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^^!^l■^
2 6-X
THE
Heavenly Vision;
And Other Sermons.
ri863-73-;
BY THE
REV. WILLIAM COCHRANE, M.A
(Zion Presbyterian Church, Brantford.)
TORONTO :
ADAM, STEVENSON & CO
1874.
t
i
Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year
one thousand eight hundred and seventy- four, by The Reverend
William Cochrane, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture.
W, O. GIBKON, I'UINIKK,
KIN(- 8TKEKT RAST, TOHONIX)
t
§
i
TO THE
OFFICE-BEARERS AND CONGREGATION
': ■ .OF"'
BR ANT FO R D
Whose fond attachment and kind forbearance have tightened laf-or
and rendered sacred the tie between Pastor and /'■oplt
®ljcs£ ^agts
ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY THEIR
FRIEND AND FELLOW SERVANT
IN THE LoaD
WILLIAM COCHRANE.
1 (^ fo 3
■■
1
I
1
1
h
PREi- .. CE.
At the urgent request of members of my con-
gregation, to whom the Sermons contained i„
this volume were first preached, I have con-
sented to their publication. In making a selec-
tion out of a ten years' ministry, it is difficuh
to decide what subjects, under God's blessing,
may be the most acceptable and profitable to
the general reader. A minister is not always
the best judge of the Sermons most calculated
to do good, and is frequently mistaken as to
results. The efforts that have been most care-
fully elaborated, are found in many cases far
less effective than the spontaneous outbursts of
the heart, under the guidance of the Holy
Spirit. I have, therefore, selected the following
pages without any special rule, and out of the
ordinary weekly preparations for the pulpit, trust-
ing that to my own people they may prove of
some value, if not for their intrinsic merits
VI
preface.
Bkantford, April, 1874.
at least as a memento of happy seasons spent
together in the House of God. Should the
volume fall into the hands of others beyond the
limits of my own congregation, and prove in
any case a source of comfort and encourage-
ment to God's own children, its publication
will not be in vain.
'I
'I
CONTENTS.
(JlTf.JCl
PAGE
V
I.
The Heavenly Vision.
oc scin. —Exodus xxxiii. 23.
" ^lun shall ace 2t)i3 f.u-c."-REv. xxii. 4
II.
Fearing when Entering the Cloud.
'•^nh thci) fcarcb as thcij cutcrcb the (JTloub "-Luke
IX. 34
IV.
22
III.
The Soul's Rest.
"Return unto thu vest. 0.1 mi, soul, for the 3i:or.b hath
bcalt bount.full,, u,ith thcc.'-PsALM cxvi 7
The Numberer of the Stars.
iic hcalcth the brohen in heart, anb binbeth u, their
U>ounbs. ^n telleth the number of the sHrs Z
^••»^'^th them aUbu their nanus;--PsAl:Lcri;3-!: ,,
VIU
Conltnts.
V.
Things New and Old.
'• "iTlKn d.iib Sir unto thrm, Therefore eHrrn scribe Uihieh'^"'
IS mstrurteb unto the llingbom of VjciHen is liltc
nnto a m.m that is an householbrr, ivhich bringeth
forth out of his tieasure things neUi anb olb."—
Matt. xiii. =.2
■^ go
VI.
I'ai.m Trle Christians.
" "JThr righteous shall flourish lihc the palm tree "-
Psalm xcii. 12
113
VII.
An Immortality to be Desired.
"^lu righteous shall be m cbcrlasting remembrance "-
Psalm cxii. 6 . .
137
f
VIII.
A New Year's Greeting.
"^cloDeb, i luish abolu- all things that thou maucst
prosper anb be in health, eben as thu soul pros-
prreth."— 3RD Epistle of John, 2
152
IX.
The Master's Call.
'%\\i plaster is come, anb cal
xi, 28 ....
Icth for thcc."— John
173
lib
)0
(Tontrnts.
i.\
X.
Touching His Gakmen-.
-She camr brhinb anb touchrb ;i)ie gannrnt.
V. 27
-Mark
l-ACiK
I()4
217
XI.
How Ol.I) AKT TlIOl?
" 3Vnb Jacob ijaib unto ^Jharaoh, Thr bat)^:s of the near-,
of mi) pilgrimage air an hnnbrrb anb thirtn near-, •
fcUi anb mil halic the bans of the nrars of' nu. life
been, anb habe not attaineb unto the ban^^ of the
I'ravs of the life o( mn fathei^j in the bans of their
pilgrimage."— Gen. xlvii. 9
XII.
The Builder and the Glorv.
"(gbrn ^je shall bnilb the -cTemple of the 3Corb. anb Ije
shall bear the glotij."— Zechariah vi. 13 . . . . 234
XIII.
The Renewal of the Inner Man.
" 'nihough our outUiarb man perish, net the inUiarb man
15 reneturb hw) bu ban."— 2nd Cor. iv. 16 . . . . 254
XIV.
Children in the Market-Piace.
"^ut U)hereunto shall £ liken this geneiatiou? Et is
liiic unto chilbren sitting in the marl;ets. anb calling
unto their felloUis, anb saning, mt haHe pipeb unto
sou anb ije habe not banceb ; Uie haHe mourneb unto
J)ou anb ne habe not iamenteb."— Matt. xi. 16, 17 . 270
(Hontcnts.
XV.
Tm: Hij'SSHONiiss of thk Godly Man.
PAGE
•*^jc sh.ill blucll on high : his place of brfcncc shallhc
the munitions of rochs. ; brcab shall bf gibcn him,
his luatcrs shall be sure."— Isaiah xxxiii. i6 . . . 294
XVI.
As A Weaned Child.
" JW'i soul is encn as a loeaneb chilb."— Psalm cxxxi. 2. 315
XVII.
The Essentl\ls of Profitahle Worship.
" a^lhere tlno or three are gathereb together in mn namf,
there am £ in the mibst of them."— Matt, xviii. 20. 342
I
nibc
him.
I'AOE
294
1.2. 315
20. 342
€^t f cakiiln Wwimi
^o« sbiiU sfc mn bach {jurts. but mn fart sbuU not
at San,"— Exodus xxxiii. 23.
" ®i»2 shall see Dis fuu.' -Revelation xxii. 4.
Moses has been upon the Mount with God.
From His nands he has received the two tables of
stone, whereon was written the Law by the finger
of God. Finding that the people in his absence
had cast off their allegiance to Jehovah, and made
and worshipped a golden calf, Moses, in the exercise
of righteous indignation, casts the tables of stone
out of his hands, and breaks them beneath the
Mount. Unwilling at the first to assume the leader-
ship of the Israelites, such shameful apostacy on
their part would, but for Divine interposition, have
led to his entire abandonment of the work. The
fearful crime having been signally and terribly
avenged, by the slaughter of three thousand men, -
and the people consecrated anc . to the service of
God, Moses is commanded to resume the march
through the wilderness. -^ Now go, lead the people
unto the place of which I have spoken unto thee.
^Ijc |5ccibciTlg Vision.
Behold, mine angel shall go before thee." Moses at
once proceeds to execute the Divine command. The
tabernacle is pitched without the camp, and as
Moses enters, the cloudy pillar descends, overshadow-
ing the door of the tabernacle, while the Lord
talks with Moses face to face, as a man speaketh
with a friend. Such signal favour and condescension
on the part of Jehovah to his servant, emboldens
Moses to seek still further manifestations of Divine
power and guidance. He is for the seccnd time to
begin the journey, and just as at the outset, when
he received his commission from out the burning
bush, so now he desires a similar token of the
Almighty's favour. " Now therefore, if I have
found grace in Thy sight, show me now the way
that I may know Thee." "My presence shall go
with thee," (iod replies, "and I will give thee rest."
Still, as if unsatisfied with the assurance of God's
presence, he cries out " Lord, I beseech Thee, show
me Thy glory."
Moses already, it must be borne in mind, more
than almost any other Old Testament Saint, had
been signally distinguished by previous displays of
I
^t itabtitlii iJisioi,.
God's glory In the burning bush he had listened
to the voice of the great I Am. I„ .hat long series
of m.racles wrought against Pharoah and the Egyp
t.ans. eulminating in the passage of the destroying
angel over the land, and the death of the first-
bor„;_i„ the parting of the Red Sea, and the
drowning of the pursuing columns of Egypt's mighty
warriors ;-in the pillar of fire and cloud that
g'uded and guarded the Israelites on their way
-and amid the thunders and lightnings of Mount
Sma,, the might and majesty of Jehovah had been
stnkingly revealed. Nor must we forget that f„r
forty days and forty nights Moses was alone on the
Mount with God, dunng which time the external
appearance of God's glory upon the mountain's
summ.t was like devouring fire, in the sight of the
congregation. During that time Moses doubtless
was a spectator of many things that mortal eye
had never seen, and human rca,son can never
understand. But these sublime manifestations only
mcreased hi,s eagerness to draw nearer, and nearer
still, to the source of all true blessedness. The
deeper he drank the more he thirsted-the more
frequent his communion with his Maker the more
€)^t l^ciibcitln tJisioiT.
earnestly did he long after constant intercourse.
Thus it was that what in other circumstances might
have seemed presumptuous daring, must be regarded
as the cry of victorious faith, as Moses on the
Mount of Transfiguration cries out, " I beseech Thee,
show me Thy glory."
What is this glory of God ? do you ask me. Just
the character of God — the outshining of God — that
radiant holiness which encircles the Divine attributes;
— a glory higher, purer, and more solemnizing than
that external glory which shines upon the face of
nature. Such was the glory that Moses desired to look
upon with unclouded vision. Nay, inasmuch as his
request was not fully granted, it would almost seem
as if, in that hour of ecstacy, Moses would have
penetrated the unfathomable depths of the Divine
Being, which are shrouded from mortal eye. It was
evidently something more than what we are accustomed
to call the declarative glory of God that Moses desired
to look upon. He wanted not simply to know God,
in the sense of having palpable evidence of His
existence, but to understand in some measure what He
is; — to have, in that secret favored hour when the world
I ,
S^ljc ^nnbtnijf ^isixni.
was shut out, and Heaven seemed so near, a
manifestation of those perfections, which to the eye of
sense are dark and louerin,^^ but to the child of God
are full of hope— of peace— of ci-mfort— and holy joy !
Jehovah was evidently not displeased with the desire
of His servant, though his prayer was not fully
answered. Flesh and blood could not endure a direct
vision of the unveiled splendour of the Oodhead.
The essence of God is eternally secret. When Daniel
only saw an angel, he fell into a deep sleep; and John,
at the sight of Him upon whose bosom he had often
leaned, fell at His feet as dead. And therefore, in
mercy to His feeble servant, God replies, "Thou canst
not see my face and live, for there shall no man see
me and live." But in order to confirm and strengthen
his servant, and as far as possible meet this strong
desire of his heart, a revelation was made of the
invisible God, adapted to the feebleness of the creature.
" Behold," said God, "there is a place by me, and thou
Shalt stand upon a rock: and it shall come to pass,
while my glory passeth by, that I will put thee in a
cllft of the rock, and will cover thee with my hand
while I pass by ; and I will take away mine hand, and
®^c |)t"abntlg ^)ision.
thou shalt see my back parts : but my face shall not
be seen." Hidden thus within a cliit of the rock,
and covered with the hand of Jehovah, Moses was
able to catch a glimpse of the retiring Divinity, but
the full vision was reserved, until his disembodied
spirit should enter the upper sanctuary.
Fifteen centuries after the event recorded in these
verses, on another mountain - top, Moses beheld the
Son of Man, His face shining as the sun, and His
raiment white and glistening. He had now enjoyed
the beatific vision, and appeared clothed in the gar-
ments of immortality, holding solemn yet friendly
intercourse with the incarnate God. For the moment
the curtain that hides the invisible world from human
gaze is turned aside, and we catch a passing glimpse of
the inconceivable, inexpressible happiness of the saints
in light. It is not now a shadowy passing view of
the Deity they enjoy, but face to face recognition.
They are before the Throne — they sing the song of
Moses the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb.
Humanity redeemed, glorified, and exalted, now looks
with faultless vision upon the face of God. " They see
His face, and His name is on their forehead."
®be itabeiiln Itisioit.
In view of the statements contained in these
passages, we remark :
I. That imperfect knowledge of God's perfections
and works is a condition of our present existence.
All that we can see is but "the back parts of the
Almighty— His face cannot be seen." To the same
purport are such statements of Scripture: "Clouds
and darkness are round about Him;" "Canst thou
by searching find out God? Canst thou find out the
Almighty to perfection ? " " Now we see through a
glass darkly— then face to face ; now I know in part,
but then shall I know even as I am known."
It is n( t to be denied that great advances have
been made in every department of knowledge in
recent years. The world of matter and of mind
have each in turn been invaded, investigated and
scrutinized. Theology has been systematized, and
advanced beyond any former age. The learned specu-
lations of a bygone antiquity have become the
pastimes of the present, and the profoundest dis-
coveries of past ages arc now regarded as hardly
worthy of serious consideration. Turn the eye where
8
e ^)eabfiTln ^Itision.
you will — scan the universe of matter — penetrate the
depths of mind — traverse the boundary line that
separates the seen from the unseen world, and
there we behold the darinj; speculations of the
human soul. We send the electric spark of fire from
continent to continent along the bed of ocean, and
hold converse with the stars ! Thus, in the study
and application of those stupendous laws that con-
tinue our globe in existence, we see the face of God.
The earth we tread and the air we breathe, — the
universe and the conscience, — " the starry heavens
above and the moral law within, are all so many
witnesses of His presence and His power."
But yet, after all that has been discovered, how
little do we know of God's mysterious workings in
the natural or spiritual world ! Nature throws but
little light upon the higher perfections of the
Godhead as they relate to mortals, and the most
satisfactory discussions as to the method of God's
moral government of His fallen creatures, leave the
profoundest questions of existence unsolved. In the
face of nature, and apart from revelation, many of
God's attributes may be discovered. Yet, taken as
^e itabtnln Wis'wn,
a whole, Nature gives forth an uncertain sound. No
true idea— no complete, harmonious view, of God's
perfections can ever thus be obtained. It is not
always spring-time and summer, beauty and sunshine;
there is autumn with its falling leaves, and winter
with its storms and tempests. The gentle breezes of
the zephyr and noiselessly descending dew-drops have
their counterparts in the thunder-peal and lightning-
flash. What mean these volcanic eruptions, ceaselessly
pouring forth their liquid fire, and encrusting whole
towns and villages in their deathly grasp ?-those
frequently recurring inundations, where the avalanche
of waters overflows the banks of rivers, carrying
desolation in its onward sweep ?-those earthquake!
and tornadoes, which change the relative position
of land and water, and hurl into confusion the very
foundations of the earth? In such phenomena we
see but ''the back parts of the Almighty-His face
cannot be seen." In Providence, again, how much
there is to astonish and astound! The seemingly
partial distribution of rewards and punishments-the
many afflictions of the righteous and apparently un-
interrupted prosperity of the wicked-the young and
hopeful called away in the beginning of existence-
I
10
i\^t Ijtiibtnln l^isiou.
false systems of relif^ion and def^rading despotisms
suffered to enslave the human mind and retard the
long predicted reij^n of peace and goodwill, when
Messiah shall see of the travail of His soul and be
satisfied ! And finally, in regard to the great doctrines
that centre around the Cross of Christ, is it not
equally true that we see but '* the back parts of the
Almighty?" How dim and indistinct our view of
eternal realities — how perplexed and confounded are
the noblest intellects of earth before the simplest
truths of Scripture ? In regard to Divine things —
those secret thmgs which belong to God — our know-
ledge is but rudimentary compared with the clear
and full revelation that shall be enjoyed hereafter.
There is an almost infinite distance between the
highest gifts and noblest attainments of eartli, and
the unbounded and accurate perceptions of the saints
in heaven. This world is, after all, but the cradle
of the human intellect, and the profoundest thinkers
are but babes. " What we see of God here is but
a broken reflection, infinitely less like God than the
sparkle of the morning dew-drop is like the glorious
sun of heaven." All that Moses saw, or that any
of us see, of God on earth, is but " a gleam of
^^t ^tiibfjiln Vision.
1 1
day, Jet into the chinks of the soul's dark cottage,"
and yet such visions form the most delightful
moments of our life. Standing amid these but half
revealed truths, which the angels desire to look
•nto and anticipating the moment of perfect visi
we cry out with the poet—
>ion.
"Oh the hour when this material
Shall have vanished like a cloud,
When amid the wide ethereal,
All the invisible shall crowd—
And the naked soul, surrounded
, ^'*h innumerous hosts of light,
Triumph in the view unbounded,
And adore the Infinite."
For, though it is only "the back parts of the
Almighty" that we see, we have in them promise of
better days to come. There could be no shadow
unless there were something real to cast the shadow.
Our present imperfect knowledge of Divine things
is the earnest of a higher condition of existence,
when every inquiry of the human soul shall be fully
satisfied. If we do not always behold the sun, the
shining of the moon, which reflects the light of the
greater orb, is evidence of its existence. So, in like
manner, the glimpses of truth which we now possess
12
9i>\^t ^fubtulg JDisioa.
are but faint reflections of that Sun of Ki{;hteous-
ness in whose lit,'ht we shall see light clearly.
There is something, then, for faith to rest upon.
The world beyond is not a mere phantasy. Our
instincts and intuitions, seeking and searching after
an existence higher and nobler than the present,
are not the dreams of a disordered mind. They
stimulate to nobler efforts and holier lives; for every
man that hath the hope of seeing God, purifies
himself, even as Christ is pure.
t
And this brings me to notice :
II. That in our future state of existence our
knowledge of God shall be more satisfactory; — His
perfections and works, in providence and grace,
shall be more fully revealed and more perfectly
understood — " We shall see His face."
Can it be possible for such worms as we are to
see God? Yes, most assuredly. Says the Psalmist:
<* As for me, I shall behold Thy face in righteous-
ness ; I shall be satisfied when I awake with Thy
likeness." Says Job : " I know that my Redeemer
liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day
i'ht ^tnbenlti l^ision.
13
upon the earth. And though after my skin, worms
destroy this body, yet in my Hesh shall I see God :
Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall
behold and not another." " Blessed are the pure in
heart," says Christ, "for they shall see God;" and
to the same purport are the words of Paul and
John. -We all, with open face beholding as in a
glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the
same image irom glory to glory." " Heloved, now
are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear
what we shall be; but we know that, when He shall
appear, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him
as He is."
It is not well to dogmatize respecting the enjoy-
ments and privileges of the saints in heaven. It
is in bold outlines, not in minute details, that the
future state of existence is painted on the canvas.
We see, as it were, but the headlands, and more
prominent outstanding objects that lie within the
eternal world, just as Moses from Mount Nebo saw
the widespread panorama of the Promised Land
beyond the swellings of the Jordan. Much is left
for a sanctified faith to fill in and complete. And
H
^\^t ^tabtuln !t?ision.
is it not well that it is so ordered ? No human
soul could bear clearer visions of heaven's undim-
med glory than faith supplies. Even now, when
we soar to the external heavens, and endeavour by
the exercise of intellect to grasp those suns and
systems that skirt the boundaries of immensity, we
feel oppressed and wearied in our feeble efforts.
If so while attempting to survey the outer carpet
of the spirit world, what would it be were we
admitted to the Holy of Holies — to walk those
golden streets and hear the songs of the angelic
choir!
And yet such passages as our text, and others
referred to, are clearly intended to teach us some-
thing of the state beyond the grave. While we
may not presume to be wise above what is written,
it is our privilege to know the mind of the Spirit.
How the glorified are to see God, — the full extent
and nature of that vision, — we may not describe.
This much we know, that we shall recognize the
Saviour — that He shall be the central object of
attraction to the inhabitants of that blessed state —
without whose presence Heaven would be shorn of all
%
'€bt fnnbmbj msion.
15
its happiness. And may we not advance one step
further, and believe that the sight and presence of
God in Heaven impHes communion with Him— the
interchange of thought, fellowship and friendship,
better far than that which even Moses enjoyed upon
the Mount? Are the privileges of God's children
in the glorified state to be less than that of the
visitors on the Mount of Transfiguration, who talked
with one another and with Christ ?* Are we simply
to look upon the glorified humanity of the risen
Redeemer, and be changed into His image, as we
would look with admiring wonder on some faultless
specimen of art? Or is it not rather implied that
our friendship and fellowship shall be of the most
endearing character, far transcending the highest
forms of saintly experience on earth ; that those same
burning tones of love that arrested Mary in the
* " If the contemplation of Christ's Rlorified manhood so filled
the Apostle with joy that he was unwilling to be sundered from it,
how shall it fare with those who attain to the contemplation of
his glorious Godhead? And if it was so good a thing to dwell
with two of His saints, how then to come to the heavenly Jeru-
salem, to the general assembly and Church of the first-born that are
written in heaven, and to God the Judge of all-these not seen
through a glass darkly, but face to face ?"— .-Jnsc/w.
i6
S^e ^cabculg il^isiou.
garden, when He called her by name, and made her
conscious that she stood in the presence of her
risen Lord, shall bring us also near to Him, "as
we hear from His own lips the story of Nazareth
and Bethany and Golgotha" — of the chilly mountains
where He prayed for us, and the desert places where
He hungered. Surely this much we may believe of
Him who made the hearts of the disciples burn
within them " as He talked to them by the way,"
and opened up to them the Scriptures.
1 ' I
Now, in view of such intimacy between the
redeemed and the Redeemer, and under such teach-
ing, who can set limits to the believer's attainments
in the highest forms of spiritual knowledge ? We
shall then have more tlian mere guesses after
truth; — speculation, and uncertainty, and surmises
shall end, and clear and definite apprehensions of
truth prevail. Doctrines and decrees, that have per-
plexed the human mind for ages, shall be resolved
in the light of Heaven, and command the admiration
of its highest intelligences. Mysteries shall then all
be made plain, — secrets revealed, and dark dispen-
sations flooded with light. " With Thee," says the
'•J
1
i
I
I
^t icabatig Vision.
17
Psalmist, "is the fountain of light, and in Thy
light shall we see light." "The city," says John,
"has no need of the sun, neither of the moon to
shine in it, for the glory of God lightens it, and
the Lamb is the light thereof."
Thus to see God, demands and implies entire
and final separation from sense and sin. It is by
the regenerated and perfected soul that God is
seen as He is. Now we see Him as we are. Our
conception is formed from the poor materials we
have in ourselves. But when this mortal puts on
immortality, and this corruptible incorruption, our
conception of the Infinite God shall be vastly dif-
ferent. In proportion to the sinlessness of our nature
shall be our accurate apprehension of God's perfec-
tions, and therefore we are distinctly told that into
that holy region "there shall in no wise enter in
anything that defileth, but only those whose names
are written in the Lamb's Book of Life;" and
that, without holiness, no man can see God in
peace. The simple fact that they are admitted to
Heaven, and see His face, and are near the throne,
and have Jehovah's name inscribed on their foreheads
r
i8
S^Ijc Dccxfacnig Vision.
is evidence of their acceptance. Their sins have
all been pardoned on the grounds of Christ's atone-
ment — they have been reconciled to an offended
God through the intercession of the Saviour. They
stand clothed in His righteousness, and arrayed in
the garments o^ holiness. Heaven is a condition
of heart, as well as a locality. Perfect purity of
heart, full conformity to God's will, and uncon-
strained obedience to his behests, characterize all
these children of God. For seeing God implies
active service. "They serve Him day and night in
His temple." The sight and the service arc inti-
mately connected in the text. It is not true that
" All we know of saints above,
Is that they sing, and that they love."
We know from Scripture, and we argue from the
constitution of the human soul, that Heaven must
be a place where the highest aspirations of the
soul shall have their fullest development. " An
instrument, wrought up at so much expense to a
polished fi*^ness for service, is surely never destined
to be suspended on the palace walls of heaven."
No ! " Trained in a school, purified in a furnace —
J
^t Ijcaknlg mmn.
19
loved with a love which the seraphim and cherubim
have never known and never needed; instinct with
yearnings and strivings after the high, the beautiful
and immortal, we cannot doubt that the service of
the Lord's redeemed, accompanied with the sight
of his blessed countenance, will be yet higher and
nobler than the services of the happy and glorious,
but unfallen and unpurchased angels." To the saint
of God the approach of death is but the call to
higher service.
i
"Go hence to yonder temple, filled with glory
There shalt thou praise thy Lord in song and ' story •
There shalt thou see His face, instinct .ith be.uty '
There shalt thou serve with all delightsome duty. • '
Have you. my hearer, a hope of seeing God ? Most
men have. Saint and sinner alike shall see Him.
"Behold he Cometh with clouds, and every eye
shall see Him, and they also which pierced Him."
But in the one case, the sight shall produce feelings
of despair, in view of a sentence compared with
which annihilation were an envied punishment.
'' Fall on us and hide us from the face of Him
that sitteth upon the throne, and from the wrath
of the Lamb; for the great day of His wrath is
I
20
^t ^eabenlg ilP'ision.
i
come and who shall be able to stand ?" Such are
the words of the impenitent and unpardoned. The
sight of God in such circumstances means more
than a simple recognition of the terrible anger of
Almighty God ; — more than hearing the sentence of
condemnation. It means that the sinner shall con-
cur in its justice while shrinking from its awful
consequences. For if the faculties of the redeemed
soul in its disembodied state, shall be enlarged and
clarified so as to possess a more accurate concep-
tion of God's love and tenderness, will not the
sinner also understand, as he has never understood
before, the fiery vengeance of the Lamb ? May not
the torments of hell be largely made up of remorse
occasioned by the memory of past ingratitude, and
the ever increasing perception of God's wondrous
patience and forbearance towards the now eternally
abandoned sinner. If you would see God in other
and happier circumstances, as your friend and not
your foe, you must see Him now as your Saviour.
"Acquaint now thyself with Him and be at peace;
thereby good shall come unto thee. Kiss the Son,
lest He be angry and ye perish from the way
when His wrath is kindled but a little."
.- %
i! I
I
hi
i I
®^^£ Icufjcnlg Vision.
21
In sure prospect of '« seeing God's face" His
saints can patiently wait for fuller and more satis-
factory disclosures of His perfections than are
possible on earth. What we know not now we
shall know hereafter. The broken and tangled threads
of Providence shall yet be united and unravelled.
The ways of God to man shall be fully vindicated.
Meanwhile, let us reverently seek to know His will
and follow the leadings of His spirit, though it be
with faltering step— saying with the poet :
"To Him, from wanderings long and wide
I come, an overwearied child.
Assured that all I know is best,
And humbly trusting for the rest."
!
Jfcuring tojicit ^nttniig iljc ^loub.
"^nb tbcg fcaricb as tljcg cntcreb % clcrub."— Luke, ix. 34.
The Transfiguration of Christ is one of the most
remarkable events recorded in Scripture. After all
the learning and study bestowed upon it by
representative men of the different schools and
churches, but comparatively little has been done to
furnish a satisfactory solution of its many difficul-
ties. Most probably it is one of those incidents
the full meaning of which cannot be revealed to
mortals ; surrounded by mysteries which we cannot
penetrate, and suggesting queries which we cannot
answer.
It is not difficult, however, to conjecture at least,
why the disciples named — as representing the entire
brotherhood — were made spectators of such a
scene. Before this, Christ had intim ted more than
once, and in no doubtful language, His approaching
sufferings and death ; — an announcement that never
fell upon the ears of the disciples without causing
them intense pain and depression of spirits. In
'■4
denring foljcn (JFntcnitg tijc Cloub.
23
some cases, indeed, they remained incredulous, and
unconvinced of the sincerity and reality of His
words, '«the hour is near at hand." In their
affection for the Master they could not bear the
thought of His leaving them— least of all that He
should die by crucifixion— even if His death were
followed by a glorious resurrection and ascension to
the right hand of God. But it was absolutely
necessary that, in some way or other, they should
be prepared for what was inevitable, and comforted
in the prospect of a separation, though it should
require some supernatural testimony to His divinity
and supreme authority in earth and Heaven. For
this end, accompanied by three of His disciples
who were always near the Master on special
occasions, Christ ascended the mountain— not Mount
Tabor, as has generally been supposed without any
good cause,— but Mount Hermon, or some such
lofty, sequestered spot, where, alone amid the
solitudes of Nature, He might hold fellowship with
His Father, and unburden His soul of its human
sorrows. This, in itself, was no strange act of the
Saviour. All through His earthly existence we find
Him seeking such seasons of rest from the rasping
!
II
1 .
m
ti t.
24
dcarhtg foljcit (5ntcriug t^e Cloub.
cares and exhausting labours of an intensely busy
life. Amid the stillness of Nature He found an
outlet for the profound and awful secrets of the
mind, and in its silent sympathy and tenderness
felt unspeakable relief. As He prayed, we are told
that the fashion of His countenance was altered,
and His raiment became white and glistening; —
His face shone as the sun, and His raiment was
white as the light — exceeding white as snow, so as
no fuller's earth can white them. Without attempt-
ing to be wise above what is written, or to sug-
gest philosophic reasons for this wonderful spectacle,
we may safely presume that this light was trom
within, and not from without. It was no common
brilliancy. Christ's face was like a beam of light —
one dazzling blaze of glory — too much for mortal
eye to gaze upon. The sceptical theory of Rational-
ists, that the radiance of an Eastern sunset gleamed
around Him as He prayed, and gave an additional
element to the glory that transfigured H-m, may
have an element of truth in it, but nothing more.
Nor must we ascribe it to that high enthusiasm
and strong emotion which at times change the
countenance and indicate the presence of noble
.a
&
I
(^caring fa^cit Entering i^t (Jfloub.
25
busy
feelings within the mind. We all know that the
human lace is dependent for much of its expression
upon the soul ; that even the most unimpassioned
and stolid features may, in times of extraordinary
rapture and excitement, become glowing and radiant.
But more than this is requisite to account for the
appearance of the Saviour upon the Mount of
Transfiguration. The Saviour had often before been
seen by His disciples after seasons of communion
with His Father, but never as He now stood before
them. There was more than the mere passing glow
of devotional feeling; it was indicative of a near-
ness to the Divine Being, and the enjoyment of a
higher state of celestial communion than is con-
ceivable by mortals ; a condition exceptional even
in Christ's earthly experience, and intended for some
very special end.
And now, as He thus stands transfigured before
the disciples, two eminent saints are seen standing
and communing with Him, Moses and Elias — the
one representing the Law, and the other the
Prophets— and both together representing the Old
Testament declarations of the Divinity of the Son
I'l
r
:»fi
^Mt
)
i
i
i
26
J^ciiring tojicii Entering Ibc Cloub.
of God. These glorified ones, like the Saviour, arc
clothed in celestial raiment, in keeping with the
transcendent glory of the Messiah. Their conver-
sation is of Divine things; — concerning the decease
whicii Ciirist was soon to accomplish at Jerusalem
— the very subject concerning which the disciples
were both ignorant and sceptical, but which was
essential for their own personal comfort, and the
faithful discharge of their public labors when the
Master had gone. Such a scene — the transfigured
Saviour, and the celestial visitors, and such con-
versation — in any circumstances would have been
startling and bewildering, but specially so when
coming upon the disciples unexpectedly, and with
their views so unsettled and unsatisfactory as
regards the predicted departure of the Master.
During the early stages of this sublime manifestation
of the Deity, Peter and his companions were asleep,
but awakening from their drowsiness ere the vision
had passed away — like men from their dreams, by
some alarming tokens of judgment — they were per-
mitted to gaze upon the transfigured Saviour; a
sight in the main reserved for the Heavenly world.
Captivated, amazed, transfixed with the spectacle^
J^ejiring bljru (fFntcriiTO the OTloub.
^7
Peter gives vent to his deep emotion by saying
"It is good to be here; let us make three taber-
nacles— one for Thee, one for Moses, and one for
Elias." It was indeed good to be there at such a
moment, although the proposal of Peter seemed
more the offspring of impulse than of reason. He
indeed knew not what he said. Like men stunned
and overpowered—unable to describe their feelings-
lifted up, for the time being, far beyond the limits
of human existence, how could we expect the calm
reasoning and mature reflections that befitted such
a scene !
But the vision cannot tarry. The time has not
yet come for the Saviour to assume a glorified
exterior. Moses and Elias have fulfilled their part,
and must return to their glorified dwelling, leaving
the Saviour behind to suffer. And now a cloud-
no common cloud that visits the heavens, but the
Sheckinah cloud, the pavilion of the manifested
presence of God with His people upon earth— over-
shadows this strange, unearthly group— a gathering
made up of the Divine and the human— the earthly
and the heavenly— the sensual and the spiritual.
28
clearing ia^nx drnttr'mg i^t Cloub.
It is a terrible moment to these disciples, as yet
unprepared for immediate translation to the inner
mount of the Heavenly world. Their spirits fail
them. What shall be the issue they cannot tell.
Possibly the remains of Jewish superstition still
haunt their minds and disturb their simple trust
in a present all -powerful and all -merciful Saviour.
Need we wonder that "they feared as they entered
into the cloud." But hark! a voice speaks from
out the cloua : "This is My vSon : hear Him," — and
row all is silent. The cloud vanis!<es, and with
the vanishing of the overshadowing cloud Moses
and Elias speed them upwards, beyond the confines
of this lower world, to their eternal home; while
the Saviour, touching the now prostrate, terror-
stricken disciples, calms their fears by saying " Arise
and be not afraid." Looking up, behold, Jesus is
alone. The Transfiguration is ended — the disciples
prepared for the coming departure, and assured of
the coming victory of the Master, and strengthened
inwardly for days of coming woe !
We cannot have such wonderful revelations of
Christ, and the now glorified inhabitants of the
•;l
im'm^ fo^cn (Entering tjje Cloub. 29
upper world, as were given to Peter, James and
John. But we may still enjoy very singular and
striking displays of His power and glory. The ob-
ject of such manifestations is to strengthen our
faith— to inspire our hopes— and increase our desires
after a higher and purer style of communion with
Heaven than is common to the mass of Christians.
It is only upon the mountain -top such scenes can
possibly be witnessed ; but many who make the
mountain -top a frequent resort are never favoured
with them. And when we are enveloped in the
cloud— when, in answer to our cries and longings,
we are hidden in the pavilion, how often are our
feelings those of the disciples: "They feared when
they entered into the cloud."
Let us look at this interesting thought for a
little. First: It is not unnatural that in such cir-
cumstances we should fear, and for a time lose that
spiritual consciousness which is necessary to profitable
fellowship with the unseen. From the moment of
man's fall in Eden, on to the present, the relations
existing between the Creator and the creature have
been entirely changed. Before that there was inti-
ai
30
Rearing ialjtn dnlcri.ig t^e (Kloub.
mate communion between God and man, undisturbed
by any elements of fear. There was, indeed, no
cause for terror on the part of man, pure and inno-
cent, in the presence of a holy God. But from the
time that man wilfully disobeyed his Maker, and
consciously brought down upon himself the threatened
judgment of Heaven, those feelings of holy joy and
calm delight, which were fon^erly his experience,
have given place to far different emotions. The
moment that the conscience of Adam was awakened
to his sin, that moment he tied from the presence
of his Maker, and vainly sought shelter from the
searching eye of Omniscience amid the trees of the
garden. And in spite of the reconciliation that has
been effected by the death of Christ, enabling the
child of God to come with trust and confidence to
his Maker, we cannot altogether divest ourselves of
those feelings and emotions. " Shall mortal man be
more just than God ? Shall a man be more pure
than his Maker? Behold, He putteth no trust in
his servants ; and His angels He chargeth with
folly. How much less in them that dwell in houses
of clay, whose foundation is in the dust — which are
crushed before the moth ? "
itnm^ ^m (Kntning t^c Clouir.
31
I am not now describing the feelings of ungodly
men when venturing into the presence of their
Maker, if such a thing is possible, but what is the
experience of the best of God's saints. "Heboid,"
said Abraham, when interceding for the Cities of
the Plain, "I have taken upon me to speak unto
the Lord, which am but dust and ashes. ^= -): t-
Oh, let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak."
When Moses, apparently ignorant that the Divine
Being was present in the burning bush, would turn
aside to see that strange sight, God called to him
out of the midst of the bush, "Draw not nigh
hither-put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the
place whereon thou standest is holy ground." The
putting off the shoes was a confession of personal
defilement, and indicated a sense of his awful
unworthiness in the presence of the spotless majesty
of the Divine Being. In the vision of Isaiah, when
he saw the Lor:! sitting upon a throne high and
lifted up— surrounded and surmounted with winged
and flaming seraphims, who cried out " Holy, Holy
Holy is the Lord of Hosts : the whole earth is
full of His glory,"— the same feelings of awe and
terror possessed his mind. The posts of the door
I m\
* Si
32
Rearing foment (Sutcring il^t Cloutr.
moved at the voice of the seraphims, and the
house was filled with smoke, while the Prophet
cried out, " Woe is me ! for I am undone : because
I am a man of unclean lips ; for mine eyes have
seen the King, the Lord of Hosts." And, not to
weary you with illustrations of the point in question,
need I refer you to the feelings of terror that
possessed the apostle John in Patmos, when the
glory of the Deity was revealed to his astonished
vision, very much as in the Transfiguration to the
disciples: "He heard a voice as of a great trumpet,
and turning to see the voice that spake, he saw
seven golden candlesticks, and, in the midst of the
seven candle'-licks, one like unto the Son of Man,
clothed with a garment down to His feet, and
girt about the paps >vith a golden girdle; His head
and hairs were white as wool — as white as snow —
His eyes as a flame of fire — His feet like unto
fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace — and
His voice as the sound of many waters; in His
right hand were seven stars; out of His mouth
went a sharp two-edged sword, and His counte-
nance was as the sun shining in his strength."
At such a sight, John tells us that he fell as one
Jcuring (uhcit (Entering tht (Tlou^.
33
dead, until recalled to consciousness by the words
" Fear not : I am the first and the last. I am He
that liveth and was dead; and behold I am alive
for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell
and of death."
r-i
■'4'
I
I know it is replied by some, that such feelings
should never possess the child of God, who is
assured of His Heavenly Father's love, and united
to Him by a levin- faith; and that, wherever they
exist, there is evidence of unpardoned sin, and
wrong ideas of God's relation to His accepted
ones. I am not sure of this theory. I grant you
that we entertain too frequently such views of God's
character as lead us to crouch before His throne
rather than lay hands boldly upon the altar, and
that few of us exercise that freedom in the presence
of our Mak.r, which is the privilege of His
accepted ones. But that such emotions of fear,
when we draw singularly near to the Shekinah, are
evidence of unforgiven sin and conscious guilt, I
deny. I find, in looking over the lives of the most
eminent saints, under both dispensations, that just
such fear was present when called into the imme-
34
^tiuiitg toljtit (Snlrriug tht Clonb.
diate presence of God — a fear engendered nut because
of any doubt as to their acceptance, but increasing
in proportion as they came nearer and nearer to
the perfection of character demanded in the Word
of God. One of the best evidences of progressive
sanctiftcation is a deeper consciousness of our own
unworthiness and corruption, when seen in contrast
with the iniinii.e purity of the Divine Being; nor
shall such holy fear be absent from our glorified
state in heaven. It may not be the same unworthy,
unreasonable dread, that now possesses the mind,
but there shall be the existence of feelings in har-
mony with the infinite distance that must ever
separate the saint from his Saviour— the Redeemer
from the redeemed — the finite, though then immortal
being, from Him who was, and is, and is to come,
the eternal Jehovah, reigning and loving, through
endless years. Surely if in heaven the pure intel-
ligences that occupy that sinless place, and the
elders around the throne, fall down before the
Lamb, with their harps and golden vials, crying
out, " Who shall not fear Thee, O Lord, and glorify
Thy name, for Thou art holy," — it will not be un-
becoming for us, although redeemed and exalted, to
Jtaring tohnt (Entering iht dEIoub.
35
fear, like the disciples upon the Mount, when we
approach that great white cloud whereon .sits the
Son of God in awful majesty.
Secondly: We may expect cloud< around about the
Deity when favoured by such singular manifestations
of His glory. It is always thus that He seems to
reveal Himself to man. We cannot bear the direct
vision of the Deity. '' He is glorious in holiness-
fearful in praises-ever doing wonders." When He
would speak to man, or put forth such signal proofs
of His presence and power, it is ever as when, in
the destruction of the Egyptian host. He looked
in the morning upon the host through the pillar
of fire and cloud, and, troubling the enemies of
Israel, buried them in the waters of the sea. I
need hardly mention occasions when God appeared
to His servants in clouds. When Moses was com-
manded to renew the journey to Canaan, after the
fearful apostasy of the people, the cloudy pillar
descended and stood over the door of the taber-
nacle, while within God and Moses talked together
in familiar terms. When the congregation were
assembled at .he base of Mount Sinai to receive
ir"TT]
36
J^ciinirci tnhcii Qrutcring tbc (Cloub.
the law, there were thunders and lightnings, and
a thick cloud upon the Mount, and the voice of
the trumpet exceeding loud, so that all the people,
trembled throughout the camp. " Lo, I come unto
thee," said God to Moses, " in a thick cloud, that the
people may hear when I speak with thee, and believe
thee for ever." When, on a subsequent occasion,
seventy of the Elders of Israel were set apart to
aid their leader in governing the people, '• the Lord
came down in a cloud " and took of His spirit and
gave it to them, so that they prophesied and did
not cease. And at the dedication of Solomon's
temple, when the priests came out of the Holy
place, the cloud so filled the house that they could
not minister before the altar; the glory of the Lord
filled the sanctuary, while the fire came down from
heaven and consumed the burnt - offerings and
sacrifices. And in the more private manifestations
of His presence to individual saints, we find the
same accompaniments. " I cried," says the Psalmist,
" and He did hear my voice. '■'• '■^^ ■'■' The earth
shook and trembled. ■■' ■•- ■•' He bowed the heavens
and came down, and darkness was under His feet ;
* =i= ^= He made darkness pavilions round about
^*c;iriiif( bhcn (L-ntciiug the tCloui).
37
i
Him ; dark waters, and thick clouds of the skies.
* ''• ■'■'• Clouds and darkness are round about Him.
:!< * :;< ^,\ fjj-e j^'oeth before Ilim, and burncth His
enemies round alK)ut. '■'■' ■'•• -'■ He maketh the
clouds His chariot, — He walketh upon the wings of
the wind." Through these clouds He looks down
upon our world, and out of these clouds speaks to
men. Say not then, in the language of infidelity. " Is
not God in the height of the Heavens? And behold
the height of the st'is, how high they are! How
doth God know ? Can He judge through the dark
cloud?" Ah! though thick clouds are a covering
to Him, He sceth all, and walks in the circuit of
the heavens '
It is so, still, that God speaks to His dependent
creatures. And when, in Providence, He takes us
into the cloud, how often, like the disciples, do we
fear and tremble exceedingly! There is no man
present, I venture to say, who has not at some
time or other been called to enter the cloud, that
seemed dark and lowering, full of dreadful calami-
ties and overpowering judgment. I am not speaking
of those clouds and gloomy shadows that men so
38
Jffaring bljeit 0-nlcring tljr Cloui).
often make for themselves, — mere fif^ments of the
imagination, — or contingent upon the condition of
the b:)dy, operating indirectly upon the action of
the mind. I am speaking of periods of mental and
spiritual darkness that often envelope the believer, and
are not in every case to be referred to or explained
away by our unbelief and want of confidence in
God. I believe that (iod takes the very best of
His children into the clouds, not because their faith
is weak, but comparatively strong ; not to make
them fearful, but courageous; not to punish, but
ultimately to bless ; not to let loose around them
the tokens of His vengeance, in the thunder and
lightning and whirlwind, but to refresh, comfort,
and console, by secret teachings of His spirit that
are impossible in the ordinary routine of a religious
life.
"When we in darkne&s walk,
Nor feel the heavenly flame,
Then is the time to trust our God,
And rest upon His name."
Time would fail me to sketch, however imperfectly,
such seasons in the history of God's people. There
are clouds that pass over us, in the daily occupa-
.m-
J'cariitg tnlicii OrnteriiTg tljt (f-loub.
39
tions of life, so dense and disheartening as almost
to make us -ivc up the conilict and weary for the
end. On some f>^w men the sun of prosperity
shines without a moment's intermission. The world,
to use a common expression, flows in upon them.
They meet with no misfortunes or losses. Success
seems to attend their every enterprise, livery year
adds to their capital and their influence among
their nei,c;hbors, and increases their social comforts.
Others— better in character perhaps— seemingly as
prudent, and industrious, and persevering, have to
fight with insuperable obstacles at every step. They
hardly know at times what is best to do. The future
IS dark and uncertain. They seem ever running
against the tide, rather than with the current. The
little acquired by strenuous self-denial vanishes in
a day, and they are poor and penniless, like ship-
wrecked, dismantled vessels, abandoned and under a
starless sky in mid-ocean, and left the sport of the
fickle winds and waves. In such cases, if we believe
that a good man's ways are ordered by the Lord
and ordered aright, however different it seems to
us, we must recognize a wise end in such periods
of trial. We will value all the r .ore highly coming
•I
40
.fciiriug tojjcu flrntcrinci the (floub.
years of prosperity, in proportion as
\vc su
ffer
adversity; the lif;ht will bu all the more pleasant
after havinj; passed throu{;h the eloud. And then,
need I speak of the clouds and sorrows of bereave-
ment and sickness that darken so many Christian
homes ? When God emptied the cradle — when He
took from you a husband or a wife — a brother or
a sister ; when death after death came into your
home, and thinned the ranks of your acquaintances,
and made you feel as if the rest of the {^rave were
preferable to the continuance of life — Oh, how dark
was that cloud — how dense ! How lengthened its
shadow over your heart and household ! The dark-
ened windows and weeds of mourning were but
feeble exponents of the sorrow and grief that
shrouded your soul, and the scalding tears that
filled your eyes prevented a single glance upwards
to God's throne. And yet, you must believe that
the cloud was arranged by a loving Father, and
its continuance ordained for some precious end ;•
but the awful fear and terror you experienced
during these days of loneliness can never pass
from the memory. You " feared as you entered
into tJie cloud." And finally, shall I speak of the
(Jfciiring toljcn d-ntcrinq the cHoub.
41
clouds of^ scepticism-of perplcxity-of doubt, and
sometimes' despair-that more or less trouble the
minds of God's people, in relation to important
doctrines of Scripture, and their own personal safety
in Christ? hwme know nothing of such "clouds,"
and cannot sympathi;re with th.,se who are tortured
by them; but their existence, and the misery they
produce, are not the less certain. We say -how
foolish to doubt ! how displeasing to God ! how
unprofitable to question the love of God, and the
facts of Scripture! how little we may understand of
the one or the other!" And et we cannot get
away from these doubts. As o. e cloud is rolled
away another darker and more portentous comes,
robbing us of our peac.-, and suggesting the most
terrible of thoughts. These are not the most faith-
less Christians who have doubts, or feel the most
perplexed by fundamental truths. It is related of
an eminent teacher that he used to call his scholars
to him every evening, and ask them "What doubts
had you to-day?" upon the principle that to doubt
nothing is to understand nothing. "When a man
comes to me and says 'I am quite happy,'" says
John Newton, " I am not sorry to see him come
I
i i I
42
i
J^caring (xi|jcn (littering lb; Cloui).
h
again with some fears. I never knew a work stand
well without a check!" It is so in every case of
eminent gifts and graces ; they are fostered and
strengthened in the cloud, and not in the sunshine ;
and however much, like the disciples, we fear in
entering into the cloud, the joy shall be more
abundant when we emerge into tho clear sunshine
of Heaven.
