The subject of future punishment is one the consideration of which gives mental pain. We naturally shrink from it, would prefer to leave it alone, and to think, as we say, of something else.
But the question won't leave us alone, and we must think about it. It forces itself on our notice, and that, too, in our most thoughtful and sober moments. We cannot read the Scriptures without the dark vision passing before our eyes with more or less gloom. Conscience whispers to us about it. It recurs to our thoughts amidst the penitential confessions and earnest prayers of public worship. The theme is constantly discussed in works and periodicals widely read, and not even professedly theological.
There are few, we presume, who will assert that every man, whatever his character may be when he leaves the world, shall after death immediately pass into glory, and be received into fellowship with God and His saints. With such a belief earnestly entertained, suicide would cease to be an evidence of insanity, and murder would become philanthropy.
Most men are prepared rather to believe, apart altogether from any Scripture statements on this momentous subject, that punishment of some kind or other must be awarded to crime at last, and in some degree proportionate to the character of the criminal,—that somewhere or other, by some means or other, not yet discovered or revealed, reformation if at all possible must necessarily be effected in order that peace and happiness may be secured. Man's undying sense of righteousness, and whatoughtto be, is not satisfied by the prosperity which, in spite of every drawback, so frequently attends the most selfish and unprincipled villain to his grave. Like the Psalmist, we all are disposed to exclaim when contemplating such histories, "As for me, my feet were almost gone; my steps had well-nigh slipped. For I was envious at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. For there are no bands in their death, and their strength is firm; neither are they plagued like other men…. Their eyes stand out with fatness; they have more than their heart can wish…. And they say, How doth God know? and is there knowledge with the Most High?"
But when we open the Word of God, it is impossible for any honest man to deny, that whether its teaching be true or false, the fact of future punishment is an essential portion of what is taught. By no conceivable perversion of the words of Christ, so often repeated on this subject, and by no interpretation of His parables, can it be denied that it was His intention to give the very impression which the universal Church has received, that there is a "wrath to come," and a state of being which to some is "cursed," and so very dreadful that, with reference to one of His own disciples, who is called "the son of perdition," the Saviour said that it would have "been good for that man had he never been born."
I must presume that this general statement regarding the teaching of Christ himself, not to speak of that of His apostles, requires no proof to any one who has ever read the Gospels. Punishment of some kind awaits the wicked after death. Yet if this much is admitted, we have surely already reached a conclusion which ought to fill with the most solemn awe the mind of every man who has any reverence for the Divine authority of Jesus Christ; or who even believes that He who represented Himself as saying, "Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels,"—"Depart from me, I know you not, all ye workers of iniquity," and who narrated such a parable as that of the rich man and Lazarus, was one incapable of all exaggeration or evil passion, and one who possessed the only perfect love which was ever manifested in humanity. The apostles, who express in language as strong and unhesitating the certainty and dread nature of future punishment, were men also who, more than any who have ever lived, loved their fellow-men, wept like their Divine Master for their sins, and devoted their lives, with untiring unselfishness, to rescue them from present evil and future woe. Now, if this be so far a true, if not a full, representation of the teaching of Christ and His apostles on this momentous theme, I may be permitted to put two questions of a practical and personal kind to my reader. One is,—Whether the knowledge of the character, apart from the authority, of Jesus and His apostles, who spoke in such language of the future history of some men in another world, ought not to make us pause with becoming self-distrust and reverence, if disposed to exclaim against the possibility of so terrible an ending as a thing "unjust," "revengeful," and "revolting to benevolence?" Who are we, what have we been, or what have we done for our fellow-men, that we should thus presume to have a more tender regard for their well-being than the Lord Jesus Christ or His apostles had, and to be incapable of entertaining or of uttering such "harsh thoughts" as they did about their future state?
The other question which I would humbly suggest for consideration is this:—What is your real belief in reference to man's future state? Have you any faith in our Lord's teaching? Any firm practical conviction in the fact of future punishment? After you have made every possible deduction from the weight of Scripture testimony, and explained away every metaphor, parable, and dogmatic statement to the lowest possible point short of absolute denial of their truth in any fair sense of their meaning,—may I beg of you to consider what, or how much, remains to be firmly believed as the truth of God? For it does appear to me that there exists a wide-spread callousness and indifference, an ease of mind, with reference to the fate hereafter of ungodly men, which cannot be accounted for except on the supposition that all earnest faith is lost in either the dread possibilities of future sin or of its future punishment. Men seem to have made up their minds that they have nothing to fear in the next world, whatever they believe, whatever they are, or whatever they do in this. We are, verily, not incapable of experiencing fear, but in a vast number of cases we are great cowards, in spite of all our bravery,—cowards when there is nothing actually present to alarm us; and each one of us seeks to his very utmost to keep danger or suffering far away from himself or from those he loves. Accordingly, the possible or near approach of mere bodily pain, or of domestic sorrow, or the anticipated loss of money—not to speak of such horrors as public disgrace from loss of character, imprisonment, transportation as a felon, or execution as a criminal—would induce thoughtfulness, anxiety, wretchedness. Yet, strange to say, the very same persons who would tremble for such calamities as these, treat with indifference a coming punishment, which cannot, even in their own estimation, be less terrible, and which, as sure as Christ's words are true, they may themselves, because of their present character, be liable at any hour to enter upon and endure.
But many of those readers, who, up to this point, may heartily sympathise with me in my feeble efforts to quicken a more earnest thoughtfulness on this subject, will be disposed to avoid its further consideration. I would not blame them for so feeling. God knoweth I have no wish to "dogmatise" on this subject, but to approach it with real sympathy for the difficulties, the pains, the perplexities, which the noblest, the truest, and the most reverential have experienced when they have attempted really to believe in it What chiefly induces me to submit a few thoughts upon a theme so solemn, is the "dogmatism" and unworthy views of God which are attributed to all of us who cannot discover sunrise beyond the gloom; and the conviction also that a more thorough belief in the clanger of sin, as well as its inherent vileness, and a wholesome "terror of the Lord," would tend to "persuade men" to entertain with more earnestness the deliverance promised in the gospel.
The idea which many have formed of punishment is that of a mere arbitrary annexation of a certain amount of suffering in the next world to a certain amount of crime committed in this—so many stripes for so many sins; and, as if obvious injustice were inflicted on men, by threatening them with coming woe for present wickedness, they exclaim, "Surely such sins as these do not deserve such punishment as that!" But if sin itself, by an eternal moral necessity, carries with it its own punishment, even as the shadow accompanies the substance, then the real question in regard to the possible ending of future suffering is merged in the deeper one of the possible ending of future sin. And if so, what evidence have we from any one source to inspire the hope, that the man who enters the next world loving sin, and therefore suffering punishment as its necessary result, will ever cease to sin, and thereby cease to suffer? It must, remember, be admitted as an indisputable fact, that life eternal can only co-exist with a right state of the soul. "Thisislife eternal, to know thee and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent." Up to the moment in which the spirit turns with filial confidence and obedience to God, there cannot be a cessation either in the curse that must rest upon enmity and disobedience, or in the pain which must be produced by so terrible a malady. Some time or other, be it near or remote, in one year or in a million, there must be repentance in the sinner, a turning awayfromsin andtoGod, as the only possible means of bridging over the otherwise impassable gulf that separates the bad from the good, or hell from heaven. There is no salvation for man but from sin; there is no restoration for him but to love.
