AND IT CAME TO PASS, THAT WHEN THE SUN WENT DOWN, AND IT WAS DARK, BEHOLD A SMOKING FURNACE, AND A BURNING LAMP THAT PASSED BETWEEN THOSE PIECES.Gen.15:17.
AND IT CAME TO PASS, THAT WHEN THE SUN WENT DOWN, AND IT WAS DARK, BEHOLD A SMOKING FURNACE, AND A BURNING LAMP THAT PASSED BETWEEN THOSE PIECES.Gen.15:17.
The scene here described between Jehovah and the patriarch is one of awful and mysterious interest. Long ago, when he came out of Ur of the Chaldees, God promised blessings to Abram and his posterity. But as yet there were no signs of the fulfilment. Many years had since rolled by, years of fluctuations and trials. The stirring events of the war of the four kings and the deliverance of Lot were brought to a close; and Abram had once more retired to a quiet pastoral life, rich, honored, powerful among the surrounding tribes.
But though he had grown great, there was one corroding care which preyed upon his heart. Ah, what condition of human life is there, which has not its secret sorrow? What house so bright as never to have a shadowacross its hearth? Abram was treading along the vale of years, childless and a stranger. Eliezer of Damascus seemed likely to inherit his vast possessions.
At this period, when Abram’s anxiety deepened, and hope began to grow impatient, God appeared again to him in vision, and renewed his covenant promises. And in answer to the patriarch’s request for some outward sign or ratification, the Most High directed him to slay a heifer, a she-goat, and a ram, and divide the parts, and set them the one over against the other, that one might pass between the parts.
In ancient times the ratification of covenants was attended by the most solemn rites, in which the contracting parties participated. In the 34th chapter of Jeremiah there is an explicit reference to a ceremony like the one here described: “And I will give the men that have transgressed my covenant, which have not performed the words of the covenant which they made before me, when they cut the calf in twain and passed between the parts thereof—the princes of Judah, and the princesof Jerusalem, the eunuchs, and the priests, and all the people of the land, which passed between the parts of the calf—I will even give them into the hand of their enemies.” In these solemnities the contracting party or parties passed between the parts of the slain victim, in token of their full assent to the stipulations made, imprecating upon themselves a most bitter curse if they should violate them. The ceremony was of the nature of a most solemn oath.
Nor was it confined to the Israelitish nation alone, but similar rites were observed among other people. In the third Book of the Iliad, Homer describes the solemn ratification of the covenant between the Greeks and the Trojans, according to the terms of which Menelaus and Paris were to determine the great quarrel between them in single combat. Victims were slain, their heads distributed among the chiefs of the hostile parties, their palpitating limbs placed opposite to each other on the ground, while the officiating priest uttered a prayer to Jupiter, accompanied by a most awful imprecation upon any one whoshould break the solemn oath. Livy also, the Roman historian, records a like solemnity on the occasion when the Roman and Alban nation agreed to settle their contest by the combat of the three Horatii and the three Curiatii. Then too the Roman priest slew the victim, and called Jupiter to witness their vows, and strike the violator as he struck the victim.
In this fifteenth chapter of Genesis, the sacred writer describes a sacred institution, which Homer, a thousand years later, found among the Greeks; and the Roman historian, still later, records as in use among his countrymen. The intent, or meaning of the solemnity, was evident. Abram well understood it; for without any particular instruction recorded, he prepared the sacrifice.
It must have been a day of overwhelming interest to the patriarch. Early in the morning God directed him to make his preparations. He obeyed with promptness, and slew the animals, and arranged their parts upon the ground. Having passed between them himself, thus acknowledging his obligations inthe covenant, he sat down alone to wait for Jehovah to signify his presence. What strange, unearthly thoughts revolved in his anxious mind! What a condition for a creature to be in—a lonely man watching for God to come!
The day wore by; the sun was far down the west; the shadows were deepening on the earth: the weary patriarch dropped his head upon his breast, and slept. A horror of great darkness fell upon him; and then came a vision and a voice, which revealed to him the future. When this had passed, night had set in; and in the darkness the weary watcher waited, near the limbs of his slain victims, for Jehovah to reveal his presence and seal his promises, till at length, through the thickening gloom and spectral silence, the Shechinah is discovered, moving in awful majesty near the sacrifice. A smoking furnace and a burning lamp passed between those pieces.
Abram understood it all: God’s visible presence was before him; Jehovah had ratified his covenant; the deed was done. The patriarch was satisfied. He had not beenimposed upon by his fancy; he had not been deceived by someignis fatuus. It was Jehovah’s presence he had looked upon; it was Jehovah’s own doings, making his covenant sure to him.
Yet all he saw was a smoking furnace and a burning lamp pass between the pieces. He heard no voice; he saw no living personal form: but that appearance before him was Jehovah’s sign. He doubted not a moment; he asked for nothing more. It is evident that the manner in which God signified his presence on this occasion had a peculiar significance in it, that there was a peculiar fitness in the form which he assumed—a smoking furnace and a burning lamp—rather than some other visible form.
We believe that these signs indicated not only that Jehovah was there, but who that Jehovah was. They exhibit God ashiding, and yet revealinghimself. The smoking furnace, dimly visible, and followed by the burning lamp, presents the side which the Almighty turns towards us, marked byobscurity, and light. The Most High is known,and yet unknown; revealed to us, and yet concealed.
And we believe that a correct view of God, as exhibited to us in his word and providence, will correspond with the view which the patriarch had of him in the loneliness and darkness of that night, when He sealed His covenant with him.
We hold that in the goings forth of his providential government for thousands of years, and in the utterance of his word, there are the same traces of light and obscurity, of concealment and illumination, which were symbolized to Abram; and the same God who passed between the pieces of his sacrifice under the form of a smoking furnace and a burning lamp, is still passing before us all in a like manner.
Such is the Almighty whenever he turns himself towards us. And while I gaze with the patriarch upon the awful solemnities of that hour, that smoking furnace and burning lamp seem to move, not only across that spot, but over the ages and the world, and indicate the presence and the doings of God in all the conduct of his government.
Turn first to thewritten revelationwhich he has made to us through prophet and evangelist. In the very first promise made to man after the fall, so dim yet cheering, did he not pass before Adam much as he did before the patriarch? In that promise of the seed of the woman bruising the serpent’s head, so vague, so indefinite and obscure, there seems at first only the smoking furnace; but while we steadily look at it, it brightens into a burning lamp, which beckons faith to look down the future and hope for deliverance from the curse.
In all that God has revealed of himself and his purposes in his word, he passes before us in mystery as well as light. He lifts the veil but a little way; he allows us to see but a part of his plans and doings.
The prophetic parts of the Old Testament Scriptures illustrate this blending of obscurity and light. The predictions of a coming Messiah were clear, and yet mysterious; so that the Jews failed utterly to interpret them aright, or to recognize Him when He appeared as “He of whom Moses and the prophets didwrite.” Those predictions now appear plain to us, for we study them in the clear light of their fulfilment.
