The High Rock
(No. 2728)
A SERMON INTENDED FOR READING ON LORD'S-DAY, MAY 26, 1901.
DELIVERED BY C. H. SPURGEON,
AT NEW PARK STREET CHAPEL, SOUTHWARK, ON A THURSDAY EVENING, EARLY IN
THE YEAR 1859.
"From the end of the earth will I cry unto You, when my heart is
overwhelmed: lead me to the Rock that is higher than I." Psalm 61:2.
IT is supposed by many that David wrote this Psalm at the time when he
fled from his son Absalom. That trial was one of the most grievous of
all the afflictions of David's greatly-checkered life. It was but a
little thing for him to be hunted by Saul like a partridge upon the
mountains. It was a small matter for him to have to take refuge with
Achish, and to sojourn among the Philistines, an alien from his
mother's children. No, all the afflictions of his preceding life were
but light trials compared with the revolt of Absalom. He was his
father's favorite son, one in whom his soul delighted, for he was a
comely personage in his outward appearance and he had a lordly and
kingly bearing–he was David's darling, although, in his moral
character, utterly unworthy of this distinction. This child of his, who
was the nearest to his heart, had the greatest opportunity to cut him
to the quick. Those things which we allow to take the chief place in
our bosoms have the most power to give us grief.
Absalom, first of all, kills his brother, and then, by dint of courtesy
and such pretended generosity, as demagogues always know how to use,
won the affections of David's people from their rightful monarch. And
then he blew the trumpet and set himself up as king in opposition to
his father. No, more than this, he sought his father's life! It was not
sufficient for him to seize the crown, but he longed to murder the head
that should have worn it. His father was driven from his house and was
made to cross, with a few attendants, over the brook Kedron and to go
away from the sanctuary of God. He had to dwell in the midst of a
forest and sleep among his armed men and, at other times, to camp out
upon the open plain. Who can tell the grief of this monarch? Wave after
wave had rolled over him. He had often said that he desired to be like
the sparrow and the swallow, dwelling beneath the eaves of God's
sanctuary–and now his great trouble is that he is driven far away from
God's House to what he calls "the end of the earth."
As he thought of the cause of his exile, how grieved must he have been!
For his son, his darling son, the son of his heart, the son whom he had
pardoned, the son whom he had honored, the son whom he had recalled
from the banishment he richly deserved–this son had struck him. We
know that old quotation from Shakespeare, which is repeated many and
many a time, and is always true–
"How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child!"
Yet here was one who was not only unthankful, but who drove his father
into exile and sought his life! David always clung to this child of his
even in the time of his greatest iniquity. When at last he was
compelled to send out his army against the rebel, you remember how he
commanded Joab and Abishai and Ittai, saying, "Deal gently for my sake
with the young man, even with Absalom." And when he was killed, you
know how David lamented over him, "O my son Absalom, my son, my son
Absalom! Would God I had died for you, O Absalom, my son, my son!" Now,
from the very fact that David loved this young man so much, his sorrows
must have been peculiarly poignant. If a man can bring his mind to
thrust out from his bosom one who has proved ungrateful, then half the
battle is over. If love can cut the link–can say, "I have done with
you, I will reckon you now no more my child"–then the heart steels
itself against its deepest sor-
row, and the arrow rattles only against the harness. But it was not so
with David–he still opened wide his breast to his unworthy son.
Let us who stand in the relation of children to our parents, remember
that it is in our power to give them the greatest possible grief–and
yet would we not, each of us, sooner die than that those who brought us
forth should have to lament on account of us? Yet, haply, there are
some of you who are bringing your parents' gray hairs with sorrow to
the grave. O you who are cursing your father's God–who are desecrating
the day that your parents reckon to be holy–you who despise the Gospel
which your father and mother love, remember that you are not only
grieving God, but you are grieving your parents also! Push them not
into the tomb before their time, lest their ashes testify against you
and lest, in the hour of your trouble, when your children treat you in
like manner, you should have to learn the bitterness of rearing in your
own bosom the serpent that shall sting you with the deadliest venom!
