A Secret and Yet No Secret

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"A GARDEN enclosed is my sister, my spouse; a SPRING shut up, a FOUNTAIN sealed."

"A garden fountain, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon.."

- Song of Solomon 4:12 and 15

Observe the sweet titles with which Christ the husband addresses his Church the bride. "My sister," one near to me by ties of nature, my next of kin, born of the same mother, partaker of the same sympathies. "My spouse", nearest and dearest, united to me by the tenderest bands of love; my sweet companion, part of my own self. My sister, by my Incarnation which makes me bone of your bone and flesh of your flesh; my spouse, by heavenly betrothal in which I have espoused you unto myself in righteousness. My sister, whom I knew of old and over whom I watched from her earliest infancy; my spouse, taken from among the daughters, embraced by arms of love, and affianced unto me for ever.

See, my brethren, how true is it that our royal kinsman is not ashamed of us, for he dwells with manifest delight upon this twofold relationship. Do not be, O Beloved, slow to return the hallowed flame of his love.

We have the word "my" twice in our version. As if Christ dwelt with rapture on his possession of his Church. "His delights were with the sons of men," because those sons of men were his. He, the Shepherd, sought the sheep, because they were 'his' sheep; he lit the candle and swept the house, because it was 'his' money that, was lost; he has gone about "to seek and to save that which was lost," because that which was lost was 'his' long before it was lost to itself or lost to him.

The Church is the exclusive portion of her Lord; none else may claim a partnership, or pretend to share her love. Jesus, your Church delights to have it so! Let every believing soul drink solace out of these wells. Soul! Christ is near to you in ties of relationship; Christ is dear to you in bonds of marriage union, and you are dear to him; behold he grasps both of your hands with both his own, saying, "My sister, my spouse." Mark the two sacred holdfasts by which your Lord gets such a double hold of you that he neither can, nor will, ever let you go. Do you say in your heart this morning, "My brother, my husband?" Seek to be near to him in nature, -to be like your brother, a son of God; and to be near to him in fellowship- to have near and dear communion with your husband, that you may know him and have fellowship with him, being conformable unto his death.

Leaving this porch of cedar, let us enter the "palace". Observe the contrast which the two verses present to us. I think that the Spirit of God intends that the verses should be understood, as we intend to use them this morning, but even if we should be mistaken as to the precise interpretation of the passage in its connection, we shall not err in enlisting so beautiful a string of metaphors in the service of the truth.

You know, beloved, there are two works of the Holy Spirit within us. The first is when he puts into us the living waters; the next is when he enables us to pour forth streams of the same living waters in our daily life. Our blessed Lord expressed what we mean, when on that great day of the feast he cried, saying, "If any man thirst let him come unto me and drink. He that believes on me, as the Scripture has said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water. This spoke he of the Spirit, which they that believe on him should receive."

The Spirit of God first implants in us the new nature. This is his work- to regenerate us, to put into us the new principle, the life of God in Christ. Then next, he gives us power to send forth that life in gracious emanations of holiness of life, of devoutness of communion with God, of likeness to Christ, of conformity to his image. The streams are as much of the Holy Spirit as the fountain itself. He digs the well, and he afterwards with heavenly rain fills the pools. He first of all makes the stream in the desert to flow from the flinty rock, and afterwards out of his infinite supplies he feeds the stream and bids it follow us all our days.

I was pleased to meet a quotation the other day, from one of the early fathers, which just contains in it views I have frequently expressed to you: "The true believer is composed of body, soul, and the Holy Spirit." After the greatest research, eminent mental philosophers have given up all idea of a third principle which they can discover in man, as man. They can find nothing but the body and the soul. But, rest assured that as there is a certain something in the vegetable which we call vegetable life, as there is a sensitive substance which makes animal life, as there is a mysterious subsistence developed as mental life, so there is some real, substantial, divine principle forming spiritual life.

The believer has three principles, the body, the soul, and the indwelling Spirit, which is none other than the Holy Spirit of God, which abides in the faithful continually. Just such a relationship as the soul bears to the body, does the spirit bear to the soul; for as the body without the soul is dead, so the soul without the spirit is dead in trespasses and sins; as the body without the soul is dead naturally, so the soul without the spirit is dead spiritually. And, contrary to the general teaching of modern theologians, we do insist upon it that the Spirit of God not only renovates the faculties which were there already, but does actually implant a new principle- that he does not merely set right a machinery which had before gone awry; but implants a new life which could not have been there. It is not a waking up of dormant faculties- it is the infusion of a supernatural spirit to which the natural heart is an utter stranger.

Now, we think the 12th verse, to a great extent, sets forth the secret and mysterious work of the Holy Spirit in the creation of the new man in the soul. Into this secret no eye of man can look. The inner life in the Christian may well be compared to an enclosed garden- to a spring shut up- to a fountain sealed.