In like manner, other prophecies of great events which have already been accomplished—as the Babylonish captivity, the overthrow of ancient cities and kingdoms, and the destruction of Jerusalem—now seem to us most graphic and distinct, because history and facts have thrown their light upon them. But of those prophecies which yet await their fulfilment, how true is it that a veil of obscurity still rests upon them. How various and conflicting have been the theories of those who have anxiously studied them. The restoration of the Jews, the destruction of antichrist, the second coming of Christ, the millennium reign—these and the like subjects have taxed the ingenuity of the learned for ages. Yet all have failed to find out the Almighty’s specific programme, or to tell beforehand what shall be the exact fulfilment. The God of prophecy passes before us as a smoking furnace, and a burning lamp.
The strictly doctrinal portions of God’sword exhibit him to us in this twofold attitude of obscurity and of light. Plainly enough has he revealed to us our duty. Clear and authoritative is his voice, speaking to us in the Decalogue. The burning lamp shines clear and steady through all the preceptive deliverances of the Scriptures; but ah, the great questions and paradoxes which have perplexed the human soul in all ages, the unsolved problems of natural religion over which thought has wearied and despaired, are left unanswered. How sin could be allowed to enter a moral system; the harmony of the divine foreknowledge with human freedom; the election of grace; man’s moral helplessness and responsibility—these and such like subjects remain unexplained. Revelation does not attempt to lift the mysterious cloud which still hangs over them. Jehovah condescends to no explanation of his doings; nor by a single word does he seek to vindicate the infinite wisdom of his administration. Clouds and darkness are round about him. With none of us does he take counsel. The great truths of revelation reach beyond ourgrasp. We see but in part, and we know but in part. The gospel brings us near to God; but even there he covereth the face of his throne. The intermingling of obscurity and light which was symbolized by the smoking furnace and the burning lamp, characterizes the entire field of the Almighty’s revelations.
2. God, as manifested in hisprovidentialgovernment, is properly exhibited to us in the imagery of the text. His ways are past finding out. When we contemplate the world at any particular period, we are lost in confusion and perplexity. We feel assured that the Almighty governs; but his purposes are hidden. Mankind seem scarcely to notice his presence. Seldom can we detect his controlling hand. It is only by extending our observation over a wider field, and taking in the grand sweep of providence through successive generations, that we attain to the clear conceptions of his moral government. At first view, we see little of his movements, and they are indefinite and obscured, like the dim smoking furnace passing by us; but by a more patient and careful study we are enabled to discoverthat all the events which take place in the world are under the Almighty’s superintendence, and that, back of all the derangement and confusion of human affairs, there is an unseen but mighty hand bending the current of events, which by the interposition of checks and restraints and judgments makes the wrath of man to praise him.
Thus in the midst of all the darkness of providence, there is discoverable a plan of infinite wisdom. And he who humbly and devoutly meditates upon the progress of human events, detects the presence of the Almighty, ofttimes indeed vaguely, like the feeble glimmerings of the smoking furnace, but often distinctly and clearly, like the burning lamp. Thus does Jehovah, in his providence, move through the ages in much the same manner as he appeared to the patriarch, when the furnace and the lamp passed between the pieces of his sacrifice.
But why need we range abroad? Why look far away? Who that devoutly studies the ways of Providence towards himself, who that habitually contemplates what he haspassed and is passing through, does not discover the Almighty wrapped in the same mysterious drapery which he wore when he appeared to Abram?
Yes; the smoking furnace and the burning lamp still pass before us, and shape our lives. How many times has God touched the hidden springs of action, and turned the current of our history! How often has he mysteriously hedged up our way, and disappointed us; made our surest calculations fail, our favorite plans miscarry! How has he led us by a way we knew not, and caused us to stand perplexed, bewildered, and alarmed at his unlooked-for interpositions! What sudden calamities have befallen us; what sore chastisements have come upon us! How many times has God’s face been hid in clouds! How often have we asked, What can his doings mean? Why does he scatter our possessions? Why is health prostrated, and we left to languish amid pains and sicknesses? Why did he let death make those little graves in the churchyard, where our darlings are sleeping, who used to fill our homes with sunshine, and paintrainbows in the clouds of life’s pilgrimage? Oh how many times are we perplexed at the Almighty’s doings! In such seasons of disappointment and affliction, we think upon God and are troubled. He passes before us in the thick gloom and darkness of the night of sorrow: about all we can see of him is a smoking furnace, with its smouldering embers, scarcely emitting from within a pale, faint, spectral gleam, while dim wreaths of clouds whirl and roll above it. God’s ways seem dark and impenetrable. Such are our first impressions.
But while we continue to gaze upon his doings, and follow out his providences to their conclusions; when, after Time with his soothing balm has assuaged the first sharp pangs of our wounded hearts, we study carefully the tendencies and results of God’s dispensations with us, Oh how often do the clouds break and scatter, and the deep mysteries of his dealings receive a new interpretation.
How many of our doubts and questions find an answer. How do future months and years vindicate the wisdom of those doings which we once thought could not be vindicated.How do we afterwards see that when God took away some blessings which we dearly loved, it was to make room for greater ones to come. When he stopped our way in some favorite pursuit of life, and beckoned us against our will in another path, he saved us from ruin and disasters which we were blind to. When he snatched our loved one away to heaven, he broke up the sinful idolatry which was ensnaring us, and called us heavenward too. When he dashed from our hand the cup of worldly prosperity we were pressing to our lips, it was because we were growing delirious under its draughts.
It is thus, while we calmly trace through successive years God’s doings, we begin to see the furnace grow luminous, and close behind it the burning lamp lights up the Almighty’s footsteps. We may not indeed comprehend the whole. We cannot clear up all the mystery that surrounds him. But though the furnace still continues to move and smoke before us, yet the lamp is ever going with it; and its cheering rays relieve the gloom, so that faith and hope can follow.
Such is the method of God’s dealings with us all. He passes before us in mingled mystery and light. The longer we trace his doings, the clearer is the light. A hasty, superficial study of his providence leaves us in painful gloom and doubt. But a patient and humble attention to his plans reveals much to relieve our fears and inspire in a Christian a steady, trusting, joyous confidence.
We must never expect to arrive at a full and undimmed prospect here. We see but in part. But ah, I think I can see something in the gradual unfoldings of God’s providence, and in the steps the believer now passes through, which heralds a coming period when we shall see the whole. Even now the shadows grow fainter the longer we gaze. A grey light streaks the field of vision which was once in total darkness. Even now, when faith turns her eye out long and steady, night seems softening into morning. And from these phenomena I expect yet to see the whole. Even now, while I watch year after year, the furnace smokes less and less, the lamp burns stronger, brighter. And a little way beyondme heaven waits to welcome me, where I shall see as I am seen, and know as I am known. Oh blessed hope!
