Four Links in the Chain of Grace 2
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And, in a state of death, we are no longer living and lively as before. There is not that going out of living desires from the soul; there is not that living communion with God; there is not that breathing in his presence; there is not that moving in the enjoyment of his mercy. "We die" in that sense, and "return unto our dust." This is true of man, naturally and spiritually, returning in death to his dusty nature, his corruptible material. When the soul then dies down, there is an opening up of its corruptions which were before unknown, of its dusty nature before unfelt; of the dryness, hardness, barrenness, and wilderness state of the human heart before unseen. This is a returning to its dust, a falling back upon nature, a sinking into the dust of death; "a putting our mouth in the dust, if so be there may be hope;" an acquaintance with our base original; a sight and sense that if there be any good, it is wrought by God in the soul; if there be anything heavenly, it must come directly from heaven. Thus, in grace as in nature, when God withdraws our breath, "we die, and return unto our dust;" and there we lie as unable to revive and renew our own souls as we were unable in the first instance to quicken or regenerate them.
But what a close and thorough dependence upon God does the text bring out! How it casts the creature into that position where God is everything! How it makes the soul hang upon God as the needle hangs upon the magnet! How every movement of the heart is here referred to God! If it has food, it must be by "waiting" upon God; if it gathers food, it is by the "giving" of God; if it be filled with food, it is by the "opening of God's hand." It is wholly a pensioner upon him! the creature is nothing, and meant to be nothing; it is dependent upon him, in whom it lives, moves, and has its being. So he who gives the breath, takes away the breath; he who grants the life, withdraws the life—not fully, not finally, but in a spiritual, experimental sense, in the feelings of the soul, in the exercises of the mind, in the conclusions we draw, in the workings of our heart.
We do not actually die (for God is unchanging and unchangeable; his love fails not, and the work of grace upon the soul fails not; the ebbings and flowings are in us, not in him); but as regards our feelings, and the experience of the saints, there is that death in the soul, that sinking into the dust of carnality and corruption as if all grace had perished within. This made Heman feelingly cry, "Will you show wonders to the dead? Shall your loving-kindness be declared in the grave? or your faithfulness in destruction?"
Thus, though this view may appear at first sight rather a wresting of the passage, as though the taking away of the breath could only refer to the withdrawal of the natural breath, and the dying spoken of could only be the death of the body; yet, when you view the whole in a spiritual sense, when you see in it the links of one extended chain, you will observe (I can; and if I do not convey the meaning of it, the failure is in me) how they are connected. But if we do not apply these words in an experimental manner to the withdrawing of life and feeling, and of that breath of God whereby the soul living under the power of the Spirit lives upon him, this passage seems to come into the text in a manner utterly isolated from the rest, and to have no reference to the work of God upon the soul.
IV. RENEWING. "You send forth your spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the earth." This does not bear a literal meaning. Take these words as applicable to God's dealings in nature, can you make them tally with the preceding verse? "You take away their breath, they die, and return to their dust. You send forth your spirit, they are created." Have you seen that in creation? When you have lost a son, a daughter, a wife, a husband; when God has taken away their breath, and they have died, and returned to their dust, have you seen God send forth his spirit and recreate them? No—you commit their mortal remains to the earth in the hope one day of a better resurrection. But, taking the passage spiritually, viewing the whole in an experimental light as descriptive of the work of grace upon the soul, as one extended chain, we then see the revival of the soul out of that state of death into which it has fallen.
Bear with me a few moments while I trace out these links; it is the harmony of the links that makes the beauty of the chain. First, the soul is wrought upon by the Spirit of God, and "waits" upon him. Next, there is "the giving of food" to that waiting soul; and the blessed feelings that spring up in the heart when God "opens his hand." The third link in our chain is God's hiding his face, "withdrawing" his presence, removing his favor, taking away the sense of his love, with its effect upon the soul, which is to make it die away, to feel all life and happiness gone, and return to the dust of corruption in which to lie, putting its mouth there, and feeling little else but the workings of an earthly, dusty nature.
But we cannot leave the soul there; therefore comes in the fourth link, which completes the chain, "the revival" of that soul from which the breath has thus been withdrawn. In experience, it is one consistent chain—we see the separate links. Viewed naturally, the chain is broken—viewed providentially, there is at present little connection. But view itspiritually, as descriptive of the work of grace upon the soul, we then see the four beauteous links—the waiting, the giving, the withdrawing, the renewing—these all forming one consistent chain. I am compelled, therefore, by the necessity of the case, as well as by the beauty I see in the passage, by the blessedness of it, and the striking description it gives of the work of grace upon the soul, to view it in this experimental light, though not utterly rejecting all other.