But if this change in the sinner is not accomplished in this world, what evidence have we that it can be accomplished in any place of even limited punishment? In what conceivable way, we ask with deepest awe, is a moral and responsible being, who ends this life and begins another at enmity to God, rejecting Christ, disbelieving the gospel, dead in trespasses and in sins, hateful and hating, selfish and vile,—in what way is he to be made holy after death, and before entering heaven, by a temporary discipline of mere suffering?
We are here considering the possible future of one only who knows the gospel of the grace of God, and we ask, what advantages will such an one possess elsewhere for the attainment of piety that are denied him here? If all that God has done to gain his heart has so far failed up till the hour of his death, that he is morally unfit by his habits or even desires for the society of God and His people, what appliances can we conceive of more likely to influence the will and gain the affections in a prison-house set apart for the reformation of the impenitent? Can the sinner expect to meet, in this supposed place of punishment and consequent reformation, more loving friends to win him by such solemn counsels and tender ministrations as earth did not afford? Does he anticipate daily returning mercies and sources of enjoyment more rich and varied than those possessed here, in order to bring him back to God? Will he possess a healthier body, a happier home, holier society, a more beauteous world with fairer skies and brighter landscapes, or any of those innumerable blessings which have such a tendency to tame and soften the rudest nature? Shall means of grace be afforded more powerfully calculated to enlighten the mind, convince the understanding, influence the will, or draw the affections of the heart towards God? Shall Sabbaths of more peaceful rest dawn upon the troubled heart, or sacraments of more healing virtue be administered? Can retreats be secured where God's Word may be read and prayer enjoyed with more undisturbed repose? Will the gospel be preached more faithfully, and a people be found more loving and pious to assemble for public or private worship? Can a Saviour be offered more able or willing to save, and the Spirit of God be poured down upon the burning soil in more plenteous or life-giving pentecostal showers? Is this how men picture to themselves the place in which they expect to atone for past sins by limited suffering? Impossible! They are thinking of a world better and more glorious than the present;—not of a hell, but of a heaven!
Even if such a place were prepared for the impenitent and wicked, what conceivable security is there that a new mind and spirit would be the necessary result of those new and enlarged benefactions? We must assume that the power of sinning remains, otherwise man's responsibility would cease, and punishment thereby become mere cruelty. If sin is thus possible, then why may not the sinner indulge there in the same selfishness, disobedience, and rebellion which characterised him here? Why may it not be with him as with many a man who loves sin in the low haunts of profligacy and crime, but loves it not the less when brought into circumstances of greater comfort and among society of greater godliness? But should it be otherwise, and the supposed place of future punishment have none of those advantages,—and we are forced by the necessity of the case to assume their absence, at least for a limited period, and to admit, in some form or other, the presence of a dread and mysterious sorrow,—we ask again, on what grounds is it concluded that this anticipated punishment shall itself possess a healing virtue to produce, some time or other, that love to God which, up till the hour of death, has never been produced in the sinner? Men attach, perhaps, some omnipotent power to mere suffering, and imagine that if hatred to sin and love to God are all that is needed, then a short experience of the terrific consequences of a godless past must insure a godly future. Why do they think so? This is not the effect which mere punishment generally produces on human character. Its tendency is not to soften, but to harden the heart,—to fill it not with love, but with enmity. It cannot fail, indeed, to make the sufferer long for deliverance from the pain; but it does not follow that he thereby longs for deliverance from the sin which causes the pain, and for the possession of the good which alone can remove it. It is certainly not the case in this world, that bad men are always disposed to repent and turn to God in proportion as they suffer from their own wilfulness, and become poor from idleness, broken in health from dissipation, alienated from human hearts by their selfishness, or pass, with a constantly increasing anguish, through all the stages of outcasts from the family; dwellers among the profligate; companions in crime; occupiers of prisons; members of convict gangs, till the scaffold with its beam and drop ends the dreadful history. Such punishment as this, constantly dogging the crime which at first created it and ever preserves it, only makes the heart harder, fans the passions into a more volcanic fire, and possesses the soul with a more daring recklessness and wilder desperation. And arguing from this experience, to which men appeal, as if it was truer than the Word of God, what more special virtue will punishment have in the next world than in this? What tendency will there be in that long night of misery to inspire a man with the love of God, whose very character, and whose holy and righteous will, have annexed the suffering to the sin? If the sinner's character is not thereby reformed, and all the while he retains his responsibility,—as he must do on the assumption that reformation is possible,—and if he continues to choose sin with more diabolical hatred to the good, is it imagined that such a process as this, of continued sin accompanied by continued mental suffering, will at any period render him mere meet to enjoy the holiness of heaven than when he first departed from the world to enter upon his new and strange probation? Oh, the more we think of it, the darker does the history grow,—the faster does the descent of the evil spirit become, clown that pit which, from its very nature, seems to be bottomless! If means are discoverable there more suited to gain the end of moral regeneration than any which exist here, let them be pointed out. We have searched in vain to find them in the Word of God, or in the mind and history of man.
Making every allowance for the real difficulties which beset this question, and for the peculiar feelings, partly allowable, and largely the reverse, with which it is entertained, we have no doubt that many have been driven to the extreme of utter disbelief in the existence of any punishment by the bold and presumptuous manner in which they may have heard men consign all the heathen, and all Christendom, with the exception of a very few, to this awful doom. Infants even have not escaped the condemnation of some who, professing to have more orthodox faith than their neighbours, have really little or any faith at all in God, but utter mere words to which—in this case, fortunately for themselves—they attach no meaning. For if they did, what would life be to them, believing that it was possible for their babe, because of Adam's sin, to be cast for all eternity into literal fire? But while we have perfect confidence in the salvation of infants, and of many more, we dare not condemn any. The living God, who alone knows each man, may be dealing in ways beyond our comprehension with the most lonely savage, whose inmost spirit He ever sees, and who is of more awful value in His sight than all the stars of the sky.Howthe living and omniscient Spirit of God has access to the inner spirit of man, I neither know nor could perhaps understand if it were revealed; nor how He can teach that spirit without the gospel or the ordinary means of grace, so as to bring it under law to God. But when I saw a child (Laura Bridgman) who was born deaf, dumb, and blind, marvellously educated by the genius and wisdom of her remarkable instructor, I could not but feel how grand ends might be accomplished in the human soul by means which before this experience I would have pronounced as impossible;—and it suggested also to me how a poor heathen even, like that blind girl, might be really taught by another person, and be receiving light within, though for a time utterly ignorant of either the name, the character, or the purposes of the unseen and unheard teacher, who yet in his own way gradually was training his scholar for fellowship with God and man.[A] We ignorant and sinful men must confine our judgments as regards others to what is right or wrong in their actions, and that solely to guide ourselves in our personal duties towards God and one another. But as to deciding the eternal fate of any man, that, thank God! can be done only by Him to whom all men belong. When disposed to occupy the throne of the judge, and to scrutinise human character with a jealous regard for the righteousness of God, let us at once do so by summoning ourselves to the bar!
[Footnote A: As an illustration of this, see a remarkable account of a North American Indian, narrated by Brainerd in his Diary, date September 21, 1745.]
