Multitudinous Thoughts And Sacred Comforts
A sermon
(No. 883)
Delivered on Sunday Morning, AUGUST 1, 1869, by
C.H.SPURGEON,
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington
"In the multitude of my thoughts within me, Your comforts delight my
soul."- Psalm 94:19.
IF man were a mere animal, his joy and sorrow would depend entirely
upon outward things. Let but the trough be full and the swine are
happy. Let the pasture be abundant and the sheep are content. In the
sunshine every sparrow will be twittering on the trees. Let the heavens
weep and every wing is drooping. In long drought, or severe frost, or
pinching famine the animal creation languishes and pines. You cannot,
however, be sure of making a man happy by surrounding him with
abundance, nor can you plunge a Christian man into wretchedness by any
deprivations which you may cause him. Man's greatest joy or sorrow must
arise from inner springs.
The mind itself is the lair of misery or the nest of happiness.
Thoughts are the flowers from which we must distil the essential
flavorings of life. Paul and Silas sing in the stocks because their
minds are at ease, while Herod frets on his throne because conscience
makes him a coward. The soul of Linmeus exults within him at the sight
of a common all golden with blooming shrubs, while many a millionaire
has roamed amid his gardens and conservatories and found no joy amid
them. A crust of bread from one heart brings a song, from another a
thousand acres of ripening grain can produce no thanksgiving.
Alexander, according to the old classic tale, sits down to weep over a
conquered world, while many a peasant who has not a foot of ground to
call his own rejoices in tribulation and glories in reproach. Our weal
or woe is the outgrowth of seeds germinating within, not of branches
which from without run over the wall. Happiness lies not in the
outward, but in the inward. The fairest garden is that whose walks and
arbors are in the secret of the soul–the richest and most mellow
fruits are not plucked from the trees of the orchard, but are ripened
within the spirit. Hence the importance of our guarding well our
thoughts.
But this is the labor and difficulty, for thoughts are unstable things,
unruly as the wild horses of the plains, fickle as the waves of the
sea, swift as the swallow's wings, impetuous as the hurricane,
changeable as the clouds of Heaven. How are we to rule them? Sometimes
they descend in clouds like the locusts, each one eager to devour our
peace. They roar as the evening wolves–they howl like hungry dogs.
Alas, poor boat, tossed to and fro by forces so subtle, variable and
ungovernable–what shall be done for you? Hearken, for the text softly
tells us that for the tempest-tossed mind there is a haven of rest, an
anchorage where the weakest may find shelter from the storm!
Even when multitudes of thoughts are let loose and the soul is seething
and raging like a tempestuous sea, there is rest to be had–peace and
quiet are yet reserved for the chosen of the Lord. The verse before us
is most instructive, indicating as it does, an oasis for desert
travelers, a sunny island for weary voyagers. "In the multitude of my
thoughts within me, Your comforts delight my soul."
Our first meditation, this morning, will be concerning multitudinous
thoughts and sacred comforts. We shall afterwards pass on, more
briefly, to take a nearer view of these Divine consolations. And we
shall conclude by making a contrast from the text concerning those men
who neither experience the multitudes of thoughts nor the comforts from
on
high.
I. MULTITUDINOUS THOUGHTS AND SACRED COMFORTS. This passage may be
interpreted several ways. The most natural would be, I think, to refer
it to thoughts tumultuous in the night of trial. There are occasions
when we are grievously tried with troubles of an unusual order–and
then it often happens that the floodgates of our judgment are drawn up
and our liberated thoughts, in a raging torrent, without order, rush
upon us foaming and threatening.
These thoughts will follow each other like gusts of an angry tempest.
They may be such as these–the trouble itself, how severe it is, how it
cuts one to the quick! Ten thousand other trials might have happened,
any of which we fancy we
could have borne more patiently, but this affliction is the direst of
all, the fiercest lion of the woods. Will it be possible to escape from
such a terrible calamity? Close upon the heels of this consideration
will come the thought that the trial will be too much for you–that you
will never be able to bear it–that your patience will give way and
your faith will cast away her confidence and give place to despair.
