Heavenly Lovesickness!

Heavenly Lovesickness!
A SERMON DELIVERED ON SUNDAY MORNING, NOVEMBER 8, 1863, BY THE REV. C.
H. SPURGEON, AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.
"I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my Beloved, that
you tell Him that I am sick of love." Song of Solomon 5:8.
SICK! That is a sad thing. It moves your pity. Sick of love–lovesick!
That stirs up other emotions which we shall presently attempt to
explain. No doubt certain sicknesses are peculiar to the saints–the
ungodly are never visited with them. Strange to say, these sicknesses,
to which the refined sensibilities of the children of God render them
peculiarly liable, are signs of vigorous health. Who but the Beloved of
the Lord ever experience that sin sickness in which the soul loathes
the very name of transgression, is unmoved by the enchantments of the
Tempter, finds no sweetness in its besetting sins, and turns with
detestation and abhorrence from the very thought of iniquity?
No less is it for these, and these alone, to feel that self sickness
whereby the heart revolts from all creature confidence and strength,
having been made sick of self, self-seeking, self-exalting,
self-reliance, and self of every sort. The Lord afflicts us more and
more with such self sickness till we are dead to self, its puny
conceits, its lofty aims, and its unsanctified desires. Then there is a
twofold lovesickness. Of the one kind is that lovesickness which comes
upon the Christian when he is transported with the full enjoyment of
Jesus, even as the bride elated by the favor, melted by the tenderness
of her Lord, says in the fifth verse of the second chapter of the Song,
"Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love."
The soul, overjoyed with the Divine communications of happiness and
bliss which came from Christ, the body scarcely able to bear the
excessive delirium of delight which the soul possessed, she was so glad
to be in the embraces of her Lord that she needed to be stayed under
her overpowering weight ofjoy. Another kind of lovesickness, widely
different from the first, is that in which the soul is sick, not
because it has too much of Christ's love, but because it has not enough
present consciousness of it. Sick, not of the enjoyment, but of the
longing for it. Sick, not because of excess of delight, but because of
sorrow for an absent lover.
It is to this sickness we call your attention this morning. This
lovesickness breaks out in two ways and may be viewed in two lights. It
is, first of all, the soul longing for a view of Jesus Christ in Grace.
And then again, it is the same soul possessing the view of Divine Grace
and longing for a sight of Jesus Christ in Glory. In both these senses
we, as accurately as the spouse, may adopt the languishing words, "If
you find my Beloved, tell Him that I am sick of love."
I. First, then, let us consider our text as the language of a soul
LONGING FOR THE VIEW OF JESUS CHRIST IN GRACE.
1. Do you ask me concerning the sickness itself–What is it? It is the
sickness of a soul panting after communion with Christ. The man is a
Believer. He is not longing after salvation as a penitent sinner under
conviction, for he is saved. Moreover, he has love to Christ and knows
it. He does not doubt his evidence as to the reality of his affection
for his Lord, for you see the word used is, "My Beloved," which would
not be applicable if the person speaking had any doubt about her
interest.
Nor did she doubt her love, for she calls the spouse, "My Beloved." It
is the longing of a soul, then, not for salvation, and not even for the
certainty of salvation, but for the enjoyment of present fellowship
with Him who is her soul's Life, her soul's All. The heart is panting
to be brought once more under the apple tree. To feel once again His
"left hand under her head, while His right hand does embrace her." She
has known, in days past, what it is to be brought into His banqueting
house, and to see the banner of love waved over her. She therefore
cries to have love visits renewed.
It is a panting after communion. Gracious hours, my dear Friends, are
never perfectly at ease except they are in a state of nearness to
Christ. For mark you, when they are not near to Christ, they lose their
peace. The nearer to Jesus, the nearer to the perfect calm of Heaven.
And the further from Jesus, the nearer to that troubled sea which
images the continual unrest of the wicked. There is no peace to the man
who does not dwell constantly under the shadow of the Cross. For Jesus
is our peace and if He is absent, our peace is absent, too.