This, however, amidst all perplexities we may certainly rely upon with perfect confidence, that whatever is finally decided, and whatever punishment is finally awarded to any, will be in accordance with the perfect will of "God, whose name is love;" so that all the true and just, the good and loving in the universe, will, when they know all the grounds of His judgment, sympathise with their whole soul in His decisions, and see His glory revealed in them. We also know that there will be "a multitude greater than any man can number" in God's family; that they will be gathered "out of every nation, kindred, and tongue;" and this we may hope for, that the number of the lost may be to those who are saved fewer far than the number of those in penal settlements and prisons are to the inhabitants of a well-ordered and Christian kingdom.
But not only are our thoughts of future punishment naturally darkened into deepest gloom by the assumed multitudes of those who will suffer, but also by the nature of those sufferings which we also assume are to be assigned to them. We literally interpret all those images of unquenchable fire and the undying worm, borrowed from the constant conflagrations and corruptions of the offal and carcases of dead animals in the valley of Hinnom, (or Gaienna,) near Jerusalem, and also the obviously metaphorical language used in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, as if necessarily teaching that worms or fire would be employed to torture for all eternity the immortal bodies of the lost. But what if there is to be no such bodily pain? though possibly there may be some kind of physical suffering immediately produced by sin there as well as here. What if the wicked shall be punished only by permitting them to "eat the fruit of their own way, and to be filled with their own devices?" What if, instead of the wrath of God being poured upon them to the utmost, it will be inflicted in the leastpossiblemeasure, and only in the way of natural consequence? What if the sin which makes the hell hereafter, is, in spite of all its suffering, loved, clung to, even as the sin is which makes the hell now? Nay, what if every gift of God, and every capacity for perverting His gifts, are retained; and if the sinner shall suffer only from that which he himselfchoosesfor ever, and for ever determines to possess? I do not say that it must be so; but if it is so, then might a hell of unbridled self-indulgence be preferred then, as it is by many now, to a heaven whose blessedness consisted in perfect holiness, and the possession of the love of God in Christ, for ever and ever. Let, then, the fairest star be selected, like a beauteous island in the vast and shoreless sea of the azure heavens, as the future home of the criminals from the earth; and let them possess in this material paradise whatever they most love, and all that it ispossiblefor God to bestow; let them be endowed with undying bodies, and with minds which shall for ever retain their intellectual powers; let them no more be "plagued with religion;" let no Saviour ever intrude His claims upon them, no Holy Spirit disturb them, no God reveal Himself supernaturally to them; let no Sabbath ever dawn upon them, no saint ever live among them, no prayer ever be heard within their borders; but let human beings exist there for ever, smitten only by the leprosy of hatred to God, and with utter selfishness as its all-prevailing and eternal purpose; then, as sure as the law of righteousness exists, on which rests the throne of God and the government of the universe, a society so constituted must work out for itself a hell of solitary and bitter suffering, to which no limit can be assigned except the capacity of a finite nature. Alas! the spirit that is without love to its God or to its neighbour is already possessed by a power which must at last create for its own self-torment a worm, that will never die, and a flame that can never more be quenched!
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And yet, when forced to come to this conclusion, especially after reading the Scriptures, which in our judgment but confirm it, and give it the sanction of Divine authority, who can, even then, with his human heart silence a "timid voice which asks in whispers" many questions suggestive of what would appear to be the brighter hope? "Who can limit" (in some such form might those questionings be put) "the resources of God's infinite love and wisdom? May there not be found means, though yet to us unknown, and as yet unrevealed, by which the good shall ultimately triumph over the evil,—when every being whom God has originally made capable of love and joy will at last fulfil His glorious purpose,—when every sheep lost to the Shepherd will be found, and brought with rejoicing back to the fold,—when every lost piece of money with the King's image, defaced, yet not destroyed, will be recovered from the dust and restored to the King's treasury,—and when every prodigal, weary of his wanderings, convinced at last, through self-inflicted misery, of his folly, and remembering a Father, will return to that bosom which never can reject a child seeking there his rest and refuge,—until, finally, there shall not be throughout creation even one sinner, but a mighty family of immortal beings, who, after their terrible experience of the reign of self, shall freely and joyfully accept of the reign of the blessed and loving God? If it ispossible, must it not be so? May we not, in our darkness and difficulty, rely upon One who, knowing man's fallen condition, yet said, Increase, and multiply, and replenish the earth? upon One who declared it to be a legitimate source of joy to every mother that a child was born to the world? upon One whose love to all whom He has made is to our love as the light of the mighty sun to a fire-fly's spark wandering in darkness?"
"Oh, yet we trust that somehow goodWill be the final goal of ill,To pangs of nature, sins of will,Defects of doubt, and taints of blood
"That nothing walks with aimless feet;That not one life shall be destroy'd,Or cast as rubbish to the void,When God hath made the pile complete:
"That not a worm is chosen in vain;That not a moth with vain desireIs shrivell'd in a pent-up fire,Or but subserves another's gain.
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"So runs my dream: but what am I?An infant crying in the night:An infant crying for the light:And with no language but a cry.
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"I falter where I firmly trod;And falling with my weight of caresUpon the great world's altar stairs,That slope through darkness up to God,
"I stretch lame hands of faith, and gropeAnd gather dust and chaff, and callTo what I feel is Lord of all,And faintly trust the larger hope."
With deep sympathy for all who thus feel the weight and pain of the subject, and who hope against hope, we ourselves are compelled to abide in our first faith. We cannot forget that Jesus Christ, the Son of God and the Son of man, who was perfect love, truth, and life, has neither Himself, nor through His apostles, given us by one word the slightest ground for hoping that any man who leaves this world an enemy to God will ever repent and become a friend of God in the next. The whole teaching of Scripture is one with what prudence and principle would dictate:—Believe in Jesus;now or never!
Hear, in conclusion, God's Word:—"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life…. He that believeth on him is not condemned; but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God. And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil…. He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life; and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him."
Hebrews ii. 1, 3:—"Therefore we ought to give the more earnest heed to the things which we have heard, lest at any time we should let them slip…. How shall we escape, if we neglect so great salvation; which at the first began to be spoken by the Lord, and was confirmed unto us by them that heard him."
It would be very difficult, I think, to put a more serious question to ourselves than this,What is to become of its after death?
