’s feet, and awaits his teaching. The teacher’s first word arrests and startles him. It is not enough that there be light from above. There must be the opening of the eye here below to receive and use it. The teacher may have come from God; but that will not suffice. The scholar must get a new capacity for seeing what the teacher has to show. A teacher come from God may show the kingdom of God. But except a man be born again, he cannot see it. It is probably a new thought to Nicodemus. But it takes hold of him. It comes home to his inmost soul. It calls forth from its depths the anxious question, a sort of plaintive, wailing cry (John 3:4), “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb and be born?” Would that he could! For it is in that light that I look upon this question of Nicodemus. I cannot imagine it to be ironical. To me, it is rather the utterance of real feeling, of profound emotion! It is the man, not the master of Israel, who asks. Would that what thou speakest of were possible! It is the fond, vain wish that often springs up in the bosom of weary, sated, jaded manhood; sin-laden, care-worn, tempest-tost, war-broken; touched at the sight of calm, sweet, smiling infancy! Ah! what would I not give to be as that newborn child once more! To have all my long life of sin and shame, of vanity and folly, cancelled, obliterated, blotted out for ever, to begin anew, fresh from the womb again! “What would I not give for that? Nay, the Lord replies, even if that could be, it would avail thee nothing. (John 3:6) “That which is born of the flesh is flesh.” And a thousand new births could not make it other than flesh. Thou mightest enter a second time into thy mother’s womb and be born. Thou wouldest be but what thou art now; flesh born of the flesh; and as such incapable of seeing or entering into the kingdom of God. Only “that which is born of the Spirit is spirit,” capable of seeing and entering into the kingdom of God, who is a spirit. Therefore have I said (John 3:5) “Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.” And now I say (John 3:7) “Marvel not at this.” A man’s being born of the Spirit may not be so palpable to sight and sense as his being born of the flesh. But consider the view less wind, from which, by analogy, the Divine Spirit is named. Mark its mighty power, as thou hearest its rushing sound. Thou canst not trace or track its course, though thou feelest its force and seest its effects. Why should it be thought incredible that, as the Lord sends forth his breath, his wind, to renew the face of the earth (Psalms 104:30) so his Spirit should be sent forth to regenerate the soul. “Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is every one that is born of the Spirit.” Now it is when Nicodemus, notwithstanding this explanation, still asks incredulously (John 3:9) “How can these things be?” that the Lord, after a sharp expression of surprise and rebuke to the master of Israel speaks tenderly, as if in the sorrow of a sore disappointment, to the man; I have more to reveal to you of my Father than I have yet indicated. But to what purpose? “If I have told you earthly things and ye believe not, how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly things? “ I have been telling you of what comes within the range of your own earthly cognisance, your own inward earthly sense and experience, when I have been telling you of your need of being born again, and of the sort of new birth that you need; and therefore I might have expected you to understand and receive my testimony. I have been speaking of what is not merely matter of revelation to you from heaven, but to a large extent also matter of personal feeling and conviction in you upon earth. True, the possibility of your being born again as you need to be born again, the fact that there is an agency by which this can be effected, must be communicated to you from above; but when so communicated, it should surely find ready entrance into your understanding and conscience, into your mind and heart. If the right construction has been put on your question, “How can a man be born when he is old?” if that question indicates, as I have supposed it to do, a sense of some great change, like that from age to infancy, being much to be desired and longed for, ah! should you not welcome as the best of all good news the authentic information that such a change, nay, one infinitely better, is within your reach! And when one whom you yourself acknowledge as a teacher come from God tells you of a divine Person, the blessed Spirit, who will be in you the agent for producing this change - imparting a new spiritual nature and beginning a new spiritual life - ah! why are you so slow to apprehend a statement so fitted to meet what, as your own inmost consciousness should teach you and is teaching you even now, is the deepest want of your soul? And if thus I find you so unable to understand and unwilling to admit such truths as these - truths that might find an echo in your own bosom as you muse on all your earthly life, in its inner sources as well as in its outward flow; truths which your spirit, weary of sin’s restlessness and longing for pure peace, should eagerly welcome and embrace as the only elixir of real and immortal youth and joy - how can I hope to carry you along with me, intelligently, believingly, sympathisingly, in the discoveries I have to make to you of heavenly things? - things having nothing at all in common with any earthly consciousness or earthly experience? - things which eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither have they entered into the heart of man? - things which God has purposed and prepared in the unsearchable counsels of his own sovereign mind and will? - things which you would need to be able to ascend up into heaven if you would discover them for yourselves? - things which you must receive, not for any corroboration or corresponding attestation which earth’s history, or your own earthly knowledge and feeling, may afford, but solely and exclusively on the testimony of him who came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven? (John 3:13) The lifting up of the Son of man, as the serpent was lifted up in the wilderness; the love of God in sending his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him might not perish but have everlasting life; the blessed power of faith in him to deliver from condemnation; the terrible danger and doom of unbelief - these are not earthly things at all, in the sense of there being anything in earth’s ongoings, within or without yourselves, to explain them, to account for them, to facilitate your acceptance of them. No. They are altogether and only heavenly. They have their seat in the heart of the Eternal; in the bosom of God, where his only begotten Son dwells evermore. “When the Son tells you of these heavenly things - of his own all-healing Cross, and of his Father’s world-wide love, and of the free gospel-call, and the tremendous responsibility which it entails - he has nothing earthly to which he can appeal as throwing any light upon, or giving any confirmation to, the great mystery of godliness, or as fitted in the very least to make it more intelligible, more probable, more credible, than it is in his own simple declaration of it. Therefore he may well express a fear that if you will not receive his testimony on a matter of which your own hearts may at least partially have experimental knowledge, you may refuse him credit when he speaks of what he alone can know - the great loving heart of the Eternal Father giving his own Son to be the propitiation for sin, and so reconciling the world unto himself. Observation and experience may confirm this view, if you have the spiritual mind to discern spiritual things. Look around and say, who are they who are the most unintelligent and practically unbelieving as regards the heavenly things: the doctrine or fact of redemption in its reality and issues? Who are they who are at a loss to see why so great a work should be made about the forgiveness of sin? why it should cost so vast an expenditure of the divine resources to secure their not perishing, or being finally condemned? Are they not the very men who are equally, or still more, at a loss to see why so great a change of nature must be wrought in them before they are fit for heaven? “Why it should be a change so radical as to be at all like a new birth or a new creation? Show me a man who does not feel his need of being so thoroughly renewed, whose notion is that with some repentances and confessions, some reformations and amendments, such as, with a little help from above, he hopes to effect before he dies, his character may become good enough to pass muster in the crowd: show me that man, and I will answer for it that he is one who is equally unable to comprehend why, without shedding of blood, there can be no remission of sin; why God cannot save the lost without his own Son dying in their stead. Yes; let us be well assured that slight and superficial views as to the change which needs to be wrought in us will carry with them slight and superficial views as to the work which needed to be done for us. The less I feel what the Spirit has to do in me, the less I feel what the Son had to do for me; for my sense or apprehension of my sin, as inferring guilt needing to be atoned for, turns largely on my sense or apprehension of my sin as so vitiating my whole inner man, that nothing short of a new birth, or a new creation, can make my heart right with God. If I think lightly of the hurt of my soul as regards the state of my affections towards the holy God and his holiness, if I think of it as a hurt to be slightly healed, and indulge myself in the dream that I am not so utterly wrong, so thoroughly carnal and ungodly, as to be unable through penitence and prayer to right and reform myself tolerably and sufficiently; how will you ever convince me that there is any extraordinary exercise of mercy on the part of God in granting me pardon so far as I need it? how will you ever hinder me from reckoning on forgiveness almost as a matter of course, if not a matter of right? how will you ever persuade me that there is in my sin such a deep dye of criminality as only the blood of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, can wash out? how will you ever get me to take in the amazing love of God in his giving his only begotten Son, “that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life?” Therefore let me look within. Let me see to it that I have some adequate sense of the deep and deadly corruption of my nature, the entire and thorough estrangement of my heart from God, as being such that I must be born again if I am to see and enter into his kingdom, if I am to be at home with him. I sometimes wonder that I am so little affected and impressed by the great love of God in the gift of his Son to be the propitiation for my sin, that I am so slow to take in all the terror and all the glory of that amazing substitution; the eternal Son taking my nature and my place under the law which I have broken, made sin, and made a curse for me. I may not question the reality of the transaction, but somehow I find myself little alive, less than I used to be, to its awful meaning and dread necessity. I am beginning again to ask why there should be so much ado about my deliverance and my safety, and consequently to see less and feel less of the love passing knowledge that prompts and pervades the whole gracious plan. Is it so with me now? Ah! it is a sad sign of declension, a most alarming symptom of unbelieving unthankfulness, that must surely and swiftly harden my heart. Let me be startled at once; let me thoroughly search and try myself, and instantly ask God to search and try me; and let it be very specially on this precise point, that I search myself, and ask God to search me, the state of my conscience, and its conviction of indwelling sin; the corruption of my nature, and my inveterate, because inborn, carnality. May there not be creeping over me a growing insensibility to that sore evil, in some one or other of the forms in which it must continue to meet me, as long as the war of the flesh against the Spirit lasts? Alas! may not that warfare itself be slackening in its energy, if not inclining to a truce? May not that explain the melancholy mystery of my lessening warmth of gratitude to God for his unspeakable gift? For let me be well assured that all through my spiritual life, from its first beginning in the new birth to its final consummation in perfected holiness, the principle involved in the Lord’s question must apply: “If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly things?” III. Having told us earthly things, the Lord intimates that, whether we believe them or not, he must go on to tell us of heavenly things; and there are several good and sufficient reasons why he must do so. 1. He must do so for the sake of those who do believe the earthly things, of whom Nicodemus probably came ere long to be one. This view follows up and supplements the view which I have just been giving. The case I put now is the converse of the case I have been putting. I suppose now a man thoroughly awakened by the Spirit to a real and deep apprehension of that inborn depravity in him which renders the new birth necessary. He is undergoing some such experience as Paul describes in Romans 7:1-25. His sin, in that aspect of it chiefly which regards its bearing on his whole inner man, is finding him out. He has no difficulty in believing the earthly things about it; that it is, as the Lord has been telling Nicodemus, in itself, and in its malignant poison as vitiating his entire nature, such as no power of his can deal with. He looks at himself in the light of the law. His very inmost self he thus looks into: for the Spirit is bringing home to him the law in a new light, as not outward and formal merely, but intensely spiritual; not disliked and dreaded, but approved and loved; not complained of as irksome and grievous and severe, but felt to be holy and just and good. The man is in earnest. But the more he is in earnest the more pitiable does his case become. “The law is spiritual, but I am carnal, sold under sin. When I would do good, evil is present with me.” Ah! is he not in the very position and the very frame of mind to welcome the assurance that for him, and such as he is, there is provision made for a new birth, for a change so radical and complete that he comes forth from it a new man, with a new heart, a heart that can love, and can cease from lusting. Yes, truly this teaching about the Spirit, that one may be born of the Spirit, is seasonable and acceptable. But the Spirit himself, who has brought the man thus far in this sore but salutary exercise of soul, knows that at this stage he needs something else and something more. For the insight which the Spirit has been giving him into his sin and its exceeding sinfulness, as so defiling and destroying his whole nature that he cannot make himself such as he now fain would be, a loving and obedient child of God, that very insight opens his eye to that other and most appalling aspect of sin which brings in the fatal element of guilt. The man awakens, as from a troubled sleep, to find himself a criminal in chains, in the arms of justice, under the doom of law. And as he now cannot but acknowledge, not only really, but righteously condemned. What avails any prospect of a change for the better in him if that inevitable, irrevocable sentence of judgment is to lie upon him? Ah! is it not here that the heavenly things so opportunely and so blessedly come in? For the Spirit is of one mind with Christ in this matter. He will not leave a poor Nicodemus, an all but despairing Paul, at his wits’ end under the terrible and crushing discovery which he gives of the earthly things. In the nick of time, at the very moment they are needed, he will bring to remembrance the heavenly things of which Christ has to tell every miserable sinner as he told Nicodemus - the Son of man lifted up on the cross; the free call; the faithful saying; the world-wide “whosoever” - so that the very cry forced from lips of penitential anguish, “wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” shall issue in the glad and grateful exclamation, “I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” “There is therefore now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh but after the Spirit.” 2. Another reason why the Lord, having told us the earthly things, next goes on to tell us of the heavenly things, is that, whether we believe or not, he must complete the discovery which he has to make to us of the Father; so as to do full justice to the Father’s love, in his purpose and plan of salvation; and leave us, if we continue unbelieving, altogether unpardonable. What could I have done more for you that I have not done? saith the Lord. I have sent my Son; will they not hear him, when my Spirit commends him to them? Light is come into the world. If it is to be light, saving on the one hand, and condemning on the other, as it must be if it is the light of God; it must be the whole light of God. It must be light that brings out the whole counsel of God. Such it can be only when, having revealed the earthly, it reveals also the heavenly, For thus only the light of the Father’s love shines forth in all its glory; the glory of its consummated grace; its double grace, in regeneration and redemption; so as to leave all men, of all conditions, absolutely without excuse. For what apology can any sinner now have for not coming to the light that shines upon and in him? No doubt the light will make manifest his deeds, his doings, his dispositions. And if he is bent on them being all still on the side of evil, he must shun the light of God’s pure truth, and court the darkness of guile. But why should he do so? If the bent of his mind is toward the truth, why should he hesitate about coming to the light? For, be it what it may, at the very worst, the light shows him his case completely met. Yes; it is met, thoroughly and efficaciously met, in both of the aspects in which it seems so hopeless. You must be born again. You must undergo a change of nature which it is beyond any power of your own to effect. Does that offend you? Does it seem to you to make your case desperate? It should not do so. It need not do so. For, not only have you the assurance of the Spirit’s unseen agency being available for working this necessary change within: you are told of what, irrespectively of any inward consciousness, may minister immediate relief. Jesus tells you of heavenly things. And the Spirit carries home to you what he tells you of heavenly things. He summons you to deal with them; to deal with them now; instantly and immediately; and deal with them as they are in themselves, without the slightest regard to the earthly things, or to any experience of yours about the earthly things. For that is the glorious gospel of the free grace of God. The Son of man, lifted up on the cross, is set forth before your eyes. Look to him simply as you would have looked to the serpent lifted up by Closes in the wilderness. Look to him now, just as you are. Look to him and be saved. Do not wait for any sense or consciousness of the new birth, or of any work of the Spirit regarding it, as if that were to be your warrant for looking to the Son of man lifted on the cross. No: your warrant is just what the Israelites had of old; the real and actual lifting up of the Son of man, as the serpent was lifted up in the wilderness. It is the wide and free proclamation, whosoever believeth shall be saved. Surely if on that warrant, the warrant of an infinitely-sufficient atonement, and a gracious, gratuitous invitation, with a sovereign command grounded thereupon, you will not believe; the fault is not God’s but yours. “Ye will not come unto me that ye might have life.” “I would but ye would not.” “Your blood be on your own heads.” 3. There is yet another reason to be given for the Lord’s going on to tell of heavenly things, even though the earthly things he has been telling are but little apprehended and realised. His discovery of the heavenly things may be the very means used by the Spirit for making me alive to the earthly. Yes! what the Lord tells, as none else could tell, of his Father’s love and his own cross, may be turned to account by the Spirit, and made to smite me with a sense of my deep need of a very thorough change. That God has been so loving me while I have been so hating him; that his heart has been so turned towards me, while my heart has been so turned away from him; that he has caused his own Son to be lifted up for me on the expiatory altar of the cross, while I have been living on as if I had no sin that needed expiation at all; is not that a thought that might well convince me of my own heart being harder than the nether millstone, and make me seek a new heart from God. Ah! It may well be so. If Christ is telling me of these heavenly things, and the Spirit is bringing home to me Christ’s telling me of them; if, with eye opened by the Holy Ghost, I get but a glimpse of that love in which the whole plan of redemption originates, and of which even it is an inadequate expression; if thus taught of God, I see into the heart of God, and obtain some faint idea of the longing of that heart for the world’s salvation, and for mine; if I am divinely moved to apprehend that it is that very love that the great Father reveals to me, and presses on my acceptance, in his dear Son, beseeching me to be to him what his Son is, and to let him be to me what he is to him. Ah! if thus I am made to see the great Father in heaven loving me with a love like that; providing for me an atoning sacrifice that satisfies highest justice and expiates deepest guilt; and so reconciling me to himself, fully, freely, in his Son; may not such a discovery of what God is to me open my eyes to what I am to him t May it not convince me that I do indeed need to be born again, if I am to know and believe such love as that? Ah, sinner! wilt thou not be moved by that love now? Wilt thou not contrast what is in God’s heart towards thee with what is in thy heart towards God? Wilt thou not be filled with shame and grief when thou thinkest how dead and insensible thou hast been when such love as that has been set before thee and pressed upon thee? Wilt thou not cry out in earnest, “Create in me a clean heart, God, and renew within me a right spirit?”“ Fulfil thine own promise. “A new heart will I give thee and a right spirit will I put within thee, and I will put my Spirit within thee.” Yes; Lord God, gracious and loving Father. Purge me with hyssop and I shall be clean. Take not thy Holy Spirit from me. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 105: S. GOD'S FAITHFUL CALLING ======================================================================== GOD’S FAITHFUL CALLING “God is faithful, by whom ye were called unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord.” - 1 Corinthians 1:9 THE faithfulness of God is to be viewed in connection with his calling you, as giving you the fullest possible assurance that he will perform and make good on your behalf whatever purpose or promise your being called by him may be fairly held to comprehend. He will do all that in calling you he has become expressly or virtually pledged to do. The question then is, To what are you called? what is the end of your calling? For, whatever is needed for the accomplishment of that end, the faithfulness of God makes it certain that he will do it. Now it is unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ that you have been and are called; that fellowship implying these two things; first, union with Christ; and secondly, as flowing from the union and implied in it, communion with Christ, or joint participation with him in what is his. Let us consider these two parts or elements of the fellowship; and let us dwell on the faithfulness of God in both of them. Part First - Union with Christ The fellowship with his Son Jesus Christ our Lord, unto which you are called by God, implies union; and the union is by faith. That indeed is the indispensable condition of all fellowship when intelligent beings are the parties concerned; union by faith; by assent and consent. And the faith in this instance, that effects the union, is and must be itself wrought in you by him who calls you. Thus only can it be certain that the calling will be effectual, which the faithfulness of God requires that it shall be. How faithfully, accordingly, does God deal with you all throughout in his so calling you as to make you one with his Son Jesus Christ our Lord. I. He is faithful in discovering to you your case. He tells you that you need his Son - that without him you perish. Your sin he brings before you, your guilt, your ruin. He does so in very faithfulness. His word is no prophet of smooth things; his Spirit is no giver of false peace. His faithfulness you may at first dislike. It may seem to you like harshness and severity. You question the truth and fairness of the representations he gives, and the convictions he would force upon you, as to your state and character before him. You cannot feel your condition to be absolutely hopeless, your hearts to be altogether wrong towards God. You think it hard to be told that you can do nothing to right or reform yourselves. But you try. Moved by his Spirit you try in earnest to become altogether such as, being taught by the Spirit, you now own that you ought to be, and ought always to have been; pure and holy, unselfish and loving, loving God supremely, loving your brethren and all men. It will not do. You cannot rid yourself of a growing apprehension of failure and defeat, of bondage and wrath. The hurt is not to be healed as you hoped. The plague is deep. The past cannot be undone. You cannot answer for the future. And alas for the evil that is ever present with you! The testimony of God, you find, is true. The discovery which he makes to you of your criminality and corruption, your sin and death, may not be welcome. But in calling you to the knowledge of it, God is faithful. II. God is faithful in commending to you his Son, Jesus Christ. He commends him as the object of his own confidence and esteem, and therefore worthy to be the object of yours. “Behold my servant, whom I have chosen; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth.” “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” “Look,” he cries, “ye lost ones! behold the ransom I have found for you - the Redeemer, the Saviour - possessed of all the qualifications, perfect in all the conditions needful for meeting your sad case; near to me as my fellow, near to you also as yours; having all the fulness of the Godhead dwelling in him bodily; grace poured into his lips, glory crowning his head, love burning in his heart.” In this testimony concerning his Son, God is faithful. You did not always feel this. Once you gave no heed, no credit, to his testimony. Christ and his gospel were indifferent to you. Or they presented to you a repulsive, gloomy aspect. You saw no beauty in him why you should desire him. Or you formed a notion of him all your own. You made him out to be a mere indulgent pleader for pardon, an apologist of your errors; and, as such, you thought that you could love him. But now God discovers to you yourselves and his Son. God shows you what you are, and what he is, whose mediation you have been abusing. You see his Son in a new light, his excellency and beauty, his suitableness and sufficiency, the transcendent worth of his righteousness, the exhaustless efficacy of his blood; all that is attractive in his person, as Immanuel, God with us; all that is satisfying to the divine law and the human conscience in his vicarious obedience and atoning death; all that is of power to save in his resurrection, his ascension, his receiving of the Father the promise of the Spirit, his being Head over all things to the church, his coming again to receive his people to himself - all that is gracious, all that is glorious, in him, the Spirit of God enables you spiritually to discern. And you feel that in calling you to the knowledge of his Son Jesus Christ, and commending him to you as the very Saviour you need, God is faithful. III. In presenting to you his Son Jesus Christ, God presents him to you, in free gift, as yours - yours if you will but have him to be yours. And in this also, in this pre-eminently, God is faithful. Alas for your prolonged hesitation here! Beforehand, it is, as it were, a leap in the dark that you are required to make. You are trembling on the highest pinnacle of a tottering tower. You hear a voice bidding you cast yourself into unseen arms ready to receive you at its base. No doubt have you as to your own perilous position; the last stone on which you can for a moment plant your precarious foot is crumbling and giving way. No doubt have you as to the love that thrills the voice to which you listen, or the strength that nerves the stretched-out arms to embrace you. But the plunge! To let go your last hold of what you stand on, and cast yourself, as it were, on the viewless air - this gives you pause. Call after call is addressed to you, assuring you that you have nothing to fear, that all is ready for you, that now is the time. Will you not take heart of grace at last? You will assuredly find that he who has been calling you is faithful. Something of this sort of adventurous self-abandonment there often is - always indeed more or less - in the experience of those whom the Holy Spirit is shutting up into Christ. It is the critical hour, the time of decision, the last agony of the death of the old life, the birth-throe of the new life. It is eye meeting eye in a quick glance of mutual intelligence; it is heart meeting heart in a throb of mutual sympathy; and Christ and you are for ever one! You have been standing face to face; you, a perishing sinner, face to face with Christ, a loving Saviour; you, alive to your need of him; he, yearning over you, as needing you. You have been fairly driven from all the strongholds of your natural confidence. All refuge fails you. Naked and alone you are sinking self-condemned into the pit. Beside you, very near to you, is that Holy One whose blood cleanseth from all sin. “Come unto me, and I will give you rest!” is his own earnest cry. “This is my beloved Son; hear him,” is his Father’s gracious call. Oh! wherefore should your heart fail you? “Taste and see that he is good.” Prove him. Venture your soul, yourself, your all, once for all, on Christ. God is faithful, by whom ye are called to do so. IV. And this calling of God is without repentance. There is no change of mind, no change of heart with him in regard to it. He who hath called you is faithful. Here also - Try his faithfulness - put it to the proof. Be ever trying it; be ever putting it to the proof. And how? Not surely by raising the old doubts and questions again; but by continually repeated exercises, continually renewed acts, of the very faith by which you embraced Christ, or suffered him to embrace you at the first. And, as at the first, so still to the very last, this faith will partake of the nature of a venture, the venturing of yourselves upon Christ. It is a continued, prolonged casting of yourselves into his open arms, into his open bosom. There may, alas! be interruptions, seasons of dark unbelief, of grievous backsliding, of shameful sin. But, “Return, backsliding Israel” is the call; and he is faithful who calleth. Repent of your love waxing cold, repent, and do the first works. So God is even now calling you to be one with his Son Jesus Christ. Consent, comply now; not because you have consented and complied before, but because God is faithful by whom ye are called now. It is a new venture every moment; the same always, yet ever new. Or if former instances, in past experience, come in at all, it is but to nerve the soul for the new, shall I say, the last venture of all. “I know in whom I have believed, and I am persuaded that he is able to keep what I have committed to him against that day.” Such is the faithfulness of God in his calling you unto a fellowship of union with his Son Jesus Christ our Lord. 1. He calls you to the knowledge of yourselves - your alienation from him, your guilt in his sight. And however the testimony may offend your natural self-complacency, yet, the Spirit convincing you, you own its truth, and confess that God is faithful. 2. He calls you to the knowledge of his Son, the Son of his own love, whom he commends to your love as a brother. And however the humiliation of his cross may mortify your natural self-righteousness, yet the Spirit enlightening you, you see how, hanging on that very cross, he is the very brother you need, a brother born for your adversity; and you feel that in commending him to you in that character, God is faithful. 3. He calls you to close with this Christ, to receive him, to embrace him - to let his Son deal with you as a loving elder brother - to let him clasp you to his heart, and take you home. And however you may hang back long - from whatever cause - suspicion, distrust, disaffection, - yet, the Spirit making you willing in the day of his power, you venture yourself in the arms of the beloved One, and find, and are blessed in finding, that when he calls you to believe and live, God is faithful. 4. He calls you to abide in his Son, to prolong, to perpetuate your union with him, by continually renewed acts and exercises of the same faith by which you appropriate him at the first. And however through your manifold infirmities and falls you may too often lose your hold of him, or your sense of the hold he has of you, yet, the Spirit reviving you, you make trial again, and ever again and again, of the old “faithful saying, worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, of whom,” you cry, “I am chief.” And as you feel that that saying will bear the weight of your soul’s heaviest burden of guilt and woe in your darkest hour, you venture once more to hope and to rejoice with trembling. For faithful is he that calls you to be one for ever with his Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Part Second - Communion or Joint Participation In your being called by God, you are united to his Son. And the union infers communion or joint-participation with him in what is his. You are one with him in such a sense, and to such an effect, as to have all things in common: - I. Common interests; II. A common character; III. A common history. I. Your interests are in common, Christ’s and yours; your joint interests in the righteous government, the high and holy moral administration of God. Now, his interests here are two-fold: the interests which he has originally, as the Son of God, and the interests which he has in his mediatorial character, as his Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord. 1. As to the first, the interests which he has originally, as the Son, in the vast scheme of God’s universal empire, - these are and must be essentially identical with those of the Father. He is the Son whom God hath appointed heir of all things. Hence all things were created by him and for him, and he upholdeth all things by the word of his power. The design of the whole work of creation, and of the works of providence, is to carry into effect the eternal purpose and decree of God, appointing his Son to be heir of all things. Looked at in this light, the interests which he has in the unfolding of the great volume of the universe may be summed up in this one petition, which once he offered on earth, which he may be regarded as offering from the beginning in heaven, “Father glorify thy Son, that thy Son may also glorify thee.” In this petition of his, in that appointment to be heir of all things on which it proceeds, you are to be partakers with him. You are sons and therefore heirs, heirs of God, and joint heirs with him. “He that overcometh shall inherit all things.” 2. But you reach this participation with Christ in the interests which he has, as the Son, in the plan of God’s universal government, through your participation with him in the interests which he has in it in his mediatorial character, not as Son and Lord, and heir merely: but first as a subject. In his case, however, the two cannot be separated. The concern which he has in the moral administration of God, now that, being made of a woman, made under the law, he becomes himself amenable to it, cannot supersede the concern which he has in it originally, as the Son, appointed to be heir of all things. He is still interested as much as ever in the stability of that throne which he is himself to occupy; in the upholding of that authority which he is himself to wield; in the magnifying and making honourable of that law according to whose holy standard of loyalty and love he is himself to rule among his holy ones for ever. But this is not all. Not only does he become a subject; he becomes also a criminal. He takes the place of subjects who have offended, and their guilt is imputed to him. He is made sin. Sin, in its exceeding sinfulness, its righteous condemnation, its inevitable doom of death, is laid upon him to bear. Are there not conflicting interests now? Is the loud cry, “Father, save me from this hour,” - is the prayer of agony, “Father, if it be possible, let the cup pass from me,” an indication that there are? Is he distracted between the interests which, as not only a subject, but in the eye of law a criminal, he has in God’s administration, and the interests which he has in it as the Son appointed to be heir of all things? No, but the reconciling of them is to cost him much, not less than the fulfilment of all that the subject owes, and the endurance of all that the criminal deserves. He is one in interest and concern with God, as the Son, the heir. He is one in interest and concern with you, whose nature he shares, whose place he assumes, whose debt he undertakes, whose sin he bears. And the glory of his cross is this: - that in it, the seemingly opposite interests are identified; and the criminal, the subject, the criminal expiating crime, the subject fulfilling all righteousness, is identically the same in person, mind, and purpose, with the Son, the heir of all things. Now in all this you are called by God unto a fellowship of communion with his Son Jesus Christ. You are called to be partakers with him in his sufferings, as a criminal, to expiate his crime - in his obedience, as a subject, to fulfil all righteousness - and in his title, as the Son, to be heir of all things. The removal of guilt, acceptance, adoption, are thus yours - yours, in an order the reverse of that in which he in whom they are yours is presented to you. The Son, the subject, the criminal; the Son appointed heir of all things, the subject bound to obey, the criminal laden with the guilt of disobedience - these are the successive aspects in which he appears. You are called to joint participation with him in these three positions - as the criminal, the subject, the Son; the criminal taking your condemnation on himself. There is therefore now no condemnation to you who are in Christ, the subject rendering all obedience in your stead; in whose righteousness you are righteous, the Son appointed on your behalf to be heir of all things, with whom, as sons in him, you are joint-heirs. All throughout God is faithful to recognise and own your community of interests with his Son Jesus Christ. He treats you as one with him unto whose fellowship you are called. He cleanses you as Jesus was cleansed, when sin, being atoned for, was imputed to him no more. He accepts you, as Jesus was accepted when, having brought in an everlasting righteousness, he was raised from the dead. He makes you his sons as Jesus is his Son; - whose freedom in the house you now receive, whose Spirit is now in you crying, “Abba, Father;” - loving you as he loveth him; glorifying you as he glorifies him. Your pardon, your peace, your inheritance of all things, are all secure to you. “For God is faithful by whom ye are called unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ, our Lord.” And that fellowship is a fellowship of interests. “All things are yours; whether Paul or Apollos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come; all are yours; and ye are Christ’s; and Christ is God’s.” II. The fellowship with his Son Jesus Christ, unto which you are called by God, is a fellowship of character. It implies that you are partakers of the same moral nature. If you are to have common interests with Christ, you must have a common character, a common mind, a common nature with him also. His interests never can be yours, unless his character, his mind, his nature, is also yours. For what are his interests? The same as yours in one view; for he takes your place as subjects under the law, as criminals under the curse. He has a common interest with you, to have the claims of law relaxed, that obedience may be the easier, to have the penalty of sin remitted, that atonement may be the lighter. But no. Subject as he is, criminal as he must be reckoned to be for you, his interests are still the interests of the Son appointed to be heir of all things. And your sympathies must be with him. You must have a fellow-feeling with him. An eye to see, a heart to feel, what the interests you have in common with him really are, must be yours. And what eye can that be but the very eye which he fixed so steadfastly on his Father’s glory? What heart but the very heart which in him beat so high, and strong, and true, in unison with his Father’s will? This community of nature and character with him is indispensable, if you are to have community of interests. Unto that, accordingly, you are called. And he by whom you are called is faithful; faithful to make you partakers, in his Son Jesus Christ, of the divine nature. For this end he has given you exceeding great and precious promises; promises of a new heart and a right spirit; promises of complete renewal to accompany complete acceptance; the Spirit of adoption, the Spirit of his Son, to go along with and bring out your adoption as sons; and he is faithful to fulfil them all. On his faithfulness you may confidently rely, both for the first beginning, and for the subsequent progress, of this great work of your sanctification. For both, he calls you unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ, making you and keeping you one with him. Be ye then shut up into Christ. Be ye always abiding in Christ. Be ye shut up into Christ, in whom you are new creatures, seeing all things in a new light - in the light of God, who hath reconciled you to himself by him. Be ye always abiding in Christ, drinking into his Spirit, drawing your life from him, and learning more and more to think and feel as he did, in all that touches the glory of his Father, in all that concerns the doing of his Father’s will. Be ye thus faithful on your part, for God is faithful, and will more and more bring you into the fellowship of a common character with his Son, as you more and more grow up into him. Wherefore “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God who worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.” III. Having common interests and a common character, you may expect to be called by God unto the fellowship of a common history with his Son Jesus Christ. His history may be drawn out at length; but it may be compressed also under these five leading heads - a birth, a baptism, a work, a cross, a crown. 1. God calls you unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ, in his birth. Your new birth is your fellowship, your participation with Christ in his birth. Both are by the Spirit; both are new entrances into the kingdom of God. And in both his faithfulness appears. In the birth of Christ God is seen to be faithful - faithful to his word of promise, “Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel” - faithful to the song which, by anticipation, he puts into the church’s mouth, “Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.” Nor is God less faithful in calling you unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ in this birth of his. For it is by the same Spirit by whom he was born that you are born again. Born of the Spirit, you enter into the kingdom of God as he, the Son, did, when, being in the form of God, he became man. You are ushered into a new state; you receive a new life; you are before God as he was when he lay a new-born babe in the manger of Bethlehem; accounted blameless, righteous, acceptable to God and well-pleasing in his sight, as that holy child was, when he, for you, born of the Spirit, entered, as a subject, into the kingdom, of which he is the Lord, Thus faithfully does God deal with you when he makes you one with his Son Jesus Christ in his wondrous birth. 2. In his baptism also, you are called by God unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ, He was baptized with the Holy Ghost. God gave not the Spirit by measure unto him. The Holy Spirit, descending upon him like a dove, marked him out as the beloved Son, in whom the Father is well pleased; and strengthened him for the work which, as the Son and servant of the Father, he had to do. In this, the faithfulness of God appeared; for it had been written, “The Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him; ““I have put my Spirit upon him.” And the faithfulness of God equally appears in his baptizing you, as he baptized him, with the Holy Ghost. The Spirit is promised to seal your acceptance as he sealed Christ’s; to attest your sonship as he attested Christ’s; to fit you, as he fitted Christ, for all your warfare and service as the children of God in the world. 3. In Christ’s history, his being born of the Spirit and his being baptized with the Spirit, were preparatory to his work; a lifelong work; the work to which he referred when at the age of twelve he put the question to Mary and Joseph, “Wist ye not that I must be about my Father’s business?” the work which he had in his mind when he appealed to his Father at the last; “I have glorified thee upon the earth; I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do.” You are called by God unto fellowship with his Son Jesus Christ in this work of his. A fellowship of worth or merit in it, you cannot and you would not challenge otherwise than through representation, substitution, imputation and appropriation; but a fellowship of consent and sympathy it is your privilege to claim. Born of the Spirit, baptized with the Spirit, you would fain be partakers with Christ in what constituted the real excellency and essential virtue of his whole work, his entire surrender and dedication of himself to do the will of God. And so you are, and so you ought to be. For “God is faithful, by whom you are called unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord,” in this very grace of willing and unreserved submission expressed in his words - “I came not to do my own will, but the will of him that sent me.” 4. The history of Christ, besides a birth, a baptism, a work, has a cross; and his own emphatic words are, “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.” You suffer with him. You fill up in your persons the measure of the sufferings of Christ. You are partakers of his sufferings. “Count it not strange, brethren, that ye fall into divers temptations.” “There hath no temptation befallen you but such as is common to man. And God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able, but will with the temptation make a way of escape, that ye may be able to bear it.” “There hath no temptation befallen you but such as is common to man.” Nay, we may say, there is no temptation, no trial, no suffering, or shame, or sorrow that can befall you, which is not common to Christ and you together. You suffer with Christ. You go forth unto him without the camp, bearing his reproach. And he is with you in your suffering. The reproaches of them that reproach you fall on him. In all your affliction he is afflicted. This fellowship of suffering with his Son Jesus Christ, unto which you are called by God, may be very painful often; but it is very precious, very blessed. A common misery makes men wondrous kind. Any two of you, thrown together in heavy grief, or in a fiery trial, find your hearts marvellously knit together. The little flock, persecuted on every side, forced to leave fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, become all fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers to one another. So in the fellowship of his sufferings, in the fellowship of his cross, Christ and you are like two metals in the furnace, more and more thoroughly welded into one. Then doubt not that it is in very faithfulness that God afflicts you. Doubt not that God is faithful when in much tribulation he calls you unto the fellowship of his Son Jesus Christ. 5. As the history of Christ, in respect of which you are called by God unto his fellowship, has a birth, a baptism, a work, a cross - so also it has a crown. It issues and ends in glory. And in the glory, as in the toil, and suffering, and shame, you have fellowship with him. For God is faithful; and having called you to be partakers of the sufferings of his Son, he will not fail to make you partakers of his glory also. What that glory is we may partly learn from the Lord’s own prayer: “Father, I will that they also whom thou hast given me be with me where I am, that they may behold my glory which thou hast given me, for thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world.” It is the manifestation of the Father’s love to him, that love which from everlasting prompted the decree by which the Son is appointed heir of all things. In the full blaze of that glory of the Father’s manifested love, he would have you to be with him. And he shall. “For God is faithful, by whom your are called unto his fellowship.” He will leave nothing in it or about it incomplete. If you suffer with his Son, God will see to it, in very faithfulness, that you are also glorified together. This is the hope set before you. This is your recompense of reward. This is the prize of your high calling in Christ Jesus your Lord. Mark its most distinctive characteristic. It is not glory given to you by Christ; it is not glory given to you through Christ, it is participation with him in his glory. The husbandmen to whom, when they had stoned and beaten messenger after messenger, the owner of the vineyard at last resolves to send his son, saying, “It may be they will reverence him,” cry with one voice as he draws near to them, “This is the heir; come, let us kill him, and the inheritance shall be ours.” No such inheritance, got in such a way, could ever satisfy you. “What foretaste you have of the inheritance here is welcome only because in it you have fellowship with the Son. It is the Spirit of the Son that is sent forth, crying in you, Abba, Father. “My peace I give unto you:” “My joy is to remain in you;” are the Lord’s own precious words. And so it is as to the glory of the inheritance itself To be joint heirs with Christ is your desire; to be with him as he is; to be at home with him among the many mansions of his Father’s house; to be at home with him in the deep affections of his Father’s heart; to behold how the Father loveth him; and to have fellowship with him in the love wherewith the Father loveth him, and in its full manifestation; that is your glory! Ah! when that glory comes, will you not cast your crowns at the feet of him whose crown you share, and testify that he who has called you unto such a fellowship With his Son in his glory is indeed faithful? Yes! In that day his faithfulness will fully appear; then, and not till then. Ah! how in that day will you look back on all the way by which God has led you, from his first commending of his Son to you and shutting you up to embrace him, forward through the whole course of your fellowship with Christ here below. “Often, often I was tempted,” you will say, “to doubt, to distrust his faithfulness. Many a misgiving, many a questioning, many a fear had I. But all is clear now. I see it all. He has been leading me forth by the right way, that I might go to a city of habitation. Yes; God is faithful, by whom I was called unto the fellowship of his Son. Jesus Christ.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 106: S. GOD'S RIGHTEOUSNESS BROUGHT NEAR ======================================================================== GOD’S RIGHTEOUSNESS BROUGHT NEAR “I bring near my righteousness; it shall not be far off, and my salvation shall not tarry: and I will place salvation in Zion for Israel my glory.” - Isaiah 46:13 “My righteousness is near; my salvation is gone forth, and mine arms shall judge the people; the isles shall wait upon me, and on mine arm shall they trust.” - Isaiah 51:5 THE same truth, in substance, is announced in these two texts, but in two different connections. In the one, it has the aspect of a threat; in the other of a promise. The parties addressed are of opposite characters and in opposite conditions. “Hearken unto me, ye stouthearted that are far from righteousness” (Isaiah 46:12), is the call in the first instance. “Hearken to me, ye that follow after righteousness, ye that seek the Lord” (Isaiah 51:1), is the invitation in the second. It would seem, therefore, that there were two classes of people at that time very differently affected by what they saw of the Lord’s dealings, and what they heard from his servant of his purposes and his will. The one were stiff of neck and stout of heart, - presumptuously reckoning on security, - relying on their own character and standing, and putting far from them the warnings of God. The other, again, were moved with fear, as they gave heed to the voice of the Lord’s servants. They felt deeply the darkness settling down on the divine procedure and on their own prospects. But still they abstained from having recourse to “a fire,” or to “sparks,” of their own “kindling” (Isaiah 50:11), - rather choosing against hope to go on believing in hope, - to wait for God, - to follow after righteousness, - to seek the Lord (Isaiah 51:1). Now to both of these classes the same announcement is made. The message which they have both alike to receive, either as a savour of death unto death, or as a savour of life unto life, is that of these two texts; “I bring near my righteousness, and my salvation shall not tarry” (Isaiah 46:13); “My righteousness is near, my salvation is gone forth” (Isaiah 51:5). In opening up this message, I shall first consider what are the things to be brought near; and, secondly, what is the process of bringing them near. I. What are these two things; - Jehovah’s righteousness and Israel’s salvation? How are they related to one another, and connected with one another? And what, in particular, is the meaning of the precedence or priority assigned to the one as coming before the other? - my righteousness - my salvation. Now here, in the first place, it is very evident that the Lord’s righteousness must mean not a divine attribute, but a divine work, or effect or manifestation of some kind. This is plain from the conjunction in which “his righteousness” stands with “his salvation.” They are placed in juxtaposition as things related to God, not indwelling in God; - “my righteousness;” “my salvation.” The salvation is not God, nor a part of God, but a work, or effect, or manifestation of God. It has respect not to what God is in himself, but to what he does. So also the righteousness must be something not in God, but of God. But although it is not the essential righteousness of his nature and character that is here denoted, it must be something with which that attribute has to do, something in which it is concerned, and by which it is developed. Now the attribute of righteousness or justice in God is strictly judicial. It has respect to his moral administration; to law, and the enforcing of law. It is thus distinguished from his holiness. “When we speak of God as holy, we speak of him as a moral being to whose very nature sin is infinitely hateful. When we speak of him as righteous, we speak of him as a moral ruler who, in his government of his moral creatures, enforces law and executes judgment. Such is the attribute of righteousness in God. And such also must be that work, or effect, or manifestation which the Lord here calls “his righteousness.” It must be an act of rule, - an exercise of judicial authority; - a transaction having reference to law and its sanctions, to sin and its sentence, to the redressing of wrong, the vindication of right, and the executing of just judgment on the guilty. But, secondly, the question occurs, Is there any particular procedure on the part of God that may be supposed to be referred to when he speaks of “bringing near his righteousness”? One answer, at all events, lies upon the very surface. Read the entire series of prophecies in which our two texts occur, beginning at the 44th chapter, and reaching onwards beyond the 51st, - and what do you find? what but one continued series of most terrible denunciations of judgment against the heathen, alternating with most gracious promises of deliverance to the Lord’s own people. God is represented as about to deal judicially with the nations; taking vengeance on them for their impiety against himself, and their oppression of his church. And all this is to be made subservient to the accomplishment of his plans and purposes of richest love on behalf of his chosen Israel. Now this suggests what must be admitted to be the primary, and the most patent and palpable, meaning of the announcement in our texts. A judicial dealing with his enemies, on the part of God, precedes and prepares the way for the deliverance or salvation of his people; and when he brings near the one, the other will not tarry; when the one is near, we may be very sure that the other is already gone forth, and is on the way. Nor are we to restrict the application of this rule to any particular instance; it is a general rule or law of divine providence. And it is one that may well strike terror into the stouthearted, while it encourages the faithful. To the stouthearted it is terrible. For thus the Lord puts it: Salvation for mine elect, their deliverance from oppression, must be preceded, however briefly, by my righteousness being brought near in visitations of just wrath against you who are my enemies and theirs. That deliverance may come to them, judgment must overtake you. Over your prostrate bodies, over your righteous ruin, my salvation must reach them. But rejoice all ye that “fear the Lord and obey the voice of his servant,” even though for a season you “walk in darkness and see no light.” Patience for a season: it is but a little while. Righteousness, righteous retribution, the righteous interposition of God for the avenging of his elect, cannot now linger much longer. And hear the Lord’s own voice respecting the coming judgments of the last day; “When these things begin to come to pass, then look up and lift up your heads, for your redemption draweth nigh” (Luke 21:28). But, in the third place, we ought not merely to be contented with understanding and applying a rule or law of this nature, as a matter of fact; we ought to search into the probable ground or reason of it. Why is it that the Lord keeps his righteousness ever in advance of his salvation? Is it a mere discretionary arrangement of his sovereign will? Or has it a deeper root in his essential nature? Surely it has; else he would not postpone to it what is so dear to his heart as the saving of his people. Being such as he is, righteous and holy; righteous as well as holy; he cannot but bring near his righteousness, in the first instance, in order that thereafter his salvation may not tarry. And why? Why but because he must first consult for his own righteous name, before he can consult for their complete safety; he must first right himself before he can consistently and conclusively deliver them. Whatever work or effect or manifestation of his righteousness, whatever judicial procedure, whatever exercise of penal severity, may be needed, to vindicate the sanctity of his name and nature, his government and law; that must come first and be first provided for. And only in the train of that “righteousness of God” can “his salvation” go forth. To alter this arrangement, to reverse this order, would be to postpone to the convenience of the creature, - yes, even of the guilty creature, - the very stability of the throne of the great Creator himself! It would be to give to the interests of men, sinful men on the earth, priority and precedency over the high and holy claims of God in heaven; to make the immortal majesty of justice give way and stand by until miserable mortals, having no claim so much as to forbearance, are accommodated and satisfied; and prostrate the pillars of eternal truth that support the universe at the feet of those, whose modest suit it is that, even though God should cease to reign in righteousness, they must at all events be somehow saved! But it cannot be. Let men, presumptuous men, reckon as they please on all that is just and true and holy in the character and kingdom of the everlasting God being made to bend to their demand of indulgence and impunity, which is all the salvation they can look for in that way, - and all indeed that they care for. It cannot be. Inflexible, inexorable, unalterable, - I say not as decree of fate, but as the very nature of the Eternal, - stands the rule: - First cometh his righteousness; then, only then, his salvation. But, fourthly, let his righteousness come; let it be brought near. Let it come and be brought near, having its full course; being thoroughly satisfied and fulfilled. Then his salvation will not tarry. It follows, it cannot but follow, it is content to follow, the righteousness. It follows, not tardily, but in eager haste. Scarcely has that herald, clad in the dark garb of the destroying angel, armed with avenging thunder, sounding the trump of doom, left the skies upon his errand of inevitable judgment, when, lo! mercy, saving mercy, with sweet and tearful smile, is already gone forth, rushing on wing of love to overtake his steps. Onward she flies in her swift and emulous race, no halting, no tarrying, till, planting her eager foot upon this earth; - where? on what spot? - where but on Calvary? where but beside the cross? - she finds the messenger of wrath she has been pursuing, no longer hastening on, but waiting for her; waiting, that beneath the gracious stream, as it gushes from the pierced side, they too may be at one; antagonists no more, but combining in truest, fullest harmony of just and holy love to save and bless mankind. For now “mercy and truth are met together, righteousness and peace have kissed each other” (Psalms 84:10). I touch now the real import and heart’s core of my texts; and go on to observe accordingly: - That this principle of the righteousness of God opening up the way for his salvation, may be applied - 1. To fallen man and his tempter in paradise; 2. To the redeeming man, Christ Jesus, accomplishing his work of propitiation; and 3. To me, personally as a poor sinner, in the Spirit’s gracious work of conviction and faith. 1. This “righteousness of God,” as preliminary to “his salvation,” is brought near to fallen man and his tempter in paradise. Here let me remind you of the terms in which the original promise of mercy was couched. In point of fact, it was not strictly speaking a promise at all, but a threatening. It spoke only of judgment: “To the serpent God said, The seed of the woman shall bruise thy head.” Thus God “brings near his righteousness.” And the only ground upon which his doing so, in the form of this intimation of the tempter’s sentence and doom, can be held to carry in it any grace at all, is just the law or principle of our texts; that when he bringeth near his righteousness, his salvation will not tarry. The execution of his work of righteousness upon the seducer implies, as a consequence, according to this law or principle, the deliverance of his victims. 2. This “righteousness of God” is brought near to the redeeming man, the Lord from heaven, the man Christ Jesus, accomplishing his ministry of propitiation. For the deliverer is to be himself a partaker in the calamity of those whom he delivers. He is to make common cause with them. He is to deliver them by representing them; by taking their place; and allowing that righteousness of God which would have had its proper effect, or work, in their death, to be consummated in him as dying in their stead. Righteousness must come first; his fulfilling all righteousness; as a preliminary to his being able to save unto the uttermost all that come unto God by him. 3. This “righteousness of God” is brought near to me, a poor sinner, in the Spirit’s gracious work of conviction and faith. Righteousness brought near to me, God’s perfect righteousness; not to condemn but to save! How may that be? And yet it must be. I feel now that it must. Righteousness, a work or manifestation of righteousness, such as may meet the claims of the righteous God - that must first come! Ah me! can such a righteousness ever come near to me, and bring anything but death for me? Can I stand, in my own proper person, such a judicial work in and upon me, a sinner, as I now see must precede any hope of my ever being saved? Yes! I deeply feel that in and upon me, to me, to me personally and individually, to my case, this law of salvation coming after righteousness - deliverance following in the rear of a strict judicial reckoning - must be relentlessly applied. Nay, I could not, I would not, I dare not look for any relaxation of it in its application to me. With the light and conviction I now have, I dare not dream of what relates to my safety having the preference over what involves the glory of Jehovah’s righteous name. But he himself says, “I bring near my righteousness.” Lo! it is near! In the person, in the obedience, in the atoning death of Christ, it is near: near to me with, not ruin, but salvation in its train! Yes! For in Christ and his finished work of obedience and atonement, the righteousness of God is brought near, as fully and finally satisfied and glorified, and therefore having in it a righteous salvation for me; for me, a sinner; of sinners the chief. In him and in his work, the whole of that judicial procedure - even up to the highest demands of the law’s perfection, and down to the utmost depths of the law’s penalty - which must open the way for the coming of God’s salvation, is strictly and thoroughly accomplished. He is therefore himself “the righteousness of God;” and as such God brings him near. He is near; “my righteousness,” says Jehovah. Let him be mine! Oh, let him only be mine! do I, poor sinner as I am, amid the doubt and darkness of conscious guilt, cry out. And then may the full light of God’s own salvation flow in abundantly on my long benighted soul. It now only remains under this head to identify this righteousness of God which our texts describe as the precursor of his salvation, with that which the New Testament represents as the ground of our justification before God. I quote one single passage: “But now the righteousness of God without the law is manifested, being witnessed by the law and the prophets” (Romans 3:21). The apostle has conclusively proved the righteousness of man to be in every view insufficient; all righteousness of man - of man’s providing or working out - being out of the question as having any worth or efficacy to meet the demands of God’s violated law and justice, or give the sinner any ground of hope. And now, that being so, the righteousness of God is manifested in the person and work of his Son Jesus Christ, fulfilling the whole law on our behalf, and expiating the guilt of our breach of it by his own endurance of the penalty in our stead. In the train of that righteousness of God his salvation will not tarry. This righteousness thus seasonably manifested, is said by the apostle to be “without the law.” It is irrespective of any personal obedience of ours to the law, or any satisfaction we could render for our disobedience. Still it is “witnessed by the law and the prophets.” By the law it is witnessed or attested as the very righteousness which it requires to fulfil and exhaust its claims. By the prophets it is witnessed or attested as the very righteousness promised from the beginning, by means of which the serpent’s head should be bruised, and his victims emancipated and set free. The law looks at this righteousness and is satisfied. Yes! it will do! it is enough! The prophets also look at this righteousness; and they too are satisfied. We recognise it, they say, as that righteousness of God which we were taught to look for, and which we taught the faithful among the people to look for, and on which we and they relied for the coming in of all saving mercies. We hail the long-promised and long-expected boon. We welcome the Saviour, the Righteous one, whose day we gladly saw afar off. The righteousness is thus attested to be perfect; as meeting alike all legal demands and all prophetic anticipations. II. I have dwelt so long upon the righteousness said to be brought near, as the precursor of the salvation which will not tarry, that I can but touch upon the manner in which the righteousness is brought near, so that the salvation instantly goeth forth in its train. It may be said that the Lord brings it near, or that it is near, in three different senses. It is near, the Lord brings it near, in the gospel offer, as a free gift, wholly of grace, and not of works at all. What are thou groping for, what art thou feeling for, what are thou toiling and straining for, poor soul? Something to stand thee instead in the judicial dealing of thy God with thee; something that may be of avail, if not as a claim of merit, yet, at least, as a plea in arrest of judgment; something made up of prayers and penances and pious services; repentances, resolutions, compensations for little sins; decencies, duties, virtues; frames, feelings; and one knows not what besides; something that thou canst present to thy Maker as having efficacy to avert his wrath and win his indulgent favour. Ah, how hard is thy task! And how vain! Worse than filling the bottomless tub, or rolling the ever-returning stone up the steep hill. What folly! Thou art going about to establish a righteousness of thine own. Long and late will it be ere thou succeedest, even to thy own satisfaction if thou art in earnest, not to speak of the satisfaction of thy God. Hear the apostle’s testimony (Romans 10:5-10), “Moses describeth the righteousness which is of the law, that the man which doeth those things shall live by them.” The man that doeth those things; - the things required by the law demanding full satisfaction for disobedience as well as enjoining perfect obedience; - the man that doeth those things; when he has done them; when he has expiated the guilt of all his past sins, and succeeded in sinlessly keeping all God’s commandments; may then have a righteousness in respect of which God’s salvation may not tarry. Then! Ah! when will that be? Eternity, with all heaven’s services and all hell’s sufferings combined, would not bring it near! But hear the other side! Look at that righteousness, so infinitely beyond all thine own, which, in his own dear Son, Jehovah brings so very near; putting it into thy very hand, and saying. Sinner, it is thine freely, - thine for the taking. Yes! it is near, this righteousness of God. For “the righteousness which is of faith speaketh on this wise, Say not in thine heart. Who shall ascend into heaven? (that is, to bring Christ down from above): or, Who shall descend into the deep? (that is, to bring up Christ again from the dead). But what saith it? The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth, and in thy heart: that is the word of faith, which we preach; that if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.” 2. The Lord bringeth near this righteousness; it is near; in the powerful striving and working of his Spirit. This bringing near of his righteousness is a very solemn thing. For what can be more critical than the position of one to whom God is thus bringing near that righteousness of his behind which his salvation will not tarry, - not only in the free gift and offer of the gospel, but by the mighty agency of the Spirit - and who still is hesitating, halting, and standing back! May not this be thy position, my brother, at this very moment? Is it not thy position? Hast thou not some misgivings as to the sort of righteousness which thou hast been accustomed to present and plead at the bar of thy conscience and thy God? Art thou not in some measure ill at ease? Is there not a faint longing in thy bosom, as if thou wouldst fain, if thou couldst, have a surer resting-place and a more satisfying refuge from the impending storm of wrath? Hast thou no surmise that if thou wert decidedly and altogether a Christian - if Christ were thine - thine as the Lord thy righteousness, the righteousness of God made over to thee - thou wouldst be both a happier and a better man? Be very sure that God is bringing near his righteousness to thee, by the power of his Spirit as well as in the free gift of his gospel, in such a way as, if it do not carry it with it salvation in its train, must fearfully aggravate thy doom. Jesus sent forth his disciples to proclaim in every city and every family, “The kingdom of God is come nigh unto you.” A right gracious proclamation! But the last words he told them to leave ringing in the ears of the disobedient were these very words of grace turned into words of winged and fiery wrath - “Notwithstanding, be ye sure that the kingdom of God hath come nigh unto you.” 3. The Lord brings near his righteousness in the believing appropriation of it which his Spirit enables you to make. A blessed nearness is this! - humbling to self, honouring to God! How far does it put away every vision of a righteousness of your own! What acquiescence does it imply in the very arrangement the natural mind most dislikes - the putting of all your claims on the footing of a righteousness provided for you. Yes! Even though it is the righteousness of God himself, the righteousness manifested and wrought out in the person of his Son, and though it is not only provided for you, but freely presented to you, by him whose righteousness it is; still, the natural mind recoils from the renunciation of self and the submission to God which all this involves. To be made willing here is indeed the token of a day of power! But how great is the blessedness of being thus made willing! For one thing, there is an entire end of all guile. All partial dealing with conscience and with God is past. No more compromise. No more trying to put off even God himself with an instalment of his claims. No more attempt to satisfy him with what but barely - or not even barely - satisfies yourselves. All now is open and without disguise. And then, what a profitable exchange is yours! Your righteousness is now far off; but God’s righteousness is near. You are nothing; but Christ is all in all. You count all things but loss; but it is for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus your Lord. You renounce righteousness as your attribute, and own sin - sin only - as constituting your essential characteristic, your very being; but it is because you believe in God who “hath made him to be sin for you who knew no sin, that you might be made the righteousness of God in him.” Thus, in the free gift and offer of the gospel, in the powerful working of the Spirit, and in the appropriating act of that faith which is the fruit of the Spirit and the gift of God - his righteousness is near; brought near, emphatically, by himself. “I bring near my righteousness.” And it is not only for the honour of his name and the vindication of his government and law - an object which he might attain in your destruction - that he brings near his righteousness; but for the sake of what follows hard upon his righteousness being brought near - his salvation. Salvation Cometh. Jehovah’s salvation following Jehovah’s righteousness. And what a salvation! It is the Lord’s salvation; not such as man would desire or imagine for himself, but such as is worthy of God; a high and holy salvation; comprehending all God-like privileges and God-like perfections; deliverances of all sorts from all powers and influences opposed to godliness; and freedom to walk in fellowship with God. This salvation, which is the Lord’s, is sure, because it is the sequel and corollary of the Lord’s righteousness being brought near. It is not based on any hollow truce and wretched compromise with evil. It does not depend on any treacherous rearing of the fabric of human worth or goodness. It is the handmaid of righteousness; even of the Lord’s own righteousness. And therefore it has a security which neither sin nor Satan can shake. Finally, this salvation of the Lord, thus going forth in the train of his righteousness, is complete and full. How can it, on such a footing, be otherwise? It is a perfect righteousness which Jehovah brings near; it cannot be an imperfect salvation of which he says that it shall not tarry. “He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?” In applying this subject, I address myself first to the poor in spirit, the contrite in heart, those that fear the Lord and tremble at his word, anxious inquirers, earnest souls, sincerely desiring to know and obey the will of God, who yet are in darkness more or less thick, not satisfied with their state, not at ease in their minds (Isaiah 50:10). (1.) In the first place, I would remind you that God brings near his righteousness; it is near. Ah! upon this point there is often sad obscurity in your views. You are for reversing the divine method. You would somehow yourselves get to the righteousness, instead of having it brought near to you. The poor invalid at Bethesda saw healing in the pool if he could but have transported himself, or had himself transported and conveyed into it. With breathless eagerness he watched the descent of the angel and the troubling of the waters. Desperately straining all his nerves for one more effort, he starts up in his weary bed, and fain would drag his wasted limbs along. Importunately he cries to every passer-by to help him over the space which, though but a few feet wide, is to him a barrier as impassable as the vastest ocean. But all in vain! Again and again he is tantalised by the tidings of virtue in the bath. Again and again he has to endure the bitter sickness of hope deferred. Good was it for him that One at last appeared, who, instead of his being required to go to the healing waters, brought a healing efficacy near to him! Good was it for that helpless man to have no more care about his reaching the cure, but to welcome the cure as reaching him! Ah, poor sinner! have done for ever with that Bethesda way of getting healed. It is the way of nature; it is the way of man; but it is not the way of grace or of God. Why art thou saying, I cannot reach the pool; I have no man to carry me; I never can come to the righteousness I so much want? Do but look and listen. See a present Saviour. Hear the heavenly voice. My righteousness is near. All that thou wouldst have - all that thou needest for thy right standing with thy God - is near in thy hand, in thy heart, if thou wilt but grasp it as thine. “Behold, I stand at the door and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:20). (2.) But again, secondly, I would remind you that it is with that righteousness of God which he himself brings near, and with that alone, that you have directly to deal, and not with that salvation of God which will not tarry long after it. Do you give heed to the righteousness, and the salvation will take care of itself. Your business is with the righteousness; all concern about the salvation you may leave to God. Here, again, upon this point also, there is apt to be not a little confusion of ideas even in serious minds. You are anxious about the enjoyment of God’s salvation. The elements of holy happiness involved in it, its peace, its assurance, its enlargement of heart; the dispelling of darkness, the removal of doubts; deliverance from temptations and troubles, from fightings and fears; the unclouded shining of God’s reconciled countenance, and the bright unwavering hope of this eternal glory; - all these rich benefits of God’s salvation you covet earnestly. And it is not possible, nor would it be right, to be indifferent to them. You cannot value them too highly, or long for them too intensely. At the same time, you may somewhat err as to the way of obtaining them, or the way of their coming to you. The attempt to get possession of them by a direct effort, put forth immediately upon their attainment, may very probably defeat itself. Rather be you occupied with the righteousness of God, and rest assured that his salvation will not tarry. Let God make thorough work of his bringing near his righteousness to you. Let your conviction of sin be thorough. Let your knowledge of Christ be thorough. Let the renewal of your minds be thorough. Let your embracing of the Lord Jesus be thorough; and let your submission to God, on the footing of his righteousness, which he brings near you, be thorough. Let that submission on your part be as free, as unconditional, as unreserved, as is his gift to you; carrying with it entire resignation, cordial acquiescence, cheerful, obedience, patient waiting. So let his righteousness be brought near by himself to you, powerfully, effectually, thoroughly; and in its train you will find all saving gifts and graces hastening right joyously to cheer and bless your souls. One word in closing to the stout-hearted; to you who are standing aloof and afar off. To you, also, is this word of the Lord addressed, “I bring near my righteousness.” “My righteousness is near.” And in a double sense and for a double purpose is this word addressed to you. First, that you may know the terror of the Lord - consider that his righteousness, in the sense of his judicial reckoning with you, cannot be very distant. God has long delayed his coming to you in judgment. But come to you he must, and come to you he will; how soon and how suddenly, who can tell? Sinner, careless sinner, the day of wrath is near. God bringeth near his work of retribution to thee. Near, at the very door, ready this very day, this very hour, to seize thee, and drag thee to the bar, and open to thee the books, and read to thee thine everlasting doom; - near, this very instant, may that stern, inexorable righteousness of God be to thee! But, sinner, in another sense God brings his righteousness near to you. He brings near to you Christ, the Lord, his own beloved Son. And in his glorious person and his finished work, he brings near to you a righteousness all his own; a righteousness full, perfect, spotless, divine; a righteousness that will stand the chiefest sinner in good stead at the most trying hour; a righteousness sufficient to procure the cancelling of all your guilt, and the full salvation of your souls. This righteousness does God even now, in a preached Gospel and by a striving Spirit, bring near to you; near - very near - ah, how near! Nearer, at all events, than that other righteousness, that judicial visitation upon thyself, which yet may be at thy very door! Yes! sinner, death is near, but grace is nearer. Judgment is near, but Christ is nearer. Hell is near, but this blessed book, with all its promises, is nearer. Eternity is near, but the eternal Saviour is nearer. Oh! be persuaded now to own and receive, and welcome and embrace that righteousness of God which he brings so very near; to say to Jesus, My Redeemer, my Saviour, my Lord and my God. Is it not high time? The wolf is coming - fast coming - nearer and nearer every moment. Already he is upon you. One spring! - But lo! nearer still, the good Shepherd! Between thee and devouring ruin, already all but grasping thee, the good Shepherd yet for one more instant stands. Now, even now, wilt thou not hear his voice, and cast thyself into his arms, and believe and be saved? Ah, my friends! I would entreat you all to consider what it is that alone will avail you for eternity; what sort of righteousness, what sort of salvation. The hour is not far off that will try with a fiery ordeal whatever righteousness you are trusting in - whatever salvation you are looking for. The hope of the hypocrite must perish. The confidence of the self-righteous must be overthrown. The hail will destroy all refuges of lies. But if God’s righteousness is near to you, and if God’s salvation is gone forth to you, you at least have no cause of fear. “Lift up your eyes to the heavens, and look upon the earth beneath: for the heavens shall vanish away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a garment, and they that dwell therein shall die in like manner: but my salvation shall be for ever, and my righteousness shall not be abolished. Hearken unto me, ye that know righteousness, the people in whose heart is my law; fear ye not the reproach of men, neither be ye afraid of their revilings. For the moth shall eat them up like a garment, and the worm shall eat them like wool: but my righteousness shall be for ever, and my salvation from generation to generation” (Isaiah 51:6-8). ======================================================================== CHAPTER 107: S. GOD'S TEMPLE TRIED ======================================================================== GOD’S TEMPLE TRIED “For we are labourers together with God: ye are God’s husbandry, ye are God’s building. According to the grace of God which is given unto me, as a wise masterbuilder, I have laid the foundation, and another buildeth thereon. But let every man take heed how he buildeth thereupon. For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble; Every man’s work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is. If any man’s work abide which he hath built thereupon, he shall receive a reward. If any man’s work shall be burned, he shall suffer loss: but he himself shall be saved; yet so as by fire. Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are.” - 1 Corinthians 3:9-17 UNDER the figure of a building we find sometimes individual believers, and at other times the church collective represented in holy Scripture. In this passage, it is to believers individually that in the first instance, at least, and chiefly, the image applies. The apostle is discriminating between the parts which human instrumentality and divine agency respectively have in the origin and growth of personal religion. You owe your Christianity he says to the Corinthians, not to us, the apostles or ministers of the Lord, but to the Lord himself. We may be employed as labourers together with God, in. looking after some departments of the work, but as to the real essence of the work, he is alone. I may plant and Apollos water; but ye are not our husbandry, but God’s. So I and Apollos may handle or watch the handling of some of the tools; but ye are not our building, but God’s. And, at all events, whatever may have been our respective charges in laying the foundation, ye are now passed from that part of the work. The question is not now as to the foundation, but as to the superstructure. That is what is urgent now; not the laying of the foundation, in what manner and under whose oversight; that can make no difference; essentially the foundation is the same in all; for other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ (1 Corinthians 3:11); but what is urgent now is the rearing of the superstructure, the getting on with the upper building, completing the erection and fitting it for an habitation of God through the Spirit. If you were as anxious and as busy about that as you ought to be, your quarrel about the comparative merits of the overseers employed in laying the foundation would soon cease. Drawing out and expanding this thought, I regard the apostle as directing attention - First, to the materials in detail of which the fabric or superstructure of personal Christianity may be composed; “Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble; every man’s work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is. If any man’s work abide which he hath built thereupon, he shall receive a reward. If any man’s work shall be burned, he shall suffer loss: but he himself shall be saved; yet so as by fire” (1 Corinthians 3:12-15); and, Secondly, to the sacredness impressed on it as a whole: “Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are” (1 Corinthians 3:16-17). Viewing the believer set to the task of building up with God’s help his own character, I call on him to bear in mind these two considerations: - I. “What he builds is for eternity; let him see that the stuff he builds with is lasting enough. II. It is for a temple of God; let him see that what he builds is holy enough. I. What you are building is for eternity: how deeply therefore does it concern you to see to it that your materials are lasting and enduring enough. Now the two chief tests of the durability of the materials of any fabric, are time (the day shall declare it) and fire (the fire shall try it); the slow consuming tooth of time; the swift-licking tongue of fire. Time alone may be a sufficient test, sure, if slow; time that lays his unerring and impartial hand alike on the brilliant icy palace of the Northern Czar, melting under a single morning’s sun, and the solid pyramids of Egypt outlasting empires. And if all-eating time has for an ally the furious force of fire; if successive conflagrations in successive days or years are doomed to befall the structure; and if especially there is one day fixed in the lapse of years when the conflagration is to be complete and final; what an ordeal have we for the materials of any work to pass through! What a proof of abiding strength and value if they survive and stand. Such is the double test awaiting you, who are building on the foundation that is laid, which is Christ Jesus. There is no reference here to the sufficiency of the foundation on which you are building. That, doubtless, is to be tried. But it is the trial of the durability of what you are building on that foundation that is now spoken of. Both trials are severe. It is a fierce storm that the Lord describes as the occasion of the one trial. The other trial, according to the apostle, is to be by time and fire; by days or by a day of revelation by fire. 1. There are partial, and as it were, preliminary and premonitory, trials, by time and fire, even in this life, that serve to make manifest how you are building; there are occasions on which the day declares it, and the fire tries every man’s work of what sort it is. These are days of judgment in this present world, such as this apostle elsewhere in this Epistle speaks of, when he reproves the Corinthians for their unworthy practices and unworthy frames of mind in connection with the observance of the Lord’s supper (1 Corinthians 11:31-32). In that instance the apostle does not call in question the personal Christianity of those whose sin he is reproving: nay, the very point of his reproof lies in his acknowledging that. He gives them full credit for being really in Christ. They were built on the only true foundation; and they were God’s own building on that foundation. But in this matter of their disorderly observance of the Lord’s supper, what they were building was of a texture corrupt and perishable. And it was proved to be so by a day of fiery trial. Visitations of weakness, sickness, and mortality came upon them; and in their endurance of chastisement for their sin, they suffered loss; but they themselves were saved, yet so as by fire. Such fiery trial is surely sent in mercy; but is it wise, is it safe, is it right, to challenge or provoke it? to make it necessary so to speak, for God to send it, that you, chastened of the Lord now, may not be condemned with the world? I speak here to apply the figure generally of the character you are cultivating, the tastes you are acquiring, the habits you are forming, the affections you are indulging; or of the way in which you are accustoming yourselves to spend your Sabbaths, to improve your privileges, to use the means and ordinances of God’s grace; or of the occupations in which you are engaged, the round and routine of duties with which you fill up the day; your devotions, your charities, your home walk of household cares and familiar kindnesses; your professional intercourse with men, your alms, and liberties, and assiduities of personal attention to the sick or the sorrowful, the fatherless and the widow, the poor and the lost; your amusements, your recreations, your pleasures, your reading, your company, your conversation, your trains of thought, your modes of speech, your leading lines of conduct; for these all go to make up the materials with which you are building. Of what sort are they? will they endure? will they stand the test of a day of fire? will your Christianity, composed as it is of all these elements - for they all enter into it, - pass unscathed through a fiery trial of distress, or disease, or solitary woe, or of persecution and reproach for the name of Christ, or of the fierce darts of Satan’s temptations, or of the hot arrows of the Almighty entering into your wounded spirit, when, in a day of spiritual decline, he seems to hide his face from you, and to give you over to your own bitter musings? Remember how complex this building of your personal religion, your spiritual character, is. Everything you think and say and do, all your works and ways, in all paths and relations of life, all enter into it. Are they all such, do you make conscience of their being all such, do you study, and try, and pray to have them all such, as a day of fire may prove and not destroy? Is there none of them such as will weaken you when sinners entice you, or disconcert you when the world mocks you, or vex you on a sick-bed, or sting you in the approach of death? Your vain imaginations, your idle words, your unprofitable days, your dissipated nights, your weary Sabbaths, your heartless prayers, your formal sacraments; your sallies of uncontrolled temper, your outbreaks of heedless selfishness; your rivalries and jealousies, and suspicions and dislikes, your strifes and divisions; your wanderings of mind, your frailty of resolution, your reserve in testifying for Christ, your occasional conformity to the world, what are they but wood, hay, stubble? What are they fit for but to be burned? And will the burning of them bring no pain, no loss to you? Remember that this building with such materials is not separate and detached from you: you are yourselves the building: these materials are part and parcel of yourselves: the burning of them, if they are to be burnt out of you by trial here, is the burning of your own flesh and spirit. Yes, it may cost you many a tear, sleepless nights and anxious days, affliction of body and anguish of soul, ere these worthless and rotten stuffs are consumed. Errors, heresies, false opinions in religious faith, infirmities, shortcomings, tolerated failings in religious practice, may all be brought to trial in a day of evil; and as their natural fruit or salutary antidote, you may have to eat your spiritual meat with bitter herbs, and to bless God if you are saved at all, even though it should be as by fire. Oh! that believers would lay this to heart, especially when they are tempted to acquiesce in their spiritual deficiencies, and to stop short even of aiming at perfection. There may be things in you and about you now, which, when all is well, give you no uneasiness, that may appear to you in a very different light, and strike your conscience with a very different force when days of darkness come; when time is passing from your view, and eternity opening before your eye. And, alas! how sadly may you then have to mourn in vain over the scantiness of those spiritual graces you are now neglecting to cherish, and the feebleness of those spiritual tastes and habits which now you do not make it your business to cultivate and mature. But for your encouragement, remember that the same day of fiery trial which consumes the wood, hay, stubble, only proves and purifies the gold, the silver, the precious stones. And these, what are they? What but the fruit of the Spirit, - “love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance;” what but the features of the new man ye are to put on, “as the elect of God, holy and beloved, - bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, long-suffering; forbearing one another and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye,” etc.; what but the qualities we are to give all diligence in adding to one another, - faith, fortitude, knowledge, temperance, patience, godliness, brotherly kindness, charity? For, it is added, “if ye do these things, ye shall never be moved.” Ah! there are materials in the composition of the Christian character which affliction only serves to perfect; elements of holy trust in God and resignation to his will, that are only called into livelier exercise when trouble comes. “For a season, if need be, ye are in heaviness through manifold tribulation;” but be of good cheer. It is thus that the building is tested. And be very sure that its being thus tested is for its good; for good to itself: “The trial of your faith is much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire; and shall be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.” Lo! into that burning fiery furnace three witnesses for God are cast. It is to them the day of fire. But their noble protest against idolatry; their dauntless refusal to worship the golden image; - that, at any rate, is neither wood, nor hay, nor stubble. It was a fire that tried these men’s works, for the flame of it slew the men that cast the confessors in. But they had no hurt; not a hair of their heads was touched; not a seam of their garments singed; they walked in the midst of the fire, and one like the Son of God with them. The fire tried their work, of what sort it was. 2. But not always, or not alone in this life, is this day of discovery by fire. The materials with which you are now building your Christian character have to stand the test, not only of time and its trials, but of eternity also, and of that judgment which meets you on the threshold of eternity. That day when God shall judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ; the day when the Lord shall bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and make manifest the counsels of the hearts; when the books shall be opened; that dread and awful day will be a day declaring every man’s work; because it shall be revealed by fire. And what fire? Not the material elemental fire. Not the fire of mere penal infliction. That cannot touch the seat either of holiness or of sin. No, but the fire of discovery, the discovery of a man to himself before the holy God. For, observe, the stress or emphasis of the intimation here given lies in this awful thought. Three times over, in this one verse, is the idea repeated: - “made manifest,” “declare,” “reveal.” The trial is by fire, because it is the trial of that day when all is made manifest, - declared, - revealed. And this “all,” what is it? It is all that is connected with your Christian character and Christian conduct. I say nothing here of what you are and what you did in your unconverted state. It is with what you are, as believers, and what you are doing, as believers, and with that alone, that I have to do. To you, as believers, it is that I now speak of the day of judgment. You stand before the judgment-seat of Christ. As believers. Granted. Justified long before by faith. Granted. With no condemnation; sure of happiness and heaven; your souls having already been with Christ in blessedness and glory, while your bodies were mouldering in their graves; now, with your risen and glorified bodies, made like unto his own glorious body, you appear before him with joy and not with grief. Granted all. But it is a day of judgment still, even to you; of open judgment. All is opened up; the whole history of your life of faith; what it was; and at the very instant when there flashes full upon your mind the vivid apprehension of what it should, of what it might, have been; all is opened up; every feature in your habit of faith; every incident in your walk of faith; and precisely when, having been made perfect in holiness, your recoil from all evil is most intense. I ask, Is that an ordeal which any serious man, with all his confidence in the full and free salvation of the gospel, can anticipate without most solemn awe? And through this ordeal every one of you must pass. You and your work; the work you are making of your personal Christianity; your progressive sanctification; your serving the Lord; your growth in grace, and preparation for glory. Ah! there is a work which a man may by the Spirit build on that one only foundation that is laid, which is Christ Jesus; a work which will abide, and for which he shall receive a reward; the work of faith, and labour of love, and patience of hope. Faith, love, hope; the precious gold, the pure silver, the bright gem; let the building be constructed of these. They can stand the clearest light, the hottest fire of searching discovery and open revelation. They are of heaven; and into heaven they will pass to abide with you for ever. But is anything of earth allowed to mingle with what you are building for heaven? Does any secret leaven of the carnal mind vitiate and mar your pure peace with God, and hinder your going on to perfection? Ah! how many of the schemes, how many of the steps, even of godly men, themselves built on the foundation that is laid, which is Christ Jesus, may be found, in that day of fire, unable to stand the searching disclosure of them before the unerring Judge! And these not always schemes and steps in the direction of what the world would call sin; but plans, often, of well-intended self-discipline, and honest devotion, and real benevolence, after a sort, too; proceedings forming part, and what they deemed no unimportant part, of the very service they were doing to God; efforts of zeal without knowledge; struggles of partisanship for points of precedence, or points of form, in which at bottom carnal prejudice had more place than heavenly faith; labours in which they wearied themselves for very vanity. Alas! how in that day will all such, and many other the like kinds of building, be discovered to have been fruitless, useless; unprofitable as to any issue of them you can carry with you into the eternal state; fit only to be once for all disclosed, and destroyed in the fire of that day’s tremendous revelations. Ah! my friends, what are you about in your Christian calling? What is the Christian experience you are accumulating? How much of it, bow much of it all, I ask, will bear to be confronted with the Judge the revealer of all hearts, in that day? How much of it may pass under his eye, into the eternity that you are to spend with him? It is no work of man; of man’s passion, or prejudice, or partisanship; it is no work about man, boasting of Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas; not the wrath of man which worketh not the righteousness of God; not the wisdom of man, which is foolishness with God; not any such sort of building will outlast the scorching and withering disclosures of that open day of judgment. No; nothing will or can survive that but what may lay claim, out and out, to the character of a work of God; the real, single-eyed, and simple-minded working out of your own salvation with fear and trembling, because it is God who worketh in you both to will and to do; and the real, single-eyed, and simple-minded working of the work of God while it is day, before the night cometh in which no man can work. II. That the structure you are building on the foundation that is laid, which is Christ Jesus, should be such as will stand the test of time, the ordeal of a day of fire, is a plain inference from the fact that such an ordeal awaits us. But there is a second reason for peculiar care as to how and what you build. It is a reason derived, not from the prospective trial, but from the present use, of the erection. It is a sacred edifice; it is the temple of God; he has founded and built it; he has taken possession of it; acknowledging, appropriating, inhabiting it as his own; and he whose temple it is thus declared to be is a jealous God; any injury done to his temple he will resent and repay, for he has sanctified it to himself, consecrated it by the sprinkling of blood, cleansed it from filthiness and idols, and called it by his name, which is holy: “Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are” (1 Corinthians 3:16-17). The motive here suggested proceeds plainly on the principle that Christians ought to recognise their own Christianity, to the extent at least of feeling the full force of what it implies in the way of duty, and aim, and responsibility. For the question is not about the confidence or comfort of a full personal assurance of salvation, but about the obligation of a holy and perfect walk. And in this view, it is with somewhat of surprise, at least, if not of indignation, that the apostle summons you, as a believer, to an explicit recognition of your high and holy calling. “What! know ye not that ye are the temples of God?” Is not this your profession? Is not this your character and position? Is not this the standing you have to maintain before God? Is not this, therefore, the standard of the attainment you ought to be making? Nay, more, as he goes on to add; it is not merely a profession, a name with you. It should not be so. It need not be so: “Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?” It is your privilege to know this. The Holy Ghost is given to shed abroad in your hearts the love of God, to seal your acceptance, and pardon, and peace; to be in you no more the spirit of bondage again to fear, but the Spirit of adoption, crying Abba, Father; to witness With your spirits that you are the children of God. It is your duty as well as your privilege to know it; for the measure of your obligation now is that indwelling of the Holy Ghost in you. Remember, that in the great day of the trial of fire, it is as a building of God; it is as a building for God that you are to be tested; it is as believers, founded on the rock, which is Christ; it is as believers, having the Holy Ghost dwelling in you, that you are to have yourself and your works, your character, your conduct, your aims, attainments, and performances, judged in that day. Is it indeed true, my friends, that ye are built upon the only foundation that is laid, which is Christ Jesus? Is it a great fact; is it a blessed reality; that even now, already, unfinished as the structure is that you are building on that foundation, it is inhabited by God himself; that you yourselves are become the temples of God; that the Holy Spirit of God dwelleth in you? Then consider how jealous this God is of whatever touches the honour of his name, and tarnishes the enduring lustre of the glory of his house. Who is it that is to be judge in that day? “Who is it whose judgment is to be as a trial of fire? Is it not he, who in the days of his flesh cried, “The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up?” Is it not he who “overthrew the tables of the moneychangers, and the seats of them that sold doves?” Is it not he whose holy presence dispersed the crowd of profane traffickers that were destroying the sanctity of the temple’s outer court, and whose voice, still and small, fell as thunder on their ears, “Make not my Father’s house an house of merchandise, - the house of prayer a den of thieves!” That temple was to be destroyed, in a few short years, for ever. But, in the great day, the temple submitted to his scrutiny, subjected to his judgment and trial of fire, is no earthly house, soon to be dissolved; but a building of God. Ye are God’s building. And not the suburbs, as it were, and precincts, and Gentile court only, are to be tried; but the inmost sanctuary, the holiest of all, the recess Within the veil, where dwelleth the very Shechinah glory, where is the presence and power of the Holy Spirit. Who, or what, is marring that holy shrine? Who, or what, is tampering with the purity or perfection of that inmost dwelling-place Jehovah chooses for himself here below? Who, or what, around, above, within, is corrupting with any touch of earth’s pollution or earth’s vanity; that real heaven upon earth, the holy heart of a believer in Jesus? Whosoever, whatsoever it be, is doomed to destruction: “If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are” (1 Corinthians 3:17). To apply the subject, I address myself first, to you that believe in Jesus. How solemn, even to you, is the thought of a judgment to come! You must all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ. “Let us have grace whereby we may serve God acceptably, with reverence and godly fear: for our God is a consuming fire.” The fire shall try every man’s work. The judgment is by fire; by a searching fire of discovery and declaration. Whatever shrinks from that is doomed and destroyed. Consider once more the principles of that fiery ordeal of detection and disclosure. There is a building to be tested according to the time it is intended to last and the purpose it is intended to serve. The time is eternity; the purpose is the glory of the eternal God. The building is to last for ever, and to last for ever as the temple of God, in which the Spirit of God dwells: you are that building as a believer in Jesus. Judge yourself now as such, if you would not be judged hereafter. Try by the test here furnished, whatever has any influence in moulding or modifying your moral nature; your spiritual frame; the books and men and things with which you are conversant; the pursuits and pleasures that fill up your time; the musings and memories that fill up your thoughts. Are they marring the building as a building for eternity, and a building for the indwelling of God in it as his temple. Make no compromise here; give no quarter to any intruder. Let the Lord again come to his own house, and cleanse it thoroughly by his scourge of small cords. And observe the difference that there may be between your case and that of the temple of old. There, the vain traffic and dishonest arts of trade polluted only the outer court, and did not reach the inner shrine. It may be otherwise with you. What defiles or destroys may not affect the outer court at all; the external decency and decorum of your life may be scarcely touched. But worse, far worse. It may be the truth and tenderness of the inmost sanctuary of the heart that is in peril. The element of evil may be working, not in the outer but in the inner man; defiling the conscience, debauching the will, deadening the heart. It may be in that most sacred recess, for back in the depth of your moral nature, where the Spirit of God comes into secret and silent personal contact with the spirit of man - it may be there that the mischief is going on, while outwardly all is as fair and seemly as ever. Beware, friends, of whatever may turn the living temple into a whited sepulchre. Shrink not, my brother, my God, let not me shrink, from a full and faithful searching of my ways; no, not though it should force me to raise again the question, Am I, after all, built by God the Holy Ghost on God the Son, the rock of my salvation? Am I really in Christ? Have I believed, do I believe, in him? Am I in very truth in him? Yes! let me not shrink from such an issue of my self-examination. Let me, if indeed I have almost unconsciously been falling from my first love, repent and do the first works. Wilt not thou receive me, Lord. Quicken me that I may call upon thy name. And not for yourselves alone, but for others, lay this warning to heart. Let me ever remember that I am to regard my brother, not less than myself as God’s building. He, as well as I, is the temple of God. In his case as in mine, the building is for eternity; and it is for the indwelling in it as in a temple of the Spirit of God. Yes! I am to look on every man in that light; for he is or may be all that my looking on him in that light implies. Let me beware how I treat him! It is a fearful thing to offend one of Christ’s little ones! And yet, alas! by my vain conversation, I may be marring the temple of God in some hopeful inquirer or anxious soul; or in some doubtful professor whom my example may be encouraging in his unconcern; or in some weak saint whom my countenance may be encouraging in what to him is a doubtful way. Let me beware of whatever may tend in that line. And as the best safeguard against it, let me be busy in the opposite line; dealing with every one as with a child of God, whom he may be pleased to own as a temple in which he may dwell for ever. To careless sinners I have a word to say. I have been speaking to the Lord’s own people about a judgment to come as being terrible even for them, who see on the judgment seat their Saviour and Lord. What must it be to you? “Knowing the terror of the Lord, we persuade men.” Knowing ourselves the terror of the Lord, for we must stand before the judgment-seat of Christ, and there is terror enough in that for us, we persuade you. Ah! it is in no spirit of self-complacency, or of exultation over you, that we look on you who are building for self and time only; and not for God and eternity. No! we have nothing to boast of! We know who has made us to differ; and we know him as willing to make you not only what we are, but what he is! We would have you to know him thus. For you, as well as we, must stand before the dread tribunal! The great white throne; the opened books; the day of discovery; the revelation of the secrets of all hearts - that is what awaits us both. We tell you that it is and must be a formidable ordeal and trial to us, “washed, and sanctified, and justified, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and by the Spirit of our God.” What must it be to you, unclean, unclothed, unsaved? We speak to you solemnly, as if we were already together at the judgment seat. But we speak to you as being now together beside the cross. Thanks be to God that it is so. We are at the cross. Look there, sinner, whoever thou art! See the Lamb of God taking away the sin of the world. See the pierced side; the flowing stream! Hear the gracious words, “To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise.” But hark! Has not another voice issued from the dry parched lips? Slowly he toils up the hill of woe; bearing the cross on which he bears your sin. Many hearts melt: many eyes weep. Hark! what says he? “Daughters of Jerusalem weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children! “Weep! Well you may. “For if they do these things in the green tree, what shall be done in the dry?” “How shall ye escape if ye neglect so great salvation?” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 108: S. GOD'S WAYS NOT MAN'S WAYS ======================================================================== GOD’S WAYS NOT MAN’S WAYS “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” - Isaiah 55:8-9 THIS statement may be viewed, either first, as giving the reason that makes the sinner’s repentance necessary (Isaiah 55:7), “Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts;” “For my thoughts are not as your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord;” or secondly, as confirming the assurance of full and free forgiveness (Isaiah 55:7), “Let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon:” he may be sure of this; “for my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord;” or thirdly, as an assertion of the stability of the divine purpose and the certainty of its fulfilment (Isaiah 55:10-12). It is the purpose of one whose thoughts are not your thoughts, and whose word in the moral economy will infallibly be as effectual as is his reign in the material earth, and who, out of the songs of a renovated world, is determined, whether you believe or no, to make for himself a name. Considered in the first of these lights, the text places the necessity of repentance not on the footing of a mere arbitrary or discretionary appointment on the part of God, but on the footing of his essential nature. It is not merely because God says it, that the wicked must forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts; but because God is what he is, Not as if it were a required and stipulated condition of God’s favour, but because even God, being such as he is, cannot arrange it otherwise: “The wicked must forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts” (Isaiah 55:7). Again, taken, according to the second view, in connection with the assurance given to the sinners, however wicked his way, and however unrighteous his thoughts, that on his turning to the Lord, the Lord will have mercy upon him, the text at once magnifies the grace of God, and explains the principle on which it is dispensed; not after the manner and measure of such forgiveness as is common between man and man, but according to the nature of God himself; after a manner, therefore, and a measure, worthy of God, and such as never would have entered into the heart of man, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.” Finally, regarded in its third aspect, as bearing on what follows, rather than on what goes before, the text unfolds the ground of that confidence which you may have, who comply with the call to return unto the Lord. It is impossible that, returning to him, you should ever perish, for he to whom you return is not one whose thoughts, however kind, may yet come to nought. He is not one whose ways, however gracious, may yet be turned aside. That is too often the issue of men’s kind thoughts and gracious ways towards one another. He is one whose word cannot return unto him void. And his word, his will, irrevocable and irresistible, is that the ruin of the fall shall be signally repaired; “For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. Instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree, and instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle tree: and it shall be to the Lord for a name, for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off” (Isaiah 55:12-13). Such being the threefold work and triple excellency of this announcement of the text, I would now endeavour, by the help of God, to ascertain (1) against what errors; (2) with what qualifications or limitations; (3) with what simple truth, as it respects the sovereign majesty of God; and (4) with what variety of adaptation to the experience of man, this great doctrine concerning the Most High is to be maintained. I. The errors, in opposition to which the doctrine of the text is to be asserted, are those connected with what has been technically termed anthropomorphism. This, in its grosser form, is the ascribing of a body and bodily organs to him who is a spirit; interpreting literally those expressions that often occur in Scripture - “the eyes of the Lord;” “the hand of God;” the “ears of the Lord of Sabaoth.” The more subtle and refined sort, however, is that which, without investing God with a human form, would conceive of him as subject to human passions, with all their alternations of violence and weakness. Thus, on the one hand, the presumption of the wicked in their wickedness, and the fond reliance of superstitious formalists on their ceremonies and duties; as well as, on the other hand, the weariness even of the godly, in their sufferings of wrong, and waiting for good, may all be traced to that radical vice in what may be called our natural religion - the judging and measuring of God by ourselves. The same spirit, also, is vividly represented in some of the Lord’s parables, as in the wicked and slothful servant saying to his Lord, “I knew thee, that thou wast an austere man, lo, there thou hast that is thine;” in the labourers sent first into the vineyard grudging the employer’s kindness, and questioning his fairness, when he requites equally with them those hired at the eleventh hour; in the elder son remonstrating with his father for the mirth and gladness at the prodigal’s return; ay, and in the prodigal himself, on his first determining to return, when all he dreamt of asking from his father was some spare bread from the hired servants’ table, and that, too, on the terms of a hired servant’s work and wages. In all these and similar instances, we trace the working of the same disposition to bring down God to the level of man; and the root of the whole evil really is the enmity of your carnal mind against God: you will not, cannot understand, because you do not love or like the God with whom you have to do. You have a quarrel or controversy with him, in which, as your own hearts bear witness, you are in the wrong; and, as is usual in such a case, you do injustice to your adversary. It is thus in human affairs. Is there any one with whom you are on unfriendly terms? Is he one who has claims upon you that you are not willing to recognise, and cause of complaint against you that you cannot bring yourself frankly to confess? Ah! how apt are you to judge of him, not merely by what is best, but by what is basest in your own disposition; to pervert everything he says and does, and look with a jaundiced and jealous eye on whatever indication of his mind he may be giving. Does he pipe to you? you will not dance. Does he mourn to you? you will not lament. Does he signify his just displeasure in language of deep and solemn sadness? Oh! he is in a passion; but by and by he will cool down and relent - a few compliments and concessions will appease him. Is he, again, gentle and uncomplaining, neither opening his lips, nor lifting his hand in wrath? It is because he does not really feel, or notice, the affront. You scarcely thank him for not taking instant vengeance, imagining that it is simply because he dares not, or because he cares not. Does he insist on any right he has over you? he is harsh and arbitrary - abridging your liberty, imposing a yoke of bondage. Does he come to you with proposals of peace, offering you terms the most liberal and large and loving? Still he is to be feared or suspected even when bringing gifts. He must have some end to serve; or, at any rate, he is now a suitor for your favour; he is making advances to you as if he needed you, as if he were giving in to you, and you accordingly may stand off and be on your guard, and take time, and use your discretion as to entertaining his advances and surrendering to his importunity. Thus, do what he will, he cannot get you to give him credit or do him justice. The miserable jealousies of your discontented breast distort the features of his character, as they are reflected from your own. Nay, you will perversely make him out to be even worse than yourselves; suspecting him of what you would be ashamed to be suspected of yourselves, and almost finding a pleasure in painting him with darker colours than you hope any one could even use in representing any action of yours. Such is your ingenuity while living in malice and envy, hateful, and hating one another! Such also, too often, is your perverse wilfulness in estimating the thoughts and the ways of your God! Even you who believe, but too frequently err in this very way, doing great injustice to your Father in heaven, and charging him foolishly, in reference to his dealings with you, with what is but too like the caprice and wanton cruelty or carelessness of man. How many doubts, dark thoughts, and misgivings and fears; how many instances, too, of indulgences tolerated, and acts of worldly conformity ventured upon, may all be traced to this source! Thus, with Jonah, on the sudden withering of some gourd, you feel as if you did well to be angry; or with David, in his infirmity, you are envious at the foolish, seeing the prosperity of the wicked, and asking the ungrateful question. Hath God forgotten to be gracious? Or, like Lot, you venture into Sodom, reckoning on God’s protection when following your own ends; or, like Thomas, you will refuse to abandon your sullen unbelief until you receive a sign. In all such instances, are you not judging God after the manner of men? investing him with some of the least amiable and least respectable attributes of infirm or corrupt humanity? And is it not sad to think what a proof all this affords of remaining dislike to God. What! is God still your enemy, that you should, even in momentary thought, impute to him anything like a design to vex and torture you? Nay, do him right in your esteem of him. Take him at his word. Trust his faithfulness; rely on his truth. Believe in him whom he hath sent; believe and be saved. Do you still refuse? or is it the holy eye of God that you would hope to evade? Ah! can it be possible that you experience something like a feeling of relief in the thought that surely he will turn away his eye, or wink, as one of yourselves might do when you are transacting some questionable piece of business, or for once, it may be, allowing yourself some doubtful kind of freedom? Can you venture to translate into plain words the sentiment or principle on which, in such a case, you imagine God may be expected to deal with you? Would it not be every whit as offensive as the representing of him in a bodily human shape? II. The testimony of the text, however, is not to be overstrained. There are qualifications and limitations that must be practically observed in applying it. These, every genuine and honest heart will instinctively feel; and they are plainly enough indicated in his Son. 1. In the first place, we are more than once expressly taught to judge of the heart of God by what is in the heart of man. “Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.” “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb?” “Which of you, being a father, if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone, or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?” In the two latter passages the point turns upon contrast, as adding weight to comparison, and the argument runs in the form of a much more, “Can a woman forget the sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb?” “She may forget, yet will not I forget thee.” And again, “If ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask.” In the same way, the three parables of the lost sheep, the lost piece of money, and the lost prodigal son, all proceed upon the analogy of a human sentiment ascribed to the divine mind, and lose all their meaning, and beauty, and pathos, and practical value, if the peculiar emotion with which God regards sinners, lost and ruined, be not represented as the same in kind, though infinitely greater in degree, with that which among men prompts search and sacrifice for a missing object of attachment, the warmest of welcomes when that object is restored, and a joy with which all generous minds can sympathise when the cry is raised, I have found that which I had lost, 2. Then secondly, but for such a liberty and warrant as we now contend for, some of the most affecting of the inspired pleadings and promises in the Bible would be cold and heartless. Take, for instance, the appeal of the distressed church in Isaiah: “Look down from heaven, and behold from the habitation of thy holiness and of thy glory: where is thy zeal and thy strength, the sounding of thy bowels and of thy mercies towards me? are they restrained?” (Isaiah 63:15); or the utterance of pity on the part of God, as if he were expostulating with himself in Jeremiah: “Is Ephraim my dear son? is he a pleasant child? for since I spake against him, I do earnestly remember him still; therefore my bowels are troubled for him; I will surely have mercy upon him, saith the Lord” (Jeremiah 31:20); or finally, the outburst of relenting tenderness in Hosea: “How shall I give thee up, Ephraim? how shall I deliver thee, Israel? how shall I make thee as Admah? how shall I set thee as Zeboim? mine heart is turned within me, my repentings are kindled together. I will not execute the fierceness of mine anger, I will not return to destroy Ephraim: for I am God, and not man; the Holy One in the midst of thee: and I will not enter into the city” (Hosea 11:8-9). Mark the last of these plaintive passages we have read (Hosea 11:9). In the very midst of it a parallel assertion to that of our text occurs, “I am God and not man.” This is given as the very explanation of that internal conflict, as it were, in the heart of God, that the Holy Ghost has described in language so thoroughly human. 3. For, in the third place, there is a great truth to be brought out here, that the perfection of God, in respect of which he is to be contrasted with man, consists not in the absence of sensibility, but in its very intensity, and purity, and power. It is not that he feels less, because he is God and not man, but that he feels more, infinitely more. Every human affection that can consist and co-exist with holiness, is but a faint image and shadow of the divine: and while the affection, as it is in God, transcends as to its purity and power what it is to man, as far as the heavens are higher than the earth, it is still as to its essential nature identically the same affection. Were it not so, indeed, the incarnation of the Son and the indwelling of the Holy Ghost in believers would be not blessed realities, but mere formal phrases or wild impossible fictions. Thus, as to the first, without unduly prying into that holy mystery, we may at all events perceive that this union, intimate, and thenceforth to be indissoluble, between the two natures, the human and the divine, in the one person of the man Christ Jesus never could have taken place, but for the essential harmony and sympathy that there is between the highest attributes of the Godhead and what constitutes the best virtue and excellency of manhood. It is an outrage on every idea we can form, in relation to such a subject, of common propriety, and decency, and truth; it is like the classical story of the fastening of the dead body to the living, with these two intolerable aggravations, that the fastening is a personal union, and a union for eternity; it is, in short, simply monstrous, unnatural, in a high sense of that term, inconceivable and impossible, that the Son, being God, should become man, if God’s thoughts may not be man’s, and man’s ways God’s. True, it is your human nature, pure and sinless, that the Son takes into union with his own divine nature. But consider. Is not sensibility - keen, thrilling, exquisitely sensitive - the very perfection of human nature? And is it not a perfection unfolded in exact proportion to the holiness of that nature? It is unfolded, doubtless, in subjection to reason and to law, the intelligence of man and the commandment of God; it is unfolded as no mere blind instinct or casual impulse, but as a chastened, sanctified principle. It is unfolded, however, as only on that very account all the more keen, lively, and susceptible, or blind instinct may be deadened; and casual impulse overcome; but the exquisite tenderness of a holy conscience and a loving heart can never be seared or blunted, but must characterise, as they will ennoble, manhood for ever. And it was this manhood, this characteristic and noble manhood, with its tears, and groans, and sighs, its joys also, its kindnesses, its sympathies, its loves, that the Son of God welded, so to speak, into his own essential Godhead, when he the eternal Word became flesh, and could he have done so if there were nothing akin to the sensibility of man’s nature in the Godhead itself? Could he have wept as man with the widow of Nain and the sorrowing sisters at Bethany? Could he have shed tears over Jerusalem, or suffered his bloody sweat in the garden, if sorrow and sin did not really affect and move his divine mind, exactly as they touched his human soul? Remember his own saying in reference to his whole character and conduct on the earth, “Whosoever hath seen me, hath seen the Father. He could not have said this if the divine nature he shares with the Father were wholly opposite in this quality of sensibility, or a warm, quick, living, and loving heart, from the human nature which he shares with you. Be sure then, brethren, that the incarnation is a great fact. It gives the deathblow to pantheism in both its forms, as it is the denial of a personal God altogether, and as it is the denial of his personal affections, feelings, sensibilities. It brings God before you, both as a living, and as a loving and hating God. Your God is no mere abstract personification of the plastic power of nature, or the ideal intelligence of the universe. He is one, conceive of him otherwise as you may, who has a heart as well as a hand in whatever is going on in the universe, in the falling of a sparrow to the ground, and the touching of a single hair of your head. 2. Then, again, as to the second great fact, the indwelling of the Holy Ghost in you as believers, the very idea would be preposterous, as well as blasphemous, otherwise than as a mere hyperbole and exaggerated figure of speech, if there were not a sense in which God’s thoughts are as your thoughts, and your ways as God’s. Is it true that the Holy Ghost, who is himself God, takes up his abode, really and personally, in your heart, believer? Much, alas, must he meet with there most uncongenial, distasteful, offensive; and oh, what wonder is it that he is not speedily driven away! But the feelings he himself calls forth within you, the affections he himself renews and hallows, the spiritual sensibilities he himself creates, when he breaks the hard heart and opens the fountain of all its tears and gladness,- these cannot be foreign to the nature of that divine inmate who now finds a home within you. Nay, it is with these very sensibilities, in their most acute and poignant exercise, that this sympathising Spirit concurs and conspires when he joins himself to you. “For the Spirit likewise helpeth your infirmities, for you know not what to pray for as you ought, but the Spirit himself maketh intercession for you, with groanings which cannot be uttered.” These unutterable groanings are the workings of sensibility in you; the deep movements of a quickened conscience and a broken heart; groanings for another’s pain and for your own. And so far from there being any incompatibility between such groanings and the divine nature of the Spirit, it is these very groanings that the Spirit takes as his own; giving them, without utterance of yours, a direction heavenward, and a voice entering into the ear of heaven’s Lord. For “he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit because he maketh intercession for the saints, according to the will of God.” The groanings which cannot be uttered become identical with the mind of the Spirit, and as the mind of the Spirit, they are known by the Searcher of hearts. These thoughts have led us somewhat beyond our theme. Before returning to it, we may offer two practical reflections. As to yourselves, observe wherein the divine perfection of your Christian character must lie, - not in ridding yourself of your human affections, and human sensibilities, and human passions, - but in assimilating them more and more to the corresponding attributes and qualities in God. There is in some quarters a notion that the believer is, or ought to be, a passionless, emotionless being, rigid and severe, not open to impressions of rising feeling or relenting tenderness, not given to weep, but made of sterner stuff, and that too much warmth of heart may unfit him for the part he has to take in reproving sin, and witnessing for God against evil. Now, that part is no easy one; nor can we, in our present state, altogether understand how our nature is to be fitted for such a work of judgment as is described in that Psalm (Psalms 149:1-9), in which it is said of the meek that they have the high praises of God in their mouth and a two-edged sword in their hand, to execute vengeance upon the heathen and punishments upon the people. But assuredly, it is not by blunting the edge of feeling that we are to make the task less difficult, either of testifying to the world now, or of assisting in its judgment at the last. Remember how he who was about to inflict his vengeance on Jerusalem, within the space of a few short years, yet himself, beholding the city, wept over it. Be ye like-minded and like-hearted with him. His soul was tender; let yours be tender too. Only let your soul be tender, as his was, in reference to what touches the honour of God as well as in reference to what affects the welfare of man. Be zealous for God. Be indignant against sin. Be compassionate to sinners. So will you sympathise the more with him, who, dealing with sin, cried in an agony, “Father, let the cup pass,” and dealing with sinners, prayed for them on his cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” As to God, the God with whom you have to do, be sure that you apprehend his real and living personality, and in the truest sense, his humanity. Beware of worshipping a name, an idea, a dim abstraction, and, as it were, infinite vacancy of space. Be sure that he is the living and true God. There may be danger in conceiving of him as too like yourselves; but there is danger also in conceiving of him as too unlike, - remote, withdrawn from your sympathies as well as from your senses, - somewhere and somehow existing in the universe, as the great first cause of all things, - not near you and with you as an actual living person with whom you are to have dealings, as the God in whom you live, and move, and have your being. And beware especially here lest in your anxiety to explain away what may seem to savour of human passion in the delineations the Scripture gives of God, you fritter down into empty, unmeaning phrases the terrible denunciations against sin and sinners. The anger of God, his wrath, his vengeance, his hatred of iniquity, his rage against the oppressor, - these are ideas that offend a refined taste, and are interpreted as little more than phrases, words full of sound and fury, but really signifying nothing. The expressions may be liable to abuse, if they suggest to us such false views of God as the heathen have their idols, when they conceive of them as hasty, irritable, impetuous, yet withal capricious, like themselves, easily placable and soon appeased, when the fit of violent resentment is over, and a better humour succeeds. But on the other hand, let no man evade their literal force, - no man especially who has ever well weighed the Lord’s uttering woe, woe, and triple woe, against the Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites. “God is angry with the wicked every day;” and with his own people, too, when they provoke him by their sins. And his anger is a real emotion, fierce, terrible. If it be kindled but a little, it will burn as a fire. Who, then, can dwell with its everlasting burnings? “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.” Sinners, in the hands of an angry God, how can ye contend with his fury as an adversary? Rather hear his voice of tender expostulation, and oh, believe that he is in earnest, and feels all that he says when he appeals to you with such human tenderness, - “Turn ye, turn ye, why will ye die?” “Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon. For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:7-9). III. Now we may partly understand the real import of this text, in which God bears so emphatic a testimony. “Is this the manner of man, Lord God?” Such was the exclamation of David, upon a review of all that the Lord had done for him as well as a consideration of all that the Lord was promising to him, as his reign was drawing to a close. So may every child of David, every true follower of Jesus, much more exclaim. So may he respond to the Lord’s appeal concerning himself. “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.” In that appeal, the Lord comes forth to tell you that he does not mean to treat you either as you have treated him, or as you, were you in a position like his, might treat others situated as you are now. As to your actual thoughts and ways towards God, how emphatically and affectingly true is it that they are not as God’s towards you. He never yet has dealt with you after your sins, or rewarded you according to your iniquities. He never has forgotten you, as you have forgotten him; or ceased to care for you, as you have ceased to care for him; or cast you utterly away, as you have rejected him. Oh! what a contrast between what has been so long in your heart towards him and what has all along been in his heart towards you! In your heart towards him, what wounded pride, what hard thoughts, what unworthy suspicions, what grudging even of the scanty, meagre, formal service that mere fear would not suffer you to withhold from him, what excusing and justifying of yourselves when forced to meet him, and what a feeling of relief when you could contrive to get away! All the while, in his heart towards you, what unwearied patience, what unprovoked benignity, what disinterested compassion, what overflowing good will; not a thought, not a feeling of dislike to you, no resentment, nothing but such love as moves him to give his own Son to die for you, and his blessed Spirit to strive with you in the ever urgent calls of the gospel of his grace. Is this the manner of man, Lord God? And when you return to him, how is he prepared to treat you? Not certainly as you have been treating him. There is no coldness, no distant civility, no upbraiding, no putting of you off with ceremony, as you have too long or too often been putting off him. His thoughts not being as your thoughts, he has made provision most ample for his ways not being as yours. He has prepared for you a reception very different from any you ever dreamed of preparing for him. He has caused the sacrifice to be slain beforehand. He has opened the fountain that cleanses from all sin. He has promised the new heart, without which you cannot be his: and, so far from being like you - distant, shy, suspicious, slow to take the first step, or condescend to the first move towards reconciliation, he waives even his right to demand a previous submission from you. Though the offended party, he will be himself the first suitor for peace; he will come to you, and plead with you, and wait for you, and ask and seek and knock, and not let you alone until, feeling you can stand out no longer, you give way, and give in, and consent to be reconciled. Is this the manner of man, Lord God? But not only do his thoughts and his ways towards you transcend your actual ways and thoughts towards him; they transcend also all that could have ever entered into your heart. You never could have imagined beforehand such a mode of dealing with returning sinners as God is pleased to adopt; and even now that he has revealed it, and is giving you a spiritual discernment of it, you cannot fully realise it. For there is nothing in your nature that is an adequate counterpart to it; nothing so nearly the same as to afford you an adequate measure of it. It is true, you can form a notion of kindness, generosity, self-sacrificing affection, and bountifulness and liberality; but the full meaning of the comparison between the heavens as higher than the earth, and his ways and thoughts as higher than yours, you can know only if you can know first what is lowest in the earth, and what is highest in the heavens, and what is the vast space between. What is lowest in the earth? what but the sinner; what but myself - myself, of sinners the chief; sunk in the lowest depths of corruption, and guilt, and woe? What is highest in the heavens? Is it thou, blessed Jesus, thou Son of the living God; thou who dwellest in the bosom of the Father? Higher than thou art, or than is the Father’s love to thee, nothing in all heaven ever was or ever can be. And what are God’s thoughts now? what are his ways? what is his plan and purpose of love? Is it not to span and bridge across this immeasurable distance between what is lowest in earth and what is highest in the heavens? The Son, in my stead, takes my lowest place in the earth, that I may share his highest place in the heavens. Literally then the measure of God’s ways and thoughts of love, as transcending any thoughts and ways of yours, is the vast interval between highest heaven and lowest earth. That interval serves doubly to measure them. It measures them in connection with what Christ became for you. It measures them in connection also with what you become in Christ. High indeed are the heavens above the earth; high is that holy complacency between the Father and the Son in the heavens, above the guilty estrangement of your heart, sinner, on the earth. Even so high are God’s thoughts of love to you, and his ways of mercy with you, above all that could ever have entered into your mind. What hath he devised? what hath he done for you, sinner? From the height of heaven he hath sent his own Son, that from the depths of this fallen earth he may raise you to what a height - even to a participation in the richest grace and glory of heaven itself; for in Christ you have the adoption of sons. And what will he not freely give to you as his sons? What will be his thoughts of love, what the ways of his beneficence and bounty toward you? what but his very thoughts and ways toward his only-begotten Son? IV. The applications of this truth are as manifold as are the exigencies of human experience. Consider it in connection with the freeness, the fulness, the peremptory authority, and the faithfulness of the call and promises of the gospel. (1) It is because his thoughts are not your thoughts that God justifies freely. He issues the invitation altogether gratuitously - “Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money: come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness” (Isaiah 55:1-2). “The Spirit and the bride say come.” The pardon he dispenses is, in the strictest sense, unconditional; and the only terms on which he will consent to treat with any of you are the terms of grace, absolutely gratuitous and free. On no other terms, indeed, could he consent to treat with you without compromising his own high supremacy, and putting himself almost on a level with you. It may be well for a man like yourselves, with whom you have a controversy, to make the healing of your breach with him the removal of his threatened vengeance, and your restoration to a fair and decent good understanding a matter of bargain, and condition, and nice adjustment of preliminaries and terms; but such is not the manner of God. His thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are his ways your ways. (2) For the same reason, the pardon he dispenses is very free, unreserved, as well as unconditional. It would not become him to do things by halves. If he is to have any friendly dealings at all with you, they must be thorough. If there is to be anything like reconciliation, it must be complete. Some, indeed, might advise otherwise. Affecting to be more prudent and cautious than God is himself; to consult better for his violated authority, and be more alive to the risk and danger of his amnesty being abused, they would counsel a less frank and generous treatment of the returning sinner; as if the elder son of the parable had stepped in officiously at an earlier stage, when his father was in the very act of embracing his lost one, to recommend caution as to the measure of favour bestowed - Nay, my father, not so fast or so far. Not that I recommend severity; not to drive to despair; but to put on trial - reserve the kiss, the robe, the ring. What would have been the indignant reply? “Is thine eye evil because I am good?” Suffer it to be so now.” Let me charge myself with the maintenance of order in my own house. And has not God so charged himself - made such provision, that to receive you otherwise than with complete favour, would be inconsistent, unsuitable, unworthy? Was it for a mere half-reconciliation that Jesus died, and rose, and revived, and received of the Father the promise of the Spirit? No, but for the ratification of a perfect covenant established, of perfect peace, opening the way to perfect reconciliation, and implying an eternity of perfect love and loyalty. And now, to make half terms of compromise on the footing of such a medium, might be the manner of men, but not thy manner, Lord God. (3) But most peremptory, authoritative, sovereign, is the gospel call, as a call to repentance, as well as to reconciliation. For it is not based, as that impunity on which sinners reckon is supposed to be, on any surrender on the part of God of his just claims, any accommodation of his thoughts to your thoughts, or of his ways to yours. The sinners of earth imagine God has somehow become more like themselves, more complaisant, more indulgent, more indifferent. Nay, they dare to dream of this being the very benefit which the Son of God himself has purchased by his blood. They conceive of his interposition as making the Judge of all somehow less strict than he was before, and the God who cannot look on sin more tolerant of it and more tender towards it. This, this, is the very worst and most fatal form of the error against which the text is pointed - the measuring of God by yourselves. It is a lie of the devil. It is blasphemy at least against the Son, and may too soon, if wilfully persisted in, become blasphemy against the Holy Ghost. “God is not mocked.” It is not on terms involving any compromise of his claims or any relaxation of your duty that he deals with you. Such might be the manner of man; but God acts very differently. There is no weakness with him; no variableness or shadow of turning. He is the Holy One: he is the Almighty King. Dream not of his giving way or giving in to you. Give ye in to him, submit yourselves to him. Yield! surrender! obey! Lord, I am thine. I resist no more. I stand out no more. Here am I - take me! Deal with me according to thy good pleasure. I am at thy mercy, at thy disposal! I justify not myself! I cannot save myself! I am dumb! I am in thy hands as one dead! But thou wilt quicken me; thou wilt raise me up; thou wilt take hold on me; thou wilt work in me! Thou wilt wash me in atoning blood, and clothe me with a justifying righteousness, and put thine own Spirit within me: and, instead of lowering thyself to me, as I once imagined thou mightst do, thou wilt raise me to thyself But “is this the manner of man, Lord God?” Finally (4) The promises of God are and must be most faithful, because his thoughts are not our thoughts. “I am the Lord, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed.” “He is not a man that he should lie, nor the Son of man that he should repent.” When, therefore, he gives, he gives freely, fully, authoritatively, effectually, and for ever. “In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer.” Yes, brethren, he will not grudge you any good thing. “He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?” Ay, and when you find his grace more and more inexhaustible, you will have cause ever in new wonder to say with David: - “Who am I, Lord God, and what is my house that thou hast brought me hitherto? And this was but a small thing in thy sight, Lord God; but thou hast spoken also of thy servant’s house for a great while to come. And is this the manner of man, Lord God?” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 109: S. LECTURES ON THE CONVERSION OF THE JEWS ======================================================================== Lectures on The Conversion of the Jews By Candlish THE INTIMATE CONNECTION BETWEEN THE GLORY OF THE CHURCH IN THE LATTER DAYS AND THE RESTORATION AND CONVERSION OF THE JEWS was written by the REV. RORERT S. CANDLISH, A.M., Minister of St. George’s Parish, Edinburgh and occupied pages 164-187 of the original publication] "Now, if the fall of them be the riches of the world and the diminishing of them the riches of the Gentiles; how much more their fullness…..For if the casting away of them be the reconciling of the world, what shall the receiving of them be, but life from the dead?" Romans 11:12, Romans 11:15. IT is not intended, in this discourse, to enter at length, or with any minuteness of detail, into the wide field of unfulfilled prophecy. The particulars of the future destiny of Israel, the time, the manner, and the accompanying circumstances of their restoration and conversion, must be left in a great measure untouched. For the present, it will be enough for our purpose:- to dwell on the broad and general announcement of the Prophetic Word—that, in the latter days, they are to be restored to their old inheritance and converted to the faith of the Gospel, and to consider that fact its connection with the blessed prospects of the Church of Christ;—in the humble and earnest hope that the views, thus suggested, may tend to stir up our heart’s desire and prayer to God for Israel, that they may be saved. The fact itself is rather assumed than asserted by the apostle in the passage now before us. He takes it for granted as undeniable, and reasons accordingly respecting it. He meets with the strongest and most peremptory disavowal, the supposition, that the rejection of Israel, at the period of the first preaching of the Gospel, could be either general or final. It was not general - for even then there was a remnant, according to the election of grace. It was not to be final - for though blindness, in part, had happened to Israel, it was only till the times of the Gentiles should be fulfilled, and still all Israel was to be saved. The apostle, as himself an Israelite, of the seed of Abraham, of the tribe of Benjamin, cannot tolerate the very putting of the question, "Hath God cast away his people?" He regards it as implying an impeachment of the foreknowledge of God, who, when he chose this people as his own, saw beforehand the very worst that was to occur (Romans 11:2), and an imputation on the unchangeableness of his purpose, for the gifts and calling of God are without repentance (Romans 11:29). And again, as the apostle of the Gentiles, speaking to the Gentiles, Paul impresses on their minds a sense of their deep debt of obligation to the Jews. The partial and temporary rejection of the chosen race, he represents as ordained for the benefit of the Gentiles (Romans 11:11); and, lest the Gentiles should become presumptuous and high-minded, he bids them take warning from the fate of those against whom they might have boasted (Romans 11:17-22). And, finally, lest they should cease to sympathize with the Lord’s chastened people, he bids them lay it seriously to heart, that their own interests are intimately interwoven with those of that very people; and he urges the emphatic consideration of the text, " If the fall of them be the riches of the world, and the diminishing of them the riches of the Gentiles; how much more their fullness? If the casting away of them be the reconciling of the world, what shall the receiving of them be, but life from the dead?" The apostle here appeals to our reason in this matter. He not merely announces that the receiving of the Jews is to be life from the dead; but he puts it to us to say, if it is not fitted and likely to be so. It cannot, therefore, be presumptuous in us, depending on Divine assistance, after, first, dwelling for a little on the event itself here predicted - the fact that the fullness of the Jews is to be pre-eminently, and far more than their fall, the riches of the world - to state, secondly, some considerations which may serve in some degree, to show how it may very well be expected to be so. I. In regard to the matter of fact, that the favour which is yet to be shown to Israel, is not only closely connected with the future prosperity of the Church and the triumph of the Christian faith in the world, but is to be the immediate cause or occasion of it, the apostle must be understood, in this passage, not as prophesying himself, but rather as recognising and interpreting the predictions of former prophets. He speaks in conformity with the whole strain and spirit of the Old Testament Scriptures. He does not make a new statement. He confirms and sanctions a statement uniformly made before. All the holy men of old, who spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost, regarding the blessed state of the Church in the latter days, and the restoration and conversion of the Jews, invariably join these two events together. In proof of this assertion, we may simply state to you the result of an inquiry which every one of you may repeat and verify for himself, with some labour, indeed, but with deep interest and with great profit. If, with the aid of any convenient book of reference, you search the scriptures, in regard to this particular point; if you take, for example, into your hands so common and familiar a work as Dr S. Clarke’s collection of the "Promises of Scripture;" and if, turning to the head of "Promises relating to the state of the Church", you carefully study the chapters of the Bible which are referred to under that head, you will be very much struck as you observe how constantly the two events in question - the prosperity of the Church, and the return of the Jews - are represented as bound up in one another. You may proceed in this experiment in either way you choose, by taking either of these two events as your leading theme, and you will find, in all the predictions relating to it, a plain and prominent reference to the other. Thus the promises relating to the state of the Church are arranged in an orderly series, under the titles of "Enlargement of the Church; Glory of the Church; Increase of Light, etc, and Means of Grace; Increase of Purity, Holiness and Righteousness; Peace, Love, and Unity in the Church; Submission and Destruction of the Enemies of the Church; Destruction of Antichrist, and Babylon; Favour and Submission of Kings to the Kingdom of Christ; Security, Tranquillity, and Prosperity of the Church; The Perpetual Continuance of the Church." Now, examine the promises in each of these sections - not as you read them isolated and detached in this book of extracts, but as they stand in the Bible itself - examine them in the full light of the context and connection in which they severally occur, and we are greatly mistaken if you do not perceive in all of them a sufficiently distinct recognition of Israel’s coming blessedness, and if you are not satisfied that, in regard to each and all of the elements of that gracious and glorious state, which the Church longs to see attained, it is the declared purpose of God, that its attainment shall be seen ultimately to depend, in no inconsiderable degree, on the high destiny of Israel. Again, reverse the method of investigation. Take the chapter of the book (Clarke) which directly treats of the restoration and conversion of the Jews, and enumerates the promises relating to these points, and the result will be equally satisfactory, for still you will perceive that in almost all of that series of predictions, while the receiving of Israel, the fullness of Israel, is the main object in the prophet’s eye, he does not overlook, but rather always enlarges on the manifestation of the Divine glory, and the establishment of the Divine kingdom throughout all the earth; which, simultaneously with Israel’s fullness, and chiefly by means of it, may in the latter days be confidently looked for. On the whole, therefore, we may safely conclude that the Apostle Paul is fully justified, not only as himself a prophet, but as an expounder simply of the prophets who have gone before - according to the entire strain and analogy of their predictions - he is justified in assuming, as he clearly does in the text, not only that the Jews, though in part and for a time rejected, are yet, as a nation, to be saved; but also, that their fullness is to be pre-eminently the riches of the Gentiles, and the receiving of them is to be to the world life from the dead. They rise themselves, and they raise the world. II. But we proposed to state some considerations which may serve, in some degree, to show how it may very well be expected to be so. 1. We put a case, which, with all reverence, may suggest a simple and touching analogy. We read, in one of the parables, of a certain man who made a great supper, and bade many, and who, when they that were bidden refused to come, rather than allow his bountiful provision to be lost, seated around his table the poor, the maimed, the halt, the blind. Nay, so bent was he on having his house filled, that he would compel the very outcasts from the highways and hedges to come in. . (1.) Place yourselves now in the position of this strange company, this motley group, thus unexpectedly admitted to a sumptuous entertainment, and allowed to enter a noble mansion. The master of the feast, the owner of the house, has been sadly disappointed in the hopes which he cherished - wounded in his best, his tenderest affections. His friends, his family, his own children themselves, for whom he has made all this ample provision, and to whom he would have communicated it all, have despised and deserted him. He is deeply grieved; but his temper is not soured. He does not shut up and harden his heart; his affections are still warm, his home is still open. He must have something that he can love and bless, and goes forth in search of objects on whom he may lavish the overflowing tenderness and liberality of his soul. He finds you languishing and pining in abject want; your substance wasted, your spirits mortified and abased. He proffers to you the invitation, which they of whom he might have expected better things have spurned. He addresses to you, strangers and outcasts, the gracious call which his own have disregarded. He embraces you instead of the companions and the children whom he has lost. He clasps you to his bosom; he introduces you to the small remnant of his household; you occupy the places, you appropriate the privileges, of those who should have sat at his board and rejoiced in his smile. And in offices of unwearied kindness to you, he seems to bury all feelings of regret for the past, and to forget the ingratitude with which his love has been repaid. Thus far, you are clearly gainers by the fault or folly of those who were before you; you are the better off for their going away. Their loss is your benefit; the birthright which they despised is come to you, and you reap the fruits of their miserable infatuation. . (2.) But still, is all well? Is all well in the family into which you have been so graciously received? Is all as well for you as you might wish or hope it to be? True, you have no cause to complain of the treatment which you receive; you have no fault to find with the householder, or with the economy of his household, or with the manner of his dealing with you. He is not straitened in his bounty towards you. He is very pitiful, and abundant in loving-kindness; and however wide you open your mouth, he fills it. But is there no longing of his heart, no yearning of his bowels, towards the former objects of his love, which does shed over the whole establishment a sense of gloom and of desolation, of which even you yourselves cannot fail to be painfully conscious? Is there not something about the very air of the whole house, which conveys the indescribable impression that all is not right, - that there is a blank - that there is a loss? The rooms are as spacious and well ordered as in any circumstances they could be; the tables are as sumptuous, the accommodations as complete. All things are on a scale of the most boundless munificence, and there is no lack of the most interesting conversation. Still, you cannot fail to perceive that there is an impression of somewhat being amiss. There are places which might have been otherwise occupied - seats on which others might have been sitting; and, whether it be imagination or reality, you seem to see the eye of the father, without any inclination to disparage or to be unkind to you, still looking round through all the circle of his new attendants, and missing those whom he would fain have seen among the nearest and dearest of them all. . (3.) Nor can you wonder that it should be so. For, have you indeed supplied to this most bounteous of open-hearted parent, the place of those dear children into whose privileges he adopted you? Have you been all to him that he might have required or expected you to be? Have you done all that might have been done to fill the void in his bereaved affections - to heal the sore wound of his aching heart? Has he indeed found in you the dutiful and affectionate children, whose behaviour towards him, and towards one another, might make him forget the sons and daughters of his former love? Alas! Does not conscience testify that he has but too good reason to be dissatisfied and disappointed in you? You have not been warned by the history of your predecessors - you have not avoided their faults - you have not supplied their deficiencies. In what are you better than they? Has he found in you a firmer faith, a warmer love, a purer service, a closer fellowship, than he might have found in them? Have you been more devoted to him? Have you been more united among yourselves? In your apostasies, your backslidings, your rebellions, in your dissensions, and debates, and controversies, may he not discern the very same spirit which, in his ancient family, so righteously provoked his wrath? And as he looks on the sad symptoms of deadness and disorder, which every where prevail among you, ah! may he not see enough to make him think with relenting fondness of those who, however wilful and wayward, could scarcely have served his purpose or satisfied his desires worse than you have done? For have you indeed fulfilled the end of your calling more fully than they might have done? Have you done what in you lay to be to your kind and hospitable entertainer instead of those who had gone away, - to make up to him for the loss of the children whom he first loved? . (4.) Thus, in the family out of which the original household have been displaced, and into which you, in their room, have been adopted, there prevails a general feeling of depression and disappointment, which shows that there is something wanting. You are not satisfied yourselves. At first you were greatly elated by the unexpected promotion; you were carried away by the joy and triumph of your new prerogative; you were high-minded, and did not fear. Soon you fell into the worst principles and practices of those whom you displaced; you became cold, worldly, and formal; you adopted a system of self-righteousness and self-confidence; you departed from the simplicity of a childlike reliance on the father who had embraced you and a childlike affectionate intercourse with him; you turned what should have been your home into a hall of state; you multiplied ceremonies, and learned all courtly arts to cover the real estrangement of your hearts. And then you fell out among yourselves. You made your father’s house a place of wrangling - the din of war resounded through its mansions, the fire of wrath blazed in its courts. These things, you feel, may well have wearied him; at least, they have begun to discourage you; you see that something is grievously wrong, and you do not see how it may be remedied. . (5.) Now, in such a state of the household into which you have been received, what more natural than that the Master should begin to think of those for whom originally he built his house, and prepared his feast? If they, after their long banishment, now at last disposed, and may be persuaded to return and to accept the overtures which once they cast away from them, may they not return with a spirit chastened by much affliction, and a heart that, amid their varied experience, has now at last begun to learn wisdom? And how will the householder receive them? And how will his reception of them affect his treatment of the guests whom he in the rneantime received as his own? Will he be so entirely and exclusively engrossed with his long lost, but now recovered children, as to have no love to spare for you, the sons and daughters of his more recent adoption? Nay, will not the joy with which his heart overflows, embrace you also in its ample tide? His love will only go forth the more fully and freely towards you, now that his own soul is satisfied; and the only thing which caused a cloud on his brow, and an aching void in his breast, is finally removed. There is no longer throughout the household the painful sense of a heavy loss, which, however the householder may try to prevent it from intruding, still cannot fail to mar the freedom of the intercourse, and to impose a certain feeling of constraint. Now - there is the ease of a glad relief - there are all the sympathies of a cordial jubilee. And when the old family resume their proper place in their father’s house, which is freely conceded to them by their younger brethren, may it not be expected that a new element of order will he introduced - a new bond of union - a new source of life and love? That which was out of joint is now put right; that which was lame is healed; that which was wanting is repaired; and the whole economy is arranged on the model which from the first was intended, but which has long been frustrated and hindered. The household is at last complete; and the thousand questions of precedence and pre-eminence, the disputes on sundry points of detail, which have arisen mainly from the defective state in which it has long subsisted, wanting the elder brethren - the first-born - the heirs - these will be satisfactorily settled and set at rest. Yea, brethren, we may indeed anticipate from the restoration of Israel to their old place in the Divine favour, an effect precisely similar to what we might expect to witness, when the first-born children should return again from a temporary estrangement to a family, in which their loss has been very inadequately supplied, and has never ceased to be painfully felt. The apostle is, in these verses, not merely stating as a matter of fact, the connection between the resto­ration of the Jews and the prosperity of the Church in the latter days; he is appealing to our reason, to judge if such a connection be not, in the nature of things, extremely probable. The word of prophecy is undoubtedly more sure on such a point, than any reasoning of ours can be. At the same time, it is satisfactory to follow out the hint which the apostle gives, and to dwell on some of those views, which might naturally lead a reflecting Christian to anticipate, as likely to flow from the future return of Israel, a vast increase of riches and of life to the churches of the Gentiles, and to all the world. I. The reconciliation of the first-born, the elder brethren - those for whom, in the first instance, the feast was provided - may be expected to produce a most salutary effect upon the whole economy of the household. At present, their absence creates a void, which is but imperfectly filled up, and gives occasion for much misunderstanding and misrule, and many endless questions of order and precedency - all of which may be either superseded, or settled and set at rest when the original plan of the establishment is seen realized, and the family is at last complete. The restoration of Israel, we may well believe, will introduce, amid the deadness and distractions of the rent and torn Church of God, a new element of unity and of life: every holy principle of faith and love will receive a new impulse, and be anew directed in the right way; and the actual exhibition of the Divine model, then finished and fulfilled, will clear away many doubts, and end many controversies, which seem destined to fret the spirit and waste the energies of Christ’s people, until He himself again interposes, to show, as in a new primitive and apostolic era, after what form and fashion he really wishes his house to be built, and its affairs to be ordered and transacted. In this way, in the prophecies of the Old Testament, the final establishment of Israel is represented, as giving peace (Isaiah 2:2-5; Isaiah 11:6; Hosea 2:1-23) - as increasing knowledge (Isaiah 25:6-7 ; Isaiah 11:1-2, Isaiah 11:9-10), - and as introducing universal holiness, (Ezekiel 20:41; Zechariah 14:1-21) II. We may refer to another principle, in illustra­tion of the way in which the receiving of the Jews may very probably be expected to be to the world as life from the dead. It seems to be the plan and intention of God, that the cause of true religion in this earth should proceed and prosper by means of a series of movements - a succession of impulses. At certain intervals, impressions are from time to time given, which continue to work their proper effects, until their power, as it were, is spent, and some new application of force is needed. It is true that the growth of religion in an individual heart, or in a general community, is slow and gradual, like the growth of a seed cast into the ground. It springs up, and enlarges itself into luxuriant grain, or into a stately and spreading tree. But tares come up also, and choke or corrupt the grain, and the tree is apt to become feeble, to wither and fade away. The seed must be renewed in due season, the ground must be tilled anew; else the power of right vegetation will soon expend and exhaust itself. So also is it with the progress of religion. It advances, for the most part, by means of successive impulses at due intervals applied. It has its stages of revival. Thus, in your personal experience, in the history of your personal godliness, you may have found that there is not one uniform, continuous, unbroken process of advancement in the life of God; but, for the most part, an alternation of progress and decline, a series of starts - each carrying you so far forward on your course, till its force is worn out. You do not move on at one steady pace; but now you are impelled to make a run, as for your life, by some application from without, or some eager movement of spirit within; then, by and by, your speed relaxes itself - you linger and loiter, till a new fit or feeling of eager haste seizes you, and you rush keenly on as before. When the Lord, for example, first laid his hand upon you, and his Spirit began to strive with you - when you first became acquainted with his unspeakable gift, with the unsearchable riches of Christ, then there was an era of great life to your souls; you did run well, and nothing hindered you; you were fairly aroused - alarmed; you felt the urgent necessity of prompt and decided measures. You were eager to escape from the corruption that is in the world through lust; you felt the terror of the Lord; you were touched with a sense of the Saviour’s beauty; you could give no sleep to your eyes, till, having closed with the terms of his Gospel, accepted the offered pardon, and cast the burden of conscious guilt away - washed in his blood, clothed and girt about with His righteousness - you set out on your new career of holy self-denial and self-devotedness, you made haste, and delayed not to keep His commandments. Need we remind you of what, it may be, too soon followed? Your first impressions became gradually more and more faint; your zeal cooled; you began to grow weary. The things of sense and time again hid from your view the realities of the world unseen; and a spirit of cold and dead formality began to steal over your discharge of religious duties, - your Sabbath exercises - your labours of love. But the Lord did not forsake you. He again took his own work into his own hands. He awakened you once more from sleep. Sharply, it may be, and painfully, he pierced your soul anew; he broke your heart; he brought you under new convictions, softened you to new relenting, kindled in you new desires. It was a time of refreshing and revival. Has this brethren, been in any measure your experience? And are there any of you, in whom, at this very season, the force of a first, or a second, or a third revival, seems to be nearly expended? Are you conscious, even now, of a languor and inertness about your spiritual tastes and your spiritual exercises, different from what sometimes in better days, you have experienced? Then, is it not high time for you now to seek a new awakening, a new revival, a new impulse from on high? And delay not till God in very mercy may find it necessary to deal with you in a way of aggravated severity, till your slumber become so profound, that it can be broken only by the loud cry of sorrow, or the sharp sting of shame. Let this very day be marked as one of the eras - the critical periods - of your spiritual career; and give God no rest until he revive his work in you and speed you anew on your heavenward way rejoicing. And as it is in individuals, so also it is generally in communities. Among them, too, religion very often prospers and prevails by means of successive revivals. There is a movement of the Spirit of God in a certain place, at a certain time. Men’s minds are stirred - sin is signally rebuked - and a tone of religious feeling beyond what was conceived possible before, begins extensively to prevail. But alas! How often has it been seen, that the effect is but too transitory, The impression passes off - the enthusiasm subsides - conversions become rare, and almost cease to be looked for - and things settle down once more to the old level of decent, common-place, observances. But what then? Are such movements to be under­valued because they too often are found to be of such brief duration? Nay, is not this precisely such a result as might be anticipated beforehand? If you roll the stone according to the downward inclination of the plain, a single impulse may suffice to send it on, with accelerated speed, till it reach the foot of the descent. But, in causing it to move in the opposite direction, you must repeat the impulse almost every instant. If the impression which religion gives were according to the bent of the human heart and the course of this world, it might he expected that a progress once begun, would go on indefinitely for ever. And is not this the very delusion of those who place their confidence, for the world’s regeneration, on the gradual working of those elements of improvement which they see now in operation, - who believe in the perfectibility of the human race, and the all-sufficiency of ordinary existing means? There will be, as they think, an uninterrupted process of amelioration; and the silent influence of the spread of knowledge will quietly and insensibly usher in the millennial glory. Do these speculators, these dreamers, deny or overlook the fact of man’s depravity? Do they forget, that in all past history it has been found, that the truth - that true religion - has been deteriorated, and not improved, by its prolonged sojourn on earth; that it needs ever and anon to make a new descent from heaven, and to start from a new commencement? Was it not so in the Antediluvian times? God at first made known his will to fallen man, revealing his plan of mercy and appointing his ordinances of worship. But immediately the race degenerated and religion declined. In the days of Enos, again (Genesis 4:26), there was a revival of the Lord’s cause, and a stand made by the Lord’s people against the growing profligacy of the age. But this new life soon began, as before, to languish. Even God’s children left their first love, and all flesh corrupted their way on earth. After the flood, a new and fair chance, as it were, was given to the world - a new and fresh impulse to the work of God in his Church. How long was it until idolatry universally gained ground? Again God interposed to start his cause anew, by the calling of Abraham; and afterwards we trace successive interpositions, for the same purpose, in the exaltation of Joseph, in the deliverance from Egypt, in the giving of the law, in the mission of prophets, in the captivity of Babylon, in the renewal of the Jewish polity under Ezra - in all these, and similar instances, we trace the operation of the same rule in the Divine procedure, according to which, as it were, he sets his hand, at intervals, to the main-spring of the instrument, which otherwise would relax its movements, and might stop. And in every instance, we see the same result - a gradual process of decline ­until a touch from on high revives the work. The same remark applies to the history of Christianity. The first preaching of the Gospel seemed to introduce a power fitted to move the world; and its early success gave promise of a progress, not by any obstacles to be turned aside or checked. Alas! How soon did that apostasy begin, which nothing but God’s grace, anew imparted at the Reformation, could arrest. And since the Reformation has the true faith been steadily progressive? Has it not been corrupted and enfeebled? Has not its spirit in all the Reformed churches become languid and inert? Nay, it would even seem as if the very impulse, which is to bring in the more glorious state of millennial blessedness, is not to retain its force forever. It is darkly, perhaps doubtfully, intimated, that a decay of godliness, and a sad falling away, may even then he looked for; as if to prove, that not on earth, nor among fallen man, will the truth preserve its power, without continual renewals of the impulse by which it is set in motion from on high. Such, it would appear, is the law of progress applicable to religion, in the heart of man, and in the world at large. If so, it is evidently incumbent on individuals, and on communities, to be continually looking out and waiting for revivals, to be seeking and expecting renewed interpositions and impulses from God, and to be lying on the watch to discern, to seize, and to improve them. From neglecting to observe this law, we may miss many an occasion, we may lose many an opportunity of most blessed and salutary awakening; we may disregard the work of the Lord’s hand, we may resist the strivings of his Spirit. Were we rightly observing, in the prayer and patience of faith, what God is doing, in his providence and by his grace, we might far more frequently, as well as far more unequivocally, see and feel his immediate interposition, to revive his work and cause his Word anew to have free course and be glorified. Now it is in exact accordance with this principle or rule that the return of the Jews should be the occasion of a new and extensive revival in the Church and should give a new impulse to the cause of God in the world. It may well be expected to be a new era, from which a new life may begin. The very sight of a nation born in one day - a people suddenly and at once brought forth - exhibiting in instantaneous maturity, and in all the freshness of a first love, the Divine power and the holy graces of the gospel, realizing again the promise of the early apostolic days - renewing, on a larger scale, the wondrous spectacle, which the little band of brethren at Jerusalem, after that memorable day of Pentecost, presented to the eyes of men; - this of itself would almost be enough to work such a change in the whole character of the prevailing Christianity, that old things might be seen to pass away, and all things to become new. New ideas of what Christianity really is - a new tone feeling - a new standard of attainment - new views and sentiments on almost all things - and an entire new spirit of zeal and life - might be expected to pervade and take possession of all minds. The Spirit being poured upon them from on high, the wilderness would be a fruitful field; and what before was reckoned a fruitful field, would then, in comparison with the new examples of fertility, be counted for a forest. - Isaiah 32:15. III. Especially may such a result be anticipated, when it is considered that the nation which is thus, in the face of all men, to be renewed, is the nation of Israel. This people, now for a long season scattered and peeled, have been terrible and wonderful from the beginning hitherto (Isaiah 18:1-7), and they will be terrible and wonderful to the end. In their singular preservation, amid unexampled judgments, they present to the world a standing proof of the special providence of God over them. And, as at first, the remnant or the election of Israel, who believed in the Lord Jesus, were the chosen agents and instruments of God in gathering in the first-fruits of the Church; so in the end Israel is to be honoured in the gathering in of its full harvest, at the close of the world’s history. Their conversion itself will be so manifest a token of the Divine faithfulness and power, that it will strike conviction into the minds of men, and compel them to recognise the finger of God; the new energy and vitality, which their fresh zeal and love will impart to the Church, will stimulate its efforts, and render its testimony more decided; and their own direct exertions, on behalf of Him whom they have so long denied, will be blessed by God for the bringing in of the Gentiles, even to the ends of the earth. Re-invested with their hereditary prerogative of nearness to God - received again into His favour - re-established in the land which he gave to their fathers - and having once more erected in their city the dwelling-place of God, the seat, so to speak, of his government, the centre of his operations throughout all the earth, - they will walk in the light of God’s countenance, they will shine before all men in the beauty of his holiness. Farther: the Lord’s interposition in behalf of his people is to be accompanied and attended by visitations of a fearful nature, on the nations and inhabitants the world, - visitations fitted to overawe and subdue. Dreadful judgments are, in Scripture, announced as about to come in the latter days, connected with the overthrow of the Antichristian power, and the vengeance to be taken upon all those who have been partakers in its guilt. It is to be a time of terrible convulsions, when yet once more the earth and heavens are to be shaken; and there are to be portentous signs among all nations. But, amid all the shock and crash of the reeling and staggering work, the Lord is signally to manifest his power, as ruling the storm and commanding the whirlwind. There must be "wars, and rumours of wars;" the Gentiles must be visited for their impiety in having so long "trodden Jerusalem under foot," and despitefully used and persecuted these whom God, though he was smiting them, still loved and honoured. His righteousness as Governor among the nations must be vindicated; his elect, who cry to him day and night, must be avenged; the rejection of his blessed Gospel by people must be signally punished. The souls of them that were slain for the Word of God and the testimony of Jesus, still cry with a loud voice from under the altar, saying, "How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?" Ah! There is much to be done for the settlement of the Lord’s controversy with the world and for the deliverance of his people, with a strong hand and an outstretched arm, before he shall he glorified in their triumphant and joyous return, and shall be manifested as the terror of the proud, and the confidence of all that call on His name. And then, at last, the ancient people of God appear as the centre of a happy world, as bringing in, after many judgments, the glorious harvest of the Gospel. At last, after many fears and many disappointments, that harvest is secured; "for, as the rain watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, so that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater," so the Word of God now prospers. "His people go out with joy, and are led forth with peace; the mountains and the hills break forth before them into singing, and all the trees of the field clap their hands." Such is Israel’s high destiny, and such its bearing on the prospects of the world. "The Lord will arise and have mercy on Zion. The time to favour her, yea, the set time, is come; for his servants take pleasure in her stones, and favour the dust thereof. So the heathen shall fear the name of the Lord and all the kings of the earth thy glory. When the Lord shall build up Zion, he shall appear in his glory." - Psalms 102:13-16. Let us reverently adore the unchangeable majesty of the eternal God, and trust in his faithfulness. "Our strength may be weakened in the way, our days may be shortened; but He is the same, and his years shall have no end. The children of his servants shall continue, and their seed shall be established before him" - Psalms 102:1-28. Amen. THE CONVERSION OF THE JEWS: A SERIES OF LECTURES DELIVERED IN EDINBURGH, BY MINISTERS OF THE CHURCH OF SCOTLAND and PUBLISHED by JOHN JOHNSTONE, HUNTER SQUARE; EDINBURGH and R. GROOMBRIDGE, LONDON IN THE YEAR MDCCCXLII. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 110: S. PARTAKERS OF THE ALTAR ======================================================================== PARTAKERS OF THE ALTAR “Are not they which eat of the sacrifices partakers of the altar?” - 1 Corinthians 10:18 THE maxim, or principle, which the putting of this question implies, is of quite general application. It covers all or any sacrifices, offered upon all or any altars. Whatever may be the altar, and to whatever god dedicated, and with whatever doctrine or ritual associated, if I eat of its appropriate and appointed sacrifices, knowingly and intentionally, I so connect myself with it that it becomes an inconsistency and contradiction on my part to have anything to do with any rival or antagonist service. I must choose the altar with which I wish to be identified; and I must confine my worship exclusively to that altar, with its appropriate and appointed sacrifices. I cannot therefore partake of the sacrifices of two opposing and inconsistent altars. I must hold to the one and reject the other. So far the argument is in itself plain enough. And it is confirmed and clenched by the appeal to Old Testament law. “Israel after the flesh” could have no doubt on this point. Their “eating of the sacrifices,” under such solemn vows to the Lord, and such awful warnings against idolatry, as their covenant involved, did indeed make them “partakers of the altar.” It would seem therefore, that in point of fact, there is a connection somehow formed between the worshipper and his worship, whatever his worship may be; and that, in the case at least of the true worship, the connection is one that is thoroughly exclusive and monopolising. Hence the importance of our inquiry into the nature, the principle, the rationale, of the connection, as indicated by the language here used to denote it. That language is very precise and exact; more so than our translation makes it. The expression “partakers of” (1 Corinthians 10:18), is the same as “communion” (1 Corinthians 10:16), and “have fellowship” (1 Corinthians 10:20). The word in 1 Corinthians 10:17 and 1 Corinthians 10:21 is different, and not so strong. But in these three verses (1 Corinthians 10:16, 1 Corinthians 10:18, 1 Corinthians 10:20) the English rendering ought to bring out the identity of phraseology in the original. In all the three verses the idea conveyed is one and the same. It is that of joint participation; implying community of a very close and intimate personal kind between those jointly partaking and that of which they jointly partake. They have all of them, alike and together, that in common with it which makes them and it, in some real and emphatic sense, one. In all the three verses, the object thus jointly partaken of is somehow connected and mixed up with an act of sacrificial worship. Thus (1 Corinthians 10:16) it is what is offered in sacrifice, the substance or body of the sacrificial victim. Again (1 Corinthians 10:18), it is that on which the sacrifice is offered, the altar. While once more (1 Corinthians 10:20), it is the god or gods, real or imaginary, to whom the sacrifice is offered upon the altar. We have thus the sacrifice, the altar, the deity. It is important to notice distinctly these three points or modes of personal connection between the worship and the worshipper. 1. I take the last of these instances first (1 Corinthians 10:20). It is the case of a heathen sacrifice. What the apostle tolls the Corinthians is this: - If you are parties to it, by eating of it as such, in the temple of the heathen gods, or at a feast in honour of them, you are partakers of, or joint-partakers with, these gods. You and they communicate with one another; you with them and they with you. You and they have fellowship, or are fellows. There is real community, of some personal sort, between them and you. This is a serious consideration. Nor is the force of it blunted or evaded by your reminding me of what I have often said; that as the idol is nothing, so what is offered in sacrifice to idols is nothing (1 Corinthians 10:19). True. If what has been thus used comes to be sold in the shambles as common meat, and set on the table at a common entertainment as common food, it is none the worse for the idolatrous use that has been made of it. It is still good, as a creature of God, and not to be refused if it be received with thanksgiving, being sanctified by the word of God and prayer. It may be so received when it simply forms part of a common meal. But can it be so received when the eating of it in the idol’s temple, or in honour of the idol at the sacrificial table, is part and parcel of the sacrificial worship; or do I contradict myself when I warn you that, by receiving it in that way and on that footing, you have fellowship or joint-participation with devils? No! But I tell you a very solemn and awful truth. It is indeed the fact that the idols, or gods, whom the heathen worship with these sacrifices, are nothing; have no existence save in superstitious fond dream or abject fear. The worship of them, therefore, is so far to be accounted as no worship at all. The sacrifices are nought. But that is not really an adequate solution, or full explanation, of the deep and deadly mystery of heathen idolatry. It is not merely to be characterised, negatively, as an idle ceremony; the worship of nothing by means of nothing; offering to an idol which is a nonentity, a sacrifice that is a nullity. No. The idol temple is not thus all emptiness; nor is the throne of idol worship left all vacant. The true God being set aside, and there being none else to take his place; devils, malignant demons, evil spirits, the Satanic intelligences, the principalities and powers, once of heaven and light, now of darkness and hell, who have become spiritual wickedness in high places, rush in to fill the void, to occupy the empty shrine, to appropriate the service that is, as it were, going a begging for an object. Jupiter, Juno, Mars, Minerva, Venus - the chosen goddess of Corinth, and patroness of its nameless infamies - these are all unreal The things offered in sacrifice to them have, so far as they are concerned, no real significancy. As sacrifices to them, they have, strictly speaking, no real existence. They are nothing, as the gods to whom they are offered are nothing. But the system which owns these objects of worship, and this mode of worshipping them, is no mere negation or nullity. A diabolic agency is at work in it: diabolic inspiration is breathed into it: diabolic presidency is over it; and diabolic spirits recognise and accept its service as their own, Really, therefore, whether they mean it so or not, the Gentiles do sacrifice the things which they sacrifice to devils and not to God. To have anything to do with their sacrifices, to eat of them, is to have fellowship with devils. It is the communion of devils. 2. When it is the Jewish sacrificial service that is in question (1 Corinthians 10:18) the object of the communion or joint participation implied in it is said to be, not the being worshipped, but, as it were, the organ or instrument of worship; not the deity, but the altar. The former idea, however, is really included in this new one. The altar has no meaning apart from the God whose altar it is. To be partakers of the altar, is to be partakers of it as an altar; as erected by the authority, and for the honour of him whose name it bears. It is therefore to be partakers of him as owning the altar, as being the proprietor of the altar, as accessible in and by the altar. Thus, by the altar we are to understand God, to whom the altar is dedicated. Not God absolutely, as he is in himself: but God, viewed in his relation to the altar; God, considered as acknowledging the altar-worship; propitiated by means of it, pacified, reconciled. Communion with the altar, in Jewish worship, is communion with God; with God contemplated as requiring and appointing, and receiving satisfaction for the violation of his law, an atonement for the guilt of sin. 3. In Christian worship (1 Corinthians 10:16) the object of this communion or joint participation is described as being, not he who is worshipped by sacrifice, nor the altar upon which the worship by sacrifice is conducted, but the actual sacrifice itself, the body and blood of Christ: “The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ?” (1 Corinthians 10:16). The body and blood of Christ, Christ personally, Christ suffering and dying, Christ crucified; this is that of which now in the gospel dispensation we have the communion, of which we are communicants or joint partakers. He is now the sacrificial victim. And therefore now the fellowship may fitly be held to be not only with the Being to whom sacrifice is offered; and with the altar on which sacrifice is offered; but also with the sacrifice itself. This could not with propriety be said, so long as the victim offered on the altar was a bull, a goat, a heifer, a lamb. Community, or joint participation, with such a sacrifice, it could be no great favour - no high compliment, - to ascribe to any one. But when the sacrifice is Christ, it is another matter altogether. The fellowship or communion of the altar now is fellowship and communion, not merely with him, who on the altar and by means of it, is sacrificially worshipped; but with him also, who, on the altar, is sacrificially offered, or sacrificially offers himself. The community between me and the altar now is community, on the one hand, between me and the righteous loving Father, whom I see, in the altar, requiring, providing, accepting an infinitely worthy substitute to bear my guilt, and satisfy justice in my stead, and so make peace. It is, at the same time, on the other hand, community between me and the eternal, well-beloved Son, whom I see, in the altar, through the eternal Spirit, offering himself without spot unto God. It would thus appear that the connection implied in our being partakers of the altar, of whose sacrifice we eat, is real and personal. So much surely, at the least, may be concluded from the induction of particulars in this passage. There is more meant than simply that the worshippers have committed themselves to a particular kind of worship, with which their credit and standing are considered to be identified, and to which therefore they are under an obligation, in honour and consistency, to adhere; anything incompatible with it being religiously shunned. It is not merely that having made common cause with a certain system, they will best consult their interest and their character by being faithful to it; that only by being faithful to it can they expect to reap the full fruit and benefit of it; and that by trying, in this matter, to serve two masters, they may lose their hold of both. All that may be true; but it is not the truth here taught. A principle much more vital is asserted as regards the tie that binds us to whatever sacrificial service we make ourselves a part of. What that principle is, - that now is the question. It is described in such a way as to suggest something like incorporation or identification. The worshipper, it might seem, in some sense, loses or foregoes his separate individual standing as he enters into the great transaction of the altar, and realises his interest in it. A community of character; a certain unity, or oneness of nature, is wrought between him and it. This kind of communion, or, as it were, personal identification, may be considered in its application (1) to a heathen sacrifice; and (2) to the Christian sacrifice. For in this aspect of them, they have a certain analogy, in virtue of which they may be compared, as well as a deep element of antagonism, in respect of which they are to be contrasted. (1.) In the case of a heathen sacrificial service, this sort of identification which I have been indicating is generally, if not always, at least when the service is sincere and earnest, very complete and thorough. It becomes, in fact, a kind of fusion or absorption. The enthusiastic or fanatic devotee sinks, we might almost say, his personality in the idolatrous ceremony with which he is incorporated. His individual powers and faculties are in a sense superseded; his very sensations are suspended. It is not so much the worshipper that now lives, as the spirit of the worship that lives in him. Let that spirit be active and energetic. It is not always so. Sometimes the worship is dead and formal; a mere cold routine. Then, as happens always in similar circumstances, the worshipper will be a mere dead and cold formalist himself. But I assume the idolatrous organisation to be in full force and free play, and to be inspired and instinct with its own proper vitality. And I assume that I, the worshipper, am awakened to vitality too. I throw myself into the worship as many a poor deluded child of misery and guilt has done, and is doing. I am in earnest; terribly in earnest; on the rack of sinful lusts; goaded by the sting of remorse; my whole inner man, my entire spiritual frame, laid bare to the lashings of stormy passions and guilty terrors. In this estate my keen and sensitive soul comes in contact with a majestic idol car, or gorgeous idol temple, in which a ministry of expiation and purgation is continually going on. It seems to meet my case. It is what I need; what I want; and I give in to it. It masters me. And now, henceforth, it and I are one. It is not so much, that in it I live and move and have my being; but it lives and moves and has its being in me. It makes me; it moulds and fashions me. My experience, my character, my very being, it engulphs into itself and assimilates to itself. Its obscene and bloody rites, its horrid cruelties, its dark views of supernatural malignity and vindictiveness, scarcely appeased by the carnage of countless hecatombs and the incessant groans of the crushed and maimed, trodden under foot; these come to be common features between the spirit of the idolatry, and my spirit. It is sympathy. But it is more than sympathy. There is fellow-feeling, on my part, with the method of atonement, which, with all its fell and foul attributes, has yet brought some broken relief to my vexed soul. The fellow-feeling, however, is the fruit of the self-abandonment with which, forsaking all, I hide myself in the close embracing arms of the demon who is making me his own. For there is a demon, there may be many demons, in the idolatry with which, in my fierce despair, I unite myself so convulsively. A satanic spirit does really meet my spirit in the midst of it. That satanic spirit and I become one. He whose devilish craft and cruelty devises the system, and whose devilish breath puts life in it; he and I, - I ceasing almost to be myself, seeing only through his eyes, feeling as he feels, - he and I are one. There is fellowship, communion, between us; not intercourse merely, but intercommunity of nature. The worship which he appropriates as his, and which? now appropriate as mine, makes us one. We are mutually, as it were, partakers of one another. It is his life that is now my life. We are one; and what he is, that I now become. If this, or anything like this, is an explanation of the working of idolatry in earnest souls, is it any wonder that we should find its votaries, bearing in their character the stamp, and manifesting in their conduct the likeness, of the altar, of which they are partakers, and the gods, or devils, with whom, by its means, they have fellowship. Have we not, in this view, been accustomed greatly to understate the case, and to underestimate the power and influence of the heathen sacrificial service? We speak vaguely of the natural tendency of every act or habit of worship to beget a certain harmony between the worshippers and the being or beings whom they worship. Like priest, like people, is a principle which has passed into a proverb. It is as applicable with reference to the object of worship, as with reference to its minister. Or rather, at least, when there is earnestness in the worship, it is far more so. It is impossible for any one to render honest homage to a person whom he is taught to adore as divine, and to revere as both great and good, without growing insensibly into his image. I do not speak of express and studied imitation; still less of the hypocritical homage of those who give themselves a license to do whatever they have been told in fable that their gods have done. I refer rather to the insensible and almost unconscious working of what might be called the law of worship in an earnest man; and more particularly to the working of it in the service of sacrifice. It is a powerful natural law; and it cannot be doubted that it operates powerfully in all idolatry. It operates in connection both with the object and with the manner of the worship. The nature of him who requires sacrifice, and the nature of the sacrifice which he requires, both tell upon the nature of him who offers it. His principles of judgment and of conduct in his own sphere of activity come to be in accordance with both. What his god appears to be in his dealing with him, as he presents his sacrifice, he shows himself to be in his dealings with those around and under him. He wields the sword or tomahawk after the fashion, as he interprets it, of the using of the sacrificial knife. What his idol is, that is he. Naturally, by a sure though secret spell of sympathy, this process of assimilation takes place. But this is not all. Paul brings in another element; the element of supernatural satanic power; the presence and fellowship of a satanic spirit; the personal agency of the Devil. For it is devil’s work that is going on. It is according to the Devil’s mind, if not by the Devil’s inspiration, that the idol’s grim face is painted, and his vile shrine is reared; his cruel and capricious character drawn, and the horrid propitiation that is to soothe him devised. Well therefore may the Devil be personally in it all; supplanting the idol; joining himself to the idol-worshippers; who now not only fondly familiar with the vanities of false gods, but fresh from the fellowship of devils, may come forth from the altar of atonement to enact, perhaps, a devil’s part before a startled world, or to be found among the tombs echoing a devil’s woeful complaint, as if of one come to tormemt him before the time. (2.) It is not needful to dwell separately on the Jewish sacrificial worship, which may be considered as merged in that of the gospel, and one with it, in so far as the present inquiry is concerned. I would speak now of your participation in the atoning sacrifice of Christ. Here, as in the former case, we must recognise the practical power of the natural law of worship, which has just been noticed. You who make a covenant with God by this sacrifice of Christ, come under the operation of the law. Your connection with the sacrifice, on the faith of whose efficacy you draw near to God, is at all events such as to assimilate your nature to its nature. In this view, how all-important is it that your ideas of the nature of the sacrifice of Christ should be clear and sound. What think ye of Christ as the Lamb of God, as the propitiation for sin, as the great atoning sacrifice? How do you conceive of that wondrous transaction which was consummated and finished on Calvary; the substitution of the innocent and holy Son of God and Son of man in your room and stead; the transference of your guilt, the demerit, the hell-deserving demerit and guilt, of your sins, from you to him; and his endurance of the curse, the condemnation, the penal death, for you, and as your representative; that you might not die but live; in a word, his being made sin for you, who knew no sin, that you might be made the righteousness of God in him? It is possible to put a heathen and carnal meaning in that transaction, as thus described. And some, in these days, seem to take great pleasure in doing so. Nay, they will have it that the transaction, as thus described, if the language is literally understood, is capable of no other construction. It imputes vindictive and implacable feelings of resentment to the God whom we have offended; while at the same time it exhibits him as apt to be wrought upon by the friendly pleadings on our behalf of One who can appease his wrath by blood. And it puts our salvation on a footing, not of pure and perfect fatherly benignity in God awakening filial trust in us, but of a sort of bargaining for satisfaction or compensation upon his part, and a sort of fictitious legal plea of imputed righteousness and vicarious merit upon ours. If that were a true account of the doctrine of the atonement as you receive and hold it, then doubtless it might be expected, in so far as it exercised any moral influence over you at all, to exercise an influence altogether ungenial and malign. Nor is it wonderful that those who can take in no other impression regarding it should use strong terms in denouncing its paganism. But you have not so learned Christ. You form a more intelligent, as well as a more spiritual conception of what his voluntary offering of himself as an atoning sacrifice upon the cross, really means. You see in that scene on Calvary, that negotiation of your peace between the Father and the Son, something very different from mere power withstood and vengeance satiated. To you it shines all radiant with the beams of unspotted righteousness and holy love. And as you throw yourself into it with your whole soul in the fulness of an appropriating faith and an approving fellowship, you learn to think and feel in accordance with the principles of divine rule and government which it unfolds. Your heart comes to beat in unison with the divine heart there unveiled. And you all, “with open face beholding, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image, from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.” “By the Spirit of the Lord.” For he is in it and in you. He is to you, with reference to this altar and your being partakers of it, what the evil spirit, as we have seen, is to those who, joining in the worship of idols, have fellowship with devils. The effect is not left in your case, any more than in theirs, to be mere working of a natural law. A supernatural agency is put forth; a supernatural agent is present. The same Eternal Spirit through whom Christ offers himself without spot to God, is upon you and in you. It is he, the Eternal Spirit, who joins you to Christ. It is he who shuts you up into Christ. It is he who originates and sustains a real living personal union between you and Christ. Through the Eternal Spirit you are with Christ and in Christ, as he, through the Eternal Spirit, offers himself to God, What Christ is in that act, you are. What Christ sees, you see. As Christ feels, you feel. Imperfectly perhaps is this realised: but it is realised through the Eternal Spirit. Thus you are partakers of this altar. Let one or two particulars of this participation be noticed for illustration, as well as for practical improvement. 