Comfort Proclaimed
A Sermon
(No. 221)
Delivered on Sabbath Evening, September 21, 1856, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
At Exeter Hall, Strand.
"Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God."–Isaiah 40:1.
WHAT A SWEET TITLE: "My people!" What a cheering revelation: "Your
God!" How much of meaning is couched in those two words, "My people!"
Here is speciality. The whole world is God's; the heaven, even the
heaven of heavens are the Lord's and he reigneth among the children of
men. But he saith of a certain number, "My people." Of those whom he
hath chosen, whom he hath purchased to himself, he saith what he saith
not of others. While nations and kindreds are passed by as being simply
nations, he says of them "My people." In this word there is the idea of
proprietorship to teach us that we are the property of God. In some
special manner the "Lord's portion is his people; Jacob is the lot of
his inheritance." All the nations upon earth are his; he taketh up the
isles as a very little thing; the whole world is in his power; yet are
his people, his chosen, favoured people, more especially his possesion;
for he has done more for them than others; he has bought them with his
blood; he has brought them nigh to himself; he has set his great heart
upon them; he has loved them with an everlasting love, a love which
many waters cannot quench, and which the revolutions of time shall
never suffice in the least degree to diminish. "My people!" O my
hearers, can you by faith put yourselves in that number who believe
that God says of them, "My people?" Can you look up to heaven to-night,
and say, "My Lord, and my God: mine by that sweet relationship which
entitles me to call thee Father; mine by that hallowed fellowship which
I delight to hold with thee when thou art pleased to manifest thyself
unto me as thou dost not unto the world?" Canst thou, beloved, put
thine hand into thine heart and find there the indentures of thy
salvation? Canst thou read thy title writ in precious blood? Canst thou
by humble faith lay hold of Jesus's garments, and say, "My Christ?" If
thou canst, then God saith of thee, "My people;" for if God be your
God, and Christ your Christ, the Lord has a special, peculiar favour to
you; you are the object of his choice, and you shall be accepted, at
last, in his beloved Son. How careful God is of his people; those of
whom he says, "My people;" mark, how anxious he is concerning them, not
only for their life, but for their comfort. He does not say,
"strengthen ye, strengthen ye my people;" he does not say to the angel,
"protect my people;" he does not say to the heavens, "drop down manna
to feed my people;"–all that and more also his tender regard secures
to them; but on this occasion, to show us that he is not only regardful
of our interests, but also of our superfluities, he says, "Comfort ye,
comfort ye my people." He would not only have us his living people, his
preserved people, but he would have us be his happy people too. He
likes his people to be fed, but what is more, he likes to give them
"wines on the lees well refined," to make glad their hearts. He will
not only give them bread, but he will give them honey too; he will not
simply give them milk, but he will give them wine and milk, and all the
sweet things which their hearts can desire. "Comfort ye, comfort ye my
people;" it is the Father's yearning heart, careful even for the little
things of his people. "Comfort ye, comfort ye,"–that one with a
tearful eye; "Comfort ye, comfort ye,"–you child of mine with an
aching heart "Comfort ye,"–that poor bemoaning one; "Comfort ye,
comfort ye–my people, saith your God."
Now to night we shall notice the parties to whom the command is
addressed; secondly, the reason for it; and thirdly, the means for
carrying it out.
I. First, then, TO WHOM IS THIS COMMAND ADDRESSED? You know, beloved,
the Holy Spirit is the great Comforter, and he it is who alone can
solace the saints if their hearts be really cheered; but he uses
instruments to relieve his children in their distress and to lift op
their hearts from desperation. To whom, then, is this command
addressed? I believe it is addressed to angels and to men.