A little longer we follow where the furnace and the lamp lead the way; but when we arrive at yonder world the furnace will be left behind. No cloud and smoke there to obstruct our vision; but the lamp of fire alone remains. It is God’s unvailed glory illuminating the realms of bliss. Oh, weary pilgrim, keep close to the furnace as it moves before you like the pillar with which Jehovah led the twelve tribes in the desert, and it will guide you home. And then it will smoke no more; but the lamp of fire will never go out, for in its exhaustless splendor you shall spend an eternity of joy.
Our subject thus presented, furnishes materials for a few profitable reflections.
1. In this blending of mystery and light which characterizes God’s present manifestations, he has in view the promotion ofhis own glory. For the pure and unfallen inhabitants of heaven, it may be proper for him to unvail himself and his doings, and allowthem to contemplate him in cloudless majesty; but when he turns himself to sinful creatures like us, it is becoming in him whom we have offended not to allow us to approach too near. A jealous reticence marks his revelations. His infinite glory and majesty impress our minds as deeply by what he hides from us, as by what he shows us. His silence is sometimes as awfully eloquent as his speech. The dim, smoking furnace often conveys to us ideas of his incomprehensible might and majesty and greatness as deeply as does the burning lamp.
2. The Most High has designed this obscure and mixed economy of his to be a source ofmoral disciplineto us all.
It serves to check our arrogance and presumption, and promotes true humility. It teaches us that he has ways that are past our finding out, and that all our boasted wisdom is folly when compared with his. It tells vain man that he cannot tread in the Almighty’s footsteps, nor fathom his deep designs.
Our entire dependence too is thrust upon our convictions by this mode of the Almighty’sworking. Often we are forced to feel that we cannot rely upon our own forecast and prudence. Our own will is not strong enough to shape events and make them subserve our wishes. God’s unseen hand is ever interfering, and reminding us that without his blessing we can do nothing.
And how too is faithtried and encouragedby this economy:triedwhen all we can see of God, many times, is like a smoking furnace, dark and obscure, when reason asks and gets no answers; and anon encouraged, when through the mystery there shines the burning lamp.
This present life is the great school of Christian faith. Where reason’s eyesight fails, faith can see the way. It can see but in part, it is true, for our earthly state answers well to the prophet Zechariah’s description: “And it shall come to pass in that day, that the light shall not be clear nor dark. But it shall be one day which shall be known to the Lord: not day, nor night; but it shall come to pass that at evening time it shall be light.”
Moreover, how adapted is our subject tocheerGod’s people and prompt them to quiet,patient resignation under dark and afflictive providences. What if sometimes we can see nothing but the furnace smoking; we know that behind it somewhere is the lamp of fire.
How too are we impressed with the truth that there is something left for us to learnin heaven, something yet unrevealed which we do not see, but which we hope for, which makes us reconciled to the thought of leaving this dim, misty realm of time, and to wait in anxious expectation till the day break and the shadows flee away. Oh be content, Christian, a little longer to walk by faith, for by and by the smoking furnace will have passed away for ever, and heaven will welcome you to its cloudless revelations.
Learn to walk humbly before that God who surrounds your path. See him in the clearest form in which he has revealed himself, even in the incarnate Son our Saviour. Through him alone can we approach the Father. Through him alone can we hope to see his face, and obtain salvation and deliverance from his wrath.
The Altar of Incense.
AND THOU SHALT MAKE AN ALTAR TO BURN INCENSE UPON. AND THOU SHALT PUT IT BEFORE THE VAIL THAT IS BY THE ARK OF THE TESTIMONY, BEFORE THE MERCY-SEAT THAT IS OVER THE TESTIMONY, WHERE I WILL MEET WITH THEE.Exod.30:1, 6.
AND THOU SHALT MAKE AN ALTAR TO BURN INCENSE UPON. AND THOU SHALT PUT IT BEFORE THE VAIL THAT IS BY THE ARK OF THE TESTIMONY, BEFORE THE MERCY-SEAT THAT IS OVER THE TESTIMONY, WHERE I WILL MEET WITH THEE.Exod.30:1, 6.
The saying of Augustine, that in the Old Testament the New is hidden, and in the New Testament the Old is opened up, agrees with the teachings of Paul in the epistle to the Hebrews, which declare that the rites and ceremonies of the Mosaic institute serve unto the example and shadows of heavenly things. This being so, the institutions of the ancient church of God are not obsolete and meaningless to us. Although their literal observance has ceased, still the profound and important truths of which they were the symbols survive—truths which shine forth unveiled in the clearer revelation of the gospel. These ancient symbols claim our careful study still; for they are helps to faith now, and serve to illustrate and enforce those didactic truths of the NewTestament which, through the feebleness of our spiritual perceptions, often fail to impress us as they should.
Our attention is directed by the text to the altar of incense placed in the tabernacle which Moses constructed under the immediate direction of God.
The tabernacle was designed to be the local habitation of God, to bring him near to his covenant people, and to keep up a direct intercourse between him and them.
Through it God condescended to help the natural weakness of the human mind. In dealing with divine and spiritual things, the soul universally feels the need of help. It is lost in the infinity of God’s nature. It longs for some definite apprehension of him, some nearer fellowship than it can enjoy in the conception of the great unseen and distant Jehovah. The pathetic desire of Job finds a deep response in every thoughtful soul: “Oh that I knew where I might find him, that I might come even to his seat.”
The gospel dispensation satisfies this craving for some visible link to conduct ourthoughts to God, by exhibiting to us God manifest in the flesh—the divine Word dwelling among us. But before Christ came no such aid appeared. God however gave to his ancient church the tabernacle, where he would dwell; thus bringing distinctly to their minds his presence in the midst of them. Here lies the spiritual significance of that sacred structure. It was God’s dwelling-place among the people. It brought God near to them, holding converse with them, and approachable by them.
This sacred structure consisted of two distinct parts: the inner chamber, called the holy of holies, where Jehovah dwelt. There was the ark of the covenant, upon which rested the mercy-seat, and over which hovered the two cherubim with extended wings. There the shechinah abode, the strange, unearthly sign of Jehovah’s presence.
This hallowed apartment was hidden from the public gaze. No creature footstep dared to cross its threshold, save the high-priest, and he but once a year, on the great day of atonement. God indeed dwelt among hispeople, but it was in awful, mysterious, solitary grandeur, which allowed no rude familiarity, no irreverent approach.
The second apartment of the tabernacle was called the holy place, where the priests and Levites daily ministered; the furniture of which was the altar of incense, the table of show-bread, and the golden candlestick with its seven lamps. The vail separated this part from the holy of holies. Here the people appeared only by their representatives in the priestly office.
