HOMEWARD-BOUND
By Newman Hall, at Surrey Chapel, England, on his
return from America in 1867.
"Then are they glad because they are quiet; so He brings
them unto their desired haven." Psalm 107:30
A short time ago I was spending Sunday in the midst of the
Atlantic. A strong wind was blowing, and the sea was high. In consequence of
the rolling of the vessel it was with some difficulty that divine service was
conducted. The congregation, composed of the captain and the small number of
passengers who were able to leave their berths, were at one moment above me,
at the next below; and winds and water combined their roar as I spoke from the
words, "The ship was in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves." Within a few
days we entered the calm cove of Cork, and there was a happy fulfillment of my
text, "Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He brings them to their
desired haven." When, a few hours after, I crossed the Irish Channel, and once
more set my foot on my dear old native land; and when I was permitted to meet
again those dearer to me than my own life; and home, with all its charms of
love, often thought of with yearning desire, welcomed me back after so long an
absence, and all the dear familiar forms and accents greeted me—then again I
felt, and with what thankfulness! the fulfillment of the text, "So He brings
them to their desired haven."
And now this day, how my heart swells at another
illustration of it! What a home to my soul is this scene of many years of
happy labor! I have preached in many magnificent churches, some of them built
of spotless marble, with swelling dome and lofty spire, and adorned with the
lavish generosity which merchant princes in America are as able as willing to
manifest towards the house of the Lord; but my heart has ever turned with a
love unfaltering to these rustic walls, consecrated by so many hallowed
associations.
Dear old Surrey Chapel! And if the place is dear, still
more the people—the loving flock who have followed me everywhere with their
prayers, and have asked not merely protection and a safe return, but a
blessing on my work in that distant land; and who are here this day with
thankful hearts to join in a common tribute of praise to Him who permits us
thus again to meet. And so, after much journeying, and many labors, and the
excitement of fresh scenes and fresh people from day to day—now, returning to
this familiar place and these familiar faces, I feel how applicable to my case
are the words of the text, "Then are they glad because they are quiet; so He
brings them to their desired haven."
In a world full of God, how apt we are to forget Him!
Living a life each moment of which is sustained by Him, how little we
recognize His guardian care! Accomplishing in safety a long ocean voyage, we
speak of the soundness of the ship, the completeness of the machinery, the
efficiency of the crew, the skill of the captain, and we often lose sight of
Him who gave the skill by which the ship was built and is propelled over the
stormy, trackless deep. We are "glad because we are quiet," but we often
forget that it is He who "brings us to our desired haven." He rules the
waves. He holds the winds in His fists. He rides upon the clouds.
He directs the storm. He controls those forces of Nature by which in a
moment we might be overwhelmed. We could never reach the haven unaided by God.
"Without Him we can do nothing."
If this is so in things temporal, we need not wonder it is
so in things spiritual. How can the soul safely traverse the ocean of
its probationary being? How, amid the winds and waves, the rocks and
quicksands of temptation and sin, can our poor, frail, shattered bark reach
the harbor of salvation? This is impossible without Him. "By grace we are
saved." We are already lost. We are shipwrecked by sin. We are ready to sink.
But "God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son." Jesus
came to save the lost. By the sacrifice of Himself He provided deliverance for
all. By Him we receive the pardon of our sins, deliverance from condemnation,
and restoration to the favor of God and the hope of heaven.
Further to help us, God gives us His Holy Spirit, by
whom the heart is changed, so that we repent of sin, trusting in the Savior.
He helps us from day to day, teaching, guiding, purifying, comforting us. He
inspires us with love to Jesus, so that we desire to imitate and to serve Him
in all things. We are very weak, but He gives us strength; very ignorant, but
He makes us wise; very prone to wander, but He restrains us; constantly liable
to sink in the midst of the sea, but He upholds us. "By the grace of God I am
what I am." His strength is made perfect in weakness. His love is free,
unchangeable, inexhaustible, and "so He brings us to our desired haven." But
as with a voyage at sea, so with the soul: man's efforts must be conjoined
with those of God, or, as we may rather say, God's working is manifested in
connection with our own. "He works in us," not to supersede our own
activities, but that we may "will and do."
Our ship was impelled by STEAM. Eighty tons of coal were
consumed daily in the great furnaces, which ten men were always feeding. When
these grew weary, others took their places. If they had relaxed their efforts
for only a few minutes, the speed of the ship would have diminished. And there
is a fire of love within the soul, which is its motive power. This has been
kindled by God Himself, and by Him is continually kept alive. Yet we
ourselves must labor to supply it with fuel. By the truth of God, by
meditation on His love, by the constant exercise of godliness, by diligence in
the use of all the means of grace, we must keep this fire burning. The
furnaces of a steam vessel are constantly fanned by currents of air supplied
from above; and so we must fan this inward fire of religion by the breath of
prayer. "Pray without ceasing." The fuel will only stifle the furnace
if there is no draught. And the means of grace and Christian doctrine will be
of no service to us unless by earnest prayer the flame of love fastens upon
them and vitalizes them. There may be much theology and no godliness.