It is such a state of mind that John Bunyan
describes when Christian was called to grapple with
Apollyon in the Valley of Humiliation. The com-
bat lasted long — the darts flew thick as hail, while
Christian became weaker and weaker. " I am void
of fear in the matter," sai:l Apollyon ; " prepare
thyself to die ; for I swear by my infernal den,
that thou shalt go no further: here will I spill thy
soul." When called to pass through the Valley of
the Shadow of Death — dark as pitch, full of demons
and dragons of the pit — it was so terrible that
Christian had almost resolved to go back, were it
not that the danger of going back might be more
than going forward. " But the day broke ; the
shadow of death was turned into morning, for God
J^nring toljcit (Entering thj «loub.
43
rk stand
ca.se of
"ed and
inshine ;
fear in
i more
unshine
Bunyan
le with
e com-
, wliile
n void
rcpare
1 den,
ill thy
ley of
emons
that
ere it
more
; the
God
was with him, though in that dark and dismal
state." And this leads me to remark:—
IS
Thirdly: There is no cause for fear if Jesus is
with us in the cloud. Nay, the very existence of
the cloud is a proof, indirectly, that Christ is near
at hand. There was nothing more cheering or
assuring to the Israelites than the sight of the
pillar of cloud. Equally with the pillar of fire it
was the signal of God's guidance. When the cloud
rested on the tabernacle the children of Israel
rested, and when the cloud was taken up from the
tabernacle they followed on to Canaan ;— " Whether
It was by day or by night that the cloud was
taken up, they journeyed." There is such a thing
IS becoming so accustomed to darkness that fear
is absent as much as in the daytime ; and there
is such a thing as tracing our way in the darkest
of providences-Faith seeing and seizing hold ot
that hand which Sense cannot discern. There was
really no cause for the disciples fearing as they
entered the cloud. They were not alone. Moses
was in the cloud, and Elias was in the cloud, but
one better than these, Christ Himself, was there.
f
li I
ill
l!|:!
II
I i ;
I., I
1, .
\l t
1' 1! ,
!t(
III
44
^/caring toljcn Qrntcring the (tloub.
And so in all the cloudy and mysterious circum-
stances of life, let but the soul recognize and rest on
Jesus, and there is no need for fear. " I will never
leave thee, nor forsake thoe," is surely a promise
that covers every earthly condition, and is sufficient
to allay every rising fear. After all, brethren, in the
great majority of cases it is lack of trust and con-
fidence in a constant Providence that causes fear,
and keeps us oscillating so continually between joy
and sorrow. Many of us exhibit far greater faith
in the laws of Nature, as we call them, and the
watchfulness of our earthly protectors, than we do
in our Maker. Men have but little fear, in the
dead of night, although rushing through the air
with the speed of lightning in our modern railroads,
when, humanly speaking, the safety of thousands is
committed to conductor and engineer. And out on
the ocean, when not a star sparkles in the sky,
and the storm blows fiercely aroun 1 the vessel, men
sleep soundly and unconcerned as if on the solid
earth, because they have unlir^ited confidence in
the diligence of the mariners, and the skill and
care of the commander. Why should it not be so,
when called to make our \\ ly under the dark cloud
Rearing bljcn O'ntcring tljc (floiiii.
45
IS circum-
nd rest on
will never
a promise
sufficient
en, in the
and con-
Lises fear,
^ween joy
Iter faith
and the
n we do
, in the
the air
■ailroads,
sands is
out on
the sk)',
^el, men
le solid
;nce in
vill and
be so,
k cloud
of affliction and bereavement that God sends so
often to curtain our sky, and hide from us the
well known landmarks of existence? Xay, why
should it not be so when we are called to enter
the last dark cloud that interposes between us and
the radiance of eternal day ? Restinj,' firmly upon
Almighty love, we can see our covenant - keepmg
God in all the varied scenes of our earthly exist-
ence, and cheerfully follow His call.
"He gives in gladsome homes to dwell,
Or clothes in sorrow's shroud ;
His hand hath formed the light; His hand
Hath formed the darkening cloud."
But there are others besides believers, who are
called to pass into the cloud, and have great cause
"to fear exceedingly." It is very true, as the wise men
said, "that all things come alike to all,— one event
to the righteous and to the wicked "—that, "as the
good so is the sinner ;" in other words that, in
the present life, the righteous man may not seem
more fortunate than his neighbor; but it is also
true— invariably and literally— that the "fool walketh
in darkness." In the case of the good man there
is the assurance that in the cloud, and in the
MM
II
i
ii's;
46
J'tarmg fcaljcu (Snicnng Ibr (rionb.
fiery furnace, there is One with him like unto the
Son of Man. But in the case of the impenitent
sinner, the clouds and darkness which may now
occasionally encompass him are indications of coming
storms, when the fury of the heavens shall burst
forth upon his forsaken and despairing soul. For
such my words of comfort have no mea'iing. I know
not a more pitiable condition in life than that of a
careless, unbelieving soul, out upon the dark ocean
of existence, with no hand to guide his feeble bark,
and no power sufficient to send a ray of light amid
the darkness. Like some of these vessels that in
recent storms have been cast upon the shore, or
broken upon the rocks, becoming so unmanageable
that no amount of skill or daring could prevent
shipwreck — 1-;9 are men who, in times of overwhelm-
ning provider ;cs, are cast upon their own resources,
and left to buffet madly against the frowning billows
of misfortune. In such cases they resemble the
false priests of Baal, calling wildl\' for supernatural
aid, without response. In bereavement there is no
comfort for such men ; deaths to such are judg-
ments; the clouds and darkness that shadow their
pathway are evidences that God has a controversy
J^niring (obcn (JButeriitg Ibc Cloub.
47
unto the
mpenitent
may now
of coming
liall burst
loul. For
. I know
that of a
rk ocean
ble bark,
ght amid
that in
shore, or
nageable
prevent
-rvvhelm-
isources.
', billows
ible the
rnatural
e is no
•e judg-
w their
roversy
with them, and pursues them to the grave with
relentless fury.
I have only time left to notice, without enlarge-
ment, tw.) additional thoughts suggested by the
passage. The one is, that often dark mysterious
clouds fnllow extraordinary outshinings of the Divine
glory. It was after the Transfiguration that the dis-
ciples entered the cloud; and, frequently, trials and
troubles follow quickly signal tokens of God's mercy.
The Valley of Humiliation is not far from the Mount
of Exaltation ; seasons of darkness often succeed
periods of unusual splendour. The morning of a
bright summer day, the sun almost scorching the
earth and drying up its juices, is often followed by
a thunder - storm, when the heavens are lost to
vision, and premature darkness ends the day. Both
seasons are necessary for the earth, and both con-
ditions are requisite for the child of God. And,
finally, clouds are part of our earthly experience-
in Heaven we shall see Christ without any inter-
vening cloud. The day shall then break and the
shadows flee away. We shall have no more causae
48
J^ciiring tobcu (j^ntcring tbc Cloub.
for fear arising" ou' of our sin. The morning star
shall rise, precursor of our endless immortality :
" When Time's stars have come and gone,
And every mist of earth has flown,
That better star shall rise
On this world's clouded skies —
To shine forever.
* ♦ • Above our heads shall shine
A glorious firmament * « ♦
A sky all glad, and pure, and bright,
The Lamb once slain its ptrfect light;
A star without a cloud,
Whose light no mists enshroud- -
Descending never."
Brethren, that time is nearer than we imagine.
Are you prepared for it ? When you think of that
cloudless land can you say —
" No shadows yonder !
All light and song;
Each day I wonder.
And say, how long
Shall time me sunder
I-rom that dear throng?'
iD.
lorning star
Ttality :
e,
imagine.
'< of that
m^t Soul's ^Kt
'"gtinxn mta i\w rest, # mn soul, for Ihc f orb hath hiiH
bountifuUn bith thee."— Psalm cxvi. 7.
One of the most profitable employments of the
Christian is, from time to time, to hold converse
with his own soul. However strange at first sight
it may seem, it is not only a possible, but a highly
beneficial exercise. Just in proportion as a man
approximates his great original in purity of feeling
and holiness of character, does he realize the exis-
tence of two entirely different elements in his mental
constitution-the human, and the divine or spiritual.
It is the province of the better part of our nature
to give strength, comfort, and consolation to the
weaker; to suggest grounds for gratitude and thank-
fulness in view of undeserved mercies bestowed, and
thus to silence the upnsings of murmurings and
rebellion so natural to the unrenewed man. Many
a Christian almost on the brink of despair-full of
darkness and melancholy-brooding over anticipated
ills and expected adversities, has thus been roused
5°
S;ijc foul's lltst.
to the hi;;her and nobler duties of a religious
life. It was so, times without number, with the
Psalmist David. No experience is to be compared
with his, in regard to its alternate seasons of joy
and sorrow ; helpless despondency, or strong, un-
swerving confidence in the faithfulness of his Maker.
Now we hear the cry of the human soul, — sad,
lonesome, and solitary, under the hidings of God's
face ; — and again, the outburst of praise from a
heart reposing with amazing fearlessness in the
presence of the Eternal. Take for example the
42nd and 43rd Psalms as an illustration of what
we speak of; and as showing how a believer may
comfort his soul in the presence of sudden and
severe calamities. First there is the wail of a
broken heart; — "As the hart panteth after the
water - brooks, so panteth my soul after Thee, O
God. My soul ihirsteth for God, for the living
God: when shall I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my meat day and night, while
they continually say unto me. Where is thy God ?"
And now comes the glad response of faith; — "Why
art thou cast down, O my soul ? and why art thou
disquieted in me? Hope thou in God: for I shall
(Tbc foul's llcst.
51
^ a religious
f^er, with the
be compared
masons of joy
strong, un-
f his Maker.
1 «ou],— sad,
Ss of God's
aise from a
less in the
xample the
on of what
eliever may
sudden and
wail of a
after the
Thee, O
the living
ore God ?
?ht, while
ly God ?"
;— "Why
art thou
r I shall
yet praise Him for the help of His countenance."
But again, we have the minor key, " O my God !
my soul is cast down within me. * =1= * Deep
calleth unto deep at the voice of Thy water spouts;
all Thy waves and Thy billows are gone over me."
Finally there is heard the victorious shout of
triumph over all the suggestions of his weaker
nature; "Why art thou cast down, O my soul, and
why art thou disquieted within me ? Hope in God :
for I shall yet praise Him who is the help of my
countenance and my God." Now such language,
while it describes most truthfully and strikingly the
feelings of the Psalmist under the influence of very
different emotions, is also to be regarded as the
exponent of the natural and spiritual man. We
are not simply compound beings as regards matter
and mind, but, when we arrive at a certain stage
of our spiritual existence, there is a still further
division of the mental part of our constitution ;— the
one being under the guidance and control of
heavenly influences, and the other under subjection
to the lower, or carnal impulses of earth. The
apostle Paul recognized this fact in his own experi-
ence when he says: " I— that is the better portion
j
'
52
^ht Soul's ^csl.
of my nature — delight in the law of God after the
inward man ; but I see another law in my mem-
bers, warring agains-t the law of my mind and
bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which
is in my members." Now in such seasons as 1
am speaking of, when the weaker part of our
nature yields overmuch to the power of trial and
temptation, it is the part of our higher being to
present such considerations as shall check the
downward tendency of thought. Addressing our
souls as if they were so many separate existences,
we are to bid away all unnecessary fears ; call up
before their remembrance God's unfailing mercies
and continued love, and say, in the language of
adoring gratitude, " Return unto thy rest, O my
soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with
thee."
Without waiting to speak of the circumstances in
which the Psalm was composed, from which our
text is taken, I remark — First: That the rest spoken
of may be regarded as the repose and peace that
the penitent sinner finds in Christ. Whatever were
the feelings of the Psalmist when he penned these
€\)t c^oul's Hest.
53
after the
my mem-
fiind and
iin which
>ns as 1
of our
trial and
being to
leck the
sing our
xistences,
call up
mercies
guage of
, O my
lly with
ances in
hich our
it spoken
ace that
ver were
ed these
words, his former experience, as gath'.rcd from the
context, was anything but joyful. The words used
aie descriptive of great bitterness of soul — of intense
and protracted suffering — of such feelings as may be
supposed to possess a guilty soul in the prospect of
certain death and coming judgment. "The sorrows of
death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat hold
upon me: I found trouble and sorrow." Even to
the Christian, who is assured of his hope in Christ
and of his final salvation, it is in some respects a
"fearful thing to die." To pass from things seen
and temporal into the region of the unseen and
eternal ; — to pass through the dark valley of death's
shadow and swim tlie troubled waters of the
Jordan ; — to stand before the scrutinizing gaze of
the Omniscient Jehovah — even though He be at the
same time a compassionate and merciful Saviour —
is surely fitted to produce solemn awe in the heart
of the best prepared Christian. But how much
more so in the case of the unpardoned soul ?
When conscience arrays in blood-red characters the
crimes of life ; when the punishments of sin and
the precursors of hell flash upon the mind ; when
the fact is at last realized that a death-bed is
54
f he Soul's %tsi.
\ v
lil
ill '
I!
perhaps too late tf) cry for mercy and obtain the
needed pardon, and consciousness is at last aroused
to the inevitable doom that awaits the damned —
Oh, how terrible is such a crisis! Well may it be
described in the words of my text, "The sorrows of
death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat
hold upon me."
The desperateness of the case is only equalled
by the blessed enjoyment realized by those who find
in Christ an all - sufficient Saviour — one not only
able to carry the load of f^uilt, but to impart solid
and lasting; peace to the anxious soul. To such an
one how sweet the rest spoken of in my text !
Sweet to the toil-worn cottar is the eventide, when
he lays down the implements of labour and home-
ward bends, to enjoy his simple fireside pleasures
and the refreshing repose of balmy sleep. Sweet is
the soldier's rocky bed, as, wrapped in his martial
cloak, and guarded by the starry sentinels of heaven,
he lays him down to snatch a brief hour's r
from the horrors of the battle - field and th<. ar
of musketry. Sweet is the rest and quiet of home
to the storm - tossed mariner who has fought for
5tlK 'foul's TiCSt.
55
)btain the
it aroused
damned-
nay it be
lorrows of
hel] gat
weary days with the tempest, and battled with the
furies of the ocean; but sweeter fur is the rest of
the weary, anxious, sin-oppressed soul in the bosom
of its God— "A rest calm and quiet as the sunlij^'ht
amid the shrieks and tumults of a pillaj^ed town —
steady like the shining of the muon above a battle-
field."
equalled
who find
not only
lart solid
such an
ny text !
ic, when
d home-
)leasures
Mveet is
martial
heaven,
ht ar
f home
jht for
I
Sinner, this rest may he yours. It is your origi-
nal heritage, though lost at the fall. Now you are
a wanderer far from home — distracted by anxious
cares and dark forebodings of coming wrath — the slave
of tumultuous passions and unholy desires. But there
are still yearnings, — longings, — upward aspirations in
your nature withal. The very unrest and discord
that pre\ ails is an index and evidence of something
better to be obtained — a sure pledge that the soul
that seeks this rest in simple faith shall find it.
Just "as the restless streams and brooks fret their
mountain channels till they reach their proper
depths in sea or river, and the waves of the sea
itself, disturbed by the storm, heave and sway
themselves to rest in their natural and common
le'-el again ; — just as the thunderstorm is the voice
W
pit)
56
aije haul's gest.
of nature's unrest, as she seeks to regain the wonted
repose of harmony and law ;" — so is the restless
uneasiness and feverish excitement of the sinner an
evidence of coming peace. So long as the soul is
not wholly hardened, and dead to all impressions —
so long as there is felt these outreachings after
spiritual rest, there is hope. Our very restlessness
and misery are at once the tradition of a nobler
and happier past, and the prophecy of a possible
nobler and happier future.
" The soul that's born of God
Pants to view His trlorious face.
Upward tends to His abode, '
To rest in His embrace."
Secondly : The rest spoken of may be regarded
as descriptive of the backsliding soul's return to its
God. " Return unto thy rest, O my soul," indicates
separation, withdrawal, absence, either more or less
prolonged from the fountain - head of all spiritual
delight. God never ft-rsakes man until man forsakes
his God. God's spirit, indeed, never forsakes the
believer's soul. But there may be sad eclipses of
the health - giving light of His countenance; sad
^t foul's iest.
57
obscurations of H=s glory; dark and lowering out-
bursts of what seems vengeance and wrath. These
experiences are occasioned not by God's absence
from the soul of the believer, but by some inter-
vening obstacle that prevents faith from realizing
His presence. Our world is periodically enveloped
in darkness, not because the sun has refused to
give his light and warmth, but because our earth
has revolved on its axis so far as to render the
sun for a time invisible. And just as a very small
speck on the lens of the telescope, or a very
minute defect in the scientific appliances used m
scanning the heavens and measuring the stars, may
destroy the highest hopes of the astronomer, so a
very small sin may hide from our vision a present
Deity. A very slight cause may suspend the tele-
graphic communications between the two hemispheres.
The chain of electric fire must be maintained intact,
else the depths of the ocean give forth no reply to
man's questionings. And so, in like manner. Divine
intercourse between man and God is only possible
where there is singleness of eye to discover His
presence, and a listening, eve-- ready ear to hear
His voice.
i
58
K, ,
!!!'i
!M
li
Cljc foul's |lest.
I need not stop to enumerate the many sad de-
partures from (jod of which believers are guilty.
Your own consciousness attests the fact. I would
rather call your attention to God's earnest solici-
tations and repeated calls after His backsliding
children. It would almost seem as if the happiness
of the Almighty was more intimately concerned in
the reception of th' penitent wanderers than the
interests of the backsliding ones themselves. Just
as the eastern shepherd goes forth over rugged
mountains and dangerous bypaths in search of the
lost sheep, docs our Heavenly Father seek after His
erring sons and daughters. Hear what He says :
"Return, thou backsliding Israel, and I shall not
cause mine anger to fall upon you. '■''- =■= =>= Only
acknowledge thine iniquity, that thou hast transgressed
against the Lord thy God." " Return ye backsliding
children, and I will heal your backslidings."' " Return
unto Me, and I will return unto you, saith the
Lord of Hosts." "O Israel, return unto the Lord
thy God, for thou hast fallen by thine iniquity.
* -1= + I will heal their backslidings, I will love
them freely." The return of the backsliding soul
to its God never originat::>s with itself. It is brought
I
^t Paxil's iest.
59
back by the tender cries of love, and the out-
stretched arms of the great Shepherd, to its resting-
place. Under such appeals the heart softens and
relents. Like the Prodigal in a foreign land, bereft
of all the comforts and luxuries of home, so the
soul, accustom.ed to the rich provisions of God's
grace, hungers, after a time, for its native food.
The pleasures, and the sinful delights of earth, are
poor substitutes for the favour and friendship of
Heaven. Bye and bye there arises within the
soul the earnest, anxious sigh for home. " I will
arise and go to my Father." " Behold we come
unto Thee, for thou art the Lord our God." "Come,
and let us return unto the Lord, for He hath torn,
and He will heal us; He hath smitten, and He
will bind us up." " Oh Lord our God, other lords
beside Thee have had dominion over us; but by
Thee only will we make mention of Thy name."
My text, then, is the language of a convicted
backslider, who has felt the misery, the loneliness,
and the horror of being away from Christ. Under
these repeated entreaties, and by repeated strokes,
6o
t foul's |lest.
I
11-?
by direct calls of the spirit, by the ministrations of
the pulpit, by the broken bread and the poured-out
wine of the sacramental table, which so touchingly
proclaim the undying love of the crucified Saviour;
by sad and sorrowful bereavements; by blasted hopes
and blighted prospects; by the rebukes of conscience
and th& tender admonitions and affectionate over-
tures of a grieved but gracious Saviour, does God
woo and win back the soul that has wandered
from its home. " Bless the Lord, O my soul, and
forget not all His benefits" — is then the expression
of the grateful heart — " who forgiveth all thine
inquities ; who healeth all thy diseases, and redeem-
eth thy life from destruction ; who cruwneth thee
with loving- kindness and tender mercies." "Return
unto thy rest, O my soul, for the Lord hath dealt
bountifully with thee." Once again at rest, the
believer says to his soul :
"Cease, my soul, thy strayings!
Have they brought thee peace ?
Come, no more delayings,
Cease, thy \v:' !»rings cease.
These vanities, how vain!
Wander not again.
Ill
e ^oul's %esl
"Thcu hast reached thy dwelling,
Safe, sure anchorage,
From the perilous swelling
Of the tempest's rage.
These vanities, how vain!
Wander not again."
6i
Thirdly: The rest spoken of may refer to that
calm, spiritual enjoyment, which returns to the soul
after a season of unusual and prolonj^ed excitement.
It is one of the sad evidences of our degenerate
nature, and the disarrangement of our spiritual
powers, that even God's people cannot sustain severe
and arduous mental toil ; — cannot wrestle or strug-
gle with God at the mercy - seat, or at His
banqueting table, without relaxing that concen-
tration of soul necessary to profitable communion.
But here upon earth there are seasons when the
believer feels the need of a nearer approach into
the presence of God than the regular exercises of
the Sabbath and the family afford ; — when a severe
effort is made to arrive at a higher standard of
holiness than he has yet attained ; and when, like
Paul, he " presses toward the mark, for the prize
of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus." For
example, a communion season is drawing near
I
i
62
iiljc ;§oul's |lest.
when you expect to sit at the Lord's table. Con-
scious of many sad failures in the performance of
duty, and j;reat weakness of faith, you give your-
self up to the work of self-examination. You shut
out the world. Your mental excitement, overpower-
ing the necessities of the body, makes you loathe
your very food. As the hour draws near, your
emotions increase in power and sensibility, until
they reach a point almost unbearable, so that in
the act of communion you arc so far uplifted from
the earth, and indifferent to external circumstances,
that, like Paul when caught up into Paradise, you
can scarcely tell whether you are in the body or
out of the body. Mind has for a time gained a
decided mastery over matter — Heaven over earth,
and Faith over Sense. Such a state of mind the
Psalmist refers to in the sixty-third Psalm, when he
says " My soul followeth luird after Thee." " My
heart is fixed; I will sing and give praise." "As the
hart pantcth after the water - brooks, so panteth my
soul after Thee, () (lod. My soul thirsteth for God,
for the living God : when shall I come and appear
before God?" These glowing, heated, burning
experiences, necessary to the spiritual advancement
S;|jc Soul's Xitst.
63
of God's children, are nevertheless accompanied with
great bodily and mental prostration. The brilliance
of the revealed glory is too much for the eye of
the soul. The little earthen vessel cannot contain
the full outflow of the Divine munificence. The
shadow of the beloved is very grateful, and His
fruit sweet to the taste, but nevertheless the bride
cries out: "Stay me with flagons, comfort me with
apples, for I am sick of love." The sense of God's
love is so overpowering that the soul staggers
under it. Although it is but the reflected glory of
the Eternal that we behold, it is too much for the
tabernacle of clay. The existence of joy, alike with
the agony of grief, compels withdrawal for a time
into the secret chamber, where, alone, the believing
soul may reflect upon past mercies, and pillow the
weary head upon the loving breast of a sympa-
thizing Friend.
I think that It is to such feelings that the
language of the text primarily refers. The context
describes the experience not of a recent convert
who has just enjoyed the blessedness of salvation,
but of one who has been the recipient of manifold
64
e foul's |ltst.
i
111 M^
ii!
I
Nl
tokens of Jehovah's favour. " Return unto thy rest,
O my soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with
thee." The special mercies received have far
exceeded expectation. The hungry soul has not
only been satisfied, but filled to repletion. Answers
to prayer have been given speedily, and favours
granted that were not asked. Provision has been
made for every want, and grace promised for every
new emergency that may arise. With such feelings
did the pious Israelites return to their tents, when,
at the dedication of Solomon's temple, the glory of
God filled the house. "They went unto their tents
joyful and glad of heart, for all the goodness that
the Lord had done for David His servant, and for
Israel his people."
Fourthly: I would remark that the language of
the text may be understood as descriptive of the
inward peace and satisfaction that a doubt- distracted
mind finds in a simple, child-like faith. Some men
grasp the truth without hesitancy, and meet with
no obstacles. Others, of strong intellectual grasp,
have to fight their way against prejudices — against
reason — against a natural pride of heart not easily
C^c foul's ^icst
65
thy rest,
'ully with
lave far
has not
Answers
favours
las been
or every
feelings
s, when,
glory of
;ir tents
ess that
and for
uage of
of the
stracted
ne men
St with
grasp,
■against
: easily
overcome. All men are not sceptics by choice, for
surely it is a miserable feeling that there is no
such thing as truth in the world ; that a man is
drifting onward to a future all uncertain and un-
settled. The vSceptic, if he would but honestly reveal
the workings of his soul, would disclose an amount
of mental torture only surpassed by the infinite
anguish of the world of woe. Now suppose such
an one is led in humble, simple faith, to accept
the doctrines of the Bible — to subordinate human
reason to the claims of inspiration, and to receive
as eternal truth what is therein revealed concern-
ing the past and future history of the sou), what a
load of anxiety must be lifted from the spirit at
such a moment ! From the dark, spectral, shifting
sand - banks of human speculation into the clear
sunshine of revealed religion, is as great a change
as from the poisonous miasma of the gloomy cavern
to the health-giving, cheerful atmosphere of the
mountain - top. Words, indeed, fail to describe the
joy that must possess such a heart, and the grate-
ful praise that finds expression on the lips. Well
does it become the feverish, disquieted, and doubt-
troubled mind to say, when assurance has been
5
I
66
®Ij£ foul's llcst.
ij
1 1
1 '
i ..
ii
found, " Return unto thy rest, O my soul, for the
Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee."
There ivS left but brief space to discuss the rest
•mentioned in the text. Let a few points suffice. I
need scarcely remark that it is spiritual. Rest or
repose thyself in the Lord, says the Psalmist. Seek
not for that rest in the creature, or in created
objects, which they possess not. You may for a
time procure abnormal rest — a partial quiet and
freedom from distre .ing fears — by administering
opiates that dull the sensibilites and stupefy the
mind, just as the drunkard finds in debauchery
relief from self-inflicted miseries. But this is not
health -giving rest. The fever will return again with
increasing virulence, and the weariness with accom-
panying languor. The rest spoken of is God's gift,
through His Son Jesus Christ, to His people. The
same kind Providence that has provided sleep to
recruit the energies of exhausted nature, has pro-
vided similar, though sweeter rest, for the jaded
powers of man's immortal nature. Nay, the rest of
the text may be most fully experienced even when
•he body is racked with pain, and when refreshing
d^hc .foul's ^tsi.
67
for the
the rest
lufBce. I
Rest or
St. Seek
created
ly for a
uiet and
inistering
ipefy the
;bauchery
s is not
^ain with
h accom-
rod's gift,
pie. The
sleep to
has pro-
he jaded
e rest of
-^en when
refreshing
slumber is a stranger to the aching eyelids. Many
an agonized and bed -ridden body has been found
united to a calm and peaceful mind, serene as the
depths of the ocean, or the stars as they sleep in
their golden couches. So He gives His beloved
rest! Rest from the conflict and confusion of the
world; rest from mental toil and travail; from an
accusing conscience; from a disturbed and frenzied
imagination; and from all the fears of coming
wrath which surround the couch of the guilty and
unpardoned; a rest constant, uniform, eternal, and
abiding as God Himself. What philosophy cannot
furnish; what poetic genius has for ages vainly
sighed for; what the high priests of false religions
have for ages promised their deluded votaries as
the greatest good— a sentimental visionary heaven
of the greatest calm— "where the echo of the world's
strife falls no more upon the ear, and happy spirits,
emancipated from pain and sorrow, summer high in
bliss upon the hills of God,"-this Christianity, and
Christianity alone, provides, to meet the yearnings
of the human soul. "The depth saith, 'It is not
in me;' and the sea saith, 'it is not in me.' It
cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be
it >.
1 ;^"
y.
66
(irije foul's ^cst.
weighed for the price thereof. It cannot be valued
with the gold of Ophir, with the precious onyx, or
the sapphire. The gold and the crystal cannot
equal it, and the exchange of it shall not be for
jewels of fine gold." To the question of England's
great dramatist,
"Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased?
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow?
Ra<;e out the written trouble of the brain?"
reason gives no answer but the silent helplessness
of despair. IJut Christ comes to the drooping soul
and says "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 for your
souls." Only He who formed the human soul, and
is conversant with all its varied anxieties and
longings, can give satisfying repose. And need I
add that this rest is a present boon. All the blood-
bought privileges of the sons of God are present
experiences, not excepting Heaven itself, which must
be begun on earth. We who believe now enter
upon rest. It is not a simple pledge or promise
iJi
(The 'toul's Vicst.
69
e valued
3nyx, or
cannot
t be for
England's
jlessness
ing soul
)our and
take My
m meek
for your
oul, and
ies and
need I
e blood-
present
ich must
w enter
promise
in the future, but actual enjoyment in this life.
The rest of the soul in (}od, while it may differ
in degree, is identical with the rest which remains
for the people of God in the Heavens; and unless
we no'u< understand something of its blessed calm,
we cannot hop'^ for its enternal joy hereafter. The
promise is, "thy peace shall be as a river, and
thy righteousness as the waves of the sea. =1= ^= *
Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind
is stayed upon thee;"— until the rest of the tomb
is at an end, and we shall be forever with the Lord.
After all, our rest here is imperfect and incomplete,
but soon we shall inhabit a land " where no hot
breezes blow upon earth's fevered brow."
"Calm as the ray of sun or star,
Which storms assail in vain.
"A few more storms shall beat
On this wild rocky shore,
And we shall be where tempests cease,
And surges swell no more.
"A few more Sabbaths here,
Shall cheer us on our way.
And we shall reach the endless rest,—
The eternal Sabbath day."
•m
\
i '# :
m : J'
-'' :'j ! ;:
1 l!
;i I
\U\
l
11
i m \
70
f Ijc i^oul's ^cst.
The rest spoken of is not inactivity — a sleep or
suspension of the mental powers — but healthy exer-
cise. Whether, indeed, the mind is ever entirely at
rest, even in hours of slumber, is a debated question
with philosophers. But the spiritual rest at all events,
of which we speak, consists larj^ely in the consecration
and surrender of every faculty and talent to the
service of Christ. Idleness, to an active mind, is
wearisome in the extreme; the ennui and listessness
of those who '^ kiir' time, as they say, by gaiety
and fashion, is the most burdensome of all dis-
tempers. The labour that a man loves, whether it be
the study of the professional man, or the physical
toil of the artisan, is scarcely felt. The body does
become exhausted, but not the mind. Bi't for the
weight of the weapons whjtewith it works, as has
been remarked, it might think, imagine, and love
on forever. Galileo, in his study of the planets ;
Newton, i.i mastering the f^olar system ; and, in
later times, Hugh Miller, in searching amid the
rocks and quarries of his native- land for '* Foot-
prints of the Great Creator," were so charmed and
captivated by their resjarchcs and triumphs, that
labour, whether of mind or body, was actual enjoy-
.5
4
^bc Soul's Ticst.
7^
leep or
ly exer-
irely at
question
I events,
aeration
to the
Tiind, is
tessness
/ gaiety
all dis-
er it be
physical
dy does
for the
as has
nd love
planets ;
and, in
nid the
'• Foot-
ned and
IS, that
enjoy-
ment. Now, if the congeniality of one's daily toil
can have such wonderful effect upon the mind, how
refreshing and invigorating, instead of exhausting or
wearyiiig, must be work for God. For this very end
it was created, and only in so far as one reaches it,,
can pure enjoynicnt be realized on earth. It is
because, to a great extent, men a'-e employed upon
objects, and following after pursuits never intended
to claim the attention or homage of the human
soul, that they are so restless and so careworn.
The bird unaccustomed to the confinement of the
cage, — taken from the woods and fields where, with
ten thousand songsters, it raised its melodious notes
to heaven, — cannot feel at home, however dainty
may be its fare and gorgeous its surroundings.
And neither can the soul of man, v/hen restricted
to ignoble and earth-born pleasures. Give to it
such employments as befit its im,mo-tal nature — in
keeping with the dignity of iu oi';rn and the sub-
limity of its future history — occ .potions such as
engage the angels and the redeemed, and weariness
and fatigue will forever be unknown.
Such employment v,e cannot have on earth ; but
in bringing souls to Christ, in helping to elevate
w
%
i
1
I
i
Ijj |!iiH
•
72
^t foul's llcst.
the fallen and degraded, in seeking after a higher
standard of conduct and a closer fellowship with
Heaven, we may enjoy this spiritual rest, No
obstacles can discourage the earnest soul, — no oppo-
sition impede its progress. " To him who believes
all things are all things possible." Life becomes
all the sweeter as sacrifices are called for, and
acts of self-denial demanded, until we are gradually
prepared for the state of the glorified, where — sense
and sin unknown, and corruption and mortality left
behind — we shall pursue with increasing ardour the
attractive studies of Eternity. " When holy
thoughts and works become to our souls as devoid
of effort as song to a bird, or incense to flowers;"
when we can say like our Master, " My meat and
drink is to do the will of my Heavenly Father,"
then we shall form part of that great congregation
who surround the throne " resting neither day nor
night,'' and serving Him day and night in His
temple.
Finally, this rest consists in the harmonious
working of all the powers and passions of the soul.
"Self-conquest" is one of the noblest attainments,
\
V
^\]t foul's |icst.
73
and is the possession only of the Christian.
" Better is he that ruleth his spirit than lie that
taketh a city." When a man is converted he
subjugates his will, his desires, and aspirations, to
the appointments of heaven. I3y nature these are
antagonistic to all that is good, but grace can ^nd
does mould them into conformity with the require-
ments of a holy life. The soul of the belie\er is
not like cie stagnant pool — with no outlet for its
fetid waters, and no access to the sparkling streams
that trickle down the mountain side — but rather
' ' the ocean, which although from time to time
in commotion, is restrained and limited by its
divinely constructed barriers. A man may be most
actively engaged from morning till night with
the details of business, with the minutiae of gov-
ernment, or the principles of science — meeting with
much that is fitted to annoy and irritate in
the prosecution of his calling, and yet maintain a
coii.posure and serenity all unknown to weaker
minds. There is perfect red within, however much
discord and disagreement there may be without.
Like the scientific appliance known in mechanics
by the name of the " governor," which equalizes
s
74
)e .foul's 'Ecst.
i. -
J
' I
^^4
the speed of the steam engine, and gives a
uniformity otherwise impossible to its revolutions, so
religion in the soul of man guides, directs, and
controls all its movements in harmony with the
glory of God and the welfare of its possessor. In-
stead of wayward, fretful, rebellious outbursts of
temper and passion, there is begotten a gentleness,
a meekness, a humility, an adjustment and self-
restraint which is emphatically the " rest of God."
I feel, after all that has been said, how far we
come short of our theme. But to the man who is
at peace with his Maker I need not describe in
what spiritual rest consists. He knows, by contrast
as well as by actual experience, what it is. And
yet how little do we realize of the still more perfect
rest of heaven, where not a grief or sorrow shall
dim the horizon of our joy, or mar our uninter-
rupted felicity. Our calmest moments and our
brightest days on earth are " like rainbows braided
on the wreaths of storm." But
"There is 'o'ussedness that change^h not,
A rest with God, a life that cannot die,
A better portion, and a brighter lot,
A name with Christ, a heritage on high."
!i II
f Ijc Soul's %iSt.
75
" Hope for the hopeless, for the weary rest
More gentle than the still repose of even !
Joy for the joyless, bliss fir the unblest,
Homes for the desolate, in yonder Heaven."
I have been speaking in an unknown tongue to
some here. They are " weary ;"' but it is not so
much because of an overdriven body as a sin-
burdened soul. Nor do they realis^; any escape
from life's warfare, until, in the words of Job, the
grave shall receive its due, and the " weary be at
rest." But oh ! is this " rest " final ? Is it to be
coveted by the man who has no hope of rest
beyond the hour of Death, beyond the Resurrection,
beyond the Judgment Day ? Ah ! if m\ Bible
speaks truly, there is no rest for the wicked. The
troubles and excitements of earth are but the pre-
cursors of unutterable torment. Very quiet and
peaceful may be the place of sepulture — where
flower? breathe fragrant perfumes, and murmuring
streamlets sing their gentle requiems over the
sleeping dust, and cypresses and willows shed their
leaves upon the grassy grave. But, ah ! much as
all this befits the cfaici in Christ, it is out of place
as regards the impenitent. " The rich man also
T'"^Tiir?^ri^ii " -—"-"'-="- --^"°
i
K I
^'^1
ill
76
®;Itc foul's !ilcst.
died and was buried, and in hell he lifted up his
eyes, being in torments." * ■'= '■''• " The smoke of
their torment ascendeth up for ever and ever, and
they have no rest day nor night." Would you
escape all this, my unconverted hearer ? Betake
yourself now to Jesus. Bid adieu forever to the
refuges of lies, the vain and deceptive joys of
earth, the hollowness and emptiness of all created
good. Are you not yet convinced of the utter
hopelessness of all your own subterfuges and devices
to satisfy the wants of a soul that shall exist com-
mensurate with eternity ? Or are you perfectly
contented with this miserable drudgery which sin
entails upon all its devotees ? If you have indeed
made election— free choice of this servitude and
slavery, in preference to the liberty and indepen-
dence which the Oospel offers, then be it so. But
I cannot believe that any man can prefer continued
unrest and mental agony through life, followed by
unending despair, to the peace and pardon which
is to be found in Christ.
Itumkrcr of il^t Stars, anb Ijje
|)ca(er of tjjc '^irohcu-^^uarto.
"f)c hc;Tlct!i the brohcir iit bciirt. nnb biubctlj uu ibcir
bounb,?. ^)e tcllctlj the number of the st;irs ; '.^c
tallcth tbcm bit Ibcir numrs."— Psalm cxKii. 3, 4,
^-^M
In the account of creation contained in the
Book of Genesis, we are told that God made two
great lights— the greater light to rule the day and
the lesser light to rule the night. Then it is
added, "He made the stars." To the unassisted
eye these twinkling stars seem small and insig-
nificant, contrasted with the sun and moon, that
flood our earth with lignt and beauty. And in
order to counteract that feeling in the human
mind, which refers to God's care and interest only
the more grand and glorious objects in creation,
the inspired penman would have us remember
that in God's eye there is nothing which has
sprung from His hands unworthy of flis sustain-
ing power. The smallest star, dimly recognizabh
Ml'
78
®ljc ^umbrrtr of the %inXB.
by the telescope on the very verge of the horizon,
is the product of Ahnighty power as much as the
mightier orbs and planets that revolve in space.
And in order still further to deepen our sense of
God's omniscience and perfect knowledge of the
host of Heaven, thr. Psalmist David says, " He
telleth the number of the stars, He calleth them
all by their names."
Another thought that rises simultaneously in the
mind, on a survey of the heavenly bodies, is the
vastness of creation and the comparative insignifi-
cance of this earth and man. The Psalmist, living
in an age when astronomy had but begun her
discoveries, was struck by this ^olemn thought:
" When I consider the Heavens the work of Thy
fingers, the moon and stars which Thou hast or-
dained, what is man that Thou art mindful of
him, and the vSon of Man that Thou visitest him ? "
Such language was not produced by any feeling of
scepticism as to God's providential care over man,
and His love for the human family, but when he
looked upward to these stars — beheld their number
and splendour, and thought of the vast army of
f be Bumbtrcr of tl:c $t;irs.
79
worlds stretching into space — all moving harmoniously
in their appointed orbits, and constituting part of
the domain over which the Almighty maintains a
constant government; — he felt how infinite must
be the guardianship which embraces man within
its sphere of exercise, and how unworthy man is
to share in such regard of Heaven !
Thy
man,
;n he
imber
ly of
Such thoughts cannot but recur to many minds
at the present day, when the knowledge of other
worlds and planets has been so greatly enlarged,
and their number so indefinitely increased. It need
hardly be stated that the sun and moon and planets
w
hich circulate around the sun and constitute the
solar system, are but a small portion of the Creator's
handiwork. Beyond these are stars and systems of
stars, not like or.r earth deriving light from the
central sun, but shining in unborrowed splendour,
and revolving round other suns equally grand and
glorious as our own. To the naked eye, these
appear but specks of light upon the brow of night,
many of them at such a vast distance — hundreds
of millions of miles — that even to the most power-
ful telescopes they remain but shining points, though
8o
£^bc 3^umbcrcr of the Stars.
in reality much larger than our earth, and it may
be lariier than our sun. Nor is this the end of
ou
r researches in the starry world. Heyond these
myriads of telescopic stars, are patches of light
hich do not at first sight seem stars at all. Like
the finest dust or sand of ocean's shore, they seem
but a golden band of light encircling the extremi-
ties of space. Hut on further investigation, we
find that these are separate stars, and central suns,
around which whole planetary systems revolve. And
when we still further reflect, that stars may have
been created thousands of years since, k'Iiusl light
has nut yet reached us, and that stars may have
been extinguished thousands of years since, though
still visible by their light which has not altogether
died away; surely with the Psalmist wc are forced
to say, " O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is Thy
name in all the earth, who has set Thy glory
above the Heavens '■'• ='= - What is man that
Thou art mindful of him, or the Son of Man that
Thou visitest him."
If once more, leaving the solid facts of astronomical
discovery, we give play to our imagination, the paltry
m
. . /
^bc Iftumbtrcr of the ,^tnrs.
Si
light
have
Thy
-lory
that
that
)mical
paltry
insifjnificance of this lower world will appear all the
more conspicuous. That amid such a multiplicity
of worlds we should receive so much attention is
wonderful, — that God should so constantly provide
for our welfare, and supply our wants, st-ems mar-
vellous — still more so that His Son should die to
redeem from sin and recover from ruin. Vet all
this we can believe, on the supposition that this
world, though smaller in size, is vastly more impor-
tant tiian other worlds— "the summit and cr(>wn of
God's material workmanship." liut what if this
world of ours be but one of an infinite number,
the centres of animal and rational existence ? What
if these other worlds are peopled by intelligent
creatures, possessed of reason and will ? What if
their inhabitants belong to a higher order of
existence than man — pure and perfect as when first
they came from their Creator's hands ? Can we in
such circumstances believe ourselves of so much
importance that the Almighty should single us out
for a special display of His long-suffering, and should
make this little corner of the universe the theatre
of such a glorious display of love. Again, with the
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She Itumbcrcr of the ^turs.
Psalmist, we are forced to say, " What is man that
Thou art mindful of him ? "
Overwhelmed by such speculations, which have
for ages filled the mind of man, how full of sweet
assurance do the words of the text fall upon the
ear — " He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth
up their wounds — He telleth the number of the
stars, and calleth them all by their names."
Consider then God's power and guardianship,
as displayed /// tlis continued harmony and order
/ the heavenly host. " He telleth the number
of the stars, and calleth them all by their
names." " Where wast thou," said the Almighty
to Job, " when I laid the foundations of the
earth ? Declare, if thou hast understanding. Who
hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest ?
Who hath stretched the line upon it ? Where-
upon are the foundations thereof fastened ? Or
who laid the corner - stone thereof, when the
morning stars sang together, and all the sono of
God chanted for joy." " Lift up your eyes on
high," says the prophet Isaiah, " and behold who
hath created these things, that bringeth out their
\M
din Humbercr of tlie $tars.
83
host by number; He calleth them all by their
names." It does not demand an extensive acquaint-
ranceship with the science of astronomy to be filled
with wonder and admiration at the power, the
wisdom, and the goodness of God. None but an
atheist can contemplate f^e majestic order of the
heavenly bodies, and the wis. ■ ^ptarion of means
to ends that re,gn throughout, without feeling
impressed with a sense of the infinite knowhdge
that is everywhere evident. To reason as to the
necessity of a Great First Cause and the continued
exercise of Almighty care, seems madness. For
g'-anted, as the Philosopher tells us, that there are
laws and combinations of laws, in virtue of which
our earth and the other myriad stars and planets
revolve, what are these laws but new evidence of
a master mind, and a supreme directing power,
that keeps watchful guard over the creatures of HiJ
hand ? And what but a Divine m.nd could at first
fashion and arrange the order of the universe, and
continue its silent harmony unbroken to this hour !
"He telleth the number of the stars; He calleth
them all by their names." His
IS power was not
84
®bc Hiimlicrtr of tijc ^tars.
expended at creation. His wisdom was not ex-
hausted in the mere creation and arrangement of
the heavenly bodies. Before a single atom of
matter had been resolved into star and planet, its
orbit was appointed and its circuit measured. As
a general upon the battle - field marshals his
battalions and directs their movements, so are the
elements of unconscious matter in their Maker's
hands. The sunbeam that shines upon the
monarch's crown, and streams in upon the darkened
chamber of the mourning widow, and the star that
directs the pathway of the mariner over tempestu-
ous waters, all alike receive their commission from
His hands. In all these we see
" The signature and stamp of power divine,"
• * • « «
" Stars countless, each jn its appointed place,
Fast anchored in the deep abyss of space —
These are Thy glorious works, Thou source of good,
How dimly seen, how faintly understood !
Absorbed in that immentsity of space
I stand abased, and yet aspire to Thee."
He that numbers the stars and calleth them all
by their names, is also the healer of the broken-
hearted. " He healeth the broken in heart, and
nc Umiibtvcr of (lif §(;,rs.
8S
b>ndeth up their wounds." God's character cannot
'^ '""^ '"""■" '■" -'"—not even in the subline
study of the .starry hosts. These .ay declare His
power, and wisdom, and majesty, but they are silent
^^ regards His love, and tenderness, and consideration.
n. vaslrcss of creation doc, not prevent the ,nost
""""" """"'»"'" ™ 'he part of the Almighty. This
- what distinguishes the infinite Jehovah from man
whose knowledge is confined to the present moment.'
The greater the breadth of our survey in this
world but increases our ignorance of details. Those
wbo by reason of their genius lay hold of the deep
th.ngs of nature, are, in proportion, unfitted for the
common business of life. They cannot stoop to
the level of common humanity; they dwell apart,
occupying a different platform and moving i„ ,
d.fferent sphere. But with God it is far otherwise.
Thmgs great or little have no existence in his eyes
From His lofty standpoint all the events of life
"= on an equality. The formation of the dew-
drop, and the opening blossom of the wayside
flower, are His care, and engage the e.vercise of
H.S w.sdom as much as the grander events that
convulse the world and shake its kingdoms ■
;
86
®ljc ^umbertr of tljc ^tars.
