TILL HE COME by C. H. SPURGEON
Digitized by Harry Plantinga <planting@cs.pitt.edu>
Originally: till_he_come1.0.txt on kuyper.cs.pitt.edu
Taken from a 1896 Passmore & Alabaster edition.
Spurgeon died in 1892.
Posted to Wiretap July 1994.
This text is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN.
"TILL HE COME."
COMMUNION MEDITATIONS
AND
ADDRESSES
BY
C. H. SPURGEON.
(Not published in _The Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit_.)
1896.
PREFATORY NOTE.
For many years, whether at home or abroad, it was Mr.
Spurgeon's constant custom to observe the ordinance of the Lord's
supper every Sabbath-day, unless illness prevented. This he
believed to be in accordance with apostolic precedent; and it was
his oft-repeated testimony that the more frequently he obeyed his
Lord's command, "This do in remembrance of Me," the more precious
did his Saviour become to him, while the memorial celebration
itself proved increasingly helpful and instructive as the years
rolled by.
Several of the discourses here published were delivered to
thousands of communicants in the Metropolitan Tabernacle, while
others were addressed to the little companies of Christians,--of
different denominations, and of various nationalities,--who
gathered around the communion table in Mr. Spurgeon's sitting-room
at Mentone. The addresses cover a wide range of subjects; but all
of them speak more or less fully of the great atoning sacrifice of
which the broken bread and the filled cup are the simple yet
significant symbols.
Mr. Spurgeon's had intended to publish a selection of his
Communion Addresses; so this volume may be regarded as another of
the precious literary legacies bequeathed by him to his brethren
and sisters in Christ who have yet to tarry a while here below. It
is hoped that these sermonettes will be the means of deepening the
spiritual life of many believers, and that they will suggest
suitable themes for meditation and discourse to those who have the
privilege and responsibility of presiding at the ordinance.
CONTENTS.
Mysterious Visits.
"Thou hast visited me in the night."--Psalm xvii. 3.
"Under His Shadow."
"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall
abide under the shadow of the Almighty "--Psalm xci. 1.
"The shadow of a great rock in a weary land."--Isa. xxxii. 2.
"As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my
Beloved among the sons. I sat down under His shadow with
great delight, and His fruit was sweet to my taste:"
Solomon's Song ii. 3.
"Because Thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of
Thy wings will I rejoice."--Psalm lxiii. 7.
"And He hath made my mouth like a sharp sword; in the shadow
of His hand hath He hid me, and made me a polished
shaft; in His quiver hath He hid me."--Isa. xlix. 2.
Under the Apple Tree.
"I sat down under His shadow with great delight, and His
fruit was sweet to my taste."--Solomon's Song ii. 3.
Over the Mountains.
"My Beloved is mine, and I am His: He feedeth among the
lilies. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away,
turn, my Beloved, and be Thou like a roe or a young hart
upon the mountains of Bether."--Solomon's Song ii. 16,
17.
Fragrant Spices from the Mountains of Myrrh.
"Thou art all fair, My love; there is no spot in thee."--
Solomon's Song iv. 7.
The Well-beloved.
"Yea, He is altogether lovely."--Solomon's Song v. 16.
The Spiced Wine of my Pomegranate.
"I would cause Thee to drink of spiced wine of the juice of
my pomegranate."--Solomon's Song viii. 2.
"And of His fulness have all we received, and grace for
grace,"--John i. 16.
The Well-beloved's Vineyard.
"My Well-beloved hath a vineyard in a very fruitful hill."--
Isaiah v. 1.
Redeemed Souls Freed from Fear.
"Fear not: for I have redeemed thee."--Isaiah xliii. 1.
Jesus, the Great Object of Astonishment.
"Behold, My Servant shall deal prudently, He shall be exalted
and extolled, and be very high. As many were astonied at
Thee; His visage was so marred more than any man, and
His form more than the sons of men: so shall He sprinkle
many nations, the kings shall shut their mouths at Him:
for that which had not been told them shall they see;
and that which they had not heard shall they consider."
--Isaiah lii. 13-15.
Bands of Love; or, Union to Christ.
"I drew them with cords of a man, with bands of love: and I
was to them as they that take off the yoke on their
jaws, and I laid meat unto them."--Hosea xi. 4.
"I will Give you Rest."
"I will give you rest."--Matthew xi. 28.
The Memorable Hymn.
"And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the mount
of Olives."--Matthew xxvi. 30.
Jesus Asleep on a Pillow.
"And He was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a
pillow: and they awake Him, and say unto Him, Master,
carest Thou not that we perish? And He arose, and
rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be
still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great
calm."--Mark iv. 38, 39.
Real Contact with Jesus.
"And Jesus said, Somebody hath touched Me: for I perceive
that virtue is gone out of Me."--Luke viii. 46.
Christ and His Table-companions.
"And when the hour was come, He sat down, and the twelve
apostles with Him."--Luke xxii. 14.
A Word from the Beloved's Own Mouth.
"And ye are clean."--John xiii. 10.
The Believer not an Orphan.
"I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you."--John
xiv. 18.
Communion with Christ and His People.
"The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion
of the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it
not the communion of the body of Christ? For we being
many are one bread, and one body: for we are all
partakers of that one bread."--1 Cor. x. 16, 17.
The Sin-Bearer.
"Who His own self bare our sins in His own body on the tree,
that we, being dead to sins, should live unto
righteousness: by whose stripes ye were healed. For ye
were as sheep going astray; but are now returned unto
the Shepherd and Bishop of your souls."--1 Peter ii. 24,
25.
Swooning and Reviving at Christ's Feet.
"And when I saw Him, I fell at His feet as dead. And He laid
His right hand upon me, saying unto me, 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."--Revelation i. 17,
18.
C.H. Spurgeon's Communion Hymn
MYSTERIOUS VISITS.
AN ADDRESS TO A LITTLE COMPANY AT THE
COMMUNION TABLE AT MENTONE.
"Thou hast visited me in the night."--Psalm xvii. 3.
IT is a theme for wonder that the glorious God should visit sinful
man. "What is man, that Thou art mindful of him? and the son of
man, that Thou visitest him?" A divine visit is a joy to be
treasured whenever we are favoured with it. David speaks of it
with great solemnity. The Psalmist was not content barely to
_speak_ of it; but he wrote it down in plain terms, that it might
be known throughout all generations: "_Thou hast visited me in the
night_." Beloved, if God has ever visited you, you also will
marvel at it, will carry it in your memory, will speak of it to
your friends, and will record it in your diary as one of the
notable events of your life. Above all, you will speak of it to
God Himself, and say with adoring gratitude, "Thou hast visited me
in the night." It should be a solemn part of worship to remember
and make known the condescension of the Lord, and say, both in
lowly prayer and in joyful psalm, "Thou hast visited me."
To you, beloved friends, who gather with me about this
communion table, I will speak of my own experience, nothing
doubting that it is also yours. If our God has ever visited any of
us, personally, by His Spirit, two results have attended the
visit: _it has been sharply searching, and it has been sweetly
solacing_.
When first of all the Lord draws nigh to the heart, the
trembling soul perceives clearly the searching character of His
visit. Remember how Job answered the Lord: "I have heard of Thee
by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth Thee, wherefore
I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes." We can read of God,
and hear of God, and be little moved; but when we feel His
presence, it is another matter. I thought my house was good enough
for kings; but when the King of kings came to it, I saw that it
was a hovel quite unfit for His abode. I had never known sin to be
so "exceeding sinful" if I had not known God to be so perfectly
holy. I had never understood the depravity of my own nature if I
had not known the holiness of God's nature. When we see Jesus, we
fall at His feet as dead; till then, we are alive with
vainglorious life. If letters of light traced by a mysterious hand
upon the wall caused the joints of Belshazzar's loins to be
loosed, what awe overcomes our spirits when we see the Lord
Himself! In the presence of so much light our spots and wrinkles
are revealed, and we are utterly ashamed. We are like Daniel, who
said, "I was left alone, and saw this great vision, and there
remained no strength in me: for my comeliness was turned in me
into corruption." It is when the Lord visits us that we see our
nothingness, and ask, "Lord, what is man?"
I do remember well when God first visited me; and assuredly
it was the night of nature, of ignorance, of sin. His visit had
the same effect upon me that it had upon Saul of Tarsus when the
Lord spake to him out of heaven. He brought me down from the high
horse, and caused me to fall to the ground; by the brightness of
the light of His Spirit He made me grope in conscious blindness;
and in the brokenness of my heart I cried, "Lord, what wilt Thou
have me to do?" I felt that I had been rebelling against the Lord,
kicking against the pricks, and doing evil even as I could; and my
soul was filled with anguish at the discovery. Very searching was
the glance of the eye of Jesus, for it revealed my sin, and caused
me to go out and weep bitterly. As when the Lord visited Adam, and
called him to stand naked before Him, so was I stripped of all my
righteousness before the face of the Most High. Yet the visit
ended not there; for as the Lord God clothed our first parents in
coats of skins, so did He cover me with the righteousness of the
great sacrifice, and He gave me songs in the night It was night,
but the visit was no dream: in fact, I there and then ceased to
dream, and began to deal with the reality of things.
I think you will remember that, when the Lord first visited
you in the night, it was with you as with Peter when Jesus came to
him. He had been toiling with his net all the night, and nothing
had come of it; but when the Lord Jesus came into his boat, and
bade him launch out into the deep, and let down his net for a
draught, he caught such a great multitude of fishes that the boat
began to sink. See! the boat goes down, down, till the water
threatens to engulf it, and Peter, and the fish, and all. Then
Peter fell down at Jesus knees, and cried, "Depart from me; for I
am a sinful man, O Lord!" The presence of Jesus was too much for
him: his sense of unworthiness made him sink like his boat, and
shrink away from the Divine Lord. I remember that sensation well;
for I was half inclined to cry with the demoniac of Gadara, "What
have I to do with Thee, Jesus, Thou Son of God most high?" That
first discovery of His injured love was overpowering; its very
hopefulness increased my anguish; for then I saw that I had slain
the Lord who had come to save me. I saw that mine was the hand
which made the hammer fall, and drove the nails that fastened the
Redeemer's hands and feet to the cruel tree.
"My conscience felt and own'd the guilt,
And plunged me in despair;
I saw my sins His blood had spilt,
And help'd to nail Him there."
This is the sight which breeds repentance: "They shall look
upon Him whom they have pierced, and mourn for Him." When the Lord
visits us, He humbles us, removes all hardness from our hearts,
and leads us to the Saviour's feet.
When the Lord first visited us in the night it was very much
with us as with John, when the Lord visited him in the isle that
is called Patmos. He tells us, "And when I saw Him, I fell at His
feet as dead." Yes, even when we begin to see that He has put away
our sin, and removed our guilt by His death, we feel as if we
could never look up again, because we have been so cruel to our
best Friend. It is no wonder if we then say, "It is true that He
has forgiven me; but I never can forgive myself. He makes me live,
and I live in Him; but at the thought of His goodness I fall at
His feet as dead. Boasting is dead, self is dead, and all desire
for anything beyond my Lord is dead also." Well does Cowper sing
of--
"That dear hour, that brought me to His foot,
And cut up all my follies by the root."
The process of destroying follies is more hopefully performed
at Jesus' feet than anywhere else. Oh, that the Lord would come
again to us as at the first, and like a consuming fire discover
and destroy the dross which now alloys our gold! The word visit
brings to us who travel the remembrance of the government officer
who searches our baggage; thus doth the Lord seek out our secret
things. But it also reminds us of the visits of the physician, who
not only finds out our maladies, but also removes them. Thus did
the Lord Jesus visit us at the first.
Since those early days, I hope that you and I have had many
visits from our Lord. Those first visits were, as I said, sharply
searching; but the later ones have been sweetly solacing. Some of
us have had them, especially in the night, when we have been
compelled to count the sleepless hours. "Heaven's gate opens when
this world's is shut." The night is still; everybody is away; work
is done; care is forgotten, and then the Lord Himself draws near.
Possibly there may be pain to be endured, the head may be aching,
and the heart may be throbbing; but if Jesus comes to visit us,
our bed of languishing becomes a throne of glory. Though it is
true "He giveth His beloved sleep," yet at such times He gives
them something better than sleep, namely; His own presence, and
the fulness of joy which comes with it. By night upon our bed we
have seen the unseen. I have tried sometimes not to sleep under an
excess of joy, when the company of Christ has been sweetly mine.
"Thou hast visited me in the night." Believe me, there are
such things as personal visits from Jesus to His people. He has
not left us utterly. Though He be not seen with the bodily eye by
bush or brook, nor on the mount, nor by the sea, yet doth He come
and go, observed only by the spirit, felt only by the heart. Still
he standeth behind our wall, He showeth Himself through the
lattices.
"Jesus, these eyes have never seen
That radiant form of Thine!
The veil of sense hangs dark between
Thy blessed face and mine!
"I see Thee not, I hear Thee not,
Yet art Thou oft with me,
And earth hath ne'er so dear a spot
As where I meet with Thee.
"Like some bright dream that comes unsought,
When slumbers o'er me roll,
Thine image ever fills my thought,
And charms my ravish'd soul.
"Yet though I have not seen, and still
Must rest in faith alone;
I love Thee, dearest Lord! and will,
Unseen, but not unknown."
Do you ask me to describe these manifestations of the Lord?
It were hard to tell you in words: you must know them for
yourselves. If you had never tasted sweetness, no man living could
give you an idea of honey. Yet if the honey be there, you can
"taste and see." To a man born blind, sight must be a thing past
imagination; and to one who has never known the Lord, His visits
are quite as much beyond conception.
For our Lord to visit us is something more than for us to
have the assurance of our salvation, though that is very
delightful, and none of us should rest satisfied unless we possess
it. To know that Jesus loves me, is one thing; but to be visited
by Him in love, is more.
Nor is it simply a close contemplation of Christ; for we can
picture Him as exceedingly fair and majestic, and yet not have Him
consciously near us. Delightful and instructive as it is to behold
the likeness of Christ by meditation, yet the enjoyment of His
actual presence is something more. I may wear my friend's portrait
about my person, and yet may not be able to say, "Thou hast
visited me."
It is the actual, though spiritual, coming of Christ which we
so much desire. The Romish church says much about the _real_
presence; meaning thereby, the corporeal presence of the Lord
Jesus. The priest who celebrates mass tells us that he believes in
the _real_ presence, but we reply, "Nay, you believe in knowing
Christ after the flesh, and in that sense the only real presence
is in heaven; but we firmly believe in the real presence of Christ
which is spiritual, and yet certain." By spiritual we do not mean
unreal; in fact, the spiritual takes the lead in real-ness to
spiritual men. I believe in the true and real presence of Jesus
with His people: such presence has been real to my spirit. Lord
Jesus, Thou Thyself hast visited me. As surely as the Lord Jesus
came really as to His flesh to Bethlehem and Calvary, so surely
does He come really by His Spirit to His people in the hours of
their communion with Him. We are as conscious of that presence as
of our own existence.
When the Lord visits us in the night, what is the effect upon
us? When hearts meet hearts in fellowship of love, communion
brings first peace, then rest, and then joy of soul. I am speaking
of no emotional excitement rising into fanatical rapture; but I
speak of sober fact, when I say that the Lord's great heart
touches ours, and our heart rises into sympathy with Him.
First, we experience _peace_. All war is over, and a blessed
peace is proclaimed; the peace of God keeps our heart and mind by
Christ Jesus.
"Peace! perfect peace! in this dark world of sin?
The blood of Jesus whispers peace within.
"Peace! perfect peace! with sorrows surging round?
On Jesus' bosom nought but calm is found."
