Asleep and Yet Awake –A Riddle

Next Part Asleep and Yet Awake –A Riddle 2

"I sleep, but my heart wakes: 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 mine 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 so grieved him, 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."

Brethren, we shall not be able to claim entire perfection so long as we are this side the hills of division. Until the day break 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 striven 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 alone 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 should not, brethren, 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 though 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 so. 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?" At other times, my 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 brethren, we must take care that we do not wrongly use the memoirs of saints as recorded in Scripture: 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, but 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 quarreling 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 even the saints of God rather as beacons 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 be 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, 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 be fresh from his Master's bosom; no, nor towards Paul, though he do not be a whit behind the very chief of the apostles. Come we, then, dear friends, to use the example of our text, with those due 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 wakes." Very soon we have mystery solved,-how is it that the heart still keeps 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 state recognized'. 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 brother, 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 dulness you are not altogether given over to spiritual stupidity, if you are anxious to be aroused 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 so far to be spiritually awake 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 be 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 fault 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 do not be judged." Before another person can hint that you are careless, find it out yourself and mourn over it. Before another can complain of your dulness and say, as the shipmen did to Jonah, "What meanest you, O sleeper?" complain about yourself. Act tenderly to others, but severely towards yourselves. So all prudent men will do if God keep 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 sweet things of the senses, and the delights which the mind can receive thereby. Sleep is cousin unto death, 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, 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, arouse me."

Sleep is a state of 'inaction'. A man cannot do his daily business while his eyes are closed in slumber. There is a somnambulism which can do much; but I know of no spiritual somnambulism. 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- 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 needs 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 rottenness, 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 do not be only a matter of complaint, as an ill 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 brother, 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 truly is 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 he 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 admit an excuse. Still, sometimes dulness 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-day 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 widow's 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 does rest 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. Brethren, when a Christian man'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 still? 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?

Next Part Asleep and Yet Awake –A Riddle 2

Back to Song of Solomon sermons

Back to Charles Spurgeon