Surrounding the entire structure was the court, enclosed by curtains, where the Israelites assembled and brought their sacrificial offerings. In this court stood the altar of burnt-offerings. Here was the spot where the blood of the bullocks and of rams was shed; where the altar fires blazed; where the robed and mitred priest gathered the blood with which he entered the holy place. Here the penitents confessed their sins and sought for pardon. Here the grand scene was enacted which proclaimed continually that without the shedding of blood there was no remission.
Bear in mind this description of the several parts of the tabernacle and their design, while we approach immediately toTHE ALTAR OF INCENSEand study the deep spiritual significancy which surrounds it.
Observe, that connected with this sacred structure there are but two altars.
The first one that confronts us when we would approach where God is, is the “altar of burnt-offerings,” in the outer court. We gaze here upon the bloody sacrifices. Here are the touching scenes of suffering and death. Here are the types of the great atonement made in the passion and death of Jesus Christ. Here we are taught that if we would attempt to reach God’s presence, we must first of all come to the blood of Christ. We must stand by the altar of burnt-offering. We must find the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world. There was no way into the holy of holies of the tabernacle but by that altar. There is now no way to God but through a dying Saviour.
Within and beyond this altar, in the holy place, stood the second altar, the altar ofincense. What was the spiritual significance of this altar? On it no victims were slain, no blood was shed; but the priests daily burnt upon it incense, a preparation of pure frankincense and other sweet spices, which yielded a fragrant and refreshing odor.
The symbolical meaning of this incense-offering is plainly given us in the Scriptures. It is not propitiation or atonement; that is made already in the outer court; but it is the pure devotion of the saints—the prayers, intercessions, and worship of God’s true people. Thus David says, in the 141st Psalm, “Let my prayer be set forth before thee as incense, and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.” Here is a direct reference to the priests’ burning incense on the altar every evening at the time of sacrifice, when they entered the holy place to light the lamps of the golden candlestick.
The prophet Malachi also describes the pure worship of the universal church of God by the same symbol: “For from the rising of the sun, even unto the going down of the same, my name shall be great among theGentiles: and in every place incense shall be offered unto my name, and a pure offering; for my name shall be great among the heathen, saith the Lord of hosts.” Again, in Luke 1:10, we read that when Zacharias the priest went into the temple to burn incense, the whole multitude of the people were praying without at the time of incense; that is, while they stood in the outer court and worshipped, the incense was burning in the holy place before the vail. But more impressive still is the scene which John witnessed in his vision of the heavenly world: “And another angel came and stood at the altar, having a golden censer: and there was given unto him much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all the saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne. And the smoke of the incense which came up with the prayers of the saints, ascended up before God out of the angel’s hand.” In chapter five he declares that the golden vials full of odors are the prayers of saints.
In these Scripture passages we have a clear explanation of this altar of incensestanding in the holy place. The offering made upon it is not of blood; it is the fragrant breath of flowers, the odor of beauteous plants, exhaling their sweet and ravishing perfume from their own inner life, and filling the holy place with a refreshing vapor most delightful to the sense. This is God’s chosen figure of the devotions and prayers of true believing hearts who approach near to him. These offerings of the heart are sweet to Jehovah as the balmy fragrance of choicest flowers. They are the soul’s exhalations, the breathings of its spiritual life, the fervent aspirations of the renewed and sanctified spirit, as delightful to God as are the sweetest odors of the rarest plants and spices to the bodily sense.
Oh what a view do we get of God while we crowd around this incense altar. Now we can pray in earnest; now we can offer him our best and holiest affections; now we pour out our thanksgivings and confessions; for our worship rolls heavenward like the fragrant cloud of burning incense, and God above is pleased to accept it and to bless it.
But let us be careful what we call worship. Let us not forget that the incense of our prayers and devotion derives its perfume directly from the intercession of Christ, who, as our high-priest, has gone into the holiest before us with his blood. Without a living faith in him, a vital union with him, so that he intercedes not onlyfor, butinus by his Holy Spirit, we cannot stand before this altar.
We have no incense. If there be any excellency in our prayers, or purity in our devotions, to insure their acceptance, it is because of his Spirit making intercession for us. We burn our incense before the mercy-seat, and the cloud rolls heavenward from the altar; but whatever fragrance it bears is derived from the cloud already there, the incense of the Saviour’s intercession, with which it mingles and floats around the throne, breathing sweet odors before Jehovah’s face.
We are standing in the holy place. Let us examine well the incense we presume to offer, for says Jehovah, “Ye shall offer no strange incense thereon, nor burnt-sacrifice, nor meat-offering: neither shall ye pourdrink-offering thereon.” Special directions were given, and special care was taken for the preparation of this incense of the tabernacle. It was associated with the deepest sacredness. The people were forbidden to use it upon any common occasion; the priests alone could burn it upon the altar.
Is it in the power of language to teach us more impressively than this incense-altar does, that we should come with the utmost care and preparation to present to God our prayers and worship? Think not that any thing and every thing you may bring as incense will be accepted. Vain will be your lip-service; vain your cold, heartless offerings. Strange incense it is you profess to burn when the soul still harbors its evil passions, when pride and worldliness and sensuality are cherished there. There may be the bowed head, and the bent knee, and the solemn utterance of devotion; but God’s immediate eye is on you, and will detect the emptiness of all your service. Such service is a profanation of the holy place. Such incense only provokes the Most High to anger.Beware lest the fire you kindle to burn it with break forth upon you and consume you, for says Jehovah, “Ye shall offer no strange incense” upon my altar. What then must be the state of our hearts in order that we may bring a pure offering of incense before God? What is necessary to acceptable prayer and worship?
To answer this, come once more by the altar and examine its position. It stands in the holy place of the tabernacle. To reach it the worshipper must come through the outer court—must pass the altar of burnt-offering. There he learns that there is no access to God except by blood. There he learns of atonement through the sacrifice of Christ. There he stands as a sinner who needs an expiation. There he makes his confession, and lays his hand upon the head of the sacrificial victim. He can get to the incense-altar only after he has stood there and found a propitiation for his sins.
Learn then, that if you would assay to approach God, you must come first of all to the cross. You must find an atonement foryour sins through the Lamb of God. There is no other way of access to him but by faith in the blood of Jesus. Come first to Calvary, and gaze upon the great propitiation, the Victim dying amid the altar-fires of divine justice. Come as a sinner, for pardon and purification. Come with his blood sprinkled upon you, with faith in his merits only, or else you cannot gain access to God.
2. The altar of incense stood very near the holy of holies, the immediate dwelling-place of God. “And thou shalt put it before the vail that is by the ark of the testimony, before the mercy-seat that is over the testimony, where I will meet with thee.” To burn our incense upon this altar we must come very near to the mercy-seat, to the vail, to the holy of holies. Faith in the merits of a Redeemer emboldens us to take this place. It is most holy ground we stand on when we offer our praises and prayers upon this altar. We are close to God. The incense-cloud ascends, and penetrates the inner sanctuary. We gain a fellowship and communion with God. Faith brings us to cordial intimacywith God. Such is the nature of that acceptable worship which was so vividly symbolized by the burning incense in the holy place before the mercy-seat.