Immediately in the rear of this another suggestion will lift its black
head–this trouble is the consequence of past sin–you have walked
contrary to God and He is now walking contrary to you. You would never
have been made to smart thus if there had not been some gross
disobedience of which you have not thoroughly repented–which God has
still upon His mind–and therefore does He make you the target for His
arrows. Then, like a serpent of the pit, there will dart upward the
hissing and devilish suggestion–God is now giving you up! He has been
merciful up to this moment, but this peculiar trial, so severe, so long
continued, so piercing and penetrating, touching you in your most
tender part–this is the turning point in your history.
From this day forward everything will go hard with you, you think–all
circumstances will be black and cloudy. You shall know no comfort and
no rest, for God has forsaken you. Your enemies will persecute and take
you and you yourself will be cast out like savorless salt. "Ah," says
one, "such thoughts as these ought not to arise in any godly mind!" I
know they ought not, but there they are and I question whether any
child of God can affirm that he has been always altogether free from
such conceptions in dark and tempestuous hours. Faith ought to shut the
gate against every suggestion that would dishonor the veracity and
loving kindness of God, but unfortunately the watchman sleeps and is
troubled with weakness and then the enemy comes in like a flood! Happy
is he who in such a moment shall be able, by the Spirit of the Lord, to
lift up a standard against him!
The thoughts that I have just uttered are only specimens of what will
occur when the child of God is in the furnace and under a cloud. Of
course these thoughts will be different in every case, but they will
rush, as I have already said, like a raging torrent, sweeping
everything before it in headlong fury. Now, at such times it is a great
blessing if God's comforts are our stay and holdfast, delighting our
souls. Happy is he who has found out a heavenly breakwater against the
floods of great waters, a store of consolations for the most imminent
emergencies. To these consolations may you be led by the Holy Spirit.
For a practical list of them I would refer you to the Psalm which lies
open before us. You will observe that David derived comfort in his
afflicted condition from the belief that God knew everything that he
was suffering–"He that planted the ear, shall He not hear? He that
formed the eye, shall He not see?" (Psa. 94:9). "Ah," says the soul,
"whatever this trial may be, one thing is clear, my heavenly Father
knows all about it. There is not a circumstance in my present condition
which is hidden from Him. That eye which has watched me from my
childhood is not closed towards me in this dark hour. He understands
and knows the way that I take, and if I am surrounded with the thick
darkness, it is no darkness to Him–
"Even the hour that darkest seems Will His changeless goodness prove.
From the mist His brightness streams, God is wisdom, God is love."
"You God see me." "He that keeps Israel shall neither slumber nor
sleep." That is no mean consolation in the golden words which fell from
the Savior's lips–"Your heavenly Father knows that you have need of
all these things." The sevenfold heat of the furnace cools when we know
that the Lord is there, "a very present help in trouble." Next to this,
the Psalmist was comforted by the belief that chastisement is blessed
to the partaker of it. Note the 12th verse–"Blessed is the man whom
You chasten, O Lord." "Then," says the soul, "if it is not prosperity
which is set forth as a mark of blessedness. If it is adversity which
is the Covenant spot and the choice mark of a favored child of God,
then will I congratulate myself in being made to smart beneath my
gracious Father's hand."
Everything as to our state of mind depends upon the light in which we
regard the dealings of Providence. If our trouble comes to us as a
curse. If, indeed, our afflictions are the first drops of that
tremendous sheet of fire which will fall upon us forever from an angry
God, then trial is, indeed, an awful thing. But if it is so, that out
of love to us we are made to undergo the necessary processes of
tribulation–to prepare us like winnowed wheat for the peaceful
garner–then we will accept our sufferings with joy! Welcome, O Grief,
if you are a black messenger loaded with treasure! Welcome,
thrice! Welcome to my patient spirit, O rod of the Covenant,
soul-enriching and sanctifying! Here, Beloved, is a second consolation
which revives the fainting soul when ready to swoon amid the heat and
burden of oppressive thoughts.
