The Best of Masters
A Sermon
(No. 247)
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 10th, 1859, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.
"Peace I leave with you; my peace l give unto you; not as the world
giveth, I give unto you."–John 14:27.
THE GOSPEL OF JOHN is peculiarly the history of Jesus, the Son of God.
Matthew deals with Jesus as the Prince of the house of David; Mark
treats of him as the Servant of servants; and Luke views him as the Son
of Man; but John, with eagle eye, looks beyond all the clouds of his
humanity, and seeing the clear shining of his divinity, writes of him
especially as the Son of God, the Word, that in the beginning was with
God and was God. It seems but right, then, that since Jesus came from
heaven, he should sometimes put both himself and his cause, in contrast
with that which is of the earth, earthy. You will find through several
chapters wherein our Saviour is addressing his disciples, he
continually contrasts himself, his gifts, and his love, with those of
the world. He came from heaven that he might fight and wrestle with an
evil and a wicked world; that he might rescue his people from it; that
he might cleanse the world, and, at last, might present the earth
itself to himself, to be the new heaven and the new earth, wherein
righteousness should dwell. I say, it seems but right, that in a gospel
which particularly views Christ as of heavenly origin, and as very God
of very God, that there should frequently be a contrast between Christ
and the world, between the kingdom which is from heaven, and the
kingdoms of this earth. Now, our text presents us with one contrast
between Christ and the world: "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give
unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you." He gives after a
diviner fashion than the world can ever give, even when its hand is
most laden with its gifts.
Now, I shall take my text this morning, and endeavor to talk of it
thus–first, viewing it with regard to the peace which Christ gives: he
does not give peace as the world gives it. Secondly, I shall take a
larger view of the subject, and look upon all the gifts of Christ, and
say that, "not as the world giveth, doth he bestow his mercies on us;"
and then close with a practical inference from the whole subject.
I. First of all, IN THE MATTER OF PEACE, Christ gives us peace, but not
as the world gives it. For, in the first place, the world gives peace
in a complimentary style. It was usual among the Orientals, for the
wayfarer to say to the person whom he met, "Peace be to you;" and
generally, when a house was entered, the benediction of peace was
bestowed by every person who stepped across the threshold. These were
often but vain and empty expressions of compliment. Those very
utterances might proceed from the lips of an enemy. "The words of his
mouth were smoother than butter, but war was in his heart: his words
were softer than oil, yet were they drawn swords." It is the same with
the world at this day. Everyone salutes us in writing with a "Dear
sir," or a "My dear sir," and concludes "Yours very truly," and "Yours
sincerely." We call all "friends," and if we meet but casually we
express the utmost anxiety with regard to one another's health, and we
carefully enquire after each other's families; when perhaps we shall no
sooner have passed by the person than we shall forget his existence,
and certainly shall entertain no anxious thoughts with regard to his
welfare, nor any loving remembrance of him. The world gives very
largely when it gives compliments. Oh, what blessings would descend
upon all our heads, if the blessings uttered could be blessings
bestowed. Even when the "Good bye" is given, which translated means,
"God be with you"–if that could be but true, and if God could be with
us, in answer to that prayer, so little understood, how rich might we
be! But alas! the way of the world is, "Be thou warmed and be thou
filled;" but it hath not that which should warm, nor that which should
fill. It is a world of words; high-sounding, empty, all-deceiving
words. Now, not so, does Christ give. If he says "Peace be with you,"
his benediction is most true and full of sweet sincerity. He left his
own peace in heaven, that he might give the peace which he enjoyed with
his Father, to us in this world of sorrow, for thus he puts it, "My
peace I give unto you." Christ, when he blesses, blesses not in word
only, but in deed. The lips of truth cannot promise more than the hands
of love will surely give. He gives not in compliment.