3. But it is worthy of remark that near as was this altar to the Shechinah and the cherubim, the vail still hung between. Near as we draw to God in prayer and worship, he is still invisible to sense. Christ, our great Intercessor, has entered within the vail. Our vision cannot follow him, whom not having seen we love. We cannot yet gaze upon the immediate glory; we cannot yet approach the throne. The vail hangs before us, and “we walk by faith, not by sight.” We stand with holy reverence, and bring the incense of our hearts upon the altar; but we dare not attempt to look within. Faith stops there, waiting at times to catch the whisperings of grace from off the mercy-seat, and to hear the rustling of the vail. “There will I meet with thee,” says God. There the true worshipper will hear the answers to his prayers; there will the soul find peace and blessedness.
Such are some of the great truths symbolicallytaught in this department of the Jewish tabernacle. Nor can it be said that the pious Israelites did not understand them. They read the impressive lessons; they saw the meaning of those rites; they looked beyond the outward and the sensible. I verily believe they had a quicker discernment of the deep spiritual meaning of God’s ancient ritual service than many so-called Christians who boast of gospel light and privileges. Yes; it might be well for many to go to school to Old Testament believers to revive their piety, to follow the ancient priest through the solemnities of the tabernacle service, and learn from the sweet singer of Israel the spirit of devotion.
What a view does this subject give us of what true worship is. It is the incense of the soul rising up to heaven like a perfumed cloud. It is near fellowship of the heart with God. The prayers and confessions, the supplications and thanksgivings of the saint bring him close to the mercy-seat. Nothing but the vail hangs between him and God. “There will I meet with thee,” saith Jehovah. This is the Old Testament view of true devotion. Oh howfar beyond the cold and distant formalism, the hackneyed routine of many Sabbath services of these New Testament times. Oh was not God nearer in thought to many a pious Jew standing in the tabernacle court, than he is to multitudes in our gospel sanctuaries, who gather there, not to meet with God and tremble and rejoice in his felt presence, but only to listen to a creature worm, and find entertainment in the eloquence of the preacher?
Again, how strait appears the way of access to God. How carefully must we approach him. Many seem to think that God is easily accessible, and that they can come to him at any time and in any way they please; that little or no preparation is needed to gain his favor; that the sinner in the hour of sudden alarm can cry for mercy and be saved; that the dying reprobate may mutter a prayer and go to heaven; that the heartless formalist may read his collects and please God; that no matter what may be the creed or life, God may be found whenever the sinner wishes for him; that all may seek and find him in the way they please, and one way is as good asanother. Such are the loose notions many entertain of gaining heaven.
But our subject scatters them like the chaff of the threshing-floor. The holy of holies, where God waits to meet with us, is not reached in any way we please. The heart’s incense must be carried within the holy place before it can be offered. There stands the only altar on which it can be burned. But to get there we must first find an atonement at the altar of burnt-offering in the outer court. There is no getting near to God but through the blood of Christ. There is no salvation in any other name. Only as a sinner, contrite and believing in a dying Jesus, can you find God. Go, stand by the cross: there, with deep repentance and humble faith, seek for an interest in the pardoning blood of the Son of God, and then may you pass through to the holy place, and pray and praise and worship. But without first coming to the atonement of Jesus Christ, all your pretended regard for God is mockery; your religious service is but strange incense, which God abhors.
Before we close, let us lift our eyes upward from these patterns of heavenly things to the heavenly things themselves. For in heaven, John tells us, he saw the golden altar, and the angel with the incense-censer before the throne. This incense-offering is the prayers of saints. In that world of blessedness the altar stands without the vail before the throne of God. There the redeemed worship face to face; there they gaze upon the Godhead, and cast their crowns at the feet of Jesus. Faith gives way to vision, and they behold the face of God in righteousness. Oh what a prospect lies before the saint. Are we preparing for such a service? Do we expect to join in the worship before the throne? How diligent should we be to cultivate a spirit of devotion while in this tabernacle below. Though we are now outside the vail, how should we strive by faith to meet with God, and find answers to our prayers. What a solemn hour should this be to us in the sanctuary, when we appear before the mercy-seat and offer the incense of our prayers and thanksgivings.
Eating under the Juniper-Tree.
ARISE AND EAT; BECAUSE THE JOURNEY IS TOO GREAT FOR THEE. 1Kings19:7.
These words, though originally spoken to the prophet of God under peculiar circumstances, may still have a meaning when applied to the believer. Though written aforetime, they were written for our instruction when we are brought into straits and trials.
They came to the prophet in one of the darkest hours of his ministry. Though he had gone through Samaria with signs and wonders, and though he had signally triumphed over the prophets of Baal, and had witnessed their destruction, still the reformation of the nation which he had looked for seemed further off than ever. All the miracles he had wrought, and all the teachings he had uttered, seemed to be worse than in vain; for now, instead of submission, there is nothing but exasperation, and the abandoned Jezebel swears vengeance upon the prophet. He despairs of theredemption of Israel, and turns his back in flight from Samaria. Without any special divine direction, he wanders over into the territories of Judah as far as Beersheba. But there is no rest for his troubled and dejected mind; and he flies from the haunts of men and plunges onward and onward into the wilderness towards Horeb, as though, in the savage wildness and solitude of nature, he would find sympathy with the desolation that reigned within him.
But night overtakes the wanderer, and he is forced to halt and lie down under the protection of a juniper-tree. There his troubled thoughts dwell upon the past, and he revolves in his mind the complete failure of his mission to Samaria, the miracles which he had wrought, and the vengeance which was pursuing him. All was lost. ’Twas useless to undertake to preach more or to labor more for that idolatrous people. Disappointment has crowned his every exertion, and not a ray of hope shines from the future, to call back the request of the Tishbite that he may die. In his despair and anguish he mutters, “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life.”
He sleeps. But one of the ministering spirits is at his side, in this hour of desperate extremity. The prophet, at his touch, starts up and eats. The gnawings of hunger being partially allayed, he again sinks down to sleep, till again the angel touches him, and bids him eat the more; for he is not to die yet. He has not yet done his work; he must tread the wild crags of Horeb, and back to Ahab and Samaria, once more. “Arise and eat; for the journey is too great for thee.”
We must have a poor faculty of apprehending spiritual lessons, if we allow this narrative to pass without some practical instruction.
We do not tax our imagination severely in order to see, in the person of Elijah, a representation of the child of God in seasons of depression and despair. Not unfrequently is he brought into the position of the prophet. Not at all times is he privileged to stand upon Zion, and to rejoice in hope. But a thousand circumstances in life conspire to disappoint his hopes and becloud his prospects, till he flees from his post, and is found far away under the juniper-tree in the wilderness.