The Psalmist goes on to declare that all adversity will have a happy
end, "Judgment shall return unto righteousness, and all the upright in
heart shall follow it." Then says the Spirit, "Though I may be cast
down today and sorely vexed. And though the wicked may be at ease and
spread themselves like green bay trees, yet there is an end appointed
when the axe shall be for the root of the ungodly and when the Glory
shall be for the afflicted and poor saints." A sight of the end makes
us to judge rightly of the whole matter. All's well that ends well. If
the cup is not poison, but medicine, then its bitterness shall be
sweetness to me. If the plowing is not for a sowing of salt beneath the
curse of desolation, but for a seedtime of Grace with a harvest of
bliss, then plow on, O Lord, and though the furrows tear my soul, yet
be it so, the end makes amends and therefore Your will be done!
The Psalmist still further, in the midst of his troubles, kept himself
in the belief of God's faithfulness. I called your attention in the
exposition to the strong utterance of the 14th verse–"For the Lord
will not cast off His people, neither will He forsake His inheritance."
If we could believe it possible that God might suffer His chosen
children to perish and that those who trust in Him might, under certain
circumstances be confounded, we might very well wrap our faces in
sackcloth and go our way in wretchedness, like the slaves of despair.
But the Lord never has utterly deserted one of His servants yet and He
never will!
When all His waves and His billows went over David, yet the Lord
commended His loving kindness in the daytime and gave His servant a
song in the night, for God was the health of his countenance and his
God forever and ever. The Lord has made His servants to endure trials
great and many–they have gone through fire and through water–but in
every case the delivering arm has been made bare, and in their
extremity the opportunity of love has certainly arrived. Rejoice then,
O you who are vexed with multitudes of troublous thoughts, and let the
Infallible faithfulness of your God delight your souls!
Once more in that Psalm, David dwells upon his own past
experience–"Unless the Lord had been my help, my soul had almost dwelt
in silence. When I said, my foot slips, Your mercy, O Lord, held me
up." How often have you and I found it to be one of the shortest ways
to renew our hope, when we have called to mind the former days and the
years of past mercy! We have said, "Was He not with me on the field of
strife, to deliver me from the tumult of the people? Did I not obtain
mercy from Him when I was brought very low? Did I not find safety
beneath the shadow of His wings when the storm of the terrible ones
assailed me? He that has enabled me to erect so many Ebenezers in days
past has not helped me thus far to put me to shame at the end–He has
not revealed all this loving kindness and Truth to me that He, after
all, may make me ashamed of my hope."
We have not to deal with a changeable God. Oh, no! He assuredly will
complete the work which His wisdom has begun. All His power shall be
put forth to finish the work of Divine Grace. Such thoughts as these,
in the times when our heart is much distracted, will be found to
minister not merely consolation, but a deep, profound quiet and even a
holy exhilaration amounting, as our text has it, to "delight." "In the
multitude of my thoughts within me, Your comforts delight my soul."
Brothers and Sisters, I have thus spoken upon the text as referring to
tumultuous thoughts in the night of trial. Permit me to remind you that
it will be equally right to refer it to perplexing thoughts and periods
of dilemma. The path of life to some men is remarkably
straightforward–from their circumstances and surroundings they are
very seldom at a loss to know the path of duty. But with many others
the narrow way is, to all appearances, exceedingly like the track of
the children of Israel through the wilderness–in and out, backward and
forward–"progressive, retrograde, and standing still." Oftentimes have
we come to a turning in the road where human wisdom is at a nonplus to
know whether to select the right hand or the left. Two ways may appear
equally right morally, but yet the choice of either of them may involve
the most solemn consequences as to our future.
I suppose that almost every Christian man has had to look about him for
signposts and at times he has found none. He has felt like a traveler
in the trackless bush of Australia and he has been obliged to go down
on his knees and cry to God that he may hear a voice behind him saying,
"This is the way, walk in it." I may be addressing some of you today
who are perplexed with a multitude of conflicting thoughts as to your
course in life. You do not know what to do. A certain plan has
suggested itself and for a time it has seemed the very best course for
you–but just now your mind
wavers, for another course presents itself–and there is much to say in
its favor. You are bewildered. You cannot see the clue of Providence.
You are lost as in a maze.