Only when knowledge ascends to Him does it augment the motive force of the
soul.
Our ship was also impelled by the WIND. When this was
favorable, the sails were at once set to catch it. Vigilantly was it watched,
and no opportunity was missed of thus accelerating our speed. If the canvas
had only just been taken in, yet, should the wind again become even in a
slight degree favorable, that canvas was at once unfurled again. What a lesson
was taught us of Christian diligence! God is always sending favorable breezes
for the soul. They change their force and their direction, requiring new and
appropriate efforts on our part; but there is no season when we may not carry
sail. Alas, how negligent we often are! How much of God's gracious help we
lose by inattention and sloth! We feel the breeze, we are conscious it is
favorable, it seems to give the word to loose the sails; but we linger, we
postpone, we are not brisk and active, we spread only some sails when we might
spread all. O, let us "give all diligence!" And as God does "breathe the
auspicious gale," let us "spread our sail and speed our way." There must be
this "working together," for "so He brings them to their desired haven."
A ship needs a RUDDER. Without this it tosses helplessly on
the waves, the sport of every wind and every current. Day after day it may be
driven backwards and forwards, making no progress, doomed to sink. How
different the vessel whose rudder promptly replies to the steersman's steady
hand! With what a meaning does it now drive onward, in opposition to the tide,
cutting through the waves, its prow ever turned to the desired haven which it
is ever nearing!
And the soul without an object, and that object God,
is but a rudderless ship. How the worldling is driven here and there, the
sport of circumstances! Ever seeking to satisfy a nature made for God with
that which is finite, and cannot fill the void, he is tossed about by every
wind of opinion, impulse, and passion. He may be a man of great mental power,
but his genius only leads him round in a larger circle than others move in. He
does not make progress. A steamship without a rudder would go in a circle. One
ship might be larger than another, and be propelled with greater power, but it
would still go round, though on a wider circumference. So it is with those who
do not make God and heaven the great object of their life. One person may be
stupid and ignorant; another may have a brilliant genius and a mind stored
with universal learning; but if both are living without God, both, though with
a different sweep, go round, and round, and round the same dull, narrow
center—self. O, let us resolve that God, not self, shall be the object
we live for. To do His will, to enjoy His favor, to promote His glory, to
share in His reward—let this be the purpose of our life. Then our vessel, no
longer borne here and there by varying tides, no longer circling round itself,
making no progress, will cleave the billows of passion, and stem the currents
of worldliness, and hold on its course. This also is by the help of God, and
"so He brings them to their desired haven."
In steering the vessel a CHART is needed. Here the
coast-line is accurately marked, together with every rock and every shoal by
which the ship may be imperilled. This chart the navigator constantly
examines, tracing on it the course of his ship, so that he may avoid the
dangers it indicates, and by the best track reach his desired haven. To
neglect the chart would be to miss that haven and to wreck the ship. God has
given us a chart in His holy Word. Here are marked out the way to heaven, and
the dangers that beset it. But in order to obtain the benefit God designed in
giving us this chart, it is necessary that we consult it. It should be our
daily companion, the subject of our habitual meditation.
If a captain did not look at his chart for several days,
when in the neighborhood of headlands and rocks, would not his ship be in
great peril? Who would like to insure it, or to sail in it? Alas, there are
many who allow a whole week to go without any serious, earnest study their
heavenly chart!
Brethren, let us read it, not only in our churches once a
week, but daily in our families and in our closets. Let us watch against the
dangers it points out; let us steer along the course it indicates. We can only
hope to get safely into port by following its directions. God has given us
this chart that we may consult it, and "so He brings us to our desired haven."
On the ship I noticed how the officer of the watch and the
men at the forecastle kept a good LOOKOUT. Wistfully by day and night they
gazed forward to discover any vessel in their path with which they might come
in collision; and when we were approaching land, with what eagerness did they
scan the horizon for the first indication of the shore, or for the first
glimmer of the signal light! So let us "watch and pray, that we enter not into
temptation." Let us "take heed to ourselves." We may be sailing fast, but let
us not on that account give way to a recklessness of danger which is ever
perilous. Many a ship has thus struck and gone down when in full career. We
need to be ever on our guard against concealed as well as obvious
dangers, against unsuspected as well as easily besetting and familiar
temptations. God helps us to keep watch, and "so He brings us to our desired
haven."