All of us, I daresay, know from experience what is meant by thoughtlessness or indifference about our state for ever. There are, no doubt, some who, from having had a godly upbringing in their youth, or at least religious instruction, have always thought more or less about what would become of their souls. Perhaps these thoughts made them uneasy, afraid, or anxious; but still they were often in their mind, especially in times of sickness, or when death came near their doors, or any event occurred which obliged them to think of eternity, and of what might happen to themselves if they were to die suddenly, and appear before God. But there are others, again, who seem never at any time to have had a serious thought about their life after death. They have, perhaps, not had the same advantage with those I have been speaking of, but from infancy have lived among worldly-minded people, who gave the impression, by their conversation and general conduct, on week-days and Sundays, that this world was everything, and the next world nothing; that this world alone was real; and that man's chief end was to labour in it, and for it alone, to make money in it, be happy in it, get everything for self out of it, and, as a matter of hard necessity, at last die in it, and go from it—Whither? Ah! who could tellthat?—who ever thought ofthat?To them it seemed that death ended all that was reality, and began all that was visionary. But whether early education is to blame, certain it is that many people do come to this state. They seem stoneblind to the future. Not one ray of light gets an entrance into their spirits from the great and eternal world, on whose confines they every moment live. They think, fear, hope, rejoice, plan, and purpose; but always about this world,—never about the other! To rise in the morning; to be occupied during the day; to buy and sell, and get gain; to talk on politics or trade; to gossip about people, and all they speak or do; to marry or give in marriage; to have this meeting or that parting; to give a feast or partake of one; to fear sickness, and to keep it off; or to be sick, and to try and get better:—all this sort of life, down to its veriest trifles, they understand and sympathise with, and busy themselves about. But what of God and Christ?—of eternal joy or sorrow?—of how a man should live to God, please Him, enjoy Him, love Him, and walk daily in fellowship with Him? What of such questions as,—What shall become of us in eternity? What shall we do to be saved? How shall we obtain life eternal? How shall we fulfil the end of our being? All this—oh, strange mystery!—has no interest to them. These thoughts, or any like these, never cross their mind, perhaps, from morning till night, or from the first till the last day of the year. They may, perhaps, have heard these words, read them in books, or heard ministers speak them from the pulpit on Sunday, and they know that the words have to do with what they call "religion," but never think they have to do with what awfully concerns themselves! They are words, but not about realities; or if they express realities, yet realities which belong to some world of mist, and cloud, and darkness, far, far away—one not nearly so real as this world of their own, made up of fields and barns, streets and shops, sea and ships, friends and action! But what, let me ask, separates us from that world which we think to be so very far off—so very unreal? The thin coat of an artery! No more! Let the thin pipe burst through which our life-blood is now coursing in the full play of health, and where then will our present world, now so very real, be to us? In a single second it will have vanished for ever from our grasp, like something we clutch at in the visions of the night. And where then will that other world be which to many is now so dim and unreal as not to be worth thinking about? We, the same living persons, will be in it—in the midst of all its realities; and with these we shall have to do, and with these only, for ever and ever.
But many people do notwishto think about the unseen future. It is not so much thatnothoughts about it intrude themselves upon their minds, as that all such thoughts are deliberately banished. It is with the eternal future as with anything which here gives them pain,—they "hate to think about it." This, of course, arises from the suspicion, or rather the conviction, that it cannot be a good future to them. They have read enough about it from the Bible to make it alarming. At all events, they have no security for its being to them as happy as the present; and so, whether from a fearful looking for of judgment, because of their sins, or from ignorance of the means of salvation, or from unbelief in the good-will of God as ready to save them, the result is, that they voluntarily shut their eyes to, and banish all thought of, eternity. It pains them—it agonises them—to put the question, "What is to become of me when I die?" And the more pain the question gives them, the more they fly to the world, and occupy their minds with its society, its amusements, and even its dissipation and debaucheries, in order to banish care and snatch a fleeting joy. O my brother, if you so act, from my soul I feel for you and pity you! For the sick-bed is coming, and you may be compelled to think there; and if so, you are treasuring up tenfold agony for yourself, by your present off-putting apathy and wilful thoughtlessness. And should you manage, even in the time of sickness, and up to the very hour of death, to shut out the future from your mind; should long and inveterate habit enable you to succeed in the terrible, suicidal experiment, so that you shall die as you have lived—fearing nothing, because believing nothing,—can you avoid entering the other world? Can you prevent a meeting between yourself and your God; or silence an accusing conscience for ever; or hinder Christ from coming to judge the world; or fly from the judgment-seat, and by any possibility delay or prevent a minute examination of your life; or stay the sentence which the omniscient and holy Judge shall pronounce upon you? And if you cannot do this,—and if, rather, every power, faculty, and emotion of your heart and soul must one day be roused to the intensest pitch of earnestness about your eternal destiny,—do you not think it wise, my brother, to think about all this now?—now, when there is a remedy, rather thanthen, when there is none?
This suggests another reason why possibly you hate to think about the future. Not only are you conscious of want of any preparedness for it, but you do not see how it can be much better with you. You have, in a word, lost confidence in God—have no faith in His good-will toyou. You think of Him—if you think of Him at all—as one who watches you with a jealous or angry eye; who has no wish that you should be better or happier than you are; or who, if He can save you, will not; or who, if He will, offers to do so only on such hard and impossible terms as to make it practically the same as if there was no salvation foryou. In one word, you suspect God hates you, or at least is indifferent to you—if, indeed, He knows anything at all about you, which you are not quite sure of! It is very shocking to write such things: but it is much more shocking that any one should think or believe such things; for he who so thinks and believes is as yet profoundly ignorant of God. What is called God, is as unlike Him who is the living and true God as is any hideous idol in a heathen temple. But this ignorance breeds fear—and fear, hate—and hate increases the fear, until the future, in which this God must be met, is put away as a horrible thing, or never thought of at all.
But, my brother, why should you thus think of God, and so fear to think of the future? Read only what the Bible says of Him, and learn what true Christians know of Him, and listen honestly to how your own conscience responds to all you hear about Him, and then consider whether you can conceive of one more glorious in his character, or more worthy of your love. Peruse the history of Jesus Christ, and tell me anything He ever said or did calculated to fill your heart with fear or hate towards Him,—and remember, that he who sees Him sees the Father. Think of all Jesus suffered as our atoning Saviour, and all "to bring us to God." Think of all God has promised to those who will only trust Him through Jesus,—the pardon of all sin, and the gift of a new heart; with everything which can do them good, or make them happy; and say, How can this make you dislike God? Think of all He has given you since you were born,—friends and relations, health of body, powers of mind, much time, many happy days, innumerable mercies and sources of enjoyment; think how liberally, ungrudgingly, He has opened His hand; think what patience, forbearance, kindness, He has shewn, and what the eternal future has in store for all who love Him; and tell me, What hasHedone to make you dislike Him? Reflect on what Hecouldhave done and could do, if He disliked you as you dislike Him, and say, How can you continue in your enmity? O my brother, "Only believe!" Believe that "Godislove." Believe that "in this is manifested the love of God, that He gave His Son to be a propitiation for our sins." Believe that He willeth not that any should perish,—that He has no pleasure in the death of sinners,—that He is ready to forgive,—that this is the record, that "God hath given eternal life." Believe—trust in God for the good, the whole good, the most perfect good, that of a child's heart and sincere love towards Him, which He seeks in you—trust God for this through faith in Christ, and in the mighty power of that Spirit who is love; and depend upon it, when youknow God, and see how excellent He is, and understand His love to you, and what He is willing to make you, and to give you, and, above all, when you know whatHe himself will be to youfor ever, you surely cannot choose but Him! and "there is no fear in love; because fear hath torment!"
By moments in life, I mean certain periods which occur more or less frequently in our history,—when the spirit in which we then live, the step we then take, the word we then utter, or what we at that moment think, resolve, accept, reject, do, or do not, may give a complexion to our whole future being both here and hereafter.
Let me notice one or two features which characterise those moments.
They may, for example, be very brief. Napoleon once remarked, that there was a crisis in every battle, when ten minutes generally determined the victory on one side or other. Yet on the transactions of those few minutes the fate of empires may hang, and on the single word of command, rapidly spoken amidst the roar of cannon and the crash of arms, the destinies of the human race be affected. Men in public life, who are compelled every day to decide on matters of importance, appreciate the value of minutes, and estimate the necessity of snatching them as they pass with promptness and decision;—of "taking advantage of the chance," as they say, knowing well that if that moment is allowed to pass, "the chance" it brings is gone for ever; that whatever their hand "finds to do" must be done then or never. The results to them of what they decide at that moment may be incalculable. What is then done may never be undone; yet not another second is added to the time given them for action. Within the germ of that brief moment of life is contained the future tree of many branches and of much fruit.
