DELIVERED ON LORD'S-DAY MORNING, OCTOBER 2, 1870,
BY C. H. SPURGEON,
AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.
"And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled,
saying, It is a ghost. And they cried out for fear." Matthew 14:26.
SOME of the richest comforts are lost to us for want of clear
perception. What consolation could be greater to the tempest-tossed
disciples than to know their Master was present, and to see Him
manifestly revealed as Lord of sea as well as land? Yet because they
did not discern Him clearly, they missed the incomparable consolation.
What is worse, at times the dimness of our perception will even turn
the rarest consolation into the source of fear. Jesus is come, and in
His coming the Sun of their joy has risen, but they do not perceive it
to be Jesus. And thinking it to be a phantom, they are filled with
alarm and cry out in dread.
He who was their best Friend, they were as much afraid of as though He
had been the arch enemy. Christ walking on the waves should have put
all fear to rest, but instead they mistake Him for a ghost appearing
amidst the storm, foreboding darker ill. They were filled with dismay
by that which ought to have lifted them up with exultation. Oh, the
benefit of the heavenly eye salve by which the eyes are cleared! May
the Holy Spirit anoint our eyes therewith. Oh, the excellence of faith
which, like the telescope, brings Christ near to us, and lets us see
Him as He is! Oh, the sweetness of walking near to Christ, and knowing
Him with an assured, confident, clear knowledge–for this would give us
comforts which now we miss–and at once remove from us distresses which
today unnecessarily afflict us.
The subject upon which I wish to speak will be indicated to you if I,
first of all, supply you with the outline of it. The first head will be
this–it is too common an error to make a phantom of Christ. And,
secondly, we are most apt to do this when Jesus is most evidently
revealed. And therefore, thirdly, from this come our greatest sorrows.
And, fourthly, if we could be cured of this evil, Jesus would rise very
much in our esteem and many other blessed results would be sure to
follow.
I. IT IS TOO COMMON AN ERROR TO MAKE A PHANTOM OF CHRIST. There are
some who make a Christ of a phantom. I mean they take that to be their
Savior which is but a delusion. They have dreamed so. They have excited
themselves up to a high pitch of presumptuous credulity. They have
persuaded themselves into delusive comfort, and they make their excited
feeling or fancy their Christ. They are not saved, but they think they
are. Jesus is not known to them. They are unspiritual. They are not His
sheep. They are not His disciples, yet they have put something up
before their mind's eye which they think to be Christ, and their ideal
of Christ, which is but a phantom, is Christ to them.
A terrible error! May God save us from it and bring us to know the Lord
in deed and in Truth by the teaching of His Holy Spirit. For to know
Him is life eternal. But an equally and probably a more common error is
to make a phantom of Christ. More or less we have all erred in this
direction. Let me show you this for reproof and direction. First, how
often we have done this in the matter of sin and like cleansing of it!
Our sin seems to us, when we are convinced of it, very real. Real,
indeed, it is–our offenses against God are no imaginary ones–we have
really provoked Him to wrath, and He is angry with us every day.
The stain of sin is not on the surface, merely, the leprosy lies deep
within. Sin is a horrible evil, and when our spirits have been able to
see the reality and the heinousness of it, they sink within us. But oh,
what a glorious thing it is when we can, with equal vividness, see the
actual cleansing from sin which Christ confers on all Believers by His
precious blood! To see the scarlet and to weep over it is well, but to
see that same scarlet vanish in the pure white of the atoning
Sacri-fice–this is better.
Did you ever get as clear a perception of the second as you have done
of the first? It is a great blessing when God makes sin to be
experimentally heavy to you so that you feel it. But it is a greater
blessing, still, when the atoning blood
is quite as vividly realized, and you see the bloody sweat of
Gethsemane, and the pouring out of the life of the Redeemer upon
Calvary, and the agonies unknown by which guilt was fully expiated
before the Eternal Throne. My Brethren, when we are under concern of
soul, or even after our first conviction–when sin returns heavily upon
our spirits–our fears, and terrors, and alarms, are real enough.