Let each of us take heed that we deal gently with our parents and
always treat kindly those who have tenderly fostered us.
With this preface, let us now turn to our text, and I think we shall
understand it all the better from this little reference to David's
history. There are three Truths of God here. The first is, that prayer
is always available– ' 'From the end of the earth will I cry unto You,
when my heart is overwhelmed." The second Truth is, that sometimes even
the Believer cannot get to Christ as he could wish, but that then there
is a way provided for leading him to Christ–"Lead me to the Rock that
is higher than I." Then, in the third place, we shall consider Christ
under the aspect of a Rock that is higher than we are.
I. In the first place, let us remember that PRAYER IS ALWAYS
AVAILABLE–in every place and in every condition of our spirit–"From
the end of the earth will I cry unto You."
Suppose it is possible for us to be banished to the uttermost verge of
the green earth, to "rivers unknown to song"? Suppose us to be hastened
far away where dwindling daylight dies out and where the sun's bleak
ray scarcely scatters light on the world–where vegetation, dwarfing
and declining, at last dies out? Suppose us to be banished into exile,
without a friend and without a helper? Even there, from the end of the
earth, we would find that prayer to God was still available! In fact,
if there is a place nearer than another to God's Throne, it is the end
of the earth, for the end of the earth is the beginning of Heaven! When
our strength ends, there God's Omnipotence begins. Nature's extremity
is God's opportunity. If wicked monarchs should banish all God's
people, their banishment would be an object of contempt, for how can
they banish those who are strangers wherever they may be? Is not my
Father's House a large one? Yon dome, the blue sky, its roof? The
rolling seas, the swelling floods, the green meads, the huge
mountains–are not these the floors of His House? And where can I be
driven out of the dominions of my God and beyond the reach of His love?
Banishment may seem a trouble to the Christian, but if he looks up and
sees his Father's House–and beholds the smile of his God– he will
know that such a thing as banishment is to him an impossibility! But
supposing us to be exiled from everything that is dear to us? Even then
we should not be shut out from access to God's Throne!
I think David meant, by the expression, "the end of the earth," a place
where he should be far away from his friends, far away from human help
and far away from God's sanctuary.
God's people are sometimes brought into such a condition that they are
far away from friends. Such an one walks the streets of London and
thinks, "Oh, if I could only tell my sorrow to a friend, then I might
find some relief! But amidst all the myriad faces that hurry like a
stream along the road, I see not one that tempts me to tell my tale. I
look around and find myself a stranger amidst multitudes of my
countrymen." Perhaps you know what it is to have a trouble which you
are compelled to bear yourself, which you could not describe even to
those in your own house, though your friends would have been ready to
help you if they had known–yet it was such that, with all their
readiness, they would not have had ability to assist you in it, the
biggest words could not have told it, and the bitterest tears could not
have spelled it out! You were far away from friends in reality, though
they were all round you. Now this is what David meant by "the end of
the earth"–far away from friends–yet even then, when friend and
helper and lover failed, did he cry unto his God.
Again, he meant by, "the end of the earth," far away from human help.
There are difficulties into which the true Believer is brought that no
human hand can remove. His spiritual affairs are weights too heavy for
human strength to lift. Though all the giants of earth should come and
strain their backs until their shoulders should give way, and their
limbs should totter beneath the enormous load, yet the spiritual
necessities of the Christian could not be carried by them–they are an
intolerable burden for human shoulders–none but God can sustain them.
There are times when we are sighing
after spiritual mercies, when we are groaning under the withdrawal of
God's Countenance, when our sins are hunting us like packs of wolves,
when afflictions are rolling over us like huge billows–when faith is
little and fear is great, when hope is dim, and doubt becomes terrible
and dark–then we are far away from human help. But, blessed be God,
even then we may cry unto Him–
"When anxious cares disturb the breast, When threatening foes are nigh,
To Him we pour our deep complaint, To Him for succor fly."