To angels, first of all, I believe this command is addressed: "Comfort
ye, comfort ye my people." You often talk about the insinuations of the
devil; I frequently hear you bemoaning yourselves because you have been
attacked by Apollyon, and have had a hard struggle with Beelzebub; you
have found it hard to resist his desperate thrusts which he made
against you; and you are always talking about him. Allow me to remind
you that there is another side of that question, for if evil spirits
assault us, doubtless good spirits guard us; and if Satan can cast us
down, doubtless it is true God giveth his angels charge over us, to
keep us in all our ways, and they shall bear us up in their hands lest
at any time we dash our feet against a stone. It is my firm belief that
angels are often employed by God to throw into the hearts of his people
comforting thoughts. There are many sweet thoughts which we have by the
way, when we sit down, and when we rise up, which we scarcely dare
attribute immediately to the Holy Ghost, but which are still beautiful
and calm, lovely, and fair, and consoling; and we attribute them to the
ministry of angels. Angels came and ministered unto Jesus, and I doubt
not that they minister unto us. Few of us have enough belief in the
existence of spirits. I like that saying of Milton's, "Millions of
spiritual creatures walk this earth, both when we sleep and when we
wake." And if our minds were opened, if our ears were attentive, we
might hold fellowship with spirits that flit through the air every
moment. Around the death-bed of saints angels hover; by the side of
every struggling warrior for Christ the angels stand. In the day of
battle we hear in the air the neighing of their steeds. Hark! how
softly do they ride to help the elect of God, while in the stern
conflict for the right and for the truth, when they would have been
cast down, some angel whispers, "Courage brother, courage, I would I
could stand by thy side, shoulder to shoulder, and foot to foot, to
fight the battle, but I must not; it is left for men. Courage then
brother, because angels watch over thee!" It is a good wish of ours,
when we say at eventide, "Peace be to thee beloved! good angels guard
thee! may they spread their wings o'er thee and stand around thy bed!"
But it is more than a wish, it is a reality. Do ye not know It is
written "the angel of the Lord encampeth round them that fear him?"
"Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister unto them
who are heirs of salvation?" This command then, comes to angels.
"Comfort ye, comfort ye my people." Full oft the bright winged seraph
flaps his wing to earth, to comfort some desponding heart. Full oft the
cherub, ceasing for a moment his mighty song to go on errands of love,
descends, as Gabriel did of old, to cheer the heart of many a
struggling man and to stand by the side of those who are in conflict
for God and for his truth. Ye angels, ye bright spirits, "Comfort ye,
comfort ye my people."
But on earth, this is more especially addressed to the Lord's
ministers. He calls his ministers angels of the churches, albeit, they
should be a great deal more like angels than they are. Ministers are
bound to comfort God's people. I am sure, however, they cannot do it,
unless they preach the good old doctrines of truth. Except they preach
grace and gracious doctrine, I can not see how they are to console the
minds of the Lord's family. Were I to adopt a lax theology which
teaches that God's children may fall away, that although redeemed they
may yet be lost, that they may be effectually called, and yet slide
back to perdition–I want to know how I could carry out this command? I
should say, "Brethren, God has told me to comfort you; that is what I
have to preach; you must get what comfort you can out of it, for I
really cannot find much." I have often marvelled how the Arminian can
comfort himself, wherewith he can light a fire to warm his own heart!
What doctrine hath he? He believes he is a child of God to-day, and he
is taught to believe he is a child of the devil to-morrow. He is now,
he says, in the covenant, but then that covenant is such an uncertain
thing that it may at any time be broken down, and he may die beneath
its ruins; he knows himself to be redeemed by the blood of Christ, yet
he is taught that that will not be sufficient without the concurrence
of some good thoughts, good actions, or certainly by some good grace,
some faith of his own. He is led to believe that his standing depends
upon his own keeping near to God, instead of remembering that his
keeping near to God must be by a sweet attraction that proceeds from
God himself. Whence then comfort is to be procured I cannot tell. Happy
I am I have no such gospel as that to preach. Let me preach the old
gospel of Chrysostom, the old gospel of Augustine, the old gospel of
Athanasius; and above all the old gospel of Jesus Christ, the
originator of it; for there I can find something to comfort the child
of God, "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people." It is our duty to reprove,
to exhort, to invite, but it is equally our duty to console. The
minister should ask of God the Spirit, that he may be filled with his
influence as a comforter; that when he ascends his pulpit on the
Sabbath morning, his poor hard working people, who have been toiling,
fretting with care and anxiety all the week, may say, "Here comes our
minister; he is sure to have his mouth filled with good things; as soon
as he opens his lips he will utter some great and glorious promise from
God's Word. He has little to say himself, but he will be sure to tell
us some good old truths with some fresh unction, and we shall go away
refreshed." Oh! ye sons of toil, some of you understand this. With
weary feet ye come to God's house; but oh how gladly do ye sing there,
and how sweetly does your singing harmonize with your hearts! and when
you have heard the Word you go away and say, "Would God it were Sunday
all the week! Oh! that I might sit and ever hear the words of God! Oh!
