A Sermon For Gleaners

A Sermon For Gleaners
A SERMON DELIVERED ON SUNDAY MORNING, AUGUST 10, 1862, BY REV. C. H.
SPURGEON, AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.
Boaz commanded his young men, saying, Let her glean even among the
sheaves, and reproach her not. And let fall also some of the handfuls
on purpose for her and leave them, that she may glean them, and rebuke
her not." Ruth 2:15,16.
ALL the world depends upon the labor of the field and the king himself
is served of the plow and of the sickle. The dwellers in the country
who watch the springing up of the blade through all its perils, who
mark the ear as it bursts from its sheath, and who anxiously observe it
until it hangs downward through ripeness and becomes yellow in the
sun– these, being brought constantly into contact with clods and
crops–are not able to forget their entire dependence upon the staff of
life. One can hardly live where the operations of farming are carried
on without often looking up to the God of Providence in anxious prayer
and later, lilting up the heart in grateful praise.
But the most of us are condemned to live in this huge wilderness of
bricks, where scarcely a green thing salutes our eyes. If we try to
rear a plant, it is but a sickly thing, neither tempting for beauty,
nor fragrant with perfume. In the absence of the bright-eyed flowers,
it is small wonder if we grow a little blind towards our mother earth.
We are too apt to think that we are independent of the operations of
the country. That our trade, our commerce, our manufactures, are
sufficient to support us. We forget, all the while, that in vain is
yonder forest of masts unless the earth shall yield her fruit. In vain
the emporium, the exchange, and the place of merchandise, unless the
land is plowed and harrowed, and at last yields to the farmer his
reward.
I would that I could recall to your memories, O you dwellers in the
city, how much you depend upon the Lord God of the earth for your daily
bread. Does your food fall like manna from the skies? Do you create it
at the forge, or fashion it in the loom or on the wheel? Comes it not
of the earth, and is it not the Lord who gives to the fertile womb of
earth the power to yield its harvests? Comes not the dew from Heaven,
and the sunshine from above? And do not these bring to us our bread as
well as to those who abide in the midst of the fields?
Let us not forget this time of the harvest, nor be unthankful for the
bounty of the wheat. Let us not forget to plead with God that He would
be pleased to give us suitable weather for the ingathering of the
precious grain. And when it shall be ingathered, let us not sullenly
keep silence, but with the toiling workers who, well-pleased, behold
the waving yellow crop, let us lift up the shout of "Harvest Home," and
thank the God who covers the valleys with corn and crowns the year with
His goodness.
I would order my speech, this morning, so as to act in your ears as the
Harvest bell in our midland counties. I have there noticed a bell
ringing early in the morning, and again towards the evening, which, I
am told, is intended to tell the people the hour when they may go into
the fields to glean, and when they must leave the field and go back to
their homes. My sermon shall be as simple as the ringing of a bell. If
it suffices to remind you of the sheaves and of the harvest, if it
shall but make you thank our God who gives us the fruit of the earth, I
shall be well content.
Tell me not that this is not a proper theme for the Sunday. I know you
know not what you say. Did not the disciples of Jesus walk through the
corn fields on the Sunday and did not the Master make the fields
themselves the subjects of His sermons? I fear not His disapprobation
when I say, on this hallowed day, "Lift up now your eyes and behold the
fields are ripe already unto the harvest." Do you think that the
outward creation is sinful and that God would be worshipped on Sundays
with closed eyes and vacant faces, which must not look on flowers and
fields? There is no impurity in green grass, or flowers, or sailing
clouds, or rippling waves, or ripening corn.
To the believing ear, the footsteps of the Bountiful Father are
everywhere audible and the revolving seasons do but reveal the varied
attributes of God. We may gather from every rustling ear a song, and
listen in every harvest field to a sermon which angels might stoop to
hear. It is no unhallowed theme. Come with me to the harvest field–may
the Master come with us–and let us talk awhile of other things than
harvests, though the harvest shall be the metaphor on which we will
fashion our speech.