But the 15th verse sets forth the manifest effects of grace, for no sooner is that life given than it begins to show itself. No sooner is the mystery of righteousness in the heart, than, like the mystery of iniquity, it "does already work." It cannot lie still; it cannot be idle; it must not rest; but, as God is ever active, so this God-like principle is active too. Thus you have a picture of the outer life, proceeding from the inner. "A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon." The first is what the Christian is before God; the next is what the Christian will become before men. The first is the blessedness which he receives in himself; the next is the blessedness which he diffuses to others. We will begin, then, where God the Holy Spirit begins with us, when he enters the recesses of the heart and breathes the secret life.

I. With regard to the first text; you will clearly perceive that in each of the three metaphors you have very plainly the idea of "secrecy". There is a garden. A garden is a place where trees have been planted by a skillful hand; where they are nurtured and tended with care, and where fruit is expected by its owner. Such is the Church; such is each renewed soul.

But it is a garden 'enclosed', and so enclosed that one cannot see over its walls- so shut out from the world's wilderness, that the passerby must not enter it- so protected from all intrusion that it is a guarded Paradise- as secret as was that inner place, the holy of holies, within the tabernacle of old.

The Church- and mark, when I say the Church, the same is true of each individual Christian- is set forth next as a spring. "A spring" -the mother of sweet draughts of refreshing water, reaching down into some impenetrable caverns, and bubbling up with perennial supplies from the great deeps. Not a mere cistern, which only collects water, but a fresh spring, which through an inward principle within, begets, continues, overflows.

But then, it is a spring 'shut up': just as there were springs in the East, over which an edifice was built, so that none could reach the springs except those who knew the secret entrance. So is the heart of a believer when it is renewed by grace; there is a mysterious life within which no human skill can touch. And then, it is said to be a "fountain"; but it is a fountain 'sealed'. The outward stones may be discovered, but the door is sealed, so that no man can get into the hidden springs; they are altogether hidden, and hidden too by a royal will and decree of which the seal is the emblem. I say the idea is very much that of secrecy.

Now, such is the inner life of the Christian. It is a secret which no other man knows, nay, which the very man who is the possessor of it cannot tell to his neighbor. "The wind blows where it wills, and you hear the sound thereof, but cannot tell where it comes from or where it goes; so is every one that is born of the Spirit."

There are mysteries in nature so profound, that we only label them with some hard name, and leave them, and all the knowledge that we have about them is, that they are beyond the reach of man; but what they are, what are those mysterious impulses which link distant worlds with one another, what the real essence of that power which flashes along the electric wire, what is the very substance of that awful force which divides the oak, or splits the spire, we do not know. These are mysteries; but even if we could enter these caverns of knowledge- if we could penetrate the secret chamber of nature, if we could climb the lofty tree of knowledge till we found the nest where the untaught principles of nature as yet unfledged are lying, yet even then we could not find out where that hidden life is.

It is a something- as certainly a something as the natural life of man. It is a reality- not a dream, not a delusion: it is as real (though far more divine) as that "vital spark which we say is "of heavenly flame." But though real, it is not in itself perceptible by human senses. It is so hidden from the eyes of men who have it not, that they do not believe in its existence. "Oh," say they, "there is no difference between a Christian and another man. There may sometimes be a little difference in his outward acts, but as to his being the possessor of another life the idea is vain." As to the regenerate being men of a distinct race of being, as much above man naturally as man is above the brute beasts -that carnal men would scorn to acknowledge. They cannot make this out. How can they? It is a spring shut up; it is a fountain sealed.

Nay, and the Christian himself, though he feels the throbbings of the great life-force within, though he feels the perpetual bubblings up of the ever-living fountain, yet he does not know what it is. It is a mystery to him. He knows it came there once upon a time; perhaps he knows the instrumentality by which it came; but what it was he cannot tell. "One thing I know, whereas I was blind now I see; whereas I once loved sin I now hate it; whereas I had no thoughts after God and Christ, now my heart is wholly set upon divine things." This he can say. But how it was, he does not know. Only God did it- did it in some mysterious way, by an agency which it is utterly impossible for him to detect.

Nay, there are times when the Christian finds this well so shut up that he cannot see it himself, and he is led to doubt about it. "Oh!" says he, "I question whether the life of God be in me at all." I know some have scouted the idea of a Christian's being alive and, at the same time, doubting his spiritual existence; but however great a paradox it may seem, it is, nevertheless, a mournful truth in our experience. That spring, I say, is sometimes shut up even to ourselves, and that fountain is so fast sealed, that although it is as really there as when we could drink of it, and the garden is as truly there as when we refreshed ourselves among its spicy beds, yet we cannot find any solace therein.

There have been times, when if we could have the world for it, we could not discover a spark of love in our hearts towards God- nay, not a grain of faith. Yet he could see our love when our blind eyes could not, and he could honor our faith even when we feared we had none.

There have been moments when, if heaven and hell depended on our possession of full assurance, we certainly must have been lost, for not only had we no full assurance, but we had scarce any faith. Children of light do walk in darkness: there are times when they see not their signs, when for three days neither sun nor moon appears. There are periods when their only cry is, "My God, my God, why hast you forsaken me?" There is little wonder about this when we see how secret, how impalpable, how undiscernible by eye, or touch, or human intellect, is the Spirit of God within us. It is little wonder that sometimes flesh and blood should fail to know whether the life of God be in us at all. "A garden enclosed, a spring shut up, a fountain sealed."

