Words of Cheer for Christian Pilgrims
Theodore Cuyler, 1896
The Right Kind of Submission
Our divine Master once said, "Except you are converted
and become as little children, you shall not enter into the kingdom of
heaven." The best trait of the best child, is implicit obedience to
parental authority. And the clearest test of conversion, is implicit
obedience to the Lord Jesus Christ. The trouble with us, is that we so often
pick and choose just what we will obey, and how much we will
obey, and whom we will obey. All the most striking cases of obedience
mentioned in the Bible—Abraham laying his son on the altar, Daniel braving
the king's lions, Naaman going straight to the Jordan, the leper hastening
to the priest and being healed as he went, the paralytic stretching out his
withered arm—all these have the quality of promptness to do just as
they were directed. Issues and results are left with God.
"Speak to the children of Israel that they go forward!"
To march into the Red Sea belonged to Moses; to divide the Red Sea and make
a dry pathway for his people was God's prerogative. If there be any one
beautiful trait in healthy-hearted childhood, it is the trait of cheerful
submission to the will of father and mother. Submission to the clearly
ascertained will of God, whatever it may cost us, or however it may cross
us—is one of the most genuine evidences of true conversion. I doubt if there
be any higher attainment in the Christian life, than for any of us to be
able to say honestly, "I pray God that I may never find my own will again as
long as I live."
Let us understand, however, just what kind of submission
we are to practice. We are bound to submit to God's distinct orderings, and
to such trials as he lays upon us for our spiritual discipline. Payson
wisely said that "no man is fit to rise up from a bed of suffering and labor
again for Christ—until he is made willing to lie still and suffer as long as
his Master pleases." But there are obstacles often found in our pathway that
are just to test our faith, our courage, and our loyalty to the right. Many
a Hill Difficulty is encountered on our road to heaven, to sinew our
strength by the tough climb. Apollyon is allowed sometimes to stride right
across our path with the defiant threat, "You shall go no farther, and here
will I spill your soul!" He is a puny Christian, who has no such battles
with the devil.
Our Heavenly Father puts some things in our way as
prohibitions; and we do ourselves deadly harm, if we try to remove them
or get around them. Other things are placed there to test our spiritual
might and our loyalty; the only right course is for us to lay hold of them
and hurl them out of our way. When the youthful David discovered the lion
and the bear attacking his flocks he did not say, "Providence sent these
animals, and I must submit to them." If there were any providence in it—the
object might rather be to develop his grit.
In this whole great matter of submission to the will of
God, it is exceedingly important to discriminate wisely. God may sometimes
seem to turn a deaf ear to our prayers. His silence or failure to answer
should teach us "to pray and not to faint." That earnest woman on the coast
of Canaan would have made an awful mistake, if she had given over her
praying simply because Christ kept her for a while at arm's length. Her
persistence carried the day—as the Master meant that it should. God often
says "no" to little faith and lazy hands—he loves to say "yes" to sturdy
faith and hard work.
Sometimes my Heavenly Father lays heavy afflictions on me
and tells me all the while, "those whom I love—I chasten." Then let me
submit. At other times he lays, or permits to be laid, great obstacles in my
path, and then the voice to me is, "If you have faith as a grain of mustard
seed—this mountain shall be removed. My grace is sufficient for you."
The line of correct distinction between the two opposite
errors, seems to be this: a sinner submits to unrighteous demands; the true
Christian never does. The sinner refuses to submit to God's just and holy
demands, and to his orderings in providence; the childlike Christian submits
without a murmur: "Not as I will Father—but as you will." God's wise
government is the solidest ground of my confidence and joy; it is the
rock-bed that underlies all my theology. To fight against God means—hell. To
obey God and sweetly submit to him—is the prelude of heaven.
The late Thomas Skinner was one of the godliest men I
ever knew. When a circle of eminent ministers met at his house one Saturday
evening he requested them to join in singing Schmolke's beautiful hymn: "My
Jesus—as you will! Oh, may your will be mine. Into your hand of love—I would
my all resign." On the next Saturday evening that same circle of brethren
joined in paying loving tribute to his memory! The noble veteran had yielded
up every wish to his Lord and Redeemer, and was sweetly surprised into
heaven.
Sugar in the Tea—or, the Christian's Assurance
When a young convert was asked the question, "How do you
know Jesus Christ has accepted and forgiven you, and that you are a
Christian?" the answer was, "How do you know when you have got sugar in your
tea?" This was a sufficient answer; the forgiven soul had felt the change
which conversion brings, and had tasted the love of Jesus. It was
a positive experience; he knew whom he had believed.
