Asleep and Yet Awake–a Riddle

DELIVERED ON LORD'S-DAY MORNING, OCTOBER 10, 1880,

BY C. H. SPURGEON,

AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.

"I sleep, but my heart is awake: it is the voice of my Beloved that
knocks." Song of Solomon 5:2.

WE are glad to perceive in this Song the varied experience of the
bride. She was the well-beloved of the heavenly Bridegroom, but she was
not without her faults. Though the "fairest among women," she was human
and, therefore, she had not reached angelical perfection. She was not
perfect, to begin with, for at the outset she confessed, "I am black,
because the sun has looked upon me: they made me the keeper of the
vineyards; but my own vineyard have I not kept." She was not perfect
even in the exhibition of her love to Him who had chosen her, for she
has to acknowledge, as upon the occasion before us, that she treated
Him in an unworthy manner. She kept Him waiting at her door in the
chilly night and grieved Him so that He withdrew. She was not perfect,
even, to the end of the chapter, for she could not hear her Lord's
voice so clearly as certain of her companions and she cried in the last
chapter of her Song, "Cause me to hear it."

Brothers and Sisters, we shall not be able to claim entire perfection
so long as we are this side the hills of division. Till the day breaks
and the shadows flee away, our Lord will have to sanctify and cleanse
His spouse "with the washing of water by the Word, that He might
present it to Himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle,
or any such thing." We are glad, I say, to have the experience of the
spouse–that is, of the Church as a whole–because we know that as is
the Church, such are the members and the rule that holds good for the
whole will be found in its measure and proportion to be fulfilled in
all its parts. We, too, have to say, "I am black, because the sun has
looked upon me."

And at times we have to ask, "Why should I be as one that turns aside
by the flocks of your companions?" We have had mournfully to cry, "I
sought Him, but I could not find Him; I called Him, but He gave me no
answer," while the watchmen have justly smitten us and wounded us for
our neglect of our Lord. Let us bless God that in the Book of revealed
Truth He has not merely given us the ideal standard after which we are
to seek, but He has also preserved for us the humbler patterns of those
who have strived to reach to the utmost height and who have climbed a
good way towards it, but who, nevertheless, have proved that, though
they were the best of men, they were men at the best. Thus our Lord has
saved us from despair by making us to know that we may be sincere and
true and accepted, though we, too, fall short as yet of the holiness
which we pant after with our whole hearts.

Nor are we only favored with the poetic story of the bride–we have,
also, in the Word of God, the biographies of the saints, the memoirs of
the godly and these are exceedingly useful to us. I fear we would not,
Brothers and Sisters, at certain times, know whether we were God's
people at all if we were not able to compare ourselves with others of
the family. We may lose our way, sometimes, as poor sheep have often
done and then, though the greatest comfort is derived from seeing the
footprints of the Shepherd, yet no small measure of consolation is to
be gained through marking the footsteps of the flock. The sight of
human footsteps on the sandy waste has caused us to take heart again.

We have exclaimed, "Here one has been who was surely a child of God and
since I am here, I may be a child of God, too. I have similar failings
and weaknesses and I chide myself for them, but I will not utterly
condemn myself and say I cannot be a Believer, for I perceive that
these spots were on others of God's children, too." The perception of
our likeness to others who were truly saints has often afforded us a
spark of hope when we were in a maze and dared scarcely hope that we
were right towards God. Frequently the experience of others will help
us to thread our way when it winds and twists and we cannot see an inch
before us.

The young man thinks that he understands himself, but no old man does.
Ask the man who is best acquainted with himself and he will tell you
that he is increasingly a riddle and that his experience becomes an
enigma more profound every day. The Believer feels that he needs the
help of the Divine Teacher to enable him to trace the thread of his
spiritual life throughout all the tangle of the skein. It needs a
Grace-taught man to make himself out and to comprehend what he is and
where he

is and what is the very truth of his life's paradox. At times I ask
myself, "Am I all sin, or is there yet a spark of Grace?" Soon Grace
shines like the sun and then I almost dream that sin is extinct! We are
driven to read ourselves in others. We look at the saints of Holy
Scripture and, as we mark their lives, we say, "I can understand this
man better than I can myself, for lookers-on see more than players. And
now, by understanding him, I begin, also, to comprehend my own
position. I calculate my latitude and longitude by observing a star. I
estimate the contending influences that rage within me by seeing how
others drifted, or stemmed the torrent. I see the strange convolutions
of my intertwisted soul in others and, as in a glass, I discern
myself."