His rational creation are objects of the most intense
and constant interest. The splendours of immensity,
the glory of His Throne, and the praises of angelic
orders, neither absorb His attention nor cause
forgetfulness of man. " What is man that Thou
art mindful of him ?" again we exclaim with the
Psalmist. What is this world but an atom amid
countless worlds, brighter and more magnificent ?
What is man that he should influence the thoughts
and actions of the Almighty ? What is this globe,
which we regard as the centre of creation, but a
speck in the eye of Heaven ? For aught we can
tell, man, with all his wondrous powers and
faculties, may be the least in the scale of intelligent
being ! But notwithstanding all, the facts remain
none the less true that God is mindful of this
world, and that while He exercises a general pro-
vidence over all His creatures, and supplies their
wants, He regards man as a far nobler work than
planets or sparkling stars, and visits him accord-
ingly. For, after all that has been said concerning
the glory of the heavens, what are stars, and suns,
and systems in themselves — ignorant of their Creator
and unconscious of their existence — as compared
^bt ^^umbcrcr of tbr ^tiirs.
87
with man. endowed w:th intellect and allied to-
Divinity itself? What is matter in its Grandest
combinations compared with souls that shall live-
forever ? Surely then we can believe that the very
hairs of our head are all numbered ; that God, who
knows the fall of every sparrow, who feeds the-
fowls of the air, decks the lily of the field, and
clothes the grass in its robe of green, has a much
greater regard for man. endowed with reason and
immortality.
Amid all the ranks and conditions of intelligent
Creation, those that an- broken in heart are the special
favorites of Heaven, Hear this, ye suffering saints,
who sigh and cry in the loneliness of despair.
" Thus saith the High and Lofty One, that inhabi-
teth Eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the
High and Holy place, with him also that is of a
contrite and humble spirit, to revive the hearts of
the contrite ones." '« He hath sent me to bind up
the broken-hearted, to appoint unto them that
mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes,
the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise
for the spirit of heaviness." That there are broken
S^bc llumbcrcr of iljt Sturs.
hearts in the world all around us, is but the every
day lesson of life. The record of burning tears that
fall from blood - shot eyes — deep - drawn sighs and
bleeding souls — constitutes a large chapter in the
history of our fallen world. Some hearts are broken
by oppression at the hands of their fellow -men;
others, through misfortune and disappointment; others
by the cruel slanders of wicked men. How many
wives have broken hearts through the infidelity
and cruel treatment of their husbands ! How
many fathers go down with sorrow to the grave
because of the misconduct of beloved children !
How many young hearts are crushed, at the very
outset of life, through the crimes of parents — pining
to the grave in homes of wretchedness and woe !
And how many hearts are broken by mysterious
providential calamities ! Yon widowed wife, clad in
weeds of mourning, tells of the sudden wreck of
hopes and joys that now lie bu ied in the new-
made grave, while the mother wrings her hands in
agony and cries aloud in sorrow over the now
empty cradle of her arst - born child; — " Rachael
weeping for her children, and will not be comforted,
because they are not." Ah ! how good for us
^c Dumbertt of tbt Sfiits.
89
that the scroll of lamentation and woe, which lies
open to the eye God, is hid from human vision.
Now, above all this tumult of human misery
God sits enthroned-not an unmoved spectator, as
represented by heathen fable, but a sympathising
fnend. He has a heart to feel, and comfort to
bestow. He is known as the God of comfort and
consolation. Our great High ftiest can be touched
w.th a feeling of our infirmities, for, having Himself
suffered, He is able to succour and save to the
mtermos. His afflicted brethren. There is no grief
of which He is not cognizant, and no heart history
however sad, with which He is not acquainted."
" "' "'''"'^ '"= ^'°^'=" in heart, and bindeth up
their wounds."
"Come, ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish
Come, at the Mercy Seat fervenjy kneel •
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.
" ^°y "^ ^^<' desolate, light of the straying,
Hope of the desolate, fadeless and pure';
Here speaks the Comforter, in mercy saying,
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure."
Cjjings geto aiib ®h
I &
" ®bcn siiib f)c unto tbcm, therefore cbcry scribe bljitb is
instrurtcb unto tbc .llingiiom oi |)c!ibciT is lihc unto n
man tbat is an bouscbolbcr, fajbitb brinqctb forth out of
l/is treasure things ncto mriJ olb."— Matthew, xiii, 52.
The firsc preacher and teacher of Christianity
was Jesus Christ. Me combined in His own person
the two-fold office of professor and evangelist. It
was absolutely necessary, and at the same time most
fitting that it should be so. As the author and
founder of Christianity, thoroughly acquainted with
all its doctrines and laws, and understanding how
best to present them to the comprehension of the
humblest intellect, and apply them to the human
heart, He alone could successfully establish the new
religion. Just as the inventor and designer of a
new machine is best qualified to describe its intri-
cate workings and manifold adaptations, so the
author of a new system of morality, so radically
different from Jewish or Pagan ethics, was the best
«ifjingst Hcfo !ini> mtt.
91
adapted to unfold its beauty an
superior claims and
d maintain its
merits
^ against all objectors.
""' Christ preached, and ,0. He .auRh. ,he
multitudes who uiit„,i „-.i
un.n H- ■ °"'-"^i™'->"y or statedly
uP'in His ministry, we can In
understand fro,. »■ '°""-' "''"'"''
'«nd from H,s published discussions and
Of H,e apostleship, and what instructions He gave
'"em as to the essential requisites of a succe fu
-n-'.-y. is equally plainly stated on the pa.e\
■n^PTation, although more l.kelv to e
"°"ce. To this topic we „r "' ""'
attention. ' ""^ "°" '° ^-"t
The disciples, with h„f .4.
called f K ^""^^ exceptions, when
called to be " fishers of men "
, u . ' '''^^e destitute of
what may be calleH tu ,• •
or K, . Prehminaries of learning
or scholarship. I do not think th
, , . , '"' ^"'"1^ they were at all
eh,nd or helow the mass of their countrymen „
'': """"^ ^-^ "^ -^iety, hut certainly they Ire
:: ''°- "■'"' -^" ■■" ^-^'-y circultanle
-finement. Two methods of preparation were open
" "''" '° 0-"^^ "- for their work. rl
92
things |Jc(o anD (Dlb.
Saviour might have instantaneously, by means of a
full and perfect inspiration, put them in possession of
all necessary truth, and fitteo them oratorically to
convey that truth impressively to others ; or He
might choose the more laborious course of training
and teaching — line upon line, and precept upon
precept — which we adopt at the present day in our
academies and colleges, in preparing young men
for professional walks in life. The one may be
called the wholly Divine or supernatural — the other,
the human or natural. Now it is worthy of remark
that in fitting the early disciples to be Preachers
of the Cross, He chose the latter method for the
most part. That they were inspired is at once
granted ; that they were also furnished with the
power of working miracles to attest the Divine
character of the new religion and substantiate their
heavenly commission, is also true, but these mighty
adjuncts were rather called forth by the special
circumstancrs of the age in which they lived, and the
people to whom they preached, than forming part
and parcel of their ministerial training. It was as
scholars at the feet of Christ, as listeners and
students, as His followers from house to house and
Shiiigs Jlctij imtr cMd.
93
P ace to place, gathering up under Hi. directions
tl.e essen.iais of a successful ministry, that they
were at last qualified to ,o forth and preach the
Gospel to the uorld.
The firs, lessons also, it is to be observed, were
of ike .„.., ..u,„e,.tary *,„,, „ ,,,, ,^ ^^^^^^^^^
so simple in themselves that the Sabbath - school
ch.ldren of .he present day can master the details.
One by one he unfolded to then, the mysteries of
His kingdom, not by dry abstnrt r^.-^^ •
J 'y dosiract reasoning, but by
narrative and nirtiir^ j? • ,
«"«j iJiLiure. liven with nil fV.'o
Willi ail tMis coming
down, as it were, to the level of their apprehension,
.hey were slow to understand him. They came to
H.m once and again to explain the hidden meaning
of these parables which they could not grasp
After narrating the parable of the sower, he re'
huked them on the dulness of their apprehension -
■' Know ye not this parable ? and hew then will ye
^now all parables P" Bu. ,,,y ,,, ^
because a loving teacher-one who compassionated
the.r .gnorance, and was ready to help them in
thetr difficulties. Day after day He continued His
mstruclions. accompanied with the ™os. minute
I,!i
94
©biugs |lcbj ;iub #l&.
explanations, until eventually they became quicker in
apprehending the spiritual truths which lay thinly
concealed under metaphor and illustration. Having
thus, by a varitiy of parables (see 13th chapter of
Matthew's Gospel), endeavoured to set before them
the rapid growth and results of His spiritual king-
dom, He puts to them the question, as a teacher
would put to his scholars, — " Have ye understood
all these things ?" and they replied, " Yea, Lord."
They had now advanced a considerable way in
their knowledge and comprehension of spiritual
truths ; they were approaching that standard of
proficiency which Christ demanded of them before
they went forth as ambassadors to their fellow - men.
And in order that they might have the very highest
conception of their office, and covet eai
best gifts
idds
Jtly
Every scribe which is
instructed unto the Kingdom of Heaven, is like unto
a man that is an householder, which bringeth out
of his treasure things new and old."
Let us endeavor to understand the meaning of
such language. I believe it contains the essentials,
under God's blessing, of a successful ministry,
tubings ^tbj im\i m.
whether in apostolic or ^ode.n .i,„es ; and i. i,
JUS. because .he p.,p,, in ,nany cases, fai.s .o
demands, .hat it e.crcises so little power a. the
present day.
By the .hing,s „e. and old ,„„, ,, „,,„„, ,„^
-ssa,e of ,.ace as opposed ,o .he la„. Although
specially and primarily set anart ,« ,
p. . . . ■* ^''^"^t as preachers of
reference to the former dispensa.,o„, .hich con.
:r '^ '" ""'"^^ -" """"-y the events of
'he presen.. God. unchangeable and eternal tru-h
«5 0'/'' under ev^rxr ^- •
Chris, c "'^rensa.ton, and the minister of
Cnst can never be .rong in connect.ng „e.
thoughts with old ima.res an,l ,h , ■,
"'■"nes, and thus exhibiting ihp
"n.ty and harmony of God's will The ,
u. ,, ,. , "• 'he Jew was to
' '-Sh' "-. in embracing the prmciples of the
-religion he needed not to relinjh one o
;"- Of the Old Xestantent morality. While
;r: '-. „„„ „,, ,, ,„,,, „^ ^^^^ ^^^
P -h the grand doctrines of .he Cross as .he
™Plet.on of God's revela.ion .o fallen .an
"™Sh ^ very good in.erpretation of Christ's words '
96
^i^xp ^tbs unb ^11^.
more than this is intended, it seems to me, in
Christ's address to His disciples. While old truths
were never to be lost sight of, they were from time
to time to be presented in new forms. The accom-
plished teacher must not only bring forth from his
treasury things old and dead, but things new and
living, " the one along with the other ; the new in
the garb and in the light of the old, and the old in
its fulfilment and development of the new." In other
words, the minister of the Gospel must not oi ly
have his mind well plenished with old doctrines
and historical details, but he must ever be making
new observations, gathered from his own experience
and the knowledge of the world. All the departments
of science and philosophy — all the wonders of nature
and art — all the treasures of the past and present,
whether contained in the Hible or displayed in the
vast store - house of Creation's wonders, or seen in
the marvellous activities and enterprises of the
human mind, are open for his study. He must be
like a rich houbcholder, who has his house full of
goods, so that he is able not only to meet his
own necessities, but the multifarious demands of
others. Holding firmly by the doctrines of grace,
■ 97
- o'ci as eternity itself, he .uTZT^^^^^
and conditions of life m , ' ^^Pacties
present old truths i„ „„, ,- " "">' ^^ '»
' "" a praiseworthy crTfn-n^ .
""=" them with „„,,, , ! ''""''' '•= "'-y
mechanic, who „o. ,™p,, , ' "">■ taught
^'^ '-'^ - - '" He :,;: 't --» °^
'~-nt,-™.te,, conversant w tT t tr^ "'
the kingdom Hi. • ■ • ^^'"^^^ ^^
"^ • "'" acquisitions of knoul.^
become his own h, • ''"^^^^dge must
^ own by virtue of evn^r;
of that personal . ^-^Pcrience, and out
personal experience he is tn i ■
"things new and old "to meet./ ' '"'^'
^- ^ord plainly tells th d ! """ ^^ "^-^•
^^-^ ^-^ -^- i:x : Tis: tr ^"^ ^'^-'
-^ -- --^^ ^^pa. I ot.e :;:;:::: 'r
communicated to them. "^ '^"^
So far, th
ment
the
;- •;-, we ,athe. .o. o. ,„^,, ,,,.^.
" He approved of „o„e for ,.. ...... .
>n the
ministry who were not
principles of the
for the work of
thoroughly indoctrinated
"ew religion. Th
ey
il
98
fiL^ings ^tbj anb Qih.
were to hold a similar place in the primitive
church that the scribe did in the synagogue. The
name of scribe, it is true, was a by ■ word for the
corruption they mingled with the truth. Professing
to be the only authorized expounders of the law,
like their co - religionists the Pharisees, " they made
the word of God of rnne effect by their traditions."
Put the office of a scribe, if rightly exercised, was not
only an honourable one, but also a necessary one.
Then, as now, for the good of society and the
spread of religion, men were set apart from the
common cares and anxieties of business and manual
toil, in order to study the words and works of
God. They lived for the most part a hermit's
life ; they knew more of books than men ; more of
dead languages than the common conversation of
the street ; they had little knowledge of, and far
less sympathy with, the lower classes of society. In
these latter respects the disciples were by no means,
to imitate the ancient scribes. Their mode of
training was essentially different, while their qualifi-
cations were to be proportionately superior. The
disciples did not sit, like Saul of Tarsus, under such
doctors of the law as Gamaliel ; they were not
^i^9^ fcfa nnh mh.
expected to commit wholesale fo
tions or wise s • """"^''^ '''' '^^^i.
^v,se sayings of the fathers- tl
^"<-Ke,„e. separate f,o„ socie,, an/ ' """'
"common things anrf "'""■' '''■°™
nmgs and common men." On ,h
'^ary, Chris, .aught them .hat the ""'
poor and ,he greatest f • '"""■"' '"' '"^
Krea.est of smners were fr, i, .,_ .
^■'-'charge;.ha..heir,aho„.J,;;'=,"'7
"Pended upon the outcasts of respect , '
and those for whom „ "^"P^^^tle society,
">e.r miss.on, a CdiLr" "^"^ ^^^ ^^'"«
^^^'y -Ive contact wit ' t^ 1 ""' ^" -
-^= -^e,uen.,y .„ in.u e r:;/ ^"^"^ '"-
^=1--te Knowledge and „ '' ''""' ""^
"-anded. Hea.en, . "'^ "'" ""-^
^-'- .00, "or. f^' ■" ''' ^-- -
•*■■'' lessons from evpr,- j
™"t of nature anH ' ''^P"""
"'y ™"'ion in life T,,
«wer sowing his seed-the ^ h '
"=• into the sea th """" "^""S hi.
-'^^ -ations Of ml L s""^ "" "^-""^^
«f^-the laws of . """"' '■" ""y day
-mmerce between deb.or and
lOO
S;bings V^tin imb ^Ib.
creditor — unjust stewards and unjust lawyers — mar-
riages and wedding - feasts — the tares, the mustard
seed, the leaven — the fig-tree — the lost sheep — the
lost coin — such like objects and actual occurrences
in nature and in life were the texts from which
He expounded to them the mysteries of His kingdom.
Nothing was beneath His notice, and nothing was
to be beneath theirs. All these things were to be
used in illustrating and enforcing higher truths ;
everywhere and from everything they were to gather
the germs and seeds of expanding thoughts.
Now what, it may be asked, were the results of
such training ? Did it serve the end intended ?
Were the early apostles apt scholars and qualified
teachers of Christianity ? Did they catch the ear
of the populace and awaken interest ? Were they
ever found unable to meet the arguments and subtle
logic of sceptical Greeks or sanctimonious Phari-
sees ? Was there ever one solitary occasion when
Christianity might be ashamed of her defenders and
apologists, as it is to be feared Christ is to-day
with some who profess to be His heralds ? No,
never ! They spake with a force and power — with
<^&mgs ^tbj iinb ^Ib.
lOI
e s.ncenty of .Heir conviction., and earned hon,e
^e .ru.. of Ood. .ords .o .He conscience of .hX
h-er,s A,s i. „.. .aid of CHri., .o i. .;,,, be
:: ::'"--'^— "Wn,a„\pa.
iiKe .hese men " dii^
iiiciu Allowance inncf „f
moj , , "^'"•' of course be
made for those sunerna.nra' i
'iuperna.ura. tnJowmen.s wHicI, .he
Maste... co„,_<, „„„„ ,^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^
on of CHti.tiani.,., i., .,„. , ,,,„ ^^^^
numbers, as on the dav of Pentecost, .ere brought
V """^' ""™'«'Se of the truth, but we „,ust
no ..ve the credit of their wonderful succ
e-.us,ve,y to those direct and Heaven,, baptisl
nor ye. to the miracles which thev „ .
, . '"*-" tney wrought. If
S success of the apostles in the first
^- Of the Church was e.clusivelv due to t
supernatural endowments, then .e can ,athe.
evangehsts from the Word of CoH .
vvurci oi Crod, and must re^f
contented with our present .f. •
^ ^ attainments, without
stnvmg after better things. "'
In view of the conversation referred to ^ . '
-' - His discipies, we proceerjin:
102
things ^ch) aub €)li).
one or two propositions worthy the attention of
ministers and congregations at the present day.
The old truths of God's word must never be lost
sight of in our preaching or teaching. We must
never give the smallest countenance to the idea of
modern rationalists, that the world has grown so
wise and so learned as to be altogether indepen-
dent of those cardinal truths of Scripture without
which the past history of our race is an inscruta-
ble mystery. The fall of man from his high estate
of holiness, the universal depravity and corruption
of all human beings, the utter inability of the
creature either to devise or accomplish a method
of salvation, the justice of God in adjudging the
violators of His law to eternal death, the eternal
love of God the Father in the gift of Christ, the
matchless love of Christ the Son in bearing our
guilt, and dying to blot out our sins, the necessity
of the continued application of the Holy Spirit in
applying the work of redemption to our souls and
fitting us for the enjoyment of heaven ; — these and
such truths must ever form a prominent part of
pulpit discourse. Nay, should it be, as it must
©biiigs fehj jmb mh.
103
ever be in our present state, that we arc unable
to explain many mysteries connected with God's
dealinf^s with the world at lar.^e and individual
sinners, we dare not abstain on that account from
a public declaration of their eternal verity. For
example, because we cannot satisfactorily explain to
the comprehension of the hearer the doctrine of
the Trinity, are we to ignore all reference to it,
as having no value in the scheme of truth ? Be-
cause we cannot grasp the great questions of
Election and Predestination, God's foreknowledge
and man's freewilt, man's utter inability of himself
to come to Christ, and at the same time his
accountability and danger in refusing to come;
because we cannot explain the conditions of a futurJ
day of judgment, the nature of the resurrection
body, and the employments of the sanctified state
beyond the grave, are we to pass over all such
topics as unfit for the edification of the body of
Christ? Such conduct would be as foolish as to
refuse to investigate and study the ten thousand
mysteries of nature which minister so much happi-
ness to the enquiring mind. It is only by the
continued study of such important scriptural doc-
104
l)inc|3 ^£to anb (iDlb.
trines that we can hope to make any advancement
whatever towards their clearer comprehension, or
be in any measure prepared for the fuller and more
perfect revelation of eternity. The Protestant Re-
formers of the 15th and i6th centuries, while
abolishing the unmeaning ceremonies and heresies
which had gradually crept into the Christian Church,
held fast to their doctrines, and saved the Church
from the influx of many deadly heresies which at
the present day corrupt the faith. They were not
ashamed to dwell on "justification by faith" as the
only source of the sinner's reconciliation with his
God, however distasteful it might be to the carnal
heart, and however much obloquy they might incur
in denouncing human systems and human creeds.
And by such a course they not only maintained
the Church sound and pure, but they at the same
time enjoyed precious seasons of revival and refresh-
ing. Indeed gracious revivals of religion have
always been experienced, when '* the faith once
delivered to the saints" has been preached in all its
integrity and fulness.
But while not neglecting the old, we must not
as ministers forget to present the truths of Scripture in
^^iiigs |ttb mi ©lb.
105
such nen, pUases as shall best adapt th™ to the
age ,„ which we live. We are specially addicted
to .dolatry of the old. OKI traditions, old forms,
old sys.en,s of philosophy, assert a kind of despo.isn,
over the human mind, and become invested with a
superstitious reverence fatal ,0 every kind of pro-
Sre.s. Knowledge and extensive erudition-mere
book attainments-a smattering of ancient lore-the
contradictory opinions of commentators-the decrees
of councils-the ability to refute certain heresies
and uphold certain disputed points of criticism, are
reckoned sufficient to constitute a man a preacher
of the Gospel. There is thus begotten an idolatry
mtellect-a worshipping of dogmas-which is
altogether out of place in a successful minister.
The ,deas instilled into the minds of students, that
an extensive acquaintance with dogmas and heresies
■s the great source of pulpi, power, is carried with
them ,nto professional life. ,n almost every other
sphere of society ,,.t in the fulpit, „„„ ,,« „,,„„„^
and so as to be understood by all classes. But
■" 'he pulpit ministers seem, in many cases, to
avo,d common speech and common illustrations, and
from year .0 year drawl out the same forms of
io6
a;^ings Dlcto unb <iJ)li).
doctrine, in antiquated and obsolete phrases, to con-
grefjations as listless and unedified as the sleepers
in the grave. The result is seen in the detachment
of numbers from the nouse of God, and the lessen-
ing influence of the Church upon the world.
In thus insisting that the pulpit of the present
day must be more alive than it has beer, to the
actual wants of men — that it become a help and a
counsellor amid the difficulties and temptations of life,
as well as our unfailing guide to the realities of eter-
nity — we demand nothing more than what Christ
demanded of the first preachers of Christianity.
Why do we preach at all ? To indoctrinate men
in spiritual truth ? All true— but the greater part
of our modern congregations know the leading
doctrines of the word of God almost as intelligently
as does the preacher. Jhey have been taught
them from infancy at a mother's knee, in the
Sabbath - school, and in the Bible class. What is
wanted is not simply the bare reiteration of these
doctrines, but the bringing of these docrines to bear
upon the heart and life. Preaching is not an end,
but a means. No minister is warranted in thinking
^in^B Itcfo ani> (Olb.
[07
'l«t h. ha» fuiniled his par, „,,.„ a certain
amount of trutl, has been delivered .„ a conKrcKa-
t'on. In the preparation of that truth there should
be an intelligent conception of the special wants of
the hearers, so that there may be i„„„Mae effects
A knowledge of the habits, special temptations,
and manifold hindrances ,0 holy living should he
-"Rht after, that the preacher may not fire his
balls at random, or spend his strength in vain.
Thus d,d .such men as Whitfield, and Wesley, and
Jonathan Edwards preach. Under their preaching
"men heard the judgment trump and saw the
advancing heaven, and the day of doom began ,0
mantle them with its shroud."
Some hearer may answer: In such a kind of
preaching you do not follow apostolic rule. Did
not Paul boast to the Corinthians that he preached
noHung save "Jesus Chris, and Him crucified J''
Did he not say to the Galatians, "God forbid that
I .should glory save in tlu Cross of the Lord' Jesus
Christ?" It is hardly necessary, in reply, ,0 remind
the reader that in Paul's preaching and teaching
there ,s no possible topic or human relationship, or
1;i
III
108
things ^tia nnb (Dlb.
calling in life, or individual sin, or flagrant evil,
that is not referred to. He did preach Christ, but
in preaching Christ and Him crucified, he adapted
his matter and his arguments to the special wants
of his various congregations. He preached Christ,
not simply as crucified on Calvary, and lying in
the tomb of Joseph, but as a living, powerful, and
regenerating element in society. The doctrines and
morality of scripture, according to Paul's teaching,
were not only to be studied and admired, but
embodied in the heart, and conscience, and life of
every man. He sought immediate as well as remote
results from his ministry; results visible iiuto, as well
as at the bar of God. It was not that "Christ and
Him crucified" was his one never - varying theme,
but that ft'ODi the Cross of Christ, as from a start-
ing point and centre, he drew those arguments and
influences which were best adapted to mould the
opinions, sanctify the affections, and rectify the
conduct of man. To accomplish this the apostle
adds : " I laid aside all human art and rhetoric, that
I might the more directly and pungently address
the conscience and touch the hidden springs of
action."
Ji:
S^bings |lcb nnh ^Itr.
109
We plead for such a comprehensiveness in the
modern pulpit, not only for the upbuilding of saints,
but for the ingathering and retention of sinners.
If you fetter the minister, and chain him down to
a recapitulation of mere truisms from day to day ;
if you say, you must not touch the ethics of com-
merce or national sins or individual wickedness ; if
you insist that doctrines and dogmas — which in
many cases are rendered more mysterious by their
very discussion — are to be the constant subjects of
pulpit discourse, you reduce the pulpit to a nonentity,
subvert the ordinance of preaching, and make the
servant of God the slave of custom, none the less
odious because common in many parts of the land.
The Puritans were noble men, perfect giants in
theology, and possessed of intellects and souls 'that
tower far above the average of ministers at the
present day ; but who is there, possessed in any
degree with the power of adaptation, would attempt to
read one of their three - hour homilies to an ordinary
congregation ? And if he did, what good results
would follow? Yet these men in their day did
noble service for our common faith, and have left
b'^hind a vast treasure - house of learning. Such
no
Cljings ^tto anb (Dlb.
a style of preaching was best suited to that age,
just as it has been remarked, men then used bows
and arrows, helmets, swords and spears, instead of
iron-clads, Spencer rifles and Armstrong guns. The
day has gone by for such primitive instruments of
war, and such a prolonged and elaburate style of
address. The destinies of nations and empires are
now decided in a shorter time than formerly occu-
pied armies in mustering on the field of battle. Men
live quicker and die faster than of old, and need
in religious teaching concentrated effort, special aim,
and skilful marksmen. After all our pains, the bow
will be drawn at a venture unless directed by the
spirit of God.
If 'such a style of preaching is demanded at the
present day, the younger ministers of the various
evangelical churches should study more of the out-
side world, that they may know men's wants and
sympathize with them in their struggles. In our
land, it is true, the ranks of the ministry are
chiefly recruited from the middle and working
classes. It is a matter of regret that there is not
a larger infusion of the sons of rich and influential
Sbinqs ^tto imtr (Dlb.
Ill
men. But from whatever source we receive our
supply of religious teachers, if they are to be effi-
cient in the pulpit and valuable in society, they
must be brought directly in contact with the toiling
masses of our land. The sooner the idea is exploded
that minisUis must keep themselves aloof from all
social entirprises, and all co-operative agencies
that have for their object the good of those beyond
the pale of the Christian Church, the better for
themselves and the cause of Christ. The charge is
made that ministers as a class look down upon the
working classes of the land, and that between them
and the non - professing world there is a bridgeless
gulf. '. do not believe the charge to be well founded.
How to bring the extremes of society face to face,
and gather into our churches the sceptical and in-
different, is a problem yet unsolved. Meanwhile, let
those looking forward to the pastoral office seek to
know something of the embarrassments and trials,
the infirmities, and oppressive melancholy, that often
burden the hearts of men. A word in such a
season, fitly spoken, how good it is — how it serves
to quicken the languid energies, and give new life
to the sinking soul ! In addition to knowledge,
, ••<
ill .
: r-
h
112
S^ljings ^tb iinb Olb.
cpenence
demanded. The trials
;rty
na povei
wiiicM tne disciples ot unnst enaured in common
with their Master, versed them in the lore of human
suffering, and enabled them to weep with those
who wept, as well as to rejoice with those that
«
rejoiced. They not only brought forth "things new
and old" from the treasure-house of God's word,
but each disciple had his own treasure of heart
experiences, which he had been gathering all his
life, and to which he was daily adding. There was
thus a deep practical acquaintance gained of the
human heart, which is not within the province of
schools or colleges to yield — of inestimable value
in dealing with men of like passions with them-
selves. The struggles and temptations which, by
Divine grace, they had surmounted in former years,
taught them how to guide and counsel others when
treading difficult and dangerous ways. It is bus at
the present day that the truth is to be brought
tenderly home to men's hearts. " We want," says
a living professor, " no more undecided ministers ;
but men of courage, men who hold clear opinions,
men who have a strong sense of duty, and who
will not shrink from doing or saying what they
think to be right both in docrine and in life."
!a(m Cm €ip5tim.
■■ ^t tishjmxs sljnll aourisi, like ll,c p;,|,„ ,„, ■•
Psalm xcii. j^^
'I'he palm tree, among the trees of ,he Orient "
occupies a proud position. Saered trees-trees of
'.fe-fe,ngs among grasses-princes among vegetation
-s-ant of God, and friend of man ;-these and
s-Ia.- titles have been lavished upon it by his-
•onans and naturalists of every age. Nor are the
royai honors bestowed upon the palm tree unde-
-rved. They are Idngs not only in „.„,, « ^
hvmg writer: — "Their cHim ,„ ,
claim to such distinction
rests not alone on chronicles and title- dced.s of old
'•-h freshly. springing leaf bears .he very impres:
"' ™3'al.y-weaving itself instinctivelv i„t„ ,he
-Khty diadem of green, the weight of which no
-eaner tree could support. I„ ,eauty, .strength,
and worthiness pre-eminent, the palm tree bears
.ts crown right royally. Kinglj, indeed, are its
attnoutes : stately and strong, upright and unchange-
able, w„h majestic grace dispensing, as from an
."exhaustible treasury, the richest gifts unsparingly."
114
^alm Crec Cbrislians.
The palm tree, though apparently a native of
the East, has also taken root in Western soil.
The new world now exceeds the old in the number
and variety of its palms. Europe, Asia, Africa and
Australasia, contain three hundred and seven known
species, while America alone boasts of an equal
number, to which new ones are constantly being
added. European travellers and men of science
have narrated in glowing language their discoveries,
and enriched our cabinets with innumerable speci-
mens of this noble tree. The Crystal Palaces of
England, and Art Exhibitions of Continental cities,
contain " the crown captives of South American
forests, side by side with those of Indian islands
and Arabian deserts. English ears may now catch,
amidst the rustling leaves of imprisoned palms,
whispered memories and proud recollections inter,
changed between the date palm of the Arab, the
Bible palm of centuries ago, and the beloved palm
of the South American Indian," — which he worships
as a god.
:»■'/
Every Bible student, and every student of natural
history, is aware of the frequent mention of the
i^hilm ^ut (EbristuuTS.
"5
;e of
soil.
jmber
a and
known
equal
being
jcience
)veries,
speci-
ices of
cities,
Tierican
islands
catch,
palms,
inter,
b, the
d palm
worships
I
natural
of the
palm tree in Scripture. As far back as the days
of the Patriarch Abraham, when the five kings put
to flight the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah, taking
Lot a captive, we read of " Hazezon Tamar," or
the felling of the palm tree. In the book of
Exodus we read that at Elim, one of the stations
of the Israelites between Egypt and Sinai, there
were twelve wells of water and three score and ten
palm trees. In the account of Moses' mysterious
death upon Mount Pisgah, as contained in the last
chapter of Deuteronomy, we read that among the
numerous places of interest that God showed His
servant, was Jericho, the City of Palm Trees. At
his feet, a magnificent array of palms extended
three miles in length and eight miles in breadth,
from whence gleamed forth the white walls and
crowning towers of the proud City of Palm Trees —
type of that fairer city he was about to enter.
In the Book of Judges we find mention made of
the famous palm tree between Ramah and Bethel,
where dwelt the Prophetess Deborah, one of the
Judges of Israel — a tree and a spot long reverenced
afterwards by the children of Israel, in grateful
recollection of her wise judgments and signal vie-
ii6
^alm i^xtt €\^xbiinn$.
tories. Solomon takes the palm tree as an emblem
of the Beloved. " How fair, how pleasant art thou !
— this thy statue is like to a palm tree." It was
in Bethany, house of dates and village of palms,
where Mary and Martha lived, and Lazarus, whom
Jesus loved. There He found a home and a place
of rest from His ar'.uous labors and long journey-
ings. " Heart weary and footsore, after long days
of thankless toil, peace awaited Him at Bethany."
On the occasion of Christ's triumphal entry into
Jerusalem, also, the people took branches of palm
trees, and going forth to meet Him, cried " Ho-
sanna." And, finally, in the book of Revelations,
the glorified of all nations are described as clothed
with white robes and havin,^• palms in tlieir hands :
" Lo, a great multitude, which no man could
number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people,
and tongues, stood before the Lamb, clothed with
white robes, and palms in their hands." These
palms are the emblems of victory. Death has been
spoiled and vanquished, and immortality possessed.
The early Christians spoke of a martyr's death as
" winning the palm." " They saw in the never-
dying tree a type of resurrection, and laying a
^nUn ttrcc (Cljrisiiuns.
1 emblem
art thou !
It was
)f palms,
IS, whom
1 a place
journey-
ong days
Bethany."
itry into
of palm
;d " Ho-
velations,
5 clothed
r hands :
m could
1 people,
led with
These
has been
ossessed.
leath as
; never-
aying a
117
M-n b n,h on U. br... Of ever, one .,,0 di
more glorious existen
ed
and
ce.
A wh.spcr, too. from world, un.een
Hath the bright leaf of evergreen
Of realms beyond the setting sun '
Where, when Life's busy day is d'on..
Crown and palm branch shall await
Each conqueror at Heaven's gate. •
S.ch frequent „,en.,on of one out of the n,anv
'-e. which adorned the forests and .ardenT f
Palestine cannot be cntirelv f , ■
Says the P , "" ""^ ^^il^^tal,
^y^ 'he P.ai„„st, in the ninety -second P.a,.
He n«hteoussha„ flourish «..„,,„, ,::■
^lail flourish in the courts „f
^hall bring forth f . "°'- ''''''
fat and / " °"^^^' "^y ^hali be
and flounshing." Mahomet, aiso, .he false
-H; Sood and generous „a„. .^ U.e the pa I
'^-'"---frorz.i:r:7
"'' '^ ^-- '° - --e-fare' of^.^ C
.■rr^
? 't
ii8
|Jalm Srce (K^rislians.
creatures." The palm tree thus affords a fit subject
of meditation to every child of God, and a means
of profitable instruction in regard to the elements
of Christian character. Nor is it difficult to under-
stand why the good man is compared to the palm
tree : although the appropi it leness and beauty of
the emblem was better understood by the Inhabi-
tants of Palestine, who were intimately acquainted
with the properties and growth of the palm.
Among the prominent characteiistics of the palm
tree of Scripture may be mentioned the great
height to which it attains — its perfectly erect growth
and its leafy crown, which is always green and
flourishing. Not only does it seem natural for the
palm tree to grow heavenward, but it is almost im-
possible to force it in any other direction. Other
trees, when young, may be bent or inclined at the
option of the husbandman, but not so the palm
tree, which scorns all attempts to bias its upright
tendencies. It may be burdened with weights,
storms may beat upon it, and tempests wrestle with
it, but it will not be bent or warped into any
crookedness. We are also told by naturalists that
it is most fruitful when mij.t abused, and that the
|)(ilm ixtt (fbrietiuus.
119
blows that bruise and wound it only increase the
quantity and improve the quality of its golden
fruitage. Long continued rains and floods of water
do not drown it ; the rays of the tropical sun
neither make it wither nor decay ; from year to
year, and generation to generation, it continues to
grow in beauty and in strength. It is also noted
for its usefulness and intrinsic value, in addition
to its beauty and ver.iure. The date palm is a
prolific fruit - bearer, a single tree yielding some
four hundred pounds of dates a year. The fruit
becomes to the inhabitants of Egypt and Persia the
staple food upon which they subsist. Humboldt tells
us that in the Brazils whole races exist upon a
single species of palm, like insects which subsist
on one species of flower. It was this fact that
called forth the wonder and adm.iration of Sir
Walter Raleigh, who said, " The palm tree alone
giveth unto man whatsoever his life beggeth at
nature's hand." Every part of the tree is of value,
more or less. The leaves, six or eight feet in
length, are used as coverings for the sides and
roofs of houses, and for baskets and mats, and
other articles of household ware. In some cases, a
I20
!|)alm ixn ^Ijrisliiins.
single leaf will cover fifteen to twenty men, and
shelter them from the rain. When the sun is hot,
it shades them from its heat. Soldiers on the
march carry palm leaves with them on all occa-
sions. Keeping them dry from rain upon the
journey, they make their tents for them to lie
under in the night — a marvellous mercy, as has
well been remarked, upon a poor and naked people
in the rainy country of Ceylon. The sacred
records and legal documents are written upon palm
leaves. The fibrous part of the leaves and tree
are made into thread and cordage, while the more
solid supply fuel. The sap, when thickened, be-
comes sweet and palatable as honey, and the
seeds when ground or broken feed the camels of
the Arab. But time would fail to specify what
the palm tree affords to meet the wants of man.
Sugar, and fruit, and flour, and oil ; wine, and
milk, and bread ; clothing of all kinds ; ornaments
for the outer, and medicines for the inner man ;
implements and utensils for every purpose of domes-
tic life. So enthusiastic are the Orientals in their
appreciation of the palm tree, that they enumerate
no less than three hundred and sixty distinct uses
IJalm ^ttt <!^^ristiiins.
121
to which it may profitably be applied. It is no
marvel, then, that the Psalmist David, when select-
ing some object in nature best fitted to symbolize
a good man's life, should at once have chosen the
palm tree ; and that Christian writers long after
David's time should have made the same use of it
again and again. As one of them well says,
" Most fitly is the life of the Christian likened to
the palm, in that the palm below is rough to the
touch, and enveloped in dry bark ; but above it is
adorned with fruit fair even to the eye ; below it
is compressed by the enfoldings of its bark, above
it is spread out in amplitude of beautiful greenness.
So is the life of the elect — despised below, beautiful
above. Down below it is as it were enfolded in
many barks, in that it is straightened by innumer-
able afflictions ; but on high it is expanded into a
foliage, as it were, of beautiful greenness, by the
amplitude of the rewarding."
We remark, then, that Christians are like the
palm tree in respect to their beauty. The palm
tree in the desert is a most grateful sight to the
poor weary traveller. All around may be bleak and
I I
ii ,
8' !
122
|3!ilm free Christians.
barren, scorched with drought and heat, but the
palm tree remains ever green, shady, and luxuriant,
to a good old age. Although the flowers of the
tree are less remarkable than the fruit, still the
flowers of the palm tree are lovely, and their
fragrance charming. Passing through the different
stages of pure whit?, cream color, and pale gold,
like the dazzling colors of the rainbow, they present
a constant study to the cultured eye. And so, in
a desert, dreary world, where there is so much sin
and so much that is unlovely, the finest sight to
look upon is a godly man. The beauty of holiness
which encircles the whole person far surpasses all
the mere human gifts and graces which adorn the
natural man. The material grandeur and beauty of
the world around us deserve our admiration, but
" that is by far the best part of beauty which a
painter cannot express." Nay, oftentimes it is the
case that those outwardly most beautiful in their
persons are most unlovely in their lives. Meek-
ness, gentleness, long-suffering, unselfish devotion
to the cause of God and truth, these arc the
elements pf moral beauty, and, wherever found,
command the admiration of the world. For the
;|)itlm ©nc (Cbnstmns.
123
beauty of Christian character, although it cannot
be so readily recognized and applauded by ungodly
men, nevertheless commands a certain measure of
respect and esteem fnjm the otherwise unapprecia-
tive world. Such lives are a perpetual joy and
inspiration. They breathe the perfume of heaven
upon the poisonous atmosphere of earth, and
silently curb the evil passions of a sensual and
grovelling world.
Christians are like the palm tree in respect to their
f riiitf Illness , Beauty is not enough to make a man
a child of God — faithfulness is demanded. A tree
may be beautiful and fair to look upon, but barren,
or the fruit it bears be unable to meet the wants
of man. Hut not so with the palm tree. It bears
in all seasons, and to a good old age. For three
score years and ten, the ordinary age of man, the
date palm continues yielding fruit. The blossoms
on a single spathe are twelve thousand, and the
fruit furnishes food for tens of thousands in Egypt
and Arabia. Its fruitfulness equals its beauty.
And need I say that in Christian character these
are always joined. In common language we often
ii
•i !
]•
124
|Jalm S^rec (Kljristians.
speak of characters in the world that are beautiful
and lovely, but the beauty never goes forth into
actual contact with the miseries and sorrows of a
fallen world. Such beauty is indeed wasted on the
desert air. But the real beauty and attractiveness
of Christian character consist in constant efforts
for the cause of Christ and the good of humanity.
The fruits of a sanctified life appear in greater
likeness to the Saviour and more persistent and
unwearied labors for the salvation of souls. The
leaves of the palm tree do not constitute its chief
value, nor do the mere leaves of a religious profes-
sion constitute a real Christian. These may receive
the applause of men and deceive the company of
believers on earth, but they cannot receive the
reward of the Judge — " Well done, good and faithful
servant ; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I
will make thee ruler over many things : enter thou
into the joy of thy Lord." Christianity is more
than theory — it is a daily life and practice. It is
more than subscription to a creed and adherence to
a form of church government — it is personal conse-
cration to the cause of (lod. " Pure religion and
undeftled," says the Apostle James, " before God
,f aim rrct (fbristmns.
'25
and the Father, fs this, to vi,sit the fatherless and
wdow in the,r affliction, and to keep himself un-
-^potted from the world." Only such can receive
the joyous welcome, "Come, ye blessed of my
Father, i„l,cr,t the kingdom prepared for you from
"" '""'"''''"" °f 'h'^ "-■•Id- Verily , say „„,„
you, ,na ,:nu,.h as ye have done it unto one of the
least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto
me."
Christians arc like the palm
upward grozvth. The pal
/;
'ee
in respect to their
head as far
palm tree seems t
o raise its
as possible above the earth
and
near as possible towards heaven,
of the Andes attains the hei-ht of
as
ninety feet. In the East Ind
height of twelve hundred feet,
palm tree.
The wax palm
one hundred and
ies they reach the
Upright as the
present day. And in th
's a proverb among the Arabs of
emblem have we of wh
of the child of God. His b
mind may oftent
severe trials a
the
is respect what a beautiful
at should be the character
ody may be bent— h
is
imes sink under the pres
sure of
nd afflictions, but th
his soul, and the higher affect;
e aspirations of
ons of his nature, all
126
|)iilm Cut Christians.
rise heavenward. As the flowers seek the sun so
does the true believer the beams of the Sun of
Righteousness. Nor is it wonderful that the be-
liever should have such longings after immortality.
Here he is but a pilgrim — there he will be a per-
manent dweller, and go no more out. Here he is
from home, there he will be at home. Here he is
an exile, tabernacling among strangers, there he will
form one of the family circle, and take his place
as a member of the heavenly household. His
treasures are all tliere. His life, hid with Christ
in God, is tliere — the secret sources of his renewed
nature all emanate from the throne above. " All
things in nature are moved and brought to their
proper place by gravity, the light upwards, the
heavy do^-nwards, but the gravitation of the rational
soul is love." In other words, Christ is the great
attraction of the believer in heaven. His feelings
are beautifully expressed by the poet :
'' Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace ,
Rise from transitory things
Towards Heaven, thy native place
galm ^rte ffhristinns.
IZ'
Sun and moon; and stars decay.
Time shall soon this earth remove,
Rise, my soul, and haste away,
To seats prepared above.
Rivers to the ocean run,
Nor stay in all their course,
Fire ascending seeks the sun ;
Both speed them to their source.
So a soul that's born of God
Pants to view His glorious face,
Upward tends to His abode,
To rest in His embrace,"
And therefore, says the Apostle Paul, "if ye
then be risen with Christ, seek those things that
are above, where Christ sitteth at the right hand
of God. Set your affections on things above, not
on things of the earth. Our conversation is in
heaven ; from whence also we look for the Saviour
—the Lord Jesus Christ— who shall change our vile
body, that it may be fashioned like unto His
glorious body. For we are no more strangers and
foreigners, but fellow- citizens with the saints and of
the household of God."
Christians are like the palm tree in respect that its
growth is tn proportion to its age. It never leaves
128
Julm S^rcc Christians.
f. ;i-|
off bearing, and its last days are its best days.
When the character of the wicked is portrayed in
Scripture, they are said to flourish like the grass,
which is green in the morning and fades before
the evening. They are like the chaff which the
wind driveth away. "I have seen," says David, "the
wicked in great power, and spreading himself like
a green bay tree. Yet he passed away, and lo, he
was not ; yea, I sought him, but he could not be
found." All this indicates the worthlessness of the
sinner's profession — the transitoriness of his best
resolutions, and the sudden desolation that marks
his end. But the godly man is like the tree
planted by the rivers of water, that bringcth forth
fruit in his season, and his leaf never withers.
The man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose
hope the Lord is. '• shall be as a tree planted by
the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the
river, and shall not sec when heat cometh, but her
leaf shall be green ; she shall not be careful in the
year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding
fruit." Such is the character of the righteous.
Grace increases with age, work becomes more and
mo
re delightful as years pass on in the service of
|)nlm ®r« Cbristinns.
1 29
Christ. Sacrifices are less hard to bear, and self-
denial becomes a luxury, that others may enjoy the
blessings of salvation. Herein mark the difference
between a man who is genuinely converted by the
Holy Spirit and the man v/ho imagines himself to
have experienced a change of heart under the in-
fluences of mere emotional excitement and external
enthusiasm. In the latter case there may be, to
the superficial observer, all the marks of true
devotion to the cause of Christ, in some cases
excelling the calm, steady, and silent efforts of the
humble disciple.-'' But we have only to wait until
a few years roll on to see the radical difference
between the attainments and labours of these respec-
tive professors. In the case of the formalist, the
flash of enthusiasm has died out, the fire of zeal
* A gourd, says an Eastern fable, climbed the tall stein of a palm.
Having reached the summit, it mockingly questioned the royal tree, —
" How long have you taken to reach this height?" "A hundred years,"
replied the palm. "What think you then of me?" said the gourd. " Irj
a few days I have reached the same height that you have required so
many years to acco'mplish." "I think nothing of that,' responded
the palm, " for every day of my life I have seen a gourd wind
itself about my sttm, as proud and self-confident as thou art, and
as short-lived as thou wilt be."
u
) ^
130
^alm ixn Cijrbtinns.
and devotion has expirqd, the efforts that character-
ized the early days of church membership are no
longer visible, until, by degrees, every indication of
vital piety has disappeared. Instead of continuing
palm tree Christians, pointing constantly towards
Heaven, and having the branches full of clusters
of ripe fruit, they remind us of stunted pines and
dwarf oaks, which grow best on thin and sandy
soils, or, like the low - lived and creeping vines,
that never lift themselves above the surface of the
earth. Of such it cannot be said, "they bring forth
fruit in old age, and are fat and flourishing." They
are of no value to the visible body of believers, and
of no service to the world. On the other hand,
the sincerity of the godly is proved by their per-
severance not only in personal holiness, but in
active labour. They are never weary of well - doing.