What a brief moment, indeed, in our endless life is the whole period even of the longest life on earth! It is compared to a vapour, which appeareth for a short time, and then vanisheth away; to "a watch in the night,"—"a tale that is told." And if we but consider how nearly a third portion of our threescore years and ten is necessarily spent in sleep; and add to this the years spent during infancy while preparing for labour; during old age, when our labours are well-nigh past; and many more consumed in adorning and supporting or giving rest to the body; and then if, after summing up those years, we deduct what remains of time at the disposal of the oldest man for the formation of active thought and the improvement of his spiritual being, oh! how brief is the whole period of our mortal life, when longest, though its transactions are to us fraught with endless and awful consequences!
Another characteristic of those moments in life is the silence with which they may come and pass away. No "sign" may be given to indicate their importance to us. They do not announce their approach with the sound of a trumpet, nor demand with a voice of thunder our immediate and solemn attention to their interests; but stealthily, quietly, with noiseless tread like spirits from another world, they come to us, put their question, speak the word, and vanish to heaven with our reply. In after years, possibly, with "the long results of time" to guide us upward as by a stream to the tiny threads of this fountain of life and action, we may be able in a greater degree to realise of what tremendous importance they were to us. "Had we only known this at the time!" we exclaim, as we revolve those memories, and think of all we would have said or done;—"had we only known!" But it is not God's will that we should know how much of the future is involved in the present, or how all we shall be is determined by what we may resolve to be or do at any particular moment. Such a revelation would paralyse all effort, and destroy the mainspring of all right action. Sight would thus be substituted for faith; the fear of evil consequences for the fear of evil; and the love of future benefits for the love of present duty. God will have us rather cultivate habitually a right spirit at each moment, so as to be able to act rightly when the all-important moment comes, whether we then discover its importance or not. Let us not be surprised, then, if God comes to us, not in the strong wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but only in the still small voice which speaks to the heart or to the conscience, demanding the conduct which becomes us as responsible beings and as obedient children.
But let me illustrate these remarks by a few examples of "moments in life," and such as must come to us all.
It is a solemn "moment in life" when the glad tidings of the love of God in Christ Jesus are heard and understood. Remember that we are saved by "the truth;" born again "of the Word;" sanctified "by the truth." To receive the truth of God, then, as a living power into the mind and conscience, is of infinite importance to us. Now, while God's truth comes to us "at various times and in diverse manners," there are moments in life when we cannot choose but feel as if it was addressing our inner spirit as it never did before, and earnestly knocking for admission. The circumstances in which this appeal is made may be what are called commonplace; such as when hearing a sermon preached from the pulpit, when reading a book by the fireside, or when conversing for a few minutes with an acquaintance; yet at such times truth expressed in a single sentence, or in a few words, may search our spirits, and gaze on us with a solemn look, saying, "Thou art the man I am in search of!" But, as it sometimes happens, the circumstances in which we are thus arrested by the truth, and are compelled to listen to it for weal or woe, may be peculiarly impressive; as when we are ourselves in sickness or danger, or when addressed by a parent or dear friend on their dying bed, or when in deep family distress, or when standing beside the grave that conceals our best earthly treasure from our sight. At such moments the voice of God's Spirit is awfully solemn as He cries, "Now is the day of salvation;" "To-day, if ye will hear His voice, harden not your hearts;" "Believe and live."
These moments may be very brief. The crisis of the battle between God and self, right and wrong, truth and falsehood, may be concentrated into a few minutes. But time sufficient is, nevertheless, given wherein to test ourtruthfulness, the soil in which truth grows, the mirror that reflects its beams; time sufficient is given to say Yes or No to that God who claims our faith and love. Truth comes with authority and majesty as an ambassador from the living God, and with clear voice, pure eye, and an arm omnipotent to save, offers to give light, life, and liberty to the captive spirit. But we may evade his bright glance, and close our ears to his voice, and refuse to consider his claims, and deal falsely with his arguments; we may reject his offers, and, shrinking back from his touch and his helping hand, retire into the gloom of self-satisfied pride, preferring the darkness to the light; or we may make merry with Heaven's ambassador, and mock him as they did the prophet of old; or cry out, "Away with him!" as the world cried to the Lord of light and life. And what if the second ambassador never comes again with such pressing earnestness, but passes by the door once so rudely closed against him, and will knock no more? Or, though he may in mercy return again and again, what if the eye gets blinded by the very light which it rejects? and the ear becomes so familiar with the voice, that it attracts attention no more than the winds that beat upon the wall; and the heart becomes so hardened as to be unimpressible, until the dread sentence is at last passed,—"Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at nought all my counsel, and would none of my reproof: I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind; when distress and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seek me early, but they shall not find me: for that theyhatedknowledge, anddid not choosethe fear of the Lord: they would none of my counsel: they despised all my reproof. Therefore shall they eat of the fruit of their own way, and be filled with their own devices."
A young man came to Jesus seeking eternal life. "Jesus, looking on him, loved him," and answered his prayers by teaching him how eternal life could alone be attained. But the young man went away sorrowful, because he had much riches. What a history was contained in that brief moment of his life!
Again, young King Agrippa, along with the young Bernice, hear a sermon from Paul the prisoner. The outward picture presented to the eye on that day had nothing more remarkable or peculiar about it than has been witnessed a thousand times before and since. Those royal personages entered "the place of hearing" with "great pomp," accompanied by "the chief captains and principal men of the city." And before them appeared an almost unknown prisoner, upon whom his own nation, including "the chief priests and elders from Jerusalem," demanded the judgment of death to be passed. That prisoner, "in bodily presence weak and contemptible," was however "permitted to speak for himself;" and verily he did speak! He spoke of God and Christ; of repentance and the new life; and of his own glorious commission to "open the eyes" of men, "to turn them from darkness to light, from the power of Satan unto God, that they might receive the forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them that are sanctified through faith in Jesus." What a revelation was this from God to man! The voice which spoke from Sinai and through the prophets, the voice of Him who is truth and love, spoke at that moment of life through Paul to those royal hearers, and to the captains and principal men. But Agrippa, with a sneer or with some conviction of the truth, replied, "Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian." Unlike St Paul himself, when the Lord spoke to him on his way to Damascus, Agrippa was disobedient to the heavenly vision. And so the sermon ended; the gay multitude dispersed; the place of hearing was left in silence, and echoed only the midnight winds or the beat of the sea-wave on the neighbouring shore. St Paul retired to his cell; Agrippa, Festus, and Bernice, to their chambers of rest, to sleep and dream by night, as they slept and dreamt by day. But they never heard the apostle preach again! It was their first and last sermon; that moment in their life came and passed, but never returned. Like two ships which meet at midnight on a moonlit sea, those two persons, the prisoner and the king, spoke, then each passed into the darkness, and onward on their voyage to their several ports, but never met again! Oh, how awful are such moments when truth reveals herself to the responsible spirit of man! And so, my reader, does it ofttimes happen between thee and God's Spirit. Let me beseech of thee to "redeem the time," to know this "the day ofthyvisitation," and to hear and believe "the word of the Lord."