that I might sit and ever drink in such comforts, so should I be
satisfied as with marrow and fatness!" But sometimes you come up, and
there is a flogging for you just when there needs to be consolation; or
you get some dry hard metaphysical subject that has not any nourishment
for your souls in it, and you go away half starved. You hear some fine
discourse with rounded periods, and people say, "Oh! such an oration!
never was English so beautifully spoken by Hall or Chalmers. How
admirably it was delivered!" But alas! alas! what of the dish, the
porcelain, the knife, the plate, the splendid damask cloth, the vase of
flowers–where is the food? There is none there. You have got the
garnishings and you ought to be thankful, and hold your ministers in
esteem, even it they withhold from you your necessary bread! But the
child of God wont like that; he says "I am weary of such things, away
with these garnishings, give it me in plain rough Saxon if you will,
but give me the gospel! Cut it up in any fashion you like, but do give
me something to feed upon." The language may be rough, and the style
homely, but the heir of heaven says, "There was comfort ye my people'
in it; and that was what I wanted. Its style, humanly speaking, may not
have exactly suited my taste, but it has fed my soul, and that will
suffice me."
But, my friends, do not support your ministers as an excuse for the
discharge of your own duties; many do so. They think when they have
subscribed towards the support of the ministry, it is enough;
imagining, as our Roman Catholic friends do, that the priest is to do
everything, and the people nothing; but that is very wrong. When God
said, "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people," he spake to all his people to
comfort one another. And who is there here that knows the Lord and has
tasted of his grace who cannot comfort his brethren? There is my strong
friend who is on the mount feasting on dying love; he is the subject of
rhapsodies and high excitement; his soul is like the chariot of
Amminadib; it is on fire with his Master's presence; he is living near
to God and drinking in fulness of joy. Oh! my brother, go and tell out
a portion to seven, and also to eight; for thou knowest not what sorrow
there is upon the earth. When thou art happy, remember there is sure to
be some one else sad. When thy cup runneth over, find out an empty cup
to catch the drops that overflow. When thy soul is full of joy, go, if
thou canst, and find a mourner and let him hear thy song, or sit down
by his side and tell him how glad thou art, and mayhap his poor heart
may be warmed by thy sweet cheering words. But art thou weak? Art thou
sad thyself? Then go to him who is the great Comforter and ask him to
relieve thy distresses, and after that go out thyself and comfort
others. There are none so good to comfort others as those who once were
comfortless. If I were an orphan now, and needed a helper, I would seek
one who had been an orphan in his youth, that he might sympathize with
me. Were I houseless and poor, I would not go to the man who has rolled
in wealth from earliest youth, but I would seek out the man who, like
myself, has trodden with bare feet the cold pavement of the street at
midnight; I would seek out the man who, penniless and poor, has begged
his way from town to town, and then, by God's providence, has worked
himself up; for I could believe that such an one would have a heart to
sympathize with me. Go, thou poor tried one, go thou weather-beaten
soul if thou canst, and call to thy mate, who is just out at sea with
thee, and tell him to be of good cheer. Thou who art in the valley of
the shadow of death, sing, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of
the shadow of death, I will fear no evil;" and mayhap some brother far
behind thee will hear the song, and will take heart.
"Lives of great men all remind us,
We can make our lives sublime,
And departing, leave behind us,
Foot-prints on the sands of time.
Foot-prints that, perhaps, another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, may take heart again."
Go, and when thou hast found any good, strive to perpetuate it by
communicating it to others. When thy foot is on the rock, show others
how to put their feet there. When thou art glad, tell others how thou
wast made glad, and the same cordial which cheered thee may cheer them
likewise. "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people."