Furthermore, even when the world's wishes of peace are sincere, what
are they but mere wishes. If I am met by my most sincere friend, and he
wishes to give a benediction, he cannot bestow one. Tis God's to bless
his people with peace. We may bless with the wish but not with the
deed. It may be our desire that every mercy should cluster round the
head of our friend–that his pillow should be smooth, that his path
should be easy, that his heart should be happy, that his end may be
peace; but we must leave it with God to fulfill our prayers. If our
power were equal to our will, how richly would we bless our friends
with the priceless jewel of peace. But Christ says, "Not as the world
giveth, give I unto you." His wishes for us shall be accomplished, and
he himself shall work them out. Does he wish for us that we may be
sanctified? Lo! he will sanctify us, and present us without spot, or
wrinkle, or any such things. Is it his will that we should be with him
where he is? It shall be done, and we shall behold his glory and we
shall share in it. There was ne'er a wish in Christ's heart with regard
to his people that merely ended in a wish. The wish is but the bow
string; the blessing is the arrow shot from it. Christ hath not an
empty bow, but his quiver is filled with arrows, and every time he
wisheth, he fitteth a blessing on the string and sendeth it to us. Oh
rest assured that not, as the world giveth, with the empty wish, the
deceitful brook, the empty well doth Christ give to us, but he gives a
fullness and a reality in all that he bestows.
Yet, furthermore, I may remark that, with regard to peace, the world
gives only peace in prospect. There is not a man alive who is not
hoping for better times; even boys believe that better times are
coming–times of rest and peace. The man who is just beginning in
business expects that he shall take his rest and be much at ease, when
he shall have succeeded in establishing a connection; or if he finds
that, as business increases, cares multiply, he hopes that, in a little
time, the whole matter will become more steady, and that by the
employment of honest persons, much of the care may be taken from him.
And that time comes; but he finds that, even then, there are fresh
cares which have arisen as the others have died out. He then looks
forward to the time when, in his green old age, he shall retire to some
country retreat, and there spend the rest of his days in peace. For the
most part that is but a vision, and grey age in its retirement hath its
troubles still; still, when men grow old, trouble is as young as ever,
and man finds just as much to prick and wound in the thorns of earth as
when for the first time he trod its soil. We are all intending and
beginning to be peaceful; we are all going to be happy by-and-bye. We
have all made up our minds that soon we will have done with desiring
more, and then we will make our rest. This is the miraculous mistake of
man,–that he is always beginning to live; but he never does live; he
always intends to be satisfied, but he never is; he always means to sit
down in content, but that period never arrives. He has always something
to vex him, but still hopes the day shall come when he shall be vexed
no more. Now, not as the world giveth gives Christ to us. The world
puts before us a mirage in the desert. We see before us what we fancy
to be springs of water, and spreading palm trees; and we rush forward,
but it is not there. It is only a few rods ahead, and on we go, full
wearily and foot-sore, and now it is a little further on; still we
hurry on, but as we progress the vision flies before us, but we never
reach it. Not thus doth Christ bless. He gives, and gives now; he gives
in present foretaste, and will give assuredly in the world which is to
come. Yes, even now, the true Christian can say he has peace in Christ.
Oh! there are some of us who know what it is to be so content and happy
when our thoughts are exercised upon our standing in Christ, that we
could say we have not a wish beyond; we could sit still for ever, and
rest in him. Verily, we can testify that they who have believed do
enter into rest. We have seen the billows roar, we have marked the
storm gathering, we have seen the black clouds big with tempest,
gathering over-head; and we have been enabled to defy all these things,
and to find rest in Christ, notwithstanding. Nay, and when the clouds
have emptied out their horrors, when the lightnings have scathed the
brow of darkness, and the thunder has rolled, tremendous, through the
sky, we have known what it is, even then, to rest in the bosom of
Christ, as a babe upon the breast of its mother. We have had a quiet
and a perfect rest while the world has been in arms abroad. Christ
gives a real peace, not a something that we have to hunt after for
to-morrow, but a thing that we have now. And the true believer can say
that, when he is enabled to see himself in Christ, he has all he wants;
he can rest on beds of spices, feed among the lillies of satisfaction,
and neither ask nor wish for anything beyond. "Peace I give unto you;
not as the world giveth. give I unto you."
