The Sheep and Their Shepherd

Delivered by

C. H. SPURGEON,

At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington

"My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me."–John
10:27.

CHRISTIANS ARE HERE compared to sheep. Not a very flattering comparison
you may say; but then we do not wish to be flattered, nor would our
Lord deem it good to flatter us, While far from flattering, it is,
however, eminently consoling, for of all creatures there are not any
more compassed about with infirmity than sheep. In this frailty of
their nature they are a fit emblem of ourselves; at least, of so many
of us as have believed in Jesus and become his disciples. Let others
boast how strong they are; yet if there be strong ones anywhere,
certainly we are weak. We have proved our weakness, and day by day we
lament it. We do confess our weakness; yet may we not repine at it,
for, as Paul said, so we find, when we are weak then are we strong.
Sheep have many wants, yet they are very helpless, and quite unable to
provide for themselves. But for the shepherd's cure they would soon
perish. This, too, is our case. Our spiritual needs are numerous and
pressing, Yet we cannot supply any of them. We are travelers through a
wilderness that yields us neither food nor water. Unless our bread drop
down from heaven, and our water flow out of the living rock, we must
die. Our weakness and our want we keenly feel: still we have no cause
to murmur, since the Lord knows our poor estate, and succours us with
the tenderest care. Sheep, too, are silly creatures, and in this
respect likewise we are very sheepish. We meekly own it to him who is
ready to guide us. We say, as David said, "O God, thou knowest my
foolishness;" and he says to us as he said to David, "I will instruct
thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go." If Christ were not
our wisdom, we should soon fall a prey to the destroyer. Every grain of
true wisdom that we possess we have derived from him; of ourselves we
are dull and giddy; folly is bound up in our heart. The more conscious
you are, dear brethren, of your own deficiencies, your lack of stamina,
discretion, sagacity, and all the instincts of self-preservation, the
more delighted you will be to see that the Lord accepts you under these
conditions, and calls you the people of his pasture and the sheep of
his hand. He discerns you as you are, claims you as his own, foresees
all the ills to which you are exposed, yet tends you as his flock, sets
store by every lamb of the fold, and so feeds you according to the
integrity of his heart, and guides you by the skilfulness of his hands.
"I will feed my flock, and I will cause them to lie down, saith the
Lord God." Oh, what sweet music there is to us in the name which is
given to our Lord Jesus Christ of "the good Shepherd"! It not only
describes the office he holds, but it sets forth the sympathy he feels,
the aptness he shows, and the responsibility he bears to promote our
well-being. What if the sheep be weak, yet is the shepherd strong to
guard his flock from the prowling wolf or the roaring lion. If the
sheep suffer privation because the soil is barren, yet is the shepherd
able to lead them into pasturage suitable for them. If they be foolish,
yet he goes before them, cheers them with his voice, and rules them
with the rod of his command. There cannot be a flock without a
shepherd; neither is there a shepherd truly without a flock. The two
must go together. They are the fullness of each other. As the church is
the fullness of him that filleth all in all, so we rejoice to remember
that "of his fullness have all we received, and grace for grace." That
I am like a sheep is a sorry reflection; but that I have a shepherd
charms away the sorrow and creates a new joy. It even becomes a
gladsome thing to be weak, that I may rely on his strength; to be full
of wants, that I may draw from his fullness; to be shallow and often at
my wit's end, that I may be always regulated by his wisdom. Even so
doth my shame redound to his praise. Not to you, ye great and mighty,
who lift your heads high, and claim for yourselves honor: not for you
is peace, not to you is rest; but unto you, ye lowly ones, who delight
in the valley of humiliation, and feel yourselves to be taken down in
your own esteem–to you it is that the Shepherd becomes dear; and to
you will he give to lie down in green pastures beside the still waters.