Indeed, at this moment you are much dispirited for you have tried
various ways and methods to escape from your present difficulty, but
you have been disappointed where you expected relief and probably that
which you are about to attempt will end in disappointment, too. Your
thoughts compass you about like bees, or as the flies of Egypt's
plague, they worry, but do not help you. You are distracted and your
thoughts have no order about them, for while they lean one way at this
moment, they drag you in the opposite direction the next second. The
currents meet and twist you as in a whirlpool.
Now, my dear perplexed Friend, at such a time your plight may remind
you of the children of Israel at the Red Sea, with the sea before them
and the rocks on either hand–and the cruel Egyptians in the rear–and
you must imitate their action and "stand still and see the salvation of
God." But, you reply, "I cannel be quiet, I am too agitated." Brother,
let patience have her perfect work. In quietness shall be your
strength. Yet you reply, "My spirit is restless and impetuous. I wish I
could be calm, for then I could better judge my position and probably
discover the way of escape. But I am perturbed, perplexed, tossed up
and down, distracted. Alas, what shall I do?"
Listen, then, to the text, "In the multitude of my thoughts within me
Your comforts delight my soul." Turn your eyes to those deep things of
God which have a Divine power to allay the torment of your spirit.
Cease from a too anxious consideration of the things which are seen and
temporal, and gaze by faith upon the things which are unseen and
eternal. Remember that your way is ordered by a higher power than your
will and choice. The eternal destiny of God has fixed your every
footstep. Believe that wisdom, not blind fate, but wisdom, has ordained
the bounds of your habitation and fixed your position and your
condition so definitely that no fretfulness of yours can change it for
the better. In the ordinance of God, all your history is fixed so as to
secure His Glory and your soul's profit. Your present sorrow is the
bitter bud of greater joy!
Your transient loss secures your ultimate and never-ceasing gain. How I
rejoice to believe that the Lord shall choose my inheritance for me!
All things are fixed by a Father's hand, by no arbitrary and stern
decree, but by His wise counsel and tender wisdom. He who loved us from
before the foundations of the world has immutably determined all the
steps of our pilgrimage. Why, then, disturb yourself? There is a hand
upon the helm which shall steer your vessel safely enough between the
rocks and by the quicksand–away from the shoals and the headlands,
through the mist and through the darkness–safely to the desired haven!
Our Pilot never sleeps and His hand never relaxes its grasp. It is a
blessed thing, after you have been muddling and meddling as you ought
not to do with the affairs of Providence, to leave them alone and cast
your burden upon the Lord.
Oftentimes in my own short career in connection with this Church and
with the many works of God committed to my charge, I have been brought
to a nonplus. I have considered and judged and been perplexed–and then
discovering my gross folly, encumbering myself with much serving–I
have, at last, by His Grace–resolved to lay my care upon the shelf and
I have said unto the Lord, "I will never fret about this matter again.
You shall judge and work for Your poor servant." Brethren, hear my
testimony! Things have always gone right with me when I have been
brought to this! Whereas they have been wrong enough when I have
befogged myself with care and have wondered how the College and the
Orphanage could be provided for and 50,000 other things! When I have
left all with my Lord, HE has brought forth my righteousness as the
light, and my judgment as the noonday. I charge you, therefore,
children of God in dilemma, roll your burdens upon God and He will
sustain you and give you to rejoice in beholding His wisdom and His
love.
The text will endure no straining if we read it as declaring that when
thoughts remorseful pass over us in the hour of recollection, we may
find peace in the comforts of God. Thoughts remorseful, I say–and what
man among you could look back steadily and undismayed upon the whole
course of his life? Take away the Cross and no Christian man dare
recall the past to his memory. Each individual hair might stand on end
with horror at the remembrance of the ruin into which our past iniquity
has plunged us! Memory does well, beneath the shadow of the Atonement,
to turn over each leaf of her diary. There are the sins of one's youth
and the sins of mature years. There are sins of ignorance and sins
against light and knowledge–secret sins and sins before the face of
the sun.