Some good people who are troubled with a desponding
temperament, worry themselves about this matter of assurance. To such we
would say—don't vex your soul about assurance; practice the faith of
adherence. Cleave fast to Jesus Christ. Fasten your weakness—to his
omnipotence; in your ignorance—seek his guidance. When he says, "My blood
cleanses from sin," believe him; and when conscience bids you do anything to
please Christ—do it. That Savior who died for you, asks you to trust him and
to follow him; and that is all that he demands of you. Are you sincerely,
honestly doing that? Then listen to what that loving Savior says to you: "My
sheep hear my voice and I know them and they follow me. And I give unto them
eternal life, and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them
out of my hand!"
All that is required of you is adherence and obedience.
You have got to put the sugar into your tea—if you want to taste its
sweetness. True repentance is a turning away from your sins unto God,
with a full purpose of and endeavor after new obedience. Are you doing that?
Saving faith is the heart's cling to Jesus Christ—and him alone. If you are
doing that, it ought to give you a cheerful, delightful sense of security.
"Faith is the milk," Spurgeon used to say, "and assurance is the cream that
rises on it." If your milk is nearly all water—you cannot expect much cream.
The stronger your faith of adherence—the more peace of mind and spiritual
joy you will have.
The Bible does not declare that assurance is
essential to salvation; but it does declare that faith and
obedience to Jesus Christ are essential. I don't doubt that a great many
people will get into heaven, who had rather a feeble faith, and still less
joy in this world. Their feet were not "like hinds' feet;" they hobbled
along on crutches. That was not Christ's fault; it was their own fault. Poor
Peter had rather a feeble faith, when he screamed to his Master out of the
waves, "Lord, save me!" Later he had received from the Holy Spirit a mighty
faith when his impelling sermon at Pentecost brought in thousands of
converts. Saul of Tarsus had an infant faith in his soul when he was groping
about in the house of Judas at Damascus; the infant had grown into a giant,
when Paul could shout, in the eighth chapter of Romans, "Neither height, nor
depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate me from the love of
God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord!"
We have just said that assurance is not essential to
salvation; but it is essential to our peace and comfort.
It is the duty of every Christian to seek for it; the more sugar we put into
the draught—the sweeter will it be to our taste. Old heroic Latimer used to
say, that when he had a strong steadfast trust in his Master he could face a
lion; when he lost it he was ready to run into a mouse-hole.
If you and I have put our entire trust in Jesus Christ
for our salvation, and are striving every day to do his will and to bless
our fellow-men with our religion, then he is responsible for the trust. Why
should we worry? When I built this house I got a deed for the land and
recorded it. I don't run down to the registry once every week to see that
the title is good. If we have taken Jesus Christ at his word, and committed
our souls to his keeping, and our lives to his ordering, and
our powers to his service—let us not worry about our title-deeds to
heaven. Go about your life work, brother, and do it thoroughly and
conscientiously. God is responsible for the results, sooner or later, and
for your final reward.
The shepherd knows his flock, and calls them all by name.
To you his voice is "Only believe," "Follow me!" If your cup of trial
is sometimes bitter—put in more of the sugar of faith. If you feel
chilled by the disappointment of your plans or the unkindness of others—get
into the sunshine of Christ's love. If income runs down, invest more in
God's precious promises. A good, stout, healthy faith will sweeten your
affections, and sweeten your toils, and sweeten your home,
and sweeten the darkest hours that may lie between this world and
heaven.
God Never Disappoints us
We cannot trust ourselves too little—and we cannot
trust God too much. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do
not lean upon your own understanding." Somewhere in the future there hangs
before us—a golden ideal of a perfect life—but as we move on, the dream of
complete victory over sin moves on also before us. It is like the child
running over the hill to catch the rainbow; when he gets over the hill, the
rainbow is as far off as ever. If our expectation of spiritual growth and of
conquest of temptation, rests on our own resolutions and on our own
strength, then our day-dreams are continually doomed to disappointment.
"O my soul, wait only upon God; for my expectation is
from him." God never disappoints us. When we study the Almighty in the book
of nature, or the book of revelation, we find our utmost
expectation overtopped by the wonderful reality. When we obey God we find
the rich reward sooner or later—just as surely as day follows the sunrise.
When we trust God—he never fails us. When we pray to him aright, with faith,
with submissiveness, with perseverance, and with honest desire to glorify
him—he answers us. I don't believe our Heavenly Father ever turned a deaf
ear to an honest prayer offered in the right spirit. He is a Sovereign, and
does his own wise will; and if it pleases him to keep us waiting for the
answer, then we must understand that delays are not always denials.
If we had only to demand from God, just what we desire,
and in the way and the time which suits our pleasure, then we would be
snatching God's scepter and trying to rule the Ruler of the universe.