But the navigator does more than look on the surface of the
sea; he sounds its DEPTHS. When he thinks he may be approaching land, though
by reason of fog or darkness he cannot see it, he casts the lead, and learns
both the depth of the water and the nature of the bottom. Thus he ascertains
where he is. So let us search into our own hearts. When the outward
temptation may not be visible, let us examine whether we may not be
approaching it. We may judge of this by our inward thoughts and desires. How
often these, becoming worldly and sensual, will indicate, like the sand
adhering to the sounding lead, that we are approaching dangerous shoals. How
often, by such scrutiny into the depths of our nature, we may be warned in
time to put the ship about, and so escape!
The navigator also takes pains day by day to ascertain how
FAST he is going, and in what DIRECTION. Every two hours he counts the knots
the ship is running. When opportunity occurs he takes observations by the sun
and other heavenly bodies, by which to verify and correct his calculations.
Neglect or error here would be dangerous. Only by the use of such means can he
find his way across the pathless ocean and reach the desired haven. And just
so it must be with the soul: We should "examine ourselves whether we be in the
faith"—in the true course towards heaven. We should ask what progress we are
making—whether we are indeed leaving "the things which are behind, and
reaching forth to the things which are before." We should always verify our
own experience by divine truth, as the seaman verifies his mundane
calculations by looking at the heavenly bodies. Let us take heed that the
Spirit witnesses with our spirit—that the divine word and our own feelings
agree—that our hearts are in harmony with Heaven. It is a great thing to steer
a ship from one continent to another. It is a much greater thing to make a
prosperous voyage through time to eternity. If vigilance and painstaking are
needed in the lesser journey, surely they cannot be dispensed with in the
greater. In such painstaking God will help us, and "so He brings us to our
desired haven."
Essential to navigation is the COMPASS. The needle touched
by the loadstone ever points northward. What ever may be the direction of the
ship, however its course may be changed—from north to south, from east to
west—still the needle ever turns to its pole. A sudden gust, a mighty wave,
may turn the ship from its course; but no stormy blast can alter the direction
of that needle, which in the night as well as the day, in the tempest as well
as in the calm, still points true to its home, and shows the pilot how to
steer. So let our hearts be a compass-needle—touched with divine love, and
ever pointing to its source.
There is no guidance like that of love. Quicker than
calculation—surer than theory—steady amid tempest—permanent in change—love
points homeward amid the darkness and the storm. Wild winds may whirl us round
and round, but the heart still trembles towards its home. Strong currents may
for a time divert us from our course, but a true heart within ever tells of
that divergence, and gives no peace until we return. O for a heart true to
God! O, to have our compass preserved from counter-acting and deflecting
influences! Let us beware of carrying with us what would overpower this holy
magnetism. Let us cast out of the ship the treasure we value most, if it turns
aside that needle! Nothing can be really a treasure which leads the heart away
from God. O Source of Love, touch our hearts anew from day to day—magnetize
them with Yourself, and make them true to You—help us to steer our ship by the
constancy of love—love imparted and sustained by Yourself. So bring us to our
desired haven.
Illustrative of our theme, the SEA-BIRDS which followed our
vessel taught an important lesson. I watched their beautiful motions—now
gently floating on the wind with no apparent exertion, now flapping their
wings in upward flight, now descending to catch from the crest of a wave the
food thrown from the ship, now outstripping the wind to recover the distance
lost, now wheeling with graceful curve to the right and left, and ever
crossing and recrossing each other as if in harmonious and joyful dance.
Watching them, one forgot that they had any other motion. Yet all the while
they were traveling onwards with the ship at the rate of fourteen knots an
hour. Those motions among themselves did not for a moment suspend their steady
progressive flight across the deep, nor did that progressive flight with the
ship prevent those lesser activities of their own.
True type of the Christian. There are objects of the
present life which we should seek, pleasures which we should enjoy, and
duties to ourselves and one another which we should discharge. True
religion does not require us to abnegate any part of our nature, nor does the
pursuit of the future demand the neglect of the present. The flight of a bird
straight across the ocean in one unvarying line would not have been so
beautiful, would not have displayed so much activity or required so much
strength, as the varied motions of those seagulls. The life of the monk or nun
who retires from the secular duties of the present life is not so beautiful,
is not so Christian, does not require so much grace, does not indicate so high
a degree of piety, as that of the man or woman, diligent in the duties of the
state, of the exchange, of the workshop, of the family—with cares of business,
cares of children, claims of neighborhood and friends—who yet, amid all, is
making steady progress heavenward; now stooping for food, now soaring in
thankfulness, now sweeping here and there in the exercise of God-given
faculties, and ever with friendly heart mingling in beautiful harmony with the
kindred flight of others—yet in every one of these motions regulated by the
concurrent and all-controlling flight onwards, ever onwards, to the desired
haven.