A word or two about the gleaning. Under the Jewish dispensation,
gleaning was one of the rights of the people. The farmer was forbidden
to reap the corners of the field, and if he should have left a sheaf by
oversight in the field, he must not go back for it. It was to be left
for the widow, and the fatherless, and the poor that dwelt in the land.
No, the rights of gleaning went further than wheat and barley–the
olive tree was to be beaten but once, and they were to leave the
gleanings to the poor. So with the vintage. When they gathered the
grapes they were not utterly to clean the branches of the vines, but
leave sufficient to give a taste of the delicious fruit to the poorest
of the land.
I would not have our Christian farmers less liberal under the Gospel
dispensation than the farmers were under the Mosaic Law. As Boaz, in
his generosity gave to Ruth more than she could legally claim, so let
no possessor of the soil be questioning about the legal rights of the
poor to gleaning. Let him open his gates sooner than the Jewish farmer
would have done, and let him sometimes bid his men leave handfuls on
purpose for the poor. Grieved am I to observe that the custom grows
with many farmers nowadays to rake their fields and get all they can
from the poor of the village. And I believe some would rake the stubble
seven times if they could but get one ear more and leave less for
gleaning.
I would not gather into my barn, were I a farmer, a sheaf, every ear of
which rustled with the cries of the poor. I would not have the poor
man's curse for all the rich man's field, nor make the poor dwellers in
the village dissatisfied the whole year round because of a paltry
handful of corn which I had added to the stock of my bursting barns.
Especially you who are Christian men, I repeat it in your hearing–be
not less liberal than was the Jew. And if of old, when there were types
and shadows, they left good gleanings for the poor, scatter with a
liberal hand now that we have come to the substance and the fullness of
the Gospel. Rob not the poor man of his little, but earn his blessing
by your abundant generosity in the time of reaping your fields.
I have now to invite you to other fields than these. I would bring you
to the field of Gospel Truth. My Master is the Boaz. See here, in this
precious Book is a field full of truthful promises, of blessings rich
and ripe. The Master stands at the gate and affords us welcome. Strong
men, full of faith, like reapers, reap their sheaves, and gather in
their armfuls. Would you were all reapers, for the harvest truly is
plenteous. But if not reapers, may you be as the maidens of Boaz. I see
some servants who do not so much reap themselves as partake of that
which others have reaped. I know we have many in this Church who are
glad to eat the sweets, and feed upon the fat things of the kingdom,
when they are brought forth each Sunday in the ministry of the Word.
But I see trembling yonder, outside the gate, a little company to whom
I am to address myself today. They are not reapers, they have not
strength enough of faith to take the bin sheaves. They are not as yet
like household servants. They are not peaceful enough in their
consciences to sit down and eat and dip their morsel in the vinegar and
be satisfied. But they are gleaners, and they are saying, as they stand
at the gate, "Would that I might find favor in the sight of my Lord,
that I might even glean in this field, for I should then be content if
I might gather here and there an ear of Gospel Grace." I am sent to
you. My Master sends me as one of His young men, and thus He bids me
say to you, "Come into the field and glean wherever you will, and if in
the gleaning you should grow strong and become reapers, reap and carry
home the sheaves for yourselves."
I. First then, like Boaz, I shall ask the question, "WHO IS THIS
DAMSEL?" in order that I may find out who these gleaners are who are
invited into the fields of Christ, that they may glean the handfuls
that are let fall on purpose for them.
"Who is this damsel?" The first answer is, she is a Moabitess and a
stranger. Ah, I know you, poor timid Heart. You say, "I am sprung of an
evil stock, an heir of wrath even as others. My nature is depraved and
vile. How can I hope, such an one as I am, that I should ever be
allowed to go into the Master's field and glean of His good corn of
Divine Grace? Oh, Sir, if you knew how I feel of my lost and helpless
state! Could you but perceive how base I am in my own eyes because I
have been so long a stranger to God, and an alien from the commonwealth
of Israel, I think you would not invite me to glean in the field at
all." Verily, my Sister, you are the very person to whom I am sent, for
it was a Moabite damsel upon whom Boaz set his heart, and it was to her
that he sent his message, "Abide you fast by my maidens; go not in any
other field."