When the sanguine expectations which he indulged at the beginning of his discipleship, become one by one disappointed; when he finds that Christian experience is a far different affair from what he had conceived of; when straits and trials spring up around him at every turn of life, such as he had not counted on, and the work of grace in his heart seems, after all, to amount to nothing; when new and unlooked-for symptoms of corruption are daily brought to light, and the ardor of his first love is dampened by the checks and crosses that thicken around him—when thus his early dreams are dissipated, and his heart feels a sickness and a faintness come over it, do you not see that he is in the wilderness? Oh who has not sickened at the slow work of grace within him? Who has not marked the sad contrast between what he once said he would be, and what he is; and who has not felt the harassments of doubt and the vanity of his own strugglings, till he despaired of success, and fled like the prophet to the wilderness?
And then ofttimes the little good which the Christian accomplishes in the world is enoughto drive him to dejection. The Tishbite fled because he saw no good from all his labors. Doubtless he had expected that, with the support of miracles, he should soon have worked a reformation in Israel. But though at his word the heavens had been shut up, and though at his prayer the fire of God had descended to attest his mission, still the whole outlay of means seemed to end in nothing. His expectations had not been met; and under the burden of the keenest mortification, the most hopeless dejection, he lies down by the juniper-tree and prays for death. Have you never lain there with him, Christian?
When cast down in spirit, in view of your personal infirmities, you have asked for the good you have done in the world around you; when your efforts for Christ seem all to prove abortive; when your kindly warnings are disregarded, and in spite of your prayers and solicitude, iniquity abounds, and none turn to the Lord; when the more you strive for the Redeemer, the more your good is evil spoken of; when the wicked around you seem growing worse and worse, and disappointment andunbelief becloud your heart, and you see no hope, and the wilderness is around you—Oh, when thus the heart droops, do you not feel that you are in the wilderness? ’Tis indeed a dreary situation. But in life’s pilgrimage, the Christian sometimes journeys that way. He has his hours of sadness, of heart-sickness, of deep despondency and dejection, of bitterness which a stranger intermeddleth not with. He is at times left to experience the burdens of life, the faintings of faith and hope—to feel that notwithstanding his long trial of the Christian life, all is jeoparded, and that nothing remains for him but to cast himself down with the fugitive prophet under the juniper-tree, and say, “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life.”
But what we would observe is this: that the Saviour has provisions for his children however desolate may be their condition. It was in this dreary extremity of the prophet, that God revealed unto him his presence. Worn out with hunger and fatigue, despairing of hope, and feeling even life itself to be a burden, the fugitive drops to sleep. Andnow God, by a miracle, comes to his rescue. A cake baken on the coals is beside him, and the cruse of water, to refresh him and keep him from destruction. Here God came to his prophet and revived his confidence. Here he gives him a token that he has not given him up, but sends his Angel to rouse him from his dejection and bid him eat.
Not to the prophet alone has God manifested his presence and aid, but to all his dear children as they sit and sigh under the tree where the prophet slept. Not that, when we are cast down and desolate, we actually feel a hand touching us, and see before us the cruse of water and the cake upon the coals; but we find the same deliverance, and the rustic table is virtually set before us and served by a spirit hand. In the appointed means of grace we find the aliment that sustains our souls. The divine ordinances seem to us more precious than ever while we sit under the juniper-tree. In the sweet promises of the word of God, in the dawn of Sabbath hours, in the tender and timely lessons of the sanctuary, in the Bethel seasons of prayer, in these meansafforded to us, we find the cruse of water and the cake that will refresh us. We may lightly esteem them in a time of ease and plenty; we may think little of a cruse of water and a cake when we repose in abundance; but in the wilderness, when hunger and faintness come over us, and the juniper boughs are our only covering, then they are as sweet to us as to the weary Tishbite.
When spiritual famine is gnawing at our hearts, and all is desolate and forsaken around us; when sickness has prostrated us, or death has cut down our companions around us, till the world seems empty, and a hue of decay and death tinges all the objects which we look at; when darkness and disappointment and disaster all weigh upon our spirits, and God is all that is left to us—how should we live were it not for the cake and the water cruse? How do we grasp the very means which we before had too often slighted.
We call up the neglected promises, and there is life in them. Our troubled thoughts find vent in earnest prayer; and whether we lie stretched on the bed of languishing, orwrestle in the closet, or meditate in the sanctuary, we find the water cruse is beside us, and we are kept from fainting. Oh, it is when, under the load of crushing sorrow and dejection, the wanderer sinks down by the shrub of the desert, it is then he prizes the cruse and the cake. Many of you, I doubt not, were you to call to mind the season when you valued most the presence of the Master, when you wrestled nearest the mercy-seat and experienced the most surprising deliverances, would point to the days of sore trial and weariness, when you gave up all hope, and when, turned out from the world, you sat alone and sighed under the juniper and waited for death. There you fed upon the bread of life. And though you felt that you were pilgrims in the desert, you still felt that you were not forsaken.
But, brethren, we need not only the provisions made for us in the means of grace, but we need also a friendly hand to help us to partake of them. We need our attention called to them with a voice that can reach the inner ear; for too often, with all our distressand dejection, there comes also a lethargy and insensibility which, if unbroken, must at last prove fatal. The care-worn prophet, with all his wretchedness and despair, still reclined his head and slept. Hungry and weak and way-worn, a drowsiness nevertheless came over him, and he must needs be aroused if he was to be strengthened. The cake is there, and the cruse of water is there, and the coals are glowing, but the pilgrim heeds them not. What a figure is this of the complaining and dejected Christian who is starving for the spiritual food that is beside him, and at the same time sleeping in his sorrow. Despondency and unbelief have so paralyzed his heart that he takes no nourishment, even though the promises and the Sabbath and the sanctuary are before him; but they are dead to him, they are useless to us all, so long as we sleep on.
But beside the man of God, as he lay and slept under the juniper-tree, there was not only the cake and the water cruse, but the Angel too. And here, in the touch and the call of the Angel, methinks I discover a mostbeautiful emblem of the Holy Spirit standing by the means of grace, and bidding the believer “arise and eat.” The presence of that ministering spirit was necessary to the prophet’s preservation. Without his friendly touch, he would doubtless have slept on, and death closed the scene ere the day dawned, and the cruse of water and the cake have been in vain.
Thus too we need a present Spirit to rouse us to partake of the blessings that are brought to us; for though we may complain of want, we are too indifferent to the supplies afforded us. Though we feel that we are pilgrims in the desert, though we sigh and faint by the juniper boughs, we sleep there too. Our eyes are heavy, and we do not see the water cruse, though it is at our side. We do not appreciate our privileges, nor draw nourishment from them. They may all be at hand—the Sabbath with its sacredness, the Bible with its promises, the sanctuary with its lessons, the mercy-seat with its covenant—but not till the Holy Ghost shall bid you arise and eat, will these means avail you aught.