All together, how many? Who shall count them? We have perpetrated
aggravated offenses inasmuch as we have repeated sins which we
professed to have repented of–sins in our case have worn a blacker hue
because of circumstances
which made them to stand without excuse. How frequently our evil ways
have been injurious to others! At times that thought stings as does an
adder, for we may have led others into sin who have not yet
repented–who are going down to the Pit to reap the reward of sins into
which we drew them! Alas, the recollections of the past do not end in
their painfulness with our conversion since we have continued to
transgress.
Our sins of omission rise like Andes for height. Our sins of commission
reach to the clouds. Sins against the Church and against the world,
against our families, against ourselves–sins against the precious
blood, sins against the blessed Spirit, sins against our loving
Father–who shall count them? And when these sins are attentively
viewed by the soul– not glanced at superficially, but looked into with
hearty and honest repentance–how often will the question arise, "Can
there be forgiveness for all these? Is it possible that they are
blotted out? Is it not all a delusion and a dream, that such iniquity
is really washed away?" And thought will follow thought, like lightning
flashes in the thick of the tempest, till the soul will be broken in
pieces with dismay, unless it turns to God's comforts, which alone can
delight the penitent soul.
Behold them now! There is a God of mercy, infinite mercy, and the
greatest sin cannot be equal to the greatness of His power to forgive!
There is a fountain filled with blood and the power of that blood is
not exhausted. Jesus is a living Intercessor–"If any man sins, we have
an Advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the Righteous." The five
wounds are still pleading and, though our sins are as scarlet, there
stands the unwavering promise that they shall be as wool! Though they
are red like crimson, they shall be as snow. Brothers and Sisters, it
is of great service to the soul for us to go back frequently to our
starting point. Our first penitence is one of the most lovely traits of
the Christian character and ought to be always manifest–we should
always be weeping for sin–but the tears should fall upon the Savior's
feet.
We should weep because our sins are forgiven. We should rest upon Jesus
as guilty sinners still in ourselves, having nothing more to rest upon
today, after 20 years of walking with God, than we had at the very
first–for then we had the atoning blood and we have nothing more than
that at this hour as the ground of our acceptance with God. O let us
keep to this–that when many bitter thoughts are stirred as to the
past–we may see the living Savior presenting His atoning sacrifice
before the Throne of God and may, in it, rejoice!
The word, "delight," has in this place in the original Hebrew the idea
of dancing, and, indeed, our heart exults and leaps for joy at the
sight of the blood and righteousness of our Lord Jesus Christ! Bold can
we stand before God when we plead the righteousness of Christ! Though
our sins are many, yet none shall lay them to our charge and though
they are black, yet are they forgiven and none shall dare accuse whom
God absolves. Let us not further linger. There are often with us
thoughts of heart-searching in seasons of spiritual anxiety–and it is
a blessed thing, in the multitude of our thoughts of
heart-searching–if the comforts of God can still delight our soul.
God forbid we should ever say a word to dissuade professors from the
duty of self-examination. Our salvation is too solemn a thing to be
taken upon trust. No man has any right to believe that he is saved upon
any assumed and taken-for-granted ground of assurance. He who is afraid
to examine himself has need to be afraid–for God will examine him! He
who is right is never afraid of being searched, but rather he prays,
"Search me, O God and try me and know my ways." Yet, under
self-examination, thoughts like these will naturally take wing in the
heart–"Am I truly born again? That conversion of mine, was it a fancy,
was it a reality? Do I know what the indwelling, purifying, quickening
power of the Holy Spirit is, or is my experience only imagination? Is
the change within me merely a transient desire after reformation?
"Am I still in a carnal and unrenewed state? Do I produce the fruits of
righteousness? Do I live as Christians are said to live? Do I follow
after holiness in the fear of God? Do I, in very truth, love Christ, or
is it only a pretense? Do I heartily serve Him? Does the love of Christ
actually constrain me?" Ah, Brethren, when I recollect my own daily
infirmities, I must confess I cannot always answer those questions
without much debate of spirit! And I suspect that the most of you, in
the matter of solemn heart-questioning, do not find things going very
smoothly with you, either.
At such times, in the multitude of your thoughts within you, you will
discover no delight unless you cast yourself upon the consolations
which God has prepared for such a case–and I think they are these–"
Well, if I never did love my Lord, if it were all a mistake, yet He
still receives sinners and I will go to Him. If, after all, my religion
has been a pretense, yet He has said, 'Look unto Me and be you saved.'