But I ask again, who this damsel is and she answers, "I am not only by
nature a stranger but I must confess that I am now in my condition
miserable and poor. I cannot buy Christ's Grace. I can do nothing to
win His love. Once I thought I had some good works, but now I have
none. Once I relied upon ceremonies but I have given them up, for I
find no comfort in them. I am utterly poor–so poor, that I despair of
ever in the future being richer than I am now. I am helpless. I am
hopeless. I am nothing. Yes, I am less than nothing. Alas, I am such a
miserable beggar that I am not worthy of the least of all His mercies."
Do you say this? Right glad am I, then, to hear you use such language,
for unto you, again, am I sent, and unto you am I bid to give the
gracious invitation–"Come into the field and glean even among the
sheaves."
Now the gleaner whom I describe is not only in her own experience an
alien, and a stranger–and in her own present condition naked and poor
and miserable–but she has, despite all this, a decision for the Lord
God of Israel. I think I hear her say, "If I perish, I will perish
looking to the Cross of Christ. I have nothing of my own to bring, but
I come just as I am. The Lord knows I have no other dependence but upon
the blood and the finished righteousness of Jesus Christ. I forswear
the gods of Moab in whom I once trusted. The world is now nothing to
me. The pomp and vanities thereof have lost all their glory. As to
myself, I abhor myself in dust and ashes. I would be Christ's, and if
He will not have me, if I may not glean in His fields, I will never go
elsewhere–
'If I perish I wiil pray, And perish only there.'"
It is marvelous, the tenacity with which some of these timid souls will
hold to Christ. Just as a man, the more fearful he is of sinking,
clutches the plank with a more terrible earnestness, so have I seen
some of these fearful souls lay hold on Jesus with a grip which neither
death nor Hell could unloose. Were the times of burning to come back
again, many a wavering soul that can scarcely say, "I know that my
Redeemer lives," would go singing to the stake! Many of those who are
bold in words would prove cowardly in acts, and withdraw from Christ
when it came to burning for Him. Well, it is to you that I am sent,
poor timid Gleaner. Come in, come into the field, and we will see if we
cannot let fall some handfuls on purpose for you.
Our description, however, is far from being complete. This gleaner is
one who is exceedingly humble and self-emptied. Just observe what she
says when Boaz takes notice of her–"Who am I, that I should find grace
in your sight, seeing that I am a stranger?" Ah, and the woman to whom
I would speak this morning has such a low estimate of herself, that
when she gets a grain of hope she thinks, "Ah, it is too good for me."
When, sometimes, you half hope that Christ has loved you, and given
Himself for you, a sight of your unworthiness comes in and you say,
"No, this can hardly be, that such an one so mean and so despicable as
I, should ever be regarded by the lovely eyes of Christ my Lord."
I know you think yourself not to be pure, or fair, or lovely. And when
you read such a passage as that, where Christ says of His spouse, "You
are all fair, My love, there is no spot in you," tears come in your
eyes, for you say, "Alas, He will never say that of me, for I am all
defiled with sin, all unholy and unclean. Should He search the world
through, He would not find a more worthless one than I. And should He
turn the heap over again and again, he could not find one that less
deserved to be the object of His pity than I, poor unworthy I."
Yes, but you are just the person to whom I am sent! Your Lord Jesus has
heard of you, and He loves such as you are, for when you are little in
your own eyes, then are you great in His. When you talk thus bashfully
of yourself, then He loves to hear your words, for they are words of
truth. In very deed, you are what you say you are, nothing but
loathsomeness and corruption and depravity. And yet He who has loved
you, notwithstanding all this, will never leave you till your
corruption has been removed, till your loathsomeness has been washed
away, till for deformity you have matchless beauty, and for unholiness
His perfect righteousness. I say to you, even to you, are we sent
today.
Once again, these gleaners have a very high opinion of those who are
true Christians. You notice Ruth says, "I am not like unto one of the
handmaidens." No, and my poor gleaner yonder, she thinks the saints of
God are such a blessed people, she is not like one of them. When she
gets into her sin experience she says, "If I were a child of God I
should never be like this." Knowing her vileness and her imperfections
she cries, "Ah, if I were one of Christ's chosen, I should be much
holier than I am. Though I love His saints, I cannot dare to hope that
I shall ever be numbered with them. My goodness can never reach so high
as to be joined with them in visible fellowship."