Did you ever know a child who ruled its parents—without ruining itself? And
if it spoils our children to have their own way—I am sure that it would be
for our ruin if we could bend God to all our wishes. If this is our
"expectation" from God, then the sooner we abandon it the better!
God keeps all his promises—but he has never promised to
let you and I hold the reins. He answers prayer—but in the way and at the
time that his infinite wisdom determines. Some prayers are not answered at
once; more than one faithful mother has gone to her grave before the child
for whose conversion she prayed, has given his heart to Jesus. Some prayers
are answered in a way so unexpected, that the answer is not recognized; only
eternity will "make it plain." For many petitions are answered according to
the intention and not according to the strict letter of the
request; the blessing granted has been something different from what the
believer expected.
Jacob, when he blessed the sons of Joseph, laid his right
hand on the son who stood at his left side. So God sometimes takes off his
hand of blessing from the thing we prayed for—and lays it on another which
is more for our good and his own glory. He often surprises his
people with unexpected blessings—and heaven will have abundance of such
surprises.
Let us rejoice to remember that our Savior is God, and in
him dwells all fullness. "Of his fullness, have we all received," said the
Beloved Disciple, and John was not disappointed. Neither was Paul when he
found himself "filled with might in the inner man." There is a fullness of
grace and love and power and peace and
comfort that his redeemed children have never been able to explore,
much less to exhaust! I left some little brooks, nearly run
dry, the other day, up in the mountains—but I found yonder harbor, fed from
the fathomless Atlantic, as full as ever. "Oh, how shallow a soul I have—to
take in Christ's love," said the holy Rutherford; "I have spilled more of
his grace—than I have brought with me. How little of the sea can a child
carry in his hand; as little am I able to take away of my great Sea, my
boundless and running over Christ Jesus!"
When a friend of mine, long years ago, urged John Jacob
Astor to donate for a certain object, and told him that his son had
subscribed, the old German millionaire replied very dryly, "He can do it; he
has got a rich father." Brother Christian, you and I have got a rich Father!
We are heirs to a great inheritance, and possessors of exceeding precious
promises! Let us ask for great things! God must take it ill, that we covet
so little of the best things and pray with such scrimped and scanty
faith. "Open your mouth wide and I will fill it." We can easily over-expect
from our fellow-creatures, but we cannot over-expect God. "The Lord takes
pleasure in those who hope in his mercy."
I have read many a biography which ended in bright hopes
quenched in blackness of darkness—but I never have read, and never have I
heard of the experience, of any man who confessed that he was disappointed
in his Lord and Savior. "My soul, wait only upon God—for my expectation is
from him." There can be no divided responsibility; it is God—or nobody. As
the old Puritan writer Trapp reminds us, "They trust not God at all—who
trust him not entirely; he who stands with one foot on a rock and another
foot on a quicksand, will sink as surely as he who has both feet on a
quicksand."
Fruitful Christians
Autumn is the season of fruit harvests, when the orchards
have "paid their dividends," and the music of ripe apples is heard as they
go rattling into their bins. The wormy and the worthless fruit has been
thrown to the swine; only the sound fruit is accounted fit for the market.
Every Christian church is an orchard, and every tree in that orchard is
"known by its fruits." Too many there are who try to pass for Christians;
but from them the yield of genuine graces can no more be expected than the
owner of a grove of pine trees, would expect a crop of Bartlett pears.
The fruits of the Holy Spirit—as the apostle catalogues
them—are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, faith, meekness, and
temperance. The first essential to a fruitful Christian—is that he be
well-rooted. No part of a tree is so invisible—and yet so important as
its roots. The condition of a tree commonly manifests where its roots are
and what they are doing. A dearth of life below ground means barrenness
above ground.
The roots of our religious life—are our secret motives
and our ruling affections; and no one can claim to be a genuine Christian
unless Jesus Christ dwells down in the core of his heart. When we are
shocked to discover the loose living and spiritual barrenness of some church
members—it is because the branches of their profession hang over on
the church side of the wall—while their roots are in the sandy soil of
worldliness on the other side. There is no heart-union to Christ; and he has
declared, "Unless you abide in me—you can bear no fruit." A godly life is
not the result of a happy accident. Grapes do not grow on thorn bushes, nor
are figs gathered from thistles. Multitudes of people expect at some day to
become Christians, and often wish that they were Christians—and yet they do
not apply the common-sense principle of causes and results.
To be a Christian signifies that one has the divine "root
of the matter" in him—that he has a character which grows out of faith in
the crucified Christ, and proves itself genuine by obedience to Christ's
commandments. Such a character is not a matter of divine decree, or of human
haphazard, any more than wheat grows without planting, or that grapevines
spring up spontaneously in our gardens.