In a very simple way, we shall speak about the proprietor of the sheep.
"My sheep," says Christ. Then, we shall have a little to say about the
marks of the sheep. After that I propose to talk awhile about the
privileges of the sheep. "I know my sheep:" they are privileged to be
known of Christ. "My sheep hear my voice."

I. Who is the proprietor of the sheep? They are all Christ's. "My sheep
hear my voice." How came the saints to be Christ's?

They are his, first of all, because he chose them. Ere the worlds were
made, out of all the rest of mankind he selected them. He knew the race
would fall, and become unworthy of the faculties with which he endowed
them, and the inheritance he had assigned them. To him belonged the
sovereign prerogative that he might have mercy on whom he would have
mercy; and he, out of his own absolute will, and according to the
counsel of his own good pleasure, made choice severally and
individually of certain persons, and he said, "These are mine." Their
names were written in his book: they became his portion and his
heritage. Having chosen them of old so many ages ago, rest assured he
will not lose them now. Men prize that which they have long had. If
there is a thing that was mine but yesterday, and it is lost today, I
might not fret about it; but if I have long possessed it, and called it
my patrimony, I would not willingly part with it. Sheep of Christ, ye
shall be his for ever, because ye have been his from ever. They are
Christ's sheep, because his Father gave them to him. They were the gift
of the Father to Christ. He often speaks of them in this way. "As many
as thou hast given me:" "Thou hast given them me," saith he, over and
over again. Of old, the Father gave his people to Christ. Separating
them from among men, he presented them to him as a gift, committed them
into his hand as a trust, and ordained them for him as the lot of his
inheritance. Thus they become a token of the Father's love to his only
begotten Son, a proof of the confidence he reposed in him, and a pledge
of the honor that shall be done unto him. Now, I suppose we most of us
know how to value a gift for the donor's sake. If presented to us by
one whom we love, we set great store by it. If it has been designed to
be a love-token, it awakens in our minds many sweet memories. Though
the intrinsic worth may be of small account, the associations make it
exceedingly precious. We might be content to lose something of far
greater value in itself rather than that which is the gift of a friend,
the offering of his love. I like the delicate sentiment of the poet, as
it is expressed in that pretty verse–

"I never cast a flower away,

The gift of one who cared for me;

A little flower–a faded flower,

But it was done reluctantly."

Yet, oh, how weak the words of human passion! but, oh, how strong the
expressions of divine ardor, when Jesus speaks to the Father of "the
men whom thou gavest me out of the world"! "Thine they were," he says,
"and thou gavest them me; and those that thou gavest me I have kept."
Ye sheep of Christ, rest safely; let not your soul be disturbed with
fear. The Father gave you to his Son, and he will not lightly lose what
God himself has given him. The infernal lions shall not rend the
meanest lamb that is a love-token from the Father to his best Beloved.
While Christ stands defending his own, he will protect them from the
lion and the bear, that would take the lambs of his flock; he will not
suffer the least of them to perish.

"My sheep," says Christ. They are his, furthermore, because, in
addition to his choice and to the gift, he has bought them with a
price. They had sold themselves for nought; but he has redeemed them,
not with corruptible things as with silver and gold, but with his
precious blood. A man always esteems that to be exceedingly valuable
which he procured with risk–with risk of life and limb. David felt he
could not drink the water that the brave warriors who broke through the
host of the Philistines brought to him from the well at Bethlehem,
because it seemed to him as though it were the blood of the men that
went in jeopardy of their lives; and he poured it out before the Lord.
It was too precious a draught for him, when men's lives had been
hazarded for it. But the good Shepherd not only hazarded his life, but
even laid it down for his sheep. Jacob exceedingly valued one part of
his possessions, and he gave it to Joseph: he gave him one portion
above his brethren. Now, you may be sure he would give, Joseph that
which he thought most precious. But why did he give him that particular
portion? Because, he says, "I took it out of the hand of the Amorite
with my sword and with my bow." Now, our blessed Shepherd esteems his
sheep because they cost him his blood. They cost him his blood–I may
say, he took them out of the hand of the Amorite with his sword and
with his bow in bloody conflict, where he was victor, but yet was
slain. There is not one sheep of all his flock but what he can see the
mark of his blood on him. In the face of every saint the Savior sees,
as in a glass, the memorial of his bloody sweat in Gethsemane, and his
agonies at Golgotha. "Ye are not your own, for ye are bought with a
price." That stands as a call to duty, but it is at the same time a
consolation, for if he has bought me, he will have me. Bought with such
a price, he will not like to lose me, nor suffer any foe to take me out
of his hand. Think not that Christ will suffer those to perish for whom
he died. To me the very suggestion seems to draw near to the verge of
blasphemy. If he has bought me with his blood, I cannot conceive he
cares nothing for me, will take no further concern about me, or will
suffer my soul to be cast into the pit. If he has suffered in my stead,
where is justice gone that the substitute should bear my guilt, and I
should bear it too? and where is mercy fled, that God should execute
twice the punishment for one offense! Nay, beloved, those whom he hath
bought with blood are his, and he will keep them.

