The Love Of Jesus–What It Is–None But His Loved Ones Know

"The Love Of Jesus–What It Is–None But His Loved Ones Know"
A SERMON DELIVERED ON WEDNESDAY EVENING, JUNE 18, 1862, BY REV. C. H.
SPURGEON, AT SURREY CHAPEL, BLACKFRIARS ROAD.
"And to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge." Ephesians
3:19.
IT is the distinguishing mark of God's people that they know the love
of Christ. Without exception all those who have passed from death unto
life, whatever they may not know, have learned this. Without exception,
all those who are not saved, whatever they may know besides, know
nothing of this. An ungodly man may know something about Christ's love.
He may believe in the fact of it. He may perceive something of the
theory of it. He may even be able to follow Believers in certain'
expressions of its enjoyments.
But to know the love itself, to taste its sweets, to realize
personally, experimentally, and vitally, the love of Christ as shed
abroad in our hearts by the Holy Spirit, is the privilege of the child
of God, and of the child of God, alone. This is the secure enclosure
into which the stranger cannot enter. This is the garden of the Lord,
so well protected by walls and hedges that no wild boar of the woods
can enter. Only the redeemed of the Lord shall walk here. They, and
only they, may pluck the fruits and content themselves with the
delights thereof.
We may begin the exercises of this evening with a question of
self-examination, and we may continue them throughout the whole
service, trying to press that question home to your consciences–Do I
know the love of Christ? Have I felt it? Do I understand it? Do I feel
it now? Is it now shed abroad in my heart? Do I know that Jesus now
loves me? Is my heart quickened, and animated, and warmed, and
attracted towards Him through the great Truth of God that it recognizes
and rejoices in–that Christ really loves me, and has chosen me, and
set His heart upon me?
We have started the first point. Every child of God knows the love of
Christ. We advance another step. All the children of God do not know
this love to the same extent. There are in Christ's family babes, young
men, strong men, and a few who are fathers. Now, as they grow and
progress in all other matters, so they most certainly make advances
here. Indeed, an increase of love, a more perfect apprehension of
Christ's love, is one of the best and most infallible gauges whereby we
may test ourselves whether we have grown in Divine Grace or not.
If we have grown in Grace, it is absolutely certain that we shall have
advanced in our knowledge and reciprocation of the love of Christ. Many
here present have believed in Jesus and they know the love of Jesus.
But oh, they know it not as some others here do who have gone into the
inner chamber and have been made to drink of the spiced wine of
Christ's pomegranate! Some of you have begun to climb the mountain, and
the view which lies at your feet is lovely and passing fair. But the
landscape is not such as would greet your eyes if you could but stand
where advanced saints are standing now–and could look to the east and
to the west, to the north and to the south–and see all the lengths and
breadths and depths and heights of the love of Christ which passes
knowledge.
To change the figure–the love of Christ is comparable to Jacob's
ladder. Some of us are standing on the lower rungs, and there are
others who are ascending and who rest half way. Others, still, are
getting up so high that we can scarcely see them by reason of the
dimness of our sight. And there are some, perhaps at this hour, who
have just reached the topmost rung of this knowledge and are now
stepping, as it were, into the arms of Christ who awaits them at the
top! They have attained unto their perfection. Here they shall find
repose. They shall rest in His love and with the eternal songs of
Heaven they shall rejoice forever and forever.
I want, tonight, to bring you, who are the people of God, to the bottom
of the ladder. I want to encourage you to put your feet upon the first
rung of it. And then go step by step with you, till, I hope, before we
have done, if God the Holy Spirit is with us here, we shall have gotten
very high up that ladder. And then we shall go away hoping never to
come down again, only wishing, with Peter, that we may tarry on the
mount and build for us tabernacles that we may sit on the summit of the
mountain with our Lord forever.
I. Well then, to come first of all to the bottom of the ladder. One of
the lowest ways of knowing the love of Christ may be described as the
doctrinal method–very useful one–but nothing to be compared to those
that we shall have to mention afterwards. If a man would know the love
of Christ, he should endeavor to study the Word of God with care,
attention, constancy, and with dependence upon the Spirit's
illumination that he may be enabled to understand aright.
It is well for a Christian man to be thoroughly established in the
faith once delivered to the saints. It is an ill day for a man when he
ceases to hold fast to the form of sound words which was delivered to
us by Christ Himself and His holy Apostles. Depend upon it, doctrinal
ignorance will always make Churches weak. But where saints are fed upon
the finest of the wheat, and are made to suck of the honey out of the
rock, and to eat of the manna and fatness of Gospel doctrine, they
will, all other things being equal, become the strongest and most
valiant Believers on the face of the earth.
There is a tendency in these times to depreciate the value of Gospel
doctrines. Oh, I beseech you, be not led astray by this error. There
are in the Word of God certain things really taught. Do not believe
that the Bible is a lump of wax to be shaped just as you please. Do not
imagine that, "Yes," is right, and that "No," which contradicts it, is
right, too. The Lord has written this Book intending to teach us
something, and a moderate understanding, sanctified by the teaching of
the Holy Spirit, will enable you to know what the Lord does mean to
teach you, especially upon such a vital point as this. Do not, I
beseech you, say, "Oh, it does not much matter what doctrines I hold."