Christian character is a growth—first the blade, then the
ear, and after that the full, ripe corn in the ear. There can be no vigorous
growth, without a deep rooting into Jesus Christ. Shallow conversions
produce shallow Christians. Some Christians are bountiful
fruitbearers, and the reason is that they draw all their supplies of grace
and all their inspiration of daily conduct from their deep down heart-union
to Jesus. Love of Jesus is the only motive which subdues selfishness.
Loyalty to Jesus holds them as a stout root holds a tree amid the blasts of
winter's tempests, or under the summer's parching droughts.
Glorious old Paul was always abounding in the work of the
Lord, and he tells the secret of it when he said, "Christ lives in me." A
drought never affects a well-rooted Christian whose soul is in constant
connection with the fountain-head of all spiritual power.
There is too much periodical piety in our
churches. Some brethren are only flourishing during seasons of "revival."
The rest of the time they have a very dingy look; their leaves get so
powdered over with the dust of worldliness that they are very
unsightly objects. There are some others whose leaf turns yellow very soon
after they are planted in the church. This betrays a lack of moisture at the
root, or perhaps a secret worm of indulged sin that is devouring the
life of the tree.
It is a wretched mistake to deal with the externals—while
the condition of the heart is neglected. If the heart is
rooted by the "rivers of water" the leaf will be always green,
and the fruit abundant. Such a disciple never ceases to yield fruit.
Every year is a fruit-bearing year.
It is the fixed habit of this faithful brother to attend
the place of prayer in all weathers, to give according to his
means, to pay everyone his dues, to share his loaf with the
suffering, to give his vote as conscience demands, and to stand up for Jesus
Christ everywhere and on all occasions. He is always abounding in the work
of the Master. This is the sort of Christian, who glorifies his Father in
heaven by "bearing much fruit." The word "much" here is comparative.
What would be much for a peasant, would be paltry for a millionaire.
A certain city church, may plume itself on contributing
fifty thousand dollars a year to foreign missions; but who in that church
pinches himself or herself to do it? We could match against them, a poor
widow who at the end of a day of drudgery, trudges two miles on foot to her
prayer-meeting, saving her car-fare for the missionary box; truly her gift
outshines them all. The Master weighs gifts and labor in the scale of
self-denial. Barnabas heads the column in the apostolic church; he gives his
real estate to the Lord, he goes as a city missionary to Antioch and a
foreign missionary to Cyprus, and wins the lofty title, "full of the Holy
Spirit."
"Much fruit" means the giving to Christ the best we have.
It is the lading of every limb on life's tree—be it a giant or a dwarf. He
who in the lowliest sphere walks according to the Scripture rule, employs
his time and single talent, controls his words, regulates his conduct and
does his work in such a conscientious way as to make his religion legible
and luminous to all around him—such a man is a bountiful fruit-bearer.
In the Isle of Wight dwelt a poor "Dairyman's Daughter"
and a "Little Jane, the Young Cottager," whose precious clusters of choice
grapes of grace have sent out a sweet fragrance over Christendom. They "did
what they could." Luther, the prince of reformers, Wesley, the prince of
church organizers, Livingstone, the prince of missionaries, shook down their
fruits over many lands—yet in God's sight they won no higher honor than the
two cottage maidens. One of the most magnificent bearers, who "yielded fruit
every month" for forty years, was transplanted last winter from the soil of
Boston to the soil of heaven.
Living to Jesus Christ every day and in the minutest
things of life—is the secret of fruitfulness. A fruitful Christian is a
growth—not a sudden creation. A noble Christly character cannot
be gained by a religion of Sundays and sacraments and special services; it
is the product of many days of sunshine and storm, of drawing in the vital
sap from Jesus as the living Head, of conflict and prayer and self-denials,
and down-pourings of the Holy Spirit.
The religion which would rather be poor than touch a
dishonest dollar, which would rather go through a Sunday's fierce storm to
its mission school than lie on its lounge; a religion that in all things
serves Christ for the sheer love of serving him—this is the kind of
spiritual growth whose fruits taste of the divine life within it. Blessed is
that Christian whose broad boughs are laden with "apples of gold" for God's
"baskets of silver". Such blessedness is within the reach of everyone who
reads this book; as you lay it down, ask yourself, "Am I bearing the genuine
fruits of the Holy Spirit?"
A Little While
In our Lord's last conversation with his disciples before
his betrayal and crucifixion he said to them, "After a little while—you will
see Me!" John 16:17. Before them was the bloody tragedy on Calvary, and
forty days after that, his ascension through the spring air to heaven. They
would see him no more in earthly form. But in another little while—in fifty
days thereafter—he would come again by his Holy Spirit in the wondrous
baptism of power at Pentecost. He was then to be glorified by the Holy
Spirit in the hearts of his disciples. Jesus Christ is with his people now;
for did he not promise, "Lo, I am with you always"?