I know that being justified we have peace with God, but it is "through
our Lord Jesus Christ." So that the justified man himself cannot reap
the fruit of justification, except by abiding in Christ Jesus, who is
the Lord and Giver of peace. The Christian without fellowship with
Christ loses all his life and energy. He is like a dead thing. Though
saved, he lies like a lumpish log–
"His soul can neither fly nor go To reach eternal joys."
He is without liveliness. Yes, more, he is without animation till Jesus
comes. But when the Lord sensibly sheds abroad His love in our hearts,
then His love kindles ours. Then our blood leaps in our veins for joy,
like the Baptist in the womb of Elizabeth.
The heart when near to Jesus has strong pulsations, for since Jesus is
in that heart, it is full of life, of vigor and of strength. Peace,
liveliness, vigor–all depend upon the constant enjoyment of communion
with Christ Jesus. The soul of a Christian never knows what joy means
in its true solidity, except when she sits, like Mary, at Jesus' feet.
Beloved, all the joys of life are nothing to us. We have melted them
all down in our crucible and found them to be dross. You and I have
tried earth's vanities and they cannot satisfy us. No, they do not give
a morsel of meat to satiate our hunger.
Being in a state of dissatisfaction with all mortal things, we have
learned through Divine Grace that none but Jesus, none but Jesus can
make our souls glad. "Philosophers are happy without music," said one
of old. So Christians are happy without the world's goods. Christians,
with the world's goods, are sure to bemoan themselves as naked, poor
and miserable, unless their Savior is with them. You that have ever
tasted communion with Christ will soon know why it is that a soul longs
after Him. What the sun is to the day, what the moon is to the night,
what the dew is to the flower– such is Jesus Christ to us.
What bread is to the hungry, clothes to the naked, the shadow of a
great rock to the traveler in a weary land–such is Jesus Christ to us.
What the turtle is to her mate, what the husband is to his spouse, what
the head is to the body– such is Jesus Christ to us. And therefore, if
we have Him not, no, if we are not conscious of having Him. If we are
not one with Him, no, if we are not consciously one with Him, little
marvel if our spirit cries in the words of the Song, "I charge you, O
you daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my Beloved, tell Him that I am
sick of love." Such is the character of this lovesickness.
We may say of it, however, before we leave that point, that it is a
sickness which has a blessing attending it– "Blessed are they that do
hunger and thirst after righteousness." And therefore, supremely
blessed are they who thirst after the Righteous One–after Him who in
the highest perfection embodies pure, immaculate, spotless
righteousness. Blessed is that hunger, for it comes from God. It bears
a blessing within it. For if I may not have the blessedness in full
bloom of being filled, the next best thing is the same blessedness in
sweet bud of being empty till I am filled with Christ. If I may not
feed on Jesus, it shall be next door to Heaven to be allowed to hunger
and thirst after Him.
There is a hallowedness about that hunger since it sparkles among the
beatitudes of our Lord. Yet it is a sickness, dear Friends, which,
despite the blessing, causes much pain. The man who is sick after Jesus
will be dissatisfied with everything else. He will find that dainties
have lost their sweetness and music its melody and light its
brightness–life itself will be darkened with the shadow of death to
him–till he finds his Lord and can rejoice in Him.
Beloved, you shall find that this thirsting, this sickness–if it ever
gets hold upon you–is attended with great vehemence. The desire is
vehement as coals ofjuniper. You have heard of hunger that breaks
through stone walls–but stone walls are no prison to a soul that
desires Christ. Stone walls, no, the strongest natural barriers, cannot
keep a lovesick heart from Jesus. I will venture to say that the
temptation of Heaven itself, if it could be offered to the Believer
without his Christ, would be as less than nothing. And the pains of
Hell, if they could be endured, would be gladly ventured upon by a
lovesick soul, if he might but find Christ.