No one dares to say to us, then, that we are in a state of nervous
excitement about a fiction. Our danger, then, is right before us, as
clearly as the flames are before some poor person immured in a burning
house–we are sure of the danger, we see it, we perceive it, we feel it
in the very core of our nature. But there is salvation provided by the
Redeemer! He took our sin upon Himself. He suffered the punishment of
it. He has put the sin away. Believing in Him our sin has gone! We have
a right to peace, we are fully warranted in standing before God and may
ask, "Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect?"
What we want is not to think of this as a dreamy thing, which may or
may not be, but to realize it as a fact quite as sure, quite as certain
as our distress and the sin which caused it. We are not to look through
the storm upon the Savior and view Him as though He were a
will-o'-the-wisp, a ghostly thing–while the storm that surrounds us is
real–but to see a real Savior for real sin, and to rejoice in real
pardon, a pardon which has buried all our sins. A real salvation, a
salvation which has set our feet upon a rock beyond the reach of harm.
Brethren, if we came to this point about sin we should have less of the
groaning, or if as much of the groaning, we should still have more of
the rejoicing. We lament for sin, and we do well. I hope we shall till
we reach the gates of Heaven. Sin can never be too much lamented or
repented of. But at the same time we are not to so mourn over sin as to
forget that Jesus died, and thereby cancelled all our guilt. No, with
every note of lamentation lift up the joyful strain of triumph, for
iniquity is gone, Christ has finished transgression, made an end of
sin, and he that believes in Him is not condemned, neither can he be,
world without end.
The same remarks apply to the matter of our acceptance with God after
our pardon. Dear Brothers and Sisters, if I may speak for the rest of
you, our shortcomings in Christian duty are often very painfully real
to our souls. We cannot preach a sermon, or offer prayer, or give alms,
or do any service for our Lord but what we feel, when all is done, that
we are unprofitable servants. The faults and imperfections of our
service stare us in the face and there is not a day we live but what we
are compelled to say that we come very far short of what Christians
should be. In fact, we are led sometimes to question whether we can be
Christians at all, and very rightly are we anxious as to the
truthfulness of our professions.
When we come to the Lord's Table and examine ourselves, we find many
causes of disquietude, and much reason for trembling of spirit. Looking
through the whole course of our Christian career, shame must cover our
faces. We have good need to say, "Not unto us, not unto us be glory."
We cannot suppose ourselves able to take any glory, our life has been
so inglorious, so undeserving, so Hell-deserving. And there are some
Christians to whom this state of things is very, very, very, very
painfully conspicuous. They are of a desponding turn of mind, much
given to looking within, and their inward corruptions and the outward
displays thereof cause them continued disquietude and alarm.
My Brethren, there is so much that is good about all this, that who
shall condemn it? But at the same time the sacred balance of the soul
must be maintained. Are my shortcomings real? Equally real is the
perfect righteousness of Jesus Christ in which all Believers always
stand! Are my prayers imperfect? Yes. But equally perfect and prevalent
are the prayers and intercessions of my great Advocate before the
Throne! Am I defiled with sin, and therefore worthy to be rejected? Is
that true? Equally true is it that in Him is no sin! And His eternal
merits have weight with the ever-blessed Father and stand me in as good
a place as He, my Representative and Surety, standing before the
Throne.
Yes. I am in myself unworthy, but I am accepted in the Beloved. "I am
black with sin." "Yes," says the Believer, "it is so." Add, however,
the next clause, "but comely." Equally sure it is that we are comely,
yes, in God's sight, we are "without spot or wrinkle, or any such
thing." As Jehovah sees us in Christ Jesus, He beholds no iniquity in
us. Christ has put our blemishes away, and made us comely in His
comeliness. He sees everything that is lovely in us. Christ has
bestowed His own beauty upon us, for He is made this day of God unto us
wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption.
All we want is in Christ. Our standing is safe in Him, and the love of
the Father towards us comes to us without diminution at any time
despite our flaws and failures, through the perfection of the Beloved
One's acceptance. Now do not cloud this fact. Do not look at the Lord,
your righteousness, as a phantom. Do not cry out as if you thought His
work to be an impalpable something that comforts others, but cannot
comfort you. The work of Jesus is the grandest of all facts. O for
faith to grasp it, and rely upon it as such!
