A Precious Drop Of Honey

A Precious Drop Of Honey
A SERMON DELIVERED ON SUNDAY MORNING, MAY 31, 1863, BY THE REV. C. H.
SPURGEON, AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.
"Behold, I ha ve inscribed you upon the palms of My hands." Isaiah
49:16.
GOD'S promises are not exhausted by one fulfillment. They are manifold
mercies, so that after you have opened one fold and found out one
signification, you may unfurl them still more and find another which
shall be equally true, and then another, and another, and another,
almost without end. Like the cherubim, God's promises have a face for
every quarter of the earth, and like the wheels, they are full of eyes
for every trial of the chosen people. The Lord knows how to speak
many-handed promises. His words, like the trees of the New Jerusalem,
bear twelve manner of fruits, and yield their fruit every month.
No doubt the text and the preceding promises all refer to the seed of
Abraham. God will not cast them away. He does no more forget them than
does a woman forget her sucking child. They shall return to their own
land and accept Messiah, the Prince whom they have so long despised.
But the seed of Abraham is the grand type of the Church. And therefore
we believe that every word here, in its widest and most extensive
sense, belongs to the elect of God–those who are written in the Lamb's
Book of Life, and for whom Jesus shed His blood. We feel persuaded that
the favor which is shelved to the whole body is given to each member,
and therefore any true Believer who is, through faith, one of the
spiritual seed of Abraham, may take the promises to himself and say,
"Thus says the Lord unto my soul. Thus and thus speaks He comfortably
concerning me."
I believe, I say, that the text before us belongs primarily to the seed
of Israel. Next, to the whole Church as a body. And then to every
individual member. Understand it so, and may each one of you, even
though you are numbered among the little in Israel, have Divine Grace
to draw forth marrow and fatness out of the inexpressibly rich text
which today the Spirit of God presents to us.
I intend, first of all, to consider our text verbally, pulling it to
pieces word by word. Then next, to consider it as a whole. And then, to
incite you by it as a whole, to consider what is the conduct demanded
of you by a Truth of God so sweet.
I. First of all, then, my text is one of those remarkable sentences in
which EVERY SINGLE WORD DESERVES TO BE EMPHASIZED. We will begin with
the first word, "Behold." "Behold, I have inscribed you upon the palms
of My hands." "Behold," is a word of wonder. It is intended to excite
admiration. Wherever you see it hung out in Scripture, it is like an
ancient signboard, signifying that there are rich wares within, or like
the hands which solid readers have observed in the margin of the older
Puritan books, drawing attention to something particularly worthy of
observation.
Here, indeed, we have a theme for marveling. Heaven and earth may well
be astonished that God should ever inscribe upon His hands the names of
sinners. That rebels should attain so great a nearness to His heart as
to be written upon the palms of His hands! Well might the angels
wonder, and those bright spirits be lost in amazement, for unto which
of the angels said He at any time, "I have inscribed you upon the palms
of My hands"? What cherub ever attained this dignity, or to what seraph
was this honor awarded? But to man, who is but a worm. To the son of
man who is but dust and ashes. To man who has rebelled, who has lost
all claim upon God's favor, and deserves His hottest wrath–to man is
this consolation given, "I have inscribed you upon the palms of My
hands."
Speak of the seven wonders of the world! Why this is a wonder in the
seventh heavens! No doubt a part of the wonder which is concentrated in
the word "Behold," is excited by the unbelieving lamentation of the
preceding sentence. Zion said, "The Lord has forsaken me, and my God
has forgotten me." How amazed the Divine mind seems to be at this
wicked unbelief of man! What can be more astounding than the unfounded
doubts and fears of God's favored people? He seems to say, "How can I
have forgotten you, when I have inscribed you upon the palms of My
hands? How can it be? How dare you doubt My constant remembrance, when
the memorial is set upon My very flesh?"
Unbelief, how strange a marvel you are! I know not which most to wonder
at, the faithfulness of God or the unbelief of His people! He keeps His
promise a thousand times, and yet the next trial makes us doubt Him. He
never fails. He is never a dry well. He is never as a setting sun, a
passing meteor, or a melting vapor–and yet we are as continually vexed
with anxieties, molested with suspicions, and disturbed with fears–as
if our God were fickle and untrue. Here follows the great marvel–that
God should be faithful to such a faithless people! And that when He is
provoked with their doubts, He nevertheless abides true.