"You send forth your spirit." The word translated "spirit" and "breath" is the same. It was the withdrawal of the "spirit" or of the "breath," that caused the soul to sink into death and dust. The soul in itself had no strength or power to rekindle the flame; it could only die when God withdrew his "spirit;" it could only return to its dust when the creating hand ceased to maintain its life. Inability and helplessness are stamped upon the creature; but they are only learned in experience, and they never are effectually learned until we know both sides of the question. It is having gathered what God has given; having received what he has bestowed; having had access unto God, that makes the soul feel the contrary. It is enjoying the pure breath of God that makes it feel the withdrawing of that breath; it is the actings of life that make it feel the sinkings of death; it is the heavenly-mindedness, the sweet spirituality, the holy affections, the tender breathings, that live in the soul when God is breathing into it his favor and mercy, that make it feel sensibly the change when he withdraws his breath, and it dies at his feet, when all its loveliness is turned into corruption, and it drops into its native dust.
But the Lord does not leave the soul there. He withdraws his breath that it may learn it lives in him, and lives to him. But he "sends forth his spirit," and breathes once more into the heart. It comes into the soul, generally speaking, first as "the Spirit of grace and supplication." This, I think, is sweetly pointed out in the Pilgrim's Progress. Christian and Hopeful are in the castle of Giant Despair; but before they got hold of the key of promise, they continued in prayer and supplication the greater part of the night. Here was the first inspiration, as it were, of the breath of God. Where the breath of praise was taken away, the breath of prayer was much taken away with it. The breath of faith, the breath of hope, the breath of love, the breath of desire, of enjoyment, and of feeling—all these were taken away when God withdrew his breath; and deadness, coldness, barrenness, and carnality took their place. Now the Lord has to revive this work; and as the withdrawing of his breath made the soul die in a spiritual sense, it is the sending forth into it of that spirit again which alone can make it revive.
"You send forth your spirit." How free, and yet how sovereign! Until the "Spirit" comes, it is powerless; it lies in its dust, unable to live, to act, to feel. But, as a free sovereign act of grace, God "sends forth his spirit." And what follows? "They are renewed." There is a renewal of everything in the soul; there is a blessed revival of the life, power, grace, and favor of God in the heart; and this by his "Spirit." Not by their own works, not by creature doings, duties, or merits, fastings, tears, or prayers, nor anything that the creature can do or has done, but as a free sovereign act of God—as free and as sovereign an act as when he called the world into being, or as when the Spirit brooded upon the face of the waters in original creation—as free and sovereign as the first work of grace upon the soul—as all the acts of God are in nature or grace.
"You send forth your spirit." Where does the creature here put in his finger? Nature is silent here. The Spirit of God has put nature into its true place. "You send forth your spirit" as a free sovereign act; and when the spirit comes into the soul, then they are "created," or "recreated." Indeed it seems to be altogether a creation; for the work of God upon the soul is a creation; "If any man be in Christ he is a new creature," or 'creation.' And after a long death in the soul, when the Lord "sends forth his spirit," is it not a creation? a work so wholly of God, a work so wrought by his own hand, a work so thoroughly distinct from that of the creature, that it is felt and known to be a creation?
But how at times the soul is almost hopeless that this will ever take place! Say that you, in times past, have enjoyed somewhat or much of the presence of God; but you have lost that presence; your soul does not now enjoy what it once enjoyed; you are often dark, very dark—dead, very dead—barren, very barren; and your religion as to life, feeling, power, seems much to have sunk away. Yet, at times, there is a sighing and a murmuring in your soul that things are so. You want God again to appear; you cannot rest in this spot; you cannot be satisfied to be as you are; and though shut up in much darkness, unbelief, and deadness, yet every now and then there is a breaking forth, a sigh, or a cry, 'Lord, appear for me; revive my soul, and bring me out of this state; do not let me be what I am, and where I am; bring me into some clearer, sweeter, nearer access, into some closer communion with yourself; and let me not be such a cumberer of the ground, such a mass of sin and death before you!'
Have you not some such breathing of soul? Now the Lord "sends forth his spirit," and effects this creation; a "returning," as Job speaks of it, "to the days of their youth," a revival of the old flame, a renewing (as we read, "you renew the face of the earth") of the soul. It has been winter; frost has chilled it; snow has covered it; all vegetation has been frozen up; dark gloomy days above, and icy scenes below. But the Lord "sends forth his spirit, and they are created." Every grace rises up under his creating hand; and "he renews the face of the earth." There is a renewal of the soul, a revival of former feelings, a bringing back of things long forgotten, a restoration, a resurrection, a recreation of every blessed feeling of the heart.
And this, perhaps, is delayed until the close of life. The experience of many of God's people seem to be this. Called in early days, they waited under conviction until the Lord appeared; the Lord, then appearing, blessed their soul, and gave them striking testimonies, in which they walked, sang his praises, and spoke to the glory of his name. But as they grew up into middle life, worldly cares, family anxieties, business, and many other things seem to bring a damp upon their souls; God took away their "breath;" he suspended the operations of the Spirit; they were not favored as in times past with the sweet manifestations of his mercy, goodness, and love. And they died. Their heavenly life which they formerly enjoyed—the praises and thanksgivings—with all their lively, vigorous, active feelings seemed to die down to a stump and wither away in the soul, nipped by the frost, cut off with scarcely anything but the root left, and that covered perhaps by snow and ice.
