Light at Evening Time
A Sermon
(No. 3508)
Published on Thursday, April 20th, 1916.
Delivered by
C. H. SPURGEON,
At [16]the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington.
"And it shall come to pass in that day, that the light shall not be
clear nor dark: But it shall be one day which shall be known to the
Lord, not day, nor night; but it shall come to pass, that at evening
time it shall be light."–Zechariah 14:6-7.
AS WE read the Scriptures, we are continually startled by fresh
discoveries of the magnificence of God. Our attention is fixed upon a
passage, and presently sparklets of fire and glory dart forth. It
strikes us; we are struck by it. Hence these bright coruscations. Our
admiration is excited. We could not have thought that so much light
could possibly lie concealed within a few words. Our text thus reveals
to us in a remarkable manner the penetration, the discernment, the
clear-sightedness of God. To our weak vision the current of human
affairs is like twilight. It is not altogether dark, for it is broken
with some gleams of hope. Nor is it altogether bright, for heavy masses
of darkness intervene. It is neither day nor night. There is a
mingle-mangle of good and evil, a strange confused mixture, wherein the
powers of darkness con tend with the powers of light. But it is not so
with God. With him, it is one clear day. What we think to be confusion,
is order before his eye. Where we see advance and retrogression, he
sees perpetual progress. We full often bemoan our circumstances as
altogether disastrous, while God, who seeth the end from the beginning,
is working out his ordained purpose. Our God maketh the clouds to be
the dust of his feet, and the winds to be his chariot. He sees order in
the tempest and the whirlwind. When the bosom of earth heaves with
earthquake, he hears music in every throb and when earth and heaven
seem mingled in one wild disorder and storm, his hand is in the midst
of all, so marking, that every particle of matter should be obedient to
his settled laws, and that all things should work together to produce
one glorious result. "Things are not what they seem." Oh! how good it
is for us to know that this world's history is not so black and bad as
to our dim senses it would appear. God is writing it out, sometimes
with a heavy pen; but when complete, it will read like one great poem,
magnificent in its plan, and perfect in all its details. At the present
hour there may be much in the condition of our country to cause anxiety
or even to create alarm. And it is not hard to point certainly to many
things that seem to augur no good. But there always were evil prophets.
There always have been times and crises when dark portents favoured
unwelcome predictions. But thus far the fury of every tempest has been
mitigated; a sweet calm has followed each perilous swell of the ocean,
and the good old ship has kept afloat England's flag–we fondly
believe:–
"The flag that's braved a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze,"
will not be run down yet. We thank God that the history of our
deliverances supplies us with fair omens of an ever-gracious
Providence. Let us comfort ourselves with the belief that there is a
future of peace and prosperity within her borders and of influence for
good among the nations of the world for Britain and British Christians.
Then let each man brace up his sinews for the fight, and struggle for
the right Bright days are assuredly in store for those who lift the
standard and unfurl the flag of righteousness and truth. "At evening
time it shall be light." Even now it is "one day" which is known to the
Lord.
As our time is brief, I mean to confine your attention to one clause of
the text, "At evening time it shall be light." It seems to be a rule in
God's dispensations that his light should break upon men gradually; and
when it appears about to suffer an eclipse it will brighten up and
shine with extraordinary lustre. "At evening time it shall be light."
Of this mode of God's procedure we will take five illustrations.
I. LET REVELATION SUPPLY US WITH THE FIRST.
When God first revealed himself to the sons of men, he did not come to
them in a blazing chariot of fire, manifesting all his glorious
attributes. The sun in the Tropics, we are told, rises on a sudden. The
inhabitants of those regions know none of our delightful twilight at
dawn or evening, but the curtain rises and falls abruptly. This is not
the way in which God has revealed himself to us by degrees, softly,
slowly, he lifts the veil. Thus has God been pleased to make himself
known. He took in his hand a flaming, torch when the world was dark.