But, my Brothers and Sisters, we must take care that we do not wrongly
use the memoirs of saints as recorded in Scrip-ture–they are not all
for our imitation, but many of them for our warning! You may not do all
that a good man has done. If you were to copy certain of the actions of
the most gracious men, you would soon find yourself more faulty than
they, for you would be sure to throw the emphasis upon their
errors–and their Graces you would probably miss. You would copy their
faults and aggravate them. Follow no man where he does not follow
Christ! Above all, the lives of the saints may never be used as an
excuse for our faults. We shall not be justified in following afar off
because Peter did so, nor in calling fire from Heaven upon our enemies
because James and John wished to do so, nor in quarrelling because Paul
and Barnabas fell into sore contention.

We may wisely quote David as an encouragement to a penitent, that God
will forgive his sin, but not as an apology for ourselves should we be
tempted to commit the sin. We must often use the saints of God as
beacons rather than as harbor-lights–as lighthouses set upon rocky
coasts to advise us of the dangers into which they fell. Take care that
Holy Scripture is used for holy ends and that holy men are viewed as
helps to holiness and not as excuses for imperfection. Let us learn
from their virtues, imitation–but from their faults, warning–and from
both, instruction. Judgment is profitable to direct. Follow the Lamb
wherever He goes, but there is not a sheep of His flock to whom you may
do the same. Do whatever Jesus does–copy the example of Christ in all
its touches, so far as it is imitable–but do not the same even towards
the beloved John, though his head is fresh from his Master's bosom–no,
nor towards Paul, though he is not a whit behind the very chief of the
Apostles.

We come, then, dear Friends, to use the example of our text with those
limitations which we have thus set forth. We have in the text, first,
slumber confessed–"I sleep." But over against this there is
wakefulness claimed–"but my heart is awake." Very soon we have mystery
solved–how is it that the heart stays awake?–"It is the voice of my
Beloved that knocks." Before we close we shall try, fourthly, to have a
lesson learned out of the text. May the Holy Spirit make the whole
subject profitable to us and practically influential upon our lives.

I. First, then, here is SLUMBER CONFESSED. The spouse laments her state
and sighs out, "I sleep." It strikes us at once that her sleep is a
recognized state. We are astonished that she should say, "I sleep," and
we conclude that it is not so profound a sleep as it might be, for when
a man can say, "I sleep," he is not altogether steeped in slumber! When
children of God perceive their own imperfections and mourn over them,
there is evidently a root of virtue in them–when they perceive the
decay of their Grace there is some Grace left undecayed with which they
are bemoaning their decline! I would not give you encouragement, dear
Brothers and Sisters, if you are asleep at all, to continue in it, but
yet I would say this, that if you mourn over your sluggishness, you are
not altogether a sluggard–if you feel uneasy in your dullness you are
not altogether given over to spiritual stupidity–if you are anxious to
be awakened out of your slumber, it is certain that you are not given
over to sleep yourself into the sepulcher of insensibility.

God be thanked that you cannot enjoy pleasant dreams upon the bed of
carelessness! You do not sleep as do others– you are evidently not
steeped in that fatal slumber of spiritual death in which the dead
world is slumbering all around. Infinite Mercy has had some dealings
with you and has made you to be spiritually awake so far that you can
feel that you sleep and mournfully confess it. When a man detects pride
within him but has Grace enough to long to be humble; when a man feels
hardness of heart but groans about it and wishes to be softened; when a
man laments the stubbornness of his will and cries to God to give him
full submission; when a man mourns a sluggishness of heart and strives
after quickening–then he has marks and signs of spiritual life and of
an inward energy which will, by God's Grace, cast out his disease and
bring him spiritual health!