1. “Father, glorify thy name” (John 12:28). So Jesus prays when he has full in view the offering of himself, and what it is to cost him. It is as a time of strong crying with him. In public, before all the people, he cannot restrain himself: “Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour: but for this cause came I to this hour. Father, glorify thy name.” For the Father’s name is worthy to be glorified. So the Son feels. He desires it to be glorified, as it is to be glorified in that very cross from which he so sensitively shrinks. In the judgment of the Son, what the Father is then and there to do, is to be very glorious to his name. The character, the nature, of the everlasting Father is to break upon the universe of created intelligence with an effulgence of moral greatness and beauty surpassing all imagination. Such is the Son’s own notion of the altar of his sacrifice, and of the glory which it is to shed on the Father’s name. Is it yours? Do you, through the Eternal Spirit, see the Father’s name glorified on Calvary, as the sufferer on Calvary himself sees it? Have you anything of the same care and concern that he has about the Father’s name being glorified? Would you rather, as he would rather, that the Father should glorify his name, than that he should save you from the hour; the hour and the power of darkness? Ah! see to it that through the Eternal Spirit you are partakers of the altar; and of this feature or attribute of the altar, that it puts the glorifying of the Father’s name before and above even the saving of his chosen, his Beloved. The full discovery of the Father’s glorious name, the Father’s infinite perfections of righteousness, wisdom, truth, and love, that his suffering, the just for the unjust, is to give, is so dear and precious to the Son that it reconciles him to it all. Is it a discovery dear and precious to you? Are you glad of the insight thus got into the Father’s heart, and of the assurance you receive, that no attribute of his is compromised or sullied on your account, because for love to you he spared not his own Son? Are you, I might almost ask you, even more glad that the Father’s name is glorified than that you yourselves are saved? Are you, I may at all events ask you, glad of both these things? Does Calvary, as well as Bethlehem, suggest to you the song, “Glory to God in the highest,” first, and then “on earth peace?” “Father, save me from this hour.” But first, and rather, “Father, glorify thy name.” 2. “Not my will, but thine, be done,” is another voice from the altar of which you are partakers. It is the essence, as to the spirit of it, of the whole sacrifice. Self-abandonment and submission to God, entire self-renunciation and implicit obedience, these two elements together: or rather the one pure and simple principle of which they are the ingredients, - the principle of self-surrender to do the Father’s will, - that is the life, or living power, of the amazing sacrifice. Through the Eternal Spirit he thus offered himself to God. Is the same Eternal Spirit conforming you in this aspect of it to his death? Are you with him, in him, one with him, shut up into him, in this voluntary and unreserved surrender of himself to do the Father’s will? Are you so partakers with him, so identified with him, through the Eternal Spirit dwellng in you as in him, that his act becomes yours? that act of his of which he speaks when he says, “Lo, I come;” of which he speaks again when in his agony and bloody sweat he cries: Nevertheless, Father, though the cup pass not, thy will be done. It is folly, and worse than folly, to dream of your having any part or lot in that great transaction between the Father and the Son; the offered and accepted sacrifice of Gethsemane and Calvary; if you are not really and personally partakers of the altar, in the sense of your having a community of mind and nature with him who, through the Eternal Spirit, offered himself upon it to God. Substitution there is in that transaction; imputation there is also in the recognising of your interest in it. But to trust in the substitution, or to claim the imputation, while there is no real and actual personal participation, is folly, I repeat, and worse than folly ten thousand times befooled. Why does the Spirit work faith in me? Why am I summoned, in the gospel, to believe? Is it not that Christ and I may be one, intelligently one, confidingly and lovingly one, one by mutual consent and trust in one another, one in spirit, one in mind and heart, one in nature, and therefore - only therefore - one in law, one in interest, one in history, one in destination for ever? Oh! that the Eternal Spirit may bend and break this self-willed soul of mine, and breathe into me something of the soul of the holy child Jesus; that I may lay myself beside him, alongside of him, on that bloody altar of atonement; that I may be in him, part and parcel of his very self, as in his offering of himself he says, “Not my will, but thine, be done.” 3. “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” That is a terrible part of the experience of the altar, in respect of which you are called to be partakers of it. You understand the meaning of that sore and bitter cry. It is the cry of the victim bearing sin. The bull, the goat, the heifer, on whose unconscious head were laid the confessed sins of Israel, uttered no such wailing moan. Your being partakers of the altar on which these victims bled and died might imply the utterance of no such wailing moan by you. But it is otherwise here at this altar, when it is one who feels it who bears the load! One who feels it! Yes, truly. Feels it as neither holiest man nor highest angel could ever feel it! Feels it as his being ever in the bosom of the Father qualifies the Son for feeling it. Guilt is upon him; hell-deserving guilt; the guilt of myriads of hell-deserving sins. And the doom of guilt is upon him: the dark and dismal doom of separation from his God! He is making his soul an offering for sin. And he feels it when he cries, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Ah, me! What is sin to me, and the guilt of sin, and the doom of guilt? Am I in Christ, is Christ in me, in that cry of his of unknown agony? Eternal Spirit, make me partaker of the altar where that cry was extracted from my bleeding, dying Saviour. Let sin be to me what it is to him in the lifting up of that fearful voice. To be forsaken of God! Let that be to me what it is to him. Let there be no indifference in me to what so wrung the soul of Jesus when he cried, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” 4. “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.” It is sunshine now. The cloud has passed away, and there beams upon that altar the light of heaven’s brightest and most radiant smile. The divine victim is upon the altar still; he is suffering still; and he has yet to die the accursed death. But a glad and grateful sense of his acceptance in the Father’s sight sheds over his parting soul a pure and perfect peace. Yes. His offering of himself, he feels, is not to be in vain. In his endurance, and for his endurance, of the penal cross; in his thus doing, and for his thus doing, his Father’s will, he himself finds favour with the Father. And it is in quietness and assurance that he rests, as, seeing his Father’s countenance no longer turned away, he pours out from his closing lips the words of filial faith and love, “Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.” May I hope to be partaker of the altar in this feature also of its experience? Here too let me, through the Eternal Spirit, join myself to Christ, and lose myself in Christ, in that great consummation of his offering of himself to the Father. Yes! Let me lose myself in him. For otherwise, how can I ever presume, living or dying, to commend anything of mine to God? My spirit, my soul, myself. “Woe is me! unclean! undone! guilty! all but lost! I dare not venture, either now for my present comfort, or when my last hour comes for my eternal hope, to ask or expect that the righteous and holy God should take charge of anything I committed to him. For, alas! in myself I am a wandering orphan; far gone from my father’s home and heart. And when breath is failing, what can I do but dismiss the trembling, shivering, tenant of my dissolving frame, shelterless and naked, into the dark unknown? But let me be in Christ on that cross; one with him there; crucified with him; his expiation of guilt of deepest dye mine; his endurance of its utmost penalty mine; the worth and merit of his obedience even reaching to that dark death mine; the Father’s acceptance of him mine. Then his commending of his spirit to the Father is mine. His prayer of hope is mine. “Bow down thine ear, Lord. Hear me, for I am poor and needy! Preserve my soul, for I am holy. Save thy servant that trusteth in thee” (Psalms 86:1-17) 5. “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” This also is part of that altar-experience of which I am to be partaker. These workers of iniquity, have they no knowledge? They irritate and persecute me. They harden their hearts against my kindness and my sorrow. Surely when they “talk to the grief of one whom God is wounding,” they know not what they do! Let me be with Christ, in Christ, partaker with Christ in his offering this prayer; offering it as part of his offering himself Father, forgive them. They know not what they are doing in crucifying me, for they know not what I am doing in being crucified for them. Show them that, Father! Let the Holy Ghost, the Spirit of grace and of supplications, at my intercession be poured out upon them to show them that! Then shall they know what they have done; and looking on me whom they have pierced they shall mourn, and be in bitterness and believe. Is this my desire, my longing, for my Lord’s enemies and mine? Is this the prayer whose spirit breathes through all my treatment of the lost and perishing around me, not only inspiring meek patience and forbearance, but prompting effort, persevering, self-sacrificing effort, that darkness may be dispelled by gospel light and obduracy overcome by gospel love; the blind eye opened to see the bleeding Lamb of God; the deaf ear unstopped to hear the tender remonstrance: “Why persecutest thou me?” and the lips that ignorantly uttered the mad shout, “Crucify him, away with him,” taught with mind, and heart, and soul to ask, “Who art thou Lord? Lord, what wouldst thou have me to do?” 6. Once more. “To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise!” Yes! It is but a little while, a brief hour, and all anguish of body, all travail of soul is over; for me, the cross-bearer; and also, thou fellow-partaker with me in my bearing it, for thee; for both of us together. We shall be together in blessedness. To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise. Holy Ghost! Eternal Spirit! Let me, by thy gracious working in me, be partaker of the altar, in this blessed assurance of its sovereign efficacy, to overcome the sharpness of death for the crucified one himself, and for me, crucified with him! for me, as for the dying thief when he got so marvellous an answer to his prayer, “Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom!” So I, more vile than he, cry to the Lord! Lost and miserable so I cry to thee! And what is that I hear thee naming? Paradise! sinless, painless, tearless Paradise! And I am to be with thee there? When, Lord? Lord, how long? If thou wilt to-day, Lord! But anyhow, Lord! be it to-day, or to-morrow, or years hence, - when the hour comes, let me be found in thee; partaker of thine altar, crucified with thee to the last! Prom thy cross let me pass to be with thee. Lord, in Paradise. And as crucified with thee, partaker of thine altar and its deepest love, let me be ever ready in thy name, and on thy behalf, to use these blessed words of thine for comfort to every poor perishing soul, moved by thy grace out of the depths to cry. Lord, remember me! Oh! let it be mine to be ever assuring every sin-smitten sorrow-laden brother, that thou wilt have him as well as me, to be with thee in Paradise! Nay him rather than me. For if I who am so great a sinner, of sinners the chief, am to be with thee there, to whom may I not hold out the bright hope of that amazing prayer of thine, “Father I will that they also whom thou hast given me be with me where I am, that they may behold my glory, which thou hast given me; for thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world!” One thought more let me throw out in closing. There is this peculiarity about the Christian altar, that while he who offers himself as the sacrifice upon it is one in nature as well as by covenant with the worshippers, he is one also with him who is worshipped. He is therefore himself the object of worship. He is the true God and eternal life. In being partakers of the altar thus viewed, how complete should the process of assimilation or identification become! For we may know him as no other being who is worshipped, whether real or fictitious, ever can be known. He lays open to us his whole heart. His Spirit gives us an insight into its utmost depths. What can we know of the very best and fairest of the men or women who have been set up for even Christians to adore? What of Paul or John? What of Mary herself, as compared with what we may know of Jesus? Adoring any one of them, we may be confirmed to the likeness of a brave hero; a rapt saint; an amiable lady and tender mother; seen only in dim outline, on the canvas of an inventive fancy or devout imagination. But worshipping thee, Lord Jesus, we worship one whose mind, soul, spirit, heart, - whose nature, character, thoughts, and ways, we may know, if only we study thee that we may worship thee intelligently, sympathisingly, lovingly. Ah! how intimately and how familiarly may we know thee! And with open face beholding as in a glass thy glory, we may be changed into the same image, from glory to glory, by thy Spirit, Lord! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 111: S. PETER'S RESTORATION ======================================================================== PETER’S RESTORATION “So when they had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him. Feed my lambs. He saith to him again the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He saith unto him, Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee. He saith unto him. Feed my sheep. He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me? And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep. Verily, verily, I say unto thee. When thou wast young thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst whither thou wouldest: but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest not. This spake he, signifying by what death he should glorify God. And when he had spoken this, he saith unto him, Follow me. Then Peter, turning about, seeth the disciple whom Jesus loved following; which also leaned on his breast at supper, and said, Lord, which is he that betrayeth thee? Peter seeing him saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do? Jesus saith unto him. If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? follow thou me.”- John 21:15-22 PETER is the prominent person in this chapter. It would almost seem as if the chapter had been written on account or on behalf of Peter; for it is like an appendix or postscript added upon some sudden afterthought, before the document is closed and sealed. The preceding chapter ends as if it were meant to be the end of the book: “And many other signs truly did Jesus in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book: But these are written, that ye might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing ye might have life through his name” (John 20:30-31). The old man, almost fatigued by the crowd of so many young reminiscences, and of such a sort, gives up the vain attempt to record all, and is in the act of laying down his pen; but it flashes upon his mind that he has still one just service, one friendly office to discharge, to one whom, living, he dearly loved, and whose memory, since his death, he has never ceased to cherish. It is Peter, whom the Lord himself, once and again, made him accept as a brother, equally with his natural brother James, on the mount of glory - the transfiguration; in the chamber of sickness - the cure of Jairus’ daughter; and in the garden of agony - Gethsemane. It is Peter, with whom in all probability he spent the dreary hours of the Lord’s lying in the tomb, mingling tears of penitence and grief; and with whom he had a race on the resurrection morn, on the first rumour of the women that the tomb was empty. And now when, after many long years spent in his master’s service, without the fellowship of his brother James, and of his more than brother, Peter, John has finished a work that brings all that old fellowship freshly up again, his heart bursting with the desire to tell something more, can anything be conceived more touching than his raising, under the warm impulse of affectionate remembrance, a monument more lasting than brass, more precious than gold, to the bosom friend of his early years! Thus Peter stands out in this chapter. It is Peter who first makes the proposal; “I go a fishing;” to which they all assented: “We also go with thee.” Why he made the proposal we cannot say. Possibly, in his despondency he may have concluded that all was over - for himself, at least, if not for his fellows. Their occupation, as “fishers of men,” being forfeited, the best thing he and they could do was to resume the trade of ordinary fishers in the old familiar waters. Again, while it is John who first recognises the Lord, “Therefore that disciple whom Jesus loved saith unto Peter, It is the Lord;” it is Peter who instantly acts on that loving whisper: “Hearing that it was the Lord, he girt his fisher’s coat Tinto him, and did cast himself into the sea.” All the more eagerly does he do so, because he recognises the Lord by the very same sign by which he was led to own him at first (Luke 5:4-11). The repetition of the sign may well recall old recollections and awaken new hopes. He will not now say, as he said then: “Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, Lord.” Rather, feeling himself to be a sinful man far more now than then, he will go through fire and water to Jesus, to him that saveth his people from their sins. Let us bear these things in mind, while we consider the conversation after dinner. For it is a remarkable conversation, or catechism, in many views. Thus: I. That the Lord should question Peter about his love to him (John 21:15-17). II. That he should question him about the degree of his love (John 21:15). III. That he should question him three times (John 21:17). IV. That he should follow up the questioning with the command. Feed my lambs. Feed my sheep (John 21:15-17). V. That he should annex so solemn a warning as to the martyr’s death Peter was to die (John 21:18-19). And, VI. That he should crown the whole with the twice repeated call, Follow thou me (John 21:19; John 21:22). These are noticeable points in this singular personal dialogue; the last left on record before the Lord’s ascension. I. The question is about love. Lovest thou me? Why does the Lord question the disciple who had so recently denied him? Why about love? Why not about repentance, or faith, or the purpose of new obedience? Why does not the Lord ask, What of the past? hast thou thoroughly repented? art thou truly, sufficiently, penitent? hast thou had enough of bitter weeping? hast thou duly humbled, chastised, mortified thyself? Or, what of the present? art thou indeed believing? hast thou a sure sense of thine interest in me and my redeeming work? Or what of the future? wilt thou undertake never to deny me again? what dost thou profess of penitence and faith? what dost thou promise? No such questions does the Lord put. Any of them would have tended to plunge the broken-hearted sinner, whose sin has found him out, in dark despair. He cannot face them. He cannot say that the tears he has shed prove enough of penitence; or that his trembling hope indicates enough of faith: or that the timid purpose he scarcely ventures to form, can be safely uttered as a promise or a vow. No question about them can he confidently meet. But the question, Lovest thou me? coming from him who can answer alike for the past, the present, and the future, that question he can meet. Lovest thou me? Thou knowest that I, who ask thee the question, have power on earth to forgive sin, all sin, thy sin. If it were not so, I would not now ask thee the question, Lovest thou me? It is as here and now forgiving thy sin that I ask if thou lovest me; if being forgiven, thou canst love me; if thou canst withhold thy love from my forgiving look. Ah! It is a blessed and gracious question. It carries in it so thorough an assurance of the forgiveness of sin and the healing of backsliding; coming as it does from him whom the sin has pierced and the backsliding pierced afresh. It is the question of the injured friend, the grieved brother. It is he who still, in spite of all, himself answering for all, puts the question, Lovest thou me? II. The question is, at the very outset, about the degree of his love. Lovest thou me more than these? - i.e., more than these love me? But why should Peter be expected to love Jesus more than others? “Why but because he is forgiven more. So Peter feels now as he never felt it before. For he has made a sad discovery. Once he was ready to profess greater loyalty to Jesus than all the rest: Though all else forsake thee, yet will not I. He might then have answered yes, to the question, Lovest thou me more than these? but he does not so answer now. Still he owns the fairness of the question. To whom much is forgiven the same loveth much; that he now practically and experimentally finds to be the law, the necessary law of the kingdom of grace. Yes, Lord! thou hast a right to put the question to me in that form! “Who ever had such cause to love thee as I? To whom has there ever been so much forgiveness extended as to me? I once thought I might promise to thee an allegiance beyond that of others. That delusion has been terribly shattered. I have only proved myself to be a sinner more than others, the chief of sinners, the worst of all thy followers - almost of thy foes. Well may I love thee more than all others; well mayest thou expect me to love thee more than all others, for who else has sinned against thee as I have sinned? Who, as I, has seen that look of thine turned on me in the judgment hall; or got that message from the tomb, Go tell the disciples and Peter? Well mayest thou ask, Lovest thou me more than these? But I cannot stand the question now. I feel that I ought to love thee more than ever saved man or holy angel loved thee. Alas! that I love thee so little in proportion to thy love in forgiving me so much! Alas! that I can but say; thanks, however, that I can say, Thou knowest that I love thee. To me, as to Peter, the question may well come home, in this comparative form, Lovest thou me more than these? Yes, Lord! thou hast a right thus to put it. It is no exaggeration when I confess myself the chief of sinners. It I know myself, I know more evil in myself than I can fancy in any one else. With my advantages, who would have so sinned as I have sinned? Would that I loved thee with a love worthy of thy love in forgiving such sin as mine! But thou wilt accept my humble answer? I dare not say that I love thee more than others; that I love thee as I own thou hast a right to expect that I should love thee, being forgiven so much. But Lord, thou, who by the very putting of the question assurest me of forgiveness, thou knowest that I love thee. III. The question is thrice repeated. Various reasons may be assigned for this, one of them being very obvious - that Peter’s thrice-repeated denial of the Lord should be met by a thrice-repeated acknowledgment of his penitential profession, so as to place his restoration to the apostolic office, which he had forfeited, beyond all doubt. But we are now concerned about Peter’s own personal experience under this close dealing of his master with him. How did Peter feel when subjected to this triple questioning? To a mind like his, it must have been somewhat trying. Accordingly it is said that Peter was grieved. It is not said that he was angry, like Jonah. He had no right to be angry. He felt that he could not be surprised, or take it amiss, that his master should interrogate him closely. He who, after more than ordinary zeal in avowing his attachment, had thrice over, with oaths and cursing, denied the Lord, could not make it matter of offence that he should have to undergo the ordeal of a somewhat what strict inquiry, a sort of cross-examination, when he professed his loyalty again. Still he was grieved. It seemed unlike the Lord’s usually gracious procedure thus to press him so hard; and all the more so, because he had so little to say for himself. It looked as if the Lord was wanting proof; calling for evidence; demanding confirmation. Thou sayest that thou lovest me. Thou canst not venture to say that thou lovest me more than others, though thou ownest that thou hast more cause to love me than all besides. Still thou sayest, Thou knowest that I love thee. Well. Art thou sure of this? And what assurance canst thou give of it? Bring forward thy witnesses. Produce thy testimonials. Ah! what is a poor sinner like me to do when urged so hard? What witnesses can I cite? To what testimonials can I appeal? Can I summon the world, or my fellow-disciples, and say, These know that I love thee? Alas! they only know that I denied thee! Can I point to services rendered, sacrifices made, sufferings endured, and say, Lord, these prove that I love thee? Ah! the oaths and curses are but sorry evidences of fidelity! I have nothing to say. I can but cast myself on thee, - on thy indulgence! Nay; not on that merely, but on thine omniscience, - Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee! Nor is it to thy omniscience generally that I appeal, but to what I have known of it in my own case and in my own experience. Yes, Lord, thou knowest all things! All the things that have passed between thee and me; all my dealings with thee, and all thy dealings with me. That look of thine which no eye saw but mine; those tears of mine which no eye saw but thine. Thou knowest all things; all that I have felt towards thee, and all that thou hast done for me, to me, in me. Thou knowest all my history, and all my heart. Thou knowest that I have good cause to love thee; that I well may love thee; that I cannot but love thee. Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee. IV. In all the three instances in which the question is put, the answer is followed up by the command, Feed my lambs: Feed my sheep: Feed my sheep. There is an obvious propriety in this. On the one hand, the question is a fitting preliminary to the command; on the other hand, the command is a fitting sequel to the question. It is fitting that the Lord should question any into whose hands he is about to intrust the duty of feeding, in any way, his flock, about their love to himself. For the lambs, the sheep, are his own, very dear to him as his Father’s gift; as his purchased possession, for whom he laid down his life; in whom he sees of the travail of his soul and is satisfied; who have his Spirit given to them, to shut them up into him, and secure their abiding in him. It cannot be his pleasure that any should minister to them who do not love him. And then the work is itself of such a nature, and is to be carried on in such circumstances, that nothing but love to Christ will sustain any one in it. It is the work of doing good; going about among your fellow-men, not only to relieve their temporal wants, and soothe by sympathy their natural sorrows, but to deal with them about their souls - their eternal interests. It is not always easy work, or altogether pleasant work. You have to go out into the wilderness in search of lost ones wandering under the cloudy and dark day; into the streets and lanes of the city; into the highways and hedges, to compel them to come in. You have to lay your account with many annoyances, disappointments, and irksome provocations; much that is trying to your taste and temper, as well as to your faith and hope. It is no ordinary motive that will make you steadfast, persevering, abounding in this work of the Lord. Have you not found this to be true, you who have made the trial? You undertake some portion of the work, or some department of it, with great alacrity at first. There is a charm of novelty about it; an air of romance. You are sanguine and enthusiastic. Alas! how soon have offences come, and vexations, crosses, and cares, begetting weariness, despondency, disgust, or a longing to attempt some brighter and more hopeful task. The people you once delighted to visit cease to interest you. The very children are lambs no longer, but rude plagues; they irritate instead of attracting you. The labour ceases to be a labour of love! Yes; that is it. Love is wanting. And it is love to the master that is wanting. You are leaving your first love to him. Nay, in some habit of your inner life, or in some way of your outer walk, you may be denying him; disowning him; showing yourself ashamed of him; practically saying, by your worldly conformity, I know him not. Hark! it is the cock crowing! See, it is that eye! The Lord turns and looks upon thee. Let thy sin now instantly find thee out. Let there be a new personal dealing between Jesus and thee about it. Oh! come, repent, and do thy first works. Taste anew the blessedness of loving much because forgiven much. Let Jesus ask thee now anew and afresh, Lovest thou me? Wilt thou not reply. Thou knowest that I love thee? I have not given up loving thee. No, I cannot; for thy love to me now, in asking me once more if I love thee, and asking me that on the footing of thy forgiveness of me once more, makes me beg thee to trust me once more. Once more, Lord, give me credit when I once more say, Thou knowest that I love thee! Try me again. Let me hear thy voice once more, - Feed my lambs; feed my sheep. On the other hand, the command is a fitting sequel to the question. If love is genuine, it seeks a vent. It burns to express itself in act as well as in word. It would fain show itself in ministering to the loved one personally. So her love who, being forgiven much, loved much, showed itself, when she stood behind Jesus, bathing his feet with tears, and wiping them with the hairs of her head. So love showed itself when she poured out on him whom she loved the costliest ointment. Him however we have not with us now. But his representatives we have, the poor, his lambs, his sheep; his brethren, to whom he will point at the last day, saying, “Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, ye did it unto me.” And not merely as a manifestation and test of love to himself does Jesus bid us minister to those whom he thus identifies with himself, but as the means, also, of keeping that love to himself alive, in vigorous and healthy exercise. For if it is true that none are asked, that none are likely to be long willing, to feed his lambs, his sheep, except those who love him - love him with much love, springing ever freshly anew out of a sense of much forgiveness; the converse also is true; none will continue long to love him with sound mind and warm heart, who are not ministering to the poor, to his brethren, as to himself. I say with sound mind; for love, especially divine love, love to the unseen Jesus, may be nursed in the soul that is withdrawn from its fellows, and strives to dwell with him alone. But then it becomes morbid, diseased, unnatural, and unwholesome. I say also with warm heart. Yes! I would love Jesus with warm heart as well as with sound mind. Then let me see to it that I minister to the poor, to the brethren, as his; that I feed the lambs, the sheep, as his. For everything depends on that, on your identifying them with him in your actual ministering to them; as he does in his acceptance of your ministry. It is not merely that for his sake, and in his name, you speak to the weary a word in season, and do good as you have opportunity. You are to realise and feel that it is verily and indeed to him, to his own very self, that in that weary one you are speaking the word you speak, and doing the good you do. You are not merely to go forth from him to minister, out of love to him, to a brother man or a brother Christian. You are to recognise in the brother, while you are in the very act of ministering to him, not so much himself, as Jesus, your master and his. It is not merely for Jesus whom you love that you minister; but to Jesus also. Whatever you do, in word or deed, you do it unto him. Let this be the spirit in which you obey his command. Feed my lambs; feed my sheep. Let it be as ministering, not to the lambs, the sheep, but to him whose they are. Let every act of benevolent love to any one of them be, in the very doing of it, a conscious act of pious love to him. Then, and only then; thus, and only thus, will your diligence and zeal in every good work quicken and enhance your affection to the Lord; and you will know more and more in your experience, how fitting it is for Jesus to follow up his question, Lovest thou me, by requiring you to feed his flock, his poor ones; and by requiring this, not merely as the evidence and expression of the love which you profess; but as the best and most effectual means of exercising it and causing it to grow. V. Immediately on Peter’s last and strongest avowal of his love; that which contains so touching an appeal to all that had passed between them, - Lord, thou knowest all things, the Lord gives the intimation as to Peter’s martyrdom: - “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, when thou wast young, thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst whither thou wouldest: but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee and carry thee whither thou wouldest not. This spake he, signifying by what death he should glorify God” (John 21:18-19). It is the Lord’s usual manner. He will enlist none in his service unawares, or upon impulse; or without intimation beforehand of the risk to be run and the fate to be expected (Luke 9:57-58). But here the announcement is very significant, as well as very solemn and startling. Is there a pause after Peter’s abrupt cutting short, as it were, of this examination? Lord, I can say no more. I can give thee no farther assurance. I can but appeal to thyself as knowing all things; all my history and all my heart. Thou knowest that I love thee. Is that all? Does the Lord wait for something more? - “and I will lay down my life for thy sake.” If so, he waits in vain. I love thee. I know and thou knowest that I love thee. But it is not as I loved thee before, when I thought only of befriending thee, and standing by thee heroically to the last. That confidence is dashed; if I love thee now, it is as looking to thee, who didst look on me in my sin with a look so full of pity and of pardon. Peter has no heart now for any bold braving ultroneously of prison or of death. He cannot go beyond - Thou knowest that I love thee. But, going thus far, he can hear without dismay what the Lord has to tell of a death awaiting him more terrible by far than ever he could have imagined. Yes; for it is not now Peter, a bold man, boldly volunteering; but Peter, a meek man, meekly acquiescing; not now Peter, confident in his own strength of purpose, bent on protecting and patronising Christ and his cause, even unto death; but Peter, a debtor to Christ and his grace, not saying what he is ready to do and to suffer, but simply waiting to hear what may be the Lord’s will. How changed, as regards this whole matter of suffering with and for Jesus, is this high-minded and high-spirited apostle! He is high-minded and high-spirited still, in a right sense and on a right footing. But it is towards men, not towards the Lord. He loved Jesus before; warmly, strongly, boldly. But it was with the sort of love which makes partizans rally round the standard of their favourite chief. “To the death for him” is their war-cry. Shame on the coward, traitor, slave, who would turn and flee m the decisive hour! Rather than desert him we will drain our dearest veins. Such dauntless courage, such devoted allegiance, is invaluable in its right place. It has achieved the liberty, - alas! that we must add it has sealed the slavery, of nations. It has but small room, however, if any, within the camp of Christ. His people, indeed, are willing in the day of his power. But it is the willingness of passive rather than of active bravery. There is no risk now of Peter drawing his sword, and making it needful for his master to undo, by a miracle, the effect of his haste. Nor will his master hear now from his lips any confident boasting. Peter is silent, submissive; promising no service ultroneously; offering himself for no voluntary martyrdom; shrinking rather into himself; slow to speak if swift to hear. He simply waits. He receives the command, Peed my sheep; and the warning as to the death by which he is to glorify God, in meek and dumb acquiescence. But the acquiescence, meek and dumb as it is - nay, all the rather for its very meekness and dumbness - is more trustworthy than all his old profession; for it is the acquiescence of one who is now brought thoroughly to feel that he is nothing, and that Jesus is all in all. VI. The Lord crowns the whole conversation with the call, “Follow me” (John 21:19); a call which he emphatically repeats after his reply to Peter’s loving question about John, “Follow thou me” (John 21:22). Is this, on the Lord’s part, a recall of the somewhat stern and sharp negative which he interposed before he suffered, in the way of Peter’s confident challenge. Why cannot I follow thee now? It would seem to be so. Look at that conversation: John 13:31-38. Jesus says to the eleven, for the traitor has gone out (John 13:30), I am about to leave you, and to leave you in circumstances that will call for all the support and comfort that your loving one another as I have loved you, can afford. I am with you only for a little while. And when I go, I go whither you cannot come any more than the Jews. For the present, at least for a time, you, my friends, are as much shut out from going with me as my bitterest foes. Surely he speaks with reference to that work which he has to finish, alone, with the Father; that treading of the winepress alone which was the consummation of his great atonement. From disciples and enemies, from friends and foes alike, I go apart, to complete a transaction with the Righteous Father, in which none can be associated with me; satisfying divine justice and expiating human guilt. He does not explain this at the time. He gives no account of what he is to be about when he is gone whither his disciples cannot come. He seems even to place them on the same footing as to this with the Jews, to whom he had addressed a similar saying. The question of Peter, - Lord, Whither goest thou? brings out a distinction. “Whither I go, is the Lord’s reply, thou canst not follow me now; but thou shalt follow me afterwards. He did not say that, he could not say it, to the unbelieving Jews. But to his chosen and faithful ones he gives the assurance, that this impossibility of their following him is only temporary. Still there is reserve as to what he is to be doing when he goes whither they cannot follow him; and as to why he cannot have them with him in doing it. The others, as it might seem, acquiesce, and are willing to wait; but Peter’s impetuosity, as usual, hurries him on. He jumps to the conclusion that it must be distrust of his courage that makes the Lord decline his company at this crisis; Lord, why cannot I follow thee now? I will lay down my life for thy sake. Is it so? rejoins the Lord. Art thou really ready to die with me? Nay, apart from the peculiar character of my death, into which thou canst not enter; looking at it simply as a common martyrdom; dying for the truth’s sake; I tell thee, that so far from being able to share even such a death with me, the cock shall not crow before thou hast denied me thrice. Yes! truly, thou canst not follow me now? Surely all this is in the Lord’s view when he says here, Follow me; follow thou me. Yes! the time has come of which I spoke when I said, thou shalt follow me afterwards. The time has fully come; for not only hast thou some insight, which the Spirit will soon make clearer and deeper, into the real reason why none could go with me into that terrible agony of sin’s expiation; but thou art thyself also of another mind as to thy true position in my kingdom. And the first change explains the last. Thou seest that I had a work to finish in which thou couldst have no hand; that I had to go down into a deep that would have overwhelmed thee for ever in the dark gloom of hell; that I had to go forward to a dealing with the Father in thy stead, and on thy behalf; that, if thou hadst been a party to it, must have sealed thy doom, as condemned and accursed for ever. Thou seest, and thou wilt see more and more, as the Spirit gives thee light, that my leaving thee behind when I had that business to accomplish - leaving thee out of it - was the very condition of its being available for thee; that I must needs suffer alone and without thee the judgment from which I had to deliver thee; that I must die alone and without thee the death from which I had to save thee. Ah! and it is because thine eyes are opened, and are opening more and more to this great reason why thou couldst not follow me then, that thou art fit for being called to follow me now; to follow me, though a worse martyrdom by far awaits thee than that from which thy weak denial of thy master gave thee a poor escape. For now thou realisest thy true standing; - as not a powerful adherent, offering thy countenance and thy company, but a poor sinner, a mere debtor to grace alone; forgiven much, loving; but thou canst not say, loving enough; fain to cast thyself, helpless, self-distrusting, self-condemning, on the indulgent pity and almighty strength of him whom thou hast pierced. Now, therefore, he says, Follow me. Follow me in the following up and following out of that work with reference to which I said that thou couldst not follow me then. Follow me now, as loving me, and prepared to feed my sheep, and to die with me now; nor consider thy lot hard if thou shouldst have to glorify God by a bloody death; and thy beloved friend should tarry, if I will, till I come. “What is that to thee? Follow thou me.” It may be allowed to thee so far to feel an interest in the future of thy friend. Thou wouldst have his course in following me marked out as clearly as thine own, and, if possible, associated with thine own. Thou wouldst know what he is to do, and by what death he is to glorify God; not for thine own satisfaction merely, but it may be for his. But what if I will that he is to glorify God by not dying at all? Leave all that to me; what is it to thee? Let thine eye be singly intent on thine own walk. Thou art not to follow John, nor is John to follow thee. Nor are you two, John and thou, to follow me in any way that you may concert and arrange between you. Thou must needs glorify God by a cruel, horrid death. He may peacefully pass away, or tarry till I come: what is that to thee? Follow thou me. He is in my hands as thou art, and thou needst give thyself no concern about any difference of lot, or any temporary separation that such difference may cause; thou glorifying me by a cruel death, he, if I will, tarrying till. I come. No; for then you both shall meet, and meet to part no more. Then, when I come; when the dead shall be raised, thou being among them and the living shall be changed, John, if I will, being among them; and all shall forever be with me, the Lord. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 112: S. SECURITY IN THE MIDST OF DANGER ======================================================================== SECURITY IN THE MIDST OF DANGER “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.” - Psalms 91:1-2 THE first thing which strikes one in meditating on this psalm is the accumulation of its descriptions of danger, - the thick throng of its images of terror. Assuredly, the safety which it celebrates does not consist in any exemption or immunity from the hazard of disaster or of death. Let the causes of uneasiness and alarm which it assumes be enumerated: - First, generally, the distress is such that a retreat is required. And it must be one that can serve the threefold purpose of a cool shade under oppressive heat; a safe harbour from pursuing foes; a strong defence against an assailing force: “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress” (Psalms 91:1-2). Spent with bloody toil beneath the fierce rays of a burning sun, closely followed by exasperated hosts, disabled from making an open stand against them - we welcome a post which may afford us the means at once of refreshment, of repose, and of resistance - a secret place which may be a shadow, a refuge, a fortress, all in one. Then, more particularly, different elements or instruments of peril are specified. “The snare of the fowler” - such nets and pitfalls as might make the helpless chicken fain to cower under the hen’s motherly wings; - “the noisome pestilence;” - the false plotting and stratagem which no skill in war or policy can evade, which “the shield and buckler of truth” alone can withstand (Psalms 91:3-4); “terror by night,” “the arrow flying by day,” “pestilence walking in darkness,” “destruction wasting at noon-day” (Psalms 91:5-6); these are separately formidable enough trials. Concurring and conspiring together, what heart may they not appal? All the more appalling are they because their ravages are actually witnessed. The risks are seen to be real. The fell messengers of wrath are seen doing their work all around. The plain is strewed with their victims. “A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand” (Psalms 91:7). By thousands, by tens of thousands, thy comrades are helplessly falling. The circumstances are all instinct with terror. Nor is this all. When a new and fresh start is to be made from the place of security which has been reached, the cry is still a cry of alarm. “Thou hast made the Lord which is my refuge, even the Most High, my habitation” (Psalms 91:9). True. But not even thus or thereafter is there any abatement of thy danger. Evil is still in wait for thee; plagues are still near thee (Psalms 91:10). The road thou hast to travel is rough and stony (Psalms 91:12). Lions, adders, young lions, dragons - strong beasts of prey, and crawling, stinging serpents - frequent the country through which thy path lies (Psalms 91:13). Thy course is a hazardous fight, a hazardous journey, to the last. It is not from dangers, but in the midst of dangers, that thou art safe. The conditions of safety pointed out in this psalm correspond to the circumstances of danger which it enumerates. Let the peculiar structure of the psalm be here noted. It presents the aspect of one believer comforting another, one servant of the Lord encouraging another; the person thus comforted and encouraged owning the truth addressed to him; and the Lord himself coming in at the close, to confirm the assurance which the first party in the dialogue has been endeavouring to impart to a weary and fainting brother. The psalm opens oracularly with a general statement or testimony, evidently uttered by one speaking from experience, and desirous of making his experience available on behalf of some sufferer in the same strife with evil by which he has himself been tried: “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty” (Psalms 91:1). The sufferer thus addressed responds in faith to the appeal. I believe - may the Lord help mine unbelief! I will put to the proof what thou, as a witness for the Lord, one of the cloud of witnesses, tellest me of the secret place of the Most High and the shadow of the Almighty: “I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust” (Psalms 91:2). Upon this, the first speaker proceeds to draw out in detail the general declaration he has given forth. Amid the secret ambushes and open perils of war; amid the risks of disease and consuming dearth - let the sword, the arrow, the plague be doing their worst - still, brother, be of good courage, thou art safe: “Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noon-day. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked” (Psalms 91:3-8). And not in the battle only - not for the brief space of a stormy fight, or an agitating campaign, art thou safe. I speak to thee, and speak to thee comfortably, from my own experience also, with reference to the terrors of the way, as well as of the war. I can tell thee what my God, whom thou takest to be thy God, will do for thee, when thy foot stumbles on the hard stones, and when monsters and reptiles come out to assail thee: “Because thou hast made the Lord which is my refuge, even the Most High, thy habitation; there shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone. Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder; the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet” (Psalms 91:9-13). And if my testimony from experience will not suffice to reassure thee, listen to the voice of my God, who is also thine. Let us both keep silence; let our God himself speak. Hear what he says to me, brother, concerning thee whom I have been trying to strengthen - yes, concerning thee, if thou art still of the same mind as when thou wast ready to “say of the Lord, He is my refuge, and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust,” - “Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him. With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation” (vers. 14-16). Three parties, therefore, speak in this psalm - the witness for God, the brother in peril, and God himself. I. The witness for God, the sympathising friend of the party exposed to danger, speaking from his own experience, declares generally: “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty” (ver. 1). And again more pointedly, assuring his brother himself individually of protection, he gives the reason: “Because thou hast made the Lord which is my refuge, even the Most High, thy habitation” (Psalms 91:9). To be dwelling in the secret place of the Most High, this is what is first of all and above all essentially required. But where is the secret place of the Most High? Where but within the vail, where the covenant of peace is ratified, and things hid from the wise and prudent are revealed unto babes? Into that secret place you may freely enter; and in it you may permanently dwell. Christ leads you in, rending the vail, that is to say, his flesh. Sprinkling you with his own precious blood, he takes you along with him as he passes from the cross, from the grave, to the bosom of his Father in heaven. And as he now abides there evermore, so you also abide with him there continually. There he reveals to you the Father; he gives you an insight into the heart of the Most High. And bidding you know and believe that the Father loveth you even as he loveth him, he asks you to make this God most high your habitation, as he is his: your home, as he is his; the home of your full confidence; the home of your warm affection; the home of your habitual resort; the home of your familiar fellowship. Dwelling there, you acquaint yourself with God and are at peace; you know his name and put your trust in him. You are no more servants merely, not knowing what your master doeth. You are friends of the Son; and all things which he hears of his Father he makes known to you. The secret of the Lord, the secret of his gracious covenant, the secret of his moral government, the secret of his whole providential administration, is with you as with the righteous, as with them that fear him. “Your life is hid with Christ in God.” Hence things without, events happening around you, do not take you aback or by surprise. They may be dark and terrible; but over you and all around you, between you and them, is your dwelling-place, the Most High, the Almighty overshadowing you. Wherever you go, you carry a charmed atmosphere, wrapping you close round on every side. It is the atmosphere of your new home. It is the Lord himself who is round about you, as the mountains are round about Jerusalem. The scenes which you have to witness, or in which you have to bear, a part, may be such as to try you in many ways. The violence and fraud of men, the visitations of God, may be making sad havoc before your eyes. But you, all the while, still dwelling in the secret place of the Most High, may fall back on what you are ever learning there. You may thus be reassured when at any time “your feet are almost gone, your steps have well-nigh slipped.” Three lessons, in particular, are taught in that inner school, for your encouragement, by him who, on the ground of his own entrance, introduces you into it, and moves you to know and trust, as he by experience has learned to do, the Lord who is his Father and your Father, his God and your God. I. “His truth shall be thy shield and buckler” (Psalms 91:4). This is the first lesson you learn in that home of yours. You learn that God is true, true to himself, and true to you. The Son has been teaching you this. Causing you to dwell, as he dwells himself, in the bosom of the Father, he discovers to you, as none else could, the Father’s faithfulness. He is himself the manifestation of it. In him, and in his mediatorial work, it is seen that God is true, true to his threatenings of judgment, true to his purposes and promises of mercy. In him, moreover, and in his human history, it is seen that God is true also to them who trust in him, faithful and just to hear their cry and deliver them out of all their troubles. This truth of God, thus seen in Jesus, you come to know when you in him are dwelling in the secret place of the Most High, and abiding under the shadow of the Almighty? And the knowledge of it may well shield your breast against the entrance of those doubts, misgivings, fears, which, like thick-flying arrows, may be assailing you. Men may be false, but God is true. The heathen may rage, and the people may imagine a vain thing; still God is true. The world may seem to be out of course, the earth may be shaken; nevertheless God is true; no word of his can fail, least of all that word, “I have set my King on my holy hill of Zion.” And to you personally his faithfulness is pledged. For a time there may be many troubles, anxious thoughts, disquieting cares, arrows of human cruelty and craft, the sharp arrows even of the Almighty, all but piercing thee through. But God is true, and his truth is pledged for thy protection amid them all. 2. Another lesson which you learn in your new dwelling-place is to see the reward of the wicked: “Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked” (Psalms 91:8). It is a lesson which can be learned only at home, only when you are at home in Christ with God. So David found when his spirit was chafed as he witnessed the unequal lots of good and evil men on the earth. He saw the ungodly prospering more than others, not troubled like other men, in life or in death; and the godly tempted to complain that they had cleansed their hearts in vain, so plagued were they all the day long. “When I thought to know this,” he cries, “it was too painful for me, until I went into the sanctuary of God; then understood I their end” (Psalms 73:16-17). It is in the sanctuary of God, in his secret place, at home with him, that you are taught to see in a right spirit, to see in its true light, the reward of the wicked. For, outside of that school, in the open world, you see much in the way of the wicked, and in the way of God with the wicked, to trouble and tempt you. You may be tempted to impatience, when it seems as if all went well with them, and all ill with you. Or you may be tempted to triumph over them, when retribution unequivocally overtakes them. In self-righteous complacency, or in unholy exultation, you may behold and see the reward of the wicked. No such lesson, certainly, do you learn when you are, in Christ, at home with God. The lesson which you do learn is the lesson of steadfast loyalty to God himself, and to his righteous administration; a lesson reconciling you to his forbearance when he tolerates evil men and suffers them to prosper for a time, and preparing you to acquiesce when they receive their reward at last. It is not easy rightly to “behold and see the reward of the wicked.” When the temptation to impatience of their prosperity, and, what is apt to go along with that, the temptation to triumph over their fall and fate, are overcome, another and an opposite temptation may beset you. How terrible to witness the calamities which the lies and passions of wicked men bring not only on themselves, but on their helpless victims! To stand where a thousand are falling at your side, and ten thousand at your right hand; to think of fields dyed with blood, and pale corpses lying all unburied on the plain, because some crafty tyrant or mad despot has chosen to let slip the dogs of war; to look on while successive troops of men, guiltless of the injustice of the quarrel, yet, alas! too many of them wicked and ungodly notwithstanding, are hurried in promiscuous crowds to meet their final doom; it is too much. The fire burns; the fire of your indignation against the author of these wrongs; the fire also, the suppressed and smothered fire, of a most painful questioning. Can such things be, and the Most High still reign, all-merciful, almighty? It is too painful for you, till you go into the sanctuary of God. Only then, only when in the midst even of such scenes, you feel that you are in the sanctuary of God, that you dwell with Christ in God, only then can you be still. And then you can be still. God’s ways with these multitudes of dying men may vex you, for you know them not. But God’s way with Christ, which you do know, silences you. The cross, seen now by you from the inner standing-point which you occupy, dwelling in the secret place of the Most High; the cross, whose marks the Son bears even now in the Father’s bosom; the cross, through which alone you are at home with God, proclaims that your God is a consuming fire. His wrath burned against sin when his own beloved Son was the sin-bearer. It burns against the sin of which the earth is full. And if he who did not restrain that wrath when it was to consume the holy one, lets it loose now among the guilty, the dire effects may appal you; but you believe and hope still. Solemn awe fills your soul, but not distrust or doubt. 3. One other ground of confidence does the witness for God suggest to you, the party with whom he sympathises as a friend. He has learned himself, and he would have you to learn, being at home with God, that there are members of the family not involved in your peril, who yet are deeply and affectionately interested in your safety: “For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone. Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet” (Psalms 91:11-13). The angels, as well as you, - the angels before you, - have made the Lord their refuge, their dwelling-place, their habitation, their home. They constitute the elder brotherhood. Their own position is safe; their own path is plain. Once indeed they had to sustain a shock; but it was once for all. The Father bringing in the first-begotten into the world said, “Let all the angels of God worship him.” Faithful among the faithless, amid the fall and ruin of too many of their comrades, these elect and blessed spirits owned the Son and became sons themselves. Ever since, their way has been uninterruptedly upward and onward; no stone to hinder their progress; no lion or adder to alarm or to sting. But not the less on that account do they feel an interest in you; rather all the more. For, first of all, they feel for the Son himself, whom at the Father’s call they are always worshipping. They feel for him, as they see him treading, with bloody feet and bruised hands, the path by which, himself going before you, he is to bring you to this glory. It is a rough road. Ravenous beasts and foul reptiles haunt it. And he who toils and sweats, and bleeds along it, is the Son whom they adore. Eight gladly do they receive the charge to keep him in all his ways, - to bear him up in their hands, lest he dash his foot against a stone. But who is this who tells the Son of God that his Father thus gives his angels charge over him? Is it the tempter in the wilderness? Is it the devil who would fain persuade him to cast himself from the pinnacle of the temple, as if he were coming gloriously in the clouds of heaven to show himself to Israel? Nay, this is an evasion of the road, rough with stones and beset by young lions and dragons. And to evade that road, choosing a shorter, an easier, or a brighter path, would be to tempt the Lord his God. But the devil leaves him; and behold angels come and minister unto him. And it may well be believed that one of them whispers in his fainting ear the very Scripture the devil has dared to quote for his purpose; and gladly reminding him that, if not to exempt him from the rough way, yet at least to sustain him in it, the hosts of heaven are to wait upon him by the appointment of the Lord Most High. He has but to pray to his Father at any time, and he shall presently give him more than twelve legions of angels. In his agony there will appear an angel unto him from heaven strengthening him; at his resurrection angels will be waiting; and by angels he will be welcomed as he passes into the heavens. Such charge does God give his angels over him. Is it from heaven, or from hell, that an assurance like this comes to you? Does it come to you when you are shrinking from the rocky road, frequented by wild beasts and reptiles; when you would fain avoid some path of present duty because it is so humble, or so hard. Does it come as a suggestion, that surely a more royal road, or at least a more saintly way, ought to be found for you; - that if the promise of heavenly and angelic guardianship is to be of use to you at all, it should be to lift you at once triumphantly over the ground, and not merely to help you, stumbling and frightened at every step, along? It is no friend of yours, or of your God, who thus insidiously deals with you; certainly not one who has himself made the Lord his refuge. For whoever dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, whether it be the Son himself, or any one of those who own and worship the Son, knows well that to the redeemed of a fallen race the path which leads to glory can never be otherwise than rough with stones and haunted by wild foes, - no, nor to their Redeemer either. “For it became him for whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing many sons unto glory, to make the Captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings.” And if the Captain, then his followers also. It must be so. That it must be so, - why it must be so, - this also is a lesson learned, like both the former lessons, when you have made the Lord, the Most High, your habitation, when you are at home with God. In the very nature of him who is your dwelling-places, - in his essential, glorious perfection, you find at once the proof and the explanations. Scattered through waste places, in the cloudy and dark day, - the lost sheep wander through all the mountains, and upon every high hill. He who, as the good Shepherd, would search and seek after them, must put himself in their place. Becoming one of them himself, one with them, he must walk on rough and rocky ground, he must face even the devouring wolf. And the sheep whom he recovers and brings back must follow where he has led the way. If it was to him a way thick set with stones, and haunted by the lion and the adder, can it be any thing else to them? Or can they expect or wish for any better assurance than what their Leader got, - a secret voice from within the secret place, vindicating from Satan’s use of it the precious, the sufficient promise, “He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways?” Thus far the first of the three speakers in the psalm - whom we shall not go far wrong in identifying with one from among the cloud of witnesses, the witness nobler still who trod affliction’s path, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, - explains the source and nature of the security which one dwelling in the secret place of the Most High may enjoy, in the midst of manifold and formidable dangers. It is a security based on the insight he now has, first, into the Lord’s truth and faithfulness; secondly into his righteous judgments; and, thirdly, into his providential watchfulness and care. Thou art safe, because God is true. Thou art safe, because “unto the Lord belongeth mercy, for he rendereth to every man according to his work.” Thou art safe, because He in whom thou trustest has all the elements of nature, and all the inhabitants of heaven as his messengers and agents, to do his pleasure on behalf of all who hope in his mercy. II. The second party in this discourse and dialogue, - the party spoken to in the first thirteen verses of the psalm, and spoken of in the remainder of it, - the brother in peril, says very little. But the little which he does say is very comprehensive: “I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust” (Psalms 91:2). It is a prompt response to the very first appeal made to him. It is an interruption of the testimony of the first speaker, as yet almost unknown, at the very beginning of it. An oracular voice is heard, proclaiming vaguely, and as it were, anonymously, “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty” (Psalms 91:1). Instantly the proclamation is appropriated. A weary, war-worn wayfarer grasps it, replies to it, answers the advertisement, and makes it his own: “I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress; my God; in him will I trust” (Psalms 91:2). Then the publisher of the original proclamation, closing with the acceptor of it, enlarges upon his theme, drawing it out in particular instances, and mingling faithfully as well as tenderly ideas of terror in abundance with the general assurance of protection (Psalms 91:3-8). The appropriation is indeed very precise and full, rising in tenderness as it goes on. 1. “I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress.” To say this is much. To be brought to say it from the heart is the fruit of a gracious work of the Holy Ghost. Naturally, seek a shelter from the Lord, a defence against the Lord. A hiding-place from God is what I desire. I look for it, and think that I may have it among the trees of the garden - the world’s flatteries, or the forms of godliness. There I would fain lurk, putting them between my guilty conscience and my offended God, Or let me have some means of meeting my God when he comes to reckon with me; let me entrench and fortify myself in excuses for my sin and pleas of self-justification. Such is the propensity of the natural mind. If it be otherwise with me now, it is through the Holy Ghost working in me. It is the effect of a great change of heart; it is to me a new nature. Once I sought a hiding-place from God - now God is my hiding-place, God is my refuge. From the assaults of my enemies coming to accuse me, to slay me - from my own heart condemning me - I welcome as my refuge the Lord himself, the very God against whom I have offended. Formerly, I was bold enough to defy the God of judgment; I strengthened myself against him in my imaginary innocence, or my comparative integrity and goodness of heart. Now I give myself into his hands, that he himself may be my defence. I look to him to make me a partaker of his own righteousness - that perfect righteousness of his which none can challenge or assail - the righteousness which he brings near to me in the person of his Son, my strength and my Redeemer. This now is my fortress; - Jehovah my righteousness, Jehovah my strength. 2. And, therefore, I will say of him, “He is my God.” It is the language now, not of faith only, but of love. He is not merely valued by me as a shelter and a defence; it is not merely for such advantages to me that I prize him. In himself, and for himself, he is now precious to me, the beloved of my soul, my portion, my all in all. He is not merely my refuge and my fortress: he is my God. And I have none but the Lord himself. He is my refuge and my fortress always; as open a refuge, as impregnable a fortress, as when I sought him and he covered me at the first. But he is more to me now, far more. He is my God - whom I have chosen, because he has chosen me, whom I love because he has first loved me. It is not merely that I cannot do without him, but that I would not part with him. He is the health of my countenance, and my God, my God, be not far from me! “God, even our own God, shall bless us.” 3. In this spirit the exercise of appropriating faith concludes with the resolution, “In him will I trust.” I may trust in him; well may I trust in him; for I have proved him to be my refuge and my fortress. I must needs trust in him; I cannot but trust in him; for if not in him, where else can I be safe? So far it is a matter of conclusive reasoning with me, or a matter of urgent necessity. But when I say, “In him will I trust,” - in him who is not only my refuge and my fortress, but my God - that is the language of hearty, affectionate, earnest consent. “I will trust and not be afraid, for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song; he also is become my salvation.” “In him will I trust.” Is it not natural now to trust in him, now that he is my God? Alas! that it should ever be otherwise. How can I ever take it amiss that he should ask me to trust in him - to leave myself and all my interests in his hands - and at the most anxious crisis, in the darkest hour, to believe that all is right - that all will be well? The witness for God has spoken his encouraging words to the brother in peril, who thus affectionately responds in the exercise of an appropriating faith in God. What God himself is overheard to say concerning him at the close of the psalm (Psalms 91:14-16), is the glorious corner-stone of this edifice of confidence. Let its separate glories be considered. 1. Mark, first, the cause assigned by the Lord for the warm interest which he feels in his servant thus exposed: “He has set his love upon me; he has known my name.” His heart is mine; and he does justice to me in his esteem of me. He braves the heady current of the fight, he faces the rough and dangerous road, not for love of self, not even for love of man merely, but for the love he bears to me. Nor is it a great name for himself that he covets. He has known my name. It is my name, not his own, that he would have to be glorified. 2. Mark, next, how the Lord speaks, connecting his servant’s love to him and knowledge of his name with his own purpose of deliverance and exaltation, as if his honour were concerned to make it plain that the love is not misplaced, that the just acknowledgment of his character and perfections is not unappreciated. He has set his love on me; can I do less than deliver him? He has known my name; he honours, he glorifies, he exalts my name; can I do otherwise than set him on high? A father on earth, knowing that his child’s heart was all his own, would be ashamed of himself if he could leave that child to perish in some hazardous enterprise to which the very ardour of his filial love had moved him. A prince served by some noble and chivalrous soul - one counting the prince’s honour dearer to him than life - would hold it foul scorn if it were imagined for a moment that he could hesitate to place his faithful servant next the royal throne. And since you have set your heart on God your father, he tells me, he tells all the holy ones, he tells that holy one, the Son of his love, who has won your heart to him, that he cannot but pledge himself to deliver you - especially to deliver you out of whatever troubles may overtake you in your working, or warring, or journeying, on his errand and for his sake, and because your heart is set on him. Since also you have known his name, and it is your delight to exclaim, I will extol thee, God, my king, I will praise thy name for ever, - he says of you, that however low may be your estate, however humble your sphere, however little of earthly glory may requite you, however much of earthly obliquy may overwhelm you for a time, your promotion in the end is secure. And it must be so; for his own honour is concerned in his honouring you at last. “I will set him on high, because he has known my name.” “Them that honour me I will honour.” 3. Mark, thirdly, what the Lord expects on the part of his servant, “He shall call upon me.” This, I say, the Lord expects. He speaks of it as a matter of course. He intimates that he takes it for granted. To call upon me, to be ever calling upon me, “will be the man’s custom, - his vocation always. It may well be so; it cannot but be so. He has set his heart on me. Can a loving heart ever be silent when the object of its love is ever accessible, ever near? He has known my name. He understands me as none can understand me, save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son shall reveal me. My nature, my character, he knows. He knows that I love to hear a child crying, Abba, Father. He knows that for this very end I send forth the Spirit of my Son in his heart, that he may be always crying, Abba, Father. He knows me too well to imagine that I have any delight in holding him at a distance. He knows that reserve, keeping silence, is the thing I hate. He knows that my ear is open to his call, and that the highest compliment he can pay me, all the return I ask for all my love is, that he shall call upon me. 4. Mark, once more, the assurance of the Lord’s gracious interposition, answering to his servant’s calling upon him: “He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him.” It is much the same assurance as before, with this additional particular, preceding the promise of deliverance and honour, “I will be with him in trouble.” Is not this the special, present answer to him, when he calls upon the Lord? The deliverance is connected with his having set his heart upon the Lord. I cannot, the Lord says, suffer one to perish who has given me his confidence and love. The honour again is associated, as a consequence, with this, as its reason or cause, - he hath known my name. I cannot but advance ultimately to a high rank him who, self-forgetting, self-denying, is bearing my name, not his own, faithfully on high, in the thickest fight and along the most perilous way. But the deliverance may be postponed; the honour may be in reserve, far off beyond the precincts of time. Is he, therefore, in the meantime helpless, comfortless? Far otherwise: “He shall call on me, and I will answer him.” My answer will be this, that “I will be with him in trouble.” And better trouble when I am with him in it, than deliverance and honour when I am afar off. 5. Nor is it to be all trouble with the man of God while he is fighting the good fight and finishing his course. Nay, there is so much enjoyment for him, even in his present state, as to make him rather wish for its continuance, and welcome the concluding promise which he hears the Lord giving: “With long life will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation.” This world is not all a battle-field, a dreary and dangerous pilgrimage, to the Lord’s faithful servant. Even to him, - rather, one should say, chiefly to him, to him alone reasonably, - length of days may be an object of desire. Why should that man grasp many years to live here, who, let him go the whole round of earth’s pleasures, must be always conscious of an aching void, an unsatisfied thirst, a feeling moving him to adopt the cry. Who will show us any good? - to echo sadly the complaint. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity? But you, man of God, are not fated thus to have the cup of contentment ever brought to your very lips, to be ever turned aside or dashed down before you drink it. You know what that saying means: “Godliness with contentment is great gain.” You see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living. You have much to make you glad in the prospect of a long life of usefulness and comfort, if that should be the mind of God concerning you. Nay, should length of days bring with it to you only length of toil, and care, and grief, you will still say that even with such a long life the Lord is satisfying you; for all the more, in such a life, through your calling on him and his being with you in trouble, he will be showing you his salvation. And if, on the other hand, it shall please him whose soldier and pilgrim you are, to cut short your career on the very threshold of your entrance on it, - if he shall commission the plague to smite you, or the sword to cut you down, your labour scarcely begun, your mouth scarcely opened, - you will remember that the promise is not an absolute promise of long life. It is, “With long life will I satisfy him.” He shall live until he himself is willing to say, I have lived long enough. And will not he be willing at any time to say this, the instant that other promise is fulfilled, “I will show him my salvation?” Yes, Brother, if the Lord is showing you his salvation, - if you are taking in your arms the holy child Jesus; if he is taking you, a little child, in his, - you may fall in the flower of youth, in the prime of manhood, leaving all your work undone; but you fall, still testifying that with long life the Lord has satisfied you. You die as old a man as the aged Simeon, when he said, “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 113: S. THE BLESSEDNESS OF THE FORGIVEN ======================================================================== THE BLESSEDNESS OF THE FORGIVEN “Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no guile.” - Psalms 32:1-2. THERE are here a privilege, a character, and a blessing. The privilege is that of “the man unto whom God imputeth righteousness without works” (Romans 4:6). The character is that which Jesus recognised and owned in Nathanael (John 1:47). The blessing attached to both is substantially the full peace and free access described in Romans 5:1. Thus, all the three Old Testament thoughts, of privilege, character, and blessing, receive a New Testament interpretation and application. But the Old Testament experience, as regards these thoughts, must be our guide and mould; for the psalm is an experimental one. The psalmist’s own experience is therefore all in all. And the psalmist being, without doubt, David himself, gives us all the benefit of it. He tells us plainly of the trial through which he has come. He had been keeping silence; suppressing conviction; evading honest confession. It may have been some special sin about which he was thus practising reserve; or the reticence may have had reference to his spiritual state generally. The point is, that he has not been speaking to God about himself, or about something in himself fitted to cause uneasiness. There has been a shrinking from fair dealing with God, either about his state generally, or about a specific sin; and that implies guile; self-deception at least, if not wilful hypocrisy. He has been excusing or justifying himself. But he has not found rest. In very mercy God has not suffered him to find rest. His own conscience resents the attempt to impose on its veracity, and stifle its voice. And the Spirit, quickening his conscience, reproves and convicts him. He is so self-condemned that he cannot get rid of the sense of a more terrible condemnation: “For if our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart and knoweth all things” (1 John 3:20). He is constrained, graciously constrained, to try a more excellent way, the way of full, unreserved, and unqualified confession. Then comes the blessedness of a glad relief from his own conscious or half unconscious guile, and a calm, quiet sense of the Lord’s pardoning and justifying grace. I. The privilege. Observe the successive steps in the description given by the psalmist, and by the apostle interpreting the psalmist, of the privilege conferred, or the grace bestowed, on the guileless man; and mark how completely, at every point, his case, as an awakened sinner, is met. 1. “Whose transgression is forgiven.” This assurance is fitted to relieve that awful sense of guilt, that terrible apprehension of merited wrath under which you labour when first your sin really finds you out. Your fond dream of impunity is broken. All your refuges of lies are overthrown. You dare not now plead that your offence is venial, or listen to the tempter’s soothing sophistry: “Ye shall not surely die.” You cannot any longer comfort yourself by reckoning upon a large measure of indulgence now, and an easy escape at last. You tremble at the thought of a judgment to come. The sentence of condemnation under which you lie prostrates you in the dust. It is felt to be real, inevitable, righteous. You cannot face your own accusing conscience; how much less can you face an angry God? You cannot forgive yourself Can you hope that God will forgive you? Can there be forgiveness with God for such sin as yours? for such a sinner as you? There may be much mercy for others, can there be any mercy for you, for you the guiltiest of the guilty, of sinners the chief? All the aggravations of your miserable state of mind toward God, your enmity against him, your rebellion against his holy law, rush upon your startled soul. The shifts and expedients of pains and penances, of prayers and alms, by means of which you have been trying to mitigate your anxiety and assuage your remorse, are become themselves grounds of alarm. The first thing you need is to believe in the forgiveness of sin. A free pardon, remitting the punishment, condoning the offence, must be put into your hand. The voice of him who has power on earth to forgive sin must reach your ear, your heart: “Son, daughter, be of good cheer, thy sins be forgiven thee.” 2. “Whose sin is covered.” Here another feature of your case, another element in your experience, is looked at; the sense, namely, not merely of the grievous guilt and just doom of your sin, but of its offensiveness, its loathsomeness, in the sight of the holy Lord God. For if your conviction of sin is genuine, and of a gracious godly sort, it works in you not fear only, but deepest shame. You shrink, not only from the uplifted rod of vengeance, but even still more from the pure and penetrating eye of him who wields it. You feel that holy eye looking upon you; looking into you; into your utmost soul; your heart of hearts; the very core of your nature: and seeing there nothing that can be truly pleasing to him: but much, very much, that must be infinitely distasteful. “I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee” (Job 42:5). Thou seest me, and thou must needs abhor me. Such is your dark dreary thought. And it is not relieved by the mere promise or word of pardon - thy sins be forgiven thee. It is not enough for you to be told that you are not to be called to account for what you have done, for what you are, and visited with the doom which you deserve. Absolution from guilt, the remission of its penalty, will not now suffice. For it is not your being under God’s wrath and curse, as exposing you to death, that chiefly vexes and grieves you. Nay, for that matter, you could almost be willing to accept the punishment of your sins. But that you should be yourselves, personally, objects of offence and abhorrence to him - having in you and about you, at the very best, so much of the abominable thing which he hates - that is what has become to you intolerable. Ah! then, how may you welcome the intimation, that there is not only forgiveness for your transgression, but a covering for your sin. And it is a covering which he himself provides for you through and in his Son, and which he himself puts on you by the power of his Spirit. It is a covering so complete that he sees in you no iniquity, no perverseness, any more; a covering so costly, so comely, so fair and lovely, that when he beholds you clothed with it, you are without spot in his eyes. He looks upon you now, and is infinitely well pleased; as well pleased in you as in him whose beauty clothes you; of whom he testifies, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” 3. “To whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity.” Here, again, another need of the truly and spiritually awakened soul is graciously and fully met and provided for. If your conscience is rightly exercised about your sin when it finds you out; if, under the Spirit’s work of conviction, the law of God is brought home to you in all its sovereign authority and searching spirituality; if it commends itself and approves itself to you as holy, and just, and good; if you delight in it after the inner man; if you are alive to its uncompromising and unchangeable character and claims; and if the commandment so conies that sin revives and you die; - then, no forgiveness of your transgression, no covering of your sin, will fully satisfy your anxious spirit, unless you see how your iniquity itself, your transgression, your sin bodily, as it were, can be dealt with, disposed of, got rid of, in terms of strictest law, demanding satisfaction and redress. You tell me that God is not to punish me for sin, for it is pardoned. You tell me that God no longer looks upon me with displeasure, as loathsome and offensive on account of sin, for it is covered. But there is the thing itself, the fact, the deed. It exists. It is a reality. And it is mine. I know and feel it to be mine. And I know and feel how the law requires that it should be treated; that I, whose it is, should be treated for its sake. Yes! And I hold with the law now in this very matter. I am on the law’s side. Because I am now loyal to the lawgiver; and just in proportion as I am loyal to the lawgiver, I am on the law’s side. I feel the need of justice being done. To have sin pardoned, to have it covered, may be all, so far, very well; but there it is; needing to be disposed of and dealt with. Yes, there it is, my sin, deserving punishment. And nothing but inflicted punishment can make it cease to be; make things to be as if it had never been. Such is the righteous, ineradicable instinct of my moral nature, quickened into exercise by the Holy Spirit. Such is the necessary and unalterable verdict of my awakened conscience. Hence the intense craving of earnest souls for penance or atonement. Ye careless, heedless, godless sinners! You, in your carnal, worldly security, have no such feeling as that of which I speak! You can easily believe that God will not visit you for having sinned hitherto, and that he will wink or turn away his eye when you sin again. But let the Holy Ghost show you what sin is; what, under the government of a righteous God it must be held to be; as an act of rebellion against his righteous sovereignty, and a breach of his holy law. You will not then be so simply, or so easily, satisfied and set at rest. Look! See! What mean these priest-imposed or self-inflicted tortures, these bloody flagellations, these painful pilgrimages? Is it not the inherent instinct of justice blindly or madly seeking satisfaction? And thou, my brother! sin-smitten, heart-broken! art thou in darkness, in difficulty, for this very cause? Consulting now for thy God as well as for thyself; for his truth and right even more than for thine own safety, dost thou refuse the comfort of forgiveness because thou canst not imagine it possible that such sin as thine can be suffered to pass unpunished? Look! see! “Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world!” The sin is thine no more; it is not imputed to thee. It is taken from off thee and laid on the great Sinbearer. It is not ignored. It is not overlooked. It is not treated as if it had no reality and no guilt. It is as a great fact, a terrible reality, laid upon the head of the Holy One of God. It is thine no more, because it is his. It is not spared. He in bearing it is not spared. In his person it is visited to the very uttermost. Wilt thou not be satisfied, doubter, now? Wilt thou not look on him whom thou hast pierced? Wilt thou not believe that God is just, when he is the Justifier of them that believe in Jesus? 4. For now we reach the crowning and comprehensive summary of the apostle: “to whom the Lord imputeth righteousness without works.” Righteousness; his own righteousness; the righteousness brought in by his own dear Son; the righteousness of his holy personality, as God-man; his perfect fulfilment of the law’s requirements, as the Father’s servant, on our account; his endurance of its sentence of penal death as made sin, made a curse for us; this righteousness is imputed to us, placed to our account. Not that it passes from him to us, but that we are in him and have it in him; and that without works, gratuitously, unconditionally, freely, and immediately. This takes in all, it explains all, - transgression pardoned, sin covered, iniquity not imputed. Pleading that righteousness, I humbly sue for pardon. Clothed in that righteousness I venture to present myself for acceptance in the beloved. Standing in that righteousness I see the guilt of my offences transferred from me to him, and the merit of his obedience, with the atoning virtue of his cross, made mine in him. So I am complete in Christ, in him as made sin for me, though he knew no sin, that I might be made the righteousness of God in him; he sin for me, I the righteousness of God in him. II. Such being the nature of the privilege, it is not difficult to see how it is connected with, and indeed dependent upon the grace or qualification of a guileless spirit. The connection or dependence may be held to be indicated in Romans 10:3. They who miss or reject the righteousness of God; whether through ignorance or proud self will; either not understanding it, or not willing to humble themselves into acceptance of it; must needs go about to establish a righteousness of their own. That may be an easy enough affair with some, with many. Some good and kindly disposition of heart; some charitable deeds and acts of natural beneficence; an abstinence on principle from the vices of profligacy, profanity, and fraud; and a becoming conformity to the decenies of religious worship and ordinary social intercourse - may quiet conscience and give peace. In other instances, some stronger measures may be needed; measures reaching to the utmost depth of bodily or spiritual mortification. Still, in either case, and all through any intermediate cases, there is guile in the spirit. There is unfair and untrue dealing. There is the putting of something else instead of what conscience testifies that God does and must inexorably require. You do not deal truly with God or with yourselves; with God’s authority and God’s law; with your own consciences and with your own hearts. You must establish some sort of righteousness of your own. You must have something to lean on and trust in when you have to face, however vaguely, the question of your relation to God, your standing in his sight, and your prospects under his government. Can it be anything that does not imply there being guile in your spirit? You must, in some way or other, be trying to beguile God. You are really and only beguiling yourselves. You are not looking God or yourselves full in the face. You are not looking in the face the real question at issue. You are evading the real point in debate; raising false or irrelevant pleas and issues. It must be so. There must be this special pleading. And the essence of it is guile in your spirit, in your heart which is “deceitful above all things and desperately wicked.” Have you rest and quiet in that way of dealing with God; or rather in that way of escape from direct dealing with God? God forbid! Far better bones waxing old by your roaring all the day long; God’s hand day and night heavy upon you; your moisture turned into the drought of summer. Far better this worst anguish of a convinced conscience that can find no refuge or rest in guileful dealing with itself or with God. Far better that, than a conscience satisfied with formal homage and false peace. Thank God, brother, if he does not suffer thee in that way to get ease from the disquietude. Let him break the silence, the sullen or angry silence, of thine unwillingness to be a debtor to his free and sovereign grace alone. Let him break the silence of thy secret longing to stand on some footing of thine own; the silence of thy self-justifying concealment and reserve. Come; let all be open and aboveboard between thee and thy God. Let there be no more anything about which there is silence between him and thee. On his part there is nothing. Why should there be anything on thy part? Guilt cannot now separate thee from him; no; not guilt of deepest die. Only guile can do so. And wherefore guile? Why should there be any more partial dealing with God? Why any refusal to be thoroughly reconciled to him? Why any continuing in the dark way of compromise when called to walk in the light as he is in the light; having fellowship with him and he with thee; the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleansing thee from all sin? Mark here two things; the Lord’s dealing with one keeping silence; and the Lord’s dealing with one in whose spirit there is no guile. With one keeping silence God deals sharply and severely; if he deals with him graciously at all. He deals with him in the way both of inward conviction and of outward pressure from above. And the dealing may be protracted. It was so in this instance, in the case of David, if, as is probable, the Psalmist describes his experience under his grievous double sin in the matter of Uriah the Hittite. A full year must have elapsed before that double sin was brought home to him by the prophet Nathan. Was he at ease all that time? He was keeping silence. There was that upon his conscience which hindered all free utterance in communion with God. He may not have omitted outward acts and exercises of communion. He may have been all the more punctilious in their observance for his need of something to cover his heinous guilt, and ease his guilt-laden soul. But between him and his God personally there was silence; no real speech on either side; all dumb show. It was a sad state; and in mercy he was made to feel it to be so. It was doubly sad. His own frame and constitution made it so (Psalms 32:3). His very body was affected by the disquietude of his mind. It was as if a wearing out, constant, and chronic torture were eating away all his nervous strength and making him prematurely old. It is a moral and spiritual paralysis, or painful collapse of some sort, that is chiefly meant. The sense not of sin but of silence about sin, dissolves as to all spiritual purpose the whole inner man. All the more, because, it carries with it and has in it, the sense unacknowledged but yet felt, of the righteous judgment of God (Psalms 32:4 first clause) David may have tried and tried hard, to take off that hand, or to get himself somehow extricated out of its grasp. You would fain do so when you are in the like case with his. You have to deal not only with your own inward misgivings and self-accusing recollections and regrets, enough of themselves to cause the waxing old of your bones through your roaring all the day long; but with the burden of the divine sentence of wrath, not only impending over you, but pressing upon you; weighing you down in spite of yourself to the lowest pit. In vain you strive to cast it from you; as you would cast from you in your relieved and glad awakening, some horrid, hellish, nightmare. It is no nightmare. It is a terrible reality. And you are made to feel that it is so; if it is a gracious dealing with you on the part of God. And it becomes a persistent perpetual feeling. Day and night his hand is heavy upon you. The business of the day, the quiet of the night, avail not for your rest. In vain you have recourse to the tumult of the world’s pursuits and pleasures. In vain you court the slumber of the world’s insensibility. God’s hand is heavy upon you. It is, no doubt, a painful discipline; drying up all your moisture; withering all your life; to be carrying about with you always and everywhere the sense of unconfessed, unforgiven, unforsaken sin; your own conscience convicting you in spite of all your efforts in the line of self-excuse and self-justification; and God’s heavy judgment sinking you down in conscious condemnation, in spite of all your attempts to evade it, or to brave it. But surely it is better than your being allowed to sleep on. 2. For mark the Lord’s manner of dealing with you when you are enabled, through grace, to break the spell of this miserable reserve and concealment and disguise, and come out naked and open, into the open presence of the Holy One. You have not been suffered to find peace in the way of keeping silence. Alas! too many find peace in that way - excusing themselves, soothing their consciences, explaining away, at least as applicable to themselves, the warnings of coming wrath. But it has not been so with you. You have been awakened. Your sin has found you out. Judgment has come upon you. And all your endeavours to obtain rest while keeping away from God, making the best of yourselves, have ended only in a deeper inward feeling of helpless guilt and sinfulness; and a more awful apprehension of inexorable and inevitable retribution. But now you try a more excellent way (Psalms 32:5). It is the way of the poor prodigal. And you find in it all that he found. The Father meets you as he met him. He sees you afar off, and runs to meet you. He is beforehand with you. He anticipates your confession. He does not wait for your acknowledgment of sin and your humiliation in his presence. “I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin.” Yes, I will have done with the old miserable method of guile, compromise, evasion, dishonesty, in my dealing with God and his law, and his gospel; I will have done with all guile in dealing with myself, my conscience, my guilt, my sin. I am sick of that wretched game of shifts and expedients, as between my God and me. I am ashamed of it. I am weary of it. I have done with it. Long have I kept at it, and tried to make the best of it. But all that is over now. I must arise and go to my Father. Were my provision in the far country not the swine’s food to which its citizens would banish me, but the richest fare of their sumptuous tables, I could not be content, without a full explanation, a frank confession, a cordial reconciliation, a perfect, open, unreserved understanding between the Father and me, the guilty, guileful child - guilty still, but now guileful no more. And how dost thou receive me? “I said, I will confess my transgression unto the Lord; and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin.” The harmony or correspondence between the state and the character must now be apparent. The state, implying on the part of God the most thorough and complete absolution; remission of the punishment, hiding of the pollution, expiating of the guilt. All that is on the Lord’s side. And the harmonising or corresponding action on our side is, what? What but the laying aside on our part of guile, and of what leads to guile, suspicion, distrust, dislike? The description here is one of complete peace. Peace on the part of God. How complete! What more could be asked? Peace on our part. How complete! What is required of us but the laying aside of guile? What but honest dealing? God is true in his dealing with us. “Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity.” Let us be true in dealing with him, “as the man in whose spirit there is no guile.” III. The blessedness flowing from the state and character of the man to whom the Lord imputeth righteousness without works, and in whose spirit there is no guile. His state as justified and his character as guileless is described in the close of the Psalm. I select for application two particulars. 1. Thou art my hiding place (Psalms 32:7). Strange and startling change! But yesterday, sought a hiding place from thee. And now thou art thyself my hiding place. Fain would I have hidden myself, anywhere out of thy sight, I would have interposed anything between myself and thee - the trees of the garden; the very trees of thine own planting in the garden, meant for my hearing thy voice and having sweet communion with thee; the means and channels of thy grace; the proofs and pledges of thy love; the ordinances of thy house and table; I would use as a hiding place from thee, sheltering myself behind them. And if forced to quit them, I would conceal my nakedness by some miserable covering of fig-leaves; some rags of a righteousness of my own. Anyhow, by any means, I sought to hide myself from thee. Now, thou art my hiding place. What a change! And how is it to be explained? How, but by the removal of the burden of the guilt from the conscience and the spirit of guile from the heart! Thou art my hiding place! Thou who hast made provision for my transgression being forgiven, my sin covered, and my iniquity not imputed; thou who hast made me open, honest, sincere, guileless, in all my dealings with thee; putting to shame my hard thoughts of thee, my unworthy suspicions, my cold reserve, my questioning submission; thou who hast moved and brought me to have most frank and confidential converse with thyself on the very matters that might have kept us apart. Thou who now canst trust me because thou hast made me trust thee; thou art my hiding place. Yes; it is this mutual and reciprocal confidence that warrants and prompts the exclamation Thou art my hiding place. It is God’s gracious confidential dealing with me, and my guileless confidential dealing with him. There is no more anything in him against me; anything in his government, for there never was anything in his heart. And now there is no more anything in me, in my heart against him. Therefore there is no concealment, no guile in my spirit. Therefore also he is my hiding place. Surely this is blessedness, supreme blessedness. 2. “I will guide thee with mine eye” (Psalms 32:8). It is a most benignant, kindly, gracious mode of guidance. It is opposed to the guidance of mere force, or what tends toward the use of force; compulsion or constraint; violence or the threat of violence. It is such guidance as a favourite and faithful servant, or still better, a loved and loving child, can understand and appreciate. It is fatherly guidance apprehended by a filial heart. For if I have a son who loves and trusts me, because I love and trust him, I expect him to watch my countenance; not merely to wait for my express command; far less to brave the rude compulsion of my power; but to observe my very look; to take a hint from the glance of my eye. Does he see me, ever so faintly, hinting, by the slightest frown, my dislike, or suspicion, or doubt, of any path on which he is tempted to enter, any work or play in which he might otherwise have desired to engage? He waits not for positive prohibition. He demands no proof of express unlawfulness. Enough that his filial heart discerns, as if instinctively, a father’s anxious scruple. He asks no questions; he urges no arguments; he submits to the guidance of my eye. And he accepts that guidance in regard to what I would have him to do, as well as what I would have him to avoid. For he understands me. He is of my counsel; my intelligent and sympathising confidant. He perceives what my heart is bent on; and, without being forced or bidden, he is on the alert even to anticipate my wish. Surely such a manner of guidance on the part of God is blessedness indeed for those who can apprehend and realise it. And who are they? Not those who are ever asking, Must I? May I? Must I forego this pleasure? - submit to this sacrifice? - undertake this toil and trouble? May I for once venture on this liberty? enter this gay hall of pleasure? allow myself in this doubtful thing? Ah! that is being really as the horse or as the mule which have no understanding, who own only the guidance of bit and bridle. It is the spirit of bondage. But ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear, but the spirit of adoption by which you cry, Abba, Father. “All things are lawful for me, but all things are not expedient.” “Here am I, send me.” “Lord, what wouldst thou have me to do?” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 114: S. THE DISCIPLE NOT ABOVE HIS MASTER ======================================================================== THE DISCIPLE NOT ABOVE HIS MASTER “Remember the word that I said unto you, The servant is not greater than his lord. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you; if they have kept my saying, they will keep yours also.” - John 15:20 “The disciple is not above his master, nor the servant above his lord. It is enough for the disciple that he be as his master, and the servant as his lord. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more shall they call them of his household?” - Matthew 10:24 “The disciple is not above his master: but every one that is perfect shall be as his master.” - Luke 6:40 “Verily, verily, I say unto you. The servant is not greater than his lord: neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him.” - John 13:16 THIS is one among several instances, of the Lord’s using a terse, pointed, pithy saying, in different senses or applications, on different occasions. The axiom, or apothegm, of our texts, is employed by the Lord for three different practical purposes: - I. To reconcile his followers to the suffering of persecution for his sake, and in his cause (Matthew 10:24; John 15:20). II. To stimulate their exertions in aiming at a high ideal, as the examples, guides, and leaders of other men (Luke 6:40). III. To enforce the duty of mutual condescension and kindness among themselves, in the rendering of lowliest good offices to one another (John 13:16), I. “The disciple is not above his master, nor the servant above his Lord. It is enough for the disciple that he be as his master, and the servant as his lord. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more shall they call them of his household?” (Matthew 10:24-25) “Remember the word that I said unto you. The servant is not greater than his lord. If they have persecuted me, they will also persecute you” (John 15:20). The saying is used for the purpose of preparing his followers for the world’s enmity. In this application it has a double aspect. You may not, or you may, be persecuted. If you are not, there is room for inquiry. If you are, there is ground of comfort and strength. Put the case that you are not persecuted; that you meet with nothing in your intercourse with the world that can be fairly characterised as persecution for righteousness’ sake. You may have some playful banter, or harmless jesting to encounter occasionally, when you mix in general society with those who are not quite so strict and serious as you profess to be. But they do not mean any real harm or offence. They tolerate your way of converse about as much as you could reasonably expect them to do; and, on the whole, you have no cause to complain of their reception of you, or their behaviour towards you. I do not say that you are on that account to conclude necessarily, that you incur the woe denounced by the Lord against you if all men speak well of you. Persecution in itself is neither a condition nor a test of faithfulness. It is not your duty, as disciples of Christ, to court and provoke the dislike of those among whom you move. Nor are you entitled to take credit to yourselves as suffering for Christ, when it may be that you are buffeted for your faults. You may be reproached, not really on account of your godly profession and practice, but on account of certain outward modes or fashions; peculiarities of temper, of manner, or of habit, which, so far from being of the essence of your spiritual character and Christian walk, are unhappy inconsistencies. You are called to adorn the doctrine of God your Saviour in all things, and to commend, in the most attractive way, the gospel of Christ. You are to follow after whatsoever things are lovely and of good report. You are to give no offence to any, but rather to please all men to their edification. You are provided, for that end, with a most beauteous robe in which to dress yourselves; you are to put on, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, long-suffering; forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, even as Christ forgives you. You have also a notable ornament to wear, the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which, in the sight of men, as well as of God, is of great price. By a consistent manifestation of the beauty of holiness you may draw to you the hearts of not a few even of the unholy. And, in recompense of your loving and unselfish spirit, or in that tenderness which tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, it may please your heavenly Father graciously to exempt you, to a large extent, from the world’s enmity. Let not such kindly dealing with you on the part of God be construed by you as any evidence of unfaithfulness on your part to him. Rather let it be gratefully acknowledged and faithfully turned to account, for the glorifying of his name, and the winning of souls to Christ. Remember, however, that this partial exemption from persecution may be, in more than one respect, more trying, as regards your humility and your integrity, than persecution’s hottest rage. It may not be purchased by any unlawful concession, or compliance, or compromise; but it may minister to an unsafe and unseemly estimate of yourselves. You may think of yourselves as not only more than ordinarily favoured by God, but more than ordinarily successful through his grace in hitting the right line, - steering the middle course between too precise Puritanism, and an indefensible and unwarrantable license. And, looking round on other Christians, less happy in this particular than yourselves, you think you can see in them infirmities and blemishes, instances of imprudence or rashness, or indiscretion, sufficient to account for their being exposed, excellent as they are, to the resentment of evil hearts, and the remarks of evil tongues. Ah! Is there no danger here? Is there not a temptation to cherish a certain feeling of complacency, even under the guise of meek self-depreciation? Instead of putting yourselves in the place of your brethren, and feeling as if the reproaches of those that reproached them fell on you; you rather begin, because they do not, to think well of your greater wisdom, at least, if not of your greater worth, your shrewder discernment of times and seasons, your better taste or better tact. Well, it may be so. You may, in some of these respects, be above them; but are you above your Master and Lord? Can you charge upon him any of these indiscretions and imprudences? No doubt, even in his case, his enemies hazarded the charge; for the world is very unwilling to admit that it persecutes truth or holiness, as such. It is eager to lay hold of something about the way in which truth or holiness is presented, fitted to occasion, if not even to justify or excuse, opposition. Such apology it sought and found for rejecting both Jesus and his forerunner John: “For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say. He hath a devil. The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say. Behold a man gluttonous, and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners” (Matthew 11:18-19). For men will not readily admit that they hate or hurt the godly man for his godliness. No; it is for some other feature of character or manner of life altogether. Hence they seize on opposite and contradictory pleas. They blame the Baptist for seclusion and the Saviour for sociality. John is too much in the wilderness; he has a devil. Jesus is too much in the world; he is a lover of pleasure, a friend of publicans and sinners. So they seek to shelter themselves from the odious imputation of hostility to what is good. And you may be tempted to give them some credit for this apology when it is your brother that they are criticising. Yes; you must admit that he does somehow, and in some point, lie open to their criticism. You deeply regret that it should be so. But you cannot defend this or that instance of injudiciousness in his manner of testifying for the Lord and dealing with his fellow-men. Alas! that he should give needless occasion of offence. Ah! were it not good for you, if any such feeling is at any time coming over you, to hear the Lord’s own voice: “The servant is not greater than his lord,” Even as regards your brother, these censors betray the cloven foot. Would the same peculiarities which, as attaching to him, so much offend them, be equally offensive if seen in one less holy and less true? But for you, the appeal is to your Master and Lord. And it is his own appeal. You may compare yourself with others, and think that if they are persecuted and you are not, it is not because they are more faithful than you, but because you are more wise than they. And that may be so. If it be so, it is cause of thankfulness. You may praise the Lord for his tender dealing with you; but you will take no credit to yourselves, nor impute any blame to your brother; and, far from giving him up to the tender mercies of an evil world, or some censorious circle in or out of the world, you will embrace him in your sympathy, and commend him in prayer to God; and, turning from him to the Lord himself, against whom assuredly no allegation can be made, you will seriously raise the question, how far your immunity from persecution may be a safe sign for you? For has the offence of the cross ceased? Or can you believe that you are able to present the truth and love of God in an aspect less repulsive, or more winning than he did who was meek and lowly in heart; who did not cry nor lift up his voice; who did not break the bruised reed, or quench the smoking flax; who took little children into his arms; who spoke a word in season to the weary; and wept with them that wept. And if they who would have called him Beelzebub utter smooth and flattering things of you; if they who would have besought him to depart out of their coasts caress and welcome you; if they who would have turned away from his sayings as hard, hang with admiration on your lips; if, in short, they who, as you cannot but believe, would have regarded him as their enemy, when he told them the truth about the exceeding sinfulness of their sin, and the exceeding holiness of their God; about their helpless condemnation as guilty rebels, and their deep corruption, and their need of an infinite atonement, a sovereign pardon, a divine new birth; yes, and about the obligation to deny themselves, and take up their cross and follow him; - if they make you their favourite companions and bosom friends, feeling no such restraint in your society as they would have done in his; and not resenting or disliking your conversation as they would have winced under his; - I do not say, far be it from me to say, that you must be acting the traitor’s part; but most earnestly and affectionately I would entreat you to examine thoroughly your ways, and see if it may not be by dissembling and shading some truth, or compromising some principle, or consenting to some doubtful walk, that you win so much of the favour, or the forbearance of a world that is at enmity with God. I beseech you to ponder well the Lord’s own emphatic saying: “The disciple is not above his master, nor the servant above his lord.” But if you are persecuted, like your Master, by the world, all the rather you may be reconciled to be so, since he who warns you that you must lay your account with sharing his experience, and being partakers of his sufferings in the world, has made such ample provision for your case, and for your testimony incurring the world’s hatred. He associates himself with you. He will not leave you comfortless; he will come to you. He will make his abode with you. He will manifest himself to you. In me, he says, you shall have peace. “In the world you shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” It cannot now really harm you. It cannot overcome you, for he has overcome it; overcome it by those very sufferings of his in which he summons you to share. And consider always the special and peculiar character of these sufferings, in respect of which none may share with him otherwise than through a gracious imputation on the one hand, and a believing appropriation on the other. Through these sufferings you have peace in him, his own peace. Well, therefore, may you go forth unto him without the camp, bearing his reproach, the reproach of him who bore your sin; and having peace in him whose reproach you bear, you need not make peace, or seek peace with the world and the world’s prince. You may consent to have it as your foe, for it cannot separate you from “the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” II. “The disciple is not above his master; but every one that is perfect shall be as his master” (Luke 6:40). Here the maxim or proverb is applied in a different sense from that which I have been considering; not to the condition of the Lord’s followers in the world, as likely to be one of trial and persecution, but to their mission or function as witnesses and prophets to the world. You are now addressed, not as the Lord’s disciples and servants, but as yourselves invested with the character, and called to discharge the office, of masters and teachers. The Lord is here speaking of the duty which, as being yourselves enlightened, you owe to your fellow men; and of the necessity of your being duly qualified and fully prepared for the performance of that duty. And the particular qualification, the special preparation, on which he insists is this, that you make sure of your own possession of the attainment or endowment, whatever it be, which you wish to be instrumental in conveying or imparting to your brother, “I was eyes,” says Job, “to the blind;” and it may be your honest desire, as it is your bounden duty, to be so too. But you must first anoint your own eyes with eye-salve that you may see. For the blind cannot lead the blind. “Come, ye children, hearken unto me, I will teach you the fear of the Lord.” That must be practically your invitation to all whom your voice can reach. But if you would do to them what you promise to do, you must yourselves know that fear of the Lord which you propose to teach. For “the disciple is not above his master; but every one that is perfect shall be as his master.” You, as the master, cannot reasonably expect to raise your scholar or disciple above the measure of your own intelligence and your own acquirements. Even at the best, supposing him to be the most apt scholar, altogether perfect as a disciple, the utmost that can be looked for is, being as his honoured master. Thus viewed, the text enforces a very solemn practical lesson. The Lord assumes that you feel yourselves both obliged and inclined to guide the blind, to teach the ignorant, to warn the perverse, to purge the eyes of those who see dimly, to lead anxious inquiring souls in the right way. You are to be masters and teachers to others, as he is master and teacher to you. That is your privilege as well as your office in the world. As the Father has sent him, so he sends you into the world, to be the light of the world, the salt of the earth, the leaven that is to leaven the lump. That is the calling of the church and of every Christian. Now, the Lord’s maxim, in its bearing upon that view of your calling, amounts simply to this, - that ordinarily a man cannot, in the way of instruction and influence, give forth or communicate more light or heat than he has himself; as a teacher cannot warrantably hope to make his pupil or scholar much wiser or better than he is himself. That at least must be accepted as the general rule or law. No doubt it may sometimes happen that a very dull smoking brand, falling among highly combustible materials, may kindle a flame which shall strangely contrast with the feeble spark to which it owes its origin. So also, an enthusiastic votary of science, or inspired child of genius, taking hints from a dreary, drowsy tutor, may work or wing his way to depths of learning, or heights of imagination, at the very notion of which his master would stand confounded and aghast. And in like manner, it may and does happen, in the dispensation of God’s free and sovereign grace, that one himself but little enlightened in the knowledge of divine truth, and but little imbued with the spirit of divine love, may be made the instrument in commencing in other souls a work of revival or awakening such as soon goes to an extent that fills his own soul with wonder or dismay; as though, with a careless or lazy touch, one were to put in motion some vast machine, whose tremendous energy, so far beyond all that he had dreamed of or intended, altogether appals and threatens to overpower him. That, however, must be regarded as a rare, exceptional result, on which you have no right to reckon; and which, indeed, is wrought rather in spite of, than by means of your working and witness bearing. As a general rule it holds true, that what you can communicate will be proportioned to what you possess. What an argument have you here for deepest self-abasement, as well as the truest and holiest Christian ambition? You would make the world, your world, Christian! And at the very utmost you can hope to make it, or any part of it, Christian, only up to the standard of your own Christianity. Is that a standard high enough? You would wish, - would you not, - your children, your domestics, your friends, your neighbours, to be Christians, - Christians such as you are? Paul, when he gave emphatic utterance to that burning desire made one exception, one reservation: “I would to God, that not only thou, but also all they that hear me this day, were both almost and altogether such as I am, except these bonds.” Alas! may not my conscience, my heart, suggest the need, in my case, of far more serious qualifications? I would to God that my child, my brother, were both almost and altogether such as I am except these -. These what? These bonds? Nay, woe is me! it must be, - these sins; these shortcomings; these infirmities; this or that failing of temper; this or that habit of life; this or that unsteadfastness of walking with Christ. Ah! when you put the matter thus, may you not detect the beam in your own eye needing to be taken away, that you may take away the mote out of your brother’s eye? Must you not bewail the low and languid state of your spiritual life; the feebleness of the heavenly flame which all around should catch in full glow from you? Will you not be stirred up to fervent prayer and earnest endeavour that you may press on to the fullest assurance of hope, the largest and highest knowledge of Christ, the deepest experience of his love, the most complete union of faith and fellowship with him, that your own souls may prosper, and that other souls may prosper through you? “Wilt thou not revive us again, Lord, that thy people may rejoice in thee?” III. “Verily, verily, I say unto you, The servant is not greater than his lord; neither he that is sent greater than he that sent him” (John 13:16). This third use or application of the maxim should be very precious to us. It binds us more closely than the other two in living and loving union of the tenderest sort with Christ. For the meaning of Christ’s act towards his disciples, as laying the foundation for this personal appeal, is very gracious. It is not merely an instance generally of his condescension, as the Son of man, coming not to be ministered unto but to minister; it brings out that ministry, as not wholesale merely, so to speak, but, in commercial language, retail also. It expresses and proves his solicitude for your refreshment after supper, as well as for your entertainment at supper. It indicates his desire, not only to feed you at the table, but to fit you for the way. It is a sequel to his feeding you at table, and a preface to his leading you out. In both views, it is a most precious instance of the Lord’s care for you in minutest detail, as well as in widest reach and range. It is an example of his coming not to be ministered unto but to minister. But it is an example of that, not in the way of giving his life a ransom for many, and for you among the many, but in the way of washing your feet. That was his ministry then. It is his ministry now. And in that ministry of his to you, you are to find the model and the motive of a like ministry to one another. It is a ministry implying, not merely a willingness to perform some great service, or make some great sacrifice, on some special occasion, in some critical emergency; but a willingness to condescend without appearing to condescend, or assuming the air of condescending, to the humblest and homeliest office of love - the washing of the feet. That is Christ’s ministry to you; his ministry after his supping with you; his ministry in view of your bearing his cross with him. In both views it should be very precious to you, that, in the very act of giving himself a ransom for you, he should concern himself about the refreshment of your feet; that in the very act of calling you to be partakers with him in his cross and in all its issues, he should deem such refreshment of your very feet to be so necessary, that he himself must personally effect it; can there be any stronger evidence of your need of Christ, not generally, but in minute detail; and of Christ’s willingness to meet your need? And that is the spirit and essence of what he holds out to you as an example here. That is its special significancy. It is a very strict and stringent precedent, demanding a very thorough subordination of self, and a very thorough sympathy with Jesus. For it is as one with Jesus that I must wash the feet of my brother. It must be because I am of one mind with Jesus in caring, not merely generally, for my brother’s deliverance from eternal death, and his ultimate attainment of eternal life, but for the least and lowest of the incidents that may affect his comfortable ability to realise, on the one hand, his present standing, or to press on to his future hope. It is as one with Jesus that I must wash your feet, brother, and you must wash mine. We must apprehend and feel the washing of the feet to be inseparably connected with the atoning death symbolised, and the self-sacrificing life foreshadowed; and as implying, in that connection, the tenderest concern about a brother’s most susceptible point, his weakest part: “If meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world standeth, lest I make my brother to offend.” The three uses which the Lord makes of this proverbial saying, may be taken in connection with one another as bringing out a threefold view of your position in the world, as followers of Christ. 1. You are not of the world, as he was not of the world. Therefore you may expect that the world will hate you as it hated him. True; it is no part of your duty to give needless offence, or wantonly provoke and challenge opposition; nor may you always interpret the world’s ridicule or resentment as an infallible sign of your being persecuted for righteousness’ sake. But, remembering how unqualified is the assertion, that they who would live godly in Christ Jesus must needs suffer persecution, and deeply feeling the worldly tendencies of your weak hearts, you cannot but acknowledge the necessity of your being ever watchful and jealous over yourselves, lest it be by some shrinking from faithful protest and testimony, or some half unconscious compromise or accommodation, that you procure so large a measure of toleration and peace, and get on so smoothly in companies and societies in which there is little or no fear of God. For, 2. You are sent by Christ into the world as he was sent by the Father into the world. You are to make thus your disciples out of the world, as he makes you his disciples out of the world. Therefore you must ever keep ahead and in advance of your disciples. You must see to it that you can be to them as your disciples, what Christ is to you as his disciples; competent masters, fit to teach and train them up to Christ’s own saved standard of perfection. “What an argument against concession and conformity! What a motive to the highest aspiration after a pure, holy, spiritual, heavenly walk! Ah! what unfaithfulness to him who so loves the world as to give his only begotten Son, “that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life;” what ingratitude to the Son, who has redeemed you out of the world; what cruelty to the world itself; to your brother, neighbour, friend, does your feeble, faltering, timid, doubtful witness-bearing involve! How does it concern you, if you love the Master, and those whom the Master loves, to “let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven!” 3. Thus situated, and thus occupied, with reference to the world; exposed to its cold influences, its chilling freezing atmosphere, its ungenial yet sedative fellowships, its rude reproaches and assaults, its misconstruction, obloquy, and open violence; and yet called in these circumstances, most trying to flesh and blood, to keep high and pure in yourselves the holy, warm, and loving character which, as the world’s missionary teachers, you would commend to all your scholars; how much need have you of the closest, tenderest, most minutely careful and considerate brotherly kindness among yourselves? At every turn in the battle of life, the fight against evil, the call to do good, you meet with much fitted to cause depression, dejection, lassitude; feelings of weariness and disappointment inclining you to give up and to give way; or causing Limitation, fretfulness, disgust. Truly you need to cheer and help one another; to feast with one another, the Lord feasting with you, giving you his very self for food; to wash one another’s feet after the feast; or let the Lord, through you, wash your brother’s feet. Let such brotherly love abide and abound. It will abound; the need of its abounding will be felt; the fruit of its abounding Will be realised more and more in proportion as Christ’s little flock more and more, by their faithfulness, rouse the world’s enmity; and more and more apprehend their high calling as sent into the world to teach the lesson, and exhibit the pattern, of perfect truth and perfect love. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 115: S. THE DIVINE GLORY IN NATURE ======================================================================== THE DIVINE GLORY IN NATURE “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race. His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it: and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.” - Psalms 19:1-6 THIS psalm has three parts; the first being introductory to the second; the second receiving its full practical application in the third. The central portion (Psalms 19:7-10) is preeminent. We rise to it in that which precedes (Psalms 19:1-6); we descend from it in that which follows (Psalms 19:11-13); but only to rise higher again at last (Psalms 19:14). Starting from the contemplation of the divine glory in nature, we mount upwards to its manifestation in law and grace. And from that height, we go down again into the lowest depths of our own depravity, which that glory, thus manifested, searches out. But it is all with a view to its giving place ultimately to that service of mouth and heart which God accepts. There is, in the first place, a devout contemplation of the divine glory in nature. Let me place myself, with the Psalmist, under the gorgeous canopy of an eastern summer’s sky, in the solemn stillness of an eastern summer’s noon. Reposing from toil; gazing on the cloudless lustre of a calm heaven over-canopying a tranquil earth all around, I worship reverently, with all nature, the Maker and Lord of all. It may be natural worship thus far. But then, secondly, as a believing child of God, I call to mind that he, the very God whose majesty is displayed in that visible scene of glory, has opened up another scene of glory far surpassing that. The material firmament stretched out over my head vanishes from my view. Another firmament, moral and spiritual, is felt to be all above and around me. These azure heavens are gone. The heaven of heavens alone is seen. And, supreme there, as the sun in that other bright firmament now eclipsed by a brighter, is the law of my God; the law of Jehovah, my Saviour and Lord. To me now that law alone is glorious, altogether glorious! Its manifold excellences fill and transport my whole soul; and my tongue delights to praise them in detail. But now, thirdly, how does it bear upon me? “Woe is me! I am a man born in iniquity and conceived in sin. The very perfection of that law, the more I understand its spirit, and appreciate its grace and glory, fills me all the more with a sense of the evil that is in me! It penetrates into the lowest recesses of my inner man. It makes such sad discoveries there, and stirs up so fierce a strife, that I am fain to cast myself on the last refuge of the helpless - prayer, prayer to the lawgiver himself whose law thus tries me, and who alone can pardon and sanctify, and save and bless: “Who can understand his errors? cleanse thou me from secret faults. Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me: then shall I be upright, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression. Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, Lord, my strength and my redeemer” (Psalms 19:12-14). Part First This praise of the divine glory in the natural world of creation is first general (Psalms 19:1-4 a); and then particular (Psalms 19:4-6). First, the heavens generally are the theme; and then, secondly, in particular, the sun in the heavens is singled out. I. (Psalms 19:1-4) - Generally, the whole visible expanse of sky is the theme or occasion of praise; or rather, it is the very organ and instrument, if not even itself the agent, in the act of praise. The heavens all above; the firmament all around, not only suggest voice and song, but become themselves vocal. The personification here is very significant. It is not I who praise God on their account. They themselves praise him. It is not I who declare God’s glory in the heavens, and show his handiwork in the firmament. The heavens themselves declare his glory; the firmament itself showeth his handiwork. For who or what am I that I should aspire or presume to be the spokesman of the creation of God? That I should undertake to come in between him and the glorious things that he has made? Does he need me to be, as it were, his showman? the exhibiter and laudator of his works? Am I to stand forth, in front of the gorgeous panorama which his pencil of light has painted in the deep blue vault of heaven, and on the green earth on which it smiles, and make vain and vaunting proclamation to the waiting crowd, that I will show its wonders; that I will expound its meaning? Too often does man, in his fond conceit of wisdom, seek thus, more or less consciously, to glorify himself, in the very demonstration, instinct perhaps with genius, by which he proves that all things glorify God! But let not that position be mine. No; let me better understand and accept the becoming place that belongs to me. Let me be still. I may be called to teach, the truths of science. I may have to remove the thick clouds of ignorance that hinder so many from looking intelligently on the face of nature, and interpreting fairly her divine revelation. I may have to put a telescope into the hands of my fellow-observers; or to be, as it were, myself their telescope, that I may discover to them, or enable them to see, what these heavens really are, and what this all-embracing firmament. Still, when my humble task is done, let me gracefully and reverently retire. Let me stand aside and suffer them to speak for themselves; for they can themselves tell their own wondrous tale, and publish the work of the Almighty hand that made them, and is upholding them continually. And they can do so with such fulness as to leave all without excuse who will not learn the lesson they are meant to teach; the lesson of seeking after their great Author, if haply he may be personally found; found, so that all who find him may say: Now we believe, not because of their saying, but we have heard him ourselves, - him whose glory the heavens declare, and whose praise the firmament showeth; and we find him to be none other than the Eternal Son, the Christ of God, the Saviour of the world! But now, let the special qualities of this teaching and testimony be observed. These are chiefly three: - (1.) It is constant and continuous. It is kept up incessantly day by day, night after night. What the heavens are telling of the glory of God, they are telling always; without weariness; without vacation. If I am to be the declarer of God’s glory in the heavens, and of his handiwork in the firmament, I can discharge that office only with intervals. I have not always the needful strength, I have not always the needed spirit. My lectures and exhibitions must be comparatively few and far between. My tongue must be often silent, and my class-room often shut. But the class-room where the heavens lecture, and the firmament is the exhibiter, is open, open always. The teaching they conduct is always going on. Into that academy whose roof is the vaulted sky; with earth and ocean for its pavement, and the far-off horizon for its walls, you may at any time enter. At earliest dawn; at highest noon; amid evening’s gathering shades; in the deepest gloom of moonless and starless night. Let the arched canopy that covers it be sun-irradiated, or star-bespangled, or black with lurid thunder-cloud. Let the flooring be smiling fields of waving corn, or the stormy sea, or the desert’s arid sand. Let it have for boundary the rugged mountains, or the low level line where earth and heaven seem all around to meet. In the garish noontide, in meek moonlight’s shades, you may be ever learning something new, or recalling as new something you learned long ago, concerning the power and providence of him who is God over all, and over you. Thus the heavens are ever declaring the glory of God, and the firmament is ever showing his praise. Day and night are ever equally praising him. “Day unto day uttereth speech; night unto night showeth knowledge.” (2.) This teaching, or testifying, of the heavens declaring the glory of God, and the firmament showing his handiwork, is independent of language. It is mute and inarticulate. It is dumb and silent; but, on that very account, it has an advantage over all who would set up to be its expositors. In how many different languages can you converse about the glory of God the Creator? and to how many, or how few, is your discourse, in any way, intelligible? Truly to celebrate the majesty of the great Creator, worthily to tell of his wonderful works, and especially to tell of them in their moral and spiritual bearing on the sovereignty of the lawgiver, and the salvation of the breakers of his law, would need an angel’s tongue, and lips touched with celestial seraphic fire. The loftiest genius, sanctified by the most burning devotion; even inspiration itself, would seem to own its inadequacy for the task, Milton cannot achieve it so as to satisfy himself. Nor can the gorgeous pile of imagery which closes the book of Job, proceeding as it does from God’s own mouth, reach the full height of poetry or song, fitted worthily to commend the author of all this gorgeous structure to the worship of his saints. Let speech then be hushed. Let no voice of articulate sound be heard. Then, in their own silent wonderfulness and inexpressible beauty, the works of God, revealing his power and love, will of themselves praise him. The heavens will declare his glory, and the firmament will show his handiwork. (3.) Hence it follows, as one more inference, that this teaching, or testimony, is universal (Psalms 19:4, first clause). As at all times; and in all tongues, in any and every tongue, because in none; so also in every place, “the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork.” Everywhere nature bears witness of its great author: “The invisible things of him, from the creation of the world, are clearly seen; being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead” (Romans 1:20). This property, indeed, belongs to every work of God; the property, I mean, of a wide, universal, and universally diffusible revelation of whatever it has to tell of God. By a natural and necessary law this is so. Whatever is a work of God in nature, providence, and grace; in judgment as well as in creation, tells of God. It is adapted, designed, destined to tell of God; and it tells of God at all seasons; to people of all languages and tongues; everywhere, over all the world. It cannot be subject to any limitation in respect of time, or tongue, or place. To all these three restrictions every word of man, everything that man may say about God, is and must be subject. First, it cannot be always uttered; you cannot reckon on its continuance or its consistency. Secondly, it cannot be understood and appreciated by men of different languages, different modes of speech and thought. And hence, thirdly, we cannot reckon on its being universally diffused, and universally diffusing what it has to say. But whatever any work of God has to tell concerning him is independent alike of intervals of time or space, and of diversities of language. It speaks always and everywhere; and it speaks always and everywhere in the same tongue, the same universal utterance. Hence every work of God must have a universal voice potentially; a voice capable of being, when it is allowed to speak for itself, universally understood, appreciated, and believed. This is true of the work of creation. From pole to pole, from east to west, in either hemisphere, and in every clime, the heavens tell the same tale of their Maker’s glory, and the firmament gives the same display of his handiwork. Therefore “the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men who hold the truth in unrighteousness; because that which may be known of God is manifest in them, for God hath showed it unto them. For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse” (Romans 1:18-20). The same thing is true of the work of redemption. It also has a universal speech and language. What the cross, as a finished work and accomplished fact, has to discover to men of the glory of God, it can discover always, to people of all languages, and everywhere, through all the world, wherever the knowledge of it may come; just as truly as the visible heavens and the visible firmament give forth, wherever they are displayed and discerned, their revelation of created glory. Its line, like theirs, is gone out through all the earth, and its word to the end of the world. This may be the explanation of that remarkable reference to this passage which occurs in Paul’s Epistle to the Romans: “But, I say, Have they not heard? Yes, verily, their sound went into all the earth, and their words unto the ends of the world” (Romans 10:18). He quotes the words as applicable to the discovery which God makes of himself and of his saving grace in the glorious gospel. To all men, universally, that discovery is in a measure made. All nature, all providence, tells of God; of his power and wisdom; of his forbearance also, and of his goodness; of his purpose of mercy in sparing the guilty, ready to pass into a purpose of saving grace, if only they will but feel after him so as to find him. But there is more than the light of nature shining forth over all the world, and declaring the creative glory of God. From the beginning there has ever been the light of supernatural revelation, declaring his redeeming glory too, - a light as fitted for universal diffusion as that other light can be held to be. Dimly it had been shining hitherto among the nations. Dimly it shone before Christ came. But now, in these last days, it shines clearly in Christ and his cross. Now, it is not the material heavens but the spiritual that are opened to our enraptured gaze. The firmament where the throne of God is, and in the midst of it the Lamb slain, is unveiled. These are the heavens that declare his glory; this the firmament that shows his praise. The line going forth from those heavens, and from that firmament, does indeed reach to all the earth. The words which issue from thence reach to the end of the world. It has as world-wide a tale to tell; it has a language as universal in which to tell it, as has the blue ethereal sky. The revelation of Jesus Christ, the glory of his cross, proclaims everywhere and always the same truth concerning God, that whosoever believeth in the name of the Lord shall be saved. Hence, perhaps, a lesson may be learned by every preacher of the cross, every one who, in whatever sphere, would hold forth the word of life to his fellow-sinners. Like the heavens and the firmament, let the cross, as far as possible, tell its own tale, show its own light, give forth its own voice for God. It does not, any more than the heavens and the firmament, need much of our aid in conveying its lesson. It has its own speech to utter; its own knowledge to teach. We may have to clear away mists that cloud its lustre, misunderstandings which mar its simplicity. “We may have to rescue it out of the hands of those who have distorted or defaced it by zeal without knowledge, or by philosophy, falsely so-called. And we may have work more than enough in bringing men face to face with it, and persuading them to look and listen. But let us have strong faith in the inherent power of the pure and naked exhibition of the truth, and in the power of that Spirit who shines into the hearts of men, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of his Son, Jesus Christ. II. Amid the blaze of created light, reflecting and transmitting the uncreated, in the wide expanse of the high heavens and the vast firmament, a single power, dominating over all, is selected as fixing the worshipper’s devout gaze (vers. 4-6). The sun is hailed and welcomed. And the commission given generally to the heavens to declare God’s glory, and to the firmament to show his handiwork, is centred in the particular ascendency and sovereignty of the orb of day. His sovereignty is brought out in different ways. His ascendency in the heavenly host is set forth in different lights. 1. He has a position which implies supremacy: “In them hath God set a tabernacle for the sun” (Psalms 19:4). The heavens that declare the glory of God, with the firmament that showeth his handiwork, are chiefly noteworthy, as providing room, furnishing a place, for the tent of the sun being pitched. It is pitched there, moreover, by him whose glory these heavens declare, whose handiwork that firmament shows. It is their crowning distinction that they hold, or, as it were, house the sun. 2. The bright and radiant bravery of the sun is illustrated by significant comparisons: He “is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race” (Psalms 19:5). A bridegroom leaving his robing-room - an athlete, all on the stretch for the strife, are meet emblems of splendour and of strength. Arrayed in the magnificence, exulting in the prerogative, conscious of the power, of an eastern husband on the high-day of his espousals; or as a candidate in the fleet course, with frame well knit, and nerves well strung, and bosom all on fire with the joy of anticipated victory; the sun issues gloriously from the eastern gate, and at once assumes the part of royal majesty and triumph. 3. Finally, the two leading features of his supremacy are clearly indicated; the wide sweep of his command: “His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it” (Psalms 19:6); and the penetrating, all-searching potency of his beams: “There is nothing hid from the heat thereof” (Psalms 19:6). For it is this combination of qualities that makes the solar reign; the commanding dominion of the orb that rules the day, universal, thorough, absolute. It is universal and yet particular; general and yet individual; comprehending the utmost range of territory, and yet causing itself to be felt in every minutest spot; reaching over all the wide surface of earth, and yet reaching into every particle of the dust of which earth is composed, and every one individual of all the races by which earth is occupied, and every single incident in the ongoings of earth’s multitudinous affairs. Such is the sun; meet representative, as it were, in the natural kingdom, of that God whose glory the heavens declare, whose handiwork the firmament shows. In the sun, as ruling thus in the material world, the distinctive attribute of Deity may be said to be exemplified; - supremacy. Supremacy, first, settled, and secure, as of one who has a fixed and prepared habitation; supremacy, secondly, unhesitating and unquestioned, as of a bridegroom-prince, or an unconquered athlete; supremacy, thirdly, all extensive and yet all minute; wide, and at the same time thorough, taking in the whole domain, but overlooking, omitting nothing. Such supremacy, fit type of the supremacy that belongs to God himself, is here challenged for the sun, which in nature is his truest image and best representative. Part Second And here, the transition is made from the natural world to the spiritual. It is made with startling abruptness (Psalms 19:7). It is made at once from the sun, in the material, to the law, in the moral firmament. There is no general contemplation of any moral heavens, and any moral firmament, as glorifying God, and giving a seat for this moral luminary. The moral and spiritual constitution of man’s nature, in reason, conscience, and will, is assumed as being the counterpart of the heavens and the firmament. And at once the eye, caught and fixed by the one glorious object of vision, the sun, supreme in the meridian sky of nature, passes to the corresponding object of surpassing glory, the law, supreme in the meridian sky of grace. But now, there is above us the bright lamp of day, monarch of all the world of sense. Lo! as in the stroke of a magic wand, that sun is gone. Another sun breaks forth from a higher heaven - the law of the Lord! What means this sudden, this almost sleight-of-hand substitution - the law of the Lord in the moral, for the sun in the material economy? I. It implies similarity or analogy. It warrants our transferring to the law, with reference to the world of mind, the properties by which the sun is characterised with reference to the world of matter. And what are these? 1. There is the fixed position which the sun has assigned to it; being no vague wanderer, but having a tabernacle set for him. So also the law of the Lord has a fixed position. It has a set place, firm and fast, in the moral government of God: “It is easier for heaven and earth to pass than for one tittle of the law to fail.” The law stands secure in the essential nature of God and of man. 2. There is the commanding bravery and strength with which the sun is invested. And, like the sun, the law has a most resplendent beauty and most authoritative power, having dominion over a man as long as he lives (like the husband’s dominion over his wife), and having strength to outstrip the swiftest racer that would try to outrun or outmanoeuvre it. 3. There is the all-embracing circuit and all-penetrating heat, or power, ascribed to it. And so, also, like the sun, the law has a sweep and range to take in the uttermost bounds of human consciousness and experience, as well as a piercing, fiery energy, to ransack every nook and cranny in the thoughts and intents of the human heart. These two things are surpassingly glorious, as reflecting the glory of God; the sun in the natural firmament, the law in the spiritual. What object in the whole natural kingdom of God can stand comparison with the sun, as he has a tabernacle set for him in the heavens? Monarch of all the sky, sweeping, with his bright burning beams, all around the wide horizon, he penetrates and pierces into every corner, every crevice, and recess, of this lower world, and subjugates all the earth to his sway. Even so, in the moral and spiritual kingdom of God, the moral and spiritual law, fixed immovably in the very heart of the heavenly economy, shines forth in majesty and power; all-embracing, all-searching; comprehending within its range all intelligent beings; trying all the thoughts of each one of them; wielding an empire which no sin can overturn; asserting a jurisdiction which even mercy herself cannot gainsay; which the very herald of mercy is himself the foremost to own, and satisfy, and appease; in the saving of its transgressors magnifying the law and making it honourable. II. It must be so. For in this great analogy a difference is to be noted. It appears in the names given to the Supreme. As creator, he is God; God, the Almighty (Psalms 19:1). As lawgiver, he is Jehovah (Psalms 19:7); the I am; the everlasting; everlastingly the same. Creation is the work or effect of his almighty power. Law is the expression of his unchangeable moral nature, and the assertion of his unchangeable moral authority. The lawgiver is Jehovah. As Jehovah God specially revealed himself to his people when he interfered on their behalf in the land of Egypt. As Jehovah, he gave them his law, amid the thunders of Sinai: “I am Jehovah, thy God, which brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage: Thou shalt have none other gods before me.” This Jehovah, unchangeably faithful to his people in their redemption, is unchangeably faithful to himself as their lawgiver. The law is the law of Jehovah; for the divine law, moral and spiritual, stands inseparably, essentially, connected with the unchangeableness of the divine nature and sovereignty, and is in fact invested with that attribute. Hence a contrast coming out of the comparison. For in this respect the law has a glory, a majesty, a supremacy, far surpassing that of the sun in the material heavens. The heavens, in which the sun reigns, declare the glory of God, the Almighty. The law is the glory of Jehovah, the unchangeable. The heavens manifest his infinite power, wisdom, and goodness. The law manifests his essential holiness, and holy sovereignty. The heavens are the result, in time, of what God, as the Almighty, is pleased from all eternity, in the absolute and discretionary exercise of his own will, to determine freely to do. The law is the image, from everlasting to everlasting, of what God, as Jehovah, from everlasting to everlasting, necessarily is. And as what God in his essential nature is, transcends incalculably in glory what God, in the exercise of his discretionary choice, may think fit to do, so the law of Jehovah transcends the heavens which declare his glory, and in which he has set a tabernacle for the sun. The heavens are made, and may be unmade, altered, or destroyed. The sun in them had a beginning, when there was set for him a tabernacle. He may have an end when the heavens in which his tabernacle is set, being on fire, shall be dissolved, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat. Not so the law. It is not made; neither can it be unmade, altered, or destroyed. From the beginning, from all eternity, it is the law of Jehovah; and to all eternity it must continue to be the law of Jehovah still. It is the law of Jehovah. As such it shares the inviolability and unalterableness of the nature of Jehovah. As soon shall Jehovah cease to be what he is, in his essential perfection and inalienable supremacy, as the law shall cease to be what it is, in respect of its holy character, its just authority, its inviolable obligation, its true, and righteous, and faithful sanctions. The heavens in which the sun cometh forth as a bridegroom out of his chamber, and as a strong man rejoicing to run a race, are after all, in their largest and loftiest expanse, only a little larger and loftier than this earth on which we tread. But the law of Jehovah has a tabernacle set for it. Nay, not a tabernacle, as if it were a wayfarer and passing pilgrim, at the best. No. The law of Jehovah has its perpetual abiding-place, its everlasting seat, its eternal home, in the heaven of heavens; nay, rather, in the very bosom of Jehovah. The law is Jehovah’s throne. The law is Jehovah’s nature. The law is what Jehovah is himself. For the law is light and the law is love. In conclusion, let it be observed, that the upholding of the holy supremacy of his law may be said to be the one chief end which, in all his dealings with men, and especially in the economy of grace, the Lord ever keeps steadily in view. To establish the law, to magnify it and make it honourable, to maintain its uncompromised majesty, as the rule and principle of his own administration, and to reinstate it, in all absolute sovereignty and power of command, in the consciences and hearts of men; that is largely the design both of the Son’s work, and of the Spirit’s. For this purpose the Son is made under the law, that by the perfection of his infinitely meritorious obedience, and by his endurance of the penal death of the cross, the law, broken by us, may be satisfied by him in our stead; its claims all met; its sentence not evaded; so that in justifying the ungodly who believe in Jesus, the Lord puts upon the law a new crown of glory. For this purpose also the Spirit comes forth, to bring home to us the law in all its high authority, its endless breadth and searching spirituality; so that, owning its right to rule in us and over us; and feeling its excellency, its equity, its reasonableness, goodness, and holy beauty, we become alive to the guilt of sin and the strength of indwelling corruption; and because thus alive to that, dead ourselves. Through the law we are dead by the law; convinced of sin and of sin’s condemnation; the Holy Spirit using the law to empty us of all our old self-righteous conceit of life, and cause us, in utter self-despair, to embrace Christ, crucified for us, and to be ourselves crucified with him. Then we live, Christ living in us; and the Spirit puts the law, divested of its curse and of its covenant form, in our hearts, and writes it in our inward parts. Beloved, let us make sure of this work of the Spirit being accomplished in us. Let us make sure of our entering into the law-fulfilling and law-vindicating work of Christ. In and with him let us learn to say, “I delight to do thy will, God! yea, thy law is within my heart.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 116: S. THE DIVINE GLORY IN THE LAW ======================================================================== THE DIVINE GLORY IN THE LAW “The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul: the testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple. The statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes. The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.” - Psalms 19:7-9 THERE are here six different names by which the law of Jehovah is called; and six different statements regarding it, corresponding to these different names. All these different names and statements bring out different aspects of the law, especially of what may be called its practical working in the government of God and the experience of the spiritual man. The statements may be conveniently grouped or classed in three pairs. The first pair (Psalms 19:7) have respect generally to the law’s authority in its requirements and sanctions. The second pair (Psalms 19:8) characterise its various particular enactments and its one ruling spirit. The third pair (Psalms 19:9) carry us inward, to the prevailing motive in man’s heart, and outward and upward to the over-ruling discipline in God’s providence, by whose joint operation growing conformity to the law is promoted and secured. “The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul: the testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple.” The two terms here used, law and testimony, are expressive of sovereign authority, and of that alone. The first is Jehovah enacting; the second is Jehovah witnessing and warning. The law, as what Jehovah enacts, is perfectly incapable of compromise or modification. The testimony of Jehovah concerning it is sure, fixed as his very nature; therefore there is in the law a power to convert the soul, and in the testimony wisdom for the simple. (1.) “The law of Jehovah is perfect, converting the soul.” Its very perfection fits it for being the instrument of the Spirit in effecting that result. Its being perfect makes it converting. For what is the view which the sinner naturally takes of the law, considered as the embodiment and enactment of what Jehovah requires? Is it not really this, that the law is not so absolutely and inviolably perfect, but that it may admit of abatement and relaxation in his favour? He is always reckoning on some modification of its demands, some accommodation of its terms, to suit his convenience and meet his case. And it must be so. The carnal mind, being enmity against God, is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be. Jehovah and the sinner, Jehovah’s law and the sinner’s carnal mind, are at widest variance. To bring about anything like a good understanding, there must be a bending, a turning, a submission, on one side or the other, either on the side of Jehovah’s law, or on the side of the sinner’s carnal mind. On which side shall it be? Need I say which side of the alternative we all naturally prefer? It is Jehovah’s law that must yield, and not my carnal mind. It is the law that must give in to me, not I to the law. Conversion, change of some sort, there must be. I feel this. My conscience makes me feel it. I can have no rest until some sort of agreement is brought about between Jehovah’s law and my mind. And not being willing to yield to the law, I make the law yield to me. Thus I get some peace, such as it is. The perfection of the law is love. But I live on at ease, unloving and unloved, because I fancy that something less, or something else, than love may do. Let this delusion, this dream be broken. Let me no longer, in this sense, be alive without the law. Let the commandment come, though I die. Let me be made to feel that Jehovah’s law is as unchangeably, as uncompromisingly perfect as is Jehovah himself. Let there be wrought in me a willing consent that it should be so, as well as a deep conviction that it must be so. This is the Spirit’s work, and it is the conversion of my soul. The Holy Ghost showing me the perfect law of love, and causing me to delight in its perfection, dispels the fond imagination that it may, eradicates even the wish that it should, accept at my hands anything short of its full requirement. I would not purchase even my own safety at the cost of any surrender, or any abatement of its perfection. It may be made death to me; but it is good notwithstanding. I dare not look for, I would not have, any life or salvation now that did not make amplest provision for the uncompromised maintenance of its authority and the untarnished holiness of its character and claims; and which did not also secure its being written, in all the perfection of its living spirit of love, in my heart, and put in my inward parts. And it is precisely because the gospel plan effects all this by the work of Christ for me, and the work of the Spirit in me, that I welcome it gladly. Thus the perfect law of Jehovah converts the soul. (2.) “The testimony of Jehovah is sure, making wise the simple.” Who are meant by the simple? Let Solomon reply. “The simple believeth every word: but the prudent man looketh well to his going” (Proverbs 14:15). “A prudent man foreseeth the evil, and hideth himself: but the simple pass on, and are punished” (Proverbs 22:3). The simple are the credulous ones who listen to any tale, the careless ones who will take no warning. In the face of testimony the most sure, they believe every word. In the face of evil that may be foreseen, they pass on and are punished. The testimony is, “In the day thou eatest thou shalt die.” It is the testimony of Jehovah, and therefore sure. But the simple believe the devil’s he, “Ye shall not surely die.” And so they pass on and are punished. Is not this simplicity, with reference to Jehovah’s sure testimony, as natural to all of us, as is the enmity and insubordination of the carnal mind, with reference to Jehovah’s perfect law? The two indeed conspire to keep the sinner in his sinful state. The enmity of his carnal mind against God disposes him simply to believe the devil’s lie. And his simplicity in believing the devil’s lie emboldens again the enmity of his carnal mind against God. His being the enemy of God inclines him to be the dupe of Satan; his being the dupe of Satan encourages him to continue the enemy of God. This is “that evil heart of unbelief in departing from the living God” of which Paul speaks. There is a double cause, an evil heart and unbelief, to explain the one sad effect, departing from the living God. Both the evil heart and the unbelief must be dealt with if there is to be reconciliation. The soul must be converted. The simple must be made wise. This also is the work of the Spirit in regeneration. And in accomplishing it, he uses the testimony of Jehovah. He brings home that testimony as sure to my conscience, and makes me no longer foolish to defy judgment, but wise to anticipate it, accepting in Christ the punishment of my sins: being crucified with him, and so dead to sin that I may live unto God; the punishment being over, and life out of death begun. Yes; the testimony of Jehovah is sure. Be wise, ye simple ones, to believe it. “The wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” “The statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes.” The two words here used to denote the law, present it in a different light from that in which it is first presented to us in the previous verse. There the expressions “law and testimony,” have respect to the inviolable holiness and supremacy of the law, and the uncompromising sublimity and absolute certainty with which it speaks; both in what it requires, and in what, for the enforcement of its requirement, it testifies. Here in this eighth verse, the expressions “statutes” and “commandment” have respect rather to its substance, its matter, its multiform and manifold applications, and its one living and ruling spirit. The phrase, “the statutes of Jehovah,” may be regarded as denoting here its particular precepts and injunctions in detail; while the other phrase, the commandment of Jehovah, may be understood as bringing out its general scope and aim, its one leading line of thought and feeling, its ruling, guiding, pervading principle. For the grammatical distinction of number is to be noted. It is significant. “Statutes” we have in the plural. “Commandment” we have in the singular. In its matter or substance, whether viewed summarily or in detail; viewed at any rate as brought to bear on the diversified experience of man’s inner and outer life, the law of Jehovah is all but infinitely diversified. It is, as Jehovah himself may be said to be in his actings towards men, a manifold and multiform unity. There are statutes, many and various, applicable in all sorts of ways to the all but infinitely varied exigencies and occasions of human life. But all throughout the commandment is one. The dominant ruling element running along all and inspiring all is one. Pervading and enlivening the multitude of the statutes is the one sovereign power of the commandment. And as the statutes, being the statutes of Jehovah, are right, rejoicing the heart, so the commandment, being Jehovah’s commandment, is pure, enlightening the eyes. (1.) By the statutes of Jehovah we may understand the separate and several precepts of the law, as it is broken up into particulars, and brought to bear in detail upon the different realms of thought and affection, or of words and deeds, which it is designed to regulate and rule. In the ten enactments or statutes of the decalogue we have the primary instance of division. They are the primary forms into which the law is broken up. These however may, every one of them, be subdivided into a variety of practical applications, corresponding to the almost endless varieties of human feelings and human interests, in the vast field of human life with which the law, in its statutes, has to deal. Viewed in this light the point of the statement is substantially this; that the law of Jehovah, thus widely ramified, and minutely as well as variously applied, is owned as right all through, and therefore felt to be always the minister and means of joy to the heart. It is a great and gracious spiritual attainment that is here indicated, implying a special work of the Spirit in the soul. For what is the natural tendency of your minds as to this matter? Is it not to acquiesce or profess to acquiesce generally, and complain or repine in detail? Generally, you recognise the divine government of God over his intelligently responsible creatures by a moral law that is perfect, converting the soul, and a testimony sanctioning it so solemnly as to make wise the simple. That Jehovah should reign absolutely, always, and in all things, and should have his reign acknowledged willingly and unreservedly by all beings capable of apprehending it, is a truth you may in a vague way generally admit. But let us change the singular into the plural. Let us come to particulars. Let it be statutes, specific orders that come to bear upon us. Let them be particular articles applicable to what practical experience demands, directing distinct practical steps, and admitting of no postponement or evasion. Let them be such as these; “Cut off this right hand;” “Pluck out that right eye;” “Sell that thou hast, and give to the poor;” “Suffer thy little child to come unto me.” Or the statutes may be reduced to a still more humble and homely formula. Mortify this fleshly lust. Renounce that worldly pleasure. Refuse to eat the doubtful flesh, if not for your own sake, at least for your brother’s. Quench the fire of unruly passion beginning to burn. Crucify the unholy or the uncharitable desire that you feel here and now rising up. Suppress the angry retort, the offensive rejoinder, that is upon your very lips. Be guided in the particular instance of the one choice now to be made, the one word now to be spoken, the one act now to be done, by the very same scrupulous conscientiousness as you would feel if the question were whether you would own or throw off the authority of Jehovah and Jehovah’s law in the mass and altogether. Thus brought home to you, not generally but in detail, what are the statutes of Jehovah to you? Are they right, rejoicing the heart? Alas! and again even alas! for the enmity of the carnal mind against Jehovah, and insubordination to his law as perfect, and his testimony as sure. It comes out not in rebellion against his or its authority, on the whole, but in stifled murmuring against particular exercises of that authority. The law of Jehovah is administered in statutes. And these statutes of Jehovah touch you specifically and particularly at all points of your spiritual experience and moral conduct. They are ever coming across some fondly cherished fancy; some favourite habits, some tolerated infirmity; one frowning on this undevout thought, another on that unloving and unlovely frame; a third on some selfish and fleshly desire, even now on the point of prevailing. You might compound and make terms, on the footing of some general reverential acknowledgment of Jehovah’s law, as generally binding and obliging. But to be hunted thus up and down, over the whole domain of your life’s ongoings by Jehovah’s statutes, as if they were spies and officers of justice, tracking you at every step, and watching you at every turn; that is more than you can stand. It is hard, you say; it is grievous; it is more than you can well bear. If you obey or submit, it is with a grudge, as if you did well to be angry. And it may be also with a secret purpose to indemnify yourselves afterwards by some less noticeable license. When the statutes of Jehovah are thus regarded, they do not rejoice the heart. But they cannot be thus regarded by you, if you have known the law of Jehovah in its perfection, converting your soul, and the testimony of Jehovah as sure, making wise the simple, and you, of the simple the simplest. Thoroughly convinced by the Spirit that it is you who must bend or turn to the law of Jehovah, and not the law of Jehovah to you; thoroughly convinced also that the testimony of Jehovah on behalf of his law is sure enough to make the simplest and most foolish trifler with the awful sanctions of Jehovah’s law tremble, and be serious, and be wise; you do now indeed, submit yourselves, all guilty as you are, to the very law of Jehovah which condemns you. For you submit yourselves to Christ, himself the law-giver, who is the end of the law, his own law, for righteousness to every one that believeth. Believing on him, being one with him, you reach the end of the law; you realise its fulfilment in that righteousness of his which you appropriate as yours. You therefore are reconciled to the law-giver in terms of his own law; the law being the very means, - in the Son made under it, and by the Spirit making you under it, like the Son, - of your reconciliation to his Father and your Father, of his God and your God. How then can you now cherish hard thoughts of Jehovah the law-giver, or of the statutes of his law? “Will you not rather say with the Psalmist: “I know, Jehovah, that thy judgments are right.” “I esteem all thy precepts concerning all things to be right.” It is this conviction of the rightness of Jehovah’s statutes; the perfect rectitude of all his requirements, of all that he appoints you either to suffer or to do; which alone will make obedience, in all the details of daily life, a real rejoicing of the heart. For it is that alone which will make such detailed obedience a free-will service and not a grievous bondage. And that will do it. That will give to you, whatever at any time or in any circumstances the statute or appointment may be, a calm trustfulness and serenity of mind. It will hush every doubt and silence every misgiving. It will sweeten every labour, and soothe every trial. Only believe assuredly that the statutes of Jehovah are right, and you will find that they do rejoice the heart. “This is the love of God, that we keep his commandments: and his commandments are not grievous. For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith;” that very faith of ours, wrought in us by the loving Spirit, and itself working by love, which begets in us the loving persuasion and assurance that none of the commandments of him whom we love, nay, rather, who loveth us, can be grievous; and that the statutes of Jehovah are all right, rejoicing the heart. Try to realise more and more this blessed conviction of the rightness of Jehovah’s statutes. Consider whose statutes they are, and in what relation you stand to him. Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right? Can he ever in any of the statutes he ordains for judgment, be doing anything but what is right? Is he not your Father, reconciled to you, embracing you in his fatherly love always? Are not you his children in his beloved Son? Do you not receive in your hearts the Spirit of his Son, crying, Abba, Father. How can you ever possibly suspect him of unkindness and unfairness? He that “spared not his own Son, but gave him up for you all, how shall he not with him also freely give you all things?” Are not all things for your sake? Believe, be sure, that whatever he ordains, is right, right in itself, and right in the long run for you. Carry this conviction always with you into all the affairs of life, the most trifling as well as the most important. How joyful will it make your heart in every work you have to do, in every surrender or sacrifice you have to make. No more giving with a grudge! No more giving way with an inward sense of soreness or defeat! No more reflecting on God’s procedure or providence! No more questioning of his ways! No more feigned or forced submission. You walk with God at liberty when you have respect to all his commandments. You run with hearts enlarged in the way of his precepts. And when hard pressed by what vexes flesh and blood, or what wounds your tenderest and best affections, you can look up into the face of him whose statutes you own to be ever right, and with joy still in your hearts amid deepest grief exclaim: My Father, thou art the all-wise God, thou doest all things well. (2.) “The commandment of Jehovah is pure, enlightening the eyes.” The law, which has just been represented as manifold in its details, is yet one in essence, one in principle. It may be broken up into a variety of particular precepts or prohibitions. It may have different sorts of statutes applicable to different cases, circumstances, occasions. But these are not really of a fragmentary or disjointed character. They are not isolated, detached, diverse in nature or essence from one another. They are all pearls strung on one and same golden thread. The statutes, which are many, have one centre, the commandment, the commandment of Jehovah; or as I would understand the phrase, what is called and called rightly the spirit of the law, its general ruling spirit as distinguished from its special minute requirements and applications. Of this spirit of the law, it is said that it is pure, that is, as I take it, transparent, lucid. The commandment of Jehovah, his absolute right to command, his sovereign prerogative of rule and government, admitting of no questioning, no remonstrance, no reply; that is the spirit of the law, the pervading principle which, running through all its separate details and manifold practical inferences and deductions, gives coherence to them all and makes them all one. It is a principle which may well be called pure. It has a clearness and transparency all its own. There is no obscurity, no ambiguity, no complexity or perplexity about it; no difficulty or doubt; nothing to embarrass or mislead. It is, as we are wont to say, clear as crystal, clear as noonday. Hence it has a wondrous efficacy to enlighten the eyes. It is a sovereign specific for obliquity of vision, mental or moral. It will effectually cure an evil eye. It is the source and secret of singleness of eye. And if the eye is single, the whole body is full of light. Such, I apprehend, is the real force and meaning of this statement of the Psalmist. It brings out a principle which will clearly lead us through all the exigencies of practical duty. Were the law merely a loose heap or chance medley collection or collocation of miscellaneous specific rules, however numerous these might be, and however definite and precise in giving directions, each for its own special department, still cases might occur for which it might seem that no provision was made; questions might arise, or circumstances might emerge, which it might be felt to be difficult to adjust, by any one or more of the exact martinet regulations issued in the most voluminous statute book. In point of fact something like this is frequently experienced in the life of believers seeking to order their walk according to Jehovah’s statutes. There are seasons and occasions when you do really find yourselves at a loss to determine what the path of duty is. Amid competing calls and conflicting claims, you scarcely know which to prefer, or what way to turn. Considerations of various kinds, all serious and important, weigh with you, drawing you in various directions. You begin to calculate contingencies, and balance scruples; you hesitate; you halt; you are fairly at a stand. Ah! in such cases, how great a matter it is just to have the eye single, or as it is in the Psalm, to have the eyes enlightened! To be purged from malice and partial counsel; to have the heart fixed; to have one thing alone to seek above all, and through all. Thy will be done! That will go far to clear up all. For it is the wisdom which cometh from above, and which is “first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated, full of mercy and of good fruits, without partiality and without hypocrisy.” Sophistry, casuistry, special pleading, as to particular rules being binding in particular cases, or as to the lawfulness and the limits of what you hold to be all but unavoidable relaxation, are all scattered and driven to the winds, if there is an honest insight into the spirit of the law, the clear and transparent commandment of Jehovah, his sole, absolute, and sovereign right to command. Let that be clearly and cordially recognised. Let there be an unqualified acknowledgment of his right to command, his prerogative of rule over our whole selves, and all our doings. Let it be with us, “Speak, Lord; for thy servant heareth!” “Lord, what wouldst thou have me to do?” “Here am I, Lord, send me!” That is to me and in me practically the spirit of the law, that is singleness of eye, according to the Lord’s manner of speech. It is the enlightening of the eyes which the Psalmist here so highly prizes. If only you have this clear principle of unreserved submission to the commandment of Jehovah - to Jehovah commanding - burnt into your hearts through the experience of your oneness with Christ in his obedience unto death, and kept ever pressing on the vision of your spiritually enlightened eyes, the occasions will be very few indeed on which the path of duty will not be made plain enough before you. “I will guide thee with mine eye,” is the Lord’s promise to you. But it is a promise connected with a past yet ever present experience, and an ever present purpose for the future. There is no guile now in your spirits; no more keeping of silence on any matter of controversy, or contradiction between you and Jehovah. There is full confession, and frank forgiveness; you making a clean breast of all in you that is against God, because you now at least see how he opens up all his heart in love to you. There is real, present, conscious reconciliation. And then there is deliverance from your needing, as the horse or as the mule, to be kept in with bit and bridle; governed by mere legal force and terror. Now God guides you with his eye. The eye of Jehovah is ever upon you and upon the next step he would have you to take. Only let your eye be so single, let your eyes be so enlightened, as to meet his eye, whatever its indication may be; and to count its slightest glance, for or against what you may be balancing in your mind, equivalent to a commandment cutting short all debate, and shutting you up to instant decision. Even so, Lord, let it be with me! “Behold, as the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mistress; so our eyes wait upon the Lord our God, until he have mercy upon us.” In this spirit let the commandment of Jehovah be pure and clear to you. Let it be clearly understood and determined in your whole soul and conscience; let it be a fixed and settled point; that Jehovah does command, and must command, and should command, and that you would have him to command - him alone, him always, him in everything. That is really the eye of the Lord guiding you. Let it be so with you, your eye being single, your eyes enlightened by this eye of Jehovah commanding! Ah! then there will be a great and thorough purging of your inward vision, a great dispelling of doubt and darkness, a great falling away of scales, pulling out of motes, casting out of beams; a great clearing up of the way in which Jehovah leads you, step by step, one step at a time; enabling you to walk in the light as he is in the light. For, in truth, in almost every instance in which you feel as if you knew not which of two or more apparently competing or conflicting precepts to obey; or which way to turn at a point where several roads meet; or what work to do when calls to work solicit you on every side - you will find, if you examine yourselves, that some want of loyalty and love to God lies and lurks at the bottom of your hesitation; that it is about your own mind rather than his you are at a loss; that you are on that account making excuses and gaining time; while all the while you are secretly conscious that a single glance of spiritually enlightened eyes towards the open eye of Jehovah would end all controversy, and prompt instant action. Be ready therefore always to proceed with enlightened eyes upon the pure and simple commandment of Jehovah; “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” Listen to the wise man’s counsel: “He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap. As thou knowest not what is the way of the Spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child: even so thou knowest not the works of God who maketh all. In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thy hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good.” Be ye then up and doing for the Lord. And now let me remind you of the footing on which you must be with reference to the law of Jehovah, if you are to have any such apprehensions of its excellency, its equity, its light, as the Psalmist evidently had. You cannot be on the footing on which you naturally are towards it. You are not under the law, as once you were. You are not under it as prescribing the terms of your acceptance With God, and pronouncing sentence of condemnation upon you as failing to fulfil these terms. As to all that, you are not under the law but under grace. You are justified freely by the grace of God, through the righteousness which is received by faith. You are saved without the law by grace. And now you come to be under the law in a quite new sense, and after a quite new fashion. Justified, so far as you are concerned, apart from the law altogether, you put yourselves anew, the Spirit puts you anew, altogether under it again. Nay, not again, but now really for the first time. Only now are you in a position, only now have you the heart, to see clearly, approve and embrace warmly, own cordially, the principle or spirit of the law; Jehovah commanding; Jehovah entitled to command, Jehovah welcomed as commanding absolutely, in all things sovereign and supreme. Yes! and only now, reconciled, renewed, sanctified, as well as justified, all by grace alone, can you look at all the ordinances and appointments of God, in all the way by which he is leading you, as parts of his leading you forth by the right way that you may go to the city of habitation; - statutes, therefore, to be recognised as, all of them, from the highest trial of patience to the most trifling trial of temper, right, and therefore really, when rightly used, rejoicing the heart. “There was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger from Satan to buffet me. For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.” “The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.” The law of Jehovah is thus seen to be unquestionably and unchangeably authoritative, uncompromisingly perfect in its requirements, and infallibly sure in its testimony. It is also a law altogether right and reasonable in its most minute rules and regulations, and most transparently pure and clear in its broad general principle and ruling spirit. But the actual keeping of it is still in question. To secure this there must be a moving power; a twofold moving power; on the one hand, a moving power in those to whom the law is given, an inward disposition and inwrought motive, inclining and impelling them to obedience; and on the other hand, a moving power towards or upon them; an over-ruling providential agency from without, fitting into and promoting the newly implanted energetic principle of obedience within. What then is this twofold moving power that is to secure, in the case of all his people, the actual keeping of Jehovah’s law - that law which is at once so authoritative in its requirements and its sanctions, and so equitable and clear in its substance and spirit. It is on their part their fear of him, and on his part his judgment, his administrative, governmental, judicial dealings with them. They fear him, and he judges, chastens, controls, guides, and governs them. In their hearts there is a holy, filial awe of him. In his hands there is a rod of loving discipline and wise rule for them. And this fear of Jehovah in them, being clean and enduring for ever, with those judgments of Jehovah towards them, which are true and righteous altogether, secures the uniform keeping of the law, as perfect and sure, right and pure throughout. (1.) The fear of Jehovah is clean, enduring for ever. The cleanness here ascribed to the fear of Jehovah, may be regarded as corresponding to the purity which is mentioned immediately before (Psalms 19:8) as characteristic of the commandment of Jehovah. These two aspects of the law indeed - its being the commandment of Jehovah and the fear of Jehovah - fit into one another so closely as really to embody one thought. By the one phrase, we may understand objectively the spirit of the law as given from above; by the other, we may understand subjectively the spirit of the law as received and realised within. Jehovah commanding: that is the spirit of the law speaking from above. Jehovah feared: that is the spirit of the law, apprehended and embraced inwardly. For we pass here from the objective to the subjective view of the law; from the law considered as coming forth from Jehovah, to the law considered as dwelling in you; written in your hearts; put in your inmost parts. The commandment of Jehovah becomes the fear of Jehovah. And the transition is made by the clearness of the law’s one grand principle and essential spirit being made effectual by the Holy Ghost for enlightening the eyes; making the eye single that the whole body may be full of light. Hence you need not wonder if you find that the distinctive quality attributed to the law, as described in ver. 9, corresponds so closely to what characterises it as described in the previous verse. The one is in fact the complement of the other. The fear then of Jehovah is clean; unalloyed, unsullied, undefiled. It is unalloyed, as gold fresh from the fiery trial, and free from the admixture of any baser metal. It is unsullied, as the priestly diadem and robe, intolerant of any spot of filthiness or foulness. It is undefiled, like the camp of Israel, or the courts of Israel’s God, or the person of any Israelite within that camp and these courts; unpolluted by the contact of leprosy, or a dead body, or any such unclean thing. All these instances are suggested when it is said that the fear of Jehovah is clean. And they all contribute to fix the character of this fear of Jehovah; what it is not, and what it is. It is not, and cannot be, the fear of bondage, of which Paul speaks when he says, “Ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear.” It cannot have anything in common with mere servile terror; that instinct of alarm, that sudden dread of consequences, that overmastering feeling of necessity, which holds so many men in a certain reluctant allegiance to the law; bridling them from some excesses, forcing them to some compliances. It is allied rather to the perfect love which casteth out all such fear, and is itself that very love. Few things indeed are less entitled to be called clean; few things are more contaminated by the presence of unworthy motives, vile affections, and dead works, than the conscience and heart in which that other sort of fear, sordid, selfish, and slavish, reigns. And yet where is the natural conscience and heart in which it does not reign? There must first be a removal of the enmity against God and insubordination to his law, which sin has wrought. into our very nature; there must be a thorough, conscious healing of the breach which guilt and lust have caused; there must be a renewal, reconciliation, peace, submission, before any true reverence, any genuine, solemn awe, any fear of Jehovah that may be spoken of as clean, can be felt or acknowledged as regards the obligation to keep his law. I may be constrained to own some subjection to a law whose spirit I dislike, and a lawgiver from whom I am estranged. I may yield a certain measure of enforced subjection. But what, in all this, is my real state of mind? I am balancing considerations and calculations of the merest and meanest selfishness. I am trying to effect a compromise between the authority that in spite of myself binds me, and my own inclination to rebel against it. I am ever asking how much good I must do, how much evil I may tolerate. I am ever dealing in evasions and excuses. And, regarding God as a hard master, I count myself almost entitled to elude or modify as much as I can his unwelcome demands; reckoning somehow on allowances being made by him, so that on the ground of some heartless compliances with the letter of his commands, his forbearance and forgiveness may be extended to me to the uttermost. This is not a clean motive. Neither is it enduring. There is no stable or abiding principle in such fear as that, to rule always and everywhere my heart and life. On the contrary, its sway is fitful, uncertain, capricious. There are alternations between anxiety amounting almost to the horror of despair, and indifference partaking of the security of the scoffer’s defiance, “Where is the promise of his coming?” My mind is wayward and wilful, now agitated by the most abject terror, and again abandoned to all sorts of base imaginations and presumptions of indulgence and impunity. But the fear of Jehovah which is clean, endureth for ever. It is a constant and consistent, a permanent and perennial principle, of thought and action. It does not operate by fits and starts, at intervals, upon impulses. It implies a settled, serene frame of mind, always the same, reverential, conscientious, simple, and guileless, fixed in and on God. It is clean; purged from all sinister aims, all cherished lusts, and the whole miserable scheming of dead formality. It is high and holy, unselfish, incorrupt, unworldly. It is the cleansed and enlightened eye of honour, ever honourably meeting the open, trusting, loving eye of a reconciled God and Father. And the fear of Jehovah, being thus clean, endureth for ever. How clearly does all this prove that except a man be born again, born of the Spirit, he cannot see the kingdom of God! For the kingdom of God, what is it? What but Jehovah commanding, on the one side, and Jehovah feared on the other. God in Christ commanding supremely; God in Christ feared lovingly! The whole design of the gospel is to establish the sovereignty of God in his own heaven, and the fear of God in your hearts. What indeed is the gospel but this, in theory or principle, Jehovah commanding, in actual effect, Jehovah feared? True, it is a plan of mercy, a method of forgiveness and reconciliation, of free grace and perfect peace. But consider always the great fact on which it is based; God “hath made him to be sin for us who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.” Enter into the meaning of this fact, believe it, realise it, as applying to yourselves personally, to each one of you individually, apart. Let the Spirit work in you a living and appropriating faith in the truth of it. Upon this footing, emptied of self, willing to be saved by grace alone, by grace reigning through righteousness unto eternal life; enter, hesitate not to enter, into the kingdom of God, new born, new created; no longer under the old curse, but tasting the new blessing of acceptance in the Beloved! What a revolution have you experienced! Never before, never otherwise, could you cordially or with consent apprehend Jehovah’s right to command, or any exercise of that right, except only as the assertion of mere absolute and arbitrary will enforced by irresistible power. Never could you feel in yourselves any fear of Jehovah, except only the sort of fear which makes a slave crouch under the lash of the tyrant whom, at heart he hates, and whom he is ever seeking to deceive and defraud. But how is it now? You are no longer a servant merely, but a child. You are no longer a condemned criminal, full of angry suspicion, but a reconciled son, full of loving faith; having the love of God shed abroad in your hearts by the Holy Ghost, which is given you. Ah! what a blaze of light now irradiates and illustrates the grand idea of Jehovah commanding! It is the one idea which, absorbing all other thoughts, fills your whole souls as you gaze alternately on Sinai and on Calvary! Yes! let Jehovah command; let God reign supreme. The sovereignty of his mercy, the freeness and fulness of his love, the riches of his salvation, the whole evangelical system, in short, of electing, redeeming, regenerating, justifying, sanctifying, saving grace, all, all culminate and centre in the everlasting throne, on which now, with eyes enlightened, you are evermore beholding as a great sight, the Lord reigning, the Lord commanding. Nor does the sight either offend or appal you now. It awakes, indeed, deepest reverence and most solemn awe; but no abject terror any more. A loving reverence, a confiding awe, it awakens; a holy, affectionate, filial fear, clean, pure, abiding; such a fear as ennobles and elevates, while it humbles and subdues your whole moral nature and spiritual frame; such a fear as the angels feel, who ever veil their faces before his presence, as they stand ever ready to do his pleasure. (2.) As this fear of Jehovah is clean, and therefore always enduring, so the judgments of Jehovah are true, and righteous altogether. The administration of the law, in the providence of God towards you, is in entire harmony with the establishment by the Spirit of the law in you, as Jehovah commanding and Jehovah feared. The spirit or principle of the law viewed objectively, as given forth from God, which is Jehovah commanding, becomes in your believing recognition and acceptance of it, subjectively and experimentally Jehovah feared. And now, as regards the enforcing of it on the part of God, it passes into yet another formula, as it were, and becomes Jehovah judging. Jehovah judging; that is Jehovah governing; applying the rules and enforcing the sanctions of his law, in his providence. For all the dealings of the Lord with you, to whom he has thus graciously revealed his law as magnified and made honourable by his Son in your behalf, and in whom he has wrought by his Spirit entire acquiescence and consent; all may be summed up in the general thought of Jehovah judging you. In all his treatment of you, Jehovah is acting towards you the part of a judge. He must needs so act towards you, since you are under law to his Son, to Christ. He is ruling you, governing you. All the things that befall you are administrative and judicial acts; in their bearing upon you they are Jehovah’s judgments. And in that view they are altogether true and righteous; true, as really fitting into the realities of your souls’ experiences; righteous as bringing these experiences into accordance with the type and model of them, the righteousness of God himself There is thus a perfect harmony and correspondence between the judgments of Jehovah towards you, and the fear of Jehovah in you. The work of grace forming in you the law as “Jehovah feared,” and the work of providence administering towards you the law as “Jehovah judging” are quite at one. Providence goes along in harmony with grace. There must first and primarily be grace; grace to embrace and welcome the law as not condemning me, but really justifying me, through the law-satisfying work of Christ; grace to receive the law into my inner man, and have it made there by the Holy Spirit, part and parcel of my very nature. To one in that mind, the judgments of Jehovah, his providential dealings in accordance with his law, appear true and righteous altogether. They have ever been so regarded by all in whom the fear of Jehovah has been. “I know, Lord, that thy judgments are right, and that thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me.” “Righteous art thou, Lord, and upright are thy judgments.” But how little are we inclined even at the best, to view the dealings of Jehovah’s providence in so solemn a light! We call them accidents; we trace them to second causes, or take no account of them, except to murmur and complain. But they are all Jehovah’s judgments; they all serve to bring out what is the fear of Jehovah in your minds and hearts. All of them every day may, and must do so. For there is no need of waiting for extraordinary turns of fortune or great vicissitudes of good or evil, to discover to others, or at least to yourselves, what manner of men you are; what manner of spirit you are of, with reference to Jehovah and his law. Little things may do it as well, perhaps better. A little disappointment, a little provocation, a little vexation, a little cross, a little care; or, on the other hand, a little mercy, a little kindness received, a little service rendered, escape from a little danger, may serve, alas! to make it all too palpable, how little you have learned to enter into the spirit of the law, which is Jehovah commanding, and Jehovah feared. Oh! that amid the details of daily conduct, the minutiae of ordinary life, there were more of this devout acknowledgment of the judgments of Jehovah! more waiting for them! more observation of them! If there were, you would know far better than you do now; experimentally, by trial, how altogether righteous they are, all of them, from the least even to the greatest. From every one of them; not only from every meditative walk you take among the glorious works of God, under the arch of heaven and light of the glorious sun, and from every hour you spend in the devout study of his law; but even from every casual occurrence in the common streets, and from every incident of your daily meals and nightly rests; you might learn a lesson in the exercise of meek submission to law as Jehovah commanding, and holy, reverential, loving trust in his administration of all things. And in regard to all his dealings with you, even those which seem most unaccountable and mysterious, those dark dispensations and sore visitations, which in his unsearchable wisdom he is pleased to appoint for you, if only you accept them as his judgments, parts of that judicial rule and administration by which, as a Father, he is training, correcting, schooling you, for his glorious service here and hereafter; if thus you receive them as Jehovah’s trials of your allegiance, and patiently and in faith await the issue, you will ere long be satisfied that amid all their bitterness they have some sweet cordial for your soul; that you are governed in the wisest manner and led by the right way; that the judgments of Jehovah are true and righteous altogether. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 117: S. THE FEAST OF TABERNACLES ======================================================================== THE FEAST OF TABERNACLES “Praise waiteth for thee, God, in Zion: and unto thee shall the vow be performed. O thou that hearest prayer, unto thee shall all flesh come. Iniquities prevail against me: as for our transgressions, thou shalt purge them away. Blessed is the man whom thou choosest, and causest to approach unto thee, that he may dwell in thy courts: we shall be satisfied with the goodness of thy house, even of thy holy temple. By terrible things in righteousness wilt thou answer us, God of our salvation; who art the confidence of all the ends of the earth, and of them that are afar off upon the sea: Which by his strength setteth fast the mountains; being girded with power: Which stilleth the noise of the seas, the noise of their waves, and the tumult of the people. They also that dwell in the uttermost parts are afraid at thy tokens: thou makest the outgoings of the morning and evening to rejoice. Thou visitest the earth, and waterest it: thou greatly enrichest it with the river of God, which is full of water: thou preparest them com, when thou hast so provided for it. Thou waterest the ridges thereof abundantly: thou settlest the furrows thereof: thou makest it soft with showers: thou blessest the springing thereof. Thou crownest the year with thy goodness; and thy paths drop fatness. They drop upon the pastures of the wilderness: and the little hills rejoice on every side. The pastures are clothed with flocks; the valleys also are covered over with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing.” - Psalms 65:1-13 This Psalm was evidently composed on the occasion of an abundant harvest; and was doubtless intended to be sung at the feast of harvest, the joyous feast of tabernacles. That was the last of the three great festivals of the Jewish year; and it was appointed to be celebrated with extraordinary pomp and magnificence. The people from all parts of the country assembled at Jerusalem, and dwelt in booths or tabernacles. A whole forest of goodly palm branches was carried in solemn procession along the roads and streets. The sylvan glory crowned all buildings. The feast had a threefold meaning. The people were thus reminded of the time when, their deliverance out of Egypt being completed, and their enemies signally overthrown, they pitched their tents peacefully in the wilderness, the Lord himself graciously dwelling in a tabernacle among them. The feast was also one of thanksgiving for another fresh instance of the Lord’s faithfulness in fulfilling his promise as regarded the annual harvest; giving rain in due season; causing the land to yield her increase, and the trees of the field their fruit. The hope of the spiritually-minded among the people was carried forward, in the exercise of farseeing faith, to the glorious era of the spiritual harvest-home, and the feast of tabernacles then to be kept; the feast of tabernacles, the harvest-home, to which Zechariah refers (Zechariah 14:1-21), and of which John in the Revelation speaks (Revelation 21:1-27) The particular season for which this Psalm was composed was marked, as it would seem, by circumstances peculiarly fitted to impress upon the minds and hearts of the people all these associations, views, reminiscences, and anticipations; and to give more than ordinary interest to their holiday. The harvest which they were gathering in had been propitious and bountiful beyond the experience of former years, and beyond the expectations which at one time had been entertained of the present year. Danger, also, as we may gather from some hints in the psalm, had been apprehended, not only from drought or the inclemency of weather, but probably also from a threatened or attempted invasion of enemies, if not from internal commotion. But the Lord had disappointed their fears. And now, in the midst of plenty, and in the quiet security of peace, they are called to give thanks to him who, however he may have seemed to frown on them at the beginning, has before the end crowned this year also with his goodness. In these circumstances we can understand how fondly and fervently the devout worshippers might dwell, as in the latter part of the psalm they dwell, on the rich scene which the country was then presenting all around to the eye. And we can enter into the feelings of devout gratitude, and humble faith and hope, with which, as the first part of the psalm shows, they contemplated the glorious scene. For it is, indeed, a most glorious and a most graceful picture, which the closing verses of this song (Psalms 65:9-13) bring before the imagination. The very language is instinct with the fulness of life and joy which it describes. It is more than poetry; it is painting; it is vivid reality. We stand upon the temple-crowned height. “We look abroad on the most romantic, and, in its better days, the most luxurious landscape that ever pleased the taste or touched the heart of man. And while the voice of sacred melody and mirth from the streets of the festive city and the courts of the Lord’s house, fills our enraptured ear, the quiet eye wanders over a wide expanse of varied loveliness - a very ocean of unbroken and unbounded fertility. The softness of the balmy air which autumn breathes, the unclouded clearness of its sunshine in that eastern sky; the golden and burnished splendour of the tints with which it colours all the earth, and the sense of contentment and repose which all its sights and all its associations inspire, - all together unite to shed a new and fresh charm, a new warmth and cheerful gladness over the green fields of the valleys, and the little hills which rejoice on every side. Then there are the flocks, wandering lazily with their shepherds in the well-clothed pastures, or crowding to the folds; and crops of rich grain waving heavily in the breeze, or gathered in thick sheaves, or nodding on the full-pressed waggons, as they are carried to the barns; and an animated throng of joyous reapers and gleaners, all full of interest in the bounty of the year. All nature is bursting forth into singing. The earth, which was but lately so parched and dry, is now dissolved into streams of fruitfulness and fatness. The Lord has visited and watered, he has enriched and softened it. He has settled its furrows. He has prepared its grain. He has blessed the springing of it. And now, in the radiance of that smile which all the valleys and hills wear, and in the shout of joy which they seem to send forth to Heaven - it is seen, it is felt, that the Lord hath crowned the year with his goodness. But it is chiefly with the sentiments which are expressed in the first part of the psalm (Psalms 65:1-8) that I am at present concerned, as bringing out the light in which the people of God were taught to view the blessing of a bounteous and joyous harvest-home. For this psalm, like many others, opens abruptly, first giving utterance to the emotions of which the hearts of the worshippers are supposed to be full, and then explaining the cause or occasion which excited these emotions; as if the overcharged soul first sought a vent in the simple expression of its feelings, and then was more at leisure to narrate the history of those dealings of God which called them forth. Thus Psalms 32:1-11 begins with a fervent ejaculation regarding the blessedness of the justified man, and afterwards proceeds to recite the personal experience of the Psalmist which suggested that ejaculation. In Psalms 73:1-28 also, the Psalmist hastens, at the very outset, to relieve his mind by bearing testimony to the goodness of God, which he had been ready, in a grievous spiritual temptation, to question: “Truly God is good to Israel;” and then he states, in detail, the steps of that painful discipline which led him to such a conclusion. In Psalms 116:1-19, also, the warm and affectionate burst of gratitude, “I love the Lord,” precedes and ushers in the account of the special deliverance which prompted it. The redeemed soul first ardently praises the Redeemer, and then calmly reviews the particulars of its redemption. So in the psalm before us. The people in the beginning pour forth the feelings which were produced in their minds by the happy harvest scene which the end of it describes. By attending, therefore, to the first part (Psalms 65:1-8), we shall be able to see what view they took of such a mercy. They looked upon it chiefly in three points of view: I. As an answer to their vows and prayers, and a token of pardoning mercy (Psalms 65:1-3). II. As subordinate to spiritual privileges, and valuable chiefly as a sign of their continuance (Psalms 65:4). III. As a part of those dealings of God with reference to another and world-wide harvest, which are terrible as well as joyful; terrible in progress, however joyful in result (Psalms 65:5-8). For it is evident, from the whole tenor of the psalm, that it has reference ultimately to another harvest than the year’s crop affords; that it points to the universal harvest of the world. I. The abundant harvest is regarded as an answer to vows and prayers, and a token of pardoning mercy (Psalms 65:1-3). It had been preceded by a period of anxiety and alarm. In the beginn`ing of the season they were threatened with the most grievous judgments which can befal a country, famine and war, and in their distress they had recourse to the measures which a sound faith in God prompted. They appealed to God, and they humbled themselves on account of sin. 1. They appealed to God, they addressed to him their vows and supplications. They believed in the special providence of God, and in the direct efficacy of prayer. When a great national calamity was impending over them, they did not ascribe it to chance or fate; they did not account for it by merely natural causes; nor did they look merely to natural remedies for preventing or removing it. They knew well that it was God who had lifted up his arm to smite, and they knew also that God was willing to listen to their petition when they asked him to avert the stroke. Without omitting the use of other means, without neglecting to plough and sow, they placed their chief reliance on a direct appeal to God. They made vows, they formed holy resolutions; they solemnly dedicated to God, and to the service of God, the abundance with which they hoped that he would be pleased still to bless them; and they prayed; they besieged his throne; they were urgent and importunate in pleading with him. And now when prosperity has again returned to them, they do not regard the favourable change as an accident or a merely natural event. They recognise in it the hand of God, the special interposition of his good providence. They are not unmindful of the views which guided their conduct when their prospects were more gloomy. They acknowledge cheerfully the obligation of the vows which they then made. They bear emphatic testimony to the efficacy of the prayers they then offered. The praise that is due is waiting for God. The vows shall be performed. And so loudly and widely shall this instance of his faithfulness as the hearer of prayer be published, that it shall be an inducement and encouragement for all flesh to come to him. 2. To vows and prayers they had joined humble and penitent confession of their sins. They were sure that as it was God who threatened the judgment which they feared, so he did it not without a cause. They deserved the visitation of his displeasure; they needed chastisement and correction. In particular, they remembered that this calamity of a blighted harvest and one wasted by war, was one of those specially denounced against them in the law, in case of disloyalty and disobedience. They received the warning intended. They learned the lesson taught. They called to mind their multiplied transgressions, their apostasies and backslidings, and they acknowledged that they were righteously smitten and might be justly condemned. But they knew that the Lord is gracious, that as he does not afflict willingly, so he willingly removes affliction when its end is gained. They had hopes, therefore, that if the threatening of judgment had its due effect, if it really humbled them and brought them back to God, the actual infliction of it might be spared. They could not, indeed, certainly reckon on that; for even though their repentance might be sincere and thus the end of the dispensation might seem in so far to be attained, there might be other reasons, of wisdom, of justice, and even of kindness, for permitting the sentence of chastisement still to take effect. But they were sure that, if it were possible, the evil would pass from them. And when it did pass from them, they felt themselves warranted to regard this as a sign that the contrite confession which they had honestly made would be graciously accepted and the forgiveness which they had earnestly sought obtained. And the best proof that they were in fact warranted so to regard it, is to be found in the deep sense of sin, which even after the judgment was removed, remained still in their hearts. The mercy of God in suspending the threatened infliction of his wrath, does not make them indifferent about their sin or secure of its pardon. On the contrary the very greatness of that mercy, which their own hearts tell them is so undeserved, makes them feel more poignantly than ever the aggravated guilt of their offences and see more clearly than ever, that God only can cancel it by a direct and sovereign act of his free grace. “Iniquities,” they cry out, “Iniquities prevail against us. As for our transgressions, thou - for none else can, - thou shalt purge them away.” II. The blessing of a good harvest is regarded in this Psalm as subordinate to spiritual privileges, and chiefly valuable because it is a sign of their continuance. “Blessed is the man whom thou choosest, and causest to approach unto thee, that he may dwell in thy courts: we shall be satisfied with thy goodness of thy house, even of thy holy temple” (Psalms 65:4). This exclamation will appear very natural if we consider that the people are here supposed to be celebrating the feast of harvest or of tabernacles. It is a joyful occasion to the devout Jew especially to him who comes from a distance. One principal reason why he delights in the return of harvest is because it brings round propitiously the season of his stated visit to the holy temple. More particularly since an abundant harvest is expressly mentioned in the law as a special mark of the Lord’s favour to his chosen people, the experience of such a blessing seems to give them more assurance of their warrant to approach God and more confidence to dwell in his courts. Above all, when there has been reason to fear that there might be no harvest at all, or one scanty for drought or ravaged by war, it must be cause of peculiar joy that not only has God crowned the year with his goodness, but that he satisfies them also with the goodness of his house, even of his holy place. Were it otherwise, indeed; were the temporal mercy severed from the spiritual privilege, it would be but of little value. A season of respite from judgment, the suspension of a threatened stroke, the removal of a punishment inflicted, would be of little use or benefit to any, were it not for the opportunity which is thus afforded of drawing nearer to God. The very design of chastisement is to convince you that there is no blessedness in the creature, and the very design of its being stayed at any time is to enable you the more fully to taste and see how much blessedness there is in the Creator, You cannot suppose that in his dealings of tenderness with you, God has in view merely your temporal or bodily comfort; or that the goodness with which he crowneth the year is designed merely to fill your mouths with food and gladness. No; but by this seasonable kindness he would so melt your hearts and draw them to himself; he would so excite and enlarge your desires after him; that you should be satisfied with nothing short of the goodness of his house, even of his holy place. Think not that when you have experienced any signal mercy at the hands of God, you are to rest contented as if you had received enough. That mercy is intended but to whet and stimulate your appetite for the great things which the Lord hath prepared for them that love him. III. The abundant harvest is regarded in this Psalm as the type and pledge of a great national, or rather world-wide, deliverance or salvation (Psalms 65:5-8). It is viewed as forming part of those dealings of God, terrible as well as joyous, which are destined ultimately to place Israel in the centre of a renovated world (Psalms 65:9-13). There may be, and probably there is, a reference here (Psalms 65:5) to some victory which had been gained over a foreign foe threatening the crops, or to the suppression of some internal tumult or rebellion. The Lord is praised as having signalised his power both over the stormy elements of nature and over the stormier passions of men. He has interposed on behalf of his people in a way fitted at once to strike terror into the inhabitants of earth’s utmost bounds, and at the same time afford ground of trust and of confidence to all. It was one of the judgments denounced against the Jews for disobedience that the fruit of their land and of their labour should be destroyed or consumed by strangers; or that there should be destructive and consuming dissensions among themselves. When, therefore, in any season they enjoyed in peace a bountiful harvest, they could not but connect that blessing with the might of all the terrible acts by which the Lord was wont to manifest himself as the God of their salvation. And they might well regard it as warranting the anticipation that he would continue, by similar acts, still more signally to acknowledge and crown their faith. For thus, from the eminence of this year of special autumnal fulness, the Psalm looks back, as it were, on the long series of the Lord’s wonderful dealings with the chosen nation, and forward through the vista of ages yet to come, to the consummation of all these dealings, in their full and final salvation; the issue which ushered in by terrible things in righteousness the answer to the church’s prayers, to still all tumult and fill all the earth with joy. And thus the scene opens and expands before the ravished eye. The Psalmist, contemplating the rich beauty of the harvest spread out at his feet, and viewing it in connection with the whole scheme of the Lord’s marvellous dealings with his people as the God of their salvation, sees all at once, in ecstatic vision, another and more glorious harvest substituted in its room. And instead of the contests and victories which had first endangered and then secured the harvest of the year, he beholds a struggle more momentous, a triumph more illustrious; a far more signal interposition of the Lord; and terror and joy more widely and universally diffused over all the globe. On this higher view I cannot now enlarge. But I may suggest some thoughts for your consideration. 1. That harvest-home sees the universal church delivered from the anxieties and fears of her present work and warfare. Contrast in this view, the beginning and the end of this Psalm’s experience; the sowing and the reaping. In the beginning we have vows, prayers, penitence; the fitting exercises for a season of discouragement and doubt. In such a time, sowing in tears, let us vow, pledging our substance, all that we have or can do; let us pray, abounding in supplication; let us repent, sin confessing. That is the only suitable attitude of the church, waiting, working and warring, and of you her members waiting, working, and warring. But the end is blessed; when there is praise in paying the vow, gratitude in acknowledging the hearing of prayer, and much love springing out of much forgiveness; calling upon all flesh to come to the Lord (Psalms 65:1-3). 2. In that harvest-home the church is admitted to nearer fellowship with God and fuller enjoyment of God (Psalms 65:4). It is for her a time of revival. After waiting, working, warring, through an uncertain spring and a hot midsummer, there comes to her the quiet rest of an autumnal shade under the wings of divine love satisfied and approving. And to you also that blessedness comes, after toil and trial and tempest. 3. Then also, in that harvest-home the church obtains an explanation of all that has been dark and distressing in the Lord’s dealing with her (Psalms 65:5); how by terrible things in righteousness he has been answering her as the very God of her salvation. Amid whatever noise and tumult may have caused the dwellers in the uttermost parts of the earth to be afraid at his tokens, the Lord then gives his church such evidence of his power and such an insight into his purposes, as enables her to hold fast her own confidence in him and to commend him as the confidence of all the ends of the earth, greatly to be feared, but yet causing universal joy 4. That harvest-home is the time of an abundant outpouring of the Spirit (Psalms 65:9-13); the windows of heaven being widely opened, and gracious showers copiously descending over all the world. That is the crowning blessing; the fulness of the joy of the joyous feast of tabernacles. And it is a joy and blessing that may be yours individually now, as it is to be that of the universal church at last; if only, entering into the spirit of this Psalm, you are willing to vow and pray and confess; to dwell in God, and wait for God, and seek the gift of the Spirit; in the full assurance of that other Psalm: “They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 118: S. THE PEACEABLE FRUIT OF RIGHTEOUSNESS ======================================================================== THE PEACEABLE FRUIT OF RIGHTEOUSNESS “For we are consumed by thine anger, and by thy wrath are we troubled. Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance. For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told. The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away. Who knoweth the power of thine anger? even according to thy fear, so is thy wrath. So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. Return, Lord, how long? and let it repent thee concerning thy servants. satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil. Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children. And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it.” - Psalms 90:7-17 THE occasion of this Psalm or prayer of Moses the man of God, is generally believed to have been the sad sentence pronounced upon the people for their refusal to go up to possess the land; a sad sentence indeed, and in several views very severe. Consider the position of the people under it. First, instead of entering at once into the promised inheritance, they are doomed to wander forty years in the wilderness. Secondly, they are told that within that period all above the age of twenty are to die. And thirdly, their manner of life is to be very wearisome, marching up and down the dreary desert, or wearing out long intervals of dull repose. All the while they are to be ever freshly reminded of their sin and its sentence, by that holy mountain lifting its frowning head against them, as well as by grave after grave receiving the bodies of the dead. It is, one would say, a dreary enough prospect, with which images of glory, beauty, joy, ideas of cheerful work crowned with bright success, are anything but congenial. Nevertheless, the closing verses of this Psalm are singularly healthful and hopeful. They are so, because they are the peaceable fruit of righteousness which affliction always yields to them that are exercised thereby. Moses, the man of God, who composed the prayer, and those who joined in spirit with him, got this good of the Lord’s chastening. Observe here - I. how they were exercised (Psalms 90:7-15); and then II. what fruit their being exercised yielded (Psalms 90:16-17). I. Passing over the first six verses, which contrast generally the unchangeableness of God, as his people’s dwelling-place, with their frailty and mortality, and so lay a deep and sure foundation for faith and hope as against sight and sense, I find in what follows (Psalms 90:7-15) a double exercise of soul, in the way (1) of believing penitence (Psalms 90:7-12), and (2) of believing appropriation and assurance (Psalms 90:13-15). 1. There is an exercise of penitential faith, or believing repentance; for it is the same thing; “For we are consumed by thine anger, and by thy wrath are we troubled. Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance. For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told. The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away. Who knoweth the power of thine anger? even according to thy fear, so is thy wrath. So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom” (Psalms 90:7-12). These are the sentiments of genuine contrition. This sorrow is not the sorrow of the world which worketh death, but that godly sorrow which worketh repentance unto salvation, not to be repented of. Their sin is ever before them. They apprehend the guilt, they accept the punishment of their transgression. “Thine anger,” “thy wrath” (Psalms 90:7); “our iniquities,” “our secret sins” (Psalms 90:8); again, “thy wrath” (Psalms 90:9); and yet again, “thine anger” (Psalms 90:11); and once more, “thy wrath” (Psalms 90:11); these are the thoughts which vex them. Thus, in all their vexing thoughts, God is uppermost; he is all in all. Are we consumed? It is by thine anger. Are we troubled? It is by thy wrath. Our iniquities? They are set before thee. Our secret sins? They are in the light of thy countenance. If all our days are passed away, and we spend our years as a tale that is told; it is in thy just indignation, Lord. Thou art righteous. We have sinned. Surely God is again enthroned in the hearts of men who speak thus. They do not bewail their own sad case as if they had been hardly dealt with. They do not brood over the vanity that blights their fairest earthly hopes as if they had a right to complain of it, or to resent it. It is sin that grieves them, their sin against God. It is the just wrath of God lying upon them that weighs them down. Ah! what was our guilt when we would not trust our God who brought us out of Egypt, and would not obey his voice, how inexcusable, how aggravated! And how insupportable the thought of his displeasure, his indignation! - the displeasure, the indignation, not of a being who in fitful passion or personal resentment may strike a hasty blow and then relent, but of one whose holy, righteous, unchanging nature makes his holy indignation, and his calm, judicial sentence of righteous wrath all the more appalling! For who knoweth the power of thine anger? Thou art the immutable, everlasting God. As such thou art to be feared. And according to thy fear so is thy wrath. But who knoweth thy fear, as the measure of thy wrath and of the power of thine anger? Who knoweth how thou, the Almighty, the Unchangeable, art to be feared? These workers of iniquity, have they that knowledge? Alas! is it not their fond dream that the arm of omnipotence may not reach them, that eternal justice may bend to them? And do you know how God is to be feared, and what according to his fear must be the power of his anger, you who in some hour of pensive thought muse on the sad vicissitudes of things, and call your musing piety? Among the ranks of that broken army which has so narrowly missed the prize of Canaan many are the forms which disappointment takes. Some are murmuring and fretting; thinking that they do well to be angry; nursing their smothered, sullen discontent. Others are lamenting their hard fate; laying all the blame on their neighbours or on circumstances; and meekly consenting to be victims. There are those who affect a stern and stoical fortitude; while in the case of not a few, the torturing recollections of the past, the bitter experience of the present, and the dark outlook into the future, conspire to foster a sort of indolent despair. But who among them knoweth the power of thine anger? Ah! if they were thoroughly alive to that, how would all other miseries shrink into insignificance! Sin and wrath; our sin and thy wrath; these are the terrible realities! Oh that we, and all our fellow-sufferers under the sentence which writes vanity on life and all its interests were made to know thy fear as measuring thy wrath! Whether our days here be few or many; a hundred, or fourscore, or but a span; whether joyous or sad; whatever may be the colour of the hours as they are fleeting fast away; the one awful consideration is that we. Lord, are guilty and thou art just. Let our sin find us out. Let us know the terror of the Lord; how fearful a thing it is to fall into the hands of the living God. Let us mark the flight of time as it is hurrying us on, all guilty as we are, to meet thine inexorable award. “So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom” (Psalms 90:12). 2. With this exercise of believing penitence, the subsequent exercise of believing appropriation and assurance corresponds: “Return, Lord, how long? and let it repent thee concerning thy servants. O satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. Make us glad according to the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil” (Psalms 90:13-15). Here again the suppliants are wholly occupied with the thought of God. They are not concerned about the suffering they have brought upon themselves, the loss of Canaan and the weary wilderness probation. That is not in their view. It is about the terms on which they are to be with God - his disposition towards them and their relation to him - that they are now solicitous. Let there be peace again between them and him. That is enough for them. Surely God is again enthroned in the hearts of men who think, and feel, and speak thus. Look for a little at their prayer. “Return, Lord, how long?” (Psalms 90:13). It is thy departure from us; it is thine absence from among us, that we lament and deprecate. Art thou leaving us? Hast thou left us? Nay, but return, Lord! Thou mightest justly have left us long ago. Thou mightest justly leave us now. But return, Lord! for we cannot now dispense with thy gracious presence. We cannot live without thee! Once we cared little to have thee consciously and favourably present with us. We rather sought to get away from thee, and put thee far from us. We could be well content that there should be between thee and us the distance of cold and dead estrangement, or at the best, of decent compromise. If it is otherwise now, it is to thee that we owe the gracious change. Thou hast taught us to know thee; to know thee not only in the terror of thy wrath, but in the riches of thy grace, as the sure dwelling-place of thy people in all generations. Greatly art thou to be feared, in thine unchangeableness. From everlasting to everlasting thou art God. But how lovely art thou, and how loving! Thou hast so opened to us thy heart, and so opened our hearts to thee, that we cannot now consent to let thee go. Return, Lord! once more visit us with the light of thy countenance! There may be no change, we ask for no change, in thy dealings with us. Let us still have the wilderness for our earthly portion instead of Canaan. But so far “let it repent thee concerning thy servants,” that we may realise a change in thy disposition toward us; and may feel that thou art not now angry with us, but pacified towards us; that we are no longer under thy just sentence of wrath, but find grace and favour in thine eyes. “satisfy us early with thy mercy” (Psalms 90:14). Yes! It is thy mercy we seek. That will satisfy us. Let it be ours, Lord. Let it be ours speedily, soon, early, now. Whatever fruit of it is to come in the shape of ulterior good may be postponed. But thy mercy itself! Let it be early - now. Now in the early morning of that new pilgrimage on which we are entering; now, in the early commencement of our subjection to vanity by reason of sin; only let thy mercy be thus early ours. It is enough. We shall be satisfied. We ask no more. “We will rejoice and be glad all our days” (Psalms 90:14). Do thou thus “make us glad;” and we will testify, as we shall have good cause to testify, that this gladness, in the mere experience of thy present mercy, thy returning favour and our reconciliation and peace with thee, is more than an equivalent, far more than the fullest compensation, for “the days wherein thou hast afflicted us, and the years wherein we have seen evil” (Psalms 90:15). II. Such being the double exercise of faith apprehending sin and wrath and faith appropriating assuredly love and mercy, to which affliction brought these men of God, we are prepared to expect and to understand the peaceable fruit of righteousness which it yielded to them; as we have it set forth in the close of the Psalm. “Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children. And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it” (Psalms 90:16-17). The three petitions here presented point to work, or entering into work, as being that peaceable fruit of righteousness. The first speaks of God’s work. The third speaks of their own work. The second, or intermediate one, brings out the character which is indispensable for entering aright into either of these works, or into both. 1. The Lord’s work comes first. These praying men of God, penitent and believing, ask him to give them and their children a sight of that, and an insight into its glory. This is what is uppermost in their minds. It is their first and chief concern. And is not the fact of its being so the clear proof of their being now on a gracious footing with God, and of a gracious mind toward him? For it is not the way of nature, but the way of grace. Naturally we give precedence and priority to our own work rather than to the Lord’s. We think of our work appearing to him rather than of his work appearing to us; of our goodness rather than of his glory. We would have our work acceptable in his sight rather than his work acceptable in our sight. Something in us or about us, some good done by us, or some good wrought in us, we would have God to look upon with complacency; so far at least as to be induced by it to look upon us with compassion. That is the way of nature. There is grace, and sure evidence of grace, when the Lord’s work, on the contrary, takes the first place in our esteem. Now we see that it is not his beholding our work, but our beholding his, that alone can be of any avail to save us. And seeing this, we long for fuller discoveries of that saving work of the Lord; and a deeper, truer, more experimental apprehension or sense of its worthiness of him and its suitableness to us - in a word, of his glory in it: “Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children” (Psalms 90:16). It is a prayer for the Holy Spirit; and for the Holy Spirit as discharging his double office; on the one hand, opening up to us more and more from without, or as it were, objectively, through the instrumentality of the word, the work of the Lord; giving us larger and loftier views of its character and nature; “Let thy work appear unto us:” and on the other hand, opening up in us, within, and as it were, subjectively, by an immediate touching of our inner man, the eye of the mind, the soul, the heart; so as to make it more capable of not only understanding the work of the Lord more clearly in all its bearings, but perceiving, recognising, and appreciating, with livelier sympathy, his glory in. it: “Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children” (Psalms 90:16). For it is not enough that his work appears, unless his glory in it appears also. Hence there must be a double action, so to speak, of the Holy Spirit. He acts by means of outward revelation, withdrawing more and more, through his blessing on your study of the Scriptures, the veil that hides the wondrous working of the Lord. And he acts by means of inward renewal, intensifying your new born and new created faculty of discerning spiritual things, so that you see, more and more, in all the wondrous working of the Lord, his wondrous glory. The petition, therefore, of Psalms 90:16 betokens a gracious state of things, as between God and the people who with Moses make it their own; and a gracious frame of mind on their part towards God. Thy work, they say, Lord, and not ours, is what alone is worthy of our regard. And by the help of thy Spirit, we would see in it thy glory; thy glorious character; thy glorious self: “Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children” (Psalms 90:16). Ah! they might well feel, thy work might have appeared to us ere now; and it has appeared to us so far as to leave us without excuse. But we saw it not. We saw not thy glory in it. We might have seen both. The glory of thy rich redeeming love we might have seen in thy remembrance of us when we were in Egypt. The glory of thy sin-hating and sin-punishing righteousness we might have seen in the lamb slain for our ransom. The glory of thy power we might have seen in the Egyptian miracles and the passage through the Red Sea; the glory of thine avenging justice and righteous judgment in the overthrow of Pharaoh and all his host; the glory of thy holy sovereignty in the awful lawgiving at Sinai; the glory of thy forbearance and bountifulness in the abundant manna, the water from the smitten rock; the earnest of final conquest in the victory over Amalek. All this work of thine, and thy glory in it; thy glorious character, thy glorious self, we might have seen, had not our eyes been blinded and our hearts hardened. Alas! we cared but little about thy work, or thy glory, or thyself, Lord! But all that we shut out from our view then we would see now. Let us see it, Lord, so as to make us more and more ashamed of our not having seen it before; of our having been so insensible to it as to do great injustice to thee in our thoughts of thee; misunderstanding and misconstruing thy ways; murmuring against thy dealings with us; distrusting thee; counting thy commandments grievous; questioning thy power to fulfil thine own word and oath. Could we have so wronged thee if thy work had then appeared to us, and thy glory in it? That we may not so wrong thee now, show us thy manner of working; and show us all its glory, as glorifying thee in saving us: “Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children” (Psalms 90:16). In the experience of Moses, and of all like-minded with him, this prayer, as regards this petition, was fully answered. They had their full share of the hardships of the wilderness. Its vicissitudes and judgments, its calamities and crimes affected them even more than the callous and careless multitude; who have always a wonderful facility of accommodation to circumstances. Men of God, however, cannot thus fall in with the course of the world. On the contrary, they cannot but be sensitively alive to all the hindrances and annoyances which it puts in the way of the march to Canaan. But all the while the Lord is working. All along the weary road and its weary trials, these men of God discover and perceive this; and they glorify the Lord accordingly. How the Lord works, and how glorious he is in working they come to see more and more, as they learn more and more to link on his present working in his providence over them with his past working in redemption for them. Light more and more breaks in upon them; and with light, trust and love. They learn to justify God, and to believe assuredly that, as he worketh always, so in all his working he is always to be glorified: “Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children” (Psalms 90:16). How much more should you learn the lesson of this petition! For what is the work to which you have to point? And what is God’s glory in if? It is not any Egyptian deliverance, or wilderness provision, that you have to bear upon your minds when you offer this prayer, “Let thy work appear unto thy servants.” What work? The work finished on the cross of Christ; the work of divine propitiation and reconciliation. “And thy glory in it;” such glory as may prompt that blessed argument of confidence: “He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not also with him freely give us all things?” 2. The second petition is naturally suggested by the first, and forms a fitting introduction to the third. It is a prayer for personal holiness. It represents that holiness as being intimately connected, on the one hand, with the Lord’s causing his work, and his glory in it, to appear unto us; and on the other hand, with our being enabled so to work ourselves as to warrant our asking God to establish the work of our hands: “Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us.” It is the beauty of holiness that is here prayed for. It is the beauty of the Lord; the beauty of the Lord’s own holiness; the holy beauty which belongs essentially to the Lord alone, but of which he permits you to ask that you may be yourselves partakers. This, indeed, is the design and end of all the Lord’s dealings with you, when he humbles you, and proves you, and chastens you; not for his own pleasure, but for your profit, that you may “be partakers of his holiness” (Hebrews 12:10). For this end “exceeding great and precious promises are given unto you, that by them you may be partakers of the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4). All this is implied in the petition, “Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us.” You ask, for yourselves and for your children, that you may see the Lord’s work, and his glory in it. You ask also that, “beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, you may be changed into the same image, from glory to glory, by the Spirit of the Lord.” You desire to “behold the beauty of the Lord” as you “dwell in his house, and inquire in his temple.” You desire to be transformed into his beauteous image; to be like-minded and like-hearted with him; to see light in his light; to love as he loves; and be holy as he is holy. This indeed is the secret, at once of your getting an ever-increasing faculty of insight into the work of the Lord and his glory in it; and of your being yourselves created anew in Christ Jesus unto good works; such good works as you can ask the Lord to establish. It is the secret charm of sympathy. Let thy beauty be upon us. Let our nature shine in holy beauty like thine own. Give us a fellowship and fellow-feeling with thyself in the beauty of thine own holiness. Then will thy work more and more appear unto us, and thy glory in it. We shall enter with growing intelligence, as we enter with growing sympathy, into the whole plan and purpose of thy wondrous work of salvation. We shall better understand what thou art doing. Thy forbearance in so long sparing the guilty and waiting still to be gracious; thy terrible judgments, giving presage of wrath to come; thy discipline in the training of thy saints; the march of thy gospel; the movements of thy Spirit; the progress of thy cause; thy hand controlling all events; thy finger touching dead souls that they may live; above all, thy free and sovereign way of justifying the ungodly who believe in Christ. Ah! Lord God! were thy beauty upon us; were we like thee; were we wholly in thy interest and on thy side; were we thine in full sympathy, thine with all our heart, how would we delight always, everywhere, anywhere, to be tracing thee in thy working among the families of men! And how would thy grace, and wisdom, and righteousness, and truth, and love - in a word, thy glory, as manifested in it all, become more and more conspicuous and illustrious in our wondering eyes. “Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children” (Psalms 90:16). And then, on the other hand, let us consider, how, by the same beautifying and sanctifying process, we may be fitted not only for entering, as believers and sympathisers, into the work of the Lord, but for entering into it also as fellow-workers with him in it. Thy work, Lord, may thus become our work; and all our work may thus be thy work; our only work being to carry forward thy work. 3. Therefore, Lord, we may venture to append this third petition to our prayer: “And establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it” (Psalms 90:17, 2d clause). For on their work as well as on themselves the penitent and believing people of God, led on by Moses, the man of God, may invoke the divine blessing. And in virtue of that blessing, their work acquires a character of stability, permanence, endurance, contrasting strangely with the vanity of their wilderness state. Yes! every work of theirs may now be established in the Lord. Even if it is a work that seems to belong to their wilderness state of vanity, and to that alone; let it be the daily gathering of the manna, or the carrying of water from the rock and its stream for ordinary household uses, - still it is a work which they can ask the Lord to establish, having first looked to the Lord’s own work in connection with it, and besought the Lord to let his own holy beauty be upon them in the doing of it. For there is no appointed task; no necessary or lawful engagement; no drudgery, no toil, no menial service; no homely office, no domestic care; no study, no scholarly pursuit of learning; no professional discharge of duty; in the shop, or the exchange, or the market; in the office, at the bar, on the bench, in the senate; there is nothing you can at any time be honestly and with a clear conscience doing, let it have ever so close, and seemingly exclusive reference to the concerns of this passing world; which you may not ask the Lord to establish, if only you do the work as from, and for, and to, the Lord; seeking in the doing of it, to see his work and his glory as bearing upon it and to have his holy beauty shining through you in it. It may and it must, if you go about it in such a spirit, yield to you some permanent as well as peaceable fruit of righteousness. You come away from it and out of it, yourselves confirmed and established in your faith and loyalty and love. And it will follow you at last when you rest from your labours. Ye shall in no wise lose your reward. Therefore, brethren, “whether ye eat or drink or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.” And if all this is true when you make what might appear earthly work heavenly, wilderness work divinely beautiful, your own work the Lord’s, how much more must it be so when you make the Lord’s work yours when the work directly tends to the hallowing of his name, the coming of his kingdom, the doing of his will. Ah! there is a work here below which, while the world passeth away and the lust thereof, you may ask the Lord to establish. For he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever. See that Israelitish man, or woman, or girl, or boy, running home to tell a brother, or sister, or parent, or child, of the preparation going on for the slaying of the paschal lamb; or eagerly persuading the wounded and the dying to behold the healing serpent lifted up before their eyes! Listen to that anxious trembling voice, warning a friend, a neighbour, against the yawning gulph in which the rebels are swallowed quick! Who are these little ones who are announcing so gladly to all they meet the first sounding of the trumpet at the joyous feast of tabernacles? Mark that hoary head winning from the mouth of babes and sucklings most sweet and perfect praise. The wilderness may be dreary. Life in it may be like a dream, a tale. It may look as if nothing, I can turn my hand to were worth a moment’s thought; so fleeting is everything, and so false! I build a tent; and to-morrow’s blast sweeps it away. I plant a gourd; and it withers in a night. I cling to one who is the light of my eyes, the desire, the darling of my heart; she droops and dies; and I am fain to bury her out of my sight. I choose a friend; and he forsakes me. I say, Here while I rest awhile; and lo! as I say it, there goes the ark, and I must shift my quarters to go along with it. Yes! It is a weary enough pilgrimage; so unsettled; so unsteadfast; so insecure. And I cannot, I dare not, ask the Lord to establish these things. I may not arrest one winged moment in the flight of time. I may not fondly grasp the loved one leaving me, and bid him tarry with, me a little, a very little longer. Ah, then! what is life worth in this desert, and with these wanderings? It is better to die than to live thus. There is no work or desire anywhere beneath that beating sun that is not wholly vanity. Not so, brother! Not so, thou mourning sister! There is a work of God which he will show you; a work very glorious - to thee to live is Christ. There is a work of thine which he will establish; thy work of faith and labours of love. Come, be not as those ‘who are ever going from Dan to Beersheba, crying that all is barren. There is a business going on in the earth that may well rouse all your energies, and interest your whole hearts. Come. See what God is doing! Cast yourself into the work which he has on hand. Be no more idle, “desponding, dreaming, drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn,” as if God were doing nothing in this world, and had nothing for you to do in it, in his name or on his behalf. Come. Join heart and soul; voice, hands, feet; with all your manhood, renovated, quickened, gladdened by God’s grace, join in this joyous closing prayer of Moses, the man of God: “Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their children. And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it.” Observe the work of the Lord and his glory in it. Much stress is laid on that in the experimental parts of Scripture. The Psalms are full of it (Psalms 40:5; Psalms 92:4; Psalms 77:10; Psalms 105:4;Psalms 111:2). And the neglect of this duty is pointedly and emphatically condemned both by the Psalmist (Psalms 28:5)[1] and still more by the prophet Isaiah (Isaiah 5:8-12).[2] The contrast here is striking. It brings out the utter incompatibility of these two things, as objects of regard; the world’s work and God’s work. If you give heed to the one, you neglect the other. The world’s work may be business (Psalms 90:8-10) or pleasure (Psalms 90:11-12); avarice or luxury; hasting to be rich, or saying, Let us eat and drink, and be merry. Whichever it be, it unfits you, if you go into it, for regarding the work of the Lord. And yet, after all, what is there in the world that is really worthy of your regard but the work of the Lord? What else is there that has an abiding character, or is of permanent value? All things are full of change. But the work of the Lord continues ever the same. All is vanity. But the work of the Lord is glorious. And he is glorious in it. Come, behold the working of the Lord. Link and fasten on your own work to the Lord’s. Identify your work with his. It is only in so far as you do so, that you can ask the Lord to establish it. True, in one aspect of it, the work of the Lord is exclusively his own. What he is doing in his providence he does alone. You can but submit and say, “It is the Lord.” What he does in his grace, he does alone. You can but say, “Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief.” But in another aspect of it, his work is such that it may become yours. He tells you what he is doing on the earth, that you may join yourself with him in the doing of it. He takes you into his counsels and unfolds to you his manner of working, that you may frame and fashion your manner of working in accordance with his. You are to work the works of God. How? The Jews once asked, and they got for answer: “This is the work of God, that ye believe on him whom God hath sent.” That is your first work; your first participation in God’s work; that ye believe in him whom he has sent; your believing corresponding to his sending. Christ being to you what he is to the Father, believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and be saved. Would you have the Lord to establish that work? See that you make sure of it yourselves. Let there be no unsteadfastness, no doubt or hesitation, about your working thoroughly this work of God; believing on him whom he has sent. And then let all your subsequent working, of whatever sort, be in harmony with his working. Let it become part and parcel of it. In all you think and say and do, let it be God working in, and by, and through you. Then, no thought, or word, or work of yours will perish or be lost. The Lord will establish it. Vain thoughts, idle words, worldly deeds, he cannot establish. They are as grass. But thoughts that grasp his thoughts; words that echo his words; deeds that aspire to fellowship in his own great deeds of love; Lord, thou canst, thou wilt establish these. Oh! then, let my thoughts, words, deeds, be ever thus godly, thus godlike. All this implies your having the beauty of the Lord upon you, the beauty of his holiness, “Be ye holy, for I am holy.” For it is only as being thus holy, partakers of his holiness, seeing things from his point of view, looking at them in the same light in which he looks at them, that you can hope, either to see his work so as to understand it, and sympathise with it, and appreciate his glory in it. And only thus can you make your work such as he will establish. Wherefore follow after holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 119: S. THE PRAYER OF WATCHFULNESS AND FAITH ======================================================================== THE PRAYER OF WATCHFULNESS AND FAITH “Who can understand his errors? cleanse thou me from secret faults. Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me: then shall I be upright, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression. Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, Lord, my strength, and my redeemer.” - Psalms 19:12-14 THERE is great meaning here in saying “thy servant” (Psalms 19:11). It implies that at this stage, after all that I have seen of God as the Almighty, in the glory of creation, and as the unchangeable Jehovah, in the righteous, holy, and gracious sovereignty of his laws, I am his servant - out and out his servant. Yes, Lord! I cry, I am thy servant; truly I am thy servant, the son of thy handmaid; thou hast loosed my bonds. Once I served other masters, divers lusts and passions. But of that servitude thou hast loosed the bonds. I was not thy servant then; not truly thy servant, I winced under the admonitions of thy law; thy commandments were, in my enforced submission, grievous. But as thy servant now, made free to serve thee, I desire to be admonished, to be warned. Above all things I desire to be admonished and warned at every step. And it is because thy law, in all its forms, warns me as thy servant, that I prize it above much fine gold. And my whole heart now being in the keeping of all thine ordinances, I find that in the very keeping of them there is a great reward, a blessed satisfaction, rest and peace, such as makes them sweeter than honey and the honeycomb. But, alas! I scarcely weigh the gold, I scarcely taste the honey, before, under the deep sense of there being so much in me and about me that is not precious but vile, not sweet but bitter; not gold or honey, but the opposite, dross and dung - I am constrained to cry out (Psalms 19:12) “Who can understand his errors?” It is a sad and plaintive cry, and yet salutary and hopeful. For it is not the language of one to whom the law of Jehovah is still an object of dislike and dread, a mere yoke of bondage. It is not the language of one vainly seeking to get acceptance, and holy joy, and life by a painful compliance with the form and letter of the law. It is the language of one to whom the law has been brought home by the Holy Spirit, in all its exceeding breadth and power and searching spirituality; in all its excellency, authority, and loveliness; of one whose whole inner man - mind, heart, soul, conscience, will - is now thoroughly on the side of Jehovah and his law; of one who most thankfully embraces that method of peace which magnifies the law and makes it honourable; of one whose real longing it is to attain to perfect conformity to the law which he loves, and to whom every instance of nonconformity to its pure spirit of love is a deep distress. In truth, it is only in such a frame of mind that you will care about understanding your errors at all; only when, consenting to all the principles of the divine administration, as brought out in that plan of saving grace by which Jehovah’s judicial righteousness and Jehovah’s fatherly love are blessedly harmonised, you go with his law, which now to you is the law of liberty and the law of love, as with a candle, into the recesses of thought and feeling within, searching yourselves, and asking the Lord to search you! Ah! then comes the woful lament: - “The law is spiritual, but I am carnal, sold under sin; I delight in the law of God after the inward man; but I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members. Oh! wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” “Who can understand his errors? The closing verses of this psalm give an insight into the experience you may have, as spiritually enlightened and spiritually minded men, thus applying the law of Jehovah to your own carnal selves. The several successive prayers offered up are wrung from the tried soul under the pressure of the question. Who can understand his errors? They have all a pointed reference to the power and prevalence of indwelling sin, in all its tendencies and stages, from the original source of inborn lust or desire ever striving still for the mastery, to the final consummation of apostasy and ruin, in which, but for the prayer of watchfulness and faith, it may ere long result. I. The first prayer, “Cleanse thou me from secret faults,” springs naturally out of the complaint, “Who can understand his errors?” In searching and trying your ways as spiritual men, according to the spirit of the holy law, you soon make a sad discovery. It is this. Search as you may, ever so faithfully - all the more, in fact the more faithfully you search - you find that you are stirring the depths of a dark sea of evil - a deep abyss of disloyalty and disaffection to Jehovah’s righteous and loving rule, which all your searching cannot fathom. But you would have it purged. The unknown, unfathomable ocean-caves where the bitter waters of uncleanness ever ominously lurk, you would fain have purified. But who can purge or purify? Who but the searcher of hearts alone? Thou, Lord, understandest my errors. Thou canst reach and touch their hidden source and spring in the inner man. Therefore I come to thee for thorough inward purging and purification: “Cleanse thou me from secret faults.” Secret faults! What are they? They are not merely offences secretly committed, and so hidden from the eyes of your fellow men. Such offences you will indeed discover in any honest, thorough, spiritual survey of your inner and outer life only too abundant! The instances in which you have ventured on the commission or tolerance of sin, in imagination at least, if not in act, in a manner and in circumstances that you would shrink from the very idea of making known to your most confidential friend on earth, are numerous enough and aggravated enough to cause deepest remorse and shame. But still these are not the secret faults from which, with the Psalmist, you pray you may be cleansed, at least not these alone, or chiefly. As in the lowest depth there is a lower still, so, far back, behind, deep down beneath, these covert indulgences of the passions, you reach the ultimate root and pregnant seed of depravity in the very nature which, as members of a fallen family, you inherit. That nature is the seat and prolific source of secret faults and of errors that never can be fully understood. Germs of evil are in it that never can be estimated or counted. They do not disclose themselves to the world’s censorious eye. They do not discover themselves to your own eye, in its flattering and self-indulgent mood, when they are dormant and you are blind. But if any of you have ever set about the work of self-discipline and self-purification, with a thorough desire to be thoroughly holy, and a thorough determination to search and renovate the deepest springs and fountains of unholiness within, you must have come to a point at which the most rigid and rigorous scrutiny of self-examination was brought to a stand. You may trace and track sin in its outward manifestations; you may reach it inwardly in its volitions, or movements of voluntary choice, but still more deeply seated is the mystery of iniquity in the inner man. There is a malign and deadly malady in your moral nature which, whenever you come closely to deal with it, baffles your utmost skill, and your most searching penetration to root it fairly out of your system. You may not be sensible of this so long as you dally delicately with your natural corruption, your habitual frame and temper of secure and settled unconcern - keeping besetting sin at a decent distance, by means of some seemly compromise, and if not making terms with it, yet maintaining at the best a very listless, heartless show of contending against it. But come to close quarters. Come as believing men, earnest men, who would not only have the will choosing what is holy, but the very nature itself conformed to what is holy. Come as being bent not only on doing good, but on being good - good in the true, divine sense of being good - as he was who, not merely in his life went about doing good, but in his very nature was good, holy, harmless, undefiled. Alas you will soon come into contact with the secret faults of a nature very different from his; a nature radically corrupt, whose deep and desperate depravity you can neither estimate nor cure! You assail indwelling sin, working in one direction; it breaks out working in another. You mortify fleshly lust in one form of it; anon it revives in another. You think you have got the better of your ungodly passion, your unholy inclination, and for a time it seems to be overcome or to give way; but it rises again and takes you at unawares, from a different quarter, and on a different side. You are compelled to own that you have to meet in this warfare not open enemies, but ambushed traitors. They are far too many and too strong for you. “The heart is deceitful above all things,” you cry, “and desperately wicked! Who can know it?” “I, the Lord, search the heart!” Oh! may not that response relieve you. “I, the Lord, search the heart!” Then search my heart, Lord, search it thoroughly. “Purge me with hyssop and I shall be clean; wash me and I shall be whiter than the snow. Create in me a clean heart, Lord, and renew within me a right spirit.” By blood and water - atoning blood and purifying water - let me be thoroughly redeemed, regenerated, renewed, washed, sanctified, and justified in the name of thy Son, and by the operation of thy Spirit. Cleanse thou me from secret faults. II. In your spiritual exercise of soul upon Jehovah’s law, you find secret faults bordering on the region of presumptuous sins. Presumptuous sins! These are acts of the will, as the former are faults of the nature. For secret faults, your nature may be said to be responsible; for presumptuous sins, your will. Does this distinction exonerate you from blame, as regards those secret faults? Not certainly if you are in earnest when you pray, “Cleanse thou me from secret faults.” The natural man, unconverted and unsanctified, who has no sense of sin’s exceeding sinfulness, or of the perfect beauty of holiness, may find solace and satisfaction in charging upon his natural disposition and temperament the blame of those evil propensities with which he does not choose to grapple. It is enough for him to regulate his outward and voluntary actions properly. The involuntary desires that are ever springing up within him are, he says, beyond his control, he cannot be expected to cope with them, he cannot be held bound to account for them. The very reverse of that will be your feeling if you have learned to love Jehovah’s law, and to hate heartily whatever is opposed to it. The experimental discovery that opposition to the law, in its essential spirit, as “Jehovah commanding,” not only characterises your outward conduct in some particulars, but is of the very essence of your carnal mind; this insight which the Spirit gives you into the inveterate depravity of your very nature and its inevitable tendency towards secret faults; so far from being accepted as a palliation of your guilt or an alleviation of your grief, only serves to aggravate and embitter your distress under the sad sense of your indwelling and inborn enmity against God, and increases the agony of your prayer for a thorough inward renewal; “Cleanse thou me from secret faults.” And this must be all the more your feeling when you find the secret faults of your nature so apt to become presumptuous sins in your life. “Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins.” The prayer implies a keen and vivid apprehension of your liability to such sins. Keep me back, I need to be kept back, from presumptuous sins. For secret faults, inward natural tendencies to evil, not rooted out, but only concealed by some superficial cleansing, are continually apt to effloresce into presumptuous sins. And let it be observed, that the more tender and faithful your conscience is, in regard to the holy claims of Jehovah’s law and the guilt of your natural insubordination to its authority, the more sensitively quick will you be to discern the elements of presumption in the sins you are apt to commit; and the keener will be your feeling of your being so carried on to the commission of such sins that you need almost violently to be kept back. Sins will appear to you presumptuous which others would regard, and you once would have regarded, as accidental, and to a large extent involuntary. Giving harbour, even for a brief moment, to an unclean thought or ungodly imagination; uttering, under provocation, a hasty and unguarded word; indulging your all but unconquerable tendency to sloth in God’s worship or weariness in God’s service; a momentary ebullition of temper; a wandering of the mind away from God and from duty; these, and similar infirmities, which so many excuse to themselves as inevitable and therefore venial, will more and more assume in your eyes, as you grow in the light and love of Jehovah and Jehovah’s law, the character and the criminality of presumptuous sins. Once you might have dismissed them from your thoughts, with the light and flippant apology - “I could not help it.” Now you see and feel that, on such occasions as those now in question, your thoughts and imaginations, as well as your actions, are far more under the control of your will than you were once prepared to admit. And entertaining an increasing dread of whatever evil in you or about you has in it, even in the smallest measure, the elements of deliberation, or voluntary choice; alive also, not only to the continued existence of natural corruption in you, but to the continual risk of your consenting to its existence; you offer, with ever deep anxiety, the double prayer: “Cleanse thou me from secret faults. Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins.” III. A worse evil still; worse even than the commission of presumptuous sins, but flowing from that, the spiritual man has to depreciate, under the influence of his love of Jehovah’s spiritual law, and his sad insight into his own carnality and corruption regarding it: “Let them not have dominion over me.” Let them not, these presumptuous sins, gain the mastery and ascendancy in my heart. Ah! there is the possibility of a sad downward tendency indicated here. Secret faults, if you do not seek to be cleansed from them, will soon pass into presumptuous sins; and presumptuous sins, if you are not kept back from them, will, almost before you are aware, come to have dominion over you. Any natural lust, or passion, or inclination, if the will consents to it but a little, and but for a little, becomes a tyrant whose yoke it is hard indeed to shake off. It acquires and wields the stern dominion of habit. Mark its insidious way. An evil, or a doubtful, tendency of your nature, contrives first to get itself barely tolerated in your fancy. Then, stealing imperceptibly on, it has sop after sop ministered to it, in repeated acts of limited and cautious indulgence. It grows more and more bold and undisguised. At last it drops the mask of a humble suppliant and solicitor, ready to be content with anything, and assumes the lordly and domineering part of a master, able and entitled to dispose of all things. Who, alas! has not too frequently experienced this melancholy working of the deceitfulness of sin? the wiles of the devil? It was a safe as well as a noble resolution to which Paul gave expression, when, with reference to fleshly indulgences and gratifications of natural desires, he exclaimed, “All things are lawful unto me, but all things are not expedient; all things are lawful unto me, but I will not be brought under the power of any!” Tell me not of this or that practice being, in a literal, formal, technical sense, lawful. There may be no precise or peremptory categorical rule in the statute-book concerning it. I might adopt or continue it and challenge the whole church and all the world to convict me of crime. But I have felt the bitter bondage of sin. I feel the glad liberty of grace. And too well do I know my own weakness and corrupt tendency, as well as the supremacy which evil once tolerated comes by custom to exercise, to run any risk in that direction again. I know the truth, and the truth has made me free; free to trample on the lying tempter; free to serve my God and Father as a son in his house; the Son making me free with his own filial freedom. That freedom I will not compromise or endanger. All things may be lawful for me, but I will not be brought under the power of any. Keep back thy servant from presumptuous sins; sins incompatible with free filial service. Let them not have dominion over me. IV. There is yet a further step in the line of departure from Jehovah and Jehovah’s law, against which you have to watch and pray. It is indicated in the brief saying, “Then shall I be upright.” For it is implied that were you to follow the course deprecated, in the preceding petitions, you must cease to be upright. If you are not cleansed from secret faults; if you are not kept back from presumptuous sins; if you fall again under their dominion; the consequence is inevitable. You forfeit your integrity. You no longer continue to be upright. “Then shall I be upright.” The expression at once carries us to Psalms 32:1-11, and to the state of mind there described as being pre-eminently blessed (Psalms 32:1-2) “Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no guile.” “Behold an Israelite indeed,” said the Lord with reference to Nathanael; having, as I believe, that Psalm in his mind, “Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile.” So may every poor sinner be hailed and welcomed, who has received grace to renounce the devices of self-righteousness, and acquiesce in the free and simple gospel of reconciliation. That gospel, so received, secures truth in the inward parts, and wisdom in the hidden parts. No other way can do so. Invariably, and inevitably, guile is the distinguishing characteristic of all who, not knowing the righteousness of God, or not submitting themselves to it, go about to establish a righteousness of their own. They must have recourse to shifts and devices of self-justification, altogether inconsistent with a guileless spirit. Ah! it is a great matter when, through grace, this miserable necessity of guile is brought to a complete and conclusive end. David felt it to be so. The relief which he found when he was enabled thus to be upright was as if he had passed from the prostrate weakness and racking pains of a loathsome disease, to the lightness and enlargement of manly strength. It was the exchange of roaring all the day long, for the melody of joy and health to be heard in the dwellings of the righteous. David speaks, with absolute horror, of the time when he kept silence; when there was guile in his spirit; when he practised reserve, and restrained himself from the full and frank unburdening of his soul, and the opening up of his whole state before God. Instead of confessing his sins, in the assured belief that God was faithful and just to forgive him his sins, he tried to persuade himself that he had little or no sin to be confessed and forgiven. But it would not do. God would not suffer him in that way to find rest. There must be truth in the inward parts. Weary, therefore, of all concealment and disguise, he was shut up into the more excellent way (Psalms 32:5). Then came light, enlargement, joy. An honourable trust in God, an open, guileless trust in God, took the place of suspicion, alienation, and alarm. Have any of you had experience of this blessed deliverance from guile and from guilt? from guilt and guile together? If so, will you lightly incur again the hazard of being ensnared and entangled in the meshes of the guile which guilt creates. And yet how can you escape if, not cleansed from secret faults, nor kept back from presumptuous sins, these sins are allowed to have dominion over you? Know you not that whosoever committeth sin is the slave of sin? It is a maxim of universal application; a law of universal sweep and range; an inherent law of the human soul. Of the unjust in the early church Peter testifies that though they promised liberty to those they would seduce, they were themselves the bond-slaves of corruption. “For,” he adds, announcing a great fact, a great principle, which cannot be evaded, “of whom a man is overcome, of the same is he brought in bondage.” So Paul again, “Know ye not that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey, whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness? But God be thanked that ye were the servants of death; but ye have obeyed from the heart that form of doctrine which was delivered you. Being then made free from sin, ye became the servants of righteousness.” Being made free from sin, will you suffer it again to have dominion over you? If you do, can you expect still to retain your integrity? “Sin,” says Paul once again, “sin shall not have dominion over you, for ye are not under the law but under grace.” If therefore sin contrives at any time to have dominion over you, then, in so far as it succeeds, you cease practically to be under grace. To all intents and purposes you are under the law again. The old legal spirit of bondage returns, the old slavish fear and cowardly shrinking away from God. Then comes the old system of making excuses, keeping silence, and resorting once more to the old degrading arts of self-justification! Alas! who has not felt all this? May you not be feeling it now? Is there any sin, it may be a single sin and that a little one, with which you are dallying or trifling, any doubtful practice with which you are beginning to indulge, any omission of duty to the thought of which you are becoming accustomed, any one known or suspected evil thing to which you feel that you are surrendering yourself? Then do you not already find your upright standing before God compromised, and the simplicity of your reliance on his free grace spoiled, and the openness and frankness of your fellowship with him marred, by the consciousness of there being something in your spirit about which you cannot venture to speak to him unreservedly? You dare not now, with unabashed and loving eye, look your Maker and Redeemer, your God and Father, in the face. You cannot ask him honestly to search and see if there he any wicked way in you. You shrink from your own judgment much more from his. You are embarrassed and ill at ease in his presence. O my friends! Beware of guile. And that you may beware of it, stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ makes you free. V. But there is still one more disaster which the spiritual man dreads. To one final calamity he feels himself to be exposed. He is alive to the terrible risk and danger of “the great transgression.” He sees, beyond the loss of his spiritual integrity, and flowing from that loss, a still worse evil against which he must watch and pray. For well does he know that if once he ceases to be upright before God, and in his dealings with God, there is no security for his continuing long innocent of the great transgression. I take this expression here to denote the unpardonable sin; the sin for which no prayer is to be made; the sin against the Holy Ghost which never can be forgiven. Into the nature of that sin I do not now particularly inquire. Upon that point, Holy Scripture leaves you very much in the dark. And it does so, I believe, designedly and of set purpose; both because the warning against it, from its very indefiniteness, may be all the more solemn; and because it is not any particular act, or course of conduct, that is meant when that sin is spoken of, but rather a certain state of mind and heart. If the sin in question had been described exactly as to its outward signs and manifestations, you might have been tempted to cherish an undue feeling of security on the mere ground of these being, as you might suppose, in your case wanting. Or on the other hand, imagining erroneously that you could detect them as characterising your spiritual position, you might be plunged into the depths of irremediable despair. The Bible therefore furnishes no means, no data, for identifying “the great transgression” as a fact of which either the individual himself who may commit it, or others around him can be cognisant. All that it does is to hold up before your eyes the distinct and unequivocal intimation that there is a kind and degree of resistance to the Holy Ghost which seals upon him who is guilty of it the sentence of final impenitence and a judicial hardening of the heart for ever. Nor is there any difficulty in ascertaining at all events whereabouts this terrible danger lies. Let the process which I have been describing be suffered to go on; the process (1) of indifference as to being cleansed from secret faults; (2) toleration of presumptuous sins; (3) subjection to their dominion; and (4) the loss of uprightness, departure from the simplicity of an honourable and single-eyed trust in God; let this sad course of backsliding and declension continue but for a little, unarrested, unchecked; and it is not hard to perceive how it must soon issue in confirmed and hopeless apostasy. For a time there may be a struggle with remaining convictions, and an attempt, by some miserable scheme of self-righteousness to impose upon yourselves, and if it were possible, upon your God. You may try a poor and pitiful game of compromise, evasion, and guile. But you cannot long keep up the farce, the trick, the device; you become weary of it, and ashamed of it. It is a positive relief to you to get rid of it, if not in the way of yielding obedience to the Spirit striving with you and working in you to revive and quicken you; then in the way of casting off his restraints and being no more troubled with his rebukes, until at last the grieved Spirit withdraws altogether, and the sentence goes forth from heaven, “Ephraim is joined to idols: let him alone.” I raise no question here, nor can I suffer any to be raised, about the perseverance of the saints, and the certainty of their final salvation. These are abundantly and effectually secured by the terms of the everlasting covenant; by the sovereign decree of election; by the good Shepherd giving his life for the sheep; by the promise of the Holy Ghost to abide with you for ever; and, to crown all, by such assurances as these, given by Jesus himself; “All that the Father giveth me shall come unto me; and him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.” “My sheep hear my voice and I know them, and they follow me, and I give unto them eternal life. And they shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of my hand. My Father which gave them me is greater than all, and none is able to pluck them out of the Father’s hand. I and the Father are one.” So the sheep are safe to the last. But on whatever valid ground the doctrine of the perseverance and ultimate salvation of believers rests, certainly it does not rest on anything in their own consciousness or in their experience. On the contrary, and as a practical matter, their actual security lies very much in the vivid apprehension which they have in themselves of the possibility of the awful catastrophe of a final falling from grace being realised in their own case; such an apprehension as Paul had when he said, “I keep under my body, and bring it into subjection; lest that by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should be a castaway.” Under this feeling, you will be ever sensitively alive to the risk you run when you linger even for a moment on any part of the downward and declining path which must plunge all who travel along it in. the depths of confirmed unbelief, and eternal, because incurable, hardness of heart. Nay, so sensitive will you be in this matter, if you are indeed spiritual men, that you will never at any time feel yourselves at all safe, unless your foot is planted in a very different path, leading to a very different goal. For you may be very sure that, if you would not run the risk of the slippery way that slopes downwards and hellwards, you make sure work of your getting and keeping some firm footing in the way that leads upwards and heavenwards to God’s own throne, and home, and heart. VI. This accordingly you seek to do by entering into the spirit of the closing prayer: “Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, Lord, my strength and my redeemer.” For I regard these words, not merely as an appendix, and as it were an amen, to the present exercise, but as an integral and essential part of it. The Psalmist is not merely asking the Lord to accept the words he has been now uttering and the meditation in which he has now been engaged. No. Generally and universally he is praying, that always and everywhere the words of his mouth and the meditation of his heart may be such as God may accept. In that view, there is a great practical truth here brought out. Holiness, godliness, conformity to Jehovah’s law, is not a mere negation; if it were so, it would be precarious indeed. It is a positive and positively active principle. It is not a mere struggle against evil. If it were so, it would be a painful and doubtful struggle to the last. It is a reaching out to that which is good. The life of God in the soul of man is not merely a life of striving against sin; but a life also of “pressing on towards the mark of the high calling of God, in Christ Jesus our Lord.” And the calling is unto holiness; unto the active, persevering, progressive pursuit of positive holiness. Ah, friends! be sure that there is no security against sin regaining its ascendency over you in your merely aiming at keeping it out of your heart and mouth; as if the heart could be kept pure by being kept empty; and the mouth could “be kept clean by being kept shut and silent. Fill the heart with holy thoughts. Fill the mouth with holy songs and sayings. Let there not be merely the absence of corrupt musings from your heart, and vile utterances from your mouth. Let it not be counted enough that the Lord, when he searches your heart, should find no cherished thoughts of evil to be condemned, and when he listens to the voice of your lips, should hear no blasphemies, or ribaldries, or outbreaks of passion, to offend his ear. Let him find, when he comes, an acceptable meditation in your heart; acceptable words in your mouth. Is he not well entitled to this? Is he not your strength and your Redeemer; your strength, giving you ability for this very thing; your Redeemer who has bought and purchased you expressly with a view of redeeming you from the guilt and power of sin by the shedding of the precious blood of his Son; strengthening you with might by his Spirit in the inner man? He fits your mouth for speaking acceptably; your heart for meditating acceptably; and, as your strength and your Redeemer, he furnishes the very theme of meditation and speech which is most acceptable in his sight. Let mouth and heart, therefore, be ever busy. That is what you pray for. You ask the Lord, your strength and your Redeemer, to keep your heart and mouth ever busy. Let mouth and heart be occupied; pre-occupied; so pre-occupied and pre-engaged that “secret faults” may never at any time be able to win a word from you, or to win a thought from you. This alone is your security, For if once these “secret faults,” the movements of evil imagination and evil desire springing out of your corrupt nature, succeed in getting you to speak of them, or to think of them, be it but a single word, a solitary thought; they instantly take the character of presumptuous sins. They obtain an advantage over you. They sully your integrity and shake your steadfastness. Your safety lies in refusing them a word, a thought. And that you may be in a condition to refuse them when they knock, be engaged always with other visitors, better guests. “Lord, open thou my lips, and my mouth shall show forth thy praise.” I will sing of thy righteousness all the day. I will be ever speaking of thy testimonies. My meditation of thee also shall be sweet. Like Isaac, I will go out to meditate in the field. Like David, I will meditate in the night watches. Like Peter, I will muse and pray on the house-top. Let my mouth be filled with thy praise and with thy honour all the day. “Give ear to my words, Lord; consider my meditation.” “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, Lord, my Strength and my Redeemer.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 120: S. THE PRAYER OF A BROKEN HEART ======================================================================== THE PRAYER OF A BROKEN HEART I. - Confession of Sin “Have mercy upon me, God, according to thy loving-kindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me. Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest. Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me. Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts: and in the hidden part thou shalt make me to know wisdom.” - Psalms 51:1-6 THE psalm opens with an abrupt and impulsive appeal. It is the psalmist’s ordinary way; to begin with an outburst of feeling; and then go on to explain more leisurely the experience which led up to it. So is it here. His cry is for mercy; “God be merciful to me a sinner.” And it is a cry altogether self-abandoning and self-despairing. It is a simple casting of himself, sinner as he is, upon God. It is upon God, “according to his loving-kindness, according to the multitude of his tender mercies,” that he casts himself. The rich, and large, and bountiful grace of God is his only stay. He appeals to it in terms expressive of the most emphatic fulness of contrite conviction and believing confidence: - “Have mercy upon me, God, according to thy loving kindness; according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.” Two unequivocal signs of grace follow; a desire to be thoroughly washed and cleansed, - “Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin,” - and a willingness to appear before God, for that end, without concealment and without guile, - “I acknowledge my transgressions; and my sin is ever before me.” These are the two features in respect of which the “godly sorrow which worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of” differs from “the sorrow of the world which worketh death” (2 Corinthians 7:10); the desire to be thoroughly cleansed, and the owning of all sin. And they are the distinguishing features of this case; the case of one deeply, deplorably, fallen in sin; but yet hopeful. For deep and deplorable as his fall has been, his faith does not fail. It is a case like that of Peter. “I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not,” - is the Master’s word to his self-confident disciple, on the eve of the sad denial. If that prayer had not been heard and answered, Peter might have been like Judas, a despairing suicide. For, when a man’s sin really finds him out, it may sink him into insane terror, or lash him into impotent fury, - but never of itself, without a sense of pardoning mercy; and pardoning mercy in the line of righteousness; will it move him to salutary tears. It was a strange and blessed coincidence in Peter’s case; - “Immediately, while he yet spake, the cock crew, and the Lord turned and looked upon Peter” (Luke 22:60-61). Blessed, thrice blessed, this concurrence of providence and of grace! The reminding and accusing sound in providence; and the melting glance of the divine eye in grace; meet together. Well, indeed, that it is so in the instance of Peter’s fall and recovery; and in the instance of David’s; and in that of every poor penitent sinner. Some may be at a loss to understand why this should be so very necessary. It will be those only whose sin has not yet found them out. Thou wilt be of another mind; thou to whom the prophet’s fiery word has come home; “Thou art the man!” The shock of that stunning and awakening deathblow thou couldst not stand, were it not for thy simple confession, “I have sinned against the Lord,” being met with the instant assurance, “The Lord also hath put away thy sin; thou shalt not die” (2 Samuel 12:13). On the faith of that assurance, David may be held to pour out his earnest cry in the opening verses of this psalm, - “Have mercy upon me, God, according to thy lovingkindness; according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions, “Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.” There is no enlargement here; no detail. It is a bare cry generally for mercy; the grasping, as it were, of the helping hand; the simple acceptance of a pardoning voice. It is a casting of himself, just as he is, with no analysis of his case, “on the loving-kindness of God.” But it is a thorough and unreserved casting of himself upon that. For he desires to be “thoroughly washed and cleansed.” It is not any slight or superficial healing of the hurt of his soul that he seeks; but a probing of it to the bottom, with a view to a radical cure. And this desire distinguishes his frame of mind from that of one feeling merely “the sorrow of this world which worketh death,” and turns it into the “godly sorrow which worketh repentance unto salvation not to be repented of.” It is this desire that prompts the deep spiritual exercise of soul that follows; which may be traced, I think, under three heads. There is first an indication of the penitent’s frame of mind generally as a state of guilelessness and openness before God, “I acknowledge my transgressions; and my sin is ever before me.” There is, secondly, a setting forth of the views in which the genuine penitent regards sin, “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight; that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest and be clear when thou judgest.” There is, thirdly, the tracing up of the deadly disease to its source; the tracking back and deep of the guilt and sinfulness to its radical origin, “Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me.” The central head is of course the one that bulks prominently; the first preparing the way for the experience described in it; and the second, pointing to its deepest issue, in its being ultimately run up into its original cause; the fall of man and the ruin of his nature which that entailed. I. “I acknowledge my transgressions; and my sin is ever before me.” In this exercise, there is, at the outset, an entire abandonment of guile. All reserve is laid aside. All now is laid open and bare. There is no more any concealment of my transgressions; any palliating or cloaking of them; but a full acknowledgment. I seek no hiding-place for them, or for me. I own them all. And the sin of all of them, my sin, is ever before me. It is before me, as it is before thee. And I would have it to be so. The sin of my transgressions, the deep root of sin which underlies them all, my sin, I would have to be to me what it is to thee; before me, as before thee, thou searcher of hearts, my Lord and my God! There is a great transition here from the natural mind in me. It is like passing from a dark den into broad and bright daylight. The light at first startles and appals me! It opens up the sordid squalor of my prison cell. But it is a glad relief in the end. I leave the dark den, where I have been trying to lull conscience asleep, and dose myself into a fond security. I come out, erect and open, into the open presence of my God. I stand unsheltered under his pure and holy eye. I consent, I desire, so to stand in his searching sight; though it blights all my righteousness as filthy rags; and makes my sin exceeding sinful. It is a great step in the line of true repentance, when, under the pressure of real and genuine godly sorrow, having respect to God more than even to myself, I am enabled and moved to say, “I acknowledge my transgressions; and my sin is ever before me.” II. “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight; that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest.” In this “godly sorrow, working repentance unto salvation not to be repented of,” there is throughout an eye toward God. For it is only in that way that it can be godly. And the reference to God is threefold - (I.) He is the offended party; “against thee, thee only, have I sinned.” It is to thee that I have given offence. (II.) He is the measurer of the offence; he alone sees and estimates its real import and amount; “I have done this evil in thy sight.” Thou alone takest notice of it in all its heinousness. Thou seest it as it really is. It is in thy view of it that I now would see the evil I have done. (III.) He is the judge; he alone. To him I own my guilt. From him I accept my sentence; “That thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest.” These three views are closely connected. The first recognises the sovereignty of God. The second adores his holiness. The third acquiesces in his righteous judgment. (I.) God is the Lord, sovereign and supreme. The awakened soul, accordingly, in its deep spiritual exercise, recognises him as such. “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned.” All others whom my sin has affected are lost in the one overwhelming sense of its being committed against thee. I have no eye but for thee; no thought but of thee. I have offended thee. In that aspect of it, my sin is ever before me. When the light from heaven shines about me, and I am smitten to the ground, the voice I hear in my startled conscience is, “Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?” Did that voice indicate anything like indifference to Saul’s persecution of the saints? Nay! The Lord made it persecution of himself! It is I whom thou persecutest! I alone! It is with me, with me alone, that thou hast to deal. Against me only hast thou sinned! It is not a question between thee and the victims of thy cruel bigotry. If it were, it might admit of explanation and excuse. History has accommodated in that way the case of many a persecution. And as between man and man, there may be no serious objection to so charitable a construction of actions and of motives. But why persecutest thou me? - is the Lord’s pointed appeal; carrying all actions and motives, about any such transaction, into the highest court of divine sovereignty. And the stricken soul replies: I have been persecuting thee. “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned.” In fact, it is only thus that the sinfulness of my sin, as against my fellows, can be truly realised. If I look upon it merely as a wrong done to my neighbour, I am but too ready to apologise for it. I can explain it away, or offer some sort of restitution and satisfaction. I can palliate my conduct, or I can make amends for it. But my sin is against thee! “Why persecutest thou me?” Thou takest up into thyself all the wrong and cruelty; all the insult and offence of my sin. It has hurt, and perhaps ruined, some weak and loving soul. It has treacherously done to death some trusty and trusting friend. It has brought on all but fatal blight upon my conscience and my heart; sealing me up for months in a silent and dogged refusal to confess and be forgiven. But thou sinkest all these considerations in the one awful question - “Why persecutest thou me?” Against me, me only, thou hast sinned. The reply to this, accordingly - “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned,” indicates no indifference to the injury inflicted on my fellows whom my sin has affected. The Lord’s question, - Why persecutest thou me? - indicates no such indifference or insensibility on his part. It indicates the very opposite. It comes home to Saul, “breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the Lord’s disciples.” Their cause is mine. They and I are one. It is I, I only, whom thou persecutest. It is as a sin against me, me only, that thou hast to acknowledge thy “breathing out of threatenings and slaughter” against my disciples. So, accordingly, the smitten persecutor owns his fault. “Against thee, thee only, have I sinned,” - is his virtual reply. Not the less, however, on that account, but all the more, he feels the wrong his sin has done to its victims. To the close of his ministry he is always humbled, and often depressed, by the consideration of this reminiscence, - “I persecuted the church of God.” (II.) The God against whom I have sinned is the Holy One - the only Holy One. And it is in his sight that I now see this evil has been done. “I have done evil in thy sight.” I have done what is evil in thine eyes. The thought of the ungodly man, the thought of the natural mind, is the opposite of this conviction of the awful and inviolable holiness of God, and the exceeding sinfulness of sin in his sight, and as viewed by him. The temptation to say, or to imagine, that “the Lord seeth not, that the Lord regardeth not,” is very strong and subtle. The evil done is scarcely at all deliberately noticed or resented among men. Its consequences are extenuated; its causes apologised for, or explained away. Will not the Lord also look on it with an indulgent eye, and put the best construction on it that is possible? The third commandment teaches a different doctrine; - “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord,” - whatever men may say or think, - “the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.” And so also does that very solemn warning of the apostle, - “Marriage is honourable in all, and the bed undefiled; but whoremongers and adulterers,” however society may treat them, “God will judge” (Hebrews 13:4). For it is not what my sin is in the sight of man that I have to consider; but what it is in thy sight, thou Holy One! - who art of purer eyes than to behold iniquity. My sin is ever before me, all my sin, as “evil done in thy sight.” It is set before me, as thou hast set it before thee; “my secret sin set in the light of thy countenance.” “Well may my poor heart be overwhelmed! Ah! when I abide the deep and searching scrutiny of that watchful and holy eye of the Lord my God; that eye which never slumbers, and which cannot look on sin; that eye ever open and ever pure; how does my guilty soul, - my unclean and unloving and unlovely spirit, - sink within me! I read indeed a message of mercy in that eye, - of love, - of love unspeakable, - to sinners, - to me, of all sinners the chief. It is not, however, as others think, and I once thought myself, - it is not that the eye is become blind to my sin. No. It is ever open still, and still also ever pure. The very love that beams from it, shining on me through the medium of the cross, in which the Spirit shows me how -”Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty,” - enhances the piercing energy of that calm, clear look, which, speaking nought but peace, sends a dagger to my bosom. My Father runs and falls upon my neck, and kisses me. There is not one upbraiding word; not one angry glance. But the very graciousness of my reception unmans and overawes me. I cannot stand that eye, - so benignant, so venerable, so holy. Father, I have sinned before thee. “I have done evil in thy sight.” (III.) He against whom I have sinned, and in whose sight I have done evil, - the sovereign Lord, the Holy One, - is the righteous Judge; and his righteousness is to be acknowledged; - “that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest.” This is a most material element in all true repentance, in all really godly sorrow for sin. The smitten soul, the contrite spirit, must be brought to own, not only the reality, but the righteousness, of the condemnation of his sin. It is here, and at this point, very specially, that the gracious work of the Spirit, convincing me of sin, comes out in most marked contrast to the working of the flesh. For nothing can be more opposed to the natural feeling of that carnal mind which is enmity against God and insubordination to his law, than such an acknowledgment. “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” - is the devout ejaculation of Abraham. Alas! how few are willing and able, in their own case, honestly to echo his words! Who among you, if you were to be at this moment called to your last account, found guilty, and condemned to everlasting punishment, would be prepared to allow your doom to be simply just? Nay, to put the question in a far milder form, if you were subjected to the same chastisement which David suffered on account of his sin, - the loss of a darling child, - would you not be tempted secretly to murmur, as if you were harshly, and even unfairly, treated? “Why,” asks the prophet, “should a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins?” And yet every man is ready to complain, and has much to say against his guilt being visited with any serious penalty at all. It might almost seem, indeed, as if men had thoroughly satisfied themselves that it would be unreasonable and unrighteous on the part of God to judge them; so securely do they reckon on indulgence and impunity, and so indignantly do they rebel or protest against the slightest infliction of severity, or the faintest threatening of wrath. What wonder if, in such a mood of mind, the rich and free grace of God, - his sovereign mercy, proclaimed in the gospel, - is not adequately appreciated, or duly valued and welcomed? For in truth, on this footing, there is really no room for anything like free grace or sovereign mercy at all; since it is clear that if there would not be perfect justice in my being condemned, there is no grace or mercy, - there can be none, - in my being forgiven. If a boon in any sense at all, it is a boon which I am entitled to expect without anxiety, and will be disposed to accept without gratitude, as a mere matter of course; - not as a gratuitous favour, but almost as the redress of a wrong. When my sin finds me out, all this confidence or conceit is gone. For it is a vain dream in which men trust when they affect to question or defy the righteous judgment of the Most High. Their own consciences, even partially awakened, more than half attest its hollow vanity. Nor will their unbelief make void the unchanging truth, and justice, and faithfulness, of God. Nay rather, as the apostle quotes this text (Romans 3:4), - “Let God be true, and every man a liar; as it is written. That thou mightest be justified in thy sayings, and mightest overcome when thou art judged.” Even when men presume to try the sayings of that God who reproves them, and to sit in judgment on his right to accuse them and his procedure in condemning them, - they are compelled to justify him and blame themselves. They feel that he overcomes, and that they cannot contend against him. They may try to make out on their own behalf a case of supposed grievance. They may urge pleas to show that they ought to be excused, and that it would be extreme rigour to visit them with any severe doom. But they fail thoroughly to satisfy themselves. They have a secret consciousness that they are resting on slippery ground. They have misgivings already, which, ere long, may become terrible alarms. The eternal truth stands as a rock of adamant against all their sophistries. It haunts them on earth, as it will hold them fast in hell. Their sin has been wilful, and God is not unrighteous in taking vengeance. Oh! that this conviction may be mine now; mine in my inmost soul; that I may accept the punishment of my sin as just; that I may plead guilty, and receive sentence accordingly! Then may I hope to behold the glory of the free grace and sovereign mercy of my God, emerging and shining forth out of the deep, dark cloud of righteous retribution. For what do I see, as I stand now defenceless, awaiting the stroke of the inevitable bolt of wrath? What do I hear? See! I see one fairer than the sons of men, the Son of God himself, baring his bosom as he presents himself to the righteous Father, answering in the judgment for me! Hear! I hear that awful voice, - “Awake, sword, against my shepherd, against the man that is my fellow, saith the Lord!” So righteous is the stroke impending over me, - so inexorably just the judicial retribution which I have deserved, - that even in richest and freest mercy, it cannot be averted, or turned away. It must descend and take effect. It must come down. But upon whom? Not now upon me; but upon Jesus, my surety; upon him, crucified for me; upon me, crucified in him. Surely now, I may see and feel condemnation to be righteous. “Thou art justified when thou speakest, and clear when thou judgest.” Thus, in this penitential exercise of soul, the Psalmist, giving expression to his godly sorrow for sin, makes a full and frank acknowledgment of it; as no longer hidden in unconsciousness or guile, but ever before him; and as ever before him in the threefold view of its being (I.) against God; (II.) in his sight; and (III.) deserving his righteous judgment. III. One other element in this godly sorrow, thus working repentance not to be repented of, remains to be noticed. “Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me.” The penitent, in his godly sorrow, thus goes to the very root of his sad case. He does so, under the sense of what follows: - “Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts; and in the hidden part thou hast made me to know wisdom.” His experience here is in the line of the experience of Paul (Romans 7:1-25) - “We know that the law is spiritual.” “I delight in the law of God after the inward man.” So is it here. “In the hidden part hast thou made me to know wisdom.” And in both instances the same result follows; a painful sense of the original and inveterate corruption of the flesh; the innate or inborn depravity of man’s very nature, and of the whole of it. “I was born in iniquity, and conceived in sin,” says the Psalmist. And the apostle bewails his state - “The law is spiritual; but I am carnal.” Thus, it is in connection with a realising sense of the spirituality of God’s law, that the Psalmist and the apostle are brought to apprehend the fact of that original sin; that inheritance by birth and by nature of guilt and corruption, of condemnation and unholiness, - which alone can explain all the experience of a sinful heart, and a sinful life, - and which needs ultimately to be met and grappled with, if the heart is to be renewed, and the life is to be reformed. For the knowledge or sense of original sin; birth-guilt and birth-depravity; can only be reached in this way, through a dealing of the Spirit with us, as to the evil of sin in the life and in the heart. In a doctrinal or systematic point of view, the consideration of original sin and natural corruption may properly come up otherwise. But experimentally, and as regards the actual spiritual history of a saved soul, the order is that of the Psalmist and the apostle. I cannot begin my confession with an acknowledgment of birth-guilt and birth-depravity. That is not first in my feeling and my conviction. It is, first, sin as an overt act that startles and staggers me. Then, secondly, I feel it to be sin in the heart; and I am led to own it as committed against God’s supreme law; to loathe it as offensive in his holy sight; to sink under the sentence of its righteous condemnation. I have now to deal with it, in order to overcome and get rid of it. Alas! I find that to be a harder task than I anticipated. So far from giving way to an effort of the will, or even to the most sincere and strenuous strivings of holy resolution; - which it surely would do, if it were merely a casual error to be corrected, or an acquired habit to be overcome; - the sin which now so painfully vexes me rather gains strength by the inward struggle, and all the more prevails against me. My indwelling corruption, my lust, my spirit of rebelliousness against God, is provoked rather than subdued by the restraint I honestly attempt to put upon it. In spite of repeated purposes of obedience, my heart, my carnal mind, is still proving itself more and more to be enmity against God. It is not subject to his law, neither indeed can be. I make the sad discovery experimentally that I was born in iniquity, and conceived in sin. I am shut up to the apostle’s all but despairing cry - “Oh, wretched man that I am; who shall deliver me from the body of this death.” This is the last drop in the cup of godly sorrow. And, blessed be God, under the working of the Spirit, it makes it run over into the vast, wide, boundless ocean of rich mercy and redeeming love. “I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” The last link of the chain of self-righteousness is severed, and the prisoner of hope is set for ever free. “There is now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus;” who therefore now walk at liberty, “not after the flesh, but after the Spirit.” If the case were less desperate than I now feel it to be; if my sin were an affair of the life merely, consisting of evil thoughts, evil words, evil deeds; I might still hold on, cleaving to the hope of effecting at last, with some help from above, my own deliverance; cleansing and saving myself. I might still be ever trying some new experiment in the line of self-purification, hoping for some measure of success in the end. Waiting always until I became a better man, worthier, or at all events less unworthy, I might continue to put away from me the gospel call and gift of sovereign grace, and indefinitely postpone compliance with its free invitation. But the experimental discovery which the Spirit makes to me of the impotency of my will to grapple with inborn desire, - of the inveterate corruption of ray fallen nature, - puts an end to all idea of the hurt of my soul being slightly healed, - or indeed healed at all, - by any process of self-justification or self-reform. I am shut up in the Spirit to the only complete and effectual cure. I am fairly driven out of myself to Christ. By him alone, I am at once and thoroughly purged from guilt. In him alone, I am created anew. The old man is hopelessly depraved and dead. I put it off altogether. I die. “I am crucified with Christ.” And with him now I live, accepted, quickened, renewed; raised in and with him to newness of life; “sin no more having dominion over me; for I am not under the law but under grace.” I close for the present with one practical observation relative to that exercise of godly sorrow which I have been considering. It must be very manifest that it is not merely a sudden impulse, an abrupt and sharp pang of remorse, coming upon our souls all at once, or, as it were, by fits and starts. It is a prolonged, deliberate, calm consideration of the whole state of the case as between God and us; the entire question of the disposition of our hearts towards God. No doubt there may be, there must be, more or less, in every instance of spiritual awakening, a keen sense of guilt and danger, prompting prayer, at first perhaps almost inarticulate and incoherent, like the cry of the drowning mariner at sea. There was all that in the experience of David. His guilt, his danger, did indeed flash upon him, in one moment, as a bolt of fire from heaven. Under the prophet’s sharp appeal, his conscience, his whole soul, was startled into instantaneous alarm. And his brief confession, “I have sinned against the Lord,” instantaneously brought relief in the assurance, “The Lord hath put away thy sin.” But that did not end the matter. “My sin is ever before me.” Notwithstanding the Lord’s putting it away - nay, rather, all the more on that very account, my sin is ever before me; in what sense and to what effect, he has himself been telling us. On the day of Pentecost, the Spirit wrought abruptly and mightily. At a single stroke the people were smitten down. Their sin in crucifying the Lord of glory smote them instantaneously. And instantaneously also they were moved by the Spirit to look believingly on him whom they had pierced, and find peace. But did that end the matter with them? Not if they were like-minded with Paul, who, long after he had obtained mercy, continued to be exercised deeply in his soul about his sin which was ever before him. So let it be with you, poor sinner! I call upon you, whatever and whoever you are, to see your sin now, to embrace your Saviour now. You have sin enough upon your conscience now. Confess now. Believe now. But I call upon you, believing now, not lightly or hastily to dismiss the matter from your thoughts. Ponder your sin. Consider it in all its bearings. Be seeking ever, as it is ever before you, to get deeper, more searching, more humbling views of its exceeding sinfulness. For it is thus, and only thus, that by God’s grace, under the teaching of his Holy Spirit, you will be getting more and more of an insight into God’s marvellous grace and love, and proving more and more thoroughly the blessedness of a full, as well as a free, forgiveness; of complete reconciliation; of perfect peace. II. - Supplication for Full Cleansing “Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice. Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy Holy Spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit.” - Psalms 51:7-12 THIS Psalm opens with an abrupt and ejaculatory cry for mercy; founded upon a general recognition and acknowledgment of the Lord’s loving-kindness, and the multitude of his tender mercies - “Have mercy upon me, God, according to thy loving-kindness; according to the multitude of thy tender mercies, blot out my transgressions; wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin” (Psalms 51:1-2). There is in the prayer, brief as it is, a thoroughly evangelical element. It breathes a spiritual frame of mind. It asks a thorough, blotting out of all transgressions, and a thorough washing and cleansing from all iniquity and all sin. That is not the characteristic of the sorrow of the world, which rather seeks compromise and courts accommodation; being willing to make acknowledgments, with some real tears perhaps of regret for the past; but under some secret reserve for the future. It is godly sorrow that prompts this cry. Accordingly, it is followed up with a more detailed and deliberate setting forth of the penitent’s case - “For I acknowledge my transgressions; and my sin is ever before me. Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight; that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest. Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me. Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts: and in the hidden part thou shalt make me to know wisdom” (Psalms 51:3-6). At the outset there is an entire abandonment of all reserve and all self-deception. There is no longer any guile in his spirit, any desire to cloak or conceal, or palliate his offence; no more of that sullen and hard “keeping silence” which had been first deadening, and then irritating to very madness, the sensibilities of the soul with reference to God. All is now open between God and the poor smitten sinner. The very worst is laid bare, frankly and freely. Then sin, all sin, is deliberately looked at in all the points of view in which it may be supposed to be regarded by God. Thus, first, it is provocation given to him, the sovereign ruler and Lord. He is the party entitled to take offence, and to resent all injury done to any of his creatures as injury done to him. Again, sin is now seen as God sees it. It is viewed as evil in his sight. The evil of it is estimated not by any human judgment but solely by the judgment of God. And finally, the condemnation of sin, its being judicially and penally visited, is recognised, as both inevitable and just. The reality and the righteousness of judgment are acknowledged. There is no more rebellion against the sentence of wrath. There is a plea of guilty put in; and no apology or defence. After these three views of sin, under the broad light of a guileless and frank confession, there remains the sad discovery I have to make, in my desperate struggle to become what God requires me to be, and what I would fain be; that the evil in me which I have to grapple with has its root far back and very deep; not in my will merely, nor even in my heart’s desire; but in my very nature. That is radically corrupt and wrong. There must be a new birth; a new creation, - “Behold I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me.” The particular pleading with God, - in detail, as it were, - in the verses on the consideration of which I now enter, fitly follows the penitent’s profound and searching investigation of his own sin. There is an obvious difference between the prayer that precedes, and this which follows, that confession. The prayer which goes before is, as I have said, quite vague and general. The prayer which comes after is special, pointed, and precise. “When my sin finds me out; when the cock crows; when I hear the voice, “Thou art the man;” the shock of the sudden discovery to me of my guilt, under the eye of Jesus, “turning and looking on me,” moves me to tears and prayer. It is prayer; perhaps for the first time truly prayer. It is the abrupt cry, - “Lord, save me; I perish.” Blessed be God, even that is enough. But there comes a closer dealing with my soul; which I welcome and improve. And I turn from that soul-exercise again to God. I plead with him more in detail about my case. And my detailed pleading, in renewed prayer, corresponds to the detailed penetential exercise out of which it arises and proceeds. The correspondence comes out chiefly in connection with the views of sin indicated in the fourth verse. I, I have to deal with God as the one only sovereign Lord; against whom, against whom only, I have sinned. Hence the prayer, - “Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean. Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Make me to hear joy and gladness, that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice” (Psalms 51:7-8). II. I have to deal with God as the Holy One; of purer eyes than to behold iniquity. It is in his sight that I have done this evil; in the sight of him to whom it is so loathsome. Hence the prayer: - “Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, God; and renew a right spirit within me” (Psalms 51:9-10). III. I have to deal with God as the Righteous Judge, who must needs execute righteous judgment; whom I own to be justified in speaking to me and clear in condemning me. Therefore I appeal to him, - “Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy Holy Spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit” (Psalms 51:11-12). I. (Psalms 51:7-8) The sovereignty of God is here acknowledged - first, as the only dispenser of grace; and secondly, as dispensing it in his own way. First, “Purge thou me; wash thou me.” To God alone does the smitten soul apply; to God, against whom only he has sinned. He alone is the offended party. To him alone I have to answer. He alone can forgive. To him alone, accordingly, I have recourse; to him directly; to him alone. “Purge thou me; wash thou me.” I do not go to any priest. If I had sinned merely against the priest, or against such ordinances as the priest has to guard; then the priest might, on due submission, absolve and bless me. I do not go to any of my fellows whom my sin may have touched. They may receive or reject an apology or a compensation. How they may regard and treat me is now comparatively a secondary and subordinate consideration; serious, indeed, in one view, for I would fain have their forgiveness; but not the vital consideration. It is against God, God only, that I have sinned. And how God may deal with me is the real question. Nor can I go to my own heart. There once I might have reckoned upon a verdict of acquittal, or at least of apology. Now, however, nothing short of the sentence of God can relieve or content me. But now, if God, - the very God against whom, against whom only, I have sinned, does, in the exercise of his undoubted and irresistible sovereignty, purge me, and wash me, and make my broken bones to hear joy and gladness, - who may gainsay or call in question the gracious act? The priest may refuse to absolve me. But if God purge me, I am clean. My fellow-sinners may not acquit or pardon me. But if God wash me, I am whiter than the snow. My own heart may testify only evil of me, and write bitter things against me. But even from that verdict I appeal. If God make me to hear joy and gladness, my broken bones may yet rejoice. There is much comfort in this thought of the sovereignty of God. But there is terror also. For, let me remind the careless one, it is with God alone that you have to do. Against him, him only, you have sinned; and with him, him only, you have to reckon. You may satisfy the priest. You may conciliate your brother. You may pacify your own conscience. What will it avail you if your sin as against God still stands out? Consent, however, to let God justify you. Then you may utter the bold challenge, “Who is he that can condemn?” But, secondly, in order to this, there must be submission to God, not merely as the only dispenser of purging, washing, gladdening grace; but as dispensing it in his own way; “with hyssop,” and through “the breaking of the bones.” That is not the way nature likes. Naturally I would prefer another way. I do not see the need of the hyssop. I stand out against the breaking of my bones. Hyssop! That herb was used in connection with the typical sacrifices of the ceremonial ritual. It was the means or instrument of the sprinkling of atoning blood and purifying water on those who, being ceremonially unclean, needed to be purged. But it is not the priest’s act of outward purging with hyssop dipped in the blood of bulls and of goats that will now avail the sin-stricken soul. It must be the sprinkling, by a better priest, of better blood, with better hyssop. And the broken bones! That now also comes in as an element in my new spiritual experience; my new sense of sin. “I am crucified with Christ.” My bones are broken as his body was broken; not by rude, Roman soldiers; but by what alone gave the blow its force and fierceness in his case; and in my case also, as one with him - sin, in all its guilt and terrible doom. Only by this process of purging with hyssop, and through this experience of the breaking of your bones, can I have cleansing and healing; a full washing, and a perfect joy. But in that way of submission to his righteousness; his judgment and his grace; I have a sure standing in the sight of my God. II. (Psalms 51:9-10) God is holy as well as sovereign; and in the light of his awful holiness, I have to consider my sin. First, I would have its offensiveness covered from the sight of the Holy One; “Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities.” And, secondly, I would have more than that. I would have such a change wrought upon me and in me as may make me, not an object of offence, but an object of complacency, to the Holy One; “Create in me a clean heart, God, and renew a right spirit within me.” First, How exceeding sinful is my sin in his sight! how loathsome! how abominable! Can it be hidden? Can it be blotted out? It is a bold request. And yet nothing short of that can reassure my soul in the presence, and under the eye of the Holy One! It was not always so with me. Once I could dream of the recording angel dropping a tear on my wayward or unwary word, and blotting it out for ever. Now, “my sin is ever before me.” And it is ever before me as a sin against thee only; “In thy sight have I done this ill.” And yet I cannot say to thee, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, Lord!” I cannot call to the mountains and rocks to fall on me and hide me from thy face! Nor can I clothe myself with any righteousness of my own, any barren fig-leaves in the forfeited garden, to cover my nakedness. But I flee to thee, Lord, to cover me; to cover me from the searching glance and scrutiny of thine own pure eye. That eye is upon me; piercing me; burning me; that ever open and ever pure eye of thine. Take it away. Lord! Hide thy face from my sins! It is a bold petition. Have I warrant to present it? May I ask the all-seeing God to become blind to my sins? Yes! For he has himself made provision for that very thing. He asks me to appear before him as consenting to be one with his own beloved Son. He invites me to present myself as one with his own beloved Son, He sends forth the Spirit of his Son in my heart to secure that I shall appear before him, and present myself before him, as one with his own beloved Son. On that footing, and in virtue of that oneness with his own beloved Son, - a oneness of his own creation, by the Spirit of his Son, - I may ask the Father to hide his face from my sins. For it is asking him to hide his face from them as imputed to him with whom I am one; and as answered for by him in my stead. Look not on my guilt but on his righteousness! In his blood “blot out all my iniquities!” Secondly, The prayer for implanted righteousness comes in here, following upon the prayer for an interest in the benefit of righteousness imputed. And it comes in thus, rightly, seasonably, safely. For, much as the soul whom the Spirit is convincing of sin, may value and welcome the assurance that, without the need of his fulfilling any previous condition, or having any previous grace of repentance or renewal consciously wrought in him, he may at once, just as he is, freely appropriate the righteousness of Christ, and on the ground of it, offer the believing prayer, “Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities,” - still, if he is in earnest, he cannot be content with that. That may indeed suffice, so far as the question of his right standing with God is concerned. It does most fully suffice, and it alone can suffice, for his being no more condemned, but justified. And without such a rectifying of his position, any renewal of his nature is impossible. But a really earnest soul will prize the first of these benefits chiefly as a step to the second. For he longs, not merely to be on a right footing with God, as the Holy One and the Just; not merely to have his sins hidden and his iniquities blotted out, through the imputation of atoning blood and justifying righteousness; but to be walking with God thenceforth, as of one mind, and heart, and character, with him. In that view, I ask the Lord, not merely to shut his eye to what in his sight is evil in me, but to work in me what in his sight may be good. It is doubtless a great matter for me that the evil I have done, the evil that is in me, should be hidden from the face of my God; that he should regard that in me which must awaken his wrath and his abhorrence, as covered and cancelled. But still I long for there being something good in me; something on which he may look with complacency as being congenial to his own holiness; some cleanness of heart; some Tightness of spirit, towards him. I long for a clean heart; a heart free from malice and guile; a heart no longer selfish; but bent simply and sincerely on loving and serving God. I long for a right spirit; a “constant” spirit; a spirit steadfast, patient, persevering, in the walk of faith. III. God is not only the sovereign Lord and the Holy One; but the Righteous Judge, “justified in speaking, clear in condemning.” Hence the prayer, deprecating deserved judgment, on the one hand; asking unmerited but needed favours, on the other hand. First, The judgment deprecated is twofold; “Cast me not away from thy presence, and take not thy Holy Spirit from me” (Psalms 51:11). There is an acknowledgment here, both of my liability to such sad visitations, and of the perfect justice of my being so visited. 