Without a single ray of comfort, and he lit up the first star that ever
shone over the wild waste of the world's wilderness. That star was the
promise that the seed of the woman should bruise the serpent's head. In
the light of that promise our first parents and their immediate
descendants were cheered in their daily toil. Seth and Enoch walked
with no other light that we know of but that. There is no record of any
promise beside, which they had received from the Lord. By-and-bye, as
years revolved, God lit up another star, and then another and another,
till at last Holy Scripture became like our sky at midnight-studded all
over with greater and lesser luminaries, all brightly manifesting the
glory of God.
Still it was night. Though there was a little light, there was a
prevalence of darkness. All through the Jewish dispensation, the sun
did not shine. There was only cold, but beautous in its season, silver
moonlight. Heavenly truths were reflected in shadows; the substance was
not visible. It was an economy of cloud and smoke, of type and symbol,
but not of light and day of life, and immortality. For all the light
that "o'er the dark her silver mantle threw," the saints of those times
were glad and grateful; but how much more cause for joy and gratitude
have we on whom the golden sun has shone! Star after star had been lit
up in the heavens by the inspiration of Moses, and Samuel, and David,
and all the prophets, till dark and deep the night began to fall, till
sable clouds gathered dense with direful auguries. and at length a wild
tempest was heard thundering in the sky. Isaiah had completed the long
roll of his prophecy; Jeremiah had uttered all his lamentations. The
eagle wing of Ezekiel soared no longer. Daniel had recorded his visions
and entered into rest. Zechariah and Haggai had fulfilled their
mission, and at last Malachi, foreseeing the day that should burn as an
oven, and beyond it the day when the Sun of righteousness should arise
with healing in his wings, closed that volume of testimony. That was
midnight. The stare seemed to be dying out, like as withered fig-leaves
fall from the tree. There was no open vision; the Word of God was
scarce; there was a famine of the bread of life in those days. And what
then? Why, you all know. At evening time it was light. Be who had long
been promised suddenly came into his temple, a light to lighten the
Gentiles, and to be the glory of his people Israel. The world's darkest
hour had come, when there was born in Bethlehem, of the house of David,
Jesus, the Kin, of the Jews, and the Saviour of men. Then the day
dawned, and the day-spring from on high visited us, precisely at that
darkest hour, when men said, "God has forsaken the world, and left it
to pine away in everlasting gloom". Let that serve for a first
illustration of light at evening time, notable as a fact, and worthy to
be recollected. This, too, is precisely the way in which God acts:–
II. IN THE CONVERSION OF INDIVIDUALS.
God's laws on a great scale are always the same as his laws on little
scale. A pretty little rhyme, that many of you are familiar with,
endorses this statement.
"The very law that moulds a tear,
And bids it trickle from its source
That law preserves the world a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course."
The same law which controls a planet affects a grain of dust. As God
caused revelation to arise gradually, and, growing clearer and clearer,
to become clearest when it seemed about to expire, so in the experience
of each individual, the dawn precedes the day. When the light of divine
grace first visits a man, it shines with feeble beam. Man by nature is,
like a house shut up, the windows of which are all boarded over. Grace
does not open every window jet once and bid the sun stream in upon weak
eyes accustomed to darkness. It rather takes down a part of a shutter
at a time, removes some obstruction, and so lets in, through chinks, a
little light, that one may be able to bear it by degrees. The window of
man's soul is so thickly encrusted with dirt, so thoroughly begrimed,
that no light at all can penetrate it, till one layer is taken off, and
a little yellow light is seen; and then another is removed, and then
another, still admitting more light, and clearer. Was it not so with
you who are now walking in the light of God's countenance, Did not your
light come to you by little and little? Your experience, I know,
confirms my statement, and as the light came, and you discovered your
sin, and began to see the suitability of Christ to meet your case, you
hoped that all was going on well. Then peradventure, on a sudden, the
light seemed altogether to depart. You were cast into the thick
darkness into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and you said, "Oh! now
my lamp is put out for ever! I am cast out from God's presence! I am
doomed beyond the hope of mercy! I shall be lost for ever and ever!"