Those sweet tender words, "After a little while," have
deep thoughts in them, like the still ocean at the twilight—thoughts too
deep for our fathoming. They breathe some precious consolations to those
believers whose burdens are heavy, either with care, or poverty,
or sickness. If the prosperous can enjoy their prosperity only
for a little while—neither shall the mourner weep much longer, or
God's poor children carry much longer the pains or privations of poverty.
The daily toil to earn the daily bread, the carking care to keep the barrel
from running low and the scanty "cruse" from running out, will soon be over.
Cheer up, my brother! "After a little while—you will see Me!" says your
blessed Master, "for I am going to prepare a place for you!" Oh the infinite
sweep of the glorious transition! A few years here in a lowly
dwelling, whose rent it is hard to pay—and then infinite ages in the
palace of the King of kings. Here a scanty table and coarse clothing soon
outworn—and yonder a robe of resplendent light at the marriage-supper of the
Lamb! Let this blissful thought put new courage into your soul, and
fresh sunshine into your countenance!
I sometimes go into a sick chamber where the "prisoners
of Jesus Christ" are suffering with no prospect of recovery. Perhaps the
eyes of some of those chronic invalids may fall upon this article. My dear
friends, put under your pillows these sweet words of Jesus—"a little while."
It is only for a little while—that you are to serve your Master by patient
submission to his holy will. That chronic suffering will soon be over. That
disease which no earthly physician can cure, will soon be cured by your
Divine Physician, who by the touch of his messenger death, will cure
you in an instant, into the perfect health of heaven! You will exchange this
weary bed of pain for that crystal air in which none shall ever say, "I am
sick;" neither shall there be any more pain.
Not only to the sick and to the poverty-stricken children
of God, do these tender words of our Redeemer bring solace. Let these words,
After a little while—you will see Me!" bring a healing balm to hearts that
are smarting under unkindness, or wounded by neglect, or pining under
privations, or bleeding under sharp bereavements. I offer them as a
sedative to sorrows, and a solace under sharp afflictions. "After
a little while—you will see Me!" The sight of Him shall wipe out all the
memories of the darkest hours through which you made your way through this
wilderness world—to mansions of glory!
"A few more struggles here,
A few more conflicts more,
A little while of toils and tears,
Then we shall weep no more!"
These words of the Master are also a trumpet-call to
duty. After a little while, my post in the pulpit shall be empty; what
kind of minister ought I to be in fidelity to dying souls? Sunday-school
teacher, after a little while you shall meet the young immortals in your
class for the last time. Are you winning them to Christ?
The time is short! Whatever your hands find to do for the
Master—do it. Do it, Aquila and Priscilla, in the
Sunday-school! Do it, Lydia, in the home! Do it, Dorcas, with
your needle, and Mary in the room of sickness and sorrow! Do it,
Tertius, with your pen, and Apollos, with your tongue! Do it,
praying Hannah, with your children, and make for them the "little
coat" of Christian character which they shall wear when you have gone home
to a mother's heavenly reward.
Only think, too, how much may be achieved in a little
while. The atonement for a world of perishing sinners was accomplished
between noon and three, on darkened Calvary. That flash of divine
electricity from the Holy Spirit which struck Saul of Tarsus to the ground
was the work of an instant—but the great electric burner has blazed
over all the world for centuries. A half-hour's faithful preaching of Jesus
by a poor itinerant Methodist exhorter at Colchester, brought the boy
Spurgeon to Christ, and launched the mightiest ministry of modern times.
Lady Somerset tells us that a few minutes of solemn reflection in her garden
decided her to exchange a life of fashionable frivolity—for a life of
consecrated piety.
Why cite any more cases, when every Christian can testify
that the best decisions and deeds of his or her life, turned on the pivot of
a few minutes? In the United States Mint they coin twenty dollar eagles
out of the sweepings of gold dust from the floor. Brethren, we
ought to be misers of our minutes! If on a dying bed they are so
precious—why not in the fuller days of our healthful energies? Said General
Mitchell, to an officer who apologized for being only a few minutes late,
"Sir, I have been in the habit of calculating the tenth part of a second!"
Our whole eternity will hinge on the "little while" of probation here. Only
an inch of time to choose between an eternity of glory—or the endless woes
of hell!
May God help us all to be faithful—only for a little
while; and then comes the unfading crown of glory!
READY!
"You also must be ready all the time. For the Son of Man
will come when least expected." Matthew 24:44. When Death calls the
roll—always be ready to answer "Ready!" Everybody thinks that his or her
name will soon be called. Everybody admits the uncertainty of life
and the absolute certainty of death. Some of those who read this
paragraph may be within a few weeks or days of the eternal world; the
invisible cistern may be nearly run out, and only a few drops left. Suppose
this were your case, my friend—would you be frightened? You ought not to
be—if you are ready to go; and if you are not, then it is of infinite
importance to you that you should be "setting your house in order."