As lovers sometimes talk of doing impossibilities for their fair ones,
so certainly a spirit that is set on Christ will laugh at impossibility
and say, "It shall be done." It will venture upon the hardest task, go
cheerfully to prison and joy- fully to death, if it may but find its
Beloved and have its lovesickness satisfied with His Presence. Perhaps
this may suffice for a description of the sickness here intended.
2. You may enquire concerning the cause of this lovesickness. What
makes a man's soul so sick after Christ? Understand that it is the
absence of Christ which makes this sickness in a mind that really
understands the preciousness of His Presence. The spouse had been very
willful and wayward, she had taken off her garments, had gone to her
rest, her sluggish slothful rest, when her Beloved knocked at the door.
He said "Open to Me, My Beloved. For My head is filled with dew and My
locks with the drops of the night."
She was too slothful to wake up to let Him in. She urged excuses–"I
have put off my coat. How shall I put it on? I have washed my feet. How
shall I defile them?" The Beloved stood waiting, but since she opened
not, He put in His hand by the hole of the lock and then her heart was
moved towards Him. She went to the door to open it and to her surprise
her hands dripped with myrrh and her fingers with sweet smelling myrrh
upon the handles of the lock. There was the token that He had been
there, but He was gone. Now she began to bestir herself and seek after
Him.
She sought Him through the city, but she found Him not. Her soul failed
her. She called after Him, but He gave her no answer and the watchmen,
who ought to have helped her in the search, smote her and took away her
veil from her. Therefore it is that now she is seeking, because she has
lost her Beloved. She should have held Him fast and not have permitted
Him to go. He is absent and she is sick till she finds Him. Mingled
with the sense of absence is a consciousness of wrong-doing.
Something in her seemed to say, "How could you drive Him away? That
heavenly Bridegroom who knocked and pleaded hard, how could you keep
Him longer there amidst the cold dews of night? O unkind heart! What if
your feet had been made to bleed by your rising? What if all your body
had seen chilled by the cold wind, when you were treading the floor?
What had it been compared with His love to you?" And so she is sick to
see Him, that she may weep out her love and tell Him how vexed she is
with herself that she should have held to Him so loosely and permitted
Him so readily to depart.
So, too, mixed with this, was great wretchedness because He was gone.
She had been for a little time easy in His absence. That downy bed,
that warm coverlet had given her a peace, a false, cruel and a wicked
peace. But she has risen now, the watchmen have smitten her, her veil
is gone and, without a friend, the princess is deserted in the midst of
Jerusalem's streets. Her soul has melted for heaviness and she pours
out her heart within her as she pines after Her Lord. "No Love but my
Love, no Lord but my Lord," she says, with sobbing tongue and weeping
eyes. For none else can gratify her heart or appease her anxiety.
Beloved, have you ever been in such a state, when your faith has begun
to droop and your heart and spirits have fled from you? Even then your
soul was sick for Him. You could do without Him when Mr.
Carnal-Security was in the house and feasted you–but when he and his
house have both been burned with fire, the old lovesickness came back
and you wanted Christ. Nor could you be satisfied till you found Him
once again. There was true love in all this and this is the very
essence of all lovesickness.
Had not she loved, absence would not have made her sick, nor would her
repentance have made her grieve. Had she not loved, there would have
been no pain because of absence and no sinking of spirits. But she did
love, and thus all this sickness. It is a delightful thing to be able
to know when we have lost Christ's company that we do love Him–"Yes,
Lord, You know all things. You know that I love You. I did deny You.
Yes, in the moment of Your sorrow, I said, 'I know not the Man.' I did
curse and swear that men might think I was no follower of Yours, but
still You know all things, You know that I love You."
When you can feel this, dear Friends, the consciousness that you love
will soon work in you a heart-burning, so that your soul will not be
satisfied till you can tell out that love in the Master's Presence and
He shall say unto you, as a token of forgiveness, "Feed My sheep." I do
not doubt that in this sickness there had been some degree of fear.
Sorrowful woman! She was half afraid she might never find Him again.
She had been about the city–where could He be? She had sought Him on
the walls and on the ramparts, but He was not there.