The principle applies next in the matter of sanctification. Very real
and close to our souls, my Brethren, is the flesh. It makes us groan
daily, being burdened. Very close to home are our corruptions–these
foes of our own household worry us too much to allow us to forget them.
Very plain to us also are our temptations–they await us on all sides.
And the inward conflict which comes of our fallen nature, and the
temptations of Satan and the world–this, too, is very clear. We can no
more doubt our conflicts than the wounded soldier doubts the bloodiness
of the battle. All these things are evermore before our eyes to our
grief.
But I am afraid that here, too, Christ Jesus is often to us as merely
an apparition and not as a real Sharer in our spiritual conflicts. Know
you not, Beloved, that Jesus Christ is touched with tender sympathy for
you in all your temptations? Understand you not that He has prepared
provision for you in all your conflicts that you may surely win the
day? Expect you not even yet to say, "I have overcome through the blood
of the Lamb"? Will you not at this hour shout the anticipatory note of
triumph, "Thanks be to God, which gives us the victory though our Lord
Jesus Christ"? You have corruptions within–this is a fact. But Christ
is formed in you the hope of Glory–this is an equal fact.
There is that in you which would destroy you, but there is also that
implanted in you which cannot be destroyed– this is equally true. You
are, in the first Adam, made in the image of the earthy–over this you
lament. But in the Second Adam you already begin to bear the image of
the heavenly, and you shall perfectly bear it before long. Can you not
grasp this? Alas, we do not lay hold of these things, do not get to
say, as the Apostle John did, "which we have seen, with our eyes, which
we have looked upon, and our hands have handled, of the Word of Life."
Too much is this with us a doctrine to be accepted because we are
taught it, a matter to be received because some other persons have
experienced it, but too little is it a subject of inward living
experience. For you and me to know by blessed realization that it is
so, that the Holy Spirit sent forth from the Father is IN US and WITH
US, and that Christ will overcome our sin within us by the power of the
cleansing water which flowed with the blood from His side, and will as
much deliver us from the power of sin, as He has already saved us from
the guilt of sin–this is heavenly experience, indeed.
We must not forget to illustrate this state of mind, also, by the
condition of many saints when under trial. How often when the storms
are out, and our poor boat is filling, do we realize everything but
what we should! We are like the disciples on the Galilean lake. The
ship is real–ah, how the timbers creak! The sea is real–how the
hungry waves leap up to destroy them! The winds are real–see how the
canvas is rent to ribbons, how the mast bends like a bow! Their own
discomforts are real–wet to the skin with the spray–and drenched and
cold are they all! Their dangers are real–the ship must certainly go
down with all on board!
Everything is real but the Master walking on the waves. And yet,
Beloved, there was nothing so real in all that storm as the Master. All
else might be a matter of deception to them, but He was real and true.
All else did change, and pass away, and subside into calm–but He
remained the same. Now observe how often we are in a similar condition.
Our wretched circumstances–the bare cupboard, our bodily weakness, the
loss of that dear child or parent. All the distresses that await us,
the dread of bankruptcy, or poverty–all these seem real. But that
word, "I am with you," appears often in such circumstances to be a
matter of belief, certainly, but not a matter of realization.
And that promise, "All things work together for good to them that love
God, to them who are the called according to His purpose"–we dare not
deny it, but we are not comforted by it to the degree we should be,
because we do not grip it, grasp it, know it. The holy children in the
fire knew they were in the fire, but they were safe because they knew
to an equal certainty that the Son of Man was there with them. And so
in the furnace you know that, "no trial for the present seems to be
joyous, but grievous." But know equally well that where Jesus is the
trial is blessed, and the affliction has a sweetness in it unknown to
anything beside.
I shall only illustrate this in two other points. My dear Brethren, in
the matter of death–I do not know whether you can all think of death
without a shudder. I am afraid there are not many of us who can. It is
very easy to sing, when we are here on Sundays rejoicing with all our
Brethren–
"On Jordan's stormy banks I stand, And cast a wishful eye."