You are as much responsible for using your judgment as you are for
using your hands and your feet. God never did free a conscience from
His jurisdiction. Conscience is free, but not before God. You have a
right to your convictions as far as I am concerned. But if your
convictions are wrong, you have no right to them before God. There are
certain things that are Truths of God, and there are others that are
contradictions–see that you get fast hold of Wisdom–and that you do
not let her go.
There is a tendency, however, on the other hand in certain quarters, to
make doctrinal knowledge everything. I have seen, to my inexpressible
grief, the Doctrines of Grace made a huge stone to be rolled at the
mouth of the sepulcher of a dead Christ. And I have seen sound
doctrine, so called, made as a very seal to seal in the dead Christ,
lest by any means the energy of His Grace should come out for the
salvation of sinners. Oh, what is doctrine, after all, but a throne
whereon Christ sits? And when that throne is vacant, what is the throne
to us? It is the Monarch and not the throne that we reverence and
esteem.
Doctrines are but as the shovel and the tongs of the altar, while
Christ is the smoking sacrifice. Doctrines are Christ's
garments–verily they all smell of myrrh and cassia and aloes out of
ivory palaces, whereby they make us glad–but it is not the garments we
care for so much as for the Person, the very Person of our Lord Jesus
Christ. And therefore, while I entreat you, (and I hope not to be
misunderstood here), while I entreat you to be very jealous and earnest
in attaining unto a clear doctrinal knowledge of the love of Christ to
His people, yet when you have got it, do not say–"I am the man! I have
attained to eminence. I may now sit still and be content."
Sirs, this is but the threshold. This is but one of the first arches of
a long vista of glorious Truths of God. This is but the lowest step of
the ascent. You have but sat down on the lowest form in the school. You
have much to learn yet! Oh, be not wise in your own conceits, lest you
lose the blessed things which as yet have not been discovered by you.
Verily it is a sweet thing to know Christ's love in the doctrine, and
to understand that it is without beginning. That it existed when as yet
this world had not been made. When sun and moon and stars slept in the
mind of God, like unborn forests in an acorn cup. When as yet the
solemnity of silence had never been startled by the songs of seraphs,
and the wings of cherubs had never stirred the unnavigated ether! It is
delightful to believe that–
"Before the day star knew its place, Or planets went their round, The
saints in bonds of So vereign Grace, Were one with Jesus found."
Equally precious is it to know the doctrine that this love is without
end. When all we see around us shall have passed away, as the foam
dissolves into the waves that bear it, the love of Christ to His people
shall be the same. And on and on and on throughout eternity He shall
never cast them from His heart. Sweet, too, is it, passing sweet, to
know that He loves them without change and without limit. That He loves
them because He will love them. That He loves them not for anything in
them, but simply because He has so much love in His heart that He must
let it out–and that He ordains to let it flow forth to them that they
may rejoice in it.
All this is precious but, O Brothers and Sisters, if you only know
these things as they stand in the creed book–if you only understand
them as you find them in the catechism–I tell you that you know
nothing yet as you ought to know. If this is all your knowledge, you
have just begun to learn. May God help you to go further, and to mount
to higher and clearer regions than these. It is a blessed privilege to
know Christ doctrinally, but it is only the beginning, the
stepping-stone to something better, even as love longs for intimacy.
II. And what next? Let us lift our feet and take another step. True
saints know Christ's love gratefully and thankfully, having experienced
it. O dear Friends! Let me refresh your memories and tell you what you
do know, rather than attempt to say anything which might be new to you.
Do you remember the place, the spot of ground where Jesus met with you?
Some of us do. Oh, that day of days! That first day of our spiritual
life! Other days have lost their freshness in our recollection, but
this one is like a coin newly minted from time, though it is years ago
with some of us. Oh, that day! That marriage day! That feast day! That
day of Heaven on earth! Our soul was burdened and bowed down to the
very dust, and we thought we should soon descend into the pit where
despair would be our portion forever. But as we went mourning on our
way, we heard a voice saying to us–
"Come here soul, I am the way."
We turned our eyes to see what way this could be, when lo, we saw One
nailed to a Cross. We marked the blood as it flowed from His hands and
feet and side. We saw His eyes as they looked on us with inexpressible
compassion. And we heard Him as He opened His lips and said, "Come unto
Me, you weary one, and I will give you rest." Oh, do you remember when
you looked unto Him and when you came to trust Him–just as you
were–with your soul? You had been learning about Christ, perhaps, for
years. You had been taught about Him. You had got some knowledge of Him
and some desire towards Him. But did you not learn more of Christ in
one five minutes then, than you could have learned in a whole course of
college education in theology, in years before?