1. Justly mightest thou cast me away from thy presence; and that for ever. I have forfeited all title to thy favour. I have provoked and incurred thy righteous displeasure. I could almost find it in my heart to say. Leave me to perish as I deserve. Has it come to this, that I who have preached to others should be myself a castaway? Be it so. I dare not complain, I will not impugn the sentence. Let me be cast away from thy presence. It is my merited, let it be my inevitable, doom. But no. I can scarcely acquiesce in that. Once, indeed, I might have cared little about that aspect of the punishment of my sin. Nay, for that matter, it was only yesterday that I would rather have thy absence, if that were possible, than thy presence. I would fain have been, - virtually I was, - outside of thy presence. I sought a hiding-place from thee. I longed to be, and thought I was, out of thy sight. But, all thanks to thee and thy grace, I cannot acquiesce in that banishment now. Thou hast broken my bones. Thou hast made me feel that nothing short of a new creation can meet my case. Thou hast convinced me that thy favour alone is life. In thy presence alone is fulness of joy. Cast me not away from thy presence! Thou justly mightest; but mercifully thou wilt not. For, secondly, thou puttest it into my heart to pray “Take not thy Holy Spirit from me.” That consummation would make my case hopeless indeed. Were I to be so far left to myself in my sin against thee as to become insensible to the hazard of being cast away from thy presence; and, blinded by passion, or absorbed in pleasure, or, hurried on by lust of gain, were I to stifle conscientious convictions; and obstinately keep silence from confession to thee; and thus harden my heart in opposition to gracious movements and gracious relentings; what can be the issue but the taking of thy Holy Spirit from me? “My Spirit will not always strive.” “Ephraim is joined to idols; let him alone.” That is the last and worst disaster, in the line of God’s dealing with me, that I can have to deprecate on this side of the grave. Is it a disaster even now impending over me? Is the spirit even now all but ready to depart? Is he hovering on the wing? Resisted, grieved, vexed, quenched, is he even now waiting for a moment? reluctant, hesitating, halting, ere he take his final leave? Let me fall down and own that that would be but just. And let me be very thankful that I may yet plead for his remaining; not as of right, but as of grace. my God, take him not from me! Is he not willing to abide? True! Thou who art the righteous judge hast said that thy spirit shall not always strive with men. Lord, I believe this; help thou mine unbelief. But now, through thy grace, I would give up all resistance to his gracious movements. Seeing him even now raising his wings to fly away, I yet venture to cry; as against the last, the fatal, step in the line of apostasy; - “Take not thy Holy Spirit from me.” Secondly, From deprecating the worst woe, to realising the highest blessedness, may seem to be an abrupt and strange transition; and yet the explanation is not far to seek. For the negative prayer, “Cast me not away from thy presence, and take not thy Holy Spirit from me,” can be answered only in the line of the positive prayer; and in fact can only be offered in the line of the positive prayer; “Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation, and uphold me with thy free spirit.” It is a bold prayer. For a sinner so sorely stricken, a backslider with bones so sadly broken, - it is indeed a very lofty request to make. Not salvation only, but its joy, to be restored. Not the Spirit of God to remain simply; but to remain as a free spirit to uphold. “Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation.” It is, I repeat, a bold prayer, a very lofty request from one who has been, and is, at the very moment, deprecating, as instantly impending over him, the worst inflictions of eternal doom. For the contrast and coincidence here must be noted as very strict and close. When I pray for the restoration to me of the joy of God’s salvation, it is in the very same breath in which I deprecate his casting me away from his presence, and taking his Holy Spirit from me. Simultaneously with my doing that; in the very act or exercise of my doing it; realising the very utmost that wrath can inflict, I ask the very utmost that grace can give. Would it not be enough to put in a plea for arrest of judgment? Might I not be contented with a hesitating petition that the sentence should not at once be summarily and finally executed? - Let me not be cast away from the presence of the judge. Let not all remedial measures be given up as hopeless. May there not still be room and time for some such milder treatment of my case as may yet obviate the need of a fatal termination? - No! It is a case in which there can be no such temporising; it admits of no compromise; no transition state or process. From condemnation to salvation; from the terror of the one to the joy of the other; there is but one step. Hence the concurrence, in one and the same experience, of two opposite elements; a deep and awful sense on the one hand, of the lowest misery of hell; my being cast away from God’s presence, with his Holy Spirit taken from me; and on the other hand, some realising of the highest blessedness of heaven; the restored joy of God’s salvation. The two are apprehended together; and in proportion to one another. The one corresponds to the other. The deeper I go into my guilt and condemnation, as justly exposing me to the doom of being cast away and having God’s Holy Spirit taken from me, the higher I rise into the conception of the joy of his salvation, which I must have restored to me. And thus more and more the two elements of this experience blend and become one. I cannot be anything else than a castaway, and spirit-forsaken, unless I have restored to me the joy of God’s salvation. And I repeat, the deeper I go into the gulf of the conviction that God might cast me away from his presence and take his Holy Spirit from me; the higher I seek to rise, to a sense, not of salvation merely, but of its joy. For it is in thy salvation, Lord, that I would rejoice; not in salvation anyhow and by anyone accomplished; but in salvation that is thine, and thine only. To thee be all the glory! To me the joy! “Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation.” “And uphold me with thy free spirit.” It is not so clear and certain here, as it is in the preceding verse, that it is the divine spirit personally that is indicated. But it is at any rate his influence, with its result, that is here recognised. It is a subjective frame of mind, wholly spiritual, that is meant. Uphold me with spiritual freedom. Let me have, to uphold me, a free spirit. That must imply thine own Holy Spirit, Lord, working, or himself becoming, a free spirit in me. “Free.” This adjective, as used here, may be very widely and variously interpreted and applied. “A governing or commanding spirit;” “a spirit wielding power;” “a spirit having principality;” “a brisk or alert spirit, a spirit of alacrity;” “a spirit of magnanimity, or greatness of mind;” “a plentiful effusion of the spirit;” i.e. the spirit plenteously effused; “a glorious spirit; a royal spirit; a frank spirit.” These are some of the approved renderings of this significant epithet “free.” Perhaps what I have given last is not the worst; “frank.” For it may be fairly held to cover and comprehend all the rest. A frank spirit is commanding, powerful, princely. It is lively also, and quick. It has in it the essential element of magnanimity. And it flows out in exuberant truthfulness. It breathes a boundless atmosphere, and has a royal port. It may be identified with the charity or love which Paul commends as so manifold and many-sided, yet so completely one (1 Corinthians 13:1-13) “With that free Spirit I would be upheld. It is indeed only thus that I can be upheld. In the depths of my self-conviction and self-condemnation; all but a castaway; - from whom God’s Holy Spirit is on the very point of being taken away; - I find no security but in restored joy and freedom of spirit. The joy of the Lord alone is my freedom and my strength. There is no need of any intermediate step; as if I must, through penitence, confession, and absolution, under an ordeal of priestly inquisition, reach some doubtful platform, on Which the experiment of fall and recovery may be tried over and over again. From the deepest dread of hell I grasp the highest blessedness of heaven. Deprecating, almost in despair, the doom of one cast away from God’s presence and forsaken by his Holy Spirit, I can pray for nothing short of joy and freedom; the joy which God’s salvation implies and imparts; freedom of spirit, the freedom which his own Spirit inspires into mine. It is the joy of thy salvation that I would have. It is not, I repeat, the mere joy of deliverance in any way or by any one, from impending disaster and death. That joy, the imagination of mere indulgence and impunity might give. It must be thy salvation if I am to taste any joy in it. The deliverance must come from thee; from thee, against whom I have sinned. And in another view it must be thy salvation. It must be salvation worthy of thee, as well as suited to me; salvation in full harmony with thyself; thy name and character; thy government and law. There can be no joy in it for me, unless it is a salvation that not only secures my safety, but redounds to thy glory. I can rejoice in the salvation, only if it is thy salvation; salvation wrought out by thee alone; and so wrought out by thee alone as to make it a salvation for thee, as well as for me. For thee, - as thyself needing it? Forgive the blasphemous thought! No! But for thee, as making thyself one with us who need it! Thy salvation! A salvation that meets all thy claims, as well as all our wants! And freedom of spirit; the freedom of the Spirit flowing from the restored joy of thy salvation, I ask thee to give. And I ask it not merely that I may be relieved from uncomfortable bondage, for my ease and quiet repose, but that I may thereby be upheld. A free spirit! The spirit of freedom! That, in some sense, all would desire and welcome. But my prayer for it here is only with a view to my being upheld; not set loose from the obligation of law and duty; but upheld in the discharge of it. In that line, a free spirit, - freedom of spirit associated with joy, - the joy of a glad emancipation, - is a great upholder. It is so always, in whatever sphere any movement has to be made. In worldly business even; in political affairs; to have experienced a sudden and satisfactory deliverance, so as to be set free from embarrassments and have an open and unencumbered path ahead, is a great strengthening of one’s hands and nerving of one’s brain for future toils and trials. How much more should it be so in the region of grace; where all is of the Lord! The salvation for whose restored joy I pray, is his; the free spirit, the spirit of freedom, is his also. And it is his to sustain and comfort me by these helps. To him I look for making the joy and the freedom effectual to uphold me. Yes! it is thou who must uphold me. At every stage, in every step, I must rely on thee to uphold me. I cannot reckon on past experiences, or on any strength I may have acquired through them. I have no fund to draw upon, but only thyself, good Lord! It is thou who must uphold me in the line of joy and freedom. For the joy by which I am to be upheld in freedom must be thine; thine, not merely as given by thee; but thine as shared in fellowship with thee; not merely the joy which thou givest in thy salvation; but the joy which thou thyself hast in thy salvation. In that joy, and its freedom, I would have communion with thee, Saviour of sinners. It is a high aspiration; - to aim at such sympathy and communion with the Lord in the joy he has himself in his own salvation! It lifts me above the outer movements and results of his action, and places me alongside of him, in the chamber within, where he sits as planning, superintending, and consummating. The whole method of delivery from evil and restoration to good is viewed from his stand-point. And viewed in that light it is seen and felt to be joyous and free: a source of gladness and liberty. To such elevation I seek to rise; as not only a lofty object of ambition, but my best and only security for being upheld. Yes, and so upheld as to be safe from the risk of being cast away from his presence, and having his Holy Spirit taken away! For that risk I keep always steadily in view; not as marring my joy and freedom, but as chastening the joy of his salvation with a salutary remembrance of my sin against him: and keeping my freedom of spirit always under the rule of law, the law of love. I walk at liberty, having respect to all his commandments. Walking in that liberty, strong in that joy, I will not consent to be brought under the power of anything within or without that might subject me again to bondage. I will stand fast in the liberty with which Christ makes me free. Yes! Blessed Jesus, my Lord and my God! I cleave to thee! I would lean on thy bosom and look up to thee; into that open eye of thine. I have sinned against thee. I have pierced thee. Thee only have I pierced. For it is thou alone who hast borne the deadly stroke of my guilt. And how vile am I in thy pure sight; unclean; unholy. And how am I condemned in thy judgment. But from thy very side which I have pierced I see blood and water flowing; blood of infinitely atoning virtue; water of thoroughly cleansing and sanctifying power. It is the stream of thine own redeeming blood and thine own water of regeneration. Let it be applied to me, good Lord! There is hyssop at hand; the hyssop of thy most gracious promises; warranting the fullest and freest appropriation. Purge thou me with that hyssop, and I shall be clean. I have pierced thee! Thou art pierced for me? Let me not only see, but feel, thy wounds. Let my bones be broken. Not otherwise would I now expect, or even welcome, any joy or gladness. It must not, it cannot, come through mere substitution on thy part, and mere immunity or impunity on my part. No. I accept the breaking of my bones. I consent to be crucified with thee. And only as one with thee in thy cross do I venture to look into thy face at thy table. And not even thus, good Lord! thou blessed Jesus! the holy one of God! I dare not look into thy face, conscious as I am of uncleanness as well as guilt in thy sight! But thou thyself coverest my uncleanness, even as thou answerest for my guilt. Now, therefore, leaning on thy breast at the supper, I venture to converse with thee, as to all that communion with thee on my part for which thy communion with me opens up the way! The joy of thy salvation I long to share. May I dare to aspire to a share in that joy as thine own joy in thine own salvation? Thou are permitting me to sit beside thee as thou puttest into my hands the symbols of that salvation. May I venture to see a smile of joy on thy face? - and to share in that joyous smile? May I have the joy of this salvation as thy salvation? May I rejoice in it not merely as designed and suited for me, but as meant for thee, and wrought out by thee; - not from my point of view, but from thine; - not merely as good for me, but also and chiefly as glorifying to thee. Oh! that it may be so. Lord Jesus! Oh! that I may thus have given or restored to me the joy of thy salvation! The joy of being one with thee in it! Not merely one with thee, as reaping the fruit and getting the benefit of it; but one with thee in its whole essence and spirit; one with thee through participation with thee in the entire process and self-crucifying love of its acceptance and its accomplishment! Then I may hope to be one with thee in thy liberty of spirit; in thy power and right to defy all the principalities of earth and hell; and thine unreserved and unembarrassed submission of thyself to the Father; whose service, from one truly his Son as thou art, is indeed perfect freedom! III. - Its Purpose of Reparation “Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee. Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, God, thou God of my salvation; and my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness. Lord, open thou my lips; and my mouth shall show forth thy praise.” - Psalms 51:13-15 THE conclusion of the Psalmist’s inward penitential exercise of soul brings forward its connection with the outer world. He has been confessing his sin, without reserve or guile. He has been seeking a thorough cure for a deep disease. He has been considering his case in all the views of it which a spiritually awakened conscience can suggest. His sin is ever before him; as now really painful and offensive to himself. It is seen in the light of the glory of God; his glory as first, the sovereign Lord; secondly, the Holy One; and thirdly, the righteous Judge. Sin is rebellion against his sovereignty. It is loathsome in his sight. It is righteously judged and condemned. Nor is this all. In its source and essence, this sin is original; birth-born; natural; inherent in the fallen constitution which he inherits. In all these views of it, he is enabled to pray for deliverance. He asks to be purged, cleansed, quickened. And now, with the restored joy of God’s salvation, giving me the confidence of being upheld by a free spirit, I ask if anything can be done by me; if anything lies before me; that may prove my penitence for the past, and occupy my recovered strength of joy and liberty for service now? My own case might well engross, and must engross, my attention when I first awaken to a sense of what it really is; a case all but desperate; critical for weal or woe; and that for ever. But having spread out my case before God, and accepted his manner of dealing with it, I may now look more abroad. I have leisure now to think, in my new character, of the claims of my fellow-men (Psalms 51:13-15); and of my God (Psalms 51:16-17); and of his church (Psalms 51:18-19). To the first of these particulars I confine this discourse. I think of my fellow-sinners; my companions in crime and guilt. I would fain make some suitable amends to them. And what can be more appropriate in that view than the resolution, with reference to them, and all my fellow-men, - “I will teach transgressors thy ways, and sinners shall be converted to thee” (Psalms 51:13). This is, and should be, - it must be, - the immediate and instinctive purpose of one who has himself known the ways of God, so as to be himself converted to him. Can any one who has really been thus taught and thus changed refrain from the cry, - “Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul”? Can he even be content with such audience, meet and few? Will he not, moved by his own experience, feel his heart burn within him for souls not fearing God; souls all but perishing? Have I been snatched as a brand from the burning? And can I resist the imperative impulse to sound a general alarm? Have I discovered the hidden treasure; gained the pearl of great price? Can I fail to utter the ejaculation given forth by the philosopher of old, on the solution of his problem, the discovery of his secret, “I have found it, I have found it”? That is the force of the connecting particle here, “Then.” It is not a condition or qualification of the promise or profession. It is not meant to make its fulfilment contingent on the previous prayers being consciously answered. It simply implies these two things - first, that it is only such experience of the Lord’s gracious dealing with me personally, that can make it possible for me to enter upon any course of dealing, in like manner, personally, with any of my fellow-creatures and fellow-sinners around me; and secondly, that if I have experienced such personal dealing with me on the part of God, I cannot but try to bring it to bear on all within my reach. But I am still hampered and straitened. Two considerations, or consciousnesses, embarrass me, and disconcert me. The first is that I am blood-guilty. How can I speak of God’s righteousness? The second is that my lips are closed. How can I show forth God’s praise? Part First As regards the first of these two causes of embarrassment, I am encouraged to pray for a full and complete remedy, “Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, God, thou God of my salvation.” This is the prayer of David. He had added murder to lust. And now, when he thought of becoming a teacher of others, by word or deed, by precept or example, a teacher of righteousness, the recollection of the blood which he had caused to flow might well unnerve and unhinge his soul. The cutting, sarcastic taunt, “Is Saul among the prophets?” was as nothing in comparison with the hollow whisper that might ring like a death-knell in David’s ear, as, rising from their bloody graves, the victims of his cold cruelty, his martyred friend, his butchered host, might seem to point the slow finger of scorn, - as each echoed the note of wonder and amazement, - Our murderer among the preachers! What a vision to haunt him! what a voice to paralyse him, whenever he undertakes or attempts to speak of holy things, or to lead a holy life, to live as a holy man! How can he meet the very glance of the eyes of those whose hearts he would fain win to God? Possibly they may not be aware of all his guilt and all its aggravations. They may have been ignorant of the full extent of their Monarch’s criminality. And when he comes before them as a teacher and pattern of righteousness, there may be none among them disposed or ready to cast in his teeth so foul a charge as blood-guiltiness. “Thou didst it secretly,” is Nathan’s word. But his own heart condemns and convicts him. And that is enough to disconcert him. For it is not the fear of man’s reproach that unnerves him, when he would be a preacher of righteousness; it is the misgiving of his own guilty conscience. Paul (Acts 22:18-21) felt and owned the first of these difficulties, when he ventured to plead with Christ, whom “he saw saying unto him; make haste and get thee quickly out of Jerusalem; for they will not receive thy testimony concerning me.” With some natural reluctance, perhaps, he acquiesces. True, Lord! “They know that I imprisoned and beat in every synagogue them that believed on thee. And when the blood of thy martyr Stephen was shed, also was standing by, and consenting to his death.” Like David, Paul felt that the guilt of blood, the blood of saints, was upon him; and that this might well disqualify him for bearing testimony for Christ; “teaching transgressors God’s ways; that sinners might be converted to him.” In so far as the disqualification consisted in the prejudice which his former manner of life might raise against the new witness for the truth, suddenly improvised into a preacher of righteousness; - it is got over, in the case of Paul, by his large and wide mission, “He said to me, Depart, for I will send thee far hence unto the Gentiles.” And in David’s case, the risk may be held to have been partially obviated by the prestige of his royal station and surroundings, and by his general character of godliness. But that is not the worst view of the disqualification. That is not what the repenting soul, longing to do good, finds it most difficult to get over. It is not the rumour or reputation of blood-guiltiness that the Psalmist feels to be his chief hindrance. It is the blood guiltiness itself that troubles him. It is his own sense of blood-guiltiness that paralyses him. Even if his criminality is known to himself alone, and to God, - if all around him have been giving him credit for unblemished sanctity, or at least have been ascribing to him far less blame than he deserved; still, his own consciousness of the wrong which he has been doing, is enough to make his trumpet give a very vacillating and uncertain sound. Having the damning stain of blood-guiltiness upon his conscience, how can he teach transgressors God’s ways, so that sinners may be converted unto him? It is here and thus that the feeling of my offence, as committed against my fellow-men, comes in chiefly to distress me. In my first awakening, I dwell on the thought of my offence as being committed against God, against God only. He alone is the person entitled to deal with it; to resent it as an affront; to loathe it as offensive, and me on account of it; to judge and condemn me for its guilt. Then again, he alone can be asked to dispose of it; so as, - first, to condone it; secondly, to cancel and cover it, clothing me with his own righteousness, and making me a new creature; and thirdly, to put me on a right footing, as not cast away from his presence, but having his Holy Spirit. Thus far I am brought into contact with God alone. All else is ignored; all else, excepting only my relation to him, and my position in his sight. I have to transact with him alone; to be humbled, and to be reconciled. It is when I come to feel the impulse prompting me to go and tell my brethren what great things the Lord has done for me, that I am abruptly and sternly arrested by the withering and chilling thought of the offence I have given, the wrong I have done, to my generation. It is thus that I am made to realise the evil of my sin as affecting my power to do good. For who am I that I should teach transgressors God’s ways? I! A transgressor like them; a transgressor more than most, than all, than the very worst, of them! An adulterer; a murderer! What right have I to occupy high ground, and set myself up as their censor and reprover, or even as their teacher and example? I feel the inconsistency, the utter incongruity. I seem always to hear an upbraiding voice, to see a sarcastic taunting eye. I quail under it. I am tempted to be dumb; to suppress remonstrance, and consent to compromise. For it looks like a sort of impious absurdity that such a one as I should affect to be better than my neighbours; to teach them God’s ways, - and seek their conversion to him, - with their blood on my head! For that is the condition in which, even after forgiveness and renewal, a repenting sinner may feel himself to be. Even if I have met and been reconciled to my God, the sense of blood-guiltiness may make me afraid, or ashamed, to face my brethren. And that, too, although neither they, nor the world, can bring up against me any overt act. In my secret conscience there is blood upon me. And that is enough. For I call to mind that terrible definition of blood-guiltiness: “Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer” (1 John 3:15). Whosoever hateth his brother; loveth him not as a brother; loveth not his neighbour, every man, with a brotherly love; a love that would fain have him as a brother, and treats him accordingly as a brother; a love which has a true regard to his soul as well as his body, his spiritual interests as well as his outward estate: whosoever does not thus love every man as his brother; whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause; whosoever calls his brother Raca, or a fool, uses him as a worthless, perishable thing; not immortal, not redeemed; whosoever so acts, or so feels, is a murderer! Is not that my easel Have I not thus wronged my neighbour; ministered to his sin; perhaps taken advantage of it? Have I not dealt with him as an alien rather than a brother; spoken to him, or acted toward him, in an unbrotherly way; neglecting brotherly offices on his behalf? Have I not had intercourse with him on merely worldly considerations, without regard to his having, like myself, a Judge to call him to account, and a Redeemer able and willing to save? And is not all that blood-guiltiness? How then, I may well ask, with what face am I to meet transgressors and sinners, so as to teach them thy ways, Lord? I, who have blood, the blood of souls, upon my conscience t Guilty of such blood, how may I hold up my head, or open my mouth to speak for thee, Lord? To speak for thee, it may be, to the very souls of whose blood I have been guilty? It is a terrible thought; fitted to daunt and disconcert the boldest! Still, brother, let us not shrink from our duty. For, first, even from blood-guiltiness our God delivers us. He is “the God of our salvation.” The salvation which but now we thought of as his, when our prayer was, “Restore unto us the joy of thy salvation,” we now claim as ours. And we make it the ground of our appeal to him for “deliverance from blood-guiltiness.” It is “thy salvation.” I desire to look at it as such; to see it from thy point of view; and so to enter into thy joy, in its full accomplishment, to thy entire satisfaction. But when brought face to face with my blood-guiltiness, I lay hold of it as “my salvation.” I look at it from my point of view. I apprehend it as suitable to me; as meant for me; meant to be appropriated by me as mine. It is the salvation wrought out by the shedding of blood; in the shedding of which I have a part; for which I feel as if I alone were responsible. That blood-guiltiness; my being thus the crucifier of the Lord of Glory; I confess and own. I am crucified with him. All the sin of the blood-guilty crime on Calvary, I take to myself. The blood-guiltiness of it all is now mine; accepted by me as mine. And thus accepted, it is “my salvation.” To the “God of my salvation;” mine through such acknowledged blood-guiltiness; I appeal for deliverance from all other blood-guiltiness. I face the very men whose blood I have shed; saved by the blood of him whom I have pierced. Yes; I go among my fellows now as having my deepest blood-guiltiness answered and atoned for; even my concern in the shedding of the blood of God’s dear Son. God is the God of my salvation. And saved by him, I can stand before my brethren. If he justifies, who can condemn? I may go forth among men with unabashed front, and speak with unfaltering tongue. Whatever they might allege against me, even to the extent of being guilty of their blood, - in whatever sense, literal or spiritual, - is answered for, cancelled, and disposed of, through a higher blood-shedding, which washes all that guilt away. I appear before them on a new footing, - in a new character; delivered from blood-guiltiness; rejoicing in God’s salvation as mine; rejoicing in him as the God of my salvation! Old things are passed away. The sense of my blood-guiltiness need embarrass me no more; for “God is my strength and my song, he also is become my salvation.” Then, secondly, as another reason for not shrinking from this duty, consider what it really is. It is to “sing aloud of God’s righteousness.” It is not your own righteousness that you have to commend to transgressors, but the righteousness of God. It is that very righteousness of God, through faith in which you yourself are delivered from blood-guiltiness, and God becomes to you the God of your salvation. Your complete justification in the sight of God, - the perfect righteousness in virtue of which you are justified, - with no concession of his supreme authority, his sovereignty and law, hut, on the contrary, with the fullest vindication of all his just and holy claims, - places you on a high ground of advantage. You occupy, I repeat, a new position. And as it is a position implying no compromise on God’s part in his dealing with you, so also it is a position requiring no compromise on your part in your dealing with other men. You may “sing aloud of God’s righteousness.” You are no longer constrained to feel as if you had given them a handle against you; as if somehow you stood at their mercy, and could not venture to take too high a tone, or strike too strong a note. You might feel this if it were of your own righteousness that you were to testify, as that in which you stood yourself. But plant your foot on the righteousness of God, the God of your salvation; the saving righteousness which he has himself provided, in the person and work of his own beloved Son. Take your firm ground as being righteously accepted in the beloved. Then lay all hesitancy and false shame aside. Let no remembrance of former sin, nor any consciousness of unworthiness now, hamper or hinder you. Through grace you are emboldened and enabled to appear erect and fearless before God. The same grace will make you bold in the presence of men. Then fear not. Shun not to declare to all men the whole counsel of God. So in the end yours may be the satisfaction of saying humbly, with the greatest of persecutors, “I take you to record, I am pure from the blood of all.” Part Second But how may I sing aloud of God’s righteousness? My lips are closed. This is a second source of embarrassment. Besides the sense of past blood-guiltiness, and even when that is got over, there remains the feeling that I really know not what to say. Fain would I teach transgressors God’s ways, and be instrumental, by voice and walk, in converting sinners to him. But how to set about the good work is what perplexes me. It seems so difficult and delicate an affair. There are so many considerations of prudence and propriety to be taken into account; so many snares into which I may fall, or mistakes which I may commit; so much risk of doing more harm than good; - I am so sensitively alive to the charge of ostentation and hypocrisy, or the appearance of hypocrisy, and see so clearly how worldly friends may be offended by injudicious zeal and the unreasonable intrusion of spiritual topics; I have such an impression of the sacredness of the ark of God, and such a shrinking dread of handling it, with the best intentions, unworthily or unwisely; - that I am rather disposed to keep silence, and leave it to more advanced Christians, experienced veterans, to vindicate God’s ways, and rebuke men’s sins, and win their souls! Who has not been haunted with such scruples as these? Who would judge harshly the hesitation which they cause? Who would not rather sympathise with it? Who would not seek to have it overcome in himself, - and in some dear friend whose needless fear and trembling his own hesitation may be aggravating? For alas! how much guilt is contracted, how much evil is done, how much good left undone, how much sin suffered in a brother, how many souls allowed to go on in the broad way, through professing Christians, and even true believers, yielding to such timid reasoning! Ah! what urgent need is there of the prayer, “Open thou my lips”? For if the lips be once opened, “the mouth will show forth God’s praise.” It is the first step that really costs effort. If a beginning is made, all is gained. If only, by the Spirit given in answer to that prayer of faith, you get over the shyness, the awkwardness, of a first trial, or of two, - if only you break the ice, and force yourself to let your lips be unsealed, - you will soon find that there really are no such formidable difficulties in the way as you were apt to anticipate; that it is not so hard a task after all to show forth God’s praise. For may you not, in this connection, appropriate the command and promise of our Lord himself; - “Take no thought how or what ye shall speak; for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak; for it is not you that speak, but the Spirit of your Father which speaketh in you” (Matthew 10:19). You may confidently plead this promise, not only when you shall be brought before governors and kings for Christ’s sake, to testify of him; but wherever you are; before whatever audience you are brought; in whatever circumstances and in whatever company you find yourself; if only you are honestly and in good faith there, for Christ’s sake to testify of him. Your Father, who is also his Father, will not Withhold or take away from you his Spirit. The Spirit of the Father will be in you when you speak of and for the Son. He is in you as the spirit of supplications, making intercession for you inwardly with those groanings of yours which you cannot utter, but which he turns into prayers. And he is in you, the same Spirit of your Father, witnessing in and through and with you for Christ; nerving your stammering tongue, and “giving you a mouth and wisdom which all your adversaries shall not be able to gainsay or resist.” Settle it therefore in your hearts not to “meditate beforehand what ye shall answer; what ye shall say.” Take no thought, be not anxious or concerned, about how or what you shall speak. Plead the Lord’s promise when you pray to him, “Open thou my lips.” Proceed upon the faith of its being fulfilled in testifying for him. You may cast all this care upon the Lord. He will care for you. The cause you advocate is his. The end you seek is his glory. He will not, - for his own name’s sake he will not, - leave you to yourself, or suffer you to be at a loss. Out of the abundance of the heart in which his spirit is moving, the mouth will speak freely. Let but the lips be opened. Speak out, act out, frankly, honestly, manfully, what is, so to say, on the tip of your tongue. Obey the promptings, the suggestions, the impulses, of the Spirit of your Father speaking in you. “Open thou my lips,” my Father! For again I say that is what you really and chiefly need; not that you should be enabled to speak wisely, but that you should be moved to speak at all; to say something, to say anything, for Christ to souls. You may conjure up reasons for caution. You may affect to be afraid of committing yourself, or committing the good cause, by professing more than you can hope to realise. You may have real anxiety lest your shortcomings and inconsistencies, if you say too much, or aim too high, should discredit your sincerity and give occasion of reproach against that worthy name by which you are called. But beware of unbelief; of prayerless unbelief. Let none of these sources of apprehension influence you. The Lord will charge himself with the care of them all. Trust him. Pray in faith, “Open thou my lips.” Lord, “Open thou my lips!” But having so prayed in faith, be very sure that, with singleness of eye, you pay your vow, and fulfil your resolution; - “My mouth shall show forth thy praise.” For there is a subtle and dangerous snare here. One of the first fruits of the opening of my lips may be such a sense of new power, new facility, new enlargement, new success, in showing forth God’s praise, as may be dangerous to the cultivation of a meek and quiet spirit; apt to puff me up; and let in doubtful motives and suggest doubtful methods. After a first, or second, or twelfth experiment, perhaps, I find myself inspired with fresh ability and energy; able to speak out on religious matters with a fluency, and force, and fervour, not hitherto experienced. I have less fear of the face of man, and less regard for adverse human criticism or opinion. My mouth sings aloud; showing forth God’s praise. But let me beware! The tendency to have regard to my own credit and character; my reputation and influence is very strong. Is it really God’s praise that, with the very lips which he has opened, I desire to show forth, and am, with his help, showing forth? May I not be tempted to use, almost unconsciously, my new-born, new-implanted gift of free and fearless speech on sacred subjects, in a spirit of ostentation; or of rude intolerance; or of unseemly defiance of customary etiquette? By all means beware of any such unnecessary insults to society. But be not too much afraid of the imputation of them. I do not ask you to go against your nature in your way of teaching transgressors God’s ways, and showing forth his praise. On the contrary, your whole power and influence must depend on its being your natural way; whatever it may be. There are differences of individual temperament, as there are differences of national temperament, in the department of religious experience and its expression. Our Scottish type of personal Christianity, for instance, may be charged with a certain costiveness, and secretiveness, unfavourable to such a flow of genial confidence and mutual brotherly unbosoming, as is not uncommon among Christians in warmer climes, and under warmer influences. One would not like to see our national habit of reverential reserve rudely invaded; nor the freer outcome of sentiment and sensibility in other developments of evangelical experience elsewhere coldly quenched. Let both work together, helping one another, if only the joint “mouth is showing forth the praise of God.” So also, as regards individual believers. The opening of the lips must be the same for all and in all. But the manner of the mouth’s showing forth God’s praise may be indefinitely varied. Constitution and circumstances, temper, time, talents, opportunities; all must be taken into the reckoning. No martinet or formal rule can be laid down. None may prescribe to his brother. None may judge his brother. Every one acts for himself. Only let every one, - all the more for this discretionary allowance, - be sure that his eye is single; that when he offers the prayer, “Open thou my lips,” and awaits the reply, it is really that “his mouth may show forth God’s praise.” Let him be purged of malice and partial counsel. Let him be conscious of no personal considerations creeping in upon him. Then, let him be “strong in faith, giving glory to God.” Once more, therefore, in closing, let me return to the prayer, “Open thou my lips.” Let me beseech you again and again so to pray. And do as you pray. Act according to your prayer, and in terms of your prayer. For it is a precept as well as a prayer. You must take it to be so if you believe that God hears and answers it. Then open ye your own lips; at once; now; this very day. Wait not for any sign, or any impulse; any favourable opportunity; any pressing call. Begin now. Let some friend or neighbour hear you, ere the sun goes down, speaking a word in season; a word of admonition; a word of comfort; telling something of what the Lord is doing for your soul, and of his willingness to do the same for theirs. I call upon you thus to prove the earnestness of your repentance, and the strength of your resolution. And turning now to those here who must be conscious of their being still transgressors, still sinners; still unpardoned and unrenewed; impenitent and unbelieving. Fain would I speak to you; not authoritatively, from the elevation of this chair; but affectionately, from the deep self-abasement of my own experience. Fain would I appeal to you, as myself a transgressor, a sinner; scarcely saved, by richest, freest grace; by special miracle of mercy, as it were. Fain would I thus, as not above you, but among you, one of yourselves, tell you of God’s ways; his ways of dealing with me; and also, dear friends, With you; his bearing long with us; his waiting long for us; his plying us with all faithful warnings, and tender expostulations, and loving calls; his graciously receiving us, his not upbraiding us; his casting all our sins behind his back; his giving us his own blessed Spirit. Beloved brethren, hear his own voice, - “Turn ye, turn ye, why will ye die.” IV. - Its Present Sacrifice and Final Prospect “For thou desirest not sacrifice, else would I give it; thou delightest not in burnt-offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, God, thou wilt not despise. Do good in thy good pleasure unto Zion: build thou the walls of Jerusalem. Then shalt thou be pleased with the sacrifices of righteousness, with burnt-offering, and whole burnt-offering: then shall they offer bullocks upon thine altar.” - Psalms 51:16-19 The first impulse of the restored penitent, when the case as between him and his God is settled, is to go forth from his closet, the secret place of his God, - where the covenant of peace through atoning blood has been ratified as a personal transaction, - and tell what great things the Lord has done. That should and must be your immediate instinct. Many motives may prompt such action. You long to give vent to your emotions; and it is a relief to you to impart to others your sorrows and your joys; your late dismal fears, and your present blessed hopes. There is pleasure also in the communication of good tidings. And surely there is an earnest and eager desire to save the lost. For you cannot, if you are yourselves taken from the horrible pit, look with indifference on the state of your companions who are still sinking unconsciously in its miry clay. But over and above all these, there is a paramount consideration. It is the conviction that you owe it to the “God of your salvation,” to “show forth his praise.” This last consideration suggests the question, whether you may not, in some more direct way, testify your gratitude. True, you are assured that, while he has been resenting the wrong done to your fellow-men as an offence against himself, he is also willing, on the same principle, to accept what you do in the way of reparation; on the principle, I mean, of his final award in the day of judgment, - “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Still, the longing inquiry of love returns. Can I do nothing in a less circuitous way to please God or to praise God? Part First The first answer is generally, that there are “sacrifices of God;” sacrifices directly offered to him; and accepted by him. “Thou desirest not sacrifice, else would I give it; thou delightest not in burnt-offering.” Sacrifice and burnt-offering of an expiatory kind is indeed superseded; desired, delighted in; never chiefly; now not at all. Still there are sacrifices of God- These are sacrifices of thanksgiving and praise; not sacrifices presented with a view to atonement and reconciliation; but sacrifices proceeding on the faith and in the assurance of atonement already accomplished, and reconciliation now secured. God has such sacrifices. They are distinctively “his sacrifices.” In one view they are manifold. Some of them are described, especially in the New Testament. I point to two passages. There is, in the first place, the fundamental passage, - “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service” (Romans 12:1). The material of the sacrifice is here said to be your bodies; yourselves, as presented to God; living and holy; living in Christ’s life, holy as partaking of Christ’s holiness; and therefore acceptable unto God, and, on your part, a reasonable service. There is, secondly, the outcome, or working out of that fundamental thought, - “By him, therefore, let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually; that is, the fruit of our lips, giving thanks to his name; but to do good and to communicate forget not: for with such sacrifices God is well pleased” (Hebrews 13:15-16). On the footing, and in the faith, of Christ’s one great atoning sacrifice, by which he “sanctified the people, suffering without the gate,” we are to offer continually the sacrifice of praise; consisting, first, of the fruit of our lips, giving thanks to his name; teaching transgressors his ways, and with our mouths showing forth his praise; and, secondly, of doing good and communicating; for with such sacrifices God is well pleased. Similar sacrifices of thanksgiving are recognised in the Old Testament; as, for instance, in Psalms 50:1-23; “paying our vows to the Lord; and calling upon him in the time of trouble” (Psalms 50:14-15). Here, all these sacrifices of God are reduced to one. “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit.” To the soul coming out of the dark and deep despair of blood-guiltiness into the light of God’s salvation; but yet still having his sin ever before him; this merging of the plural in the singular is indeed most welcome; - “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, Lord, thou wilt not despise.” For indeed what else has he to offer? He feels that it is for him, and in his circumstances, the one only sacrifice. Let us look at it accordingly, in the light of the experience with which it stands connected. A broken spirit! A broken and a contrite heart! I am at once carried back to the prayer, that “the bones which God hath broken may rejoice” (ver. 8). It is broken bones there. It is a broken spirit, - a broken and a contrite heart, - here. The meaning I take to be the same. And the lesson I gather is this: that the brokenness is a continuous affection, so to speak; a state of mind and feeling persistently pervading all really spiritual soul exercise, - from first to last. It is the underswell of ocean, settling itself after a storm into a great calm; and so lengthening out the calm. It is the sad and solemn note of a prolonged minor strain of subdued melody, accompanying, and as it were, hallowing, the louder and more varied music which it subdues. All through this penetential exercise of soul, the idea of brokenness of bones, of spirit, of heart, runs. It underlies the whole experience. It is not destructive of the graciousness and gladness of that experience, as an experience of purging with hyssop, and of a new creation; of a clean heart and a right spirit. It is not inconsistent or incompatible with joy and gladness; with rejoicing; with the sense of God’s presence, and the joy of his salvation, and a free spirit upheld by his Holy Spirit. Nay, it is at the root, and of the essence, of all that. It is like what good king Hezekiah felt, when, upon his providential and miraculous recovery from his sickness, and the promised prolongation of his life, he said, “I shall go softly all my years, in the bitterness of my soul” (Isaiah 38:15). It would have been well for him if he had been able to keep that resolution. But alas! he forgot it, or failed to fulfil it. The crafty message from the king of Babylon, - ostensibly volunteered to congratulate him on the restoration of his health, but really meant to serve a deeper purpose, and spy the resources of the country, - seduced the unwary monarch into such a vainglorious display of his magnificence and wealth as could not fail to whet the appetite for plunder in the rising potentate of the east. And so the way was prepared for that invasion of Judah which ere long resulted in the years of exile by Babel’s streams. “Would that Hezekiah had held by the first purpose of his penetential and trembling thanksgiving, “I shall go softly all my days, in the bitterness of my soul!” David, as it would seem, by God’s grace, continues to realise, even under an experience of great comfort and revival, the deep original consciousness and conviction of the intimate connection between the “breaking of his bones” and their “rejoicing.” For the connection here is not one of sequence merely. It is not that the bones are first broken; and then, the breaking being over, they rejoice. Their being broken might thus issue in their rejoicing having that as its native and proper fruit. But it might be simply as standing in the relation of a cause to an effect; the cause ceasing to act or operate when the effect is produced. That, however, is not the bond of union here. These are not two separate states or experiences. The breaking of the bones is prolonged, continuous, uninterrupted, and unending; going on simultaneously with their rejoicing; being, indeed, all throughout the condition of their rejoicing. The two processes go on together as one; so long as there are bones to be broken and to rejoice. For this breaking of the bones is not like an abrupt agony of alarm, or sudden paroxysm of remorse; which, violent for a time, exhausts itself, and passes off when the crisis is over. Nor is the joy in which it issues like “the laughter of fools, which is as the crackling of thorns under a pot.” It is not a mere hilarious and exuberant outburst of gladness, as transient as it is wild. It cannot be. For it is Christ’s own joy; the joy which he has in his own salvation; in its accomplishment, and in its blessed fruits, so glorifying to his Father, so rich in grace for his people. “That my joy might remain in you and that your joy might be full,” is his desire and prayer on your behalf. It is a full joy; but calm and deep, and therefore constant. It is the joy of receiving out of his fulness of grace and truth. It is the joy of sympathy with him as he “sees his seed.” It is your entering into his rejoicing in the spirit when he said, “I thank thee, Father, Lord of heaven and of earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes. Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight.” Such joy is consistent with a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart. That is indeed inseparable from it, and is a part of it. And therefore the free spirit of a believing penitent may be, as Paul speaks, “sorrowful, yet alway rejoicing;” sorrowful always, but yet rejoicing always. I say emphatically, the free spirit of a believing and repenting soul. For it is only as having the joy of the Lord’s salvation restored to you, and as being thereby upheld in a free spirit, that you can have such sacrifices, or such a sacrifice to present; and can so present it as to be sure that it will not be despised but welcomed. There is a sphere in which such sacrifices can have no place. If it is the question of your acceptance in the sight of God that is to be settled, there is no more efficacy in a broken spirit to take away sin than there is in the blood of bulls and of goats. And if the contrite heart is presented as a plea for pardon, it will most assuredly be despised. Plainly, however, I repeat, it is not sacrifices with a view to reconciliation that are here meant, but sacrifices proceeding on the footing of reconciliation, through faith in the one great sacrifice of propitiation. In truth, there can be no such thing as a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart, if it is made the condition, or the preliminary, of peace with God. The free remission of sin, through the sprinkling with hyssop of the blood of atonement, is essential to the genuineness of that blessed grace. “Without that free remission of sin, what kind of contrition can there be? Abject, and servile humiliation there may be perhaps; or desperate self-mortification and laboured prostration of soul and body; like the cowardly crouching of a guilty slave, smarting or trembling under the rod, and begging in whining groans indulgence from his tyrant. But at bottom, there will be pride still; and bitter hatred and resentment; and a sullen sense of degradation. The very necessity of such mean and unmanly abasement will irritate and fret the hard and haughty spirit, the yet unsubdued heart. It is when you experience the fatherly love of God, as in his Son Jesus Christ he opens to you his great fatherly heart, and by his gracious Spirit draws you to himself; when he sees you afar off, and runs to meet you, and without one word of upbraiding or look of reproach, takes you into his arms, and clasps you in his embrace, and falls upon your neck, and kisses you; it is then that the heart is truly broken, and the spirit becomes contrite. And then it is a sacrifice worthy of a recovered child; acceptable to a reconciled and reconciling Father. “I will establish unto thee an everlasting covenant. Then thou shalt remember thy ways and be ashamed; thou shalt know that I am the Lord; that thou mayest remember and be confounded, and never open thy mouth any more because of thy shame, when I am pacified toward thee for all that thou hast done, saith the Lord God.” It is, indeed, a humble sacrifice; a sacrifice which none but one thoroughly and spiritually humbled will be disposed to offer as “the sacrifice of God,” or will be apt to think that “God will not despise.” The natural mind, impatient of subjection to God, especially of subjection unconditional and unreserved, would rather present gifts of such a sort as may be numbered and weighed and measured; so as to be, in some more or less ascertainable scale, made available for striking a balance of accounts, and effecting a settlement, by compromise, of God’s claims upon us, and our obligations and responsibilities to him. For such an end, outward acts and tangible forms and observances are evidently and eminently suitable. They may be calculated and reckoned up, and set off against faults and failings; so that what God requires may be paid off, as it were, at once, or at least by definite instalments; and credit may be taken for what is done or what is given. Even really good words and good works may thus come to be regarded by us as sacrifices profitable and acceptable to our God. Our teaching transgressors his ways; our tongue singing aloud of his righteousness; our mouth showing forth his praise; even that may become a sacrifice, - if it is relied on as recommending us to God or satisfying ourselves, - such as God desires not, and does not delight in. To put, instead of all such outward acts, an inward habit; instead of external and formal doings, a spiritual disposition, as alone well-pleasing to God; is to disconcert the entire scheme of self-righteousness. It cuts up by the root every plea of self-justification. Especially it does so, if that habit, that disposition, is humility of soul; brokenness of spirit; brokenness and contrition of heart; the relenting of a subdued and softened son towards a generous and gracious father. That is a kind of sacrifice which none but one resting on free grace will be pleased to offer, or will believe that God can be pleased to accept. To others it may appear unworthy, and such as only to be despised. But to you who feel the love of God in his special and close dealing with your own souls - to you who, being forgiven much, love much, it must become day by day, more and more, a blessed exercise and closet discipline of conscience and memory, quickened by that love, - to find out, to be ever more and more finding out, how much has been and is forgiven you, that you may love the more, and see the more cause for loving. So you will long and strive to have your spirit more broken and your heart more contrite. For your desire is, that having nothing else to offer in the way of a sacrifice of thanksgiving to God, you may offer that at least guilelessly, whole and entire. Part Second Under all this deeply personal experience of the Lord’s dealing with your own soul, you are enabled to connect your individual case with wider prospects and vaster results; - “Do good in thy good pleasure unto Zion; build thou the walls of Jerusalem; then shalt thou be pleased with the sacrifices of righteousness, with burnt-offering and whole burnt-offering; then shall they offer bullocks upon thine altar.” The Psalmist, being a prophet, sees in his own experience that of the church down to the end of time. His broken bones, his broken spirit, his broken and contrite heart, symbolise to him God’s displeasure against Zion, and the overthrow of Jerusalem’s walls; as well as good to be done to Zion in God’s restored good pleasure, and the favourable rebuilding of Jerusalem’s ruined ramparts. And his own restored joy, in the experience of God’s salvation, is to him a bright foretaste and anticipation of the universal jubilee of the completed church. “What may be the manner of keeping this jubilee, I am not able to say, nor careful to inquire. Some have made the text one of the grounds of their belief that at the second coming of Christ, which they hold to be premillennial, there is to be a revival of the Levitical ritual, with all its ceremonial observances, evangelised and spiritualised; just as others have inferred from the terms of the prayer, “Build thou the walls of Jerusalem,” that the whole psalm must be relegated, for its date, to the Babylonian captivity. Surely it is not needful to resort to such ultra-literal interpretations. The spiritual relevancy of the prayer, as fitting into the Psalmist’s present frame of mind, and in view of his prophetic insight and foresight, is sufficiently clear. In his own broken bones, I say again, he sees and feels the breaking down of the walls of Jerusalem. In his own broken spirit, his broken and contrite heart, he realises what Zechariah more clearly foretold: “I will pour upon the house of David and upon the inhabitants of Jerusalem the spirit of grace and of supplications; and they shall look on him whom they have pierced; and they shall mourn for him.” And in his own broken bones rejoicing; in the clean heart created in him and the right spirit renewed within him; in the restored joy of God’s salvation, and in the liberty and enlargement of his mouth showing forth God’s praise; - he anticipates, with liveliest sympathy, under old phraseology, the song that celebrates the consummation of the entire gospel dispensation, “Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb.” “Do good in thy good pleasure unto Zion,” I have done her grievous wrong. I have shaken the faith of her children, and given occasion to her adversaries to speak reproachfully. My shameful sin, my sad fall, has hurt many a tender conscience, and proved a snare to many an unstable soul. It has caused many to hang their heads and falter in their walk. It has opened the mouth of scandal, encouraging the sceptic in his distrust of all truth, and the scoffer in his contempt for all piety. Undo, Lord, the evil I have done. Let not thy people suffer damage for my fault. “Do good in thy good pleasure unto Zion.” “Build thou the walls of Jerusalem.” I have given them a rude and terrible shock. I have brought lust and bloodshed into the royal palace. Thou hast said that the sword shall never depart from my house; and thou hast made me see a dark picture of domestic profligacy and crime along the line of my posterity. Nor is it merely my own position, and that of my children after me, that I have put in peril. I have weakened the hold which the chosen nation has of thee, and of thy covenant with our father Abraham. I have exposed them to thy righteous judgment and the visitations of thy wrath. I have shaken the throne and the kingdom. I feel as if already the foundations were destroyed, and the ramparts of the holy city were tottering to their ruin. I cannot arrest the tide which I have let in, and which may ere long prostrate all this goodly structure in the dust. I cannot recall the past. All my tears of godly sorrow, all my holy lessons, all my songs of praise, can avail little to avert the impending crash and crisis. “But build thou the walls of Jerusalem.” Turn thou the captivity of thy people. Take thou thine own work into thine own hands. Plead thou thine own cause. Let “the man whose name is the Branch grow up out of his place.” He “shall build the temple of the Lord.” Let this be thy word to that Zerubbabel, “Not by might, not by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord of Hosts.” “Who art thou, great mountain,” standing in the way, and hindering my servant’s triumphant progress? Who indeed is it? I tremble as I rejoice. Lord, is it I? Is it I, the backslider? I the unfaithful professor? I the unsteadfast believer? Is it I, with my lips closed and my mouth shut and silent? Is it thou, barren fig-tree in the garden, fit only to be cursed? Is it thou, Prince of darkness, to whom and to whose legions my sin, and such sins as mine, have given so ill-omened an advantage? Who art thou? I cannot cope with thee. But whoever and whatever thou art, great mountain, “before Zerubbabel thou shalt become a plain.” Thou shalt be cut down. Thou shalt wither. Thou shalt cease to withstand; with thine own consent; - let it be so! - If not, by God’s strong hand carrying thee away. Before Zerubbabel thou shalt become a plain. He shall build the walls of Jerusalem. “He shall bring forth the headstone of the temple with shoutings, crying, Grace, grace unto it.” Then shalt thou, Lord of heaven and earth, who art his God and Father, and ours in him - then “shalt thou be pleased with the sacrifices of righteousness, with burnt-offering and whole burnt-offering. Then shall they offer bullocks upon thine altar.” In closing, let me offer two observations. I. How instructive is the view here given of the place which the church should occupy in the view of a spiritual man. It is not through the church that he reaches God; it is, on the contrary, through God that he reaches the church. When the sinner, the backslider, is spiritually awakened, it is with God, with God directly and immediately, with God alone, that he has to deal. And he has to deal with him personally, in an individual capacity, No church interposes between him and the Searcher of hearts. No church may intercept his approach to the throne of God, or God’s sovereign appeal to his conscience. The church cannot stand between me and my God, to answer for my guilt, to make my peace. Alone, and face to face, I meet him; I, a miserable offender, meet him, my Maker, my Lord, my Judge, my Saviour. The transaction is exclusively between him alone and me alone. Before him I stand, charged with sin against him only. From him only I hear the voice, “I have put away thy sin.” In this settlement of the great controversy which God has with me, I have no concern with the church, nor the church with me. I have no eye for any third party. God, God in Christ, accusing, convicting, acquitting, saving; God is all in all. In truth, it is this very settlement of the controversy personally, by God himself alone, which brings me into contact with the church, and moves me to feel an interest in its prosperity. And whereas too often the church would have men to deal with God as if God was hers, the Psalmist’s method is the very reverse. He cares for the church, because the church is God’s. For look again at the progress of this spiritual exercise of soul. First, as an individual, I am roused to a consideration of my state before God, and in the sight of God. I remember God, and am troubled. Again, I believe in God, and find rest. Impelled by what I have myself seen and tasted of the loving-kindness of the Lord, I feel an irresistible call to go and tell all my friends and neighbours. Still, it is as an individual - nay, it is as if I were the only individual in all the world who had made the glorious discovery, and heard the joyful sound. The case of my fellow-sinners perishing around me moves me to teach them God’s ways, that they may be converted to him; and the honour of my God, now dear to me, demands that I should show forth his praise. I would fain have suitable sacrifices, worthy offerings, presented in abundance to him. But I, a single isolated sinner, saved myself by grace, sinning still, and needing grace more and more, what can I give but this broken spirit of mine, this broken and contrite heart? Ah! here comes in the welcome thought that God has a church, an elect and holy church, in which he is to be suitably and worthily glorified. The whole world is lying in wickedness; and I, what can I do? I said that I would teach transgressors, and convert sinners. Alas! I am stained with blood, and I am slow of speech. My testimony, how feeble and uncertain! And who receives my message? who believes my report? Is the prospect, then, all dark and dreary? Is there no adequate service and sacrifice of praise yet to be found on earth for my God? Let me think of Zion; let me remember Jerusalem. There God has placed the honour of his name. There he will gather trophies and be crowned with glory manifold. The Redeemer shall see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied. “When the Lord shall build up Zion, he shall appear in his glory.” II. Observe how the deeply exercised soul is fitted for divine service; being first, warmed and excited; then secondly, subdued and chastened; and thirdly, elevated and enlarged. The impulse prompting him, under the sense of his own narrow escape, to tell what the Lord has done, might become a sort of blind enthusiasm; high-minded, but scarcely safe; were it not for its being blended with the humbling apprehension of his own continual and increasing indebtedness to grace, and the impossibility of his ever having anything but broken bones to give to God. While that conviction again might become almost too depressing, were it not that he is enabled to enter with lively sympathy into the vast design of God as unfolded in the history and prospects of his universal church. But when compacted and welded together, - these three becoming one, - they form the one holy principle of Christian duty, zeal, and love. It is a principle having all the intensity of personal feeling; for it springs from the deep source of personal experience. I speak because I believe. I “believe and therefore speak. It is a principle having all the sobriety, simplicity, and chastened earnestness, of the most child-like submission, the most entire and absolute self-renunciation; for it flows continually through the channel of a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart, ever realising its own emptiness and dependence. It is a principle, finally, having all the enlargement and elevation of the divine love itself; for it grasps the mighty plan of God in all its comprehensive fulness of grace and glory. Springing up in your own bosom, out of your own personal experience, it rises to the bosom of God, and becomes associated, united, identified with his eternal purpose! Your aim and his are now the same. Your desire and his are now the same. Your hope and his are now the same. You and he alike, you and he together, find satisfaction in the prospect of that blessed day, when “incense and a pure offering shall be offered unto his name, from the rising of the sun even to the going down of the same.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 121: S. THE SHEPHERD OF THE SHEEP ======================================================================== THE SHEPHERD OF THE SHEEP “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine. As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: and? lay down my life for the sheep.” - John 10:14-15 TWO things the Lord here declares concerning himself; first, what he is; and secondly, what he does. He is the good shepherd, and in that character he claims to be more than a mere hireling, or hired servant (John 10:11-12); and, that being his character, he acts accordingly. He does not desert; he saves (John 10:13-15). Two things therefore come up for consideration: I. The good shepherd in his relations as such; and II. His work. I. The shepherd stands in a twofold relation; on the one hand, to him whose shepherd he is by authoritative appointment; and, on the other hand, to those who are his sheep, by free gift in the gospel, and by personal appropriation in the exercise of faith, wrought in them by the Spirit. This double relationship is emphatically and affectionately brought out in the end of the 14th and the beginning of the 15th, when rightly rendered: “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine, even as the Father knoweth me and I know the Father.” This is our Lord’s common way, especially in this Gospel, of describing his relation to his people by the analogy of his own relation to the Father. Thus (John 15:9-10): “As the father hath, loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love. If ye keep my commandments ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.” There is a circulation of life-blood, or love, from the Father, through the Son’s keeping the Father’s commandments, and back again, through your keeping the Son’s commandments, to the Father; the First and the Last, the beginning and the end, whose name is love. That flux and reflux between the Father and the Son, between the Son and us, is wonderful in itself; and it is wonderfully brought out in these words of our Lord: “I know my sheep, and am known of mine, even as the Father knoweth me, and I know the Father.” For, as a shepherd, the Lord Jesus recognises one over him, from whom he receives the sheep; as well as myriads under him, whom he brings, from whatever wanderings, into one blessed fold. If he is to be the good shepherd; he must be faithful to both, and must possess the confidence of both. The office of a shepherd implies subordination. A shepherd is a servant acting under authority; he acts by commission from his master, and in trust for his master. To be the shepherd, therefore, of the Father’s sheep, the Son became himself the servant of the Father; and in that character declared his subjection to the Father: “My Father is greater than I.” “My Father, which gave me the sheep, is greater than all.” In this view, it deeply concerns the sheep to know in what relation the shepherd stands to the Father, who is Lord of all. Is it into the hands of a hireling that the sheep are given? He may be so far, as a hireling, honest and well-meaning; but he has no special, loving interest in the charge committed to him. He may be well enough disposed to do his duty faithfully; and, in ordinary circumstances, he may do his duty satisfactorily. But, in a critical emergency, he cannot be safely trusted. The wolf is coming! what does he do? Ah! he says, it is not really a wolf after all; or, not a wolf so hungry and ravenous as he looks. He means not to devour, but to frighten the sheep; or, when he sees their pitiful case, he may relent, and accept of some accommodation. Things may not come to the last extremities. So a hireling may calculate and reason; not because he is very dishonest, but simply because he is a hireling. And is not this the sort of reasoning and calculation upon which, without much conscious dishonesty, self-righteousness or self-justification, in all its workings and manifestations, invariably proceeds? It comes in, with some delusive shield, between the poor sheep and the devouring wolf, whispering peace, when there is no peace. But the wolf comes. My sin finds me out. Guilt weighs me down. Judgment, eternal judgment, stares me in the face. Where, then, is the hireling shepherd? Where is he who would treat the case upon any mere mercenary method of compromise or evasion? Where must I be but for that gracious voice: “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine, even as the Father knoweth me, and I know the Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep.” Behold, then, the good shepherd! Consider him first in his relation to him who giveth him the sheep. The Father knoweth me. He knoweth me in a manner and in a sense unique, peculiar, and exclusive. No one knoweth the Son but the Father. It is as the shepherd of the sheep that the Lord Jesus so speaks. In that character he is the Father’s servant. But he is no ordinary servant. Behold my chosen servant; my soul’s delight; my beloved Son. So the Father knows him, as the shepherd, and so also is he known by the sheep. He is commended to your intelligent acquaintance and affectionate embrace, by the Father’s intimate oneness with him. You know him as the Father knows him; know him so as to love him as the Father loves him. Consider him also, secondly, in his relation to the sheep. He knows them as he knows the Father. He knows the Father in a sense as intimate and peculiar as that in which the Father knows him. He knows the Father’s nature, being himself partaker of it. He knows the Father’s counsels, being himself one with him in them; and being also their sole executor. He knows the Father’s will, for he delights to do it. He is one with the Father in his very being, and in all his works; above all, in his work of grace. He is not as a stranger or hireling in that work; knowing little and caring less about the character and claims, the interest and honour, of him by whom he is employed in that work. He is the Son with whom all the Father’s purposes are shared, and to whom the Father’s glory is infinitely dear. Not as a stranger or hireling does he regard the service he has to render in the capacity of shepherd. No! but as the Eternal Wisdom, who was with the Father from the beginning of creation, and was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him. So he knows, and knowing loves him whose shepherd he is. And so he knows, and knowing loves, the sheep; with a knowledge and love corresponding to his knowledge and love of him whose sheep they are; a knowledge and love of the same source and the same character. The hireling, the stranger, has no near or personal interest in the flock he may be appointed to tend. They do not belong to him. There is no special tie between them and him. He cannot therefore be expected to know them very intimately, or so as to make their case his own. But Jesus, the good shepherd, knows the sheep, every one of them individually, as well as the whole collectively. Far as they may be, many of them, from the pale of any particular communion, widely scattered throughout all lands, separated by barriers of every sort, material, moral, ecclesiastical; hidden from the world’s notice; unknown to one another; unacknowledged by one another, - there is one who knows and acknowledges them all. Though all else disown them yet will not he. They are mine, he says. I have them, I must bring them.! blessed must. He must bring them; all of them. They shall hear him. He knows them, and must bring them, as his own. And how does he know them? As possessed of certain outward privileges? As connected with any select society? As gathered by baptism or communion into any one favoured church? No. For, whatever that church may be, he may still say of it: “Other sheep I have, which are not of this fold; them also I must bring.” No, He knows them first as given to him by the Father (John 10:29); he knows them, secondly, as hearing his voice and following him. What blessed grounds of knowledge these! How gracious! 1. They are given to him by the Father; and, as the Father’s gift, he knows them. He holds them as a sacred trust, a precious possession. He has them near to him; he has them in his heart, in his hand. None shall pluck them out of his hand. They are given to him by the Father; the token of the Father’s approval of him; his acceptance of him as the shepherd. No other reward did the Son ask in freely consenting to take the shepherd’s office, but the gift of these poor sheep. Hence his knowing the sheep corresponds to his knowing the Father, as giving him the sheep. It is the selfsame knowledge. 2. Jesus knows the sheep as hearing his voice and following him. In respect of this ground also of his knowledge of them, his knowing them corresponds to his knowing the Father. He knows them as he knows the Father, and because he knows the Father, For, knowing the Father, he knows the Father’s purpose in giving him the sheep. And the Father knows him as fulfilling that purpose. Therefore, when he looks on those in whom that purpose is being fulfilled; in whom he sees of the travail of his soul and is satisfied; whom, as himself knowing the Father, he is getting to know him as the Father knows him, in the character of the shepherd-Saviour; whom he is bringing in, through himself, as the righteous door into the fold of the Father’s favour; whom he is quickening and reviving, nourishing and refreshing; whom he is making able to hear his voice, and willing to follow him; he cannot but know them as he knows the Father. He cannot but care for them; he cannot but remember them. He has identified himself with them, even as he is himself identified with the Father. They are to him, in a deep sense, what he is himself to the Father. He knows them by intimate acquaintance with all their infirmities; by sympathy with them in all their sorrows. He knows them by the progress of his Spirit’s work in them, by the ever fresh recollection of his own work for them. “Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, she may forget;” yet will not he forget, or ever cease to know, his sheep. He has graven them on the palms of his hands. In the prints left there by the nails, in the hollow of his pierced side, he has marks and memorials by which he must ever know and remember those whose redemption cost him so dear; to whom he reveals the Father as loving them as he loveth him, and glorifying them as he glorifies him. Behold, then, ye sheep of his pasture, behold and see what a shepherd is yours! Is he one who, when the wolf is coming, will evade the danger, saving himself and leaving the sheep to perish? Will he, in the face of wrath and judgment, shrink from what is needful to vindicate the Father’s rights and secure the safety of the sheep? Nay; do you not hear him saying, “I lay down my life for the sheep?” II. The work of the good shepherd, or what he does, comes now into consideration. It is his laying down his life for the sheep. That is the great fact in which his knowledge of the Father and of the sheep expresses itself. And, like the knowledge of which it is the expression, it may be viewed in two distinct lights; as regards the Father and the sheep. But a preliminary observation must be made. - His laying down his life is in the strictest sense a voluntary act; it is declared to be so very emphatically afterwards (John 10:18); and it is asserted here. This is a vital element in his entire work. The whole of his humiliation from first to last, the whole of his obedience unto death, was spontaneous and voluntary. This is obviously true of the first step taken, when, being in the form of God, he assumed the form of a servant. But having taken that step, being found in fashion as a man, does he not become subject to all the conditions of our humanity. Yes! if he assumed our nature in its fallen state, corrupt and sinful, if he came among us with any taint of our sin, or any liability to its doom, he could not avoid death. He could not, in that case, say of himself, “I lay down my life;” for in saying that, he is not speaking of what he had in his power, of what was at his discretion, before he became incarnate; no, but of what at that very moment was matter of free choice with him. “I lay down my life.” Nor is there anything inconsistent with this view in his prayer of agony in the garden of Gethsemane, “my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.” The prayer is a most affecting proof of the necessity of his death, for the accomplishment of the Father’s Will, in the expiation of our guilt, and the salvation of our souls. It is no proof of its being necessary by the constitution of his human nature. The mystery of his unknown sufferings is now begun; the cup of divine wrath is presented to his lips; filled to overflowing for the overflowing fulness of our sin? Must he drink it? Can the will of God for the redemption of a lost race be in no other way accomplished? Can there be no forgiveness, no reconciliation, otherwise than through his cross? Is there no other method of grace within the compass of all the resources of infinite wisdom and infinite power? Must the judgment be endured, the penalty paid to the uttermost? Be it so. There is still a willing victim to whom the glory of the Father, and the salvation of the sheep are dear. His language still is “Lo! I come.” The fire is kindled; the wood laid. No need of the question, “Where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” Such being the nature of the fact here stated, let us look at it in the light of the shepherd’s twofold relation to the Father and the sheep. 1. Viewing it in the light of his relation to the Father, we may see in it one chief part, or rather the crowning and culminating instance, the concentrated essence, as it were, of that perfect obedience by which he fulfilled all righteousness. He himself declares (John 10:18) that in laying down his life for the sheep, ultroneously and spontaneously, he his obeying the commandment received by him of his Father; and that he is on that account acceptable to the Father. It is all important thus to regard the one event of the Lord’s death and resurrection as the sure sign, the pledge and seal, of the thoroughly good understanding that there is between him as your shepherd and the Father, whom in that capacity he serves. For it is this which brings out most conspicuously how, as regards this great transaction, he knows the Father, and how the Father consequently knows him. He is faithful to him who has appointed him; faithful even to the death. As shepherd, he has committed to him by the Father a most arduous and painful task; the task of saving the sheep given to him by the Father; and so saving them as to preserve inviolate all the Father’s rights and prerogatives as the Holy One and the Just, the supreme God. The task requires that he shall take his place among the sheep; share their fate; make common cause with them. Nay, more, it requires that, relieving them from their liabilities, he undertakes to bear in their stead their doom; on these terms he willingly accepts the charge; so much does he delight to do the Father’s will; so full of pity is he for the poor lost, wandering sheep. He begins his labours; painfully, in his human nature, learning obedience by the things which he suffers. And now that by experience he finds the hardness of the work, how is he affected and inclined? Is the ardour of his first love quenched? Nay, still the zeal of his Father’s house is eating him up, still it is his meat to do the will of him that sent him, and to finish his work. He has a baptism to be baptized with; and how is he straitened till it be accomplished: enduring the contradiction of sinners against himself, of the very sinners he came to save, he does not, as he justly might, leave them to their fate. He does not faint. He is not weary. In meek and holy majesty he still says, “I must be about my Father’s business.” One dark trial of his faithfulness and obedience is yet before him. A terrible doom approaches the sheep given to him by the Father; and he in their stead must meet it in all its terror. There is no way of evasion or escape. In the appalling judicial calmness of inflexible justice it approaches - death, with its sting and its curse; the sting of guilt; the curse of the broken law. And he, the holy child Jesus, must be made the sin! He, the beloved of the Father, must be made the curse! The Father himself lays this load upon him, and leaves him alone to bear it. In agony, forsaken as one under condemnation, he lays down his life, as the Father hath given him commandment! So safe in his hands is the honour of the Father’s character and the integrity of the Father’s government! He has a commandment, a commission, from the Father, to magnify his law and make it honourable; and he executes it to the very uttermost. In his voluntary death on the cross, his active obedience is proved and perfected. 2. Viewing his death in the light of his relation to the sheep, for whom, in obedience to the Father, he lays down his life, it is to be regarded as forming the principal part, the consummation and essence, of his passive obedience and righteousness; his propitiatory or atoning sacrifice. He lays down his life for the sheep, as not only the obedient servant of the Father, but the representative and surety of the sheep. For the fact of his substitution in their stead is here declared. The wolf, coming on to devour the helpless sheep, is arrested and appeased by the shepherd offering himself to his destroying jaws. Of course, this figure must not be pressed very closely and literally, lest it should seem to give countenance to the idea of our Lord, as shepherd, interposing himself between his people and the great adversary; as if the substitution had reference to him; as if the laying down of that precious life was meant as a ransom paid to Satan. That is a sad perversion of the truth. Doubtless, deliverance from Satan’s assaults and Satan’s power is an immediate result of redemption. But it is not properly itself redemption, or any part of it; not the redemption for which a ransom is righteously demanded and willingly paid. The enemy has no right to demand a ransom. It is not to appease or satisfy him that the good shepherd lays down his life. It is not by purchase but by power that the shepherd rescues the sheep from that ravenous wolf. Still his doing so is closely connected with his laying down his life for the sheep. He spoils principalities and powers, making a show of them openly in his cross. Through death he destroys him that has the power of death, that is the devil, and delivers them who through fear of death are all their lifetime subject to bondage. But the death through which he affected this release is his giving himself as a ransom for many, not to the adversary, but to the Father; to God, the holy law-giver and righteous judge. For it is the Father’s justice, the wrath of God lying upon us, that makes us helpless under the prince whose service we have chosen, and whose lie we are fain to try to believe. That is the secret of his hold upon us. But Jesus, our shepherd, by satisfying that justice, and himself enduring that wrath, emancipates us from the thraldom under which the hopeless sense of condemnation keeps us. Redeeming us from the sentence of divine law and justice, he delivers us out of the hand of all our enemies. So he meets the wolf by laying down his life for the sheep. The transaction itself is with the Father, though one of its results is that the wolf is foiled. The immediate and direct bearing of the transaction is on the relation of the sheep to God. The Saviour-shepherd offers himself a sacrifice to God for you, the sheep. The sacrifice is of infinite worth and value. He gives his life for yours; a ransom infinitely sufficient in itself and in his manner of giving it. It is a life compared with which the life of the whole world, of all the universe, is utterly insignificant. It is a life for which the universe could furnish no equivalent; which is itself more than equivalent for all other life. And then this life is given freely; it is laid down voluntarily; none can take it away; it never could be forfeited; it cannot be demanded by any right; not by right of judgment, for there is no sin; not by right of conquest, for even when crucified through weakness, he lived by the power of God, and had legions of angels at his command. See your shepherd, Jesus, on the cross! In the presence of earth, and heaven, and hell! He dares all powers above, beneath, around, to sift and try his life, his title to life, and see if they can detect in it any flaw. Man can find no fault in him. Satan has nothing in him. The Father is well pleased in him. On the cross Jesus has power still over his own life. All enemies have tried and none can take it from him! Nor is it forfeited to God, the judge of all. Then at last, he himself, in the calm exercise of his own deliberate and voluntary choice, lays it down; of his own accord he places it on the altar of atonement, as the price of your redemption. He submits to the vicarious punishment and doom. He opens his bosom to receive the sword. The Father’s righteous wrath against your sin enters into his soul. He endures the agony of the curse. It is finished! It is over! Committing his spirit in unshaken love and loyalty to his Father, he bows his head and gives up the ghost! So he lays down his life for the sheep. Oh! brethren, what a life is there laid down for you! what a rich ransom is paid for you! what poor sinner need now perish in his sins, now that such a sacrifice has been offered! Offered! Yes, and accepted too. For he laid down his life that he might take it again. And this, therefore, now is the ground of your confidence. The God of peace has brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus Christ, that great shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant. And he will make you perfect in him in every good work; working in you that which is well pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. This view of the good shepherd may well warrant and explain the Psalmist’s steadfast faith in Jehovah his shepherd, (Psalms 23:4) “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.” In the valley of the shadow of death the wolf may try to come. The passage through it may not be free from his assaults. It is not, at least, free from dark alarms and distressing thoughts. Even to the sheep, death, and the ills of life preliminary to death, are objects beforehand of seriousness, if not of dread. True, they cannot now fear death as the ungodly, in their sudden awakening to its reality, may fear it. To them, in virtue of the shepherd’s laying down his life for the sheep, the bitterness of penal death is past. Death is changed from a curse into a blessing; from being the wages of sin into being the gate of life. Still it is a solemn thing to die; there is enough about death, even at the best, to fill the soul with trembling awe. The dismal gloom of life’s closing scene, the darkened chamber, the anxious looks and streaming tears of friends, the painful weaknesses of a wasted frame, the fears and fancies of an exhausted spirit, the regret of broken ties, the blight of cherished hopes, the natural shrinking from an unknown future, may cast a deep broad shadow over the valley in which you take that one inevitable step which never can be repeated or recalled. Then there are experiences which may affect you more than other men; experiences connected with your very faith. The sensibility of a conscience quickened as well as cleansed by the blood of Christ; the profound sense of the holy sovereignty of God which the believing view of the cross inspires, may deprive a believer’s dying hours of the calmness and composure which souls less susceptible of such impressions may exhibit. Ah! it is a dangerous and deadly delusion to measure the security of a death-bed by its quietude and repose. Many, very many, are the instances of people falling asleep in peace, who yet do not fall asleep in Jesus. For it is no such rare or difficult an attainment as some imagine it to be, to die with decent tranquillity. There is no charm in death, or in the approach of death, to test or prove the safe state of any one. The truth is that the approach of death often acts as a sedative rather than a stimulant; soothing instead of rousing; inducing a sort of vacant and half conscious somnolency. There are racking pains of body, which must be lulled by opiates, which tend also to stupefy the soul. And there is a general debility whose very prostrate helplessness makes it take the aspect of resignation and repose. Then there is the spell of that wretched refuge which is always at hand; the refuge of self-righteousness and self-justification; stronger often in death than in life; grasping vain hopes of mercy, on the plea of some good resolves. The practical truth must be pressed. The quiet death is not always the most trustworthy (Psalms 73:1-20). Then, on the other hand, though the righteous man has hope in his death, and his latter end is peace, he is, in very proportion to his righteousness, exposed to peculiar trials. He is exercised to agony about his dealings with God, and God’s dealings with him. He is beset by enemies. Dark suggestions of Satan, aggravating the darkness of the valley of the shadow of death, haunt him; what then is it to sustain and comfort him? Not so much any inward experience, as the outward presence realised to inward faith, of him whose rod and staff will comfort him; the presence of him who says, “I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine, even as the Father knoweth me, and I know the Father, and I lay down my life for the sheep.” Thou art with me; thou knowest thy poor sheep; thou sayest “I lay down my life for the sheep,” for thee the least and weakest of them. Therefore I will trust and not be afraid. I hear thy voice speaking peace. “I will not leave thee comfortless; I will come unto thee.” “I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.” “Lo, I am with thee always to the end.” “It is I: be not afraid.” No, blessed Saviour, thou good shepherd, Jehovah, Jesus, I will fear no evil; I hear thy voice, and I follow thee; I would be with thee where thou art; Lord Jesus receive my spirit. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 122: S. THE SIFTING QUESTION ======================================================================== THE SIFTING QUESTION “Then said Jesus unto the Twelve, Will ye also go away? Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life. And we believe and are sure that thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God. Jesus answered them. Have not I chosen you twelve, and one of you is a devil? He spake of Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon: for it was he that should betray him, being one of the twelve.” - John 6:67-71 SEEING many of his disciples, not of the promiscuous crowd only, but of those who had attached themselves more or less closely and constantly to him as their master or teacher, going back, and declining to walk with him any more, Jesus said unto the twelve, “Will ye also go away?” (John 6:67). And the question, in the circumstances, is startling. 1. Jesus puts it to you, the twelve, to ask yourselves, if there may not be something of the same kind in you that moves these others to desert. It suggests the possibility of you also going away. It may not have occurred to yourselves to think of this as possible. But the Lord would have you so to think of it. You perceive how many who seemed to have made common cause with Jesus prove unstedfast and unfaithful; depart from the truth, make shipwreck of faith and of a good conscience, let go their integrity, and fall into error or sin. When you witness or hear of such a case, perhaps many such cases, whether of stumbling at a saying that is too hard, or of rebelling against a commandment that is too grievous, yielding to the weakness of the flesh, getting entangled in worldly ways, returning again to folly, count it not strange, deem it not an offence, if Jesus should ask, “Will ye also go away?” Is it after all so unlikely that, in certain circumstances, you might? May there not be even now a certain leaning in the line of the backward and downward path? Is there no half-longing eye cast on the freedoms in which so many allow themselves, as contrasted with the restraints imposed upon you? Is there no lurking sense of hardship or irksomeness, no weariness, no complaining: Lord, how much? Lord, how long? Ah! when I see a brother, but yesterday, as I would have sworn, abreast of me, far ahead of me, in the good way of walking with the Lord, to-day overtaken in a fault, gone back altogether from following the Lord fully, or sadly maimed and halt in his gait; and when I feel within me so much sympathy with the very temptation that proved too strong for him; let me not take it amiss, let me rather take it as a special kindness, if Jesus, watching me, detecting in my secret soul some rising of unbelief, some dallying with the evil thing, whispers in the ear of conscience, “What art thou thinking of? Art thou also meditating desertion? Wilt thou also go away? 2. Thou mayest, if thou wilt. For this, secondly, is in the question. Will you, the twelve, go away? You have my free leave, my full permission. Thus viewed, the appeal has special force and point. It should come home to you, if in any moment of infirmity or trial you are sorely pressed between loyalty to Jesus and the solicitations of the enemy. Do not suppose that I have any wish to keep you against your will. I lay no restraint on your inclinations. I interfere in no way with your most absolute discretion; your utmost freedom of choice and action. If you have the slightest desire to follow those on whom I see you casting a somewhat longing, lingering look, to follow them into easier and more flowery paths than I can offer to lead you in, by all means go away after them. Do not hesitate on my account, out of consideration for me, as if I needed you and could not do without you. However I might miss you, you are by no means indispensable to me. Say not that ye are Abraham’s children. Out of the very stones, God can raise up children unto Abraham. You may go away. But all that the Father giveth me shall come unto me; and him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out. My people shall be willing in the day of my power. I am for no pressed men in my service, no reluctant recruits in my camp. My people are all willing. I leave it, therefore, altogether to yourselves, to stay, or go, as you please. “Will you? for you may. Oh! that in every time of hesitancy and indecision, when you are listening to a suspicion or surmise of unbelief, entertaining a proposal of doubtful expediency, halting between two opinions, almost over-persuaded, on some nice point of worldly casuistry or sophistry, to give way; to let yourself be carried into some scene or company where you cannot be sure of having Jesus with you; oh! that, at the critical time, the still small voice of Jesus, meekly, mournfully, upbraiding you, may reach your heart before the die is cast and the step is taken, will ye then also go away? Is that really your mind? Be it so. I have no more to say; go, if you have the will; if you can have the heart to go. 3. But will ye also go away? Can you find it in your hearts to do so? You have known me intimately. I have loved you well. My honour, my cause, is largely in your hands. Your going away, if you choose to go, is a worse ingratitude in you, and a heavier blow to me, than the desertion of hundreds who hung on more loosely. Such a tender and touching remonstrance you must feel to be involved in the question: “Will ye also go away? You who have known me so intimately. For I have admitted you to a familiar acquaintance with me which others have not had. I have had no reserve in my intercourse with you. To them I have spoken in parables; but not so to you. They have seen and heard me in public; but you have been the men of my secret; my very heart has been open to you. That they, in their comparative ignorance, should draw back offended, is not surprising. But you, who have been with me always, and from whom I have kept back nothing, will you go away? Is it your better knowledge of me that is to make you go away? Is it some fault you have discovered in me, through your more intimate acquaintance with me, that is to cause estrangement? Have you found me other than I was when first you knew me? less worthy of your confidence? less attentive to your well-being? less faithful? less kind? Ah! that can scarcely be; for have I not loved you well? Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Ye are my friends. I lay down my life for you; I minister to you; I wash your weary feet; I wipe the tear from your weeping eye. You are dearer far to me than my own life. Have you not had experience of my love, proofs and instances of it, day by day? Has it ever changed? has it ever cooled? though you have sometimes tried it sorely. Have you not felt it to be a love which many waters cannot quench, no great floods drown? And am I, in spite of all this, to lose you, my so much-beloved ones; will ye also go away? And then, have you thought how deeply I have committed myself to you? Others may fall back and return to folly. Their backsliding or apostasy will do comparatively little harm. They never were so intimate with me as you, or so much my friends as you. My credit was never so closely bound up with them. But if you go away, if in the matter about which you are tempted, and perhaps hesitating, you leave me and are led by the world, even for a little time only, and in a little degree, my honour is compromised, my name is blasphemed, my cause is hurt worse than by thousands of such as they are drawing back. I have identified myself with you. I have put my Spirit in you. I have made you my representatives, I have sent you into the world, as the Father hath sent me. You cannot stumble and fall; you cannot be inconsistent or infirm; you cannot waver, or turn aside, or look back; without the mouths of adversaries being opened, not against you, but against me. Whole crowds of mere outside, nominal followers, may commit the grossest sin, or set up the vilest lie instead of the truth; and the world will look on with calm unconcern; nor will the least of my little ones be scandalised. But if you who bear my standard, you who are known as my familiars, if you who bear the ark, are found untrue, unholy, unloving, or unclean, how is the Spirit grieved? How do the Philistines rejoice! And oh! how may these my lambs, my poor feeble sheep, stumble through your fall. I have singled you out for a high honour, a sacred trust. I have perilled, in a sense, my crown jewels in your hands. And will ye also go away? Thus full of meaning, thus instinct with practical power, is the simple question of the Lord, considered as addressed, not merely to the twelve, but to you also who believe on him through their word. It is a simple artless question, in the circumstances. What more natural than for the Lord Jesus, seeing many draw back offended, to turn round to the twelve, to turn round to you, and ask, Will ye also go away? But it is no bow drawn at a venture. It penetrates, it searches that it may cleanse, the inner man. It sets the twelve on the inquiry, each for himself, am I going away? Am I thinking of going away? Can it be that I almost wish I were as free to go away as those whom I see going now? I might not choose so to go with them as to walk no more with Jesus; but for once, or now and then, might I not be suffered, might I not safely venture, to go with them one short mile, or at most two, and then return? Ah! the question touches the sore, if there be a sore, in me. And it touches it pretty sharply, perhaps. There is a certain subdued tone, I say not of covert irony or sarcasm, but of mild reproachfulness, in the tacit leave given to go away. By all means, let it be so, if you will. Go, if you choose, if you can. Is it Jesus who is saying this to you, brother, when he sees you, at any time, upon any point, hesitating inwardly, whether to stay with him or go with the world? Can you hear him putting the matter thus to you and not be instantly decided? The rather when the full force of the “ye also,” comes to be felt; ye who have known me so intimately, ye whom I have loved so well, ye to whom I have so thoroughly committed myself, the honour of my name, the interests of my cause; will ye also go away? Oh! let this question of the Lord be ever ringing in your ears, in every exigency and crisis of your spiritual life; whenever you are in danger of growing weary in well-doing; or becoming ashamed of the Cross; or getting ensnared in Satan’s subtle wiles, or the world’s false and idle ways. Let the eye of faith be open, to see him who is invisible, that you may endure to the end. Ah! may it not arrest some vagrant fancy; may it not change same half-formed wilful or wayward purpose; may it not rebuke some inclination towards worldly lust; when thus, with faith’s open eye, you see the meek and loving face of the crucified one, and with faith’s open ear hear his mild voice - I have loved you and given myself for you; I am ever with you; I will never leave you; no, I will never forsake you. Will ye then, my friends, will ye go away from me? “Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life. And we believe and are sure that thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God.” This answer of Peter, for them all, implies: (1) real and experimental satisfaction with Christ, and (2) no possible satisfaction elsewhere. 