Ah, I know some of you feel that if you ever did get to Heaven you
would creep through some cranny in the door and hide yourselves in some
mouse hole far away, where none could see you. And today, though in
truth you are the best of the saints, you think yourselves the vilest
of the vile. For many there are that are very rich in Divine Grace who
think themselves miserably poor. On the other hand, many who say, "I am
rich and increased in goods and have need of nothing," are naked and
poor and miserable. Poor Moabitess, long an alien, having gone far into
sin and now decided for Christ, with a sort of despairing hope that
maybe He will look upon you. Today, even today, He speaks to you. Open
your ears and hear Him. Forget your kindred and your father's house,
for He greatly desires you, and He would have you even now come to Him
and be espoused unto Him forever.
I need not prolong our description of the gleaners to whom I speak. The
Holy Spirit, I hope, will find some of you out and may He press home
the Truth of God to your hearts.
II. Having beckoned to the gleaner, I shall now, like Boaz, ADDRESS THE
REAPERS. The ministers are the reapers, and thus speaks Boaz to
them–"Let her glean, even among the sheaves, and reproach her not. Let
fall some of the handfuls on purpose for her, and leave them, that she
may glean them, and rebuke her not."
The first command Christ gives to his ministers is–"Rebuke her not."
Ah, I fear, my Brethren in the ministry, that we have often rebuked
where we ought to have comforted. And perhaps our unwise speeches, when
we did not mean to do it, have been very hard blows to the afflicted in
Zion. It is an ill thing for the strong cattle to push with horn and
shoulder. We are very apt, unless we have much trial and trouble
ourselves, to lose the lady's hand which is so necessary for a
physician of souls. We keep the lion's heart but oh, the tender hand
and the downy fingers–we are not so ready to keep these in dealing
with sore consciences.
I know some preachers who never went to Martin Luther's school. They
may have prayer and meditation, but they have never been schooled by
temptation. And if we are not much tempted ourselves, if we are not
emptied from vessel to vessel ourselves, we are in very great danger
when we are dealing with these truths–lest we are hard with them and
rebuke and reproach them, when instead we should hear the Master
say–"Comfort you, comfort you My people. Speak you comfortably unto
Jerusalem."
Now I take it that we do very much reproach these tender ones when we
set up standards in our ministry to which we tell them they must come
or else perish. Some do it in experience. I have heard old divines and,
like Elihu, I have been ready to rebuke my seniors when they have
taught their experience, in all its length and breadth, as necessary
for all the people of God. The experience of the advanced saint must
never be set up as a standard for the young beginner. There are
mountains for us to climb when our bones are firm, but these mountains
are not for babes. There are depths into which we are to dive when we
have learned the art of plunging into them, but these are not for
little children, who must be dandled on the knee and fondled at the
breast.
When we describe some dark passage in our lives, and say to the young
convert–"You must have felt all this or you are not a child of God,"
we are reproaching when we ought to have comforted, and rebuking where
we ought to have consoled. So have I seen a standard of Grace set up.
Some Christians are eminent in their graces. Their faith is valorous.
Their courage defies all danger. Their hope is bright and sparkling
like a diamond. But if in our preaching we tell young converts that
their graces must be equal in luster to the fathers in the Church, what
do we do but rebuke Ruth when we ought to have let fall handfuls of
corn for her to gather?
And so, too, with regard to doctrinal knowledge. I have known some
Christians well-schooled in these matters, and deeply read in theology
who, when they meet with one who knows no more than this–that he is a
sinner and that Christ came to save sinners–will ask hard, wrinkled
questions, which are more fit for an assembly of divines than for a
babe in Christ. And because, indeed, the little child cannot untie a
Gordian knot, because the babe cannot crack the hard shells of these
theological nuts, they send him away and say, "The root of the matter
is not in you. You have not passed from death unto life."