They never feel satisfied with what they accomplish.
Every new attainment is made the starting - point
of something higher. If, by reason of growing age
and infirmities, they cannot follow after the same
employments in the Church of Christ that belonged
to earlier years, then their very sick - chamber
becomes a hallowed spot, radiant with the sunshine
^alm (ITrcc cCbristiiins.
131
of heaven, and a source of instruction and profit
to all who share their society. Tluis tlicir path is
like to the shining light, shining more and more
unto the perfect day.
Christians arc like to the pcilin tree inasmuch as
its greatest gron'th is in the most adverse circumstances.
The seasons have no effect upon the palm tree.
Storms and tempests, heat and cold, are no draw-
back to its fruitfulness ; they rather seem to increase
it. There is a wonderful elasticity and buoyancy
in its fibres, that overcome all attempts to destroy
its vitality. The more vigorous the growth, the
stronger the downward pressure it has to resist.
The palm was chosen in Greece as a type of the
true athlete, "one never to be cast down." This
strength to bear up against outward assaults is due
in great measure to the firmness and depth of its
root. It holds fast its root in every soil where it
is planted, in the shifting sand and Hooded plain,
and barren rock, and mountain steep, as well as
in the wooded' valley's rich alluvial soil. " The
hurricanes of tropical climes, as mad giants in their
fury, buffet on every side, and forests are bowed
'•I
II
W II
i\-
132
^^lalm STrtc Christians.
1 i
down or torn up by their roots, but still one
stately tree stands erect. The palm, unshaken and
secure, will not bow or bend." And is it not so
with the believer? Christ dwelling in his heart by
faith, and rooted and grounded in love, enables him
to overcome the bitterest forms of adversity. The
fiery furnace of amiction, the crosses and disap-
pointments in his spiritual experience, and the heavy
rod of chastisement, are all so many aids to spiritual
growth and fruitfulness. Strong faith in God's un-
varying goodness can not only help the believer to
rise superior to every obstacle that lies in his
heavenward path, but changes them into blessed
instruments for his advancement in holiness. How
many of God's children can say, as they look back
upon their history, —
" I sought not out for crosses,
I did not seek for pain;
Yet I find the heart's sore losses
Were the spirit's truest gain."
Christians arc like the palm tree inasmuch as, like
the palm tree, they are planted in God's house. In the
building of the temple by Solomon, great use was
made of the palm tree. He carved all the walls
I
I
|I!M '!< '
jl!;
|liilm cTttc dbrisfiinis.
'33
of the house round nl.out with carved ll..„re, ol
cherubim and ^,/„, „,,, n. .wo doors al»„ were
of olive tree, and he carved upon (h.n, carvin«»
of cherubim and f„„„ „,,, ,;, . „ _^„„ ^^^^^^^
Kold upon the cherubim and upon the pain, -rees
The two doors of the temple were of fir tree, and
he carved thereon cherubim and ^,/,„ ,,,,, ^„j
open flowers. And the greater house he ceiled
w.th the fir tree, which he overlaid with fine gold
and set thereon /.ah. tnrs and chains. In .he vision'
of E^ekiel, also, concerning the spiritual temple, the
palm tree is represented as ornamenting the posts
of the gates, and walls, and the doors. The temple
was made with cherubim and M-n trees, so that a
palm was between cherub and cherub; and every
Che ub had two faces, so that the face of a man
was toward the p„l,n tree on the one side, and the
face cf a young lion toward the paint tree on the
other side. From the ground unto above the door
were cherubim and pal„, trees made, and on .he
wall of the temple. No doubt in both cases the
palm .rees are intended as types of the righteous
"placed side by side with the shining angels that
^tand before the .hrone of God." The pal„, tree
1^'
134
|1iilm S^ree (fbrf-iitimts.
was also planted in the courts of temples and
palaces, and in all hij^h place*! of worship. Tl
seen hy the conf:;re{^ation of worshippers, it was not
simply an object of admiration, but it supjf^ested the
patience and well-doinj; of the j^ood man's life — his
happy end and f;;lorious immortality. And where,
save in the Church of God, are we to find palm tree
Christians? They are planted there — the sanctuary
is their natural element, — God's house the place of
their abode. Here they enjoy the fertilizincj streams
of Divine !:;race, and i^row up into the likenes!
their Master. Once they were like the wild oiu^,
.t^rowinf^ on the barren heath, but they have been
transplanted by the Heavenly Husbandman, and are
now become trees of righteousness, the planting of
the Lord's right hand. And just in proportion as
such Christians abound in the Church does it
fulfil its great mission to the world. Where they
are few, spiritual famine prevails. Jndca has now
no palm trees. A few years ago a solitary palm
tree might be seen near Jericho, but that last
remembrance and relic of the past is gone. Like
the Jew, banished from his own beloved land, so is
it with the palm tree. The curse of Israel's unbelief
||Viilm cTrrc (Thrist'uini?.
135
has fallen upon the ji^round as well as upon the
inhabitants. Let us pray that in and around our
different /ions palm tree Christians may abound,
beautifying; the courts of God's house, and blessin^^
all who come under their shade.
Finally, CJiristians arc like the palm Ivcc inasmuch
as the palm tree has an inward f:;rnK'th. The forest
trees of temperate re.^i )ns increase in size "by ex-
ternal deposition '" of the woody fibre next to the
bark, but palm tre^s have an inward f;rowth. So it
is with the Christian. \'hatever external evidence
of f^'reater holiness and m* 'ness for Heaven appears
in his life is due to the growth of grace within.
The gof)d man is always better than he appears to
the world. The secret of his perseverance in well-
doing is due to the hidden influences of God's
spirit continually operating upon his soul. " What
means this," said Christian to the interpreter, as he
was led into a place where was a fire burning
against the wall, and one standing by it always
casting much water upon it to quench it ; yet did
the fire burn higher and hotter. " The fire," re-
plied the interpreter, " is the work of grace that is
1 1'' I
1 1
1
f
1
136
|)(Tlm S^rcc Cbristhins.
wrought in the heart." So he had him about to
the backside of the wall, where he s..w a man with
a vessel of oil in his hand, of the which he did
also continually cast (but secretly) into the Pre.
" This is Christ," said the interpreter, " who con-
♦•' lually, with the oil of grace, maintains the work
already begun in the heart, by the means of which,
notwithstanding what the devil can do, the souls of
His people prove gracious still. And — in that thou
sawest that the man stood behind the wall to main-
tain the lire — this is to teach thee that it is hard
for the tempted to see how this work of grace is
maintained in the soul."
"An inivard growth, from the heart's crystal fount,
Pure thoughts, like pearl -like dropp, still welling forth,
Unseen themselves, yet swelling the amount
Of outward graces and intrinsic worth.
Flourishing as the palm — the crowned tree —
Uprising in whatever lot assigned,
Bearing the promise branch of victory,
Servant of God and friend to all mankind."
.%
%n ImmortalitjT to be gcsirrb.
"S^ljE righteous sljiiU br iir cbcrlusting rcmcirbrancc'
— Psalm cxii. 6.
Unless in a few cases of aggravated crime, the
actions of wicked men are buried with their bodies
in the grave. The instincts of our common humanity,
joined to the decree of Heaven, oppose the perpet-
uation of their memory. If friends are so unkind
and fooHsh as to raise memorial stones upon their
graves, inscribing thereon the names of the departed,
and ascribing to them a long catalogue of virtues
they never once possessed, it only renders their
memory the more despicable, and makes the judg-
ment of posterity the more severe. Had as the
world is, it cannot after death tolerate the flatteries
and falsehoods bestowed upon wicked men while
living. The universal feeling of our race declares
that silence and the shadow of death, and the
darkness of the grave, befit the open and shameless
transgressor of Divine and human law. The name
of the wicked shall rot — their memory shall be cut
w
138
^n ImmortnUfiT to be flcsircb.
I ■
1
1
ill"
it.
I'
I'
k
ill
I! 1;!
off from the earth ; so the word of God testifies,
and such our experience verifies.
The motives that compel men to practise virtue
and abstain from vice, are many ; not the least
the place they shall hold in the estimation of their
fellow men after they have passed away from their
society. It is vain for men to say that they are
totally indifferent to the opinion of their neif^hbours,
and that, once laid in the grave, what matters it
whether bles&ings or cursings fall upon their sepul-
chres. No man living, I venture to say, desires his
memor}' utterly to perish from the earth. Even
criminals, on the eve of execution, have been known
to express a wish to be remembered. We dread
the thought of posthumous disgrace. We want a
reputation after we are gone as well as while we
are alive. -'As it is not pleasant to the living to
think that their bodies after death shall be torn
by dogs, so it is not pleasant to the living to anti-
cipate that their names shall be infamous in the
generation following." It affords no small comfo.t
in a dying hour to know that we shall be missed
and mourned ; that sometimes the eye of the living
...MiWk^.-
2ln Immortulitn to ht .Hcsircb.
139
shall moisten with tears at the recollection of the
dead. Indeed, we have strong; hope of the man
who desires to be remembered by those among
whom he has lived and laboured ; whose feelings
are those of the poet, in lines that are immortal :
" When I beneath the cold, red earth am sleeping,
— Life's fever o'er,
Will there for me be any bright eye weeping
— That I'm no more ?
Will there be any heart still memory keeping
— Of heretofore ?
When the great winds, through leafless forests rushing,
— Like full hearts break :
When the swoller streams, in crag and gully gushing,
— Sad music make;
Will there be one, whose heart despair is crushing,
— Mourn for my sake ?
When the night shadows, with the ample sweeping
— Of her dark pall,
The world and all its manifold creation sleeping,
— The great and small :
Will there be one, even at that dread hour, weeping
— For me, for all ?'
This, perhaps, my hearer may say is nothing
but sentiment. If so, it is sentiment founded upon
reason, in accordance with the purest sympathies
of our nature, and founded upon the word of God.
For, in addition to the hope of immortality through
140
Jn Immortaritij to be Ilesircb.
the death and resurrection of Christ, the Scriptures
everywhere assert that ^ after death the name and
memory — the good actions and holy life — of the
upright man shall be a constant power in the world.
Being dead, he shall speak to coming generations.
His name is not simply chronicled in Heaven, but
long after his bones have mouldered in the grave,
and the stone that bears his name has crumbled
into dust, his memory shall be fragrant in the
world. On the other hand, it is asserted of the
wicked man, that his name, his descendants, his
memory, his birth-place, his death - chamber, and
his grave, shall be forgotten, or, at best, but re-
membered with loathing and disgust ; while the
piety and virtuous actions of the good man shall
be revered and honoured — embalmed in the affec-
tion;.; of universal humanity!
I i
What then, it is asked, are the conditions of
true fame — of a glory and renown that fades not
with the decay of matter; that waxes brighter and
brighter as ages roll on, and Time gives place to
Eternity ? Not greatness, in the ordinary sense of
the term, but goodness ; not intellectual power, nor
%n Immortulitn to be ^csirci.
141
lall
lec-
of
not
;nd
to
of
or
riches, nor royal parentage, but love of God, a
pure and gentle heart, a disposition child -like and
humble, a walk and conversation governed and
directed by the indwelling spirit of Almighty God.
These arc the essentials of immortality on earth;
these aij the best of all guarantees that our
memory shall not be forgotten when we pass away
to the rest and rewards of Heaven. Such an immor-
tality every one may inherit. It is given to but
few to have their names inscribed in the nave of
Westminster Abbey, or to have a niche assigned
them among the poets and warriors and statesmen
who in past days have adorned the commonwealth
and blessed the world. But it is within the reach
of the humblest member of society to perpetuate
his memory in a way more enduring than sculp-
tured marble or gilded bronze. " They that be wise
shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and
they that turn many to righteousness, as the stars,
for ever and ever."
It is taken for granted that every man desires
to be rememb'^ed after death. To be forgotten,
like the pebble cast into the sea, that scarce causes
142
^u ^mmorttilUg to ht ^csireb.
i
a ripple upon the surface of the water, is not a
comforting or pleasing thought to an immortal soul.
If such, my hearer, is your desire, how do you
expect to be remembered ? Are you labouring day
and night to secure a large amount of material
good? Are you seeking after a position of power
and influence among your fellowmen ? Are you
covetous of the honours of statesmanship ? Are you
exerting yourself in behalf of the commonwealth of
which you are a member, in the iond expectation
that your name and memory shall be ranked with
patriots and benefactors whose lives have been
devoted to the accomplishment of great and mighty
projects of social reform ? In a word, are you
depending entirely upon your outward acts and
public deeds of self-denial for this posthumous
immortality ?
;
We do not despise nor undervalue any one, or
all, of these avenues to immortality. But a word
of caution is necessary, that you do not place un-
due dependence on one, or all combined. Mere
riches cannot give immortality. It is true they may
command at death mock mourners, and all the out-
Ijlll
§iu Immodiilitij to be iHcsircb.
143
ward pomp and display which so often accompany
the rich man to the grave ; they can secure a
costly mausoleum and a marble tablet over the
decaying dust ; but this is all they can eli'ect. Mere
riches, apart from moral worth, never yet perpetu-
ated the memory of any man. On the contrary,
riches, unused for God's glon' and the world s good,
but hasten what may be called moral annihilation —
immediate and entire forgetfulness after death. Have
you not seen this again and again exemplified in
the community where you dwell ? Men of reputed,
and, it may be, real wealth, have passed away as
if they had never lived. Save in the cemetery,
where a tombstone records their age and resting-
place, their remembrance is blotted out from the
memory of the living ! People say of such men
when they die, — " No los", to the world ; but few
will miss them" — if they do not indeed publicly
execrate their memory and hold them up to the
scorn ot coming generations.
Scarcely more substantial or certain is the
posthumous immortality which is founded upon the
opinion of society : the gratitude — or rather ingra-
144
%n ^Jjmmortnlitn to be ^^csircb.
IP !
t'
titude — of kingdoms and republics, in whose behalf
men so often spend their lifetime, in hope ot
undying renown and imperishable laurels. One
false step, one political error, however unintentional
and undesigned, serves in many cases to blot out
the record of a faithful and honorable career, and
to shatter the expectations of many years. The
applause and favor of the mob is at best but fickle
and wavering. The idol of to - day is the despised
and insulted creature of to-morrow — but a football
for the passions of an ignorant and excited popu-
lace. Have you not seen men of the most straight-
forward principles and reliable morality rejected by
constituencies for nothing but manly adherence to
conscientious dictates ? But even were it other-
wise, what, after ,^.11, is the fame and immortality
that follow statesmanship or political success ? At
best it is but a poor substitute for that lasting
renown which a life of goodness secures to its
possessor ; not for a moment to be compared with
the fragrant perfume which proceeds from holy acts
— which makes the grave a sweet resting - place,
and death the beginning of a better and more
imperishable existence.
I
%n ImmortiiUtn to be Hfsircb.
H5
There is no member of this Church, it is to be
hoped, who docs not desire to leave his children
some heritage — some memorial of his love and
some tribute of his affection. Houses and lands,
silver and gold, apart from hallowed recollections
of the dead, are but poor memorials indeed. But
poor as they are, comparatively few of us have
even these to leave to those we love. To meet
the daily calls of life is all that tlie major part of
society can accomplish, and even this much with
a hard and continuous struggle. Yet let not the
poor man murmur if, in the exercise of faith and
piety, he leave his children the memory of a well-
spent life. The son or daughter who can saj',
standing over the grave of a beloved parent, —
" Here lies a poor but honest man " — is rich
indeed — heir to a better fortune than the gold of
India or California. There is nothing so comforting
in the hour of trial, when children are called to
part with beloved parents, as the consciousness that
no man can accuse their memory of wickedness, or
call up the blush of shame to the mourner's cheek.
That is a far better portion than marble palaces
and stately mansions, built upon the gains of fraud
lO
iili; 1
ii
is ■
146
^n Immortiilitn to be Cltsircb.
and the grinding of the poor. vSuch a legacy the
poorest man can leave behind. By a blameless,
holy life ; by industry and sobriety ; by love to
man and fidelity to God, every man can leave
behind a memorial infinitely more precious to his
family than broad acres of land or the coronet of
a peer.
In view of all this, is it too much to say that
every man is the architect of his own monument,
and that it is within his own power whether his
memory shall perish after death or remain a source
of happiness and strength to coming generations ?
These remarks are specially applicable to young
men — to those on the threshold of life and called
to face its temptations. The desire of fame is
strong in youth. To rise superior to the mass of
men, and secure a niche in the world's gallery of
heroes, is the dream of millions. One seeks for
immortality by pouring out his soul in poetry;
another by the discoveries of science ; another by
commerce ; and still another at the Bar or in the
Senate. Goodness is too often a secondary consi-
deration, provided the end considered all- important
3^11 Immort^'litn to bt Clcsircl).
147
is reached, — to sit as a king upon a throne, and
hold a sceptre of intellectual power over the lower
classes of humanity. And yet how few reach the
summit of worldly greatness ! How many who cry
" Excelsior" reach the Alpine heights ! A few
years ago a volume of poems was published, the
writings of a Scottish boy who died ere he reached
the age of 24." It contains little that can be
considered the higher inspiration of the poet's lyre,
but is full of that burning desire after immortality
so characteristic of youth. Writing to an English
poet he says : — " I tell you, if I live, my name
and fame shall be second to few of any age, and
to none of my own. I speak thus because I feel
power." Leaving his quiet village home for the
great English metropolis, we find him walking
through Westminster Abbey, friendless, and almost
penniless, yet eager for this posthumous immortality.
" I am in London," he writes again, " and dare
not look into the middle of next week. What
brought me here ? Westminster Abbey ! I was
there all day yesterday. If I live I shall be buried
I'oL'ms by David Gray: Roberts, Boston.
Z48
All liumortalitj) to be ^csircb.
there !" Bui it was otherwise ordained. Consump-
tion, that takes away so many of the youni;,
laid hold of his system, and speedily draj^i^'ed him
to the j;rave. " The vision dariiens," he writes.
*' My crown is laid in the dust for ever. Nameless,
too! How that troubles me! Had I but written
one immortal poem, what a glorious consolation !
IJut this shall be my epitaph, if I have a tomb-
stone at all : —
" 'Twas not a life ;
'Twas but a piece of childhood thrown away."
Poor David Gray! One over - mastering passion,
the ever -burning desire for fame, swallowed up
every other in his bosom, and were it not for lines
here and there soattered over his remains, we
might be ready to say in reading his life, — "Vanity
of vanities, all is vanity." There is hope, however,
of one who wrote —
"There is life with God,
In other kingdom of a sweeter air ;
In Eden every flower is blown."
To sum up all that we have written: Goodr -sa,
not greatness, is the only certain pathway to im-
A'&
P^u 'JJmmortulitn to be ^Ursirci).
149
mortality. When combined, they constitute a glori-
ous life, but if we cannot reach the latter, let us
by all means secure the former. I'hc shortest
biography on record is the most honored : — " Mnoch
walked with (iod, and he was not. for (jod took
him." Mow much is included in these brief words !
Humility — gentleness — purity — separation from the
world — likeness to Christ — and zeal for Mis glory.
We live in an age when such solid virtues are
undervalued. Gifts, not graces, are now reckoned
valuable. Men esteem the favor and applause of
the multitude of more account than the esteem oT
Heaven. On all hands busy brains are at work
seeking eminence in the world ; but how few, by
patient con<:inuance in well-doing, strive after honor,
glory, and immortality ? Such glory is worth the
living for ; is praiseworthy to seek after, and
certain to be enjoyed if consistently pursued. It is
held up before us as an incentive to noble actions ;
as a spur to quicken our flagging energies; and as
more than a recompense for the trials of the pre-
sent scene. Ye humble and holy workers for the
good of your fellow -men, be comforted by the
thought that you are not and cannot be forgotten.
150
%n ?<mmortiilitn to be XlcsirfL).
H
i. I
|iii
You who from clay to day are toiling'; and doinf^
noble actK without seeking the praise of man ; you
who are living like the Ma'^tcr. and bearing untold
sorrows without diselosing them to your fellow
men : you who arj poor and despised and un-
known : — do not fret or murmur because of your
obscurity. You belong to Christ. Your dust is
precious in His sight. After death, He will not
only keep your bone.i in safety until the resurrec-
tion morn, but he will make your name and memory
sweet in the ears of living men. When the
military hero dies, the nation mourns. A
thousand chimes of bells waii the tidings to the
people, and poets sing his praise. Hut when a
good man dies, Heaven secures His immortality.
Angels strike their harps, and joy pervades the
ranks of the redeemed. The real heroes of the
world lie in graves marked by no monuments, but
their memory pervades society as the atmosphere
girdles and permeates every nook and corner of the
globe. Dying they begin to live — completing those
grand and noble projects which the world despised
when first conceived. John Bunyan, Richard Baxter,
VVilberforce, Jonathan Edwards, Whitfield, Wesley,
^u ImmortiilitiT to br iHcsirci).
151
Knox, Luther, Chalmers, Guthrie, and such men,
are better known and more highly esteemed than
when they lived. We miss their bodily presence,
but we feel the mi-hty grasp of their spiritual
power that rules the world. Though dead, such
men speak, and are held in everlasting remem-
brance.
% itlu §m's lirccttng.
I! 'M
" ^clobctr, I luis^ nhobt all things that tljon wancst
prosper, ant) be in Ijcalth. eben as tl^Q soul
prospcreth. — 3R0 Epistle of John, 2.
At this season of the year the exchanf^e of
Christian greetings and good wishes for each other's
welfare is eminently fitting. Human life, in its
brightest moments, has enough of trial and disap-
pointment, without foreshadowing or anticipating
coming evil. To enjoy, in a spirit of sincere thank-
fulness, the mercies bestowed upon us from day to
day. and go forward hcpefuUy to the unknown
future confident of the protection and favour of
Heaven, are the dictates of enlightened faith.
The beloved apostle John presents us- with a fine
example of such a Christian greeting. " Beloved, I
wish above all things that 'hou mayest prosper and
be in health, even as thy soul prospereth," is his
earnest prayer for his near and dear friend Gaius.
Apart from ;he inscription of the Epistle, we can
almost trace the author hf the loving language
\
^ ^ciij gtur's d^mting.
153
and simple style of the sentence. There is a certain
indescribable {;raciousness and affection about all
the writings of John, found in none other of the
Apostles ; a tenderness of expression which became
sweetened and softened as years increased. Having
shared largelv in the love of his Dix-ine Master, he
is earnestly desirous that this same love may be
visible in all the members of the Christian Church
— that their affection for each other might be so
conspicuous as to win over a sceptical and ungodly
wo
rid. " He is the mirror of love. He had been
so often with his Master, and leaned upon His
bosom, that like men who have lain in beds of
spices, he had the perfume of delight upon hi
m.
Love was the never- varying theme of his sermons,
and the sum of what he wrote and acted out in
life.
Not contented with writing to the early
churches in their collective capacity, and exhorti
nc
them to the practice of charity, he seems to have
written private letters to such of their members as
enjoyed his personal friendship. Gaius was one of
these friends, and in all likelihood the same as
Paul mentions, in his Epistle to the Romans, as a
man of unbounded hospitality to the disciples and
I
!
I I
Hi
i II
1 i^
154
^ |lcfaj gear's ^^rctting.
servants of Christ. The same noble testimony is
borne to his character by John in this letter.
" Beloved, thou doest faithfully whatsoever thou
doest to the brethren and to strangers ; which have
borne witness of thy charity before the Church."
It was not ostentatiously to display his resources,
or to secure the good - will and favour of his fellow-
men, that he so acted. He was a man of ardent
piety, not ashamed to recognize and affiliate with
the despised followers of the Nazarene, and not
afraid to shelter all who came under his roof. He
was one of those great and large-hearted men that
Providence raises up in every age to be almoners
of Heaven's bounty to the needy and distressed, and
helpers to His church.
It is such a man whose welfare John desires, and
nothing can be more beautiful than the phraseology
employed. It is just as if he said, — " I wish that in
all things temporal you may be as prosperous and
successful as- you have been in things spiritual."
It is not a simple wish for the health and happi-
ness of his friend, but that his outward prosperity
may be proportioned to his inner joy, and " that
11
^ *iTcb |)cur's Erecting.
155
the current of his outward life may flow on
smoothly as the course of his spiritual being." In
the estimate of the Apostle, no man should seek
worldly advancement in advance of genuine piety
and the fear of God. Where the balance is not
thus carefully adjusted, it is bad for the man him-
self and injurious to society at large. The great
law of Christian ethics is, " Seek ye first the king-
dom of God and His righteousness, and all these
things shall be added unto you."
)ners
and
and
ology
at in
and
ual."
appi-
lerity
that
We gather from John's prayer for his friend
Gaius —
First : That the grace of God in the heart is not
of necessity incompatible with the possession of
wealth and influence. Gaius was, in a worldly
sense perhaps, " a great man," but he was at the
same time " a good man." He had not only secured
of this world's goods what enabled him to disburse
liberally for the glory of God, but he had received
into his heart the true, imperishable riches, which
no change of condition or estate could alienate
from his person. It is allowable for us also to
156
% ?kb tttnr's OTHCftinq.
c
•r
'■;
suppose that he had found the pearl of j^reat price
— the one thinj; needful — before that Providence had
so larij;eiy blessed hiin with temporal prosperity.
In too many cases riches come into the possession
of sordid, penurious, and avaricious men, who are
if;norant of the first principles of Christian steward-
ship, and the end for which such a talent is
entrusted to their keeping. Hut in the case of
Gaius, the heart was first made rich with the
love of Ciod before that his gains increased. He
was thus enabled by heavenly wisdom to use his
influence and estate for the good of men and the
highest mterests of Christ's kingdom upon earth.
Second: It is only sjch men that can be safely
entrusted with the elements of power and abundance
of riches. It needs a large supply of grace in the
heart to keep the head from becoming giddy when
fortune smiles upon us, and the world begins to
flatter. It is wrong to desire for any worldly man
great outward prosperity. It is neither for his own
good nor the interests of his fellow men that he
should possess power and position while destitute of
that inward satisfaction which is altogether inde-
^ |,Uto |lciir's (>3rcctiiui.
'57
pendent of external circumstances. No sij^ht in the
world is more melancholy and pitiable than to see
men outwardly gay and happy, while strangers to
the pure and imperishable joys which spring from
holy living. Riches, in the possession of such men,
have a direct tendency to harden the heart and
deaden the spiritual powers. Under the scorching
sun of worldly prosperity, whatever there is of
natural goodness and generosity of soul is sure to
dry up and wither, until the man becomes entirely
the creature of sense and the slave of unholy pas-
sions. Instances are innumerable where men's souls
have become petrified by years of uninterrupted
prosperity. Without the restraining influences of
God's grace, the heart becomes insensible alike to
all manifestations of Providence, whether of love or
judgment. As business increases — as wealth gives
men a conspicuous importance in the eyes of their
companions, and as they begin to feel themselves
of some consequence in the world — they look with
growing indifference on the state beyond the pre-
sent ; if indeed they do not become practical sceptics,
living without the knowledge of God here, and desti.
tute of desire to enjoy Him hereafter.
158
Third: The measure of worldly prosperity that
any one should wish for himself and others is to be
regulated by the state of his soul. As the soul
prospers, but not otherwise, are we to desire out-
ward prosperity. If this be a true principle, what
would the effect of such prayer, if answered, have
upon the outward condition of many professing
Christians ? li instead of wishing our friends, in
common phraseology, " a good New Year," and
"the compliments of the season," and "health and
wealth and happiness," we were to qualify our
greetings with the words, " as thy soul prospers,"
would it not reduce some of the richest and most
respectable men to abject beggary ? From being
looked up to as the honorable and exalted of the
earth, they would be despised and forgotW.>n in
their poverty and obscurity, and if our bodies were
only to enjoy health and vigour in proportion as our
souls were in such a condition, would not many of us
spend years on beds of languishing, without a moment's
rest from pain and sickness ? Such a prayer would
in effect be to many the invocation of a curse
rather than a blessing. " How iew of us would be
•outwardlv bettered — on how many would the out-
;^ Jleb Pear's Onreeting.
159
ward change be shocking to behold ! Let the body
be as the soul is, and how many who are now
seen in youth, and health, and comeliness of aspect,
would instantly assume the withered and wasted
look of age ! How many would become forms and
shapes from which the eye with instinctive disgust
would turn aw-
ay
Yet this is the rule of Chris-
tian life, as laid down in Scripture. Whatever
endangers the soul's welfare ; whatever cools our
spirituality ; whatever lessens our interest in the
affairs of Christ's kingdom ; whatever, in a word,
puts in jeopardy the welfare of the soul, is to be
carefully avoided, no matter what may be the
apparent sacrifice
What shall it profit a man
though he should gain the whole world and lose
his own soul ; or what will a man give in exchange
for his soul ?" Religion must keep pace with —
nay, should be in advance of — every outward bless-
ing we enjoy. If we do not grow in grace as we
succeed in business, and grow strong inwardly as we
flourish outwardly, then the cup of our prosperity
will ultimatelv become the instrument of our perdi-
tion.
i6o
^ ^cfaj ^Uur's o3rcfting.
One of the first sermons preached by the writer
of these lines was to a con{;ref;ation, one of whose
members had but a few days before been elected
to the Conj^ress of the United States. He was a
man of marked ability, and had occupied almost
every position of honour in the church and com-
munity where he resided. Descended of a godly
family, his father having for many years presided as
an upright judge, this man had been the subject
of many prayer- and, up to that time, had nobly
fulfilled the highest expectations of his friends ; nor
is it known to the writer that he has ever deteri-
orated from tlie high standard of principle and
piety so early set before him. But his pastor was
anxiously solicitous for his spiritual welfare, regarding
the political honors conferred on him as bringing
to an end his usefulness in the church, atid leading
to his spiritual decline. It should not be so, it
may bo replied, and it is not always so, but in
very many instances rapid advancement in material
good is the precursor of moral ruin. Such fears
all ministers have, more or less, for souls i
n whose
eternal welfare they are interested. For, explain it
as we may, no one can deny that the Church of
iN i: I
§■ l^fto Jlcur's 03rccting.
i6i
Christ is most lar|;;ely indebted for unflaj^f^inf? zeal
and effort to her poorer members. When our
attachment to this world, so far as riches are con-
cerned, is little, the heart goes forth untrammelled
and unshackled to the work of preparing for the
next. When our capital in earthly things is small,
our interest in spiritual realities is large.
These remarks are not intended to produce a
spirit of indifference in regard to the welfare of the
body, or the necessary demands of material life.
There is, indeed, little danger that men will either
recklessly squander their health away, or fail to
take advantage of openings in the commercial world
that promise large returns for the capital invested.
The Apostle himself did not undervalue such things.
On the contrary, he prayed that his friend Gains
might enjoy health and prosperity. Health of body
is a prerequisite to soundness of mind. Without
health, no continuous labour can be comfortably
carried on, either in the secular or religious world.
Worldly prosperity is also a lawful object of ambi-
tion, provided we retain the mastery over the wealth
acquired, and do not allow the soul to fall down
II
l62
A Wdv yc;u's Oircrtinci.
i i
t •
and worship it. lUit beyond these, and of vastly
more importance, the health of the s(,ul is to
enj^ross our earnest attention. We are to be jea-
lous of every indication of declining; piety, and watch
over its alternations of feeling witli more interest
than the physician watches the changing countenance
of his patient and notes the beating of the pulse.
If the heart throb faintly — if its action is so weak
and sluggish and irregular that it can hardly force
the blood to the extremities, then life is in jeopardy.
And if the soul is so feeble in its spiritual pulsa-
tions that it has no relish for unseen things, then
spiritual death will speedily ensue.
Do not think us unkind, then, in view of these
statements, if we do not ask for any man more
material prosperity than his soul enjoys of spiritual
health. Better that a man be bankrupt in purse
than in soul. Better that he should have but bare
supplies from day to day, than that with large endow-
ment of this world's favors, his soul should be poor
toward God.- Real wealth consists not in houses
and lands, in gold and silver, but in faith, in love,
in humility, and Christian contentment. Such wealth
Ji IJthJ IJc'.u's ('3rccting.
163
becomes part of the man and enters into the very
essence of his moral beinj
It cannot be tilched
away by thieves, nor depreciated by the quotations
of the stock exchanj^e. It cannot be lost by acci
dent, nor is it left behind at the hour of death.
It lasts throu};h infinite ages — imperishable and
indestructible. And if, in the case of a Christi
an,
we should not and cannot ask for more, what shall
we say
of those whom God has blessed with health
and wealth and outward prosperity for many years,
but who have never once realised their indebted-
ness to Providence, and never experienced a single
grateful emotion ? We may not perhaps wish thai
God would suddenly strip them of all those things
they so highly prize, but we cannot certainly desire
that their riches may be increased. '* As soon wish
that fuel may be added to the raging fire, or fresh
lading to the sinking ship — as soon wish that
treasures of gold may be cast into the sea, as into
the cold, thankless, all - engulpliing selfishness of an
ungodly heart."
•?■ i I
How many men, then, who are outwardly pros-
perous, may be in what physicians characterize as a
, I! ft..
llii
Tf
164
5 ^tin jJtaxB (!5rc£turg.
m
most critical condition in so far as the health of
the soul is ccncerned ! It is with them the crisis
of the disease. The fever has reached such a stage
that it must either kill or be conquered. More
than ordinary applications are needed in such cases
to restore spiritual health. Unless God's omnipotent
power produces serious and solemn concern, the
issue will be fatal throughout eternity. The good-
ness and long-suffering of the Almighty seem to
produce in many cases callousness and indifference
to what should be the chief concern of every im-
mortal soul. The continuance of unbroken health,
and every material good that can minister to social
happiness, seem to lead some men to run riot
amid the pleasures and pastimes of the passing
hour. Like the rich .:an in the parable, they say:
" What shall I do, because I have no room where
to bestow my fruits? I will pul' down my barns
and build greater, and there will I bestow- all my
goods and my fruits. And I will say to my soul.
Soul, thou hast much goods laid up fo'- many years;
take thine ease ; eat, drink, and be merry." How
foolish such conduct, when, as w>. know, the present
life is, after all, but an insignificant part of man's
?•■ .
Li=
^ Hcto Jjeiir's (firtctiug.
165
existence ! The excitements and pursuits of the pre-
sent can do nothini:^ to allay those pangs of despair
which the soul must feel which has missed Heaven in
graspinj^ earth. Have you, my reader, ever taken
stock of your soul's wealth ? You have stated
periods in your business arrangements for calculating
profits and losses — seasons when you institute the
most rigid scrutiny into your monetary affairs, lest
in Lhe hurry of life some element fatal to your
prosperity should enter unperceived. Does not true
wisdom dictate a similar investigation into the
health and vigour of the soul ?
Let young men, especially, learn from these
remarks what kind of prosperity is most desirable,
and should enlist their earliest attention. The
common idea is, this world first, and heaven next ;
business now, re!' ^ic^ afterwards, 'ihe practlec is
to give to the v, ork uie best days of existence,
and what remains to God. " When I have cstab
I'.shed m}'self in business," says the young man,
" and acquired a certain amount of capital, and can
command leisure to think seriously of such weighty
matters as the salvation of the soul, then I will
r^smoBsmmaammm
m.i
166
% |lehj Ifear's (Sreeling.
set about it in earnest; but don't talk to me at
present of anything beyond my daily occupations."
What does such talk mean ?
longer take the same interest
" When I can no
in the world — when I
come
tc
)e a p
oor. broken - hearted and broken-
down old man, incapacitated for bodily and mental
effort, I will then devote to religion the time that
hangs heavy upon my hands, and endeavor to make
up for past neglect." Just as if the Almighty had
given a lease of life for so many
event of existence thus prolonged,
years, and in the
would accept of
such a mean and contemptible conversion ! The
man who deliberatelv jrives to Satan the
morning
and manhood of his life, lias no right to expect
mercy in old age or in his dying hour.
ii ^:
m
Some who read these lines have been greatly
blessed above their fellowmen with worldly pros-
perit)-. What, let me ask. are you dcing for Christ
in proportion as God has increased your stores ?
Are you giving in proportion as your means in-
crease ? Arc you dedicating of your substance to
the extension of His church in the world, and the
glorifying of His name ' This is what Gains did.
a: I !
167
He was a succourer of many. The early Church met
in his house, and the poor afflicted Christians nevei'
came to his door in vain. He ,ii;avc- liberally, and
worked earnestly for the spread of Christianity in
the world in an age when self-dei. ' was a daily
and hourly practice. How much m re should
Christians of the present da\-, who enjoy luxuries
and comforts alto^^ether unknown to the primitive
Christians ? What w ill money and possessions do
for an\- man when lying at the gates of death ?
Nothing but increase the agony of the dying h(>ur,
and fill the soul with unutterable dread at the
thought of meeting the Omniscient Judge ? " Ciive
an account of thy stewardship, for thou maycst no
longer be steward,'' is a summons often addressed
to men in the very prime of manhood, and
absorbed in the gains of commerce. To such how
significant are the words of Christ, — '' If ye have
not been faithful in ihe unrighteous mammon, who
will commit to your trust the true riches ?"
What, it may be asked, are the elements of soul
prosperity ? The elements of worldly prosperity arc
generally considered to be health, wealth, and
■
i
1 68
% Ut^ year's (L^rcetinq.
I s
!",'!,
-. -■' ^1
power ; succcvss in business or professional life ;
intluencc over our fellow - men, ;.ncl possession of
their favour. The elements of soul prosperity are
spiritual and symmetrical growth — the active exer-
cise, the gifts and graces made over to every
believer in Christ by the indwelling of the Holy
Spirit; a deeper piety and unfeigned humility; a
greater indifference to things visible and tangible,
and a growing meetness for Heaven. A man may
be a believer — saved by grace and certain of eternal
life, and yet by no means spiritually prosperous.
Many men in commercial life manage, by hard
fighting and unceasing struggles against misfortune,
to live and maintain their credit, and support
their families in some small degree of decency
and comfort, but they are by no ni'^ans what
men cab prosperous. They do not enjoy exis-
tence — it is to them a drudgery and source of
constant anxiety. The matters that demand daily
attention are, what they shall eat and drink,
and what they shall put on. How to meet
tlieir payments and satisfy their creditors are
questions that force themselves upon the mind by
day and by night. And so there are many good
I
I
^ ^Uto l^tur's (!5re£ting.
169
j
men in all our churches who simply live. The
flame of the Divine life exists, but nothing more.
The light is dim and flickering — not clear and
bright. They are at the best but timid, weakly and
sickly children in the family, in constant need of
care and nursing. They are, for some reason or
other, never perfectly assured of their own stand-
ing in Christ, and cannot testify to otI"'ers of the
riches of the kingdom. " What a hospital," says a
living writer, " is many a church ? Here lies one
poor man, down with a paralysis of faith. Here
is another, laid up by a sprain which he got by a
sudden fall into temptation. Here is one whom the
fever passion has burnt out. and looking hardly
worth the medicine to cure him. Here is another
under pastoral treatment for the blindness of unbe-
lief, and another whose gaping wound reveals the
spot where Satan's fiery dart wont in ! And here,
loo, is a whole do^en who skulked into the hospital
to get rid of the draft from Sabbath schools and
mission labours."
Now, in opposition to such weakness and infir-
raities, a prosperous soul is sound, healthy, and
F
IN
I!
I; r
|i**
170
^ ^eta Jlear's (!?rcetin;:|.
vigorous. He has got beyond the rudiments and
first principles o!" his faith. He can give to all
men a reason for the hope that is in him, and
declare to others the secret things of the kingdom.
He experiences even now that joy which is un-
speakable and full of glory. There is steady pro-
gress in Divine attainments. All the powers and
affections of the soul grow harmoniously and in
equal proportion. In many Christians there is a
distorted, one-sided growth. Some one grace over-
shadows all the others. The spiritual strength that
should be impartially distributed, through all the
members, seems concentrated in one. There is
nothing of that beauty and completeness of Christian
character described by the Apostle Paul when he
says, "till we all come in the unity of the faith,
and of the knowledge of the Son of (lod, unto a
perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of
the fulness of Christ." This however is the normal
condition of a really prosperous soul. There is
enlightened judgment, untiring zeal, fervent devotion,
outspoken profession, unfeigned charity and cheerful
liberality
In
won
a healthv Christian is
whole man. e\er able and ready to take his part
^ |lcfo Jtcnr's d^'rcctinci.
171
in the great enterprises of the church, and give
his aid in the evangelization of the world.
lan
he
h.
a
^.f
nal
is
on,
rfui
a
lart
Such a condition of heart is surely worth the
having. It can be attained and enjoyed by dili-
gence and dependence upon the grace of (jod. If
men would take half the pains to secure soul pros-
perity that they put forth to possess material good,
how different would be the condition of the Christian
world ! Success in business is dependent upon
perseverance, industry, unflagging purpose and devo-
tion to daily duty, and spiritual prosperity is
acquired by the use of all the means provided for
the culture of the soul. It has been wisely remarked
that there must be constant attention to little things.
The soul, as well a. the mercantile establishment,
often makes a failure solely through its neglect of
these. There must be a reliance upon one's daily,
regular, habitual work, rather than a looking for
sudden and unexpected gains, "It is not what the
soul does occasionally under great pressure, nor
what it learns or receives at rare intervals, that
sets it forward in <:rue prosperity, so much as what
it does from abiding principles rnd from a controlling
-K:~ >:
■ii'
n
172
Ji 3^<e(» gear's (l5rcctiug.
purpose of life daily pursued. And, finally, there
must be common sense — which is worth as much
in securing the soul's prosperity as it is in making
a fortune."
M, !
^'\
%\t Slastcv's Call.
" Zht duster is tome, nnb tnlUtb for tbce."
— John xi. 28,
" Why not sooner ?"' Mary might naturally have
responded when her sister Martha exclaimed, "The
Master is come, and calleth for thee." The time
was past when they most needed and desired His
presence. They had sent for Him, but He had not
come. Day after day they had looked anxiously
out of the window of the death - chamber, expecting
the approach of their well-known and welcome
Friend, until hope died within their breasts, and
the sorrow of bereavement dimmed their eyes with
tears. Now all was over ! Lazarus was dead, and
had been buried. Of what avail Christ's coming
now ? Nothing, but to open afresh the flood of
emotion, and give occasion for bitter regrets that
He had not sooner come to the help of these
lonely sisters. The language was, " If Thou hadst
been here, my brother had not died."
174
(Jbc Illastcr's Cull.
Ill
I'
n
V'l:
^:
And so we reason, in our moments of despair,
when the billows of the Almighty overwhelm us.
Because our prayers are not answered in the way
we want them ; — because the power of the disease
is not broken, and our friends restored to health ; —
because we are made to pass throu!;h dark and
mysterious Providences without the felt presence of
the great " I Am," we mourn and complain at
God's absence, and call in question His love and
friendship. We forget what the incident before us
clearly teaches, that the sympathy and consolation
of Heaven is as much required in the days that
follow bereavement as in the dying chamber ; that
it is when the heart begins to feel its loneliness,
and, realizing the awful blank that has been made,
seeks in sad and melancholy musings to perpetuate
its grief, that then, most of all, do we need the
presence of Christ and the consolations of religion.
Hut Mary did not so speak. Sorrow - stricken
though she was, she firmly believed that '• He had
done all things well," and that for some trood
reason He had come at last ; and, therefore, as
soon as she heard the words of Martha, — " the
1-
lU,
J
(?.|jc glustcr's (tiill.
175
Master is come, and calleth tor thee," — she arose
quickly and came unto Him.
;n
id
God never sends affliction or bereavement into a
Christian family without some special end in view.
As regards the individual, we may be sure the trial
is necessary — while a loud call is addressed to all
the members and friends of the family circle. We
may not at the time be able to trace the meaning
of His afflictive dispensations, or believe that love
and mercy are mingled with each and all ; but
there is no cause to doubt the declarations of
Scripture, that " whom the Lord loveth He chasten-
eth," and " scourgetii every son whom He rcceiveth,"
and that He doth not \villingl\' afflict the children
of men. We cannot, in the present case, tell why
the friend of Christ, whose character bears no stain
whatever, so far as narrated, was subjected to weary
days of painful agony, and linally to pass through
the darkness of the grave ; but we can rest assured
that in his case, as in the case of th.e bereaved
sisters, some high purpose was accomplished, and
some useful lesson taught. It was to improve the
sad event, sanctify the death, and prepare them for
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the speedy resurrection of their brother, that Christ
now approached the house in Bethany, where often
in former days He had been a welcome visitor. He
came not simply to weep with those who wept,
and sympathize with the broken - hearted, but to
inspire with a nobler faith, and to impart the better
consolations of His grace.
I remark then, that in times of severe affliction
and bitter bereavement, the Master culls us to com-
mune with Hii)i. He would have us leave behind
weeping relatives and mourning friends, and seek
the retirement of the closet, where, alone with our
Maker, we may unburden our hearts and learn His
will. Mary had often before this sat at the feet
of Christ, and enjoyed profitable communion with
Him. V/hile her sister Martha was busy with the
duties of the home in Bethany, Mary preferred to
hear the Master discourse of Divine and eternal
realities. But in these days no sickness marred
the even tenor of their way — no shadow crossed
their path — no gloom or melancholy intt-rfered with
their innocent enjoyments. Happy in each other's
society, and favoured with the presence of the
I
Sav,„ur around their humble board, .hey seemed
specaliy exempted from the misfortunes and the
calammes more common to the world, and had no
special call to muse upon the lessons of mortality
so long as the family circle was unbroken
But all this is now rhan . \r
cnan^ Afo..„ n,ust enter
upon another department of s...^. ..i^.e with
Chnst she must be taught the reasons .{ God's
-:-erious deahngs with her, and be led more suu-
-ss.vely to aci<nowledge His goodness and bow to
His will. The Master ha! come nnH
come, and now called
her to impart such knowledge as she i.ad n,
yet learned, nor could possess sn^e in close c
munion with the Saviour.
ever
cm-
We are called, then, in times o distress, to
nearer and more intimate fellowship with Heaven
than ,n the usual conditions of a religious life. It
is presumed thai every child of God enjoys com
munion with his Maker in every season of existence
and that without such companionship his spiritual'
l.fe would decline and languish. Rut ^e need
occasionally to withdraw from the common surround-
178
Ut Muster's (JliiU.
c^K'
ings of the family and Christian society, and, alone
with Christ, talk of unexplained and mysterious
Providences that cause us no little mental anxiety.
Mary must leave Martha behind when she would
commune with Jesus. She had her own singular
thoughts and feelings which no one else could
understand ; her own difBculties which no one else
could remove but the Master. Much rejoiced we
cannot doubt she was when she heard her sister
say, "The Master cometh, and calleth for thee.''