There is life where there is pain! There is growth where there is a
yearning of desire! The holy fire still lingers in the breast, though
it is so smothered by the ashes that only a little smoke can be
discerned. It will revive again; it will kindle

and burn up, for it is of God's creating. He who can mournfully say, "I
sleep," will, one day, be wide awake. Be very thankful, therefore, when
you have a tender conscience! Cultivate a quick perception and when you
are aware of the slightest defalcation or decline, confess at once to
God that you begin to sleep. Further, as this sleep is a matter
recognized, so is it a matter complained of. The spouse is not pleased
to sleep–she says, "I sleep," but she does not mention it as a matter
for congratulation! She is not pleased with her condition.

Here, again, I would remark that it is well for saints, when they
perceive that they are in the least degree backsliding, that they
should mourn before God and accuse themselves before Him. "Judge
yourselves, that you be not judged." Before another person can hint
that you are careless, find it out, yourself, and mourn over it. Before
another can complain of your dullness and say, as the shipmen did to
Jonah, "What do you mean, O sleeper?" complain about yourself. Act
tenderly to others, but severely towards yourselves. So all prudent men
will do if God keeps them prudent. This sleepiness is not a thing to be
indulged in, but to be abhorred. To say the least of it, it is a low
state of enjoyment. Sleep is peaceful and quiet, but it cannot enjoy
the sweets of the senses and the delights which the mind can receive.

Sleep is Death's cousin and he that slumbers lies at the door of the
sepulcher. The image of death is set upon the sleeper's face and it is
a miracle and a sort of foretaste of the Resurrection that any man does
wake again after he has fallen into a deep slumber. It is not,
therefore, good spiritually for us to be asleep, for then we cannot
taste the honey of the Word of God, nor enjoy the fragrance of the
ordinances, nor see the beauties of Christ–nor will any of the
spiritual passions be delighted, nor our spirit be carried away with
holy joy. Therefore, when we come into God's House and we hear the old
familiar story of the Cross and it does not charm us, let us mournfully
say, "I sleep."

When others are ready to dance before the Lord with exultation while
singing the solemn Psalm, if we, ourselves, feel no devout gratitude,
let us cry self-complainingly, "I perceive that I sleep." And when at
the Table the chosen emblems of the bread and wine do not bring the
Master near to us and we go away as hungry as we came because we have
not fed on His body and His blood, then let us say, again, "Alas, I
sleep, I sleep! For these things would be most sweet and nourishing to
me if my spiritual faculties were as they ought to be!" If we fail to
enjoy the banquets of our Bridegroom's love, it must be because a
deadness is stealing over us and we are not so thoroughly alive and
awake as we were in days gone by–and this is a condition to be
deplored as soon as it is perceived.

We ought to complain of ourselves if we sleep because it is a state of
danger. While men slept, the enemy came and sowed tares among the
wheat. It is bad, then, to have a drowsy minister and drowsy Church
officers, for these will not watch the fields for God. He who sleeps is
in danger of the thief or the murderer. While Saul lay stretched on the
plain, Abishai lifted up his spear and said, "Let me smite him but this
once." He who sleeps may lose his all, yes, lose himself. Let us,
therefore, dread this perilous state and, if we feel it creeping over
us, let us shake ourselves and say, "I sleep, but I will not give way
to slumber! Lord, by Your Grace, awaken me!"

Sleep is a state of inaction. A man cannot do his daily business while
his eyes are closed in slumber. There is a sleepwalking which can do
much, but I know of no spiritual sleepwalking. You cannot walk the road
to Heaven asleep, nor preach the Gospel as you should, nor serve God
and your generation aright if you are in a spiritual slumber. I know a
great many who are so–they are alive, I hope, but very sleepy! They do
very little; they are too sluggish to attempt much. "The slothful man
says, There is a lion in the way; a lion is in the streets." This was
his argument for keeping in the chimney corner. In truth, the lion is
about as real as the monster which has been described of late as
prowling over this county of Surrey and devouring women and children
all the way from Banstead Downs to Clapham Common!