In every ordinance, in every means of Divine Grace, in secret and in
public prayer, in the Lord's Supper and in the reading of the Word, she
had looked after Him–but He was not there. And now she was half afraid
that though He might give His Presence to others, yet never to her. And
when she speaks, you notice there is half a fear in her voice. She
would not have asked others to tell Him if she had any assuring hope
that she should meet Him herself–"If you find Him," she seems to say,
"O you true converts, you that are the real daughters of Jerusalem. If
He reveals Himself to you, though He never may to me, do me this
kindness, tell Him that I am sick of love."
There is half a fear here and yet there is some hope. She feels that He
must love her still, or else why send a message at all? She would
surely never send this sweet message to a flinty, adamantine heart,
"Tell Him I am sick of love," and she remembered when the "glances of
her eyes had ravished Him. She remembered when a motion from her hand
had made His heart melt and when one tear of her eyes had opened all
His wounds afresh. She thinks, "Perhaps He loves me still as He loved
me then, and my moans will enchain Him. My groans will constrain Him
and lead Him to my help."
So she sends the message to Him–"Tell Him, tell Him I am sick of
love." To gather up the causes of this lovesickness in a few words,
does not the whole matter spring from relationship? She is His spouse.
Can the spouse be happy without her beloved Lord? It springs from
union. She is part of Himself. Can the hand be happy and healthy if the
life-floods stream not from the heart and from the head? Fondly
realizing her dependence, she feels that she owes all to Him and gets
her all from Him. If, then, the fountain is cut off, if the streams are
dried, if the great source of all is taken from her, how can she but be
sick?
And there is, besides this, a life and a nature in her which makes her
sick. There is a life like the life of Christ, no, her life is in
Christ, it is hid with Christ in God. Her nature is a part of the
Divine nature. She is a partaker of the Divine nature. Moreover she is
in union with Jesus and this piece divided, as it were, from the body,
wriggles like a worm cut asunder and pants to get back to where it came
from. These are the causes of it. You will not understand my sermon
this morning but think me raving, unless you are spiritual men. "But
the spiritual judges all things, yet he himself is judged of no man."
3. What endeavors such lovesick souls will put forth. Those who are
sick for Christ will first send their desires to Him. Men use pigeons
sometimes to send their messages. Why, what sort of carrier pigeons do
they use? The pigeon is of no use to send anywhere but to the place
from which it came, and my desires after Christ came from Him, and so
they will always go back to the place from which they came. They know
the way to their own dovecot, so I will send Him my sighs and my
groans, my tears and my moans. Go, go, sweet doves, with swift and
clipping wings, and tell Him I am lovesick.
Then she would send her prayers. Ah, methinks she would say of her
desires, "They will never reach Him. They know the way but their wings
are broken and they will fall to the ground and never reach Him." Yet
she will send them whether they reach Him or not. As for her prayers,
they are like arrows. Sometimes messages have been sent into besieged
towns bound to an arrow, so she binds her desires upon the arrow of her
prayers and then shoots them forth from the bow of her faith. She is
afraid they will never reach Him, for her bow is slack and she knows
not how to draw it with her feeble hands which hang down.
So what does she do? She has traversed the streets. She has used the
means. She has done everything–she has sighed her heart out and
emptied her soul out in prayers. She is all wounds till He heals her.
She is all a hungry mouth till He fills her. She is all an empty brook
till He replenishes her once again and so now she goes to her
companions and she says, "If you find my Beloved, tell Him I am sick of
love." This is using the intercession of the saints. It is unbelief
that makes her use it, and yet there is a little faith mixed in her
unbelief. It was an unbelief but not a misbelief.
There is efficacy in the intercession of saints. Not of dead
saints–they have enough to do to be singing God's praises in Heaven
without praying for us–but saints on earth can take up our case. The
king has his favorites. He has his cupbearers. He has some that are
admitted into great familiarity with him–give me a share in a good
man's prayers. I attribute, under God, the success the Lord has given
me to the number of souls in every quarter of the earth who pray for
me. Not you alone, but in every land there are some that forget me not
when they draw near in their supplications.