Another "moment in life" which may be specially noticed, is that in which we are tempted to evil. Temptations are no doubt "common to man." Our whole life in a sense is a temptation, for whatever makes a demand upon our choice as moral beings, involves a trial of character, and tests the "spirit we are of." But nevertheless there do occur periods in our lives when such trials are peculiarly testing; when large bribes are offered to the sin that doth so easily beset us, tempting us to betray conscience, give up principle, lose faith in the right and in God, and to serve the devil, the world, or the flesh. Such moments may be very brief, yet decisive of our future life. They may come suddenly upon us, though possibly many notes of warning have announced their approach. For they are often but the apex of the pyramid to which many previous steps have gradually and almost imperceptibly led; the beginning of a battle, which must at last be fought, and very shortly decided, but yet the ending of many previous skirmishings. Be this as it may, that moment of life does come to us all, when evil like the enemy appears to concentrate against us its whole force, and when we must fight, conquer, or die; when like a thief it resolves to break into our home and take possession; when as a deceiver it promises happiness, and demands immediate acceptance or rejection of the splendid offer,—"All these will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me!"
What a moment is this in the life of many a young person. How unutterably solemn is the first deliberate act which opposes conscience, rebels against the authority of God and of His law, shuts out the light, and prefers darkness. Future character, and the life and happiness of years, may be determined by it. The step taken in that brief moment, the lie uttered, the dishonesty perpetrated, the drunkenness or debauchery indulged in, the prayers for the first time given up, and the father's home left for the far country. Who can realise the consequences of those first acts, or estimate the many links of evil, and the endless chain itself, that may connect themselves with the one link of sin fashioned in that moment of life! Who can foresee the streams ever increasing in breadth and depth which may flow from this letting in of water! Would God that my readers, young men especially, would but believe in the possibility even of the choice they make at such a time determining their future destiny. The thought of this might at least make them pause and consider.
There is no exaggeration in this language. To realise the danger, all we need assume is the law of habit; for, according to that law, we know that any act of the will, good or bad, has a tendency to repeat itself with increasing ease and decreasing consciousness, until it becomes a "second nature." Hence the first resistance of evil is much less difficult than any subsequent attempt; and he who in one moment of life could by a manly effort become a conqueror, and enter on a life of principle and peace, may, by yielding, very soon sink down into a degraded slave, who is held fast by the iron chain of habit, each link of which he has himself forged by his own self-will.
What a moment was that in the life of Herod when he permitted evil desire for Herodias to enter his soul. That desire conceived sin, and sin when finished brought forth death. Acts passed into habits, and habits into a life of abandoned passion. Then came the festive birthday, and the dancing before him of the daughter of his paramour; and then the foul murder, with the spectacle of the bloody head, closed eyes, and sealed lips of the greatest and noblest man of his time; and then followed the hour when Jesus Himself was brought before the murderer, when the Lord spoke not one word of warning, rebuke, or mercy to him, but smote the wretch with the terrible wrath and righteous judgment of silence!
What a moment in life was that, too, when Judas welcomed covetousness into his heart as a most profitable guest. Then one day Covetousness offered him thirty pieces of silver if he would betray his Lord; and Judas agreed to the proposal. A whole eternity of misery was involved in that moment of his life: for the night soon arrived when the bargain was to be kept. A few moments more, and the history will end here to begin elsewhere. Yet there is not a sign on earth or heaven to indicate the importance of that brief hour to Judas! He forms one among the most distinguished company that ever sat at the same table since the earth began; and never did mortal ears listen to such words uttered by human lips, nor did mortal eyes ever contemplate such a scene of peace and love as was witnessed in that upper room in Jerusalem. But the hour has struck, and Judas rises to depart. The deed of darkness must now be done. It is late, and he has made a most important appointment; unless he keeps it, he may lose his money; and what a loss to the poor follower of a man who had nowhere to lay His head! Judas leaves that company; and what was there in things visible to make him suspect even that an awful moment of life—his last—had come? All was calm within that upper room,—all was peace in the world without. The naked heavens shone in the calm brilliancy of an Eastern night The streets of Jerusalem, along which the traitor passed on his dreadful errand, echoed his footsteps in their silence. Yet Judas, "the son of perdition," was at that moment on his way "to his own place!"
And thus it is with many a man in the hour of temptation. The voice of sin speaks not loudly, but whispers to his inner spirit. He pursues his path of evil without alarm being given by sight or sound from heaven or earth. There is nothing in the world without to disturb the thoughts and purposes of the world within his false and unprincipled soul. The moment of his life brings the temptation, and he yields his soul to its power, and the moment passes with as noiseless a step; and soon the last moment comes, and passes away; but he too has noiselessly passed away with it "to his own place!"
The "moment in life" when we are called upon to perform some positive duty, is one which is often very critical and full of solemn consequences to us. The duty mayappearto be a very trifling one,—such as writing a letter, visiting a friend, warning some brother against evil, aiding another, or sympathising with a sufferer in his sorrow. But whatever the work may be, and in whatever way it is to be performed, whether by word or deed, by silence or by speech, yet there is a time given us for doing it, very brief perhaps, and unaccompanied by any sign to mark its significance,—a time, nevertheless, when whatever has to be done must be done quickly, "now or never."
Such a moment in life was that in the history of the three apostles who accompanied our Lord, at His own request, in order to watch with Him in His last agony. As a man, He deserved their thoughtful presence, their watchful sympathy, when enduring the dread sorrow which filled His cup, from realising by anticipation all that was before Him. Thrice He came to them from the spot, not far off, where He wrestled in prayer with His terrible agony.
Thrice He found them asleep. "What!" he asked, "could ye not watch with me one hour?" Ah! they knew not what an hour that was!—what it was to Him—what it was and might have been to them! They might have had the joy, the exalted privilege, which for ever would have been as a very heaven of glory in their memory, of sharing, through the power of sympathising love, the burden of their Lord's anguish. But they yielded to the flesh, and permitted that moment of time to pass; and when they at last roused themselves from their slumber, it was too late. That moment in life had come and gone, and could return no more. "Sleep on, and take your rest; behold, he who betrayeth me is at hand!"
And thus it often happens in the life of us all. An hour is given us when something may be done for our Lord or our brethren, which cannot possibly be done if that hour is permitted to pass away unimproved. Then we may teach an ignorant soul, or rouse a slothful one to action; we may alarm one who is lethargic, worldly, sensual, "without God or Christ in the world," so as to win him to both; or we may comfort the feeble-minded, and support the weak. Circumstances may give us the opportunity, and the "moment in life," when such works may be done. The persons to be helped are perhaps inmates of our dwelling; they are our relations: they are sick or dying; or they have cast themselves upon our aid. But we let the moment pass. The work given us is not done. We have neglected it from sloth, procrastination, thoughtlessness, or selfishness. And we may become awake to our culpable negligence, and rouse ourselves to duty. But, alas! those whom we could have aided are past help. They are dead, or are removed from our influence, or in some way "past remedy." And so the moment in life given us is gone, and gone for ever, except to meet us and to accuse us before the bar of God. And thus it is with duty in countless forms. What our hands find to do must be done quickly, if done at all, and in the time given us. If not, a night comes, and may come soon and come suddenly, in which either we ourselves cannot work, or in which, though at last willing to do it, it is no longer given us to do.