! ,
Do I not speak the experience of God's children
when I say that amidst the common employments
of life and when all things re prosperous with us,
we often neglect secret communion with God ? The
pressure of business — the cares of the family — the
endless official engagements that demand our atten-
tion from week to week, leave us little time for
meditation — for silent, secret prayer, and calm un-
disturbed communion. We all feel this, — we lament
it; and yet when some startling and severe calamity
comes upon us, intended to arouse us from our
carnality and summon us to closer fellowship with
God, instead of regarding it in this light we mur-
f ^c p-.istcr's rail.
'79
mur and repine at the cruel judgment, llow lew
of us, brethren, save when laid aside by sickness^
have an opportunity to review our past life — to
examine our hearts — to ask ourselves the question,
most solemn and important, how we stand towards
(iod and eternity! How seldom, save when cnlled
to the bedside of the dyini^, or the house of
mourning, or the grave -yard, do we sincerely con-
template our latter end ! — and even then it is I-sut
a passmg re
Hect
ion.
When the grave has been
filled — dust to dust, and a; lies to ashes : — b;
again
to our homes, and engrossed among the cares of
the world, we too soon foriret the lessons that such
)ft- repeated sights are i;;tended to impress up
on
the mind. But when the little child is laid low in
death, and the cradle is left empty, and its innocent
prattle is no longer heard ; or when the blooming
son o
r daughter is snatched away in the openii
years of life and hope ; or when the husband or
wife is taken from the centre of the household ; —
then we are compelled to turn our thoughts inward,
and enquire into the reason of God's dealings with
us. When the windows are darkened — and the bell
is muffled — and the soft footsteps of enquiring friends
i8o
<rbr master's crnll.
and sympathisers are heard in the room of death,
and we iee! iiloiic in the world, and for the first
time realise what death is, as we stand before the
silent remains of beloved friends ; — then we feel
there is only one we can converse with. " The
Master has come, and calleth us."
But I remark, aj^ain, the Master comes at such
iseasons and calls us ti) experience Ilis sympathy unci
receive Divine (onsohition. Mary and Martha were
not altogether friendless in Bethany ; the narrative
shows the reverse. They and their brother were
held in high esteeni. We cannot doubt but that
during the illness of their brother, and after his
death, many enquiring Jews were seen approaching
their home, tendering their loving services, and
doing what they could to mitigate their sorrow.
Blessed be God, human sympathy is not limited to
any one nation or kingdom. The rude, uncivilized
barbarian that lives in the desert, shows, in his own
peculiar way, that he can feel, and sympathise, and
weep with friends who weep. But the bereaved
sisters, accustomed to the tender tones of a
nearer and dearer friend than could be found
^t P:istcr's (Tall.
i8i
among the circle i)f their relatives, were only mocked
by the common forms of grcf; and the u.;ual
accompaniments of Oriental sadness. They would
far rather be left alone, in soHtucle and tears, to
brood over their severe affliction, and perpetuate
their sorrow.
It is worthy of notice that Christ came to
sympathize and console, not at the very moment of
bereavement, but after some days had clasped.
Lazarus had been buried, and the mourning sisters
had returned to their desolate home. Purposely —
as we learn from His own words — He had remained
absent until the present hour. There was doubtless
good reason for such conduct. There are times
when we want no sympathy whatever ; when the
kindest attentions of friends are a burden, and their
presence an intrusion. Grief must have its outlet —
the overflowing heart mu'-:t have unrestrained free-
dom in giving expression to its grief. We do not
want the usual commonplace, and, shall I say, ill-
advis'^d visits of well - meaning friends, who know
but little of our condition, and but increase our
anguish. We feel it better to sit in sackcloth and
i 1! lliJ
%i
182
a^t plaster's (Hull.
in ashes, and weep beside our dead, than see the
face of any livin;; beinp. Surely the ahliction has
been sent for this, among other reasons, that alone
we may commune with our own hearts, and taste
the full bitterness of bereavem;.'nt. We shall wel-
come the tender words of frienus, who have expe-
rienced similar bereavements, after time has been
given for the outgushing of our emotions ; but ti"!!
then let not the silence be broken.
But a period comes when we need sympathy and
consolati )P. We must not remain disconsolate —
weeping as those who have no hope. The heart
yearns for companionship. Gradually we can bear
the beams of lijrht in the darkened chambers
tl
le
soul, and seek for words of sympathy and consolation.
Then, oh how gratifying the tidings, " The Master
Cometh, and calleth for thee
We would not
undervalue the real sympathies of Christian friends
who speak tenderly of Jesus and His compassion.
We delight to hear of that Great High Priest, who,
touched with a feeling of our infirmities, has pity
for us in all the ills of life, — but above all this,
we would see Jesus Himself. We would like to
(tljc piisfcr's (full.
183
hear from His own lips the Divine consolation
which is His alone .0 olTer. Silently we would
pillow our head upo.. His bosom, and sink into
His arms of love. He knows us as no other pos-
sibly can; the precise condition of our minds — the
part of our emotional nature that most needs
succour; what truths and promises are best fitted
to restore us to our natural calmness, and make
us triumph over Death itself. He has wounded, and
He alone can bind up;— He has chastised, and He
can heal ; — He has dimmed our eyes with tears,
and rie alone can dry them.
We cannot, as Mary and Martha, hear from
Christ's own lips those consolations of His grace
that are so well fitted to cheer our sinkinj^ souls.
He no longer stands by our open graves, weeping
with us at the loss of our friends. Hut His glori-
fied humanity in Heaven is still cognizant of our
earthly agonies. He is as ready, and as able to
comfort, as when He entered into humble cottage
homes, and talked with bereaved friends. Ere He
left the world, He promised the disciples that He
would send "the Comforter," who in periods of
1 84
(The Paster's i^nll
despondency and j^ricf would minister to their wants.
And there are times when we are thus made sensible
of "the Master's caU," in and throuf^h the operation
of tiie Spirit upon our hearts. Have we not alt
felt how certain passages of God's word, borne in
upon our spirits in moments of heaviness, have
exercised a power and produced results altogether
singular and inexplicable ; — changing our feelings,
banishing our doubts, tranquili;iing our fears, and
mitigating our sorrows. We have been conversant
with the same truths for years, and have heard
them repeated again and again by ministers and
friends, but never before have we grasped their
fullness. In the light of our affliction they possess
a sweetness, an adaptedness, — a wealth of comfort
never before understood. We feel that it is wrong
to mourn and murmur. The trial has been sent in
mercy, and we are able to say " Thy will be done."
But, iinally, on this point I remark, that in such
seasons the Master calls us to behold greater reve-
lations of His power and goodness. Martha had great
confidence in the Omnipotence of Christ to raise
her brother from the dead, but we can hardly
S;bt Paster's tfall.
1^5
believe she expected so much. She knew that
whatever He asked of His leather in Heaven would
be }:;ranted, and she looked forward to the resur-
rection, when her brother would rise, as Christ
seemed to hint in His conversation. Hut an im-
mediate restoration to life was more than she could
hope for. Had He come sooner He mif;ht have
averted the final issue, but now that the blow
had been struck, there was nothing but submission
to the mysterious decree of Heaven.
Hut Christ had designs of mercy with these sor-
rowing sisters far beyond their expectations. He
would assert His claims to Divinity as He had
never done before, and, in the recalling of Lazarus
from the grave, would astonish and convince the
most incredulous Jew. It was not singular He should
desire to see the place where His friend was buried,
and, standing over the grave's mouth, pronounce
some words of hope. Hut more than this He pur-
posed in His present visit to Hethany. And so we
read that, when He came to the grave. He com-
manded that the stone should be taken away, and
after lifting His eyes in prayer to His Father in
i86
'he 3Kl;istcr's €\\\\.
'*
Heaven, He cried with a hiud voice, " Lazarus,
come forth." Straightway the dead came forth, —
the hh)od hcf;an to circulate in the veins — the eyes
to beam with intellif:jence, and the tongue to
speak. " Loose him and let him go," said the
Saviour, and Lazarus, leaving behind him for a time
the gloomy prison of the grave, was restored to
his beloved sisters. Such a wonderful manifestation
of Christ's power and goodness they had never
before witnessed during all the previous years of
intimacy and friendship.
Now, in seasons of distress the Master comes,
and calls us to witness similar manifestations of
His power. He does not literally bring back our
friends to life, hut He does what is of equal value.
He brings us to regard them as not dead but
living; as only removed from sensual vision, but
still palpable and real to the grasp of faith. And
need I say what wonderful relief the stricken soul
experiences in this comforting thought. The first
feeling that comes with the sight of death, is the
breaking up of associations and friendships, cemented
and strengthened by years ; the end of hopes and
I •;
(Llic blaster's Cull.
187
fond desires ; the sunderinj; of attachments that
formed the very essence of our enjoyment in the
present world. It is very true, that believers in
the doctrine of a future state and a glorious
resurrection to everlastinj; life, ou,i;ht never to regard
death in such a gloomy light. T.ut in spite of the
Christian's creed, the possibility of such eternal
separation, and kindred thoughts, unscriptural though
they be, will torment the mind and agitate the soul
beyond endurance. It is not until a certain
measure of calm reflection has been obtained that
we arc able to overmaster our fears, — to silence the
sceptical suggestions of our material nature, and to
feel that the dead are with us still, only in the
enjoyment of a nobler and purer existence.
But passing from such thoughts, more immediately
springing out of the text, I add that there is a
time near at hand, when it shall be said to one
and all of us, "The Master is come, and calleth
for thee." To some, that will be the hour of death,
and how soon none of us can tell. We have no
guarantee that life will be lengthened by a single
day, or that we shall have timely warning of our
1 88
^hc Poster's (!:ull.
end. To how many does the Master come suddenly
and unexpectedly ; in the enjoyment of health and
vigor, and with every indication of a long and use-
ful existence. To others the call will come at the
Second Advent. "Behold I show you a mystery; we
shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed in
a moment, in the tvvinkling of an eye, at the last
trump ; for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead
shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be
changed." We shall not all die, or enter the
grave. There will be found, when Christ comes in
glory to judge the world, numbers of the human
family, who shall simply be transformed so as to
fit them for the life of Heaven. "We which are
alive and remain, shall be caught up together with
them, — (the dead in Christ) to meet the Lord in the
air, and so shall we ever be with the Lord." It
is useless to speculate as to the time of Christ's
coming. Far more important is it that we should
be ever prepared for that event. As in the days
of Peter, so now — there are to be found many
scoffers, walking after their own lusts, and saying,
"Where is the promise of His coming? for since
the fathers Icll asleep, all things continue as they
Cbr ijl:istci's tfall.
189
were from the be-inning of the creation." The delay
Js not reason for doubt as to the fact. The Scrip-
tures emphatically declare it. The world demands
the coming of the Lord. The entire creation groans
and labours under the burden of sin. Our own
reason and conscience call for a day when rectitude
and justice shall be manifesled to the living and
the dead. -The Lord is not slack concerning His
promise -. * ^ ^j-,^^. ^^^^. ^^. ^,^^ ^^^^^^ ^^.^^ ^^^^^^^
as a thief in the ni-^ht ; in the which the Heavens
shall pass away with a great no.se, and the elements
shall melt with a fervent heat; the earth also and
the works that are therein shall be burned up."
But to all the call will come at the Day of Judgmait.
Whether our bodies have reposed for ages in the
grave, and our souls have for a like period inhabited
the spirit - world, or whether body and soul are to
be instantaneously changed so as to fit us for appear-
ing at the bar of Ciod :-to all of us it shall one
day be said, " The Master is come, and calleth for
thee." The call is to a solemn and final investi-a-
tion of life's work-to acquittal or condemnation-to
hear-each one tor himsjf and herself-the impartial
sentence of the Great Jehovah. From that dread
I go
(Tije Pnslcr's (Hull.
bar there is no escape. Every eye shall see the
great white throne, and every ear shall hear his
doom.
The call to many of us — come in what lorm it
may, and at what time it may — shall be unexpected
and sudden. As it was in the days ot Noah, when
the flood came upon the earth, so shall be the
Master's call. Hence the necessity of constant
preparedness. Are your affairs settled with yo.ir
Maker? Is your calling and election sure? Have
you the lamps trimmed and burning, and the loins
girt about ? Are you ready to welcome ihc bride-
groom when He comes, and go in with Him to the
marriage ? Business men at certain seasons ot the
year., are found balancing their books, closing their
accounts, examining into the true state of their
affairs, testing their solvency, and arrangin-^ to meet
pecuniary demands that press upon them. .\re vou
doing the same in regard to the more important
affairs of the soul ? Have you settled your accounts
with your Maker ? Are you read\- at any moment
to render an account of your stewardship ? Are
you living, nom day to day, und^r a realizing sense
mmmmmm
^ht Paster's (f-iiH.
191
of your awful nearness to the Eternal World, and
the dreadful interests that are at stake, when Time,
for you, shall be no more ?
Now, in order that you may conscientiously
answer such questions, let me suggest a few prac-
tical thoughts worthy the solemn consideration of
every Ii.irer of the Gospel. Have I, during the
past year, improved the many privileges that a
merciful God has put within my reach ? Have I
availed mystlf of the outward means of grace, and
presented myself before the Lord when the doors of
the Church have been thrown open ? Have I
engaged in the devotions of the sanctuary under a
recognition of the Master's presence, and with a
strong determination to benefit by the spoken Word ?
And have I prefaced and followed my Sabbath dav
exercises with earnest prayer for God's blessing ?
1 fear many of us cannot answer those queries
satisfactorily to ourselves ; far less if standing in
the presence of the Judge "f all the earth. A^ain,
ask yourselves what attainments in holiness — what
large and accurate views of divine truth, and what
clearer conceptions of your acceptance and peace
1 '.
[ 'U-
[]1
iHH*--'
;' .
192
€ht lliTstcr's (TuH.
with G 'd, have you reached? Or, if you would
prel'cr the testimony oT the life, rather than the
experience of the soul, then taUc iionest account of
your past actions. What have you accomplished
during the past year for the good of humanity,
the glory of God, the extension of His cause and
the hastening of His Kingdom upon the earth ?
Have you cheerfully responded to the many calls
in Providence that have been addressed to all who
profess to be followers of Christ ? Or, have you,
on the plea of inability, worldly occupations, or
mere want of inclination, turned a deaf ear to these
entreaties ? However much we have accomplished,
the best must feel how insignificant have been their
aims, and how poor their achievements. But, oh !
how dreadful must be the retrospect of an utterly
wasted and fruitless year.
To many families in this Church, during the year
noM closing, the words have been addressed — " The
Math-r i:i come, and callcth for ihcc." To those of us
mercifully exempted from the shadow of death, the
call is just as loud and personal. We are members
one of another, and when one member suffers, all
Ut Piisttr's €ni\.
193
the other members suffer with it. We cannot
predict who shall next be called into the presence
of the Judge, or what family shall first be made to
feel the chastening rod! Year after year new
breaches are being made; the faces of friends dis-
appear from our ranks, and the grave encloses all
that is mortal from our view. Blessed be God, we
know that this is not the end of human friend-
ships. After Mary had come to see Christ He
said unto her, in order to calm her fears and
strengthen her faith in His power to quicken the
very dead: "Said I not unto thee that, if thou
wouldst believe, thou shouldest see the glory of
God;" and forthwith that glory was manifested far
beyond her expectations. We still wait a similar
display of Almighty power. Concerning them which
sleep in jcsus we sorrow not even as those
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."
13
!i
ii'
f ™
1^
I
I t
r. '
!j t- -
f f'
Coucjjing Ijis 6armnit.
" ^Ijc tiinu bcljinb aub toiuljci) ^)is t^arnunt."
— Mark v. 27
The miracle wrought by Christ upon the poor
woman afflicted with an issue of blood, is one of
the many evidences the Scriptures afford of Christ's
readiness to do good at all times — to the bodies as
well as the souls of men. This woman, to use the
language of common life, was cured by incidentally
meeting Ciirist on His way to raise the daughter
of Jairus. While He is addressing the Pharisees,
as we learn from the context, this ruler comes to
Him, beseeching Him to come and see his child,
who is lying at the point of death, if not dead
already. On His way to the house of Jairus, this
poor woman presses through the crowd that follows
Christ, touches the hem or border of His garment,
and is instantly cured. Meanwhile, the daughter
of the rich man — the possibility of whose recovery
seemed to depend upon Christ's immediate presence
— has died, to the great distress of her mourning
Southing |is O^iirmcitt.
195
friends, and the evident annoyance of on - lookers,
who imagine that Christ's presence is no longer of
any avail. Better, doubtless such people thought,
for Christ at once to have hastened to this desperate
case, without allowing Himself to be delayed by this
poor afflicted woman, But Christ thought differently.
Possessed of infinite resources, He could as easily
raise the dead as cure the dying; and so, on His
way to raise the maiden, He heals this aged suf-
ferer. In His eyes, though poor, her life was just
as precious as the daughter of the ruler.
Let us look briefly at this poor woman's case,
and next at her faith, as expressed in the words of
our text— "She touched His garment." She had
been long afflicted with the issue of blood ; for
twelve years she had never known what it was to
be free from pain. She had, during that long period,
tried many a pretended cure, and spent all her
living upon physicians, without receiving any relief.
Nay, we are told she rather grew worse under the
repeated changes of treatment to which she was
subjected. Her malady had become chronic, and
doubtless she often felt that there was no cure for
E
r
I
!^ I
It
!■ I
196
S^oucbinq Dis Oiiurmcnt.
it but tlic f^rave. And so it would have been but
for the timely arrival ot" the Saviour, whose won-
drous displays of j^race and power were not entirely
unknown to this poor woman. IJy what means she
was apprized of Clirist's approach we are not
informed, but one thinj; we know, that she lost
no time in luirryinf; towards Him. As Satan
said concerninj^ J<^'b, " vSkin for skin, yea, all that
a man hath, will he j;ive for his life." She had
nothing more to j:^ive, but if cured at all by Christ,
she knew it would be free. She does not stop
this wonderful physician and state her case. She
rather shrinks from His presence, desirous of steal-
ing a cure without the knowledge of the Saviour.
The crowd is great, and at first it would seem as
if it were folly for this poor, enfeebled, wasted
creature, to attempt to touch Him. But in pro-
portion to the weakness of her body is the strength
of her faith. " If I may touch l)ut His clothes,"
she says, " I shall be whole ;" and this, at what-
ever peril, she is determinetl to effect. So, with
wondrous pertinacity, and the putting forth of what
to her was supernatural strength, impelled by a
force of will that overcomes all obstacles, she
5*^ondjing }X)\b (^ixxmtnt.
197
presses in behind, touches H
way finds the fountain of her blood dried
body is healed of the plague that has so 1
s garment, and straight-
up. Her
om
is secured, she
dragged her down to the j^rave. Th
desires nothing further. Satisfied with a bodily
cure, she has as yet hut little conception of the
far
worse malady that is wasting th
c soul.
But
Christ will
teach this
make the
ire complete. He must
poor woman more of His character and
His love than she has ever yet learned, and there-
fore He says, turning about on the crowd, " Who
touched my clothes ?" The act
un
perceived by all
but Chri;:t, and 1,
nown only to the timid, shrink
iner
woman, who now comes trembling to His feet,
must carry with it far greater results th
an she had
ever intended. And so we read, when slic had told
Him all the truth, instead of ad
ministering rebuke,
He said unto her, "Daughter, thy faith hath made th
ee
whoh
go in peace, and be whole of thy pla^
:ue.
Now, apart from the plain declaration of Christ,
I can easily fancy that we should characterize this
woman's act as mere superstition rather than effi-
cacious faith ;— akin to the act of the poor deluded
I
198
fouthing ¥)is (Garment.
Romanist, who imagines that kissinj; the crucifix in
some way secures exemption from bodily diseases
or the guilt of sin ; or that of the High Church
Ritualist, who places dependence on mere external
ordinances rather than in the completed work of
Christ. " Of what value," it may be said, " a mere
touch ? Whatever the result may have been, so
far as the woman was concerned it was a mere
delusion, a fancy, a fond, superstitious hope, alto-
gether different from real, genuine, saving faith."
Now, in the outset, we must admit that the
woman had genuine faith. We have nothing at
present to do with its strength or the degree of its
enlightenment ; we simply have to do with the fact
that faith existed in this poor woman. The narra-
tion of the miracle by the three Evangelists is not
intended to hold her up as a specimen of faith that
Christians are to rest contented with, but rather
to show how little and how weak a faith may
procure eternal blessings from the Son of God.
That it was genuine we dare not doubt, for the
cure effected was in response to her faith. Christ
could not possibJy mistake the woman's feelings,,
southing ^)is dfiarmcnt.
igg
for He says " Thy faith hath made tlicc whole,"—
instrumentally at least, if not directly.
What, then, are some of the characteristics of
this faith ? I answer— First : // was an unenlight-
ened faith. What did she believe ? vSimply that in
Christ there was power to cure her of her issue of
blood ; that if she in some way got herself into
contact with the living; Man— even if she but touched
the hem of His j^arment— she would be cured. She
looked upon Christ as dispensing,' temporal blessings
unconsciously; that His will, and compassion, and
Omnipotence, had nothing whatever to do with the
miracles performed. She seemed to believe that
the cure would be as perfect if secured without, as
with the cognizance of the Saviour. I presume,
that, akin to the delusions practised upon thousands
many years ago, who went on pilgrimages to touch
the " Holy Coat of Trenes," she imagined that in
the fabric there resided the magic charm that
wrought cure upon the person whose finger
touched it.
Secondly: It was a very narrow and circumscribed
faith. It sought nothing more than the cure of
200
Coutljing %)x$ OSarmcnt.
the body. It never ima{;inecl that the person who
could, consciously or unconsciously, work such a
miracle, could, in the hi^'lier region of the heart
and inind, perform still greater wonders. It may
be answered, with some show of justice, that the
first thing this poor woman needed was the drying
up of her fountain of blood, and that, probably, this
accomplished, she would press for still greater
blessings. There is no evidence of this whatever.
But for Christ's interposition she would have secretly
withdrawn, without even telling, to the crowds that
followed Christ, the wonderful relief she had experi-
enced. She wanted present health, and nothing
more. She cared nothing for pardon — peace — present
assurance, and everlasting happiness.
II
Thirdly: li ii'cis very weak faith. She could not
face the Saviour. She was afraid that she might
be repelled. vShc was by no means confident of
His treating her case with consideration and
sympathy. Had she possessed strong faith, she
would have at least made known her sad condition,
even supposing that the cure was possible without
His knowledge or interference, and gladly poured
(toiithinq li)is (Durmtut.
201
forth her gratitude when sensible of relief. She
knew nothing of that holy boldness that the apostle
speaks of, which enables the believer to come to the
throne of grace to obtain mercy and find grace to
help in time of need,— n thing of that continued
wrestling which characterised Jacob when he said
" I will not let thee go except thou bless me,"—
and received power to prevail over God and man.
But feeble, unenlightened, circumscribed though it
was, it was nevertheless genuine faith so far as it
went. It held fast by one fact, that Christ had
power to save ;— that her issue of blood was curable
if she could but touch His garment. It was not
that strong faith which unites the soul to Christ,
and enables the advanced believer, casting all
fears and doubts to the winds, to repose with
perfect security upon His finished work. It had no
respect to spiritual blessings whatever, and yet, in
spite of all these defects, it was none the less
genuine faith.
There arc different kinds of faith, as well as degrees
of faith. There is the feeble clinging faith of the
202
Slouching ^is (Jnnrmcnt.
'Sti .!
new-born babe in Christ, and the strong masculine
grasp of the experienced believer. And there is a
faith that takes hold of Christ as the source and
dispenser of minor benefits, and a faith that trusts
Him for everything the sinner needs, whether apper-
taining to the body or the soul. In many cases
this weak, ignorant, unenlightened faith precedes
the strong confidence that more frequently belongs
to maturer age ; — nay, may I not venture to say,
that often God's gracious compassion towards the
ailments of the body makes trembling sinners bold
to seek the more valuable blessings of redemption.
Many a man, who never thought anxiously about
his soul's salvation, has been brought to serious
reflection by answers given to his prayers for the
restoration of some beloved child. With that instinct,
if we may so call it, which drives the most wicked
men in times of calamity to their knees, he
beseeches the Almighty to grant the cure desired,
and bless the means employed, and, the prayer
being granted, becomes the means of leading him
to the exercise of a higher faith in God's mercy
towards lost and perishing souls. If there is faith
at all — sincere and genuine — there is hope of
S^outlimg ^is ^iirmcitt.
205
increase and strength. We must never despise the
lisping, stammering accents of the youn': convert,
nor laugh at the crude and undigested ideas he
entertains of the doctrine of grace and the work of
Christ. The faith of the most advanced heliever is,
after all, nothing to boast of. In the estimation of
the higher intelligences of creation, it may seem
as incomplete and unsatisfactory as does the faith
of this poor woman, which reached no farther than
the border of Christ's garment. I am not one of
those who laugh to scorn the devotee clasping the
crucifix, and lying prostrate before the cross and
altar which symbolize a suffering Saviour ! The
material crucifix and cross cannot certainlv impart
any lasting virtue, but who knows but the eye that
seems to rest upon the cross and crucifix may
pass on to the Crucified Redeemer, and rest in His
active intercession with the Father rather than in
the wooden symbol. By means of such representa-
tions, rude and vulgar though they may appear to
the refined and spiritual worshipper, the ignorant,
simple-minded suppliant may reach the heart of
Christ.
204
S^ouclj'mg ^is OfJurmcnt.
Why, the faith of this poor woman seems to me
wonderful, when we take into account her previous
circumstances. You, who from your earliest years
have had Christ presented to you as the Saviour
of men's souls as much as their bodies, and who
know that it was for this very purpose He came
to earth, cannot realize the difficulties that Jewish
or Pagan converts had to overcome before arriving
at a full - orbed faith in His Messiahship. The
predictions of Old Testament Scripture, concerning
the mission and death of Christ, were as yet
unintelligible to the great mass of the nation, and,
to very many of the Rabbis, Christ was chiefly
known as a wonderful miracle worker, and these
miracles were all performed on the bodies of men.
By the exhibition of this supernatural power He
desired to establish His claims to Divinity, and
gradually lead the minds of spectators to an appre-
hension of His sublimer attributes. All that this
poor woman knew of Christ was from common
report, as to His success in healing the diseased;
and yet her simple faith, resting upon the truth of
human testimony, led to a firm assurance of His
power to relieve her of her loathsome malady. It is
205
not likely she ever saw Christ before, or heard from
His lips any of those declarations regarding His
atoning work, which at later periods of His earthly
ministry He made known to the disciples and the
crowds that followed Him. She is not, therefore,
to be blamed because her faith was not in advance
of her knowledge ; if it was up to her knowledge,
it was far more than that ol Gosj-el hearers of the
present day.
Is my language too strong ? I repeat it then.
The faith the poor woiuan exercised is greater
than the faith of many Christians at the present
day, if we take into account their respective privi-
leges. You would regard it as insulting were I to
place \'our intelligence on a level with this poor,
uneducated, ill - informed Jewess. lulucated in a
Christian land, and from your childhood conversant
with the great facts of Christ's life and death, you
are not of those who cling to the beggarly elements
of a past dispensation, or restrict your faith to Ihe
mere forms and shadows of the past. Going beyond
all this, you value no forms of worship but what
are spiritual. You believe as much as did this
lii:
206
ilcutljing |)is (>3;irnuut.
poor woman in the reality of Christ's miracles
while on earth, but, f,'oing fa.rther than she did, you
regard them as types of the more malignant mala-
dies of the soul, which none but the Great Physician
can eradicate. Your faith rests not in times or
places, but in the all-sufficient merits of the cruci-
fied Nazarene. A truly good confession of faith,
my Christian hearers, if your practice is in accord-
ance with it ; but, on the other hand, a woful
testimony to your insincerity, if your faith fall
below your creed ! Corac now, honestly let us look
at the matter. You regard Christ as the great
soul saver. You never think of Him but as the
Anointed One, sent to preach good tidings to the
meek — to bind up the broken-hearted — to proclaim
liberty to the captives — to open the prison doors to
them that are bound. ifou glory in the fre^ness
and fulness of the atonement, saying, perhaps, in
the triumphant language of the Apostle, " God
forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of the
Lord Jesus Christ." You have no sympathy with
those who would interpose anything that is human
between Christ and the sinner, whether it be Priest
or Pope, or altar and censer ; and yet you ha' e
li^oucbiuci its (Ounucnt.
207
never yet accepted of that Saviour as offered you
in the Gospel ! Nay, you have not done so much
as this poor woman, who touched the hem of
Christ's garment because she knew no better
never yet seriously cried, '• God be merciful to me
a sinner."' Who, now, is the Ritualist ? Who is
it that is trusting in forms ? Who is it that, like
the Pharisee of old, is placing faith in washings,
and fastings, and phylacteries, and synagogue attend-
ance ? Whose faith is the more real— genuine ?
Whos<i conduct the most to be commended ? Verily
I say unto you, that the publicans and harlots
shall enter into the Kingdom of Heaven before you.
The men of Nineveh shall rise up in the judgment
with this generation of nominal Christians, and
condemn them ; for they repented at the preaching
of Jonas, but behold, a greater than Jonas is here!
In the estimation of Christ, her faith was pre-
cious, not, perhaps, for what it was as yet, but for
what it was destined to become. What she wanted
was more light; a deeper insight into the mysteries
of grace ; a clearer apprehension of her own wants,
and of Christ's fulness. This attained, she would
ii
208
oUonching '|)is d^armcut.
come to " the knowledj^e of the Son of God," — to
the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.
The proof that her faith, ho\ve\-er clouded and
incomplete, was {genuine, i^; furnished in the reply
of Christ and the instantaneous cure effected. It
was not, certainly, the touch of the f^arment that
made her whole, although she thought so as yet.
But it is unnecessary for the cure that Christ
should enter upon a lengthy explanation of the
nature of saving faith. He does not rebuke her
foolish trust — her childisli fancy. He does not
attempt in this stage of her Christian experience
to initiate her in the high things of the kingdom,
but, coming down to the low level of her under-
standing, He gives her what she wants, and in the
way she wants it. The cure comes indirectly
through the robe of Christ; but the worker is the
same Omnipresent, Omnipotent (lod, who honours
the weakest faith and welcomes the humblest
suppliant.
There is comfort here for the meanest and most
obscure of God's children. True faith, though
genuine, may be as feeble in its manifestations as
Couching ^is d^armtnt.
209
the
:tly
ost
ic^h
as
was hers. Fears, and doubts, and perplexities, not so
much, perhaps, as regards the Saviour's ability to
save as His willingness to consider your special
case; humbling thoughts of your desperate wicked.
ness and unworthiness ; all combine to make you feel
at times as if you were outside the pale of God's
mercy. Ah ! it is not so ! There is infinite fulness
in the heart of Christ to meet your every want.
His grace is not dispensed according to your faith,
but rather according to your need. There is no
necessity that you should go through a stated
round of forms in order to secure an audience.
Press through the crowd ! Touch the hem of His
garment, if all you can do, and your salvation is
complete. It matters not whether it be the touch
of Christ, or the touch of the sick soul, provided
there is contact with the living Redeemer. In many
cases cures were effected by the touch of Christ,
as in our text. We are told by the Evangelist
that on one occasion all the diseased in the land
of Gennesaret crowded to Christ, beseeching Him
that they might only touch the hem of His garment,
and so tnany as touched were made perfectly whole.
There are many ways by which the soul is led to
14
2IO
S^oiuljing Dis (Liiirnunt.
ri
Jesus, but only one method of cure. You must look
to the brazen serpent ; you must have faith in the
blood that is sprinkled upon the door-posts; you
must sincerely feel like Peter when, sinking in the
waters, he cried — " Lord, save me or I perish;"
or like the poor leper who came and said, " Lord,
if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean." In that
case, as in the case of this poor woman, the faith
was very weak and ignorant, yet omnipotent to
secure relief.
"He knew the power; the love he did not know,
That power he sought; nor pleaded he in vain:
The love he knew not came in fullest flow."
Oh, the blessedness of the cure ! the instantaneous-
ness of the remedy !
"I touch Thee and am cured! No touch of mine
Can render Thee impure! Whatever be
The foulness of the hand that touches Thee,
Thee it defiles not, yet it cleanses me.
" I touch Thee, and the electric current flows ;
My touch has all Thy skill and power revealed;
Thee I infect not with my s ms or woes,
And yet, by touching Thee, my soul is healed.
" It gives to Thee my sickness, and to me
Imparts Thy health; my evil Thou dost bear.
And I Thy good; all mine inquity
From me Thou takest ; I Thy beauty >vear."
S'oucljing Vlis (i3;irmcnt.
211
Brethren, is it not true, that often we get more
from God than ue ask or expect ? He supplies us
according to the infinite resources of His grace,
and not according to the limited petitions of His
creatures. We come for bread to eat, and He
gives us the living bread that
H
came down fro
m
eaven. We come for water t
and He gives us the 1
o quench our thirst.
iving water that flows fro
the throne of God, and of the Lamb,
the cure of bodily ilh
are forgiven the
m
We come for
and He says
Thy
ms
e ; go, and sin no more." W
c come
for some poor, insignificant gift, and
us Himself.
lo ! He gives
whol(
"Daughter, thy faith hath made th
; go in peace, and be whole of thy pla-ue.
ee
It has been my desire, all through these remarks,
not to depreciate strong, intelligent, eagle-eyed faith,
but to encourage such as possess only weak faith.
We must not imagine that because weak faith is
honourable in God's sight, that aspirations after
stronger faith are undesirable and unnecessary. Far
from it. In the infancy of a soul's spiritual being
we do not expect the same heroic Pchievements as
in its maturity; the same unclouded trust; the same
!!•.: 'M
212
(Joucljing Dis (Garment.
unlimited reliance; the same resistless importunity.
The young soldier staggers somewhat at the first
blaze and thunder of cannonry that salutes him
from the enemy, but the old warrior stands firm
and fearless, because long accustomed to the fight.
The child asks but small favours from the parent,
but these increase in number and value as he
reaches maturity. You, who boast of being already
the people of God, do not therefore rest satisfied
with the mere germs of faith ! Seek after the very
highest attainments in Christian experience! Have
you obtained forgiveness ? then seek after assurance !
Have you enjoyed momentary glimpses of Christ's
face and presence ? — Strive to make them more
frequent and abiding! Have you the graces of the
spirit in your soul ? — then make them evident to
the world by exhibiting a faith that works by love !
You are not to take for your measure this poor
woman who was satisfied with the mere touch of
Christ's garment, but, going on unto perfection, you
are to excel in gifts and godliness. Seek nothing
less than daily communion with Christ ; abiding in
Him, and He in you, as the source of all your
real strength !
S'ouching |¥iis (J?nrmcnt.
213
As it is, what are the facts with regard to the
great majority of professing Christians ? Is it not
too true that we are satisfied with pardon of sin,
and, in the exercise of selfishness, steal away from
Christ as did the woman when she felt the issue
of blood stayed ? There is great emotion and
apparent concern at the moment of conversion, but
apathy and indifference succeed. We settle down
into what are called the " sober realities of a reli-
gious life," contented with the mere existence of
spiritual hopes, but without any settled determi-
nation to reach the highest excellencies and emi-
nences of which the saint is capable on earth. And
thus it happens that we possess none of the joys
that accompany assurance of salvation, and are the
ever - increasing victims of despair and despondency;
at times bringing us to a point when we almost
doubt the love of God entirely, and our saving
interest in the atoning work of Christ. Brethren,
this should not be. " Be strong in the Lord, and
in the power of His might."
Finally, let the example of this poor woman
rebuke the conduct of indolent hearers of the
I
I
214
(Toiuhinq il)is C'\umrnt.
Gospel, ulin never press throiif:;h the crowd to sec
or touch Clirist. Seasons of rclit^ious excitement
come and go; men arc crying out "Jesus of
Nazarctii passcth by ;" but they cannot be moved
out of the dull uniformity of outward routine. What
are you w
aiting for, sinner ? Do I need to assure
you of Christ's readiness to hear your case and
administer relief? See Him hurrying along to the
house of Jairus! The case is urgent, there is no
time for loitering on the road ; but here comes a
poor sinking woman who has been many years
afflicted and needs His pity. What does he do ?
Scorn her cry ? Or rebuke her impLilincncc ? Or
leave her to die at once ? — only a few years, perhaps
sooner, at the most, than in the natural course
of events she would. Ah, no ! He stops, and
as silently as she had touched His garment,
frees her from the load of her wretchedness. But
this
IS n
ot all. He gives her such a revelation
of His Divinity as makes us hope she found a
better cure than that of the bloody issue. But you
say, " I cannot go to Christ.
Am
I not taught
that by nature I am unable to take the first steps,
unless moved by a superior power. I am waiting
II
'I
(Toucljrug ,il)is Orirmcnt.
215
like the man at the pool of Siloam. for Divine help,
before I find my way to Christ." And so men
fool themselves into the belief that, after all, they
are not entirely to blame for their unbelief. This
doctrine of man's inability is made to do duty for
all the indifference and inconsistencies that mark so
many (lospel hearers. "You can't come to Christ
you say." Who said you could, unaided ? I3ut
you can seek the influence of God's spirit upon
your soul, to quicken your flaf^Rin- energies and
arouse you to active effort. Make the attempt at
least, my brother. If you fail you can be no worse
than you are. If Christ does not hear you and
help you, then by all means declare as loudly as
you can the inefficiency of the world's Redeemer.
But not until you have resolutely made an approach
to the Great Physician dare you accuse the
Almighty of inability or unwillingness to treat your
case. Men may shelter themselves now behind
these refuges of lies, and parry with eternal truth
by thrusting such flimsy pretexts in the preacher's
face. But all this self-deception ends at the bar of
God. Then, if never before, you will find, in the
wretchedness of never-ending torture, the infatuation
2l6
3^outbing |5is (li'nrmcnt.
I
i!
of the soul that neglects salvation. Christ is
passing by — hurry to Him — touch the hem of His
garment if you can do no more, He will not
rebuke thee — love and pity is in His voice — forgive-
ness in His eye.
"Who touched Me?" dost Thou ask;
'Twas I, Lord, it was I ;
"Some one hath touched Me" — yes, O Lord!
I am that somebody.
" ^ came, Lord, and I touched,
For sore I needed Thee;
Forth trom Thee straight the vir*'je came:
Lord! Thou hast healed me.
" What could I do but touch,
And Thou so nigh, so nigh?
What couldst Thou do but hckl, O Lord I
Ere I had time to cry ?
"And would St Thou frown on me.
Dost Thou the boon repent?
Why then, Lord, didst Thou pass so near
As if to me jnst sent?
" Speak then the word of cheer.
Say to my trembling soul :
Be of good comfort ; go in peace ;
Thy faith hath made thee whole."
|o(iJ ®lb art %\m:
" ^nb lacob saib mxia ^baroulj, the bans of the gears
of mn pilgrimage are an biiitbrcb anb tljirtn ncars :
febj aub eMl babe iht bans of mn life been, anb
^abe not attaineb mia iht bags of l^e nears of
f^e life of mg fatbtrs in Ibe bags of Ibeir pilgri-
mage. — Genesis, xlvii. 9.
The drawing-room receptions of kings and queens
are not, in general, occasions for serious reflection
upon the shortness of life. The display of gorgeous
apparel— the glitter of pearls and diamonds— the
attendance of royal courtiers — the crowd of fair
women and brave men the, eagerly await the
recognition of the sovereign— the hurried and formal
interview prescribed by court etiquette, are all
unfavourable to religious impression. Amid the
gaiety and splendour of a palace seldom do men
learn the lesson taught us by Solomon — " Vanity of
vanities — all is vanity."
2l8
fjoijo ®lir iirl {iniou
I "'.
The Book of Genesis introduces us to the levee
of an Oriental king — on a somewhat limited scale,
it is true, compared with court presentations of the
present day. The principal figure in the group,
next to the king himself, is that of an aged,
hoary -headed man, bent down with the weight of
years and sore calamities. The old man is
surrounded by his sons, the younger of whom, now
prime minister of Egypt, introduces him to the
sovereign. It is no ordinary presentation that we
are called upon to witness. Jacob and his sons
are here by special invitation. Pharoah, in token
of his gratitude for the dutiful service rendered by
Joseph to the kingdom, has extended them a royal
welcome to make the land of Egypt their perma-
nent residence. " The land of Egypt is before
thee ; in the best of the land make thy father and
brethren to dwell." The temporal wants of the
patriarch thus fully met for the remainder of his
days, be they iew or many, he doubtless feels a
strong desire to see the monarch whose generosity
has made such ample provision for his declining
years. Nor is it too much to believe that on the
part of the king the desire was fully reciprocated.
iob Olb art ffbou ?
2ig
To become acquainted with the father and brothers
of the man who, as chief counsellor of state, had
conducted affairs in years of unparalleled difficul-
ties, was no ordinary gratification ; while to confer
honour upon them, and show them more than the
usual kindness and condescension of royalty, would
be but the natural promptings of his heart.
What were the feelings if the king when he
looked upon the venerable sire that stood before
him, and what the feelings of the patriarch, it is
vain to conjecture. As Jacob looked upon the
heathen prince who had shown him such kindness,
his heart swells with gratitude, and he supplicates
the blessing of Jacob's God upon the king, and
upon his land. Forgetting for the moment the
dignity of the sovereign in whose presence he
stands, his deep emotion carries him far beyond all
formal ceremony, until he audibly lifts his heart in
prayer to the God of his fathers, who had so won-
drously provided for all his wants, and turned his
sorrow into joy. Nor was Pharoah less overcome
by the appearance of the good old man. There
was something so solemn, so sincere, so earnest
iil
it I
ii l\
m
220
|5ob aitj art Uoxx ?
and unaffected in his manner; his speech was so
entirely different from the customary language of
royal courtiers ; his appearance was so venerable —
the years of sorrow through which he had passed
having left indelible furrows upon his brow, whiten-
ing his hairs and enfeebling his step ; and, withal,
there was so much majesty and dignity in his
deportment, that the king was struck with surprise
and admiration. King though he be, he instinctively
feels that a greater than an earthly monarch stands
before him — a servant of the Most High, whose
blessing was more \aluable than all the treasures
of his kingdom.
Old age has many claims upon the resnect and
admiration of the young, more especially if it is an
old age of honorable service in the cause of Christ.
There are many duties we owe them ; and the older
tl.ey are the more attentive should we be to dis-
charge them. Soon they will be entirely beyond
the reach of our kindness and indifferent to our
gratitude. There is much also to be learned by
the story of our life. " Days should speak, and a
multitude of years should teach wisdom." A man
Dob) ^Ib art ^0}x ?
221
who had arrived at Jacob's age, and passed through
so many eventful years, gaining a deep insight into
human nature on the one hand, and experiencing a
large amount of God's grace on the other, was
most admirably fitted to give counsel, even to men
v/ho occupied positions of dignity and trust like
the king of Egypt. Possibly with such feelings
passing through his mind, Pharoah put to Jacob
the question, " How old art thou ?" Laying aside
the formal words of state, and condescending to the
language of familiar converse, the king would hear
from his own lips some particulars of his eventful
life. He already knew that Jacob and his sons
were worshippers of the one living and true God,
and towards this religion many recent circumstances
may have turned the attention of the king, and
gained for it a favourable consideration. Then he
wanted still further to learn the secret of that
wonderful cheerfulness and joy that beamed in the
patriarch's countenance, notwithstanding his exceed-
ing age, and how he was sustained in looking
forward to the end of life.
If mere curiosity prompted the question, the king
must have been sadly disappointed in the answer.
222
?)oto mii art now ?
Jacob understands well how seldom, in all proba-
bility, he would stand in the presence of royalty,
and how earnestly he should improve the present
opportunity. He would endeavour to impress upon
the king the shortness of life, even though extended
to a hundred and thirty years, and the vanity of
all human possessions and enjoyments. He would
help him to realize that existence here, even when
lavishly enriched with every comfort that can fall
to the lot of man, is after all but a pilgrimage of
sorrow that leads to the grave. Nor are these
solemn reflections rudely pressed upon the king.
With admirable tact and prudence, and in a manner
at once solemn and unaffected, he replies : — " The
days of the years of my pilgrimage are one hundred
and thirty years ; few and evil have the days of
the years of my life been ; and have not attained
unto the years of my fathers in the days of their
pilgrimage."
How strikingly do these few sentences photograph,
as it were, the life of Jacob! "Few and evil" is
the graphic description of his years. He had not
attained the average duration of life in his ances-
|)oto d^lb art riion ?
223
tors, but suffering sufficient for the longest life had
been his portion. Every new stage of his existence
seems to have added new force to the poet's
words, that " Man was made to mourn." His early
and hurried flight from home to escape the ven.
geance of his brother Esau; the hunger, and thirst,
and sleepless nights that doubtless marked his
pilgrimage ; the long years of service, and the
fraud and treachery of Liiban, practised under the
garb of friendship ; the dissensions of his wives,
and the quarrels of his children ; the shame of
Dinah, his only daughter; the horrible wickedness
of Reuben, his first - born and the loss of his
beloved son Joseph, forcing the aged patriach to
exclaim, '• I will go down into the grave unto my
son mourning;"— these are but specimens of the trials
that had saddened his days. Was it any wonder,
then, that Jacob should at times have taken a
gloomy view of God's providence, and in the anguish
of his soul have felt that " all things were against
him!"
If honestly put. there is no question susceptible
of greater profit than the question of our text,
" How old art thou ?" and yet there is no question
i ,
I ■ f
1:'
224
f 0(0 mt art ^olx ?
we care less to answer. It would almost seem as
if men imagined that by allowing their years to
pass unreckoned, they prolonged their existence and
delayed the approach of death. To realize that we
are growing old, that our strength is daily decreasing,
that the memory is less retentive, and the step is
more languid and feeble — in a word, that we are
no longer capable of the efforts of our younger
days, and are rapidly approaching second childhood,
is of all knowledge the most distasteful. Instead of
calculating how many sands of the glass are run,
and anticipating an early, and it may be sudden
summons to the eternal world, we fondly indulge
the hope that life will be extended to its utmost
limit. We call up before us the names of friends
still living whose age is far in advance of ours.
We flatter ourselves that we have come of a long-
lived ancestry, who bravely battled with the King
of Terrors, and only yielded when resistance was
in vain. Thus we begin new projects and lay the
foundation of new enterprises, when, in the estimate
of our fellow -men, the only investment that remains
for us is a few feet of mother earth, and a stone
to mark the resting-place of our ashes!
Dob (Olh art (Tbou ?
225
The pertinency of such a question will appear
when we reflect for a moment upon the oft - repeated
statement that life is short, even when extended to
three score years and ten. .V. Jwarcr present .nil
ever reach tkc a^e of the Patriarch Jacob, when he
stood m the presence of Pharaoh. One hundred
and thirty years had already passed over his head
and nearly twenty years more were yet to run erJ
he should be gathered to his fathers. And yet in
Jacob's estimation this was a brief existence. When
a child in his father's tent, innocent and happy,
with no cares or anxious forethought, to disturb
h.s dreams or shade his joys, his estimate of life
was very different. The hundred and thirty years
that now seemed but a few days in retrospect.'
would then seem immensely long-more than enough
to satisfy every longing oi his soul. And so it is
with every one who has reached or passed the age
of manhood. You men of forty and sixty, whose
heads begin to be whitened with the frosts of ac^e
does it not seem but yesterday since you gambolled
w.th companions on the green and in the fields
and laughed and danced the hours away, from dewy
n.orn t.ll dusky eve ! The impressions that remain
ri!