Oh, we are so rich when we have the prayers of saints! When it is well
with you, speak for me to the Captain of the Host and if He should say
to you, "What was his message?" I have no other message but that of the
spouse, "Tell Him I am sick of love." Any of you who have close
familiarity with Jesus, be the messengers, be the heavenly tale-bearers
between lovesick souls and their Divine Lord. Tell Him, tell Him we are
sick of love. And you that cannot thus go to Him, seek the help and aid
of others. But after all, as I have said, this is unbelief though it is
not misbelief, for how much better it would have been for her to tell
Him herself.
"But," you say, "she could not find Him." No, but if she had had faith
she would have known that her prayers could. For our prayers know where
Christ is when we do not know, or rather, Christ knows where our
prayers are–and when we cannot see Him they nevertheless reach Him. A
man who fires a cannon is not expected to see all the way where the
shot goes. If he has his cannon rightly sighted and fires it, there may
come on a thick fog, but the shot will reach the place. And if you have
your hearts sighted by Divine Grace after Christ, you may depend upon
it–however thick the fog–the hot shot of your prayer will reach the
gates of Heaven though you cannot tell how or where.
Be satisfied to go to Christ yourself. If your Brothers and Sisters
will go, well and good, but methinks their proper answer to your
question would be in the language of the women in the sixth chapter,
the first verse, "Where is your Beloved gone, O you fairest among
women? Where is your Beloved turned aside? That we may seek Him with
you." They will not seek Him for us they say, but they can seek Him
with us. Sometimes when there are six pair of eyes, they will see
better than one. And so, if five or six Christians seek the Lord in
company, in the Prayer Meeting, or at His Table, they are more likely
to find Him. "We will seek Him with you."
4. Blessed lovesickness! We have seen its character and its cause and
the endeavors of the soul under it. Let us just notice the comforts
which belong to such a state as this. Briefly they are these–you shall
be filled. It is impossible for Christ to set you longing after Him
without intending to give Himself to you. It is as when a great man
prepares a feast. He first puts plates upon the table and then
afterward there comes the meat. Your longings and desires are the empty
plates to hold the meat. Is it likely that Christ means to mock you?
Would He have put the dishes there if He did not intend to fill them
with His oxen and with His fatlings?
He makes you long–He will certainly satisfy your longings. Remember,
again, that He will give you Himself all the sooner for the bitterness
of your longings. The more pained your heart is at His absence the
shorter will the absence be. If you have a grain of contentment without
Christ, that will keep you longer tarrying. But when your soul is sick
till your heart is ready to break, till you cry, "Why tarries He? Why
are His chariots so long in coming?" When your soul faints until your
Beloved speaks to you, and you are ready to die from your youth up,
then shortly He will lift the veil from His dear face and your sun
shall rise with healing beneath His wings. Let that console you.
Then, again, when He does come, as come He will, oh, how sweet it will
be! Methinks I have the flavor in my mouth now and the fullness of the
feast is yet to come. There is such a delight about the very thought
that He will come, that the thought itself is the prelude, the
foretaste of the happy greeting. What? Will He once again speak
comfortably to me? Shall I again walk the bed of spices with Him? Shall
I ramble with Him among the groves while the flowers give forth their
sweet perfume–I shall! I shall! And even now my spirit feels His
presence by anticipation–"Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like
the chariots of Amminadab."
You know how sweet it was in the past. Beloved, what times we have had,
some of us! Oh, whether in the body or out of the body, we cannot
tell–God knows. What mountings! Talk you of eagles' wings? They are
earthly pinions and may not be compared with the wings with which He
carried us up from earth! Speak of mounting beyond clouds and stars?–
They were left far, far behind. We entered into the unseen, beheld the
Invisible, lived in the Immortal, drank in the Ineffable, and were
blessed with the fullness of God in Christ Jesus, being made to sit
together in heavenly places in Him.