"My sheep," says Christ. They are his, or in due time they shall become
so, through his capturing them by sacred power. As well by power are we
redeemed as by price, for the blood-bought sheep had gone astray even
as others. "All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every
one to his own way," but, my brethren, the good shepherd has brought
many of us back with infinite condescension: with boundless mercy he
followed us when we went astray. Oh, what blind slaves we were when we
sported with death! We did not know then what his love had ordained for
us: it never entered our poor, silly heads that there was a crown for
us; we did not know that the Father's love had settled itself on us, or
ever the day-star knew its place. We know it now, and it is he that has
taught us; for he followed us over mountains of vanity, through bogs
and miry places of foul transgression; tracked our devious footsteps on
and on, through youth and menhood, till at last, with mighty grace, he
grasped us in his arms and laid us on his shoulder, and is this day
carrying us home to the great fold above, rejoicing as he bears all our
weight and finds us in all we need. Oh, that blessed work of effectual
grace! He has made us his own, he has defeated the enemy, the prey has
been taken from the mighty, and the lawful captive has been delivered.
"He hath broken the gates of brass, and cut the bars of iron asunder,"
to set his people free. "O that men would praise the Lord for his
goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!"

"My SHEEP," saith Christ, as he stands in the midst of his disciples.
"My Shepherd," let us one and all reply. All the sheep of Christ who
have been redeemed by his power, become his by their own willing and
cheerful surrender of themselves to him. We would not belong to another
if we might; nor would we wish to belong to ourselves if we could; nor,
I trust, do we want any part of ourselves to be our own property. Judge
ye whether this be true of you or not. In that day when I surrendered
my soul to my Savior, I gave him my body, my soul, my spirit; I gave
him all I had, and all I shall have for time and for eternity. I gave
him all my talents, my powers, my faculties, my eyes, my ears, my
limbs, my emotions, my judgment, my whole manhood, and all that could
come of it, whatever fresh capacity or new capability I may be endowed
with. Were I at this good hour to change the note of gladness for one
of sadness, it should be to wail out my penitent confession of the
times and circumstances in which I have failed to observe the strict
and unwavering allegiance I owe to my Lord. So far from regretting, I
would fain renew my vows and make them over again. In this I think
every Christian would join.

"Tis done!

the great transaction's done:

I am my Lord's, and he is mine:

He drew me, and I follow'd on,

Charm'd to confess the voice divine.

Now rest, my long-divided heart;

Fix'd on this blissful center, rest:

With ashes who would grudge to part,

When call'd on angels' bread to feast?

High heaven, that heard the solemn vow,

That vow renew'd shall daily hear:

Till in life's latest hour I bow,

And bless in death a bond so dear."