But there is one moment in life—and I conclude by suggesting it to your thoughts—which must come to every man, and which generally comes with signs sufficiently significant of its importance,—I mean the last moment which closes our life on earth. Come it must. And, as an old writer remarks, "the day we die, though of no importance to the world, is to ourselves of more importance than is all the world." That moment in life ends time to us, and begins eternity; it ends our day of grace and begins the day of judgment; it separates us from the world in which we have lived since we were born, and introduces us to the unseen, unknown world of things and persons in which we must live for ever during the life of God. What a moment is this! It may come in the quiet of our own chamber, or amidst the confusion and excitement of some dread accident by land or sea; it may be heralded by long sickness or old age, and accompanied by much weakness and bodily suffering. But if that moment, when it comes, is to bring us peace, let our present moments, as they come, find us watchful, conscientious, believing, and prayerful. And should these words of mine be read by chance by one who has begun his last moment without having begun the work for which he was created, preserved, and redeemed, let me beseech of him to improve it by repentance towards God, and faith in Jesus Christ, who will pardon his sins, give him a new heart, and save him as he did the thief on the cross. If every hour of his day of grace has been misimproved, let not this last be added to the number. If he has stood all the day idle, let him in the eleventh hour accept his Master's work of faith alone in his own soul, and do what he can for the good of others. But let this moment in life pass, then shall the next moment after death bring only fear and anguish; for, be warned and also encouraged by the words of the truthful and loving Jesus, uttered with many tears, over lost souls,—"If thou hadst known, even thou, at leastin this thy day, the things that belong unto thy peace; but now they are for ever hid from thine eyes!"
These words seem to me to express the idea of true labour, such as God calls us to, andinthe doing of which there is a great reward. They imply that the living God has a work to do on earth, in men and by men; that in this work He has—if I may so express it—a deep personal interest, because it is one worthy of Himself, and for the advancement of His own glory, and the good and happiness of man.
Now, God wishes us to know this work, and to sympathise with Him in it. He does not conceal from us what He wishes done, or what He himself is doing; nor obliges us to remain for ever blind as to His will and purposes regarding ourselves or others; so that, if we work at all, we must work according to our own wills only, and for our own purposes. Instead of this, He reveals in His Word, by His Son, through His Spirit, and in the conscience, what His will is—what He wishes us to be and do. Nor does He say to us, "Learn my commands, and obey them; but seek not to know why I have so commanded." Were it impossible, indeed, to knowwhyany command was given, the mere fact of its injunction would itself demand instant compliance; "but," says our Lord, "I have not called you servants, but friends, for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth." The servant or slave does not occupy the place which the friend does. The one hears only what is commanded; but the other, through personal acquaintance with the master, is enabled to sympathise with the righteousness and love in the command. The friend not only knows what, as a servant, hemustdo, but sees how right and beautiful it is that he should be commanded so to do. In like manner, we read that God made known His "ways" to Moses, but only His "acts" to the children of Israel. This revelation, of principle and plan to His servant was indeed a speaking with him "face to face;" and thus does God speak to us now in these latter days by the grace and truth revealed in His Son. And it is only when we thus know God's work on earth, and when, from a will and character brought into harmony with His, we see how excellent the work is, that we can be, not labourers only, but "fellow-labourers" with God;—not workers only, but "workerstogetherwith Him."
Consider, for instance,the work of God in our own souls. This is, as far as we ourselves are concerned, the most important work in the universe. Upon it depends whether the universe shall be to us a heaven or a hell. "What will a man give in exchange for his soul?" is a question which assumes that to the man himself nothing can be so valuable. But has God any work to do in our souls? Has He ever expressed any wish as to what He would have us believe, become, or enjoy, or revealed for what end or purpose He made our spirits? Is there no wrong state or condition in us with which He is "angry" and "grieved," and no right state with which He is "delighted," and over which He "rejoices?" Has He laid no command upon us to "work out our own salvation with fear and trembling?" and has He given no intimation of His "working in us to will and do?" Or is it to Him the same whether we are wrong or right? Surely we can have no difficulty in replying to such all-important questions! If a man loses faith in the reality and sincerity of God's wish, that he personally should have his guilty soul freely pardoned, and his unholy soul sanctified, and his whole being renewed after God's own image,—that he himself should be a good, a great, a happy man, by knowing and loving his God; and if a man brings himself to such a state of practical atheism as to doubt whether God knows or cares anything about him;—then it is impossible for such a man to be "a fellow-labourer," a "worker together" with God in his own soul; for he does not know and has never heard of any work of God requiredthere. But if he believes that God is indeed his "Father in heaven;"—that He has goodwill to him, and therefore desires his good by desiring him tobegood;—that, for the accomplishment of this end, all has been done which is recorded in the Bible, from Genesis to Revelation;—that God has been working in him, through agencies innumerable, since his childhood, by parents and friends, by tender mercies and bitter chastisements, by Sabbath ordinances and pulpit ministrations, by the constant witness of conscience and the Word of God, in order that he should know and love God his Father,—then, seeing this, will he see also how he may be a "fellow-labourer with God."And have not you, my reader, been conscious of this work?You cannot get quit of the conviction that there is One higher than yourself with whom you have to do,—One who is ever with you, seeking to deliver you from evil, from your own evil self,—One whose voice is never silent, and who is righteously judging your daily life. And have you never been conscious, too, of fighting against what you certainly knew was not self, but a holy, winning, mysterious power or Person, who opposed self, and for that very reason was resisted by self? And therefore your sin has not been the ignorance of good, but opposing the good,—not the absence, but the resisting of a good work in you. It is on this very principle men will be condemned, for "Thisisthe condemnation, that light hath come into the world, and menpreferdarkness to light, because their deeds are evil." And if this has been your sin, so has it been your misery. In exact proportion as you thus "hated knowledge, and did not choose the fear of the Lord," you become wretched and unsatisfied. No wonder! for with whom does the man work when he works in opposition to the will of God? In refusing to serve God, he serves Satan, and becomes a "worker together" with "the spirit who now worketh in the children of disobedience!"
Well, then, what are you to do? I reply: "Yield yourselves to God;" "be subject to the Father of your spirit, and live." "Wherefore do you spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? Hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness. Incline your ear, and come unto me: hear, and your soul shall live." Instead of being workers against, seek to be "workerstogether" with God in your own souls; to have His "work of faith and love," and everything beautiful and holy, perfected in you. Believe in Jesus Christ as the living Person who alone can and will save you, by pardoning your sins, and giving you His Spirit to make you like Himself. Begin your work by assuming that Godisworking in you to will and do; andbecauseyou have Him, through His omnipotent Spirit, working in you, do not be as one who beats the air in aimless and profitless warfare, nor strive against nor grieve that Spirit, but through Him "work out your own salvation." In thus pleading with you, I feel that I myself am but working with God; for I can say with the apostle, "Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God. For He hath made Him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him. We then, asworkers together with Him, beseech you also that ye receive not the grace of God in vain."