My faith shall even, now, look up to the Lamb of Calvary, the Divine
Savior. Jesus, I am guilty, but oh, I trust You." I know there is no
consolation like this! Never mind your experience–in hours of doubt
leave it and fly at once to Jesus! If the devil calls your profession a
lie, let him do so. But
remember there is no lie in that Sacrifice that makes reconciliation
for sin between the Believer and his God–and to that blessed
Sacrifice–all guilty and undone as we are, let us fly at once!
These consolations will yet delight your soul if you push them farther.
Having looked to the precious blood, then read your adoption in Christ,
your union to Christ, your interest in the Covenant through Christ,
your personal security by virtue of union to Christ! Get once to the
Cross and you have reached the wellhead of consolations. We must not
tarry there, however, but further observe that sometimes we have
multitudes of thoughts of foreboding in days of depression. These dark
prophesyings are sometimes about ourselves. How many of God's people
say, "Alas I shall die in a workhouse! I do not know what will become
of me in old age, when these fingers cannot earn my daily bread."
At other times and with some of us, much more often, we prophesy evil
concerning our work–"The Holy Spirit will withdraw from our Church.
Our ministry will not be useful. Our various works will fall to pieces.
We shall see those who profess to be zealous go back to the world
again." Such thoughts as these haunt as. The Sunday school teacher will
be afraid lest there should be no conversions in the class, or that
supposed conversions will turn out to be mistakes–when you once get
into the foreboding line it is very easy to be a great prophet of evil
and to believe yourself when not a word of what you are saying has a
smattering of truth in it.
Then we dream dreadful things concerning our nation. According to the
gloomy prophets, all England is going to bad–not England alone, but
all countries are hastening on to a general and everlasting crash. Then
one begins to fret about the Church of God, for, according to the
soothsayers of the age, Antichrist is yet to come and new heresies are
to spring up! The dogs of war are to be let loose, the Pope is to rule
and burn us and one hardly knows what else! Daniel, Ezekiel and
Revelation have been made, sometimes, to minister poison to every
bright hope! But, Brothers and Sisters, here is our comfort with regard
to the future–
"He everywhere has sway, And all things serve His might. His every act
pure blessing is, His path unsullied light."
Let the worst come to the worst, the best will come of it before long.
"If the heavens were a bow," says one, "and the earth were the string
and God should fit the arrows of His vengeance and shoot at the sons of
men, yet they could find shelter with the Archer Himself." Our refuge
is in God! Let the worst calamities occur to the world in years to
come, we are secure. It must be well–it cannot be ill.
"Jehovah-Jireh." Lift high the banner and hopefully advance to the
battle, for the victory shall surely come unto the eternal arm, the
immutable will!
Once more. Occasionally we have profound thoughts in times of
meditation–and whenever we enter into profound considerations it is
well for us to know the comforts which will delight our souls. Certain
minds are very prone to contemplations upon themes more puzzling than
profitable, such as predestination and free will. We have, all of us, I
suppose, picked at that Gordian knot in our time and we have been vain
enough to hope to untie it. But that deed is not for us. Many and many
a good hour have we wasted over that dark mystery–how far the eternal
God has fixed and how far responsible man is left free. Milton pictures
the very devils musing upon that metaphysical problem, and doubtless
the angels have pondered it, too.
But only God's mind shall perfectly unriddle that enigma. Whenever we
are oppressed with that great mystery, it must cheer us to know
comforts of God which delight our souls. Among those comforts stands
the grand fact that God is righteous–that He cannot err–that there
cannot possibly be anything in Sovereignty that wars with Mercy or with
Justice. Believing, moreover, that whoever believes in Christ Jesus has
everything on his side, we can leave the riddle solved or unsolved and
feel that it is small concern to us. There are many other great
mysteries in the Word of God and foolish persons utterly befog
themselves with them.