And since that time, dear Friends, have we not learned Christ's love
thankfully to a very high degree? Day after day He comes to us. Night
after night He draws the curtains of our bed. He is ever with us and
all that He has is ours. He talks sweetly to us by the way, and He sits
down by us in our afflictions and comforts us, and makes our hearts to
burn within us. And as we think of all that He has done for us, we feel
we do know something of Him, for gratitude has been our schoolmaster.
I know some Christians say they do not feel the love of Christ so much
now as they did at first. Oh, shame on you, Brethren, shame on you, if
this is true! What? When you owed Him for one mercy, did you love Him?
And now when you owe Him for fifty thousand, do you love Him less? Why,
if it is true that saints grow necessarily colder and colder, then it
does not say much for their estimation of Christ. It would make Him out
to be like some people we know, who are very agreeable to see once in a
while, but we should not like to live with them long.
Let me share my witness that my Lord and Master improves upon
acquaintance. The more I know of Him, the more I wish to know. And I
think I do but speak the mind of all the Lord's people when I declare
that instead of having less love to Him, the more I experience of His
favor, the more warm is my heart towards Him. "Alas," says one, "but I
do not feel as I once did." Well, dear Friend, it may be that you make
some mistake in reference to your own experience. When the passion of
love was first lighted in your breast, there was, as it were, a blaze
of the match, the paper and the wood, although the coals had not yet
ignited.
Yours was then the flush of joy, but not the vehement heat. Now your
heart is all on fire like a solid ruby. There is much more heat, though
there is less blaze. So it is with some young converts. The first love
they have is wildfire, and to tell you the truth, I would rather have
wildfire than no fire at all. But as men grow older in Divine Grace,
the fire will not diminish in intensity, if God has kindled it. But
perhaps the flash and the flame, the glitter and the noise, may not be
quite so palpable.
Yet I fear that if you do not love Christ better than you did. If you
do not feel that there are new tendrils which bind you to Him. If you
do not feel that it would be harder now than ever to give up your hold
on the Savior, you have not begun to learn the love of Christ. When we
know that love, when we feel gratitude for mercies received, then we
see every mercy, both temporal and spiritual, coming from that love.
Ungrateful souls cannot learn this love. They have the book of mercy
but they are blind and cannot read it. Grateful souls, in every letter
from Jesus, their absent Friend, whom having not seen, they love, and
in every book of daily fellowship, and of daily mercy, read again that
glittering sentence– "He loved me and gave Himself for me."
III. Let us pass on to the third step, we have not got far yet. We are
only as schoolboys at our first school, and we have now to go on to
something higher. The true children of God know Christ's love in a way
which I can only describe by the word practically. If any man would
know His doctrine, let him keep His commandments. You know if a man is
to be taught to swim, you could not teach him in Surrey Chapel. You
might get the most skillful master in the world who should come and
explain the way in which he should spread his hands and move his feet,
but he never can be taught to swim on dry land.
And we cannot make Christians know Christ except by imitating Christ
and by obeying Christ. When soldiers are wanted, the best place to make
them is, doubtless, the battlefield. If we would have veterans, there
must be the smoke and the smell of powder, for great commanders are not
to be manufactured in Hyde Park. And we cannot expect to have men who
shall win victories, drawn out from mere loungers at the clubs. They
must attend the drills, and by practice become qualified for their
duties. A young man cannot learn farming by the study of books. To read
books may be useful, if he takes them as companions to the great book
of nature.
He must be made apprentice to some farmer who sends him out into the
fields to see how they plow, how they sow, how they mow, how they reap,
and how they house their corn. By entering practically into the various
toils and duties, he becomes skilled in them. Just so, if we would
learn Christ, we must be practically engaged in His service. We must
learn His love by keeping His Commandments. You may sit in these pews
and be preached to every Sunday. You may hear God's Truth plainly and
simply unfolded. But if you want to learn, and learn in such a way that
you never will forget, it is the back streets that must teach you, the
lodging houses, the haunts of poverty, and the dens of vice.
If any man would know the love of Christ, let him go where Christ went
and to the place where a Savior is needed. Let him carry Christ's light
to give light to others, and it shall enlighten himself. Let him go
forth to water other men's vineyards, and his own soul shall be
watered, also. Whatever his Master bids him do, let him do it, and he
shall learn his Master's will while he is doing his Master's will. But
when men, at the very outset, make a profession of religion and then
disobey Christ–when they refuse to keep His Commandments–when they
say of this one, "It is non-essential." And of the next, "It is
unnecessary."
And when they say of some duty, "Well, I can leave that to others." And
of some sphere of action for which they are especially adapted, "I need
not attend to that. Others can do that quite as well"–when men, I say,
enlist into Christ's army and begin at once to refuse to march as they
are told, and decline to go out to battle when the Captain gives them
the command–it is a sure sign that they never will learn much of their
Master, their Captain and their Lord. If you had asked Whitfield in his
day, how he came to know so much about Christ's love, I think he would
have said that he learned more of it when he stood in Moorfields, or on
Kennington Common, when the dead cats and filth were thrown at him as
he preached Christ, than he ever learned in his bedchamber, or even in
his closet.