And yet, brethren, though our hearts may now be all in a glow, lest
they should presently grow cold, or the bleak atmosphere of this evil
world should chill our devotion, let us never cease to think of the
good Shepherd in that great, good act, which most of all showed his
love when he laid down his life for the sheep. You have heard the story
told by Francis de Sales. He saw a girl carrying a pail of water on her
head, in the midst of which she had placed a piece of wood. On asking
her why she did this, she told him it was to prevent the motion of the
water, for fear it might be spilt. And so, said he, let us place the
cross of Christ in the midst of our hearts to check the movement of our
affections, that they may not be spilt in restless cares or grievous
troubles.

"My sheep," says Christ, and thus he describes his people. They are
Christ's, his own, a peculiar property. May I hope that this truth will
be henceforth treasured up in your soul! It is a common truth,
certainly; but when it is laid home by the Holy Spirit it shines, it
beams, not merely as a lamp in a dark chamber, but as the day-star
rising in your hearts. Remember this is no more our shame that we are
sheep, but it is our honor that we are Christ's sheep. To belong to a
king carries some measure of distinction. We are the sheep of the
imperial pastures. This is our safety: he will not suffer the enemy to
destroy his sheep. This is our sanctity: we are separated, the sheep of
the pasture of the Lord's Christ. This is sanctification in one aspect
of it: for it is the making of us holy, by setting us apart to be the
Lord's own portion for ever. And this is the key to our duty: we are
his sheep: then let us live to him, and consecrate ourselves to him who
loved us and gave himself for us. Christ is the proprietor of the
sheep; and are the property of the good Shepherd.

II. Now, let us commune together awhile upon the marks of the sheep.
When there are so many flocks of sheep, it is necessary to mark them.
Our Savior marks us. It has been very properly observed, that there are
two marks on Christ's sheep. One is on their ear, the other is on their
foot. These are two marks of Christ's sheep not to be found on any
other; but they are to be found on all his own–the mark on the ear:
"My sheep hear my voice."–the mark on the foot: "I know them, and they
follow me."

Think of this mark on their ear. "My sheep hear my voice." They hear
spiritually. A great many people in Christ's day heard his voice who
did not hear it in the way and with the perception that is here
intended. They would not hear; that is to say, they would not hearken
or give heed, neither would they obey his call or come unto him that
they might have life. These were not always the worst sort of people:
there were some of the best that would not hear Christ, of whom he
said, according to the original, as translated by some, "Ye search the
Scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are
they which testify of me. And ye will not come to me, that ye might
have life." They would get as far as curiosity or criticism might
allure them; but they would not go any farther: they would not believe
in Jesus. Now, the spiritual ear listens to God. The opening of it is
the work of the Holy Spirit, and this is a mark of Christ's chosen
blood-bought people, that they hear not only the hollow sound, but the
hidden sense; not the bare letter, but the spiritual lesson; and that
too not merely with the outward organ, but with the inward heart. The
chief point is that they hear his voice. Oh, if all that heard my voice
heard Christ's voice, how would I wander down every street in this city
to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ; but, alas! the voice of the
minister is utterly ineffectual to save a soul, unless the voice of
Christ reach the conscience and rouse its dormant powers. "My sheep
hear my voice;" the voice of Jesus, his counsel, his command, clothed
with the authority of his own sacred sovereign utterance. When the
gospel comes to you as Christ's gospel, with demonstration of the
Spirit, the invitation is addressed to you by him. You can look upon it
in no other light; so you must accept and receive it. When his princely
power comes with it–being mighty to save, he puts saving power into
the word–then you hear Christ's voice as a fiat that must be obeyed,
as a summons that must be attended to, as a call to which there must be
a quick response. O beloved, do not ever rest satisfied with hearing
the voice of the preacher. We are only Christ's speaking-trumpets:
there is nothing in us: it is only his speaking through us that can do
any good. O children of God, some of you do not always listen to
Christ's voice in the preaching. While we comment on the word, you make
your comments on us. Our style, or our tone, or even our gesture, is
enough to absorb–I might rather say, to distract–your thoughts. "Why
look ye so earnestly on us?" I beseech you, give less heed to the
livery of the servant, and give more care to the message of the Master.
Listen warily, if you please; but judge wisely, if you can. See how
much pure grain, and how much of Christ, there is in the sermon. Use
your sieve; put away all the chaff; take only the good wheat; hear
Christ's voice. Well were it if we could obscure ourselves that we
might manifest him. I could wish so to preach that you could not see
even my little finger; might I but so preach that you could get a full
view of Jesus only. O that you could hear his voice drowning ours! This
is the mark, the peculiar mark of those who are Christ's peculiar
people: they hear his voice. Sometimes, truly it sounds in the
ministry; sometimes it thrills forth from that book of books, which is
often grossly neglected; sometimes it comes in the nightwatches. His
voice may speak to us in the street. Silent as to vocal utterance, but
like familiar tones that sometimes greet us in our dreams, the voice of
Christ is distinctly audible to the soul. It will come to you in sweet
or in bitter providences; yea, there is such a thing as hearing
Christ's voice in the rustling of every leaf upon the tree, in the
moaning of every wind, in the rippling of every wave. And there be
those that have learned to lean on Christ's bosom, till they have
looked for all the world as though they were a shell that lay in the
ocean of Christ's love, listening for ever to the sonorous cadence of
that deep, unfathomed, all-mysterious main. The billows of his love
never cease to swell. The billowy anthem still peals on with solemn
grandeur in the ear of the Christian. O may we hear Christ's voice each
one of us for ourselves! I find that language fails me, and metaphors
are weak to describe its potent spell.