Behold! Behold! I say and am ashamed and confounded for all your cruel
doubts of your indulgent Lord. I remarked that the "Behold" in our text
is intended to attract particular attention. There is something here
worthy of being studied. If you should spend a month over such a text
as this, you should only begin to understand it. It is a gold mine.
There are nuggets upon the surface, but there is richer gold for the
man who can dig deep. I can only indicate the veins of gold–it is for
you afterwards in your meditations to follow them out.
1 pray you, be very careful with the text–lose not a drop of the wine
of consolation contained in its precious crystal–be prayerful and
anxious to grind forth from this wheat every atom of its fine flour.
Leave no meal to grow stale in this barrel. Drain all the oil from this
cruse, for where God sets a "Behold," depend upon it, there is a
something that is not to be trifled with, nor to be passed over in
indifference.
We pass on now to the next word, "Behold, I have inscribed you upon the
palms of My hands." The Divine Artist, who has been pleased to engrave
His people for a memorial, is none other than God Himself. Here we
learn the lesson which Christ afterwards taught His disciples–"You
have not chosen Me, but I have chosen you." No one can write upon the
hands of God, but God Himself. Neither our merits, prayers, repentance,
nor faith can write our names there, for these in their goodness extend
not unto God so as to write upon His hands.
Nor did blind chance or mere necessity of fate inscribe our names. But
the living hand of a living Father, unprompted by anything except the
spontaneous and Omnipotent love of His own heart, wrote the names of
His people upon His own hands. How dependent are we upon God! If my
name is in the Lamb's Book of Life, how ought I to adore the
sovereignty of the Divine Grace which placed it there! Had it not been
there, I could not have inscribed it. Had it not been found in the
list, no archangel could, by any possibility, have inserted it–
"What if my name should be left out When You for them shall call?"
It is a black thought to any of us, but when I know that it is not left
out, but is written there among the bright spirits chosen of God, and
precious, how this should make me leap for joy! "I have inscribed you."
Then, again, if the Lord has done it, there is no mistake about it. If
some human hand had cut the memorial, the hieroglyphs might be at
fault. But since perfect Wisdom has combined with perfect Love to make
a memorial of the saints, no error by any possibility can have
occurred. There can be no erasures, no crossing out of what God has
written, no blotting out of what the Eternal has decreed. Fixed, and
fixed forever must be the inscription which is of Divine Authorship.
The powers of darkness cannot erase those everlasting lines. "I have
inscribed you upon the palms of My hands." Soul, this is enough to
overwhelm you with humble adoration that God should so much as take
notice of you. When you receive the daily tokens of Divine care, ought
you not to exclaim with David–"When I consider Your heavens, the work
of Your fingers, the moon and the stars which You have ordained, what
is man that You are mindful of him, and the son of man that You visit
him?" But how is it, Lord, that You can go farther than this, and You
Yourself write the names of these insignificant mortals upon Your own
hands?
"I have inscribed you." It is wonderful to see how God comes into
immediate contact with His saints, and appears in Person in all His
acts of Grace towards them. In other works it is His far-reaching
voice, but in the wonders of His Grace it is His present hand. In the
making of worlds, He stands at a distance, and speaks His will. But
when He creates saints, and redeems His people, He comes out of His
chambers–He rends the heavens and comes down–He reveals Himself as a
God near at hand. He stands over His work as the potter over the clay
upon the wheel.
It is written that when He made the heavens and the earth, "the morning
stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy." But I
never hear that God sang. There is nothing in the merely material
universe to stir the Infinite heart. The work is not dear enough to
Him, nor so full of satisfaction as the grand work of redeeming love.