At such a time there is a delightful sense of _rest_; we have
no ambitions, no desires. A divine serenity and security envelop
us. We have no thought of foes, or fears, or afflictions, or
doubts. There is a joyous laying aside of our own will. We _are_
nothing, and we _will_ nothing: Christ is everything, and His will
is the pulse of our soul. We are perfectly content either to be
ill or to be well, to be rich or to be poor, to be slandered or to
be honoured, so that we may but abide in the love of Christ. Jesus
fills the horizon of our being.
At such a time a flood of great _joy_ will fill our minds. We
shall half wish that the morning may never break again, for fear
its light should banish the superior light of Christ's presence.
We shall wish that we could glide away with our Beloved to the
place where He feedeth among the lilies. We long to hear the
voices of the white-robed armies, that we may follow their
glorious Leader whithersoever He goeth. I am persuaded that there
is no great actual distance between earth and heaven: the distance
lies in our dull minds. When the Beloved visits us in the night,
He makes our chambers to be the vestibule of His palace-halls.
Earth rises to heaven when heaven comes down to earth.
Now, beloved friends, you may be saying to yourselves, "_We_
have not enjoyed such visits as these." You may do so. If the
Father loves you even as He loves His Son, then you are on
visiting terms with Him. If, then, He has not called upon you, you
will be wise to call on Him. Breathe a sigh to Him, and say,--
"When wilt Thou come unto me, Lord?
Oh come, my Lord most dear!
Come near, come nearer, nearer still,
I'm blest when Thou art near.
"When wilt Thou come unto me, Lord?
I languish for the sight;
Ten thousand suns when Thou art hid,
Are shades instead of light.
"When wilt Thou come unto me, Lord?
Until Thou dost appear,
I count each moment for a day,
Each minute for a year."
"As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth my
soul after Thee, O God!" If you long for Him, He much more longs
for you. Never was there a sinner that was half so eager for
Christ as Christ is eager for the sinner; nor a saint one-tenth so
anxious to behold his Lord as his Lord is to behold him. If thou
art running to Christ, He is already near thee. If thou dost sigh
for His presence, that sigh is the evidence that He is with thee.
He is with thee now: therefore be calmly glad.
Go forth, beloved, and talk with Jesus on the beach, for He
oft resorted to the sea-shore. Commune with Him amid the olive-
groves so dear to Him in many a night of wrestling prayer. If ever
there was a country in which men should see traces of Jesus, next
to the Holy Land, this Riviera is the favoured spot. It is a land
of vines, and figs, and olives, and palms; I have called it "Thy
land, O Immanuel." While in this Mentone, I often fancy that I am
looking out upon the Lake of Gennesaret, or walking at the foot of
the Mount of Olives, or peering into the mysterious gloom of the
Garden of Gethsemane. The narrow streets of the old town are such
as Jesus traversed, these villages are such as He inhabited. Have
your hearts right with Him, and He will visit you often, until
every day you shall walk with God, as Enoch did, and so turn week-
days into Sabbaths, meals into sacraments, homes into temples, and
earth into heaven. So be it with us! Amen.
UNDER HIS SHADOW.
A BRIEF SACRAMENTAL DISCOURSE DELIVERED AT MENTONE
TO ABOUT A SCORE BRETHREN.
"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall
abide under the shadow of the Almighty."--Psalm xci. 1.
I MUST confess of my short discourse, as the man did of the axe
which fell into the stream, that it is borrowed. The outline of it
is taken from one who will never complain of me, for to the great
loss of the Church she has left these lower choirs to sing above.
Miss Havergal, last and loveliest of our modern poets, when her
tones were most mellow, and her language most sublime, has been
caught up to swell the music of heaven. Her last poems are
published with the title, "Under His Shadow," and the preface
gives the reason for the name. She said, "I should like the title
to be, 'Under His Shadow.' I seem to see four pictures suggested
by that: under the shadow of a rock, in a weary plain; under the
shadow of a tree; closer still, under the shadow of His wing;
nearest and closest, in the shadow of His hand. Surely that hand
must be the pierced hand, that may oftentimes press us sorely, and
yet evermore encircling, upholding, and shadowing."
"Under His Shadow," is our afternoon subject, and we will in
a few words enlarge on the Scriptural plan which Miss Havergal has
bequeathed to us. Our text is, "He that dwelleth in the secret
place of the most High shall abide _under the shadow_ of the
Almighty." The shadow of God is not the occasional resort, but the
constant abiding-place, of the saint. Here we find not only our
consolation, but our habitation. We ought never to be out of the
shadow of God. It is to dwellers, not to visitors, that the Lord
promises His protection. "He that _dwelleth_ in the secret place
of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty:"
and that shadow shall preserve him from nightly terror and ghostly
ill, from the arrows of war and of pestilence, from death and from
destruction. Guarded by Omnipotence, the chosen of the Lord are
always safe; for as they dwell in the holy place, hard by the
mercy-seat, where the blood was sprinkled of old, the pillar of
fire by night, the pillar of cloud by day, which ever hangs over
the sanctuary, covers them also. Is it not written, "In the time
of trouble He shall hide me in His pavilion, in the secret of His
tabernacle shall He hide me"? What better security can we desire?
As the people of God, we are always under the protection of the
Most High. Wherever we go, whatever we suffer, whatever may be our
difficulties, temptations, trials, or perplexities, we are always
"under the shadow of the Almighty." Over all who maintain their
fellowship with God the most tender guardian care is extended.
Their heavenly Father Himself interposes between them and their
adversaries. The experience of the saints, albeit they are all
under the shadow, yet differs as to the form in which that
protection has been enjoyed by them, hence the value of the four
figures which will now engage our attention.
I. We will begin with the first picture which Miss Havergal
mentions, namely, the rock sheltering the weary traveller:--"_The
shadow of a great rock in a weary land_" (Isaiah xxxii. 2).
Now, I take it that this is where we begin to know our Lord's
shadow. He was at the first to us _a refuge in time of trouble_.
Weary was the way, and great was the heat; our lips were parched,
and our souls were fainting; we sought for shelter, and we found
none; for we were in the wilderness of sin and condemnation, and
who could bring us deliverance, or even hope? Then we cried unto
the Lord in our trouble, and He led us to the Rock of ages, which
of old was cleft for us. We saw our interposing Mediator coming
between us and the fierce heat of justice, and we hailed the
blessed screen. The Lord Jesus was unto us a covering for sin, and
so a covert from wrath. The sense of divine displeasure, which had
beaten upon our conscience, was removed by the removal of the sin
itself, which we saw to be laid on Jesus, who in our place and
stead endured its penalty.
The shadow of a rock is remarkably cooling, and so was the
Lord Jesus eminently comforting to us. The shadow of a rock is
more dense, more complete, and more cool than any other shade; and
so the peace which Jesus gives passeth all understanding, there is
none like it. No chance beam darts through the rock-shade, nor can
the heat penetrate as it will do in a measure through the foliage
of a forest. Jesus is a complete shelter, and blessed are they who
are "under His shadow." Let them take care that they abide there,
and never venture forth to answer for themselves, or to brave the
accusations of Satan.
As with sin, so with sorrow of every sort: the Lord is the
Rock of our refuge. No sun shall smite us, nor, any heat, because
we are never out of Christ. The saints know where to fly, and they
use their privilege.
"When troubles, like a burning sun,
Beat heavy on their head,
To Christ their mighty Rock they run,
And find a pleasing shade."
There is, however, something of awe about this great shadow.
A rock is often so high as to be terrible, and we tremble in
presence of its greatness. The idea of littleness hiding behind
massive greatness is well set forth; but there is no tender
thought of fellowship, or gentleness: even so, at the first, we
view the Lord Jesus as our shelter from the consuming heat of
well-deserved punishment, and we know little more. It is most
pleasant to remember that this is only one panel of the four-fold
picture. Inexpressibly dear to my soul is the deep cool rock-shade
of my blessed Lord, as I stand in Him a sinner saved; yet is there
more.
II. Our second picture, that of the tree, is to be found in
the Song of Solomon ii. 3:--"_As the apple tree among the trees of
the wood, so is my Beloved among the sons. I sat down under His
shadow with great delight, and His fruit was sweet to my taste_."
Here we have not so much refuge from trouble as special _rest
in times of joy_. The spouse is happily wandering through a wood,
glancing at many trees, and rejoicing in the music of the birds.
One tree specially charms her: the citron with its golden fruit
wins her admiration, and she sits under its shadow with great
delight; such was her Beloved to her, the best among the good, the
fairest of the fair, the joy of her joy, the light of her delight.
Such is Jesus to the believing soul.
The sweet influences of Christ are intended to give us a
happy rest, and we ought to avail ourselves of them; "I sat down
under His shadow." This was Mary's better part, which Martha well-
nigh missed by being cumbered. That is the good old way wherein we
are to walk, the way in which we find rest unto our souls. Papists
and papistical persons, whose religion is all ceremonies, or all
working, or all groaning, or all feeling, have never come to an
end. We may say of their religion as of the law, that it made
nothing perfect; but under the gospel there is something finished,
and that something is the sum and substance of our salvation, and
therefore there is rest for us, and we ought to sing, "I sat
down."
Dear friends, is Christ to each one of us a place of sitting
down? I do not mean a rest of idleness and self-content,--God
deliver us from that; but there is rest in a conscious grasp of
Christ, a rest of contentment with Him as our all in all. God give
us to know more of this! This shadow is also meant to yield
perpetual solace, for the spouse did not merely come under it, but
there she sat down as one who meant to stay. Continuance of repose
and joy is purchased for us by our Lord's perfected work. Under
the shadow she found food; she had no need to leave it to find a
single needful thing, for the tree which shaded also yielded
fruit; nor did she need even to rise from her rest, but sitting
still she feasted on the delicious fruit. You who know the Lord
Jesus know also what this meaneth.
The spouse never wished to go beyond her Lord. She knew no
higher life than that of sitting under the Well-beloved's shadow.
She passed the cedar, and oak, and every other goodly tree, but
the apple-tree held her, and there she sat down. "Many there be
that say, who will show us any good? But as for us, O Lord, our
heart is fixed, our heart is fixed, resting on Thee. We will go no
further, for Thou art our dwelling-place, we feel at home with
Thee, and sit down beneath Thy shadow." Some Christians cultivate
reverence at the expense of childlike love; they kneel down, but
they dare not sit down. Our Divine Friend and Lover wills not that
it should be so; He would not have us stand on ceremony with Him,
but come boldly unto Him.
"Let us be simple with Him, then,
Not backward, stiff or cold,
As though our Bethlehem could be
What Sina was of old."
Let us use His sacred name as a common word, as a household
word, and run to Him as to a dear familiar friend. Under His
shadow we are to feel that we are at home, and then He will make
Himself at home to us by becoming food unto our souls, and giving
spiritual refreshment to us while we rest. The spouse does not
here say that she reached up to the tree to gather its fruit, but
she sat down on the ground in intense delight, and the fruit came
to her where she sat. It is wonderful how Christ will come down to
souls that sit beneath His shadow; if we can but be at home with
Christ, He will sweetly commune with us. Has He not said, "Delight
thyself also in the Lord, and He shall give thee the desires of
thine heart"?
In this second form of the sacred shadow, the sense of awe
gives place to that of restful delight in Christ. Have you ever
figured in such a scene as the sitter beneath the grateful shade
of the fruitful tree? Have you not only possessed security, but
experienced delight in Christ? Have you sung,--
"I sat down under His shadow,
Sat down with great delight;
His fruit was sweet unto my taste,
And pleasant to my sight"?
This is as necessary an experience as it is joyful: necessary
for many uses. The joy of the Lord is our strength, and it is when
we delight ourselves in the Lord that we have assurance of power
in prayer. Here faith develops, and hope grows bright, while love
sheds abroad all the fragrance of her sweet spices. Oh! get you to
the apple-tree, and find out who is the fairest among the fair.
Make the Light of heaven the delight of your heart, and then be
filled with heart's-ease, and revel in complete content.
III. The third view of the one subject is,--the shadow of his
wings,--a precious word. I think the best specimen of it, for it
occurs several times, is in that blessed Psalm, the sixty-third,
verse seven:--
"_Because Thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of
Thy wings will I rejoice_."
Does not this set forth our Lord as _our trust in hours of
depression?_ In the Psalm now open before us, David was banished
from the means of grace to a dry and thirsty land, where no water
was. What is much worse, he was in a measure away from all
conscious enjoyment of God. He says, "Early will I seek Thee. My
soul thirsteth for Thee." He sings rather of memories than of
present communion with God. We also have come into this condition,
and have been unable to find any present comfort. "Thou hast been
my help," has been the highest note we could strike, and we have
been glad to reach to that. At such times, the light of God's face
has been withdrawn, but our faith has taught us to rejoice under
the shadow of His wings. Light there was none; we were altogether
in the shade, but it was a warm shade. We felt that God who had
been near must be near us still, and therefore we were quieted.
Our God cannot change, and therefore as He was our help He must
still be our help, our help even though He casts a shadow over us,
for it must be the shadow of His own eternal wings. The metaphor
is, of course, derived from the nestling of little birds under the
shadow of their mother's wings, and the picture is singularly
touching and comforting. The little bird is not yet able to take
care of itself, so it cowers down under the mother, and is there
happy and safe. Disturb a hen for a moment, and you will see all
the little chickens huddling together, and by their chirps making
a kind of song. Then they push their heads into her feathers, and
seem happy beyond measure in their warm abode. When we are very
sick and sore depressed, when we are worried with the care of
pining children, and the troubles of a needy household, and the
temptations of Satan, how comforting it is to run to our God,--
like the little chicks run to the hen,--and hide away near His
heart, beneath His Wings. Oh, tried ones, press closely to the
loving heart of your Lord, hide yourselves entirely beneath His
wings! Here awe has disappeared, and rest itself is enhanced by
the idea of loving trust. The little birds are safe in their
mother's love, and we, too, are beyond measure secure and happy in
the loving favour of the Lord.
IV. The last form of the shadow is that of the hand, and
this, it seems to me, points to power and position in service.
Turn to Isaiah xlix. 2:--
"_And He hath made my mouth like a sharp sword; in the shadow
of His hand hath He kid me, and made me a polished shaft; in His
quiver hath He hid me_."
This undoubtedly refers to the Saviour, for the passage
proceeds:--"And said unto me, Thou art my servant, O Israel, in
whom I will be glorified. Then I said, I have laboured in vain, I
have spent my strength for nought, and in vain: yet surely my
judgment is with the Lord, and my work with my God. And now, saith
the Lord that formed me from the womb to be His servant, to bring
Jacob again to Him, though Israel be not gathered, yet shall I be
glorious in the eyes of the Lord, and my God shall be my strength.
And He said, It is a light thing that thou shouldest be My servant
to raise up the tribes of Jacob, and to restore the preserved of
Israel: I will also give thee for a light to the Gentiles, that
thou mayest be My salvation unto the end of the earth." Our Lord
Jesus Christ was hidden away in the hand of Jehovah, to be used by
Him as a polished shaft for the overthrow of His enemies, and the
victory of His people. Yet, inasmuch as it is Christ, it is also
all Christ's servants, since as He is so are we also in this
world; and to make quite sure of it, we have the same expression
in the sixteenth verse of the fifty-first chapter, where, speaking
of His people, He says, "I have covered thee in the shadow of Mine
hand." Is not this an excellent minister's text? Every one of you
who will speak a word for Jesus shall have a share in it. This is
where those who are workers for Christ should long to be,--"in the
shadow of His hand," to achieve His eternal purpose. What are any
of God's servants without their Lord but weapons out of the
warrior's hand, having no power to do anything? We ought to be as
the arrows of the Lord which He shoots at His enemies; and so
great is His hand of power, and so little are we as His
instruments, that He hides us away in the hollow of His hand,
unseen until He darts us forth. As workers, we are to be hidden
away in the hand of God, or to quote the other figure, "in His
quiver hath He hid me:" we are to be unseen till He uses us. It is
impossible for us not to be known somewhat if the Lord uses us,
but we may not aim at being noticed, but, on the contrary, if we
be as much used as the very chief of the apostles, we must
truthfully add, "though I be nothing." Our desire should be that
Christ should be glorified, and that self should be concealed.