Oh, let us not do this, dear Brother Reapers. Let us sooner cut
ourselves with our own sickle than cut Ruth with it! Let us rather be
patient and very tender and receive the weak in the faith, as Christ
has received them. Let us, like our Master, not overdrive the Lambs,
but carry them in our bosom, and gently lead them when they need our
tenderness and our care.
There is also another way in which some rebuke these gleaners, who
should rather be invited and comforted–that is, by denying their faith
when it is mixed with unbelief! It is marvelous, it is miraculous, that
a spark of faith can live in the midst of an ocean of unbelief. You
will find men who, at times, fear that they believe nothing. In their
own apprehension they are so beclouded and bemisted that they have lost
their way, and do not know where they are. And yet they are true
Believers for all that. Some of us have passed through crisis of our
being in which, if we had been asked our very name, we could hardly
have told it, for we were so utterly distressed, so lost and cast away
by reason of overwhelming blasphemies, or incessant temptations, that
we could scarce tell our right hand from our left.
And were we therefore without faith? No, there was a little faith,
still. There was an undying principle still within us when death had
made us wretched men. So we must not talk to these young beginners as
though the uprising of their corruption disproved the indwelling of the
Holy Spirit–we must succor them. We may tell them of the dragons we
have fought and the giants we have slain, but we must use discretion
even in this.
And when they are in the Slough of Despond, we must not leave them to
sink there up to their very necks but go lend them our hand to pull
them out, for they may be in the right road even in the slough, and
they may still have their faces to Zion though those faces may be
besmeared with the mire and filth of that dreadful bog. Let us never
rebuke or reproach these timid ones, but help and sustain them.
But further–Boaz gave another exhortation to the reapers–"Let fall
handfuls on purpose for her." In our ministry there should always be a
corner cupboard for the tried and timid saints. I think there should
never be a sermon without a Benjamin's mess for the children. There
should be strong meat for the men, but there should always be milk for
the babes. Ready to adapt our ministry to all sorts of people, if we
forget any, we should never forget these.
My Brothers, would you minister to these gleaners? Let me remind you,
first, that our ministry most be plain, for these timid souls cannot
feed on hard words. Dr. Manton once preached in St. Paul's Cathedral
and a great crowd went to listen to him. A poor man who had walked
fifty miles to hear the good doctor, afterwards plucked him by the
sleeve and said–"There was nothing for me this morning. The doctor had
preached a very learned sermon, full of Greek and Latin quotations
which the poor countryman could not understand. But the doctor had not
expected him and there was nothing for him.
I think there should always be in our ministry some things for poor
Ruth. Something so plain and so simple that the wiseacres will turn up
their noses and say, "What platitudes!" Never mind, if Ruth gets a
handful of corn, our Master at the last shall know who did His errand
best and served Him with a perfect heart. And then, if plain, we must
remember, too, that it must be very elementary. We must be often laying
again the foundation stone–teaching faith in Christ again and again.
As Luther says, we must repeat justification by faith every Sunday,
because men are so apt to forget it.
Oh, you fine preachers who elaborate your learned essays, who work all
the week long to addle your own brains and then spend the Sunday in
muddling your hearers–would that you would remember these poor
gleaners, who want none of your fine stuff, none of your glorious
flights, none of your rounded periods! They are far better off if you
will tell them that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners,
and point their eyes to Calvary and bid them look and live. We must let
fall handfuls on purpose for the weak and ignorant.
And then again, our preaching must be evangelical. Weeping eyes need
Christ to dry them. Tender hearts need Jesus' wounds to make them
whole. A man who lives without temptation may enjoy a Sunday's sermon
without Christ in it– but give me a man who is tempted in the week and
I know he wants Christ! Give me a man who has lost money in the week,
or that has been subjected to ridicule for Christ's sake, and I know
that you might as well offer him the husks that swine eat as offer him
anything but Christ crucified visibly set forth before his eyes.
Oh, we must get back to this, all of us who are preachers! We must
forget what we learned at college. We must leave behind what we pick up
from learned books and come out to tell Ruth just that which she most
wants to hear–that Boaz welcomes her to the field and bids her glean
till her hands are full.