When He saved His people–when He created Israel for Himself, I hear it
said–"He shall rest in His love. He shall rejoice over you with
singing." Oh, matchless verse, in which the Eternal Trinity burst forth
into sacred song! Do you not catch the strain even now. "I have done
it. I have come forth Myself out of the secret of My tabernacle wherein
I have concealed Myself from the gaze of men, and 'I have inscribed you
upon the palms of My hands.' "
Take the next word. We have many wells here out of which we may draw
water. "Behold, I have inscribed you." Not, "I will," you see. Nor yet,
"I am doing it." It is a thing of the past, and how far back in the
past! Oh, the antiquity of this inscription! They take us to the
British Museum and show us most reverend writings which are the
memorials of those hoary ages–which were the first born of the years
beyond the flood. But here is an inscription older than them all.
Compared with it, Assyrian antiquities and Egyptian records are things
of yesterday. Before the young earth had burst her swaddling bands of
mist, yes, before the globe had been begotten, or yonder sun had darted
his infant arrows, or yonder stars had opened their eyes, the Eternal
had fixed His eyes of love upon His favorites.
Fly back as far as you will, until this present world and all the
worlds within the universe sleep in the mind of God, like unborn
forests in an acorn cup, and even then you have not reached the time.
Before all time when it was first said– "I have inscribed you upon the
palms of My hands." "From everlasting to everlasting You are God." From
everlasting to everlasting You are the same, and Your people's names
are written on Your hands!
Yet, methinks there may be a prophetic reference here to a later
writing of the names, when Jesus Christ submitted His outstretched
palms to those cruel engraving tools, the nails. Then was it surely,
when the executioner with the hammer smote the tender hands of the
loving Jesus, that He engraved our names upon the palms of His hands.
And today when He points to those wounds, when by faith He permits us
to put our fingers into the prints of the nails, He may still say to
us–
"Deep on the palms of both My hands I have engraved Your name."
Well, Christian, do not these deep things comfort you? Have you no
consolation in the ancient things of the everlasting mountains? Does
not eternal love delight you? God is no stranger to you. He has known
you long before you knew yourself–yes, long before you were curiously
worked in the lowest parts of the earth–in His book all your members
were written, which in continuance were fashioned when as yet there was
none of them. Known unto God from the foundation of the earth were you.
He was always thinking of you. There was never a period when you were
not in His mind and on His heart. "I have inscribed you upon the palms
of My hands."
But the next word is "inscribed." My dear friend, The Rev. John
Anderson, of Helensburgh, whom I am glad to welcome here today, told me
this morning that while traveling in the east he has frequently seen
persons with portraits of their friends upon their hands, so that
wherever they went, as one in this country would carry the portrait of
a friend in a brooch or a watch, they carry these likenesses printed on
their palms.
I said to him, "Surely they would wash out." They might by degrees, he
said, but they frequently had them pricked in with strong indelible
ink, so that there, while the palm lasts, there lasts the memorial of
the friend. Surely this is what the text refers to. I have inscribed
you in. I have not merely printed you, stamped you on the surface, but
I have permanently cut you into my hand with marks which never can be
removed. That word "inscribed" sets forth the perpetuity of the
inscription. Not on the hand of man but on the hand of God is it
engraved.
Oh, mysterious thought! On that hand immortal and eternal is it dug,
engraved in. Our engravers press upon their tools. They tell us how
stern the labor when they cut the hard metal to mark each line, and God
has thus engraved–with the whole strength of Omnipotence He has leaned
upon the tool to cut our names into His flesh! Was there not such an
engraving at Calvary? Is it not written, "It pleased the Father to
bruise Him. He has put Him to grief"? It is as if eternal strength, I
say, leaned upon that engraving tool to write the memorial of His
chosen people in the hands of Jesus. "I have inscribed you upon the
palms of My hands."
We need not indulge the dark foreboding that we shall be lost, but we
may sing with Hammond–
"If Jesus is ours we have a true Friend, Whose goodness endures the
same to the end. Our comforts may vary, our frames may decline,
We cannot miscarry. Our aid is Divine. The hills may depart and
mountains remove, But faithful You are O fountain of love! The Father
has inscribed our names on Your hands, Our record, in Heaven, eternally
stands."