Now why do we not enjoy this a little more? I believe one reason is
because we are most of us rather too proud to tread in our Master's
footsteps. We like not to say with him, "I am not come to be ministered
unto, but to minister." "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people" is a sublime
admonition, but never surely intended for the meagre sympathy of
fashion,–for a lady who can ride in her carriage, and send her card
up, when she calls to inquire for a friend, who is sick; but were I to
press home the duty, and tell her that "my people" includes the poorest
of God's flock, the weakest and the meanest, she would think me a rude
and vulgar young man, unacquainted with the etiquette of genteel
society. Comfort the poor!–why should she? "The lower classes expect a
great deal too much of the upper, I shall not demean myself by stooping
to them." This kind of feeling many professing Christians have; they
talk with a fine lisp, they deem it enough to say, "Poor creature, I
pity your case, I am sorry for you!" But the heir of heaven reads,
"Comfort ye, comfort ye my people." There is a poor man in the streets
who has just come begging a crust at your door, and you can see by what
he says, that there is something of God's grace in his heart; then
comfort him. There is another up the creaking staircase in that back
alley; you never went up there, you might be afraid to go; but if you
hear of a child of God there do not shrink back. God's diamonds may be
often found amidst heaps of rags and tatters, in the very outskirts of
the city, the abodes of haggard poverty; so go after them. Whensoever
you hear of a child of God, go and find him out; for this command,
"Comfort ye, comfort ye my people," never ought to be put aside by our
pride. Why, you go to your churches and chapels, sometimes, and sit in
your pews, without even a thought of speaking to your neighbours. Some
men will go to a chapel seven years, and scarcely know the name of the
next seat-holder. Is that right? Many will sit at the Lord's table too,
and not speak to each other. But that is not the fashion of communion
as I understand it: it is not the fashion of the gospel either. When I
was but a youth, the smallest boy almost that ever joined a church, I
remember I thought that everybody believed what he said, and when I
heard the minister say brother, I thought I must be his brother, for I
was admitted into the church. I once sat next to a gentleman in a pew,
and we received the bread and wine together; he called me "Brother,"
and as I thought he meant it, I afterwards acted upon it. I had no
friend in the town of Cambridge, where I was; and one day when walking
out, I saw this same gentleman, and I said to myself, "Well now, he
called me brother; I know he is a great deal better off than I am, but
I don't care for that; I will go and speak to him." So I went and said
"How do you do, brother?" "I have not the pleasure of knowing you," was
his reply. I said "I sat next to you at the Lord's table last Sabbath
day, sir, and you called me brother' when you passed the cup to me, and
I was sure you meant it." "There now," said he, "it is worth while
seeing some one who believes a little with sincerity in these times;
come in with me." And we have been the nearest and dearest bosom
friends ever since, just because he saw I took him at his word, that he
meant what he said. But now-a days profession has become a pretence and
a sham; people sit down at the church together, as though they were
brethren, the minister calls you brethren, but he wont speak to you, or
own yon as such; his people are his brethren, no doubt, but their it is
in such a mysterious sense, that you will have to read some German
theologian in order to comprehend it. That person is "your very dear
brother," or "your very dear sister," but if you are in distress, go to
them and see if they will assist you. I do not believe in such a
religion as that. I would have those who profess to be brethren,
believe that "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people," applies to every
member of Christ's church, and that they all ought to carry it out to
the utmost of their abilities.
II. Secondly, WHAT ARE THE REASONS FOR THIS COMMAND? Why does God say
"Comfort ye, comfort ye my people!"
The first reason is because God loves to see his people look happy. The
Roman Catholic supposes that God is pleased with a man if he whips
himself, walks barefooted for many miles, and torments his body. I am
certain if I were to see anyone do that, I should say "Poor soul, give
him a pair of shoes; do take that whip from him, I cannot bear to see
him so." And as I believe that God is infinitely more benevolent than I
am, I cannot suppose that he would take pleasure in seeing blood run
down a man's back, or blisters rising on his feet. If a man would
please God, he had better make himself as happy as he can. When I am by
the sea-side, and the tide is coming in, I see what appears to be a
little fringe, looking almost like a mist; and I ask a fisherman what
it is. He tells me there is no mist there; and that what I see are all
little shrimps dancing in ecstasy, throwing themselves in convulsions
and contortions of delight. I think within myself, "Does God make those
creatures happy, and did he make me to be miserable? Can it ever be a
religious thing to be unhappy?" No; true religion is in harmony with
the whole world; it is in harmony with the sun and moon and stars; and
the sun shines and the stars twinkle; it is in harmony with all the
world; and the world has flowers in it and leaping hills, and carolling
birds; it has joys in it; so I believe religion was meant to have joys
in it; and I hold it to be an irreligious thing to go moping miserably
through God's creation. You cannot help it sometimes, just as sins will
overtake you, but happiness is a very virtue. "Go thy way, eat thy
bread with joy and drink thy wine with a merry heart, for God now
accepteth thy works," which means not so much eating and drinking, as
the living with a joyous countenance, and walking before God, believing
in his love, and rejoicing in his grace.