No, more, even in temporal'affairs there are times when the Christian
gets into such a place that no earthly friend can help him. He has made
some mistake–perhaps in the ardency of his zeal to do right, he has
done wrong–in the attempt to run in the ways of God, he overshot the
road and got into another place, and found himself in the path of evil
when he hoped to be in the way of right. Such things have happened.
Business men, with all their carefulness, have made miscalculations and
have found themselves plunged into difficulties from which they see no
way of escape. In vain do others offer help. Wealth would not avail,
for character is at stake. Yet even then, "from the end of the earth,"
when human help has failed them, they have cried unto God and if they
have cried in faith, they have never found that God has ceased to hear
as long as they have continued to cry to Him!
By "the end of the earth," I think, too, David means at a distance from
the means of Grace. Sometimes, by sickness, either personal or the
sickness of our relatives, we are detained from the House of God. At
other times, in journeying by land or upon the sea, we are unable to be
in God's sanctuary and to use the means of Grace. This is a great
deprivation to God's people. You will find that a true Christian had
rather miss a meal than lose his daily portion of Scripture, or his
frequent resort to the House of Prayer. That man is no child of God who
does not value the means of Grace. I tremble for that man's piety who
professes himself able to maintain the vital spark of Grace within him
when the means of Grace are at hand and he lives in neglect of them!
Some people, if they go to a watering-place, or a little way out of
town, say, "Well, there is nobody here who preaches my sentiments, so I
shall not go anywhere." I would remind them that the Apostle Paul said,
"Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of
some is." If there is no place of worship especially dedicated to God,
we bless Him that–
"Wherever we seek Him, He is found, And everyplace is hallowed
ground"– but if there is a building that is open for the worship of
God, even if I could not enjoy the preaching of the minister, I would
go there to join in the singing of Christ's praises and to offer my
prayer with the multitude that keep holy-day.
Still, there must be in our lives different times when we are away from
the sanctuary of God and, to the Christian, that will be like being at
the end of the earth. But then, thanks be to God, we may still cry unto
Him. When no Sabbath bell shall summon us to the House of Prayer, when
no servant of the Lord shall proclaim, with happy voice, the promise of
pardoning mercy, when there shall not be seen the multitude on bended
knees and when the sacred shout of praise is unheard–and we are far
away from the gatherings of God's House–yet we are not far away from
Him and we may still say to Him, "From the end of the earth will I cry
unto You."
It seems, however, that the Psalmist was in a worse plight than this,
for a man might be at the end of the earth and still be happy, for it
is not the place that makes the man, but the man that makes the place!
A man might be in paradise even in Hell, itself, if his heart were
right with God. Let a man have his heart full of peace and joy and
happiness, and it is impossible to make that man miserable. I have
often thought that when people find fault with their station in life,
they are making a great mistake–they should find fault with
themselves. Many a man is miserable whose head wears a crown, and many
are happy whose heads have no place of repose. Some who are in rags
have rich hearts, while many who are clothed in purple and fine linen,
and fare sumptuously everyday, have starving spirits, for, after all,
it is the mind that is the standard of the man, and if the mind is
happy, the place where the man is does not matter at all.
But, alas for poor David! He had been wrong without and wrong within,
too, so that he had to cry, "My heart is overwhelmed." I find, in
Calvin's notes on this text a most extraordinary translation and, as he
says, a very harsh one– "While my heart is turned about," that is,
tossed here and there, or agitated. There is an expression of a similar
character where John Bunyan says that he was exceedingly tumbled up and
down in his mind. It does seem that one meaning of this text may be,
"When my spirit is tumbled about"–when it is out of order, when it is
brought into a kind of chaos and
confusion–when, to use another word which expresses closely the idea
of the Hebrew, "My spirit is wrapped over and over"–when it is covered
as a man covers his face in the day of grief because his sorrow is so
great that he shuns the sun and would not have his fellow creature's
eyes behold the anguish of his soul–"even then," says he, "when my
spirit is overwhelmed, will I cry unto You."