Shall we stop to take that next word? Scarcely may I preach from it,
but you should meditate upon it constantly. "I have inscribed you upon
the palms of My hands." My Lord, do You mean me? Yes, even me, if I, by
faith, cling to Your Cross. I am not shut out from Your heart of love,
if by faith I have entered into Your happy family. I know that You
remember me or You would never have helped me to remember You. Glory be
to You, O my gracious Lord."
But I want you, my beloved Brothers and Sisters, to notice that the
word runs, "I have inscribed you." It does not say, "Your name." The
name is there, but that is not all–"I have inscribed you." See the
fullness of this! I have inscribed your person, your image, your case,
your circumstances, your sins, your temptations, your weaknesses, your
wants, your works. I have inscribed you–everything about you–all that
concerns you. I have put you altogether there. It is not an outline
sketch, you see. It is a full picture, as though the man himself were
there. What? Do you dare dream that God forgets you? Will you ever say
again that your God has forsaken you when He has engraved you–not your
name, I say, but everything that concerns you–upon His own palms?
"Oh," says one, "but I am in such a plight this morning." Well, He has
inscribed that there. "Ah," says another, "I am so weak and so feeble!"
That, too, is engraved there. "I have inscribed you." The Omniscient
God knows you better than you know yourself–and whereas you are
conscious of some sin and some imperfection–He knows that you have an
infinitude of sin and a vastness of infirmity. He has put it all
there–"I have engraved you." I say, again, this is a thing too great
to be talked of, but more fit to be read, marked, learned, and digested
in the silence of your closet.
You have never inscribed yourselves so well upon the tablets of your
own knowledge as God has inscribed you upon those blessed tablets–the
palms of His hands. Yes, I dare to say it–our indulgent God as much
thinks of one saint as if there were no other saint–and no other
created thing in all the world. Our Covenant God so recollects and
cares for His child, that if the whole universe were dissolved and had
departed like a shadow, and our Lord had but one man to fix all His
Divine Grace upon, He would not watch him more, nor more carefully and
lovingly see after his best interests, than He now cares for each one
of His people. "I have inscribed you upon the palms of My hands."
We have up to now taken every word, but we must now take the next two
or three. Remember we are inscribed, where? Upon His hands, not upon
the works of His hands. They shall perish–yes, they shall all wax old
as does a garment. But His hands shall endure forever and ever. We are
not inscribed upon a seal, for a seal might be slipped from the finger
and laid aside. The hand itself can never be separated from the living
God. It is not inscribed or engraved on a huge rock, for a convulsion
of nature might rend the rock by an earthquake, or the fretting tooth
of time might eat the inscription out. Our record is on His hands,
where it must last, world without end. Not upon the back of His hands
where it might be supposed that in days of strife and warfare the
inscription might suffer damage, but there upon the palms of His hands
where it shall be well protected, so that even–
"When God's right arm is bared for war, And thunder clouds His stormy
cry," even then, when He smites with His fist, His people shall be well
protected within the palms of His hands.
The most tender part shall be made the place of the inscription, that
to which He is most likely to look. That which His fingers of wisdom
enclose, that by which He works His mighty wonders shall be the
unceasing remembrance, pledging Him never to forget His chosen. Do
notice, it does not say, "I have inscribed you upon the palm of one
hand," but "I have inscribed you upon the palms of My hands." There are
two memorials. His saints shall never be forgotten, for the inscription
is put there upon the palm of this hand, the right hand of blessing,
and upon the palm of that hand, the left hand ofjustice. I see Him with
His right hand beckon me–"Come you blessed," and He sees me in His
hand.
And on that side He says, "Depart you cursed," but not to me, for He
sees me in His hand, and cannot curse me. Oh, my Soul, how charming
this is, to know that His left hand is under your head, while His right
hand does embrace you. Both hands are marked with the memorial–this
left hand, which is the hand of cursing, cannot curse me, for it is
under my head. It cannot smite, for it has become my strength and my
stay, my pillow and my rest. While His right hand does embrace me, to
keep me safe from death, and Hell–and to preserve me and bring me to
His eternal kingdom in Glory.