A second thought is written upon the surface of the text. Here you see not only secrecy, but "separation". That also runs through the three figures. It is a garden, but it is a garden 'enclosed'-altogether shut out from the surrounding heaths and commons, enclosed with briars and hedged with thorns, which are impassable by the wild beasts. There is a gate through which the great husbandman himself can come; but there is also a gate which shuts out all those who would only rob the keeper of the vineyard of his rightful fruit.

There is separation in the spring also. It is not the common spring, of which every passer-by may drink; it is one so kept and preserved distinct from men, that no lip may touch, no eye may even see its secret. It is a something which the stranger cannot meddle with; it is a life which the world cannot give and cannot take away. All through, you see, there is a separateness, a distinctness. If it be ranged with springs, still it is a spring specially shut up; if it be put with fountains, still it is a fountain bearing a particular mark- a king's royal seal, so that all can perceive that this is not a general fountain, but a fountain that has a proprietor, and stands specially by itself alone.

So is it with the spiritual life. It is a separate thing. The chosen of God, we know, were separated in the eternal decree. Their names were written in a different book from the rest of men; the Book of Life records their names, and none but theirs. They were separated by God in the day of redemption, when Christ redeemed them from among men, out of every kindred, and nation and tribe. They are separated day by day by divine providence, for the fiery pillar gives light to them, while it is darkness to the 'Egyptians'.

But their separation, so far as they can most clearly see it, must be a separation caused by the possession of the life which others have not. I fear there are some professed Christians who have never realized this. They are a garden. One could hardly speak ill of their character, their carriage is excellent, their deportment amiable; their good works commend them before men, but still they are not separate from sinners; in vital essential distinction they have little manifest life. Their speech may be half of Canaan, but the other half is of Ashdod; they may bring unto God thank-offerings, but there is a niche in their house for Baal too. They have not yet heard the cry, "Come out of here, my people, that you be not partakers of her plagues." Not yet has the mandate of the prophet rung in their ears, "Depart , depart , go you out from here, be clean you that bear the vessels of the Lord."

They are a garden, but they are not a garden walled round. Oh, how many we have in this day of this kind. They can come to the church, they can go to the world, they can talk as God's people talk, and they can murmur as the rebellious murmur; they understand well the gift of prayer, but they understand little of the secret of the inner life of devotion. Brethren, if you and I have ever received that third, that noble, that divine principle- the life of God, into our souls, it will be utterly impossible for us to feel at home with the men of the world. No, we shall say, "outside the camp" must be my place, bearing his reproach.

Sometimes, indeed, we shall not feel at home with the 'professing Church' -we shall be constrained to come even out of her, if we would follow the Lord fully. Ay, and there are sacred seasons when we shall be so enclosed that we shall not be at ease in any society, however select, for our souls will pine for sweet solitude, secret communion, hidden embraces; we shall be compelled to walk alone with Christ.

The garden will be shut up even from other gardens, distinct even from other places where Christ walks. Oh, there will be periods with your soul, if it be renewed, when you must be alone, when the face of man will disturb you, and when only the face of Jesus can be company to you. I would not give a farthing for that man's spiritual life who can live altogether with others, if you do not sometimes feel that you must be a garden enclosed, that you must enter into your closet, and shut the door. If you do not feel seasons when the society of your dearest friend is an impediment, and when the face of your sweetest relation would but be a cloud between you and Christ, I cannot understand you. O you children of Christ, be as chaste virgins kept alone for Christ. Gad not abroad O my heart, but stay at home with Jesus, your lover, your Lord, your all. Shut up your gates, O my heart, to all company but his. O my sweet well-spring of delights, be shut up to every lip but his, and O you fountain of the issues of my heart, be sealed, only for him, that he may come and drink, and drink again, and take sweet solace in you, your soul being his, and his alone.

In the third place, it is worthy of a more distinct remark that you have in the text the idea of "sacredness". The garden enclosed is walled up that it may be sacred to its owner; the spring shut up is preserved for the use of some special person; and the fountain sealed more eminently still bears the mark of being sacred to some distinguished personage.

Travellers have said that they have discovered gardens of Solomon which were of old enclosed where the king privately walked, and they have also found wells of most deliciously cold water, which has been dexterously covered, so that no person unacquainted with the stone in the wall, which might revolve, or might be removed, could have found the entrance to the spring. At the foot of some lofty range of mountains, a reservoir received the cooling streams which flow from melted snows, this reservoir was carefully guarded, and shut out from all common entrance, in order that the king alone might enter there, and might refresh himself during the scorching heats.

Now such is the Christian's heart. It is a spring kept for Christ. Oh, I wish that it were always so. Oh, how often do we pollute the Lord's altar! How frequently, my soul, do you let in intruders; alas! how common it is for us to be feasting other friends and shutting the door against 'him'. How often do we keep him waiting in the street, while we are entertaining some barbarian who is passing by, who offers us his kiss, but is meanwhile stabbing us with his right hand. Christian men and women, I appeal to your experience now.

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