Yet again, I remark once more, that all the peace which the world ever
did give to any man, was a delusion. I know some who possess the
world's peace; I would to God that peace were broken. Some of you are
content with yourselves; you are good enough you say, or, if not good
enough, tis easy to amend. You fold your arms, and you say, "Why make
myself miserable about religion? Why trouble myself about the interests
of another world?" Ah man! I would to God thou couldst be made
wretched–that thou couldst be made miserable, for mark, me, thy sleep
is the sleep of death. It is one of the devil's great devices for
destroying souls, to satisfy men–to give them the drug of
indifference, the laudanum of procrastination, and so to stultify and
stupify them, that they go on from day to day, careless and reckless,
till in hell they lift up their eyes. Why, if you are concerned about
your souls there is hope for you; the way to peace lies through
distress. You must first be agitated before you can be pacified. But,
if you now say, "peace, peace," I tell you there is no peace; and if
you now say, "be quiet, be still, hush!" I warn you, that all the quiet
of which you boast is the hush before the hurricane, when the world
seems as if it stood still in terror, when the birds droop their wings
upon the trees, and cease their notes, when the very lion hides himself
in the thicket, and when he roars no more, but is still, waiting for
the rushing wings of tempest. Here is a picture of your vaunted peace!
Your calm is but a prelude of an eternal storm. The sunshine of to-day
is but the index of the awful shower of to-morrow, a shower of red rain
of vengeance, and of hail mingled with fire. Oh, the peace the world
gives is delusive. They that rest there, rest upon a bed of death; but
the peace which Christ gives is no delusion. When the Christian can sit
down and say "I have nothing to fear. I have nothing to trouble
me–nothing to tremble at, neither for this world, nor for the next,"
he is not saying one word more than he has good ground for saying; nay
he is not going so far as he might go. He may say
"Now let earth's old pillars shake,
And all the wheels of nature break,
My stedfast soul shall fear no more,
Than solid rocks when billows roar."
That peace has no pretense in it. It is not bombast; it is a reality,
Profound though it be, it is not one whit more profound than it is
warranted to be. The believer rests upon a solid rock, and all the
waves of trouble can never make that rock give way, or shake the
foundation of his peace. "Not as the world giveth, give I unto you."
II. Now having touched upon the first point, I come to the second IN
THE MATTER OF GIVING. Take a broad view of it. In whatever the world
gives, Christ does not give after the same fashion.
In the first place, the world gives scantily. Even the world's best
friends have had cause to complain of its scurvy treatment. In reading
the biographies of mighty men whom the world honors, you will be soon
convinced that the world is a most ungrateful friend. If you should
devote your whole life to serve the world, and make it happy, think not
the world would ever return you so much as a dolt. Robert Burns is an
instance of the world's fine gratitude. There was the world's poet, he
sung the roaring tankards foaming; he sang the loves of women and the
joys of lust, the world admires him, but what did the world do for him?
He might drag along his whole life in almost poverty. When the time
comes for Robert Burns to be honored, (which was all too late for a
buried man,) how did they honor him? He had poor relatives; look to the
subscription list, and see how magnificent the donations they received!
They honored him with libations of whiskey which they drank themselves;
that was all they would give him. The devotion of the Scotch drunkards
to their poet is a devotion to their drunkenness, not to him. Doubtless
there are many true-hearted men who bewail the sinner as much as they
admire the genius, but the mass like him none worse for his faults.