Alas! there is a way of always showing self in what we do, and we
are all too ready to fall into it. You can visit the poor in such
a way that they will feel that his lordship or her ladyship has
condescended to call upon poor Betsy; but there is another way of
doing the same thing so that the tried child of God shall know
that a brother beloved or a dear sister in Christ has shown a
fellow-feeling for her, and has talked to her heart. There is a
way of preaching, in which a great divine has evidently displayed
his vast learning and talent; and there is another way of
preaching, in which a faithful servant of Jesus Christ, depending
upon his Lord, has spoken in his Master's name, and left a rich
unction behind. Within the hand of God is the place of acceptance,
and safety; and for service it is the place of power, as well as
of concealment. God only works with those who are in His hand; and
the more we lie hidden there, the more surely will He use us ere
long. May the Lord do unto us according to His word, "I have put
My words in thy mouth, and I have covered thee in the shadow of My
hand." In this case we shall feel all the former emotions
combined: awe that the Lord should condescend to take us into His
hand, rest and delight that He should deign to use us, trust that
out of weakness we shall now be made strong, and to this will be
added an absolute assurance that the end of our being must be
answered, for that which is urged onward by the Almighty hand
cannot miss its mark.
These are mere surface thoughts. The subject deserves a
series of discourses. Your best course, my beloved friends, will
be to enlarge upon these hints by a long personal experience of
abiding under the shadow of the Almighty. May God the Holy Ghost
lead you into it, and keep you there, for Jesus' sake!
UNDER THE APPLE TREE.
"I sat down under His shadow with great delight, and His
fruit was sweet to my taste."--Solomon's Song ii. 3.
Christ _known should be Christ used_. The spouse knew her Beloved
to be like a fruit-bearing tree, and at once she sat under His
shadow, and fed upon His fruit. It is a pity that we know so much
about Christ, and yet enjoy Him so little. May our experience keep
pace with our knowledge, and may that experience be composed of a
practical using of our Lord! Jesus casts a shadow, let us sit
under it: Jesus yields fruit, let us taste the sweetness of it.
Depend upon it that the way to learn more is to use what you know;
and, moreover, the way to learn a truth thoroughly is to learn it
experimentally. You know a doctrine beyond all fear of
contradiction when you have proved it for yourself by personal
test and trial. The bride in the song as good as says, "I am
certain that my Beloved casts a shadow, for I have sat under it,
and I am persuaded that He bears sweet fruit, for I have tasted of
it." The best way of demonstrating the power of Christ to save is
to trust in Him and be saved yourself; and of all those who are
sure of the divinity of our holy faith, there are none so certain
as those who feel its divine power upon themselves. You may reason
yourself into a belief of the gospel, and you may by further
reasoning keep yourself orthodox; but a personal trial, and an
inward knowing of the truth, are incomparably the best evidences.
If Jesus be as an apple tree among the trees of the wood, do not
keep away from Him, but sit under His shadow, and taste His fruit.
He is a Saviour; do not believe the fact and yet remain unsaved.
As far as Christ is known to you, so far make use of Him. Is not
this sound common-sense?
We would further remark that _we are at liberty to make every
possible use of Christ_. Shadow and fruit may both be enjoyed.
Christ in His infinite condescension exists for needy souls. Oh,
let us say it over again: it is a bold word, but it is true,--as
Christ Jesus, our Lord exists for the benefit of His people. A
Saviour only exists to save. A physician lives to heal. The Good
Shepherd lives, yea, dies, for His sheep. Our Lord Jesus Christ
hath wrapped us about His heart; we are intimately interwoven with
all His offices, with all His honours, with all His traits of
character, with all that He has done, and with all that He has yet
to do. The 'sinners' Friend lives for sinners, and sinners may
have Him and use Him to the uttermost. He is as free to us as the
air we breathe. What are fountains for, but that the thirsty may
drink? What is the harbour for but that storm-tossed barques may
there find refuge? What is Christ for but that poor guilty ones
like ourselves may come to Him and look and live, and afterwards
may have all our needs supplied out of His fulness?
We have thus the door set open for us, and we pray that the
Holy Spirit may help us to enter in while we notice in the text
two things which we pray that you may enjoy to the full. First,
_the heart's rest in Christ:_ "I sat down under His shadow with
great delight." And, secondly, _the heart's refreshment in
Christ:_ "His fruit was sweet to my taste."
I. To begin with, we have here the heart's rest in Christ. To
set this forth, let us notice the character of the person who
uttered this sentence. She who said, "I sat down under His shadow
with great delight," was one who _had known before what weary
travel meant, and therefore valued rest;_ for the man who has
never laboured knows nothing of the sweetness of repose. The
loafer who has eaten bread he never earned, from whose brow there
never oozed a drop of honest sweat, does not deserve rest, and
knows not what it is. It is to the labouring man that rest is
sweet; and when at last we come, toil-worn with many miles of
weary plodding, to a shaded place where we may comfortably sit
down, then are we filled with delight.
The spouse had been seeking her Beloved, and in looking for
Him she had asked where she was likely to find Him. "Tell me,"
says she, "O Thou whom my soul loveth, where Thou feedest, where
Thou makest Thy flock to rest at noon." The answer was given to
her, "Go thy way forth by the footsteps of the flock." She did go
her way; but, after a while, she came to this resolution: "I will
_sit down_ under His shadow."
Many of you have been sorely wearied with going your way to
find peace. Some of you tried ceremonies, and trusted in them, and
the priest came to your help; but he mocked your heart's distress.
Others of you sought by various systems of thought to come to an
anchorage; but, tossed from billow to billow, you found no rest
upon the seething sea of speculation. More of you tried by your
good works to gain rest to your consciences. You multiplied your
prayers, you poured out floods of tears, you hoped, by almsgiving
and by the like, that some merit might accrue to you, and that
your heart might feel acceptance with God, and so have rest. You
toiled and toiled, like the men that were in the vessel with Jonah
when they rowed hard to bring their ship to land, but could not,
for the sea wrought and was tempestuous. There was no escape for
you that way, and so you were driven to another way, even to rest
in Jesus. My heart looks back to the time when I was under a sense
of sin, and sought with all my soul to find peace, but could not
discover it, high or low, in any place beneath the sky; yet when
"I saw one hanging on a tree," as the Substitute for sin, then my
heart sat down under His shadow with great delight. My heart
reasoned thus with herself,--Did Jesus suffer in my stead? Then I
shall not suffer. Did He bear my sin? Then I do not bear it. Did
God accept His Son as my Substitute? Then He will never smite
_me_. Was Jesus acceptable with God as my Sacrifice? Then what
contents the Lord may well enough content me, and so I will go no
farther, but: "sit down under His shadow," and enjoy a delightful
rest.
She who said, "I sat down under His shadow with great
delight," _could appreciate shade, for she had been sunburnt_. Did
we not read just now her exclamation,--"Look not upon me, for I am
black, because the sun hath looked upon me"? She knew what heat
meant, what the burning sun meant; and therefore shade was
pleasant to her. You know nothing about the deliciousness of shade
till you travel in a thoroughly hot country; then you are
delighted with it. Did you ever feel the heat of divine wrath? Did
the great Sun--that Sun without variableness or shadow of a
turning--ever dart upon you His hottest rays,--the rays of his
holiness and justice? Did you cower down beneath the scorching
beams of that great Light, and say, "We are consumed by Thine
anger"? If you have ever felt _that_, you have found it a very
blessed thing to come under the shadow of Christ's atoning
sacrifice. A shadow, you know, is cast by a body coming between us
and the light and heat; and our Lord's most blessed body has come
between us and the scorching sun of divine justice, so that we sit
under the shadow of His mediation with great delight.
And now, if any other sun begins to scorch us, we fly to our
Lord. If domestic trouble, or business care, or Satanic
temptation, or inward corruption, oppresses us, we hasten to
Jesus' shadow, to hide under Him, and there "sit down" in the cool
refreshment with great delight. The interposition of our blessed
Lord is the cause of our inward quiet. The sun cannot scorch _me_,
for it scorched _Him_. My troubles need not trouble me, for He has
taken my trouble, and I have left it in His hands. "I sat down
under His shadow."
Mark well these two things concerning the spouse. She knew
what it was to be weary, and she knew what it was to be sunburnt;
and just in proportion as you also know these two things, your
valuation of Christ will rise. You who have never pined under the
wrath of God have never prized the Saviour. Water is of small
value in this land of brooks and rivers, and so you commonly
sprinkle the roads with it; but I warrant you that, if you were
making a day's march over burning sand, a cup of cold water would
be worth a king's ransom; and so to thirsty souls Christ is
precious, but to none beside.
Now, when the spouse was sitting down, restful and delighted,
_she was overshadowed_. She says, "I sat down _under His shadow_."
I do not know a more delightful state of mind than to feel quite
overshadowed by our beloved Lord. Here is my black sin, but there
is His precious blood overshadowing my sin, and hiding it for
ever. Here is my condition by nature, an enemy to God; but He who
reconciled me to God by His blood has overshadowed that also, so
that I forget that I was once an enemy in the joy of being now a
friend. I am very weak; but He is strong, and His strength
overshadows my feebleness. I am very poor; but He hath all riches,
and His riches overshadow my poverty. I am most unworthy; but He
is so worthy that if I use His name I shall receive as much as if
I were worthy: His worthiness doth overshadow my unworthiness. It
is very precious to put the truth the other way, and say, If there
be anything good in me, it is not good when I compare myself with
Him, for His goodness quite eclipses and overshadows it. Can I say
I love Him? So I do, but I hardly dare call it love, for His love
overshadows it. Did I suppose that I served Him? So I would; but
my poor service is not worth mentioning in comparison with what He
has done for me. Did I think I had any degree of holiness? I must
not deny what His Spirit works in me; but when I think of His
immaculate life, and all His divine perfections, where am I? What
am I? Have you not sometimes felt this? Have you not been so
overshadowed and hidden under your Lord that you became as
nothing? I know myself what it is to feel that if I die in a
workhouse it does not matter so long as my Lord is glorified.
Mortals may cast out my name as evil, if they like; but what
matters it since His dear name shall one day be printed in stars
athwart the sky? Let Him overshadow me; I delight that it should
be so.
The spouse tells us that, when she became quite overshadowed,
then _she felt great delight_. Great "_I_" never has great
delight, for it cannot bear to own a greater than itself, but the
humble believer finds his delight in being overshadowed by his
Lord. In the shade of Jesus we have more delight than in any
fancied light of our own. The spouse had _great_ delight. I trust
that you Christian people do have great delight; and if not, you
ought to ask yourselves whether you really are the people of God.
I like to see a cheerful countenance; ay, and to hear of raptures
in the hearts of those who are God's saints! There are people who
seem to think that religion and gloom are married, and must never
be divorced. Pull down the blinds on Sunday, and darken the rooms;
if you have a garden, or a rose in flower, try to forget that
there are such beauties: are you not to serve God as dolorously as
you can? Put your book under your arm, and crawl to your place of
worship in as mournful a manner as if you were being marched to
the whipping-post. Act thus if you will; but give me that religion
which cheers my heart, fires my soul, and fills me with enthusiasm
and delight,--for that is likely to be the religion of heaven, and
it agrees with the experience of the Inspired Song.
Although I trust that we know what delight means, I question
if we have enough of it to describe ourselves as _sitting down_ in
the enjoyment of it. Do you give yourselves enough time to sit at
Jesus' feet? _There_ is the place of delight, do you abide in it?
Sit down under His shadow. "I have no leisure," cries one. Try and
make a little. Steal it from your sleep if you cannot get it
anyhow else. Grant leisure to your heart. It would be a great pity
if a man never spent five minutes with his wife, but was forced to
be always hard at work. Why, that is slavey, is it not? Shall we
not then have time to commune with our Best-beloved? Surely,
somehow or other, we can squeeze out a little season in which we
shall have nothing else to do but to sit down under His shadow
with great delight! When I take my Bible, and want to feed on it
for myself, I generally get thinking about preaching upon the
text, and what I should say to you from it. This will not do; I
must get away from that, and forget that there is a Tabernacle,
that I may sit personally at Jesus' feet. And, oh, there is an
intense delight in being overshadowed by Him! He is near you, and
you know it. His dear presence is as certainly with you as if you
could see Him, for His influence surrounds you.
Often have I felt as if Jesus leaned over me, as a friend
might look over my shoulder. Although no cool shade comes over
your brow, yet you may as much feel His shadow as if it did, for
your heart grows calm; and if you have been wearied with the
family, or troubled with the church, or vexed with yourself, you
come down from the chamber where you have seen your Lord, and you
feel braced for the battle of life, ready for its troubles and its
temptations, because you have seen the Lord. "I sat down" said
she, "under His shadow with _great delight_." How great that
delight was she could not tell, but she sat down as one
overpowered with it, needing to sit still under the load of bliss.
I do not like to talk much about the secret delights of
Christians, because there are always some around us who do not
understand our meaning; but I will venture to say this much--that
if worldlings could but even guess what are the secret joys of
believers, they would give their eyes to share with us. We have
troubles, and we admit it, we expect to have them; but we have
joys which are frequently excessive. We should not like that
others should be witnesses of the delight which now and then
tosses our soul into a very tempest of joy. You know what it
means, do you not? When you have been quite alone with the
heavenly Bridegroom, you wanted to tell the angels of the sweet
love of Christ to you, a poor unworthy one. You even wished to
teach the golden harps fresh music, for seraphs know not the
heights and depths of the grace of God as you know them.
The spouse had great delight, and we know that she had, for
this one reason, that _she did not forget it_. This verse and the
whole Song are a remembrance of what she had enjoyed. She says, "I
sat down under His shadow." It may have been a month, it may have
been years ago; but she had not forgotten it. The joys of
fellowship with God are written in marble. "Engraved as in eternal
brass" are memories of communion with Christ Jesus. "Above
fourteen years ago," says the apostle, "I knew a man." Ah, it was
worth remembering all those years! He had not told his delight,
but he had kept it stored up. He says, "I knew a man in Christ
above fourteen years ago (whether in the body, I cannot tell; or
whether out of the body, I cannot tell:)" so great had his
delights been. When we look back, we forget birthdays, holidays,
and bonfire-nights which we have spent after the manner of men,
but we readily recall our times of fellowship with the Well-
beloved. We have known our Tabors, our times of transfiguration
fellowship, and like Peter we remember when we were "with Him in
the holy mount." Our head has leaned upon the Master's bosom, and
we can never forget the intense delight; nor will we fail to put
on record for the good of others the joys with which we have been
indulged.
Now I leave this first part of the subject, only noticing how
beautifully natural it is. There was a tree, and she sat down
under the shadow: there was nothing strained, nothing formal. So
ought true piety ever to be consistent with common-sense, with
that which seems most fitting, most comely, most wise, and most
natural. There is Christ, we may enjoy Him, let us not despise the
privilege.
II. The second part of our subject is, the heart's
refreshment in Christ. His fruit was sweet to my taste. Here I
will not enlarge, but give you thoughts in brief which you can
beat out afterwards. _She did not feast upon the fruit of the tree
till first she was under the shadow of it._ There is no knowing
the excellent things of Christ till you trust Him. Not a single
sweet apple shall fall to the lot of those who are outside the
shadow. Come and trust Christ, and then all that there is in
Christ shall be enjoyed by you. O unbelievers, what you miss! If
you will but sit down under His shadow, you shall have all things;
but if you will not, neither shall any good thing of Christ's be
yours.