Indeed, some minds never seem to be satisfied until they reach to
something which they cannot comprehend and then they are ready to give
up the Bible altogether! They act like one who should come in to a
feast, and after turning over all the good things, should at last find
a bone with no meat upon it and should insist upon it that he would not
eat a morsel until he could digest that one particular bone! How
foolish of men! They will not receive what they might grasp and
comprehend and might be improved by–because of some one thing that
happens to be above their comprehension! I bless God for a religion
which I cannot understand! If I could perfectly understand it I would
not believe it to be Divine–for I should be sure it did not come from
the infinite God if I could grasp it and comprehend it.
But oh, those blessed abysses of the Truths of God beyond my depth
where I am obliged to cast myself upon the Lord and swim in His love!
Oh, those soul-expanding mysteries–how well they give play for faith
and room for confidence in God–where the soul, having done her best to
grasp and comprehend, falls back upon her God and says, "How infinite
You are. What a worthless worm I am. I bow before You in adoration and
trust You in affection." "In the multitude of my thoughts within me
Your comforts delight my soul."
Enough, then, upon our first point. I fear the multitude of my words
have given you a weary sense of what a multitude of thoughts must be.
II. I could wish that we had time to VIEW THESE SACRED COMFORTS which
we have hinted at this morning. But I ask your attention very briefly
to a summary. View these comforts in their nature. They are said to be
God's comforts. "Your comforts delight my soul," by which I understand
that they are comforts concerning God, that is, connected with the
Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. This triple well continually
overflows with consolation. The more a Believer thinks of his God, the
more comfort he will have.
I understand the expression to mean also comforts prepared by God and
comforts revealed by God–comforts which Divine mercy has ordained for
the troubled sons of men–comforts which the Holy Spirit has revealed
in the pages of Inspiration. I understand, however, more than this. The
comforts that make us glad amid distractions are such as are applied by
God Himself. This text has been read, and I believe rightly, by putting
in a stop in a different place from that in which I have put it in my
reading. "In the multitude of my thoughts, within me, Your comforts
delight my soul." For only when the comforts of God get within us do
they become effectual comforts to us.
Man may pour the richest balm into the ears in words, but only the Holy
Spirit's pouring it into the soul in very deed and truth can make the
heart glad. It may be possible, also, that my text may mean, "Your
comforts," that is, the very comforts enjoyed by Jesus Christ, Himself,
the Son of God. For in the multitude of our thoughts we are often
brought to rejoice where Christ rejoiced–in the joy that is set before
us of God's ultimate Glory in the salvation of the chosen. We are made
to drink of the cup of trembling of which Christ drank and we are also
enabled to drink of the cup of rejoicing which made Him glad in the
house of His pilgrimage.
Understand, then, the comforts which God gives us to be comforts about
Himself, comforts prepared and revealed by Himself, comforts applied by
the Holy Spirit and comforts which have been participated in the days
of His flesh by the Son of God Himself. When Archbishop Whately lay
a-dying, a friend said to him, "Sir, you are great in death as well as
in life. The good man shook his head and replied, "I am dying as I have
lived, a simple Believer in Jesus Christ." "But what a blessing it is,"
said the other, "that your glorious intellect does not fail you at the
last." "There is nothing glorious," said he, "but Jesus Christ."
"Still," said the other, "your grand endurance is a great support to
you." "I have no support but faith in the crucified Savior," said he.
Comfort, you see, comes to Believers from nothing in themselves– all
peace proceeds from the Lord alone.
Observe, next, these comforts in their stability. They effectually
sustain the spirit in times when they are required, for, "In the
multitude of my thoughts within me, Your comforts delight my soul."
Many consolations are like the lifebuoys we heard so much of a few
weeks ago, which are exceedingly useful on dry land, but of no service
whatever when once a man trusts his life to them in the sea. Even thus
the world's consolations are prized when they are not needed, but prove
themselves to be something worse than ridiculous confidences when men
most need their assistance.
Once more, I must ask you to notice concerning these comforts their
real efficiency. "Your comforts delight my soul." Not my animal nature.
Not my external nature, but my very self. The comforts of God penetrate
to the marrow of our manhood. They feed the vital spark. They make the
man, himself, most thoroughly glad. Your wine, your corn, your
oil–these do but tickle the palate. Your music, your viol and your
dance–these do but please the ear, the eye, the foot. But the comforts
of God touch the man, himself, the essential inner core of the man's
nature. "Your comforts delight my soul."