However, if it had been ordained and decreed that every drunkard who
honored Burns should go without his whiskey for a week, there was not a
dozen of them would have done it–not half a dozen. Their honor to him
was a honor to themselves; it was an opportunity for drunkenness, at
least in thousands of instances. As I stood by his monument some little
time ago, I saw around it a most dismal, dingy set out of withered
flowers and I thought "Ah, this is his honor! O, Burns! how hast thou
spent thy life to have a withered wreath for the world's payment of a
life of mighty genius and a flood of marvellous song!" Yes, when the
world pays best she pays nothing, and when she pays least, she pays her
flatterers with scorn; she rewards their services with neglect and
poverty. Many a statesman might I quote who has spent his life in the
world's service, and at first the world said "Go on, go on," and he was
clapped everywhere; he was doing something to serve his time; but he
made a little mistake, a mistake perhaps, which will prove not to have
been a mistake at all when the books of history shall be read with a
clearer eye. "Down with him," says the world, "we will have nothing
more to do with him." All he may have done before went for nothing; one
mistake, one flaw in his political career–"Down with him, cast him to
the dogs, we will have nought to do with him again." Ah, the world pays
scantily indeed! What will it do for those it loves the best! When it
has done all it can, the last resource of the world is to give a man a
title (and what is that)? And then to give him a tall pillar and set
him up there to bear all weathers, to be pitilessly exposed to every
storm; and there he stands for fools to gaze at, one of the world's
great ones paid in stone; it is true the world has paid that out of its
own heart, for that is what the world's heart is made of. The world
pays scantily; but did you ever hear a Christian who complained thus of
his Master? "No," will he say "when I serve Christ, I feel that my work
is my wages; that labor for Christ is its own reward. He gives me joy
on earth, with a fullness of bliss hereafter." Oh! Christ is a good
paymaster. "The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal
life." He that serves Christ may get but little gold and silver such as
this world calls precious, but he gets a gold and a silver that shall
ne'er be melted in the last refining fire, that shall glitter among the
precious things of immortality throughout eternity. The world pays
niggardly and scantily, but not so Christ.
Again, if you will serve the world, and you wish to have gifts from it,
the world will pay you half-heartedly. Now by the world, I mean the
religious world quite as much as any other part of it; I mean the whole
world, religious, political, good, bad, and indifferent–the whole lot
of them. If you serve the world it will pay you half-heartedly. Let a
man spend himself for his fellow-creatures' interests, what will he get
for it? Some will praise him, some will abuse him. The men that escape
without abuse in this world, are the men who do nothing at all. He who
is most valiant and useful, must expect to be most reprobated and
abhorred. Those men who are borne upon the waves of popular applause
are not the men whose worth is true; real philanthropists must swim
against the stream. The whole list of the world's benefactors is an
army of martyrs. All along, the path of the good is marked with blood
and fire. The world does not pay the men that serve it really, except
with ingratitude. I say, to come back, even when the world does pay, it
pays half-heartedly. Did you ever know a man yet, concerning whom the
world's mind was one? I never heard of any. "Oh," says one, "So-and-so
is one of the best men of his times." Go down the next street, and you
will hear it said, "He is the biggest vagabond living." Go to one, and
you will hear him say, "I never heard a man of such genius as that is."
"Oh," says another, "mere twaddle." "There is such a newspaper," says
one, "how ably it defends the rights of the people." "Oh," says
another, "mere democracy; seeking to pull down everything that is
constitutional and proper." The world never made up its mind about any
man yet. There is not a soul living concerning whom the world is
unanimous. But when Christ gives anything, he always gives with all his
heart. He does not say to his people, "There, I give you this, but
still I have half-a-mind to keep it back." No, Christ gives his heart
to all his people. There is no double-mindedness in Jesus. If we are
enabled by free grace to serve him and to love him, we may rest quite
sure that in the rich reward which his grace shall give us, his whole
heart shall go with every blessing. When Christ blesses the poor needy
soul, he does not give with one hand, and smite with the other; but he
gives him mercies with both his hands–both full; and he asks the
sinner simply to receive all that he is willing to give.
Then again, whenever the world gives anything, it gives mostly to those
who do not want it. I remember once, when a lad, having a dog, which I
very much prized and some man in the street asked me to give him the
dog; I thought it was pretty impudent, and I said as much. A gentlemen,
however, to whom I told it, said, "Now suppose the Duke of
So-and-so,"–who was a great man in the neighborhood–"asked you for
the dog, would you give it him?" I said, "I think I would." He said,
"Then you are just like all the world; you would give to those who do
not want." Who in the whole of this congregation would object to give
anything to the Queen? Not a soul of us, and yet, perhaps, there is no
person in the world who so little needs our gifts. We can always give
to those who do not require anything; for we feel that there is some
little honor conferred upon us–an honor bestowed by the reception.