_But as soon as ever she was under the shadow, then the fruit
was all hers_. "I sat down under His shadow," saith she, and then,
"His fruit was sweet to my taste." Dost thou believe in Jesus,
friend? Then Jesus Christ Himself is thine; and if thou dost own
the tree, thou mayest well eat the fruit. Since He Himself becomes
thine altogether, then His redemption and the pardon that comes of
it, His living power, His mighty intercession, the glories of His
Second Advent, and all that belong to Him are made over to thee
for thy personal and present use and enjoyment. All things are
yours, since Christ is yours. Only mind you imitate the spouse:
_when she found that the fruit was hers, she ate it_. Copy her
closely in this. It is a great fault in many believers, that they
do not appropriate the promises, and feed on them. Do not err as
they do. Under the shadow you have a right to eat the fruit. Deny
not yourselves the sacred entertainment.
Now, it would appear, as we read the text, that _she obtained
this fruit without effort_. The proverb says, "He who would gain
the fruit must climb the tree." But she did not climb, for she
says, "I sat down under His shadow." I suppose the fruit dropped
down to her. I know that it is so with us. We no longer spend our
money for that which is not bread, and our labour for that which
satisfieth not; but we sit under our Lord's shadow, and we eat
that which is good, and our soul delights itself in sweetness.
Come Christian, enter into the calm rest of faith, by sitting down
beneath the cross, and thou shalt be fed even to the full.
_The spouse rested while feasting:_ she sat and ate. So, O
true believer, rest whilst thou art feeding upon Christ! The
spouse says, "I sat, and I ate." Had she not told us in the former
chapter that the King _sat_ at His table? See how like the Church
is to her Lord, and the believer to his Saviour! We sit down also,
and we eat, even as the King doth. Right royally are we
entertained. His joy is in us, and His peace keeps our hearts and
minds.
Further, notice that, _as the spouse fed upon this fruit, she
had a relish for it._ It is not every palate that likes every
fruit. Never dispute with other people about tastes of any sort,
for agreement is not possible. That dainty which to one person is
the most delicious is to another nauseous; and if there were a
competition as to which fruit is preferable to all the rest, there
would probably be almost as many opinions as there are fruits. But
blessed is he who hath a relish for Christ Jesus! Dear hearer, is
He sweet to you? Then He is yours. There never was a heart that
did relish Christ but what Christ belonged to that heart. If thou
hast been feeding on Him, and He is sweet to thee, go on feasting,
for He who gave thee a relish gives thee Himself to satisfy thine
appetite.
What are the fruits which come from Christ? Are they not
peace with God, renewal of heart, joy in the Holy Ghost, love to
the brethren? Are they not regeneration, justification,
sanctification, adoption, and all the blessings of the covenant of
grace? And are they not each and all sweet to our taste? As we
have fed upon them, have we not said, "Yes, these things are
pleasant indeed. There is none like them. Let us live upon them
evermore"? Now, sit down, sit down and feed. It seems a strange
thing that we should have to persuade people to do that, but in
the spiritual world things are very different from what they are
in the natural. In the case of most men, if you put a joint of
meat before them, and a knife and fork, they do not need many
arguments to persuade them to fall to. But I will tell you when
they will not do it, and that is when they are full: and I will
also tell you when they will do it, and that is when they are
hungry. Even so, if thy soul is weary after Christ the Saviour,
thou wilt feed on Him; but if not, it is useless for me to preach
to thee, or bid thee come. However, thou that art there, sitting
under His shadow, thou mayest hear Him utter these words: "Eat, O
friend: drink, yea, drink abundantly." Thou canst not have too
much of these good things: the more of Christ, the better the
Christian.
We know that the spouse feasted herself right heartily with
this food from the tree of life, for _in after days she wanted
more_. Will you kindly read on in the fourth verse? The verse
which contains our text describes, as it were, her first love to
her Lord, her country love, her rustic love. She went to the wood,
and she found Him there like an apple tree, and she enjoyed Him as
one relishes a ripe apple in the country. But she grew in grace,
she learned more of her Lord, and she found that her Best-beloved
was a King. I should not wonder but what she learned the doctrine
of the Second Advent, for then she began to sing, "He brought me
to the banqueting house." As much as to say,--He did not merely
let me know Him out in the fields as the Christ in His
humiliation, but He brought me into the royal palace; and, since
He is a King, He brought forth a banner with His own brave
escutcheon, and He waved it over me while I was sitting at the
table, and the motto of that banneret was love.
She grew very full of this. It was such a grand thing to find
a great Saviour, a triumphant Saviour, an exalted Saviour! But it
was too much for her, and she became sick of soul with the
excessive glory of what she had learned; and do you see what her
heart craves for? She longs for her first simple joys, those
countrified delights. "Comfort me with apples," she says. Nothing
but the old joys will revive her. Did you ever feel like that? I
have been satiated with delight in the love of Christ as a
glorious exalted Saviour when I have seen Him riding on His white
horse, and going forth conquering and to conquer; I have been
overwhelmed when I have beheld Him in the midst of the throne,
with all the brilliant assembly of angels and archangels adoring
Him, and my thought has gone forward to the day when He shall
descend with all the pomp of God, and make all kings and princes
shrink into nothingness before the infinite majesty of His glory.
Then I have felt as though, at the sight of Him, I must fall at
His feet as dead; and I have wanted somebody to come and tell me
over again "the old, old story" of how He died in order that I
might be saved. His throne overpowers me, let me gather fruit from
His cross. Bring me apples from "the tree" again. I am awe-struck
while in the palace, let me get away to the woods again. Give me
an apple plucked from the tree, such as I have given out to boys
and girls in His family, such an apple as this, "Come unto Me all
ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Or
this: "This man receiveth sinners." Give me a promise from the
basket of the covenant. Give me the simplicity of Christ, let me
be a child and feast on apples again, if Jesus be the apple tree.
I would fain go back to Christ on the tree in my stead, Christ
overshadowing me, Christ feeding me. This is the happiest state to
live in. Lord, evermore give us these apples! You recollect the
old story we told, years ago, of Jack the huckster who used to
sing,--
"I'm a poor sinner, and nothing at all,
But Jesus Christ is my all in all."
Those who knew him were astonished at his constant composure.
They had a world of doubts and fears, and so they asked him why he
never doubted. "Well," said he, "I can't doubt but what I am a
poor sinner, and nothing at all, for I know that, and feel it
every day. And why should I doubt that Jesus Christ is my all in
all? for He says He is." "Oh!" said his questioner, "I have my ups
and downs." "I don't," says Jack;" I can never go up, for I am a
poor sinner, and nothing at all; and I cannot go down, for Jesus
Christ is my all in all." He wanted to join the church, and they
said he must tell his experience. He said, "All my experience is
that I am a poor sinner, and nothing at all, and Jesus Christ is
my all in all." "Well," they said, "when you come before the
church-meeting, the minister may ask you questions." "I can't help
it," said Jack, "all I know I will tell you; and that is all I
know,--
"'I'm a poor sinner, and nothing at all,
But Jesus Christ is my all in all.'"
He was admitted into the church, and continued with the
brethren, walking in holiness; but that was still all his
experience, and you could not get him beyond it. "Why," said one
brother, "I sometimes feel so full of grace, I feel so advanced in
sanctification, that I begin to be very happy." "I never do," said
Jack; "I am a poor sinner, and nothing at all." "But then," said
the other, "I go down again, and think I am not saved, because I
am not as sanctified as I used to be." "But I never doubt my
salvation," said Jack, "because Jesus Christ is my all in all, and
He never alters." That simple story is grandly instructive, for it
sets forth a plain man's faith in a plain salvation; it is the
likeness of a soul under the apple tree, resting in the shade, and
feasting on the fruit.
Now, at this time I want you to think of Jesus, not as a
Prince, but as an apple tree; and when this is done, I pray you to
_sit down under His shadow_. It is not much to do. Any child, when
it is hot, can sit down in a shadow. I want you next to feed on
Jesus: any simpleton can eat apples when they are ripe upon the
tree. Come and take Christ, then. You who never came before, come
now. Come and welcome. You who have come often, and have entered
into the palace, and are reclining at the banqueting table, you
lords and peers of Christianity, come to the common wood and to
the common apple tree where poor saints are shaded and fed. You
had better come under the apple tree, like poor sinners such as I
am, and be once more shaded with boughs and comforted with apples,
for else you may faint beneath the palace glories. The best of
saints are never better than when they eat their first fare, and
are comforted with the apples which were their first gospel feast.
The Lord Himself bring forth His own sweet fruit to you!
Amen.
OVER THE MOUNTAINS.
"My Beloved is mine, and I am His: He feedeth among the
lilies. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my
Beloved, and be Thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains
of Bether."--Solomon's Song ii. 16, 17.
IT may be that there are saints who are always at their best, and
are happy enough never to lose the light of their Father's
countenance. I am not sure that there are such persons, for those
believers with whom I have been most intimate have had a varied
experience; and those whom I have known, who have boasted of their
constant perfectness, have not been the most reliable of
individuals. I hope there is a spiritual region attainable where
there are no clouds to hide the Sun of our soul; but I cannot
speak with positiveness, for I have not traversed that happy land.
Every year of my life has had a winter as well as a summer, and
every day its night. I have hitherto seen clear shinings and heavy
rains, and felt warm breezes and fierce winds. Speaking for the
many of my brethren, I confess that though the substance be in us,
as in the teil-tree and the oak, yet we do lose our leaves, and
the sap within us does not flow with equal vigour at all seasons.
We have our downs as well as our ups, our valleys as well as our
hills. We are not always rejoicing; we are sometimes in heaviness
through manifold trials. Alas! we are grieved to confess that our
fellowship with the Well-beloved is not always that of rapturous
delight; but we have at times to seek Him, and cry, "Oh, that I
knew where I might find Him!" This appears to me to have been in a
measure the condition of the spouse when she cried, "Until the day
break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my Beloved."
I. These words teach us, first, that communion may be broken.
The spouse had lost the company of her Bridegroom: conscious
communion with Him was gone, though she loved her Lord, and sighed
for Him. In her loneliness she was sorrowful; but _she had by no
means ceased to love Him_, for she calls Him her Beloved, and
speaks as one who felt no doubt upon that point. Love to the Lord
Jesus may be quite as true, and perhaps quite as strong, when we
sit in darkness as when we walk in the light. Nay, _she had not
last her assurance of His love to her_, and of their mutual
interest in one another; for she says, "My Beloved is mine, and I
am His;" and yet she adds, "Turn, my Beloved." The condition of
our graces does not always coincide with the state of our joys. We
may be rich in faith and love, and yet have so low an esteem of
ourselves as to be much depressed.
It is plain, from this Sacred Canticle, that the spouse may
love and be loved, may be confident in her Lord, and be fully
assured of her possession of Him, and yet there may for the
present be mountains between her and Him. Yes, we may even be far
advanced in the divine life, and yet be exiled for a while from
conscious fellowship. There are nights for men as well as babes,
and the strong know that the sun is hidden quite as well as do the
sick and the feeble. Do not, therefore, condemn yourself, my
brother, because a cloud is over you; cast not away your
confidence; but the rather let faith burn up in the gloom, and let
your love resolve to come at your Lord again whatever be the
barriers which divide you from Him.
When Jesus is absent from a true heir of heaven, sorrow will
ensue. The healthier our condition, the sooner will that absence
be perceived, and the more deeply will it be lamented. This sorrow
is described in the text as darkness; this is implied in the
expression, "_Until the day break_." Till Christ appears, no day
has dawned for us. We dwell in midnight darkness; the stars of the
promises and the moon of experience yield no light of comfort till
our Lord, like the sun, arises and ends the night. We must have
Christ with us, or we are benighted: we grope like blind men for
the wall, and wander in dismay.
The spouse also speaks of shadows. "Until the day break, _and
the shadows flee away_." Shadows are multiplied by the departure
of the sun, and these are apt to distress the timid. We are not
afraid of real enemies when Jesus is with us; but when we miss
Him, we tremble at a shade. How sweet is that song, "Yea, though I
walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort
me!" But we change our note when midnight is now come, and Jesus
is not with us: then we people the night with terrors: spectres,
demons, hobgoblins, and things that never existed save in fancy,
are apt to swarm about us; and we are in fear where no fear is.
The spouse's worst trouble was that _the back of her Beloved
was turned to her_, and so she cried, "Turn, my Beloved." When His
face is towards her, she suns herself in His love; but if the
light of His countenance is withdrawn, she is sorely troubled. Our
Lord turns His face from His people though He never turns His
heart from His people. He may even close His eyes in sleep when
the vessel is tossed by the tempest, but His heart is awake all
the while. Still, it is pain enough to have grieved Him in any
degree: it cuts us to the quick to think that we have wounded His
tender heart. He is jealous, but never without cause. If He turns
His back upon us for a while, He has doubtless a more than
sufficient reason. He would not walk contrary to us if we had not
walked contrary to Him. Ah, it is sad work this! The presence of
the Lord makes this life the preface to the life celestial; but
His absence leaves us pining and fainting, neither doth any
comfort remain in the land of our banishment. The Scriptures and
the ordinances, private devotion and public worship, are all as
sun-dials,--most excellent when the sun shines, but of small avail
in the dark. O Lord Jesus, nothing can compensate us for Thy loss!
Draw near to Thy beloved yet again, for without Thee our night
will never end.
"See! I repent, and vex my soul,
That I should leave Thee so!
Where will those vile affections roll
That let my Saviour go?"
When communion with Christ is broken, in all true hearts
_there is a strong desire to win it back again_. The man who has
known the joy of communion with Christ, if he loses it, will never
be content until it is restored. Hast thou ever entertained the
Prince Emmanuel? Is He gone elsewhere? Thy chamber will be dreary
till He comes back again. "Give me Christ or else I die," is the
cry of every spirit that has lost, the dear companionship of
Jesus. We do not part with such heavenly delights without many a
pang. It is not with us a matter of "maybe He will return, and we
hope He will;" but it must be, or we faint and die. We cannot live
without Him; and this is a cheering sign; for the soul that cannot
live without Him shall not live without Him: He comes speedily
where life and death hang on His coming. If you must have Christ
you shall have Him. This is just how the matter stands: we must
drink of this well or die of thirst; we must feed upon Jesus or
our spirit will famish.
II. We will now advance a step, and say that when communion
with Christ is broken, there are great difficulties in the way of
its renewal. It is much easier to go down hill than to climb to
the same height again. It is far easier to lose joy in God than to
find the lost jewel. The spouse speaks of "mountains" dividing her
from her Beloved: she means that _the difficulties were great_.
They were not little hills, but mountains, that closed up her way.
Mountains of remembered sin, Alps of backsliding, dread ranges of
forgetfulness, ingratitude, worldliness, coldness in prayer,
frivolity, pride, unbelief. Ah me, I cannot teach you all the dark
geography of this sad experience! Giant walls rose before her like
the towering steeps of Lebanon. How could she come at her Beloved?
_The dividing difficulties were many_ as well as great. She
does not speak of "a mountain", but of "mountains": Alps rose on
Alps, wall after wall. She was distressed to think that in so
short a time so much could come between her and Him of whom she
sang just now, "His left hand is under my head, and His right hand
doth embrace me." Alas, we multiply these mountains of Bether with
a sad rapidity! Our Lord is jealous, and we give Him far too much
reason, for hiding His face. A fault, which seemed so small at the
time we committed it, is seen in the light of its own
consequences, and then it grows and swells till it towers aloft,
and hides the face of the Beloved. Then has our sun gone down, and
fear whispers, "Will His light ever return? Will it ever be
daybreak? Will the shadows ever flee away?" It is easy to grieve
away the heavenly sunlight, but ah, how hard to clear the skies,
and regain the unclouded brightness!