If you had asked Rowland Hill how it was that he had learned so much of
the love of Christ, I think he would have told you that he learned it
while he was speaking to the poor, and to the needy, and while he was
condescending to men of low estate, that by any means he might win
some. Why, if a man should want to know about slavery, he might go and
hear a lecture by an escaped slave and it would be very well for him to
do so. But if he could go to the place where the whip is cracking, and
the back is bleeding, and see the thing for himself–then he would
understand the cruelty of slavery, indeed.
So, if a man would know the love of Christ, he must lay himself out to
discover the deformity of sin, and the awful degradation into which
crime casts mankind. And then he will know that love which stoops from
the highest Heaven, reaches down to the gates of the deepest Hell,
thrusts its arms up to the very elbows in the mire to pull these
accursed ones out of the pit of distraction and make them blessed
forever among the shining ones before the Truth of God. Strict and
practical obedience to the Master's commands gives an amount of
knowledge which is not to be attained by sentiments of gratitude, much
less by systems of doctrine.
This is a higher stage of Divine Grace, though not much higher. Yet, I
would to God that more of us had even got here, for I fear there are
many who have a name to live but who do not obey Christ. Many, perhaps,
to whom the minis- ter's command would be more potent than Christ's
command, and upon whom the law of the land would have far more
influence than the Law of Christ. A Believer ought to be such a one
that a mere word from Christ is enough for him. Or, as a Quaker was
likely to express it, his heart should be like a cork upon the waters,
which every undulation of the waves would affect. Thus should his heart
float, as it were, in the Spirit's influences, till every motion of the
Holy Spirit, every Law and wish of Christ should affect him instantly.
I would be passively active–if you can comprehend such a
contradiction–I would be passive, so as never to have will or wish of
my own. And active, so as to have the will and wish of Christ impelling
me always to keep His commands. When a man comes here, he begins to
show real progress in knowing "the love of Christ which passes
knowledge."
IV. There is a fourth and higher stage, by far, than these. There is a
way, not known to many moderns, but much practiced by the ancients, of
knowing the love of Christ by contemplation. Do you know that in the
early ages of the Church they spoke more of Christ and of His Person,
and thought more of Him than we do? When I have sometimes read the
fathers, and some of the devotional books of Believers who are not much
known, I have frequently had to say, "Well, I do not see much here
about justification by faith, but I see a great deal about the efficacy
of the precious blood."
I do not read, perhaps, about the pardon of sin, but I read about the
blood-shedding, and about being washed therein. The early preachers
preached not so much of the Atonement–though they preached it–it was
the five wounds, the bloody sweat, the Cross, and the passion. We talk
of the fruits and the effects. They seem to speak of the first great
cause–the Man, the Christ, the Cross, the vinegar, the nails, the
spear, the cry of, "It is finished," the "Lama Sabac-thani," the burial
and the Resurrection. And in those times, whether or not it was that
men had not so much to do as they have now, I cannot tell, but they
found time to have long seasons of contemplation. And they would sit
alone and worship and draw near to Christ and steadily fix their gaze
upon His Person.
To them He was a real Person, whom the eye of their faith could see as
clearly as the eye of sense can see outward objects. They looked, and
looked, and looked again, till the love of Christ grew brighter to them
than the sun at his meridian, and for very dimness of mortal sight they
veiled their faces and paused their speech–while their souls were
bathed in inward joy and peace unspeakable. There have been some such
in these later times but not many. There was Isaac Ambrose, author of
that book, "Looking Unto Jesus." He was pastor of a Church at Preston,
in Lancashire, and, "it was his usual custom once a year," says Dr.
Calumy, "for the space of a month to retire into a little hut in a
wood. And avoiding all human converse, to devote himself to
contemplation."
It was true he then only had eleven months in the year to preach, but
those eleven were a great deal better than the twelve would otherwise
have been. For there, alone with his Master, he received such riches
from Him, that when he came back, he threw about jewels with both his
hands and scattered glorious thoughts and words broadcast in his
ministry. That book, "Looking Unto Jesus," is a blessed memorial of his
quiet hours and his secret communion with Jesus.
Then there was Rutherford, the man who has expounded the whole of
Solomon's Song without knowing it, in his celebrated letters. When he
was in the dungeon at Aberdeen, he exclaimed, first of all, "I had only
one eye and they put that out." It was the preaching of the Gospel, and
before long he has got both his eyes back again. Hear him writing in
his letters, "My foes thought to punish me by casting me into a prison
but lo! they have blessed me by taking me into Christ's withdrawing
room, where I sit with Him and am with Him both night and day without
disturbance."
The expressions he sometimes uses are so rapturous that I would not
quote them here. Love letters are not to be read in the streets, and
the words which souls inflamed with heavenly fire sometimes use towards
Christ are not fit for public repetition. For there are passages of
love, there are street embraces of affection which we must not tell,
for this were to commit a treason such as Paul might have done if he
had told on earth those words which he had heard in Heaven, and which
it would not be lawful for a man to utter here.
