Asleep and Yet Awake –A Riddle 2

Furthermore, this sleep was '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 until he is fully aroused. Falling into indifference on the road to heaven is something like sleeping on the vast plains of snow, where, if a man give 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 glory and eternal life, that you do not yield 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 in. There are preachers who charm most wisely if their intent be 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 methinks 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 a blaze. 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 be 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 beg 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, you are already awakened: the bitter anguish of the soul in the horror of its own slumber has already been blessed of God to its arousing.

Anyhow, 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 matters? My fellow members will 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 brother, 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, 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 food may be pleasant, but cold religion is an ill dish to serve to Christ or to ourselves either. 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 to 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 wakes," says the Bride, "I sleep, but my heart wakes." 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;" hence 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 has the throne still, even when Satan rages most. This inward life shows itself usually in the uneasiness of the declining heart.

When a believer feels that he is not what he ought to be, nor what he needs to be, he cannot he 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 foot. Hear him sing in the minor key-

"Where is the blessedness I knew
When first I saw 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, too, in 'desire', for the heart is the seat of desire, and it leads the man to say, "I am not what I would 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 to love Jesus better, and to be more like him. 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 be a sorry jade that cannot move quickly you praise the man when you see him whipping and spurring and doing his best to hasten. You do not blame him for that which is beyond his power. So says he- oftentimes when our desires do 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 aroused 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 wakes."

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 anything 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 ear 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 will they not follow, for they know not the voice of strangers." The awakening believer soon 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 ear 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," says she. She would not have blamed herself as I have tried to describe her doing, if she bad 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 so 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 beside you."

Brethren, 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 a while, 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 Amminadab.

This puzzle of "I sleep, but my heart wakes," 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
Be 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 mist 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 loved 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 withal
I cannot move, scarce hear when you do 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 you.
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 you grant, I were lost
Dear Lord, deny me still: and never sign
My will, but when that will agrees with your.
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 you."
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 wakes." How does her heart wake? 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 until he does. This is why you cannot sleep as do others, because he does not so sleep. "He that keeps Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep," and until Christ's spiritual life shall altogether slumber out into forgetfulness and inaction yours never shall. The mystic union between yourselves and him secures you from destruction, which apart from him would sweep you away as with a besom. 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 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 singular 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 them 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 keep 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 mount; 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 be true, "My heart wakes." Bless God for any grace you have, even if it be 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 people 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 ear find all its music in the voice of Jesus. Know his voice. He says, "Incline your ear, 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 unto them eternal life." God bless you, dear friends, with a faith that trusts Jesus, knows his voice, and follows him, and may we be aroused 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.

Back to Song of Solomon sermons

Back to Charles Spurgeon