Well now, Christian, ask yourself what came of this? When you were thus
broken, sore broken in the place of dragons, and your soul suffered the
wreck of all its carnal confidence , what then? At that evening time
the light shone clearer with you than it had ever before. When darkness
veiled your mind, you looked to Christ, and were lightened with the
true light. Despairing of yourself, you cast yourself into the arms of
Christ, and you had that peace of God which passeth all understanding,
and still keeps your heart and mind through Jesus Christ.
May be I am addressing some who have been for a long while the subjects
of such humbling influences, breaking them down. You had hoped things
were going pretty fairly with you, and you trusted that at the last you
would come out into clear sunshine. But oh! how disappointed you feel!
You never felt so wicked, never knew that you were so desperately
rebellious. Your heart is hard and stubborn; you feel as if there was a
mutiny in your breast. "Surely," you say, "such an one as I am never
can be saved; it is a hopeless case." Oh! my brother, very hopeful to
our view is that which appears so hopeless to you.
"Tis perfect poverty alone
That sets the soul at large;
While we can call one mite our own,
We have no full discharge."
Are you emptied of all merit, goodness, and hope in yourselves? Then
your redemption draweth nigh. When you are cleared out and turned
upside down, then eternal mercy greets you. Trust Christ. If you cannot
swim, give yourselves up to the stream, and you shall float. If you
cannot stand, give yourselves up to him, and he will bear you as on
eagles' wings. Give up yourself. There, let it die; it is the worst
enemy you ever had. Though you relied upon it, it has been a delusion
and a snare to you. Now, therefore, throw the whole weight and burden
of your life of sin and folly upon Jesus' Christ, the Sin-bearer, and
this shall be the time of your deliverance, so the darkest hour you
ever knew shall give place to the brightest you have ever experienced.
You shall go your way rejoicing, with a joy unspeakable and full of
glory. A third illustration may be found in:–
III. THE DELIVERANCES WHICH A COVENANT GOD WORKS FOR AN AFFLICTED
PEOPLE
The same rule which we have already observed will hold good here–at
evening time it shall be light. No child of God can be very long
without trouble of some kind or other, for sure it is that the road to
heaven will always be rough. Some visionaries have been talking of
making a railroad to the city. With this view, they would fill up the
Slough of Despond, run a tramway right through the middle of it, and
construct a tunnel through the hill Difficulty. I would not advise any
of you to be shareholders in the company, for it will never answer. It
will bring thousands to the river of Death, and swamp them there, but
at the gates of the Celestial City not a passenger will ever arrive by
that route. There is a pilgrimage, and a weary pilgrimage too, which
must be taken before you can obtain entrance into those gates. Still,
in all their trials, God's people always find it true that at evening
time it shall be light. Are you suffering from temporal troubles. You
cannot expect to be without these. They are hard to bear. This,
however, should cheer you, that God is as much engaged to succour and
support you in your temporal, as he is in your spiritual interests.
Beloved, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Not a sparrow
falls on the ground without your Father knowing it. Well, now, taking
quite a material view of the question, you are of more value than many
sparrows. You may be very poor, yet be very, very dear to your Father
in heaven. Your poverty may reduce you to the utmost pinch, but that
will be the time of your sweetest relief. The widow woman at the gates
of Zarepta could hardly have been more wretched than when she had gone
out to gather a few sticks–she says two–enough, I suppose, to cook
the handful of meal and the few drops of oil, with which to make the
last morsel for herself and for her son. Ay, poor soul! At that very
moment the prophet of God came in–not while there was much meal or
much oil, but just as they were all spent. He came to tell her that the
barrel of meal should not waste, nor the cruse of oil fail, till the
Lord sent rain, and famine ceased in the land. God's people in Egypt
were not brought out until the rigour of their bondage had become too
bitter to bear. When it was intolerable, the Lord redeemed them with a
strong arm and a high hand. You may, my dear hearer, be so tried that
you think nobody ever had such a trial. Well, then, your faith may look
out for such a deliverance as nobody else ever experienced. If you have
an excess of grief, you shall have the more abundant relief. If you
have been alone in sorrow, you shall, by-and-bye, have a joy
unspeakable, with which no stranger can intermeddle. You shall lead the
song of praise, as chief musicians, whose wailings were most bitter in
the abodes of woe. Do cast your burden on God. Let me beseech those of
you who love him, not to be shy of him. Disclose to him your temporal
griefs. For you, young people, you remember I have just prayed that you
might early in life learn to cast your burden upon God. Your trials and
troubles, while you are at home under your father's roof, are not so
heavy as those that will come when you begin to shift for yourselves.