Perhaps the worst thought of all to the spouse was the dread
that _the dividing barrier might be permanent_. It was high, but
it might dissolve; the walls were many, but they might fall; but,
alas, they were mountains, and these stand fast for ages! She felt
like the Psalmist, when he cried, "My sin is ever before me." The
pain of our Lord's absence becomes: intolerable when we fear that
we are hopelessly shut out from Him. A night one can bear, hoping
for the morning; but what if the day should never break? And you
and I, if we have wandered away from Christ, and feel that there
are ranges of immovable mountains between Him and us, will feel
sick at heart. We try to pray, but devotion dies on our lips. We
attempt to approach the Lord at the communion table, but we feel
more like Judas than John. At such times we have felt that we
would give our eyes once more to behold the Bridegroom's face, and
to know that He delights in us as in happier days. Still there
stand the awful mountains, black, threatening, impassable; and in
the far-off land the Life of our life is away, and grieved.
So the spouse seems to have come to the conclusion that _the
difficulties in her way were insurmountable by her own power_. She
does not even think of herself going over the mountains to her
Beloved, but she cries, "Until the day break, and the shadows flee
away, turn, my Beloved, and be Thou like a roe or a young hart
upon the mountains of Bether." She will not try to climb the
mountains, she knows she cannot: if they had been less high, she
might have attempted it; but their summits reach to heaven. If
they had been less craggy or difficult, she might have tried to
scale them; but these mountains are terrible, and no foot may
stand upon their lone crags. Oh, the mercy of utter self-despair!
I love to see a soul driven into that close corner, and forced
therefore to look to God alone. The end of the creature is the
beginning of the Creator. Where the sinner ends the Saviour
begins. If the mountains can be climbed, we shall have to climb
them; but if they are quite impassable, then the soul cries out
with the prophet, "Oh, that Thou wouldest rend the heavens, that
Thou wouldest come down, that the mountains might flow down at Thy
presence. As when the melting fire burneth, the fire causeth the
waters to boil, to make Thy name known to Thine adversaries, that
the nations may tremble at Thy presence. When Thou didst terrible
things which we looked not for, Thou camest down, the mountains
flowed down at Thy presence." Our souls are lame, they cannot move
to Christ, and we turn our strong desires to Him, and fix our
hopes alone upon Him; will He not remember us in love, and fly to
us as He did to His servant of old when He rode upon a cherub, and
did fly, yea, He did fly upon the wings of the wind?
III. Here arises that prayer of the text which fully meets
the case. "Turn, my Beloved, and be Thou like a roe or a young
hart upon the mountains of division." Jesus can come to us when we
cannot go to Him. The roe and the young hart, or, as you may read
it, the gazelle and the ibex, live among the crags of the
mountains, and leap across the abyss with amazing agility. For
swiftness and sure-footedness they are unrivalled. The sacred poet
said, "He maketh my feet like hinds' feet, and setteth me upon my
high places," alluding to the feet of those creatures which are so
fitted to stand securely on the mountain's side. Our blessed Lord
is called, in the title of the twenty-second Psalm, "the Hind of
the morning "; and the spouse in this golden Canticle sings, "My
Beloved is like a roe or a young hart; behold He cometh, leaping
upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills."
Here I would remind you that this prayer is one that we may
fairly offer, because _it is the way of Christ to come to us_ when
our coming to Him is out of the question. "How?" say you. I answer
that of old He did this; for we remember "His great love wherewith
He loved us even when we were dead in trespasses and in sins." His
first coming into the world in human form, was it not because man
could never come to God until God had come to him? I hear of no
tears, or prayers, or entreaties after God on the part of our
first parents; but the offended Lord spontaneously gave the
promise that the Seed of the woman should bruise the serpent's
head. Our Lord's coming into the world was unbought, unsought,
unthought of; he came altogether of His own free will, delighting
to redeem.
"With pitying eyes, the Prince of grace
Beheld our helpless grief;
He saw, and (oh, amazing love!)
He ran to our relief."
His incarnation was a type of the way in which He comes to us
by His Spirit. He saw us cast out, polluted, shameful, perishing;
and as He passed by, His tender lips said, "Live!" In us is
fulfilled that word, "I am found of them that sought Me not." We
were too averse to holiness, too much in bondage to sin, ever to
have returned to Him if He had not turned to us. What think you?
Did He come to us when we were enemies, and will He not visit us
now that we are friends? Did He come to us when we were dead
sinners, and will He not hear us now that we are weeping saints?
If Christ's coming to the earth was after this manner, and if His
coming to each one of us was after this style, we may well hope
that now He will come to us in like fashion, like the dew which
refreshes the grass, and waiteth not for man, neither tarrieth for
the sons of men. Besides, He is coming again in person, in the
latter-day, and mountains of sin, and error, and idolatry, and
superstition, and oppression stand in the way of His kingdom; but
He will surely come and overturn, and overturn, till He shall
reign over all. He will come in the latter-days, I say, though He
shall leap the hills to do it, and because of that I am sure we
may comfortably conclude that He will draw near to us who mourn
His absence so bitterly. Then let us bow our heads a moment, and
silently present to His most excellent Majesty the petition of our
text: "Turn, my Beloved, and be Thou like a roe or a young hart
upon the mountains of division."
Our text gives us sweet assurance that _our Lord is at home
with those difficulties_ which are quite insurmountable by us.
Just as the roe or the young hart knows the passes of the
mountains, and the stepping-places among the rugged rocks, and is
void of all fear among the ravines and the precipices, so does our
Lord know the heights and depths, the torrents and the caverns of
our sin and sorrow. He carried the whole of our transgression, and
so became aware of the tremendous load of our guilt. He is quite
at home with the infirmities of our nature; He knew temptation in
the wilderness, heart-break in the garden, desertion on the cross.
He is quite at home with pain and weakness, for "Himself took our
infirmities, and bare our sicknesses." He is at home with
despondency, for He was "a Man of sorrows, and acquainted with
grief." He is at home even with death, for He gave up the ghost,
and passed through the sepulchre to resurrection. O yawning gulfs
and frowning steeps of woe, our Beloved, like hind or hart, has
traversed your glooms! O my Lord, Thou knowest all that divides me
from Thee; and Thou knowest also that I am far too feeble to climb
these dividing mountains, so that I may come at Thee; therefore, I
pray Thee, come Thou over the mountains to meet my longing spirit!
Thou knowest each yawning gulf and slippery steep, but none of
these can stay Thee; haste Thou to me, Thy servant, Thy beloved,
and let me again live by Thy presence.
_It is easy, too, for Christ to come over the mountains for
our relief_. It is easy for the gazelle to cross the mountains, it
is made for that end; so is it easy for Jesus, for to this purpose
was He ordained from of old that He might come to man in his worst
estate, and bring with Him the Father's love. What is it that
separates us from Christ? Is it a sense of sin? You have been
pardoned once, and Jesus can renew most vividly a sense of full
forgiveness. But you say, "Alas! I have sinned again: fresh guilt
alarms me." He can remove it in an instant, for the fountain
appointed for that purpose is opened, and is still full. It is
easy for the dear lips of redeeming love to put away the child's
offences, since He has already obtained pardon for the criminal's
iniquities. If with His heart's blood He won our pardon from our
Judge, he can easily enough bring us the forgiveness of our
Father. Oh, yes, it is easy enough for Christ to say again, "Thy
sins be forgiven"! "But I feel so unfit, so unable to enjoy
communion." He that healed all manner of bodily diseases can heal
with a word your spiritual infirmities. Remember the man whose
ankle-bones received strength, so that he ran and leaped; and her
who was sick of a fever, and was healed at once, and arose, and
ministered unto her Lord. "My grace is sufficient for thee; for My
strength is made perfect in weakness." "But I have such
afflictions, such troubles, such sorrows, that I am weighted down,
and cannot rise into joyful fellowship." Yes, but Jesus can make
every burden light, and cause each yoke to be easy. Your trials
can be made to aid your heavenward course instead of hindering it.
I know all about those heavy weights, and I perceive that you
cannot lift them; but skilful engineers can adapt ropes and
pulleys in such a way that heavy weights lift other weights. The
Lord Jesus is great at gracious machinery, and He has the art of
causing a weight of tribulation to lift from us a load of
spiritual deadness, so that we ascend by that which, like a
millstone, threatened to sink us down.
What else doth hinder? I am sure that, if it were a sheer
impossibility, the Lord Jesus could remove it, for things
impossible with men are possible with God. But someone objects, "I
am so unworthy of Christ. I can understand eminent saints and
beloved disciples being greatly indulged, but I am a worm, and no
man; utterly below such condescension." Say you so? Know you not
that the worthiness of Christ covers your unworthiness, and He is
made of God unto you wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and
redemption? In Christ, the Father thinks not so meanly of you as
you think of yourself; you are not worthy to be called His child,
but He does call you so, and reckons you to be among His jewels.
Listen, and you shall hear Him say," Since thou wast precious in
My sight, thou hast been honourable, and I have loved thee. I gave
Egypt for thy ransom; Ethiopia and Seba for thee." Thus, then,
there remains nothing which Jesus cannot overleap if He resolves
to come to you, and re-establish your broken fellowship.
To conclude, _our Lord can do all this directly_. As in the
twinkling of an eye the dead shall be raised incorruptible, so in
a moment can our dead affections rise to fulness of delight. He
can say to this mountain, "Be thou removed hence, and be thou cast
into the midst of the sea," and it shall be done. In the sacred
emblems now upon this supper table, Jesus is already among us.
Faith cries, "He has come!" Like John the Baptist, she gazes
intently on Him, and cries, "Behold the Lamb of God!" At this
table Jesus feeds us with His body and His blood. His corporeal
presence we have not, but His real spiritual presence we perceive.
We are like the disciples when none of them durst ask Him, "Who
art Thou?" knowing that it was the Lord. He is come. He looketh
forth at these windows,--I mean this bread and wine; showing
Himself through the lattices of this instructive and endearing
ordinance. He speaks. He saith, "The winter is past, the rain is
over and gone." And so it is; we feel it to be so: a heavenly
springtide warms our frozen hearts. Like the spouse, we
wonderingly cry, "Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the
chariots of Amminadib." Now in happy fellowship we see the
Beloved, and hear His voice; our heart burns; our affections glow;
we are happy, restful, brimming over with delight. The King has
brought us into his banqueting-house, and His banner over us is
love. It is good to be here!
Friends, we must now go our ways. A voice saith, "Arise, let
us go hence." O Thou Lord of our hearts, go with us! Home will not
be home without Thee. Life will not be life without Thee. Heaven
itself would not be heaven if Thou wert absent. Abide with us. The
world grows dark, the gloaming of time draws on. Abide with us,
for it is toward evening. Our years increase, and we near the
night when dews fall cold and chill. A great future is all about
us, the splendours of the last age are coming down; and while we
wait in solemn, awe-struck expectation, our heart continually
cries within herself, "Until the day break, and the shadows flee
away, turn, my Beloved, and be Thou like a roe or a young hart
upon the mountains of division."
"Hasten, Lord! the promised hour;
Come in glory and in power;
Still Thy foes are unsubdued;
Nature sighs to be renew'd.
Time has nearly reach'd its sum,
All things with Thy bride say 'Come;'
Jesus, whom all worlds adore,
Come and reign for evermore!"
FRAGRANT SPICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS OF MYRRH.
"Thou art all fair, My love; there is no spot in thee."--
Solomon's Song iv. 7.
HOW marvellous are these words! "Thou art all fair, My love; there
is no spot in thee." The glorious Bridegroom is charmed with His
spouse, and sings soft canticles of admiration. When the bride
extols her Lord there is no wonder, for He deserves it well, and
in Him there is room for praise without possibility of flattery.
But does He who is wiser than Solomon condescend to praise this
sunburnt Shulamite? 'Tis even so, for these are His own words, and
were uttered by His own sweet lips. Nay, doubt not, O young
believer, for we have more wonders to reveal! There are greater
depths in heavenly things than thou hast at present dared to hope.
The Church not only is all fair in the eyes of her Beloved, but in
one sense she always was so.
"In God's decree, her form He view'd;
All beauteous in His eyes she stood,
Presented by Th' eternal name,
Betroth'd in love, and free from blame.
"Not as she stood in Adam's fall,
When guilt and ruin cover'd all;
But as she'll stand another day,
Fairer than sun's meridian ray."
He delighted in her before she had either a natural or a
spiritual being, and from the beginning could He say, "My delights
were with the sons of men." (Prov. viii. 31.) Having covenanted to
be the Surety of the elect, and having determined to fulfil every
stipulation of that covenant, He from all eternity delighted to
survey the purchase of His blood, and rejoiced to view His Church,
in the purpose and decree, as already by Him delivered from sin,
and exalted to glory and happiness.
"Oh, glorious grace, mysterious plan
Too great for angel-mind to scan,
Our thoughts are lost, our numbers fail;
All hail, redeeming love, all hail!"
Now with joy and gladness let us approach the subject of
Christ's delight in His Church, as declared by Him whom the Spirit
has sealed in our hearts as the faithful and true Witness.
Our first bundle of myrrh lies in the open hand of the text.
I. Christ has a high esteem for his church. He does not
blindly admire her faults, or even conceal them from Himself. He
is acquainted with her sin, in all its heinousness of guilt, and
desert of punishment. That sin He does not shun to reprove. His
own words are, "As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten." (Rev
iii. 19.) He abhors sin in her as much as in the ungodly world,
nay even more, for He sees in her an evil which is not to be found
in the transgressions of others,--sin against love and grace. She
is black in her own sight, how much more so in the eyes of her
Omniscient Lord! Yet there it stands, written by the inspiration
of the Holy Spirit, and flowing from the lips of the Bridegroom,
"Thou art all fair, My love; there is no spot in thee." How then
is this? Is it a mere exaggeration of love, an enthusiastic
canticle, which the sober hand of truth must strip of its glowing
fables? Oh, no! The King is full of love, but He is not so
overcome with it as to forget His reason. The words are true, and
He means us to understand them as the honest expression of His
unbiassed judgment, after having patiently examined her in every
part. He would not have us diminish aught, but estimate the gold
of His opinions by the bright glittering of His expressions; and,
therefore, in order that there may be no mistake, _He states it
positively:_ "Thou art all fair, My love," _and confirms it by a
negative:_ "there is no spot in thee."
When He speaks _positively_, how complete is His admiration!
She is "fair", but that is not a full description; He styles her
"all fair." He views her in Himself, washed in His sin-atoning
blood, and clothed in His meritorious righteousness, and He
considers her to be full of comeliness and beauty. No wonder that
such is the case, since it is but His own perfect excellences that
He admires, seeing that the holiness, glory, and perfection of His
Church are His own garments on the back of His own well-beloved
spouse, and she is "bone of His bone, and flesh of His flesh." She
is not simply pure, or well-proportioned; she is positively lovely
and fair! She has actual merit! Her deformities of sin are
removed; but more, she has through her Lord obtained a meritorious
righteousness by which an actual beauty is conferred upon her.
Believers have a positive righteousness given to them when they
become "accepted in the Beloved." (Eph. i. 6.)
Nor is the Church barely lovely, she is _superlatively so_.
Her Lord styles her, "Thou fairest among women." (Sol. Song i. 8.)
She has a real worth and excellence which cannot be rivalled by
all the nobility and royalty of the world. If Jesus could exchange
His elect bride for all the queens and empresses of earth, or even
for the angels in heaven, He would not, for He puts her first and
foremost,--"fairest among women." Nor is this an opinion which He
is ashamed of, for He invites all men to hear it. He puts a
"behold" before it, a special note of exclamation, inviting and
arresting attention. "_Behold_, thou art fair, My love; _behold_,
thou art fair." (Sol. Song iv. 1.) His opinion He publishes abroad
even now, and one day from the throne of His glory He will avow
the truth of it before the assembled universe. "Come, ye blessed
of My Father" (Matt. xxv. 34), will be His solemn affirmation of
the loveliness of His elect.