Well, all this is to come again, "I will see you again and your heart
shall rejoice." "A little while and you shall not see Me: and again, a
little while and you shall see Me." "In a little wrath I hid My face
from you for a moment. But with everlasting kindness will I have mercy
on you, says the Lord your Redeemer." Think of this! Why, we have
comfort even in this lovesickness! Our heart, though sick, is still
whole, while we are panting and pining after the Lord Jesus–
"O love Divine, how sweet You are, When shall I find my willing heart
All taken up with You? I thirst, I faint, I die to prove The fullness
of redeeming love– The love of Christ to me."
II. And now, secondly, with as great brevity as we can, this
lovesickness may be seen in A SOUL LONGING FOR A VIEW OF JESUS IN HIS
GLORY.
1. And here we will consider the complaint itself for a moment. This
ailment is not merely a longing after communion with Christ on
earth–that has been enjoyed and generally this sickness follows that–
"When I have tasted of the grapes, I sometimes long to go Where my dear
Lord the vineyard keeps And all the clusters grow."
It is the enjoyment of Eshcol's first fruits which makes us desire to
sit under our own vine and our own fig tree before the Throne of God in
the blessed land.
Beloved, this sickness is characterized by certain marked symptoms. I
will tell you what they are. There is a loving and a longing, a
loathing and a languishing. Happy soul that understands these things by
experience. There is a loving in which the heart cleaves to Jesus–
"Do not I love You from my soul? Then let me nothing love– Dead be my
heart to every joy When Jesus cannot move."
A sense of His beauty! An admiration of His charms! A consciousness of
His infinite perfection! Yes! Greatness, goodness and loveliness, in
one resplendent ray combine to enchant the soul till it is so ravished
after Him that it cries with the spouse, "Yes, He is altogether lovely.
This is my Beloved and this is my Friend, O you daughters of
Jerusalem." Sweet loving is this–a love which binds the heart with
chains of more than silken softness and yet more firm than adamant.
Then there is a longing. She loves Him so that she cannot endure to be
absent from Him. She pants and pines. You know it has been so with
saints in all ages–whenever they have begun to love they have always
begun to long after Christ. John, the most loving of spirits, is the
author of those words which he so frequently uses–"Come quickly, even
so, come quickly." "Come quickly," is sure to be the fruit of earnest
love. See how the spouse puts it–"O that You were as my brother, that
sucked the breasts of my mother! When I should find You without, I
would kiss You. Yes, I should not be despised."
She longs to get hold of Him. She cannot conclude her song without
saying, "Make haste, my Beloved and be You like to a roe or to a young
hart upon the mountains of spices." There is a longing to be with
Christ. I would not give much for your religion if you do not long to
be with the Object of your heart's affections. Then comes a loathing.
When a man is sick with the first lovesickness, then he does not
loathe–it is, "Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples." When a
man has Christ, he can enjoy other things. But when a man is longing
after Christ and seeking after Christ, he loathes everything else–he
cannot bear anything besides.
Here is my message to Jesus–"Tell Him"–what? Do I want crowns and
diadems? Crowns and diadems are nothing to me. Do I want wealth and
health and strength? They are all very well in their way. No–"Tell
Him, tell the Beloved of my soul that I grieve after Himself–His gifts
are good–I ought to be more grateful for them than I am, but let me
see His face. Let me hear His voice. I am sick of love, and nothing but
that can satisfy me, everything else is distasteful to me."
And then there is a languishing. Since she cannot get the society of
Christ–cannot as yet behold Him on His Throne nor worship Him face to
face–she is sick until she can. For a heart so set on Christ will walk
about traversing highway and by-way, resting nowhere till it finds Him.
As the needle once magnetized will never be easy until it finds the
pole, so the heart once Christianized never will be satisfied until it
rests on Christ–rests on Him, too, in the fullness of the beatific
vision before the Throne. This is the character of the lovesickness.
2. As to its Object–what is that? "Tell Him that I am sick of love."
But what is the sickness for? Brethren, when you and I want to go to
Heaven I hope it is the true lovesickness. I catch myself sometimes
wanting to die and be in Heaven for the sake of rest. But is not that a
lazy desire? There is a sluggish wish that makes me long for rest.