Now, look at Jesus. When he gives to his friends, he gets no honor from
them: the honor is in his own free heart that should lead him to give
to such poor necessitous worms. Great men have gone to Christ with mere
professions, and they have asked him to be good to them, but then they
have at the same time declared, that they had a righteousness of their
own, and did not want much of him; and he has sent them about their
business, and given them nothing. He said, "I came not to call the
righteous, but sinners to repentance." But whenever poor, lost sinners
have gone to Christ, he has never turned one of them away–never. He
has given all they could possibly want, and infinitely more than they
thought they could ever expect. Might not Jesus say to us, when we ask
him for the blessings of his grace, "You are impudent in daring to
ask." But instead of that, he loves to be asked, and he freely and
richly gives–"Not as the world giveth;" for he gives to those who need
it most.
Again, there is another view of the world's gifts. The world giveth to
its friends, Any man will help his own friends. If we help not our own
relatives and friends then are we worse than heathen men and publicans.
But the world generally confines its good wishes and blessings to its
class, and kith, and kin. It cannot think of giving blessings to its
enemies. Did you ever hear yet of the world's blessing an enemy? Never.
It gives its benefactions to its friends, and but very scantily even to
them. But Christ gives his benefactions to his enemies. "Not as the
world giveth" he may truly say. The world says, "I must see whether you
deserve it; I must see that your case is a good one." It enquires, and
enquires, and enquires again; but Christ only sees that our case is a
bad one, and then he gives. He wants not a good case but a bad case. He
knows our necessity, and, once discovering our necessity, not all our
sin can stop the hand of his bounty. Oh, if Jesus should call to mind
some of the hard speeches we have uttered about him, he would never
bless us surely, if it were not that his ways are far above our ways.
Why, remember man, it is not long ago since you cursed him–since you
laughed at his people–despised his ministers, and could spit upon his
Bible. Jesus has cast all that behind his back, and loved you
notwithstanding. Would the world have done that? Let a man get up and
rail at his fellows, will they forgive, and, after forgiving, will they
begin to bless? Will they die for their enemies? Oh, no! such a thing
never entered into the heart of manhood. But Christ blesses rebels,
traitors, enemies to his cross. He brings them to know his love, and
taste of his eternal mercies.
A thousand remarks seem to start up and I scarcely know which to
choose. "Not as the world giveth give I unto you." The world always
gives with a sparing motive. The most of us are compelled to economy,
if we give anything away to a poor man we generally hope that he will
not come again. If we give him half-a-crown it is very often as we say
to get rid of him. If we bestow a little charity it is in the hope that
we shall not see his face just by-and-bye, for really we do not like
the same men continually begging at our door when the world is so full
of beggars. Did you ever hear of a man who gave a beggar something to
encourage him to keep on begging of him? I must confess I never did
such a thing, and am not likely to begin. But that is just what Christ
does. When he gives us a little grace, his motive is to make us ask for
more; and when he gives us more grace it is given with the very motive,
to make us come and ask again. He gives us silver blessings to induce
us to ask for golden mercies; and when we have golden favors, those
same mercies are given on purpose to lead us to pray more earnestly,
and open our mouth wider that we may receive more. What a strange giver
Christ is! what a strange friend, that he gives on purpose to make us
beg more! The more you ask of Christ, the more you can ask; the more
you have got, the more you will want; the more you know him, the more
you will desire to know him; the more grace you receive, the more grace
you will pant after; and when you are full of grace, you will never be
content till you get full of glory. Christ's way of giving is, "Of his
fullness have we received, and grace for grace"–grace to make us pant
for more grace; grace to make us long after something higher, something
fuller and richer still. "Not as the world giveth, give I unto you."