But then, Brethren, you will notice that these reapers were to let
handfuls fall on purpose for her. Well, then, you reapers in God's
field, let your preaching be very personal. Oh, I love it, when I draw
the bow, not to do it at random, but to single out some troubled heart
and speak to you all as though there were but one here. Not pouring the
oil over the wound, but coming up to the edge of the gaping sore to
pour in the oil and wine. These poor Ruths will not dare to take the
corn unless we put it right in their way. They are so fearful, so
timorous, that though it seems to be scattered for everybody, they
think it cannot be for them. But if it is there, put there so that they
cannot mistake it, then they say– "Well, that is for me. Yes, that is
what I have felt. That is what I want." And they cannot, unbelieving
though they are, they cannot help stooping down and picking up the
handful that is let fall on purpose for them.
Then, if it is so, our preaching must always be very affectionate, for
if we let fall a handful with a scowling face, our Ruth will go to the
other end of the field rather than pick it up. Oh, Brethren in Christ,
it is, after all, our sympathy with our fellow men which is the great
engine the Holy Spirit uses in converting them. It is not merely
telling out the Truth of God which is the power–God, if He had willed
it, might have made statues which could preach, and they could have
preached as well as we do and infinitely better if the Lord had poured
the words out of their cold lips.
But he made men preachers, that men might feel for men, and that our
words might come out from our hearts and so go glowing into the hearts
of the afflicted. Oh, let us, then, who are reapers for Christ, be very
tender with poor Ruth! And often when we forget the strong, and leave
the mighty man to take care of himself, let us go to the gate to pull
in the fainting Mercy and invite Christiana and her little children to
sit down and rest. So would I do this morning, and therefore, I pass on
to our third point.
III. As myself a reaper for Christ, I must try to follow the example of
the reapers of Boaz and let fall handfuls on purpose for the gleaner. I
am afraid I shall not be able to give you such handfuls as I would, but
they shall come out of the right field. Oh, you timid and troubled
Heart, let me drop before you now a handful of precious promises. "He
will not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax."
Does not that suit your case? A reed, helpless, insignificant and weak.
A bruised reed, out of which no music can come. Weaker than weakness
itself–a reed–and that reed bruised! He will not break you. He who
broke Rahab by His right hand will not break you. You are like the
smoking flax–no light, no warmth comes from you. You are, on the
contrary, like flax that smokes, giving forth a foul, offensive smell.
But He will not quench you. He will blow with His sweet breath of mercy
till He fans you to a flame.
Do you need another? "Come unto Me, all you that labor and are heavy
laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me,
for I am meek and lowly in heart, and you shall find rest unto your
souls." What soft words! Your heart is tender, and the Master knows it.
Therefore He speaks so gently to you. Will you not listen and obey Him,
and come to Him, come to Him even now? Hear him again–"Fear not, you
worm, Jacob, I will help you, says the Lord, and your Redeemer, the
Holy One of Israel." Or would you hear Jesus Christ speak to you
again?–"Let not your heart be troubled: you believe in God, believe
also in Me."
Or, again, "He is able to save unto the uttermost them that come unto
God by Him." Do you not remember ten thousand such passages as these?
"When you pass through the rivers I will be with you, and the floods
shall not overflow you. When you go through the fires you shall not be
burned, neither shall the flame kindle upon you." Or this, "Can a woman
forget her sucking child that she should not have compassion on the son
of her womb? Yes, she may forget, yet will I not forget you." Or this,
"I have blotted out your sins like a cloud, and like a thick cloud your
transgressions."
Or this, "Though your sins are as scarlet they shall be as wool. Though
they are red like crimson they shall be whiter then snow." Or this,
"The Spirit and the bride say, Come, and let him that is athirst come,
and whoever will, let him come and take the water of life freely." Or
this, "Ho, everyone that thirsts, come to the waters and you that have
no money, come and eat. Yes, come, buy wine and milk, without money and
without price." Oh, my Master's field is very rich. Behold the
handfuls! Look, there they lie before you, poor timid Soul. Gather them
up, make them your own, for Jesus bids you take them. Be not too
bashful. But take them, feed on them, and go on in the strength of this
meat all your days.