Perhaps we long for the happiness of Heaven–the harps and crowns.
There is a little selfishness in that, is there not? Allowable, I grant
you. But is not there a little like selfishness? Perhaps, we long to
see dear children, beloved friends that have gone before. But there is
a little of the earthy there.
The soul may be as sick as it will, without rebuke, when it is sick to
be with Jesus. You may carry this to its utmost extent without either
sin or folly. What am I sick with love for? For the pearly gates?–No.
But for the pearls that are in His wounds. What am I sick for? For the
streets of gold?–No. But for His head which is as much fine gold. Am I
sick for the melody of the harps and angelic songs?–No. But for the
melodious notes that come from His dear mouth. What am I sick for? For
the nectar that angels drink?–No. But for the kisses of His lips.
What am I sick for? For the manna on which heavenly souls feed?–No.
But for Himself, who is the meat and drink of His saints. Himself!
Himself! My soul pines to see HIM! Oh, what a Heaven to gaze upon! What
bliss to talk with the Man, the God, crucified for me! To weep my heart
out before Him. To tell Him how I love Him, for He loved me and gave
Himself for me. To read my name written on His hands and on His
side–yes, and to let Him see that His name is written on my heart in
indelible lines. To embrace Him, oh, what an embrace when the creature
shall embrace His God– to be forever so close to Him that not a doubt,
nor a fear, nor a wandering thought can come between my soul and Him
forever!–
"Forever to behold Him shine, Forevermore to call Him mine, And see Him
still before me. Forever on His face to gaze, And meet His full
assembled rays, While all the Father He displays To all the saints in
Glory."
What else can there be that our spirit longs for? This seems an empty
thing to worldlings, but to the Christian this is Heaven summed up in a
word–"To be with Christ, which is far better," than all the joys of
earth. This is the Object, then, of this lovesickness.
3. Do you ask what are the excitements of this sickness? What is it
that makes the Christian long to be at Home with Jesus? There are many
things. There are sometimes some very little things that set a
Christian longing to be at Home. You know the old story of Swiss
soldiers, that when they have enlisted into foreign service they never
will permit the band to play the "Ranz des Vaches"–the Song of the
Cows, because as soon as ever the Swiss hears the Song of the Cows, he
thinks of his own dear Alps and the bells upon the cows' necks and the
strange calls of the herd-boys, as they sing to one another from the
mountain peaks.
And he grows sick and ill with homesickness. So if you were banished,
if you were taken prisoner or a slave, why, to hear some note of one of
old England's songs would set your spirit pining for home, and I do
confess, when I hear you sing sometimes–
"Jerusalem! My happy home! Name ever dear to me; When shall my labors
have an end, In joy and peace and you?"
It makes me say, "You daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my Beloved,
tell Him that I am sick of love." It is the song of home that brings
the homesickness.
We remember what He used to be to us, what sweet visits we have had
from Him. Then we get sick to be always with Him. But, best of all,
when we are in His presence, when our soul is overjoyed with His
delights–when the great deep sea of His love has rolled over the
mast-head of our highest thoughts and the ship of our spirit has gone
right down, foundering at sea in the midst of an ocean of delights–ah,
then its highest, its deepest thought is, "O that I may always be with
Him, in Him, where He is, that I might behold His Glory: the Glory
which His Father gave Him, and which He has given me, that I may be one
with Him, world without end."
I do believe, Brothers and Sisters, that all the bitters and all the
sweets make a Christian when he is in a healthy state, sick after
Christ–the sweets make his mouth water for more sweets and the bitters
make him pant for the time when the last dregs of bitterness shall be
over. Wearying temptations, as well as rapt enjoyments all set the
spirit on the wing after Jesus.
4. Well now, Friends, what is the cure of this lovesickness? Is it a
sickness for which there is any specific remedy? There is only one cure
that I know of, but there is some relief. A man that is sick after
Christ, longs to be with Him and pants for the better land, singing as
we did just now–
"Father, I long, I faint to see The place of Your abode."