Solomon seems to have been very familiar with this fable of the
sluggard's lion, for in another proverb he makes the idler cry, "There
is a lion outside! I shall be slain in the streets!" These poor
creatures are so dreamy in spirit that they see a lion
everywhere–threatening them if they try to do good in any form! They
must sit quiet and still and try to enjoy themselves as best their
sleep will allow them to do, for they cannot venture out to work
because of the lion! They cannot teach a little Sunday school class,
for there is a lion there! Nor go out to speak to a dozen people in a
village–a furious lion is roaring there! In fact, they will be
devoured if they leave their easy retirement and put their heads out of
doors. God help us to escape this lazy condition! May we live while we
live! Let not our souls merely act as salt to keep our carcasses from
rotting, but let them be the seed plot and hotbed of holy actions out
of which shall yet spring glory to God and blessing to our fellow men.
If you do not feel active and energetic, make it a matter of
self-complaint and utter the shame-faced confession, "I sleep."

Yet again, this slumber should be not only a matter of complaint as an
evil to be dreaded, but it should be regarded as a fault to be ashamed
of. A Christian man should not say, "I feel dull, careless and
inactive," and make the confession as if he almost deserved to be
pitied for a misfortune which was no fault of his. My Brothers and
Sisters, you may be pitied, but you are, also, to be blamed, perhaps
blamed far more than pitied! An apparent spiritual slumber may creep
over us because the body is very weak and sickly and here pity is
allowable, yes, justly due. Certain states and conditions of the flesh,
no doubt, will overcome the spirit, as when even the choicest of the
Apostles slept in the garden. The Master at first said, "What? Could
you not watch with Me one hour?" But afterwards He made a generous
excuse for them and said, "The spirit is truly willing, but the flesh
is weak." Make excuses for others and let your Lord make excuses for
you, but do not frame apologies on your own account.

David writes in the Psalm, "I said, This is my infirmity." Quite right,
David. I dare say it was so. But the other day I said the same of
myself and before long I answered to my conscience for it, for
conscience asked, "Is it not your sin as well as your infirmity?" I was
compelled to divide the statement, no, at last to withdraw the first
part of it altogether and cry, "God be merciful to me, a sinner!" May
we not be too ready to lay the blame of our impatience, our unbelief,
or our hastiness upon the body when we ought to take all blame to
ourselves? It is always safest to blame ourselves and it is frequently
dangerous to make an excuse. Still, sometimes dullness may be an
infirmity. When a man is weary with a hard day's work, or with business
that has cost him long care and he kneels by his bedside at a very late
hour to pray and finds himself going to sleep, I do not think that his
fault is a very grievous one.

It is certainly not that dreadful sin which shall never be forgiven,
either in this world or in that which is to come! When a man is brought
very low by weakness of body and he cannot, on the Sabbath, feel
himself up to the mark in all respects, I do not think we should hold a
Church meeting and turn him out! Nor do I think that he should
excommunicate himself! When a widowed spirit is broken with bereavement
when the husband is dead; when children or brothers have died; when
parents have been snatched away and the heart is very heavy–if the
heart cannot rejoice in the Lord, it is a pity that it cannot–but
there is a measure of infirmity as well as fault in the heaviness of
the soul. In such cases good people may guardedly say with David, "This
is my infirmity." May God help us when we feel such infirmities that we
may speedily rise above them, being made strong in weakness and being
taught to glory in infirmities because the power of Christ rests upon
us.

Again, I repeat it–for others we may put in the gentle word even as
the Master did for His disciples–"The spirit truly is willing, but the
flesh is weak," but for ourselves we should rather use heart-searching
and self-condemnation that we may make the bed of slumber thorny to our
idle flesh. Brothers and Sisters, when a Christian's soul is heavy with
slumber, he ought to be ashamed. Think of who it is that loved us, even
Jesus, the eternal Son of God! Has He loved us and can we ever be cold
towards Him? Then blush and let the scarlet abide in the face! Think of
what Jesus has done for us and what love He has manifested towards us.
O Gethsemane! O Calvary! Are we thus redeemed and after this does our
love decline into slumber? Break, my Heart! Break with indignation at
yourself that such should be the case!