I am afraid, I am afraid, I am afraid we would rather live than die,
after all. A missionary told me the story of an old Negro woman in
Jamaica who used to be continually singing, "Angel Gabriel, come and
take Aunty Betsy home to Glory." But when some wicked wag knocked at
the door in the dead of night, and told her the angel Gabriel was come
for Aunty Betsy, she said, "She lives next door."
I am afraid it may possibly be so with us–that though we think we wish
the waves of Jordan to divide that we may be landed on the other
shore–we linger on the bank shivering. It is so. We dread to leave the
warm precincts of this house of clay. We cast many "a longing,
lingering look behind." But why is it? It is all because we realize the
dying bed, the death sweat, the pangs, the glazing eye–we often
realize what never turns out to be reality–but do not realize what are
sure to be realities, namely, the angelic watchers at the bedside
waiting to act as a convoy to bear our spirits up through tracts
unknown of purest ether.
We do not realize the presence of the Savior receiving saints into His
bosom that they may rest there until the trumpet of the archangel
sounds. We do not really grasp the rising again–
"From beds of dust and silent clay, To realms of everlasting day."
If we did, then our songs about dying would be more true and our
readiness to depart more abiding. For what is death? It is a pin's
prick at the worst, often scarcely that–the shutting of our eyes on
earth and the opening of them in Heaven! So rapid is the departure of
the Believer's soul from the body here to the Presence of the Lord
yonder, that death is scarcely anything–it is swallowed up in victory.
O for the realization, then, of Jesus, and death would lose all its
sting. And once again, and this is the last illustration I will give on
this point–I am afraid that in Christian work we very often fall into
the same style of doubt. Here is an enterprise, and straightway if we
are wise we realize the difficulties. If we are something more than
wise we exaggerate these difficulties and conclude that with our
slender means we shall never be able to grapple with them. But ah, why
is it that we so seldom think of the living present Savior, who is the
Church's Head? Calculate the forces of the Church if you will, but do
not forget the most important item of all–the Omnipotence of the Lord
her King.
Reckon up, if you will, all the weakness of her pastors, and teachers,
and Evangelists and members. But when you have done that, don't think
you have calculated all her resources–you have only considered the
very fringe of them! The main body and the strength of the Church lies
in the fullness of the Godhead bodily which dwells in the Person of
Jesus Christ. Shall heathendom be real? Shall priest-craft be real?
Shall Romanism be real? Shall the corruption of the human heart and the
alienation of the human will be real? And shall I not equally realize
the Omnipotence of Christ, in the realm of spirit, and the irresistible
power of the Holy Spirit, who can turn men from darkness into light,
and from the power of Satan unto God?
Let not Christ be a phantom to His Church. In her worst hours, though
tossed like a ship in the storm, let her Lord, as He walks the waves,
be real to her and she will do and dare right valiantly. And the
results will be glorious. Thus much on the first point.
II. Secondly, the worst of it is that WE MAKE CHRIST A PHANTOM MOST
WHEN HE IS MOST REALLY CHRIST, most really revealed as the Son of the
Highest. Observe, my dear Brethren, when our Lord Jesus Christ walked
on the land by the seashore, none of His disciples ever said, "It is a
ghost." None of them said, "It is an apparition." Yet they did not see
Christ when He walked on the shore, on terra firma. They saw His
Manhood, that was all. There was no more to be seen of Christ as He
walked there than there is to be seen of any other–simply a Man, no
Godhead is there revealed.
But when Christ walked on the waves, there was more of Christ visible
than there was on the land. Then they saw His Manhood, but they also
saw His Godhead, who could make the liquid waves hold Him up. There was
most of Christ to be seen, and yet then they saw the least. Is it not
strange where He uncovers most, we see least? Where He reveals Himself
most clearly, our unbelieving eye is least able to see? Yet, mark you,
Christ is never so truly Christ anywhere as when He works beyond the
ordinary course of Nature. He is Christ if He takes a little child upon
His knee and blesses it, but more of the Christ is seen when He puts
His hand upon the damsel, and raises her from the dead, or calls
Lazarus out of the tomb.