Do you know anything about this, dear Friends? Oh, I pray you do not
think I dream! These things are realities. I pray you think not that I
am enthusiastic or fanatical. There are many Believers who could tell
you that it is their daily delight to be much with Christ. Oh, perhaps
some of you know what it is to have Christ with you in your shop. Your
hands are busy weighing your goods or measuring out your wares, but
Christ is with you, and your hearts are content. Or, as I remember
hearing an old saint say one Sunday, when he was preaching from that
text he pronounced so strangely, "When I saw Him I fell at His feet as
dead."
"Ah," he said, "you do not know where I live. You think I live at
so-and-so, in such-and-such a street, but I do not, for I am dead, and
my life is hid with Christ in God." Now there are some saints who,
though they are in the world, are dead to it. It has no attractions for
them. It cannot get their hearts. Their hearts are with Jesus. They are
not here. And they have sent their souls onward to that place where
their bodies are one day to go, to the Throne where Jesus sits and
reigns.
I remember hearing these expressions once used at a Prayer Meeting.
They struck my mind and they still abide in my memory. A Brother had
been praying and had asked a very great benefit. "O Lord," he said,
"give me Mary's place–
'Oh, that I might forever sit With Mary at the Master's feet, Be this
my happy choice.'
Lord, I would sit at Your feet and hear what You have to say and
receive it as a willing scholar receives his master's words." I thought
he would stop there but he said, "No, Lord, I have not asked enough. I
have not asked according to the royalty of Your nature. Lift me higher!
Lift me higher! Not at Your feet would I sit, but I would lean upon
Your breast. Oh, put me where John was, so I may lean my head upon Your
bosom. Let me not merely learn the Truth You teach, but may I feel Your
heart beat and know Your love to me–
'Oh that I might with holy John
Forever lean my head upon
The bosom of my Lord.' "
Well now, I thought that second prayer was a noble one. But he had yet
a third one to offer and he said, "No, Lord, no. That is not enough. I
have not asked yet according to the tenor of Your promise. You have
lifted me from Your feet to your breast, now lift me higher, to your
lips." And then he quoted the words of the song–"Let Him kiss me with
the kisses of His mouth, for His love is better than wine." And he very
beautifully paraphrased it like this–"Lord, let me give to You the
tokens of my love, and receive from You the present tokens of Your love
to me. And not only know it, and feel Your heart beat, but receive the
token of it as my lips of prayer meet Your lips of blessing, and my
lips of thanksgiving touch Your lips of benediction."
Oh, there are heights and depths in this blessed contemplative life
which I must not tell you here! And I thank God that there are some men
who, though they go very far wrong in doctrine, are very right on this
point. And if they are right here, verily, they are right in the
essentials. When a man can come right up to Christ and throw his arms
around Him. When he can say, "That blood is mine. That Christ is my
joy. His love is my love. His Presence is my Heaven, His Character is
my great example. I trust in Him, and I love Him"–that man may say
fifty things that are not right, but he has said the things that are
essentially right–and his soul is safe.
"Well," says one, "I shall never get to know Christ's love by
contemplation. I have no time." Ah, you had better have an hour's less
sleep than lose this blessed contemplation of Christ. "Oh but I have so
much to do." Dear Friends, we can sometimes do more in one half an hour
than we can do at other times in hours, according to the tenor of our
minds. Now, I think that contemplating Christ winds up the soul and
puts it into a right frame, so that when we come back we can do more
for the Master than we ever did before.
Perhaps you have seen them driving piles in the marshes. There is a
large piece of timber that has to be driven deep into the ground, and
you have seen those pile-driving machines. There is an immense weight
and they pull it up, and up and up, before they let it fall. Now, if
they only pull it up a little way and then let it drop–well it comes
down with some force–but not a great deal. But when they lift it as
high as ever they can draw it up and then let it come down at once, why
what a drive it gives the pile! It is the going up that gives it such
force in coming down.
And I believe that those are the best sermons for driving the Truth of
God into the sinner's heart that come from ministers who have been
wound up very high before they come down in the sermon. And I think
your usefulness will be sure to be powerful and mighty, if in private
you are wound up to the very summit of contemplative delight by
thinking of the work, the sufferings, and the triumphs of Christ.
Certainly the sweetness of it alone is reward, and then the benefit
which follows will be a sevenfold recompense for a most pleasant
exercise.
V. Well now, we have taken you up some height but we must prepare for a
flight which is higher, still. To know the love of Christ which passes
knowledge by contemplation is very high–but there is a higher stage
than this. There are times when I almost fear to speak of these things,
but there are some here, surely, who will understand me, some here who
have passed through the same state, and will not think that I am
dreaming. There are times when the soul has long contemplated Christ,
and there are some who know not only to contemplate but to enjoy. Even
on earth, faith sometimes gives place to a present and conscious
enjoyment.
There are times with the Believer when whether he is in the body, or
out of the body, he can scarcely tell. God knows, and though not caught
up to the third Heaven, he is brought to the very gates, and if not
permitted to see Christ on His Throne, he does so see Him on His Cross,
that if an infidel should say to him, "There is no Christ," he could
say, "I have seen Him. My eyes have looked upon Him, and my hands have
touched Him after a spiritual sort." There are many such rapturous
seasons as this on record in the biographies of good men. I shall quote
but one or two, and I hope there are some here who have known them in
their own experience.