That Spirit is sent out to accompany the means of grace. He bids you arise and eat. He comes to rouse you from your slumbers. He comes to stop your murmurs. He comes to point you to the provisions at your side, and bid you rise and eat. Eat of these means of grace; use them to revive your fainting spirit, to increase your strength. Though you may have used them many a time before, still you are called upon to eat and eat again. The Spirit and the bride say, Come.
We would second the Spirit’s voice, and call to you in the wilderness to arise and eat. It becomes you to-day to heed the call. There is reason for the Spirit’s rousing you, for you are yet away from home, and the journey is too great for you. Perhaps you may feel no pressing need. Perhaps, like the Tishbite, you have tasted a little, and you would lie down to sleep. But the prophet knew not what was before him, as the Angel did; and hence he is again aroused with the warning, “The journey is too great for thee.” Christian, you know not what awaits you. You need these ordinances. You need this Lord’s tablespread before you. You need these means of grace, for you are in the wilderness, and the desert must be crossed. Your strength and patience will be sorely tried, and your provisions will be short. Arise and eat, for you will have no other supply but this. You must take up with a pilgrim’s fare. The remainder of life’s journey is before you, and it will be too great for you unless you prepare in time.
You may stand aloof from this our table, and despise our humble ministrations as though they were not good enough for you. We do not pretend that our supper is equal to the one above. We can give you but travellers’ fare, but such as it is it will sustain you on your journey. Our entertainment to-day is as simple as the prophet’s rude meal which he ate beneath the juniper-tree; but remember, that but for that water cruse and baken cake he would have perished in the lonely solitudes. And we lay as high a claim for the gospel institutions to-day. Without them you must faint and die. Underrate them as you will, God has appointed them to sustain hischildren in the desert. Your neglect of them will be followed by exhaustion, for “the journey is too great for thee.”
We cannot indeed anticipate the circumstantial history of any one of you. We cannot trace out in the wild desert sands the pathway over which each one of you must wander. No, we cannot discover where one of us will be to-morrow. Our experiences may be far different from each other. We shall each have our peculiar difficulties, and no two of us will travel with the same footstep and the same burden.
But though we cannot tell the future to a single one of you, though we cannot calculate your reckoning at all, still we can assure you that “the journey is too great for you.” We shall all of us need the cruse of water and the cake ere we get through, for we have no abiding place here. There will doubtless be many days when this world will look more desolate than ever, days of temptation and of conflict. The adversary will doubtless harass your wanderings, and hedge up your way; you must yet fight “the world, the flesh, and the devil.”
Again and again will you be obliged to retrace your wayward steps, and water your path with the tears of bitter repentance and regrets. Again and again will the world so bedim your eyesight and bewilder your thoughts that you shall have lost sight of heaven and plunged in its vanities. And the heart-work too is not yet all done. You must yet keep up the warfare with corruption. You must yet keep up the struggle of grace and fight the fight of faith.
“The journey is too great for you.” There may be years of conflict yet before you. There may be fiery trials in reserve. Light as may seem the enterprise now, you will find it great enough before you get to heaven. ’Twill seem great when sorrow and disappointment shall gather round us, and when the hours of fierce temptation give way only to the hours of deepest darkness; ’twill seem long when the cross seems ever to stand by the roadside, and when year after year we get no clearer views of heaven, our home.
Great is the journey; and we shall feel it so when onward and onward we travel, andour companions one by one drop at our side, till we are left to tread our way alone. ’Twill be great when the dependencies of life fail, and the calamities of life shall thicken around us. When the hopes of earth shall wither, and the friendships of earth shall vanish; when the past shall appear as vanity, and the heart shall recoil from the future; when fathers and mothers, and brothers and sisters, and all the loved ones of our early days, shall have vanished from our sight, and no long familiar voice shall speak to us in the solitudes of earth’s wilderness; then, as we stagger on, with our staff trembling in our hand, shall we feel that the journey is too great for us.
You may say that it will be short to some of us; that even now the sandals are loosening and the city is coming nearer. Yes, some of us will not journey long. But short as may be that journey, it is too great for you. For remember how it winds up with the death-groan, the faintness, the weakness, the sinking, the dimness, the muffled farewell. Great journey this through the dark valley and through the wild surges—too greatfor us. Wecannot explore the pathway; ’tis dark and dubious. We have seen multitudes set foot upon it, and they all turned pale. The pilgrims have not come back to us to tell us of it, but we know enough about it to know that the journey is “too great for us.”
Yet, brethren, we are all hurrying thitherward. Are we strong enough? What shall sustain us in the desert? Behold, God has supplied us with his gifts. Behold, ye who are desponding, ye who are wayworn, ye who are despairing beneath the juniper-tree, the cruse of water is beside you. Rise and eat, for the journey is too great for you. Oh, who of us will not gladly come?
What should we do without these blessed ordinances and precious privileges? To-day the Master spreads our table in the wilderness. Once more he would refresh our hearts and lend vigor to our graces. He meets us with the tokens of his love. Come, beloved, and meet the Master. Come from your murmurings at the waters of Meribah. Come from your drowsiness and despondency beneath the juniper. Arise and eat, for the wilderness isyet before you. Take the cruse of water and the cake to-day, for it may be long before you have another opportunity. Supplies in the desert are at best precarious; and so uncertain is our pilgrimage, that we know not that we shall meet again.
Have we full strength for the onward advancement? Would not a look at the Master profit us? Would not a friendly seat by the side of our fellow-pilgrims, and a kind look and a mutual, fervent prayer encourage us? Or are we equal to the journey without all this? Beware, my Christian friend, how you neglect the gospel means which are given you. Beware how you turn a cold shoulder to the simple cruse of water which God sends down to you, for he tells you that the journey is too great for you.
The Other Side.
LET US PASS OVER UNTO THE OTHER SIDE.Mark4:35.
The facts and incidents in the history of our blessed Lord which the Holy Ghost has seen fit to preserve and hand down to us through the evangelists, furnish us materials for instruction and profitable meditation. The gospel is not all didactic; nor need the religious discourse be wholly such. It is well at times to omit the carefully framed propositions of a systematic theology, and dwell upon the simple narratives of the New Testament not merely as naked facts, but as pleasing allegories, or reflections of spiritual things. May we not read this narrative with such a purpose? As we follow the disciples in their night expedition across the sea of Galilee, may we not have suggested to our minds the Christian’s course through the voyage of life towards the distant, unseen shore of eternity? Let us carry this idea with us while we study theparts of this simple, but graphic narrative of the evangelist.
1. It wasat the call and command of Christthe disciples embarked upon their expedition. “Let us pass over unto the other side.” There is no intimation that they had planned the journey, or had thought of leaving Capernaum before; but they took their departure solely in obedience to the direction of their Master. They acknowledged his authority; they trusted in his wisdom. Their faith and confidence in him prompted them to do his bidding; and without questioning the reasons of his orders, they at once loosed from the harbor and set their sails, outward bound, for the other side.