Again, "Comfort ye, Comfort ye my people;" because uncomfortable
Christians often dishonour religion. Look at my friend who is come here
to-night with such a sorrowful countenance. Yesterday, he had a new
servant in his house, and when she went down into the kitchen, she said
to her fellow-servant, "Is not our master a pious man ?" "Yes, surely."
"I thought so because he looks so miserable." Now that is a disgrace to
religion. Whenever a Christian man sinks under affliction; when he does
not seek grace from God to battle manfully with his sea of troubles;
when he does not ask his Father to give him a great weight of
consolation whereby he shall be able to endure in the evil day, we may
say he does dishonour to the high, and mighty, and noble principles of
Christianity, which are fitted to bear a man up in times of the very
deepest affliction. It is the boast of the gospel that it lifts men
above trouble; it is one of the glories of our Christianity, that it
makes us say, "Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall
fruit be in the vine, the labour of the olive shall fail, and the
fields shall yield no meat, yet will I rejoice in the Lord, I will joy
in the God of my salvation." But when the Christian gets sad and
miserable, run to him, brother; wipe that tear from his eye, tell him
to cheer up, or at least if he is sad, not to let the world see it; if
he fasts, let him anoint his head, and wash his face, that he appear
not unto men to fast. Let his garments be always white, and let his
head lack no oil; let him be happy; for so he giveth credit to
religion.
Again, "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people;" because a Christian in an
uncomfortable state cannot work for God much. Break a poor man's heart
and let him come on this platform with a grieved and agonizing spirit;
and oh! what a want of power there will be in him! He wants all his
time for his own sighs and groans, and will have none to spend upon
God's people. We have seen broken-hearted ministers who have sadly
lamented that when in trouble, they have found themselves unable to
declare God's truth as they could wish. It is when the mind is happy,
that it can be laborious. Nothing hurts the man whilst he can keep all
right with heaven, and feel it so; whilst he can say that God is his
own God, he can work night and day, and scarcely feel fatigued. But
take away his comforts and his joys, and then one day's labour
distracts his nerves and shatters all his mind. Then comfort God's
people, because bruised reeds give little music, and the smoking flax
makes little fire. "Comfort ye, comfort ye" the saints, for they will
work ten times better when their minds have once been made comfortable.
Again; "Comfort ye" God's people, because ye profess to love them. You
call that poor aged cripple, loitering home to-night, leaning on her
crutch, your sister; do you know that she will go to bed to-night
supperless? Only once has she tasted food to-day, and that was dry
bread; do you know that? and is she your sister? Let your heart speak:
would you allow your sister to eat dry bread once a day, and have
nothing else? No; out of love to her as your relation, you would go and
comfort her. There is another poor brother who will pass you on the
road home, not poor in bodily things, but poor in soul, distressed in
spirits. Don't do as that person has just done–he has quickened his
pace, because he says that old man makes him miserable, and it makes
him melancholy to talk with him. No; just go to him and say, "Brother,
I hear you are in the valley of Baca; well, it is written, they that
pass through the valley of Baca make it a well, the rain also filleth
the pools." Join yourself to him, for it is written, "Comfort ye,
comfort ye my people." "No, sir," you say, "I intend to go to-night
with one or two very good people, and we shall enjoy ourselves
together, and be very glad to-night." Yes, but if they be glad you
cannot comfort them, so go and seek out some broken-hearted one if thou
canst, some poor, sad, mourning one, and say, "The Lord hath appeared
to thee of old, saying, I have loved thee with an everlasting love.'
God's mercies have not failed and, therefore, we are not consumed." Go
and cheer him. What! are there no families near you where the head has
lately been removed by death? Have you no bereaved friends? have you no
poor in your streets, no distressed, no desponding ones? If you have
not, then yonder Scripture might be rent out of the Bible, for it would
be useless; but because I am sure you have such, I bid you, in God
Almighty's name, to go and seek out the needy, the distressed, and the
poor, and send them portions of meat. "Comfort ye, comfort ye my
people."
III. In the last place. God never gives his children a duty to do
without giving them THE MEANS TO DO IT; he never bids them make bricks
without straw, and when he tells us to comfort God's people, we may be
certain there are many means whereby they may be comforted. Let me just
hint at those things in the everlasting gospel which have a tendency to
comfort the saints. What, child of God! Art thou at a loss for a topic
to comfort the aching heart? Hark thee, then; go tell of the ancient
things of former days; whisper in the mourner's ear electing grace, and
redeeming mercy, and dying love. When thou findest a troubled one, tell
him of the covenant, in all things ordered well, signed, sealed, and
ratified; tell him what the Lord hath done in former days, how he cut
Rahab and wounded the dragon; tell him the wondrous story of God's
dealings with his people. Tell him that God who divided the Red sea can
make a highway for his people through the deep waters of affliction;
that he who appeared in the burning bush which was not consumed, will
support him in the furnace of tribulation. Tell him of the marvellous
things which God has wrought for his chosen people: surely there is
enough there to comfort him. Tell him that God watcheth the furnace as
the goldsmith the refining pot."