Turn the heart upside down and then you will get the idea of its being
overwhelmed. Even then, what does the Psalmist say? "You people, pour
out your heart before Him." If your heart is turned over, let it be
emptied before the Lord! David says, in another Psalm, "I pour out my
soul in me." How foolish that was! It did him no good–it was the wrong
place for his soul to be poured out! He was much wiser when he said,
"Pour out your heart before Him." It is a happy way to pray, when the
heart is turned upside down, to spill all its contents at the foot of
the Throne of Grace. Perhaps, sometimes, the overwhelming of our heart
is only meant to empty all its dregs out of it, that the last particle
of self-righteousness, self-reliance and self-confidence may be drained
out at the Mercy Seat, that there may be room for an overflowing
abundance of Divine Grace.
Imagine a vessel at sea and you can get an idea of the meaning of our
text. It has been laboring in a storm, sometimes lifted up to Heaven,
as though its masts would sweep the stars. Then again descending until
its keel seemed dragging on the ocean bed–first staggering this way,
and then that way, reeling to and fro, now rushing forward and now
starting back–like a drunken man, or like a madman who has lost his
way! At last a huge sea comes rolling on, its white crest of foam can
be seen in the distance and the sailors give up all for lost. On comes
the wave, gathering up all its strength till it dashes against the ship
and–down the vessel goes, it is overwhelmed! The decks are swept, the
masts are gone, the timbers are creaking, the ship descends and is
sucked down as in a whirlpool–all is lost. "Now," says David, "that is
the case with my heart. It is overwhelmed, drawn into a vortex of
trouble, borne down by a tremendous sea of difficulty, crushed and
broken! The ribs of my soul seem to have given way. Every timber of my
vessel is cracked and gone out of its place. My heart is overwhelmed
within me." Can you now get an idea of the extreme sorrow of the
Psalmist's spirit? "Yet," he says, "even then, will I cry unto You."
Oh, noble faith that can cry amidst the shrieking of the tempest and
the howling of the storm! Oh, glorious faith that from the bottom of
the sea can shoot its arrows to the heights of Heaven! Oh, masterpiece
of faith that from a broken spirit can present prevailing prayer! Oh,
glorious triumph that from the end of the earth can send a prayer which
can reach all the way to Heaven!
And now, Christian, may God help you to make up your mind to this, that
wherever you are, you will never leave off praying, whatever the devil
says to you. If he should urge you to forsake the Mercy Seat, say to
him, "Get behind me, Satan." If he should say that you have sinned too
much to pray, tell him his argument proves the reverse–the more you
have sinned, the more you should pray. If he tells you that your
difficulties are tremendous, tell him that the very greatness of the
difficulties in which you are involved should bear you nearer to God.
Never cease to cry while you have breath! And when you have no breath,
still cry. As long as you can speak, cry unto Him–and when you cannot
speak– let groans that cannot be uttered still go up before God's
Throne. Cease not to pray in every difficulty and in every strait
betake yourself to your closet, for there you shall find God even if
you cannot find Him anywhere else.
Let me also say this word to anyone who has begun to pray, but who has
not yet found peace with God, although he is overwhelmed by a sense of
his guilt. My dear Friend, if God has overwhelmed you with a sense of
sin and if you feel as if you were far away from mercy–at the very end
of the earth–yet, I beseech you, cry unto Him! Mark, our text says,
"Cry." Oh, what power there is in that simple act of crying! As I rode
here, this evening, I saw a boy sitting on the pavement crying with all
his might about something or other he had broken. And I observed a
lady, who was going by, stop a moment, for the poor fellow's face was
so much awry, and the tears were flowing so plentifully that she seemed
as if she must give him something. And, indeed, I felt inclined, if I
had not been in a hurry to come here, to stop and ask him what he was
crying for, for one cannot bear to see a fellow creature weeping.