He is the Christ when He speaks a gentle word to a sorrowing heart, but
oh, what a Christ He is when He says, "Winds be hushed, and waves be
still"! Then is His Glory laid open to faith's strengthened eye. Truly
He is most Himself when He is most above all others–when, as high as
the heavens are above the earth, so high are His thoughts above our
thoughts–and His ways above our ways. And, Brethren, we have never
seen Christ unless we have seen Him far above all others, and acting
beyond the bounds of expectation and reasoning. The Christ is half
hidden when He acts as another man.
The whole Christ does not appear in the ordinary run of our affairs. It
is in the extraordinary, the unusual, the unexpected, that we view the
Glory of Christ, and see Him fully. So it is that we refuse most to
discern and glorify Him when He is most openly displayed. Let me show
you what I mean. Christ, I say, walking on the sea, is most of all
Christ there– and yet His disciples do not perceive Him. So in the
pardon of very great sin you see the most of Christ. Yet whenever a man
has fallen into a great sin, that is, a vile sin in the esteem of
others, then he says, "Ah, now I cannot be forgiven this." Why, Man,
Jesus is most truly Jesus when He pardons grievous iniquity!
The putting away of your little transgressions, as you have thought
them to be–do you think this is all He came for–to redeem such as
have a little fallen and a little transgressed? Is He a little Savior
for little sinners to be little worshipped? Oh, but here He comes to be
Christ in deed and in Truth, when bloody murders, black adulteries,
scarlet blasphemies, and crimson filthinesses are all washed away by
His blood. Then we see Him as "a Savior and a great one," as One who is
"mighty to save."
Why is it that we will not discern Him when He abundantly pardons? Why,
my Brethren, do we honor Him as He should be honored, if we only think
that the sentimentalism of sin is put away by Him? If we own that the
reality, the filthiness, the damnableness of sin is put away by Jesus,
and trust Him when our sins seem blackest, foulest, most abhorrent,
then we do Him honor and see Him to be the Christ He is.
So again in great distresses of the soul. It pleases God often after
conversion to allow the fountains of the great deeps of our corruption
to be broken up, and we never felt before as we do then. We had not
expected this, and are overwhelmed with surprise to find ourselves such
corrupt, such deceitful, such foul things. Then at the same time Satan
will invade the heart with fierce temptations and diabolical
insinuations, and, alas, our suspicious spirits will imagine that Jesus
Himself cannot help us in such a condition!
Oh, but Man, now is the time for the Divine manifestation! Now shall
you see the Christ! Do you suppose that the Lord Jesus comes only to
speak peace to those who have peace already? Or to give peace to those
enduring a trifling disturbance of mind? Man, do you think Jesus a
superfluity? Or do you imagine that He is only suited for little
occasions? Be ashamed of such insinuations! For He reigns on high above
tremendous storms. He rules the largest waves and the most roaring
floods–when all our nature is vexed, when our hopes are gone, and our
despair is uppermost–it is amid the tumult of such a tempest that He
says, "Peace, be still," and creates a calm.
Believe in the Christ who can save you when your temptations most
threaten to swallow you up. Do not think Him to be only able to save
when you are not in extremities, but believe Him to be best seen when
your uttermost calamities are near.
I might select many other cases as illustrating this, but I will run
over one or two in rapid review. We are, perhaps, enduring an unusually
severe trial and need more than usual support. But we fearfully say, "I
cannot expect to be supported under this affliction." Ah, your Christ
is a phantom, then. If you saw Him, you would know that there is
nothing too hard for Him–that the sustenance of a soul, when it is at
its lowest famine point–is easy enough work for the Divine Consoler.
And you would cast yourself on Him believingly and not act towards Him
as you now do. Yes, but you need great supplies for the present time of
distress. Your circumstances are trying to the last degree.