Suppose that you ask yourself two or three questions,
that you may know whether you are ready for the approaching roll-call.
1. Are your business affairs in the right condition? Are
your accounts square, and your books so kept that you would be willing to
have them audited, not only by your executors—but by the All-seeing Eye?
Every man should conscientiously endeavor to keep his affairs so well
ordered that, if a stroke of lightning or a heart attack should end his life
in an instant, his creditors should not suffer the unjust loss of a dime.
Death is a merciless revealer sometimes; he makes awful exposures of some
men's secret dishonesty and of others' criminal carelessness and
improvidence. Would a single creditor suffer if you were to die tomorrow?
For remember that it is just as dishonest to cheat your fellow-men from your
coffin—as to cheat them in your store, your shop or your office. No
Christian, surely, would wish to escape his creditor—by hiding away in his
sepulcher. It will be a terrible thing—to have some poor wronged
fellow-creature carry up an unsettled account to the last tribunal.
See to it, then, that you can go into the eternal world without leaving a
single person in this world to charge you with wronging him out of a
farthing! For death is not the last of it; settling-day comes in the
next world!
2. No person who has any others dependent on him, is
ready to die—unless he has made proper provision for them. Some people are
afraid to make a will, lest death should overhear the scratch of
their pens—and be on their track. This is worse than cowardice; it is often
a most shameful injustice to surviving kindred. Not only should every
conscientious man make a will—but the first provision in it should be for
those who have the strongest moral claim. Healthy, prosperous, well-educated
children have not a claim so strong, as infirm parents have, or poor invalid
relatives, or some benefactor who has never had his due.
When you have discharged all the honest claims of those
who are dependent, then make your Lord and Savior your benefactor. Put your
money where it will do the most good after you are gone; for stewardship
reaches beyond the probate judge's office—it goes up to the day of judgment.
It is a blessed privilege to be scattering Bibles, or supporting
missionaries—after you have reached heaven. Frederick Marquand went up to
his rest years ago—but he built a noble edifice for the young men of
Brooklyn, another for Mr. Moody's Christian school among the hills of
Massachusetts, and other similar structures elsewhere. Give the Lord all you
can while you live—and then make such a will as you will not be ashamed to
show him when you come into his presence!
3. A third close question for you to ask is—Am I
forgiven? Not merely by any fellow-creature whom you may have injured or
wounded. See to that, of course; see to it that no injuries
unredressed and no harsh words unrepaired and no bitter memories
be laid in your coffin; let no nettles grow in the turf above
your ashes!
But the more vital question is, Have your sins been
forgiven? All those evil thoughts towards God, all those secret
sins that nobody has ever seen or dreamed of, all those
transgressions of God's pure law, all your lost opportunities to do
good, all your woundings of Christ's love and grievings of his
Holy Spirit—have all these been pardoned? If not, they will condemn your
soul and blast your hopes in eternity!
Have you gone to Christ for forgiveness? "Whoever
believes in him—shall receive remission of sins." Have you made honest
confession and implored pardon in Jesus' name? Have you clinched the
sincerity of your confession, by abandoning the sins you have
loved, and set about a life of obedience to Christ's commandments? No
repentance is of any avail—which does not lead to Christ. When you get rid
of the old heart, by having a new and a clean heart—when you begin a new
life in Christ and for Christ—then you are ready either to stay in this
world or to go away into a better. "Blessed is that man, whose
transgressions are covered." There is no condemnation in this world or in
the next world, to the man who is in Christ Jesus.
Other questions might be started. But if you are sure on
these points that have just been named, if you can give an honest "yes" to
the questions already stated, then you need not be afraid to hear your name
called. You need not be ashamed to present yourself at the door of your
Father's House. That door will open to give you "an abundant entrance!"
Cheerful Thoughts about Going Home
There is one thing that we have all got to do one of
these days—and that is to die. It is well to go "knock at the gate of our
grave" occasionally, and to listen whether any painful echo comes back from
within. When I am visiting my beautiful plot in "Greenwood cemetery" I often
forecast the inevitable hour when my body shall be laid down beside those of
my godly children in our family bed-room—"asleep in Jesus." This is
the right way for a redeemed child of Christ to think and to speak about
dying.
A great many good people are plagued and tormented with a
vague horror about their last hours; they have heard about the "pangs of
death" and "deathbed agonies," and really die a thousand deaths
themselves by frightened anticipation. Now it may relieve some of
these excellent folk, to be reminded that in the vast majority of cases,
there is but little physical suffering in the last moments. To a genuine
Christian, few things in life are less painful than life's close. If
our souls are at peace—we need not trouble ourselves about bodily
sufferings—for commonly fatal disease has a certain benumbing effect upon
the nerves, so that the dying suffer very little. Such has been my
observation.