One point is worth noticing, however. I think our Lord meant here that
his sheep, when they hear his voice, know it so well that they can tell
it at once from the voice of strangers. The true child of God knows the
gospel from the law. It is not by learning catechisms, reading
theological books, or listening to endless controversies, that he finds
this out. There is an instinct of his regenerate nature far more
trustworthy than any lessons he has been taught. The voice of Jesus!
Why there is no music like it. If you have once heard it, you cannot
mistake it for another, or another for it. Some are babes in grace:
others are of full age, and by reason of use, have their senses
exercised; but one sense is quickly brought out–the sense of hearing.
It is so easy to tell the joy-bells of the gospel from the death-knell
of the law; for the letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life. "Do, or
die," says Moses. "Believe, and live," says Christ: you must know which
is which. Yes; and I think they are equally shrewd and quick to
discriminate between the flesh and the Spirit. Let some of the very
feeblest of God's people sit down under a fluent ministry, with all the
beauties of rhetoric, and let the minister preach up the dignity of
human nature, and the sufficiency of man's reason to find out the way
of righteousness, and you will hear them say: "It is very clever; but
there is no food for me in it." Bring, however, the best and most
instructed, and most learned Christian man, and set him down under a
ministry that is very faulty as to the gift of utterance, and incorrect
even in grammar; but if it is full of Jesus Christ, I know what he will
say: "Ah! never mind the man, and never mind the platter on which he
brought the meat; it was food to my soul that I fed upon with a hearty
relish; it was marrow and fatness, for I could hear Christ's voice in
it." I am not going to follow out these tests; but certain it is, that
the sheep know Christ's voice, and can easily distinguish it. I saw
hundreds of lambs the other day together, and there were also their
mothers; and I am sure if I had had the task of allotting the proper
lamb to each, or to any of them, it would have kept me till now to have
done it. But somehow the lambs knew the mothers, and the mothers knew
the lambs; and they were all happy enough in each other's company.