All beggars who want to deceive, take to crying, for they know that has
an effect upon susceptible ladies who are passing by–there is great
power in tears and these people know it. The best style of prayer is
that which cannot be called anything else but a cry. Now, if you cannot
pray as many do–if you cannot stand up in a Prayer Meeting and pray
fluently and eloquently like others do–as long as the Lord enables you
to cry, I beseech you, do not leave off crying! Cry, "Lord, have mercy
on me!" "Lord, save, or I perish!" "Lord, appear unto me." "I am the
chief of sinners, Lord, manifest Yourself to me." Cry, cry, cry, poor
Sinner! And He that hears the young ravens when they cry will hear you!
Do not
think that the voice of your crying shall be lost. The voice of
boasting dies away unheard, but the voice of crying penetrates the ears
of God, reaches His heart and moves His hands to give a plenitude of
blessings. Above all things, Sinner, if you feel your need of a Savior,
keep on crying–Satan can never harm you while God helps you to cry. So
long as you have a word of prayer on your lips, the Law of God has not
a word of condemnation to utter against you. If you can cry at God's
Mercy Seat, then that is a proof that Christ is crying on your behalf
at His Father's Glory Seat. Be you instant in prayer and you shall be
successful in it. When your heart is overwhelmed, even from the end of
the earth, cry unto
God!
II. I must speak very briefly upon the second point, which is this.
THERE ARE TIMES WHEN EVEN A BELIEVER CANNOT GET TO CHRIST AS HE
DESIRES.
Then, thank God there is the prayer of our text–"Lead me to the Rock
that is higher than I." Some people make out faith to be a marvelously
easy thing–and so it is in theory–but it is the hardest thing in the
world in practice. If men are to be saved on the condition of their
repenting and believing, they can be no more saved than on the
condition of their being perfect, unless there is added to this
condition the promise that the God who requires faith will givefaith
and work repentance in them! I have been astonished to find, in this
age, that there are great preachers and men who, I have no doubt,
gather many around them, who tell the people that the condition and the
ground of the sinner's justification are his faith, his repentance and
his obedience. Why, the ground of our justification is the
righteousness of Christ! And as to conditions, there is no condition at
all, for God gives justification freely! And He gives faith and He
gives repentance, too–it is all His gift. There never was a man saved
by faith or repentance which he performed as a matter of duty. Albeit
that the Word of God demands of every man that he should submit himself
to God by repentance, and lay hold of Christ by faith, yet no man ever
wiilor ever can do this of himself–it is only the Sovereign will of
God and the Sovereign Grace of God that give repentance and faith.
Sometimes God, in His Sovereignty, is pleased to show a man his sin,
but not to show him his Savior for a season. He strips the
sinner–perhaps he leaves him to shiver in the cold before He clothes
him, just to let him know what a gift that robe of Christ's
righteousness is! He kills him, pierces him through and through with
the Law, and there lets him lie in utter inability, for a season,
before He quickens him and makes him spiritually alive. The fact is,
God acts as He chooses with those whom He saves. He sometimes gives
repentance and faith at the same time, just as the thunder sometimes
follows the lightning at once. At other times, He gives repentance and
then He makes us tarry for many a day before He gives us full assurance
of our interest in Christ–but they are sure to follow one another,
sooner or later. God never gave conviction without at last giving
faith! He never led a man out of himself without at last leading him to
Christ! If He brought him down to despair, He afterwards lifted him up
to hope. But, still, there may be a gap between the two and during such
a period it is our business to use this blessed prayer, "Lead me to the
Rock that is higher than I. Oh, help me to believe! Lord, enable me to
see the need of Your Son. Give me the power to look unto Him who was
pierced, and, as You have given me eyes to weep, so give me eyes to
look on Him and Grace to rejoice in Him as mine." So, you see, if we
cannot believe, if doubts so overwhelm us that we cannot get to Christ
to our own satisfaction, remember that it is the Holy Spirit's office
to draw us to Christ and we may, therefore, pray to Him, "Lead me to
the Rock that is higher than
I."