1. There is here a sense of the all-sufficiency of Christ. The language is not merely that of discontent with the world. It implies contentment with Christ. This is a vital point; when it is the danger of backsliding or apostasy that is in question. “What is the security against it? There be many that say, who will show us any good? It is the vague, inarticulate, cry of nature, everywhere, always. It is the great outstanding proof and evidence of the fall. It never could have arisen in Paradise, had the serpent not tempted its inmates to aspire to be as gods, knowing good and evil. God was showing them good. But the good which God was showing them was not enough to satisfy them, so long as he kept back anything from them. They must find out evil as well as good; though they break the bonds of innocency in doing so. And now, where is the good? Who will show it. To whom shall we go. It is fallen man’s broken, instinctive wail. It prompts many a vain experiment, many a desperate risk. All sorts of expedients are tried. And among the rest Christ and Christianity. For there are those who making the round of all the contrivances that have been broached for pacifying the conscience and satisfying the heart, come upon the gospel of Jesus Christ in the course of their restless and weary search. It is the Spirit’s doing so far. He brings them into contact with Christ. The simplicity that is in Christ charms them; the simplicity of a full and free forgiveness; a full and free acceptance, on the footing of the great atonement; a full and free reconciliation, on the terms of Christ, who knew no sin, being made sin for us that we might be made the righteousness of God in him. Thus for a time they are captivated. But it is as they have been captivated by other schemes before. It is a new trial of a new specific. The old complaint remains. The very simplicity in Christ which first attracted them begins to inspire weariness and distaste. They long for something more strikingly and palpably real. The routine of a holy walk with Christ becomes unsatisfying; a task, a drudgery, a toil. They want something more out of the way. The restless spirit of impatient inquiry returns; who will show us any good? To whom shall we go? Evidently that spirit is no security against your going away. Your only security is in some such confession as Peter’s. Thou hast the words of eternal life. To whom shall we go? We are content with thee! Having thee, whom else can we care to seek? Thus, with whatever drawbacks and defects in the knowledge which Peter and his fellow disciples had, at that time, of Christ and of his salvation, you have in his confession of their common faith, the true and only secret of perseverance in. grace and holiness, and of safety from the risk of going away. It is not negative but positive. It is not negative craving, but positive possession. It is not seeking, but finding. It is not experiment, but experience. It is tasting and seeing how good the Lord is. It is not doubt, hesitancy, uncertain groping. It is assurance; the assurance of a straightforward looking of Jesus in the face, as if surprised that he should ever dream of your going away. To whom shall we go? 2. But along with a sense of the complete contentment and satisfaction that is to be found in Christ, there is implied in Peter’s answer a sense of the folly and danger of seeking it elsewhere. Will ye also go away! Why should we go away from thee at all? And whither shall we go? To whom? To whom, especially now, after knowing thee. For, you may say, our knowledge of thee has made us more unfit than ever for going away by ourselves. It has made us more dependent on help; more unable to stand, or walk alone. Yes! if now, forsaking Christ, you resume the old weary search, you do so under great disadvantages, as regards your power and capacity of acting for yourselves, and providing for yourselves. I speak to you as having some such personal knowledge of Christ, and some such experience of his care and love, as Peter had, when he said: “Thou hast the words of eternal life.” Certainly any acquaintance you have with Christ, of a gracious and saving kind; any conviction you have wrought in you by the Spirit, of sin, of righteousness, and of judgment; any experience you have ever had of the peace that there is in looking to Jesus, and leaning on him; should make you feel that if you go away from him, you must be more helpless, more at a loss, than if you had never known him at all. The warm and tender nurture of a loving home is but poor preparation for encountering the starvation of the fields in which the wretched prodigal would fain take of the husks eaten by the swine. The lamb accustomed to lie in the shepherd’s bosom is but ill fitted for going away from him into the dreary wilderness. If you have been with Christ; if the Spirit has been at all taking of what is his, and showing it to you; if you have been, as a poor, guilty, lost sinner, and yet also as a little child, taken by Christ into his arms and blessed; how can you stand the rude shock that awaits you if you go away from him? Has not your intercourse with him already made you more sensitive and susceptible of hurt than you were before? Is not your sensibility more keen? your conscience more quick? your whole soul and spirit more open to offence? Will you not, if you go away from Christ and return to the world’s folly, find its rude or its refined ungodliness more distasteful and uncongenial, than if you had never known anything of a purer taste, a tenderer care, a higher hope? Will you not be vexed and shocked by courses which others tolerate, because they have been familiar with them always, and with nothing else? Will not dangers unseen and unfelt by them, be open to you? Can you think as lightly of sin as they do? Or brave wrath and judgment like them? Are you not, if you go away from Christ with all that you have learned and acquired in the school of Christ, like a tame and fondled bird, cast out, shorn of its wings, into the bleak wildness of the woods again? And then the evil of backsliding and apostasy is seen to be aggravated in your case, when you consider that going back to the world, returning again to its folly, with clearer insight and keener susceptibility, you cannot be relieved by the illusions or by the opiates which lull and soothe others into tolerable composure. These now, for you who have been with Christ, have lost their value and their charm. If you now, going away from Christ, sin with the world again; the world, no doubt, may flatter you, and absolve you, as it used to do. It may be as ready as ever to make allowance for your infirmities, and give you indulgence for your faults. It may tell you, as of old, of the venial character of your frailties, and the boundless placability of a merciful God. Such notions used to soothe and satisfy you before. Will they soothe and satisfy you now, since your eyes have been opened, and your dead slumber of spiritual apathy has been broken, - now that having been with Christ you have learned from him something of the righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come, of which Paul so reasoned as to make even a Felix tremble? The assurances of impunity which evil companions may give as freely as they gave before, Will not be as convincing to you as they were before. Your own deceitful hearts will not deceive you so easily. You return to folly; but you return too wise to be fooled. And finally the most serious consideration is, that if you go away from Christ, the likelihood of your being brought back to him is very small. It is diminished in proportion to what you have known of him while you have been with him. This is a very solemn and awful argument. It is the argument which once and again the Apostle Paul urges, as does also the Apostle John, not to speak of the Lord himself against falling away; sinning wilfully after having been brought to the knowledge of the truth; sinning the sin that is unto death, for the pardon of which prayer is not to be made; the sin against the Holy Ghost, which never is and never can be forgiven. The warning must ever be given; the alarm must ever be sounded; that for you to go away from Christ is to incur the risk and hazard, even of this terrible consummation; the consummation of so falling away that it may be impossible to renew you again to repentance. It is true that you never can be warranted in believing, or in acting on the belief, that you have so fallen away. Be your fall ever so great, from a height of profession and attainment ever so exalted, to a depth of worldliness and even vice ever so low; be your backsliding ever so aggravated by former knowledge and experience of Christ’s love, and by the inexcusable baseness of your present offence; be your guilt, and even your hardness of heart, what it may, you have no right to conclude that your recovery is hopeless. You sin the more if you do so conclude. The call, the command, to you, is: - “Return, thou backsliding Israel, and I will not cause mine anger to fall upon you.” But as a reason for returning now, the fact of its being possible for you to sin beyond the hope of ever returning at all, must always be kept before your eyes. And it is one of the strongest of all reasons, surely, for your never again going away. I say one of the strongest, for there is a stronger. That is, I repeat, your being satisfied with Christ, contented with Christ, filled with Christ, your finding in Christ all that you need, all that you can wish for, his being all your salvation and all your desire. The two reasons indeed strengthen one another. The more you know of Christ; the more you see of his holy beauty, and taste of his blessed fellowship; the less can you bear the thought of going away. And in the same proportion, the danger of going away will be felt by you to be all the greater. With increasing intensity and tenacity of grasp you will cleave to him. With increasing sensitiveness you will watch and pray against whatever might tempt you to even a momentary desertion of him. Oh then above all things, make much of Christ; that so your mind may be the Psalmist’s: - “Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none on earth that I desire beside thee.” The Lord’s rejoinder (John 6:70), “Have not I chosen you twelve, and one of you is a devil?” reminds Peter and the twelve - (1) of his being the searcher of hearts; and (2) of their confidence being only in him. 1. He speaks as the searcher of hearts. His detection of the traitor here is an instance, not of foresight, but of insight. It is not one of you shall betray me, but one of you is a devil. It is not omniscience, foreseeing and foretelling what, in the stage of the world’s history, is to come to pass. It is omniscience searching the secret chamber of a man’s heart, as it now is. One of you is a devil. By the light of prophecy, Jesus might know that, as the Messiah, he was to be the victim, not of foreign violence, but of domestic treachery and fraud. And by a shrewd sagacity he might see in Judas signs and symptoms warranting more than a suspicion that the treachery was to be his; that he was the man. But there is more here than a right interpretation of Old Testament Messianic prophecies, and a discrimination of character fixing the application of them to such a man as Judas. The inmost heart of Judas lies bare before him who needed not that any should testify of man, for he knew what was in man. He knew what was in Judas. He knew it better than Judas knew himself. For the traitor did not probably at that time deliberate treason. Even when he perpetrated his horrid crime, he was, to some extent, deceiving himself Bent on making gain, he had expected to make gain, with Christ, as one of his court, when he should assume the kingdom. When he saw him slow to do that, he thought to make gain of him another way. But if that is the explanation of his crime, as ultimately perpetrated, it is clear that what Jesus detected in him at this time could not be a fixed and formed purpose or plot, but an insidious tendency. And this makes the Lord’s reply to Peter’s warm acknowledgment all the more impressive. It is not that I foresee probable or certain treachery hereafter. I see the spirit of it now. Thou sayest, Peter, for thyself and all the rest of the twelve. To whom shall we go? All well. But you say it to the searcher of hearts. I know who, at this moment, is a devil, though he does not know it himself. 2. But what did Jesus mean by casting this damper on the honest zeal of Peter and the rest? Is it not cold water thrown in the faces of them all when one only is to be blamed? Why put the sad announcement so vaguely and indefinitely, when he could have named the man. His doing so is fitted to shake any confidence that Peter, or any of them, might be placing in their apostleship or belonging to the inner circle of twelve. This, surely, is a salutary lesson to you, when you are tempted to trust in your being one of the twelve - of any twelve, however chosen. Can any better twelve ever be gathered together on earth than the twelve to whom Jesus said, One of you is a devil? It shakes any confidence the apostles might be tempted to place in their good feeling and good faith; or you in yours. For all the twelve, including Judas, went along with Peter in his warm and eager profession; “to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life.” They were all of one mind and of one heart, at the time, in this abrupt and honest appeal. They were all at the time sincere in averring their contentment with Christ and their abhorrence of the very thought of seeking contentment elsewhere. Certainly no two or three gathered together now can ever be more earnest in the good cause. And yet one of you is a devil. More particularly, the Lord suggests a double lesson; of humility on the one hand, and of fear and trembling on the other. First, if you do not go away like others, it is simply because I have chosen you twelve. And the choice here meant is not the eternal decree of election, in the counsels of the Godhead, choosing the ultimately saved to life eternal; it is the Son’s mediatorial act in the ordering of his kingdom, investing whom he pleases with privilege or with office, and admitting them, as so invested, to his intimate acquaintanceship. Have not I chosen you twelve? Is it because you are the twelve that you go not away? How are you the twelve? How is any one of you one of the twelve? Have not I chosen you twelve? It is not as if you had chosen me; as if you had banded together of your own accord, for some enterprise of your own, and had elected me as your captain, to carry out your purpose. That is not the footing on which you and I are to one another. If it were, you might suspect me, rather than any of yourselves. But the case is otherwise. It is the very reverse. I have chosen you. In whatever position you find yourself in relation to me, it is my choice of you, and not yours of me, that places you there. It may be that you are among the twelve. You are highly favoured. You are in the inner circle. But if ever your being so puffs you up and ministers to your feeling of security, as if you, so situated, could never go away; as if, whatever others do, you are safe from all risk of backsliding; consider how you come to be so situated. It is not your doing, but the Lord’s; not your choice, but his. Have not I chosen you twelve. And, secondly, what, after all, does my choice avail, or effect? It affords no security against one of you being a devil. Purposely, of set purpose, my choice of you to be what you are to me is of such a nature and under such conditions, that it admits of one of you being a devil. And of set purpose also I tell you so, that you may not rest on my having so chosen you twelve as of itself giving you any security against your going away. I have chosen you, indeed, to be very near my person, very familiar with my ways, very closely and constantly my companions. I have chosen you to the possession of very special privileges, the enjoyment of very precious advantages and opportunities, the exercise of very holy and honourable functions. I have chosen you to be my witnesses; witnesses of me first, and then witnesses for me; my fellow-workers; my missionaries into the world, as I myself am the Father’s. All this is my doing, not yours. You have nothing of your own in it all to boast of or to trust in. It is not of your own will, but of mine, that you are thus chosen. And lest you should rely even on that as a guarantee, and imagine that because I have placed you where you are, therefore, as my favourites, you are safe, I warn you that my choice of you, yes, even of you twelve, is not inconsistent or incompatible with one of you being a devil. Ah! then, who may stand? Is there to be no confidence, no assurance, no firm footing, no bold attitude in meeting the searching question. Will ye also go away? Is Peter’s honest exclamation of affectionate zeal, Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life, never to be trusted? Why should the loving Lord thus terribly chill so warm-hearted an outburst of affection? Is not this like breaking the bruised reed, and quenching the smoking flax? What can he mean? What can he want? Surely not to throw all loose and leave all at sea; to discredit every profession and damp every purpose, and cast a bleak and withering shade of doubt over the whole path even of the just, that path which should be as the shining light, shining more and more unto the perfect day. That cannot be! No. The Lord would not have you to be living always in suspense as to your own calling and election, because one of the twelve into whose fellowship he chooses you, may happen to be a devil? It is only when you are making this your confidence that there is a chosen band among whom you are numbered, that the warning is needful and in point - one of you is a devil. It is, in one word, to impress the solemn lesson, that Peter’s noble confession, if it is to stand you in stead, and be of avail against your going away, must be personal and individual, and not collective or representative. It is nothing if you are merely one of the twelve in whose name and on whose behalf Peter makes it. It is everything if you make it yourself, each of you apart, for himself, for herself. To belong to any select company, any chosen twelve, of whom as a body that profession of faith is the badge, is no security. To make it the profession of your own faith, to feel it, and enter into it, and act it out, yourself, as a sinner saved by grace, and clinging to him who saves you - that is security indeed. To be saying evermore to Jesus, not as one of the twelve, but for myself alone, “Lord, to whom can I go? Thou hast the words of eternal life. I believe, and am sure that thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God” - that is my salvation. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 123: S. THE TWO SISTERS AND LAZARUS ======================================================================== ‘THE CONSOLATIONS OF CHRIST ADAPTED TO THE STATE AND CHARACTER OF HIS PEOPLE. BY THE REV. ROBERT S. CANDLISH, D.D., EDINBURGH. John 11:21. - Then said Martha unto Jesus - Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." - John 11:32. - Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw him, she fell down at his feet, saying unto him, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." "IT is better," says the wise man, "to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. Sorrow is better than laughter; for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning: but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth." And if this be true generally of the effect which should be produced by familiarizing the heart with the devout contemplation of death,and of the grief which death occasions, it must be so especially when we have Jesus as our companion. Often, during our Lord’s visits to Jerusalem, we find him gladly retreating in the evenings, after the toils and trials of his daily ministry in the Temple, to the quiet village of Bethany, and the peaceful abode of Lazarus, and there reposing amid the holy endearments of a congenial family circle. Now we are about to visit with him this house as the house of mourning, and to observe how he is received there, and how his presence cheers the gloom. 1. The sisters, both of them, greet him with the same pathetic salutation, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died ;" and this might seem to indicate an entire similarity in their sorrow. 2. But if we look a little closer, we see a striking difference of demeanour, corresponding to the great general difference of their characters. 3. And this difference is marked in our Lord’s different treatment of them. I: From this study we shall learn - lst, How much sameness there is in grief; 2d, How much variety; 3d, How much compass in the consolation of Christ, as capable of being adapted to all varieties of grief, to grief of every mould and of every mood. We speak chiefly throughout of the grief of Christians; for we think we may assume that, notwithstanding their great contrast in respect of natural temperament, the two sisters were partakers of the same grace. Sm. 12. - No. 12. I. It is remarkable that two persons so different in their turn of mind, so apt to view things in different lights, and to be affected by them with different feelings, should both utter the same words, on first meeting the Lord Jesus - " Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." It shows how natural such a reflection is in such a season - how truly the heart, when deeply moved, is the same in all - and how much all grief is alike. The sisters, however otherwise dissimilar, were united in their affection for their departed brother, and in their grateful reliance on that Friend "who loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus." They had sat and watched together beside their brother’s bed of sickness. They joined together in sending unto Jesus, saying, "Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick." In their distress they both thought of the same remedy, and applied to the same physician. It was a joint petition that they despatched, and they did not doubt that it would prevail. Together they waited anxiously for his coming. They reckoned the very earliest moment when he could arrive; and as they looked on their brother s languid eye, and saw him sinking every hour and wasting away, ah! they thought how soon their benefactor might appear, and all might yet be well. But moments and hours rolled on, and no Saviour came. Wearisome days and nights were appointed to them. Often did they look out and listen; often did they fancy that they heard the expected sound, and the well-known accents of kindness seemed to fall upon their ears. But still he came not. Ah! what were their anxious thoughts, their earnest communings, their fond prayers, that life might be prolonged at least for a little longer, to give one other chance, one other opportunity, for the interposition of Him who was mighty to save even from the gates of death;. and how were their own hearts sickened, as they whispered co the sick man a faint hope, which now they could scarcely themselves believe. Still the time rolls slowly on. The last ray of expectation is extinguished; the dreaded hour is come; it is over; their brother has fallen asleep; Lazarus is dead. And now four days are past and gone since he has been laid in the silent tomb. The first violence of grief is giving place to the more calm, but far more bitter pain of a desolate and dreary sadness, the prolonged sense of bereavement which recollection brings along with it, and which everything around serves to aggravate and embitter. The house of mourning, after the usual temporary excitement, is still, - it is the melancholy stillness of the calm darkly brooding over the wrecks of the recent storm, - and amid the real kindness of sympathising friends, and the formal attentions of officious strangers, the sisters, as each familiar object recalls the past, are soothing, or suppressing, as best they may, those bitter feelings which their own hearts alone can know; when suddenly they are told that Jesus is at hand. He is home at last but he is home too late. Still his coming at all is a comfort; he is welcome as their own and their brother s friend; he is welcome as their Lord. They never doubt his friendship ; they question not his willingness, or his power, to do them good. But still, as they meet him, they cannot but look back on the few day that are gone ;and as all their anxieties and alarms, their longing hopes and cruel disappointments, rush again upon their minds, they are constrained to give utterance to the crowded emotions of their hearts in the irrepressible exclamation, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." It is the voice of nature that speaks in these words - the voice of our common nature mingling its vain regrets with the resignation of sincere and simple faith. 1. There is the feeling that the event might have been otherwise. "If thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." We know not what it was that detained thee, what prevented thee from coming: perhaps our message did not reach thee in time, or some casual circmstance hindered thee. Had this sickness happened but a little sooner, when thou wast in Jerusalem at the feast or had we taken alarm soon enough, so as to send for thee before our brother was so ill; or had our messenger been more expeditious, and used more despatch; or had we been able but to lengthen out by our care, our brother’s sickness for a single week; had we not been so unfortunate in the occurrence of this evil just when it did occur; or had we but used more diligence, and taken more precaution - then thou mightst have been here, and if thou hadst been here, our brother had not died. Ah, is it not thus that the heart speaks under every trying dispensation ? Is it not thus that an excited imagination whispers to the forlorn soul? Which of you has ever met with any affliction - which of you has ever lost any dear friend, without cherishing some such delusion as this. If such or such a measure had been adopted; if such or such an accident had not happened; if it had not been for this unaccountable oversight, or that unforeseen and unavoidable mischance, so grievous a calamity would not have befallen me; my brother would not have died. Alas! and is not this altogether a sad delusion, proceeding upon a very limited view of the power and the providence of God your Saviour! How did these sisters know that if Jesus had been there, their brother would not have died? How could they tell whether he might not have ends to serve, which would have required that, even though he had been there, he should yet have permitted him to die? And were they not aware that, though he was not there, yet, if he had so chosen and so ordered it, their brother would not have died? Had they not heard of his being able at the distance of many a long mile, to effect an immediate and complete cure? Did they not believe that he had but to speak, and it would he done; he had but to say the word, and, however far off he was, his friend and their brother would be healed? Ah! they had forgotten who it was to whom they made this most touching and pathetic appeal; that he was one who, though not outwardly present, could have restored their brother, if it had been consistent with his wise and holy will; and who even if he had been present, might yet have seen fit, for the best ends, to permit him to die. And are not these the very truths concerning him which you in your distress are tempted to forget, when you dwell so much on secondary circumstances and causes, instead of at once and immediately recognising his will as supreme? You are overtaken by misfortune; you are overwhelmed in the depths of sorrow. You ascribe your suffering to what seems to be its direct occasion, whether it be your own neglect of some precaution which you might have taken, had you thought of it in time, or the fault of others with whose skill or diligence your dearest hopes were inseparably connected, or something perhaps in the course of events over which neither you nor they could have any control. You fix upon the very date, the very scene, when and where your brother’s doom seems to have been sealed; and you think that, if you had but suspected what was about to be the issue, or if the help which now you see would have been available had then been within your reach-.if you had been warned in time, or had taken the warning, or had been able to employ the most effectual means of escape, you might not now have been left disconsolate to mourn; your brother might still have been spared to cheer you with his smiles, to share with you all your cares. Dear brethren, is not this idea, however natural, is it not, in reality, the very folly of unbelief - the dream of a soul forgetting that the Lord reigneth? What it comes to is this, that you conceive of him as limited by events which he himself ordains - as the slave of his own laws? You think that if such or such an obstacle had not intervened, this calamity would not have happened. But, notwithstanding that obstacle, might he not, if he had seen fit, have found means to avert the calamity? And are you sure that, even if that obstacle had been removed, he might not have seen fit still to suffer the calamity to befal you? If thou hadst been here, say the sisters, our brother had not died. Nay, he might have answered, I might have been here, if it had seemed good to me; but though I was not here, I might have kept thy brother alive; and though I had been here, I might have allowed him to die. 0, look beyond second causes to Him who is the first cause of all things. Believe and be sure that the circumstances which you regret as the occasion of your misfortune are but the appointed means of bringing about what he determines, and what, without them equally well as with them, he might accomplish. If evil come upon you, if your brother die, is it not because this or that accident prevented relief; it is not because He was not there in time, but because it was his will. 0, be still and know that he is God. 2. There may be in this address of the two sisters somewhat of the feeling, that the event should have been otherwise. There is at least an intimation that they had expected that, the event tvould have been otherwise. "If thou hadst been here, my brother had not died," - and why wert thou not here? We sent unto thee - -we sent a special message - a special prayer - and surely- thou mightst have been persuaded to come. Ah! why didst thou linger for two whole days after tidings of our threatened loss reached thee? Why didst thou not make haste to help us? We could not believe that thou wouldst have treated us thus. Thou wast not unmindful of us before. Thou didst regard us as friends. Thou didst bless our house with thy presence. Thou didst make it thy home - thou didst choose us before thine own kinsmen. Thou didst select our brother as the object of thine especial affection. And we thought that it had been enough to touch thy heart simply to send, to thee, saying "He whom thou lovedst is sick," - that thou vho didst but to hear of his illess to rush at once to his relief.. - -True, we had no right to dictate to thee,. -and now we have no right to complain. - But we cannot help feeling that if thou -hadst been here, our brother had not died, and surely thou mightst have been here. It was not so very great a favour that was asked of thee; and was he not worthy for whom thou shouldst do this. He loved thee, - he trusted in thee, and. thou mightest have come, if not to preserve his life, at least to soothe and satisfy his, dying hours. He looked for thee, and thou didst not appear. To the very last he waited for thee, and thou didst hide thyself.. He missed thee, and he was not comforted. Such are the instinctive complaints of nature, in a season of sore trial, of bitter bereavement. Thus does the wounded soul rise against the stroke that pierces. it, and ‘turn round upon the hand that smites it. 0, it is hard often for flesh and blood to believe in regard to any crushing load of woe, that it is God who directly and immediately ordains it. It is far harder to believe, that in ordaining it, he does not do wrong. Simply, to be still, and know that it is God, is no easy exercise of resignation. To be sure that He doeth right, that He doeth well, is even more difficult still. You fancy that if He had really been here, it would. have happened otherwise, your brother would not have died. And you feel as if you thought that he should have been here, - that it should have happened otherwise - that your brother should not have died. And, you can give, perhaps, many reasons why he should not. You can point out many ends which might have been served had he been spared, - O how faithful and successful he might have been, - how noble a course he might have run. He was just prepared for entering into active life; he was just newly fitted for the service of God in the world; and it does seem strange and unaccountable, that at the very time when his life seemed to have become most valuable - when his character was ripening for increased usefulness, and when the mere word of the Great Physician would have brought him back from the gates of death, he should yet have been left to die. Ah, but remember that He may have many purposes in view with which you may be unacquainted, which indeed you could not as yet comprehend. Only wait patiently for a little, and you will see that "this sickness is not" really "unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified thereby." Would that thoy hadst been here; - thou surely mightst have been here, is the natural language of the mourner to his Lord. Nay, says the Lord himself to his own disciples, "I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, to the intent ye may believe." A hard saying this, - who can always bear it? But consider who it is that speaks. It is your friend, your Saviour, who might have been here, and might have caused that your brother should not die; and may you not be sure, that if it had been for his glory, and for your good, - he would have been here, and would have caused that your brother should not have died? He might have ordered this matter otherwise, you say, and you almost think that he ought to have ordered it otherwise. But may you not believe that had it been right and good, he would have done so, and that if he has not, it must be for the best of reasons? What these may be you cannot tell. He may have need of your brother’s services elsewhere. He may intend to make his death the occasion of showing forth his glory, and blessing your soul. Only be patient, and hope unto the end. What he doeth you may not know now, but ye shall know hereafter. Meantime, as you are tempted to fancy that he might have interfered - nay, that he should have interfered, - to prevent the calamity under which you suffer, may not that very feeling, on second thoughts, suggest the conviction, that if he has not so interfered, it must be because he intends to make to you some gracious discovery of himself, and to confer upon you some special benefit? Be not hasty, then, to judge, but rest in the assurance that all things shall work together for your good. And though he may seem ‘to stand aloof when you would most desire, and seem most to need his interposition - yet when he does come, be sure that you welcome and receive him gladly - as did the mourning sisters. For, 3. There is apparent in the address of the sisters, a sincere, though melancholy satisfaction in meeting with Jesus at last. He had not come so soon as they expected. He had not come at the very time - in the very way - for the very purpose, that they could have liked - still when he did come, at whatsoever time, and for whatsoever purpose, he is welcome. He is come too late to do them that particular favour which they solicited. Still he is come fer good, and gratefully do they receive him "Lord, if thou hadst been here sooner, our brother had not died." But thou art here now; and it is enough. True, our brother is dead - and if it had been possible, we would have had it otherwise. We thought that thou wouldst have come - we wondered that thou didst not come - for a time, perhaps, we entertained some doubtful and hard thoughts of thee as if surely thou mightst have come. But now that thou hast come, we are satisfied. We are sure that had it been possible, consistently with the high ends of thy ministry, and with our own real interest, thou wouldst have been here. We see that thou lovest and carest for us, and though thou didst not at once grant our request precisely as we desired, yet not the less on that account do we take thy visit kindly. Thou art still our best friend, our gracious Lord. We know that even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee. At thy feet we will still lie down. That thou hast come at all, at our solicitation, a great condescension. That thou hast come in such an hour of trouble, is a peculiarly seasonable act of friendship. 0 happy will it be for you, brethren, if in like circumstances you are enabled to feel as these sisters felt, and to meet your Saviour’s gracious advances as they did. In the hour of blighted prospects, and disappointed hopes, when the evil which you deprecated has befallen you, you may think that consolation comes too late. Like Rachel, you may weep, and refuse to be comforted, - like Jonah, when your gourd withers, you may almost say that you do well to be angry. You may turn away when your Saviour draws near; you may sit disconsolate when he calls. It he had come fbr the purpose of averting the calamity, if he had been here sooner, and had interposed his power, it had been well, for then my brother had not died. But the calamity has overtaken me, - my brother is dead; and what avails it that He is here now? Ah! beware of such impatience, such natural irritability of grief. Reject not the Saviour’s visit of sympathy now, because he did not come to you exactly as you in your ignorance would have had him come, and do for you exactly what you would have had him do. It is enough that he is with you now, to speak comfortably to you - to bind up your broken -heart- to fill the aching void in your affections, and be to you instead of all that you have lost. True, if he had been here before, your brother might not have died, and your brother now is dead. But he is here none the less . But the sisters differed in their sorrow, as they did generally in their features of character, an& their manner of thinking and acting in the ordinary affairs of life. They were persons of very different tempers and dispositions, and this difference is uniformly and strikingly brought out in their treatment of the Lord Jesus. Both looked up to him with reverence; both regarded him with full confidence and tender affection; and both were equally earnest, and eager in testifying their esteem and love. But each in doing so followed the bent of her own peculiar turn of mind. Martha was distinguished by activity in the despatch of business. She seems to have possessed great quickness, and alertness, and energy, and a certain practical ability, and good sense; and thus she was well fitted for going through any work to be done, and always awake to the common calls and the common cares of the ordinary domestic routine of life. Mary again was evidently characterized by more depth of thoughts more devotedness and sensibility of feeling. She was more easily engrossed in any affecting scene, or any spiritual theme; more alive at any time to one single profound impression, and apt to be abstracted from other concerns. Hence we find it remarked, when our Lord formerly was received in their house, that, while Mary sat at his feet, and heard his word, Martha was cumbered with much serving. She was assiduous, and even officious, in her hospitable attempts to provide for the accommodation of her guest; and if Jesus had come to be ministered unto, he would have been most pleased with Martha’s attention to all his wants. But, as he came, not to be ministered unto, but to minister, he found most delight in her sister Mary, who, with the meekness of a disciple, and, the earnestness of a spiritually awakened soul, listened to, the, gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth. And, as their way of testifying regard to the Lord Jesus in prosperity was different, so also was their demeanour towards him in adversity. Martha first received information of his approach (John 11:20), either because to her, as the mistress of the house, the message was brought,. or, because, going about the house, she was in the way of hearing intelligence, She rose -in haste, -impatient to meet the Lord, and to He is here who is better than a thousand brothers, - he who have the Words of eternal life ; who, when flesh and heart faint, will be the strength of your heart and your portion for ever. Such might be the feelings common to the two sisters, - such are the feelings of nature mingled with grace, common to all sanctified grief - as indicated in the affecting address,. "Lord, if thou hadst been here my brother had not died." Render to him the offices of courtesy and respect. She is ready to be up and doing; she can turn at once from the conversation in which her friends from Jerusalem have been seeking to interest her, and disengage her mind for active exertion. Mary again is more absorbed in her grief; her sorrow is of a deeper and more desponding character. This the Jews remarked when they said of her, as they saw her at last rise hastily and go out, She goeth unto the grave to weep there. They had not said this of Martha,when she went forth. She might be bent on other errands. Mary could go only to weep. And at first her feelings so overpower her as to prevent her from going at all. The sudden arrival of her brother’s friend is a shock too great for her; it tears the wound open afresh, and recals bitter thoughts. She is plunged by the tidings into a fresh burst of sorrow. Thus in different circumstances, the same natural temper may be either an advantage or a snare. Martha was never so much occupied in the emotion of one scene or subject, as not to be quite ready for the call to another. This was a disadvantage to her when she was so hurried, that she could not withdraw herself from household cares to wait upon the word of life. It is an advantage to her now, that she can, easily shake off her depression, and hasten of her own accord to meet her Lord. The same profound feeling, again, which made Mary the most attentive listener before, made her the most helpless sufferer now, and disposed her almost to nurse her grief, until Jesus, her Comforter, sent specially and emphatically to rouse her (Matthew 11:28). And when the two sisters meet Jesus, the difference is equally characteristic. Martha’s grief is not so overwhelming as to prevent her utterance. She is calm, and cool, and collected enough to enter into argument. She can give expression to her convictions ‘and her hopes. She can tell that her faith is not shaken even by so severe a disappointment. Having hinted what might seem to imply a doubt (Matthew 11:21), she is in haste to explain her meaning, and to give assurance of her undiminished confidence; and then as the conversation goes on, she is sufficiently self-possessed to make a formal declaration of her faith in Jesus as the author of eternal life. Not so her sister Mary. She indeed, when at last she is emboldened by her Master’s kind message, goes forth to meet him, and her reverence, her devotion, her faith, are not less than those of Martha. But her heart is too full for many words Her emotions, when she sees the Lord, she cannot utter. The passion of her soul she cannot command. She can but cast herself down weeping, before him, and say, "Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died." - She adds not a word more. She lies prostrate and silent at his feet. - Such are the different aspects which sorrow wears in minds of different stamps, -and of different degrees of strength and of sensibility. Grief whatever may be its aspect, it finds in Jesus, the Saviour, one who can speak to it a word in season. For, III. His treatment of the two sisters, in his first meeting with them, was exactly suited to their respective tempers, and their different kinds of grief. Martha’s distress was of such a nature that it admitted of discussion and discourse. - She was disposed to converse, and to find relief in conversation. - Jesus accordingly adapted his treatment to her case. He spoke to her, and led her to speak to him. - He talked with her on the subject most intereating and most seasonable, on the resurrection of the body and the life of the soul. Martha had declared her unshaken trust in him as still having power to obtain from God all that he might ask. (Matthew 11:22) And a wild idea, perhaps, crossed her mind, that it might not even yet be too late, that the evil might, even now, be repaired. If so, it was but the fancy of a moment, the dreamy notion that sometimes haunts the desolate breast, when it strives in vain to realise the loss which it has sustained. A single sad thought brings back the recollection, to which she afterwards, in her characteristic spirit of attention to such details, adverts, that he has been now four days in tbe tomb, and corruption must be doing its horrid work upon his body. (Matthew 11:9) When, therefore, she hears her Lord s promise, "Thy brother shall rise again," she applies it to his share in the general resurrection at. the Last Day. Jesus explains himself more fully. He speaks not of a resurrection merely, but of a resurrection in Him, not of life only, but of life in Him. "I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth, and believeth in me, shall never die. Believest thou this?" This is the only true comfort in respect of the future state. He is the only true Comforter, who can speak, not merely of the immortality of the soul, and of the resurrection of the body, but of himself as the life of the immortal soul, and the quickener of the risen body, the first begotten from the dead; the first fruits of them that sleep. Ah, what consolation is it that thy brother lives and will rise again! He lives in ME. He will rise with ME. And what is the life which I sustain? It is the very life which I impart now, - life before God - the life of a soul pardoned, justified, reconciled to God, renewed, and sanctified for ever. And what is the resurrection which I give? Resurrection to glory - when these vile bodies shall be fashioned like unto my glorious body. It is my own life that I impart to the believer now, and continue to him beyond, the grave: it is of my own resurrection that I make him a partaker hereafter, when I come again. These words alone shed light on the dark tomb of a lost brother, and the darker sorrow of a sister’s heart. Yes; and though Martha understands not fully all that is intended by the assurance, "I am the resurrection and the life," she is relieved by having laid on her Divine friend the burden of her soul, and imparted her sorrows and her hopes to one who can so graciously commune with her concerning them all. And it is, therefore, with somewhat of a lightened heart, that she declares her entire acquiescence in his power, and her perfect trust in his goodness (Matthew 11:27) -" Yea, Lord; I believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, who should come into the world." - When Mary, on the other hand, draws near in the anguish of silent woe, Jesus is differently affected, and his sympathy is shown in a different way. He is much more profoundy moved. He does not reply to her in words, for her own words were few. Grief has choked her utterance, and overmastered her soul. But the sight of one so dear to him, lying in such helpless anguish at his feet, is an appeal to him far stronger than any supplication, and his own responsive sigh is an answer groaned in spirit, and was troubled. And when he had asked - of the more comforting than any promise. When he saw her weeping, by the bystanders," Where have ye laid him " and received the reply, "Come and see," like Joseph, he could not refrain himself - Jesus wept. 0 most blessed mourner, with whose tears thy Saviour mingles his own! 0, sympathy most unparalleled! To each of the two mourners the Lord addressed the very consolation that was most congenial. To Martha he gave exceeding great and precious assurances, in words such as never man spake. To Mary he communicated the groanings of his spirit, in language more expressive to the heart than all spoken words. - With Martha, Jesus discoursed and reasoned. With Mary, Jesus wept. - 0 what a friend is this! What a brother; yea, and far more than a brother; and how confidently may you come to him, ye Christian mourners, in every season of trial. For, surely, he will give you the very cordial, the very refreshment of which you stand in need. He is a patient hearer if you have anything to say to him; and he will speak to you as you are able to bear it. Your complaints, your regrets, your expostulations, your very remonstrances almost, and upbraidings, may all be expressed to him. He will pity. He will comfort. His Holy Spirit will bring to your remembrance what Christ has said suitable to your case. He will recall to you the Saviour’s gracious words of eternal life, and suggest to you considerations fitted to dissipate your gloom, and put new song in your mouth. And even if you cannot collect your thoughts, and order your words aright - if you are dumb with silence when your sorrow is stirred, if you feel your heart is hot within you - oh remember, that with these very groanings which cannot be uttered, the Spirit maketh intercession for you. And they are not hid from him, who, when he saw Mary weeping, groaned and was troubled, and wept. Oh, there is enough of all varied consolation in this blessed book, which all throughout testifies of Jesus. For the sorrow that seeks vent in words, and desires by words also to be soothed, there is the Saviour’s open ear - there are the Saviour lips into which grace was poured. For the grief that is dumb and silent, there are the Saviour’s tears. We have set before you, brethren, two characters. We have seen how they appeared in the ordinary scenes of life, and how they manifested themselves in the chamber of sickness - in the house of mourning. On their comparative excellencies and defects respectively, we pronounce no judgment, farther than what may be gathered incidentally from the narrative, as the judgment of the Lord himself. But we would say to you, in conclusion, of Mary’s fervency of spirit as compared with Martha’s diligence in business, - this ye ought to cherish, but not to leave the other undone. There is a tendency to regard religion as consisting chiefly in services rendered to the Lord Jesus, and attention and observance paid to him; in ministering busily, if not to his person, yet to his cause and the affairs of his kingdom. And there is a danger, in days especially when much is to be done, of substituting a certain bustling activity, arid liberality, and zeal in the work of the Lord, for deep and devoted piety in waiting upon his word. Never forget, then, that Mary chose the better part. What Jesus chiefly wants is to see you rather sitting at his feet, than cumbered about much serving, rather that you should ask and receive frcm him, than that you should make a merit of rendering much service to him. But beware of supposing that there is any inconsistency or incompatibility between these two habits of mind. The tempers of the two sisters may be united and blended. Be it your study and your prayer that they may be so in you. Be you as fervent in spirit as Mary was - as diligent in business as Martha was. Choose the privilege of waiting upon the Word of the -Lord - yet, neglect not the Work of the Lord. - Be active, be energetic, be liberal, and abound more and more in that work. -Seize every opportunity, answer every call of usefu]ness, - wbile, at the same time, you cultivate the holy taste for meditative retirement, divine fellowship, and heavenly rest ; - even as He did, who went about doing good, and of whom also it is written, that he spent the night in prayer. Then may you entertain the confident hope, that, in seasons of affliction, yours will be the blessedness of uniting both the portions of consolation which the sisters separately received. Jesus will speak to you as he did to Martha. Jesus will weep with you as he did with Mary. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 124: S. THE VALUE AND SWEETNESS OF THE LAW ======================================================================== THE VALUE AND SWEETNESS OF THE LAW “More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb. Moreover by them is thy servant warned: and in keeping of them there is great reward.”- Psalms 19:10-11 TWO figures are used (Psalms 19:10) in commendation of the law, gold and honey; the one indicating its intrinsic value in itself; the other its relish in the actual experience or taste of it. It has a worth of its own which gold cannot measure. It has a flavour when tasted that sweetest honey cannot rival. This double praise of the law may be considered, either, in connection with the particular description of the law’s different characters and offices going before (Psalms 19:7-9); or in connection With the brief summary of its power and influence coming after (Psalms 19:11) as crowning all. I. Taking it in the former of these connections, the value of the law, as compared with gold, may be measured by the good it does; its honey sweetness by its manner of doing it. 1. The golden good that it does in the region of spiritual experience is manifold, as is the power or influence which gold literally wields in the affairs and ongoings of the world. It converts the soul; it makes wise the simple; it rejoiceth the heart; it enlightens the eyes; it inspires a fear of Jehovah that is clean and ever-enduring; it harmonises all his judgments, all his providential dealings, as true and righteous. Can the finest gold do as much as that? Can it do anything like that in the sphere over which it holds proper sway? It can, alas! do much - too much, not only there, but even in the sphere in which it ought to have no place. It can debauch the conscience, pervert the will, and fan the folly of presumptuous disregard of all warning. It can infuse the poison of discontent, under duty, and cast its dust into eyes willing to be blinded. It can overcome salutary fear, and pervert righteous judgment. It can mystify or mislead the witness; it can bribe or bias the judge. In all the sorts of influence which carry men along in the line of their natural inclinations, their natural positions, gold, fine gold, is all powerful, and therefore to the natural mind very precious and desirable. But what power has it in the opposite direction? What power to turn the current of men’s thoughts and feelings, to change the character and remould the entire mental and moral frame? What power to give a man the mastery over himself, and over things without? The law has that power. And it has it as being like gold, which is not only a highly prized article in commerce, but an instrument and medium of exchange on which all commerce turns. As “Jehovah enacting, legislating” - inserting sharply into the convinced conscience and sin-smitten soul the keen point of its uncompromising perfection, it works so as to enforce consent to the guilt of transgression being laid, not on the sin-doer, but on the sin-bearer, making the transgressor at last willing to exchange his own righteousness for that of Christ; his own forfeited dead life, for the life of him who liveth, and was dead, and is alive for evermore. As “Jehovah testifying and warning” it breaks in, often rudely and terribly, upon the folly of men sleeping secure on the brink of the pit, and forces them to see how inevitable is their doom, if they are not wise in time to foresee the evil, and hide themselves. So it makes them exchange their fond and foolish dream of exemption from, for the wisdom which embraces Christ bearing that punishment away. As “Jehovah ordaining” in exchange for that murmuring frame of mind which is ever counting Jehovah’s statutes grievous, complaining of his requirements as irksome, it inspires the loyal and filial spirit which welcomes them rejoicingly as the Father’s ordinances for his glory and their good. As “Jehovah commanding” it gives, in exchange for embarrassment and indecision amid the complicated experiences and demands of life, the clear and constant light of a single eye, fixed on a single ruling principle, everywhere and always subjecting all things to itself. As “Jehovah feared,” in exchange for a mean and fitful impulse, sordid, selfish, capricious, prompting sudden alarms, to be as suddenly appeased by unworthy opiates or palliatives, it gives a clean and enduring motive; a reverential awe, not superficial and passing, but deep and lasting. As “Jehovah judging,” and owned as, in all his dealings, exercising a wise disciplinary training in the line of his law, in exchange for the temptation to regard the things which befall as a sort of chaos, it gives a willingness to see in all of them a true and righteous governing plan of correction, guidance, discipline. “That bad thing, gold, buys all good things.” So says, and truly in a sense, one of our poets. The reverse, however, is here true - that good thing, law, buys all bad things. It buys up all evasion of its perfection on my part by the provision of a perfect satisfaction on my behalf. It converts and buys me, in and through my perfect substitute and surety, thus making me by purchase loyal to it as uncompromisingly perfect. I am bought with a price to be under the perfect law. The law buys me, redeems and rescues me from the vain notion of impunity, to be wise in fleeing to the stronghold as a prisoner of hope. The law buys out of me my resentment of Jehovah’s statutes as if they were unrighteous and unfair, giving me, instead, a heart to rejoice in them all, in each and all of them. The law divests me of all doublemindedness, all obliquity of vision, and endows me instead with singleness of eye; enlightenment in the frank acknowledging of Jehovah’s authority to command. It buys up the unclean and uncertain motive of mere sordid, selfish, abject, and servile dread, and it implants in exchange for that a loving, holy, filial reverence. It buys and hides away from me all dark resentful suspicions of Jehovah’s dealings in the administration of his law, and in room of them all implants a humble, serene, and cheerful assurance that, in his governing according to his good and holy law, all his ways are just and true. Well, then, may the law stand comparison with gold; well may it be held, in all its aspects and workings, to be desired more than much fine gold. It is far more powerful, and its power is far safer and far better. It buys bad things out of you which gold can only leave with you and make worse. Believing you of these bad things, it buys for you, and gives to you good things which gold, try as it may, can never purchase. Many good things gold may buy; gold, and the pleasures it commands; all natural good things it can buy; all gifts of genius; all genial affections; all highest powers of intellect; all deepest sympathies of humanity, it can buy; in large speculations, or by drops and driblets; alas! it can buy them all for a joyless prosperity, a heartless show, a drunken unclean cup. The law has no power or excellency in that line. But set in the light of the gospel plan, the great evangelical mode of salvation by freest grace, in terms of strictest law, seen as magnified and made honourable in the law-fulfiller and law-satisfying mediator; written in the heart by the Holy Spirit, the law of liberty, the law of love, it does in its proper region infinitely more than gold can ever do in what is its. It negotiates better exchanges in a better market. It wields a higher power in a higher sphere. It does not merely help you to exchange one poor perishable article of earthly merchandise for another, to be kept for a moment and then sold again, or stolen or lost. It enables you to exchange yourself for yourself; your old self, guilty, blinded, rebellious, unclean, for your new self, converted, enlightened, enlarged, single-eyed, joyous, and free for ever. 2. The manner in which the law wields its command thus comparable and preferable to gold, is such as to entitle it well to the commendation of being sweeter also than honey and the dropping of honeycombs. This quality of the law, its sweetness in its workings as described in the preceding verses, can scarcely be explained beforehand. It must be experimentally tried and proved. I might, indeed, present you an ideal picture of the law, abstractly and apart, in its own intrinsic beauty, harmony, and heavenly grace. I might ask you to view it, pure and simple, coming straight from the pure and holy heart of God. And I might enlarge on the elements of inexpressible sweetness that there are in it, considered in itself; such sweetness to the pure spiritual taste as no cloying gratification of any bodily appetite can for a moment pretend to rival. But it is not thus that the law is here set forth. It appears not simply as displaying itself in its own untouched and unsullied grace and glory, but as working, energetically working, coming into contact with all the parts of our corrupt nature - the conscience, the understanding, the affections, the whole soul - dealing with them closely, stirring the depths of thought and feeling in our carnal minds and perverse wills. It is in that view of its personal and pointed probing of the thoughts and intents of the heart that the law is said to be sweeter than honey. Is it really so? Do you who are spiritually exercised in what used to be called law-experience, exercised as Paul was in the 7th of the Romans, do you feel it to be so? When your sin is finding you out, and the Holy Spirit is destroying your refuges of lies, and a sense of the almighty Lawgiver’s holy wrath is smiting you, and but the faintest gleam of light from the altar keeps you from utter despair, is there sweetness in such law work as that? Yes, brother. There is the sweetness of fevered lips long debauched by noxious drugs or stimulants, now gently touched with a single drop of milk and honey. It will not be at once all the promised sweetness that is to challenge and overmatch the sweetness of the honeycomb. It is but a faint foretaste, a mere earnest of that. For there is this difference between the two things here compared. Honey, on its first contact with the lips and palate, gives forth at once all its sweetness. Its effect on Jonathan was instantaneous and complete (1 Samuel 14:27). But the prolonged and continuous eating of it tends to diminish or blunt its sweet relish. Becoming accustomed to it, we cease to feel its zest. Indulging freely in its use, we find it beginning to cloy and satiate the appetite. It is otherwise with the law of Jehovah, when it is eaten, and becomes the food of the soul. In its first entrance into the inner man, searching and trying the thoughts and intents of the heart, driven home by the Holy Spirit into the inmost depths of my spiritual nature, detecting and condemning the evil of ungodliness and carnality reigning there, it may be felt as altogether and only bitterness. It must be felt so all the more when it drags me out of my concealment and sets me naked and ashamed before the holy One. But Adam must have felt that there was a faint and feeble taste of sweetness when, in his awful consciousness of guilt, he heard the voice, “Where art thou?” It must have been, a sweeter moment for him than he had had since his deadly sin. It was a drop of heaven’s honey in the cup he had given him to drink. And from being but a sip at first, scarcely to be recognised or distinguished amid the overpowering sense of the guilt and loathsomeness of sin, the sweetness grows. As I am moved and enabled by the Spirit to accept the punishment of my sin; to consent to be dead by the law, crucified with Christ, and to be saved by grace through him; as, living in my living lord, I come to realise Jehovah’s law as being to me what it was to him; as I find experimentally the value of its guidance, ‘and of Jehovah’s government of me in terms of it; so the sweetness grows. Its honey flavour, instead of suffering decrease, becomes more and more congenial, and refreshing, and reviving, and fits me more and more for valiantly and joyfully fighting with Jonathan’s spirit the battles of the Lord. II. The twofold commendation of the law in Psalms 19:10 may be taken in connection with what follows as well as with what goes before (Psalms 19:11). “Moreover by them is thy servant warned; and in keeping of them there is great reward.” By them is thy servant warned. This makes them in my esteem more to be desired than gold, yea, than much fine gold. If indeed I am the Lord’s servant - if I can say from the heart, “O Lord, truly I am thy servant; I am thy servant, the son of thy handmaid: thou hast loosed my bonds;” freed me from all other masters to make me thine only; “Behold, as the eyes of servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of a maiden unto the hand of her mistress; so our eyes wait upon the Lord our God until that he have mercy upon us;” - if in this spirit I am the servant of Jehovah; I desire to be continually warned; admonished at every step; reminded of duty; cautioned against danger. And the law of Jehovah, in its various aspects and applications, is exceeding precious, because by it, by them, I get what I desire, I am warned. This indeed is not a natural desire. We do not for the most part care to be too closely watched, to be continually getting hints and advices, suggestions and remonstrances. We are willing enough to take our instructions in a general way from our master; but we like to be left very much to ourselves in carrying them out. To be perpetually superintended, and directed, as to every minute detail of the task entrusted to us, is irksome, irritating, humiliating. That however, will not be your feeling if, being on a right footing with him, you serve the Lord. You would have him ever at your hand, to counsel you at every turn. And so you have in some one or other of his various ways of applying and administering his wondrous law, wondrous as being so manifold and yet one. Jehovah is at every moment beside you, so that his word is a lamp unto your feet, and a light unto your path. “By these things,” you can say, “these rules and ordinances of thine, is thy servant warned.” 2. “And in keeping of them there is great reward.” This testimony of Jehovah’s servant explains their being sweeter than honey; as the former, “by them is thy servant warned,” shows how they are more desirable than gold. In keeping of them there is a great reward. Not only is there a reward promised for keeping them. In the keeping of them there is a great reward. It is the sentiment of a generous and loving heart, thoroughly on the side of Jehovah, thoroughly at one with him, as lawgiver, ruler, judge. I do not yield a grudging service to a hard master. I do not go through an irksome task as the condition of a prize to be won when it is over. I do not merely work for reward. I have my reward in working. But let me not be misunderstood. Let not these two sayings be regarded as irreconcilable. I do in a sense “work for reward. I may not under-rate the future recompense before me. For that would be to renounce my position as Jehovah’s servant, and almost to affect equality with himself. I am his servant, his emancipated servant; loosed from servile bonds that I may serve him freely; his hired servant, bought first from bondage and then hired. He has hired me, given me my work, and promised me my wages. I must accept my condition, as his hired servant, with all its obligations and responsibilities. Like Moses, I have respect to the recompense of the reward. My Lord requires me to be faithful in the trust committed to me now, to render service, to endure tribulation, having respect to the glory to be revealed at his coming. He himself, for the joy set before him, endured the cross. But my blessedness in connection with Jehovah and his law now is that I do not separate the service and the reward. To me now they are identical. The service is the reward begun; the reward is the service perfected. The one is the earnest, the foretaste of the other. In serving now, amid whatever sufferings, I have a taste of heaven’s joy. And heaven’s joy, when I reach it, is still the joy of serving. “His servants shall serve him.” Fix your thoughts on this little phrase, “thy servant.” It is most significant; it is all important here. It is the key to this whole eulogy of Jehovah’s law. It explains all that is said about its perfect sovereignty, and power, and beauty; its desirableness above gold; its sweetness beyond honey. All turns on this phrase “thy servant.” All turns, my brother, on your willingness to make that phrase yours; thoroughly and in good faith to take as yours the position which it indicates; and say to the Lord God of Hosts, “thy servant!” Ah! if you do not, if you will not say that, the whole of this praise of Jehovah’s law is, in your mouth, a delusion and mockery. These two closing commendations suggest a searching test. To be warned; to be watched; to be reminded at every step you have to take of danger and of duty; to take well every check of conscience, every hint in providence, every suggestion of the Holy Spirit, every glance of the Father’s eye, every silent look, like what Peter saw, of the Son and Brother arresting you, bidding you pause and think; to take that well; to count a single such admonition from above, laying an arrest on what is now soliciting you from below, more precious than untold treasure; and then, when your feet are turned again into the right way, to find in the real work and service of the Lord, in self-denial, cross-bearing, witness-bearing, for the Lord’s sake; to find in the very work itself, be it common work sanctified, or special sacred work become, as it should become, common, a sweet relish of love and freedom and joy that no honey from earth’s choicest comb can rival; all that implies your being the servants of Jehovah, in a very thorough sense; his servants truly and indeed. “His servants!” And what does that mean? It means entire self-surrender; it means “not my will but thine be done.” And this can come only, and blessed be God, it can come thoroughly, through your consenting, at once, and once for all consenting to be in Christ; to be in him what he is to the Father; what he manifested himself to be, when he said, “I must be about my Father’s business.” Thus only can you be brought to renounce your natural insubordination to divine authority and your natural assertion of self-will. Thus only can you be persuaded to accept the position of servant. Hence my final appeal! Get out of the attitude of insubordination in which you stand towards God. Submit yourselves to him. Give in your submission to him. I beseech you, be reconciled to him. Yes! that is all. Get to be yourselves on right footing with God himself. And then all will be right as to his law. Therefore I close with the solemn testimony that you must be born again, that you may enter into the kingdom of God, which is the doing of God’s will, and not yours; and with the affectionate, tender, free and loving invitation: - “Come now and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.” “Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us; we beseech you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 125: S. UNITY OF THE SPIRIT ======================================================================== THE UNITY OF THE SPIRIT-THE BOND OF PEACE. A Sermon preached in Free St George’s, on the first Sabbath after the rising of the General Assembly of the Free Church of Scotland, 1873. BY ROBERT S. CANDLISH, D.D., PRINCIPAL OF THE NEW COLLEGE, AND SENIOR PASTOR OF FREE ST GEORGE’S. WITH AN APPENDIX, CONTAINING— 1. Finding of the Assembly on the Report of the Union Committee. 2. Act directing this Finding to be communicated to the other Churches. 3. Dissent of Mr Nixon, Dr Begg, Dr Forbes, and Others. 4. Explanatory Statement of Dr Duff, Earl of Dalhousie, Dr Candlish, and Others. EDINBURGH: MACLAREN & MACNIVEN, PRINCES STREET. 1873. PREFATORY NOTE. IT will be seen that this Sermon is published very much for the sake of the Appendix. I think this a fair way of trying to keep together the important documents connected with the Assembly’s proceedings in closing for the present the Union movement. Of course, I alone am responsible for the sentiments of the Discourse, and for its issue in its present form, and with its present accompaniments. It is right to explain that the names appended to Mr Nixon’s Dissent are exclusively the names of members of Assembly. We proposed to allow a wider latitude of signature. But the proposal was declined, and perhaps rightly, on strict constitutional grounds. As regards our own Explanatory Statement, I may be permitted to say a few words. I prepared it, when quite alone, without consultation beforehand or advice at the time, simply for the relief of my own mind, and without caring much whether few or many might join in it. I shewed it to five friends, I think, who all approved of it without even a verbal alteration. It was thus strictly private, until I read it in the Assembly on Thursday, 29th May. It lay thereafter for signature in the precincts of the Assembly Hall; but without the possibility of organisation beforehand or pressure at the time, we simply allowed names to be appended, with a view to their being engrossed, according to agreement, in the Assembly’s Record. I cannot imagine any harm likely to ensue if steps are quietly taken to allow office-bearers throughout the country, the opportunity of signing either of these documents. Of course, their signatures cannot be engrossed in any ecclesiastical record. And no agitation need attend any such movements. But I am far from saying that they are necessary or desirable. I merely indicate their harmlessness. E. S. C. June 13. 1873. SERMON. " Endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. Ephesians 4:3. TWO questions may here be raised, - I. What is to be kept ? - " The unity of the Spirit." II. How is it to be kept ? - " With endeavour, in the bond of peace." I. What is to be kept is "the unity of the Spirit." This phrase may admit of different interpretations, but I am inclined to understand it in its most strictly literal sense, as indicating the unity of which the Holy Spirit is the author; that oneness of believing men in Christ which is the Spirit’s new creation. Of course, in that view, it must be a unity corresponding in its nature and character to the nature and character of him who is its author and creator. It cannot therefore be merely outward and formal. It may be that; but it must be something more than that. It must be inward and spiritual. And the outward, and the inward, the formal and the spiritual,. must meet in this unity, and harmonize and be at one. For the Holy Spirit is one. And what the Holy Spirit makes or forms is one; like the pure and perfect manhood of the incarnate Son, the Lord Jesus, which he fashioned in the virgin’s womb. The Church is Christ’s body; fashioned also by the Holy Ghost, in the womb, as it were, of the pure and glorious gospel, out of which, by the power of the Spirit, it comes. And it comes as being one; indivisibly one, as was the manhood of that holy child Jesus, born of the Spirit in Bethlehem’s stable. In that unity, however, there may be said to be two elements, or what we may call factors; the outward form and the inward spirit or life, corresponding to the true flesh and the rational soul in the one man Christ Jesus. So the Church, which the Spirit makes one in Christ, which is Christ’s one body, may have its external, visible, tangible, embodiment or substance, as well as its internal principle of vitality. It may have the Spirit’s own dove-like shape and form, as well as the Spirit’s unseen power. Thus the unity may be regarded as two-fold. It may be viewed in two lights - as outwardly manifested, and as inwardly wrought. But in either view, it is the unity of the Spirit. It is unity of which the Spirit is the immediate author. It is unity of the Spirit’s making. 1. Look at its outward manifestation. Where, you ask? Where are we to look for, that we may look at, this outwardly manifested unity of the Spirit? There is unity - visible unity - of various kinds and degrees, within the realms of Christendom. There are different outwardly manifested unities. There is the unity of which Rome makes her boast: the unity of which the Papal throne is the symbol and priestcraft the cement. There is the unity which the sanction and control of civil authority, the strong arm of civil law, may give to a corporation embracing diverse sects and vexed with endless strife, resounding with the din of confused and conflicting voices. There is the unity which the holding of a common creed suggests, and which the signing of a common formula is meant to seal. There is the unity which, disclaiming and disdaining all such ties or helps, affects to rest on the higher, broader basis of an agreement to think more freely than the common mass. There is the unity that springs out of the claim of superior sanctity, hugging itself in its own select circle, and saying to yonder publican, Stand by, for I am holier than thou. There are thus Church Unities, of the ecclesiastical, the national, the voluntary sort. There are unities of the conclave, the council, the cabinet, the coterie; the party, or the sect. Which one of them all is the unity of the Spirit? Is any one of them such a unity as may be worthily ascribed to the Holy Ghost as its author? Such a unity as he may be supposed to make? Alas ! that we have to answer, No. Is there then no such thing as an outstanding, realizable, unity of the Spirit? Has the unity which he originates and creates, no outward manifestation or embodiment at all? No. I believe in the visible church, and in its visible unity. I believe in the holy catholic church as one; and visible as one. It is visibly one, as being holy and catholic. It is holy, as consecrated to God. It is catholic, as embracing all in its universal love. That is its real and essential unity. It is the unity of holiness and of love. And, as such, it is a unity that may be seen, and known, and read of all men. For, holiness and love, godliness and charity, if they exist at all, must make themselves visible. A holy and loving man, or woman, or child, is not an inward ideal, but an outward, palpable reality. The Spirit makes holy and loving men, and women, and children. And that is his unity in its outward manifestation, as well as its inward birth. Thus he manifests his unity, inwardly and outwardly. That is the visible unity which he produces ; which alone is worthily and truly his. Let no man disparage, or doubt, or undervalue it; even as thus put in its germ or seed. Let no man complain of it as being too vague, shadowy, and undefined. No doubt the unity of a common badge, or of a common dress, a shaven crown, a red cross, a peculiar gown or hat, scarlet stockings, and the like, may be more discernible, and discernible with less trouble. It may be deceptive, nevertheless; specious, yet hollow; a seeming oneness, covering all but infinite diversities. But true holiness and true love are everywhere and always the same. And there is nothing under them. They cover nothing. Where holiness and love prevail, there can be no diversities. All holy and loving persons speak and act alike, because they think and feel alike. Is not that the true ideal of the holy catholic church - holy and loving persons associated together? Do you still question if such unity as this is more than a name, a dream, as regards the church of Christ subsisting upon earth? Where, you ask, are the people who are manifestly and unequivocally one, in holiness and love, as you would have me to believe ? Shew me them. Bring them together before me; and let me compare them and count them. Nay, my friend.This incredulous demand of yours is scarcely reasonable. And yet, alas I can find some apology for it, when I myself see how little many Christians whom I know, and whose Christianity I dare not doubt, do really lead such thoroughly holy lives as Christ led, and do really walk in love as Christ has loved them. But I entreat you, brother, to consider. May nqt the fault be partly in yourself? May it not lie in your having so little of an eye to apprehend - so little of a heart to appreciate and to sympathize with - the holiness and love - the holy living and the loving working - which do, however imperfectly and inadequately, yet must truly characterize some few at least of your acquaintances, or have characterized some few historical names - some few of the remembered dead? They may be very few; very faithful among many false or weak professors. But if there are only two or three, of whom you cannot but own that, dwelling far apart, of different natural temperaments, belonging to different sects, frequenting different circles, and mingling in different societies - they yet all agree in giving the unmistakable impression of their living habitually under the influence of loyalty to God and charity to man;- all of them acknowledging Christ as their all in all, and being themselves in large measure consistently Christ-like as well as Christ-loving; - that is to you the church visible; - visible as one; made one by the Holy Ghost. That is "the unity of the Spirit," sufficiently manifested to you! Sufficiently, I say, to draw you over to this unity yourselves, or to leave you without apology if you continue in your unbelief! Sufficiently, I add, to make your case a very sad one, if - refusing to see in such a gracious work any higher hand than man’s - or, it may be, ascribing it to agencies and influences even meaner still - you incur the guilt of those who said that Christ cast out devils by Beelzebub their prince. 2. I have dwelt thus long on the visible aspect of "the unity of the Spirit" which you are to endeavour to keep, because it is in that line that your endeavour must mainly be put forth. But I must remind you that the real seat of this unity is within, in the heart. There, of course, it is invisible, save only to God the Father, who is indeed himself its living centre. For the unity which the Spirit effects among all the redeemed is primarily and essentially unity in God the Father; unity, in a high sense, with God the Father. It is the unity of which Christ speaks when he prays: " That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in us; that the world may believe that thou hast sent me. And the glory which thou gavest me I have given them; that they may be one, even as we are one : I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one; and that the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast loved them, as thou hast loved me " (John 17:21-23). That oneness which Christ thus seeks is the unity of the Spirit. The Spirit is himself one with the Father and the Son, in the divine unity or oneness with which, in some sense, the human is here so wonderfully identified. It is as being himself one with the Father and the Son, in their mutual indwelling in one another in love, that he makes us one; through the Son’s dwelling in us as the Father dwelleth in him; and the indwelling in us consequently of the very love with which the Father loveth the Son. That is " the unity of the Spirit"; the only unity that can be worthily ascribed to him. It is, as the Lord intimates, a unity which, in its fruit or issue, may be and must be visible; for by it the world is to "know that the Father hath sent him." But in its deep source and seat it is invisible. It is the secret of the Lord which is with them that fear him. It is a communication made by the Spirit of God to and within the deepest spirit in man. It is his causing you to know and believe the love with which God has loved you. It is not your loving God but his loving you - loving you as he loves his own Son, that constitutes your unity or oneness, first with God the Father, and then, in him, with one another as brethren. It is no narrow, earthly, selfish unity, but a unity wide and high and heavenly. II. This unity of the Spirit is to be kept. (I.) There must be endeavour to keep it. And (II.) there is a bond provided for keeping it. (I.) In the first place, there must be endeavour to keep it. And the endeavour must be most earnest and most strenuous. The word used is very emphatical. It implies a strong and sustained effort of will. And well it may. If it is indeed the unity of the Spirit, it may well require, as it well deserves, sedulous and anxious keeping. For it is a beauteous, heavenly vase, in the custody of rude, earthly hands. It craves tender handling. It is easily marred, cracked, and broken. It needs to be scrupulously watched and most assiduously guarded and fenced. On the one hand, the inmost shrine in which it is fashioned and nursed, the shrine of this poor heart of mine! What a receptacle, what a home for this seed, transplanted into it from heaven’s own soil! To keep that there, - what an endeavour! Let me try to realise the thought. This "unity of the Spirit"! It is, I repeat, the love wherewith the Father loveth the Son dwelling in me, through the Son himself dwelling in me by the Spirit. Surely this is, almost without a figure, heaven on earth! It is the Father’s love to the Son, which is heaven’s glory, finding a lodgment on earth ! And where? In me; consciously in me; in my heart. And what a heart! How weak, irresolute, infirm! How cold and carnal and worldly, even when renewed! To keep such a treasure in such a place; a gem so pure in a casket so open to all defilement; - assuredly needs endeavour; the keeping of the heart with all diligence, since out of it are the issues of life. Then, on the other hand, the need is certainly not less among those issues of life which come out of the heart. If in the recesses of your own inward experience, the unity of the Spirit is so liable to suffer damage, that there must be constant endeavour to keep it, it cannot well be less so when it comes in contact with the outer world. So to keep the unity of the Spirit, as to cherish always a vivid sense of your being one with the Son in his enjoyment of the Father’s love, and one with all that are his in the enjoyment of it - amid all jars and disagreements - ah ! there must be careful, diligent endeavour. It will not keep itself. It is not according to nature; if it were, it might spontaneously keep itself. It is against nature. Count it not strange therefore if the keeping of it cost you effort. (II.) In the second place, for your encouragement, there is a bond provided for keeping this unity; it is the bond of peace. The endeavour, strenuous and sustained as it must be, is not to be the endeavour of violence or excitement. It is no desperate groping and struggling in the dark that is required. The unity of the Spirit is to be sedulously kept. But the keeping of it is to be quiet, calm, peaceful. The bond, the girdle, which is to be the means of keeping it, is peace. What peace? "The peace of God, which passeth understanding, keeping your hearts and minds through Jesus Christ;" "peace in believing;" the peace, his own peace, which Jesus bequeathes and gives; - "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." It is not a peace which you have naturally, or can acquire by any exertion, or through any righteousness, of your own. It is of grace. Naturally you know not what it is. You are at enmity with God, your fellows, and yourselves; distracted in your own minds; uneasy in all your relations. In such a state there is no unity of any sort to be kept, unless it be the unity of a precarious truce, or a hollow compromise, or mere conventional courtesy and compliment, which is no real unity at all, and which any kind of peace may decently enough keep. The Spirit makes real unity by making real peace. And therefore it is in the bond of real divine peace that "the unity of the Spirit" is to be kept. First and chiefly, It is the peace of reconciliation to God that is here meant; "the peace with God" which, "being justified by faith, you have through Jesus Christ your Lord." It is idle to talk of your keeping the unity of the Spirit, or having any unity of the Spirit to keep, if you are strangers to that peace, if there is not some sense in your hearts of a well grounded and assured peace between you and your God and Father in heaven. If the question of your standing in his sight - how it is between him as the righteous judge and you as guilty sinners - the question of questions for your perishing soul - is not settled; so settled as to breath into your troubled spirit serene, secure, pure, and placid peace; - if doubt, anxiety, misgiving, continue to haunt your bosom, as to whether you are still outcast, condemned, afar off, or justified, forgiven, accepted in the beloved, brought nigh by the blood of Christ; - what bond, what tie, what girdle, have you for keeping God, and you, and your fellow-men together as one - unless it be the cold cord of ceremony, or the brittle thread of routine? Be very sure that peace, peace of conscience on the footing of the great propitiation, peace sealed and ratified by the gift of the spirit of adoption, peace implying no surrender on God’s part and admitting of no reserve on your part - complete, confiding peace, - Christ’s own peace in the bosom of the Father, now that he has drained the cup of wrath; such peace alone can really bind in one, - as the Holy Ghost would have to be bound in one, the Father, and the Son, and you, and the holy brethren. In vain, without the bond of that peace, you try to keep any unity deserving of the name. But having that bond in which to keep the Spirit’s unity, the only unity worth the keeping, you may go forth among earth’s manifold discords, confident that heaven’s harmony will overbear them all. For, let it be remarked secondly, This peace of God ruling in your minds and hearts, and keeping them through Jesus Christ your Lord, overflows in copious streams all around, and becomes a sort of universal peace; benign, calm, quiet, all-pervading, all-embracing. The love of God - the love wherewith the Father loveth the Son, and loveth you even as he loveth him - that love, shed abroad in your hearts by the Holy Ghost given unto you ; that holy, fatherly love of God, known, believed, felt - and that is peace - goes forth in holy, brotherly love, everywhere and always. This love, this peace, is the only uniting bond. An uneasy conscience - the consciousness or apprehension of an unsettled controversy on any point still outstanding between you and your God, or between you and your fellow-men; such an uncomfortable state of the inner man, causing restlessness, fitfulness, irritability, cannot but hinder the cultivation of that " meek and quiet spirit," - which is not only " in the sight of God an ornament of great price," - but is also in the sight of men the most convincing and attractive manifestation by far, of the holy loving unity which the Holy Ghost creates in and among all the saints of the Most High. "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you." In the bond of that peace, " keep the unity of the Spirit." My subject has been suggested by the recent proceedings in the General Assembly of our beloved Church. In applying it accordingly, I intend to confine myself to one aspect of the case ; the "endeavour" which was required on the part of those who took a leading part in these proceedings, in order to "keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." I might speak of the Church in the third person ; but it is easier and simpler to use the first person. We who, being the majority, had mainly the conduct of the affair all along, have had a hard task to perform, a difficult part to play. Let me advert to some of the difficulties. In the first place, we had to consider our own position with reference to the whole union movement from the beginning hitherto, and the deep responsibility involved in its discontinuance. This was with us a far more serious matter than many thought, raising in our minds very anxious and perplexing deliberations. It seemed somehow to be taken for granted, in certain quarters, that if we hesitated about bringing to an end the union negotiations, it could only be from a regard to our own personal credit and consistency, and an unwillingness to submit to a personal disappointment. Pride, self-will, dogged obstinacy, sheer persistency and perversity of adherence to our own course, party-spirit, partisanship, must have been our ruling motives; else we might have yielded long ago to our friends in the minority, and given up the struggle. But we could not all at once see that to be the path of duty. We believed the cause which we advocated to be the cause of God, and our work in connection with it to be a work of God. We thought we might recognise his hand and Spirit in the progress of it. We hoped that as it advanced, farther difficulties might be removed, and the way made more plain. We did not feel at liberty lightly to despair of a happy issue. And we could by no means be sure that it might not be the will of God to accomplish the desired end through painful processes, and that it might not consequently be binding upon us to persevere, as we had the right and power to persevere, in carrying forward and carrying out the plan of a general fusion of the negotiating bodies into one, even at the risk of greater evils attending it than had been experienced, and far more serious partial heats and divisions. For my part, it was a great relief to me to find my friends so willing to join in subscribing a document, which so far saves and protects our consciences, as it is. a formal explanation of our reason for consenting to an interruption and pause in this labour of love, and a solemn protest that we have been acting in good faith. Then, secondly, we had to consider our relation to the churches with which we have been negotiating, and the brethren in these churches with whom we have been conferring. With the very clear and decided conviction which we entertain of their entire agreement with us in all essential points of doctrine, worship, and discipline, and the experience we have had of their truly Christian spirit, - we could not consent to any close of the negotiations that, either as to the matter or as to the manner of it, might seem to involve discourtesy, or rude abruptness, or careless indifference. In particular, we could not bear the thought of the most pleasant and profitable intercourse of ten long years coming to an end in its present form, without some sort of landmark or milestone being erected as an index of some advance having been made along the blessed road to union. To part ecclesiastically as if we had never met, - to let the whole goodly array and fabric of materials that we have been trying to gather together and adjust for future use, fall to the ground, or vanish into thin air and leave no trace behind, - would surely have been a lame and impotent conclusion of the whole matter, - a pitiful ending of an old song. We were constrained to insist on a more seemly and creditable catastrophe, or consummation, of the drama; and could be reconciled to the curtain falling, only when it had graven upon it in imperishable letters, on the one hand, the fact of the concurrent opinion of all the Churches, that there is no bar in principle to an incorporating union - and on the other hand, the law which meanwhile provides for the reciprocal recognition of the fellowship of the ministry among them all. Lastly, we had to consider the position in which our brethren differing from us as well as ourselves - in fact, the entire Church collective - might ere long be placed - if the rule of a majority, with full liberty of dissent on the part of the minority, were to be denounced as spiritual tyranny, and an invasion of the rights of conscience ; if, in other words, the majority, doing their very best to interpret and apply, under the guidance of the Spirit, the Word of Christ in any matter upon which they must make up their minds and decide and act, are after all to yield their own deliberate judgment thus reached, to the scruples of a minority who, after all, can sufficiently protect themselves, without extreme measures being threatened or carried into effect. We had to assert and maintain the possibility of lawful government in a free church of the living God. I have indicated some of the difficulties on our side of the question in our recent contendings, not certainly with anything like mortification or bitterness in my soul, but simply to shew how much cause we have to thank the Lord who has brought our poor, weak, and sinful Church through so many embarrassments, and opened, as I trust, a bright future before us. Let there be much confession of guilt, and earnest cries for pardon on all sides. Let there be a healing of every breach. "Let all bitterness and wrath and clamour and evil speaking be put away from us, with all malice. Let us be kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake, forgiveth us. Let us be followers of God as dear children. And let us walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God, for a sweet smelling savour." Editor’s Note Here ends the sermon. The Appendixes list the 430 or so ministers and elders who agreed with the motion of the Assembly to discontinue talks with the Free Presbyterians, and some hundreds of ministers and elders who dissented. The list is not comprehensive. Andrew Bonar, for example, was there and would have voted for the motion (see his journals) but his name does not appear on the list of signatories. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 126: S. UNLEAVENED BREAD ======================================================================== UNLEAVENED BREAD “Your glorying is not good. Know ye not that a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump? Purge out therefore the old leaven, that ye may be a new lump, as ye are unleavened. For even Christ our passover is sacrificed for us: Therefore let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, neither with the leaven of malice and wickedness; but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth.” - 1 Corinthians 5:6-8 THE command, that the bread used at the paschal feast should be without leaven, was very peremptory and very penetrating. It was enjoined generally, in strong terms, as an indispensable condition of the solemnity: “Whosoever eateth leavened bread, that soul shall be cut off from Israel” (Exodus 12:15). And it is enjoined with minute penetrating particularity: “There shall no leavened bread be seen with thee; neither shall there be leaven seen with thee in all thy quarters” (Exodus 13:7). The same prohibition of leaven, equally stern and equally searching, is here connected with the New Testament paschal feast; whether that is viewed in its wide aspect, as descriptive of the entire Christian life; or in its narrower sense, as having reference to the sacrament of the supper, the sign and seal of that life. In the light of this application of the command, in all its emphatic force and thorough-going reach, to the Christian life generally, and to the sacrament which represents it in particular, I propose, - I. To consider the reasons for the peremptory prohibition of leaven as applicable to the Old Testament paschal feast; and also to that of the New Testament. And II. To consider the propriety, or rather the necessity, of the prohibition being made very thorough, searching, and penetrating, as that is brought out in the New Testament use of the saying: “A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump” (1 Corinthians 5:6; Galatians 5:9). Part First The paschal solemnity was of old twofold. There was, first, an atoning sacrifice offered; and secondly, a feasting upon the sacrifice. Let us consider the reasons for the prohibition of leaven, as applicable to both of these parts of the solemnity. I, Two reasons for the prohibition of leaven in connection with the paschal solemnity, viewed as the offering of a sacrifice, are given in the Old Testament. The one is found in Deuteronomy 16:3 : “Thou shalt eat no leavened bread with it; seven days shalt thou eat unleavened bread therewith, even the bread of affliction.” The other is also found in that passage (“for thou camest out of the land of Egypt in haste”); but it is more fully brought out in Exodus 12:11 : “And thus shall ye eat it; with your loins girded, your shoes on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and ye shall eat it in haste: it is the Lord’s passover.” The lamb is slain, and its blood sprinkled for an atonement. The passover is sacrificed; and the only bread suitable and appropriate to the occasion is unleavened bread; the bread of affliction; the bread of haste. 1. It must be the bread of affliction. But is it not a time of rejoicing? Is not the occasion on which the sacrifice is offered a great and glorious deliverance? Does it not call for congratulation and gladness, rather than grief? True. But let us look at the occasion in the light of the peculiar character and meaning of that last of the ten plagues, which ended the period of the Lord’s long-suffering patience with Egypt, and brought in the redemption of Israel. It stands apart from all the preceding nine. Hitherto the visitations of God have told directly on the Egyptians alone, upon Pharaoh and his land for not letting the Lord’s people go. And they were nothing more. They did not touch Goshen where the Lord’s people dwelt. But the tenth miracle is altogether peculiar. It comes home to the Israelites as much as to the Egyptians, or rather more. It brings out at once their just liability to the same condemnation with their oppressors, and the very peculiar manner of their escape. The sentence goes forth; death is to be in every dwelling; the first-born in every house is to be smitten. Are the Israelites exempted from the sweeping force of the terrible decree? Is there any peculiar immunity for them? Are they better than the Egyptians, that this doom should not be inflicted upon them? No; in no wise. Among them also the deadly sentence must take effect. Death must pass upon them, for that they also have sinned. But, lo! a wondrous interposition of grace; and of grace wholly unmerited, gratuitous, and free. As when Isaac was about to be slain on Mount Moriah, a ram caught in the thicket was provided by God to ransom him, so, by the appointment of the same God, the first-born of his seed in Egypt are, on that memorable night, redeemed; and every family in Israel can attest the efficacy of the atoning blood of the lamb. What more suitable to such a sacrifice, in such circumstances, than the use of unleavened bread, as bread of affliction? And affliction of what sort? Not now affliction merely in the remembrance of their sufferings; but now specially, and now for the first time fully, affliction in the remembrance of their sins. In the previous plagues there might be room for imagining, that upon some ground of merit or goodness in themselves or their fathers, they were well-pleasing to God, while their enemies were simply objects of his wrath; but now that imagination is dashed for ever. They are made to perceive the common sentence of death for sin lying on them as well as on their oppressors. They are themselves the children of wrath even as others. It seems as if God were now saying to them, - Think not that I am displeased with your adversaries only, and that I altogether approve of you. What, are ye better than they? Is it merely Pharaoh’s hardness of heart that hinders your escape from bondage? Is it not rather your own guilt? The obstinacy of Pharaoh and all his host cannot, as you shall presently see, frustrate my purpose on your behalf. But your iniquities are great. For you may not imagine that it is on the footing of any claim you have on my favour, or any regard I am bound to have to you, that while Pharaoh and his host are destined to perish in the Red Sea, you and your children are to inherit a goodly land. Before the struggle ends between your enemy and your God, before Pharaoh is overthrown and you are saved, you must be taught to know that you have no right or claim to expect any other treatment than what was meted out so terribly to the Egyptians; that you are in the same condemnation with them, and, if saved at all, must be saved by grace through faith; by grace sovereign and free, through faith in the sacrifice of the vicarious lamb, offered and accepted on the part of God, appropriated and realised by you as partakers of it. What a call, in these circumstances, for bread of affliction! Truly it was a time for them to afflict their souls. They had now to call to mind, not only the long train of misery they had suffered, but the accumulated and aggravated sins they had been committing, and, above all, the sin of their ever imagining, for a moment, that they had any right or claim to the favour of Jehovah, or differed at all from the Egyptians otherwise than by grace alone. When, in every family apart, the father plunged his knife into the bosom of the lamb, as the only substitute for his own firstborn, what thoughts might rise in the breasts of the household! But for this lamb, what loss must have been ours! What wailing and bitter weeping! Our beautiful, our beloved, our firstborn, must have gone! And justly; how justly, we now only for the first time begin to see. Certainly this judgment is deserved by us not less than by the Egyptians; nay, even more; for our sin against covenanted mercy, our grievous sin of unbelief, our murmuring and doubting and distrust. Is it not indeed an hour for eating the bread of affliction? And now Christ your Passover is sacrificed for you; and whatever feast you keep, you may well keep it, considering the meaning of the sacrifice, with unleavened bread as the bread of affliction. Do you indeed, the Spirit of grace and of supplication being poured on you, look on him whom you have pierced? Must it not be to mourn as one mourneth for an only son; and be in bitterness as one that is in bitterness for a first-born? The Israelites might be afflicted as if they had literally lost their firstborn, when they so narrowly escaped that very calamity through the substitution of the paschal lamb, and the shedding and the sprinkling of his blood. How much more may you be thus afflicted in proportion to the clearer view you have, both of the real value and spiritual meaning of the sacrifice, and the accursed cause or occasion of it, which is your own sin? It may well be the bread of affliction, on account of sin, that you eat, beside that sacrifice of atonement for sin. It cannot be the bread of indifference to sin. It cannot be the bread of complacency in sin. If you know why that sacrifice is needed; if you feel the reality of that substitution of Christ in the room and stead of sinners, and of yourself the chief of sinners; if you have anything of a spiritual insight into the pain, and shame, and agony, and curse of the cross of Christ, you cannot but mourn, - I call on you to mourn, - over sin and its exceeding sinfulness; over your own sin in all its heinousness. And affliction for sin, remember, implies the putting away from you of all its leaven. 2. Unleavened bread is the bread of haste. And haste is assigned, at least in part, as the reason of the bread being unleavened. This haste as well as the affliction is connected with the sacrifice, considered simply in itself, and apart from any feasting upon it. The affliction springs out of meditation on the need and occasion for the sacrifice: the haste turns on a consideration of its design and aim. It is a sacrifice called for an account of your helpless participation in the guilt and condemnation of the world: it is a sacrifice designed and fitted to secure your escape out of the world, and your entrance into rest. The last link is now severed of the chain that kept the Israelites in bondage, Not by any compromise with Pharaoh, or any propitiation offered to him, is their deliverance achieved. It is not really Pharaoh, with all his hardness of heart, but a greater than Pharaoh that has to deal with them, even God himself. God has to reckon with them for their sins, no less than with the Egyptians for theirs, and to exact the stern and unrelenting penalty. Behold the lamb slain! The very God who is the avenger himself appoints the victim. Atoning blood is shed, and sprinkled on every door post. And now all is ready; every obstacle is taken out of the way; justice is satisfied; guilt expiated; God pacified and reconciled; Israel, God’s first-born, and all the first-born of Israel redeemed. Up; arise: the enemy’s power is broken, on the very same night and by the very same transaction that has secured your freedom. Therefore, bestir yourselves. There is need of haste. The opportunity is as precarious as it is precious. All now is favourable: the tyrant is confounded; the atonement is accepted; nothing farther is required; on - on at once and in haste, for the pilgrimage and for the promised land. Whatever feast you have to eat, it must be in haste; whatever bread you have to prepare, it must be bread of haste. Lose no time in costly or dilatory preparation. Care not for any seasoning you might once find necessary to make your bread palatable. Take it unleavened; you have no leisure to be nice or punctilious or delicate; your leaving Egypt is a movement of haste. And so, my friends, is your leaving the fellowship of this evil world, upon the footing of Christ your passover being sacrificed for you. You have no time to be leavening the bread you have to eat. Consider the work you have on hand; the design of the sacrifice of Christ for you. It is to give you a full, free, and final escape from the wrath to come, from the corruption that is in the world through lust, from the world itself, wholly lying in wickedness. It is to open to you the way without money and without price, for hastening on with the light of God’s face shining upon you, and the power of God’s Spirit working in you, to the rest that remaineth for the people of God. Hastening on, I say; for surely there is need of promptness, decision, alacrity. Haste, flee for your lives, look not behind you, neither stay in all the plain. And be not careful about the mere condiments and relishing ingredients of the food you are to eat. “Make not provision for the flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof.” It is loss of time to be concerning yourselves about leaven in your bread. Let it be unleavened. The leaven of sin, or sinful indulgence, or sinful ease, is a hindrance and delay. You are in haste and have no time for sin, even as you are in affliction and have no heart for sin. The bread for you is godly sorrow for sin and pressing toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. II. There is a feast to be kept. It is (1), a feast upon the sacrifice, and (2), a feast preparatory and preliminary to the journey for which the sacrifice opens up the way. And in both views of the feast there is a propriety in the bread used at it being unleavened. 1. When the paschal lamb was slain, its flesh was eaten; a significant act, implying, when spiritually understood and performed in faith, a personal appropriation of the sacrifice; in all its painful and bitter reality no doubt; but also in all its blessed efficacy. Your life, believers, is a constant feeding upon Christ as the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world, as your passover sacrificed for you. You feed on him by faith, a personal appropriating faith, laying hold of Christ not as the Saviour of sinners generally, but as your own Saviour in particular; living by the faith of him who loved you and gave himself for you. The ample warrant you have, in the gracious promises and peremptory commands of the gospel thus to appropriate Christ as your own, and the power of the Holy Ghost, by which you are enabled to do so, I need not now set forth. Neither need I dwell on the necessity of this appropriating act or habit of faith being continued in constant exercise, if the spiritual life is to be sustained and cherished. But while Christ your passover sacrificed for you is thus the staple and substantial food of your souls, while you are to feed on him alone, by a simple appropriating faith, you are yourselves to provide and bring with you to the feast suitable bread. For the flesh of the lamb, which you have to eat requires bread. The meat which God appoints and provides is to be eaten with bread that you are yourselves to prepare. In preparing it, you have the help of the Holy Spirit. And by his help, you make it unleavened. For the bread, thus viewed, is the frame of mind in which you feed on Christ. Let that be simple, pure, unadulterated, unalloyed. Let there be nothing in the bread to mar the sweet relish and nutritive power of the meat. Other feasts may need high seasoning, pungent sauces, exciting stimulants. This needs nothing of the sort. It is to be eaten with bread wholly unleavened. There need not be any leaven, even of spiritual rapture or ecstasy. There cannot be any leaven of sin, of guilt or guile, of insincerity or impurity, of malice or wickedness. It must be the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. Sincerity and truth! Yes! that is all. That is the only bread. Let me bring that to the feast, that and nothing more! Not deep feeling, high wrought enthusiasm, convictions, frames, emotions; but only, malice and wickedness being purged out, the plain bread of sincerity and truth, guileless sincerity, truthful simplicity, the single eye, the honest heart. Give me that, blessed Spirit; and then shall I taste the full flavour and relish of that flesh which is meat indeed and that blood which is drink indeed. 