"I had not thought," said a certain godly man, "that it
could be so easy a thing to die." As life ebbs away, usually sensibility
to pain goes with it. So gently did a certain eminent chemist breathe
his last—that a teaspoon of milk which he held in his hand was not even
upset—the dead hand held it still. Death is very often a slow fading out
of the faculties, like the coming on of a tranquil twilight.
The sense of hearing sometimes remains intensely
acute, that the dying overhear a whisper in the room. "She is sinking very
fast," was whispered by an attendant in the dying-chamber of a godly woman.
"No, no!" was the quick response of her who had overheard the words. "No, I
am not sinking; I am in the arms of my Savior!"
Of tragic accidents, and deaths on the battlefield—a
large proportion must be without severe physical agony; for a gunshot wound
is apt to benumb the sensibilities. When a bullet pierces either the heart
or the brain—there can be no pain; probably our glorious martyr Abraham
Lincoln "never knew what hit him." Drowning is far from painful. Those who
have been resuscitated tell us that their sensations where rather
exhilarating. Somewhat similar are the feelings of those who have been
frozen to death in the Arctic regions; they imagined themselves to be
sinking into a sweet slumber. But the recovery, the thawing out, was an
excruciating agony.
It is about the same with backsliders in our
churches—they find it very easy to drop off into spiritual torpor—but when
God in mercy wakes them up, and brings them to by severe chastisements, the
process of soul-conviction and contrition involves sharp sufferings. Blessed
is the blow which awakens a freezing Christian!
I have witnessed a few jubilant and triumphant
dying-beds—but ecstatic raptures are rare. Calm, sweet tranquility
is oftener the attitude of the child of God who is waiting for the
messenger to bear him home. On the other hand, I have but seldom witnessed
poignant distress on the part of those who had given no evidence of
preparation to meet God. To all such, however quiet may be their exit—the
terrible pang must come afterwards! The real "sting of death" is not bodily
pain, or separation from loved ones, or momentary remorse. It is a wasted
life, a rejected Savior, and a lost soul! The full consciousness and the
consequences of these, are realized in the next world.
It is neither wise nor well for a genuine, active and
healthy Christian to be thinking too often about dying. To do every day a
full, brave day's work—is the main thing. Don't let us look too far ahead;
the blessed wages will be sure—when sundown comes. Our loving Father keeps
our times in his own hand; he knows when to dismiss us from the
life-school, and promote us to the higher grade in heaven. It is a
luxury to live a full, hearty, vigorous life for Jesus, sowing and reaping,
filling and being filled. As soon as God has something better for us to do,
and something richer for us to enjoy, and something higher for us to
reach—let us joyfully go up yonder after them!
An Eye on Heaven
A man who is setting out for a foreign country—especially
if he intends to reside there—will be wise to study the localities in
that land, and seek to become acquainted with the language and the
customs of its people. His thoughts will be much upon it. But do the
great majority of even true Christians spend much time on thought about
heaven? Yet it is to be their dwelling-place through innumerable ages. In a
little while, perhaps within a few days to some of us—the veil which hides
the eternal world may drop—and the gates of the Father's house may open
before our astonished vision! If heaven is ready for Christ's redeemed
people—then surely they should be making ready for heaven. We ought to be
thinking more about our future and everlasting home. If our treasures are
there, then our hearts should be there also in frequent and joyful
anticipations.
John Bunyan tells us of his Pilgrim, that "his heart
waxed warm about the place where he was going." "This is not your resting
place, because it is defiled, it is ruined, beyond all remedy!" Micah 2:10.
This world is not our rest. It is only our temporary lodging-place, our
battle-ground to fight sin and Satan, our vineyard in which to labor for our
Master and our fellow men until sundown, our training-school for the
development of character and growth in grace. A Christian, to whom Jesus
Christ is real, and the glories of the world to come are real, and who has
set his affections on things above—must inevitably have some deep
meditations about his home and his magnificent inheritance. He loves to read
about it, and gathers up eagerly the few grand, striking things which his
Bible tells him about that glorious City of God. Among his favorite hymns
are "Jerusalem the Golden" and the "Shining Shore"; they are like rehearsals
for his part by-and-by in the sublime oratorios of heaven.