In the life of Mr. Flavel, who was one of the most temperate of the
Puritans, and one not at all given to anything like fanaticism, there
is an event mentioned which once occurred to him. He said that being
once on a journey alone on horseback, the thought of the love of Christ
came upon him with great power. And as he rode gently along the road,
the thought seemed to increase in force and strength, till at last he
forgot all about earth, and even where he was. Somehow or other his
horse stood still but he did not notice it. And when he came to
himself, through some passerby observing him, he found that he had bled
very copiously during the time. Getting off his horse he washed his
face at the brook and he said, "I did verily think as I stood there,
that if I was not in Heaven, I could hardly hope to be more blessed in
Heaven than I was then."
He mounted his horse and rode on to a place of lodging where he was to
pass the night. Supper was brought in but left untasted on the table.
He sat all night long without sleep, enjoying the presence of Christ,
and he says, "I was more rested that night than with any sleep I ever
had, and I heard and saw in my soul, by faith, such things as I had
never known before." The like occurred to Mr. Tennant, who was a man
who spent many hours in private, and sometimes, when it was time to
preach, he was quite unable to stand unless first carried into his
pulpit. Then he would put his hands out and lean there and say such
glorious things of Christ, that those who looked upon him verily
thought that they looked upon the face of an angel.
Rutherford, too, is another specimen. When he preached about Christ, he
preached so wonderfully, that on any other subject he was not at all
like himself. And the Duke of Argyle was once so warmed when Rutherford
got upon that subject, that he cried out in Church–"Now, Man, you are
on the right strain! Keep to it." And he did keep to it, and the little
man's thin voice seemed to swell with supernatural grandeur when he
began to talk of his precious, precious Lord Jesus, and to extol and
exalt Him who was the Bridegroom of his soul, his Brother and his
blessed Companion.
"Oh, these are flights of the imagination," you say. Yes, they may be,
indeed, Beloved. But if you could get them some times, you would come
back to the world's cares and troubles like giants refreshed with new
wine, caring nothing for anything that might happen. Christ would be so
sweetly and blessedly within you, that you could bear the burden and
think nothing of it. And though the grasshopper was a burden before,
you could now carry it right readily.
Well, I have taken you up to where not many go in these times, but I
hope there are some who will yet ascend there till they shall even
embrace Christ, and who will sit down at His table till they shall know
Ralph Erskine's blessed sickness of love and, in the conscious
enjoyment of a precious Savior, shall say in the words of the spouse,
"Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
His left hand is under my head and His right hand does embrace me."
VI. But I want to take you higher than this. Not higher in some senses,
but higher, really, for these raptures are, of course, only like
angels' visits, few and far between. But here is something which may be
more lasting and which, certainly, is a higher state of mind as to the
knowledge of Christ. To know Christ sympathetically, is a yet higher
stage than any to which we have attained before. What do I mean by
this? I will show you, first of all, what I do not mean. We will
suppose ourselves standing on the brow of the hill with Jerusalem in
the alley below. Jerusalem is to be destroyed by the Romans. The decree
has gone forth that its sin must be punished.
Now, here is a Brother who holds very high doctrines in his head, but
who has not much sympathy in his heart. Come up here, Brother. Do you
see that city there? That is all to be destroyed! Do you see its
streets? They are all to be crimsoned with blood! Do you see its
temple? Not one stone of it is to be left upon another! What do you
think of it? "Well," he says, "if they are to be saved, they will be
saved. If it is in the purpose and the decree it will be so. I am sure
I am very sorry if they should not be, but I do not see that it is any
particular business of mine. The Lord will have His own and it will all
be well."
Get down, Sir! What do you know about the love of Christ? Nothing! Give
such a man as you that text, "He beheld the city and wept over it," and
you would not know how to preach from it, for you do not know the
Savior's heart, and have not known His love.
But bring here another man. He holds the same doctrinal truths, but he
looks down on the city and what does he say?–
"Oh, gladly my pity would reclaim
And snatch the firebrands from the flame."
"Lord, what must I do? Give me anything to do for them! My heart's
desire and prayer for them is that they may be saved." And the tears
begin to flow, and when he turns to the Book and reads that Jesus
beheld the city and wept over it and said, "If you at least in this,
your day, had known the things which belong unto your peace," he says,
"Well, I do not know how to explain that to my doctrinal friend. I do
not know how to make these feelings quite square and tally with the
doctrine. But somehow or other I know there is no disagreement, for I
feel the one is true, and I also feel the sympathy in my heart. I know
that God will have His own, but I hope He will have them through my
instrumentality. I believe that His chosen will be brought in, but, O
that it may be my happy lot to bring in some of them to the praise and
the glory of
His Grace!"
"Why," some professors say, "I am not my Brother's keeper." No, but if
you are not, I tell you what you are–you are your Brother's killer!