2. The feast upon the sacrifice was a feast for the way with all its work and all its warfare. The slain lamb was eaten, not merely for present refreshment and satisfaction; but for strength to face the coming trial of the march through the wilderness to Canaan. So Christ your passover, sacrificed for you, is to be the food of your souls, not only that you may be ever freshly recreated and revived, with experiences ever fresh of his sufficiency for your wants as sinners and his sweetness to your taste as believers, but that you may be ever freshly animated, enlivened, invigorated, for going forth at his call to whatever journey, or labour, or strife, or suffering; whatever exercise of self-denial or self-sacrifice; whatever service of godliness or brotherly kindness or charity he may be pleased to set before you. In truth, his flesh will not be meat to you, his blood will not be drink to you, for the nourishment of your own spiritual life, unless they are so also for the quickening and nerving of all your powers, as called to be pilgrims, soldiers, workers along with him and in his cause. In the view of that calling, how deeply does it concern you; that, as you feed on Christ alone as your strength, your life, Christ your passover sacrificed for you; so you should feed on him with unleavened bread; that you should suffer nothing at any time in your manner of feeding upon him that may hinder your getting the full good of your feeding on him, not only for your own. ease, but for the doing of his will; or in other words, that you should lay aside every weight and the sin that doth so easily beset you, and run with patience the race that is set before you, looking unto Jesus. Part Second The prohibition of leaven was very searching and very thorough. It was to be utterly excluded or expelled. ‘Not a trace or vestige of it was to be allowed to remain in the most obscure dwelling, in the remotest corner of the land. The propriety, or rather the necessity of this, in a spiritual point of view, may be seen if we consider this saying of the apostle: “A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump.” Twice he uses it in writing to the Galatians (Galatians 5:9), as well as here. He is there speaking of doctrine, of the taint of error allowed to insinuate itself into the system of the truth as it is in Jesus, or into the minds of those who embrace it. In particular he is deprecating any interference with the simplicity of the gospel, as it opens up the way of a sinner’s justification or acceptance, through the righteousness of Christ alone, received by faith alone. The point at issue in the Galatian Church seemed a very narrow one; it was not a question as to the sufficiency of the meritorious obedience and atoning death of Christ as the ground of peace with God, or even as to the efficacy of faith, resting on that ground. It had respect merely to the expediency of so far giving in to the prejudice of the Jewish converts, for the purpose of avoiding offence, as to allow the rite of circumcision still to be administered, or at least to make some little distinction in favour of such as were circumcised. This in itself might seem a matter of comparative indifference, and the concession might be put on such a footing as not very directly to touch the essential freeness and fulness of the salvation of the gospel. But Paul instantly detects the snare and discovers the danger. No man could be more careless than Paul was about circumcision considered simply in itself, now that it had ceased to be a sacrament, a sign and seal of the righteousness of the faith which Abraham had while yet uncircumcised, and had become really nothing, a thing of no avail, which whether a man had or not, was not worthy of a moment’s thought. He was willing to go very far in the way of becoming all things to all men in this very particular; and made no scruple about allowing Timothy to be circumcised, inasmuch as being a Jew by the mother’s side, he ought to have been circumcised before. But whenever the attempt was made to insist on circumcision, under whatever plea or pretence of propriety and good feeling, as a preliminary to the enjoyment of Christian fellowship, or a help to the assurance of Christian faith; Paul would not give place by subjection, no not for an hour. True, the thing itself is of no consequence; circumcision is nothing, and uncircumcision is nothing. But if circumcision or uncircumcision, or anything else whatever, be it a mere form or the holiest sacrament, be introduced in any way as an element, however subordinate and subsidiary, in the matter of our acceptance in the sight of God; if any stress be laid upon it as determining our state and standing before God; the whole gospel method of salvation is overturned; it is no more by grace exclusively that we are saved. Hence the apostle’s extreme jealousy of whatever might divide the believer’s confidence for his peace with God, between Christ, presented to him and embraced by him, and anything in or upon himself. And hence the strenuous earnestness With which he protests against the small beginnings of error in connection with this great and vital doctrine of Christianity: “Behold, I Paul say unto you that if ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing.” Yes. Though you may think it a light thing to give in with reference to so trifling a matter as your mere submission to a harmless ceremony - and I own that in one aspect it is a trifle, - yet I testify to every man that is thus circumcised, that he thereby puts himself again under the conditions of the covenant of works, and is a debtor to do the whole law. He virtually makes his election. And not choosing to stand on the footing of Christ’s righteousness alone, he must make up his mind to what is the only alternative, even to dispense with it altogether, and work out his claim on the footing of his own obedience. So Christ hath become really of no effect to you, whosoever of you are thus returning to the old way of being justified by the law: ye are fallen from grace. And all this flows from your being weak enough to consent to such a compliance, as might seem at first a very trifling accommodation, on the subject of what is now become a very insignificant ceremony! Well, therefore, may you be warned to beware of a little leaven leavening the whole lump. And the danger is all the greater, if, instead of circumcision, an obsolete ordinance, what you are tempted to lean on, as in part at least efficacious, be an ordinance still in force, a sacrament having, in the right use of it, a precious value and significancy. Precious, I say, are the sacraments of Baptism and of the Lord’s Supper as seals of righteousness otherwise received, even by faith alone. But if you begin to attach importance to them, as if by some mystical charm or potent spell they contributed somewhat to the making of your peace with God - away with them. Better the sacrament perish than you go down to destruction with this lie in your hand. Yes; away with whatever works or services or ceremonies could come in between you and Christ, you as sinners, Christ as your Saviour; count all things but loss, that you may win Christ. Here, with the Corinthians, Paul uses the maxim differently; not as with the Galatians in its application to a question of doctrine, but in its bearing on a question of morals. The connection, however, between the two is very close, more so than might at first appear. We may observe, indeed, that both gospel faith and gospel holiness have this in common, that generally, in point of fact, they, both of them, are substances of so fine a texture, so delicate and divine, as to be peculiarly sensitive to the influence of any uncongenial element insinuating itself into the mass. It is the most perfect and exact instrument that is most easily disordered. It is the purest mirror that is dimmed by the slightest stain; the richest robe that suffers most from the least ruffling of an untender hand; the plant nearest the sun that a single blast of pestilential atmosphere will cause to droop, and wither, and die. So is it with holiness, as well as faith in a community of Christians, or in the breast of an individual believer. A little leaven, and who shall say how little, leaveneth the whole lump. Thus, both in a question of faith and in a question of holiness the maxim applies. And as to holiness, there are three senses in which it may be urged. 1. Consider the injury the very least tolerated sin may do to your character or good name. That is a most important practical consideration. You may be tempted to think that you have credit enough to carry you through with untarnished honour and unimpaired influence, even though you venture within the limits of what may be dangerous or doubtful, and that one questionable spot, it may be, contracted in your familiar conformity to the world, or your occasional compliance with its ways, will not be so noticeable as to detract from the clear shining of your light before men, and the weight of your testimony among them. But beware. It is on that single spot that all eyes will be turned. What! will ye expect to find a world that is on the watch to speak evil, even of your good, ready to put a kind and candid and generous construction on your evil? Nay, will they not rather use the little leaven for leavening the whole lump? They will not give your single sin the benefit of your otherwise unimpeachable holiness: but they will give your holiness the full scathe and scorn of your sin. They will take advantage of the little leaven of your one infirmity or slight inconsistency to discredit your entire Christian profession. They will make such good use of it as to ensure that in the eyes of men it shall leaven the whole lump, 2, But there is a far more serious consideration to be weighed. It is a small matter to be judged of man’s judgment. In the judgment of God, a little leaven leaveneth the whole lump. So James teaches (James 2:10), “Whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all,” If you break the law at all, you break it altogether. A single breach of it brings you in for the full guilt of breaking the whole of it. For the law is one whole. And so are you, who, by breaking it in one point, become guilty of all. You cannot isolate your one solitary offence, so as to make it perform quarantine, and rid you of its risk and its responsibility. No; for guilt is a personal quality or condition. It is an attribute or circumstance attaching not abstractly to the sin, but personally to the sinner. It is I who am guilty, not my sin, as if it were something apart from me. Beware of a subtle snare here. It is the snare of imagining that you may somehow separate some little fault in you or about you from yourselves; the notion, the fiction, of a sort of dualism, in virtue of which you dream, that though you cannot but acknowledge yourselves to be more or less chargeable with guilt, in some one particular feature of character or line of conduct, you may yet be on the whole, as one believing generally the gospel, righteous in the sight of God. Be very sure, that if the guilt of but one breach of the law still lies upon you, you really are guilty of all. And so long as the guilt of that one offence remains uncancelled, you cannot warrantably appropriate to yourselves any of the blessedness of a justified state before God. In other words, you have really no sin pardoned if all be not pardoned. For you cannot be in two opposite states, or in two opposite relations to God at one and the same time. You are either guilty altogether or righteous altogether; guilty altogether through your continued breach of the law, be it but in one, and that ever so insignificant a particular; guilty of all, or righteous altogether, through your unreserved acceptance of the righteousness of Christ; justified altogether, justified from all. Is there any one evil thing still cleaving to you for which your heart condemns you? Are you allowing yourself in any practice, following any course of life of which you are not quite sure that it is quite blameless? Then, at least in respect of that one particular, you are not, you cannot be, justified. And if not in respect of that, then not in respect of anything; not at all. If the guilt of a single unconfessed and unforgiven sin lies upon you, you have no part or lot in the justifying grace of God as the gospel reveals it; no peace in believing; no joy in the Holy Ghost. That is great truth to be deeply pondered. 3. The proverb, however, as here applied by the apostle, has reference chiefly and ultimately to the influence of cherished or tolerated sin, as affecting not merely your character before men, and your judicial standing before God, but your personal purity and holiness. It penetrates, pervades, pollutes, the whole inner man. We need no proof or illustration here. The fact is but too often matter of observation, and, alas! also of sad experience. Consider only how little leaven will suffice; and how thoroughly the very least will leaven the whole lump. How little leaven will do the work! A casual walk on the house top, the idle glance of a wandering eye, began the movement in David’s heart which, issuing in foul lust and murder, left him with conscience seared and callous, till the prophet’s voice broke the spell: “Thou art the man.” It was but a little, a very little, secret covetousness that lurked in the bosom of the traitor apostle, a slight leaning towards worldly gain, which he hoped to make compatible with following Jesus. But it practised and prospered until it blackened his whole soul, making it a fit habitation for the devil, who was to hurry him down a steep place to treachery, remorse, and suicide. The beginning of evil may be but a single thought, a solitary image in a disordered fancy; a single liberty taken but for once; a rare instance of neglected duty or omitted prayer. But the same occasion occurs again. The thought, the imagination, the desire, springs up again. The accursed thing has got a footing within you. It is an inmate in your breast. You have to deal with it one way or other; to grapple with, it, or to make terms with it. Alas! this last expedient is the readiest. You give in to it, at the expense of your conscious standing in the favour and fellowship of God. You cease to be so much concerned and vexed about it as once you would have been. You become indifferent. Your conscience is defiled. Secret prayer is straitened, or turned into a form. Heart religion declines. For you have no heart now to go so deep within as once you did in searching yourselves; no heart to be as honest and open as once you were in laying out all before God. Thus soon, too soon, either a worthless, lifeless, routine of ceremony, or loose worldly living somehow reconciled with a profession of godliness, or open backsliding, and profligate apostasy ensue. For consider not only how little leaven will do the work, but how thoroughly it will do it; leavening the whole lump. It was after all but a little tolerance of sin in an offending brother for which Paul had to reprove the Corinthians. And yet see how it worked! See this in what it cost them to get the leaven ultimately cast out (2 Corinthians 7:11). They sorrowed unto repentance! They sorrowed after a godly sort! And how did their very sorrow prove the deep and wide working of the evil leaven! “For behold, the selfsame thing, that ye sorrowed after a godly sort, what carefulness it wrought in you, yea, what clearing of yourselves, yea, what indignation, yea, what fear, yea, what vehement desire, yea, what zeal, yea, what revenge!” Yes! it was no slight or superficial penitential exercise they had undergone before Paul could say, “In all things ye have approved yourselves to be clear in this matter.” So also David’s bitter anguish as he pours out his all but despairing grief, may attest the same sad truth. Read and ponder the recorded instances, whether of backsliding healed, or of apostasy never forgiven. What awful testimonies have you to the rapid, resistless, thorough-going influence, of one little habit of evil, first perhaps apologised for in a brother, and then tolerated in yourself, eating away all spirituality, and landing you in mere carnal formality or unconcern. Purge out therefore the leaven. It is always dangerous. And never is it more so than when you come to prayer, or any solemn service, regarding any iniquity in your heart. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 127: S. UPON EARTHLY AND HEAVENLY THINGS ======================================================================== Upon Earthly and Heavenly Things - John 3:12 If I have told you earthly things, and you believe not, how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly things ?" - John 3:12. The Lord here plainly makes a distinction between the things which he has been telling Nicodemus, and the things of which he is about to tell him. The former he calls earthly things, the latter he calls heavenly things. He intimates also plainly that the earthly things are of easier grasp to human intelligence and faith than the heavenly; so much so that if Nicodemus could not apprehend the earthly, he could scarcely be expected to accept the heavenly. But still the Lord is so bent on telling of the heavenly things that he speaks as if he must needs do so, whether the earthly things are believed or not, in order to fulfil his mission and complete his message. There are, therefore, three questions suggested by our text I. What is the distinction between the earthly things and the heavenly things? II. How should the earthly things be more easily believed than the heavenly things? III. Why must the Divine Teacher, having told his hearer earthly things, proceed to tell him of heavenly things, even although the earthly things are not believed ? The things which Christ has been telling Nicodemus are facts or truths connected with regeneration; its necessity, its nature, and the agency by which it is accomplished. The things of which he goes on to tell him are facts or truths which concern redemption; the lifting up of the Son of man, the love of God in the gift of his Son, and the way of grace and salvation through faith in him. In what sense and to what effect are they contrasted as earthly and heavenly. Are they not alike and equally heavenly ? Surely in some most important aspects they must be so regarded! They have both of them alike and equally a heavenly source and origin. Regeneration and redemption are alike of God. They are effects of his mere good pleasure. "Of his own will begat he us with the word of truth" (James 1:18). "In his love and in his pity he redeemed them" (Isaiah 63:9). The new birth and the atonement are alike and equally heavenly thoughts, heavenly plans and purposes. The agencies concerned in their accomplishment are alike and equally heavenly. In the one, it is the agency of the Eternal Spirit, the only regenerator. In the other it is the agency of the Eternal Son, the only Redeemer. In both works and the things about them, in both alike, a heavenly being, a divine person, must be the worker - the Spirit in the one, the Son in the other. In respect of instrumentality also, they are alike heavenly. The word of God, which is heavenly, is the available instrumental means as regards our interest in both. In regeneration, we are born again, not of corruptible seed but of incorruptible, by the Word of God which liveth and abideth for ever" (1 Peter 1:23). And the application of redemption, or our being made partakers of it, is through the Word; the Word or ministry of reconciliation, which Christ has committed to his ambassadors, that as though God did beseech you by us, we should pray you, in Christ’s stead, to be reconciled unto God (2 Corinthians 5:20). The end contemplated is in both cases alike and equally heavenly. Coming from heaven, they aim and tend heavenward. Regeneration contemplates out restoration to the image or likeness of God; redemption contemplates our restoration to his favour, fellowship, and friendship. The Spirit, in the new birth, brings us near to God in respect of character and nature. The Son, lifted up, brings us near, in respect of real and actual standing. Thus, as regards the source, the agency, the instrumentality, and the end; the two works are alike and equally heavenly things. In another view, and in a view,for practical application quite as important, they are alike and equally earthly. 1. The subjects of both, the persons on whom they tell, are the same; and they are to be viewed in the same light as earthly, all alike and equally earthly. They are men; and men contemplated simply as earthly; wholly alienated and estranged from heaven; destitute, all of them alike, of a taste or fondness for heaven, and of a right or title to heaven; in character and condition, earthly. Regeneration deals with them as corrupt ; redemption deals with them as criminal. Regeneration looks at their depravity; redemption looks at their guilt. The one has respect to their being morally and spiritually unsound, the other to their being legally and judicially condemned. "The carnal mind is enmity against God, and is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be :" that is the feature of our miserable case that renders the new birth, our being born of the Spirit necessary. Accursed is every one that continueth not in all things written in the law to do them:" that is what requires the offering up of the Son to be the propitiation for our sin. Thus alike and equally, regeneration and redemption, with the thing or truths about them, are emphatically earthly; they bring the heavenly agents concerned in them respectively & into contact, real and personal contact, with the worst elements of our earthliness; our deep indwelling ungodliness on the one hand, and our hell-deserving guilt on the other. 2. Then, as to place and time, the place and time of their accomplishment, or their availableness for us, they are earthly. The place for both alike and equally is this earth. The time for both is our brief sojourn on this earth, our earthly life. Here and now, on this earth, while you and I are spared on it, you must be born again. There is no provision [ for any renovating change of nature anywhere else than here, any time else than now. Here and now you have to make good your interest in him who is lifted up as the atoning Lamb of God. Nowhere else than here, no time else than now, is there any sacrifice for sin. Thus the things, or truths, relating to these two works - the work of the Spirit in regeneration and the work of the Son in redemption - are to be regarded as in some views alike and equally heavenly, and in others alike and equally earthly. What then is the ground of difference in respect of which the Lord characterises and contrasts the two themes or topics as earthly and heavenly? How are they to be thus distinguished 1 Evidently the distinction is one of relation. It turns upon the antithesis or contrast of these two questions, both arising out of our fallen state - the first, How does man on earth feel and act towards God in heaven? the second, How does God in heaven feel and act towards man on earth? The relation between heaven and earth, between God and man, has become and is deranged and disordered on both sides. It is no more what it was at first; a relation of amity and mutual good-will. Both parties have drawn off from one another; they stand to one another in the attitude or position of estrangement and antagonism. If there is to be reconciliation and peace, restored fellowship and friendship, there must be double movement. Earth and heaven must both be moved. Earth must be moved heavenward; its heart must have put into it a heavenward bent and bias; and it must also be made clear that heaven is moved earthward, that the longings and yearnings of heaven’s heart are earthward, seeking to have earth again as its own. Hence the distinction now in question. Regeneration, or the new birth, has respect to the relation and affection of earth towards heaven; redemption, to the relation and affection of heaven towards earth. Regeneration is the putting right of man’s disposition of heart towards God; redemption, or the operation and manifestation of the Father’s love in the lifting up of the Son, is the discovery to us of God’s disposition of heart towards man. Nay, it is more than that. It is the actual working out of that disposition; the rendering of it effectual on the part of God for the real and actual reconciliation of sinners to himself. For in both cases, and on both sides, there is a work. Only, in the one case it is a work needed to call forth love, while in the other case it is a work needed to make a way in which love may righteously have its free course. The Spirit’s work in regeneration creates love out of enmity, turning the carnal mind, which is enmity against God and insubordination to his law, into the loving, loyal, obedient heart of a child. The Son’s work in redemption - his being lifted up - does not create love, being itself the fruit of love; but it is a work indispensable to heaven s love reaching righteously this earth and its righteously doomed inhabitants. Most fitly, therefore, it may be characterised as in itself and in all the things truths connected with it, distinctively and emphatically lavenly. For as it is all of earth that there is need of regeneration to make earthly men meet and fit for heaven, so all of heaven, of heaven’s holiness and right and truth, given’s free grace and love, that redemption is needed for earth’s guilty ones - the redemption which alone can secure to them either a righteous title to heaven or a holy preparation for its joy. The Lord plainly intimates that the earthly things which he has been telling Nicodemus are somehow of easier to grasp to human intelligence and faith than the heavenly things of which he has yet to tell him; insomuch that if one cannot take in the earthly he will not be likely to accept the heavenly. Here it is at all events implied, that in our Lord’s judgment Nicodemus should have understood and believed the earthly things; that this might have been warrantably expected of him. The Lord has already indicated as much. And he has given two reasons; the one, as it were, official; the other simply human. "Art thou a master of Israel, and knowest not these things ‘ (John 3:10). As a master of Israel, thou art called to study and expound the Scriptures. And hast thou never discovered in them any trace of man’s need of the Spirit s renovating work, or of God’s promise of it. David s fervent prayer "create in me a clean heart;" is the Lord s gracious assurance "a new heart will I give you;" are these to thee sealed utterances from earth and from heaven! And if it is my use of the symbol of water that staggers thee, should not that be familiar to thee as a reader of Isaiah’s prophecy, especially in its application to Messianic times. "I will pour water on him that is thirsty, and floods upon the dry ground. I will pour my Spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring" (Isaiah 44:3). "Art thou a master of Israel and knowest not these things?" But that is not all. On another ground my teaching should have a hold upon thee. "Verily, verily, I say unto thee, we speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen; and ye receive not our witness" (John 3:11). Not only as a master of Israel, familiar with Old Testament phraseology, and with Messianic prophecy using that phraseology; but simply as a man with human consciousness and human experience, you might have taken in and accepted the earthly things I have been telling you. For my. speech and testimony hitherto has been about what lies within the range of, our ordinary knowledge, and sense, and observation; yours and mine alike. The subject of our conversation, about which, as a teacher and revealer, I have been conferring with you, is one that touches the confines, or rather reaches the heart of man’s conscious want. What I have been telling you of the new birth might never indeed have occurred to you so clearly unless suggested from above; but when suggested it should be felt to fall within the range of your conscience as well as my insight. I know enough of human nature by intuition (John 2:24, John 20:1-31), you should know enough of it experimentally, to make us both own this as a great truth, that except a man be born again he cannot see the kingdom of God. So the Lord appeals to the inward sense of Nicodemus. And not without warrant. For Nicodemus has already given some indication of his consciousness or conscience bearing responsive witness to the Lord’s appeal about the new birth. Consider, in that view, the rise and progress of the conversation. Nicodemus is an earnest man, seeking light. Gladly and gratefully he hails the light which a teacher come from God may give. He places himself accordingly at the teacher’s feet, and awaits his teaching. The teacher’s first word arrests and startles him. It is not enough that there be light from above. There must be the opening of the eye here below receive and use it. The teacher may have come from God, but that will not suffice. The scholar must get a capacity for seeing what the teacher has to show. A teacher come from God may show the kingdom of God. But a except a man be born again, he cannot see it. It is probably a new thought to Nicodemus. But it takes hold of him. It comes home to his inmost soul. It calls forth from its depths the anxious question, a sort of plaintive, wailing cry (John 3:4), "How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb and be born again?" Would that he could! For it is in that light that I look upon this question of Nicodemus. I cannot imagine it to be ironical. To me, it is rather the utterance of real feeling, of profound emotion. It is the man, not the master of Israe who asks. Would that what thou speakest of were possible! It is the fond , vain wish that often springs up in the bosom of weary, sated, jaded man hood; sin-laden, care-worn, tempest-tost, war-broken; touched at the sight of calm, sweet, smiling infancy! Ah I what would I not give to be as that new born child once more! To have all my long life of sin and shame, of vanity and folly, cancelled, obliterated, blotted out for ever, to begin anew, fresh from the womb again! What would I not give for that "Nay, the Lord replies, even if that could be, it would avail thee nothing. (John 3:6)" That which is born of the flesh is flesh." And a thousand new births could not make it other than flesh. Thou mightest enter a second time into thy mother’s womb and be born. Thou wouldest be but what thou art now; flesh born of the flesh; and as such incapable of seeing or entering into the kingdom of God. Only "that which is born of the Spirit is spirit," capable of seeing and entering into the kingdom of God, who is a spirit. Therefore have I said "Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God." And now I say (John 3:7) "Marvel not at this." A man’s being born of the Spirit may not be so palpable to sight and sense as his being born of the flesh. But consider the view-less wind, from which, by analogy, the Divine Spirit is named. Mark its mighty power, as thou hearest its rushing sound. Thou canst not trace or track its course, though thou feelest its force and seest its effects. Why should it be thought incredible that, as the Lord sends forth his breath, his wind, to renew the face of the earth (Psalms 104:30) so his Spirit should be sent forth to regenerate the soul. "Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again. The wind - bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is every one that is born of the Spirit." Now - it is when Nicodemus, notwithstanding this explanation, still asks incredulously (John 3:9) "How can these things be?" that the Lord, after a sharp expression of surprise and rebuke to the master of Israel speaks tenderly, as if in the sorrow of a sore disappointment, to the man; I have more to reveal to you of my Father than I have yet indicated. But to what purpose "If I have told you earthly things and ye believe not, how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly things " I have been telling you of what comes within the range of your own earthly cognisance, your own inward earthly sense and experience, when I have been telling you of your need of being born again, and of the sort of new birth that you need; therefore I might have expected you to understand and receive my testimony. I have been speaking of what is not merely matter of revelation to you from heaven, but to a large extent also matter of personal feeling and conviction in you upon earth. True, the possibility of your being born again as you need to be born again, the fact that there is an agency which this can be effected, must be communicated to you above; but when so communicated, it should surely find entrance into your understanding and conscience, into mind and heart. If the right construction has been put on your question, "How can a man be born when he is old?" if that question indicates, as I have supposed it to do, a sense of some great change, like that from age to infancy, being much to be desired and longed for, ah! should you not welcome as the best of all good news the authentic information that such a change, nay, one infinitely better, is within your reach! And when one whom you yourself acknowledge as a teacher come from God tells you of a divine Person, the blessed Spirit, who will be in you the agent for producing this change - imparting a new spiritual nature and beginning a new spiritual life - ah! why are you so slow to apprehend a statement so fitted to meet what, as your own inmost consciousness should teach you and is teaching you even now, is the deepest want of your soul? And if thus I find you so unable to understand and un-willing to admit such truths as these - truths that might find an echo in your own bosom as you muse on all your earthly life, in its inner sources as well as in its outward flow; truths which your spirit, weary of sin’s restlessness and longing for pure peace, should eagerly welcome and embrace as the only elixir of real and immortal youth and joy - how can I hope to carry you along with me, intelligently, believingly, sympathisingly, in the discoveries I have to make to you of heavenly things! Things having nothing at all in common with any earthly consciousness or earthly experience! Things which eye hath not seen nor ear heard, neither have they entered into the heart of man - things which God has purposed and prepared in the unsearchable counsels of his own sovereign mind and will - things which you would need to be able to ascend up into heaven if you would discover them for your-selves! Things which you must receive, not for any corroboration or corresponding attestation which earth’s history, or your own earthly knowledge and feeling, may afford, but solely and exclusively on the testimony of him who came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven? (John 3:13) The lifting up of the Son of man, as the serpent was lifted up in the wilderness; the love of God in sending his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him might not perish but have everlasting life; the blessed power of faith in him to deliver from condemnation; the terrible danger and doom of unbelief - these are not earthly things at all, in the sense of there being anything in earth’s ongoings, within or without yourselves, to explain them, to account for them, to facilitate your acceptance of them. No. They are altogether and only heavenly. They have their seat in the heart of the Eternal; in the bosom of God, where his only begotten Son dwells evermore. When the Son tells you of these heavenly things - of his own all-healing Cross, and of his Father’s world-wide love, and of the free gospel-call, and the tremendous responsibility which it entails - he has nothing earthly to which he can appeal as throwing any light upon, or giving any confirmation to, the great mystery of godliness, or as fitted in the very least to make it more intelligible, more probable, more credible, than it is in his own simple declaration of it. Therefore he may well express a fear that if you will not receive his testimony on a matter of which your own hearts may at least partially have experimental knowledge, you may refuse him credit when he speaks of what he alone can know - the great loving heart of the Eternal Father giving his own Son to be the propitiation for sin, and so reconciling the world unto himself. Observation and experience may confirm this view, if you have the spiritual mind to discern spiritual things. Look around and say, who are they who are the most unintelligent and practically unbelieving as regards the heavenly things: the doctrine or fact of redemption in its reality and issues? Who are they who are at a loss to see why so great a work should be made about the forgiveness of sin? Why it should cost so vast an expenditure of the divine resources to secure their not perishing, or being finally condemned? Are they not the very men who are equally, or still more, at a loss to see why so great a change of nature must be wrought in them before they are fit for heaven? Why it should be a change so radical as to be at all like a new birth or a new creation? Show me a man who does not feel his need of being so thoroughly renewed, whose notion is that with some repentances and confessions, some reformations and amendments, such as, with a little help from above, he hopes to effect before he dies, his character may become good enough to pass muster in the crowd: show me that man, and I will answer for it that he is one who is equally unable to comprehend why, without shedding of blood, there can be no remission of sin; why God cannot save the lost without his own Son dying in their stead. Yes; let us be well assured that slight and superficial views as to the change which needs to be wrought in us will carry with them slight and superficial views as to the work which needed to be done for us. The less I feel what the Spirit has to do in me, the less I feel what the Son had to do for me; for my sense or apprehension of my sin, as inferring guilt needing to be atoned for, turns largely on my sense or apprehension of my sin as so vitiating my whole inner man, that nothing short of a new birth, or a new creation, can make my heart right with God. If I think lightly of the hurt of my soul as regards the state of my affections towards the holy God and his holiness, if I think of it as a hurt to be slightly healed, and indulge myself in the dream that I am not so utterly • wrong, so thoroughly carnal and ungodly, as to be unable through penitence and prayer to right and reform myself tolerably and sufficiently; how will you ever convince me that there is any extraordinary exercise of mercy on the part of God in granting me pardon so far as I need it? How will you ever hinder me from reckoning on forgiveness almost as a matter of course, if not a matter of right?How will you ever persuade me that there is in my sin such a deep dye of criminality as only the blood of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, can wash out? How will you ever get me to take in the amazing love of God in his giving his only begotten Son, "that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life?" Therefore let me look within. Let me see to it that I have some adequate sense of the deep and deadly corruption of my nature, the entire and thorough estrangement of my heart from God, as being such that I must be born again if I am to see and enter into his kingdom, if I am to be at home with him. I sometimes wonder that I am so little affected and impressed by the great love of God in the gift of his Son to be the propitiation for my sin, that I am so slow to take in all the terror and all the glory of that amazing substitution; the eternal Son taking my nature and my place under the law which I have broken, made sin, and made a curse for me. I may not question the reality of the transaction, but somehow I find myself little alive, less than I used to be, to its awful meaning and dread necessity. I am beginning again to ask why there should be so much ado about my deliverance and my safety, and consequently to see less and feel less of the love passing knowledge that prompts and pervades the whole gracious plan. Is it so with me now? Ah I it is a sad sign of declension, a most alarming symptom of unbelieving unankfulness, that must surely and swiftly harden my heart. me be startled at once; let me thoroughly search and try self~ and instantly ask God to search and try me; and let very specially on this precise point, that I search myself and ask God to search me, the state of my conscience, and its conviction of indwelling sin; the corruption of my nature, and my inveterate, because inborn, carnality. May there not be creeping over me a growing insensibility to that sore evil, in some one or other of the forms in which it must continue to meet me, as long as the war of the flesh against the Spirit lasts? Alas I may not that warfare itself be slackening in its energy, if not inclining to a truce? May not that explain the melancholy mystery of my lessening warmth of gratitude to God for his unspeakable gift? For let me be well assured that all through my spiritual life, from its first beginning in the new birth to its final consummation in perfected holiness, the principle involved in the Lord’s question must I apply: "If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly things?" Having told us earthly things, the Lord intimates that, whether we believe them or not, he must go on to tell us of heavenly things; and there are several good and sufficient reasons why he must do so. 1. He must do so for the sake of those who do believe the earthly things, of whom Nicodemus probably came are long to be one. This view follows up and supplements the view which I have just been giving. The case I put now is the converse of the case I have been putting. I suppose now a man thoroughly awakened by the Spirit to a real and deep apprehension of that inborn depravity in him which renders the new birth necessary. He is undergoing some such experience as Paul describes in IRomans vii. His sin, in that aspect of it chiefly which regards its bearing on his whole inner man, is finding him out. He has no difficulty in believing the earthly things about it; that it is, as the Lord has been telling Nicodemus, in itself and in its malignant poison as vitiating his entire nature, such as no power of his can deal with. He looks at himself in the light of the law. His very inmost self he thus looks into: for the Spirit is bringing home to him the law in a new light, as not outward and formal merely, but intensely spiritual; not disliked and dreaded, but approved and loved; not complained of as irksome and grievous and severe, but felt to be holy and just and good. The man is in earnest. But the more he is in earnest the more pitiable does his case become. "The law is spiritual, but I am carnat sold under sin. When I would do good, evil is present with me." Ah! is he not in the very position and the very frame of mind to welcome the assurance that for him, and such as he is, there is provision made for a new birth, for a change so radical and complete that he comes forth from it a new man, with a new heart a heart that can love, and can cease from lusting. Yes, truly this teaching about the Spirit, that one may be born of the Spirit, is seasonable and acceptable. But the Spirit himself who has brought the man thus far in this sore but salutary exercise of soul, knows that at this stage he needs something else and something more. For the insight which the Spirit has been giving him into his sin and its exceeding sinfulness; as so defiling and destroying his whole nature that he cannot make himself such as he now fain would be, a loving and obedient child of God, that very insight opens his eye to that other and most appalling aspect of sin which brings in the fatal element of guilt. The man as from a troubled sleep, to find himself a criminal in chains, in the arms of justice, under the doom of law. And m he now cannot but acknowledge, not only really, but condemned. What avails any prospect of a change for the better in him if that inevitable, irrevocable sentence of Judgment is to lie upon him? 2. Is it not here that the heavenly things so opportunely blessedly come in? For the Spirit is of one mind first in this matter He will not leave a poor Nicodemus, and all but despairing Paul, at his wits end under the terrible and crushing discovery which he gives of the earthly things. In the nick of time, at the very moment they are needed, be will bring to remembrance the heavenly things of which Christ has to tell every miserable sinner as he told Nicodemus - the Son of man lifted up on the cross; the free call; the faithful saying; the world-wide "whosoever" - so that the very cry forced from lips of penitential anguish, "0 wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death" shall issue in the glad and grateful exclamation, "I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord!" "There is therefore now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh but after the Spirit." mind not earthly things, and he next goes on to tell us of the heavenly things, in that, whether we believe or not, he must complete the discovery which he has to make to us of the Father; so as to do full justice to the Father’s love, in his purpose and plan of salvation; and leave us, if we continue unbelieving, altogether unpardonable. What could I have done more for you that I have not done saith the Lord. I have sent my Son; will they not hear him, when my Spirit commends him to them. Light is come into the world. If it is to be light, saving on the one hand, and condemning on the other, as it must be if it is the light of God ; it must be the whole light of God. It must be light that brings out the whole counsel of God. Such it can he only when, having revealed the earthly, it reveals also the heavenly. For thus only the light of the Father’s love shines forth in all its glory; the glory of its consummated grace; its double grace, in regeneration and redemption; so as to leave all men, of all conditions, absolutely without excuse. For what apology can any sinner now have for not coming to the light that shines upon and in him? No doubt the light will make manifest his deeds, his doings, his dispositions. And if he is bent on them being all still on the side of evil, he must shun the light of God’s pure truth, and court the darkness of guile. But why should he do so? If the bent of his mind is toward the truth, why should he hesitate about coming to the light ,for, be it what it may, at the very worst, the light shows him his case completely met. Yes ; it is met, thoroughly and efficaciously met, in both of the aspects in which it seems so hopeless. You must he born again. You must undergo a change of nature which it is beyond any power of your own to effect. Does that offend you? Does it seem to you to make your case desperate! It should not do so. It need not do so. For, not only have you the assurance of the Spirit’s unseen agency being available for working this necessary change within. You are told of what, irrespectively of any inward consciousness, may minister immediate relief. Jesus tells you of heavenly things. And the Spirit carries home to you what he tells you of heavenly things. It summons you to deal with them; to deal with them now; instantly and immediately; and deal with them as they are in themselves, without the slightest regard to the earthly things, or to any experience of yours about the earthly things. For that is the glorious gospel of the free grace of God. The Son of man, lifted up on the cross, is set forth before your eyes. Look to him simply as you would have looked to the serpent lifted up by Moses in the wilderness. Look to now, just as you are. Look to him and be saved. Do not wait for any sense or consciousness of the new or of any work of the Spirit regarding it, as if that be to be your warrant for looking to the Son of man lifted up on the cross. No: your warrant is just what had the Israelites of old; the real and actual lifting up of the Son of man, As the serpent was lifted up in the wilderness. It is the wide and free proclamation, whosoever believeth shall be saved. Surely if on that warrant, the warrant of an infinitely sufficient atonement, and a gracious, gratuitous invitation, with a sovereign command grounded thereupon, you will not believe; the fault is not God’s but yours. "Ye will not come unto me that ye might have life." "I would but ye would not." "Your blood be on your own heads." There is yet another reason to be given for the Lord’s going on to tell of heavenly things, even though the earthly things he has been telling are but little apprehended and realised. His discovery of the heavenly things may be the very means used by the Spirit for making me alive to the earthly. Yes, what the Lord tells, as none else could tell, of his Father’s love and his own cross, may be turned to account by the Spirit, and made to smite me with a sense of my deep need of a very thorough change. That God has been so loving me while I have been so hating him; that his heart has been so turned towards me, while my heart has been so turned away from him; that he has caused his own Son to be lifted up for me on the expiatory altar of the cross, while I have been living on as if I had no sin that needed expiation at all; Is not that a thought that might well convince me of my own heart being harder than the nether millstone, and make me seek a new heart from God. Ah! It may well be so. If Christ is telling me of these heavenly things, and the Spirit is bringing home to me Christ’s telling me of them; if, with eye opened by the Holy Ghost, I get but a glimpse of that love in which the whole plan of redemption originates, and of which even it is an inadequate expression; if thus taught of God, I see into the heart of God, and obtain some faint idea of the longing of that heart for the world s salvation, and for mine; if I am divinely moved to apprehend that it is that very love that the great Father reveals to me, and presses on my acceptance, in his dear Son, beseeching me to be to him what his Son is, and to let him be to me what he is to him. Ah I if thus I am made to see the great Father in heaven loving me with a love like that; providing for me an atoning sacrifice that satisfies highest justice and expiates deepest guilt; and so reconciling me to himself, fully, freely, in his Son; may not such a discovery of what God is to me open my eyes to what I am to him? May it not convince me that I do indeed need to be born again, if I am to know and believe such love as that? Ah, sinner I wilt thou not be moved by that love now? Wilt thou not contrast what is in God’s heart towards thee with what is in thy heart towards God? Wilt thou not be filled with shame and grief when thou thinkest how dead and insensible thou hast been when such love as that has been set before thee and pressed upon thee? Wilt thou not cry out in earnest, "Create in me a clean heart, 0 God, and renew within me a right spirit?" Fulfil thine own promise. "A new heart will I give thee and a right spirit will I put within thee, and I will put my Spirit within thee." Yes; 0 Lord God, gracious and loving Father. Purge me with byssop and I shall be clean. Take not thy Holy Spirit from me." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 128: S. UPON PAPAL AGGRESSION ======================================================================== Upon Papal Aggression At the meeting of Commission of Assembly in November he made a lengthened speech on the subject of Papal Aggression. The aggression complained of was a Papal Bull for establishing a hierarchy in England. On the same subject he addressed a public meeting held in the Music Hall, Edinburgh, in the beginning of December. He said - "I do not feel it necessary to travel over the ground which has been already so well occupied, - not that the subject, but that the time is exhausted. I feel myself perfectly free to concur in the remarks of the preceding speaker (Dr. Thomson) as to our not seeking to meet this aggression on the part of Rome by enforcing any civil pains or even by restoring civil disabilities. I feel persuaded that the time is gone by when any such measures could be adopted ; and I feel that we must have recourse to other weapons. But I cannot agree with those who think that either this aggression of the Church of Rome, or the more prominent aggressions of that Church, - for she is always on the aggressive, - are to be met purely and exclusively with spiritual weapons and spiritual means. I concur in the viaws expressed by preceding speakers, that there is in this system of Romanism such an essential intermixture of the civil and the spiritual, - that the claims of the Church of Rome have such a direct hearing on the civil and political rights and interests of man, - that it concerns individuals and nations, the prerogertives of sovereigns and the liberties of the people, that this system should ha narrowly watched, and that it should not be regarded as in all respects entitled to be placed on the same footing with other forms of religious profession and belief. For example, it has been already said by preceding speakers that there must be a limitation to the unrestricted recognition of the law of toleration as regards some parts of the Popish worship. I presume that none of you will hold that it is any real infringement upon the essential rights of conscience for a Protestant country to prohibit and to put down Papal processions, with the adoration of the host. I take it for granted that if this should he the next aggression on the part of the Church of Rome, - if we shall be threatened with Popish processions along our streets, with the object of idolatrous worship flaring before the eyes of a Protestant people, and expecting, moreover, that a Protestant people shall bow down before it and pay it respect, or, failing this, he dragged to the ground, - no puling, whining sentimentalism about liberty of conscience and the rights of man will prevent this Protestant country from puttmg down what is an abomination in the sight of heaven, and on abomination as yet in the sight of men in this land. And I venture to think, - and here I speak entirely on my own responsibility, and simply as an individual, and rather in the way of throwing out a question than enunciating a principle, - I venture to think that something more even might be done, and ought to be done, in dealing with the Popish religion as tolerated among us. I venture to throw out the question - How far might it not be the duty of the Sovereign and Legislature of a Protestant conntry to protect all the subjects of her Majesty in the full and free use of the anthorised version of the Scriptures? I cannot help thinking that there lies somewhere here a principle which it would be well for the Legislature and statesmen seriously to ponder. I cannot imagine that it could be considered as an infringement on the liberty and toleration awarded to the Church of Rome that the Sovereign of these realms, in the spirit of her ancestor, should give forth the utterance that every man, woman, and child within her dominions ought to possess a copy of the Word of God in the vernacular tongue, and that no priest, and no Pope should have a right to come between her subjects and the Word of God, and to debar them from having free access to the water of life. I may explain that this, of course, would not imply any interference with the rights of the Romish clergy in regard to using all their influence to keep their people away from the reading of the Scriptures. Let them use all possible arguments, and all possible modes of persuasion, - let them preach till they are tired against the free use of the bible in the vernacular tongue. It need mot even interfere with the legitimate exercise of discipline. The Romish Church ought, if she sees fit, exercise discipline on her adherents if she finds a copy of the Word of God in their possession. But I would have these two things made very summarily illegal, - the burning of a bible by a Popish priest when he finds it in a poor man’s house, and the cursing of the poor man from the altar, so as to exclude him from the charities of civil and social life. There is a difference between the legitimate exercise of discipline in the way of declaring a person to be no longer the member of a church, and the getting up of a scene of a popish alter, when, with bell, book, and candle, a man is cursed, and denouunced in the hearing of his fellow-citizens, and is actually barred out, not merely from the spiritual privileges, but formally and professedly barred out from all the charities , and all the hospitalities, and till the necessaries of this life.” FROM "Memoirs of Dr. Candlish" by Wm Wilson ======================================================================== CHAPTER 129: S. UPON PRAYER AND PRAISE IN THE PSALMS ======================================================================== On the question of Union On Praise and Prayer in Psalms In the Assembly 1866 Dr. Candlish elicited an extra ordinary bnrst of enthusiasm by a speech on the Union question. There had been some indications of a desire to embrace the Established Church in the negotiations for Union, and this appeared in the Assembly, in more than one of the speeches, along with an insinuation that some of the fathers were abandoning their old principles. This thoroughly roused Dr. Candlish, who repudiated the charge with a vehemence and power characteristic of his best days. During the course of his address and at its close the Assembly and the audience greeted him with enthusiastic applause, rising to their feet, and loudly cheering. On the question of the use of hymns in public worship, Dr. Candlish said— "It is said we have in the Bible a directory for praise, and no directory for prayer. That is to say, we have in the Bible - in the Psalms - materials of praise provided, and not materials for prayer. I thoroughly and out and out deny that the Book of Psalms is a directory for praise more than it is a directory for prayer. There is as much prayer as praise in the Psalms. I see no room whatever for saying that the Book of Psalms is purely a psalmodical book. It contains prayers as well as praises. No doubt they are prayers that may be sung; but where is the difference? It contains as much to direct us in prayer as in praise. The prayers could be used without being sung, though they are put in the way in which they may be sung. It is read for praise from the pulpit every Lord’s day; we pray as well as praise in the words of the Book of Psalms. That seems to me to take away altogether the distinction between praise and prayer as parts of the worship of Glod. And I cannot understand how we should be more hampered and fettered as regards the use of our words in the one part of divine worsbip than in the other." On the 1st August Dr. Candlish wrote to Dr. Buchanan chiefly on matters relating to the Union question, and added at the close "I am not in the mood for very much thinking or writing. I hope and believe that I have got over this attack. But I find it has left me very feckless. I shall need rest and retirement for a while. I hope I may be the better, otherwise than merely physically, for all this. We are just starting for Elie, where a visit from you would be very welcome." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 130: S. UPON THE EVE OF THE DISCRUPTION ======================================================================== Speech. . . . The following speech was delivered by Dr. Candlish following the Address by W.C.Burns in the St. George’s Church on the evening immediately preceding the Monday of the Assembly upon which it was planned to secede - the Disruption. In closing the meeting in St George’s, Dr CANDLISH said, "I have to request that on the conclusion of this meeting, those who take an interest in the St George’s Indian Missionary Association, remain to pass a resolution which the office-bearers of our society have put into my hands. It is to the effect that the St George’s Association be this night dissolved. It is evident, brethren, that the dissolution of an Association like this, must remind every one of the winding up, now nigh at hand, of many other similar associations; nay, that it is the immediate fore runner of the breaking up of this congregation in its present connection. It is a thought as solemn as it is difficult to realise, that this night we are on the very eve of an event which is to bring about so many momentous consequences, and the sounding of which will be heard more or less distinctly to the utmost bounds of Christendom, even the event of the disruption of our National Establishment. We can now speak of it as a thing certain, in so far as we can speak of any event not yet past, that tomorrow’s sun will behold its goodly structure rent in twain; that before the setting of to-morrow’s sun, scenes will be enacted, which will find the Establishment of the country as the company of two armies; and to prevent this, I believe that nothing short of a miracle would be sufficient. We are very apt, when living in times like the present, and in circumstances such as those in which this night we stand, very much to underrate and underestimate the magnitude of the results of these events which are passing around us. Unable to grasp a comprehensive view of these in all their extensive bearings, and surrounded and engrossed by the passing and trivial occurrences of ordinary life, such events often produce a far deeper influence on the minds of those who behold them from a distance, than they do upon the men who are themselves the actors in them. Be that as it may, and be our insensibility ever so great, the truth, I believe, is this, that to-morrow will see the spectacle of the consummation of a great revolution in this land, the effects of which, as I before said, will not be experienced in this land alone, a moral and a religious revolution, the greatest that has taken place since 1688, if not the greatest that has taken place since the grand revolution of the Reformation. We are faniiliarised with hearing such an event spoken of.as an everyday occurrence is spoken of; and we almost begin to listen to the recital of what a few years ago were unheard of transactions, with coolness, and sometimes with apathy. But, brethren, I ask not, "How do Scotchmen look on the scenes passing around them ?" but I ask, "How do men of other nations look upon us ?" I do not say in England. England has her faithful ones; but, alas! over her there is come a cloud of awful delusion and heresy. But cross the Channel, or cross the Atlantic, and how do men there look upon us? I speak of the serious, the thoughtful, the religious men of other lands. Brethren, they know the value of these principles for which we contend, and they see that, though not in deed too dearly bought, yet we are willing to sacrifice to them our earthly all; and they look on with intense interest to see what will be the end of this momentous struggle. And the eyes of our own countrymen are beginning to open. If they resist not the light, they will soon believe, what the people of the living God have been too slow to learn, that the world and evangelical religion must soon part company. A state of things was coming about in this land, for which no provision is made in the Word of God, and therefore we might have foreseen that it could not last long. Evangelical religion was beginning to be fashionable, at least a profession of it was in no way inconsistent with fashion. It was finding its way, esteemed, unopposed, and sometimes flattered, into the drawing-rooms of the great; and the purest form of the religion of Jesus had begun to be dandled on the lap of this world’s ease and favour. Such an order of things could not last long. The law of God forbids that it should be so: the enmity of Satan renders it impossible: and so to rid himself of these obnoxious truths, he usually employs two means, of the practical working of both of which the British Empire offers abundant proofs. The one method - perhaps the most effectual, and the most like to that which would deceive, if it were possible, the very elect - is that of introducing, through the channels of pure religion, a spurious substitute for it, assuming its appearance, but wholly destitute of its essentials, nay, full of the most soul-destroying delusions, these being the most dangerous, the more imperceptible they are, and the better they are concealed. That is the one weapon used by the great deceiver to destroy the power of the truth. The other is very different in many of its features, for it consists in the open persecution of the woman’s seed by the serpent, and through his willing agents upon the earth, and in the raising up of a storm of opposition to the truth when faithfully preached. Both these methods are now employed in these lands; the former in a sister church, the latter in our own country. This war seems to be but beginning. What shall be the end thereof? From "Revival Sermons" - William C. Burns - Banner of Truth Trust, Edinburgh. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 131: S.. THE SIMPLICITY OF CHRIST ======================================================================== THE SIMPLICITY THAT IS IN CHRIST. "But I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtilty, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ. " 2 Corinthians 11:1-33. The simplicity that is in Christ stands here contrasted with the subtilty of the serpent: and the instance given of the serpent’s subtilty in his beguiling Eve illustrates what is meant by the simplicity which is opposed to it. In that first temptation, all on.the part of God was abundantly simple; the command, not to eat of The tree, with the warning, "In the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die," was, in fact, simplicity itself. On the other hand, the subtilty of the tempter is apparent in the complex and manifold pleading which be holds with Eve. God has but one argument against eating; Satan has many for it; and there is no surer sign of subtilty than the giving of many reasons for what a single good one would better justify and explain. The apologist, conscious of a weak and indefensible case, usually has recourse to the multiplying of, excuses, often enough irrelevant and inconsistent - as if the heaping of a number of weak explanations upon. one another could make up for the impotency and insufficiency of each one of them apart. And the tempter also avails himself of the same artifice. He does not appeal to a single motive or depend on a single plea for success. He prevails by the variety rather than the strength of his weapons, as if he must first confound, before he can conquer, his victim. First self-love and self-confidence are appealed to; suspicion is awakened; and discontent begins to rankle within. "Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden " Then, to lull asleep the just fear of God’s wrath, as well as to mar the full love of his goodness, the specious insinuation comes in, "Ye shall not surely die." And to perplex the matter still more, obscure and ambiguous hints are thrown out as to the possible or probable issue of events, and the mind is cast loose on a vague calculation of chances and consequences : "Ye shall be us Gods, knowing good and evil." Thus complicated is the subtilty of the serpent ; his lies, because they are lies, must be multiplied, to prop up one another. But truth is one; and as there is nothing but truth, so there is nothing, and there can be nothing, but simplicity, in Christ: simplicity, as opposed to subtilty, is the characteristic feature of Christ himself, and of all that is his. The simplicity that is in Christ is a precious and blessed quality; and it may be discerned all throughout his great salvation; in every stage and department of that salvation. 1. In his own finished work of righteousness andt atonement. 2. In the free offer of the Gospel founded thereupon. 3. In the fulness of believers as divinely one with himself. 4. In their following of him as their captaia and example; and 5. In their expectation of him as their judge and reward, - in all these five instances of his grace, on the one hand and of your experience and hope, as his people, on the other, this distinguishing element may be noted, - and in contrast with the subtilty of the serpent, we may trace the simplicity that is in Christ. I. There is simplicity in Christ, as the Lord our righteousness, as the servant of the Father, and the substitute, surety and saviour of the guilty. It was in this character that he came into the world: and with entire simplicity did he sustain it. It was thc single object for which he lived and died. Indeed, without an apprehension of. this leading aim; the Lord’s ministry on earth is unintelligible, self-contradictory, and, as we might almost say, marked not by simplicity, but by manifold subtilty. Every theory that hes been or can be proposed of the suffering life and cruel death of Jesus, the Holy One of God, apart from the recognition of his vicarious character and standing, fails, and must fail, to satisfy a simple mind. The whole story is a confused, inconsistent, inextricable, incomprehensible enigma; a dark riddle, as regards the government of God; a strange anomaly that shocks the moral sentiments of men. It is the doctrine, or rather the fact, of his substitution for you, which alone harmonises and hallows all. On any other supposition, the evangelical records are as void of clear meaning as any complicated tale of romantic fiction. At the very best, they are vague anecdotes and reminiscences of a remarkable person, of whose conduct and fate no intelligible solution can be imagined. It is the atonement that gives significancy and unity to the whole. Let him be owned as the righteousness of God, in your stead, and the propitiation for your sins, what simplicity there is there in Christ! Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world! That there is no mystery here, - nothing that transcends man s finite understanding, and baffles his restless curiosity, - we are far from saying. The substitution of that Holy One in the room of the guilty must ever be a wonder on earth, in heaven, and in hell But oh! is there not a simplicity in it that comes home to the heart of a poor despairing sinner! He lies bitten by the deadly fiery serpent stung with remorse for sin, racked and tortured with the fear of eternal woe. Behold the serpent lifted up in the wilderness! Behold the Son of man, made sin, made a curse, for such precisely he is, for the lost world of which he is a most miserable portion, for sinners, of whom he is chief: behold this Jesus, living, dying, lifted up upon the cross, taking the place; doing the work, bearing the doom, of the condemned victims of everlasting justice ; - what simplicity as well as worthiness in the Lamb that was slain! How clear, how definite and precise, how plain and unequivocal is this marvellous transaction, this real atonement for sin! "Deliver me from going down to the pit: I have found a ransom." "Awake, 0 sword, against my shepherd, against the man that is my fellow." Let the prisoner go free; let the guilty criminal be acquitted, justified, accepted ; for an infinitely, worthy substitute has been provided, to undertake all his responsibilities, to meet all his obligations, to answer every charge in law against him, every demand in justice upon him, to plead for him in the trial, to stand for him in the judgment. Alas! that this simplicity that is in Christ should ever fail to satisfy. Nay, that it should so often - this very simplicity - be the very offence of the cross itself! But it is the policy of Satan to mar it, and by his subtilty to corrupt your minds from its simplicity, from the simplicity that is in Christ, and him crucified. Hence the endless questions he has contrived to raise in connection with it, respecting the secret counsels of the divine mind, the abstract principles of the divine government, and other the like great matters and things too high for us; as if it were our part to care for God, rather than for ourselves, in this transaction, - to be more anxious about his interests and concerns than about our own, - to view the cross, in short, rather in its possible bearing on tbe unknown arrangements of heaven, than in its actual application to the wants and woes that press so sorely on the sinner here on earth. For it is a great thing for the enemy to have this whole affair transferred from the region of reality to the region of speculation; and hence, taking advantage, not unfrequently, of the ingenuity even of wise and holy men, he tempts them to embarrass the simple fact on which the Gospel rests, with sundry more than doubtful disputations on the philosophy or rationale of it. It is indeed a noble exercise of mind to aim at seeing how God in His glorious majesty, as well as we in our miserable need, may stand related to the events of Bethlehem, Gethsemane, and Calvary; nor is the inquiry an unprofitable or unlawful one. The doctrine of the Atonement is a most reasonable doctrine; and to the understanding, spiritually enlightened, it opens up the largest views of God’s character and ways, while it inspires the lowliest sense of the exceeding sinfullness of our sin. But it is still not to the wise and prudent, but to babes, that these things are revealed; and as the Lord s new-born babes desire the sincere milk of the word, so do they delight in the simplicity that is in Christ. Ah! It is first as a fact, as an actual snbstitution of himself in their room, that they, as sinners, come to know the Saviour’s cross, and it is through their acquaintance with redemption, as a real and literal transaction of awful import between the righteous Father and his eternal Son on their behalf, that they come, by means of that transaction, to have a blessed and rapturous insight into the very mind and heart of the Godhead, to perceive that God is light, to feel that God is love. For subtle intellects, however, the snare of Satan’s subtilty is often too seductive. Tempted to look on this great sight from a divine, rather than a human point of view, approaching it, as it were, from the side of God s high throne, rather than from the abyss of fallen man’s misery and guilt, they seem to consult for God rather than for them-selves, to settle beforehand how God ought to act, rather than believe what he tells as to how he has acted. And so they frame a theory of atonement and redemption accommodated to their own ideas of what the general government of God must be. They speak vaguely of his public justice as the ruler of the universe, rather than of his private justice in his controversy individually with themselves. They profess to determine what the ends of his universal administration demand, rather than what every sin deserves. They find manifold good and plausible reasons of state, so to speak, on the part of God, for the atonement, instead of one sad reason of necessity on the part of the sinner. And thus it ends in their representing the plan of redemption, with a sort of undefined, abstract, and impersonal generality of statement, as an expedient for meeting an exigency, or getting over a difficulty, in the divine government, harmonising certain opposite claims and considerations, and enabling God to show himself good as - well as holy, gracious as well as just; and all this, with a studied avoiding of anything like the precise idea of a strictly real and literal substitution of Christ personally in the stead of the sinner personally; as if after all, the cross of Calvary were a kind of stroke of policy in heaven’s cabinet and heaven’s councils, a pageant, a spectacle, an exhibition merely, and not that dread reality which made all hell tremble and all heaven rejoice, as, in the very act of pouring out his soul an offering for sin, the Lord addressed himself to one of those whose place he was then occupying, whose guilt he was then expiating, whose release he was then purchasing - " To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise." O my friends, let not your minds be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ. Others may be careful and troubled about the many reasons that may be found in the principles of God’s high government, to explain and account for the atonement; but for you, one reason is all that is needed,- one good reason,- a1as! too good, - that you have sinned, that without shedding of blood there is no remission, that the blood of bulls and goats could never take away sin, that the blood of Christ his Son cleanseth from all sin. Yes, He has made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him 2 Corinthians 5:21). II. As in his own finished work of righteousness did atonement, so in the free offer of the gospel as connected with it we may see, and seeing, we may bless God for the simplicity that is in Christ. How simple, in every view of it, is the Gospel message! How simple in its freeness. "Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money: come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money, and without price" (Isaiah 55:1). "The Spirit and the Bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely" (Revelation 3:17). How near does it bring Christ! "It is not in heaven, that thou shouldest say, Who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it unto us, that we may hear it, and do it? Neither is it beyond the sea, that thou shouldest say, Who shall go over the sea for us, and bring it unto us, that we may hear it and do it? But the word is very nigh unto the., in Thy mouth, and in thy heart, that thou mayest do it" (Deuteronomy 30:12-14). "The righteousness which is of faith speaketh on this wise, Say not in thine heart, Who shall ascend into heaven? (that is, to bring Christ down from above:) or, Who shall descend into the deep? (that is, to bring up Christ again from the dead). But what saith it? The word is nigh thee, even in thy mouth, and in thy heart: that is, the word of faith which we preach; that if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved" (Romans 10:6-9). How very plain as well as pathetic is the Lord s pleading with sinners! "As though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God" (2 Corinthians 5:20). "Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: Though your sins be as scarlet, - they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool" (Isaiah 1:18). How explicit, how unequivocal, are his assurances! "Turn ye, turn ye, why will ye die? I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth, saith the Lord GOD wherefore turn yourselves, and live ye" (Ezekiel 18:32). "As live, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live: turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways; for why will ye die, 0 house of Israel ?" (Ezekiel 33:11). "Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out" (John 6:37). How clear, how undeniably palpable and peremptory, as it might seem beyond its being possible for any sophistry to torture it, is the declaration of the Lord’s will that all men should be saved and should come to the knowledge of the truth, and his command that all men everywhere should repent. Yet, need I say to you, my friends, that it is here very especially that Satan puts forth all his subtilty to beguile? You are not ignorant, I am persuaded, of his devices. You know how many reasons for doubt and unbelief he can contrive to set up - against God’s one reason for believing. Here am I - a lost sinner. There is Christ, a living Saviour. I am commanded to believe; and if I believe not, I perish. But here is a test. Is there ever any one of all his reasons that is not founded on a perhaps? It was upon a perhaps that he persuaded his poor beguiled victims at first to risk their paradise, their souls, their all; ye shall not surely die ! And it is by a perhaps still, or by many a perhaps, that he would beguile poor sinners, to keep them away from Christ. Thus, as to the Father: it may be that you are not elected; that your name may not be in the book of life; or as to the Son: Christ died only for his sheep, and you may not be one of them. Or again as to the Holy Ghost: as you may not be an object of the electing love of the Father, and the saving work of the Son, so you may not be a subject of the converting grace of the Spirit. You may have committed the unpardonable sin; you may have persevered in sin so long as to be beyond the reach of renewal and repentance; you may have offended God beyond the hope of his being ever appeased; or crucified the Son of God afresh, and put yourself out of the range of his sacrifice; or quenched the Spirit be- yond hope of any revival: your sin may be so heinous, your backsliding so inexcusable, your hardness of heart so great, that though all other sinners might find mercy, there may be none for you. Or, yet once more, as to the supposed conditions of your being saved:, perhaps you are not convinced enough of your sin, or sorry enough for it; or perhaps you are not repenting aright, or not believing aright, or not seeking and praying aright; or you may not be willing enough, or you may not be able enough, or you may not have know.ledge enough, or faith enough, or love enough, and so on; with maybe and perhaps heaped on one another, Satan, playing into your own natural fears and feelings, would keep you hesitating and halting, balancing scruples and weighing doubts for ever. But it is upon no may-be, upon no perhaps, that the blessed Lord invites you to commit your soul to him. He does not multiply uncertain reasonings and pleadings. He has but one word to you. And that word is true. He has confirmed it by an oath. "As I live, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth." He has sworn by himself, "I, even I, am he." "Look unto me and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth." He has but one voice, the voice of tender entreaty, Turn ye, turn ye. He has but one argument, the argument of the cross, a full atonement made for guilt of deepest dye, an everlasting righteousness brought in, a sufficient satisfaction made to the righteous law, and a welcome, without upbraiding and without reserve, awaiting the very chief of sinners. 0 my friends, let no subtilty of Satan ever beguile you, or corrupt your minds from the simplicity that is in Christ, in his gospel offer of a free, a full, a present salvation. And be not careful to answer Satan’s manifold subtilty; be content to set over against it the simplicity that is in Christ. And there is nothing Satan likes better than to draw you into argument and debate; he would fain entangle you in his web of sophistry, by getting you to take up and discuss his specious reasonings in detail. Thou poor soul, scarce escaped out of his net, thou knowest these wiles of the devil. It was in many meshes he tried to involve thee; it was by many ties he tried to bind thee; and while thou wast painfully seeking to unravel each miserable thread, to unloose each small and cunning knot, how did he keep thee fluttering and vainly panting to be free. And oh! the first glimpse thou didst get of the simplicity that is in Christ! the first apprehension, the first taste, of the free, the simple, the unencumbered Gospel of the grace of God! What a relief! What a release! The scales fell from thine eyes! Like Samson awaking, thou didst tear off from thy limbs ten thousand chains of Satan’s lying sophistry, as, with a sovereign pardon in thy hand thou didst walk forth out of thy prison, erect now and bold - in the broad light of God s reconciled countenance. It was then that by a single word of power and peace - " Come unto me" - " It is I" - " Thy sins be forgiven thee," - thy lord dissipated the entire host of thy spiritual enemies; and the new glad song of liberty he put into your lips was, "Blessed be the Lord, who hath not given us as a prey to their teeth! Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers; the snare is broken, and we are ecaped." III. As there is the simplicity of actual reality in the great Atonement and the simplicity of earnest sincerity in the gospel offer, so in respect also of the completeness of believers as one with Jesus, we may note the simplicity that is in Christ. Here we speak to you in the language of the apostle, as espoused to Christ; presented to him as a chaste virgin to a loving husband; and we would be jealous over a godly jealousy; for duplicity now on your part is nothing short of spiritual adultery, and is sadly inconsistent with the simplicity that is in Christ towards you. And what, the apostle adds (2 Corinthians 11:4), would you have? Would you have one to come to you with another Jesus to preach to you, another Spirit for you to receive, another Gospel for you to accept? Are ye so soon weary of the homely fare of the Lord’s kingdom that ye would look out for new and foreign dainties? Are your minds corrupted from the simplicity of Christ? Alas! it is to be feared that the serpent who beguiled Eve through his subtilty, has been busy with your minds too. He contrived to make her dissatisfied even with the simplicity of Paradise. Is he making you, in like manner, dissatisfied with the simplicity that is in Christ? Call to mind here, my friends, the circumstances of our first parents, and the subtilty of Satan in that first temptation that beguiled them. In the garden of Eden they had all things richly to enjoy. Of every tree of the garden they might freely eat. It was a simple grant of all the happiness of which their pure nature was susceptible that was made to them by their bountiful Creator. But the very simplicity of the grant was a stumbling-block to them. The single test of their loyalty, - in itself simple enough too, - became irksome. Satan had a more excellent way - he would improve upon the divine method of Eden’s holy joys, and make their position yet more perfect and more free. "Ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil." It was a subtle snare. Ye are treated now as children; your innocence is the innocence of ignorance, and ignorance, too, is all your bliss. Be knowing; and be as gods. So the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtilty, causing her to be discontented with the simple profusion of Eden’s blessings and the simple tenure on which she held them. And the like spirit of discontent he would fain cherish in you in regard to the simplicity that is in Christ. Of that simplicity you that are in Christ have some experience. It is the simplicity of a rich and royal liberality, alike in his gifts and in his manner of giving. How simple, in every view of it, is his treatment of you, my brethren that are his, - you that are in him. "Ye are complete in him." "All things are yours." All that he has is yours. The perfection of his righteousness, the fulness of his grace and truth, the holiness of his divine nature, the riches of his divine glory, his blessed relation of sonship to the Father, the unction of the Holy Ghost wherewith he was anointed, the love with which the Father hath loved him, the reward with which the Father hath crowned him, all his possessions, in short, and all the pure elements of his own inmost satisfaction, his rest, his peace, his joy, all, all he shares with you, simply, bountifully, unreservedly; and all upon the simple footing of your only being in him and abiding in him. What simplicity is this! And yet, my friends, you may be tempted to weary of it. Even Paradise itself began to grow tame and insipid. The even tenor of its peaceful and placid way, the noiseless unbroken current of its smooth waters of delight, was felt to be dull and slow; and its inmates became impatient for a change. They disliked the level uniformity of mere creature innocency, and the humility of prolonged dependence on their most beneficent Creator. They would take a shorter and more summary road to perfection, they would be as gods themselves, knowing good and evil. Is there never anything like this, my friends, in your spiritual experience? Are there never seasons when the whole ordinary routine of your wonted spiritual exercises seems weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable? Is it a time of heaviness with you? of falling away from your first love? of collapse after excitement? of dulness after ecstasy, and listless languor following upon some agitating or exhilarating crisis in your history? Who shall prescribe for such a spiritual malady? What can we say to you that will not fall as a thrice-told tale upon your ear? To tell you again merely of Christ, to rehearse the old story of his sufferings and death, to assure you over and over of the sufficiency of his atonement, the freeness of his gospel, the promise of lila Spirit, - to speak to you still of nothing but the efficacy of faith, and the power of prayer, and the consolation of the word, and the lowly duty of simple waiting on theLord, that he may renew your soul, - all this is but to charm ache with air, and agony with words, to patch grief with proverbs. It is all true, you say, incontrovertibly true. You know it all and you believe it all; and yet you feel wretched, and dull, and dead. Is there no more sovereign specific for ministering to a mind diseased? Is there no fresh expedient for reawakening the dormant feelings of the heart? Is there no royal road to a holier and happier state? - Alas! my friends, yours is the very frame of mind for Satan’s subtlest policy to work on. To you he comes as an angel of light! proposing some specious novelties in doctrine, refinements upon the commonplace threadbare preaching of the cross; or suggesting new modes of worship or of fellowship, expedients for improving upon the ordinary means of growth in grace and progress in holiness. It is the frame of mind with which heresiarchs of all sorts, whether cold and calculating, or warm and enthusiastic, know well how to deal. I Let church history, modem as well as ancient, testify! At such seasons, brethren, be ye especially on your guard! Seek not relief impatiently by devices of your own or of others who may plausibly profess to pity you. Wait on the Lord. Stand on the old paths. Let his word still be your stay; continue in prayer, and faint not. Wait, I say, on the Lord. "It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord." "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Abide still in Christ. Look to him as at the first. Deal with him as a poor, empty soul, with a rich, full, loving Saviour. Go not elsewhere, but only to Christ. All tbings around you change. All within you changes. But keep on trusting in him. Though he slay me, he is the same. "Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of his servant that walketh in darkness, -and hath no light? Let him trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God." Let him not kindle a fire of his own, or walk in the sparks men may kindle. Let him still wait on the Lord, who will cause light to arise. IV. Great and manifest as is the simplicity that is in Christ your Lord, in his work of righteousness and atonement for you, in the free offer of his gospel to you, and in his uniting you to himself, and associating you with himself in all that is his; it is not less apparent in his guidance of you, as your captain and example. I will guide thee, says the Lord to the happy man whose iniquity is forgiven, whose sin is not imputed, and in whose spirit there is no guile, - I will guide thee with mine eye (Psalms 32:9): - . a manner of guiding peculiarly and pre-eminently simple. It is opposed to the use of mere brute force, or the mere compulsion of threatening and terror, the bit, the bridle, the uplifted rod, the inflicted stroke, the mere scourge or rein of absolute authority, softened perhaps by coaxing, flattery, and cajoling falsehood. To be guided by the Lord with his eye, - what docility does this imply in you, what simplicity in Christ! Observe the conditions of such a guidance as this. In all guidance of beings endowed with reason, conscience, and free will, four things are ordinarily indispensable; a rule, a motive, an inward power, an upward or onward pattern. In the case of man naturally, of you in your unconverted state, and out of Christ, what are these? (1.) The rule - the law of course; but it is the law which you feel, if strictly applied, must condemn you, and therefore presume that it must admit of relaxation. (2.) The motive - a mere sense of necessity, a feeling that you must do some homage. (3.) The power in you - your own frail resolution. (4.) The pattern before you - some one of the better sort among yourselves. But mark the change, when, as pardoned sinners, ransomed criminals, adopted children, you are guided by the Lord with his eye. (1.) As to the rule, it is the law still, but it is not the dead letter, but the living spirit of the law. It is not the law in its condemning form of a covenant of works, bringing you under the sentence of death, and putting you to all subtle shifts to evade it. But it is the law as magnified and made honourable by our righteous and suffering substitute, the law as satisfied, and therefore justifying, the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus, the law of liberty, the law of love. Then (2.) As to the motive, it is not the desperate desire of some sort of partial and precarious accommodation yet to be effected, but the sweet sense of full and perfect reconciliation already freely and graciously secured. Again (3.) As to the inward moving power, it is the indwelling and inworking of the spirit of Christ. You are strengthened with might by the Spirit in the inner man; Christ dwells in. your heart by faith. And (4.) As to the ideal, or model, or example, it is Christ himself. It is a guidance (1) according to the free spirit, and not the mere servile letter of the law; (2) through the motive, not of a servile dread of still impending wrath, but of love to him who has first loved us; (3) I by the power of that Spirit abiding in us, who worketh in us, both to will and to do of God’s good pleasure; and (4) in the very steps of him who hath left us an example, and to whom we are to look as the author and finisher of our faith, who, for the joy set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God. Surely there is great simplicity in such guidance as this. It is throughout the guidance, not of arbitrary force, but of reason and good feeling; not of fear, but of love; not of the flesh, but of the Spirit; not of a miserably inadequate model, but of a perfect pattern; not of the letter, but of the spirit of the law. The simplicity of it lies in its appealing to our highest sense of honour, our most generous and disinterested feelings of gratitude and honour. There is unity, and therefore simplicity, in the reference throughout to the one Lord, for the rule, the motive, the inspiring power, and the animating pattern. But the subtilty of Satan, how manifold is it, how complicated are his insidious wiles, in this department, especially, of a holy walk, or of right and faithful discharge of practical duty. What a subtle science is casuistry, the science, in a special sense, of Satan, in which he is peculiarly at home. How ingeniously does he multiply his pleas in reference to all the several parts of evangelical holiness, the rule, the reason, the power, the pattern. (1.) For the rule, - oh it cannot always be the strict unbending morality of the ten commandments. That standard it may be right and necessary generally to maintain, to guard against flagrant Antinomian and licentious abuses. But all men except recluses know that allowances must be made in social life, and regard must be had to circumstances, and within certain limits there must be an accommodation of what God requires to what the world will bear. Then (2.) the motive of all you do ought doubtless to be not servile fear, but filial love, not the mere dread of being visited with punishment but the desire to please, and it is plain that this motive has a very large and wide sweep, and might prompt many a generous and even chivalrous service and sacrifice in God’s cause, from which the other motive might hold you excused. Still, practically, as things now are, it is a great matter if a Christian mixing with society keep clear of what is positively forbidden, and if nothing palpably wrong can be established against him. And so also (3.) as to the power, it is admitted vaguely and generally, that you have a promise of divine aid to help your infirmities and strengthen you for the. Lord’s work and warfare. But this, alas! does not hinder a large measure of the very same apologetic pleading of human frailty by which worldly men are wont to palliate their shortcomings and excesses. And finally (4.) when we look to the pattern, how aptly does Satan teach us to evade the obligation of a full fellowship of Christ, by suggesting sundry qualifications and limitations, - as that there are many things in which Christ being divine, must be admitted to be inimitable, - until at last we come to feel practically, either that the imitation of him is a mere fiction, or that we are to fix for ourselves wherein, and to what extent it is to be realised. O be not corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ, as guiding his people with his eye according to the spirit of his own holy law, through the sweet constraining influence of love to himself, by the power of his Spirit abiding in them as in him, and after the high example he has left them that they should follow his steps. Ah! it is a blessed simplicity! It is the eye of Christian love. It is the charm of Christian life. To me to live is Christ: Christ the rule; Christ the motive; Christ the power; Christ the pattern. To live under Christ, for Christ, by Christ, after Christ; to live, yet not I but Christ living in me, - and I living the life I now live in the flesh by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. V. The simplicity that is in Christ may be noted in connection with his second coming and glorious appearing. Here Satan has been expending not a little of his subtilty, throughout all ages of the Church’s history, sometimes hiding this great doctrine, or contriving to have it kept in abeyance, and at other times complicating and embarrassing it, mixing up with it a variety of questions, scarcely, if at all, bearing, on its real, vital, and practical import. For, in truth, as to all that is essential and influential, it would seem to be simple enough. The Lord cometh as our Judge. He cometh as our exceeding great reward. We are to appear before his judgment seat; we are to be with him where he is, to see and share his glory. And if we add that his coming for these high ends is to be apprehended by us as both sudden and near at hand, we seem to have the main substance of the believer’s very simple, but very glorious and very awful hope. Thus regarded, it is practically a most influential hope; influential for its very simplicity. It sets you upon working, watching, waiting for the Lord. You work for him as servants, not wicked and slothful, but diligent, as those who must give account to him. You watch for him, with loins girt and lamp burning, - not sleeping as do others, but watching and being sober, as children of the light and of the day, putting off sleep and drunkenness and all works of the night, - putting on the whole armour of light, looking up, looking out, as not knowing at what hour the Master may come. You wait for him. You wait, with what ardent longing I wait for the Lord. Yea, more than they that watch for the morning. When shall the day dawn and the shadows flee away Oh, when shall I welcome my returning Saviour. You wait for him with increasing ardour, as your growing likeness to him makes his fellowship more congenial; and sorrows and separations set you more and more upon the anticipation of future reunion in him. You wait, however, still, how patiently! reconciled to every hard duty - eveiy irksome trial by the promise of the Comforter now, and the sure hope of glory at the last. Now to be thus working, watching, waiting for the Lord, how simple and how blessed an attitude And thus to use for comfort and edification the great doctrine of his coming again, is surely to act according to the simplicity that is in Christ. Other inquiries there may be, of interest in their place, respecting the times and seasons and events connected with the close of this world’s dark history and the ushering in of a better day. But let not such detailed and complicated investigations, which surely after all are to the believer personally of subordinate importance, as well as of uncertain issue, be so blended with the one grand outline of Jesus coming again to receive his people to himseli; as to mar the impression of its sublime arid majestic unity and simplicity. This was a warning needed in the early church, as the apostle himself testifies, when some used the doctrine to deceive and perplex; and he found it neccssary, that he might prevent plain believers from being shaken in mind and troubled, to give an express and authoritative contradiction to some of the rumours that had been raised and circulated. And no intelligent observer, either of the past or of the present, will deny the necessity of a similar caution now. I ask you to distinguish here again, and here especially, between the complex and the simple: and I remind you that what really is to produce the right moral and spiritual effect upon your souls is not the crowded canvas and complicated scenery of a picture embracing all the particulars of a world s catastrophe, - no, not that, not that at all, but the one dread and holy image of Jesus, as he was taken up to heaven on Mount Olivet, so coming again, even as he was seen to go. Be that coming when it may, it is still, as the polestar of the Church’s hope, and the spur of her zeal, simple, solemn, in its very standing alone, isolated, solitary, separate and apart from all accessories of preceding and accompanying revolutions. Yes it is not earthquakes, or tempests, or deluges of fire; it is not falling empires, mighty wars and tumults, convulsions of all sorts over all the earth; it is not Babylon doomed nor Israel restored, nor all the vast upheaving of the social fabric that must attend such vicissitudes - though it well concerns the slumbering nations to give heed to these things, and watchmen in Zion must never cease to ring in the ears of a scoffing world the knell of its approaching dissolution ; - still, I say, it is not these, not these altogether, nor any of them, that I have before my eye, filling my whole soul, and heart, and mind, when I turn weeping from the grave of buried friendship, or rise startled from the couch of despondency and sloth - no, but Jesus my Lord, himself alone, the centre of ineffable brightness and beauty. Angels and the redeemed are around him: but it is himself alone that fixes my regard, and I, poor miserable I, a sinner saved by his grace, a servant working for his hire, a watcher waiting for his coming, - I rise, I rush forth, I run to meet - nay, I am caught up to meet - my Lord in the air. So shall I be ever with the Lord. To careless sinners we have a word to say. The subtilty of Satan is very apt to beguile and corrupt; but we have to remind you that there is a simplicity in Satan that is more insidious and disastrous still. There are those whom Satan leads captive at pleasure, and on whom it is really not worth his while to waste or expend his subtilty at all. When the strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace : he has no occasion for the use either of his arts or of his arms. It is when a stronger than he cometh upon him, to overcome him, that he needs to have recourse to the violence of threats or the artifice of alluring wiles. It is for his victims that have escaped, or that are escaping from his grasp, that lie reserves the practice of his strategems : it is they who alas! from personal experience, are not ignorant of his devices. With you, who are going on contentedly in the broad road, he uses no refinement: to you his lies are simple enough; nay he scarcely needs more than one; his old lie with which he began, "ye shall not surely die." Ah! it may well be that all our discussions of nice and intricate points of conscience are unintelligible to you. You have little sympathy with the strange varieties of frame and feeling that attend a spiritual awakening, and you cannot comprehend the turns and windings of a poor soul, hunted as the wounded hart in the desert, arid panting for the water brooks. How it should be so very difficult to assuage the anguish of a guilty conscience, or to pacify the fears of a broken heart, or to get a sinner to believe in the forgiveness of sins, or to make him continue to rely on the mercy of heaven, you cannot understand at all; it seems all to you so simple, easy, natural; so much almost a matter of course; that you should be let alone now and let off somehow at the last. But I beseech you rather to look to the simplicity that is in Christ than to lean on the simplicity that is in Satan. The simplicity that is in Satan! Truly simple enough are they that believe his fond and simple lie! But hear another voice, simple enough too "How long, ye simple ones, will ye love simplicity; and fools hate knowledge? Turn ye at my reproof. Behold, I will pour out my Spirit unto you, I will make known my words unto you." And hear another voice, yet the same, simple enough too! and awful ! - awful for its simplicity. "Because I have called and ye refused, I have stretched forth my hand and no man regarded; but ye have set at nought my counsel and would none of my reproof; I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh." "Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seek me early, but they shall not find me !" "Seek ye the Lord while he may be found! Call ye upon him while he is near. To anxious souls I would say, Let not the subtilty of Satan distress you beyond measure. And above all, let it not surprise you! Count it not strange that you fall into divers temptations! When you are thus tempted, do not yield to the crowning temptation of imagining that your case is strange and your experience singular. This is a great snare. It ministers to a certain feeling of all-unconscious self-complacency, as you brood over difficulties and doubts and embarrassments; fancying that never was there soul-exercise, never soul - distress, like yours. Be sure that there hath no temptation befallen you but such as is common to men. And remember your way of escape is not the way of combating in argument the subtilty of Satan; but the common, far safer and simpler way of simply acquiescing anew, and ever anew, in the simplicity of Christ! For you are no match in special pleading for the Master of that science! The question of your peace with God, and your comfortable walk with him, is one that never will be solved or settled beforehand by any processes of subtle reasoning. You must solve and settle it experimentally. Taste and see that the Lord is good. Venture your soul upon the simplicity that is in Christ, his simple faithfulness, the simplicity of his promise, - " Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out." Let Satan perplex the question as he may. Let him conjure up doubtful disputations by the score, - by the hundred. Let him summon a very legion of dark surmises to disconcert you! Be you simple. Be you decided, linger not. Hesitate not. Do to God, - Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, - the justice you would be ashamed to deny to an earthly friend. Simply believe that the Father means what he says when he beseeches you to be reconciled to him in his Son; that the Son means what he says when he cries, "Come unto me, ye weary;" that the Holy Ghost means what he says when, together with the Bride, he says, "Come; take of the water of life freely!" To you who believe I would say, - Let there be simplicity in you, corresponding to the simplicity that is in Christ. In all simplicity, accept Christ as your substitute! In all simplicity, comply with his call to come to him, and though him, to the Father! In all simplicity, abide in him and be satisfied with his fulness! In all simplicity, yield yourselves to his gracious and loving guidance! In all simplicity, be ever looking out for his glorious coming All on his part, - in his treatment of you, in his offering himself for you; in his giving himself to you; in his keeping you and making you etc in himself; in his guiding you with his eye; in his again to receive you to himself, that where he is you may be also ; - all is simple, free, generous, unreserved! There is no keeping back of anything. He opens his heart, his hand, to you? Let all on your part, in your treatment of him, be simple too! Be upon honour with him! Be guileless, frank, cordial, in your reliance with him ; your submission to him; your working and waiting for him! So will you taste the blessedness of fully realising the simplicity is in Christ. Yours will be the enlargement of heart that, springing out of a simple faith in Christ, takes in all the fulness of his glorious gospel Yours will be the alacrity, and cheerfulness, and joy of running with heart enlarged in the way of the divine commandments, and walking freely as well as humbly with your God, Your path will be as the shining light, shining more and more unto the perfect day. All embarrassment, all constraint, all reserve, being at an end; your fellowship in the Spirit is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ our Lord ======================================================================== Source: https://sermonindex.net/books/writings-of-robert-s-candlish/ ========================================================================