Still, you may think them heavier, because your older friends make
light of them. Well, while you yet remain at the home of your
childhood, acquire the habit of carrying your daily troubles and griefs
to God. Whisper them into your Heavenly Father's ear, and he will help
you. And why should you men of business try to weather the storm
without your God? 'Tis well to have industry, shrewdness, and what is
called self-reliance–a disposition to meet difficulties with
determination, not with despondency:–
"To take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them."
Still, the only safe, the only happy course for merchant or tradesman
is to commit his way unto God, with a simple, child-like faith, taking
counsel at the Scriptures, and seeking guidance in prayer. You will
find it to be a blessed way of passing through the ordinary routine of
daily anxieties, and the extraordinary pressure of occasional alarms
and panics, if you can but realise your sacred privileges as disciples
of Christ in the midst of all your secular duties.
Or are our trials of a spiritual character? Here full often our trials
abound, and here, too, we may expect that at evening time it shall be
light. Perhaps some of you pursue the road to heaven with very few
soul-conflicts. Certainly there are some who do not often get through a
week without being troubled on every side-fighting without, and fears
within. Ah! brethren, when some of you tell me of your doubts and
fears, I can well sympathise with you, if I cannot succour you. Is
there anywhere a soul more vexed with doubts, and fears, and
soul-conflicts than mine? I know not one. With heights of joy in
serving my Master, I am happily familiar, but into very depths of
despair-such an inward sinking as I cannot describe-I have likewise
sunk. A more frequent, or a more fearful wretchedness of heart than I
have suffered it is not likely any of you ever felt. Yet do I know that
my Redeemer liveth, that the battle is sure, that the victory is safe.
If my testimony be worth aught, I have always found that when I am most
distressed about circumstances that I cannot control, when my hope
seems to flicker where it ought to flare, when the worthlessness and
wretchedness of my nature obscure the evident of any goodness and
virtue imparted to me or wrought in me, just then it is that a sweet
spring of cool consolation bubbles up to quench my thirst, and a sweet
voice greets my ear, "It is I; be not afraid". My witness is for the
Master, that, though he may leave us for a little, it is not for long.
"For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with great mercy have I
gathered thee; in a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment,
but with everlasting mercy will I have pity upon thee, saith the Lord,
thy Redeemer. "Oh! believer, stay yourself upon God when you have
nothing else to stay upon. Do not rely upon appearances; above all, do
not listen to the suggestions of a murmuring, hardened spirit; do not
credit the insinuations of the infernal fiend who, when he finds you
downhearted, be it from sickness of body or anxiety of mind, is sure
then to whisper some disparaging thoughts of God. What though the
suggestion strikes your heart that the Lord has forsaken you, that your
sins cannot be forgiven, that you will fall by the hand of the enemy,
hurl it back. You know whence it came. Depend upon it, though heaven
and earth go to wreck, God's promise will stand. Should hell break
loose, and demons innumerable invade this earth, they shall not go one
inch beyond their tether. The chain that God has cast about them shall
restrain them. Not an heir of heaven shall be left to the clutch of the
destroyer. Nay, his head shall not lose a hair without divine
permission. You shall come out of the furnace with not a smell of fire
upon you. And being so eminently preserved, in such imminent peril,
your salvation shall constrain you to bless God on earth, and bless him
to all eternity, with the deepest self-humiliation and the highest
strains of gratitude and adoration. So, then, both in our temporal and
spiritual concerns, at evening time, when the worst has come to the
worst, it shall be light. When the tide has ebbed out the farthest, it
will begin to flow in. When the winter has advanced to the shortest
day, we shall then begin to return to spring. Be assured that it is so,
it has been so, and it shall be so. To the very end of your days you
may look for light at evening time. And now may I not appeal for a
fourth illustration of the same truth to some of our friends who have
come to:–
IV. THE EVENING TIME OF HUMAN LIFE?
This is often a delightful time, when the shadows are drawn out, and
the air is still, and there is a season of preparation for the last
undressing, and of anticipation for the appearing before the King in
his beauty. I envy some of our brethren, the more advanced saints.