III. We are now coming to that part of the text which most of all
delights my soul, the thought of JESUS CHRIST, WHO IS THE ROCK THAT IS
HIGHER THAN WE ARE.
We have all various standards for measuring things and, after all, men
must measure by themselves. If you hear a man praising another, you
will generally find that the reason he praises that other is because he
sees in him something very much like what he possesses himself.
"There," he says, "I love a man who is honest and outspoken." He means,
all the while, that he thinks himself a remarkably honest and outspoken
man and, therefore, he loves to see himself reproduced in another!
After all, we generally measure with our own measuring-rods. We take
ourselves to be the standard for other people. A few nights ago I
proved this in my own case. Going along Bermondsey, I looked in at the
shop windows to see what time it was. One clock said ten minutes to
seven, another said seven o'clock, and another said ten minutes past.
Then I began to think what a pity it was I had not my own watch with
me–what was that but a belief that my own watch was infallible and
that all the clocks were probably wrong? There is a great deal of
trying ourselves on the touch-
stones of our own infallible selves and even the Christian is not
altogether free from this practice till he gets to Heaven! So the Lord
graciously adapts His Word to our poor littleness and speaks of Jesus
as the Rock higher than we are.
Come here, Beloved, and let us measure the Rock Christ Jesus as far as
we can by comparison. Here is a man who is a great sinner. "Ah," he
says, "I am, indeed, a great sinner. My iniquities reach so high that
they have ascended above the very stars! They have gone before me to
the Judgment Seat of God and they are clamoring for my destruction."
Well, Sinner, come here and measure this Rock. You are very high, it is
true, but this Rock is higher than you are. Estimate yourself at the
greatest you possibly can. Set your sins down at some inconceivable
height! If you have thought yourself to be a very Goliath in sin. If
you say, "I am as big a sinner as Saul of Tarsus was," put your sin,
pile on pile, tier on tier, no, borrow your neighbor's sins and take
them all, and then remember that–
"If all the sins that men have done
In will, in word, in thought and deed
Since worlds were made and time begun,
Were laid on one poor sinner's head–
The blood of Jesus Christ alone
Could for this mass of sin atone,
And sweep it all away."
However high your sin may be, there is the cover of a Rock in a weary
land higher than you are, and under this you may shelter yourself!
Here comes another forward. He is not a man full of doubts and fears,
but he is a man of hopeful spirit. "Oh," he says, "I have many sins,
but I hope that the Lord Jesus Christ will take them all away. I have
many needs, but I hope that He will supply them. I shall have many
temptations, but I hope that He will ward them off. I shall have many
difficulties, but I hope He will carry me through them." Ah, Man, I
like to see you have a good long measuring rod when it is made of hope!
Hope is a tall companion–he wades right through the sea and is not
drowned–you cannot kill him, do what you may! Hope is one of the last
blessings God gives us and one that abides at the last with us. If a
man is foodless and without covering, still he hopes to see better
days, by-and-by. Now, Sinner, your hopes, I would have you to see, are
very tall and very high–but remember, this Rock is higher than any of
your hopes! Hope whatever you please. Let your hope expand itself–let
it climb the highest mountain and stand on it–let it lift up itself
higher and yet higher, but this Rock is higher still! Christ is a
better Christ than you can hope for–He has more mercy than you hope
for! He has more power to save than you hope to receive, more love than
you can hope to have! He has a better Heaven for you than you could
hope to enjoy!