Note that word, "delight." God's comforts not merely console, sustain
and quiet my soul, but they "delight" it. And that, too, in the midst
of tumultuous thoughts! Brethren, I know and speak by experience what I
now say. There is a sad uneasiness in mirth and there is a matchless
repose in sorrow. I have never been more deeply happy than when I have
been laid low with chastening. When I have been broken in pieces all
asunder, faith has found her strength in helplessness, her
end of care in the end of her self-reliance. When Unbelief whispered
rebelliously, "God must have His way, His cruel way," and when the
heart was reconciled to leave it there, a sweet peace reigned within.
Yes, there is deep joy amid deep sorrow, when the spirit is hushed and
quiet and the soul is even as a wearied child. May it always be your
case, beloved Friends, if ever the Lord shall call you to pass through
deep waters, to find the pearls that lie hidden there–to mark the
light that springs up in the midnight and the joy that comes in the
morning, when the weeping is over forever.
III. Now, the last thing, with which I send you away, is A CONTRAST.
Too many of our fellow men never think at all. Thinking should be the
easiest thing a man could attempt, for he has not to lift his hand or
move his foot, but the multitude of men will do anything, rather than
think. Their thoughts, if they have any, are like a swarm of gnats,
volatile, dancing up and down, light, useless! O that men would think!
It is always a hopeful sign, if not of Divine Grace, yet of a prelude
for the working of the Spirit of God, when men are brought to consider.
We need not so much dread infidelity as carelessness. I had rather men
would think wrongly than not think at all. When a man is awake enough
to defy God, it is an awful thing–but there is something to be made of
him–he is not quite asleep. There is a chance that this Goliath who
defies his God may have a stone sent through his forehead and by the
way of his thinking may yet be brought low. But it is people who go
about their daily work and pleasure and never think at all who seem to
be the devil's peculiar portion. How few of these ever get to be
converted? O for a thunderclap to make the world think! Cholera,
pestilence, war, calamity–these oftentimes come from God as a voice to
make men consider! But in these soft and gentle times men are lulled to
false security and down to the abyss of woe the multitude are being
swept.
I cannot but compare thousands of my fellow men to the Indian whose
story, which I remember to have read years ago in Whitecross'
Anecdotes. Whether the tale is true or not I cannot tell. It is said
that on the great river of America there was once seen a canoe some
miles off Niagara floating down the stream and as the current turned it
so that those on the bank could well perceive it, they saw that the
paddle was slipped and an Indian was lying in the canoe fast asleep.
They shouted as best they could to awake him, for they knew well the
imminent hazard of the poor wretch. They shouted and called aloud, as
they ran along the bank, but it was of no use. He had either been
drinking or had been so fatigued that his slumber was most profound and
the canoe went floating on, continually increasing its pace.
It dashed at last against a headland and spun round in the torrent, and
they said one to another, "He is safe, the man will be awakened. Such a
start as that will surely arouse him and he will paddle out of danger."
But no, he went right on till the roaring of the fall was near and then
the course of the boat was so rapid that none could keep up with it and
it went whirling on faster and faster. So profound was the Indian's
sleep that for awhile even the roar of the fall did not awaken him. But
at last he was aroused and then he grasped his paddle–but it was too
late–he was borne onward and the last that was seen of him was his
standing bolt upright in the boat, as it plunged over the abyss and was
never seen or heard of again.
Ah, my fellow men, how like this are those of you who are asleep and
are borne onward by the treacherous current! That fever, that
sickbed–like a headland jutting into the stream–we would think it
would have made you think! That frail boat of yours was twisted round
and round. O that your soul had but been aroused from its slumber! The
noise of Hell may well be in your ears and the sound that comes up from
the abyss of terror may well arouse you. But alas, I fear you will
sleep on until the cataract of destruction shall be just before you in
the pangs of death and then, alas, full of horror, you shall seek
escape when escape is no longer possible!
God grant that none of us may thus sleep ourselves into a world of woe,
for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.
PORTION OF SCRIPTURE READ BEFORE SERMON–Psalm 94