Although old age brings its infirmities and its sorrows, yet they have
found that brings with it the mellow joys of a matured experience, and
a near prospect of the coming glory so near, so very near to their
actual realisation. John Bunyan's picture of the Land Beulah was no
dream, though he calls it so. Some of our aged brethren and sisters
have come to a place of very peaceful repose, where they do hear the
songs of angels from the other side of the stream, and the bundles of
myrrh from the mountains of Bethen they bear in their bosoms. I know
you find, my dear friends, that at evening time it is light to you,
very light. You were called by grace when you were young. Bright was
your day-dawn; a precious dew from the Lord fell upon you in the
morning. You have borne the burden and heat of the day. You feel like a
child that has grown tired. You are ready to say, "Let us go to sleep,
mother; let us go to sleep." But meanwhile, before you close your eyes
you are conscious of such divine refreshment, of such love and such joy
shed abroad in your hearts, that you find the last stage of the journey
to be blessed indeed, waiting and watching for the trumpet-call that
shall bid you come up higher. Your light is brighter now than ever it
was before. When you come at length to depart, though it will be
"evening time" in very truth, it will be "light." You have watched the
sun go down sometimes. How glorious he is at his setting! He looks
twice as large as he did when he was high up in the sky, and if the
clouds gather round him, how he tints them all with glory! Is there
anything in all the world so magnificent as the setting sun, when all
the colours of heaven seem poured out upon earth's sky? It does not
fill you with gloom, for it is so radiant with glory. Such, now, shall
your dying bed be. To those who watch you, you shall be an object of
mare sacred interest than ever you were before. If there be some pains
that distress you, and some temptations that harass you, they shall be
but the clouds which your Master's grace and your Saviour's presence
shall gild with splendour. Oh! how light, how very light, it has been
at evening time with some of our beloved friends! We have envied them
as we have beheld the brightness gleaming from their brows in their
last expiring moments. Oh! their songs! You cannot sing like them. Oh!
their notes of ecstasy! You cannot understand the bliss unspeakable, as
though the spray of the waves of heaven dashed into their faces, as
though the light of the unclouded land had begun to stream upon their
visage, and they were transfigured upon their Tabor before they passed
into their rest!
Never fear dying, beloved. Dying is the last, but the least, matter
that a Christian has to be anxious about. Fear living-that is a hard
battle to fight; a stern discipline to endure; a rough voyage to
undergo. You may well invoke God's omnipotence to your aid. But to die,
that is to end the strife, to finish your course, to enter the calm
heaven. Your Captain, your Leader, your Pilot is with you. One moment,
and it is over: "A gentle wafting to immortal life." It is the
lingering pulse of life that makes the pains and groans. Death ends
them all. What a light, oh! what a transparent light it must be when
the spirit immediately passes through the veil into the glory-land! In
vain the fancy strives to paint the vision of angels and of disembodied
spirits, and, above all, the brightness of the glory of Christ the Lamb
in the midst of the throne! Oh! the joy of that first bowing before the
Mercy-seat! Oh! the rapture of that first casting the crown at his feet
who loved us and redeemed us! Oh! the transport of that first folding
in Immanuel's bosom, that first kiss with the kisses of his mouth, face
to face! Do you not long for it? May you not say, "drop rapidly, ye
sands of time! Fly round, ye axles of the running years, and let his
chariot come, or let our soul soon pass, and leave her mortal frame
behind, to be for ever with the Lord!" Yes, "at evening time is shall
be light." Turning now from these personal reflections, we seek our
last illustration in the mysterious unfolding of destiny, for it is our
firm belief that:–
V. IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD AT LARGE this saying shall be verified,
and it shall come to pass that "at evening time it shall be light."