Sometimes, when cares press heavily, or bodily
pains wax sharp, or bereavements darken his house—he gets
homesick, and he says, "Oh that I had wings like a dove—then would I fly
away and be at rest!" Such devout meditations do not prove any man or
woman to be a dreamy mystic. They are not the pious sentimentalizings of
mourners to whom this world has lost all its charm; or of enthusiasts whose
religion evaporates in mere emotion. The hundred-handed Paul constantly
reminds his fellow-workers that "our citizenship is in heaven. And we
eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ!" Philippians 3:20
The godly Samuel Rutherford, who was said to be always
studying, always preaching, and always visiting the sick—found time to feed
on anticipations of Paradise. He tells us that he often longed to "stand at
the outer side of the gates of the New Jerusalem and look through a
crevice of the door and see Christ's face." He exclaims, "Oh, time, run
fast! Oh, fair day, when will you dawn? Oh, shadows, flee away! Oh,
well-beloved Bridegroom, be to me like the roe or the young deer on the
mountains of division!"
No man in modern times has written any volume so full of
heavenly aspirations as Richard Baxter's "Saint's Everlasting Rest." Yet
Baxter was one of the most practical of philanthropists. While meditating on
the Better Country he wore his busy life out, in striving to make
England a better country; and the town of Kidderminster was revolutionized
by his ceaseless labors for the bodies and the souls of its inhabitants!
Intense spirituality and intense practicality were
beautifully united in the late A. J. Gordon, of Boston. If he kept one eye
on heaven—he kept the other wide open to see the sins and the
snares and the sorrows of his fellow-creatures all around him.
I truly believe that if we thought more about heaven, and
realized more its ineffable blessedness—we would strive harder to get others
there; we would not be content to travel there on a path only wide enough
for one. It is no wonder that some professed Christians do not catch
more distinct glimpses of the celestial world. Their vision is obscured. As
a very small object when held close to the eye—will hide the noonday sun—so
a Christian may hold a dollar so close to the eye of his soul—as to
shut out both Christ and heaven.
Fish shut up in a cavern for a long time—become
blind; and so will any of us lose even the faculty of spiritual sight—if we
shut ourselves up in a cavern of carking worldliness!
Perhaps some reader of this article may despondingly say,
"Well, I never get any sight of heaven; I am all in a mist; nothing but
clouds and darkness are before my eyes." My friend, watch where you are
standing! You are in Satan's marshy grounds and among the quagmires where
the fogs dwell continually. Ever since you left the "King's highway," ever
since you forsook the straight path of duty, ever since you quit honest
praying and Christian work, and God's Book for your ledger, and the service
of Christ for the service of Mammon—you have strayed away into the devil's
territory! Heaven is not visible to backsliders! And never until your
feet take hold again of that strait path of sincere, unselfish obedience
to Jesus Christ, and your eyes are washed out with some sincere tears
of repentance—will you have any fresh, gladdening glimpse of that heavenly
rest which remains for the people of God. Throw off your worldly load, my
friend; and the sins which so easily beset you—and, getting your feet again
in the track, run with patience the race set before you, looking unto Jesus,
the author and finisher of your faith. When you get your eye fixed again on
Christ you will no longer complain that heaven is utterly out of sight.
Those whose hearts are in heaven, and who keep it
constantly before their view, have abundant sources of spiritual joy. They
renew their strength as they push upward and heavenward. What is it to
them—that the road is long, and sometimes the hills of difficulty are steep,
that there are often lions in the way, that there are crosses to be carried,
that there are some valleys of the death-shadow to be threaded, and that not
far ahead, is that river of death over which there is no bridge! None of
these things disturb them! Heaven lies at the end of the way—clothed in its
glorious light! Mount Zion is there—the city of the living God and the
innumerable company of angels, some of whom may turn out to be old friends
who have had their eye on us ever since we were born into Christ.
From the hilltops we can, with the spy-glass of faith,
bring heaven so near—that we can see its gates, and its streets of shining
gold, and the Lamb on His throne! These views of our imperishable inheritance of glory, ought to quicken
our zeal greatly. The time is short—and shortening every day. If we are to
have treasures there—we must be securing them now; no time is to be lost. If
we are to lead any souls—there we must be out after them now. If we are to
wear any crown there, however humble—we must win it now. Christian zeal
depends on inward warmth; and much of that heat must come from heaven.
"When," exclaimed grand old Baxter, "when, oh my soul,
have you been warmest? When have you most forgot your wintry sorrows? It is
when you have gotten above, closest to Jesus Christ, and have conversed with
him, and viewed the mansions of glory, and filled yourself with sweet
foretastes, and with the inhabitants of the higher world!"
It is certain, that he who doesn't love Christ—doesn't
love heaven; and he who doesn't love heaven—will never see heaven. A godly
life is just a tarrying and a toiling in this earthly tent for Christ—until
we go into the mansions with Christ! Brethren! the miles to heaven
are few and short; let us be found busy in heart and hand when the summons
sounds, "Come up here!" And they rose to heaven! Revelation 11:12.
Threescore and Ten