But here comes another, and he says, "Ah, my hope has grown strong, I
know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is a precious
Christ. I can speak well of Him, for He has been my sure defense in
every time of war, my refuge in every time of distress, my granary in
every hour of famine, my light in every night of darkness. I can speak
well of Him and, in consequence of what I know of Him, I can believe
that He is able to save unto the uttermost all them that come unto God
by Him. I believe Him to be all that He says He is. I believe in His
Word. I rejoice in Him–my faith scarcely knows a bound when I begin to
think what He is, and what He has done for me." Yes, but He is a Rock
higher than your faith! I love to see your faith mounting up very high,
but Christ is better than your faith and higher than your faith. Why,
Man, if your faith were twice as great as it is, Christ would be a
warrant for it all! No, if your faith could be multiplied a thousand
times more, so that you could believe more of Him, and better things of
Him, and higher things of Him, still He would be higher than your faith
could ever climb!
I do hope to grow in faith, and get more and more of that celestial
virtue. I think I believe my Master better, now, than I did once,
though sometimes I think my faith fails me. Yet I am sure that I do
enjoy a quieter conscience than I did, and a more peaceful calm than at
one time I experienced. And I hope to believe in Him still more. I pray
that my faith may continually increase so that, being rooted and
grounded in Him, I may grow up to the full stature of a man in Christ
Jesus. But this I know, though you or I should grow till our faith
should be greater than that of Paul, till it should be such a faith
that it should say to the fig tree, "Be you plucked up by the roots,"
or to the mountain, "Be you cast into the sea," and it should be
done–still, even then–Christ would be higher than our faith. We might
believe a great deal about Him, but would faith grasp all, even then?
It has long arms, but not long enough to encompass Christ–He is
greater than faith itself could conceive Him to be!
Here comes another. He says, "Ah, blessed be God, I have a golden
measuring rod here–not that of hope, or fear, or faith, but, better
still, the measuring rod of enjoyment." "Ah," says one, "how high have
I been in enjoyment of Christ! He has taken me to Calvary and there I
have seen the flowing of His precious blood–
'With Divine assurance knowing He has made my peace with God.' Not
content with that, he has taken me to Tabor! There I have seen my Lord
transfigured and have beheld His Glory, as of the Only-Begotten of the
Father, full of Grace and truth. No, more, He has taken me to the top
of Pisgah and He has bid me 'view the landscape o'er.' I have seen the
joys which He has reserved for them that love Him. But," says the
Believer, "Christ has said to me, 'Friend, come up higher.' When I
first went to the feast, I sat in the lower room of Repentance. He came
in and said, 'Friend, come up higher,' and He took me into another
chamber called Faith. And then He came in again, and said, 'Friend,
come up higher.' And He took me to the upper room of Assurance. Then He
saw me again, and He said, 'Friend, come up higher,' and He took me to
the upper room of Communion. And sometimes he seems to me to say,
'Friend, come up higher, into the ecstatic bliss which the highest
degrees of constant fellowship can give.' And I am now waiting only
till He should say, 'Come up higher,' and take me to His own bosom, to
tarry with Him forever!"
Ah, well, I am glad to hear you talk thus. I wish I had many of those
whose pastures are in these high places, many who could say that they
had grown tall in these delightful things! But, remember, this Rock is
higher than you are! All you have ever enjoyed of Christ is but as the
beginning of a topless mountain. When I have been in Scotland, I have
gone up some of the hills there and I have thought, "This is a very
high place, indeed! What a fine view there is, what a height I have
reached!" "Ah," someone has said, "but if you were to see the Alps,
this hill would only seem like the beginning– you would only have got
to the foot when you had climbed as high as this!" And so it is with
you. By your experience, your sweet enjoyment, you think you have
reached the top of the mountain–but Christ comes and whispers to you,
"Look yonder, far above those clouds–you have only begun to go up!
This hill of communion is only one step. As yet you have only taken a
child's leap–you have farther to go, far higher than you could imagine
or conceive." Ah, this is, indeed, a Rock higher than you are, the
highest in communion–and the next to the Throne of God!