226
iohj m^ nxt ®;ijou ?
of these early days are all but imperceptible. A
name, a place, a countenance, rises up from amid
the shadows of the past, but the years have glided
from the vision as the clouds of the passing
summer. And what of the years of riper age, in
which hopes and fears, in alternate round, were
born, and ripened, and died ? Years in which love
was plighted, and the household lighted up by the
smiles of pure affection that have since been
quenched in death. How little of all the gladsome
or sombre experiences can you gather up from the
tablet of memory ? They have vanished and gone
forever as the drops of dew in the morning sun,
leaving behind them in too many cases the bitter-
ness of memory and the anguish of despair. Some
alas, can appropriate these sweet but touching lines
of England's great humorist as they think of the
past :
" I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little windosv where the sun
Came peeping in at morn.
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away !
Dofaj (Dlb -art (Thou '/
227
1 remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high,
I used to think their tender tops
Were close against the sky.
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm further off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy!"
Following up such a train of thought, we see
the beauty and force of Scripture when speaking
of the brevity and awful uncertainty of human
existence. " For what is your life ? It is even a
vapour, that appeareth for a little . time and then
vanisheth away." How striking the illustration!
As the mist or fog gradually and yet imperceptibly
passes out of sight, so do we silently recede into
the dark shadows of eternity. " My days are swifter
than a post, th.y flee away, they see no good.
They are passed away as the swift ships; as the
eagle that hasteth to his prey. My days are
swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent with-
out hope. O remember that my life is wind ; mine
eye shall no more see good." " Behold thou hast
made my days as an handbreath, and mine age
is as nothing before Thee; veril
best
ily every man, at his
estate, is altogether vanity.
" (<
M
me age is
Ill
228
^)oto 0")lt) lut rijou ?
departed," says the good King Hezekiali, "and is
removed from me as a shepherd's tent." " The
days of our years are threescore and ten, and if
by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet
is their strength labour and sorrow, for it is soon
cut and we fly away." " All flesh is grass, and
the glory thereof as the flower of the field." " We
spend our years as a tale that is told." Human
existence is thus compared to the frailest things in
nature. The withering leaf, the fading flower, the
vapour, the shadow, the shuttle. From the cradle
to the grave is but a step !
The brevit3' of human life is surely then a fit-
ting theme for mediti-tion. It is the dictate of
wisdom to number our days and apply our hearts
to wisdom ; to redeem the time, seeing that the
days are evil. We may number our days and reap
no profit by the exercise. It may be nothing more
than a mere sentimental reverie, destitute of all
manly resolution and decision for the future. Merely
to confess the shortness of our existence and bemoan
our mortality, is a profitless employment for any
immortal soul. To number our days by putting
i
Ijoto (Olb ;irt criTou ?
229
the question " How old art thou ?" implies a ri^'ht
apprehension of the object of life_a determination
honectly and zealously to discharj^e its duti' •.. and
to be always prepared for its close. Thus, and
thus only, do we apply our hearts to wisdom.
That man is wise, according to the world's opinion,
who in business matters is shrewd, and keen, and
clever; who knows how to make a bargain; who
can match and overreach his neighbor; who suc-
ceeds by unrighteousness and dishonest speculation,
and wins the goal of popular applause. The
patient, plodding, cauMous, and honest merchant,
who values conscience .ore th m coin, and char-
acter more than capital, is stigmatized as stupid
and ignorant, and altogether behind the age! But
is it really so ? Were there no eternity in prospect,
were men mere animals, were annihilation our
certain doom beyond the present, it might be
wisdom for each man to gratify his sensual tastes.
But is it so ? Can it be so ? Does any man believe
it to be so ? After death comes the judgment, is the
united testimony of Scripture, Reason and Conscience
-endless weal or woe. The question, then, "How
old art thou ?" in view of the terrible contingencies
i 1
h
t
!f if
230
ioto OIJ) art (Tljou ?
and awful realities of the future, is the most pressing
and important question of the hour.
Some, perchance, who hear these words, have
never seriously considered the possibility of an early
and suf' 'en death. They are conscious, notwith-
standing, of many secret and open breaches of the
law of God. It takes but a few years in life to
become an expert in crime and skilled in wicked-
ness — to sear the conscience and stain the com-
parative purity and innocence of childhood. Young
in years, many are old in transgression. They have
cherished evil thoughts, revelled in impure desires,
and indulged in secret and open sin, which they
would not for the world have revealed to their
nearest and dearest friends. Does not the question
" How old art thou ?" bring up before the mind
years of folly and shame that have passed to the
bar of God with Llieir dark and damning record ?
The name of God blasphemed — a Saviour despised —
the Bible neglected — Sabbaths profaned — and the
Sanctuary forsaken ! Lo\ing parents wept and prayed
over you and wrestled for your salvation. On their
bended knees they commended and committed you
pofa mts art (Thou ?
231
to the care of Heaven, and left the world with the
glorious hope that with them ycu would share the
of Heaven ! If not hardened
unending felicities
beyond measure, such
m
emories as these must flush
the cheek and alarm th
e conscience.
How old
art thou ?'
Old
enough surely to retrace
your
steps. Old enough to know by sad experience that
the way of the transgressor is hard, and that the
steps of the profligate lead to perd
enough to understand that the 1
ition.
Old
the more difficult, if not
onger you delay
impossible, is a
sincere
repentance. OU enough to die— to stand before the
dread tribunal of judgiiicnt — /
(' CUti
y upon an eternity of
remorse
To reckon upon coming vea
rs is foolish,
Death makes no compact with mortals, and grants
to none a certain lease of life. Th
e present
mom
ent is all that you possess— the rest is bey
ond
your knowledge.
To others who read these lines, the question
" How old art thou ?" brings a certain measure of
hopefulness as well as sadness. To such it may
more appropriately be presented in its higher spir-
itual bearings, than as it relates to th eir term
232
f)oto #lb art oTbou ?
existence in the world. " How old are you in
f^race ?" How long since you were born into the
Kingdom of God's dear Son ? Has the growth of
piety in your soul steadily advanced in proportion
to the years of your life ? Have you reached any
measure of maturity in faith, in knowledge, in
patience, in joy and peace ; and are these graces as
evident to the world as they are sensible to your
own experience ? The stages of piety in your soul
should keep pace with your earthly sojourn and the
flight of time. As we draw near the end of life
we should increase in strength and beauty of
Christian character. What corresponding efforts, let
me further ask, have you put forth, and what
sacrifices have you made for the good of others ?
What results have God's afflictive dealings with you
produced : Do you realize more and more, every
day, that you are but a pilgrim and a stranger
here — without home or possessions, exposed to
danger and peril — and are you satisfied with this
scene of change and trial until you find repose in
that city which hath foundations whose maker and
builder is God ? It cannot be very long till the call
shall come, and then farewell to sin and sorrow :
fotn ^Ib art f Ijou ?
^33
"Yet peace, my heart; and hush my tongue;
Be calm, my troubled breast;
Each restless hour is hastening on
The everlasting rest ;
Thou knowest that the time thy God
Appoints for thee is best."
iii
i^.
Clje §uilbtr anb % ^lorj*
" (Bbm ie sljall builb t^c S;£mplc of tbc forb, anb ft
s^iill bcur tbc 4^lorg."— Zechariah vi. 13.
The words of the text were intended to stimulate
and encouraf;e the Jews in the rebuilding of the
temple. The captivity was now ended, and the
exiles, returning to Jerusalem, found the temple in
ruins ; their holy and beautiful house was burned
with fire. Many difficulties had to be encountered
in the work of rebuilding. Their means were
limited ; they were comparatively few in number :
their enemies persecuted them, and professed friends
were lukewarm. The hearts of the people were
therefore sorely discouraged, and but for the zeal
and pat -iotism of a few noble-minded men, the
work would never have been undertaken, far less
completed. In these circumstances, Zechariah is
sent to encourage thtm by promises and visions of
success. In one of these visions which pass before
him, he is commanded to take of the tribute-
money which certain of the returned exiles had
brought as a thank-offering, and make it into silver
and golden crowns. These crowns he puts upon
the head of the high priest Joshua, saying: "Thus
speaketh the Lord of Hosts, saying. Behold the
man whose name is the Branch ; and He shall
grow up out of His place and He shall build the
temple of the Lord. Even He shall build the
temple of the Lord, and He shall bear the glory."
The prophecy, therefore, has a wider and remoter
application and significance than the occasion
v.:. en it was given. The person spoken of in these
words as the builder of the temple, is neither Joshua
nor Zerrubabel, though both of their names are
mentioned in the context ; but He of whom Joshua
was but the type— the Lord Jesus Christ. The
work described and the glory following can belong
to no other. It thus very beautifully sets before
us the progress of redemption, carried on through
its different stages in the heart of individual be-
lievers, and in the church at large, until the final
issue, when the Son of Man shall see of the travail
of his soul, and shall be fully satisfied.
li
Frequently, in th. Word of God, believers are
likened to temples : " Know ye not that your body
r
236
(Lbe .^uiliicr anb the (Lrilorn.
t
M
is the temple of the Holy Ghost, which is in you?"
" The temple of God is holy, whose temple ye are !"
The meaning of such language is evident. Temples
are places consecrated and dedicated to the services
of God — set apart for solemn worship — devoted not
to secular or common - place transactions, but to
communion with Jehovah. In the temple of old,
glorious manifestations of the Deity were from time
to time beheld. God dwelt in Zion. It was His
rest. There He met His people and accepted their
sacrifices of song and praise. Now in all these
respects believers are temples. They are set apart
for sacred uses — separated from the world to be a
peculiar people, shewing forth the praise of Him
who hath called them ^ut of darkness into marvel-
lous light. God's power and majesty are seen in
every believer, as it can nowhere else be realized.
The entire existence of such a man is to'be devoted
to God's service ; his daily walk is to be with
God, and his conversation to be in Heaven. In
him God dwells by His spirit, shedding abroad His
love — polishing his graces, adorning his character,
and fitting him for the higher destiny and nobler
employments of Heaven. Thus it may be said that
m
^bc .^uilDcr nuLi tbf oMorn.
237
individual believers are temples, and of every regen-
erated soul it may be said, "Christ shall bear the
glory."
We prefer, however, to regard the temple spoken
of as the Church of God in the world-not the
visible, but the invisible Church. This Church is
composed of all true believers, to whatever denomi-
nation they may belong, and the completed edifice,
fresh from the great Builder's hand, shall soon
stand forth, the admiration of the universe, even as
the temple of old was the joy of all the earth.
Then the corner-stone shall be laid with shoutings
of "grace, grace unto it." Concerning this, the
true Church of the living God, it is said, " He
shall bear the glory."
In order to build a material structure, certain
things are necessary :
First: A design must be prepared. The architect
must first draw the requisite plans and specifica-
tions, including the probable cost of the materials,
the method of their arrangement, and everything
down to the most minute details.
H
V
238
S^be ,^uilbcr anb tbc d^lorn.
Second: The materials must then be purchased —
the wood and the stone, the silver and the gold^
and all the fittings and furnishings necessary to
conform to the design.
Third: These materials, once gathered, must be
prepared. The stone must be hewn and polished,
the wood sawn and carved, and the gold and silver
fitted for their appropriate places.
Fourth : These materials, thus prepared, must be
assigned their respective locations. The component
parts, lying scattered on the ground, represent the
essentials of the structure, but until the skilful
hand unites them and puts them in their several
relations, the confused mass reveals nothing of the
architectural beauty and fair proportioi^s of the
design.
[.'
Fifth : Nor should we omit to mention that, in
order to have a stable and permanent structure,
there must be a good foundation. Without this all
the previous toil and expenditure are in vain. The
^t ^uilbcr !inb tijc CBIorn.
239
elements of nature, fitful and fickle, often lay n
ruins the noblest specimens of architecture, and
mock the pride and ingenuity of man.
Now, in all these respects it may be said, Christ
builds the temple.
Fiyst: The design is His. From all eternity He
planned the method, and filled up the details of the
covenant of redemption. No mind but His was
sufficient for this vast undertaking. He did not
wait until man, helpless and fallen, stood aghast
amid the ruins of Paradise, and then call upon the
pure intelligences of heaven to undertake the work.
No! Sitting amid the solitudes of Eternity, long
ere man or seraphim existed, He contrived the
glorious plan of Mercy, whereby depraved and guilty
beings might be pardoned, and made living stones
in the living temple, and this desolated and dese-
crated temple of humanity restored to more than
its original grandeur.
:'R
i
I
Second: He purchased the materials. These were
immortal souls, intended for the endless enjoyment
ii;
240
(J^c §uilb«r nnb ibt dMorj).
of Heaven, but blighted and marred by the curse of
sin. Earthly temples are built of material sub-
stances, in many cases rare, and precious, and
costly ; but what temple was ever built of material
fit to be compared to living men ? King David
and King Solomon spared no expense in beautifying
the temple of old. Cedar trees and palm trees
from Lebanon — iron, silver and gold, and all manner
of precious stones, were lavishly employed in its
construction ; but the cost of these were trifling,
compared to the ransom paid for guilty man. The
treasury of the Jewish commonwealth and the free-
will offerings of the people supplied the necessary
means to build the temple, but the blood of Jesus
was poured out to purchase the material for this
spiritual house. " Ye were not redeemed with cor-
ruptible things," says Peter, " as silver and gold,
from your vain conversation received by tradition
from your fathers, but with the precious blood of
Christ, as a lamb without blemish and without
spot." On no other terms was it possible that the
purpose of Almighty love could be fulfilled, and
this spiritual temple raised to the praise and
honour of His grace.
fi;|)£ ^nilJicr nnb tl)c cMory.
241
Third: He prepares the materials. The marble
fresh from the quarry, and the timber fresh from
the forest, in their rude and unpolished normal
state, were unfit to adorn the temple of old.
Solomon, we are told, had all the materials fashioned
and fitted for their appropriate places before the
temple was bes^un. Then silently the workmen
arranged these materials and built up the walls of
the holy place. In like manner guilty souls are
fitted and prepared for the spiritual temple. Thus
to sanctify and cleanse a soul, and clothe it with
all the necessary adornments that shall fit it to
be an occupant of Heaven, is a far greater work
than to create a world. This is what Christ is
now doing by His spirit for His children. The
iron in the veins of the earth is unfit, until
smelted and moulded and hammered, for any one
of the manifold uses to which it is applied. The
gold and silver, that men dig for so eagerly, must
be separated from the baser alloy and dust of
earth 'ere they are fashioned into jewels or coro-
nets, or pass current in men's hands as genuine
coin. No more can human souls in their natural
state enter Heaven. The Holy Spirit must purify
16
242
ftbe ^uilber anb the (Jnlorn.
them from uncleanness, and so refine their nature
that the image of their Creator shall shine forth
clear and radiant, unmistakably declaring their
Divine origin in the past and their lofty destiny in
the future. Many years were spent in building
Solomon's temple, and a considerable period in
erecting the second house of (lod. And so in like
manner the work oi renewing and fashioning human
souls for the temple above is a slow and sometimes
painful process. But however slow in some cases,
its completion is certain. He that designed the
plan of mercy and gave Himself for its accomplish-
ment, will by His Spirit complete the work.
Fourth : He arranges and fits the materials for
their appropriate places. " He builds the temple."
Thus designed, — the materials purchased and pre-
pared, nothing remains but that they be fitted into
their appropriate places. In the temple of old
there were degrees of external glory correspond i'-''^
to different portions of t'^.e building. And *
the church upon earth and in the ch vi
redeemed, there arc degrees of glory. All .ne
saints are equally the subjects of renewing git^ce.
^t ^uilbrr aiib (Ijc oM
orn,
243
and, in virtue „r adoption, arc the sons of Ood ;
but ail are not c-qually gifted and endowed. To
one is Kiven pre-eminently the „raee of faiti, • ,„
another the .-race of |„ve ; to another the ^raee of
hope; and to another that of patience or meek-
ness; ,0 .,on,e there is given no. one or .„o, ht,t
many graces, all in beauteous harmony. To one
there is given a strong commanding intellect and
mental endowments, fitted to mould other mind, •
to another is given self-denial, and a noiseless'
blameless, unobtrusive life, that silently attracts our
admiration by exhibiting the higher e.vcellencies of
Chnst.an character. Now it is the work of the
Chief .Master Builder to arrange all these living
atones in the framework of the spir.tual temple
■•They that be wise shall shine as the brightness
of the firmament; and they that turn many to
nghteousness as the stars for ever and ever"
Says St. Paul in writing ,0 the fjomans,-" Having
gifts according to the grace that is given to us
whether prophecy, let us prophesy according ,0 thj
proportion of faith, or ministry, let us wait on our
ministry; he that teacheth on teaching, and he
that exhorte.h on exhortation." .And writing to -he
244
Ovbr ?3uili3fr ;mi3 tbc C^lorn.
Ephesians, he says, " Unto every one of us is j^iven
grace accordinj; t:) the measure of the gift of
Christ, He £;ave some apostles and some prophets,
and some evangeHsts 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."
Wliat do such passages mean, but that as in the
resurrection the spiritual bodies shall differ one
from the other — as one star differeth from another
in glory, so also shall it be in regard to the
redeemed in the temple above. As in the church
below, believers occupy the places assigned them
by the master of assemblies, so in tiie completed
spiritual temple, accordmg to the measure and
perfectior of our graces shall be our position and
our honour.
Fifth : And finally, I need onl)- add that the
builder of the temple is at the same time its
foundation. •' Ve arc built upon the foundation of
the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ Himself
being the chief corner-stone, in whom all the
building, fitly framed together, groweth unto an holy
temple in the Lord." As Christ is at once high
'\'\\ iinii
®be '§mlhtx wnb tijc eioxn.
245
Pnest and sacrifice, so is He the author and
fin.sher of the Christian's spiritual being. Great is
the mystery of .^odliness ! This foundation is a sure
one-tried and tested, hrm and stable, " Behold "
«ays the prophet. •' I ,ay in Zion, lor a foundation
- «tone; a tried stone-a precious stone-^a sure
foundation; he that believeth shall not n.ake
haste." Says the Psalmist, "The stone which the
bu.lders refused ,s become the head of the corner '
Upon this foundation God ,s now bu.lding His
^P.ritual temple. On this rock of a,es His saints
can rest in perfect peace. The foundation of God
standeth sure-the Lord knoweth them that are His.
Well, then, may the Christian sing in reference to
the certainty of his salvation :-
" How firm a fi»undation, y
:e. laid for your faith in His excellent word
What more can He say than to you He hath.
Vou who unto Jesus for refuge have fled.
ye saints of the Lord,
said.
The glory of this c
to Christ. "He
"mpleted temple rightly belongs
•shall bear the <-](
of those who h
O''
The
names
ave designed s
Pet
uc:i edifices as St.
er's, in I
^ome, St. Paul
s and Westminst
er
Abbey,
f
^
iih'
,H> „
.IP
Hi i
.1:
I
-It
■a-
ill
n.
246
®bc iJuilbcr ;inir Ibc Oilorn.
in London, arc imperishable. No one needs to
write a history of their genius. We have only to
look around and above us, as \vc stand under these
mighty cathedral domes, in order to judge of their
greatness. So we have but to study the plan and
work of redemption in its merest outlines in order
to perceive thr- perfection and grandeur of the
achievement. Just think —
First : Of the materials out of u hich the building
has been framed. Not polished stones ready for the
builder's use, but rude, unshapely blocks, demanding
the skill of the Infinite mind to fit them for their
place. Out of the ruins of creation, from the most
degraded and abandoned of our race, are these
living stones selected for the spiritual temple.
Second Consider next the perfection of the
building, though constructed out of such crude
material. Scarcely any humanly constructed edifice
is perfect. The skilful eye will detect some flaw or
defect — something that is capable of improvement
and of greater bea'ty. But not so with this spiritual
temple. It is complete in all its parts — every separate
^t .Snilbcr iinir tbe C^lorjr.
247
stone is necessary; to add or detract would but
destroy the beauty of the entire structure.
Third : Consider once more the difficulties to be
overcome in erecting this temple. The difficulties
were great which confronted Nehemiah and the
Israelites at the building of the second temple, when
open hostility and secret conspiracies endeavored to
delay the accomplishment of the work. But greater
far were the obstacles opposed to the buildmg of
the spiritual temple. The principalities and powers
of earth have been and still are the enemies of
Christ and His church. However Satan's kingdom
may be divided on minor points, his servants are as
one on this, that Messiah's kingdom must not pre-
vail. But in spite of all opposition it advances.
Nothing is too hard for the Captain of our Salva-
tion. Conqueror over death and the grave, He shall
subdue all His enemies, and raise this temple upon
the ruins of His foes. Delays and pauses may ap-
pear in the work, but at the appointed time the
building shall be completed, amid the rejoicing
hallelujahs of the redeemed. Th
of triumph be heard "the kingd
en shall the song
oms of this world
Mi
I
■lr ^
iili
If ii"
248
tin Builiifr anb tlje ("Morii.
have become the kini^doms of our God and His;
Christ, and He shall reign for ever."' The ,^lory
accruing from this work must be infinite, imperish-
able as the temple itself — lasting as the heavens. To
God in Christ, and God alone, belongs the praise of
salvation frt)m first to last, and this He shall receive
from all parts of the visible creation, from all ranks
of intelligent beings, from the Church below and the
Church above.
More particularK' we remark, He bears the glory,
inasmuch as He is— («;). doriiied by the Father
and the Holy Spirit. These Divine persons glorified
Him upon the earth, when engaged in the actual
work of redemption. Again and again they testified
Mieir approbation of His sufferings, a voice from the
opened heavens saying. " This is my beloved Son, in
whom I am well pleased." Had it not been for the
approval of heaven, Christ would never have entered
upon or completed the work. It was theirs as much
as His, though he "as the agent delegated to per-
form it. And that tiiis work, when completed upon
earth, was accepted by the Father, is abundantly
pr">ved by the royal honours on which the Saviour
!
a;i)c ^uilbcr :inb the (^\oxv.
249
entered at his death. "When He had p::r,:;cd away
our sins" He was received to the l.^t'ier's ri-ht
hand, highly exalted above all principalities and
powers, and might and dominin-. and every name
that is named, not only in this uorld but in that
which is to come. There, now, He sits clothed with
sovereignty, and wielding the sceptre of universal
empire. (In. He is glorified by the angelic hosts.
The angels, while they cann t fully grasp the won-
drous mystery of redemption, are lost in ama;:ement
as they gaze upon it, and yield Him the homage of
their hearts. Over this glorious achievement the
morning stars sang together, and all the sons of
God shouted for joy. They cast their crowns before
His feet; they acimowledge Him as their Lord; they
cheerfully execute His mandates; they fly hither and
thither on works of mercy or judgment; they hover
round the bedside of the dying saint, and bear the
■spirit upward to the celestial world, that the anthem
of redemption may have another singer and the
swell of praise be louder. In circling bands around
the throne they cry out, ''Worthy is the Lamb that
was slain to receive power and riches, and wisdom,
and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing.''
T
2
I I
.!!
:{
T ' . '
%
V \
iHil
MM « *■ ■
H f
fi, "^
IL
1
250
S^be ^uilbtr anb t^t O^lorji.
(c). He is glorified in the ministrations of ttie sanc-
tuary. Christ and His salvation is here the con-
stant, unvarying theme. Nowhere does the glory
of Emmanuel shine forth so resplendently as in the
congregation of His saints, when they meet to pray
and praise, to engage in solemn acts f)f communion,
to read and meditate, and behold the shinings of
His face. The great end of the ministry is to save
souls, and every soul converted is another star in
the crown of Jesus, (d). He is glorified in the person
of His saints on earth. "They shall hang upon
Him," says the Prophet, " all the glory of His
Father's house" They glorify Him in the simple
act of faith, when they mould their character and
order their conversation after His example, when
they walk in His footsteps and are conformed to
His image; they glorify Him in the fires of perse-
cution, by patiently enduring those trials and chas-
tisements which are necessary to sanctification, and
which are the precursors of coming glory, (e).
Finally, He is glorified now, and shall be still further
glorified, by the redeemed in heaven. The work of
saints in the temple above is unceasing praise.
" Thou wast slain and hast redeemed us to God
I
(^bf ^iiilDcr unb tin C^lorji.
251
by Thy blood, out of every kindred and tongue and
people and nation. Salvation to our God which
sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb." "I
heard a voice from heaven as the voice of many
waters and as the voice of a great thunder; and
I heard the voice of harpers harping with their
harps, and they sung as it were a new song before
the throne and before the four beasts and the elders,
and no man could learn that song but the hundred-
and forty -four thousand which were redeemed from
the earth." All this adoration is directed toward
CI nst. It it Jesus' name that sounds so sweetly
upon their harps. It is Jesus and His love which
fills their hearts and trembles upon their lips. It is
Jesus' presence that gladdens their spirits and in-
spires their song. Such praise and adoration is
sincere. They know the value of redemption, they
feel their indebtedness to sovereign love. Their
united praises give evidence of the comprehensive-
ness of salvation, for they are gathered out of all
peoples and kindreds and tongues. Living far apart
and in different ages of the world, they have all
been united in one and in Christ, through the
atoning sacrifice of Calvary.
li
'i :
1^
'I9i
252
CIjc ,^uilbcr un!) the C'Morn.
He shall bear the ghny. The prediction cannot be
fully realized until the present dispensation ends.
Now the f^lcry radiates from different points, then
it shall be concentrated in hen■••^■n. 'llie temple is
yet buikiini^. Many stcjnes are yet unhewn and
unpolisiiL-d. Darkness and superstition still cover
the fairest portion of the earth. Idolatrous shrines
and Hindoo temples are yet crowded by worshippers
of unknown gods ; Paganism holds millions in
slavery, and smears countless altars with human
blood and human sacrifices. The time has not yet
arrived when there sliall be but one temple and
one altar in the world; one Mediator, one High
Priest and Intercessor, adored and worshipped as
the rightful possessor of earth and heaven. P>ut
the time is drawing near. He shall bear the glory.
" Thy people shall be willing in the day of Thy
power."
"Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
Does his successive journeys run,
His kingdom stretch from shore to shore,
Till moons shall wax and wane no mo^e.
"For Him shall endless pra\ers be made,
And endless blessings crown His head ;
His name like sweet perfume shall rise
Tame
With every morning sacrifice.
(?ljc §n\[^ix anb tljc dBlorjt.
'53
The glory thus completed shall be continuous
throughout eternity. The gems upon Messiah's
crown shall never fade nor lose their lustre. Every
new discovery made by the Saints in Heaven shall
but increase their joy and call forth greater out-
bursts of praise. They never shall become weary
of adoring the name of Jesus, or giving Him that
honour which is rightly His. , Eternity shall seem
all too short, and the sanctified soul too feeble to
exhaust the wonders of redemption.
"Angel;; and men may strive to raise
Harmonious their adoring songs;
But who can fully speak His praise,
From hu:i an or angelic tongues!"
H t
m
H M
i|i; ;;
'' ^t Sdliisting of tjjc ©uttoarb, anJ) t|)e
llciutoal of lj)c Jjiuur lilaiu"
"ilhough our ouUuarb m;in perish, net tljc inbarb man
is rcnclucb dun bn Hun. "—2nd Cor, iv. j6.
No man can imaf^ine what pressure of calamity
his human nature can endure. When we look back
over a lengthened existence, scarred and beaten by
the storms of a 'iction, the thought uppermost in
the mind is, How has this poor frail mortal tene-
ment stood so long ? If the sad scroll of lamenta-
tion and woe had been spread out before our eyes
in the bright days of youth, we should have fainted
at the prospect. The strongest faith would have
been shaken, and our hearts left to the horrors ot
despair. It is a wonderful instance of God's know-
ledge of the feebleness of the creature, and His
desire to make our trials endurable, that they are
to us unknown — that Providence hides from our
gaze the unexpected evils of the coming day, and
the accumulated sorrows of our lives, and that as
these trials come there are alleviations, supports
ttU
oTbc ^nuhiiii of iht ;?'nncr glan.
255
and consolations, that enable us to bear them
beyond our most sanguine expectations.
These words declare the perishable and destruc-
tible nature of the outward tabernacle under
repeated strokes. That .t continues so Um^^ is
indeed marvellous, when we take into account the
sickness, the dangers, and the constant troubles to
which it is exposed. We feel on reflection the
truth of the poet's words, when, speaking of the
brevity and uncertainty of existence, he says :-
"Our life contains a thousand strings.
And dies if one be gone.
Strange ! that a harp of thousand strings,
Should keep in tune so long."
Some are smitten to the earth at once, and wither
under the blast of God's afflictive providences, as
the leaf dries up under the scorching heat of the
sumrr^er's sun. But as a general rule our trials
come so gradually that for many years the body
continues to discharge its normal functions, although
impaired and weakened. There is a
and deteriorating— a pulling d
own
gradual wasting
process, going on
256
(Jhf IKtiubn! of the Inner IjtV.ii
;iii.
in every human frame ; in .some more rapidly than
in others, but in all more or less discernible I The
lonj^est life is after all hut a funeral inareh to the
grave, and the strongest frame ultimately bends to
the decree of Nature. Nay, it would : cem in many
cases as if special and increasing trials were sent
for the purpose of shortening the already brief and
limited span of human • existence.
if'
Paul felt this breaking up in his physical con-
stitution when he penned these words. No man
was ever so lacerated and scourged as he, and the
character of his sufferings were just of that kind
fitted to wear out the strongest systems. Shipwreck,
perils, weariness, painfulnesss, watchings, fastings,
hunger and thirst, cold and nakedness, dark and
loathsome dungeons and excruciating tortures, these
were the daily experiences of the apostle's life.
His immense energy of nature, his strong impulses
an
d dominant will, doubtless served for a time tc
carry him over such persecutions, with little tangible
evidences of their effects. IJut, b}' - and - bye, he
felt that Paul the aged was a very different man
evdn from Paul in the prime of manhood, and when
«tlic ,Hfnfb:il of the |nnrr Pan.
257
starting in the Christian life. The very sap of his
body was drying up, the elements of his physical
strength were wasting away, and very soon, if
continued upon earth, he might be unfitted for the
more arduous cares and labours of the ministry.
But if so, no word of complaint or regret escapes
his lips. So long as he can work for God he
intends to be active in the campaign. He is
determined that nothing but absolute necessity shall
force him into retirement. Nay. more, he finds
cause for gratitude and joy in the very fact that
his infirmity and weakness ensure him supernatural
mental vigour. If his brow be furrowed with care,
and his whole outer man be enfeebled by age and
suffering, he has more than a compensation in the
energy and bnovnn.. of his spiritual powers.
Though the outer
man perisheth
away, says the apostle, " th
day by day."
." or is wasting
e inner man is renewed
The inward man is evidently the spiritual bein<
-the soul— that which
constitutes the real man-
that which shapes the conduct and moulds the
destiny of the future. It is independent of the
17
258
^ht licnclDul of tljc |mur Pan.
3 1 !!!,
body, unless in so far as the body is its dwelling-
place, and provides it with suitable instruments
for its earthly existence. Nay, from analogy, we
reasonably conclude that the soul, unencumbered by
the body, shall be able to reach far higher results
and follow out the ends of its existence in far
more favourable circumstances than in its present
state of being. The glorified body, perfectly adapted
to the sanctified spirit, and unaffected by those
outward changes that in the present life enfeeble
it, shall rather aid than hinder its progress in
searchings after Divine truth. " Now we see through
a gla'-s darkly " — because our spiritual vision is
dim and cloudy by reason of the soul's connection
with the body — " but then we shall see face to
face. Now we know i'< part, but then we shall
know even r.s also we are known."
;5':jf.
U
»;>,
q.'^;;^
i] i
L«.a\ ng all speculation for the present aside, let
us meditate for a Kttle on the truth contained in
these words — the renewal or strengthening of the
inner man in proportiun to the perishing or wasting
of the outer.
^^ llencfoal of the |nncr Pan.
259
First: The language implies that the Divine life
has already been implanted in the soul. It is not
a creation that is spoken of, but rather the increase
or development of what already exists. At convei-
sion a new principle takes possession of the joul,
hitherto unknown. It is called regeneration-the
new birth or the new creation ;-language in either
and every case implying the thoroughness of the
change. It is the calling into existence of a char-
acter and condition which had no being before.
There are new feelings and desires-new aims-not
complete estrangement from sin, but strong inclina-
tions after holiness-a leaving behind the things of
the present and a seeking after those of the future
-a complete surrender of all that the person is or
has to the service of God. The necessity of .uch
a change in the natural man, and the fact that
such a change takes place in every Christian, no
one denies; but h,. .t .,kes place, and when,
varies in the experien:e of different individuals.
Sometimes the change is almost imperceptible. The
seeds of holiness, sown in early life, germinate and
strengthen without any violert emotions bdng
experienced. This is more especially the case with
26o
£;^c ilcitcfajctl of tbc Inner Pan.
the children of God-fearing, pious parents, who
often pass on from stage to stage of their religious
experience without any conscious radical change i;i
feeling or in life. But at other times the crisis of
conversion is distinctly marked by terrible throes
and bit*^er pangs. Doubt, disbelief, horrid anticipa-
tions of Divine judgment, and the stinging accusa-
tions of a guilty conscience, precede the coming in
of peace and assured hope. Darkness the most
profound, and despair the most bewildering, possess
the soul before light and joy find en*^rance. Some-
times, again, conversion is experienced in early years.
We dare not limit the spirit's operations on the heart
of even the youngest child. Grace can as savingly
bring to Jesus the Sabbath - school scholar as the
aged and infirm sinner. Nay, in the former case
the sincerity of the change is more likely, and
steady continuance in the faith more hopeful and
lasting. In other cases, conversion does not take
place until manhood or womanhood has been
reached ; and only after a long period of reflection,
and after a most searching investigation of tlie
truths and blessings of Christianity, as superior
to all other systems of religion. Indeed, it is
n
jifiH
fljc llcncbul of tlje |nnrr Pun.
261
quite possible for a man to be a real child of God,
and for a time be unconscious of the change. The
crisis may be past, while the fever remains, not
entirely subdued. Wrong ideas in regard to what
t.'e change carries with it often prevent t.. believer
from enjoying all the comfort and satisfaction that
are rightly his because he is already Christ's. But
by whatever means brought about, the change is
vital. It is a passing from death into life, from
sleep to active consciousne^•s, from darkness to
light, from Satan to God. It is the casting out of
all vain imaginations, and the indwelling of the
spirit of God, whereby the believing heart becomes
Ghost. It is this that the
)pl(
)ly
Apostle speaks of in the text as the inner man, and
elsewhere — " If any man be in Christ he is a new
creature; old things are passed away; behold all
things are become ne
w.
Second: This Divine life, or the inner man, is
renewed day by day. Says the prophet Isaiah —
*' 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
y-iy
i! '■
262 S;^e llcjuiuixl of tljc Inner Pint.
shall walk and not faint." " The path of the just,"
says Solomon, " is as the shining light, shining
more and more unto the perfect day." " They go
from strength to strength," (unwearied) says the
Psalmist ; " every one of them in Zion appeareth
before God." And in the 103rd Psalm, David speaks
of Christian vigour as being renewed like the eagles.
The process of spiritual development is gradual,
but ever onward. The renewed soul is dependent
every moment of its earthly existence upon the
power of Jehovah. Its advancement, its continued
and increasing growth, is due to the agency of the
Holy Spirit. Just as completely as the body
depends upon the bounty of God for its continued
support, does the spiritual part of our nature rely
upon sovereign grace. Conversiun is a miracle, and
continuance and advancement in holiness is equally
a miracle, due to nothing in the man himself. The
language implies that wherever conversion is real
there will be constant progress. There may be
what seem repulses in the Christian life — periods of
rest and inactivity in comparison witli the more
eager and earnest moments subsequent to conver-
sion — but during the entire period of the Christian's
»
(lI)c llcucliiiil of Ihc hxmx 4H;in.
263
eartnly existence there is constant renewal, a polish-
ing and perfecting of the graces of the spirit, a
reaching forth to that holiness " without which no
man can see the Lord." This does not conflict in the
least with the melancholy record of (lod's people,
who mourn over coldness in the Divine life, and who
rather seem to be losing ground than achieving
conquests. After a certain age, and as the body
approaches maturity, the changes that occur are less
easily recognized. So in spiritual experience, after
the first years of enthusiasm, and burning zeal, and
love, there follows a calmness — a composure — a
fixedness of belief and serenity of mind, that may
be mistaken for retrogression rathci than advance-
men<-. The Christian's standard of holiness is daily
becoming more difficult of attainment — his distance
from Christ appears to himself to be greater, though
absolutely far less tiian it was months or years
before. His attainments in the Divine life are so
meagre, and his plans and purposes so far in excess
of his actual performances, that he hastily concludes
that spiritual life is declining. This is by no means
the universal experience of God's people. There are
many v/ho can testify to progress — w»io can contrast
'lif
264
SEbc ^vcjtfbnl of Ibc Hmx JW.in.
T
the present with the past, and gratefully acknowledge
God's goodness in their ripeness for heaven and
their love of religious ordinances. Their progress,
though not perhaps greater than in the cases men-
tioned formerly, is more palpable to the eye of faith,
and produces more hopeful and joyous emotions-
But in every case, whether perceived or unperceived
— whether greater or less — tlwre is progress. It must
be so where there is spiritual life. In God's family
there are no still-born children, and no cases of
fatal ('ecline. There are the stronger and the
weaker, the more rugged and the more delicate, the
more heroic and the more sensitive, but all without
exception grown in grace and in the knowledge of
the Lord Jesus Christ.
Third : The words still further imply that the
renewal of the inner man is in proportion to the
decay or wasting of the outer ; and it seems to be
implied that, without this decay and wasting, no very
exalted standard of Christian life can be attained.
The afflictions of the body, the Apostle seems to
argue, are medicine for the soul. Sleepless nights,
feverish brows and quick-throbbing pulses, are, under
t
e ^encbul of tijc |nncr Pmi.
265
the vSpirit's guidance, real means of grace. As the
flesh gets weaker the soul becomes stronger; as
life's material enjoyments b- come fewer, Heaven's
promises become sweeter; as the natural eye fades
the spiritual brightens ; as the car becomes closed
to the melody of earth it becomes more acute to
hear the music of the redeemed. The bed of afflic-
tion and the darkened cham.ber become meeting-
places for God and the soul, where sweetest com-
munion and richest anticipations of the land of
Beulah are enjoyed. Such is the promise of the
92nd Psalm ; " They shall bring forth fruit in old
age," which is equally true of the hoary-headed
saint as of the young believer in life's closing
moments. The richest and ripest clusters of grace
are then gathered. Afflictions, like the warm sun-
beams, ripen, mellow and mature Christian charac-
ter, call forth into view unseen elements and pre-
cious qualities hitherto unknown, until at last the
grain is fit to be garnered in the heavenly store-
house. An apple tree in blossom is beautiful to
behold ; but who mourns the absence of the blossoms
e succeed
ley
by
!'1
ut
fruit ? And who should regret the decay of the
iii -Ml
'I ik
'V ' (i
266
3^ljc |lciTcto;il of tijc |nner IKtmi.
body when we are assured that it precedes the com-
pletely sanctified soul ? What we call untimely
deaths in the case of God's children are the reverse.
Is it ever untimely to go to heaven ? Is it ever
untimely to enter upon the immortal youth of para-
dise ? When men suddenly and unexpectedly fall
heirs to massive fortunes, do we speak of it as an
untimely calamity ? No, we rejoice, and congratu-
late them upon their elevation from poverty to riches;
and when God calls His suffering saints to heaven, to
the enjoyment of eternal riches and unfading joys,
shall we persist in speaking of untimely deaths ?
No, rather let us regard such deaths as the call of
the beloved to the bride, as the grasping of the
crown and t^e wreathing of the laurel. I am sure
that some here can testify to the wonderful re-
newal of spiritual strength they have often wit-
nessed when standing round the deathbeds of God's
saints. Faltering tongues have eloquently discoursed
of Jesus' love; trembling hands have firmly clasped
the cross with exulting joy; "Countenances over-
spread with the pallor of death, have been lighted
up with the radiance of heaven; and the loftiest
ascriptions of praise have been uttered by voices
lJ(
S^bc !^ciuh];il of tlic |nuer Pan.
267
already feeble and indistinct with approaching dis-
solution. In the V^alley of the Shadow of Death the
Holy Ghost has put the final and completing touches
to the image of Christ ; the last remains of sin have
seemed to die out, and heaven itself to have come
down to earth !"
To friends, there is something sad in marking the
gradual decline of health, and the sapping of the
foundations of natural strength in the beloved son
or daughter. To the suffering saint it is often very
hard to bear. We naturally all shrink from pain
and sorroAv. Death makes cowards of us all. There
are also other ingredients in a lingering sickness
that intensify the anguish of the body. To an active
mind, accustomed to constant exercise in the
cause cf Christ, how wearisome at first is compulsory
absence from the house of God — from the table of
the Lord — fr
om
the little class in the Sabbath
school ! These in former days have been the indirect
sources of the Christian's strength, but now he must
draw directly from the fountain-head — he must be
taught experimentally that God's presence is not
confined to earthly temples, and that graces can
|IM>
;ii
268
i\)t "il^fn clival of the 'Jliuur Ulan.
sometimes grow equally well, nay better, in the
shade than in the sunshine. And how does the tlesh
at first rebel, when for months, or it may be years,
existence is confined to the one little chamber — and
yet God makes that condition ut seeming uselessness
and inacti\ity glorious in results to friends and acquain-
tances who from time to time stand round the dying
couch. The last thing that the believer learns in
this world is that (iod can be equally served and
His cause advanced by silence as by speech; by
sitting at His feet as by serving at the table; by
patient resignation to His will as by daily conflict in
the world. As John Milton says, —
" God doth not need
Eith'T man's work or His own gifts ; who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly ; thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest —
They also serve who only stand and wait.''
You and I may soon lie on such weary beds of suffer-
ing as I have been describing. What, let me ask, shall
enable us to endure — to bear the chastising rod of
our Heavenly Father with resignation and content-
ment ? Not our natural powers, not any strength
of resolution that we may then possess — Death makes
kit
Cbc llcufbiil of tlic ^nncv !ll;iu.
269
the stoutest heart to tremble, and blanches the
proudest cheek. The Apostle tells us how we may
be victorious over death and sutTering. '• For which
cause we faint not, " he says, referring evidently to
the statement of the context, that believers shall be
raised up with the Lord Jesus, and presented blame-
less on the day of judgment. All things are for
their sakes— whether Paul or Apollos, or Cephas
or the world, or things present or things to come—
because they are Christ's, and Christ is God's. It
is this knowledge as a personal experience that keeps
from fainting or sinking in the hour of conflict with
the prince of darkness. All our mortal strength is
unequal to the last encounter with Death. Nothing
but the omnipotent arm of Jehovah and the presence
of the Holy Spirit can make us conquerors. The
blood of Christ extracts the sting .rom Death, and
ives u;
g
ictory over the grave
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'^
w.
€|ilJ)rni in tjje UlarW-'^laxe.
T
i ■
feljtwunlo sl^aU | Wkn tbis gtncraiion ? |t is
like unto cljilbnu sitting in t^e market, anir calling
«nto t\}t'u Uliobc, anir saj)ing, Salt babe pipeb unto
gou anb g£ jjabe not bantcb ; toe Ijabe moiirneb unta
gott anb ge ^abe not lanuntcb."— Matt, xi, 16, 17.
A man upon a sick-bed frequently possesses a
peculiar taste. What in reality is sweet seems bitter,
and what is pleasant appears sour ; what in his ordi-
nary health and vigor is most relished, is rejected
and regarded with intense feelings of disgust. The
taste is not only peculiar, but exceedingly changeable.
To-day he fancies that a certain article of food would
please and satisfy the palate, but no sooner is it
presented than he loathes it, and craves for another
change. The strongest affection often fails to meet
all the whimsical demands of the diseased con-
stitution, and the most enduring and patient tem-
perament often becomes wearied under such long
and repeated irritations. Such a condition of mind
and body is, of course, abnormal. It is due to the
C^Ubrnt in t^e P:irkd-^Ia«.
271
existence of some malady which, for the time being,
changes the disposition, and to some extent confuses
the mind. Once the disease is removed, and the
patient restored to health, the normal taste returns,
and the common articles of diet are more than suffi-
cient to satisfy the keenest appetite.
In later ye- rs '> subject of "colour-blindness'*
has a^'iracted mucn notict, and agitated scientific
circles very largely. This disease, if such it can be
called, consists in a certain defect of vision, whereby
certain colours are not distinguishable, or colours are
alike invisible as such. Most people see seven
colours in the rainbow ; bat people who suffer from
colour - blindness see only two. Dalton, the cele-
brated scientific discoverer, was himself defective in
vision. He saw only two colours, yellow and blue,
or at the most, three, yellow, blue and purple. To
his eye there was no difference between red and
green ; and when asked by Professor Whewell to
what he would compare his scarlet gown, pointed
to the leaves of the trees around him. Dugald
Stewart, also, the great metaphysician, was affected
with this same colour-blindness. He could not
272
C^ilbnn in t^e Parbt-|UiU£.
distinguish a crimson fruit, like the Siberian crab,
from the leaves of the tree on which it grew, other-
wise than by its difference of form. Investigations
as to the cause of this singular defect in the vision
show that often it is hereditary, and that it does
not arise pjrely from disease of the eye, but from
some peculiar condition of the brain or sensorium.
The cause seems to be somewhere between the eye,
as an organ of perception, and the mind — the latter
being incapacitated to perceive the difference of
colours. What has all this to do with the text, you
will be ready to ask? Much every way, I answer.
There are hundreds of men and women who, in
regard to religic 1, are just as fickle and whimsical
and unreasonable as the sick man, whose taste is
so capricious and difficult to please. They are con-
tinually seeking after novelties in matters of doc-
trine and in forms of worship. They have some
serious fault to find with every sect and denomi-
nation of Christians. They have no fixed religious
home ; they profit by no preacher, and are bene-
fitted by no Church organization. Like the people who
are afflicted with colour-blindness, they are morally
and spiritually incapacitated to perceive the truth
mihnn m l^c Parhet-|lace.