Now I am conscious that I cannot work out the beauty of this passage. I
am equally conscious that you cannot either, unless you have much
longer time for meditation than such a short service as this can afford
you. Take it home and look at it again and again, especially laying an
emphasis on the word "you." And oh, if you can render it–"He has
inscribed me, me, me, upon the palms of His hands." If your soul can
know that God has you daily in remembrance, and neither can, nor will,
forget you, then you will dance before the Ark of the Lord. And if
Michal mocks, you may answer her as David did–"The God that chose me,
made me to dance." Eternal Election and Indissoluble Union are truths
which make Believers rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory.
"Be glad in the Lord and rejoice, you righteous, and shout for joy all
you that are upright in heart."
II. Now let us proceed to the second part of the subject, which is to
CONSIDER THE TEXT AS A WHOLE. "I have inscribed you upon the palms of
My hands." This seems to show us, first of all, that God's remembrance
of His people is constant. The hands, of course, are constantly in
union with the body. In Solomon's Song we read, "Set me as a seal upon
Your hands." Now this is a very close form of remembrance, for the seal
is very seldom laid aside by the Eastern, who not being possessed with
skill in the art of writing his name, requires his seal in order to
affix his signature to a document. Therefore the seal is almost always
worn, and in some cases is never laid aside.
A seal, however, might be laid aside, but the hands never could be. It
has been a custom, in the olden days especially, when men wished to
remember a thing, to tie a cord about the hand, or a thread around the
finger by which memory would be assisted. But then the cord might be
snapped or taken away, and so the matter forgotten. But the hand and
that which is printed into it must be constant and perpetual. O
Christian, remember that by night and by day God is always thinking of
you. From the beginning of the year even to the end of the year, the
Lord's eyes are upon you, according to His precious Word–"I, the Lord
do keep it, I will water it every moment, lest any hurt it. I will keep
it night and day."
Your remembrance of God is intermittent. You thought of Him this
morning when you rose from your beds. You are trying to think of Him
now, and this evening, again, your thoughts will go up to Him. These
are only times and seasons of remembrance, but God never ceases to
recollect you. The finite mind of man cannot constantly be occupied, if
it is to engage in other pursuits, with any one thought. But the
gigantic mind of God can think of a million trains of thought at once.
He is not confined to thinking of one thing, or working out one problem
at a time. He is the great many-handed, many-eyed God. He does all
things, and meditates upon all things, and works all things at the same
time–therefore He never is called away by any urgent business so that
He can forget you.
No second person ever comes in to become a rival in His affection
towards you. You are fast united to your great Husband, Christ, and no
other lover can steal His heart. But Jesus, having chosen you, does
never allow a rival to come. You are His beloved, His spouse, the
darling of His heart, and He has Himself said, "My eyes and my heart
are toward you continually." Every moment of every day, every day of
every month, and every month of every year, is the Lord continually
thinking upon you, if you are one of His.
Still further, the text as a whole seems to show us that this
recollection on God's part is practical. We are engraved upon His
heart–this is to show His love. We are put upon His shoulders–this is
to show that His strength is engaged for us. And also upon His hands,
to show that the activity of our Lord will not be separated from us. He
will work and show Himself strong for His people. He brings His
Omnipotent hands to effect our redemption. What would be the use of
having a friend who would think of us, and then let his love end in
thought? The faithfulness we want is that of one who will act in our
defense. We need one who so cares for us that against every arrow of
the adversary He will lift up the shield. And for every want will find
a supply. We want an active sympathy from God. Surely this is the
intention of the text. "I have inscribed you upon the palms of My
hands."
He has done all He has done as if everything that He touched left a
memorial of His people on it–as if every work He did, He did it with
the same hands that carved the remembrance of His people. Do you see
the drift of it? If He molds a world between His palms and then sends
it wheeling in its orbit–it is between those palms which are stamped
with the likeness of His sons and daughters–and so that new work shall
minister to their good. If He divides a nation, it is always with the
hand that bears the remembrance of Zion. Scripture itself tells us
this, "When He divided the nations, He set the bounds of the people
according to the number of the children of Israel."