Thy days of trial then,
Are all ordained by heaven;
If he appoint the number ten,'
You ne'er shall have eleven."
If that does not suffice, tell him of his present mercies; tell him
that he has much left, though much is gone. Tell him there is "now no
condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus;" tell him that now he
is accepted in the beloved; tell him that he is now adopted, and that
his standing is safe. Tell him that Jesus is above, wearing the
breast-plate, or pleading his cause. Tell him that though earth's
pillars shake, God is a refuge for us; tell the mourner that the
everlasting God faileth not, neither is weary. Let present facts
suffice thee to cheer him.
But if this is not enough, tell him of the future; whisper to him that
there is a heaven with pearly gates and golden streets; tell him that
"A few more rolling suns at most,
Will land him on fair Canaan's coast."
and therefore he may well bear his sorrows. Tell him that Christ is
coming, and that his sign is in the heavens, his advent is near, he
will soon appear to judge the earth with equity, and his people in
righteousness. And if that suffice not, tell him all about that God who
lived and died. Take him to Calvary; picture to him the bleeding hands,
and side, and feet; tell him of the thorn-crowned King of grief; tell
him of the mighty Monarch of woe and blood, who wore the scarlet of
mockery which was yet the purple of the empire of grief; tell him that
he himself bore our sins in his own body on the tree. And if I have not
said enough, go to thy Bible, read its pages, bend thy knee and ask for
guidance, and then tell him some great and precious promise, that so
thou mayest accomplish thy mission, and comfort one of God's people.
I have but a few words to say to some, who I grieve to think want no
comfort. They want something else before they can be comforted. Some of
my hearers are not God's people; they have never believed in Christ,
nor fled to him for refuge. Now I will tell you briefly and plainly the
way of salvation. Sinner! know that thou art in God's sight guilty,
that God is just and that he will punish thee, for thy sins. Hark thee,
then: there is only one way by which thou canst escape, and it is this:
Christ must be thy substitute. Either thou must die, or Christ must die
for thee. Thy only refuge is faith in Jesus Christ, whereby thou shalt
be assured that Christ did really and actually shed his blood for thee.
And if you are able to believe that Christ died for you, I know it will
cause you to hate sin, to seek for Christ, and to love and serve him
world without end. May God bless us all, forgive us our sins, and
accept our souls for Jesus's sake!
__________________________________________________________________
This letter was written to accompany the publication of sermon 221 in
the New Park Street Pulpit series–"Comfort Proclaimed."
A Pastoral Letter
I AM a prisoner still. Weakness has succeeded pain, and languor of mind
is the distressing result of this prostration of my physical powers. It
is the Lord's doing. In some sense I might say with Paul, "I am a
prisoner of Jesus Christ." But ah! my bonds are more easy and less
honourable to wear than his. Instead of a dungeon, my lot is cast in an
abode of comfort. I am not restrained from my accustomed ministry by a
chain forged by man, but by the silken cord of God's providence: no
rough jailor, but loving relatives and friends attend upon me in these
tedious hours of my bondage. I beseech you therefore, my beloved, let
your many prayers to God on my behalf be each and all mingled with
thanksgiving. Gratitude should ever be used in devotion, like salt of
old was in sacrifice, "without prescribing how much."
And now, though unable to stand in the pulpit, I will endeavour to give
you a short address,–or rather, I will attempt to express the
kindlings of my heart in a few broken sentences.
And first, to you my well-beloved and trusty brethren and sisters in
Christ, and in the family tie of church fellowship; to you I tender my
fondest regards, my sincerest thanks, my sweetest love. I feel
refreshed by your sympathy, and my heart is overwhelmed at the
estimation in which you hold me. It brings the hot blush to my cheek,
and well it may. Tenderly as a husband thinks of the doting affection
of his wife, as a father receives the fond homage of his children, as a
brother when he is held in honour by all the family circle–so
tenderly, and even more tenderly, I remember your care of me. The tone
of your supplications during my affliction has been to me beyond
measure grateful. I rejoice that ye have with humble submission kissed
the rod; not impatiently asking my recovery, but meekly acquiescing in
the providence of our heavenly Father, craving most of all that the
lord would sanctify the pains of your pastor, and guard with his own
watchful eye the flock. "Grace and peace be multiplied unto you,
through the knowledge of God, and of Jesus our Lord."