Do not, now that you need great supplies, make Christ to be poor and
stinting in your esteem. But rather, like Abraham, say, "The Lord will
provide." Abraham, in extremity, when about to slay his son by God's
command, finds that God interposes and the ram is found for a
burnt-offering. In your worst poverty Christ will interpose. Jesus will
prove Himself to be the Lord of Heaven and earth. You shall see that in
Him all fullness dwells. Can you only rely upon Jesus in little and
ordinary troubles? I know it is sweet to run to Him in such times, but
is He to be only an ordinary, fair-weather Friend to cover you from
little showers, and walk with you when a little gale is blowing?
Will He refuse to be with you in stormy weather, or to traverse with
you the boisterous sea? O do not so miserably spirit away the Savior!
Do not pantomime the Redeemer when you want Him in very deed. You have
real poverty, and a real cross, and real difficulties. Now in the mount
of the Lord shall it be seen that He is true to His Word, and His name,
Jehovah-Jireh, across the darkness of your want shall be written as
with letters of fire.
In times of great danger, again, we sometimes gloomily mutter, "Now we
shall not be preserved. Christ has kept us up till now, and we quite
believe that He would do so if the circumstances of today were no worse
than those of times gone by. But now we are extremely tempted, now we
are violently assailed, now our sorrows multiply–will He help us now?"
Dare you say, "Will He?" when you know that He cannot change? Dare you
say, "Can He?" Is anything too hard for the Lord? Are you going to make
your Savior into a mere appearance? He is a real Savior–lean on Him.
He will bring you safely through–cover yourself with His shield–and
keep off the fiery darts from you.
He will not leave you or forsake you. Great deliverances! Ah, we fancy
that these will never occur–Jesus will not work these as before, so we
wickedly imagine. And if they are worked, we are like Peter, who could
not realize his escape from prison. He knew the saints had prayed for
him, but when he was delivered from the prison and found himself in the
street of the city, he could not think it was a fact! He "knew not that
it was true which was done by the angel, but thought he saw a vision."
Often before God has delivered us, we have said, "it cannot be"–our
Christ was only a ghost. And when He has delivered us we have said, "I
do not understand it, I am overwhelmed with amazement." The fact being
that we do not get such a grip of Christ as to be assured that He is
real, present, mighty, gracious. Or if we did, we should receive even
His greatest deliverances as natural proofs of His goodness and
greatness–such as faith is warranted to expect. "Is it not
surprising," said one, "that God should have heard my prayers, and have
been so gracious to me in Providence?" "No," said an old saint, whose
long experience had taught her more of the Lord, "it does not surprise
me, it is just like He–it is His way with His people."
Oh, to feel that great mercy is like He! That it is what we should
expect of God–that He should give great deliverances–should walk the
waters of our griefs and bid them cease their raging! It is a blessed
faith which enables us to recognize Jesus on the waters, and to say, "I
know it is Jesus. Nobody but Jesus could act so wondrously. I might not
have known Him if I had seen Him working in an ordinary way, or
traveling like a common wayfarer. But here amidst extraordinary seasons
I expected His help. If I never had seen Him before, I expected to see
Him now. And now I do see Him, and I am not amazed, though I am
delighted. I looked for Him, and knew that when my need of Him was
greatest, His coming would be sure." When faith brightens the eye of
hope with the flash of expectation, joy is not far away.
I will only add that if we will but realize Christ, our great successes
which will be sure to come over spiritual foes within, and over
difficulties without, will again infallibly prove to us His reality.
But the probabilities are that we shall think Him not capable of giving
us such great successes. And we shall toil on despondingly where we
ought to have rejoiced in the Lord. As to our ultimate future we have
too often thought it will be hard to die. We have trembled at standing
before the Judgment Seat. We have read of the Day of Judgment, and
thought, "How shall I bear it?" forgetting that we shall know our
Redeemer better in death than before! And in the Resurrection and in
the Glory that shall follow we shall see Him more clearly revealed than
now. And therefore we ought to think more of Him and lean upon Him in
all the great concerns of eternity with a great, a confident, and
childlike faith.