Well, I have dropped a handful of promises. Now let me try and scatter
a handful of doctrines of Grace. But Ruth starts back, for she is
afraid to glean in the wheat fields of doctrine. No, but Ruth, here is
the doctrine of election–come and glean that. Fear not, poor timid
Soul, it is a sweet and blessed Truth of God. Hear it–"God has chosen
the weak things of this world and the things that are not has God
chosen to bring to nothing the things that are." "I thank you, O Father
of Heaven and earth, that You have hid these things from the wise and
prudent and have revealed them unto babes."
Does not that suit you, timid Soul? Are you not as a babe, as a weak
thing, and as a foolish thing? Oh, there is a handful on purpose for
you, in the doctrine of electing love. Hear another, the doctrine of
justification by faith–"not by works of righteousness which we have
done He saves us, but through Christ Jesus. We are saved through what
Jesus has done on our behalf." "He that believes on Him is not
condemned, but has everlasting life." What do you say? Does not that
suit you? You have no good works–can you not trust Christ and His good
works on your behalf? Is not this a handful on purpose for you?
"Yes but I fear," says one, "that if I were saved I should yet fall
away, for I am so weak." Here is another handful for you–"I give unto
My sheep eternal life, and they shall never perish, neither shall any
pluck them out of My hand." "For I am persuaded, that neither death,
nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things
present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other
creature shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in
Christ Jesus."
Is not this a handful on purpose for you? "I have made and I will bear,
even I will carry, even unto hoar hairs. I am He and unto old age will
I carry you." What more do you want? I tell you, Ruth, there is not a
single doctrine in Scripture which, if it is rightly understood, will
not yield handfuls on purpose for you. Indeed, my Master's Gospel,
though it is a chariot in which a king may ride, is like an ambulance
used on the field of battle, in which a man with broken limbs may ride
comfortably, too. Oh, it is soft riding when Christ carries in His
arms! And He does this for such as you are. Broken in pieces all
asunder, with your thoughts like a case of knives cutting your soul,
and conscience through and through, Christ has made His Gospel to suit
you.
The other day, when one of our Brothers was sick of consumption, we
sent him a waterbed to rest on and the comfort it gave him was indeed
delightful. But oh, Jesus Christ's bosom is something softer than that!
Though you are ever so weak, though you are like a sere leaf driven in
the wind and broken of the tempest, you shall yet find perfect peace
and quiet in the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, for it is a Gospel on
purpose for you.
Once more, we have some handfuls to drop that we have gathered in
another field. We have been to promise field and to doctrine field, now
let us go to the field of experience. Do you not know, Ruth, that your
experience is no exception to the rule? There are thousands such as you
are. And I, too, who speak to you this morning, that you may know the
truth of this matter, I tell you that once upon a time I stood like
yourself shivering at the gate. And I said in my soul, "His mercy is
clean gone forever. He will be mindful of His Covenant no more."
For years I cried for mercy but did not find it. I wrote my name among
the damned and said I must perish, for God had shut up the heart of His
compassion. But He has never despised the cry of His prisoner. I looked
unto Him and was lightened and I am not ashamed to confess that there
is light nowhere but in Him. "Oh," you say, "then your experience is
something like mine!" Just so, it is. And so there is a handful on
purpose for you. I know the devil tells you, you are lost in a road
where Christ's mercy never travels. But it is a mistake. You are in the
midst of the King's highway. I know Satan tells you that you have come
to the ends of the earth. But my Lord puts it–"Look unto Me and be you
saved, all you ends of the earth."
Oh, but you think you are the last man! Ah, but Christ loves to take
the last and make them first, while the first he often leaves to be
last. Yes, but you have written bitter things against yourself! Never
mind what you have written. What a mercy it is Christ did not write
them, and that, on the contrary, He has written sweet things of you!
And he has said, "Return unto Me, says the Lord, for I am reconciled
unto you." Soul, my Master–would that He were here to speak for
Himself–for my poor words are so feeble compared with His–my Master
woos you this morning.