273
or grasp it. Truth seems to their conception error,
and error truth. What to others seems beautiful
and comely in the ordinances of the sanctuary,
appears to them distasteful and disgusting. What
profits and nourishes sincere and candid minds, who
wait upon the ministrations of the Gospel, and
receive the word with meekness and humility, leaves
upon their minds no impressions whatever, other
than a still stronger opposition to the truth. The
Church is a fraud ; religion is all hypocrisy ; creeds
and confessions are hollow and worthless forms;
members of churches are uncharitable and despotic
censors, and ministers, as a class, conceited and self-
righteous knaves. Now, bad as is the human heart,
there is something abnormal where such feelings
exist, and where such language is spoken. I know
some men speak so who do not think so ; but others,
I am willing to believe, speak so because they thus
conscientiously believe. It is such persons I am
now sne£
'g
id what I assert is, that as a
class they are the victims of colour-blind
ness — th
do not look the truth fairl
ey
y in the face ; they are
unable to separate the false and the real— they
suffer from moral obliquity, or, to use the language
274
Cljilbrcu in t^e Parlict-jpiacc.
of Scripture, *' the god of this world hath blinded
their minds, lest the light of the glorious Gospel of
Christ should shine unto them."
Sucli persons are peculiar to no one period of
the world's histor}'- Since the creation of Adam on
to the present moment, there have been people die-
formed in body, pale and sickly in their physical
constitution, and defective in vision. And since the
organization of the Church in the world, there have
been quite as many who suffer under mental
maladies, rendering them constant fault-finders and
grumblers. Such there were in the days of Christ,
as we learn from our text. They were neither
pleased with the Old Testament dispensation nor the
New. They found fault alike with prophets and
apostles ; with John the Baptist and with Jesus
Christ. They were wayward, ill-natured, capricious,
discontented, like ill-humoured children, whom it is
impossible to please in any way. One portion desired
this, and another portion that ; what pleased the one
displeased the other, — so that no form of doctrine
and no description of religious life could be devised,
suited to their whimsical tastes. The grand evil lay
Cfeilbwtt in tijc Parhet-$la«.
275
in the fact, vhat they did not really know what they
did want. They enjoyed a certain satisfaction in
censuring every new teacher that claimed their
attention, and in abusing all who did not coincide
with their groundless objections.
I take this to be the general truth contained in
the text. Says Christ, " But whereunto shall I liken
this generation ? It is like unto children sitting in
the markets and calling unto their fellows— their
companions— and saying, We have piped unto you
and ye have not danced ; we have mourned and ye
have not lamented." It was universal dissatisfaction
all round. Some of the group wished to play at a
mock marriage, but the others from some cause not
mentioned refused to join them. Hence discontent
and vexation on the part of those who desired
their playmates to join in the dance, or simulate
the mourning. The last named portion of the
group preferred something else, which displeased the
others, and so there existed nothing but ill-will,
mutual crimination and recrimination— an atmos-
phere of complaint and discontent. This, says
Christ, is the character of the Jews of my day.
276
UbretT in iht Parket-^laa.
You remind me of a band of giddy, thoughtless,
unreasonable children — at one time gay, and at
another time grave. You expect that everyone
should conform to your likes and dislikes — your pas-
sions and prejudices. You abuse all others who
will not court your favour or agree with your erro-
neous views and sinful practices. You are dis-
pleased with John the Baptist because of his
rigid, austere life and urgent calls to repentance ;
because he would not prophesy smooth things, and
accommodate his teaching to meet the depraved tastes
of the age; because, in a word, he would not dance
to your piping. You are equally displeased with my
teacliiijg and conduct, although in many respects it
differs materially from that of John. Because I
exhibit religion as a life of cheerfulness, of activity
and love for the erring and sinful ; because I will not
weep to your dirge and countenance your hypocrisy, I
am denounced and branded as a man of impure life
and a propagator of false doctrine. John rebuked you
for your licentiousness ; I censure you for your self-
righteousness, but neither of us suit your tastes — you
condemn alike our persons and reject our counsels.
dljUbreu i« t^e ||larket-$hice.
277
The Jews had strong objections to Christ's doc-
trine, as well as His morality. He preached and
offered i, , Ivation free to all who would accept it,
having no favourite in any one nation or in any
one class of society, — as intended for guilty men,
everywhere, whether Jew or Gentile. This to the
narrow-minded Jew was most unpalatable doctrine
Only to the seed of Abraham did the Jew desire
the blessings of salvation to extend. The national
creed was exclusive, the Church was exclusive, and
the Jew would have heaven exclusive also. Then
again, Christ taught the utter worthlessness of all
good works, to secure in part or in whole the
favour of God — a doctrine which to self-righteous
Pharisees was peculiarly hard to accept. It seemed
unreasonable that acts of benevolence and a pure
unblemished moral character should not receive
some consideration and compensation in the sight of
God. If the drunkard and the profligate had an
equal chance of heaven, through the mercy of God,
with the man who fasted and prayed and did pen-
ance, then what inducement was there to strive
after an outwardly moral and virtuous char-
acter. The daily practice of Christ, too, in society,
278
C^ilbren in tlje Parket-ljplntt.
was as strange and inconsistent with their views
of decorum as was His teaching. He was eminently
social and familiar with the lower classes of the
nation. He met and conversed with men in the
ordinary walks of life — nay, He was oftener found in
the houses and at the tables of the poor, than at
the feasts and banquets of the rich and honourable.
He laid aside the severe asceticism that seemed
to characterize the Baptist, and, instead of dwelling
in the desert and living on locusts and wild honey,
He entered into all the innocent enjoyments that
came in his way. Publicans and sinners, like
Zaccheus, — Mary Magdalene, out of whom seven
devils had been cast, — outcasts and reprobates of
the deepest dye, were among His companions and
friends. At the marriage of Cana of Galilee He was
present, a cheerful spectator of the innocent festi-
vity and enjoyment of the hour, and in the house
of Simon the leper. He was also found a not less
welcome guest. He mingled with the utmost free-
dom in every topic of discussion, and became all
things to all men, if thereby they might be saved.
Now, such conduct, so different from the Scribes
and Rabbis, the Jews could not understand. The
I
df-btlbreit in the- parhct-|!hue.
279
Pharisees especially, who kept themselves rij^idly
apart from all who did not come up to the standard
of ceremonial sanctity, denounced the Saviour as a
glutton and a wine - bibber — as a man who loved
pleasure and fleshly lusts — a man of impure and
dishonest principles. It is very true such a charge
could not by any possibility be brought against John
the Baptist, and yet equally with Christ he found
no favour in their eyes. John neither sat with them
nor drank with them ; he never entered into familiar
conversation, eicher in the market -place or at their
tables. He kept himself studiously aloof from all
contact with the men of his day, living like a lonely
hermit in his wilderness cell ; but such conduct was
as vehemently vilified as that of Christ. " He was
possessed of a devil;" — his reserved and melancholy
temperament was due to diabolic a"7;ency ; he was a
poor crazed fanatic, altogether unworthy of their
confidence or respect. Thus it happened that, what-
ever phase of religious life was presented — no matter
how dissimilar and extreme — suffered alike the most
unjust aspersions. The sympathy of Christ and the
austerity of John were alike blameable in the eyes
of men who were determined to find fault with every
28o
(C^Ubrcu ill i^t Purhct plate.
appeal to the conscience, and every personal appli-
cation to the life.
Now it is not difficult to find such people at the
present day, and that even within the pale of the
visible Church — not, it may be, vievil c-'s of any Church
— but hearers of the Gospel. They are not infidels —
far from it. They will stoutly maintain the integrity
and inspiration of the Scriptures against all attacks
of sceptics. They are not immoral or licentious in
their lives — far from it. Like the Pharisees of old,
their standard of moral purity is high. None are so
severe upon the smallest defection from virtue — none
are so ready to denounce the current opinion that
the common vices of the age are but venial sins.
Nor can it be said that they are careless in their
Church attendance, or indifferent to the claims of
the Sabbath, and the value of a day of rest. With
wonderful regularity they attend some place of wor-
ship on the Lord's day, and go through the forms
of devotion with apparent sincerity. Nor are they
so liberal in their views as to say that all forms
of religion, whether Popish, Puseyite, or Protestant,
are equally good; but somehow or other their reli-
(!^^UJ>rtit in tbc Pathct-1)late.
281
gious life is a series of negations — without anything
commendable or really useful to the world at large.
They lead an unsettled, migratory life, from creed
to creed, and Church to Church. Like the dove
that was sent out of the ark ere the waters had
subsided, they find no rest or satisfaction in any
existing Church organization. They long for apos-
tolic simplicity and apostolic purity — for a state of
things that can never be obtained in the present
condition of our race — a state which, even were it
realized, would fail to meet the wants of such cen-
sorious and captious critics.
It is a most unenviable state of mind that we are
describing, and the man is to be pitied who possesses
it. There surely are, at the present day, variety
enough of denominations to meet the most singular
tastes. Surely some church organization may be
found where every man who desires to labour for
the Master may find scope enough for the healthy
exercise of all his powers, and for personal advance-
ment in the Divine life. Perfect purity in worship,
in creed, or in discipline, is not to be expected in
the visible Church ; but is there not perfection enough
282
Clnlbren in tlic Parket-Jlate.
to satisfy all but the most unreasonable of mortals ?
Surely it argues something wrong in the moral sense
when a man spends his lifetime in searching out
defects either in the individual professors of religion
or the Church in its collective capacity. And yet
how frequently we meet with or hear of such ! They
see nothing but the evil of whatever is presented to
them. They have a natural attraction for what is
defective ; fault - finding and ill - natured criticism is
their forte. They seem to regard such a faculty
of fault-finding as a special gift, for the due culti-
vation and exercise of which they are responsible.
What is good in Christian character, and commend-
able in Christian Churches, entirely escapes their
notice. What is defective and unlovely is eagerly
seized upon and magnified to the lasting injury of
the cause of truth.
II
Now it may be said truly that if the perfect inno-
cence of Christ's character, and the pure principles
of Christianity, which He published to the world,
failed to satisfy all who were brought under their
influence, it is not marvellous though the much less
perfect character of modern Christians, and the much
€feHbrttt in % Parket-|la«.
283
less complete presentafion of the truth from our
modern pulpits, should find a similar reception. But
we are anxious to find out what are the specific
objections that such a class of persons prefer against
the Church of Christ, and to endeavoir to remove
these objections by showing their unreasonableness.
Is it that in the visible church there are so many
incomplete, or, if you will, inconsistent Christians —
{.srsons whose conduct, in your estimation, is at
variance with the faith they profess to believe and
practice ? If such is the ground of objection, its
•removal is impossible in the present condition of the
Church. A Christian is by no means a perfect man,
either at conversion or at any other period of his
subsequent life. We are not to look upon a professor
of religion as a marble statue when it comes from
the artist's hand3, complete and ready for criticism
in the exhibition room, defying the most minute
investigation, and calling on the outside world to see
what a saint he has become. So far from this,
Christians, for the most part, are but entrants in
the school of Christ, beginners in learning, and
practising the elements of Divine morality — full of
incongruities and anomalies, which only time, and
284
Cbilbnit iit i\n ParKct-J3lacc.
the grace of God, can remove and cancel. A man
should join himself to the Church of Christ not
simply that he may the better expend his energies
for the good of humanity, but that he may jjerson-
ally be helped and assisted in the midst of weakness
and temptation. For a man to object to the Church
of Christ because it contains many erring and
fallible brethren, is to proceed upon an entire mis-
conception of what the Church really is, and what
it was intended to accomplish when placed in the
world by its Divine Head. Before a man refuses
to connect himself with some one of the evangelical
churches of the present day, he should object, not
on the grounds of imperfect membership, but that
none are to be found within its pale possessed of
his own holiness and unexceptional morality. Such
a man certainly, when found, deserves translation to
the Church triumphant, that his garments may not
be soiled through contact with the infirmities and
weakness of the Church on earth ! Or, is it because
the discipline and government of the Christian
Church, is not what you think the Scriptures teach,
that you still stand without ? Well then, what
system of government do you prefer ? At the present
(ff/bUbrtii iiv iye Parkct-^latc.
285
day where there are so many denominations, and
such endless variety of church order, from the
hierarchy of the Pope, down to the latest democracy,
surely there must be some form that meets your
views. No church pretends to have its discipline
and government perfect, unless it be the Church of
Rome. The New Testament Scriptures with the
exception of certain cardinal principles which lie at
the root of all well ordered government, gives but
little help in the department of ecclesiastical order,
and leaves it very much to each denomination to
form its own code of laws, according as it thinks
them most in accordance with the Spirit of the
New Testament. But are forms of government and
methods of discipline so vital and important that a
man is justified to refuse the association and fellow-
ship of believers, because to his mind there is some
defect ! Surely not. Suggest improvements — let your
voice be heard in support of them ; give the church
the benefit of your larger experience, but do not in
your fault-finding spirit seek to detract from her pre-
sent usefulneso, or refuse your wise co-operation. Or
is it the mode in which truth is presented at the
present day, that creates your opposition tc existing
«
286
^feilbun in Ifec Parktt-|late.
f Si
church organizations ? It cannot be the truth itself,
for the Gospel as preached by Christ and his
apostles, is the same that is now pressed upon the
acceptance of congregations in Christian lands. It
may, by reason of human defects, be at times dis-
figured; — the ignorance of the preacher and the
unpreparedness of the people, often doubtless pre-
vent such wonderful effects as were witnessed in
Pentecostal times, but surely some churches hold
the truth, and present the truth with sufficient dis-
tinctness and correctness to profit any candid hearer.
It cannot be, that throughout Christendom there is
to be found no church organization suited to your
taste, and no pulpit where the Gospel in all its
native simplicity and power is p) cached ! Surely no
man is vain enough to imagine that in intellectual
power and spiritual experience, and biblical knowledge,
he is in advance of anything the church contains
within her ranks; — that he combines in his own
person all the orthodoxy, all the learning, and all the
wisdom of the past, and can gain no new ideas, and
no heavenly unction, by fellowship with the Church
of Christ ! And yet such, in effect, is what many
singularly constructed Christians say at the present
C^ilbren in the Parhet-IIatE.
287
;
1
day. No church quite meets their approval. They
cannot endure the formahsm and ceremonial display
of Episcopal Churches. They cannot stand the extra-
vagance and unregulated enthusiasm of the Methodists.
They condemn the narrowness — the bigotry — the exclu-
siveness of the Baptists. They complain of the coldness
and stiffness of Presbyterians, and they cannot sympa-
thise with the laxity of discipline which prevails in
Congregational Churches ! Surely such conduct, and
such sentimentvS, prove the existence of a large amount
of spiritual pride, coupled with an exceeding childish-
ness of temperament unbecoming intelligent men. It
is the old complaint of the Jews in the time of Christ :
"We have piped unto you and ye have not danced;
we have mourned unto you, and ye have not lamented."
I have, so far, charitably supposed that the class
of persons discribed are" really anxious about religion,
but, from some most unfortunate warp in their con-
stitution, are thus disaffected towards all Churches
and all ecclesiastical organisations, I fear however
that we regard them too tenderly, and that other
less honorable motives may account for such singular
conduct. There are many to be found who respect
h
!' ,' it
li-. If
288
(T^ilbren in t\^t Parkct-|,Uate.
religion and ministers of the Gospel only so far as
they can turn them to some account in the further-
ance of their own selfish plans and projects. They
have marked out for themselves a certain course in
life, and anything that interferes with its successful
accomplishment must be attacked and calumniated,
be the means the most unscrupulous and unjust.
The Jews in the time of Christ had little relish for
religious topicr. Some of them did profess to seek
after a higlier life, but the great mass were bent
upon the mateiial pleasures and enjoyments of the
age, and any form of religion that rebuked such
carnality was looked upon as out oi' place. If they
could not use John the Baptist and Jesus Christ
to the furtherance of their own sinful and selfish
designs ; — if they would not join with them in their
false and frivolous pursuits, or at least wink at their
follies, then they must endeavour to mjure their
reputation and malign their doctrine. Had Christ
really been the glutton and drunkard they declared
He was — had He consorted with them in their
revelries and pleasures, and lowered His morality to
suit their wishes, He would have had thousands of
followers and friends from the ranks of these same
ilirreit in t^e ilarkel-f lace.
289
Jews. It was because His life and His teaching
was a standing rebuke of all their evil practices
that He was made the object of such groundless
aspersions.
Is this the secret of modern opposition to ministers
and churches ? Is it this that the Saviour foretold
when He said "If they call the master of the
house Beelzebub, how much more shall they call
them of his household ? " Have we indeed any right
to expect but that, just in proportion as we are
faithful to the trust committed to us, our language
and our lives shall be misconstrued-misunderstood-
and misapplied? If the ministers of religion will
not modify their teaching to meet the fluctuating
opinions of the world, what can they expect but
insult and misrepresentation? If the doctrine is
disliked, the teacher must be abused. If men's
secret sins and public dishonesties are fearlessly
attacked, what more easy or more natural than to
cry out against all existing religious organizations
and all orders of the ministry. The real cause is
never avowed-that would hardly be prudent, nor
is it necessary when so many excuses and charges
19
290
Cbilbrtn in t^e Parket-^late.
I
can be made. At times it is the expense of
churches — the continual demands that are made for
benevolent enterprises. At other times the self-
righteous attitude of church members — their ex-
clusivsness and illiberality towards the outside world.
At other times it is the preacher himself. His
sermons are too long or too short ; he is too
doctrinal or too practical ; — he is too abstract or too
sentimental ; — the flimsiest reason is laid hold of to
reject the Gospel and neglect its requirements. If
he insists strongly on purity of life and sanctity of
thought, then it is said he is too strict — righteous
over much, always demanding a style of life and
conduct beyond the reach of fallible mortals in a
fallen world. If he is cheerful, happy and mirthful
in his disposition, and familar in his address, he is
stigmatized as light and frivolous — as wanting in that
gravity and dignity becoming a servant of Christ.
If he is grave, and strict, and sombre in his deport-
ment, then he is described as gloomy and sour —
puritanical and narrow - minded. If he eats and
drinks and dresses like other people — if he enters
with spirit into the innocent enjoyments of life, then
the world says he is nothing different or better than
^iihttn in t^t Parhct-ilatt
291
themselves, and that his religion is but a form.
Preach as he may— live as he may— no minister of
Christ can be above the reproach of worldly men ;
for, as an old commentator says, " Whatever mea-
sures good men take, they will never escape the
censures of the world. The best way is not to be
concerned at them." To such men even the sweet-
ness of the honey comb would seem distasteful.
Now, are there in this congregation, either as
stated or occasional hearers, any of the classes I
have described ? Do not, I beseech you, be too ready
to censure the Church or the preacher. Look within
and see if there be not something essentially wrong,
either with the head or with the heart. Vou may
be like the sick patient, of whom I spoke in the
opening of my remarks, under the influence of a
disease, that perverts your taste and destroys your
power of perception. The carnal mind knoweth
not the things of the Spirit— they are spiritually
discerned : Divine illumination is needed before they
can be appreciated or relished. You are the victim
of moral obliquity. You are neither honest in your
judgments, nor sincere in your search after truth.
292
«feilbr«n in t|jc Parktt-|la«.
Unless conscience has already been overpowered and
perverted beyond recovery, it must at times convic
you of unjust and censorious criticisms ; of numerous
occasions when you have laid hold of the imper-
fections of churches and ministers and office-bearers,
to cover over or palliate gross direlictions of duty
and manifest wrong - doing in life. I caution you
against continuing in such a course of conduct.
Were the errors of the Church and the evils of the
ministry a thousand -fold more numerous and aggra-
vated than they are, they would not in the least
extenuate your guilt. At the bar of God no man
can roll over his sins on the shoulders of another,
or blame the deficiencies of human agencies for his
wilful neglect of ordinances, I know of no evan-
gelical church at the present day that does not
afford blessed opportunity for spiritual improvement,
and ample room for the exercise ot the noblest
talents, and the most exalted graces. Woe be to
the man who refuses to enter upon the cultivation
of his spiritual energies because of petty and insig-
nificant details, either in the discipline or in the
doctrine of the Church. Better for him he had
never heard a sermon, and never enjoyed the advan-
f\
' Cbilbrcn in t^e pnrket-|1late.
293
tages of Christian civilization. " Woe unto thee,
Choiazim ! Woe unto thee, Bethsaida ! for if the
mighty works which were done in you had been
done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented
long ago in sackcloth and ashes."
Once for all. let it be understood we cannot
lower the demands and obligations of our holy
religion. Whether men will hear, or forbear, we
must maintain, in all its integrity and purity, the
fundamental principles of our faith. Fidelity to our
Master — love for souls — and a sense of our account-
ability at the bar of God, forbid all tampering with
unhallowed pleasures, and all conformity to worldly
maxims. Let our names be despised, our characters
traduced, our reputations depreciated, all, and much
more, rather tnan we should incur the displeasure of
Almighty God. Better far the testimony of a good
conscience and the favour of the Master, than the
applause and commendation of the worldly and profane.
Finally let me say to every hearer of the Gospel :
"Look to thy actions well,
For churches either are our heaven or hell
!
%^t "^Imtiwm s of t|f ^oblg Ulan.
-♦».-
"fjc s^all bbfll on ^ig^ ; ^is place of bcfcnrc s^all bt
i)^c munUions of rocks ; brcab sl^all be gibtit ^im,
^IS foatcrs shall be sure."— Isaiah xxxiii. i6.
From the 29th to the 33rd chapters of this pro-
phecy, an account is given of the distress that was
to follow the invasion of Sennacherib. In the
midst of these national trials and calamities, Divine
interposition is promised. God is to arise against
the enemies of His Church and people, and work
out for them a mighty deliverance. At the very
moment when all hope is despaired of — when the
highways lie waste, and the wayfaring man ceases;
when the earth languishes and mourns — when
Lebanon is ashamed and hewn down — when Sharon
is like a wilderness, and Bashan and Carmel shake
off their fruits, then, saith the Lord, "will I arise
and be exalted ; then will I lift up Myself." The
effect of these singular deliverances from the hand
of God upon the enemies of the Jews, and upon
impenitent sinners in Jerusalem, in view of God's
!
^t ^ks&t^mss of lj)e ^Soblp pan. 295
judgments upon the army of Sennacherib, is des-
cribed in the context: "The sinners in Zion are
afraid; fearfulness hath surprised the hypocrites;
Who among us shall dwell with the devouring fire?
Who among us shall dwell with everlasting burn-
ings?" Finally there is presented us a glowing
picture of the character and biessedness of the truly
pious man. " He that walketh righteously and
speaketh uprightly ; he that despiseth the gain of
oppressions, that shaketh his hands from holding of
bribes, that closeth his ears from hearing of blood,
and shutteth his eyes from seeing evil — this man
shall dwell on high; — in the midst of all these
commotions and agitations he shall remain unmoved;
the thunders and lightnings of God's vengeance
shall harm him not ; amid the overthrow of empires,
and the downfall of kingdoms, he shall maintain a
cheerful confidence in the protection of Heaven."
'• He shall dwell on High ; his place of defence
shall be the munitions of rocks ; bread shall be
given him ; his water shall be sure."
We propose to enlarge the text and give it a
world-wide application. In considering it, we shall
296 ^^t ^UssebiTtss of t^t 6obl)ji Pan.
perhaps discover why it is that God's people m;\in-
tain the utmost tranquility and serenity of mind in
the midst of alarming tokens of God's presence ;
why it is that when worldly and irreligious men
and sceptics are blaspheming, and statesmen and
politicians are despairing of the safety of the
commonwealth, and all ranks and classes of men
are rocked hither and thither by evil tidings, that
the godly man alone, continues calm and collected
as in more peaceful times. " He dwells on high ;
his place of defence is the munition of rocks. "
These three points claim our attention.
I. The godly man's dwelling. He shall dwell on
high, in heights or high places.
U4t
2. The godly man's defence. His place ci defence
shall be the munition of rocks.
3. The godly man's provision. Bread shall be
given him ; his water shall be sure.
I. The godly man's dicclling. " He shall dwell
on high," beyond the reach of storms and tempests ;
and far removed from this lower world. Faint
^t ^Ifssebufss of t^t ^oblg pair. 297
on
be
i
echoes of its tumults and social earthquakes may
at times reach his ears, like the low dull mutter-
ing of the distant thunder-peal, as it dies away
amid the mountain solitudes; but they disturb not
his serenity. The peace of God that passeth all
understanding, keeps his heart and mind. He can
say, " God is my refuge and strength a very pre-
sent help in trouble ; therefore will I not fear,
though the earth be removed, and though the
mountains be carried into the midst of the sea.
Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled,
and though the mountains shake with the swelling
thereof."
It is worthy of note, how frequently in the Old
Testament Scriptures God is spoken of, as the
refuge of His saints in troublous times. In periods
when persecution and trials for the sake of right-
eousness abounded, and national judgments prevailed,
the prophets and saints of God lived in an atmos-
phere free from anxiety and sorrow in their over
mastering forms. Their strong faith lifted them up
to a place of calm, whence, amid confusion and
agitation, they recognized and reposed in the sover-
298 ®^t ^Ussebafss of i\^t ^oblg Pan.
eignty of God. In such dark hours their souls
gathered strength and fortitude by the memory of
former days, when Jehovah triumphed gloriously
over all His enemies, and scattered by His breath
the foes of His Church and people.
It is the privilege of God's children now as
then, "to dwell on high." "Oh! that I had wings
like a dove, for then would I fly away and be at
rest," is frequently the cry of the soul oppressed
with varied sorrows. Are there not times when
the calamities of life seem too heavy to be borne,
and we sink outright in the deep waters of aflflic-
tion, saying, like the Psalmist of old, " Ali thy
waves and thy billows are gone over me ?" Seeing
no relief on either hand, and allowing our fears to
overcome our faith, we would gladly give up the
conflict and pass beyond the reach of sin and sor-
row, " where the wicked cease from troubling and
the weary are at rest." But such helpless despond-
ency a!)d despair is not the part of true wisdom.
It is possible, amid the conflict and struggle of
existence, to enjoy hallowed and refreshing com-
munion with God. Amid the commotions and
S^e §less£bmss of il^t <^oblg Pan. 299
revolutions which shake society to its very found-
ations, and cause the stoutest hearts to quake and
tremble, we may repose with confidence in the
mysterious workings of the Almighty, all whose
dealings are marked by matchless love. Then it is
that we are " to dwell on high," saying with the
Psalmist; "Though an host should encamp against
me, my heart shall not fear ; though war should
rise against me, in this will I be confident. * - *
In the time of trouble He shall hide me in His
pavilion ; in ^he secret of His tabernacle shall He
hide me ; He shall set me up upon a rock." He
that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night,
nor the arrow that flieth by day. Thou shalt hide
them in secret of Thy presence from the pride of
man ; Thou shalt keep them secretly in a pavilion
from the strife of toncrues.
Th
ere are no cares
in the higher experience of the Chrictia
n i
ife,
as
there is no dust in the upper atmosphere. We
are told that near the city of Naples, there is a
grotto that exhales carbonic acid gas. Being heavier
than the air, the gas lies in a thin stratum clos
300
c 58lcsscbitess of t^t <^obIg Pan.
to the ground, so that animals walking near the
surface are at once killed, while an upright man
experiences no injury. So it is with the sorrows
and cares of life. If we lie down under them, we
are poisoned and suffocated. If we stand erect in
the sunshine of Heaven, and in the light of God's
countenance, we inhale the pure air, and become
all the stronger by the discipline of trial.
But more is implied than a mere temporary
refuge. The words denote a permanent place of
shelter. "He shall dwell on high;" not merely
lodge, as a wayfaring man, for a night, but make
it his abode. It is a place where the soul has its
home — where at all times it is certain of a refuge.
** Lord thou hast been ouy .iii-elliug place in all
generations," is the language of the godly man.
There are some men who deem it sufficient to
have a covert when danger threatens, and who are
only driven to solemn thoughts by God's providences,
and when human resources fail. They are like
homeless, friendless vagrants, or helpless orphans,
who wander from door to door, destitute of family
joys and parental love. They know nothing of the
^i ^lessebiuss of t\^t <ioblg Pan. 301
^j.-
hallowed endearments and the sacred delights of
the domestic circle, whose members are bound
together by the golden ties of a sincere affection.
But it is otherwise with the Christian. God is his
dwelling place and refuge in the changing scenes
of life. " I am continually with thee," is his lan-
guage ; "Thou shalt guide me with Thy counsel, and
afterward receive me into glory." Thus the good
man's communion is on high — his interest lies
beyond the present — the body is on the earth, but
the soul is in Heaven. His emotions — his affections
and all the nobler aspirations of his nature tend
upwards, and from thence proceeds all his comforts,
hopes, and consolationo.
Finally, may we not understand the words to
mean, that, from this high elevation, the soul can
look down upon this arena of mortal conflict and
comprehend the glorious issue of the contest. Just
as on some lofty mountain-top, far above thi. walls
and battlements of the city, and removed from the
smoke and dust, and vapours that obstruct the
view in its crowded thoroughfares, the traveller can
take in the beauty of the landscape, and penetrate
302 ^)^t ^Icssebntss of t^t (ioblg pan.
for miles the vastness and loveliness of the ever
widening horizon, so is it with the Christian's faith,
in regard to mysterious providences and strange
events. Are there not moments in his history,
when, as in Jacob's vision, ladders arc seen reach-
ing heavenward, and unfolding before his rapt vision
God's dealing in the future with the Church and
world ? Are there not periods when God takes
away his people from the toilsome journey of the
wilderness, up to Pisgah heights, whence they can
survey the promised land, and anticipate a glorious
victory? Are there not seasons when, like Paul
and the beloved apostle John, the Holy Spirit
spreads out before them in panoramic view, the
hopes and happiness of the future world ? In such
moments they " dwell on high."
Everything depends upon our point of observation,
in beholding natural distances. If you want a grand
view of the city and surrounding landscape, you
must climb some lofty spire. And when military
commanders would understand the position and
resources of the enemy, they ascend in balloons far
above the dense foliage of the forest. So when we
t §it&Bth\t»B of the ^oMn pan. 303
would understand anything concerning God's dealings
with this world — the reasons whj' He permits so
much sin and wretchedness, and why men's passions
boil and foam like so many heated cauldrons, and
why, for so many centuries, evil has been allowed
to claim the mastery over good — we must take a
higher elevation, and seek a better point of vision,
than this lower world. Thus only can we form an
estimate of God's dealings with our race, and pos-
sess our souls in patience. "The secret of the
Lord is with them that fear Him, and He will
show them His covenant."
The higher we ascend above the surface of the
earth, the more insignificant do its details appear.
Looked upon from the verge of some far-off world,
this vast globe of ours is but a paltry insignificant
speck in space. And in like manner, the higher
the Christian rises above the tumults and agitations
of life, the less does he value its pleasures and
amusements. What seem to other men of great
importance, are petty and unsatisfying in his eyes.
He measures them in the light of eternity, and as
they effect his immortality ! " He dwells on high."
304 ®lje ^Uewbtuss of t^e <!^oblg Plan.
2. T/je ^orf/y man's defence. "His place of defence
shall be the munitions of rocks." This denotes com-
plete security. It is not a fortification of earth-
works, hastily thrown up, and as easily thrown
down ; — nor is it one of masonry, however skilfully
constructed by human art ; — but it is a munition
of rocks, strong and high, and bidding defiance
alike to the cannon - ball, the desolating tempest
and ocean's fury. The eagle builds her nest among
rocky crags and slanting precipices, but even there
bhe is not free from danger. Human daring, in
the face of fearful obstacles, invades her nest, and
robs her of her treasures. But those whom God
protects need fear neither the assaults of man, nor
the attack of devils. "The gates of hell cannot
prevail against them."
This is a comforting truth, and one often pre-
sented in Scripture. " They that trust in the Lord
shall be as Moun*^ Zion, which cannot be removed,
but abideth forever. As the mountains are round
about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about His
people from henceforth and forever. In that day
shall this song be sung in the land of Judah !
^t '§\mth\m of tbc (^ohUj ^an. 305
We have a strong city ; salvation will God appoint
for walls and bulwarks. * * ■■:■ Trust ye in the
Lord forever; for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting
strength. ^1= * --^ ^nd a man shall be as a hiding-
place from the wind, as a covert from the tempest ;
as rivers of water in a dry place; as the shadow
of a great rock in a weary land." And Moses, in
taking farewell of the children of Israel, says, "The
eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath thee
are the everlasting arms. Who is like unto thee,
O people, saved by the Lord?" Nor is it simply
that God defends His people collectively, but that
He exercises a special protection over individual
believers. When God permitted Satan to tempt His
servant Job, vSatan used the significant language:
"Hast thou not made an hedge about him and
about his house, and about all that he hath on
every side," implying that in his case, and in the
case of the humblest believer, there is the constant
regard of an ever- watchful Providence. "The angel
of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear
Him, and delivereth them." There is a place in
His loving heart for every member of His Church.
20
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306 Sr^c §lcsscbiw8s of t^c CSoblg pan.
There is, I fear, much practical unbelief among
Christians on this subject. They are willing to
believe that the Church is founded upon a rock —
that God defends and fortifies the cause of truth
and righteousness against every foe — but they are
slow to believe that He stands sentinel for every
believer, and that there is an actual outstretching
of His arm, in defending him against sudden
temptations and dangers, just as there is a con-
stant supervision and exercise of Almighty power
in sustaining those suns and systems that revolve
in space. But such is the doctrine of Scripture.
God not only rocks the cradle of the universe, but
rocks the cradle of every believer it contains.
There is no trial or temptation that can prevail
without His knowledge, or against His will.
It is not as an abstract theoretical dogma that
I present this fact. It is not that you may simply
believe and admire the wonderful comprehensiveness
of that Providence which singles out souls from
the infinity of existence, and makes them th
object of His solicitude, but that you may realize
the comfort that flows from such a truth in every
I
€}^t ^Usscbncss of t^e ^Foblj) Pan. 307
situation of life. If I am assured of Divine protec-
tion in every time of danger, of safety from every
peril, and victory over every enemy, what need is
there for alarm in the darkest and most trying
situations of life ? With God for their defence
" The saints securely sii.g
Defiance to the gates of hell. '
3. The godly man's provision. " Bread shall be
given him, his waters shall be sure." It is not a
matter of doubt or mere probability. The language
is that of absolute certainty. " Bread shall be given."
•♦The young lions may lack and suffer hunger, but
they that seek the Lord shall not want any good
thing. I have been young, and now am old: yet
have I never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his
seed begging bread."
Oftentimes the Christian's daily provision seems
exceedingly precarious, but it is only so to human
eyes. God provides just as emergencies arise, and
in these instances by very mysterious and unexpect-
ed channels. Hagar in the wilderness, when the
bottle was spent, cast her child from her under
3o8 m^t ^ItfcscbutsB of Ibc Ciloblj) Pan.
i
the shrubs, and laid herself down to die, when lo!
near at hand there was a sparkling fountain to
quench her thirst and sustain the life of her child.
The Israelites in their journeyings had no flour for
bread, but daily supplies of Heaven - prepared manna,
and abundant flocks of quail, and living streams of
water from the flinty rock, supplied their every
want. Elijah hides himself by the brook Cherith,
and drinks of the water of the stream, and morn-
ing and evening eats flesh and bread brought him
by the ravens. Again, when, wearied of life, he lies
down under the juniper tree, eagerly desiring that
God would end his days, an angel touches him
and tells him to rise and eat. And are there not
in the experience of many Christians at the present
day, not less wonderful examples of how God pro-
vides for the temporal necessities of His people?
Why, then, should God's saints burden themselves
by fears of want ? Take no thought for your life
— no unnecessary or sinful forebodings — as to what
ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, nor yet as to
your body, what ye shall put on. " Behold the fowls
of the air, for they bow not, neither do they reap
nor gather int j barns ; yet your heavenly Father
In
f he ^Icsscbncss of the oSobln IHun. 309
feedeth them ! Are ye not much better than they ?
Therefore if God so clothe the grass of the field,
which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the
oven, shall He not much more clothe you, O ye
of little faith ?"
It is altogether a wrong idea that God cares
but little for the temporal or physical welfare of
His children, and that His only concern is their
higher and immortal nature. The text, and other
passages of Scripture, clearly teach that His sym-
pathies are enlisted in all that belongs to the present
well-being of His saints, and that He understands
and cares for our bodily ailments and infirmities
with greater constancy than that of the fondest
mother who weeps in sorrow over the sufferings
and untold necessities of her helpless babe. There
are periods when we are made to feel our absolute
dependence upon Providence for daily bread. P'or
the most part our common mercies come to us so
regularly, and want is so seldom in our homes, that
we fail to value the constant gifts of Heaven. It
is only when, by some national calamity, the wheels
of commerce are suddenly stopped, or the produc-
h n
y,
'>'; ■!
310 ®;^e ^ItBBthxtBB of the (Jooblg paw.
tions of the field cease to grow, and the mildew
of Heaven wastes our borders, and famine and
pestilence with all their attendant horrors press
upon the land, that we feel the literal truth, that
in God we live, and move, and have our being.
Then we are led to serious reflection upon God's
unfailing mercies and man's ingratitude, and then
it is that we can plead, if we are God's children,
the promise of the text, that bread shall be given
us, and that our waters shall be sure.
But mark that nothing is promised but the bare
necessaries of life. God can give us more — may
give us more — very frequently He does give us
more, but in every such case He goes beyond the
terms of His promise. Even these necessaries of
life far exceed the merits of the most deserving,
and should His wisdom see fit to give us nothing
more, we must rest submissive. This world is but
a prison, and as long as we are in it we must
rest contented with prison fare.
But bread and wat^r evidently include all spiri-
tual blessings needed in our earthly pilgrimage.
Cbc ^lesscbness of tbc (l^obli; pan. 311
These terms are often used as symbols of the
higher wants of the soul, and surely, if God pro-
vides for our poor decaying bodies, He will most
certainly provide for our higher natures. Every
gift and grace will be most freely bestowed; — "the
Lord will give grace and glory, and no good thing
will He withhold from them that walk uprightly."
The body is but the casket of the soul, which
demands higher nourishment than the bread that
perisheth, and just as the body languishes and dies
without material subsistence, so, without the con-
stant nourishment of God's spirit, our higher life
becomes feeble and torpid. In the history and
progress of the soul there are ever increasing and
enlarging desires. If there is spiritual health, there
will be no complete satisfying of the soul's demands
on this side of eternity. To-day's supplies will but
whet the appeite for to-morrow's blessings. And
thus it is that faith and dependence upon Goc are
developed in Christian character. He gives us no
superfluous graces, but He meets our demands from
time to time as they arise, saying, '* My grace is
sufficient for thee — My strength shall be perfected
in thy weakness. Thy shoes shall be iron and
It .. ' ' II
illi
h'
! I
312 8;ljf ^Usscbness of i^t Cpobig pan.
brass ; and as thy days so shall thy strength be."
Or, as Paul writes to the Philippians: "My God
shall supply all your need, according to His riches
in glory by Christ Jesus."
I am prepared to hear some child of God can-
didly reply, that the promise of the text, " Bread
shall be given him, his waters shall be sure," has
often failed. In their own experience it has not
always held good. They have passed through days
of privation and penury, when the crust of bread
and cup of water, and cruse of oil, have been hard
to find, and when their hearts sunk within them
as their children cried because of the pangs of
hunger. The Christian minister and physician meet
such cases too frequently, even in our so-called land
of plenty, where, from fraud, indolence, or evil-doing
on the part of a parent, or from the death of i
pious husband, noverty and starvation become a
sad experience. God's children are by no means
exempted from such trials. Often they appear
marked out for them beyond the average of human-
ity. Industry and toil — honesty and integrity—do
not always meet with their natural and jus' rewards
a;i)£ ^UusthxtBB of i\it doblg Pan. 313
"Man's inhumanity to rnan," continues, as of old,
to make " countless thousands mourn.'" And yet,
though to human observation the promise of my
text may not in every case have been so palpably
and quickly carried out, as human nature would
desire, how frequently has the needed provision
come in such a mysterious way, and at such a
time, as proved beyond all doubt, that the coven-
ant stands sure, and the Lord can never forsake
His saints. By human agents, mysteriously sent in
our hours of need, and as really the messengers of
Heaven as were the angels to needy saints, " our
bread has been given us, and our waters have
been sure." Thus, like Israel of old, divinely sus-
tained and provided for in the pathless desert, each
Christian can sing :
I
"Lord, 'tis enough, I ask no more;
These blessings are Divine —
1 envy not the worldling's store,
Since Christ and Heav.?n are mine."
Some here know nothing of this blessedness!
They have no such dwelling— no such defence— no
such promise. Recipients of God's common bounties,
they have no part in the bestowments of covenant
314 S^ijt ^Usscbntss of t^e 4^obljr Pan.
love. Into those higher experiences of Christian life
they have never entered. Material delights and
transitory pleasures fill up the plan of existence.
pitiable condition ! a soul destined to live for-
ever, without God's favour here or presence here-
after. It need not be so. Come, ye famishing souls
— partake of the free and eve- - flowing fountain
of God's love, and let your souls delight in fatness.
"He that eateth of this bread shall live forever."
"S« « Mtanrt ftjilii."
"Pg soul is eben as a foeitncb t^ill)."— Psalm cxxxi. 2.
The translation of the text fails to give up the
force of the original. It is as if the Psalmist David
said, " God knows, if I have not soothed and
quieted my soul, as a child weaned from its mother."
It is the language of strong asseveration ; an appeal
to God for the sincerity of his feelings and the
truth of his declarations. In other portions of God's
word, the state of mind represented by the term
*' weaned," is spoken of by such a phrase as "spiri-
tual - mindedness ; " — that stage in the Christian's
experience when the believer becomes entirely in-
different to the outward and tangible realities of
life, so far as finding in them a source of lasting
comfort or enjoyment. We may endeavour faintly
to describe what is meant by the text, but the
believer only can fully comprehend the thing itself.
" A weaned child " is one that has ceased to
use the mother's milk. For a certain period of the
IP
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316
gis a mmuti (Jlfeilb.
child's existence, unless in exceptional cases, the
child depends upon the mother's milk for strength
and sustenance, and can be satisfied with nothing
else. Deny it this nourishment and it dies ; con-
tinue it until a certain period of its life, and the
child grows up strong and healthy. The time comes,
however, when the child must be weaned from its
mother's breast, and other and more solid food
substituted for the mother's milk. But to bring the
child to forget what it formerly loved, and impera-
tively demanded from hour to hour, is often a
protracted labour. The child cannot understand this
sudden change in the mother's conduct — doubtless
it thinks such treatment harsh and cruel — and un-
less there is firmness and resolution on the parent's
part to persevere until the process is accomplished,
the child, by its earnest solicitations and touching
plaints, may for a period protract the struggle. At
last, however, the child is compelled by hunger to
take some other food, which it soon begins to
relish and seek for, as it formerly did for the
mother's milk. Now, says the Psalmist, just as the
child becomes utterly indifferent and regardless of
the means of subsistence provided for its earliest
gis a mmnh Clnlir.
317
and most helpless stage of existence, so do I feel
with regard to the more common carnal delights
and luxuries of life. Humility has taken the place
of former pride and haughtiness. Instead of the
low, grovelling ambitions that for the most part
engage the attention of men, aspirations, heavenly
in their nature, and divinely inspired, fill and fire
my soul. My will, which was formerly under no
restraint whatever— perverse, defiant, and ungovern-
able—is now completely subjected to the will and
authority of a higher and a nobler power ; in a
word, my whole character is so radically changed
that I can imagine nothing in nature which so
suitably and strikingly represents my altered condi-
ion as that of a " weaned child." Or in the words
of the Christian Poet, describing the complete sur-
render of the whole being to the service of Christ ;
" People of the living- God,
I have sought the world around,
Paths of sin and sorrow trod.
Peace and comfort nowhere found.
Now to you my spirit turns,
Turns, a fugitive unblest;
Brethren, where ycur altar bu/ns
O receive me into re«t.
i. 'II
i »
I
318
^s a mimn^ ^btlb.
"Lonely 1 no longer roam,
Like the cloud, the wind, the wave.
Where you dwell shall be my home,
Where you die shall be my grave ;
Mine the God whom you adore,
Your Redeemei shall be mine,
Earth can fill my soul no more,
Every idol I resign."
Now I need not say that such feelings, and
such an unreserved surrender of earthly enjoyments
and earthly idols, is by no means natural to man.
The world, and the things that are in the world ;
the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the
pride of life, form the chief objects of attraction.
Withdraw the mass of men from such pursuits
and pleasures, and you render life unbearable, and
existence a very burden. I do not say that all
unconverted and unregenerate men are equally the
creatures of sense, but the world in some form or
other is their all in all. In one case it is the
enjoyment of sensual pleasure, in another the pur-
suit of wealth, in another the desire of fame, in
another the love of power, that claims the sympa-
thies and active energies of mankind. So completely
wrapped up in the friendships and delights of the
present world are many men, that they can hardly
gis H mtmth (Kfeiib.
319
afford the holy rest of one day in seven for the
service of their Maker and preparation for Heaven.
The Sabbath is to them a weariness; the hours
outwardly spent in exercises of devotion are in
reality devoted to the conception of new plans and
enterprises whereby they may buy and sell and
get gain. God is not in all their thoughts, and
the solemn concerns of eternity have no bearing
whatever upon their lives. Such men are hardly
ever "weaned" from the world, until Death violently
snaps asunder the bond which unites soul and body»
and ushers the spirit into the realities of the
unseen world.
This, you may say, is the extreme of worldliness.
Be it so ; it is one of the tendencies of the age,
and a too common characteristic of professing
Christians. The other extreme, against which I warn
you as entirely unscriptural and unnatural in a
healthy Christian, is a certain extreme spirituality
of mind, which affects to look down with horror
and disdain upon the more innocent pleasures and
enjoyments of life, and, in some cases, causes good
men to withdraw from active intercourse with their
320
gs n Mtnntb ^\\^.
','
ii '{
fellow men. There are some Christians who are
continually mourning over the degeneracy of the
age — the fearful dishonesties practised in business —
the spirit of worldliness that is creeping into the
Church of Christ — and the absence of vital piety ir.
the lives of God's people ; — all which is perhaps too
true and to be regretted. But the most hopeful
plan of correcting such flagrant evils in the world
is certainly not by withdrawing from the obligations
of life and the performance of those duties which
an all -wise Providence imposes upon every creature
of His hand. We are not angels; and while in the
world our employments cannot be entirely angelic.
We do not as yet possess spiritual bodies, and
therefore, to sustain these bodies, we must for a while
depend upon the grosser elements of existence. We
are not yet enrolled among the happy number of
the ledeemed in • Heaven, and therefore our time
cannot be entirely devoted to the exercise of prayer
and praise. So long as we are in the wilderness
we must toil, struggle, buy and sell, make provi-
sion against future wants, and by all laudable means
maintain our respectability and honour before the
world. I have no sympathy whatever with thoee
3is a Mmxt'a €|j|ilb.
32t
men who are so exceedingly holy in their own
eyes that they fear contamination with their fellow
mortals. There is something fearfully out of joint
in that man's religious experience who sees nothing
to commend in the ordinary business of life, and
learns no lessons of practical and lasting value by
intercourse with his fellow men. What the Bible
demands of us is, not cessation from active duty,
but the mingling of religion in every act, and the
consecration of every calling to the glory of God.