Let us mark well _the repeated sentences of His approbation_.
"Lo, thou art fair! lo, thou art fair!
Twice fair thou art, I say;
My righteousness and graces are
Thy double bright array.
"But since thy faith can hardly own
My beauty put on thee;
Behold! behold! twice be it known
Thou art all fair to Me!"
He turns again to the subject, a second time looks into those
doves' eyes of hers, and listens to her honey-dropping lips. It is
not enough to say, "Behold, thou art fair, My love;" He rings that
golden bell again, and sings again, and again, "Behold, thou art
fair."
After having surveyed her whole person with rapturous
delight, He cannot be satisfied until He takes a second gaze, and
afresh recounts her beauties. Making but little difference between
His first description and the last, he adds extraordinary
expressions of love to manifest His increased delight. "Thou art
beautiful, O My love, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible as
an army with banners. Turn away thine eyes from Me, for they have
overcome Me: thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from
Gilead. Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep which go up from the
washing, whereof every one beareth twins, and there is not one
barren among them. As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples
within thy locks. . . . My dove, My undefiled is but one; she is
the only one of her mother, she is the choice one of her that bare
her." (Sol. Song vi. 4-7, 9.)
The beauty which He admires is _universal_, He is as much
enchanted with her temples as with her breasts. All her offices,
all her pure devotions, all her earnest labours, all her constant
sufferings, are precious to His heart. She is "all fair." Her
ministry, her psalmody, her intercessions, her alms, her watching,
all are admirable to Him, when performed in the Spirit. Her faith,
her love, her patience, her zeal, are alike in His esteem as "rows
of jewels" and "chains of gold." (Sol. Song i. 10.) He loves and
admires her everywhere. In the house of bondage, or in the land of
Canaan, she is ever fair. On the top of Lebanon His heart is
ravished with one of her eyes, and in the fields and villages He
joyfully receives her loves. He values her above gold and silver
in the days of His gracious manifestations, but He has an equal
appreciation of her when He withdraws Himself, for it is
immediately after He had said, "Until the day break, and the
shadows flee away, I will get Me to the mountain of myrrh, and to
the hill of frankincense," (Sol. Song iv. 6,) that He exclaims, in
the words of our text, "Thou art all fair, My love." At all
seasons believers are very near the heart of the Lord Jesus, they
are always as the apple of His eye, and the jewel of His crown.
Our name is still on His breastplate, and our persons are still in
His gracious remembrance. He never thinks lightly of His people;
and certainly in all the compass of His Word there is not one
syllable which looks like contempt of them. They are the choice
treasure and peculiar portion of the Lord of hosts; and what king
will undervalue his own inheritance? What loving husband will
despise his own wife? Let others call the Church what they may,
Jesus does not waver in His love to her, and does not differ in
His judgment of her, for He still exclaims, "How fair and how
pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!" (Sol. Song vii. 6.)
Let us remember that He who pronounces the Church and each
individual believer to be "all fair" is none other than the
glorious Son of God, who is "very God of very God." Hence His
declaration is decisive, since infallibility has uttered it. There
can be no mistake where the all-seeing Jehovah is the Judge. If He
has pronounced her to be incomparably fair, she is so, beyond a
doubt; and though hard for our poor puny faith to receive, it is
nevertheless as divine a verity as any of the undoubted doctrines
of revelation.
Having thus pronounced her _positively_ full of beauty, He
now confirms His praise by _a precious negative_: "There is no
spot in thee." As if the thought occurred to the Bridegroom that
the carping world would insinuate that He had only mentioned her
comely parts, and had purposely omitted those features which were
deformed or defiled, He sums all up by declaring her universally
and entirely fair, and utterly devoid of stain. A spot may soon be
removed, and is the very least thing that can disfigure beauty,
but even from this little blemish the Church is delivered in her
Lord's sight. If He had said there is no hideous scar, no horrible
deformity, no filthy ulcer, we might even then have marvelled; but
when He testifies that she is free from the slightest spot, all
these things are included, and the depth of wonder is increased.
If He had but promised to remove all spots, we should have had
eternal reason for joy; but when He Speaks of it as already done,
who can restrain the most intense emotions of satisfaction and
delight? O my soul, here is marrow and fatness for thee; eat thy
full, and be abundantly glad therein!
Christ Jesus has no quarrel with His spouse. She often
wanders from Him, and grieves His Holy Spirit, but He does not
allow her faults to affect His love. He sometimes chides, but it
is always in the tenderest manner, with the kindest intentions;--
it is "My love" even then. There is no remembrance of our follies,
He does not cherish ill thoughts of us, but He pardons, and loves
as well after the offence as before it. It is well for us it is
so, for if Jesus were as mindful of injuries as we are, how could
He commune with us? Many a time a believer will put himself out of
humour with the Lord for some slight turn in providence, but our
precious Husband knows our silly hearts too well to take any
offence at our ill manners.
If He were as easily provoked as we are, who among us could
hope for a comfortable look or a kind salutation? but He is "ready
to pardon, . . . slow to anger." (Neh. ix. 17.) He is like Noah's
sons, He goes backward, and throws a cloak over our nakedness; or
we may compare Him to Apelles, who, when he painted Alexander, put
his finger over the scar on the cheek, that it might not be seen
in the picture. "He hath not beheld iniquity in Jacob, neither
hath He seen perverseness in Israel" (Num. xxiii. 21); and hence
He is able to commune with the erring sons of men.
But the question returns,--How is this? Can it be explained,
so as not to clash with the most evident fact that sin remaineth
even in the hearts of the regenerate? Can our own daily bewailings
of sin allow of anything like perfection as a present attainment?
The Lord Jesus saith it, and therefore it must be true; but in
what sense is it to be understood? How are we "all fair" though we
ourselves feel that we are black, because the sun hath looked upon
us? (Sol. Song i. 6.) The answer is ready, if we consider the
analogy of faith.
1. In the matter of justification, the saints are complete
and without sin. As Durham says, these words are spoken "in
respect of the imputation of Christ's righteousness wherewith they
are adorned, and which they have put on, which makes them very
glorious and lovely, so that they are beautiful beyond all others,
through His comeliness put upon them."
And Dr. Gill excellently expresses the same idea, when he
writes, "though all sin is seen by God, _in articulo providentiae,
in the matter of providence_, wherein nothing escapes His all-
seeing eye; yet _in articula iustificationis, in the matter of
justification_, He sees no sin in His people, so as to reckon it
to them, or condemn them for it; for they all stand 'holy and
unblameable and unreproveable in His sight.'" (Col. i. 22.) The
blood of Jesus removes all stain, and His righteousness confers
perfect beauty; and, therefore, in the Beloved, the true believer
is at this hour as much accepted and approved, in the sight of
God, as He will be when He stands before the throne in heaven. The
beauty of justification is at its fulness the moment a soul is by
faith received into the Lord Jesus. This is righteousness so
transcendent that no one can exaggerate its glorious merit. Since
this righteousness is that of Jesus, the Son of God, it is
therefore divine, and is, indeed, the holiness of God; and, hence,
Kent was not too daring when, in a bold flight of rapture, he
sang,--
"In thy Surety thou art free,
His dear hands were pierced for thee;
With His spotless vesture on,
Holy as the Holy One.
"Oh, the heights and depths of grace,
Shining with meridian blaze;
Here the sacred records show
Sinners black, but comely too!"
2. But perhaps it is best to understand this as relating to
the design of Christ concerning them. It is His purpose to present
them without "spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing." (Eph. v. 27.)
They shall be holy and unblameable and unreproveable in the sight
of the Omniscient God. In prospect of this, the Church is viewed
as being virtually what she is soon to be actually. Nor is this a
frivolous antedating of her excellence; for be it ever remembered
that the Representative, in whom she is accepted, is actually
complete in all perfections and glories at this very moment. As
the Head of the body is already without sin, being none other than
the Lord from heaven, it is but in keeping that the whole body
should be pronounced comely and fair through the glory of the
Head. The fact of her future perfection is so certain that it is
spoken of as if it were already accomplished, and indeed it is so
in the mind of Him to whom a thousand years are but as one day.
"Christ often expounds an honest believer, from His own heart,
purpose and design; in which respect they get many titles,
otherwise unsuitable to their present condition. (Durham.) Let us
magnify the name of our Jesus, who loves us so well that He will
overleap the dividing years of our pilgrimage, that He may give us
even now the praise which seems to be only fitted for the
perfection of Paradise. As Erskine sings,--
"My love, thou seem'st a loathsome worm:
Yet such thy beauties be,
I spoke but half thy comely form;
Thou'rt wholly fair to Me.
"Whole justified, in perfect dress;
Nor justice, nor the law
Can in thy robe of righteousness
Discern the smallest flaw.
"Yea, sanctified in ev'ry part,
Thou art perfect in design:
And I judge thee by what thou art
In thy intent and Mine.
"Fair love, by grace complete in Me,
Beyond all beauteous brides;
Each spot that ever sullied thee
My purple vesture hides."
II. Our Lord's admiration is sweetened by love. He addresses
the spouse as "My love." The virgins called her "the fairest among
women"; they saw and admired, but it was reserved for her Lord to
love her. Who can fully tell the excellence of His love? Oh, how
His heart goeth forth after His redeemed! As for the love of David
and Jonathan, it is far exceeded in Christ. No tender husband was
ever so fond as He. No figures can completely set forth His
heart's affection, for it surpasses all the love that man or woman
hath heard or thought of. Our blessed Lord, Himself, when He would
declare the greatness of it, was compelled to compare one
inconceivable thing with another, in order to express His own
thoughts. "As the Father hath loved Me, so have I loved you."
(John xv. 9.) All the eternity, fervency, immutability, and
infinity which are to be found in the love of Jehovah the Father,
towards Jehovah-Jesus the Son, are copied to the letter in the
love of the Lord Jesus towards His chosen ones. Before the
foundation of the world He loved His people, in all their
wanderings He loved them, and unto the end He will abide in His
love. (John xiii. 1.) He has given them the best proof of His
affection, in that He gave Himself to die for their sins, and hath
revealed to them complete pardon as the result of His death. The
willing manner of His death is further confirmation of His
boundless love. How Christ did delight in the work of our
redemption! "Lo, I come: in the volume of the book it is written
of Me, I delight to do Thy will, O my God." (Psalm xl. 7, 8.) When
He came into the world to sacrifice His life for us, it was a
freewill offering. "I have a baptism to be baptized with." (Luke
xii. 50.) Christ was to be, as it were, baptized in His own blood,
and how did He thirst for that time! "How am I straitened till it
be accomplished." There was no hesitation, no desire to be quit of
His engagement. He went to His crucifixion without once halting by
the way to deliberate whether He should complete His sacrifice.
The stupendous mass of our fearful debt He paid at once, asking
neither delay nor diminution. From the moment when He said, "Not
My will, but Thine, be done" (Luke xxii. 42), His course was swift
and unswerving; as if He had been hastening to a crown rather than
to a cross. The fulness of time was His only remembrancer; He was
not driven by bailiffs to discharge the obligations of His Church,
but joyously, even when full of sorrow, He met the law, answered
its demands, and cried, "It is finished."
How hard it is to talk of love so as to convey out meaning
with it! How often have our eyes been full of tears when we have
realized the thought that Jesus loves us! How has our spirit been
melted within us at the assurance that He thinks of us and bears
us on His heart! But we cannot kindle the like emotion in others,
nor can we give, by word of mouth, so much as a faint idea of the
bliss which coucheth in that exclamation, "Oh, how He loves!"
Come, reader, canst thou say of thyself, "He loved me"? (Gal. ii.
20.) Then look down into this sea of love, and endeavour to guess
its depth. Doth it not stagger thy faith, that He should love
_thee?_ Or, if thou hast strong confidence, say, does it not
enfold thy spirit in a flame of admiring and adoring gratitude? O
ye angels, such love as this ye never knew! Jesus doth not bear
your names upon His hands, or call you His bride. No! this highest
fellowship he reserves for worms whose only return is tearful,
hearty thanksgiving and love.
III. Let us note that Christ delights to think upon his
Church, and to look upon her beauty. As the bird returneth often
to its nest, and as the wayfarer hastens to his home, so doth the
mind continually pursue the object of its choice. We cannot look
too often upon that face which we love; we desire always to have
our precious things in our sight. It is even so with our Lord
Jesus. From all eternity, "His delights were with the sons of
men;" His thoughts rolled onward to the time when His elect should
be born into the world; He viewed them in the mirror of His fore-
knowledge. "In thy book," He says, "all my members were written,
which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of
them." (Ps. cxxxix. 16.) When the world was set upon its pillars,
He was there, and He set the bounds of the people according to the
number of the children of Israel. Many a time, before His
incarnation, He descended to this earth in the similitude of a
man; on the plains of Mamre (Gen. xviii.), by the brook of Jabbok
(Gen. xxxii. 24-30), beneath the walls of Jericho (Josh. v. 13),
and in the fiery furnace of Babylon (Dan. iii. 19-25), the Son of
man did visit His people. Because His soul delighted in them, He
could not rest away from them, for His heart longed after them.
Never were they absent from His heart, for He had written their
names upon His hands, and graven them upon His heart. As the
breast-plate containing the names of the tribes of Israel was the
most brilliant ornament worn by the high priest, so the names of
Christ's elect were His most precious Jewels, which He ever hung
nearest His heart. We may often forget to meditate upon the
perfections of our Lord, but He never ceases to remember us. He
cares not one half so much for any of His most glorious works as
He does for His children. Although His eye seeth everything that
hath beauty and excellence in it, He never fixes His gaze anywhere
with that admiration and delight which He spends upon His
purchased ones. He charges His angels concerning them, and calls
upon those holy beings to rejoice with Him over His lost sheep.
(Luke xv. 4-7.) He talked of them to Himself, and even on the tree
of doom He did not cease to soliloquize concerning them. He saw of
the travail of His soul, and He was abundantly satisfied.
"That day acute of ignominious woe,
Was, notwithstanding, in a perfect sense,
'The day of His heart's gladness,' for the joy
That His redeem'd should be brought home at last
(Made ready as in robes of bridal white),
Was set before Him vividly,--He look'd;--
And for that happiness anticipate,
Endurance of all torture, all disgrace,
Seem'd light infliction to His heart of love."
Like a fond mother, Christ Jesus, our thrice-blessed Lord,
sees every dawning of excellence, and every bud of goodness in us,
making much of our litties, and rejoicing over the beginnings of
our graces. As He is to be our endless song, so we are His
perpetual prayer. When He is absent He thinks of us, and in the
black darkness He has a window through which He looks upon us.
When the sun sets in one part of the earth, he rises in another
place beyond our visible horizon; and even so Jesus, our Sun of
Righteousness, is only pouring light upon His people in a
different way, when to our apprehension He seems to have set in
darkness. His eye is ever upon the vineyard, which is His Church:
"I the Lord do keep it; I will water it every moment: lest any
hurt it, I will keep it night and day." (Isa. xxvii. 3.) He will
not trust to His angels to do it, for it is His delight to do all
with His own hands. Zion is in the centre of His heart, and He
cannot forget her, for every day His thoughts are set upon her.
When the bride by her neglect of Him hath hidden herself from His
sight, He cannot be quiet until again He looks upon her. He calls
her forth with the most wooing words, "O My dove, that art in the
clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let Me see
thy countenance; let Me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice,
and thy countenance is comely." (Sol. Song ii. 14.) She thinks
herself unmeet to keep company with such a Prince, but He entices
her from her lurking-place, and inasmuch as she comes forth
trembling, and bashfully hides her face with her veil, He bids her
uncover her face, and let her Husband gaze upon her. She is
ashamed to do so, for she is black in her own esteem, and
therefore He urges that she is comely to Him.