Every saint here, mixed up as he may be at times with parties and
professors of all sorts, knows Christ, and Christ knows him, and he is
therefore bound to his owner. That is the mark on the ear. You have
seen sometimes in the country two flocks together on the road, and you
say: "I wonder how the shepherds will manage to keep them distinct?
They will get mixed up." They do not; they go this way and that way;
and after a little commingling they separate, for they know their
master's voice; "and a stranger will they not follow." You will go
to-morrow, many of you, out into the world, some to the Exchange,
others to the market, and others again into the factory: you are all
mixed. Yes; but the seeming confusion of your company is temporary, not
real and permanent. You will come right again, and you will go to your
own home and your own fellowship. And at the last, when we shall have
ended our pilgrimage, the one shall wend his way to the glory land, and
the other to the abyss of woe. There will be no mistake. You will hear
the Master's call, and obey. There is a mark on the ear which
identifies every saint.

Christ's sheep hear his voice obediently. This is an important proof of
discipleship. Indeed, it may serve as a reproof to many. Oh, I would
that you were more careful about this! "He that hath my commandments,
and keepeth them," said Jesus, "he it is that loveth me." "He that
loveth me not keepeth not my sayings." How comes it to pass, then, that
there are certain commands of Christ which some Christians will suffer
to lie in abeyance? They will say, "The Lord commands this, but it is
not essential." Oh, unloving spirit, that can think anything
unessential that thy Bridegroom bids thee do! They that love, think
little things of great moment, especially when they are looked upon as
tokens of the strength or the tenderness of one's regard. It may not be
essential, in order to prove the relation in which a wife stands to her
husband, that she should study his tastes, consult his wishes, or
attend to his comfort. But will she the less strive to please, because
love, not fear, constrains her? I trow not. And can it be that any of
you, my brethren, would harbour such a thought as your negligence
implies? Do you really suppose that after the choice of Christ has been
fixed on you, and the love of Christ has been plighted to you, you may
now be as remiss or careless as you like? Nay, rather, might we not
expect that a sacred passion, an ardent zeal, a touch of inspiration
would stir you up, put you on the alert, make you wake at the faintest
sound of his voice, or keep you listening to do his will? Be it ours,
then, to act out with fidelity that verse we have often sung with
enthusiasm:–

"In all my Lord's appointed ways

My journey I'll pursue."

However little the precept may appear in the eyes of others; however
insignificant as compared with our salvation, yet–doth the Lord
command it?–then his sheep hear his voice, and they follow him.

Christ has marked his sheep on their feet as well as their ears. They
follow him: they are gently led, not harshly driven. They follow him as
the Captain of their salvation; they trust in the power of his arm to
clear the way for them. All their trust on him is stayed; all their
hope on him they lean. They follow him as their teacher; they call no
man "Rabbi" under heaven, but Christ alone. He is the infallible source
of their creeds; neither will they allow their minds to be ruled by
conclaves, councils, nor decrees. Hath a Christ said it? It is enough.
If not, it is no more for me than the whistling of the wind. They
follow a Christ as their teacher.

And the sheep of Christ follow him as their example; they desire to be
in this world as he was. It is one of their marks, that to a greater or
less degree they have a Christ-like spirit; and if they could they
would be altogether like their Lord.

They follow him, too, as their Commander, and Lawgiver, and Prince.
"Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it," was his mother's wise speech;
and it is the children's wise rule: "Whatsoever he saith unto you, do
it." Oh, blessed shall they be above many of whom it shall be said,
"These are they that have not defiled their garments." "These are they
which follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth." Some of his followers
are not very scrupulous. They love him. It is not for us to judge them.
Rather we place ourselves among them and share in the censure. But
happiest of all the happy are they who see the footprint–the print of
that foot that once was pierced with the nail–and put their foot down
where he placed it, and then again, in the selfsame mark, follow where
he trod, till they climb at last to the throne. Keep close to Christ;
take care of his little precepts unto the end. Remember, "Whosoever
shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, he
shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven." Do not peril being
least in the heavenly kingdom though it is better to be that than to be
greatest in the kingdom of darkness. O seek to be very near him, to be
a choice sheep in his chosen flock, and to have the mark distinctly
upon your foot!