Darkness has prevailed for a long time, nor does the prospect grow much
brighter at present. The noble enterprise of our great missionary
societies is not altogether unrequited. The prayers and efforts of a
long succession of godly men are not to be accounted vain and
fruitless, but we commonly feel more cause to lament than to exult. How
little is the world lit up with the light of God yet! Are there more
saved souls in the world now than there were a hundred years after
Christ's death? I do not know that there are. A greater surface is
covered with the profession of Christianity now, but at that time the
light was bright where it did shine. I am afraid to say what I think of
the gloom that is hanging in thick folds of cloud and scud, over the
nations of the earth. Still the oracle cheers my heart, "At evening
time it shall be light." Some men prophesy that it will not be so. Long
ages of delay make them grow impatient. This impatience provokes
questioning. Those questions invariably tend to unbelief. But who shall
make void the promises of God? Are not nations to be born in a day?
Will the wild Arab never bow before the King of Zion? Shall not
Ethiopia stretch out her arms to God? As children of the day, doth it
not behove us to walk in the light of the Lord? Divine testimony has
more weight with us than the conjectures of benighted men! Christ has
bought this world, and he will have it in possession from the river
even to the ends of the earth. He has redeemed it, and he will claim it
for his own. You may rest assured that whatever is contained in the
scroll of prophecy shall be fulfilled according to the determinate
counsel and foreknowledge of God. Notwithstanding any difficulties you
may have in interpreting the seals or the trumpets of the Apocalypse,
You have no room to doubt that Jesus Christ will be acknowledged King
of Kings and Lord of Lords over this whole world, and that in every
corner and nook of it his name will be famous. To him every knee shall
bow, and every tongue shall confess that he is Lord, to the glory of
God the Father. Do not be troubled by seers or soothsayers. Rest
patiently. "Of the times and seasons, brethren, ye have no need that I
write unto you, for ye yourselves know perfectly that the day of the
Lord so cometh as a thief in the night." As for you, your business is
to work for the spreading of his kingdom, to be continually scattering
the light you have, and praying for more, to be waiting upon God for
more of the tongue of fire, for more of the baptism of the Eternal
Spirit, for more vital quickening power. When the whole Church shall be
wakened up to a spirit of earnestness and enterprise, the conversion of
this world will be speedily accomplished; the idols will then be cast
to the moles and the bats; anti-Christ shall sink like a millstone in
the flood, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh
shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.
Talking but the other day upon missionary affairs with one who
understands them well, he said, "Sir, we have enough missionaries in
India now, of all sorts, for the evangelisation of India, if no more
were sent out, provided that they were the right men." Oh! God, call,
qualify, send for the right men; baptize them with the Holy Ghost and
with fire; and make them fit instruments to do, to dare, to die, but
withal to conquer. Bethink you, brethren, how, when Christ began with
twelve men, he shook the earth, and now that Christians are numbered by
tens of thousands, do ye tell me that the glory of God is not to be
revealed, and the conquest of the world is not to be completed? I am
afraid the Church is getting downhearted. She holds her banner low; she
marches to the fight with bated breath and tremulous spirit. She will
never win thus with craven heart. Oh! that she had more faith in her
God! Then would she be "clear as the moon, fair as the sun, and
terrible as an army with banners." If she would expect great things,
she would see great things. Nations would be born in a day if we
believed it and myriads would flock, like doves, to their windows if we
did but look for it, work for it, and bless God for such a measure of
encouragement as we have. "At evening time it shall be light." Accept
this as a prophecy. Believe it on the highest warranty. Hope for it
with the liveliest anticipation. So may ye live to see it. And unto God
shall be the praise, world without end. Amen.
*"Reference is made here to a circumstance which caused the English
public some passing anxiety; but a few days sufficed to disperse the
cloud, and in a few months it was obliterated from people's memory."