Nor is He content with looking, He must feed His ears as well
as His eyes, and therefore He commends her speech, and intreats
her to let Him hear her voice. See how truly our Lord rejoiceth in
us. Is not this unparalleled love! We have heard of princes who
have been smitten by the beauty of a peasant's daughter, but what
of that? Here is the Son of God doting upon a worm, looking with
eyes of admiration upon a poor child of Adam, and listening with
joy to the lispings of poor flesh and blood. Ought we not to be
exceedingly charmed by such matchless condescension? And should
not our hearts as much delight in Him as He doth in us? O
surprising truth! Christ Jesus rejoices over His poor, tempted,
tried, and erring people.
IV. It is not to be forgotten that sometimes the Lord Jesus
tells His people His love thoughts. "He does not think it enough
behind her back to tell it, but in her very presence, He says,
'Thou art all fair, My love.' It is true, this is not His ordinary
method; He is a wise lover, that knows when to keep back the
intimation of love, and when to let it out; but there are times
when He will make no secret of it; times when He will put it
beyond all dispute in the souls of His people."
The Holy Spirit is often pleased in a most gracious manner to
witness with our spirits of the love of Jesus. He takes of the
things of Christ, and reveals them unto us. No voice is heard from
the clouds, and no vision is seen in the night, but we have a
testimony more sure than either of these. If an angel should fly
from heaven, and inform the saint personally of the Saviour's love
to him, the evidence would not be one whir more satisfactory than
that which is borne in the heart by the Holy Ghost. Ask those of
the Lord's people who have lived the nearest to the gates of
heaven, and they will tell you that they have had seasons when the
love of Christ towards them has been a fact so clear and sure,
that they could no more doubt it than they could question their
own existence.
Yes, beloved believer, you and I have had times of refreshing
from the presence of the Lord, and then our faith has mounted to
the topmost heights of assurance. We have had confidence to lean
our heads upon the bosom of our Lord, and we have had no more
question about our Master's affection than John had when in that
blessed posture, nay, nor so much; for the dark question, "Lord,
is it I that shall betray Thee?" has been put far from us. He has
kissed us with the kisses of His love, and killed our doubts by
the closeness of His embrace. His love has been sweeter than wine
to our souls. We felt that we could sing, "His left hand is under
my head, and His right hand doth embrace me." (Sol. Song viii. 3.)
Then all earthly troubles were light as the chaff of the
threshing-floor, and the pleasures of the world as tasteless as
the white of an egg. We would have welcomed death as the messenger
who would introduce us to our Lord to whom we were in haste to be
gone; for His love had stirred us to desire more of Him, even His
immediate and glorious presence. I have, sometimes, when the Lord
has assured me of His love, felt as if I could not contain more
joy and delight. My eyes ran down with tears of gratitude. I fell
upon my knees to bless Him, but rose again in haste, feeling as if
I had nothing more to ask for, but must stand up and praise Him;
then have I lifted my hands to heaven, longing to fill my arms
with Him; panting to talk with Him, as a man talketh with his
friend, and to see Him in His own person, that I might tell Him
how happy He had made His unworthy servant, and might fall on my
face, and kiss His feet in unutterable thankfulness and love. Such
a banquet have I had upon one word of my Beloved,--"_thou art
Mine_,"--that I wished, like Peter, to build tabernacles in that
mount, and dwell for ever. But, alas, we have not, all of us, yet
learned how to preserve that blessed assurance. We stir up our
Beloved and awake Him, then He leaves our unquiet chamber, and we
grope after Him, and make many a weary journey trying to find Him.
If we were wiser and more careful, we might preserve the
fragrance of Christ's words far longer; for they are not like the
ordinary manna which soon rotted, but are comparable to that omer
of it which was put in the golden pot, and preserved for many
generations. The sweet Lord Jesus has been known to write his
love-thoughts on the heart of His people in so clear and deep a
manner, that they have for months, and even for years, enjoyed an
abiding sense of His affection. A few doubts have flitted across
their minds like thin clouds before a summer's sun, but the warmth
of their assurance has remained the same for many a gladsome day.
Their path has been a smooth one, they have fed in the green
pastures beside the still waters, for His rod and staff have
comforted them, and His right hand hath led them. I am inclined to
think that there is more of this in the Church than some men would
allow. We have a goodly number who dwell upon the hills, and
behold the light of the sun. There are giants in these days,
though the times are not such as to allow them room to display
their gigantic strength; in many a humble cot, in many a crowded
workshop, in many a village manse there are to be found men of the
house of David, men after God's own heart, anointed with the holy
oil. It is, however, a mournful truth, that whole ranks in the
army of our Lord are composed of dwarfish Littlefaiths. The men of
fearful mind and desponding heart are everywhere to be seen. Why
is this? Is it the Master's fault, or ours? Surely _He_ cannot be
blamed. Is it not then a matter of enquiry in our own souls, Can I
not grow stronger? Must I be a mourner all my days? How can I get
rid of my doubts? The answer must be: yes, you can be comforted,
but only the mouth of the Lord can do it, for anything less than
this will be unsatisfactory.
I doubt not that there are means, by the use of which those
who are now weak and trembling may attain unto boldness in faith
and confidence in hope; but I see not how this can be done unless
the Lord Jesus Christ manifest His love to them, and tell them of
their union to Him. This He will do, if we seek it of Him. The
importunate pleader shall not lack his reward. Haste thee to Him,
O timid one, and tell Him that nothing will content thee but a
smile from His own face, and a word from His own lips! Speak to
Him, and say, "O my Lord Jesus, I cannot rest unless I know that
Thou lovest me! I desire to have proof of Thy love under Thine own
hand and seal.
I cannot live upon guesses and surmises; nothing but
certainty will satisfy my trembling heart. Lord, look upon me, if,
indeed, Thou lovest me, and though I be less than the least of all
saints, say unto my soul, 'I am thy salvation.'" When this prayer
is heard, the castle of despair must totter; there is not one
stone of it which can remain upon another, if Christ whispers
forth His love. Even Despondency and Much-afraid will dance, and
Ready-to-Halt leap upon his crutches.
Oh, for more of these Bethel visits, more frequent
visitations from the God of Israel! Oh, how sweet to hear Him say
to us, as He did to Abraham, "Fear not, Abram, I am thy shield,
and thy exceeding great reward." (Gen. xv. 1.) To be addressed as
Daniel was of old, "O man greatly beloved" (Dan. x. 19), is worth
a thousand ages of this world's joy. What more can a creature want
this side of heaven to make him peaceful and happy than a plain
avowal of love from his Lord's own lips? Let me ever hear Thee,
speak in mercy to my soul, and, O my Lord, I ask no more while
here I dwell in the land of my pilgrimage!
Brethren, let us labour to obtain a confident assurance of
the Lord's delight in us, for this, as it enables Him to commune
with us, will be one of the readiest ways to produce a like
feeling in our hearts towards Him. Christ is well pleased with us;
let us approach Him with holy familiarity; let us unbosom our
thoughts to Him, for His delight in us will secure us an audience.
The child may stay away from the father, when he is conscious that
he has aroused his father's displeasure, but why should we keep at
a distance when Christ Jesus is smiling upon us? No! since His
smiles attract us, let us enter into His courts, and touch His
golden sceptre. O Holy Spirit, help us to live in happy fellowship
with Him whose soul is knit unto us!
"O Jesus! let eternal blessings dwell
On Thy transporting name. * * *
Let me be wholly Thine from this blest hour.
Let Thy lov'd image be for ever present;
Of Thee be all my thoughts, and let my tongue
Be sanctified with the celestial theme.
Dwell on my lips, Thou dearest, sweetest name!
Dwell on my lips, 'till the last parting breath!
Then let me die, and bear the charming sound
In triumph to the skies. In other strains,
In language all divine, I'll praise Thee then;
While all the Godhead opens in the view
Of a Redeemer's love. Here let me gaze,
For ever gaze; the bright variety
Will endless joy and admiration yield.
Let me be wholly Thine from this blest hour.
Fly from my soul all images of sense,
Leave me in silence to possess my Lord:
My life, my pleasures, flow from Him alone,
My strength, my great salvation, and my hope.
Thy name is all my trust; O name divine!
Be Thou engraven on my inmost soul,
And let me own Thee with my latest breath,
Confess Thee in the face of ev'ry horror,
That threat'ning death or envious hell can raise;
Till all their strength subdu'd, my parting soul
Shall give a challenge to infernal rage,
And sing salvation to the Lamb for ever."
THE WELL-BELOVED.
A COMMUNION ADDRESS AT MENTONE.
"Yea, He is altogether lovely."--Solomon's Song v. 16.
THE soul that is familiar with the Lord worships Him in the outer
court of nature, wherein it admires His _works_, and is charmed by
every thought of what He must be who made them all. When that soul
enters the nearer circle of inspiration, and reads the wonderful
_words_ of God, it is still more enraptured, and its admiration is
heightened. In revelation, we see the same all-glorious Lord as in
creation, but the vision is more clear, and the consequent love is
more intense.
The Word is an inner court to the Creation; but there is yet
an innermost sanctuary, and blessed are they who enter it, and
have fellowship with the Lord Himself. We come to Christ, and in
coming to Him we come to God; for Jesus says, "He that hath seen
Me hath seen the Father." When we know the Lord Jesus, we stand
before the mercy-seat, where the glory of Jehovah shineth forth. I
like to think of the text as belonging to those who are as priests
unto God, and stand in the Holy of holies, while they say, "Yea,
He is altogether lovely." His works are marvellous, His words are
full of majesty, but He Himself is altogether lovely.
Can we come into this inner circle? All do not enter here.
Alas! many are far off from Him, and are blind to His beauties.
"He was despised and rejected of men," and He is so still. They do
not see God in His works, but dream that these wonders were
evolved, and not created by the Great Primal Cause. As for His
words, they seem to them as idle tales, or, at best, as inspired
only in the same sense as the language of Shakespeare or Spenser.
They see not the Lord in the stately aisles of Holy Scripture; and
have no vision of _Himself_. May He, who openeth the eyes of the
blind, have pity on them!
Certain others are in a somewhat happier position, for they
are enquirers after Christ. They are like the persons who, in the
ninth verse of the chapter, asked, "What is thy Beloved more than
another beloved, O thou fairest among women? What is thy Beloved
more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us?" They want
to know who this Jesus is. But they have not seen Him yet, and
cannot join with the spouse in saying, "He is altogether lovely."
If we enter this sacred inner circle, we must become
witnesses, as she does who speaks of Christ, "Yea, He is
altogether lovely." She knows what He is, for she has seen Him.
The verses which precede the text are a description of every
feature of the heavenly Bridegroom; all His members are there set
forth with richness of Oriental imagery. The spouse speaks what
she knows. Have we, also, seen the Lord? Are we His familiar
acquaintances? If so, may the Lord help us to understand our text!
If we are to know the full joy of the text, we must come to
our Lord as His intimates. He permits us this high honour, since,
in this ordinance, He makes us His table-companions. He says,
"Henceforth I call you not servants; but I have called you
friends." He calls upon us to eat bread with Him; yea, to partake
of Himself, by eating His flesh and drinking His blood. Oh, that
we may pass beyond the outward signs into the closest intimacy
with _Himself!_ Perhaps, when you are at home, you will examine
the spouse's description of her Lord. It is a wonderful piece of
tapestry. She has wrought into its warp and woof all things
charming, sweet, and precious. In Him she sees all lovely
colours,--"My Beloved is white and ruddy." In comparison with Him
all others fail, for He is "chief among ten thousand" chieftains.
She cannot think of Him as comparable to anything less valuable
than "fine gold." She sees, soaring in the air, birds of divers
wing; and these must aid her, whether it be the raven or the dove.
The rivers of waters, and the beds of spices and myrrh-dropping
lilies, must come into the picture, with sweet flowers and goodly
cedars. All kinds of treasured things are in Him; for He is like
to gold rings set with the beryl, and bright ivory overlaid with
sapphires, and pillars of marble set upon sockets of fine gold.
She labours to describe His beauty and His excellency, and strains
all comparisons to their utmost use, and somewhat more; and yet
she is conscious of failure, and therefore sums up all with the
pithy sentence, "Yea, He is altogether lovely."
If the Holy Spirit will help me, I should like to lift the
veil, that we may, in sacred contemplation, look on our Beloved.
I. We would do so, first, with reverent emotions. In the
words before us, "Yea, He is altogether lovely," two emotions are
displayed, namely, admiration and affection.
It is _admiration_ which speaks of Him as "altogether lovely"
or beautiful. This admiration rises to the highest degree. The
spouse would fain show that her Beloved is more than any other
beloved; therefore she cries, "He is altogether lovely." Surely no
one else has reached that point. Many are lovely, but no one save
Jesus is "altogether lovely." We see something that is lovely in
one, and another point is lovely in another; but all loveliness
meets in Him. Our soul knows nothing which can rival Him: He is
the gathering up of all sorts of loveliness to make up one perfect
loveliness. He is the climax of beauty; the crown of glory; the
uttermost of excellence.
Our admiration of Him, also, is unrestrained. The spouse
dared to say, even in the presence of the daughters of Jerusalem,
who were somewhat envious, "Yea, He is altogether lovely." They
knew not, as yet, His perfections; they even asked, "What is thy
Beloved more than another beloved?" But she was not to be blinded
by their want of sympathy, neither did she withhold her testimony
from fear of their criticism. To her, He was "altogether lovely",
and she could say no less. Our admiration of Christ is such that
we would tell the kings of the earth that they have no majesty in
His presence; and tell the wise men that He alone is wisdom; and
tell the great and mighty that He is the blessed and only
Potentate, King of kings, and Lord of lords.
Our admiration of our Lord is inexpressible. We can never
tell all we know of our Lord; yet all our knowledge is little. All
that we know is, that His love passeth knowledge, that His
excellence baffles understanding, that His glory is unutterable.
We can embrace Him by our love, but we can scarcely touch Him with
our intellect, He is so high, so glorious. As to describing Him,
we cry, with Mr. Berridge,--
"Then my tongue would fain express
All His love and loveliness;
But I lisp, and falter forth
Broken words, not half His worth.
"Vex'd, I try and try again,
Still my efforts all are vain:
Living tongues are dumb at best,
We must die to speak of Christ."
"He is altogether lovely." Do we not feel an inexpressible
admiration for Him? There is none like unto Thee, O Son of God!
Still, our paramount emotion is not admiration, but
_affection_. "He is altogether"--not beautiful, nor admirable,--
but "lovely." All His beauties are loving beauties towards us, and
beauties which draw our hearts towards Him in humble love. He
charms us, not by a cold comeliness, but by a living loveliness,
which wins our hearts. His is an approachable beauty, which not
only overpowers us with its glory, but holds us captive by its
charms. We love Him: we cannot do otherwise, for "He is altogether
lovely." He has within Himself and unquenchable flame of love,
which sets our soul on fire. He is all love, and all the love in
the world is less than His. Put together all the loves of husband
wives, parents, children, brothers, sisters, and they only make a
drop compared with His great deeps of love, unexplored and
unexplorable. This love of His has a wonderful power to beget love
in unlovely hearts, and to nourish it into a mighty force. " It is
a torrent which sweeps all before it when its founts break forth
within the soul. It is a Gulf Stream in which all icebergs melt.
When our heart is full of love to Jesus, His loveliness becomes
the passion of the soul, and sin and self are swept away. May we
feel it now!