And what is this time in which we live? A time in which all the powers
of darkness are on the alert, raging to do evil and mischief. Are we
sleeping now, when the adversary is daily making an attack upon us?
When men are dying and are perishing by millions, can it be that we
slumber? And such as we are, who do little enough when we are wide
awake and have little enough of power and ability–how is it that we
can slumber? If we are lethargic, should we not bow ourselves in the
dust before God and beseech Him to have mercy upon us? Furthermore, it
is an evil to be fought against. When a man is obliged to say, "I
sleep," let him not content himself with sleeping on. Now is the time
for much prayer! Let him wrestle with this deadly foe till he is fully
awakened!

Falling into indifference on the road to Heaven is something like
sleeping on the vast plains of snow, where, if a man gives way to the
natural inclination to slumber which comes on through the intense cold,
he may lie down and never rise again! Oh, take care, you that are
looking for Heaven and eternal life, that you yield not to sleep, for
your Master comes and it may be that within another hour you may hear
the midnight cry! Let us whip ourselves with a strong resolve that we
will not sleep. Let us say unto our soul, "Come, wake up! My spirit,
you shall not sleep. This cannot be. I must not have it, I will not, I
dare not. I will goad you, I will crucify you to the cross, for you
shall not slay yourself with suicidal slumber."

With this resolve let us seek out means of waking ourselves up.
Sometimes we may do well to seek for a better ministry than we have
attended. Alas, there are ministries which are as cradles to rock babes
to sleep! There are preachers who charm most wisely if their intent is
to send the universe to sleep. Beware of preaching which comforts you
in idleness and increases

your spiritual insensibility! There are certain preachers who mar the
Gospel and tell their tale so heartlessly that I think if all Heaven
did rock and reel with tempest, a man might yet sleep on so long as
such soothing voices lulled his ears. We cannot afford to waste our
Sabbaths in listening to another Gospel, or in hearing lullabies which
make us duller than we were.

But if you cannot reach a rousing ministry, read good books–turn to
solid Gospel treatises, such as the Puritans bequeathed us. Search the
Scriptures and the works of godly men whose words were all on
fire–these thrown upon your soul like burning coals may set it on
fire. Christian conversation, too, is another useful means of keeping
us awake. John Bunyan mentions that in going over the Enchanted Ground
the pilgrims, to prevent drowsiness, fell into good discourse. Here is
his quaint rhyme about it–

"When saints do sleepy grow, let them come here And hear how these two
pilgrims talk together: Yes, let them learn of them in any wise, Thus
to keep open their drowsy, slumbering eyes, Saints 'fellowship, if it
is managed well, Keeps them awake and that in spite of Hell.'" Imitate
this example, but if discourse does not avail, get to work for Christ!
This is a very effective way of keeping yourself awake, God the Holy
Spirit blessing you in it. In looking after the souls of others, your
own soul will receive a watering.

I do not think that soul-slumber so often visits the active as it does
those who have little to do in the Master's service. If active service
does not suffice, then cry mightily to God, "I sleep, my Savior! Awake
me, I pray You!" You are half awake, already, if you can cry in that
fashion. Cry again, "I sleep, my Lord! Use even a rod upon me to wake
me rather than I should slumber." You are not asleep, Brother, Sister,
you are already awakened–the bitter anguish of the soul in its horror
of its own slumber has already been blessed of God to its awakening.
Anyway, this sleep is an evil which must be overcome. Come, make up
your minds, today, members of this Church, that you will not yield to
drowsiness!

I hope none of you are inclined to say, "Well, I may get to Heaven in
this sleepy way and so what does it matter? My fellow members would put
me in the ambulance and carry me along like a wounded soldier and this
will be easier than marching at the double, day after day." No, no, my
Brothers and Sisters, we have enough of the invalid and wounded
already! We have as many as we can carry of the non-effectives. We need
no more. Ask the blessed Physician to make you strong so that you may
tug at the guns with the rest of us, or charge the enemy at bayonet
point when the trumpet sounds. I said, years ago, I would sooner lead a
dozen real live earnest Christians than a dozen hundred of the
half-and-half sort and this feeling grows with me!