III. But I must pass on to the third head. OUR GREATEST SORROWS ARISE
FROM OUR TREATING OUR
LORD AS UNREAL. It is because of our weakening, vaporizing, and
spiriting our Lord away, and making Him into a myth so often–instead
of gripping Him with a commonsense, practical, firm, realizing
faith–that we suffer so much from our troubles. For, Brothers and
Sisters, it is a sad cause of trouble to have a phantom Redeemer, a
Savior who cannot actually pardon sin when it comes to be great sin. A
Savior who gives us only a little indefinite hope about our guilt, but
does not literally put it away. This is the seedbed of all manner of
evil weeds. I do not wonder if you are vexed with doubts and fears if
you have not realized Christ. O that you would all learn to sing with
Hart these precious lines–
"A Man there is, a real Man,
With wounds still gaping wide,
From which rich streams of blood once ran,
In hands, and feet, and side.
(It is no wild fancy of our brains,
No metaphor we speak.
The same dear Man in Heaven now reigns,
That suffered for our sake).
This wondrous Mian, of whom we tell,
Is true Almighty God!
He bought our souls from death and Hell,
The price, His own heart's blood." Beware, my Brethren, of resting
content with anything short of faith in an actual, literal, living
Mediator–for nothing but reality will be of any use to you in the
matter. Of course, with a phantom Savior for real sins, an apparition
of a Redeemer for real bondage–you cannot find comfort. Of what use is
the appearance of bread and the resemblance of water to famishing
pilgrims in the desert? If you have a phantom helper for real woes you
are the worse for such help. If your Savior does not actually and
practically support you in times of need, and supply your wants and
console you under depression, then in what respects are you better off
than those who have no helper at all?
Jesus is a Friend, indeed. His Grace, love, and Presence, are no
fictions–of all facts they are most sure. If I have to carry a real
load, and then have a ghost to assist me, I am in reality unassisted.
We want true power, force, and energy, in our Helper, and all that,
Faith sees in Jesus, her Lord. But you will readily see how sorrows
multiply where Jesus is lightly esteemed.
Besides, to some Christ is not only, as it were, an impalpable spirit,
but He is really an indifferent, unfeeling spirit. Jesus to His
disciples on the sea seemed as though He would have gone by them and
left them to their fate! And we often dream that our gracious Lord is
unmindful of us–at any rate, we forget that he is tenderly mindful of
our case. It did not strike you when you were so poor last week that
Jesus knew it, and was grieved for your affliction? You forgot, dear
Brother, when you were trembling as you went into the pulpit, that
Jesus knew you trembled, and would uphold you while hearing your
testimony. Too seldom do we remember that–
"In every pang that rends the heart The Man of Sorrows bears a part."
Ah, good Husband, you knew your wife pitied you. You noted well the
teardrop when she saw your grief. Ah, dear Child, you knew your mother
sorrowed for you. Ah, but if you did but know Christ, you would know
this, too–that He never puts you to an unnecessary pain, nor ever
tries you with an unneeded trial. There is a needs be for all, and He
has sympathy for you in all.
Many a poor sinner even imagines Jesus to be an angry spirit, and he
cries out for fear. He imagines that Jesus is wrathful and will reject
him with indignation. Ah, you do not truly realize my Savior if you
think He would ever reject anyone who came to Him. When on earth, what
a real Physician of souls He was! He mingled with publicans and
sinners. He did not talk about them as people who ought to be looked
after, but He actually went after them Himself and suffered one of them
to wash His feet with her tears, and wipe them with the hairs of her
head. He was likely to touch diseased sinners with His fingers as He
healed them.
He was not an amateur Savior. He did not come into this world to save
us from suppositions sin and imaginary trouble. There is nothing which
is more overlooked, but which ought to be better remarked about our
Lord, than His com-monsense practicalness. He is utterly devoid of sham
and pretense. He is always in the Gospel history as real as the scenes
of life around Him. He never strikes you as theatrical and pretentious.
May we all feel that He is really a loving Savior, a tender Savior, and
a practical Savior to us. May you know Him. May you realize Him–and
then your sorrows will either come to an end or be accepted with
thanksgiving.
IV. Lastly, IF WE COULD BUT BE CURED OF THIS DESPERATE MISCHIEF, OUR
LORD JESUS CHRIST WOULD HAVE A HIGHER PLACE IN OUR ESTEEM. AND MANY
BENEFICIAL RESULTS WOULD FOLLOW.