There He stands: we know Him by the thorn-crown, and the
wounds, and the visage more marred than that of any man! He
suffered all this for us. O Son of man! O Son of God! With the
spouse, we feel, in the inmost depths of our soul, that Thou art
"altogether lovely."
II. Now would I lift the veil a second time, with deep
solemnity, not so much to suggest emotions as to secure your
intelligent assurance of the fact that "He is altogether lovely."
We say this with absolute certainty. The spouse places a "Yea"
before her enthusiastic declaration, because she is sure of it.
She sees her Beloved, and sees Him to be altogether lovely. This
is no fiction, no dream, no freak of imagination, no outburst of
partiality. The highest love to Christ does not make us speak more
than the truth; we are as reasonable when we are filled with love
to Him as ever we were in our lives; nay, never are we more
reasonable than when we are carried clean away by a clear
perception of His superlative excellence.
Let us meditate upon the proof of our assertion. "He is
altogether lovely" _in His person_. He is God. The glory of
Godhead I must leave in lowly silence. Yet is our Jesus also man,
more emphatically man than any one here present this afternoon,
for we are English, American, French, German, Dutch, Russian; but
Christ is man, the second Adam, the Head of the race: as truly as
He is very God of very God, so is He man, of the substance of His
mother. What a marvellous union! The miracle of miracles! In his
incomparible personality He is altogether lovely; for in Him we
see how God comes down to man in condescension, and how man goes
up to God in close relationship. There is no other such as He, in
all respects, even in heaven itself: in His personality He must
ever stand alone, in the eyes of both God and man, "altogether
lovely."
As for _His character_, time would fail us to enter upon that
vast subject; but the more we know of the character of our Lord,
and the more we grow like Him, the more lovely will it appear to
us. In all aspects, it is lovely; in all its minutiae and details,
it is perfect; and as a whole, it is perfection's model. Take any
one action of His, look into its mode, its spirit, its motive, and
all else that can be revealed by a microscopic examination, and it
is "altogether lovely." Consider his life, as a whole, in
reference to God, to man, to His friends, to His foes, to those
around Him, and to the ages yet to be, and you shall find it
absolutely perfect. More than that: there is such a thing as a
cold perfection, with which one can find no fault, and yet it
commands no love; but in Christ, our Well-beloved, every part of
His character attracts. To a true heart, the life of Christ is as
much an object of love as of reverence: "He is altogether lovely."
We must _love_ that which we see in Him: admiration is not the
word. When cold critics commend Him, their praise is half an
insult: what know these frozen hearts of our Beloved? As for a
word against Him, it wounds us to the soul. Even an omission of
His praise is a torture to us. If we hear a sermon which has no
Christ in it, we weary of it. If we read a book that contains a
slighting syllable of Him, we abhor it. He, Himself, has become
everything to us now, and only in the atmosphere of fervent love
to Him can we feel at home.
Passing from His character to _His sacrifice;_ there
especially "He is altogether lovely." You may have read
"Rutherford's Letters"; I hope you have. How wondrously he writes,
when he describes his Lord in garments red from His sweat of
blood, and with hands bejewelled with His wounds! When we view His
body taken down from the cross, all pale and deathly, and wrapped
in the cerements of the grave, we see a strange beauty in Him. He
is to us never more lovely than when we read in our Beloved's
white and red that His Sacrifice is accomplished, and He has been
obedient unto death for us. In Him, as the sacrifice once offered,
we see our pardon, our life, our heaven, our all. So lovely is
Christ in His sacrifice, that He is for ever most pleasing to the
great Judge of all, ay, so lovely to His Father, that He makes us
also lovely to God the Father, and we are "accepted in the
Beloved." His sacrifice has such merit and beauty in the sight of
heaven, that in Him God is well pleased, and guilty men become in
Him pleasant unto the Lord. Is not His sacrifice most sweet to us?
Here our guilty conscience finds peace; here we see ourselves made
comely in His comeliness. We cannot stand at Calvary, and see the
Saviour die, and hear Him cry, "It is finished," without feeling
that "He is altogether lovely." Forgive me that I speak so coolly!
I dare not enter fully into a theme which would pull up the
sluices of my heart.
Remember what He was when He rose from the grave on the third
day. Oh, to have seen Him in the freshness of _His resurrection
beauty!_ And what will He be in _His glory_, when He comes again
the second time, and all His holy angels with Him, when He shall
sit upon the throne of His glory, and heaven and earth shall flee
away before His face? To His people He will then be "altogether
lovely." Angels will adore Him, saints made perfect will fall on
their faces before Him; and we ourselves shall feel that, at last,
our heaven is complete. We shall see Him, and being like Him, we
shall be satisfied.
_Every feature of our Lord is lovely._ You cannot think of
anything that has to do with Him which is unworthy of our praise.
All over glorious is our Lord. The spouse speaks of His head, His
locks, His eyes, His cheeks, His lips, His hands, His legs, His
countenance, His mouth; and when she has mentioned them all, she
sums up with reference to all by saying, "Yea, He is altogether
lovely."
There is _nothing unlovely about Him_. Certain persons would
be beautiful were it not for a wound or a bruise, but our Beloved
is all the more lovely for His wounds; the marring of His
countenance has enhanced its charms. His scars are, for glory and
for beauty, the jewels of our King. To us He is lovely even from
that side which others dread: His very frown has comfort in it to
His saints, since He only frowns on evil. Even His feet, which are
"like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace," are lovely
to us for His sake; these are His poor saints, who are sorely
tried, but are able to endure the fire. Everything of Christ,
everything that partakes of Christ, everything that hath a flavour
or savour of Christ, is lovely to us.
There is _nothing lacking about His loveliness_. Some would
be very lovely were there a brightness in their eyes, or a colour
in their countenances: but something is away. The absence of a
tooth or of an eyebrow may spoil a countenance, but in Christ
Jesus there is no omission of excellence. Everything that should
be in Him is in Him; everything that is conceivable in perfection
is present to perfection in Him.
_In Him is nothing excessive_. Many a face has one feature in
it which is overdone; but in our Lord's character everything is
balanced and proportionate. You never find His kindness lessening
His holiness, nor His holiness eclipsing His wisdom, nor His
wisdom abating His courage, nor His courage injuring His meekness.
Everything is in our Lord that should be there, and everything in
due measure. Like rare spices, mixed after the manner of the
apothecary, our Lord's whole person, and character, and sacrifice,
are as incense sweet unto the Lord.
_Neither is there anything in our Lord which is incongruous
with the rest_. In each one of us there is, at least, a little
that is out of place. We could not be fully described without the
use of a "but." If we could all look within, and see ourselves as
God sees us, we should note a thousand matters, which we now
permit, which we should never allow again. But in the Well-beloved
all is of a piece, all is lovely; and when the sum of the whole is
added up, it comes to an absolute perfection of loveliness: "Yea,
He is altogether lovely."
We are sure that the Lord Jesus must be Himself exceedingly
lovely, since _He gives loveliness to His people_. Many saints are
lovely in their lives; one reads biographies of good men and women
which make us wish to grow like them; yet all the loveliness of
all the most holy among men has come from Jesus their Lord, and is
a copy of His perfect beauty. Those who write well do so because
He sets the copy.
What is stranger and more wonderful still, _our Lord Jesus
makes sinners lovely._ In their natural state, men are deformed
and hideous to the eye of God; and as they have no love to God, so
He has no delight in them. He is weary of them, and is grieved
that He made men upon the earth. The Lord is angry with the wicked
every day. Yet, when our Lord Jesus comes in, and covers these
sinful ones with His righteousness, and, at the same time, infuses
into them His life, the Lord is well pleased with them for His
Son's sake. Even in heaven, the infinite Jehovah sees nothing
which pleases Him like His Son. The Father from eternity loved His
Only-begotten, and again and again He hath said of Him, "This is
My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." What higher encomium
can be passed upon Him?
If we had time to think over this subject, we should say of
our Lord that _He is lovely in every office._ He is the most
admirable Priest, and King, and Prophet that ever yet exercised
the office. He is a lovely Shepherd of a chosen flock, a lovely
Friend, lovely Husband, a lovely Brother: He is admirable in every
position that He occupies for our sakes.
_Our Lord's loveliness appears in every condition:_ in the
manger, or in the temple; by the well, or on the sea; in the
garden, or on the cross; in the tomb, or in the resurrection; in
His first, or in His second coming. He is not as the herb, which
flowers only at one season; or as the tree, which loses its leaves
in winter; or as the moon, which waxes and wanes; or as the sea,
which ebbs and flows. In every condition, and at every time, "He
is altogether lovely."
_He is lovely, whichever way we look at Him._ If we view Him
as in the past, entering into a covenant of peace on our behalf;
or, in the present, yielding Himself to us as Intercessor,
Representative, and Forerunner; or, in the future, coming,
reigning, and glorifying His people; "He is altogether lovely."
Behold Him from heaven, view Him from the gates of hell, regard
Him as he goes before, look up to Him as He sits above; He is as
beautiful from one point of view as from another; "Yea, He is
altogether lovely." Wherever we may be, He is the same in His
perfection. How lovely He was to my eyes when I was sinking in
despair! To see Him suffering for my sin upon the tree, was as the
opening of the gates of the morning to my darkened soul. How
lovely He is to us when we are sick, and the hours of night seem
lengthened into days! "He giveth songs in the night." How lovely
has He been to us when the world has frowned, and friends have
forsaken, and worldly goods have been scant! To see "the King in
His beauty" is a sight sufficient, even if we never saw another
ray of comfort. How blessed, when we lie dying, to hear Him say,
"I am the resurrection and the life"! Mark that word; He says not,
"I will give you resurrection and life," but, "I am the
resurrection and the life." Blessed are the eyes which can see
that in Jesus which is really in Him. When we think of seeing Him
as He is, and being like Him, how heaven approaches us! We shall
soon behold the beatific vision, of which He will be the centre
and the sun. At the thought thereof our soul takes wing, and our
imagination soars aloft, while our faith, with eagle eye, beholds
the glory. As we think of that glad period, when we shall be with
our Beloved for ever, we are ready to swoon away with delight. It
is near, far nearer than we think.
III. The little time which we can give to this meditation has
run out, and therefore I hasten to a close. I have bidden you look
at our Lord as "altogether lovely" with reverent emotions, and
with absolute certainty. Now, to conclude, think of Him with
practical results. "He is altogether lovely." What shall we do for
this chief among ten thousand?
First, _we will tell others of Him_. For that cause was our
text spoken. The daughters of Jerusalem asked the spouse, "What is
thy Beloved more than another beloved?" Her answer is here: "He is
altogether lovely." It is a great joy to praise our Lord to
enquiring minds. We, who are preachers, have a glorious time of it
when we extol our Lord. If we had nothing to do but to preach
Christ, and had no discipline to administer, no sin to battle
with, no doubts to drive away, we should have a heavenly service.
For my part, I wish I could be bound over to play only upon this
one string. Paul did well when he turned ignoramus, and determined
to know nothing among the Corinthians save Jesus Christ, and Him
crucified. As the harp of Anacreon would resound love alone, so
would I have but one sole subject for my ministry,--the love and
loveliness of my Lord. Then to speak would be its own reward; and
to study and prepare discourses would be only a phase of rest.
Fain would I make my whole ministry to speak of Christ and His
surpassing loveliness.
You who are not preachers cannot do better than speak much of
Jesus, as opportunity offers. Make _Him_ the theme of
conversation. People talk about ministers; but we beg you to talk
of our Master. Our undecided neighbours are always talking of
hypocrites and inconsistent professors; but we would say to them,
"Never mind about His followers: talk about the Master Himself."
His followers, by themselves considered, never were worth your
words; but what a theme is this,-- "He is altogether lovely"! Our
Lord's people are far worthier than the world thinks them to be;
for my part, I rejoice in the many gracious and beautiful
characters with which I meet, but even if all the ill reports we
hear were true, this would not detract from the loveliness of our
Lord, who is infinitely beyond all praise.
The next practical result of viewing the loveliness of our
blessed Lord is, that _we appropriate Him to ourselves_, grasping
Him with our two hands of faith and love, and making the rest of
the verse to be our own: "This is my Beloved, and this is my
Friend, O daughters of Jerusalem!" Since He is so amiable, He must
be "my Beloved"; my heart clings to Him. Since He is admirable, I
rejoice that He is "my Friend"; my soul trusts in Him. The heart
that most appreciates Jesus is the most eager to appropriate Him.
He who beholds Jesus as "altogether lovely" will never rest till
he is altogether sure that Jesus is altogether his own. I think I
may also add that appreciation is in great measure the seal of
appropriation, for the soul that values Christ most is the soul
that hath most surely taken possession of Christ. Sometimes a
heart prizes the Lord very highly, and tremblingly longs for Him;
but it is my conviction that the very fact of prizing Him argues a
measure of possession of Him. Jesus never wins a heart to which He
refuses His love. If thou lovest Him, He loves thee: be sure of
that. No soul ever cries, "Yea, He is altogether lovely," without
sooner or later adding, "This is my Beloved, and this is my
Friend."
Rest not, any one of you, till you know of a surety that
Jesus is yours. Do not be content with a hope, struggle after the
full assurance of faith. This is to be had, and you ought not to
be content without it. It may be your lifelong song, "My Beloved
is mine, and I am His." You need not pine in the shade: the sun is
shining, "walk in the light." Away with the idea that we cannot
know whether we are condemned or forgiven, in Christ or out of
Him! We may know, we must know; and, as we appreciate our Lord, we
shall know. Either Jesus is ours, or He is not. If He is, let us
rejoice in the priceless possession. If He is not ours, let us at
once lay hold upon Him by faith; for, the moment we trust Him, He
is ours. The enjoyment of religion lies in assurance: a mere hope
is scant diet.
Once more, it is a fair fruit of our delight in our Lord that
_our valuation of Him becomes a bond of union between us and
others_. The spouse cries, "This is my Beloved, and this is my
Friend, O daughters of Jerusalem!" and they reply, "Whither is thy
Beloved gone, O thou fairest among women? Whither is thy Beloved
turned aside, that we may seek Him with thee?" Thus, you see, they
institute a companionship through the Well-beloved. Few of us, in
this room, would ever have known each other, had it not been for
our common admiration of the Lord Jesus. We should have gone on
walking past each other by the sea to this day, and we should have
missed much cheering fellowship. Our Lord has become our centre;
we meet in Him, and feel that in Him we are partakers of one life.
We seek our Well-beloved together, and around His table we find
Him together; and finding Him, we have found one another, and the
lost jewel of Christian love glitters on every bosom. We have
differing views on certain parts of divine truth; and I do not
know that it is wrong for us to differ where the Holy Spirit has
left truth without rigidly defining it. We are bound each one
devoutly to use his judgment in the interpretation of the Sacred
Word; but we all agree in this one clear judgment: "Yea, He is
altogether lovely." This is the point of union. Those who
enthusiastically love the same person are on the way to loving
each other. This is growingly our case; and it is the same with
all spiritual people. Professors quarrel, but possessors are at
one. We hear much discourse upon "the Unity of the Church" as a
thing to be desired, and we may heartily agree with it; but it
would be well also to remember that in the true Church of Christ
real union already exists. Our Lord prayed for those whom the
Father had given Him, that they might be one, and the Father
granted the prayer: the Lord's own people are one. In this room we
have an example of how closely we are united in Christ. Some of
you are more at home in this assembly, taken out of all churches,
than you are in the churches to which you nominally belong. Our
union in one body as Episcopalians, Baptists, Presbyterians, or
Independents, is not the thing which our Lord prayed for; but our
union _in Himself_. _That_ union we do at this moment enjoy; and
therefore do we eat of one bread, and drink of one cup, and are
baptized into one Spirit, at His feet who is to each one of us,
and so to all of us, altogether lovely.