Again; when the world gives anything it is almost always with a selfish
motive. The Christian man gives, not hoping to receive again; but the
world lends that it may borrow; it gives that it may receive. There are
many men whose whole lives are a looking after self. They would not
like to be told so; but even their benefactions to a hospital, or to a
charity, are merely given because the name should be in the list. We
know that too many persons would not think of relieving private want
unless they thought there was a merit in it, and so thought it would
stand good for them at last. They would infinitely prefer to do their
good in the lumps. I know, at this day, a man that I believe would give
twenty pounds, fifty pounds, or a hundred pounds to a charity, but who
would let his own relatives starve rather than give them anything,
because it would never be known,–no one would talk about it. The
world's motive for bestowing a blessing is in order that some rich
fruit may flow from it. If the world rewards a warrior, its ostensible
reason is that other soldiers may fight bravely. If it rewards some
great artist, it is to encourage the profession, that is, to help
themselves, by getting others to amuse them, as well as this man has
done. There is always an ulterior object in the world's generosity. Not
so in Christ's; when he gives us mercies, he has nothing whatever to
get from us. It is our delight to live to him; but our living to him
cannot increase his glory–he is God over all, blessed for ever. He
gives us more than he can ever receive. And though we with grateful
hearts desire to live to him, that very gratitude is first his gift.
The well of love is filled out of the spring of God, otherwise it had
been the grave of mercies, and not a fountain of praise.
Now, what more shall I say? I seem to have brought out the most
prominent point of the worlds giving, but let me add one more. "Not as
the world giveth, give I unto you." All that the world gives, it only
bestows for a season, it must go back again. Thou hast riches, man, as
the reward of thy toils. What shalt thou be the better for them in a
few short months? Thy broad acres, thy leagues of land shall dwindle
into a short six feet of clay. Thy mansion, what shall it shrivel into,
but into a small coffin, over which shall be scratched a little earth
to hide thy putrid dust, and save the world a nuisance? The world will
have all back of thee. Naked thou didst come into it, and it will take
care thou shalt take nothing out of it, for naked shalt thou go out of
it again. Oh, man, thou hast accumulated knowledge until thou hast
become a walking cyclopaedia, but what shalt thou take with thee? What
difference shall there be between thy hollow skull and that of the
meanest peasant, when some wanton sexton, in some future year, shall
take it up, or split it with his spade? What shalt thou be the better
for all those big thoughts that have stretched thy skull, and all those
marvellous conceptions that have made it ache so much, that thou
couldst scarcely carry it upon thy shoulders? Thou wilt go back again
to thy fellow earth, and the worm shall eat thee, and the philosopher
shall taste no sweeter to his tooth than did the peasant; And, then,
whether thou be prince or king, or whether thou be a poor, ignorant
man, the worms shall make no distinction. Thou shall still rot–still
be consumed; noisome gases and a handful of dust shall be thy whole
residuum. What then can the world give? If it tried it could not give
thee anything that would last; it cannot give thee anything better than
air. It can give thee nothing that can pass into eternity with thee.
What though it follow thee with the trumpet of fame? That trumpet
cannot be heard half-way across the Jordan. If all the men in the world
clapped their hands in thy praise, not one angel, even on the very
borders of the celestial world would observe the tumult of applause.
The world can give thee nothing that thou canst carry with thee. Thou
art at the best a pack-horse, that shall carry its burden till it ends
its journey, and then it must lie down and die. Thou dost but carry a
burden on thy back, and verily, death shall unload thee ere thou art
suffered to enter another world. How different is Christ in his gifts!
What he gives he gives for ever. When he bestows mercies they are
lasting things; no shadows does he give, but real substance–no
fancies, but eternal realities does he bestow. Oh, men of this world,
when your gold is melted–when your diamonds have dissolved in
gas–when your estates have gone–when your hopes are lost, and when
your goods are destroyed, then shall the people of God begin to know
their riches; then shall they shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of
their Father. "Not as the world giveth, give I unto you."