Some there are whose lives resemble the flight of birds
around a ship at anchor. They go up and down, and round and round, yet their
locality is unchanged. Their lives may be active and beautiful, but they make
no progress heavenward. They are no nearer port. The Christian abstains from
all that is sinful and vain in this world; but in diligent exercise of his
varied faculties, the performance of earthly duties, and the enjoyment of
social and domestic delights, he resembles others. But here is the
difference—he is all the while speeding his flight onward towards God, while
they are ever circling round themselves. O for grace to be thus "in the world
and not of the world"—to be performing diligently and cheerfully our part in
the present life, yet ever pressing towards our eternal rest. God will give us
the needful grace; and, "so He brings us to our desired haven."
Another lesson I was taught in that homeward voyage. During
several days the wind was high, the sea was rough, and the big waves tossed
our vessel to and fro, often breaking over its deck, and covering it with
foam. Many of the passengers were sick, and some trembled with fear; yet the
wind, being in our favor, added to our speed, and brought us more quickly to
our desired haven. And thus our God brings His people home to glory. "We must
through much tribulation enter into the kingdom."
The Atlantic is noted for its storms, as is the Pacific for
its tranquillity. Seldom is the voyage made upon a waveless sea. If some days
are peaceful, others are stormy, and frequently the whole passage is amid
tempestuous waves. Thus it is with Christians. Very few find the ocean
smooth. The majority encounter tempests during some part of the voyage;
and to some it is stormy, O, how stormy! all the time. The winds roar, the
billows break over the ship, which rolls and pitches, and sometimes seems
about to sink. But the storms which assail the Christian are always helps,
not hindrances. The winds may be boisterous, but they are never
contrary. The hurricane which tosses the ship speeds her passage, and
helps her towards the desired haven. "All things work together for good to
those who love God."
Sometimes we can see that the storm drives us homeward. But
at other times it seems, to our imperfect vision, only to keep us back, or
drive us from our course. We cannot always explain the mystery of trial
to others, nor understand it ourselves. Winds, and waves, and currents seem
against us; and yet we may be sure that, directed by a Father's wisdom and
love, they are promoting our salvation. These light afflictions "work out a
far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." And so, by needed
discipline—so, by the rough winds and waves of trial—"so He brings them to
their desired haven."
O our Father! spare us, for we are weak and timid! but
rather than the treacherous calm which might keep us away from You, send us
the stormy wind, and we will still trust You and praise You. Send what weather
You will, only bring us safely, swiftly onward to our desired haven.
There were some on board who were sickly, and some, who
were in fear; yet they reached the harbor as surely and as soon as those whose
comfort had been uninterrupted. And thus it is with our voyage heavenward.
Many are harassed with fears: they are dismayed by the raging waves; they are
sick with sorrow; they are disquieted with terror; they often have little hope
of reaching home—yet, being in the vessel with Christ, and trusting in Him
alone, they are as safe as the happiest of their fellow-voyagers.
There are many who desire the haven, but not the
voyage; they long for home, but dread the ocean passage. Even so there are
many Christians who shrink from that portion of the sea which is nearest their
eternal rest—that narrow sea called death—by whom the haven is nevertheless
"desired." Yonder is their treasure, yonder their home, and there have they
sent forward their hearts. Cheer up, timid saint; soon that narrow sea will be
passed, and you will be "glad because you are quiet."
Yes, we shall be quiet there! No evil memories haunt the
blessed ones who have entered that port of peace; no accusing conscience
disturbs their joy. They bask in the sunshine of love, they rest in the bosom
of their Father, and they are ''glad because they are quiet." Fears no
longer, like stormy gusts, toss them about, nor can despondency and
doubt gather round them a mist darker and more dismal than the night. At
length they enjoy the full fruition of all their hopes, and they are "glad
because they be quiet."
Temptation no longer, like a strong contrary tide,
threatens to carry them away; they have no longer to keep anxious watch lest
suddenly they strike on rock or quicksand; all perils past, they are "glad
because they be quiet." From all sorrow and sickness, from all
anxiety and care, from all neglect and unkindness, from all malice and enmity,
from all uncertainty and change, from all bereavement and separation, they are
now secure, and so they are "glad because they are quiet." After their long,
and stormy, and perilous, and anxious voyage, they have entered the harbor,
and cast anchor, and are safely moored, to go no more out forever.
"Rest comes at length, though life be dark and dreary;
The day must dawn, and darksome night be past;
All journeys end in welcomes to the weary,
And heaven, the heart's true home, will come at last."
And then will all the praise be ascribed through eternal
ages to Him who, amid many storms and countless perils, safely brought the
ship to that long-desired haven. To Him shall be ascribed all the glory of our
salvation. Hallelujah! "Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power be unto Him
who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb forever and ever." This shall be the
utterance of the joy of those who are "glad because they are quiet," and of
their gratitude to Him who "so brings them to their desired haven."