Thus they were little comfort to themselves, little honor to the church to which they belonged, and though generally believed to be good people, and in time past to have had an experience, yet, as far as any outward usefulness or inward comfort was concerned, there was little of one or the other. Are there not many like this—members of churches, advanced in life perhaps, or in middle age? But at the close of life, perhaps, they may have an affliction which brings them to a death-bed; in mercy God sends forth his spirit; then they are "created;" all their past coldness and deadness, all their carnality and barrenness are removed; they become to themselves and they become to others new creatures; there seems to be a pouring in of new life; and, like the plants I have been speaking of, they spring up from the old root with increased strength and beauty. Thus, the Lord "sends forth spirit;" they are created; he renews the face of the earth; he blesses their soul; they leave a sweet witness behind, and their happy spirits leave their poor crumbling tabernacles of clay for mansions of eternal joy.
Thus, our text, if I have given it a right interpretation, may embrace in its folds many, if not most of God's living family, taking them from the very beginning of the work of grace upon their hearts, and closing them up in the last manifestations of God's mercy, whereby he lands them safe in a happy eternity. Thus it corresponds in some measure with the "early and the latter rain"—the "early rain," which is in the autumn in Eastern countries, corresponding to "that which you give then they gather; you open your hand, they are filled with good;" "the latter rain," in spring, corresponding with "you send forth your spirit, they are created, and you renew the face of the earth."
Thus, we find in these four verses four links of a Christian experience. Which link is in our hand? which link in our heart? If you are a child of God you will be found in one of these four verses; and that is the reason why this evening I took so long a text. I would not break the chain; I would not take one link; but I wished to take the whole comprehensive chain that I might wind it around living souls here present, and find some link to hang on each individual neck. Which link hangs upon you?
Let me, just by way of recapitulation, point out the four links. In the first dealings of God upon the soul, there is a "waiting" upon God—"These all wait upon you, that you may give them their food in due season." Do you think that God has made you a waiting soul? Is the work of grace thus far begun as to make you know that Christ alone is the food of the soul? Has it taught and brought you to wait upon God to give you Christ, to manifest him, to bring a sweet sense of his love and blood into your soul? If you have this first link, you will in time have the whole chain; for he who has one link in this divine chain has all.
But there may be those who can go beyond this, who are now "gathering" what God gives. And this is one of the sweetest spots the soul can be in, to be gathering what God gives. O, those early days, that spring-time of the soul, when we are gathering all that God gives, when there is scarcely a sermon in which and out of which we do not gather something! O, blessed days, when we can scarcely open God's book without gathering manna from it, scarcely go upon our knees without getting some access to God, scarcely speak to a Christian friend without feeling love burning in our bosom. Happy days! "the day of espousals," the spring of the soul, the time when the Lord is first gracious, gives freely, opens his hand, and satisfies the soul with his mercy! Perhaps some few here may thus now be favored. May the Lord keep you, if it be his will, as long as possible in this state! You cannot have a happier; you may have a state more profitable, but not more blessed. May the Lord keep you long there, gathering what he gives; he opening his hand, filling you with goodness, and blessing your soul; and you thanking him for his mercy. This is one of the sweetest spots the soul can be in until it lands in heaven.
But, prepare yourselves for a change. The whole analogy of God is change. We would always like to have it beautiful summer, but winter will come. We would like the day to be always long, and the sun bright; but the short dark days will come, and the sun remain behind the cloud. We would always like prosperity, but we shall not have it. We would prefer an unmingled cup, but it will not be so. God will see good to withdraw his presence, hide his face, and not shine upon your soul as before. Then you will die in your feelings, sink at his feet, and as one dead return to your dust, be a miserable wretch, having nothing but gloomy feelings working in your mind, and little else than the dust of corruption in your heart. There perhaps you may be muddling for years. God in mercy keep you from that.
But, in due time, if the three links are of God, you will have the fourth. God will not leave you there. He will bless your soul again; for his love is from everlasting to everlasting; and he who began the work will carry it on. He will "send forth his spirit," as an act of his free, sovereign grace, and recreate as it were, every sweet feeling, every blessed affection, and every sense of enjoyment. He will banish the dark clouds of winter, thaw the ice and snow that has covered your bosom, make a second spring, and renew the face of your soul, as in nature he renews the face of the earth.
Now, among our Aged Pilgrims, whose cause I am to plead this evening, we may have some of those who have passed through the three successive stages, and are waiting for the fourth, or are now enjoying it. This is often delayed perhaps to the closing scene of life; but yet it will come at last. What a mercy that God will not leave the work of his hands, will never give up Ephraim, and will never abandon Judah! Whom he loves, he loves unto the end, and saves with an everlasting salvation.
To be enclosed, then, within these links is to be enclosed in the chain of eternal love. To know anything of them is a mercy. If we are God's children, we shall be able to say, 'I have experienced this one; in this spot at least I am.' And if we can say this with a feeling heart, we may believe God will go on to work in us "to will and to do of his good pleasure."
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