I would almost as soon not be a Christian as be as some Christians
are–they have enough religion to make them uncomfortable, but not
enough to make them useful. They drink such shallow draughts that they
increase their responsibility rather than their energy. Oh, for a deep
draught of Grace which shall fill us with all the fullness of God and
make us men in Christ to the utmost capacity of our sanctified manhood!
Cold meat may be pleasant, but cold religion is an ill dish to serve to
Christ or to ourselves! God make us like those creatures that are said
to live in the fire. May He fill us with His own Spirit and make us
burn and blaze with an unquenchable heat of love towards Him of whom it
is said that the zeal of God's house did eat Him up. He poured out His
soul unto death that He might redeem us to Himself–let us see to it
that we are altogether His own. With this I leave the sleeping for
another theme.

II. We reach the point of the paradox–here is WATCHFULNESS CLAIMED by
one who confessed to sleep. "My heart is awake," says the Bride, "I
sleep, but my heart is awake." It may seem an odd thing to sleep and
yet to be awake, but I commenced by saying that the Christian is a
great puzzle. Ralph Erskine's, "Believer's Riddle," is a remarkable
production, but every word of it may be justified by experience and by
Scripture. A man is a mass of contradictions, but a man in Christ is
far more so. He truly says–

I'm in my own and others' eyes

A labyrinth of mysteries." We are asleep and awake at the same time. As
Erskine rhymes it–

"Both sleeping flesh I have, that rests

In sloth unto my shame,

And waking Grace, that still protests

Against this lazy frame."

There is an inner life within every Christian which can never die and
there is about him an inward death which can never rise to life. Jesus
said, "The water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water
springing up into everlasting life." Therefore this Divine Life, though
it may grow weak and feeble and slumbering, yet never passes into the
condition of absolute death, or even of complete insensibility.
Somewhat of Heaven is about the man of God when the earth encompasses
him most. "Sin shall not have dominion over you"–God still has the
throne, even when Satan rages most. This inward life usually shows
itself in the uneasiness of the declining heart. When a Believer feels
that he is not what he ought to be, nor what he wants to be, he cannot
be happy. He cannot rest and be content. There was a time when such a
condition would have satisfied him, but now he is distressed beyond
measure and, like Noah's dove, finds no rest for the sole of his feet.
Hear him sing in the minor key–

"Where is the blessedness I knew

When first I sa w the Lord?

Where is the soul-refreshing view

Of Jesus and His Word?

What peaceful hours I then enjoyed!

How sweet their memory still!

But they have left an aching void

The world can never fill." He sleeps, but his heart beats, sighs and
palpitates with dire unrest!

The inner life shows itself, also, in desire, for the heart is the seat
of desire and it leads the man to say, "I am not what I would like to
be. I live at a poor dying rate–Christ's love is so great to me and
mine to Him so chill. Lord, lift me out of this frozen state. I cannot
bear this grave of lethargy. Lord, bring my soul out of prison! Give me
more Grace. Give me Grace to love Jesus better and to be more like He
is. Poor as I am, I long to be enriched by Your love and mercy. O visit
me with Your salvation!" Such a pleading heart is still awake though
the mind may be dull. The Lord judges us by our earnest desires more
than by our accomplishments.

An old writer says if you send a man on horseback for the doctor, if
the horse is a sorry jade that cannot move quickly, you praise the man
when you see him whipping and spurring and doing his best to hurry the
horse along. You do not blame him for that which is beyond his power.
So he says, oftentimes, when our desires whip and spur our languid
spirits, God sees what a rate we would go at if we could and He takes
the will for the deed. Often our desires are so awakened that we would
harness the lightning and bit the tempest if we could and spur both to
a swifter speed! Desires prove wakefulness–"I sleep, but my heart is
awake."

The spouse gave another proof of her wakefulness by her discernment.
She says, "It is the voice of my Beloved that knocks." Even when half
asleep she knew her Lord's voice. You may catch a true Believer at his
worst, but he still knows the Gospel from everything else and can
detect another Gospel in a moment! You shall come forth with all your
eloquence, your poetry and sweet concocted phrases–with a something
that is not the Gospel of the blessed God and you shall, for a moment,
please the ears of the Christian because of the literary excellence of
your address. But he soon detects you. It is true of all Christ's
sheep, "A stranger they will not follow, for they know not the voice of
strangers."