For, first, did you notice that after the disciples knew it to be
Christ, and He came into the ship with them, they said, "Of a Truth you
are the Son of God"? If you once realize Christ, you will know Him in
His Person as you never will know Him by all I can tell you, or you can
read about Him.
You once read about a man. You saw his likeness in the "Illustrated
News," you heard people talk about him. At last you were in his
company, and sat down with him. and then you said, "Now I know the man.
I did not before." Oh, if you
can realize Christ so as to draw near to Him by faith, you will feel
that you now begin to know Him in Truth, and, what is best, you will
know Him then with assurance.
They said, "Of a Truth you are the Son of God." You were persuaded that
He is God by what you found in Scripture. But when you came to see Him.
When He became real to you, the doctrine of His Deity needed no
arguments to support it. The Truth that Jesus Christ is Lord is then
woven into your very being. He is the Son of God to you, if to no one
else. What did those mariner disciples do when they saw that it was,
indeed, Jesus who trod the wave? It is added, "They worshipped Him."
You will never worship a phantom, an image, an apparition. Know Jesus
to be real, and straightway you prostrate yourself before Him. Blessed
God, blessed Son of Man, coming from Heaven for me! Bleeding for me,
standing in Glory, pleading for me! I had thought of You and heard of
You, but now I see You! What can I do but worship You? It is the
grasping of Christ that produces devotion. It is the mistiness of our
thoughts about Him that is the root of our undevout frames of mind. God
give us a firm hold of Christ, and we shall instinctively adore Him.
They not only worshipped Christ, but they served Him. Their worship was
such that whatever He bade them do they did it. And the vessel was
steered where He would until it brought Him to the other side where He
wished to go. They who realize Christ are sure to obey Him. I cannot
obey that which floats before me like a cloud. But when I see the Man,
the God, and know Him to be as real a Person as myself–as much a
matter-of-fact existence as my brother–then what He bids me do I do.
My obedience becomes real just in proportion as the Master who commands
it becomes real to my soul. Then it is, dear Friends, that we become
humbled in spirit. No man realizes Christ without also realizing
himself, and being bowed down in self-humiliation. "I have heard of You
by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you: why I abhor myself,
and repent in dust and ashes."
But with the humility comes a deep and profound joy and peace. With
Christ in the vessel, known to be there, we smile at the storm. Whether
it continues or subsides, we are equally peaceful now that we have
realized that Christ is with us. I do believe that the actualizing of
their Lord is the main thing that Christians want. They require, first
and foremost, a real Leader. They want to grasp His reality and feel
His actual power. And is it necessary for this that He should come here
in Person? I trust not. If He were to appear this morning on this
platform, and His servant should hide his head, you would say, "Behold
the glorious sight, yonder is our Lord."
I know your heads would bow to worship, and then you would open your
eyes and gaze on Him, and feast your souls with the sight, and then
each one would say, "What can I do for Him?" And if the condescending
Master gave you each leave to come and spread offerings at the feet of
the Crucified, oh, what heaps of treasure would be brought! Each one
would feel, "I have not with me what I wish," but you would say, "Take
all I have, my blessed Lord, for You have redeemed me with Your blood."
Is not He just as dear to you now, though unseen? Is not faith as
mighty a faculty as sight? Is it not "the evidence of things not seen"?
Is not Wesley's verse true? —
"The things unknown to feeble sense,
Unseen by reason's glimmering ray;
With strong commanding evidence,
Their heavenly origin display.
Faith lends its realizing light,
The clouds disperse, the shadows fly;
The invisible appears in sight,
And God is seen by mortal eye." Does not faith make Jesus as real to us
as our sight would do? It should do so. I pray it may. And then see how
true will be your consecration, how abundant will be your service, how
ready your thanksgiving, how abounding your offerings!
May God grant you Grace to get into this true position, both you who
are saints and you who still are sinners–for in having a real Christ
you will have the reality of every good. God give it to you for Jesus'
sake. Amen and Amen.
__________________________________________________________________
Dei Gratia