"Well," cries another, "from what I have heard, and what I have read in
God's Word, I am expecting very great things of Christ when I shall see
Him as He is. Oh, Sir, if He is better than the communion of His saints
can make Him. If He is sweeter than all His most eloquent preachers can
speak of Him. If He is so delightful that those who know Him best
cannot tell His beauties, what a precious–what a glorious–what an
inconceivable Christ He must be!" Ah, Friend, I am glad you are
measuring Christ by your expectation! But let me tell you–high as your
expectations are, He is higher than you are! Expect what you may, but
when you see Him, you will say with the Queen of Sheba, "The half was
not told me." You may sit down and think of Christ's glories and
splendors, of the happiness that He has provided for His people, till
you lose yourself in a very sea of delightful meditation! The promise
dropped into your heart may go on widening in circles till you have
grasped a whole universe of pleasure and delight in contemplating the
name of Christ–but, remember, when you have conceived the most, Christ
the Rock is still far above what you have conceived and imagined!
Let us pause here and ask–What shall we do with a hill that is higher
than we are? Shall we lie forever at its base and not attempt to climb
it? God forbid! Shall we pretend that we have climbed it? That were
presumption! So let us press forward, evermore ascending it, ever
crying when we get at the greatest height, "Lord, still lead me up,
still lead me to the Rock that is higher than I am; lead me on, O Lord,
till I come to Heaven, and even then, still lead me beside the living
fountains of water, still lead me to the Rock that is higher than I am!
O Lord, always help me to be climbing, pressing forward, looking not on
that which is behind, but on that which is before, pressing forward to
the mark of the prize of our high calling of God in Christ Jesus!"
Now, as some of you will be exercised with troubles, remember that the
Rock is higher than you are. And when your troubles reach you, if you
are not high enough to escape them, climb up to the Rock Christ, for
there is no trouble that can reach you when you get there! Satan will
be howling at you and, perhaps he will be nibbling at your heel,
barking and biting at you–so climb into the Rock Christ and he will
not be able to reach you, and you will scarcely hear his howling–he
will be low down in the valley when you are in the Rock higher than he
is! Fears will arise and doubts will come in like a flood–there is no
place so safe in the time of a flood as a high rock, so climb to the
Rock Christ–and
then, though the waves of the sea roar and the mountains shake with the
swelling thereof, you will be secure if you are on the Rock that is
higher than you are! And oh, while the world is dragging you down,
forever seek to be climbing up! If the devil says, "Come down, again,
and be worldly! Come down and be selfish," always cry, "Lord, lead me
up, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I am. My country is in the
skies. Help me to be climbing upwards–never permit me to descend, lead
me to the Rock that is higher than I am."
And as for you who are still under a sense of sin, who have not yet
found the Savior, let this be your prayer, "Lead me to the Rock that is
higher than I am." Do not get to measuring Christ by yourselves. As
high as Heaven is above the earth, so high are His thoughts above your
thoughts, and His ways above your ways. O Beloved, you should measure
God's Grace by the immeasurable–not by your nothingness, but by His
infinity! Remember, God's mercy is beyond all bounds, for it swells
above the flood of our sins. If our sins are as mountains, Christ's
mercy, like the stars, shines as much above the mountains as above the
valleys! Cry out, Sinner, when Satan is dragging you down to the pit,
"Lord, save me from the devouring flames and lead me to the Rock that
is higher than I." And then, thank God, Christ is a Rock–not a mound
that is raised by man! And that Rock shall stand forever! And if I get
on it, there is no fear that the Rock will shake. I may shake on it,
but it will never shake under me–and if my enemies try to attack me, I
can hide myself in the clefts of the Rock where they cannot reach me!
And though ten thousand ages roll away, and many a stone is moved from
its place, this Rock shall still abide–
"When rolling years shall cease to move."