The awakening Believer perceives that the most musical voice of a
stranger has not the charm in it which is found in the voice of His
Lord. Yes, he soon closes his ears to it in disgust and in holy
trembling lest he should be deceived. His resolve is, "I will hear what
God the Lord will speak." He determines to be deaf to other voices, but
to his Redeemer he says, "Speak, Lord, for Your servant hears." Blessed
is he who in his dullest state can still discern and discriminate and
cry, "It is the voice of my Beloved."

This wakefulness of heart shows itself often in the soul chiding
itself. "I sleep," she says. She would not have blamed herself as I
have tried to describe her doing if she had not been, in some measure,
awake. This blessed living wakefulness within the heart will,
by-and-by, display itself in action. The heart will wake up all that is
within us and we shall hasten to our Beloved. It is wonderful how a
true Christian flies back to his God as soon as the Spirit of the Lord
sets him free from the net. "Whom have I in Heaven but You and there is
none upon earth that I desire besides You." Brothers and Sisters, you
and I cannot rest anywhere short of Christ! When we were ravens, we
could rest on our own wings, or on the carrion of this world–but now
that we have been made doves, we must seek our Noah and His ark!

A friend at the back of this Tabernacle furnished me with some pigeons
but a little while ago. They were taken home to Norwood and shut up for
a few days and well fed in the hope that they would stay with us. But
no sooner were they set at liberty than they soared aloft, made three
circles in the sky and then flew direct for this spot. How I wished, on
my sick bed, that I had their wings and could hasten here, too! It is
so with Believers. The devil may put us in captivity and shut us up
awhile, but give us the opportunity and our heart knows the way back to
Jesus!

The spouse has dove's eyes and she sees from afar. She makes short work
of it and is back, again, with all the speed of the chariots of
Amminadib! This puzzle of, "I sleep, but my heart is awake," has been
experienced by thousands. I quote no solitary instances–there are
hundreds of the same. I lately met with a little poem by Thomas Vaughan
which touched my heart because it so aptly described my state. I will
read it, to show you that the paradox of a Believer's life is no
fiction of mine, but is the frequent experience of God's people. In a
little out-of-the way poem, which perhaps no one of you has ever seen,
Vaughan quaintly sings–

"My sweetest Jesus! 'Twas Your voice,

'If I am lifted up I'll draw all to the sky,'

Yet I am here! I'm stifled in the clay,

Shut up from You and the fresh feast of day. I know Your hand's not
short, but I'm unfit, A foul, unclean thing to take hold of it! I am
all dirt! Nor can I hope to please

Unless in mercy You love a disease. Diseases may be cured, but who'll
reprieve Him that is dead? Tell me, my God, I live.

'Tis true, I live: but I so sleep that I cannot move, scarcely hear
when You call! Sin's lullabies charm me when I would come But draw me
after You and I will run.

You know I'm sick: let me not feasted be, But keep a diet, all
prescribed by Thee.

Should I carve for myself, I would exceed

To surfeits soon and by self-murder bleed.

I ask for stones and scorpions, but still crest And all for love:
should not You grant, I were lost. Dear Lord, deny me still: and never
sign My will, but when that will agrees with Yours And when this
conflict's past and I appear

To answer, what a patient I was here, How I did weep when You did woo:
repine At Your best sweets and in a childish whine Refuse Your
proffered love; yet cry and call, For rattles of my own to play withal:
Look on Your Cross and let Your blood come in

When mine shall blush as guilty of my sin.

Then shall I live, being rescued in my fall. A text of mercy to Your
creatures all

Who having seen the worst of sins in me, Must needs confess, the best
of love's in Thee." Does not this writer dip his pen into your soul's
sorrows?

III. Spare me a minute or two while I dwell on the head of MYSTERY
SOLVED. "I sleep, but my heart is awake." Why is her heart awake? It is
because the voice and knock of her Beloved are heard. Every child of
God has a wondrous union with Christ. "Because I live," says Christ,
"you shall live also." Ask why you are alive in such a body of death
and grave of sin as your poor nature is? You live because Christ lives
and you cannot die till He does! This is why you cannot sleep as do
others, because He does not sleep. "He that keeps Israel shall neither
slumber nor sleep," and till Christ's spiritual life shall

altogether slumber out into forgetfulness and inaction yours never
shall. The mystic union between yourselves and Jesus secures you from
destruction which, apart from Him, would sweep you away as with a
brook.