You are one of the two. If you say are not your Brother's keeper, rest
assured that you are a Cain, and that you will be your Brother's
murderer–for we either do good or hate. It is impossible for us to be
devoid of influence. If the rill runs through the marshes it makes them
fertile. If you dam it up and make it stagnant, you have not destroyed
its influence. Ah, no, you have only changed it into a fetid pool and
its influence shall curse the valley with disease.
So with a good man. If he serves his Master, he is scattering mercy
abroad. But let him, if it were possible for him to do so, let him
cease to serve the Lord, and become idle, and then he scatters plague
and death. Oh, do we know the love of Christ by feeling it in our own
hearts? There are some of us who can say that we have felt that we
could do anything for souls. When we have heard it said of the Master,
"He saved others, Himself He cannot save," we have felt that we would
not spare ourselves if God would only spare them. And when Paul said he
could wish himself accursed from Christ for his Brethren, while
commentators have been thinking that over, and cannot make it out, we
have had sympathy with it and have been able to say, "We have felt the
same."
We have felt that we could even be lost to save others and we have
said, "Let my name perish. Let me be forgotten if my congregation may
only be saved. If my children may be blessed. If my hearers may be
converted to God." Men in this state know Christ's love after a
wonderful and marvelous sort. May God teach you each this way. May He
help you to weep like Christ, to work like Christ–yes, and to be ready
to die like Christ–if it were necessary by such means to bring sinners
to their Savior and their Lord. O that we could get here!
I know my dear Brother, the pastor of this Church, would desire nothing
more for you than that you might know Christ's love by feeling it in
your hearts. O that Christ would come and look out of these eyes and
weep down these cheeks! O that He would speak through these lips, till
it should not be the old self, man, that thought, and spoke, and
acted–but the new-born Spirit of the Lord Jesus that had come into us
and possessed us with a higher and a nobler life–that we might spend
and be spent for Him!
I think I shall have but one step further to take you, though there are
some which are higher still. Before I do so I must tell you one
anecdote to guard you against a possible mistake. There is a tendency,
in the contemplative knowledge of Christ's love, to self-indulgence. I
know at the present moment a dear servant of Christ. I shall always
regard him as such. He may be known to some of you, though I would not
like to mention his name. He was once a notable minister in this city
and was exceedingly useful. He began the contemplative life.
He lived very near to Christ and his preaching was exceedingly sweet to
his hearers. There were many converts. He had a large Church and it
exceedingly prospered. But so sweet were his private enjoyments that he
began to relax in his public duties. He did preach, but he seldom
allowed himself to see his hearers, and at last arrived at such a pitch
of re- tirement, that he could walk into his pulpit without even
speaking to his deacons, and then deliver himself. But the man's
usefulness ceased. Though still a gracious soul, yet he has missed his
way, and ceased to be one of the honored leaders of Christ's Church.
Now, there is a tendency, a wrong tendency, mark you, of getting so
high and not wanting to get any higher. Even the contemplative life,
itself, ought only to be considered as a steppingstone to something
beyond. And when we get to the very highest point, we are still to say
with Paul, as we sit down upon the milestone, "Not as though I had
already attained, either were already perfect: but this one thing I do,
forgetting the things which are behind, press forward to those which
are before."
It is related of a certain monk, who, having been long in his cell
alone, thought while in his devotions that he saw the Lord Jesus. Of
course the tale is a fable, but I relate it for the sake of its moral.
He thought he saw the Lord before him as crucified, and he heard His
voice speaking sweet and comfortable words to him. Just at that moment,
when his soul was in a very flood of delight, he heard the convent bell
ring, and he remembered it was his turn to go out to the gate and give
away bread to the beggars who stood there.
Oh, he had never heard that bell ring so dolefully before! It seemed to
him like the knell of all his joys. The impulse of duty, however, was
stronger than that of delight, and he went his way with a heavy heart
to distribute the bread. As he came back to his cell, he thought, "Ah,
I shall never see that again! Christ is gone from me, and I shall never
know these enjoyments again!" When, to his surprise, there was the
vision still. As he bowed before it with delight, he heard a voice
which said, "If you had stayed I would have gone. But since you did My
work I tarried to give you your reward."
Now, there is a tendency, when we have been alone and in private, and
have had sweet fellowship with Christ, for us to feel–"I do not want
to go out from this. I do not want to be disturbed just now. I would
rather not do anything just now." I do not suppose there are very many
of you who get into this state, but there may be some who think at such
times, "I do not want to preach today. I would rather not do anything.
It is best that I should be alone."
Ah, it is a strong temptation, and you must strive against it and say,
"No, I have enjoyments in my religion, but I did not seek my religion
for the enjoyment it would give me. I must look higher than that, to
the God I serve, and to the Lord and Master whose I am. I love the
jewels He gives me to wear upon my fingers, but I love His Person
better. I am not to look upon these rings and forget to look into His
eyes. I love the sweet couch that He makes for me at night, but I am
not to lie there and forget the fields that are to be plowed and the
battles that are to be fought. I must be up and doing. The
contemplative life must lead me to duty and then shall I know Christ
even as I am known.