It is even so with the believer when he forsakes the world of sin and vanity, and sets out on a Christian life. He hears a call from God, like that which Abraham heard when he left his country and his kinsmen for another land which God would show him. The invitations and commands of Christ prompt him to give up the world. Were it not for such a call he would live and die in his natural stateof sin. No inward promptings of his own; no feelings of dissatisfaction with his present condition; no mere natural longings and aspirations, however deep felt, would move him to an earnest outlook beyond the present vanity, and to a heartfelt separation from the seen and the temporal which is around him. But when the external call of the gospel is attended by the internal call of the Holy Spirit, he feels a quickening power; he hears and obeys the divine command. Faith in the Redeemer leads him to obedience. He quits the world; he tears himself away from its deceitful charms, and consents to follow Christ.
2. I speak of their destination as expressed in the command of the Master. It was, “The other side.” They set sail, not for a short excursion along the coast, or an evening trip off from the mainland, and then to return; but across the sea to another country and a different shore. The words of the Master point onward, onward beyond the billows to the far-off land. To “the other side” is the sailing order by which the disciples set their helm and trim their sail; to “the other side”they point while they loose from their moorings at Capernaum, and say good-by to the fishermen left behind upon the beach.
And is there not another side to our existence than the one we are now on? Is there not some shining shore beyond this one—beyond the billows, beyond the cloud-banks; something, if not discernible by our sense vision, at least discoverable by faith?
This sideis familiar enough to us. We have trodden it and explored it; we know its features—a state of sin and disappointment, of temptations and illusions, a thousand vanities and shams; life ofttimes seeming a chaos of contradictions, pleasures glittering, syrens singing, sorrows brooding, hopes decaying.
“This side” where we are is a strange side, a dim, dubious shore, where tides ebb and flow we know not how; where the mirage plays upon our vision, and fills the atmosphere with phantoms which seem to us realities; where we seek for happiness in vain, till death removes us from the fitful, toilsome scene.
But is this all? Is there not another side,a different state, a better life to look to? The Christian who has heard the call of Christ has learned of another side than this one, another life besides the present. The call of Christ to him is tothe other side. It directs him not to the things seen and temporal, but to the unseen and eternal. It points him far over the sea of life to the distant shore, the other and the better country. This is the Christian’s destination. For this he sails when he cuts loose from the world of sense and sin. Faith catches glimpses of its glories; for it is “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” For this he lives in expectation; for this he parts with sinful pleasures, and waits with patience till it comes. So long as he hears the Saviour’s voice saying, “To yonder shore,” he can content himself with being a stranger here. Oh it is this “looking for a better country” that sustains him in temptations now. How cheering is the prospect!
When, Christian, you are troubled on every side here, how refreshing the Master’s words, To “the other side.” Yes; the pious heart often exclaims, Blessed be God, thereis the other side, far different from this side; a future unlike the present; a heavenly land, whose scenery and surroundings are not those of earth. That other side is what you live for, Christian. Oh forget it not when tempted here; remember it, my brother voyager, when you hear the music along these shores of time, and would steer towards the havens of carnal ease and lie becalmed among the spice islands of worldly indolence and pleasure; remember, when the Saviour called you to a Christian life, he pointed far away and said, To “the other side.”
3. The time of their departure. “When the even was come, Jesus said unto them, Let us pass over unto the other side.” The din and turmoil of the day were past; shadows thickened; the world was growing dark; the curtain of night was silently overspreading the land and the sea: it was time to embark for the other side. And is not this suggestive of the circumstances under which the Christian enters upon a Christian life and sets out for heaven?
Oh if the present life had no shadows, weshould never look beyond it; if this side was always bright, we should care little for the other. But it is a part of our heavenly Father’s discipline, to visit us with trials and disappointments to wean us from this world. Ofttimes the sun of our prosperity goes suddenly down at noon; worldly plans miscarry; sickness preys upon us; friends die, and families are broken up; the world don’t seem so bright as it used to be: this side gathers gloom and shadows. Then it is the soul is more open to the call of Christ; then it is, often, that the sinner is brought to forsake the world, and obey the voice of the Master saying, “Pass over unto the other side.” It is at evening, when this world is growing dark, that the believer obeys the command of Christ, tears himself away from his sinful lusts with bitter, repenting tears, and exchanging sight for faith, embarks on his voyage to the distant heavenly shore.
It is evening; for although there be no temporal calamities sore pressing you when you become a Christian, it is still a time when the world has lost its sunlight to your soul,and when eternal things have flung their shadows over the heart and made every thing on these shores of time look dim and fading. Then we are ready for Christ. Then, when conscience is aroused, and the overhanging clouds of divine justice darken this side and alarm us, then we set out for heaven, and heed the invitation of the Saviour which beckons us to the other side. It is at such a time the believer enters on a Christian life.
4. We follow him on his voyage to the other side, and notice the important fact thatChrist’s presenceis with his people through all their way. Standing on the seaside at Capernaum, he sent not the disciples away alone. His word to them was not, “Go yonder;” but stepping on board their vessel, he says, “Letuspass over unto the other side.” He himself will share their fortunes; he will go with them; though night be setting in, and dangers hover on the deep, they shall not go alone. No more shall the Christian. “Lo, I am with you always,” is the blessed assurance of his Saviour. The presence of Christ is the great source of a Christian life.
This is all the saint can depend upon; this is what the gospel promises to him. Christ is said to dwell in his disciples—to abide with them. His divine influences are their only guarantee of safety. As well might the mariner be far at sea in a night of tempests, without helm or chart or compass, as the Christian attempt to navigate the troubled waters of life without the Saviour with him.
Better notattemptthe voyage than start out alone for the other side. If you would leave these shores of sin and worldliness at all, see to it, first of all, that Jesus is with you in the ship, and that it ishisvoice alone you hear, as you set sail, saying, “Let us pass over unto the other side.”
Once more, in the night voyage of the disciples over the sea of Galilee I see shadowed forth the changing phases of a Christian life. As they cast off from Capernaum, the evening breezes gently pressed their sails; the silvery ripples murmured on the shore; their little ship moved smoothly out at sea. The disciples sit in the cool evening air on deck, and watch the stars which, one by one, lightup the vault above them as the shadows deepen and the shores grow dim. They have hardly missed their Master. They scarcely noticed that he had retired from their presence. But as the night wore on, alarmed at the dangers which surrounded them, the affrighted disciples look around for their absent Lord; and finding him asleep, they waken him with their cries for help. The Saviour, calmly rising from his pillow, looks out upon the angry elements, and speaks the word of power: “Peace, be still.” And the mad winds cease their roar, and the wild waves lie down to rest.