This is why, dear Friends, when you get where you should not be, you
cannot be happy because Jesus is not happy when you are there! He
groans over your follies. They cost Him wounds and bloody sweat and
death and they must cost you something, too, if you indulge in them.
That field all tangled with the brambles tore the Shepherd when He
sought you out and the briars will tear you, also, if you wander there.
The reason why you are awake at all is because Jesus calls you. His
voice rings in your ears through His Word both heard and read. He more
than calls–He knocks at your heart by affliction, by mercy, by
warning, by comfort. He will do more with you, yet, if you are His–He
will put in His hand by the hole of the door and then you shall open to
Him and He will come and sup with you and you with Him.

The mystery is all solved, the saint would be a sinner if it were not
that he is one with the sinner's Savior–the living Believer would be a
lump of death and corruption if it were not that he is one with Him who
is the Resurrection and the Life who has said, "Whoever believes in Me
shall never die." And again, "Though he were dead yet shall he live."
What a blessing is this vital union with the ever-blessed Head,
immortal and unslumbering!

IV. Now for THE LESSON LEARNED. It is this–be very careful when you
possess great joys, for in this instance the spouse had been with the
Beloved in choice fellowship and yet was soon drowsy. He had given her
to drink abundantly and He had feasted with her, but no sooner had the
sun set than she said, "I sleep." We are amazing creatures. Our very
perfect brethren, although they do not see it, generally exhibit some
glaring imperfection if you let them talk for five minutes. If you
knock at the door to see if Mr. Pride is at home, you need not praise
him long before he will show his full-length portrait. We are thankful
for these brethren so far as they are saints, for good people are
scarce–but I wish they would not tell us so much about their
saintliness, for I have noticed that great cry often goes with little
wool and the noisiest thing that goes down the street is the dust cart.

He who makes most noise about his own perfection has the least of it!
Let us be careful whenever we rise to the summit of the hill–careful
to stay up, careful that we so act when we are up that we do not come
down with a run. Whenever the Lord visits you, entertain Him right
heartily. Be careful that nothing grieves Him, lest He depart. High
joys may produce slumber–the chosen three upon the Mount Tabor were
soon overcome with heaviness. At the too-transporting sight of the
transfigured Savior, darkness covered them! Mind what you do when on
the mountain! Be careful to carry a full cup with a steady hand.

Next, when you are blaming yourselves for your own work, do not forget
the work of the Spirit in you. "I sleep"– smite your heart for that,
but do not forget to add, if it is true, "My heart is awake." Bless God
for any Grace you have, even if it is but little. What if I am not
sanctified as I wish to be and shall be, yet I am perfectly justified!
What if I do not exhibit my Father's likeness so completely as I hope
to do, yet I am His child! What if, as yet, I do not produce all the
fruits of the Spirit, yet I have the germs of them, the buds and
blossoms–and soon I shall have the ripe fruit! In Aaron's rod we see
that the same power that could put the buds and blossoms on a dry stick
could put the almonds there, too!

Lastly, make sure, above all things, that you have that true faith
which knows the voice of Jesus. The spouse had not awaked if it had not
been for the charm of Jesus' voice which affected even her drowsy
faculties. Some persons can be more easily awakened by the voices of
those they love than by any other means. The charm of memory, the charm
of intimate affection, the charm of delight gives music to some
tongues–let your ears find all its music in the voice of Jesus! Know
His voice. He says, "Incline your ears and come unto Me: hear and your
soul shall live. My sheep hear My voice and I know them and they follow
Me and I give them eternal life."

God bless you, dear Friends, with a faith that trusts Jesus, knows His
voice and follows Him! And may we be awakened out of all our
sleepiness, if we are at all drowsy, into a holy wakefulness so as to
serve the Lord our God with all our heart and soul and strength while
we live. Come, Holy Spirit and give us this privilege, for Jesus' sake!
Amen.
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Harvest Past, Summer Ended and Men Unsaved