Put this question in another way: Suppose you had met Jesus Christ when He was on earth; that you had listened to one of His appeals when He preached the gospel from city to city, and felt His eye looking at you as He spoke in His own name, and in the name of His Father, saying, "Come unto me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest"—"The Son of man hath come to seek that which is lost," and the like; that you had witnessed the delight it gave Him to do good, and to find any one willing to receive His overflowing love, and the sorrow He endured when men would not believe in Him or trust Him, but preferred remaining without the blessing; and that you had accompanied Him during His ministry on earth, and studied His character from all you saw and heard,—could the impression made upon you in such circumstances be thus expressed, "I believe that Thou carest not for me; that my well-doing or ill-doing are equally matters of indifference to Thee; and that there is no faith or love that Thou desirest to see accomplished in my soul?" Would you havedaredto speak in anything like this strain of blasphemy to the holy Saviour had you met Him? Or would you not have been overwhelmed by the conviction, that whether you yielded to His wishes or not, these wishes were clear and unquestionable—that from His character as a man having fellowship with God, His work as the Saviour of sinners, His revealed will as Lord, nothing could be more certain than that He wished youpersonallyto be holy and happy through faith in His name; and accordingly, that if you accepted His call, and His offer of power to be so, you were but workingwithHim; and that if you neglected both, you were certainly workingagainstHim?
But with this personal Saviour you have to do just as really and truly now as any of His disciples who had followed Him when on earth; and so I beseech you to be fellow-labourers with Him in His own holy and living work within your own soul. Let your prayer then be: "Thy will be done! Let Thy holy and loving will, my Father, be done in me! I believe in Thy forgiveness, and am at peace with Thee, according to that will, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus. And as this is also Thy will, even my sanctification, and Thy revealed purpose, that I should be made conformable to the image of Thy Son, so let Thy grace, which is sufficient for the chief of sinners, daily bring this salvation into me, by teaching me to deny ungodliness and worldly lusts, and to live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world; that so learning Christ, taking up His cross daily, following Him and being disciplined by Him, I may be taught to put off the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts, and to be renewed in the spirit of my mind; and, as Thine own workmanship, be created anew in Christ Jesus unto good works. Amen!"
Let us consider for a little longer God's work in us, by His providential dealings towards us. A moment's reflection will suffice to remind you that God, in His providence, is constantly working with you. He is, for instance, a wonderful Giver. "He gives us all things richly to enjoy." "He openeth His hand liberally." His mercies are more than can be numbered; though as a father He also chastises His children. "The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away." Now, in whatever way God deals with us, whether He gives or takes, there is a purpose which He wishes accomplished. He has a work to do in us by every joy and every sorrow. There is a voice for us in the rod of darkness, and in the ray of sunshine; and it is our duty, our strength, our peace, to hear that voice, and to know that work of providence so as to be fellow-labourers with God in it. Perhaps you are disposed to excuse yourselves for want of sober inquiry into God's dealings with you, by saying, that it is very hard to know, and often impossible to discover, what object or purpose He has in view when sending to us this gift or that grief. In some cases it may be so; but it is much to know and to remember what God's purpose isnot, and what He can never wish to have accomplished, either by what He gives to us or takes from us. Never can it be the purpose of God, in any case, to advance the work of Satan in our souls, or to retard within us the coming of His own glorious kingdom of righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. Never can He send us a gift to make us proud, vain, indolent, covetous, earthly-minded, sensual, devilish, or in any degree to alienate us from Himself as our chief good. For whatever purpose He fashioned our body with such exquisite care, providing so rich a supply for all its senses, it was not, assuredly, that we should make that body the instrument of degrading and ruining the immortal soul, and of sinking our whole being down to a level with the beasts that perish! He never gave beauty of form to make us vain or sensuous; nor poured wine into our cup that we should become drunkards; nor spread food on our table merely to pamper our self-indulgence and feed our passions. He never gave us dominion over the earth that we should be Satan's slaves. He never awoke from silence the glorious harmonies of music for our ear, nor revealed to our eye the beauties of nature and of art, nor fired our soul with the magnificent creations of poetry, that we might be so enraptured by these as to forget and despise Himself. He never gifted us with a high intellect, refined taste, or brilliant wit, to nourish ambition, worship genius, and to become profane, irreverent, and devil-like, by turning those godlike powers against their Maker and Sustainer. We cannot think, that if money has been poured at our feet, He thereby intended to infect us with the curse of selfishness, or to tempt us to become cruel or covetous men, who would let the beggar stand at our gate, and ourselves remain so poor as to have no inheritance in the kingdom of God; or to make us such "fools" as to survey our broad acres and teeming barns with self-love and worldliness, exclaiming, "Soul, take thine ease; thou hast much goods laid up for many years; eat, drink, and be merry;" or to tempt us to refuse the cross, and to depart sorrowful from Christ, because we had great possessions; or to choke the seed of the Word as with thorns, so that it should bring forth no fruit to perfection! Can it be possible that He has spared our family, and enriched us with so many friends, in order that, being "so happy" with them, we should never wish to know God as our Father, Christ as our Brother, or have any desire to become members of the family of God? Has He given us so much pleasant, useful, or necessary labour in the world, that we should forget the one thing needful, and leave undonethework for which we were created? Has He given us the Church, the ministry, the Sabbath, the sacrament, that we should make these ends instead of means—instruments for concealing, rather than revealing our God and Saviour? And if the Lord has taken away, and visited us with sharp sorrows and sore bereavements, was this "strange work" done by Him who does not "willingly afflict" His children, in order that we should have the pain without the "profit," "faint under" or "despise" the chastisement, or become more set upon the world and the creature, more shut up in heart against our Father, more dead to eternal things, or fall into despair, and curse God and die?
Without prolonging such inquiries, enough has been said, I hope, to enable you to apprehend what I mean by our being fellow-workers with God in all His works of providence that concern ourselves. We believe that these things, whether of joy or sorrow, do not come by chance, nor through the agency of dead mechanical laws, but that a living Person is dealing with us wisely, lovingly, righteously,—that, in truth, "the Lordgiveth, and theLordtaketh away," and that, accordingly, there must be a design or purpose to serve in what He gives or withholds,—that this never can be an evil purpose, but must, in every case, be good, and that we may derive good and a blessing from it. Let us, then, be fellow-workers with Him in seeking, through faith and love, to have this purpose realised, and to have the end designed by God fulfilled in us or by us, so that every joy and sorrow may bring us nearer the glorious God, and make us know Him better, and love Him more, and thus possess "life more abundantly," even "life eternal!"
But not only is there a work to be doneinus, but alsobyus, in the doing of which we are to be "labourers together with God."
This kind of labouring with others is illustrated by Saint Paul when he says, what I have already quoted, "Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God. For He hath made Him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him. We then, asworkers together with Him, beseech you also that ye receive not the grace of God in vain." He is here, you perceive, addressing those who were enemies to God, and beseeching such to be "reconciled." But in what spirit does he plead with them? In labouring to bring them into reconciliation with their Father, and to save their souls, he does not feel himself alone and solitary in his work and labour of love; as one prompted by his own goodwill to lost sinners, and his own wishes to redeem them from evil, yet in doubt or in ignorance as to what God's wishes or feelings were in regard to them. He does not proclaim the gospel to one or to many sinners with such thoughts as these: "It is no doubt my duty to preach to them, and to plead with them, and from my heart I pity them, love them, and could die to save them; but whether God pities them or not, or truly wishes to save them, I do not know, for I am totally ignorant of His will or purpose." Surely such were not the apostle's convictions! Did he not rather engage in this work of seeking to save souls with intense earnestness, because he knew that however great his love, it was but a reflection, however dim, of the infinite love of God to them, and his desire to save them but a feeble expression of the desire of God? Was he not persuaded, that in "beseeching" them to be reconciled, he could speak "as though God did beseech" them by him, as one "in Christ's stead;" and that "in beseeching" them "not to receive the grace of God in vain," he was but "a worker together with God?"