Nor do I sympathize with a certain class of pro-
fessing Christians who frown upon all those inno-
cent and healthful pleasures that help to oil the
machinery of life, and make men more vigorous
and happy in the discharge of duty, and in the
enourance of trials. Every part of our nature, I
take it, should be cultivated, and only in so far as
we thus fulfil the Divine purpose can we preserve
a due equipoise between soul and body. The devil
must not monopolize all the mirth, and geniality,
and pure enjoyments of the world. These must be
made subordinate to the higher purposes of exist-
ence, but at the same time useful auxiliaries to a
religious life. When a man or woman joins the
21
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322
^s 1 (Rleancb (T^ilb.
Church of Christ, it does not follow that they are
to assume a morose and rueful coi ance, and
practice the asceticism of the dark ages, when the
walls of monasteries and nunneries, raided high as
Heaven, endeavoured by material force to make
men spiritually - minded. All secular good things
belong to the Christian. He is to use this world
in the highest and noblest sense. He has a per-
fect right to surround himself with the treasures of
art and refinement, and make this beautiful world
minister to the finer affections of ^ nature ; — to
enjoy the melody of music, and list^. . the high-
est efforts of cultivated genius. The Christian's
home should be a constant scene of holy joy —
bright, cheerful, and radiant with sunny smiles ; and
the Christian's countenance and conversation among
his fellow men a source of happiness and an ever-
flowing fountain of refreshment. As has been truly
said, *' Conscience is good — veneration is good — and
solemnity is good; but cheerfulness is just as good and
as necessary in the human soul. It is the blessed
spirit that God has set in the mind to dust it, and to
enliven its dark places. Praying can no more be made
a substitute for smiling, than smiling can for praying."
3l» n ©Itiuub (ir^ilb.
323
You see then, my hearers, that in exhorting you
to " weanedness '" from the world, and a closer walk
with God, I demand nothing incompatible with the
full development of all these powers and affections
which have been wisely implanted in the soi;!. I
only ask that the things of the present world be
held in abeyance to the things of eternity — that we
do not forget that, after all, our stay on earth is brief,
and that all our enjoyments here must have a bearing
upon our state hereafter. " Brethren, the time is short
— it remaineth that they that have wives, be as though
they had one; and they that weep as thou;,'h they
wept not ; nd the • that rejoice as though they
rejoiced not ; and they that buy as though they pos-
sessed not, and they that use this world, as not abus-
ing it; for the fashion of this world passeth away."
Let me briefly describe, then, the character of a
man who is weaned from the world: — First — While
none the less sensible of the many sources of
enjoyment that this present v.-orld affords, he has
become more alive to the value of spiritual and
eternal realities. He does not less love and enjoy
the things of time, but more intensely grasps the
•Si
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III
i
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f
ill: 1
324
^s n mtnm)i Cljilb.
felicities of the future. He has found Christ, and
with Christ such rich anu precious promises of
blessedness beyond the grave, that he is more
indifferent to the changes and vicissitudes of earth.
The reality hides the shadow — the possession the
promise. He is not disgusted with the world,
although he is weaned from it, but, in comparison
with its highest enjoyments, the present inner
delights, and prospective glories of Heaven, seem
far better fitted to his immortal nature. He can
say, "Whom have I in Heaven but Thee? and
there is none on earth that I desire beside Thee."
" As for me, I will behold Thy face in righteous-
ness ; I shall be satisfied when I awake with Thy
likeness." " There may be many that say. Who will
show us any good ? Lord lift Thou up the light
of Thy countenance upon us." "Thou hast put
gladness into my heart, more than in the time that
their corn and their wine is increased." Faith thus
becomes lo the Christian actual possession. " It is
not only a spiritual insight, but a realizing appro-
priating faculty, through which God, and, with Him,
all things become his." Or, as Hartley Coleridge
beautifully and philosophically puts it,
gls a Mtmnh Cljil^.
325
" Think not the faith, by which the just shall live,
Is a dead creed, a map correct of Heaven,
Far less a feeling fond and fugitive,
A thoughtless gift, withdrawn as soon as given.
It is an affirmation and an act
That bids eternal truth be present fact."
Second— Thus alive to the value of spiritual and
eternal realities, the enjoyments and material com-
forts of the present are the less necessary to his
well-being. I do not say cntin-ly unnecessary, for I
take it that no man gets so eth^realized in this
world as to be entirely independent of many of
the more common conditions of existence. Bui a
state of mind is produced that is far less p.fFected
by the changes of fortune, and the trials incident
to mortality; than is usual in the carnal heart.
The enjoyment of a greater good— or, if you will,
the promise of such greater good in the future-
subdues all desires and relish after loss. No man
who has drunk deeply of the inexhaustible treasures
of God's grace can be satisfied with the intermittent
streams of earthly pleasures, or waste his time in
hewing out broken cisterns that can hold no water.
The deep-seated yearnings of the human soul, and
those strong spiritual instincts that from time to
326
Js a aSeaneb C^ilb.
time wake suddenly in the breast, '* like infants from
their sleep — who stretch their arms into the dark
and weep," can only be satisfied in God; and, once
satisfied, what can trials and disappointments do to
disturb our tranquility and serenity of mind? "He's
posses't of Heaven, who Heaven hath Avithin his
breast." In childhood, how highly prized are the
toys and playthings that affection provides for the
amusement and development of the opening mind. In
boyhood and girlhood more advanced amusements
and enjoyments are provided to meet the growing
tasks and kindling intelligence, until, casting aside
the more childish as well as the more matured
pastimes of early life, we reach the period of man-
hood, and consign to fairy dreamland all the fictions
of our earlier years. The little hillock that then
seemed a very mountain, now assumes its just pro-
portions; the little village church, that appeared a
grand and gorgeous edifice, now appears a very
rude and homely pile of stones ; the men and
women whose daily conversation seemed so won-
derful, and whose proverbs seemed so wise, now
become . ery ordinary mortals in our estimation.
And yet no change has taken place in these differ-
^s a SKeaneb (Tbilb.
327
Its from
he dark
id, once
ts do to
"He's
hin his
are the
for the
ind. In
iements
growing
g aside
iiatured
if man-
fictions
t then
st pro-
;ared a
a very
n and
) won-
;, noMT
nation,
differ-
ent objects of youthful interest;— the change is in our-
selves. Age— experience— a more extended acquaint-
ance with society ;— ability to measure things at a
truer value, have depreciated them in our eyes.
The enthusiasm of youth has given place to the
solid judgment of manhood. So it is with the man
who is "weaned" from the worlu. He has tasted
the powers of the world to come, and now longs
to enjoy more perfectly what Faith t(^lls him is in
reserve. His heart has been changed, and his tastes
have been changed. Born of the Spirit, he now
seeks after the things of the Spirit, and can say
like the Apostle Paul, "Yea, doubtless, and I count
all things but loss, for the excellency of the know-
ledge of Christ Jesus my Lord."
" I thirst, but not as once I did,
The vain delights of earth to share,
Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid
That I should seek my pleasure there.
*' It was the sight of Thy dear cross
First weaned my soul from earthly things.
And taught me to esteem as dross
The mirth of fools and pomp of kings. "
I should now briefly speak of the means by which
the spiritual change is effected. "Weaning" the
328
M Ji
t I
^s a mtnm^ C^Ub.
soul from this world is always God's work. By no
efforts of our own, unaided, can we accomplish it.
Neither by vigils, or penances, or fasts, or lacerations
of the body, or pilgrimages to the shrines of saints,
can we produce this Heavenly • mindedness. Afflic-
tions cannot in themselves wean us from this world.
Many a man who has lain upon a bed of sickness,
and has been brought to the very verge of the
spirit - world, has come back to life more intensely
avaricious and grasping than ever. The promises
of leading a new life, made in the hour of anguish,
have all evaporated on the return of health, and
under the sunshine of prosperity. Nor will mere
experience ot the hollowness and vanity of all
created hopes corvvert the heart and wean it from
the world. How, then, can a man be brought to
say, "My soul is even as a weaned child?"
First — I answer, God weans believers from this
world by sore afflictions and successive bereavements,
thus teaching them the transitory and unsatisfactory
nature of worldly enjoyments. It needs not one, but
oft - repeated strokes to transfer the affections of the
human soul from the carnal enjoyments and pleasures
Sj- -1):
;■ I:
^s H SKtamb d^Ub.
329
of life, and centre them upon God Himself. "The
natural man dies hard within us," and the man from
heaven is not born without a pang. And even after
the soul has forsaken all the ejrosser and more
repulsive excitements of this world, much yet remains
in producing that implicit reliance upon the Saviour,
and that strong confidence in the hopes and pro-
mises of Scripture, which form the source of all
true spiritual mindedness. The members of our
family circles — the partners of our blood — the child-
ren of our households, in many cases monopolize
the love and affection that belongs to God, and
divide our allegiance and consecration. Instead of
making them but stepping-stones or links by which
we may become more closely united to our Maker,
and give to Him an homage and love altogether
different from what we bestow on the creature, we
stop short in the range, and sweep off these affec-
tions, and bestow upon mere f^esh and blood, what
was originally intended for Heaven and Heavenly
felicities. And in many cases it is only by repeated
trials and losses that the soul is brought nearer
and nearer to its God, whi'e at the same time it
begins to see how unsubstantial are all the poor
¥
>{
330
gis a «atanei> (J^iltJ.
unrealities of time. It is the pressure of calamity
that developes true strength and heroism of char-
acter, just as the stress and strain of the tempest
seertis but to sink the roots of the giant oak more
firmly in the earth. Little coffiris, in which there
lie the hopes and idols of fathers and mothers*
become often, under God's blessing, the most eloquent
of preachers, and the most sanctifying of all agen-
cies. " By these k^en desolating shocks, like the
blasting of the breath of God's chiding, are the
deep foundations of our nature discovered to us.
When the veil of the temple, even the poor worn
garment ot our humanity, is rent from the top to
the bottom, we catch glimpses of the inner glory —
the rocks ^re riven — the graves open, they who
have long slept in the dust come forth, and reveal
to us awful and tender secrets of which otherwise
we should h .ve known nothing." St. Chrysostom
beautifully remarks that " there are joys which
spring out of the very heart of anguish — and pale
flowers which thrust themselves out of the ruins of
hope — of endeavour and affection — breathing a deeper
and sweeter fragrance than the broad wealth of air
and sunshine ever gave." Many in this congregation,
Js u Sdleaiwb Cbilb.
331
by sad experience, know how true are the words
of the Christian poet when he says,
" The stricken heart bereft
Of all its brood of singing hopes, and left
'Mid leafless boughs, a cold, forsaken nest
With snow flak«3 in it, folded in thy breast
Doth lose its deadly chill ; and grief that creeps
Unto thy side for shelter, finding there
The wounds deep cleft, forgets its moan, and weeps
Calm, quiet tears; and on thy forehead care
Hath looked, until its thorns, no longer bare,
Put forth pale roses."
Second — By crosses and disappointments, and failures
in business, God weans His people from the world.
Poverty of means, and poverty of souls do not
always go together. Often it is the reverse. The
heart is often the most prosperous spiritually, when
the outward life and circumstances of the believer
are most adverse. The Bible, it is true, lays down
the general principle, that godliness is profitable
for all things, both for the present world and that
which is to come, and that, if we seek first the
kingdom of God, and His righteousness, all other
things shall be added thereto. But this in no way
conflicts with the fact that many of the best of
men never reach a position of affluence, or even
332
'^B n ffitteaneb (ff^Ub.
comfort in this world. Their whole existence is
one long continued struggle against poverty and
want. There are many reasons to account for this
state of things of a secondary character. A good
man, who regards integrity and honesty of prin-
ciple as the first of all requisites in life, cannot,
in his dealings with the world, stoop to mean
deceptions and petty frauds, which under the name
of business customs so frequently sap the foundations
of commercial life. In the race for riches where
there are so many reckless competitors, who disre-
gard the sanctions of Divine morality, a Christian
often falls behind, and seets dishonest and untruth-
ful rivals rise to places of power and position.
Such a man also allows his generosity oftentimes
to exceed his means. He cannot hear the tale of the
unfortunate without lending a helping hand, or listen
to the cry of poverty without supplying its pressing
wants. I know of more than one such character
in our Province, who but for their generosity of
soul, and liberality of purse, might have been mil-
lionaries, but still, far advanced in years, are busy
toilers in the counting-room, and in the market-
place. All honour to such men, and glorious shall
^s » Sfttciiiub Cljilb.
333
be their reward, when the impartial recompense
of Heaven shall be awarded to an assembled universe.
Rather give me the satisfaction of mind which such
benevolence produces in the present world, not to
speak of the noble rewards of the future, than all
the gold of Peru, or the gilded palaces of princely
wealth. But even supposing that the Christian is
equally succesful in business with the worldling, he
is not exempted from those periodical panics that
shake the pillars of society, and almost instan-
taneously reduce men of unbounded wealth to very
beggary. In these financial storms the Christian
merchant often suffers most sincerely, and is left a
solitary wreck, unable through life to retrieve his
fortunes or recover his estates. Now, as regards
the Christian, whatever be the indirect causes of
his worldly misfortunes and calamities, we are to
regard them as sent by his Heavenly Father for a
wise end— to wean him from this world, and the
treasures and refinements of this world, and lift his
aspirations towards higher and purer joys. " No
man can tell whether he is rich or poor by turning
to his ledger. It is the heart that makes a man
rich. He is rich or poor according to what he is,
334
^18 H ©Itnitcb (Ji^ilb.
nt
i! -'
not according to what he has." Every additional
dollar that is added to the store of an ungodly
man, is just so much subtracted from his imruurtal
nature; another fetter binding him to earth; another
millstone dragging him down the faster to perdition.
But the loss of wealth to the Christian becomes a
blessing. As the ship at sea struggling with the
storm and waves is lightened by throwing overboard
the cargo, in order to ensure the safety of the
vessel and her crew, so the loss of material good
is often the salvation of the immortal soul. There
is awful danger that even good men become ensnared
with the riches of this world. It was a good say-
ing of one to a great Lord, upon his showing his
stately house and pleasant gardens, " Sir, you had
need make sure of Heaven, or else, when you die,
you will be a very great loser." But to think
much about Heaven, far less to make sure of it,
when a man sits among his money - bags, and is
fawned upon and flattered by the crowd, is diffi-
cult to the best of men. Hence the necessity of
crosses and disappointments — nay, at times of poverty
itself. If the child will not gradually be weaned
from the mother's breast, then it must be removed
3^8 a aaemub (f ^ilb.
335
at once, whatever be the pain and sorrow that
result. Better that Sodom and Gomorrah be burned
up than Lot's heart become wedded to its wicked-
ness. In order to the sure and substantial growth
of a tree, it must be pruned ;— in some cases cut
down, in order that it may start afresh. It is not
good, that it should grow too tall, or have too
much foliage. There may be more leaves in that
case, than blossoms or fruit. So it is not good for
any man to be too successful in business. It seems
as if the holiest of men needed checks — crosses —
new starts in their spiritual existence to make them
holier, and more prolific in good deeds. Then they
can say with the apostle, " I have learned in what-
ever state I am, therewith to be content "—resigned
to God's wise and gracious appointment, they are
always happy :
" Pleased with all the Lord provides,
Weaned from all the world besides."
How Strikingly different is the effect of worldly
misfortunes on different men ! At times, the loss of
money completely overwhelms and shakes both the
physical and mental constitution. Men become de-
ranged, and are hurried to the solitariness of the
H.
■I I
■Jitf!
iji^
,1
I!
336
^s n S^ltautb d^^ilb.
mad - house. Others, not so terribly affected, go
about life querulous and complaining — not over-
whelmed, it may be. but overpowered ; their heads
turn prematurely grey, and their vital forces dry up.
Others after a time become more resij^ntd to God's
appointment — they give a tacit acquiescence to God's
dealings, though inwardly they feel they have been
hardly smitten, and cannot see the profit of their
losses. But the child of God not only submits, but
feels just as happy as in his better days. He is
able to rise superior to trials. He extracts from the
bitterest herbs the sweetest juices, and becomes
stronger for the battle of life — and more mellowed
and ripened for the paradise of God, just in pro-
portion as he is overborne and crushed under the
pressure of earthly burdens. Thus he can say with
David, " My soul is like a weaned child."
Thii'd — By disappointments in earthly friendships
God weans the believer from this v form
of trial is a hard one. In ♦' w good
a thing it is to have somi .sty . .d; me who
is ever sure and sympathizing ami all the changes
and conditions of exietence; and yet, have we not
2^s a S?ltancb (fbilb.
337
all bitterly experienced the infidelity of those who
professed the strongest attachment to our person
and our interests. Perhaps we have not been so
often mortified and saddened by the fickleness of
earthly friendships as to say, with David, "all men
are liars," but we all have felt how wise is the
exhortation " put not your trust in princes, nor in
the son of man, in whom there is no help." For
even should your earthly attachments prove sincere
—there is a time coming— just the time you need
their presence and assistance most — when they pass
away. "His breath goeth forth, he returneth to
his earth— in that very day his thoughts perish,"
Now the loss of earthly friends has a powerful
effect in weaning us from this worid. Every newly
opened grave that receives the mortal form of some
true and trusty companion lessens our attachment
to earth.
But,
"There is no union here of hearts,
That finds not here an end;
There surely is some blessed clime
Where life is not a breath,
Nor life's affections transient fire
Whose sparks fly upward and expire.
22
33^
^s ii ftOUmub (fjjUD.
"• ■■,«
When I visit on mournful errands yon graveyard,
and stand for a 'ittle near the graves of many dear
Christian friends now in glory, I cannot but envy
them — and the thought of their intermittent joy, in
the cloudless and tearless regions of eternity, always
throws a shadow upon the vanities of the present
hour. As you loved your wife, bereaved husband,
and revere her memory, does not the thought of a
happy reunion in Heaven serve to chasten and
modifv the remaining attachments of earth ? it is
related that after the death of Richard Cameron,
the Scottish Covenanter, Peden, his life - long com-
panion, and partner in trials, was accustomed to
visit his grave upon the wild moors of Airsmoss,
and longed to regain his society ; —
" There came a worn and weary man to Cameron's place of rest,
He cast him down upon the sod — he smote upon his breast,
He wept as only strong men weep, when u-eep they must, or die,
And, 'Oh! to be wi' thee, Ritchie,' was still his bitter cry."
Fourth — God weans believers from this world hy
the fiiliglitcniug influences of His Spirit, showing
them the beauty and attractiveness of Christ's char-
acter and presence — the solid and lasting happiness
of religion, and the good hope of the believer
wmmm
as u SJfteiiiub (fbilir.
339
beyond the grave. Chastisement and trial without
Divine teaching can never make a man heavenly-
minded. There must not only be the withdrawal of
worldly comforts, but the supply of other and richer
blessings. Much of the Christian's future good must
be grasped by faith. Infinite joys can only be
grasped by infinite minds, and eternal felicity by
souls in their condition of pure immortality beyond
the grave. But in the present life, under the opera-
tions of the Divine Spirit, there are hours when
things far distant are brought near. To see God as
He is, is the satisfying portion of the blessed in
Heaven; but to know Him as He is may be the
privilege of the faithful upon earth. As you with-
draw one to> afier another from the hands of child-
hood, you must be prepared with something else to
amuse or to educate. The child cannot be weaned
unless fitting nourishment is provided. So, my hear-
ers, God provides for thu advancing life of the
Christian. None of them are allowed to starve.
None need ever murmur like the Israelites, that
there is no bread in the wilderness. The Lord not
only provides glory at the enc of our pilgrimage,
but grace now. The Christian does not need to be
rt
i i
340
Js n Mtmxtb C^ilb.
an actual occupant of Heaven to enjoy many of its
delights. The closing years of life are to many the
land of Beulah. Here, within sight of the city,
upon the borders of Canaan, they walk with Shining
Ones, and refresh themselves with the dainties of
the King's vineyard. Death itself is robbed of its
terrors, and appears more like the fiery chariot of
salvation, than the austere messenger from the grave.
In George Herbert's words, "Death, thou wast once
an uncouth, hideous thing ; but since our Saviour's
death has put some blood into thy face, thou hast
grown a thing sure to be desired, and full of
grace."
Brethren, are you becoming weaned from this
world ? One of the marks by which it may be
known is humility — lowliness of mind — and contrition
of spirit. There is nothing so pleasing to God as
such a frame of mind, " God delights,"' says an old
author, "to fill broken vessels and contrite spirits.
Just as the silver dews flow down from the moun-
tains to the lowest valleys, does God delight to fill
the heart of the humble with the choicest blessings
of his grace. The choicest buildings have the low-
my of its
nany the
the city,
1 Shining
linties of
ed of its
hariot of
he grave,
'ast once
Saviour's
lou hast
full of
^s n 35ltancb Cljili).
341
est foundations— those ears of corn and boughs of
trees that are most filled and best laden, bow low-
est, — so do the souls that are most laden with the
fruits of Paradise."
om this
may be
ontrition
God as
j an old
spirits.
: moun-
t to fill
lessings
he low-
i
r
11
®|c (Ssscutials of |)rofitabl£ ^torsljip.
*' oMIjcrc tbo or tbrcc arc gat^crcb logelbcr in inj) name,
there am ^ in the mibst of tbcm." — Matt, xviii. 20.
In nothinj; has the change which language under-
goes been more strikingly exhibited than in the
meaning commonly attached to the word Church.
In its prim.-^'-y and proper signification, it denotes
nothing more than an assembly — a gathering of
people into one place, irrespective of the character
of the persons congregated, or the object for which
they are met. More generally under the Christian
dispensation, it refers either to the whole body of
Christians scattered over the world, whatever be the
particular name or denomination by which they are
known, or to some particular body of professing
Christians. In its more limited sense it means, not
simp.^ such as have attached themselves to the
visible church, but those who, in the sight of God,
are worthy of a place in the invisible; the church
of the first - born, whose names are written in
qTItc Essentials of profitable (iulorsbij). 343
Heaven. Pjut in nn case, in New Testament times,
is the name applied to the building where men
meet for public worship. We find mention made of
the Church at Jerusalem, and the Church in the
House of Priscilla and Aquila, but of no special
edifice, consecrated as the " Church of Christ."
Living souls — earnest disciples — zealous and devoted
men and women — these constituted the Church of
Christ — not dead materials, but living stones in the
living lemple. "To go to church" according to
such a definition, was to become allied with the
body of the faithful, to become one of the family of
the vSaints, and enjoy the fellowship of that holy
brotherhood, for whom Christ died. It was not the
place of meeting that bound them together, but a
unity and harmony of feeling, experience, faith and
hope. Whether the Church met in the upper room
at Jerusalem — or upon the mountain - side — or out in
the Lake of Galilee in a fishing boat — or in the
gloomy dungeons of a prison, it possessed all the
essentials of a Christian assembly — namely, Christ's
presence to bless and comfort, for " where two or
three are gathered together in His name, there He
is present in their midst."
I 'j
t
1! ■• i P
m
i
111 ,
I
M
344 ffbc drsscntials of |1rofitablr ^^lorsbip.
This however was new doctrine to the Jews, as
indeed it may seem stran,s:je to some who now hear
me. Mount Zion in Jerusalem was very dear to
the pious Jew, and the temple a hallowed spot in
his imagination. " Beautiful for situation, the joy of
the whole earth is Mount Zion, on the sides of
the north, the city of the great King — God is known
in her palaces for a refuge — walk about Zion, and
go round about her, tell the towers thereof. Glori-
ous things are spoken of thee, O City of God.
Thy servants take pleasure in her stones, and
favour the dust thereof. The Lord hath chosen
Zion; He hath desired it for His habitation."
These and such like sentences, declare the fond
affection entertained for the temple, and the reasons
for it. It was not a groundless, unreasonable pre-
ference for Mount Zion over all other hallowed
spots ot Palestine. Here Solomon's great and glori-
ous temple had been erected ; — so often filled with
the glory and majesty of the great King. Here, the
second temple, less grand and costly, but not less
precious in the eyes ot the Jews, ha5 been built
after the weary years of captivity, and here, for
many generations, the pious tribes repaired to give
i'ht Essentials of profitable SSlorsbip. 345
thanks unto the name of the Lord. Even at the
present day, Mount Zion, desolate and bare — sitting
as a widow in her loneliness — is a hallowed spot to
the Christian soul, who wanders over Palestine in
the footsteps of his ascended Master. How much
more so must it be to the zealous Jew, who
daily looks for the coming of his Messiah, and the
restoration of Israel's worship, and Israel's privileges
ypon Mount Zion.
At the coming of Christ, all this undue reverence
for one locality above another, as more suitable for
the worship of God, was to be done away with*
This the woman of Samaria was distinctly ta'„^h.:
by Christ, in His interview at Jacob's well. Just
as fondly as the Jew loved Mount Zion in Jerusalem,
did the Samaritan love Mount Gerizim in Samaria.
"Our fathers worshipped in this mountain," said
the woman of Samaria, "and ye say that in Jeru-
salem is the place where men ought to worship.''
She could not imagine acceptable worship anywhere
else. This, in her estimation, was the only and
divinely appointed place for public worship, and in-
deed, as we learn from historians, "there is probably
no other locality on the face of the earth, where
the same worship has sustained so little change or
interruption as in this mountain, from the clays of
Abraham to the present. In their humble synagogue
at the foot of Mount Gerizim tlic Samaritans still
worship, the oldest and smallest sect in the world."
To disabuse her mind of this erroneous and con-
tracted idea, Christ says, " Woman, believe Me,
the hour cometh, when ye shall neither in this
mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father;
the hour cometh, and now is, when the true wor- •
shippers shall worship the Father in Spirit and in
truth ; for the Father seeketh such to worship
Him." There is now no longer any one place
especially chosen or consecrated as a place for
worship ; true spiritual, acceptable worship shall soon
be offered everywhere — we are now approaching a
period when the question will not be where we
worship, but K'Jiat we worship — not what are the
outward circumstances of our approach to our
Maker, but what are the feelings of the soul when
holding intercourse with the Almighty maker of the
universe. The hour is even now come when such
true worshippers are worshipping the Father in
®bc (Essentials of |Uo6tiiblc ff^lorsbip. 347
spirit and in truth. "The groves," says the I'uet,
"were God's first Temples, and now whcrc-ver the
Christian treads 'tis haunted holy ground." Com-
uning with nature in her varied forms of beauty.
m
God speaks to the believing soul : wliilc under the
open sky— in the forest, in the cave, and on the
ocean, it the spirit of devotion be present, there is
access to a prayer-hearing God.
Many Christians have not yet learned this truth.
They perhaps do not idolize localities or buildings
set apart for worship— nor believe that sprinkling
holy water upon doors and altars or foundation
stones, makes them more precious to Almighty God,
or better adapted for religious worship; or that
they need call in the aid of a Bishop to consecrate
such buildings;— but they do have a lingering feeling
that true worship must "have a Church— a particular
building set apart for such exercises— a place where
alone it is becoming and proper to meet on the
first day of the week, for the solemn duties of
religion. Nor do I undervalue such a feeling, if
kept within proper bounds, and held intelligently. I
pity the man who has no religious home ; who, like
348 gf;i)e (J^sscnthtls of profitable ©lorsbip.
the poor outcast sitting upon the door-step, or lying
out on the grassy field, instead of under the shelter
of his own roof — has no preference for one Church
building above another; — who has no sweet associ-
ations connected with the House of God, as the
spot where first he heard the name of Jesus — where
first he was baptized — where first he gave himself pub-
licly to Christ, and htard the glad tidings of salva-
tion. All places are not alike dear to the child of
God. Th re are private dwellings and houses of
worship which call up before the mind the holiest
and happiest recollections — places " where a constant
Sabbath shines, and a perpetual air of heaven
reposes; where prayer has been offered and answered
— where, in days of despondency and sadness, the
weary spirit has been comforted and cheered by
angel visits." No, if memory forgets these hallowed
spots, let our right hand forget her cunning, and
our tongue cleave to the roof of our mouth ! We
would not destroy such feelings, praiseworthy in
themselves, and susceptible of the holiest joy. But
we would at the same time impress upon your
minds the blessed truth that wherever Christ is,
there is a sanctuary. Old Isaac, in Patriarchal times.
€|je Cffistntials of |lrofilable 8?tors^ip. 349
found sweet moments of contemplation in the fields-
Abraham amid the groves of Beersheba — King
David in glens and caverns and rocky hiding-places
—the Saviour and his disciples on mountain - tops,
and by the sounding sea— Paul and vSilas in the
dungeon at Philippi— our covenanting fathers be-
neath the shadow of lofty precipices, and by the
margin of lonely lakes— and the Waldenses of old
amid the secret clefts of Alpine fastnesses ;— all
found the pavilion of the Most High, where their
souls were refreshed, and their heans baptized with
the dews of Heavenly grace. It does not need
four walls and a bolted door, to make a place of
prayer. Retirement and silence, and a devout spirit,
will create it anywhere. " By the shore of the
sounding sea— in the depths of the forest— in the
remoteness of the green and sunny upland, or the
balmy peacefulness of the garden bower— nay, amid
the dust of the dingy wareroom, or the cobwebs of
the owlet -haunted barn; in the jutting corner of
the crowded stage, or the unnoticed nook of the
traveller's room, you have only to shut your eyes
and seclude your spirit, and you have a place
where the soul may find itself alone with God."
35^ ^i (&S8cnti(ils of J.]rofiliiblc (idlors|jip.
This, I apprehend, is the teaching of Christ in
our text. What, then, are the essentials of profitable
worship — of sincere, heartfelt communion with God ?
Not numbers — not the place of meeting ; — but, first,
the spirit of devotion; and, secondly, the presence
of Christ, which is always found where the spirit
of devotion exists.
I'^kfst — Not numbers. Two or three constitute a
Church, and the most influential Churches in our
land have had such beginnings. Mow small the
early Christian apostolic Church in Jerusalem !
Eleven humble disciples, and a few pious women,
and yet Christ rejoiced to come into their assembly
and give them His benediction. And from that
little band there went out the pioneers of the
world's conversion, whose successors now, in every
region of the globe, unfurl the banner of the Cross,
and raise the standard of Truth. I know well that
there is an enthusiasm in numbers. I know that,
other things being equal, a large influential, and
wealthy membeisiiip, can more efficiently operate
upon society than a feeble, struggling enterpri2e.
But while this is true, numbers have their serious
r"i» ,
'^' \L^
(The (fssrnttals of pvofitnblc cf|llor&lji}). 351
drawbacks, as well as their advantages. The spirit
of Christian love too often cools, instead of expands;
liberality too often ebbs ; active efforts for the
conversion of souls, on the part of the individual is
relaxed ; attendance upon ordinances is more irre-
gular, and the spirit of earnest prayer restrained.
Neither worldly nor spiritual prosperity is in pro-
portion to numbers. The spirit must move the
wheels, and love to God and men's souls fire the
heart, otherwise large congregations become like the
valley of visions, full of bones— very many, and
very dry.
K
Now, while the truth here announced is full of
comfort to ministers and devoted Christians, who
lament the few who come up to Zion's solemnities
— the scarcity of attendance on prayer-meetings, and
the irregular attendance of professing church mem-
bers upon ordinances — it atTords no grounds for
absence to such as systematically and without excuse
turn their backs upon the sanctuary. It is very true
God will not allow His people to suffer through
your neglect ; however mu'-.h the minister may be
disheartened, and His people discouraged by your
■■it ! I
■ f I
:!., ,
m
w
«:*
352 Cljc O^ssentials of ^IrofitabU SKors^ip.
inconsistent conduct, the Word, if preached in faith^
wiU profit, and God's presence will be manifest.
But the "two or three" who meet together from
week to week, for prayer and fellowship, might be
stimulated and cheered by your presence to greater
achievements in the Church of Christ. There is a
spiritual magnetism, and sympathy of soul which
numbers impart. When Zion's gates are crowded;
when the number of the saints are increased ; when,
the song of praise ascending to the throne on high
is like the sound of many waters, and the accus-
tomed place of meeting becomes too strait for the
throng of worshippers, then may we expect the
dawn of that glorious period when Christians shall
be born in a day, and the dark places of the earth
illumined v'.h the Sun of Righteousness.
Second. — Not the place of meeting. God can hear and
answer prayer anywhere. The scaffold — the fiery fur-
nace — the dungeon — the condemned cell — the drowning
waters, have all at various times, in the history of
the Church, become hallowed with the praises and
the tnun.phant testimonies cf martyrs. The mer-
chant may have a church in his counting-house —
^t 6sscnthils of Irofitnblc mUxslfi^. 353
and the manufacturer in his factory. On the cor-
ners of the streets, and upon the house-top, Christ
and Him crucified may be preached with vast effect.
The theatre, the dance- room, the bar-room, the
senate chamber, and the court - room, have all at
times, in these recent years of awakening, become
Bethels— places where ladders have been uplifted
between heaven and earth, and where God's angels
have ascended and descended, carrying the glad
news of converted sinners. But for the steady,
decorous, and stated exercises of a church, a build-
ing is necessary— a place where God's saints may
take refuge from the cares of life, and where, undis-
turbed and undistracted by the bustle of the '.vorld,
they rnay meditate upon things unseen and eternal.
Such a place we occupy to-day, and consecrate for
the time being to Almighty God.-f= Thankful should
we be f-at, while God has put it into our hearts
to beaufiy -^ .1 adorn our "Zion," we have such
a sanctuary, where, in comfort and in safety, we
can meet together;— where, without fear of man, or
the threat of persecution, a full and free gospel can
• While worshipping in the "Music Hall.
23
lli.
m
354 ®ljc (Essentiub of profitable ?8lors^ip.
be offered, and where, as in bygone years, we may
hope to gather in wanderers to the fold of Christ.
While for a little we tarry together in our taber-
nacle, let us pray for the outpouring of God's spirit
to fill this building with His glory — to make it
illustrious for the salutary impressions that shall be
made by the preaching of the gospel, so that in
the day of God it may be said of many blood-
bought saints, "This and that man was born here."
Let us row look at the essentials of profitable
worship. First — The spirit of Devotion — a frame of
mind in keeping with the House of God — in har-
mony with the exercises to be engaged in, and
expectant of blessings. The Israelites were com-
manded to sanctify themselves ore they ventured
into the presence of God. Moses was commanded
to take his shoes from off bis feet, when he stood
near the burning bush, for the place was holy
gro nd; and so should we in drawing near into the
immediate presence of Jehovah. "God is greatly
to be feared in the assembly of His saints, and to
be had in reverence of all them that are about
Him." Nothing can better fit a man for the ser-
w
vice of the sanctuary, than a realizing sense of
his personal unworthiness— his depravity and pollu-
tion, and the wondrous condescending grace that
nevertheless accepts such a sinner. This is the
first requisite in order to communion with God. It
matters not whether, like th- Pharisee of old, we
occupy the chief seat in the temple, or the lowest,
provided we have the feelings of the publican, which
led him to cry out. "God. be merciful to me, a
sinner."
I feel, brethren, that whUe I insist upon a de-
votional spirit as the essential requisite for the
enjoyment of ordinances, it is one of those experi-
ences or graces that can scarcely be described in
so many words. And yet, who does not know what
we mean when we say, -Such a man is very
devoted to his business!" We mean that there is
an entire and unconditional surrender of the heart
with its powers, affections, and emotions to a cer-
tain object— a concentration of mind for a certain
purpose and a special end. Devotion, then, applied
to Christian worshippers, implies a yielding of the
heart to the Supreme Being, with that reverence
356 (The Essentials of ^IrofitabU S8lorsIjip.
— that faith and joy, that is becoming a redeemed
and ransomed soul. It is the solemn consciousness,
that we stand unclothed in the presence of the
Omniscient — that our thoughts, purposes, and acts
of worship are all scanned and scrutinized by Him
whose eyes are as a flaming fire. It is just what
John felt, when about to gaze in apocalyptic vision
upon the Son of man as he walked among the
golden candlesticks, where, he tells us, " I was in
the Spirit on the Lord's day," and when under the
awful splendour of His glory ''he fell at His feet as
dead.'' It is the swallowing up of the creature in
the Creator — the emptying oneself of everything that
i? secular and secularizing, that God Himself may
come into the soul, and claim its undivided allegi-
ance and love.
Do we not all lack the devotional spirit in the
House of God which should characterize sincere
worshippers? The King is prepared to meet the
guests, but we are not prepared to see the King.
The table is spread, but we have not the relish
for the banquet. The fountain is flowing, but we
do not thirst for its waters. I do not depreciate
Ut Essentials of |lro6tablc ©lorsbip. 357
secret, silent prayer in the sanctuary ;-it is doubt-
less valuable in calming the distracted soul, and
preparing for the song of praise; but, after all, the
preparation best suited for the devotion of the
sanctuary must be made at home and in the
closet. It is there that wrestling and struggling
for the minister-for the office-bearers of the Church
— for the success of the Sabbath - School-for your
own individual profit and enjoyment under the
preaching of the Gospel, must begin, and, when
earnestly engaged in, it never fails.
Do not confound a devotional spirit with a
gloomy, sepulchral, terror-stricken and slavish state
of mind, that comes trembling to the throne of
grace. You no longer stand at the bai:e of Mount
Sinai-that Mount that burned with fire, and over
whose summit storm and tempest raged, "but ye
are come unto Mouat Zion, and unto the City of
the Living God. :^ - .= To Jesus, the media-
tor of the new covenant, and to the blood of
sprinkling, that speaketh better things than the
blood of Abel." Pe-fect love casteth out fear;
and such love all God's children should possess.
I
Mlk
i,
358 ©^e dsstnltals of ^rofilablc JKlorsbijj.
" Boldly," though not with presumptuous confidence,
are we to come into God's presence — assured of
our acceptance and welcome — ^just as the affectionate
child comes bounding into the presence of a loving
father, without the faintest thought of a repulse.
The Scriptures clearly teach us that there may be
gravity and sobriety of conduct united to heart-
felt joy and gladness. We are to come into His
presence with thanksgiving — making a joyful noise
unto Him with psalms. While we worship in the
beauty of holiness, we are at the same time to
call I'.pon the heavens to rejoice, and the earth to
be glad, because of the marvellous things which the
Lord hath done. On the day of the resurrection,
when the disciples, downcast and sad in spirit, were
assembled in Jerusalem, Jesus unexpectedly came
into their midst, saying unto them, " Peace be I'nto
you," and instantly their feelings were changed from
gloom to cheerfulness. "Then were the disciples
glad when they saw the Lord." And though no
longer present in the flesh, and visible to the eye
of sense, Christ can as certainly be apprehended and
seen by the eye of Faith in the sanctuary. Surely
such a sight should make glad the hearts of God's
C^e (essentials of profitable g^lors^ip. 359
people at all times. The fact of the resurrection,
which the n-Uirn of the weekly Sabbath so directly
commemorates, is surely to us, as it was to them,
a ground of thankfulness and praise. It is not
befitting that we should keep our happiest frames
of mind, and most cheerful expressions of counten-
ance, for the social and less sacred gatherings of
the week. When the bride comes into the presence
of the bridegroom, her face is radiant with smiles;
and when God's people come up to Mount Zion
their hearts should glow with sacred fire, and their
tongues exult in rapturous melody. Our language
to companion saints should be,
"Come we that love the Lord,
And let our joys be known,
Join in a song with sweet accord,
And thus surround the throne.
'• The hill of Zion yields,
A thousand sacred sweets,
Before we reach the Heavenly fields,
Or walk the golden streets.
"Then let our songs abound.
And every tear be dry,
We're marching through Immanuel's ground
To fairer worlds on high."
.^^- "^
360
c Essentials of JJtofitiiblc Silorsljip.
iIiLl
,l'i
But the other essential of acceptable worship is
the presence of Christ. The presence of Christ may
be understood in various senses. As the Omniscient
God, He is everywhere to be found, throughout the
regions of immensity. As a sympathizing friend. He
is ever near the afflicted believer, and is thoroughly
acquainted with all his wants. He is also with the
Church in her varied trials and sufferings. The
Son of man is still in the burning bush — and
therefore the Psalmist sings, "God is in the midst
of her; she shall not be moved; God shall help her,
and that right early." The promise made to Zecha-
riah has never once failed; — "I will be unto her a
wall of fire and the glory in the midst of her."
But the promise of Christ's presence in the text
especially refers, I imagine, to the stated ordinances
of che sanctuary. The context shows this. He is
here with his worshipping people, in a very differ-
ent sense than He is present in other assemblies.
"Lo! I am with you alway, even unto the end of
the world." All the days — without withdrawal or
intermission — unto peip'jtuity — such was His pro-
mise 10 the disciples when gi^'ing them their commis-
sion to go forth and preach the Gospel. And to
^t (Bssrntials of |1rofitjiblc ?(>lors^ip. 36]
the same purport are the words of our text. When
engaged in His service, as pastor and people, we are
certain of Christ's aid and blessing. As Matthew
Henry says, *' There is no day, nor hour of the
day, in which our Lord Jesus is not present with
His churches and His ministers ; if there were, that
day, that hour, they were undone. The God of
Israel, the Saviour, is sometimes a God that hideth
Himself, but never a God that absenteth Himself;
sometimes in the dark-never at a distance."
Wherever or whenever two or three are gathered
together— it matters not what the particular denom-
ination—whether the Church assembled pride them-
selves on being the real descendants of the Apos-
tolic Church, or glory in their non-conformity;— if
there is a sincere desire to commune with Heaven,
there He is present— present as a Spirit of grace,
revealing Christ and God's truth to the heart and
conscience; present in the sacraments— present with
the minister as a spirit of enlightenment, and present
with the people as the indwelling hope of glory.
Now what does this presence of Christ secure to
His Church? It secures the Divine authority and
approval of all its acts and exercises, whether of dis-
:
M
1
■.%■.
1/.
362 ^t »itssentials of ^rofitsblc ^lorsjjip.
cipline or of worship, when these are observed in
accordance with His revealed will. We do not
meet under the shelter of royalty, nor derive our
rights and liberties from any secular power. We
hold it to be the duty of the civil power to aid
the Church in so far as preventing any interference
with the rights of conscience ; but our authority, as
a Church, is spiritual, and depends not on the whims
and sufferances of peers and judges. Jesus Christ
by the promise of His presence in the assemblies
of His people, asserts His Kingly Headship over
the Church, and any Church that surrenders its
laws and spiritual acts to the judgment of the civil
power is false to its Divine origin. We cannot too
often at the present day assert this truth, when
certain Churches, at the bidding of civil authority,
basely yield their Heaven - derived prerogatives
rather than cast themselves upon the free-will offer-
ings of the people, and the provision of the Master.
But, in addition, Christ' s presence in the Church
secures continued success to the preaching of the Gospel.
The minister in undertaking his life labour at the
call of Heaven can confidently cast himself upon
a higher power than his own unaided reason. His
®^e dssenthils of profitable Sfiorsljip. 363
highest qualifications come driect from Heaven, and
these are never withheld from sincere and faithful
preachers. All the efficiency of the pulpit— the suc-
cessive seasons of revival that from age to age
have increased the Church, the spread of truth
beyond Christian lands, and the gradual decay of
heathenism and error — is due not to the letter, but
to the spirit', not to the agency, but to the quick-
ening power of Almighty God. And just in pro-
portion as we rely upon God's blessing in all our
stated appeals from Sabbath to Sabbath, will we
the more fully realize Christ's presence. In propor-
tion to the vivid consciousness of our wants, will
be the rich and satisfying displays of wondrous
grace in the sanctuary.
The continued existence of the Church to the
present day is the most striking of all testimonies
that the Divine presence is with her. It is not in
her own resources that she has accomplished the
mighty reforms in morals and religion which the
history of our race in the past discloses. It is not
by her own inherent energy or vitality that she
now lives, and continues her aggressive efforts
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against superior forces. Her ordinances are simple
— her creed is pervaded by no persecuting spirit —
her movements are silent and hidden compared to
great and mighty enterprises that startle and shake
society. But yet she conquers, and has never
known real defeat. Why ? Because her existence
is eternal, prolonged by the infinite power and will
of Heaven, whose appointed instrument she is for
the redemption of a fallen world.
Brethren, do you desire Christ's presence in the
services of the Church ? Then you must possess
the spirit which the promise demands. There is a
condition attached. Not in every congregation is
the Maker present — only in such as are assembled
in His name. Our prayer must be, in coming to
the sanctuary, that God's glory may be more
increasingly manifested before the world in the
conversion of souls. Our aim must be Christ's aim
— our will His will. If any other motive or pur-
pose brings you to the House of God — mere curios-
ity — or custom — or worldly policy — or the maintaining
of a Christian character bofore the world — or the
passing of an hour or two that lies heavy on your
■P
ibt (gssenfutls of |rofitiiblf S^lorsbip. 365
hands, because labour is suspended, and the wheels
of commerce are at rest ;— or a desire to see and
be seen— or to have the taste gratified by the
charms of music or oratory ;— then you cannot
expect God's presence or His accompanying blessing.
I do not ciay you shall reap no good whatever—
' r reparation from the haunts of evil and vice is
a negative advantage of vast importance. Nor do
I say that you commit a sin in thus acting which
is unpardonable, but what I say is, that, failing to
come up to the requirements of the text, you can-
not offer spiritual and acceptable worship. WL.n
Christ comes to meet His people in His house,
they must come prepared to meet Him in His own
appointed way.
These remarks are of course more directly appli-
cable to God's own children. It is a comforting
thought that, in the ordinances of the Church, a
Saviour is often found by those who seek Him
not ; that some who come to scoff remain to pray,
and some who come to laugh are made to weep.
Many sceptics, under the faithful, earnest presenta-
tion of the truth, have been forced to cry out like
366 3;ije (SsfMttmls of profitable SHors^ip.
the doubting Thomas, " My Lord and my God."
One of the greatest, if not the very greatest, of
English living preachers at the present day, traces
his conversion to what we would call the accidental
hearing of a sermon. In the first of his published
volumes he thus writes ; " Six years ago to-day, as
near as possible at this very hour of the day, I
was in the gall of bitterness and in the bonds of
iniquity, but had yet, by Divine grace, been led
to feel the bitterness of that bondage, and to cry
out by reason of the soreness of the slavery.
Seeking rest, and finding none, I stepped into the
House of God and sat there, afraid to look upward
lest I should be utterly cut off, and lest His fierce
wrath should consume me. The minister rose in
his pulpit, and, as I have done this morning, read
this text, ' Look unto me, and be ye saved, all
the ends of the earth, for I am God, and there
is none else.' I looked that moment; and the
grace of faith was vouchsafed to me in the selfsame
instant, and now I think I can say with truth —
" ' E'er since by faith I saw the stream,
His flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die. "
^t (&B&tniinU of '^Uofitable adlorsljip. 367
God."
:est, of
traces
;idental
blished
iay, as
day, I
nds of
n led
to cry
iavery.
:o the
pward
fierce
se in
read
d, all
there
the
" I shall never," says Spurgeon, " forget that
day while memory holds its place." And who
knows, my hearers, but within these walls the
power of God's truth may be as effectually witnessed
m the conversion of not one but many souls. Be
it so, Oh, Thou Spirit of all Good, and to Thy
name, throughout all eternity, shall be the praise.
!same
uth—