I will not stay to apply these truths, but leave each one of you to
make such self-searching enquiries as the text suggests. Have I the ear
mark? Have I the foot mark? "My sheep hear my voice," "and they follow
me." I hope that I am among the number.

III. The last point, with which we now proceed to close, is–THE
PRIVILEGE OF CHRIST'S SHEEP. It does not look very large, but if we
open it we shall see an amazing degree of blessedness in it. "I know
them," "I know them." What does it mean?

I have not time now to tell you all it means. "I know them." What is
the reverse of this but one of the most dreadful things that is
reserved for the day of judgment? There will be some who will say,
"Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name, and in thy name cast
out devils?" And he shall say, "Verily, verily, I say unto you, I never
knew you; depart from me, ye cursed." Now measure the height of that
privilege by the depth of this misery. "I never knew you." What a
volume of scorn it implies! What a stigma of infamy it conveys! Change
the picture. The Redeemer says, "I know them," "I know them." How his
eyes flash with kindness; how their cheeks burn with gratitude, as he
says, "I know them "! Why, if a man had a friend and acquaintance that
he used to know, and some years after he found him a disreputable,
abandoned, wicked, guilty criminal, I feel pretty sure he would not say
much about having known such a fellow, though he might be driven to
confess that he had some years ago a passing acquaintance with him. But
our Lord Jesus Christ, though he knows what poor, unworthy ones we are,
yet when we shall be brought up before the Lord, before the great white
throne, he will confess he knew us. He does know us, we are old
acquaintances of his, and he has known us from before the foundation of
the world, "For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate to be
conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among
many brethren. Moreover whom he did predestinate, them he also called."
There are riches of grace in this; but we will consider it in another
way. Our Savior knows us, our Shepherd knows us. Beloved, he knows your
person and all about you. You, with that sick body, that aching head,
he knows you and he knows your son with all its sensitiveness; that
timidity, that anxiety, that constitutional depression–he knows it
all. A physician may come to see you, and be unable to detect what the
disease is that pains or prostrates you, but Christ knows you through
and through; all the parts of your nature he understands. "I know
them," saith he; he can therefore prescribe for you. He knows your
sins. Do not let that dismay you, because he has blotted them all out;
and he only knows them to forgive them, to cover them with his
righteousness. He knows your corruptions; he will help you to overcome
them; he will deal with you in providence and in grace, so that they
shall be rooted up. He knows your temptations. Perhaps you are living
away from your parents and Christian friends, and you have had an
extraordinary temptation, and you wish you could go home and tell your
mother. Oh, he knows it, he knows it; he can help you better than your
mother can. You say: "I wish the minister knew the temptation I have
passed through." Do not tell it; God knows it. As Daniel did not want
Nebuchadnezzar to tell him the nature of his dream, but gave him the
dream and the interpretation at the same time, so God can send you
comfort. There will be a word as plainly suited to your case as though
it were all printed and the preacher had known it all. It must be so.
Depend upon it, the Lord know's your temptation, and watches your
trial; or be it a sick child, or be it a bad matter of business that
has lately occurred; or be it a slander that has wounded your heart,
there is not a pang you feel but God as surely sees it as the weaver
sees the shuttle which he throws with his own hand. He knows your
trial, and he knows the meaning of your groans: he can read the secret
desire of your heart, you need not write it nor speak it: he has
understood it all. You were saying: "O that my child were converted! O
that I grew in grace!" He knows it: he knows it every whit. There is
not a word on your tongue, nor a wish in your heart, but he knoweth it
altogether. O dear heart, he knows your sincerity! Perhaps you want to
join the church, and your proposal has been declined, because you could
not give satisfactory testimony. If you are sincere, he knows it; he
knows, moreover, what your anxiety is. You cannot tell another what it
is that is bitter to you–the heart knoweth its own bitterness–he
knows it. As his secret is with you, so your secret is with him. He
knows you: he knows what you have been trying to do. That secret
gift–that offering dropped so quietly where none could see it–he
knows it. And he knows that you love him. "Yes," you are saying in your
soul, "if ever I loved thee, my Jesus, tis now." No, you cannot tell
him, nor tell others; but he knows it all.