VII. And now, the last and highest step of all, upon which we can only
say a few words, is that which is called by deep writers and
experienced Believers on this point, the absorbing love of Christ. How
shall I tell you what this is? I cannot, except I quote Wesley's
words–
"Oh, love Divine, how sweet you are! When shall I find my willing heart
All taken up with you?"
"I thirst"–can you get as far as that? "I faint"–that is a high
state, indeed! "/die"–that is the top–
"I thirst, I faint, I die to prove The fullness of redeeming love, The
love of Christ to me."
"I live. Yet not I, but Christ lives in me," said the Apostle Paul, and
that is where we must get–when the man ceases to feel himself, the
"I"–and only recognizes himself as part of Christ. It is our
individuality that we really have to get rid of in this matter. It is
our selfish separateness, I mean. We need to feel that we are a part of
Christ, a member of His body, flesh of His flesh and bone of His bone.
We have to get to where we have no more desire to act, or think, or
feel according to anything that is here–but to send our hearts up to
the great heart of Christ in Heaven–only tarrying here while our souls
are walking the golden streets with Christ. I do not know if I might be
bold enough to say, "Blessed is the man who shall be able to attain to
the state when that which thinks is the head of Christ, and that which
feels is the heart of Christ–when the great seat of all the
sensations, spiritually, is in Christ, and not in himself and he
himself is–
"Plunged into the Godhead's sea And lost in its immensity."
"The Brahmins believe that the highest perfection is to be absorbed
into God, and there is a certain truth in it, though not as they mean
it. When we are lost in God we are highest. When it is not we, but
Christ–and we have come to be with Him and His heart is ours, and His
love and soul, and wish are ours–then it is that we comprehend the
height and depth and length and breadth and know the love of Christ
which passes knowledge.
Now, I have not said much tonight to the ungodly. But if I could make
any of you feel your mouths a-watering after Christ by what I have
said, I should be pleased, indeed. Oh, if you did but know the
sweetness of the love of Christ, you would not be careless about it–
"His worth, if all the nations knew, Surely the whole world would love
Him, too." Blind bat's eyes are those that cannot see beauty in Christ!
Hard, stony hearts, that cannot feel any love to Him! What do you say,
Sinner? Do you say, "O that I knew Christ's love! O that I knew His
love to me!" Sinner, He has sent me to you tonight to preach His
Gospel. And it is His Gospel, though not the Gospel which some preach,
for I have heard some finish their sermons thus–"Go home and pray. Go
home and do your best to find Christ."
All this is good enough advice but it is not the Gospel. The Gospel
is–"Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved." Believe
in the Lord Jesus Christ. To believe in Christ is to trust in Him. That
is all it is–to trust in Him. "But I must repent," one says.
Repentance is a change of mind, and is a blessed fruit of faith and
comes with faith. That repentance which comes before faith is not true
repentance, for it is a repentance that needs to be repented of. Where
there is no faith, it is impossible to please God.
That repentance which has no faith in it must be displeasing to God,
and needs to be repented of. The first business you have, Sinner, is
not to feel anything, but to put your trust in Christ. Your business is
not to try to make yourselves fit to come to Christ, but to come to Him
just as you are. You are to trust Christ and to trust Him now. "Oh but
I am a black with sin!" Come and be washed. "Oh but I am a naked
sinner." Come and be clothed. "But I am lost." Oh, Sirs, the Master has
come to seek and to save that which is lost. You are not to find
yourselves first, and then think He will come and find you. He is come
to seek you.
Hark! While the trumpet sounds in the street without meaning, I would
sound the Gospel trumpet here. Come and welcome! Come just as you are!
To come is to trust and simply to fall flat at the foot of the Cross
and say, "Jesus, I trust You to save me." That done, you are saved, and
your sin is gone. He took it and was punished for it. You are righteous
in God's sight, for His righteousness is yours, and you are saved.
Christ, the Head, is your Representative. You are delivered. Christ has
broken the neck of your foe, and you are emancipated the very moment
when you believe.
Some persons dislike instantaneous conversions. Let them read the Bible
and see what sorts of conversion are there. There is Saul of Tarsus,
there is the Philippian jailer. There are the three thousand on the day
of Pentecost–these are all instantaneous conversions. There is a man
over there, near the door, who came in here. Perhaps he did not know
what for, or to listen to some strange, out-of-the-way matter. That
man, if Christ shall meet with him tonight, and lead him in the way of
His Grace, may go out of this Chapel as much saved as if it were seven
years ago when he first believed on Jesus, for–
"The moment a sinner believes And trusts in a crucified God," he is
saved, it is all done! The work is finished and there is no need that
anything else should be done. The robe of righteousness has been
completed. There is not a stitch to be added to it.
Sinner, this is the glory of the Gospel. Trust Jesus and you are saved
and saved forever, beyond the reach of destruction. May God meet with
some soul here tonight, and especially may He now stir up you, His
people, to grow in Divine Grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and
Savior Jesus Christ. Amen and Amen.