The great wheel of Providence, when God makes it revolve, works for the
good of the people whom He has called according to His purpose. There
are many strings, but they are all in one hand, and they all pull one
way–to draw a weight of glory to the chosen. There are many wheels and
innumerable cogs, and as you and I look about us, we cannot understand
the machinery. We cry, "O wheels, what do you work?" But the end, the
end, if you stood there and saw the end of everything, you would see
that God has stamped all the wheels with the memory of His children, so
that the result is always good and only good to those whom He has
inscribed on the palms of His hands. It is, then, a practical as well
as a constant sympathy.
Next, dear Friends, and to the children of God this will be a
delightful thought, this is an eternal remembrance. You cannot suppose
it possible that any person can erase what is written on God's hands.
The Scriptures tell us that we are in the hands of Christ, and that
none shall pluck us out. Some Arminians say we can slip out. But how
can we slip out if we are engraved there? We may well defy all the
devils in Hell, with all their craft, even to forge a plan by which
they can get at the palms of God's hands. I cannot think of a thing
that should seem more impossible, more tremendously impossible, than
that any creature–whether it be life or death, things present or
things to come–should ever be able to reach the palms of God's hands,
so as to erase our names. Our hymn is not wrong when it says–
"Once in Christ, in Christ forever,
Nothing from His love can sever." And Toplady made no mistake when he
said–
"My name from the palms of His hands
Eternity will not erase.
Impressed on His heart it remains
In marks of indelible Grace–
Yes, I to the end shall endure,
As sure as the earnest is given.
More happy, but not more secure,
The glorified spirits in Heaven."
"I have inscribed you upon the palms of My hands."
Still I have not drained my text dry. Let the treader of the winepress
tread the grapes once more, and more holy wine shall flow there from
this memorial–how tender! How tender, I say, because it is inscribed
on the hands. We have heard of one, an eastern queen, who so loved her
husband that she thought even to build a mausoleum to his memory was
not enough. She had a strange way of proving her affection, for when
her husband's bones were burned she took the ashes and drank them day
by day, that, as she said, her body might be her husband's living
sepulcher.
It was a strange way of showing love and there was a marvelous degree
of strange, fanatical fondness in it. But what shall I say of this
Divine, celestial, unobjectionable, sympathetic mode of showing
remembrance by cutting it into the palms? Words fail to express our
intense content with this most admirable sign of tenderness and fond
affection. It appears to me as though the King had said, "Shall I carve
my people upon precious stones? Shall I choose the ruby, the emerald,
the topaz? No. For these all must melt in the last general
conflagration. What then? Shall I write on tablets of gold or silver?
No, for all these may canker and corrupt, and thieves may break through
and steal.
"Shall I cut the memorial deep on brass? No, for time would fret it,
and the letters would not long be legible. I will write on Myself, on
My own hands, and then My people will know how tender I am, that I
would sooner cut into My own flesh than forget them. I will have my Son
branded in the hands with the names of His people, that they may be
sure He cannot forsake them. Hard by the memorial of His wounds shall
be the memorial of His love to them, for, indeed, His wounds are an
everlasting remembrance." How loving, then, how full of superlative,
super-excellent affection is God toward you, and toward me in so
recording our names.
Weary not when I yet further remark, that this memorial is most
surprising. Scripture, which is full of wonders, yet allows a "Behold"
to be put before this verse–"Behold!" If the things I have been saying
are enough to make you won-der–the deep sea of the text, without
bottom and without shore–would much more cause you to hold up your
hands in astonishment. Child of God, let your cheerful eyes, and your
joyful heart testify how great a wonder it is that you, once so vile,
so hard of heart, so far estranged from God, are this day written on
the palms of His hands. And then I close this point by saying it is
also most consolatory. When God would meet Zion's great doubt–"God has
forgotten me," He cheers her with this–"I have inscribed you upon the
palms of My hands."