Yet again, in the still chamber of retirement, I anxiously remember
some who would have been ere this baptised on a profession of their
faith, and received into membership of the church, had not my health
been thus impaired. Be not fretful concerning this delay: accept it as
an ordained trial of your patience. If a farmer has a field of corn
severed by the sickle from its native earth, but not yet housed in the
garner, is he not concerned lest he suffer loss? How much more, as a
minister of Christ, am I concerned for you–the converts God hath given
me. Oh, beloved! be stedfast. Commit not the great sin. Beware lest
Satan take advantage of you–for we are not ignorant of his devices.
Draw not back. It is written in the law, "No devoted thing that a man
shall devote unto the Lord of all that he hath, shall be sold or
redeemed; every devoted thing is most holy unto the Lord." The
Israelite might not retract the beast that he dedicated from his fold
for an offering–far less the Christian, when he hath resolved so yield
up his heart, his life, his soul to Jesus. I speak not thus to grieve
you. Think not that my jealousy bodes a suspicion, but rather that it
betokens my love. "We are not of them that draw back unto perdition;
but of them that believe to the saving of the soul." "My little
children, these things I write unto you that ye sin not."
To those who have worshipped during the past two years in the Surrey
Music Hall,–the preacher's greetings and his love. Ye have heard how
the Prophet Samuel set up a stone and called the name of it EBEN-EZER,
saying, "Hitherto hath the Lord helped us." That stone marked the place
where the Lord gave the children of Israel a great victory over the
Philistines: but it likewise marked the "very place where, twenty years
before, the Israelites were defeated, and the Ark of God was taken."
Let us rejoice, O my people, with trembling. Two years ago that Hall
was the scene of such discomfiture, such dire calamity and death, as we
hardly dare to think of. Sure that was the night of my heart's
bitterest anguish. "Howbeit our God turned the curse into a blessing."
For ninety-nine successive Lord's days was I enabled to supply the
pulpit; no congregation could have been more evenly sustained; never
were sermons more widely echoed. God has owned these services to the
quickening of many souls, to the establishing of many in our most holy
faith, and by them through his goodness hath the Blessed Spirit stirred
up many of my brethren in the ministry to a righteous emulation.
"According to this time it shall be said, What hath God wrought!" Ah,
sirs! if ye knew in what fear we begun, and with what anxiety we have
continued–if ye knew the unrequited exertions of those beloved
brethren, whose names are unknown to fame, but whose good offices were
essential to keep the place open–if ye knew, once more, how many a
time your minister has prostrated himself as a broken-hearted sinner
before God to renew his first vows of unreserved self-dedication–if ye
knew these things, ye would not be backward in that ascription of
praise never more meet to flow forth in liquid strains with weeping
eyes–"Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory."
My beloved brethren, "Be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in
the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in
vain in the Lord."
Yet I have other friends. They are scattered far and wide throughout
this country, and the sister isles. To you let me drop a word. Ye have
received me kindly. Faster friendships were never surely made in fewer
hours than I have cemented with some of you. Ye are of my kith and kin.
I will take you to record that my God hath graciously proportioned my
strength to my days, while I have been among you "in labours more
abundant." When I have laboured most for his glory, I have feasted most
on the provisions of his grace. And blessed be God, when ofttimes
called to visit a people heretofore unknown to me, he hath given me the
key of David, to unlock the secret springs of your heart; nay rather,
he holdeth the key in his own hand; he openeth and no man can shut.
Keep, beloved, the word of his patience, and he will keep you from the
hour of temptation which shall come upon all the world to try them that
dwell upon the earth.
Finally, my brethren, I am cheered and comforted beyond measure by the
joyous hope that on the coming Sabbath I shall again appear among you.
This prospect is as oil to my bones, and although I cannot hope to
fulfil my ministry with my wonted vigour, yet to attempt to address you
will be as a rich medicine–as a tonic to my fluttering heart.
Brethren, pray for us.
Yours in covenant,
November 2nd, 1858.
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