III. Now this brings me to one PRACTICAL REFLECTION, OR RATHER
EXHORTATION TO GOD'S PEOPLE. If this be true, my hearer, I beseech thee
serve not the world; serve none but Christ, for he is the best master;
serve him with all thy might, because he so richly hath given and so
richly will give. I would not serve the world for the best empire in
it. A king once said he wished all his subjects could be kings for a
day, for "they would soon discover," he said, "that the art of
governing is not so easy as they think, and that a crown is not so soft
a thing to wear as they imagine." No, the world may abuse us if it
likes; if it abuse us we are not very sad thereat, because the world is
not our master, and as long as our own Master is satisfied we care not
for a stranger. If any one should walk into your garden, and say to
your gardener, "I do not like the arrangement of these beds; I do not
like those flowers; you are evidently a careless man;" he would say,
"Well, my master has been round this morning; he did not say much, but
I saw a smile of satisfaction on his face, therefore, what is that to
you? it is no business of yours. I am not your servant; I do not serve
you." Now, the world is a bad paymaster to those that obey and serve
it. Let every Christian make up his mind that he will have nothing to
do with serving the world. If the world scorns and frowns, let him say,
"It is no business of yours; you are not my master; I do not serve you.
If it amuses you to abuse me go on; it will not hurt me." There is even
in the mind of Christians at times too much of a tendency to
time-serving. We are all so apt to think that we really must bow to
public opinion, to this, that, and the other. Oh! you will never be
happy until the Holy Ghost has brought you to this,–that you will fear
God, and that you will fear no one else–that you will serve God with
undivided heart. I go further: I would not even serve the church if I
must have it for a master. I can serve God, I can serve Christ; for
Christ is a blessed master; but I would not advise any of you to make
the church your master. Wherever the church is we are all bound to
serve the brethren, to serve the church of Christ as we are bound to
assist in a common cause, but think not that even the dictum of the
church is to be your judge. Imagine not that even its praise is that
which you are to seek. You are to seek the praise of Christ. His church
may do wrong, his ministers may mistake, but Christ himself can never
be in error. Serve Christ–this is the practical exhortation from the
whole subject. My dear friends, you that love Christ, and have been
chosen by him from before the foundation of the world, who have been
bought with his blood, have been washed, and pardoned, and forgiven, if
Christ gives to you, not as the world gives then I beseech you serve
Christ better than worldlings serve the world. Oh, it is astonishing
what men have done to serve the world. They have rushed to the cannon's
mouth, and given their life to be food for powder, and they have
thought they were well rewarded with a little praise. Men, too, have
sweated at the furnace; they have spent their livings, have starved
their families, to invent some luxuries for the tables of the rich. Men
have undergone unheard of labors, toils that positively appal you to
read of, merely to become eminent in their profession, to be first in
the rank of artisans among which they were numbered.
When the world has a gulf to fill, it never lacks a Curtis to leap into
it, but Christ often sees his cause left and deserted by reason of the
coldness of his friends. There is many a battle wherein the warriors of
Christ turn their backs, though armed and carrying bows. I was thinking
yesterday, and the thought struck me forcibly, that one thousand eight
hundred years ago, or a little more, there were a few men met in an
upper chamber met for worship–about four hundred of them. They met,
and they prayed, and they preached, and there was a divine fire kindled
in their bosoms; and in a few years, they had preached the gospel in
every language under heaven, and the mass of the world became
professedly Christians. Now here is a room, not with four hundred
persons, but oftentimes filled with thousands, and yet, does the
religion of Christ progress as it should do? No. If there were but a
little, but a hundredth part of the zeal of Christ's disciples that
there was in olden times, before another year rolls round, there would
be missionaries in every town; the gospel would be preached in every
village of India, and China, and every other nation accessible to the
foot of the missionary. As it is we are an idle generation, a tribe of
dwarfs has succeeded to a race of giants, and now Christ's cause creeps
where it once ran, and only runs where once it was wont to fly as with
wings of lightning. Oh, that God would make bare his arm! And if ever
he does, the first sign of it will be that the church will begin to
serve Christ more zealously. Some will give their blood to die in the
preaching of the Word. Others will pour their wealth into coffers of
the church and every living soul, numbered in the family of Christ,
will spend itself and be spent for its Master's honor. "Not as the
world giveth, give I unto you." O Jesus, not as the world's followers
give, do we desire to give to thee. They give their lives but once, we
would "die daily;" they give much of their talent, we would give all.
Take our heart, and seal it, make it as thine own, that we may live to
thine honor, and die in thine arms, and sit upon thy throne with thee
for ever and ever.