Where are you this morning, Mourner–where are you? Ah, you may well
hide your head for shame. You said yesterday, when trial after trial
came —
"My God has quite forgotten me; My Lord will be gracious no more." Here
is God's answer to you this morning–"It cannot be. I cannot forget
you, for I have inscribed you upon the palms of My hands."–
"Forget you, I will not, I cannot, your name Engraved on My heart does
forever remain; The palms of My hands while I look on, I see The wounds
I received when suffering for you." There is no sorrow to which our
text is not an antidote. If you are a child of God, though your
troubles have been as innumerable as the waves of the sea, this text,
like the channels of the ocean, can contain them all. I care not this
morning though you have lost everything, though you came here a
penniless bankrupt beggar–so long as you have this text you are rich
beyond a miser's dream!
You may have forgotten your own mercy. Your own experience may seem a
dream to you. The devil may tell you that you never knew the Lord. Your
own sins may bear evidence in the same way–but if you have believed in
the Lord Jesus Christ, the Covenant made with David's Lord must not,
and cannot, be broken. "I have inscribed you upon the palms of My
hands." Come, drooping Saint, lift up your head! You dreary, downcast
Brother, be of good cheer! If Christ remembers you, what more can you
want? The dying thief's extremity could not suggest a prayer larger
than, "Lord, remember me!"–and your greatest sorrow cannot ask for a
more complete assuagement than this–"Lord, show me that You have
inscribed me upon the palms of Your hands."
III. And now we come to the last point, upon which only a hint. I said
the last point would be to EXCITE YOU TO THE DUTY WHICH SUCH A TEXT
SUGGESTS.
Beloved in our Lord Jesus Christ, if you are partakers of this
inestimably precious text, let me say, first of all, is it not your
duty to leave your cares behind you today? We do not want any valuables
left behind in the Chapel, but these cares can be swept out tomorrow
morning when the women clear away the rubbish–and I am sure the
dustbin never contained viler stuff. Leave them here today. What are
you fretting about? Is not a Christian inconsistent when he is full of
carking care? Should not the fact that God always graciously and
tenderly remembers you, compel you once and for all to leave your
burden with Him who cares for you?–
"The Lord our Leader goes before,
Sufficient He and none besides.
And were the dangers many more,
We need not fear with such a Guide.
Through snares, through dangers and through foes
He leads, whose arm almighty is–
What, then, if earth and Hell oppose?
We need not fear if we are His."
Then, if you must not have cares, I think you should not have those
deep sorrows and despairs. Lift up your head! Jehovah remembers you,
Man! The billows cannot drown him whom the Lord of Hosts ordains to
bring to shore. Be glad in your God, and His perfect love. Do you not
think that joy becomes a man to whom such a text as this belongs? Wipe
your brow. It is true, the sweat stands on it, but your greatest labor
is done–Christ has finished it for you. There need, at least, be no
sweat of trepidation and alarm upon your face. He cannot forget you.
You have what angels envy. You have what poor mourning souls would give
their eyes to win–what troubled consciences would give their blood to
buy.
Be glad! Why should the children of such a King go mourning any one of
their days? Now lift up your heads and bathe them in the sunlight of
God. Take the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for
the spirit of heaviness. I am certain that the man who wears such a
gold chain about his neck need not bear the rags of penury. The man who
wears such a diamond coronet as this upon his brow ought not to behave
like a poor beggar in the streets. Go not clothed in rags of mourning,
but put on the scarlet and fine linen of thanksgiving–since God gives
you this consolation–"I have inscribed you upon the palms of My
hands."
One thing more and that is, if this text is not yours, how your mouths
ought to water after it. It is wrong to covet, but not to covet such a
thing as this. "Covet earnestly the best gifts." Is there a soul here
who says, "O that I had a part and lot in this matter! Would God that I
were saved, that I were written in the palms of Jesus' hands"? Poor
Soul, if you desire Christ, He desires you. If you have a spark of love
to Him, His soul is like a fiery furnace of love toward you–and you
may have His pardoning love shed abroad this morning.
"How?" you ask. "Whoever believes on Him shall never perish." To
believe is to trust, and if you trust confidently, simply–just as a
child trusts to its mother's arms–you shall find that He will never
fail your trust nor prove untrue to your confidence. May God bring you
to know yourself, and to know the sweetness of this blessed, blessed
text, which overwhelms and destroys all power of speech in me, and
makes me feel the poverty of my thoughts and language.
God bless you, for Jesus' sake. Amen. Amen.