Instead of offering you a gleaning, He offers you Himself. You came to
be a gleaner. He would make you His spouse. See, Boaz comes to you.
Will you have Him? The ring is in His hand. Come, stretch out the
finger of your little faith and let the deed be done. Say, "Unworthy
though I am, I hope, my Lord, I am Yours. No other would I have to
serve, to love, to trust. Jesus, just as I am, take me and make me what
You would have me to be." It is done. The marriage is ratified, and
by-and-by, it shall be consummated before the eternal throne in your
everlasting bliss.
I have good reason for being earnest in trying to comfort this Ruth,
because, though she is a stranger, she is a sister of mine. I am a
stranger, too. We both come from the same land, and the same howling
wilderness. She is in trouble and my soul has known trouble, too–the
same trouble-and I would desire to bring her to the port of Peace.
Besides, she is to be my Master's wife, and I would be on good terms
with the mistress of the house. It is ill for the reaper to have an
enemy in the mistress. And since I know that this Ruth shall by-and-by
find Boaz to be her next of kin, I would desire do her a good service
and bring her to her Master's house, if so my Lord would honor me.
IV. I close my sermon of this morning, by stirring up timid and
troubled ones to do what I know Divine Grace will make them do before
long. I say, then, to you who are thus troubled in your consciences,
since the field is open to you, and we bid you glean–since Boaz
himself commands us to let fall handfuls on purpose for you–do your
duty and be bold to believe today. You have been afraid to trust Christ
up to now–trust Him now. Venture on Him. It is a poor word to use, but
do it. Though something tells you you have no right to trust Christ, do
it, right or not right, NOW, flat on your face before Him, with no
confidence but in what He has done and in what He is doing still.
Be bold to believe in Him at this moment and you shall live. And having
believed in Him, be industrious every time the Word is preached to pick
up every ear of comfort in the sermon. Ruth must bend her back, though
it is but one ear at a time she gathers. Think it worth while to hear a
sermon in ever such a crowd, if you may get but one ear of comfort–
for one ear is a great thing for one who deserves none. And but one
word of mercy from the lips of Christ should be accounted more precious
than rubies to a soul that deserves to hear Him say, "Depart you
cursed." And when you have gathered one grain and another, seek a
retentive memory to keep in your hand what you have gathered, or else
you will be like a silly gleaner who stoops to glean one ear and drops
another at the same time.
Carry home what of truth you can. Take notes in your heart. And when
you have gathered, and your hands are full, take care to discriminate.
Ruth, we are told, threshed her corn and left the straw behind–she
took home the good wheat. You do the same. There is much straw in all
our sermons, much that our Master would not have us say–for we are
poor, poor creatures, and but fallible like yourselves. But leave the
straw behind and take home the good wheat. And do us this service–do
not take home the straw, and leave the wheat, as some do. There are
many foolish gleaners who, if there is one word of ours awry, will tell
it to our discredit–but our Master's words they will forget.
And, lastly, while you are on your knees in prayer, beating out the
sermon in meditation, turn your eye to my Master. Go to Him and say to
Him, "Lord, I am content to glean, though I get but one ear of mercy.
But oh, that I had You! Oh, that You would give me Yourself! I have no
beauty, but oh, You do not love us for our beauty but for Your beauty
which You cast on us. Lord, look on me! All I can say is that if You
will save me, I will praise You on earth, and I'll praise You in
Heaven. There shall not be one before the Throne more grateful than I,
because there shall be none who shall owe so much to Your unmerited,
rich, free, Sovereign Grace."
Sinner, if you do that now, my Master will accept you. Trust Him NOW,
poor Hearts, trust Him now! Away, you devil of Hell, away, away! Why
will you molest these lambs? Timid and troubled consciences, hear not
what your doubts and fears and Hell and the devil would say–come now
to my Master! His wounds invite you–His tearful eyes invite you–His
open heart bids you come. Come and trust Him, He cannot reject you if
you trust Him just as you are!
God help you to do it and you shall see sin forgiven, your foes
trampled under your feet, and you yourselves shall meet the great Boaz
at the marriage supper and to Him shall be the glory forever and ever.
Amen.