He must have the desire realized, before the thirst of his fever will
be relieved. There are some reliefs and I will recommend them to you.
Such, for example, is a strong faith that realizes the day of the Lord
and the Presence of Christ, as Moses beheld the promised land and the
goodly heritage, when he stood on the top of Pisgah. If you do not get
Heaven when you want it, you may attain to that which is next door to
Heaven and this may bear you up for a little season. If you cannot get
to behold Christ face to face, it is a blessed make-shift for the time
to see Him in the Scriptures and to look at Him through the glass of
the Word. These are reliefs, but I warn you, I warn you of them. I do
not mean to keep you from them–use them as much as ever you can–but I
warn you from expecting that it will cure that lovesickness.
It will give you ease but it will make you more sick still, for he that
lives on Christ gets more hungry after Christ. As for a man being
satisfied and wanting no more when he gets Christ–why he wants nothing
but Christ it is true, and in that sense he will never thirst. But he
wants more and more and more and more of Christ. To live on Christ is
like drinking seawater, the more you drink the more thirsty you grow.
There is something very satisfying in Christ's flesh–you will never
hunger except for that–but the more you eat of it the more you want.
And he that is the heartiest feaster and has eaten the most, has the
best appetite for more.
Oh, strange is this, but so it is. That which we would think would
remove the lovesickness and is the best stay to the soul under it, is
just that which brings it on more and more. But there is a cure, there
is a cure and you shall have it soon–a black draught and in it a
pearl–a black draught called Death. You shall drink it, but you shall
not know it is bitter, for you shall swallow it up in victory! There is
a pearl, too, in it–melted in it. Jesus died as well as you, and as
you drink it, that pearl shall take away all ill effect from the
tremendous draught.
You shall say, "O Death, where is your sting? O Grave, where is your
victory?" When you have once drank that black draught, you are secure
against that lovesickness forever. For where are you? No pilgrimage, no
weary flight through cold ether. You are with Him in Paradise! Do you
hear that, Soul? You are with Him in Paradise, never to be separated,
not for an instant! Never to have a wandering thought, not one! Never
to find your love waning or growing cold again! Never to doubt His love
to you any more! Never more to be vexed and tempted by sighing after
what you cannot view. You shall be with Him, where He is–
"Far from a world of grief and sin, With God eternally shut in."
Till then, Beloved, let us strive to live near the Cross. Those two
mountains, Calvary and Zion, stand right opposite one another. The eye
of faith can sometimes almost span the interval. And the loving heart,
by some deep mystery of which we can offer you no solution, will often
have its sweetest rapture of joy in the fellowship of His griefs. So
have I found a satisfaction in the wounds of a crucified Jesus, which
can only be excelled by the satisfaction I have yet to find in the
sparkling eyes of the same Jesus glorified. Yes. The same Jesus!
Well spoke the angels on Mount Olivet–"This same Jesus, which is taken
up from you into Heaven, shall so come in like manner as you have seen
Him go into Heaven." This same Jesus! My Soul coats on the words! My
lips are fond of repeating them. This same Jesus!–
"If in my soul such joy abounds
While weeping faith explores His wounds,
How glorious will those sears appear,
When perfect bliss forbids a tear?
Think, O my Soul, if it is so sweet
On earth to sit at Jesus'feet,
What must it be to wear a crown
And sit with Him upon His Throne?"
Would to God you all had this lovesickness! I am afraid many of you
have it not. May He give it to you. But oh, if there is a soul here
that wants Jesus, he is welcome! If there is one heart here that says,
"Give me Christ," you shall have your desire. Trust Jesus Christ and He
is yours. Rely upon Him. You are His. God save you and make you sick of
vanities, sick after verities–pining even unto sickness for Jesus
Christ, the Beloved of my soul, the sum of all my hope, the sinner's
only Refuge and the praise of all His saints, to whom be everlasting
glory. Amen.