So, now, in closing, let us say that in the text there is mutual
knowledge. "I know them, but they also know me, because they hear my
voice, and recognize it." Here is mutual confession. Christ speaks,
else there would be no voice: they hear, else were the voice not
useful. "I know them;" that is his thoughts go towards them. "They
follow me;" that is, their thoughts go towards him. He leads the way,
else they could not follow. They follow, however, whom he leads the
way. Being the counterpart of each other, what the one does the other
returns through grace; and what grace puts into the sheep the shepherd
recognises, and makes a return to them. Christ and his church become an
echo of each other: his the voice, theirs is but a faint echo of it;
still it is a true echo, and you shall know who are Christ's by this.
Do they echo what Christ saith? Oh, how I wish we were all sheep! How
my soul longs that we may many of us who are not of his fold be brought
in. The Lord bring you in, my dear hearers. The Lord give you his
grace, and make you his own, comfort you, and make you to follow him.
And if you are his, show it. These, dear brethren and sisters, here at
this time, desire to confess Christ in your presence. If they are doing
right, and you are not doing as they do, then you are doing wrong. If
it is the duty of one, it is the duty of all; and if one Christian may
neglect making a profession, all may do so, and then there will be no
visible church whatever, and the visible ordinances must die out. If
you know him, own him, for he hath said: "Whosoever therefore shall
confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which
is in heaven. But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also
deny before my Father which is in heaven." God bless you, for Christ's
sake. Amen.

Letter from Mr. Spurgeon, read at the Tabernacle on Lord's-day, June 18th:–

MY BELOVED FRIENDS,–

As soon as the church had resolved to meet for special prayer for me, I
began rapidly to recover. It pleased God to turn the wind at the
beginning of this week, and the change in the temperature has worked
wonders. We may truthfully say of the Wednesday meeting for prayer,
that the Lord fulfilled his word: "Before they call, I will answer; and
while they are yet speaking, I will hear." For all this great goodness
I pray you to unite with me in sincere and intense gratitude to the
Lord our God.

I feel bound publicly to express my happiness of heart. This week has
furnished me with the liveliest proofs of your true love. I have been
deeply touched with the various ways in which the affection of so many
of you has sought to find expression. I value this not only for my own
sake, though it is very sweet to be the object of such hearty love, but
because I see in it the evidence that our union has been cemented by
years, and the earnest of future years of united effort, if God spares
us. The absence of unity is weakness: its indisputable presence is
strength.

On the closing day of my thirty-seventh year, I find myself the pastor
of a beloved flock, who have borne the test of twelve Sabbaths of their
minister's absence, and the severer test of more than seventeen years
of the same ministry, and are now exhibiting more love to him than
ever. I bless God, but I also thank you, and assure you that I never
felt happier in the midst of my people than I do now in the prospect of
returning to you.

I am still weak, but the improvement in strength has been this week
very surprising. I hardly dare speak of the future; but I earnestly
hope we shall look each other in the face on the first Sabbath of July.

The collection to-day is to enable the London Baptist Association to
build a new chapel in the Wandsworth Road. We are to carry out the
project, so that it will not become us to be slack in our collection.
London grows so rapidly, that much must be done to keep pace with its
spiritual needs. Our Association does something, but ten times more
would be little enough. You will I am sure give as God has prospered
you. The College, of course, will be less helped; but I must beg to
thank you for the continued series of noble contributions which have
made each week remarkable.

Peace be with you and the Lord's own anointing. May those who speak to
you to-day be filled with the Spirit. May the soft south wind of the
Spirit's love be among you, and may you pour forth praise as flowers
breathe perfume.

Yours very truly,

C.H. Spurgeon